Ghost Has No Idea What To Make Of You. You Show Up Out Of Nowhere, Barely A Day After Price Announces

I forgot about this blog. again. forgive me.

Alive / Part II

Word count: 377

The air was filled with the clean, biting smell of antiseptic, the gentle, warm sunlight flooding the room through big windows a stark contrast against the stench.

Despite his tall figure and broad shoulders, he looked ridiculously small and lost next to the hospital bed. It had been two weeks since Soap got shot in the head, and somehow survived. He’d been unconscious since then, hooked up to an array of different machines.

It took Price and Gaz a lot of convincing to get him to at least go back to his room to change out of his blood stained clothes. He didn’t want to leave Soap alone. He’d already lost him once, and he’d fight God bare handed if anyone tried to take him away again.

Watching the now in bandages wrapped Soap was a monotonous task, but there was nowhere he’d rather be. The doctors said he’d wake up any time now, and Simon would be damned if he wasn’t there when he did.

His head lied on the bed, gaze fixed onto Soaps still face. He slowly started to drift off, eyelids heavy. Suddenly, the muscles of Soaps thigh flexed under his head. Simon was wide awake in a split second. His eyes searched for a sign of consciousness in his face, finding his brows slightly furrowed and eyes carefully blinking.

„W-what- happened?“, his voice was hoarse and croaky, glancing through the room without focus. „You, uh, got shot. In the head“, he said, a sudden nervousness overcoming him. A shocked expression flashed across Soaps face. „Oh“. Simon fumbled with the string of his hoodie. „Do you need something?“ Soap nodded, and pointed to a water bottle on the nightstand. Simon grabbed the bottle, opening it and handing it to him. Soaps hands were weak and shaky, struggling to grasp the bottle. “Wait, I’ll help ya“, Simon mumbled, tilting the bottle so he could drink. He wiped the water around his mouth off with a napkin, eyes fixed on the pink slightly parted lips.

The door opened, a nurse stepped into the room, making his way towards Soap. The urge to flee, to run away overcame him. „I‘ll, uh, leave ya to it, then“, he stuttered, leaving the room before Soap could say anything.

Helloooo, here’s a new sketch and this time young Sirius Black from Harry Potter / Marauders! Hope you like it :)

Here’s the template I used

I need a part two, pleaseee

you're a part of a task force - not exactly sure which one, but your team is called in to help.

only - you have no idea which side you're supposed to be helping, so as your team barrels through the area, looking for anyone who might have called reinforcements, you get seperated.

you're good on your feet, you're one of the best with a gun, and you're a quick thinker, so you're on guard but still pretty confident.

that's until you find yourself yourself in a building. its been abandoned, some of the walls crumbling and falling in on itself - you have to jump over a few of the piles.

the room you enter has a metallic tang to it, and the creaking of the door does nothing to calm your nerves. its the breathing that you hear, soft and slow - strained. someone is dying.

the man in the corner of the room has a bullet wound in his shoulder, his eyes are shut and his hand is pressed against the section of his shirt coated with blood.

he's dark skinned, clean shaved with a dark blue sweater, covered by his bullet proof vest. he hasn't seen you, and even if he had, the gun by his arm was only just out of reach. he'd have to fall onto his side to reach it.

your gun is trained on him, waiting for any sudden movements as you check the immediate surrounding area. your radio crackles softly, and you wince, watching the mans eyes flutter open.

"you-" he can barely get a word in before he's gasping for breath and clutching his shoulder in pain. "are you here to kill me?"

you purse your lips, tuck your rifle on your back and respond with "i think so."

you've never felt bad for killing a man before - its your job, you get paid to take people out as though they were rubbish bags. only, this man in front of you, with a half smile on his face and his brows furrowed in pain - you feel guilty.

" can- can i know your name," he stops to cough a few times, "before you kill me?"

you look him over once more, his eyes almost pleading, and then out the window. no one would know he was here, his family- friends, even team, they'd have to declare him KIA.

rolling your shoulders, you push forward, grabbing his gun and tucking it into your belt, before pulling him from out against the wall. you slot yourself under his left arm, the one without a bullet in it.

"i'm not going to tell you my name," you decide, helping him stand up. "because then i can't kill you."

Alive / Part VIII

Word count: 666

Ghost was used to not being able to sleep at night, nightmares and night terrors keeping him awake. But tonight was different. He and Soap settled down on the bed next to each other, laying in comfortable silence. He could feel the heat radiating off Soaps body. Every fiber in him wanted to scoot closer to him, curl up in his side, which he of course didn’t do. Soap was his sergeant, after all, and he didn’t want to give himself the embarrassment of making a move only for Soap not to feel the same. (Ghost is an oblivious idiot).

Ghost hated the feeling of fabric on his skin at night, at base he usually slept only in boxers, today opting for joggers, but no shirt. He wiggled on the bed, trying to get comfortable. „No disrespect, lt, but stop squirming around like a worm“, Soap grumbled, already half asleep. Ghost didn’t say anything, laying down on the side facing Soap, who was facing towards the window.

It took while for him to fall asleep, but for the first time in a long while he slept through the night, no nightmares violently ripping him out of sleep. He woke up to the sound of birds chirping, slowly opening his eyes to see Soaps side empty. He was still sleepy, taking a few sips of water form the nightstand before rolling onto his back with his arms under his head, staring at the ceiling.

The door opened, and Soap stepped back into the room, dressed in boxer shorts and an oversized shirt. He sat down on the bed next to Ghost. „Morning, lt“. Ghost closed his eyes. „Morning, Johnny“. A few moments of silence passed, before he felt a warm hand on his side. His breath hitched and he opened his eyes. Soaps gaze was focused on the skin beneath his fingers, fingertips slightly grazing over a big scar, caressing the raised, silver skin. It burned, but oh God, did it burn good.

„How’d you get this?“, Soap asked, genuine curiosity on his face. Memories flashed in front of Ghosts eyes and he gulped. „Uh, I got captured. Cartel. They hung me up on a hook“, he mumbled. „Must’ve hurt a bitch“ Soap gently rubbed his thumb over the scar. Ghost nodded, closing his eyes again, the memory painful. He didn’t want to admit it, but Soaps touch on his scars felt holy.

„Do they hurt?“, Soap asked. Ghost shrugged. „Sometimes. Not all of them. They feel weird when it‘s cold though. And they’re really sensitive“ Soap grinned, continuing to gently caress the scar.

It stopped for a second, before Soaps fingers grazed the skin right above his waistband. Shivers ran over his body as Soap caressed a faint but long scar that went from his side over his v lin down to his crotch.

„And here?“, he asked, his voice low. Ghost took a moment to answer, his thoughts in a haze. „Torture…. They wanted intel“, he smiled weakly. „They didn’t get it“. Soaps gaze was sad. „I‘m so sorry, Si“, he whispered. Before he could say anything, Soap bent down, pressing his lips on the scar. Ghosts mind went blank.

Soaps lips lingered on the scar, before he slowly, very slowly began to tug the waistband down, revealing a small happy trail. He kissed lower and lower, stopping every few seconds to check in with Ghost, who was looking at him with wide eyes, but the bulge in his pants said enough.

Soap grinned before pulling down his joggers completely, his plans obvious. Ghost stared at him, his mind racing. Was this really happening? He felt like he was on fire. Soap liked him too. This was wrong, so wrong. But fuck did it feel good. It had been ages since someone last touched him like this, at least with consent. He had to hold back a whimper when his fingers grazed over the bulge.

A loud voice suddenly boomed through the house. „Boys! Breakfast!“

Do you like Call of Duty because of cool character and cool guns, or do you like the idea of people seeing you at your worst/nastiest, yet they know you have value so they don't hold that against you and try to work things out

Alive / Part I

Word count: 244 Simon firmly believed that regret was one of the most painful things someone could experience. It set his body ablaze, burned through his skin and into his bones.

The few seconds it took to run over Soaps limp, unconscious body, all of the things he wanted to say flung through his head like shrapnel from a bomb, boring their sharp edges into his mind.

He knelt down next to him, shaking hands desperately trying to find a pulse. There was none.

„I‘m sorry, Johnny. I‘m so sorry.“, his voice strained with shock and despair. „I love you. I need you. Please don‘t die, please.“ The black fabric of his mask was wet with tears.

Through the painful ringing in his ears, he could hear Price order a medevac over comms.

He held him in his arms until evac arrived. Softly cradling his head, silently praying for those storm blue eyes to open again.

His fingers rested on his pulse the entire time, trying to conjure up a faint rhythm, even though he knew that it would not come.

His forehead rested against Soap‘s, nobody daring to pull him away. Suddenly, there was something. A weak, light throb under his gloved fingertip. His head jerked up, eyes wide with a mixture between hope and despair.

Hastily, he pulled the glove off his hand, pressing his finger into Soap‘s neck. There it was again. A pulse. Weak and unsteady, but it was there.

Johnny was alive.

You always wondered how König was when he was back at base and being colonel. You wished you had some type of secret superpower and could teleport to see if what Hutch or Stiletto said was true. You had asked him one time, and he didn't even answer the question. Well, he sort of did. Blaming the recruits for causing him to be mean and making them run long miles.

"You don't get it, liebe. They're all morons, and they think they can fool around all the time. So I, as a colonel, do my job and make them suffer the consequences." 

You learned your lesson to not ask ever again on a sunny friday morning when you got a little taste. You had decided to join him on a run and at first you were all giddy and confident. How bad could it be? The weather was perfect and working those 12 hour shifts had prepared you.

Yeah, you were wrong.

You were practically on your knees, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. It felt like each breath you took was getting worse. Your giant husband just stood there. There was some sweat on his forehead, but he didn't look like he was struggling. 

The man had the nerve to scoff.

"C'mon soldier. You wouldn't survive a day in the field with just." König checks his watch. "Only ten minutes of running."

You look up and glare at him. "I-I can't catch up to you! You're taller!"

"My height has nothing to do with your running capabilites." König says.

"You're running faster! You have experience." You shout, very annoyed.

He shakes his head. You can see a grin forming on his face even when he's wearing that damn hood. "Nein. Just excuses. Even a rookie could do better."

How dare he.

"You know what! I may not be able to beat you, Mr. Colonel, but I know dang well you couldn't clear a screen during a rush in minutes." You spat back, the bottle in your hand falling to the floor.

"Quit your babbling rookie and get to running."

Oh and you indeed showed him. Even when your lungs were burning and you almost twisted your ankle, you made it before him. Soon as you got to the top of the goal, you did your little dance and mocked him the way he was first.

"Guess what? This little rookie just beat your ass colonel." You say, your finger poking his chest. Almost getting distracted by the way the black shirt was sticking to his skin.

"Is that how you talk to your superior?"

You nod. "You best believe it."

And with that you own yourself a piggyback ride home by your mean husband( he literally let you win but won't admit it because he loves your competive side).

König just loves you ❣️

Noch fünf Minuten

Notes: Noch fünf Minuten (Five more minutes). Word count: 173

It had been an... active night. You lay in bed next to König, who was slowly waking up. He looked at you with half lidded eyes. "Guten Morgen, Liebling", he mumbled. "Morning", you chuckled, kissing his forehead. You scooted over to the edge of the bed, wanting to get up and get dressed. "Noooo", König yelped playfully, grabbing you by the waist. "I have to get up, darling", you complained. He pulled you closer, wrapping his burly arms around you, successfully immobilizing you. How big he really was got even more obvious when you back was pressed against his broad chest. "Let me go, Königg", you tried to wiggle out of his grasp, which was no use. "Nu uh", König mumbled, wrapping his body around yours and caressing your skin. You stopped struggling, knowing it was no use. His hand snaked lower, it was obvious what he wanted. You swatted his hand away, still too spent from yesterday. "Noch fünf Minuten", he murmered, burying his face in your neck. Fine, noch fünf Minuten.