#cod reactions

[madsfrank]

Imagine wearing hair bows around Simon…

When you first start wearing bows around Simon he’s starts absolutely melting. You can see it in his eyes.

You’ll get in his car and flash him a smile, as he sits there, dumbfounded.

“You look nice….” He’ll state, basically staring you down with his lips parted. Oh, what he’s thinking…..

How he wants to ravage you.

You’ll fold your legs as he clears his throat. Wanting to take you out, show you off, make everyone know that your all his.

His hand on your hip, heavy and strong, keeping you almost flush against his side. His girl, his woman.

You better believe your sitting between his thighs around your friends. He’s all yours.

He even buys you bows to match his shirts, buys you a skull one too, that one he nearly ripped off while making out with you. He couldn’t help it, that made him want you.

Yeah, if you couldn’t tell, he loves those bows on you.

[beamergirll11]

You grab their ass reactions COD

Ghost

Konig

Gaz

Soap

[bluegiragi]

konig: why was that attractive

support me on patreon (nsfw)

[gomzdrawfr]

So, it's been a year plus since I'm in this fandom, and one thing that remains the same is the struggle to draw Ghost non-chibi style for me LMAO

so i uh...yk Im tryna do more of unmasked non-chibi Ghost, and my attempt after....uh....*looks at recently delete folder*...like 8 attempts

I bring you my ver of Simon Riley

it's not the best I know and also consistency is not even in the room with us so skajhkjhk but yeah uh at least I have a face now

Im way more comfy with chibi Ghost HAHAHA but can't run away from my weakness forever

and bonus...Simon with dimples...

[4me2knowandyou2wonder]

I want a fic where ghost casually traumatizes people by telling them his past. Maybe it’s out of character but I want it nonetheless.

Someone: “Why do you wear the mask?”

Ghost: “It starts at age six—“

*four hours later*

Someone: *quiet sobs of horror*

[cod-dump]

Ghost: I can summon Soap

Gaz: Really? No matter where he is you can just summon him

Ghost: Yep

Gaz: Prove it

Ghost: *plays the Scottish national anthem on his phone*

Soap, busting through a wall: SCOTLAAAAAANNNNNDDD-

Gaz: *screams*

[ellivermicelli]

retaught myself how to gif so i could put some ghoap fairies for your feed

[ghouljams]

I’m going through fae fic withdrawal ghoul TT

Y'know I kinda am too, here's the the conversation right before Gaz tried to tap Witch. Told from the golden boy's POV.

Gaz does his best not to shift on his feet standing outside the little cottage. It’s so out of place in the city, bracketed on either side by taller more modern brownstones. Exactly the sort of place he would have imagined a witch to be. Price knocks on the door with a heavy hand as Gaz glances over his shoulder. It feels like he’s intruding on something, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end just from proximity to the house. The knocks are met with absolute silence, not a peep from inside the house. 

He can feel the arcs of magic though, the spectral movement of life behind the cottage walls. There’s the soft click of a lock and the door is pulled open. Price smiles.

You’re pretty, and younger than he’d have thought. You look about his age, or at least the age he’s pretending to be. Gaz glances at Price, the fondness in his eyes. What is it? Half your age and seven? Although, Gaz supposes that can’t really count here unless you have a spare few hundred you’re not showing. Probably not, you smell human.

“Price,” You frown, brows drawing together in confusion, Gaz meets your gaze with a smile, “and friend. I assume you’re here for business then.” You sigh and step aside, holding the door open. “Come on in, I’ll put a kettle on.”

“This should be quick,” Price assures you, nodding for Gaz to follow him into the house. It feels like stepping through molasses. Slow and sticky, pulling at him until he breaks through the threshold. Permeable, but only just. Gaz rolls his shoulders to shake the feeling off, following Price where you wave for them to take a seat. The couch you direct them to looks old, feels old if he counts the hands that have touched it. Still, it’s comfortable and sturdy when the two men sit.

“Quick or not business is business and that means tea,” You call from the kitchen. An ornamental butterfly on the wall flutters its wings in agitation. 

“You’re sure this is the witch?” Gaz whispers to Price. When he’d said he knew who to talk to about Soap’s problem you weren’t really what Gaz had in mind.

“Positive,” Price leans back against the couch, folding his hands over his stomach. Perfectly relaxed. Gaz doesn’t see how he could be, all the foreign magic in the air is starting to make his head spin a little. He swallows, pinching the bridge of his nose, more than a little. This place feels like a fucking whirlwind, made to disorient. Price settles a hand on his back, and the next time Gaz inhales he smells smoke. 

He takes a deeper breath, closes his eyes to feel his mentor’s magic steady him. The swirling smoke, familiar, clears his head, settles his vision. “Should’ve warned you,” Price mumbles, “it’ll clear.”

“I’m good,” Gaz tells him, just as a clatter of teacups are set on the table in front of him. The noise jostles Price’s magic, knicks him.

“This should help,” You tell both of them, fingers careful on the teapot as you pour. “Count it a compliment,” You smile at Gaz when he looks up at you, “not everyone is smart enough to know they’re surrounded.” It’s an ominous statement for the sweetness in your smile. Gaz doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be threatened by that or not. He takes the tea, what else is he supposed to do?

Hyssop. It clears his head as soon as it touches his tongue, settles the magic around him like the final acceptance of his presence. Funny how quickly magic can flip on a person. You must get enough fae visitors to know what to do, that’s reassuring at least. Price takes little more than a single swallow before setting his cup down. Not one for bitter teas if he can help it. You take your seat opposite them, and pick up a deck of playing cards from the table.

“Is he your apprentice?” You ask, shuffling cards.

“Supposed to be.” Price leans forward, his elbows on his knees.

“Hm,” you hum, looking Gaz over, “I suppose you do like pretty.”

“I like a lot of things sweetheart,” Price rumbles, his voice lower than Gaz has heard in a long time. He glances between the two of you, narrows his eyes at the silk strand tethers that silver between you.

“So I’ve heard,” you are far too fond to count as business-like.

“You’re askin’ around about me?” Price’s eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Should I be?” You lean forward, and Gaz has had just about enough of this.

“Do you two want to find a more private room?” He asks, cutting through whatever strange dance his boss and you are performing. You clear your throat and sit back, Price doesn’t move. His eyes are just as warm as they were, Gaz hardly thinks he heard him. Except maybe to take the jab into strong consideration. God if he tries to cart you off somewhere, Gaz will just leave. No point sticking around if- You know he’s really having second thoughts about your ability to help them now.

“What can I help with?” There, that sounds way more professional. Flirting with his fucking boss, Gaz is about to lose his damn mind. 

“One of my boys found your trap,” Price says, no beating around the bush. You hum.

“Which one?”

Price blinks. Gaz blinks. Which one? Which one, what? Which boy or which trap? No, he knows what you’re asking.

“Does it matter?” Price asks finally.

“I suppose not,” you shrug, “did it kill him?”

“Did it-” Gaz feels anger well in his chest, you’re so casual with it. “Price,” He looks to his mentor for… Gaz doesn’t know, confirmation(?) that he’s hearing this too. Price holds out a hand to keep him in his seat. 

“Soap’s fine. Lucky I had your little hexbreaker on me, could’ve been a lot worse,” Price explains, you stop your shuffling.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Tell us how to get rid of the trap.” Price presses.

“Except there, I’m afraid.” You sigh, and spread your cards on the table. Your fingers carefully push certain ones up, scoot others to the side, as if you’re picking the ones you like best. “I can’t help you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Gaz asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” You say firmly. “Besides, it sounds like the problem is taken care of.”

Gaz and Price exchange a glance, the problem far from taken care of. Soap is a stubborn bastard, one who doesn’t take kindly to threats. It’s better to clear the fae trap from the city before he goes looking for them again.

“Right, then just tell us how to break it,” Gaz tries diplomatically.

“No,” you tell him plainly, sipping your tea. Price’s eyes spark watching you, eager and entirely unhelpful. “You’re asking me to help someone who couldn’t even come here himself, against something I created, and you’ve given me no good reason as to why I should help in the first place.”

"What'll it cost?" Price asks.

"I'm not for sale," It's the finality in your voice that really settle's Gaz's mind.

This is going nowhere fast. He pushes down the spark of annoyance, no rules are being broken, they have no favors to cash in, and the witch clearly knows well enough to give them the runaround. There’s only one way forward, and that’s back. Time for a reset.

"Why don't we just wipe her and try again?" Gaz asks, pushing himself to his feet.

[thewritersaddictions]

Drabbles: (COD) 141: Love Sick

At first, nobody says anything about it. Simon really doesn't remember that he has your lips tattooed into his skin for the rest of his life. It's just part of him, just as you are part of him and his life. It's something he's used to.

The military ball starts it all off. The envelope is in your apartment mailbox, so you saw it, opened it, and read it. The admission wasn't horrible, but that wouldn't be hard. It would convince Simon to get dressed formally and then persuade him to take you. He'd go if the rest of his mystery team was going. Now, here comes the waiting for Simon to come home so you can attack playfully with this new information.

It worked, thankfully. You waited for him to get comfortable. Changing out of his gear and into those sweats that always made you look at his ass and a black tee. Sitting on the couch in his lap, his arms wrapped around your middle, protecting you and keeping you close simultaneously. "Si?" He hums but doesn't take his eyes off the TV screen. "Something came in the mail today." You say, drawing a bit of his attention to you.

"What came in the mail today, honey?" he asks, splitting his attention between the TV and you. It's just an invite to a party that I think we should go to." Simon's brows pinch together. "You think we should go to a party?" he asks. You lean back a bit in his hold and look at him.

"The military ball." You answer, "I think we should go to the military ball." Simon's eyes widen, and his hold loosens. "Honey, I don't like events like that now." You know for a fact that Simon is telling the truth, but there's a part of you that just wants him to agree with you.

He takes you out on a date and shows you off to all of his military buddies. Hopefully, you will meet the man who keeps your man alive and has him return home to you.

It doesn't take much before you look at formal gowns on your phone. Simon isn't upset that you've convinced him to go. "Just wear your mask, Si, please. I really wanna go," you had said sweetly, nuzzling into his strong shoulder. He had only agreed because he couldn't say no to you when you kissed him like you did.

Simon went with you dress shopping. The local bridal store had a great selection to choose from, and it was always nice to have a hunk of a man standing guard. Stacking dresses in his arms, he helped you to the dressing room, and when you came out in that black-and-white formal gown, you wished you could have seen all of Simon's face.

"Look at you." He said as you walked out of your shared bedroom. Your hair pinned up and out of your face. Makeup lightly covers your cheeks and lips. He was just as handsome as you were pretty. A black suit that hugs him muscles in the best ways. He looks absolutely to die for. His blonde hair styled and slick back to keep out of his face, but the mask still overs most of his identifying features. His neck exposed for all to the red inked tattoos of your lips on his neck. He looks branded in a cutest but also hottest way.

"You ready to go dove?" He asks holding out a hand to pull you in close to him. He smells of cedarwood and vanilla, you breath him liking how you fit into his strong arms. "I'm ready Si." You murmur into his chest, and off the two of you go.

Price is the first one to notice the ink on Simon's neck. Price has known Simon for a long time now, so when Simon's attitude took a significant incline, Price could only assume that Simon meant someone great. Price pulls into a smile when he sees your arms interlocked with Simon's. With the doting way Simon looks at you, even from behind a mask, Price can tell that you are everything to him.

He doesn't rush over; he watches instead. Simon grabs drinks for the both of you and keeps a protective guard over you, always touching and keeping you close to him. He's proud of the man that Simon has become and senses that you might have something to do with it. Simons catches his Captain looking and then looks down at you; there are words spoken between you that Price can't hear. But then the two of you walk over to where he stands, "Hi, I've heard so much about you. You must be Captain Price." You say, offering a dainty hand out to shake. He takes it and smiles towards Simon. "You must be the girl that's changing our Simon."

You giggle and clutch onto Simons's bicep, pressing your cheek into the muscle. "I'm gonna see if they have any tiny little sandwiches, okay, Si." You say before turning to walk towards the food littered with food. "Si, huh?" Prices tease, "Where'd you find her?" Price asks, "I'm not sure. She was just there one day after I got home from deployment." Simon says, still looking at you. "Well, I don't think I have to tell you, but don't do anything stupid." Simon nods and shakes his commanding officer's hand before leaving to find his girl.

Soap and Gaz are standing off towards the back of the room. They talk and hold beers when they notice the big, tough guy act that Ghost consistently portrays, but it isn't how he's acting here, and a sweet girl is standing next to him. Kissing on his cheek and playing with his fingers. "What do you think that's about?" Gaz asks Soap; Soap's eyes are boring holes into the two love birds across the room. "I'm not sure, but I think Ghost has found himself a girl. Always thought he wasn't into relationships." Soap answers, and as the two of them talk, they watch Ghost and this dainty woman kiss on each other and touch.

"Why don't you two introduce yourself instead of gawking at them." Price says from behind them, scaring the shit out of both of them. "Oh, I don't think." Before Gaz can finish, they're both being pushed or dragged in Simon's and you's direction. "I think these two have forgotten how to be nice. Now introduce yourself to her." Price says there's a roll of Simons eyes. "Hi, I'm Soap, and this is Gaz." Soap answers. Your face lights up like your kid watching Christmas lights. "Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you all. I told Si that I really wanted to meet all of you. So glad we came now." You say, holding on to Simons's arm firmly.

Before Simon can even get a word edge-wise, Soap has his mouth gaped open and stares at the tattoo on his neck. "New tattoo, Lt." soap teases, and with a roll of Simons's eyes, he doesn't even answer him. "Oh, do you like them? Si got them just for me. He's got a few more." Simon's eyes go wide at the truth coming out. Airing his dirty laundry out for his whole team to see. "Oh, does he know? You'll have to tell us all about them, lass." There's a heavy sigh heard as Soap and Gaz whisk you away to talk.

Leaving just Simon and Price standing there with bottles of beer in their hands. "You should have known this was gonna happen." Price says softly, chuckling at the way Simons shakes his head. "I told her I didn't wanna go, but she's so hard to deny." There's a permanent smile on Simons's face, even if the mask hides it. Price can see it clear as day. "Well, maybe you should go save her before Soap and Gaz take her away and use her against you."

Completed on: 03/27/24

Posted on: 03/29/24

COD- @youdidntseemehere21

[madsfrank]

Ghost and König: *return covered in blood*

Price who asked them to go grocery shopping:

[jokest3r]

Me after seeing the first cutscene of OG MW3 between makarov and yuri:

[goodday-goodmorn]

Little blurb that’s been sitting in my Docs for while based on @auspicioustidings idea from a while ago now i think— But yeah! I’be got like zero motivation to continue this- butttttt i liked the scene a lot so it shall be seen now! (Plus it’s Mhari’s Birthday!!! Happy Birthday Mhari! :> Even though i’m a few hours late into the day Hope you’re having a wonderful birth celebration!)

Based on a a scene i cooked up where reader finally gets caught by none other than the Ghost himself:

The weight of a gun in your hand is familiar.

So is the quiet sounds of a break in. You point at the door, watching, waiting. Like clockwork it creaks open, and there he is.

“Don’t move.”

You say sharply. Making the gun in your hand well known to the intruder.

Silence. He stares at you, you stare back. How many times have you done this dance? Tense words and a dashing messy escape. (The poorly wrapped bandages around your abdomen throb answering you question for you. Too many then.)

You sigh, and lower the gun.

He doesn’t even look suprised.

With a soft, Thump! ,you plop backwards onto the bed, arms outstretched. The gun is still in your hand but it’s dead weight. (Just like you.)

“…You’re not gonna ever stop are you?”

It’s said up at the shitty hotel ceiling. Hushed in the darkness of the room.

“No.”

He says it so simply.

You hum, pulling your knees and legs up onto the bed and rolling over. Back facing him, on your side. You snag a plushie on the way, hugging it close to your chest and settling your chin atop its head.

“Well shit. Turn all my red flags to white then, i give up.”

Defeated. Hushed. Tired. It sounds so unlike your normal voice. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

There’s a dip in the bed, true to his namesake- he was silent as he walked to sit. You haven’t even heard him.

“…Who did your bandages?” Gruff bastard with his gruff voice. Sounding way too passive for talking with you, an enemy, his target actually. He should be barking orders and threats to you, you’ve heard the way he speaks on a mission before, all bite and harsh. But he shows none of that tension now. Not a lick of hostility.

“Who do you think?” You snort out, tucking your face into the head of the plushie and vehemently ignoring him.

“Kid, you need help. You can’t survive on your own.” Straight to business it seems.

Without even turning to look at him, you halfheartedly raise your middle finger.

He sighs.

Silence. Blissful, damning, silence. You’ve no more fight left to give and he knows it. Months on the run, months of constant near death escapes, months of being hunted like a dog. You’re tired. So tired.

“Ya know, Torture isn’t an effective way of getting info outta someone: statistically speaking.”

“We’re not gonna torture you.”

“But you do want that info don’t you?”

More silence.

You hum knowingly.

“And what happens after you get your precious information? You’ll kill me? Maim me like all the other fuckers who end up in your shit list?”

“No. Never.”

He says it with such ferocity it almost takes you by surprise for a second. If you were to be facing him, you would see the hardness of his eyes. The pure conviction swarming in his gaze.

“Not you. Never you.”

…

Finally you turn to him, feeling far too much like a young little kid on the playground who just can’t understand-

“Why?”

Something in his gaze softness. He wants to tell you this because he cares. The team cares. All of them- that they saw you, a prickly, panicked little bird in over their head and flying blind- but he knows it an answer you won’t accept. One you won’t understand. Not at this stage. Not yet. You don’t believe in words, you’ve been lied too far too many times for that.

So he says something you will believe. A watered down version of the truth that feels like such a disservice to everything that makes up your very being.

“You’re interesting.”

You seem to digest his words. Turning them over and thinking in that little head of yours.

‘How long is that interest gonna last?’

That's what you want to say. You want to scream at the top of your lungs that he doesn’t want you. No one does. He’ll get sick of your brashness eventually- he’ll learn and grow used to your tricks. And when your spontaneity grows old, you know what’ll happen.

But you don’t.

You say nothing except—

“…Can I at least pack my bags? …please?”

He knows you don’t have much to pack. He also knows you’re one tricky, flighty little bird. However, he heard your small plea, sees the defeated look in your eyes, the way your hand is so lax around the gun.

Gently, oh so gently, he takes the gun from your hand. You don’t even try and fight him.

“Sorry little bird. Can’t trust you to pack.”

The sad look on your face nearly makes him reconsider. But he can’t risk you getting away again. Not when you’re so easy to catch right now. So vulnerable.

“Can’t you restrain me and then i’ll tell you what to pack?”

That, he can do.

“Up.”

Commands come so naturally to him. You’re almost jealous at how easily they fall from his lips.

Like the old defeated dog you are, you listen, sitting up and presenting your hands to him to restrain. You don’t meet his eyes.

He takes no chances, you are securely bound with a pair of handcuffs. He tugs on them, standing you up and nudging you to the common area of your hotel room. It’s a sizable room, a nice hotel, though truthfully you hadn't really been thinking when you booked it. Brain to frazzled and exhausted to think about anything beyond a clean bed and a hot shower.

The lights are flicked on by his gloved hands, flooding your vision. You hiss blinking and adjusting while he nudges you to the center of the room, down into your knees.

“What am I looking for here, bird?”

Your gaze flicks to him, then to the corner of the room, a vent right by a little corner desk with a lamp.

He follows your gaze and then, (with one last hard look towards you that screams ‘stay’), he walks over. Inside the vent is a crumpled up backpack, old and raggedy. It looks out of place amongst the clean cream colors of the hotel amenities.

He prods at the thing, trained caution. (You don’t blame him after your last stunt with explosives.)

Unceremoniously he opens up the bag and dumps all its contents on the floor. You wince, watching your whole life be scattered on the ground.

A journal, a thermal blanket, a lighter, cash, USB sticks, Your laptop in its thick padded casing (thank god), stolen hotel amenities, nicotine patches, several pill bottles, a half empty water bottle, a pocket knife, bullets…

Your own personal little horde of trinkets.

“Was that necessary…?” You mutter, as he stuffs some stuff back into the bag.

“Can’t blame me for bein’ cautious.”

“Well- i could.”

He turns to look at you. Just… stares at you, all you can see is his eyes at that dreadful mask, boring into yours. He doesn’t need to say anything. You both know you could but you never. Been through too much to really blame him.

You’ve saved his life before, even though he was hunting you. You both know you would never blame him for doing his job. Not at this point.

(Just as he would never blame you for running.)

[euphoriacafe]

You Belong to Me

WARNING: free use??, lewd srry, threesome???, afab reader, fingering, sexual tension, mention of BDSM, aggressive, MDNI

Pairing: Captain Price x Phillip Graves x Female Reader

Summary: Graves is really getting under Captain Price's nerves and Price decides to vent onto you to the point he becomes jealous of the assignment he gives you. Part 2??? Thoughts???

I stood in silence, a vigilant shadow among the elite soldiers of Task Force 141. The weight of my gear felt almost comforting against my frame, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air around us. My eyes remained fixed on the back of Captain Price, a beacon of unwavering authority amidst the storm brewing in the room.

Commander Phillip Graves, the embodiment of Shadow Company's relentless pursuit of power, stood opposite Captain Price. His presence alone was suffocating, a reminder of the fine line we walked between duty and defiance.

As they exchanged heated words, I couldn't help but feel the weight of their rivalry bearing down on my shoulders. Graves's piercing gaze swept over the room, his eyes lingering on me for a moment too long, a silent challenge that I refused to acknowledge.

"Price, you know damn well this mission is our best shot at taking down Makarov," Graves growled, his voice laced with contempt.

Price's response was measured, his tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "And you think I don't know that, Graves? But sending in a full assault team is suicide. We need a surgical strike, precision over firepower."

I could feel the tension mounting with each passing moment, the air thick with the unspoken threat of violence. But I remained rooted in place, my focus unwavering despite the storm raging around me.

Graves took a step forward, his gaze narrowing on Price. "You're letting your personal agenda cloud your judgment, Price. We can't afford to miss this opportunity."

Price's jaw clenched, his resolve unyielding. "And I won't let you jeopardize the lives of my team for the sake of your ego, Graves."

The room seemed to hold its breath as the two titans locked horns, the weight of their words hanging in the air like a promise of never ending conflict.

Graves scoffed, his eyes flickering to me briefly before returning to Price. "Maybe if you kept a tighter leash on your team, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place, now would we?"

My jaw clenched at the insinuation. I knew Price could handle himself, but the personal attacks only fueled the fire. I glanced at Captain Price, silently urging him to maintain control.

Price straightened, his gaze unwavering. "Graves, my team is the best damn group of soldiers you'll ever have the privilege to work with. We'll get the job done, with or without your approval."

But before the tension could escalate further, Price turned his gaze to me, a silent command passing between us. Without a word, I fell into formation beside him, a silent reminder of where my loyalty lay.

Graves took a step forward, his gaze locking onto mine for a split second before returning to Price. "You may be the golden boy of 141, Price, but don't think for a second that your reputation grants you immunity from the harsh realities of war."

I exhaled slowly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins as I turned to face Price. He met my gaze with a knowing look, his eyes conveying a silent reassurance.

As the door slammed shut behind him, I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, the weight of the confrontation lifting from my shoulders

"We'll make this right, Y/N," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. Everything in the air made it known that Price was more than pissed off.

The tension in the room seemed to thicken as the door slammed shut behind Graves, leaving only Captain Price and me in its wake. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, intense and piercing, as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and gruff, "Keep your eyes open, lass, more on Graves, if anything. He's a loose cannon, and I don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

I nodded, my jaw set in determination. "Consider it done, sir."

I nodded, my throat tight with unspoken words. The proximity between us, the charged atmosphere, made it hard to ignore the undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.

Price's gaze narrowed, his face inches away from mine as he spoke in a hushed tone. "This mission's gonna be a bloody mess, but we'll get through it. I know we will...especially when I have my eye on you. "

His words lingered in the air, and I felt the warmth of his breath against my skin as he came closer. The proximity was both unnerving and electrifying, a dance on the edge of something unspoken. The closer he stepped the more his eyes bore into mine, dark and intense, as if daring me to look away.

"He pisses me off, Y/N," he muttered, his breath warm against my skin. "The way he thinks he can waltz in here and call the shots. It's like he's trying to undermine everything we stand for."

I held his gaze, refusing to back down in the face of his frustration. "We won't let him, sir. We'll show him that Task Force 141 doesn't bend to the will of anyone but ourselves."

Price's expression softened, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "That's the spirit, Y/N. Just keep your wits about you, and don't let Graves get under your skin when you watch over him, alright, lass?"

I nodded, a surge of determination coursing through me. "I won't, sir. You can count on me."

My voice almost came off breathy, as I looked up to match his eyes the heat of his hand as he reached out was almost scorching wanting him to touch already.

A sudden knock on the door shattered the moment, and Price pulled away, his expression a mix of frustration and resolve as his voice was rough and quiet. "Damn interruptions."

And with that, Price took a step back, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. "I know I can, Y/N," he said, his voice tinged with pride. "Now let's get to work. Report back to me if anything happens with Graves."

The training room buzzed with activity as Ghost, Soap, and I engaged in rigorous combat drills. The sound of fists meeting pads echoed off the walls, mingling with grunts of exertion and the occasional bark of instruction from our trainers, the sharp clang of metal against metal, the swift thud of boots on the floor. .

I focused on my form, channeling the adrenaline of the upcoming mission into each strike and parry. Beside me, Ghost moved with effortless grace, his movements fluid and precise. Soap, ever the powerhouse, unleashed a barrage of punches with relentless determination.

But amidst our intensity, my gaze kept drifting across the room to where Graves stood with his Shadow Company comrades. They moved with a calculated efficiency, their movements sharp and controlled. Graves watched his men with a critical eye, his expression unreadable as he assessed our performance.

"Focus, Y/N," Ghost's voice snapped me back to the present, his eyes narrowed in concern. "You're letting your guard down."

I nodded, refocusing on the task at hand as I kept punching the punching bag in front of me.

Across the room, Graves moved quickly and steadiness, his gaze piercing as he critiqued the movements of his Shadows. My eyes involuntarily drifted to him once again, analyzing every nuance of his posture, the way he held his weapon, the calculated precision in his steps. It was a habit I'd developed, a skill honed through years of working in the covert world of Task Force 141.

Price's orders resonated in my mind – keep a close eye on Graves, understand his tactics, anticipate his moves. It was a chess game, and I was determined to stay one step ahead. My attention, however, wavered as my thoughts meandered into uncharted territories.

Graves was undeniably attractive, a fact that I acknowledged with a detached professionalism. But in the midst of the training room, my mind took an unexpected turn. Images flickered like elusive shadows – Price, Graves, and myself entangled in a dance of desire. The scenario played out in my mind, a surreal concoction of forbidden fantasies that I struggled to reconcile with the reality of our mission.

I shook my head, attempting to refocus on the training at hand. Ghost and Soap exchanged glances, sensing the shift in my concentration. I forced a smile, pushing the inappropriate thoughts to the recesses of my mind.

As the session progressed, Price joined us in the training room, his eyes scanning the dynamic between Graves and his subordinates. He approached me, his gaze piercing through the layers of my composure.

"Y/N," he said in a low voice, "keep your focus. Graves is a slippery one, and I need you sharp."

I nodded, the gravity of Price's words grounding me. The fantasies dissipated, replaced by a steely resolve.

The training room pulsated with energy as Ghost and Soap engaged in a series of fluid movements on the wrestling mat. Their bodies moved in tandem, a seamless dance of combat that showcased the camaraderie forged through countless missions. Captain Price, ever the hands-on leader, stepped onto the mat, ready to test his skills against his trusted teammates.

I leaned against the wall, observing the intense exchange. Ghost and Soap moved with practiced precision, each maneuver a testament to their training and experience. The sounds of grunts and thuds filled the air as they grappled, a display of raw strength and tactical finesse.

Price joined the fray, his movements fluid and calculated. He sparred with Ghost and Soap, each exchange a symphony of skill and strategy. Despite the controlled chaos on the mat, a heavy tension lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the usual banter that accompanied training sessions.

As I watched the three men grapple, my attention shifted momentarily to Graves, who stood on the sidelines, observing with a smug grin. His eyes locked onto Price, taunting him with a challenge that hung in the air like a storm on the horizon.

"You think you've still got it, Price?" Graves called out, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Or has age finally caught up with you?"

Price shot him a steely glare but continued his sparring with Ghost and Soap. The tension in the room escalated, the weight of unspoken challenges adding an electric charge to the atmosphere.

Ghost and Soap, sensing the undercurrent of tension, increased the intensity of their movements. The grappling on the wrestling mat became more aggressive, each maneuver a subtle assertion of dominance. I could feel the room holding its breath, awaiting the inevitable clash between Price and Graves.

Graves, undeterred by Price's silence, stepped forward, his taunts escalating. "Come on, Price! Show us you're not past your prime. Or are you scared of facing a real challenge?"

The room fell into an uneasy silence as Price finally stepped away from the sparring match. His eyes locked onto Graves, a storm brewing within them. The air became charged with anticipation as the two leaders, each a force to be reckoned with, faced off in a battle of wills.

"Fine," Price growled, the words like thunder in the silence. "Let's settle this."

The wrestling mat became the arena for a different kind of battle, one fueled by personal vendettas and a history of animosity. As Ghost and Soap retreated, creating a makeshift ring for the impending brawl, I watched with a mix of concern and fascination.

I couldn't shake the feeling of impending disaster as Graves arrogantly dismissed my attempt to intervene. I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. "Gentlemen, maybe this isn't the best—"

Graves turned his gaze towards me, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, the little lady thinks she knows best," he remarked, his tone dripping with disdain.

Graves his eyes returned back to Price "Sweetheart, this is a man's business. Why don't you step off the mat and let us handle it?"

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Before I could respond, Price interjected with a glare that could cut through steel. "Enough, Graves. Let's get on with it."

Graves chuckled, a patronizing tone underlying his words. "You're getting old, Price. Maybe you need a bit more time to catch your breath."

Price's jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. "Enough talk, Graves. Let's see if your skills match your mouth."

The room fell into a tense silence as Ghost and Soap backed away, creating a circle for the impending showdown. I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a physical clash; it was a battle of egos, a test of dominance that had the potential to fracture the unity of the team.

Price and Graves circled each other like predators, their movements measured and deliberate. And then, with a sudden surge of movement, they clashed.

The sound of bodies colliding echoed through the room, a symphony of brute force and primal instinct. Price and Graves grappled with ferocity, each maneuver executed with precision and determination.

The wrestling match between Captain Price and Graves unfolded with an intensity that seemed to transcend the physical realm. Their bodies collided with a wham that echoed through the training room, the sound of fists connecting and grunts of exertion filling the air. It was a deadly fight, a struggle for dominance played out on the wrestling mat.

Price and Graves grappled, each attempting to gain the upper hand. Their movements were swift and calculated, a chaotic ballet that showcased the raw power and skill of two seasoned warriors. Fists flew, each blow a testament to the unspoken animosity that fueled their rivalry. Graves's men cheered from their side of the mat for him while Ghost and Soap stood arms crossed watching silently.

As I watched, my thoughts swirled in a black sea of conflicting emotions. The air crackled with the energy of their clash, the heavy weight of their egos blinding them to the potential consequences of their actions.

In the midst of the struggle, a dangerous undercurrent of desire flickered within me. It was a treacherous territory, the primal intensity of their fight awakening a forbidden longing and almost tugging on the fantasy. Their bodies entwined in a battle for dominance, their egos waging war, and a part of me yearned for that same fierce determination to be directed toward me.

To have them fight over me, pin me against the mat, to have them fight for control on who gets to own me.

My breath caught in my throat as I felt a wave of heat surge through me. The intensity of the fight seemed to seep into my skin, and I found myself becoming breathless, my pulse quickening. It was a dangerous game, the line between duty and desire blurred by the charged atmosphere in the room.

Their bodies moved with a fluidity that spoke of years of training and combat experience. Each attempt to pin the other to the mat was met with a countermove, a dance of strength and strategy. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken understanding that this was more than a physical contest—it was a battle for supremacy.

As the wrestling match continued, I couldn't escape the awareness that my desires were navigating through my body. The primal allure of the struggle, the intoxicating scent of sweat and determination, left me feeling disoriented, my thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm.

The realization of the dangerous territory I was treading only heightened the allure, and I felt an internal struggle between duty and the untamed yearning that stirred within me.

The room seemed to close in around me as the fight reached its climax. I was torn between the duty to my team and the intoxicating pull of something forbidden. As their bodies grappled for dominance, I found myself teetering on the edge, a silent spectator to a battle that transcended the physical, leaving me breathless and yearning for something I dared not admit.

Graves's smirk widened as he caught me in a moment of vulnerability, lost in my own thoughts as I watched the aftermath of their brawl. His knowing gaze lingered on me for a moment before he turned away, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

Captain Price's voice shattered the spell, pulling me back to reality with a jolt as he was looking at me with a deadpanned glare. "Y/N," he called out, his tone firm but jealously. "In my office. Now."

I swallowed hard, tearing my gaze away from Graves and following Price out of the training room. The air crackled with tension as we entered his office, the weight of unspoken frustrations hanging heavy between us.

Price closed the door behind us with a decisive click, his expression tight with frustration. "Graves is a damn nuisance," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable.

I nodded in silent agreement, the memory of their brawl still fresh in my mind. But before I could offer any words of reassurance, Price closed the distance between us in a blur of motion.

With a sudden, unexpected movement, he pushed me against the wall, his lips ghosting my neck in a tantalizing caress. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse racing as his proximity ignited a fierce longing within me.

"Price," I whispered, the word a breathless plea as his touch sent shivers down my spine. But he didn't respond, his lips trailing a path of fire along my skin, igniting a firestorm of desire within me.

Every inch of my skin tingled as Captain Price's lips continued their tantalizing journey along my neck. My breath hitched, and I tilted my head back, offering him unrestricted access. His grip on my hips tightened, a silent declaration of possession that sent a shiver through me.

The air in the room crackled with frustration and a potent undercurrent of desire. It was a dangerous game, a dance on the razor's edge of forbidden fantasies and the harsh reality of duty. The line between the two blurred, and I found myself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Price's voice, low and gravelly, resonated in the small confines of his office. "Graves is a thorn in our side, Y/N," he murmured against my skin, his words sending a rush of heat through me. "But I don't like the way you were looking at him."

My heart skipped a beat, and I swallowed hard, the tension in the room escalating. The raw honesty in Price's words hung heavy in the air, a revelation that added an unexpected layer to our already complicated dynamic.

"He's nothing but trouble," he continued, his lips trailing upwards towards my ear. "And I won't have you getting distracted by his games."

His breath fanned over the sensitive skin of my ear, and I struggled to find my voice amid the rising tide of desire. The frustration in Price's words mirrored the tumultuous feelings within me, the magnetic pull of his touch warring with the rational voice urging caution.

His grip on my hips tightened further, his fingers digging into my flesh as if grounding himself. The sexual tension in the room reached a fever pitch, and I could feel the delicate balance between us teetering on the edge.

"I can't have you looking at him that way, Y/N," he growled, the possessiveness in his tone sending a jolt through me. "It's dangerous. I can't afford distractions, especially not when they involve you."

As his words hung in the air, I felt the weight of his frustrations, the tangled web of desire and duty that bound us together. The dangerous game we were playing intensified, and with each passing moment, the line between professionalism and passion blurred, threatening to unravel everything we had built.

A charged silence hung between us as Captain Price's lips hovered dangerously close to mine. The room pulsed with a heady mix of desire and frustration, the air thick with unspoken promises and the weight of the dangerous game we were playing.

His lips finally met mine, a soft, lingering kiss that ignited a fiery passion within me. A low moan escaped my lips, the sound a desperate plea as he deepened the kiss. His fingers tightened on my hips, his touch both possessive and demanding.

"I can't have you looking at anyone else," he murmured against my lips, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "You're mine, Y/N."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implications. I felt a rush of heat pooling between my thighs, the intensity of his desire fueling my own. It was a dangerous revelation, a declaration that sent a thrill through me despite the rational voice warning of the consequences.

Price's body pressed forward, grinding against mine with an urgency that mirrored the pent-up frustrations in the room. The fabric of our clothes created a barrier, yet the undeniable hot tension between us bridged the gap. I could feel his desire coursing through every touch, every kiss, as he bent me forward, my chest against the cool surface of the wall.

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh as he held me firmly in place. The raw intensity of the moment overwhelmed me, the boundaries between us eroding with each passing second. It was a dance of dominance and submission, a dangerous game that left me breathless and yearning for more.

"You need to be punished, Y/N," Price growled, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "And you're going to learn that you belong to me and no one else."

His words sent a thrill through me, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. The air crackled with electricity as he held me captive against the wall, his touch possessive and commanding. In that moment, I surrendered to the intoxicating blend of desire and authority, caught in the dangerous web that Price had woven around us.

As Captain Price's hands moved with a commanding force, ripping my pants down and exposing my bare skin, a gasp escaped my lips, the rush of cool air against my heated flesh sending a shiver down my spine. I was vulnerable, exposed, and yet a surge of desire coursed through me, urging me to surrender to the raw intensity of the moment.

His fingers traced the curve of my exposed ass, sending a jolt of electricity through me. A soft moan escaped my lips as he delivered a light, stinging spank to one cheek, the sensation both exhilarating and arousing.

Thoughts raced through my mind in a dizzying whirlwind. The forbidden nature of our encounter, the thrill of surrendering to his dominance, the overwhelming desire to be consumed by him completely. It was a dangerous cocktail of lust and longing that left me breathless and wanting more.

Price's voice, low and commanding, cut through the haze of desire. "You like that, don't you, Y/N?" he murmured, his tone dripping with a mixture of authority and derision. "You're nothing but a naughty little slut, craving punishment."

His words sent a shockwave of arousal through me, the forbidden thrill of being degraded by him igniting a firestorm of desire within me. I bit my lip, fighting to contain the moan that threatened to escape, the tension between us reaching a fever pitch.

Price's grip on my hips tightened, his touch possessive and demanding. With each spank, I felt myself spiraling further into the abyss of desire, my inhibitions crumbling under the weight of his dominance.

"You're mine, Y/N," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "And I'll do whatever I damn well please with you."

His words were a potent reminder of the power dynamics at play, the dangerous game we were playing pushing us both to the brink of madness. And in that moment, as he delivered another punishing spank to my exposed flesh, I surrendered completely to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and pain, lost in the heady haze of desire that consumed us both.

The atmosphere in the room thickened as Captain Price's demeanor shifted. His touch became more aggressive, the spanks landing with a force that sent waves of heat through my body. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my breath catching in my throat as the intensity of the moment escalated.

"Tell me, Y/N," Price commanded, his voice a low growl, "who do you belong to?"

A mix of desire and trepidation coursed through me as I tried to form words. "You," I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.

Louder, he demanded, "Louder, Y/N. Tell me."

"I belong to you," I answered, the words hanging in the air like a forbidden confession.

Satisfied, Price continued his dominating assault, each spank pushing the boundaries of pleasure and pain. His commanding presence left me breathless, my body responding to his dominance with a surrender that both thrilled and terrified me.

His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh as he held me firmly in place. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise both unexpected and exhilarating.

The room echoed with the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, punctuated by my occasional gasps and moans. Price's commanding presence intensified, and I found myself lost in the dangerous dance of desire and submission.

"Who makes the decisions here, Y/N?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure.

"You," I responded, my voice barely audible above the sounds of our shared intimacy.

"Damn right," he growled, his aggression escalating. "You're mine to command, to please, and to punish."

The air was charged with electricity as his dominant presence enveloped me, the boundaries between pleasure and pain blurring in the intoxicating swirl of our encounter. The spanking continued, each strike sending shockwaves of desire through me, pushing me further into the depths of submission.

As the room spun with a heady mix of pleasure and surrender, I realized that I was teetering on the edge of something profound. The dangerous game we played had unleashed a torrent of desire, leaving me captivated by the magnetic pull of Captain Price's dominance.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as Captain Price's hands moved with a fierce determination, tearing my underwear apart with a single, forceful motion. The fabric gave way beneath his touch, leaving me exposed and vulnerable, my breath catching in my throat at the sudden rush of pleasure.

I whimpered in a mixture of pleasure and anticipation as his calloused fingers trailed along my soaking clit, sending sparks of ecstasy coursing through me. My hips instinctively arched towards his touch, seeking more of the intoxicating sensation he provided.

"Look at you," Price taunted, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and desire. "Soaking wet like a little slut."

His words sent a jolt of arousal through me, the raw intensity of his dominance driving me to the edge of sanity. I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper as I struggled to respond.

"It's… it's for you, Price," I managed to gasp, my admission hanging in the air like a confession.

Price's smirk deepened, a glint of skepticism in his eyes as he toyed with me. "Oh, is that so?" he teased, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on my sensitive flesh.

I squirmed beneath his touch, the pleasure bordering on unbearable as he pushed me further towards the edge of ecstasy. "Yes," I moaned, the word a desperate plea for more.

But Price remained unconvinced, his smirk widening as he continued to tease me mercilessly. "I think you might need to prove it to me, sweetheart," he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement.

The air crackled with tension as Captain Price's fingers continued their relentless assault on my clit, driving me to the brink of ecstasy with each skilled stroke. The atmosphere around us was thick with desire, the heat of our shared intimacy suffusing the room with an intoxicating energy that left me breathless and wanting more.

The room seemed to close in around us, the only sounds the sultry moans escaping my lips and the rhythmic squelching of his fingers against my wetness.

Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed through the room, breaking the spell of our heated encounter. Price's irritation was known, but he never faltered in his ministrations, his fingers working me with a relentless determination that sent waves of pleasure coursing through me.

"Damn interruptions," he muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with frustration. "Can't a man get a moment's peace around here?"

Price's irritation deepened, but his fingers quickened their pace, playing me like a finely tuned instrument. He leaned towards me, his lips brushing against my ear. "You need to be quiet, sweetheart," he murmured, the command sending a thrill through me.

I bit my lip to stifle a moan as Price's fingers delved deeper, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. His dominant presence loomed over me, a silent command to remain quiet despite the overwhelming sensations he elicited.

With a resigned sigh, Price crossed the room to answer the door, his irritation evident in every line of his body. "What do you want, Graves?" he snapped, his tone brusque and dismissive.

Graves stood in the doorway, a smug smirk playing at his lips. "Looking for someone, Price," he replied, his gaze flickering between us with a knowing glint.

As Price opened the door, Graves greeted him with a smug smile. "Price, didn't mean to disturb. I'm looking for Y/N."

Price's irritation flared, but he remained composed as he shot back a rude response. "Well, you won't find her here," he retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Graves's smirk widened, and I could sense the underlying tension between them, a rivalry that extended far beyond the confines of our current situation. But despite the tension, Price's fingers never ceased their relentless assault, driving me closer to the edge with each passing second.

"Is that so?" Graves replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps I'll just have to look a little harder."

Before Price could offer a more of a response, Graves pushed past him, stepping into the room. Price's fingers never relented, maintaining their steady rhythm as if the interruption had not occurred.

Graves' eyes flickered to me, a mischievous glint in his gaze. "Ah, there she is. Busy, I see."

Price's jaw clenched, his irritation reaching its peak. "Get to the point, Graves."

Graves chuckled, unfazed by Price's irritation. "Just wanted to discuss something with Y/N but I can see the little slut is all out of breath."

A dangerous dance in the shadowy realm of covert desires and forbidden fantasies.

I couldn't contain the breathy moan that escaped my lips as pleasure consumed me, the intensity of Price's touch pushing me closer to the edge. In that moment, with Graves's presence lingering in the air like a shadow, I surrendered completely to the intoxicating pleasure that Captain Price offered, lost in a whirlwind of desire and submission.

As Graves closed the door behind him with a smug flourish, I felt a surge of frustration and arousal course through me. Price's fingers continued their relentless assault, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. The air crackled with tension, a potent mix of desire and frustration that left me breathless and wanting more.

Graves's taunting reply echoed in the room, his condescending tone grating against my senses. I bit back a moan, the intensity of the moment threatening to overwhelm me.

Price's voice, low and commanding, cut through the haze of desire. "You noticed that, didn't you, Graves?" he growled, his eyes blazing with sadistic intent. "She tightened up the moment you walked in."

Graves's smirk widened, a flicker of sadism dancing in his gaze as he exchanged a knowing look with Price. "Seems like she's enjoying herself," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Price's grip on my hips tightened, his touch possessive and commanding. "She needs to learn her place," he murmured, his words sending a thrill through me despite the underlying threat.

I struggled to maintain control, the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume me. The exchange between Price and Graves heightened the intensity of the moment, the precarious balance between pleasure and pain pushing me closer to the brink.

As Price's fingers quickened their pace, I bit my lip to stifle a moan, the raw intensity of the moment threatening to unravel me completely. The air was heavy with anticipation, a heady mix of desire and dominance that left me trembling with need.

In that moment, as Price and Graves exchanged looks of sadism, a primal instinct took hold of me. I surrendered completely to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and pain, lost in the fiery embrace of their dominance.

This was going to be a long night.

I'M GOING TO MAKE A PART TWO.

[sarahs-secrets2]

credit to call of duty twitter!

[cerise-on-top]

hello!!

can I request Rudy x a reader who acts all tough on the field (Like they work together, they are a sergeant rank just below him) and they can be very aggressive, but in the inside they love Hello Kitty and other cute things? I’m a Metalhead who LOVES Hello Kitty and it’s always so funny to me whenever people find out and I’d love Rudy’s reaction.

thanks love, have an amazing day!! :3

Hello! Sure you can! It sounds like an interesting idea actually! And thank you, I hope you're having a good day as well!

Rodolfo with an Aggressive-Sweet!Reader

Rodolfo probably wouldn’t think too much of you at first, thinking that you’re simply an aggressive person with a preference for violent things, always ready to pick fights and showing people where they belong without as much as a second thought. I’m gonna be honest with you, he will think that’s about all there is to you at first. Rodolfo isn’t always the best at judging people from the outside correctly, but he knows how to treat people with respect, if they deserve it. Besides, you’re a high ranking soldier, you know what you’re doing with the new recruits and show them they really shouldn’t mess too much with you. While he wouldn’t avoid you, he wouldn’t think too much of you, what you see is what you get.

So when he finds you looking at a plushie of Cinnamoroll for a prolonged time, he raises an eyebrow, asking you if you’re doing okay or if someone has upset you. It’s then that you’d admit to liking cute things. Truthfully, Rodolfo would be slightly taken aback, not expecting something like that in the slightest. Being a freak about weapons and vehicles, maybe, but not Sanrio. He will ask you if you’re being serious, but won’t press the matter too much. After the initial shock is over, he might chuckle a bit when he’s on his own and replaying the scenario in his head, remembering the cute lil plushie of the dog.

In fact, you liking cute things won’t leave his mind for a while. Every time he walks by that store, seeing the plushie, he’s thinking about you, until he finally gives in and buys it for you. Maybe you had more surprises up your sleeve if he started talking to you some more. Him giving you the gift would be pretty straight forward: He’ll either look for a good opportunity when the two of you are alone or he’ll call you into an empty office to give it to you. Not everyone needs to know about your soft spot for sweet things. Will also try to strike up a conversation with you afterwards. Depending on how well it goes, he might invite you to a lovely little cafe nearby. It’s not Sanrio themed, but it’s got a nice aesthetic. Sometimes he thinks about how you’d react to him asking you to go to a cat cafe together. You likely wouldn’t say no.

Jokingly, he’ll ask you more about your person: What music do you listen to? What’s your favorite animal and why? Which colors do you like the most and why? He likes hearing the reasoning behind everything because it’s just so funny to him. You, who blares Amon Amarth during your time off, like looking at pictures of baby animals cuddling with each other. He’s the last person to judge you, but he does like comparing how you present yourself in front of the recruits to how you present yourself when he asks you regarding your favorite food. Rodolfo has definitely taken a greater interest in you than he did before. Besides, getting to know your co-workers isn��t such a bad thing either, that way he knows who he is protecting on the battlefield.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Soap: What do you see in (Y/N)?

Y/N: *Screaming, wailing and crying after stepping on a snail*

Ghost: *Sighing* Everything.