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gothicflowers · 4 months

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Nikto X GN!Reader

“Blood Sport” - Angst - SFW

Inspired by the song “Blood Sport” by Sleep Token. Would recommend listening before, during or after reading. Thanks for reading!

Warnings: SFW, character death, cussing, toxic relationship, song lyrics in italics.

I want to roll the numbers

I want to feel my stars align again

Even if the earth breaks like burnt skin

And the heavens just won't open up for me

Would you invite me in again?

Won't you pay for your arrogance?

Won't you show me your weakness?

It had been three years since he walked out of your shared home. Left all his clothes, toothbrush and his lucky coin. Three years of wondering why you weren’t enough for him. He was attracted to your caring nature and kind smile. Your small delicate hands fit perfectly into his destructive palms. Making your home as safe and comfortable for him as possible but he’d never let his guard down. Never letting you in. He loved you with his whole heart and soul but couldn’t let you in. But he kept you as prisoner of his love.

Returning from missions barely speaking. The occasional grunt in agreement or disapproval. It takes almost a week for him to start using words. You seen the hell that your father went through with war and knew that Nikto needed time to adjust back to normal. Your patience and kindness always unwavering.

I made loving you a blood sport

I can't win

His love was a game of tug of war. Just when you thought you had him you were back on your knees crying. He kept getting colder and colder. Shutting you out. The embraces became less frequent. It felt like kissing a stranger. Locking himself in a room only to emerge for meals. You tried everything to bring your love back to you but he wasn’t mentally here anymore. He was out there in the war. So angry at the world he couldn’t see what was in front of him.

I made loving you a blood sport

I can't win

So let's play

“You think that everything in your little world is perfect don’t you”

“Nikto please-“

“No, I can’t just come home and be a happy man for you. I have done terrible things that you wouldn’t ever come close to me again if you knew.”

“I don’t care what you’ve done, just who you are with me.”

“I’m a fucking monster, I have killed and ruined lives. I have a voice in my fucking head reminding me all day.”

“But we can get through it, therapy is an option. Maybe take some time off. I don’t care if you’re a monster, I love you.”

“I can’t change, I’m too far gone. Don’t you get it?! I’m fucked, you need to just leave me alone. I can’t be saved. Stop trying to fix me!”

“Nikto please just-“

You hoped this was something that he would come home from his drive and you two would make up and tangle in a hot passionate embrace. But he never came back home. He walked out, not looking back.

And somewhere

Somewhere the atoms stopped fusing

I'm still your favourite regret

You're still my weapon of choosing

And out there

Stuck in a quantum pattern

Tangled with what I never said

You say it doesn't matter

You never really moved on from him. His clothes even went from hanging in the closet to a box under your bed. Every date you when on couldn’t compare to the man behind the mask. You can recall when you first met. He stoped in his tracks when he seen you. The closest thing to heaven on earth his damaged heart will ever experience. He tried so hard to be romantic, flowers for every occasion. Jewelry for every holiday. Open doors and his arm looped around yours as you’d walk together. He wanted to be good for you. But he couldn’t get ahead of himself, ahead of the voices that started taking over.

I want to be forgiven

I want to choke up chunks of my own sins

Even if the sky cracks in the morning

And the heavens just won't open up for me

Would you invite me in again?

Let me pay for my arrogance

Won't you show me your weakness?

There was a nock at the door. It was one in the morning. You’re a night owl with little need for sleep. Grabbing your gun you walk up to the door. Slightly shaking knowing there shouldn’t be anyone visiting at this hour.

“Who is it”

“It’s me y/n” a thick Russian voice said. Your heart seemed to skip a beat knowing that raspy voice.

You opened the door slowly not sure if you were ready to see him.

“…Nikto” your frail shaky voice was barely audible. His face has been badly scarred since you last held him. But he was as beautiful as ever.

“Can we talk?” His voice was soft, scared almost. Scared you’d slam the door in his face and be lost forever to him.

“Come in”

Nothing had moved in the house since he left. Your favorite paintings, vintage furniture all stayed the same. It smelled like home still too, thanks to your constant need for a candle to burn.

“I’m surprised to see you, I’m guessing you want your clothes back? I have them under my bed, let me go grab them for-“ your voice was bitter

“That’s not why I’m here”

Just his presence made you weak. He always had this energy that pulled you to him. You didn’t know if what this could even be about. He has been gone for so long that you’re practically strangers.

“Then how can I help you”

“I need to apologize for what I have done”

“Nikto we don’t need to-“

“Please, just listen to me and I will be gone forever if that is what you wish”

“What is there to say? You just up and left three years ago. I waited days and weeks, months even hoping you would just come home to me. I was ready to fight for us, for you. And you just gave up on me.”

“I messed up, I treated you like a commodity when I should have treated you like a god. I didn’t deserve your kindness, your love and patience. And I know that now. After I left I got help for the voices, they’re still with me but they can’t control me anymore. I wanted to get better for you.”

“Nikto…”

“I’d like to try and be the man you deserve if you’ll let me.”

I made loving you a blood sport

I can't win

He was true to his words. He was a changed man. He opened up to you about what he’s done. He started embracing you the moment he walked through the door. Kisses were sweeter, the nights longer. A promise that soon he will leave the life of killing behind. A promise of a long happy life together.

I made loving you a blood sport

I can't win

“Good afternoon. I’m a representative of Kortac. Are you Y/N L/N?”

“Yes”

“I’m here to deliver you the news of the passing of Nikto. He passed in battle defending his fellow soldiers. This box contains all of his belongings and his will.”

“No, please no no no” a gasp for the air that had escaped your lips exhaled with a scream.

“I’m very sorry. He wished to be cremated and we have his ashes for you.”

And somewhere (I made loving you a blood sport)

Somewhere the atoms stopped fusing (I made loving you a blood sport)

I'm still your favourite regret (I made loving you a blood sport)

You're still my weapon of choosing (I can't win)

And out there (I made loving you a blood sport)

Stuck in a quantum pattern (I made loving you a blood sport)

Tangled with what I never said (I made loving you a blood sport)

You say it doesn't matter

A urn now sits on top of the fireplace next to the dried flowers that Nikto had gotten you the day before his last deployment. There’s no music playing on the turntable. There’s no candles lit filling the home with a sweet aroma. Just you, a box, a letter and urn filled with the ashes of a man that should be holding you in his arms. The dreams shared about the future were ripped from your heart.

“My love,

If you’re reading this I’m already gone. I’m sorry it ended this way. There will soon be a large sum of money available at your disposal upon my death. It should be enough to last you and your future family a couple generations. All of my properties and assets will now be under your ownership. Sell or keeps whatever your heart desires.

I’m sorry for all the pain I have ever put you through. I’m sorry for all the cold and lonely night in bed while I’m out God knows where. I’m sorry for never kissing you enough, never holding you tight enough. Never having the worlds to express how much I love and appreciate you. My favorite memory will always be watching the sunsets with you. I never told you about how I find your eye color in the smallest of things. Or how your voice is that of angels. You could put my demons to sleep when you sing.

Thank you for always fighting me when I thought I was right. Thank you for the books I said I wouldn’t like, but read every page. Thank you for the warm meals shared over a conversation about our days. Thank you for the nights we tangled in the sheets as one soul. Thank you for the warm hugs on cold December nights. Thank you for the kisses that sealed my promises. Thank you for loving me when I couldn’t love myself. Thank you for showing me a life worth living for. I’m sorry I can’t be there for you from now and until the end of your days. But if god gives me the chance to wait for you at heavens gate, I will wait an entirety just to see your face.

Your love,

Nikto

#call of duty nikto #nikto x reader #mwii nikto #nikto #kortac #call of duty x reader #flowerwrites #krueger x nikto

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quwvina · 4 months

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Kruger takes care of Nikto, who has forgotten about the new year. silly Nikto. Happy New Year to everyone. ♡

#fanart #call of duty #cod fanart #fanart cod #cod #call of duty krueger #call of duty nikto #nikto cod #cod nikto #krueger cod #cod krueger #sebastian krueger #krueger x nikto #nikto x krueger

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charliemwrites · 22 days

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There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #konig #konig x you #konig x reader #nikto x reader #sebastian krueger #krueger x reader #cod nikto #konig cod #neighbor!reader

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emoelvin · 1 month

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dangerous situation

#art #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #sebastian krueger #Krueger #cod krueger #nikto #nikto x reader #cod nikto #krueger x reader #sebastian krueger x reader

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alkern · 23 days

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#cod fanart #call of duty #nikto x krueger #nikto cod #sebastian krueger #cod mw2 #cod

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burstinn · 6 months

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REQUEST!

as a male!Reader, I feel very represented in your works,

could you write a male!Reader that’s really tall? Like, humongous? In hight, and body? (In the military as well)

I always see male!Readers that are so small and tiny and baby.

like, no. You get me? Just saying. Thanks!

Male! Reader with the height and body of a goddamn Monster.

(Headcanons)

Note: some mentions on top reader but I like to keep it ambiguous. So you can read it as a switch! Reader. This is a quick drabble of some Hcs

People shown: Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price, Keegan, Graves, Nikto, König, Horangi, Logan Walker,Roach, Makarov, Krueger

-Reader is 6'5.

-Basically built like the Russian terminator guy

GHOST

- Got shocked when he first saw you, wanted to seem more intimidating than you.

-So he puffed out his chest and glared at you.. Bro wants to challenge you nahh 😭😭🙏🙏

-You would fold him tho ngl (in the ring and in bed fr fr)

-when he got comfortable with you kinda jealous his title of the big, tall intimidating man got taken away.

-When you sparred with Ghost it was a tough fight but you managed to get Ghost in a chokehold wrapping one of your tough bulging sexy ass arms around Ghost's neck.

-Never knew he wanted to be man handled so bad it was Hot he had to excuse himself and run off because he got hard.

-Starts imaging if your cock is just as big.. Spoiler alert.. It is..

SOAP

-Looks at you then Ghost mind blown that there was someone more humongous than Ghost

-Teased Ghost for awhile

-Drools over your pecs..

-He totally dreams of being crushed by you..

Or being crushed between Ghost and you.. Or both..

-Asks if he could feel your guns (Your arms..)

(IT COULD ALSO BE YOUR HUGE THROBBING CO-)

-Keeps glancing at your cock. Even though it's clothed.. I mean look at you.. Your manhood is basically too tight for your pants he can literally see your outline.

-Soap asked if he could measure your Length.. So he could see how far it could go inside of him YK?! YOU UNDERSTAND.

GAZ

-More interested than having dirty thoughts.

-Keeps asking how you got that big

-Wants to be just as strong as you

-Cutie patootie (T_T)

-Basically hangs around you to see how you work

-Even follows you so he could watch you train and spar

-Asks about your diet and if how your body looks is genetic

-inspired by you. Like a child (😭😭WHALUAAHHAH GAZZ)

PRICE

-Beneficial for him I mean he gets to have another soldier that's just as intimidating as Ghost.. Maybe even more.

-Is like a proud father

-Talks to everyone about you and how bla bla bla

-Trains with you

-He'd show you tricks and tips on how he trains and you show him tips and tricks on how you train

-Probably has a picture of you at his desk.. Beside the other pictures of his other not biological family. Aka. The whole 141..basically has a pic of everyone they all family up in 'ere

KEEGAN

-Heh.. Yknow.. Pictures..

-In the showers in lockers makes sure he's there near so he can see you in all your glory

-Probably had wet dreams about you

-Also makes sure he's there when your training. It's not like he's obvious everyone there is fuckin watching you

-What's that? You wearing a compression shirt? 🤨🤨 nuh uh in the sex chamber you go 👉

-Touching, touching, touching EVERYTHING

NIKTO

-Quiet

-What the fuck

-Silent panicking

-Jealous very jealous

-Compares himself to you, would train harder just so he can look like you (bb nooo 😭😭)

-Would watch also how you train your body so he could copy it

-You caught him once training in the middle of the night.. And he's using your technique on how you use the punching bags.. He's just getting some stuff wrong..

-When he notices you he got.. Slightly embarrassed and angry.. Panicked inside when you came closer asking him if he was using your technique in training

-You trained him properly on how you do it.

-so like now.. You train him in the middle of the night..

GRAVES

-same as price shows you off but more in an annoying way

-Hes boasting

-Would face you off against his strongest shadows no diff you still win.. Yuuuhhh

-Subtle touching like hand on shoulder, arm, head whatever.

KÖNIG

-Relieved that he has someone that looks like him.. Albeit slightly shorter.. Still!

-Got nervous meeting you first.. Forced himself to act tough to impress you I mean he is a colonel

-Makes sure to be in missions with you. Wants to see you in your most serious and intimidating

-Got intimidated himself once he saw how you act on field

-Tries to be on your good side the whole time

-One day he was watching you and just started thinking about YOU KNOWWW!!

-Blasphemous! He got red and cried to Horangi about it

HORANGI

-You know about this guy

-He's silly

-He'd read fanfics thinking it's him and you

-he'd make fanfics too, about you and him maybe adds König

-Shows it to König all proud and shit as if König isn't looking at him with absolute horror in his face when he reads what Horangi wants to do with you or you with him.

-He's delusional

-Slapped your ass and blamed it on someone else that's near him. It was König.

-Is it as veiny as your arms? A man can only dream.

-gives you a soda can and tells you to crush it in your arms.. Better yet in between your legs.

-Would then tell you like "good now do my head"

-PlEASE let him be between your thighs

LOGAN WALKER

-Rolled his eyes when he saw you

-Avoids you like the plague

-Why doesn't he like you? No idea. He a big pussy bitch is what. He sad you get more dick n pussy than him.

-Complained about you to Hesh

-He may not like you. He can't lie tho. You are good at your job so like he can't do anything about that