#Soap X Ghost

[thaleraq]

Я реально уважаю и восхищаюсь людьми, которые умеют рисовать военную экепировку и оружие. Вы когда нибудь пробывали нарисовать экепировку или оружие? Я да. Это сложно. Ребята, вы лучшие, просто знайте это!

don't get any big ideas they're not gonna happen

[tanked-up]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Been long since I’ve don’t these

[heladodavellana]

Peck 😗

[3neety]

💭💀🧼

[rainyrambles-overcod]

Request? Soap wearing an oversized hoodie and making sleeve paws.

used this as an opportunity to test a new pen—the last one made every doodle come out looking blurry af 😭

Hope you like!

[altyem]

Let's imagine Soap has curly hair...

Simon loves it

[goatgoesmbe]

I like how Ghost put on the maskto slip into work persona- but whenever he interacted with Soap, Simon RIley would slip through the crack

Like yeah- Ghost is an emotionally detached ruthless killer, but Simon Riley is just a silly lil guy who likes jokes and gives his boyfie nickname

[ramerooni]

Sorry, but I didn't want to finish this. I've just been very depressed and struggling to find the motivation for this. Decided I'd post what I did have and work on the next one.

Hope you enjoy the mannequins :)

[bone-trash]

What do we think about Simon and Johnny in retirement and Simon is wheelchair bound and Johnny had hearing aids????

Oooooh shit Aggie you’re just hittin me with the heat every day! One of these days I’ll write a fic about this Retirement!AU of mine but I fear it would be too sweet and have no conflict at all!

——

Simon is wheelchair bound as far as his physical therapists/drs/insurance company is concerned but that wiley motherfucker will still make his way around the house on his crutches for as long as he can if you don’t WATCH HIM. The steroid shots he gets every couple of months that help with his spinal injury making him feel REALLY good and if Johnny doesn’t make him take it easy he’ll be worse off than before. On the bad days Johnny’s has to haul him up bride style to get him back to bed, which is now on the first floor for ease of movement. Simon hates feeling babied but when John lays him out on his stomach and rubs hand down his spine with that perfect pressure the complaints die in his throat.

Johnny’s hearing loss is what got him discharged in the first place. The tinnitus he’d experienced for a couple days after every big mission for years eventually graduating to total loss in his right ear. He’d gotten really good at reading lips, and in Simon’s case the creases around his eyes, but could only fake his way past so many medical checks. It took Johnny a while to consistently wear the damn thing, feeling like an old man for needing a hearing aid at barely 30 years old. Even though Simon encourages him to wear it for his own good, he learns to stand by Johnny’s left side so he can always hear him a bit, and sleeps on the left side of their bed.

[hauntedtimetravelpatrol]

As promised, ghoap (but they're cowboys)

[nthewriter]

(This gif cracks me up)

Being Simon's long lost biological child

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 (you are here)

"You're heartless." Johnny spat, venom in his voice, arms crossed over his chest as he leant against the doorway. "I thought you were better than that, honestly."

Simon stayed quiet, sitting on their bed. He kept his eyes downcast to his hands. There was a storm of turmoil inside of him. In a way, he blamed himself for what had happened to his child. The indoctrination during high school, the fact that they viewed Makarov as a martyr, and how could he forget the way they glared at him, spitting, "You will never be my father. Makarov is more my father than you!". That shit hurt.

His hands were wet. Without realising, tears had been rolling down his cheeks. He tried to make it stop, but he couldn't. Simon felt the bed dip under the way of Johnny as the other man gathered him in his arms, a reassuring kiss on his forehead.

"It's okay -"

"No, it's not, Johnny!" Simon cried out in anguish. "It's all my fault, I should have- I should have stayed more, I should have recognised the child as my own, Elsie talked to me about it and I said no because I am a dumb fucking man who only cares about himself."

"That's not true, Simon." Johnny tried to comfort him.

But Simon just whimpered and then broke free from the embrace. Truthfully, he had always felt regret toward his relationship with Elsie and his child.

Moving toward his closet, he opened it, reaching for a hidden box. It was an old shoe box worn over, but Simon had put tape all over it. He wasn't huge on keeping things, but he had taken care of this shoebox as if it were the most preciois thing in the world. Johnny didn't say anything, just threw it a curious glance.

"So her name was Elsie." He finally whispered.

"Elsie MacMillan." Simon nodded as he brought the box over to Johnny, and he opened it.

Johnny's eyes widened at the sight. There were some pictures, one of a younger Simon holding a baby. Another one of a woman with the same hair and eye colour as Simon's kid, giving the child a bath with a huge smile on her face. There were also some mementoes.

"She wanted to be a lawyer. She said I didn't have to stick around, but I felt bad at first." Simon told him as he showed him her picture. "She was a student when she had (Y/N), so I tried to help. I really tried. But I thought fatherhood wasn't for me."

Johnny nodded absently, looking through the pictures. The woman was Scottish, as he had guessed with her name. He couldn't but smirk. So Simon had a type after all.

"It wasn’t romantic." He coughed when he saw Soap's smirk. "We weren't a couple or anything."

"But you tried. That's all that matters." Johnny told him. "But you also fucked up."

"How... how do I fix this?"

"Sarah said the therapy was going well, that they were seeing cracks into the ideology the Konni gave them. Maybe you two should spend time together. A child-dad moment. That won't fix everything, but that is a good start."

"Where would I be without you, Johnny?" Simon chuckled before nuzzling his companion's neck, planting a kiss there.

"Dead in a coffin."

"Uh. True." Simon's eyes wandered to the other pictures. There was one where Elsie had her diploma, holding the child with a huge smile on her face. "She was so young. She didn't deserve that."

“It's a pretty picture.” Johnny spoke again in a murmur. “There's still some places on the wall you know? We could hang those next to our wedding's pictures and the vacation ones.” He offered. “It would do the kid some good. You can't erase that part of your life Simon. Elsie needs to be remembered in some way or another.”

Simon let Johnny gather some pictures from the box before walking to a chest of drawers, pulling out frames and starting his work delicately with the pictures. He knew his husband was right: he couldn't run from his past.

[mortem-writes]

Which Witch?

In which, Simon wanders into a bar, looking for prey, and finds himself hunted instead.

This is for the Ghoap drabble exchange! I was so lucky to get @sfmothdaddy on tumblr's prompt: 'witchy au', it is SO unbelievably up my alley I was jumping for joy. I'm the type of writer that can spin a small idea into a 5k word fic, so keeping this short was a struggle for me I can't lie. I do kind of have the urge to turn this into a longer fic sometime in the future? Thank you @ramrage for organising all this <3 *Ao3 link*

CW: dub-con kinda?

Simon finds his feet wandering across the threshold of a dingy pub buried in the far outskirts of the village, his hand tucked into one of his many pockets and curled around the hilt of a sleek silver dagger. It’s not too busy inside, warm and bustling in a sleepy, small-town way that almost charms him. Almost.

But he knows the secrets winding under the pebblestone streets, how deep the rot burrows in this sleepy, innocent-looking little town tucked away in the Scottish countryside.

He slots himself among the throng at the bar, hood pulled low, still palming the blade in his pocket. The metal almost seems to hum, as if recognising its prey is near, a good meal that’ll soon wander into its jowls. 

“Heard there’s a witch hauntin’ these parts,” he murmurs lowly, catching the bartender's attention. “Word is, you can tell me where to find ‘em.”

It feels like an era in the time it takes for the man to turn and face him, mere seconds unspooling into decades as he locks eyes with Simon’s. Electric blue, and sharp like the teeth of a wolf digging into Simon’s lungs, ripping his breath away for a second before he drags his composure back under control.

The bartenders hums, polishing a glass with a fraying rag. Simon’s eyes are captured by how those skilled, dexterous fingers work, rolling over the smooth edges of the glass, leaving behind a pearly sheen.

“S’tha’ true?” the man says, voice soft and thoughtful but the smirk playing at the corners of his full lips and the dangerous glint of light dancing over his eyes tell a different story. “Have a drink, sir.”

Simon narrows his eyes with suspicion, but the man pays him no mind, pulling various bottles off the shelves, pouring and humming under his breath like a damn lunatic. He has a mohawk for fuck’s sake. He almost scoffs, does this man really think of Simon as a cocktail person?

Simon tells him so, the dagger hums, starving for blood.

“If y’drink it, ah guarantee you’ll never find a better love anywhere else,” the man winks cheekily, electric blue flashing away for a second before returning with a challenge blazing in his irises. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Simon grits, bringing the rim of the glass to his mouth, eyes never leaving the man’s. Brown and blue clashing like sparks.

It tastes sweet. Not overwhelmingly sweet like toffee sticking to your teeth, but sweet like an apple, a dart of tartness playing on his tongue. Sweet. Simon’s gaze darts to the man’s lips, plush and full, he wonders very briefly if he would taste just as sweet. He waves that thought away dismissively.

The man’s expression is positively gleeful, “y’like?”

Simon says nothing, glaring hard at him. The man's grin just widens, delighted at Simon's fury. “Stop fuckin’ around. Tell me where the witch is.”

“Wha’s in it fer me?” the man purrs playfully, dropping his elbows onto the bar between them and leaning too close. His blue eyes dart all over Simon’s face, he can feel it practically dragging over the rough texture of the scars. 

The blade sings under his hand, he ignores it. Hunger can wait. “What d’ya wan’?” he asks gruffly, cutting straight to the chase.

The man tilts his head, thinking for a moment, a pout on his lips that Simon wants to lick. “How ‘bout a kiss, handsome? Deal?” 

---

Simon wakes up the next morning, a luxurious burn stretching down the length of his thighs and his mind swimming in the signature sweet syrup of a long night of searing pleasure. The burning hunger in his stomach has been quenched. He hums, stretching, before bolting up in someone else's bed.

His mind races, heart pounding. A door swings open smoothly on its hinges, soft bare feet on wood. Simon’s fingers scramble, searching for silver. “Ah, you’re awake, mo leannan. Breakfast?”

Simon stares, bewildered, at the man from the bar. He’s bare chested, thick hair trailing from the valley between his pecs to under his boxers slung tantalisingly low on his hips, and carrying a platter of what smells suspiciously like toast. “Wha—?”

“Something wrong, mo leannan?” he asks worriedly at Simon’s expression, before those dangerous blue eyes soften with realisation. He sets the platter down on the bedside table, and Simon’s traitorous heart slows, something warm in his chest reaching for the man planting himself at his side instead of recoiling with horror. “Oh love, I did warn you.”

A thread of thought swims through the thick fog in Simon’s mind, and he trips over it as the man tenderly sweeps the tip of his nose across his jaw, then nuzzling into the hollow of his throat. The thread weaves in his mind, a patchwork of puzzle pieces falling into place.

“Fuck, yer— you’re—” The man kisses him, soft and slow, and Simon melts like a cube of ice sliding into a hot bath. Honey pulsing hotly in his veins.

“The witch,” the man says simply, dropping a feather-light kiss on Simon’s bobbing Adam’s apple as he swallows roughly. “I warned ye, sweethear’. Told ye tha’ you’d never find a better love anywhere else if y’drank.”

[femalefemur]

have some husbands while i edit a thing

[xerthsfantazies]

Ghoap in Rio?

(the quality got shit pls I am going insane)

I am also alive guys I swear 😞🫶

[luxcuriousao3]

Special announcement! I will be participating in Fandom Trumps Hate this year. If you're a fan of my writing and have always wanted me to write something specifically for you, consider bidding! All proceeds go directly to well researched non profits.

I am offering Ghoap, xReader, and xOC fics!

Here is a link to my offer! Bidding ends at 8PM EST tonight!

[fludderpy]

Mentally I’m still here… Soap wearing a skull mask and teasing Ghost with it………..

(The full comic is on p4tre0n! ✨🔞)