#ghostsoap one shot

[snootlestheangel]

Cadere: To Fall

Super angsty SoapGhost one shot CW: light depictions of violence, implied sexual themes, Major Character Death

Ghost had fallen in love.

So desperately, madly in love.

He had fallen for John "Soap" MacTavish.

And he experienced bliss for once in his life. Bliss in the small touches that set his skin alight despite the layers of gear between their skin. Bliss in the stolen kisses and brief quiet moments.

Bliss in the way Johnny felt under his hands. Bliss in the way they fit together so perfectly, each carved to the other. Bliss in the way Johnny's whispered praises would send goosebumps crawling along his skin. Bliss in the soft feel of Johnny's lips as he kissed every inch of his body; reverent and delicate.

But right now, he had no time to linger on bliss.

Right now, he had to focus on getting back to the team alive and in one piece. He was separated over an hour ago, yet his uncanny ability to seemingly fade into the shadows gave him the advantage over the untrained hostiles he was facing. He moved slowly through the twisting halls of the facility, waiting patiently before striking each time, ensuring his back was covered each and every time.

Lethal and efficient were a deadly combination.

But it was slow progress, and he was running out of time to make it to exfil. So he was rushing, not paying attention to the details as he slashed his way through the building. He made it outside, towards the stone bridge he needed to cross. Exfil waited just on the other side.

He just needed to cross the bridge.

No more hostiles stood in his path, evidence his team had been providing cover fire of his only exit.

The trust he had placed in the team is unlike anything he's done before, and he feels a certain sense of satisfaction at being shown his trust was well-placed.

He just needed to cross the bridge and show their concern was well worth the resources.

Ghost was practically stumbling by the time he stepped foot on the old stone bridge. The adrenaline had started to wear off already, and the exhaustion was getting to him. It was a boring walk, one that allowed Ghost's mind to wander back to his place of bliss.

As if on cue, upon reaching the halfway point, Soap's face appeared along the tree line. Ghost stopped as their gazes met, and Soap's face instantly broke out into a grin so warm it brought a dead man back to life.

Oh how far Simon Riley had fallen for him.

The bridge violently shook as two small explosions rattled through the quiet air. The sudden wave of force knocked Ghost off his feet, effectively knocking the air out of him.

"Simon!" He heard the distant call, and he scrambled quickly to his feet. He felt he was walking on waves, the bridge shifting and collapsing in on itself.

The bloody thing was rigged.

Ghost began to ran the best he could, fighting against gravity as it pulls the bridge's stones towards the dry river below. Johnny was also running, running towards him, fear wild in his eyes.

Price was behind him, though. The captain knew.

And just as Ghost came close to the edge, the last stones of the bridge broke away, dragging him with them. He frantically swatted at the air, trying to make his hands meet Johnny's. But he was just out of reach.

Just out of reach of his bliss, his life and everything worthy in his miserable existence.

Price knew better than to let go of the strap on Soap's vest.

"SIMON!" The scream, hoarse and filled with something borderline inhuman, echoed around them. Echoed in Ghost's ears as he plummeted towards a painful end.

But Ghost closed his eyes as he fell, not willing to see fate.

After all, he had fallen for John "Soap" MacTavish.

[zombiecreampie]

Ghost x Reader:

note: pls be kind. I might write a part 2 where there is smut but ima be honest, I’ve never written smut before. I’m willing to try because idk ghost is so sexy and hot and I love him so much LOL.

#imagine Being out with task force 141 as a way to celebrate your last day of deployment before you have a couple months off. All of you decided to go to the bar as a way to cool off and let off some steam. You were dressed in casual attire compared to what other girls were wearing. You didn’t realize how fancy the bar you guys had chosen was going to be. As you stand at the bar, waiting for the drinks your team ordered. A guy came up to you and bumped his elbow into you. You smiled politely, taking a step to the left so you wouldn’t bump into him again. He slyly took a step closer, winking at you as he invaded your space. You turned your head, avoiding eye contact and drumming your fingers against the counter top.

“Hey” you heard in your ear. A shiver ran down your spine and you turned your head slightly to turn back to the man next to you. You nodded your head in a greeting and turned your head away, hoping this man will take the hint. Your body swayed slightly, the shots you had taken earlier finally catching up to you.

“You alone?” He continued. You gritted your teeth in annoyance, and shook your head, deciding to put your attention on the menu on the overhead of the bar. You wanted to enjoy your little moment of bliss, not wanting it to be ruined by some jerk who wanted to get into your pants.

He turned his body to directly face you and you dropped your head and sighed under your breath, knowing where this conversation was going. You lifted your head and looked at him expectantly.

“Cmon, don’t be like that princess. I’m just hitting on a pretty girl at a bar” he explained, looking at you up and down. You tried to remain confident but the vibes this man was letting off was making you uncomfortable. You began looking around for an outing and you decided to swivel your head back toward the table where your teammates were at and did a double take when you saw ghost staring intently at you. You widened your eyes at him and looked back at the stranger in front of you .

“Look, I am not interested so please leave me alone” you said, taking a step back. You saw the man’s hand twitch as if he wanted to physically stop you from moving away from him.

“Cmon, I just wanna have some fun” he pouted and this time you physically cringed. You shook your head and put your hands up to balance yourself and to put more distance between the two of you. The stranger took this as a sign to grab your wrists and pull you into him. You grunted when you hit his chest and he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around your waist. The first thing you noticed was his stench. He smelled of sweat,cigarettes, and alcohol and it made you want to physically gag. You began to panic and squirmed around trying to get out of his grip. Although you were basically a trained assassin, the situation escalating so quickly threw you off and not to mention, you were buzzed from pregaming with Soap beforehand.

“Fucking let go of me” you groaned again, when his smell began to abuse your nostrils.

You suddenly felt cold. The man’s body laid sprawled out in front of you and you gaped at him. Your eyes widened, the entire situation to much to process at once. Soap grabbed your shoulders, putting you behind him while Ghost shook his hand, his knuckles bloodied. Ghost turned to look at you as if he were asking you if you were okay. You nodded timidly, grabbing onto Soap’s shoulder, squeezing lightly to indicate that you wanted to leave. As Soap was going to escort you out, Ghost grabbed your wrist and proceeded to pull you towards the exit. You turned your head back towards the table full of your teammates and Price was smirking while Gaz stared wide-eyed at Ghost and you. Ghost pushed open the back door and dragged you towards his all black BMW. He opened the door, making sure you got into the passenger seat before he walked around and got into the car. He huffed as he started the car, immediately pressing the gas, taking off and leaving behind a cloud of smoke.

“Thank you” you said after a minute of silence.

“What the hell was that sergeant?” Ghost said, his voice calm and stoic. He completely ignored your gratitude and gripped the steering wheel tight.

“I-um” you began.

“You were just gonna let another man touch you like that?” You stared at his knuckles from the corner of your eye, staring as they were turning white while being red from punching the man who almost assaulted you.

Suddenly Ghost came to a halt, you realized he stopped in the middle of nowhere and you looked at him confused. He turned the car off and got out slamming his door shut in the process. You followed suit, confused as to why he was so angry and especially why he stopped in the middle of nowhere, where it was pitch black and nothing could be seen for miles.

“Ghost, I’m sorry but it wasn’t my fault. He began harassing me and-“ you began but again you were interrrupted.

“HAVE I NOT TRAINED YOU WELL ENOUGH TO DEFEND YOURSELF SERGEANT?” Ghost yelled, his eyes glaring at you. You nodded your head, walking around the hood of the car towards him. You didn’t know why but you wanted to prove your point to Ghost. You wanted him to understand the situation.

“Ghost-“ you pleaded.

“It’s lieutenant, sarge” Ghost interrupted again. You huffed at his interruption and narrowed your eyes. Now you were getting annoyed.

“Okay, Lieutenant. I wasn’t asking for him to harass me. He began talking to me at the bar and I acted uninterested and then he wouldn’t stop throwing himself at me. I was getting annoyed and I was trying to-“ Ghost scoffed, and you looked up into his eyes. You never realized how much taller he was than you.

“What is your problem?” You raised your voice a little. Seriously, he was acting like you were asking for that to happen.

“Obviously my problem is the fact that man put hands on you” he said, his jaw clenching underneath the balaclava. “Why was he touching you at all?” He expressed, gritting his teeth. He looked at you, his eyes holding so much fury, you were almost scared. Almost. He took a step closer to you, your chests inches away from touching yours. You felt your breath stutter as your face was inches away from his. His scent invaded your nose, and he smelled like cologne, wood, and sex. His eyes fluttered down towards your lips for such a quick second that if you weren’t paying attention, you would have missed it.

“Y/n, I don’t like when anyone touches you. It bothers me” he admitted, looking into your eyes, almost as if he was trying to look into your soul. You were taken aback by his confession. For Ghost, that was admitting a lot for a man with little words. Ghost admitting he cared for you had your heart pounding insanely hard inside your rib cage. You were sure if Ghost got any closer, he would be able to hear it.

“Lieutenant” you whispered breathlessly.

You had to admit, since you joined task force 141, you always had a thing for him. He was such a well statured man, always carrying his team and himself so confidently. Seeing him barking orders, working out, or anything he does makes you wet between your legs. Right now was not any different. You felt a tingle in between your legs and you can feel your pussy clench around nothing. As if Ghost could smell your arousal, his eyes flickered down to your lips and this time he made sure you saw that he was staring at them. His hand reached out to grab your waist and pushed you gently against driver’s side door. You felt yourself pinned against the hard space, looking at Ghost. Waiting for him to do something, anything.

His hand reached for his balaclava, raising it so it stopped right beneath his nose and you were entranced by seeing his lips. You’ve seen them many times before but seeing them so close was doing something to you. All your wild thoughts coming forward. How would his lips feel on yours? How would they feel on your neck, right on your sweet spot? How would they feel kissing your inner thighs? You couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and pulled him into you crashing your lips on him. His hands immediately grabbed your waist, gesturing you to jump up, and you obeyed. He easily lifted you up and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, hooking at the ankles. He pushed his hips into yours, pinning you to the car again, this time his clothed bulge rubbing against your clit. Your mouth opening to let out a breathy moan and he took it as a chance to shove his tongue inside. Your tongues swirled around each other and you could really taste him. You could taste the whiskey he was drinking earlier and you usually hated the taste of whiskey but right now you couldn’t get enough of it. As you sucked on his tongue, he grinded harder into your cunt and you moaned quietly into his mouth and he pulled away to look at your face.

“Fuck, I think that’s my new favorite sound love” he said, breathlessly. You felt his bulge grow larger as he continued rubbing himself against you and you swore you were gonna cum just from dry humping each other. You moaned again when his lips started peppering kisses up and down your neck. You grabbed the back of his head, tilting your head back to give him better access. You felt his lips smirk against your skin and then he began sucking. You moaned loudly, and you felt your face get hot from how much you sounded like a pornstar. You were glad you were in the middle of nowhere because if you were around someone and they had heard you, you would have died of embarrassment. He pulled away again, looking at your neck proudly.

“There, love. Now no one will touch what’s mine” his voice deep with lust.

“Should we finish this in the car love?” He asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. You nodded ferociously and he bellowed out a laugh. He let you go and your feet planted themselves on the ground. He reached for the door handle and shoved you inside and went in right after you.

[wispscribbles]

New ghoap one-shot. Just a quick one, a bit silly - enjoy!

[vinxhwrites]

I've had this idea in my drafts for a long time and only finished it today because I was procrastinating on the many many assignments I have for this week. I've never written smut before so I don't know what I'm doing, also I'm very sleepy so maybe it sucks, but here it is:

ghost x f!reader x soap

nsfw, +18

word count: 8.2k

cw: nsfw! lots of fluff, tiniest bit of h/c, smut in the end, unprotected sex (don't do it!); alcohol consumption, quite long descriptions of anxieties I guess; also not proofread, sorry

You enjoyed existing in the liminal space between something romantic and something purely friendly. You wanted to get to know every aspect of love, feel it from all directions, in all its forms.

You always wondered what exactly was the tipping point to make one thing turn into another. You wondered if it even existed, if experience could ever be restrained to one set type of relationship, if love could be divided into sections, named and labeled, put into existence and then put to death once things ended, instead of just being the overflowing unconditional force that you hoped it was.

In reality, of course, love can't be limited or restrained by words that aim to define, control or organize it. In practice, you've found it within yourself as something stronger, more nuanced, and freeing than you could've ever hoped it would be.

Ghost first heard Soap refer to you as his "nap buddy" over breakfast one day. He frowned, the first thought to cross his mind being whether the two of you were skipping work to take naps. But Soap went on, telling Gaz about how he'd been creeping into your bed at night when he couldn't sleep. "I feel like a baby, I swear" Ghost overheard him say "she'll just tell me stories until I fall asleep."

It all had started almost two months prior to that conversation, when you bumped into Soap in the corridor one night. You were both sleepy but suffering from insomnia. He shared little tips with you on what usually helped him: walking around, counting sheep, breath exercises; although he admitted this time none of it was working.

You explained your problem was the crippling anxiety that came with the insomnia sessions. You hated being alone with your thoughts during the dark moments of the night, which filled you with unreasonable angst.

You two walked around outside for a while. It was a cold night and you both started to shiver a bit. Soap rubbed his hand on your back in an attempt to warm you, but you concluded it was best to go back to your rooms. Then, as you approached your door, right beside his, you had an idea:

"Hey, I hope this doesn't sound too weird...but would you like to try to sleep with me?"

He smiled at you and accepted the invite.

At that moment, you navigated the perfect moment of sleepiness when rational thoughts can barely form, all that is left are the primary ideas, informed only by your senses and memories. The anxious voices of decent social conduct are far too tired to interject with your thoughts at this point. Anything can seem appropriate, nothing feels real and there is true bliss to be found somewhere.

That's why it felt so natural to curl up in bed with Soap that night, you rested your head on his shoulder and he held your hand. He caressed your hair before saying something nice about the way you smelled and closed his eyes. You surely talked for a bit, in whispers, but neither of you would be able to recall what the conversation was about if someone asked. And just like that, both of you were able to fall asleep in a few minutes of comfort.

It quickly developed into a habit for difficult nights, you now depended on these moments as if they were some kind of medicine. It surely didn't make the issue go away completely for either of you, but it sure was nice to find some comfort in each other's company. Having someone to talk to was a good distraction from your racing thoughts, it was easier to relax when you were with him. Plus, he didn't seem to mind how you jumped effortlessly from one topic to another, talking about anything that came to mind.

Soon, Soap started looking for you even before trying to fall asleep by himself, "preventive care" he explained with a smile when you'd open the door relatively early at night, looking a bit puzzled. You got into the habit of telling him stories, real and made-up, creating nice scenarios for his dreams.

You've let him kiss you a few times, but it never really went much further than that, even though it was no secret that he liked you as a bit more than a friend.

Part of the reason for your contentment with kisses was that both of you were almost always too tired to invest in more than that, but part of it was because of your resistance to changing your relationship dynamic. What you had built with him felt so stable in its tenderness that you were scared to risk losing it.

You've always felt, previously in life, that sex complicated things. Especially with men, especially when you thought they were your friends first, to later be heartbroken by the fact that they really just wanted to fuck you, and had no love to give. You really wished it would be different with him.

But Soap was well-versed in love, he wasn't scared of it. He fully embraced it, actually. Sometimes, while you played with your fingers through his hair, he'd make a point of telling you about his love, the depths of it, how much he could give you of it if you'd let him.

"But it's perfect like this" you cried, anytime he brought up the topic of sex, fearing the inevitable low after the high. Yet, to him sex was irremovable from love, it was the best way he knew how to demonstrate it.

He once told you that you made him feel like a teenager again, saying you were like his prudish high school girlfriend.

The furthest you've gone at this point was letting him finger you one night, just because he begged and whined so much. "I need to feel you" he said, out of breath from kissing you, and you just couldn't resist. It wasn't like you didn't desire him, you were scared doing it would make you want him more. And it did.

He licked his own fingers afterward, which made a moan escape from your mouth. He kissed you again before resting his head on your shoulder. Didn't ask for anything in return. Soap was a lover by definition. And the fact that he respected your boundaries made you treasure him even more.

"You know you can sleep with other people, right?" you assured him, afraid that he'd resent you if you kept him waiting.

"Yeah, but it's not the same thing" he replied.

You were on a first-name basis now, you called him Johnny and, when the two of you were alone, he called you "baby", even letting it slip in front of other people sometimes.

Ghost reprehended you for it one day when he heard it. Not Johnny, you. It was inadequate, he said, and made you apologize to him.

You thought Ghost was scary. It was in a similar manner to which you used to think your linguistics professor at University was scary: in a hot, sexy but very menacing way. You desired his approval and had the impression that you were never going to get it. His mere presence made your legs weak. Maybe it was the authority aspect that messed with your mind, or at least that's what you tried to justify to yourself.

He intimidated you more than anyone, constantly making you feel inadequate just by looking at you. It felt unfair to not even be able to see him properly most of the time, it made you feel naked in every interaction when he could see you so clearly. And on top of that, there was the constant staring: You were always under his watch if he was around as if he was constantly waiting for you to do something wrong. Plus, he seemed to be way more critical of you than he was of others, always questioning you or anything you did, and complaining about your skills or your lack of punctuality (even if you were late by just a minute).

"I think he hates me," you told Johnny one day. "I really do".

He chuckled in response. "He doesn't hate you. He's just really bad at expressing...anything"

"I think he's really good at expressing his hatred for me" you whined back "He doesn't treat you as badly".

"Well, baby, but you can't compete with me!" he smirked proudly "He loves me".

The truth is Ghost loved hearing you say "I'm sorry, sir" in a soft and exhausted voice, it tickled something inside him that he couldn't quite name. It was equally exciting and disturbing to him. But you didn't know that, which is why it caught you by surprise when he showed up at your door one night, as you were about to fall asleep.

Ghost wasn't one to sleep together, not even with the random people he had sex with on occasion. Sleep had always been a solitary activity to him, something he struggled with by himself.

The idea of having someone to sleep with, of it being such a comfort hadn't left his mind ever since he heard John talking about it at the table weeks before. He started to catch himself fantasizing about it, thinking about the warmth of having someone's body so close to him, if it'd be something to shield him from his nightmares. He started to wonder about how soft your skin must feel.

It was a foreign feeling to him, this yearning for something so intimate, but it got to a point where he just had to try it.

"Ghost?" you were confused. He wore sweatpants and a long-sleeved grey t-shirt, and still had a black balaclava on. He closed the door behind him.

"Johnny said you let him sleep with you sometimes" he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Right" you responded, waiting for him to scold you for it. But he just stood there in silence "Would you like to sleep here too...?" you guessed amused after he let the silence hang for a bit too long.

He took a deep breath, "May I?" he asked.

"Sure, come here." you moved closer to the wall to make space for him. You couldn't help but smile as you felt him sit down on your bed, the heat coming from his body already making you want to get closer.

"You know I don't have sex with him, right?"

"I didn't come here for sex" he answered immediately, sounding almost offended, then sighed "I can't sleep''.

"OK" you said, already regretting having opened your mouth in the first place.

He laid down on his back beside you exhausted and took a deep breath. He removed his balaclava and put it on your nightstand. You noticed you were holding your breath, terrified of ruining this moment of intimacy.

"You'd better not snore" he said in a low voice, adjusting himself on your pillow with a hand behind his head and the other on his chest.

You chuckled a bit, letting yourself relax by his side. "I don't snore." you assured him "at least, not that I know of".

Ghost didn't answer you this time, and even in the dark you could see he had closed his eyes.

"Permission to touch you, sir?" you asked in a whisper after a few seconds of collecting your courage, craving to feel his skin.

That first night, he let you hold his hand while you two slept. It felt tiny and fragile on his. When he woke up sweating in the middle of the night, as he often did, his heart rate eased when he felt your presence by his side, it did feel different.

He avoided you like the plague for three days straight after that night, you thought he'd never look at you again. You thought you've done something wrong and scared him away. In reality, he was scared he'd poisoned himself by getting a taste of something so novel to him, and feared he'd become addicted to it.

He tried to go back to his regular routine, but now the emptiness of his bedroom felt even more evident, his bed felt colder. Then, when you were starting to become at peace with the anxiety that had built up in your stomach at this point, he showed up at your door again.

This time he didn't say anything after you agreed to let him in, feeling absolutely defeated. He laid on his side, his back turned to you. You asked if you could touch him once more and when he agreed you threw your arm around his torso, cuddling him. He felt a goosebump as your breath touched his back.

And he wouldn't tell you, but when he woke up he couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a good night of sleep.

You told Johnny about it the next day as casually as possible, fearing to find a trace of jealousy in his eyes. But instead, they seemed to brighten with delight. "See, I told you he didn't hate you" he smiled.

For the next few weeks, your lieutenant started being kinder to you, albeit in his own way. He stopped reprehending you for stupid reasons, gave you a little pat on the back when you did well during training, and even made you a cup of tea once when he heard Gaz comment that you had a cold one day, putting it in front of you at the table and walking away without saying a word.

You discovered him to be someone more playful than you previously imagined, witty even. The affection you had for him grew stronger with each passing day, as your impression of him morphed into something new, and you just couldn't keep it to yourself. But, unlike Johnny, who loved being touched, Ghost had serious boundaries. Most times you could tell you'd overstepped. He'd let you know it immediately: removing your hand from his face if you touched it, clearly stating "don't" if you ever dared to try to touch his hair, he'd move his hand away when you started to mindlessly draw circles on it with your fingers, and - the only aspect that didn't make you feel completely rejected - pushing you away slightly in bed if you ever got close enough to feel the solid volume in his pants.

For him, physical touch tended to be a utilitarian exchange: maybe he'd get a pat on the shoulder for doing a good job, he'd get kisses and caresses when someone used him for sex, he'd get injured during combat, but your touch was something new: it made no practical sense, there was no transaction to be made, no endpoint, it was just affection for the sake of affection. He didn't know what to do with it.

As your intimacy deepened, Ghost revealed to you that suffered from terrible migraines every once in a while and got into the habit of coming to sleep with you on those days, although he did complain every single time that your constant rambling on different topics made his head hurt even more. He'd retract the statement as soon as you stopped talking though.

One day, when he was in a particularly terrible mood, you offered him a massage. "What good will that do, huh?" he grunted "You just want to touch me"

You chuckled "well, that is partially true, sir" and he smiled behind his balaclava. But you insisted, proceeding to explain how the tension on his neck muscles could be causing the headaches, or at least making them worse, and that was enough to convince him to let you do it.

"It doesn't work if you don't try to relax" you said, pressing your fingers to the base of his neck. You were sitting on the bed, back rested on your pillow, with him between your legs, his back turned to you.

"I'm trying" he mumbled.

"Come on, deep breaths," you said, and you knew immediately that he was probably rolling his eyes. "Come on" you insisted patiently, massaging just the right spot on the back of his shoulders as he let out a low moan, letting his head rest forward.

"See, isn't it better?" you said enthusiastically.

"Stop talking" he grunted, which you did, continuing to massage him in silence.

It took you by surprise when you felt his thumb lightly caress your right ankle, it was a timid touch, and you felt afraid he would stop if you moved, even though that leg felt a bit numb already.

You could feel his body melt under your touch bit by bit, letting more of his weight rest on you. He forgot about his headache, only focused on the delicious slumber that took over his body now.

"You're gonna have to do this every day now" he muttered, eyes closed.

"I'll gladly do it" you assured him, treasuring the way he seemed so relaxed now. You had to fight the urge to put a kiss on his neck with all your might.

That night he held you like a pillow, resting his head on your stomach. You slowly pulled his mask up, waiting to see if there'd be any resistance, but there wasn't.

He shivered when you then touched his hair. It felt soft. You scratched his head gently with your nails and he savoured the foreign feeling that it caused.

"You little demon" he whispered, surrendering completely to your touch.

Ghost knew what love was supposed to look like. He just wasn't that sure about how it felt to receive it anymore. The more he thought about it, the more he was under the impression that he lacked the vocabulary to express it.

Once, when working in complete silence next to him, filling and writing reports, you asked:

"Can you take a look at this, sir?" you held the paper in front of him.

"You know you can call me Simon" he said, eyes still fixed on his papers.

"I didn't actually." you said and he looked at you, you could notice a quick smile appear on his eyes.

"Ok, now you know."

You smiled and he moved his gaze back to the papers in front of him.

"Can you take a look at this, Simon?" you repeated, and this time he looked up and happily took the paper from your hand.

Simon had never really tried anything besides actual sleep with you, and you were terrified of initiating it yourself and getting rejected. But sometimes you could feel the imminence of something, nothing clear or distinct, just the way the silence of the room felt different, a change in the pace of his breathing or a slight shift in the atmosphere. On these moments you'd feel like he could turn you over and fuck you at any second. It fed the anticipation in your chest, but it never happened.

You wondered, at times, if you were somehow able to read his thoughts in cryptic ways and that's how you'd know he was thinking about fucking you.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked in a whisper one of these nights.

"Why do you care?" his response was immediate, defensive. Your fantasies definitely weren't supported by his lack of attention to your romantic attempts.

"Just wondering" you shrugged. "Are you not going to tell me?"

He looked at you, and even in the dark you could tell he was smiling "No".

You prayed that he would kiss you, just a little bit would be enough. But, of course, he didn't.

"I was thinking about you, in case you were wondering," you said casually a few moments later, gazing at his face. You were getting sloppier with hiding your feelings for him, he couldn't possibly not see it.

He chuckled quietly at your response, "Stop flirting with me" he said and you felt your cheeks turn red, "you should get some sleep" he suggested then, shutting off the conversation. And, as if he intended to get you a bit more confused, he lightly caressed your hair.

Sometimes you'd wish he'd just reject you once and for all so you could move on. But the more you thought about your love the more you wanted to cultivate it and share it with him, the same way you felt you could share with Johnny. And if Simon didn't want it, so be it. It felt like, and it was, a big act of bravery on your part. At least you'd be able to comfort yourself on the fact that you loved, it grew and flourished inside you, and it was a beautiful thing.

It got to the point where one of them was occupying your bed almost every day of the week, people were starting to catch on to it. You knew the day would come when they'd both show up and the thought alone made you nauseous, at least until it actually happened.

You held your breath when you heard Johnny's steps approaching your door, even before he knocked on it.

"Come in" Simon said before you could even react.

Johnny tilted his head for a second, looking amused at the scene of his lieutenant cuddling you. He closed the door behind him and took off his slippers, then he approached your bed to lay down beside you.

You held your breath when you saw Johnny rest his neck on Simon's extended arm so nonchalantly. Simon didn't move his arm. You couldn't exactly name what is it that you feared at that moment, the next few moments of silence translated into nervousness within you. Johnny took your arm and casually put your hand on his chest.

"So," he said, looking at Simon playfully "Are you trying to steal her from me?"

Simon chuckled "Didn't know she was yours to steal".

The tension you felt was not shared between them.

"You could've come to sleep with me, lieutenant," Johnny said, he sounded almost offended that Simon would have preferred to sleep with you.

"Back at you, Johnny" he murmured, closing his eyes, making Johnny smile from ear to ear.

You knew your bed surely wasn't made for three, but you managed to make it comfortable. You woke up lying on top of Johnny like a baby, your chest to his, while Simon laid on his side with one arm thrown around you.

That night, Johnny could almost feel his heart flutter and twirl inside his chest. It was perfect. He had so much love to give, he couldn't wait to share it. To him, Love was generous and ever-giving, it was infinite, it overpowered him and he gladly let it.

To Simon, on the other hand, Love was a terrifying force he feared would take over him completely if he let it. He feared it could destroy him, or, even worse, he would destroy it. But, at moments like this one, he couldn't help but let love overflow in his heart, couldn't resist the warmth both of you shared from entering his own body.

Throughout the whole following day, you felt a sweet anticipation for something in your stomach, being only able to think about how nice it had felt to be surrounded by both of them. How you wished you could stay in that state forever, unmoved.

At night, Johnny curled up in bed with you, resting his head on your chest after a tiring day. He seemed almost disappointed to find you alone when he came in, he smiled while he kissed you nonetheless.

He inundated you with questions that gradually turned into whines: did you sleep with him? what do you mean you don't even kiss? what are you doing? don't you find him attractive? why don't you just ask him? do you think we should go after him? why not? let's knock on his door! why not?!

You were able to dissuade him from these impulsive thoughts eventually, stroking your fingers through his hair and recommending that he do the same as you and try to stop thinking about it. It was for the best, you assured him, trying to convince yourself of it, too. He yielded at last, but he wasn't pleased.

"Do you even want me?" he asked with a sigh

"Of course I do." you replied, almost offended at the question "You know I do."

"Doesn't feel like it sometimes" he muttered.

You took a deep breath before taking him through your typical monologue, practically memorized at this point, on your reasons for keeping things as they were - no sex - would be better. The more you talked, the less you found yourself believing in your own words. Still, you tried to make him care for the utter shape of your relationship as it was, in an eternal transient state of a romantic friendship that never lost itself. "That sounds terrible, bonnie" he said, but you insisted he just didn't understand.

"I'm sensitive, Johnny." you tried to explain yourself "I can't stand the thought of ruining what we have."

"Seems like you can't stand the thought of improving them" he sighed.

You knew he had been sleeping with other people, and the thought soothed you more than anything. He never lied to you about it when you asked, and it was comforting to see his heart still belonged to you. You tried to imagine yourself as something separate entirely.

He traced his fingers down to your waist, then hips, and back to your shoulders, letting his hand linger on your breast.

"Don't you want it, baby? Not even a little bit?"

"I do, Johnny" you admitted, not immune to the desire that kept itself alive inside you.

"Haven't you been dreaming about it...?" he continued, his voice lower than before as his fingers played with your hair "Huh? You, me and Simon?"

Your eyes widened at his words, even though you had, in fact, been thinking about it constantly ever since the first night that Simon slept with you.

"That would be a mess" you murmured, telling him what you kept telling yourself.

Johnny chuckled, "a hot, delicious fucking mess?" he suggested.

"Just a regular mess" you lied.

"Just think about it, alright?" he eventually said, resting his head back on your chest.

"Okay." you promised before turning off the light on your nightstand..

"I love you, baby. Truly." he whispered in the dark "There's nothing for you to be afraid of."

"I love you too, Johnny"

Part of you knew it was a silly decision to insist on depriving yourself of pleasure, things were already messy enough. There was no saving any naivety of a friendship that hadn't been merely a friendship from the start, and refusing to admit that you did, in fact, have physical desires toward them was, perhaps, just making things worse. You made a mental note to search for a therapist when you got back home, perhaps dig into whatever religious guilt you seemed to have inherited to drive your decisions.

Nevertheless, you were able to remain firm in your decision. At least until two days later, when everyone went out for drinks at night after a long day.

The sky was dark grey when you left the base to go to the bar. The space was crowded, but comfortable. You knew almost everyone there and quickly settled with some friends.

After one and a half beers Johnny was already getting touchy with you by the counter.

"Have you thought about what I said?"

You nodded and he got closer to you, hands on your waist, "And will you let me make love to you?" he asked softly in your ear.

"Maybe I will" you confessed, already feeling a bit tipsy.

"Come on, bonnie" he insisted, hands on your waist "You know I've been dying to fuck you."

You felt as if your legs would melt right then and there. And, even with your back turned to him, you felt Simon's oppressive stare on you. You turned to find him across the bar.

You both looked at him, sitting at the table next to Price, who seemed to be talking to him, even though his attention laid somewhere else. His hair was covered by a black hoodie, but he didn't cover his face. He grinned at you playfully, taking a sip of the cold beer in his hand.

Johnny followed your gaze and smirked at Simon, then looked back at you with a devilish smile. "I'm gonna get Ghost to come with me" he said and you froze in place.

"I don't think that's a good idea," you plead, already feeling the palms of your hands sweat. What is it exactly that you feared? You didn't really know. It felt childish to be this scared of your own desires.

"I think he's into it" Johnny said, winking at you.

"I don't think so." you grew a bit nervous "I don't think he wants me like that"

Johnny just chuckled in response. "Sure" he said sarcastically. "I can't believe you think that's possible, baby".

You looked around the room nervously, the idea made your stomach turn.

"Tell me you don't want it." he said, suddenly looking at you with a serious expression "Just tell me you don't want it and I won't say anything to him. I'll drop it."

But you couldn't say anything, which made him smile before taking another sip of his beer. Johnny pecked a kiss on your cheek, before leaving you to sit at the table beside Simon.

Although you couldn't pinpoint what exactly caused you so much anxiety, you did notice that it mixed into a twisted excitement.

You watched as they interacted with each other, leaning closer to talk, smiling, and laughing lightly. They looked so pretty you couldn't believe such a dreamy scenario would become a reality to you. Johnny touched Simon's arm and whispered something to him, he grinned and looked at you.

You tried to pretend you hadn't been staring at him the whole time, suddenly feeling a lot of interest in the bottle in your hand and then the conversation that took place between the colleagues beside you.

You tried to distract yourself the rest of the night, interacting with other people and trying your best to focus on different subjects, other people's lives and problems, it was very hard considering that yours seemed to be about to become so much more exciting than anything your friends had been up to.

Johnny didn't seem to want to leave Simon's side anymore, they were engaged in conversation with Price and Gaz at the table on the corner of the bar for what felt like hours to you.

It was pouring rain outside by the time you gave yourself a little tipsy pep talk in the dirty restroom mirror. You told yourself you looked attractive enough, beautiful even. Nothing to worry about.

When you came back, you were so immersed in your own thoughts that you didn't even notice when Simon sat on the barstool beside you.

"What are you thinking about?" you heard his low voice behind you.

You turned around to look at him, feeling blood rush to your cheeks "Didn't see you there"

"Are you not going to tell me?" he repeated your words from the other night with a playful smirk, to which you frowned. He leaned a little closer to you to whisper in a high-pitched voice "I'm thinking about you".

"I don't sound like that"

"Yes, you do" he chuckled.

You took a deep breath before answering, echoing his own words back to him: "Well, you should stop flirting with me"

"I don't think you want me to stop" he grinned, and you wished you knew exactly what Johnny had said to him. "Do you?"

"No," you said frankly "no, I don't."

It was almost 2am when Johnny pointed his head to the door, signaling it was time to leave. Simon was already outside, and you were already soaking wet even before you left the covered environment of the bar.

You thought your heart was trying to jump out of your chest when Simon opened his bedroom door later that night, and felt both of the men you loved follow you inside.

You closed your eyes when you felt both of Simon's hands hold you by the shoulders from behind, as he got closer to you "are you OK, love?" he asked against your neck, the softest you've heard him speak, with the remains of alcohol on his breath. He placed a kiss on your shoulder and you rested your head against his chest.

You nodded, your body burning in anticipation. "Will you guys stop if I don't feel well?" you asked, your voice was almost a whisper.

The anxiety about the implications and consequences of this was already set on your chest. Now there was nothing else to do, no escaping the disturbance this would cause to your life. At this point, stopping would be much worse. Your desires had already manifested, they had been spoken, and transformed, there was nothing left to do but give in to it.

The violent rumbles of lightning bolts shook the sky outside, and sudden flashes of light illuminated the room at an unpredictable frequency. Your eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the room, and the darkness felt comforting, providing an atmosphere of otherworldliness to the room, you could almost imagine this scene took place in a different reality and try not to worry about it.

"Of course" Johnny answered and Simon nodded with his face on your neck.

Johnny kissed you first while Simon held you, his familiar lips searching urgently for you in the dark. You had one hand on his neck, while the other held tight to Simon's, afraid to lose his touch. Johnny looked at him with a smile before grabbing you by the waist and turning you around so that you faced Simon.

"What do you want me to do to you?" Simon asked, looking deep into your eyes, his tone was soft, the question genuine.

“Will you please kiss me?” you cried.

He took your hands in his and kissed them, the small sounds of his kisses covering your fingers and wrists. Then, finally, he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. You felt your heart could explode at any second. You cupped his face with both hands and caressed his skin.

The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant. His tongue was warm and smooth on yours and he tasted like beer and cigarettes.

You heard when Johnny unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants behind you, grabbing and pulling your hips so you could feel the volume in his underwear, you moaned into Simon's mouth.

Johnny left wet kisses on your neck, making you shiver as he pulled up your t-shirt. Simon cupped your breasts in his hands as soon as he saw them, quickly struggling to free them from your bra, peppering kisses on your chest and nipples.

Simon kneeled in front of you and pulled your pants down, helping you remove your shoes along with them, then smiling at you before kissing over your panties.

You rested your head on Johnny's chest and trusted that his strong grip on your waist would be enough to keep you in place because you barely made any effort to stand anymore.

You hummed when Simon's tongue first touched you, drawing small circles around your clit. Johnny groaned in your ear, pressing his hips against yours, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this horny in his life. His hands danced around your body until, feeling very bold from the alcohol, he moved one of his hands down to stroke Simon's hair.

"tastes so good, doesn't she?' he asked, to which Simon nodded, burying his face deeper between your thighs.

Your mind seemed to finally quiet, you wouldn't be able to form a coherent thought if you tried now. You could feel Simon's desire to devour you.

He slipped a finger inside you, moaning back when you did. He moved his lips back to your clit, sucking it with just enough intensity to make your legs tremble. And, as if he knew, just as you were about to come undone on his touch, Simon stopped, standing up again to kiss you, you whined in protest against his lips, but it was useless.

They exchanged glances and Johnny wet his own lips.

"Let me see you ride him, love" Simon whispered in your ear, eyes fixed to his. And you obeyed.

Johnny quickly removed the rest of his own clothes and lead you to Simon's bed by your hand.

He laid down, but you stood there looking at his body for a moment. He looked so beautiful lying naked in front of you, the low light that came from the window was only enough to highlight the contrast of his features. You couldn't believe you had actually been this stupid to deny yourself from him for so long. You bit your own lip at the sight, his eyes brightened with passion. "Go on" Simon encouraged behind you.

You spread kisses to his chest before sitting on him. You tried to do it slowly, making him roll his eyes back, getting used to the size of it little by little. You both gasped with pleasure when you finally took him in completely.

“You’re so tight, baby” he groaned when you started to move.

You could hear Simon ditching his own clothes somewhere behind you. Then you felt him behind you, one of his big hands gently holding your waist. Simon used his other hand to put one finger in your mouth and you sucked on it, making Johnny audibly moan under you.

You froze immediately when you felt his naked body touch yours, his hardened cock poked the skin of your lower back.

"Relax, I won't do anything you don't want" he assured you in a low voice against your neck. You received wet kisses on your back and shoulders.

Johnny moaned, his fingers tracing your thighs "Feels so good like that" he purred, and you nodded in agreement. He grabbed your hips but Simon quickly slapped his hands away.

Johnny blinked, confused, but then smirked when Simon started to guide your movements by the hips, slowly and gradually changing the speed to fit what you seemed to respond better to. He guided your body on Johnny in a way that made his cock touch you precisely in the right places. You barely had to do any work, so you rested your head on Simon's chest, only opening your eyes to watch Johnny's face under you.

Johnny rubbed his thumb softly on your clit, making very small movements around it. You moved accordingly, enjoying the way the pressure created a response deep within your stomach. You panted on top of him, exhausted but eager to continue, your body guiding you toward release.

The obscene sounds you made were thankfully muffled by the heavy rain outside. You felt your orgasm reach you with the growing rumbles in the sky, which eventually resulted in a violent lightning, not that far from the window. You let your body rest on Simon's chest after the wave of pleasure washed over you.

"You did so good, bonnie" Johnny sat up to kiss your face, and laid back down.

Simon pulled your hips back gently, indicating you should stand on your knees. Intuitively, you positioned yourself so that you could put your lips around Johnny's cock. He closed your eyes when you did.

"Look at her, Johnny" Simon ordered.

He held your hips firmly in place, then pressed into you slowly, savoring how the wet heat between your legs welcomed him.

Johnny had his head resting on one of his arms, his free hand lazily stroking your face as he watched you struggle to fit him in your mouth. He tried his best to be obedient and focus only on you, but his eyes kept looking up curiously, dying to watch Simon's face as he fucked you.

"God, you feel so fucking good" he whimpered before he started moving his hips, filling you completely with every thrust. You could feel his length messing up your insides and you were grateful to have Johnny's cock keeping you silent.

Simon traced his fingers down your spine, around your waist, then back to your neck. He gently stroked your head and grabbed your hair. You thought he'd pull it, but Simon just pressed the back of your head deeper on Johnny's cock, pulling you back when you gagged, then repeating the same movement again and again. Johnny closed his eyes in an effort not to come so soon from the view alone.

You gave up on your own body for a moment, forgot it was yours to control in the first place, letting it be taken by all their movements like one gets taken by the current at sea.

"'m gonna cum if you keep this up" Johnny announced in a low voice, and you weren't sure if he was talking to you or Simon, but the latter let go of his grip on your hair, unsure of what you wanted to do with that information. You kept going on your own now, until you felt Johnny pulse inside your mouth.

He let out a soft moan as he watched you swallow it. His body finally relaxed on the bed and you felt his fingers search your head and caress your hair.

Simon's movements became slower, almost nonexistent, and you anxiously moved your hips against him to alleviate the desire in your core.

"Don't stop" you begged in a small voice, resting your head on Johnny's thigh, but he did stop. Simon gently pulled your hips back and switched your body so that you were facing him.

"Lay down" he instructed, "I wanna see you".

Johnny's arms guided you to lay on top of him, your back to his chest. He kissed and caressed your head lazily while Simon spread your legs, sinking into you with a grunt.

You moaned loudly when you felt him entirely inside you again.

“Shh!” both of them reprehended you, and Johnny quickly covered your mouth with his hand.

"You wanted him to fuck you like this, huh?" he asked close to your ear and you nodded, unable to speak anything other than little moans that were muffled by his palm. Simon looked at you directly in the eyes, his face subtly contorting in pleasure with every little sound you made.

He pushed into you slowly, delighting himself in the warmth of having you wrapped around him. He tried to memorize the feeling of having your skin against his so he could dwell on it later.

Johnny uncovered your mouth to kiss you, moving his hand to hold you at your waist. The familiar feel of his tongue was both comforting and exciting, your lips searched for his with noticeable hunger. You didn't think you could possibly get more aroused at this point.

You rested your head on Johnny's shoulder, closing your eyes and feeling your body relax now that you've gotten more used to Simon's size inside you.

"Eyes open, love" Simon demanded, and you obeyed.

He kept his gaze on your eyes until he couldn't resist moving on to Johnny's anymore. They looked at each other for what felt like too long, Simon's thrusts into you got more intense, and it made you wonder if you were simply the vessel through which they fucked each other at that instant.

Johnny, who had his hands wandering around your body, now moved them from your breasts to caress Simon's chest on top of you, at first in shy quasi-accidental strokes, and then shamelessly grabbing at his waist, scratching nails on his back once he got a positive reaction.

He pressed his hand against the lower part of your stomach, right where you could feel Simon's cock attempting to tear you open with every thrust, you moaned into Simon's mouth as you felt Johnny getting hard under your body again. Your arousal was dripping down his crotch, his chest already wet from your sweat.

"Hm you're taking him so well, baby" Johnny whispered in your ear and you watched as Simon's eyes darkened at the sound of the words.

You’d lost track of time and sense of space completely. It was so unbelievably indulgent it almost felt wrong, as if you couldn't possibly be allowed to experience this much pleasure all at once in life.

You felt you’d reached some new sense of consciousness in which you did not belong to your body anymore, you've transcended into something else, something in complete harmony with them and their own bodies around you. You were certain for a moment that, if you tried or wanted to, you'd be able to read their minds and communicate without words.

The utter feeling of Love just invaded you in the form of radiating happiness, an epiphany planted in your heart, as if you had been stung by Eros himself and you felt yourself capable of reaching an orgasm without your body. All of a sudden the whole universe seemed to become clear and there were no questions you couldn't answer if you wanted, any doubt you had was gone, and any anxiety dissipated. You almost felt like laughing, relishing - for what was probably the first time - in the wonder of cloudless thoughts.

Simon dropped the support of his hands to his forearms, getting impossibly closer and resting his torso on top of you, the cold and metallic touch of his dog tags against your chest sent a shiver down your spine. Johnny’s hands moved from his waist to your hips, grinding you on top of his hardened cock in search of some relief, which was positioned between your ass cheeks.

You drunkenly intercalated kisses between the two of them, feeling absolutely in control until Simon locked your neck in place with his hand, choking you a little before placing a soft kiss on your lips. “Open” he demanded and you did.

He spit saliva into your mouth and, before you could swallow it, Johnny urgently pulled your face to kiss you, desperately licking your tongue.

"Fuck, Johnny" Simon grunted, digging even deeper into you, attempting to get even closer, making your toes curl. He leaned over and kissed Johnny, and you felt him instantly melt under you. His hands left your body to cup Simon's face.

They moaned into their kisses. You almost felt inadequate being there, as if you weren't supposed to witness that much intimacy, but the thought quickly died down when Simon's lips found yours again, leaving Johnny breathless, and he sealed you back into their little universe.

Your back arched when Johnny moved his fingers to your clit again, you barely needed any stimulation at this point, your legs were tense locked around Simon's hips.

"Come on, baby" Johnny purred in your ear "Let me see you cum all over his cock".

Almost as if on command, you did. The high building up in your lower stomach finally reached its breaking point and crashed into your body in waves of ecstasy. Simon moaned as he felt your entire body pulse and relax under him, he jerked faster into you and then quickly pulled out.

Johnny moved you away from him so that your back rested on the mattress with both of them towering over you, stroking themselves. Simon's eyes rolled back as he came on top of you, a heavy moan leaving his throat as he covered you with the warm gooey liquid that dripped from him.

The sheer sight of it, along with your little moans, was almost enough to get Johnny off immediately, and it only took a few strokes to make him cum again.

You watched them as Simon gently cleaned a bit of his own semen off of Johnny's abdomen with his thumb. He brought the finger close to his face in an offer, and Johnny obediently opened his mouth and sucked it off, receiving a pat on his head and a satisfied smile from his superior afterward.

You laid there exhausted while they cleaned you with tissues, getting little gentle kisses on your skin every once in a while. Simon turned you around on the bed and wiped a soft tissue on your face, removing the remains of mascara you had under your eyes.

It took you a few minutes to eventually get up and use the bathroom, Simon had one all to himself, which meant you didn't have to put your clothes back on.

When you came back, they were both still naked on the bed. Johnny was already asleep, a permanent smile stamped on his face, being only partially covered by the sheets.

"Come here" Simon whispered to you, and you gently climbed over Johnny's body to rest in the space between them.

Johnny sleepily arranged his arms around you, one over your waist and the other under the crease of your neck, his fingers reaching to caress Simon's hair.

Simon kissed your forehead. "This feels nice" he murmured, almost too quietly for you to hear. You looked up to kiss his lips again and rested your head on the pillow, wishing you wouldn't have to get up the next morning.

(now that this is out of my system I can finally move on with my life).

[bloodyknucklesforme]

One of these days I'm gonna surprise drop my Phoebe Bridgers inspired GhostSoap fic like it's a Beyonce album

[ghcstao3]

i wrote the. i wrote the civilian!soap hitman!ghost roommates au

4.8k words. rated teen summary:

Soap has lived a peaceful three years with his roommate, Ghost, despite everything just fundamentally odd about the man. And then Soap finds out that Ghost is a hitman, and that he also happens to have feelings for his roommate. In that order.

[fel0ny-01]

Role-call, time for soft Christmas Ghoap!

The sun has just set, Price and Gaz are in the kitchen cooking some dinner, and Soap and Ghost have been put in charge of putting up the Christmas Decorations. They’ve already mastered the tinsel, and the lights on the tree (Ghost said it would be easier to put the lights on first, Soap reluctant agreed)

All decoration placing is paused when Soap suddenly runs to grab a bag from the other side of the room, and walks back over to Ghost who looks at him slightly confused.

“What’s that for, Johnny?”

“I git yin fur a' body but… ah wanted tae see yer reaction when ‘twas juist us. Noo close yer eyes 'n' haud oot yer hands.”

Ghost hears the rustle of the bag before something circular was put into his bare, scarred palms.

“Open.”

It’s a medium sized bauble, clearly custom made, with little Skull masks, Dogs and Cups of tea on it. Ghost turns it around in his hands and chokes up at what is written on the back.

“Simon”

Awe shite, now he’s crying, is Soap’s immediate thought, filled with panic. He knew it could go either way, he regretted it before he was pulled into the most bone crushing hug, Ghost’s face is hidden in Soap’s neck. Soap rocks them back and forth, rubbing his hand up and down Ghosts back.

He never had anything like this when he was younger, hell, he never even had Christmas; he just observed it. The lights everywhere, the apparent joy you were supposed to feel. He didn’t care for it at all.

But his Johnny changed the whole meaning of it for him.

“I git one tae! Look!”

It’s a bauble with “Johnny” written on it, with explosive designs and a couple of soap bars.

Before they could even think about putting them on the tree, yells and shouts were heard from the kitchen. Something about burning the turkey? They both rolled their eyes in unison as they put their baubles on the table next to each other, Ghost taking Soap’s hand in his as they walked out of the room. 3 squeezes. Soap looked up at Ghost with a beaming smile.

“I love ye tae, Simon.”

[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

hi i just read your ghost/soap flashbang fic and I LOVED IT thanks for sharing!! you said we could suggest things and i'd love to see it written by you: a fic set at the first time soap saw ghost shirtless, and lost his SHIT about ghost's pecs. he goes bonkers about them honkers, yk?

Anon, I wanna personally thank you for this prompt bc my mind went wild with the possibilities lmao plus picturing Soap going absolutely feral for Ghost's knockers blessed my entire life. Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! ( ˘³˘)♡

***************************

"On your feet, MacTavish. We're going to the gym."

Soap paused the game he'd been playing and pulled up one side of his headphones. He looked over at Ghost standing beside the couch. "You what?"

Ghost was zipping up a black hoodie over a black Under Armour shirt stretched across his broad chest. He was wearing dark gray sweats and a worn-in pair of trainers, all-in-all looking quite delicious. Soap swallowed hard. 

"I said I'm getting you out of this fucking house, Johnny. You've been holed up in 'ere for weeks." He put on his skull jaw face mask that covered his nose and chin.

Soap sat back against the couch. He turned his attention to the TV. "Nah, I'm good." 

After Chicago, he and Ghost had gotten a flat in London and were laying low, waiting until Laswell instructed them on their next move against Makarov. Dealing with Las Almas and Hassan had left him exhausted, mentally and physically and he told himself he only needed a break for just a few days to recuperate. But then a few days had turned into longer than that, with Soap barely ever leaving the apartment for the last two and a half weeks. He couldn't seem to get out of the rut he found himself in. 

Ghost shook his head. "I wasn't asking," he said. 

He grabbed Soap up off the couch none too gently and all but shoved him toward his bedroom, completely ignoring the string of Scottish curses Soap lobbed at him along the way. 

"You have five minutes to get dressed, Sergeant or I'm throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you there in whatever you've got on right now." 

Soap turned at the threshold of his door, hand on the doorknob. "Is that a promise L.t?" he asked with a cheeky grin tugging up the side of his mouth. 

Ghost growled and started toward him, one hand balled in a fist. Soap laughed and shut the door. 

He made it back out of the room by Ghost's five minute deadline, dressed in his workout clothes, but still not happy about being forced out of the house. He voiced as much to Ghost their entire ten minute walk to the gym. Ghost only sighed.

For as much griping as he did though, once he was actually at the gym he actually kind of enjoyed himself. He logged three miles on the treadmill, did a few 100 kilo deadlift reps, and spent some time with the battle rope. It felt good to be working his body, to be working up a sweat.

He caught Ghost's eye a couple times as they moved around each other to the different machines and each time felt his heart rate speed up. He knew it had nothing to do with the exercises. Spending the last two weeks in that small flat with Ghost in such close quarters was almost agonizing, seeing but not touching — not knowing if Ghost wished he could touch him too. 

After about an hour and a half, drenched in perspiration and a little sore but in a good way, he started making his way to the locker room, looking forward to a hot shower to soothe his muscles. He was halfway across the room when Ghost called his name.

"Johnny, come spot me. I'm almost done." 

Soap wandered over to where Ghost was laying back on the weight bench, his hands already on the bar over his head. Soap dutifully braced his legs apart and held his hands at the ready even though Ghost lifted the weights easily. He let his eyes roam over Ghost's body as he went through his reps, hungrily drinking in the sight of Ghost's massively broad chest flexing with each pump. He felt his cock jump in his gym shorts and quickly looked down to Ghost's face to see if he had noticed. 

Ghost was staring straight up at him. Of course he fucking was. 

Two bright spots of red bloomed on his cheeks and he swiftly looked away. "That's four," he said. His voice was a little hoarse and he coughed to cover it up. 

Ghost racked the weights with Soap's help and he sat up, shaking his hands out. "Thanks, mate." 

"Anytime," Soap replied with a half-hearted smile. Without waiting for Ghost to say anything else, he made a bee-line toward the locker room, grabbing a bottle of water from the vending machine in the hall on his way. 

Soap cracked open the bottle and drank down half of it before he even sat on the bench next to his locker. Shit. Even after everything they'd been through in Mexico and Chicago, Soap still had a hard time showing Ghost how he felt about him — an impossible time, in fact. Fucking Christ, why was it so difficult to just say "Hey Ghost, I think you're hot as hell and I'd love to fuck your brains out one of these lovely afternoons if you're not too busy."?

Soap snorted out a soft laugh and took another pull of water. Yeah, that'd go over swimmingly. 

The locker room door opening shook him from his thoughts and he looked over in time to see Ghost stalking into the room. His presence was so commanding that Soap couldn't help but stare. 

Ghost went to his locker that was directly across from where Soap sat, turning his back to him to dig inside it. "Thanks for coming with me today, Johnny." 

Soap shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but failing miserably. "I didn't really have a choice, did I?" 

Ghost chuckled. "I think it was good for you," he replied gruffly, still not facing Soap. He unzipped his hoodie and tossed it in his duffle bag. Then pulled his t-shirt off. 

Soap's gaze roamed over the large swatch of the bare skin of Ghost's back; it was the first time he'd seen him without a shirt on. Scars marred the flesh, some old and faded, others obtained more recently, but all of them utterly fascinating. And there was a small tattoo on his left shoulder, he noticed. Soap couldn't quite make it out. He squinted, trying to bring it into better focus. 

But before he could try to read it, Ghost turned around to face him. Soap was in the middle of taking a sip of water when his brain short-circuited completely. He sputtered and choked while Ghost looked on with his shirt held loosely in his hands. 

Soap's eyes were wide as fucking saucers as he took in the sight before him. It wasn't just Ghost's broad-as-a-barrel chest that floored him. It was his. Fucking. Pecs. They were massive. How he hid them under his shirt everyday without ripping it from seam to seam was a mystery to Soap.

 They looked so fucking lusciously squeezable. But firm at the same time, somehow? Ghost's nipples were dusky pink and hardened into little pebbles from the cool air of the room. And it all made Soap's jaw drop — quite unattractively in all honesty. 

Closing his gaping mouth with a click, Soap slowly set his water bottle at his side with a shaky hand. He rose on unsteady legs and walked around the bench between them, entranced.

"Ghost, I — I uh, what the…" The words fell off without Soap even registering that he'd quit talking. 

He stopped before Ghost, unable to look him in the eyes. A kink Soap didn't even know he even fucking had was drawing all of his available attention straight to Ghost's chest. He needed to touch, needed to feel, needed to bury his face right fucking there. 

He reached a trembling hand up, then hesitated with his fingertips hovering just above Ghost's skin. Ghost's dark gaze followed his movements closely, his eyes wide. It sounded like Ghost himself was out of breath but Soap wasn't sure — his brain was going fucking haywire and he couldn't concentrate. 

 Looking up at Ghost, he rasped, "Can I?"

Ghost seemed surprised by the question, but nodded. Soap released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He brought both hands up, laying his palms flat on Ghost's massive pecs.

"Sweet screaming Jesus," he whispered reverently, kneading the muscles. 

Ghost groaned and Soap's cock throbbed in response. He bent forward and took one of those perfect nipples into his mouth. The taste of sweat and the promise of a long night of fucking bloomed across his tongue. Ghost jerked at the contact. 

"Fuck, Johnny. If I had known you'd be so turned on by my tits, I'd have taken my shirt off in front of you weeks ago." 

Soap drew Ghost's nipple between his teeth, biting down gently. Ghost hissed and grabbed onto Soap's hips. "If I had known you were hiding these fucking knockers under your clothes this whole time, I'd have ripped your shirt off myself," he murmured around Ghost's nipple still in his mouth, "Bloody hell, Ghost."

A chuckle rumbled through Ghost's chest. 

"You realize I'm not going let you wear a stitch of clothing around the flat now, right?" He punctuated the words with rough squeezes of his hands. 

"That so?" Ghost rasped behind his mask, sounding amused. 

Before Soap could reply or say anything further, though, the locker room door opened. Soap backed off immediately, but Ghost held him in place with his hands still on Soap's hips. 

The man who had interrupted them backed out the door slowly under Ghost's intense glare. When they were alone again, Soap massaged Ghost's chest once more. He canted his head up to meet Ghost's gaze. 

"Shall we continue this conversation back at home, Johnny?" Ghost asked. He tugged Soap's hips forward until they were flush against each other. 

Soap was pretty sure Ghost already knew the answer to that. "Oh, hell yes." 

[wixiany]

FOR REQUESTS.. h/c soapghost nonmilitary au with the prompts "I didn't know where else to go." "Who did this to you?" "You're safe, I promise." "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." with soap in an abusive relationship, showing up at ghosts door one night bloody and bruised, refusing to say what happened. ghost already suspected that the relationship wasnt good, so he can guess what happened, and hes so damn tempted to go out and beat the shit out of the person but soap needs him there w/ him.

oh, OH, THIS IS GOOD

here you go, nonnie! thank you for this amazing prompt, and the first one I got too!! ily ♥

[molotovinmyhand]

Whelve My Sorrows

(Rewrite of "Ineffable" from my old blog lol)

Ghost.

The valiant. A legend that exist amongst the ranks of the SAS, a name feared by enemies.

'You can't a ghost' they said.

And he lived up to that statement.

He was lethal, and seemed to be the best damn soldier they had; the perfect build, the perfect mind. Tall and gruff, he looked terrifying with a skull mask that added to his already cold demeanor. He was ruthless in the field; brutally taking out each of his enemies with a force that seemed... unnatural.

Everyone knew about Ghost, and most were smart enough to fear him.

But very few people, knew that behind the mask layers of clothing and tactical gear, was a man named Simon, Simon Riley.

Much to Ghost's annoyance, John "Soap" MacTavish broke down Ghost's façade with ease, too much ease for his taste. Yet the Scot seemed... comforting, like a warmth that Ghost could cope with, someone Simon could get along with...

And Ghost hated it.

It made him sick to his stomach, the thought of someone being able to make his walls crumble as easy as Soap did scared him, made the ice cold feeling of fear creep into his veins because soap had wormed his way into his heart.

It reminded Ghost that some parts of him never "healed", it let him remember what it felt like to be bare, naked lying in that coffin struggling to inhale the air that reeked of rotten flesh...

To be nothing more of a husk of his former self.

Yet the Scot's touch was like a drug, whether he was wrapping up one of Ghost's wound with gauze and touch too tender to be normal, or giving him that friendly pat on the back...

Ghost was addicted.

The warmth that bubbled up in his chest every time he seen Soap look at him with that shit-eating grin, or when they'd casually flirt with each other over the comms seemed like something Ghost wanted. Maybe he was lonely? Maybe Soap just managed to bring out a side of the Lieutenant that hadn't been shown before? It didn't matter. Despite the fear that lingered under his skin, Ghost was hooked. Something about Soap was so comforting, something that made Ghost feel like he maybe... just maybe, could be Simon again.

And he had another chance now, but not in a way he wanted it...

Lying there, on the cold dirt floor. Every ragged breath he sucked in agony. Ghost's eyes trailed over the puddle of blood, meeting the baby blue one's that belonged to Soap.

Johnny.

Soap could feel Simon looking at him; watched the way his faze softened slightly. Despite their dire situation, lying there side by side in a pool of their own blood, death's clammy hands ever so slowly taking hold of them both, Soap felt calm. Staring at the older man, listening to the rain.

"... It's rainin'" Ghost muttered, staring at the sky.

"... And?"

"Didn't you want to name your kid that?" Ghost voiced.

Soap nodded slightly, still listening to the sound of each raindrop falling, hitting the ground and mixing in with the crimson blood.

"Aye... Rain." He hummed, "Somethin' like that I suppose..."

The silence hung in between them both for a while, neither of them attempting to break it. Lying there in silence, the rain starting to pour heavier hiding the tears that started to stream down Soap's face. He didn't want it to end. Simon had grown close to him, managing to earn a place in Soap's mind that was closer than friends...

He felt the dull pain in his side, felt the blood ooze through his fingers. A fresh reminder to Soap what was to come.

"Johnny..."

Soap felt a gloved hand wrap around his: squeezing it gently. He heard the voice of his friend...

Ghost looked at Johnny, seen the tears streaming down his face. reminding Ghost just how stressful this situation should be if he wasn't used to it. Yet seeing Johnny: his friend, crying silently made something inside Ghost's chest, and it seemed to cast a shadow over death slowly taking him into it's grasp.

But something else along with that dread was blooming... Something warm.

Ghost stared back up at the sky, thinking back to every moment him and the Scot had shared, every mission, breaks at the mess hall. Thinking about the times they'd talk in the barracks and how he got that same warmth in his chest.

Then it clicked...

He'd fallen for the Seargent.

That revelation made the dread bubbling in his stomach, but now it was swirling in with regret and guilt. He didn't want to feel like this, not now, they had minutes left...

Ghost squeezed Johnny's hand again, a little tighter this time as he felt his own salty tears mix with the taste of his blood, salty but warm. His gaze met the Scot's one more as he spoke, his voice breaking in a pathetic attempt to hide his own sobs.

"Don't cry..." He whispered softly.

Soap looked at Simon, nodding softly, "Okay Lt..."

Ghost held Johnny's hand, fingers intertwined and he didn't want to let go. The two men silently crying. lying on the ground with their blood pooling around you. They were cold, raindrops touching on skin. Yet the warmth of each other's presence seemed to dull the edge of that.

"....'m sorry." Soap mumbled, trying to wipe away the tears streaming down his face. Looking at Simon, who only looked back.

This was it.

They were almost there...

"Look at the sky." Ghost croaked, looking up at the sky as he talked, "... We'll be up there soon."

Soap shook his head, "No... we won't."

Silence followed that statement. It was probably true, though. They were far from saints...

"You're rught Johnny. We won't." Ghost mused. His eyes glued to the siy still, "But I won't be leavjng you, even in hell."

"Really...?"

"... I swear."

"..."

Ghost looked at his friend, "Johnny?"

Soap looked back at Ghost, smiling weakly, his breath getting shallower.

"Here Lt..."

"What's wrong?"

...

"Just tired."

"Go to sleeo then Johnny, i'll join you soon."

"...why not now?"

Ghost sighed, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Fighting to stay awake now.

"Need a moment to think." He said, and Johnny nodded.

"... Can we dance when we see eachother again?"

"Of course."

They both chuckled softly, squeezing the other's hand just a little tightly. Ghost wrapped a hand around his mask, pulling it off his head. Looking at Johnny. Dirty blond hair wet with grease and rain sticking to his forehead. He looked at Johnny, like he wanted to engrave a picture of the Scot into his head.

"Don't make me wait too long... please-"

"I won't. I won't leave you, Johnny."

"Cheers..."

Soap smiled at his friend, before closing his eyes. Falling asleep...

Ghost's heart shattered, feeling his friend's grip on his hand loosen, seeing his face go blank; a face one full of joy now so devoid of life, but there was no point in crying. He'd see Johnny again in a few minutes.

Regret.

That's all that filled his head, a feeling of regret for not saying something sooner, for trying to hide from his own feelings.

He felt weak, dizzy and the ringing he heard in his ears wasn't stopping. He knew death had a hold of him; but Simon felt... Calm, instead of a clammy embrace dragging him to his fate he almost felt like he was being hugged.

He felt... Free.

....

"I love you too, Johnny..."

[snootlestheangel]

OH

Oh

*quiet evil laugh*

I just had a very evil idea for a oneshot

Anyone want some SoapGhost angst??????? *evil cackling*

[losersimonriley]

Tagged by: @swiftwaterprawn (thank you!!)

Rules: post the last sentence you wrote (or last line you drew) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence (or however many you like)

But then Soap turns to him, and there's a softness in his eyes that Ghost has longed to see all day. "Hey," he says, reaching out to brush his fingers against the back of Ghost's hand. "I ken ye dinnae like undercover ops. But there’s no one else I’d rather be stuck in Edinburgh with."

Tagging absolutely anyone who sees this and wants to do it!

[wispscribbles]

In light of MW3, I’d like to do a little self-indulgent self-promo and recommend my old fic Love comes with a Price. I just reread it myself and it hits different now

[jlmssg]

cigarettes out the window

For an instant, time seemed to stop. The sensation of his breath being caught in his throat was the only reminder that he was still tethered to reality.

The mission all but forgotten for at least a moment. 

He watched as his lover knelt down, without a care of the solid impact the cold steel floor had on his knees. 

Ghost cupped the Sergeant's face on either side and delicately stroked his cheekbones with a softness that Soap seemed to have no idea he was capable of.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.” Ghost whispered. 

Roach only stared at the man, as if trying to remember who he was. He was unable to use his voice, the trauma done to his throat clearly evident.

Behind them, Soap felt out of place, as if he was witnessing a private moment between two long lost lovers. He was unable to stop his heart from hammering, and the vicious grip of jealousy started to entangle itself from inside him.

[saturnite0614]

I did another fun cod one shot full of angst and things that will make people hate me :) It's based on a twitter post

important tags/TW: major character death and graphic depictions of violence

Soap bites his lip, staring at Ghost over his lunch.

"So this Friday works for you?"

Ghost pushes around the various pieces of fruit on his tray, "You'll know if something comes up."

"So it's a date then." Soap leans forward into Ghost's personal space, the first purposeful breach between them.

"I guess it is."

"Does that mean I get to see your face?"

"You've seen it." Just once and only for a few small seconds. Even now seeing half of it isn't enough. The black fabric is pulled over his nose, allowing him to eat.

"Can't make an exception for a date?"

Ghost chews a soggy slice of peach before leaning in to meet Soap. Their noses brush together, making his heart leap directly into his brain and slamming into his eyes like a cartoon character. Might as well say "awooga" as he drinks in Ghost's brown eyes.

"Not a first one."

"Does that mean there will be more?" Soap perks up.

Ghost’s eyes flick across his face, tracing various parts of him. When previous partners did it, he shirked away, feeling his self-esteem plummet. "Depends how well you treat me. After all, you asked me."

"Is my character in question?"

"Maybe. You're coming off awfully insecure, Johnny."

"Naw, I'm a brave lad. Had the courage to sit here and ask."

Soap slammed his tray down. "Go on a date with me."

Ghost looked up, "What?"

"Romantic. Date. You. Me."

"We'll save the rest of the questions for Friday." He pulls his mask down, "I've got reports to file, as I'm sure you do."

He did, but it's not like he'd be able to focus knowing that in 32 hours, he'd be going on a date with The Ghost. Who said "yes" with very little argument or convincing. He's obviously off his nut asking his superior on a date while on duty and while on base, but he couldn't help it, not when the man was practically haunting his peripheral vision. It nagged at him – the jokes and flirting shared between them and especially the time Ghost spent bent over him, treating the bullet wound in his arm. Part of this fuzzy feeling buzzing in his teeth and nose might be from hero worship, but part of him urged him to shoot his shot. Soap's intuitive. He has to be in his line of work and his gut told him to throw himself in the sea to show Ghost that out of all the fish out there, Soap was one of them. This urge was so strong, it hadn't even occurred to him until after the words left his mouth that Ghost might not like men or masc people in general, both of which applied to Soap.

Ghost stands with his tray in hand, perfectly balancing the remaining food on it with cat-like grace. Soap bolts to follow him, leaving his own untouched tray behind. He steps in front of the lieutenant, putting them nose to nose again.

"Can I kiss you?" His teeth clack together in jittery excitement.

The painted skin around Ghost's eyes crinkle in a smile, Soap had come to learn. "Excited aren't we?"

"Damn right I am. Aye."

"It's almost cute," Ghost looks him up and down again, "But I'll have to decline. Have to save something for our date."

Our date. Soap would never get over that phrase, especially with Ghost's rough accent.

"I'd call you a tease but I should have expected that."

Ghost may deny the kiss, but he does pat Soap's arm, touching the space closer to his neck than his bicep. Soap shivers, a response that Ghost notes with a twitch of a light mussed eyebrow.

Oh, Soap was down bad.

—

Soap made an effort to dress…nice? They weren't leaving base, just heading out to the training range to fire some rifles and share some beers. A soldier's version of breakfast and coffee. But Soap had dug around for a button-up that had somehow made it into his duffle the last time he went on leave. It’s wrinkled as shit, making his large form more boxy than tapered. At the last minute, he pulls it out of his waistband where he’d tucked it into his jeans.

He’s standing outside the barracks waiting for Ghost. They’d walk to the shooting range together, like kids going to a dance. Would they hold hands? He asks himself in a mocking voice. Fucking stupid.

The barrack door opens and Ghost stands there wearing his signature look – mask, heavy jacket, thick black cargo pants. He hadn’t made a visible effort. Ghost’s eyes widen as he takes in the button-up and clean jeans. Soap had even scraped the mud off his boots. He swallows.

“You look…good?” Ghost shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Thanks.” They both look at their shoes, shuffling in their respective places.

“Want to get going?” He gestures with his elbow towards the shooting range.

“Gladly.” Soap holds up a six-pack, “Want one?”

Ghost slips two glass bottles from the cardboard container. Almost impossibly, he grasps both caps with one hand and pops them both off with a carbonated hiss. Then he gifts one to Soap. They clink them together as the brown liquid inside bubbles to the top.

They walk in silence, only sipping at their respective drinks. Ghost doesn’t lift his mask above his nose this time, instead holding it away from his mouth as he nurses the beer.

There’s no one around them. Everyone else is preparing to turn in for the night – eating last minute meals, taking cold showers, losing money and clothes in poorly thought out card games. The latter is probably what Gaz and Price would be doing, although they’d be winning and they wouldn’t let Soap forget that he missed it.

If the rest of the night continued on like this, he just might agree with them.

They’re about halfway done with their first drinks once they get to the range. The lights are on, glowing yellow against the cool summer night. They light little warm pools along their paths. A rain had come through a few days ago, and still the dirt beneath their feet rests sodden, holding on their journey and the paths taken by others. The grass around the edges is bright green, hanging heavy with dew. He’s regretting the white shirt right about now.

“So,” Ghost pulls his mask back down, “A competition or just friendly shooting?”

“We can do both.” Soap looks around and spots some far off targets. A sniper’s range.

“You’re a sniper expert, right?” Soap takes a deep drink of his beer.

Ghost hums, “Last time I checked both of us where.”

“Damn straight. Come on.” They drop their drinks by the range then head inside the nearby building. Soap grins sheepishly at the soldier still on duty, stuck on the night shift. They check out some rifles and ammo.

Soap takes his time loading his own weapon, watching Ghost do the same with deft hands, working quickly. Soap could probably match his speed if he weren’t so distracted. They’re sitting on the damp grass with their weapons in their laps. Ghost checks his scope, holding the gun with one hand and sipping at his drink with the other. Allowing himself to stare at Ghost’s hands. They’re strong for sure, but a bit knobby. His knuckles are large, probably coming from years of abuse. The scarred skin ripples like a wave with every shift of his muscles. The scars seem to grow and shrink. Soap’s own hands are incredibly scarred but some of the ones on Ghost’s hands look bigger and deeper. They weren’t the results of mere accidents or slip ups.

He wants to know.

Ghost flips onto his stomach and aims his sights down range.

“Wait,” Soap touches his shoulder, “We haven’t decided what we’re shooting for.”

He pulls the level back, “One clip. Most amount of headshots is winner.”

“What do they win?” Soap joins him, pressing their shoulders together. If they hadn’t already agreed that this was an actual date, he wouldn’t allow this for himself. He would have put more distance between themselves. Ghost stiffens, only perceptible because they’re touching. He relaxes a moment later. It’s so quick that Soap questions whether it’d actually happened.

“Guess I’ll decide when it happens.” He squeezes the trigger, exhaling in a foggy puff of breath. The target down range wobbles. “1-0.”

“Bastart.” Soap takes his shot.

—

Ghost wins, but he cheated. He’d watched Soap with those doe brown eyes of his every shot he took. They were still lethal, but not headshots. They sit criss-crossed, both on their third beers, looking up at the sky with their weapons abandoned between them.

Soap holds his bottle with two hands, mouthing the rim. “Did you have fun?”

Ghost looks at him eyes first, then tilts his head down. “I did.”

“I feel like we haven’t done much.”

He looks down at his drink, swirling it around. “Do you have to?”

Soap shrugs, “You just do stuff on dates.”

“Guess I’m not great company.” He mumbles, bringing his knees up to rest his arms on.

“What do you mean?” Soap drops his hands to his lap.

“What do you even like about me?” Ghost squints, as if it were sunny and bright out and not the middle of the night. His voice is low.

“Lots of things?” He can’t help the uplit to his voice, confused more as to why he’s asking the question versus confused at how to answer it.

Ghost sips his beer, still hiding behind his mask. Seemed he only lifted it to eat.

Soap crawls his way over, staining his jeans green. He presses their arms together again, “You’re smart in a book smart way, like you’re always three steps ahead. You’re strong as hell. Not sure if you noticed how red my face gets when we spar.”

Ghost looks at his feet again. Even with his face completely covered, Soap knows he’s blushing. His shoulders hunch and the skin on the back of his hand turns red. Soap gently reaches over, placing his hand on top of Ghost’s. He doesn’t do as far to actually hold it.

“Against my better judgement, I think you’re funny. Not your jokes, but the way you can’t keep yourself from laughing at them. It’s cute.” Soap swallows, “I like how you keep me curious. I want to know more about you.”

“That’s why you asked me out?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t know if I can give you that.”

“It doesn’t have to be the deep stuff. It could just be small things like hobbies or what you do on leave. Those are a part of you too. And there’s time. Like those other dates you alluded to.”

Ghost holds his bottle up, examining the contents again, as if they’d changed in the few minutes since he opened it. It’s his substitute for eye contact. “I want to know more about you too.”

Soap can't help the smile, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his now burning neck.

—

"This is me," Soap stops in front of his room. Ghost knows damn well where they are, he's just always wanted to say it, and finally saying it has his joints locking in place with a fuzzy excitement.

Ghost rolls his eyes, hiding his red hands in his pockets again. "Glad I was able to see you safely home."

"A good way to end the night."

Ghost raises an eyebrow, "Only good?"

"Aye," Soap fiddles with his keys, just to give him something to do while he figures out his best approach. "I recall a question I asked you a few days ago. That might clue you in to the missing piece."

Ghost leans against the door frame, "Really? You've been watching too many movies."

"Oh piss off." Soap scoffs, shoving his room key in the lock.

"Giving up that easily?"

Of course he had to taunt him. Soap looks up at him before turning the key, "If you're just going to make fun of me, then yeah."

Ghost looks off to the side. "Thought I was being cheeky."

"Right cheeky."

"Hey," Ghost taps his chin with a strong finger, bringing Soap's gaze back to him, "Night's not over till we agree it is. So say what you want to."

Soap looks him up and down, focusing on the hand still touching his chin. He swallows.

"Can I kiss you?" Soap's voice scratches through his throat, hoarse and…nervous.

Ghost smiles underneath his mask. "Surprised you held off this long."

He leans in and first, only their noses touch and they breathe each other in – fresh gunpowder, hot metal, and stake beer. Soap's eyes are locked on Ghost's but his date's eyes flick all around his face, like they always did.

"You're goin' to leave the mask on?" Soap whispers.

Ghost's eyes snap to his, "Which would you prefer?"

Soap can't work his mouth. Can't work any part of him, really. The words form in his mind but fail to find purchase anywhere significant.

Instead his abandons his keys and bring both of his hands to cup Ghost's jaw, gently pressing his thumbs to the softness underneath. His face is soft.

Then he rolls the fabric, only enough to reveal his lips – pink, chapped, and uneven. His top lip is thicker than his bottom, as if he were sucking it in. His chin and jawline are simultaneously round and sharp, at least the parts he could see were. Before he can observe further, Ghost presses in. Or maybe Soap does first. Either way, their lips connect. They slot together nicely, giving way the pressure of the other. Ghost tilts his head, fitting them together in a completely new way. The movement brings the scent of fresh woodsy laundry, almost floral in nature. Ghost had cleaned his mask beforehand, wrenching away the musk of sweat and work.

Soap smiles into the kiss, moving his hand to cup the back of Ghost's head. Ghost's hand moves to rest on his shoulder as he tilts again, pressing their noses together ever so slightly.

He slow blinks when they finally break apart. Ghost flashes him a small smile before fixing his mask.

"You should get some rest, Johnny," Ghost’s voice is pitched slightly higher and he dips his face towards his torso, "We've got early morning drills."

"Yeah." Soap's breathless, negotiating with his lungs to ration what little is left in them. "But, we should also do this again."

"Next Friday work for you? Maybe I'll take you off base." Ghost still isn't looking at him, instead his hands are in his pockets again.

"Yeah. Friday works."

"I'll see you then sergeant." Ghost backs away with a small salute. And Soap watches until he reaches the corner and turns, heading for his own bunk.

"See ya then, Simon.”

—

Soap whistles to himself as he takes out another guard with his trusty rifle. Seemed he rarely got the opportunity to exercise his sniping ability. His skills were on par with Ghost’s but he never got to prove that. It’s why the cocky bastard had won. Another one of Makarov’s guards drops, this time without Soap’s help.

“We still shooting for points?” Ghost asks over comms.

Soap ejects his shell casing, “Only if I’m winning.”

Ghost chuckles.

“Keep it professional you two. Fuck’s sake.” Price chastises just as Gaz says, “Loser buys drinks.”

The eye roll is audible.

It’s all a bit fucked-up. These are human beings they’re ending with just the slightest twitch of their fingers. There is no “but” to excuse it besides making themselves feel better. They all already have enough trouble sleeping at night.

Soap scans around, looking for their two men on the ground. He spots Price and Gaz entering the compound, coast clear for now.

“Shit.” Ghost curses, “Bravo 0-6. I have to go dark. I’ve got tangos in the building.”

Price’s voice crackles to life before Soap can respond, “Rog. Stay safe.”

“Should only take a few seconds.”

“Stay frosty.” Soap whispers into his mic, but there’s already the fuzz of a disconnected comm. His stomach churns and suddenly, the comfortable spot he’d found for overwatch was no longer comfortable. Hard clumps of dirt prod his rigid muscles and rocks scrape at his skin with every small bit of movement. He swings his rifle around, watching Price and Gaz’s approach and seeking out the glint of Ghost’s rifle. He only finds the former.

—

Ghost stays dark the entire rest of the mission. It’s not unusual…per se. He’s used to working alone which means the man has some terrible communication habits. Either he talks too much or too little, not that he’d recognize that without someone telling him.

But Soap’s stomach hadn’t settled. Even though everything went smoothly. Price and Gaz are in and out without anyone being none the wiser. They’d gone through the paths Soap and Ghost had cleared and hid bodies so no one truly noticed anything. That’s the problem with hired mercs, you can’t always trust them to keep their post.

“Bravo 0-6 and 2-6 are at exfil. Bravo 0-7 and 7-1, you are free to leave your posts.” Price is yelling through his comms, fighting the roar of a car engine.

Soap’s response is quieter, “Copy that.”

Both men wait for another response that doesn’t come.

“Bravo 0-7?” Soap asks. This is the part where Ghost is supposed to come in with a cheeky pun.

“Ghost?” Still nothing. “Soap, get to his last known location and get his ass back here. Stubborn bastard.” Price’s voice cracks, “Bravo 0-6 out.”

Soap scrambles to his feet, throwing his rifle over his shoulder and stumbling down the hill. He’s making a shit ton of noise. He really should be taking his time and exercising stealth instead of rampaging like a Spanish Bull. He trips at the bottom, ramming face first into the chain link fence encasing the compound. It wobbles and the sound echoes outwards. With any luck, any remaining soldiers would think an animal was dumb enough to miss the obstruction, like a bird or rodent.

There’s razor wire encircling the top but that doesn’t stop Soap from digging his boots into the fence openings and scaling the damn thing. He slices his arm immediately upon reaching the top, dripping blood onto the dry ground below. His jeans get the same treatment as he throws himself over the fence. Every part of him burns, like he’d been trapped in a tunnel of whirling paper, slicing into his skin from every angle.

He drops down, popping his ankle and stumbling to a standing position.

Ghost’s last known position is locked in his mind. They’d sent him ahead of time to be their inside man. He’d given them entry locations and guard patterns. Soap beelines towards his Ghost. The map he’d studied beforehand comes alive before him and he ducks in and out of buildings, with little regard to his own safety. He turns corners and finally comes across a warehouse, one of the many unused ones in the compound. It was because of this it was supposed to be a good place. Ghost had reported that half the rooms had broken doors and stairs were rusted and falling apart. It simply wasn’t safe for everyday use. Maybe he’d simply fallen and was just waiting for someone to come get him. He’d be fine.

He would be. Fine.

Soap slips in through a broken window, the only act he’d taken to be quiet during this entire endeavour. Going through the wide open loading dock would have been too obvious, even for him. He scans around the ground, looking for any sign that Ghost had fallen. Maybe a broken railing or a left behind piece of equipment. But there’s nothing besides pieces of trash, tumbling gently in the breeze and getting caught in corners.

Soap pulls his pistol out and gently navigates the stairs. There are holes in the rusted metal, making it warp and dip in places where feet had made their mark.

The top is just as bad. The catwalk is pot marked. It's a good thing there's a door to his right, because there is no way he'd make it to the left side without crashing to the concrete floor. If he couldn't, neither could Ghost. How he stayed that big with their diet, he'd never know.

But he would ask and ask, until they were old and feeble because Ghost is fine.

He nudges the door, expecting to find it closed.

It creaks open, the lock broken.

Soap's heart leaps into his throat at the site of the demolished wood on both the door and frame. He touches the dry wood, getting a splinter for his investigative efforts. The elements hadn't yet had time to smooth the damage out.

Soap raises his weapon, creeping forward through the hall. He clears the various offices, finding more broken locks, this carnage much older.

Each empty room is another failed attempt to find Ghost. So, he stops looking at them for clues and instead, the floor beneath his feet.

Brown dust coats everything. It already has settled on his blue jeans, glued there with sweat. It’s on the walls, untouched. But the floor tells a different story. What should paint a clear picture of Ghost’s solitary journey, instead shows a major disruption. It’s practically clear of dust as other people came trudging through.

Bravo 0-6. I have to go dark. I’ve got tangos in the building.

Soap follows the trail, trying to count how many people came through here, but it’s all a jumbled mess of boot prints. Could have just been a handful of people. Could have been a whole fucking squad. But Ghost could handle them, right? He’d be sitting at his perch surrounded by knifed bodies, complaining because his radio broke during the fight. Soap bites his tongue, cementing the image into his mind through pain. The hall opens up into a large office space, cleared of furniture. Like the first door, it’s completely broken in. Completely. The wooden door is flat to the ground and crooked. After that, the first thing he notices is the three bodies on the ground. One still has a knife lodged in the base of his skull, oriented upwards to stab directly into the armoured man’s brain. His sleek black helmet offered no protection to that particular spot. Soap retrieves the knife, earning himself a fresh spirt of blood. He wipes it off on his pants and sheaths it.

The fight had continued on into another room. To the right of the initial door is another one that leads into a hall identical to the first. More concerningly is the biblical smear of blood leading him exactly to the room where the fight finished.

Soap steps around it and the bodies of other well armed men wearing unmarked uniforms. Their tactical vests hadn't been protection against knives. They would have protected against bullets, if there were any guns to supply them. Nobody shows signs of ever having had a weapon.

Soap counts and additional five bodies in the hall and shoved into equally empty offices.

There are boot prints in the bright red smear beneath him. Soap takes a single step into the path then presses his foot down in an empty space, comparing the treads.

Different boots than there's. The size is close to his as well.

Not Ghost's.

He doubles back and compares the treads to the dead bodies he passed.

Every organ falls through him, hollowing him out with a silent snap of fingers. He's a silent puppet, dragged by his own remains to the single office at the end of the hall. His intestines wrap around his wrists and guide him there like a good little soldier marionette, wearing his gun on his back like a prop and dirt smeared across his face.

With a trembling hand, Soap pushes the door open, pressing his palm against a large hand-shaped smear.

The stench of fresh blood conjures familiarity like a mother's perfume. Instead of a full frontal assault, it's a creeping remembrance. The red tendrils wrap around his hands telling him, "We're here together little one. You know what this is."

Another unmarked body lies slumped against the wall, a knife lodged in his mouth. His split lip reveals his white teeth and allows his swollen tongue to peek out.

Soap's gaze moves slowly towards the centre of the room, eyeing a mountain of offal, like a gutted animal. A vest lies off to the piles left, torn off its owner through some great force.

Lying on his back is the owner of the still steaming insides. Brown eyes stare widely at the cracking ceiling, as if enraptured by the fractals of peeling plaster. Red rivulets stream across a skeletal visage quite clearly belonging to him, going off the gouge across his cheek, tearing into black fabric and dragging down across the pale skin of an exposed throat.

Soap drops to his knees, feeling along the mangled neck for a pulse.

"Ghost?" His voice cracks into silence.

There's no startled intake of breath.

There's no blinking.

Or twitching.

There's nothing.

Ghost's hands are splayed at his sides, stripped of his usual skeleton gloves. The palm of his left hand, the same one that had held Soap's shoulder a week before, as a jagged gash across it.

Ghost whips his hand up, catching the blade with his hand. The enemy soldier presses in, unintimidated. The knife slips, slicing across, missing his torso, and finding purchase into his opposite bicep. His hold on the other man slips, allowing a different knife to gouge into his cheek-

Soap grabs the hand, bringing it to rest on Ghost's still chest.

"Simon?" He sets his gun down, feeling around again for a pulse.

He doesn't let go of his hand but he does reach for his radio with bloodied fingers, "Bravo 7-2 to Bravo 0-6. We need CASEVAC."

His hand falls to his side.

"What's his status?" Price's voice crackles to life instantly.

Soap's voice does not. He fully sits on the ground, holding Ghost's hand.

He's probably having trouble breathing with the mask on. It's soaked in blood, more stifling than anything.

Soap peels the sodden balaclava up, revealing those pink uneven lips and surprisingly rounded jawline. Even the knife wound didn't ruin that.

"Soap!"

"Come on Soap." Gaz now.

Soap continues his movements, pulling it over a broken nose -

The dumb ass whips his helmeted head forward, knocking Ghost's head back. They both slam into the wall -

It hadn't had time to bruise.

If there weren’t so fucking many of them -

He reveals Ghost’s blond hair, only partially touched by gore. His hairline is stained red, but otherwise, his choppy hair is marred only by sweat. The knife had drawn across his lip, cutting across the scar already there that Soap had forgotten even existed. He’d kissed it and hadn’t even noticed it. He feels along the years old scar, tracing it along the bump across his nose. For someone who carried himself was a sharpness, every part of him was round. Even his personality, with the jokes he had ready at the drop of a hat and the smiles even his mask couldn’t hide. His eyes crinkle and there are smile lines that guide the blood down the sides of his face.

"Here." Soap pulls Simon's head onto his lap, running his fingers through his hair. "Ground isn't that comfortable."

Ghost is pinned. The fucker who'd busted his nose presses against his throat with a meaty arm, trying his damnedest to stab his knife into his face. His two friends have a hold of his arms -

Soap gathers him up until Simon's head is under his chin. He holds his chest with one hand and with the other, presses his insides back in, holding the sticky oozing mess. It wouldn't do much, but it's better than nothing until the medics arrive.

The guy on his left catches his jaw with his knife again. He jerks away, feeling the blade cut deeply into his face. It cuts across his lip (Johnny kissed him there) down his chin (where his hand had softly thumbed across) nicking his throat. Not nicking. The man slips it across, cutting into cloth and flesh alike (they were one before him). Blood explodes into his mouth, already he struggles to keep his consciousness. But he pushes. He fucking fights and spits it in their fucking faces -

“Soap.” Price’s voice isn’t on his radio anymore. Boots stop, standing next to him. “Fucking hell.” He drops next to him, his hand hovering over Simon’s chest, where Soap has been holding their hands together. He’s waiting for Simon to squeeze it back.

“We need to go.” Gaz’s voice floats towards them. That softness brings a burning wetness to his eyes. He brushes the droplets from Simon’s cheeks. “Do we…” The question lingers.

“We take him with us.” Price reaches for them both, sliding his hands underneath Simon’s shoulders. His head lulls to the side. No conscious reaction on his part. He’d have to spend some time in hospital. Bastard would be bored out of his skull.

Price lifts.

“No, no, no, no, no-”

“Gaz,” Price stops, “take care of Soap.”

“...Right.”

Soap’s friends, rip them apart. He struggles weakly as Gaz lugs him to his unsteady feet. How long had he been sitting there with Simon?

Price settles Simon on the ground and reaches for something in his pack. He pulls out a roll of white bandage. Slowly, he wraps it around the trench in his soldier’s torso. He ties the now red cloth tightly. Price picks him up, placing an arm under his armpits. Simon’s head falls to his chest and his legs hang limp. He’s so small, like a child who’d fallen asleep in the car and Price is his father, bringing him to his room because he doesn’t have the heart to wake him up.

“You’re gonna be alright, Simon.” Soap brushes his shoulder as Price walks by.

—

Simon is afraid.

Eyes wide, he chokes on his own blood. He drowns in it. It’d taken three men, but he truly couldn’t fight back anymore.

There’s no physical fight. His mind goes a million miles an hour.

He’d promised Johnny they’d go on that second date.

(A hand on his face shoves his head into the wall.)

He still hadn’t decided where he would take him.

(Ghost lodges a knife in one man’s face. Two left.)

Maybe an actual dinner. Not that beer and a shooting range were terrible.

(He kicks, knocking one attacker backwards. Ghost follows, stumbling then falling flat on his face.)

He hadn’t been on a date in a long time before him.

(He can’t move. Can’t even see anymore. But he tries. He stumbles to his feet. He meets another knife directly in his gut. It’s not the first time.)

I’m sorry, Johnny.

—

There aren’t many people at the funeral. 141, Alejandro and Rudy, Laswell and her wife, Alex and Farah.

They bury him next to his family. Soap hadn’t known about them. He would have liked to. His mom, his brother, his sister-in-law, his nephew.

There’s a photo with a wreath of flowers. He focuses on the pink carnations, yellow chrysanthemums, and white mountain avens. When Laswell had presented it at the beginning of this shitty day, Soap had laughed, a choking one, but a laugh nonetheless. Had she purposely chosen a Scottish flower to adorn Simon’s visage. And that damn picture – Price’s idea. It’s old and Soap’s never seen it before. It’s cropped from an old one where Simon stands next to price, unmasked, covered in dirt. He’d said it was from their first mission together.

Soap had taped a different picture to it. The one they’d taken in Las Almas hangs off the frame. Simon has his mask, but that’s how he’d known him.

It took three fucking days before Soap bolted up in bed and realised that he’s gone. Even now, watching a casket, paid for by everyone, sink into the ground, doesn’t seem like the truth. Gaz stands by his side, switching between talking too much and not talking at all. He’ll say something, see Soap’s face, then stop, not to speak for another hour or so. And Price, he didn’t say anything at all until a priest Simon definitely never visited steps aside. The captain coughs into his hand. Soap doesn’t hear a word of it. Everything becomes silent until Gaz touches his shoulder. “It’s your turn, mate.”

Right, he was supposed to be speaking. He squeezes the notecards in his hands. He’d written some things. Mainly curses and death threats towards Makarov and himself. He shoves them in his pocket and steps up to the front of the casket. He wipes his nose.

It’s hot as shit out. He sweats through his uniform, wearing chest candy (as Simon liked to calm them. He never wore his even though he had them). Then he adjusts his hat before ripping it off entirely and strangling it in his hands.

“I didn’t know him. None of us did. Except maybe Price,” he nods to him, finally noting the redness surrounding his eyes. He’d planned all this while Soap sat uselessly in an armchair, nursing wounds that never made themselves physical. “But I wanted to. So fucking much,” He bites his hat, failing to stifle the sob. He looks to the photo. Simon’s face, surrounded by bright flowers. He’d never known that man. He wasn’t who they were burying.

“That Friday, we were supposed to go out. Somewhere off base, we hadn’t decided.” Price’s eyes widened. He hadn’t known and they probably weren’t going to tell him and have to deal with all the red tape. Besides, what if it hadn’t gone anywhere? “But sometimes, you just know. I know I wanted to be with him just like he knew he wanted to be here, with us at the 141. And he still is,” Soap points to his breaking chest, where he’d held Simon’s head against him, “As long as we all keep fighting and loving him.”

He’s rambling. So Soap fishes out the notecards. “He’d probably want this. Not the funeral,” he gestures around, “but this. They say time flies like an arrow-” It had for them. One date and that was it. One kiss was all they got. “But fruit flies-” He chokes, coughing into his hand. Everyone watches. He clears his throat again, longing to be able to breathe properly, knowing he could only do it if his lieutenant was still here. “Fruit flies like a banana. Fucking awful.”

Soap steps forward and tucks the notecard into the lid until it disappears.

They put him in the ground after that.

Soap or Simon, he wasn’t sure.

Also shared this on my ao3 (linked above)

Edit: whoever read this when it was doubled up, I love you. I don't know how that happened but now it's fixed.

[fukomii]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, John Price (Call of Duty), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Additional Tags: Porn With Plot, Sex, Game: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022), Bottom John "Soap" MacTavish, Top Simon "Ghost" Riley, Possessive Simon "Ghost" Riley, Gay John "Soap" MacTavish, Gay Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Holidays, Workplace Sex, Dialogue Heavy

Summary:

Ghost visits Soap in his home during their paid leave. Unexpected and unplanned, Soap still offers him the scotch he promised.

____

Simple one shot with smut and a small plot. A lot of focus on their interactions.