I feel like Soap and Ghost’s best friends -> lovers who are still best friends is important.
because they don’t flirt like lovers all the time. they flirt like schoolchildren. They poke each other in the ribs, give each other wet willies, push and pull at each other’s limbs, they shoulder check each other, full body checks, they trip each other, kick each other under the table, insult each other, make horrible ‘yer mum’ jokes, they probably even bite.
the more ‘normal’ forms of love were weaved into that. Ghost kisses Soap on the cheek before giving him a wet willie and running away before Soap can say anything. They go from kicking each other under the table to cause drama to just playing footsies, Ghost shoulder checks Soap and immediately gets pulled into a suffocating hug. They kiss goodnight and Soap digs his fingers into the ticklish spot on Ghost’s neck. Ghost trips Soap into his arms. Soap does the same, even if it works less often. ‘your mum’ jokes become ‘don’t say those things about my mother in law’ in a jokingly offended tone. Casual intimacy of holding one another gets turned into a play fight because Soap put his cold toes in Ghost’s boxers. Ghost holds Soap for a long time before suddenly licking his cheek and running before Soap can retaliate. Soap lays in Ghost’s lap for hours before he pokes a pressure point that has Ghost jumping up off the couch.
the best friend -> lovers pipeline is so important because you know Soap and Ghost bother the shit out of each other. You hear their fond annoyance. Do you understand how amplified this would be with a shared romantic interest? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?? ARE YOU HEARING MY WORDS
Warnings: mentions of ghost and soap torturing a man, soap getting off on Ghost’s skill
God, Ghost is good at what he does.
Soap had become so comfortable around the man that he sometimes forgot exactly how intimidating he was to most people. Well, he hadn’t forgotten, exactly. His presence radiated an unwavering confidence, no matter how well or how long you’d known him, but Soap had honestly gotten used to the mask a bit.
Yes, it was grim - the stuff of little kiddy nightmares. Shadows cut across it like blades, hollowing out the divots, making Ghost simultaneously deadly, and a reminder of the things that make life so precious. It divorced him from humanity, smoothing him out into something less, but also something so, so much more.
But it was also just his face. And when he was around the 141, and no one else, he didn’t use the mask, or his commanding aura, any more than absolutely necessary.
But here. Here he fucking used it, and the difference was subtle but extraordinary. He used it like the perfect weapon, to get the sniveling masses of cowardly flesh in front of them to break, and to give it up. Soap knew (from experience, unfortunately) how useful a simple psychological tool like a mask could be when extracting information from a hostile. Ghost wielded that tool with terrifying grace.
He hung back in the shadows of the room, but still kept an air of command. He was a constant reminder of the pain and eventual death waiting for the men they brought in, until they needed a heavier reminder, when he stepped forward. Then he tilted his head perfectly, making the shadows on his face even darker. He moved silently, like a specter over the ground. He spoke little, keeping the façade of his inhumanness as intact as possible. And, and this one surprised Soap a little bit, he didn’t choose to use his bulk in order to apply pressure. Instead of hitting, or slamming, or making big dramatic moves to scare their targets, he very slowly and delicately carved away at their body with a sharp little skinning knife.
It rarely came to that, though. Ghost had a reputation, and it’s not like Soap wasn’t also the catalyst of the pervasive fear-stench soaking into the walls. These things alone gave them a dearth of information before much blood had to spill. And that was good, of course. Soap had become more comfortable with torture than anyone had any right to be, but he didn’t actually revel in it. However, he could admit to himself, privately, that whether here or on the battlefield, he did love watching Ghost work.
Soap had never been more attracted to anybody in his entire life.
He needed to focus, was just as much in this room trying to gain intel like the rest of them, but he couldn’t shake Ghost’s presence. More than once he found himself staring at Ghost, watching him deftly flip the sharp blade in his skeletal fingers, instead of glaring at their target like he ought to be.
Once, when their current target needed just one more little push to break, Ghost took the hand that wasn’t holding the knife, and started gently petting the man’s face and hair. Soap had to fight to not shiver with the horrifying and erotic intimacy of the act.
It worked like a fucking charm - the man, previously only leaking a few tears, started sobbing and blubbering at the perverse sweetness, spewing the information they were looking for and then some. It was sick, it was fucked up, and it was so beautifully done. Death himself, wiping away the tears of a broken man.
He was the last of them that they needed to interrogate, and Soap let out a sigh of relief as they exited the room, finally done for the day. They needed to debrief, and then maybe he could go relieve his arching hard-on in the privacy of the showers.
If it's not to much trouble I would like basically anything (except angst) with soap I'm am so feral for him and the way you wright has me foaming at the mouth
A/N: Here you go, darling! A little thingy for early Christmas! This one turned out to be GN!Reader x Soap. :)🎄
The snow had finally covered the cobblestone streets and all the rooftops across the city. Hanging ropes of lights shimmered in a variety of bright colors, Christmas music and carols echoing along the market, blending with people's warm laughs.
You were standing outside of the shop's window, looking at the little things stacked on display, hands hidden deep inside jacket’s pockets. You shivered just before your boyfriend came out of the shop with a paper bag in his hand.
— Sorry for keeping you freezin’ so long, baby.
Johnny swung his hand open, offering you a big bear hug under his bulky arm. With his gentle and pure smile, how could you not accept his offer?
You clung to his side trying to warm yourself up. Soap was a walking radiator of your own and his cologne smelt so good lately. The delicate scent of wooden gum mixed with menthol and sweetness of sugar cane. He smelt like home.
— Mind if we go for a hot chocolate on our way back? — You asked him with that look on your face when begging for something, like a puppy.
— Yer cold?
He gave you a little concerned look, kissing the top of your forehead, just under the hem of your woolen hat.
— A little.
— Then, maybe this will help. Merry Christmas, bonnie. — Johnny handed you a little paper bag and kept looking at the priceless expression painting on your face. — Saw ye lookin’ at them.
— Oh, Johnny. Thank you, that’s so sweet!
Quickly like a little child you impatiently dug up the present hidden between the decorative papers – it was a pair of thigh socks with a little bow on each side of them.
— They’re so cute, I love them! Thank you, Johnny.
You lifted your chin to kiss your boyfriend’s lips and it didn’t end on just one, innocent peck on the lips. If not for the masses of people around, it could easily turn into full make out session in the middle of the street.
— Yer blushin’ — he pointed out, cradling you closer to his chest, before leaning to your ear. His hot breath tickled a sensitive spot there. — Now, ye really want that hot chocolate? ‘Cause I can’t wait tae fuck you silly in them.
If your pretty, frozen face could go even more flushed – it did, when the thoughts of another pleasurable night with Johnny became inevitable. With his bare hands, calloused by years in the army, wandering so gently along your skin, squeezing where you need it the most, John devouring each little detail about you just to hear your cute whines and moans.
yes, yes, vampire Ghost who tears the team a new one when he finds out fledgling Soap had been left to turn alone without a sire or coven to help him.
okay, fine, vampire Ghost who turns Soap himself, gets him through the changes easily, and they become each other’s coven.
UGH, if you insist, fledgling Ghost Soap who work their way through the changes together.
Oh… oh… what was that? Long time vampire Soap who’s been with the Price family since before their Captain was born? Ghost who gets turned on a mission where Price is supposed to watch his Six while Soap goes home to his coven and comes back to Price begging him not to be angry, but all Soap can think about is how Price smells like terrified fledgling.
Soap has raised his fair share of fledgelings, as vampires in covens often raise their young or freshly turned as a group, so he imagines Price had been assisting the fledgling as much as he could as a human, since he had been around them since he was born. Soap is filled with uncontrolled, volatile, makes your face so hot you’re kind of concerned rage when Price leads him to his own room. His den reeks of terror, but that’s not what makes him angry.
It’s Ghost, Simon, curled up in the corner of his den in a barebones nest quivering with fear. Fledglings shouldn’t be afraid. They had talked about this, they’d wait another year or so, Simon would come home to be introduced to the coven to make sure it was a good fit before he’d turn. Simon was supposed to turn unafraid, safe, comforted by Soap the entire time. An afraid fledgling would lead to a more difficult turning, a harder fight with the adrenaline as the body dies.
What makes Soap angry is that Price should have seen the vampire on the field before Ghost did. Price has an eye for vampires in a way Ghost never could. Price never should have let this happen— but what’s done is done.
And Ghost clings to Soap with fear, quiet whimpers escaping his throat as he digs his newly formed claws into Soap’s shoulders, shedding tears at the sight of blood, but that’s fine. Soap was going to help him turn, love him anyway, and if anybody had anything to say about Ghost having killed his own sire, Soap would take care of it.
That’s an absolute fuckin’ brainworm. another deeper kind of love. mhm.