Cod Soup

Night owl, 20's, coffee lover, cod fics

[codsoup]

Hello there! 💕

Hello there, and welcome to my little corner on the internet. This is the space where I share my Call of Duty fics. From fluffy moments to angsty battles, and everything in between. Writing is my way of having fun, and I’m always happy to share that with others who enjoy the same.

Sometimes, you might see me post other writings too, little stories, stray ideas, or things I just feel are worth sharing. So while COD fics are the main focus, you never know what else might pop up here.

My DMs are always open if you’d like to chat, share feedback, or even toss an idea my way. I’d love to hear from you!

So grab a cup of coffee (or maybe some whiskey, Ghost-style) and make yourself at home. ✨

Master list

Mdni??

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Drunk confession | soapghost

The pub door swung open, spilling out laughter and the smell of stale ale. Ghost followed right behind Soap, a hand on his shoulder, steering him out before the man could order another round.

“Alright, that’s enough, Johnny.”

“Ach, yer no fun, Lt,” Soap grinned, but his steps were uneven, voice heavy with warmth and whiskey. “S’a good night, innit? Should celebrate!”

“We did,” Ghost muttered. “Now we’re going home before you faceplant on the pavement.”

The night air bit sharp. Soap shivered, shrugging deeper into his jacket. “You’re a right killjoy, you know that?”

“Part of the job description.”

“Bollocks.” Soap laughed, but it was weaker now. Quieter. He shoved his hands into his pockets, walking beside Ghost. Their boots echoed off the empty street. “You ever get tired of bein’ the big scary lieutenant?”

Ghost side eyed him. “No.”

“Course not,” Soap huffed a laugh. “You never get tired of anything. Don’t even get tired of me, do ya?”

Ghost didn’t answer. The silence between them hung heavy.

Soap stopped and stared at him, really stared, through the dim street lights and the haze of beer and half swallowed feelings.

“I like ye, y’know,” he said suddenly.

Ghost’s head turned slightly. “You like a lot of people, Johnny.”

Soap shook his head. “Not like this.”

Ghost froze. His throat went dry behind the mask. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’.”

Soap stepped closer, voice dropping, almost desperate. “Aye, I do. Been knowin’ it for a while now. You just pretend not to see it.”

“Johnny…”

“Don’t ‘Johnny’ me,” he snapped, words wobbling between anger and hurt. “I know what this is, Ghost. The way ye look at me. The way ye don’t look at me, scared that I might notice. The way ye.. you protect me more than you should.”

Ghost’s jaw tightened. “You’re drunk.”

Soap let out a shaky laugh that didn’t sound like laughter at all. “Aye, maybe. But drunk words are sober thoughts, eh?”

“Not always,” Ghost said quietly.

Soap’s hand slammed against the wall beside, not hard, but enough to make Ghost flinch inside. “Then tell me somethin’. Am I not enough for you?”

“You’re…” Ghost swallowed hard. “You’re more than enough.”

Soap took a step back, eyes bright in the glow of the streetlamp. “Is there someone else?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Soap pressed. “You’ve got that look sometimes.. like there’s someone waitin’ for ye. Someone you keep yourself for. Is there?”

Ghost’s throat worked around a lump that wouldn’t go down. “No.”

“Then why not me?” Soap’s voice cracked, and before Ghost could move, he grabbed the man’s wrist. “Why not me, Simon?”

Ghost didn’t pull away, didn’t move at all. Just stood there, the warmth of Johnny’s hand bleeding through his own.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Ghost said, low, rough.

“I know exactly what I’m askin’ for,” Soap shot back. “I’ve known for months.” He stepped closer again, desperation bleeding through every syllable. “I know, you know it too.”

Ghost said nothing. His silence said everything.

Soap’s laugh came out broken. “Bloody hell, why do you resist this so much?”

The words hung between them, too heavy to take back. Too late to take back.

“Johnny…” Ghost’s voice softened, almost a plea. “You’re too good for this. For me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“Then let me decide that, aye?” Soap said, eyes glassy but fierce. “Don’t make that choice for me.”

Ghost’s jaw clenched. “You’re not thinkin’ straight.”

“Maybe not,” Soap admitted. “But I mean every word.”

The silence stretched between them, Soap took a shaky breath, voice lowering. “If you don’t feel the same… just tell me. Don’t keep stringin’ me along. Don’t keep lettin’ me hope.”

Ghost finally met his eyes. The look there was enough to burn the night down.

“I do feel it,” Ghost said quietly. “That’s the problem.”

Soap’s breath hitched. “Then what are we doin’, Simon?”

Ghost looked away, his voice a whisper. “Survivin’. That’s all I know how to do.”

Soap’s hand fell from his wrist, empty now. He gave a small, humourless laugh. “Guess I’ll keep waitin’, then. For you to learn somethin’ else.”

He turned to walk ahead, shoulders shaking slightly. Ghost followed a few paces behind, hands buried in his coat pockets, mask hiding everything but the regret in his eyes. And when Soap stumbled once on the curb, Ghost reached out, steadying him, then let go before either of them could make it mean something more.

—-

There will be a part 2

Master list

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Got a #soapghost love confession in the drafts but too busy to edit and post it 🙃

So meanwhile enjoy this picture of Ghost I found on Pinterest 🎀🤝

CREDITS:@drinkinginistanbul on Pinterest

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Happy new year ✨

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Daydreaming Disaster | soapghost

Soap daydreams about kissing Ghost

—-

Price’s voice was droning somewhere in the background. Something about patrol rotations, air support timings, comm discipline.. the usual stuff Soap *pretended* to listen to but never really did.

Today was worse.

Because today, Ghost was sitting directly across the table. Mask on. Arms folded. Legs spread just a little too casually. Head tilted in that focused, brooding way. Voice low when he commented on the map. Veins visible through the sleeves of his shirt.

Soap’s brain didn’t stand a chance.

His eyes kept drifting. First to Ghost’s mouth or what little he could see of it beneath the balaclava. Then to the shape of his jaw. Then to the way that damn mask pulled tight when he clenched his teeth.

“What would he taste like?” Soap wondered, staring shamelessly. Smoke? Mint? Something darker? Would Ghost kiss slow? Careful? Or would he grab Soap by the collar and pull him in…

Soap swallowed.

“He’d be warm,” Soap thought dreamily. “I bet he kisses like he fights, no hesitation, no room to breathe..”

He imagined it:

Ghost pinning him to a wall, one hand on his jaw, the other gripping his shirt, the mask pushed up just enough..

Soap’s heart rate spiked.

His leg bounced. His face warmed.

And before he knew it, he was leaning forward across the briefing table, half entranced, staring at Ghost’s masked mouth like it held the secrets of the universe.

And that’s when Price snapped.

“SOAP!”

Soap jolted so violently his pen flew out of his hand and smacked Gaz in the arm.

“Jesus..aye? Yes, sir? Listening, sir, absolutely sir..”

Gaz rubbed his arm. “Mate, you almost stabbed me.”

Price squinted at him. “You’ve been starin’ holes at Ghost for ten bloody minutes. Thought you were trying to read his mind.”

Alejandro chimed in unhelpfully, “Or his lips.”

The room *howled.*

Soap turned beet red. “I WAS.. I mean.. THAT’S.. I WASN’T..”

Ghost didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at him. He simply turned his head slightly, eyes landing on Soap with slow, deliberate calculation.

And said, voice low enough to sink Soap’s soul:

“Enjoy the view, Sergeant?”

The room *exploded.*

Gaz fell back in his chair. Rodolfo clapped like he’d been waiting for this. Price pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about requesting a transfer.

Soap covered his face with both hands. “Oh for fuck’s sake..”

Ghost leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. There was a smugness in the tilt of his head.

“You were droolin’ a bit,” he added.

Soap’s soul left his body. “I WAS NOT…”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ghost said. “Next time, take a picture. Might last longer.”

Soap considered faking his own death on the spot and the room completely lost it.

—-

Master list

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Confession | soapghost

It happened in the middle of nowhere.

Rations on their laps, mud on their boots, exhaustion clinging to their shoulders. The fire between them crackled, throwing just enough light to paint Soap’s grin as he tore into a packet of biscuits.

“You ever think about it?” Soap asked, mouth full.

Ghost didn’t look up from the knife he was cleaning. “About what?”

“Us,” Soap said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You ‘n me.”

Ghost stilled. The blade gleamed in the firelight, perfectly sharp. His mask hid his face, but Soap could almost hear the silence underneath.

“That a joke?” Ghost asked finally, voice flat, guarded.

Soap shook his head, swallowing hard. “Nah. No joke. I like ye, Simon. Didn’t figure I’d say it over MREs, but well, here we are.”

For a long time, there was only the crackle of fire, the low hiss of wind across the fields. Soap sat back, heart hammering, but his smile never faltered.

Ghost finally set the knife down, slow and deliberate. “Johnny…” His voice was low, unreadable. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Aye, I do,” Soap countered softly, leaning forward. “I know exactly.”

Ghost looked away, shoulders tight. He said nothing more, not then. But the air between them felt heavier, charged. Soap didn’t push, it wasn’t his way to demand answers before they were ready.

Still, he caught it, the faintest tremor in Ghost’s hands as he reached for his canteen. A small tell. A human crack in the unshakable mask.

Soap grinned wider, heart stubborn and stupid. He could wait.

Because he knew, one way or another, Ghost had heard him.

—-

Ghost’s POV:

The fire snapped. The knife in his hand gleamed. He kept his eyes on the blade, steady, deliberate, until Soap’s voice broke through the quiet.

“You ever think about it? Us.. you and me?”

For a second, Ghost thought he’d misheard. “Us?” He didn’t flinch, didn’t lift his head, but every muscle in his back went rigid.

“Is that a joke?” His voice was flat, controlled.

Soap only grinned wider, eyes bright even in the firelight. “Nah. No joke. I like ye, Simon.”

And that was when Ghost’s heart lurched in his chest. Not a stumble. Not a skip. A full lurch, like something had hooked it and yanked. He forced his hand steady as he set the knife down, but he could feel the tremor running through his fingers.

He wanted to snap at Soap, tell him to shut up, to stop looking at him like that. But his throat had gone tight. And all that came out was, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But Soap leaned in, soft and stubborn as always. “Aye, I do. I know exactly.”

Ghost turned away. He had to. If Soap saw his eyes just then, it’d be over.

The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

—-

Later, long after Soap’s breathing had evened out, Ghost lay awake in his bedroll. The mask was still on, because he couldn’t bring himself to take it off. Not tonight. Not with Soap’s words still echoing.

I like ye, Simon.

It played on repeat. He tried to smother it with logic: Soap was reckless. Soap deserved better. Soap didn’t know what he was asking for. Ghost had lost too much already: family, friends, pieces of himself. There was nothing left worth giving.

But underneath all the walls, the justifications, the cold, there was something else. Something dangerous.

He wanted to believe him.

He closed his eyes, turned his back to Soap’s sleeping form. The night pressed heavy on his chest.

And Ghost, for the first time in years, was afraid, because someone had seen through the mask, and worse, he didn’t want them to stop.

—-

Master list

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if u get a ★★★★★ in ur inbox it means ur moot appreciates u, and your efforts in the community !!!!! send this to 10 mutuals to continue the love🫧🫧

Thank you very much star ⭐️

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Not Subtle at All - Interviews with the 141 | Soapghost

[Camera clicks on. A black backdrop. The 141 sit one by one, interviewed about Soap & Ghost.]

Gaz (arms crossed, smirking): Everyone acts like it’s a mystery, but come on, it’s not subtle. Soap looks at Ghost like he put the moon up there, and Ghost… well, he bloody lets him. That’s the real shocker. Simon Riley doesn’t let anyone close, not really, but Johnny? He slips past the mask. (leans forward, lowering his voice like it’s confidential) I once caught Ghost holding Soap’s mug. You know, the hideous tartan one Soap snuck into his flat? He wasn’t drinking out of it. He was just… holding it. (leans back, smug) Tell me that’s not love.

Price (sighs, takes his cap off): Look, I’m not one for gossip. But those two… they’ve got a rhythm. They trust each other in ways you can’t teach. Ghost covers Soap’s six without hesitation, and Soap.. he pulls Ghost out of his own bloody head. (a pause, softer) Johnny’s got a way of making the man laugh. Do you know how rare that is? You simply cannot make Ghost laugh but Soap does that. Every damn time. (pulls his cap back on) Wouldn’t say it aloud to them, but… I’m glad Ghost has someone like that. Keeps him human.

Laswell (folds hands neatly, composed): It’s painfully obvious. Soap brings colour to Ghost’s world, and Ghost gives Soap an anchor. (tilts head, thinking) I once called Simon late at night, work-related. And I swear I heard Soap’s voice in the background. Laughing. It was soft, easy. And Simon, he didn’t tell him to shut up. He didn’t mute the call. He just… let it happen. (slight smile) That’s not a soldier protecting his privacy. That’s a man who wants someone else’s voice filling the silence.

Recruit, nervous (camera zooms in): Oh, uh..yeah, it’s… yeah, we’ve noticed. Soap brings Ghost food sometimes, right? Pretends it’s “extra.” He does it every week. And Ghost actually takes it. (gulps, glances around) He doesn’t take anything from anyone. Not even us. But Soap? Different story.

Gaz (cutting back in, gleeful): And the way Ghost looks at him when Soap’s not paying attention? Priceless. You’d think Soap had the bloody sun orbiting him.

Soap (sits down, laughs too loud): What’s this then? An interrogation? Ghost ‘n me? We’re just mates, aye. Thick as thieves. Brothers in arms. (grins, can’t stop himself) …Alright, maybe I slipped a few mugs into his flat. And a plant. He doesn’t complain, though. Means he likes it. (tries to look serious, fails) Don’t tell him I said that.

Ghost (leans back, arms crossed, voice low): No comment. (camera holds on him. Silence. Finally, he sighs through his mask.) …He steals my blanket. Always. (pause, so faint it almost isn’t caught on mic) But I don’t take it back.

Price (last word, dry but fond): They think they’re hiding it. They’re not. And if you’re asking me… I’m not about to stop them. God knows they’ve earned something good.

[Camera clicks off. End of tape.]

——

Master list

[heladodavellana]

ACHÚS !!!

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Can you tag your major character death fics please. Lots of people use blacklists to avoid this sort of content but it doesn't work if it isn't tagged.

Didn’t even know that was a thing, thanks for letting me know ✌️

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The Quiet Between Us - Alternate Ending Part 2

Life after Soap and the imprint he left on Ghost

Continuation from The Quiet Between Us - Alternate Ending

—-

(Aftermath)

The flat is quiet again.

Simon Riley wakes up before dawn because his body doesn’t know what else to do. The kettle takes too long to boil, the fridge hums too loudly, and the key holder by the door still has a tag that says Johnny’s. He leaves it there. Dust gathers around it like a shrine.

He doesn’t talk about him. Not to Price, not to Gaz, not to anyone. But he carries Soap’s knife on missions. Keeps the edge sharp. Sometimes he finds himself muttering under his breath before a mission, small things like, “Let’s make it quick, Johnny,” or “Keep up, Soap.” Old habits.

There’s a dent on the edge of the fridge that Soap had caused. Simon never fixes it. The mug Soap snuck into his kitchen, bright pink, flamingo, sits on the counter. Ghost drinks from it every morning. Says it’s for luck.

On every death anniversary of Soap's, he goes off the grid. No comms, no messages. Price covers for him because Price knows.  He drives to the highlands to visit him and sits there, the cold cutting through his gloves. Sometimes he brings flowers. Sometimes a bottle. Sometimes just the silence.

He’s changed in small, unnoticeable ways. The flat isn’t grey anymore; there’s a blanket on the sofa Soap once picked, a few books he left behind. The place smells like wood polish and something faintly citrus: Soap’s old cologne that never quite faded. He still keeps the extra laundry basket for soap and started drinking coffee.

When new recruits talk too loudly, Ghost looks up with that old familiar irritation. But under it, there’s patience. Johnny’s patience.

And sometimes, when he catches his reflection, mask hanging loose, eyes tired, he sees a flicker of something soft behind the stare. Something Soap left behind.

He still dreams of that last mission. Sometimes Soap makes it out. Sometimes he doesn’t. But in all of them, Simon hears him laugh.

And every morning, he says quietly into the stillness, “Alright, Johnny. Up and at it.”

Because the world keeps moving. And he promised to live in it, just enough for both of them.

——

This is the last part, hope you enjoyed ✌️

Read again The Quiet Between Us Part 1

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The Quiet Between Us - Alternate Ending

Continuation from The Quiet Between Us Part 3

—-

The machines went still. The flat line rang out, shrill and merciless.

Ghost didn’t move. Couldn’t. He sat there with Soap’s hand in his, frozen as the doctors did their work, trying, but failing to bring him back.

And then it was over.

A Union Jack was draped over Soap MacTavish’s body. The soldier, the demolitions expert, the beating heart of 141 - silenced.

Ghost stood there, rooted, his hands numb where they’d clung to Soap’s cooling hand. He didn’t hear Price’s orders, didn’t feel Gaz’s arm trying to guide him out. All he could see was the crooked smile that would never appear again.

—-

Days later, they buried Johnny in the Highlands.

The wind cut cold across the hills, but Ghost didn’t feel it. He lowered himself down by the grave, mask shadowing his eyes, and stayed. Through rain, through night, through the hollow silence of morning.

He lay stretched beside the mound of earth like he was keeping watch on one last mission. Refusing to return to his flat, a place now haunted by Soap’s laughter, his clutter, his light. Every corner was a reminder of what was gone.

So Ghost stayed there, where his Johnny was. Where he belonged. Wishing to have died instead.

It was Price who finally pulled him away, convincing him to at least face the family. “He deserves that, Ghost,” Price said quietly. “And so do they.”

Reluctantly, Ghost went.

—-

The MacTavish home was warm, humble, brimming with memories of a son, a brother. When he stepped through the door, Soap’s mother froze and then, as if she had always known, she whispered, “You’re Simon.”

Ghost’s chest tightened. He hadn’t said his name.

She smiled through her tears. “He spoke of you often. Always fondly.”

Ghost swallowed hard, mask damp. He held out Johnny’s folded uniform with trembling hands. “He was the best of us,” he rasped, voice breaking on words he’d never said out loud. “And I couldn’t save him.”

Soap’s father put a hand on his shoulder, steady despite his grief. “You were there with him. That’s more than most get in this life.”

That night, Ghost sat alone on a quiet stretch of hill overlooking the MacTavish home. The stars above blurred with tears he refused to wipe away.

Johnny had carried him through war, through shadow, through silence. And now Ghost had to carry him in memory, in guilt, in the hollow ache of a future that would never be.

And so he stayed, whispering into the night where no one could hear:

“Miss you, Johnny. Always.”

——

Read next The Quiet Between Us - Alternate Ending Part 2

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Your work is single handedly keeping me sane

May your Halloween be spooky

You pillow always cold

And your coffee strong

- ⚓️

Amen 🙏

Thank you very much pookie 🎀

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have you considered putting your fics on ao3? i love your writing but i find tumblr on it's own such a difficult platform to navigate and keep up with to know when there are updates love the work either way, just curious!!! thank you!!

Hello there, thank you very much 🎀

I’m only on tumblr right now and have not considered ao3 at the moment.

But you are right it sure is a bit difficult to navigate here. To make it a bit easier I have the link to my master list in my pinned post. Hope that helps 🤗

Master list

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The Quiet Between Us Part 3 | soapghost

Continuation from The Quiet Between Us part 2

—-

(Soap’s POV)

Darkness.

Not the kind he was used to, not the comfort of night after a mission. This one was heavy, pressing, endless. He floated in it, weightless and numb.

Soap MacTavish wasn’t afraid of much, but this silence, this nothingness, threatened to swallow him.

Maybe it’d be easier to stay here, he thought. No more pain, no more fights, no more war. Just… quiet.

But then he heard it. A voice. Rough, low, familiar. It cut through the void like a blade.

“Come back to me, Johnny. Please.”

Someone’s there, half hidden, shadowed but he’d know that silhouette anywhere. The mask. The height. The weight of it.

“Simon?” Soap’s voice cracks, barely more than a breath. “You.. You’re here?”

The figure doesn’t speak. Just extend a hand. Solid. Gloved. Waiting.

Soap blinked or thought he did. Shapes shimmered in the dark, hazy. The silence whispered, tempting him to let go. But that hand stayed… steady, patient, waiting.

And Soap thinks, “He stayed by me, didn’t he? He always does.”

Then he grinned, or maybe just felt like he did. “’Course I’ll take yer bloody hand, Ghost.”

He reached out. Their palms met. The warmth was real. And then..

Soap gasped awake, the world slamming into him. Beeping machines. Sterile air. A crushing weight in his chest. His whole body felt wrong, sluggish, heavy, like his limbs were no longer his own.

But what he saw first was Simon Riley.

Sitting by his side, mask still on, holding his hand in both of his like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Simon?” Soap croaked, voice raw.

Ghost’s head snapped up. His eyes, those hard, guarded eyes burned with something Soap had never seen so naked before. Relief. Fear. Love.

“You took your time, Johnny.” Ghost muttered, voice breaking on the edges.

Soap smiles weakly. “Didn’t wanna wake up if you weren’t there.”

Ghost huffs, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You daft bastard. You had me thinkin’.. Christ, Johnny.”

Soap wanted to laugh, but his chest hurt too much. His fingers twitched weakly against Ghost’s. “Heard ye, y’know… in there. All that talkin’.” His lips curved faintly. “Y’could’ve just told me proper.”

Ghost froze. His hand tightened. “…You remember that?”

“Aye, heard every word.” Soap’s voice was little more than a whisper.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Heavy. Fragile. Then Ghost exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a month straight.

“Good,” he said softly. Then, more firmly, “You’re movin’ in with me.”

Soap blinked, sluggish. “…Bit forward, no?”

Ghost leaned closer, the corner of his mouth twitching behind the mask. “Don’t care. You’re not doing this recovery alone. I’ll take care of you.”

Soap’s chest warmed, even through the pain. His body felt broken, but his heart, his heart was whole.

“Been trying to move in from months, who knew it would actually take a bullet for it to happen, eh?” he rasped, a weak grin tugging at his lips.

Ghost huffed, shaking his head, thumb brushing Soap’s knuckles with infuriating tenderness. “Like you don’t already.”

But he didn’t let go of his hand. Not for a second.

—-

Read next The Quiet Between Us - Alternate Ending

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Got any good fluffy fic recs?

Mine 😎

I’ve read a bunch but never saved any (mostly on AO3). Will keep sharing as I come across some 🎀

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Sleep Comes Easy | soapghost

The clock ticked past two in the morning, the base long since gone quiet.

Soap lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes, flashes of the last mission came back, too loud, too close, too much blood. The silence between gunfire had been worse somehow, heavy and echoing.

He sat up, restless, dragging a hand through his hair. His chest ached in that way it did when his thoughts turned sharp. Sleep wasn’t coming tonight.

He found himself walking before he’d even decided where to go. His boots made soft thuds down the corridor until he stopped outside a familiar door. He hesitated, then knocked twice.

Ghost opened it within seconds, mask still on, eyes half-hidden in shadow.

“Johnny,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Soap shrugged, trying for casual. “Can’t sleep. Thought maybe I’d… uh, sit here for a bit.”

Ghost studied him for a moment, then stepped aside. “Couch is free.”

—

The room was simple, almost bare. A stack of mission reports on the table, a kettle on standby, the faint hum of the heater. Soap sat down, elbows on his knees, eyes tired and unfocused.

Ghost wordlessly made two mugs of tea, setting one in front of him. No talk, no probing. Just presence.

“Thanks,” Soap muttered, sipping once before setting it aside. “Didn’t wanna be alone, I guess.”

Ghost sat across from him. “You’re not.”

That was all he said, and somehow it was enough.

Minutes passed. Soap’s shoulders began to loosen. His head drooped back against the couch. He mumbled something that might’ve been “cheers, Lt.” before his breathing evened out.

Ghost watched as his chest rose and fell, the lines of tension smoothing from his face. Within minutes, he was asleep, out cold, the kind of sleep that only came when someone felt safe.

Ghost leaned back in his chair, quiet.

He could still see the flickers of fear under Soap’s skin from earlier, the same look he’d seen on men too long in the field. But here, now, he looked… peaceful.

Trust was a rare thing in their world. To see it offered so easily, without words, struck deeper than Ghost cared to admit.

He sat there a long time, the room dim except for the lamp’s faint glow. The mask stayed on, but his guard eased.

For once, the night felt still.

And when Soap murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, Ghost found himself answering softly, though the other man would never hear it.

“Sleep easy, Johnny. I’ve got watch.”

——

Read previous work Tactical panda