#cod mw3

[ask-spit]

hello my skibidi rizzler! i could get lost in your sauce icl! how do you feel about brain rot and terms alike?

... ive got no blimmin' clue what youre on about, mate… if this is what brain rot looks like in real time, then, hell, my condolences.

reckon even my worst night out made more sense than that.

[gomzdrawfr]

My take on Butcher Ghost

[link]

[fandom-random-help]

This will never get old...ever!

pov ur captain price and you find out ur lieutenant and sergeant are dating via viral video of a jumbo cam 💀

[moshpitonmygrave]

Yuri and Makarov playing pole together, nothing else 👀

[ramerooni]

Best buds. Nothing more. Totally :)

[skulldetergent]

i don't think that soap is a picky eater AT ALL. but whenever he doesn't like the taste of something, he will slip it onto ghost's plate, who absolutely inhales everything that is given to him

[tuutifuruti]

(I'm going to talk a little bit about Johnny's death. Don't take what I'm about to say as official. I'm just sharing my own thoughts. There may be minor errors or wrong things. I'm writing this on a sleepless night. Please excuse me. Thank you.)

When we look at Mw3, we can understand that Simon's past is generally associated with the Simon in the og game. So I'll take the past in general and comment on it.

As someone who has experienced multiple severe traumas in the past, recovery is very difficult. Without the necessary help and support, it can be almost impossible. And Simon's past was difficult. Deaths, threats, oppression, torture. It's hard for a normal person to come out of these things sane. Even if a person has achieved this, it would still be natural for some things to remind them of the past or give flashbacks.

And since I bought both time periods together, logically Simon would still be alive. This means that since OG didn't die in the game (according to my current logic), he saw everyones death. Again, by my logic, Soap would still be alive. But he saw Roach, Ramirez, Yuri, and many others die.

And it's difficult for someone who's experienced such severe trauma to experience such things again. The recovery process slows down or returns to square one.

Again, according to my logic, Makarov also will be alive. (OG dies in the last game. I won't say how bc it would be a spoiler for those who don't know.)

It would be normal for Simon to probably have a breakdown after losing Roach.

When he was so close to catching Makarov, Simon lost the person closest to him: the special someone who saw the man behind the mask.

Johnny.

I think someone who's been through that much trauma would shut down. And Simon probably did that too. But, If he can do even simple things like crack jokes with someone, that person is special for him. This is also a step towards recovery.

However, if a person experiences another major trauma on top of everything else, they cannot stay sane anymore. They will crack eventually.

What I mean is, I don't think Simon could have remained sane much longer after Johnny's death. All those memories, all those traumas will begin to surface. Again.

Everyone reacts to death differently. Some people scream, some people break things, some people cry every day, and some people never cry. But they all feel in different ways. Even if they don't think so.

So my thought is that Simon won't be able to stand strong much longer. His experiences have worn him down. They have made him what he is today. He is a grown and strong soldier. But he is a human too.

A human who feels.

[lightningsg1rl]

Two of Hearts

You're a stripper turned informant tasked with getting information for a Sergeant about the man that comes to see you every Friday. i. fish on a hook 2.3k || masterlist

You’ve been on your feet for five hours now. 

Usually, you can go your entire 10 hour shift with very minimal pain. The soles of your feet have gotten used to the tall heels you wear. Not cowboy boots. You lean against the bar trying to get some weight off the balls of your feet. A temporary relief. But it’s not long before Vincent—your boss— is snapping his fingers at you from across the club. 

Move your ass. 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. Attitude won’t get you anywhere with him. You learned that the hard way. So you straighten up and hide your limp as best you can as you make your way to one of your tables. A group of men. Business men. Slicked back hair, neatly pressed three piece suits, and shiny dress shoes. Big spenders. The usual crowd. You’ve been working on them for two hours now. Laughing at their terrible jokes, sitting on their laps, showering them with compliments, feigning interest as they complain to you about their wives and children. Easy enough to swallow all the bullshit they regurgitate when they keep hooking notes to the band of your leather bra. Their cold fingers lingering a bit too long for your liking.

You muster up the sweetest smile and pitch your voice a little higher as you offer the group more drinks. They all look pretty drunk already and when you sense that they're about to decline, you offer a dance to go along with it. They visibly perk up and order another round. One of them hooks a tenner on the hem of your leather chaps and pats you on the butt. You, being the professional you are—take it all in good fun and playfully swat his arm. Adding in a little giggle to stroke his ego. The group laughs and whistles as you make your way back to the bar.

You rest your elbows on the bar's smooth counter top and rattle off the order for your table to Aaron, the bartender. Middle aged, balding, with a God-given talent for making the best margaritas you've ever had in your life.

"The fuck are you wearing?" Aaron chuckles as he grabs some glasses from under the bar.

You roll your eyes, "Don't start."

"Just sayin'. You look like you stepped out of a…," His eyes scan your ridiculous get-up. "…a really bad Western porno or something."

You wish. You wish you stepped out of some crazy Western porno, but no. No, Vincent made you wear this as "punishment" for not coming in last weekend. Even when you told him about four days in advance not to put you on the schedule. Imagine your surprise when you open your locker and find a skimpy cowgirl costume ready and waiting for you. Complete with a black Stetson hat and a bolo tie. Oh, and just to make sure you're extra uncomfortable for your entire shift: the entire thing is leather. A leather triangle bra, leather chaps and an a pair of authentic leather cowboy boots. You can hardly dance with how tight it is and with how hot the costume gets under the lights on stage. You're grateful that at least you got to wear cotton panties with it. A small mercy Vincent had so graciously bestowed upon you. Prick.

"Can you hurry it up?" You urge him, annoyed that he's still laughing at you. You try and keep a straight face, but you can feel the corner of your mouth lifting slightly. Despite how shitty your shift has been so far, Aaron still manages to lift your spirits if only for a bit.

"One of your regulars is here." Aaand it just went down again.

You pull your brows together, "Who?"

"The one with the hat." Aaron replies, pouring vodka into a glass. "What was his name..? ..Gas? Room 6." He jerks his chin to the back of the club, where the private rooms are.

You mumble some excuse to Aaron as you push off the bar. You weave through the crowd and tell one of the girls, Daisy, to tend to your tables. You walk towards the back of the club, your eyes fixed on the bright red door labeled 'VIP'. Your heart is thumping in your chest and you can feel your palms start to sweat. The heavy bass of the music muffles as you close the door behind you. The red LED lights lining the walls illuminate the narrow hallway, adding to the already tense atmosphere. You pretty much run to the end of the hallway and push open the door to room number 6.

Gaz looks up from where he sits on the plush red couch, his elbows on his knees. Dressed in all black. Black jacket, black pants, and black boots. The brim of his hat obscuring his face. He sticks out like a sore thumb. Like always. He looks relaxed, completely at ease. A stark contrast to how you feel. Hackles raised and your heart going a mile a minute.

"What are you doing here?" You close the door behind you, but make no effort to enter the room further.

Gaz straightens up and he removes his hat. Giving you a clear view of his handsome face in the dim light of the room. You can feel the caress of his gaze as his eyes scan you. Your cheeks burn when you realize how ridiculous you must look right now in your little cowgirl get-up. You rarely ever get embarrassed, especially not at work. You're used to men leering at you and openly gawking at you. It's a part of the job. You've worn less clothes than what you have on, but there is something about how he looks at you that makes you feel exposed. Vulnerable.

"You weren't here last weekend." Gaz points out, his eyes meeting yours.

"No, I wasn't."

"Why?"

You cross your arms, inadvertently covering your chest from his eyes to give you some form of modesty. "…was sick."

Gaz nods slowly, "Right. Sick."

"I was."

Gaz tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, "Really? You go to the shops when you're sick?"

You wrinkle your nose at that, "What-how do you-"

"Did he come see you last Friday?" Gaz cuts you off, leaning forward and picking up the bottle of champagne on the glass table in front of him. Studying it, before putting it down again. He looks back up to you, expectant.

You sigh heavily, annoyed that he dodged your question, "What do you think?" you retort.

"And?" He presses.

You give a half-shrug, "…and nothing. I told you, he doesn't tell me anything."

He straightens up, shoots you a frown. "Are you asking him the questions I told you to ask him?"

"I'm trying."

"Well, you're not trying hard enough." He scolds, "Two months and you still haven't gotten shit out of him. I thought you said you were willing to help."

"Willing?" You snort, "Willing? You forced me to help you. I didn't want to do this in the first place."

He scoffs, "Then why did you agree?"

"Because you pointed a gun at me!" You shout, your patience slipping.

"I didn't point it at you." He specified. "I pointed it in your general direction. Big difference."

"Same shit." You snap at him. You avert your eyes and look to the wall behind him to keep from stomping over to him and slapping him. Maybe you ought to do that. Give him a good hard slap just to get it out of your system. Just once. Maybe then he'll stop scolding you like a child; maybe he'll even stop coming to see you all together. Realize that he isn't getting anywhere with this arrangement he forced you into and you can finally stop feeling that sense of dread that pools in your stomach every time Saturday rolls around.

"Did he threaten you?" Gaz asks and that pulls your focus back to him.

"What?"

"Did he threaten you?" He repeats, "Is that why you weren't here last weekend. Did he tell you not to show?"

You shake your head, "No. Told you, I was sick. Didn't feel good." You don't know why you maintain the lie since he knows that you were out all weekend. Still, he humors you, nodding slowly. In truth, you had been avoiding him. You didn't want to face him with nothing to show for. Again. Two months of being his informant and you've gotten nothing of what he asked of you. To your credit, you were trying. But, how do you casually ask a man if he has ties to a Russian terrorist organization and if he could pretty please tell you the plans of his leader without raising any alarms in said man's head. Right.

"Let me know the next time you decide to not to come in." He says, "It's why I gave you my number, so you can keep me informed." He reminds you.

You nod, "I will."

"I'm serious."

"I know. I will, I promise." You assure him. You watch as he grabs his hat from the glass table and rises from the couch. You shift on your feet as he walks over to you. You keep your chin up, your shoulders back as your eyes meet. He stops just a few inches from you, looking down at you. Even with your heeled cowboy boots on, you only come up to his chin. His eyes scour your face and down to your collarbones, arms, and your exposed stomach searching for something. You cross your arms tighter across your chest at his inspection.

"See you this Saturday." He murmurs bringing his eyes back up to your face. He gives you a curt nod.

You return it and your eyes trail him as he exits.

...

Gaz puts his hat back on as he walks out of the red illuminated hallway and back into the main area of the club. He keeps his head down as he strides towards the front of the club, ignoring the looks he gets from the club patrons and the offers from the dancers. Before he steps out, he looks back and manages to get one last look at you. He only gets to see the back of your head as you make your way back to one of the tables. A group of men, who all look as if they want to devour you whole as soon as you get in their eyesight. His eyes catch how your hand glides across the back of one of the man's shoulders, your smile sweet and inviting.

He clenches his jaw involuntary and forces his attention away from you as he exits the club. The cool London air a welcome relief from the stuffy club atmosphere. He looks both ways before crossing the street and walks to his car parked under a flickering street light. Far enough from the club so you won't spot him and close enough for him to see who goes in and out. Something he only recently started doing to appease the guilt that had been gnawing at him since this whole thing started.

Guilt for forcing you to keep talking and interacting with a man who could break you in half with only his pinky finger. Guilt for being vague with you on who the man really is. Guilt for not really looking out for you. He only sits in his car all night for himself so he can make himself feel better about this whole thing. Only gave you his number for his own peace of mind. He has to make sure you make it to your flat after your shift and he has to see the light turn off behind your white curtains or else he won't be able to focus on anything else.

He flew into a panic when you weren't at the club last weekend. His mind flooded with the worst case scenarios. You, gagged and bound in the back of some van. Taken to some basement and interrogated about your connection to him, to the task force which you know nothing about. Your pretty face battered and bloodied. Your sweet voice crying out to him, calling for him. How he would find you, your cold dead body dumped somewhere. A result of his recklessness in getting you, a civilian, involved. His fault.

He must've blown right through several red lights just to get to your flat. His racing heart only slowing when he saw the light coming from your windows and your silhouette moving about the place.

He didn't leave for the safe house when he saw that you were fine, no he followed you for those two days. Keeping a safe distance as you went about running errands and shopping. His head on a swivel to watch out for anyone else who might've been following you. He almost went up to you to scold you on maintaining some sort of spacial awareness, to stop looking down at your phone so much and to get your air pods out of your ears.

He knows he's crossing a line. You're suppose to be an informant and nothing more. A tool. A fish on a hook. Using you for your pretty looks and honeyed words to get some information out of the man his team is after. It was his plan after all, he shouldn't be doubting himself. Something his Captain keeps telling him. But he can't help but worry. If something does go wrong, will he be there in time? Will you call him? You haven't tried to, didn't even tell him you weren't going into work last weekend. Do you trust him? You've given him your stage name, Venus, but not your real one. He can easily ask Laswell to get it for him, but he wants to hear it from you. It's something he knows he shouldn't want. Your name will make you more of a person in his eyes, threatening the already crumbling barrier he put between you two.

He sighs as he sinks back in the driver seat, his eyes never straying from the club door. Small droplets of water begin to land on his windshield as the minutes crawl by.

[manicrouge]

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

PUNISHED - [Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader]

[About]: Ever the loyal companion to your husband, after his untimely death, you make no effort to keep yourself from rotting.

[Wc]: 0.5k

[cw]: ANGST!!!!!, Even more angst, discussion of character death, reader literally fuckin dies... sorry guys fly high, suicide, discussion of decay and rotting, mention of blood, hating on God, even more angst.

[Note]: I had this thought and was like 'well Johnny died this would pair well with the lore perfectly!!!' so you're welcome (about time I gave him some love). Plus I love tragedy so uhhhmmm, yeah!!! Enjoy :D

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

OH, HOW THE MIGHTY HAD FALLEN. 

And how grim life appeared through the glazed eyes of the dead.

For however long it had been, time being a pesky, fluid thing, you’d been situated in the same position. What were once plump, glossy lips had been marred by the course of a Scottish winter. A pang of pain spread through your mouth, joints as stiff as rusted gears on an old locomotive as you turned your eyes up and towards the sun.

What a profound punishment you had been subjected to, all in the name of loving someone who had a death wish. 

Your tongue poked out of your mouth, brushing over your bottom lip. No saliva marked it, like sandpaper on flesh, it scraped at the flaking scabs of skin, a sharp taste of metal flooding your mouth. At the taste of blood, your stomach growled – fiercely, like the roar of a lion. You’d feared it would have clawed its way up all for the sake of getting something. Even if it was the taste of your own rot, it didn’t matter; it had been feasting on what remained of you since you had situated yourself up against the headstone of your beloved.

The cawing of the crows came and went, as did the sun and the moon. Everything was fluid, and everything ceased eventually. It played on your mind on a loop, the corner of your husband’s gravestone digging into the side of your temple. 

You had been there, going on an eternity, sitting in one of his sweaters, knuckles twisted around the arm of the teddy he’d won you on your first date. How much sand had slipped through the gap of the hour glass of mortality, you were unsure, but you felt as though the reserves were running out.

Quickly.

Your body had grown to a point of exhaustion that you doubted you could make your way back from, and worst of all, you welcomed the grim reality. 

All because you’d sooner accept your own death as opposed to his.

Anyone but him, but God was not so kind.

No. He was selfish, taking the one man away from you who mattered more than life itself.

And he left you there, alone.

Men had a knack for revenge and his task force had moved forward in catching the crook who’d done it – the monster who had taken your beloved away. Women, however, had a knack for agony and you were not immune. Shame had fist-like hold on your heart and milked it of all the blood it carried, you were no soldier, and still you felt as though you had failed him. 

Your final breath came with a rasp, world growing blurry, stars forming behind closed eyelids. Comfortably numb as you drifted off into the abyss, sure you saw a hand with Johnny’s wedding band extended out to you, welcoming you to the other side as you succumbed to your undeserved punishment, permitting the rot to engulf you wholly.

[gomzdrawfr]

Remember your sunscreens, folks

[link]

throwback to this old doodle hahahah

[rdkatd]

Favorite Spot For Kisses [Headcanons]

John Price His favorite place is the side of his head—just above the ear. It’s where his tension gathers, and where he hears the worst of everything: gunshots, cries, orders. A kiss there cuts through the noise. It’s grounding. When you do it, he pauses mid-sentence, eyes soften, and that ever-present weight on his shoulders lifts just a little. He won’t say thank you—but his silence after speaks loud enough.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick Behind his jaw. The spot just under his ear and down the side of his neck. It gets him every time. He stiffens for half a second, then melts. It’s intimate, it’s vulnerable, and it short-circuits whatever witty comeback he had queued. He might grin afterward, tilt his head and say, “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” But the truth is, that kiss hits the part of him that needs to feel seen without having to explain a damn thing.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish Mouth. No hesitation. Soap is loud, physical, fiery—and a kiss on the mouth is where he gives and takes everything at once. He likes the messy, breathless, full-contact kind. Pull his collar, crash into him, and he’s yours. He’ll smirk like it’s a game, but that moment? It’s serious. That’s where you shut his brain off, where the jokes stop and his whole heart shows.

Simon “Ghost” Riley His shoulder. Not the obvious places, not anywhere that demands he soften too fast. Kiss the top of his shoulder—just above where his gear usually sits—and he’ll go still in a way that says you hit something deep. He may not react right away, but later he’ll brush his fingers over the exact spot. It’s where he carries the most weight. When your lips find it, it’s like saying I see what you carry. Let me share it.

Roach His temple. Roach likes small, quiet forms of affection—gentle ones that don’t need a word. Kiss his temple, and you’ll catch the smallest flicker of a smile. That spot makes him feel safe, like someone’s close enough to know his rhythm without needing him to say it out loud. He might lean into you afterward, just a nudge. But it says everything.

Phillip Graves Corner of his mouth. He gets a thrill out of it—feels like a tease, like you’re daring him to go further. He grins real slow when it happens, that smug look coming in hot, but underneath it there’s something softer. A corner kiss says I want you, but I trust you too. He doesn’t get that kind of affection often. And when he does, he remembers it.

Alejandro Vargas Between the brows. A firm, lingering kiss right on that furrow he always wears. That’s where you tell him, You don’t have to be strong right now. He won’t admit how much it disarms him. His breath catches. He closes his eyes and exhales like he hasn’t all week. It’s not sexy—it’s sacred. That kiss reaches the part of him that never asks for comfort but needs it desperately.

Rodolfo Parra The back of his hand. It’s old-fashioned, sure, but that’s who he is—grounded, loyal, deliberate. A kiss to his hand is something he’d never expect but would never forget. His face will flush, his voice might stammer a little, but his heart will hammer in his chest. He’ll look at you like you just proved something sacred about love.

König The side of his neck. Not the throat—too exposed—but the soft place between neck and shoulder. It knocks the air out of him. He doesn’t know how to ask for that kind of closeness, but when you give it freely, he crumbles a little. He ducks his head, breath hitching, and for once the mask doesn’t hide what’s going on. That kiss tells him he’s not a monster. That someone can be that close without flinching.

Horangi His collarbone. Horangi has a flair for drama, but it’s the low, quiet kisses that undo him. Right on the bone where muscle meets skin—that’s where he feels most bare. He’ll make a joke afterward, maybe wink, but don’t miss the way his fingers rest on your wrist afterward, holding you there. That kiss strips away the ego and reminds him he’s human.

Keegan Russ The nape of his neck. Right where his hair ends and his back begins. That’s the spot that gets under his skin, makes his breath hitch. He rarely lets people that close. But if you do it—especially when he’s tired or lost in thought—it short-circuits his defenses. His shoulders ease. His head dips. That’s where you tell him without words: I’ve got your back.

Hesh Walker His cheekbone. He pretends not to care. But the second your lips touch the sharp edge of his cheek, just below his eye, he stills like a deer in headlights. It’s tender. It’s respectful. It makes him feel adored without being babied. He’ll chuckle and say, “That all you got?” but he’ll be glowing for the next hour. That kiss lingers in his chest for days.

Logan Walker His wrist. The inside, where the pulse beats. That’s where Logan registers intimacy—not in loud, dramatic displays, but in the quiet pressure of skin on skin. A kiss there makes him shiver slightly, eyes dropping, breath slowing. He won’t say anything. But afterward, he’ll lean into you more. Trust you more. For someone who rarely speaks, a kiss on his wrist says more than any conversation ever could.

[writingoddess1125]

We Missed You pt. 5

Nikto x FemReader + OOC

<<< Part 4

NOTE: If you've never seen Nikto from COD before he does have acute dissociative disorder, so at times he will refer to himself as 'Us/We' a bit randomly.

Ever since your little evening reconciliation with Nikto it had gotten..

Weird-

If not just weirder then normal..

Nikto had seemed to drift closer to you, That odd gleam in his eye you'd catch when you two had first hooked up now burning once more.

It seemed your acceptance of his mutilated face had made him far more interested in you more then a just a former easy fuck or the mother of his child.

He would stare at you as you moved through the house, You knew he was always watching you- But now it was really bold now.

Made you both want to run to the hills and also look a few moments long.. Before you Ultimately bolt.

But besides Nikto very clear growing attraction to you again he had started to take over the evenings more- You almost passing out while on an exercise ball seemed to have banned you from most evening care with Ava. Every time you tried you were pushed back to your room by Nikto.

Blessing you with more sleep.

So much more sleep.. It was heavenly

But tonight that blessing was ripped away by-

'Crinkle - Krinkle..'

'Krinkle - Crinkle..'

... the fuck..

'Krinkle - Krinkle'

'Krinkle - Crinkle Krinkle'

You softly sigh forcing your eyes open as you look around first in confusion, then looking to see it was the baby monitor.

'Krinkle'

'Crinkle - Krinkle..'

Followed by an annoyed sigh through the monitor. Then another series of soft muffled noise.

'What the fuck is going on?'

Sliding out of bed you slowly slid down to the floor.

You didn't have the sneaky ninja skills that Nikto had but damn it You were trying and learning.

Managing to in a less then graceful way do a slow crawl from your room down the hallway. Seeing the nursery door open.

So you laid flat on your belly next to the nursery and peaked in.

There Nikto was sitting on the floor with Ava, He was only in sweatpants and no shirt showing the maps of scars and blown out blotchy tattoos on his body-

It was like a story was written on him yet one you couldn't even possibly hope to understand.

You see a empty baby bottle not far from him along with a set of new clothes which he was putting on her with slightly clumsy hands. Grumbling in his native tongue as he did so.

His thick fingers struggling with the clasp of the onsie for a moment before finally getting it with a hum and smirk.

"If I didn't know before, We know now you are my daughter by how you puke and shit on me"

Nikto gestured to the discarded shirt you now see clumped with the soiled onsie and far too many baby wipes thrown on top- Aka what you assume the crinkles you heard were.

Ava gurgling at him as she laid on her back moving lightly in her now clean clothes.

The man smiling with a sigh, His scars stretching into a almost creepy display of stretched muscle and far too shiny fake veneers on the one side of his smile contrasting his more normal teeth on the other end.

Ava giggled and squealed randomly clearly in some way happy to see him, grasping a concept of him that not even you were sure you saw, but she did as she Cooed and blew spit bubbles at him.

He gave another gravely chuckle. Before beginning to speak in his native tongue to her- You doubted you'd get a chance like this again..

Pulling up your phone on the lowest setting light to were you could barely see it you pull up Google translate and just hope it picks up what he's saying.

"Я никогда не думала, что смогу добиться чего-то хорошего. И вот ты здесь.."

'I never thought I could have something good. Yet here you are'

Ava started to coo again, Nikto poking her rounded stomach making her little legs kick a bit and arms move.

"Я рада, что ты у меня есть. Моя мама бы тебя баловала. Ты мне её напоминаешь..."

'I'm glad to have you. My own Mom would have spoiled you. You remind me of her..'

Oh your heart hurt.. Dear God it hurt when you read that.. Nikto had said he was the only one, and it hit you then just the idea of how lonely he must have been before Ava and yourself.

Nikto large hand smoothing over the whisp of hair on her head.

"Но я буду баловать тебя вместо неё. Всё, что ты пожелаешь, Звёздочка, я тебе дам. Когда ты подрастёшь, я куплю тебе любую красивую одежду, какую ты захочешь..."

'But I'll spoil you in her place. Anything you want Little Star, i'll give it to you. When you're older i'll get you any pretty clothes you like-'

Little Star?..

So that is what he's been calling her hm?

He hummed, clearly thinking about things he could buy her. Which made you almost laugh at the though of him handing your baby a wad of cash in her current state and telling her to buy stuff like what he did with you-

"Игрушки, конфеты, все, что ты захочешь, но только обещай мне, что останешься маленьким"

'Toys, Candy, Anything you want but just promise me you'll stay small'

Nikto picked her up, Staring at her as she babbled and bobbled there. Staring at her Father as she drooled, seemingly indicating a 'Yes' in his head as he smiled.

You heard that gravel like chuckle again from him as he pat her back gently and held her close. You felt your heart swell, smiling softly to yourself as you read over those words.

God damn who knew such a creepy motherfucker was such a softy-

Here he was- At far too late at night or early morning. Letting you sleep while he held your guys daughter. Feeding her, cleaning her up to the best of his abilities and telling her how much he adores her.

It was painfully sweet..

You could suddenly see him there bringing Ava anything her little heart desire. With how it looked too would seem like the stereotype pushover girl dad-

Oh god what would it be like seeing per put makeup on him or colorful ribbons?

TEA PARTIES!?

You almost giggle at the though and go to cover your mouth.

Why did it get quiet?

That was till you heard a tapping on the wood of the door and look up quickly to see Nikto there- holding Ava to him with one hand and tapping the door to alert you he was there. You glancing into the Nursery and now back at him.

"God damn how can you move so fast."

Nikto stared down at you with a amused look on his face, patting Ava back still as she gurgled. You managing to get back up to your feet with the help of the wall

"Eavesdropping?"

"You're one to talk-"

He paused for a moment before giving a single head nod in some level of agreement.

"So what happened? I got woken up by the baby wipes-"

You already knew the answer but just wanted to see if he would say it..

"...went to feed her.. She shit on me- Then after we fed her.. She puked on me"

A soft snort left you, Nikto looking annoyed as he gave a nasally sigh. Glancing down at Ava got a moment as you see his face seem to take a grim appearance.

"..(Y/N)- I will be leaving soon"

You blinked as you felt like you just got smacked in the face as you stared at him.

"Wait what?"

"I will be leaving- for a longer errand"

You felt.. Sad, if not scared by the wording.

"For how long?.."

He shrugged. He didn't know?

"Oh-"

He started at you hard as if curious of your reaction.

"Just um.. Be safe okay?"

He only gave a nod before waving you off to bed the twinge in his face showing he had at least some emotions by your words. For some reason used to his commands at this point you do as he gestures and return to bed..

When you woke up the morning you immediately knew by the shrieking cries of Ava.

He was gone.

You didn't expect soon to be that night.

A single text on your phone being your only true indicator besides his presence that he had left.

"I'll return. Stay Safe"

That last part put you on edge for some reason..

And unfortunately you found out it was a for good reason.

[prussianpatriot]

Give me one hour alone with a hot chick and I‘d spend five minutes sitting awkwardly in the corner looking at my feet and the rest of the hour talking about call of duty

[moshpitonmygrave]

We appreciate this man.

[shadowsolaris]

My favorite CoD characters as random quotes from myself, my family, or family friends.... P1 (If you need context ask lmao)

Adler:

“Why are you having issues?! I built you! Well, that's probably why you're having issues..”

Mason and Woods:

“Says the guy who failed the open book test!”

“Jokes on you, I never even opened the book!”

Bell:

“Male? Female? I identify as a Walmart shopping cart with a broken wheel."

Gaz:

“No losers here, mate… just last place winners”

Soap:

“Did you get words out of that?”

OG Yuri:

“Breaking Bones is not a form of love!”

OG Makarov:

*random number mumbling*

“What?”

“That was the launch codes for the nuclear warheads”

Reboot Makarov:

“Great… Now I'm in the hands of a professional jerk.”

Nolan:

"Turn left at the big mosquito"

Graves:

"Son of a bitch deep fried me like a fish stick"