Reuliisback

Just some thoughts and stories for you to enjoy :) Follow me on Wattpad: ForgottenFeeling

[reuliisback]

Simon could never hurt you. It was one of his fundamental rules that he will never harm his beloved. But a gentle push against the wall, you pressed in between him and the bricks while you share a heated kiss - not even he could say no to such gesture.

You cannot surpress the sound that comes out of your mouth the second your bare back hits the cold wall, your shirt long since forgotten at the other side of the room. While Simons hands drag along your torso to explore every inch of your skin, your teeth are busy creating markts on his neck, marking shure everyone knows that the soldier belongs to you.

With every second Simons hips continue to grind against your crotch harder and harder. He has never been the most patients and so he hastily tries to unbuckle your jeans. When he fails to do so, his hands shaking from excitement, frustration and pent up lust, you cannot help but let a little chuckle as you help him with removing your trousers.

„You find that funny huh.“ he growls as he turns your body arround in one smooth motion, your chest now pressed to the wall, a ghasp escaping your lips from the cold now seeping into your skin. „I ´d preffer other sounds coming out of your mouth - open up“ as commanded you spread your lips and Simon roughly drives his fingers into your mouth, coating them with your salvia.

By now you are needy enough that dampness can be felt in between your legs and you are the one grinding against his still clothes cock now. When Simon finally removes his fingers and redirects them into your panties, relief rushes through you as you anticipate his sweet touch finally bringing what you crave.

Slowly his index finger circles your clit, dragging though your wet folds. You try to push into him, try to built up the pressure between him and your pussy. He makes a dissaproving sound and presses your chest into the wall, making you unable to move.

„Why so impatient love, i thought this situation was oh so funny for you?“ Without warning he removes his fingers from your underwear and his grip from your shoulder, releasing you from the wall. „You can get what you want when i`m done cooking - brats don`t get to decide when to cum.“

[reuliisback]

I find comfort in those little footpaths, knowing that i am guided by all the humans that walked here before me.

[reuliisback]

A quiet evening with John Price, who is still getting used to a civilian life -

Rain tapped softly against the kitchen window while the kettle hummed on the stove. The house smelled faintly of tea and the wood polish John insisted on using for the old table. It was quiet in the way only a civilian home could be—no radios, no distant gunfire, no tension humming under every breath.

Just you and him.

You leaned against the counter, watching John Price move around the kitchen in a worn grey sweater instead of tactical gear. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing the familiar strength in his forearms as he poured hot water into two mugs.

“Still staring?” he asked without looking up, voice rough but amused. You smirked. “You’re making tea, not performing surgery.” “Disagree,” he muttered, dropping a teabag into your mug. “Good tea’s a delicate operation.” He slid the mug across the table toward you. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, warm porcelain against your palms. For a moment neither of you spoke.

This was new for him: stillness.

Price sat across from you, chair creaking under his weight. The storm outside filled the silence, rain drumming steadily on the roof. “You’re thinking again,” you said. He raised an eyebrow over the rim of his mug. “That obvious?” “Always.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back. His gaze wandered toward the window, but this time it wasn’t distant the way it sometimes got after missions. Instead, it softened when it returned to you. “Not used to this,” he admitted. “A quiet evening. No briefings. No bloody paperwork.”

You nudged his boot lightly under the table. “You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.” You laughed, and the sound made something warm flicker in his eyes. Price reached across the table, big hand closing around yours. His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, absentminded but grounding. “Could get used to it,” he added after a moment. “If you’re here.” Your heart fluttered at the simplicity of it. No grand speeches, just him, honest as always. “Good,” you said softly. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Price studied you for a second, then gave that familiar half-smile beneath his beard, the one usually reserved for rare victories. “Right then,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Guess this house isn’t half bad after all.”

Outside, the rain kept falling.

Inside, for once, the captain was exactly where he belonged.

[reuliisback]

Recommendations/Wishes/Ideas for one shots and short stories of the COD -Fandom are open any time!

[reuliisback]

Gaz (Kyle Garrick) Headcanons — because this man deserves more love

• Gaz absolutely remembers everyone’s coffee order. Not because he tries to, it just sticks. One morning Price mentions he takes two sugars and three weeks later Gaz hands him a cup exactly like that without asking.

• He’s the calm friend in chaos. Someone’s panicking, something’s exploding, comms are yelling , Gaz is the guy going “Alright, breathe, we’ve got this.”

• Soap tries to teach him stupid Scottish slang and Gaz pretends he hates it, but then randomly drops it in conversation just to watch Soap lose his mind.

• Ghost trusts him more than he lets on. Gaz is one of the few people who can sit in silence with him and it’s not awkward.

• Gaz 100% has a playlist for everything. missions, workouts, late night drives, cleaning gear, trying to sleep after deployment.

• He’s the type to say “text me when you get home” and actually stays awake until you do.

• If the team is arguing, Gaz is usually the one who smooths things over before Price has to step in.

• He’s surprisingly competitive about video games. Calm guy until someone beats his high score.

• On base, he’s the one everyone goes to for advice — because he listens first instead of immediately trying to fix everything.

• He’s the most emotionally intelligent member of the team and half the time he doesn’t even realize it.

• When he laughs — like really laughs — it’s loud, contagious, and the whole room joins in.

• And despite everything they’ve been through… Gaz is still the one who believes things can get better.

Because someone on Task Force 141 has to.

[reuliisback]

A one shot in which Soap comes back to reader from an exhausting mission: lots of fluff and cozyness

Johnny always smells like gun oil and cheap soap when he gets back.

You notice it the second the front door clicks shut behind him — the faint metallic edge under the clean scent, the way he pauses just inside like he’s recalibrating to something softer than whatever hellhole he’s just crawled out of. “Hey, bonnie,” he says, voice rough with travel and too little sleep.

ou don’t even bother pretending to be normal about it. You cross the room in three quick steps and wrap your arms around him, face pressing into the solid warmth of his chest. He lets out a quiet oof but his arms come around you just as fast, strong and familiar and a little bit desperate. God, you missed him.

Johnny buries his face in your hair with a slow exhale, like he’s been holding that breath for weeks. “Missed you too,” he murmurs, and you hadn’t even said it out loud. For a moment, neither of you moves. The world outside the flat could be on fire for all either of you cares. His thumb starts tracing slow, absent circles against your back — grounding himself more than anything else.

“You eaten?” you ask eventually, pulling back just enough to look at him. He gives you that crooked grin, the one that’s equal parts charm and trouble. “Depends. You cookin’?” You roll your eyes. “Sit down before you fall down, MacTavish.” “Aye, bossy,” he says, but he toes his boots off and drops onto the couch exactly where you point.

You move around the kitchen while he watches you like it’s his favorite show. Not even trying to hide it. Chin propped on his fist, eyes heavy-lidded but warm. “What?” you finally say, glancing over your shoulder. “Just lookin’,” Johnny replies easily. “You’re bonnie when you’re pretendin’ you’re not fussin’ over me.” “I am not fussing.” “You absolutely are.” You turn back to the stove before he can see your smile.

When you bring the food over, he doesn’t dig in right away. Instead, his hand catches your wrist gently, thumb brushing over your pulse. “C’mere a second.” You don’t even question it. You let him tug you down until you’re half in his lap, half tangled in his arms. Johnny immediately folds around you like it’s instinct — one arm secure around your waist, the other reaching for his plate like this is the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re impossible,” you mumble. “Mm,” he hums, already stealing a bite. “Still sittin’ here though, aren’t you?” There’s no heat in it. Just soft teasing. Familiar.

You stay like that while he eats, your head tucked under his chin, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. It’s slower than it probably was a few hours ago. Looser. Like the tension is finally bleeding out of him. At some point, his fingers start playing with yours — absent, gentle. Tracing the lines of your knuckles. Counting your fingers like he’s making sure you’re still there.

“Long one?” you ask quietly. Johnny goes still for half a second. „Aye“ he replies shortly. You don’t push. You never do. Instead, you just squeeze his hand once, soft and sure. His grip tightens in return.

After dinner, he all but drags you down with him when he stretches out on the couch, hauling you against his chest with a low, content sigh. “Johnny—” “Five minutes,” he mumbles, already nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “Just five.” You know that means he’s half a second from passing out.

Sure enough, his breathing evens out, heavy and warm against your skin. One of his hands is still loosely hooked in your shirt like he fell asleep mid-reach, like some part of him needed to make sure you couldn’t disappear while he wasn’t looking. Your heart does something soft and painful in your chest.

Carefully, you brush your fingers through the short ridge of his mohawk. He makes a quiet, pleased sound in his sleep, pulling you just a little closer.

—- requests are open anytime <3 —-

[reuliisback]

So we have already established that Soap grew up with sisters.

Now imagine one day Johnny brings you home to meet the family for the first time.

You barely make it past the front door before someone is already calling his name, and then another voice joins in, and another. The house is loud in a way that feels lived-in, warm, like laughter has soaked into the walls. Johnny barely gets a chance to take his boots off before one of his sisters throws her arms around him, nearly knocking him off balance.

“Missed you too,” he laughs, steadying himself, easy and familiar in a way you’ve never seen before.

He introduces you quickly, like he’s afraid of making it a big deal — but the way his hand settles at your back tells a different story. Protective, proud. Present.

His sisters look you over with open curiosity, not judgment. One of them grins and says, “So you’re that one,” and Johnny groans, face heating up as they all laugh.

Dinner is chaos. Stories fly back and forth, most of them starring a younger, far less put-together Johnny. They tease him relentlessly, talk over each other, and include you without hesitation, sliding you into conversations like you’ve always belonged there.

You notice how different he is here. How the tension in his shoulders fades. How his smile comes easier. This is Johnny as he was before the world got heavier — before he became Soap.

At one point, you catch him watching you instead of the room, eyes soft, almost disbelieving. Like he’s trying to fix this moment in his mind.

Later, while you help clear the table, one of his sisters leans in and says quietly, “He doesn’t bring just anyone home.”

When it’s time to leave, Johnny lingers in the doorway, fingers laced with yours, reluctant. As if leaving this place — this version of himself — is harder now that you’ve seen it.

In the car, he exhales, glancing over at you with a small, crooked smile.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “They liked you.”

And you think — maybe this is what home feels like to him.

[reuliisback]

Haii i love your simon headcanons so much!! thank you for posting them!!

I always thought that simon wouldnt be able to have a partner until he gets discharged. What do you think?? i think it has some angst/longing potential maybe..

Sorry for the anon im shy and my english is not very good<//3 i hope you have a good day!!

Thank you very much!

I actually agree — I don’t think Simon would let himself have a partner while he’s still active. He’d see it as unfair, dangerous, and temporary by default. Which makes the longing so much worse, honestly.

Simon is not the person to leave the base a lot, feeling much more comfortable staying in the barracks by himself. On the rare occasions he does go out it is because Soap dragged him along to a night at the bar.

And on one of those occations he happened to meet you.

Simon would never call someone his.

Not because he doesn’t want to — but because soldiers don’t get to keep things.

On leave, he sleeps beside you like it’s borrowed time. Like if he memorizes your breathing, it’ll be enough to last him months.

Sometimes he almost reaches for you in public, then remembers himself and lets his hand fall back to his side.

He doesn’t talk about the future. Doesn’t make plans.

When you ask what happens after the next deployment, he only says, “We’ll see.”

What he doesn’t say is that he’s already decided:

He won’t ask you to wait for a man who might not come back.

[reuliisback]

Headcanons… and Ghost…. count me in!

- Simon Riley does not believe he’s easy to love. Or safe to love. Or smart to love. If you’re with him, in his head you’re either brave or reckless—or both.

- He keeps his mask on longer than necessary around you at first. Not because he doesn’t trust you, but because the idea of you seeing his face feels like giving you a loaded weapon aimed straight at his chest. When he finally does take it off, it’s quiet. No buildup. No big moment. Just trust.

- He’s less communicative on deployment than Price or Soap. Not because he doesn’t care—because operational security is drilled into him, and because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and put you at risk. When you do hear from him, it’s short, blunt, unmistakably Simon. “Still breathing.” “Miss you.” That’s it. That’s everything.

- Ghost is hyper-vigilant even off the field. Always knows where exits are. Always sits facing the room. When you’re out together, he positions himself between you and potential threats without thinking about it. It’s instinct, not control.

- He’s not openly affectionate. Touch is deliberate. Heavy. A hand on your lower back, fingers laced with yours when no one’s looking, his forehead resting against yours in private like he needs to recharge. When he holds you, he holds you like he’s guarding something sacred.

- Ghost does not talk about his past unless absolutely necessary. The burn scars, the betrayal, the years of violence—it’s all locked behind steel doors. If you learn pieces, it’s because he chose to give them to you. Slowly. Carefully. He watches your reaction every time.

- He doesn’t think about the future in detail. Not marriage, not kids, not retirement. He lives in next mission, next breath. But sometimes he catches himself imagining you still there when the dust settles—and that scares him more than any firefight.

- He’s loyal beyond reason. Once you’re his, that’s it. No half-measures. No exit plan. He will burn the world down to keep you safe—and hates himself a little for how far he’d go.

- If you ever ask him why he stays with you, why he lets you close when he’s built his life around distance, he exhales slowly and says:

“Because you see me… and you didn’t run.”

*i ´m open for requests btw if anyone has wishes*

[reuliisback]

Soap Headcanons for my fellow COD fans ❤️

- Johnny “Soap” MacTavish falls in love faster than he expects and harder than he’s prepared for. He tries to play it cool. He fails. Spectacularly.

- He’s the type to joke his way through feelings until one day he realizes you’re not just another bright spot—you’re the anchor. After that, it’s game over. He’s loyal to a fault, almost frighteningly so.

- Unlike Price, Soap actually tries to stay in touch while deployed. Spotty signals, half-garbled voice notes, dumb photos of wherever he’s holed up. “Can’t say where I am, but it’s ugly as sin.” He wants you to feel included, even when he can’t explain a thing.

- He’s affectionate. Shamelessly so in private. Pulling you into his lap, kissing your temple mid-conversation, draping himself over you like a human heater. Not letting you go until you finally hear him silently snoring on your chest.

- He hates the idea of you worrying about him, but he knows you do anyway. Sometimes he’ll lie—“Wasn’t that bad”—and Price will give him a look that says don’t you dare. Later, Soap will admit the truth in pieces, carefully.

- He talks about the future more than the others. Not in detail—just little comments. “If I’m still kickin’ in ten years…” or “When this all slows down.” He doesn’t want to jinx it, but he wants something after.

- Money doesn’t mean much to him. Experiences do. He’d rather spend leave traveling with you, getting lost somewhere new, doing dumb spontaneous things than sitting still too long. Stillness makes him think too much.

- When things get bad—really bad—he gets quieter. Less joking. That’s when he needs you most, even if he doesn’t know how to ask. Sitting beside him, shoulder to shoulder, is often enough.

- He believes in Price and his leadership. Trusts him with his life. But you are who he fights to come back to. The thought of losing you scares him more than any op ever has. So whenever he comes back from a mission, when he finally sees you again.. the first thing he does is to always give you a big hug, he relishes it, knowing that one day it will be the last time he came back home.

[reuliisback]

Some Price Headcanons for yall:

- Firstly, this man does not fall in love easily. When he does, it’s quiet, slow, and terrifying for him. He doesn’t announce it. He just starts making space for you in places he never planned to share.

- He’s not good with grand romantic gestures. No dramatic speeches, no flowery words. Love with Price looks like remembering how you take your tea, keeping the house stocked with your favorite snacks, and fixing things before you even notice they’re broken.

- When he’s away, he worries constantly. About you getting sick, about something breaking in the house, about you being lonely. He won’t say any of that. You’ll just get those short messages—“You alright?” “Thinking of you.” They mean more than he lets on.

- Coming home is awkward the first few hours. He’s still halfway in soldier mode. Needs a shower, a meal, and silence before he can really be present. Once he settles, though, he’s glued to you—hand on your thigh, arm around your waist, pulling you close like he needs to reassure himself you’re real.

- He sleeps better with you there. Still wakes up from nightmares sometimes, but it’s less frequent when he can ground himself by touching you—your hand, your shoulder, your warmth. He rarely explains the dreams. Just mutters, “I’m fine,” and pulls you closer.

- He’s protective, but not controlling. Trust matters too much to him. He’ll worry, he’ll fuss, he’ll grumble—but he respects your independence.

- Affection is mostly physical and private. Forehead kisses, a hand at the small of your back, brushing his thumb over your knuckles absentmindedly. PDA is minimal, but everyone can tell you’re his by the way he orients himself toward you in a room.

- On leave, he cherishes normalcy. Lazy mornings, shared meals, quiet evenings. Sitting next to you on the couch while doing absolutely nothing is his version of paradise.

- He doesn’t think he deserves you. Not really. He knows what he’s done, what he’s capable of. Loving you feels like a privilege he’s constantly afraid of losing, so he protects the relationship with the same seriousness he brings to the field.

- If you ever ask him why he stays, why he keeps coming back despite everything—he’ll pause for a long time before saying, very simply,

“Because you’re home.”