#I have more words in mw for that as well

[azurexsnake]

Also Kashima being such a lil instigator?? Love him

Satoru is so fucking pookie

He’s stupid and adorable and cocky as shit and he’s just a little guy

I’m gonna smother him in my boobs

[pioneergirlsie]

Frickin’ Watermelon

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Summary: The 141 finds out about your skincare routine, and you wonder if one of your teammates might benefit from having one also.

A/N: This is my debut piece for the CoD fandom. I fell fast and hard for MW, and I thought this piece up while scrubbing my face one night, trying to keep the acne at bay. I hope you enjoy!

As a sniper, you have to keep your face out of sight. You prefer face paint, camouflaging yourself to blend in. You’d gotten quite good as quickly painting yourself and heading out for whatever mission was next.

Unfortunately, on this mission, they decide rather last minute to use your sniping skills, simply shrugging when you asked for face paint. They hand you a balaclava, which would do the job fine.

You slip it on, slightly peeved that you couldn’t use your paint. There is a reason you wear paint. The longer you wear that face covering, the more you feel like you were going to choke on your own breath. It is hot and humid, and the balaclava gathers sweat and oil and dirt and hot breath, keeping them all close to your face.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you force yourself to take a few deep breaths, lifting the mask a bit to let some fresh air in from time to time.

You spend several miserable days out on that mission. The final morning when you pull on the balaclava, it rubs painfully against some recently developed acne.

Mercifully, the mission ends successfully, and you return to base. After a quick shower to degrime from your time in the field, all you want to do was fall into bed, but that acne is just getting worse.

Half asleep, you reach for your bottle of face wash. It was watermelon-scented pink gel that works wonders for you. You scrub your face with it, put on some moisturizer, and stumble your way to bed.

—————————————————————————

“What do you even need face wash for? Isn’t water good enough for the princess?”

You might have hit Soap for his teasing if you hadn’t detected a hint of genuine curiosity in the question.

“There’s no way water is going to cut through all the grime on your ugly mug,” you tease back. “For a guy called Soap, you should use some a little more often.”

“Ouch,” Soap says with a grin.

After a long day of training, you, Soap, Ghost, and a few other members of the 141 have gathered to just relax. You don’t know how the conversation turned to your skincare routine, but here you are. These boys are oddly fascinated with the care you give to your personal hygiene.

“I’m honestly surprised you guys don’t get acne more often. That one mission a few weeks back, I had to wear a mask the whole time I was in the field, and I broke out so bad,” you said. “It was awful!”

You caught Ghost’s eyes after that remark. *He* wore a mask all the time. But it was different for him. The mask was part of him at this point. It was freeing, somehow, in a way you couldn’t quite grasp; for you, it was smothering.

If you got that bad of acne from a couple days with your face covered, you had to wonder: did Ghost ever break out?

“You know, if you ever want to try it, I can give you a full rundown of the routine. Face wash, moisturizer, the whole works,” you said, directing your comment to Soap. Then, meeting Ghost’s eyes, you added, “You can’t miss the face wash. Bottle of pink gel in with my stuff.”

Soap snorts, and Ghost doesn’t say a word. You didn’t want to straight-out say that he could use your wash if he wanted to. After all, “skin care” didn’t have the manliest connotations. His eyes reveal nothing of his thoughts on the matter.

“Pink? I suppose it smells all fancy, too?” Soap laughs.

“Well, of course! Nothing too girly, though. Just some light, fresh watermelon scent,” you reply.

“Ah yes, watermelon! The manliest of all scents,” Soap says.

This time, you do hit him.

—————————————————————————

After a few days away on a mission, you are glad to be back on base. It hadn’t been a bad time out in the field, but it had been boring. You guess that’s better than things going horribly wrong, but you’d like at least a little fun while you’re out.

After a hot shower, you move to the sink to wash your face. You reach for your bottle of pink face wash. As you lift it, you realize it feels slightly lighter than it had before you left. You level the bottle, looking at how much is left. It’s not much emptier, but it’s definitely less than you thought you’d had before this mission.

But maybe you just were misremembering. After all, the bottle was exactly where you’d left it. You liked to display it in the corner with the cute watermelon decal facing outward, and that’s precisely how it had been.

With a shake of your head, you dismissed the thought and washed your face.

—————————————————————————

Your strides were quick as you made your way toward Price’s office. He’d asked to see you, and while it wasn’t urgent, you liked to make a good impression by being as punctual as possible.

In your haste, you nearly bump into Ghost, who’s turning the corner.

“Oh! Sorry!” you exclaim as you check up, barely keeping from smacking into him.

He nods at you as he continues on. As he passed, you swear you catch the scent of watermelon. You whip around, watching him walk away, but saying nothing before continuing to Price’s office.

—————————————————————————

You clutch the brown paper bag in your hand as you make your way to your lieutenant’s room. After slowly watching your face wash deplete seemingly on its own for several more days and catching a few more whiffs of watermelon whenever you were near Simon Riley, you were fairly confident you knew where it was going.

You didn’t want the man to have to keep using your face wash forever, though, so you’d gotten him a bottle of his own. Unfortunately, the stuff only came in the cute bottle with the watermelon decal, so you also bought a plain opaque bottle to put the pink gel in. You couldn’t resist adding a label with a skull and crossbones on it that read “Poison” just for fun.

The rest of the contents of the bag were some more intense acne treatments for breakouts and stubborn spots along with wipes for the black paint he used around his eyes and moisturizer. You’d also written a note with detailed instructions on how and when and what order in which to use the products.

You were just going to set the bag outside his door and maybe knock and run. The moment you bent to set it down, however, the door swung open to reveal Ghost.

His eyes met yours, then traveled down to the bag in your hand.

“What’s that?” he asked.

You blushed. Why did he have to catch you?

“It’s… um… for you,” you finally blurt and shove the bag at him.

Ghost gives you a suspicious look. He takes it and opens it before you can run. His eyes quickly scan the contents, and he pulls out the “Poison” bottle of face wash. He meets your eyes again. His eyes are nearly unreadable, but you catch a hint of curiosity there.

“Face wash,” you explain. “I thought maybe you’d like your own. And I put in some extra stuff, too. And instructions. If you want. Or if you… don’t.”

*Why* had you thought this was a good idea?

Ghost stares at you for a few more seconds, making you wish the floor would open up and swallow you. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“It was the frickin’ watermelon, wasn’t it?”

You blink. “What?”

“That day we met in the hall. You smelled it, didn’t you?”

“I… I thought I did,” you admit.

“You did a whole three-sixty after I passed,” he accuses. “Shoulda stopped using it then.”

“No!” you quickly say. “No, I’d hoped you’d use it. If you needed to. Or wanted to, even. I didn’t know if you’d really take me up on it.”

Neither of you speak for a moment. He stands there, face wash and bag still in hand.

“I can show you how to use the rest of the stuff if you want,” you suddenly offer.

Ghost gives you a sharp look.

“I mean, I’d do it on my face and explain it. You wouldn’t have to take off your mask or anything. I just thought…” you trail off.

You’ve stared down armed enemies before and not been this nervous. Now you are practically oozing awkwardness. The confident soldier was reduced to a bundle of nerves over a discussion about skin care.

“You wrote instructions, yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He hesitates a moment, shifting the bottle in his hand.

“Better run through it once so I can keep it all straight.”

You give him a bright smile, immediately turning on your heel and making your way to your sink where you keep all of your products. You look around carefully before entering with Ghost, making sure no prying eyes spotted you. Locking the door behind you, you arranged all of your bottles and containers, beginning the lesson.

Ghost listened intently as you explained what each product did and how to best use them, giving a nod here and here. You demonstrated and gave tips, like dabbing the face with the washcloth and towel instead of scrubbing it to avoid further irritation. You went through each step, making sure to take your time.

“And then you take about this much moisturizer,” you say, dabbing a bit on your finger and spreading it. “And you spread it evenly. If you have dry patches, you can give those a little more. But after that, you’re done!”

You turn and give him a smile.

“Thanks,” he says after a moment. “Thanks for… this.” He holds up the bag. “And for this.” He gestures vaguely, probably meaning your little lesson.

“Of course,” you say. “Can’t have my favorite LT going without proper skincare, can we?”

You both stand there a moment more. The silence is not uncomfortable. There’s something there, something unsaid, but you don’t mind. This is enough.

It takes you a moment to realize, but his eyes are smiling back at you.

[spookysteddie]

The Very First Date

Modern!Steve Harrington x college!fem!reader

Part two to "lemon drop martini" ... Read part one here

18+ MINORS DNI

desc: you finally call Steve for that first date. And it goes better than you imagined

cw: alcohol mention (reader is not in the slightest drunk), slight Dom!Steve, cocky!Steve begging, pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel), unprotected sex, p in v, creampie. (let mw know if I missed anything)

wc: 2.8k

a/n: I hope y'all enjoy this! based off of this ask who asked me for a part two a while ago (I am so sorry). My writers block has lifted after like a year and here we are! So expect more fics soon!

...

Three days. 

You’d waited three days before calling the number on the napkin. 

Well that’s a lie. You actually called the number the next day (after eating a greasy meal, drinking a shit ton of water, and downing some aspirin… nothing like a hangover) from your roommate Alixs phone. But the second he answered, you hung up very fast. 

Alix, of course, called you a little baby back bitch and told you that you needed to call him. That it’d be nice to have some perks around your little college town. 

You rolled your eyes at the sentiment. 

To say you were nervous talking on the phone with him would be an understatement, in fact you were shitting myself. Scared he’d be able to hear it in your voice how nervous you were. Or, worse, that he wouldn’t remember you. 

Four days ago: 

“This is Steve Harrington speaking. How can I help you?”

You took a deep breath, putting a smile on your face in the hopes it’ll translate through the telephone.

“Hi, Steve. I-it’s y/n. From the bar the other night.” You cringe at the slight stutter and the wave in your voice. “You gave me your number on the napkin.” 

You can practically hear the smile in his voice, coolness seeping from his voice, “lemon drop martini girl. Of course I remember you, sweetheart.” 

You quietly sigh in relief that he remembers. 

“Oh good! I’m sorry for not calling sooner. I was a little hung over and then I had to study and take exams. Finals season.” You laugh awkwardly, cursing yourself for rambling and making a fool out of yourself. Alix would be rolling her eyes. 

Steve laughs on the other end of the line, “ah yes. I hated finals. Very frustrating. Hence why I dropped out, much to my fathers dislike.” 

One thing about you is that you love oversharing. But you love when other people overshare even more. There’s nothing like bonding over a trauma dump. 

You giggle into the phone which makes Steve giggle too, the sound mimicking a sweet song. All you want to make him do it again. 

“Anyway, sweetheart, I was wondering if you had plans for Friday night?” His tone is cool and relaxed. You could only wish to sound like that. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, words failing you for a moment. “Oh! Um, nothing actually.”

“Perfect. Hows ‘bout you and I go on a little date? I know a great place. Kinda fancy. What do you say?” 

You could kick your feet like a little girl at the prospect of going out with him. You, also, are tempted to make him wait. To give him just a little bit of a hard time. It was what you'd usually do to the men you like. But there was something in the back of your mind begging you not to. 

“I-I would like that, Steve.” 

“Great! I’ll pick you up at 7. Give you time to study and get ready. Take a nap even.” 

…

 “I can’t do this. I can’t go. I mean, fuck, I have nothing to wear.” 

Nothing to wear was an understatement. You could hardly see the floor of your bedroom, clothes littering it with only a small path for where you keep walking from the mirror to your closet. 

Alix sits on your bed, drinking some wine and eating some popcorn. “I liked the black leather. I don’t know why you won’t just wear that one. You look hot in it.” 

You slide your hands down the front of the blue, sequence dress you have on. “I just feel like that’s not enough. And isn’t it a little … short for a dress for a nice restaurant?” 

Alix shrugs, “I mean, probably but who cares. You look hot.” She sips her wine and says again, “well you look hot in everything.” 

You look over at her, “while that’s sweet, he’s going to be here in fifteen minutes and I need a few shots to calm my nerves so help me pick a dress, please.” 

She rolls her eyes at my dramatics, downing her wine. “I think you should wear the short black one you wore two weeks ago. Not the leather one, the velvet one. Makes your ass look great. Oh with your Louboutins! You spent a lot of money on them and have worn them once. It’s a sin.” 

One thing is for sure, you did spend a lot of money on them, charging them to your dads credit card. 

One change and two shots of vodka later, you were walkin down the steps of your condo to an awaiting Steve. He’s in dark jeans, a black t-shirt and a gray jacket. His hair is just as perfect as the last time you saw him. (which was via instagram… gotta do the research right?)

He whistles long and low as you approach, and in a quick stroke of confidence you decide to do a little spin. He claps slowly as you face him and so, you bow. Just slightly so you don’t accidentally flash him. Not the way you want to start this date. 

“Well hello to you too, Harrington,” you say as you smirk. 

He slips his hand in his pockets, a smirk on his lips that you feel right between your legs. “You look very pretty tonight, sweetheart. I mean you’d look pretty in a potato sac but,” he shrugs. “We should get going.” 

You smile and nod at him. 

And the bar is clearly in fuckin hell, because him opening the door for you makes you want to jump his bones. But then again, no man has ever opened a door for you so… we can let it slide. 

“Such a gentleman.” “Chivalry is not dead sweetheart.” 

… 

Steve is very thoughtful. Sure, he asked all the usual questions you ask on a first date. 

What’s your major?

Do you have any siblings?

What do your parents do for work?

Oh, your dad is in sales? Funny mine too.

He gives you guilt money? Mine too! Look at us 

He also, orders you and him a bottle of wine (he has great taste) but lets you order your own meal (again the bar is in fucking hell). The place he takes you to is nice and the food is the best food you’ve had since you left home after summer break. 

“So Steve, what made you decide to open up a bar in town?” You eat a spoonful of dessert, eyes never leaving his. 

He takes a spoonful of his own dessert. “I was sick of working for everyone else. I knew if I made a unique bar, something you and your friends have never seen, others would want to check it out. Then you’d tell all your friends, who’d tell their friends, etc.” He grins as he talks, keeping eye contact with you. 

It felt like a game of ‘who is going to look away first.’ A game you weren’t going to lose. Slowly, you pull the spoon out of your mouth, dipping it back in to your dessert. “Interesting. Great concept if you ask me.” 

He huffs a small laugh through his nose, “I’m glad you enjoyed my bar.” 

You scrunch your brows, the wine making you bold, “who said I enjoyed it?” 

Now he really laughs, “you seemed to really enjoy all those lemon drop martinis. So much so you had a hangover the next day. I tried giving you waters but you threatened to gut me.” 

Your jaw hangs open, “fibber.” 

“I haven’t been called a fibber since I was a kid,” he smiles. “But yes you did tell me you would gut me. And then you left and I thought I’d never hear from you again.” 

You can’t help but feel slightly guilty inside for not calling sooner. Well, you did call sooner but chickened out. 

“And here we are.” 

“Yes, here we are.” 

He seems to think for a moment, sipping his wine (one he ordered that would go well with the dessert. He was right.)

“Wanna get out of here, sweetheart?” He looks up at you through his lashes, tongue rolling down the inside of his cheek. 

He wasn't… demanding. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that you could turn him down. That he would take you home with a smile on his face. There would be no fuss, no fight, no name calling. No pressure. 

And for that very reason, with a smile on your pretty face you answer him, “yours or mine?” 

… 

You’re not even through the door of his apartment before his mouth is on yours, his large hands on your face. The kiss starts soft, testing the waters and it isn’t very long before you deepen it. Your tongues dance but there is no fight for dominance, you let him win. You want him to win. 

His lips trail over your jaw before slowly moving down your neck, gently nipping at your skin. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he says in between kisses. 

He sucks a bruise into your shoulder, easy to cover up, just in case. You let out a soft moan, hands coming up to tug at his hair. 

“You-you’re pretty too.” 

You can feel him grin against you, head lifting as his body cages you in, “I don’t think anyone has ever called me pretty. Well besides Eddie but that was mocking.” 

You laugh, moving in and kissing him slowly, sweetly, “you are a very pretty boy.” 

You can feel his hard dick jerk at the sentiment, and you keep it as a mental note. You know, just in case you need it. 

“Fuck, can’t say shit like that.” 

“No? Why not?” 

“Cause it makes my cock hard. And it’ll be very embarrassing if I cum in my pants. Can't ruin my reputation.” The smirk on his face makes you almost pass out. You swear to God you can feel every word in your core. 

“Hmmm, we can’t have that can we?” You push his jacket off his shoulders before running your hands down to the hem of his shirt. “Should take me to bed so we don’t risk you cumin’ early.” 

It’s all the permission he needs. His lips are back on yours, his hands under your ass and picking you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, hands in his hair as he carries you to the bed. 

He puts you down gently, his lips never leaving yours. Not for a moment. Not until he pulls away to tug his shirt over his head. You take the moment to take him in, his body lithe and toned.  You also can’t help noticing the scars on his side that look a little like bite marks. Bite marks from something that isn’t human, something you make a mental note to ask him about at a later date. 

“Sculpted from marble, god damn.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, never wanting to stroke a man's ego. 

Steve just grins as he finds the zipper on the side of your dress, pulling it down slowly down, his knuckles slowly touching your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You shiver under the touch and he notices. You’re quickly learning that Steve notices everything.

It isn’t long before he’s pulling the dress down your body, leaving you in only your underwear. Underwear that barely covers you, a wet patch on full display. If it was anyone else, you’d be embarrassed. 

“Are you this wet for me?” His tone is mocking and he’s practically cooing at you, “go on. Answer me.” 

Your eyes widen. Men have been demanding in the bedroom, plenty of them thinking they’re little tough guys. But none of them get that from you, none of them deserving. You’re not sure why you want to give that to him. You’re not sure what makes him different. And honestly, that is a problem for future you to talk about in therapy. 

“Yes,” you reply, voice a little higher than usual. “S’all for you.” 

The smirk he gives you makes your heart speed up. “Such a sweet, pretty thing. God, I want to devour you.” 

His lips move to your chest, sucking a peaked nipple into his mouth. You can’t help but arch into his mouth, a small moan falling from your lips, his hand coming to play with your neglected breast. And it isn’t long before he swaps sides, his teeth nipping and sucking. 

“Please. More.” 

He laughs, moving to oblige you and kissing down your sternum before settling between your legs. “May I?” 

Him asking makes your heart stutter in your chest, “yes. God yes. Please.” 

Steve tugs your underwear down your legs, tossing them to meet the rest of the clothes on the floor. “I think I could get used to praying to me.” 

He doesn’t give you time to answer before he licks up your cunt, stopping at the top to suck on your clit. The moan that comes out of you is loud and you’re thankful the windows are closed. “Fuck, Steve!” 

He pushes a finger inside of you, curling them to reach the spongy spot inside you. “And you moaning my name is even better. Why don’t you do it again, angel” 

He pushes another finger inside you, the burn causing you to grip his hair. “Steve please!” 

“Please what, sweetheart?” 

He moves his fingers faster, continuing to hit your sweet spot over and over again. His mouth moves to your clit, sucking gently. He keeps his eyes on you, observing, listening to every sweet moan and sigh that comes out of you. He files them away in his brain so he never forgets what drives you crazy. 

“Need to… I-I need” 

He sucks hard before pulling back, “need what? Go on, use your words.” 

You gasp, “to cum. I- please.” 

Begging wasn’t what you did for men. If anything, they begged you. Begged you to let them cum. 

Steve doesn’t say a word, just grins and uses his free hand to press on your stomach. That is your undoing. “Steve!” You pulse around his fingers, breath getting caught in your chest. You feel warm all over, head emptying as he works you through it. 

“That’s it baby. That’s a good girl. Bet that feels so good doesn’t it?” 

You try to answer, you really do. But all you can manage is a small nod. 

“Gonna let me fuck you?” 

Again, you can only manage a nod. 

“That’s my girl.” 

And before you can even process his words, he flips you over on your stomach, hands pulling your hips in the air. You’re on full display for him. He can see everything. But you couldn't care less, all you want is him inside you. 

And you get your wish. He moves slow, making sure he doesn’t hurt you. He’s big and you can feel every inch of him stretching you. It’s a tight fit even with how wet you are. 

“Holy shit this pussy is amazing baby. Squeezing me so tight.” 

His other hand braces himself by your head before dropping down to his forearms. He’s so close to you now, inside and out, his hips moving slowly so you adjust to him, and his breath fanning across your face. 

“F-faster. Faster.” Your hands rake down his back, nails digging into his back, making him hiss. 

He snaps his hips faster, grinning down at you. “Just so needy huh?” 

You nod feverishly, “yes. F-feels so fucking good.” 

He laughs at you now, kisses you. “Such a dirty mouth, baby. Pretty girls aren’t supposed to swear.” 

“Says-says you… swear all the time. L-like a sailor.” 

He hums. “Dirty mouth for a dirty fuckin girl.” 

“That-that’s me.”

He fucks you faster and you feel like coil growing tighter and tighter inside you. You wrap your legs around his waist, not wanting him to get too far away. He groans and you can tell he’s close. 

“Want… no need you to cum inside me. I’ll d-die if you don’t,” you beg. You know you’ll probably regret it in the morning, all that you’ve said here in this bedroom. But at the moment you can’t find it inside you to care. Mainly because he was taking up every inch of you. 

“Yeah? Need it? I’ll give it to you baby. Will give you anything you want.” 

And it’s all you need to fall over the edge, walls clenching around him so hard he falls with you. A mutual “fuck!” falls from both your and his lips. 

You're both panting as you come down from the high. He pushes your hair out of your face and kisses you sweetly. Suddenly Steve is giggling, his head falling into the crook of your neck.

“What? Why are you laughing?” you ask with just a little bit of worry. 

“I am so fucking glad you ordered a lemon drop martini.”

[eyesxxyou]

Cybersex

★‧₊˚ 💋⋅ hobie brown x camgirl!reader

rating. m

word count. 4k

synopsis. after a scandal, hobie decides he needs a change in his career. that's where you come in, a camgirl he plans to make a sextape with.

🍓・．❕warnings. mentions of cocaine usage, recording sex, p in v sex, protected sex heavily advised, oral (f & m receiving), doggy style, hair pulling, spitting, dirty talking, ass slapping, ass grabbing, degrading praise, condom taken off

Hobie really fucked up according to his manager. If you asked him, he did nothing wrong. It was perfectly normal for a rockstar to be doing coke in the bathroom of a venue in his opinion but for some reason it had caused a lot of controversy. It’s not like he was addicted or anything, that time being only the second time he’s ever done it but his manager put out a statement that he would be taking a break from his tour in order to attend rehab. Which he did and it sucked. He was in for 2 months, “working on himself” supposedly.

“Why’d ya do it?” His manager asked him as they sat side by side in the back of his car, his driver taking him home from rehab after 2 of the longest months of his life. “I mean– you have all anyone could ever want. So why?”

It was such a stupid question that deserved the half-assed answer Hobie gave. He just shrugged and grunted. Why did he do it? To escape this fad of a life. This was never what he wanted, all of this. This expensive car, a designated driver, a manager. This was never what he fucking wanted. Somehow, in his pursuit for success, he lost everything that made him who he was, lost his initial values. He was nothing but a poser now.

He was done being a poser. He’d get back to his original self somehow, some way.

So the moment they got back to his boat, Hobie fired his manager as well as his chauffeur. “Take the car wit’cha.” It was the best decision he could have made for himself, for his dwindling career. He had to get back to his roots, just him making music on his boat with his guitar and his mates.

He needed something to reignite his career, to appeal to the crowd who once supported him for being a voice against authority and establishment. The coke incident had riled people up, weeded out the posers from the real deal. He needed something more.

That’s where you came in.

“So you need my help to get your career back on track…how exactly? By having sex with me?” You sat across from Hobie inside a bar you two agreed to meet at. You were a pretty girl, gorgeous actually, with make up that told him “I put in effort, just not for this” and a pretty, delicate, white dress, black shawl, platform, leather boots, and a long rosary around your neck, though something told him you weren’t catholic. It could be the extensive history of porn you have online.

You were a camgirl. And he was a fan. Turns out, you were a fan of his too.

Hobie bought you a drink and a couple shots for you to share. You teased a cherry between your faded glossed lips and used your tongue to tie the stem into a knot. He liked you, liked you a lot. You were perfect for the job.

“By leakin’ mw own sex tape.” Hobie corrected you. “‘M jus’ tryna stir the pot. Drum up some interest, y’know?” You of all people would know better than the rest. Your entire career was built on this. You were a master at it. He was right to come to you.

“Bu’, Ion wan ya to think ya haf’ to. The offer’s on the table.”

“I know I don’ have to do anything.” He liked your attitude, the twang of your accent in your pretty voice. He understood why you had so many fans, you were borderline perfect, pretty lips, pretty eyes. He’s watched some of your videos, with partners and alone, you’re so captivating. He was an instant fan. “I just want to make sure I understand before I agree to anything.”

You leaned in with your chin resting upon your hand with your elbow on the splintering wood of the bar counter. “I’ll do it, just ‘cause I think you’re pretty.” You stood up, even while sitting down, his abnormally tall body towered over your. “I’ve got rules though, strict rules, not even a pretty boy like you can pass them.” Your hands were on his thighs as you looked up at him. He could kiss you now if he wanted to, but he waited to hear these rules of yours.

“You have to use a condom.”

“Done, already got one.” Hobie assured you. He always carried one with him just in case.

You chuckled a bit, “Good for you. We also have to do it at a hotel, you pay. I don’t wanna be at your place and I don’t want you at mine.” Hobie also liked how serious you were, how you didn’t play about your business. He appreciated it, found it a little hot too. How in the world was he supposed to keep his hands off of you until then? “FIne by me.”

“FInally, no catching feelings.”

Hobie began to laugh, a snarky grin growing across his full, pierced lips. “Confident, are ya? You don’ haf’ta worry about nothin’ like tha’, luv. I’m just attracted to you.” He reached out and pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. He leaned in close, his breath fanning your lips until he touched his lips with yours and kissed you softly. You didn’t kiss him back.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Brown but I’m not with it. Text me the details when you get them.” You pulled away from him with a scoff and tapped his cheek softly with your hand before grabbing a shot, tossing it back down your throat before walking off to take your leave.

Hobie set everything up for the following week, a nice hotel where the two of you could hook up for the night and leave it at that. It didn’t have to be anything more. Hobie was out to jumpstart his career while you were in it for the followers you would gain from all of this. It didn’t have to be anything more than just this.

“Hobie, open the damn door, I’m not waiting out here all night!” Your fist met the door for the third time since you’ve been standing here. You were just about ready to leave when the door finally swung open and Hobie was standing there without the slightest look of apology on his face. “Sorry, luv. Come on in.”

You waltzed in past him, wearing a black dress, black, distressed stockings that clipped onto a garter around your thighs, thick, mary jane shoes, and a leopard print, fur jacket that all fit together with your locs tied into a ponytail with hair clips that matched your coat. Your lips were full and glossy, eyes framed in dark makeup that made your gaze all the more mysterious. You were adorned in hanging necklaces and large rings, the prettiest person he’s ever seen. “Nice setup. We just recording on your phone?” There was no camera but you supposed that it wouldn’t be that believable of a leaked sex tape if it was on a professional camera. You two weren’t exactly Kim K and Ray J.

“Unless you brought a camera.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You waved your hand and set down your bag before beginning to remove your jewelry and set them down on the bedside table with a small ‘clack’. “Pretty ingenious idea you got here. How’d you come up with it?” You began to remove your necklaces one by one and placed them beside your rings, glancing over at Hobie who sat on the bed beside you.

“I was horny and tired, luv. Le’s cut the small talk ‘n get on wit’ i’, yeah?” Hobie reached out for you, pulling you in between his legs while holding the slope of your waist, stroking and caressing until his hands slid down your thighs then by up under your dress. There was nothing but your panties, small and lacy.

Your lips curled into a smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.” You climbed into his lap, straddling his hips with your thighs as you pressed your lips to his. It was a curt matter, a nicety you offered him. There was passion but nothing behind it except lust, feverish, violent, tearing lust that had you rolling your body against his and your pussy pressed against the growing bulge in his pants.

Hobie placed his hands on the underside of your thighs and lifted you up, your legs automatically coming around his narrow waist. He held you with a surprising amount of strength for someone so lean. He pushed you up against the wall, your hands pulling at each other's clothes in a fervorous attempt to get the other naked. He tore your stockings while you pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the side. He helped you remove your shoes between kisses and you helped him remove his.

Hobie licked down your body, the warm, smooth skin of your naval all the way down to the waistband of your thong where he kissed and licked, his hands grabbing at his pockets to find his phone before handing it off to you so you could record.

You gazed at him through the camera, moaning softly as he pulled down your underwear and you stepped out of them. You lifted one leg over his shoulder, soon followed by the other, your entire weight supported against the wall, your pussy on display for him to devour with his eyes and soon, his tongue.

You were already wet, your lips nice and slick, your pretty cunt slightly gaping and ready to be filled. Hobie licked his lips and looked up at you, nodding to signal you to start recording. You kept a firm grip on his phone with one hand while your other grasped at the hair closest to his scalp. You pulled him in, forced his lips to kiss your cunt, to praise and worship.

You tasted like fruits and berries as he dipped his tongue between the gates of heaven and teased at your cunt with the warmth of his tongue teasing at the underside of your clit. His fingers played in your creamy juices, coating them before he eased a single digit into your aching hole.

“Ah~ fuck– Hobie. Mmh.” You ground your hips against his face, the friction of his hot tongue and long finger drove you crazy. You bit your lip, made sure the camera was on him, and pulled him in further. “Add another finger.” It was a plea for kindness, you needed another finger or you’d go crazy. His tongue worked you in a way you had never experience before, it was fluid yet stiff and so precise against your swollen bud. His lips latched and suckled and his tongue swirled.

Hobie eased another finger into your cunt inch by inch, curling in search of the soft ridge that would send you into ecstasy. He spat on your pussy, ate it with the eagerness of a starved dog while looking up at the camera with those pretty, deep-set eyes of his.

You cried out for him,“God, Hobie– pl–ease.” He slid his tongue into your cunt with his fingers, stretching you just a little further while the bulb of his nose nudged your clit. You would have collapsed then and there if not for the fact he was the only thing holding you up, on his knees with his face in your pussy, devouring.

“Ya gonna cum fa me, luv?” Hobie spoke against your core, making you thrash and moan his name in something of a pornographic sound of pleasure. You reacted to every flick of his tongue, your back arching from the wall and your pussy aching, pulsing, squeezing around his fingers that have finally found your sweet stop and is now playing it like a fiddle.

Your grasp on the phone became shaky as your orgasm threatened to grasp you and hold you in a grip so tight you’d cease to breathe. Never before have you come upon your climax so quickly. Hobie was skilled at this. He’s made more people come with just his mouth and fingers than he can count on said fingers. He left them bleary-eyed and pleading for more, all of them dreaming of just another chance with him.

“Hobie, Hobie, Hobiehobiehobie.” His name was on your lips like a prayer to a god who did not exist in this room. Hobie had the face of angel but the mouth of a demon and how much you praised whatever high power above for it.

He chuckled against your pussy as you gasped, all your muscles tensing then relaxing at once, an orgasm seizing your body like a demonic possession. You held his face against your core and let him taste the product of his work. You worked hard to make sure you tasted good for your partners and Hobie appreciated it, adored it.

He slipped his fingers from your cunt and lapped at the creamy juices you excreted in the midst of your orgasm. Hobie moaned at the taste of you on his tongue, licked you clean until the taste of you stained his tongue. He smiled up at the camera with his wet lips and grabbed it from you, pausing the video before helping you down from his shoulders.

His hands were on your waist again, pulling you into his body before kissing you again. He forced his tongue against yours, sliding and lapping, caressing every portion of yoru mouth he could reach. You could taste yourself in him, your cum still wet on his tongue. You liked it, you liked the taste of his mouth and you intermingled.

Your hands soothed over the sides of his face, one sliding behind his neck to pull him closer while his large, slender hands grasped handfuls of your ass. He was so much bigger than you, so much taller, he was so easily able to toss you onto the bed. You landed on your stomach, looking back at him as he removed the rest of his clothing and remained just as naked as you were.

God, his cock was so fucking beautiful. It was perfectly fitting, nice and long with a good amount of girth but not two much and a few veins here and there. The tip weeped with precum, begging to sink into a nice, tight, warm hole, preferably yours. Your pussy fluttered at the sight of it, at the way he came over and forced you face down ass up with him kneeling behind you.

Hobie rubbed his length against your ass, his precum smearing against your pussy every time his tip teased against your entrance.

"Condom." You reminded him firmly, pulling away from him until he complied. You'd get up and leave right now if he didn't abide by your rules.

Hobie got up and searched through his discarded pants for his the condom he made sure to bring with him. Once he found it, he tore it open and placed it against the tip, rolling it down the length of his dick until he reached the base of his cock.

He took up his phone and began to record again as you whined and pushed your hips back, begging for him to fill you up and finish you out. You spread your legs wider, arched your back, anything to entice him to fuck you the way you needed.

"Aww, the pretty slut wan's my cock." Hobie brought his free hand back and spanked your ass with a sharp swing of his hand as it met the flesh of your behind. He ran a soothing hand against the burning mark he left. "Go 'head 'n beg fo i' then."

Your pride wouldn't let you, your lips remained sealed but they parted with another slap to your ass. You gasped again and whimpered out something pathetic as your ass ached in pain and your back arched. "Please."

"Say i' louda fo tha' camera, luv."

"Please fuck me, Hobie."

He scoffed and chuckled behind you, lining up his tip and easing it into your wonton cunt. "I knew you wan'ed me to slut ya pretty pussy out." You let out something of a squeal as he sunk into your hole, his cock stretching out your walls unused for months now. You were tight, your pussy lips parted to accommodate his size. Hobie let out a hiss then a moan of pleasure, his hand grasped at your hip and ass almost to assure himself you were real. "Fuck, doll. Oh my– shit."

He wished he could feel you, just skin to skin, flesh to flesh, your silky, wet walls against his bare cock. He might have came right then and there if not for the condom as a slight barrier keeping his from absolute euphoria.

Hobie fucked you like it was the end of the world, pounding, borderline abusing your poor pussy all while you squealed and moaned and choked beneath him. Yours hands grasps at the sheets, neatly made by maids who had no clue what their hard work would later be used for.

Hobie recorded it, the way his cock dove into your pussy like he'd die if he didn't fuck you with everything he had. His dick touched places you weren't even sure existed within you, caressed parts that haven't been touched in many, many years. It's been a long time since you've had a good, thorough dicking down and you had forgotten how good it felt.

"Right there! Please…Hobie, please!" You moaned into the pillow beneath you. Cohesive sentences evaded you, all you could think about was how his cock was stirring your guts and how you didn't mind at all.

Clapping filled the room, the sticking of skin to skin from sweat and slick made it hard to distinguish where you ended and he began. It ran down your thighs, your arousal, the way he pushed it out of you and smeared it along your inner thighs and the base of his cock.

Hobie was obsessed with the way your ass jiggled against his hips, the way your back arched, how you seemed to be fucking him back with each other this thrusts, meeting him in the middle. Your makeup was smeared against the pillow, messy against your eyes and lips as you turned your head to the side to look at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

Now he understood why you had that last rule. A pussy like this could make him catch feelings. It was so tight and creamy and good god, the way you moved was so perfect. He was losing breath, losing sanity.

Hobie grabbed you by the hair and pulled you up to hear your moans better, your neck craned back. He leaned over and pressed his body into yours. "Say hi, dove." He put the camera in your face, only to see you all fucked out and drooling. You could only whimper, your gaze meeting the camera with teary eyes before closing. "Fuuuck." You cried you as he sat back up, his hand readjusting his grip on your hair, and fucked you harder.

"Yah makin' me lose it, luv." Hobie let out a huff. His hand grabbing the round of your ass and squeezing the meat there before sliding up to the small of your waist where his hand settled so he could pull you back on his cock. “Go ‘head ‘n take wha’ ya wan’, pretty slut.” He paused his hips, let you do all the fucking since you were such a pro. “Put on a good show.” He adjusted his hold on his phone camera and watched through the screen as your spread your legs a little further and pushed yourself back onto his length.

You started with just the tip first, just playing with that before taking the whole of his length. You were a professional at this. Looking back, biting your lip, working his cock like it was your last night alive. His mouth fell open with a moan, pussy so tight Hobie was scared the condom was gonna come off.

Hobie shuddered with the beginnings of an orgasm. “Jus’ like tha’, doll. ‘M so close.” He let out in a breathless moan. He watched your greedy cunt take him fully, down to the hilt, the grip of your walls sending him overboard.

"Take off the condom, cum on my ass. It'll look good for the camera." You were a pro at this. You knew what got the most clicks and a cumshot on the ass was only second best to a creampie. Hobie held no objections as he pulled off the condom quickly and wrapped his hand around his member to jerk himself off.

It didn't take much. Hobie muttered incoherently under his breath profanities and obscenities as he came hard. His balls tightened as he came against the round of your ass. "Fuck!" He barked and squeezed out all he had to give, coating your plush flesh in white, dripping in wet globs down your trembling thighs.

You rocked back and forth against his cock, milking him for everything he was worth, another ribbon came and dribbled down the slope of your back. There was just so much, nice and creamy, all over you. The fans would eat this up.

You stretched out much like a cat, even purred a little as you groaned and looked back at him, a little dazed, completely starstruck. He stopped the recording and put down his phone in the middle of the bed. His hands grasped your waist as he bent over you and began to kiss down the slope of your back, his gorgeous lips peppering butterfly kisses against your shoulder blades.

"What did I tell you, Hobie? No feelings."

"Nothin' felt, jus' needed to appreciate ya a little. Lemme clean ya up." Hobie gave you one more firm slap to your ass. He went to go grab one of the fancy, white washcloths hanging in the bathroom to clean you up with. He wet it, wrung it out, and came back to run it down your back in long, gentle strokes, folded it over, then got the rest of your behind.

“I guess I should return the favor, huh?” You said, getting up, sitting down before his kneeling figure. His cock was still half hard and dripping wet with the remnants of your juices and his cum. You look up at him with those eyes that could make a person fall in love, biting your lip to hide a smirk as you wrapped a hand around him to guide his cock into your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around him and lavish your tongue across the expanse of his member. He was so sensitive, shivering as your tongue passed over the salty tip. “Fuck, doll. You’re a masta’piece.” He stroked the side of your jaw with the tips of his fingers before reaching for his phone to record a little more.

He recorded you lazily sucking him off, the outline of his cock inside your cheek. The sink there was so soft, so wet, so good. “Look a’ the camera, luv.” He lightly slapped your cheek when you averted your gaze. You looked up at the camera, sloppily sucking before hollowing out your cheek and letting him go. It was a bit of a power play.

“Nice and clean, no?”

“You’re such a tease.”

You watched the video back when Hobie posted it a few days later, smiling as you bit your nails and watched the shaky, unprofessional camera work. It looked pretty authentic, just two people fucking and the video getting purposely "leaked" by him. It worked perfectly. Hobie was slowly returning back to his controversial, anti-establishment roots and your account was swarming with new followers.

As you watched, Hobie's contact popped up as a drop down notification at the top of your screen.

Wanna do it again?

[loveindefinitely]

O b s e s s e d with need to listen to me. I can't get it out of my head.

I mostly can't stop thinking of soap who is so disgruntled and moody after the whole ordeal. Just absolutely pent up, so he starts acting out, snapping, talking back, that sort of thing. As promised price extends his punishment and it only breaks soap down more and more until finally he's sobbing and begging price to please do Something.

I have no idea where to go from here I just love the mental image of soap acting out when he doesn't get what he wants, maybe price extends ghost and gaz's punishments as well. Says something like "you can thank him for this" and now they're All huffy and upset.

Reader's the only one who is spared so they take out their frustration on her.

Ok i'm done thank you so much have a good day

-🐭

you are a GENIUS omg. ily. this is sososo canon in this mini poly141 verse.

warning. nsfw drabble (cont. ntltm)

because you're so right. soap would be a total bitch afterwards. needy and pent up and kinda jealous that you two are the only ones that got to get off, even though he put so much effort into eating you out. homeboy is stressed.

cue the next morning, where he's grumpy, whiney and just overall being a frustrating guy to be around.

ghost is in the kitchen, fixing up breakfast in the mess, and soap would just come up behind him, nuzzling his head into his neck and pressing his dick against simon. rutting into him kinda, before ghost shoots him a vicious glare. he backs off.

but then, he sees gaz walking in, and he rushes over to him, pulling him into a deep hug. one that was a bit too much for their usual morning interactions.

that's when you stumble in, weary eyed and still kinda lethargic from last night's ordeal.

and soap's not mad, not really, but he's frustrated that you got the better end of the deal.

so, he pulls you in, hands at your hips, before he's assaulting your mouth with feverish kisses. they're frantic, and you can feel how hard he is where it presses against your stomach. you try and pull away, and when you do, the man huffs like a disgruntled pup.

when it's price who comes in next, soap is pissed off beyond relief.

rising a brow, a challenging one, price would ask how he slept. soap would roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath that would have your eyes blowing wide, a little shocked, a little dismayed.

gaz would blow out a deep exhale, extracting himself from the situation, walking quietly over to ghost. which, for once, would be the safest option out of you four.

and price would narrow his eyes, daring soap to keep up his pissy attitude. soap would, of course, because this man has absolutely ZERO self preservation skills.

he'd then have the nerve to ask if he can bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you. just, openly asking, as if you yourself aren't standing right there.

price would simply tell him that he won't be allowed to stick his dick in anything for the rest of the week.

then, he'd stride over to the other two men without another word, tell them the same thing, and get to work cutting up some spinach.

and you'd be left there, gaping, confused, as soap stands with a similar expression. as if he wasn't fully aware that his actions held consequences, and he really shouldn't have been such a brat after last night.

he'd narrow his eyes at you, snarky, saying something about how you yet again evaded punishment.

say something about how price 'dinnae said nothin' 'bout bendin' ye over, aye?" and he'd forcefully bend you over the table, rutting into your back like a mutt, using your body without inserting anything anywhere.

and, with a moment of clarity, you'd realise that gaz and ghost are watching, with a glint of envy in their eyes.

you'd been in for a long week.

this is absolutely shit btw because halfway through writing this my BED BROKE and i think i may have also broken my toe. so this is coming from a place of pain and distress. great idea tho !! thanks for enjoying my writing mwah mwah

[fairestwriting]

Hello, if you don't mind, I want to request a sceanrio or headcanons (which one you more prefer is fine by me) with Jade insist to take care of his crush after a long day of dishwashing duty in Monstro Lounge despite his crush doubt that he might wanted to get them in his debt and does not realize that he did that because he has a crush on them? Feel free to skip this req if it's makes you uncomfortable though <3 Thank you!

oldie but one that i thought of a bit even when i was on hiatus... scenario format because maybe i want jade to take care of mw after a long workday too. What the hell

word count: 1345

pairing: jade x gn!reader

content warnings: wish fulfillment none:)

You exhale heavily, your shoulders slumping even without you willing them to, as the very last plate is cleaned to perfection, setting it down with all the others...

It's not that you expected a night of dishwashing to be the easiest thing in the world — but luck really wasn't on your side that day, and it turned out it was the third years' last day of exam week.

Which meant, the Lounge would be crowded. Which meant, you'd have a lot of dishes to wash. Which meant, as you just now discovered, your upper back, forearms, and feet would start to actively try to kill you.

At least it's all just over, you think. You pull off your apron and the rubber gloves that did nothing to keep your hands from going wrinkly from exaggerated humidity, then you turn around, ready to report to Azul that your shift was over—

Then, in your tired haze, you bump into something, someone, and it doesn't even register who it is until a firm grip on your upper arm keeps you from embarrassingly stumbling for a good moment.

"J...Jade? What are you doing here?"

He looks at you. His hand is still gripping your arm, though... it's done really softly, especially for an attempt at keeping someone from tripping.

And he smiles softly, politely at you. Like he always does.

"I could perhaps ask you the same question." He says, a lilt to his voice, releasing your arm as you step back into a balanced stance. "It's rather late, you know? Azul was even looking for you."

"Oh, was he?" You cringe at the way it comes out a little more bitter than you'd intended, but... you're tired, and Jade was... strange, but definitely not a tyrant. "Well, I was about to go look for him and say I'm done with the dishes. There was just..." You glance behind yourself, seeing the piles of plates and glasses, the dish soap bubbles that got everywhere. "There was a lot."

Jade's gaze follow yours, and his smile softens, even more when he looks back at you.

"In that case, why don't you let me inform him instead, and I could... get you something to eat in the meantime? You must be hungry."

Alarm bells ring inside your head. The offer is tempting, of course it's tempting, but this is still Octavinelle, and Jade is still Azul's... henchman, or something. You grimace while you try to get your tired brain to think of a response.

"Um... no, thanks, I'd rather not be indebted to—"

"Ah. You're worried about that?" He asks, and the look on his face, while hardly different from his usual poised smile, has a hint of... something different that you couldn't quite place. "In that case, we could arrange a way for you to... give me something in return?"

"Uh..." Again, the alarm bells continue. If they weren't mental, the noise would probably be intense enough to give you a headache— "I don't... think I have anything you'd..."

"Your company, in exchange for any menu item free of charge. How does that sound?"

What.

You blink, genuinely dumbfounded. Jade still smiles. Always does. You're not sure if it's a joke, a part of you says it's a bad idea, but...

"You want my company in return for the favor." You echo to him, and he nods.

"Yes. I'll tell Azul you're done with your work, and fetch you whatever you wish. Then we can get a sit while you eat. Does that work for you?"

"That..." You really wish you could protest, but at the worst moment possible, your own hunger makes itself known. "...okay."

"Lovely. You can wait at the Lounge. What would you like to have?"

You mumble out your usual order, still a bit confused, and he gives you a nod as you part ways. Out of the kitchen, you don't waste too much time in taking one of the seats with cushy chairs, sighing in relief when you feel your body sinking into them just slightly, supporting those overworked limbs.

The Lounge really was empty. You have a few minutes to stare at it, all by yourself — it really must be late — and even dare to bask in the comfy, yet classy lighting of the environment.

It felt so much different like this. No music, no people to serve. It was... relaxing, surprisingly. Even though it was your workplace, and the source of quite a lot of stress in your life...

"The boss is notified. Here's your food." Jade chimes in with a playful tone after what feels like way too little time, setting a plate of your very favorite Mostro Lounge special in front of you. You can't help the way your eyes widen at it a bit, still not fully grasping the situation.

"And Azul is okay with this?" You grab the fork, but look up at Jade first, watching as he takes a seat in front of you.

"Of course. I wouldn't do that otherwise."

He chuckles, and despite your cautiousness, you can't resist the urge to dig into your food. It tastes even better after all that work.

And for some reason, it makes Jade's smile just a touch brighter when he watches you eat.

"It's important to eat well, you know. I hope you've been getting enough meals lately. Exam weeks are never kind."

"Yeah, I... I mean, I'm doing fine. If I want to keep up with all the work, I have to eat."

You take a larger bite, and he continues to watch you. With one more sprinkle of energy in your system, you start to try to understand what got to him all of a sudden. You look through his features, usually so unreadable and static, and you search for... something. Anything.

A sign this was a strange prank, maybe.

"That's good to hear. In any case, though, I'll discuss with Azul to have better planning for evenings like these... Friday nights and such. I wouldn't like to see you so overworked again."

You stop chewing for a split second when you catch on to his wording. I wouldn't like to see you so overworked again. Maybe you're just too tired, and making this all up, but...

What's different in Jade's face now is that there's a hint of sincere softness. One that doesn't even look all that unfamiliar— that you swear had been there when you had brief chats during work hours, even.

Your face flushes. Is he...?

You lift your gaze away from the food, and meet Jade's eyes. He's still smiling, hands folded politely on the table, though it's small enough that when you set your fork down, you swear you feel your hand brush against his glove.

"Thank you... for this, Jade." You mumble out, unsure of what to say. He gives you a smile like he always does, but in this empty, silent Lounge where you're not even sure if you're seeing things right, it makes your heart flutter.

"Thank you for the company. It really was a busy night." He gets up, taking your plate. Only now, you notice you're done eating. "I'll take care of these, don't worry. Just head back to your dorm and rest up. Unless..."

You blink at him again, now unsure of how your brain could even withstand so much confusion. "U...Unless...?"

"...Unless you'd like me to escort you?" He says, and his eyes narrow slyly, glinting— now, wait a minute...

Floyd and Azul were still supposed to be there, weren't they? They always were during closing time. Which meant...

Of course. Of course Jade would only go about something like this as deliberately as possible.

He chuckles. Your face is hot all over and his smile is wide. Skillfully, he carries the plate in one hand as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Just wait for me if you do. We can make another deal if you want."

And then, he's out of signt, and you're left with a dizzying feeling.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

[wordstome]

Last night I did what I always do when I can’t fall asleep: think about fictional men. Here’s a list of wonderful stories written by incredibly talented people who have helped me think about fictional men by providing the most delicious playgrounds.

In the interest of keeping my recommendations brief, I'm going to talk about what I liked about the fic instead of summarizing what it's about. To know what it's actually about you're just gonna have to click through and read the fic <3

(and just in case anybody's gotten lost, this is all COD, mostly modern MW)

✦ complete ║ ➠ ongoing

König

✦Just Friends by @kneelingshadowsalome Salome is so good at capturing a very unique interplay between König’s social awkwardness and his deep, dark, nasty inclinations. He’s so feral and enjoyable to read, and the sheer force of his desire for Engel is downright intoxicating. I find it difficult to describe how much of an impact Just Friends has had on me and my portrayal of König, to be honest. There's a reason why three of Salome's fics are on this rec list.

✦Fatum Nos Iungebit by kneelingshadowsalome Five words. König with his cock out. That's it. Okay, but in all seriousness, I love his character applied to this setting. All the raw visceral violence a König could ever want, a pretty little lady in his bed—he's so boyish and happy in this au it brings me such joy. The way their relationship between him and Fee develops is so natural and so sweet. Please for the love of God read this.

➠Cat/Mouse/Den by @papaver-decervicatus The chase. The pursuit. The adrenaline when Mouse dances out of König's reach once more. I'm a little biased because I adore Julius and Jenny (I could call her Lucretia but the double J names make me giggle) as ocs already, but CMD is so, so well written. The tension, the flirting, the scene where he catches her falling out of the tree?! As I said in a reblog, I shrieked. You know when you're reading something that's so good you want to bite down on it and shake like a dog with a toy? (No? Just me?) That's how I feel about CMD.

➠Anything by @darklordofthesimp Anything, in only 7 chapters (they are hefty, don’t get me wrong), has turned König and Birdy’s dynamic from “THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAS IRREVERSIBLY SCARRED MY BODY AND MY BRAIN, AND I CANNOT TRUST HIM” to “these two are going to get married someday”. (author if you’re reading this, I say that not as an expectation or prediction, but as a vibe reading.) This one is for the hurt/comfort girlies. Also, shoutout to all the other stories set in the Anything-verse. Sunshine and Ghost are just soooo *grips my hand in a fist so hard it shakes*

➠If you need to be mean by @gremlingottoosilly This mostly serves as a blanket recommendation for all of Gremlin’s fics. I found If you need to be mean, and then visiting Gremlin’s author page was like opening a treasure chest. Want to be König’s pampered, (unwilling) little housewife? That’s If you need to be mean. Want a harem fic with almost all of the COD MW men? Gremlin has two, both with their own little spin to keep it fun. Do you want König to keep you in his basement or hunt you down as a serial killer? Gremlin's got it. Monsterfucker? Gremlin has that too. Special shoutout goes to 1295 kilometers. I think about fucking König on a train a lot now.

➠Break my mind by @kaiasdevotion (kaiasown on ao3) There’s no way around this. This fic has the most unhinged, kinky, downright dangerous smut I’ve read in the cod fandom so far (positive). Just Friends König is the metric by which I judge all other Königs’ nastiness, and Break my mind König is tipping so hard on the “unhinged horny violent freak (affectionate)” end of the scale he’s about to fall off. I don't know if you guys have noticed, but I've developed a taste for writing/reading from König's perspective, and he's so chillingly deranged in the most controlled way possible during the chapters from his pov. Incredible writing. Chefs kiss.

✦Experimental by @uhohdad (surgeoninspace on ao3) Alright, enough of just König being nasty. He is still nasty in this one, but he’s not the only one who gets to have a little fun and be a total creep. Our little scientist here is a grade A pervert, and I was delighted the whole way through. The most important thing I need in a fic is suspension of disbelief, and Experimental takes an unrealistic, maybe a little bit silly situation and makes it so believable. Everybody reacts the way you would expect them to, even if the scenario they're in is A Lot.

➠Little Mouse and Rotes Madchen by @sprout-fics I'm combining the recommendation for these two because while they are both very much distinct, unique fics, I love them the same way. Sprout is such an engaging writer, and the internal dialogue of her characters is so well done. It reveals their personality, motivations, and internal conflicts without being overly expository. Do you guys remember that post I put on the König bible about instant obsession? It's this inexorable attraction borne from obsession that sticks me to Little Mouse like a glue trap. (Is that too morbid?)

✦Hot in Sarajevo by @50cal-fullauto Rags' König characterization post is on my Königcore bible, for very good reason. They get it. König is a feral dog forced to live as a man and loves like a total maniac, emotionally and sexually. I marked Hot in Sarajevo as complete but I don't know how many parts there are going to be, and frankly, I do want more. However, if you're going to only read one part (which. why would you do that??? read both.) I recommend the second part. I want to write love like that. Goddamn.

Ghost

Yeah, this list is a little bare bones right now. I'm gonna get back to it, I promise.

✦Anhedonia by kneelingshadowsalome The way. Salome takes the "I would take a bullet for him but he's so cold to me" premise and then flips it entirely on its head for the second part is so important to me. The way Simon craves the reader is like human catnip. I reread this fic all the time.

Keegan

✦For the Weak and Weary by @halcyone-of-the-sea Read this if you want to believe in true love. That's all. Go on now.

Multiple

✦Easy by @danibee33 When people say "I wish this were a book!" about fanfiction, they usually mean it in a "this is good enough to be published by the traditional publishing industry" way. When I say I want Easy (and Diablesa) to be a book, I mean it in a "I want to get this story bound in a beautiful ass cover and keep it on a shelf so I can take it down and reread it whenever I want" way. I don't want the traditional publishing industry to get their claws in this, because it's perfect as it is. This fic is so wild and fun, and the character moments are so special and well done. Do yourself a favor and savor this one.

➠@ghouljams's entire blog [masterlist] "What do you mean someone's entire blog" YOU HEARD ME. Those aus are some good shit. Good characterization, delicious premises, love the group effort of it all. To absolutely nobody's surprise, my favorite couple is König and Bee from the cowboy au (ditzy but well-meaning and competent in her own way woman x big strong man who is obsessed with her and maybe also creeping on her, my beloved), but I also have a fondness for Ghost and Die from demon darlings au. Trust me on this one. Dig into those masterlists babey.

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Hello, have you also been struck with an inane desire to kiss the CoD boys? Did the brainrot demon whisper in your ear “go fuck the masked man, the mustache man, and the Scottish man?” Well you’re in luck. My sleep deprivation vomited this out last night, I did not check for errors and I have NOT played MW. Sorry to all the Gaz fans out there, I genuinely forgot to include him. Sometimes you just gotta purge the fic poltergeists in your brain. I’m sorry. John up next when the demon returns.

All for One, One for All

Part 2 here

TW: NSFW, MDNI, fem reader. I’m bad at tags, sorry.

Down time with the 141 was always a grab bag. If a mission went well it was celebratory, others were solemn. Either way, the group was comfortable enough to have a … physical connection with each other. Hugs and words of comfort common after missions. Hands through hair as you all shared stresses together. But while everyone had a baseline comfortability, as the newbie, you lost out on some of the camaraderie, some of the closeness. It drove you fucking insane.

That’s why you were barely holding it together as Soap and you were close on the couch in the break room, legs tangled as you talked about everything and nothing. The recent mission, what they were doing on leave, cute new recruits. He was always the easiest to talk to, decompress with. Quick to anxieties with, as well as who you both had … predilections to. A master of weaseling his way into talking about your respective secret desires. Like how he had been spending spare time with Ghost on off days. How you couldn’t keep eye contact with your Captain.

Missions were different, there were tasks at hand and jobs to do. But with Price, his hands comforting, ready to protect seemed to linger between you and him, longer than others. Yet you couldn’t keep conversations longer than a few minutes when you debriefed in meetings. Too much perception, you felt like dissolving when his attention was on you too long. You kept the intensity of how much you wanted your Captain to yourself though. You wonder how Soap did it with your Lieutenant. You picked at your hangnails, seemed like you could even smell them nearby, cigarette and cigar smoke lingering in your olfactory memory.

A longing, you told Soap, with your head in your hands, avoiding the embarrassment of eye contact. Stuttering through it, you described the longing, the need for belonging. “You all made it look so easy, it WAS so easy,” You lament. You got here too late, missed the boat on inclusion in the 141. No more room at the inn. They meant everything to you, they were your whole world. And the sneaking ache that you could die tomorrow and they’d move on clawed at your ribcage endlessly. You just… wanted to feel like you meant something to to them, to someone. Wanted someone to steal all the silence in your mind and fill it with warmth. With touch. With lov—

“To someone? Or to him?” You heard, through the static in your ears. The tears you’ve been fighting finally make an appearance.

“Bonnie, hey, darl’,” Soap whispered to you, bringing his lips to your forehead, fingers through your temples. Shh, shh, shh, everything was okay and that the team was here for you. He was here for you. Quieting your mind, his hands ran through your hair and lingered to your neck. You closed your eyes, trying not to feel overwhelmed. “I should have kept my mouth shut you don’t have to pity me.” You said, gently trying to push Soap back.

“Who the fuck said anything about pity.” A different, deeper voice in your ear this time. Panic floods your body as you feel a second pair of hands slide around your shoulders. “No, no, no Ghost, please don’t I’m sorry I shouldn’t—,” you stammer out, fight and flight winning simultaneously as you push immovable bodies and try to pull yourself away. Why you thought that was possible with these two men was beyond you.

Vice grips pull you back down, holding you close to both men’s chests. “Breathe, sergeant.” Delivered as a command. That part of your brain still seemed to function as you took deep breaths, not noticing how Ghost positioned himself on the couch. Leaning back at an angle, he pulled you in his lap, back against his chest and arms around your waist. Feeling his breath against the nape of your neck, steadying, matching his breathing. The smell of cigarettes, pine and sweat fill your senses. Soap slotted himself between both of your legs, into your lap, eyes keeping your focus. Knowing looking at Ghost would throw you completely askew. Ever the team, those two, you thought briefly.

Minutes went by in silence as your breathing slowed, heartbeat returned to normal. Ghost gave you one of his hands to fuss with as you calmed, testing the waters, getting used to him. His other hand carded through Soaps hair, lying in your lap. His nose nuzzled your neck as he broke the silence. “I’m, we’re, sorry for making you feel like the odd man out, sweetheart. Should have done a better job as your lieutenant to make you feel a part of the team.” He took the hand lying in yours and brought it to your stomach, bringing you closer into his chest, rubbing lazy circles. “This is… a lot to some. Who we are as a team. As much as we wanted to bring you in, we didn’t want to scare you away neither.”

“But for what it’s worth, ever since you got here,” Ghost growls, pinky grabbing the edge of your shirt, pulling upwards. “You’ve been ours.”

Everything seemed to move at once. Ghosts hands now on your body properly, exploring your curves and pulling you into him deeper. Soap chuckled lightly, his hands now caressing your hips and breathing into your waistline, peering up at you with big beautiful eyes. “Ours in the royal sense, LT. She’s been called f—“ his words cut off as a rough hand at the back of his head pressed him into your pussy. “Hmm, he’s a lot cuter when he’s down there, huh?” Ghost chuckles into your shoulder. Your heart feels like it’s in your throat, your hands come up and try to meet his, unsure of if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. His arms come around and lock yours in place as Soap is released and fingers start to play with the button on your pants. “Let us make up for some lost time, sweetheart,” he growls into your shoulder.

Sheer panic, or disassociation, you’re not sure what gets you through the next moment. But either way it feels like an eternity, watching Soap pull down your pants and panties, feeling Ghost caress the valley between your tits, ambiently trying to steady your heart. Mumbling both to you and himself, he repositions you ever so slightly in his lap, bringing your ass tighter into his hips and spreading your thighs across his, giving Soap better access. “Have no fucking idea how bad we’ve needed you, bird. Been dreaming about your fucking body, how you smell, what you taste like.” You feel his hardness start, pushing up against your ass. Your deep breaths start turning into soft moans, and both men groan into you. Soap kisses you gently on your thighs, leading a trail to your core, nipping you along the way. You feel like glass, any sudden movement and you’ll shatter into Ghosts arms, heart too raw, wants too real. Ghost feels your tension and wraps one arm around your waist as the other brings your shirt above your tits, exposing them to the cold room. His free hand teasing a nipple as he whispered “Stay with me, baby.”

A strangled sound left your throat as you felt Soap’s tongue separate your lips and meet your clit. “Johnny, please, oh God.” Feeling his tongue work you open, you can only focus on your breathing so you don’t float away. Ghost adjusts something behind you as you feel two fingers slide in gently. Broken moans and pleas leave your mouth as you feel lips against your neck, kissing, biting. “Tell me how he feels bird.” Ghost murmurs. Fingers moving faster, faster as Soap attacks your clit. You chance a look down as you meet his eyes, his mouth breaking out into the biggest smile as he lifts his face briefly. A man this pretty should be illegal, you think. “Tell me, bonnie. Tell me what you want.” A sound you’d be downright ashamed of leaves your mouth, clenching around his fingers. “Fuck Soap, I want you, I want—“ His fingers start working your g-spot faster as he teases, “Use your words, bon. I wanna hear you say it.”

“I wanna, I wanna cum Johnny, please” you say in barely a whisper as he coaxes it out of you. All you feel is the cord in your stomach break as every muscle in your body tenses. Soap laughing into your clit, Ghost licking and moaning in your ear, that you belong to us, all of us. A distant part of you wonders why things sound so wet as you look down to Soaps eyes, crinkled as he makes you watch yourself squirt into his mouth.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you chant as Soap sucks your clit, bringing you down. Everything feels wet, you can feel it at your knees. This couch is gonna have to be burned. Soap gives one last suck to your clit, coming off with a pop. Ghosts breath comes out in short bursts as you feel him grind hard into your ass, grunting in your ear. Soap comes up and grabs you tenderly by your face, kissing you gently, deeply, making you taste. Bringing his forehead to yours, he looks at you, so tender it makes your heart stop. “Told ya we’re here. Cannae do it without ya, sweet.”

Hands gently lay you down on the couch as you remember what your limbs are supposed to feel like. A kiss from each on your forehead as Ghost says “You did so good, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of our boy here, you stay put, yeah?” Your breathing starts to return to normal, letting feelings flood back slowly. “Oh, okay.” You whisper out, taking a deep breath and sitting up slightly. The big feelings start to creep back in, but a little less heavy. Tears start to flow, not from sadness but something else. You sniff away some of the emotions. “Are we, are we okay, is, oh my god what is Price, what—“ Soap is quick to take a knee next to you, kissing your tears away and cooing shhhh’s in your ear. You’ve been so distracted by this attention that you finally notice the smell in the room, stronger than earlier. Cloves, a sweetness, cigar smoke.

Your head snaps back to the chair across from you all, and your breath dies in your throat. Blue eyes locked into yours, like he’s never looked at anything else. He crushes the last of his cigar into the ashtray beside him and leans forward, hands gripping his knees tightly. “You broken, sweetheart?”

[adastrael]

Cod: mw ii characters as type of kisses (pt.3)

Pairing(s): gender neutral reader / könig, kim "horangi" hong-jin, alex keller, farah karim

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, talk about anxiety and insecurities

A/N: the last part is finally here! I know most of these guys aren't technically mw2 characters, but I couldn't just leave them out of the fun haha! On another hand, I'm sorry if this seems more rushed than the previous ones, I haven't had the chance to get to know these characters as well as the others yet. Anyhow, thank you for all the love on this series, it means a lot to me! :)

König - "breathy kiss"

One of your favorite things was to share kisses with him. He was always so responsive to your touch, whole body reacting to every slight brush of your skin on his. It felt like he was comfortable enough to show you how he truly felt through them, not even trying to find a way to deny his love. It never failed to drive you crazy in the best way.

If there was someone easy to fluster, it was definitely König. Those times he happened to be confident were limited to when he was out in the field, so during the time you two spent alone together, it wasn't difficult to make him bashful. You tried not to take advantage of his reactions and contain the giddiness you felt when he got into such a state, but it was a feat; he always looked adorable tripping over his words, cheeks a nice shade of red and hands fidgeting as he tried to come up with an answer to you. You couldn't get enough of his shyness, but you made sure to never cross any lines and boundaries you two set up. Sure, messing with him was entertaining, but the most important thing was to never make him truly uncomfortable or upset. Not to mention, you could spend time with him without trying to make him crumble with cheeky words, and have just as a great time — if not even better.

A regular Friday forenoon, the weather was perfect for taking a stroll and visiting the markets nearby your house. There were a few things that needed to be replaced anyways, so you had a good reason to go out, besides the fact that you wanted to enjoy the Sun on your skin of course. Since your boyfriend was back home from his latest deployment, it was natural you wanted to ask him to accompany you. Any chance you had, you wanted to take and spend time with him, especially since he was away from home a lot. However, there was one little problem with that: the company of strangers put him into a heavily uneasy state.

It wasn't correct to say he was terrible with crowds; König always swore he was, but you knew he handled himself just fine. Of course you knew how bad his anxiety spiked when put into situations like that, but from the outside he usually looked like he didn't have a problem in the world — you always made sure to let him know how well he did every time you two went out, no matter what situation he had to ease into. You knew it was difficult for him to read and react to social situations, but he tried his best and you were more than grateful and proud of him. The longer you were in a relationship together, the more often he joined you for outdoor activities, and it made you extremely happy to see him make an effort to become better. And flattered for sure, knowing he wanted to get better at this for your benefit.

So, with the knowledge that he wouldn't say no to you this time either, especially since this would be a short and easy trip, you went to talk to him.

Quickly finding König in your shared bedroom, you softly knocked on the door to get his attention.

"Hey König?"

"Ja?"

"Would you come along with me to the market today?"

Sitting on the king sized bed in his worn out comfortable clothes, he looked so much smaller, no matter the fact that he was a 6 feet something giant of a man. As he started to fidget with his hands a little, gaze directed to the sheets under him, it was hard to resist the urge to join him on the beddings and caress his knuckles to reassure him.

"How far are we going?"

"Just to the end of the street, I only want to visit Dominik's and then Sophia's on the way back."

You knew it was important for him to know exactly where you would be going and who you had to meet, because it helped him prepare mentally in advance. It wasn't a bother to share your exact plans with him in any way, and it made him feel better, so you were always happy to make sure to share the needed information.

After a few seconds of him considering it, pointedly looking anywhere but you, you received a little nod from him.

"Okay."

In your defense, he looked too irresistible sitting there all shy, you just couldn't help yourself; flashing him a bright smile, you skipped over to the bed, gently cupping his face in your hands.

"Thank you. I promise I will be quick."

Leaning in, you intended to give him a chaste kiss, just something to show your gratitude besides words. König seemed to have other plans however: pushing his lips onto yours a little more firmly, he sighed through his nose and made a little sound in the back of his throat. He was usually clumsy when it came to kissing, but this time he seemed to get the handle of things. Pulling back only a few millimeters, gasping for air, then diving back to connect your lips together, his body was slowly melting under your touch, the previous uneasiness leaving him. You loved when he got passionate like this; anxiety absent from his mind, body shivering where your hands wandered, harsh breaths leaving his mouth as he poured his emotions into the kiss. You knew this was a way for him to let all the worries go, to show you how genuinely he felt, and it never failed to make your head fuzzy and heart warm with fondness.

Truly, you could have stayed like that, interwined with him forever, but unfortunately there were still things to do. So, with a gentle hand on his cheek, you managed to pull away. Gazing into his eyes and softly stroking his heated face, König was almost panting into your embrace, quick breaths leaving his mouth and a dazed expression on his face. He really was a beautiful sight to see.

Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin - "hesitant kiss"

He was confident in every sense of the word. His cocky, sometimes too narcissistic attitude should have been annoying, but it looked good on him, fitting if you got to know him. You never noticed a thing he did without his usual courage, not up until you two got into a relationship. Funnily, he wasn't such an egotistical man when it came to showing affection.

Finally finding the motivation to get up from your place on the couch, you popped your joints after sitting for so long. The TV show you've been watching just ended for the night, and as much as you would have loved to stay in a lying position, you still had to shower and get to your actual bed to sleep. It was better to avoid back pain after all.

"Where are you going?"

Looking down at the voice, your boyfriend was blinking bearly at you from between the pillows, clearly having just woken up. He always offered to keep you company while you watched your shows, even when he himself wasn't interested, but that sometimes resulted in this; him sleeping peacefully next to you, tucked under the blankets and pillows. You didn't mind too much to be fair: he was quiet when asleep, the opposite of what he was like when awake. You didn't mean it in a bad way of course, he just had a habit of commenting on whatever you were watching, often making you slightly irritated. Lucky for him that he was good at making it up to you, so it was hard to stay mad at him for long.

"Taking a shower."

"Come back."

You almost laughed at the way he reached his arm out towards you, then let it uselessly flop back onto the couch. You barely understood what he was mumbling, but you had the routine of these nights to help.

"Sorry baby."

"Why not?"

"We can sleep in our bedroom, you know?"

"Please?"

It was rare he begged, so taking pity on his pouting form, you sighed and turned your body back towards him.

"Fine. But what do I get?"

"Come here."

Plopping yourself down into his open arms, Horangi leaned up with the intention of kissing you. Before you could appreciate his affection though, he stopped suddenly, just barely before your lips could have met in the middle. His body went still under you, eyes more awake and blinking uncertainty up at you.

"It's okay, go ahead."

At your soft encouragement, he seemed to come back to himself. Blinking a few times he moved, finally cutting the distance between your lips short.

You knew he was insecure about the scars adorning his face, as much as he tried to hide it. Horangi always acted confident, no matter what he did or who he was with, but when it came to showing you who he really was, sometimes he seemed to shrink into himself and try to hide. You weren't giving up however; he's been doing much better with showing his love openly for you and not letting his insecurities get in the way of his actions, so you were proud of him for trying. You knew it wouldn't get solved from one day to another, but he has already given you much to love and believe. It was only a matter of time before he was his usual self-assured self when it came to kissing you too.

Alex Keller - "passionate kiss"

Any chance he got, he managed to make physical contact with you, one way or another. A hand on the small of your back, an arm across your stomach, forehead resting on your shoulder; you name it and he has done it before. This might have been because of the fact that he spent a lot of time away from home, but physical touch was simply just his love language really. Besides, you didn't mind how touchy he was, enjoying the closeness just as much as he did.

Thankful for the previously cut up vegetables on the wooden board, you turned just in time to catch your boyfriend entering the house. Closing the front door behind him, Alex looked a little rugged; he's been mowing and watering the lawn all morning, so it wasn't anything you haven't expected. Still, the sight made you shake your head with a fond smile, directing him to the bathroom upstairs for a cleanup before he even considered touching and dirtying you. He complied easily enough after some good-natured banter, promising to come back down clean a few minutes later.

Just as you were ready to put every ingredient into the pot placed on the stove, two strong arms wound themselves around your middle, pulling you into a solid chest behind you. As kisses found their way onto your neck, you couldn't help but laugh at the feeling of a mustache tickling your sensitive skin.

"Alex! Come on, you know that tickles!"

"But I'm clean now, so it's free game!"

"No please."

Slightly pulling away while giggling, you turned in his hold and laced your arms around his neck.

"You might be clean, but I have a soup to cook. If you distract me, lunch won't be ready anytime soon."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

At his cheeky reply, you let one of your hands hit his chest gently, shaking your head at him. You couldn't deny how happy you were however, a smile ever-present on your face.

"It would. Now, let me work please."

"Just give me a minute."

Before you could reply, his left hand came up to hold your face tenderly. Leaning down, Alex kissed you, silencing whatever protest was on your mind at that moment.

Humming into his mouth, you reciprocated immediately, not caring too much about the food behind you anymore. As you deepened the kiss, enjoying the feeling of your lips on his, you let more of your body weight rest against him, making his hold tighten slightly. His other hand soon sneaked up from your waist, grasping into your hair lightly. He made sure not to pull and hurt you in any way, he was just anchoring you to himself even closer — more securely. It was a habit of his you learned to love very quickly, and he wasn't one to bother hiding how much he enjoyed it every time either.

After a few minutes have passed locked together like that, you finally pulled away and put some distance between the two of you.

"Don't think I will let you get away with this."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Farah Karim - "forehead kiss"

Constantly fighting wasn't an easy thing, not for the body nor the soul. After days, weeks of being on the field and putting up with everything happening around you, it wasn't a surprise when relaxing and letting go became difficult to anyone who has experienced it. For her, it seemed especially hard, but with your help, she found there was a way to calm the storm inside her.

Your girlfriend wasn't big on showing signs of affection in public and you didn't blame her for that in the slightest. As a Commander and highly respected soldier, Farah had a front and reputation to uphold, and there wasn't really a place for being openly emotional. That didn't mean she didn't love you, and you always got reassured by the little things she did for you — waving when leaving from base, giving you a subtle nod to let you know something, sending you a little smile in a private way. It was hard to stay loving and affectionate when operating a whole Force, and you understood it enough to not demand anything she couldn't give or do.

Routinely, when Farah finally came home after a long period of time, it took her a few days to ease back into a calm state. She was always level-headed, out in the field or in everyday life, but all the fighting took a mental toll on her. She didn't like to let you know when she was doing bad or just had a difficult time getting used to the quiet and calm of home, but you always noticed anyways. It wasn't hard: when you know someone as deeply as you two knew each other, it was nearly impossible to miss signs like those. Fortunately, you had a good way of helping her, one that didn't require more than a little patience and your love.

"Love?"

You stepped into the bedroom while calling out for your girlfriend, putting a mug on the nightstand.

"I'm here."

Feeling her presence behind you, you turned and greeted her with a smile.

"Can I read to you?"

It was usual for you two to end up under the soft covers tangled up together, but free just enough to read one-one book by yourselves. It wasn't unheard of either that one of you offered to read aloud, because both of you found it calming and a good way to spend time effectively together. Now, Farah had a slight frown on her face, visibly considering your offer. Her stance was still stiff, gaze often darting back and forth in any room she stepped in. You understood of course; she was barely back from a long mission, it was tough to get back to your usual routine. After a few seconds though, her expression softened and with a nod, she closed the door behind her.

Turning around, you made quick work of the sheets and pillows, laying down in a way your back was still propped up onto the bed frame. Grasping a book you were half finished with, you opened your arms in an open invitation.

"Come here."

It didn't take long until you were both comfortably under the blankets, legs interviewed and her head on your shoulder. The room was quiet except for your soft words, and within minutes, Farah was breathing steady next to you, body finally relaxing.

It went like that for some time, and when you went to turn the page and start a new chapter, her voice stopped you.

"Thank you."

Untangling herself a little, she pulled herself up and gently kissed your forehead. It was unhurried and entirely chaste, just like her kisses usually were; in this form, they meant more than anything else in her book, and by default, in yours too. Sensing how grateful she was, you gave her a warm smile, and with a gentle hand on her back, you directed your attention back to the book in your other. It wasn't long before she was snoring softly against you, quiet breaths rhythmically hitting your chest.

[justjenah]

Latvia Mike: A Disconnected OverMike Hiding in Plain Sight

Of all the Mikes Walters (species) Latvia Mike is the one that seems to be most often taken at face value. He’s the responsible one, the one who likes to go into things with a clear plan. He prefers to abide by protocol if at all possible but will throw protocol aside if you give him a good enough reason

He’s the one true Mike, the only iteration that is allowed to use the name “Mike”, everyone else has to find something new. Michael makes this explicit when he tells MW that “‘Mike’ is taken” in episode 91 . 

More often than not, Latvia Mike has to do very little to earn his iterations' trust. His motivations are almost never questioned. This is likely in part because in addition to being older and more experienced than the "Mikey Generation," he has historically acted as a calming influence and a rational counterbalance to Michael's more inflammatory and reckless impulses. He is unafraid to challenge Michael or other "Michael Generation" iterations.

Not only that, Latvia Mike has often done his best to protect Mikey. For example he advises Mikey to lock his door after the Alaska Mikey incident and despite threatening to do otherwise, he ultimately tried to cover for Mikey when he was sneaking around with the calculator to investigate Edman's cure when he was supposed to be focused on helping the Texas posse break Base out of the Dome. And it's not just physically protection that Mike has offered but emotional protection as well. Mike offered to kill Innocent Hutner for Mikey, recognizing how difficult it might be for him.

It's not just Mikey that benefit from Latvia Mike's instinct to protect either. Mike has gone out of his way to protect Michael and MW as well. The man spent 43 days attempting to break Michael out of the compound. And while it backfired horribly, Mike protected whom he thought was the Dome iteration of Michael and insisted that the Michael who escaped to Texas keep his word and consolidate. While that iteration turned out not to be the Dome iteration but Lieutenant, it was a still a protective action. When they brought back an injured OverMike, it was Mike who most vehemently opposed killing the iteration and hatched the plan to train him and consolidate him instead of allowing Michael to kill the runaway OverMikes.

It seems likely that this habit of caretaking has afforded Latvia Mike a image of trustworthiness. And while he's not without his missteps, that image has been well earned—or at the very least well cultivated—among the Council of Mikes.

And yet I am fairly certain that Mike is not what he seems to be. Namely, I think there is significant evidence that Latvia Mike is not connected to Mikey. In fact I am not sure he’s connected to any of the Mike Walters iterations we’ve met so far. I’d argue that as it stands, in order to find a Mike Walters iteration that Latvia Mike is connected to you would need to travel back to before the first iteration of Mike Walters (species) was made.

Looking at all the evidence (and there is a surprising amount of it) I’d argue that Latvia Mike is actually a disconnected OverMike whose time period of origin is five years in the future from Mikey. 

This theory goes way back to not long after we first meet Latvia Mike. The evidence begins with episode 50, the second episode in which Latvia Mike appears.

In Episode 50: Propagation & Consolidation Latvia Mike gives us our first ever mention of OverMike in the show: 

“One goal at a time, right. Wouldn’t want to Propagate,” [Mike] said. “I remember the time. It gets better, eventually. It’s not always going to be you taking Edgar and Anne’s word on what you should do. But it’s exciting, right? Everything is shiny and new and you’ve got that new Calculator to play with. Do you have an O.V.E.R. Mike yet?”

“I don’t know what that means,” I replied.

“Ah, I won’t propagate that information, then,” he said. 

On its own, this isn’t much in the way of evidence. The first time I listened to this episode I remember thinking it was strange but assumed it was merely an easter egg of things to come. 

It isn’t until the next episode, 51, Corrections, Corrections , that I questioned Latvia Mike’s iterative origins. In that episode Latvia Mike and Michael show up at the house in Rugby North Dakota to rescue Mikey who has just had the ever loving shit beat out of him. Michael shows up and the two have the following exchange: 

Michael: So uh, I assume your instructions didn’t say to kill him or to let him die?

Mike: No, but I can’t imagine that it matters too much. I don’t think he’s connected to us. Did yours?

Latvia Mike assuming that Mikey isn’t connected to him or Michael is such a WILD assumption based on what we know up until this point. Mikey himself assumes that one day he will “become” them. Michael even famously tells Mikey in episode 44 “You turn into me, remember that.” (it’s even the name of the episode!). I’ll talk a little bit later why I think they are incorrect about Mikey “becoming” Michael, but suffice to say at least up until this point Latvia Mike is the only iteration of the three of them to explicitly declare any sort of disconnectivity. In 51 Mike states quite plainly that he’s fairly confident that at this point, Mikey dying shouldn’t really affect him. 

Exactly when in the timeline Latvia Mike becomes disconnected is a little unclear to me (more on that later) and I question his assertion that Mikey dying at this specific point in time wouldn’t affect Latvia Mike. That said, the point remains the same that Latvia Mike seems confident that at some point there will be enough disconnectivity between himself and Mikey that Mikey could die and Mike wouldn’t be affected. This assumption on Latvia Mike’s part speaks to knowledge that he has about his own iterative origins. 

The clearest piece of evidence in support of my theory comes just a couple episodes later with episode 54, Connectivity . Mikey, Edgar, Marissa, and Anne are all working together at Base to troubleshoot the issue of Ravi having witnessed Mikey breaking into Tier Two. Anne suggests popping the tires of the golf cart that Marissa and Ravi both use on their patrol routes so that he doesn’t witness Mikey’s break-ins. 

And then Latvia Mike shows up looking like he “had been thoroughly chewed up and spat out”, with injuries including a clouded over right eye and a missing thumb that is long scarred and healed over. 

This is already pretty wild in that this tire popping correction that Anne, Edgar, and Marissa are planning has skipped right over Mikey. Mikey is unaffected by this plan to pop the tires. Even more interesting is that Michael is unaffected by the plan to pop the tires. 

But that is not the most damning evidence. Latvia Mike shows up angry, disoriented, and emotional. And in that state, in the middle of him issuing this correction to prevent his abduction, it seems like he let’s something pretty damn important slip: 

“I just have one minor correction here: did it never occur to any of you dolts that if the cart is out of commission on a certain night that SOMEONE might be captured and interrogated, imprisoned, tortured, used as a blackmail pawn and generally be a profound hindrance to Base for YEARS? All because the cart didn’t get fixed in time? That cart has to come crashing through the border of Tier 2 or Mike Walters is in trouble. So, if you’re going to go through with that, could you do O.V.E.R. Mike a big favor and make sure you drive one of those nails right through his brain stem while you’re at it and save us the trouble? ”

Let’s zero in on that for a second: “could you do O.V.E.R. Mike a big favor and make sure you drive one of those nails right through his brain stem while you’re at it and save us the trouble?”

Here, Latvia Mike strongly implies his connectivity to an OverMike. He essentially tells Mikey to kill OverMike, thus killing Latvia Mike, to prevent him from having to go through being “captured and interrogated, imprisoned, tortured, used as a blackmail pawn and generally be a profound hindrance to Base for YEARS”.  

Between the tire popping correction skipping over Mikey, and Latvia Mike himself implying connectivity to OverMike, it seems pretty likely that Mike is correct, he isn't connected to Mikey. He doesn’t even seem to be connected to Michael in the episode given that Michael was still a cowboy and seemingly unaffected by the correction but that feels less certain at this point (more evidence that Mike is not connected to Michael will come later though so hold your horses, pard). 

The next time it’s implied that there is not connectivity between Mikey and Mike is in episode 65, double knot . Mikey has recently escaped from the compound after his second imprisonment there (this is after Punished transported Mikey to the Latvian woods) and has been scooped up by Latvia Mike and Michael. On the ride back to Riga the following exchange takes place:

MIKEY: Oh! Oh, I have–I have notes from a mattress. Here–[paper crinkling] Here, read them it was definitely a Mikey but it wasn’t me. I found them in the mattress in my room at the compound. He must’ve put them there. Mike none of this happened to you? I was hoping you’d remember something. 

MIKE: No, can’t say that I do. 

Latvia Mike did not experience a second stay in the compound. This is not entirely surprising at this point given that we know from episode 55, The Surprise Field Trip, that Latvia Mike and Michael had no idea that the compound was based in Latvia until after the two of them came back to Mikey’s time period to establish Satellite Base. 

Latvia Mike and Michael never experienced a second stay in the compound (something Michael obliquely confirmed in his phone call to Ty Betteridge in episode 60, Ready to Die) or the Hunter’s destruction of Base. This is made even stranger by the fact that Mikey’s second stay in the compound is never corrected despite the fact that the Hunter’s attack on Base is corrected (Alaska Mikey makes this explicit when states that he knows nothing about the Hunter’s attack on Base or even what Base is yet was still transported to the Latvian woods by an unknown party when Mike goes to talk to him in episode 71, studies ). This implies that regardless of whether the Hunters destroy Base, Mikey’s second stay in the compound always happens. Which should mean that if Mike and Michael are connected to him, that those events should’ve theoretically propagated forward in time, much like what happened with the nails and the golf cart’s tire. 

The next bit of evidence isn’t so much proof that Mike is an OverMike but more that he and Michael are disconnected from Mikey. What I am referring to is the existence of Mustardseed and the runaway OvEdgars and OverMikes. 

When these two things are introduced Mike and Michael are just as in the dark as Mikey. They have no idea who Mustardseed is and the events of episode 78, Ax make that extremely clear. Furthermore it’s in episode 84, Panther , that Michael first learns about the existence of the runaway OverMike and OvEdgars. Which, again, their existence is never corrected. Instead the runaways are captured after their escape and consolidated. 

This implies that Latvia Mike and OverMike’s connectivity broke down at some point between the events of episode 48 (the event that the tire popping plan was meant to correct) and whenever it was that OverMike and OvEdgar made all those runaway iterations (which is implied to have have happened around episode 79, Mutiny). I’d argue the disconnection point is likely prior to episode 60 (Ready to Die) seeing as the OverTeam is executed along with everyone else at Base and Latvia Mike is totally fine (well as fine as one can be when lost at sea with your older cowboy iteration). 

This means that if someone wants to take out Latvia Mike specifically, they would need to kill OverMike sometime prior to the events of Ready to Die, or, like we see in 109, if you don’t care about preserving any Mike Walters iterations, you could simply kill Mikey prior to him iterating himself. 

The next time we see Latvia Mike possibly slipping up is in episode 100, Clipshow . It’s a blink and you miss it sort of exchange and on its own doesn’t seem like much but, taken together with everything that has come before, it reads like Mike speaking without thinking: 

MIKEY: Edgar said that he didn’t send anyone. What do we do?

MIKE: Take Bruno into Michael’s room and lock the door, Mikey.

MIKEY: W-What? Why?

MIKE: Because there’s an extra iteration of you out there and we don’t know what’s going on. 

MIKEY: I don’t see why that means that I have to go hide. He’s an iteration of you, too.

MICHAEL: Do what he says, Mikey.

Latvia Mike looks out the peephole of the door and sees a younger iteration and jumps to the natural conclusion that it is an iteration of Mikey. Note that he doesn’t think it’s an iteration of MW, which is a little odd. MW and Mikey are approximately the same age. A younger iteration is just as likely to be an iteration of MW as it is Mikey (if not more so given how iteration happy the OVER team was in Mikey’s iteration of the timeline). It’s made all the more ironic by the fact that it is OverMike (specifically Mustardseed’s husband) who is standing on the other side of the door. 

This episode also reintroduces the idea that Latvia Mike is disconnected from all of this time period’s OverMikes at this point in time because he seems completely unworried about Michael and MW executing the poor party crashing OverMike. It’s true we don’t see OverMike actually killed in the episode as it happens off screen but if Latvia Mike is connected to this specific OverMike, he is putting on a very good act and also seeming to take it on faith that Michael and MW won’t actually kill this OverMike, never mind the earlier evidence that Mike had no idea about Mustardseed’s identity or the existence of the runaways. 

If you’ve been sitting there screaming at the screen that I skipped right over one of the biggest pieces of physical evidence that Latvia Mike and Mikey aren’t connected, don’t worry, I’m getting to it. That’s right: Mikey’s brand. 

This brand has survived corrected timelines again and again and yet Latvia Mike and Michael are NEVER mentioned as having it and they are NEVER asked to show the brand as proof of their identity. On the contrary Latvia Mike seems to always check for Mikey’s brand. 

Notably when Mike shows up in episode 135, The Conundrum Of The Cowboy's Codex,  Mikey does not demand that Latvia Mike show the brand to prove himself, while Mikey DOES show the brand. In fact Mike’s “proof” that he is Latvia Mike is merely:  

MIKE: Wedding ring, cauliflower ear, a couple more wrinkles than you

And that’s it ! 

When it comes to Latvia Mike the brand is NEVER brought up as a means of proof and yet Latvia Mike uses Mikey’s brand as a baseline for proving Mikey’s identity time and again. Most recently, Latvia Mike does a brand check on Mikey in episode 153 when Mikey decides to do some futurescouting and drops by Mike’s house five years in the future. 

This next bit from episode 166: Lucid/Psychedelic may or may not be anything but I thought it worth noting because Mike has often made clear distinctions between himself and Mikey and yet he says the following to MW, who is notably 32 OverMikes in a skin suit: 

MIKE [addressing MW]: You're me and I drink almond milk all the time

The final hint that Latvia Mike’s iterative origins stem from an OverMike (as of this writing) is in episode 167: Contradiction/Connection. Michael, Mike, MDawg, and MW all show up at the Crust Punk House to talk with Old Man and they end up roping in Skinner. During their conversation Skinner brings up Skuzz being kidnapped and wants to know if any of these Mike Walters iterations had anything to do with it. 

MICHAEL: None of us cowboys knows no one by the name of Skuzz. SKINNER: Skuzz? Skinny, messy hair, too cool for school, might have tried to work Broken Social Scene into the conversation while you were killing them or kidnapping them or whatever it was you did to them…

MIKE: Wait, Skuzz Skuzz? Like the one who mows the lawn at O.V.E.R.

  SKINNER: No, dummy the other Skuzz. Yeah, of course that Skuzz.

Mike is the only iteration in the room who seems to know who Skuzz is. Which doesn’t have to mean anything but seems notable if he is in fact an OverMike. If Mike is an OverMike whose experience of this time period was never marred by the existence of Mustardseed, then Mike spent considerable more time working and living at OVER and therefore had greater opportunities to get to know the landscaping team at OVER. Skuzz doesn’t seem to even ring any bells for Michael, meanwhile Latvia Mike is able to correctly identify whom Skinner is talking about. 

So where does that leave us?

My theory is that in Latvia Mike’s experience of this time period, he was Future Base’s OverMike. But in Latvia Mike’s experience of this time period things shook out extremely differently. My theory is that the OVER team was much more involved in Future Base’s goings on than they are in Mikey’s iteration of the timeline. In Mikey’s iteration of the timeline, the OVER team is rarely included unless Base requires them to sneak into Tier Two. This is a huge point of friction between the OVER team and Mikey’s Base. Yet this friction does not seem to have existed in Latvia Mike's iteration of this time period (or at least not to the point that it exists for Mikey’s Base and Mikey’s OVER team seeing as Mustardseed and the runaway OVER iterations are unique to Mikey's experience). 

For Latvia Mike I think that, unlike in Mikey’s iteration of the timeline, the OVER team continued to exist as an extension of Future Base for years. After all in episode 82, Digging , when Latvia Mike’s attempt to correct Michael’s disappearance using a calculator fails, one of the things that Latvia Mike attempts is breaking into Tier Two with Edgar to see if using the security.exe program will overcome whatever barrier is preventing Latvia Mike from issuing his correction. Again this isn’t some major piece of evidence but it does suggest that Mike and his Edgar are still familiar with 116E, Tier Two, and the security.exe program, something that Michael mentions being a vague memory for him at this point. 

I think at some point Future Base transitioned Latvia Mike and his Edgar to some sort of Satellite Base within Latvia Mike’s own time period and is likely where they got the idea to establish a Satellite Base in Latvia in Mikey’s time period. 

I believe that more than likely in Latvia Mike’s experience of the timeline, his and his Edgar’s roles shifted from being the OVER team to becoming a “disconnected corrections team” much like the role that Mikey’s OVER team’s played in episode 72, Council , in which they act as a corrections team for the peace treaty meeting that Base holds with the Hunters. So while Future Base works on their projects and conducts recon and technology retrieval missions, the OVER team (made up of Latvia Mike and his Edgar) are disconnected from their iterations (much like Tex and Outlaw seem disconnected from theirs) and able to respond to any timeline disturbances and issue corrections to protect Future Base. 

When events start to diverge more drastically in Mikey’s time period, I think Base realized that they needed a team back there to stop the ground shifting from under Future Base’s feet and undoing all of Future Base’s progress. When Michael traveled to Latvia Mike’s time period to help out (and escape from living in a time period without an Edgar), they had the perfect opportunity to establish a remote Satellite Base in the past with Michael and Latvia Mike, both of whom were tethered to Future Base's time period by Latvia Mike’s Edgar who would run missions from five years in the future. 

So. If Latvia Mike is a disconnected OverMike, how the hell did he become disconnected? I don’t have one specific theory for this but let’s at least look at different ways it seems one could become disconnected.  

In 168: Anonymous Councils/Edible Bombs , we first learn about disconnectivity devices. They are rare and expensive. MDawg recognizes it for what it is but it’s not made clear who else is familiar with them other than Other Chris and Old Man. It’s possible that Future Base got their hands on some disconnectivity devices and used them on Latvia Mike and his Edgar but it feels unlikely. Then again, maybe five years in the future time travel technology has advanced such that disconnectivity devices are easier to come by.

 Another way you might become disconnected seems to be as result of an incomplete correction. In the 101 timeline when the Hunters completely take over via a major correction (or many many many corrections layered on top of one another, who knows), Tex and Outlaw somehow are unaffected by the new timeline. They retain memories from the previous iteration of the timeline and are unaffected by the Hunter’s changes despite the fact that those changes clearly go back before Mikey and Edgar got together since Mikey and Edgar are not even dating in as of 2023 in the 101 timeline. If that can happen accidentally, more than likely it is something that can be done intentionally though I imagine it would take quite a few attempts to achieve the desired results and would be incredibly risky. 

Another possible way to create disconnectivity might be for an iteration to somehow correct their own creation. We know that the calculators solve paradoxes and it seems to me that if an OverMike corrected their own creation, that iteration would still have to exist in order to have issued that correction. But without the iteration event, the iteration that issued the correction would exist as a disconnected individual. 

Finally, one of my favorite disconnectivity practices is one that I think we are actively watching play out between Mikey and Michael. That is, through prolonged and significant interaction with/exposure to a past version of yourself that you start out connected to. This method I think takes significant time and exposure and that connectivity likely degrades slowly over time as the two iterations continue to interact and influence one another’s experiences of the timeline. This is why I think that Mikey will never “become” Michael.

Which one do I think Latvia Mike and his Edgar used? No idea! 

Now I know what you’re thinking. If this is true and Latvia Mike is a disconnected OverMike, why on earth hasn’t he told anyone? Why is he keeping this a secret? 

The answer is simple. It’s just smart. It’s good infosec and a matter of self preservation. Look at Mystery Hunter and Punished Hunter (and H, if we are counting him separately from Mystery). The fact that we don’t know their iterative origins makes them much more difficult to kill. 

Mike keeping this secret doesn’t have to be nefarious. We’ve seen time and time again that limiting the spread of information is key to staying alive and controlling the timeline. Latvia Mike can trust Mikey, MW, and Michael all he wants but that doesn’t make it safe to propagate the information of his and his Edgar’s iterative origins. Latvia Mike himself makes this point to Mikey in episode 153, Futurescouting when. When Mikey is suspicious of Tex for not sharing information Latvia Mike makes this case: 

MIKE: I will admit that is odd, but I would be cautious about jumping to conclusions. You know as well as I do that there are lots of good reasons to not tell someone everything you know, even if you know and trust the person. 

In the WOEBEGONE universe, keeping one's iterative origins secret, even from the people you trust is just smart. Hiding that information isn’t even about distrust, it’s about propagation risk—something which can happen accidentally very easily. Mike not telling Mikey (and possibly Michael) his iterative origins isn’t a sign of disloyalty or even distrust among iterations, it’s merely a sign of self preservation (never mind the preservation of Latvia Mike’s Edgar) because once that information is entrusted to anyone other than yourself, your very existence is at risk should that information reach the wrong people.

Now, why do I think that Latvia Mike isn’t connected to Michael? There are many little hints at this scattered throughout the show but I’ll just highlight a couple of them including a pretty major one from the most recent episode as of this writing.

First, even if they were connected at the start of the Latvian Sat Base’s creation, I think Michael has changed Mike’s trajectory such that Mike can never become Michael. Michael pulled Mike out of a deep depression and has repeatedly tried to guide Mike to make better, healthier choices than Michael has. 

A more specific moment that points to Michael not having connectivity with Latvia Mike is back in Episode 51. Michael asks Mike what his experience of Rugby was, something Michael would presumably know if he were connected to Mike.

Indeed most recently in episode 172, Ghostfire, Latvia Mike says pretty specifically that he will not turn into Michael/Old Man and that in five years he won’t be doing the things that Michael/Old Man is currently doing: 

MIKE: You’ve seen me and Old Man in a room together. That's me from the future—kind of. He’s not necessarily me, but he is, but that doesn't mean that like five years from now that I’m going to be doing all the things that he’s doing now.

In the same episode Latvia Mike goes on to explain connectivity and gives the following example: 

MIKE: If you killed me, Old Man wouldn’t die even though I keep saying that he’s quote, ‘me from the future’.

Given that killing Mikey on his first day at OVER in 109 successfully eliminated all other Mike Walters iterations, thus preventing Mike and Michael from existing, this statement from Mike (that his death would not kill Old Man/Michael) seems like an especially important claim because Latvia Mike is indicating that there isn’t connectivity between himself and Old Man/Michael, who as of that episode is the closest Michael iteration we have. 

Now, if Latvia Mike and his Edgar are not connected to Mikey and Mikey’s Edgar, what does that mean? There are likely many ramifications of this being true but the one that leaps to my mind is the cure for Edgar. 

Mikey floats the possibility that since his Edgar has consolidated with Edman—who supposedly was cured by OI—that Mikey’s Edgar might also be cured. If Mikey’s Edgar is cured, that cure should propagate forward to all the other future Edgars that have connectivity to Mikey’s Edgar. 

Of course, if Latvia Mike’s Edgar is a disconnected OvEdgar, that would mean he did not receive the cure . While disconnectivity is, in many ways, protective and a tool that can be used to shield iterations from potential timeline meddling from hostile parties, in this instance it spells Latvia Mike’s Edgar’s doom. Mikey’s Edgar, Michael’s Edgar, MDawg’s Edgar all would benefit from this cure (so long as Michael’s Edgar is indeed still connected to Mikey’s) but Latvia Mike’s Edgar is still slated to die before October 2025. 

Worse, because Latvia Mike is hiding the fact that he’s a disconnected OverMike, his own Edgar’s death is misleading to Mikey and Michael. It would give Mikey and Michael the impression that their Edgars didn’t receive the cure and that they are still slated to die even though they very well may not be.

Only time will tell if this theory will bear any fruit but I’ll tell you right now, I’ve gone looking for evidence that specifically disproves it and it doesn’t exist. At least not yet. Of course, as with all things, only time will tell. 

[yandere-kokeshi]

yandere rodolfo hcs please 😭 ???

I haven’t seen anyone do him yet 😔

— Yandere headcanons of Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Warnings: yandere behavior

A/N: yeah, no cause this makes me upset. Guess I'm gonna be the first!! Enjoy <3

Gif belongs to @/daniel-bruehl

This sweetheart of a man is incredibly protective. Tends to stalk and guilt-trip you. Not only does Rudy get jealous often and tends to think extremely gruesome things in his head with a gentle smile, but he’s good at hiding the fact about his devotion towards you.

There are many ways Rodolfo could’ve met you, likely you’re in the military or a civilian he ran into at the store but the main thing that caught his attention from you was how unique, and kind you were; able to stand your ground when needed and didn’t take shit from anyone.

It was quite hot, honestly. From his perspective, a lot of people ignored him or were feared by him, as he’s the man in second command – just below Alejandro.

Though, you treated Rodolfo nicely. More of a human being than a soldier on campus. It was relaxing and highly appreciative. Especially when you don’t mind when he messes up his flirtatious acts or gets embarrassed when his Colonel interrupts the conversation between you two.

Continuing from the headcanon above, Rudy will try the ‘normal’ approach, using his flirtatious words and respectful manners to catch your heart. Ignoring the fact that he often stalks you, he tries to get you to like him – often taking you out on expensive dates, and showing you that he’s a liable guy. Especially with the help of Alejandro, he often shows up to your house with a bottle of wine and a huge handful of bouquets.

He’s the type of guy that shares a lot of things with you. Eating out and still hungry? You can have the rest of his food, he’ll eat back at home. Need to borrow money? Have his whole credit card and buy whatever you need! All of it is yours, just say a ‘pretty please’.

While at first he may come off as ‘awkward’, don’t let that skim the idea of love. Rodolfo really does try to impress you with his entire heart. He goes out of his way to surprise you with your favorite foods, getting tickets to see a premiere movie, or grabbing your favorite fast food due to you having a bad day.

With this going, there is a high chance the two of you will end up dating ‘naturally’. Other than his overprotective and stalking/and hovering add-ons in the relationship, it’s considerably a normal relationship.

Though, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have dark tendencies. Rodolfo will end up guilt-tripping you whenever he’s jealous (which is 50% of the time). While he knows it’s bad and feels awful for it, he can’t help but feel immense anger and annoyance whenever you talk to someone he doesn’t know that well.

While he’s not overbearing or protective, he will insist on going with you everywhere, using the military or his mental state as an excuse to stay beside you at all times. Normally, he knows when to back off by seeing your body language, but he just needs to be around you almost 24/7.

Small reasons poke at him, and while he wants you to himself, he’s not one to kidnap.

Unless your life is in absolute danger, he won’t go ahead and strip your freedom like that. Rodolfo doesn’t want you to hate him, and he’s terrified that you’ll never be in love with him anymore — he won’t even take the slim chance of you developing Stockholm Syndrome.

With this said, he’s fairly soft, and extremely loyal yandere. Out of all the men of MW, Rudy is the most subtle yandere. He won’t pressure you to do things you won’t like to do and highly values your happiness. So much more than his, and with this, he rarely ever says no or allows you to buy and get what you want; leading him to spoil you, a lot.

Though, that doesn’t mean he won’t do punishments. If you end up yelling at him and leaving him, not texting or calling for a few hours, will result in him getting really mad.

He hates punishments. Something he doesn’t like to do, which makes it easy for you to get away with most things. But, he’s not stupid nor is he going to let you walk over him; the worst thing he can and will do is quarantine you by yourself. However, it likely won’t last long due to him feeling bad.

Rudy is very gentle and respectful with affection. Rarely does he touch you without your consent, but the minute you allow cuddles? He’s practically clinging to you like a koala and only getting up to eat or use the bathroom. And if you need to leave? Expect him to whine, but slowly let you go while making you promise you’ll cuddle him more when you’re back.

Much like the other guys, he’s incredibly clingy; especially after missions or being away from you for ‘too long’. He will grumble if you move too much, and tighten his hold as if he didn’t hold on, you’d disappear within a coin flip.

This man is dotting and affectionate, so it’s hard to see how protective he can be. Whenever you try to go someplace alone, he’s quickly against it – begging to come with you. He won't stop asking, blocking the door as he constantly reminds you what's out there.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, he does! He’s more than willing to kiss the floor you walk on if you asked. But, to others, he’s wary and tends to narrow his eyes at them like a threat. Which revolves around his job to question everything and not trust so easily.

Because of his training, he often invites you to work out with him or teaches you self-defense. It’s something he’d like for you to know, especially since there comes a day when you’ll need it. But, he gets to spend time with you.

With his overprotectiveness, he makes sure to put security cameras in the house you two live in, as well as putting a tracker in your clothes and possibly in your skin; somewhere you won’t notice, which likely, will be in the back of your neck.

Much like Alejandro, he asks his buddy and some of his other friends to frequently call or check up on you when he can’t. And high chance you will see Alejandro, at best after missions or staying over dinner. Likely, the two of you are as close as he is with Rudy; treating you like family and high respect.

—

Masterlist || Please reblog or comment instead of liking, it helps me a bunch!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Civilian Asset 1.

Polyamorous/femme/female reader x multiple

Summary: Your job was supposed to be easy. Just take a flash drive through customs. Now there's blood under your nails and a threat to your life.

Master List / Next chapter Warnings: Violence, peril, panic attack/anxiety

Inaccurate military because COD MW is inaccurate (it's a fantasy, friends, and we're treating it like one).

A/N: Don't ask. I don't know what I'm doing here either. Hello, new fandom?

1.

There’s glitter stuck to the blood on your hands.

It all twinkles and shines in the sickly yellow glow of the alley’s one unbroken street light, and you wonder how long it will take the blood to dry, to turn flaky and dark in the crevices of your palm. It’s already going tacky. As the bass inside the club jars your heartbeat out of rhythm, you settle back into the skin under the blood, remembering you have your own, and you don’t want it to join the puddle seeping into the cracks of broken concrete at your knees. You wonder how much time you’ve lost.

Run, he said.

It isn’t the kind of order you sit and think over. It’s a do-or-die command, and you’re struggling to do much of anything as pins and needles creep through your legs. How long have you knelt there? How many songs have rolled through the speakers while you drifted? Probably too many.

Run.

He admitted he might’ve been followed. You remember that. And you remember the intel whispered in your ear as you pushed down on the bullet wound in his abdomen, fighting to recall every first aid lesson you learned in high school and college. Pressure – actively bleeding wounds needed pressure, so you’d put your weight on your hands as the party music pulsed through the cracked-open door you thought you’d slip back through after the usual handoff. But instead of taking a thumb drive or notebook and getting a little tipsy before calling it a night, you tried pushing his soul back into his body as the blood welled up between your fingers.

You tried. It wasn’t enough.

The body already smells. You didn’t know corpses stank so quickly after death. Now you do. It was a gut wound. Maybe it’s his last meal you smell, turned half to shit in his bowels.

Fuck.

You need to run. You need to get out of the alley. You need to stand up and wipe the blood off your hands so you can slink onto the Tube without getting the cops called on you.

With a clear series of actions in mind, everything switches to autopilot, and you move without really meaning to. His jeans work as a towel for the worst of gore, and a discarded wad of bar napkins near the door are clean enough to sponge away the red from between your fingers. Rust colored stains linger around your fingernails, but your dress has pockets – something you’d thought absurdly wonderful a few hours ago – and hopefully no one will be looking that closely, anyway.

Your numbed legs wobble as you approach the main street, making you look a little drunk without conscious effort, and you slip into the current of university students and tourists heading to the Underground. You board a train back towards your hostel, and pat your pocket as you sit, subconsciously checking for the intel. Of course, it’s empty, and a spike of panic flairs in the split second it takes you to remember there is no physical evidence this time. Your contact broke the rules and poured dangerous secrets into your naked ears. The mole was compromised. The dead drop became a little more literal and a lot more dangerous, and the man barely had enough time to pass his info on by word of mouth to the next link in the chain. That link, the handler, scurried away with a hole in his gut and just enough time to meet you, the courier, passing along word of the threat like a burning coal to scorch you.

You aren’t supposed to know anything, but you can’t keep your eyes closed and your hands clean, because you’re the only one who knows anything at this point.  Every safeguard between you and immediate danger is dead.

It isn’t supposed to work this way. You’re just a courier, a very literal civilian who can add a USB drive to her collection without suspicion on your way through customs. A digital nomad with lots of stamps in her passport and dozens of good reasons to be in any convenient country. Nobody important, but a very useful mule.

Keeping your eyes off the data you carry is supposed to keep you safe.

In theory.

In practice if keeps the people you deliver to secure. You don’t get names. You get meeting times or dead drop coordinates. But tonight…

Tonight it’s all gone to shit.

And somewhere out there, someone wants you dead.

You don’t even flinch when the man across from you heaves into the middle of the carriage. Everyone else cringes and shouts, but the specs of vomit on the tips of your ankle boots aren’t the worst thing to touch them in the past hour.

Those filthy shoes march with you from the train, up the stairs to the surface, down the lane to the cheap hostel where you’ll have space to fall apart and figure out what the fuck you’re supposed to do. You don’t leave bloody footprints as you move; you check over your shoulder to see if you’ve left a path for the killers to follow. Nothing. Like you’re just one of the backpackers cackling over drinks in the lobby common area.

You’ve never been more grateful for having splurged on a private room as you unlock your door and sprint for the toilet. It’s your turn to puke, and you shake as burning tears and snot stream out with the bile.

Fucking dammit.

Each heave wracks your gut, your chest burns, and your throat is on fire. You know your head will hurt the second the adrenaline wears off – if you live that long – after all this crying.

How do you fix this? Is this something people can fix? You couldn’t even keep enough blood in the man’s body. You literally could not run for a solid – what? – fifteen minutes? Thirty?

You’re going to die.

Another heave locks you in place with a strangled scream as your belly tries to eject your panic and fear. There’s nothing left, though, not even water. You’ve wrung yourself out, so maybe it won’t smell as much when bullets, or knives, or fucking plastic shivs aerate your torso. Maybe it won’t be as awful for whoever finds your body. You’d hate to pass on that curse.

And it hits you, as you pant for breath, a string of saliva dangling from your chin: A lot of other people are going to die if you don’t get yourself together.

That’s enough. Just barely. But you shuffle back from the toilet, wiping your face with toilet paper before climbing the sink. The cool porcelain grounds you, and the cold water on your face and in your mouth helps, too.

The water in the basin turns pink, and you remember the blood in your cuticles and under your nails as it fades and spins down the drain. It hasn’t stained. It lingers along the bed of your nails and the ridges that will turn into hangnails eventually, but if you scrub, you’re sure you can get it off. For a minute, you’d forgotten you could wash blood off skin, that it wouldn’t sink in and brand you. It’s a relief. A stupid relief, sure, but it pulls some steam from the whirlwind of angst trying to launch another round of dry heaves, so that’s good.

A few specs of glitter still flicker up at you, twinkling under the bathroom lights like so many little eyes.

Okay.

Right.

Okay.

You can do this.

Figure out what it is you’re doing first, though.

You can just leave. Check out of the hostel, get a new plane ticket, and get the fuck out of the country. You can also pretend it didn’t happen, just continue as normal. Your original flight back is booked for the day after tomorrow, which seemed like nothing a few hours ago. Now those hours stretch into oblivion.

The problem is this damn city. London. City of a thousand cameras. The Nanny State. It was almost impossible to get around without getting caught by a few dozen electronic eyes, and if the people powerful enough to take out two trained agents wanted to see who the handler met in the alley outside the club, they probably could.

You should assume as much, at least. So, staying was out. But was it safe to just zip off to the airport? Would they be watching?

There was one other option. The option you’d always been told wasn’t really an option until you had no other choice. They had you memorize a phone number, only to be used in the direst emergency, and insinuated that you should think twice even if you had a knife to your neck. You hope that means it reaches someone important. There’s no time to play climb-the-chain-of-command.

Your shaking fingers punch the wrong numbers three times as you struggle with smooth glass and shattered nerves, but eventually you get the right sequence, you lift the phone to your ear, and the call goes through.

A click. A woman’s voice. “Yes?”

“This is, uh.” You stammer your name, your location, but when you get to the situation, your thoughts start falling apart. “They’re dead. And he may have been followed? And I don’t know what – I don’t know what to do.”

A chair squeaks on the other end of the line, and you can hear the focused frown sharpening the stranger’s words as computer keys rattle. “Take a breath. One thing at a time. I need to understand what’s happening. Now, who’s dead?”

You follow her advice, because breathing is always a good idea, and you’d like to keep doing it as long as possible. Her other instructions help more, though. They give you a sense of direction, a clear path forward.

“The handler. I never know the names, but he – he’d been shot when he came to the meet, and he said his contact died, too.”

“Was he able to complete the hand-off?”

Cool lips coughing up secrets against your ear, a shaking hand fisted in the front of your dress to keep you close, fingers going slack and falling from your arm.

You hesitate, only a beat, and try to wipe the blood from your memory. “Sort of.”

“Sort of isn’t good enough. Did he give you the intel or not.”

“He told me the intel.”

“He… told you.” She confirms, with tone alone, that this is bad news.

But now you can tell her, and everything will be okay. That’s how this is supposed to work, right?

“He said –”

“This line isn’t secure.” She cuts you off, and the bright hope curdles in your chest. It isn’t over, then. “You need to debrief somewhere safe. You need to get out of that hostel and wait for the team I send to retrieve you, understood?”

“Understood.” You want to shake, purge the anxiety from your system like sweat. The fear vibrates inside your bones, but the phone stays steady in your grip. You’ve turned into a statue, a marble shell wrapped around an earthquake. “Where do I go?”

She gives you an address to a safehouse, tells you how to get there without drawing attention to yourself. Hopefully.

“Any advice?” The chaos inside needs an outlet or distraction, and maybe the woman at the other end of the line can hear that, because she plays along.

“Move fast. Keep quiet. Stay alive.”

Shrugging as you pull on new clothes that won’t draw as much attention as your little black dress, you nod along. “I’ve heard worse tips.”

“You’re a step ahead of anyone trying to track you,” the stranger says. She speaks low and slow, like you’re a skittish horse ready to bolt, and even if you feel marginally infantilized, you appreciate the fragile illusion she weaves: that everything’s under control, that you know what you’re doing, that everything will be okay.

With the last of your things stuffed in your backpack, you grab your room key and head for the door. The hostel has remote checkout. You just need to drop your key in the box. “Leaving for the safehouse now.”

“Good. I need to brief the team coming to meet you. Keep your phone handy, and call me when you arrive.”

“Or if something goes wrong?”

“Or if something goes wrong. Be careful.”

The line goes dead, and you begin your trek through the dark. Stepping out of the warm, lively hostel and into the night feels like stripping naked and jumping into the water with sharks. Sure, the hostel wasn’t a great place to defend yourself, the doors were thin and the locks fragile, but it had walls. It felt safe. Now you’re exposed, and the vulnerability creeps over your skin like ants.

You take a night bus in the wrong direction, laying a false trail in case anyone is trying to follow you through camera feeds. Then you cut across ten city blocks on foot to find a new line heading the right way, and sit in the illuminated interior like a product in a butcher’s display. Dead meat. You feel obvious. Foolish. You’re following the woman’s directions to the letter, but inexperience gapes under your feet like an open pit, waiting for you to trip and fall so far down you’ll never get back up again.

Every stranger reads as a predator. Every camera holds malicious eyes.

It takes thirty minutes to walk to the safehouse from the last bus stop, and you make the journey with a white-knuckled grip on the strap of your backpack and a pulse so loud you struggle to hear over the drumming in your ears. The light pollution blots out the stars, it’s a new moon, and the streetlights only make the shadows beyond their miniscule pools of light darker.

By the time you find the safehouse and fish the key out of the little box hidden in the bushes, your hands are shaking again. The tension crackles like static through your nerves, blunting your focus even as your senses sharpen to the point of discomfort. Is the rustle behind you just that plastic bag rolling down the street, or is someone stalking you? The breeze feels like breath on the back of your neck, and every hair stands on end as you wrestle the key into the lock and trip through the door.

You slam it closed behind you, past caring about disturbing neighbors or drawing attention. This is like walking the long dark hallway to pee in the middle of the night as a child. You know there’s a monster behind you, but if you look it will eat you. If you run it will pounce. And once you reach safety, you gasp for air the same way you do after diving to the bottom of the pool. All you did was walk, but you feel as if you nearly drowned.

Your ass meets the floor, knees folding with the door at your back. Quivering fingers press over your mouth, trying to silence the wavering pants that may just turn into sobs if you can’t stuff them back down.

“Fuck.”

Blindly groping over your head, you find and turn the deadbolt. It takes more energy than it should, and you allow yourself a minute to recover before tugging out your phone and making the promised call.

The woman picks up after the first ring.

“I made it.” You take a deep breath. Let it out again. Your head drops back and your eyes slip shut as your heart gradually stutters down to a reasonable pace. “Locked the door and everything.”

 “Good.” She sounds like she’s smiling, and you wonder if she’s actually amused or doing the whole horse-taming schtick again. “Your escort should arrive inside two hours. Just sit tight, okay?”

You haven’t even turned the lights on. You’re afraid to let anyone know you’re there, and it’s nice to be the one waiting in the dark this time. “I can do that.”

“I’ll let you know when they’re approaching.”

“Thanks.”

She hangs up without pleasantries. And you’re entirely alone again.

In the silence, you listen to distant traffic and a handful of dogs sounding off on the twilight bark. The world waits outside, but you feel like a weed yanked halfway free of the soil. You fit into that steady rhythm yesterday. Maybe you ferried some secrets to try and make the world a slightly better place, but fuck if you weren’t ordinary.

The debriefing is the goal, retrieving the intel you carry. Keeping you alive and relatively safe until that can happen makes sense, and you don’t blame the stranger on for focusing on the immediate issues. But you can’t help wondering what happens after that.

You consider for the first time since the alley that even if everything goes well, you might not make it home.

[andreas-river]

Hi! I have an Oc who is Malaysian so her accent is very heavy. She doesn't have much knowledge about other languages, just English. Then I had an idea.

Could you do something about the reader being the nursing assistant at the base, who is a little shy and decided to learn German on her own just to have some conversation with König, since she always had a crush on him. She is always seen very distracted reading something but no one knows what she reads so much, since she takes care to cover all the German books she has so that no one suspects her sudden interest in the language.

Thank you in advance! 🥰

König X Nurse!Fem!Reader

A/N: Hi, here's your request. I'm sorry it took so long, hope you'll like it anyway!

Disclaimer: I do not own any MW characters. English is not my first language.

Warnings: mention of wound, fluff.

Since you became a nurse at the base, you came in contact with many soldiers, always helping them, following all the doctors’ orders, giving them support, and trying to be more than a nurse, at least something like a friend.

Communication is the key─and to do your job, you need to communicate in any way.

König was the hardest one: he was always silent, answering your questions with simple syllables, such as “yes” or “sure”, keeping his eyes low, or just roaming around the room without watching.

So, you started to learn his language.

Whenever you had the chance -lunch breaks, between patients, or in the evenings- all your attention would fall back on the stack of recovered German books, starting with the basics, but not with little effort. No one suspected anything- and you cared about keeping this a secret.

Something attracted you to him, but still weren’t able to explain, his mere presence made you feel so little, so protected, always feeling his eyes under the hood watching you, but when you tried to catch him, he was faster than you and his eyes were already on something else.

A knock from the door made you flinch, bringing you back to reality, quickly leaving the book under your jacket -hiding it- and sprinting to the door, facing exactly the one you were thinking about all the time.

“Hi, uh... the bandage came off, so...” his thick accent made you shiver, your eyes going right where he was pointing to: a straight line of stitches in his left arm was exposed, still holding the old bandages with the other.

“Oh- sure, come in.” he followed you, making him sit on a chair to be able to medicate his wound more easily. Even with that, his height is still tangible.

“You didn’t find the doctor?” you asked him with a smile, trying to make him comfortable. His breaths weren’t natural, like he was controlling them to make them appear normal, but you knew they weren’t.

“Well, no one is here anymore.” He scratches the back of his head, feeling a sort of smile on those words. “I didn’t even expect to find someone.”

“Wait... hold on-” you frown, don’t understanding the meaning of those words. No one is here?

You turned around, reading the clock on the wall. 01:20 AM.

“It’s pretty late, huh?” A nervous laugh escaped your lips, your face turning hot from the embarrassment.

With his head tilted to the side, he laughed too, your chest filled with a joy you didn’t recognize: you never heard him laugh, or even talk too much, and yet, König was right in front of you, laughing together like old friends, both your hands still holding his arm half-covered from the bandages.

“You were doing something important?”

You can swear he’s literally smirking under his hood. Somehow this situation made him feel comfortable more than any other time, coming out of his shell and revealing his true self to you.

“Actually... yeah, it was really important. I like reading, often I lose track of time.” You answered, ending the medication, and letting his arm go.

He gets up, pointing at something right behind you- right where you put the book. Turning around, the jacket was on the ground, the book completely exposed, feeling your face become even redder than before.

“It’s weird, I know-“ you turned back around, König already standing up behind you. The distance between your bodies was minimal and feeling the heat of his body radiating to you, a shallow breath escaped your lips.

The tips of his fingers were mid-air, meeting your red cheek.

“It’s okay...” his voice came out as a whisper, the pupil of his eyes wider than normal.

You two remained like that, staring into each other’s eyes for seconds that seemed like hours, noticing his broad chest moving faster, both of your breaths in sync. He then made a step back, both of you embarrassed, somehow happy to have made it that far.

“Es war schön dich zu sehen.” he whispered slowly, leaving you alone in the room.

A smile formed on your lips. You take the book in your hands, still feeling his own on your skin, burning like a fire and warming your heart.

It was good to see you too, König.

[tara-the-quiet-bookworm-2016]

Never Let You Go Yandere! Soap x Female Reader Chapter One

Summary- MW III Au. In Which Soap survives though is injured and has to spend time recovering in the med bay, it is there that he meets you. A young, bright eyed nurse who spends the next few months helping him recover. And as you do so Soap soon finds himself fixating on you, that fixation soon turns to an obsession as Soap soon realizes that he wants nothing more than for you to be his.

And vows that he will not stop until you are his. You, however, have no idea that something is wrong until people around you start disappearing and you begin to feel like your being watched. But don't worry, Y/N Soap won't let anyone hurt you. You belong to him, and he's going do everything in his power to make you realize that...

Authors Notes- Here I am back again with yet another Yandere Cod fic. This time featuring Soap. Who in this fic is a wee bit unhinged. And as you can gather by now I like to mention any and all trigger warnings in the AN. So this chapter is gonna be kinda mellow it'll only feature some stalking and obsessive thoughts.

If none of this is your cuppa tea then this is where we part ways. But I'll remember our time fondly. Now that we got THAT out of the way here is the first Chapter to Never Let You Go. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter One.

It had been months. Months since Price and the rest of the 141 dragged his lifeless body from that tunnel after Makarov had shot him. But somehow, someway Soap had survived. Though he was far from out of the woods as the moment, and now he was here stuck in this medical facility, and was slowly on the mend. Emphasis on slowly. But it wasn't all bad Soap thought, Price along with Gaz and Ghost all made regular visits to see him and catch him up on things. Mainly what they've been doing while he was down an out. Sadly, it seemed while he was here Makarov was still on the loose.

That seemed to sour his mood on more than one occasion. No matter, Soap thought as he lay back down when visiting hours were over and the rest of the 141 had left to return to their own quarters, all except for Price who Soap knew would spend the night burning the midnight oil in his office. No doubt going over reports and other such things hoping to pin down Makarov's location and put a stop to him once and for all. Though Soap would be lying if he said he didn't want to be the one to put him down. Soap owed him that much. But alas just his luck he wasn't ready to leave. Yet.

And honestly? Soap thought, as he peered out the window of the room he was staying in to look out at the lone nurse scribbling something in her clipboard, a look of concentration etched on her features. Having you around made everything so much more bearable. You, the young nurse, who was still rather wet behind the ears had been his constant companion during his stay. Making sure he was feeling all right, helping him with the blinding headaches he often had to everything else that was expected of you in your job.

And sure, a small part of Soap knew that you were just doing your job. But he couldn't help but think that maybe just maybe you fancied him, and if you did well the feeling was mutual. As Soap found himself growing rather attached to you. You made him feel....

Soap chewed on his bottom lip, trying to find the right words to put to these feelings when it came to you, he knew he liked you perhaps more than he liked anyone. You had treated him with nothing but kindness even when he wasn't at his best because of his injury. When he would find himself not in control of himself, and ended up spewing some of the most vile stuff he could think with on control.

Only to realize soon after what had happened, leaving him mortified. And while most people would have left you stood by his side, a sweet smile on your lips as he told him it was nothing, that it wasn't his fault as you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. And he felt your warmth washing over him at your touch. How could someone like you be so patient? So kind? Just watching you made his heart flutter as he recalled the times when you would come in on your breaks to sit beside him. A novel in hand, which was soon forgotten as the two of you chatted. You telling him everything and anything that not only interested you and what happened in your life, while trying to keep him up to date on what was going on outside his room.

His heart fluttering as you laughed at his jokes, as you pay attention to his needs. Now he was grateful for the rest of the 141 coming to him once in a while but you brough him comfort. Feeling his gaze on you, you look up from the clipboard you were writing on to meet his gaze, a look of concern on your face as you put the clipboard down and step into his room.

"Are you all right?" You asked, moving to his side.

Soap merely chuckled. "Sorry, bonnie. Just lost in thought is all." He told you, the corner of his mouth turning upwards.

You smiled down at him. "What are you thinking about?" You asked.

"I was just wondering what was going to happen to me if...when I'm able to leave this place." He told you.

And that brought another worry to his mind, what was going to happen to him if he recovered enough. Would he still be apart of the Taskforce? Or would be been forced to leave? And if so what would he do if he couldn't see you again?

No!

Soap shoved those thoughts from his head as he looked to you. Noting you looking tense, before relaxing that same sweet smile on your lips as you move closer. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure with time and a little more patience you'll be back in the field kicking ass and taking names." You told him.

Soap had to smirk at that. Taking a moment to look you over, taking in the nurses outfit you and everyone else here had to wear, but on you it looked absolutely perfect. And Soap wasn't going to lie he often wondered what you wore under it, often entertained the idea of sliding his hand up your thigh to push the skirt up to see what type of underwear you wore, if you wore underwear. But had more than once stopped himself, the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

"Tell you what." Soap said, resting his head on his pillow, exhaustion slowly creeping up on him. "How about when I get out of here I take you out from drinks as thanks for all your help. That sound good?" He asked.

At that you worried at your bottom lip again. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm just doing my job." You assure him.

"And what a wonderful job you've been doing." Soap said.

You flush at his words. "Thank you."

"But surely it won't hurt to go out once in a while for drinks. I mean I love how dedicated you are to work but life's short. Trust I should know mine was almost cut short so why not?" Soap insisted.

You were quiet for a moment. "Maybe, perhaps we'll see you still have a long ways."

"I'll hold you to it." Soap said, as his eyes drifted shut as sleep soon took him, the last thing he remembered was you pulling the covers over him and whispering goodnight to him.

Months Later.

Months had pass and by a miracle Soap had recovered, and soon was allowed to leave the medical wing. And in all that time Soap was constantly haunted by thoughts of you long after you had gone.

In his defense he tried to forget about you, tried to move on, even Ghost, Gaz, and Price had told him the same when he would ramble on and on about you. Ghost telling him to leave you alone, Price agreeing with him. But Soap only scoffed, easier said than done. He often found him spending his free time lurking around the medical wing watching you. That was how he had found out about your plans with several other medical staff and soldiers, and now he was lurking in the shadows of the pub, watching you. Anger swelling as he watched as one of the male soldiers pulled you to his chest.

And rather than pull away you let out a laugh, sure, he knew your were rather drunk but still seeing you against him send waves of anger through his body. It took all he had not to rush towards you and pull you away from him. But he stopped himself, a new thought forming in his messed up mind. He knew his little obsession with you clearly wasn't going anywhere, and why should it?

Whenever he was with you he felt like his old self, and to see you with someone aside from from him made him see red. Soap leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, hands clenched leaving crescent shaped marks on his biceps as he watched you laugh and joke around, batting your eyes at several other men you were with. And as he watched this Soap felt a headache begin to form, pushing himself off the wall he stepped out of the pub and out into the cool night air.

Taking a deep breath he looked up at the night sky. He wouldn't give up he would have you, he wouldn't rest until he had you. Walking away he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He would let you enjoy your freedom...for now...

Authors Notes- And thus concludes Chapter one of my newest CoD Yandere fic. I hope you enjoyed it. Safe to Soap is a little bit unhinged. But it should make things fun, right?

[eyesxxyou]

Cybersex (Teaser)

★‧₊˚ 💋⋅ hobie brown x camgirl!reader

rating. m

word count. n/a

synopsis. hobie decides he needs a change in his career. that's where you come in, a camgirl he plans to make a sextape with.

🍓・．❕warnings. mentions of cocaine usage, mentions of making a sex tape, more to (cum)e

Hobie really fucked up according to his manager. If you asked him, he did nothing wrong. It was perfectly normal for a rockstar to be doing coke in the bathroom of a venue in his opinion but for some reason it had caused a lot of controversy. It’s not like he was addicted or anything, that time being only the second time he’s ever done it but his manager put out a statement that he would be taking a break from his tour in order to attend rehab. Which he did and it sucked. He was in for 2 months, “working on himself” supposedly.

“Why’d ya do it?” His manager asked him as they sat side by side in the back of his car, his driver taking him home from rehab after 2 of the longest months of his life. “I mean– you have all anyone could ever want. So why?”

It was such a stupid question that deserved the half-assed answer Hobie gave. He just shrugged and grunted. Why did he do it? To escape this fad of a life. This was never what he wanted, all of this. This expensive car, a designated driver, a manager. This was never what he fucking wanted. Somehow, in his pursuit for success, he lost everything that made him who he was, lost his initial values. He was nothing but a poser now.

He was done being a poser. He’d get back to his original self somehow, some way.

So the moment they got back to his boat, Hobie fired his manager as well as his chauffeur. “Take the car wit’cha.” It was the best decision he could have made for himself, for his dwindling career. He had to get back to his roots, just him making music on his boat with his guitar and his mates.

He needed something to reignite his career, to appeal to the crowd who once supported him for being a voice against authority and establishment. The coke incident had riled people up, weeded out the posers from the real deal. He needed something more.

That’s where you came in.

“So you need my help to get your career back on track…how exactly? By having sex with me?” You sat across from Hobie inside a bar you two agreed to meet at. You were a pretty girl, gorgeous actually, with make up that told him “I put in effort, just not for this” and a pretty, delicate, white dress, black shawl, platform, leather boots, and a long rosary around your neck, though something told him you weren’t catholic. It could be the extensive history of porn you have online.

You were a camgirl. And he was a fan. Turns out, you were a fan of his too.

Hobie bought you a drink and a couple shots for you to share. You teased a cherry between your faded glossed lips and used your tongue to tie the stem into a knot. He liked you, liked you a lot. You were perfect for the job.

“By leakin’ mw own sex tape.” Hobie corrected you. “‘M jus’ tryna stir the pot. Drum up some interest, y’know?” You of all people would know better than the rest. Your entire career was built on this. You were a master at it. He was right to come to you.

“Bu’, Ion wan ya to think ya haf’ to. The offer’s on the table.”

“I know I don’ have to do anything.” He liked your attitude, the twang of your accent in your pretty voice. He understood why you had so many fans, you were borderline perfect, pretty lips, pretty eyes. He’s watched some of your videos, with partners and alone, you’re so captivating. He was an instant fan. “I just want to make sure I understand before I agree to anything.”

You leaned in with your chin resting upon your hand with your elbow on the splintering wood of the bar counter. “I’ll do it, just ‘cause I think you’re pretty.” You stood up, even while sitting down, his abnormally tall body towered over your. “I’ve got rules though, strict rules, not even a pretty boy like you can pass them.” Your hands were on his thighs as you looked up at him. He could kiss you now if he wanted to, but he waited to hear these rules of yours.

“You have to use a condom.”

“Done, already got one.” Hobie assured you. He always carried one with him just in case.

You chuckled a bit, “Good for you. We also have to do it at a hotel, you pay. I don’t wanna be at your place and I don’t want you at mine.” Hobie also liked how serious you were, how you didn’t play about your business. He appreciated it, found it a little hot too. How in the world was he supposed to keep his hands off of you until then? “FIne by me.”

“FInally, no catching feelings.”

Hobie began to laugh, a snarky grin growing across his full, pierced lips. “Confident, are ya? You don’ haf’ta worry about nothin’ like tha’, luv. I’m just attracted to you.” He reached out and pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. He leaned in close, his breath fanning your lips until he touched his lips with yours and kissed you softly. You didn’t kiss him back.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Brown but I’m not with it. Text me the details when you get them.” You pulled away from him with a scoff and tapped his cheek softly with your hand before grabbing a shot, tossing it back down your throat before walking off to take your leave.

Full Version

[whyeverr]

I cringed my way through yesterday’s livestream and I think I am finally officially on board for this pack (after being hyped at the initial leaks / roadmap, then disappointed by lackluster trailers). I don’t think we’re in for a lackluster pack, I think they’re just reallyreally bad at marketing / explaining this particular kind of EP.

if it seems like the main features of this pack are the dating app and costume box, that’s on them 🤦🏼‍♀️ but there’s so much more that I am (finally) getting excited to dig into, like:

likes and dislikes and turn ons and turn offs being two separate (but similar) systems — I love that this means a sim can be attracted to something that doesn’t align with their platonic interaction preferences, like “I hate that this is doing it for me” 🫣

the turn ons and turn offs system in general! most of* the must-haves seem to be there and the options will be really fun to build characters or gameplay around (the turned on by Broke but Affectionate Arts & Crafts Slacker sims to “Why do I keep dating these losers?” pipeline or the black widow challenge with the Wealthy turn on???)

the specificity of the romantic boundaries system (technically coming to Basegame but still shouting it out) as well as the option to have it change over time based on dialog in game

the MWS of it all makes me nervous not gonna lie but truly customizable dates, e.g. with everything from “be funny” to woohoo available for get to know you-type dates, holds a lot of potential for fresh gameplay in an event that hopefully happens more than once a generation in most people’s games

autonomous breakups and divorce (!!!)

Ciudad Enamorada being based on a single culture (and not an amalgamation of cultures like Jungle Adventure) and working with Mexican creators to build the lots

telenovelas and reality dating tv 🫶🏻

the return of the vibrating heart bed and the attention to detail that the vibration makes sims’ voices change

lips couch lips couch lips couch 🫦

bed canopies! can’t wait to play with all the combos and always nice to have a new way to make old items feel fresh (like the decor pillow item(s) have done with old couches!)

juliette balcony with a shelf slot for outdoor plaaaaants 🥹

all the little cultural decor pieces I can’t wait to get a closer look at

aaaand for balance, here are some things I’m a lil disappointed about:

I’ve complained about this before and it’s pretty trivial but every neighborhood, lot, etc having an easily translatable Spanish word or phrase as its name feels like really lazy / shallow / cartoony world-building

all this progress in separating woohoo from courtship but still needing to have a super cheesy sheepish first kiss before you can move any further physically 😑

no catfishing (but catfish costume?)

no eye color option as a turn on / turn off 🥲

sorry but the plain version of the woohoo blanket looks like dogshit

all the colorful stucco (?) buildings in the historic neighborhood look suuuuper flat which really emphasizes the empty shellness of it all

modern black vinyl windows in otherwise very traditional window casings — imo they pretty well ruined Horse Ranch build mode with this exact move (unless you like 🤢… modern farmhouses) and now they’ve gone and done it to another pack 😭 definitely not helping how flat the world looks either