Hey I'm Noodle-Shop! I'm a 1996 adult. He/they/it. Horny on Main. Minors will be blocked (sorry). trans/pan/thankyouman
This is a queer friendly, neurodiverse space. We're all fags in the eyes of the fash. Fandom focused writing. I will post reader inserts where I can as well as OC x Char shit bc write for yourself and such. I'm super dyslexic and a ball of anxiety, so a sideblog away from my mains would be a good place to do it! I've also got an ao3 which will have my stuff on it too!
Written for a transmasc reader with afab parts. Smut. Fingering. Masc terms used. Voyeurism. Slight praise. Semi public. 18+.
Today had been such a shit day. It wasn’t just one bad thing for you, but lots and lots of small little things that build and build and wear you down. Like a grain of sand caught in your gears, disrupting the flow and friction of your well oiled machine. It started small. A nightmare waking you into a cold sweat. Your favourite pair of trousers getting a hole in the thigh. Burning your mouth on the coffee. The shower block plumbing being broken, leaving you with a whores bath. And, it only escalated. The meetings overrunning, which throws out your personal internal clock, leaving you less time for your own paperwork. Rookies dicking about which made you miss breakfast, and then lunch being cut down because some moron got caught up in gear inspection. Finally, when dinner rolled around you were running on empty, and it was something you couldn’t even stomach to eat. Relying on an instant pot noodle to sustain you.
You are about ready to blow.
Having no way to cool off, you decide to grab your downtime activity and head back to your bunk. The angry frown on your face, your cold eyes, the tightness in your chest and shoulders and your heavier footsteps as you stormed your way through the base ready to kill the next person who interrupts you. Price, Gaz, Soap and Ghost can read every emotion on your figure. As you pass through the rec room threshold to rec room with the intent to get a cup of tea, your belt loop snags on the door handle, making you stumble and drop your items. The belt loop tears clean off the door handle, damaging your trousers further.
Something inside you snapped. Your face sours further and your eyes grow wide with anger, your teeth flash and your fists flex into tense, frustrated claws. You’re about to scream, it bubbles up from the burning pain in your chest and before the scream can tear its way out of your throat a gloved hand quickly covers your mouth. You’re pulled flush and tightly against a broad chest, another arm wrapping around your hips to stop you squirming. Your scream muffled against the glove as you thrash, throwing a tantrum.
Ghost closes the door to the rec room with his foot and drags you backward, leaning against the door with his back. He growls lowly in your ear, and parts your legs with his own. Price whistles. “Looks like someone needs to blow off some steam, give him a hand would ya.” Price waves a hand as if it's the most casual thing in the world. Soap grins and leans back in his chair, elbowing Gaz to get his attention. Soap watches with an intense stare, parting his legs as he eagerly watches. Gaz looks up from his book, his pretty lashes fluttering at the sight, smiling and shaking his head. “Poor lad, this should relax him. Maybe we’ll get to use his pretty mouth as thanks.”
You barely register their words as you wriggle, before your hips still as you feel Ghost’s large hand head south. Popping open the button of your trousers and tugging the zipper down just enough to get what he needs. There is no pretence or gentleness, just rough, aggressive taking. His fingers slip into the hem of your boxers, and he noses against your ear. “Nod or shake. Ya want this, pup?” Ghost would growl so low it was almost a deep velvet purr. You nod, frantically, desperately nod against the hand clutching your mouth, only to get a dry chaste laugh in response. “Good pup, desperate for it, aren’t ya?” Ghost teases, making your tummy flip.
His wide fingers slide down into your boxers, brushing over your public mound and hair, easily navigating to your folds. He runs his middle finger along your slit a few times, gathering up your essence on his fingers before applying pressure to part your folds. Making you jolt against his hand. He circles your entrance, before sliding upward to brush against your boyclit, making you squeak into his hand.
Price glances over, “Move your hand, Ghost. Let's hear all that frustration leave him. Ya got the door barred? Can’t be arsed with the headache of a rookie walkin’ in and seeing this.”Ghost grunts a confirmation. “Course I ‘ave.” Ghost’s fingers move in small motions over your boyclit, feeling it swell up and stand tall like a tiny dick. “You should get a feel of pup’s little boydick here, he’s had a growths spurt.” Ghost taunts you as he flicks over your boyclit, grinning under his mask as your hips buck and roll under his touch. You mewl softly, feeling your temper start to melt away as he strokes over your pretty bundle of nerves, your breath coming shorter in your chest.
Gaz tuts, “Look at his face. That pretty haze in his eyes and his blushing face, fuck. Soap, you’re closer. Go yank down his cargos.”
Soap huffs at Gaz “Fine, wotever.” He rises to his feet, prowling over to Ghost and you and moving to stand in front of you. Fingers hooking into the band of your trousers and pulling them down to your thighs and moving back to his seat, groping at himself. You gasp as the cold air hits your hot core, lip trembling you stutter out “D-don’t look!” But you can only moan as Ghost pulls his finger off your boyclit to spread your folds open. Letting the four men see your most private area, hot, dripping and needy for attention. Earning a plethora of praise.
Price grins with a low whistle. “Lad really has grown, good job.” He praises. Making you flutter around nothing and whimper out a “F-fuck, please…” Ghost returned to his job, dutifully circling your growing boyclit under the rough pads of his firm fingers. He keeps at the motions, slow at first to slowly build you up. Soft, gentle moans starting to escape your lips. You lean back into him, letting the feeling take over you. Tingling all over your body, a lightness in your body. Palms tingling with pleasure whilst a mix of shame burning in your gut from being so openly watched by the others battle within you. Feeling the tension build and build inside of you before pulling his fingers away, a stringy web of juice connects and drips from your boycunt to his fingers. You let out a loud, desperate whine. The men chuckling at the desperate sound.
Frustration flickers in your chest as your hips squirm, chasing Ghost’s fingers. Ghost’s hand holding your chin moves to your throat to keep you pressed against him, feeling him grind against you as he lifts his fingers to your mouth. Pressing into your lips to force you to taste your own desperation. Once he was happy, with a fiddly motion, he pulls off his glove and lets it fall to the floor. Ghost’s hand returns to your sopping wet boypussy, wet fingers sliding inside your hole. One at first, making you gasp and press down. He works for a moment, before pulling out to slip a second finger into you - making you call out in a happy, gleeful moan. “Yes!!! Thank you, fuck!!”
He pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you, before curling them to hit the spongy g-spot inside of you. Making your thighs twitch and give out, but he keeps you in place with that hand gripping your throat. Ghost angles his hand, your bottom growth easily allowing him to grind the base of his palm against your boyclit. A keening cry escapes you at the duel sensation as Ghost plays you like the devil playing fiddle. A mix of his fingers curling into your spongy spot, his palm against your bundle of nerves, the pin against his large form via his grip on your throat, the rest of the teams hungry eyes on your body and the semi public place - add up to bring you to the blinding peak. And then this fucker adds a third finger, as if trying to stretch you open. The burn feeling just that fucking good.
Your eyes screw shut as your vision goes white, your head pressing firmly into his shoulder and your back arching. Your thighs clamp down around his fingers as you buck and thrash, crying out his name as you soak his fingers. Knees knocking together and lips trembling. Juice spilling down your thighs, splashing into your black boxers as you ride out your orgasm. When your vision returns to you, a hazy cloud over your eyes as they flutter open. Ghost withdraws his fingers from you with a wet squelch, and he lets you go. Giving you a swat on your ass, making you stumble. You catch yourself on the wall and pull up your trousers and underwear with a shaking pair of limbs.
Ghost presents his hand to his team, and they each take a turn to taste you on his fingers. Licking his hand till it was clean, hungry eyes watching you recover whilst tasting you on their tongues. Each taking a finger to the knuckle. He turns his head to you. “Feel better, pup?” You can only nod, giving him a smile that shows you’re at ease now. No longer about to explode from your shitty day. You pick up your things, gathering yourself together and flopping onto the couch next to Price who pulls you into a side cuddle. “Just come to us next time you need to blow off some steam, yeah?” Price purrs, licking the last of your taste from his lips.
Scent/Nose blind!reader. Writing out this little idea whilst I'm writing out my larger OCx141 omegaverse fic bc I am cringe but I am freeeeee.
Mentions: Scent, scent blockers, omega!reader, scent marking, lil bit of angst, heat mentioned
I headcanon that suppressants for omegas cause long term medical problems. One of them is nose blindness. Over time, omegas on this medication would lose their ability to scent clearly - it isn't a problem for 99% of the world as most omegas have a safe place, social circle and protection to be medication free - but for omegas in workforces like the military would have to be on these meds for a long long time until their personal circumstances allow them to be medication free.
Taskforce 141 are used to their scent. They've collectively gotten pretty good at controlling it, and the collective scent of the pack can make weaker omegas dizzy. Hell, Ghost alone emits so much dominant musk it makes other alphas quake. Gaz's pretty scent can charm and woo most betas. Price is commanding with his, able to both strike fear and lead in the same display. And, Soap I'm sorry to say he is the stinkiest and the best at identifying and following scents. (I do wanna include others in 141 I'm just really not familiar with their characters yet, thinking of you Roachie)
So enter you. Laswell's choice, a surprise rookie, a transfer - no matter how you got there, you're part of them now. You've adjusted well to not being able to read your teammates scents in combat, and function very independently - having put in 300% extra effort just to be seen on equal footing with your peers. Your career is going well, faced horrors head on and come out stronger. Or, so you present.
You are alone in this world. Even though your new pack is right there, you will never be able to connect with them whilst you cannot smell them. It drives a wound deep in your heart, that you know no one will be able to scent due to the masking sprays you wear to keep yourself safe. Slowly, unknowingly turning your scent sour with neglect. You smile with your mouth but not your eyes as loneliness clings to your bones, making itself at home in your chest.
The 141 don't question it either, you seem, act and present like everything is fine and well. You try to convince yourself of the very same. And then one evening you've taken your shower, but found your masking spray bottle to be empty. It's fine, you think, just a short walk to your bunk where your spares are - when on your way back you bump into Soap.
The poor Scotsman with his sensitive nose immediately clocks your sour scent and lets out a whimper. Tears springing to his eyes and he pounces on you- pinning you straight to the wall and wrapping his arms around you. Crushing you against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck and licking at your neck whilst tears spill down his pretty face. "Gaol, how 'ave I never noticed before?"
You blink, trying to wriggle free and assure him that things are alright - unsure what he is on about. When he pulls back, he looks hurt and confused. "Wot do ye mean ye dinne ken? Yer as sour as lemon tart! I'm sorry that I dinne notice sooner." He pulls back, Soap's intense stare working over your face, studying you intently. And when you look at him back, concerned by his outburst and deeply confused, he inhales and chooses to drag you back to the 141's nest. You hadn't joined it yet as you weren't on that level.
You're practically thrown into the nest, and Soap pins you down. Bullying you to the plush fabric to keep you close. Soap's instincts are going wild, unable to push past scenting an omega in distress - even if you aren't knowingly in distress. By this point you've stopped trying to wiggle free, just remaining frustrated and demanding an explanation, as all Soap has done is whine into your neck and apologise. What you can't scent right now, is Soap's own distress and overflowing calming, soothing pheromones - his body responding to your bodies cries of distress.
It wasn't long before the others quickly followed. Following the trail of an omega in distressing scents. Price looking bewildered as you wave at him from under Soap. Gaz quickly joins you both in the nest, trying to untangle you from Soap, who only growls lowly - earning him a flick on the forehead. Ghost stands there watching, unsure of how to proceed. With great difficulty, between sobs from Soap and confused questions from you - you're all finally on the same page.
Your scent has soured from neglect, because you cannot scent the people you spend every waking moment with. Your accidental isolation has degraded your bond, and no one was able to notice because you hid it so well. So well that you even hid it from yourself.
Price made you agree to lessen and eventually stop your suppressants, and to stop wearing masking sprays. Sure, everyone will smell how sour you are - but everyone else can suck it. This isn't about them. Price wants you to recover both your sense of smell and your bond. And he will do everything in his power to see that through. He promises that they will look after you, protect you, love you. You're part of the nest now, you're never alone for a long time, and scent marked every single night by a different member. You're quite enjoying the marking process, as the 141 often leave you panting and needy afterwards.
The day you finally can smell your pack, you start to cry. Able to scent each of them individually, shoving your face into their necks until you're dizzy from it all. Gleeful and drunk on each of their scents, and feeling heady from the combined scent of them all in the nest. That pain in your chest is gone, replaced by a glowing endless warmth. You smile with your eyes now too, everything seems brighter and better. Life seems worth living again because you can finally connect with those around you. Those who are close to you. And when you curl up in the soft space and purring softly. That night when they are all settled in - you sighed softly, your own scent finally back to the way it is supposed to smell. Full of love and life. You sighed, curling into Gaz's side and pressing your ass against Soap. Grinning softly as your eyes flutter closed, "I wonder when my heat will hit." and hearing Price choke on his cigar.
Back on my reptile!reader with hybrid!141 bs. Hyperfixation who?
Eating disorder mentioned but no one suffers with it, implied smut. Post edit to make it look fancy. Hybrid!141 learning about reptilian body language!
When you first join, the pack thinks you're standoffish. You don't vocalise or chirp much, if at all. Spending your time just hovering nearby them, snacking to yourself and occasionally closing your eyes. It did take you a long while to feel safe eating around them, but Ghost chalked that up to "military issued eating disorders". Making sure to drop you a granola bar every day, which actually helped build your trust to eat around your new pack. This wasn't because of any ED, but because reptiles won't eat if they don't feel safe.
The 141 think, at first, that you dislike them in some capacity. Taking your quiet nature as not wanting to speak to them, and closing your eyes as a way of tuning the world out. When in reality the 141 just don't understand your own personal body language. You don't vocalise like a harpy, you don't play fight like a wolf and you don't huff and puff like a dragon. The jury is still out on a wraiths body language, but everyone is quick to learn that Ghost will make it extremely clear if he dislikes you.
141 assumes you linger near by for warmth, seeing as how hot each member of the 141 run, especially Ghost. (link) As well as them being your team, the forced proximity at factor in your constant hovering presence. Your stubborn independence leading to further confusion. Every so often pushing yourself harder than you should, just because asking for help just is not in your nature.
This distant observation of you kept them stumped for a while. Even Price couldn't quite wrap his head around why his little hatchling was peculiar. Until one warm day, you're dressed down in a vest and cargo trousers. Your brilliant scales on display, catching the light in such a way to show the brilliant pigment inside of them.
And then, some dumb motherfucker questions you in your field expertise, belittling you whilst they are it. Not only are they wrong - they're being a dick about it. You look like you've just chewed on a wasp, a scowl cracking across your face and the pupils of your eyes shrink and become slits. Your brilliant scales blacken as your attitude plummets faster than a plane with no engine. The fool who dared to question you spends the next twenty minutes getting chewed out as you verbally rip into them, digging your own claws into your palms just to make sure you don't claw this jerks eyes out.
After seeing this vibrant display of aggression, Price finally twigs that he needs to put some effort into learning his hatchlings body language. Making sure to kick the rest of the pack up the arse so they learn it too. Soap spends his time teasing you about it, seeing how much he can wind you up till your scales change again. Gaz found the display erotic in a way, harpies often put on grand displays in mating rituals - seeing you lose your shit and change colour gave the poor guy hearts in his eyes and an ache in his crotch.
The 141 become accustomed to your typical gentle, calm nature now. Understanding each in their own mind that being close to them, eating near them and closing your eyes around them are all signs of deep trust. You trust your pack, deeply and irrevocably.
The pack are now able to understand you easier in the field, relying less on the use of your scent and more on your body language. Your posture, the way your tail curls when alert, and what colour your scales are (the ones not covered by your gear, of course.) Witnessing you in hand to hand combat, scales dark, claws sharp, teeth bared. When you spun around to whip an enemy with your tail, the force cutting through the targets gear and leaving behind deep lacerations, you heard Ghost audibly groan over comms and Price chuckle darkly.
The next group shower is going to be interesting, especially after Soap figured out the fastest way to ragebait you is to tell you wrong facts about your specialism.
wraith!Ghost but he's warm - hear me out. Random bad science bullshit go!
Shadows are cold because they are absence of direct light and warmth, but in my mind, wraith powers aren't entwined with shadows. They're kinda like smoke, opaque and flittering in and out of different densities of solid mass, to the point he can just phase through walls right. To do this, his atoms and such need to vibrate like crazy, like the way The Flash goes through walls is by vibrating his atoms. Basically vibrating them exactly so they pass between others in a thing called "quantum tunnelling". (like I said, random bullshit go)
This would mean wraith!Ghost is really warm, even if he looks chilly and has a cold personality.
I think then he would be subject to being the 141's personal heater. Sure, dragon!Price puts out a lot of heat, but if Ghost is constantly flitting in and out of states he would be mad toasty. His pack pressing into him for warmth, despite his protests. Never any need for blankets in the den with two heat sources like these. Gaz and Soap would be sweating.
Imagine further then a reptile!reader, any species of reptile would apply. Joining the 141 in the late autumn and struggling with the most likely very poor heating on the base. Wrapping yourself up in layers, and keeping close to Price as you adapt to the new social events and living space. Price is happy to accommodate you, calling you "hatchling" affectionately. You don't really clock that Ghost is warm, because you've been wrapped up in Price's arms and wings since you joined.
Then one day the already poor heating breaks, and Price is stuck in a meeting. You're curled up in the den trembling with brittle cold, buried under many blankets and layers. Ghost only pops in to grab something small, and upon seeing you curled up and trembling, just huffs. He moves to the den and lifts the blankets, granting a defensive snarl from you. Ghost flicks you on the nose. "Shut it or I'll leave." You don't have the energy to argue back, but when he joins you under the blankets and pulls you into a loose embrace, you simply melt as you finally notice how warm he is.
Finally, you stop trembling, sighing softly. Able to mumble out a "Thank you." As feeling returns to your fingers and toes. Ghost doesn't say much, only closing his eyes for a brief respite. "Don't get used to it. You've got me till Price is done."
Wraith!Ghost is warm (hybrid, poly 141)
Reptile!reader body language (hybrid, poly 141)
Scent Blind!Reader (omegaverse, poly141)
Blowing off steam (NSFW)
First post woo! I’m not a strong writer, but I’m trying! Drabble. GN reader. Alternative reader. Mentions of piercings/tattoos. (No disrespect to the pink girlies, I just want some grit in my reader. Be the change you wanna see <3) Fluff. Slice of life. Soap is in recovery, canon who? Sat on this for a while bc I wrote it before a ‘Riley the Dog’ fic got really popular and I got too scared to post pls don’t yell at me ;A; - No clue how everyone types with a Scottish accent, I tried. -Anxiety-
Ghoap if you squint. Reader is a stranger (for now, we’ll see).
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Park Life.
Since Soap’s “injury” in the field, recovery had been an up hill battle. It isn’t easy to shrug off a bullet to the skull overnight, and the team of 141 had taken it upon themselves to help the Scotsman pull through and recover safely. Especially since Soap is a restless little shit, and wound up hurting himself a few times when he was meant to be resting. So, between them all, they had him on 24/7 watch to make sure he didn’t hurt himself doing something stupid.
Part of this routine was lunch. After finding out that Soap’s pain medication messed with his appetite and he wasn’t eating, Ghost decided to make sure that Soap was actually eating. Having had a troubled history with food, Ghost knows well the woes that come from poor nutrition and trying to heal. He could not stand to see someone that Ghost considered family, struggle to eat; and took it upon himself to see that *his Johnny* was eating well enough.
Thus, lunch in the nearby park became a norm for the two. This allowed Soap to stretch his legs, soak in the sun and vitamin D, and spend some quiet time with Ghost. The gentle park ambiance of the local people served to provide a safe space for social reintegration as well. Away from the triggers of war. It ends up being good for Ghost as well, even if he doesn’t admit it. Almost loosing Soap would have destroyed him, so being able to care for him and keep an eye on him is a balm to his soul.
They would meet up, swing by the local shop for a meal deal special. Sandwich, side and a drink. Making sure to shake up what they get to cover all nutritional needs - and stroll to their usual bench by the pond. If the bench is occupied, they pick another or if it’s a dry day, they just sit on the grass - making sure it’s clean to sit first. Not wanting a repeat of the first time that they sat on the grass, and Soap sat squarely on some fresh duck droppings.
They would sit together, Soap would talk and yap on and Ghost would listen. Chiming in with his classic few, snarky words here and there. Throwing his crusts at the ducks - and getting scolded by old women for feeding the ducks bread. Demanding they bring unfrozen peas. Ghost isn’t afraid of much, but the wrath of an old woman (and Soap’s endless teasing) made him pack a small packet of peas for future visits.
Today is like any day. Ghost and Soap are dressed in casual civilian wear. Comfortable jeans, hoodies to keep the chill off. A plastic bag with lunch in - Soap only needs a small protective patch over his head wound now. And Ghost wears a black surgical mask over his face, hood up, and across his military issued hoodie was his last name across the shoulders in bold letters. Grabbing it without a second thought as he left to meet Soap.
As they’re walking to their predestined bench, Soap is yapping on about the documentary he watched last night on mushrooms. Talking about the intricacies of fungal life and how it is everywhere, how the trees talk to each other through the ‘wood wide web’ and before he can continue on about how fungus helped shaped human evolution, a voice cuts through the air.
“RILEY. STOP!!! FUCKS SAKE!!”
This makes Ghost freeze in his tracks, body stiffening at the command before shaking himself off. Before the pair can look to find the source of the shout, another command is heard.
“RILEY!!! PLEASE!! STOP!! SIT!! I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD!”
A nearby old lady clutches her pearls at the cursing. Ghost flinches, muscles flexing to break free of the command that muscle memory has trained him to listen too. The two turn, Soap looking at Ghost with a wide, shit eating grin curled into the corner’s of his lips. And then, they see it. A young, german shepard dog bounding towards the pair. All ears, paws and tongue - must be a very young dog just looking at the thing.
The dogs tail is wagging as he runs circles around the two men, stopping to sniff at their legs and feet. Pressing his wet nose directly onto Soap’s legs and sniffing deeply. The dog looks up and tilts his head, raising up on his back legs to jump up at Ghost. Clearly excited to make friends with these two complete, utter strangers. The dog can probably scent the K9 units back on the base.
Soap looks up, then elbows Ghost as *you* come into view. Your cheeks are flush from running and the slight chill in the autumn air, your lungs burn a little from the impromptu run, and over all a little flustered that your dog bolted from you. Ghost notes your colourful hair, dark fashion choices, select piercings and tattoos on show as you roll up your hoodie sleeves upon arrival. Warm from the sprint.
“I am SO so sorry!” You begin with a pant, trying to catch the young dog that is running circles around you. You’re not intimidated by the hulking men, but there is a level of embarrassment stemming from breaking the British rule of ‘don’t bother strangers’.
“I’m trying to train Riley to behave off the leash, first day. The bloody bastard bolted as soon as I let him off.” You let out a breathy laugh as your breathing steadies. Flashing an apologetic smile to the two men. Your smile is imperfect, but it radiates a genuine warmth like a sun ray on a cold day. You crouch to try and grab your dog, grumbling a “come ‘ere”. The dog slips away from you, thinking it is a game, and stands behind Ghost’s legs. Tilting his head and wagging his tail - letting out a single puppy bark at you.
Soap’s baby blue eyes sparkle with mischief and he speaks up without missing a beat. “Ach, I get ya. Me own Riley behaves well off leash! I’d be glad to share some training tips wit’ ye.” Soap’s tone is light, happy, with an underlying level of trickery that only Ghost can pick up on.
You cast your eyes upwards. Face full of hope and relief that you’re not going to get chewed out by some randos in the park. “You’ve got a dog called Riley too? What are the chances!” You beam, glancing around to see if the animal is nearby - completely missing the daggers that Ghost glares at Soap. You do note the surgical mask on the silent mans face, and keep your distance in case he was sick. Watching him kneel to fuss your dog (facing you), like the secret sap Ghost is.
Soap’s grin only widened as you took the bait. “I do! He’s got a bit of a temper, but he makes a good solider. Always does wot he’s told.” Soap pulls his beat up phone from his pocket. Screen cracked and phone in a bit of a state, but still working - much like him. A low grunt from Ghost makes you glance his way, but you don’t question it out loud.
You pull out your phone in kind to bring up your phone number. “I’d love to get some tips, my Riley is still chewing up my shoes.” You wiggle your foot in their direction to display the teeth marks in your favourite pair of boots. They don’t look out of place with the rest of you, but you know how much these boots cost you, and you’d rather your dog not get sick biting on treated leather.
“What kind of dog is your Riley?” You ask with full, innocent sincerity.
Soap is elated, he cannot believe he is getting away with this bit for so long. Ghost rolls his deep, brown eyes and keeps fussing your dog - who has flopped over for some tummy rubs. Betraying you as he is so well-behaved for these strangers, but not for you.
“Ooh, he’s a big lad mine is. Bit o’ a mutt. Actin’ as service dog fer a bit, don’t make alotta noise. Though… ‘m thinkin’ o’ getting him fixed, poor thing won’t stop humpin’ me leg-”
“Johnny.” Ghost’s voice is a firm, pointed sound. Almost a command of silence as he rises back up to his full height. His dark eyes glaring at Soap, before giving you a softer look, as if to apologise for something you’re not quite aware of. Soap knows it is time to come clean.
“Ahhh, I should confess me sins.” With a wolfish grin, Soap clasps Ghost’s shoulder and pushes enough to make Ghost twist at the hip. Displaying the large print of ‘RILEY’ in a block font across his shoulder blades. “He might no’ physically be a mutt, but he is a dog by nature.”
You feel your face heat up, shoving your phone quickly back into your pocket as the penny drops. Not only have you bothered two strangers today, but you’ve also had the wool pulled over your eyes. Your palms tingle with embarrassment.
“Oh, fuck. Sorry!!” You fluster, fumbling for the leash in your pocket. “I didn’t realise!!” You choose to quickly get out of there before you make a fool of yourself with a third social blunder. Ears burning as you hear Soap laugh a hearty laugh.
“Nah worries! Nothin’ t’ apologise for! I’m gonna be the one gettin’ punished for this.” He beams, folding his wide arms over his chest, clearly deeply amused with himself.
You bow your head a little, leaning forward to clip on the leash to Riley’s collar. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’d take that punishment for you if I could.” You speak before you think, snapping your teeth shut before digging yourself deeper in this hole. You aren’t really in any trouble, it’s all in just a playful misunderstanding and Soap being a little shit.
Ghost raises a brow at your comment and smirks behind his mask, and Soap can’t help but bark out a laugh at that.
"Oh god, well, nice to meet you. Sorry for bothering you. Uh, bye! Riley, come!" You quickly say before internally wincing. Now that Riley is leashed, he easily comes up to your heel with his tail wagging, and you quickly make your exit. High tailing it out of there in the opposite direction. Wondering if it is too late to change your dogs name.
As you leave, you hear Soap's laughter fade before going, "Ah shit, I didn't even get their digits- *thud* ow, what was that for?" Before their conversation left hearing range. All you could do was roll your eyes and laugh out any remaining bubbles of nerves. Cheeks still a bit flushed from the embarrassment, but it wasn't a bad encounter. Something you'd tell your friends about when they come over later. Certain they’d get a damn good laugh out of this.
