#biker!soap

[neilellisdexamphetamine]

biker!soap wip + trying my hand at a little silly stylization!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Biker!Ghoap x Female Reader: MDNI

Biker!Simon goes on a cold, rainy ride in the middle of the night to clear his head. He doesn’t expect to find you stranded on the side of the road, shivering and soaking wet next to your broken-down car. When he pulls over and approaches you, you’re like a frightened deer, looking around like you’re waiting for someone to jump out of the dark. Simon offers you a ride to wherever you’re going. You admit that you have nowhere to go—that you packed a bag and fled home to escape your abusive partner.

Biker!Simon who refuses to leave you here. He calls Johnny, waking the wanker up to come tow your car to their shop. Simon doesn’t wait for Johnny to arrive. You’re cold and shivering and you need to get somewhere warm. Offering you a helmet, Simon takes you back to his place. While you shower, Simon leaves fresh clothes in front of your door. You don’t take them, walking out of the bathroom in just an oversized shirt.

Biker!Simon offers up his bed, intending to sleep on the sofa. He’ll have a stiff neck in the morning but you deserve to be comfortable. To feel safe. But you tell him you don’t want to be alone. Simon reluctantly agrees, joining you under the sheets. When you reach for him, Simon accepts because you’re such a sweet thing, and you deserve to be desired. As you sink down on him, he suddenly realizes that he’s not letting you go. That you belong with him and Johnny, the three of you in the same bed, having a life together.

Biker!Johnny who arrives home, expecting to fall into bed with Simon, only to find you riding him. It’s Simon that whispers sweetly to you, that tells you that he comes in a packaged deal. Johnny peels off his wet clothes, crawling across the bed to kiss the man he loves as you moan your acceptance. Simon wraps his hand around him, bringing him to attention as Simon finishes inside you. It’s easy to bend you over, to watch as Simon slips out of you. Johnny takes his place, and it’s fucking heaven.

You’re stuck with them now. They’re never letting you go.

CoD Headcanons / AUs / Quick Writes Masterlist

[panscalloffanfics]

Back on my Biker!141 thoughts…

Biker!Ghost who doesn’t do stunts like Soap or Gaz. He’ll always wear some sort of safety gear when he rides. Who is better driving a motorcycle than a car. He’s always speeding just a bit. He rides with no plates/fake plates. 100% will run from the cops. Has the fastest bike of the group.

Biker!Price who doesn’t ride often. He used to ride almost every weekend when he was younger. Used to have a sport bike but now has a cruiser. He’s the one to get called if anyone’s bike breaks down. When they end up doing group rides he just tags along. Usually rides behind everyone.

Biker!Soap whose bike is in the shop more times than not. He’s constantly dropping it. So when he wants to ride along he usually backpacks with Ghost. This leads to Soap getting scolded because he uses it as an excuse to full on grope Ghost. This man and safety gear are like oil and water. He hates wearing gear and it gives everyone an aneurysm. You’re lucky he’ll wear a helmet. He will ride shirtless and in shorts with flip flops. He’s the one with the most tickets.

Biker!Gaz like I mentioned before is the social media biker. Ever seen videos of group rides where everyone is doing stunts? Yeah he’s the one doing them. Thirst traps? 1000000%. He’s the one to flip everyone’s kill switch at lights and bump into their back tires. He probably rides the most out of everyone.

[starsofang]

Finish Line

Street Racer!AU / Part 1

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Returning to the racing world in a new city proves to be futile when one of the racers has it out for you. He's determined to take you down, and you're determined to win.

TW: will be added for future parts, reader has a biker name but does not have a referenced name otherwise

A/N: if you’ve seen blade runner or cyberpunk, those were the vibes i’m going for. but basically all street racer!141 are in this, pray for me <3

The radiant glow of luminescent neons flooded your vision as you lifted yourself off of the bike you’d ridden into town, casting arrays of purples and blue along the span of your skin, reflecting blinding shimmers off of the glossy shine of your bike.

The city was boisterous around you. The streets filled with a variety of people covered in racing gear or alternative twists in their style. All sorts of glitzy colors adorning their bodies, mirroring the image of the neon city and blending them in. Crazy was the best word to describe it. Hectic, maddening hysteria that littered the city like a plague.

You stood in the midst of it all, taking in the booming voices that carried through the air of excited participants in the race that was soon to begin. It was a frenzy even being in the city, and you found yourself sticking to the side of your bike and opting to watch instead of join. After all, you knew nobody, and this was your first race – at least, your first one in a long time, and in a new city on top of that.

You’d never been in a place so lively before, and perhaps that was the appeal to it all. People were excited. They treated street racing like a sport rather than the crime it was. Illegal, unhinged, dangerous.

It was the most life-threatening sport one could get into, and you were one of those unfortunate souls who had a knack for speed.

“Takin’ it all in?” An unfamiliar voice geared its way towards you through the chaos, and when you looked over, you saw an older man with kind eyes and a heavy-set beard. Upon further inspection, you noticed his left leg was purely robotic, all metal and fancy tech, a neon outline tracing along the ridges and curves.

“It’s a lot,” you breathed in response, earning a hum of acknowledgement from the mystery man.

“Sure is,” he agreed, though his wide smile and twinkling eyes made it seem as if he preferred it that way. “You racin’ tonight, doll?”

You glanced over at your bike from beside you. Purple, matching the fluorescent city, and fast as hell when you knew how to control it. “I am. First race in a while. Are you?”

The man chuckled lowly, shaking his head. He tapped his knuckles against the cool metal of his leg, giving you a cheeky smile that poked through the fur on his face. “Can’t race with a leg like this. People might think I’m cheatin’.”

The tone of his voice was teasing, and it brought your own laugh out. “I wouldn’t say it’s cheating. Maybe just a bit of modification, is all.”

He laughed again, and the sound of it eased the original tension that consumed you from the sight of a new crowd in a new city. “I like the way you think, doll. I’m John. John Price.”

Your eyebrows raised at the name, and you stared at him with a look of surprise and awe. His hand was outstretched to shake yours, and when you shook off your initial shock, you reached out to grab it.

John Price. Even in other cities unlike this one, like your own, John Price was a name whispered amongst other racers. A true street racer, one that took win after win like it was easy. In his day and time, he was the best of the best, and if you knew he was in your race, it was promised fate that you would lose to him.

Nobody knew what happened to him after he disappeared from the racing crowd, but judging from the robotic leg, you could piece together the picture.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you greeted politely, your hands clasping together to give each other a firm shake before releasing. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” he hummed in amusement, feigning humility. “Didn’t take it that others knew about me in other cities.”

“How’d you know I wasn’t from here?”

“Oh, I can tell, doll. You looked like a poor lamb walkin’ into a wolf’s den, comin’ here,” he teased, and you shifted on your feet in embarrassment. “No need to fret. I’ll introduce you to a couple of the other racers, get you more acquainted.”

You weren’t sure why he would bother to do so. This race was a competition, and getting to know the other racers you were about to go up against wasn’t exactly in your books for the night. He seemed to recognize the muted confusion, though, because he smiled and beckoned you with a hand to follow him.

“It’s good to know who you’re competin’ against,” he explained as you walked alongside him. Your bike handles were between both of your hands, steering it beside you, too uncertain of the new area to trust anybody to leave it be. “Good to learn their tricks so you can use it against them.”

“Why exactly are you telling me this?” you asked, and he chuckled.

“Haven’t had a new racer in a while. Not a promisin’ one, anyway. Forgive me, but I tend to get a bit excited when somebody new joins the races.”

That made sense, you suppose. He didn’t race anymore, so he thrived off of the thrill of every race. If he couldn’t join, he could certainly watch and observe. Price probably knew all of the ins and outs of every street racer without their knowledge.

You followed him down the bustling streets, passing by crowds of colorful people who were nearly bouncing off the walls in anticipation. The looks you got along the way had you uneasy, but most of them were more curious than cruel, taking in the sight of your bike and the flashy, purple protective gear you wore.

Finding yourself at a rundown looking building that was littered with a vivid glow, you entered what appeared to be a garage. It was filled with various other bikes, as well as an insane amount of toolboxes lining the walls with spare parts scattered carelessly.

Propping your bike up with its kickstand, you stood a bit straighter when Price called out to a group of men on the other side of the garage. One was working on a bike, while the other two were lounged lazily on a beat up couch, bickering with one another.

The sound of Price’s voice seemed to send them into immediate submission, and they stood, making their way over to you.

They were… certainly a mixed pack, weren’t they?

The first man you took notice of was decked out in a bright blue that glowed in curvy patterns along his gear. His hair was shaved into a messy mohawk that flopped languidly atop his head, and his smile was crooked and toothy, creasing his eyes into wrinkly crescents.

The second one had a warmth to him, despite the edginess of his gear. It was deep red and meshed well with the tan of his skin, and just like everything else in this city, provided a neon blaze that you swore would cause you to turn blind at some point.

The third one was incredibly off putting. Cold, stiff, and eyes that bore into you like a knife digging in your skin. It was laced over with poison, threatening to invade your veins and taint your bloodstream. His eyes were the only thing you could see, for the rest of his face was covered by a painted balaclava, the mouth of a skull covering his own. Dark and dangerous, a racer you grew wary of when the time came for competing.

“This here is Soap, Gaz, and Ghost. They won’t bite,” Price assured. You highly doubted that.

You gave them a polite nod of your head, and Soap clasped a hand on your shoulder, beaming at you. His smile was nearly as blinding as the rest of the city, and you wondered briefly if it hurt.

“New comer, eh? Ever raced before?” he asked in enthusiastic curiosity.

“Yeah,” you replied, and Gaz released a low whistle. When you shifted your eyes to him, he was looking at your bike.

“Looks like you have a new competitor, Ghost,” Gaz teased. Ghost didn’t seem amused by it, his eyes continuing to stare you down in silent disapproval.

“Unlikely,” he rumbled dryly.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at him. Ghost was already giving you the information to know you needed to steer clear of him, both on the streets and off. He was competitive, and you could practically see it burning through his irises, like a raging fire that you had no way of putting out.

It was unfortunate that you were also just as competitive. You had your reasons for returning to racing, and you’d be damned if a man like Ghost attempted to sway you off track.

“Guess we’ll have to see, Ghost,” you chirped. His eyes narrowed in warning, pupils near black from the way he was scoping you out and silently pulling you apart in the clouds of his mind. Price snorted at the tension, but made no attempt to stop it. After all, he liked friendly fire – though, this wasn’t exactly as friendly as it was fire.

“Right,” Ghost grunted, cocking his head at you. His posture was menacing, and you would be smart to ease off the high horse, but you didn’t falter. “Don’t exactly think I caught your name.”

“Maze,” you offered.

Of course, everybody in the racing world only ever went by their biker name. Everybody’s had meaning, a reasoning for being called that. Maze was a name that was pinned to you without so much as a say, based on how effortlessly you could maneuver your way through tangled webs of roads and corners in the midst of chaotic races.

Ghost was a name unheard of, and surely, there was a baleful reason for it.

“Maze,” Ghost repeated with a tongue full of smoking venom. “I guess we’ll see, then.”

It was a threat if you ever knew one, and from the way the others remained perfectly unphased by it, a normal one at best. This was who he was, his true colors, dark and gloomy in comparison to the bright vivids that painted over the city.

Before you could say much else, a blaring sound filled the air, sharp and deafening. It was a shrill in your ears, lacing your eardrums with discomfort

Price’s hand clapped on your back and he gave you a promising grin.

“Best to ready yourself up, doll. I’m excited to see you work your magic.”

You hauled your bike back out on the crowded streets, where electrifying voices shocked through the air like a vice. It was overwhelming, but nothing you weren’t used to. Races were the heat of most cities, and many people partook in the frenzy of events with dripping exhilaration, gathering together in a heap of hectic mess to place their bets on who would come out as the victor.

Tugging your helmet over your head didn’t do much to quiet down the noise, but it allowed you a blanket of dull security, giving you a chance to breathe. You prepared yourself by lining your bike with the others, and when you really studied your surroundings, there were dozens. Each and every bike was crafted with their own unique design and theme, and the drivers occupying them were just as otherworldly. You felt almost like an ant in a big world of antsy animals.

Your gloved hands gripped the handles of your bike, tight and tense, and you sucked in a long breath before releasing it, allowing your shoulders to relax.

Looking around, you noticed Soap was perched next to you on his own bike. When he took notice of you, he propped up his visor to show off his eyes, and from the way they crinkled, you could only assume he was grinning at you. His hand lifted, propping up his thumb in a weak attempt to wish you good luck.

You gave one back to be a good sport, but you knew once the alarms went off and flags were raised, this would be a warzone. There was no friendly competition, only bloodshed and battle.

Ghost’s bike was settled somewhere in front of you by a couple of lanes, and you took a moment to read his body language.

He was just as stiff as before, his shoulders pulled taut and his hands gripping the handles so tight, you were sure his knuckles were white beneath his gloves. His bike was as black as his attitude, nearly disappearing in the night if not for the bright lights reflecting off of them, and his gear matched perfectly with it. The helmet he wore mirrored the design of his balaclava you saw him in, with delicate, white swirls painted on to the mouth of the plastic and etching up to the top.

When you looked at him, he was already looking at you. Even under his visor, you could feel the intensity of his stare, like a looming shadow threatening to pull you by the ankle and yank you into a world of suffocating darkness.

You stared back until he turned away, noticing the small head shake he did to himself, but not minding it.

Competition. This was a competition. May the best racer win.

The wait for the call was dreadful. It racked your bones with unnerving anticipation, edging you towards the fall of a cliff, threatening to push you over. It was a game, body rigid in impatience, but when the sound of a gunshot fired through the air, it all melted away, replaced with premeditated determination.

Instantly, the sounds of revving bikes and screeching tires filtered through your helmet and bled into your ears. Your own joined in the mix, hand quick to accelerate your bike in motion, surging you forward. It was a rush of adrenaline, like a drug shooting through your bloodstream, and it willed you into a state of starved aggression.

All thoughts that had plagued your mind were brushed aside and replaced with nothing but the thought of winning. The prize money was a wealthy sum, and that alone was enough to have you weaving in between the other racers, leaning your body forward for some extra leverage.

Buildings passed by you like a quick blink, the various colors whipping by like a flash. Your vision was filled with the backs of other racers ahead of you, as well as the neon signs that littered every street corner, holograms of food and pretty women from the diversity in night business becoming your most perceived line of sight.

The other bikers were brutal. It showed in the way they tried cutting you off with a sharp flick of their bike when they noticed you trailing behind them, your front wheel nearly kissing their back wheel. It was an aggressive fight for dominance, and for a brief moment, you feared you were biting off more than you could chew.

This was an entirely new city, one you weren’t accustomed to, and these were new riders. You didn’t know the streets like you did back at home, nor did you know the layout for shortcuts. You didn’t know how to adjust to the neon oasis that filled your sight with blinding lights.

The only thing you knew how to do was fight back. And fight back you would.

When you saw the opportunity to speed past the racer in front of you, a man in an all orange suit, you took it. There was a gap so small you were crazy to try and fit through it, but you curled your hand around the bike handle, revving forward and sliding past him so he was on your tail.

You hoped that if Price was watching somewhere, he was somewhat impressed.

The twists and turns of the streets were difficult to maneuver, but not impossible. It was definitely a fight to control your bike on the sharp corners that required lots of tilting of your own body weight, but once you made it past the first couple, it proved to be much smoother than you thought.

The more the race went on, the more your muscle memory of riding came back to you, and it was a thrilling fun rather than a daunting spiral. It coursed through your veins like a fever, and the adrenaline pumped through you in earnest, causing you to feel alive.

The back and forth of you weaving in and out of open vessels caused you to end up in second place, and the only racer ahead of you was none other than Ghost. Now, other riders, you were confident in defeating, but Ghost was a lovely challenge.

He had a couple of yards on you, and the way he controlled his bike was a near work of art. He was positively beautiful at it, and now you were starting to understand his biker name.

Ghost, because he could disappear in the shadows of the night, never to be seen again. Nobody could catch up to him, because he was a spirit in the night riding on a cloud of shadows and devilry.

Maybe you were biting off more than you could chew, because your hands revved up one more time, your upper body leaning impossibly forward on the curve of your bike, and you were determined. If nobody could catch up to him, then you wanted to be the first.

Swerving through impossibly small streets and side alleys, he was becoming more clear in your view. If you could get just a little closer, you’d be neck and neck. With the promise of a finish line approaching, you’d have to do it soon.

Bit by bit, your bike gained proximity. You were nearly right by his side, and the sheer power of it all had your heart thumping like bombs in your chest. He was there, right there, and your win was hanging by a thin string.

Ghost’s head whipped over to look at you when he heard the sounds of your engine, and whatever expression he wore under the helmet, you wished you could see it.

As if fueled by anger, he gripped his handles a bit tighter. The two of you waltzed in a dance of back and forth, fighting for the title of victor. The street was a straight shot now, and you could see the faint holographic sign that hung above the finish line, indicating the near end of the race. It glowed at you, taunted you, beckoned you towards it like a siren of the sea. It sang pretty songs to you, desperate to grab hold of you and claim it as theirs.

The two of you were tightly bound together the closer you got, so close you could practically feel the heat of carbon as it left his exhaust. It scorched you like a blazing fire, but it only proved to encourage you more.

You fought and fought for dominance. The crowds of people waiting at the finish line were as crazed as madmen, shouting and waving their arms, desperate to see who would win.

Just as the finish line became approachable, Ghost surged a few mere inches in front of you, as if waiting for the opportunity. It was a warzone when the race ended, and you slowed your bike to a stop. Taking off your helmet, you gasped for air that was stolen from you from the pure, intoxicating adrenaline, glancing up at the lit up scoreboard that glitched with a chromatic listing of all places that racers fell into.

You were second, Ghost was first.

You wanted to win, yes. But second place was as good as they came for the first race, and you were elated.

The sounds of people celebrating nearly tuned out the angry sound of boots stomping your way. You hadn’t even had a chance to get off your bike before a hand was grabbing hold of your shoulder, whipping you around to come face to face with Ghost. His balaclava remained, even under the confines of his helmet that was no longer there, and his eyes were bristling with those same flames from before that had shifted into a dangerous blaze.

“The fuck was that?” he spat, words stabbing into you like daggers.

“A competition,” you replied calmly, perhaps a bit too cockily. “Was it not?”

Ghost leered at you, shoulders dropping and rising with the heavy breaths he took. His hand was curled into a fist in the collar of your gear, keeping you in place. It tightened its hold, and he leaned closer to your face, glaring into you.

“You need to fuckin’ watch yourself, Maze.” He spoke your name like a sin, as if announcing the Devil himself. “Pull that shit again and you won’t live to see another race.”

He promptly let go of your collar, shoving you away in the process. You could do nothing but watch as he stormed off, out of sight and out of mind. Like a Ghost.

[danibee33]

it’s giving biker!ghost 🤝 biker!soap and i neeeeed it.

[bvnnybrains]

sobbing rn bc my old man dog was with me in my car and a biker pulled up next to us so my big ole doggy got all excited and the biker saw and pointed to him and i smiled and HE PET MY DOG AND HE LOOKED SO HAPPY ABOUT IT AND MY DOG WAS HAPPY TOO UGHHH

anyways very biker!johnny coded don’t argue with me on it i’ll die on this hill

[karlachismylife]

UHMMM HIIIII this is @valscodblog but her main acc!!

AND IM IN DESPRATE NEED OF HEADCANNONS-LIKE FLUFFY ONES FOR SOAP AND KARLACH.

like-who cooks?? who cleans??? just homey fluffy headcannons <3

love, Val <3

HI PRECIOUS oh you just know how to make a fella happy, thank you for asking about them T_T honestly, i think while they're actively adventuring with the whole party and task force they don't do shit >< like, they're not that irresponsible, there's just always someone who does chores more efficiently, leaving these two ADHD sweethearts to forage, hunt, stay on watch and participate in wood chopping or some other shit requiring a lot of strength and not so much thoughts. but when they somewhat settle down in their own little home...

Two of us wearing raincoats

CW: 2855 words, Karlach x Soap, a bit suggestive in some parts, title from a Beatles song, some self-projecting headcanons, domestic fluff

UPD: corrected some wrong facts.

cooking is definitely in Soap's reign. while scottish cuisine can be extravagant sometimes (i swear, i love scotland for a lot of things, but what the fuck are they eating oh my god T_T), Karlach is definitely not a picky eater and will stuff herself full with whatever her love puts on her plate. the only requirements are for it to have meat and be in large quantities, and those are easily ticked off. however, she actually genuinely likes a lot of dishes Johnny whips out seemingly with random ingredients! always on duty since a very young age and ten years in hell, Karlach barely remembers what a home-cooked meal tastes like, so for her to just smell something cooking in the kitchen or just outside the porch if it's outdoor meal day makes it already the best she's ever had. add the sheer adoration and giddiness she feels whenever Soap takes care of her, and she's right there, a dreamy look in her eyes and tail coiling around Johnny's ankle when he allows Karlach to hug him from behind and steal a bite of the garnish. she can cook, meat especially, but she just never learnt any fun recipes, so she can only watch, learn or guess how to add a little more flavour to a simple steak. unless you want a fried imp on a stick, that's her specialty (tastes awful and it's not her fault).

also, Johnny definitely knows how much Karlach likes seeing him wear an apron and does it as often as he can. it's not as much a sexy thing (although there are plenty times when there's just the apron and he earns himself a hefty slap on that bare ass- okay, we'll discuss that another time, hehe), but that same domestic feeling that they both miss, each for their own reasons. he definitely has the "kiss the chef" one and gets all his tips for good service in kisses and grabby clawed hands squishing his sides while Karlach stays pressed to him from behind.

when Karlach does cook though, Soap is not allowed the same privileges of being handsy on the account of it always ending up in their food burnt. even if she was boiling some eggs for breakfast. Karlach is best girl at everything except self-control around her beloved soldier, doesn't matter if they've been married for thirty years already, she cannot resist his touch, so Johnny's banished to serving plates and salivating over the frying smells and a good view of Karlach's rear.

cleaning, on the other hand, is more of a Karlach's thing, even though they are both shit at it (ADHD go brrr, you know). they both can stay disciplined and ready for duty at all times, but what surrounds them is utter chaos most of the time, which, honestly, only makes their remarkable service all the more impressive. they're just used to it, mugs of tea strategically forgotten on random surfaces only to be conveniently found at the right time (hours later, yes, but Karlach can heat it back up rather quickly lol), clothers scattered around, hanging from chairs in piles so thick that it's uncomfortable to sit on said chairs, dishes stacking up into leaning towers... Karlach gets the dark urge almost always first. probably at some other important task's expence, but she will hyperfocus and scrub the whole house until it's squeaky clean and her back is a bit sore.

however, they both enjoy doing the dishes! for Soap it's an act of service, for Karlach just a prefect mindless task to get her hands busy and let her thoughts wander (and a source for Soap puns, yes), they don't fight for it of course, but sometimes Johnny does them despite having also prepared dinner. he honestly isn't that bothered about splitting every chore fifty/fifty, if Karlach ever raises concern, he just shrugs and tells her he wouldn't let her lift a finger around the house if it was up to him - or that she pulls more weight in other areas (like the gym, lol. does she bench press more than him? she very much might...)

favourite position - cuddled up wherever they find enough space for their two huge bodies to be squished together. pathological cuddlers. will absolutely spend some of their free time just lounging like two couch potatoes, arms locked around each other and - yes, you guessed it - fidgeting. cuddling before sleep, after sex, in the morning, after coming home, when having a bad day, a good day, a neutral day, no day... Soap gets to be little spoon so often and he loves it just as much as pressing up against one particular red tail and holding his palm over the calm engine. getting up in the morning can be tricky since they often get dragged back and cuddled to death by a protesting cuddle monster muttering about five more minutes.

they need, like, an alaska king size bed just so they don't push each other off. absolute menaces to sleep with: it starts so sweet, hands holding, legs tangled up and one thrown over the other's hips, Karlach's tail holding onto Johnny's waist securely... and then they switch sixty sleeping positions, have a three-part breaking dance-off, reenact wars they've been to in characters and exchange a meaningful sign language conversation. all while asleep and blissfully unaware. the amount of times Johnny nearly lost his eye to Karlach's horn or Karlach was almost smothered by Soap's heavy weight plopping right on top of her with every pillow and blanket hogged (they have two extra for each and it still doesn't help)... poor Clive doesn't get to sleep in bed with them smply because it's safer for him to stay on a beside table.

enthusiastic house remodelers! Soap is very crafty and likes to build and asemble furniture from scratch, and Karlach wants their shared home to be perfect for their tastes - she knows all too well what it's like to be homeless. changing interior design and moving furnitue almost every half a year is fun for them, they never run out of ideas how to make their home even more homey! they almost do not argue when renovating, which is a bit surprising given they're both hot-headed, but they definitely resolve any disagreements right there on the floor of an empty room or pressed to a soon-to-be-painted wall.

fixing shit is Soap's duty. Karlach gets frustrated easily when something broken isn't getting fixed easily, so even if she knows what to do well, she might worsen the situation by raging against a shaky table or something.

breakfast in bed for both of them. they can never predict who's getting up first, so whoever wakes up buzzing (or just falls off the bed first) and is lucky to escape the cuddle monster definitely takes their time to pamper the other, cut some butt heart-shaped sandwiches or make a loopy smiley face out of eggs and bacon/sausages. both avid tea drinkers even though Soap prefers coffee. he just is constantly thirsty (in all ways).

snack beasts. they are constantly chewing on something, partially because it's a fidgeting thing, partially because they need their sugar fill. the whole house is filled with snack stashes, sweet nuts in little bowls, paper bags with cookies, berries always in stock... absolutely steal each other's snacks and offer to share without even thinking, it's an automatic thing no matter how deep in thoughts/busy they are. Karlach is more of a sugary and sweets snacker, so she often has sugar crumbs in the corners of her mouth, cookies clutched in her big palm, a honey jar with a stick she dips for a taste freqiently; Soap on the other hand is mostly after everything chewy, not so important whether it's sweet or not. probably has some chewy sticks/toys in addition to constant snacking. like a wee puppy with growing teeth.

Soap prefers baths to showers and Karlach does have fun with a longer soak as well (especially if bubbles and/or her hot husband are involved, and yes, it's always steamy with her. literally, she can still boil the water if she stays long enough). absolutely wash together most of the time, or at least share the bathroom before going to bed, one of them showering and the other one pissing/brushing their teeth. will hold hands when Karlach's in the tub and Soap is on the toilet and vice versa.

despite their love for a good cuddle lie-in, they definitely prefer active recreation and hobbies: hikes, sports, dancing, rock climbing, exploring, town fairs browsing, woodworking... except for some very low-energy days (executive dysfunction is no joke) they will be out, getting up to some safer-than-war adventures. definitely go camping a lot, also try to invite their mates too even though not everyone is so enthusiastic. but they can have fun at home too, they will most definitely sunbathe and go for swims in the river/little lake not far from home (even though it might turn into shell hunting or cave exploring. or waterfall sex. mostly waterfall sex.) or have quiet dance nights just in the living room.

absolutely run out under the rain to jump in puddles, splash each other, roll in the mud and kiss while they're soaking and yelling at the thunder excitedly. just another benefit of hardly getting cold - the rain evaporates from Karlach's skin and creates their own cloud of mist to pretend like they're two thunderstorm ghosts stalking through the small village. they are the worst influence on the neighbourhood kids and are absolutely responsible for the little tieflings and other children coming home covered in mud and dripping on mam's carpet.

a little (not little) extra for modern!AU :)

Karlach hates vacuuming solely because of the sound, and yes, she can still hear it even if she blasts music in her headphones or on the stereo ungodly loudly. it just irritates her to the point of raging (misophonia said hi), she'd rather sweep the floors manually or just let Soap take over. she is a little self-conscious about it though, so he has to play up his knight in grey sweatpants with no underwear on shining armor act and play-fight for the bloody vacuum until she feels better and leaves him to do the chore.

training is a family activity! they obviously go to gym together as much as possible (oh Soap is there only to show off his buff girlfriend and watch her excersise to the point where they have to excuse themselves for a bathroom break), but they have a little makeshift gym at home, like, maybe just a treadmill and some small equipment for days when they don't feel like going out. actually, i think they have a little gym even in Faerûn, that one was definitely built mostly by Soap with help from Karlach. it's nothing fancy, but since it is somewhat a novelty (very different from the usual training grounds with dummies and everything) they probably have neighbours and local kids/teens come and use it in exchange for thoughtful and heart-warming gifts. Karlach talks everyone's ears off about how crafty her husband is, and said husband walks around with chest puffed out like a bloody turkeycock.

they actually fight over music despite having similar tastes! but they have different opinions on when is what soundtrack appropriate. you cannot tell me they do not enjoy oldschool rock (and not just rock) (yes this might be just a wee bit self-indulgent BUT YOU HEARD THAT THEME IN KARLACH'S AVERNUS ENDIND RIGHT???), like, two-thirds of their playlist are from the period of late 1950s to 1990s. Price definitely approves. they are definitely both metalheads, perhaps not the most "true" ones, but they would get a vinyl record player to listen to some Iron Maiden or Gojira (please metalheads don't kill me if this is a poser thing to write, i respect the genre just not my style-) BUT they will fight over what should be playing in the car/while on the bikes/in the gym. they both don't like to sit with headphones on when together, so "each listens to their own" isn't a solution. and yes, they are a bit obnoxious about blasting their shit with windows open, but they try to remember to be respectful...

definitely obligatory listening to scottish bands, Simple Minds and others close to top on their spotify. Karlach would probably be curious to look for obscure bands and discover indie artists and share found gems with Johnny. also - yes this is also very personal, but i sincerely think it suits them - they love Ren (yes, he's welsh, i know), Karlach a bit more probably since Soap's lifestyle and views contradict Ren's message at some points, but they both know all the lyrics and get emotional when listening to his music. also, like, boxing to his music is the best outlet for everything pent up.

they both are so bad at grocery shopping, oh my god T_T they are absolutely prime victims of flashy marketing, eye-hurting wrappers, misleading deals with yellow labels and supermarkets' floorplans. Soap is a lost cause, Karlach sends him to fetch some milk and he comes back with a full bag of sweets, steak "for the weekend" and gum with the transerring kids' tattoos inside. it's a miracle if he remembered about milk AND brought the right one (he's definitely the type to buy some yummy-looking bannana-soy-whatever-overpriced-bullshit when they needed simple cow milk for masala tea). Karlach is slightly better simply because she gets just so overwhelmed by the choice that it's easier for her to stick to a poorly scribbled list of things she's used to. actually gets upset when she feels like she wants just a little something extra, but can't figure out even what aisle to look at to satisfy her craving. even worse if she goes grocery shopping when hungry (quickly becomes hangry and might call Johnny for emotional support).

skincare is a joke to them. the only times they do that is when they see some stupid animal-print face masks or when Soap gets tricked by packaging and smells and buys some chocolate body scrub with red pepper thinking it's pudding (first he eats a spoonful, finally discovering that it's not pudding at all, then tries it on his whole body to see if he'll smell like chocolate after, and he SWEARS swallowing that shit wasn't as painful as feeling it burn his asscrack and- yes this might be from my experience too). they have a home spa date and clown around the whole time, wearing fluffy robes, eating cucumbers off each other's eyes, lounging around with fancy wine glasses filled with beer and gossiping about neighbours. take a hundred silly pictuers and decide that their favourite part of a spa day is when they wash everything off in the shower together and have sex. a lot of it. nothing more arousing than your man with sparkly pink eyepatches stuck to his freshly shaven mug.

haircare is a whole another story, though! they are both very proud of their hairstyles and want them to look good, so they do frequently shave off outgrown parts (often do that for each other without going to a hairdresser) and style it. Soap's hair tends to get flat so he will worry about volume, while Karlach (who i strongly believe to be blasian) needs oils and moisturisers for her hair. it's pretty short and only mildly wavy, so not the most troublesome to keep healthy, but she does look out for it. also for her horns too, it's canon that she uses oil to care for those babies!

while fixing stuff around the house is still mostly Soap's duty, fixing their bikes is Karlach's passion. she might actually have a whole garage in modern!AU, but even if she doesn't, she still spends hours elbows-deep in machine oil and grease, tinkering with the engines and polishing their shiny steel steeds. Soap often has to come get her out of her hyperfocus to have a bite and a cuddle-smooch (or more) session on the garage petrol smelling old couch.

watching football with beer and smoking (and possbly all the mates interested) is a must. they are so very yelling at the TV and slapping each other's thighs when there's a dangerous moment - and kissing when their team scores. probably the only thing on TV they will never interrupt with getting handsy, they're both too invested lol. god forbid someone in the room roots for another team than them, this will be such a heated arguement that outsiders might think there's a murder about to happen (it never strains their friendship with anyone).

luckily for Soap, modern!Karlach will not melt snow around herself, so they can and will go snowboarding at least once a year. he absolutely gets a kick out of teaching her, and their high body temperature is a welcome feature on such vacations. however, they still wear those stupid lovers-cojoined mittens on walks even though their hands never get cold.

whew, that was a ton of word vomit, haha, thank you for your ask! they are SO appreciated as well as likes, reblogs and just the love i see here for my precious explosive adhd meow meows T_T feel free to request more! also not just about them, i will gladly write for other COD or BG3 characters. any pairing, also x reader or x OC, why not. i need to get my english writing skill up, feels so weird to see it compared to my first language texts...

[delta98-idk]

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Biker!Ghost and Biker!Soap