#kick cod

Kick: Nobody uses gun for cooking you dumbass >:o

Logan: But i saw people using it on the yt...... :(

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i really hope this is what you wanted :,) there is a little smidge of NSFW so MDNI

kick headcanons

man drinks like a sailor and takes drinking games seriously enough that even merrick and keegan will raise a brow at him.

"kick." keegan mutters. kick continues literally chugging a bottle.

"kick." merrick says, a little louder.

kick finally pulls off the bottle and wipes his mouth, lips wet with rum and a lazy grin on.

"yeah?"

keegan confiscates the bottle, and the next morning when kick has a hangover that'd kill a horse?

he wakes him with an airhorn and tosses it to logan with a quick heads up.

"logan. catch."

logan, of course, strong and silent obedient type, catches the airhorn just in time for kick to come barrelling out of his room like an angry bull, head whipping around.

logan points at keegan, who's way too good at keeping a straight face in moments like these. keegan shrugs. kick narrows his eyes.

believe it or not, also, kick is the most emotionally stable one out of them all. having had a girlfriend for longer than a few months at one point in his life is apparently the only prerequisite.

they all come to him for advice, but merrick took the longest to do so.

he'd been fighting with his wife for days over not taking the trash out, and was so headstrong about having been at work all day that it took kick more than a few tries to get him to see things from his wife's perspective.

"merrick, dude," he ignores merrick's scowl at being called 'dude'. kick can't help it, really; the tongue of a man from socal is very specific and requires 'dude' from time to time.

"you just gotta tell her you're sorry, and buy her flowers and chocolate." kick says, with all the seriousness of a marriage counselor.

"i tried that already," merrick grunts, eyes shifting to the floor. "she says i'm trying to buy her forgiveness, and that i don't care enough about the chores around the house."

kick blinks. "well… don't forget next time."

"you're useless." merrick sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"you're quitting on this therapeutic thwap upside the head." kick points at him.

merrick is already half out the door. "tactical retreat."

the door slams, and kick smiles to himself.

naturally, kick is the sweetest when it comes to his partner, you.

he'll scratch your scalp lightly, rub your back and make you soup when you're sick.

any time you mention being even moderately in a bad mood his pants are already tightening. period? baby he's a soldier, that man does not care as long as his pretty love doesn't mind having their back blown out.

keegan has walked in on you two more than a few times, immediately slamming the door with muttered curses and something about "scrubbing the image of kick's pale ass out of every fold of his brain".

he likes pain, but he'll never admit it. nothing makes kick harder than when your nails are digging into his back while he's got you pinned with your legs around his waist, head thrown back in ecstasy as you claw the fuck out of him.

biting, too. he begged one night for you to bite his neck hard enough that he'd bleed. he's a soldier, he'd reasoned, eyes so soft and pleading as he made you hold eye contact. he can not only take the pain, he craves it.

his closest teammate, believe it or don't, is keegan. kick isn't part of the original 14, but, keegan kept him under his wing anyway.

was a mentor, a friend, a confidant to the young air force IT kid.

kick's first mission was no less than a fucking disaster.

he almost died. not once, not twice, but almost four times before extraction.

and who was there to pick up the pieces? keegan.

who gripped him by the shoulders, a mere 24 year old himself, and shook kick from his dazed adrenaline crash?

who told him where the good booze was stashed, under the desk in elias' office?

the answer to all was keegan.

and when kick named his son…

David Patrick.

"Did you know balpeen hammers aren't for your balls or peen?"

xx/xx/2013

Michael was back from highschool, another day filled with curses and him getting shoved to the lockers for fun. All because his dad had left them when Michael was a newborn. And for some people, it was the funniest thing ever. Michael's shoulders ached. Both from getting shoved to the lockers and scars on there. It was his own way of letting out pent up emotions. Slicing through his skin with the idea of draining his body from the emotions like blood. When things got out of hand and crying to his mom wasn't enough —because all she could do was just listen— he resolved the solution to slice up his skin.

He unlocked the front door, thinking his mom was still working, and pushed the door open. His mom worked nearly 14 hours a day, taking extra jobs for extra money. When Michael was a kid, he always used to say —and still says it sometimes— that when he grows up, he'll gain so much money and buy everything she wanted. The home was oddly quiet, he walked to his room. While throwing his backpack to the floor like usual, knowing his mom would scold him for it later like usual, he saw that she was sitting on top of his bed.