#soap x everyone

[mactavishenjoyer]

Unlike Ghost Soap's family wasn't murdered. Just a series of advents. Suicide is what took his father. Alcoholism is what took his mother. She ended up passing after two years of dialysis. That's what soap remembers the most about her. That she didn't listen to anyone that tried to help her. That she was mean in those last two years. That he had felt guilty when he was just tired of taking care of her. Him and his brother ended up in foster care. Getting split up but finding each other surprisingly quickly when his brother hit 18. His brother died in a car crash a year later. 19 was too young to go but death didn't care. His brother was the only person Soap buried. He deserved to rest somewhere nice. Instead of sitting in a box shoved into some closet like their parents. Soap must have been around 27 when he had actually spread his parents ashes. It only took 15 years to do so but he did it. Something he'd never admit out loud was that he didn't care. It felt wrong but it just wasn't a big deal. The only time he remembered crying over his family was burying his brothers smashed and unrecognizable body. Soap doesn't talk about it. Not because he wants to keep it hidden but because he is tired of the train of "I'm sorry" that comes with telling people. It annoyed him. He would also never say that out loud. He'd never tell someone that it was a waisted sorry. That he truly didn't care that his parents were gone. Paired with his career people would think he was crazy. They'd think that he lacked emotions when that was far from the case. He knew his emotions well. He knew the feeling of dread that washed over him when Simon didn't finish a solo mission in the estimated time. He knew the fear that ran through him that he'll pick up a call just to hear that Kyle didn't make it. He knew the terror that coursed through his body when Price would go dark. He knew the panic that would set in when Gary would get split up from another member. He knew he loved his team. He knew this was his family. He knew that he'd be lost without them.

[soapppp]

Soap is alright with Gaz making fun of him for his puppy like behaviour. He’s okay with Price calling him a mutt when he gets dirty paw prints all over the base hallways. He’s more than happy to obey when Ghsot whistles at him to sit or lay or move. Soap knows that werewolves are, at heart, dogs. They play, they chew up couches, they whine and argue with yippy barks, they make a mess with their thick fur and drool in their sleep. Try as he might to hate it, Soap knows that it’s natural for him to want to chase the large blue ball Gaz rolls down the hall way. He doesn’t care that he once broke his tail from wagging it so hard when he stole Price’s hat and made the older man chase him around the base.

But then….

It was a simple mission, something they had all done a hundred times over. Only this time, Soap was without his captain and his fellow Sargent and his collar felt too lose without Ghost pulling it around. Soap was fine with that, until he found himself working with a Lieutenant Manes. The man was alright, a good leader and quick thinker, but even upon meeting him Soap had a bad feeling.

The man didn’t tug at his collar like Ghost did, instead he pulled at Soap’s chin hair and growled at him to “stay the fuck down you overgrown dog”. He let out loud whistles and expected Soap to know what they meant, pushing him down by his snout when he hesitated as he tried to get a grasp on what he was asking. Manes threw a Grenade at some point and pinched Soaps ear, “that’s a grenade, mutt. Not a fucking toy, don’t chance it.” Soap had wanted to snap back that he was a demolition expert and knew the dangers of a grenade better than Manes, but as he realised the man was mocking him for a dogs love of playing fetch…

Soap came home from the mission and instantly Price was taking him out back and letting him shift into his smaller form, cupping his maw and patting his ears. Apparently another member of the 141, a goddamn rookie, had sent word to Price on the way back from the mission of how Manes had been treating their star wolf. Price let him sleep in his office that night, curled up at his feet while Gaz brushed his fur.

He didn’t ask where Ghost was, already knowing the answer.

[bugb0yster]

Headcannon: Soap is a boob man. Soap is also very gay. He likes man boobs. specifically, he likes sticking his face between gaz/ghost/price/roach/whoever’s pecs and just sitting there. alternatively, he likes to use his partner’s tits as stress balls.

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[cod-dump]

After all of this I can't wait for Soap to revoke everyone's soap privileges.

Or Ghost does and just kinda picks Soap up and leaves with him in his arms.

Which ever is funnier

Rudy is the reason him and Alejandro had their ‘Soap Privileges’ as long as they did. Soap genuinely liked being with them, they both were very good at caring for their partners. Plus, Rudy was terrifying and no one wanted to piss him off by taking Soap, so Soap was with them for a month.

Then Ghost practically raided the place to steal Soap back. He missed his boyfriend, he learned his lesson about tormenting him. Soap had missed him, too, so Rudy and Alejandro let Ghost leave with him. They know if something happens again that Soap would come back. They know he will after the taste he got of the two.

[deadunderorbit]

Everybody loves Soap

Elle King - Ex’s & Oh’s

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Can we some more of soap with a fatty please? I just need more of people thirsting over his ass

Why does my tumblr not notify me of these??? Anyway! Anything for a fellow people simping over soap and his ass lover!

Also I’ve been put onto other ships like Gaz x Soap and Price x Soap so be prepared for everyone thirsting over Soap.

Ps. I got mad side tracked with this and Soap’s ass ended being like a side feature sorry 😭

The idea I’ve got in my head is the 141 have an event to go to yeah? It’s a formal event so everyone’s dressing up nice. Everybody’s in fitted suits and looking all neat and trimmed and proper. Even Ghost has left the usual balaclava for a simple surgical mask.

But the real surprise here (more so than Price abandoning his hat for once and Ghost the mask) is that Soap’s suit is tailored to near perfection on him. Now don’t get them wrong they had all seen Soap in fitted clothes, the man seemed to own nothing besides jeans and tight shirts, but they’d never seen him in something tailored to bring out all of his assets.

It sits tight around his biceps and tapers in at the waist and the colour of the jacket brings out his eyes. But the real shock is the pants he has on. They can tell he’s not happy about them, constantly running his hands along his thighs and plucking at the tight material but that just seems to accentuate them even more.

They look painted on with the way they cling to his thighs and ass, shifting with every step he takes and threatening to rip if he moves too fast.

Soaps grumbling about them, something about how the brass wouldn’t let him walk around in his usual kilt cause it’d upset the older folk or something, ‘fucking let the old bags cark it for all I care, beats having to wear this shit’

But everyone else is silently thanking the brass for blessing their eyes with this rare sight.

Gaz looks a little pink in the face but he still approaches Soap with a smug little grin, blatantly checking his best friend out as he talks to him, “You gotta admit the pants make your ass look downright sinful McTavish.”

The Scot scoffs but nobody’s missing the flush it brings to his face, and suddenly it’s a competition to see who can make him blush more from the compliments they lay on him.

Price, in all his old man ways as the sergeants like to call it, simply comes right up next to Soap and slings an arm around his waist as they talk to a couple of soldiers from another platoon. Nothing really happens at first but then they’re shifting with the crowd and Price’s hand is slipping down and resting on the curve of his ass, fingers brushing gently and threatening to squeeze but not quite getting there.

When he leans in and speaks his voice is low, sounding like gravel and sending heat up Soap’s spine, “You look good lad.”

The words and light brushes of touch make him reden to an alarming degree if the worry in the soldier’s eyes is anything to go off of.

Ghost doesn’t really say much, he was never really a words person but also he can’t actually make his mouth move in the face of everything. So instead he just blatantly looks his sergeant over, holding eye contact when he catches Soap’s eye and relishing in the way his ears redden under his stare. And if he’s trying to hide the fact that he may or may not be drooling under the mask?? Well, he’s doing a damn fine job of it.

Alejandro is blatant about it because of course he is. He eventually manages to back Soap into a corner, leaning in close and relishing in the way the man stares back defiantly though there is a hint of a smile on his lips and the apples of his cheeks are starting to darken slightly.

“You look stunning mi amor.” It’s a blanket compliment but from the way Alejandro’s eyes dip, quick but with clear purpose, it’s easy to tell exactly what he’s talking about. Soap snorts at it but there’s no denying the way his smile turns shy and the redness in his face darkens even further.

Nobody’s entirely sure what Rudy had done. They had all watched him drag Soap out onto the dance floor, the two of them dancing with the other couples and exchanging quiet words and smiles.

After a bit Rudy had leant down, saying something or other that had the Scot tripping over his own feet, completely red in the face and trying to hide it away on the other man’s shoulder. Rudy had looked smug over it, shooting the rest of the guys a wink and little eye brow wiggle that they can’t help but find mildly adorable.

In the end it’s clear to see who won that little competition, but none of them really feel like they lost anything when they got to watch Soap blush up to his ears because of them. The tight pants and his amazing ass were a nice bonus as well.

[buttdumplin]

yeah simon is the one to scare people away when they get too close you, using his size and movement to intimidate, simultaneously shielding you behind him

yeah soap is the one barking loud, creating a spectacle and calling people out, and warning them away

yeah kyle is the one humiliating people, mocking offenders until either their own actions dawn on them or they finally recognize the venom in his eyes

but price is the one that launches into swinging. there is no warning, no hesitation. taking a step, even a single word against you, warrants immediate action in his mind. it's no laughing fucking matter. you are a top fucking prize, his prize, the best the world has to offer. john is rabid in his protection, bearing tooth and boot and claw and fist. there’s no point in talking to him or trying to negotiate, an offense is an offense and he won’t meet it halfway. someone looks at you the wrong way? they won't be able to see out of swollen eyes after headbutts them, crushing their nose. someone whispers something nasty about you? good luck even eating with that jaw wired shut. god forbid someone touches you, the other three boys can barely hold him back. john will break countless bones in every way he knows and beat his knuckles bloody if your smile starts to drop. 

[wispscribbles]

I love your ghost design. I wanna squeeze him :⁠^⁠)

If no hug then why hug-shaped???

[ghouldtime]

Soap who thought that when you called him "Dove", you were just being sweet and affectionate. No ulterior meaning

Soap who only realized that wasn't the case when you called him "Irish Spring" while upset at him one day

The realization finally Dawned on him

[vicariousresearcher]

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Johnny has been in a coma for 2 years 5 months, and 18 days. Who just barely survived long enough to get medical attention after Makarov. Who has become a part of the slim statistic of people who’ve survived a gunshot wound to the head. Whose brain scans show limited activity and such little chance of waking up.

But when his family gets asked if they’re ready to let him go his Ma shakes her head.

“God will take him when he’s ready.”

It’s not common that young guys get put in long-term care facilities like yours. Most of the time it’s older folks whose families can’t let them go and are using pensions to pay the rent costs.

At the start, his room is full of visitors. Big family. Very religious you’ve learned. A boy's bible is set alongside flowers.

Between the swathes of dark hair and bright blue eyes are a couple of other individuals. Quiet but polite.

“Teammates.” The dark-skinned man offers with a strained smile when you give him a curious look. “Military.”

It’s not long till his room quiets down. Visits becoming fewer. His family who was already a little detached from their son you concluded. Between the secretive work and deployments that kept him from home for months.

The team came by when they could though. Enough for you to learn their names and details about your resident.

You glean little things about him here and there. Find the sketchbook with his name on it left by the one named Simon. See the tattoo on his forearm obscured the thick curtain of arm hair. Listen politely to the questionable stories told by Gaz that always left Laswell's head shaking.

Quite the man Soap was is. No one’s given you an explanation on that nickname yet but the military guys that come in always call him by it.

You do what you can to keep him comfortable. Trimming his hair, changing out the gospel music for an audiobook every once in a while, talking to him whenever you’re in the room.

Well more so talking at him. Venting frustrations and complaints in hushed words so no one walking by hears you. Talking about your lazy coworkers, the overly loud upstairs neighbours in your apartment, and how you had to sit through another family dinner alone because your boyfriend made some excuse to not come again.

It’s easy to just talk when you’re in the room with him. Feels less like you’re going insane because you can reason that you’re talking for *his sake.* Not yours. Because what if he can hear you yknow?

……

You’ve just transferred him back over after changing his bed sheets, crouched and folding the linen under the mattress while you talk about your plans for this coming Christmas. How you’re excited for that one chocolate pop up shop that always comes to your mall-

You just about shit yourself when you stand back up and look to the head of the bed and see two slits of blue through his tan eyelids. Dark brown brows pinched in just slightly to create a crease between them.

……

A blinding white light accompanying a splitting headache was what he saw first. Eyelids sticky against his corneas. Weight of a thousand sins holding his muscles paralyzed and unable to flinch away.

Then the light flickered and he saw you.

Frizzy hair curling a fluorescent halo over your head. A swinging, unblinking eye glinting off of your chest.

Johnny who tells his weepy-eyed mother that it’s okay, he had the voice of an angel guiding him the whole time. That’s what brought him back.

[wishfuldivine]

The 141 kissing Gaz's nose every time he cringes at something?

John can't contain it much. Gaz looks absolutely fucking adorable when his sergeant cringes at a movie that is so cliché for his liking. The captain leans forward and pecks his cute nose.

Johnny does anything to make him cringe. Even goes as far as eating with his mouth open, the Scot knows how much he despises it. The sergeant laughs and coos, planting a kiss to his cute nose.

Simon is more subtle. He says the most cringe dad jokes ever, and the sergeant just STARES while cringing to no end. The lieutenant chuckles and presses his lips onto his cute nose.

[soapppp]

CW: past homophobia and transphobia, 141 x soap, mentions of smut

Soap grew up with a loving family. They all acted for each other, all have love languages of words of affirmation and gift giving, something Soap thrived in doing for others. He was praised for his skills in the military and, while he never cared, they were happy to show all his medals on display inside their living room. When he first got sent home for an injury they pampered him to the point he had to make a lock for his room just to get some peace. He was sure he was going to get a permanent dent in his forehead from all the kisses his mother would give him.

They supported him in everyone way but one.

When Soap came out as gay they didn’t care, happy he was finally out of denial, but when he mentioned going to a queen club they warned him of drag queens and woman who ‘pretend’ to be men.

Soap had sobbed that night, cutting up the pink skirt he had bought for himself a few weeks back. He didn’t care for drag, but the outfits he adored. But that was the one thing his family wouldn’t support. So, soap just gave up on those dreams and forced himself to stop staring at the pretty dresses in shop windows. He was scared of being hated by his family, and more terrified when he learnt how some people only let men wear skirts because it was a kink or fetish of theirs.

He felt alone, trapped in his body with no way to express himself without hate or depravity taking over.

Then he meet his partners.

It was Gaz who figured it out first, seeing his best friend and new lover stare at girls in skirts and mannequins in thrills skirts and realising what his partner wanted. He didn’t pretend that it didn’t arouse him at first, but that quickly changed when he saw the longing in his partners eyes shift to a bitter self-hate. He talked to Ghost and Price, making sure to clarify he was only speculating, and together the three of them began to casually mention how they liked drag race and thought skirts would be more comfortable than pants in the heat. Natural things that didn’t fetishise or make the other think they knew something, but it was worth it when Soap eventually cracked after Price made the final push.

Soap had looked at his lover with awe, shocked and amazed as he saw Price wearing a long brown sun dress in his office as he spoke to Laswel like it was nothing. He didn’t make a fuss about it, didn’t ask for attention or anything, he just wore it. The long puffy sleeves half rolled up on his hairy arms made Soap feel so seen despite the fact he wasn’t even the one wearing it.

Price called the others in and the three of them held onto Soap as he sobbed about how he thought it was wrong and illegal but Price, captain and bear of the 141 was doing it.

Price admitted he wasn’t big on the dress, seeing it as just simple clothes and a bit too vulnerable for his paranoid mind, but that he would be happy to wear it again if it would make Soap feel safer.

Not long after they took Soap for his first ever shopping spree, buying him over twenty skirts and seventeen dresses for him to try, all different styles so he could mix and match till he found something fitting. They stayed by him the first time he tried one on and kisses away his tears as he cried in joy. They sat next to him when he first went to the mess hall with a green skirt on, that only just went to his knees, ready to fight of anyone for their lover and they held his hand tightly when a private gave him a big smile and said he was pretty so he wouldn’t burst into tears.

Most importantly, they waited for him to initiate sex while he was dolled up so he wouldn’t feel sexualised. It took a full year for him to feel ready for that and Ghost made sure it was the most attentive sex he had ever experienced.

[klaart]

The gangs all here👍

Edit:// hurt no comfort :)

Edit2: I lied part 2 is posted‼️

[accecakes]

Remember who you're fighting for <3

The men on board started sharing personal photos of their sweethearts. Unfortunately for ghost, he couldn't share his own 💔💔

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 25 - borrowed clothes

soap x f!reader | 880 words cw: and they were roommates, references to masturbation, pervy thoughts a/n: if you lived with soap, he would never wear a shirt. and i stand by that. summary: johnny borrows a shirt. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

You can’t decide if the universe is cold and uncaring, or extremely bored and too interested in torturing you specifically. Regardless, every day, it fucking tests you.

No. That’s unfair to the neverending, bleak void of space. 

John MacTavish tests you. Every. Day.

Well, he tests you on the days he’s at home in your shared flat. Sure, his direct deposit never fails, and you enjoy peace and quiet when he’s gone, but the man’s insufferable when present.

Cabinet and cupboard doors? Open. Dishware? Half of it’s missing. The couch? He hogs it. He spreads those thick legs, wears tight joggers, and puts those muscular thighs on display. An arm slung over the back. He barely moves when you join him, and there is always some part of him touching you.

It’s sick and twisted that he’s infuriatingly handsome and seemingly clueless about it. It’s devastating that picturing him crawling on top of you is the only way you’re able to get off anymore. Door locked, music on, vibrator on a too-low but quieter setting—eyes shut and ears open, listening to him meander around your flat while you imagine him bursting through the door to dramatically take you. God, you come so hard, hand glued to your mouth.

It doesn't help that he’s perpetually shirtless.

He’s constantly on the move and complaining that he’s warm. It’s hard to not stare when he enters a room. His broad shoulders stretch out wide, muscles firm and thick beneath his skin. Dark hair covers his chest and dusts his arms, always shiny after his morning runs and near-daily push-ups. Rugged and imposing, the kind of body that just makes you want to climb. You want to smash his face between your thighs, yank him by the mohawk, and sit on those stupid, hot shoulders. Drown him until he cries uncle.

But today, you can’t stand it anymore. He's elbow-to-elbow with you, tidying the kitchen, still damp and glistening from the shower and clad only in a pair of sweats.

“Johnny?”

“Mm?”

“Do you…mind,” you stare out of your periphery at the size of his hand compared to the sponge he’s holding. “Putting on a shirt?”

He stops. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

The sponge drops onto the counter, and he leans into your personal bubble. “Ye sayin’ a man cannae be comfortable in his own home?”

You grit your teeth and focus so as not to let your gaze drop to the pec right next to you. The scent of soap wafts off of him. You want to lick—

“Well?” 

“Maybe I don’t want to be subjected to a half-naked man every moment of my day.”

A second passes in silence. Then another. The corner of his lip curls, and he raps his knuckles on the counter, chuckling. “You’re a tricky one, hen, but I s’pose I can oblige ye. I dinnae ken if I have anythin’ clean, but…”

“Not my problem.” You hiss through a clenched jaw and return to furiously scrubbing the oven.

He’s gone for a few minutes. Long enough that you clean a section well enough to stare at the vague blob of your embarrassed face. Maybe you ought to put yourself out of your mystery and start looking for a new flatshare. 

This time, when he returns, you keep your eyes forward.

Until he clears his throat. “Like I said, nothin’ of mine’s clean, so I had to make do…”

With an exasperated sigh, you glance over to see what he’s on about and freeze. A glob of cleaner slops onto the ground from where it leaks out of the oven. Yeah, me too, you think distantly.

John’s gone and taken one of your shirts from your things. He went into your room, probably rifled through your wardrobe, and stole a shirt. And not just any shirt, but a ratty, shrunken shirt you’d bought as a joke on a girl’s trip years ago. You hadn’t ditched it for purely sentimental reasons, and now, his nipples stand at attention underneath the worn, whisper-thin fabric. His arms strain the babydoll sleeves. It cuts off above his navel. The top tufts of his happy trail stick out.

The words ‘Female Body Inspector’ stretch across his chest.

Maybe you died, and this is your hell. Or heaven. Hard to tell.

Your mouth dries. “Where–Did you get that from my room?”

“Hope it’s alright. Picked somethin’ I didnae think ye’d miss.”

Rising to your feet, you strip the long rubber gloves off your hands and toss them in the sink. You swallow and run your tongue across your teeth. You slowly close the distance, staring dumbly at the man in front of you. Fuck. Were you really doing this? An old silly shirt’s the catalyst?

He grins, his voice deceptively soft. “You’ve gone quiet again. See somethin’ ye like?”

“Johnny, if you’re amenable to it, I’m going to ride you to the River Styx and back.”

His brows shoot up. His eyes gain a wild glint. “Oh?”

Some responsible part of your brain implores you to see reason and remember how sleeping with your housemates is generally a bad idea. It shuts up when you see him twitch in his sweatpants.

“Mhm. My room in two minutes. Leave the shirt on.”

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

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

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

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

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

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