(don't) bite the hand that feeds (masterpost and links)
— art by @vozart —
Summary: If anyone bothered to ask Ghost who he was, he figured he'd just stare at them for a moment, and say three simple words.
"A stray dog."
He didn't mean to bite. Didn't mean to bare his teeth or snap at every outstretched hand.
It wasn't in his nature—not really.
He didn't want to be like this.
He just didn't know how to be anything else.
— # —
"Jesus fucking Christ, MacTavish," Ghost snapped, his voice cutting through Soap like a bullet through bone, making mincemeat of his heart as it dropped clear to his feet. "Shut the fuck up."
— # —
In the wake of Hassan's death and stolen moments in Las Almas, Soap can't seem to quiet his mind—and Ghost won't let himself rest. Haunted by guilt and convinced he's the problem, Ghost starts doing what he does best: pushing people away before they can see the mess he really is.
If he's alone, maybe Soap will be safe.
But Johnny MacTavish has never been good at backing down. Pairing: Ghost x Soap Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending (finally!), Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Soap has Anger Issues, Ghost needs Therapy, "Shut Up, Soap", Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Past Child Abuse, Flashbacks, Panic Attacks
This fic can be found in its entirety on Archive Of Our Own!
🧼 Chapter 1 — Amber Reflections
Soap wasn't drunk. Not even buzzed, which was a real shame, because he could've used it. A little fuzz around the edges, something to slow his brain down and soften the raw, electric hum under his skin. Instead, he was just… awake. Exhausted, aching, but running on whatever amount of adrenaline hadn't burnt off yet. His mind felt like a room of flickering lights—some blown, some stuttering, all of them too damn bright. How can I be this tired and yet this awake at the same damn time?
💀 Chapter 2 — A Weapon, Not a Man
If anyone bothered to ask Ghost who he was, he figured he'd just stare at them for a moment, and say three simple words. "A stray dog." He didn't mean to bite. Didn't mean to bare his teeth or snap at every outstretched hand. It wasn't in his nature—not really. He didn't want to be like this, he just didn't know how to be anything else. Only how to survive.
🧼 Chapter 3 — Radio Silence
No bloody rest for the wicked. Not really, at least. Alright, so technically, they had time off. A whole bloody long weekend, even, where their little foursome could split off to wherever and pretend they weren’t held together by medical tape and sheer force of will. Soap went home to see his ma and sisters, guilt lancing his thoughts every time he remembered how little time he truly got to spend with them. Some time for everyone to lick their wounds after, a few weeks worth of regrouping and pulling together all the loose ends of their last mission. Soap didn't particularly envy the captain or Ghost's position. Hours per day spent weaving threads into something that would make sense, would let them move forward in ways he didn't need to be privy to yet. Granted, both Price and Ghost didn't seem to really care for the secrecy between COs and NCOs, he and Gaz knew far more than they should've—but he could only stand so much jargon before exploding.
💀 Chapter 4 — Stray Dogs
Life carried on. Missions assigned, targets eliminated, reports filed. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. The routine never changed. But it also didn't mean shit when every other fucking thing in Ghost's life felt wrong. The barracks used to hum with life. A low, steady current of easy camaraderie that managed to worm its way into his bones and filled the space between missions. The clang of trays in the mess, the murmur of conversation punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. Except now, the air hung heavy, stagnant and thick. Pressed against his ribs as a weight he couldn't shift. Every meal, every meeting, every moment crushed against him with something unspoken. Nothing like the comfortable silence between men who understood each other without a word spoken. And he didn't kn— You're lying to yourself, Riley. You know exactly what it is.
🧼 Chapter 5 — Confrontation
Soap was not doing well. He could fake it. Had been, he'd narrowed that shit down to a bloody science. Slapped a grin on his face to act like everything was fine. Joked and played along when Gaz tried to prod at him, still rolled his eyes when Price gave him that look. But it wasn't real, just a cheap imitation of himself, stretched thin over something raw and gaping. A fresh wound torn open again, and again, and again. Every fucking thing felt off.
💀 Chapter 6 — No Walls Between Us
The moment Johnny's arms wrapped around him, Simon's entire world stopped. Not just the muffled sounds of the base beyond these walls, or the distant buzz of the lights, or the heavy boots of others in adjacent hallways. Something… more. Something deeper, something that took every single thing Simon Riley had ever known and tipped it upside down. And even though it only lasted a single heartbeat, fuck—it hurt.
🧼 Chapter 7 — Healing
Simon trembled in his arms, still overwrought with his own charged emotions, still struggling to breathe—and fuck, John didn't know how to fix this. But he could hold him. And he could stay. So he did. John rocked them gently, one hand smoothing up and down Simon's back in steady, soothing strokes. He kept his breathing even, controlled in the hopes that Simon could match it, could begin to ground himself and come back.
💀🧼 Chapter 8 — Epilogue
The coffee machine gurgled, low and steady, filling the air with its rich warmth. Simon leaned against the counter, forearms resting on the cool surface as he watched the dark liquid drip into the waiting mug. Never gonna understand how he drinks this shite. Coffee. Truly just… mingin’, if he was being honest. And yet it was another thing in the multitude of everything that made up the man he loved more than anything in this world. It became their evening routine on base—decaf for Johnny, Earl Grey for himself. A habit formed in the quiet, shared moments that he never once dared to dream he'd have. A small, simple… easy thing.
💀 Chapter 9 — Sugar and Spice 🔞
The bedroom was dim, cloaked in that late evening hush that always seemed to settle over the barracks like a heavy blanket. Rain lashed at the windows—dreary, dark, and miserable. No one wanted to be out in this, least of all Simon. No, this was where he belonged—flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, propped against a stack of mismatched pillows on the slightly less rickety bed he’d snagged for himself years ago. Watching Johnny move in the half light like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. His boyfriend—god, his boyfriend—hadn't fully undressed yet. He’d only managed to strip down to his socks and those—quite frankly sinful—heather gray sweats, the waistband riding low on his hips as he paced at the foot of the bed. Thinking, considering, planning— Fucking hell, he looked good when he focused like that. The sharp glint in his eyes, mouth curved in that same way that made Simon hot all over, left butterflies fluttering around his ribcage. And these days, they were numerous, no longer scared off by the rot clinging to his bones. Simon found that he didn't much mind the flowers blooming in their stead.
🎨 Chapter 10 — A Stray Dog (Artwork)
Tumblr, Bluesky, AO3
🎨 Chapter 11 — Hold Me Close/Don't Let Me Go (Artwork)
Tumblr, Bluesky, AO3
— art by @vozart —
(do not repost please!)
