#cod preferences

[witchthewriter]

Y/N: Don’t worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve. Gaz: I think you mean cards. *Y/N, pulling knives out of their sleeves* Y/N: No, I do not.

[oceantornadoo]

gn reader, tw: body and food talk, ghost isn’t super nice to himself but you’re nice enough for the both of you

“where’s the rest of your food?” you nodded to ghost’s plate, laden with one chicken breast and a couple of vegetables from the mess hall. he stopped short in the hallway, trying to control his blush even though he was wearing his usual balaclava. you looked at him curiously. he got lost in the warmth of your eyes that showed genuine concern about his food, scrutinizing his plate.

“‘m on a cut.” he grumbled, gravelly voice at odds with his thoughts. you looked down and fuck, he had gotten it all wrong. he had been too gruff, like a fumbling kid talking to his crush on the playground. you tilted your head back quickly, now armed with a cheeky grin, and he almost let out a breath of relief at the sight. stupid simon, he’d almost messed it up, but you always gave him unending grace. “why? i like you big.” you started walking, nudging his shoulder in a silent goodbye. he was rooted in place, his legs like concrete as he replayed your words. you liked him big.

“thought you were on a cut, l.t.?” soap asked the next day, in line with ghost who was currently loading up on carbs and protein. “little birdie told me they liked me big.” he meant to say it in a whisper, but somehow you heard. at the front of the line, you whipped your head around fast, sending a secret smile just for him. fuck it was worth it, even if he felt too large for the room sometimes. simon would never cut again if he could see that smile. you ducked your head, suddenly shy. you couldn’t believe your l.t. took your words to heart that much. maybe there was something more in all those glances he gave you when he thought you weren’t looking.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik gets a vasectomy because Price's tokophobia makes it difficult for him to fully enjoy sex. John never says anything, but Nik knows the abundance of precautions, constant testing and the look of panic when Nik comes inside isn't normal nor healthy for their relationship.

When Price finds out and asks Nik why he'd do something like that for him, Nik pulls him in for a kiss and explains it in terms he'll understand, "It is easier and safer to unload the gun than make you wear a bullet proof vest you do not trust, no?"

[just-some-user-hunny]

Y'know the cute thing men do where they tap their cheek to ask for a kiss?

That, but it's nikto tapping his finger against the junction of his throat for you to bite. Pet it afterwards too, won't you?

[gomzdrawfr]

haven't been able to get @on-a-lucky-tide's post about pancakes out of my head and since I'm waiting for my food...I doodled....

bonus my OCs' fav type

[temeyes]

he is legally blind, your honor

[laswells-ashtray]

Nik's equivalent to the Price Pat is giving John a tap on the arse whenever he walks by him. Half the time, people don't notice because he can be subtle when he wants to be, but when he's got a few drinks in him, it just becomes a blatant smack on the arse.

[fandomblr1]

Dear Santa,

Please deliver all of these men wrapped in ribbon under the tree. If you really love me then they will also be shirtless. Thank you in advance.

P.S.- Keep the masks ON. No, I will not explain why.

Sincerely,

COD Men Lover

[tanked-up]

(Recruits arguing)

Recruit #1: I can’t stand people like you

Recruit #2: Then sit down

(Soap overhearing)

—————————————

(A day later)

Soap: I can’t stand people like you

Ghost: Fuckin deal with it, sergeant

Soap: …

Ghost: What?

Soap: Ye’ weren’t supposed to say that

Ghost: The truth?

Soap: Nevermind

———————————

(The next day)

Ghost: Say that you can’t stand me

Soap still irritated: What !?

Ghost: Tell me you don’t-

Soap: I can’t stand you

Ghost all jumpy: Then sit down

Soap: …

Ghost: Get it?

Soap: I definitely do

[lemonwrap]

Thinking about how if you use 09 Ghost’s backstory with 22 Ghost, Ghost likely hasn’t trusted anyone since Roba. He retreated into himself and became a husk, because it was clear that trusting anybody in pretty much any capacity was just asking to get fucked over.

The only thing he seemed to have left was his job. He didn’t let a single soul close to him, barely tolerating even Price and Gaz, and spent too much time contemplating pulling the trigger.

And then Soap waltzes into his life.

Soap is energetic, flirty, and seems to think he’s the funniest person in the whole damn world—the only good thing about him is that he’s excellent at his job. Ghost kind of hates him. He keeps all communication short and professional, and avoids Soap outside of missions whenever possible.

But Soap was instantly drawn to his new lieutenant, and despite the man’s rebuffs and typically cold demeanor, Soap has never been one to give up easily. He makes an effort to get to know the elusive Ghost. It happens slowly—very slowly—but Ghost begins to warm up to Soap. He tolerates the sergeant’s jokes better (and even occasionally likes them), speaks more than a few words to him at a time, and Soap’s bright personality no longer makes him want to push the man out of a window. Usually. Ghost starts to look forward to spending time with Soap, and they work together better than ever before. Even Price notices the change.

And then Las Almas happens. Ghost hears Soap’s voice over the comms, and realizes with a startling clarity that he’s relieved that Soap is alive, and not for tactical reasons—he’s relieved Soap is alive because he likes him.

Ghost could’ve left Soap behind, but he didn’t. He coached Soap with jokes, advice, and encouragement as he made his way through the city. He waited in that church with bated breath until Soap arrived, bleeding and exhausted but managing a smile.

After that, they’re practically joined at the hip. Ghost gains something he hasn’t had in a long, long time: someone to trust.

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐔𝐩 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐂𝐎𝐃 𝐌𝐚𝐧

⤷ gender neutral and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆

・The only time you are ever awake before John, is the morning after he's come back from deployment.

・You let him sleep for as long as possible, as much as you want to wake him and be his complete centre of attention, you don't.

・He looks too peaceful

・And younger; the worry lines are erased from his face, the stress completely dissolved

・You want to kiss him, nibble his ear, nuzzle his neck. Which you do eventually do, however, you wait for him to rouse himself from sleep

・When he looks at the clock, his eyes go wide

"Why didn't you wake me love?"

"Because you needed the sleep!"

"Well, know that I'd rather be sleep-deprived and with you, then asleep. So next time, please wake me."

𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝑹𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚

・Much like his Captain, Simon is always awake before you. Even the morning of his deployment. He doesn't even sleep when he gets back home.

・Just sits on the back porch, mug of tea in his hands and Riley at his feet.

・But when he's been sick, that's when you get the jump on him (no babe not literally)

・He's grouchy and moody. Sure that he's fine and doesn't need help.

・But the downside of looking after him, is that he doesn't want you to catch whatever he has. So no kissing. No cuddling.

・Well, his rules hold up for an hour, before your puppy dog eyes wear him down.

"Fine. C'mere love."

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑻𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉

・Ooh this man loves sleeping him.

・You cannot get this man up before 8 AM when he's off deployment (which may seem still early to some but for a soldier - it is a HUGE sleep in)

・Mumbles in his sleep too, so you can just lay there and hear a random story from your unconscious boyfriend

"And then his mask was actually ... just his face," he said with enthusiasm. Eyes closed, than back to snoring.

・It freaked you out at first. But now it's absolutely entertaining. Sometimes you take videos of him and send them to Simon, who always loves receiving them.

・In the morning, you like to snuggle close to Johnny. Your nose touching his. Eyelashes fluttering against his naturally dark ones.

・You love staring at him. You could do it for hours...except, he's start to notice.

"Oi, ye know starin' is considered creepy-"

𝑲𝒚𝒍𝒆 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌

・Does love a good sleep in

・Especially with you in his arms, his face in the crook of your neck.

・When you feel a stir behind you, you're sure to grab the arm closest to you and secure it around you

・You hear a laugh behind you, but no resistance

"Thought you were asleep love."

"Hmm, thought you were too. Now scoot closer, you're letting the cold in."

・Luckily he can't see him rolling his eyes. Although, there is a small smirk on his lips

"Whatever you say, my darling."

"Watch your tone, Garrick."

𝑲𝒐̈𝒏𝒊𝒈

・Loves kisses, especially on his shoulders. It makes him giddy inside.

・Sometimes he'll just pretend to be asleep so you can wake him up with kisses

・Other times, he can't stay in bed. He needs to pee.

・And as much as he wants to be quiet, he cannot. Whenever he wakes up, ultimately you wake up as well.

・Your personal heater is gone and you feel the chill near instantly

"Oh, es tut mir leid, Schatz, geh wieder ins Bett" (Oh, I'm sorry honey, go back to bed)

"No, I'll just have a tea and sit on the lounge. Will you join me?"

𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝑽𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒔

・Surprisingly, he's one to always be awake before you.

・Giving you a kiss before going downstairs to start on breakfast for the two of you.

・It's annoying when you do want to wake up before him, to take on the chores that he usually does.

・You even set an alarm underneath your pillow so that you could wake up before him.

・But you slept through the first alarm and he was the one to turn it off.

・Yet, whenever you do wake up, you immediately throw back the blankets and run downstairs to jump in his arms.

"Mi amor, what are you doing up?"

"I wanted to be close to you! I missed you."

"Aw, Calientas mi corazon querida" (You warm my heart, darling)

𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒖𝒔𝒔

・Likes sleeping in but can't unless you're with him

・So you usually just flip over and land on top of him, knowing he was in the process of waking up anyway

"You comfortable there, kid?"

・His voice groggy and deep, a hand snaking it's way around your waist to keep you still

"The most comfortable," you said, scrunching your nose and giving him a peck on the mouth

"You comfortable?" You said sweetly, making sure to keep all your weight directly upon him.

"Incredibly," he said with a slight wheeze. But he didn't move, nor made a thought to. He loved the feeling of you so close.

・Knowing that he made it home again. To you.

[cementcornfield]

Do you play Call of Duty?

Noooo I don't play Call of Duty 😡

[cntloup]

they should definitely make a show about my love my man simon

[springtyme]

Dying on the hill of Simon Riley being a “I wanna be yours” over a “you got to be mine” kind of man

[lovehotelreservation]

Let me know if this tickles your writing fancy! “My peeping tom stalker is actually my absent neighbor???”

Tags are!!!: aphrodisiacs, manhandling, prone bone

Hmmmm, maybe this can go to Ghost? But if someone else steals the prompt I won’t mind at all!

In your hand was a black balaclava that you frantically yanked at before you found yourself heaved down to the wooden floor of your living room.

In your neighbor’s pocket was the tiny glass vial of some high-grade concoction that he stealthily emptied into the tea cup you left on your coffee table while you went to get snacks from your kitchen.

Mr. Riley.

Since moving to your flat, you scarcely saw him around. With the hushed murmurs from other tenants of his mainstay occupation in some vague rank of military, this only furthered the idea in your mind that he was more phantom than man.

Tonight, this ghost had made it abundantly clear that he was very much real.

This was first demonstrated by the calloused cinch of his hands seizing hold of your waist before he effortlessly left you sprawled upon your frontside on the floor just before claiming his spot on top of you from behind.

He had maintained this position since then, anchoring you down with the massive, hulking size of his physique.

And with the hefty slams of his sturdy hips hammering down against the bared plush skin of your ass, the fat girth of his cock keeping you stretched and stuffed full, you weren't going to be leaving him anytime soon.

Not that you wanted to, your body possessed by a scorching heat that left you mewling desperately for more, your eyes rolled back in pleasure while you laid obediently pliant beneath him.

It was a surrendering of yourself for his hands to continue groping your body as he wished, for him to pour his hot thick seed into your core.

In the months since you first moved in, you rarely saw your neighbor up until this night.

But once he inevitably carried you over to his flat much much later, with the countless myriad of candid pictures he had taken of you--from meetups with friends, coffee runs with co-workers, to getting ready for bed--reverently displayed across his bedroom wall, you would quickly come to realize that he had kept his eyes on you all this time.

[laswells-ashtray]

Usually, in these situations, he'd get up, throw on a t-shirt and shoes and go outside to smoke by the entrance to their building. But the rain is battering off of the windows with enough force that he half expects them to shatter.

So, instead, he stares at the ceiling and desperately tries not to disturb the hulking bear of a man wrapped around him. After years he's mastered the art of slipping out from the Russian's grip, he has to escape him legs first or Nikolai would clamp around his waist like a vice and drag him back into the cavernous heat underneath him with his face nuzzled into John's chest.

The ability to sleep soundly had been lost on him from a young age, bottles shattering on walls had gradually transitioned to bullets piercing skulls. He'd been naive enough to think he'd be able to stop it this time, years ago he had thought that maybe this time he could prevent it. Today, he knows that brain matter and skull fragments are harder to clean than broken glass and spilt whisky.

He blinks up at the ceiling, sometimes Nikolai's breathing is enough to dim the noise buzzing in his head. The rest of the time he knows that the only effective silencing method is to leave someone else cleaning up his brain matter.

He still has a few good years in him before he gets to that point.

Nikolai's nose is pressed against his neck and his skin is damp from the other man's breathing. There's a large, calloused hand resting over his ribs and a leg entangled with his own. The pilot had a habit of clutching John like he was afraid of what would happen to John when he let go. He had a radiator hidden in the form of a breathtaking Russian in his bed and he was ungrateful enough to think about leaving him for a smoke, that's the type of man John is.

He adores Nikolai. He could spend days sketching every little detail of the other man's body, he could list off the scars and the stories behind him, the stretchmarks and the way he nips at them whenever they're fucking around like horny teenagers and he could damn near list every grey that had made an appearance in Nikolai's mane. And the subsequent negative effect each of those greys had on his knees.

But he wondered who out there was better suited to the other man. Watching people flirt with Nikolai was something he was subjected to whenever they went out for a simple drink together, it was always someone younger, fitter and he'd bet a hell of a lot less scarred. Nikolai had his pick of the litter and he found himself stuck with a captain-shaped pit of despondency and antiquated, contemptible self-pity.

John's only use is getting a job done, there's a reason he's so highly regarded in his field. His fingers were made to wield weapons and his mouth was made for barking orders. Outside of the job he was robotic, there was little purpose for him in everyday life. John was a means to an end on the field. He's barely a person. He's a blacked-out name in a file.

Nikolai is lively, he's charming and he can function in any context because he was crafted out of a humanity that had been bred out of John's family line. Nikolai was modelled after the word benevolence.

And he found himself chained to John.

John who had made a career out of handing death certificates back to families, used nationalism to guide youthful faces into war and used detachment to send them back in a box.

He blinks up at the ceiling. There's no light shining in from the window, it can't be approaching a reasonable wake-up time so he has no choice but to lie there until it does or the rain stops pounding away and he can smoke in peace.

The one time he had a working lighter and he could remember where he had left it and he couldn't bloody smoke, typical.

He had to avoid the little old lady who lived downstairs when he went out for a smoke. She'd corner him and question him about when he was finally going to bring home a nice woman and start a family. Apparently, she was under the impression that Nikolai lived elsewhere in their building and not plastered against John's back whenever he was cooking.

The pensioner would shake her head and insist that when John finally has a wee one of his own, he'll be happy. It felt like some parasite under his skin squirming about under his flesh and eating away at the person inside, the thought of ever having a child of his own.

It was nauseating to imagine a baby somewhere with his features, he wasn't a father and it was the ideal outcome of life. To be a father to anyone was John subjecting them to something terminal. They'd never escape his impact and he was like a cancer who'd play the vital part in shutting every good part of them down.

He'd never subject a child to that, he couldn't. He refused to shadow his father's footprints that led him into a grave, belt in one hand and bottle in the other.

John isn't built to be a father, he's made to pull the trigger of a gun that no one else would ever consider picking up. He couldn't raise a child, instead of counting sheep his children would have to count every body in the trail left behind him.

He works for the greater good, they all do but there are only so many skeletons that you can cram into one closet.

He blinks up at the ceiling and turns to lie on his side only to be met with dark brown eyes staring back at him, far too knowing and far too tired. He had missed Nikolai pulling away from his neck, hadn't been alert enough to feel it. He was slipping.

"How long have you been awake?"

Nikolai pulls John to the centre of the bed, wrapping himself around him and pinning John in place. One hand cradling the back of his head all too carefully, as if he'd fracture under the slightest touch.

People have a tendency that John will splinter under intimacy like he was a glass pane and they're a hydraulic press. They're closer than he'd ever be able to admit verbally.

"You think too much, you should be sleeping." Nikolai murmurs, voice rough with sleep as he rests his head against John's shoulder. The warm feeling of his cheek burning John's bare skin.

He offers back a vague grumble of acknowledgement and pretends he doesn't melt under the hand that caresses his cheek, thumb tracing over a faint trail of freckles.

"Go back to sleep, дорогой."

Tomorrow, John will choose to believe that he followed the order because he's a good soldier.