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bringing them back

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thinking about price putting his hat on the boys' heads

cw war guilt, self harm through working out

it's only happened once or twice with each of them, only when they're on the brink and safe enough for price to let himself soften

🧼

the first time it happens to soap is on his first demo mission as a corporal; the first time he's been in charge of the planning the rig and the first time he’s close enough to see the human fallout of the explosion he worked so hard on and realises how often it means a slow and messy death

he knows they're the enemy; knows if it wasn't them, it would be him, then the long line of civilians at his back that he stands so strong to protect. he knows that

but that doesn't stop the screaming echoing in his mind, doesn't rid the memory of burning bodies trying to crawl away from their signed deaths

signed by him

he's sitting on the concrete outside the barracks, trying to get the cold to leech the remnants of the fire from his blood that his ice cold shower couldn’t douse. he jumps at the feel of a leg pressing against his side and looks up at price as he leans back against the wall, his hands cupped around a cigarette

soap flinches at the sparks coming from his lighter and looks away, his knees creeping up tighter to his chest

"it gets easier," price rumbles above him, exhaling a long breath and the comforting acrid scent of smoke spills around him

he shifts uneasily and pretends it's not to get closer. "i don't think that makes me feel better, sir,” he admits

"never said it would," he shrugs with the ease of a man who's had this same conversation a hundred times and will have it a hundred more. "just that it does."

soap sniffles then growls at himself, harshly scraping his wrist over his face

a light weight drops on his head and he stifles a gasp as price's hat falls low over his reddened eyes, hiding him from the prying gaze of the world

"you'll be alright, son," he promises and soap's lips tremble. he presses them tight together and follows price's hand as he guides his face into the side of his knee, cupping his jaw and holding him close as he shakes apart

"you'll be alright."

🧢

gaz doesn't crave softness when he messes up; doesn't want forgiveness or assurance. he wants blood; blood shed for blood that shouldn't have been lost

the punching bag is shining by the time price walks into the gym; shining yet also muted where his blood’s had the time to dry and stain, his knuckles torn to shreds

gaz' fist almost slips off the bag and he clicks his tongue. "you gonna keep makin' that a biohazard or do you want to do something actually worthwhile?"

his lip kicks up in a snarl and he sends a glare over his shoulder. "what?"

"think medical's got enough bodies, don't you?" he asks and a dangerous stillness fills the air

gaz shoves off the bag, knuckles dripping onto the mats. "you wanna add one more?"

price quirks an eyebrow, so nonchalant that it just makes him angrier; blood boiling in his veins. "come on, then."

he stalks onto the sparring mats and price barely blinks before he's attacking; throwing wild punches, eyes a hundred miles away

back in beirut

where they had to pull their team out in pieces because gaz missed the suicide bomber launching himself out of the rubble

price dodges each desperate strike, loose and sloppy and nowhere near gaz’ usual level of skill. he doesn't hit back once and gaz' faces twists with each miss, sweat flying off him as his grunts turn into growls, turn into screams as he throws himself at him

price ducks and snatches his hat off his head, slapping it into gaz' face to blind him and drives him back into the mats

he gags as his lungs seize, his air is forced out of him; leaving him to heave harsh breaths that stick in the fabric of the hat. the humid dark closes in on him, forcing him to focus on his breaths so he doesn't throw up or pass out; forcing him to stay within his body instead of drowning in another country

price's hand is heavy behind it, keeping it trapped over his face. "are you done?" he asks, not even breathless

gaz pants, his whole body tingling, and his fingers dig harder into his face

"are you done?" he insists

he swallows dry, suddenly aware of the exhaustion sapping at his limbs, the pain in his hands, the tightness in his throat. "i'm done," he rasps

price relaxes but doesn't remove his hand or push him to get up. they sit on the mats for a while, price's weight and the dark anchoring gaz to the here and now

💀

contrary to popular belief, ghost doesn't hate family days

he doesn't glare at the droves of civilians entering the base, doesn't stand as a spectre of death and grief over the rookies running into the arms of their families on one of the most important days of their career. he doesn't begrudge the safety and love they feel from coddling mothers and embarrassingly proud fathers, from laughing siblings and sticky-fingered children

he remembers his own graduation too well to want to take it from them

he stands in his dress blues through the speeches, his neck gaiter hiding less than he'd like but at ease with the compromise he and price reached. he looks over the tearful family members as name after name gets called, takes careful note of the ones who are clapped for less than the others, and lines up with the other officers as they wait for the tap out

one by one, the graduates get released by their loved ones; no longer standing attention as a recruit but embracing them as a private

just as he's done every year, ghost checked their records to ensure they all had someone coming for them; he's never let a single one stand in the field waiting for someone who will never come. it's rare that his diligence is necessary but he's never let them feel any shame for it; telling them to keep their heads high as he pats their shoulder

he's not needed today and he watches as they're slowly released and disperse, all with a reminder of why they've worked so hard and who they’re here to protect

it's quiet on base that night; soldiers take any chance to celebrate and a graduation is nothing to sneeze at. ghost stands out in the field, out in the gentle quiet. his hands sit folded behind him as he looks up at the stars and he doesn't flinch as a voice sounds behind him

"been a long time since you could be called a rookie," price says, falling into place beside him

ghost hums. "longer for you, i’d say."

he huffs a laugh. "cheeky shite," he snickers. "that hasn't changed; bloody twig of a thing too big for his boots, angry at the world and ready to prove it wrong."

"plenty changed to make up for it," he huffs, his breath disturbing his gaiter

"lot more's stayed the same," price counters and steps in front of him, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he squares his shoulders

"lieutenant riley," he starts and ghost almost rolls his eyes. "you've shown exemplary courage in the face of adversity, gone above and beyond the call of duty and expressed great leadership in your dedication to your team and the men in your charge. congratulations, soldier; you've earned it."

ghost swallows thickly and refuses to admit to the shine threatening his eyes. "thank you, sir."

price smiles and plucks his hat off his head, placing it on his and pats his head; brushing his thumb over his temple

"come on, son; you've waited long enough."

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Ur Johnnys bestie or whatever, and he shows you a photo of him and simon, right?

You can see how the man towers over johnny, its obvious even under the clothes that hes strong as hell and well fed. The guy is larger than life, really. But you take one look at him and coo dramatically, tossing soap a grin "Awe. I didn't know you had such cute subs on your team."

And thus, with that single sentence, you've started the sub ghost debate. Johnny has no idea what u see, according to him ghost is obviously a dom. You two argue back and forth, until eventually kyle gets involved and he *also* thinks ghost is a dom. But u know in ur heart of hearts when you see a sub, so u beg Johnny to set u up with him.

...it fucking works. After constant badgering from johnny convinces simon to give you a shot. And thats all you need. Its a bit awkward at first, but u learn ghost it just shy. Eventually you get him back to ur apartment, and there's no way this man could ever be a dom.

Hes whimpering when you shove him against the matress, looking up at u with big pleading eyes. Follows ur every command, even when u tell him not to move, riding him just to watch his abs clench to stop from bucking into u. By the end of the night hes a whimpering mess, teary eyed and panting like a dog. Best part is hes amazing for cuddles.

Anyways....you wake up the next morning with a maybe-boyfriend and 50 dollars richer when u text Johnny.

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Oblivious!ghost and best friend!reader who is so done with his shit.

Ur helping simon do his weekly cleaning of all his knives (something that took u months to gain trust for) while he complains abt how horny hes been recently. His hand and plethora of toys dont really scratch that itch and its made him irritable all week.

U look at him like hes an actual dumbass "okay?? So go fuck someone??" As if its obvious. When ghost shoots back that no one wants to fuck him and chatting up birds at bars is too painful ur actually ready to stab him. "dude. Youve got like, the two sluttiest sergeants ive ever met on your team. Theyre practically drooling over u constantly. Zero effort, you could just spread ur legs and they'd get to work."

Simon splutters, face tomato red as he denies it. "No. They dont think of me that way." You two spend nearly an hour arguing abt it until you pull out ur phone and, much to Simon's mortification, call kyle.

"Hello?" His voice comes through the speaker, a bit rough like hes been sleeping.

"Hey, kyle. Quick question." You keep direct eye contact with ghost while you ask "you'd fuck simon, right?"

"Huh? Oh!" You can practically hear kyle perk up on the other end of the phone. Knowing damn well Simon will make u suffer for this- "hell yeah id fuck simon. Shit, id do whatever he wanted if it means I could see him get off."

You snort at simons face, and kyle seems to take that as disbelief "no, no man, im serious! Hours with his cock in my mouth? Sure. Railing him into the matress? Yes please. Getting fucked over his kitchen counter? In heaven."

You can very clearly see the hard-on simon is sporting right now, grinning evily. Still, you raise a brow at simon and he nods minutely. "awesome. Do my a favor kyle and be here in twenty."

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ghost lets that f word rip out of his mouth any moment he can tbh

ghost is genuinely the worst offender on base with it too, soap and gaz kept a running total of how many times a day he said it once and could not share the results with price because they were afraid he'd ship it over to one of the conduct offices.

he's quick with it and it hits so naturally at this point that it doesn't even register on soap/gaz's radar anymore.

and the worst part- the worst part is that he is so clearly down with the gays. genuinely blows gaz's mind. this man is so far from being pc and yet here he is talking about some transfem he took home the other night and how "suckin' a bird off doesn't make me queer." or the time soap watched ghost grope some guy at the pub and when he asked ghost about it was hit with, "ass is ass." like what are you doing ghost? what is happening here?

soap asks if he's bi and ghost gives him the most confused look and a "the fuck ya just call me?" before going back to watching footie (and immediately calling the ref a f-).

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Hmmm afab ferret!reader complaining to ur best friend johnny about how hard it is to find a boyfriend or even a good fuck.

Sure, you meet plenty of nice guys, but they aren't really prepared to have a ferret partner. There's a common misconception about ferret hybrids just being playful and energetic, which means when you actually want to fuck you tend to scare guys away. You tell Johnny this, bemoaning the fact you cant find someone on the kinkier side.

And Johnnys quiet for a moment, eyes narrowed in that look where you know hes running a pro-con list. "...I might know someone, hes a bit awkward though, I little shy."

Thus a week later ur meeting simon in a nice little bar, the orca hybrid exactly ur type. It takes some warming up, but soon enough hes cracking jokes and laughing loudly at ur own. When he gives you a *look* and asks about taking you home, you put a hand on his shoulder and tell him outright "look. Its fine if you aren't, but I really need someone to just shove me around. Be real mean and aggressive, yeah? Its good for my instincts."

You watch as Simon's lashes flutter at ur words, a grin spreading over his face. Long story short, hes everything you needed. Scruffs you and drags u where he wants, bites and scratches at ur skin. Ur walking out of there stuffed full of cum, covered in bruises and blood. Simon's walking out of there thinking of what betrothal item to get you.

You send Johnny a very nice box of chocolates later.

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straight up let’s hear it for dry humping!!! wooohoo dry humping!!!!

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I know I have like 0 followers but if I made an actual cod writers discord server what then

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Sooo. Okay, you know that troupe of ohh the guys have to hunker down at someone's house while on a mission. What if they end up at Simons house. And as they are walking in the yard, a young teen volts the fence, and is just like "Simon!!" While jumping on him.

"Mum said you wouldn't be here till juneeee"

And Simon is just really close with all his neighbours, there's are old lady's who come buy to drop of baking, neighbour hood strays and an army of small kids who love their military uncle who plays fun games and picks them up and has cool storys

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Sometimes Simon thinks he sees someone else in the mirror.

A realisation full of resentment. Confusion. He'll dip his head down to splash water over it, tired and hungry after a long day, and when he comes back up it's no longer the same person staring back.

It's a face with darker eyes. Hair slightly more browned. A face that only has one faint scar underneath his right eye instead of a plethora. It's a face that haunted his dreams as a kid, one that he prayed that he'd never have to see again after catching an eyelash on his finger.

And it's been years. Just over a decade now since, so why does he keep coming back?

"Simon?"

The flutter of your voice is a reliever and when Simon turns to face you from where he stands by the sink, in front of the mirror, he has to fight the urge to shrink.

But your smile is there: all too knowing. It's like you had a sense of his turmoil from all the way down the hall, clinging to him like damp does a dog. You move from the doorframe closer towards him, right until your hand brushes over his side and he has to turn away.

"Baby," you sigh, dragging your nose over his arm, tucking yourself into his side, invading his space. "Talk to me."

It shouldn't feel like he's dragging bare feet over gravel, like there are weights tied around his ankles. You've told him so many times that nothing about him could cause burden. He's pushed himself, he's told you more than anyone else, but this– These thoughts sting.

They burn like fire in a forest while he's only got a bucket of water to try and put it out. He's afraid, so afraid that the fire will only spread, that you'll see it too. The horror and the knowing.

I'm just like him.

Simon's pushed at you too. Tried tirelessly to get you to drop him, to leave with nothing but a slam of the door. There's always that nagging thought that he could do something to get you to go, so he can suffer alone for longer. But if he tries it never works, and he's come to love too much to try anything worse.

Instead you wait and wait and wait. Patiently, reverently. With your eyes wide during the day and low during the night. It doesn't matter when he finally gets it out either, because all the encouragement and understanding is already prepared, flowing out of you like a river.

You do the same now. Your cheek firmly pressed over the hot skin of his chest, distance made by your body between him and the sink and the mirror which belittles him.

He knows he can't make you wait any longer for him.

"Do I look like him?"

It comes out choked, hushed almost as if he's unsure if he's even asking a question or making a statement.

You peel away from him slowly, leaning on the sink behind you but keeping your touch on him, a hand on his shoulder and another at his waist. Time moves too slowly like this, when you're looking over him with all the tenderness you could offer, when your starving eyes trail over his body.

You've seen the photos. Old and faded, one of the only things Simon could bring himself to keep out of the inheritance. You hummed and ah-ed at them when you first flicked through, even dragged a finger of his father's face and said they looked similar.

It's the eyes, you smiled shyly.

"You're his son," you murmur, contemplative while your fingers stroke over the skin of his neck. "You can't gauge your eyes out to make yourself feel less his."

Simon's chin lowers, his gaze falling with it.

"But I think what you're really asking," you continue, closing the small fraction of space, your palm moving until it cradles his cheek. "Is if you're like him."

His nod is slow and his chest grows tighter. He can't bear to look at you, can't bear to think that what looks back at you is someone who ruined a whole family.

"Simon," you say, tilting his face upward so your eyes meet. "You already know the answer to that."

The breakdown is swift, the silent tears and small sniffles but you lean in to swallow his cries up. Your mouth softer than he deserves over his, kissing him over and over, as though you're pulling the doubt out just like that.

Because what you say is true.

Because he's never been his father.

Because if was even slightly like him, he wouldn't be here with you.

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Spread the news! GhostGaz Week Round 3 is taking place this summer from July 13-19, 2025. Prompts will be released on June 1 so you have plenty of time to prepare whatever fanworks you might create for this event. We will be hosting the event here on tumblr as well as on Bluesky.

Looking forward to seeing what you all will create!

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Ghost’s first time at the MacTavish house (+Soap’s niece)

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Simon, without ever really considering it, places a lot of weight on a name. It's why he likes the separation between Simon and Ghost, why he gets to a point where he calls Soap Johnny, even when no one else does. It's important, what you call someone. There's a lot in a name.

With you, you'd never even know about Ghost -- to you, he's just Simon, and that's all he ever wants to be. He doesn't want those worlds to mix. Simon will do just fine.

But, after you've been dating a while, when you've convinced him to relax enough to lay his head in your lap while you watch tv and you let out a soft little "there you go, baby"?

Well that's something else entirely.

Because he's never been a "baby." He's never been "honey" or "sweetie" or any of those other cutesy little names you come up with, but when you call him those things, it's nice. Sort of relaxing in a way he never knew it could be.

"Baby, can you change the lightbulb for me?" "What's for dinner, baby?" "Right there, baby, don't stop."

He notices, every single time. It makes him want to try it too, to see if it'll give you the same little easy thrill it gives him. But he's not sure what kind of pet name feels right. He turns over words and phrases in his head when he's trying to go to sleep or in the shower -- he'd absolutely never admit this to you -- and he practices, trying to figure out what feels natural, what feels like you.

In the end, all the practice is for naught, because the right one slips out without him even thinking about it.

It's after he comes home from a deployment, exhausted from both everything that happened and from trying to hide his desperation to see you. When he gets home, you take him in your arms, and all the tension, for the moment, anyway, just falls right out of him, and he holds onto you like a lifeline.

"Missed you so fucking much, sweetheart."

He can feel you smile, your face pressed against his chest, and while he is glad to see you seem to like it, he wasn't prepared for how much he'd like it himself.

Because what you call someone matters. He'd spent the first half of his life as Simon, the second as Ghost, and now, as a complete surprise to him, he's getting a third chapter where he gets to be "baby," where he gets to be close enough to you to share these special little names. He gets to know your sweet heart, and it's more than he deserves.

But he'll never, ever stop trying to earn it.

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playing dress up? punishment game? idk you tell me, all i know is they are having fun!!!★>d(,,･ε´-,,)⌒☆

i like to imagine/hc these bunch of guys are suuuuper close and ghost is too comfortable with them ヽ(´∇｀)ﾉ he likes to tease the hell out of them (especially soap) its insufferable, and they are fucking noisy too so its chaotic. everyday

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strong man!

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dear johnny— ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧