Alive / Part XII

If you're still up for some drabble ideas, I was thinking of Horangi falling in love with his neighbor's foreign bestie (reader). He just got back from an assignment, and he meets a foreigner at his apartment back in South Korea. He's smitten the moment he talks to them and is elated that they're staying at his neighbor's place for their time there.

If it's too wild of an idea or if it's not your type of style, then you could just ignore this.

A nice leave

Note: Hey there, anon! First off, thank you for being my first ever request. And sorry it took so long, I honestly just didn't know where to start with this one. I'm only going to make it a short drabble to see how ya'll like it, should you do, I'll write more : ) Also, I don't speak Korean, so I had to use google translate, sorry if it's cringe to read. Word count: 289 Trope: Fluff, gender neutral reader

The mission was a full success. Everything went smoothly, and Horangi got away with only some small bruises and cuts. He was placed on leave for two weeks, and went back to his apartment in South Korea to relax a bit. He could hear his bed call him when he stood in the lift of his apartment building, the duffel bag over his shoulder heavy. When he stepped out, he saw you. Standing in front of the door next to his, big smile on your face. He looked twice. You were beautiful. "안녕하세요. 제가 도와드릴까요 (Hey there, can I help you?"). "What?", you turned around, smile still there, albeit slightly confused "Sorry, I don't speak Korean". "Ah, ok. Can I help you?", he asked again, this time in English. "Oh, I'm just waiting for my friend, but I think they're asleep", you chuckled. A grin spread on his tired face. You had a nice smile. "Are you going to stay longer?", he had a slight hope in his voice. You nodded happily. "Yup! Two weeks, to be exact" It made a warmth flow through him, even though he tried to suppress it. He thought about saying something, maybe invite you over for a drink or something. But before he could, the door opened and your friend, very sleepy and ruffled hair, appeared in the doorway. "Sorry", they mumbled. "Oh, no problem (friends name)". You grinned at Horangi, and the familiar flutter came back. "I'm (name), by the way" you extended your hand. "I'm Kim", he shook your hand, but you dissapeared in your friends room before he could say anything.

He was definetely going to sleep well.

recent art of nikto

The image of Ghost sitting in a corner and chewing on that thing like a lil gremlin got me cackling

ghost is a smoker. soap knows this.

how could he not? he’s heard ghost excuse himself plenty of times for a smoke break, has seen that the man always has a light on him, has even witnessed ghost standing off on his own with a cigarette balanced between his lips.

except… come to think of it, soap has never actually seen him take drags of those same cigarettes. and every time anyone has asked to bum a cig off ghost, he always comes back with some retort like get your own or i don’t share.

but obviously he’s a smoker, right? because what else could it be?

well, soap discovers exactly what when he sneaks out for some fresh air one evening, and manages to spot ghost before ghost spots him. using that advantage, he sidles up to the lieutenant, giving ghost barely any time to snuff out his cigarette and all evidence of his smoking before soap’s appearance beside him.

but then soap hears a crunch and is absolutely horrified when ghost takes the cigarette into his mouth and fucking chews.

“ghost?”

“hm?”

“what the fuck?”

as it would turn out, ghost is not a smoker—at least, not anymore. he just always has a pack of candy cigarettes on him that have helped him curb the real habit.

the discovery makes for a good laugh later, but the relief of learning that ghost was not, in fact, eating a real cigarette is the only thing soap is willing to concern himself with for the time being.

I'm ganna upload a few art pieces I made before finals kick my ass

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.

Op, whatever you took, I need it

BLAME MY MUTUALS FOR ENCOURAGING ME TO POST THIS CRACK! IT IS AWFUL PLEASE FORGIVE ME. (I love you guys thank you for feeding my demons) anyway, It’s about cum. Read at your own risk.

-

Ghosts mind is bleary, it didn’t matter what else was happening all he knew was Soap. His body his flesh. With one last breathy noise Soap cums, spilling over his hand, and collapsing back into the covers.

Ghost smiles softly and then is in the bathroom running water over his hands, washing off the cum still spread between his fingers.

Ghost puts his hands together to scrub it off with the water.

Soap’s cum becomes sudsy. It froths up and starts to smell like clean grapefruit and sanitation.

What. The. Fuck.

This entire time! His boyfriend wasn’t the human, Ghost thought. No! No… Soaps cum was SOAP!

Ghost shoots out of his dream with a yell and a cold sweat.

He definitely gets smacked when he describes the dream to Soap later and asks him if he’s actually a soap dispenser disguised as a Sargent.

-

This was in my drafts as

“Ghost makes soap cum. Ghost washes hands. Soap’s cum turn into soap and Ghost wakes up in a cold sweat”

It’s awful I love it.

REBLOG IF YOU HAVE STRETCHMARKS

This way people can see they’re not alone. I have them and this would help me see that.

Darkfic!Gaz, nothing too extreme but this is not loverboy!Gaz, this is more of It-makes-me-want-to-laugh-at-you-when-you-cry!Gaz.

TW: emotional manipulation, a bit of dubcon, mentions of kidnaps

Everyone has a limit, and Gaz is not an exception.

He is still made of meat and bones, and emotions can be tamed but not ignored forever.

Working in the military takes a toll on everybody, both physically and emotionally. And survivor guilt is the worst of them all.

Gaz is back from his last mission, but many of his colleagues won't. Ever again.

Too many casualties.

Too many lives lost.

Too many injured.

And he is fine.

Not even a scratch he could pick at to feel the pain he deserves.

He shouldn't be walking home so freely, dozens of families are about to find out they will never be whole again.

And he is walking home to you, happy to welcome him back as if he was a hero, dinner warm on the table and you talking to him about your day.

As if he would care about how your colleague invited you to a company dinner in a couple of days. People died today, he couldn't care less.

But it seems you cannot get the memo.

“Can you shut the fuck up for a fucking second? Shit! I have been out for months, I just want some fucking quiet time and you keep fucking going on and on about you. How can you be so selfish?! Fuck! Just shut up, for fuck sake!” He says, standing up from the table and dropping his half-eaten dinner on the sink before walking upstairs to the bathroom to shower.

He regrets it the moment the words leave his lips, the hurt look on your face as if he had just hit you. 

It had happened before, the pressure of his work gets too much, he keeps it in, not being able to complain to anyone, until it overfills and in the end you are the one that takes the fall.

He hates himself for it, you are literary the best thing he has, his sweet girl, always willing to take him in, more ways than another, always willing to listen to him, always patient, always kind.

And this is how he repays you, with shouts, sex and apologies. That's the cycle.

He'll get out of the shower and you'll be lying on the sofa, not wanting to share the bed with him, he'll pull you apart and back together on said sofa, and once you are satisfied and pliant he'll take you to bed to sleep on his arms. 

Until it happens again. 

He gets out of the shower, towel around his hips, and goes down to the living room. But you aren't there, his brows furrow; maybe you are picking the blanket from the room. 

So he goes upstairs again, smiling when the room's light is on, and enters; smile quickly dropping when he sees you. 

No. No. No. No.

His stomach sinks when he sees the suitcase open on top of the bed, clothes being thrown inside by you.

He can see the tears in your eyes, but you don't look sad, you look angry. You have never been angry at him, he can't wait to feel it.

“Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing?” He asks stepping closer, closing the suitcase so you can’t put any more clothes in. 

You huff, looking at him with hate and tears in your eyes as you try to move his hand away from the suitcase. “I'm leaving, Kyle” 

No, no, no, you can leave, he needs you, how can you leave him? What will he do without you?

“Why? Love, please, stop, talk to me, please?” He begs, making you throw the t-shirt on your hand to the floor.

“Talk to you?!” You shout at him. “Maybe I should talk to you the way you talk to me, Kyle! Then maybe you would get an idea of how much it hurts!”

He deserves it, he knows he does, but you have never spoken this loudly to him before, and it stirs something inside him. It makes him wonder if he can make you moan as loud, scream his name. 

“I know, love. I'm sorry, I really am. You know that, right? You know that I love you to bits?” He asks, manipulation at his best. But you don't fall for it, you are far too smart to be blinded by his hurt expression. He tries to cup your face, if he can touch you he knows he's got you; but so do you, and you quickly move his hands away from your face.

“If you loved me you wouldn't treat me the way you do, Kyle.” You argue, clever girl you are.

“How can I not love you, dear?” He asks, body moving closer to you. Your hand rests on the middle of his naked chest, keeping him back. It's the back of your hand that touches him, almost as if your palm was too good to touch him. 

Your touch is cold, both literally and figuratively and that makes him start to panic. What if you actually leave? What if he can't fix this before is too late? What if it is too late? 

He needs you, he needs the control he has over you. Everything in his life constantly feels out of control, his superiors barking orders at him, enemies playing with him, and comrades dying on the battlefield without him being able to do anything about it. He needs to feel he is in control of something, even if that something is a someone and even if that someone is you.

He still pushes closer, the heat from his body pooling into the coldness of your touch. He resists the urge to smile satisfied with how your body betrays you. Kyle does love you, even if it is in an unfair, distorted and macabre way. And he knows you love him, in a genuine, comforting and undeserving way. 

His hands manage to get to your face, pushing his face forward to kiss your cheek. Baby steps.

“C’mon, love. I'm sorry, please. I won't do it again, I promise. I'll work on it, I promise I never intended to hurt you. I'm sorry, it's the job, I promise. I love you, darling. I really do.” He says, as he drops kisses on your face, lowering to your jaw and the moment he reaches your neck, he smiles, hidden from your eyes, knowing he is keeping you once more. 

Shouts, sex and apologies. That's the cycle.

“Kyle…” You protest, your hand still on his chest and some fight still in you, but he can work it out of you. 

“I'm sorry, dear. I'll treat you better, I promise. As good as you deserve, I promise.” He has you against his chest now, and he feels your hand slowly turning on his chest; your palm much warmer against his skin. 

He sucks on your neck making you whimper and he needs every bit of self-restraint not to laugh at you, not to laugh at how easy it was. He shouldn't have gotten nervous, he’s got you eating out of his hands.

The part of his brain that is still human, that tells him that you are still human starts to talk to his dismay. He knows it! He perfectly knows that he is a monster for how he treats you, that you should be with someone a hundred times better, such a sweet girl stuck together with such a horrible man.

But one of the many traits that make him such a horrible man is how egoistic he is, so he will keep you, even if you don't want to. He'll keep pushing you away and locking the doors so you can't run. Tomorrow he'll burn the suitcase, he is not letting you get this far ever again. 

A glimmer of guilt sits at the bottom of his stomach, a useless feeling. It only means he needs to get inside of you soon, fill himself with the love he so little deserves and fill yourself with empty lies of eternal love.

He grips your thighs, urging you to jump on his hips. You resist for a second too long and he slaps your asscheek making you jump with a whimper.

“I'm gonna make you feel good, love. I'm sorry. I'll make it worth it, I promise.” He says, still biting your neck. The towel around his hips falls at some point, not that he cares; it would get in the way anyway. Just as much as your clothes are, he doesn't bother to let you back on the floor to take them off. He simply grabs the material and rips it on your crotch leaving your cunt exposed. 

He is still standing, he doesn't want you to be able to rely on any support, he wants you to feel that if you don't grab him you'll fall, he wants you to need him just as much as he needs you. He slips his hand behind you, getting a finger inside of you making you whimper as you hide your face on his neck; clinging onto him and he loves it. 

This is how he wants you, desperate for him. Just like he is for you. At his disposal, just for him.

He can feel the wetness dripping down his fingers, he knows he should add more fingers before sinking you on his dick, but he wants to feel you stretch around his dick, moulding yourself just for him, shaping your insides only for him.

You bite his shoulder when he does and he smiles, loving it, he needs it. He needs the pain you inflict on him when he is like this, the bites on his shoulders, the scratches on his back, the kicks on his lower back, all of it. He deserves, he deserves much more. You could sink a knife into his shoulder, cut him to his hip dragging the blade and he would still feel you need to do more.

He is so horrible to you, he knows he hurts you, and he wishes you could hurt him back, let him know what is like. But you never do, because you are too good to hurt the man you love and it only makes him want you to hurt him more. 

He grabs your hips hard, making you bounce on his dick, the room filling with your moans and the sound of skin slapping on skin. There are no more thoughts inside his head, already forgetting the faces of those men who died today, already forgetting their names. This is why he needs you, it would consume him alive if it wasn't for you. He needs you.

You cling to him, moaning his name, you mind forgetting his harsh words already only being able to focus on the way his dick is hitting so deep inside of you. 

He makes sure to go round after round, his seed spilling out of you making him grunt. He should get you pregnant, stuck with him for real that way, forever.

It's only when you can no longer talk that he gets in the bed with you, hugging you tightly, too afraid you'll think about leaving again. 

It's usually at this point he can finally relax, go to sleep and forget about the nightmares his days have been.

But a new nightmare arises when he says, “I love you” and you answer “I know”.

Tomorrow, he is burning your suitcase and he is tying you to the bed. Enough playing around with him, he is here, and you don't need to go anywhere. 

Shouts, sex and apologies. That's the cycle.

And that will remain the same.

Whether you want it or not.

This was my first try at writing something more dark-ish. I'm not really sure if it even classifies as it, but. I hope you guys enjoy it anyway 🩷🩷

@waiting-so-long this is what you have done to me. I don't know if this fits the vision you had but I hope you enjoy it my dear! 🩷🩷

@sgtgarricks here you have it as well, wait no more 🩷🩷

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ghost has no idea what to make of you. you show up out of nowhere, barely a day after price announces that they have an extra addition on their team for the next mission, and then you show up.

you're nothing like them - you probably haven't seen a man get shot, never felt your bones break and have to set them yourself in a fight. he has this sick fantasy of breaking you, wiping that stupid smile off your face and watching you crumple as he breaks your spine with one hand.

soap loves having you on base, you're good with a gun and you'll joke with him about almost anything - sure, you never come out to the pub with them, but whenever they come back to base you've cooked something and that's better than any pint of beer johnny's ever had.

he's worried, he thinks you wont make it out there - beside them. you're small, and not in the sense that you're short, in the sense that there's barely anything to you, nothing to grab if you trip in the middle of active fire.

gaz is just finally glad to have someone else to talk to, to complain about soap and ghost to, rant about how price pissed him off. you're always willing to talk, which is probably a good thing.

he always turns down his radio whenever you're on a mission together, he doesn't want to hear you die, or hear your voice trail off as you get caught. he has to bite his knuckle whenever you speak out of fear.

price is sick of it, sick of watching the boys play with you like a doll and then sit you delicately back on the shelf, so he takes matters into his own hands and shoots you between the eyes.

you sit up four minutes later.

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

i just rlly like the idea of immortal!reader but the guys have no idea and suspect nothing until they get shot in the head and then just,,, get back up !