#domestic ghoap >>>>>>

[rusticfurnace]

domestic ghoap. again. (posted this on twitter last month)

[salemlinnet]

some of those soft warmups i was talking about

[ghcstao3]

“Simon?”

Soap’s tone is gentle, light. It’s warm and inviting, a soft prompting for a reply that only has Ghost wanting to bury himself further into Soap’s hold within the comfort of their bed.

“What’s’t, darling?” Ghost mumbles, throat scratchy and rough with sleep. He sighs deeply, wishing to sink all the way into the mattress. Mornings with Soap always felt peaceful in a sense he never knows otherwise.

Soap hums, breath skating over Ghost’s skin as he moves his mouth closer to Ghost’s ear. He presses a chaste kiss to the hinge of his jaw before whispering in that same tone as before, “Need you to move your fat arse off my arm, Simon. It’s gone numb.”

Ghost scoffs, though he can’t be bothered to throw a haphazard arm back to swat at Soap like he might another morning. Instead he only makes it clear he wouldn’t be budging any time soon.

“You’re a strong man, Johnny,” he says. “Smart one, too. Figure it out yourself.”

Soap gives an experimental tug on the arm that is trapped beneath Ghost if only to prove the point that he had already tried his own solution when his limb remains in place.

“Just roll over a bit,” Soap insists. “I need to be able to feel my arm if you ever want me to jerk—“

This time, Ghost untucks his pillow from under his head and hauls it over his shoulder to smack an indignant Soap in the face. He bites his cheek to keep back a grin, but can’t help the way his shoulders shake in silent laughter.

“You’re insufferable, Simon Riley,” Soap hisses, though the words hold no real malice. Ghost feels merciful enough to shift over just a little so that Soap can finally free himself.

“You never had to go out with me,” Ghost retorts. He nestles beneath the covers again, already halfway to drifting back asleep. “So whose fault is it really, Johnny?”

“Och.” Soap swats at Ghost’s shoulder with his newly freed hand. “It’s yours for fallin’ in love with me.”

A quiet yawn drags out Ghost as he tucks his pillow back in its place. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Soap snorts. “Not spoonin’ you, that’s for sure.” The bed frame creaks with his weight as he leans forward to plant a proper kiss on the crown of Ghost’s skull. “I’ll wake you when breakfast’s ready, if I ever get this lousy arm to work again.”

Ghost listens to the gentle pad of Soap’s feet against the hardwood as he leaves the bedroom for the kitchen, laughing quietly to himself at Soap’s complaints.

And as the sounds of Soap milling about their flat begin to fill the air, Ghost falls back asleep with a faint, but fond smile on his lips.

[forsaire]

How Ghost and Soap demonstrate the five love languages to each other. They don't have just one as they will shower each other in love in every single way they can 😊😊

Physical Touch

Ghost loves touching Soap’s face. He’ll gently cup the side of his face and let his fingers trace down his chin, cheeks, and lips until he’s memorized every mark and feel even with his eyes closed. Ghost revels in the way that Soap looks up at him with complete trust and feels privileged he’s able to look into those beautiful blue eyes for one day more.

Ghost can’t get enough of Soap’s strong thighs either, their size just perfect for grabbing onto. He’s also quite the fan of a cheeky little ass grab when he’s feeling particularly frisky.

Soap loves touching Ghost’s hands and hair. Soap has gotten into the habit of absentmindedly playing with Ghost’s fingers when they sit together for meals, talk, watch a movie, or even rest their eyes in bed before falling asleep. He loves these hands that Ghost so often says are killer’s hands. But they feel so soft under Soap’s touch as Ghost allows them to be controlled so easily and maneuvered without fear.

Soap will also curl his fingers through Ghost’s hair, gently tugging at the strands and scratching his scalp in the way he knows Ghost likes. He usually tends to do this in the evening or when Ghost can’t sleep. Under his soothing touch, Ghost will quickly relax and soon be overtaken by sleep once again.

Words of Affirmation

Ghost hasn’t always had the most eloquent way of speaking. Words don’t necessarily come easy to him and he struggles with the awkward feel of them in his mouth some days. Often times, the words that Ghost expresses have deeper meanings that they both understand.

“Stay sharp.” – Stay safe. I can’t lose you.

“Do you want something to eat?” – Let me take care of you.

“I’m with you.” – I love you.

He way he speaks Johnny’s name is so tender and sweet that it can convey everything he ever wanted to say.

Soap on the other hand doesn’t have the same troubles with his words. He’s like a bull in a china shop in a sense. He has no reservation to say he loves Ghost’s. But one of his favourite things to do is pepper Ghost’s cheeks with kisses and softly whisper how beautiful he is into his skin. He’ll do it over and over again until he’s rewarded with a faint blush that spreads across Ghost’s cheeks.

Quality Time

Soap is an avid football fan and loves to watch the games on TV, getting very animated and passionate when he does so. Ghost isn’t that interested in the sport, but he still enjoys sitting next to Soap while they’re happening. He finds great entertainment in watching Soap’s face light up with happiness or fall in despair. Soap is also so passionate when he tries to tell Ghost who all the players are, what teams to root for, and even all the drama that has unfolded off the pitch. Although Ghost was never a huge football fan when he was younger, he recently found himself cheering for an amazing save alongside Soap during one of playoff matches.

Ghost is a fairly decent cook, having had to teach himself at such a young age, while Soap tends to like things that are done fast and easy. They enjoy cooking together, even if Soap just acts like an assistant the whole time. At first Soap was only allowed to cut certain vegetables and stir but the two of them have enjoyed learning together.

They both love going for drives and being outside when they’re on leave together. They’ll plan to enjoy the fresh air of a hike, climb, or swim when they get the chance. They’ll be out for 12 hours a day and come home exhausted to fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Acts of Service

With Ghost having overused his body as a weapon for so long, he tends to get sore nowadays. When Soap notices one of these days, he will happily provide Ghost with a massage, especially around his shoulders and back. Rolling out the knots and pain, Soap will watch as Ghost melts under his firm and delicate touches.

Ghost also tends to forget to charge his phone at night, so Soap will do it for him. Usually Soap will find his phone buried in the bedsheets and put it to charge after Ghost has fallen asleep or he’ll remember to do it in the middle of the night. Ghost’s phone has never run out of battery but not for a lack of Ghost trying. To this day, Soap thinks Ghost still doesn’t realize.

Ghost will clean Soap’s weapons and sharpen his knives whenever he is doing his own. He always makes sure to take extra care with Soap’s belonging because it could be a matter of life and death. And Ghost is going to make sure they both come home at the end of the day.

Ghost also doesn’t mind cleaning, the monotony and routine of it comforting in a way. He never thought he would get the chance to do domestic things so it welcomes it when he can and enjoys the feeling of being “normal”.

Gift Giving

Neither of them tend to give each other many gifts and only do it occasionally. Their lives in the military have taught them to be able to pack light and move fast. Both of them find that no object can ever replace the excitement and joy they get from just being together.

After they get married, Soap gifts Ghost a set of dog tags engraved with Simon MacTavish. Professionally, Ghost still answers to Riley – they learned this the hard way with a couple of mishaps and callouts to the wrong person while on a mission which led to undue confusion. Therefore it made sense to keep separate names while on a mission. But everywhere else in Ghost’s life, he is a MacTavish through and through.

Ghost always knows when Soap is nearing the end of his notebook and gets him a new one before its done. He will also give Soap a new set of nice pencils to work with as well.

But the most important gift they ever gave each other was their simple, gold wedding bands that lay proudly on their hands.

[storeecbrcod]

In light of recent events (watch your back, Activision), I’d like to share a domestic Ghoap thought, or add to an existing one.

Soap and Ghost, living together. Whether it’s on leave, or after their time in the military, whatever. Usually, they take turns cooking; Soap is a good cook, whipping up delicious and hearty meals like his hands were guided by God himself (even if it looked closer to a failing juggling act despite the results, much to Ghost’s amusement). Ghost likes cooking, even if his food isn’t as good as Soap’s, because he likes doing things for Soap to help him. He likes taking some pressure off of his partner if he’s had a bad or tiring day (acts of service, amiright?).

Soap loves cooking. It occupies his mind, it’s something he’s got a natural knack for, and the end result is always worth the effort. While he’s never been one for instructions, he’s always shadowed his mam in the kitchen, which has compounded over the years despite not really having a space to cook since he was 18 unless he was on leave. All in all, it’s cathartic and helps him overcome his pestering perfectionism with small accidents that have no effect on the heavenly result, most of the time.

One day, Johnny tried baking. Unlike cooking, it’s not quite as smooth. Whether it’s baking paper that won’t rip right and won’t sit in the tray, or accidentally messing up the measurements, or having to go out to the store again because he forgot something, or trying his hardest to stir every little lump out of the batter, it just isn’t working right. He’s frustrated, struggling to understand why nothing was working as the recipe says it should, and he’s about ready to throw the batch of still lumpy batter at the wall.

Ghost, having been out on some errands, walks into the apartment to complete silence. There was always some sort of noise; music, tv, Soap’s own humming or playful singing or laughter. Now, though, it was eerily quiet, and Ghost couldn’t help but revert to creeping around silently, trying to find Soap.

When he enters the kitchen, he sees a scene. Flour spilled onto the counter and ground, a batter-covered spatula lying on the counter surrounded by opened containers of ingredients, and a metal bowl of batter sitting amongst it all, alone. As Ghost rounded the island, he found Soap sitting on the ground, legs out in front of him and his back against the corner of the cabinets.

If it wasn’t for the pure defeat on Soap’s face, Ghost would have laughed. Instead, he sighed, his concern melting to calm. He placed his wallet, keys, and handful of mail on an empty space of counter, then sat next to Soap on the floor in silence for a few minutes. He could practically feel the frustration rolling off of the other man, Soap’s jaw clenching and unclenching in silent irritation.

“What do you call a baker holding sugar in both his hands?”

Silence.

“Ambidextrous.”

A reluctant snicker later, Soap’s burying his face against Ghost’s shoulder, groaning.

“Ye’r fuckin’ insufferable, Lt.”

“And you’re a useless baker.”

“Aye.”

“C’mon, I’ll help.”

Ghost helps Soap finish up, fixing the batter as much as he could and setting it in the baking tray. They cleaned up as it baked, though somehow Ghost ended up with a face full of flour, and Soap ended up with his shit-eating grin being wiped off his face in surprise when a white handprint ended up on his ass with an accompanying chuckle.

When the offending brownies were finally done, they tried them.

“Steamin’ Jesus, these are incredible.”

“Not bad.”

“What d’ye mean? They’re beautiful, Simon!”

“Needed salt. And batter was over beaten, but yeah. Not bad.”

For Soap, it was yet another surprising thing he’s learnt about Simon in his time of knowing him. He was a damn good baker, a talent he’ll be looking to take advantage of in the future.

For Ghost, it was the first time in a long time where the memories of his childhood weren’t exclusively bad. Right now, with Johnny, he could almost feel his mother’s hands on his shoulders, a whispered “Good job, baby,” breathed against his ear like she used to in their own kitchen, with their own batch of brownies.

[verdantcreek]

it’s the small victories 🌱

(inspired by my fic)

[cherryatombomb]

i think ghost would really like animals. like as a coping mechanism he just tends to watch a bunch of nature documentaries just as background noise but just ends up absorbing himself in them

and he's a little embarrassed abt it bc oh big macho man simon ghost riley knows a lot of animal facts?? isn't that super cringe??

so he just decides he'll take it to the grave with him. yep nobody needs to know

(until soap. obviously)

he just initiates his ritual of putting on an animal documentary when he goes to sleep and soap is so confused?? and ghost kind of forgot soap was in bed with him LMAO

he goes to turn it off but soap encourages him to keep it on

occasionally asks him for some animal facts every day. once ghost stops thinking he's making fun of him he just enjoys telling him abt it. it's just a sweet bonding time for them

[maiamars]

ghost approaching soap after he applied his face paint and he just starts cleaning a spot of paint near his left eye "you are going to smudge it into your eye, johnny"

gaz will admit later that his face paint was in fact totally ok

[rusticfurnace]

fist date in a long time after soap recovered.

[salemlinnet]

this is what plagues me

[mylarena]

i need more content of ghost carrying soap,,, like a firemans carry is cool and all and also probably realistic,,, but like,,,,, think abt him carrying him bridal style,,,, or soap clinging onto him like a koala,,,,, giving him a piggyback ride,,,,,,,,,, under his arm like a football,,,,,,,,,,, on his shoulders,,,,,,,,,,

soap complaining about his feet hurting just so ghost will give him a piggyback ride,,,,, another time denying that his knee is bothering him and ghost stopping and scooping him up into a bridal carry anyways,,,,,,, soap being dead tired while theyre walking and ghost picking him up and soap wrapping his arms and legs around him and ghost with one hand supporting him under his thigh and the other cupping the back of his head,,,,,, at the beach soap climbs up onto his shoulders to play that chicken fight game against alejandro and rudy,,,,, the taskforce playing a silly game of tag with waterballoons under the guise of training and soap is taunting gaz and not moving so ghost hoists him under his arm and fucking bolts,,,,,,,

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

So many projects, so little time... anyway, here's chapter 11, "The Battle-Sick"

Page 3 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable ?:

I was a wonderful thing, shaped for fighting, Loyal to my masters, I slayed living warriors, Friends and foes, I was a weapon of war. I shall never be avenged, shall I fall in battle, As I am cursed, in the eyes of kin and enemies, To be not a man, but a monster. I am starved, of blood and flesh, Alone I roam this land, a damned Beast.

Soap can feel Ghost’s gaze burning at his nape, questions left unanswered in the silent space between them.

In the span of a few hours, Soap saw someone else come out of Ghost’s actions. A man, buried years ago in dry earth, dead in all ways but physically. The man Captain Price mourned, the man he aspired to be.

The man that saved those children wasn’t the infamous Ghost. 

Soap brushes a shaky hand over his mouth, the metallic taste of blood still sticking to his teeth. He’s running out of adrenaline, he knows, and the wheezing of his breath seems to be only getting louder in the empty alleyways.

He trips over nothing, barely catching himself on the cold wall, when strong arms pull him up.

“Coffee shop, on our three. Hold on just a little longer.” Ghost murmurs, hand coming under his shoulders to support his weight.

Soap goes to answer, finding his voice weak and scratchy, “aye.”

Ghost’s breath on his neck is somewhat soothing, in a way Soap shouldn’t find from a man like him.

The coffee shop has seen better days, to say the least. The stairs to the first floor have collapsed, and the ground floor is completely trashed. Quite like everywhere else in the city, Soap bitterly thinks to himself.

Ghost lets him down on the only chair that seems stable in the shop, and turns to clear it of hostiles. Soap gets up to follow him, but his vision darkens the moment he tries to get on his feet, and he falls back with a huff.

It would’ve made him angry, to be left so useless, but…

Simon has been left paralyzed, defenceless, shoved a knife to his palm and bared his scarred throat, and still trusted him. Never looked at him with any less than…

Than what? What is that emotion, in Simon’s eyes, when he looks at Soap? He blinks away the dark tendrils encroaching on his vision, brows furrowed as he tries to keep a semblance of a train of thought.

Ghost returns before he can veer it back on track. “Please tell me you found somethin’ teh drink.” Soap groans.

“Affirmative, got us a tea.” Ghost spreads the supplies he gathered from around the shop on the table next to Soap, teabags among the bottles of water and scrap fabric.

Soap sneers, “awa’ an’ bile yer heid, we’re in a fuckin’ coffee shop and ye pull out tea, fuckin’ Brits-”

His list of expletives is cut by rough coughing, and Soap has to spit out the excess mucus on the floor. Ghost crouches down, and gently cups his cheek. Soap’s eyes snap to his. Whatever emotion is swirling in those dark brown eyes, he still can’t name, but it makes his heart twist.

Ghost tilts his head up, brushing fingers over the probably bruised skin of his neck, “have any trouble breathing?”

Soap’s breath catches, not from any physical wound, “no. Jus’... throat pain. Ah didn’t lose consciousness.” cold hands soothe over his bruises, making him involuntarily sigh.

Ghost nods, “tea will help with that.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckles as he pulls back his hands, Soap almost chasing them. Fatigue is starting to take its toll on him, and his head feels like it weighs more than a LTV right about now. A tap to his cheek makes him open his eyes (when did he close them?), “can’t sleep yet, Sergeant. Gonna clean your face.”

That’s the only warning he gets before a wet towel brushes over his mouth, sweeping over flaking, dried blood. “Surprised the wee ones weren’t afraid o’ either of us. One skull-faced bastard, the other looks like a damn vampire.”

Silent laughter shakes Ghost’s shoulders, “those kids were tough ones, swear they were about to fight me when we first met.”

“Tougher than they need teh be, at their age.”

Ghost’s movements become somber.

Soap catches one of the many questions floating through his tired mind, “why’d you save ‘em?”

The towel is thrown to the side, replaced by a dry one, “...I wanted to.” Ghost simply answers.

It doesn’t satisfy him, “that why ye worked with the Hunter?”

Ghost’s hands freeze for a short moment, before continuing to softly clean Soap’s neck. His words weren’t said with anger, but the harshness of them remained all the same. It leaves a bitter note in Soap’s mouth.

At what point did seeing Ghost get hurt by his words stop bringing any sort of satisfaction?

“I worked with the Hunter because… I worked with anyone. No questions asked, no job too dirty for me. Not that it was ever about money.”

Ghost lowers his hands, resting them in his own lap. His eyes drift downwards, lost in the past, “I did what I did because I didn’t know anything else. Survival meant fighting, and it didn’t matter who.”

Ghost rises to his feet, taking a cup off the nearby shelf and setting about to make the tea, “as long as there was blood on my hands that wasn’t mine, I knew I was alive.”

Soap opens his mouth, cruel words at the tip of his tongue, but he falters when Ghost’s really hit him.

Because he knows that feeling.

That hunger for violence, that need to feel bones break under his hands, a yearning stronger than anything for fresh blood. It is not a want, it is not something they take pleasure in. It’s simply the only way to feel alive. For Soap, it may be only for the Hunter and their soldiers. 

But when you’re constantly trying to survive, won’t the whole world start to look like an enemy?

“Why didn’t you stay with the civilians?” Ghost shakes him from his reverie.

The answer is stupidly simple. “I told ye we’re doing this together.” Soap stares deeply into Ghost’s widening eyes, “and I meant it.”

“But…” Ghost sighs, “we don’t have a way to find the Hunter.”

He hands Soap a cup, the aromatic tea somewhat pleasant for once. It is cold, but it does help the scratchiness in his throat as it goes down.

“Aye… We’ll-” a yawn cuts off Soap’s sentence, “we’ll need teh catch another fecker, maybe…”

Ghost’s eyes narrow at him, “what you need to do is sleep, Sergeant. You can’t even stand on your feet, can you?”

Soap scoffs, “‘course Ah can, ye weapon.” he thumped the mug down on the table, and held on it for dear life as he tried to rise from the chair.

Ghost caught him no more than 2 seconds later, when Soap’s face was about to have a very personal meeting with the dirty floor.

“Of course you can, huh?” Ghost goads.

Soap drops heavily back down, “wheesht.”

“Speak English.” he can fucking hear the smirk on Ghost’s lips.

Soap drops his head, finally giving in to the need to just crumple, “means shut yer puss…”

A hand on his hair surprises him, but Soap doesn’t dare move as fingers card through the tangles. It feels really nice… almost putting him to sleep.

Ghost’s voice is soft when he orders him, “c’mon, I’m sure we can find you a better spot for a nap than on a stool.”

He doesn’t really answer, far too knackered to be coherent. Soap feels the hand recede, and footsteps echo farther and farther away from him. A few minutes later, Ghost returns to urge him up, “set up some blankets and pillows behind the counter.”

Soap appreciates the attempt to keep him in the know, but at this point he’d let Ghost lead him over a cliff, and he won’t complain one bit.

The makeshift bed reminds Soap of the shitty pillow forts he would build with his sister back when they were kids, and the blurry memories make him suppress a laugh. With the way Ghost is staring at him, Soap thinks the giggles make him all the more concerned.

And what a concept that is. Ghost, concerned over his well-being.

Ghost lets him down carefully, wrapping him with moth-eaten blankets. Compared to the last “bed” Soap slept in, this is as good as a five-star hotel.

He can barely keep his eyes open, but Soap, as aware as he is in his compromised status, can’t let his guard down when Ghost turns to walk away. He manages to catch the sleeve of the giant man, and dark eyes turn to stare at him.

“Yer… yer not gonna leave me, right?” he mumbles.

Ghost stops, “just gonna go keep watch by the window. Not leaving.”

Sleep claws on Soap’s eyelids, and it takes far too much willpower to keep them open, “stay ‘here Ah can see ye… Don’ run off now…..”

The last thing he hears before he goes unconscious is, “never, Johnny.”

Gentle fingers card through his hair.

“Johnny.”

John groans, unwilling to open his eyes and start the day.

“Wake up, love.”

“‘S too early for that shite, let me sleep.” he burrows deeper into his pillow, enveloped in warmth and safety.

His pillow starts, very rudely, shaking with laughter, “fine, you lazy bastard.”

That voice… sounds familiar. Familiar in the way a knife’s weight is in John’s hand, in the way blood spills over his wounds, like the buzz of adrenaline in a fire fight.

Yet John feels… safe.

Gentle fingers card through his tangled hair. Why would it be tangled? Isn’t he at home?

“Can’t sleep yet, Sergeant. Gonna clean your face.”

John frowns, “my face is clean.”

Hands tilt his face up. There’s some sort of tackiness to his skin, he notices. A metallic taste bursts on his tongue.

John opens his eyes.

Dirty blond hair, messy from a mask pulled off non too kindly, rich brown eyes wide in surprise, dark like a grave’s fresh dirt. Scars leave valleys and hills on pale skin.

The features are there, but John can’t make sense of them. A stranger’s face, yet it feels so familiar.

Perhaps it is only the emotion carved into it, fear and shock twisting the man’s eyes.

Soap wakes up with a start, grasping tightly at the thin blankets wrapped around him. It takes him a few seconds to shake off the dream’s warmth, to feel again how cold the coffee shop really is. He takes a cursory look around - Ghost must have left for overwatch while he was sleeping.

He eventually forces himself to get up, encouraged by the fact that his legs stay somewhat steady under his weight.

“Ghost?” 

Soap walks over to the wider area of the coffee shop, where once there were floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed patrons to bask in the sun while drinking, but now are shattered.

In a dark, hidden corner, that Soap almost dismissed immediately, a huddled shape rested against the wall. Ghost’s dark gear blends near perfectly into the shadows. Soap is sure, if he wasn’t looking for the damn man, he’d never find him.

He has to step closer to actually see his eyes through the mask and darkness. Ghost is completely out, so still, he might as well be dead.

Soap huffs. In the entire time they’ve been fighting together, he’s never seen him asleep. The nearest thing to it was the rest in the shed, but even then Soap knew Ghost was constantly ready to strike, if it were needed.

Here, curled into a small ball, hands wrapped around himself, Ghost looks so unnaturally small and harmless. 

Soap doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Ghost shifts, murmuring something under his breath and curling further into himself. 

He scoffs internally and turns to find something to eat. The fuck is he doing, thinking this giant international criminal is cute. He blames that weird fucking dream he had, as well as a million different other excuses.

Soap repeats the mantra in his head ‘He’s not fuckin’ cute, he’s not goddamn endearing’, as he finds a couple of sandwiches that seem to be edible enough. He collects enough for Ghost as well, for when the bastard wakes up.

Whining from the dark corner makes him freeze.

Soap turns to look at Ghost, his shoulders now taut and shuddering, “...Ghost?”

“N-no… I wouldn’t… I’m sorry…” Ghost whispers, eyes scrunched shut.

Nightmare. Soap wonders if that’s what Ghost saw back in the shed. “Ghost”, he calls again, louder, the previous calmness he felt washed away.

Ghost’s hands crease his black jacket, leather gloves cricking in his tight grip, “I’m sorry… P-Price…”

He knows he shouldn’t get closer, that night terrors can make the friendliest of soldiers hostile, when shrouded by conjured nightmares and warped memories. But the sight of Ghost in that state makes Soap feel the need to do something, anything to help him.

He chances a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, “...Simon? Wake up, yer safe-”

Muscles bulge as they shoot up at him, Ghost wraps his hand around Soap’s, and in a blink, they’re on the floor. He pins him down by the neck, heavy breathing and shaking.

It hurts tenfold, to be choked for the second time in a few hours. Soap claws at the massive arms, attempts to lessen their heavy weight on his windpipe. Even in his sleep, Ghost is a force to be reckoned with.

When Soap sees those dark eyes open, searching wildly for hostiles, he thinks that perhaps, in his sleep, Ghost is even more terrifying. Fighting against the worst his mind can think of.

“S-Simon-” Soap manages to whisper.

The hands retreat instantly, and Soap turns to his side, coughing and massaging his wounded neck.

Ghost has crawled backwards until he hit the wall, eyes still wide open, their whites standing out over black painted skin. Soap heaves himself to his knees, moving closer to the shivering man. But Ghost shakes his head.

“Don’t-” Ghost says between breaths, “stay back.”

Soap, as he often does, refuses to listen, “why?”

Brown eyes flicker down to his neck before returning to his, “I’ll hurt you.”

“Ye won’t.” Soap stops in front of him, sitting back on his haunches.

Soap can see the tension still wrecking though Ghost, muscles trembling with fatigue and soreness. He chances a hand again, laying it on Ghost’s shoulder. The body under his palm freezes.

He leans in closer, tries to see inside Ghost’s eyes to his thoughts. 

This close, he can see just how pale his eyelashes are, how there are flecks of black shoot through the rich brown umber of his eyes. Something about them draws Soap in, in a way an oil painting would. How dark Ghost’s eyes are, how his pupils blend with the sclera.

“Johnny-” Ghost whispers, “the mask…”

Soap’s brows crease, “ye want me to take it off?”

“Please.” 

At his begging tone, Soap doesn’t hesitate, and slowly slides a hand over the skull, pulling it up and off.

Simon stares up at him, his eye black running down his cheeks, from tears or rain, he's not so sure anymore. At that moment, Soap realizes what emotion lingers in Simon’s eyes wherever he looks at him.

Faith.

Simon… has faith in him. More wholly than Soap remembers ever seeing.

Not just in life and death, but with this as well. With his most vulnerable moments. It shines through so clearly now, the serenity over Simon’s features the longer he looks at Soap.

He looks…

“Beautiful…”

Simon frowns in confusion, “what?”

Soap presses a thumb to the dark tear tracks, swiping under Simon’s eyes. “Yer bonnie. Never… noticed before.”

Simon opens his mouth to answer, and it breaks Soap from the trance he was stuck in. He pulls his hand away, as if it was burned, and wrecks his mind for a way to veer the conversation away from his stupid, weird behaviour.

Stupid steamin’ dream, stupid Simon with his stupidly pretty eyes, stupid-

“Ye said Price’s name. When ye were…”

Simon looks away, lips curving downwards minutely, “don’t remember.”

Soap sighs. Should’ve expected the deflection-

“He was… my captain. Before.” Simon murmurs, eyes on the broken shards of glass scattered on the floor. “I haven’t seen ‘im in years, not since I became legally dead.”

Soap can imagine. He remembers, even in his brief interactions with the Captain, just how much it was obvious that Simon meant a lot to him. If he knew Simon was Ghost, surely Price would-

“That’s it.” Simon murmurs, eyes alight with a new fire. Soap raises an eyebrow, and Simon turns to face him fully.

Gone is the softness in his tone when he says, “I know how we can get to the Hunter.” 

Ghost stands up, offering a hand for Soap, “we need to get our hands on a radio.” Ghost leaves him behind as he starts collecting their equipment.

Soap follows him, shoving a still wrapped sandwich in his hands, “what are ye planning, Simon?”

Those dark eyes stare at him with newfound conviction, as Ghost pulls the mask back over his head.

“There’s only one other person who would be able to locate the Hunter in this city.”

Soap’s brows shoot up when he understands.

“Captain Price…”

[sk3letical]

Ghost is a pretty heavy sleeper once Riley comes in

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 10 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

You didn't think I'd leave you in angst over the Christmas day, did you?

Previous chapter | AO3

The night is cold and damp; the light drizzle doesn’t warrant an umbrella, but it’s not very pleasant in any case. Ghost adjusts the collar of his coat to cover his neck better before shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he starts up the street towards his home. John walks next to him, seemingly unperturbed by the cold. Would stand to reason, Ghost thinks, if he grew up further up north and got through the SAS selection. It’s been years, yet it’s hard to forget—the harrowing trek to a bloody mountain with a time limit and in full gear.

“How’d you get your callsign?” Simon asks out of nowhere. He doesn’t mind the silence but can tell it’s not the same for John, who is probably still beating himself up for fucking up earlier. Simon's not a bastard; yes John hit a nerve back there but he didn't mean to. Simon is resilient, too, shrugging the hurt off as if it's nothing. He has no reason to sulk.

The Scott grabs the question like a lifeline. “At the end of the selection, actually. We were tasked to clean out several buildings to save the hostages. I’ve set the record. The overseeing officer said I’ve been as quick and efficient as a soap, and it kinda stuck.”

“It’s a good callsign,” Simon admits. It sounded ridiculous at first, so much so he was sure there had to be some embarrassing story behind it, as is the case with most callsigns. To earn it with skill is commendable.

“What about you? Ghost is probably the best I’ve ever heard,” Soap asks. Usually, Simon wouldn’t tell, but he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no reason to uphold the mystery now.

“I’ve been buried alive,” Simon says, the tone of his voice casual, as if he was commenting on the weather.

John barks out a laugh, probably thinking Ghost’s pulling his leg. Once he realises that’s not the case, he sobers up. “Shit, man… that’s fucked up.”

“Guess it is,” Ghost shrugs. It’s been a long time since he was able to tell what’s fucked up or not. “Alright, we’re here,” Simon takes out keys and lets John inside, clicking the lights on before he leads him to the second floor.

Simon’s flat isn’t much, but it’s his home. As soon as they enter, there’s a blur of tabby fur, and before Simon can say anything, John is crouching and scratching Sgt. Stripey behind the ears. “So you’re Stripey. Nice to meet ye, lad,” John says to the cat with warm affection.

“Careful, or you’ll end up wrapped around his claw,” Ghost warns, hanging his coat and putting his shoes away.

“Too late.” John chuckles, standing up and handing Ghost his jacket to be hanged. “You know, I’d have pegged you for a dog person.”

“I don’t mind dogs; I just like cats better. Always clicked with the little fuckers, ever since I was a kid.” He has no idea why he is imparting so much to John. On the other hand, it’s not like he’s still part of the top secret Task Force. He can have friends now, tell them things about himself, and let them in.

“Guess I can imagine a wee Simon feeding the strays,” John admits as he goes further into the apartment, looking around, obviously compartmentalising everything he sees.

Simon doesn’t say anything because John’s words struck a tad too close to home.

Thankfully, John doesn’t notice. His attention is currently held by something else. “Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?!” Soap exclaims and points at Ghost’s rig, proudly sitting on the desk.

“My computer?” Ghost cocks an eyebrow.

“That?!” Soap almost squeals, which is halfway between ridiculous and adorable, in Ghost’s opinion. Soap comes closer, leaning in to inspect the machine up close. “What are these?” he traces the acrylic tubes with an index finger without actually touching anything.

“Liquid cooling.”

“A…what?” Soap’s eyes widen. “Thought electricity and water don’t mix well.”

“You sure you’re the explosives guy? I said liquid, not water. You could use water technically, but it’s not a very efficient coolant.”

“How do you even… ye ken… keep it in?”

“It’s a closed circuit, look,” Ghost comes closer, shoulder brushing against John’s as he points out the reservoir with a pump, “you have your coolant here, then it’s distributed throughout the system. First, it goes into the CPU because it’s higher up, so I can use gravity to help the pump later. There’s a copper heat plate pressed to the processor; inside it is something like a little maze, so the coolant doesn’t flow through too fast and can actually take away the heat. Once out of the maze, it goes into the intercooler; here,” he touches a big black cooler attached to the top of the rig. “The liquid cools here; it works exactly the same as old radiators and is then used here in the graphics card. The cooling cover works pretty similarly to the one for the CPU, only it’s larger. Once the liquid is out of the GPU, it’s cooled again, here,” he points to another intercooler, “and, lastly, it returns back to the reservoir.”

“But… that’s so complicated! And what if it spills? That can happen, can’t it?” Soap looks at him, and Ghost can’t help but notice the curious shade of blue in his eyes as it catches the warm light. Thankfully, the question asked is interesting enough for him to focus on.

“Sure, but the liquid is safe as long as you don’t drown your power supply in it. And it’s more efficient and much quieter. Let me show you,” without further ado, Ghosts wakes the PC up and fires up a benchmark. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?” Soap asks, confused.

“Exactly,” Ghost’s smile is all smugness, and John finds it kind of endearing.

Soap laughs as soon as he gets Ghost’s point. When he turns to Ghost next, a fond smile plays at his lips, and there are crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes. “Ye really like this stuff, huh?”

It takes Ghost a few seconds to respond, mainly because John’s sheer radiance nearly blinds him. “I do,” he rubs at the back of his neck, a nervous gesture because he feels exposed and a little embarrassed. Usually, that would be a bad thing, but in this instance, it feels different because he knows John wouldn’t laugh at him. They met in a video game. Ghost’s goofiness is safe with him.

“Sorry if that came out wrong. I just wanted tae say I’m impressed. I have no idea about any of this. Maybe you could teach me some stuff?”

“Make you my Padawan, you mean?” Ghost raises an eyebrow.

Soap smirks, unable to hold Ghost’s gaze any longer. “Yer such a nerd, Ghost,” he shakes his head, still smiling. It could’ve easily been read as an insult, yet the way Soap said it sounds more like a compliment. “But aye, make me your Padawan, Master Simon,” Soap says and bows before Ghost. That settles the matter.

Before they can open a new topic, Soap is caught off-guard by a yawn. Glancing at his wrist-watch, he’s both surprised and unsurprised by how late it is. Time flies by when you’re having fun, especially with a good company, but Soap has been on his feet for close to twenty hours now and the past week wasn’t much better. The exhaustion is catching up to him.

“Go take a shower if you want, it’ll take me a few minutes to get the couch ready,” Ghost says and nods to the piece of furniture in question.

Soap thinks for about three seconds. “You don’t need to, I can sleep on it as it is.”

“Nonsense,” Ghost rejects the idea with a finality that bars any further discussion.

Soap holds up his hands in surrender, gathers a few items from his bag and retreats to the bathroom.

Ghost spends several minutes figuring out his own piece of furniture. The thing is, he’s never needed the futon, only the sofa. After multiple failed attempts, he finally finds the right angle and amount of strength to pull and push until the bloody thing unfolds and rearranges itself.

Only now, he is faced with a different problem. Ghost doesn’t have an extra blanket and pillow, which he really should’ve thought about earlier. It’s not a difficult issue to solve. He takes a quilt from the couch and swaps it for his own blanket. The linens were changed two days ago, John should be fine with it. However, the pillow stays in Simon’s bed. If he were to use the small one from the living room, he would have a stiff neck for at least three days. Not worth it. He wouldn’t stand for John to be cold, but the pillow should be just a minor inconvenience for someone as young and fit as Soap.

Ghost quickly gets the futon ready and opens the window to let in some fresh air. It smells of rain and winter, Simon’s favourite combination if anyone ever asked.

John emerges from the bathroom, flushed and slightly damp, dressed in a plain khaki tee and black briefs. Ghost lingers on him, though not for too long. That would be rude and a little creepy, right?

“If you wake up before I do, feel free to check the fridge, make yourself a coffee or tea, everything’s in the kitchen,” Ghost instructs him. “Sergeant usually sleeps in bed with me, but maybe he’ll get curious.”

Soap blinks a few times at the last piece of information before he realises that Ghost is talking about his cat. Right. There was no way he would invite Soap into his bed like this. Not that Soap would want him to, right? They’re friends, and it would be too soon in any case. John realises Ghost is looking at him as if he expects Soap to say something.

“Aye, sure. Thank you again for having me.”

“Sure,” Ghost nods, “sleep well, Soap.”

“You too, Ghost.”

Simon retreats to the bedroom, leaving the doors slightly ajar for the cat.

[ghcstao3]

Whenever Soap gets sent on medical leave, it’s almost a guarantee Ghost will follow him so long as there isn’t anything important he needs to do for work.

But the first time it happens, that Ghost is unable to join Soap on leave, he does everything in his power to at least see Soap before he’s gone—just so that he can give Soap a spare key to his flat.

Because, yes, while Soap does have his own place, parts of the Sergeant have settled in the dust of Ghost’s home just as well, and even if he can’t also be there, Ghost never wants to lose that presence.

(Eventually, of course, they’d officially move in together, but that sign of trust means the world to Soap, so much so that after getting that set of keys, he gradually moves his life, his space into Ghost’s flat just so that he had fewer excuses to go anywhere else but the new home incidentally created.)

[archergray]

So. I saw spoilers to MW3, got angry enough that my writer's block vaporated and wrote second fic to my soulmate au (you can find it here). No angst here, friends, just warm and fuzzy feelings (and some spiciness as well, because fuck everything, I'm doing what I want).

Summary: "Having a soulmate, Simon realised with a lot of surprise, didn’t change that much. Maybe it was because he subconsciously expected his soulmate to be someone like his father – someone who would try to beat him into submission, mould him into something he never was and never would be. He didn’t realise how much he feared it until he understood that Johnny, even as his soulmate, was nothing like that. He took Simon as he was. With patience and sharp wit and Scottish phrases that were as incomprehensible to Simon as they were when they first met." Or: Simon and Johnny have some thoughts on life after soulmates.