oldrainfall

[oldrainfall]

CW: Nothing too bad. Potential second hand embarrassment I suppose? Semi-unreliable narrator (if you squint, and/or pick up what I’m putting down). Oh and non-explicit reference to a hook up (not with reader). Not beta read, as always.

gn!reader, implied civilian!reader, MDNI

I doubt I’ll end up doing anything with it, but a very silly Gaz x reader plot bunny popped into my brain yesterday.

So we’ve all heard of the meet-cute trope, yeah? Well this isn’t that. My brain decided to bless us with a meet ugly plot instead (I think? Either way this is curtsy of those shitty spam calls we all get, and rarely answer).

Now mind, I’ve never really been the sort for a meet cute let alone a meet ugly, so y’all are just gonna have to stick with me for a bit on this one—

While on leave, Gaz decides to indulge himself, and spend a night out at a club. It’s been ages now since he’s last gone, for obvious reasons — not exactly ideal to get smashed and covered in body glitter when you have to be wheels up at 0400 the next day — and he mostly wants to prove he still has it in him. He picks one of his old haunts, a place with music that’s loud enough to still be thrumming through his veins for days afterwards, drink that flows easy, and enough warm bodies that it was grinding up against becoming a potential fire hazard.

Though under the cycling multicoloured lights, that hardly seemed to be of any concern— even less so, as Kyle’s night went on.

Eventually, after enough drink and loud music worked it’s magic, Kyle found himself barside, talking with someone who he hadn’t quite caught the name of, trading easy words and fleeting touches back and forth. After a bit of chitchat that involved saying as much as possible with as little meaning as they could manage, they threaded their fingers through his own, leading him onto the dance floor.

Things fuzz for a while past that, Kyle only able to remember small stolen moments, his heart thundering in his chest from exertion on the dance floor, lowered heads and drunken giggling as the music gets farther away, a sharpie scribbling numbers messily across the back of his hand, lingering touches, and getting led along up a walkway to a flat that most certainly was not his own.

By the time the sun was barely filtering through the curtains, Kyle was left with a stabbing headache between his eyes and a swirl of messy half made memories that seemed to worsen it. That and the phone number scrawled across his skin— which he barely notices in his pursuit of finding his things on his way out.

It’s not until he’s made it safely back to his flat, let himself pass out on his couch, only to wake up with a worse headache than before, does he consider the number again. He squints at it, before plugging it into his phone into a new contact, he jabs his thumb at the keypad, missing keys and hitting the wrong buttons over and over, until eventually he finishes, and can stuff his phone under a couch cushion as he shuffles around his flat trying to nurse his hangover.

Once he feels more like a living person again, Kyle retrieves his phone, staring at the new contact like it might bite.

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, before sighing, and tentatively typing out a message, and sending it.

Now see, phone numbers are tricky bastards, and sometimes, when someone tries to give someone their number, while they are rather drunk and have subpar handwriting, well, some of those fours might start to look an awful lot like nines, or perhaps a number or two is written twice, or has jumped to the wrong spot. And now, that poorly written phone number is a whole new one. Now while they might just end up leading no where, sometimes one of these incorrect numbers might just belong to someone else.

Say, you, for example.

And when you — who had been puttering about your home, following the steps of your familiar morning routine — receive a text from an unknown number that simply reads,

Hey— it’s Kyle, I had a really good time with you last night.

when you remember very vividly being curled up the night before watching the show you’ve already watched through ten times over, enjoying your favourite snack, in the pleasant company of your several potted plants, not some Kyle bloke, then, well, you might just happen to get the urge to reply back.

For all you know this is one of those new, elaborate scams, so if anything you’re doing a service by waisting their time, yeah?

So after reading the message over and over for a bit, and carefully picking and choosing every word, you send out a text of your own.

I had a good time too.

It was perfect, short, positive, vague enough to keep you from giving your self away. Truly the whole package.

For the better part of the morning Kyle — if that was his real name, you weren’t going to rule out the scam thing this early — sent you messages, slowly revealing to you bits and pieces about the magical night you both supposedly had experienced. You sent him back things too, just little things to keep the conversation going, figuring he’d get bored or figure out something was up sooner or later.

But he doesn’t.

And over the following days, he keeps texting, just little odd things here and there, asking little innocent questions about your opinion on this or that — Do you go clubbing often? What’s your favourite drink? Favourite food? Colour? — maybe a picture of a cat or dog he saw on a walk, because apparently he was one of those blokes who jogs every morning, and you entertain it, texting back little comments, once, perhaps a bit too brazenly, sending him a picture of your drink and pastry you had picked up before work, posed with more care than you’d be willing to admit on a table in your favourite coffee shop— to which he had cheekily asked if you’d get him something too while you were there.

At one point, after you catch yourself snorting softly, smiling at a meme he just sent you while you were typing a response, you realize that perhaps you had let this thing get a bit too out of hand.

Though it’s not until he sends you a text asking if maybe you’d like to meet up again sometime and go on a proper date— do you begin to think perhaps you had royally fucked up.

Not too sure how I feel about this one, but oh well.

It would definitely be super messy, I feel, but like, more so in a fun way than a ‘oh-look-that-dumpster-is-on-fire,’ sort of way. Y’know?

Would probably be more silly/crack-fic-y than my usual style, too, but I feel like with some tweaking there might be something to it.

Feel free to send me asks/requests— and have a lovely day/night/evening folks. :>

✨My Masterlist✨

[oldrainfall]

Did'ya Miss Me?

MDNI 18+

Gn!Reader, (Implied) Civilian!Reader, established relationship, not beta read

CW: NSFW, general shenanigans regarding my interpretation of Soap. (Which is warning all of in itself, really) Mild degradation and praise, sub-y Soap, humping, wanking, and just generally bratty Soap behaviour. Oh and mild fluff, as always.

Ao3 version

Summary: As much as Soap lives, breathes, and thrives on attention— he likes getting ignored just as much.

Johnny is very needy when he’s on leave. After being away for so long, and starved for your presence, he comes back eager to soak up all of your attention— to the point he’s fairly glued to your side once he’s back in your shared flat. And it always takes a couple of weeks for him to settle back in properly.

So, during those initial weeks, or anytime he’s vying for your attention, if you ignore him he takes it as a personal challenge.

Johnny is a stubborn man, and extremely competitive. And earning your attention is one of his favourite rewards (as long as you’re in a good mood for it and haven’t told him to hit the bricks, of course).

One evening, you’re both sprawled out on your worn couch that’s just barely big enough for the both of you — you have to tangle your legs together to sit relatively comfortably, not that either of you mind — it has a blanket draped over the back that you both bought when you first moved in together, that rarely ever stays where it’s supposed to, often ending up wrapped around one of, or both of you. The telly drones on quietly in the background about some rugby game or another, it’s glow casting over the room, barely weakened by the lamp to your right. Your focus is mostly on the book in your hands. Johnny’s attention flickers between the match and you, it’s a bracket he doesn’t particularly care about, so he doesn’t mind letting his eyes wander. The rough pad of his thumb circles the top of his empty beer. His gaze lingers on you, taking in the little furrow of focus between your brow, travelling lower over the slope of your nose, down to your lips, which occasionally twitched or pursed, depending on whatever it was that you were reading on the page. A cheer erupts from the telly’s speakers, one of the teams getting a goal, but he doesn’t bother to look, too busy taking in the way your lashes are spread as you look down at your book.

Something warm churns in his chest, drawing him closer, wanting that focused expression on him. With how yours and his own legs are tucked — yours between his, with your feet resting in his lap, and his bracketing your own — he easily can nudge his foot against your thigh, trying to gently draw your attention to himself. He waits for a moment, continuing to study your expression, but when you don’t react in the slightest, he lets out a soft huff, and he does it again, slower this time, more purposeful in the way he drags his inner foot against the side of your thigh.

When that still doesn’t earn him your gorgeous eyes meeting his own, Johnny scoots closer, draping himself more over you to the best of his ability, inadvertently pressing himself more against your legs just so he can reach you proper. “Luv.” He murmurs, dropping his head onto your shoulder, and putting on his best pout as he looks up at you from under his lashes. Still no response, just the quiet sound of you turning the page. “Luvvy.” The beer bottle clinks as he lets it down on the cluttered coffee table, filled with books, baubles, and a few things lugged in from the car that never quite made it to where they were intended to go.

With each iteration of a pet name that falls from his lips, Johnny can feel the steadily growing presence of something in the back of his mind, pacing back and forth restlessly.

Eventually he gives up on verbally trying to gain your attention, and his hands come to rest on either side of your waist as he kisses a little trail up your shoulder to your throat, mouthing at your skin there with slow, referent movements, savouring each drag of his lips against your skin, how your skin warms with his ministrations, flushing under his unwavering attention. It’s enough to earn him a soft pleased hum from you, which has him positively melting; the sound sending something warm down his spine, urging him to continue, to pull as many of them from your lips as you’d be willing to give him.

One of his hands wanders higher, tracing the lines of your body all the way up to the neckline of your sleep shirt, his fingers hook into the fabric of your clothes, gently tugging on it to bare more of your skin to him. Hungrily his lips latch onto your collarbone, the kisses turning into soft sucking and light drags of his teeth as he laves his tongue at the spot, trying his best to make a mark.

His body jerks as your arm winds around him, tangling your fingers near the base of his mohawk and tugging on the strands, a warning. “Behave, Johnny. Or you can go sit on the floor.”

A low groan passes his lips as he leans into the touch, tipping his head to the side as he shifts his hips. “M’behavin’, m’behavin’—” He assures in a rush, despite the fact he’s starting to rub his chubbing cock against the underside of your calf, keeping his movements slow, as if that somehow will make it more inconspicuous. “M’a perfect fuckin’ angel, honest.”

That of course gets you rolling your eyes, and you pull on his hair again, making his hips stutter for a moment as he lets out a quiet breathy whimper. “Really?” You force as much scepticism into the word as you can possibly manage. “Because you’re acting awfully like a randy mutt at the moment.”

He shakes his head, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, as his hands find your waist, squeezing you gently under his rough hands before doing his best to press his body as flush to yours as he can manage in this position— which admittedly, isn’t that flush, but it does let him grind up against your leg easier; at least until you draw your leg back, propping it up so you can press your foot against his cock. Johnny’s breath comes out a little unevenly as he stills. “I’m going to finish this chapter,” it’s a statement, firm and unwavering, boarding on an order, “and you’re not going to disturb me while I do, if I don’t get to finish it, then you don’t get to finish either, yeah?” Pointedly you dig your heel into him, if only to hear the soft hiss he lets out at the stimulation.

“… Aye, luv.” He murmurs, unable to completely mask the sulking edge to his voice. Looking far more like a kicked puppy now, Johnny lets his head drop back down to your shoulder, going back to pressing apologetic little kisses to your neck and jaw. One of his hands soothes back and forth over your waist, before sliding lower to squeeze your hip. You know what he’s doing, he knows you do, trying to get you to take pity on him. Luckily for him that doesn’t make it any less effective.

It’s only when you glance at him out of the corner of your eyes, to see his wide and hopeful looking back at you, does he know he’s getting somewhere. When you let out a playful long suffering sigh, he knows he’s won, and has to hide his self pleased grin by fixating on a little patch of skin on your shoulder. After a second or so, though it feels much longer, you give him two rules. “… You can’t do anything that will make it harder for me to keep reading, and you can’t come.”

Something warm and absolutely giddy floods through him as he rocks his hips against you again, grinding himself against your foot as you keep your heel dug in. “Thank ye— thank ye. I’ll be so good fer ye, luvvy, won’t even notice ah’m here.”

A doubtful look flickers across your features, before your eyes return to your book. In the back of your throat you hum noncommittally. “M’sure you will. You’ll be absolutely perfect for me.” While you say it mostly as a tease, Johnny has a penchant for pushing the boundaries of the rules you set during a game after all, he latches onto it anyway, hissing out a soft curse as he drags his cock against you slow and purposeful. As much as he craves your attention, he wants to please you even more, wants to hear the way your lips curve around soft whispered praises as you reward him for being good.

His breath is unsteady and warm against your shoulder as he forces himself to keep his movements measured and deep. Distantly he hears boos and cheers coming from the telly, but by this point he hardly even registers it in the slightest, focusing far more on the ridged friction from the zipper of his jeans that’s sure to leave him a bit rubbed raw when this is done, not that he’s in the right mind to particularly care. “I will,” he mumbles, tucking his head under your jaw, and staring unseeingly at your book, only occasionally making his eyes focus enough to see what page you’re on, “gonnae be so fuckin’ perfect fer ye, pet.”

You just hum noncommittally, absently playing with his hair as you read, but otherwise completely ignore him.

A low whimper passes his lips as one of his hands reached for his belt, pausing just long enough to see if you’ll stop him, before he fumbles to get it open with one hand, pulling on one side to ease it from his belt loops, and dropping it uncaringly behind him on the couch. It only took a few seconds after that before he pops the button on his jeans. Johnny turns his face towards your shirt, burying his face there, it does little to muffle the sounds slipping past his lips.

Each rock of his hips is driving him a bit mad, he can feel the way his cock is drooling into his boxers, the slow friction is enough to send warmth oozing down his spine, lazily winding into a taut ball of tension, but it’s not nearly enough to satisfy the want thrumming through his veins, urging him to go faster, harder, to rut against you until he’s coming in his jeans, so you’ll grab him by the hair, and put him in his place kneeling on the floor in front of you. “Shite— fuckin’ hell.” He hisses softly, his muscles jerking slightly before he forces himself to still.

But Johnny had made a promise to you, and he was a man of his word, so he waited for a moment, then another, waited until his breathing wasn’t as heavy, and the tension in his gut wasn’t as taught, before moving his hips again. It’s not enough, not by a long shot. He shouldn’t, he knows it’s only going to make this harder than it already is, but maybe you’ll take pity on him if you see how worked up he really is— Johnny lets out a little grunt as he sits upright to fumble with his jeans, tugging down the zipper and shoving them down his thighs. His boxers don’t make it half as far, he simply pushes them down just enough to free his cock and balls, tucking the waistband under his sack, before easing back on his haunches.

“… Steamin’ Jesus.” Exhaling sharply he wrapped his hand around himself, thumbing over his slit as a shudder works its way down his spine, the soft slick sound his precome makes as he smears it over his is barely audible over the sounds of the telly. “Almost done, luv?”

It takes you a moment to respond, wordlessly flipping forwards in your book before returning to your spot. “About a quarter of the way there.” You allow. One of your brows arch as you glance at him out of the corner of your eyes. “You?”

Shite. Johnny sucks in a breath between his teeth, as he rolls back his foreskin, using the pads of his fingers to drag along the underside of his glands, before forcing a cocky smile onto his face, albeit one that wavered oh-so-subtly around the edges. “Aye, jus’ gettin’ started meself, could go all night.” He brags in a false bravado.

“We’ll see about that.”

When you turn back to your book he has to swallow down another sound, while his free hand drifts down to wrap snuggly around the base of his shaft.

Fuck, he just went and made things worse for himself, didn’t he?

I have no idea if I’m shit at writing smut, tbh. Suppose I just have to keep writing it and see. Y’all are absolutely distraught about that, I’m sure.

Might be a bit slow going for a bit, my free time isn’t as free as I’d like for it to be, got some personal things and stuff afoot keeping me busy. Don’t worry though, I am still chipping away at some more posts, and I’ll upload again when I finish something.

As always, feel free to send me asks/requests, and hope y’all have a lovely day/evening/night. :]

✨My Masterlist✨

[oldrainfall]

Y’all— I’m hyper fixating too close to the sun, I fear.

I went on eBay to find some Modern Warfare merch and/or a physical copy of the remastered version, which admittedly I did, but the listing expired (I’ve never used eBay before, and didn’t realize not bidding listings did that, so my bad).

And now I ended up purchasing a copy of Ghosts for the Xbox one.

So, uh, oops?

(If I end up getting fixated on Keegan Russ too I’m going to have no one to blame but myself.)

(Also, also, I’m going to keep up the hunt for a remastered copy, because I’m not paying the Canadian prices for that game, and not even have a physical disk.)

It’s like ~44 CAD, if you’re curious btw— but it’s the principal of the matter. Especially since the remaster for mw2 and rerelease for the classic mw3 doesn’t have a physical version from what I’ve been able to find.

[oldrainfall]

Cw: Soap being Soap, I suppose? Desperate/clingy Soap, and light NSFW, (though that’s mostly just a very brief mention/allusion to it)

Lots of fluff. And a gn!reader.

(just to be safe MDNI, 18+)

So, hey, I love a good ol’ puppy to Soap comparison as much as the next person— but I feel like people skip over a lot of fun characterization with it.

Listen— listen, look, I’m not saying that I don’t enjoy puppy-esc Soap, quite the opposite, I would love to see more of it, to be honest (and I am going to be most certainly writing my fair share of it in the near future) I just think people aren’t leaning hard enough into it.

I’m officially outing myself as a certified pathetic man enjoyer (a shocking development I’m sure).

So far I’ve seen/read a lot on the nsfw side of it— lots of whimpering, collars, degradation, you know, just general subby Soap things. (All good stuff, love it, if you’ve written it, know that you give me life, and I’m manifesting cool pillows and good hair days for you.)

But, hear me out, what about everyday pathetic Soap?

I’m talking, you leave your place for a few hours, maybe for work, or maybe you’re just running errands or hanging out with friends, whatever it is, it has you leaving him at home (how dare you, btw, you know he has separation anxiety :[ ). He keeps finding reasons to get up, hovering and lingering by the door as much as possible, or sitting perched on the edge of the couch, intermittently shooting forlorn looks at the closed door. Maybe he does a bunch of chores to keep his hands busy and try to distract himself— but rest assured, no matter what he’s doing, he’ll drop it and come straight to the front door to welcome you home as soon as he hears it open, fussing with your coat and taking it from your hands to hang it up for you the second you get it off. Soap will never stop you from going out— even though he prefers being by your side — he’s just not that kind of guy, but you’ll have to be ready for him to follow you around, finding any excuse to cling to you while asking you about how it went afterwards, he has time to make up for after all.

He likes when you scratch him— Soap has a bad habit of chewing his nails, which means they’re always extremely short and aren’t the best at getting rid of an itch satisfyingly, which is where you, and your nails, come in. So, when you’re both sat on your couch, his head against your chest or pillowed on your thighs, he’ll wordlessly take your hand and guide it to his head, or his back. If you feel like teasing him, or just aren’t overly paying attention, you’ll just play with the hair near the nape of his neck, or absently rub your hands over his his shoulders, respectively. For a while he’ll tolerate the touch, enjoying the closeness even though it’s not exactly what he had been angling for. Eventually he’ll squirm around a little, and let out a huff that slowly warps into your name, or at least an exasperated approximation of it anyway. “Yer so mean tae me, luvy.” Soap will grumble, as his hand finds your arm, squeezing it softly as he looks up at you with a bit of a jut to his bottom lip. By then you’ve usually realized what he’s on about, and will roll your eyes, before relenting, using your nails to gently work against his skin.

A soft little groan would pass his lips as he slumps further against you; his eyes fluttering shut as a blissed out expression dawns across his features. Once you start, he won’t move until you stop; and sometimes not even then (course usually by that point either Soap or both of you will have fallen asleep).

When you have to get up early in the morning, he always wakes up. It can’t be helped, you have stuff you need to get done, and he’s a surprisingly light sleeper. As you untuck yourself from his tangle of limps he’ll let out a soft whine, which is usually placated easily enough with a kiss to his cheek or temple. He’ll lazily flip his body back and forth to keep you in his sleepy line of sight for as long as possible as you move about getting ready. By the time you’re done, he’s managed to wiggle his way over to your side of the bed, and has burrowed into the blankets with his face pressed into your pillow, leaving only parts of his head exposed. If you remember to give him one last quick kiss before you leave the room, he’ll let out a rough pleased hum, and may or may not attempt to guide you back into the sheets with him.

He’s still not fully awake, and he’s not trying overly hard, so it’s easy for you to shake his hands off if you wish, though it’s usually more preferable for you both if you decide to placate him with one last kiss before you pull away.

Of course some days you let him have his way, and he’ll tangle his body back around yours, kissing at your throat softly, his stubble gently scratching at your skin. His little show of affection will gradually slow, and before long he’ll have dozed off again. And well, sorry, you’re stuck now— thems the rules. Whatever you had to do will just have to wait a few more hours.

Bit of a shorter one this time— but hey, after my last behemoth of a post I just wanted something simple, fluffy, and 120% self-indulgent.

I might post a oneshot for mermay (it’d be a poly!141 thing, with octopus mer!Ghost, a lionfish!Price, and overboard fishermen! Soap and Gaz) if I can get around to it. But I’m toying with a hurt/comfort Ghost thing too (just can’t decide if I want it to be just GhostGaz, or if I want it to be a poly!141 thing— either way Ghost is getting stuck in an elevator, for angst purposes me thinks). I also have this nsfw Soap idea I’m trying to work out that involves jealousy and a sharpie, and I dunno if I want it to be another x reader, or if I want to try my hand at some Ghoap.

I’d love to hear what y’all would like to see next, or feel free to just go feral with me about Soap. Either way—

Hope y’all have a good day/evening/night.

✨My Masterlist✨

[oldrainfall]

✨Masterlist✨

(Do I have enough writing things posted to make this? Perchance. Perchancen’t. I’m going to make this anyway to keep organized.)

Guidelines for submitting a writing request —> Here

(My ao3 account — registered ao3 users only)

General Ramblings/Being not normal about stuff and things™️

(Or you can just search through the ‘☔️ rambles’ tag on my blog)

Breakdown of the 141 and their love languages (4/4 prts, poly!141)

Being very normal™️ about Ghost, his mask, and how a first kiss is handled (ghost x anyone, basically)

My interpretation of a clingy Soap (Soap x gn!reader — pretty much just three short fluffy scenarios)

Random idea for a Gaz wrong number fic (Gaz x gn!reader — After a one night stand, Gaz goes to reach out to them, but gets reader instead, who, thinking it’s some kind of scam, decides to text him back)

Fics/More structured writing

Poly!141 & Slash fics

None posted yet, working on it :>

Soap

x gn!reader; alone time at a safe house (pure nsfw, w/ some fluff) (please note: this is the only post I’ll format as an ao3 reupload, the rest will be formatted like a regular tumblr fic post with tags/caution warnings)

Did’ya Miss Me? — x gn!reader; Soap loves your attention, but he loves working for it even more (nsfw, pwp, a bit of fluff if you squint)

Ghost

Again, workin’ on it :>

Gaz

Also workin’ on it

Price

Also also workin’ on it

Have a wonderful day/evening/night, folks

[oldrainfall]

Guidelines for Sending me a Writing Request

MDNI 18+

✨My Masterlist✨

Hey y’all— I figured since I’m pretty open about being willing to write requests, it’d probably be good for me to layout some basic guidelines for what I’m comfortable writing.

You can send a request to me through an ask, as a comment, or in a private message, whatever you’re comfortable doing.

Cw: General discussion of potentially touchy topics, and mentions of nsfw stuff

If you’re unsure where a specific request falls, feel free to ask me for clarification— just be polite please, writing is just a hobby for me and I use it to destress.

Remember, at the end of the day we’re all just playin’ dolls with some fictional military men, let’s just have fun yeah? :>

(I’ll probably update this as I go)

Wills:

Poly, slash, and x reader fics

Fluff

Smut

Angst

Hybrid / monster AUs

CoD cannon typical violence (getting shot, blood, getting stabbed, fist fights, etc)

Pet play (or just collars and leashes on their own)

Hurt / Comfort & Hurt / No comfort

Knife play

Very light blood play (think kissing with a busted lip or broken nose sort of thing)

Size difference

Breeding kinks (w/no pregnancy, basically just the language for dirty talk purposes, speaking of—)

Dirty talk/voice kinks

Sleepy/lazily sex

Semi-public & voyeurism

Longshots (oneshots that are longer than they have any right to be— may or may not be applicable depending on the prompt)

Trans!Reader and/or Trans!Character

Costumes and/or uniforms

Won’ts:

CNC

Non-con

Incest

Scat or piss kinks

Self-harm

Age play or age regression

Any nsfw involving minors in any sense

One character physically hurting another in an intimate setting (Won’t write: face slapping/hard impact play, causing long lasting marks/wounds/scars, being extremely forceful or rough, etc — Will write: Hair pulling, biting or hickies, scratching, other superficial marks, etc)

Forced feminization

Necrophilia

Beastality

Super heavy gore or detailed gore (you could not pay my ass any amount of money to write any wound fucking, sorry)

Stalking

Crossovers or Crossover AUs

Black Ops/Ghosts/Some other CoD characters not present in MW (I just don’t know enough about them, sorry)

Someone else’s CoD OC

Main character deaths (no, just no— you can pry Soap from my cold dead hands)

Bondage or rope play (don’t have anything against it, tbh, I just don’t feel like doing a shit ton of research on it to figure out how to write it properly— might be open to something with it down the line)

[oldrainfall]

Gaz's Section

Main post & Soap, Ghost, and Price’s parts: here

Gaz — Words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time, and acts of service.

Gaz — Words of affirmation. Kyle always has something to prove to himself, is always pushing to do more, to do better. He’s still quite young, only a year older than Soap, and goes about his days trying to prove without a shadow of a doubt that he’s more than earned his spot as a member of the 141. Of course he knows he’s good, Price wouldn’t have picked him for the team if he wasn’t; but he knows that even with how good he is, he’s still has a long way to go.

With how hard he tries, it’s assuring every once in a while to have his efforts affirmed.

Soap like usual, is the most open and giving with his assurances. Never one to shy away from telling Kyle that something he had done was, ‘pure brilliant, mate,’ or anything of the sort. He’s also most likely to hype Kyle up when he needs it, or just generally carry on with him. He helps Kyle get out of his own head, and Kyle often does the same in turn; it’s pretty obvious when Soap gets caught up in his thoughts, he gets quiet, and it’s obvious just by looking at his eyes that he’s not overly present. Often Kyle will gently corral him to someplace quiet, and slowly work him back out of his head with a low voice and silly chit chat. If it’s a mission that went particularly bad, Kyle will wrap his arms around Soap’s shoulders, and murmur soft assurances against his temple as his hands stroke over Soap's shoulders or down the back of his neck.

Soap is also likely to be the first one to use any sort of pet name with Kyle— at first only teasingly, but it quickly morphs into a habit. Most people don’t acknowledge it anymore — once a private tried to make a crack about it, but got such a dirty/unimpressed look from Soap and Gaz that they shut up rather quickly (the silent hard glare from Ghost who happened to be talking to Price behind the pair also probably had something to do with it too).

Price, in the beginning, pretty exclusively only praises Kyle while they’re in the field, often pairing it with a quick clap or pat to his shoulder before they have to keep moving; it pretty much always gives Kyle enough of a second wind to push through and finish up the op, even if he was basically dead on his feet beforehand. As they get closer though, it gradually slips into more and more of their conversations. He'll complement Kyle on how he handles himself during training exercises, or how he works the rookies when he's in charge of them, until it becomes second nature.

Eventually it gets to a point where he becomes so comfortable that he unintentionally calls Kyle love one day. At first Price doesn't even seem to notice that he's done it, doesn't even cause him to look up from the briefing he's going over, it just slips into place at the end of his sentence like it's always been there, settling comfortably between what he just said, and the words that follow. It's only once he asks Kyle a question, only to receive no answer, does he look up. After a pause that's just long enough for Price to realize what he just did, and begin to try to apologize— Kyle clears his throat softly and waves his hand dismissively, as if physically brushing off Price's fretting, assuring him that he didn't mind.

It takes a while before Price does it again, but it too eventually becomes a habit, though it's one he saves for when there's no one else around.

Ghost obviously would be much more reserved with any praise he hands out— though that just makes it feel more special, since if he bothered to say it, he really means it. The first time he ever praises Kyle is on the field for a quick choice he made when they were under fire and backed into a corner, giving them enough time to reposition. It was short, succinct, nothing more than a 'Good call, nicely done, Sargent,' and it catches Kyle off guard so bad he thought he misheard Ghost because his ears were still ringing from the stunner that had thrown moments before; after a second or so he manages to shake it off and keep moving though. If Ghost had noticed, he didn’t comment on it (he probably did, but had much more pressing things to focus on, to be fair).

The first time Kyle complements Ghost is during a rough mission, they’re both pretty run through, and it slips past his lips without much thought (by then he had gotten far too used to the easy words that were traded back and forth between Soap and himself, and he was practically running on fumes) it was just the sort of absentminded observation that he typically wouldn't bother vocalizing, mixed with a lazy sort of joke, something about how under the light of the setting sun, Ghost was rather easy on the eyes. Not like it wasn't true, something about the soft glow of oranges and pinks eased some of the harshness typically present in the lines of Ghost's body and what was visible of his face. They both just look at each other for a long moment, before Ghost snuffs his cigarette out on his boot and buries the spent stub under a bit of loose soil. He sends Kyle off to get some sleep, grunting out something or other about taking first watch for the night, no longer looking at the man. Kyle was tired enough that he didn't put up a fuss, simply turning heel and walking away. He sleeps through the entire night, only waking up when Ghost nudges him to get up so they can keep moving.

It takes a while for it to feel more natural, and Ghost never praises Gaz as much as Soap or even Price, but the brief words or looks of approval flow between them more easily as time goes on.

Physical Touch. Gaz is just as physcially affectionate as Soap, and often indulges him because of it (read Soap's section: here, if you haven't already) but is much more subtle about it most of the time. Often he'll end up leaning against the people he cares about, just sidling up to them wordlessly and pressing his shoulder against theirs, or even resting his head against them if he's feeling particularly drained. He's also prone to quick bursts of touch, resting his hand against their back as he guides them out of the way so he can move past in a hurry, before missions he'll go up and briefly check their gear, pulling at straps and buckles to make sure everything is resting as it should, before drawing back into his own space, etc.

When he can get away with it, he has no problem curling up against someone either. If he has his mind set on Ghost, he does eye the man up like a stray alley cat for a while beforehand, and gradually scoots his way closer over the course of a few minutes, Ghost notices of course, but rarely acknowledges it with more than a glance. With Price he'll just outright lean against his side, and more often than not Price will automatically wrap his arm around Kyle's waist or drape it over his shoulders, drawing him closer. When it comes to Soap, Kyle usually just drops himself right into his lap, which usually spurs a round of rough-housing until they're tangled around each other and worn out, then they typically just settle like that, not bothering to move or adjust to get more comfortable; it's only when someone else wants to sit down too, do they move at all.

Quality Time. With how fast-paced his life is, any sort of time he manages to get with the people he cares about is something Gaz appreciates dearly. He savours any little stolen moment he can get, whether that be during downtime on an op, around base, or when the team will slip off for an evening to mill around a bar or even just picking up something from the shops.

Often it's the rare moments of mundanity that he treasures the most, bickering with Soap while their legs are tangled together in the common room, trying his best to muddle through explaining the plot of a movie that he half remembers from when he watched it during the last time he was on leave to Ghost, and repeatedly getting exasperated with the man for not knowing one celebrity or another and getting after him for being out of touch while Ghost simply chuckles as the corners of his eyes crinkle, leaning against the side of a helo and sharing a cigarette with Price as they have quiet unhurried conversation while they pass it back and forth, both of them taking advantage of the weather which had mercifully elected to play nice for once.

[oldrainfall]

Price's Section

Main post & Soap, Ghost, and Gaz’s parts: here

Price — Quality time, acts of service/receiving gifts, and to a lesser extent physical touch.

Price — Quality time. Having good company is one of John’s few indulgences in his life, he swears up and down it’s how he’s managed to keep his head on relatively straight this whole time. Like Ghost he doesn’t exactly trust easy, keeps a very tight knit circle, but anyone within that little circle? He trusts his life with. John never fully lets his guard down, but with the people he cares about, he does ease up, even if it’s only a bit. Pair that with his other indulgences (a good cigar and a bit of drink) and he’s well on to a nice relaxing evening. Just being around the people he cares about is more than enough to make him content.

It’s the little things, you know?

Ghost often finds his way into John’s office, or vice versa. One will barely look up from their paperwork as the other comes in, and goes about getting out their small stash of whiskey and pouring out two glasses, setting the bottle on the desk between them as they take the empty chair in front of it. They’ll just share a quiet drink, occasionally exchanging low words over the rim of a glass, though neither man feels the need to force conversation. The company seems to take some of the monotony out of the paperwork, at least a little. And after a while, Ghost starts seeing to that John actually makes it to his quarters, instead of falling asleep at his desk like he was prone to on occasion, with little more than, ‘Ain’t good for a man yer age to be sleepin’ like that, Cap,’ for an explanation of why his lieutenant saw it fit to chaperone him to his room, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder the entire way, despite the fact that John wasn’t even remotely drunk enough to require it.

Before John forms the 141, and during its early days, Ghost also has a penchant for showing up to his quarters whenever he can't sleep (whether that be because of his insomnia, or he just had a nightmare that he can't quite fully shake himself from) and would often haunt the foot of his bed until morning, or curl up next to him, making the most out of what little space there was. Occasionally they'd talk softly, if only so John could distract him for a little while and try to get Ghost's mind off whatever it was keeping him up, but more often than not they'd just quietly take solace in the other's presence.

Soap regularly takes smoke breaks with John, even though he doesn’t smoke on them. The first time it happens, it’s purely coincidental; Soap just happened to be coming back from working the rookies into the dirt, and John was taking a break from going over incident reports before he went cross eyed, or before the written English word lost all meaning, with a well earned cigar. He had seen John, and had come up to say hello— simply staying and chatting until John was done, and heading back inside with him.

After that, every time stepped out for a smoke break, Soap followed suit, getting up and trailing after him. For a few weeks John was fairly certain Soap was just pulling out the exact same cigarette he had bummed from Gaz one day from his pocket, as it gradually got more and more crumpled each time they went out. Soap never bothered to even try asking John for a light, and had denied him the one time he had offered it. Eventually, it got so bad bits of tobacco were falling out of it, and the time after Soap showed up with a proper box of cigarettes— and still no lighter. Despite the blatant paper thin excuse, Soap’s idle chatter always manages to make something ease in John’s shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was tensed.

Gaz spends a lot of time around John, eats with him most often in the mess, spends the most time in his office, and seeks him out a lot to get his opinion on various aspects of the rookies’ training, or for plans on ops. He also more often than not ends up sitting right next to John on the helo back to base; once Gaz had even fallen asleep on John’s shoulder after a mission that had them all spending a few miserable weeks in the jungle, John swears to god he’s never sat stiller in his entire life. At first Gaz had been mildly embarrassed about it— though John was quick to wave it off. It’s not like he had minded any, John simply assured Gaz that he had more than earned a little shut eye.

Of course, since they sit next to each other so much, it happens again. The four of them had crammed onto the couch in the common room, watching some kind of bullshit movie or other, and Gaz’s head has begun to dip forwards as his eyes kept fluttering shut, before he’d snap them back open, and focus back on the piss poor TV quality. It was an uphill battle that Gaz didn’t end up winning, his head lolling to the side, and once more coming to rest on John’s shoulder. (Soap was the next to loose the fight, even though he picked the bloody movie, and ended up falling asleep on John’s other shoulder, with his legs tangled in Ghost’s. They all ended up sleeping there that night.)

See Ghost’s post for how how Price handles acts of service— here

Read that? Okay, cool. (Thank you :] )

How Price handles giving gifts very much plays into how he handles acts of service, often going hand in hand. John is a very practical man, and I don’t think he’d often show affection by giving frivolous gifts, everything he buys would have to be useful to the person he was giving it to. New set of knives for Ghost after he lost (read: left wedged in some enemy soldiers) some in the field, refill of some skin care whatcha-call-it for Gaz that he saw in his quarters and that he knows he likes, a new set of good pens for Soap once he sees him fighting to get the last bits of ink out of a ballpoint while writing in his journal, etc.

His favourite gifts to receive are ones that follow that same sort of logic; a fresh box of his favourite cigars, new gloves after his got torn up on an op, someone stocked up on his preferred brand of tea, a new bottle of his cologne, a mug with something written on it (he doesn’t care what it says, it’s good at holding liquid all the same).

Something warm always settles in his chest every time he sees someone using a gift that he had gotten them, stretching lazily and curling up against his sternum like a pleased cat.

And the feeling only gets stronger when they get him something he likes in turn; he finds it comforting that they know him well enough to get him something he genuinely enjoys.

Physical touch is something Price is used to in small bursts, usually on the field, he’s no stranger to clapping someone on the shoulder, or patting them as he walks by, it’s a habit, a way to reassure whomever he’s being affectionate with, while steadying himself. (If you’re reading this I’m assuming you’re fixated on MW enough to be familiar with the Price pat™️, if not, you can find that post: here)

When it comes to romantic relationships, I feel as though the way he physically expresses affection is very similar— lots of gentle shoulder squeezes as he walks by, or pats. If they’re somewhere crowded he might rest his hand on the back of their arm, or even take their hand in his own so they don’t get separated, and if they hold hands long enough, he might absently brush the pad of his thumb over their knuckles, especially if he’s focused on doing something else, like fighting with his phone to try to navigate around.

He doesn’t do it as often, but he wouldn’t shy away from kissing their hands or face either when he walks up to them, or if he's just quickly passing by.

[oldrainfall]

Ghost's Section

Main post & Soap, Price, and Gaz’s parts: here

Ghost — Acts of service, quality time, words of affirmation (regular and a sort of modified version, I’ll explain later), and receiving gifts.

Ghost — Acts of service. Like I said, every one of the boys would like acts of service, but it’d mean the most to Simon— especially if you’re working off of his backstory from the comics.

Simon is a man who doesn’t trust anyone. He’s learned time and time again that the people closest to him could and would hurt him, or be used to hurt him. How someone presents themselves means nothing to him, and what they say to him means even less. In his experience people are rarely true to their word. As long as they’re competent he doesn’t care. He doesn’t let himself get attached.

Getting him to the point where he would realistically be comfortable enough to show affection outwardly in any capacity is going to be like pulling teeth.

What’s good to keep in mind is that Simon values consistency. Above all else, in a new relationship, he is waiting for the other shoe to drop— even if the other person has been around for a while, he never really gets over that. So the best way to handle that is just for it to never happen. For him to ever start being even in the ballpark of ‘affectionate,’ someone else is going to have to make the first move. (Or at least motivate him to try, he’d never go out looking for a deeper connection of his own volition otherwise.)

Price does this naturally, he’s long since gotten into the habit of taking care of his men. It’s his job to have a good sense of what’s going on with them, and how they’re holding up at all times. So, if after a rough mission, or around the colder months he notices Simon is starting to squirrel himself away, he’s going to bloody well do something about it; he’ll take it upon himself to bring Simon food from the mess if he notices he hasn’t been going as much as he should. The first few times Simon’s skeptical, of course, but eventually he figures it’s not in Price’s best interest to mess with his food, and tries it— he’ll at least have a few bites of anything Price brings him, even if he doesn’t like it, or if he does, he’ll eat the whole lot of it. Price notices what does and doesn’t get eaten, and takes care to bring something his lieutenant will actually finish. God knows the man needs it. Simon starts returning the favour on days Price is too buried under paperwork to pull away from it.

If he notices something’s up with Simon’s gear (broken, scuffed, bent, gotten so coated in blood it won’t ever come out), he’ll put in to have it replaced without being asked. Like hell is he sending any of his men out with faulty gear.

Initially Gaz does little acts of service to get on Simon’s good side— he’s not too sure what to think of his lieutenant, the man is very cold and closed off, giving little to nil away. It’s not that they have to be buddy buddy, but it’s common sense that a team that likes each other functions far more smoothly than one that doesn’t. So he starts simple, he figures out how Simon takes his tea (after a couple times watching him prepare it, he manages to memorize it) and the next time Gaz makes himself a cup, he makes some for Simon too. Again, like with Price, Simon is skeptical, and probably won’t drink it the first few times. Not that that deters Gaz— if anything it spurs him on. He’s a bit of a competitive bloke, and now it’s a matter of principle; he will get on Simon’s good side, damn it.

The third time, Gaz makes sure that Simon sees him make it, keeps his movements steady and measured, makes sure Simon can see his hands at all time while he does, makes once for Price as well, and when he brings it over, Simon simply accepts it with a nod, and watches as Price accepts his own cup barely managing a thanks before he starts drinking it, not even looking up from the report he was working on. After another moment or two, Simon pulls his balaclava over his nose, and starts to sip from it cautiously, but he does drink it.

From there, Gaz moves on to doing little things, like keeping extra smokes on him even while out on the field for Simon to bum one— and making sure he always has a working lighter. He also personally ensures that Simon’s knife oil ‘mysteriously’ never gets too low without another to replace it. He never says anything about it, just does it without a word.

It must be working well enough, he figures, when he goes into the armoury after training one day to clean his guns before the next op — passing Simon in the hallway on his way in without much thought — and his weapons are strangely already ready to go.

Soap helps Simon make his masks. With their work, Simon goes through a lot of them. He does his best to fix them when he can, but that’s not always possible. That, plus the fact Simon always likes to have extra, just in case, means he spends more time than he probably should making them.

Often this means on nights when he’s having trouble sleeping, and he’s already done as much paperwork as he can stomach, he finds himself hunched over in his bunk, working under the shitty glow of the lamp on his nightstand, and repeatedly jabbing himself with the little needle he managed to swipe from medical as he sews the skull plate onto a plain balaclava.

Soap doesn’t get involved until a mission where Simon breaks his arm.

He had already been short on masks beforehand, but after how roughed up he had gotten, he was down to his plain, skull print balaclava. Even with a broken arm, Simon wouldn’t ask for help, instead trying his best (and failing) to do everything one handed. By the time he gets a quarter of one done, with ample aid of alternating between cursing it out, and his own arm, Soap finds him; popping in after hearing him carrying on from the hallway as he was walking back to his own quarters. After ample ribbing, Soap invites himself in, and sits down next to Simon, taking the incorrectly threaded needle away from Simon before he can cause further damage, and finishing it with some huffed orders from Simon over his shoulder while he worked. After that Soap kept coming back to help him make more until his arm healed, and occasionally made more for him even after the fact. He even started keeping a spare mask in with his own gear, just in case.

Words of Affirmation. Hearing he's good at what he does is nothing new to Ghost, it's something that doesn't carry much weight for him anymore, he knows he's good, he doesn't need the external confirmation to affirm that. What sticks with him the most isn't praise for what he does in the field, as Ghost, but off of it, as Simon; complements about the way he makes tea, whispered genuine assurances in between slow kisses (especially when paired with gentle touches to his scars, he's so used to be handled/treated roughly that anyone being soft with him, when he ebbs past the instinctive urge to be suspicious, makes his heart twist and ache in a way that he's hesitant to get to stop), all that good stuff.

What also sticks with him is when someone indulges him, say, going along with his shite jokes, teases him back, banters with him— he's used to people shying away from him, or outright absolutely shitting bricks just because they're in his presence.

This is what I mean by a sort of modified version of words of affirmation, just carrying on with Simon, basically, otherwise known as turning towards a bid for affection. Super cool behaviour, btw, totally recommend looking into it if you're interested at all by human social behaviours (which, if you've gotten far enough into this to read this, I'm just going to take a wild guess that you do, there's a short article about it here if you want just a working understanding of it).

Receiving Gifts. Honestly, Ghost would accept pretty much anything anyone gives him, as long as he cares about them. Once Soap handed him a small pebble as a (sort-of-not-really) joke, and told him with a straight face that he was giving it to him because the rock reminded him of Simon. There was a sort of bemused flicker in Simon's eyes, but he took it with a wordless nod. It now lives in his TAC vest, and he takes it on every mission he goes on (when he can't sleep either on base or during an op, he'll take it out and smooth his thumb over it). One time he thought he lost it, and felt a sense of dread pressing down on his sternum until he found it again (it had fallen to the floor when he was changing out of his gear, he now keeps it in its own pocket that can velcro shut).

The fact that anyone would go out of their way to get him something — just because it reminds them of him, or because they genuinely think he'd like it — always catches him off guard, probably always will. He savours it all the same, even if doesn't exactly look like it when he's first gifted it; Simon may not be the kind of man to go out of his way to buy or get himself anything, but there's no chance in hell he gets rid of anything someone gets him, it's either getting added to his gear, or being kept safely tucked away, hidden in a secure location within his quarters that only he's aware of.

[oldrainfall]

Soap's Section

Main post & Ghost, Price, and Gaz’s parts: here

Soap — Physical touch, words of affirmation, acts of service, and to a much lesser extent, quality time.

Soap — Physical touch. In general Johnny is just a physically affectionate person, always clapping people on the shoulder, or slinging his arm around them when he’s particularly chuffed and/or making a joke. But when he likes someone? He will find any and all excuses to touch them (even if it’s a bit apparent what he’s doing). He’ll help wipe blood off their gear or help them adjust it, will ruffle their hair or shove them/play fight with them when they’re both in a good mood, will drape himself over them in the common room or in the helo after a mission if they let him, if they’re sitting next to each other, he’ll press his leg or foot against theirs, etc. Also, their personal space will become his personal space too, he’ll always be right next to them if he can help it.

I feel Gaz would be the most indulgent with him about it right from the get go, if they’re bored they’re not afraid to rough house with each other. It’ll start innocuously enough, they’ll just be standing or sitting next to each other, not doing much of anything, then they’ll catch each other’s eye, maybe only for a moment or two, before one is tackling the other, or they’re suddenly grabbing at each other and grappling— loud and boisterously; picture two cats sitting next to each other, before abruptly beating the shit out of each other (except even though they’re rough, they never purposefully do any damage to each other. Gaz accidentally broke Johnny’s nose once, and after they got over being stunned, Gaz started apologizing profusely and fussing while Johnny intermittently laughed and groaned. Gaz refused to play fight at all for a while after that, until Johnny managed to coax him back into it).

When they’re relaxing, they have no qualms with basically being on top of each other. They just get exponentially worse the closer and more comfortable they get to each other.

Price would be indulgent with Johnny, but a bit less so. He nips any attempt at rough housing in the bud pretty early on with a huff and a light push on Johnny shoulder; he’s ‘too old fer tha’ sort of shit, MacTavish,’ apparently. If Johnny happens to be getting a bit too riled up with someone else however, and looks like he’s itching to pick a fight that Price knows isn’t going to go well for him, Price will rest a hand on his shoulder to keep him from escalating things, just squeezing the muscle under his hand firmly, and giving Johnny a look out of the corner of his eyes. (If Price isn’t around, Gaz will do the same. Honestly, Gaz is the impulse control of the 141— though they all usually rope each other into their antics.)

Obviously a Captain can’t layabout with his Sargent hanging off him all the time, but he’ll still pat Johnny on the shoulder from time to time, or if they’re alone he’ll rest a hand at Johnny’s waist, at the small of his back, or on his knee; just any sort of light, gentle contact that assures Johnny of his presence. And well, if the lad wants to lean back against the wall of the helo, draping his legs over Price’s lap so he can sit sideways in his seat and sleep after a gruelling mission, who is Price to tell him no? He’ll usually let out a soft huff, and rest a hand over Johnny’s ankles through his boots. What’s a little more grime on his trousers in the grand scheme of things?

Ghost would be the most… Complex about it, I feel. And depending on the vibes you’re going for, I feel like how open he is to touch would shift. But if you’re going for realism he would be extremely touch adverse, especially after first meeting Johnny. (He’s built for slow burn, I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules.) Every time Johnny touches him, he’s the first to break the contact, he’ll either brush Johnny off immediately, pull back, or move further away. Johnny may be a bit goofy, but he’s not stupid, he’d pick up on this rather quickly, and he’d draw back, he’d do his best to kind of muddle out where Ghost’s boundaries are (because god knows that man isn’t telling him properly himself) and do his best to stay within them. He’s still Johnny though, so if Ghost is in a — relatively — good mood, he’ll push his luck with small touches, brushing their shoulders together, asking Ghost to pass him something and letting their fingers graze, etc. When Ghost starts to warm up to Johnny, he starts being more open to his little touches, and Johnny keeps pushing his luck more and more.

Once Ghost is properly used to him though? Absolutely insufferable, wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to catch them loosely hooking their fingers together during a briefing, or Ghost slipping his hand into Johnny’s back pocket just for the sake of making sure he stays close, napping on the common room couch with their legs tangled together, etc. Just generally being absolutely sickening (/affectionately) with each other.

Words of affirmation. This is mostly borne from the OG Soap’s journal. (Personally I like to HC that Johnny keeps one like Captian MacTavish, so.) I feel like Johnny can get super in his head once a mission is over, picking apart anything that went cockeyed and trying to figure out what he could do better, he can get kind of self deprecating about it, especially if something went particularly bad.

Because of that, Soap soaks up praise like he’s starved for it, no matter how often he actually receives it. Any sort of praise he gets for something (his form during a workout, how he preformed on a mission, etc) he will instantly puff up and start boasting like a proud bird, won’t let it go for the rest of the day, or maybe even for the week, whatever. He knows he’s good (which is why he puts so much pressure on himself to maintain an unrealistic standard) after all.

If it’s from someone he likes/cares about? It’s… different. The closer he is to them, the less likely he is to boast about it (unless they praise him in front of someone else, have to keep up appearances, you know). Their praise means more to him because he puts more weight into their opinion of him, he wants them to be proud/happy/pleased/whatever with him. He’s more likely to keep whatever it is they said to him to himself (or at the very most write it in his journal). Something for him to think about in his rare downtime, or when he’s alone, like taking out something delicate and precious that has to be cradled in the palms of his hands, that always makes a little pleased smile pull at his lips.

Quality time. Soap still loves quality time, don’t get me wrong, there’s just aspects he doesn’t like as much. I don’t think parallel play would be something he overly enjoys, he’d much rather be actively doing something with the people he likes, whether that’s just going down to the shops to buy groceries, grappling with each other, popping out for a smoke, etc— rather than simply existing in the same space. If that’s something his partner needs from time to time (say Price, who just needs some quiet to properly decompress or Ghost, who, as much as they cling to each other, will always need his alone time) he’s more than willing to accommodate it. But given the choice, Johnny will always rather be actively doing something with the people he cares about.

[oldrainfall]

CW: None, just snippets of fluff plot bunnies, not a fic

Been working on characterization in my brain for the 141, and I’m once again, not normal™️ about it. :]

This is a long one folks. Like, super super long— might want to grab a snack/beverage first sort of long.

Please feel free to ask me to clarify anything, or chime in with your own thoughts/headcannons (HCs).

(I promise I don’t bite :> )

I am always looking to flesh out my understanding of the boys, and love adding little quirks and HCs about them much like a penguin that keeps on collecting rocks.

Love languages are a cheat sheet for me.

When you can pin down roundabouts what sort of affection would be most meaningful for a character, it helps you easily move on from there howabouts they’d act when in a romantic relationship (of course how the relationship between them beforehand matters a lot too in regards to the dynamic, but in the case of multi-shipping, or an x reader or what have you, it’s good to have some basic guidelines for how that character would behave).

In case you want to skip my mildly unhinged breakdown of the boys, here’s how I think they’d show affection, in brief. (Well, that and what ways they’d most appreciate receiving it.)

Starting with my favourite, and therefore the most easy for me to pin down, Soap.

Soap — Physical touch, words of affirmation, acts of service, and to a much lesser extent, quality time.

Ghost — Acts of service, quality time, words of affirmation (regular and a sort of modified version, I’ll explain later), and receiving gifts.

Price — Quality time, acts of service/receiving gifts, and to a lesser extent physical touch.

Gaz — Words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time, and acts of service.

Each section is broken up by a lil’ header— so feel free to skip around (though I do recommend reading Soap's before Gaz's, and Ghost's before Price's).

(Apologies in advance for any spelling errors. English is my first language, and I am not great at it... Probably didn't help that I literally wrote parts of this with my eyes closed because I was falling asleep while typing on my phone.)

Please enjoy. :>

Preamble/general writing advice/background for this/what-have-you

(Note: You can just scroll down to the next coloured text if you'd like to just jump right into the point of this post)

Okay so— keep in mind when you’re trying to figure out what your blorbos' (OCs, COD characters, self-insert, etc) love languages are, that their backstory, and how they act with other characters is a really good tell for they’d act in a romantic relationship. (Because showing affection to friends/loved ones/what-have-you is still them showing affection and usually transfers over to romantic relationship as well.)

Of course, you can run off of vibes if you want, no shade, I love that you feel so strongly for the characters you can just be like, ‘this applies to you now,’

I just personally like having lil’ guidelines, as it helps me keep my writing more consistent, and can help me better understand characters because to even make them I have to pick apart their brains.

Just keep in mind most people have more than one love language, often having a bit of a mix and match of what they like best. Applying this to your characters too can help make them feel more three dimensional.

(For example, I personally rather like all aspects of the love languages, and am fairly well rounded in that regard, though words of affirmation is a personal favourite, followed closely by gift giving.

Understanding how you yourself give/prefer to receive affection also helps you have a better grasp on how to apply them to your characters/characterizations.)

Now, before I explain my HCs for the boys, please keep in mind that I’m working with my understanding of the characters— which is a bit of a mishmash. I���m working with what I’ve gathered from the reboots when I played them, chunks I’ve bitten out of the wiki, fics I’ve read, and in the case of Soap & Ghost, but especially Ghost, things I’ve ripped from their backstories from the original games/media. (Namely the six comics for Ghost. I’ve only read them the once, so my understanding might be a bit spotty, but it should suffice for this I think.)

✨The Point✨

All of them would love acts of service, even Ghost and Price who would without a doubt huff and puff about someone doing something for their sake, though despite their fussing, they’d spend weeks afterwards thinking about it and doing their best to make it up to them (which could very easily escalate into an endless loop of each party trying to take care of the other).

They’re soldiers incredibly used to taking care of and doing things for themselves, of being strong and carrying everything on their shoulders without relying on anyone else.

Having someone put them first for once — when they’re so used to the mission being first, or putting the team before themself — means more to them then they could probably ever put into words, but damn it if they don’t do their best to give as good as they get. I’ll go more in depth about it for Ghost’s section (as it's applicable to him the most) but just keep in mind that doing something thoughtful for any of the 141 would make them melt (at least a little).

Originally I was going to put this as one long mega post but I ended up writing so much that I feel like it works better in easier to digest sections. So.

Soap's section. — Is here

Ghost's Section. — Is here

Price's Section. — Is here

Gaz's Section. — Is here

Bby's first multi-link post, love that for me.

But also, dear god this got away from me.

This took me forever to do up.

It was just supposed to be a silly little break down.

I started this yesterday morning, and kept working on it instead of doing things i probably should've been doing.

Uhhhh. Hope you enjoyed this anyway though.

... Should I do a follow up nsfw ver?

I'm kinda thinking about it; but I also have like, actual oneshots I could be workin' on too, y'know? Kinda wanna take a lil' break from this and keep on with those, I have a poly!retired!hybrid!141 x hybrid!reader farm life au I've been picking away at, a poly!141 x reader oneshot with Soap in a kilt, and a short (by my standards) fluff Soap x Reader thing

We'll just have to see what I get possessed by next I guess, lmao

Also, feel free to request anything from this to become a full-fledged oneshot, if you'd like

Have a good day/evening/night y'all :>

... Do I have enough content to justify making a masterlist now, or..?

Edit: I did it anyway

✨My Masterlist✨

[oldrainfall]

CW: Kissing/mentions of it— I suppose?

This isn’t a fic or anything, I just have to get it out of my brain so I can move on with my day.

Okay so, currently being not normal™️ about Ghost’s mask.

Look, I don’t have a big thing for masks or anything — If anything it’s one of the reasons why Ghost was the last member of the 141 to click with me (that’s a story for another day, moving on) — that being said, I love love love when Ghost’s mask is used as a narrative tool.

Like, as much as it’s to keep his identity hidden, it’s obviously a way he keeps people at arm’s length, right? How can they actually know him if they couldn’t even pick his face out of a crowd?

To me, that intentionally or not puts so much weight into how it’s handled the first time he kisses someone in a fic. (Doesn’t matter if it’s Soap, a reader/self-insert, Gaz, Price, ect.) As much as I love when whoever’s kissing him flips up his mask, or gently pushes his smoke/drink/whatever out of the way— I find it so much more impactful when they kiss him through his mask.

Bonus points if he had it flipped up for whatever reason, and they gently pull it back down first.

I just—

(Not my drawing)

Because to me it’s saying, ‘I know you have walls, and I don’t know everything, maybe I never will but I love every little bit of you that you let me see anyway,’

And then, then, when the kiss breaks, if Ghost pulls his mask back up over his nose, and kisses them again? Especially if it’s slow and soft?

I’m fucking dead.

Gone.

Deceased.

Because maybe they don’t know everything about him, maybe they never will, but he’s willing to try and trust them a little bit more time and time again and they’re willing to respect that, love that he’s trying for them, and are grateful for what he does let them see. And I just—

Uuggghhh.

It’s so good. Love it so much. Eat that shit up every time, inject it right into my grey matter.

Will I go and use this in my own fics with Ghost in it? Perchance. (I will. Probably too much. It will become a thing in my stories like me kidnapping characters, or lighting things on fire, or writing characters hanging out in bars. Do I care? No. Because it’s awesome and amazing and more of y’all should join me in being not normal ™️ about it.)

✨My Masterlist✨

[oldrainfall]

Duke(King)dom Fae AU

Beginnings

Continuation

Pets || oneshot + very beautiful art by @just-a-little-nut 💕🫶🏼 || Glowy the Moth + cutest glowy art by @grombs-blog

Jealousy

Bathtime

Adored Humanity

Softness (not canon compliant)

The Pets vs Queen Mother

[oldrainfall]

How many soldiers do y’all think it would take to take down Ghost (2022)???

Five? Six? Seven???

I’m talking, all working together, and they manage to get the drop on him. (After he’s had like, a few-ish days of not sleeping well, and not eating as much as he probably needs to while on active deployment.)

Just capturing him, not like, killing him or anything. (Possibly with the help of tranquilizers/sedatives/what-have-you too?)

Help.

[oldrainfall]

MDNI 18+ / ~ 2.6k words / Oneshot

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games), Modern Warfare II (2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Reader Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Reader Additional Tags: No use of y/n, POV Second Person, Smut, light fluff, Oral Sex, gender neutral reader, Brat John "Soap" MacTavish, A little bit anyway, Gender neutral terms of endearment for reader, Light Dom/sub, Hand Job, briefly, Soap gets most of the attention in this one folks, Light Possessive Language, Oneshot, Author Has Played Call of Duty, not well, but I did, Reboot John "Soap" MacTavish, Reader is an Operator, Desperate John "Soap" MacTavish, Not Beta Read, we die like (redacted), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Summary:

Soap and you find yourselves in a safe house all on your own, in a rare moment free of danger, and manage to steal it for yourselves, indulging in some much needed RNR.

________________________________________________________________

"Tha's it, pet." Soap praises, his voice low and soft, a sound that's gradually been growing to be more and more of a comfort to you as of late, it mixes beautifully with the slick sound of his cock easing in and out of your mouth. He always takes his time with you when you let him have you like this, as if making sure to savour it, even his thick, scarred fingers which were tangled amongst the roots of your hair had a certain gentleness to them, amplified further by the way his other hand was caressing your cheek, the pad of his thumb tenderly brushing over the corner of your eyes, wiping away the involuntary tears that had gathered there and clung stubbornly to your lashes, before doing the same to the bit of drool that managed to escape from the corner of your mouth, and had been lazily dribbling down your chin.

Despite the way it makes your jaw twinge, getting to see the way his breathing gradually gets shallower, louder, adding to the symphony that always accompanied your intimate moments together alongside his staccato groans and grunts, made it all worth it. "Jus' like tha'." Every sound he made was nothing short of addictive, and you were determined to make it your life's mission to pull all of them from Soap's lips until you memorized them all.

Which is why you fight against his grasp to push him deeper into your mouth, until you can feel the weeping tip of his cock kiss the back of your throat, before you swallow around him. A low strangled groan forces its way out of Soap's body, seemingly startling the man himself as much as it delights you. He huffs and pulls you back up some, his hips twitch off the bunk, chasing the warmth of your mouth reflexively, as he shoots you a reprimanding look, one that didn't really come across as anything other than fond, which had his striking blue eyes — that are as vibrant as ever, even in the low lighting of the safe house, as if taking personal offence to anything that'd dare to try to hide them, and shining anyway from a mix of spite and Soap's special brand of unbridled defiance — narrowing minutely, doing nothing to hide the way they practically glinted with amusement and want. "Easy wi' tha', dinnae need ye hurtin' yerself."

You roll your eyes at him, and huff through your nose. With the tip of your tongue you follow one of the veins along the underside of Soap's cock up the length of his shaft, only to smooth your tongue right back out on the underside of his tip and running it right back down, over and over again. "Cheeky." Soap barely manages the word, his voice trailing off into another unsteady vocalization of his pleasure as his lashes flutter, fanning out when his eyes were mostly closed. That doesn't spur you to relent though. You both know that he likes it— he likes when you mouth off to him, when you walk by him brushing your hand along the small of his back, when you squeeze his arse when you know you can get away with it, when you eye him up, especially if you do it at a time where he's not allowed to immediately get his hands on you and retaliate, like during briefings.

Even with how much Soap seemed to live for you riling him up till he snapped, he never got rough about it, not unless you went out of your way to ask for him to. No, your big bad Sargent liked to keep a soft touch— even after you teased and prodded him to his limits with fleeting touches and words of filth whispered against the shell of his ear whenever they'd pop into mind, leaving him redfaced and caught off guard, often resulting in him staring at you like a puppy that just had a steak pulled out from under it as you'd go back to whatever it was you had been doing, teeth pressing against your bottom lip as you fruitlessly tried to force down your smirk.

When he'd finally break — and he always did no matter what it was that you had been doing to him — and take you over a desk, or against a wall, in the armoury, in your rooms in the barracks, or like now, on an old lumpy bunk that creaked at any and every movement, tucked away in a remote location in a safe house that was held together with little more than rusty nails and a fraying hope, with a crackling fire and the soft moonlight easing through the windows acting as your sole sources of light, he was still so fucking gentle. Touching you as if you were something delicate, or fleeting, like he thought if he moved too fast or pressed too hard you'd flit out of his touch like a startled finch, or as if you were a vase at risk of shattering into countless shards.

Keeping your hands flat, you gently smooth your palms over the tops of his thighs, savouring the way you could feel the slightest of tremours in them. His belt buckle jingles softly, hitting against itself from your fingers catching the hem of his pants. In your rush to get at him earlier you had merely pushed down as much as they had to be, leaving them quickly forgotten after the fact.

It was about time you corrected that.

Shifting on your knees, you draw back until only the head of Soap's cock remained in your mouth so that your tongue could still lap at him while giving you just enough space to fuss with Soap's clothes, an action that has Soap letting out a broken off whimper. A sound which is quickly chased by a slew of what was presumably curses, but was so enwrapped in Soap's accent — now much thicker from how worked up he was and worsened further by his budding frustration from being pent up — that you couldn't make out anything intelligible. Your hands trail lower to fumble with Soap's combat boots, pulling at the knot of the laces until it loosens, and you can ease his feet out of both of them, dropping them behind yourself to be found later. Eventually he seems to pull himself together enough for you to catch a few things, at least. "Yer nae playin' fair, pet. Cannae jus' dae this ta me." He whines rather petulantly.

Just for that, you pull off of him properly, his poor cock twitches where it lays against his abdomen, making an absolute mess of his shirt. To stop him fussing further you wrap your hand around him and lazily pump him, the quiet slick sounds filling the space between you both, as your other hand works on pulling his pants and boxers down the rest of the way, letting them fall in a heap at your knees. Soap's hips twitch up into your movements, as if trying to goad you into moving faster, but you simply use your elbow to press into his hip, keeping him down while you continue to stroke him. "You're so spoiled, you know that? Should just leave your sorry ass like this."

A proper grin pulls at Soap's lips, and he looks down at you through his lashes, with a glint in his eyes that was the pinnacle of pleased— like a puppy that had managed to charm its way into stealing an entire bag of treats. "Aye, ah ken, but ye wouldnae dare. Ye like spoilin' me, luvvy." There's just something about the way he looks above you, his chest heaving and a healthy flush darkening his skin along his cheekbones, while he's blatantly biting his bottom lip and looking at you like you're the only thing in the world worth looking at, that causes something in your chest to ache and twist in a way that shouldn't be as heady as it is.

Instead of dignifying Soap with an actual reply right away, you just grunt softly, vaguely providing him with a, "Maybe." as you hook your arm under one of Soap's knees, guiding it up so that his thigh presses against his stomach; you can feel the muscle jump under your touch. "God knows why I do, you're always such a fucking brat about it." Your protests are contrary, you know they are, especially with the way you're fisting his cock and lazily rolling your hips against the leg Soap still has firmly planted on the ground in a rather fruitless bid to take a bit of your own edge off. You spoil him because it's him, and as much as he can be a prick or a brat sometimes, at the end of the day Soap had still batted his eyes at you, and managed to sidle up to you enough that he found a nice warm place to curl up in your chest like a stray dog in a sunspot. He was a brat, a loud mouth, a bit of a know-it-all even when he wouldn't let on that he was, and he seemed to find a new way to get himself in and out of trouble every day, but god damn it, he was still your stray dog, and like hell were you going to give him anything less than every breath you took, every bit of blood rushing in your veins through your pounding heart, and every bone in your body.

You'd give him everything, because he was yours, and there was no way you'd ever let this ridiculous man forget it.

"Shite..." Soap hisses through his teeth, both his hands move to tangle in the thin sheets laid over the bunk, as the way his hips meet your hand begins to grow sloppier and more uneven. "M' nae a brat." The protest passes Soap's lips weakly, any bite it possibly could have had was dulled even further by the way his cock was practically drooling all over your hand, and the persistent groans and whimpers leaving him.

While you let it drop for now, you most certainly plan on getting him back for back-talking you later. Right now though, you have much more pressing things to pay attention to, like the way he's so visibly close to falling apart under you, his leg was trembling under your hand as his vocalizations got even more unabashed. The way the corner of your mouth lifts as you watch him is entirely involuntary; not that you do much in the way of trying to stop it from happening in the first place, mind. Hearing how Soap keeps murmuring your name doesn't exactly do much but encourage your expression and touches, especially when he practically keens as you take him back into your mouth, even if it's just the head of his cock. You're already pressing your elbow harder against his hip to keep him from lifting them too much and fucking into your mouth mindlessly; you both know that if he wanted to he could knock your arm out of the way, but even with how little blood was left in his brain he behaved and let you keep him down.

That doesn't stop him from wrapping his thick fingers around your wrist, trying to encourage you to pump his shaft faster. "Fuck, c'mon pet. M' so close ta comin', ye gotta let me. Please, please." There's a steadily growing note of desperation to his voice, the hand he still has tangled in the sheets curls tighter, pulling them hard enough that they now lay heavily askew on the bunk. As much as there's a part of you that delights in the idea of pulling back again, leaving him there heavy and aching, you can only be so cruel to him in one night, so you let him guide your hand, squeezing him just a bit tighter, if only to hear the way his voice gets rougher, a stream of words passing his lips mindlessly as he chases his finish, mostly your name intermixed with a healthy dose of 'fuck, please, yes,' and of course a slew of babbled, 'thank ye,'s over and over again.

It doesn't take long for even that to shift into 'God ah'm so close,' and 'oh ah'm gonna come in yer bonnie mouth, pet. Gonna make sure ye taste m'fer days.'

You just squeeze the underside of his knee, not like you can talk around him, besides, you didn't want to waste any extra brainpower trying to formulate intelligible words; not when you could be using it instead to memorize every little way Soap was starting to crumble under you, the muscles in his thighs jumped as his back arched off the mattress, both of his blue eyes glazing over, wide but staring up at the ceiling unseeingly, at least until they flutter closed, your name bullies it's way out of his mouth, followed by a few more curses, and some pure unfiltered praise, as his come fills your mouth in thick spurts that you're quick to swallow down before he makes a mess, or at least, so he doesn't make any more of one than he already has.

Using his hold on your wrist, he guides you unsteadily off your knees, and on top of himself, causing your legs to tangle with his own. While he lets out a soft hiss of oversensitivity when you accidentally brush against him, Soap just winds his arms around your shoulders and pulls you in even closer for a kiss, tasting himself on your tongue with a soft groan. The way he's touching you quickly lost the notable edge of desperation that had been there before, the usual gentleness taking its place. "Yer tae good 'fer me, luvvy." He murmurs, as he brushes your lips together again.

One of your hands finds its way into his mohawk, absently tugging your fingers through the strands in a bid to try to bring some order to the mussed strands, before tangling near his nape and forcing his head back, he grunts, but doesn't fight you. There's something addicting about the way he always just lets you move him about, especially with the way it makes his eyes spark, and had his breath — which had yet to return to normal — quickening once more. You were more than willing to take advantage of him tolerating this while you could. "You're not getting off that easily, MacTavish." You say in as equally as low of a tone. "I'm not done with you yet." After all, you were still worked up and aching yourself, and you well and planned on making that Soap's problem, much like he had with you.

That familiar cheeky grin returns at full force as if you had just offered Soap everything under the tree on Christmas morning. "Aye, didnae think ah'd ferget aboot ye, pet." A shocked gasp passes your lips as he abruptly flips you both over, which causes the bunk to creak in protest under your combined weight on its old springs. Your gasp is quick to turn into a soft huff of amusement as he pins you beneath him and presses close, like he's doing his best to meld you together. "Gonna take such good care o' ye, luvvy." He murmurs as he peppers your face and neck in little fleeting kisses, as if eager to please you and trying his best to love on you everywhere at once.

You can't help the way you laugh at his antics, which somehow only seems to encourage him further as his hands find your hips, dragging you closer. Rolling your eyes fondly, you use your hold on his hair to pull him back in for another kiss.

He might be a brat, and a bit of a stray, but for better or for worse, he's definitely yours.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you have any ideas/prompts of what I should write next, feel free to comment or send me an ask. I’m open to writing more stuff with Soap, or any of the other members of the 141 (either with each other, reader, or a combination of everyone).

[oldrainfall]

I'm so normal about him your honour, I swear

Soap Being Soap

[oldrainfall]

First time drawing anything really for COD— and I’m super happy with how this came out. :] (I made this purely so I can have the boys as my pfp tbh, but shhhh.)

Photos I used for reference under the cut.