#call of duty oc headcanons

[tiredbi-peach]

Info about my shadow company oc Aolani Ierome, Aka Matchstick or shadow 9-01

Full legal name: Aolani Yurisa Ierome

Age: 24-25

Height: 5’7

Half Filipino and half Hawaiian

She was born on the island of Maui

She knows English, Tagalog, Hawaiian, and Japanese.

She has a jellyfish sting scar on her left arm (I have a picture of it, will send in a separate post if this does decently or people are curious lol)

She has a scar cheek/over her lip from falling on her face

She was taught fire tricks by her mother and she continued to learn more stuff to improve her skills.

She knows how to do dances, how to use fire poi’s (which are one of her favorite items to use), fire staffs, batons, fans and rings

She also knows how to do fire breathing tricks and those are her go to tricks to do when people ask for a party trick

She would do little street performances when she was a teenager to earn money.

Also for anyone curious what fire poi’s are, here’s some examples

Aolani is on what I like to call, Waffle House time. Meaning she is ready and willing to fight anyone, anywhere, at anytime and she’ll probably win cus she’s a crafty little bastard.

She was a delinquent in the past, like apart of a motorcycle gang. She was the right hand to one of the 4 people who were directly below the leader of the gang. The person she was the right hand of happened to be her best friend/roommate.

Despite this she doesn’t have an official criminal record, and this is because she’s run from the police, hides her license plate and made sure to cover her face.

Aolani may or may have had a scare tactic she used involving matches/lighters and threatening to burn people. She really only does it people who she believes truly deserve it but she will 100% go through with it has burnt people before

Aolani likes to humiliate the people she beats. So after she’s taken their asses to the ground and beaten them to a bloody pulp, she takes out her phone and takes a selfie with her and the person she beat the shit out of. She has them all saved to an album on her phone. As far as she knows, no one else knows about this… or so she thinks

She joined the military like right after the incident that led to the gang she was apart of being broken up. Um, long story short her best friend/roommate got sent to prison, the leader died and several other of her friends got sent to prison.

So of course she had nowhere to go and she had no one since her parents kinda… up and left when she was 16

So what does a 17 year old who has nothing going for her except fighting experience and a need to find something to give her purpose?

Join the military of course.

And she did. She joined the army.

She’s always been quick on her feet, crafty, had a pension for all things fire and explosives so

She’s became a demolitions expert. So of course she knows the workings of just about any explosive and how to take them apart or put something together (she knows how to make a pipe bomb but she knew that before joining the military??? No one knows why)

She kinda caught attention with her skills since she took to demolitions work like a duck to water. And with some of the stuff she did on her deployments but that’s for another time.

Her skills with fire is what earned her the callsign Matchstick

Ummm… kinda feral?

Like’s she’s a dirty fighter. She bites, she scratches, she pulls hair, she will do anything to win

Close quarters combat tends to be not so fun with her sometimes, or all the time when it comes to her enemies

She has a pair of knuckle dusters that she cherishes because they were given to her by her bestie. He was also known for using knuckle dusters

She has another pair or two that she uses more when she needs to

Adding onto this she’s sadistic as fuck in a fight. To this day she’ll take selfies with some of the people she’s taken down. Again, as far as she knows no one knows that she does this. But who knows, maybe a few shadows do 👀

The type to jokingly insult her friends, but obviously she doesn’t mean it. She was like that a lot with her friends/gangmates since they were all really close together (she still wishes she could’ve changed what happened)

Also chill with rough housing occasionally

She sat on one of her friends/gangmates after they bit her roommate cus he was feeling feral

If any shadow approaches her to rough house she’ll go right for it

Graves has had to break up a few of these rough housing matches though because they got a little too rough

Sometimes these matches can lead to some scratches, bruises or black eyes. But it’s all in good fun

She owns a motorcycle. It’s a Yamaha. She loves this thing and if anything happened to it she’d be livid.

Here’s a few examples of her and her gear

She’s got freckles on her face, mostly her cheeks and nose. She got a few on her chest and shoulders though. You can really see it in the first image.

She’s got a few tattoos, though she has more piercings.

She has 3 lobe piercings on each ear, 2 helix piercings on her right, 1 on her left (the other one got ripped out and there’s a spot on her ear where you can see where it got ripped out), a nose piercing, a tongue piercing and a bellybutton piercing

For her tattoos she has a pink tarantula tattoo on her left bicep, and a rose tattoo spanning across her right collarbone

The tarantula was in remember of her tarantula Cleo she had when she lived in Hawaii

The rose tattoo is based off of a rose bush she was growing with her dad.

She’s spigot muscular, but more so in like a fighter way than like a power lifter or a body builder.

Suits over dresses. Not to say she doesn’t like dresses or skirts, but she prefers suits.

In order she prefers suits, then skirts, and then dresses.

She can pull it all off though

She’s had a variety of different hairstyles, dyeing her hair sometimes every few months to so.

However she’s also grown out her hair, but in a particular style. Members of the jury, this woman has had/currently has a mullet. But she can pull it off through the power of being queer.

You want proof? Here it is. (Also you can see her rose tattoo)

She also can pull off short hair. Ever seen those pictures of gals in suits with their hair slicked back? Yeah she can do that.

Sucks with keeping stuff organized. More than once another shadow or even Graves has walked in on her in her room or in the common room sitting cross cross on the floor with pliers, wires, and a variety of other things that she’s just messing around with.

She loves cats. There’s secretly (not so secretly) 3 cats who live in her room/on base. Their names are Momo, Bobo, and Rabies. Pictures of said cats will be posted in the future.

She sometimes can be unserious outside of missions when it’s leisure time. She tends to do her own thing, stick with the shadows that she likes or knows well enough, goes out on motorcycle joy rides, or some other things when she’s not doing any work needed to be done on base.

Fought a Karen behind a Denny’s once. She may have been a delinquent but she respects service industry workers.

She doesn’t like hospitals or medbays. It takes a fuck ton of coaxing, bribing, and/or force to get her to be agreeable enough to get injuries checked out.

Really good at dancing. Able to pick up on choreography pretty quickly and is an absolute fiend at just dance. She gets really into it.

Anyways that’s enough of the silly goose for now. If you can’t tell, I love my shadow company demolitions gal a lot ❤️‍🔥

All credit goes to the wonderful artists who drew my gal, I only came up with her design via picrew. Without these people I would not have been able to give this character as much as I have.

Interactions with this post would be awesome and there’s a chance I’ll post more about her in the future.

[kathy-ifnt]

Shy König inspired by @umikochannart Istg I tried to find a different pose but I couldn’t get this out of my mind 😭

More on my |O 💖

PATREON | TWITTER

[stargirlstabber]

imagine simon riley holding you close to him when you break down, sobbing as your shaking hands grasp onto the urn filled with johnnys ashes. ever since the day the love of your life took his last breath, everything has been going downhill. so far downhill that price even took you off the next missions. he didn't trust you to not jump in the line of fire on purpose. not after losing him. not after losing the scottish sunshine that always brought a smile to your lips. simons bare hand stroked over your head, trying to soothe your trembling form. he was gone...

[sougious]

[yawnderu]

Final Girl — Slasher!Keegan P. Russ x Reader (1/?)

A word before we start: screaming sounds a whole lot like laughter.

Nothing beats the paranoia of a high man. Rough, calloused hands shove you into the dark wooden closet, whisper-yelling orders to keep your damn mouth shut before the though of protesting could even occur inside your little drunken head. Everything is spinning inside around the room, too focused on the light sensation in your head to be able to connect the dots until it's too late.

“Listen, man, we don't have anyt—” Life can be unpredictable. One moment you're having fun with your friends in a rented cabin in the woods, and the other, your best friend is being shoved into the floor by a much bigger man, the loud sounds of his shouts and struggling instinctively forcing you to put a palm over your mouth, trying your best not to scream along your dying friend.

A quiet whimper makes its way out of your throat the moment a long, bloodied machete is raised in the air, horrified wide eyes meeting yours as the panic fully sets in for him. It's like seeing a trainwreck yet being unable to stop watching, even when your brain is screaming at you to close your eyes. To save yourself from the trauma, to protect your psyche, to let the last image of your best friend be him alive—

Hack.

The masked killer lands heavy blows one right after the other on the figure underneath him, blood splashing all over the room, forcing another muffled whimper out of your lip as the man hacks away at your friend's dead body, seemingly getting more and more excited with every single new wound he's forcing.

The house is quiet— way too quiet for a group of 5 drunk people. You were previously in the bathroom, too preoccupied throwing your guts out in the bathroom to hear any noise through the loud gags and the ringing in your ears. The man's heavy breathing fills the room, making you subconsciously hold your own, not wanting to get any of his attention and be his next victim. They say ignorance is bliss, yet not knowing if the man is aware of your presence only makes the black pit of dread grow in your stomach.

His movements are slow and calculated, letting go of your friend's mangled up corpse, the sound of the machete being pulled out of his flesh almost makes you gag, secretly thankful that you emptied your stomach earlier. Baby-blue eyes scan the room with a precision that almost seemed robotic, instinctive, like a predator who has always succeeded at catching his prey.

Your heart goes down to your stomach when his cold gaze connects with yours through the thin wooden blinds, masked head tilting to the side in what seems to be sick amusement. He inches closer to you, his footsteps surprisingly quiet for a man his size, eyes crinkling up with his pupils dilating quickly, black almost taking over the pale blue.

His gloved hand raises slowly towards the doorknob, maintaining eye contact with your tear-filled eyes— only for his head to snap up towards the sound of a crack on the wooden floor coming from the kitchen. He gives the closet one last look before running towards the sound, the sickening sound of your friend's blood and guts dripping down his machete and clothes following right after him.

Thrashing and more screaming is heard from the other side of the house, snapping you out of it enough to realize it's your only chance to escape the same fate your friends met. Your shaky hand twists the doorknob slowly, not daring to look at the dead body right in front of the door— the body of someone who died just to protect you.

A shaky whimper escapes your lips when you accidentally kick the limb corpse, shaking your head a few times to snap out of it before you move away from him, staring ahead with an unfaltering sense of dread eating you from within.

Your steps are wide and calculated, sobered up the moment the masked killer started attacking your friend right in front of you. From what little you can see thanks to the moonlight seeping through the windows, the entire place looks out of a horror movie, blood staining every single wall, dripping down at such a slow pace that it almost seems like it's God's way of taunting you.

Relief finds place into the pit of dread the moment you can see the entrance door, finally feeling like you're able to breathe again— like you're not leaving behind any of your friends who may have survived the brutal attack. Guilt has no place in survival, you convince yourself within seconds as your shaky hand reaches for the doorknob, only to be slammed against the wall, a gloved hand covering your mouth to muffle the bloodcurdling screams that leave your lips.

You thrash against his rough hold, earning nothing other than a much harder hair pull, only stopping your thrashing the moment you feel cold metal pressing against your throat. Your eyes close as tears fall down your cheeks, pooling on the soft fabric of the gloves of the man holding you against your will.

“And where the fuck do you think you're going, hm?” He turns you around forcefully, pining your body against the wall with his own, tilting his head to the side just to taunt you as his sharp machete presses harder against your neck. His free hand comes up to caress your cheek, teasingly spreading your friend's blood all over your cheeks, forcing a choked sob out of you.

“Aww... Now you're all quiet. Poor pretty, broken princess...” His tone holds nothing but fake pity and pure amusement, sickly getting off on your pathetically horrified expression. His body presses against you harder as he looms over you, only leaning down to press his masked face against the crook of your neck, not bothering to hide the way he's inhaling your smell as the back of his gloved hand keeps absentmindedly running over your cheeks in an action that would be soothing, had he not been the man who killed your loved ones.

“I'll let you go.” Your breath hitches at his words, not believing him for a single second— not when you can feel his boner pressing against your stomach, his hips subtly rubbing against you to get more friction while he wonders if it's truly worth it to let you go instead of sending you home in a box.

“But you say a word about this to anyone... and I mean anyone, princess, and I swear to God, I'll gut you like a fucking fish.” His words take a bitter tone after he calls you princess, though the hold on the machete softens slightly as he hears your choked sobs, knowing the only thing preventing you from nodding vigorously like a well-trained dog is the blood-bathed steel pressing to your neck.

“Yeah? Do you promise?” The machete is moved out of the way, yet he still keeps you pinned against the wall so you don't try to run away. His pinky finger is raised up to your face mockingly, giving you an expecting look that takes you a few seconds too long to understand. Your shaky hand comes up to his, intertwining your pinky with his in a childish promise, a whimper leaving your lips the moment he applies enough pressure to make it hurt before releasing you.

He moves out of the way after a few tantalizing seconds, nodding his head towards the door, watching you scurry away like a kicked puppy, his entire body itching to go after you— and deciding against it last second, knowing he'll be seeing you soon.

[NEXT]

Author's note: The art published in all chapters belongs to @moosch!! We're both very excited about this project and to expand on something we've been talking about almost daily for months, I hope you guys enjoy it as much as we do. <3

[ltash]

Damn papa! You're a rare weed, No comparin

And its motherfuckin scary.

Tryina keep'em cuz I found em, let a ho know

I ain't motherfuckin sharing,

I will take u to the parents, then to paris

Plan a motherfuckin weddin.

You're the type I wanna marry, and keep ya marry, I'll put the ring on when ya ready

We play the fantasies out of real life ways,

No final fantasy let us end these games though,

You give me energy make me feel lightweight

Like the birds of a feather baby we're real life made for eachother,

And it's hard to keep my cool,

When other bitches tryna get on my dude,

And when other chicken tryna get in my coup,

Cuz you're a one in a million there ain't no man like you.

[barbiesmuse]

BETTER VERSION ⋆౨ৎ˚˖ ࣪

;ֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָsimon riley + reader

summary: in which you are constantly hoping for your empty shell of a husband to sweep you off your feet. but you find yourself dreaming about a better man.

tags: asshole!simon, dreams about sex, neglect, cheating but not really, simon refers to your pussy as “her.”

HEAD BARBIE'S ANNOUNCEMENTS: i think i'm back!! my dorm got broken into by a jackass frat boy so i've been buying new everything! do all men suck? everything has been so crazy lately i haven't been able to think straight! missed this dearly! thank you to the wonderful @ungodlybre for not only giving me this idea but letting me write it in my own special way! please check out her account she's amazing and has such a fun vibe! lots of love, natty. - ps. if this sounds weird it's because grammarly corrected literally everything. i am not proud of this, but i needed to get it out so i could finish my price fic!!

“But is it cheating if I love a better version of you?”

It was hard to figure out when Simon had stopped being the man you fell in love with. It wasn't a drastic change that happened unexpectedly. In fact, it was unnoticeable, how he stopped talking at dinner, how he never showered with you anymore, how he stopped getting you “just because” flowers. Yet the sex continued. It wasn't that he fell out of love with you, he'd be a fool if he had. It was the constant leaving that made him act in such ways. He felt as if he was not worthy of such a patient woman.

The past few nights, you had been dreaming of a man sweeping you off your feet and lighting a fire under you. A man who wouldn't use you strictly for sex then get deployed for six months. You knew Simon couldn't control when he had to go, but a small part of you wanted him to settle down. Maybe get an injury, just so you could have him to yourself for a few weeks, a month at most. You just missed Simon, not Ghost. Simon. Tonight was no different, you did the same ol' routine. Stumble up the stairs after having one too many glasses of wine, walk into your laundry room instead of your bedroom, and toss yourself onto the bed. It was pathetic, truly. You were a young sweet thing, it was a damn shame you settled for a many who treated you like a toy. It wasn't on purpose. He truly did love you, right? The sound of Simon's boots woke you from your slumber, the sound of him cursing himself under his breath made you giggle quietly. The sound of his voice comforting you, even though it was almost inaudible. As he walks through the door to your bedroom you smile sweetly, he couldn't help but smile right back. A sight for sore eyes. He didn't speak, no he wasn't worth it. He didn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you in his eyes. You were a goddess of a woman, he was simply an empty shell of a man. He could tell you were expecting more than a smile, but until he took off your panties in the middle of the night that's all you'd be getting. You watched as he undressed, your eyes flashing with admiration. Not at Simon, at the thought of a better man. When he turned around you would see the man you'd seen in your dreams. He would press a gentle kiss to your temple, caress your cheek before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. Instead, Simon stripped himself of all his clothes except for his red boxers and climbed into bed. There was a slight smell of musk, but you didn't mind. In fact, it was almost comforting. No words were spoken, but the two of you had a different way of communicating. His touch spoke for itself. Simon wasn't a man who had a way with words, but you understood him, and that was enough for him. He wraps his arm around your waist, your ass directly against his stomach. He pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder with a groan. He presses his forehead to your shoulder and you feel his soft lashes brush against your shoulder like a soft caress. You leaned your head against his shoulder, giving him access to mark your neck. He presses gentle kisses to your collarbone, trails up to your ear, and whispers softly.

“I know you've been dreaming about other men. I can't blame you, I haven't exactly been your prince charming.” He says, his teeth graze your earlobe. Your heart almost stops at his words, how could he have possibly known? You look up at him, shock painting a rather amusing picture on your pretty little face. His hands move from waist to fondle with your tits. A moan emerging from your plump lips, he smiles he could get used to that sound.

“Trust me sweet girl, I know i'm hurting you, I know I am. I'll make it better, okay? Just gotta trust me, love.” He says as his hands trail down to your lacy panties. He knows you wore them just for him, and he loves that. He loves how even though he treats you as merely a roommate, you still make sure you're all primped and pretty just for him and his cock. You can't help but nod, everything he's saying is true. He has been hurting you, and he knows it. Has he taken pleasure in it? Simon's hands trail down to your swollen clit, you can't help but buck your hips at the sudden touch. He lets out a quiet chuckle, his hot breath against your neck. He presses a kiss to your temple before sticking his fingers in your mouth, you whimper as he stuffs his large fingers in your mouth. “Suck, gotta get her ready for m' cock.” He says, his voice raspy. You do as your told, sucking his fingers coating them with your sweet spit. Just as you feel Simon slip a finger inside of your sweet pussy you're awoken by the sound of Simon barging into your shared room. You can't help but feel tears prick at your eyes as he looks you in the eye, no hint of emotion in them. It was all a dream? But it felt so real, his touch, his words, his presence. You tried to convince yourself it was real, yet you were at a loss for words. You look up at Simon once more, his cold eyes look you up and down before pushing his way into the bed. “M' sorry m' not the man you want me to be, but thank you for being the woman I need ya to be.” He says as he presses a kiss to the exact spot your dream man did, and a little part of you would like to think it was real. He was so close, yet so far away.

[peaches-creek]

“What if they don’t like me.” You say.

“They have begged me for months for a day like this, do not worry my love.”

“So, what if they finally meet me and they-“

“They will love you, just as I do.” He interrupts.

As you walk up the stone walkway leading into Konig’s childhood home, you can’t help but feel insecure. You have been dating for a little over a year, and have a small apartment off base together. You haven’t met them yet due to busy work schedules. Though you did feel as though you were putting it off, you couldn’t help but felt as time passed that they must resent you, keeping their son away from them for so long. You walk up to the door and Konig gives three loud knocks to the white-painted wooden door.

Now you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but with the way Konig explained his mother, you would’ve thought she was a tiny old lady. He had said his parents were a bit older, having him in their late thirties, making them around 65-70 years old. He mentioned two siblings, a brother who lives in the states, and a younger sister who lives at home. His father and mother owned a bakery in town, right near a church. He worked there when he was a teenager.

Anyways, as the door opens, you have to look up to greet her. She had to be about 6’2, with grayish blonde hair, and just the right amount of wrinkles that tell you she has lived a happy life.

“Hallo! You must be the girl I hear so much about. Come in, come in, we have so much to show you.” She greets, guiding you inside, she seems like one of the nicest women you have ever met, she looks young for her age.

The house is beautiful, everything looks handcrafted. Then you see his father and realize Konig gets his height from his mother, his father couldn’t be only taller than 5’8

“How do you like your tea?” He asks.

“Milk and sugar please.”

For the next hour, you will see countless albums of baby Konig, kid Konig, and even awkward phase Konig. All so adorable and dorky. His mother is nothing but kind, asking you questions about yourself and seeming genuinely interested. His father is more quiet, but he has this kind smile that just rests on his face, you can see it as he catches up with his son. It was a wonderful afternoon.

“So you two live together?” His mother asks. Konig and his father were outside, talking about their garden.

“Just a small apartment off base, not too far from here actually.” You say.

“That’s nice, it seems very serious between you two.”

“Well it is to me, your son means the world to me.”

“That’s a very refreshing thing to say to a mother you know,” she starts, “I was always so worried about him, He is very hard on himself, I was even more worried when he joined the military.”

“He is very good at his job I hope you know, I worry as well but he is very diligent and precise.” You soothe

The front door jingles as if a key were being used. In walks in a woman, about the same size as your boyfriend. About 6’9, same red hair, and same sweet smile.

“Hello.” You greet.

“Ah, it’s very nice to meet you.” She says giving your hand a firm shake. She sits down at the table right across from you.

“Yes, I agree.” You say.

“So how did you to meet?”

“We met through work, I’m a medic.”

“Yes, I met her when she had to give me a few stitches,” Konig interrupts, walking back inside, “She was very gentle compared to the rest of the medics that work there.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.” You say.

“I disagree, anyways she didn’t actually talk to me until we were on a job, She had to reset my knee, again very gentle.”

“As gentle as a person can be while pushing a bone back into its place.”

“You seem very accident prone, my son.” His father adds.

“Yes, he is, I think he does it on purpose.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Konig says.

“When did you get the courage to ask her out.” His sister asks.

“She had to ask, I was very nervous and backed down many times. She asked if I liked tea, to which I said yes, and then she asked if we could go get some the following morning, I said yes.”

“Very romantic.” His mother gushes.

The afternoon turns to evening and it’s time to go back to your apartment.

“It was very nice to meet you all, I don’t know why I was so nervous, you guys are so lovely.”

“Come back anytime, I can teach you how to bake strudel.” His mother offers.

“I would really like that.”

You exchange goodbyes and get into Konig’s truck.

“Wasn’t so bad, now was it?” He points out.

“No, it was awesome Your family is so kind, I see where you get it from.”

He grins, and continues driving.

What you didn’t know, was that his mother slipped his grandmothers ring in his hand before you guys left.

[tiredbi-peach]

You know what screw it even MORE Matchstick headcanons

Killed a roach with a lighter and hairspray on base. There is a scorch mark in a common room on shadow company base that just got covered up with a rug

This probably isn’t the last time that happened

Despite having partners in the past, CANNIT FLIRT TO SAVE HER OWN DAMN LIFE

Unless you count her giving compliments

Has posted somewhere a picture of herself holding up a rock like a guy would a fish in a tinder profile

Amazing spice tolerance

Sucks at throwing things out

[lycheedr3ams]

Konig makes a lot of $$$$$

so i've been doing some research and! it's likely Konig makes at least 100k a year

allow me to explain:

Contrary to a lot of the stuff I've seen on fics and in the fandom, KorTac is NOT mercenaries! They're actually a military contractor group (source COD wiki). Whether or not you support the military or whatever, there is a dictionary difference between military contractors and mercenaries. Military contractors have stricter standards since they're working for a corporation and are often employed by countries.

And to be selected for a private military company (PMC), you can't just be an average solider. You need to be the best of the best. And as we know, Konig is that.

And we know that SpecGru (the PMC Ghost and others is apart of) is in direct opposition with KorTac, which I assume is for clients. Both PMC's are elite and highly sought after. So, both factions are going to make a lot of money given how they each have high-profile clients and skilled soldiers.

According to (https://www.operationmilitarykids.org/private-military-contractor-jobs/), military contractors can make anywhere from 80k to 250k a year. I also found an anecdotal source that said PMC's can make anywhere from 200k to 500k a year.

Given how skilled Konig is, with his experience and the high-level PMC he's a part of, he likely makes 150k+ a year, before bonuses. I wouldn't be surprised if he makes 175k a year, or even 200k, maybe more!

So yeah, Konig could treat you right. Shopping trips, manicures, all that.

You're welcome ~

[kathy-ifnt]

Ghost lost a bet to Y/N 👀

page 1/2 rest is on patreon ><

PATREON | TWITTER

[iifishizzleii]

no because the real f!american y/n isn’t a southern sweetheart. she isn’t a small, pretty thing with a viper’s tongue who has a soft spot for the 141.

she’s a military brat who despises politicians, hates america but is the only one in the task force allowed to hate america, shits on british foods, and is as big as the rest of the men because she fucking hates working out but she refuses to have her bench press PR be beaten by a guy that asks for a ‘cuppa’ after a mission. she grew up with both sisters and brothers, and knows how to cook/clean not because she loves it but because it’s a basic human necessity.

she’s got a temper, but she can control it because she’s a grown ass woman. she’s kind of awkward and quiet at first being the only woman on a previously all-male military team, in a career dominated by men. but, they’re respectful if not awkward as well, unsure of how a woman would fit into their space, and they realize how dirty their previous habits are when they notice how tidied she is. she doesn’t clean up after them nor does she take care of them, but she does inspire better hygiene habits in the men that keep them from smelling less like greasy mud slabs.

she wears the same uniform as the men, and her hair hasn’t grown past her shoulders in years because it’s a hassle to constantly braid/tie into a bun to be kept up during missions. her call sign would be inspired by something stupid or ridiculous she did, because that’s how most callsigns are made. probably something like ‘buck tooth’ because she called soap a ‘buck toothed buick-built bitch’ during an argument of whether american sweet tea was better than britains (she won through sheer creative insults).

she’s not the picture beauty most people visualize because war dirties everyone, and being a woman doesn’t stop her knees from falling in the dirt. she’s not the brains of the team either, but she isn’t the breath of fresh air that brings humanity to the team either. she’s funny when she wants to be, creative in the moment but can’t solve a math problem for her life, vulnerable only because she knows it’s out of trust for her team, not weakness. she gets into arguments, sometimes adds toxicity to an already broiling argument, and starts fights that get physical. and there’s no apologies, just days of silence until she’s suddenly talking to the men again (those days of silence are hell on the new recruits).

for me, f!american y/n is what a lot of other countries know americans to be like meshed together— kind, a little arrogant, dumb but not stupid, strong through sheer will, and america’s #1 hater until someone else who isn’t tries to hate on them. <3

[negativecharm]

Imagining a sleepy Ghost..

-You can't get his hands off of you when he's like that. He might take advantage of that kinda moment to act out of his boundry which he always hesitates to do. It gives him a reason to show you the side of him which he isn't familiar himself.

-He'd be one of those people who laughs at everything when he's intoxicated on his own drowsiness.

-You're on the bed with him, trying to study or finish your work and he keeps distracting you to just cuddle with him till he can fall asleep. It's almost like he's drunk but without the frisky part. It's just his giggling that gets out of control.

-He'll do that till you get really annoyed and if you're not gonna give up before he does he'll just fall asleep curled up next to you like a baby, holding onto you.

-Your attention's solely on your work but ten minutes later it's back on him when you hear a soft snore and you almost feel bad you turned him down for cuddles. You thought to yourself how can a grown man be this cute.

[yawnderu]

Final Girl — Slasher!Keegan P. Russ x Reader (2/?)

cw: stalking, noncon. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment.

"Are you listening?" The man in front of you asks the moment your gaze starts to drift off for the third time since you arrived at the office.

"Sorry. What did you say?" The dark circles around your eyes make you resemble a raccoon more than a human, the memories of your friends dying and their blood splattered all around the pale wallpapers. Images of nature that were supposed to be remembered as calming do the exact opposite, forever engraved in your broken psyche.

"Do you remember anything about the suspect?" The detective's voice is calm, laced with nothing but pure understanding and compassion, a man too passionate about what he does— and the man you're about to lie to, delaying the investigation of your friend's death just to save your own ass.

"Nothing other than what I've told you, sir. Everything is just so..." The pregnant pause makes him fidget with the pen in his hand, grey eyes focused on the way you look away from him, eyes squinting as you try to recall memories from that night, memories that are so painful he can see it written all over your face, making him feel a pang of guilt.

"It's okay. Call me if you remember anything else, yeah?" His warm hand rests on your shoulder after you get up, trying his best to give you a reassuring smile that is only met with weary eyes, making your way out without saying anything. There's hesitation in your steps, your heart almost beating out of your chest the moment you stop walking and look over your shoulder, briefly meeting his curious gaze.

“He had brown eyes.” Mr. Smith doesn't waste any time on adding the information to his notes, only making the guilt spread all over your insides like black mold, taking over what used to be your soul— it's all his now.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment, yet what do you call seeing the man who killed your friends everywhere you go? He's been taking over your entire life no matter how much you try to push the memories away, no matter how much you try to forget it all happened, only serving as a constant reminder that you didn't do enough.

Dreams colliding with reality isn't something new, yet your nightmares are so realistic that it almost feels like you were there. Even while you were hidden away in a dark closet, you can see your friends struggling against the much bigger, armed man, innocent bodies butchered while they were alive, a mess of limbs spread all over the rented cabin, blank eyes always staring at you, watching you run away and leave them behind.

Were you losing your mind? It all seems so real, to the point you're not even convinced you only saw your best friend die. Are you sure you didn't peek the kitchen the moment you cowardly decided to escape? The kitchen was blocked by a wall, and yet.

Cold water splashes all over your face, feeling the softness of your palm rub the skin, trying to come back to reality, to remind yourself that it's impossible to have seen the other bodies. The crime scene report is repeated over and over like a mantra, serving as a permanent reminder that you weren't there. No, not when only a body was found in the living room.

The person looking back at you in the mirror is a far cry from who you used to be. The dark circles in your eyes resemble more a dead girl walking than a real, healthy body, and perhaps that's what you are. If it weren't for the constant feeling of crippling dread and the tears spilling down your cheeks like a broken dam, you could've fooled a mortician.

The sound of your phone vibrating against the vanity brings you back to reality from your trip to Self-Pity Land, slapping some more water on your sweaty face before deciding to take a peek at the screen.

1:38 PM.

From: Ali💗

Almost there.

It's enough to make you scurry around the room, applying enough makeup to not make your friend worry, knowing that she wanted to get you out of the house just to give you a worthy distraction.

For what seems like the first time in forever, the corners of your lips tilt up into a smile the moment your friend wraps her arms around you, holding you close despite the odd stares you're getting from the people in the diner.

“Hey, you.” Her cheerfulness was contagious, to the point that even if only for a second, you get a sense of normalcy. A sense of community, despite your own feelings about the entire situation.

Your friend can talk for two. Something that you never noticed until now, listening to her ramble about anything and everything for the past hour. In a way, it gave you the chance to dissociate in peace, the words mixing together to the point they barely made sense anymore, completely entering one ear and leaving the other.

“He's looking at you.” Alina says in a teasing whisper, nudging you with her elbow. You give her a confused glance until she looks between the man and you, giving you the look.

Your gaze connects with a pair of baby blue eyes, forcing a sharp pain to cut through your soul. His eyes look too familiar, resembling the pair you see every single day in your nightmares. His entire demeanor screams ''cocky bastard'', manspreading on the seat of the table across from you, his arm propped up on the backrest.

“Awful timing, but I have to go.” Alina says with a small frown, though it quickly changes to a little smug smirk the moment she realizes the man is still looking at you. If she even notices your pleading gaze, it goes completely ignored as she gets up from the booth, giving you a strong, goodbye hug— and the stare from the man makes it clear that it might be the last one.

“Get some.” She teases in a whisper, quickly making her way out of the diner after paying for your drinks. You feel the urge to empty your stomach, yet there's barely anything there, only the slow-growing sense of pure dread the longer you keep staring at each other. Even when you force yourself to look away, you can see him staring at you from the corner of your eye, almost able to tell he has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Leaving a halfway done drink behind, you make your way out of the diner, hoping that being out with more witnesses can save you. Is that really him? You barely got the chance to see his eyes yet you never saw his face, starting to doubt yourself the longer your tired feet drag you around the street. He could be an innocent man falling victim of your trauma, simply looking to get laid— you could probably use that, too, yet his icy stare and cocky grin is carved into your damaged mind.

“Need a ride?” A deep, gravely voice offers, nearly giving you a heart attack the moment your eyes meet his. Your hand goes up to your chest, trying to calm your fast-beating heart even when he gives you a reassuring, charming smile.

“No, thank you.” Your tone is far too polite and kind, still wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt despite the fight or flight screaming at you to flee— to get away from the man you're now convinced is the same masked man who murdered your friends.

“Get in the fucking car, princess.”

The charming smile he was shooting your way is gone within a second, his icy gaze piercing through your soul now that he knows you saw through his bullshit. Your gaze drifts down to the hand lifting a part of his shirt up, revealing part of his dark, happy trail— and his handgun.

There's hesitation in your steps as you walk to the passenger's seat, already feeling the smoothie you drank starting to crawl up your throat, almost making you throw it all up, yet you do your best to hold it in, shakily getting into his car.

“… My house's up ahead.” You purposely give him the wrong address, trying to protect your family and yourself from the deranged bastard. The ride is eerily quiet, almost making you even more nervous than if he was trying to make conversation with you. There's no music playing, no humming— nothing, other than his fingers tapping against the steering wheel and his calm breathing.

“We're here.” Maybe you're reading him wrong, but there's hints of teasing bleeding through his deep voice, his eyes shining with mirth when you step out of his truck, making your way to one of the houses. You reach the front door after what feels like minutes, your hand shaking as you think of what to do. You can hear the engine of his car still behind you, not driving away even when you told him that's your home.

I don't want anyone else to die because of me. If someone opens the door, would he murder them too? He has a gun, and the way he brutalized your friends makes it clear that he's not afraid to get his hands dirty no matter the weapon. His loud laugh makes every single muscle in your body tense up, hesitantly looking back at him, the pure amusement dancing all over his face doesn't ease your fears in the slightest.

“Come back, sweetheart. I'll take you home.” And he stays true to his word, driving back in silence, his warm hand resting on your bare thigh. You don't dare look at it, simply staring out of the window, feeling every single callus on his hand while the scenery gets more and more familiar. The black mold in your soul spreads by the second, threatening to rot you from the inside out, bubbling up into a disgusting brew as he stops in front of your house.

Your eyes briefly meet his, his pupils starting to dilate the same way they did when he was done brutalizing your friends; just like a predator who has never failed to catch his prey. You never gave him your address— in fact, you didn't say a single word since you got back into his truck, yet he still found his way to your house.

It's all starting to make sense. Despite assuming it's all a product of your paranoia, you've been catching hints of the masked man everywhere you go, blue eyes always staring right into your soul.

“Not gonna invite me over for some coffee?” Technically, it is a question, yet you both know saying no to him is not even on the table.

“Sure… I can make you a coffee.” Perhaps inviting a serial killer is not the brightest idea, yet what other options do you even have? He knows where you live and the places you frequent, you're not safe anywhere. His hand drifts down to the small of your back as you open the entrance door, hesitantly letting him back into the only safe space you had, willingly allowing him to invade your life.

“Atta girl.” What should feel like praise from an older man only serves as additional mental torture, the sound of the door closing behind you making all hope of surviving him fade away.

“Come sit on my lap.” He walks to the living room as if it's his own home, not even asking for directions, simply being able to navigate his way around like he's been here before— deep inside, you know he has. Your nose starts to sting as he sits down on the couch and forces you to straddle him, your thighs around his, allowing you to feel all the muscle.

“Don't cry…” He taunts, only now making you aware of the hot tears dripping down your cheeks, your lips trembling as he pushes you closer by the ass, pressing your clothed cunt against his hardening dick. His face is buried on he crook of your neck, loudly inhaling your scent as his starts to grind against you, calloused hands roaming all over your pretty body.

“Wanna feel my cock?” The vigorous head shake you give him is enough to make him laugh, open-mouthed kisses planted all over your neck and shoulders, not caring about leaving any marks. You can barely register the sound of his zipper coming down until he's guiding your hand to his warm, hardening dick.

You're too shaky to even do anything about it, disgust and nervousness turning into a dangerous mix, yet Keegan is a patient man. A patient man who gently makes your fingers wrap around his shaft, guiding your movements to jerk him off, getting even harder underneath your touch. Low grunts and muffled moans are spilled right into your ear, clearly getting off despite your very clear fear.

“You're doing so good, princess…” He murmurs. Keegan's free hand starts to sneak his way inside your shirt, slipping past your bra, his thumb brushing past your hardening nipple. Your brain is able to recognize that fight or flight aren't options anymore, so just like a wild animal trying to avoid a fight; you freeze.

Your shaky breaths mingle together, only interrupted by the low groans he lets out, his hand leaving yours for the first time, leaving you unsure of what to do. Despite the tears falling down your cheeks and the muffled whimpers, your hand keeps moving up and down his shaft, not wanting to die by his dirty, blood-tainted hands.

Keegan's mind isn't broken enough to not know it's wrong, yet it has been broken enough to the point he simply doesn't care. Thrown away by his brothers in arms and the marines, he doesn't have anything else to lose. No life purpose, other than to bring others the same pain he has suffered for years.

A quiet whimper escapes your lips as he moves your hand away from his cock, using his tip to move your underwear aside. His free hand goes to the back of your head, encouraging you to hide your pretty, tear-stained face on the crook of his neck, fully muffling your cries the moment he penetrates you. His dick is way too thick for his own good— stretching you open forcefully, despite the way he's actually going out of his way to make it as painless as possible.

“Shh, it's okay, kid. Just enjoy it.” He whispers into your ear, running a reassuring hand up and down your back, starting to move inside you, as if what he's doing could be even remotely enjoyable. A low, throaty moan makes its way out of his lips the moment he manages to bottom out, your body responding to the forced intrusion by getting you wet, not able to register that you don't want it.

Breaking you apart is the closest thing to religion he's ever gotten. Keegan's lips crash against yours as his hips start to thrust up faster and deeper, growing more desperate by the second despite how wrong he knows it is. He shouldn't be enjoying this, yet he's just a broken, terrible man, the little sobs leaving your lips only making him fuck into you harder.

The human body works in odd, awful ways. You don't want this, yet every single nerve inside your cunt is being stimulated by his long shaft, sending signals to your body that make it feel much better after you got wet. The small moan that gets ripped out from your throat makes him break away from the kiss, amusement written all over his face.

Keegan's forehead leans against yours as his hips rock against yours, his breath hot against your face. From this position, you're able to examine his face, taking note of as many details as possible in case he decides to let you leave, no matter how slim the chances are.

Thick, black eyebrows, buzzcut, dark scruff covering his pale cheeks. High cheekbones, light blue eyes, no visible scars or moles.

You repeat it inside your head like a mantra, trying to use it as a replacement to keep your head occupied from the knot starting to tense in your stomach, tightening up more and more with each thrust. You know for a fact you're hating this, yet your body is betraying you, coating his cock with slick.

He pulls out only to slam himself back in, dragging more pathetic moans out of your lips the moment he hits your spongy cervix. The stimulation is enough to make you hide your face on the warm crook of his neck, biting your thumb hard to muffle your own sounds the moment you start tightening up around him, finally giving in to the stimulation.

Your teeth sink deeper into your skin despite the small whiny moan escaping your lips the moment your forced orgasm hits, barely conscious enough to register the cocky laugh above you, feeling his lips connect against your temple, his breath hot on your skin as he manages to pull out, shooting ropes of thick cum all over your stomach.

“See? It wasn't that bad, was it, princess?” You collapse against him with a loud exhale, not able to hold it together anymore.

“Why…?” It's all you can ask, and you're not even sure about the reason you're asking why. Why did he kill your friends? Why did he let you live? Why is he stalking you? Why did he force himself on you? Why is he caressing your body like you're made of glass, as if he didn't just destroy you into thousands of shards?

“Because I'm not right in the head anymore.”

Taglist: @h0ney-mushroom @bangtandaze @elentiyaiswriting @lollycotton @sleepydang @billiousserpent As always, thank you so much @moosch for the amazing art!! 💗💗 world-building with her has been so fucking exciting and I'm happy to finally be writing about Slasher!Keegan after we've been talking about it for months!!<333

[ltash]

Tease

When you first arrived at the SAS, you didn’t exactly fit in. Sure, you were good at your job, more than good, actually. You were sharp, skilled, and capable of holding your own in any training scenario. But there was one thing that set you apart from everyone else: you were funny. Mischievous, witty, and always up to something.

Most of the recruits on base were a bit too serious for your taste, but it didn’t take long for you to find your crowd. Gaz and Soap, always down for a good laugh, quickly became your partners in crime. They loved watching you stir the pot, especially when it came to Ghost. Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley had quickly become your favorite target.

Ghost was the complete opposite of you, stoic, silent, and intimidating. He didn’t joke, he didn’t laugh, and most of all, he didn’t like being the center of attention. Which, of course, made him the perfect person to mess with.

It started innocently enough, with small pranks here and there. You’d hide his gloves, switch his ammo with blanks, or throw in the occasional sarcastic comment. At first, Ghost ignored you, figuring you’d tire yourself out eventually. But you didn’t. You kept going, pushing his buttons little by little.

It was a lazy afternoon on base, and you were bored. Ghost sat at a table in the common area, going over some paperwork. You noticed he had a bag of chips by his side, casually snacking between signing documents. That’s when the idea struck you.

You’d ordered a special chip online, a chip so spicy, it came with a warning label. This wasn’t your average hot chip. This was the hot chip, the kind designed to make grown men cry. You slipped it out of your pocket and swapped it with one of the regular chips in Ghost’s bag while his back was turned.

Soap, who had been lounging nearby, noticed your devious grin and immediately perked up. “What are you up to now?”

You gave him a wink. “Just wait. You’re going to want to see this.”

Soap didn’t need any more convincing. He and Gaz both settled in nearby, watching the scene unfold like a couple of kids waiting for fireworks.

Ghost returned to his seat, oblivious to what you’d done. He resumed his paperwork, absentmindedly reaching for the chips. You held your breath, watching with barely contained excitement as his hand dug into the bag.

And then it happened.

Ghost picked up the chip, the one that was designed to feel like molten lava in your mouth, and casually tossed it into his mouth. For a second, everything seemed normal. He chewed, swallowed, and kept writing.

But then, you saw it.

The slow burn started to creep up his neck, his face barely visible under the mask. His hand froze mid-signature, and you could almost see the moment when the heat hit him. His eyes widened slightly, the only outward sign that something was wrong. But you knew. Oh, you knew.

Soap and Gaz were already covering their mouths, trying not to burst into laughter as Ghost’s hand slowly reached for his water bottle. He took a swig, but it didn’t help. You could see the redness creeping up his neck, his posture stiffening as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant?” you called out, barely able to suppress your grin.

Ghost’s eyes snapped to you, and for a second, you thought you might have pushed it too far. His gaze was murderous, dark and furious beneath that mask. But he didn’t say a word. He just stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he stormed off toward the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of sight, Soap and Gaz exploded with laughter. Soap slapped the table, practically wheezing. “That was brilliant! I’ve never seen him move that fast!”

“I told you it’d be good,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “He’s never going to let this one go.”

“You do realize he’s going to get you back for this, right?” Gaz said, still chuckling.

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m not scared of Ghost. What’s he going to do? Glare at me harder?”

Soap shook his head, grinning. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

But even as you laughed, a small part of you wondered if you’d really gone too far. Ghost didn’t seem like the type to let things slide. And you were right.

But you weren't done with him yet.

Ghost had been quiet since the hot chip prank, too quiet. He hadn’t said anything to you about it, hadn’t even acknowledged it happened. That should’ve been your first warning. But instead of being cautious, you doubled down.

You were walking across the base one day when you spotted a cockroach scurrying along the ground. An idea sparked instantly.

Without hesitation, you scooped up the wriggling bug and made a beeline for Ghost, who was at the training field. Soap and Gaz were hanging out nearby, and when they saw the look on your face, they knew something was about to go down.

“Oi, Trouble,” Soap called out, smirking. “What’ve you got there?”

You held up the cockroach proudly. “My new friend. I’m gonna introduce him to Ghost.”

Gaz shook his head, laughing. “You’re mad."

You scooped up the wriggling insect and made your way over to the field where Ghost was practising.

He didn’t notice you at first, he was too focused on reloading his weapon and prepping for his next drill. But that made it even better.

The element of surprise was on your side.

“Ghost!” you called, running toward him with the cockroach clutched in your hand.He glanced up, and for a split second, you swore his eyes narrowed behind that mask. It was like he could sense that you were up to no good.

“What?” he grunted, lowering his weapon.

You didn’t answer. you just kept running toward him, waving the cockroach in your hand like a trophy.

When you were close enough, you shoved your hand forward.

“Look what I found!”

Ghost took one look at the cockroach and stepped back, his broad form tensing.

“You better put that thing down.”

You blinked, surprised by his reaction. Was Ghost… afraid of bugs? No way.A wicked grin spread across your face.

“Aw, is the big, bad Ghost scared of a little cockroach?”

“Last warning,” he said, his voice dark and low, though you detected a hint of urgency. But instead of backing off, you doubled down.

“C’mon, it’s harmless!” you said, stepping closer and waving the bug in his direction.

Ghost took another step back, visibly uncomfortable now, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside you.

You’d never seen him like this. This was a man who could take down an enemy with his bare hands, yet here he was, backing away from a tiny insect.That’s when he turned and started walking away.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you laughed, breaking into a full sprint after him.What followed was a spectacle that had the entire base watching.

You chased Ghost all the way across the training field, waving the cockroach like a madwoman while he picked up the pace.

You could hear snickers and laughter from nearby soldiers as they watched the ridiculous chase unfold.

Ghost was practically power-walking now, trying to maintain his composure, but you kept pushing.

“Don’t be scared, it’s just a bug!”

“I swear to God,” Ghost growled, picking up speed, “if you don’t stop..”

But you didn’t stop. In fact, you doubled down, practically sprinting after him as you waved the cockroach over your head.

“Come on, Ghost, it’s not gonna hurt you!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ghost managed to slip away into the locker room, leaving you behind, still laughing and clutching your sides.

But as you stood there, catching your breath, you didn’t notice the way Ghost’s eyes darkened behind the mask. You didn’t notice how Soap, who had watched the whole thing, gave him a nudge and a wicked grin.

For the next few days, you continued your usual antics. You were on top of the world, convinced that you had finally broken Ghost’s stone-cold exterior.

You expected retaliation at some point, but it never came. Ghost was quiet—too quiet. And if you had been paying attention, you might’ve realized that he wasn’t just ignoring you.

He was planning.

It was Soap who sealed your fate.“You really think Ghost’s gonna let that cockroach thing slide?”

Soap had asked one afternoon, leaning against a crate in the common area.

You grinned, shaking your head. “I think he’s too scared to come after me.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s what you think, huh?”

You didn’t know it at the time, but Soap had already joined forces with Ghost. They were just waiting for the right moment.

It wasn’t until a week later that you realized just how wrong you were.

The day it happened was like any other. You had finished a long day of training and were looking forward to kicking back in your room for a while.

Your backpack was sitting neatly on your bed, right where you’d left it.But the moment you unzipped the bag, something moved.

You froze.

Slowly, cautiously, you opened the bag a little wider, and that’s when you saw it.

Bugs. So many bugs. Spiders, cockroaches, beetles, all squirming and crawling over each other inside your bag.

Your heart leapt into your throat, and before you knew what was happening, a scream ripped from your lungs.

“Holy sh—” You stumbled backward, dropping the bag as you frantically tried to shake off the sensation that the bugs were crawling all over you.

Outside your room, you heard footsteps and then, laughter. Deep, booming laughter.

Ghost’s laughter. You whipped around just in time to see Ghost and Soap standing in your doorway, both of them grinning behind their masks.

Soap was practically doubled over with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes, while Ghost simply stood there, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Soap gasped between fits of laughter.

You glared at them both, still shaken by the sight of the bugs.

“You put bugs in my bag?!”

Ghost gave a slow, satisfied nod.“Consider it payback.”

“For what?!” you exclaimed, though you knew exactly what.

“For the cockroach,” Ghost said simply. “And the chip. And every other stupid thing you’ve done.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair as you tried to collect yourself. “That was disgusting.”

Ghost’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he took a step closer, leaning down just enough to be at eye level with you. “Next time, Trouble, think twice before messing with me.”

You stared up at him, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline, but you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

“This isn’t over, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said, his voice low and threatening in a way that sent a chill down your spine.

Soap gave you a final wink before the two of them turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your bug-infested backpack and the knowledge that, for once, Ghost had won this round.

But you weren’t about to let that stand for long.

Not by a long shot.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Do Ghost and Jade's kids don't know about their careers (or in Jade's case, former career)? Cause the comic you made of Andrew seeing Ghost in the middle of the night sorta implies they don't know about their parents' military background.

HMMM HM HM Good catch right there 👀👀

So this is also a part of what I've been thinking inside the Riley family after they have kids.

- I feel like the kids would definitely know about Simon's career as a soldier. BUT, as they are still in their early teens, I'd imagine that Andrew, Gracie, and later Orion know that their dad is a soldier, but that's the extent of their knowledge. They do know about Simon's nickname "Ghost", but they don't know how Simon operates inside the Task Force, they're not aware that their dad is an officer of one of the most elite and dangerous task force in the world. As far as they know, their dad only has edgy hobbies that involves black outfits and skull/skeleton themed. Heck, they even made fun of his preferences in outfits.

- But dear God, they never saw him in a full-on combat gear, in the dark of the night.

- Ghost is an officer, so day by day, he'd left the house with open face, and only wears the mask inside the car. After work day, he'd take off the mask before entering the house. If he's too tired, he'd try to sneak in in the deep of the night without making a sound. He'd sworn to himself that 'Ghost' will never enter his family and children's house/lives. They do not need trouble and his dangerous line of work to enter the one thing he cherishes the most.

- However, once you have kids, you can't hide anything forever. They'll find out by themselves (in this case, Andrew is entering his puberty and needs some midnight munchies). Simon and Lottie knows this, so they already have everything figured out. What would Andrew's reaction be, what would Gracie's reaction be, what would Orion's reaction be. They've discussed what they'd reveal, and what they'd still keep a secret, again, until they're old enough to know. They tread VERY carefully about it.

- About their mother though, that's a whole different story. After their marriage, Jade has strictly commited to be a mother for her kids, and opened a branch of The Garden in Herefordshire. She's an ✨ entrepreneur ✨. She's not that active to be called into deployment as before she had kids. If she's used to be 60% florist and 40% TF141 ally, after she had kids she'd be 98% Mum and Florist, and 2% TF141 Ally. Her kids literally only knows her as a florist, and that's it. Up until their late teens, Andrew, Gracie, and Orion would have no clue nor idea about her past with MI6. She didn't lie, she's just holding the truth until they're big enough to understand.

- In fact, Ghost BEGGED and asked Jade to not be active inside the TF141 or any conflicts anymore, considering Ghost would be deployed a lot (and how he's promoted to Captain and above), he'd want his wife to be with her kids. Jade herself also agreed, but she also told Ghost to not die and do stupid stuff. Even though married and less involved in the TF141 business, her resolve stayed the same. If he's missing, she'd pick up the guns in a heartbeat.

- Now, back to the kids. I'd imagine that because of how eventful each of Simon and Lottie's lives are, it sort of like become a game to the family. Each birthdays of the kids, Simon has established a "3 Question" rule game, where the kids can ask their parents anything about their lives. From Andrew and Orion, it's usually trivial and simple stuffs like "What's the naughtiest things you've ever done" "What's your favorite bla bla bla". HOWEVER, with Gracie, its always "What's your favourite mission?" "What's the worst condition of a dead body you've ever find?" "Who's the most difficult bad man you've ever encountered?" "Where is he now?"

- Ghost and Jade would answer with only two sentences. Looking at each other for approval. Gracie is most definitely Simon's daughter with that line of questioning. BUT, again, with every birthdays, and with their increasing age and they become more mature, they'll reveal everything bit after bit.

- By the time they finally know everything about their parents, they'd be in college years, probably, and Simon would no longer be the Ghost (he might be one of the higher ranked officer at this point), and Lottie would be completely out of the Task Force 141 game, becoming a regular civilian. Still, it'd be a legendary story to tell.

WOOHOO I kinda yapped a bit there, but hope that answer your question!