Simon Ghost Riley - Tumblr Posts

War Machine

Former teammate turn machine

War Machine! Reader who was once Gaz’s mentor and died yeas ago

War Machine! Reader reappeared killing hostages and giving Soap a gut wound

War Machine! Reader who works for the highest bitter aka Makarov

War Machine! Reader who broke free from the programming and attack Makarov’s forces and alerted 141

War Machine! Reader who meet one on one with Laswell telling her to leave her alone

War Machine! Reader who's being chanced by 141 for her crime

War Machine! Reader who Gaz found first and told War Machine! Reader to be put her hands up.

Gaz! who was shaking because this was his former Lieutenant who died standing right in front of him.

War Machine! Reader who turn around and gaze at him with eyes of no recognition.

War Machine! Reader who explain what happened and that they wish for a peaceful like away from war

Gaz! Who tazed them and knocked them out

141! Who waited for this machine human hybrid go wake up. They notice this person have autopsy scars across their chest

Gaz! Who feel conflict seeing their old Lt. In front of him

War Machine! Reader who wakes up seeing Ghost standing in front of them, gun at the ready

War Machine! Reader who was given a chance to either join them or be dissected and destroyed

my only love

Above the Ruins | Eight

Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader

masterlist

In a world devastated by chaos and the threat of the undead, two destinies intertwine in an unexpected way. Ghost, a hardened ex-military man haunted by the horrors of war, encounters [reader], a lost and desolate young woman. With his experience and determination, Ghost decides to help her, and together they embark on a dangerous journey in search of a refugee center.

notes: English is not my first language, and I initially wrote this fanfic in Portuguese. With the help of online resources, I rewrote it in English.

Seven - Nine

"Damn it. Swim, Sergeant!" Ghost shouted, starting to swim against the current.

I let go of his arm and also began to try swimming. The river was wide, and the shore seemed far away. The current pulled us more and more. The thoughts of giving up and letting the water take me were overwhelming. My arms ached along with my legs, my lungs burned from lack of air, and my skin trembled, craving warmth.

It felt like an endless battle we weren’t going to win. We were just meters from the waterfall, and not knowing its height terrified me. The sound of rushing water was loud, and I wondered how we hadn’t heard it sooner.

Ghost and Soap were fighting just as hard as I was. Soap was farther ahead, with a look of total panic when his body disappeared, being sucked by the water that fell into God knows where. With a scream, I was pulled under shortly after.

The fall felt infinite, and my heart was on fire. My body didn’t hurt, but my mind did. It was a constant thought of ‘I don’t want to die.’

The thoughts stopped when my body hit the water, the fall snapping me out of the trance. Startled, I saw a larger body falling beside me, and I quickly swam upwards, realizing it was Ghost next to me, while Soap was farther ahead, with a pained expression.

"Are you guys okay?" I asked, breathing heavily.

"My ankle hurts, I think I hit a rock when I fell," Soap said.

I swam towards him, helping him to the surface and guiding him to rest on the riverbank where we had fallen. Ghost emerged shortly after, throwing his backpack on the ground and approaching us.

"Let me see," he said, kneeling beside us and removing Soap’s boot. "It's swelling. Probably a sprain, we’ll need to immobilize it."

"I think we have bandages in the backpack," I said, opening Ghost's pack, where we’d stored the first aid supplies. "They’re wet, but they'll work."

"Help me here…" I held Soap’s leg as he groaned in pain. The larger man firmly wrapped the bandage around Soap's ankle, tying a tight knot.

"Damn it. This is going to be a problem," Soap said, trying to stand and groaning in pain.

"Nothing we haven’t handled before. [Name], I hate to say this, but you’ll have to lead the way. Take point, Sergeant."

This was my chance.

"Sure, Lieutenant."

I headed into the forest, with Ghost helping Soap to walk behind me. We moved in silence, listening carefully to every little sound. The tension was high, and the desire to prove myself even higher.

"We'll keep going in this direction until we find a good spot to camp. We're not far from the city, but Soap needs to rest," Ghost said quietly, and I nodded.

After a while of walking, I spotted a slightly flatter area, with few roots on the ground and some leaves.

"Good spot!" Ghost praised, helping Soap sit near a tree.

"What a shitty situation," Soap said, frustrated with himself.

"Relax, Soap. Try to rest as much as you can, Ghost and I will handle the rest."

"Sure, ma’am," he said, laughing as he leaned against the tree.

Ghost and I started setting up the camp and preparing our lunch.

Unfortunately, the river wasn’t what we’d hoped, and Soap's situation slowed us down since the plan was to reach the next city before nightfall. But I knew there was no point in being pessimistic about the situation; things happen as they need to happen. Maybe this happened for a reason? Maybe if we had arrived earlier in the city, things would have been worse. I tried to see the bright side of it all. There was no use being pessimistic in these circumstances, and in the reality we lived in, we were constantly doomed to danger, and sooner or later, this was bound to happen.

While Ghost opened the soup cans, I started hanging up our wet belongings.

"Soap, give me your jacket, please. I’ll hang our clothes to dry."

"Thanks, [Name]," he said, handing me his jacket.

Seeing what I was doing, Ghost quickly removed his jacket and handed it to me. I smiled at him, noticing his eyes narrowing under the mask.

The sun was still warm, but it didn’t seem like nightfall would take long. I hung our jackets and the things that got wet in the backpack on a nearby tree, with the sun shining directly on them.

"[Name], your food," Ghost handed it to me, and I saw that Soap was already eating.

We ate in silence, with only the sounds of birds and the warmth of the sun, which was perfect after a river 'bath.'

"We need to be careful. It’s going to be hard crossing the city with Soap like this, and waiting for his ankle to heal is risky. Our food won’t last."

"So, what are we going to do?" I asked, looking at him. Soap was also looking at him.

"The same thing we did to get here. You’ll go ahead. Very carefully, understood?" he said, emphasizing the "very carefully."

"Sure, Lieutenant," I said, laughing, finding his concern endearing.

"[Name]! I’m serious!" he said sternly. "There will be many more of them in the city. Soap and I will be compromised. You’re good, but you’re still inexperienced. They could catch us off guard…"

"They won’t, Ghost. I’ll be careful."

"Good."

✧˖°₊

We rested until nightfall, Soap half-asleep against the tree, and I leaned against Ghost as he fiddled with my hand, noticing every detail. We stayed mostly quiet, just enjoying the peace.

After everything dried, we packed everything back into our backpacks, and at night we took turns sleeping.

The next day, I woke up feeling the sun on my face. I opened my eyes, noticing Ghost was already up.

"Good morning!" I said, getting up.

"Good morning!" he replied, walking towards me, hugging me, and kissing my forehead over the mask. I smiled at his gesture.

"I don’t think I ever asked about your family," I said to Ghost as I started helping him break down the camp.

"It was a… difficult family. A lot happened. I had a younger brother, we lived with my mom and dad. My dad was a drunk who beat the three of us," he said with empty eyes, and I instantly regretted asking. "When I turned 17, he passed away, and when I became an adult, I joined the army. My brother got married and now has a kid," it seemed like a sensitive topic for him.

"Where were they when this happened?"

"His wife and kid were at home, he was at work. I haven’t heard from them since. As for my mom, she became one of them."

"My God… I’m so sorry," I said, getting closer to him.

"It’s hard. I just wanted her to have a good life. After I started earning my own money, I tried to give her everything she never had: love, a comfortable life, a little house just the way she wanted and deserved… I hope it was enough to make up for the hell she went through with my dad."

"I’m sure it was, Ghost. She must have been so proud of you."

"I hope so… Anyway, what about you? Do you know where yours was?"

"No. In fact, I never knew."

"What do you mean?"

"I was left by my mother for adoption as soon as I was born. I never met her."

"So, you lived in an orphanage?"

"Yes. I lived there my whole life until I became of age. After that, I was practically kicked out. Luckily, I passed the university entrance exam and got a 100% scholarship. I stayed in the dorms until all this happened."

"That must have been hard."

"It was very lonely. I couldn’t make many friends."

"You didn’t feel like you belonged there, did you?" he said as if reading me.

"Exactly. It was weird. It seemed like everyone had plans for the end of the year, for the holidays, for the weekend, except me," I said as we packed the last of the camp, with only Soap's things left, as he still slept with his mouth slightly open.

"I know a bit of what that feels like," he said, seeming not to want to continue the subject.

✧˖°₊

After waking Soap up, Ghost adjusted his bandages and helped him stand.

"Here’s the map," he said, handing it to me and helping me put on my backpack. "We need to move faster today. We must reach the city before nightfall to have time to find shelter."

"Alright."

Ghost helped Soap with his backpack and supported him as they started walking."

silly ID photo??

yeah little bit of my ghost cosplay! me and the boys

Little birdy on my shoulder

Finally!! My rifle has arrived and I can take some photos with it

it's actually me im giggling art by aidenlydia!!

My first art for COD ask!

roach ----> @felixighter

more photos! price ---> @kaomisu

our photo with catbun

Some 22 and 09 angst doodles

Q: redraw the picture if your character appeared in two (or more) parts of COD

Sorry girlies, he smells like pickle pork strips 😔

memories and moonshine

includes: Ghost, Soap, Ghost's dead beat dad, brief Price

warnings: drinking, mentions of abuse, flashbacks, nightmares

length: 2,883 words

summary: Ghost isn't an angel.- far fucking from it. But maybe, just maybe, through the drinks and memories, Soap can help him find a halo.

A/N: Literally wrote this while sick and half asleep, listening to my neighbor have a party. So... Yeah. Also, Soap's accent is 95% from a translator, so blame that and not me <3

It's for some stupid moral booster, Price explained. 

Normally, Ghost wouldn't have to come to these types of things, but given what happened on the last mission, he was forced to by the whole 141. 

Secretly, deep, deep, down inside, Simon is thankful. Thankful that Soap made his tea just right, thankful Gaz offered to spar with him even though he's freaked out by him, thankful Price shared a cigar in his office. 

Ghost is still pissed off though, made to sit here in the lights and music. 

Despite it all, the bar isn't all too bad. Less of a club type and more of have-a-drink-with-the-boys-during-a-game type. There's still rowdy people, still flirts and such, but no one is breathing down his neck. He doesn't know what he'd do if there was. He's already tense… more than usual anyway.

He quietly waves the bartender down and speaks lowly through his black surgical mask.

"What bourbon you got back there?" Ghost nods.

The bartender sucks her teeth, resting her elbows down on the bar top and her head against her hands. 

"Sorry, babes. Limited stock and all we have is Barton 1792," she rolls her eyes. "Some dumb newbie dropped all the bottles of the real good stuff."

Ghost huffs through his nose, glancing down the bar top. He spots Johnny, wide smile on his face and an odd glass in his hand. 

"You know what he got?"

"Who, hun?" she asked, leaning forward just a bit. Ghost leans back in time, vaguely waving his hand towards Soap.

"The ray of fuckin' sunshine. Stupid mohawk on his head and-"

"Oh, him!" she beams, straightening up with a light pink dusting on her cheeks. "Of course, of course. You want what he has, sweets?" She's giggling, Ghost notes, watching her as her eyes never really float away from Soap. 

He just hums, but she doesn't hear him over the new song that kicks up through the speakers. 

He's going to murder Price if this little interaction doesn't end up killing him.

"Yeah, whatever he's got," he bites out.

"Coming right out, sugar," she nods, before moving about behind the bar.

As he waits, quietly watching Soap buzz with life, he thinks. 

He thinks of the mission, of the safe house that was almost a carbon copy of his childhood home, of Price convincing him to rest for two watches in a row. He thinks of his dream, of how he-

A glass clinking against the bar top has him blinking to attention.

He shouldn't zone out like that. It'll get him killed, get his comrades killed.

"Here you go, darlin'. What Sunshine had," she smiles brightly, sliding the drink towards him."

Ghost murmurs something that sort of passes as his version of a thank you. She nods and smiles, leans into the bar again, and doesn't fucking leave.

She's waiting for Ghost to drink it, he realizes. He gives her a crude look, lifting the glass to his face. No. No, she's waiting for him to take his mask off.

Maybe it's to spite himself, spite everything he knows, but in a rare moment, he bites up for the challenge.

Using his index finger from the hand that's holding the glass, he lifts the bottom of the mask and tucks the glass in between his lips and the mask.

The bartender frowns a little, shoulders slouches as she puts her weight on one leg. She still doesn't leave him alone, and it's bothering him. 

Ghost tells himself that she didn't drug him, and wills himself to take a sip. At the odd taste, he furrows his eyebrows and sets it down again, automatically hiding his face.

"Thoughts, Romeo?" she asks with a grin, trying to hide her disappointment.

"It's… smooth, but- fuckin' hell, is he trying to get wasted?"

"I figure he is. Sweet though, isn't it, pumpkin?"

"Yeah… what is it?"

"Good Ole Smoky Blue Flame," she laughs. "Legal moonshine, sweetheart."

Ghost shakes his head, letting the taste fade evenly in his mouth before taking another small gulp when she turns her eyes to Soap again. 

"It's not straight, though."

"You're right. Served one part to two parts gingle ale, doll."

Doll.

Ghost could put up with cutesy, flimsy, words like sweetheart and babes and whatever else she had called him- but doll makes him want to beat her teeth in and rip his throat out.

Ghost glares at her, tamed for all it's worth, and sets his drink on the coaster.

"What's with the nicknames all night?"

Ghost would've jumped over the bar at her if it wasn't for the way she giggled quietly. "I like to see how many I can shoot out before people mention it. It's usually how many dollars I get in tip," she grins widely, and Ghost can't help it when Soap flashes through his mind.

"Smooth," he says, deadpan.

"I know," she winks.

Before Ghost can say anything else, there's a rapping of knuckles on the bar top way further down the line.

"Well, it was nice talking with you. I'm looking forward to my whole nine bucks, angel." She beams at him. "Whoops. Make that ten."

And then she's off, tending to another person and leaving Ghost alone again with nothing more than his thoughts and a drink.

Angel, she called him. Surely she doesn't know? Has no clue of all he's done, all he's been the cause of, right? Angel, she smiled like he had hung the moon in the sky. 

Ghost felt sick, suddenly, sharply. He felt like smashing the glass and hiding because of the cuts he'll get. He felt like bashing his skull open on the bar just to make the tension ease. He felt like carving himself open to make sure he's still fully intact on the inside.

Angel.

It's odd, how he can feel himself trying to slow his breathing. Odder still that it isn't working. 

He's trying, trying so damn hard, to breathe in for four counts and hold it for four. But he can't. 

Christ, that's typically, isn't it? Just like him to fuck up something so simple. If he can't even breathe right after a simple conversation, how the hell did he ever think he'd get over what happened years- decades- ago?

His legs feel like jelly when he forces himself to get up from the stool. No one bothers him as he stalks like Death to the exit, no one gets in his way, and that's exactly how it should be. No one right in the head would lunge at a 6'4 tank of a man who has his face covered.

Yeah, he grew real tall. Just like his dad.

Ghost stumbles and scrapes the heel of his left hand on the brick wall when he catches himself. 

He's fine. He isn't bothered by a couple of stupid little things that happened so long ago. Besides, everyone gets shoved around here and there- he's not bloody special because he can't handle it well.

But he knew, he just fucking knew that being around this much alchol would make this happen. He practically doused himself in gasoline and ran into a burning building. 

Me and gasoline mix often, eh, he thinks delusionally, trying to get his vision to clear.

He forces himself further into the shadows from behind the building. Comforting territory, it is, here in the in between of light and dark. Life and death. Being a ghost.

But, fucking hell, he figures a ghost doesn't loose their shit over a handful of bad memories.

Memories of murdering those close to him in cold blood, memories of being betrayed for a few million dollars, memories of corpses and dirt, memories and dreams of his childhood-

"Ghost…? Ye oot 'ere?"

Ghost screws his eyes shut so his stomach can handle the violent swoop it goes though.

"Hey, you out 'ere? Been-" the slurring was interrupted by a nasty hiccup- "lookin' for you all night."

"I don't want to talk to you," Simon breathes.

Fuck, had he said that outloud?

"Ye got shite luck then, L.T." 

John stumbles around the corner, and Ghost had to beat down the urge to stabilize him. 

He's seen this before, on a different day with a different person, but it all ends up the same way. He doesn't- it was…

Simon can't handle Johnny acting like him.

"Yeah… I figured, lad. But hell, 'm here," his dad mumbled out as he stumble-walked across the yard to get to him. He nearly busted his ass on the ratty couch near the old tree. 

"You're drunk," Simon scoffed, and he really shouldn't have been as surprised as he was. 

His wrist burned and ached when he started to push himself from the grass spot under the wood line. 

"Naw, not really."

Simon clenched his jaw. It wasn't worth arguing with a fool, especially if they were drunk.  

"Simon, I wanted to say…" he trailed off and situated himself next to his son on the ground. When Simon tensed, he frowned to himself. "It sucks I startle you sometimes, kid."

And it was terrifying, how Simon felt his angry swell so suddenly.

He said it sucks, that Simon gets startled. Not that he gets so scared he can't breathe when he beats on his mom, beats on him, ties him to the rusty air con on the floor and letting the neighbors rabid dog loose and locking the fucking door-

Startle. That was the word he used.

His wrist burn again, a snarling reminder.

" 'm just… tryin' to make you strong 'n' brave 'n' manly, you know?" His dad mumbled as his fuzzy eyes landed on Simon's wrists. "I want to get you strong before the world does."

Simon didn't like that tone coming from his dad. It was the tone his mom used when she cleaned his welts and bloodied knuckles. It was the tone Tommy used to coax him out of a nightmare on the bad nights. 

He didn't like the way it made his throat close up.

"Sure, dad," he said quietly.

And his old man smiled, and that scared Simon.

It scared him in the way the unknown did. He didn't know what to do with it, he'd never seen it before. And it makes him still in fear because, Christ, he felt like he would cry. 

But it wasn't real. 

His dad was drunk and probably wouldn't even remember this.

"There ye are! Were ye hidin' frae me?"

Ghost bravely opens his eyes and tries not to breathe too loud.

"Not just from you," he murmurs weakly, leaning his weight on the wall behind him. 

"Ah've bin lookin' fer ye, ye ken." Johnny hobbles himself right next to Ghost, and Simon tries his best not to compare him to his father. 

"What for?" Ghost asks past the bile lodged in his throat.

"Tryin' tae git away from a reit bonnie quine who wanted free drinks an' a scuttle," Johnny slurs, a laugh mixing somewhere between his thick accent.

"English, MacTavish." 

Ghost can do this much. This is usual banter, yeah? Not a sudden 180 attitude caused by booze. This is normal.

"Aye, sorry," Johnny hums. He pauses to really think about how to get his point across. Ghost would've found it amusing, if he wasn't so focused on keeping his shit together. "Runnin' away from a pretty whore." 

And, fuck, if John doesn't think he's the funniest man alive. 

His loud laughter is almost enough to get Ghost to ignore the smell of liquor. When John dies it down, Ghost brings it up.

"Must've been some strong shit you had, eh?" Ghost says, narrowing his eyes pointedly.

Johnny's face sort of falls at that, and after a moment of blissfully agonizing silence, he mutters, "Yeah… Didnae want tae 'member th' way ye sounded wakin' up frae that nightmaur."

And what else was Ghost supposed to do other than remember how panicked Johnny looked?

He had woken up gasping, the tail end on something on his tongue as he ripped himself from the thin blankets. Simon couldn't- he couldn't move, and he was trapped again, and the snake was right at his fucking face-

"Son! Hey, breathe, breathe for me," a deep voice soothed tightly.

And then he noticed the hand over his mouth, and he cried- sobbed, really. Begged for him not to take his fingernails, begged for him not to leave him trapped with a dead body, begged to just be let go.

" 'm sorry, I know- I know I shouldn't, but please, don't, I need them- I need them for ma to paint, please don't take them- she needs them! I need them for her, please-"

"Easy there, easy. It's me, Price, son. Captain Price- John Price, Simon."

And Simon forced open his bleary eyes, hos chest heaving with sobs. 

He tried to calm down, he did, but he couldn't shake himself from the dream. It had felt so real. Hell, he even did the stupid box method breathing, but it felt like he was suffocating. Price coaxed him gently with grounding questions. Great fucking therapist, Price was.

"What can you hear, Simon?" Price hummed, ginger hand on his shoulder.

"You," he scoffed stiffly. 

"And?"

"And… Fuck, uh, and the wind outside," he fumbled.

"Good, Simon." 

Simon wanted to scream at that.

"What can you smell?"

"Sweat," he sneered.

"And? Give me another thing, son."

Simon closed his eyes tight enough to black out the nightmare. He took a deep breath that shudders his ribcage. "Cigars, cheaper ones… Not… Not the nicer ones. In your office."

"That's right, Simon. That's right." Priced softly shook his shoulder as he saw Simon relax more, coming back to himself. "One more, son. You can do one more. What can you see?'

Simon could do one more. He had to, to make Price proud.

"I see you, and your… stupid fuckin' mustache," he breathed.

"Well, that's awfully rude, eh? What else?"

Simon looked around slowly, let everything wash over him in waves.

"I see the log cabin walls. I see… outside the windows…. I see… I see…"

He saw Johnny, pale and tense and sick looking as he stared at Simon so worried you'd think he was dead.

"Johnny. I see Johnny."

"I didn't… I didn't mean for you to see that," Ghost tests, eyeing Johnny out of the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah, well, ye dornt usually want fowk tae see ye fightin' demons, dae ye?" John scoffs, Ghost catching bits in pieces of what he could understand. He got the gist of it though, loud and clear.

Silence settles over them again, and Ghost doesn't know how to fill it. Doesn't know if he even wants to.

Johnny does, as usual.

"Just wish ye would lit me see 'em, yer demons. Wish yoo'd lit me help ye square 'em."

"Soap," Ghost warns carefully.

"Ah wish yoo'd ask me fur anythin'. Hell's bells, Ghost, eh'd dae anythin' fur ye, of ye would jist speart," John rambles, closing his eyes.

"No one…" Ghost takes a steadying breath, willing his heart rate to slow so his stenum doesn't shatter. "No one understands that, Soap.

"Reit. Lit me translate." Johnny looks him dead in the face, eye locked onto him with such emotion that Simon wants to cry. He wants to scream at Johnny until he runs away, wants to punch his teeth in so he doesn't keep speaking dangerous words, and to kiss him so hard that he doesn't think anymore. "Ah adore ye, sae feckin' much."

"Hey, kid… 'm proud of you."

"You don't mean that," Simon spat. He would've clenched his fists, but his wrists didn't dare him to test the waters. 

" 'course I mean it. Why wouldn't I?" If Simon let himself slip, he'd notive how wounded his dad sounded.

"Because you're… you're drunk."

"Kiddo…"

"You don't mean any of this," Simon breathed, convincing his dad. Convincing himself.

"Simon, I care for you, you know."

Simon shook his head, screwed his eyes shut. "Dad, don't. Don't do this-"

"I do."

"Please, don't."

"I love you, Simon."

"You- Y-You don't fucking mean that," Simon chokes, refusing to look at Johnny.

He's played this part. He knows how it ends. He knows the nasty burn of this flame.

"Ah dae. Ah pure dae mean it. Ah adore ye sae much it hurts sometimes," Johnny laughs quietly, letting his head fall onto Simon's shoulder. "Ah… Ah think I might-"

"Soap. Don't," Ghost cuts him off. 

Simon can't handle this again. He can't.

"Ghost… Ah dae."

"MacTavish," Ghost tries again, stern, frail.

"Ah promise aam nae lyin'."

"Johnny," Simon pleads, letting his hand find Johns.

"Ah love ye."

"Please…"

The grip on his hand tightens.

"Aam serious. Ah love ye. Sae feckin' much."

And Simon really can't help the soft tears that slip from the corners of his eyes. How could he, when Johnny's oh so carefully reaching his other hand up to rest on Simon's cheek.

"Can I?"

Simon gulps down a breath and crumbles with a nod. 

He whimpers softly when Johnny's lips find his over his mask.

Maybe this fire won't burn me, he dares to think as he brings a trembling hand to cup Johnny's face. Maybe it's real.

dreams and daiquiris

includes: Ghost, Soap, Price

warnings: nightmares, PTSD, graphic gore, mention and brief depiction of suicide

length: 6,008

summary: Ghost can't stop dreaming, always. They're getting bad. He's loosing pieces of himself and he can't take it anymore. Luckily, Soap is there, ready and waiting with two fancy glasses.

A/N: Make sure to look over the warnings! Anyways, this may or may jot be a vent post... Of you squint... A lot. Also, don't "take care" of yourself like Simon jfc

"Hell's bells, it's bloody boilin' oot there," Johnny whines, stretching himself out on the scratched up wooden floor with a groan. He's long since forgone his shirt, the top tossed carelessly somewhere over the couch. "Th' floor ain't even braw nae more."

"English, MacTavish."

Soap gives him a rather crude look. 

"It's really fuckin' hot. Floor isn't cold," he spits, the anger more directed at the sun rather than Ghost. "Ah just ken yer aboot to burn, L.T," Soap stresses, ruling onto his stomach.

"Can it, Johnny."

Although in all fairness, Soap is right. Ghost's mask is a sopping puddle at the base of his neck, under his jaw, and around his hairline. The desert isn't exactly accepting of black cloth wrapped around his face.

He doesn't know why they're here, doesn't know their mission and the details and whatnot, but he does know Johnny is with him. 

That's all he cares about.

He busies himself with cleaning his rifle, back to Soap as he keeps his eyes on the void-like horizon out of the window.

"Ghost…" Johnny whines, and Ghost rolls his eyes, ignoring him.

The heat is unbearable as is, he doesn't need bitching along with it.

"L.t." Johnny says again, voice high and tight. "'t's hot…"

Ghost huffs obnoxiously to get his point across for Johnny to shut the hell up.

"It hurts, Simon."

And, fuck, that pinched and ragged tone, the way Johnny's fighting for every word, makes Ghost whip around so fast he might have whiplash.

"Johnny-"

The words get caught in his throat, and he can't breathe anymore. 

Soap's burning. 

Johnny is on fire.

"Johnny!" The name tears from him before he can help it, and he's scrambling from the window to save him and-

Christ, Soap is screaming. Screaming bloody murder as the smell of charred flesh and thick smoke fill up the safe house. He's screaming and screaming and burning and Simon can't stop him, can't put him out-

Johnny is going to die.

He rushes to the sink, stumbling over himself on the way there, but the faucet is busted and dry as the desert they're in.

The screaming isn't stopping, not even letting up, and he's going to go deaf with the sound of Johnny fucking burning alive.

All of a sudden, Ghost is screaming too. He is in agony, his shoulder flaring up with the heat of the sun. He forces himself to turn around, to find why it hurts so much.

Soap is grabbing at him, at his shoulders, scrambling for a hold but… He isn't Soap anymore. He's not Johnny. 

But Ghost knows him.

It's a civilian, one from years ago. A young boy, barely twelve. And he's still fucking on fire.

"Why didn't you save me?!" the boy screams, reaching for Ghost, reaching to set him ablaze, reaching for help.

"I-" and Ghost is gagging on the smell of burned flesh. His throat burns with it, eyes water, and he blinks through it to look around.

I tried.

"Why didn't you save us?!" 

And Ghost screws his eyes shut, trying not to breathe.

I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry.

He hears the boy choke on his last breath, hears him crumble into the dust. He makes the mistake of forcing his eyes open, to see where they are, to find Johnny again. 

There are people all around him, each one of them lit up like a bonfire.

He's with Roba again. 

Simon can feel the way his heart drops.

Please, not again. I can't go through this again.

Simon starts to run- run as fast as his legs will let him.

He doesn't get far.

He screams when a metal hook tears through his back and out in front of his ribs. Caught, like a fish on a line.

His fingers claw at the dirt, the screams now choking in his throat as he dragged backwards, back towards the burning, towards him.

Roba pulls him closer, like he were nothing more than a tug-of-war rope. And no matter how hard Simon claws into the dirt, how hard he forces himself to breath through the agony, how hard he begs-

He can't escape.

Simom wakes up screaming so loudly that he can feel it tearing the inside of his throat raw. With the tail end of a plea on his lips, he crashes to the floor, his legs tangled up all kinds of ways in his thin sheets.

Christ alive, he can't breathe. He can't even move and fuck-

One of his hands clutch at his pounding heart while the other claws against the floor in hopes of escaping him.

He needs to get away, needs to get out of here as fast as possible- but his legs won't move right and he can only crawl so far with one lousy hand and he just can't get any traction-

The door slams open, rattling on its hinges, and the room floods with blinding light. Someone's yelling, and he barely makes out, "Get down!"

Simon can't see. He can't see. Can't move or breathe and some is yelling, and he's fucking terrified, so he buries his head in his hands and curls up into a ball the best he can.

He feels like he needs to vomit out whatever is caught in his throat so he can catch a breath, to rip his heart out of his chest just so it'll slow down, to carve out his brain so the screaming will stop.

"Ghost?! Creepin' Jesus, what's-" 

"Ghost? Ghost where-" the yelling pauses, catches itself in the air before settling into a low, hurried, murmur. "Ah, hell- Simon…" The door cracks almost shut, and the voice orders, "Go on back to your barracks! False alarm, everything's fine." 

But it's not. It's not fucking fine because he knows he knows that voice, but he can't place it, can't stop hyperventilating to put a face to it-

The voice doesn't speak up again, and there's footsteps, a few, that shuffle away and down the hall. 

And, eventually, somewhere in the midst of the calming chaos, his ears stop ringing. The high pitched whining fades away, and after a moment, his vision slowly clears. The black fuzz in his peripherals let up and nothing is blurry. He blinks, and notices the lights in the room aren't as assaulting. 

"You with me, soldier?" Price murmurs from where he's crouched down across the room. 

Simon opens his mouth to say he's fine, but all he can do is choke on his breath.

"Hey there, easy, Simon. You're alright," Price soothes, a sad look in his eyes. "Just breathe, kid. No rush."

¤¤¤¤¤

When he does calm down and he's no longer in his head, he speaks. His voice is gravelly and raw and it hurts just a bit, but Ghost speaks.

"What was with the bloody search party? Everyone wakes up yellin' now and then. Comes with the fuckin' territory."

Price presses his lips into a thin line as he hands Ghost his mask.

"Yeah, but not everyone begs for their life. Certainly not you, Simon." The name earns him a harsh, tired glare.

"I wasn't…" he feels his lips curl down more without his permission, the nightmare still whispering its giggles in the back of his mind. "I wasn't begging for anything. I don't beg."

Price gives him an odd look, one he's seen before but can't quite place. 

He's fucking sick of that, not being able to place what he's experienced before.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Ghost clenches his jaw instantly, trapping his confession far behind his teeth. He beats the words down until they are nothing but a speck deep inside. Buries them together into the ground, in an unmarked grave, in the middle of nowhere.

Price runs a slightly shaking hand through his tousled hair and sighs, "Don't do this to yourself anymore. Just one word, that's all I need." 

Ghost closes his eyes, and the image of Johnny and the boy and flames and the hook flash in the darkness. He shoots them open and feels his breath stutter in his throat. 

Ghost can't. He won't. He's not that god damn pathetic.

"It's alright, son."

Fuck it all. 

What else is he supposed to do but talk? How can he say nothing when Price talks to him like that? Like he's worth waking up for?

"Roba," he whispers like a curse.

And Price understands, because of course he does. 

¤¤¤¤¤

He has another terrible one within the next week.

It's his fault this time. He should know better- he does know better.

It's all because tries to sleep with a weighted blanket. 

Ghost figures he needs a tiny, controllable change. Besides, he read somewhere that the weight would help him sleep soundly.

God knows he needs a good night's rest.

So he wills himself to go out into the world off base and brave his local 24 hour convenience store for the stupid thing. He buys the first one he sees that isn't psychedelic and bleeding with color. It weighs a good 20 pounds through the whole blanket, but Ghost figures he's a lot to cover.

After an odd look from the short man at the register, Ghost goes back to the base to call it a day, a bit bitter from the silent interaction.

So what if he buys blankets an hour after midnight? Piss off.

He just… Wants to sleep everything away.

And so he tucks in for the night, hopeful, swapping the military grade sheet for his new weighted blanket that, actually, is quite nice. Eventually, after forcing every muscle to relax one by one, he falls blissfully asleep.

Soap's stupid mohawk was a mess of blood as he was dragged, kicking and begging, through the mud. Ghost was murdering men left and right to get to him, killing without a thought to save him, the blood soaking into his hands, leaving nothing but thin scars behind. 

And then he sees it; the all too familiar grave. Unmarked and hardly four feet, just like he remembers.

And the Sergeant- Soap, MacTavish, John, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny- is carelessly tossed like a rag doll right into that grave.

And Ghost dives after him.

He has to save him because he couldn't save everyone else.

He has to.

But he can't.

Now that they're here, he can't get them out.

The dirt is piling on top of them too quickly, and he can't dig them free fast enough and Johnny is screaming and crying and fighting and-

And then he's silent. Quiet as the earth.

Ghost searches for him, wide-eyed despite the dirt all around him. And he sees. He sees his Johnny.

Sees that he's a corpse. 

Rotted, at that. Old- days old, at least. There's no grin on his melted face anymore, no glint of mischief in his rolling eyes.

Ghost is too late. None of his sacrifices matter. 

Still, he tries. 

He tries to get out, scrapes and digs and hopes to get free, get on top, look down at the grass.

But he's only getting deeper- so, so much deeper- into the ground and he doesn't know why, he doesn't understand how-

It's Soap. It's Johnny. He's digging the wrong way, rotted flesh and tiny bones scraping in the wrong direction.

"Other way!" Simon shouts past the dirt in his mouth. 

And John stops, skin sliding off of his face as he rattles his bones at Simon, unable to talk with his lips a puddle in the hole they're in. But he sees it, Johnny's wicked smile of teeth and a touch of gums. 

Hears it, when he speaks into his brain: Oh? But, Simon, hell is this way.

¤¤¤¤¤

He's going to personally hunt down the author of the book that told him weighted blankets were a good idea.

Hell, maybe they are a good idea. At least, for anyone who doesn't dream of being buried alive.

The clock tells him it's been hardly two hours, but his body says it's been a lifetime. 

Everything aches, more than normal, but he can't manage to sit still with these nerves eating at his skin. It feels like he's clutching a live wire instead of his pillow that's planted in front of his stomach and held up by his arms and knees.

It's going to be a long fucking day.

¤¤¤¤¤

He was right.

The day drags on forever.

By the end of it, Ghost considers killing everyone in the building, and then himself.

He feels too big for his skin, like he has to shed it like a snake, grow another one that's a better fit. Every breath he takes, he forces it to be slow and deliberate, focusing on filling his lungs completely. 

Ghost spends most of the day in the gym. He tried working on what little paper work he's yet to do, but the words kept blending together and dancing from the page. And even if he wrangled them back, they weren't sticking. He had to read the same line four or five times in a row because his brain decided that English wasn't going to work today.

So he stays his ass in the gym.

Can't think if everything hurts, can you?

He starts with the treadmill and sprints for a mile, until his knees threaten to give way and he nearly slips. He moves, shaking, to the bench press, and makes the choice to work on lighter weights so he doesn't need a spotter. When that isn't clearing his mind, he makes his final destination the punching bag.

Maybe he gets lost in his head regardless. Maybe he loses himself. Maybe he bends a finger.

He only stops when Price practically drags him into the kitchen, still sweaty and gross and dead on his feet.

It wouldn't have been all too bad, if Price had kept the silence going.

"Therapy is a normal thing, Ghost, especially in this line of work. Everyone on the task force goes, even Kate."

And Ghost knows this. He knows how much it has helped Soap through the aftermath of Las Almas and Hassan and everything before, in between, and after. 

Ghost knows therapy worked for them. 

And he knows he's too damaged for therapy to fix. 

Ghost moves his jaw just enough to pass as a nod, just to appease Price.

He can't find the honey for his tea and he's just a breath away from giving up on it and heading to the sniper range with a raw throat and trembling hands.

He doesn't understand where the honey went. It was right here. He left it right here yesterday morning. It's always right here. Always. 

So where the fuck is it?

Price makes a noise, something between clearing his throat and huffing.

Ghost faces him at it, and snags the small container of honey before Price can question him. 

Fucks sake, he almost spiralled because of honey.

He's pathetic.

"Where was it?" he murmurs, because it'll drive him up the wall for the rest of the day if he doesn't know.

"On the counter, Ghost. Near the fridge. No need to get ansty over it," Price answers easily before adding just as quick, "you know, I could enforce that therapy be mandatory."

"You wouldn't." 

Price wouldn't.

Right?

"But I could."

"You could do anything, sir."

"Except help you, apparently."

"I don't need any help."

"You did with Roba."

The tea scalds his hand when he spills it all over the counter. Seeps into his glove and threatens to burn him alive, and he grits his teeth hard enough to feel his jaw creak. He pulls the glove off with his other shaking hand, and gives a once over to his pale hand that's now quickly turning an irritated shade of pink.

"Simon, at least think about it," Price sighs with the weight of the world. He's already carefully cleaning the hot tea from the counter.

"I have," Ghost bites, moving to the sink.

Price goes quiet as the cool water from the tap runs lightly over Ghost's hand, over his oddly bent finger. Ghost hopes that the conversation is over. He knows it's not.

"New orders, soldier."

Ghost takes a breath, stiffening and resisting the muscle memory of moving at attention, or at least parade rest.

"Sir?"

"You're drinking with the 141 at the end of this month."

Ghost lets himself whip his head around, and he can feel the fire in his eyes, the protest on his tongue.

"Don't cut me off."

And Ghost clenches his jaw to shut himself up. 

Price hardly ever pulls rank on his team; he doesn't need to, with the respect the 141 has for him regardless. This? This right here is the closest he ever gets.

Price quietly huffs, looking over Ghost's hand that's still under running cool water. 

Price holds the tone he always has when he's discussing the workings of a mission. "You'll drink with us, here on base in Soap's office. You'll try to enjoy yourself. Then, after two hours, you can peel off. Fuck about for all I care, but stay involved for two hours, at lease. Understood?" 

Ghost thinks the old man has gone fucking senile.

"Understood."

"Involved, Ghost. Offer your two cents here. Say a shitty joke there. Have a drink or two."

"Sir."

Price huffs again, his mustache twitching with the force of it. He carefully cradles Ghost's burned hand. He's got a rag, wets it with the cool water, and lays it gingerly over Ghost's hand. 

"Just… Consider it, Simon. Really, this time." Price murmurs, patting Ghost's shoulder with his dry hand. "And get your ass to medical before you terrorize the gym again."

Ghost doesn't know if he wants to strangle the man or hug him. 

¤¤¤¤¤

They're standing on Ghost's favorite watch tower, Soap and Ghost, overlooking the quiet woods behind the base. 

Johnny had wanted to see his knife collection, and for some godforsaken reason, Ghost shows him.

And as Ghost hands Johnny his favorite one, perfectly balanced and sharper than the devil's tongue, Johnny speaks something dangerous.

"I love you, Simon."

And Simon startles, gasps quietly as his heart beats faster and faster.

Is that just how it is? Effortlessly said, as if those words haven't been plaguing him for months? As if it's really just that easy? 

Simon hopes so. Hopes that it comes naturally to him like it does to Johnny.

But he knows better than to hope.

There's not love in the world for people like him.

"Let me show you how much I love you," Johnny beams, switching his grip on Ghost's knife.

"Johnny…?"

Johnny stabs himself just above his navel with Ghost's knife, the slick shhk of the blade echoing in the abyss as Simon can do nothing but watch. 

Blood pools over John's hips, down his strong legs, puddles at his feet, but the man is standing there, smiling and looking at Simon like he just hung the moon. 

"John- Johnny," Simon forces, rising from his spot on the ground, trembling hands refusing to move from his sides.

"I have a gift for you," John smiles, like he isn't forcing the blade up his torso, carving himself open like a fish. He flexes what's left of his abs, and his small intestines tumble out of him like a massive snake. They fall on the floor at first, but a section somewhere in the middle tips over the side, and gravity sends the organ free falling from the edge of the watchtower, and his large intestines peek out from behind John's flesh. "Ready for it?"

Simon doesn't speak. He can't, mesmerized by how Johnny's free hand pulls the rest of his intestines free like they were as normal as rope.

Johnny then holds the bloodied blade between his teeth, taints those perfectly pearly whites, and uses both hands to dig inside himself.

His left kidney, maybe his pancreas, and his liver are carelessly tossed onto the floor. And Johnny is still smiling at him from beyond that knife. Standing there playing Operation on himself with hearts in his fucking eyes. 

With a handful of yanks, his lungs are pulled free, dropped to the floor like the others. They're still functioning, too; expanding and relaxing, providing oxygen for a body a yard away. 

And then finally, finally, he tugs his heart out of place with a fond chuckle from behind the blade.

He passes Ghost his heart tenderly, both of John's hands cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world. And, fuck, it is. Of course it is. Simon tenderly takes the still-beating heart into one of his hands. The rhythmic beating of it sings to Simon, lulls him into a trace.

It's not bloody, Simon notices numbly. It almost seems to be glowing, even. Perfect and radiant and lively, all beautifully John Mactavish. 

And Ghost crushes it. 

Closes his hand in a fist so suddenly, so violently, that Soap's heart practically explodes. 

He doesn't feel a thing when he does so. Blanky watches as Soap's face pales impossibly further, and his lungs, that are still on the floor, stop filling up. 

Soap's dying.

He's murdered Johnny without a second thought.

Funny, how that works.

He really is a monster.

Simon wakes up with wet cheeks and blurry eyes. He gasps, shaking and silent. Tears slip down his face again when he blinks away the teasing remnants of the dream.

He gets his bearings together relatively quickly, but not even honeyed tea could stop the shaking in his hands.

He avoids Mactavish for the entire day.

It comes with a little bit of trouble, as the man sticks to him like glue, but Ghost manages. It's his job to disappear, to be a ghost, to be dead.

But fucking hell, maybe Mactavish is a medium.

Ghost will catch glimpses of him, in the mess, in the bath, in the gym, the range, the track, the gym again, the barracks hallway, near Price's office- everywhere.

He eventually gets cornered when he has to take a fucking piss.

Ghost hears Soap coming from miles away, but it doesn't matter. The determination in the man's steps alone make him huff as he tucks himself away. 

Hell, Ghost is already running from his past. Adding MacTavish to that list isn't helping him.

He starts washing his hands the best he can with the small splint medical gave him when he feel eyes on his back.

"Sergeant," he murmurs.

There's a scoff, full of bravado and vinegar. "Lieutenant."

Ghost feels his jaw shift as he cuts the water to dry his hands. The bitterness in his chest at the title, foreign coming from Johnny, processes. 

He's being hypocritical. This is how Johnny must feel.

"Can I help you?" Ghost says anyway.

"Can I help ye, he says," Soap grin to himself but it doesn't reach his eyes, doesn't sit right with his snarky tone. "Aye, ye can bother t' explain why ye've been dodgin' me like th' bloody plague."

Because I don't want to hurt you.

Because you're important. 

Because I'm scared.

Ghost sniffs once, tossing the paper towels into the trash.

"Need some time to myself. Ain't nothin' personal, Johnny."

At that, Soap loses some of that tension in his shoulders, stops looking like a caged dog. He lets out the smallest of breaths.

"Aye…" he murmurs, hesitating. He licks over his bottom lip- Johnny often does that when he isn't sure what to say, tries to taste the words before deciding to serving them out or not- and takes a glance at the suddenly interesting floor. "Just… ah'm here, ye know? If… Ah don't know… If ye don't want time to yerself for too long."

"Yeah…" Simon lets out, accidentally. He recovers quickly, or tries to, anyway. "We'll see."

And Johnny licks his lips again, after a quiet nod. But he doesn't say anything. Maybe he didn't like the taste of his words this time.

¤¤¤¤¤

He dreams again and again. Always, he dreams. 

Most recently, he dreams of Johnny.

Simon can't stand it. 

It's affecting his waking moments now. It's making him affect Soap's waking moments.

After dreaming of that night in Chicago, of missing that shot on Hassan, of watching, hearing Johnny fall just about 50 stories to his death, Ghost spent a week straight making sure Soap stayed away from the high watch towers. He went as far as swapping patrols or having something 'suddenly come up' that 'needs the Sergeant right fucking now'.

After dreaming of missing Hassan, and shooting Johnny, he trained for hours and hours straight at the sniper range, foregoing meals and drinks and piss breaks just to make sure that his aim was perfect every time. Soap was forced to waste his evening by slowly convincing Simon that enough was enough, that he needed to eat, drink water, and get some fucking rest. 

After dreaming that Johnny blew up into dozens of pieces of meat chunks protecting him, Simon had a panic attack when Soap was at the demo-range and an explosion went off. Despite not even a cut on him, Ghost forced Soap to medical (once his own breathing was stable enough). He banned an outraged Soap from the range for two days.

Once, he dreamed that Johnny killed himself. Put a barrel in his mouth and looked at Simon. Pulled the trigger without hesitating. Simon knew, just knew, it was his fault.

After every dream of Johnny dying in front of him, or worse, by his hands, Simon crumbles. Loses another piece of himself.

He doesn't know how many pieces of himself he has left to lose.

¤¤¤¤¤

When the night comes to drink, Ghost considers going AWOL. 

Thinks about staying true to his call sign and vanishing into thin air, never seen again. He plans it out, even, knows what little to bring, what time to leave, where to walk to.

He stares at the mask he wears on base, just the balaclava with the infamous skull print. His gloved thumb runs over where a piece of the jaw design is cracking. He shifts his own jaw in time with his thumb.

Maybe there's no Simon left, he thinks, delusional. 

Maybe it's just Ghost, after everything.

Now would be the time to slip away, Ghost reminds himself, and his grip on the mask tightens, threateningly pulling at the jaw bone design.

Now.

He slips the mask over his head, and slowly breathes. He considers.

The faint smell of cigar smoke worms its way under his door and into his room. He hears Gaz laugh somewhere down the hallway, hears Soap's soft footsteps padding towards his room.

No. 

He stands wearily, takes another deliberate breath, and stalks to the door.

There's a knock, just as his hand reaches for the knob. A familiar pattern, one that makes him force a feeling that could possibly be described as giddiness down into the abyss behind his ribcage. 

Knock, knock, knock-knock, knock.

He could still run. Now's the very last chance he'll get. Johnny won't let him out of his sights when this night starts. Ghost should vanish- it's now or never.

He swallows past the sting of bile in his throat and returns with a quiet knock of his own.

Knock, knock.

He hears Soap laugh quietly on the other side.

Never, he choses. Never.

Ghost opens his door, and there is Soap, leaning against the wall with a grin so wide that it could crack his face. His eyes brighten when he sees Ghost. His grin drops a little when he sees what look Simon has in his eyes.

Johnny furrows his brows slightly, darts his eyes up and down in a quick one-two. 

Ye alreit?

Ghost shifts his jaw before steps into Johnny's space, just a little.

I'll be fine.

Johnny squints at him before dropping the silent conversation. He pushes himself off the wall and starts talking about a new project he's working on at the demolitions range. 

Ghost follows him to his office, and hangs on every word.

¤¤¤¤¤

Soap's 'office' is more of a play room than anything, all regulation thrown to the wind.

Spotless, but filled with personal trinkets and such. Soap reminds Ghost of a crow, collecting little shiny things to bring home to show others. It would be almost cute if Ghost would allow himself to think that way. 

Gaz isn't here, though. Neither is Price or Laswell, or anyone else.

Just him and Johnny. 

He doesn't think about it too much, because if he does, he knows it's the old man's fault.

Johnny doesn't pay any mind to the lack of the other three, and instead buries his head around his thousand-and-some shelves to find 'the right glasses'. 

"What are we drinkin'?" Ghost asks when the sound of rummaging starts to grate on his nerves.

"Oh, he does speak. Bless th' Saints, ah thought ye went mute,'' Johnny grins at him. Ghost narrows his eyes. Maybe he should have ran. The hum Johnny gives while pretending to think on it, possibly, changes his mind again. "Daiquiris," he settles on.

"What?"

"Ye know, those fruity, fancy cocktails."

Ghost could walk out the door right now. He should. 

"Fuckin' hell, Johnny," Ghost drawls, casting his gaze to the draw that seemed to be the one Johnny was looking for, if his air fist bump was anything to go by. He pulls out two daiquiris glasses, one of them clear around the middle up and with the base a cool blue. The other- "What the fuck."

Johnny laughs at that and holds the other glass up proudly. It's hot pink with a little touch of purple at the rim and with a mini pink boa scarf at the base.

"Don't like it?" Johnny grins so bright it feels like Ghost is getting flashbanged.

"You would have that," he murmured instead.

"Yeah, yeah. Yer lucky 'm givin' ye the blue one. Gotta keep up yer masculine image, eh?" 

"Whatever you say, Johnny," Ghost huffs, settling into the plush spare seat across from the desk. "Make it strong, yeah?"

Johnny hums quietly, his eyes lingering on Ghost's face.

Two hours. That's all he needs before he's calling it a night and fucking off. 

¤¤¤¤¤

He doesn't know exactly when he got drunk, but he does know that he ended up with the pink glass two drinks ago. Maybe four. 

Johnny isn't wasted like him; the fucker's been nursing his second drink for about an hour. 

Right, fuck, he was supposed to leave…

He forces his eyes to drag up to the oddly silent clock on the wall. Ghost remembers Johnny telling him all about how he managed to rig the clock in a way the ticking sound doesn't happen. He said it drove him bat shit crazy, having to hear it over and over again. It was adorable.

Fuck, no, he needs to focus. The clock, the time. 

Ghost tries again, squinting at it for extra measure. 

Jesus, he was supposed to be out of here three hours ago. 

"Ye alreit?" Johnny asks from his spot next to Ghost on the floor. Ghost hums at him in question. "I asked if ye're alreit, Ghost."

Ghost blinks at him, considering the question for an awfully long time, long enough for Johnny to sit up and gain that adorable furrow between his eyebrows.

"L.t? Seriously, are ye okay?"

He takes a small breath.

"Nah," he offers simply, running his hand through his tousled hair. 

Simon dropped the mask all of thirty minutes ago. He finally got pissed off about having it bunched up on his nose and abandoned the thing.

Johnny blinked at him a time or two, the gears turning in his head at Ghost actually being honest.

"No?"

"Yeah, no."

Johnny blinks again and that furrow grows.

"Yes?"

"Nah."

"No?"

"Yeah," Simon grins at the stupidness of the conversation. 

Johnny shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. 

"Alreit, what th' fuck," Johnny tosses his hands up.

And Simon laughs.

He doesn't know that he is laughing until his sides ache with it. Johnny's laughing too, at first in disbelief and then with Simon at the situation. And when Simon comes down from a high he hasn't felt in decades, Johnny is staring at him- through him, deep into what's left of his soul. 

"Wha'," Simon slurs, lips morphing into an odd, lazy grin.

"Nothin'."

"Nothin'?"

"Aye." Johnny's eyes linger lightly at his mouth before they harden and he sits up a bit. "Hell, Si, ye've got me all side tracked. This is important."

"Wha's important?"

"Ye are. Ye not bein' alreit," Johnny insists.

"Ah, sure," he murmurs, laying his head back on the side of Soap's desk.

"Ah'm serious," Johnny shifts closer, and Simon's eyes open lazily. "Why aren't ye alreit, Simon?"

Simon.

The abomination almost sounds pretty coming out of Johnny's mouth. 

Ghost gets his shit together.

"You wanna know?" Ghost rasps, drinking the rest of his too-sweet daiquiri in his too-frilly glass. 

"Aye. If ye'd tell me."

And Ghost gathers his drifting thoughts, pieces them together as he breathes slowly.

"I have killed you… Countless times." Ghost waves his hand simply, almost like he were shooing a fly. "Shot you, stabbed you, lit you on fuckin' fire, made you-" he forces a sharp breath. "Made you off yourself, just like that." His throat is getting tight, and he lifts the glass to his scarred lips again, knowing damn well it was empty. 

"Simon," Johnny breathes, slow and steady hands taking the glass from him to set it aside. His hands return quickly, and it's placed on top of Simon's.

"I don't- I won't take it anymore." A sob desperately tries punches through Simon, and he covers his face like the coward he is. "I want to hold you, want to have you, Johnny."

And the fucking gleam in Johnny's eyes could fly Simon to the moon and makes him bring back arm fulls of stars for him. 

"But- but everything I touch dies. And I can't… can't lose you to myself." The sob tries Simon again, and this time, it wins. He's crying, and he doesn't know how to stop, and it scares him. Scares him so badly that he can't do anything but press the heels of his palms into his eyes. He doesn't care that Johnny's hand falls away.

Really. He doesn't. Not… Not at all.

Christ, he is absolutely shameless.

Seriously, has he no pride? Breaking down over a couple of dreams? Crying in front of his Sergeant?

He feels his teeth grind together, feels his skull build up with the pressure of a thousand words, and by God and the devil, he has to let at least some out before they kill him.

"They felt so fuckin' real," he seethes past his locked jaw. "Woke up sometimes, 'n' I didn't bloody know if you were really dead or not. Felt like seein' a ghost everytime we passed."

Johnny's hand comes back, steady and tender, and guides Simon to lessen the pressure on his eyes. 

Past the blur left over from the tears and the force, he catches Johnny licking his bottom lip.

"Ah'm not dead. Ye've touched me and ah'm still breathin' jus' fine, Simon. Promise- Swear I am," Johnny carefully caresses Ghost's forearm. "Ah'm not goin' anywhere." He grins a little. "Yer not that lucky to get rid'a me."

Simon takes a deep breath, one that shakes his rib cage and stretches his lungs. With Johnny's encouragement, he breathes slowly. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, leaning his shoulder on Johnny's.

"Aye," Johnny agrees, leaning in time with him.

They sit there for some time, taking each other in, feeling each other's warmth. Simon nearly doses off to the feeling of Johnny's chest rising and falling. 

"Yer gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow," Johnny chuckles, combing through Simon's hair.

And, honestly, Simon is powerless against the chuckle that breaks through. 

Time Off

TF 1-4-1 X POC Reader John Price, Kyle Garrick, John MacTavish, Simon Riley x Reader A break, they needed a break. Laswell knows they need the time off instead of worrying about Makarov and Shepard so that's what she gives them. Only, they don't have anyone to go home to that is, before one of their teammates invites them over.

"Time off? So suddenly?" Seargent Soap voiced everyone's thoughts to Laswell. She had just updated them on the whereabouts of General Shepard and briefed them on what actions to take when the topic of Makarov came up when she brought up them taking some time off. It stunned them to silence when hearing her bring up the cold season and going home to whoever may be waiting and if not take some time to take care of themselves properly.

"Yes Seargent and that's not a request it's an order I like you all but I'm getting sick of seeing your faces so take the time off and enjoy yourselves. Dismissed." With that, she shooed them out of her office and they all stood outside the door wondering what the hell they'd do with this time off. Standing more off to the side than the others, Ghost looked over at you seeing you were the only one not in distress at the order.

"You don't seem to be in peril Seargent, you got plans when you head home?" It was a surprise hearing ghost ask you such a personal question. Although he has gotten comfortable with his team, it is rather odd of him to ask. The others got over their initial shock and looked over at you now suddenly curious as well. You let out a sigh before speaking.

"No, I don't, I'm heading home to an empty home just like the rest of you. If you guys are so struck by what to do then why not come with me for the break? It gives me a reason to use all the groceries that get replaced in my home every two months." In all honesty, you asked them not only to stop them from being lonely during their break but to also stop yourself from being lonely as well. Like them, there was no one waiting in your two-story home for you so why not spend the lonely days to come with people you've learned to call family?

You trust these four men with your life should that day come and they do as well. It would be a way to strengthen that already tight bond you all have together and it would give you a chance to boast about your impeccable cooking skills.

"Are you sure? This is your home we're talking about, you sure you want us to intrude like that?" Soap was a bit reluctant to the offer because while he was internally excited at it, the last thing he wanted to do was intrude. How cute.

With a nod of your head and some light reassurance, they all agreed to go and split up to get packed and meet up at 1400 (2:00 pm) to leave for the airport. Soon, you five were all set and on a plane to the state you lived in and on the road to your home.

Your home was two stories and quite modern, away from most of the town but close enough to get supplies when needed, and surprisingly once the owners who originally rented it to you passed, your rent was dropped by a lot and eventually sold to you completely.

Walking inside you took your shoes off and looked around the entrance hallway feeling so much nostalgia. The men behind you followed suit removing their shoes and following you inside your home staying suspiciously quiet. In reality, they were nervous being in your home, you had told them it had enough rooms and a pull-out bed for them all to sleep over but they were nervous nonetheless. You set your bag on the dining table before walking into the kitchen looking through the cabinets to see fresh groceries with a note from the carrier that they were recently restocked. You made a note to increase their pay at the start of the next year.

"You guys can get yourself settled in while I pull some things out for dinner. There's one room downstairs and three upstairs. I'll set up the pull-out bed for whoever claims that one but you can put your things in the two other rooms. " You were already pulling some things out of the fridge after washing your hands, while you were talking to them and when you finished you heard shuffling and small grunts of acknowledgment to your words as the four men did as told.

Gaz and Price chose the two rooms upstairs while Soap chose the couch bed leaving Ghost with the room downstairs. As they were settling in, they all took the time to look around but not pry too much. They saw that your home wasn't really what they expected. No pictures of friends or family, no personalization even when Price stepped into your room accidentally thinking it was the guest room. The only way he knew it was yours was the neatly folded underwear on your bed that seemed like it was gonna get packed but never made it. When he turned to leave he caught glimpse of a pocket-sized picture of you holding a newborn baby laying on the floor by the end of the bed. It's not something he would ever guess he would see especially if it was you. He closed the door and said nothing as he found the correct room and got himself settled in.

While you began cooking you took a break while things were heating up to put your things away in your own room.

"You guys should go shower while you're at it, it'll be a minute before I'm done cooking anyway so might as well, right?" And so the night went on.

You eventually finished your cooking and you along with the four ate. It was quiet and awkward but eventually, Soap popped a question and you soon fell into lively chatter, Ghost and soap falling into petty banter while Price entertained it and Gaz chuckled quietly to himself. You eventually pulled out some whiskey much to Ghost's dismay. "I drink Bourbon" He defensively said, though, you could see the amusement in his eyes. He had his Balaclava on but the black makeup was removed when he showered and he felt comfortable enough to show us that much. Not like you all hadn't seen his face before but the point is made.

When you all were done, Gaz being the sweetheart he was offered, no, told you he was going to clean up while you relaxed. "You've been on your feet since we came so I got it, go relax." You could feel your heart clench at his words.

Ever since you got recruited for 1-4-1, Gaz had been nothing but a sweetheart through and through, not to mention a heartthrob when he threw in his small compliments with a shy tone. Price wasn't as bad, but the captain wasn't shy when complimenting or downright flirting with you. It wasn't the overly obvious flirts nor did say it in front of people but, he was quite the charmer when he wanted to be.

Soap on the other hand didn't care who was around, if you did an amazing job on a particular mission or any mission at all, he would praise you till you told him to stop. He loves seeing the twinkle in your eyes or the pep in your step when you got praised for doing a good job. It made him feel good knowing you were happy from his words. Ghost wasn't one to be vocal, everyone in and out of the task force knew that. He wasn't one to just compliment and praise for any small thing but, when it came to you, he would find himself biting back the overwhelming feeling of pride he felt. Whenever you did something right even when you second-guessed yourself when you take out more than one person at a time. He finds himself grinning under his mask and petting your head lightly, chuckling to himself at the happy look you sprung onto your face at the act.

They all slowly began to love your reactions and you as a whole. They became protective even borderline possessive when Shepard ordered you to stay out of a mission while the others were told to go. "They are a part of this team, where we go, they go no questions asked about it, so if you want us to do this I suggest you make your changes from now." Stunned was General Shepard hearing Ghost speak up like that. You had only been on the team for a couple months so he didn't think they were gonna get attached so quickly, boy was he wrong.

Now here you all are, spread on the couches tipsy and happy, chuckling at Soap's slurred speaking not even understanding the lad as his accent gets heavier. Relaxed is a word none of you would associate yourselves with, especially in your line of work, but tonight? Warm, comfortable, and happy in each other's presence? I would say this is the most relaxed they've ever been.

With your head on Price's lap and your legs on Soap's, Ghost sitting on the floor near the couch, and Gaz on the single couch, they all stared at your resting face, dark skin glowing under the light of the fireplace lit rid the chill that came with the upcoming season. They watched in a comforting silence as you succumbed to sleep, pressing your cheek into the captain's thigh and mumbling a drunken goodnight. A fluttering feeling filled their chest, they didn't know what it was but all they knew was that if anything happened to you, it would be over for them.

A break. They all needed a break, even you.

A Daddy

John "Soap" MacTavish x Poc Fem! Reader During a meeting, Ghost realizes Soap is missing. He goes looking for him and see's him having a facetime call on a computer with a beautiful woman and a newborn baby on the other side of the screen.

Notes: Ngl to yall. I think this one isn't my best but imma still post it cause I want to. Hope it isn't that bad of a read, suggestions are welcomed anytime!!

"We're missing someone, aren't we? He's usually the first one here to these meetings." Gaz sat in the chair furthest from the front but directly next to Price. He wasn't that worried since neither Price nor Laswell was concerned about the missing scot, but he was curious as to where he could be.

Someone who was more curious about where the Mohawk was was Ghost. Although he'd rather die than ever utter this out loud, Soap's gruffly accent is what he looks forward to in the mornings. It lets him know that he's made it to another day and somewhat grounds him and keeps him in tune with reality when (although it's rare) he feels himself slipping. So seeing him missing was the first thing he noticed when he was the last to walk into the room and Laswell immediately started talking.

"He's been excused for the time being. He can be filled in by Price later when he's finished with his business." Laswell continued with the information she had after clearing the air about the missing Sargeant. Ghost didn't dwell on it any longer and paid attention to the meeting until it finished 30 minutes later.

After being dismissed, they all went their separate ways doing god knows what. Ghost had set off to stroll around making sure he had nothing else to do before he retired to his room to go over the files he and the rest were given in the meeting.

Simon wasn't one to wander the base. Not that he hadn't engraved every part of it into his memory out of instinct, but, he wasn't one to explore unless necessary. His small walk turned into him mindlessly looking for his Scottish partner in crime, and while it is out of character for him to be so curious as to where Soap was, he couldn't help but look.

Ghost eventually walked past a conference room and he knew from the room number he was getting close to the visitation room. That room was for family calls or special access visitations from family members if you had high enough clearance. As he was walking, he heard the missing man's ruff Scottish voice cooing in some sort of baby talk. Ghost walked up to the open room door silently and stood there seeing Soap sitting in front of a laptop cooing softly at it, he tilted his head to see what had him that way. A dog maybe?

'That sounds like something Johnny would do.'

When Ghost tilted his head, he was surprised to see a newborn baby and a beautiful woman with dark skin on the other side of the screen. A big, tired smile was on the woman's face as she held the baby in her arm. Soap leaned his head on his folded arms on the table with the softest look ghost had ever seen. His eyes held such love and devotion that if she were in front of him he'd be worshiping her from head to toe.

"I see someone is excited to be a daddy. You know he looks just like you if you squint. He's the spitting image of you John it's crazy" The pretty lady on the other side of the screen lightly giggled at the end of her sentence, her accent sounding foreign. A chuckle soon came from Soap's lips as he stared at his newborn son in his lover's arms.

"If anything he looks more like you to me. Well either that or it's the laptop's shitty ass quality and he really does look like me." There was a pause before he sighed heavily. "I can't wait to see you, baby, you and little Bailey" Soap's voice held a sadness Ghost hadn't heard before. It was like he was a different man completely. Not that Soap wasn't an expressive man, quite the opposite actually, but, he only ever showed anger, cheekiness, joy, and other neutral emotions. Never quite showing complete sadness and happiness.

Ghost felt that he was invading something private by listening and watching. Something intimate and special it almost flustered him, so he turned from the door frame and started walking ahead, only for his name to be called by the man he just left in the room. He turned to see Soap by the door waving him over to come back. It looks like the woman on the screen saw Ghost and mentioned it to him. Now that he was back, Soap tugged Ghost back into the room with a broad smile. He was gonna be able to show his beloved his best mate on the force and he was ecstatic.

"Darlin, This is Ghost, he's a part of my team. He's the scary brute around here scaring the new recruits" A gruff exhale came from the said man. He was being introduced to someone without his consent but then again, it was his fault for seeking out the Scot in the first place.

Ghost stared into the screen at the curious woman. He had to say she was quite stunning. Dark skin, frizzy hair (he's guessing from the baby in her arms, the messy hair is from childbirth), and small eyebags that showed her fatigue just a bit. His eyes zoomed in on the tiny baby laying in the woman's arms. They had blue eyes and their facial features for a newborn looked scarily identical to their father's.

"The champ looks like me, aye? She says he does and I believe it. The MacTavish genes in me run strong." Soap bosted proudly with a grin seeing his sweetheart smile at his words. Ghost nodded and looked at Soap with Amusement but something he couldn't explain. Simon felt joy for Soap. As chipper as the Scot was, there were times he'd see him at his lowest, like he was ready to rid of it all, to take the coward's way out. Alas, he would always bounce back in the next few hours to bug the hell out of ghost and talk his ear off but he knew how the lass would. Soap having another bundle of joy to keep him grounded and to keep him motivated to stay alive was something Ghost was happy about.

Soon, it was time for Soap's lover to go. She was tired evidently so Soap said his I love you's and his goodbye's solemnly and the call ended. Soap sighed and stood up, walking out of the room, toe-in-toe with Ghost, walking the hall, and heading back to the barracks.

"You know, I didn't think you would have a lover much less a child. From your bad jokes, I assumed your pickup lines were just as bad." An offended gasp came from Soap's mouth upon hearing the Brit's words.

"I'll have you know she loves my pickup lines thank you. They're part of my charm she says." Ghost could hear the adoring tone of his voice at the end. He really loved his girlfriend and vowed hed marry her soon as he is able to leave. Ghost chuckled and they walked in comfortable silence.

Soap became a daddy that day, and Ghost was happy for him.

His wife

John "Soap" MacTavish x Black Fem! Reader Summary: The job is done. Now it's time for 1-4-1 to return back to the base with a win on their burly shoulders, at least for everyone but Soap. Getting an urgent call from Laswell on his way back stops that win for him.

TW: slight mentions of trauma responses and home invasion.

"Watcher to Bravo 7-1, how copy?" Laswell's voice filtered through Soap's earpiece stopping his rambling to Gaz and Ghost. The two sighed in relief when he began talking to Laswell.

"Bravo 7-1 to Watcher, we're still in the heli, 20 minutes out but we're near. What's up?" The scot got a look from a new recruit hearing the way he spoke to someone so high up. Should he really be speaking to Laswell so casually?

"You guys did a good job, congrats. Soap, when you get back I need you in the Conference room soon as you reach, it's urgent. Understood? Watcher out." Only the whirring of the helicopter blades could be heard once Laswell's voice cut out.

The worry that was nowhere to be found then sprung into his chest and took over like the plague. All of a sudden? Why now? This isn't the first time something like this has happened, the team getting called urgently soon as they finished a mission, but it was only him who was requested and while he wasn't scared, it worried him just a bit.

The ride suddenly felt longer than it should've. Ghost and the others on the team felt the antsiness leak off Soap in waves which made them(Ghost), a little anxious. As stoic as the masked man is, he's grown very close with his team working with them for so long. He can't help but internally replicate the emotion of his partner in crime, even if it's just for a few seconds. He's found himself doing that with not just Soap, but others as well sometimes and has to remind himself to cut it out.

As the rails hit the landing pad and the doors opened, Soap was out and heading for the conference room. The worry grew when he thought of what or rather who could be involved. That frightened him speeding up his pace to the room while he ignored the looks his team gave him as well as his injuries. Price and the rest followed behind slowly, needing to give the full report to Laswell but they were curious as to what was so urgent.

Time stopped as Soap pushed through the door to the room. There, Laswell stood on the far end of the round table, and by the close end sat his wife and his son of 9 months. His heart sped up when the time seem to go back to normal and he met eyes with his beloved's teary, red ones.

'She was crying. Why? Who made her cry? Why is she trembling?' Soap's mind was running a mile a minute. He didn't realize he was even moving till his wife was in his arms with hers wrapped around him like a vice. His son Bailey was now being held by Laswell who sat near so the two parents could hug.

Soap relished in the taming breath of his wife. She was calming down with her head buried into his neck and her arms around his torso. She wasn't that shorter than him, head reaching up to the tip of his chin. Her hair, in waist-length braids, shoved into a silk bonnet, the hoodie(his hoodie) she wore hung off her shoulder revealing a very visible bruise on her shoulder. She was a mess.

"What happened love?" A kiss was pressed to her temple as he half whispered his question into her ear so as to not startle her. He felt her grip on him tighten before she loosened her arms from him and stepped back, not making eye contact. A breath left her shaky lips before she lifted her head up and spoke.

"I went for a walk this morning with Bailey. I needed some air, my mind wasn't in the right place. What happened at my momma's house on Thanksgiving kept replaying and I needed to get out. So I went on a walk with him, it was just around the yard and then to the Bakery right down the road from us. When I got back, the door was wide open. You know how I am with locking the doors, John. I-"

He watched as her breathing picked up when explaining. He knew what was happening. Her need to over-explain so he believes her, so she knows he understands properly. All the trauma responses he's seen repeatedly from her because of her past relationship. Soon she's gonna start begging him to believe her so he knew he had to put a stop to her rambling quickly.

"Hey hey hey, breathe love. What did I tell you about doing that? I believe you, baby. I know you're telling the truth, calm down." Soap tugged her closer cupping the chub of her cheeks into his large palms feeling her immediately lean into them. His wife was a gentle soul. Sassy and stubborn at times but gentle, fragile even. She knew how to take care of herself, her independence getting the better of her at times. In the beginning, it caused a bit of trouble when they were only dating, she wasn't relying on him even after being together for a year or so but they got that situated after a while.

She looked at Soap with wet lashes, staring back at her protector and lifeline, her husband. She knew he was right, she needed to calm down and breathe. Soap isn't like the man she was with before. He never put his hands on her or even lift a finger in threat of doing so. Never raised his voice, and always made her talk it out instead of walking away. Soap was attentive, loving, and gentle, everything she's never experienced before with anyone. She knew whatever she spits out of her mouth he believed and would die by it.

Once calm, she finished explaining. Nothing looked to be touched or even moved but there was a letter on the table, it was addressed to her and Soap. The only identification of the sender was the letter M. Soap's fist clenched at his sides once he let go of his beloved. His eyes met with Laswell's and she got up and handed his son to him.

Laswell watched as Soap's shoulders untense when he held his son. His first-born child, his bundle of joy, their creation. He really does look like him. He looked back at her as she started talking about what actions they can take for the safety of the two. Soap was promised his family's protection by Shepard, and while the bald traitor is currently off the radar, Laswell intends to keep that promise. She explained the new area they would be moved to with more security and protection, and it brought some sort of relief to her mind.

The door soon opened and in walked Captain Price and his two tag-alongs, Gaz and Ghost. None of them knew of the situation but all their eyes zoomed in on the baby cooing at their Scottish teammate. The woman only Ghost seems to recognize moves just a bit closer to Soap, eyes wet with lingering worry and surprise. Ghost walks over to the two and nods down at his partner's wife who's giving him a small smile. He then looks at Soap, grinning under the mask.

"The lass really does look like you, ey." Ghost saw the grin creeping onto Soap's stubbly face. Pride and joy swelled into the Scot's eyes when he looked down at his cooing son. A chuckle sounded out and he turned to Price and Gaz.

"Lads, this is my wife and this is my son, Bailey." Looking around, his lover saw the surprise in their eyes as he introduced them. She felt how the air turned from tense to breathable and joyous, all because of the smile that beamed off her husband's face. His smile. It always brought comfort to not only her but the people around him.

She was safe now. Leaning on him, she breathed out quietly. Things are gonna be ok. She was Mrs. MacTavish after all.