#ghostsoap dynamic

[bluefalcon-cod]

Chapter 7 is live - Blue Falcon (COD fic reader-insert/Ghost/Soap)

Ghost enters the game for good. And you— you’ve just been weighed. Measured. And found trespassing on territory you were never meant to touch.

📖 Read Chapter 7 on AO3

Excerpt:

You shift backwards, an unconscious slight movement, and he is moving in. Taking that opening for himself. Stalking closer. Bit by bit your rigid posture erodes. A step back, then two, you can’t help it. The tall shadow owns the space you fled. Falls over you. Finally, you hold, force yourself still. Do not retract further. Do not. It feels like playing dead in a lion’s den. You force yourself to look. Look right past his face – past where you’d search fruitlessly for some kindling of emotions. There isn’t one.

You can only outlast him. Freeze up and endure. Inhale. Exhale. That whole ordeal, till it’s over.

This isn’t Sergeant Poster Boy Johnny MacTavish—flawed, impulsive, easy to tilt off-balance. You played your game in the noise he made. Broke him slow. Quiet.

But this— This is what stands behind him when the noise stops. The silence that gives shape to the drums. That holds the rhythm, sets the pace—decides when the song ends. The stillness that waits behind all sound. The kind that settles over the living, sooner or later.

You just didn’t see it. Didn’t see who you were circling when you struck.

The longer he stares, the clearer it gets: This isn’t retaliation. It’s correction. Repossession— Not of what, but who.

You laid your hands on something that was never yours to touch. And now, he doesn’t need to lift a finger to take it back.

The silence doesn’t stretch—it tightens. And he takes it. Fills it. Makes it his. The longer you suffer his scrutiny, the more it feels like your pain belongs to him. Like he’s claiming it. Keeping it.

And you realize—you’re not being watched. You’re being measured.

It’s more than his eyes. It’s the stillness behind them. The stillness of someone who decides when things end. He tilts his head, skull mask leering down at you. Controlled. Certain. Not curious—deciding.

"You are not much of a threat, are you?"

That cuts. Straight where it hurts. Your fingers cramp around air, then around the fabric of your sleeves.

[xiixii]

The tallest, strongest and most dominant, beautiful and powerful omega

and his little alpha!

[623-74x]

fun first date ideas for you and your man

[theking-mustdie]

every time the ship has more chemistry than the canon a tumblr user gets their wings

[giotanner]

Sergeant John "Soap" Mactavish and Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - demolition expert bros!

Support the video on my tiktok

Print/sticker

(Every reblog helps me a lot! I am pretty new in the fandom)

[risetherivermoon]

Soap asks Price for his blessing before proposing to Ghost, and Price is just like: "What? I'm not his dad."

Soaps like: "Youre not?"

and when Soap retells the story to Ghost at the actual reception Ghost furrows his brow and goes: "Wait he isnt?"

[kazifrost]

Velcrows

[goatyuuji]

This ship dynamic >>>>>>>

[ohcaptains]

having the most violent and obscene ghoap thoughts where you live together as a throuple and one time during a pretty intense scene, you get super upset that you’ve made johnny mad, because he’s always the soft and gentle one. the sweet one, who teases but is never mad. never frowns and tells you off. his face never goes dark, and his dominance has never come from a place of meanness before, but in your subby, spaced mind, you think you’ve really upset him.

it doesn’t help that simon tuts. says, you’ve gone and upset him now, love, and that breaks you. makes you turn to johnny and pout through tears.

i’m sorry, you sob. johnny, i’m sorry.

simon laughs meanly at you. don’t see ya’ apologising for making me angry. and you don’t mean it, not really. you’re just in such a delicate space. strung out from coming a handful of times — from the mix of pleasure and pain, that you sob, but you’re always angry.

you don’t see simon’s jaw twitch. don’t see the way his face clouds over, because you’re too busy crying up at johnny, saying, johnny baby, m’sorry, until the tears build to hysterics, and simon’s letting go of your hands. johnny’s cradling your head in his lap, and he’s wiping tears from your cheeks.

hey, shh, shh.

um’ sorry, i didn’t —

i know, i know lass.

and just simon wringing his hands and not knowing what to do with himself, because it’s one thing knowing that he’s angry, but it’s different when you’re crying it up at him and ohhhh just. just simon sitting in the garden at night, smoking, and thinking about it, because you didn’t do anything wrong, because you’re right. he is always angry.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 3

Prompt: Hurt

Words: 5100~

TW: Distressing/Negative Sexual Experiences, Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Restraints, Intersex Omegas (NOT sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

Please note that all the Distressing/Negative Sexual Experiences are not between Ghost and Soap. I think this one is right on the line for dub-con, so proceed with caution if that's something that might trigger you. If this is missing any trigger warning please do let me know!

I've always had an itch to subvert the 'omega desperately needs to get fucked during their heat' trope, so I honestly shouldn't be so surprised that this one got away from me like it did.

Enjoy!

As an omega, Soap had started preparing for his heat a good month in advance, he’d gathered up his favourite nesting blankets and made sure they were freshly laundered, he’d scouted a good Heat-Hotel that was nearby and booked a room, he’d even secured a partner. Some of the other omegas on base had been touting this new matcher app, that they’d reportedly had massive success with, so Soap had decided to give it a whirl and signed up. What’s the worst that could happen, he was no doubt better trained than any of the civvies he’d be meeting up with. 

He’d been talking to an alpha named Dominic Wilckes and when the subject of his heat had come up, Dominic had asked if Soap was looking for a partner. With no reason to say no, Soap had said yes. He’s spent heats with and without partners before, and found accompanied heats to be much more manageable. 

Soap was in his room at the Heat-Hotel now, securing a layer of waterproof Heat-Sheets over his carefully arranged nest. When his heat was spiking he didn’t care, but when he was in a lull or was coming down, he hated having his nest being a messy, sticky, uncomfortable, ruined heap of blankets. So he’d learned how to weave a sturdy nest and had invested in specialty sheets that would keep it clean. 

His phone buzzed rapidly on the table, it was Dominic.

“here”

“safe n sOund solotions?”

“in the lobby”

“whr r u”

Dominic was a nice guy, but Soap could admit that the way he texted was a bit annoying. Having his messages open to send Dominic the room number reminded him that he hadn’t texted Ghost yet. He pulled up his location and sent it to his Lieutenant along with a quick text,

“At Safe & Sound Solutions, Room 348, Booked for three days, Should be back Tuesday.”

His message showed as being read within the minute and while he was waiting to see if Ghost would reply another message came in from Dominic,

“come down”

Soap reread the message, why would he need to go down to the lobby? Maybe there was an issue Dominic needed help with? Confused, but willing to help, Soap texted back a quick ‘On my way.’ and headed out, his riled instincts insisting he double and triple check that he’d locked the door to his room. That he made sure his nest was safe from intruders.

In the lobby, Soap found Dominic leaning up against the wall next to the lifts with a bag at his feet. Walking over, he tried to spot where the problem was. 

“Dominic? Whit’s wrong?” Soap questioned,

“Hey, John. Some of the people were giving me weird looks. I needed you to come to show them I’m not some creep hanging around for nothing.” Dominic stood from his lean and stepped into Soap’s space, bringing his arm up to rub a wrist over Soap’s nape. Scenting him. Soap let him, tilting his shoulders so the other man wouldn’t accidentally brush his mating glands, they got heinously sensitive when he was heating.  

“Oh, alrigh’,” Soap privately thought that Dominic was overthinking it, if anyone was looking at him weird it was for loitering around in the lobby, but not actually sitting in any of the many chairs scattered throughout. The lobby of every Heat-Hotel that Soap had ever visited always looked like Moses had called a plague of plush chintzy furniture down upon them. 

Soap led Dominic back into the lift, pressing the button for his floor. A chime from his phone brought his attention to the fact that Ghost had replied, he’d reacted to Soap’s message with a thumbs up and had sent back,

“Rog.” 

Ghost had a habit of reading his notifications as soon as he could, but often didn’t have the time to actually reply until later. 

“Who’s that?” Dominic asked, peeking over Soap’s arm to get a look at the screen. 

Soap locked his phone, the smile that had pulled up the corners of his mouth falling away. 

“Mah L.T. He likes tae know every’hings guid.” Soap replies, watching the numbers of the lift ding over to his floor and stepping out as the doors parted.

“Your L.T? What’s that?” Dominic crowded up against his back as he tried to finagle the keycard into scanning properly and unlocking the door. 

“Mah Lieutenant.” Soap pulls the door flush closed, grips the handle to make sure it’s sitting straight, then tries sliding the keycard through at a snail's pace. The light flashes green and he whips the door open before it can change its mind, sending a silent thanks out to Price for teaching him how to sweet-talk card readers. 

“Oh yeah. You're in some kinda military army thing right?” Dominic’s realization carried a strange tone of praise. 

“Yeah, U.K.S.F,” Soap clocks Dominics blank gaze and spells it out for him before he can ask, “United Kingdom Special Forces,”

A light comes on behind Dominic’s eyes, but a skeptical look crinkles his nose. “But can’t only U.K citizens join?” 

It's Soap’s turn to stare blankly, “Aye?” the answer carries a subtext of ‘you dumbass’ that Soap couldn’t have stopped if there were hostages at stake.

Soap watches Dominic’s confused look intensify. Good, they could be confused together.

“But aren’t you Irish?” 

“Nae!” Soap refutes, that idea in need of immediate culling, “Ah’m no' Irish. Ah’m a fuckin’ Scot!”

“Oh, I didn’t know Scottish people could join the British army?” 

Soap searches Dominic's face for any sign that he’s joking, Dominic looks earnestly back at him. 

Jesus Christ.

He’s not joking. 

“Scotland’s a par’ ae the U.K,” Soap says hesitantly, leadingly, begging Dominic to spend one brain cell on remembering his First Year geography lessons.

“Oh, Alright.” Dominic shrugs in a ‘whatever you say’ manner, that makes Soap think he’s doing it more to drop the conversation than he actually believes what he’s been told, “Are you already set up? When does your heat kick in?”

Dominic glances around the room, looking over Soap’s preparations, dropping his bag off his shoulder onto the desk pressed against the wall. Why a Heat-Hotel thought its room's occupants might need a desk, was the true mystery of the night. 

Soap shakes himself free of the disbelief clogging his brain, and checked his watch, “Wi’hin the ‘our, mebbe twen’y minutes?” 

Dominic shoots him an odd look again, clearly thinking something over.

“Whit? Whit’s wrong?” Soap glances around himself, but nothing looks wrong to him.

“Your accent’s cute, John, but it’s a bit hard to understand you. You know?” Dominic's tone is assured, almost complimentary, “It’s gonna be hard to know what you want if I can’t understand you.” He coaxes, like a parent reasoning with their toddler to not bite electrical cables. Like it’s what was best for everyone.

Baffled, Soap stares at him. He’s never gotten flak about his accent from his previous partners, everyone else had seemed to enjoy it. At least, Soap had thought they’d enjoyed it. 

“Aye,” Soap swallows hard, his stomach roiling “Eh- Uh- Yes. I can- Um- I’ll try tae- to speak,” Flustered, Soap stutters through his answer as he tries to flatten his accent, “I’ll try to speak more clearly.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Dominic nods at him, “Now,” he slaps at his own thighs, “Where are we setting up? On the bed?” He walks over to the bed, toting his bag, and starts rummaging through the nightstands, “They don’t have anything here, it's a good thing I brought my own stuff.” 

Soap eyes him as he approaches the nest, wincing as his tossed bag knocks free a carefully stacked pillow. Dominic clatters around a bit more, checking the minifridge and all the drawers in the desk. 

“Where’s your stuff?” He turns back to Soap.

Soap points wordlessly at the gutted dufflebag he’d carried his blankets over in. 

“Oh, you don’t use toys? A good omega? Like whining on your fingers instead?” Dominic’s voice dripped with sudden lascivious intent, he dropped his head to eye Soap through his lashes, licking his lips and petting his hands over his bag, “That’s okay, baby. Alpha will take care of you. I’ll give you everything you need.”

Soap inhaled shakily. He must not laugh. If he laughed he’d be out of a heat partner and his instincts would insist on him moving the nest. If he moved rooms he’d have to update Ghost. Ghost would worry about why he moved rooms and insist on checking on him. If his L.T came within one city block of him when he was on his heat Soap was dragging that alpha into his nest and not letting him leave. Soap did not want his L.T to write him up for fraternization. 

He must not laugh. 

“Oh yeah?” Soap eked out. Dominic must take the breathiness of his voice to be anticipation as his look only grew more seductive. 

“Yeah, baby. Come get comfy in your nest and Alpha will show you the presents he brought.” Dominic pats a hand on the nest, then gives it a surprised glance, “These are the blankets you want? They’re not very soft.”

Soap explains about how he doesn’t like his nest getting dirty as he crawls up onto the bed, petting a proprietary hand over his nest. It’s not like the blankets were scratchy terrycloth or anything, they were Heat-Sheets, they were made specifically for heats, they wouldn’t sell if they weren’t comfortable. 

“Here,” Dominic reached forward and Soap frantically knocks the hand away before it could tear into his nest. The judging look that Dominic shot him was completely uncalled for. What kind of psycho fucks with an omega’s nest. 

“What?” Dominic furrows his eyebrows at the omega, “I was just gonna show you a better way to do it. You could put a soft sheet on top, so you’re not laying on something so rough. I know omegas are super sensitive about that kinda stuff.”

“Nae- No. No, it’s fine like this. Thank you, Dominic.” Soap assures, sliding over to sit on the bed directly in front of Dominic, firmly between his nest and the alpha. 

After eyeing him for a moment longer, Dominic shugs and turns back to his bag, muttering something about omegas being so picky under his breath. 

“I got you that water you like,” he says, pulling three one-litre bottles of Volvic mineral water out of his bag and setting them on the nightstand. Soap felt warmed and a touch shocked, he’d only mentioned that he likes Volvic best in passing. The warm feeling vanished when the next item Dominic pulled from his bag of tricks was a tall omegaen guard-collar.

“I know it’s usually that alphas wear muzzles for heats and omegas wear collars for ruts, but the skin on my face is super sensitive and I’ll get a rash if I wear a muzzle,” Dominic explained, handing over the collar when Soap hesitantly reached for it. 

It was made of good thick leather, fastening with two buckles in the back instead of a cheap zipper. The things that were throwing Soap off were that it was much taller than the typical guard-collar, how it flared out at the bottom to cover over his trapeziuses, and the four D-rings spaced around its middle. It honestly looked more like a posture-collar. 

“I was looking into the failure rate of guard-collars and this one has amazing reviews and no accidental bites,” Dominic supplies, tapping at the collar in Soap's hands, “Do you need help putting it on?”

Soap absently nods, not really processing what’s being said to him, and finds the contraption out of his hands and strapped around his neck within two heartbeats. Hands coming up to scrabble at the new pressure squishing his mating glands Soap gives a startled yelp and Dominic quickly grabs his hands. Shushing and cooing at him, giving his hands a firm squeeze when he tries to pull away. 

“It’s alright, omega. You’re doing so well.” Tuning out Dominic's crooning, Soap focused on calming his breathing.

In for four, hold for four, out for four. In for four, hold for four, out for four.

With his breath under control, Soap can admit that the collar isn’t as restrictive as he’d feared, he can breathe fine, and turn his head. Looking down or up presses a bit, but it’s not terrible.

Focusing on himself for a moment also revealed to Soap that he’d been so busy judging Dominic that he’d completely missed his body cresting through pre-heat. Taking another deep breath Soap warns the alpha that he’ll be going into full heat in a minute or two and watches the shocked look take over Dominic's face. It’s not surprising to Soap that Dominic hadn’t noticed, Soap’s scent has never been particularly loud and he’s not throwing himself at the alpha like the needy heat-drunk omegas do in films. 

The next few minutes are admittedly blurry to Soap as his body plunges into full heat, when he comes back to himself he’s face down with his ass up in the air and Dominic is playing between his thighs. By the wetness dripping down his legs Soap guesses that he’s already cum once, that or Dominic drools more than Eas A’  Chual Aluinn. 

Giving a pitching whine, Soap tries to get up onto his elbows and finds that the guard-collar wasn't Dominic’s only gift for him. There are soft leather cuffs secured around his wrists, latched closed with simple carabiners and attached to one of the D-rings of his collar with a short chain. Stopping him from lifting his head more than about twenty centimetres away from his hands and, consequently, the bed. 

“Do- Dominic?” He pants through his confusion and feels the man pull his tongue and what felt like three fingers out of his hole. 

“Back with me, omega? You’re doing so well. Getting so wet for me. Cumming so pretty.” Dominic rumbles, reverent fingers coming back to pet over Soap’s twitching hole. 

Soap pushes back into the touch, feeling achingly empty, his lower belly cramping with the need to be filled. 

“Alpha, please,” he whines “Need your knot, please, please, knot me, ple-”

“Hush.” Dominic commands and the omega’s jaw snaps shut, “I’m not done with you yet, omega. Be quiet and settle down. Take what alpha gives you.” 

Tears prickled behind Soap’s eyes. He got his elbows under himself and lifted his head up off of the nest as far as he could, breathing easier without the blankets in his face. He yelps when hot suction suddenly seals around his cocklet with three fingers plunging back into his hole to bully his sweet spot. Thighs shaking, Soap is pushed into another orgasm, face falling back into the sheets, muffling his squeals when Dominic doesn’t let up. Hard sucks and forceful strokes propelling him through one orgasm and directly into the next. 

His honest yelping coaxes Dominic off his cocklet, “Poor omega,” The alpha croons, petting over his thighs and grabbing at his ass, “So needy. It’s okay, alpha’s here. Alpha will give you what you need.” 

“Knot- Knot me. Alpha, please. Need it.” Soap begs shamelessly, the heat roaring through him stoked by his untied orgasms, his body painfully demanding for him to be knotted and filled.

“I don’t know,” comes Dominic’s teasing reply, leaking more false sympathy than Soap’s hole was leaking slick, “Have you been a good omega? Do you deserve my knot?” 

“Yes, Yes.” Soap nods as much as the collar allows, still careful to smother his accent, “Please, need it.”

“Okay, omega. Alpha will help you.” Dominic’s fingers pull out of him and an actual sob escapes Soap when instead of a cock, he feels a tongue push into his hole. He purposely turns into the sheets to muffle his cries, his instincts rioting and his climbing temperature making him feel sick.

A brief unwelcome stroke over his asshole yanks him from his spiral. His head snaps up, eyes wide and stinging with unshed tears. Did he imagine it? His chest heaves and he freezes perfectly still, staring blankly down at the tangle his nest has become. 

A finger, wet with what he can only assume is his own slick, prods past his rim up to the second knuckle and Soap gives a startled yowl, “Nae! Nae! Donnae do tha!”

“No?” Comes Dominic’s skeptical tease, his free hand squeezing goadingly at Soap’s hip, “My poor Omega doesn't want all his heated holes nice and full?”

Soap frantically shakes his head, lacking words, but filled with denial. Tears knocked loose and coursing unseen down his cheeks.

“Alright,” Dominic agreed, no less skeptical, but slowly withdrawing his finger regardless.

When Soap felt that same finger slide down to line up with his hole’s entrance the omega is willing to admit that he may have come a little unglued.

He snarled, wriggling and kicking back at the alpha, yanking bruises into his wrists in the shape of the cuffs that bound them. Soap managed to thrash his way upright and huddled up against the headboard. Hissing at the flabbergasted alpha knelt at the foot of the bed, giving another throat tearing snarl when Dominic tried to reach for him. His instincts in full control and having decidedly assessed the alpha to be a bad heat partner. 

Keeping his full attention on the man, Soap brought his wrists up and bit open the carabiners, untethering the cuffs from the collar then unfastening the cuffs to slide them off altogether. His freed hands immediately moving behind his neck to unbuckle the collar, fumbling blindly and growling with bared teeth when the alpha made a move towards him. Managing to finagle the first buckle loose, he unhooked the second with much more finesse. Tossing the collar aside, Soap heaved a breath of relief, hands coming up to rub at his sore mating glands, the glands feeling nearly bruised from the constant pressing of the collar. 

“John, Calm down,” Dominic spoke up, voice slow and hesitant, “Everything’s fine, stop freaking out,”

Soap would have liked to close his eyes and regroup, but really didn't like the idea of leaving Dominic unsupervised. Instead he started up his breathing exercises again while keeping the alpha firmly within his sights.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

“That’s good. Just calm down,” Dominic praised, stretching forward to reach for Soap’s drawn up knees. 

Soap tossed the idea of regulating his breath out the window and drew himself up, “Dominic,” He ground out of a throat that only wanted to produce growls, “Do. Not. Touch. Me.” 

Dominic sat back on the bed, stymied, thoroughly confused, and a little offended. 

Soap’s temperature was spiking, though the want to be knotted and filled had completely vanished. Falling forward onto his hands, Soap panted for air, sweat pouring down his skin. His vision was fading, the sound of Dominic saying something coming through muffled, like his ears were stuffed with cotton. Chills and prickles raced up his spine to dance over his scalp. His throat felt like it was shrinking to the size of a straw. 

Something wet touched his bottom lip and he was automatically gulping down the water before he consciously made the decision to drink. The ringing faded from his ears just enough for him to hear Dominic.

“-hn, I called the emergency line. There’s a nurse comi-”

Soap’s vision blacked out.

When he blinked back to himself he was flat on his back with something cold pressing against the nape of his neck and his legs being held aloft by a beta woman that was standing beside the bed. Struggling to get his eyes to properly focus, he grunted his confusion.

“Hello, Mr Mactavish. I’m Kelly. How are you feeling?” The beta, Kelly, spoke with a voice that was friendly, but not perky. More of a matter-of-fact warmth. 

“Pre’y shite,” He groaned out, letting his eyes fall closed again as he rubbed at his face. Dimly registering that a thin blanket had been draped over his hips to cover his unmentionables.

“Yeah, I’d guess so,” Kelly commiserates, gently lowering his legs back onto the bed, “Could you keep your knees up for me? Just like that. Perfect. So, Mr Mactavish, you’ve just had a rather bad bout of Heat Rejection,” Kelly informs him, while keeping a grounding hand on his obediently raised knees, “It’s completely natural and not at all life threatening, the symptoms should level out within the next twenty-four hours. You’re welcome to ride it out in the medical suite here with us, or if you have someone that you can call that can sit with you for that time you’re free to leave.”

Soap slowly thinks this over, cracking open an eye and blearily noticed that the room is empty of anyone but Kelly and himself. “Dominic,” He grunts, not quite managing to make it pitch up into a question.

“I asked Mr Wilckes to wait in the hall, as I wasn’t sure if his presence would make you uncomfortable.” Kelly is a consummate professional, but Soap thinks he can detect hints of scorn flitting about the corners of her eyes, “I can call him back in if that’s what you want.”

“Nae.” Soap denies, “Nae, I dun wan’ ‘im ‘ere. If ye coul' pass me mah phone I’ve someone tha’ can take me outta y’ur hair,”

Kelly kindly fetches his phone, though she doesn’t let him sit up to make the call. Eyeing Simon’s contact, he mentally apologizes to everyone on the base for the chaos he’s about to unleash, then hits dial.

He’s barely had the time to move the phone to his ear when the call is picked up.

“Johnny?” Ghost’s harried voice barks down the line, “What’s wrong?”

“Why’s some’hing gotta be wrong fer me tae call ye, L.T,” Soap bitches, trying to calm Ghost down from the lather he’s no doubt already worked himself into, “Gonnae gi’ a man a complex,”

“What’s wrong, Johnny” The voice that rumbles from the phone is pure domineering alpha and it kicks a reflexive placating whine from Soap’s chest. 

“Si, ah need ye tae come ge’ me,” Soap mumbles down the line, his bravado drowned by the sudden twisting need he has for Ghost to be here with him. 

“I’m coming, Johnny.” Is the immediate reply, and by the rustles coming from Ghost’s side of the call, Soap knows he’s hauling ass, “Can you stay on the line? Are you hurt?” 

“Ah’m fine, Si. Ah’m no' hurt,” Soap lets his eyes fall closed again, ignoring the judgmental look Kelly shoots him for his little fib. In his own defense, he’s not physically hurt. From what he knows of Heat Rejection, his body is just gonna be all kinds of outta wack while his hormones try to rapidly bring him back down to baseline. For now, he’s content to listen to the sounds of Simon snapping at any unfortunate soul that dared get in his way. Soap only realises that he’s begun purring when a quiet answering purr comes from Simon. 

The slam of the room door opening jolts Soap out of the calm daze he’d fallen into and he reflexively punts the most pertinent object at the intruder. Unfortunately, that object happened to be the phone he’d been holding, even more unfortunately, the intruder was Ghost. 

Ghost easily ducks the unconventional projectile and covers the distance to the bed so fast, Soap could have sworn he teleported. From Kelly’s jump she also wasn’t expecting a man of Ghost’s size to move with that speed. 

Spooky bastard, his L.T.

“Ghost!” he cheers and is climbing up the alpha to nuzzle into his neck before he can rein in his rampant instincts. 

Omega and alpha freeze, Soap midnuzzle and Ghost with his hands reflexively clamped around his Sergeant’s bare thighs. 

Kelly, the blessed angel she is, gently clears her throat. Effectively snapping the awkward tension.

“Mr MacTavish is experiencing Heat Rejection and needs someone that is able to stay with him for the next twenty-four hours, or until his symptoms abate.” She looks up at Ghost, clad in his full skull-plated balaclava and half his field kit, without fear. Soap must have called while he was busy terrifying the rooks, “Can you do that?”

Ghost gives her a solemn nod, “Yes.” 

“Perfect,” Kelly starts listing symptoms, proper care practices, and things to watch out for when dealing with Heat Rejection and Soap is man enough to admit that he didn’t listen to a lick of it.

He was busy oscillating wildly between bone shaking horror that he was clinging to his Lieutenant while bare as a newborn, a deep seated greedy pleasure that Simon had come for him without question, and the brainless need to purr and rub against this perfect alpha until the rejected alpha’s scent was gone from his skin.  

Ghost’s hands gently squeezed his thighs, then loosened as he leaned forward a bit to encourage Johnny to stand on his own. Soap gave a petulant whine, but a reassuring purr and a gentle pat to his thighs had him reluctantly hopping down. Before his instincts could coax his better sense into indulging in a full blown pout for having to give up his prize, he was distracted by the sight of Ghost knelt at his feet holding out a pair of trackies for him to step into. 

If the mere thought of any kind of sexual touch didn’t currently make Soap want to run all the way back to Alba, Ghost on his knees for him would be a very enticing image, he couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t be the only thing on his mind the next time the need to let off steam hit either. For now, however, Soap was tired to his core and was pitifully grateful for the help as he stepped into the trousers, letting Ghost draw them up over his hips. 

Feeling like naught more than a bairn, Soap threw his arms up at Ghost’s gesture and let the man pull a shirt over his head. The impression was not helped by Ghost then immediately picking him up and perching him on his hip. The man was only eleven centimetres taller than him, where did he get off manhandling him like he was some kind of waif. Soap grumbled to himself, but was disinclined to actually demand he be allowed to walk on his own. Content to wrap all his limbs around Simon, like a particularly lonely limpet, and purr like a motorbike while rubbing their jaws together. 

There was a bit of a scuffle when Ghost had to convince him to let go and get in the car, but by the time the car was parked again Soap was barely conscious. He dully registered Simon picking him up out of his seat, the tension falling out of his muscles when he recognized the smells of their base. He thought he heard Prize and Gaz, but their voices were far away and the rumble of Simon’s chest was nice against his. 

Johnny cracked open an eye when he was plopped onto a bed, content to drowsily track Simon as the alpha threw his duffle, once again stuffed to bursting with blankets, next to the laundry bin. Simon heading for the door sent an unpleasant jolt through him and he whined forlornly, desperate to keep his alpha here with him.

“I’m going for drinks and food, Johnny,” Simon assured him, coming back to pet a hand over his warhawk, “I’ll be right back, I promise,”

Johnny whined again, but did nothing more to stop Simon from leaving. He could also do nothing to stop his instincts from insisting that he had disappointed his alpha and the man was never coming back. Trying to appease the gordian knot his logic and instincts were tying themselves into, Johnny started rumpling around in the bed he’d been deposited onto to make up a new nest. A deep rolling purr bursting from him when he realized it was Simon’s bed. No doubt the alpha’s instincts were also going haywire, demanding he protect the omega.

No better place than the heart of his own territory for that, Johnny supposed. 

The door opened and Johnny’s reflexive hiss broke into another purr, the mere sight of Simon cutting through his anxieties. He actually barked a few ecstatic chirps when the alpha dropped lovely soft clean scentless blankets onto the bed. Johnny hadn’t chirped since his age was in the single digits, but Simon bringing him blankets -his alpha contributing to their nest-, was really doing it for him. 

Johnny lost himself in weaving the perfect nest, as he always does, and once he deemed it faultless he looked for his alpha. 

Simon was standing, backed against the wall on the other side of the room, with his hands palms out and his chin tipped up to expose his throat. His bare uncovered balaclavaless throat, to match his bare uncovered balaclavaless face. 

Oh, Johnny's alpha was perfect.

The omega might have gotten a bit overwhelmed by the sheer excellence of his alpha as he immediately went limp to flop and roll in his nest. Catching a glimpse of Simon flinching forward at his abrupt fall before realising what Johnny was doing and assuming his non-aggressive stance again, with a perfect peachy pink blush creeping up his throat to bloom over his cheeks. 

“Alpha,” Johnny called him over, patting invitingly at the nest.

Simon took a hesitant step forward and was pulled the rest of the distance to the bed by Johnny’s delighted chirps. The omega was still flopped, but curled around just enough to snag the loose fabric of Simon’s pants, retracting his hand and shaking it out with an unhappy whine when the fabric’s rough texture offended him. In the next second Simon stood before him in only his knickers. Johnny doesn’t think he’s ever seen Simon strip that fast, including that time when Simon's clothes had actually caught fire. 

Johnny gives a surprised meep, gazing wide eyed at the alpha stood vibrating before him, waiting for permission to enter his own bed. Then gets over it and hauls the man down into the nest. Pushing him around until he was in the perfect position for cuddles. Johnny purred, burying his face into the warm nook between Simon’s arm and his side, whining inconsolably when the alpha lifted his arm to give him more room, only purring again when he put it back where it was.

A hand comes up to hesitantly pet over his back, creeping upward to scratch across his nape and dig into the base of his warhawk. Johnny feels his purr drop down his throat to resonate in his chest. Announcing for all who cared to listen that Johnny considered himself to be perfectly safe, cared for, and comfortable. An answering purr kicked on in Simon’s chest and Johnny let himself drift off. 

Knowing Simon wouldn’t hurt him.

Thank You For Reading!

Let's all pray that Dominic wasn't still in the hall by the time Ghost got there, or pray for the opposite, depending on how much you hate Dominic.

So, did y'all know that Tumblr has a "4096-text-characters-per-block limit." ? Cause that was a fun discovery to have while I was trying to put this post together.

I'll admit that this one got minimal editing, if you spot something wrong lemme know!

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[forsaire]

What do you think about hard of hearing!soap and wheelchair bound! Ghost

i adore Soap who has to wear a hearing aid ♥ it makes sense given his propensity towards demolitions his whole life, the momentary awe leading to issues in the future

and just the thought of things like Ghost whispering he loves soap into the ear that doesn't work very well and soap doesn't hear him. or whispering filthy things just for fun, and then he gets a hearty slap across the shoulder when he accidentally says it into soap's very much working ear

but besides the fun, there's such an intimacy in ghost purposefully living his life so its easier for soap. tries to talk while facing him so soap can look at his lips, always sticking to one side when they walk together, putting soap's hearing aids to charge when he fell asleep and forgot, putting captions on everything they watch together, ahhhhh

when it comes to ghost in a wheelchair, i've had fewer thoughts about that one. to me i think maybe it would be hard for ghost to accept. he'd always been incredibly skilled, quick, nimble his whole life. he was big and strong, always there to protect soap, but now he feels he cant do that any more.

im curious how that would happen, there's so many different ways, but if it was say tacking a stray bullet to protect soap, i can see how soap would also harbour a lot of guilt about that because the injury would have forced them to uproot their lives and quit the military.

it's an interesting dynamic, maybe one dripping with most angst

[lost-my-hed]

First They’re Sweet

It’s been a long time since Y/N has felt good. They thought they knew what it felt like (and what it was supposed to look like), but they were wrong. As time passes they graduate from university, find themselves in a rut. They do the same boring things day in and day out and haven’t been feeling much of anything lately. So, by default, adrenaline is no where in sight. Y/N gets the bright idea to make a trip to the local tattoo parlor to (hopefully) cure them. However, they don’t know what they want or if they even want anything at all. They are however desperate to feel something.

The employee at the shop has no trouble at all seeing that Y/N is not at all ready to be getting anything etched or poked into their skin. He knew it from the moment he saw them looking all starry eyed at the drawing on the walls. And it definitely wasn’t a surprise when they flushed all pink when he finally caught their attention.

Or, reader thought they were good, but boy were they wrong.

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

Chapter List

Late Night Run

Rejection is Redirection

Going In Blind

All Is Fair In Love And…Mohawks?

Self-Applied Pressure

First Blush

I Know You

The Aftermath

Moving On And Getting Over

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

i do not own the rights to these characters. mdni.

[xiixii]

They're just going to spend the whole mission flirting, and in fact, they don't even remember what they were working on anymore

[thisreputable]

halp alpha!soap getting bitched by alpha!ghost. soap who's cocksure and arrogant and convinced no other alpha can take him on until ghost comes along and proves him wrong with impunity. soap who's left whimpering and sniveling and hanging off of ghost's knot over and over until the change takes. until he's slicking up and presenting and begging to be bred by ghost. send oxygen h e lp m e

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

Nothing Permanent But Change pt.5

[ tw for suggestive language and innuendos ]

cross-posted on ao3

Millen jerked awake to laughs ringing in his ears.

His eyes were wide and still glazed from sleep, and he was so groggy that he couldn’t remember why he had oatmeal on his face and an empty cup of coffee drooping from his hand.

The morning filtered back to him in a rush.

*  *  *

He’d woken up at four in the morning due to the merciless pain in the base of his spine that told him it was going to rain later, and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. At five-thirty, he’d gone with Gaz and been spared the laps as thunder split the sky with a rumbling crack, and as they watched lightning stab jagged forks into the distance, Millen coerced Gaz into ‘not risking it’ and instead just heading straight to the gym.

He acted as Gaz’s spotter for about forty minutes before Gaz switched to the treadmill instead and Millen went straight to the pull-up bar, which was one of the few exercises that actually made his back and knees feel better instead of worse.

“Goddamn, mate,” Gaz said, impressed as Millen switched to using one arm instead of two. “For a skinny guy, you do have some muscle mass.”

Millen shot him a droll look. “I love that nobody has any respect for superior officers here.”

Gaz barked out a laugh as the earth shook beneath the force of the storm outside the safe confines of the building. “You have to earn respect here. Didn’t Ghost tell you that upfront?”

“He told me a lot of things. I didn’t know what to believe.”

“Oh, Ghost never lies. Like, ever. He’s bluntly honest to a fault, so whatever he tells you, you can trust as the cold, hard truth.”

“Are he and MacTavish really… you know?”

Gaz groaned softly. “They keep me awake at night. The walls are thin.”

“Bloody hell.”

“I know, right? It’s like some romance novel type shit. Golden retriever meets black cat energy.”

Millen just stared blankly. “What does that mean?”

Gaz shot him a strange look. “It’s like an internet relationship trope thing. Mate, do you never get online?”

“I used to have a MySpace.”

“Jesus Christ, man. That site doesn’t even run anymore. Don’t you have, I dunno, Tumblr? Instagram? Anything?”

Millen just shrugged. “I don’t have any reason for it. Who do I have to talk to?”

Gaz sighed, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “It’s not about knowing people, it’s about meeting people. You could make a lifelong friend, or something.”

“I don’t need friends,” Millen said, almost petulantly.

“Introvert?” Gaz guessed. Millen muttered in agreement. Gaz nodded sagely. “Hey, no judgement. I’m an ambivert myself, but I get not wanting to be buddy-buddy with people right away.”

Millen hesitated, glancing up. Gaz caught his eye.

Millen felt a flush of something unexpected and hot. It was so sudden that it was gutting, in a way, and made his knees feel weak. He snapped his gaze away so forcefully that he stumbled back a bit.

Gaz reached out and gripped his bicep to steady him. “Woah, you solid?”

“I’m fine,” Millen said hoarsely. Gaz’s fingers encircling his arm felt like a brand. The brown-eyed sergeant was too close, and his blunt beta fangs were as white as ivory, glinting off the overhead lights. The fluorescent buzz droned in Millen’s skull and made the air between he and Gaz crackle with a static the xi didn’t understand.

The richness of cocoa overlaid the oceanic warmth of coconut that pumped out from Gaz’s neck glands was so lovely, so deep and soothing and familiar, a meal all in itself, a tantalizing delicacy that Millen longed to taste. He was about five seconds away from being seduced into flicking his tongue out in the air like a skink, just so the vomeronasal organ at the roof of his mouth could soak in every molecule of that blessed scent.

Millen was quite literally salivating and his rut had just hit him like a freight train.

Gaz’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, shit. You’re— yeah, okay. Come back to our quarters, I have some rut suppressants. It’s probably because of the Operipholomine.”

Millen was already panting. He pulled his shirt down to hide the obscene tenting in his trousers, so entirely mortified that he felt like he might faint. Gaz clasped him on the shoulder, carefully guiding him back towards the building they'd just come from. They got a bit wet, but to Millen’s immense relief, the icy rain shocked his system just enough for him to get his growing… situation under control. He gulped down a lungful of air, unseasonably cold and humid.

Gaz hurried him along to their shared quarters. Soap was still missing, apparently having spent the night with his lieutenant, for which Millen was thankful. He already wanted to fling himself from the nearest cliff to escape the terrible humiliation painting his cheeks cherry-red.

Gaz rifled through a few drawers before procuring a small bottle. He quickly tapped out a bright blue pill and pressed it into Millen’s hand, grabbing the staff sergeant’s Halo thermos from the nearby nightstand. “Here, mate,” Gaz said, his tone empathetic. “No need to be embarrassed, a’ight? Just biology.”

Millen’s hand shook with the devastatingly intense need coursing through him, but he managed to swallow the pill and stop to heave for breath again, his pupils blown wide. His fangs ached with the urge to bite, to claim, he needed to taste the perfumed blood and salty spend of an omega, wanted to pin a squirming body beneath him and ram his knot into a hole that would grip his length just right—

“I’m sorry,” Millen gasped out. “Fuck, this is… I hardly ever have ruts, and when I do, they aren’t— they aren’t like this. They’re dry, I just ignore it—“

“Well, that’s part of the problem,” Gaz exclaimed, shaking his head. “You’ve been screwing up your body's natural cycles by denying yourself release. Look, I’ll pop off to the hall for, say, ten minutes? Give you time to sort yourself—“ He shot a pointed look downwards, and Millen nearly moaned out loud. “—and then the suppressants should kick in, cut the rut off. Nip it in the bud, I always say. Sound good?”

“Better make it twenty minutes,” Millen replied hoarsely.

Gaz chuckled. “Can do. Just make sure you clean up any messes. Tissues are on the bookshelf.” He patted Millen companionably on the back and strode off towards the door. “I’ll lock the door behind me, just in case. Just keep the noise down. Remember, the walls are thin. If we can hear Soap and Ghost gettin’ it on, they can hear you crankin’ out a quick one. Ta!”

He inclined a wicked grin back towards the pathetically worked-up xi standing in the middle of the room, and then there was the snick of the lock and the door shut.

*  *  *

He’d wanked as quickly as he could, his finish so explosive that he’d had to bite down on the meaty part of his palm to stifle his ragged cry of pleasure, his mind’s eye rolling wretched clips of half-imagined fantasies, things that Millen didn’t dare to let fully form, not after only a day and a half with his new team. The lingering traces of Gaz’s cocoa-coconut scent brought back a nearly-forgotten memory of Millen’s mãe and tias taking him to Mercado Municipal, the expansive open-air market at São Tomé, the neighboring island to his mother’s home of Príncipe. There had been so many bright colors and loud noises, the chatter of conversation, the loud, rhythmic ússua and dêxa dance music, and the thick heat and life of the crowds. Grey parrots had squawked loudly in vendor’s cages and the smell of roasting meat and grilled breadfruit blew in on the salty breeze, the taste starchy, brushed with garlicky oil that brought out the sweet nut undertones.

At the time, Millen had been barely more than a toddler, overwhelmed by the vibrant island life, the oxygen itself seeming saturated with centuries of rich culture, a blend of African, Portuguese, and European, all coming together to form the thrumming pulse below the ground. The island’s very heart pumped to the beat of the socopé percussion.

He’d not been back since. He almost regretted that.

After he had sated himself, Millen had quickly cleaned up and zipped up, already feeling the fiery burn in his blood abating thanks to the suppressant pills Gaz had given him.

He’d given himself another five minutes for the flush to his face to cool, and then had carefully smoothed down his overgrown curls and spritzed himself from a bottle of cologne he found sitting on Gaz’s desk, to try and cover up any leftover pheromones that might have permeated his clothes.

Inhale. Exhale.

He reassured himself that he was presentable and ready to reface the world. He was confident that Gaz would never make any mention of the past half hour to anyone, and the entire thing could be forgotten within a week. Like the beta had said, it was just biology.

*  *  *

Which is how Millen then found himself asleep at the breakfast table, listening to Soap snickering at his expense.

Because, apparently, his body wasn’t too happy about being pumped full of artificial chemicals yet again, and had decided that the best way to naturally reset his internal workings was to have Millen conk out into a near-comatose sleep. The team hadn’t even noticed, since the xi had already secured a reputation as being “the quiet bloke.”

“Y’ were dead to the world f’ a bit there,” Ghost remarked dryly, his mask forgone in favor of a plain black balaclava, which he had pushed up so he could sip from a mug of tea. His exposed skin was as pale as one of those salamanders that had evolved over a millennia to live in cave systems. He probably saw about as much sun as one. A puffy pink scar scored deep into his flesh, splitting his lip and disappearing up under the balaclava’s tight-weave compression fabric. He was missing a few teeth— most noticeably, one of his alphan incisors, leaving a wide, gummy gap. Perhaps that had contributed to his san dynamic.

Soap tossed Millen a napkin. “Ye ha’ a wee sumthin…” He gestured to his own face, struggling to hold back another bout of laughter. “Right there.”

Millen quickly wiped the oatmeal from his face and silently prayed to whatever god whose domain it was to prevent soldiers from being given a callsign based upon falling asleep in a bowl of porridge.

He glanced around the table, still a bit bleary. “Where’s the captain and Roach?”

Soap paused in his chugging of a carton of chocolate milk to answer. “Captain’s taking care of Roach’s heat.”

Millen’s mouth opened into a small, perfect ‘o.’ He had been under the impression that Roach would be set up in one of the isolation rooms, where he’d be locked safely away from any alphas, able to ride out his heat in privatized comfort. “Oh… th— the captain is—?”

“Yeah, he handles Roach,” Gaz chimed in.

“But I thought that he and you were…”

“We are.” Gaz crunched down on a piece of slightly overdone toast. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t help out our omega. We aren’t strictly monogamous.”

Millen hesitated. “Which… means?”

“It means that Price can have fun with Roach, and if I see a pretty bird at a pub, I can go back to her hotel and spend the night.”

“But doesn’t that mess up your relationship?”

Gaz shook his head. “Nah, not at all. It keeps things lively, and I know who I belong to, when it really comes down to it. I’ll always come back to Price, and he always has a spot on his bed cleared for me.”

“Huh…” Millen thought on this for a moment. “That’s… nice. I didn’t know people could do that.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn about being part of a pack,” Gaz chuckled. “But, yeah, it’s a good thing we have going. Price is good to me.”

Millen prodded his spoon at his bowl of now-cold oatmeal. He glanced over at Soap and Ghost. The two of them smelled like each other.

“So, so the two of you have the same kind of… arrangement?”

Ghost rumbled warningly. Millen immediately regretted asking, realizing that the question had been too toward and it was none of his business.

Soap, however, seemed happy to answer. “Nae, me’n the L.t. a’ off the market. The spooky bastard would kill anybody that dare tae even glisk a’ me.”

“That’s because y’ mine,” Ghost said sharply, possessive anger burning in his bloodshot hazel eyes. “You ever get any ideas otherwise, and I’ll make damn sure y’ remembering your place, MacTavish.”

“Yeah, yeah, underneath ye,” Soap said, rolling his eyes. His Scottish brogue was even rougher in the morning. “Calm ye tits, Simon. Ah’d ne’re even think o’ lettin’ anybody but ye poke me fud. Ah swear, ye gantin f’ me.”

“English, Johnny,” Ghost grunted.

“Ach, awa’ an’ boil ye heid.” Soap waved a hand in Ghost’s general direction. “Crabbit randie.”

Millen looked to Gaz for a translation, but the beta just shrugged. “We can’t understand him half the time, mate. You’re as lost as I am.”

“Aw, ye all numpties,” Soap grumbled. “Fookin’ Brits.”

Ghost gave the sergeant a cuff over the head. “Language. Won’t abide that kind of talk at the table.”

Soap looked up at him incredulously. “Ha’ off it, Si, ye mouth is jus’ as clatty as mine.”

“Negative. Behave yourself.”

Soap poked out his tongue, which earned him another thwack. It all seemed to be in good nature, since Soap’s pheromones never soured in fear, and while Ghost had no scent at all, there was a smirk upon his lips. The love ( mixed with just the right amount of annoyance ) between them was undeniable.

Millen couldn’t imagine being so comfortable with the large lieutenant, who could easily crush any one of them in one fist. A lump caught in the xi’s throat, and he recognized it as a dreadful longing. What would it be like to be so connected to another? A packmark was foreign enough to him, but a mating bond was another thing entirely. The thought of a person being adjunct to his own character was terrifying, to know that they would be able to sense the emotions which he so carefully schooled into rigid conformity. All his sickest desires and most outlandish fears would be laid bare. Any potential mate would run at the first vague sense of his internal turmoils, he was certain of it.

It was better this way. To be apart. When Millen was alone, he was protected from everything but his own head. Admittedly, that was a formidable enemy all in itself, but he had learned to live with the constant clamor inside his skull, the deprecations that prodded at the sorest spots of his self-image.

But at least only he was privy to his own struggles. Never would he allow someone to get a sense of who was, when all the fundamentals of societal expectation had been stripped away and all that remained was the scar tissue at his very core. Something important inside of him had died, and the phoenix of his new atman had rose from the carcass of what once was, a mangled tatter of feathers that lacked its former glory, a mockery of the grinning young man in his boot camp graduation photo.

Millen silently excused himself while Soap and Ghost were busy bantering, and Gaz was occupied with his food. He ignored a few of the more friendly fellows who waved at him or offered greetings.

It was better this way. Wasn’t it?

[leathfaic]

Ghost is a man who never needed to do much to draw attention when he goes clubbing. His impressive frame ensures he gets plenty of attention. That natural air of authority honed over years as a commanding officer ensuring he has his space if he wants it, unwanted approaches stopped before they even begin.

Still lots of eyes stick to him casually leaning against the bar. Always had an easy pick of those brave enough to approach him. Even before the scars in his face he attracted a certain type, the twinks that wanted to be thrown around, bears wanting to play with someone in their own weight class they weren't sure they could out-wrestle and everyone in between who just likes tall, strong blondes. Ever since the scars that has only intensified, might be that he loses out on some vain types, but the daredevils flock to him even more now.

So really he can't complain. He's not the biggest fan of the places, avoids scrungy punky ones altogether for very personal reasons, but they serve their purpose. Finding a quick lay mostly. Sometimes just enjoying a space where he's not the only gay man for miles and miles.

When he starts to go clubs with Soap though, it becomes a very different experience.

First of all he's not looking to take anyone home or to a convenient dark corner.

No, he's here because Johnny likes dancing and what Johnny wants he usually gets. Simon could never deny him anything.

So there is no one Ghost is looking at but Soap. And bloody fucking hell it is worth looking.

Johnny's easy confidence bleeds off of him and mixed with his natural charm he commands the entire rooms attention. His body helps, sure, sculpted muscles barely hidden by a mesh shirt and jeans so tight there's nothing left to the imagination, but there's plenty of good looking men around.

None of them carry themselves like Soap does though.

He watches as Soap enters the dance floor, seeming to melt into the beat. Dancing as effortlessly as he cleans an entire building of hostiles. A fucking vision in strobing lights as he let's the rhythm dictate his movements. Wide fucking smile painted on his face.

People flock to him, wind themselves around him in more or less proficient dance moves, probably hoping to leave an impression over the gaggle of obvious suitors.

Soap toys with them, dancing with those he finds entertaining, neatly sidestepping those he doesn't. Bathing in the attention of wandering hands and lips.

Ghost wonders if they can feel how dangerous of a man he really is. If they can smell the slight hint of sulfur from the demolitions workshop he's been crammed in all day. If they can see the edge in his eyes, that predatory glint of a man trained to kill walking through a crowd of unaware civilians.

Most probably can't.

Some who can probably find it exciting.

In the end none of it matters anyways.

Because it is Ghost's gaze that Johnny seeks when another man winds around him, littering his neck with kisses. And it's on Ghost's wordless command that he abandons the crowd of hopefuls. Meandering over to him, well aware of all the looks following him as he sprawls himself in Simon's lap unabashedly.

It's a unique rush of power having the man they all want at his beck and call. To take a sip of whisky and shamelessly kiss it into his mouth. Making sure just a little spills over painting a golden line for him to lick up.

Keeping his eyes on the crowd and bathing in their envy, their hunger and their shock.

He indulges for a few minutes, let's Soap shower him in affection while keeping him and the room in check with his dominance over the situation.

It's a game they both know Ghost will lose down the line, will drag Soap out of the club like his life depends on it. Maybe throw him over his shoulder just to make a point.

But not yet. Now he makes sure Soap drinks some water and sends him off again with a well aimed slap to his arse.

And Johnny smiles bright and wide. Drifting into the crowd, the crowd that is apprehensive at first but before long they can't help themselves. There's some wary glances shot at Simon, but his ongoing indifference seems to embolden them. Crowding Soap like moths would a light.

And Ghost finds himself suddenly enjoying clubs a whole lot more. Revelling in Soap's obvious bliss and the knowledge that the man who drives the whole dance floor senseless will follow him in the blink of an eye.

Let them get their hopes up, he's got nothing to fear, to be jealous over because he knows the only thing that matters:

Soap commands the whole room without even trying, but Ghost is the only one who commands his attention.