#soapghost

[spiltspit]

Wraith break (¬ ´ཀ` )¬ 🖤

[felixeis003]

They kith

[lanialania00]

recuits everywhere

[ghcstao3]

au with civilian!ghost and sas!soap—soap doesn’t understand why people find his husband so intimidating, especially fellow soldiers whenever, for example, soap forces him to tag along to what events and ceremonies he’s permitted, because to soap, simon’s just a big teddy bear. he’s tall and broad, sure, and he’s very much a silent type, but soap just doesn’t see it.

apparently though, he would eventually learn, that it’s mostly a combination of simon’s stature and staring problem.

and at first, that just confuses soap further. because staring problem? he doesn’t think simon has a staring problem. sort of difficult anyway, considering his husband is blind, and—

ah. his husband is blind. and has a bit of a resting bitch face. and isn’t aware whenever he might be accidentally staring at someone a little too intensely.

he debates telling simon this, not sure how he might take it—eventually soap does tell him, however, and thankfully simon finds it funny. and while it has been unintentional all along, of course simon begins trying to do it on purpose whenever he’s made to play the part of military spouse, for soap’s reputation’s sake, obviously.

because, as soap should know, his husband’s always been a bit of a bastard like that. it’s one of the reasons soap married him, after all.

[al4thea]

They're wrestling your honor

[baohanhanesel]

Aphrodite Soap x Ares Ghost. Let me indulge you.

Something about Soap being the god of beauty and life but also being filled with spite and war. And something about Ghost being the least liked god of war. Something about God Ghost being smitten with God Soap.

[nrdmssgs]

Masterlist

[cod-dump]

Teen!Ghost: I'm going as a bee for Halloween

Price: A bee?

Teen!Ghost: I convinced Johnny to go as a flower, we'll be matching

Teen!Gaz: I can't believe you're matching with Johnny instead of me this year

Teen!Ghost: He's my boyfriend!

Teen!Gaz: And we matched almost every year since I was fourteen! How dare you break tradition!

Price: You could match with Farah

Teen!Gaz: I'll match with Farah AND Gary! Beat that, Simon!

Teen!Farah: ... we're doing what now-?

[thisnoah]

ITALIA 🔥🔥🔥

[remiebear]

Silly seals!!

[forestshadow-wolf]

The whole base playing a drunken game of drink or dare, and someone dares soap to kiss Ghost, and because soap has never not completed a dare he does kiss ghost.

But the next morning he's got a pounding hangover and horribly amazing memory of kissing Ghost and if he thinks hard enough (which he won't because ow) he can convince himself that Ghost kissed back. And he realizes that he has to never be near Ghost ever again because either Ghost will be disgusted with him, or it was just for the dare, or he was drunk. And none of those options bode well for him. And for none of the right reasons, and all for the wrong reasons of being a raging homosexual who has fallen for his lieutenant who definitely doesn't love him and very is very probably already seeing someone (he's gotta be, looking like that)

[sgt-tombstone]

different first meeting au

after Ghost escapes Roba, he runs and he doesn’t look back. a part of him doesn’t care enough to go back and kill him; the rest of him can’t stomach the thought. it’s cowardly, he knows, but he doesn’t care about that either. after eight months of being tortured, the last thing he wants to do is go back. but he also doesn’t want to go home.

he runs to Belize. there’s a safe house there, he knows; a well-stocked one. it’s deep in the jungle, far from civilization: just what he needs. it takes him a while, but he gets there, and the safe house is paradise in earth. hot and humid, with bugs the size of small dogs, but it’s the same forest that Chiapas was in, so he’s used to it, and this… is definitely not Chiapas.

Belize, he has to admit, is beautiful. the forest is a riot of color and sound, sunlight filtering through the dense foliage to glitter off of perpetually dew-coated leaves. the forest is thick enough that he never worries about running into anyone because no one in their right mind would be out here.

and the house… it was obviously built by someone with money burning a hole in their pockets. some rich drug lord, if Ghost had to guess; probably got arrested and their property confiscated by the British government before Belize gained independence. he doesn’t think too hard about it. the house itself is massive. two stories, nestled deep in the forest, with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the sunrise. if he squints a bit, he can almost see the Caribbean sea, or maybe it’s just isolation setting in. either way, he’s never been happier. the house even more well-stocked then he’d hoped; there are several month’s worth of food and supplies piled in the pantry and closets.

he originally only intended to stay for a few days, maybe a week. long enough to catch his breath, lick his wounds, and get back on his feet. but a week comes and goes and no one has found him. no one has shown up at the door threatening dishonorable discharge for going AWOL. technically, he thinks, he’s MIA. they probably think he’s dead. strangely, he doesn’t have any particular urge to disavow them of the idea.

as one week turns into two, he starts to relax. he keeps his semi-automatic by the door and his sidearm by his bed, just in case, but access to all the food he could want, no responsibilities, and nothing but calm surrounding him urges him to let his guard down. it’s a heady feeling after so long being on guard; his whole life, really.

he finds himself lying in bed at nights, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he ever has to go back. Roba is still alive, still a danger, and he should probably do something about that. he’s the only one alive to do so. but the alternative is even more alluring. he could simply… disappear. shed his skin like a snake and start over. take the opportunity for what it is and let Simon Riley die for good.

he’s been moving for so long that stopping feels foreign, and yet. good.

would it be so bad to stay? he could let it all go, all the pain and trauma and torment. the stress and rigidity and discipline. would it be so bad to lay it all down?

it’s a pervasive thought, and he tries to convince himself that it’s not fear. he doesn’t let him think about stagnation, about endless days stretching before him. he tries to enjoy every day, one day at a time, and resolutely shuts out the looming threat, bigger than even Roba: boredom.

he’s been moving for so long that stopping feels foreign.

at the four week mark, there’s a knock on the door, and every ounce of military training comes rushing back. he has his gun in his hands before he even registers the sound. no one should be here. no one should know this place exists. it’s completely off the map, known only to SAS who have used these lands for training. which can only mean…

they’ve found him. he tries to quell the panic that the thought sends arcing through his chest as he presses himself against a wall, breath held in his throat, gun clutched tightly. he’s not hiding, he’s not. he just wants them to go away.

the knock echoes again, heavy and insistent. yet still… polite. the fact that they haven’t busted the door down is shocking, if they know who he is, if they’re here for him. if they’re not…

he slowly approaches the door, weapon at the ready, and nearly shoots the man who falls through the entryway in the head before his reflexes kick in, just in time.

he studies the man for a moment, assessing. trying to figure out what the fuck to do, because it’s not every day that your safe house gets infiltrated by a passed out soldier bleeding heavily from his head and leg. finally, Ghost drags him further into the house so he can close the door, and grabs his first aid kit.

several hours later finds the man patched up as best as possible, given the limited resources, and propped up in one of the spare bedrooms. Ghost sits on the floor next to the bed and tells himself that it’s for security and not because the man is unfairly attractive. young, maybe a little too young for his tastes, with a stupid looking mohawk and a couple of inches missing, but what he lacks in height, he makes up for in bulk. his lips are caught in a perpetual pout, jawline and cheeks accented by a light brushing of stubble, grown out a bit from being stuck in the jungle for days, if not weeks.

he’s obviously SAS, and if Ghost had kept track of time, he wouldn’t have been so shocked; the SAS always sends a new batch of fresh-faced hopefuls to Belize this time of year. this one must’ve gotten separated from his squad. it happens with every new group; at least one wanders off into the jungle and usually is never heard from again. this one got lucky.

he wakes up a few hours later, and Ghost forces himself to pretend that the man’s piercing blue eyes aren’t the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. the first words out of the man’s mouth are, “I need to get back,” which is odd because the first words out of Ghost’s mouth are, “I’m not going back.”

stalemate.

the man, Soap, he learns, is an enigma. he’s grumpy about his leg and the fact that he won’t be able to walk for at least two weeks, which is fair. he’s cheerful, though, in a way that Ghost can’t fully wrap his head around. he thanks Ghost profusely for saving him, which Ghost shrugs off because what was he supposed to do, let the man bleed out in his foyer?

Ghost tries not to let on that he’s former (current?) SAS, which is a doomed attempt from the start; looking the way he does and acting the way he does, he could never be anything hut military, and Soap’s not an idiot. he sees the muscle mass and the facial scarring and the close-cropped hair and clocks him in an instant. Ghost finds that he doesn’t really mind. even worse, he finds that he’s kind of missed it. the discipline, the camaraderie, the purpose.

having Soap in the house is… something. infuriating, at times, because the man could talk a wall into crumbling if he set his mind to it, but it’s mostly relaxing in a way Ghost isn’t quite ready to explore yet. Soap’s presence, his constant chatter, highlights just how lonely Ghost had been. he finds himself gravitating towards the other man as often as possible, finding excuses to be in the same room no matter what they’re doing. he learns that Soap likes explosives and baking, that he has a big family back in Scotland, that he joined the army at 16 and he’s hoping to be the youngest candidate to pass SAS selection. Ghost doesn’t like the way his smile drops whenever he says that, reminded of his injury and the fact that he’s probably not even considered a candidate anymore.

as Soap heals, something in Ghost does, too. every passing day makes the restlessness under his skin itch more, makes his fingers ache for the pressure of a trigger. nightmares of Roba’s torture shift to dreams about Roba’s death, about bloody hands and slit throats, but not his own.

still, he’s not ready to give up the tranquility yet. the itch hasn’t gotten bad enough to don his fatigues once more, and Soap doesn’t seem to be in a rush either. even after his leg heals, he seems content to lay around the house, soaking up sun and sleep like a lazy teenager. which… he’s only eighteen, so Ghost supposes it’s not wholly inaccurate. not that Ghost is any better; his mid-20s body is more than willing to take full advantage of the rest he gives it, the rest he’s never been able to have before.

one month turns to two, and still they linger. they linger around each other, too. somewhere along the line, Soap started to let his gaze wander over the shape of Ghost’s body when he thinks he’s not looking, and Ghost would feel flattered if he weren’t the only human being in two hundred square miles, at least. Soap is a hot-blooded soldier stuck in the middle of the jungle; of course he’s making eyes at the only thing with a pulse in sight. but Ghost can’t deny his own growing attraction to the other soldier, built day by day, shitty joke by shitty joke. it’s their favorite pastime, even if they both profess to hate each other’s jokes, and one day, Soap makes a joke so bad that Ghost can’t help but to lean over and kiss him, just to shut him up.

it’s like a dam opening, and every surface in the house gets christened. every ounce of pent-up frustration and desire gets poured out in between them, soaked up into bare skin and open mouths. but even this is, ultimately, relaxing. there’s no rush, no sense of urgency, and something about it makes Ghost’s skin prickle. he can tell it’s getting to Soap, too.

three months after Soap’s arrival, Ghost tells him about Roba, tells him about his torture and his escape, tells him that Roba is still out there somewhere. tells him that you get six months of MIA before they consider you dead. it’s too late for Ghost, but it’s not too late for Soap. he could still go back.

together, they make the decision.

together, they set out, leaving the house behind. it feels weird, being in fatigues again, holding his weapon again, marching alongside someone again.

he’s been stopped for so long that moving feels foreign, and yet. good.

together, they kill Roba. it’s not easy and it’s not painless, but they work as well together as Ghost thought they would; they meld together seamlessly, following each other’s unspoken commands as if they were in each other’s heads, and the sparks of satisfaction that race along Ghost’s spine are only partially due to Roba’s rotting corpse that they leave behind.

when Ghost picks up the skull from the floor, the same one that Roba had used to torture him all those months ago, and carefully carves the front off, Soap doesn’t question it. and when Ghost pulls a black balaclava out of his pack and carefully affixes the skull plate to it, Soap stands by patiently, watching without a trace of judgment. and when Ghost pulls it on for the first time, settling the hard bone over his own face, gazing out through white eye sockets, he doesn’t miss the way Soap’s own eyes darken at the sight.

with an unspoken agreement, they head back to the UK. back home. getting out of Mexico is hard, especially once the US border control gets involved, but a flash of Soap’s rank opens doors. sergeant, Ghost thinks approvingly; he’s never thought to ask before, but it suits Soap.

when they get to the UK, all hell breaks loose. Price is, to put it mildly, livid, but Ghost can see the true concern and relief tucked under his ridiculous mustache and boonie hat. it’s been a year, almost to the day, since Ghost had gone missing, and four since Soap went AWOL. their return causes a stir around base, and the upper brass push for both of them to go through selection again, but Price pushes back just as hard, and within months, they’re both reinstated and under Price’s command in the 141.

they keep their relationship secret, or as secret as they can, because neither of them is nearly as subtle as they think they are, but Price doesn’t care. they’re essentially trauma bonded; do not separate. eventually, Ghost will tell Price what they did together, what they left in their wake at Chiapas, but he doesn’t need to know for now. it’s enough that both of them seem settled, seem happy. it’s enough that they’re both alive.

every single night, as Ghost settles into his uncomfortable barrack cot, the sounds of sleeping soldiers seeping through the walls, Soap curled up in his arms, he thanks whichever higher power is listening that he didn’t stay in that safe house.

[tactax-art]

Chapter 9 [AO3]

“Can you undo it?”

“No,” Soap immediately answers, but then hesitates, eyebrows drawn and biting at his lip, “kind of. Can turn things into bombs but it’s unpredictable.”

“Is it trainable?”

“As anything, but where the fuck am I gonna do that without having questions asked.”

“Could book us a nice private stay at the demo site when this is over.”

Soap grins at him, and Ghost abruptly realises what that sounded like, with his voice all low and heads tucked together, an arm behind Soap.

[keeg8n]

🌼4 the🍯

[literatecowboy]

Kinktober 2024

5. Bondage

warnings: Soap x Ghost x Reader (throuple); face sitting; nickname 'pup'; fem reader; its reader's present;

“A wee bit tighter…there ye go, LT. That’s perfect,” Soap said, double checking the knot and giving it a tug to ensure it would hold. 

“Sure you don’t want me to put a bow on your head? Think it’d look cute on you, Johnny,” Ghost said, picking up one of the other ropes from the pile. Johnny offered his wrists, and Ghost took them, tying them carefully behind the Scot’s back. 

“Nah, don’t want to wait on her to unwrap me. Besides, there’s bows on all her other gifts,” Johnny said. Ghost snorted. 

“Impatient pup,” he murmured, taking one of the ropes that crisscrossed Johnny’s chest into his fist and pulling the Scot close, pressing his lips to his. Johnny groaned into the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut. He rolled his shoulders, and Ghost pulled away slowly. 

“Comfy?” Ghost asked, running his hands down Johnny’s sides. 

“Very. Help me get into position and then go get our girl, Simon,” Johnny said, rising awkwardly from where he sat. Ghost helped him arrange himself on his knees on the bed before stepping away. 

—

“Just a few more steps, love. Keep coming,” Ghost murmured, guiding you by your hands as he lead you into your bedroom.

“Okay, one more guess. Is it a puppy?” you asked, a smile on your lips. 

“In a manner of speaking,” Ghost said, shutting the door behind you. “Go on, take the blindfold off.” 

You gasped as you lifted your blindfold off and it fluttered to the floor. Johnny knelt before you on the bed, smiling, his cheeks tinged pink. 

“Happy birthday, bonnie,” he murmured. You felt heat rush to your face, and you giggled. 

“You’ve always wanted our pup tied up and begging for you. Now’s your chance,” Ghost murmured, embracing you from behind and gently sliding one of his hands up your shirt. 

“Oh, yes. And you’re okay?” you asked Johnny, shivering from excitement as warmth stirred in the pit of your stomach. 

“More than okay, bonnie. Come sit on my face,” Johnny whined, squirming on the bed. Ghost squeezed your breast tenderly. 

“Go on, give him a go,” he murmured into your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. He guided you onto the bed and you knelt before Johnny. Though you’d been with your boyfriends a dozen times before, this new arrangement was incredibly arousing. You leaned forward, running your hands over the ropes that crisscrossed Johnny’s body as you kissed him. 

His cock throbbed against his stomach at your touch and he groaned. Ghost ran his fingers through his hair before sliding his hand down his back and squeezing his ass. 

“Poor pup, all worked up,” he cooed, and you smiled, taking the head of Johnny’s cock between two fingers. 

“Such an eager toy for me,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You made short work of your clothes, your nipples hardening in the cool air and making Johnny whine, writhing where he knelt. 

“Pretty, isn’t she, pup?” Ghost cooed, stroking Johnny’s cock slowly as they watched you undress. 

“Please sit on my face,” he whined, doing his best to lay back despite the ropes binding him. You helped him get situated before crawling up over his body, dragging your fingers over your clit before lowering yourself onto Johnny’s face. 

His cock twitched as his moans were muffled and you gasped as he shoved his tongue into you, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your back arched as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently and making you writhe with pleasure. 

“Johnny!” you moaned, grinding down against his face as he devoured you, pushing his face deeper into your wetness. 

“Think you deserve a reward for making our girl feel so good, Johnny,” Simon purred, tugging his shirt over his head and sliding his pants and boxers off. He crawled onto the bed, tugging his hard cock as he settled between Johnny’s legs, spreading lube over his fingers before sliding one into Johnny. 

Johnny’s back arched and he moaned into your wetness. The vibrations against your clit made you gasp, and you trembled as that in combination with Johnny’s devourment of you made you cum. Pleasure washed over you in waves and you jerked and trembled, slumping forward and crawling off of Johnny’s face as you caught your breath.

Ghost slid another finger into Johnny and kept pumping them in and out, making Johnny moan and writhe on the bed. 

“Fuck…!” he cried. He turned his head to where you lay, your wetness drenching his face. 

“Lass, please. Ride me while Simon fucks me,” he begged. You pulled him in for a sloppy kiss before straddling his hips, nodding. 

Ghost slowly pulled his fingers out of Johnny, making him whine, but his whines turned to moans again as Ghost guided you onto Johnny’s cock. You both moaned in tandem as you sank onto him, the stretch sending waves of pleasure through you. 

Ghost pressed slowly into Johnny after you reached the base of his cock, making the Scot writhe and moan beneath you. 

“Fuck, yer gonna be the death of me. Both of ye,” he gasped, trembling. You slowly rocked your hips against him, grabbing the ropes that bound his chest and using them to pull yourself down into a kiss. 

As you rode Johnny, Ghost fucked him, sending you both sliding up the bed. You slammed your hips down into him, grinding your clit into his pelvis. As you moaned, Ghost reached around you and gently thumbed your clit, biting tenderly into your neck. 

“Fuck! I can’t last like this,” Johnny whined, his body trembling under the pleasure of your bounces and Ghost’s thrusts. 

“Let the lady cum first, Johnny,” Ghost said, picking up speed as he rubbed your clit. 

“Go on, love, cum on Johnny’s cock,” he purred in your ear. You fell over the cliff of pleasure, falling forward onto Johnny’s chest, your body spasming and your cunt tightening around his cock as you came. Johnny came almost immediately after, coating your insides with cum as he bucked his hips up into you. 

With a few last, deep, thrusts Ghost came last, his groan deafening as he came inside Johnny, leaning over your shoulder to kiss the Scot tenderly. 

You caught your breath together. Ghost was the first to step away but he returned quickly with a blade, cutting Johnny free and helping him massage the areas that had been bound. 

You pulled Johnny into an embrace as Ghost spooned you, sandwiched comfortably between your boyfriends as you came down from your highs.

[24-05txt]

In regards to the whole soul mate thing, Soap's been through all the phases.

He'd started curious, then confused, then mournful, then resentful. For now he's settled somewhere in the vicinity of apathy—maybe spite.

He doesn't have a soul-mark. Never has, never will, and that's... fine. He's far from the only one lacking that kind of connection, and that's enough for him to feel understood. Not alone. He's got plenty of good friends besides—with and without soulmates of their own—and he's happy that way. Really, he is; it took him a fair amount of work to get to a place where he could say that and it not be wishful thinking. He's got friends, family, dalliances, motion and company and light in his life despite the lack of a mark that tells him where his place is.

And then he meets Ghost.

The Lieutenant is huge in the sense that his presence alone takes up what space his height and muscle can't. He's quiet, too, at least before Soap makes the effort to worm his way under all that tacgear. (The man is intriguing, what can he say? Who else walks around with a honest-to-fuck skull mask day in and out.)

Ghost seems to tolerate him at first, then inexplicably starts to prickle and grouch whenever Soap comes within six feet of him. He could make up a few reasons for why that is, but instead contents himself with pretending he doesn't notice—pushing the implied boundary until Ghost mans up and tells him off.

He never does, though. And it's not long at all until Soap's found that the boundary has given way and Ghost is—well he's actually pretty pleasant to be around. He's funny, and patient, and gives way too much of a shit to be in a career that pretty much ensures the death of everyone he works with. (He likes to pretend he doesn't, but there's no other reason he would have been waiting up in that church for Soap—in fact he shouldn't have still been there at all, since he'd already scoped an escape route. The bastard's soft, is what he's saying.)

And that's when things start to backslide just a little.

They're sitting in the mess—only three of them, the Captain unable to grace them with his presence—and Gaz is talking about his sister's husband's new boyfriend being the result of a late-discovery soulmatch.

"Could you imagine," he says, pausing to chew his mouthful before he continues. "Going thirty years knowing there's someone out there for you, and not seeing them until after you're already married?"

"Could be platonic," Soap pointed out, not bothering with the same courtesy of chewing his food. Ghost kicks him under the table for it, but he honestly can't be asked to care for only three words worth.

"Could be, but still—could you imagine?"

"Nope." Soap pops the 'P' and grins. Ghost doesn't kick him this time since he hasn't taken another bite yet. "I'm a wee bit hopeless in that department."

"Ah, brother." Gaz reaches out and they clasp hands for a moment, then he nudges his shoulder. "You and me both. Never much got the fuss about it, but that does seem like some sort of cosmic irony yeah?"

"Issat irony?" Soap asks. "Don't think that's right."

Obviously, that incites a short argument that ends when Gaz pulls out his phone to look up the actual dictionary definition of 'irony', and Soap grasps to change the topic to literally anything else to avoid Gaz gloating on the off chance that he's right.

"Lt, what about you?"

Ghost blinks at him as if he hasn't been staring at the both of them through the whole conversation.

"I know what irony is, Johnny."

"No—" he can't help the scowl, and talks over Gaz's sudden jeering as he shoves his phone under his nose. Soap lifts his chin to avoid it. "You got a soul mark?"

"Read it and weep, Soap!" Gaz cheers, only slightly subdued in respect for every else in the room.

"I do." Ghost says at the same time, dipping his head in a tiny little nod, and Soap's world ends just a little bit, right there in the mess hall. Curls up, withers, and dies without so much as a squeal.

He's not able to ask if Ghost knows who it is, or if he's met them, or if they're still alive, or if it's romantic or platonic; he's not sure if it even matters, because Johhny knows right then that he will never be as close to Ghost as they are.

And it hurts.

It hurts in a way he wasn't entirely expecting.

He must hold it together well enough through the rest of dinner, and then through walking with Gaz back to their rooms, but once he's got the door locked behind him he feels the smile fall off his face. He sits down on the edge of his bed.

Ghost has a soulmate.

Ghost has a soulmate and Soap is pissed about it. Because that soulmate isn't him—it can't be, since he doesn't have a mark of his own.

It's just—it's unfair. They work so well together, on the field and off. He knows for a fact no one else can read Ghost as well as he can, no one else talks to him like he does, he doesn't hang around anyone else like he seems to hang around Soap. If anyone should be Ghost's soulmate, it should be him.

But he's not. Which means there's someone else out there that can watch his six better, understand him more, have more satisfying conversations—and it seems fucking impossible, because he doesn't even know how it could get better given the time they've known eachother... and yet.

And yet Ghost has a mark, and Soap doesn't.

It takes him days to get over it—at least enough to act himself when he's in company. Ghost tries to get him to talk about it three separate times before he can manage to get his shit together. He won't *lie* to Simon, nor is he about to admit to what's eating at him, and it leaves him snappish. Leaves the vitriol closer to the surface than it ever has been around Ghost and he hates to see how he reacts to it; he doesn't cower, doesn't flinch, doesn't avoid him, just stares—in a different way than before. John's temper will flare and Ghost will freeze a little, tilt his head, furrow his brow, and fucking stare at him until the moment passes. It might be better if he raised his voice in return, let it escalate into a proper fight—or even if he shut Soap down hard and told him to cool off. Instead Ghost looks at him like he's gone and become a stranger; like he's confused where he doesn't expect to be, and that hurts almost as much as finding out his place isn't next to Simon—or at least, he doesn't have any rightful claim to it.