#soapghostkönig

[whispermask]

/makes ot3 memes bc someone has to

[vinnierobot748]

Some old fanfic related cod art I made last year and wanted to share here :3

Don't think I have posted most of these anywhere(not even on my twt)

Face hc for König, Ghost and Horagi<3

A little hoddie sharing comic/drawing <3

Some König outfits he wore in my fic/ I imagine my version of him wears <3

König and Ghost in collars they wear in ny fic <33

And lastly some shirtless König Soap Ghost art <33

[ladyvendetta]

I'm fucking genius even it's a dead meme 😂😂😂

[unhingedpolycule]

Demon summoner SoapGhostKönig AU

DemonSummoner!Soap who accidentally summons Wraith!Ghost and Lovecraftian!König instead of the two lowly imps he intended? Both are incredibly powerful entities. They immediately plan to devour him and move on with their newfound freedom, but Johnny is like: „Oops, sorry guys, didn’t mean for this to happen. Please wait a second, I will unbind you in a second…“ and starts flicks through his spellbook. Stressed but not particularly scared. „Was just trying to find help with unbinding this one demon from the magic mirror I found it in, poor soul was trapped for literal ages.“ They look at each other and Ghost asks him in his echoing, hollow voice: „You are trying to do what? Why?!“

And Soap, not a care in the world, still not looking at them just explains: “Oh I studied this field out of interest and usually just summon for research, but I bought this mirror and the poor thing keeps screaming at night, they are clearly not happy possessing an inanimate object, but honestly who would be? Broke my leg a few years ago and not being able to move the way I wanted totally sucked. Oh this reminds me, do you wanna sit down while I find the right page, I have some raw meat, originally for the mirror guy but that's not gonna work out today, so you might as well have it before it spoils, so…“ he keeps rambling on and on, just happy to have someone to talk to.

And König leans towards Ghost and is like: “I don’t wanna eat this one anymore…” and Ghost can just nod, giant, hollow mouth agape, hanging open like the gates of hell.

So out of a mix of pity and being generally intrigued, they decide to walk Soap through the modified steps of binding them to himself so they can stay by his side for a bit. They take out the serve and control part, as well as the one that forbids them to breaking that bond by themselves. They both just decide to leave in the lines of ancient latin which prevents them from harming Soap. They dont wanna do this anyways. Johnny acknowledges all of this and is like: „I get it, consent matters, guys.“ like calling two eldritch horrors from the inner circles of hell „guys“ would be even remotely accurate.

They help him unbind the mirror as well, which turns out to be an imp called Roach, who stays with them out of pure curiosity. Soap summons stronger and more wise entities as time goes on, always with his resident Wraith and his lovecraftian Tentaclemonster close behind him, ready to protect. He takes them sightseeing, breaks into crypts and churches, letting them go search for artifacts to unbind and dispose of safely.

In general, they have a good time together and Soap is the first summoner to act respectful and appreciative around them, treating them not as incredibly strong animals but knowledgeable and interesting equals. One night, when Soap is asleep they are lurking on his balcony, looking at the stars. König always making an excited sound when another airplane comes into view, stating what kinds of thoughts and feelings he can detect from the humans on board. At some point, König leans into Ghost's form and just snuggles up to him.

Ghost indulges him, playing with one of his tentacles, deep in thought.

“I think I am really starting to like our humans. I don't want to go back again.” He whispers into the void that is Ghost and Ghost just nods. “Let's stay then.” He echoes back and pulls König closer. “Gotta take care of him though… pretty boy is too nosy for his own good.” This draws a wet laugh from König, who leans up to kiss Ghost's skull mask gingerly before they both continue to watch the night sky in absolute peace.

Inside, under the open window, Johnny just smiles into his pillow. He had hoped that he would grow on them eventually...

----

This was inspired by all the wraith!Ghost and Eldrich!König I keep saying. There will be more.

~Corr

[inkformyblood]

(Ghost x Soap x  König, Established Relationship Ghost x Soap, Pre Relationship Ghost x Soap x Konig)

“Hey, LT.” 

 Soap is close, too close really for this to be anything other than a deliberate invasion of Ghost’s space, territory claimed with a single step between Ghost’s legs and a grin that reminds him of smoke and shifts just as quickly. Ghost blinks, slow, careful, taking stock of the heft of a tactile knife lying against the groove of his spine and the careful way Soap transfers his weight so it settles almost entirely over one leg, dragging the other rather than stepping. He hadn’t quite managed to hide the limp as he had moved closer and Ghost isn’t the only one who's noticed.

 “Johnny,” Ghost answers. He hooks the fingers of one hand over the jut of Soap’s hip, fancying he can feel the delicate ink against the blunted fingertips of his gloves, and moves them both so Soap can lean against him, tugs him so that he does so. There’s always a curious little blush that erupts whenever he does something like this, not touching Soap’s cheeks but setting his ears ablaze in a riot of blotchy pinks and reds. “How’s the leg?”

 (Ghost already knows the facts of it. He knows about the torn ligaments and the heavily bruised muscle and the fucking three inches of leather from Soap’s boot that had stopped the injury from being any worse. He knows what Soap’s hand feels like in his when he’s too drugged up to see straight, his fingers all loose and curling in all the wrong places to try and hold his hand. He knows Soap’s a lucky son of a bitch and he’s just going to get injured again in some other stupid accident unless Ghost stops him.)

 “Be fucking jigging by next week, LT. Just you wait and see.” Soap tries a grin, a little too small for his face, a little too much teeth as he tries to adjust his stance and reconsiders it in the same heartbeat, leaning back into Ghost. “How’re the new recruits doing?”

 “What do you think?”

 Soap snorts, drawing another set of eyes to them, this pair belonging to one of the recruits who quickly thinks better and looks away. 

 “Well, no-one’s curled up on the floor crying so I’m guessing it’s going well enough.”

 “Not bad.” Ghost turns his face away from Soap then, pressing his cheek to the shaved side of the other man’s head. It prickles slightly through the thin dark cloth of his mask and he can just make out the distant apple scent of Soap’s shampoo beneath the sterile blanket of the medical ward. His gaze locks on to the observer tucked into the corner, still mostly hidden despite his height, despite his mask, and dark eyes meet his. 

 König stands apart from the others, his shoulders curling in a way that reminds Ghost of a vulture’s hunch, part protection and part warning. He’s competent. He’s dangerous. And he’s watching Soap like he’s being fucking paid to. 

 “You’ve got a little bird watching you, Johnny.”

 Soap, to his credit, doesn’t look immediately. He hums low and lilting, reaching to one side to tuck his fingers into Ghost’s pocket, tugging at the small paper bag of sweets he knows is in there, just for him. It’s a rough handful of gummy worms this time, deliberately made lighter by the girl working behind the counter holding the bag up of the scale and Ghost couldn’t work out why. The bag rustles as Soap pulls it free. “Some of my favourites in here, Ghost.”

 “Is there?”

 (Ghost knows. He’d spent an exacting five minutes picking all of the colour combinations that Soap had mentioned he liked out of the twisted clinging mess of the others.)

 “But, yeah. It’s König watching isn’t it?”

 Ghost doesn’t answer.

 König doesn’t look away. 

 “He’s cute,” Soap says finally, his words slightly muffled as he chews on a gummy worm. “I think I’d like to see him cry.”

 “I can arrange that,” Ghost answers, immediate, focused. He can feel the dog whistle click in every fibre of his being, locked and loaded and waiting to be pointed at his target. All for Soap. Only for Soap. He won’t think too much about that until later.

 “Nah.” Soap tips his head to one side to press a sweet in every sense kiss to the edge of Ghost’s mask, high enough that he can feel the curve of his grin above the fabric. “Might take you up on it later though. Have you got work to get back to soon?”

 Ghost taps Soap’s hip in warning before he barks, “König!” There’s a shockwave of heads turning, first one way and then the other before they course correct back to minding their fucking business unless they fall under Ghost’s attention next.

 König straightens, slumps, then settles into a halfway measure between the two, his hands pressing into the small of his back. “Ja, sir?”

 Soap is so close to him that Ghost feels his chuckle rather than hears it, the tremble of his ribs that are likely still a mottled patchwork of purple and blue from his last half-thought through scheme, the slight exhalation that quickly resolves itself into a show at straightfaced placidity. It doesn’t work, never has, and Price has seemingly just resolved to ignore it at their briefings. 

 “Seen something interesting there?”

 If König was a few steps closer, Ghost fancies he’d be able to feel the heat rolling off his skin even at this distance. He’s carefully still, barely breathing if the sudden stillness of his mask is anything to judge. His gaze hasn’t wavered from Soap. “Ja, sir.”

 “Now ain’t that interesting,” Soap murmurs, twisting in Ghost’s hold to peer over at König, letting more of his weight sink into Ghost’s hold. “Might get to see him cry a little sooner than I thought.”

[probablynotcy]

König is eating a piece of cake with both Ghost and Soap around; Ghost is probably somewhere in the back, reading a book, while Soap sits right next to König, maybe he is drawing something in his sketchbook. When König has finished eating, Soap looks up and notices the traces of cream that are still left on König's lips, but before the Austrian can get rid of them himself, Soap just leans over and licks over the bigger man's lips.

And König just sits there, thinking to himself if that really just happened, his whole body feeling like it's burning while his head is about to explode. And the words that leave Soap's lips only seconds later don't make it any better, "Tastes good, where can I get more?"

There is a cheeky smile visible on his face, meanwhile Ghost in the background can only roll his eyes in response to Soap's actions.

"Fridge," is his response to the Scotsman's question since it is obvious that König himself simply isn't able to say anything at the moment.

And so Soap gets up, gets himself some cake from the fridge and sits down right next to König again. König, who still can't believe this just happened.

"Tastes only half as good like this," Soap says after taking his first bite and as he is now handing König the piece of cake he continues speaking, "Want some more?"

And König definitely wants more so he finally manages to move again, taking the plate from Soap's hand but only to put it down on the table right in front of them; instead he gets up, throws Soap over his shoulder and as an amused grin begins to spread across the Scotsman's face he gets carried into their shared bedroom by König.

It is only Ghost who stays behind. Ghost, who now decides to eat the abandoned slice of cake.

[sparkystarlight]

Wishing you all a good 2023 :)

[menace-writes]

Maybe I’ll get cancelled or put in a cell for this or something idk

Cw: NSFW, Feet

Soap moaned as he smothered himself with König’s size 16 feet, the man scrunching his toes over his eyes and rubbing his soles all over his face while Ghost grabs König’s ankles as he straddles them and pushes his feet together so they squeeze his cock and trap Soaps nose at the same time as he throat fucks him

Behind them König furiously strokes his cock the prickly sensation of Soap’s facial hair as he rubs his soles against his face and the feeling of Ghost’s hot and heavy cock sliding between his feet is even better coupled with Soap’s spit slicking the space between

[whispermask]

also I had either a big brain idea or a very stoned thot as I was falling asleep last night but what if the ship name for soap/ghost/könig was soapbox (I guess you could also stylize it soapböx) bc soap,..,.,,., he gets boxed in..,…,, by the two big boys…,,.,, titties in his face no matter where he turns, yknow like the art..,…,.,, is this ANYTHING

[vinnierobot748]

I need to add to my fanfic again...

Anyway, if anyone is interested:

That's my over 150 chapter cod fanfic with the main ship SoapKönigGhost. Thought I'd post it on here.

Disclaimer that I chose almost one and a half years ago to write out the accents of Soap and König so it's hard to read at fiest(biggest flaw of my fic tbh but I'm not changing it now)

[alerudies]

i really need to just make a list of all the soapghost and soapghostkönig plots because i keep coming up with them and the problem is they all want to be long form slow burn fics and i don't have time for that!! but so far i have, in aesthetics:

soapghost

civilian — the work follows you home, coffee stains, sundays, sharp wind, hot showers, newspapers and flannel pants, ruffled hair, apply pressure directly where it burns

( ! ) reprehensible — captivity, power plays, exposing secrets not meant for sterile lighting, forced helplessness, short lived revenge, the sacrificial lamb

( ! ) divine submission— winter and death, creativity and light, burning desire, golden skin, raven prints in snow, hades and persephone, speaking in tongues, human oracle, human sacrifice

soapghostkönig

brothers grimm — corruption arcs, losing yourself in the quest for revenge, wolves and owls and lost princes, bloody fingers, golden masks, sharp teeth and soft skin, the pleasurable ache of sin

omegaverse triune part 1 — dancing around the truth, sensory overload, desperate hands and mouths, moon drenched sheets, scent drunk, curiosities, blood soaked passions

( ! ) omegaverse triune part 4 — unearthing the past, grave mistakes, (unreliable) narrators looking at the audience in the mirror, the sound of cotton stuffing being torn out of a well-loved toy

[unhingedpolycule]

Happy Venn Diagram *Konig, seeks hugs* *Ghost, seeks conversation* *Soap, Seeks a good time* Middle, something sweet to make up for the depressingness I feel bad for

Why can Ghost knit you ask? Well he was too polite to Soaps nana one too many times and she took pitty on the guy who had no other hobbys than collecting knifes.

NGL, I feel like König writes very pretentious poetry, musing about his super deep feelings. He never lets anyone read it, but Soap snoops like he is on a stealth mission, soooo... heads up, it`s VERY bad.

~Corr

[inkformyblood]

Soap and König go for a drink (Established Soap x Ghost, Pre-Relationship König x Soap x Ghost, main focus of the fic is mutual pining  König x Soap)

“A-and another one.” 

König stretches up to steady Soap as he picks his way back to their table. His gloves blunt the sensation of the sharp jut of his hip bones, the curve of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up, and König swallows beneath his mask, drawing his hands back before Soap could notice them shake. It likely wouldn’t matter either way as Soap raises one of the shot glasses, the liquid shot through with pale flecks of glitter and already to separate in the middle, and presses the other into König’s hand.

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” König echoes, tapping his glass against Soap’s. The other’s grin is immediate, slightly lopsided and made more severe by the tilt of his head. Something twists in the pit of König’s stomach, his breath catching on the awkward line of ribs broken and healed one too many times. He can’t look away as Soap tips his head back to take the shot, his tongue pressing against the rim of the glass, pink and wet. 

Soap’s gaze lingers on König’s hand, sliding up to the faded line of his tattoo. His frown always reminds König of a puppy, dark eyes made pitiful beneath drawn brows, the genuine sense of bewilderment at why the universe hadn’t fallen into place because he’d like it to.

(It would if it could, König knows.)

“You’re not joining me?”

He could say no. Just next to them, the table is a huddle of drinks, most still full as König had swapped his full glass for an empty one whenever Soap’s attention turned away from him. It had felt easier than to try to explain the nerves that twist through his stomach and the wire that curls around his tongue and renders him shaking and speechless and disgusted with himself. His tolerance is still high, higher than it should be after chasing confidence hidden at the bottom of a bottle for most of his teenage years and he could have kept pace with Soap. Somehow, that feels even worse.

“I will. I am.”

König’s hand doesn’t shake as he untucks his mask from his shirt, but he almost wishes it would. The bar Soap had chosen, had directed König to like he was laying out a battle plan, is still on base so his mask only attracts the usual curious glances that drift away soon enough. The air is cool, a little sticky to match the floor, and he focuses on the scent of Soap’s cologne, undercutting the normally neutral body wash and shampoo he uses. It smells nice, smoky in a way that suits Soap in the same way explosions suit him, a bright flash to distract from the slow sinking slide of the building beneath their feet.

König takes the shot.

“It’s good.”

“See?” 

Soap leans closer, the stool creaking and shifting as he braces his boots against a frame that he’s already had to kick back into place once. König is used to this, the deliberate knock of a hand against his shoulder, an elbow against his hip, an invitation he has not yet dared to answer. Steadying is one thing, sharing a seat during a mission is another (and he has barely recovered from that, the easy heft of Soap’s thigh against his own as the other man braced himself to wriggle further up the seat, utterly and completely comfortable in his slightly-under-half of the narrow plastic chair), and this entire situation is something else entirely.

“D’you want another for the road or are you good?” 

It’s a torment crafted especially for König, some exquisitely handcrafted punishment for one spiteful deity or another. He shakes his head as he tugs his mask down, breathing in the stale scent of his own worry that has steeped into the fabric. It isn’t as sour as he remembers it to be, small fragments of stability beginning to creep through. 

“Aye, I’ll follow suit. Be a good boy and– and all tha’.” 

(König doesn’t think about it. It’s the start of a road he has already stepped onto before and it ends at Ghost’s door, just as imposing as the man behind it, and yet König is entranced like a moth to a flame, uncaring of whatever charred and desiccated husk he’ll be left with at the end. Some part of him knows that rejection wouldn’t be the end of everything, it would just feel like it, but the not-knowing is familiar enough that König can’t step out of it. Not yet.)

“You’re just down the corridor from me, yeah?” Soap stands before König can answer with the same easy roll of confidence that he throws himself from a building, all in the shoulders and the too-wide grin he flashes. “I’ll walk you home.”

König doesn’t say it’d be him walking Soap home as he moves next to the other, every step measured and quiet. The argument wouldn’t be one he’d win even as he carefully starts to herd Soap towards the door, blocking the instinctive turn towards the bar and then again, when they pass another door marked ‘Staff Only’. He expects the arm Soap slings around his shoulders at the first breath of cold and rainy air, König’s lungs feeling damp enough to grow mushrooms in despite the relatively short distance between the base and his homeland, but the tremor that runs through him is a surprise. He catches it, still struggling, somewhere in the middle of his spine and masks it as nothing more than being careful of the seams of his jacket as he tugs on the cuffs. 

“You’re a sweet lad, König,” Soap mumbles. He’s too close once more, a jumble of whiskey-soaked limbs, the honey shade bleeding into the dark brown of his eyes as they pass beneath a streetlight. 

König doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how.

(He’ll think about it later, later in the quiet of his room, later in the hush of blankets pulled over his head and his mask peeled off to feel the warmth of his breath condense against his skin.)

The walk itself isn’t long, the gravel crunching beneath their boots as they walk in uneven stumbling unison towards the long huddled row of barracks. It’s an ending, of a sort and König’s stomach twists as his nerves set their traps and ready themselves. His palms grow cold, a sweat breaking out beneath his mask as his breath only grows shallower, the whistle of an incoming bomb growing louder in his ears. The room Soap stops in front of isn’t, officially, his. On paper, the only occupant of the room is OCCUPIED, See Cpt. John Price, and König had heard the housing department complain more than once at the paperwork needed to shuffle that around whenever it came time for renewals. Off of paper, the room is Ghost’s. And what is Ghost’s is also Soap’s. 

“This is me,” Soap says, hiccups, setting himself to swaying so haphazardly that König grabs at his elbows to keep him upright, crouching slightly due to Soap’s arm still slung across his shoulder. He’ll feel that touch for days. 

Soap grins up at him, only needing to rise slightly onto his toes to be level with König’s gaze. “Thanks.”

König breathes out slowly, the final release of breath as he looks down a scope and picks out his target from the teeming mass. But there is no target, no objective, just a grin as bright as the sun and the gentle pressure of a kiss pressed to his cheek. 

Soap steps away from him towards the now-open door and König looks up at Ghost. 

Ghost isn’t looking at him, the dark shimmer of his eyes turned definitively towards Soap. He’s at ease here, the edges of him tending towards blurred comfort with his top riding up over one hip. There’s a bruise there, the deep purple beginning to bleed into a sickening mottled green, and König’s hip twinges in silent furious sympathy. Cuts heal, broken bones mend, bruises linger.

“He behave himself?” 

König straightens, feels his spine click into place before he stops himself, settling into his habitual curve. Is it a joke? He chances a second glance at Ghost, tracking the hidden upward slant of his mouth, the spark in his eyes. His current mask is a thin cotton and it hides far less than his tactical mask. 

“Mostly.”

“Hear that, Johnny,” Ghost mumbles, turning his face to the upturned riot of Soap’s hair. He drags his chin over the freshly shaved section and his mask rasps against it in the facsimile of a kiss. “Mostly well-behaved, atta lad.”

Soap mumbles something König can’t make out, slumped against Ghost’s shoulder. His grin is easy enough to see, however, the same lopsided one König had been blessed with throughout their time together.

“You’re in better shape than most.” It’s a gentle sort of noticing, a gleam of approval colouring Ghost’s voice in a way that reminds König of a hand pressed against his forehead, a balm against whatever torments him. “Manage okay?”

König straightens, settles, and feels his face flush beneath his mask. He doesn’t know how far the colour carries over his face, but he manages to nod, a little shakily. “It was nice. I liked spending the evening with him.”

He doesn’t say ‘I would have liked to spend the evening with you both,’ but it is a neat enough miss that he begins his retreat. 

“Goodnight, sir.”

“Night, König.”

König doesn’t look back as he makes his way down the corridor towards his own door, even as the skin on his back of his neck prickles beneath the weight of Ghost’s unseen gaze. His hands still hold the warmth of Soap pressed against him and he curls his fingers into it as he hears the door creak and the sound of stumbling footsteps. He doesn’t hear the door click shut; instead he hears a gentle thump like something heavy being dropped a short distance onto a mattress, and then the quiet creak of the door being pushed open again. 

As he turns the corner, he catches a glimpse of Ghost’s door, still open, still occupied as the man keeps watch over him alone. 

[probablynotcy]

it definitely is an experience to write about a ship that is relatively popular and in return get a lot of hits and kudos on my fics. but I'll probably never stop writing about my silly little rare pairs that nobody besides me wants to read about, because they bring me so much joy.

soapghost(könig)? nice. awesome. I love them. I love writing about them. like, a lot.

yurisoap? yurinik? roachramirez? I'm going to die for all of these pairings, and if nobody wants to read about them then that's not my fucking problem, because I'm going to write about them anyway. :)

[whispermask]

gasoline in your heart ch.3/10 | ghost/soap/könig

read on ao3 | first ~ next | ch wc: 3.2k, total: 34k | completed

tags: smut, eventual ot3, fwbs to lovers, porn with feelings, jealous!ghost

dead dove time: this fic as a whole features a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, briefly graphic past child abuse (not CSA), past abuse of alcohol and present alcohol use, and at times dubious consent (consuming alcohol and engaging in sexual activities; dubcon voyeurism; dubcon sexting)

summary: soap and ghost start hooking up; soap and könig have apparently been hooking up; ghost doesn't know how to deal with it (eventual polycule)

preview: Ghost knows he’s caught, feels it crash over him like a bucket of ice water, freezing him in place. But Soap doesn’t tell König to stop, just maintains eye contact from under his lashes. Ghost thinks he sees Soap smirk with his teeth still set in König’s skin. The teeth marks in Ghost’s shoulder throb as if it’s him who’s being bitten.

Soap doesn’t seek him out privately again after that. He makes sure he’s never alone with Ghost, goes out of his way to survey any room Ghost is occupying to check for other people before he enters, save for when they’re out in the field together and it’s unavoidable.

They’re almost done with the mission in Turkey, currently stationed at the Izmir Air Station, and it’s business as usual save for Soap’s cold shoulder. He speaks to Ghost only when necessary for the mission and ignores him outright otherwise. One-Four-One senses that something is off, and give both Ghost and Soap a wide berth. If Ghost’s a little less forgiving, a little harder on them all than he had been while chasing Hassan, they don’t comment on it.

Krueger and Nikto are called in the day before they’re set to infiltrate a facility where six more stolen missiles have managed to be smuggled overseas under the noses of the American military. More fire power never hurts, Laswell had reasoned over the phone. Frankly, she had added, they're the only operatives within a couple hours flight of Turkey.

Ghost and Price stand on the tarmac and watch as the An-124 descends smoothly from the clouds and comes roaring to a stop on the runway in front of them. For all that the military is known for efficiency, it’s another twenty minutes before Kreuger and Nikto exit the aircraft. Ghost and Price discuss the best way to utilize the additional team members while they wait.

“Ghost, Price,” Kreuger acknowledges as he and Nikto approach. His face is unobscured by the tactical veil Ghost had seen in the photo in his file. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He grasps Ghost’s hand in greeting. “Price, you’ve gained a little weight since I last saw you, ja ?”

“Kreuger,” Nikto snaps, his gruff voice muffled under the faceplate. Kreuger doesn’t look the least bit chastised, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth as he clasps Price’s forearm in a handshake.

“Ta Kreuger, I’ve missed your charming sense of humor,” Price says.

“You’re an even worse liar than I remember, alter mann,” Kreuger says.

“Could say the same about you, nervensäge,” Price responds.

Nikto doesn’t introduce himself to Ghost, doesn’t acknowledge Price, but instead turns back to the aircraft.

“Och, there he is. Invited himself. Asshole,” Nikto says and gestures to where König’s is descending the ramp. He looks out of place as he strides towards them, a little unsure at how his unexpected presence will be received, hunched a bit to make himself appear smaller. He narrowly avoids running into a rolling cart of luggage and weaponry that’s being unloaded onto the tarmac.

Ghost keeps it professional. His ability to compartmentalize born decades ago from the love of his profession. Fraternizing with Soap had been a risk right from the start, even before they had done anything more than flirt over comms, but he’ll be damned if he allows it to bleed into his work and affect the success of the mission. He shakes König’s proffered hand when he reaches them, and introduces König to Price who’s looking over The Allegiance contract he’s got on his clipboard to make sure he hadn’t simply forgotten about König.

“You two’ve met?” Price asks.

“Few years back in Argentina, we requisitioned an operative who spoke German. Laswell sent König,” Ghost says.

“Don’t tell me,” Price says, searching his memory. “Was that the time with the Nazis?”

“The first time with the Nazis,” König says.

“There’s more than one?” Price asks.

“Three in all,” Ghost says.

“Don’t worry, they’re dead now,” König adds brightly.

“It was absolute scenes every time,” Ghost acknowledges.

He recalls watching König snap a Nazi’s neck, had admired the deadly grace with which he had dispatched the man. For all that he was lanky, Ghost knew under the awkwardness was a whipcord killer with a secret ferocity, cut from the same cloth as Ghost himself. König had earned his respect as an operator during the brief times they had worked together. That respect feels tainted now by something Ghost refuses to name. He’s grateful for his mask all over again, sure the disdain must be evident on his face.

Price shakes his head and extends his hand to grasp König’s.

“Welcome to The One-Four-One, König. We’re happy to have you with us.”

“Happy to be here, Captain Price,” he says.

Price leads them towards base camp, Kreuger and Nikto walking next to Price and discussing opspecs for tomorrow’s mission. König trails behind them, walking shoulder to shoulder with Ghost.

“I heard Sargent MacTavish was deployed in Turkey. Is he stationed in Izmir?” König asks. He’s almost a full head taller than Ghost, all leg with long strides that nearly outpace him.

Why do you care, Ghost wants to say. Instead he asks, “Now how’d you hear that.” Mission details are usually on a need to know basis where contractors are concerned.

König gives him a sidelong glance, blue eyes bright behind through the veil, then lowers his gaze back to the ground. “I heard Kreuger mention it to Nikto,” he says and shrugs. It’s an obvious lie.

“Soap’s around somewhere” Ghost offers. “Prob’ly in the canteen or the mess for tea. Can’t stand to miss a meal, that one.”

König laughs, as if he understands, as if he has any right to. Ghost wants to punch him.

Price gathers One-Four-One and the Allegiance contractors together in the MIO’s conference room to introduce Kreuger, Nikto, and König to Gaz, Soap, and the two Turkish operatives, Ersoy and Demir. König gravitates towards Soap during the introduction, shakes Soap’s hand and puts on a good show for everyone. For all that Price knows, this is their first time meeting. Ghost hadn’t previously known they were acquainted either, can’t pinpoint when they possibly could have crossed paths.

All together, they’re nine of the world’s deadliest soldiers gathered under one roof, some of the most brilliant tactical minds by any military’s standards. As they stand around the conference table, Price at the helm and outlining the plan of action, he feels suddenly nostalgic. It reminds him of how it had felt when Ghost Team was assembled in Las Almas.

He thinks of Soap then, watches him from across the conference table where he’s stood at attention with his arms folded over his chest, sleeves of his shirt pulled taut across his biceps. The feeling that settles in his chest is unfamiliar, he can’t quite name it until ah, yes, there it is: yearning. He suddenly misses their easy banter and Soap’s soft smiles. Has acquired at least three new jokes that he would normally have relayed to Soap by now, to the tune of Soap’s derision.

Price dismisses them with an order to get some sleep and a final reminder that the helos depart at oh six hundred and do not be fucking late god damn it. Before Ghost can exit the room, he hears Price ask Soap and König to stay behind.

The conference room isn’t soundproofed. Ghost pauses outside the closed door, waves off Demir’s invitation to spar before dinner. The others leave, and Ghost leans against the wall, turning his head so that his ear is almost pressed against it. He tries to act like he’s not eavesdropping by rifling through the mission specs Price had provided each of them. The underrated art of hiding in plain sight.

“Soap, König, I know you’ve just met,” he hears Price say. Ghost wants to laugh in his face. “We’re short on rooms in the VQs and I didn’t think it was appropriate to send König to the barracks. I’ll have a cot brought to Soap’s room, you two will be bunking together for the night.”

Ghost hears their “yes, sirs” and Price’s “dismissed.” The door handle clicks and it’s too late to hide so Ghost lifts his chin and finds Soap’s eyes as they exit. Soap isn’t even surprised to see him there and meets his gaze, doesn’t break eye contact as they pass, side by side with König so that their shoulders are nearly bumping.

König doesn’t even spare him a glance.

-

Like before, Ghost hears Soap before he sees them.

After dinner, Ghost had come to the gym behind the VQs, which were far removed from the otherwise bustling pavilion in the center of the base. In fact, the gym is closed for renovations, which is why Ghost has been sneaking into the locker room to shower. It’s the kind of privacy he’s not used to, having grown accustomed to shared living quarters. He keeps the mask on as much as is possible any time he’s deployed, but bathing in it was too ridiculous to consider.

He’s standing under the spray of the shower, mask set on a plastic stool beside a serrated tactical knife just outside of the stall. He’s never been one to luxuriate in creature comforts, that was trained out of him long ago, but he stretches out his aching right shoulder under the spray of hot water, old injuries and rifle recoil having created a sticking soreness that has only gotten worse through the years. He washes his hair and body without thought and turns the shower off, grabs his towel from the hook just outside of the stall.

He’s half dressed in jeans and mask, seated on the bench in front of the wall of lockers, droplets of water still running down his bare torso as he searches his duffel for Vaseline, when he hears them.

“Shi-hi-i-it,” Soap moans. Unmistakable. The sound echoes from the indoor pool area into the locker room, the tile serving to amplify the noise into something penetrating and urgent.

Ghost freezes, withdraws his hand from his duffel. Soap moans again, what sounds like König’s name, impossible to ignore. He rises from the bench and rounds the corner of the locker room entrance out onto the pool deck. He sees a door half-open directly across from him, a darkened room beyond the doorway save for the soft red glow of an overhead lamp. It must be an office or storage closet, but it’s half filled with furniture, a holding space during the renovation.

Ghost bites the inside of his cheek and swallows, the decision already made. He takes a step into a crouch and moves around the pool towards the doorway, keeping low, back against the far wall. He reaches the doorway and looks in on the scene before him.

Soap’s sat on a desk facing the door with König, with his back to Ghost, between Soap’s spread thighs. König’s big hands grip the meat of Soap’s legs, pulling Soap’s hips into his deep, grinding thrusts. They’re completely naked, not just fooling around but full on shagging, König even stripped of his helmet and veil. The muscles of his bare ass flex til he’s trembling with it, pushing in as far as he can, trying to keep his cock buried deep. Between the red light and the hand Soap has fisted at the base of his scalp, Ghost can’t make out the color of König’s hair, cringes to think he’s blond like Ghost.

“Mein liebster,” König groans, his voice breathy with exertion and something else. Reverence, maybe.

“Harder, make me fucking take it,” Soap says, using his grip in König’s hair to make him meet Soap’s eyes. His other hand is out of sight, likely stroking his cock.

König obliges, moves to grip Johnny under his ass so he can nearly lift him from the desk to get the best angle.

“Fuck me, fuck me, don’t you fucking stop,” Soap babbles, sounding delirious with pleasure. Ghost thinks he’s laying it on rather thick.

“Ja, yes,” König chants. “Ich möchte hören, wie Du darum bettelst.” Ghost can hear what Soap is doing to him by the gravel in his voice, pitched lower than Ghost has ever heard it. Soap scratches the hand that had been in König’s hair down his back, hard, leaves behind marks visible to Ghost from where he’s crouched, blood bright under the glow from the lamp. It makes König fuck him into him harder, hips snapping brutally. Ghost can see the desk begin to slide, tipping and thudding back down to the floor with the force of König’s thrusts.

“Fucking need it,” Soap moans. “Steamin' bloody Jesus, you’re fucking deep.” He braces both hands on the desk behind him and rocks his hips down onto König’s lap.

“You take me so well, schatz. Made for my cock. Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr, stretched around me like this?”

König does heft Soap into his arms then, elbows slotted under the back of Soap’s knees to support his weight. He bounces Soap on his dick like he weighs nothing, Soap using his thighs to cling to König’s narrow waist while his arms come to wrap around the back of König’s neck. 

The position is obscene and Ghost doesn’t know how much more he can take when Soap bites into the meat of König’s shoulder and looks up from beneath heavily lidded eyes to stare directly at Ghost in the doorway.

Ghost knows he’s caught, feels it crash over him like a bucket of ice water, freezing him in place. But Soap doesn’t tell König to stop, just maintains eye contact from under his lashes. Ghost thinks he sees Soap smirk with his teeth still set in König’s skin. The teeth marks in Ghost’s shoulder throb as if it’s him who’s being bitten.

The sweat slick slap coupled with the knowledge that Soap knows that he’s watching them, is maybe even putting on a show for him, sparks a thread of want in the pit of Ghost’s stomach, and without his consent he feels his dick start to fatten in his briefs.

Ghost throws himself away from the door, his arousal underscored by a white hot pang of jealousy. That should be me, he thinks, and hates himself for it, hates Soap and König, as he strides back towards the locker room. He pulls on a shirt and hastily packs his belongings, shouldering his duffle bag and shoving his feet into his boots. The urge to get as far as he can from Soap and König’s brutal coupling is like a stinging slap in the face. He just wants to focus on the mission, damn them. 

He tears out of the gym and heads towards Demir’s room, hoping the invitation to spar still stands.

-

An hour into sparring, a thought occurs to Ghost: why hadn’t they fucked in Soap’s quarters? Price had practically gift wrapped that arrangement for them.

He’s shirtless and dripping sweat on the sparring mat, in need of another shower already. Demir is a worthy combatant, plays dirty like Ghost which makes for an interesting match. What he lacks in muscle power he makes up for in sheer cunning, something Ghost learns the hard way when he winds up on his ass twice in less than two minutes, bruises already blooming on his chin under the mask and over his ribs.

Ghost is about to call it quits and retire when Soap enters the auditorium, adjacent to the mess hall where the sparring mats have been set up. Soap catches his eye, lifts a shoulder and jerks his chin towards the door, an unspoken command for Ghost to follow him outside.

Ghost watches his retreating back. He makes a quick excuse to Demir, claiming the need for an early night, and follows Soap out and into an obscured enclave in an alley just left of the barracks.

“I’m sorry,” Soap starts before Ghost even has the chance to open his mouth. He looks fucked out, skin glowing, the tension he often carries in his shoulders and back is nowhere to be found.

“No you’re not,” Ghost snaps.

“Aye, you’re right Lt.. I’m not sorry.” Soap smirks, the same smirk as before, when he had riding König’s dick and eye fucking Ghost. “But, I need to ask you this. Why does it bother you so much?”

Soap stares at Ghost, eyes hard and daring him to speak. Ghost can’t find the words, doesn’t know what he would say even if he could understand why he feels this way. The tight clutch of possessiveness that has enshrouded his relationship with Soap might be mimetic desire. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s never shared well, has a horrible track record of partners who have cheated on him, which was the main factor in his decision to stop pursuing long term relationships altogether once he’d entered his thirties. He’d instead committed himself to SAS, a sordid love affair still unfolding, with a likely violent and abrupt conclusion.

But he’s never been on the other side of it, has never desired to play the role of the lothario. He feels like the interloper in König and Soap’s relationship, and that bothers him.

“Do you know what ‘Ned amoi ignoriern’ means?”

“Give over with the German, I fucking get it,” Ghost growls, furious that he even let Soap lead him here, into this ambush.

“I don’t think you do,” Soap says, a hiss in his voice. “Its literal translation is ‘don’t even ignore.’ It means that someone isn’t even worth the dignity of deciding to ignore them.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I told König about us,” Soap says.

“Why the bloody hell would you do that?”

“I think it could be so good between us. The three of us. But he’s not interested if you cannae ask for what you need.”

Realization dawns on Ghost. “You wanted me to see you together,” he accuses.

“Aye.”

“Why?” Ghosts repeats.

“Because I won't ignore this,” Soap asserts with an edge of desperation, gesturing between himself and Ghost.

Something in Ghost snaps. He surges forward and grips Soap’s shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt. He uses that grip to practically lift Soap and back him against the brick façade of the barracks. To fuck or fight, he’s not sure, but the decision is made for him when Soap yanks the mask up and brings their lips together in a punishing kiss, hands coming up to grab his face and dig his thumbs into the hinges of his jaw, forcing his mouth open against Soap’s. One of Ghost’s hands slides down to grab Soap’s ass and pull him flush against Ghost. He wonders if König was wearing a condom.

They bite at each other’s lips and jaws and necks, grappling against the wall. Soap is pushing his hands up into Ghost’s hair under the mask, not lifting it off but letting himself in. He tastes something unfamiliar on Soap’s lips. It’s not strong, traces of honey and salt, but it’s there, different from anything he’s experienced where kissing Soap is concerned.

Undeniably, it’s König he can taste, and the thought sends a hot thrill through him, followed by the muted agony of seeing König give Soap everything he’d asked for. Fury sparks behind his eyes. He releases Soap’s shirt and punches the wall behind his head, splitting his knuckles as he rips himself away from Soap’s mouth and puts some distance between them, backing up against the wall opposite where he had just been kissing Soap. They’re both panting hard, staring at each other’s kiss bitten lips.

“If you’re in his bed,” Ghost says, “I don’t want you in mine.”

Soap steps toward him, crowds Ghost up against the wall this time until they’re nose to nose.

“Liar.” His eyes search Ghost's, gaze punishing.

“Piss off,” Ghost says

Soap does.

*******

alter mann: old man nervensäge: pain in the neck, often aimed at siblings or close friends mein liebster: my dearest schatz: treasure/sweetheart/darling Ich möchte hören, wie Du darum bettelst: Let me hear you beg for it Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr: Feels good, doesn't it Ned amoi ignoriern is actually Austrian-German but it felt awkward to mention that in the fic

[whispermask]

nsfw text under the cut

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