#simply soap

[python333]

bedbound — python333

— — — —

synopsis you're on a mission and oopsie daisy you get trapped under a building!! you end up in the medbay and tf141 visits you one by one, each of them giving you a lil piece of their mind for going and getting yourself trapped under a collapsed building.

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 4.5k

warnings pretty detailed (i think) descriptions of [reader] being in pain [specifically having a bunch of leg injuries], angstier than i usually write, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note this is my first actual fic ive wrotten in MONTHS so i hope its okay! so sorry if it feels like a majority of the focus is on the reader, i had a too much fun writing out the first part where they get crushed :3 i am also once again begging for requests. like on my knees hands together begging for requests. its the best way of getting motivation istg. anyway, this is all mild hurt/comfort and some angst + fluff so enjoy!! :3

You tried running out of the building—you didn’t expect the whole damn thing to come crashing down on you.

You’d just been chasing after an enemy soldier moments ago, dashing into the building, when suddenly the whole building seemed to shake. Then, the whole thing seemed to just collapse. When you think about it now, you realize the shake must’ve come from a nearby explosion, an explosion somehow powerful enough to damage the structural support of the building so terribly that it couldn’t hold itself up anymore and instead fell down onto you. 

Now, here you were, just ten steps away from the entrance of the building, stopped by the huge slab of concrete and twisted metal that pinned your legs down to the ground. Your earpiece fell off when you fell down, sliding across the floor, preventing you from calling your team.

Sure, you could try and move your legs, but the excruciating pain that came with each movement wasn’t worth it. You think your legs are broken with the way your nerves scream at you every time you move them, and with how uncomfortably and horrifyingly disconnected they feel.

“I’m making shit up,” You whisper hoarsely to yourself, ignoring the tears that welled up in your eyes from the debris and dust in the air, “They’re not broken. I’m making it worse for myself by thinking that.”

In the back of your mind, you remember that you’re quoting Price on that one, from the last time you got seriously hurt like this. You vaguely remember your panicked words and Price’s soothing voice that came after every worry, telling you that no, you’re not too badly hurt, it’s gonna be okay, you’re just panicking.

But in the forefront of your mind, all you can do is think about how you can’t reach your earpiece to talk to your team, the only thing you can do is listen to their worried voices.

The earpiece is loud enough for you to hear, even though you’re just out of arm’s reach from it, you can still hear your teammates repeating your call sign and asking how you copy. With the stupid Push-To-Talk thing, you can’t even just respond, no, you have to push the button on the side of your earpiece to unmute yourself.

You stretch your arm out just a little bit more to try and reach the earpiece, but when your leg starts to strain and your nerves light up you immediately give up, letting out a small, pained huff. You take a moment to just lie there and listen to your own labored breaths, every other breath hitching or catching in your throat.

You swallow down a sob that threatens to bubble out of your throat and try to reach again and—nope, that still fucking hurts.

You bring your hand back and put it over your mouth to muffle a small sob that climbs up and out of your throat, and try to take a deep breath the best you can with the debris in the air.

You feel a slight discomfort in your chest and cough, horrified when you see small specks of dust in the air you cough out, and God, the sight of it makes you want to rip out your lungs.

You feel the sudden urge to cough everything out, to flush out the dust in your lungs, to get rid of the uncomfortably full feeling you feel in your chest, but you know that every time you cough you can only exhale more of that debris-filled dust back in so now you’re trapped in a loop and—

“[c/n], how copy?” God, you want to yell at them that repeating that question won’t help, but you know there’s nothing else they can do. They’ve already asked where you are, if you’re okay, and how you copy multiple times, all of which got no answer.

They’ve only experienced radio silence on their end, and the thought makes you feel guilty for not being able to suck up the pain in your legs and just reach over to the damn earpiece and tell them you’re trapped.

You take a few deep breaths, trying your best to ignore the way you can literally feel the dust entering your lungs, and reach. You stretch your arm out the farthest you can, and feel the strain in your leg, and you’re almost to the earpiece, just a few more inches— pop.

A bone chilling pop rings through the air the moment you manage to snatch the earpiece, and good thing it was at least after you managed to grasp it firmly in your hand because you recoil back on instinct and gasp.

The gasp only lets in more dust, and you cough, wet tears dripping down onto your cheeks as you go through a seemingly endless loop of coughing out dust and inhaling debris and coughing it out again only for new dust to make its way into your system.

You stifle a pain-filled whimper and try to control your shaky breath, gripping the earpiece firming in your hand, looking down at it, looking at the sheer amount of debris on it. You bring your free hand out and wipe away the debris with shaky hands, making sure it’s clean enough to put in your ear before you carefully insert it.

It takes you a moment with your trembling hands, but you manage to do it, and you listen to Price ask how you copy one more time before you push down on the PTT button.

“Copy—” You hoarsely say, before coughing, everyone on the other line going silent, “Copy, not doing very well over here.”

“What happened?” Price’s voice crackles through on the damaged ear piece, “Are you hurt?”

“I got trapped under— under some concrete, and I…” You take a moment to catch your breath, “My legs are pinned, I can’t move.”

“Okay, okay,” Price’s voice softens, his tone becoming more soothing, “Where are you?”

“In a building— dunno which— which one… it’s by the really tall one,” You breathe out, mentally slapping yourself in the forehead for not being able to remember, “I’m sorry, I just know it’s orange and it has the entrance that Ghost bumped his head on—”

“It’s okay, I know which one you’re talking about,” Price reassures you, “Catch your breath. I’ll be there to get you out of there, okay? Just stay still, don’t move a muscle, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” You mumble, trying to catch your breath, coughing at the amount of dust that infiltrates your lungs. You bring your hand off of the PTT button and sob once, quietly, and sniffle to try and stop yourself from crying, blinking away tears.

The tears that trailed down your face earlier now only make you realize just how much dust and grime is on your face, how the tear trails must’ve been the only clean lines on your face, how there’s a whole layer of pure filth on your face and you can’t even properly wipe it away because your hands are dirty too.

The pain in your legs are throbbing and you know that you’ve torn some of the muscle in your thighs, and you know the popping noise had to have been your hip, from the unnatural way you’d twisted it to reach your earpiece. You don’t even have time to think about how pathetic you look when suddenly Price opens the barely-hanging-onto-the-hinges-door, looking at the floor for a moment before his eyes finally land on you.

He immediately walks over to the slab of concrete pinning your legs down and forcing you to lie on the ground and you can hear him faintly murmur, “Oh, God,” and kneel down to the same level as the concrete.

You turn your neck to look at him and watch as he looks at the concrete for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to lift it, before he simply grabs the edge of the concrete and, with a grunt and after a good thirty seconds, he manages to lift one end up and flip it over onto its other side. The circulation that immediately floods back to your legs and the sudden feeling of weightlessness you get is almost too much, and you can barely find it in yourself to feel shame as you let out a small, relieved sob at the sudden rush of blood to your legs.

Price immediately gasps and you can’t see much from your angle but in the midst of your relief you suddenly feel a pang of pain and oh God, that hurts. You can recognize now the warm blood that accompanies the drying blood on your calf, and with the blood rushing into your legs, more spills out from the wound in your leg. Vaguely, you can remember twisted metal doing something to your leg—stabbing it, maybe? Your brain becomes fog-filled; too hazy to think through but just clear enough to register the throbbing pain in your leg. 

“I’m so sorry,” Price murmurs softly, and before you can question him he takes the metal out of your leg and you let out a closed-lip scream, slapping a hand over your mouth to try and muffle the now uncontrollable sobs that break past your lips, the pain you feel making you light-headed.

Price quickly pulls a tourniquet out of one of the many pockets of his tactical best, wrapping the bright red strip around your leg just above the bleeding, blocking the blood from reaching past that point. He tightens it and rolls you over so that you’re laying on your back, making you stifle another pain-filled whimper. Without another word, he slips his arm under your knees and his other below your back and lifts you up bridal style, making you gasp sharply and cry out for a moment in pain, a few drops of blood making it onto the floor from your calf, the whole sight dizzying.

Being lifted up like this gave you vertigo—your head spun as you were lifted up and you could barely process anything with your hazy mind. Price mutters small ‘sorry’s under his breath, carrying you out of the door and quickly running with you in his arms back to where the others are, almost wanting to cry for you, seeing how much pain you were in.

Your eyelids drooped and your eyes shortly became half-lidded, and your ears started to ring, and everything was so overwhelming you just wanted it to be over. 

Price notices your eyelids drooping and quickly says, “Hey, hey, don’t pass out on me, you gotta stay awake, kid.” You can only shake your head ‘no’ because talking feels like too much right now and let out another small, pain-filled whimper, just the sound of it making Price’s heart shatter.

You can only find it in yourself to talk a moment later, your words slurring together as you try to speak, “I can’t— can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t—” You don’t even know what you’re trying to say, what you’re trying to warn Price about, but he seems to know.  

“No, no, no—” Price tries to beg you, as if you had enough strength to stay awake. Those are the last words you hear before you completely black out.

—

You wake up to a white ceiling and the faint beeping of a heart monitor. You move your head around a bit, trying to gauge where you are, when you realize— oh, I’m in the medbay. You blink for a moment before sighing and just resting there for a moment, trying to recount the events that happened earlier. You don’t have time to go down memory lane, though, because suddenly the curtains in front of your bed are pulled back to reveal your Captain. “You’re awake,” He states, closing the curtains behind him. “How could you tell?” He snorts and sits down in a chair by your bed. You look at him questioningly, “Where’re the others?” “They’ll be here soon,” Price assures you, looking at your blanket covered legs for a moment before looking back up at your face, “Medics said one at a time.” You hum neutrally in response to that and wait a moment before asking, “How bad is it?” “Your leg?” “Yeah.” “Well…” Price starts to list off on his fingers, recalling the doctor’s words, “The joint that connected your hips and your legs was twisted and it had to be set back to normal, your muscles were torn, your ligaments were torn, your nerves were so compressed someone had to physically massage your legs back to life, and the stab wound in your leg almost got infected.” “… Huh.” You blink at Price, before asking, “When can I get out of here?” “Why is that what you’re thinking about right now?” Price asks, confused, before sighing and answering, “Kid, your leg was basically broken. You can get out of here in maybe a few weeks to a month. Getting back to your assignments is a whole different story. It could take several months for your muscles to fully heal, and even then I don’t want you back out there for a while. Not until it’s guaranteed your leg won’t… give out, or something, out there.” You frown at Price, “So what, I’m just gonna be stuck here?” “What else are you gonna do with an almost-broken leg?” “…” Price sighs and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Look, I know it’s frustrating, having to sit here for a few weeks then be able to get out only to not be able to do anything too physical, but your leg muscles were torn. You were trapped under concrete. You’re not going on any missions any time soon. I feel like that should be kind of obvious.” You can understand it, knowing the condition you’re in now, but you still deflate a little where you lie down and let out a tired, frustrated huff. Price chuckles softly at your clear display of disappointment and rubs your shoulder gently before patting it and getting up. “I guess I have to let the others see you too,” He muses, making your lips twitch up into a smile, the sight making him smile in return, “But I’ll be back tomorrow to talk to you again, alright?” “Alright,” You nod, watching as he walks past the curtains blocking your bed from the rest of the medbay and listen as the door clicks open and closes shut. Not even a few seconds later, the door opens again, this time with someone walking faster to the curtains, pushing them aside eagerly. You quickly recognize Soap as he walks in, quickly closing the curtains behind him before rushing over and leaning down to hug you. This all happens so quickly you have to take a moment to process it, but you eventually hug him back, sighing at the warm embrace. “I want tae call ye stupid sae bad,” Soap mumbles into your neck as he hugs you, “but it wasn’ even yer fault sae I can’.”

“That’s the worst thing that’s happened all day,” You mutter sarcastically, making Soap laugh quietly. He pulls away from you and looks down at you. “It is, actually,” Soap says, and at your confused and mildly offended expression, he adds on, “It’s been over a day since ye got yer leg fucked up.” “… Oh.” You dumbly said, trying to process that. Over a day. “Everyone was really worried about ye, too,” Soap tacks on, refusing to sit on the chair behind him, simply standing by your bed. You stay silent, and Soap takes that as an invitation to keep talking. “I think that's the first time I've actually seen Ghost stressed," Soap muses, making you huff out a small laugh. “Really?” “Yea,” Soap smiles, “I ken. Stone cauld L.t, suddenly worryin’ o’er ye.”

“Isn’t that a surprise,” You mutter, a small smile gracing your lips thinking about Ghost worrying over you, “So you were all really worried?” “Very worried,” Soap nods, “Gaz thocht ye were gonnae die, poor chiel.” “Hm,” You hum neutrally. Soap stays silent for a moment before his voice softens and he quiets himself down a bit. “Try no' tae dae that again, aye? Ye'll gie the captain a heart attack," When you give him a pointed look, he rolls his eyes and adds on, “And me. Possibly. Maybe.” “Uh huh,” You look at him, unimpressed, “Right. I’ll try to predict when a huge piece of concrete is gonna fall on me.” “Ye ken wha’ I meant.”

“Never said I didn’t.” “Ye— y’know wha’? I’ll just leave then,” Soap says, feigning annoyance as he walks away from your bed, making you laugh quietly. He slips out and doesn’t bother to close the curtains behind him, simply walking out the door, not bothering to close that either.

You can hear him letting someone else know you’re ‘free to visit’, and just a few seconds later you watch Ghost walk in. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, seeing as Soap had told you Ghost was worried over you, but you still find yourself a little shocked when he walks over to you and closes the curtains behind him. He sits at the chair beside your bed, and silently stares at you from the chair.

You stare back, not blinking, waiting for him to say the first word. You and Ghost’s silent staring match ends with Ghost sighing and speaking up. “How does your… leg feel?” “How do you think it feels?” You ask, deadpan, watching as Ghost’s eyes narrow. You blink at him for another moment before adding on, “It feels numb, right now.” Ghost hums at the actual answer and sits there awkwardly for another moment before stating, “Gaz thought you died. Or, were gonna die.” “I heard about that,” You respond, raising an eyebrow at Ghost, “Did he not know it was just my leg that got hurt?” “Hurt is a mild word,” Ghost mutters, before clearing his throat and saying, “No, he knew. He was more worried about all the stuff that got into your lungs.” “Oh.” “Yeah.”

You both stay silent for a bit, again, before you speak up, “So… are my lungs okay, or… ?” “No, yeah, they’re fine.” “That’s… good.” “Mhm.” Why is this so awkward? You purse your lips and turn your head back so that you’re staring at the ceiling rather than at Ghost, not knowing what to say. Why’d he even come in here if he was just gonna be awkward about this whole thing? It’s silent again, an uncomfortable sort of quiet that’s silent yet deafening at the same time—and you hate it. It seems Ghost hates it too, because he shifts in his seat, not saying anything verbally but you can tell by his body language it’s awkward for him too.

This goes on for maybe a minute or two, when suddenly Ghost gets up and walks the short one step between him and your bed and leans down to hug you. Like the silence, the hug is awkward, but unlike it, it’s comforting. A comfortable awkward? You tentatively hug him back and you feel his hands snake underneath your back, forcing his arms under you so that he can hug you properly. 

“I know Soap told you I was stressed and worried and whatnot,” Ghost mutters, his skull mask pressing into your shoulder, “… And he was right.” “… Did you think I thought he was wrong?” “Shut it and let me try to talk.” “Yes, sir.” Ghost sighs and takes a deep breath before continuing, “He was right. I was growing greys watching you passed out, and I think I almost passed out as well, hearing you were trapped under a huge block of concrete and got stabbed by metal.” 

“Did you ever find out what the metal was?” You ask after a moment, making sure he was done talking.

“The Captain said it was a twisted pipe.”

“Huh.” You lay there for a moment, simply enjoying Ghost hugging you, before Ghost speaks up again.

“I know it wasn’t your fault, but please, God, never do that shit to me ever again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m in a collapsing building.”

“I’m serious,” Ghost pulls away from the hug and looks down at you, keeping his hands on both of your shoulders, “I had to drive a car with you in the back passed out laying in the trunk with Price, all while not knowing what happened, and having to drive you guys back to base.”

“… Damn, you guys didn’t get a helicopter, or anything?”

“[c/n].”

“Sorry.”

Ghost sighs, “I’m trying to say that I don’t like worrying over you like that. I don’t like knowing that my kid is hurt, and I can’t do anything about it. That was the first time I was seriously worried and— and stressed over you, and it was terrifying, seeing you just passed out with dirt all over you and blood all over your leg, and just seeing you like that— I can’t do that again,” Ghost takes a deep breath, and looks down at you, trying to gauge your reaction, trying to see what you think of his words, but all you can think is, wait, he called me his kid?

“You called me your kid,” You dumbly voice your thoughts, watching as Ghost’s expression becomes more confused, and he opens his mouth to deny that when suddenly— oh shit, he called you his kid.

“… I did,” He dumbly says back, sounding surprised by his own words, before he fully realizes what he said and simply blinks down at you, not knowing where to go from here. You both blink at each other, not knowing what to say, before he clears his throat.

“I’ll just… head out then,” He awkwardly says, slowly walking away from the bed.

You take the opportunity to say, “Alright, dad.”

He freezes and slowly turns towards you and mutters, “Don’t call me that.”

A grin splits across your face, “Oh I will. Dad.”

He points at you with a single finger, “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“I’ll call you it in front of everyone. I’ll gaslight them into thinking we’re related.”

“God, you better not.”

“I will. In fact, tomorrow, I’ll begin with the Captain. Then I’ll tell Soap, he’s the next most gullible next to Gaz, who I’ll see right after you. Gaz won’t fight with me over it, he’ll just accept it, I know he will, then, and only then, will I tell everyone else. I spread it across the base like the flu. Everyone, and I mean everyone will think that you’re my father, Ghost.”

“That is…” Ghost blinks at you, dumbfounded and mildly horrified, “... terrifying.” “Yeah, I know. Pretty sure I got that from you, dad.” “Oh my God,” Ghost groans, making you laugh at his misery. He walks out without another word, being sure to slam the door behind him, making the poor medic passing by jump at least a foot in the air. You giggle quietly in your bed, waiting for the next person to walk in. By the time you’ve contained your laughter, Gaz walks in, looking strangely sheepish as he walks over to you and closes the curtains behind him that Ghost had forgotten to close. He doesn’t say anything until he’s right by your bed and bends over to give you a nice, firm, quick hug before standing up straight again and clearing his throat. “Hi,” He greets you simply. “Hi.” “How’s the uh… how’s your leg?” “You thought I died?” You ask teasingly, ignoring his question. You can’t see any blush on his face, but you’re almost certain his face heats up as he looks away from you. “Listen…” He sighs, looking back at you, “Price ran over to the whole group, with you not moving at all in his arms, and a tourniquet wrapped around your calf. I feel like it was a bit reasonable for me to think you were dead for a second.” “Right, of course,” You nod, definitely not believing that he only thought you were dead for a second, “That’s totally why I’ve had both Soap and Ghost tell me you thought I was dead. They only told me that because you thought I was dead for a second.” “I’m gonna murder them both, I swear to—” He mutters, burying his face in his hands, making you laugh quietly. He glares at you from behind his hands and adds on, “Oh, you think this is funny? You having a laugh down there, knowin’ that I thought you were dead?”

“I think this is hilarious.” “You’re insufferable and I don’t even know why I try to care about you anymore.” “You don’t try, you just do,” You roll your eyes, “Don’t act like you have to actively try and care about me.” “You’re so snarky today, my God,” Gaz scoffs, “Wait ‘til I tell Captain Price about this.” “Alright, Draco Malfoy. You do that.” “I shouldn’t have ever visited you in here,” He mutters, crossing his arms and looking away from you, feigning annoyance. You huff out a laugh at that and that makes Gaz laugh a bit, though he keeps up his dramatics, continuing to look away from you. “You still think I’m dead now, or?” “Shut it, you.” “My bad.” “I wish they amputated your leg.” “No you don’t.” “…” Gaz can’t even argue with it, simply sighing and rolling his eyes before looking back at you, ”No, I don’t.” “I knew it,” You smile at him knowingly, making his lips twitch up into a smile. You think for a moment before tacking on, “Wanna hear what Ghost said to me?” That makes Gaz perk up and immediately reply, “Oh, absolutely.” Cue you both five minutes later, Gaz gaping at you while you laugh every other word, remember the horror on Ghost's face when he realized what he called you. Gaz covers his mouth with his hand, laughing into it, gripping the rail of your bed with his other hand, keeping himself up.

“He— oh my God,” Gaz laughs, trying to keep quiet so Ghost wouldn’t hear him, knowing the latter was right outside the medbay. He takes a deep breath and another before breaking into small giggles once again, making you do the same. After maybe a few more minutes of just pure laughter, Gaz manages to catch his breath and stop laughing, and you do the same. “I should probably head out now,” He says, sounding almost disappointed by the fact, glancing over at the closed curtain a few feet away from your bed. You nod in understanding and don’t say anything in response, making Gaz look back at you and add on, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow though, yeah?” “Yeah,” You confirm, making Gaz offer you a warm smile and lean down to hug you tightly one last time before getting up and walking over to the curtains, sliding them to the side and walking out, sliding them closed behind him. You hear the click open and shut of the door, as well as Gaz’s footsteps walking outside of the medbay and eventually fading into nothing.

[hiddencircus]

JOHNNY LAYOUTS! | requested by @wiltedrosier

likes & reblogs are appreciated! | reblog if use

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 1

Part 2 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, implied soapghost, hopeful ending cw: torture, angst, MWIII spoilers

---

Soap turns hazy, unfocused eyes toward the screen and watches the man with his face run down the tunnels under the English Channel. The man shoots at Konni soldiers, ferocity and desperation painted over every twitch of his brows and silent shout from his lips. 

It all seems so real.

But it can't be. It's not.

He watches Price and the man with his face cut through the enemy. Watches them attempt to disarm the bomb.

Watches Marakov approach.

Their bodies jerk in succession as Makarov's bullets rip through them both. They hit the ground, and sympathetic pain throbs through Soap's shoulder. 

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. Not his wound. Not him. Just a man with his face bleeding onto dirty concrete on the other side of a black and white screen.

Makarov goes after Price. The man with Soap's face rises up to stab Makarov and–

Makarov blows a hole through the man's head.

It's surreal to watch his own face go blank. To watch the life drain from wide eyes within seconds. To see the others barely pause. Only standing beside the body for a few moments before continuing on because they have a fucking job to do. No time to pause and mourn the perpetual FNG.

Except for Ghost.

Soap's vision darkens on his right side, and he blinks away the sweat or blood – could be either or both but he's too numb to care – as Ghost falls to his knees beside the body of the man with Soap's face. The CCTV cameras are too shitty to see his eyes as he gazes down at the body leaking blood across the floor, but Soap hopes.

Hopes there's real emotion there. Hopes even more that Ghost finally sees it – finally sees that the dead man whose chest he's so tenderly pressing with his hand isn't his *Johnny.*

This time the watery blur appears in both eyes, and he doesn't bother to blink it away. Because he's seen all this before, and it never changes.

The door behind him opens, but he keeps his focus on the screen. He watches his former teammates leave the body behind in their desperation to follow Makarov.

But they won't find him. Soap knows because he recognizes the footsteps behind him as easily as he once recognized Ghost's.

Ghost, who made his gait purposefully distinct to alert Soap to his presence before slipping into Soap's bed late at night and who murmured soft words in his ear, words no one would ever believe the hardened man would say out loud. But he did. He said them to Soap as he took him apart piece by piece like he would a favorite gun, slow and deliberate, before putting him back together with love and care.

A hand slides into his long, filthy hair. Soap braces for the pain, and Makarov doesn't disappoint as he yanks Soap's head back.

"Enjoying the show?"

Soap doesn't respond. He never does, though it enrages Makarov.

On the screen, soldiers fill the tunnel, taking up the space won back by the 141. They set up a perimeter around the bomb.

The dead man remains sprawled on the ground, lifeless and forgotten.

"Look how they just left you behind. Left you to be picked up and brought here to wallow in misery."

A surge of anger burns through him—

But.

No. That's not right. Soap was never in that tunnel.

He's been in this cold, dark room since the mission in Siberia, taken down by a bullet and dragged away before he could radio for help. He has no idea how long he's been here, but he's endured every kind of torture: electrocution, waterboarding, frostbite, knives, pliers, hot pokers, and more. His body is a canvas of scars and burns

Through it all, he held on to his faith with ragged, broken fingers, with bloody teeth sunk into the promise of hope, that his team would find him. That *Ghost* would find him, rescue him from this hell, and wreak havoc on their enemies.

Until Makarov showed him why no one had come for him. Why no one will ever come for him.

A knife flashes in front of his eyes, fluorescent light reflecting off silver. Soap's voice grates through the air like steel against steel.

"Who was he?"

Makarov lets go of his hair, leaving behind a dull throb of residual pain, and rounds the chair Soap is tied to, hands on his hips and a sadistic glint in his eye.

"Him? Oh, just someone who got confused about his role in this lovely little play. Perhaps the serum was a bit too effective at turning him into you, disgusting loyalty and all, hmmm?"

Serum.

Memories resurface slowly. He's had this conversation with Makarov before. A sliver of panic bleeds into his numbness.

Christ have mercy. He's fucking losing it. How long before he stops remembering? How long before he becomes a shell of himself?

Maybe it doesn't matter. After all, no one is coming for him.

When Soap doesn't say anything more, Makarov's glee sours into a frown. The blade flashes in front of his blurred vision once more before pressing against his neck.

"I admit I thought you would be easier to break. You seemed so obedient in Verdansk. You could've ended me, but instead you followed orders like a good little soldier. And here you are."

The knife digs in, but pain is a familiar friend he's learned to ignore. When Soap doesn't react, Makarov sighs.

"I suppose if you won't break on your own, it's time to get experimental."

He brings out a syringe and holds it up as if considering his next action. The liquid inside glows a sickly yellow green, and Soap's stomach churns at the thought of what new pain this torture it might bring. Because he knows Makarov's pause is just for show. There is no escape.

The gleeful grin returns as he jabs the needle into Soap's neck in the same spot he'd just cut him open. The liquid is brutally cold as it enters his blood stream, his muscles seizing from the rapid temperature change.

WIthin seconds, Soap's world tilts sideways. His eyes blur yet again. He blinks and blinks, but the room goes softer with every passing second. His muscles relax, and he slumps forward in his chair, the bonds securing his wrists behind him cutting into his skin, though he can't feel it anymore.

Makarov sounds like he's underwater when he speaks. "Good. Let us begin."

Blackness takes him.

---

When Soap wakes, he's no longer in a dark, cold room. Through the broken out window of his full helmet, he sees strange buildings rising up into a swath of blue sky. Giddiness that borders on panic wells up in his chest.

He's outside. He made it outside. Did he escape? He doesn't remember.

His gaze falls, and the world stops.

He's surrounded by rivers of blood, knife in hand. His heart pounds like he's dying.

And on the ground lies a Ghost, splayed out like a sacrifice, bloodied and beaten and looking up at Soap like he's seen God.

"Johnny?"

Part 2 >>

[cristaq]

“He died because your hatred for me outweighed any love you ever had for each other.”

He remembers that Makarov's voice was eerily calm for the situation at hand. He raised his gun and pointed it towards Price, who tried to crawl away on the glass roof of Oasis Hotel, clenching his teeth.

“Die knowing your love was weak. He died because of you. All of them did.” He cocks the hammer of his gun. “See you in hell, Captain Price.”

The memory of the moment is incredibly vivid. Price takes a swing of the whisky bottle, trying to chase it away.

“Soap died because of YOU!” Another swing of the bottle, but the voices get louder. “You never could have loved each other the way you hate me.” Maybe he is right. Maybe they should have stopped chasing. The world could have finished the war on its own. Why did they have to sacrifice everything?

“I heard you place the names of the dead ones on some shitty clock tower to honour them. Do you think anyone will ever stop to read his name? ‘John Soap MacTavish - Lived for nothing. Died for even less.’”

Price throws away the alcohol bottle and it shattters to pieces. He goes to his bathroom and takes a long look in the mirror. Makarov seems to stare back, even from death. “We are not that different, Captain Price.” He snaps and punches the mirror and he keeps at it, imagining it’s Makarov’s smug expression. Blood spills from his knuckles down on the floor. “Nothing stands between us and our goals. Nothing.”

The loud ringing of the phone dissipates the macabre thoughts and chases Makarov’s ghost away. Price picks up, his bloodied hands still shaking.

“Captain John Price? We are calling from the hospital. You are registered as John MacTavish’s contact.”

Price’s heart skips multiple beats.

“He is finally awake, sir…”

Hope blooms in his chest, replacing the hurt. Nothing will ever force him away from Soap. Nothing. He's always been his mission. He just wishes he realised it sooner.

[yakowo]

141 showers 🚿🫧

full here

[ghcstao3]

civilian au with polyglot ghost who desperately tries to use other languages and pretend he doesn’t speak english to make soap go away after he approaches and begins flirting with ghost but it keeps failing because soap Also knows those same languages to enough of an extent to keep trying

[miilkybnn]

me: man I miss ghostroach/soaproach

me, remembering I have the ability to draw: 🤔🤔😲‼️😃👆💡‼️

[unhingedpolycule]

Soap, high as a kite and holding his shark plushie like in lion king: König has a big dick... a- a megalo-schlong.

König, equally as high: have you seen my baklava? No, that's not right, my bak- no. Ba- face mask thing.

Ghost, very much sober indeed, initially trying to get work done but now just filming the entire interaction: :)

~Moss

[dustteller]

Honestly, the most shocking part of the plagiarism accusations is not even the plagiarism itself. I knew people plagiarized stuff, even if I didn't know who. The most shocking part is sheer lack of opinions.

I don't understand. You are interested enough by a subject that you read so much material to plagiarize, but for some reason, during this entire process, you do not form A Thought? Not a single one? I have opinions about the shit the people in front of me in the plane are talking about! I can not imagine actively consuming a significant amount of content and not having three times as many opinions!!! What is your brain! Are you a lizard??? What the heck is going on up there?? Do you lack the joy of Pondering and Considering and Creating????? I kinda just thought those were inherent human traits!

[cherryatombomb]

ghost who doesnt really know how to fix things when people are sad but hes very practical so when soap is sad he just whips out a mug and makes him tea. soap is upset over something? tea. soap is crying over a movie? tea. soap is sick? tea. it gets to the point where he has a specific Sad Mug for him (it's a mug in the shape of a ghost. soap bought it bc he thought it was funny. its now the designated sad mug)

soaps a little bewildered to begin with when hes a little irritated after training because of his shoulder acting up, or something, and ghost just. appears with tea. gives it to him. then backs off. hes just???

and then it simply continues. soap doesnt even know how ghost knows hes sad he just appears every time somehow. he begins to pavlov himself into feelin a little relief every time he sees the Sad Mug bc it reminds him of ghost... doesnt use it outside of sad time bc it just feels sacred

simply. ghost who doesnt really know how to help when sad, but hes so practical he does his best to fix it for soap anyway

[cerise-on-top]

Hiya! The post you did about reader giving the 141 a pet turtle/tortoise was so cute 😭. I was wonder if you could do a similar thing but with a pet snake 🐍 They’re my favorite animal and it would make my day❤️❤️❤️

Hey there! I love all reptiles, so I'm more than happy to take on this request :] I can do requests like these with snakes and turtles just fine, but I don't think I could ever write this with cats or dogs haha! Sorry about Ghost, though, but I don't think he likes snakes and nothing could change that, though!

TF141 Receiving a Pet Snake from Reader

Price: I feel as though Price would know nothing at all about snakes and how to care for them. Yes, he thinks something like a ball python is kinda cute, but that’s about it. He’s never really considered a snake before. So you can probably imagine his surprise when you waltz in with a ball python. He’s not disgusted by it, but he would be hesitant to touch it at first. What if it bites him? Though, as soon as you tell him that it reminded you of him, he’d probably grow attached to it. However, you’re gonna have to help him with building a proper enclosure for the little snake. Once you’re done, once you’ve left the little critter in his care, he’s gonna buy a lot of books on how to care for snakes. I don’t think he’d be too creative with names, so he’s probably gonna name it “Mister Slithers” or something. It’s a name a child would give to a snake, but he thinks it’s cute, and it makes him smile, so he kept the name. When he’s home he probably lets Mister Slithers roam around freely for the most part, with supervision. That snake better be super tame, because he will handle it (with care) and give it lots of pats and cuddles. If he could, he’d give it a little kiss on its little head as well, but he doesn’t want to get sick. It’s probably well fed too. Depending on whether or not it’s an active little fella, he might even give it a living mouse or something. But if it prefers to snooze all day? He can go with thawed frozen food as well. Overall, that snake is probably going to live a long and happy life with him. He’ll get attached to it very easily very quickly.

Ghost: I’m sorry to say this, but you’d need to be super innocent and super close with Simon in order to give him a snake and have him not hate you immediately. He canonically has trauma when it comes to snakes, so I don’t think he’d be happy at all if you gave him one. Yes, you likely didn’t know about that because he’d never tell you, but if you’re anything but the most oblivious and innocent person out there then he will believe that you’re trying to make him relive some of his worst times on purpose. If you are that innocent, then there’s the tiniest chance he might accept it, but I don’t think he’d be a good owner at all at first. He wouldn’t want to go near it, even if it’s just a small Garter Snake. The snake would likely be on the brink of starvation and dehydration at first. For the sake of not making this angsty, I’m going to say that he’ll feel extremely bad for it and start feeding it and taking proper care of it. I don’t think he’s going to let it out of its enclosure for the first few years. In fact, he probably only keeps it around because he loves you. I’m sorry, but he doesn’t trust snakes. It’s a miracle he keeps it alive in the first place. I don’t think he’d give it a name either. Something like “the snake” or “the reptile”, and that’s it. If it gets sick then he’ll take it to the vet and give it the medication it needs, but that’s it. He’s glad snakes are, for the most part, independent creatures. That means he doesn’t need to be around it. His skin crawls whenever he looks at it. I’m sorry, but he wouldn’t be happy and he wouldn’t be a good owner either.

Gaz: And then there’s Gaz. He revels in you giving him a snake. Truth be told, he feels a little bit of kinship with them. His father used to call him a snake for being a trans man and actively transitioning. He’s a traitor, a backstabber, to his family, and he really does enjoy that fact by now. Call him a snake and he gets all smug and is actually thriving. You could give him something like a King Cobra, a snake that is actually venomous, and he’ll be fine. When he was younger, he’d actively researched how to take care of snakes since he, ever since his family disowned him like that, wanted to get one. If it’s a female snake, then it’s most definitely going to get his deadname. If it’s a male? He’ll probably name it either “Kyle”, after himself, or one of the other names he considered before “Kyle” stuck. Oh, he’s going to be such a proud snake owner. That snake will miss out on nothing. It will be well taken care of and have the most beautiful enclosure it could ever have. He’ll probably pet it too just because he trusts the snake. Considering he’s such an observant man, he’ll probably rarely ever, if at all, anger it, so he’ll be safe. Although I do believe that he’d keep some antivenom around, just for good measure. The snake probably trusts him a great amount too. He’s not at all a bad owner to have, he’s very loving and respectful. Besides, you gave it to him, so how could he not love it? It’s probably gonna live a long and healthy life. And yes, he would take plenty of pictures with it, always considerate enough to send you some updates on how it’s doing as well. Though, every time he sends you a selfie of him with his snake, there’s a little mischievous glint in his eyes. He’s happy, don’t get me wrong, but he feels more badass and dangerous with his little snake around.

Soap: He has no problems with snakes either, but they’re not cuddly enough for him. He’d rather have an animal that he can chase around his home. That baby Burmese Python you gave him is adorable, don’t get me wrong, but what exactly is he supposed to do with it? Either way, he always gets surprised when he sees how much his little “Sniffer” has grown after deployment. Yes, he’ll scold it for being that big. “Bonnie, how could you grow this much without me? Don’t you know that I need to care for you every step of the way??” He refers to himself as the snake’s “Daddy” as well because he’s just that fond of it. He probably builds it a nice shed as its enclosure since he has a pretty big garden and loves having something to do anyway. He also jokes that little Sniffer can actually sniff out drugs. Some of his friends take him seriously. That snake is going to be so spoiled. Whenever he’s home, he’ll let it roam around freely, even letting it slither all over his body. No matter how big it gets, he’ll work out to be able to handle it. Sometimes, when he hasn’t touched it yet, he’ll kiss his fist and give it a little fist bump. He loves showing Sniffer off, especially to the people who don’t like snakes. Even better if those people are hesitant to touch a snake. Sniffer does grow to be pretty big, but it’s very tame. Unless it’s hungry, in which case it’s probably tried to bite Soap before. But he doesn’t mind that, he also gets pissy when he’s hungry. As much as he’d love to let Sniffers sleep with him, he keeps it in its enclosure during the night. Better safe than sorry. Overall, he loves the funky big fella.

[starlightvld]

do you any call of duty fics to recommend? I'm relatively new to the fandom and am looking for some good reads (preferably soapghost) 👀

*Rubs hands together*

Oh-ho-ho! Do I have recs (aside from, humbly, my own fics)? You bet your ass I do.

Bear with me because this is going to be a long one (also, be aware that I'm ace and vanilla as shit so if you want kinky or PwithoutP recs, you'll need to ask others. My recs are all slow burn or PwithP and only happy endings):

ghost/soap fics (complete):

One shots:

to love what is mortal - homo_hexual

Moonlit Sands - KitschyKestrel

who dares loves - Zairielon (technically a one-shot, but 40k words sooo)

hell hath no fury - sunshowers_and_dandelion_wine (and this one's a 50k one shot 😅)

15-60k multi-chaps:

Seasons - StinglessWasp

Affirmative, Sir - Wixiany

Keep The Change - hertzdonut

ripe and ruin - ghcst

Half-Silvered Surface - ivyscribblez

Heart in Ironworks - Voidfavors

60-100k multi-chaps or series:

Yes to Heaven - Apollos_Last_Prophet

The Heartbeat Series - Grangers_apprentice (series)

yours to keep (anonymous series, '09 soapghost)

Not Alive, Nor Dead - reds_skull

100K+ multi-chaps or series:

all that's said in the low light - headlocket

Any Time You Need Me - thirteenbullets (series and the fics that brought me into the COD fandom)

Howling - Cattraine

ghost/soap fics (WIPs):

Hold This, Please? For Me? - CitrusEatingCat, Howlsslime (Oodelilies), KellsBells12 (HILARIOUS so far and beautiful art as well)

Finding Light in the Darkness - Lady_Ares (lovely "what if" AU of canon events)

(Stay) Turn your radio on - Kat2107 (AMAZING Soap makes a deal with Death fic)

Trust Me - Kaerrion

You've Got My Body, Flesh, and Bone - GrannyBoo

Other COD Fics

this year i am becoming my own home - multifandommonster (Gaz & Ghost friendship)

Secrets Secrets Are No Fun (secrets are for everyone) - Plz2daysatan (technically soapghost, but it's all background, mostly about Soap and his family)

__

In case it's not obvious, this is by NO MEANS a comprehensive list. In fact, I'm absolutely certain I've missed some very good fics that simply contain tags I've excluded from my searches because they aren't my thing. But hopefully there's enough here to get you started.

[robiinurheart33]

My heart is squeezing fuck in another lifetime maybe Simon would be able to run away with Johnny. Maybe in another lifetime they could hold each other in their arms and feel safe for the first time. Maybe in another lifetime Simon didn’t have words choked in his throat, jaw flexing and neck twitching just to get the words out to express his undying love for Johnny. Maybe in another lifetime they would be able to feel their skin against each other and to understand what it means to have a soulmate, not that either of them believed in it in the first place. Maybe in another lifetime Simon wouldn’t be holding Johnny’s hand for the last time, watching the red trickle down the side of his head. Maybe in another lifetime simon and Johnny would just have someone to love without an outworldly force determined to tear them apart

[bonefall]

this is a bit of a random question, but is there any character you dislike, that you havent talked about before?

I feel like I'm pretty outspoken about characters I dislike! Plus, for as hard as I hit my usual suspects, my distaste for them comes from how much I yearn for a version where it was all on purpose.

Like me and my eternal rival, Bramblestar. Im locked in combat with this man, in a cosmic sense. If I were a necromancer I would resurrect his wretched corpse because I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing his face again. Nemesis...

I guess I haven't spoken much about the absolute trainwrecks that were Sharp Hail and Jackdaw's Cry, from DOTC. They're such small characters that there's not much TO talk about

But it's SUPER fucked up that they just dropped Jackdaw's Cry implying Thunder was "stealing milk" from his wife and never mentioned it again. What the hell was the point of THAT when you're only going to stress how sad it is that he died fighting the sister he hadn't spoken about in like 2 books?

And Sharp Hail is an abusive stepdad who falls out of the sky to throttle Sun Shadow in a bonus chapter. WHY? What is the POINT of all these sudden adoption jabs??

Them aside I've spoken about the cats I dislike. Thistleclaw, Sandgorse (complicated), Sagewhisker, Raggedstar, Clear Sky, Gray Wing... and arcs that were a massive disappointment, with Leopardstar, Hawkfrost, Blackstar, Wind Runner, Thunder, even Firestar post-Darkest Hour.

OH Mudclaw I guess. I think he was a fine character but Mudclaw stans are so annoying I've begun to start actually hating him. It's only partially the writing/character's fault, I'm just developing a Pavlovian distaste of him lmaooo

[miilkybnn]

ghostroachsoap except they’re werewolves

[atopvisenyashill]

podcast makes a point that the iron throne is completely at odds with the concept of the valyrian freehold, and kinda dooms the targs from the start because the freehold being a large group of families reminds them that their power is completely tied to the living and very killable dragons whereas the throne demands only one person on top, so you HAVE to reconcile the branches on your family tree or they WILL start getting massacre happy about being The One On Top.

it’s a really great point. anyways i think this could be fixed by aegon giving every single lord paramount a dragon. there’s no way this goes wrong it’s full proof i’m a genius.