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… more of this weird cod content I have going on.

I bet this was Soap during his time in the SAS, and his cousin took the photo. Can you imagine the mess the two MacTavishes would make?

They do get serious when they need to, but damn, that weed patch looks cosy!

#mw2 #modern warfare #soap mactavish #soap #john mactavish #sergeant mactavish #call of duty #cod #mw2022 #military men doing serious things #like chilling in a weed patch #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #cod hcs

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uh oh did someone get a little fatally wounded? maybe kiss about it🙄

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... its so bad but i needed to get this out of my system. Lady gaga for the win, yall

#mw2 #mw2 2022 #ghost is babygirl #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod #simon riley #alejandro vargas #alejandro mw2 #soap #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #lady gaga #its really bad but bro have it

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Ghost’s attention almost had a weight of it’s own, dark eyes sharp when they locked on the object of his interest, his focus absolute and unwavering. Most of the time it was cold, clinical, assessing; analyzing the risks and the possible benefits. Sometimes it was predatory. Possessive. Dangerous.  

It was always heavy.   It was always there.

A physical touch, blade pressed to skin, cold air on the back of the neck.

Most people found it unnerving, but Soap felt almost naked without it; the weight of Ghost’s attention was as familiar as the shape of a knife in the palm of his hand, the scent of smoke, the burn of good scotch at the back of his throat. With Ghost next to him, or knowing he’s watching from afar, following him with a scope - it was grounding. It felt right.

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redraw of @numberonegiverwitch's edit! (thank you! much love)

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SoapxGhost pt6

"Warmin' yer hands"

Ghost leaned against a table of a bombarded old house. Shattered glass covering the red cushion of a bench. The floor was used and bearing the witness of countless people walking around here. This building had been a bar, the counter with a few broken bottles still showing evidence of a once busy and cozy place.

The table he leaned on creaked, the soft noise of liquid dripping down and forming a puddle on the floor, was all that Ghost’s ears could focus on.

There were several barstools thrown around, accompanied with many empty bullet shells. Ripped newspapers, broken tiles and holes littering the brick wall. First aid kits opened and searched through desperately. A throwing knife shimmered next to his foot as it had been stuck into the floor. Or fallen.

Broken, irregular panting. A desperate plea rang through Ghost’s ear. It wasn’t the person behind him on the table. It was his own voice. Shaking. Begging to whoever was willing to listen.

Why me? Make it stop. Let me wake up. What have I done?

When he first set foot into the bar, he was vaguely following a trail of blood. From a crashed building, through half a destroyed city and now he had ended up in some sort of safe house. For the normal folk it was just a bar scarred by war, but the barricades and the unused ammo where clear signs for Ghost’s trained eye.

The house was deserted, no trace of anyone. Except, this strange man. A man who shared so many similarities with a person that had haunted him in the past days. Yet, it wasn’t quite him.

Ghost had stepped up to the stranger who was lying on a table in the middle of the room. First, he couldn’t make out anything. No heaving chest, no eyes fluttering open, just the blood track leading right to him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to forget what face he had just seen. A neat mohawk, face paint smudged in triangles along a sharp looking face. Skin pale, eyes dead.

He was wearing grayish tactical gear, the letters S.A.S. stitched proudly on a patch on his chest. For a short second, shock froze Ghost to the core, his hands solely functioning on autopilot as he reached for the stranger’s neck, searching.

Where the fuck was it?!

The longer he searched, the more the dead mans head lulled from side to side while Ghost searched him through. Dog tags, patches, a journal. He just needed a clue of who this man was. Ghost’s hands felt wet and cold. With a tremble he gave up his search, retreating his hands. Staring again. His hands were covered in fresh blood. It shimmered against the leather of his gloves.

Drip. Drip.

“Fuck!” His gloves flew through the room as he yanked them off. With his back now turned to the bleeding dead man, Ghost tried to find his focus. It’s not like he isn’t used to blood by now, it’s the terrible similarity between the dead man and… Soap. Just the thought that this man might be his Johnny made Simon tremble with fear.

Why Soap? Make it stop. Let him wake up. What has he done?

Drip.

Whilst Simon was overtaken by sheer panic, Ghost kept his emotions at bay. Like usual. Deep breaths came harsh through the balaclava. He had to be professional right now, no time to dwell in his feelings. There has to be some information around here of what was going on, of who this poor bastard behind him is and why he looked like Johnny.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Slowly the puddle around Ghost’s heavy boots devoured his shadow. It reeked of iron and something more, rotting flesh with a fruity undertone. The smell of a corpse, a dead man. Left to die alone on a table in some abandoned safe house. Where the fuck did Ghost stumble into?

Keen to find out what had happened, Ghost started to search the bar. He quickly made his way through the chaos, searching through boxes, med kits and tried to figure the shredded papers out. But nothing.

Behind the bar counter where shattered bottled and a few that still were intact. His gaze was stuck on two bottles, sitting next to each other in the corner of a torn shelf. Scotch. Bourbon. With a sour feeling in his stomach, he made his way back to the table.

Picking up the knife from the floor, he glanced a last time at the man. With a shaking head Ghost left the bar. If the safe house was a dead end of clues, then this fucked up city might hold the solution to this mystery. This mystery of a man.

There he was again[J1] . The man with the mohawk, warpaint and the heavy gear. Dying. Soap, but not quite Soap. Whilst sneaking through the city, inspecting more or less every house, Ghost starts to think he was going insane for good now.

The bar now was several minutes behind him, yet Ghost wasn’t able to find something that would give him more information of where he was, of who this man was, and why no one was around here! “Jeez..”, Ghost kneeled at a wall, inspecting the dried splashes of blood that painted it. It looked like someone had thrown a bucket of red paint against it.

His bare fingers scraped along the rough wall, some blood flaked off. He had left his bloody gloves back at the bar but now he kind of was regretting it.

The wall was littered with bullet holes and it reminded him of the brick wall in the safe house. Whatever had destroyed the bar, it also happened here. And as there had been a blood trail leading into the safe house, leading to the dead man on a table, there also was a scarlet, glistering track leading around the next corner.

With a sigh Ghost rose to his feet, the throwing knife loosely in his hand. It was his only defense, but if dying was his way out of this nightmare, he would take it. Yea, a nightmare, it had to be a nightmare.

In a slow pace Ghost made his way around the corner. The blood splashed quietly under his boots. He had found not the source of the blood trail, but a maze. More corners, more destroyed walls with bullet shells scattering the pavement.  Ghost signed again, cursing. “Can’t someone please wake me up?”

Leaned against a wall, a hole in his chest gushing liters of blood with a rhythmic beating. Ghost stepped closer to the man, swallowing a curse. It’s the bloody mohawk again. As he stood in front of the stranger, he slowly kneeled down to him. His jeans immediately socked up the blood, but that didn’t bother Ghost too much. His entire attention was on the chest, bleeding but moving. He was breathing, alive.

“…end me already, feardie-!” Weakly the stranger moved his head, making eye contact with Ghost, who wordlessly sat there. Scottish dialect. He swallowed. Without thinking he scooted closer to the man, Soap?, and pressed his hands against the wound. A curse, flinching. Feeble hands tried to push Ghost away but the stranger stopped resisting quickly.

“What happened?” Ghost wanted information, and finally finding someone alive in this Ghost town was like a blessing. Even, alive might’ve been a too big of a word. Glassy grey eyes looked at him, a gently stubbled beard caressed the sharp features of the, once again, dying man.

He looked like Soap, but older. Sadder. He looked absolutely torn and every piece of hope shredded. As if Soap went through hell and back, but hell seemed to claim this version of Soap again.

“Shepherd.”

“Shepherd?” Ghost felt himself gripping the man by the shoulders. Carefully he tried to bring him closer, his hand drenched in warm thick blood as he tried to shield the wounded form … yea, of what was he shielding him? What danger was ahead of him?

I'm really feeling motivated to write this rn cause I just am so down bad for og Soap and 2022 Ghost meeting. Ghost looking at Captain MacTavish, all light and warmth, what he loved and adored about his Johnny, gone. Left was a man shaped by war. BAMMM!

back to part 1 ;) ->

#mw2022 #mw2 #soapghost #soap x ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #john mactavish #soap mactavish #og soap #captain mactavish #soap #ghost #warmin' yer hands

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...more new year könig before i continue with the fic

#mw2 cod #mw2022 #könig #koenig #könig mw2 #happy new year btw

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LA LA LA LAYLA!

#könig #mw2022 #mw2 #koenig #layla #happy new year btw

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currently going through my cod trauma again...

"SOAP! NO NO NO SOAP! ... I'm sorry"

the scene, the music, THIS FATHER WHO HAD TO WATCH HIS SON DIE; I CANNOT-

#mw #cod #john price #john mactavish #crying #mw3

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When Vittorio first came to the fog-

#dead by daylight #vittorio toscano #david king #legion #frank morrison

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Uh oh…

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Drawing, writing, reading.... I smell my creative burn out but i aint stoppin yet

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SoapxGhost pt5

"Warmin' yer hands"

“Creepin’ Jesus, ye look like shit.” While leaning against the foot of Simon’s bed, Soap could easily study his sick Lieutenant. Simon had sat back down on his bed and unwrapped himself from the blanket around his shoulders. A soft broken chuckle left his sore throat as he crawled under the still warm sheets.

“You don’t look much better yourself, Sergeant.” What a bloody lie. Simon could hardly rip his gaze away from the man. Never before had he seen Soap with such a gentle look on his face. It twisted his guts and left it tingling. He was unpleasantly aware that maybe he should have kept his mask on but after Johnny snuck into his room (like Simon also intended to do), the balaclava found its way back on his bedside table.

Feeling heat rolling into his cheeks, Simon pulled the blanket up to hide half his face again, like he did before with Price. All this went unnoticed as Johnny searched through the small backpack he had brought along. Simon watched him, and oh god what was wrong with him? Was it the fever?

No matter what Simon did, his thoughts screaming at him to get a fucking grip, he couldn’t tear away his eyes from Johnny. Was it Johnny’s face? Small newer scars littered the right side of his face, sprinkling his skin like freckles. Those were leftovers of the explosion, evidence of Soap’s bravery. The hoody he wore hid most of his skin, otherwise Simon could definitely admire more grenade scars.

Calm blue eyes met his own as Johnny turned his attention from the backpack back to Simon. Was it the hair? Fluffy and freed from any sort of hair gel, Soap’s mohawk basically begged Simon to be touched. His hand twitched at the thought. Ruffling his soft hair would definitely cure some of his mental instabilities. If he could make Soap chuckle as well, Simon for sure would turn into a puddle.

John silently tilts his head in question as he noticed Simon lost in his thoughts. He had intended to give Ghost a hot water bottle, but Ghost kept staring. A small huff left his lips. Having Ghost zoning out was nothing new, it just happened when you work in a field that causes lots of trauma and unwanted flashbacks. Usually, Soap would be the first to comfort soldiers that were battling horrific thoughts, but with Ghost he never really knew what to do. Would a hug be ok? Or a pet to his shoulders? Would comforting words even get through Ghost’s thick skull?

Thinking on how to support his superior and friend, Soap started to chew on his lips. Thoughts racing and judging his chances, yet, his racing mind came to an abrupt halt. Ghost’s eyes flicked down to… John’s mouth? Was Ghost really looking at his lips? Now staring himself, in disbelief, Soap decided to play a little game. With a quick motion of his tongue he wetted his lips and bit on them slightly.

Ghost gulped. Or at least Soap could imagine. The damn blanket under which Simon was half-hiding denied him of the view he’d liked to have. Another soft huff left Soap’s mouth, tilting and lowering his head until he could catch Simon’s gaze again.

So, Ghost wasn’t zoning out. He was looking, staring, at him. Big, cold Simon Ghost Riley was looking at John like it was the first time seeing him, and apparently, if Soap dared to believe, he loved what he saw. Feeling smudge, Johnny’s mind already cooked up certain ways on how to tests his superior. To tease. How far could he push this until Ghost would break character and he would see some of Simon? It filled Soap with excitement to have this certain attention on him, it always did, but instead of some random person in a pub hitting on him… it was Ghost staring and basically undressing him with his stone-cold eyes. Stone cold eyes that seemed to warm and soften with every passing second. Johnny smirked, tightening his grip on the hot water bottle. Oh, he already loved to play his little evil game.

“A hottie bottle for a hottie.” The wink, the smirk. The fucking way Johnny held his death stare as Ghost finally managed to gather himself and accept the hot water bottle. He had to force his mind to stay on track, not to wander to the dark corners of his mind, where he would do various things to Soap that he was not quite ready to admit.

A shiver ran through his body as Simon’s sweaty hands grabbed the hot water bottle and pulled it under the blanket with him. He immediately curled around the warmth, a sigh escaping him at the pleasant feeling. Yet, with all the warmth from the bottle, he couldn’t ignore the burning ache that Johnny left in his stomach. An annoying feeling, yet Simon would do anything to feel it again.

He enjoyed this teasing. Was it even teasing? Bloody Jesus, what even were they doing? Wasn’t it just him basically worshipping Soap with his eyes? But more importantly…

Did Johnny guess it? The way they had locked eyes, not daring to move nor to say something. It was so obvious; Ghost would love to just smack himself in the face. Hard. With a hammer. But he might be overreacting.

He turned over, still hugging the bottle like a child would hug it’s cuddle toy. “Heard you caught a grenade for Gaz. How did that go?” A quick glance at Soap, eyes caressing the small scars littering half his face. Fuck, they looked gorgeous on the Scot.

A chuckle, shoulders bouncing. A wide grin. Soft blue eyes sparkling gently. Fucking hell.

“Do you know this one Bruno Mars song?” Ghost scrunched his eyebrows, the question interrupted his pounding heart as it kept on beating faster and faster. “What song?” He slightly sat up, suddenly the heat from the hot water bottle felt too much. Was he blushing? Fuck, why was Soap just so… Johnny?!

Ghost was beyond frustrated with himself. If Ghost and Simon were to be two different individuals, they would be lying on the floor right now, fighting like death. “Stop being such a namby-pamby! What`s wrong with ya?!”, Ghost would yell. Simon would just wordlessly point at Soap, gorgeous, warm, gentle looking Soap.

“He makes me feel ok!”

Soap chuckled again as he made his way from the foot of the bed to the side of his bedside table. A wide grin was plastered on his face. “I’d catch a grenade for ya, throw my hand on a blade for ya!”

He sang. Just two small lines of the song he never heard before but now will listen to every day. Because now it reminded him of Johnny’s gorgeous voice. Fuck, was he always down this bad? Was there a love potion in the tea-rum mix? Did Johnny put a spell on him?

“Hoo, are ye saying you don’t know Bruno Mars?!” As if Ghost had personally offended Soap’s entire family, the Sergeant put a hand over his heart and pretended it just shattered into million pieces. “Gaz was torturing me with this song! I was hardly conscious when we came back to base. I was so damn tired and just wanted to rest, but Gaz kept playing this god forbidden song!” Warmth spread through the room as Soap let out a heartful laughter. Simon could feel himself smiling too, bathing in Soap’s warmth.

Like back during the night shift. The warmth of John MacTavish was truly something he will always be drawn to. Maybe it wasn’t a love potion and John wasn’t an evil witch that cursed him. Maybe John was just John, the brightest light Ghost had ever seen. A light that left Ghost breathless and brought out Simon under his covers.

Ripping his gaze away from the Sergeant, the realization that had rolled over him nearly made him choke. But as hard his heart was beating, his cheeks burning with red, Ghost was trying to push all this down. And all Simon could do was watching helplessly as Ghost locked his feeling up. Simon was too tired, too scared. He hardly ever felt like this.

As if Ghost wanted to slap him with reality, he tore Simon’s heart out and locked it away. Safe. And Simon watched. Chest lifting heavily, bleeding and aching. Ghost turned, coldness settling on his blurry face. “Forgot already, didn’t ya?”

Ghost cleared his throat. It was still sore and scratchy. “It’s just not my type of music. I’m more into heavier things.”

Soap sat down on his bed, a gently look of curiosity on him. “So you listen to metal?” Simon nodded, pulling his legs up to his body and hugging his knees. He was exhausted, the fever still raging inside of him. But he was willing to listen to Johnny a little longer. Distracting him from the sickness and the battle inside his heart.

“And I always thought you’d be into glam rock,” Soap said. A soft nudge to the shoulders made Ghost laugh. “Glam rock? I mean, Kiss is pretty nice I guess.”

Soap smiled. “Did you know there was a band called Ghost? I think you’d like their music.”

“Oh you think so?”

“Listen to them. Mary on a cross is my favorite, but I’m not sure if you’d like it.”

“Hm, well what’s it about?”

Johnny bit his lips, trying to hide his broad smile. “Well, religious stuff… or a blowjob. I’m still not sure. You tell me.”

interested? well here ya go! More ghost fighting his feelings!

#mw2 #mw2022 #soapghost #ghost is babygirl #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #sickfic #soap x ghost #soap mactavish #warmin' yer hands

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babe wake up new way to play chicken just dropped

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"Scheiße" - a very wise austrian man

#könig #mw2 #mw2022 #cod #what is wrong with me

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sneak peak to the part im stuck on in warmin' yer hands.... idk i had to make some tension or I wouldn't write it ://

also since im taking so long for an update i thought i might public more chapters during next week. I need to get over with this slow burn and let Soap kiss Ghost gently during a snow storm

#soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #mw2022 #wip #warmin' yer hands

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HES JUST SO HMMMRMRMRM NOM NOM NOM

#david king #dead by daylight #doodle #hes so dumb #i love him