#russia go fuck yourself

[odinsblog]

Message to all alleged “anti-war tankies”

If you were truly anti-war, at worst you’d at least try to pretend to be neutral, and not support either side. At best, you would not be on the side of Russia, the aggressor that, unprovoked, invaded a smaller sovereign nation that was peacefully minding its own business, was not in NATO, and wasn’t even applying for NATO membership. NATO was not the cause of the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

As always, I remind people that Russia is committing war crimes in Ukraine, including but not limited to: erasing all mentions of Ukraine from schoolbooks, murdering entire civilian populations of Ukrainian cities, and kidnapping thousands and thousands of Ukrainian children (some as young as 4 months old) and placing them into “re-education” centers where they are forced to learn how to become good little Russians. Russia is indiscriminately bombing civilian targets like funerals, churches, schools and hospitals, and the Russian army is using mass rape as a weapon of war.

(Remember, Ukraine has demonstrated that they have the capability to reach Russian held territory, but unlike Russia, the Ukrainian military has only targeted military installations.)

If you can just hand wave all of the Russian war crimes and atrocities away because “America bad,” then please spare everyone your anti-war concern trolling, and your faux worries about Ukrainians dying. Just admit that as long as, lol, “communist” Russia isn’t the one being invaded, you are morally indifferent to human suffering and you actually do not care about ending wars.

Russia can end the war instantly just by going home.

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

"what if i don't smo-" "you start today."

[sh0-loves-bert]

kinda late to this but better late than never :D blank template:

[jacensolodjo]

I keep thinking how like 15+ years ago I said I hated the russkis and I was tutted at. And every time since then I get tsked. How dare I, a Ukrainian, say he hates russkis. That's soooo wrong. That's soooo prejudice.

If hating the russkis is wrong I don't wanna be right.

You can talk about forgiveness and #notallrussians but at the end of the day, it is them killing my people without any remorse. It is them hating people like me. It is morally correct to hate the russkis in return.

You'll defend every other oppressed group's ability to hate their oppressor why is it any different in this case? We know why. But why?

If I have to hear one more person go 'the russians aren't that bad I mean they haven't even done [thing they have absolutely done in spades but like everything else you ignore their war crimes/crimes against humanity/genocide]' or 'russia isn't that bad they hate the west just like me!!! Ukraine what? Chechnya what? Siberia what? Caucasus what? What do you mean antisemitism is a 'national past time'? lmao what is this about anti-gay propaganda and practically going on hunts to find gay people to beat up? (or the fact they have literally gone on hunts to kill Jews)' i'm gonna go fucking batshit.

[anubisfx]

AnubisFX: 🇺🇦 “𝔾𝕠 𝔽𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗” (2022)

[AnubisFX: 🇺🇦 “𝔾𝕠 𝔽𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗”] is a visual representation of the greatest quote I've heard in a long time. This statement was made by one of the soldiers over the loud speaker on an island called (Snake Island). Showcasing the the sheer pride and determination that the Ukrainian Army and armed civilians have been showing the world and Putin himself.

Socials: https://linktr.ee/AnubisFX

[unhonestlymirror]

Redraw according to Canon canon

[liliyawnas]

honestly just remembered a joyful feb 24, 2022 memory and had to post it

russian warship go fuck yourself

that's it that's the post

[sebengineer101]

Te Pati Maori Party's co-leader, Rawiri Waititi, appeared on TVNZ 1's leading maori news and current affairs programme, Te Karere, when he shared the stands regarding to the return of fallen NZ Tane Maori soldier Kane Te Tai from Ukraine as well as child poverty.

[cigarette-room]

Shut the fuck up about Eurovision. "Hahaaa gays Eurovision Eurovision is for the gays" stop inserting yourself into the very peaks of western terror and hegemony and propaganda you fucking idiot develop a personality instead

very easy to boycott Eurovision Song Contest as I have no deep urge to watch mediocre songs be performed for 3 hours

[odinsblog]

Moscow security forces carried out raids on gay nightclubs, bars and saunas in the city center on Friday night, according to media reports, a day after Russia’s Supreme Court effectively banned the international LGBTQ+ movement in Russia, labeling it an “extremist” organization.

Police searched venues across the Russian capital, including a nightclub, a male sauna, and a bar that hosted LGBTQ+ parties, under the pretext of a drug raid, local media reported. Eyewitnesses said clubgoers’ documents were checked and photographed by the security services.

Ostorozhno Novosti Telegram news channel reported that, on the pretext of searching for drugs, police raided a club on Malaya Yakimanka where a party for the LGBT community was taking place.

(continue reading)

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

happy birthday go fuck yourself

[from-jjlee]

lmfaooo my twt got locked because i replied to a russian pig who openly admired ki*lling children and encouraged to do so

[rafecameronssl4t]

I need to see reader calming Rafe down during a meltdown in a match and maybe she’s being firm and like telling him to stop and listen to her and to calm down and he shuts up because reader can get scary when mad lol 😂

Fault lines || Tennis player!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: wag!reader stands on business 😙

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,441

MASTERLIST (tennis player!rafe au masterlist)

The sun hung heavy over Sydney’s Ken Rosewall Arena, and the crowd’s energy buzzed like static electricity. Team USA’s match in the United Cup had been one of the most anticipated games of the tournament, but all eyes were on Rafe Cameron. Not just because he was one of the best players on the circuit, but because his temper had become almost as famous as his forehand.

Today, the storm brewing inside Rafe was palpable. He was down a set and struggling to keep up in the second. The opponent, an unseeded underdog from Russia, was playing like a man possessed, returning every shot with precision that only fueled Rafe’s growing frustration. The boiling point came during a controversial call.

“Are you serious? That was in!” Rafe shouted, his voice echoing across the court. The crowd’s murmurs turned to gasps. His face was red with anger as his hands rest on his hips, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The chair umpire remained stoic, unmoved by the outburst. “Out. No let, Mr. Cameron,” the umpire announced, his calm voice doing nothing to quell the fire in Rafe’s eyes.

Rafe strode to the net, pointing furiously at the spot where he was convinced the ball had landed. “Are you blind? It literally hit the fucking line!” The umpire’s expression didn’t falter. “Warning for Mr. Cameron, please return to your position.” Rafe’s jaw clenched, his grip on the racquet so tight his knuckles turned white. “This is bullshit!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the tense silence as he stormed toward the baseline.

With unrestrained fury, he slammed the racquet against the ground—once, twice, three times—until a deafening fourth strike splintered it into shards of graphite. The crowd gasped collectively, shock rippling through the stands as fragments scattered across the court. “Unbelievable!” Rafe yelled, tossing the mangled remains aside before stalking toward the Team USA bench, his frame vibrating with unspent anger.

His teammates and coach looked uneasy, unsure whether to intervene or let him vent. In the vip seats behind Team USA’s area, you sat with your arms crossed, your sharp gaze fixed on Rafe’s theatrics. Rafe threw himself onto the bench, oblivious to the camera following him as he mutters curses under his breath, ripping open a new racquet from his bag, his jaw clenched so tightly.

From your vantage point, you leaned forward, resting your arms on the barrier in front of you. You could feel the heat of his frustration from where you sat, and you knew he needed someone to pull him out of his spiral before he self-destructed.“Rafe!” you called down, your voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd and the chaos on court. He looked up, his brow furrowed, still fuming. “What?”

You didn’t flinch, meeting his glare with the same intensity. “You need to calm down. Right now.” His lips curled into a frustrated sneer. “Are you serious right now? Did you see that call? It was bullshit!” “I don’t care about the call,” you snapped, your tone sharper than the sun’s glare. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Stop acting like a child.”

Rafe blinked, letting out an exhale. The crowd had gone quiet, all eyes were on the exchange. Even the cameras were trained on the two of you, capturing every moment of the heated conversation. “I’m not—” he started, but you cut him off. “Be the bigger person,” you demanded, your voice low but commanding.

“Do you think smashing your racquet and yelling at the umpire is going to change the call? Get your head in the game.” Rafe leaned closer, his voice lowered but still defiant. “You don’t get it. That point—” “I do get it,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes. “What I don’t get is why you’re wasting energy on this instead of focusing on winning.”

“And now you’re handing the momentum to him on a silver platter,” you shot back, your voice firm but quiet. “Do you think your opponent cares about the call? He’s focusing on the next point while you’re sitting here sulking like a brat.” His jaw worked as he struggled to find a retort, but before he could, you leaned in even closer.

“Screw your head back in, Rafe,” you hissed, your words like ice water on a fire. “And get back out there. Now.” The way you said it left no room for argument. He stared at you, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly as your words sank in. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really not letting me off the hook, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you replied, leaning back slightly but keeping your gaze locked on his. “Now shut up, get your head in the game, and play like the champion I know you are.” A flicker of something—respect, maybe even a little fear—crossed his face. He nodded, more to himself than to you, before standing and grabbing his racquet.

As he walked back onto the court, he glanced back at you over his shoulder. You raised an eyebrow, silently daring him to argue again. He didn’t. The crowd began murmuring again, their attention shifting back to the match. But you stayed still, arms crossed, shaking your head in exasperation. The cameras, however, lingered on you for a few more seconds, capturing your unimpressed expression as Rafe got into position to serve.

The commentators couldn’t resist. “Well, that was quite the reaction from Y/n,” one said, chuckling. “I don’t think Rafe’s girlfriend approved of that outburst,” the other added. “And who could blame her? That’s another fine coming his way.” The match resumed, and while Rafe’s temper was still simmering beneath the surface, your words seemed to have had the desired effect.

He channeled his frustration into his game, hitting with renewed focus and precision. Each shot landed with a ferocity that made the crowd gasp, and slowly but surely, he clawed his way back into the set. When he finally won the second set in a tiebreak, the crowd erupted into cheers. Rafe allowed himself a small smile, glancing toward your seat in the stands.

The third set was a masterclass. Rafe played like a man possessed, leaving no room for error. By the time he won the match with a blistering ace, the crowd was on its feet, applauding his comeback. As the players shook hands at the net, the commentators couldn’t help but bring up the earlier exchange.

“Well, it looks like Rafe Cameron had some help keeping his cool today,” one of them quipped. “I’d say his girlfriend’s pep talk worked wonders.” Back on the sidelines, Rafe grabbed his bag and towel, his eyes landing on you. When he reached you, he leaned against the barrier, his expression a mix of sheepishness and irritation. “Happy now?” he asked, his tone teasing but softer than before.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I’ll be happy when you stop smashing racquets.” “Fair,” he admitted, glancing down at the broken one still lying near the bench. “I guess I owe you for that.” “You owe me a lot more than that,” you replied, your smirk turning into a genuine smile.

As the crowd began to disperse, you sat back in your seat, finally allowing yourself a small smile. Rafe might be a handful, but if anyone could handle him, it was you. And judging by the camera footage that was already going viral, the world was quickly realising the same thing.

[parfaitblogs]

present enough for me ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you're decorating your apartment with your boyfriend, you're all too clumsy, and really, who makes glass baubles these days? 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. decorating a christmas tree. mentions of blood. joking about murder and prison (it makes sense i promise). puts up with your shit!spencer reid.  word count: >1k a/n: short n sweet little thingy to keep us going this holiday season ♡

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

Everything had happened so fast. 

One minute, you were hanging a bauble on the tree, Spencer's ever so familiar voice reverberating around the room as he recites information you had to applaud him for knowing. 

Facts like, "Did you know Germans celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve? Because technically, Jesus was born on the night of the 24th. It's like this for a lot of European countries, actually." And, "Orthodox Christmas is on January 7, because Orthodox centric countries like Serbia, Belarus and Russia follow the Julian calendar, instead of the Gregorian one we do."

And, unfortunately, Spencer Reid's info-dumping is not annoying, but attractive to you. You oftentimes find yourself keenly listening in as he rattles off facts about things you'll probably never understand to the extent he does. Though, he does love over explaining just so you can comprehend some part of it. 

It had, evidently, led to you becoming a bit too distracted by your boyfriend halfway across the living room, adorning the television with tinsel, and resulted in your hand slipping as it slid a bauble onto the faux snow tree branch. It had fallen, and shattered, shards of it exploding across the wooden floor. 

You curse aloud, taking an instinctual step back, eyebrows furrowing. 

"Are you okay, angel?" Spencer calls, and you cringe at the sight of the pieces of bauble on the floor, though nod your head regardless.

"Yeah. You should see the other guy," you mumble, crouching down to the floor to pick up shards of the bauble. 

"No, don't touch—" he's cut off by your hiss as the sharp edge of the bauble slices your skin, your other hand that was already nursing some pieces, closing into a fist around them.

"Fuck," you seethe again, all the shards dropping to the floor at your — arguably stupid — mistake.

"The first health and safety rule when you drop glass is don't pick it up with your hands," Spencer scolds, his slippers padding against the floor as he heads over to you. His hand wraps around your forearm and he picks you up, shaking his head. 

"Okay, well, what idiot makes glass baubles?" you retort. 

"What clumsy idiot buys them?" he shoots back, and you huff because, well, he's got you there. 

"You're supposed to be supportive and nurturing," you mumble, though you're sure if Spencer overbearingly attempted to console your injured hand immediately, you'd question if he's sick.

"I can multitask," he answers, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Up."

You jump off the ground as he picks you up, carrying your body over to the kitchen stool, where he sets you down, away from the crime scene that is a shattered, bloodied bauble.

"It looks like that bauble tried to murder me," you say, staring at the scene. 

"I'll put some caution tape around the tree until it goes to trial."

"I vote two consecutive life sentences."

"Two? What's the second one for?"

"Conning me," you grumble.

He laughs as he disappears into the guest bathroom, just to reappear with the bright red First Aid kit, placing it on the kitchen counter next to you.

"Hand, please," he says, standing in front of you, and you hold out your palm. "Oh yeah, this is pretty bad, huh?"

"I can handle it," you huff, puffing your chest up. "A soldier never shows fear."

"My brave girl," he says, using baby wipes to clean up the blood, gently. "Did it get you anywhere else?"

You shake your head, wincing at the pressure — however slight — over the cuts on your skin. "Just my hands."

He nods his head, and once the blood is cleaned, he's soothing them with some antiseptic cream, trying to keep his touch as featherlike as possible. 

"I liked that bauble too," you mumble as he begins wrapping a bandage around your hand. 

"It's the same as the thirteen other one's of its design in the pack."

"No. It was special," you reply, shooting a glare at Spencer, who surrenders almost immediately. 

"Okay," he slowly nods his head, only really indulging in your antics to humour you. And maybe himself. 

Once your hand was wrapped up, and Spencer had given you a kiss for your undeniable bravery, you were bounding back over to the tree to finish adorning it with trinkets and other decor. 

"Please be careful," he warns, though abandons his post on the other side of the living room to help you with the three. 

Just in case. 

"I'm super careful."

He shoots you a look, that you match with a shit-eating grin, and then you're delving back into decorating the tree. 

By the time you're done, you are not any more injured, and the tree is lit up with an assortment of colours and glitter, and you're smiling, leaning against the television cabinet to admire it. 

The television cabinet dressed with a collection of candles, candle holders, tinsel, and a festive table runner you forgot you even owned. 

A table runner your hand was resting on.

And Spencer was too late in warning you, and your hand swings forwards, before you trip and land flat on your ass.

He doesn't help you up this time.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[oceantornadoo]

betrayal (simon riley x f!reader)

in the same universe as two lieutenants

--

"what the fuck, simon."

you slammed down a stack of papers on his desk. he tilted his head up, eyes moving fast as they read what was in front of him. leaning back, he crossed his arms and spread his legs in his desk chair, the picture of composure. "use your words, lieutenant."

you scoffed, unbelieving. "i put in a transfer and you deny it? we're the same rank, you shouldn't even be able to do that." he shrugged, eyes darting away. guilty. "don't know what yer talkin' about. same rank, remember?" you rolled your eyes, feet starting to pace his office floor out of anger. "i thought we were friends, simon." you stopped, the hurt swelling into your words. all your emotions hit at once. betrayal. sadness. you thought he'd be different. "and- and then i see this?" you swiped a hand angrily at your eyes, wiping away the tears before they formed. "what, you just want to hold me back? i want to be a captain and i can't be one on this team. you know that."

he knew that because of late nights in his room over tea, sharing deep secrets. you on his bed, him in his extra chair, whispers exchanged in the dark of the night. the trust you put into your fellow lieutenant was unimaginable, the weight of it immeasurable. your foolish mistake had come to bite you in the ass.

"dove, 's not what you-"

"don't you dare call me that." your finger up against his chest, accusing. his nickname for you too hurtful for you to hear right now. "lovie, let me explain i-" you turned around, heading for the door. done with this bullshit.

and then suddenly you were up against the door, simon's masked hand covering your mouth. he wasn't even breathing hard, the exertion barely making a dent in his stamina. he towered over you, eyes shining through his eyeblack and his simple black balaclava. the thumb of his hand covering your mouth brushed your jaw, a soothing motion to calm you down. "gonna be a good girl and listen?" his thigh was wedged in between your legs, mostly to keep you from bolting, but he used it to emphasize his words. you felt wetness pool in your underwear, your body betraying your mind. you rolled your eyes, but after seeing his facial expression not change, you finally nodded. he took his hand off your mouth, brushing your cheek before leaving it, his thigh forgotten between your legs.

"i denied it 'cause i'm a selfish bastard." your eyes widened in shock. confusion. were you right? "i just-" he took a breath, hand reaching to run through his hair before realizing he had his mask on. he yanked it off, throwing it to the side.

"i just wanted you to myself, ok? heard the team you applied for was gonna go dark for years in russia in an undercover op. and i can't-" his eyes seared into yours, both sets of pupils dilating in the moment. you understood.

"you won't lose me, simon." you reached your hand to run it through his hair, dirty blond strands easily passing through. you both stood there for a moment, taking comfort in the fact that this thing you two had was finally being addressed.

"i can't. after everythin', it's jus- not you too. can't lose you, dove." his masked hands cradled your face, glad your physical friendship boundaries were finally being crossed. you gave him a sad smile.

"i know you want captain. i asked 'round and there's other teams open. closer. was gonna tell you this afternoon but got interrupted." by you, choosing to believe he was like all the men before, who wanted to make you small so they felt big. by you, choosing to protect yourself first, not in the wrong but not optimistic either.

"ugh, you're the worst." fuck, had he gotten in wrong? this whole thing wasn't what he'd planned. the whole confession wasn't in the cards, and now he was paying for it. except-

except you were pulling him in for a hug, standing on your tippy toes so you could wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. his hands immediately rested on your waist, the feel of it so foreign and yet so right. this was the first time you'd ever embraced him like this, so open and emotional. he memorized the feel of you in his arms, just in case, always just in case, then let himself live in the moment. he dug his face into the crook of your neck, sniffing the scent of your contraband shampoo, the scent that chased him in his dreams and nightmares. his thumbs caressed your skin, drawing circles into your waist.

"yer it for me, you know? you see it now? but if you need to choose between me and captain, i get it." he waited for your answer with bated breath, squeezing you tighter in case you turned him down. in case it was his last chance.

you answered with a peck to the side of his head, making simon all warm and fuzzy inside. "you're mine too, idiot. i can still make captain without going to russia." finally, he relaxed. the hug had gone on for longer than necessary at this point, but he didn't want to let you go. slowly, you pulled back, making eye contact. "so when are you taking me out on a real date?"

--

this is for the girlies guys and pals who have always had to feel like they had to choose between a man and a career. with the right man, you deserve both! (i wouldn't know i'm just a hopeless romantic trapped in a college town but i'm trusting what the books say.)

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 9 - Not So Safe Safehouse

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: description of wounds, burns, medical stuff, cannon typical violence.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You’re thrown off your feet. The fire coming off the smoldering car is hot making you shield your face, the smoke makes you cough as you pull yourself up to your feet. You look around, you see Soap pulling himself off the ground, you go over to help him. He grunts in pain, there’s a throbbing in your side now. You don’t have time to worry about it.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he straightens himself up, his hand goes to the top of his arm. You can see burnt fabric. Shit, you can see the red flesh. 

“Soap!” You hear someone shout. You don’t have time to do anything about his arm here. “Over here!” You call back and pull him to where you heard the shouting from. You spot Gaz coming towards you. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

“Yeah, Soap got burnt.” You say, you look back at him. 

“Don’t touch it.” You say swatting his arm. “It fucking hurts like a bitch.” He says through gritted teeth.

“Yeah it will.” You look over at Gaz who’s talking into his radio trying to get in contact with Price or Ghost. You can’t hear anything in your ear, just the ringing from the explosion and static. “They were right next to us, they can’t be far.” Gaz flashes you a look of concern, what if they’re hurt? You’re not really in the mood to play medic again, especially with burns. The smell of burnt flesh always turns your stomach.

“Let's check this way.” Gaz says. You nod and go to follow him when shots ring out. You can’t see anything past the truck fire. You all immediately turn and head back towards the tree line you came from. You throw yourself behind a tree, you hear shots hit trees. 

“What do we do?” You shout, turning to look at Soap taking cover behind another tree. 

“Gaz!” You hear someone in your ear. It’s Price you think. 

“Cap! Where are you?” He asks back. The shooting dies down, maybe they’ve run out of bullets, maybe they’re just reloading. 

“On the other side of the truck. I’m with Ghost. Head to the safehouse, we’ll meet you there.” Price says. You’re trying to see where the shots are coming from if they’re on the other side of the clearing. It has to be from the access road. You can’t see anything though, wherever it is it’s clear you can’t stay here.

“C’mon let's move.” Gaz says, you nod and look over at Soap waiting for him to move before following behind them. 

…

It feels strange being back here. In the safehouse they found you in. You got there before Ghost and Price. Gaz said he would keep watch while you checked out Soap’s burn, the place hasn’t been restocked since you were here last and they’d already used most of the stored supplies on Price. 

“What’s the prognosis doc?” Soap asks as he sits shirtless on the bloodstained sofa. You took your heavy vest off too, you’re sat next to him with some tweezers and wet cloths. You need to pick out the debris and chard fabric stuck in the wound. 

“It's not too serious. Lucky.” You say, it’s not as deep as you thought it was, not as large either. You can’t remember the system for classifying burns, you just need to get it wrapped up and keep an eye on him, shock is common with burns, that you do remember. 

“Stings like crazy.” he says gritting his teeth as you pull another piece of fabric off.

“Yeah, it will, burns are the worst.” You dab the red flesh with the wet cloth, you can almost see the relief in his face, it doesn’t last long, before he’s back to gritting his teeth.

“What do you think happened?” You ask him, looking up at Gaz who’s been looking out the window since you got here. 

“Don’t know, someone wants us dead though. My guess, Konni or Al Qatala.” He says, great, so they have no idea other than the obvious. 

“Did you find out where Makarov is?” “Yeah, he’s in Russia with Jamal and Khaled, some place called Volgograd.” You explain as you finish cleaning the last of the burn. You reach over to pick up the aluminium foil.

“What are we going to do now? Cook my arm?” He asks, smiling.

“It’ll keep the wound contained, traps fluid which helps with the healing prosses. I’ll wrap it in bandages. It’s all we have for now, no burn cream unfortunately.” 

“They’re here.” You both turn to look at Gaz opening the front door. Price and Ghost walk in. 

“What happened?” Ghost asks as soon as he sees Soap. 

“He got burnt.” 

“We’re marinating my arm for when we run out of food.” Soap says as you wrap the foil round him. You tut shaking your head and look over at Price who has his hand on Gaz’s shoulder. 

“What happened?” You ask looking up at Ghost, maybe they have more answers. 

“Don’t know.” He says. Great, no one knows anything and now we’re trapped in a safehouse. 

“Are we going to go back to Farah?” You ask as you switch to wrapping bandages round Johnny’s arm. 

“No.” Price says coming over. “Not until we know who’s after us.” 

“It’s more likely to be Al Qatala than Konni.” Ghost says.

“What makes you think that?” Gaz asks. 

“The base was abandoned, Ivan sent everyone home, important people probably left with Makarov. The missiles were fired from within Urzikstan, Al Qatala fired them.” Price says. 

“Great so we’re back where we started?” Gaz says. 

“Not necessarily, we know where they are. We just need to get there.” 

“You want to go to Russia?” Soap asks. 

“It’s that or we wait for them to come to us. Farah will have her own problems pushing back the Al Qatala attack on the missile targets. We can use that to our advantage to sneak over the border.” Price says. 

“Sounds easy.” You say sarcastically. To your surprise John smiles.

“It’s never easy.” You sigh looking down at Soap’s arm. It’s the best you can do for now.

“Are you okay?” Price asks, you look up at him frowning. He nods down at you, you look where his eyes land. Shit, your wound is bleeding through your shirt. 

“Yeah, I probably pulled some stitches.” You say getting up. You pick up the first aid box you’ve been using. 

“I’ll go get cleaned up. One of you should keep an eye on Soap, he could still go into shock.” You say as you head for the stairs.

“Need a hand?” Gaz calls.

“No, I'll be fine.” 

...

Okay maybe you could have used a hand. You don’t exactly have a suture kit to fix the pulled stitches. Not that you think you could grit your teeth through the pain like Price did. You have to settle for using way too many steri-strips and bandages. It’ll hold, at least for a while. If you’re going to be moving up into Russia, you’re going to have to bring enough supplies to keep on top of your wound changes and Soap. 

“Hey.” The voice makes you jump, you look up to see Soap stood in the doorway. “You good?” 

“Yeah, I'll be fine, what about you? Feeling okay?” 

“Tired.” He says coming into the room.

“Did you need to use it?” You ask to get up off the toilet. He shakes his head. “I’m finished anyway. You say pulling your shirt down. 

“I’m good, I wanted to talk.” You frown, tipping your head to the side. You feel nervous all of a sudden. Soap looks behind him and closes the door. Now you really feel nervous. 

“What about?” You ask, trying to keep your cool. He takes another step towards you, your heart is thumping in your chest. 

“You could have betrayed us so many times, why didn't you?” He asks, you swallow the nerves, for some reason your mind is drawing a blank. 

“I don’t know. I guess I trusted you guys.” You say. Maybe this is a test, maybe they still think you’ll betray them. You can’t really blame them, you were the enemy. 

“Why did you pick us? Would have been easier to side with the ULF.” 

“Al Qatala and the ULF, they’re both as bad as each other. You guys, you have a goal, you’re not affiliated with any one person. You know what you need to do and you do it well. I guess I wouldn’t mind working for someone like that.” You don’t know what he’s looking for. “I would rather be on the front lines than stuck in a war room watching.” 

“You’re a doer.” 

“Sure.” You say your mouth suddenly feels dry. He smiles at you. You look up at him, he’s moved closer while you’ve been talking, you’re finally getting a better look at him. He’s handsome, well they all are. Ghost you don’t know he always has his mask on. You’ll need to ask him about that at some point. 

Soap has deep blue eyes, they complement him, his hair is always perfectly messy, like all he needs to do in a morning is run his hands through it. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little peachy.” Soap says. You nod.

“Yeah, all good. It’s hot in here.” You say. It’s a lie, it’s the closest you’ve been to them, any of them. There’s a twinkle in his eye, a cheeky grin on his face. You’re blushing, and he can see it. His hand comes to your arm and runs up it. His other hand lands on your waist. 

“Soap.” You say, this is definitely not appropriate, but you’re not stopping him. You don’t want to.

“Johnny, please.” He says, you can feel his breath on your face as his hand moves up your arm to your shoulder then your face. You swallow hard, your mouth tips open.

“This is definitely not appropriate.” You breathe, you don’t care, your hands reach out for his waist.

“Definitely. Can’t stop thinking about you though.” He says, you smile, your heart is hammering in your chest. You grip his hips pulling him towards you and as you do he reaches down to kiss you. 

It shocks you at first, it feels like he’s sucking all the air out your lungs as he pushes his tongue past your lips. You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around him. You forget where you are and who he is as you play with his tongue.  

Before you can really relax into the kiss there's a banging on the bathroom door. 

“Soap.” Ghost calls. He breaks from the kiss and you clamp your hands over your mouth. His hand drops from your face and he turns his head.

“Yeah?”

“Hurry up, Price’s waiting.” 

“Christ, can’t a man take a piss in peace.” Johnny calls. You hear Ghost leaving and Johnny turns back to look at you. You slowly drop your hands, his thumb comes up to brush your lips. He hums, his eyes scanning round your face. 

“Sweet as sugar you are.” He says, dropping his hand. He turns to leave, opening the door. “Don’t wait too long, or you’ll miss the fun.” 

You don’t know what to say, you just nod and sit back down on the toilet seat. You swallow the unbelievable amount of saliva that’s built up in your mouth.

Holy shit, you kissed Johnny, and you liked it.

…

You make it back downstairs, your heart still thumping in your chest. You can still taste him on your lips. You can’t believe he kissed you, you can’t believe you kissed him back. It was a good kiss, one that you could sink into and forget your worries. You look over at him sat on the sofa next to Gaz. 

You can feel heat rushing to your cheeks. Price is stood with his arms crossed, in the center of the room. You’re not sure where Ghost is, probably in the kitchen.

“Okay, let's get started.” Price says as you go over to sit down on a chair. 

“We know where Makarov is, Konni is splintered and Al Qatala are focusing their resources on creating a new border. Now is a better time than any to move in.” You hear Ghost come out the kitchen, you watch him stand behind the sofa. John turns to look at you.

“You and Soap are going to go back to Farah, give them then intel we have-”

“Like fuck. There’s no way I'm going back while you push into Russia.” Johnny says protesting. 

“You’re both injured, and we need someone to tell Farah what’s going on.” Price says.

“No way. I want to stay.” You say. Price sighs pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s not a request. We don’t even know if by the time we make it to Volgograd they will still be there.” Price says. You lean forward in the chair shaking your head, you look over at Johnny he looks just as pissed. 

“If we find him you can fly out, meet us there but you need proper medical treatment.” Price says.

“I’m fine.” Johnny says standing up. Price takes a step forward opening his mouth. Whatever he was going to say is halted by a knock at the front door.

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