#soapghost coded

[4me2knowandyou2wonder]

Hey COD writers, I just want you to know that in some army pants, there are holes at the top of the main pockets for breathability. What I’m trying to say here is that if *someone* stuck their hand inside *someone elses* pocket—as long as that someone else doesn’t have their shirt tucked in super deep—this person could touch the other’s stomach and maybe even their treasure trial.

That’s all, thank you for your time.

[eiraeths]

soap who got a bunch of random tattoos as a teenager/young adult not knowing what they meant and is always wondering why couples flirt with him when they see an upside down pineapple tattoo

established priceghostgaz who think it’s the only way they could have him in their polycule

[without-energy-always]

Thinking about how utterly dad coded john price is

Like im talking him driving and gaz opening a bag of crisps in the backseat and hes immediately doing the dad grabby hand level of dad ykwim??

[forestshadow-wolf]

There's something to it, Ghost thinks, Soap, that is. Something in the way the ocean is both beautiful and violent. Something in the way a rabbit becomes a hare. Something in the way even the smallest, friendliest dog can become a wolf. Something like awareness and anger. The anger isn't what captivates Ghost, nearly is; could be if he let it; but Ghost knows anger, inside and out, has loved it and nurtured it, was moulded by it. It's the awareness that traps Ghost in the wake of Soap's anger. He can't even, really, place his finger on what it is, he wants to say it's an awareness of God, some God, a God, any God; but that's not exactly right either. No it's more like staring a wolf in the eye as it bares it's teeth at you; and if you're smart enough; waiting for it to move, to attack, except all it does is watch; like realizing it doesn't want to kill, but it will, if it has to, and it won't hesitate if it does. It's like watching a godless creature bare it's fangs at the God that molded it's flesh into life.

[snootlestheangel]

Dog-coded Soap snippet from my work Silence is Golden But Consequences Are Red

Tagging a couple of mutuals to get a nice pat on the head for my sleep deprived miracle @gloard @bringinsexybackk69

Soap hisses as he stumbles into a bookshelf, the open wound in his side oozing blood with every little move. Ghost whips his head around at him, about to snap for being so loud, yet the words catch in his throat. He notices the bookshelf Soap had bumped into moved easily aside, and there is a small space that opened up behind it.

“In there.” Ghost whispers as he finishes moving the bookcase aside, and Soap quickly steps inside the tiny space in the wall. They’re plunged into darkness as Ghost moves the bookshelf back into place, and their little hiding hole is barely big enough for the both of them. Soap is pressed against the opposite wall, leaning against it as he squeezes his eyes shut to ignore the raging pain in his side. Ghost’s large frame can be felt behind him, and with the tight walls, Soap feels suffocated.

“Lemme look at it.” Ghost mumbles against Soap’s ear, gloved hand hovering over Soap’s wound. Soap obliges, dutifully lifting his shirt to expose the gaping hole. Ghost flicks on a small light, trying to block it as much as possible while still letting it be effective. He makes a small, unsatisfied noise as he touches Soap’s side and a trickle of blood runs down. The waistband of his pants are already forming a dark red spot, and his side is stained as he continues to freely bleed. Soap takes a shaky breath at Ghost’s touch, yet not from pain. It could just be the way his blood is rushing with adrenaline, or the blood loss, or maybe he’s finally lost it, but he can’t help but feel painfully aware of Ghost. Of his size, the way he’s forced to press up against him in the tight space.

Trapped in the darkness, completely at his mercy.

“Take your shirt off, I’ll patch it.” Cold seeps across his skin as Ghost’s mask lightly brushes his cheek, and Soap’s eyes flutter close. He hisses as he pulls the soiled shirt over his head, tucking it into his belt for safe keeping. He can feel Ghost fidgeting behind him, and he allows a moment to rest his head against the wall, breathing deeply. Soft fingertips lightly grab his chin, forcing his head off the wall. His skin prickles at the touch, and he fights off the urge to lean his head back further.

“Bite.” Ghost orders, offering his glove to Soap. Ignoring the growing knot in his stomach, Soap obeys, biting down on the glove. Ghost’s right hand is still gloved, shoving the small torch into his hand.

“Hold this for me.” Ghost whispers against his ear, and Soap takes a steadying breath, trying not to focus on the chill sent down his spine at the faint traces of Ghost’s breath. Ghost moves so he can get a good view of Soap’s injury, and he rummages in his vest for the few first aid supplies he keeps on himself at all times.

Soap’s eyes shoot open as he feels Ghost’s legs against his, spreading them apart and forcing him into an awkward stance where he has little room to move. He grunts in pain as Ghost’s ungloved hand sweeps over the wound with a small alcohol wipe, cleaning up the area to get a good view of the wound itself. Keeping his head lowered against Soap’s side at an awkward angle, Ghost tosses away the wipe and grabs something else from his vest. He rips open a pack of sterile gauze, and wraps his right arm around Soap, pinning the other’s arm to his side. The light bounces against Soap’s skin at Ghost’s action, reflecting off the blood still there. Soap squeezes his eyes shut, a wave of dizziness washing over him.

“Steady, Johnny.” Ghost grunts, gloved hand gently pressing against Soap’s ribs to hold him in place. Soap presses his forehead against the wall once again, the pounding of his heart and the storm of emotions becoming all too much.

“Deep breath.” Ghost whispers, voice rumbling in the quiet. Soap obeys, taking a deep inhale. He lets out a harsh grunt as Ghost’s fingers suddenly begin to press painfully into his wound. Soap knows he’s just packing it, but the pain is almost overwhelming and he wants to spit the glove out, to beg for it to stop. But Ghost shifts behind him, and at the light brush of his mask against Soap’s cheek, he decides against it. Ghost quietly shushes him, and Soap takes a few steadying breaths.

“Deep breath.” Ghost orders, and Soap obeys. This time, Soap forces back a grunt and does his best to stay quiet, but a weak whimper manages to escape as he presses his head into the wall, pushing against Ghost. Ghost’s arm wrapped around him squeezes lightly as he pauses, letting Soap catch his breath once more.

“Easy, Johnny. Doing good, just one more, yeah?” God, this man is going to kill me, Soap can’t help but think at the deep rumble of Ghost’s voice against his ear. Soap looks over at him, barely visible in the weak light, looking as eerie as the stories describe him to be. Soap nods, closing his eyes once again. He takes a deep breath in, and Ghost finishes shoving the rest of the gauze inside the wound, with Soap managing to keep the noise to a minimum.

“Atta boy.” Ghost rumbles, and Soap squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to stamp down the small whimper building in his chest. He begs whatever higher power exists that Ghost hasn’t noticed the growing bulge in his pants. Ghost’s arm unwraps from around him as he delicately wraps Soap’s middle, a rough attempt at keeping the sergeant from bleeding out before they get the chance to make their great escape. Soap remains rooted in place, one hand against the wall to help balance himself, even after Ghost untangles himself and gives Soap as much space as possible.

“Put your shirt back on. We’ll give it another minute, and then we’ll head out.” Ghost whispers, and Soap nods, shaking hands grabbing the bloody shirt from his belt. He hisses as he tries to raise his arms over his head to get the shirt on, and has to stop halfway, chest heaving. His head is spinning, and there’s so many thoughts racing through that he feels numb.

It’s just blood loss, he tries to tell himself, yet to no avail. Not when Ghost’s hands are back on him, helping guide the shirt over his head. Not when he feels utterly helpless, victim to whatever cruelties Ghost decides to play on him. Yet, Ghost’s only harm towards him has been the teasing, the proximity of his existence so enticing yet not quite in reach. Physically, he’s there, against him, touching him. Yet he’s not committed. He’s not yet let Soap take the plunge.

He’s at the mercy of those red-stained hands, victim to a cruel twist of fate.

[silli---lilli]

Soap: You know I was thinking...what if I unpack here? Ghost: Then all your stuff would be here. Soap: Well...what if all my stuff was here? Ghost: *frowning* Then you'd be going back and forth all the time. It doesn't make any sense.

Soap smiles. He knows Simon doesn't expect it, that maybe he doesn't quite grasp how ready he is to never leave his side. He knows the idea of being wanted that way is so foreign to him, it doesn't even cross his mind.

Soap: Okay. What if we lived together and you understand what I'm saying? Ghost turns quickly, surprised. Ghost: Live together? There have been no signs for that. Soap: *grinning again* Well me asking is kind of a sign.

[kyoonnyoon]

me, introducing my mutuals to my current favorite queer-coded couple from whatever i’ve decided to hyper-fixate on this month:

“this is tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumbass”

[krowsnotes]

GhostSoap are so Hozier coded, any song of Hozier is them

Especially with the new song Too Sweet, I don't care which perspective is which I just know them gay bitches are pining so hard that they sabotage each other

[sparky-draws]

had this soapy sitting around for a bit hoping to finish a second piece for it, might as well post it now

[solardescension]

Fellas, is it gay to only allow one person to call you by a nickname?

Fellas, is it gay to stare longingly at a man’s face upon seeing it for the first time?

Fellas, is it gay to wait in enemy occupied territory for your boyfriend military partner?

Fellas, is it-

Fellas-

I’m gonna write some I swear.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap captured by the enemy and held for ransom.

Ghost laughs "Good luck with that. you'll find that to be a mistake." and then he hangs up.

soap shows back up on base an hour later, with an iced coffee

[confused-wanderer]

This- but make it Ghost’s internal confession pining for Johnny.

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

OOO I'm very excited to share this chapter! We're getting close to the finish line!

Its name is "The Song of Us"

Page 54 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 15:

The Blind man asks his companion, before dawn break, What do you believe, is a beast’s fate, Once death seizes its life, in his inevitable grasp? The beast, his heart knowing of the fallen knight’s pleas, Of men they lost, who were left to be but a worm’s dark feast, Answers, death reaches for monsters all the same as men, For the unjust, for the cruel, For the kind, for the forgiving, All bones become one, until they become none, As death is the only being, to see all as one and the same.

This city is quiet, in the way a drowning is. Something wicked is happening under the surface, hidden from plain sight. If only its victim had air to scream.

The Hunter has intel beyond the SAS’s scope, beyond Laswell’s. Informants, comms. A man pronounced to all as dead. How is it possible, they were written off as a non-threat before?

Soap grits his teeth, tapping the lit end of his cigarette on a wall. Simon started moving a few minutes ago, the poison once again retreating. By the haunted look in his brown eyes, John could tell they both know he’s running out of time.

Price has been arguing with Laswell while helping Simon. Something about the fact the Hunter seemingly didn’t exist a year prior, on paper. Appeared out of nowhere one day with an army behind them, ready to burrow into intelligence networks in a way even Makarov couldn’t.

Makarov’s name came up a lot in that conversation. Enough that Soap had to take a smoke.

Anger thrums through his veins. Begging for blood. The same incessant screaming that drove him to choke the life out of Makarov, the same fire that kept him going through this personal slice of hell.

Maybe he’s an idiot, for wanting to kill the Hunter, for believing it will change anything.

The cigarette’s flame licks his fingers.

Soap crushes it against the wall. He turns around, watching Simon and the Captain. Far enough to not hear them, but they seem to need a bit of privacy anyway. Soap can’t say he’s ever seen Price that emotional, in their short meetings.

He asks himself where Gaz is when the Lieutenant approaches him.

“Price is bloody livid, isn’t he?” Gaz huffs.

Soap hums. His eyes move from the Captain to Simon, his mask still on the ground besides him.

Kyle follows his stare, “did you know Ghost’s identity, when I found you two?”

“No”, the white skull almost glows in the moonlight, “I only found out when… the communicator tried to use it against him.”

He can feel Gaz scan his features, “and you still decided to work with him.”

Soap doesn’t answer. Simon and Price are hugging now, the movement uncoordinated to Ghost. He doesn’t know how he can tell.

He turns to face Gaz, “I swore we will finish this together. I don’t go back on my word.”

“We both know this goes beyond that, Soap.” Gaz gives him a half smile, “the way you look at him… Haven’t seen you like that with anyone else.”

Soap frowns, scoffing, “don’t know what yer-”

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Gaz asks, almost gently.

…Feelings?

…..Could he?

“I…”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Gaz murmurs, “in all the years I’ve known you, you didn’t act like this. Going against everyone you know, jumping in front of him when Price starts threatening him, letting him rest his bloody head on your legs- c’mon Soap, you’re fucking smitten with the man-”

“Kyle.” Soap stops him, head hanging down to hide the embarrassment painting his cheeks red. He scrubs a weary hand over his features, looking up at his friend between his fingers.

Gaz’s eyes soften. Soap sighs, “I- this is not the time for that kind of shite. We need to fuckin’ dust the Hunter, and then-”

And then what?

Soap lowers his hand, stare unconsciously drifting towards Simon. Since when have his eyes started doing that?

It hasn’t been more than a month since he arrived to this godforsaken city. How is it that John can’t imagine being alone again?

Or… how can’t he imagine an ‘after’ without Simon?

“I won’t lie to you.” Kyle starts, his tone gentler, “I still don’t fully trust Ghost. Even if he is… Simon Riley.” the Lieutenant places a hand on his shoulder, “but I can tell what you truly want, even if you think it’s not feasible.”

“That’s because it isn’t-”

“Bullshit.” Gaz turns John around to face him, “look, we are not good men. We’ve been operating outside the law for… for as long as I can remember. What we do, the way we dirty our hands...”

Kyle lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his shoulder, “what I’m saying is, we can make people disappear. And if you… if you want that, I can help. I’m sure Price will too-”

“Yer out of yer mind-”

“Are you going to go back to Scotland, mate?” Gaz’s voice sharpens on desperation, “are you gonna go back to feeling like you have nothing to live for? Can you really leave this life, leave Ghost, behind?” He almost whispers the end, “be honest.”

How could he go back? No apartment, endless job search, a buzz under his skin that cannot be scrubbed off, disappointment to his family, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness-

“What else can Ah do?!” Soap tenses under Gaz’s hand.

That hand keeps him steady all the same, “whatever you want, John.” Kyle smiles sadly, “me and Price don’t have that freedom, but you two? You don’t have stuffy generals breathing down your neck.”

“I don’t-” Soap cuts himself off, thoughts whirling faster in his mind. He gets reminded of what his therapist used to say about him, back when he was just discharged.

“You fixate on danger, John. To the point of obsession. You don’t know when to let go, if you believe you can make things right.”

“Even if the cost is more than you should be willing to pay.”

“Just… think about it. Besides…” Gaz looks away, expression darkening, “I have a feeling the 141 might need people like you in the future.”

Soap brows furrow, “dishonorably discharged adrenaline addicts?”

Kyle chuckles, “no”, his hands tighten on Soap’s shirt, “people we can trust. People who are willing to do what’s right, even if they know they shouldn’t. Even if they don’t act the way the higher ups would want them.”

His brown eyes turn to look at John, determination he first saw on bootcamp only growing stronger, “people like you.”

Soap goes through another cigarette with Gaz by the time Price and Simon return to them. Both of their eyes shine with tears.

“Laswell did some digging.” Price grunts, “wasn’t easy, finding intel on the Hunter. They know their way around our networks, clearly.” his stare flickers towards Simon, “this operation-”

“Mass murder” Soap corrects. Calling this an operation would spit on the dozens of innocent people left to rot here.

“Mass murder”, the Captain continues, “is very unusual for the Hunter’s soldiers. Almost… flashy.”

“The communicator admitted it was an attempt to frame me.” Simon rolls up the mask in his hands, slipping it on, “they needed to show the British Army I’m too dangerous to keep.”

“And they knew the SAS would send the 141 because of the informant.” Gaz huffs.

Price nods, “which they did succeed in, but it also exposed them to us.”

“The SAS wouldn’t have investigated it further if ye actually killed Ghost the first time around.” Soap grumbles, wincing a moment later when he remembered who he’s talking to.

The Captain takes it surprisingly seriously. “Correct. This is not the first time they hide behind a smaller, supposedly unconnected criminal.” he hangs his arms on his tacvest, commending voice booming in the empty streets, “the Hunter is now top priority for the 141, our orders are to eliminate them, along with any high ranking officers remaining within their army. This mission is classified to all but us and Laswell - anyone else will be treated as a potential collaborator of the Hunter.”

“What about Soap and Ghost, Captain?” Gaz asks.

Price sighs, “Ghost has escaped after releasing the civilian he captured as leverage. And John MacTavish?” a sly smile pushes his mustache up, ”he has never set foot in this city.”

Kate Laswell isn’t someone Soap knew well, back in his service. Has heard her name being dropped in a couple of debriefs, a few calls here and there regarding missions.

He becomes increasingly grateful she’s on their side, as she brings up more and more intel on the Hunter. Their main source of information is the informant Ghost killed - the man recognized several undercover soldiers moving supplies in and out of the city in the past few weeks. He knew something big was going to happen, but the SAS waved it off as a local gang.

On the day of his death, he managed to send in one last report. The informant knew his time was limited, that his cover was blown, so the message was painfully short.

‘Skull in warehouse, Konservy, game over’

It was not clear if who he referred to when he transmitted the name “Skull”, and at the time the comms officer asked the informant to repeat, thinking it was a mistyped “Ghost”. With what they know now, it’s highly likely he was actually talking about the Hunter, and their red skull insignia. Konservy is a name of a warehouse, two clicks out of the city, as Laswell quickly found out.

‘Game over’ is the agreed upon sign for caught spies.

Price and Gaz have brought out their maps, attempting to lock down the warehouse’s location. Soap and Ghost were gently shooed away after it became obvious they don’t have any more useful intel to provide.

“How’s your neck?” Ghost asks him, the two of them leaning against a crumbling wall.

Soap opens his mouth to answer, when gloved fingers brush over the bruised skin on his throat. “I uh…” he swallows, the hand following the movement, “I feel fine.”

Ghost hums, caressing the wound for a moment longer before pulling away. Soap wants to chase the touch.

He really is in over his head, isn’t he?

“Simon.” Soap looks up at the bright skull mask, “have you thought about… what are ye gonna do after?”

“...no.”

“...Would ye go back? To what you did before?”

Simon stares at him deeply, eyes closing, “I don’t think I can.” he looks back at Soap, “you? What did you do before?”

Soap chuckles bitterly, “ah, I was spendin’ my newly civvi life indulging in only the greatest of pleasures. Like sittin’ in an office for nine hours a day, or knittin’ a scarf on my therapist’s orders.”

Simon’s shoulders shake with a badly hidden laugh, “I’d like to see you knit.”

Soap grins, “oh I was a natural. It definitely didn’t have several holes by the time I was done.” 

“How did you get here, then?” Simon asks, mirth still creasing his eyes.

His smile drops, words dying on his tongue, “I uh…” that weeks-old shame starts creeping back in, “was about to be evicted. Got fired, bastards never liked me anyway. I jus’ took all of my money and… ran as far as I could.”

Simon hums, shoulder leaning in to nudge his. Soap thinks the conversation is over after a few moments of silence, the both of them mauling over the words, when Simon surprises him.

“Think I’d like that… running away.” he murmurs.

“Aye? Where would ye go?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think it matters.” Simon leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching, “as long as the company is good.”

Soap feels a shiver go down his spine, eyes wide as he tries to find the joke that must be in Simon’s.

But he looks so painfully sincere, even when he finally leans away, “too bad there’s none ‘ere. Might ask Laswell if she got any tips on finding partners in crime.”

Soap lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “think they make dating apps for fuckers like ye?”

“Doubt I’ll find anyone as mental as you on Tinder, Johnny.” Simon deadpans.

“That’s because yer looking in the wrong place - Christian Mingle is where the real crazy bastards are.”

Simon can’t hold in his laugh this time, and for the first time Soap hears the way he snorts a little when his giggles become uncontrollable. It’s a horribly endearing sound, one that he wants to hear for every day for the rest of his life.

It makes his heart hurt, heavy, sinking in his chest like a death sentence.

Gaz was right.

He’s in love with Simon Riley.

Gaz went back to get the vehicle he and Price infiled with. It had a laptop, a few maps, and the most wonderful MREs Soap ever had. He never thought he’d miss that shite, but after running on a handful of oranges and a possibly moldy sandwich, they tasted like heaven on earth.

As he and Ghost had their meal (Simon’s eyes sparkled in a way that told Soap he was clearly as delighted with the food as he was), the 141 finalized their plan with Laswell. Soap could see them arguing about something, but he was far too preoccupied with eating to care at the moment.

Ghost, however, did care, “need anything, Price?”

The Captain snaps his head up, taking off his hat and scratching at his hair, “we have an angle to breach, but…”

Gaz joins in, “We don’t have intel on how many guards are posted, their location… mission will be doomed from the start if we just go in guns blazing.”

“Why not do some recon, then?” Soap wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “we’re all trained for that.”

“Too risky, the warehouse is exposed, and the Hunter won’t leave any obvious gaps in security if they’re worth their salt.” Price grunts.

Ghost gets up, walking over to the maps spread on the truck’s hood, “then we break in.”

Soap smirks at the assurance in his voice, “and that’s why I love the Ghost.”

He instantly catches the knowing expression on Gaz’s face, as well as Simon stiffening beside him. Soap curses himself mentally, feeling his face heat up in shame. He prays for any god that might listen, that Ghost didn’t take it as seriously as the truth is.

Thankfully, Price saves him from blurting out some more recently-discovered-emotions, “no other way but through, eh Simon? What do you have in mind?”

Ghost scans the maps of the warehouse Laswell has sent over, “The Hunter doesn’t know we’re working together, if they’re expecting an attack they would only expect two people - me and Johnny.” his eyes flicker to Soap’s for a brief moment, “if we split up, the 141 could take them by surprise.”

“You said they’re after you and John, Simon. If they catch you, we might not be able to help.” Price says grimly.

Ghost sighs, looking away frustrated. His head turns to face Soap, eyes calculating, “...what if they don’t know it’s us?”

“What?” Price asks.

Ghost continues, eyes still staring deeply into his, “Johnny can easily disguise himself, he’s done so before. All he needs is to cover up his face and hair.”

The Captain nods to Ghost, “and what about you, son? Everyone knows your mask.”

“But no one knows his face.” Soap answers, understanding washing over him, “but Simon-”

“I can’t be Ghost if we want to finish this.” Simon brushes fingers over the bone-white teeth of the skull mask, hand tightening into a fist.

Gaz nods slowly, “and we can’t be the 141.” he sends a meaningful look to the Captain, “this operation has to be kept secret. If the SAS learns we collaborated with the Ghost…”

“Then we won’t be.” Price walks to the back of the truck, pulling out 3 black balaclavas and throwing them to Soap and Gaz.

Price begins explaining their plan, “Laswell has gathered up a few blueprints of the Konservy warehouse. There are several key points that appear to be far too open for us to breach, all except one - the offloading garage. We’ll split into two teams, me and Gaz will take the offices and CCTV rooms, clearing the way for Soap and Ghost to infiltrate the main machinery room.”

“Our plan depends on each team watching the other’s six, we’ll have to keep comms up.” Gaz adds.

“Once the first team takes over the CCTV room, we will be able to locate the Hunter. The faster we do this, the less likely reinforcements will arrive.” Price hands Soap and Ghost a radio.

“Do we know where they keep their vehicles?” Soap asks while fitting the comms over his clothes.

“Yeah, should be around where we first enter. Why?” Gaz raises a brow towards him.

A wicked smile spreads on Soap’s lips, “might be able to set up a little surprise for any newcomers.”

Ghost chuckles darkly, “always ready to craft a trap, aren’t you, Johnny?”

“Never failed me before, Simon.”

“You can take a look at our supplies, take whatever you need.” Price looks over each of them, “any questions?”

Soap flexes his hands, adrenaline thrumming a familiar song through his veins, anger painting his vision red, “what are we waiting for?”

[snootlestheangel]

💫 for something related to Silence is Golden But Consequences Are Red

Cheating and doing another teaser for this fic. I've definitely posted this before but it's still so good and I love it so much

@gloard

Soap hisses as he stumbles into a bookshelf, the open wound in his side oozing blood with every little move. Ghost whips his head around at him, about to snap for being so loud, yet the words catch in his throat. He notices the bookshelf Soap had bumped into moved easily aside, and there is a small space that opened up behind it.

“In there.” Ghost whispers as he finishes moving the bookcase aside, and Soap quickly steps inside the tiny space in the wall. They’re plunged into darkness as Ghost moves the bookshelf back into place, and their little hiding hole is barely big enough for the both of them. Soap is pressed against the opposite wall, leaning against it as he squeezes his eyes shut to ignore the raging pain in his side. Ghost’s large frame can be felt behind him, and with the tight walls, Soap feels suffocated. 

“Lemme look at it.” Ghost mumbles against Soap’s ear, gloved hand hovering over Soap’s wound. Soap obliges, dutifully lifting his shirt to expose the gaping hole. Ghost flicks on a small light, trying to block it as much as possible while still letting it be effective. He makes a small, unsatisfied noise as he touches Soap’s side and a trickle of blood runs down. The waistband of his pants are already forming a dark red spot, and his side is stained as he continues to freely bleed. Soap takes a shaky breath at Ghost’s touch, yet not from pain. It could just be the way his blood is rushing with adrenaline, or the blood loss, or maybe he’s finally lost it, but he can’t help but feel painfully aware of Ghost. Of his size, the way he’s forced to press up against him in the tight space.

Trapped in the darkness, completely at his mercy. 

“Take your shirt off, I’ll patch it.” Cold seeps across his skin as Ghost’s mask lightly brushes his cheek, and Soap’s eyes flutter close. He hisses as he pulls the soiled shirt over his head, tucking it into his belt for safe keeping. He can feel Ghost fidgeting behind him, and he allows a moment to rest his head against the wall, breathing deeply. Soft fingertips lightly grab his chin, forcing his head off the wall. His skin prickles at the touch, and he fights off the urge to lean his head back further. 

“Bite.” Ghost orders, offering his glove to Soap. Ignoring the growing knot in his stomach, Soap obeys, biting down on the glove. Ghost’s right hand is still gloved, shoving the small torch into his hand.

“Hold this for me.” Ghost whispers against his ear, and Soap takes a steadying breath, trying not to focus on the chill sent down his spine at the faint traces of Ghost’s breath. Ghost moves so he can get a good view of Soap’s injury, and he rummages in his vest for the few first aid supplies he keeps on himself at all times. 

Soap’s eyes shoot open as he feels Ghost’s legs against his, spreading them apart and forcing him into an awkward stance where he has little room to move. He grunts in pain as Ghost’s ungloved hand sweeps over the wound with a small alcohol wipe, cleaning up the area to get a good view of the wound itself. Keeping his head lowered against Soap’s side at an awkward angle, Ghost tosses away the wipe and grabs something else from his vest. He rips open a pack of sterile gauze, and wraps his right arm around Soap, pinning the other’s arm to his side. The light bounces against Soap’s skin at Ghost’s action, reflecting off the blood still there. Soap squeezes his eyes shut, a wave of dizziness washing over him. 

“Steady, Johnny.” Ghost grunts, gloved hand gently pressing against Soap’s ribs to hold him in place. Soap presses his forehead against the wall once again, the pounding of his heart and the storm of emotions becoming all too much. 

“Deep breath.” Ghost whispers, voice rumbling in the quiet. Soap obeys, taking a deep inhale. He lets out a harsh grunt as Ghost’s fingers suddenly begin to press painfully into his wound. Soap knows he’s just packing it, but the pain is almost overwhelming and he wants to spit the glove out, to beg for it to stop. But Ghost shifts behind him, and at the light brush of his mask against Soap’s cheek, he decides against it. Ghost quietly shushes him, and Soap takes a few steadying breaths.

“Deep breath.” Ghost orders, and Soap obeys. This time, Soap forces back a grunt and does his best to stay quiet, but a weak whimper manages to escape as he presses his head into the wall, pushing against Ghost. Ghost’s arm wrapped around him squeezes lightly as he pauses, letting Soap catch his breath once more. 

“Easy, Johnny. Doing good, just one more, yeah?” God, this man is going to kill me, Soap can’t help but think at the deep rumble of Ghost’s voice against his ear. Soap looks over at him, barely visible in the weak light, looking as eerie as the stories describe him to be. Soap nods, closing his eyes once again. He takes a deep breath in, and Ghost finishes shoving the rest of the gauze inside the wound, with Soap managing to keep the noise to a minimum. 

“Atta boy.” Ghost rumbles, and Soap squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to stamp down the small whimper building in his chest. He begs whatever higher power exists that Ghost hasn’t noticed the growing bulge in his pants. Ghost’s arm unwraps from around him as he delicately wraps Soap’s middle, a rough attempt at keeping the sergeant from bleeding out before they get the chance to make their great escape. Soap remains rooted in place, one hand against the wall to help balance himself, even after Ghost untangles himself and gives Soap as much space as possible. 

“Put your shirt back on. We’ll give it another minute, and then we’ll head out.” Ghost whispers, and Soap nods, shaking hands grabbing the bloody shirt from his belt. He hisses as he tries to raise his arms over his head to get the shirt on, and has to stop halfway, chest heaving. His head is spinning, and there’s so many thoughts racing through that he feels numb. 

It’s just blood loss, he tries to tell himself, yet to no avail. Not when Ghost’s hands are back on him, helping guide the shirt over his head. Not when he feels utterly helpless, victim to whatever cruelties Ghost decides to play on him. Yet, Ghost’s only harm towards him has been the teasing, the proximity of his existence so enticing yet not quite in reach. Physically, he’s there, against him, touching him. Yet he’s not committed. He’s not yet let Soap take the plunge.

He’s at the mercy of those red-stained hands, victim to a cruel twist of fate.

[abyss-cat]

Now that Nuremberg Codes is finished, probably going to add some chapter updates (and may post a poll) to other fics. The sequel (temp named Aftermath), is already planned and outlined, just needs the actual writing. But I do get to share some things about Nuremberg. I'm happy to answer questions as well.

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Ghost/G-09's coping mechanism was to somewhat ignore what was happening. In some ways dehumanizing himself to cope.

There's no supernatural reason for Colt appearing in Price's nightmares. It's simply a decision he feels guilty about and over time became an amalgamation of regret over past choices, personal fears, and the weight of the position he's in. In some ways having those nightmares also kept him sane. But these nightmares in some ways separated Colt from Simon.

Yes, the Riley's are still alive. Except for Brian Riley, he died due to cancer/long term damage of internal organs due to alcohol and drug abuse. As far as they know, Simon died in the mission to Mexico.

There were other experiments, including animal experiments (running under Greek alphabet batches). The A-J we see is simply one group.

Gaz being the reason they escaped is because he deserves it.