#the ghoap is in progress we will get there it will just take a while

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[NEXT PART]

Okay I'm trying to be brave and post this before I chicken out, first time writing a fic, and I'm not sure if this is any good.

So, since I don't have time to draw out all of the revenant au story, but I still want to share it, I'm writing it instead.

Will continue this if people are interested!

[this isn't requiered but reading the comic might help you understand this better]

[also there's a Soap pov version of this by Badolmen, it doesn't line up 100% because we didn't work together but it's very very good and you should read it regardless]

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking, Ghost.”

He shifted in his place. Can never get used to Price’s voice in his head.

“You know I work best alone. All he’s gonna do is get in the way.” 

Price’s mustache twitched, as if he’s fighting a smile. Bastard is about to drop something to win the entire argument, Ghost already knows.

“He’s a revenant. Strong one too.” 

Fucking figures. Still, he could argue he doesn’t need any support-

“Intel is rigged with explosives. And the Sergeant just so happens to be explosion-proof.”

…Fuck.

Ghost sighs heavily like he was presented with an unreasonable amount of shit to deal with. He watches as Price sits there, shit eating grin spitting at him. He looks back to the folder, at the details of this already annoying mission, “you said there are 2 buildings?”

Price snaps from his self boasting to confirm “one suspected barracks and the other an abandoned warehouse. Warehouse contains the majority of explosives.” 

Finally finding something to work with, Ghost straightens his back to his usual self-assured posture, “the Sergeant can deal with the warehouse, I’ll clear the barracks. No need to work together.”

Price seems less happy about that. Serves him right. He sighs and drags a hand over his face, and Ghost almost feels bad for ruining his plan to get him to play with a team. Almost.

“Will it kill you to try and work with the lad?” Price asks offhandedly, while organising the folder back to the never-ending pile of documents on his desk.

“You mean again?” Ghost would wear his own shit eating grin if his face wasn’t permanently covered.

Price still seems equally pissed. Probably saw it in his literal mind’s eye. “Get out of my office Lieutenant, wheels up at 0500.” He gets up and walks around his desk to face Ghost, “don’t scare the kid off alright? I have a feeling you two could mash well together.”

Ghost tilts his head and projects the most doubt he could muster at Price. “Yes sir.”

This is going to be a bloody long day.

It’s not that Ghost hates people per se, it’s just that most of them seem hell-bent on being annoying, disruptive, or boring. Useless on the field for someone of his caliber, and even more useless off-field.

He knows he’s not exactly easy to relate to, but he couldn’t care less about trying to be. He’s here for one purpose. And it’s not “making friends” or whatever Price and Gaz has been trying to push him towards.

He wonders which category the Sergeant currently standing in front of him will fall into. By his fidgeting nature and easy smile, Ghost would put his money on “annoying”.

The Sergeant, “Soap” apparently (Ghost wonders if that callsign was given to him before or after he died a probably painful death), now directs that smile at him, seemingly undeterred by the giant man wearing a skull like a stereotypical grim reaper. He has to give it to the lad, at least he hides his discomfort well.

“You must be Ghost, eh? Let’s get ourselves a win LT” The Sergeant says with an obvious Scottish accent, fist-bumps his shoulder and walks off towards transport.

Oh, annoying is definitely winning.

Despite that, Ghost can’t feel like Soap really fits it. He’s unlike the other muppets in the category, He’s not poking him like the rookies do, trying to make him reveal his powers.

No, the Sergeant is annoying like an overly friendly dog is to someone that doesn’t want to be licked. He’s acting like they’re just two normal soldiers on their way to a normal mission, not the unnatural, unexplainable phenomena they actually are.

Ghost will have to keep watching. Certainly on field he will be able to find out his true colors.

On the helo, Ghost picks his usual spot near the ramp, where the lights don’t reach as much and most prefer not to sit, and observes Soap. His fidgety nature stayed the same, but the carefree expression he wore on ground morphed into a determined one, face stern and serious. He seemed lost in thought, eyebrows twitching here and there. He sees how his fingertips flicker, watching flames dance between them before the rapid movements put them out.

Well, at the very least Soap doesn’t fall into “boring”.

Clearing the barracks is a laughably easy job, even without using his powers. Although, it would’ve been so much faster with them… too bad he doesn’t hate the Sergeant enough to send him to Limbo.

They practically run through both buildings, untouchable storms. Ghost has to admit, Soap is clearly competent, disarming bombs and taking down hostiles at an impressive rate.

God, he hates when Price is right.

“Ground floor clear, heading to the basement” Soap relays on comms. 

“Copy, clearing third floor, keep an eye out for Intel.” 

“I have to say LT, you’re not quite like I expected.”

Feeling’s mutual, Ghost thinks to himself. “That so?”

“Aye, you’re not a major cunt for starters.”

That startled a small huff out of him. What the hell do the rumors say about him? He would have to ask Gaz about that, “Could still change that Sergeant.” he mock-lectures him.

A small laugh is what he gets in return, “I doubt that. I’ve worked with some bastards before, you barely make top 50.”

“Only 50? I hoped for at least 20”

“Got work cut out for you then, sir”

“That I do.”

Ghost continues clearing the floor methodically before faltering for a moment. Why was he entertaining the Sergeant like that? Since when does he joke with people? 

Though, he would’ve done it more if he had someone so ready to joke back…

Useless thoughts. 

Cursing Price, Soap, and all other stupid distracting things swirling in his head, Ghost takes down another hostile.

The mission is going without a hitch. Which is usually when something “hitches”.

A couple of minutes after Soap’s last words, Ghost sees a bright light flash from the warehouse, before a soundwave shakes the windows of the now barren barracks.

One of the explosives went off… “Soap, what the hell happened there?”

No answer.

Ghost knows he’s fine. Price wouldn’t brag about how “explosion-proof” he is otherwise. But he’s not answering…

“Sergeant, give me sitrep, now.”

Ghost stands still for another minute, listening to static. He checked the last room right before the explosion went off, so he just has to go to exfil and wait for the Sergeant at this point. His part of the work is done.

He should just go to exfil.

Ghost climbs down the stairs and heads for the warehouse, a foreboding plume of dark smoke billowing from its roof.

If asked why he didn’t ignore his gut feeling and use his brain like always, he wouldn’t have an answer.

Maybe he just wanted to exchange one more joke with the Sergeant before they finish the mission and never see each other again.

Arriving at the doors, he sees how the ground floor caved in, creating a ramp down to the basement. He starts making his way down, when he sees bodies littering the debris. Was Soap ambushed?

“Soap? Where the fuck are you Sergeant!” Ghost shouts. He has half a mind to be quiet, not wanting to attract enemies to their location, before realizing no one would’ve survived this. No one but-

“LT…?”

“Soap, why weren’t you answering comms- what…”

He stumbles upon Soap. Soap, who's laying on the grey concrete floor, wheezing and shaking, a metal rebar in his hands. Ghost walks closer and realizes the rebar is going through his stomach and pinning him to the floor. 

The Sergeant’s eyes blearily look at the metal “I need, I n-need to get this out…”

He lifts himself half an inch and Ghost sees how the blood rushes out of the wound, how Soap pales. 

Ghost rushes to his side. “Stop fucking moving”, he slides his hands under his torso, feels his gloves getting soaked in blood, “let me help you”.

Soap’s breathing becomes less harsh, and he looks up at him, “you… you don’t have to-”

He slowly lifts Soap before he can say another useless remark. The muscles under his fingertips clench and the Sergeant chokes out a scream.

“Fuck” Soap mutters between pants. 

“We’re halfway there, you’re doing good.” Ghost lets him rest before continuing to lift his body up. The blood keeps rushing out of the wound, enough that he doesn’t understand how Soap is still conscious. The sergeant let go of the rebar, and is now gripping Ghost’s forearms like he’s about to fall to his death.

After a few seconds, which Ghost is sure felt like hours for Soap, he eases him off the metal and onto the ground. Soap immediately collapses, shuddering and holding his hands around the wound.

Ghost then realizes he’s not sure how the Sergeant’s powers work. Is this supposed to even happen? Is he actually dying?

Soap looks up at that moment, giving him a small smile that looks more like a grimace, “I just… give me a minute to heal, I’ll be ready to go soon.” he uncurls and drags himself to sit against a piece of wall.

Ghost frowns and slowly steps towards Soap and slides to sit next to him, “take however long you need.”

He doesn’t look, but from his peripheral, he sees Soap’s head whipping around and staring at Ghost like he told him he’s giving him a million pounds.

He seemed to find something in his expression (however much he could even see of it), and looked down at his bloodied hands, “thank ye…”

Ghost blinks down, “I hope this doesn’t lower my cunt rank.”

Soap lets out a small laugh that turns into a fit of coughs. More blood rushes out of his wounds, and Ghost internally winces.

“Ha… I think it takes ye off the list, mate.”

Ghost heaves an over-the-top sigh, “shame”.

Soap smiles at him, and Ghost notices it’s different from the one he gave him before the helo. This one is… warmer. Or at least it makes him feel so.

Soap lifts his shirt to inspect the wound, and Ghost can’t help by take a look. The wound stopped bleeding, and when Soap wipes some of it away, he can see how it’s already closing.

So he does get hurt… it just heals. Ghost still wonders how it all works, but he knows their powers work with bizarre rules, weird exceptions and what not. He can almost hear his Reaper laughing. Or whatever you would call that chilling noise it lets out when it finds something funny.

It doesn’t matter either way. Not like he’ll get to work with Soap again. 

The Sergeant exhales and lets his shirt drop, “a’right, let’s fuckin’ finish this.��� he slowly starts lifting himself up before Ghost wordlessly grabs his arms and helps him.

Soap mumbles a thanks, “did you find any intel?” 

Ghost looks ahead. The climb out of the basement won’t be easy on his wound… “Negative. We’ll keep looking.”

Eventually they reach a door labelled “storage”, that is blocked by several tonnes of concrete and metal. Ghost internally curses.

Soap, who’s been trailing behind Ghost, reaches the door and looks around. Ghost is about to ask him if he’s got a few C4’s hidden somewhere when the Sergeant asks him, “permission to use my powers, sir?”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, “what are you planning?”

“Gonna blow it up sir” Soap says like it was obvious.

“...go ahead.” Ghost replies, half baffled Price forgot to mention the Sergeant, besides being unkillable by explosions, can also create them. 

Was probably in the folder he didn’t bother reading.

He takes a step back to let Soap Have a go. The Sergeant rests his palms on the debris, inhales, and…

A loud boom makes Ghost’s ears ring. He’s momentarily blinded by the bright explosion before he regains his vision, and sees Soap stepping around the remains of the door into the small room.

Ghost shakes away his slight shock and joins him. Soap’s powers intrigue him… he wonders what else he could do.

Somehow, the intel survived the explosions. Ghost could barely care. At least they won’t have Price on their case later on. 

As they walk towards the exfil point, a heavy feeling sinks within Ghost. He’s not sure what to call it, but if he had to it would be “regret”.

Regretting what, he’s not sure. Maybe he should’ve prolonged their walk.

And from a glance at his face, Soap might understand this feeling as well.

“You did well Sergeant.” He has the sudden urge to say. Maybe it will make him regret less.

Soap casts a smile at him. It doesn’t warm him in the slightest.

The chopper blades slashing through air never made him feel worse.

“I guess this is it then.” Soap says when they land.

Ghost turned to face him. That heavy feeling in him just kept getting heavier throughout the flight. Why?

“So it seems.”

Soap stares for a moment longer before sighing. Ghost wants to do something about the annoyingly heavy air of despair around them.

“Soap” the Sergeant hums, “Why did the Scotsman’s prank fail?”.

Confusion takes over his features, “what?”

Ghost inhales, “because no one let him get away scot-free.”

Soap stares at him like he brought shame to his entire bloodline. Ghost grins like he did.

“Steamin’ Jesus LT, that was horrendous.”

“Ah Sergeant, just admit my jokes are better, no need to be a sore loser.” 

“My gran got better jokes than this, fuckin’ hell” Soap laughs.

“I’d like to meet her.”

“So you two could battle? I rather not see you die of embarrassment sir.”

Soap’s transport decides to arrive at this moment, chasing away the small joy they both found.

Soap looks back at it and turns to Ghost.

“It’s been great working with you sir.” if Ghost was feeling bold, he would say Soap almost looks sad, “I hope we’ll get to go another round later.”

Ghost hates the hopeful tone in his voice. Hope is uncertain, leaves everything up to chance.

Useless.

“Likewise, Sergeant.”

He stays standing there for a few minutes, staring at the truck vanishing towards the horizon. As if it will lighten the boulder in his chest.

“So, Simon, what’s your verdict?” Price finishes after debrief.

Ghost thinks about the entire endeavour. Not annoying, not disruptive, or boring.

Soap is…

“He’s something else…”

Critiques are welcome! Nobody beta'd this so I'm sure there are mistakes lol (that and this isn't my first language...)

[thunderousavery]

Make You Mine (Ghost x Soap) Pt. 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heck, no. I just like to clean and—”

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

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

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

But…

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

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

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

No, maybe it’s just…

He failed to see the laser sight aimed at him.

“Ghost, on our 9!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

… Fucking hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're currently in Pt. 1

Pt. 2 / Part 3 / Part 4