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thunderousavery · 6 months

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Make You Mine (Ghost x Soap) Pt. 3

CW: Blood, Curse words

A/N: Take this as a little plot rewriting of MWIII. It's like a what-if, and you'll see what I mean by that. Description: Johnny and Simon meets the one that put them in the corner. Main Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish Side Pairing: König x Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin Word Count: 2.2k

Chapter 3 - In the night, we’ll take a walk

“Did I sound good, mein Schatz? Was I fantastisch with striking fear into our enemies’ hearts?” König switched his frequency back to his teammate, his voice sounding too eager and excited for praise.

“They are British, König. They are not Americans.” Horangi mentally facepalmed as he steadied his sniper rifle at the building, particularly on the first floor now. As annoying as his Colonel was, he can’t exactly stay mad with him. He doesn’t have the will to be angry at such a naïve souled soldier like König despite posing a high rank.

“Ah, es ist genau dasselbe.” The German Colonel groans behind his mask before radioing back to their now supposed hostages for what they wanted.

They need the intel as much as the other. And if they had to kill them, they’ll do whatever it takes.

For sustenance.

For their lives.

For KorTac.

----------

“KorTac? Who the bloody hell are these guys?” Simon growled under his breath through the tingling pain on his shoulder and irritation as Johnny told him the conditions their enemy wanted them to comply with. They didn’t anticipate this. Laswell nor Price ever informed them about another group wanting Makarov’s whereabouts. The intel holds everything: bombs, potential missile locations, possible Russian secret cell sites, and most especially, Makarov’s last known locations.

And now, they’re forced into a deep corner. Still in the staircase room, but their enemies had already secured the first floor. There’s nowhere else to go. They may be out of sight just now, but there’s no telling when they’ll be raided by these KorTac guys.

Are they mercenaries hired to gather intel about Makarov as well? Or are they following another selfish leader?

Johnny couldn’t quite answer his questions just yet. He’s still negotiating with a so-called Colonel behind the radio, and it’s not looking good for them.

“Simple conditions, ja? The intel in exchange for your safety. We’d even get your partner fixed up.”

“Away n’ bile yer heid!” Johnny scoffed, and Simon felt an unknown pride swell in his chest for that. His aggressive Scottish accent was showing, and for once, he felt really damn proud of his insult.

They knew better than to trust that kind of offer.

There was an annoyed sigh behind the line. “Amerikanisch, you’re not making this easy.”

“Ah’m fuckin’ Scottish, ya fuckin’ dumbass!”

“Let me… talk to the shithead,” Simon said as he tried to get back on his feet but failed to do so as he stumbled back, the sharp pain on his injury still lingered like chaos. He groaned as his back hit the wall, making Johnny turn to him and immediately move beside him once more.

“No, no. L.T., ah can handle this, alright? No need to get ya so worked up.” The Scot gently helped him sit down on the floor once more.

“I will…! Argh…”

“Oh, how sweet. Is he dying? Advance condolences, Soldat.” The mocking tone of the Colonel sent a maddening shudder to Simon’s body.

“Shut… the fucking hell up!” Simon managed to wretch a scream as he panted from the pain, sweat soaking his mask profusely.

“Ghost. Ghost, breathe. Steady breaths, L.T.,” Johnny spoke in comfort as he placed a hand on his heaving chest after he turned off the radio for a moment. But Simon couldn’t comprehend his words through the pain. So, he reached to lift the mask, at least just up to his nose, but the Brit immediately grabbed his hand tightly like an alert soldier that he was.

Simon realized what he was about to do and wanted to say no. No one has ever touched his mask before. Sure, Johnny and the others already saw his face in Las Almas, but he’d never let anyone lay a finger on the only thing that protected the visage of his traumas and past.

He could never… No one could ever break the walls that he built. No one could get past the Ghost and live to see the day.

“Ah won’t take the mask off, L.T. Just let me help ya breathe. Just up yer nose, aye?”

But Johnny’s voice. His voice worried for his own sake. It was soothing and comforting at this moment. Maybe it’s because of the agonizing pain, maybe because there was not enough oxygen getting in his brain to think clearly. But Simon knew he wasn’t trying to break in; he was knocking for his heart, to the door of his trust.

For the days, weeks, and months they’ve partnered up as Lieutenant and Sergeant, only one thought came to Simon like a flash before his eyes. Johnny never left him without looking back and had always been there for him.

His brown eyes, rimmed with red, closed briefly before he nodded. Permission was given to let him in his heart, even just for this time.

“Thank you, Simon. Yer gonna be okay, ya hear?”

And in return, Johnny gave him that smile again. A smile brighter than his own dark life, a beacon of his salvation. And it’s the only thing Simon wants to hold onto for now, giving him hope for humanity for a second time.

Calloused yet gentle hands lifted the damp hem of the balaclava mask, lifting it slowly up to Simon’s scar-tipped nose. The Brit shivered slightly at his touch, and Johnny was careful not to glide his fingers against the Glasgow smile curled from the corner of his lips or the other scars.

Simon thanked him in his mind for not commenting on what Johnny was seeing at the moment. For not feeling the fear that everyone else felt when they saw his true face.

So many scars were inflicted on a single man just to be turned into a weapon of war.

“J-Johnny…” That was never the first time Johnny heard his name spoken in a tone broken and filled with longing. But it was the first time he heard it from Simon, his Lieutenant with a cold heart and merciless soul.

“Breathe fer me. In and out, Simon.” Johnny’s voice was really soothing.

And breathe he does. His chest slowed down from heaving, only rising and falling steadily and slowly.

“Good. Good. Yer doing good, mo ghràdh.” Simon hated his Scottish accent or even his Gaelic, but not for this moment. He’s starting to like it, even. But he doesn’t know Gaelic, though. He knew many languages for the sake of his dangerous job, but not that one.

Maybe he’d ask Johnny about that later. Never did he hear that one before, but he’d kick his ass if he knew that was an insult.

“Let’s get ya up. Ah know it hurts, but we need to get outta here.”

“And what do you think we should do? Give the intel up?” Simon looked at him in a mix of surprise and concern. Even he doesn’t know what to think about their situation anymore.

“… They’re not giving us a choice,” Johnny sighed as he helped put back the vest on him. “But we’ll walk outta here alive. Ah also regret destroyin’ the computer to shit. Shoulda knew they’d corner us like this.”

“Actions have consequences, I guess,” Simon grumbled before he reached his uninjured arm for Johnny’s shoulder as he tried to get up. Still, the pain lingered, but with the Scot’s help, he could finally get back on his feet. “Thanks, Sergeant.” He leaned against his smaller frame a bit, hating the fact that he’s a fucking liability now.

“No prob, L.T. Always got yer six.” The Sergeant chuckled before picking up their guns as they walked down the stairs toward the first floor.

And Simon knew that Johnny would never make him feel less of himself.

“Have you contacted Price yet?”

Johnny shook his head and sighed. “They’re jamming the signal. Cannae say how they do it.”

Simon could only hope they can get out here alive. Maybe he’d honor Johnny’s request for a drink later.

----------

They were greeted with the loud car alarms from outside once more. And as expected, Johnny spots the green laser tag of the sniper again, this time pointed at his chest. The bastard wasn’t taking any chances, he thought.

The main hall was how they could remember it looked when they initially infiltrated it: wide and littered with the dead bodies of Russian guards on the cold floor. This building, hidden away near the main country borders, wasn’t supposed to be a haven for Ultranationalists, and yet Johnny and Simon did good work turning the place into their graveyard.

But aside from Russian terrorists led by Makarov, there seems to be another underlying group that they don’t know of.

KorTac.

“Ah, I see euer Freund here has returned from the dead.”

The car alarms went silent in an instant before the familiar voice spoke.

A tall figure then appeared from the shadows. Taller than Simon, perhaps, maybe more than 6 feet, and bulkier too. A hood-like mask covered his face with red streaks below the eye holes. He also wears body armor, seemingly matching that of Simon’s that hugged his bulky figure.

If Johnny could tell, he’d think KorTac is a mercenary group like Grave’s Shadow Company. But this guy… This guy seemed far more dangerous, and it almost sent shivers to know he was the Colonel he talked with on the radio.

“Why do ya want the intel?” Johnny sneered as he clutched his weapon, but the German Colonel tsked as he held his gloved hand up like a sign, instantly making the laser tag move to the Scot’s forehead.

“I suggest you drop your weapon, Soldat. No need to have some brain matter splat on the floor.”

A growl emanated from Simon’s throat.

The Colonel laughed darkly as he crossed his arms to my chest. “Aww… Did I make your ugly mutt mad? He looks like he needs a tighter leash.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you…” The Lieutenant sent him a deadly glare outmatching his Sergeant’s, his words laced with venomous promise.

“Better keep your word, Hund.” Simon could feel the bastard grinning behind the mask. “The intel, Jungen. It’s better off in our hands than yours. And as I promised, we’ll get you the medical care you need.”

“And why would we believe ya?” Johnny retorted. “Ah could just shoot ya dead, and we get the hell outta here.”

The Colonel raised his gloved hands, indicating something for the duo to see. He had no weapons, nor did he have a sidearm on either side of his hips. He could only use either his raw strength, which clearly could match Simon and Johnny, or signal his sniper teammate from outside to shoot their heads off.

They still have nowhere to run. Johnny could tell that.

“There’s no need for more violence, meine Freunde. Imagine if we could just let go of the hate, ja?” His voice sounded sickeningly try-hard persuasive; it made Johnny’s blood boil.

Let go of the hate? After shooting his Lieutenant and making him bleed to the brink of death? He’d rather go to hell with all the hate in the world.

“We don’t make deals with devils like ya,” Johnny responded, his glare never faltering as he prepared to pull the trigger of his gun.

“… So be it.” One gloved hand formed a fist. It was the signal. To shoot.

Simon gasped as he realized this. “Johnny…!” Every fiber of his being was alerted, and he used all his will and strength to move his bulky body to cover Johnny, shielding him from the bullet that was aimed at his head.

He braced for it. He waited for another pain to shoot through his body, for blood to splatter once more as he stumbled down to the floor.

…

“… S-Simon?” Johnny was too stunned to even process what Simon did. In mere seconds, he instantly panicked as he tried to ask if the Brit was okay. Because if not, he would never forgive himself if he got hurt again.

… But nothing happened. Simon’s eyes were shut tightly, and his arms encased Johnny to protect him from the world.

But there was nothing. No pain, no bullet, no more blood other than his recent injury.

And then, they could hear the KorTac Colonel talk in a tone that could be described as shocked.

“… WAS?! Was meinen Sie damit, dass wir sie nicht töten sollten?!”

The duo breathed a somewhat relieved sigh before they turned to look at the Colonel. He was frantic with his radio as he kept looking outside as if he was communicating with the sniper.

“I mean, why shouldn’t we kill them, meine Schatz?! They have the intel about—”

He was occupied. Now’s their chance to—

“You!” The Colonel pointed a gloved finger at them and snarled before they could even make a move. “Are you two from 141?! Answer me truthfully!”

Simon was the one to answer, clutching his injured shoulder carefully while Johnny held him in place. “Why the fuck do you want to know?”

“Verdammte Schwachköpfe, we don’t want to be enemies with Captain Price!”

… Things just got more confusing now.

You're in Part 3

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4

#ghoap #ghost x soap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod fanfic #soap x ghost #soapghost #ghostsoap #cod #konig #horangi #korangi #konig x horangi

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thunderousavery · 6 months

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My Roman Empire🥹❤️

just checking...

#my fave boiz #💀🧼#my loves #MW3 will never stop them #ghoap #soap x ghost #ghost x soap #this is the way #this is the canon and no one can say otherwise

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thunderousavery · 6 months

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Make You Mine (Ghost x Soap) Pt. 2

CW: Blood, Slight (Is it even slight? Haha) Gore, Curse words

A/N: I forgot to mention that this is not canon-compliant (Because I reject everything that happened after MWII). Description: Johnny and Simon try to trudge carefully as the sniper from outside the building waits for their heads to pop out. Main Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish Word Count: 1.9k

Chapter 2 - ‘Cause I know that I am yours and you are mine. Doesn’t matter anyway.

To say he was fond of Simon sounded crazy in Johnny’s mind. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think of it, let alone when they met on their first mission together to apprehend the leader of Al-Qatala in Al Mazrah. The man was stoic, strict, and definitely showed no signs of nonsense in his actions and orders.

Johnny was different from him. He was a breed full of life who liked to see things from every perspective, a man built with confidence and compassion for his comrades. And when he knows something is wrong, he’s headstrong about it and follows his just principles to pursue the truth.

Maybe that’s why he faced disciplinary action years ago because he punched a military police officer and knocked him out. That man was an arse, and he believed he did the right thing even when he almost got a strike on his career for that.

Now, working in Task Force 141 alongside a Lieutenant named Simon “Ghost” Riley seemed like a nice change of pace. He’s dealt with strict men like him before, and he knew he could handle him as well.

But there’s this… vibe on him that he can’t put his finger on. Something that draws to him like no other.

“Ya good, Ghost? Keep up; we’re almost on the first floor.” Johnny spoke after they settled to another cover spot, particularly another pillar wall. He would be lying if he wasn’t concerned with the Brit, but he knew better than to make him feel like a liability after being shot like that. He knew how it felt to feel helpless in this aggravating situation.

“Don’t mind me,” Simon grumbled, his voice laced with irritation clearly at him and his shoulder wound.

Aye, he guessed he would just shut up now. There’s no need to make more noise aside from the car alarms from outside.

… Hold the fuck up.

The explosion. The loud noises from outside.

Fucking retard. Johnny thought as he looked for the laser tag again, sighing in annoyance as the sniper took a shot and barely missed his head when he popped out. Masking the sounds with car alarms was brilliant, but Johnny was disappointed when the sniper used their laser sight for accuracy. It’s just a straight line for a target on one end and the gun on the other.

He can track them down later and fuck them up.

When he surveyed the surroundings again and spotted the laser tag on the far right, Johnny knew they had to move. So, he led the Brit and sneaked towards another cover, then ran as fast as they could towards the staircase room down the first floor. Boots clicked on each step with haste as he tried to dodge any shot that would be fired.

They’re so close to getting out of here alive. So close to making that sniper’s life a living hell.

… Or not.

“… L.T.!”

Simon didn’t follow his Sergeant’s lead. He slumped back behind the latest cover they went through, clutching his shoulder in pain. His eyes were shut tight as he groaned in agony.

Johnny was on the verge of panicking. He can’t leave him behind. He definitely remembered Simon always said that no man should be left behind. That they’re a team, and they stick together. “Ghost, just… Fuck, hold on fer me. I’ll—”

“No!” A roar tore from Simon’s throat as he tried to stand back up. Red dripped from his arm and onto the floor. Brown eyes pierced against blue ones again.

Those eyes screamed, “Help me, Sergeant…” Johnny’s heart clenched in his chest.

But Simon’s gruff voice sounded otherwise as he leaned against the wall for a while, clutching his rifle with his uninjured arm. “I’m… Fuck, I’ll be right there with you.”

They were running out of time. Simon was running out of time. The laser tag was just right behind the edge of the wall where his head would pop out. One move, and he’s dead. Take too long, and he’ll bleed out.

And the Scot knew that. He could see that clearly, and he knows the sniper bastard knows it all too.

So, with a clear resolve and tactical training lessons remembered, Johnny took a step back and ran just to suddenly crouch down to slide back to Simon, his body smoothed against the floor. As expected, the sniper took a shot, missing instantaneously as the bullet seared against the floor.

There was a second before the sniper could shoot again. Johnny calculated it all too well.

“Johnny, what—”

“We don’t have time!” Johnny pulled him by his uninjured arm and ran as quickly as possible with his Lieutenant behind him. The sniper retook their shot, but it missed just right past Simon’s head after they got into the staircase room.

That was fucking close…

They tried to catch their breaths for a while and sat in the corner before Johnny looked at his Lieutenant with a soft smile. From here, they couldn’t hear the sounds of the car alarms anymore. He instantly got worried when he saw the Brit’s eyes drooping slightly behind the mask, so he moved closer and inspected his shoulder.

Then, a soft gasp failed to be unuttered from his throat. “… We have to shut yer wound close, L.T. Cannae have ye bleeding like that.”

Simon looked at him with half-lidded eyes behind his mask. “You mean…?” If he’s thinking what he’s thinking, then he knew it would hurt. And would leave an ugly scar. Again.

“Yeah.” Johnny sighed as he pulled out a throwing knife from his side pocket. “Got a light?”

“Fucking improvising shit…” Simon groaned as he weakly pulled a lighter from his pocket and handed it to him.

“Ya taught me that, remember?” Johnny chuckled as he untied the cloth around the Brit’s shoulder, only to frown as he finally slid it off him. “Yep. Just as I thought. It’s fucked, and needs to shut it close.”

“That bad, huh…” Simon sighed as he unbuckled his vest and struggled to take it off. “Are you just gonna stare, Sergeant? Goddammit…”

“A’ight, hang on.” Johnny helped him slide the vest off him carefully. Simon winced at the feeling of moving his injured shoulder through the process, revealing the bloodied combat shirt underneath due to the bleeding wound. “I’ll cut yer sleeve short. Hope it’s not yer favorite shirt.”

“Less shirt for me, I guess.” Both of them laughed softly at Simon’s attempt at humor. “Can you make a clean cut on it?”

“So it becomes yer fancy sleeveless shirt? I shoot guns and blow up bombs, L.T.”

“And you clean rooms, Soap.”

Johnny hummed in amusement; Simon remembered how he got the name ‘Soap.’

“Aye, but technically, I’m best with room clearance regarding combat.”

Johnny held the knife and carefully tore through the sleeve of the Brit’s shirt. Simon winced again whenever the blade touched near his wound, and Johnny tried his best to avoid it. It took a while, but his shoulder was finally bare, his biceps twitching slightly at the pain in his shoulder.

“This’ll hurt, L.T.,” Johnny warned as he prepared his hands for an amateur surgery badly needed for Simon to survive. “I’ll take the bullet out first. Then, I’ll heat up the knife and press it on yer wound.”

“You’re gonna… fucking dip your fingers inside me... How sweet…” Slightly slurred words and ragged breathing. Johnny needs to do this quick.

“I aim to please. Bite down on yer mask, L.T.” With that final warning, the Sergeant dug his fingers carefully into the bloody gunshot hole of Simon’s flesh.

“Nnnnggghhh!” Simon bit down hard on the fabric of his mask as calloused fingers dipped and nudged between his bleeding wound. The pain was a fucking agony, and he just simply wished to pass out from it. His heart thumped wildly, his mind was getting hazy, and he just kept bleeding out.

“‘m sorry, L.T.! Fuck, I’m trying to… Ah! There it is!” It took a while, but Johnny finally managed to get the base of the bullet between his fingers. It was slick with blood, but he knew how to get it out without letting it slip. “Taking it out now.”

True to his words, he quickly pulled the bullet out efficiently. And it was fucking indeed a .50 caliber. Simon was still biting down on his mask; screams were muffled, and tears of pain falling from his eyes. And Johnny wanted to throw up from making his Lieutenant suffer like this.

“Fuck, fuck… Ghost, we’re almost done. Just need to—”

“FUCKING HURRY UP!”

“A-Alright, alright!” Johnny almost panicked and dropped the knife to his lap but quickly picked it up. He heated the blade with the lighter until it was scorching and tinted with scarlet. Then, without further ado, he chunked the heated edge against the open flesh.

“GAAAHHH!” Simon finally screamed this time; the guttural sound from his throat was all throughout the room.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry, Ghost!” Truly, he was. He can’t bear to hear him scream in pain like this.

“G-Get over it! FUCK!” His left hand gripped his thigh tightly, almost even digging his fingers beneath the fabric of his trousers.

Johnny tried working quickly, but heating the blade and sticking it against the flesh was a repeated process. There’s no other safe way to seal the wound, and he’s not risking putting gunpowder on the flesh, either. He thought of that for a while but couldn’t risk the wound getting infected.

“Almost sealing it up, hold on.” Blood was beginning to stop pouring out of the flesh as it was sizzled and cauterized by the heated blade. Soon enough, the whole wound was sealed up, covered in scarlet and black altogether, like some black pudding.

Simon let out one final groan as he leaned against the wall after the end of the agony, panting and sweating beneath his mask before lifting it just up to his nose so he could breathe. “I-It’s… Is it… over…?”

“… Affirmative, L.T.. You’re gonna be okay.” Johnny slumped back beside him, dropping the bloodied and scorched knife on the floor. He looked at the Brit’s gloved hand, almost wanting to reach with his own and hold it to offer comfort. But he didn’t. Simon might push him away, so he didn’t act on his thoughts.

For now, Johnny sighed in relief after knowing his Lieutenant was gonna survive the night from bleeding out.

But the real danger was still present. The fucking sniper outside the building was just waiting for them to come out.

Johnny pulled his radio out and tried to contact Price, tuning and turning to find the correct frequency. They needed reinforcements, medevac, exfil, anything that could secure their safety and Simon’s recovery. “Bravo 6, this is 7-1. We need—”

“No one’s coming to save you, amerikanisch,” said a male voice behind the line before Johnny could finish his sentence.

… German. Price was not German. They don’t have a German in the task force.

“Surrender the intel, and we might let you live to see the daylight.” A dark chuckle was heard. “‘Course, if we assumed right that your partner’s dead, Soldat.”

“Who the fuck is this?!” The Scot growled as he clutched the radio tightly and moved to the nearest window. It’s good that his Lieutenant was behind a good cover for now.

“J-Johnny…?” Simon’s voice was laced with tiredness and confusion as his half-lidded eyes beneath the mask watched his Sergeant move to the nearest window. “What… What’s going on?”

“We got company, L.T.,” was all Johnny could say before he reached for his weapon with his other hand. “And I don’t think they’re friendly.”

A/N: I WUV U, MY SCOTTISH BOI

You're in Part 2

Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4

#ghost x soap #ghoap #soap x ghost #ghostsoap #soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley x john mactavish #cod #cod fanfic #cod fic

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thunderousavery · 6 months

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Make You Mine (Ghost x Soap) Pt. 1

CW: Spoilers of MWIII (Only in A/N, I just want to vent), Blood, Curse words

A/N: I FUCKING HATE MWIII!!! Grrr... So, I'm gonna spoil myself with Ghoap fics from now on. THAT ENDING IS NOT FUCKING CANON IN MY MIND! I'M WEEPING AND GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE! Also, I'mma rewrite my other unfinished story. Just got meself in tons of shit, and now MWIII fucking disappointed me. SOAP BOI WILL LIVE FOREVER IN MY MIND! SCOTLAND FOREVA!

Description: Uh... No description yet, but this is a multichapter fic with angst, mutual pining, and everything in between. HAPPY ENDING GUARANTEED! :)) (11/04/2023) Edited Description (11/05/2023): Simon and Johnny work together once more on an intel-gathering mission. Simon ponders what Johnny really means to him when hell suddenly breaks loose. Main Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish Word Count: 1.5k

Chapter 1 - Well, I will call you darlin’, and everything will be okay.

“Where the hell did ‘Soap’ even come from?”

That question lingered in Simon’s mind like gum stuck on a wall. Honestly, it was a stupid question, and he didn’t even know why he asked that to Johnny after their mission briefing. The first time they met, he was instantly intrigued with the Scotsman in a way that stirred his nerves weirdly.

He didn’t want to acknowledge that feeling, so he deemed it was just irritation for his happy-go-lucky attitude. Simon was never fond of such positivity. Or the Scottish accent, either.

Unlike him, Johnny was easy to like and adored by anyone whom he passed by. He was friendly and compassionate like he had all the sunshine of the fucking sun and rainbows behind his back.

Johnny was definitely unlike him. Johnny was like the light, and Simon was the darkness.

He was a grump, always sought to be alone, and never been one to stand in long conversations. They say there’s a reason why a person acts the way they are, and Simon does have a reason that he’d die with than tell a single soul. He can’t trust anyone; he doesn’t have any friends.

Sure, he knew Price, Gaz, Laswell, and so on. But they’re not his friends; Simon considers them as his allies, commodities to help him with his fights. To him, he doesn’t need friends.

So, how about Johnny, then? Simon didn’t want to ponder about it.

“Ya wanna know why me name’s called ‘Soap,’ L.T.?” Johnny shoots him a cheeky grin while waiting for the intel file to be transferred to the flash drive. And yeah, Simon also hates how he always smiled like that. He looks like a fucking rat with a mohawk, or so how he always thought about it.

It was an intel-gathering mission. They infiltrate the building, download the intel, and get the hell out in one piece. Simple task, really. Too simple for Simon’s taste, but it was a good thing they had to take some guards down to motivate his bones. Nice and silent, kill and go.

And the waiting game begins in the main office. And Johnny starts an old conversation Simon even dared to ponder upon.

“Why are we even having this conversation again, Sergeant?” Simon grunted, brown eyes behind the skull-faced mask piercing at Johnny’s blue ones as he held his rifle loosely against his hands.

“‘Coz I remembered yer curious.” The Scotsman hummed before checking out the computer to check the progress. “Everyone was. But I kept it a secret for a wee while.”

… Now, Simon was starting to be intrigued. He thought the man was outgoing, telling everyone he met about his personal life like his callsign. He probably judged him wrong.

What was it? A crazy backstory involving a bar of soap? Or was it something that he also has: a cruel experience from the trauma factory? It was an enigma to him that he wouldn’t admit he was curious about.

“So, you’re going to tell that secret to me?” Simon didn’t know why he said that; he didn’t even dare to assume he said that.

“Fer a price, of course! Yer gonna owe me a drink.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. Screw his curiosity and pitiful thoughts about him.

“Aw, come on. Was just kiddin’, y’know.” Johnny laughed softly. “Me cousin picked it out fer me. Said I could clean a room efficiently like no other.”

Simon’s eyes blinked. “… So, you’re Soap because you’re a germaphobe?”

“Heck, no. I just like to clean and—”

BOOM!

There was a loud explosion outside, ringing out the alarms of the vehicles.

“Shit, they know something’s up. Grab the intel, and let’s go.” Simon huffed and tightened his grip on his rifle once more, aiming it against the glass door just in case they got spotted. One bloody figure passes his sight, and he ought to shoot.

“Aye, copy that.” Johnny didn’t waste time grabbing the flash drive from the computer after transferring the files. Without a second thought, he shot his weapon at the computer screen and its CPU before he said, “Intel secured. Time to move out.”

Why the fuck did he even— Oh… Simon finally realizes that it was genius of him to destroy the original source. Even he hadn’t thought of that. He had to give Johnny some credit, at least.

Soon enough, they were on their feet towards the exit with haste and hawk eyes surveying the surroundings for any sign of movement. And if they did, Simon wouldn’t catch a breath to open fire.

Passing through doors and down the stairs, the building rang with the screech of the cars from outside. It was loud, and Simon hoped they wouldn’t run into an enemy. Whatever that explosion was, it should have alerted the patrols nearby. This was Russian territory, and they’d be damned to be spotted and add fuel to the flame of an already sparking war.

But…

“L.T., ya feel something odd?” Johnny asked behind him, watching his six as a good teammate that he is, but he wouldn’t admit it.

“… Yeah,” Simon grumbled as they reached the second floor. Only one more floor, but he noticed it too soon. “It’s too fucking quiet here. Not from outside, but inside.”

Something was wrong. Like a lake too calm to know about a deadly croc lurking in the waters. They need to be on their toes and fast.

No, maybe it’s just…

He failed to see the laser sight aimed at him.

“Ghost, on our 9!”

Johnny’s warning was too late. Simon stumbled back and dropped to the floor with a thud. A searing pain shot through his left shoulder near his bicep.

A sniper. They should’ve aimed for the head.

“Shit! I got ya, L.T.!” Johnny immediately crouched, helped move Simon’s body, and took cover behind the pillar walls. He held the Brit securely with an arm clutched on his upper torso before settling him in the corner. “Still solid, L.T.? Fuck, should’ve seen that comin’.”

“I’m… grr… I’m fine…” Simon growled beneath the mask through the pain as Johnny inspected the bleeding wound on his shoulder that tore through his sleeve. “It’s not that bad.”

Defensive. Pain was not new to him, but he hated it as much as being pathetic in front of people. He was strong; he trained hard to be.

And that fucking sniper will be dead by the time he gets his sight on them.

“It’s a bloody .50 caliber. Yer lucky they missed yer head.” Johnny’s voice was laced with concern that Simon couldn’t dare to acknowledge. He needs to stop the bleeding, but the bullet needs to stay for a while. He feels it’s lodged between an artery. Or worse, it ruptured an artery.

“I said I’m—”

“No shit ya are. Gonna fuck that bastard up when I see ‘em.” Johnny scoffed, and before Simon could protest, he took the scarf around his neck and wrapped it around the wounded shoulder, not too tightly but just to stop the bleeding. Blood instantly coated the cloth like a stain, and Johnny hoped it would be enough to stabilize his Lieutenant.

After securing his wound, he checked Simon’s pulse and sighed in relief before slumping beside him, his hand clutched tightly around his own rifle. For a while, Simon thought Johnny would lecture him about caring for himself, that he should accept help gladly as anyone should. And if the Scotsman ever said a word in between the lines of it, he wouldn’t hesitate to bark back and shut him up.

He doesn’t want a medical lesson coming from him. He doesn’t want his sympathy. Just one word and Simon could regret shutting any more lines of concern from that mouth.

… Yet, he didn’t. Johnny only turned his head to meet eyes with his. And there was that smile again. That poorly shaven 5-o’clock shadow smile. It wasn’t any of his usual shit-eating grin.

It was a smile so genuine that Simon couldn’t help but stare at him and be baffled by the fact that his breath was taken away by just that. Time stopped around him just to remember this like a frozen memory.

… Fucking hell.

And the only thing that brought him back to reality was Johnny’s Scottish accent. “Yer gonna be okay, so ye definitely owe me a drink this time, Simon.”

With that, Johnny stood up and held a gloved hand out for him, setting a goal to lead the way out of the building with a second objective of finding that sniper from outside.

“… Brat,” Simon grumbled but took his hand anyway just to stand up and pulled back as soon as he was on his feet again. The wound on his shoulder was still agonizing, but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle.

“Aw, come on!” There’s that ratty grin again.

“Will you just…!” He wanted to scream at him. To tell him to leave him alone. To tell him to fuck off. But he just groaned from the pain in his shoulder and didn’t say anything.

They continued their attempt to escape, being sneaky this time and wary of the threat from outside. They couldn’t get a good aim on the sniper, but they could tell that the laser sight was on their tails. They used the obstacles and obstructions everywhere; Simon thought they were lucky to have plenty of covers.

As soon as they get out, he vows hell to break loose on that fucking sniper.

A/N: My boi Soap will be done justice! Only happy endings for him!

You're currently in Pt. 1

Pt. 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

#ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #cod #cod fanfic #🧼💀#💀🧼

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thunderousavery · 9 months

Text

Ocean-Blue Eyes Pt. 1 (Ghost x M!Reader)

A/N: Was bored thinking about dicks and masked men, so I thought of making a little story about one of my cutie patooties. This will have an eventual smut, I swear it's evident in the writing. I'm so bad at this though, so bear with it a little.

Summary: You're the Ghost and Soap duo's favorite bartender. You're harboring a secret crush for Ghost, and well, Soap annoys you about it. Main Pairing: Ghost x M!Reader Warnings: Cursing. More cursing. Vulgarity. And Soap being an annoying mohawk rat for the reader's taste.

Midnight of April. Saturday. A gentle warm breeze of the summer wafts in the air.

I work as a bartender at a little club in town somewhere in South America. I don’t know, but I like my job. It’s what kept me in a stable life nowadays, and I haven’t run into any financial problems with it. I please customers, and they give me tips; very opportunistic work if I could say so myself.

“The usual?” I asked my long-time customer and friend as he greets me with that charming smile of his before sitting down at the bar counter. I know his drink was more of a hard Scotch mix that I never make for others, so it’s pretty much very easy to remember.

He nods, setting his cap down, and ran a hand through his mohawk hair. “Aye. Ya know me so well, lad.”

I chuckled softly while preparing his drink, grabbing a few bottles of beverages from the liquor cabinet as I spoke, “It’s because you’re the only one who drinks shit like this, man.”

“Hey! It’s a specialty from Scotland. It ain’t shit,” he retorted, shooting me a playful glare.

“It’s shit. I tried it once, and it tasted like dog piss and water from the the fucking Amazon”

“Hey, now that’s just rude!” He pouts.

It’s always like this whenever Soap comes to the bar after a long day from military work; banters and laughter with him and a couple of shots of his shitty drink. We’ve been friends since he came here two months ago, and I have to admit that he’s grown on me for some time. He tells good stories, encourages other customers to buy drinks (especially his weird concoction that he keeps forcing me to make), and he also looks after me when I feel down.

He’s one good friend, I’d give him that. But I never get any other ideas than that.

Soap’s cute, but not cute enough for me to spread my legs for. That’s a gay shit that I won’t cross the line. Personality and appearance are both a big fucking check for an annoying Scotsman like him, but I don’t like him more than as a friend.

... Well, except for his ‘other’ friend.

“So, where’s Mr. Blue Eyes?” I asked with a soft smirk as I try to hide the eagerness in my voice while wiping the countertop.

“Ghost? He’ll be here soon,” he replies before taking a swig from his drink. He raised an eyebrow and broke into a mischievous grin. “Why ya lookin’ for him? Gonna fuck him with yer eyes again?”

I felt my cheeks erupt in red at his vulgarity before looking away and groaning in annoyance. “I-I’m not...” I trailed off, can’t seem to think of a good retort to that. Damn him.

“Oh, admit it, lad. Yer stares are enough to undress him well, and he hates getting cold. He gets all grumpy when that happens.” Soap chuckled.

“I-I wasn’t staring!” I tried defending myself, but I know it was no use.

“And ya know what they say? Denial is a river in Egypt, baby.” He grinned as he made the innuendo gesture on his hands, his finger pushing in and out on a little hole he made with his other hand. “He likes angry fuck, by the way.”

This is why he’s better off as my friend. We don’t take each other seriously, and he’s a fucking bully to me when it comes to my crush on his friend, Ghost.

Yeah, I like his friend. And yeah, Ghost is the type of guy that I’d spread my legs for if he allows me to. With just a single look from his piercing blue eyes, I’d call him ‘Daddy’ and beg for him in obedience. Gosh, I don’t even remember the last time I got laid.

But I’m not admitting that out loud. I learned my mistake by telling Soap, and he won’t stop being a bitch to me about it.

“Fuck you. I’m putting rat poison in your drink next time and I’d play that Ratatouille theme when you die.” I shoot Soap a glare while threatening to throw the dirty towel on his face as he held his hands up.

“Hey, quit it, (Y/N). No one’s poisoning anyone’s drink tonight.” A familiar gruff voice with a strong British accent vibrated in the air.

...

... Holy fucking twat, it’s Ghost! And he’s walking up here wearing something that I've never seen him wear before!

His typical skull-faced balaclava was on, but he was wearing a dark green sleeveless shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. With the way he moved and dressed like a fucking macho man, I could see every muscle on his tattooed arms flex. He has some light scarlet burn scars on the skin of his right shoulder, but it didn’t lower the fondness I felt for him at all.

He looks so scrumptious right now, and the way his ocean-blue eyes looked at me sternly makes me want to take a dive and drown in them.

“... You’re doing it again.” Soap decided to pop my thought bubbles and laughed.

“What’s he doing again?” Ghost asked him, clearly in confusion as he sits down and looked at me once more with curiosity.

“I-I’m not doing anything, Soap. Damn it...” I cursed under my breath as I busied myself again to wipe the countertop that I and Soap knows was already clean. I couldn’t look at Ghost; I’d fucking die and let the ground swallow me whole.

Soap continued to laugh it off before sipping on his drink one last time before he handed his mug to me, gesturing for one more. I could only glare at him silently before sighing and taking his mug to prepare his shitty drink again.

This night’s going to be a disaster...

Ghost eyed me for a bit before he pulled out his wallet and put some cash on the counter. “Scotch on ice, mate.”

“That same plain shit again? I swear, ya have sum boring taste buds, LT.” Soap chuckles as he took a sip.

“Shut it, Johnny. I’m just making it easy for the lad, unlike you who always wants some fucking weird shits in your drink.” Ghost snorted, and gosh how I’m proud to hear him put his friend in his place. He’s so aggressively British, I’d let him talk me down and destroy me—

“Eh, but why’d ya put for more than one glass? Tipping him the extra?”

... Huh?

I looked at the counter, and I had to blink a few times before I could register the fact in my head that there are a couple of dollars sitting right there. Even at this distance, I can already count that it can afford more than one shot of Scotch on ice. Not only another one but probably a couple more.

“I-I...” I gulped softly as I looked into Ghost’s piercing blue eyes that could stare right at my soul. “You... You’re tipping too much—”

“It ain’t. Have a drink of your own and join us.” If he ain’t smirking behind that intimidating mask of his, I’m having doubts now because of how his chuckle gruffly vibrated from his chest. “Or, it can be a tip if you wanna be boring, mate. You don’t seem to look too busy, though.”

It’s more than enough for one drink!

... However, there’s a bar policy; never drink with the customers. No matter how convincing they are or they offered to pay, never ever drink with them. Never entertain them too much because work always comes first. Failing to uphold this, you’ll find your last cut of salary and letter of expulsion in the boss’s office the next morning.

...

... I’m just kidding. There’s no bullshit like that here. This is the best workplace that I’ve ever been in.

“Yeah, and there ain’t even a single customer here other than us, lad.” Soap agreed, nodding with a soft hum.

“That’s because it’s only an hour before closing time.” I shook my head and chuckled. “But sure, I can join you guys.” I grabbed a glass for myself along with a couple of beverages and some lime. I made my favorite cocktail mix; Moscow Mule.

Who would’ve thought I’d get to have an excuse to drink with my British military soldier crush? Aren’t I so lucky?

“That’s the spirit.” Ghost lifts his mask a little, just enough to reveal his stubbled square chin and plump lips as he takes a sip from his Scotch. And, oh my god, I swear there was a damn smirk on his lips just before they touched the fucking edge of the glass.

Does he even eat ass with that mouth of his? I wonder.

“If stares could kill, someone could become a bloody murderer now.”

The impeccability of this fucking mohawk rat to just outright say such words is so darn bad, I just want to shove a whole empty bottle of Scotch up to his fucking ass. I glared at him silently while I finished making my drink, thinking carefully if I should throw a lime at his face and hope it would catch on his fucking eye.

“... So,” I spoke, trying to make a small conversation rather than having another banter with Soap. “When are you guys going on your next mission?”

“Classified detail.” Soap snickered when I gave him another deathly glare. But then he eventually answered, “In two days, I guess.”

“I see...” So, I only got two days left to get laid by some British hunk? “And you’ll come back in?”

“Depends on it, lad.” Ghost answered this time, and he didn’t bother to slide his mask back on to cover the lower half of his face. Thank goodness for that. “If we’re lucky and Soap doesn’t fuck up a single time, then we’re back in two days after as well.”

“Hey, I don’t fuck up on missions!” Soap pouts like a fucking rat, I swear it’s damn annoying.

But I like these two’s dynamics. A lieutenant and a sergeant. They look so close like two brothers with different blood and origin, and I remember Soap telling me some stories about how he hates Ghost but likes him at the same time. They respect each other at work, but Soap says he will always find time to annoy his lieutenant at some point. Typical brothers, I guess.

“—And they said Gaz would be... (Y/N)?” Ghost’s voice snapped me back to reality when his words trailed off and mentioned my name. He looked at me with a soft frown on his lips along with a concerned look in his eyes. “You okay, mate? You’re staring off.”

“O-Oh... Uh, y-yeah... I’m fine.” I smiled sheepishly before taking a sip from my drink. I didn’t bother to look at Soap because I know he had a damn smirk on his face right now.

“... If you say so.” He sighed before setting his glass down and put his shoulders on the counter, leaning forward a bit. “Enough about our work. I wanna know something more about you.”

If I still had my drink in my throat, I would’ve spat it out, probably aiming at Soap’s face. “W-What? U-Uh... What do you want to know about me?” I gave Soap a quick glare to make sure he doesn’t speak any dirty side comments.

“Hmm...” He rubbed his chin for a moment before he spoke. “... Are you hitting on Johnny here?”

...

“... Wait, what?” My eyes widened as the size of saucer plates. Did I... hear that correctly? I’m pretty sure he asked if I was hitting on—

“Hold up, why’d ya even think the lad’s hitting on me?” Soap laughed obnoxiously, almost tipping over from his seat as he found it also surprising that Ghost would jump to that conclusion. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the case, LT.”

“Then, why does he keep looking at you like you’re some piece of meat?” Ghost grinned.

I swear this is not the right time to show your pearly white teeth, Ghost! Oh my god, what has the world fallen into? I know Soap and I know that I’m already being obvious with my little gestures and looks to Ghost for quite a while now, but why the hell would he think I’m hitting on Soap all this time?!

Hasn’t he seen my heart eyes whenever I look at him? Hasn’t he seen the way I’d smile charmingly for him just to notice me? Like, what the actual fuck?! He was thinking I’m hitting on this fucking mohawk rat?!

I blushed softly nonetheless mostly because I’m finally running out of patience and sanity. “I-I... No, I’d never—”

“He’s hitting on you, LT.”

That was the last straw.

“Alright, where’s the fucking knife?!”

A/N: Will post part 2 as soon I finish it. Love lots :))

#ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty #soap being an annoying mohawk rat #no beta we die like men #unbeta'd because I'm lazy #cod fanfic #ghost x y/n #ghost

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