Alive / Part XI

Pain

Word count: 422

He thought he knew what pain was.

God knows he had experienced enough of it. Whether it be physical or psychological pain, it was as if the universe decided that there must be one person who'd be destined to collect all the different types of pain and suffering like other people collect stamps.

But the pain he felt the second he saw the bullet hammer into Soaps head, life slipping out of his eyes in the fraction of a second was nothing he'd ever known before.

In the second it took for Soap, Johnny, to fall to the ground, a vivid image flashed through his mind. Not of the things that were, but of those that could've been. Their eyes locked onto each other, hands entertwined, lips pressed against the other's. A ring on his finger.

The amount of regret that filled his body was unbearable, it felt like flames burning through his skin and into his bones. He regretted so much. Things he never dared to say or do, out of fear of allowing himself to feel again, feel vulnerable for loving someone. It seemed so foolishly insignificant now. He'd do and give anything to hear that stupid scottish accent and see that stupid smug grin again. To get a chance of telling him what he meant to him. That he was the only good thing he had. That he had a reason to return from his missions.

That he loved him.

But now, it was too late. He wanted to rip the skin off his bones in despair.

His body was on autopilot as he made his way towards Soap, the black fabric of his mask wet with tears. "Johnny!", he yelled, voice straining, trying to contain the raging sea of emotions that flooded every fiber of his being.

He held him in his arms, and for the first time in a long while, he screamed out in his mind to God, pleading, begging for a pulse. For a shaky, unsteady breath. For his Johnny.

But nothing came.

The highlands were as beautiful as Johnny always said. The sunset bathed the landscape in a golden light. As they poured Johnnys ashes from the cliff, letting the wind carry it away, his mask was soaked with tears.

The one thing he wanted, craved, the only man he ever loved, was reduced to nothing more than ashes.

It cost him every ounce of self restraint not to throw himself after those ashes.

What was his life worth, if Johnny wasn't in it?

The sharpest lives :)

I'm not sorry

Soap has problems with a washing Machine...

I want write a Mini fic about this situation, but i'm really Bad with that, so if someone get inspired with this and want do a fic THANK YOU

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Help me I was just at a job fair and went to the army and there was this guy in full combat gear and mask from the special forces and I talked to him about his job and he had these deep brown eyes and was so nice I swear I was trying to listen. But. We were talking about how much his gear weighed and he chuckled, took my hand and put it on his vest so I could lift it and see for myself. Then he told me he could just pick me up and carry me.

Help

Nightmares / Part I

Note: I made this two parts since I really wanted to post this but couldn't find the energy to write for the others tonight. Tomorrow you'll get Price, Rudi and Soap tho (I used alphabetical order, that's why they're last). Trope: Fluff, angst, hurt comfort Word count: 1.303 Trigger warning: Mention of torture

Alejandro: Alejandro was no stranger to sleepless nights. It took an eternity for him to fall asleep, worries and sorrows keeping him awake. When he did finally fall asleep, the nightmares came. He'd stand in the town square of Las Almas, having to watch as his family, friends and comrades were put against a wall. He couldn't run or scream, just stand there. When he suddenly stared in the barrel of a gun he finally woke up, shirt wet with sweat, the rooms silence filled by his heavy breaths. "Joder (Fuck)", he mumbled, getting up and putting on a new shirt. It was 0200 (2 am). He decided to get a tea. As he stepped in the community room he was surprised to see the lights on, you standing in pyjamas in front of the boiling kettle, a mug in your hand. "(Name)? What are you doing in the kitchen an two in the morning, tesoro?" You turned around, grinning but tired. "I could ask you the same, Ale" He sighed and grabbed a mug and tea bag (Spanish orange) "Can't sleep. You?" "Same. Do you... Wanna talk about it?", he shook his head. "Not right now, I think.... Just need to think about something else" You shrugged. "Understandable" You two sat down on the couch, sitting in silence, drinking the tea, each lost in their own thoughts. "Would you rather fight one hundred duck sized horses or one horse sized duck?", you suddenly asked. He looked at you like you had grown two horns. "Ehhh, madre mia, the horses, I think?", he answered. "Me too. Even though it would depend on the horse" He chuckled. "Are you trying to distract me?" You grinned "Is it working?" He rolled his eyes "A bit". You leaned you head on his shoulder, and after a moment he put his head on yours. "Good" You continued to banter about random nonsense until, finally, fatigue overcame you and you finally fell asleep. It was the best sleep either of you had gotten in a while.

Gaz: Falling asleep wasn't the problem. But as soon as Gaz drifted off into dream land, he was haunted. Faces of fallen comrades screamed at him for not saving them, the screams of agony of their last moments, the pleas of enemies he tortured filled his mind. With a muffled yelp he shot up in his bed, chest heaving. "Fuck", he muttered, getting up and pacing up and down in his room. His heart was beating like a racehorse. He grabbed his gym bag and decided to head to the training rooms. He was surprised to see the lights on, the thudding of fists hitting the punching bag filling the room. "Not bad, (name)", he stepped closer, looking at you. You sighed. "Can't sleep either?", you asked. He nodded. "Yea. Damn nightmares", he punched the bag, making it swing violently. You stepped back, sitting down on the mat and leaning against the wall. "Wanna talk about it?". He thought for a moment before turning his attention back on the bag. You thought he'd just ignore you and stay quiet, but as he started punching the bag, he muttered under his breath. "I couldn't save them. I killed them" His punches got harder and more aggressive. "It's my fault. It's my fault". You weren't sure who he was talking about, but it didn't quite matter right now. "Hey, hey, Gaz", you tried to calm him down. "Cmere", you patted the mat next to you. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, but then finally sat down next to you. A shuddered breath escaped him as he slumped in on himself. You opened your mouth, but quite honestly you weren't sure what to say. So you just sat in silence, but it wasn't an awkward feeling. It felt... Safe. Suddenly, you felt his head on your shoulder, and smiled, leaning yours against his.

Ghost: For Ghost, a good nights sleep was as common as a unicorn. Everytime he closed his eyes, he was there again. Buried alive, in a coffin, squished next to a decaying body. But this time, he didn't get out. He thrashed and screamed, unbeknownst to him not only in his sleep, but it was no use. He was trapped, he was trapped, he was trapped. Panic flooded his every fiber, but he just wouldn't fucking wake up. His eyes widened when he finally woke up. His breath came in short, shuddering gasps, tears staining his cheeks. He wanted to run, he needed to run or else he'd suffocate. He almost fell over putting on his pants and running shoes before he ripped open his door and ran. He didn't know where, he just needed to run. The sky was still dark, with the faintest shimmer of violet light creeping up the horizon. He aimed for the woods behind the barracks, mindlessly running along the paths. "Fuck, Riley, watch your step, big boy", a sudden voice squeaked. He opened his eyes which he didn't remember closing. He looked down, seeing you knocked over on the ground. "Sorry", he mumbled, giving you a hand and pulling you up. "What are you doing here at this time of night?", you raised an eyebrow. He shifted his weight. "Can't sleep". "Me too...", you looked at him. His gaze was weird... Dead, somehow. "Do you... Want to talk about it?", you asked carefully. "No", he said, voice firm. "Come with me", you grabbed his arm, leading him to a bench nearby, guiding him down and plopping next to him. "I'm here for you, you know that, right?" He gulped. "Yea..." A deep sigh escaped him. "...Thank you". You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "No problem", you mumbled, feeling him relaxing under you.

Horangi: They were here, they'd kill him, fuck, he needed to hide, he needed to hide. Horangi panted, clenching his fist in the sheets. His eyes opened wide and he rubbed the scars on his face. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes and stepped outside, sliding down the wall. He lit it and took a deep breath, letting his head roll back and closing his eyes. "Whatcha doin there?", you voice suddenly sound beside him. "빌어먹을!" (Fucking hell, may be a bit wrong since I don't speak Korean) He had jumped up, sighing when he saw it was just you. "Stop sneaking up to me like that, (name)". You chuckled. "Heh, sorry". You sat down next to him. "Can't sleep?", you looked up at him. He nodded. "I don't wanna talk about it". "Then lets just... Sit" You leaned against him, feeling the tension melt slightly from his form.

König: As soon as he closed his eyes, the memories came. He was strapped to a chair, only dressed in boxer shorts, his hood gone. He felt exposed. They whipped, beat and cut him, the scars still evident on his skin. He stood up on shaky legs, the scars on his body aching. A small tin of ointment stood on the table, which he grabbed and carefully rubbed it in. He was not gonna fall asleep anytime soon again. With a heavy sigh he put on his clothes and shuffled towards the armoury. He plopped down on a bench and started cleaning his guns. "Hey there", he hadn't heard you, and immediately pointed the empty gun at you. "Scheiße! You scared me!", he mumbled. You giggled, sitting down next to him. "Sorry". He rolled his eyes and watched him clean his weapons for a minute. "Can't sleep?", you asked. "Nightmares", he answered shortly. You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling his muscles move under it as he wiped down the barrel of his gun. "You can always talk to me, you know?", you mumbled. "Yea... Danke"

Alive / Part VII

Word count: 399

Soap wasn't lying when he said his mum could cook. Ghost was glad he had something else than the horrible food from chow hall and MREs. Molly had made a hearty stew with carrots, potatoes and pork (Idk about real scottish stews so this is how my German grandma makes them). Now he and Soap were sitting in the bedroom in a comfortable silence. "'M gonna shower.", Soap announced, trying to pull off his shirt, but wincing. "Need help?", Ghost eyed him. Before Soap could answer, he got up and carefully got the shirt off without hurting him. Once it was, he couldn't help but stare a bit. He'd seen Soap shirtless, and naked, countless times, but this was different than neonlit communal showers. "Like what yer seeing?", Soap grinned. Ghost rolled his eyes. "Quiet". He looked at the bandage. "I'll change that when you're done. Don't use all the hot water" While Soap was in the shower, Ghost slowly started putting away his clothes, then stepping outside on the balcony. He had a beautiful view on the area, the sun starting to set and casting golden light on the fields. "I love sunsets", Soap appeared next to him, towel hanging low on his waist. Ghost subtly eyed the dip on his waist and the two prominent veins running along his v line. "Yea, they're beautiful". He cleared his throat. "Now let me take a look at that", he carefully peeled off the water proof bandaid off, exposing the still open wound. "It's healing nicely", he commented, setting Soap down on the bed and taking out gauze and a bandage from his bag. "Hold still", he gently began wrapping it around his shoulder. "Being gentle for me, huh?", Soap teased. "For you always, Johnny", Ghost flicked his ear playfully. After he finished wrapping up the shoulder, he helped Soap into his shirt and went showering himself. When he stepped inside the bedroom, Soap was sprawled on the bed, scrolling through his phone. "Yer beautiful, lt", he grinned. Ghost flipped him off before settling down on the bed. "Shut up". Soap scooted over a bit. "Make me" Ghost shot a warning glare towards him. "Don't tempt me, Johnny. You'll bite off more than you can chew" Soap snickered. "Oh I promise you I have enough space in my mouth". Ghost let out a groan. "Go to sleep, sargeant." "Yes sir"

I by the way take requests, so if you guys have any ideas, feel free to send them, I love writing for ya'll! I write for (almost) all characters, ships and x reader. It may take a bit until I get to your request, since I have to study a lot, but I'll eventually get to them all.

Shattered

Ghost and his mask were one. Everyone knew that. Sometimes you thought that he couldn’t take it off if he wanted, that it had grown on his face. But on the most recent mission, things went south. There were more hostiles than you expected, and Ghost got overrun. He was a big boy, but even he couldn’t hold his ground against seven attackers. They knocked him to the ground, beating him until he was unconscious.

By the time you and Gaz finally managed to get through to him, he was covered in blood and bruises. His mask was destroyed. The skull sewn on the balaclava was broken into several pieces that were scattered around him. While a medic rolled him on a stretcher and carried him away with Gaz‘ help, you crouched down and picked up the shattered skull.

Ghost was brought to the infirmary immediately, he had a cracked rib and bad concussion. You cradled the pieces and put them on the desk in you room, carefully putting them back together. Luckily you had a bottle of glue laying around.

After gluing the pieces back together, you decided to paint the cracks a dark black. The mask was broken but now it was whole again. Just like Ghost. Well, for the first part. You wondered if there was something in this world that could slot the pieces of his broken soul back together. He’d never be the same again, just like the mask. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t bee good again.

You were a bit nervous when you knocked against the door. „Yea?“, his usually deep voice was even more gravelly now. It sounded… Weak. You slowly opened the door, looking at the figure laying in the bed. He was pale, his head bandaged, his hand gripping his injured side as he sat up. Even here he had on a black surgical mask.

„I uh, wanted to see how you’re doing“, you said, the nervousness in your voice more audible than you’d like. „Had worse“, he mumbled, suppressing a wince as he shifted. „Yea…“, you didn’t quite know what to say. „I got something“, you reached inside your duffle bag and pulled out the fixed mask.

Ghost froze up immediately as he saw the mask. You got nervous. What if he didn’t like it? What if he’d get angry you painted his mask? You heart beat so fast you’re sure he’d hear it. „It was broken, I fixed it“, you hurried to explain yourself. „I can see that“, he said without any expression or hint as to what he was thinking. „Why are there black streaks?“, he asked. Shit. He didn’t like it. He probably hated it. You shouldn’t have painted it, you shouldn’t even have touched it. „I can get them off, I‘m sorry“, you immediately started to start scratching at the paint, trying to get it off.

„Stop.“, he commanded. You stilled and looked up at him. „Don’t. I like it.“, he reached out. You gave him the mask. „Turn around“. You did as he said.

When you were allowed to turn back, he looked like himself again. He looked like Ghost. The black streaks formed an intricate pattern, making the mask look even more intimidating than it already did. He grabbed his phone and looked at it in the camera. „It looks good“. You held your breath. He liked it. He thought it looked good. That was unexpected, to say the least. „I‘m glad….“

You turned around, opening the door. „Wait“, he said. You looked at him. „Thank you, (name)“. „No problem“

The black streaks had formed a small heart on his forehead.