You Always Wondered How König Was When He Was Back At Base And Being Colonel. You Wished You Had Some

Hello my worms, I wanted to inform ya'll that I am actually still alive. Yes, I too am surprised. Sorry for not updating in such a long time. I promise I have a valid reason. A few days after my last post I met someone, and it wasn't my probation officer. (just kidding, I am a law abiding citizen) At a workshop in my school I met a very hot guy and we started talking. Long story short, he's my boyfriend now. He's more than I could have ever wished for, and for the first time in a veeery long time, I'm actually happy. I realized that all those fanfics and stuff were an unhealthy coping mechanism (not saying fanfiction is bad, but the way I interacted with it was), and I doubt I will continue writing fanfics for now. Especially since he is pretty much a fanfiction come true. Please imagine a 6'0 blonde guy that has arms like I have legs. His uniform ain't helping. Please forgive my rambling lol

I forgot about this blog. again. forgive me.

Holy o.o

have you,,,,,, posted the water melon video here?👀 just asking…………………

You mean this one?

Patreon - YouTube

This is soooo gooood, seriously, just beautiful

The Journal

I don't know. Cw: Ghost's backstory

Soap found the unassuming book on his desk. The edges of the paper had turned slightly yellow and they were clearly flipped through quite often. He frowned at it, wondering who went into his room and set this there. It felt... almost threatening.

Soap gently opened the book to look at the first page.

I'm writing this journal as a "therapy" exercise. Frankly I think it's fucking bollocks. I'm fine. I dream about nothing.

Well. That wasn't very helpful. The handwriting was odd. Almost scrawling, like the person who was writing had shaky hands but also couldn't be bothered to hold the pen properly.

Soap frowned. This seemed a rather personal thing to give to a person. But it was in his room.

Just one more page.

Apparently I'm supposed to introduce myself. Fine. My name is Simon Riley. I belong to the SAS. I was a POW for a couple of months. I keep hearing numbers but none of them feel right. I think parts of me are still down there.

I hurt. Everywhere. Especially when people touch me. I can't sleep. Can barely eat. My mum is worried. So does Tommy. I want to tell them to fuck off. I have. But they keep worrying. I wonder if this is how Beth felt.

On the page was a polaroid. A baby faced Simon with nasty scars on his face, still fresh and angry. He looked half dead. Dark circles under his eyes and an expression nothing like his usual. Someone had their hand on his shoulder, but he could only see their arm.

Soap sucked in a breath. There was no way Ghost gave this to him. No fucking way.

He got up and grabbed the book, going straight for Ghost's quarters, planning on returning it immediately and pretending he had found it and couldn't find Price to turn it in.

Ghost's quarters were empty. His knives were missing, but his clothes were still there, meaning he was on a mission.

Fuck.

Soap paused and tapped his foot. He wasn't sure if Price was around. How did someone get this? If he left it in his room, he was worried someone would find it. He'd have to keep it. Just to be sure.

Soap set it back on his desk. When he saw Price, he'd talk to him.

After a minute of staring at it, Soap shoved the book into a drawer and closed it tight. He left to talk to Gaz to distract himself for a few hours.

Gaz was nice enough to tell him that Ghost and Price were on a mission together and that they wouldn't be back for a few days.

No big deal.

A few days with a book that potentially had a lot of answers to some questions he had about Ghost.

Soap didn't make it the night before he was reading more pages. He never claimed to have great self control.

Good morning. I feel like a teen, writing in a diary. I've been put on new medication today. Supposed to help. It makes me dizzy for some reason.

My mum keeps making me tea. She wants to make sure I'm real. I see her hands hovering around me. If I wasn't such a shit son, I'd tell her she can hug me. The thought makes my skin crawl. I see her dead body in my dreams. I see the skull they said was hers. I want to tell her I'm okay, but I don't want to lie.

Soap felt sick. There was a drawing. It was crude, clearly done out of boredom and with no real care behind it. Soap was pretty sure it was a skull that was dripping something. Maybe blood. The ink was all black so there was no way to tell. "Mum" was written several times around it.

I dreamed about her again.

That caught Soap's attention. Her? Was Ghost into women? That seemed unlikely.

She used to speak so soothingly in spanish to me. I wonder if she was like me. Did Roba rape her too?

Soap shut the book and shoved it under his pillow. Enough of that. Nope. He didn't want to think of those words and what they meant.

Fucking too.

No.

No...

No!

The idea of something like that happening to his Lieutenant was... It just... didn't happen.

Soap pulled the book out and kept reading. Just... to prove it wasn't real.

I don't know. It's not a nice thought. Maybe I want someone else to hurt too. I tried to jack off the other day and ended up scrubbing myself raw afterward from how it made me feel. How pathetic right?

Not sure what this is doing. What benefit this has. I'm writing my thoughts. Trying to feel better. Tommy joked about me buying a hooker. I had a panic attack. it was like i was back in high school again. fucking baby.

There was a picture of someone, presumably Tommy, and Simon hanging out. They were both smoking and Tommy was making a sign with his hands. He had a giant grin on his face. Simon had a carved out Glasgow smile that looked like it hurt. Raw. it looked to be after the earlier polaroid. The dark circles hadn't gotten better, but there was more color and flesh in his face.

My mum wants me to talk to my dad. I don't know why. I don't know want to see him. Can't let him see me right now. Maybe when I'm recovered. Last time I saw him, I beat his ass. Doubt he's going to forgive me.

Bastard is pure evil. He gets off on hurting people. Got off on hurting me. I think he's trying to use the cancer as an excuse to get close to my mum again. I'll beat his ass again. I'm putting on more weight. I'll fucking do it.

There was a little stick man drawing labeled 'Simon' and 'Bitch' with Simon beating him to death. Soap thought the blood was rather well drawn, even if the stick figures wasn't.

As the week went on, he kept reading a few pages at a time. He learned... things.

Ghost liked Vanilla tea.

Ghost had been assaulted by more than one person.

Ghost's father had beaten him. A lot.

Ghost was scared of snakes.

Ghost loved his Mum.

Ghost hated most mystery movies.

Tommy was Ghost's brother and was the second most important in his life.

And that they were all dead. All of them.

He wrote an explanation of everything there. In a clinical, harsh detail.

I wish I had died down there in Mexico. I wish I had laid down in that grave and died. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault.

It kept repeating and then he had just started over and wrote over the first layer.

Soap was crying. He couldn't help it. Tommy was so... young. Not to mention the descriptions Ghost gave of his family in general. The pages after that were mostly drawings or scribbles, all made with heavy hands.

Simon knocked. He could tell by the sound he made when he knocked. "Johnny?"

"When did you get back?"

"...Just now. Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Soap wiped his face so he'd look... normal. "Yeah come in."

Ghost stepped inside and saw the book. "Enjoy it?"

"What?"

"I left it for you."

"Why?"

Ghost hummed. "Thought it would be the easiest way to let you in."

Soap swallowed. "You don't do anything half assed do you?"

Ghost's eyes stared at him. Answer enough right there.

So, you would rather vote for a man who thinks windmills cause cancer, whales are going crazy because of windmills, and talks about Arnold Palmer taking showers with other pros, thinks Putin is smart and trusts him? You're in a cult. Get help.

Hey yeah sooo

What are you talking about? I haven't posted in months, and the stuff I posted about is about me imagining fictional men from a video game being in love, I have no idea where you got that from.

Also, I'm not quite sure which country you are talking about, all those are statements I thought I'd only find on a bingo card in scrabble, so if you're talking about Trump, hate to tell you, but I'm German, I'm not gonna vote for him because I simply can't.

Please tell me what the actual fuck you're on about, thanks

I'm gonna try writing some things for the other boys, but honestly I've never played Cod, so I apologize in advance for making their characters not sooo accurate. Currently listening and watching their cut scenes to get a feeling of their personality, wish me luck

Idk if you do requests or suggestions n stuff like that, so feel free to ignore this, but how do you think Simon would feel about a significant other who got caught in an explosion or something that badly scared/disfigured half her face?

She’s not insecure enough to hide her face because of it, but she gets irritable when people stare, and will will sometimes make self deprecating jokes about being an, “eyesore” and how she, “ain’t exactly a beauty anymore”

a/n: this is actually the first time anyones requested anything from me and it made me so happy omg

masterlist here

buy me a ko-fi

warnings: mentions of injury, blood, scars, a dash of smut

word count: 1.4k

The scarring that covered a little under half of your face rarely bothered you. The occasional tightness or twinges of pain with the weather changes was the worst of it and nothing that couldn’t be remedied with a thin coating of bio oil and a gentle massage.

The appearance of the scarring didn’t bother you either, compared to the angry red skin that had first grown back after the explosion.

One misplaced charge by a newbie to blow open a door had sent you sprawled on your ass, your pride hurting. You’d hardly noticed the pain until you’d seen Johnny white as a sheet when he kneels down over you, “Don’ worry lass, ‘ve gotcha.”

“Johnny?” You ask, a little out of sorts from the shockwave of the charge.

“Lass, ‘ve gotcha!” He affirmed, stripping your helmet and his tac gear, before his thin cotton vest was pressed over your face.

“Ah know, lass, best ah can do now.”

“Can’t see, Johnny…”

“Hush, lass, gotta keep you covered. Yer in a state… Bleedin’ through already.”

Johnny kept heavy pressure on your face, barking out orders at the others on how to complete the mission, all the while holding his vest pressed tightly, so tightly onto your face.

“S-soap, i’ hurts,” you moaned.

“Hush, lass, we’ll get out soon,” His hands disappeared from your face and you were being hauled up into his arms, “Gotta finish the mission then we’ll get you to a medic, promise.”

Ghost is in the medical wing before your wounds have even been cleaned, “Where’s the fucking shithead who placed the charge!”

You blink, swiping at some of the blood covering your face.

“The rookie’s still in debrief, Ghost, she only came here because she needed medical,” Soap says.

“Get that little asshole in here, he’ll need medical by the time I’m done with him.”

The healing had been slow and painful as your nerves knit themselves back together.

“You don’ have to worry about getting revenge on the rookie, lass,” Johnny said one day as he visited you in the medical wing, “Ghost has been at the poor dog’s heels, not giving him a moment’s rest. Think he’s about to keel over and die from the amount of suicides hes been given.”

Ghost sleeps in the armchair next to your bed.

Ghost helps to remove the stitches after you insisted on not returning to the hospital.

Ghost is the one who helps to massage the medicated creams on while you grit your teeth at the bone deep pain that radiates.

Ghost is the one ready to bite off heads when people so much as let their eyes linger on the raised and angry skin.

“Don’t worry about it, Simon, I really don’t mind the looks much. People are just wondering what happened,” The mission had been need-to-know and even the details of your injury weren’t allowed to leave confidential briefings.

Your opinion changes as your scars settle into a raised and mottled mauve, pockmarks and dents covering half of your face, the stares on base continue.

“What, you’ve never seen an eyesore before? I think you’d be used to looking at one in the mirror every morning with a face like that,” You snapped at a new recruit who had completely stopped in his tracks, mouth opened in shock at your appearance, “Meet me in the gym tomorrow at oh-six-hundred. You’re going to learn to respect your superiors' battle wounds the hard way,” You snarled out at him.

Off base, the stares are worse so you begin to limit your time on leave.

You grit your teeth and set your face in a hard line in public, schooling your expression so that people don’t notice the way that their wide-eyed glances hit you like punches.

You don’t notice how fewer stare when Ghost is around, he’ll glare them down over your head and make them scurry away before their eyes even reach you.

You don’t notice the way Ghost’s eyes darken in the rec room when you make a joke to the lads about being “damaged goods” and “Frankenstein” even if your eyes are filled with tears of laughter as you cackle at your own jokes.

“Don’ like hearing you talk like that,” Simon corners you after you leave the rec room to refill your drink.

“Jesus Christ! Simon! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” You clutch your chest where your racing heart resided, “Give a girl some warning before I attach a bell to you.”

He didn’t speak for a beat, “I don’t want to hear you calling yourself ‘damaged goods’ anymore, love.”

“Just speaking the truth, Si,” You gestured at your face, the still painful and shiny skin, “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought it too? I know I wasn’t winning beauty contests before, but now I would probably be better as a scare actor.”

“Tha’s not true.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m your girlfriend!”

“If I was bein’ nice I’d tell you tha’ you were the scariest,” Simon begins, still kissing down the line of scarred flesh, now reaching your chest, free of scars.

“You’re so pretty,” Simon murmurs against the line where healthy flesh met mottled scarring, “Want you to say it back to me, love. Need to hear you say it.”

The healthy skin of your face began to flush, nearly matching your scars in color, “Si-”

“I need you to know how pretty you are to me, before and now,” His kisses continue tracing your healed wounds, “Never seen a prettier bird.”

His hands trace your hip bones, settling at their crest, “Before I could only think how soft you were, that I had to protect you on missions. Nearly got my head blown off more than once. Now all I can see is how strong you are,” His hands begin to trail lower, petting over your stomach and then lower still.

“There she is,” He coos when you jump as his fingers make contact, “Now tell me how pretty you are for me doll, wanna hear you say it before I make you cry it f’ me.”

He makes you cry that night.

He switches from nipple to nipple, “Say it, lovie,” He tells you as he pauses to thumb at your nipple, giving his mouth a break.

“‘M pretty,” You whimper out.

“Again,” he says, kissing down your stomach, “Give yourself another compliment, sweet girl.”

“Si!”

“I’ll help you pretty girl,” He coos at you, in between mouthing at your hip bones, “You’re strong, now say it.

“I-I’m strong,” Now his mouth travels lower still, you wriggle trying to rush him into going faster. He can tell your game and deliberately pulls his mouth off, “You’re impatient too, lovie, but I’ll forgive it and give you what you need if you give me another compliment.”

“‘M not an eyesore!”

“That’s right, you’re beautiful, lovie,” He finally lowers himself to give tiny licks at your clit sending you jerking up into his mouth.

“Everytime you say those things about yourself it drives me mad that you don’t see what I do. Even with your scars you’re still beautiful and sexy and knowing you’re all mine makes me hard as a fucking rock.”

You whimper under him, trying to grind down onto is tongue to get more, more, more.

“So pretty for me, pretty face, pretty body, pretty cunt,” Simon murmurs into you, pulling his mouth away just long enough to watch his fingers tease along your hole before slipping one inside, “Givin’ me the prettiest little moans when I touch…here,” He crooked his fingers inside of you and made you jerk under him, crying out.

“The scars just make you prettier, dove,” Simon says, “Shows me you’re real and can take anything the world can give you. That you can’t be taken from me.”

His words fizzle into your brain as you grind down onto his finger everytime it thrusts into you, “Si, more,” You pant out, “Need more.”

“Gimme another one, pretty girl.”

“‘M brave,” You can barely get the words out, torn between trying to whimper out praise to yourself to try and get Simon to do more or to beg him for it instead.

“Good girl, you’re listening so well,” He slid another finger inside of you, “You’re so brave sweet girl,” He kissed your thigh.

Ghost lost a bet and soap and gaz are loving it🤭🤭🤭

Alive / Part XII

Trigger warnings: Explicit sexual content in the form of a handjob. (I pray that my parents will never find my blog, Annie, ich weiß, dass du das hier lesen wirst. Kein. Einziges. Wort. Sonst werf ich dich ausm Fenster. Das gilt auch für dich, Milena. :)) Notes: This is my first ever attempt at smut, so sorry if it's awkward to read. I also have no idea how to conjugate "Lay", so sorry to all the English majors out there. Word count: 668

They stayed on that hill for hours. Barely talking, just looking at the sky and sea in silence, enjoying the moment together.

The sun started to set, the sky painted in a deep gold, the sunrays making the scene look etheral, like sunlight pouring out of a hundred broken urns.

When they got home, the house was still empty (Molly knew they'd need some time to get it going, so she made sure they'd have their peace)

"I'm gonna take a shower", Ghost announced. Soap plopped down on the bed. "Have fun"

Ten minutes later, Ghost stepped out the bathroom, blond locks wet, his bare torso bathed in the golden sunlight, a towel slung over his hips. "Looking good, lt", Soap smirked. Ghost grumbled and sat down on the bed. "Shut it" He lay down next to Soap, the towel dangerously low on his hips. Soap peered down. He was unsure, but he really wanted to. "Can I?", he asked quietly. Ghost swallowed, then nodded. Very, very slowly and gently Soap pulled away the towel, eyes fixed on Ghosts cock. "Not bad, lt". It was already half hard. He looked at Ghost again, checking for any sign of discomfort. He didn't find any, his eyes half lidded and it seemed like he was holding his breath. With a featherlight touch Soap ran his fingertips over it, cataloging every ridge and vein. Ghost let out a shuddering breath. "That sensitive, huh?", Soap teased. Ghost just nodded. "Please, stop teasing me", he whispered. Soap raised an eyebrow. "Yes sir" Soap leaned over the bed, grabbing a small bottle of lube from the nightstand, squirting a bit on his hand before wrapping it around Ghosts cock. He really was sensitive, letting out a small gasp at the sensation. Soap took this as a sign to take up the pace, tightening his hand and rubbing his thumb over the red tip. "Does it feel good?", he looked at Ghost whose eyes were fixed on Soaps hand around his cock, biting his lower lip to supress the sounds threatening to escape him. "Simon?", he asked again. Ghost nodded, eyes lidded. Soap chuckled. "Usually I'd have you say it loud, but I'm gonna let it slide". He continued at the same pace for a few minutes, letting Ghost get used to the sensation. He seemed to enjoy it quite a lot. A grin spread on his face as Ghosts subconsciously thrust his hips upwards, and he sped up and tightened his hand, drawing a small gasp from him. He gripped he sheets, his knuckles white. "Wanna hold my hand?", Soap asked, to which Ghost only nodded, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. His breathing got more erratic, and Soap could feel his cock twitch in his hand. "You're gonna come, Simon?", Soap cooed. "Y-yes", Ghost gasped. "Go on then", he whispered. Ghost let out a strangled whimper, squeezing Soaps hand tightly, white ropes soaking Soaps hand. His thighs trembled and he was breathing as if he'd run a marathon. Soap pressed a kiss on Ghosts forehead, getting up to get a wash cloth. Gently and carefully he wiped his body down. "Thank you", Ghost whispered. Soap grinned. "Did you like it?" Ghost nodded. "Then I guess it's a job well done, no need to thank me" He smiled. "I'm gonna shower" "Wait!", Ghost said, slowly getting up. "Give me a second, and I'll return the favour", he mumbled, hands shaking slightly as he reached for Soaps pants. "No no no, Simon, stop", Soap grabbed his hands. "There is no favour to return, you don't owe me anything", he looked Ghost in the eyes. "I want you to know that. I love you. You don't owe me. I choose to make you feel good. It's not a debt. We're not in a rush. We can take as much time as you want and need." Ghost nodded and sat back down on the bed. Soap smiled.

"Sleep a bit. I'll be there when you wake up"

Notes: Sorry that it took so long, I had to stop various times to stop cringing. It's also quite awkward writing this stuff in class. Anyway, I'm omw to bathe in holy water.

Alive / Part XI

Trigger warning: Talking and descriptions about sexual abuse and rape. Word count: 669 They started the hike in silence. An awkward silence. They both knew they'd have to talk about it, but neither of them knew how to start. They knew how to kill, but they didn't know how to love.

About an hour of silence went by before they stopped. It was a beautiful view from a hill down the valley on the one side, and a steep cliff looking down on the wind whipped sea on the other.

Ghost took off the backpack he was carrying, taking out a water bottle and handing it to Soap. "Thanks", he mumbled before taking a few sips.

After a few minutes of more silence passed. "We have to talk", Soap said. This one phrase made Ghost more nervous than he'd like to admit. Less nervous than when he was on a mission that could easily end deadly. "Yea...", he mumbled.

Soap seemed nervous too. "I'm sorry, Simon. I shouldn't have done that", he said awkwardly. Ghost wanted to tell him he didn't mind, but that wasn't the truth. At least not the whole one.

Soap sighed. "When I uh, when... The accident. I could hear you. You said you loved me", he looked at Ghost with those blue eyes of his. The same colour as the stormy sea, dangerouse but, oh, so tempting. Ghost wished he could live in them. Soaps words hit him. He hadn't expected him to hear them. Hell, he thought he was dead.

"You, you what?", was all he could say. Soap smiled. "You heard me. And I heard you." His gaze seemed to stare into Ghosts soul. "Do you love me, Simon?", he asked, plainly. Ghost was taken aback, not knowing what to say. Well, he knew what to say, but he didn't know if he could say it.

Ghost sat down clumsily on the grass, Soap sitting down a meter in front of him. "I thought if you liked me too, I could, you know, I thought you'd like it...", Soap tried to explain himself. Ghost wished he could tell him, tell him everything, but it hurt, it hurt so bad.

"I'm sorry, Simon.", he apologized. Ghost wanted to scream. "I love you", he mumbled. Soap looked at him with a mix of surprise, sadness and hope. He smiled. "Well, that's good. Because I love you too, you muttonhead". A quiet sigh of relief escaped Ghosts lips.

Soap seemed to be contemplating what to say. Ghost leaned back, lying down on the green grass. Soap did the same thing, lying next to him. "If you like me too, then why'd you seem so.... Averse?", he asked.

Ghosts mouth opened and closed like a fish. The words, the truth wanted to rip out his body so desperately. But he knew it'd rip him apart. But if he left it unspoken, it would eat him from the inside.

"They hurt me....", he whispered. "They touched me, they made me do things", he got choked up. "I had to, I had to, I had to survive, it wasn't my fault", he got panicky. "Hey, hey, Simon", Soap tried to ground him. "It's alright, I'm here, I'm right here", he placed a careful hand on Ghosts side. "You're safe now"

Slowly Ghost started to calm down a bit. "I just want you to know that we don't have to do anything. I'm just happy to be here with you" Ghost wanted to scream yet again. He didn't deserve this, he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in many things. Pretty much nothing.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?", Soap asked. Ghost gulped. "They touched me... I didn't want them to, I didn't want it", he breathed heavily. "They forced me on my knees... I couldn't breathe". Soap sighed. "I'm so sorry that happened, Simon".

They just kept lying in silence. It was a comfortable silence. The memories still hurt. But it felt like they couldn't quite reach him. He felt safer.

He felt safe. For the first times in ages.

Notes: I know that this description of deep trauma is pretty unrealistic, but this is for the sake of the fanfiction, since I don't want to write a hundred parts of unlinear healing and therapy until they finally bone.