Mel ✨

The 141 as text posts + bonus Ghostsoap

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Yes I like fictional characters a very normal amount. Don’t look at my blog.

The Batcave has a “Do Not Talk To Me” couch. It’s sacred. It’s unspoken. It’s real.

okay so. picture this:

the batcave has one couch. it's in the corner. it’s hideous. it’s like beige or green or something equally offensive to every one of their aesthetics. no one likes the couch.

and that is exactly why it became sacred.

because one night jason just. drops onto it. full gear. bleeding. absolutely done with life. says nothing. doesn’t even take off the helmet. sits there in silence for 3 hours and then leaves.

next week tim uses it. sits there post-mission. face in hands. someone tries to ask if he’s okay and jason throws a batarang at them.

and thus it began.

Rules of the Do Not Talk To Me Couch:

You sit there? No one speaks to you.

You cry? No you didn’t.

You eat cold noodles off your chest at 4 a.m.? That’s sacred time.

If someone tries to comfort you? They are excommunicated for 12 hours.

Dick (sitting on the couch):

Damian: Grayson, are you—

Jason (from across the cave): HE’S ON THE COUCH.

Jason: I don’t make the rules.

Steph: You LITERALLY made the rules.

Jason: And I am the defender of the rules. There’s a difference.

one time damian storms in. covered in blood. absolutely furious. 10/10 rage goblin energy. throws his sword. marches to the couch. sits. arms crossed. steaming.

tim takes one look at him and goes: “i’m making tea.”

jason: “that’s acceptable. tea is allowed. talking is not.”

bonus:

once bruce sits on it.

and the ENTIRE CAVE goes silent.

tim literally freezes mid-typing. cass stops mid-flip. jason just mutters “oh shit.”

they all leave. immediately.

the couch is not ready for bruce.

extra bonus:

alfred vacuums around the couch. never says a word. leaves snacks in a silent offering. once placed a weighted blanket gently on jason’s shoulder. that’s different. he’s allowed.

pov: you just looked up from flirting with sgt. mactavish for the past half hour in the rec room wyd

me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit

mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters

me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU

Fic idea where it’s Soap and Gaz, who very quickly after joining Task Force 141, realized they were unequivocally, indisputably and irrefutably in love with their superiors. So they make a plan to charm them.

Except their targets are:

John “I don’t need therapy I need retirement” Price

and

Simon “if you feel nothing you lose nothing” Riley

something in common (COD Kinktober 2024)

AleRudy, SoapGhost. Size Queen + Car Sex. Lemon. Canon Era.

Soap groans, open-mouthed into the smooth leather of the car, damp with his spit. It catches on his nose, draws his lips upwards as Ghost pulls him back, onto his cock once more. No chance of catching his breath when the space in his chest is destroyed, the only sound he’s able to make a low whine.

Ale lets out a low whistle across from them and Soap forces his gaze up, tries to focus on the sharp hunger of his grin.

“Not bad, lift him a little, Ghost?”

Behind him, Ghost’s breathing doesn’t change, the roll of his hips unabated as he raises Soap upright, one hand on chest, the other a scorching brand on his hip, layered over the tattoo Soap has there. It’s a perfect match to the span of his fingers, the middle shortened to match the ring and fore; Soap had made the stencil himself after all.

“Ah, see that, Rudy, my love?” Alejandro leans down to murmur in Rudy’s ear, brushing his knuckles beneath the other man’s chin to lift it. “The bulge of Ghost’s cock in Soap’s belly?”

Rudy’s eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide and intent like he’s peeling away skin and muscle to inspect the exact dimensions. They make a good pair, something managing to claw through the haze of Soap‘s thoughts of charcoal and sweeping lines, enough negative space to highlight the intensity of Rudy’s gaze that isn’t softened by the flush over his cheeks. Alejandro tugs Rudy upright, a blurred reflection of the pose Soap has been lifted into, Rudy’s leg nudged into the footwell to broaden his stance and it takes Soap a moment to understand why.

Rudy’s hand is locked around Alejandro’s hold on his hip, Alejandro’s skin indented pale beneath the press of Rudy’s nails. There’s a similar bulge to the one in Soap’s belly, shifting as Alejandro rolls his hips but—

“Not bad,” Ghost murmurs, keeping Soap in place.

Rudy, getting fucked on the biggest cock Soap has ever seen and still very much in charge, catches Soap’s gaze and winks.