#bravo six

Naturally, John would wake just before sunrise. But instead of the rumble of trucks, Humvees, or the distant shouts mixed with the clatter of PT gear, he was met with the soft chirping of morning birds and the delicate patterns of frost on the window. Most importantly, he was lying beside you.

His softened eyes were fixed on your peaceful face as you slept. He admired every curve—from the slope of your nose to your slightly parted lips. Every line and freckle, which you always swore were imperfections, looked ethereal to him. After a brief hesitation, he slowly slipped his hand from beneath the blanket to gently cradle your face.

He savored the contrast between your soft skin and his calloused, battle-worn hands. But the rough texture of his blisters against your cheek stirred you, causing your eyes to crack open.

First and most obvious. Captain daddy John Price gets Cubana. The look on his face when this song comes on and you subconsciously start singing along?

First it was smaller, then it grew taller. Daddy, I wanna smoke your Cubana.

Ooh la la la la, come in mi casa, Daddy I wanna smoke your Cubana

“Darlin’…all you had to do was say something.”

*~*~*~*

All right, big fella. Simon “Ghost” Riley; we all know you like when they Gag On It.

G-A-G on me. I wanna hear that sound when you gag OD

Push it through your lips, swallow it real deep. Feel it on your tongue, say it tastes so sweet

G-g-g gag on it

Take it deep, Make it skeet. On your knees, make it weak

G-g-g gag on it

“That’s right. Be a good pet & take it all. You can do it.”

*~*~*~*

So this one has a double meaning for me. Not only do I think Kyle “Gaz” Garrick would enjoy all these things, but he gets excluded and replaced in the 141 by so many people not only on this app but even by activision themselves. Stop blocking Gaz, cock or otherwise!

I like parties, I like mansions, I like cameras, I like fashion, I like six packs, I like beaches, I like sushi, I like Britney, I like groupies, I like money, I like power, pow-, power.

One thing I never really liked

A Cock Blocker

“Don’t worry, love. Nothings going to get in between us.”

*~*~*~*

HEAR ME OUT. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish is a playful, energetic young lad. Confident in himself and what he likes. I think he’s the most open to trying and experimenting with new things… like a Rim Job.

Don't be shy, I can see it in your eyes. Just relax, throw your legs up in the sky

Don't act surprised when I'm kissin' on your thighs. He was a virgin, now he want it all the time

Are you ready?

Ready for a rim job?

Are you ready?

Ready for a rim job?

“Ain’t nothin wrong with tryin something new. Ye never know, ye just might like it”

✨Honorable Mention✨

Butt Slut would work for all of them.

For them I would be the Head Head Honcho

The first thing that Price does when he gets home after a long, grueling months of being out on a mission is find you. If you’re on the couch or in the kitchen, office, wherever — he picks you up in his arms, and he just holds you, burying his face into your neck.

He’d never had anyone to come home to before he met you, and now that he does, all he can think about is how he has a reason to live. Before, he’d kept his team alive because they were all he had. If he had to sacrifice himself to do so, then so fucking be it. Now, though, he stays alive to protect his team and to make sure that you never have to deal with the heartbreak of having his cold dog tags placed in your warm hands. He’s determined to make sure you never see that day.

You’re always so overjoyed to see him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. It’s hard to keep your tears at bay once you finally have him in your arms again. The tiny house the two of you shared didn’t feel like home until he was back. It was agonizing to wait so long, but feeling the way both of your bodies immediately let go of the tension as you two held each other was worth it.

You don’t let him do much on his first day back. Instead, he’s practically forced to sit on the couch with a glass of whiskey or for a couple of bottles of beer and watch a game of footie. If the weather allows it, he’ll sit in the backyard to smoke a cigar. He insists on helping you around the house, but you refuse.

You cook him his favorite breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and you throw some laundry into the dryer so that every pair of sweatpants he throws on is nice and warm. You become the perfect domesticated partner for him.

The night ends after he’s been stuffed full of food and whiskey. He tries to help you wish the dishes, but you shake your head and push him back into the living room, reminding him of what he’d been doing for the past few months; he deserves some time to relax.

Then comes the bath. You’ve filled the tub up with nice, hot water, and you’ve thrown in a couple of bath bombs and bubble bath mix. They’re scented with eucalyptus and lavender.

When he’s in the bathroom, you do all of the work. You strip him down, and it’s sweet rather than sexual. He’s so tired and worn. While he admires you and your body, he’s not sure he can find it in himself to work himself up for such activities.

But you don’t mind. All that matters to you is the look of relief as he gets into the tub, the hot water aiding to relieve the tense and sore muscles of his body. You follow after him, sitting behind him. You press soft kisses to his shoulder blades before working your hands through the knots in his back. He groans and grunts in response.

You eventually move to washing his hair, and his eyes flutter shut as he feels your fingertips on his scalp. He thinks that he’s died and gone to heaven. “Fuck, darling,” he whispers. “You’re so good to me.”

And you are. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. The moment that he met you, he knew he was done for. There was no temptation in this world that could ever make him stray away from you.

Once you’re both clean, you dry him off, and you get him dressed in yet another pair of warm sweatpants. Only then do the two of you finally fall into bed, with him lying on top of you. His arms wrap around your waist and his head rests on top of your chest, and he feels himself begin drift off to dream land as your hands run through his hair.

But before he does, he whispers…

“‘M gonna ask you to marry me in the morning.” A yawn slips past his lips. “Better be ready ‘n say yes.”

You don’t say anything. You just smile and press a kiss to his forehead. That’s enough of an answer for him.

It’s enough for him because when he wakes up in the morning, reaches over into the bedside drawer, and grabs a small little box, he can see the way your eyes sparkle. He has his answer then and there. He’s never been happier to be home.