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hatsbuckets · 4 months ago

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Ghoap, except it's Soap hauling Ghost.

This started as a small idea and spiraled, based on many people's recent need for Ghost to get taken care of by Soap. This is my midnight o'clock take. WC: longer than I meant to for one sitting, oops. Tw: Canon typical violence, probably some medical inaccuracies

Everything went to shit in seconds.

The C4 wasn’t supposed to blow yet. The plan was simple—sweep the compound, secure the intel, get out. But somehow, somewhere, Soap had fucked it up and the timing went off.

And now the entire fucking building was coming down around them.

Soap barely had time to turn before the blast hit.

A wall of heat and force slammed into him from behind, a deafening roar swallowing the world whole. His ears rang, vision whiting out as he was thrown forward, weightless for half a second before the ground came up to meet him—

Hard.

Everything spun. The sharp sting of concrete scraped against his arms, his ribs aching from the impact. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs weren’t working right, his head a mess of static.

A hand on his vest, gripping tight moved him. "On your feet, Johnny," a voice gritted out, rough and commanding.

Soap barely registered Ghost hauling him up, dragging him onto shaking legs just as another explosion ripped through the hallway behind them.

"Move!" Ghost barked, shoving Soap forward just as debris rained down where they’d been seconds ago.

Soap’s body acted on instinct, legs pumping despite the roaring in his skull. His head still rang like a church bell, but there was no time to think, no time to breathe—just run.

They bolted down the corridor, the walls trembling, the ceiling cracking apart. Smoke burned in Soap’s lungs, dust clogging the air as they weaved past fallen beams and crumbling debris. The sharp staccato of gunfire still echoed through the compound, but the screams had faded—either their team was already clear, or everyone else was dead.

The exit was up ahead. Not far.

Soap stumbled, boots slipping on the dust-coated floor. He felt himself tilting, his balance still fucked from the blast.

Ghost caught him. Again. A strong grip yanked him upright before he could hit the ground.

Soap barely had time to get his bearings before Ghost grabbed the back of his vest and shoved him forward, harder.

"Go, Johnny!"

Soap didn’t argue.

They burst through the exit just as another blast ripped through the structure, sending out a shockwave that nearly knocked them both off their feet. Heat licked at their backs, fire crawling up what was left of the building.

But they were out.

They kept running—across the open dirt lot, through the perimeter, straight into the dense treeline beyond. The night swallowed them whole, the branches tearing at their gear, the distant shouts of surviving hostiles echoing behind them.

They ran until their lungs burned, until the gunfire faded, until all that was left was the sound of their own ragged breathing.

They didn’t stop running.

Not when the gunfire faded behind them. Not when the compound’s burning wreckage was just a distant glow against the night sky, sending plumes of smoke curling into the stars. Not when their lungs burned, their legs screamed, and their bodies protested every step.

Because stopping wasn’t an option. Plan brunt to hell, there was no safe house waiting for them, no extraction team inbound, and no fuckin comms, Soap realized two kilometers ago. Just acres of land, endless trees, rocky hills, and God knows how much more ground to cover before they could even think about resting.

Soap’s boots thudded against the dirt, every step harder than the last. The terrain was uneven, riddled with loose stones and gnarled roots, but he forced his legs to move, to keep up with the silent force of nature ahead of him.

Ghost was still running, his stride unrelenting, his breath low and measured. He hadn’t said a word since they’d started moving, hadn’t glanced back once.

Soap barely noticed the signs at first.

The way Ghost’s steps were just a fraction too heavy. The way his shoulders were set too stiff, his posture tightening instead of loosening now that they had some distance. The way his breath was coming just a little too fast.

Then the run slowed into a jog, slowed into a trot, slowed into a walk.

The silence between them stretched, punctuated only by their footsteps and the rustling of the wind through the trees.

Soap flexed his fingers, trying to shake some life back into them. His whole body ached, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of his awareness. He was tired—dead tired—but something about the way Ghost was moving was off.

Soap turned his head, about to say something.

Ghost’s foot caught on a loose rock. His balance wavered.

Soap frowned, slowing. "Ghost—?"

Ghost didn’t answer. He swayed again. And then, just like that his knees buckled.

Soap lunged, catching him just as he collapsed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Soap gritted his teeth, stumbling under Ghost’s weight. Jesus, he was heavy.

For a terrifying second, Soap thought they were both going down, but he braced himself, digging his boots into the dirt as he lowered them both to the ground. Ghost’s full weight sagged against him, dead weight, his head tipping forward as his breath hitched unevenly.

Soap’s pulse spiked.

"Ghost—hey!" Soap shifted, gripping Ghost’s arms, shaking him. "Come on, Lt., look at me!"

Ghost made a sound, weak and breathy, but it wasn’t a real response. His fingers twitched like he wanted to grab onto something, but they slipped away, his body slumping further against Soap’s hold.

Soap’s chest squeezed tight. This was bad. Ghost hadn’t just run himself to exhaustion—he was crashing.

Soap’s hands moved on autopilot, yanking at the straps of Ghost’s vest, trying to get a look at the damage. His fingers shook, fumbling at the buckles. Got it open with a yank.

Ghost flinched violently, a harsh, guttural noise ripping from his throat as his whole body seized up.

Soap froze.

Ghost’s back arched off the ground, his hands twitching at his sides like he was trying to push away pain that wasn’t stopping.

Then, slowly—too slowly—he slumped back against the dirt, his breath shuddering out of him in uneven gasps.

Soap’s stomach twisted. "Shit—Ghost—"

Ghost’s breath hitched, his body trembling hard now.

Soap barely took a second to look—didn’t need to. His hands pressed down hard against Ghost’s ribs, against the wound that should’ve killed him half a forest ago.

And Ghost groaned. It was a soft, choked noise, barely a sound, but it was wrong. Ghost didn’t make noises like that.

Soap’s hands faltered.

"Jesus, mate…" His voice wavered, but his hands stayed firm. "You were running like this?"

Ghost let out something that was almost a chuckle, but it was too weak, too breathless to be anything real. "Didn’t notice," he murmured.

Soap gritted his teeth. "Yeah? That why you’re shakin’ like a leaf?" He pressed harder, ignoring the full-body flinch it pulled from Ghost. "What, were you just gonna stitch yourself up with barbed wire when you got somewhere safe?"

Ghost let out a weak, broken chuckle. "Only if I had to."

Soap swallowed hard, forcing his hands to stay steady.

"Yeah, well... stupid," he muttered, voice tight. "Hold still and let me fix you up before you bleed out in the middle of nowhere."

Ghost let out a slow, shaky exhale, his body flinching slightly inward as another wave of pain hit him. His hand grabbed Soap's wrist quick, tight.

"Johnny—"

Soap winced, his heart slamming against his ribs. "I know, I know, Si. Just—stay with me."

Ghost’s breath stuttered.

Then, softer, "'s fuckin' cold."

"That’s ‘cause you’re leakin’ all over the damn place, ya big baby." His voice was tight, trying for light but coming up short. "We fix that, yeah?"

Ghost didn’t respond.

Soap’s chest tightened. "Oi—Simon." His hands pressed harder, blood already coating his fingers. "Eyes on me."

A sharp, shaky inhale. Then Ghost’s head tipped just slightly, like it took everything in him to listen.

Soap’s throat felt like it was closing up. "Stay awake, Lt.," he murmured, voice low, steady. "You die on me, and I swear on my gran’s grave, I’ll bring you back just to kick your arse."

Ghost let out something between a huff and a pained laugh, barely there. "Noted," he whispered.

Soap worked faster, his hands moving, even though his mind was screaming at him. He silently thanked Price for forcing them all to attend the emergency field medicine training a few weeks ago.

By the time the wound was helped best it could be, by the time Ghost was bandaged up, pressing every ounce of warmth he could into him, Ghost was still breathing.

It was shaky, weaker, but steady.

Soap sat back, exhaling sharply. "Jesus," he muttered.

Ghost hummed low, barely awake. "Told you…"

Soap side-eyed him. "Told me what? That you’re a stubborn bastard?"

Ghost made a sound that might’ve been agreement. Or just exhaustion.

"Shoulda lightened tha' las' 'splosive."

Soap sighed, rubbing a bloody hand down his face. "You shoulda told me you were bleedin' out. You ever do this again," he muttered, voice quieter now, "and I swear to God—"

Ghost’s head tilted slightly toward him. "…You’ll what?"

Soap stared at him. At the barely-there smirk under the mask. At the way even now, even after all this, Ghost was still Ghost.

Soap shook his head.

"I dunno," he admitted. "Just don’t do it again, yeah?"

A pause. Then, so soft Soap almost didn’t hear it—

"Aye."

Soap swallowed hard. They still had a way to go.

...

Ghost was too heavy for Soap to carry outright, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

Soap gritted his teeth, hauling Ghost up as best he could, slinging one of Ghost’s arms over his shoulders and bracing a hand around his waist. Ghost was barely holding himself upright, his legs dragging more than walking, his breath a thin, uneven rasp in Soap’s ear.

Soap’s knees burned, his muscles screamed with every step, but stopping wasn’t an option. They had to get somewhere. Somewhere else. Anywhere. He tightened his grip, forcing them forward, half dragging, half lifting Ghost across the uneven ground.

"We’re almost there," Soap muttered, though he had no fucking clue if that was true. "Just stay with me, Lt."

Ghost made a low sound—somewhere between a grunt and a breathless chuckle. "Dunno if…you noticed, Johnny," he murmured, voice so faint that Soap barely heard him over the wind, "but I don’t 'ave much of a choice."

Soap huffed. "Aye, well. Just makin’ sure you don’t get any ideas about quittin’ on me."

Ghost exhaled sharply—not quite a laugh, but close.

Soap risked a glance at his comm, his hand fumbling at the radio clipped to his vest. He’d been checking for hours, but it was always the same. Static, nothing, silence.

His throat was dry. He tried anyway.

"Bravo 0-6, this is Soap, do you copy?" His own voice was raw, barely above a rasp, but steady. He was not going to let it shake, no matter how bad this was getting.

Ghost stumbled again, and Soap nearly went down with him.

"Shit—" He tightened his grip, adjusting his hold, all but hauling Ghost upright again.

Ghost let out a sharp, ragged breath, but didn’t complain.

Soap grimaced, pressing the comm again. "Price, this is Soap. Ghost is down. We are mobile, but barely. If anyone can hear me, I need—"

A burst of static.

Soap held his breath.

Then—

"Soap."

Soap staggered mid-step, his breath catching.

Price.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ, finally—" Soap almost laughed, relief crashing through him so hard he felt weak. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself back into focus. "Ghost is hit bad, Cap. We’re a few clicks west of the facility, still moving, but he’s barely on his feet."

"I know. I’ve got you on GPS, went dark there for a bit in a valley." Price’s voice was steady, solid, the sound of it something Soap could hold onto. "You’re close, Soap. There’s an abandoned town just ahead—old mining site, should be about a click out. You make it there, and I’ll take care of the rest."

Soap exhaled hard, his grip tightening on Ghost.

"You hear that, Ghost?" he muttered, adjusting his hold. "We just gotta make it a little further. You with me?"

Ghost’s head lolled slightly, his masked face turned toward Soap.

"Not goin’ anywhere," he mumbled.

Soap let out a sharp breath, half a laugh. "Good. ‘Cause I didn’t fancy carrying your heavy arse the rest of the way."

Ghost didn’t answer.

Soap’s stomach twisted.

He risked another glance down, trying to assess—but the darkness made it impossible to see how bad it was. He could feel the warmth of Ghost against his side, could hear the way Ghost’s breathing was getting worse, thinner, fading in and out.

Soap’s jaw locked.

"Price, we need exfil fast. I don’t know how long he’s gonna last."

"I know. Just keep moving. I’ve got you."

Soap clenched his jaw, nodded to himself. Right. Keep moving. The town wasn’t far now. Soap set his teeth, tightened his grip on Ghost, and kept walking.

...

Every step was harder than the last. Soap’s knees felt like lead, his arms aching from keeping Ghost upright. His muscles screamed, his head pounded, and his vision blurred at the edges, but he kept moving. One more step.

And another.

The abandoned town finally came into view—a collection of crumbling structures, rusted-out vehicles, and shattered windows, the remnants of a long-dead mining site. The place was eerie, bathed in the faint silver glow of the moon, but to Soap it was a lifeline.

Ghost’s legs buckled again, and Soap nearly lost his footing trying to keep them both upright.

"Almost there, Lt.," he gritted out, adjusting his grip, his fingers digging into Ghost’s gear as he hauled him forward. "Just a little further, Simon. You with me?"

Ghost’s head tilted sideways slightly, his breathing shallow, sluggish, but, "Still here," he murmured.

Soap let out a sharp breath. "Atta man. Price would kill me if I had to leave you."

Ghost let out a breathy, half-there chuckle, but it barely held any strength. Soap didn’t let himself dwell on that.

They made it into the town, staggering between the ruins of buildings that had been abandoned for decades. Soap’s boots crunched against broken asphalt, his own breath ragged, the wind howling through empty streets. It was quiet. Silent. No voices. No distant gunfire. No sound of enemy vehicles chasing them down.

Just nothing.

For a long moment, Soap’s heart pounded in his ears, the quiet so thick it felt suffocating. He felt like he was holding Ghost above water, like the second he stopped, the second he let go—

He didn’t let himself finish the thought.

Instead, he took another step forward, Ghost’s weight pressing heavily into him, his pulse a sluggish, uneven thing beneath Soap’s grip.

Then a distant thump. Faint at first. Then stronger. Then closer. Soap’s head snapped up, his heart hammering as the deep, unmistakable whump-whump-whump of rotor blades filled the night.

A helicopter. Soap exhaled so hard it was nearly a sob.

A gust of wind kicked up dust and loose debris, the chopper swooping in low over the town, sending the dry earth swirling. Soap tightened his grip on Ghost, adjusting his stance as the aircraft’s floodlights swept over them, illuminating them in a harsh, artificial glow.

The second the wheels touched down, the side door slammed open and two figures came barreling out.

"Soap!"

Gaz was the first one off the bird, his rifle slung across his chest, moving like a damn bullet straight toward them.

Price was right behind him, his boots hitting the dirt hard, his face set in grim determination.

Soap barely had time to brace himself before Gaz reached him, sliding under Ghost’s other arm without hesitation, taking some of the weight off Soap’s straining shoulders.

"Fucking hell, Tav." Gaz’s voice was tight, his hands gripping Ghost’s gear as he adjusted his stance. "How long has he been like this?"

"Too long," Soap gritted out, his legs nearly giving out in relief now that someone else was helping. "We had to run, got a little out of sorts. He pushed through it ‘til he couldn’t anymore."

Price stepped in next, his face dark with something close to fury as he took one good look at Ghost, at the sluggish way his head lolled, at the blood still soaking through his bandages.

Price swore under his breath, then reached out, gripping Ghost’s jaw gently but firmly, tilting his face toward him.

"Ghost," he barked, low and sharp.

Ghost made a faint noise, barely a sound, but his eyes didn’t fully open.

Price’s grip tightened. "Look at me, Simon."

Ghost’s eyes slit open just a fraction. Just enough to see.

Price exhaled, his jaw clenching, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentle. "That’s it," he murmured.

Ghost’s head tilted slightly toward him, his breathing still too shallow, but still, "Not goin’ anywhere, sir," he mumbled.

Price huffed, a wry, tight breath of laughter, shaking his head. "Damn right, you’re not."

He slipped in under Ghost, taking Soap's spot. Soap damn near collapsed right there.

"Come on," Gaz said, adjusting his grip. "Let’s get the hell out of here."

Soap nodded sharply, ignoring the way his own exhaustion was creeping in, pushing it down. "Aye. Let’s move."

With Gaz supporting one side and Price on the other, they hauled Ghost toward the bird, Soap achingly climbing in behind them, Nik's hand shooting out, pulling Soap in.

Soap didn't bother sitting up in a seat as Nik closed the door.

Thanks for reading. midnight am blurb turned fic... should I continue? It has been continued here!

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #tf 141 #ghoap #cod fanfic #cod #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #goodnight lmao #should I have spent so much time on this?#probably not #anyway #enjoy some whumpy simon #soapghost #ghostsoap #My writing

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rememberwren · 10 months ago

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A Girl (Not Mine) || 1

Ghost is a little obsessed with Soap and a lot obsessed with Soap's girlfriend--you.

About this: ghoap/fem!reader, suspension of disbelief regarding anything military related is actually necessary for enjoyment, canon-typical trauma for Simon, intrusive thoughts, slut shaming, voyeurism, fingering, accidentally seeing nudes not meant for you, poor writing unless you squint, try squinting. 4k

“I’m so glad I got a girl to think of,

Even though she isn’t mine.”

The first time Johnny mentions you, the 141 is fresh from a month-long leave.

Ghost has a love-hate relationship with time spent off duty. He’d like to enjoy it—to do fuck all, to hike through Clayton Vale twice in a day if it suits him, to drink tea for every meal. But all leave does is remind him of the glaring emptiness in his life, the one he usually fills with violence. So he spent the month climbing up the walls and crawling out of his skin, waiting to be called back like a dog brought to heel.

Here was his comeuppance for craving something to fucking do instead of relaxing the way Price had told him to do. Now they were on their way to San Lorenzo in Ecuador dealing with Ghost’s least favorite flavor of criminal: drug cartels.

It’s too close to Mexico. Too close to that which he would forget gladly if it didn’t come with the loss of so many valuable skill sets. He’s crawling out of his skin for a whole new reason, watching the water fly by beneath them, deep in memories.

Ghost takes all those feelings, fears, remembrances and swallows them whole. Lets them sink to a sour, dark place in his belly. He sits tense on the helo, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle a familiar weight across his knees. Sometimes he has to shut his eyes, swallowing against the rising nausea.

He only has half an ear on Garrick and Johnny’s conversation beside him, but it is all he needs to follow along.

“—lass of my own now,” Johnny is saying around a laugh, his accent thick enough to chafe at Ghost’s skin in a way he doesn’t want to examine, one that leaves him feeling raw but not necessarily hurt. “So no more picking up the barflies back in Hereford.”

“She making an honest man out of you, Tav?”

“Aye, you could say that.” Johnny sounds proud of the fact. It all is so far from anything Simon has experienced in his life that he feels no distant stirring of empathy, not even a muted sense of familiarity in the words. Honest men do not exist.

Not to mention, Simon’s never had a woman (willingly) and he never will.

“You love her?” Garrick asks, earnestly interested to hear the answer. Ghost couldn’t care less.

“Aye. There’s something special about her.”

“What, she’s cool with anal?”

Johnny crows with laughter, and now Ghost does feel something: annoyance, cloying, creeping up his spine like a spider in a web headed for the wiggling maggot of his brain.

“Will you two ever shut up?” he snaps. “Not a moment’s fucking peace since we boarded.”

“Sorry LT,” Johnny says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ghost cuts his eyes toward the other man, assessing for honesty. Johnny’s face is too expressive: brows lifted, eyes wide and earnest, mouth tipped into a tiny grimace, like the thought of irritating Ghost gives him real pain. Between the two of them, Ghost can’t help but think that it’s Johnny who needs a mask if he wants to survive in the world.

Ghost doesn’t have the energy for this. He goes back to watching the scenery pass by. They are over trees now: thick lush jungle, the scent of which he associates with pain—plenty of which was his own. Plenty of which he caused to others.

“What about you, LT?” Johnny asks, calling out over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Do you have a woman back home?”

Ghost lets his head turn, slow and dangerous. Johnny’s audacity never fails to surprise him. “What do you think, Johnny?”

“Honestly?”

“Go on, then.”

“You look like if yeh’ve got a woman, she’s probably locked in yer basement.”

(right where she’d belong.)

Garrick slaps Johnny’s thigh, his face mottled with panic. He hisses under his breath, something like, There are faster ways to die, Tav! Less painful ways, too, Ghost thinks. He fixes Johnny with a dead stare. The silence stretches, growing long and thin and dangerous, like the blade of a knife, until Johnny looks away.

“Think less about my private life, Sergeant,” he warns him.

“Not often you tell me to think less, LT.”

Ghost just grunts, finished with the conversation, returning his unseeing eyes to the trees and slipping back into his own memories.

That should be—well, not the end of it. He expects Johnny to become insufferable about it; that’s just the other man’s way. Still, Ghost had never expected to see you.

He’s doing paperwork in the rec room, too stifled by the tiny, enclosed space of his office to remain there. Paperwork and debriefing are always his least favorite parts of an op. Give him a gun with which to kill and he will gladly kill; give him a pen with which to write and he spends half the time thinking about burying it in his own eye. Garrick and Johnny are there nearby fucking around on their phones having finished with their easy portion of the work ages ago.

A phone is what Johnny thrusts beneath Ghost’s nose. It takes all of his mental fortitude not to flinch away from the unexpected action (or, more likely, not to rip Johnny’s arm off and beat him half to death with it). His eyes flicker down to the screen on instinct and—there you are.

You have one eye squinted shut, your hand up to create a visor against the overbearing sun. The picture shows you from the bust upwards, and Simon sees it for approximately one full second before he grips Johnny’s wrist in a brutal hold and forces the hand and the phone away.

It’s already too late. He’s committed you to memory. The way your hair sits, its color in the blistering sun. The curve of your lips (fuckable, he thinks against his will) as you give Johnny behind the camera an exasperated smile. The arch of your nose (images now—fingers pinching noses shut, forcing mouths further down his cock just to watch them choke and struggle)—

“Get that out of my face,” he grits out through his teeth. His thoughts won’t stop, not now that the floodgates have been opened, and it makes him feel like a dog backed into a corner, frightened-violence rising up in the back of his throat like bile.

—the smooth line of your throat (and his hands around it, choking the light from your eyes just to fuck you when you’re soft and pliable and he doesn’t have to listen to you crying and begging)—shut UP!—

“It’s just my girl, sir,” Johnny laughs, his own eyes flickering back down to your image on the phone, like they are drawn to you. Like it is hard to look away. Ghost doesn’t have that problem—he has some discipline left. “And it’s not as if she’s naked.”

Ghost grips the pen in his hand so tightly that the plastic shell cracks. He’s barely keeping it together, sick and afraid and horrified and angry that Johnny has done this to him—has done this to his own girl—

His voice is rough when he croaks out: “What makes you think I care to see her, Sergeant?”

“‘S it wrong to share the most important person in my life with the other most important people in my life?” Johnny says, eyes too guileless to be taken seriously.

“Share less,” he snaps.

“Been saying that to me an awful lot lately, sir.”

“A good Sergeant would take my words to heart.”

“A good lieutenant would know a futile lesson when it’s biting him in the arse.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Johnny. As much as I hate paperwork, I’d write you up—gladly.”

Johnny gapes. “What for?”

Ghost grins without mirth, mask stretching around his features. Even grinning cruelly like this, his face feels unused to any expression that is adjacent to happiness. He swears darkly: “I’ll find a reason.”

It would send anyone else running. Even Garrick looks fearful, though fascinated: the same look a man wears when he’s watching a car crash in progress. But if sense were dynamite, Johnny wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. Instead, he just flops down on the couch close enough to flutter the pages in Ghost’s lap. Close enough for their knees to brush.

“Jesus, you’re a tadger today,” Johnny says quietly, boot knocking against Ghost’s, a touch he feels all the way up his leg. “Shove off some of that paperwork on us. What’s the use of being a lieutenant if you can’t lord it over your sergeants?”

“I’m sorry, us?” Garrick asks.

“I don’t shirk my responsibilities, Johnny,” Ghost says coldly, gathering his papers. His elbow brushes against Johnny’s ribs, the firm, burning warmth of the other man’s body. He jerks away. He’ll take the stifling seclusion of his office, that makeshift coffin, before he subjects himself to any more of this. “You’d do well to follow my example.”

Ghost resolutely does not think of you. Not during quiet lazy moments on base, not during the frustration of training recruits, especially not during the eerie calm of missions. You do not cross his mind.

His dreams are another thing altogether.

There are the dreams where he hurts and the dreams where he is hurting, and he doesn’t know which are worse. He only knows that they are made worse by your strange presence: your body bent and being broken in by others; you, bent and being broken in by him. He wakes in cold sweats, jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep.

He hates himself for this last place where he cannot execute control: his subconscious.

“Mail?” Johnny asks cheerfully at the sight of Garrick seated on the bench outside the DFAC, a stack of papers and letters laying on his lap.

Johnny is sweaty, gray t-shirt clinging to his toned body as he (for once) keeps a companionable silence at Ghost’s side. They have been training recruits all day—work which Ghost considers far beneath his pay grade, but which he can’t refuse when ops are so slow to arrive and when he is so eager (desperate) to keep busy. Ghost lets himself sit heavily on the bench a safe distance away from Garrick, sweat cooling on his own body.

He’s not ready to be alone yet.

He’s allowed to do that. To want company. Of all the people on base, Garrick and Johnny (and Price) might be the most tolerable of the lot of them. During the rare moments when the pitiful piece of humanity left inside him craves companionship, this is the least painful method to mainline it.

He ignores the lack of letters for him. There is no mail for Ghost—there never is.

Garrick passes Johnny no less than four envelopes. Johnny’s soft smile as he flips through them speaks volumes. Ghost can guess who they’re from: his mother likely, who writes as often as she can. One of his various sisters, surely. Take your pick. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Johnny flip through the letters and settle on one in particular, thicker than the others, tearing it open and tugging the letter out.

The pictures slip from the folded piece of paper and fall to the ground.

Johnny dives to grab them, but all it does is bring Garrick’s attention to them more. Even Ghost’s interest is piqued, his dark eyes giving up pretending to watch the recruits limp back to their barracks to shower before dinner and following Johnny’s hasty movements instead, watching the hot flush that crawls up the back of his Sergeant’s neck.

“What are those?” Garrick asks.

“No’ a thing.”

Garrick lights up. He practically tosses his letter to the side. “She sent you pictures?”

“Possibly,” Johnny says smuggly, the images—old fashioned Polaroids, a nice touch—pressed to his chest. His eyes narrow at the expression on Garrick’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Gaz—!”

Garrick pounces. The two begin grappling, both of their faces split into wide grins. Johnny can only defend himself with one arm, his other protectively clutching the photographs to his bosom. They take each other to the ground and Ghost watches, half interested and half irritated, wondering who will win.

The pictures go flying—and fate’s invisible bitch of a hand causes them to land at Ghost’s feet. Garrick and Johnny freeze.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, the same way he knows that he’s going to. Ignoring their renewed struggles on the ground as they fight to untangle themselves and stand, he leans down and reaches for the photographs.

The white of the Polaroid’s edges contrast nicely with his dark gloves as he gathers the pictures together like a deck of scattered cards.

“LT—“

They’re relatively tame. Perhaps you knew the high risk of sending them. In one you are kneeling on a bed amongst a sea of mussed, white sheets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that you have tugged down between your parted thighs to offer yourself some modesty. It is painful to flip to the next one, but pain calls to Ghost, lures him in. In another you’re wearing some strappy lingerie but still covered artfully by the sheets, both hands covering your eyes, a grin on your face like you are mid laugh. Did Johnny take these photos of you himself? Did a stranger? A friend? Another shows your side profile, back arched, topless, every inch of you curved and poised.

You’re (a filthy little slut) so fucking pretty.

“Give ‘em back, LT, please,” Johnny asks gently, like he expects Ghost to tear them to shreds. Or confiscate them.

Ghost drops the photographs to the bench, wishing he could scrub the images of you from his mind. He shouldn’t have picked them up in the first place. It’s adding fuel to the fire of his broken brain, and he knows that he will pay for it dearly.

Johnny is talking. “—shy, she’d just die to know you saw.”

“She’ll only know if you tell her, Johnny,” Ghost reminds him. His mouth feels numb, his brain the quiet granted by white noise, a conglomerate of screams.

Johnny frowns. “Suppose so. You alright?”

“Since Ghost saw—“

“No, Gaz.”

Ghost watches the two of them enter the building.

His hand burns, where he has palmed the picture of you topless. He stands and slips the Polaroid into his back pocket. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out for Johnny and give him the picture back—he could find some excuse, and Johnny would believe him, he knows it—but he doesn’t. He makes for his room, feeling sick with himself. He isn’t hungry. Not for food.

Ghost is compromised.

The thought replays in his mind over and over again as he drives to Price’s house in Solihull. You and Johnny have crawled beneath his skin and infected him, dug your way into his DNA and are affecting everything from his decision making capabilities to his dreams. He knows that going anywhere where you both will be is a mistake, but it’s one he can’t seem to help hurdling himself toward at high speed.

Nothing will happen, he tells himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He only does what he allows himself to do—no more. The others will be there at least, Garrick and Price and Johnny himself. Physical barriers between him and you. Human meat shields, if necessary. Ghost wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you. (But who would stop him if he tried? Who could?) You are safe, he tells himself.

He is the last to arrive, dragging his feet up the concrete steps to the two story brick historical home that Price owns. He lets himself in the way that Price told him to and can tell by the eerie silence of the house that everyone is already outside enjoying the well-landscaped yard. Already he sees the evidence of you: a purse (go through it) laid neatly on the dining room table. He sets his keys beside it but does not touch it.

Ghost doesn’t bother trying to delay the inevitable. Every part of him wants to run, but that’s all he’s ever wanted his whole life. He’s used to it by now, used to being forced to walk toward the thing which terrified him. He squares his shoulders and slides open the patio door, slipping back out into the muggy heat of the afternoon, face mask in place, hood up.

The landscaping is one of the best features of Price’s house. The privacy fence is tall and appealing to Ghost’s seclusive nature, the lawn neatly clipped. There is a hedgerow running along the southern edge of the fence that is meticulously maintained. Flower beds lined with bricks rest along the house full of geraniums and phlox. The patio is smooth stone with an inlaid fire pit that would be crackling if the weather were any milder. An iron-wrought table sits nearby surrounded by chairs, and seated there are Garrick, Johnny, and Price.

You are over by the flowers, kneeling in the soft grass, picking phlox just a few shades darker than the sundress you’re wearing, the one that skims your soft thighs. Ghost’s eyes roam over you and away all before your head even turns at the sound of the door opening.

“LT,” Johnny calls, lighting up. “You made it!”

“Didn’t think you’d show, Lieutenant,” Garrick says with a smile.

“As if he’s got something better to be doing than spending time with us,” Johnny crows.

“Jesus, will you two leave the man alone? Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already regretting coming,” Price says. Ghost inclines his head, grateful for the backup.

He hears your approach, the soft sound of your flats against the patio stone. You are small (weak) compared to him, craning your head up to look in his eyes. He hates the dark part of his brain that calls you easy prey as he watches you twist the phlox stems between anxious fingers.

“You must be Simon—” Johnny shakes his head a little, subtle, visible only out of the corner of Ghost’s eye. “—ah—Ghost? I mean—”

“I don’t care what you call me,” he admits.

“Ghost,” you settle where it is nice and safe. “It’s nice to meet you. John talks about you all the time.”

“Likewise,” Ghost says flatly, hoping you will not mistake it for a compliment.

Garrick snorts. “Never shuts up about you is more likely.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, so you sit on Johnny’s lap, legs crossed demurely, skirt riding up around your upper thighs. He wonders about the softness of your skin, wonders if his calloused touch would hurt you or if you’re used to Johnny’s by now. He could make it hurt. The thought doesn’t come with any zing of pleasure, just the cold apathy of fact. Has Johnny ever tried that? Has he ever—

Ghost’s gloved hand clenches into a fist, curling around the iron armrest of the chair. He takes a measured breath and holds it until his lungs ache. Those thoughts aren’t his own. They come from the dark part that Roba seeded inside him, that part with creeping vines too deep to root out. That part with thorns.

He could hurt you, the same way he could hurt anyone, he tells himself. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to.

He does only what he allows himself to do. No more. No less.

You and Johnny stand, heading into the house to retrieve a round of drinks for everyone. Ghost watches Johnny’s hand dip low on your back to the curve of your ass as he guides you through the open door, shutting it behind you.

“Are you alright, Simon?” Price asks around a cigar. “I know meeting new people isn’t exactly in your repertoire.”

“Don’t mother me.”

“Don’t have to be your mother to care about you.”

“Garrick—get lost,” Ghost barks.

The iron chair legs screech against the stone of the patio as Garrick stands hastily. “Had the same thought, sir. Hedges look lovely this time of year.”

When Garrick is properly out of earshot, pretending to find amusement in the neat hedgerows along the fence line, Ghost says: “I shouldn’t have come. I’m… I— can’t be left alone with her.”

“With—? Soap’s gal?”

Ghost grits his teeth in shame and nods.

“Do you know her?”

Ghost shakes his head in the negative, but it’s not necessarily true. He knows a thousand women just like her, soft and unexpecting. The betrayal always cuts deeper than his cock could reach (estoy preso, somos lo mismo, por favor).

He stands, chair legs dragging against the stone. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.”

“If you say so,” says Price, knowing better than to argue. “Go around the side. You won’t even have to see them.”

“My keys are inside. I’ll be quick.”

“Take care of yourself, Simon,” says Price, his eyes dark and lips downturned as he watches Ghost stalk to the patio door and slip inside.

He braces himself to see you and Johnny in the kitchen, but when the door slides open near-silent, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Like a fool, he considers himself lucky. Quiet as his namesake, Ghost goes to the table and picks up his keys, palming them.

That’s when he hears it. The unmistakable muted slap of flesh on flesh.

(Go look.)

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but that is his modus operandi these days: failing himself, doing what he isn’t meant to, seeing what is not for his eyes. His feet carry him silently to the door, which is cracked open just wide enough for him to see through into the room. It is a guest bedroom judging by the bland decor, the queen sized bed. Johnny has you sprawled on it, your sundress hitched up around your waist, his fingers buried to the final knuckle inside your cunt. Ghost can hear the way it squelches from all the way outside the door, knows that you must be dripping down Johnny’s wrist.

“Keep quiet, love,” Johnny pants, one hand over your mouth (he’s not doing it right) to muffle the whines and groans trying to slip past your lips. “Needy little thing, aren’t yeh? Squirming in my lap, making my cock hard right there in front of my Captain, in front of my Lieutenant—“

You whine something back, but it is lost into his palm.

“Don’t have time to get my cock in you,” Johnny sighs, twisting his fingers inside you, hooking them to press against that tender spot past your pubic bone that has your knees knocking together. He shifts his palm down to grip your neck, your panting breaths filling the room. “But you can bet this dress is coming off as soon as we’re home, do y’hear me?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, and it has Ghost’s cock throbbing.

This is not for him. He thinks about Johnny’s words from months ago: that you are shy. There’s no chance you would ever want to be seen like this by him. Reaching out, he grips the doorknob and quietly tugs the door closed, til the sound of Johnny’s palm slapping against your clit is muffled behind the wood.

He takes his keys and is gone before you ever know he was there.

Johnny texts him later that night:

Why’d you leave early, you numpty? We wanted more time with you.

Ghost doesn’t respond. He’s too busy spiraling in his own flat, losing control every few minutes and slipping back into that place of pain and blood and dirt.

An hour later, Johnny ends up adding, My girl wants me to say she was glad she got to meet you. Only Jesus knows why! Ghost definitely doesn’t respond to that. But he doesn’t delete the messages either.

#ghoap x reader

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ironteeth-fury · 3 months ago

Note

👋 👋👋

Do u give ghoap fic recommendations? If so can u give us please 🙏 (iys alr if u don’t want to ^~^)

*rubs hands together* finally my time has come, the 436 cod bookmarks i have will be useful!

right so you didn't specify anything beyond ghoap so i'm gonna throw a bunch in here with different themes and lengths and settings and stuff.

Gonna try to keep it to one work per author as well, but generally check out the other works of these authors!

I'm gonna cover WIP's that i'm following and loving, canon ghoap, still military but au in ways that might be timeline or in the sense of magic or abo or supernatural or something. Also completely AU ghoap, and I also have a couple crack fics that i just think are really good and funny.

Buckle up there's a lot

WIPS

Acceptable Loss by MildLimerence. Limerence is one of my favorite authors, definitely check out all the other works as well. Acceptable Loss is post MWIII wherein Soap gets turned into an agent for Makarov. This has made me cry and scream.

But not to yield by monsterlice and toomanybats. Definitely also check both authors out, more good shit to be found!! post military service for ghost and soap both. Demi!Simon in an abusive relationship, absolute perfect specimen who will treat you right! Soap. Pretty sure this updates weekly on wednesdays or thursdays, i forgot sorry :/

There will be no tenderness by Simcoehole. Simcoehole is where I break the rules, there will be 4 of their fics in this list and I will not apologise (really you should applaud my restraint because i could've put a lot more in here). This is canon Ghoap with Soap on medical leave, stalker!ghost, a lot of angst and pining, and Simcoehole's specialty: idiots to lovers. has only one chapter so it's the best time to get into it! Updates on mondays, I think.

Crack fics

right so a couple shorter fics that are just generally funny

miannach by simcoehole. Right. Simcoehole fic #2. This is very much Crack Premise, executed super well and quite seriously as well. Premise: Soap cuts a hole in a bar of soap (lol) and it becomes a magical portal hole to his ass. So after fucking himself with it, he decides to leave it in teh communal showers. Which is fun but overwhelming. Then Ghost gets a hold of it. (this is just a lot of porn, but it's awesome)

Save a pony, ride a ghost - Jazzybot4 and naughtypixie. Soap has Stripper Skills and it is the perfect opportunity to show them off. the rest of the 141 is stunned <3

the divine and the blessed by ghost_throat. Soap finds himself being sacrificed to a god (believe me this will be 1000x better iwthout context. Don't forget to read the sequel)

Talk Too Much by achievement_huntresss. '22 ghoap who are in denial about their feelings run into '09 ghoap who, while not fucking (anymore) immediatly clock that the idiots are head over heels for each other, and decide to do something about it.

Russian Roulette by Red_Clegane. Just. Soap being a badass completely casual, as you-please. Love the attitude

Canon Ghoap

Up In Arms by eclecticscribbles. Ghost introduces Soap to BDSM so they can infiltrate a fancy exclusive bdsm club to find their target.

Any Time You Need Me by thirteenbullets. right so this is technically an entire series that i've linked, but, they all fall under what im gonna tell you: non-sexual intimacy, physical touch, a bit of angst and a lot of comfort. This entire series feels like curling up with a blanket on the couch in front of the fireplace with a mug of hot cocoa. it's comfy. (also has one of my favorite sentences ever that will live rent-free in my brain forever. He drew the ducks <3)

Seasons by StinglessWasp. the writing is breathtaking, it's a beautiful look at soap, ghost and their relationship and how they change over the course of four seasons.

What Has One Good Leg and Bleeds? by YmeMadarame. Soap gets his leg injured and betrayed and falsly confirmed KIA in the depths of hostile territory. He tries to make it back home. A classic case of it gets worse before it gets better.

Mission Briefs by BleedingTypewriter. What if ghost and soap hooked up before they met for the mission in al mazrah? Written as missing scenes between game cutscenes and missions. Beautiful, funny and sexy!

sometimes words have two meanings by Bluejay141519. beautiful take on the "the team accidentally massively hurts soaps feelings and trigger his inferiority complex" featuring a lot of hurt!soap.

its just a shot away by Bluejay141519. so another breaking of the rules by adding a second fic from bluejay, but both these fics are special to me. This is soap on a mission that went beyond FUBAR, trying to survive long enough for the 141 to come get him, and has been going on stims for almost 4 days. Soap reacts real bad to stims once he comes off of it. This is beautifully written and grabs me every time, and somehow manages to be one of the funniest things i've ever read while the tone of the fic overall is very serious and angsty.

Take a Breath by TAFKAmayle. Longg before the 141 started, we get Sergeant Simon Lamont (who will later be Lieutenant Simon "ghost" Riley) in charge of training the platoon of Corporal John "soap" MacTavish. There is tension. (turns out, it's sexual tension. who'da thunk it?) Includes them meeting again in game canon. (love this, its hilarious and i love it as a peek into Simon's mind)

can't keep johnny down by Wheezing_Joe. Soap loses comms on a mission. The 141 have to leave him behind. Soap makes his own way back to base. Turns out they missed him.

Bad Habits by NebulaGazer. I think this is the first real long fic that I'm linking, at 140k words. It's a mission fic of ghoap getting together. Soap gets thrown out of a couple of windows. It's great!

I Woke Up Underground by WispScribbles. this is a fun one!! we get wump, angst, buried alive trope, more wump, dad!price, and a lot of Feelings. (also definitely comfort at the end no worries)

Bait and Switch by Starlight_VLD. Another Soap gets turned into Makarov's assassin fic, this time with body doubles!! it's beautiful, it's sad, it's comforting, it's 141 as a family.

Oh, Brother by MeowMeowRiley. Ghost's family lives, and through some work civililan connections, both get roped into helping Soap's sibling move, unbeknownst to each other.

This is Ghost and Soap as Simon and John, seen through the eyes of their siblings, who do wonder 'why the hell are they not fucking yet?'

Military Ghoap AU's

faege by Simcoehole. #3 Simcoehole fic!! Soulmate AU following the MWIII storyline. Ghost and Soap wake up tied together by a red string of fate, declaring them soulmates. Both of them decide that, no, fate must have made a mistake, just because I'm hopelessly in love with him. He doesn't feel the same. I don't want to ruin our friendship. Let's see how we can get rid of this because he deserves better than being stuck with me for the rest of his life. (yep.) A lot of pining, angst, Idiots to Lovers (altho the idiots never really goes away with how fucking bad it is lmao). This is beautiful and it will make you yell at your screen and want to throw things but the worst part is that even though they're being big stupid idiots, when you're in their head you GET IT, you might not agree but you understand why they're comign to the conclusions they are (mostly). It's infuriating in the best way.

The devil has my throat by Simcoehole. Hi, last but certainly not least (with over 400k words) we have the devil has my throat. THIS FIC is what got me into the author, and what got me into the community. This fic is the start of my tumblr account. So, yeah.

Vampire!Ghost and Previously-Traumatised-By-Vampires!Soap. Who has, obviously, not processed said trauma at all, but is also immediatly horny as fuck for ghost. Features: being idiots, a lot of kinky vampire sex (so blood and biting and also some fun surprises you'll love later) a supernatural plot, price who doesn't get told even 10% of what's going on, and my Favorite OC Of All Time Ever.

Thrown for a Loop by enter_fand0m_reference00. Time Loop Alone Mission!!!! need I say more?? no, no i don't. (check out the rest of the series for more time loop shenanigans)

Results May Vary by HigherMagic. HigherMagic is one of my favorite authors so definitely check out all the other works as well, but this is the one I picked out to go on this list. It's wolf shifter soap deciding to woo the shit out of dragon ghost. (with a lot of lore!!! we love lore!!!)

Wont you lay your hands on me by Kensington. ABO but make it make sense! Alpha Ghost, Omega Soap, courting, world-building, trauma processing. absolutely one of my favorite abo fics ever (it's #2)

Yes to Heaven by Apollos_Last_Prophet. Okay but what if Soap was "killed" and taken and been made into Makarov's assassin before the 141 is even a thing?? You get this. The Ghoap is absolutely gorgeous in here.

My heart in your hands keeps going on by FetteEule. Former Military Soap! Neighbours Soap and Ghost! Ghost being forced on leave and fucking hating it, and soap changing his mind on it <3 (also of course price knows soap too)

Collecting Strays by WhisperedWords12. Check out the author again, there are more!! Werewolf soap gets rescued from a werewolf fighting ring and, being military, gets kept by Price and the 141. Ghost does not trust Soap at all.

No Rest for the Wicked by WispScribbles. Retired Ghoap are called back in when Price goes MIA. Mission fic. Feelings. Established Ghoap (theyre marrieddd)

hell hath no fury by sunshowers_and_dandelion_wine. Dragon shifter Soap!! Who accumalates the 141 as his hoard and is super protective and possessive, while trying to keep his being a dragon a secret!

Varium Lupus Division by North927. Sort-of military, sort of not? Post 141, Simon sets up his own division where they rescue and rehabilitate shifters/hybrids. Soap is the latest rescue.

Take Me On by Monsterlice. this is the #1 abo fic. It's got traumatised omega!Ghost who does Not Trust Anyone who goes into heat, has put it off long enough that it might kill him if he doesn't get handled by an alpha. Surprise, Gaz and Price, the only alphas (people, really) he trusts in the world are not here!! and won't be back in time. So, Laswell calls in Alpha!Soap (who will start at the 141 in like, a couple weeks) Features Consent!King!Soap who is absolutely enamoured by this huge feral omega who will fucking kill him if he steps a toe out of line. I fucking love soap in this soooo much.

a patron saint for butchers, fools and living fire by ForgottenFrog. I dunno, don't really want to spoil it by telling too much about it. This is one of the fics that settled into my bones and refused to leave.

(are you tired yet, cuz we've got some more to go)

AU's!

Dark Eyes Meet Under The Sky by Aessedia. (gonna have another one of Aessedia because i could NOT for the life of me choose) University professor Ghost. Grad student Soap. Soap needs a reccomendation for ghost who is known for being grumpy and hating his students. Also, Soap begins talking to a Dom on a kink-related dating website. Wonder who that is.

The Aerialist by Aessedia. LIsten okay Aessedia is just fucking amazing and go check /all of it/ out, because these two are my favorites but all the others are super good as well. Also, happy birthday to The Aerialist!! Aerialistic Acrobats Soap and Ghost who starts as rivals but then suddenly have to work together. Beyond overcoming their rivalry, there is also seemingly someone out to kill or at least ruin the 141 acrobats.

Why Did The Cowboy Take Hay To Bed? by LawfulSlab. Definitely check out all the other works as well they're beautiful. Historical au. Omega Soap and Alpha Ghost are the only two survivors of a convoy ambush. They seek shelter and have to pretend to be married to save Soap's virtue (unmarried omega out all alone, gasp!!) and then they fall in love. It's domestic as shit, and beautiful and the convoy was definitely a plot device to get them here and not something that will come back later as more plot, nahh.

Head of Department by Goblin_Pudding. Professors AU! Rival professors who hate each other, Price forces them to work together and /shit fuck we're in love now/. Including the past coming back to haunt you and Feelings <3. Romcom!!

Yellow Card by eddie_dxaz and skerryB. Football players AU! of course our boys start out having a massive rivalry and then Soap comes on the team and they have to play nice. Featuring homophobia of the world of sports, shitty exes coming back to create chaos, alive Riley family (except Simon's dad).

a pirate's life, aye? by victorianankles. firstly, pirate AU is one of my favorites. WE need more pirate au. Just gonna quote my bookmark of this one:

Soap's voice is the perfect mix of melodramatic, sad, hilarious and that somehow humble cockiness that's all Soap. I laughed so fucking much reading this and everyone should read this too, it's beautiful and I love it and I'm gonna cherish this fic forever

for those who need more convincing; one of the epilogues has soap in lingerie that's made of fancy chains and shiny gems. (i might or might not absolutely need art for this fucking hell)

Spoils of War by WhisperedWords12. RIGHT losers of a war get kept as war prisoners until the losing party signs officially that they've lost or something. They get used as sex slaves by the winning party. This is considered normal by everyone involved, as long as you treat your (temporary) slaves well. Soap gets captured and falls under Ghost's care. They are both not prepared for how much they like the other. (a tag from the fic: Enemies to Something They'd Rather Not Talk About. Which I think is quite fitting.) I love the dynamic in this, it's gorgeous.

RIGHT so that's it. For now. I mean i'd assume it's enough for the forseeable future.

Again, like i said i have more than 400 bookmarks so if you want more reccs, reach out, tell me what you like and I'll dig through my bookmarks and brain to see what i can find <3

Also people dont forget to leave kudos and a comment on the fics. If you dont know what to comment, give 'em this one from me:

✨️✨️💕🫧❤️💀💕✨️✨️

#asks #anon ask #fanfiction recommendation #ghoap #fanfic #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap

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stargirlrchive · 2 years ago

Text

── SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY MASTERLIST!

general masterlist ✩ cod masterlist

updated: 01/14/24

✩ coming home : one - two

✩ dating simon (visual) : one - two - three - four

✩ sweet girl

✩ social media au : one - two

✩ older!ghost : one

✩ fine line

✩ love-sick

✩ misbehavin’

✩ dad!simon

✩ going out

✩ relinquished control

✩ book boyfriend

✩ thighs

✩ dbf biker!simon

✩ need a taste

✩ just the tip

✩ throat training

✩ m'sorry

✩ on the phone w price : one - two - three

✩ drabble: epiphany

✩ roommate!simon : one - two - three - four

blurb: one

✩ drabble: clit slaps

✩ mine

✩ giving simon head

✩ drabble: before a mission

✩ drabble: ‘so, you think about me?'

✩ phone sex: one - two

✩ drabble: you can take him

✩ drabble: toxic ex-bf!simon

✩ drabble: the mask stays on

✩ neighbor!simon

✩ drabble: doin' so good for me

✩ dbf!simon : one - two

✩ loose canon

✩ tolerate it

✩ cock warming : one - two - three

✩ latina!reader

✩ physical affection : one - two

✩ soft

✩ puppy love

✩ missed you

✩ girl dad

✩ dreamy

✩ ghoap x reader thoughts ; one - two

✩ on his knees

✩ drabble: simon gets his nails done

✩ cold!reader

✩ i love you : one - two

✩ drabble: sleeping in

✩ new record

✩ loser!simon

✩ shotgunning

✩ messy kisser

✩ lipstick marks

✩ peaches and strawberries

✩ imessage

✩ pretty nails

✩ drabble: m'too big f'r you

✩ the mask stays on

✩ himbo!simon: one - two - three

✩ hickies

✩ simon and his nicu baby

✩ bsf biker!simon

✩ thigh riding

✩ new year kiss

✩ your camera roll if you were dating simon ; one - two

✩ bimbo!reader

✩ let me help

✩ munch!simon

✩ your b-day

✩ sleepy sex

✩ breaking you in

✩ forehead kisses

✩ shutting you up

✩ cowboy!simon

✩ riding him

#@stargirlrchive #pdfs.#simon riley #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #call of duty #cod

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moody-alcoholic · 1 month ago

Text

Sub Ala Angeli

Part 9 - Love Is Gentle, Love Is Kind

Summary: Ghoap x fallen angel!reader, mini fic. Sub ala angeli - Under the wing of an angel.

CW: Canon typical violence, blood, use of weapons, death, religious elements.

Previous - masterlist - next Enjoy <3

You’re pacing the living room, looking out the window at the sky getting darker and darker. You can feel the energy in the air changing, it makes goosebumps rise on your body.

“Looks like there's a storm moving in.” Johnny says coming up behind you, you stop and turn to look at him quickly before back out at the

“It’s not a storm. It’s demons.” You say.

“Why are demons after Johnny?” Simon asks from the kitchen table. John is here too, he came here early

“They’re not, they’re after me. Johnnys in the way.” You say. Before they can say anything you head for the door. The sky is dark, but you’re not feeling weak, you're feeling strong. You see John’s guardian angel standing at the bottom of the steps.

“The situation has changed.” They say. You’re not sure if Johnny or Simon will be able to see them but you approach them anyway.

“What do you mean?” You ask suddenly, nervous. You don’t like those feelings, nerves and fear. It feels horrible.

“There’s a portal open.” They say. That makes you feel sick, you can’t close a portal by yourself. You shouldn’t be doing this in the first place, this should be heaven's job. God should be sending angels down to deal with this.

But they won’t protect Johnny, and you will.

“Where is it?” You ask. They just smile at you, of course typical, they don’t know. You take another step towards them.

“I can’t do this by myself.” You say, they float down and their hand lands on your shoulder.

“You can, and you will. You have to protect him, you know what happens when a demon kills a human.” They say, you nod. It could be a disaster, more people could die, the longer the demons are roaming around Earth the worse it will get.

You feel their warm hand, then you feel energy travel through your body. It hurts, you look up at her worried trying to back away but instead their other hand presses on your chest and the pain goes away.

“What’s going on?” You ask, you see your skin glow, there’s suddenly no fear or nerves, no pain, just joy. You close your eyes letting the warm feeling flow over you. A seraphim’s power is only a step lower than archangels, you’ve never seen one as a guardian angel before. John is very lucky to have someone so powerful watching over him.

When the warmth starts to fade her hands leave you and you open your eyes again. As soon as her hands are gone you feel the pain and the worry come back. You just know your other wing is back before you turn to see it. It makes you smile, the fear beinf replaced with happiness. You turn to see everyone standing on the porch, Johnny is smiling, John and Simon look confused.

You feel the wind blow through your wings, the feathers have been repaired. That would have taken a lot of energy from the seraphim, but you have your wing back. You bring it around so you can see them both in your vision. You run your hand over the feathers feeling how warm it is under your hands.

You look up at the gray clouds taking a step back looking above the trees before stretching your wings out letting them flap, you can feel the force behind them. It’s going to take more than just your wings to propel yourself into the air. You really shouldn’t waste your energy like this but you don’t care. You need to feel what it’s like to fly again.

You close your eyes feeling the energy pulse through you, you bend your knees flapping your wings and throw yourself into the air. The cold wind stings your face and arms, before you know it you’re above the tree line.

You look out at the rolling fields, you can see the river you walked to with them a few days ago. You flap your wings again using them to propel yourself higher and fly forwards. You’re not as high as the birds but when you fly you always feel like one.

This is taking a lot of energy though, angelic power and physical energy. It’s only been a week but your wings feel stiff, your body strangely heavy as you turn your body back towards the cabin. The landing is awkward, you fall too quickly, too hard, your knees take most of the force as you land.

When you stand back up you see Johnny coming towards you. He smiles holding his arms out his eyes wide as he looks around your wings.

“You have your wing back.” He says, you bring it around so he can run his fingers over it.

“There’s a portal somewhere. I need to find it and close it, I don’t even know where to start.” You say, they’re giving you all the tools but you’ve never done anything like this before. You’re not an archangel or a seraphim. You’re not even a warrior, you’re just a guardian angel.

“Can’t John’s angel help?” He asks.

“They gave me my wing back.” You say stretching them out behind you. “I think they’ve helped all they can.” Simon and John step over to you, Johnny moves so they can come closer to you. There’s a chill in the air now, the storm feels like it’s getting closer, the air feels moist, it's almost suffocating. This is definitely not a normal storm.

“I need to find and close the portal.” You say looking down the drive past the treeline. You can see the sky, dark clouds are rolling in fast, there’s no rain though. No distant rumble of thunder, in fact it’s almost eerily quiet.

“How do you find a portal? What do they look like?” Simon asks.

“Yeah, maybe we could help you find it.” Johnny says, nodding enthusiastically.

“No.” You put your hand out. “You should stay here where it’s safe. I can find the portal, I just might need help.”

“From who?” Simon asks.

“God, other angels. I don’t know, whoever will answer my prayers.” You say sighing, you rub your hands together looking at your palms.

“I’ll fly around, see if there is anything out of place. I think I need to find the source of the storm.” You say looking up through the trees swaying in the wind.

“We can help, lass.” Johnny says, it’s almost like he’s pleading.

“Stay here. If I know you’re here I know where to find you. I will come back, I have my wing back for a reason. I need to use them.” You say, Simon nods, stepping forward to grab Johnny’s arm as you take a step back looking up at where you want to fly too.

“Be careful.” Simon says, you look back down at him and smile.

“You too.” You say before you flap your wings, throwing yourself up into the sky.

____

You feel like you’ve been flying for hours, it’s probably only been about half an hour but you can feel the ache pulsing around your body, through your wings. Gravity is pulling your body down, you’re not used to that-in heaven you don’t need to use any angelic energy to fly.

You avoid the town and roads, flying up into the dark clouds while you pass over houses and farms. Nothing seems out of place, you’re starting to run out of places to look. You’re following your instincts, flying in the direction of the heavier clouds, the ones that make you feel uneasy.

You will know when demons are near when you feel sick, upset. You need to land soon, take a rest for a few minutes. The later it gets the more nervous you feel, the day for some reason feels longer, the sun has been hidden by the clouds all day making the whole region feel gloomy.

You turn heading back towards the house. At least when you’re flying you’re warm, the energy keeping you warm and making you glow. Hopefully if anyone sees you they’ll just think it’s a break in the clouds, a sudden moment of sunlight shining down.

When you make it back to the house and land you know something is wrong. The energy has changed, you take a second to rest, stretching your wings before walking up to the front door. You hear shouting it makes goosebumps rise on your body. When you walk in you see Simon shouting on the phone. John is sat at the table with a mug of tea between his hands.

“What happened?” You ask, stepping in and letting the door close behind you.

“John’s missing.” John says, bringing his mug up to his mouth. You feel sick, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Why aren’t you out looking for him!” You snap, holding your arms out. Simon turns to look at you, dropping the phone from his ear.

“We only just realised he’s gone. Been trying to call him.” Simon says.

“Then he can’t be far.” You say turning to head back for the door. You need to find him.

“Did he say anything before he left?” You ask watching John and Simon come towards you pulling coats on.

“He was praying.” John says. You press your lips together. This is your fault you should have stayed with him, let the demons come to you. He was praying, probably for help for you, or protection. You squeeze your eyes closed trying to think.

Where could he have gone? Where would you go if you wanted your prayers to be heard? Church, you’d go to church. When you open your eyes you see Simon’s guardian angel behind him.

“Where is he?” You ask. Simon and John frown looking behind them. You know they can’t see the angel when they look back at you with raised eyebrows.

“Simon’s angel is here.” You explain.

“Why are you here if you’re not going to help?” You ask, you feel anger. You haven’t really felt that before, it feels wrong, it’s making your head spin, you’re not thinking straight. You’re mad they’re not helping you, just telling you to save Johnny. How are you supposed to do that alone?

“The church.” You say looking at John and Simon. “That's where Johnny is, the one you got married at.” Simon nods and you let him walk past you, you follow him out to the car. Simon drives, John sits in the front and you ride in the back. You could have flown quicker but you feel like you’re going to need the rest.

The drive doesn’t take long anyway. Before you know it you’re travelling down the familiar off-road towards the picturesque church. As soon as the car pulls up you can feel the change in the air. You know Simon and John can feel it too, they both look at each other as Simon turns the engine off.

“There here.” You say solemnly. Simon looks back at you, you suddenly feel a burst of energy. You can do this. You get out the car looking at the sky, it’s almost as black as night here. There’s no sound too, not the wind in the trees or the sounds of animals. You swallow the lump in your throat and walk down the small stoned path to the thick wooden doors.

The moment you put your hand on the handle you feel dread rise in you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You want to run, this is not a church right now, this is a dark place. This is not a place of healing and love. It’s full of terror and death, you can smell it in the air. Decay and rot.

When you open the door there is no bright ceiling, there’s no warm inviting feeling or light. The whole place is dim, you see Johnny. On his knees at the altar. There’s someone else too, a priest.

His hand is on Johnny’s back, praying with him. You hear Simon and John come in behind you, the door closing makes the priest turn. Johnny doesn’t move, it makes you feel sick. His guardian angel should be here.

“Welcome.” The priest says. False priest, a wolf in sheep's clothing. You grit your teeth, your eyes flicking between him and Johnny.

“It’s been a long time since an angel fell.” He says. Great, he’s not even trying to hide it. Simon’s hand lands on your shoulder but you ignore it.

“What did you do?” You ask, nodding at Johnny. He’s still smiling, as he turns quickly to look at him.

“Thought he could use a rest.” He says taking a step away from Johnny. You need to work out if he’s possessed, or a demon taking the form of a human. There’s only one way to check.

You feel a knife materialise in your hand. Before he can react you throw it at him. He chuckles teleporting away. The knife sticks into a wall then fizzles away. He’s a demon, a full powerful demon. You’ve never fought one before, you can’t be nervous right now though. He’ll use that to his advantage.

You take a step back quickly looking at Simon. His face is hard, his eyes locked on the false priest like he’s about to jump on him.

“Get Johnny out of here.” You say reaching behind you for his hand. You find it, he squeezes you but you don’t turn keeping your eyes fixed on the demon. “Get him out here and run. Don’t wait for me.”

He squeezes your hand again but you pull away, stepping forward towards the demon standing in the middle of the aisle.

“Let him go. It’s me you want.” You say. He laughs, turning back to Johnny walking over and running his hand over his head. Why hasn’t he moved? What did he do? He’s not dead, you can still see his soul. He has such a warm soul, kind and bright.

“Everything is written. Even this.” The demon says, his hand drops from Johnny’s head to his shoulder, he materialises a dagger in his hand. It’s like everything happens in slow motion. You’re moving as soon as the dagger is being brought down to sink into the middle of Johnny's back.

You use your wings to propel yourself forward towards the demon, materialising a spear in your hands, you scream as you thrust it towards him. He’s still smiling as you reach him. He moves but you knick his arm. When you stop you can hear Simon shouting, you don’t look at him keeping your eyes fixed on the demon. He laughs, you see black liquid pool from his arm, he winces running his fingers through it before bringing his fingers to his lips.

His tongue sticks out, forked and long he laps the liquid off his fingers before pulling them down his lips and chin. It makes you feel ill, they always have to put on a show. He materialises his own spear, It glows red with black smoke wrapping around it.

He’s stronger than you and you have no help. But you’ll do whatever it takes to protect Johnny. You cry out again as you lunge forward. His spear hits yours, knocking it out of your hands. You throw yourself out his path before he has a chance to lunge at you. You look over at the altar, Simon and John have their arms hooked around Johnny dragging him down the middle aisle.

“Watch out!” Simon calls at you. You turn looking at the demon picking up the bench. He brings it above his head like he’s about to throw it at you. You bring your wings around tightening the muscles to protect you from the blow. Insead he looks past you, he’s going to go for Johnny and Simon. You can’t let that happen.

You materialise a knife in your hand as the demon steps over you. He breaks the bench in half throwing it to the side, as soon as he does you drop your wings plunging the knife into his leg. He stops in place screaming, you use the distraction to get back to your feet.

He turns his attention to you. Good, you need to buy time for Johnny and Simon to get out of here.

“You angels never know when you stop!” He grows. You feel fear, he picks up on it flaring his nostrils. That's not good, he can feed off your fear - use it to give him energy. You need to be careful, you make another knife and throw it at him. You don’t care that it misses, you need him to make the next move. You need to close the portal.

Closing the portal will mean he’s cut off from his power source. It has to be on the roof, that's where the storm is the strongest. You didn’t look before you came into the building, you were too focused on getting inside and getting to Johnny.

He lunges towards you, his hands outstretched, they look more like claws with long sharp nails. He’s slowly giving up his human form, his body contoured into something unnatural and horrid. You doge his attack and move to the aisle where the tall ceiling is. Then you see it, the tear at the top of the steeple, the portal.

You have wings he doesn't, you can make it to the portal and close it. You don’t think just throw yourself up into the air, something stops you though. You look down at the demon with his hand locked around your ankle.

You kick and fight as his nails start to dig into your flesh, it stings but you have to get free. You flap your wings harder but he’s stronger than you. You try to kick his face with your free ankle but he manages to grab that one too. You get another knife and throw it at him, he drops your ankle to shield his face. You propel yourself up, you’re not sure what to do. The closer you get up the top of the steeple the harder it is to focus.

It’s like your energy is being drained twice as fast, your hands feel hot, you look down at them, they’re glowing, brighter than you’ve ever seen. This is how you close a portal, you reach it peering through the blood red tear you can see into the deep depths of hell. The screams of tormented souls and demons fill your ears.

You swallow the fear gripping each side of the portal. It burns your hands causing you to cry out, black smoke swirls up your arms, it stings your skin. It takes all your energy to try and force it closed, for a second you don’t think you’ll even be able to do it until you feel warm hands on your back.

You feel the warmth of an angel behind you, you cry out through gritted teath as you feel a new energy pulse through you giving you the strength you need to pull it closed. You can still feel the edges of the portal in your hands when something hot and strong grips your ankles. You look down to see red glowing chains wrapped around your ankles.

You scream as you’re pulled out of the steeple and your body slams down hard on the floor, thankfully your wings take the majority of the impact. You feel a white hot pain travel through your wings, you've definitely broken somthing, you won’t be able to fly anymore. You look up seeing the angel who helped you now finishing the job of closing the portal.

He pulls on the chains again dragging you on the floor. You try to turn over, you try to grip onto the benches anything to stop him. Pain shoots through your back. There's so much pain, you're not thinking straight, you call out for the other angel but you know they’re busy.

There’s a loud bang and you watch as the demon kicks the front doors open, you're dragged outside and thrown against the short wall. The pain is unbelievable, it causes black spots to flash across your vision. The chains are still around your ankles as the demon comes closer. You don’t have much energy left and now you’re injured. You raise your hand watching a short spear fizzle into existence.

At least you’ll be able to protect yourself if he lunges at you. Suddenly there’s a clap of thunder and a flash of light. A pillar of light beams in the sky from the roof of the church, the demon turns and growls.

“NO!” He shouts, it’s so loud it shakes the ground around you. You see angels in the distance coming down the pillar, you smile and let out a chuckle. It gets the demon's attention and he turns to look at you. He screams pulling on the chains, you cry out as your broken wings slam onto the floor.

He walks up to you and an axe forms in his hands. You bring the spear up to block it but before he can swing there’s loud pops. The demon's shoulders are thrown back, black smoke leaves the holes now littered on his chest. That was a gun, it must have been Simon or maybe John. He growls, poking one of his fingers into the hole and flicking out a bullet.

Earth weapons won’t hurt a demon, only enrage it. The demon drops your chains and they vanish from your ankles. You turn and crawl up to your knees. Everything hurts, but you need to stop him, kill him. The portal is closed-now he can be killed. When you stand up you see Simon with a weapon in his hands, Johnny is laid on the floor with John crouched over him.

You use the last of the strength you have to rush up to the demon walking over to Simon. You cry out as you raise the spear above your head and plunge it into the back of the demon between his shoulder blades. It penetrates straight through his chest, his screams are unlike anything you have ever heard before.

You cry out as you pull the spear down through his chest slicing his body in half. His falls to his knees, his screams get quieter as his body falls forward and starts to fizzle away. The smell of burnt flesh fills your nose, you look up at the sky, the dark clouds are gone. You can hear birds again and the sound of the gentle breeze. Goosebumps rise on your body, there are tears streaming down your face.

You look over at Simon, your eyes fall to Johnny on the floor by the car. You rush over to him, you can already feel you have no energy left. You need to move him to the church if you have any chance to save him.

“The church.” You say to Simon when you reach him, his arms are outstretched he catches you as you practically throw yourself in his arms. “I need to save him, Simon.” You say looking down at Johnny’s body, he’s conscious crying out as John's hands are pressed onto his chest.

“Okay, okay.” Simon says, he leaves you and goes over to help John pick Johnny up. You go back towards the church, when you walk in it’s eerily quiet, there are no angels inside the church, just the ceiling lit up in bright shades of orange and yellows. It’s warm and inviting. Nothing like when the portal to hell was open.

Simon and John place Johnny down and he groans in pain, you kneel down next to him, you can see the wound on his chest. The demon missed his heart or he would have been dead already.

“Johnny, Johnny. I’ve got you.” You say pressing your hands on his shoulders. He smiles, Simon bends down on the other side of him, his hand presses down on the bandages in his wound, he has a worried look on his face.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, lass.” He says coughing. You can see him struggling. You reach over resting your hands on top of Simon's. He doesn’t want to move from Johnny. Why would he, it's his husband bleeding out on the floor. You look around for his guardian angels, any angels.

For once the church is empty. The other angels would be busy making sure there are no more tears and chasing down anymore demons who might have slipped through.

Then you hear it, the gentle humming, the sweet song of death.

“Simon, let me.” You say swallowing the sob in your throat. He hesitates, you look up at him, you can see the pain in his eyes, if you don’t do this he’s going to lose the love of his life. There’s no way you can do that.

You replace his hands with yours. You can feel the warm blood and soak through the bandages. You let out a sigh and close your eyes.

“Hey, love.” Johnny says, you look down at him, all the colour is drained from his face, there's a layer of sweat making his hair stick to his face. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do.” You say. You’re already drained from the fight but you can’t wait for the other angels to come back, if you don’t try now Johnny could die. You press your hands down on him hearing him grit his teeth. You close your eyes and concentrate, you focus on feeling your energy flow through your body to your hands and into Johnny.

His heart slows, his breathing becomes steadier as you feel your power healing him. You can already feel yourself getting weaker, you can feel your energy waning. You don’t care, you’re going to keep going no matter what it takes. You feel a hand on the top of your arm, it’s not warm though.

You open your eyes looking up at Simon - it’s his hand. You force a smile at him, his hand steadies you. You can’t falter now, you look down at Johnny’s pale face, he’s looking up at you smiling. You see a tear escape his eye.

You’re not going to let him die.

You hear the humming stop. You close your eyes again focusing all your energy into Johnny, it's almost like you can feel his wound close under your hands. When you sway against Simon’s hand he grips you tight holding you to upright.

Your wings throb, suddenly all the tension you’ve been holding in your muscles vanishes and you have to focus on not collapsing. You’re not sure how much longer you think you can do this for. As Johnny’s heart starts to beat regularly again you feel the last of your energy leave you.

You open your eyes pulling your hands off Johnny’s chest, the badges that were in a wound a few seconds ago fall off him. His chest is healed, you smile at Simon taking a second to suck in a lungful of air. This is the last thing you need to do, you hold the breath in, feeling the air burn your lungs.

You’re unsteady as you lean over to Johnny’s face, his eyes are closed but his breathing is steady, you lean over his face and press your lips against his. You feel a tear roll down your face and onto Johnny as you blow the air from your lungs into his. You feel him move, he moans and you sit back up on your knees.

You watch his eyes open, and smile at you. You try to smile back but you can’t. A tingle rises through your body and your head swims and your body sways. You fall back and Simon catches you in his arms resting your back on his chest. You can feel his heart beating, you can hear his voice in your ears.

“I got you. Nice deep breaths, love.” You smile at him watching Johnny’s other smaller wounds finish healing. “C’mon, love, stay with us.”

An angel floats down towards you, they’re smiling, arms outstretched.

Maybe this is what people see when they die, you feel joy, happiness like all your pain has just been taken away from you. You let out a breath, you smile up at the angel feeling their warm glow overwhelm you.

You close your eyes and smile. It doesn’t matter that this is the end, you saved Johnny that's what matters. Warm hands cup your face, you open your eyes to see Johnny sat up now holding your face, in his blood stained hands.

“Johnny.” You breathe. His hands are warm on your face but you can’t stay awake, you feel yourself slipping away the sudden energy pulsing through you is gone.

“Don’t do this.” You hear Simon’s breath hot in your ear. “Don’t leave.”

“C’mon, love. Don’t close your eyes. We’re going to get you somewhere safe.” Johnny says. You want to reach out and touch him, you want to tell him it’s okay but you can’t. Black spots flash across your vision. Simon holds you strong against him, Johnny’s hands stay on your face rubbing the tears off your cheeks.

You let out a long breath as everything goes black. The last thing you hear is Johnny’s voice desperately trying to call you back.

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meowmeowriley · 5 months ago

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Next time someone tells me I don't seem autistic I'm going to instruct them to ask me about my special interests and then interrupt them before they can finish the sentence to recite, from memory, evert line of dialog from Modern Warfare 2, both the original and the remake, which are vastly different games and stories from one another. Oh why are they different? You didn't ask? I don't care. "SO they're different because-" and then I'd go on at length about how the games are so different because the industry and the audience has changed so much and how the new games were a queer-baity middle finger to long term fans like myself, and how much I hate that it worked in bringing in so many new fans to quite literally pick the pockets of. From there I'd launch into how indie games will save us, and different games engines and how coding knowledge isn't as necessary for making games as people think. By the end of it I will have thrice over achieved my own goals: prove my autism- something that should never need to be proven-, get my thoughts about the games industry's downward spiral off my chest, and most likely I will have successfully driven away whatever poor soul made the mistake of trying to make me feel better by telling me they thought I looked like a normal person.

-sincerely, someone who's tired of people thinking it's a compliment to tell me I don't look disabled, and also someone who thinks way to freaking much about how great mw2 and 3 coulda been if they'd have actually made Ghoap canon.

#i havent gotten violent yet but i might #call of duty #modern warfare #ghoap #autism #gaming

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mossygirl333 · 6 months ago

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i’m here as soon as i heard your inbox is open 😭

it’s okay if you don’t wanna write it, and it’s stupid but at least hear me out pls!!!! 😭

what if ghost was in love with reader but was kinda sceptical of them, because they’re not british? i meaan due to his line of work he has to have some trust issues JUST BECAUSE OF THAT (not talking about his upbringing and whatever, thats another story….)

yk good ol' being sceptical of your partner and hurting them by that so we could enjoy fluff later 😭😭😭😭

An: This isn't stupid at all!! I think it could be really cute (i'm gonna make this a multi-part series and you cant stop me mwahahahaha) <3

Across The Hall - Pt. 1

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x college student!reader

Tw/Cw: Mentions of Johnny's death (bi!simon, Ghoap), mentions of canon typical violence, mentions of medication - therapy - depression, mentions of suicide, college!reader

Home. Home?

He didn't know what it was. He didn't have one, never did - something he realized a long time ago. Floating through places frequently.

His childhood house was never full of warmth or love. But what it was full of were budded out cigarettes and empty liquor bottles. Every time he drinks that brand he felt close to his father.

Simon rarely drinks now.

That was before. Before Johnny.

Johnny was his home if a home could be a person. With his wolfish grin and loud laugh. With a simple hug that man brought him down to earth. Settled his anxious rapid thoughts and PTSD riddled flashbacks.

He wished he could crawl into him, take a nap in his ribcage, right next to his lover's beating heart. But he settled for cuddling, it was the closest he could get.

That was where he was meant to be, all this time. Every bad memory led to him. It was worth it, because without everything he would've never met Soap. And Soap would've never met Ghost. And all that abuse and trauma was for something beautiful.

Simon was gonna propose. They would foster a baby girl. And they'd live happily ever after.

Everything was perfect.

Except life doesn't turn out like that. Life is just a constant stream of shitty situations with nice commercial breaks. And how much he loved that commercial made it all the harder to skip.

It took one bullet to turn his life upside down and inside out. So close they were to everything Simon ever dared to dream of. Lost to that X13 Auto bullet nestled into his brain, the same brain that held all those memories and beautiful creative thoughts.

Lost.

What his "home" was now, was a small standard apartment in Manchester. Minimalist, he didn't need a lot. He was gone for more than half the time.

Except now he was back. Discharged after almost killing a new recruit during a spar session. He argued for hours with Price, he couldn't leave the base. The same base where him and Johnny met. The same dorm room they shared a drunken kiss and a weak confession of sexuality. Where they cried and made love and laughed their asses off. Not the room where Johnny drew him while he slept.

He couldn't leave that.

Price said it was making it harder to move on. Maybe he was right, he was right, Simon just didn't want the ugly truth.

Price handed him a pass, set him on a plane, and sent him back to his apartment with mandatory therapy sessions every 3 days.

Just the thing he needed.

His heavy boots hit the floor, walking across the long hallway. His prescription came in, as much as he hated taking it. Stopping in front of the door, he turned the key and walked in. Pulled down his black mask and threw his hood back, scarred skin now warmed by the sun coming through his windows.

He set down his small brown paper bag, settling down onto his bed. Staring at the Tv. He fell into a shitty rhythm a few days back, but if he told the therapist he was bound to be sent to a mental hospital.

Putting a X13 Auto gun in his mouth. Louded. Safety off. Him and Johnny could die the same way, different times. Meet each other again in the afterlife.

But he couldn't. He was a coward. A pussy. Dumb and weak and small.

His breathing shook and he's snapped out by a gentle knock on the door.

He stares at it, trying to make the walls not seem so closed in. Swallowing thickly he stood up, walking quietly towards it. Hand settled on his gun, hidden away in the holster.

He swings the door open and looks down. A woman..? A woman. Ah. His hand leaves the gun, letting the fabric of his hoodie hide it again. "Is there somethin' wrong lady?" He asked, deep and British.

"Hi sorry, I just wanted to tell you that I'm your new neighbor. Right across the hall!" You sound awfully chipper, pointing at your door across from his.

"Ah. I see." His eyes darken. That accent...

He practically flashbacks to Graves and that cocky smile. Shepard and those cold evil eyes.

"Yer American?" He suddenly asks before you could go.

"Oh yeah!" You smile. "Land of the free ya know!" You giggle and wave goodbye. Leaving him to his own devices.

You seem docile enough. Weak. He could kill you in a real fight. But that stupid fucking accent wormed its way into his head. it's stupid how such little things could trigger his PTSD.

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And Americans took all of that away from him.

At that moment he decided he hated you.

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tojisun · 1 year ago

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i can’t stop rereading your ghoap x reader drabble, specifically the one where ghost HATESSS reader and only tolerates them for soap. it breaks my heart but it’s also so entertaining bcs i love a good pathetic reader but also.. stand up 😒 /j

stand up on this dick 🙂‍↕️

BSKDJKRJZ but yea omg im so glad that u liked the drabble!!! i was having a hard time trying to relay how much messier it is in my head bc i fear that i might make the characters too unlikeable. that said—

(non-canon in the lil short series but) thinking about soap who’s… torn.

he likes his LT by a lot, but he also likes you. kind of. not with the same ferocity and fervour, but he likes you a lot. and this isn’t the problem, really. the problem is how he finds it, well, pleasing, almost, how his lieutenant likes you and soap differently.

simon—and something in johnny’s heart flutters at the knowledge that you don’t even know his lieutenant’s name—adores johnny. how it’s almost obsessive and drunken with how he seeks him out at night, rumbling his please’s and his i need you’s on johnny’s skin, his thick cock rutting against soap’s abdomen.

but the same couldn’t be said about how simon interacts with you. he knows it was born from his own selfishness—he couldn’t give you up; he couldn’t betray you like that—and that simon couldn’t have possibly liked you that way, so he wonders why he allowed you to be strung along?

he sees how simon attempts to be civil with you. how he doesn’t pull away or shrug you off during the moments that you accidentally topple into his lap instead of johnny’s, but he never does more. never seeks you out, never presses you into every corner he can find with the same desperation that he does with johnny.

and johnny, as much as he denies to himself and says he is still wondering why his heart churns at the obvious display of imbalanced affection or why he lets you be sidelined this way, the truth is that he knows the answer.

because he likes simon for himself, yes, but he also likes it that he’s the only one kind to you. he likes it that he’s the one saving you. the only one making you feel good. not LT. no one else. it’s all johnny.

(and when you start gravitating towards him more, well, johnny’s just glad for that, of course.)

teehee <3

#anon #ask #ghoap x reader #<- not in its entirety but the whole mini series of this angst work #suns #he who we love

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stumisstability · 6 months ago

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Ghost: Johnny, what did you do?

Soap: ok, hear me out...

Ghost:

Soap: I was minding my own business...

Ghost: bullshit.

Soap: no- I WAS!

#inspired by another post #cod #ghost #mw #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap #mwii #call of duty #ghostsoap #ghoap needs to be canon #ghoap #gay

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rad0nwrites · 1 month ago

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All I See (Ghost x Soap)

CW: Canon Character Death, angst, swearing, Alternate Universe, military inaccuracies, processing grief, canon violence, probably OOC Simon? implied long term relationship, happy ending, Simon being a little emotionally stunted but goddamnit he’s trying

Word Count: 8.2k

First post here…. Kinda nervous… Hear me out, though: What if Soap hadn’t been killed instantly, and he got to say his last words? [Additionally, Simon goes through his own grieving process. Men need comfort too, goddamnit.]

This song gives me such Ghoap vibes, and I ran with it. Enjoy :)

Song: All I See by Nathan Jacques

Makarov was long gone.

The pistol shot still reverberated through his ears like a dented gong, his heart beat contributed percussion as the world stopped in its tracks to pause for a dying man. Heat expanded from his chest, and logically, Johnny knew that he was in trouble. He was in trouble, and he should really look and assess his wound. But yet, he couldn’t move. The sheer shock of what had occurred in mere seconds, calcifying him to the ground he lay on.

“Johnny!”

Half alive and dreaming to death on a mountain side

The body’s a funny thing when it reacts to trauma. One could ruminate over every single theoretical physical reaction to a situation, an injury, a conversation. And yet, fate pulls a string that couldn’t be accounted for. Fate pulls a result out of you that best suits the moment, dignified or not.

Johnny thought that fate would be a cruel mistress, pulling the string violently and without abandon. But as he lay on the ground, staring up at the stone ceilings of the train system, fate felt peaceful. Fate was a woman warm with invitation and a longing to come home. She was tugging on the string with a gentleness he wasn’t privy to know.

Not until Simon.

The Russian had aimed for his head. Aiming to snuff out the light that kept him alive. With quick thinking from both him and Price, Vladimir Makarov missed, and the bullet landed in his chest. Some bulletproof tac vest that was. He should have pulled the trigger in the helicopter when he had the chance. Protocol be damned.

“Ah fuck…” He wheezed out. The peace was replaced with what felt like fire under his skin, trying to work its way out through his tac vest. Shakily, Johnny shifted his head over to see Gaz and Price frantic, barking orders back and forth to finish diffusing the bombs that he had started. They were good men, Price and Gaz. Men willing to get their hands dirty and experience the dark so the world can stay in the light. The men that he’d consider family right next to his blood kin.

“Sergeant!” Ghost had eclipsed over Johnny, darkening him in shade from the fluorescent tunnel lights. Every move he made reignited fire in his chest, but to see his burly wraith above him made it worth the discomfort.

“Glad y’c-could join th’party, LT.” Soap chuckled weakly, each breath drawn in and out became heavy like a chore. Ghost was doing his best to assess the full extent of Johnny’s wound, stopping to glare at him through the mask before returning to the crimson-coated wound.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.” Simon’s eyes were barely holding their neutrality as he racked his mind for some way to patch the wound, to stop the bleeding, to do something. Anything to keep his sergeant tethered to the concrete floor beneath him.

“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher. We need a Med Evac now!” Simon barked into his comm device, his eyes not leaving Johnny’s. The stupid git had the nerve to smile so brightly at him, despite his dimming eyes.

Oh, how beautiful the light after a thousand nights

And all I see is you in my wavering eyes

“Copy, 0-7. I’m sending someone out now. Be advised, Med Evac’s having a hard time getting through the injured civilians. I can’t give an accurate ETA. Who’s been injured?”

“It’s Soap. Shot point blank in the chest by Makarov through the tac vest. ‘M tryin’ to stabilize but I can’t remove the vest to assess the damage.” Johnny was in no state to move.

“Can you move him?”

“Negative. Not without knowin’ the full damage.”

“Copy. Do you have Makarov?”

Simon wanted to scream himself hoarse. The only thing, the only person he’s ever shown his soft underbelly for is dying before his very eyes, and they’re asking him about the mission.

It’s always the mission. Always the goal.

Cannon fodder for the greater good.

This is what he signed up for.

“Negative.” Price picked up where Simon left off, allowing the Lieutenant the space to focus. “Makarov is to the wind. But Soap’s down and we’re running out of options.” The image of Ghost kneeling over Soap as he sharply pulled emergency med kit supplies from his tac vest made John’s heart ache.

Just by the look of the Scot, it wouldn't be enough. But he knew his lieutenant. His lieutenant wouldn’t take no for an answer. His loyalty to his comrades, to the people he cares about, and dare he say loves, extended out like a fault line.

Despite his rough exterior, Simon Riley cared so deeply that it threatened to swallow him whole.

“Bleedin’ Jesus, I forgot tha’ I don’ like gettin’ shot at.” Johnny attempted a half joke through his teeth, sucking in air at every shift of his vest.

“The hazard pay’s gonna be worth it from tha’ hospital bed.” Simon’s dry response made Johnny smile, and Simon wished that he could close his eyes to continuing trying to dress the wound. His smiles were meant for successful missions and trips home. Sunday mornings and arguing over whose football team they’d be watching. Glances from across briefing tables and shitty jokes over comms. Not pallid complexions and dark train tunnels and superiors wanting results.

“I dinnae think ‘m gonna be gettin’ outta this one, LT—“ Simon shot him a harsh look as he pressed more gauze to the wound, but it was seeping out faster than he could keep up with.

“—Don’t say that.”

Johnny looked at Ghost as he replaced red gauze with more white gauze. The other SAS teams started offering him pieces of their own med kits. He looked at him with an intensity that made Simon’s skin crawl.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, Johnny. Med Evac’s on their way, and they’ll patch y’right up better than I can.” Simon couldn’t place if he was comforting Soap, or himself. “Never did well durin’ First Aid.” Johnny’s laugh came out in a wheeze.

“Ghost,” His hands never stopped. If they stopped, he loses. He loses Johnny, he loses himself, he’ll lose his whole purpose of being here. “Ghost, look a’ me.” He’s going to lose if he stops. He’ll lose, he’ll lose, he’ll lose, he’ll lose—

“Simon.” A calloused hand reached up and wrapped itself around the black and blood-stained glove, and Simon froze. “Simon, please look a’ me.”

Kyle cast a glance at the other SAS teams nearby. None of them seemed to know what to do with themselves. But it was obvious that they wanted to give the two men the space. His eyes then turned to Price, who looked like he, too, was going to teeter over the edge of guilt.

“You alright, sir?” Kyle spoke plainly, but at a volume that John could hear.

“I should ‘ave told ‘im to pull the trigger.” Price’s eyes never left the two men paused in an embrace that only a Renaissance painter could imagine. Kyle’s eyes followed, and he could only nod.

“Oi! You!” Kyle got the attention of the other SAS teams. “Find the Med Evac! They’re going to need guidance gettin’ down ‘ere!” He was met with scattered ‘Rog’’s and ‘Roger that’’s, more than likely thankful to be given something to do rather than watch a man die. The four of them were left alone in the tunnel, reaping what Vladimir Makarov had sown.

“Thank you.” If he hadn’t been paying attention, Kyle wouldn’t have heard the captain’s gratuity.

I wandered through the dark

Fierce and bright

If Simon didn’t move, he wouldn’t have to look Johnny in the eyes. The truth wouldn’t congeal, and he could stay firm in his delusion that both would make it out of the tunnel.

Soap’s grip tightened on his wrist. “Mo ghraidh, lemme ge’ a good look at ye.” Against his will, Simon’s head turned toward Johnny, and he could feel his heart seize.

Johnny didn’t look good at all. Pallid complexion and heavy breathing. He was sweating as he took in the man above him like he was an angel. Not a fallen one, but a true, tall-standing archangel. Tears were pooling in Johnny’s eyes as he smiled again.

“You have to get ‘im for me, Si.” Johnny’s breathing heaved in and out, in and out, in and out. “I dinnae ask for much in this world, but if I’m askin’ for somethin’, you and Gaz and Price? Find Makarov and you put him in th’ground.” Simon felt an uncomfortable burning in his eyes as his vision blurred.

He was crying.

When was the last time he cried? Probably when he was a young boy, begging for his father’s non-existent love.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny. Stop speakin’ like that.” His voice came out more gravely than he intended. “We’ll get ‘im. Together. You, me, all four of us. Hell, I’m sure Price would let y’take the first shot since he stopped the last one.”

This time, the laugh was shared between the same air. “Y’not leavin’ me, Sergeant.” The bricks were crumbling off the foundation of the stone tower. “Y’can’t leave yet.” The gauze was completely soaked through. He was running out. The tears absorbed themselves into the balaclava’s fabric. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair—

“Hey, hey,” Johnny’s hand moved from his wrist to his masked face. “Never in a million years would I see the Lieutenant Riley weep tears o’er little ol’ me.” Tears similarly fell from Johnny’s face, streaming down past his temples. “You’re gonna be fine, LT.”

“No, I won’t.” Simon’s mouth led faster than his brain. Simon’s anger, mixed with his despondency, made him sick. “Just once, I want something that’s mine. You’re supposed to stay and ’m supposed to be here with you.” Simon couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth. A younger, more volatile Simon would have thrown up at this display.

But he’s not a child anymore. He’s not stuck in the dark when he’s seen the sun in all its glory through the sergeant beneath him. Simon craves to be selfish for a quiet life, and it’s always been just out of reach.

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

“‘M so s-sorry, LT.” Soap failed to hide the hiccup in his voice. A part of him, very deep down, ached to see Simon so vulnerable. So open. So willing to show his soft, scarred underbelly.

"None of that, Johnny. We're gonna get you out of 'ere. Y'just need to stay awake-"

“-I was thinkin’ we’d retire after findin’ Makarov.”

Simon let out a shaky breath at the confession, compressing down the urge to scream and sob. Not here. Not now. “We’ve done enough fightin’. Enough t’fill th’both of us up until we’re sick with it.” Johnny’s thumb caressed the hard plastic of the skull. “We’d go t’Scotland. Find a home in the Highlands, ‘n fix it up ourselves.” Simon nodded as if they were going to go househunting tomorrow.

“Yeah? You think a Manc like me would fit in?” His voice betrayed him in the warble of his words. “Some fuckin’ sheep farmer? Sweater an’ all?” Johnny’s bright smile returned, and another brick crumbled.

“You’d fit in anywhere, LT. Reckon ye’d look like an image in a sweater.” Leave it to Johnny to flirt at the absolute worst moment there was.

“You’ll get t’see it. Because we’re goin’ to get you out of ‘ere.” Simon leaned over to his comm device. “Bravo 0-7 to Watcher. Laswell, where the fuck is the Med Evac?!” They were running out of time. Johnny’s hand slipped back onto the concrete floor as his breathing grew shallow. Johnny’s head lolled, forcing himself to stay awake. “Johnny, stay awake!”

“Watcher to 0-7, Med Evac’s trying to get to you as fast as they can. They’re swamped with injured. ETA is fifteen minutes.”

They don’t have fifteen minutes.

“Fuck’s sake! Is there anyone else they can send? Someone closer?” Price practically glowered as he argued for Simon. His man was dying, and they couldn’t do anything to stop it. Nothing that they already weren’t doing, anyway.

“John, you’re in the underground tunnels of the London Train System. It’s not an easy access. I’m working as fast as I can. Keep him stable.” Laswell’s voice cut out, and John sighed.

No matter how hard he thrashed in his head, he couldn’t move. He was scared that if he moved, he’d be the one to kill Soap by sheer proximity. After all, Soap was the one who came to his captain’s aid.

Even loyal dogs get put down.

“Oi! Johnny!” Simon slapped the side of Johnny’s face as his head bobbed to one side, his eyes threatening to close. “None o’ tha’ shit, Sargent. You keep your eyes open.” Soap’s eyes fluttered open, looking back at the grease-painted eyes through the skull mask.

“I dinnae have fifteen minutes, do I, LT?” He sounded so resigned in his question. Like he knew what the answer was, but he wasn’t going to speak it into existence.

“Y’do, Johnny. Y’do. You just need to hold on a bit longer.” Simon looked up at John, and there was no begging. There was no verbal plea.

John could see clearly as day, the stone tower named Simon Riley threatened to collapse. John couldn't bring himself to speak. Ghost looked at Kyle in similar desperation, and Kyle said nothing. He knew what Ghost refused to see. Kyle shifted to his tac vest and opened up his med kit, fishing out gauze and sterile pads, and looked over at the captain.

“Sir,” he held out his hand. “We have to try.” Robotically, John fished out the supplies and handed them to Kyle. The younger man took the items and carried them to Simon and Johnny. They had arrived too late, so he wanted to at least try to make up for it.

He’d be making up for it for the rest of his life, it seemed.

“Lieutenant,” Simon’s head snapped back up as Kyle approached. “Lieutenant, the gauze needs t’be changed.” Simon’s hands didn’t move from the dark gauze. It stopped being effective a while ago. “Lieutenant, please.”

“Simon, let go.” Johnny’s voice was a whisper. “It’s okay, mo chridhe.” Soap’s eyes flickered; the candlewick was close to burning out.

“I don’t want to let go!” His despair burned with the acrid flavor of rage. He didn’t know who he was talking to. Kyle’s hands hovered on top of Simon’s, ready to catch whatever came next.

“I know, mate.” Gaz nodded. Now wasn’t the time for his own despair to sink its teeth in. He’d address that later when they returned.

“Gaz—“

“Simon.”

That got his attention.

“Simon, move your hands so we can change the gauze. The Sergeant ordering his Lieutenant was a sight to behold. In any other situation, Simon would have ripped Kyle a new one. But now? He was just grateful for a friend.

Slowly, his hands moved with the soaked-through gauze, and Kyle came in and pressed with the fresh white cloth. “We’re gonna get you outta here, Soap.” He looked down at his comrade fighting to stay awake and not be swept under the current.

“Yer a good bloke, Gaz.” Johnny’s voice came out in a slur, and it made Kyle ache. “You tell Cap it wasn’t his fault.”

This is what they signed up for, but it didn’t hurt any less.

“I’m fuckin’ tired.” Johnny’s breaths elongated between each rise and fall. Time was running out. Kyle pressed harder, trying to buy Simon more time with his lover.

“Johnny, no. Stay awake, Sergeant.” Simon’s voice teetered on desperation. He could barely hear what was around him, only just registering Price saying something through the comms. Johnny’s hand moved, too weak to pull it up to touch Simon. His blood-soaked hand picked it up for him and squeezed tightly.

“You keep goin’ for me, Si. I need ye t’promise me tha’. Tha’ no matter wha’ happens, ye keep goin’ and you stay alive. Finish it. Finish Makarov and then fuckin' rest.”

Simon never believed he deserved to rest. He was crafted from crooked beams and wires built to withstand the weight of the world. He didn’t deserve rest.

How could he rest when his home’s been taken from him?

Though they got me in the end

You never left my sight

“Sure, Johnny,” Simon whispered. “I’ll need to find us a house in the Highlands. The sheep’ll be our neighbors.” Johnny’s laugh was weaker this time. But his smile, god, his smile was so bright.

“I love you, Simon Riley. I hope ye know tha’.” Of course, Simon knew. Simon consumed Johnny’s love like a hungry dog at his feet.

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It's not fair!

“I know. I know y’do.” I’d bathe in it if I could. Tears streamed in rivulets down Soap’s face, feeling like a weight lifted from his chest. The candle was going out now. The wax was gone and couldn’t sustain the wick.

In a slow wave, Johnny’s whole body went lax. First his breathing, then his hands, and then his eyes, when the tears stopped streaming, staring at the stone ceiling above.

And I'd let them rip my heart out again

If I could see you smile

Kyle moved first, letting up on the pressure of the gauze. He backed away slowly, giving his friend the distance he needed. Where was that damn Evac? Simon, however, remained still. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

Maybe if he stayed, Johnny would wake up. He’d wake up, and he’d be put on the Med Evac home. He’d be in a hospital where he’d be safe.

But Johnny wouldn’t wake up.

He wouldn’t wake up in bed. He’s coming home in a box.

Of all my demons, you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

Simon’s lungs started to rev and heave, trying to take more air. His body tried to make space for the hole that was ripped out of him and exposed to the open sun. His soft underbelly scored open like an autopsy.

He unclipped his helmet and let it drop to the floor with a clunk without thought. Next came the balaclava and skull mask, revealing the sandy blonde hair and greased over eyes, red with despair, with love and loss and grief. It’s not fair.

He dragged one hand over Johnny’s eyes, closing them to the harsh world above. Simon leaned forward, resting his forehead against Johnny’s tac vest, burying himself into the one piece of him that felt good. That felt worthy.

And he wept.

It was silent. Tears were streaming down in angry streaks. You’d have to be focusing on him to see the shakes of his shoulders every time his body forced out another cry.

The body’s a funny thing when it reacts to trauma.

You and I, crazy on quiet nights

Damn near run out of town

We were a love so loud

Gaz ushered in the medics when he screeched to a halt, seeing Ghost kneeling over Johnny. He noted the cast-off helmet and mask, turning around to the teams behind him.

“Everyone out.”

“Sergeant? We need to–” Gaz could have leveled the medic with his stare.

“No, you don’t. Not right now. We just lost a man. If anyone ‘ere is wounded, you tend to ‘em now over there.” He pointed down the tunnel on the other side of the platform. “We’ll get you when we have a moment. Now, out.” Gaz was not a large man by any Ghost standards, but he tried his damndest to block any lines of sight towards Simon.

He didn’t move until all of the teams were out of sight before he turned back to his team. Price had moved to Simon, kneeling on Johnny’s other side.

“Simon,” He spoke low, almost as if he was speaking to an angry dog. Or a child. “Simon, we have to get movin’.” Gloved hands gripped tighter around Johnny’s body with minuscule intakes of air. That meant that Simon would have to return home. Return to a flat that would be emptier than before.

A room full of things he’d have to sort through at some point. There would be no more soft early mornings, no more coffee brewing, and tea kettles boiling. Just an empty, quiet space. Simon felt so sick to his stomach, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Price reached his hand out slowly, placing it on the lieutenant’s shoulder. Simon made no move to shake it off as he kept his face buried in Johnny’s body.

The three men stood there in solidarity for a while before anyone spoke. The truth congealed into reality, and they were too tired to handle any of it.

“He said it wasn’t your fault.” Simon was the first to break the silence. His voice was hoarse with the strain of holding back his despairing anger. He straightened up back onto his knees with an empty stare. Hollow. “He wanted you t’know.”

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

Simon sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand. Looking at his captain, he was met with a man equally drowned in his guilt. Guilt and duty all under wraps in a boonie hat.

Price couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t have him fall apart at the seams. It was his fault. He was the one under Vladimir’s gun. Had he been fast enough, Soap wouldn’t have had to step in, and they’d all be walking out of here for a pint after debrief.

“They aren’t goin’ to provide a burial for ‘im, are they?” Ghost’s voice pulled John out of his head, and he sighed. He wished he could lie. He wished that he could say that they’d give him a state-sponsored funeral for the countless sacrifices he made for his country. But by the sound of it, Ghost already knew his answer.

“I wish I could tell you yes.” Was John’s only reply. Simon only nodded and reached for the mask. He slipped the balaclava over his head and adjusted it to fit over his face. Everything felt hollow. Robotic and stiff. Like a ghost.

“We should bring ‘im to the Highlands,” Simon spoke plainly. No inflection of emotions could be heard. Even in a state of numbness, Simon was still looking out for Johnny in his own way. The captain nodded.

“I can arrange that.”

“Lieutenant,” Kyle stated, standing at his post and watching for wandering medics. Ghost looked up at Kyle, and the respect for the younger soldier snaked itself into Simon’s bones. He’d be in that exact position if either of them were in his shoes.

“You want me to call the medics over?” ‘Your call.’ He spoke without words. Simon nodded, grabbing his helmet before standing.

“Watcher to Bravo, sitrep. Did the Med Evac reach Soap?” The question alone was such a mockery to him, it made Simon nauseous.

“Negative.” Price rose from the ground as he spoke to his comm device. “Several wounded,” He glanced down at Johnny’s sleeping frame. “One KIA”

A long pause was felt before Kate simply responded, “Copy.”

“Simon, let go.”

Simon Riley was not a good man. He was a selfish man who lived a life where everything was taken from him. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“It’s okay, mo chridhe.”

In a whirlwind of memory, I'm with you now

The minutes, days, and weeks after the London Train Tunnels were a haze. Debriefs were had, but Simon couldn’t remember what was said. Quiet arrangements for leave were made and pushed through by Kate herself.

The next day, the three men traveled to the Scottish Highlands. They found a cliff overlooking the sea, the sun overhead, and the crashing sea adding a symphony for Task Force 141. Johnny’s three-gun salute was performed by the seas of his home.

All of them spoke their short words. None of them were privy to long speeches or flowery language. They were men built from bullet casings and dog-like loyalty.

As Gaz poured the urn into the open air, the passing breeze took over for him, carrying Johnny away as if to say to the three of them,

“I can take him from here.” One less responsibility for the three of them to worry about.

“Who dares wins.”

Johnny went home, but not the home that Simon wanted.

So I lie fading under brilliant sky

Wake up, stare at the ceiling, wish the bed swallowed him whole. Day after day, week after week, month after month, Simon survived on the same routine. It’s why he thrived in the military. Stare at the ceiling until his vision swam, get up and perform basic hygiene so he wouldn’t reek, leave for PT.

Day in and day out, he burrowed himself into the walls of the base to avoid going to his flat off base. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t face going home. He hadn’t cried since the train tunnels either. The despair crystallized into sharp and volatile anger.

The linoleum base floors could have been made from of eggshells with how gingerly everyone was walking. New recruits, seasoned soldiers, office administrators, and even visiting teams from other militaries gave Simon Riley a wide berth when he stalked the halls.

Well, nearly everyone.

Following Johnny’s death, Simon became… difficult to work with. He became harsher towards anyone who looked at him. He ran recruits harder, and he observed with more scrutiny. Office admin resorted to frantic games of Rock-Paper-Scissors if, god forbid, they had to approach him about his reports.

He became a downright asshole. He avoided the therapist he was supposed to see, dodging calls to schedule appointments by throwing himself into work. He threw himself into work, indulged in the pubs more often than he should, landing himself with misery in the mornings after.

He volunteered for missions whenever he possibly could. The swelling ocean couldn’t consume him if he threw himself into a different hurricane.

And though the pain rages like fire

I'm dancing inside

“Seven months, Simon.” John was practically at his wits' end, tossing yet another stack of reports onto his desk. The captain had half a mind to drag the large man through the base by his ear, but thought better of it. Instead, he resorted to interrupting the sparring session Simon was overseeing.

“Seven months of complaints! I can’t go more than twenty-four hours without hearin’ from someone ‘bout you rippin’ the head of some admin worker! Or a recruit! Or you critiquin’ someone’s shootin’ form when they weren’t even askin’!” That was just the tip of the iceberg of timid reports that trickled in through his office. John was exhausted in the same way a father would be exhausted by his shithead teenage son. Simon stood awkwardly in the middle of his captain’s office, still and silent. He felt as if he moved, John would strike out like a cobra.

This is the one time Simon’s silence made John want to rip his hair out. He inhaled and exhaled through his teeth, taking a long drag of his cigar so he wouldn’t completely blow. “I know you’ve been dealin’ with Johnny’s death hard—“

“—I’m fine.” Simon’s words cut through the cigar-smoked air.

“Bollocks.” He drew out the word like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You talk with that therapist yet?” Cigar smoke flared through his nostrils like an angry bull.

“I don’t need a therapist,” Simon’s jaw cinched into a tight knot. The last thing he needed was some stranger telling him to explain his feelings when he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. It felt like a family reunion he wanted no part of. “I need another assignment.” John chuckled sardonically as he stamped the cigar in the ashtray.

“Jus’ so you can throw yourself into another gunfight and hope you get cut down?” You could hear a pin drop in the office. Even the fluorescent light bulbs stopped flickering, holding their breath for the exchange beneath them.

“Captain—“ Simon didn’t like how the words tasted. He didn’t like hearing what they sounded like in the open and not in his head.

“I’m not stupid, Simon.” John sighed, leaning up against the outdated desk. “Ever since we got back from London, I've seen it. The anger at anythin’ breathin’, fillin’ y’thoughts and mind with anything except the horrors y’face,” Simon needed to leave. John needed to stop talking.

“The hangovers, the risky behavior on assignments. I’ve been watchin’ it all. Frankly, I’m disappointed you’d think I’d be oblivious to any of you.” Price looked at him and made a motion with his head. “Mask off. We do this right or we don’t do it at all.”

His body acted before his brain could filter out the command, pulling the mask off in the tiny office. Simon looked tired. Tired in a way that couldn’t be explained by bad barracks beds or odd waking hours. He was tired down to the very marrow of his bones.

He missed Johnny. He missed his home. He was so angry and tired, and the only thing he knew was how to rip and shred.

“You’re not the only one who lost someone that day.” John continued, “Kyle lost someone that day. Kate lost a good man that day. We all did! Every night, I can’t stop thinking of all the ways I could have done better. Been better, so Johnny hadn’t had to step in.” The gunshot still reverberated in his ears. “It haunts me.” John looked up at Simon, not as a captain, but as a man who was as downtrodden as he was.

Simon’s mouth moved faster than his brain. “I’m—“ God, he was uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable from the strenuous workout, he was uncomfortable from the hole in his chest where Johnny once resided. He was more than uncomfortable as he looked so small in front of the man he admired and respected the most out of anyone in his entire life.

He tried to find some angry, bitter remark he could unhinge at the jaw but nothing came out. Nothing came out that wouldn’t make him completely shut down. The captain held his hand out as a sign to stop..

“I need you alive, Simon.” The five words played on a loop, spinning around in his ears, in his head like a whirlpool. The Lieutenant braced for the impact of duty. The implication that he was needed for his service. Dead men can’t hold a gun like you can.

“I know y’miss him. I know y’cared for him, and I know y’loved him.” The harshness of John Price’s eyes smoothed into something softer, more sad. “But you’re here too, mate. You’re here with people who want you alive.” He stressed with a sharp intake of breath. John paused, pursing his lips into a tight line. Simon blinked, the realization doused him with ice water.

His captain was trying not to cry.

“I can’t fill out another death certificate.” His voice betrayed him in coming out small. John’s eyes and throat burned, straying away from Simon and looking elsewhere. “I can’t even describe to you how his mum wailed.” Price let out a shaky breath. “His dad tryin’ pick her up off the floor, and his sisters starin’ in confusion til’ they saw me.” He sniffed, clearing his throat and focusing back on Simon. “I need you alive because I can’t stand the thought of losing another good man.”

Good man. Good man. Good man.

Simon Riley was not a good man. He wrought horrors upon lands like a vengeful god, fueled by duty and obligation. But that didn’t stop him from choosing to be a decent man where it mattered. Simon Riley was a good man in a way that was weathered and ancient.

“At least you won’t have to break the news to any family o’ mine.” Smooth. Simon’s attempt at a half-assed joke made the John groan. At least Simon was still somewhere inside of the shell his man was turning into.

“I’m going to strangle you with the strings of my hat, you fuckin’ muppet.” John chuckled. There was an edge of frustration hidden underneath his voice. He sniffed, wiping his face. “I don’t want to be breakin’ any news to anyone. The only papers I’ll be signin’ are your retirement papers.” The tension eased in the room. The fluorescent lights started to flicker again.

“Right,” The captain grunted as he stood straight, moving around his desk. “I do hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he moved the chair out and sat down, looking up at his Lieutenant. “The other reason I brought you in ‘ere is that you’re bein’ benched.”

The record scratch was palpable.

“What?”

“You’re bein’ benched.” John stated so matter-of-factly, Simon waited for the punchline. “Simon, I can’t ignore all of these.” He gestured to the pile of papers beside him. “Paired alongside your behavior on assignments, y’need to get your head on straight.” Simon couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Are you fucking with me? This’s some sort of suicide watch, innit?” Simon’s voice rose, “Ghost can’t be left alone and now ‘e’s gotta be watched to make sure he won’t—“ John’s took a sharp left into his command tone.

“Why would I be fucking with you, Lieutenant? It was either this or discharge.” That shut Simon up. Discharge meant being alone with his thoughts. Discharge meant he’d be forced to see Johnny everywhere. In the smell of shitty pub beer, in the way artists would sit in a park for hours in their sketch books, in the roar of the ocean. He was everywhere, and Simon would be forced to look.

“Six months, Simon. That’s all I’m askin’.”

“Six months–” The lieutenant huffed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Maybe even shorter if the therapist thinks you’re ready. Long if you fuckin’ push it. Six months, y’meet with the therapist, you'll still stay on base trainin’ recruits, you’ll assist where needed. But, you’re not goin’ anywhere right now.”

“A bloody desk job. When Makarov is still–”

“And he’ll continue to be on the run if you’re dead too.”

Simon’s teeth gritted as he weighed his options. Expose himself to a light he doesn’t want to be seen in, or risk falling into the ocean and getting swallowed.

“Fine.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Six months.”

A good man. A good man. A good man.

Simon Riley was not a good man. But if he tried, he could be a decent one.

Cause baby I turned on the light

Yeah I turned on the light

Simon hired and fired a few therapists in the first month before one finally stuck. Most of the time, they shied away from his harsh tone and puffed chest. They didn’t want to get close enough to see that underneath was a man who was hurting, scared, and angry. A man who wanted help but couldn’t ask for it.

A good man. A good man. A good man.

The one that stuck, he took to pretty quickly. She was a veteran herself, and didn’t take any bullshit from him. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling ordeal of being walked around on a floor of eggshells.

He was making good progress. He was still Ghost on the base. He kept up the skills that made him the wraith he was. The lieutenant who took no shit during trainings, and held recruits to high standards. But the standards changed. The standards were no longer Johnny’s, but inspired by Johnny’s. Recruits could approach him, administrators didn’t have to recite final rites before going to him, and slowly but surely, complaints started to dwindle from Captain Price’s desk.

Behind the closed doors of his therapist’s office, Simon began to make peace with Johnny being everywhere he went. He embraced the warmth of the cafe interior. He stopped to watch the park painter apply their brush to the canvas. The smell of Johnny’s mother’s pies made a home in his bones when he visited the MacTavish family for holidays.

The MacTavish family, who had welcomed him in as one of their own, even if his better half wasn’t with him in person anymore. He was there in spirit and that’s what mattered.

Gaz would never let him live it down if he saw the moments he shared with the nieces and nephews. Uncle Ghost just didn’t have a ring to it like Uncle Simon did.

Simon Riley was on his way to being a decent man. He wouldn’t allow himself to be a good man until Vladimir Makarov was buried ten feet underground.

Of all my demons you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

Five months. It took five months before Simon’s therapist gave the green light for him to get back into the field. He still had a ways to go, but he wasn’t about to bite the hand that feeds if it meant he could take down Makarov. He could stomach nightmares and a cold bed for the sake of a larger goal.

“It’s good to have you back, mate!” Gaz shouted over the whirring of Nik’s helicopter. Not long after Simon had been cleared, Kate received intel regarding Makarov that finally could put him in the ground once and for all. All three men were wheels up before Kate could even end the call.

Ever so diligent to his brand, Simon gave Gaz a nod. But words didn’t need to be spoken to know his appreciation. He shifted in his gear, rolling out one shoulder and the other. He couldn’t get rid of a vibration deep inside the marrow of his bones. Something about it told him that the buzzing would go away when Vladimir Makarov no longer drew the same air as him. Johnny could rest once it was done. He could rest once it was done.

“Makarov is mine.” His voice crackled through the comms. The captain gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder, his eyes warm despite the frigid knowledge of where they were headed. John couldn’t help but be so proud of Simon.

“‘Course.” He replied. “Y’better let me at least get a potshot in.” Gaz’s chuckle picked up over the comms. Despite one missing, the pieces of Task Force 141 had fallen back into place, and things felt right.

“We’re approaching the drop point!” Nikolai shouted to the three of them. “I’ll be close by for air support!” The pilot turned over his shoulder and looked at all of them, specifically, Simon. “You finish this, and you finish this right.” Simon gave one single nod, adjusting the hold on his rifle.

“Roger that.”

Say you'll haunt my dreams, and I'll get sleeping

There was an unspoken beauty to warfare. You have to be born into it to understand its depths truly. Bullets whizzed by Task Force 141 as they pushed deeper into Makarov’s base, and there was not a single moment when Ghost stopped moving.

He switched from rifle to pistol to knife and back to rifle again with a fluidity that only dancers could mirror. The men worked in tandem with one another to achieve their final milestone. The finish line of this gruesome race.

“You have Execute Authority.”

Konni Group soldiers dropped like flies as Nikolai came in for air support, orchestrating maneuvers and giving the men the best shots possible.

Finish this right.

Deeper they pushed into the base, bullets provided a raucous chorus as they ricocheted off of concrete walls and metal railings. One by one, more soldiers dropped as Ghost, Captain Price, and Gaz marched forwards towards the upper control rooms.

They could see flames shoot up from behind the dirty windows as Makarov destroyed the evidence of his treachary. Price nodded at Gaz to the command center door.

“This man doesn’t leave this building alive, y’hear me?” Gaz only nodded before looking at Ghost, who strode past the both of them towards the metal door and kicked it open with one heavy boot on the door knob. Gaz couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips. “After you, mate. Got your six.” Gaz followed next behind the Lieutenant, followed by the captain bringing up the rear. Smoke was starting to fill the room as boxes of documents and gasoline doused computers burned away. The melting plastic smell alone could make a grown man’s eyes water.

‘I was thinkin’ we’d retire after findin’ Makarov.’

Simon’s rifle was tucked tight in his shoulder. He wasn’t leaving this place until bullets were spent. He wasn’t leaving until he saw the dead proof of his promise fulfilled.

‘We’ve done enough fightin’.’

“It’s over, Vladimir!” Price shouted over the roar of flames and alarm bells. More Konni would be coming soon, and none of them had respirators with them. “You know how this ends.” John nodded to the two men to take one hall way and he motioned that he’d take the other. If they boxed him in, Ghost could get in the final shot.

‘Enough t’fill th’both of us up until we’re sick with it.’

“This isn’t the end, Captain Price.” Makarov’s smug tone echoed down the hallway when Gaz and Ghost stood, rifles drawn. He walked casually, as if he had all the time in the world as he bathed in plastic fumes and gasoline. “This is just the beginning.”

‘We’d go t’Scotland. Find a home in the Highlands, ‘n fix it up ourselves.’

One could ruminate over every single theoretical physical reaction to a situation, an injury, a conversation. And yet, fate pulls a string that couldn’t be seen. Fate pulls a result out of you that best suits the moment, dignified or not.

Makarov’s slimy focus turned to Ghost with a coy smirk. “Sorry about MacTavish. He–” The whiplash of his neck snapping back cut him off from finishing his monologue, body crumpling to the floor like a lax crash test dummy. Ghost kept his rifle drawn to his eye, aiming the sight to where the Russian’s heart was, and shot again. Ghost was tired. Simon was tired, and he wanted this to end.

The hallway of Vladimir Makarov’s base was quiet, saving for the distant noise of human beings and alarm bells. The air smelled more and more like burnt plastic.

Vladimir Makarov was dead. Truly and wholeheartedly dead.

Simon Riley could rest.

You were my light in a nightmare

My dreamèd love

The days following the successful mission blurred one right after the other. The Task Force received some very well earned leave. Albeit not long enough before the next risk to the world would rear its ugly hydra head.

The night before they would all part ways to head home, Simon sat outside on the base, looking up at the sky. The ink black space proved to be a beautiful canvas for the smattering pattern of stars. The balaclava was pulled just high enough over his nose to let a cigarette sit on his lips.

“Got a light?” A familiar sergeant’s voice came up from behind him. He lazily glanced over his shoulder to see Kyle dressed in his civvies sitting down next to him

“Smokin’s bad for you, Garrick. Didn’t they teach y’that in basic?” Simon pulled out his lighter and handed it to the man. Kyle let out a laugh before lighting his own cigarette.

“Think y’missed the same class I did, sir.” Their shared laugh ruminated in the warm open air. The silence grew comfortable as they both stared up at the night sky above them.

Time could have passed like pulled taffy or the snap of a rubber band, but it didn’t need to be rushed. They had a moment to simply exist. Two friends being reminded that they were human.

“I just wanted to say–”

“Thank you for–”

The two spoke over each at the same time, breaking the silence with another laugh and drag from their cigarettes. Simon gestured for Kyle to speak first.

“I just wanted to say,” Kyle breathed in the smoke in a steady stream. “I’m really proud of you, Simon.” Ash flittered from the end of the cigarette. “The work you were doin’ while bein’ benched? It didn’t go unnoticed.” Simon side-eyed Kyle mid-drag.

“You’ve been ‘round the Captain too much. Did y’come out ‘ere to get all sentimental on me?” Despite its coarseness, Simon’s tone was teasing.

“Mm,” Simon switched the cigarette from one hand to the other. “Thank you for…” God, he was bad at giving out compliments. “Thank you for what you did. In the train tunnels.” His head turned to Gaz fully. “It meant a lot.”

Simon didn’t know it, but this small interaction already meant the world to the sergeant. His care for his teammates ran steadfast. Where Simon’s loyalty extended like a fault line, Kyle’s took root and curled around like tree roots.

“Of course, mate.” Gaz’s brown eyes softened, meeting Simon’s eyes. “You’d do the same if we were in that position.” I’d do it in a heart beat. “We’re a team,” he shrugged, taking another drag off the near stub. “It’s what we do.”

Of all my demons, you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

A warm night breeze dipped and swerved through the base, brushing past Kyle and Simon as the stars continued to move overhead. Kyle cleared his throat and stamped out the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

“Y’ever think about ‘im?” He asked, quieter than he meant to.

“All the time.” Simon responded without a single hesitation.

“I’m not a religious man,” Kyle’s eyes traced a star pattern, connecting its dots in his own constellation. “But I like t’think he’s watchin’ over us.” Another warm breeze swept over the base, and Simon smiled gently.

“He is.”

Say you'll haunt my dreams, and I'll get sleeping

Time stops for no man. Leaves fall, winter comes, spring renews, year after year after year. The earth does not wait for Simon Riley to get younger.

Fate pulled her string and forced Simon into the retirement he tried to avoid. One timed-right shot to his knee damn near took him out during an assignment. After a year of physical therapy, all he had to deal with were the aches that came with the change of the weather, and a flareup or two. His cane stood nearby when the pain became a little unbearable.

The symphonic sea waves crashing against the cliff face filled the Lieutenant’s ears as he traversed down the path back to his small home, bundled in a thick canvas coat to block out the chilly air. It was a small cottage in the Highlands, overlooking the ocean. Quaint and quiet, and in desperate need of a makeover. But to Simon, it was perfect.

He waved off the stray sheep in the wildflower bed in his front yard, unlocking his door to a warm home. He stood there for a moment and couldn’t help but smile.

“We’ll find ourselves a cottage. Havin’ the sheep as neighbors.” Simon said out loud, to no one in particular. Johnny may not be here with him, but Johnny was around everywhere he went. The door shut with a click and Simon shucked off his coat, revealing a black sweater that clung to his large frame.

‘Reckon ye’d look like an image in a sweater’

The metal clink of four dog tags rattled on the chain as he moved, grabbing his cane. Simon leaned against it as he walked to the window that overlooked the sea.

“Guess you were right, MacTavish.” I miss you. “We did get the house in the Highlands.” I love you. “Don’t know if sweaters’re workin’ f’me though.” I think of you in everything around me.

You were my light in a nightmare.

The saying goes, 'Home is where the heart is.' But to Simon, that phrase was bullshit.

The heart is where the home is.

And the home resides in the dog tags on his chest. Two of which were not his own.

My dreaméd love

Translations:

Mo chridhe: My heart

Mo ghraidh: My love

Hope you enjoyed! :) Stream Nathan Jacques! He's incredible and underrated. (Photos are from Pinterest and the divider is made by yours truly)

29 notes · View notes

lostintransist · 4 months ago

Note

[emerges from the dead]

ghoap angst? Ghost holds a lot of misplaced anger after mwiii - after Soap’s death.

He partially blames Price for ordering Johnny to step down when he had the shot. Hell, he even blames himself somehow for assuming his captain placed the same amount of confidence in Johnny than he did him.

If Price had just let him pull the fucking trigger, maybe he would still be here, alive, with him - in his arms.

But he’s not and they feel most empty. Simon tries to fill the gap with bourbon or throwing himself in whatever op he could get his hands on, even the riskier ones.

A part of him wishes it’d been him that day, muttering ‘why is it always the good ones’ to himself where no one can hear him spiral.

Simon is not suicidal in the way that most people think but he doesn’t see himself resisting the current if things were to go south on a mission.

Demi! 😘 remember you asked for this. @cafekitsune thanks for the dividers!

CW: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT Canon Johnny death, suicidal ideation (If you wonder about letting go and something bad ending it all for you or a car accident just taking you out? that does count as ideation I was shook when my therapist pointed out that I was suicidal as a teen because of that), canon style violance, Simon dies in the end.

AO3 | Masterlist | Companion Story Peace Finding The Dead

Minors beware, no sexual context but emotional violence abounds.

Trains screeched by on the metal tracks, brakes fighting for friction. They had made it down to the platform; now Johnny and his captain would need to disable the bomb before it took out the city above it.

“Red wire, got it.”

His captain’s gaze flicked. That was the only warning he got. That platform beneath the city would become his tomb. Johnny stood, hand already moving for his gun at Makarov’s appearance. He wasn’t fast enough.

Johnny watched, the flash of the muzzle pulling his eyes to the light. His soul screamed to look for Ghost, Simon, before his synapses could pass the message hand over hand that his time had come. No part of him wanted his last memory to be of anything but the man he loved so desperately and had never found the nerve to tell.

“Soap!” Captain Price called him, voice rough.

No part of him remembered the past or yearned for the future. The smell of the dank dust permeated his nose, throat. He wondered if they couldn’t get his body out, would the archaeologists of millennia to come be able to pinpoint his last breath based on the atoms in his lungs?

Eyes flicking open he rose, pulling his blade from its sheath on his thigh. Makarov stood over his captain, saying something the ringing in Johnny’s ears prevented him from hearing. Makarov took Johnny’s blade through the shoulder. The trauma from the previous shot slowed him. He was too slow. God dammit why was he always too slow? Makarov got him in an armbar, planted a boot in Price’s face, and fired his gun again.

Training from his youth, the chapel humming with the vibration of the organ, told him to call on a god he didn’t believe in. Maybe his mother would greet him at the gates before the angels escorted him to hell for his disbelief. No. It would pain her to see him dragged away from her peace.

The bullet whistled as it reached him, breaking the skin. It burned…until it didn’t.

There is a different sound to dead weight falling.

Babies losing balance and thumping into the floor had a certain lightness, expectant reverb in it. A drunk bumping into a wall as they stumbled home from the bar? The energy seemed to transfer back from the brick to propel them forward. But dead weight, life disconnected from flesh? It hits the ears like stone on stone, harsh and painful. Another train screeched by.

Johnny stood, chest heaving. With a slow twist, he saw his body, a discarded shell strewn on the unforgiving ground. He knew two things then; he was dead and there was an afterlife.

“Boy!”

His shoulders whipped him around to look at an older man he had never seen before. With thick tight curls and a hint of gray above the temples and glasses stood near Gaz who knelt. The shade of his brown skin was lost among the darkness but his firm glare could be seen clearly.

“Aye?” Johnny replied, hesitant and scared.

Funny how he didn’t feel scared before his body hit the ground without him.

“You know how to stop this thing?” The older man pointed down at the bomb, time ticking away relentlessly.

“Aye,” he said once more.

“Then get’cha ass over here and help him! I know less than jack about bombs.”

Moving is easier than it had been in life, almost as if gravity had less hold on him as a memory.

Johnny knelt next to his best friend, the abject horror staining Gaz’s face leaving trace marks on Johnny anywhere his eyes touched.

“What do I do?” he asked, glancing up at the man who still hovered.

“Talk to him, slap his hands if he tries to touch the wrong wire. Lord knows despite my efforts he sometimes only responds to a smack,” the last line being muttered told Johnny it was more self-commentary than a command for him. “Should have never let him leave being a cop, even if he did it for me.”

Johnny rested his head on Gaz’s shoulder. Later he would sit with the memory, puzzled how he didn’t sink right through his best friend.

“You got this Kyle. We’ve gone over this enough times in training and a way to win bets, you know what to do.” Johnny spoke to him, voice never ceasing switching from English to Gaelic and back. When he ran out of words for encouragement he began to hum, nursery songs from his mother, his sisters, and his gran all drifting back in snippets and memories. Every so often when he glanced up from Gaz’s shoulder he would see a woman, soft smile with crinkles around her eyes speaking softly in Price’s ear.

The seconds stretched until finally, finally, the device had been deactivated safely. Johnny lifted his head from Gaz’s shoulder. The older man stood watch, eyes settled back near where Johnny’s body lay.

Following the old man’s gaze he found Simon. Johnny stared at the man who weakly shook the empty husk. Simon knelt; knees one up one down as if he were proposing to a corpse. Johnny stood, compelled to his would-be lover by the ache in his chest.

The distance between them disappeared and Johnny lowered himself down next to one of Simon’s thick thighs. He wept. The darker spots flooding the mask told the story.

Johnny. Johnny, wake up. Johnny, you can’t stay there we need to go.

Simon’s mouth hadn’t moved but still, Johnny could hear the weak whimpering of a broken man. Rubbing his thumb across the eye black below Simon’s eyes did nothing to disturb the darkness or the tears. Johnny felt better for it anyway.

“He’s yours to care for now.” The old man stood closer now.

“What do you mean?” Johnny didn’t move his gaze.

“His mum left when you arrived, said to take care of him. You’ve been assigned to him. Tough task for these folks. But you know that since you were one till a few minutes ago as you were one.” The older man shambled over.

“What does that make me then, his guardian angel?” Johnny shot a disbelieving look up as the old-timer stopped next to him.

“If you like,” he inclined his head. “Name’s Cedric. Your gran said to be good. You prefer Soap, John, or Johnny?”

The brown of Simon’s eyes were the deepest pool of sadness Johnny had ever seen. That despondence is what chose his answer.

The three of them who had taken such care to get his body out of the underground had brought him home. The plot had been full, no room for even a small urn. They planned to set his ashes free into the sunset instead. Seemed a fitting end for someone who died meters below the earth.

“He was the best of us.” Price started. He, Ghost, and Gaz had stared at the horizon for nearing on twenty minutes.

Corrine snorted, “You weren’t the best. No one is in this field.”

Johnny whacked her with the back of his fingers. He had met Corrine after the men had made it to safety, she had been John Price’s little sister before she died in childhood. She stuck around, keeping her big brother from harm.

“Are funerals always this hokey from this side?” Johnny pulled his top lip between his teeth as he watched. Simon didn’t say a word, grief screaming in silence. He lifted the urn from the backpack at his feet, Gaz and Price each setting a hand on it.

“Always,” Cedric retorted.

Johnny stood between them, wind rushing off the water rustling his hair but not nipping him with its chill, as they watched what was as close to a funeral as he would get.

“Who dares wins,” Price pushed out a hard breath, “Sleep easy soldier.”

“See you down range brother,” Gaz offered his piece. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Rest in peace, Johnny.” Simon’s words continued on for Johnny’s knowing only as he upended the ashes into the wind. With enough luck, I’ll see you soon.

Johnny’s eyes didn’t leave Simon’s back as he voiced his next question. The lump in his throat had him coughing before he could speak.

“Do you ever get used to their thoughts seeping into your brain?”

“Not really,” Corrine shrugged, the motion in his side vision.

Cedric guffawed, “Wait till he runs into life-threatening trouble while trying to get laid, those are the worst.”

Corrine’s face lights up as she turns to Cedric, “Did I ever tell you about the time John nearly got caught as a teen?”

“The hell was he doing that nearly got him killed for getting it wet as a teen?” Cedric fired off, face full of frustrated confusion.

“Jesus Ghost, your guardian angel must be working overtime to get you out of those hairy situations time and again with only scratches,” Farah patted him on the shoulder as she passed him walking down the ramp of the plane.

I wish they wouldn’t.

The thought lifted off Simon and into Johnny’s ears like a shimmer of heat rising from the blacktop.

“Fooker if you don’t shape up soon, I’ll keel ye meself.”

“No one can understand your angry accent, Johnny,” Corrine chided him.

“He doesn’t need to understand to start acting right,” Johnny punched Simon’s head, angrier still when his fist passed through with nary a ruffle of fabric.

It had been a nasty surprise when Johnny found he could only touch the living in love and care. He cared about Simon, would beg for reincarnation for the chance to love him again. The bastard couldn’t even pretend that he wasn’t suicidal. Na, Simon didn’t call it that. Hoping that a bullet would shift by degrees and end his constant pain was still ideation—calling into the void and pleading for a response.

This was the sixth mission he had taken since Johnny left his body where he hadn’t tried to keep himself safe. Fucker threw himself into the line of fire and walked away only because Johnny would fistfight the powers of the universe at large if it meant keeping Simon breathing.

Cedric had stayed back with Gaz wherever he would be right now. Corrine found Johnny glaring at ‘his Simon’ as she called him when John had come to check on his lieutenant. She rested a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, touch familiar. They watched as Simon snapped at John, stepping back from John’s attempt at comfort and guidance.

“He’ll get better soon,” she soothed at him with her words.

“And what if he doesn’t Corrine? What am I supposed to do then? He is killing himself!” Johnny flung a hand out to the man who limped into the hanger, waving off concern from every person he passed. “He won’t go to medical to get that wound in his leg checked out. What am I supposed to do the next time he acts like a…a..”

Instead of searching for a word, Johnny shouted his frustrations into the sky. He had to watch Simon devolve, each day taking a piece more of his love and casting it into the fire of grief. He fell to his knees, the gravel he landed on biting at him despite the incorporeal body.

“I would have given him my beating heart Corrine. I would have done anything for him, but he can’t find the will to keep living for me.”

His whisper escaped, broken and raw in the face of seeing Simon again too soon. Too damn soon.

“When I died John tried to follow.” The even tone belies the words.

“What happened?” Johnny’s eyes stare at the ground while he listens to her story.

“We had been playing at the creek. We had been told not to,” she chuckled lightly, “But what six-year-old wants to miss the waters being close enough to touch without getting dirty? The bank couldn’t support my weight and I ended up in fast-moving water. I wasn’t a strong enough swimmer to get out. John went in after me, our dad saved him but my body made it to the next town before it was found.”

Johnny looked up at her, the wrinkles on her face and the womanly body she moved in did not match her death. He looked exactly like he did when Makarov’s bullet had ended him.

“Someone came and gave me a choice, to stay with my big brother and grow as he did or move on to paradise.” She glanced to the side as if called.

Turning to look with her Johnny found Price, a hand on Ghost’s shoulder firmly leading him away from the barracks and to medical.

“What about when he tried to follow?” Johnny’s voice escaped small, and ringed with tears.

Cedric stared at Simon, his nose scrunching the same way Gaz’s would.

“Tough bastard that one. He is so strong-willed that he won’t accept any of your gentle nudging. Have you hit him yet?”

Johnny stared at Simon, sucking back his fourth bourbon at the bar.

“Too mad every time I try, nothing sticks,” John admitted, love and rage twining like vines in his chest, constricting.

“Grab him when he’s asleep but not drunk. He’ll take the message as a dream but it’s better than letting him kill himself without trying everything you can,” Cedric patted Johnny on the shoulder before drifting across the bar to chat with another guardian angel. Seems everyone had one and while not everyone would be assigned to be one everyone who accepted the role had a strong tie to the living, and a desire to keep them safe.

Johnny had never experienced impotence like that of keeping the love of his life from trying to follow him into the grave.

Time moved differently being dead. It moved strangely in dreams though. Johnny knelt at Simon’s head as he lay in the bed, fingers interlaced and ankles crossed. A shirt that had to have lost all scent of Johnny covered the pillow in lieu of a case.

Letting his fingertips explore like he never had a chance in life Johnny memorized the scars that added to the story of his love. Johnny would walk through hell, to the edges of the universe and back, further even if that would take the weight of pain from Simon’s shoulders. He already resembled Atlas, the sky teetering across his broad shoulders. Laying a gentle kiss to Simon’s forehead Johnny slid into his dreams.

“Why is it always the good ones?” Simon asked to the nothing that surrounded him.

“Funny you assume I was good enough to save,” Johnny remarks as he steps next to Simon.

No mask prevents Johnny from seeing every twitch of emotion across Simon’s face.

“You were. Always.”

Walking with Simon, hands tucked together, eons passed.

A gentle tug, a chirp of a morning bird informed Johnny his time here neared an end.

“Simon,” he stopped, using the hand in his to pull the other man to a stop. “You need to live. Giving in to grief? If you die Si, who will save the world?”

“There isn’t a world worth saving without you in it.”

Ghosts must feel pain more acutely without bodies. Ten words and Simon had cracked his rib cage open and poured arctic waters over his heart.

Pulling his hand free from Simon’s Johnny took his face in both hands, pressing their lips together in a way not even his vicious masturbation fantasies could conjure up. Whispers of touch, as if he were kissing moonlight, Johnny infused each atom that passed his with love.

“Live a long life for me, Simon. Keep me waiting until white has stolen all the color from your hair. Let me take your hand in the old folks’ home and walk you to peace,” Johnny laid the words like flowers over a casket, drawing focus away from the dead below it.

Johnny thought Simon had finally found a ledge to cling to, something to grow against as he reached for the sun again.

Fucker always had to prove him wrong.

Simon stopped being so overtly careless with his life on missions. He even began talking to Price again, letting the older man draw him into laughing once or twice.

Death found Simon unprepared, his own knife slid between his ribs high in the mountains closer to the moon than the sea. Johnny took the blade in the heart with him, trying despite the lack of flesh, to stop the end from arriving.

The snow stole away Simon’s gasps.

“You were supposed to live!” Johnny reached down and grabbed Simon by the back of his shirt, hauling him out of his body before throwing him back to the trees that lined the path. “How could you not check that he was dead?!”

He didn’t care that he was shouting. He kept going.

“I needed you to live Simon! If you lived then my death wasn’t the reason you got careless.” Johnny swung on him.

Simon didn’t try and stop it, move, block, nothing. The wide hook caught him in the chin, sending him tumbling into the undisturbed snow. He held a hand to his jaw, staring at Johnny.

The love-twinned rage shook in Johnny’s chest. He sunk his boot into Simon’s chest until his legs shook and he fell. Knees bracketing Simon’s waist the tears started.

“Why Simon? Why?”

The raw, gasping wound of love painted the scene between them. Johnny couldn’t see past the tears and the heaving sobs that racked him.

“I missed you, Johnny,” Simon’s voice, tender and raw, preceded the hand that reached.

Fingertips brushing against the permanent stubble on Johnny’s cheek sent him crashing down. The dead men wept, for each other, themselves, and everyone they left behind.

If the dead find peace, it is not while the living roam.

Masterlist

#ghoap #wishing for what almost was #cod #fanfiction #simon riley #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #angst #dead dove do not eat #lostinstransit writing #answering asks #Deity of angst

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