Cod Headcanons - Blog Posts

Task Force 141 headcannons- art/paper

Warnings!: Nope, not any today. I'm being possessed by the spirit of creativity right now and I NEED to yap. Shoutout to @h1ccu9 for just being incredibly nice and amazing, and to all of you for your support! It means a lot <3

Johnny has always been an artist, in his mind. It's a fact that permeates his whole being, though it didn't come about how most think it did.

There was no single moment when he decided that it would be what consumed every other free moment he has, no Christmas present that spurred creativity any more than the others.

Slowly, when he was younger. Stupid drawings of cartoons he'd liked, the typical stuff for a kid. Then, more quickly. In Chemistry, he was so bored of hexagons, of compounds bound by singe and double lines and rote memorization.

So, he started with circles. They were ugly, at first, but he picked up shading, and then it spilled outward.

Stupid drawings of his teachers, made to draw a chuckle from classmates, drawn with the 5-pack of pencils that would last the whole year, no matter what.

Even in his adult life, when what fills his sketchbook is chicken-scratch and sketches of buildings (only sometimes people) it's only pencil.

A quiet tribute to the young boy in a big house where money was tight. Colored pencils and good graphite would be wasted on him. He has what he needs in his palm, and he's used to that. Sometimes, black and white works well enough.

Price is somewhat similar, but his skill is technical. Sharp lines composed of quick flicks of a controlled wrist (never mind the slight ache when he repeats the motion too many times) come together to form rough ideas, a tool more for communication more than anything else.

It's not a skill borne from anything too creative, no, it just boils down to the things he needs to know. Maps, structures from top-down and isometric angles. Plans of attack represented by smooth, even arrows like men haven't died following paths he's drawn.

John doesn't like to draw outside of work, not when he remembers how many lives have been mistakenly cut short by how he controls the ballpoint pen.

He's tried, once or twice. It always ends in a deep, stabbing guilt that takes a practiced hand to shake from his shoulders.

Kyle didn't have an affinity for art until his teen years. He'd gone to museums, sure, he knew it took skill, but it had never really piqued his interest in the way it seemed to captivate some people he knows.

He'd been stressed when he picked it up from a friend. Squiggles encased in squiggles on the margins of the page. His English teacher did nothing but mark down his essays for it, but dammit did forcing himself to focus on something else work.

His mother had soon gifted him a set of ink-basked, black liner pens. Middle-of-the-road, in both quality and price, but it was more than enough.

A simple notebook had soon become a haven for him. Dots on dots on dots, lines, big, swooping curves, you name it, it's there.

He holds one rule: No "drawing".

Of course, this feels silly when he tells it to people, but it matters. If he goes into the project with a thought of a desired result, it will just frustrate him more, when it inevitably turns out as less-than-flawless.

So, it's all amorphous. Sometimes it's spiky, sometimes he's almost scarily methodical, adding more and more detail until a whole spread is swallowed up, and his head is mercifully clear.

It's enough to pull him in, but the art always lets him go again, and that's what he needs out of it.

Simon doesn't draw.

That's not to say he doesn't make art, but his is different.

Origami is his trade. It has been for a long time. He'd tear the corners out of pages in school binders, find ways to fold them to make them more interesting.

A book from the local library was what had taken it from a child's passing interest to the work of the rest of his life. More patterns. A way to understand how to make patterns, of his very own.

But, perhaps most importantly, origami was a simple, cheap hobby he could pay for with quarters found on the side of the road. And it was easy to hide

A shoebox beneath his bed was where it resided for about a decade, and then he enlisted.

His first tour, an acquaintance had given him a good set of proper origami paper. He can't remember their name for the life of him, but he remembers them every time he sits at his desk.

Actually, to be fair, he remembers them every time he enters his room at all.

The walls are adorned in paper sculptures, some truly origami, some not. Some composed of thousands of fold and over a hundred hours of work, and some just five-minute warm-up cranes.

It's a soothing reminder that his life is his, now. No matter how bitter the past may be, the tamed roughness of paper on his burned fingertips is there, and his mind gets to shut off as he takes on a project.

He knows how to make cranes by heart, now.

uhhhh who wants simon ghost riley normal/relationship headcanons? anyone???

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✧ i think that: ghost has the softest hands known to man kind. he gets self conscious about it because he’s been a soldier for years and wishes his hands were more roughed up and reflected his gritty persona and job (i want his hands to be calloused too but c'mon and imagine soft handed simon…)

✧ i think that: ghost is sensitive to fragrant smells. ex: flowers or specific expensive perfumes, it just gives him a huge headache and makes his mood sour (he’s deathly allergic to pollen, not dust though).

✧ i think that: his ribs are sensitive (obviously iykyk) so he tends to guard them more whenever sparring or out in the field (like keeping his arms tucked close to his sides). but he lets you touch them lovingly after gaining his trust, just remember to be gentle, yeah?

✧ i think that: ghost runs extremely cold or hot, there’s no in between. if you're lounging with him, you'll either be practically one with him or on the opposite end of the furniture.

✧ i think that: he probably gets migraines a lot. with all the gunfire and flashing lights of his profession, he's prone to the horrible ache in his skulls we all know and hate. show up with some medicine and tea for him and he's smitten.

✧ i think that: he sleeps with the thinnest blanket ever and doesn’t have a duvet on his bed (he thinks it’s too soft of a luxury for him).

✧ i think that: this man can and will fall asleep anywhere and at any time to make up for the lack of it he gets. back from a rough op? nap for a couple minutes. on the heli to a new base? he says he's just resting his eyes, but everyone knows he fell asleep for real.

✧ i think that: ghost prefers sour and salty foods and doesn't have the biggest sweet tooth (as much as i want him to). though, he does like dark chocolate and gets mad when you say that doesn't really count. he can handle SOME spice but avoids it if optional.

✧ i think that: ghost's favorite animal has to be a wolf (stereotypical much?), snake, or another kind of lizard. maybe something like a kimodo dragon? if you take him to the zoo he beelines for the reptile and fish exhibits. aquarium date anyone?

✧ i think that: he hates when people mock his accent, he can't help it so whats the problem? maybe hate is a strong word but he definitely doesn't care for it. if you're close to him relationship wise he'll just scoff and pretend to be annoyed, but the accent on you does sound cute....

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omg whats up guys... its been a sec im sorry college is a bitch and a half. uhh im slowly getting back into cod after a few other phases have died down. if you liked this check out my menu to request a short fic! thank you!!!! - emile :3

the masses wanted it and now you receive! part two to my little ghost and fucked up hybrid!reader is here!!!

here's part one!

a/n: reader is a german shepard hybrid! and will now be presented as fem! i hope thats okay!!!

cw: little bit of violence but idk if i'd even be considered that

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"I'll take her."

Did you hear him right? You think that's what you heard the man say... How odd, he had only gotten not even a look at your battered form, not even seen how you fight, and yet he's going to take you. You slowly turn once more to peer over your shoulder at the man on the other side of the bars; Ghost- you heard the workers call him.

With narrowed eyes you know what's about to happen, it happens every time you're chosen for a job and must be transferred. Gas starts to come up from holes in your cell, making your vision grow hazy and slowly start to fall asleep.

Ghost watches from the other side of your cell, watching in discomfort as your gassed to sleep, your now lifeless body being manhandled by the workers that entered your cell the second you were down. Ghost shifts in his spot as he sees your wrists and ankles chained together in pair with a muzzle around your mouth that sits over your lower face and wraps around tightly to the back of your head.

"Is this necessary..?"

Ghost speaks up and glares at one of the workers bringing you to your feet and dragging you out the doors of the facility and towards the chopper. The worker that he got a hold of nods his head and makes a gesture for Ghost to follow him as they walk to the chopper.

"Yes sir- she's... Not always privy to being assigned to a new handler- this is just for insurance that she won't lash out."

Ghost just grunts in response, this was going to be a pain in his ass. You were going to be a pain in his ass. The Lieutenant watches as you're forcefully shoved into a cage in the back of the chopper, his dark eyes beneath his mask narrowing as you're locked in and your chains are secured to the hull of the chopper. With one last glance at the facility, Ghost climbs into the back of the chopper, choosing to take one of the seats near where you're caged.

When the chopper lifts off the tarmac, Ghost notices you flinch as you sit with your knees to your chest- the same position you were in back in your old cell. Trauma response? Maybe. Ghost thinks to himself as his eyes glaze over you, noticing every nick, bruise, and scar on your body that's obvious. After a few boring seconds of silence the Lieutenant finally speaks up, addressing you for the first time.

"My name's-"

"Simon."

Ghost all but flinches as the sound of your voice, the man steeling himself instantly. The hell did he jump for? You're just some mutt. Though, his eyes darken and narrow into sharp slits beneath his mask when he realizes you said his name; not his callsign or last name, his first name.

"Workers liked to chat about things on the down low away from us. Wrong thing to do around creatures with enhanced hearing."

To practically prove your point, one of your ears flick atop your head before flattening back down against your skull. Ghost honestly didn't know how to feel; he wanted to throttle the blabber mouths that even dared utter his name, while also basking in the sound of your voice. It was muffled from the muzzle around your mouth, but despite that Ghost notices the pitch is strained and scratchy as you speak in a quiet whisper that's barely audible above the whirring of the chopper's blades, while also holding some semblance of softness under all the grit and gore of your very being.

"Right. It should just be Ghost to you though, I don't really do familiarity."

Ghost hears your sigh and simply stares at you, giving you an expectant look conveyed through just his dark eyes. When you catch on to what he wants you give him your name, muttering it into the air quietly so that Ghost almost doesn't catch it. The Lieutenant registers your name, grumbling it out with his gravelly voice and accent before nodding stiffly and looking you up and down, staring at your tail wrapped around your thigh and ears atop your head.

"The hell are you anyways?"

The man before you questions. Probably not the best tone of voice in his approach, but Ghost didn't think you wanted to be babied, you don't look the type to him. Your eyes slowly trail up to Ghost's, simply keeping eye contact with the man before you murmur your species, German Shepard.

Ghost hums, breaking eye contact with you and looking down at his boots for a fleeting second before looking out one of the small circular windows in the chopper. Guess that was typical, it's the average breed of hybrid that enlisted into the forces.

Simon always did like German Shepards...

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hi guys i'm alive!!! college got a little rough and i've started working out so.. my hands are full and all that. hope you guys are staying safe and i love you all :3

don't boo me but i like the hybrid au's for cod, maybe even a little a/b/o in the midst (though that's not what this one is about)

so now i'm just thinking about a hybrid! reader who's all sorts of fucked and gets picked up by ghost for the 141

cw: kinda angsty with descriptions of abuse, dog(hybrid?) fighting, and scars

heres part 2!!

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It isn't like Ghost hates hybrids; he's worked with them on missions before and dismissed them as any other soldier, everyone was just doing their job after all. As long as the objective was complete, that's what mattered. Though when Price told him he was being sent to a location to 'pick out" a hybrid from a facility (Laswell thought it'd be good for their team, a new set of hands and efficiency to the group and all that), he couldn't help the disagreeing grumbles that escaped past his mouth as he begrudgingly went on his way to the helipad, cursing to himself the whole way and glaring at his boots.

After the nearly agonizing chopper ride, the wheels touch down on the tarmac of the facility, a worker immediately stumbling towards Ghost as he steps out of the chopper. He didn't catch the guy's name, didn't care either. He was here for some furball soldier that could help his team, that's all that matters. The worker guides the Lieutenant through the stone walls of the facility, the smell of mold and mildew making him wrinkle his nose beneath his mask.

In the distance of the long hallways, he can hear the yells and barks of hybrids, cringing internally as the worker turns a corner and leads him to a large room of kennels and cells. Each step Ghost takes causes a hybrid to look up, many starting to growl or hide within their cells while others lay against the cold cell floor, bodies barely moving with the only sign of life being a rising and falling chest.

He's seen a lot over his years as a soldier, and he's not so easily rattled, but this was a whole new experience of discomfort and pity for him. The conditions were bad, worse than any kind of kennel he remembers when he was young, and that was for full bred animals. Ghost eyes each hybrid slowly, taking in the diverse appearances of breeds and species of hybrid. Though each is a pathetic sort, the one true hybrid that caught Ghosts eye was one that was in the corner, the cell seemingly reinforced with different metal. In the middle of the cage there you sit, back facing the door and simply staring at the wall as multiple chains hand from your ankles and wrists, a prong collar tightly pressing against your throat. Ghost wonders why you were needed to be so heavily contained, your crooked tail wrapped around your leg as your torn and notched ears that press flat against your head making you seem like a harmless broken ittle thing.

"I wouldn't recommend that one, Lieutenant."

The worker speakers quickly, warily eyeing you behind the bars of your cell. Ghost's eyes stay on you, catching onto the small twitch of your ear. You know they're talking about you.

"Why, she broken?"

Ghost says roughly, keeping his dark unblinking stare on your battered form noticing the small twitch of your tail, probably annoyance, he clues, due to his words.

"Not exactly but.."

The worker pauses, causing Ghost to maneuver his unblinking gaze to him, making the worker freeze and fumble over his words.

"But-But she has a history of recklessness, a lack of respect for authority and horrible at responding to orders. Not something you need on a team like yours."

At the workers words you slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder, revealing the dullness in your eyes and prominent scars across your face. Scratches, bites, lacerations; Ghost can identify easily each one. The worker grimaces beneath your steely gaze and takes a step back from the cell, practically shaking in his boots. To say that Ghost was intrigued would be an understatement. He knows that look in your eyes; the coldness of someone who's killed and has started to become numb, with emotions raging within just waiting to be unleashed and ruin your very being. He's seen it before, he's seen it in him.

Goddamnit, he want to know more about you.

"How long's she been here?"

The lieutenant questions, maintaining eye contact with you and frowning beneath his mask when you look away, the tiny spark in your eye at his question not being lost to him before you turn your head away.

"Couple of months maybe? She was handed over to us after being used for cage fighting and served for a couple of PMC's- so I suppose she does have some experience in the field if you were really inclined.."

The Lieutenant couldn't help the small frown that is invisible beneath his mask, the words 'handed over' causing a foul taste to coat his tongue. He knew many hybrids were considered lesser than humans, and it never bothered him before, but when in relation to you it ground his gears just that little bit. Ghost clicks his tongue and sends the worker a small glare before returning his flat gaze back to you, narrowing his eyes and watching as you scratch at the stone floor, the movement revealing the numerous scars and burns along your arms. Sure, Ghost had known you (not even really known yet) for a couple of minutes, but he was sold. And when he speaks, he stares straight into the workers eyes and speaks in the flattest most straight forward tone possible, there was no mistaking it-

"I'll take her."

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hey guys!!

uhh tell me if you see this becoming a little story or just want a few parts to it, i love the feedback and it makes me happy seeing everyone like my little works of fleeting words

thank you so much!

-emile :3

screw my college work, all i can think about is ghost being clingy after a tough mission..

cw: tiny bits of angst, fluff

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Ghost swore his ears were still ringing, the high-pitched noise still ever present in the back of his head amidst the large chopping of the helicopter blades. The mission had gone to shit, most of them have recently after losing Soap. The dynamic of the team was fucked without the boisterous Scotsman, and everyone knew it. Simon appeared to be clingier as of late, definitely a method of subconsciously drowning out his emotions by staying closer to you.

"Five more minutes, yeah?"

Simon grumbles into the skin of your neck when you mention getting up get something to eat as you lay on top of him in his barracks, both of you fresh out of the shower and free from the blood and grit of the outside world. His grip is almost suffocating around you, completely negating his strength and just holding you close, almost as if he's afraid you'll disappear. He took off his gloves a while ago, simply moving his cold fingers underneath the hem of your shirt and brushing them over your skin, memorizing every scar and indent of your very being.

He couldn't lose you. Not you too... You notice his breathing become shallow as he gets lost in his own thoughts. You noticed everything about him at this point. What the small flick of his eyes or hands meant, what mood he was in by just the way he stood, etcetera and all that. You lift your head up to make eye contact with him and come face to face with his hooded eyelids, his eyeblack already starting to rub off and reveal the pale skin of his eyelids and blonde eyelashes as dark brown eyes peer almost lovingly up at you. The look makes you falter, the pure emotion exuding from your usually stoic Lieutenant's eyes throwing you for a loop. As you try to climb off him while muttering excuses to get up, he locks his arms tighter around your back, pulling you back down onto him and practically crushing you against his chest.

"Just stay."

You grumble in turn, starting to protest his clinginess but stop when he pushes his masked face into the crook of your neck and lowering his voice to the gentlest octave you've ever heard it go to.

"Please."

You suppose the mess hall could wait a little longer.

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hi guys omg the feedback has been great and i appreciate every note and reblog, college is starting to get a little rough but i'll tough it out! thank you all so much and don't forget you can go to my menu and order a small fic of your choosing :3

your honor i MUST see captain john price in a “kiss the cook” apron

Gaz: Where's Soap?

Ghost: Right barracks

*Loud popping noises followed by firealarms emanates from the Left barracks*

Ghost: ...Left barracks

Gaz: Yeh, I guessed

he has such nice eyes jajajaj

Drew my headcanons on the appearance of Mace and Ghost. I always thought Simon looked old. And Buru's appearance is a slightly modified appearance of Chris.

Co-workers joked about the funny look of chibi Mace lmao I tried to make him formidable.

this is my first headcanon/yap so pls dont judge me lol😭 anyway headcanons(?) of what Simon Ghost Riley is like in a relationship🫶

tw: abuse mentioned (no detail)

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Finds it hard to love and trust, this fear def started from his fathers abuse throughout his childhood, and never actually seen what real love is like w his parents

Somewhat emotionally unavalible, at last in the beginning, id imagine that during an argument w his lover, he'd shut down or get frustrated and say things he doesnt mean. I dont think he would be great at communicating either, often shutting down things that worry/upset him. With all of this i believe w time and an understanding lover he would be a lot better

Definetly would get to know all of his lovers friends, interests, hobbies etc

Very respectful of boundaries etc

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this is kinda short but yeah... these r just my opinions!!! first real post hehe

AleRudy Getting Together Headcanons

Warnings: None Ships: Alejandro/Rudy A/N: Aro-spec Rudy? Aro-spec Rudy. Words: 1875

They've known each other for 20 years, and have been together for 15 of them, married for 10. The reason they didn’t get together sooner was because Alejandro was dating Valeria at the time but their relationship soured. 

Rudy fell first, and he fell hard enough to bruise, but Alejandro fell harder. 

Out of the both of them, Alejandro is the most emotional and Rodolfo… less so. He’s a little more emotionally detached. 

It goes to say that Rudy absolutely positively adores Alejandro and loves him with his entire heart, but he’s just… not the best at vocalising it. Verbal and physical affection was never really a big thing when he was growing up, so he got used to doing other things to show he cared like acts of service or gift giving. 

Rudy also grew up in a large family. Being the eldest sibling/cousin, there were a lot of times that he had to step in to stop arguments. He learnt how to keep a level head to try and avoid any worsening conflict. This ends up becoming a problem a little more into their relationship.

‘I love you’ is also something that Rudy struggles to say. Yes, he loves Alejandro, but to him they’re just words. Saying them himself holds no power or meaning. Not as much as the little things to show your love that you care about them– subtle things, like restocking Alejandro’s hair gel when he notices it running out. Making him his morning coffee just before his alarm goes off so he’s able to drink it while it’s still hot and before he even has to roll out of bed.  

Expanding on Rudy being a little emotionally detached, as one can imagine, this caused a lot of arguments when they first started dating. It wasn’t an issue for when they were just friends because Rudy was already such a loyal friend to Alejandro there was no question with his feelings towards his then best friend.

Being in a relationship was a new territory for the both of them. Alejandro because Rudy was the first person he actually felt a deep connection to whilst any previous relationships were closer to flings than anything more. For Rudy, Alejandro was one of the first few romantic relationships he had ever had– if not the first.

So as time went on, Alejandro began to notice what he believed was Rudy’s… lack of attachment.

Again, Alejandro is a passionate and emotional man. He loves his friends, his soldiers and his family fiercely, but he sometimes expects others to show the same intensity.

So when Rudy didn’t seem all that enthusiastic in the first few months of their relationship, Alejandro began to believe the worst. 

They had arguments here and there, as most couples do, but Alejandro reached breaking point around 3 months into dating. And thus their first proper argument as a couple happened. And it was bad. 

Alejandro was furious beyond words, using his anger to hide the hurt he felt at what he incorrectly assumed was Rudy rejecting him for months. He would constantly say those special three words and only receive a smile in response or an awkward grimace and a swift change in subject.

He accused Rudy of not caring about him, given how little emotion he would show when they were together. He even brought up that Rudy only seemed the most romantic/emotional during sex. How he cradled Alejandro and whispered sweet nothings in the man’s ear as he took him apart and built him back up, made him whimper and keen in the dead of night. 

This, of course, crushed Rudy.

The argument would then get worse when Rudy, without meaning it, would seem to undermine Alejandro and tone down any concerns he had when in reality he was just trying to calm him down the only way he knew how. Sometimes, Rudy would curse himself for having such a level head and occasional aloof demeanour as it never failed to make him seem all the more distant and closed off to those closest to him.

It’s during that argument that something finally gives in. As always, Alejandro is yelling, gesturing angrily and so violently that it almost makes Rodolfo flinch. Almost. 

“If you don’t love me, just say it! I am sick of playing these games–”

Rudy’s attempts at calming his lover down only just seemed to add fuel to the fire. In the end, he sat resolutely in silence as he waited for Alejandro’s rage to simmer down. That was until something he didn’t expect slipped from his Colonel’s mouth.

“This is like Valeria all fucking over again!”

Rodolfo could handle being yelled at. He could handle hiding every flinch that wanted to escape whenever Alejandro got violent and began to throw the nearest objects to him into the wall (but never at Rodolfo– Lord knows Alejandro would never forgive himself if he laid a hand on the man he loved). He could handle the harsh glares and the cold shoulders that followed a few days after every argument. He could deal with those. He would persevere because he loved Alejandro. He just never said it. 

But to be compared to that bitch was what hurt the most. Valeria– who had buried her perfectly manicured talons into Alejandro’s heart all those years ago and then ripped it to pieces when she yanked her claws out just to watch him bleed. Rodolfo knew that Alejandro didn’t mean what he was saying. He was too lost in his own rage to really think about what he was saying. Alejandro continued raving– mostly to himself now that Rudy had bowed his head to stare at the floor, shame and guilt eating away at his insides. 

The argument came to a barrelling stop at the first sniffle that cut through the room. It was quiet but deafening to Alejandro’s ears and enough to make him stop his rambling and look at his boyfriend with panic in his eyes. He had wanted Rudy to hurt, yes, selfishly wanted him to feel the hurt he had made Alejandro feel these past few months— but he didn’t want this. Didn’t want to be the cause of the fat blobs of tears dripping onto the floor as the other man stared at it. His anger was still present, but it took a backseat as he rushed to try and comfort Rudy, his heart breaking when the other man held out a hand to stop him, shaking his head and denying Alejandro the right to soothe the hurt that he had caused.

“Rudy, mi amor, I am so sorry–” 

“No.” Rudy whispered through his tears, stubbornly keeping his gaze on the floor just so Alewjandro could not see how deep his words had cut him. “You are right, I am just like–”

The speed and strength that suddenly seized him in the form of Alejandro’s hands clutching his upper arms startled him. He looked up with wide and wet eyes to see Alejandro almost exactly the same. His love looked so heartbroken. 

“No, Rodolfo– Rudy, it was callous of me to compare you to that woman. Perdóname mi corazón, I may have been angry but that is no excuse to say that to you.”

“But–” Rudy’s mouth snaps shut when Alejandro shakes him, his earlier fury returning for only a split second before melting away into the most hurt he had ever seen on his Colonel.

“Escúchame– listen. Listen to me, Rudy. No matter what happens between us, you will never, ever be like she was. You are the most thoughtful, selfless, brave, beautiful man I have ever known..” Rudy opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when Ale shook him again. “I mean it, Rudy. I mean it.”

Alejandro, for all his training and status, panicked when his reassurances only seem to make the other cry harder. His fingers only tightened around Rudy’s shoulders, pulling him close and pressing his lips against the other man’s hairline. 

“I love you.” Rudy whispered through his tears. Alejandro hated the way his heart skipped a beat  “I love you. So much. So much that breathing is unimportant when I am around you because you always take my breath away. The sun rising is nothing in comparison to your smile. You are the man I would live and die for– the man I would start wars for if you only asked.”

Alejandro had been taken aback by his lover’s words. To hear him speak about him with such awe, such reverence that it would make God himself jealous. Rudy was a lowly disciple, willing to worship the very ground that Alejandro stood on like a man pleading for salvation. How… How had Alejandro missed the adoration Rudy had for him? And now he had gone and made the man cry like he had been rejected from the gates of Heaven. 

“I'm sorry.” Rodolfo continued, “I am sorry that I have not said it enough. I am sorry that I do not love you the way you want me to– the way that you deserve to be loved.”

“Oh, mi amor…” Alejandro had whispered back, all remaining semblance of anger draining from his body once understanding clicked into place. “Perdóname…”

The Colonel reached out, taking Rudy’s hand into his own, and placing kisses so soft onto the other man’s knuckles that it felt like he was merely brushing his lips over flesh. 

“My love, my life, my heart… If I have your love, no matter what kind, then that is more than enough for me.”

To say the argument made their relationship stronger would be an understatement. They communicated more, voiced any worries or their needs, cleared the air before anything could fester.  They flourished together and only grew more madly in love with each other as time passed.

Not to mention that Alejandro became more acutely aware of the tiny things that Rudy did for him to show his love– and began to do the same. Topping up the spice rack that Rudy heartily used at mealtimes before they could fully run out, cleaning his favourite pistol before he had to do it because Ale knows just how much his lover hated doing it at the end of a long mission. 

Months later, Alejandro can’t rightfully remember who had told him about the idea in the first place, but he was quick to bring it up to Rodolfo the second he had the chance. He explained how a couple shows that they love each other by tapping three times anywhere on their partner’s body. Rodolfo, touched, says that it sounds like a wonderful thing to do. 

It’s when Alejandro and Rodolfo are lying in bed together, limbs tangled together as they exchange sleepy kisses that Alejandro feels it. Three taps. Three taps. Three Taps. Three taps with a break between each sequence. I love you. I love you. I love you. It’s beautiful and almost overwhelming enough to bring tears to his eyes. 

From there, Alejandro never again doubted Rudy’s love for him, especially when he felt three taps on his wrist as Rodolfo slid a gold band over his ring finger half a decade later. I love you, the taps whispered.

“I love you.” Alejandro said, beaming with adoration.

have a request? send one in!

Graves + Shadows Headcanons Part 3 [Part 1] [Part 2] Words: 766

Praise for DAYS. Did Shadow 5-8 get a good shot on the target? Punch in the shoulder at the end of the mission and a bright grin “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, 5-8!”, 

“Atta’girl, 6-12, I couldn’t’ve done that better myself.”

“Keep it up, 10-4!” Reaches over and brings them into a side hug and ruffles their hair like a proud dad. 

Coming back to Graves having a lot of respect for his soldiers, remember that scene in SWCW where it's like

"We're clones, sir, we're meant to be expendable..." "Not to me."

Yeah that's Graves.

He has kept every set of dog tags that belonged to Shadows that died during missions. They’re kept locked away in a box, safely tucked away.

A lot of Shadows were previously mercenaries, even criminals, but they are good at what they do which is why they get hired in the first place. Not to mention that Graves sees hiring them as a way to give them a second chance at life. 

Shepherd has learnt that the way to make Graves do what he wants is by threatening his Shadows. He could very easily dissolve the entire company in a day and expose Graves for technically harbouring wanted criminals.  

Yes, Shepherd called him a ‘dog with a bone’, but he’s more like a Dragon with a hoard. His hoard being his soldiers.

Some rando who was visiting the base once snapped at a Shadow, calling them a ‘stupid fucking mercenary’. That was his mistake when Graves had to be restrained by 3 of his own men. 

“What the fuck did you just say to them? You’d best walk outta my base before I make you leave in a goddamn body bag!”

As shown above, he goes absolutely feral if someone ever insults any of his soldiers.

“Be quiet, sergeant, your betters are talking.” Said some hoity Commander who hasn’t stepped foot in a battlefield in over a decade. Suddenly, it feels like all the air in the room has been sucked out like a vacuum. All eyes go to Graves as he glares long and hard at the man. 

“Apologise. Now.” “What–” “I said: apologise, ‘fore I show you my own version of ‘southern hospitality’.”

Compulsory language lessons. Every Shadow has to know at least 2 languages, English and another language of their choosing. Missions sometimes rely heavily on communication, so fluency in different languages is important.

Graves knows several languages himself, but his pronunciation is downright awful. Sometimes he makes his accent worse because it’s funny watching the horror in people’s eyes when he speaks. 

One of his Shadows has a tendency of crawling around in the vents in the base and because he’s not really harming anyone, Graves lets him do as he pleases. Because of the habit, however, and the fact he’s somehow able to go around almost silently through the metal vents, he’s earned an affectionate nickname amongst the Shadows; Roach. 

Graves doesn’t get along with family. Don’t get him wrong, he has some semblance of respect for his Momma cause she taught him good manners and other things like how to cut hair and how to cook a hearty meal for 12 people, but she was a narcissistic bitch when it came down to it and he took a lot of pleasure cutting her out of his life the second he was able to. 

He never met his father, and doesn’t much care for him, either. 

Paid leave/Holidays? Check. Paternity/Maternity leave? Check. Bed ed and board? Check. Medical and dental plan? You know it. Any possible benefit that can come with a job, being a Shadow has. 

No matter what they’re doing, if Graves does a run up to them, they will always catch their Commander. 

Is the first or last port of call when a fight/argument breaks out. It depends on how out of hand it's gotten in the space of about 15 minutes. Usually people don’t want to interrupt whatever the Commander’s doing and invoke his wrath.

“They started it!” “Well I’m endin’ it!”

Has the type of authority that if he were to suddenly yell at a recruit “Drop it. Now!” Everyone in earshot would absolutely drop whatever they were holding even if the comment wasn’t directed at them. 

There’s a Shadow that’s the largest of the entire company– but he is the biggest scaredy cat and coward anyone has ever met, which makes people wonder why he’s even in Shadow Company. The reality is that, despite being a coward, he’s damn intimidating. Perfect for him to shadow hover behind Graves during mission briefs and so forth.

have a request? send one in!

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish is the kind of dad who throws your kids around for fun, tossing them into the air and catching them just to hear their infectious laughter, ignoring the worrisome protests that you call out from the kitchen when they get a little too high.

Captain John Price is the kind of dad who convinces your children to ask you for pizza for dinner, acting all surprised when you tell him to call the local pizza place, eyebrows rising with "What's the occasion?" despite the obvious grin that his plan worked. You aren't fooled.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is the kind of dad who chases your kids around with a nerf gun, relentlessly pelting them with styrofoam bullets and ganging up on your oldest son with your youngest daughter. Waits behind the front door for your son to get home from school and immediately fires on him.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of dad who holds your toddlers like footballs, your daughter tucked sideways under his arm and dangling your son by his ankle. "Found these mice sniffin' 'round the cookie tin." He says with a deadpan expression, but you don't miss the way his mouth twitches when they giggle and shriek.

Ghost doesn't cutesy talk cats, he talks to them like other adult men and it's hilarious.

They're at a safehouse, and Ghost is listening to the radio, Price hears him talking to someone, and he's confused because both of his sergeants are conked out asleep.

So, he walks around the corner and finds Ghost sitting on a step with the radio playing and a stray kitten biting his laces while he talks to her. "I don't believe shoelaces constitute part of a balanced diet."

John just sits down on the step next to him and ignores how his knees click. "What's her name?"

"She's yet to disclose name or rank, but given that she's clearly smarter than those two through there, I'd say she's a lieutenant." He responds so dryly that John can't help but snort.

"Ah, I see. Making her way through the ranks at her young age, impressive." He leans forward to pet the kitten, flattening down the tuft of fur sticking up on her head.

"She's a hard worker, look at those paws. Grubby, she's been busy."

The kitten offers them a mewl in response, and he nods accordingly.

"She's stern, reminds me of Laswell."

That makes Ghost laugh.

ghost knows he’s too rough and impatient with sex. knows he won’t know how to please you properly. knows he can’t possibly do things right with you, knowing you’ve never done this before. but god, he wants to. he wants to treat you how you deserve. never thought he’d be so desperate to fuck someone good and slow like he does with you.

so he goes to price. the one man who will know all the right ways to please a lady properly. asks him to show him how to take care of you. tells him he doesn't know how to care for someone else's needs, at least with someone inexperienced like you. tells him he needs to be instructed. to see just how he should work you.

you’re nervous at first, thinking it’s an absolutely insane idea, but you can’t hide the wetness along your panties as you sit on ghost’s lap, back pressed against his chest, legs spread, his knuckle dragging down your warmth. price sits back in his chair, telling ghost exactly how to move his fingers, paying close attention to your body's minuscule movements, the way your brows furrow when ghost moves a certain way, or your eyelashes fluttering.

and this was supposed to be a strictly hands-off approach… but god, watching ghost fumble, unable to maintain the slow speed you need, keeping you from reaching your orgasm, has price on edge. he leans forward, rolling his chair with him, and tells ghost to stop. tells him to watch and to pay close attention. price tears your panties off and your eyes go wide at the contact. you swallow, expecting ghost to be furious, but his hands only settle around you and he takes notes as he watches his captain work.

price runs his thumb up your slit, circling your nub, and tells ghost to hold your thighs apart when you unconsciously try to clench them. then his finger is sinking into you and your head falls back against ghost's chest, eyes shut. you moan and you feel ghost harden beneath you. “how’s that feel, sweetheart?” price asks you. you babble out incoherently, price adding a second finger, and chuckling darkly at your response.

it becomes too much, his fingers thrusting in and out of you, his other hand rubbing your clit, ghost's fingers digging into the softness of your thighs as he forces them apart. “ohmygod,” you slur, “m’gonna—“ price smirks, his eyes darkening as he watches you orgasm, your body clenching around his fingers shoved deep in your heat. "talk her through it," price tells ghost. so ghost does. you're shaking still and ghost rubs his hands over your exposed skin. "that's it, baby. you're doin' s'good," he praises.

"whata fuckin' sight," price mumbles to himself, his fingers leaving you empty. you steady your breathing, coming down from your high, completely limp in ghost's arms. price can see the way ghost's eyes have gone dark, his pupils swallowing his irises whole. knows ghost doesn't know how to be soft. sees the feral need to ram himself into you overtaking his features. "gonna take it slow with her, yeah?" price asks.

ghost breathes rapidly out, his hips begging to buck up against you. he knows he wouldn't be able to control himself if you let him fuck you. so he answers honestly. "not sure I'd be able to."

price tsks, sitting back in thought, his eyes roving over your spent body. you suddenly feel shy, wanting to close your legs, but ghost's arms tighten on you. "need me t'break her in?" price finally asks after several long beats of silence.

ghost grinds up against you, his hand sliding into your hair and pulling your head to the side so he can kiss your neck. your eyes flutter at his attempts to be so delicate with you. "want the captain here to be your first time, love?" ghost asks against your skin. you stutter when you answer. "don't you want to be?" "course I do. but I won't go easy on ya. I'd hate to ruin you, sweet girl. price will take it nice n' slow. just like you need." and after, you'll be ready to take ghost. ready to adjust to his size.

you swallow hard, ghost's hands escaping and clawing at your clothed chest. you nod. "o-okay."

price stands from his chair and begins to undo his belt. "come sit on my desk, sweetheart."

cod masterlist

how do we feel about bunnyhybrid!reader and OC (ted)?

masterlist

just imagine sniffing around and finding your way onto random farm. some random ahh guy outside herding some sheep w his farm dogs.. scary but hey.. he's a bit hot in his overalls ngl. he's human tho sooo.. u dont really know how this is gonna go.. but guess what!? you hop over anyway! you made your way over, crunching on some leaves as you tried to sneak up on him, stopping at his feet and observing him from there as he fills up some type of.. bowls? with.. water? for.. whom? they were some big ass bowls so maybe for the dogs? or horses? you take a few steps back and watch him from a corner as he starts moving again.

you continue to watch until you spot the most beautiful strawberry bushes ever, taking your focus off of him for a moment to look at them, wondering how you're gonna get over there and what you're gonna do with the heaps of strawberries. now, with the greed that was building up, thinking about taking all the strawberries for yourself for harvest, you feel a presence, a watcher if you will. and as you get that feeling you're suddenly picked up by.. the farmer!?

"was macht so ein ding wie du hier.." he mutters, examining you. you just let it happen and take this chance to also examine him up close. he's got a little beard coming in. or did he just shave? there stubble so maybe the latter. his skins fair. he doesn't seem harmful at least. as you examine yet again, he's doing the same. looking over your brown coat (which was now your skin) plus your ears and puffy scut (tail) that was sticking out from your rear.

and you just.. sit there as he cradles you in his arms taking you into his home. he places you on a couch and crouches in front of you. "deutsch sprechen?" he says. it sounds foreign but you can understand a bit. you tilt your head, continuing your observation from earlier. "english?" he questions. you understand that clearly, taking some time before responding. "yes.." you practically whisper. "okay." he takes note. "um.. what are.. you doing here?" he asks, taking his time to choose his choice of words. you shrug and blink a bit. "fruit.. bush.. berry." you mutter, words not really making sense since you rarely ever take on your human form.

"beerenstrauch?" he questions himself, trying to figure out what you were talking about. "fruit? um.." he tries to gather words but you beat him to it, clearing things up. "strawberry." you mutter once more. "oh. the strawberry bush. "

🐾; lmk if u want more pls

translation;

germ; "was macht so ein ding wie du hier.."

eng; "what's a thing like you doing here.."

germ; "deutsch sprechen?"

eng; "speak german?"

germ; "beerenstrauch?"

eng; "berry bush?"

ou-la-la, retired Simon with nothing but warm love in his heart.

masterlist

as you slowly blink yourself awake, twisting and turning in bed before you finally decide to get up, simon is already up as usual. his job keeps him on a time routine even when he's not at work. it kinda ticks you off when you wake up and he's not in bed but y'know, who are you to tell him off (his life, his world, his everything)? puffing out before sitting on the side of the bed, you rub the cold out of your eyes, patting your hand on the nightstand beside you to find your glasses only to find they're not there..?

you groan and look over, squinting to see nothing but the quarter gone cup of water you had last night and some candies. you slowly step onto the cold wood floor, seeking out to find simon somewhere in the house.

you hazardly walk around the house, softly calling out for him. "simon, baby?" you continue until he calls back "yeah, luv?" he responds from the front door. "did you leave? have you seen my glasses?" you ask, watching the blurry figure walk toward the living room. "went to tha' shops, got us some matching frames, come sit." you follow the sound, feeling for the couch as you come close then sit next to him. he scoots you close, setting your legs over his as he explains what he's went out to buy. "my eye doctor's told me to go out n' grab my prescription today, i thought i'd go out n' take y'r glasses to switch them out fir a pair of new frames that'll match mine." you nod at the cute idea, suddenly looking down as the sound of wrapping unfolds.

you can get a small glimpse of glasses in a basic frame, clear with black lines inside with an addon of black legs. his were the same, of course but a different shape, the shape most reading glasses are built. yours were your original shape, the one that framed your face nicely. as you hold them in your hands, still observing, simon has already slipped his on, tapping your shoulder to look.

"like em?" the corner of his eyes crinkling as he gives you a small smile, grabbing your glasses to put them on for you. "now y'r almost as cute as me." he chuckles as you playfully hit his shoulder, giggling slightly alongside. "thank you, simon." you peck his cheek and get up, yawning a bit as you walk to your bathroom. "needed anything, woman?" he asks, following behind. "no, I just felt like a baby bird without these." you refer to your glasses, opening the bathroom door. "well you are a bird, my bird." he mumbles, sliding up behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist as you began brushing your teeth, nuzzling into the crown of your bonnet, smelling nothing but a mix of gels and a scented edge control you forgot to clean off the night before.

"you're such an old man."

happy (very) late 4th of July from teddy and I to you! 🤍

masterlist

Guys I got a haircut. I'm rocking that mid-length style after years of growing out my hair down to my ass lol.

Guess that means that's going into a CoD geadcanon ;P

Stay turned for that!

Headcanons (SFW and NSFW) - Captain Price || MDNI!!

Character: Captain John Price, Call of Duty

Warnings: Some smut / adult content

Reader: Fem / AFAB

Words: 625

I'm currently in a COD brainrot since I started playing Modern Warfare and I just wanted to share my undying love for a man who could easily be my father, considering his age :P

It isn't too long, but I hope you'll like it nonetheless!

Enjoy!

SFW headcanons!

His favourite petnames for you are darling, love, sweetheart, doll and dove (i do not make the rules)

Price wakes up early in the morning so he makes the both of you coffee for when you wake up

Every weekend he makes you breakfast on bed, just because he can and thinks he has to spoil you every now and then to make sure you still feel loved and cared for.

He buys you a bouquet of flowers whether it's for an anniversary, feeling down or even when he wants to let you know you look gorgeous. He finds a reason every time to buy you flowers.

This man can COOK and he loves to do it for you. When he's cooking he'll always let you have the first taste to make sure it's to your liking.

Forehead kisses are his specialty and he knows you love it.

He loves burying his face in the crook of your neck, taking in the smell of your perfume as he tells you how you smell like a field of flowers

Texts and calls you for every little thing to let you know what he's doing, where he is and when he'll be home (he just wants you to know there's no one else who he could love the way he loves you)

ALWAYS brings you a little gift whenever he returns home from a mission

Whenever he's driving he will put his hand on your thigh, squeezing it every now and then just to feel you squirm under his touch, knowing you can't get enough of it either

Price can also not get enough of some simple cuddles on the couch as the two of you watch your favourite tv show, chuckles softly when you fall asleep while watching (happens like every time lol)

NSFW headcanons!

Price loves mating press and prone bone, mostly because he can be as close as possible to you in these positions

"You're taking me so well, love." and "use your words."

Will literally get a boner if you call him sir

His mouth techniques are GODLY

knows just how to drive you crazy by constantly edging and saying things like "show me how good you can be for me'' and ''I'll let you cum all over my face."

Grabs a handful of your hair when you're sucking his dick, he just needs to push you down even further and further

He'll call you over just to fuck you senseless on his desk

Can't forget the breeding. Price loves to fill you up until you can´t take any more. The sight of his cum leaking out of your pussy is a sight he wants to see every time.

He loves it when you're all touchy during sex, and if you're not he will put your hands on his chest

Makes you cock warm him because if he could he'd literally want to be inside of you 24/7

Even though he's quite rough usually, from time to time he'll also enjoy just having slow, passionate sex as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear

Price will suprise you with a new lingerie set once in a while. He'll make you do a little show for him, just so he can see how the fabric hugs your breasts, hips and every other part of you

Aftercare is his forte, after pounding you into the bed he will tell you how proud he is, cigarette in one hand while using the other to stroke your hair. he will stay with you for however long you need it

He never forgets to take a warm bath with you, no matter how intense it was, he always wants to make sure you're all clean and feeling well

Thinking about Laswell using Price as a surrogate

for her and her wife hehehe („ಡωಡ„)

18+ minors DNI

• They’re at a pub after a mission well done and he can tell something’s on her mind. She tells him about her wife wanting a baby but Kate is extremely picky and the agency is running out of surrogate options.

• After a couple of drinks, she makes her proposition. She wants John to be the father. He’s a good man, He’s met her wife a few times before, and she trusts him. She offers to pay him but he refuses. They’re friends after all.

• When Kate brings him home that night, you’re a bit surprised to see him. She usually lets you know before guests stop by. You greet your wife with a peck on the lips and give John a small wave

• You expect her to pull out her playing cards and a couple of beers but instead, she sits down on the couch and pulls you onto her lap, a strong hand kneading your thigh. She fills you in on the plan as John sits on the couch opposite you two, legs spread and leaning back into the soft cushion. Your thighs involuntarily clench and Kate smiles.

“What a whore. Should’ve asked the whole squad to come up here if I knew you’d be so willing to open your legs”

• She drawls, hand sliding up to cop a feel of your breast. You glance over at John who’s stroking himself over his pants

• Eventually, you all end up in the bedroom, nightstand adorned with various knick-knacks and wedding photos. By this point, you’re naked and laid back against the plush pillows on yours and Kate’s bed

• Kate lazily rubbed your clit, eliciting soft moans from you. She dips her fingers between your lips and spreads them causing John to inhale sharply. There’s a long sticky string of arousal coating her fingers before she sucks it off

“Make her cum first,”

• Soft moans fill the room as John circles his tongue around your clit, a thick finger prodding at your entrance. He sucks your clit as he squeezes another finger in, scissoring them deep inside you to prepare you for him. Kate grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her while her coworker eats your pussy. She places her mouth on yours and your heart skips a beat.

• Kate makes out with you while your legs shake, her kisses muffling your moans as John eats you out like a man starved. He grinds on the bedsheets, his dick aching for any sort of relief as your noises spur him on. He wants you to cum so he can finally be inside you. So he can finally pump you full of his cum. His facial hair is SOAKED and you’re whimpering and your legs are shaking but he won’t stop licking and slurping your pussy until your back arches and your thighs squeeze his head. Your eyes flutter closed as you experience your first orgasm of the night. Kate takes her free hand and starts massaging your breast

“Can’t wait until these are all big and full of milk. You’re gonna be such a good mommy”

• You whimper when he finally pushes against your entrance, hand gripping Kate a bit harder. You can’t stop the moan that tears itself from your throat when he finally squeezes inside.

“Oh, you can take it. You’ve been fucked by straps thicker than this”

• John huffs but he continues to slowly stretch you open. When he finally bottoms out he tries to keep a steady pace. Doesn’t want to seem too eager. He isn’t desperate.

• Ok, maybe he's a little desperate.

• He angles himself to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You’re whimpering against Kate’s mouth as John fucks a baby into you. She’s still fully clothed, nestled against your side, and holding your hand as your pussy forms a thick creamy ring around John’s dick. You try to tuck your head into her neck out of embarrassment at the sheer lewdity of the situation but she forces you to look. Your pussy convulses around him as you cum again, hypnotized as he picks up the pace.

• Kate whispers filthy degrading things in your ear as John spears you on his dick. Your face is red at how wet you are. The room is filled with John’s groans, your moaning, and the filthy wet noises that your abused pussy is making

• John’s proud of himself for not blowing his load as soon as he started fucking you but now he can feel that telltale tingle in his balls knowing he’s about to bust soon. He suddenly yanks you down on his dick, flipping your legs over his shoulders as he reaches even deeper now. You’re incoherent as he grinds against your cervix, Kate giving you a smug smile as your legs start to shake.

“That’s it, take it all.”

• She mumbles against your neck as John lets out a throaty moan and paints your insides white. You’re still whining from the overstimulation as he continues to fuck you. You can feel his cum drip out of you and onto your satin bedsheets, Kate taking a moment away from rubbing the spot on your stomach where your womb is to gather up some of the cum dripping down to your puckered hole and scooping it up with her finger before swirling it on your tongue.

• John groans at the sight, kissing you. He sucks his cum off of your tongue as he slows his movement to an excruciating grinding motion that makes your pussy flutter around his again.

• When Kate decides he’s kissed you long enough she plucks his head and he gets the hint. He smiles and pulls away, a string of saliva and semen connecting you both before he wipes his mouth.

• A few weeks later John tries to suppress a smile when he reads a text from Kate

“Test was negative. Come over tonight.”

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part IV

warnings: violence, blood, mistakes, badly written British speech, I got some inspiration from The Rookie for the undercover part

P.S. I loved Frenchie from The Boys and I just couldn’t help myself. Apologies 😊

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the fourth time you meet it’s no longer up to chance but up to your discretion

- the last mission scored you one of the most prized rewards in your field: a golden ticket; basically you get permission to retire from your field an choose another with less risk and a larger pay check, a “thank you gift card” from the director of the MI6, the King and England herself; it’s a type of mobility many dream of, having checked off the bucket list almost dying in al sorts of crazy situations and the young adventurous attitude toward danger having morphed into a veteran hesitant mentality; you are given plenty of time to decide where you want to go       

- a month later you hear rumours of a task force newly formed, one-four-one they’d call it; cheesy you think not really giving anymore attention; and then the briefing about some partnership between under cover specialised agents and this mystery task force for a top tier mission; you think about it, you haven’t had any action in three months now and anymore desk work will drive you up a wall if it continues; you skim over the file on the task force with disinterest, mostly because task forces like these were made up of brutes, eager to pick fights with the enemy and partially because most of the words had been redacted; a few are left out in the open among the sea of black ink: task force, covert mission, high-performance, low collateral casualties, you hum in thought

- what makes you not only volunteer with a manic grin, but actually consider having found the place for your relocation; under the captain’s name John Price, follow three more names; the last two are unknown to you and unimportant, two Sergeants, one John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and another Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick; but the one is impossible to mistake: Lt. Ghost; no first name, no last name; the only person whose file you ever read to bear that name.

- your application for the mission gets accepted almost instantly your reputation proceeding you almost any briefing room now; you’re informed that you’ll depart within the hour and other things you need to know about it; nothing really matters as you know you’ll get the chance to confront that knobhead that has plagued all your waking hours and some dreams with his obscure choice of words as you departed;

- you’re ready in 30, not really owning much and usually being moved from HQ to HQ, or base, or house within small time frames, which doesn’t allow for many personal things anyway; you wait in the shade, dragging from a cigarette, to pass the time, until the heli lands on the heli-pad; you don’t get to wait much, the pilot is here a little early; good; you don’t like to wait

- the flight is short the base not, far from the MI6 HQ; you pass the time reading a book you took, some title that caught your attention at the library across the street of where you usually buy cigarettes; the story doesn’t raise to your expectations, the writing style is mediocre and the characters have as much depth as a glass of water; you contemplate throwing it out the window, but refrain when the pilot announces ETA: less than 5; you hum heart beating a little quicker at the excitement you feel for finally being able to decipher the meaning behind those blood words

- as soon as the heli touches down on tarmac you’re out the door, no words of goodbye to the pilot; he’s used to it’

- the welcoming committee consists of the two Sergeants, now finally connecting faces to the names you read on the files; they’re casual in your attitude towards you which is a little invigorating, but they wouldn’t drop the “ma’am”; they’ll get over it; you’re probably a little older than them

- John ‘Soap’ MacTavish is chatty Scott, who’s a little to nosy for your liking, but within reasonable limits; you’re not sure if is actually trying to charm the pants off of you or that’s just how he is usually, throwing compliments left and right, but those have no effect on you and slide right off without much care; he sports an unusual haircut for some of the strictest branches of army that’s ever existed, SAS you see the patch on his shoulder, and a wacky tattoo representing the Task Force 141 insignia on his huge forearm

- Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick is almost opposite to “Soap”, he’s more laid back, observing more than talking, making small comments when the Scott’s cascade off words gets interrupted, chuckling at his comrade poor attempts at complimenting you; he’s not as well built as Soap, but he stands a couple inches taller than you

- ‘He’s always like that?’ you direct your attention to “Gaz” as the two of them walk in front of you like two loyal guard dogs

- ‘Yes ma’am, though he get’s easier to ignore with time.’ You both chuckle, a huge disservice to the Scott that protests ‘Oi’ followed by a 'What's that suppose tae mean?' in the thickest Scottish accent you’ve had the chance to hear

- ‘You’re bothersome, bruv.’ Soap hits Gaz’s shoulder in brotherly fashion and the playful banter begins; you tune them up, and think about finally getting to change out of your civilian clothes and into something blacker, more unflattering and less eye catching than the light blue skinny jeans that have managed to flare out more than one whistle as you passed; arseholes and jar-heads come to the forefront of your mind

- you’re led first to your room and left there with the promise that one of them, most likely Soap, cause he already volunteered to do it, will come collect you for the briefing before supper

- you’re left alone to install, unpack, get changed and unwind from the irksome travel and the fact that you are being watched like deer in the headlights, fresh faces always attract the interest of the crowd in places like this

- the walk towards the briefing room is short but Soap manages to pour so many words in that interval that you’re almost sure he’s going to run out; once inside Soap’s chatter dies down and you make eye contact with the captain

- John Price gives off the energy of a strong father figure, his facial hair adding to his age; he not much older than you but the stress of leadership is visible on his face, eyes winged with crow’s feet; he gives a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod as you and the sergeant enter; he waits for Gaz to join you before he begins the briefing

-   as for the hulking beast of a man, clad in black, brown eyes surrounded by black army issued face paint and hidden behind that grotesque mask of his, oh no, you haven’t miss him, just ignored him; you felt his gaze burning your skin, searching for eye contact, which you vehemently denied; suffer just like I did, bloke

- Gaz comes in and is witness to the unthinkable; you the new face, pretty one might say without lying, so much different from these hardened man, more in common with the civvies than them, go and sit right next to Ghost, no space left in between the two of you; and what’s even crazier, you don’t acknowledge him; Soap and Gaz share a look; the captain seems amused by your actions and the sergeants confusion; no one, absolutely no-fucking-body ever sat next to Ghost, willingly and without starring dumbly and frightened at him; no one, never

- you take your seat, and place your notebook and pen neatly in front of you, facing the whiteboard as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened; the two chaps sit down slowly, eyes trained on you half expecting you to realize your mistake and jump out of the chair; but you surprise them once again when you finally decide to meet the glare directed at you head on and to crack a smirk at the lieutenant

- their minds are blown, mouth open in disbelief, they glance at one another; their minds are set, you get labelled as the agent who clearly lost their mind somewhere in some gone wrong mission; they’ll bombard you with questions later

- as for Ghost, he’s as still as puma waiting to spring to attack; if looks could kill, you’d be disintegrated to the last atom; you’re as unbothered as a new born foal, unaware of its impending doom

- Price clears his voice, catching your attention and diminishing the tension that clouds around the semicircle table

- he makes an introduction for you, stating the reason you’re here, and what you’re specialized in: undercover espionage; you give a nod to all the men

- on a laptop in the furthermost side of the table a connection is established and a blonde American woman greets you; she’s CIA, their handler and yours for the upcoming mission; you have no qualms to work with the other most prominent intelligence agency, the one from over the pond, as long as you get to do your job as you know best; you feel the respect the men have for her and the fondness in the captain’s eyes once they greet each other; they’re old friends, that much you can tell   

- you decide you’ll respect Kate Laswell and trust her, as much as one can trust when one builds their carrier on lying to others and distrusting everyone; she’s pleasant so far, familiar with the men, and cuts straight to the chase just how you like it

- the target is one drug overlord who decided to take things up a notch and deal in arms with terrorists; the goal: disrupt the block-chain and cut the heads off the snakes; simple enough nothing that you haven’t tackled before

- you’re given green light to propose how to approach and infiltrate this business; you explain that you have to get quite high in their hierarchy if you want a shot at real damage; you skim over the information available on his deals: fentanyl, the most recent drug that’s flooded the streets; you know how to “cook” it from a previous cartel you took down; you’ll enter as just that “a cooker”, but you’ll also need a bodyguard to make yourself seem more important, but more on that later; you point out the name of the current one, the first target

- if you manage to get that person out of the game, you’ll have a chance to fill that spot, maybe the most important chain link in the whole operation

- you already have in mind the persona you’ll assume, a chemistry drop-out that took to cooking drugs; you know that your skills far surpass the target’s and you know how to cook a purer form of fentanyl; as for your bodyguards’: a crook; fresh out of prison on the lookout for work that pays well; one with knowledge of guns and explosives, surely to pique the terrorist cell’s interest in their skill

- Soap offers for the role, impressed so far with your knowledge and method of operating; you’re through, and he’d like to learn more on infiltration; you agree hearing he’s got what it takes to be convincing enough

- Laswell, Price and Gaz all hum in agreement at your plan waiting to hear their part in it; simple: Laswell can help with credentials and all the raw materials you’ll need to pull this off; Gaz, the captain and Ghost will be your back up, providing fire power

- the first target is easy to take down: he’s a middle-aged creep, who likes pretty young women and heavy drinks, parties like he’s twenty not fifty something; they already have info on his preferred hotspots; you’ll go in lure him out for the men to bag him and make him disappear

- everyone agrees so far adding small details here and there; it’s only your first few hours or so and every single one understands why you’re held in so high regard; it’s all warranted

- Ghost is the only one who hasn’t said anything, allowing you to direct the briefing, already know you’re more than capable and have far more experience with such delicate planning

- once everything is settled you start planning out the preparations you’ll need to make beforehand; Soap will train under your supervision; you point out he already looks the part, a delinquent; the comment lacks any trace of ill intent, but everyone can’t help but chuckle at his huff of indignation followed by ‘ ’M not’; you sweeten the deal praising his charming nature and easy-going attitude; he smiles at that but it’s short lived by your next comment

- ‘You'll do fine as long as you let me do the talking. I doubt you calling anyone 'bonnie lass' will get you very far.’ That gets everyone to let out a chuckle, everyone knowing Soaps anticks; even Ghost lets out a grunt reminiscent of a laugh; the bruised ego Scott follows up with a ‘Pish off’ that’s met with laughter from you; you let the insult roll off in good humour

- the briefing ends, Laswell disconnects, and the rest of you stand up to make your way to the mess hall in time for dinner; Price holds you back, and you obey; you talk a little, mostly him, praises fly at you, for good planning, attention to details and overall how well you managed to fit in with them in such a short time; you thank him, having heard this all the time; you try, really hard, to be pliant and easy to work with; no need to be a hard-ass; you’re all on the same side

- he agrees with your well-spoken point of view; but he can’t help but ask what’s the deal with you and Ghost

- ‘Worked together before. We get along well.’ Your answer seems to put at ease some of his worries about the teams chemistry; with that out of the way he leads you to the mess hall where he gets you to sit with them at the table; you can feel everyone else’s eyes on you as the new face of the 141’s; but you ignore them chatting with “your” team; you kind of like the sound of that; you can quite imagine working along side them for the rest of your carrier, however short, as you know the death rates among undercover agents grow the further they go; very few get to retire in one piece, actually you can count them on one hand, at least the ones they tell you about at the academy

Previous part here.

Next part here.

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part III

warnings: violence, blood, mistakes, badly written British speech, smooth Ghost

P.S. I loved Frenchie from The Boys and I just couldn’t help myself. Apologies 😊

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the third time you meet is in the small briefing room, you sit next to one another, in silence, eyes forward waiting for your MI6 handler begin his presentation

- the plan is similar but this time you’ll have a gun on you, that thought brings a little more than a smidge of comfort; when you make contact with the supplier and confirm that the merchandise is legit you give the sign: three nods, as natural as possible; at that alpha team and bravo team will breach

- you stand up for everyone to see what you’re wearing, cream coloured jacket and light blue jeans, you picked it yourself and you explain that you’ll be more visible to them among the black clothed guards

- when contact is made your job is to get out of dodge, because everyone expects a fight and you aren’t dressed in protective gear to survive being caught in the middle; you’ll make yourself scarce thus not even giving the impression of association with the black ops teams; just a coward that runs away at the first signs of a fight desperately trying to save their skin; this will save the work you’ve done in creating this fake persona for later use

- the hours before the mission gives you a déja-vu feeling: you read, he listens to rock music; you raise your head from the notebook and motion for him to take of the headphones; he obliges

- ‘Why rock?’ you seek the useless information, not from curiosity but a weird need of talking to him

- ‘Pumps me up…’ that’s what you expected of him, you know heavy metal is used in boot camp training to simulate the chaos of battle, when hearing is no longer a dependable sense and one must rely on his vision, gut feelings and training; it’s something he’s familiar with you conclude

- you ask permission to listen for a bit and he allows it, handing you the headphones; you place them on your head and listen to the disharmonic sounds emanated straight into your eardrums; you close your eyes and bob your head to the rhythm getting lost in the screams of the vocalist

- a hand firm on your bicep startles you; Ghost is tilting his head towards the door; you turn and see a general; in a swift move you are up, headphones thrown on the couch where you just sat; you don’t salute as you are not part of the army but you are straight as a plank in utmost respect to the new comer

- the general to you about your achievements so far and that keeping up with the work we’ll get you very far very quickly in the hierarchical structure; you reply that you like your work and wouldn’t give it up for a boring desk job; he chuckles and with a ‘Have it your way, agent’ he turns and leaves you two to your pre-mission coping mechanisms         

- Ghost smirks even more ‘A woman of action this one’ he comments, you turn eyes glinting in mischief, smirk unknowingly mirroring his ‘Bloody right’ your answer is met with a small chuckle

- ‘Would murder for a cuppa…’ you utter with a sigh

- ‘Understood’ he disappears out the door without missing a bit and you are left smiling to yourself like little schoolgirl

- in the car, you go over the plan one more time, you check the gun and the two magazine Ghost gives you; the Glock feels comfortable in your hand but its weight does little to ease your mind; you’ll be alone, surrounded by tangos, and now there is a new variable: the supplier and his men; they might open fire at the slightest misinterpretation of words, or worse, they might try to cross you over an try to kill your party and get away with the money

- everything is accounted for as much as not knowing the rendezvous location allows

- he makes sure to reassure you insisting on his position in relation to yours, in your made-up chess board scenario ‘I’ll look for yer’ you nod

- everything you’ve been through repeats like clockwork, this time the drive is longer; your gun is taken from you, and you feel your legs numbing from disuse where you sit on the hard van floor

- at your destination you get shoved around and put in the back seat of a limo; in front of you the buyer; you ask for your gun, motivating you won’t go win ‘without proppa protection this time ‘round’; he promises to give it to you when you get there

- he asks about you and your motivations behind switching sides; you tell him the fabricated story, how you got fucked twice, once by your commander and once by the government, when they threw you out without any means of survival while your commander got a pat on the shoulder and a laugh at another ‘young score’

- he understands a tells you a little bit by his motivations; you’ve heard this kind of talk and your sick of it, but you empathize with his hate for the British Government; he discloses to you that soon he’ll hit them hard, and all thanks to you, like being in league with him is something to be proud of; human filth

- after a short ride you get there, wherever that is, you don’t care; it’s just another job; your handgun is returned to you ‘a sign of good faith’ and you check that not even a single bullet is missing not as inclined to trust

- you are led to another warehouse this one filled with crates and random things strewn around; you are met with a gang of thugs, definitely not trained to properly hold a gun, or fight for that matter; you regard them with the superiority of an expert in guns and explosives, which is not an idle affirmation; you do in fact know what you’re doing not just faking it; the only thing that’s fake is the story behind it, the skill is there

- the supplier introduces himself as ‘Frenchie’ his French accent quite obvious; you request to se the merchandise; he comments to his thugs about the lack of manners in the British Isle; you stare him down unphased; he laughs;

- the buyer backs you up, voice demanding, reasoning along the lines of ‘pressing matter’ and ‘time sensitive issues’; Frenchie takes you to the back where crates full of C4 and more professional equipment, far superior than what you had to work with; everyone awaits your verdict in silence; you approach the crates to take a better look, and scrutinizing everything, though there is no need

- this is the real deal, military grade equipment, syphoned from somewhere where command is lax or corrupt; everything is brand new, though there is no flag, no insignia to indicate their origin

- you prepare yourself for the incoming breach; the signal this time a loud whistle of appreciation followed by a ‘got some hell of a gear ‘ere, huh?!’; Frenchie does not get the chance to brag about it as windows shutter, tear gas canisters fizzle, doors burst, shouts are heard, bullets start flying

- you duck and move to the side away from the crowd of thugs that try to return fire in vain as they fall like flies in a cacophony of screams and shouts of pain and terror

- you find the nearest door and burst out coughing having inhaled the bloody tear gas yourself; devilish contraptions you hated with a passion from your days in the academy when you first had tasted it; but as you struggle to regain your breath and get as far away without seeing where you are going a shadow follows close to you

- as your breath settles to a more manageable pace you hear a gun click and you slowly raise your hands in surrender; you turn around slowly as per the buyer’s demands; he clicks his tongue and wonders what a coincidence that black ops bust the deal right after you confirm the merchandise to be legitimate; you don’t deny it and he takes a step closer putting the gun to your head; but he takes to long to shoot you feeling more preoccupied with the villain discourse

- a gun shot is heard and he drops dead; wide eyed you watch as Ghost struts to you rifle shouldered in a professional manner and his figure the epitome of a perfect stance; he gives you a look over checking for any stray bullets you might have caught in your hasty exit

- and with a nonchalance at corpse that paints red the asphalt at your feet he calls in the kill over the radio

- the rest is a flash, you get checked by a combat medic for any signs of wounds, he dismisses you when he finds none, and your escorted away from the scene and to a black SUV to take you away to HQ now that your job on the field is done

- Ghost finds you again right as you climb in the back; he holds the door with one hand and the other is casually placed on the hood right above your head as he leans his tall frame to talk to you; but you beat him to it and a quick and sincere ‘Thank you’ escapes your lips

- ‘We even then, love’ he says quickly slamming the door shut; the first thing that catches your attention is the pet-name he used that makes the tip of your ears feel hot; and then his words hit you; you’re confused and a ‘What did ‘e mean by that’ escapes your mouth without volition

- ‘Huh’ the driver turns to you ‘You ok ma’am?’ he asks in mild concern; you didn’t even notice him, a young pale blond blue-eyed private regards you in confusion; your meagre answer comes in the form of ‘Yeah…, peachy. Just drive.’ A far away look takes over your face ‘Yes. Ma’am’

- you smile in thought; you’ll have to seek him out to ask for clarification; smooth bastard.

Previous part here.

Next part here.

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part I

Warnings: torture, blood, pain, unconscious Ghost and basically kinda useless, really capable YOU persona ;), rushed writing, possible mistakes, reader is pretty neutral so far

P.S. Don’t judge the unexplained inconsistency of how a guy like Ghost gets captured, but spy you get to waltz around unbothered, yeah, you’re that good, so good you got plot armour. Besos!   

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the first time you meet it's messy. He's supposed to extract an agent from behind enemy lines but instead he gets captured

-  you pose as a computer science PhD who is in charge of the enemy base cyber security, when in reality you're there to install a backdoor with remote access.

- you know someone should come to help make your exit, but when no infiltration is reported panic starts to rise in your chest

- you start investigating, searching through the facility trying to find out if something happened.

- you gain access to a part of the facility you don't have clearance for.

- you stumble upon a gruesome scene in one of the holding cell in the underground levels

- you find a man tied to the ceiling, bare feet barely touching the floor, muscles stretching under the tension ready to snap

- a black hood is thrown over his head and he's shirtless, remnants of once black cargo pants hang on his hips.

- he was tortured, for days by looks of it

- you know enough about that to know that he hasn't cracked yet, otherwise he'd be dead not hanging there in the damp cold cell.

- you take your chances and take the hood off

- he groggily turns his head to look down at you, he’s a big that much you can say

- blonde whisps of hair matted to his scalp stained a dark red, pale skin the same blood oozing from small cuts on his cheeks dripping down on his pectorals. From behind black and blue and inflammation two brown eyes scan your face

- 'the wolf walks alone' you quietly utter the code phrase for identity verification

- he watches you like an owl watches a mouse with cautious patience but he gives no indication that he'll answer

- you can't stay there too long; someone might catch you here or someone could report that you never came back from the bathroom break

- you reach for the hood to place it back on the prisoner’s head, knowing that you can't do anything for him and in this state he can't even provide a distraction for you to slip out unnoticed

-as you get closer tiptoeing to reach above his head he grunts, you stop in your tracks making eye contact

- his dried and busted lips start to quiver you wait for a moment giving him a chance to prove you wrong

- 'But the pack's got its back...' he draws out in a deep guttural voice laced with a thick Manchester accent

- phrase matching your own, you get to work hastily finding a way to get him down

- as you unlock the chains wounded around his wrists you try to support his weight which proves impossible

- you barely manage to break his fall turning yourself in a cushion under his massive form

- you huff and try to pull him up ' I can't carry you' you mutter to him. 'You gotta get up, soldier' you try and nudge him, you slip and talk in the familiar British accent

- he stalls, taking in deep breaths trying to surpass the pain and ache, multiple bones broken, muscles tumefied, and skin bearing to many cuts and bruises. Blood covers him like a deathly veil

- he tries and with your help he manages to stand but he can barely walk on his own, he can barely see, he can barely think, having sustained multiple concussions

- with great difficulty you get moving, praying to yourself that the guard might be gone, taking a piss or having a smoke

- your prayers are answered, no one is on the otherwise busy hallways this late at night, many having called it a night going back to their rooms

- as you pass the med bay your quick thinking finds a credible disguise: you steal a lab coat and a doctor's key card, some glasses that make your vision blurry once you put them on, and get the wounded soldier in a wheel chair

-he huffs but you can clearly see the relief overtaking him as he no longer has to stand

-you throw a medical gown over him concealing the dried blood on his bare torso

-once you clean his face a little and bandage his whole head to cover his identity, you grab a few bottles of morphine and a med kit for later and push the wheelchair out the door

- you aim for the underground parking lot, where civilians’ workers such as your cover, keep their personal cars

-you hope that the sentinels stationed at the gates won't look too closely at your backseat as you carefully push the wounded man in the car

- everything goes smooth from there, the guards wishing you a good night, no questions ask as to your departure from the base

- once you get farther away you start speeding eyeing for any police cars that might stop you or any military vehicle that might chase you

- to your dumb surprise no one follows you the mountain road dark and deserted

- you head to your safehouse where you have stashed money, fake id's, a new disguise and another car.

- once you change everything and make sure that the soldier still breathes in the back of the SUV, after you've administered some first help giving him the relief of morphine, you burn everything down

- the wooden house the other car, everything, nothing can be left behind to be tracked to you or to the MI6, you have taken precautions that borderline OCD, but you know that you have to be through, no detail to small

- once you're back on the road you contact your handler, a tired voice but you can hear the sound of relief as he hears your voice

- he's pleased that everything went smooth, no alarm was triggered, no shot was fired, no chase happened and you even managed to save your would-be saviour, sent specifically to get you out of that den of wolves

- you announce your E.T.A. to the agreed pickup location and you are annoyed to hear you'll have to wait a bit, your nerves are starting to fray, and body to tire

- you don't have the manpower nor the firepower to make a stand in the woods until the heli gets there

-but you do as you're told, as always

- you grab the pistol you keep under the passenger seat and place it in your lap; the heaviness in your lap gives very little reassurance

- but not long passes and you can hear the lovely sound of an Apache helicopter

- in a whirlwind of dust and voices shouting out instructions both you and the soldier are placed in the metal beast's bowls

-you inform the medics of the dosage of morphine you gave to the soldier as they start hooking him to machines that monitor his vital signs

-you don't even know his name and he definitely doesn't know yours as per protocol, and you doubt you'll ever see him again

-you won't even be there when he'll wake up, he'll probably never know of your act of kindness; you could have left him behind but instead you risked your safety for his

- any other agent would've done it, but not you, you couldn't leave one of your own behind

- you still hold your breath, eager to cross the border and get back to HQ where meetings and debriefs will be held, and rapports will be written then redacted

-you expect the compliments at a job well done and the proud pats on the back from your superiors, even though for you that's just a show

- you know you will get a free month at best to recover and then you'll be shipped somewhere else to do it all over again

- it's a lonely life, and full of danger but it makes you sleep better at night knowing you helped soil some plans that could be used to hurt innocents

- once the pilot announces that you crossed the borders you slightly relax on the padded bench, closing your eyes in relief but not allowing yourself to fall asleep yet

- when you feel the heli dipping down towards the tarmac you open your eyes eager to get off the noisy thing and looking forward for some commodities you know wait ready inside the base

- you watch as the soldier gets rolled toward the med bay and you get pulled by a Sargent that informs you, he's there to take you to the commander of the base

- you'd hopped to at least get a few hours of sleep before the rounds of interrogations start, but the higher-ups are hungry for the confirmation of a successful mission

- you trudge behind the Sargent mentally preparing for the onslaught of questions and can't help but wonder what of the wounded soldier

-you subconsciously hope he'll pull through

Next part here.

Gonna be honest I don’t know how to use this app, so be warned, it may be cringe⚠️⚠️

________________________________

So if 141 were part of different motorsports, which would they be? Moto GP? Indy racing? F1? NASCAR? {there is an amazing story by Nuria123 called Racing Hearts Season , all out Formula 1. Highly recommend.}

Personally I need a story of 141 as a street racing team. Ghost would be the driver- I’m sorry he just is. Love my little guy. Will figure out his backstory later👍. Roach gotta be the name of his first car that he totalled tho. He’s be racing, but his car got rigged and his car does summersaults before crashing, Price going in and saving him. His old mechanic- Sparks- gets’s fired and he begins to fix his own cars, making his hands and deadly steady, but he struggles to figure out what he’s doing most of the time. Price knows he needs more help but is constantly getting waved off by his absent protests. Roach wasn’t coming back, so instead he made a new car called Ghost. Having connections with the son of a bitch Gaz with his mansions and museums filled with cars allowed him to buy his Porsche. It was a banged up Yeah, but he was determined to make Ghost perfect. His creation, all his no one was going to fuck it up. And then Price brought one stupid looking guy into the garage. He had a stupid Mohawk, a dumb leather jacket and an even dumber looking smirk. He hated the joy radiating off of him. And he heard his voice, fuckin’ hell- he’s Scottish too. Price introduced the two. Simon pulled the sleeve higher on his face, wanting this guy, John, to leave as soon as possible. Smiley, too giddy looking at his car, too intrigued in Simon. And greasy. Greasy. “Price, for fuck’s sakes- I told you I don’t need a fucking Mechanic.” Soap looks undeterred by his obvious irritation of his being there, continuing to mull over the severity of the damage. “This car has more potential and you know it son.” Price said sternly. “If my hands worked better I could help but if your gonna push me away every time I’m trying to help you not fuck up then it’s clear someone else more capable does.”

Simon hates that he knows he’s right. He’s not made to fix the shit box. Yeah he fixed the door and the paint, but with only one NOS connected, he felt incomplete, obviously needing more. She looked at John. Gave him a once over. “Pretty lass she is.” John smiled smoothly. Simon didn’t know what to say. What could he say. Be wanted nothing to do with this prick. Soap tried to ignore the clear distaste being thrown towards him. “So… what’s his name?”

Bold of him to assume the car was a guy. Which it was.

A sign to Ghost that this Scott was a bit more than he let on.

I went on a bit of a tangent there but basically:

Ghost = Driver

Gaz = Money machine

Soap = Mechanic

Price = Think Of Doc from Cars. Yeah.

Everyone else I got to figure out, including Soap’s nickname. Also König. Need my baby boy there- and Krueger and Nikto.

-Flesh

soap, the hype man - platonic tf141

it doesn't matter what you're doing. could be lifting, could be tying your damn shoelaces. soap is in your corner like you're about to shatter a world record. you're kneeling down to stretch your calves before starting your actual workout, barely even breathing hard yet, and from across the gym, a certain scotsman's voice literally echoes. "LET'S GOO, Y/N!!" you flinch so hard you almost pull something. soap's hyped (what is he on?), clapping his hands like you just deadlifted a helicopter. ghost, somewhere behind you, mutters, "for fuck's sake, mactavish." sighs into his hoodie like he regrets all his life choices. but makes no move to stop him. wooow... so nice of him... "I'm literally just stretching." you point out, trying to wave him off. keyword: TRYING. he squats down next to you (his ass jiggled btw, it's the physics of that thang) like an overenthusiastic couch. “Aye, and ye’re listnin’ it! Stretch those muscles, champion! Ye’re killin’ it, wee yin!” you haven't even started your actual workout, hell, hadn't even finished stretching, and somehow you already feel like you've been through an entire motivational seminar. with a sports commentator presenting. price pretends to not know any of you. you're the only ones in the base gym. yet, he sees simon only. proceeds to walk by and mutter something about "bloody children" under his breath. wow. i see how it is... gaz decides to make it worse. thanks a lot! really helpful, pooks. before you know it, two men are squatting next to you. blink twice if you need help. “let’s get it, superstar!” he yells. “show that yoga mat who’s boss!”

soap fist-bumps him. “see?! that’s teamwork, baby!” price leaves the room. you turn the volume up for your music. --- writer's note: is this cringe? i literally can't tell. anyway, I think I'd cry if this happened to me. #justiceforreader!!

the tf141's habits - tf141 hcs

some habits need pysch evaluations. John Price - sleep? what is that? he doesn't trust sleep. literally sets alarms every 90 minutes. reasoning? "just in case." - tea tempering. he brews his tea like it's a blood ritual. if someone dares microwave water, he looks at them like it's treason. - talks to himself. mutters FULL conversations under his breath. gaz once heard him win an argument against himself in three different accents. at least he won. - smokes in the rain. claims it "feels cleaner." soap is convinced he's just romanticising depression. (he is) - stares into the middle distance. like he's waiting for nameless dread to walk through a door. you mimicked it once, he looked over, then proceeded to nod in approval. Simon "Ghost" Riley - refuses to touch public doorknobs. always uses his sleeve or foot. - watches people sleep. not in a creepy way (trust me, I'm the bedframe). he just stands there. he especially does it with you, because he just wants to make sure you're sleeping alright :(( - silent meals. eats like he's in a hostage negotiation. no chewing sounds. no talking. just... silence. like the silence where you can hear your own sins echo. John "Soap" Mactavish - wears mismatched socks on purpose. - eats raw instant ramen like chips. straight up bites it. no shame. (but is being shamed) - shower karaoke. full concert. echoes through base walls. - keeps a stress ball. not for squeezing. but for throwing. he throws the ball at people. - talks in third person during high-adrenaline moments. "soap's got this. soap doesn't die today." when you ask who soap is, his response is: "the main character lass/lad" - carries 7 knives. refers to them by name. one is named "susan." do not ask why. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - schedules his breakdowns. like it's a business meeting. always 4pm sharp, and he brings snacks. - corrects people's grammar while being shot at. soap once yelled "WHERE THEY AT" gaz's response? "where are they, you mean" - colour codes his gear. not because it's practical, but because it looks nice. - keeps a spreadsheet of everyone's favourite snacks. he'll randomly give you your favourite crisps at the end of a mission :D - gossips. like full-on podcast voice when gossiping with you. soap joins in sometimes. gossip girls... remastered. --- writer's note: hi again! second post :) again, I'm writing this at 8am with no sleep. literally dying rn. apologies if there are any typos. much love xx

what the tf141 get teased for - tf141 hcs

John Price - his dad energy (soap has once called him dad.) would 100% ground you then sneak you snacks. gaz got him a 'world's best dad' mug. - swears like poetry. shakespeare, if shakespeare smoked cigars - still doesn't know what "slay" means and doesn't want to. (or whatever gaz says) - rbf? nooo... its "I'm not mad I'm disappointed in you" face Simon "Ghost" Riley - the mask stays on. even in 40°C heat. (but he does take it off when the tf141 is alone) - always lurking like a cryptid in a hoodie. "like batman... but if batman didn't like fun" - gaz's wise words. (i can confirm, I'm his hat) - somehow managing to be the most dramatic one without saying a word - moving silently and scaring the soul out of everyone... John "Soap" Mactavish - his hair routine. that mohawk is constantly abused with gel. it could stay still in a hurricane... - being the loudest in every scenario, like the walls owe him rent. - stealth's arch-nemesis (ghost's words) - his scottish rage... has "talked the chair into submission" after stubbing his toe. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - knows exactly what "falsies" and "baking" means. blames his sisters. (I hc him having two) - spends an hour+ doing recon and comes back with relationship tea. - his skincare routine. full beauty influencer, "you look like you moisturise with angel tears", soap's words. - similar lines, but his eyebrows. could slice bread with how sharp his eyebrows are. - diva.

--- writer's note:

hihi!! this is my first time writing headcanons (and posting them to the public)... so hopefully these are okay! it's 9am and I still haven't slept (studying for exams). #grindandrise /j. feel free to request or send an ask. much love xx