Sleepless

Alive / Part VI

Note: I have no idea about Soaps family in canon, so this is all what I hc it. Word count: 546

When Soap had said that his family had a farm, Ghost didn't expect this. It was a giant area in the middle of the highlands, wide paddocks, fluffy sheep and green trees. According to Soap a rocky beach was only five minutes from there. As soon as Ghosts old pick up truck pulled in the drive way, they were swarmed by Soaps mum, Molly, a small, middle aged woman with rosy cheeks and a flour covered yellow apron, who pulled her son into a tight hug. "Ma wee baby!", she exclaimed, pressing a kiss on his forehead before looking at Ghost and extending her hand. "Simon, ah take it?", her smile was big and genuine, apparently not minding the black surgical mask. "Yes, ma'am", he shook her hand, not able to resist a small smile himself. She shushed them inside, and Ghost felt a bit misplaced in the comfy kitchen, where a middled aged man, a woman and a man, each with a toddler in their arms sat on bar stools at the aisle. They were all so... lively. Big smiles on their faces, seemingly unbothered by the 6'2, completely dressed in black and rather intimidating figure in their house. "S'nice to finally meet ya, lad", Soaps dad, Callum, said, firmly shaking his hand. "Y' too". He glanced over to the other man and woman, judging from the likeliness, the woman was Soaps sister, Isla, the man then must be her husband Alec. They both smiled at him. Isla pointed to the little girl in her arms, introducing her as Ailsa, the boy in her husbands grasp as Archie. The urge to hold them suddenly overcame Ghost, scaring him a little. He hadn't felt that since Tommy was the same age as them. The interaction was awkward in itself, but strangely not unpleasant. Ghost knew none of them , yet they seemed to accept him without question or complaint. Didn't ask questions about the mask or his work, just simple small talk, which didn't feel pressured or forced. It seemed like the warmth he knew from Soap ran in the family. "I got yer room ready", Molly interrupted his thoughts, Soap loudly joking with his niece and nephew in the background. "Since Isla and Alec are here too, you'll have to share a room with John", she winked. "Shouldn't be a problem, I hope?" Ghost looked at her for a moment longer than necessary. "Er, no, that won't be a problem, thank you", he hurried to say. Molly grinned. "John! Show Simon around, won't ya? I have to get dinner ready", she patted Ghosts shoulder before getting to work on the cooking aisle. "Yes, ma'am", Soap picked up his bag, wincing slightly, his shoulder still sore. "Give me that", Ghost mumbled and quickly pulled the bag up, letting Soap lead the way up the stairs to a room on the western side of the cottage. It was a small room, but cozy. Old wooden floor, floral wallpaper on the walls, a big window with a small balcony and plants all over the room. And one king sized bed. Ghost didn't know whether he should be happy or nervous. (Molly ships them. She could've put an extra mattress in the room, but then again, she loves weddings)

This is how I imagine their farm to look like. Sorry if I accidentally posted you house

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.

At my fire department, most of us have nick makes

We got Jost, which is a normal name, but the problem was that during the first few weeks nobody knew his real name, so they just called him Jost

Then we got tree, which is a 6'5 guy, pretty self explanatory

Then we got glow stick, because that dipshit once asked our chief if we could carry glow sticks to house fires so we could see in the smoke. No. We can't.

Next is dinosaur, cuz his first name is Joshua, like the dino Joshi from the video game

And we got onion, because no one could pronounce his Romanian name properly and he loves onions

My lovely nick name is tits, since I was the only girl in the squad

record-keeping...

Alive / Part X

Trigger warning: Mentions and descriptions about sexual abuse and rape. Word count: 459

The rest of the breakfast was tasty, but awkward. Ghost felt like Molly knew. (She does). She kept glancing at him and Soap, who were sitting next to each other, a mischevious smirk on her face.

After finishing eating, they helped clean the dishes and went up to their bedroom to brush their teeth. Ghost was quiet, but he could feel Soaps eyes on him the entire time. He wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy what happened, not at all. It just felt so.... Weird. Unfamiliar. He's had his fair share of experiences, but it has been years. And in the mean time there were some.... Rather unpleasant events. He stood in front of the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He could feel their hands on him, doing whatever they wanted to with his body, forcing him to go on his knees and please them. He wanted to puke, nausea overcoming him. "I had to , I had to, I had to survive", he repeated over and over in his mind, a tear rolling down his cheek. It had taken years before he could even touch himself again without having a panic attack. Since then no one had touched him in that way. He didn't want them to. Sometimes he missed the intimacy, but he was afraid to crave it, knowing he wouldn't be able to allow someone so close to him. But now there was Soap. Ghost damned himself for it, but he trusted the man. Fuck, he loved him. And for the first time in what seemend like a lifetime, he craved touch. His touch. His hands dug in his neck, knuckles white and leaving small, red shapes in his skin.

"You ok in there, lt?", Soaps voice sounded from outside the door. "Er, yea, 'm fine", Ghost hurried to answer, voice a bit choked up. Soap didn't say anything. Quickly wiping his wet eyes and putting on his stoic expression, he stepped out the bathroom. He was certain Soap could see that he had cried, but he luckily didn't say anything.

"So, you wanna go for a hike?", Soap asked lowly, inching closer to Ghost, putting his hands on his waist. Ghost suddenly felt claustrophobic. He loved his touch and hated it at the same time. He stumbled backwards. Soap looked confused at a bit hurt, no, more regretful.

Ghost cleared his throat. "Yea, why not. Lovely weather", he mumbled. He began to look for his cargo pants and a shirt. Soap was awfully quiet. Ghost wanted to slap himself for repulsing. He craved him so much it hurt. It scared him.

He turned around, wanting to say something. "I'm sorry, Johnny", he said.

But Soap was already gone.

Note: I did not plan for this to turn out this dark, but I wanted to bring in an explanation for Ghosts mixed feelings on intimacy, since his sexual abuse and rape are canon. I've personally never read the comics, so this is just my interpretation. I also want to mention that the reactions to sexual trauma are extremely subjective, how I described it here is just my personal experience.

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

This was the only drawing I could find rn, drew this a few years ago (I was fifteen, so it ain't a masterpiece). Enjoy a 09 Captain John Soap MacTavish.

(His eyes are brown cuz I didn't know it was Soap back then and just used it as a random drawing reference.)

Also, do not repost.

HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!

thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)

part one / part two / part three / part 3.5 (drabble)

simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.

he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.

he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.

but he couldn’t take everything lying down.

did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?

he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.

he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.

he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.

but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.

but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.

simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.

and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?

you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.

the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.

and all the signs pointed to you.

and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.

price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.

johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.

then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.

simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.

maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.

but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.

all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.

and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.

so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.

and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.

even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.

he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.

but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.

the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.

it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.

the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.

“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.

“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”

simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.

“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”

“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”

price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.

“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”

“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.

price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”

the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.

he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.

“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.

price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”

simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.

“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”

they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.

pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.

although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.

but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.

an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.

you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.

damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.

you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.

he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.

‘you should have killed me.’

maybe he should have.

thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—

im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!

as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)