#soap did love him

[silli---lilli]

Ghost: I need you to blah blah blah blah Soap: *staring longingly* Ghost: Are you listening to me?

Soap: Simon, I don't feel seen by you. Ghost: *staring into space with a bottle in his hand* Soap: Are you listening to me?

Ghost: I love you. We should leave together. Soap: *Eyes at the sky, unseeing* Ghost: Please, Johnny. Ghost: I'm ready now. Ghost: Are you listening to me?

[bloomyblemy]

Ok what if…

what if the demons thought that lbh’s a husband snatcher?

listen ok so I’m pretty sure the demons know that LBH’s keeping a dead body in his room BUT they also know that the war god is fighting for said body right?

now I find it funny if they think that LBH just took LQG’s dead husband and the war god is trying to get him back.

there are opposing sides to this one on LQG’s (‘he literally stole the dead body of his husband!) vs LBH’s (‘ maybe THE WAR GOD killed his husband how could you know?!’)

[s0fter-sin]

ghost fucking soap so hard and so good he passes out but he utterly panics about it

he thinks he must’ve ignored soap asking to stop; was it pain that made him pass out? how bad could it have been to make him pass out when he’s been shot and kept going? should he bring him to medical? he’ll never touch him again, he’ll never so much as look at him again; he’ll ask for a transfer- fuck that, a dishonourable discharge. there’s no coming back from this

he spirals, guilt chasing hatred chasing despair chasing fear, until soap finally wakes back up

soap's still floating, loose-limbed and buzzing; fucked so thoroughly out of his head that it takes him a while to notice ghost isn't in bed with him anymore. he frowns, lifting a heavy head off the pillow and freezes. ghost's on the other side of the room, curled up tight in the corner as far away from soap as he could get without leaving him alone

(he would've left, would've made sure soap never had to see his face again and be reminded of what he did to him, of the monster he’d let into his bed- but he couldn't just leave him unconscious; what if he didn't wake up, he had to make sure he was safe first even if he'll rightfully hate him forever when he does wake up)

soap's voice when he calls out to him makes him flinch, his head burying deeper in his knees. cold worry chases the bliss from his blood and soap pushes himself up but his shaking arms can't hold his weight

the sound of him collapsing back onto the bed makes ghost rear up, his panic growing and soap's heart breaks at his red rimmed eyes

it takes a long time for soap to coax him back to the bed, countless loops of, "sweetheart, please, come here, what happened? it's okay, everything’s going to be okay.”

(and how ghost’s self-hatred grows hearing soap comforting him; hearing the concern and love in his voice when he doesn’t deserve a drop of it)

it takes even longer for ghost to believe soap when he says that he passed out because he felt so good; that he never asked ghost to stop, never wanted him to stop. that he trusts him more than anything and knows he'd rather die than ever hurt him, especially like that

“you’re not a monster, love,” he promises, soft with conviction and it’s as much a surrender as a relief when he collapses into his lap and lets him hold him close

ghost believes johnny but he still can't bring himself to be intimate with him for a while; that fear still haunting him, but soap doesn't hold it against him, doesn't complain about ghost's perceived "step back" in their relationship

hell, ghost seems to hate it more than he does; he misses being with soap, misses the connection, the closeness they shared, the safety and quiet he found in his embrace, but he's always trusted soap more than he trusts himself

soap doesn't let him be consumed by his fear or worse, sabotage them and turn it into a punishment; doesn't let him even get through the suggestion of switching because he knows how much he hates it and he won’t let him twist something as good and pure as their physical love into something self-harming

instead, he brings them back to the basics, working through the steps to get ghost comfortable with intimacy again, to get him to trust himself again; spends happy months just grinding and exchanging handjobs like when their relationship first started

and it's a happy day for them both when soap finally falls apart on his cock once again, anxiety the farthest thing from ghost's mind when his arms are wrapped so tightly around him, kissing a smile against his lips

[natelia-aldelliz]

1 : Soap never had any idea that woman wanted him carnally, he's not the most observant on that front (he never noticed Ghost flirting with him and thought his love was one-sided for the longest time, but tbf Ghost was also very discreet about it)

2 : He sewed the hat, eyepatch and hook himself, because he's the best uncle and then got distracted as he was wrapping it up, so now he's watching a tutorial on youtube about how to build a voice box. Honestly how hard could it be, he builds explosive devices as a hobby (listen, Price doesn't have to know)

3 : He is out to his family, but doesn't want his mum to know he has a boyfriend because he knows she'll insist on meeting him and welcoming him to the family and making a big deal out of this, and he knows that Ghost isn't ready for that.

4 : Christmas is obviously a very hard time for Ghost, but he is very very in love with Soap and some days still can't believe that it's mutual, but then his Johnny does something like that and his head gets quieter while he's melting a bit.

5 : For the people that didn't see my other post : the bird is a Caique parrot, and they're supposedly very energetic, a bit loud, medium sized, unintelligible, very friendly to what they consider their family, adventurous and danger prone, with an explosive personality and a hate of boredom, so basically the adhd bird.

[femalefemur]

hi yeah so what the fuck

[shadow-0-8]

I’ve been gone for so long 😭😭😭 sorry about that, I’ve just been going through some feelings, and really busy. I haven’t had any tumblr worthy thoughts, so I made my last brain cells create this horrendous list of head canons soooo enjoy!

😛

•Hesh is top tier funcle material

•Whenever Ghost gets mad at Soap he starts talking in a horrible Scottish accent

•Graves failed kindergarten twice

•Ghost randomly laughs at jokes he told himself in his head

•Laswell used to have the longest hair as a kid

•Hesh is a Red Hot Chili Peppers fan

•Elias definitely had a recliner that he would just sit and drink beer in and watch football, and it had his butt imprint in it

•Graves throws out his back on every mission

•Keegan has the most horrendous, god awful, bacne.

•Hesh wakes up early before missions to do his makeu- AHEM face paint.

[ratatatastic]

falling on a goalie and not immediately getting up??? preposterous thats in violation of the love goalie act of '49. GUARDS. GET HIM.

as always, life imitates art and its beautiful

forsy blocking leon from helping davo as matthew puts davo in a headlock its very super villain has the love of you life in their hands and is taunting you with harming them and when you go to rescue them their goon stops you so youre forced to watch them suffer or something or other

also the ref tapping matthew hard to get his attention as he froths from the mouth and motioning roughing so intensely that matthew flinches away because he thinks hes about to get backhanded and going NO! YOU DROP CONNOR RIGHT NOW OR YOURE GETTING BOOKED FOR ROUGHING

that is a princess YOU TREAT HIM NICE STRIPES YOU HEAR ME

the ref scolding matthew so hard wow now he has 2 disappointed fathers

also benny trying to slash an oiler (persumably 18) on a driveby but the refs immediately catch it and stop it lmaoooo

please remember it was 18 who fell on bobby and not 97 and yet matthew grapples davo first the second he enters the scrum

edmonton oilers @ florida panthers game 1 | 6.8.24

[existentialgaybirdnerd]

How their first kiss went:

Ghost took Soap aside one day, after a successful mission that was super close to being fucked because some dickwad wanted more money for information on the taskforce.

They're at a bar, listening to the radio station the bar just happened to have on at the time, something soft and slow, they're laughing and drinking with Price, Gaz, Laswell, and Ale and Rudy who are visiting.

It's been about a year since the shitfest that was Las Almas and they've only gotten closer with the two leaders of the Vaqueros.

Something extra soft comes on the radio, everyone pleasantly buzzed (Ghost, Soap, Ale, Laswell) or pissed beyond compare to have some fun after their most recent span of shitfest missions (Price, Gaz, Rudy) and Ale goes to keep Rudy from causing havoc while Laswell gets Price and Gaz into a simultaneous game and discussion, leaving Ghost and Soap alone, nursing their drinks and laughing over their dumb ass family.

Ghost hasn't felt this good in SO LONG and he's not even actually drunk, just one bourbon down and nursing a second, wishing he had the guts to shed his "DANGER DANGER STAY AWAY" persona for more than a few seconds, more than a few laughs hidden behind a hand, a few puns muttered in the silent comms system to keep his new teammate friend family member focused on not dying, shed it for something softer and more outgoing and WILLING to be soft and stupid and drunk with his PEOPLE.

Soap is standing by him, wishing none of this and basking in the warmth that Ghost seems to emanate even with his coldest stare focused on someone never him, he's so soft with Soap and his voice challenging whoever may be stupid enough to TOUCH or HURT, to do so and see what the consequences will be.

But Soap does wish.

He wishes he could touch, wishes he could bring Ghost into the laughter without the hand in front of his face by just being trustworthy enough for him, Soap wishes he could brush his fingers against the lips resting on the glass in Ghost's hand, ready for another sip of the alcohol and unwilling to yet just in case it's a bad time and someone does something so stupid he might just snort it out of his nose. You have to be prepared to do that at least once in this group.

Soap wishes he could show Simon what it's like to feel gentleness after so much harshness within their lives and within their almost deaths and within the hell that is their world and what they've seen and experienced, not just as soldiers, but as THEM.

God, Soap wishes he could feel that gentleness from Ghost, given to him like a gift and reciprocated and bounced back and forth in an almost dance.

Ghost catches him staring. He stares back, trying to figure out where Soap is going to go with his brilliant mind and what he just might say when it comes to it.

He decides to take the first step despite the fear in his belly, twisting a sharp unpleasant hot poker of anxiety deep and BURNING.

But he doesn't show it. Ghost grabs Soap's arm, and asks him if he wants to get a breath of fresh air and a cigarette with him. Soap agrees with a smile that promises nothing but the best and the worst and eyes that seem to ask Simon for the stars if he so wishes to get them.

They go outside, laughing behind a hand and up to the sky, breathless as they exit because Gaz and Rudy did something stupid and funny and oh so them.

They get outside and they're stunned by the coolness of the night after the warmth of the bar and their family and each other, huddling for a second as Ghost takes out two cigarettes and lights them. They're close enough to share alcohol-filled breath and laughter and newly made inside jokes all with a look and smoke curling out of their upturned lips.

Ghost starts the conversation, talking about how everything went down in the last few days and asking if Johnny is ok, asking if he's still sore from falling down that one incline and "That was a risky maneuver Seargent" but smiling with his Glasgow scars on display and obviously having a crack at Soap's own misfortune of the past week or so after a few clumsy mishaps due to not being able to see a tree root or two. They both know he's fine and this is about the 5th time Ghost is checking up on him.

Soap indulges him. Rehashing their previous conversations about the same thing, giving his excuses, and even gently prodding at a particularly dark bruise he knows Ghost sports on his ribs from being thrown into a wall by a man who came out of nowhere around a corner and body slammed him.

They drift into silence as their cigarettes get closer to being done, sharing silence and still close enough to share breath, leaning on one another to ensure they're there and alive and breathing and ok.

It's soft and Simon looks up at the moon, gathering his strength to say something he's been chewing on for approximately 3 weeks after a particular revelation on behalf of Gaz pointing out that it's "really not platonic to stare at your friend's throat like that when they're laughing" because Soap laughs with his whole body, eyes closed because he's smiling so hard and head thrown back to let more noise escape his throat and more laughter to give volume to.

It's not normal to want to kiss the entire expanse of that throat, to swallow the laughter and the giggles and watch as his eyes narrow with the grin on his face from 2 inches away, kissing the dimples that Ghost KNOWS show up when Soap so much as smirks.

He says something. He tells Johnny that it doesn't mean anything if he doesn't want it to but he'd like it to mean something. He tells Johnny that he wants to hang the stars for him because that's how he looks at him, he wants to deserve the look and if giving the universe to Johnny on a necklace made of the Milkyway is the way to do it then by gods he will find a way.

Johnny looks at him in amazement, his cigarette hanging in limp fingers as he watches Ghost not fidget, he's too controlled for that but maybe shuffle in place and flick the ash off his own cigarette as he explains and then waits patiently but scared he's so scared for this to ruin something please don't let it ruin it nervous.

And Johnny speaks.

He grabs Ghost's unoccupied hand as he snubs his own cigarette with his boot and brings his eyes to him with his other hand on his cheek, and speaks the words Ghost wanted to hear but dreaded knowing.

He looks at Ghost like he hung the stars because he might as well have. Ghost makes Soap feel human and oh so vulnerable but he also feels such strength when he's near and backed by HIS Ghost. He doesn't want Simon to get him the universe on a necklace, just his happiness would bring peace to Soap's soul in every way. Being able to see Simon and not just Ghost is a gift and a blessing all wrapped in one big package that he just wants to give the best to at all times.

He struggles with words at the best of times, but this time, Ghost waxes poetic right back at Soap as they get closer to each other. Bodies pressed so tightly they might as well be one in the eyes of the universe, foreheads together and second cigarette snubbed under another quick boot.

He's got one hand on Johnny's waist and his other occupied by the hand-holding they've had going on for the majority of this conversation now as they discuss some rules for being in the field and who they'll tell and let be privy to this new thing and when they're done talking and finally impatient with each other's and their own hesitance, Simon closes the distance and kisses Soap under the moon and the stars and the ratty LED bulb outside the pub.

And he falls in love a little bit more. As he's given softness and sureness and love in turn, as they deepen the kiss and make a little more passionate, as he's given the ability to take what he's wanted for WEEKS now and possibly even months now that he thinks about it.

Their first kiss tastes like cheap booze and fish and chips and cigarettes.

Their first kiss feels like silence in a storm but it also feels like the storm and it feels like the best thing they could think of but their thinking kinda stops when they have to take their first breath from each other.

Their first kiss is a slow and passionate thing shared at a bar with the knowledge that they should probably be going soon so everyone can sleep off their alcohol of the night.

But it's so perfect for them. They both look forward to many more to come.

[xo-cod]

*sighs dreamily* 69 with Johnny 🥰

i love this so bad !! 😩 sorry i got to this so late <3

in one word, sloppy. johnny is a messy lover, if your juices aren't covering the bottom half of his face and his fingers he hasn't done it right ‼️

the absolute king of accidental overstimulation 🤭 you just taste so good to him, he loves going down on you for his own pleasure. and 69 is the best position since you're always wanting to go down on him too.

you're usually the one on top, his big hands holding your legs to keep you steady. johnny swears up and down he can never get tired of looking at your pussy, it's just too mesmerising and addicting and he loves it. he grabs you by your hips and pulls you down onto his face, the flat of his tongue licking broad stripes up your folds, teasing you as it flicks against your clit. he groans softly when you whimper, his mouth capturing your clit and sucking on it while his thumbs separate your walls for him to thrust in deeper. his hips are lazily rutting in your mouth and he can feel your moans vibrate against his aching cock, sending shivers up his back when you pull back gasping in pleasure coursing through your veins, "so good f'me hen, taste so fuckin' good baby"

johnny stretches you out with his tongue so much so your body squirms forwards to escape the delicious assault. but johnny only grabs you back, holding your hips down so you can't escape. he flips you with one swift movement, a devilish grin on his lips before he holds your legs back once more. he's not even thinking of his own pleasure, it only further prompts him to go faster with his tongue when your back arches and the helpless moans become breathless and more needy,"that's it bonnie, gonna cum f'me yeah?"

[bylertruther]

listen. i love el and i think she's a fascinating character. we all know this. i am very clear about this. but like. it really is SO crazy how she really came in and, like... fucked will's life up so fucking bad lmao. i know that it wasn't her fault, and i'm not saying it is, but that's just... such an excruciating writing choice.

it was a choice to have her be the one that opened the gate & essentially sliced will's life into an ugly before and after. it was a choice to have her replace him as mike's number one as soon as she came back into their lives. it was a choice to make her the party's mage and then "change" will from being their wizard to their cleric. it was a choice to make her his sister. it was a choice to purposely have her wear his clothes and have the same bangs. it was a choice to have her ignore him on mike's first day in lenora, despite the fact that he was mike's friend, too, and first. it was a choice to make her oblivious to his feelings.

it was a choice to make them love and genuinely care about each other. it was a choice to make her feel like a monster for everything that'd happened and kept happening. it was a choice to make will not resent her. it was a choice to make him support her enough that he's willing to uphold her lies to mike (!!!) of all people with his inaction.

it was a choice to have him spill his heart out to mike and gift him his painting all in her name. to have him be the one to unknowingly make mike finally say "i love you" to her in response to his confession. to have him realize too late that he's been needlessly pushing mike towards her this whole time.

it was a choice to place will right beside mike, his first ever friend and keeper of his heart, when he told el that his life started just as will's ended.

it was... a bold fucking choice to replace will with el in mike's eyes due to outside influence. it throws them into chaos and disarray because el and will are not interchangeable, and it shows in how...

mike seeks from el everything that will already gives him.

mike readily gives will everything that el begs him for.

el cannot read or understand mike in the innate, wordless, and familiar way that will does.

mike cannot be vulnerable with el, but he opens up to will without even needing to be asked.

mike always heeds, trusts, and listens to will, even when they're arguing or going through a rough patch.

mike always knows just how to mend things with will, because he knows exactly what he needs and he doesn't ever hesitate to do and give it. nor does he need anyone to help him with their conflicts either. he just knows.

el is always left waiting for him to do things for her that he's currently doing for will.

will visibly hates and feels uncomfortable lying to mike, but el can do it consistently with ease.

will is the one that loves mike how he truly wants (and needs) to be loved.

will hasn't been able to move on in full, because he was cast out of his own story and demoted to a supporting role behind the new lead.

el hasn't been able to find out who she really is, because she's been thrust into roles that were never meant for her to begin with. she has always been contorted into the shape of whatever others need or want her to be, but they don't fit because they aren't her.

and, like... there are so many things in this story, which is to say the show as a whole, that would not have happened had the men in el's life not done that. had they allowed her to just be, it's highly likely that the dominoes would've never fallen the way they have.

thankfully, the narrative is set up in such a way that it appears this disorder will rectify itself, but it's still so... upsetting to think about lol.

it all boils down to choices: who gets to make them, what choices they have, why they made those choices, and what happens after. that's all the show is: a series of choices, or a lack thereof, and their consequences with some monster mumbo-jumbo sprinkled on top.

[reds-skull]

This took actually 4 hours, 3 of them just trying to make the easy way work (spoiler alert - it fucking didn't), last hour I just gave up and fixed the textures manually.

Thank you to @hauntedbubbles for the models and plug-in to import them to Blender! You can find that on this post.

You might ask why... I spend 4 hours trying to make this fucker dance. And that's because I wanna see them be silly and Activision is not gonna give it to me, so I'm making it myself.

[toshidou]

Let Me Be Your Lifeline

Pairing // Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!Reader

Word Count // 2.2k

Tags // gender neutral reader, descriptions of injury, blood, Simon has a panic attack/ptsd attack, hurt/comfort, soap gets mad but lowkey understandably pls don't hate him, reader's alias is Siren, swearing, you help Simon when he needs you most (because you're amazing like that), established relationship

AN // you ever just have the thought of simon just Losing it because you get hurt, and the idea of him just. shutting down spurs you to write just over 2 thousand words about it? no? just me? cool. also this has barely been re-read, so if you see any spelling mistakes, no you didn't <3

Wrong

It’s all gone so hideously wrong.

It was never a simple mission to begin with, retrieving stolen information from people who would die to keep it in their possession. But it was something you had all done before, something you should have been more than capable of pulling off without so much as minor injuries.

The horrifying reality is setting in quickly though, your hand clutched to the left side of your collarbone, shuddering breaths pushed through gritted teeth as Soap attempts to shout something over deafening gunfire for merely two buildings over.

“We’ve got two down, Gaz is working his way to us, Ghost isn’t answering comms. Price is fine, the bullet passed through his leg, but Siren got hit below the left shoulder, they’re losing blood fast, the bullet made a clean entry through the back.” You’re barely listening to the reply from the evac squad, all you catch is an approximate time to pick up, 5 minutes. Apparently, there’s a medic on board. Every cloud and all that, you think, your head lolling down to assess the damage for the 4th time in 10 minutes.

Blood runs in nauseating streams between shaking fingers, soaking your uniform through to the skin underneath, the rough material sticking painfully to your wound, coaxing a hiss from bitten raw lips. Johnny’s eyes don’t leave you, worry etching itself into every fibre of his being, from his tense posture to anxiety ridden eyes, darting over various parts of your body as if examining for more wounds.  

“Fuckin’ Christ L.T., how fucking copy,” He grits out, fingers holding his transmitter-receiver so hard that even in your shock ridden state, you worry it might just crumble in his hands. After another few seconds of tense silence, he speaks again, “Captain and Siren are down, evac is in T-4 minutes, and you need to get your ass down here right now, I don’t know where the fuck you are or what you’re doing, but if you miss the deadline, we’re leaving without you.”

For the first time since being shot, tears well against your lashline, unable to tell if your head is shaking as ferociously as you want it to in your weakened state. They can’t leave him behind, they can’t do that. He’s their squad member, their Lieutenant, your partner, the love of your life. You refuse to ever leave him behind, would rather they let you bleed out on this manky floor before you ever let that happen.

And then, a crackle.

“This is Ghost, package received.”

It’s relief that floods your system initially, pure unadulterated elation that he’s alive, he’s alive and he’ll be back, he won’t leave you.

But then his words sink through the cottonwool that seemingly clogs your mind, the gears turning enough to figure out that despite being compromised only a few minutes into the start of the mission, he still went for the stolen information.

In retrospect, that shouldn’t have been so shocking, but after months of domestic bliss with Simon Riley, you had almost forgotten about the Ghost. Neglected the memories of a man who was driven by a near suicidal need to complete missions handed to him. And it fucking hurts, more than the bullet hole through your shoulder ever could.

“What the fuck do you mean package fuckin’ received, we called for a retreat 20 minutes ago Ghost, you were meant to be here, not fucking around trying to find something we could have–,”

“That’s enough, Soap.” The interruption comes from Price, somehow looking as composed as ever despite his injury, the only sign he had been hurt at all were the slight tremors to his hands as he reaches up to his own transceiver.

“Just get yourself back here son, in one piece, preferably.”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

You close your eyes, willing away the tears that threaten to roll down dirtied cheeks, because if you cry, it makes this real, and not some twisted nightmare you’ll surely awaken from, safe in the strong arms of your love.

“Siren, come on, I need you to keep your eyes open, stay in the room with us, okay?”

Gaz? That’s new. Gathering enough strength, you lift your chin, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as you try to focus your gaze on him.

“There we go, we’re not done with you yet, Sergeant.” Gaz pins you with a reassuring smile, his hand coming to pat your knee as he crouches next to you.

“Ah, I knew you were all just using me for my impeccable combat skills and wicked charm,” you drawl, your lips turning up into a hint of a smile.

“Impeccable combat skills that got you shot in the shoulder, no less.” Despite feeling weak, and slightly woozy from bloodloss, you still don’t miss the opportunity to lightly shove at Gaz’s torso.

“Soap, we’re half a klick out from your location, be ready to extract in 30 seconds."

The momentary light-hearted banter is immediately quashed by a terse silence, the dawning realisation that Simon still isn’t here.

He still isn’t there when you hear the sound of a Humvee tearing down the road to the derelict building you’re all hiding in.

He still isn’t there when Soap creaks the door open, only to be met with a medic and two soldiers carrying stretchers.

He still isn’t there when both you and Price, much to the Captain’s chagrin, are assisted onto thick green gurneys, and carried into the back of the vehicle.

It’s only when your nerves have been frayed to their very core, until you’re mere seconds away from diving out through the small car window when you finally catch a glimpse of someone tall, someone familiar, your Simon. Euphoria surges through your bloodstream, all feelings of pain as the medic begins to assist with your wound numbed by the knowledge that he’s okay, he’s safe, he came back to you.

You seem to be the only one even remotely excited to see him, however. From the moment he near dives into the side door, barely able to sit before the truck wheels spin against gravel and take off down an endless dirt path to supposed safety, a suffocating hush envelops the entirety of the squad. The atmosphere so thick, it suspends you in it, makes your limbs feel like lead where they fall limp at your sides.

Though no one dares speak, unwilling to risk the release of pent-up anger, frustration and fear that crackles through the air akin to static energy, wild and unpredictable, Simon’s eyes hold nothing but utter worry. Dark, frenzied irises flickering from your shoulder where the medic continues to care for your injuries, to your face, though never meeting your gaze head on.

You can already sense the guilt setting in, more than used to how his mind works, lost in a constant battle of morals he can never seem to win. It’s frustrating to watch the way he reprimands himself, shoulders hunched to his ears, hands curled into tight fists against his thighs. The once towering, formidable force reduced to someone human. Someone struggling.

But still, you daren’t say a word, now is neither the time nor the place.

30 agonising minutes later, and the truck finally pulls up outside a safehouse. An old, abandoned factory building, if you had to make a guess. The roof looks like it’s one strong breeze from falling off, but what else is new?

Simon doesn’t take his eyes off you as you’re assisted out of the truck. Doesn’t dare blink when you shoo the medic away and towards a grumbling Price. You try to shoot him your best reassuring smile, the gesture rendered meaningless when you nearly trip over a rock after your first step, only saved by Soap darting forward and steadying you with an arm hooked around your waist.

Simon doesn’t move a muscle. His feet remain planted to the floor below him, and you can’t help but get the sickening feeling that something is very fucking wrong. In all the years you’ve known Simon, you’ve never seen him like this, near paralysed, painted black eyes ridiculously wide, so childlike in their fear. He looks nothing like the man you’ve grown to love, strong and steady in his emotions. And it chills you to the bone.

It's only once the door creaks shut that the silence is broken.

“What the fuck was that, Ghost.” Harsh syllables highlighted by a Glaswegian accent sound from next to your ear, your head twisting to the side only to be met with gritted teeth and furrowed brows.

You barely have the time to process the way that electricity sparks dangerously in the dusty atmosphere before all hell seemingly breaks loose.

“That was me doing my fucking job, Sergeant.”

“Your job is to put every member of the taskforce at risk? When the fuck did you receive that order, Riley? Because I sure as shit don’t remember it.”

Ugly, torrid rage lashes out across the room like strikes of a whip, so powerful it sends you stumbling away from Johnny’s grip and towards more neutral ground, your eyes briefly locking with Gaz’s equally perturbed stare.

“I wasn’t endangering any of your lives by doing what I was trained to do MacTavish, you were all gonna make it out fine whether I completed the mission or not.” There’s something about him that feels entirely too off, though the mask is extending much further than the one that resides on his face. Except this one is splintered, it’s flawed, split edges giving away to insurmountable pressure until it has no other option than to disintegrate, raw, unfiltered emotions left exposed, completely vulnerable.

And all it takes to break down the wall that is Simon Riley comes from the other man opposite you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you Simon? What sort of fucked up person lets his team, his fucking partner, nearly bleed out on the floor? Look at them,” A lone, shaking finger points towards you, “They could have died and where the fuck were you?”

“That’s enough, Soap.” The syllables scratch your throat with the force you spew them, but the damage has already been done.

You know that the second you glance at Simon and see nothing but the broken shell of a man, that you were too late. His body is vibrating with the force of his shakes, tremors wracking his body from head to toe, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, like a fish starved of oxygen. He’s having a panic attack. Or a flashback. Or something worse.

“Simon,” You call, keeping your voice calm as you swiftly approach him, ignoring the harsh twinge of pain as you lift both your arms up to curl your fingers around either side of his face, guiding his empty eyes down to you, “I’m right here, you’re safe, you’re okay.”

He gives you no sign that he’s even processing your touch, let alone your words, but you expect about as much. You may never have dealt with Simon’s trauma, but that doesn’t mean it’s new to you.

You keep talking to him, hushed, soothing reassurance along with sweeping fingers against masked cheekbones, physical and verbal reminders that no matter the size of the internal battle he faces, you’re right there with him, guiding him through. It’s only when large hands encircle your wrists do you feel any form of relief, brought nearly to tears as hollow brown eyes slowly ebb to life, pupils shining in the low light of the safehouse.

“You’re here.” His voice sounds scratchy, as though his inner cries were so visceral, they tore at his vocal cords, begging to be released. You’re not sure if you could ever handle hearing such noises from him, not without them plaguing your dreams for years to come

“Always.”

Your response has him crumbling, knees sinking to the cracked concrete floor with a resounding thump; strong arms come to wrap around your waist, near crushing you in his desperate grasp. You say nothing, simply cradling his head to your sternum, fingers soothing over the top of his mask as through they were threading through familiar strands of soft hazel.

You don’t have to look around to know that you and Simon are alone. That it’s safe for him to fall apart here, so you can tenderly piece him back together without prying eyes. You don’t care how long it takes, all you know is that you’ll be there to search through the rubble of his mind and find a new foundation, together.

It’s only after you’ve guided him to sit, swiftly placing yourself in his lap and pushing your bodies together until not a single space exists between you both, do you finally feel him settle against you. Your fingers hooking under his mask, lifting up, up, up, until you’re met with the face of your love, your Simon; the Ghost long forgotten as you place the mask on the ground beside your intertwined bodies.

Surprisingly, it’s him that brings your lips together, eyelids fluttering shut as you sigh against his mouth, following his hesitant lead, a kiss with the only intention of reassuring him that you’re still here, you’re still his.

And hours later, when you both lay on uncomfortable stone floor, arms and legs indistinguishable where they tangle together, you know it to be an irrefutable fact that despite his own beliefs, Simon Riley is by far the strongest man you’ve ever met.

But for those moments when he can’t be strong for himself, you will always be there to catch him, to piece him back together and remind him that he’s still whole, still human, and still yours.

Always yours.

[s0fter-sin]

soapghost

[tavysboy]

congratulations aside i do love them

[allthedrugsforcreativity]

💫

✨↓Ref under cut↓✨

[akai-akai]

Eyeblack

Very short drabble based on that headcanon I saw somewhere about Simon rubbing his hand with eyeblack and just dragging his entire hand across Johnny's face. (yes I know it's the old Captain MacTavish skin, let me be delusional)

as always, this is unedited and not fully thought-out, I just needed it in word form and out of my brain.

Like imagine they're in a rush, Johnny's busy connecting his pack to his vest and fixing his leg holster straps while Simon smears eyeblack over his eyes and the other bit of his face exposed by his balaclava, and Johnny just points and goes "Oi, L.T., gimme some o' tha'"

He hadn't even meant for Simon to do it for him, he meant for Simon to just hand it to him when he was done, but Simon doesn't even think about it. He just smears the eyeblack over the pads of his fingers and just palms Johnny's face like a basketball and drags his fingers over his face while Johnny makes a muffled, disgruntled sound. Probably something akin to "what the fuck Simon" and Simon just stands back and stares, and Johnny can tell by the way the other man's eyes narrow slightly and his mask stretches weirdly that the fucker's smiling. So fucking proud of himself. Smug.

So Johnny struts to the nearest mirror and stares at himself, incredulous, and then turns back around to stare at Simon with a clenched jaw, contemplating insubordination. (Is it insubordination to tackle your Lieutenant to the ground and draw a dick on his forehead with eyeblack? Yes. ...Probably.)

But of course, there's not enough time for him to fix it, and Simon knows that, and Johnny knows that, so they're both just standing there staring at each other. Johnny looks 2 seconds away from internal combustion, and Simon has to turn away to pull his skull mask over his head before he actually does start laughing.

And then they're meeting up with Kyle and John at the helo, they attach their comms to their vests, and Johnny ignores John's raised eyebrow and Kyle's barely-contained snort of laughter.

But it's okay, he'll get back at Simon later. And he certainly won't admit that he also thinks it's hilarious.