#Ghost woos Soap by knifing him

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 13 / Ghost x Soap

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Disclaimer: I've played a lot of Ghost Recon Wildlands this past weekend (damn, I almost forgot how much I love that game) and it shows :D

Previous chapter | AO3

Ghost plays much less in the following days. Instead, he spends the majority of his time in the mission editor. The new mission is going to be much bigger and more complex. Ghost raked his memory until he came up with a perfect scenario for a fire team of five. It’s an amalgam of several missions he’s done. Hostage rescue from a heavily fortified base with little to no intel. Difficult terrain, lots of guards, unknown layout of the compound.

He builds the base meticulously on a rocky hill overseeing a valley, with watchtowers and unclimbable walls with coils of razor wire on top. Oh, and there are cameras along the perimeter wall, too—absolutely the worst tactical situation.

Ghost places the A. I. controlled enemies throughout the base. Some walk in pairs, some go solo, and others oversee the situation from a vantage point. Most of them have visibility on another patrol at any given time, and their paths cross here and there. They have good weapons on them, but the base also has some pretty nasty surprises.

As a cherry on top, the hostages are civilians, so he adjusts their stamina to be lower than the default setting for the soldiers. He also can’t forget about the exfil, placing checkpoints and random patrols along the way. The mission won’t be over until they manage not only to free the hostages but also to cover some distance so the extraction helo will be able to land safely.

Frankly, if Ghost had been given this mission back in the day, he would have told his CO that it could not be done. The only way would be to wait for the enemy to transfer the hostages and intercept them. In this instance, however, they’re going to tackle it head-on. He’s done his fair share of miracles and impossible missions, but this right here? That is absurd, which is why it’s going to be so much fun.

Especially since there’s only one way for him to play it with all the knowledge he has: he’s going to be on the other team. The defending one. And with a little luck, he’s going to have a teammate, too, apart from the AI.

It takes him a week to fine-tune it to perfection. Or, well, as close as he can get with AI guards. There are a lot of them, but they wouldn’t pose all that much of a threat to a well-trained and professional unit. He’s so immersed in the preparation that he even turns down John’s numerous offers to play together. As much as he’s sorry and misses his voice and stupid jokes a little, this is going to be so much better.

Right now, he only needs to confirm one last thing—the piece de la resistance. Ghost takes his phone and dials the number. Honestly, Soap is doing wonders for his social life. Simon knows that Kyle will call him out on it soon, but it doesn’t matter. If it goes smoothly, the payback will be very much worth any and all ridicule from his former Sergeant.

The call is actually not very long at all. Because Kyle always has been and always will be up for some good old fun. Especially on the account of men under his command. He accepts Ghost’s offer for a 2v4 match under one condition: the boys can’t know it’s him. Simon happily agrees.

Finally, the day comes. Simon joins the voice chat and receives a warm welcome.

“Almost thought you’d fallen from the face of the Earth,” Soap jokes, yet his voice is slightly serious. Maybe Simon wasn’t the only one who missed the other’s voice and jokes.

“No, but I’ve been working on another mission,” Simon says as casually as he’s able.

There’s an excited “ooooh,” from Rudy, who, apparently, managed to get a new headset in the meantime.

“Don’t leave us hanging, mate,” Roach joins in, albeit keeping his cool, at least for now.

“This one is a bit different. Here’s the briefing,” Ghost uploads several files. It’s a briefing stack, alright. Map of the area, outline of the mission, and all the details the non-existent command has on the mission. Which is not much, really. Also, photos of the hostages and some bullshit story about them having information on a local drug cartel. He waits until the first person gets to the part of the brief where it says that there will be four operators.

“Wait… four?” Soap asks, audibly confused. “But there’s five of us?”

“I’m relieved you can count to five, Johnny,” Simon smirks. “That’s correct. I won’t be joining you. It would hardly be fair since I created the mission, no?”

“Uhm… I guess? But… why design a mission if you’re not going to play it?”

“I didn’t say I’m not going to play it. I said I won’t be joining you. See you in the lobby,” Simon says cheerily before he disconnects from their voice chat. He is going to have his own, after all.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Gaz greets him, his grin audible in his voice. “Ready to kick some ass, Ghost?”

Simon closes his eyes for a moment and feels the corners of his mouth lift in a smile. God, so many memories. And it feels pleasant and warm, this years-old familiarity. They saved each other’s lives many times, shared so many pints, so much banter, and some hurt and misery, too.

“Let’s show them how it’s done,” Simon agrees as he joins the lobby along with Gaz, who has a completely inconspicuous nickname of GhillieMan854. As soon as he sees all six of the players in the lobby, he starts the game.

Ghost didn’t spend the week just tweaking the mission; he was also easing Gaz into the game. Luckily, the Lieutenant was always good at picking up technology-related skills, so it was a fairly quick process. They also discussed the strategy and their roles. Both of them can efficiently work alone, and that is what they’re going to do. Lure the unit in, let them think they have everything under control.

Just a few minutes after the start of the mission, it starts to rain. Just as planned. It’s not just any rain, too. A downpour bad enough to lower visibility to shit. Ghost slips out of the base and disappears into the jungle just behind the walls. Kyle might have a “Ghillie” in his nickname, but it’s Ghost who’s wearing a ghillie suit. As he takes the position on a small hill hidden in the forest but with good visibility of the base despite the weather, he becomes pretty much invisible. Thermal vision would be the only way someone could spot him; too bad it’s raining hard enough to render thermal useless.

Now he waits. Just like Gaz waits, hidden somewhere inside the base, silent and deadly. They have the comms, but it would be stupid to talk shit now. They need to listen closely.

For the next thirty minutes, nothing happens. Ghost is sure the unit is scoping the area and studying the guards' routes, who are not too keen to stay in the rain. The rain, that is gradually losing intensity until it morphs into a mere drizzle. Ghost remembers how miserable he’d been years ago, alone in the Bolivian jungle. Drenched to the bone, cold and tired. That’s the undeniable magic of video games; you can do whatever you want while sitting in the comfort of your home. That, and you probably won’t die playing them.

Ghost looks through the scope, carefully checking all probable points of breach he can see from his position. Then he hears a faint rustle to his left. He freezes. Another rustle. A little bit closer. If they have a thermal on them, he’s fucked. If not… Simon smiles but stays completely still.

Soon enough, one man enters his field of view. It’s hard to say who it is, but Ghost is more concerned about the number rather than identity. Did they actually split up instead of creating two teams of two people, like the brief suggested? That would be either very stupid or very clever. They would play Ghost’s expectations, but at the same time, they would be much more vulnerable. It could also be a trap. The bloke in front of Ghost could be bait, with a partner waiting nearby. If Ghost makes a move, he could either take the man down or be killed before he gets to him.

Ghost opts for patience. But he can’t resist taking a screenshot. He loves the feeling of having an advantage. The moment right before he seizes the opportunity, knowing with absolute certainty he’s going to prevail. This is what he feels now. Yet he’s careful. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody turned the tables on him. The man moves forward, looking cautiously around him. He can’t hope to see Ghost. Not a chance.

However, Ghost is now reasonably sure he’s alone. Good. Painfully slowly, he lowers his head to the scope. Slower still, he turns the silenced, foliage-covered rifle a little bit to the left. Strictly speaking, he could do that shot without the scope; the bloke is close enough. Better not risk anything, though.

Ghost caresses the trigger, taking a breath, holding it.

The sound of a silenced shot is lost in the sounds of the jungle: one down, three to go. And Ghost needs to change position.

When Ghost chimes in, Gaz is sitting in the control room, looking at the monitors with camera feeds. “Got one. Seems they split up.”

“Bold,” Gaz grins, fully aware that Ghost and he are doing exactly the same thing. Three highly trained operatives? Could be anywhere. Gaz takes his SMG and goes on a patrol. It would actually be hilarious if they mistook him for an AI. Gaz wishes they would. He would’ve given them so much hell.

The guards are on the same team as he and Ghost, so they ignore him, and Gaz does his best to imitate the lifeless guards. The rain has let up, but the dusk has fallen. Strong lights come to aid, illuminating the base with white light.

Gaz is vigilant but not overly so. That could tip them off. He makes a round and starts back to the main building where the hostages are held. He sees one of the guards on the right stop. The AI-controlled body hesitates before the programming commands him to investigate whatever seems suspicious. Gaz also remembers his plan and stops, pausing and following the guard. Could be nothing.

Unless… there! A movement behind a tent. Time to play. Gaz drops lower and slowly makes his way around, SMG poised to shoot anything that sticks its head out.

He seems to be in luck. As he rounds the corner of the tent, sure enough, there’s a soldier there. With his back turned to Gaz. What a treat. Now, Kyle could make it fast and painless, but that would also mean loud since he doesn’t have a silencer on his weapon – that would set him apart from the bots. So, instead, he whips out a knife and presses the key for the slowest, quietest movement possible. He’s barely breathing, staring at the display, clutching the mouse way too tight as he crosses those last feet.

The bloke turns in the last second. Kyle can see the jolt of surprise in the movement, but this is a very skilled operator he’s dealing with. The rifle comes up, Gaz immediately dives forward. The knife finds the target, slashing the leg. A burst of gunfire misses Gaz narrowly. He won’t be so lucky next time. Switching back to the SMG, he doesn’t even have time to aim; he just pulls the trigger, sprays and prays.

The soldier staggers and tries to disengage. Gaz is not going to allow that. Rolling on his back, he aims upside down, and another salvo hits. The man is done for. A second later, a bunch of bot-guards show up. “Thanks for the help,” Kyle mutters, then informs Ghost. “Got one, too.”

“Good, they’ve managed to take out the lights by the back entrance, probably some of the bots, too. Might be close to the hostages now.”

“You going to greet them on their way out?”

“Already in position. I think that was their strategy: distract us and grab the prize.”

“Could be. Risky as hell, they lost two teammates, but if they were fast enough, might just work.”

“We will see,” Ghost muses, and he sounds like he’s really having fun. It’s nice to hear.

As a matter of fact, Soap and Alejandro are close to the hostages. So much so that they’re already leading them to the small hole in the perimeter wall. Ghost has placed several because this is supposed to be a bit of a run-down place in the middle of nowhere, not a high-tech prison.

Alejandro is taking the point as Soap ushers the package to walk faster and be quiet. They haven’t heard from Rudy or Roach, meaning they probably didn’t make it. It sucks, but it’s just a game, and they agreed that they will win this, no matter the cost. Who dares wins.

Soap is promptly reminded they’re far from safe as a bullet ricochets from the wall nearby. Sniper. Fuck! “Sniper!” he hisses into the comms, laying on the ground and taking the hostages with him.

“Where?”

“East, bearing one-ten-ish,” Soap makes an approximation.

“Okay, I’ll cover you; get to the jungle; we will lose them there. On my mark,” Alejandro hides behind a rock. “Now!” he gets up and fires somewhat blind in the direction Soap told him.

The Sergeant gets up, orders the hostages to do the same, and runs to the tree line. It’s not far, thank god for that.

“Fuck!” Ghost curses as he misses the soldier’s head. Stupid mistake. He prepares to change position the moment the second soldier opens fire in his direction. Ghost ducks, but a lucky bullet still finds him. It’s not fatal, but it’ll definitely hinder his movement. “Bloody hell… Gaz, get to the eastern wall. I’m hit, but we can still get them.”

“Rog,” Gaz confirms, easily slipping back to Ghost being in command. It’s how they served for many years, after all. Yet he knows who he can get away with. “Hold on for me, old man.”

Gaz arrives some two minutes later and patches Ghost up. Good thing he equipped the first-aid kit. “So, how do you want to play this?”

“Good old manhunt,” Simon smiles, shouldering the rifle.

“I’m up for that,” Gaz agrees. “Think they’ve changed the LZ?”

“No, the jungle is too dense elsewhere. Let’s go.”

Soap and Alejandro trudge through the jungle. It would be much less of an issue if the bloody civilians could keep up. Damn Ghost and his attention to detail. The escape was exciting, Soap would even go as far as to say it really rattled him a little.

But now they just make their way through an endless sea of green. Well, it’s mostly black now since night has fallen. Luckily, they brought night vision. The jungle in the eerie greenish-white and black tones is almost ethereal. But they can’t stop. It’s still quite a long way to the extraction point and Soap seriously doubts that Ghost and his friend are going to let them win just like that.

Ghost’s friend. Hm. Soap finds himself thinking about the unknown variable. Well, he assumes it’s Ghost’s friend, but it could be anybody, really—even some random bloke. No, no way, Ghost wouldn’t invite a random to a custom-made game with his friends. Who the hell is it? Someone from Ghost’s past? A fellow retired soldier? If he has someone like that, why did he never mention them?

“Soap? Focus, hermano, you’re thinking too loud,” Alejandro chides him, and deservedly so.

“Aye, sorry,” Soap answers sheepishly.

Ghost and Gaz track their prey like professional hunters. They, too, have night vision on them. And they know the terrain better. They are quiet, brushing through the undergrowth, guns in their hands. Their great advantage is that they can move quickly and silently. The civilians the other group is dragging along are bound to make some noise.

And they do. Footsteps are easily discernable in the background noise of the jungle. Ghost signals to Gaz to stop. They listen, gauging distance and precise location. Ghost makes a decision, gesturing to Gaz to go around. They will flank the group.

Alejandro stops and looks around.

“What is it?” Soap asks, looking around as well. He can’t see anything. Anything but trees and undergrowth.

“Not sure,” Alejandro says. Then there’s a burst of bullets from SMG, tearing through the night like a disembodied terror. “Mierda!” Alejandro cries out as he’s hit.

Soap turns immediately, finger on the trigger. At the same moment, someone tackles him on the ground. The last thing he sees is a swirling mass of foliage very loosely resembly a man and then a glint of a knife.

Alejandro tries to stand but is immediately mowed down by the SMG.

That’s a game over for the rescuers.

Have a little bonus of totally-not-Soap from Wildlands :)

[ghouljams]

In the myths Hephaestus and Aphrodite are married so the other gods don't fight of her!!

Imagine Ghost and Soap dancing around one another because Soap thinks Ghost doesn't want a god like him while Ghost is head over heels but has a terrible love life despite being the god of love (lmao)

Soap knows that Ghost didn't marry him voluntarily so he "gives him space"

Soap runs off to his workshop and Ghost thinks "Oh no he hates me" and avoids him in return which only complicates things more

(Ehehe rubbing my mythology nerd hands together)

I know!!

Hephaestus!Soap who's a little deaf from the bang of hammers in his workshop, who's loud and dirty and generally not allowed in the hallowed halls.

Aphrodite!Ghost who's beautiful, but takes one look at the gods' relationships and wants nothing to do with it. Rebuking every attempt to woo him until Price "marries" him to Soap just to keep the peace.

Ghost and Soap having no objections but only because they assume the other will put up some sort of fuss about the marriage. Soap spending hours in his workshop making trinkets and trophies for Ghost. Ghost taking the mask Soap made and making a joke about "You know most people like lookin' at my mug." And Soap can't admit that he's getting no work done with how much he stares at Ghost.

Soap dropping off a gift and running away.

Ghost feeling his heart clench and shutting that shit down immediately. Keeps having to zap the love away but every time Soap scuttles over with some new knife or contraption it bubbles back.

Both of them avoiding each other so much that rumors spread of Ghost having an affair. Somehow Soap doesn't believe it.

[cherryatombomb]

Idiot's Guide to Dating by Simon Riley

John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

also on ao3 ! this is part three, part one is here, part two is here. no warnings apply, this fic is still pure fluff for now - apart from some mentions of how to kill someone, it's vague, but still there

So, the first step of his plan hadn’t gone well. Truly, Ghost should have expected this – his plans never went well, something always had to go wrong, and perhaps he wasn’t as good at... ‘wooing’ as he thought he could be. That was fine. He could handle that. He just had to simply get better. Onto the next step.

Quality time.

Now, when he thought about it, he quickly realized that he spent a startling amount of time with his Sergeant, really. Now that Johnny had bypassed his hostile walls, they really did spend a good chunk of time together. Whether it be just sitting in silence whilst Ghost cleans his weapons, or Ghost listening as Soap rambles about some new explosive device Price let him get his hands on, or - okay, he could go on a lot. The point was, he spent a lot of time with Soap, so much time he was beginning to realize it wasn’t at all surprising that Price had clocked onto them all.

So, he needed to make sure the quality time was different, now. It had taken him some time to narrow down exactly what he wanted to do with him, because there was, admittedly, a lot they hadn’t done together. But every time he thought of different things, stereotypical date ideas, he feels panic seize him. It brings this uncomfortable feeling, and it doesn’t feel right.

With restaurants out of the mix, it somehow doesn’t make things easier.

Then, it hit him. Ghost’s a practical man, that wasn’t uncommon knowledge. His brain worked in a serious manner; he wasn’t one for grand declarations of love, but subtle ones, with the intent of keeping safe. His gift to Johnny, the first step of his plan, ’Guess I better get training’. He could teach him how to use the knife safely and show him how to be safe using his plethora of knowledge regarding how to use knives.

A smug smile quirked his lips because it made sense, and it would honestly also make him feel better about Soap being on the field. Whilst Ghost knew he was a strong man, and he trusted his skills, trusted him out there, he always wanted the other man to improve. He pushed himself to a stand and moved over to his desk, fishing through his drawer until he found that bit of paper with his guide written on it. Grabbing a pen, he added to the second step, then grinned to himself when he finished up and put it back in the drawer.

He’d failed it the first time, he’d just have to come back stronger, right?

The next day, he set the plan into motion. Admittedly, the first half of that day was spent mentally preparing himself to go talk to Soap, to begin with. They’d spoken multiple times throughout that morning, but, somehow, it made things worse for him, in all honestly. The anticipation of it all made it worse, so much worse.

Finally, he steeled his resolve, because he’s Simon “Ghost” Riley, a man with a reputation that some might not be proud of, but he is. It took a while to wander the base until he eventually found Soap, but he ended up stumbling upon him in the kitchen, talking with Gaz. The sight made him pause, for just a moment.

Gaz was cooking something, and engaged in conversation with Soap, who was sitting at the counter. The latter was grinning as he spoke, one hand waving wildly as if to emphasize his point, whilst his other held something. Upon closer inspection, it was the knife that he’d given him only the other day. His hand gripped at the handle, gently, his thumb slipping over the engraved ‘S.R’, so tender it made his heart ache.

For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch, to appreciate how this moment looked, so domestic. For just a moment, it felt like a window to a scene he should never be privy to, not somebody like Ghost.

Still, he mustered up his strength and shook himself from his reverie, moving closer, breaking the moment up. Johnny must have heard his footsteps approaching, as he glanced over, and his expression turned into something Ghost couldn’t quite understand. That grin turned a little softer, something flashing in those familiar eyes, and he can’t quite grasp what it meant. Not that he was allowed much time to ponder, as Soap immediately began to speak.

“Lt! What’re you doing here?”

The taller man’s eyes flitted over to Gaz, who was watching over both, before turning around when he met Ghost’s eyes, pretending he couldn’t hear a thing they were saying.

“Are you busy?” Ghost questioned.

Soap’s eyes widened, freezing where he was once fidgeting with the knife, and he paused, looking over Ghost with something like confusion in his eyes.

“Not... really. I was gonna ask Price to help me with the knife, but...”

“I’ll do it.”

“Huh?”

“Teach you how to use it. I’ll help.”

Disappointment flashed across Soap’s features, and Ghost blinked owlishly, not certain what the other was expecting. Perhaps he really wanted Price to teach him? The thought stings, makes his gut churn, and he tries to ignore it.

“Oh! Why not? Nobody better to ask to teach me how to stab people,” he snickered, but it sounded slightly... off.

Ghost doesn’t understand it.

Rather than trying to figure it out at that moment, he just nodded to him, gesturing for him to follow him. As usual, he turns around, and he can hear Soap stand and file in beside him.

Neither of them spotted the way that Gaz scoffed in exasperation, hands flinging upwards to match the sound, shaking his head.

The walk to the training area doesn’t take long, and, typical for the both of them, Ghost remained quiet whilst Johnny rambled about some different things. Today, he picked knives, talking about the fact that he did have training with them, but he doubted that he was as good as Ghost with them. He’s pretty certain most people think that he doesn’t pay much attention to Soap, whenever he gets like this, but he does, always. What could he say? Soap had a nice voice, and he doesn’t mind not being the one to carry a conversation.

Or be in the conversation at all, actually. Truly, Soap can carry it all by himself, and he does, sometimes.

They finally arrive there, to a small outdoor area, with targets lined up close by. Thankfully, they ended up being the only ones there – perhaps because it’s an odd time for knife-throwing, but that’s okay with him.

“Stand over there,” Ghost gestured, and Johnny obliged without much of a second thought. “Show me how you think you should throw it, let’s see how you do,” he said, falling into familiar territory, and feeling himself relax for it. He knew how to teach, and has done so multiple times over the years – this isn’t uncharted territory, and he was immensely grateful for it.

Soap shifted into position, having just about the right stance, and his eyes narrowed, taking in a few breaths before throwing it. It was a decent throw, landing on one of the outer rings, but would stop an enemy, nonetheless.

Unlucky for Johnny, though, Ghost won’t have decent. No, he wanted him to be better, because he wanted to be reassured that he’s taught everything he can, so he’s safe as possible in the field. There’s never a guarantee for absolute safety out there, but he can do his best to maximize his safety.

Once Soap collected the knife, he had him stand in position once more but frowned at his stance. “You’re right-handed? Then right foot in front of your left, just like...” A huff escaped him when the other adjusted his position, but it still wasn’t quite right.

“Let me show you,” he muttered, moving closer, stepping in behind Johnny. A gloved hand reached down, shifting his hips so he was better in position, and tapping his leg to get him where he wanted. Once he was, with his left foot angled to the side, and his right foot facing the target, he mumbled a ‘good’, and then checked the rest of him, to see how his stance was now.

“You need to relax, Johnny,” His voice was low, quiet, because of the proximity, trying not to think of the implications of the moment. Soap was so close he could feel the warmth radiating from his back, his gloved hands feeling like static was running through them every time he reached out to touch and adjust his position. He was so caught up in his own head about it that he didn’t register the way that Johnny’s cheeks flushed, just slightly, his breathing getting swifter, his shoulders tensing. Not until, at least, he checked out his stance and tutted at how tense he was.

“Relax,” He breathed out, voice low, almost a whisper, speaking in his ear. A shudder goes down Soap’s spine, and Ghost desperately wanted to believe that it was for the same reason why he felt like there were fireworks in his stomach. However, he isn’t a man to hope for things like that, and instead, just tried to revel in the feeling of having Johnny in his hands, just for a moment.

Simon Riley might be Ghost, but at the end of the day, he was also still a man, a man who wanted nothing more than to have Soap in his arms.

“Better. Hold it like you would a hammer, fingers on the bottom, thumb on top,” finally, Ghost stepped back from Soap. He lingered close, keeping an eye on his stance, and then let his eyes look down to his hands. Indulging himself, briefly, in just appreciating how he looked.

Soap was wearing a black shirt, one that clung nicely to his muscles, emphasizing them, almost, and he looked damn nice. The Sergeant might be smaller than him, but he’s still strong, he’s seen him in action, and he knows he’s a force to be reckoned with. Truly, he yearned to know what those muscled arms would feel like wrapped around him, whether he would squeeze him if they hugged. He wanted Soap to lay on top of him, press all his weight onto him, and only then would Ghost feel like he could truly breathe again.

None of that was voiced aloud, of course, and he instead gave another nod of approval once Soap obliged with his command. “Hold it with the blade facing you, handle towards the sky.. Pull back, and throw. Don’t put too much strength into it,”

A proud smile curled his lips when he watched Johnny do just as he said, then release the knife once more. This time, the throw was faster and hit closer to the middle of the target. Soap turned to him, grinning widely, his cheeks flushed, still, but Ghost put it down to excitement.

“Better, eh, Lt?” He asked, and Ghost can’t help the way his eyes softened at him instinctively, finding the sight simply so endearing.

“Better,” he confirmed, nodding, moving so he can retrieve the knife for him. “If you have to throw one, aim for one of the main arteries. Most of the time, heads and bodies will be covered by armour, which will make it more difficult. Going for the thighs, the femoral artery will have them bleeding out in minutes. Adrenaline might make them keep going, but a blow like that will give you enough time to get out of there, or finish the job with a gun,”

“Got it,” The way that Soap smiled at him, in response to that word vomit, was so endearing it hurt. How could a man look like that after being told how to effectively kill a man with a knife? Who gave Soap the right?

“Keep practicing. You’ll get better.” Ghost handed the knife back to him, and then stepped back, stepped away, “I have some paperwork to do,” that was a lie, “Let me know if you need more help,”

Soap nodded, grabbing the knife with one hand, then reaching out to bump his bicep with his fist with the other hand, an action so casual and relaxed it surprised him at how warm it made him feel. “I’ll practice ‘til I’m better than you, Riley,” he promised, grit flashing in those pretty eyes, and Ghost could only nod dumbly, lips tugged into a small smile underneath the mask.

“Good,” he echoed from earlier, a little dumbly, and he did something new, in their routine. As Ghost went to step around him and leave the room, he bumped Johnny’s shoulder with his fist, before backing out. It was such a simple action, it shouldn’t feel so surprising, but it... was. He could count the number of times he’d touched Soap willingly on only two hands, but here he was, adjusting his stance behind him, and then giving him a fist bump...

It should feel wrong. Ghost was far from the sort of person who did even innocent gestures like that, but in truth, it made him feel fucking giddy. Like some teenager who just had their first kiss, his stomach exploded in butterflies, even as he walked out of the room looking just the same as he usually did.

Step two went better than step one, that was for certain. Whilst there was that nasty thought in the back of his mind that, certainly, things were going to go wrong, he let himself enjoy the moment, as a treat. Perhaps he was still just riding the high of Soap’s handsome grin, or the pressure of his back up against his chest, but he allowed himself it, nonetheless. When he returned to his room, it was with renewed vigor. Ghost wasn’t hopeless, after all.

[spencerxreiders]

Little Princess (Reid)

Title: Little Princess

Rating: Y

Word Count: 1162

Summary: Spencer and his daughter Olive get ready for halloween: fluff and cuteness ensues.

Author’s Note: woo ! Second installment of “Pride And Joy”! I’m a sucker for dad!reid :,) enjoy, Andy please leave feedback !

Squeals of laughter filled the Reid household as Spencer and his daughter exacted their Halloween rituals, having quite a blast while doing so.

“Daddy! Tell another one!” Olive giggled while she helped her father scoop out pumpkin guts before carving them, a job only Spencer participated in. “Another one?” he exclaimed in exaggerated astonishment. “Haven’t you heard enough ghost stories?”

She grinned at him while shaking her head. “No way! You tell the best ones- pleeeaaaase, one more?” His heart swelled as she did her puppy eyes, which worked on him every time. “Ok, Princess. One more.”

“Yay!” she cheered while clapping her gooey hands. The stringy mess flew everywhere, causing her to let out a scream. Spencer flinched as a seed hit his cheek before chortling at Olive’s look of disgust.

“Ew!” she whined before wiping at the slime, however the remaining product on her hands only made it worse. “I think you’re going to need a bath before trick-or-treating, babydoll,” he chuckled as he reached for a nearby box of baby-wipes: he came prepared.

“Is it 7:00 yet?” she asked while he wiped her face and hands off. “No, not yet. A couple more hours,” he said softly.  She groaned with impatience, causing Spencer to chuckle once again.

“Let’s finish these lanterns, hm?” he suggested, which made Olive nod eagerly. “Can I carve?” she asked, flashing her puppy eyes again.

Spencer hissed. “How about we let Daddy take care of that, ok?” he said slowly, taking the large knife in his hand. Olive nodded in understanding.  "Can I watch?“

Spencer nodded before carefully cutting on the lines Olive had drawn. In a matter of minutes, the emptied pumpkin had a rather happy face.  "Can we give him a candle before we put him on the porch?” Olive asked sweetly.

Spencer smiled at his daughter’s use of personification before nodding. He placed a tea light inside the lantern and carried it outside, followed swiftly by the eager child. “Ok, jellybean, let’s set him right here,” he said before placing “him” beside the door. Carefully, he lit the candle, standing back to watch the flickering glow.

“Thank you, Daddy!” Olive cheered, raising her arms up so that Spencer could pick her up. He smiled and gently lifted her up, swaying softly as she cuddled into his dark sweater.

“You’re welcome,” he sighed, feeling rather content as he pressed kisses to her head. “Let’s go get that bath, ok?” he suggested as he stepped back inside their home, shielding her from the cool breeze. “You smell like pumpkin guts,” he teased before setting her down inside.

“Can I have bubbles tonight? Please?” she asked, jumping up and down a few times. He chuckled before answering, “You sure can- I’ll go run the water and get your costume ready.”

“Yay!” Olive giggled as she skipped around the living room. Spencer watched her from the edge of the hall before heading to the bathroom.

He ran warm water, afraid as always of hurting her sensitive skin. Before leaving to gather her costume, he poured a capful of her favorite cinnamon-scented bubble bath into the tub. Bubbles rose to the surface by swirling form the rush of water from the faucet.

Spencer entered the lavender themed room belonging to Olive and headed straight to her closet. Rummaging past a few t-shirts and dresses, he came across the costume she had practically begged for the moment she saw it. He quickly but gently gathered the outfit in his arms before heading back to tend to the bath.

“Bath time!” he called, smiling at the sound of pattering footsteps. She ran in, almost tripping on the tile floor. Almost immediately, she began pulling her pink striped shirt over her head, followed swiftly by slipping her dark-wash jeans down her legs.

Spencer laughed as she clambered into the tub which splashed the rest of the room with water. “Careful!” he warned playfully before rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “How much longer til trick-or-treating?” she asked while blowing the foamy bubbles off of her palm.

Spencer rubbed soap onto a red cloth as he answered, “Almost an hour, baby.” He went to work gently washing her face, ridding it of the pumpkin residue. She giggled as he scrubbed at her tummy, causing his smile to widen.

The rest of the bath was rather uneventful: Olive giggled and played in her bubbles while Spencer tried to focus on actually getting her clean. He finished his task within ten minutes, sitting crisscross on the bath mat while she played.

“Ready to get out?” he asked after letting her splash for a few more minutes. “Yes please,” she said before being lifted out of the tub. Spencer swaddled her in a pink towel before sitting on the toilet lid, cradling her to his chest.

“Are you excited?” he asked, although he knew the answer. “Yes, yes, yes!” she laughed, squirming around in his arms. “Are you ready to get all dressed up?” he continued with a widening smile.

“Yes!” Olive squealed. “Can I get ready now? I can’t wait any more!” Spencer laughed and kissed her forehead before setting her down. “Let’s get this dress on, shall we?”

He helped her step into the dress designed as Disney’s Belle, her favorite princess. The yellow fabric made her just giddy as she spun around, singing her favorite song from the film.

“Daddy! How do I look?” she asked before running to hug his knees. “You look like the most beautiful little princess I’ve ever seen!” he chuckled. “Nah, Belle’s prettier,” Olive said with a shake of a head.

Spencer’s smile faltered slightly before he caught himself. “No, ma’m. You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said as he helped her on top of the toilet lid, turning her to face the tank.

“Really?” she giggled as he grabbed her pink hairbrush. Carefully, he pulled the bristles through her natural curls. “Yes, really,” he laughed. “But it’s more than that- you’re even prettier on the inside.  That’s what matters, right?” he continued while twirling the caramel strands.

“Right,” she confirmed as Spencer formed the half-bun worn in the cartoon. “Almost done,” he mumbled before tying the style with a yellow hair tie. “And you’re ready!” he exclaimed.

Olive hopped off of the seat, running to the full length mirror in her room. “Daddy! Thank you so much!” she giggled, running back to hug him.

He smiled and lifted her up as she ran into his arms. “Anything for my little princess,” he said with a smile as he turned of the bathroom lights, supporting her with one arm. He continued to walk through the house, collecting his keys, wallet, and her plastic pumpkin bucket.

“You ready?” he asked as he finally finished. “Yes please!” she giggled before pecking a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go, princess,”  he chuckled, feeling a little less than spooky with the cherished  toddler on his shoulder.