#modern warfare reboot x reader

[sapchat]

I Have to Clean What?

Kyle Garrick x GN Reader No use of Y/N

This goes hand in hand with my ‘A Fucking Rat’ story I did for GPD’s May CoD writing challenge which you can read here!

Here’s Kyle learning to pet sit your horse! (Kyle would end up with someone who owns/leases a horse, he just screams horse bf/gf partner. Side note, you only actually have to clean these every 6-12 months and only when absolutely necessary.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x GN Reader     Fluff

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: I’m American so I use ‘thousand’ instead of… England terms. We talk about horse dick.

“Okay so it’s pretty basic, I mean you don’t really have to ride him, you can lunge him if you want. You’ve done both, granted I was here for it each time. It’s the same concept as then. But if you don’t ride him any, I’d at least lunge him, give him a quick wipe down like I’ve shown you then turn him loose in his paddock for a few hours.” You start telling him as you’re giving your horse Charley a thorough brush down. Kyle’s off to the side watching observantly as you do so, watching everything you do, as if he hasn’t watched you do this every time he joins you.

“Okay how about food? And what happens if he gets sick or anything and like… pukes?” He’s nervous as if he’s being left alone for the first time babysitting a child. It brings some enjoyment for if your relationship continues for future kids.

You give a small laugh, “Kyle, like I told you earlier, his feed schedule and info is on the little chart by his door, also if you think he’s sick, just call the vet. And if he pukes, then it’s… I don’t know what it would be, but horses can’t physically puke. So, if he somehow does, emphasis on call the vet. Granted Charley is also a dumbass and sometimes inhales his water and then coughs it up… so if he was drinking and then you think he puked, he’s likely fine.” You inform him, trying to ease his worries.

Kyle nods, and honestly you think if he had the choice of a note pad, he’d be taking notes. Like the good noodle he is. Such a good soldier. Charley, annoyed at the fact the attention has left him and turns to clack his teeth at the closest thing he can reach, that currently being Kyle.

The man makes a small noise at the thousand-pound animal and reaches a hand out to toy with his lips flickering at him. “Hey pal…” he mumbles playing with it, Charley’s head moving to bob up and down. “You get to be stuck with dad whilst mom leaves the country….” He tells him, as if he even knows what’s being said.

“You know if you don’t want to do this, or are… anxious to do this, I can just have one of the girls check in and take care of him…” You tell him, letting him know there’s nothing wrong with him waiting to take this step.

Kyle vehemently shakes his head, “No! It’s fine, it’ll give me something to do, plus give me time to bond with him. Besides, feel like this is the next step! Keep your pet alive and then we can… I don’t know start doing more things together with him.”

“Kyle dearie, you know you don’t have to take care of my horse for me for us to spend time together, you know that right?”

“Well, yeah… and I do spend time with you when you’re here already, but if I learn to do this, we can look about leasing my own horse, maybe even buying one… and then can spend even more time together.”

My god this man… the minute I’m able I’m sucking his dick.

“Figure helping here will let me get kinda an idea of what to expect.”

Dick is getting sucked.

“Kyle, you don’t have to do this to get a lease horse, or even buy one… And if that’s what you want to do, I’m happy to help, but if you think this is what it takes, then I guess I’m happy to help.” You tell him, it’s sweet he’s taking the time to do this to spend even more time with you.

In past relationships they’ve gotten pissy about the time you spend with your horse. Maybe it’s because he himself if gone for a few days to months at a time, so he knows what it’s like to be passionate about something.

“Okay, so feeding schedule is on his door, ride or lunge him, and I already know where his tack is in the room area place-“

“Tack room, but yes to everything so far.”

“After riding or lunging, give him a wipe down, I’ll make sure he’s cool before turning him into his little paddock area. Should I leave the back door to his stable open so he can come and go, or should I put him up before I head out?” Kyle continues, after your interruption and runs through the process, and then asks the question.

You sit for a second looking at Charley in the cross ties, “Uhh… check the weather. If it’s going to rain, or the temperature drops low put him up, the stables is heated but… there’s no brain cells in this massive head of his and he will sit outside in the rain or cold.” You inform, moving up to his head and giving his forehead some scritches as he chews on my shirt.

Kyle nods, “Gotcha, and his blanket if needed is also in the tack room?”

You smile at him, then walk over to Kyle, “He won’t need the blanket, it won’t be that cold, plus he still has some winter fur. Trust me, you’re thinking this is going to be the hardest thing ever, but he’s essentially a thousand puppy. He’ll he even plays chase. Don’t engage though he will win.”

Kyle gives a small laugh at that, moving to wrap his arms around you, “Any other way he can kill me?”

You blow a breath of air as you think, “Uh… hmm… you know how he likes nibbling on clothes? Well, his previous owner did warn that with men, he does like going straight for the crown jewels…”

Kyle sits for a second, as if taking that in. Tongue against his cheek as he kisses his teeth. “Okay… I’m going to find my old cup… And just never let his head be dick level.”

This causes a chuckle to be pulled out of you, “Yeah, the guy I bought him from was like ‘Urgh, by the way, he bites dicks.’ And I was like ‘well convenient for me, I’m not dating anyone!’ then turned out and ended up in a relationship.”

Kyle just gives his head a shake, “Okay anything else I need to do?”

You turn, placing your back to Kyle’s back as you lean into his arms, looking Charley over, then you see it. The… thing hanging from your horse as he sits relaxed in the crossties. “Uh… Can you bathe him for me at some point for me? Like a full body shampoo and hair wash, and don’t forget to like squeegee him off too?”

“Yeah, that’s an easy request. Does he have a skin care routine like me?” He asks, knowing you make fund of him for how good his skin looks.

You give a small snort especially because you know what you’re about to ask next will be fun. “Can you also clean his sheath? It’s due for a clean.” Your head tilts to look back at him for a second as you ask this, to see his reaction.

A confused look crosses his face, “His sheath?” He gives Charley a quick once over, trying to figure out what it may be.

You just nod, “His sheath. And he’ll know what’s happening when you take a wet rag to it and like… drop out.”

Kyle’s brain still seems to be making the connection, “Drop… out…?”

“Yeah. And the stuff for it is in the caddy that’s in my locker, and you’ll just get the rag super wet, and do a thorough cleaning.” You tell him, giving him a small motion with my hands to almost demonstrate the motion.

“Love… are you talking about his… um…” His head tilts almost as if he’s trying to figure out that’s what you are actually talking about.

“Yeah, I’m talking about his dick.”

“You’re asking me to clean his dick?”

“I’m asking if you would, I mean I can just do it when I get back, I guess.”

He gives a blink as an answer, still processing, “You have to clean their dicks?”

“You have to clean your dick.” You tell him, turning your head fully to look at him. Seeing the look on his face change from confusion to you don’t even know how to describe it.

“What about female horses? Do you have to clean their… areas?”

“No. Actually human women aren’t really supposed to, can introduce unhealthy bacteria. You knew that right? It’s important to me that you knew that already.”

“I… you… I have to clean what?” Kyle fully stops out, still seeming to try and connect the dots, even though he knows what it is you’re asking.

“Yes, dear I’m asking if you’ll clean his dick.” You finally turn to face him as you say it, ignoring whatever it is Charley is doing in the cross ties behind you. You place your hands on his chest, almost in an appeasing way, “It takes like… five minutes, it drops out of the sheath, you get the rag wet, throw some soap on it, lather it up then run the rag just… up and down him.”

“I’m starting to regret agreeing to pet sitting.”

I gave the horse such a backstory that it didn't need, not a specific breed, nor color, he's a gelding (no balls), his name is Charley, and his show name (the name he is registered under for showing) is Give a Charley Horse.

I'll eventually also do one for Johnny and John! :)

[omegapropaganda]

[gucci-ross]

These COD Y/n are not it!!

I’m tired of the barrack bunny stuff or the over exaggerated breasts and butts figure. AND saying she is a lieutenant around early 20s. That doesn’t make sense!!!

Girl- Gimme one y/n that makes people question about how old she is when she mentioned stuff she did in the 70s, 80s and 90s!!!

Mine [oc] is like that and have beef with Buses and electric cars.

I want Y/n to be like:

Y/n: Move your ass! What are you waiting around here for?! The bus!

———

Y/n: *smokes* i haven’t heard that song from Megadeth since they did an open performance for Dio…

Soap: how old are you again?

———

Laswell: I remember you got me to go to that party. Left me alone and shit.

Y/n: Hey! That got you to open up and meet your wife. I’m still bitter that you didn’t bring me to the honeymoon.

Laswell: You didn’t help.

Y/n: yes I did!

———

Gaz: Captain told me you got a tattoo.

Y/n: yeah *rolls up sleeve* here.

Gaz: not that one. You have another one.

Y/n: I’m not telling you, Kid.

Nik: *passing by* It’s a tramp stamp. That said Hugh Jackman.

Y/n: Bastard!!

Gaz: *wheezing*

———

Ghost: The Bus! It’s going to ram into the crowd!

Y/n: I never trust those things!

Soap: What?!

Y/n: shoot the wheels!

Soap: What?!

Y/n: Did I ask for driver to pull over?!Shoot the wheels damn it!!

———

Price: You would make a good captain.

Y/n: I would’ve been a terrible one.

Price: I know. *Chuckles*

———

Y/n: I need to be taken out.

Gaz: like on a date?

Y/n: No by a sniper.

Ghost: That’s one way to a man’s heart.

———

Gaz: you got kids?

Y/n: Yep. 2 boys.

Soap: wouldn’t mind looking after your wee lads if you croak…

Y/n: they’re in their 20s Soap. What do you mean croak? I’m old not that old.

Gaz: How old are you-

Y/n: Focus on the mission.

———

Y/n: Damn I can’t read this… *pulls out reading glasses from her vest pouch*

Price: *struggles to keep a straight face*

THATS WHAT I WANT!

[harveywritings92]

R/n: I got a cute idea; you watch me climb a tree and I refuse to come down! :3

Ghost: Refuse to get down...or can't get down?

{R/n sends pic showing they're already in a tree.]

R/n: Can't.

Ghost: I'll be right there....

[italktoomuchxd]

You are supposed to be nothing to him….

You are supposed to be nothing to him. Nothing but a 2-dollar whore...

 

It was the end of the month when he was mostly tight with the money. He grabbed his jacket to go out to get a few drinks, nothing more.

 

Then he saw you wearing Nothing but a cheap skimpy dress and makeup, the smell of sugary smell coming from you... He looked at you, the disgusting sight of you; you were waving at the cars. He drove his motorcycle next to you and asked for your price, which was lower than average. He took you to a cheap hotel, got his job done, and left. He took your phone number just in case he needed a cheap relax again.

 

That cheap relaxation happens more and more at another cheap hotel or your home... not his home; he doesn’t let a cheap woman like you get into his home...

 

As time went by, he learned your interests, your age, your name, your eye color... your favorite food, how you like the smoke after sex, and which brand you smoke, he learned you never celebrated your birthday before... He took you out to celebrate that night.

 

Now he’s there, sitting at his office, writing his day off paper. He needs a vacation. soon…  He’s looking at honeymoon suits in hotels. Even though you two are not even dating yet... He’s buying the plane tickets... a box of Viagra... Oh, he can’t skip buying you some nicer clothes, eh? You can’t wear your clothes with him; that would be humiliating!

 

Now he’s there, sitting next to you on the plane, smiling at you because of how nervous you look...

 

He’s teaching you how to swim in the ocean...

 

He’s chuckling while tending your sunburns.

 

Oh, he fell for you. Oh no, he fell for you hard.

[local-crying-boy]

🅅🄻🄰🄳🄸🄼🄸🅁 🄼🄰🄺🄰🅁🄾🅅

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 - 𝔻𝕒𝕪 13

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚅𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚟 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝: 𝙳𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙳𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 (𝙾𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢), 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝:

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Translations:

понял? - Understood?

хорошая девочка - good girl

солдат - soldier

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Vladimir Makarov. The infamous Russian terrorist. Everyone who knew that man knew to think ten times over before they talk to him, watch their back with him, make sure to be on his good side.

Though, you were able to remain on the Commander’s good side no matter what. At first, people wondered why. Why was this one person able to get on Makarov’s nerves and not be yelled at, or punished, no matter what?

Well, there was a simple answer to that: the two of you were dating.

But you weren’t left unpunished, that was something Makarov made sure of. Even if his men didn’t see it, you weren’t let off so easily.

You first had reservations about dating your Commander, however, after some time, you realised that the authority that he had from commanding the Konni group, could be easily carried over to your relationship - just a little less harsh.

“Are you trying to humiliate me, hmm?” He questioned, his hands were pinning your wrists down to the desk he had you leaned against, his lips pressing against the back of your neck as he was buried his cock deep inside of you, pulling out and then slamming back into you with a grunt. “Undermining me in front of my own men.”

You gave him a quick shake of the head, panting as you tried your best to make coherent sentences, your eyes focused on the various different paper on the desk you were suddenly pinned to not moments ago. “No… no, of course not…”

“No?” He questioned, but he tutted, his hand trailing to the front of your neck, wrapping his fingers around it, squeezing lightly just to hear that pretty little moan from your lips. “Then why is it that you’ve been contradicting every decision I make?”

It had been an exaggeration, of course. But, really, it was an excuse just to get you in this position, ass planted against his abdomen with his cock deep inside of your pussy and his chest pressed against your back.

“I didn’t mean to-” you tried to explained, but was met with Vladimir’s quiet shush, his lips right by your ear as he did so, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m your Commander.” He reminded, wet kisses travelling down your navel to your exposed collarbone, his hand that was holding your wrist down started to travel to your thigh. “You listen to me, понял?”

“Yes…” you whispered faintly, your breath hitching when you felt delicate touches on your thigh, his fingers that was caressing over the skin only going higher.

You wouldn’t even try and defend yourself now, you knew that, if you did, he would only prolong your organism, or he’d drag out more than he did the previous time, leaving you a shaking mess.

“Tell me you understand.” He growled, his fingers flexing around your neck as his lips pressed against your temple. His eyes were fixated on your figure, even if his face was closer to your hair, he loved to see how you fitted in his arms. Almost like a puzzle piece.

“I understand,” you whimpered under your breath, your hands were holding onto the wood so hard that they started to ache, but with a rougher thrust into your soaked pussy, after a loud moan, you added: “Commander…”

“хорошая девочка.” He praised, his index finger had pressed against your clit, causing you to let out a soft moan. It was barely anything. A light touch. A tease, really.

“Commander…” you mewled out, eyes squeezing shut as your felt yourself tightened around Makarov’s shaft.

“Ah, ah, солдат.” He tutted against, his hand squeezing your throat again. “Eyes open.”

You let out a small whine, taking a breath as your eyes opened again, finding somewhere for your eyes to fixate on while he fucked you.

A quiet ‘there you go…’ reached your ears, Makarov’s thumb gently rubbing the side of your neck, a stark contrast to how he had you in a harsh grasp.

The edge of the desk was digging into your skin, causing an uncomfortable sensation in your thighs, but mixed with how well Makarov could take you - cock buried inside deep and finger just lightly pressing against your clit - you were, ultimately, contradicted with sensations over your body.

“Oh, God… Vladimir….” You muttered, letting out a small whine, a shaking breath escaping your lips as your eyes started to water.

“You’re crying?” He mused quietly, a dark chuckle escaping his mouth. He tutted afterwards, thrusting deep inside of you. “Pathetic thing, no need to cry.”

You whimpered quietly, you were looking down at the desk, but your head was pulled up by Vladimir’s hand around your neck, causing you to let out a gasp.

“Maybe you’re right to cry,” he whispered in your ear, biting your earlobe. “Naughty girl like you, hm? Finally getting what you deserve?”

His thick cock thrusted inside of your tight, wet hole, his movements only getting faster, rougher. In the process, you got louder, cried and moans filling the room as you felt your pussy clamp around his member like a vice.

“You gonna come, солдат?” He asked, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. “Hm? You gonna come around my cock? Go on then… cum for your Commander.”

He continued his relentless attack to your hole, grunting in your ear as he pushed his entirety of his length inside of you. You quivered and shook as tears started to stream down your cheeks, though the tears had seemed to make Makarov go even faster.

Your orgasm hit like a truck, a cry escaping your lips as you tensed up, Makarov’s hands tightening their already hard grasp. You heard his Russian accent, quiet ‘there you go’s and ‘that’s it’s meeting your ears.

He had slowed down, only to lean back into your ear. “I’m not done with you, солдат. You haven’t learnt yet, have you?”

“No, Commander…” you breathed out, your voice quiet and shaken.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Kinktober {2024} Masterlist

[nrdmssgs]

It's not that Nikolai doesn't see himself as a handsome rascal. Quite the opposite: he knows exactly how to present himself to make a particular someone weak in her knees. He notices every glance stolen, every breath hitched. And gods, does he abuse this knowledge.

But when he's like that? Exhausted by the heat of the night, having almost completely thrown off the covers, he wakes up with a groan and brushes stray strands of hair from his forehead. Only to meet her gaze wandering down his soft belly. A guilty gaze and a hungry one.

She must have worked on something, but the documents are lying on the desk, forgotten and abandoned. Lips parted and still wet after she must have licked them unconsciously.

"How many times do I need to tell you to wake me up whenever you need me?"

"What made you think, I needed you right now?"

She turns away. Almost. Because Nik is a rascal. At the last moment, his hand casually slides over the thin, light blanket and, as if by chance, presses it closer to his body, showing her his outlines.

Nikolai is used to keep calm about others attention. But when it comes to her - he always needs more of it. He stretches and covers eyes with his arm.

"Fucking tease." Her voice is so much closer.

The blanket is being pulled down and Nik grins.

"Your fucking tease."

"Mine."

I miss them like hell, I slowly cook the Matters epilogue, I promise.

[lottielovelace]

công chúa

(ghost x könig's-sister!reader)

summary: You're just a student trying to make through med school with your sanity intact. That last thing you needed was to be kidnapped to serve as a hostage for a half-brother you've never met.

At least the special forces operative here to help is cute.

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: 3.8k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, Kate Laswell x her wife (I call her Jean), König & Reader <- PLATONIC

Ao3 Tags: meet cute! in a prison camp / First Meetings / tries to follow canon characterization / less so canon events/timeline / so some things (like the villains) are VERY vague / Past Suicide Attempt / Undercover Simon "Ghost" Riley / Unmasked Simon "Ghost" Riley / (Temporarily) / reader has a name & backstory but I tried to make it unobtrusive

this is a part of a series

Author's note: I do write this story with a specific OC (check the series masterpost if you want a full breakdown of her) in mind just so characterization is consistent, but I tried to make it possible for you to replace her with whoever you imagine. I do have to explicitly mention details unique to the OC (most obvious example here being her ethnicity), but for the most part I'll try to keep things open ended (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

Also, as I mentioned, the OC's ethnicity (half-Vietnamese) is pretty plot relevant this chapter, but if that disrupts your reading flow, feel free to mentally replace it with whatever makes sense for your own personal read-through. I'm not used to writing in second person, so the verb tenses are kinda screwy.

Also this is in the tags but TW: DISCUSSION OF A PAST SUICIDE ATTEMPT (character has for the most part fully recovered)

công chúa:

People could be so fucking stupid sometimes. Bold and stupid. Newbies especially. New recruits—or in this case, new criminal organizations—always think they’ll be special. The exception to the rule.

Take for example, this new group who had the bloody brilliant idea of trying to control special forces (and a handful of top PMCs) by kidnapping anyone ransom-worthy they could get their grubby little hands on. Which meant a lot of missing parents, kid siblings, and SOs.

Ghost couldn’t tell if they actually thought that would work or if this was just some distraction. Perhaps an intimidation ploy or a small part of some greater plan. Either way, in reality, all they ended up with was a whole bunch of pissed-off—and very well trained—soldiers, many of whom were willing to do anything to get their loved ones back. Even allying with their greatest rivals. Ghost didn’t predict to end up working with KorTac of all bedfellows, but even their lads weren’t safe. 

In the past month, he'd had to bear witness to his comrades and competitors getting wrecked, worried sick over their nearest and dearest. Laswell might’ve single-handedly revived the tobacco industry and he’d never seen Johnny so torn up.

Ghost himself had been spared any grief. He would’ve liked to pretend that it was because his mask had protected his identity so well, but the reality was much simpler and bleaker. He had nobody to take. Tommy and Joseph and Beth and Mum were all already six feet under. Nothing would ever change that.

That being said, the mask wasn’t useless.

The hostagers had done extensive research into all their personal lives. They needed to in order to find out who they could kidnap and how. They had become intimately familiar with every combatant their cobbled alliance could send—with one glaring exception.

They certainly knew about Ghost, but not even they knew Ghost’s face—at least according to the dossier smuggled to the Task Force.

After that was discovered, going undercover was less of a choice and more of a duty.

----------

“Jean?”

The woman’s head jerked up at the whispered sound of her name. Finding no one in front of her, she swiveled. Her eyes landed on an idle balaclava-ed guard.

“Don’t look at me,” the guard commanded. He followed his own advice, keeping his gaze trained on the horizon. His voice was low and rough. Familiar.

Jean Laswell hazarded one last glance at him. She squinted, trying to place where she'd seen him before.

A stifled gasp rang out as her eyes widened in recognition.

“Ghost?”

“Keep your voice down, I’m undercover.”

Jean tried to keep her body language innocuous, eyes now glued to her own clasped hands. The last thing she wanted was to blow Ghost's cover.

“It’s good to see your face— or er, hear your voice.” Pleasantries aside, she went straight to the first question on her mind, the one that had plagued her sleepless nights. “How’s Kate?”

"Smoking like a chimney, but otherwise holding up. She misses you."

"Are you here to…"

"Not yet. KorTac and the team are planning a mutual offensive, but we need more intel before exfil becomes viable. Intel I was tasked with collecting."

His tone didn't reassure her.

"But…"

"I ran into a little roadblock. I was supposed to receive, memorize, and orally deliver crucial information about the compound’s layout and security flaws. We’d had some limited online communication with our informant, but couldn’t get anything sensitive past the security systems. So I volunteered to get it directly. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that our informant only speaks Vietnamese, Cantonese, and some very broken Russian. The dictionary he’d been previously using isn’t complex enough for the level of detail we need. Our shared Russian skills aren’t much better. I can’t leave until I have the intel memorized and I can’t memorize it until we find a translator."

"Could you leave and come back with a translator? A digital one maybe if you can't get anyone else past the guards?"

Ghost shook his head, “They know that we're trying to infiltrate them. They’re very strict about what technology gets in and out. Besides, my cover is only so good. I should be able to get a believable excuse to leave camp, but the scrutiny required for re-entry would compromise it.”

Jean pursed her lips in thought, running over the possibilities. She paused, half thinking out loud.

“I think the princess speaks Vietnamese.”

“Princess?” Ghost’s eyes widened beneath his mask. Shit, no one told him they'd taken someone so high profile. That significantly complicated security procedure. “I thought all their targets were lowkey.”

“No, no, she’s not royalty. She’s a med student. It’s just a nickname,” Jean hastily corrected with an embarrassed laugh. “We have a lot of those here. We get kinda bored.”

Ghost silently thought back on his own POW experiences.

“Things could be a whole lot worse than boredom.”

“The perks of being a hostage," Jean responded dryly. "Need us in one piece.”

“So where’s this ‘princess’ of yours?”

“There,” Jean pointed at the upper level of the compound's eastern turret. “You can see where the nickname comes from. She’s in solitary, but she has a window that we talk to her through during yard time.”

“What'd she do?” Unless the hostage takers were worse than he thought, they wouldn’t put someone in solitary for shits and giggles.

“She’s… a special case."

“Who’s she tied to?”

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. Not even she knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know I’m here because of Kate. Ritchie’s here because of his uncle. Troy because of his brother. Eileen… could be her nephew, but it’s probably Soap. But Elise—that’s her name, Elise Veidt. Do you know any Veidts in Special Forces or KorTac?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Could it be her boyfriend?”

Jean shook her head, “No. The common theory is an uncle or half sibling. Both her parents were civilians, but her father had family and an ex-wife on the other side of the Atlantic. She has no idea where they are now or if they’re even still alive, but it seems the most likely—if not the only—possibility. Plus she was single when she was discovered.”

Ghost's brow furrowed.

“Discovered? What do you mean by that?”

“There was… an incident. It ended with her being taken into custody.”

Ghost wanted to press for more detail, but Jean flashed him a look that stopped him in his tracks. She was married to Laswell, and that doesn't happen without being able to hold her own in an argument.

“It’s not my story to tell." Her tone was measured, but Ghost could tell this was non-negotiable to her. “She’s a good kid. Just got in a bit of a rough patch. Along the way she had her blood tested and it must’ve pinged… something. Next thing she knows, she’s getting transferred. They refuse to tell her where. When she resists, she gets knocked out and wakes up here.”

“That still doesn’t explain the isolation.”

“We think that whoever she’s related to, it must be someone important. Or someone very dangerous. Someone they’re scared to anger.”

“Then why did they kidnap her if they’re so bloody afraid of pissing the bugger off?”

“Taking her was probably a calculated risk. Returning her damaged a death sentence. They wanted to make sure she doesn’t get hurt, either by her own hand or someone else’s.”

----------

Ghost cautiously approached the cell door. According to the directory, this was “Detainee #934287: VEIDT, Elisabeth.” He peered through the grate, careful not to get too close to the opening—he knew firsthand how solitary confinement could warp the mind and liked having both his eyes intact.

From what he could see, the cell had a tiny cot, stripped of its sheets on the left. On the right was a wash basin and bucket. In between was a small window—just large enough to stick your face out of. It wasn’t the worst cell Ghost had seen, but it wasn’t homey either. It also appeared to be empty.

“What the—” he muttered under his breath.

The low rumble of his voice almost made you jump from your position, sitting leaned against the door. The window was your only connection to the outside world, but it also made your cell freezing so you tried to stay as far away from it as possible when there was no one outside to talk to. You paused, confused then intrigued. You didn’t think they had a British guard. Slowly, you got up.

He was closer than you assumed. Right up against the door, you almost had to suppress the urge to jump again. You silently mourned the fact that such a pretty pair of eyes were wasted on some terrorist dipshit.

Still, you were bored enough that anything seemed intriguing.

“You’re new.”

“You’re Elise, right?”

Your lips quirked with all the cockiness of someone who knew they couldn’t be touched.

“Shouldn’t they have already debriefed you on that?”

“The only person who’s briefed me on you was Jean.”

Your eyes narrowed. You may have only been able to communicate through a tiny window, but you trusted Jean. You knew her. She wouldn't rat on you, not without a fight.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” his voice grew even gentler. Soft in a way that commanded you to hang on every word. “I’m here to help.”

Attractive voice and eyelashes aside, you were still unimpressed.

“Really?”

“I'm on a reconnaissance mission for Special Forces. I was supposed to memorize this file. I wasn’t told it was going in Vietnamese.”

You perked up at this. Finally, things were making a little sense.

“I speak Vietnamese.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You took one last look at him, trying to figure out if this was a trick or some sick game. Then again, if it was, what would they even do? Your captors didn’t seem allowed to punish you physically, and mentally there wasn’t much more they could do. Fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

You reached out your hand, “Gimme.”

He slipped you a folded up piece of paper. You unfolded it to reveal an annotated set of blueprints.

“Pen or pencil?” For all you know, he could be picky about that sort of stuff.

The man stood up to dig for something in his vest. You quietly realized that he’d been bending down to look you in the eye. This man, whoever he was, was tall.

He passed you a pen. You noticed that while his hands were gloved, a whisper of a tattoo peeked out as his sleeve rode up. It looked like it could be the bottom of a skull. Or a very small picket fence. Probably the former.

You figured he'd turn away and leave you to your work, but he doesn’t.

“Are you going to…”

“No,” he responded firmly. “If either of us get caught, at least two of us are screwed. I know I can get myself out of it, but our informant can’t. I won’t have his blood on your or my hands. So I’m going to keep watch.”

It’s slightly awkward with him just standing there, but you did your best to lay the blueprint flat against the wall and start scribbling away. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes flit to him, now with his back to you, standing guard.

“Where are you from?”

“Hmm?”

“Your accent, where’s it from?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?”

“I could do this with both hands tied behind my back."

He made a doubtful noise.

You let a cheeky smile grace your lips, “Pen in my mouth, paper on the floor. Handwriting might be chicken scratch, but it’d still be legible.”

If you could see his face, you would’ve noticed his eyebrows raise as he tried to picture it. You on your knees, leaned forward with your ass in the air, hands bound, tongue twisted around the p—

“So, the accent? Where?”

“That’s classified.”

You tilted your head in thought, “It’s Northern, right? British, not Scottish. You don’t sound like Eileen.”

He bristled, quiet in a way that tells you you’re on the money.

“Look, how about this. For every question you answer truthfully, I’ll do the same. I won’t ask you anything I know you can’t tell me, not even your name. I just... wouldn’t mind a little conversation. They’re kinda in short supply here.”

A beat passed.

“Manchester.”

“I knew it!”

He made another noise. You think it was a laugh. You think it sounds beautiful.

“My turn. How do you know Vietnamese?”

“My mother. She immigrated from the South when she was young. Judging from some of his vocabulary, I’d guess your informant is from the North, but the dialects aren’t all that different, especially in script. What food do you miss the most?”

“Anything that isn’t an ORP.”

“An ORP?”

“Operational ration pack.”

If your hands were free, you would’ve crossed them.

“That’s a cop out.”

“Fine,” he relented. “I could go for a Nando’s takeaway.”

“What sort of food is that?”

“Chicken. Flame grilled with this Peri-Peri sauce and—”

He groaned. It’s a noise you want to hear again.

Mimicked him in commiseration. The plates the guards slid through your food slot were pitiful, to say the least.

He starts to ask you something but seems to stop himself.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s… I shouldn’t.”

You were many things, but you weren't a coward.

“I can always choose not to answer. Hit me.”

His voice was still hesitant as he asked, “What did you get arrested for?”

You were worried that the question would be gross or embarrassing, not utterly nonsensical.

“Arrested?”

“Jean said they found you because you were taken into custody.”

“Oh,” your cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that type of custody. I was 5150-ed. Or more accurately 5250-ed.”

“Pardon?”

“I tried to kill myself. I failed.”

The man froze. He turned around, trying to get a glimpse of you—and any wounds—through the grate.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” you reassured. “I stole some valium and then drank myself silly. I was found in time and they got me help before any irrevocable damage happened. If they hadn’t spotted the note they would’ve just written me off as some foolish party animal, pumped my stomach, and let me be on my merry way.”

You haphazardly glanced at him, expecting him to be stone cold. A proper soldier. To your surprise his eyes, those stupidly beautiful eyes, are trained on you with more care than you've seen in the last three months combined.

“Were you a user… before?”

You shake your head but your eyes remain locked. You couldn't bear to break contact.

“No. Too busy with school. But then my mom died and suddenly everything was… too much. Going to med school and becoming a doctor was what she wanted. The loans, the sleepless nights, the blood, sweat, and tears. It was all for her. Not me. I wanted to make her proud. Happy. And now that will never happen. Without her, I didn’t really see the point of continuing to put myself through hell. I tried to drop out, but the program wouldn’t let me. So I figured might as well cut out all stress in my life instead.”

“Are you planning to try again?”

“No,” the answer is honest. “I’m not giving these bastards the satisfaction. Plus I need to find whoever put me in this situation in the first place and give them a piece of my mind.” You turned back to the blueprints, gently trying to shift the tone back to the comfortable rapport you had earlier. You missed it and you need him to stop looking at you like that or you might do something stupid. “That was like three extra questions. It's my turn now. Any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?”

The very word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“You know. Do you have a secret passion for knitting or something?”

“Embroidery, actually. And that’s no secret.”

“So, anything you do outside of… espionage or whatever your job is?”

“I dunno. Football. Tattoos.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“The latter, though I have been curious to learn it.”

“Got a steady hand?”

He smiled, thinking about something you know he won’t tell you.

“You could say that.”

“Anything else?”

He paused for a moment. You can tell there’s something on his mind. He just hasn’t resolved whether you’re worth it to tell to.

“There’s a bare knuckle boxing club I like to go to when I’m on leave.”

You haven’t seen him in combat, but there’s something in the coiled posture of his stance that tells you he knows how to handle himself.

“I bet you kick their asses."

He says nothing, but you swear he almost preens.

"Could you teach me?"

His lips quirked.

"How serious are you being?"

"Pretty decently. They got me this time. I won't let that happen again. Not without a fight."

"If you're ever in Town, visit Stuart’s and ask for Simon. Might be able to give you a few pointers."

You look up at him, grinning.

"Simon, eh?"

He smiled. His gaze was still intense, but its stifling mixture of pity and worry was replaced by something warmer that made your chest flutter.

"Can't promise I'll be there, but the lady at the desk should be able to tell you when I'll be back."

You folded the blueprints, neatly passing them through the cell bars.

"Well, Simon. Here's your translation. Give them hell."

----------

Chaos. Complete and other chaos.

Smoke and bombs and bullets. You agonized over whether or not to look out the window. The unknown of what was happening was almost scarier than the reality. In the few furtive glances you spared, you caught the bodies. So many bodies. The only relief was that all of the dead seemed to be guards.

You thought back on Simon, dressed in the guard’s garb. These are probably his people. He must’ve gotten out and they must’ve gotten the intel. By now he’s probably on his next recon mission. You were able to learn a little about military structure from what the other hostages told you about their families. If his specialty was infiltration they probably weren't going to waste him on a direct assault like this.

Manchester. Stuart's. Simon.

You didn't need to see him before then. You just needed him to stay alive, wherever he was.

The cacophony slowly grew closer. You didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

A loud buzz rang out as the power grid malfunctioned and the hallway outside your cell was plunged into darkness.

Something was happening and all you could do was sit back and listen.

There were screams. Some seemed to be of pure joy, others of painful death. Many you couldn’t tell apart.

There were gunshots. Often followed by gurgles and the sickening sound of someone falling to the ground. There were footsteps. Heavy ones. Slowly drawing nearer.

Someone jostled the cell door. You froze, holding your breath. Maybe they wouldn't even notice you.

The darkness outside your cell moved. A single blue eye peered through the grate, surrounded by black.

"Stay back," the eye commanded. You were all too happy to oblige him.

There was a quick bang and the cell door swung open, revealing a man. A large man.

He bent down to enter the cell before standing up to his full height. Clad in black with a mask you'd expect on a cartoon executioner, he unfolded like an eldritch piece of origami. He just seemed to keep on going.

“Are you Elisabeth?” Hearing it again, you realized his voice was accented. Up close, his demeanor transformed. He seemed... nervous. Incredibly so, barely even able to get the words out.

“Yes,” your voice is almost as hesitant as his.

“I— I am— Ah—” his feet shuffled about anxiously. Any bravado he had from battle has melted away, leaving him almost curled against the wall. You catch sight of a patch on his left side. Red. White. Red. The Austrian flag.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” ( Do you speak German? ) you asked. Maybe talking would be easier in his native language.

The man perked up, surprised but excited.

“Ja! Du auch?” ( Yes! Do you? )

You nod, “Mein Vater war Österreicher.” ( My father was Austrian. )

You knew this was a possibility. Even with the covered face and the giant height difference. Still, his next words caught you off guard.

“Ich weiß. Ich bin dein Halbbruder.” ( I know, I’m your half-brother. )

----------

The tall man, your brother, escorts you out. He promises to tell you everything and more once you’re away from this wretched place wo die Wände haben Ohren ( where the walls have ears ).

After being cooped up for so long, your legs protest the walk, but you pushed through. You were a free woman and you would never take that for granted again.

The exhaustion was worth it to step into the daylight with your own two feet.

Once your eyes adjusted, you realized that two portable camps had been set up on the perimeter. As predicted, there was no sign of Simon. You did see a couple familiar faces though, along with a plethora of heavily-armed strangers (including a man wearing a skeleton mask of all things!). Eileen was deep in conversation with a mohawk-ed man, but she threw you a warm smile as she spotted you heading to the other wolf-emblemed camp.

"Are you alright?" a voice called out at you. It was British: Northern, but rougher and gruffer than Simon's had ever been. Still, you allowed yourself to revel in the fantasy for a moment before you had to face the speaker and ruin the illusion.

You didn't know who you were expecting when you turned around, but it certainly wasn't the skull-masked man.

Up close he was even more striking. You could just barely make out his shaded eyes, alone in a void of black and white. He was shorter than your brother, but still tall by any measure. Even at that size he managed to sneak up on you two.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why.

"Ye—yes," you managed to stammer out.

Your brother noticed your distress. It seems to give him a confidence to act that he couldn't summon for himself.

He wrapped a protective arm around you and began to lead you away.

“She’s with KorTac,” he said, like that explained everything.

During your confinement, you had plenty of time to think about what you would say to whoever got you into this mess by joining the military. You had dreams of really digging in and tearing them a new one. All of those dreams flew out the window now.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t or were afraid to antagonize someone as big as your brother. But, seeing him… you didn’t want to do that, or anything that could hurt him.

You wanted to talk to him. To get to know him. To—silly as it was—protect him.

After all, he was about the only family you had left.

[benslittlestarkiller]

Violent Ends.

A Vladimir Makarov x Reader story.

”You dare to disrespect me?” His voice is a low growl. Rarely does he ever use it on you. It sends a shiver up and then down your spine. You feel a tingle deep within your core. An ache. One only he could fulfill.

Notes: I decided to write another Vladimir Makarov this time sending it to my bestie for editing so hopefully this one is better than the others. Please let me know if you want a part two ❤️‍🔥🥀

Your love affair had passed in a blur of passion. Like the winter winds of Russia your relationship was turbulent. FIlled with the most glorious ups and the most horrid downs. But you wouldn’t change a thing. He was a traditional man. He demanded respect from you, but he loved when you refused to give it easily. Like today, when you ignored his call for your presence in his office. 

A noise alerted you to his presents behind you. Without even looking at him your could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. Slowly you turned to face him and you could see it in his eyes.

Fury.

”I’m sorry, Vladdy.”

“Are you really?”

”Yes, of course—“

“Tell the truth!” He harshly grips your shoulders, jerking you towards him. “When I give you a command I expect you to listen!” 

“You're not the boss of me!” 

“Oh, but that is where you are mistaken. As your husband, I expect complete obedience—“

And then you made a mistake. You stuck out your tongue at him. Vladimir saw red. But not only was the red he saw the color of fury, but also hot desire, burning lust… fiery passion. 

He pushed you backwards until your booty collided with the wall behind you. So harshly did he push you that your contact with the wall sent a painting falling to the floor. Glass burst, scattering out along the wood grain in all directions.

”This is how you treat your tsar? After all he has done for you?” he hisses out. 

You look up at him, craning your neck and giving him exactly what he wants. Submission.

He descends down like a bird of pray, his teeth digging into your tender skin. He marks you there before descending lower, marking your collarbone before capturing your lips like the Red Army capturing Berlin on the 2nd of May in 1945.

"I do everything for you,” he says, his breath ghosting along your skin, raising goosiebumps in its wake. “I take you wherever you wish to go, I buy you everything you desire… and this is how you repay me. I should punish you.”

"Please, punish me,” you beg. “I deserve it.”

He lifts you up with his strong, sculpted arms, his muscles hardened from a lifetime in the military, evidence of the many battles he had won. You felt your coochie tighten at the sensation of his virile form pressing against your softer, feminine form. 

“Please,” you say again.

”Tell me what you want, baby girl,” he says. “Tell your Vladimir.”

”I… I want… you!”

He pressed his thigh against your most sensitive place, the place where you desired him most, the place only he had ever visited. Your coochie gushed with liquid desire for him and him alone.

His ministrations continued until you both were panting into each other’s mouths. The grunts escaping his lungs doused the fire burning in you with fuel. You were like a living samovar, your lust for Vladimir boiling over inside you.

He reached a hand down between the two of you as he did away with the barriers between you. Your clothes and his fell away like the Berlin Wall crumbling to pieces as it fell on the 9th of November in 1991. 

Sliding your panties aside, he pressed his cock against your dripping entrance. He pushed forward slowly, so that the onion dome-like head, akin to that of St. Basil’s Cathedral, was inserted. But then something terrible happened… nothing happened. Vladimir ceased moving altogether. 

“Vladdy!” you scolded. “What are you doing! Don’t stop!”

He smirked down at you. You went to slap his chest when he caught your hand with one of his much larger hands, the knuckles of his hands dusted with a light smattering of dark hair, the nails trimmed and filed neatly. He brought your hand down to the stem of his fat cock. Slowly you began to pump it like one wrings a wrag after washing dishes at the sink. Though doing dishes and other housework tasks was not something you were accustomed with. That was work for your servants, in particular your maid. 

Your dainty hand glided over the smooth skin of his virile penis. He grunted low in his chest, his head falling forward, forehead resting against your shoulder as his breaths escaped him in pants.

"Please, I need you," you said, attempting to pull him closer to you.

"N-Nyet," he grunted. "This is your punishment."

You whined out desperately but your hand did not cease pumpkin him. His cockhead remained plugging up your entrance as your juice seeped out of him. The movements of your hand grew in intensity, a distinct squelching sound filling the room. A cacophony of your moans and his grunts also filled the room, the heat between you heating up like the inside of a samovar as the tea inside bubbled hotly. 

You felt the twitches in his dick as it erupted, white hot seed filling your insides before Vladimir finally thrust forward, making sure to deposit the rest of it deeply inside you. 

After a moment, your breathing evened out, and he placed you back down on you feet. "This time, it will take, and I will bear you a son. An Heir to the Empire."

[mockerycrow]

Price x GN!Reader where you’re a demolitions expert. Why would they bring another demolitions expert when they have both Gaz and Soap, you may ask? Well, this order came straight from General Shepherd—because you’re a demolitions expert, specifically with gas bombs.

And Nova Six has made an appearance after a long, long hiatus.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Time for bit of fun? 🤭NsFW if you are keen.

I loved that render of Nikolai in armchair render from a while ago so much.. And it inspired me to write the Nik x Mini wedding night. Soooo from one of the scene.. Mini kneeling between his legs and.. Ahem, servicing him??

Thank you :D

Ok here goes my first attempt at suggestive NSFW...

...

I'm a fucking liar, I just haven't posted any. The things I've done would make peepaw Price blush

I'm putting it under a cut just in case lol, I hope you like it love.

Also, disclaimer: this is not a Nikolai faithful model as I haven't found any, is just a lookalike that @sofasoap likes enough to want to 'play'

[sapchat]

IDK if this has been done but I went through the 3 reboots and did a timeline of events so you wouldn't have to!

Side notes: sometimes I use the first initial for who it is! also some of MW3 has timestamps. I also apologize for spelling. Also, lots of this shit happens over like 7-12 days April 6, 2019 Makarov bombs Verdansk Price, Ghost and Soap know each other at this point, have NOT met Gaz

Start of MW1 Oct 24 2019 'Al Qatal' moves gas Oct. 25 2019 Piccadilly Square Oct. 25 2019 Price meets Gaz Oct 26 19 Alex & Farah blow Barkov's bombs Same day destroy one of B's bases Oct. 27 19 Price and Gaz go to Picc Safe house Oct 28 19A&F go to Urzstan hospital for "The Wolf" Oct 28 19 P&G meet up w/ A&F for the Wolf Oct 29 19 Plan ambush for Butcher & Wolf - Hadir uses the gas, learn Hadir stole the gas Oct 29 19 PGAF Go to kill W, & get H Oct 29 19 PGAF kill the wolf, H is 2 Russia Oct 31 19 PGN go 2 Russia, Capture Kill Butcher (and traumatize a family) Nov 1 19 Hadir is handed over to Russia Nov 3 19 Take down Barkov's gas production plant & K Price meets Kate @ Tea shop makes TF 141 w/ Ghost, Soap, & Gaz END of MW1 - May 22, 2022 Soap goes side questing, turns green (idk I didn't watch the trailer (I did but I just know there's like green gas)) Start of MW2 July 15 22 Ghost Blows AlMazrah base (Honestly didn't get the point of us seeing this) Oct 28 22 GS Kill/Cap Mission for Hassan -> Find American Missiles not Hassan Oct 28 22 PG in Amsterdam for Missile info (Think they used it as an excuse to swim) Oct 29 22 Capture a cartel mem 4 info Oct 29 22 Alej. Go for cartel jumping border Oct 30 22 GSAlej go 4 Hassan safehouse They capture Hassan (picnic in the desert omg!) Oct 31 22 PG in Spain for Hassan info Kate gets caught Shepherd tries to abandon her Nov 1 22 PG meet with F to get Kate (they get her and get juicy gos on Shep) Nov 1 22 Soap goes into Casa de Sin Nombre Nov 2 22 Gulf oil rig, blows up by G&S (philip was here too) Nov 3 22 Soap & Ghost are fighting Shadow co Nov 3 22 SG go for Alej w/ Rodolfo. PG meet up Nov 3 22 141 goes for Graves Nov 4 22 Go 2 Chicago 4 Hassan & missile kill both END of MW2 - Kate (& tech. Gaz) learn about Makarov

Start of MW3 Nov 10 23 Makarov is broken out of jail 2am Nov 10 23 Farah is ambushed Konni got missiles around 6am Nov 10 23 141 go for Nuc Power Plant, P get gased 9am Makarov has been out for 6 hours Nov 11 23 They go for Missiles in Urzikistan Nov 11 23 Kate is going 4 intel on Makarov meets Yuri @ 3pm Nov 11 23 Makarov crashes plane, blames Farah and Alex go there 7:30-9:30pm meet with Kate and Nikolai in hanger Nov 12 8am Nov 12 23 they go for Milena 7pm Nov 13 23 they get Makarovs right hand man Nolan 11am Nov 14 23 They find Shepherd swimming at some point 9:30 Nov 16 23 SG stop Verdansk dam bombing Same time PG are at airsti Nov 21 23 141 go after Makarov Hacker Nov 21 23 They stop Makarov bomb, Soap gets killed. Price kills Shepherd after spreading Soap's ashes.

[vvh1sk3y]

I like your work ! Can I have a headcanons for Captain Price please ?

of course!!! i’ve gotten quite a few requests to do headcanons for him soooo here is a mix of general headcanons & some relationship ones :)

character(s): captain john price, gen!reader

warning(s): brief mentions of trauma

john is a top-tier chef. he can cook pretty much anything and can’t make a bad meal. for your first official date with him he invited you over to his home for a very fancy homemade dinner :,)

he has a very great relationship with gaz outside of work. he’s pretty much apart of your family at this point.

john obviously has been through a fair share of awful stuff in his military career. he often has a lot on his mind and is pretty stressed out most of the time, though he does a great job of seeming as if he’s doing totally fine.

he finds a lot of comfort in having you simply being there. he may be having a hard day and just to see you in the same room as him makes him feel much more at ease.

when he’s back from work, he often takes road trips and little excursions to the highlands and countryside with you. he enjoys getting away from everyone else and just having you by his side :)

he spends a lot of time keeping up and neatening up his beard. i mean look at it!

john is a history buff. ask him about any event and he probably knows a lot or at least something about it.

the man definitely has a secret sewing hobby. he made a really nice quilt for you for your birthday once!!

football watch parties with soap and gaz. need i say more?

his dream is to live in the highlands with you and own a few pubs for some income after he retires from the military.

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

【ＪＵＳＴ ＧＩＲＬＢＯＳＳ ＧＨＯＳＴＬＹ ＴＨＩＮＧＳ ＩＶ】

part 1, part 2, part 3, nsfw version

In terms of physical appearance, Simon is said to resemble his mother more. The hair and eye color came from his paternal side.

He's also the tallest member of his immediate family.

Also has one cheek dimple, courtesy of his mom.

To piggyback off the second bullet point, this came as a surprise to his parents. They didn't expect him to shoot up like a beanstalk, especially his father.

In fact, for the longest time, his brother was bigger than he was.

He would always win when they wrestled, though.

Has two major pet peeves: broken promises and people assuming that because he's from Manchester, he must positively, ABSOLUTELY, love Manchester United.

His first pet peeve comes from the fact that his father would make empty promises as a way to keep the family (especially Simon) under his thumb. He never came through with them, always moving the goalpost to justify reneging on them.

As for the second, well... watching soccer is a pretty good way to pass the time and he doesn't mind the banter or two but he actually prefers rugby. When he was a wee lad, he actually wanted to be a rugby player when he grew up. He's also developing an appreciation for American Football as well.

Remember when Simon joked with Johnny about not being ugly under his mask? Well, it's the truth. He's not ugly. He DOES, however, look incredibly boyish when he's clean-shaven. Doesn't like full-on beards because it's too much work for him to maintain but prefers to keep a five o'clock shadow. He's tried the beard game before and it wasn't for him. Had to deal with a shit ton of ingrown hairs.

That may be why he also thinks Price's beard looks ridiculous sometimes. But he’ll forever keep that tidbit to himself.

His favorite homecooked meal is Toad in the Hole with peas, potatoes, and extra gravy.

His favorite tea is chamomile. Ghost enjoys it with two scoops of sugar and one teaspoon of milk. Will only use honey as a last resort.

Usually drinks his coffee black, too.

However, when Autumn rolls in, Simon's inner basic bitch comes out and he'll treat himself to a pumpkin spice latte every so often.

If/When he gets hot chocolate, he likes it with a lot of marshmallows and/or whipped cream.

Part of the reason he got his tattoos was that he wanted to rebel against his father who forbade any ink or piercings in the house.

And if he wasn't in the military, he'd have a couple piercings in his ears, too.

He wants to get a full sleeve next.

There's this one childhood bully he has beef with. If he ever sees the fucker again, it's on sight.

His brother wanted to name his nephew after him. Simon had to convince him not to. ("Give the kid his own identity, yeah?")

Despite his size and bulk, Simon has pretty delicate-looking wrists and ankles. His brother used to tease him about them, too.

His hair is naturally curly.

One of these days, when he has some downtime, he'd love to visit Tintagel Castle out in Cornwall.

Has a tendency to crack his phone screen more often than not.

Sometimes, when he doesn't feel like replying to you in text, he'll send an emoji. Just one. It's usually this one: 💀

And if he doesn't feel like doing that, he'll call you.

Doesn't mind FaceTime but also doesn't care for it because Simon would rather not look up into people's nostrils. ("Huh?" "Long story.")

Does. Not. Like. Mosquitos. And gnats.

When it comes to alcohol, he never has more than two drinks.

When he takes showers, the water is scalding hot. When he takes a bath, the water is ice cold.

Can't sleep with ANY light on. It has to be completely dark for him to get even a sliver of rest.

He collects knives as a hobby.

His favorite takeout food is curry. Likes it spicy as fuck, too.

Was attacked by a gull once. Don't ask.

[harveywritings92]

Soap: What are some screwy movies you seen this year?

R/n: Uh, there's one...It's called Titane, basically, It's about this chick loves cars and I do mean romantically, *Soap gives her a look.* I know, lemme finish. And she does the deed with a car, not with some bloke in the car, with the car. She then goes on killing spree; steals the identity of this firefighter's son who went missing years before, the poor bloke is in such heavy delusion that he believes she really is his son, and the end of the movie she dies giving birth to this half metal baby.

Soap:....

Soap: What the fuck?

R/n: Yeah, that's what I said.

Soap: There's no way that's a real movie.

R/n: It's real. Go look it up and watch it.

Soap: I'll do just that!

{Later that night Soap calls R/n}

Soap: Steamin' Jesus, whot the hell?!

R/n, starts laughing: Did you watch it?

Soap: Did I watched it?! I need to bleach my brain!

R/n: Told you it was screwed up.

[italktoomuchxd]

You know how bodybuilders use estrogen to increase their muscle mass?

Yeah that's Simon Riley coded