#soap from cod Mohawk

[fishing-for-cod]

I can’t decide if Soap would be more the type of guy to really take care of his hair or just not know how to at all and totally neglect it

Like he either has some whole-ass routine that’s very thorough and takes forever (he starts at like 4:00 in the morning and wakes everybody up with his humming or blasting music, either that or listening to some Scottish radio thing idk)

Or he just showers and doesn’t wash his hair, then in the morning he sprays a fuck-ton of hairspray to keep his Mohawk in place

He’s either terrible or extremely thorough it’s one or the other there is no happy medium

[s0fter-sin]

prince!ghost and lord in waiting!soap

ghost is a warrior prince, next in line after king price and it’s always been accepted he would be the lone ruler; never one for entertaining the courts or indulging foreign rulers trying to consolidate their power. he hardly acts like a prince at all, in name only when he spends more time as a pseudo captain of the guard. price has never begrudged him that, not when he himself has been a lone king since his inauguration

though he’s a warrior prince, he’s never lost the favour of the people; many see him as a guardian even if he doesn’t interact with the people as much as benevolent and stalwart king price. who he does interact with is the kingdom’s children; always ready to bend a knee and listen to bright voices, to praise stick swords and shields or hear the plight of a struggling family. it was a common belief that if he wasn’t out protecting, then he was with the protected; face covered, blonde curls shining in the sun

soap’s always loved ghost. as his lord in waiting, it’s been his job to attend him since they were young and even as a child, he’d idolised him; his skills in battle, his surety. he thought his life would be nothing but service, clothing a brat prince and making sure his shoes shined. but ghost has proven more than that; he treats him as an equal, consults him on strategy and court politics and over time that idolisation turned into love

and ghost has always felt the same. he’d begrudged the idea of a lord in waiting, not wanting someone always in his business but then came this spitfire who never missed an opportunity to push back on him; to make him dig deeper. johnny is more than some mere servant; he’s his confidant, his best friend, his… everything. he could be simon with him, not prince ghost

but simon figures that out too late

king price gets word from king shepherd, a kingdom they’ve only recently stopped feuding with and he’s offering up his son, prince graves, as a way to bond their kingdoms together and firmly put war behind them. price is ready to deny him, he doesn’t fear war from shepherd, when he sends some ancient laws that leave him unable to refuse. he hates it, hates that he’s ruining ghost’s happiness and feels like he’s betraying his adopted son but there’s nothing he can do

graves comes to their kingdom within the month and it’s clear from the moment he walks through their gates that he’s the opposite of ghost; arrogant and conceited, his ceremonial armour glossy and untouched by battle. he’s dismissive of their servants, of their ways, of their people and ghost hates him

graves insists that the wedding happen as soon as possible, pushing the craftsmen and cooks beyond their limits to prepare and every moment ghost spends with him, the more he dreads his wedding day. every evening he retreats to his room, exhausted, and it’s all johnny can do to keep him afloat; trying to keep him positive as ghost falls away and simon breaks in his arms. he wants to whisk him away like the old tales, the pain his oldest friend and love is in making his heart ache but all he can do is promise to be there with him

but it seems graves wants to take even him away

“soap’s been my lord in waiting since we were children,” ghost protests, voice barely clinging to civility. “i wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable worker.”

“there are plenty of decent servants in our kingdom; you’ll forget this one soon enough,” graves waves away, carding a possessive hand over his curls and it’s only bc he’s looking for it that soap sees ghost’s jaw twitch beneath his neck gaiter. “it’s custom for one marrying into our kingdom to embrace all that it has to offer, leaving who they were behind to become someone better. you’re entering a new life with me; you don’t need the baggage of this dreary place.”

soap feels sick as he walks behind them, his blank expression hiding all sign of his breaking heart.

“soap is beholden to me,” ghost declares. “we were sworn together by the old laws. i’m afraid a custom isn’t enough for me to break a vow to the gods.”

graves lets out a disgruntled noise, tugging harshly at one of ghost’s curls with only a thin veil of fondness; his conceding smile not reaching his eyes.

“i never made a vow to the gods,” johnny points out later. “price gave me to you because he was sick of me setting fire to the kitchens.”

simon hums and sets his freshly cleaned armour aside, turning to him with a twinkle in his eyes he’s barely seen since sheperd’s missive. “you pinkie swore that you would never leave me; that’s more powerful than any promise to the gods,” he says and soap’s thrown back fifteen years, to a willow tree big enough to touch the sky; to two boys from different stations who didn’t care that one was dressed in silk and the other in scraps.

johnny feels a lightness he hasn’t in a month as simon winks at him. “besides, do you really think graves is smart enough to figure it out?”

the days pass quickly, graves’ veneer of affection growing ever thinner, and before either of them are ready, it’s the eve of ghost’s wedding.

he’s said nothing, done nothing but stare at the wedding robes graves had tailored for him in the fashion of his kingdom and johnny doesn’t know how to break the silence. he draws out each second as he fusses with the cape piece and ensures the shoes shine in the fire light until he has no more excuses.

he sighs as he straightens up, brushing off polish onto his pants. “i suppose this is where i leave you,” he says with a weak smile but it quickly dies when simon still doesn’t look at him. “i’ll be here in the morning to help you get ready… good night, simon.”

johnny bows and makes for the door, trying to convince himself he didn’t just say goodbye.

but he’s stopped by simon’s hand loosely wrapping around his wrist.

he looks back as simon finally tears his eyes away from the robes, looking at him with such clear longing it almost brings him to his knees.

“i don’t want graves to be the first man to touch me, johnny,” he confesses and johnny’s breath hitches. “i don’t want to be married to another… not when the one i’m set to wed isn’t you. but if i have to do this… please let me feel loved one final time.”

simon’s thumb brushes the back of his hand; their kingdom’s greatest warrior caressing him with a touch light as silk. he doesn’t pull johnny in, doesn’t need to; johnny’s already sinking into his touch.

desperation and love tinge every movement; johnny dancing his fingers over simon’s neck gaiter until he all too happily removes it, baring his scarred cheeks and lips. johnny kisses each one, willing his love and his touch to linger above all others as they move together; sharing breath, sharing body, sharing soul the way they wish they always have.

when ghost makes his way down the aisle, it’s not in the fine embroidered robes graves had laid out for him. he’s in his battle armour; dark and weathered, the sign of the ghost, the warrior prince, going to battle. the only thing missing is his helm, tucked under his arm.

showing his hair; curls gone and shaved tight to his skin.

a thing done only in a time of great mourning.

graves looks irate and it’s the only spark of joy ghost feels as he stops before the altar; set beneath the willow tree where johnny promised himself to him. one final insult.

ghost is silent throughout the ceremony and in spirit and in grief, so is the entire gathered kingdom until the priestess reaches the final vows and suddenly, a great roar rises above the crowd as seemingly every child in the kingdom swarms the altar.

ghost is too shocked to do anything but let them push him away from graves, bullying their way between them like they’re preparing to protect him just as he’s always protected them.

graves is furious but the children stand firm in the face of his threats until he moves to strike one-

and freezes as soap’s blade finds his throat.

“you would dare hurt these children?” he growls, sword following graves as he stumbles back. “you’ve kept up your charade the entire time and here is where you show your true colours. i think it’s time i show mine.”

graves splutters as johnny turns to the priestess and king price, falling to one knee and offering up his blade. “your grace, i wish to challenge prince graves for the hand of prince simon!”

his voice rings clear and he feels the eyes of every person in the kingdom.

but he only cares for one man.

who is watching him with more love than he’s ever felt.

“who are you to challenge me?” graves sneers. “you’re nothing more than a servant; no better than the dirt on my boots.”

johnny doesn’t bother to look at him, too caught in the love in simon’s eyes and the grateful look on king price’s face. “then you should have nothing to worry about. you’ve been crowing your accolades from the rooftops since you got here; let’s see if you live up to the hype.”

because simon only ever introduced him as his lord in waiting.

never as sir soap- his second in command and one of the greatest swordsmen their kingdom has ever seen.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Shelter - 1

Summary: You save Soap's life. It might have ruined yours. But now you're stuck with the 141 and the man named Ghost won't stop looking at you. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader (No Y/N) Warnings For This Chapter: Canon typical violence, my attempt at writing Soap's accent, soft Simon, military inaccuracies, canon divergence right off the bat.

A/N: My first COD fic! I hope you guys like it. It will be a slow burn because Reader needs a hug and therapy and Simon is awkward but also needs a hug. Enjoy!

This had been your first vacation in ten years. Ten. You had wanted to wander around London, see the sites, eat pub food, try to see how much the city had changed since you had last visited, ages ago when you had a summer internship at the British Museum. And now you were bleeding out on this shitty, dirty floor. There was shouting somewhere to your left as you hazily stared up at the dark ceiling.

You had made it three days before some guy pulled you off the sidewalk and shoved you into the back of a van. There had been a sharp pain in your neck before the dark came. When you came to, your hands had been tied and you were in the belly of an abandoned tube station, if you were guessing. Your captors were speaking Russian—rapidfire and stilted, but you did recognize some of it. Most of it. Maybe. If your undergraduate studies were still holding up. But you did know something for sure: you were curled up and hiding near a bomb. To keep your mind from wandering about when you were going to be the next hostage shot or when the bomb would explode, you started repeating whatever you heard to yourself, quiet and low. Cities, people’s names, shipments, shipments, shipments. You hadn’t done this in years, your therapist would have a field day, but this was better than the waiting. This was better than the pleading your fellow hostages were doing, begging for their lives.

You kept repeating what you learned. More shipments. More cities.

An immeasurable amount of time dragged on; how many days and nights passed, you couldn’t tell, but you knew exactly how many other hostages your kidnappers had killed before you were the only one left. And you weren’t entirely sure if it was because they had other plans for you or if they had actually forgotten you were there, huddled near the bomb. Perhaps you had taken the saying, “the closer we are to danger, the further we are from harm,” too seriously.

But it mattered little when the fighting started and a too warm hand clapped on your arm. And then the brightest pair of blue eyes were staring at you. The man had the most ridiculous mohawk you’d ever seen but you couldn’t really tell him that, not when he was pressing a finger to his lips. A quick glance down showed his UK flag patch on his vest and you felt the smallest bit of tension slip from your shoulders.

“I’ma get ye outta here, lass,” he said, Scottish brogue winding through your ears.

You only nodded and let him move you into a crouched position. He and another man in a ridiculous hat worked on defusing the bomb, working in tandem on either side as your eyes swept toward the door. You were nearly there. Nearly free.

You were going to get out of here. You were going to live. You were going to see your sister and her baby. You-

-Came to a hard stop when the shooting started.

You curled into a ball behind the bomb as the shouting started but then you heard that ridiculous Scottish accent again. And yes, it was stupid. But you had always been a little stupid. You were on your feet again, hands still tied in front of you, before you could think of anything else to do and ran, shoulder down into the man tussling with the Scot and another man in the dumbest hat you’d ever seen. The man with the gun let out a wet ‘oof’ when your shoulder connected with his side and you both fell to the dirtied floor. You hadn’t even heard the gun go off.

Hadn’t felt anything but a heat blooming across your shoulder.

And then your knees buckled. “Oh.”

A quick glance to the left saw your once white shirt now a dark crimson. Pity. You’d liked this top. Your blood was roaring in your ears but you did remember someone saying the bomb was defused…that was good. Great. Wonderful.

A choked gasp was torn from your throat when large hands clamped over your shoulder and you saw those blue eyes again. “Now, why’d ye go and do that? Made a mess, ye did.”

“Next time,” you ground out between clenched teeth, “I’ll let you get shot.” Dark dots were starting to cloud your vision even as the grip on your shoulder grew tighter. You vaguely heard him shouting for someone to throw him something before he turned back to you. He was bleeding, too, crimson streaked across his face and neck. More of it slithered down his arm.

“We’ll get this cleaned up. Cannae have a bonnie lass bleedin’ out in a place like this.”

And you had to smile. You did, even if you looked absolutely insane, because this was probably the first time in over a decade that someone was nice to you and you had been shot.

And then the Grim Reaper loomed over you, skull bright as he blotted out the light above him.

“Fuck.” The word slurred on your heavy tongue. “Guess I’m dead, then.” The ridiculousness of the situation was not lost on you, even as the light faded and you were out cold.

Your eyes opened slowly, weighed down and scratchy. It took a moment for you to realize you were in a hospital room, small, stuffy, and a worn shade of off-white. Uncoordinated fingers plucked at the thin, bleach-stiff sheets across your hips before you tugged at the neckline of the light blue hospital gown and frowned at the large dressing taped over your shoulder. A single wiggle against the flat pillow let you know you had a matching one on your back. Wonderful.

Well, at least you weren’t dead?

The door opened and a bespectacled man popped his head in. His bright eyes connected with yours for just a moment before the door snapped shut again.

What just happened?

You got your answer a handful of minutes later when your tiny room was filled with several more people, doctors and nurses checking you over and a woman—Laswell, you think she said her name was—staring at you from her place in the corner. She was biding her time, you knew that. Her American drawl had thrown you for just a moment, a stark contrast to the English accents coming at you from all directions. You tried to keep up with all the information they tossed at you, about your stitches, the physical therapy you’d need, how to keep movement to a minimum before helping you into a sling to keep your arm immobilized. It went on and on. The pain meds were keeping you from scratching at your shoulder but it did feel a little like your brain was swimming through your skull.

And three of them said the same thing: “You’re lucky you’re alive. It nearly nicked your subclavian artery and you would have bled out.”

Comforting.

And through it all, Laswell was quiet but when she pushed off the wall, the group of medical professionals dispersed.

“You’ve been through a lot.”

You said nothing as she stepped closer and set a manilla envelope on your bedside.

Her eyes darted to the envelope for a moment, obviously expecting you to take it but she continued on, unperturbed for now, when you did not. “From what I understand, you saved a man’s life and gave them an opening to be able to diffuse the bomb. I would actually say that all of London owes you their gratitude.”

“I doubt I’ll get it though, right?”

Laswell smiled. “Good. You’re smart.” But she still tapped at the folder again.

Fine. You picked up the folder and undid the thin rope closure as best you could with one hand and tipped it open across your lap, spilling paper and pictures across the blanket. One was of the man with the mohawk. And then… “Wait. He’s real?” You plucked one of the pictures up and waved it around like a flag. “I thought he was the Grim Reaper.” A man in a skull mask was staring back at you, large and hulking, and draped entirely in black aside from the SAS patch in the middle of his vest.

“You wouldn’t be the first to think that. But probably the only one to see him like that and live to tell anyone about it.”

Again, so comforting.

You flipped the picture over to see Ghost written in neat, small letters across the bottom. What kind of name was Ghost? He wasn’t a ghost. You flipped over a handful of the other pictures and learned the mohawk belonged to “Soap.” “Gaz” and “Price” soon followed—ah, he was the one with the ridiculous hat. But it was the last picture that had your heart stalling.

Vladimir Makarov was written in that same, small script.

“He’s dead, right?” Your voice shook as you stared down at the picture. “Tell me he’s dead.”

Laswell’s measured silence was all you needed before you hurriedly stuffed the photos and paper back into the folder.

“My flight back to Chicago is leaving on the tenth. What day is it?” You asked, tossing the folder to the foot of the bed. The simple motion had your other shoulder protesting, heat rippling across your chest and down your spine.

“It’s the ninth.”

Relief flooded through you. This would be over soon and you were never going to take another vacation, no matter what your sister told you. “Great. I’ll be out of the country in a couple of hours. Do I need to sign something or-”

Laswell frowned and took a few steps toward you and tension once again wound itself through your spine with each of them. “I don’t think you understand. Makarov’s plan didn’t work because of you-”

“Debatable.”

“-and you saved one of the men who Makarov has a personal vendetta against.”

The heart rate monitor was now leaping all over the place, beeping a sharp staccato into the tense air. You didn’t like this. You didn’t like this at all. “So? Makarov doesn’t know who I am. One of his lackeys grabbed me. He barely saw me.” You had been one of many, another faceless victim to his whims.

But Laswell shook her head. “I guarantee it; he will not forget you.”

Funny. You’d been forgotten by almost everyone else and you were apparently unmissable to a psychopath. “I am supposed to be going home. I want to go home.”

She took another step. “I’m afraid that until Makarov is in custody, it is safer for you to stay-”

“Am I being arrested?” You bit out.

“No.”

“Then I’m free to go.”

Laswell’s lips rolled into her mouth for a moment. “No.”

Traitorous tears stung at your ears. Stupid, so stupid. You hadn’t cried in front of someone else in decades. Tears didn’t help with anything and here you were, crying in a hospital bed in front of a stranger. “I need to go home.”

Another step and she looked down at you, eyes just shy of pitying. “You’ll be dead before you get off the plane.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” She took the folder and opened it again, pulling out one of the papers you hadn’t read and another picture. She set both on your leg with a sigh. “You were taken out of London when you were stable enough to move.”

The next breath stalled in your lungs. “What?”

“Makarov has a long reach. You were wrapped up in it the moment you saved Soap. The hospital room in London that simply had your name on the door was raided. They killed a nurse.” Every new bit of information was a punch to the stomach, leaving you wheezing for breath and throat aching. “Makarov doesn’t do half measures. And he’s in the wind right now and staying quiet since his plan for London failed.”

Something you hadn’t touched in years started to bubble beneath your skin. A rage you hated. The rage that had kept you alive as a kid. “Then do your fucking job and get him. I’m going home.”

“Any word? Movement?” Gaz asked as Simon looked over the print outs of intel and loops of camera footage from the tunnels where Makarov could have fled.

“Nothing.”

Nothing.

Nothing.

He hated it. He hated not knowing.

There were leads, of course. Strings to be pulled on to see where they could go.

But Makarov was in the wind. And every night, he heard the woman on the other side of the thin wall cry whenever she thought no one would hear.

You did not go home. Instead, you were bustled out of the makeshift hospital room and into yet another infuriatingly beige room, your shoulder smarting with the movement even with the sling. At least the baggy sweats they’d let you wear were comfortable. You recognized Soap as Laswell had you sit in a cold metal chair on one side of the table.

“Good ta see ye up and about, lass,” Soap said. The stitches across his face were mostly covered by butterfly bandages that crinkled when he smiled at you. He then pointed at his own sling, barely holding his bulky arm up. “We match.”

You almost returned the smile. Almost. “Glad you’re not dead, too, I guess.”

“I wanted to get a look at ye,” Soap said. “Properly thank ye fer saving my life.”

Your mouth twitched into a small smile. “I think it was a mutual saving. You defuse a bomb, I keep you from getting your brains blown out. We can call it even.”

He laughed, hearty and jovial. “Ye’re tough. That’s good. Ye’ll need it.”

He was trying to be nice to you, you knew that. He seemed nice. Really! But you still felt the snark and sarcasm trying to climb its way out of your throat. You bit it back, probably grimacing the entire time. “I’m not the one shipping off to Kastovia.”

The smile slipped from Soap’s face. “What?”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to read his expression. “I assumed that was where you were going? The guys in the tunnels mentioned it a couple of times.”

“You speak Russian?” Laswell cut in.

What was this line of questioning? You turned as best you could to look at her. “Yeah, sorta. I took a few classes in undergrad.”

“And you didn’t think to mention you overheard anything while you were held captive?”

“You’re CIA. He’s SAS,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder to point at Soap. Your stitches protested immediately, knocking the wind from your lungs for a moment. “I kinda figured you guys had all the information you could get from that shitshow.”

Soap rose from his seat and left the room without a look back as Laswell rounded the table to stare down at you. “You had information and didn’t share it. You know how that looks.”

“I was shot. Did you forget that?” You bit back. “Then you tell me I can’t go home. What was I supposed to do? When was I supposed to offer up any of this? When I was unconscious?”

Laswell’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “You don’t trust me.”

The scoff tore itself out of your throat before you could even try to stop it. Scoffing at a CIA agent probably wasn’t your smartest move, but, again, you knew you were kinda stupid. “Wow. Look at you. That scary CIA training is paying off, huh? Love to see my tax dollars hard at work.”

The door opened again and Ghost walked in, shoulders nearly brushing each edge of the frame.

Your entire body tensed as he quietly neared the table and took the seat Soap had vacated. Laswell nodded at him and he tipped the point of his cloth-covered chin. And then she was gone with a snap of the door behind her. You pulled your gaze back to the man…the behemoth…in front of you. His mask was no less unnerving than it had been in the tunnel when you thought he was the Grim Reaper coming to usher your soul into the ether.

But this close you could see the dark honey of his eyes and that turned something else in the dark shadows of your chest.

And you knew you couldn’t be afraid. Not now.

“Ask me anything,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. But what if they didn’t believe you? What if he really would be the last face you saw, like you had believed in the tunnel? “I’ve nothing to hide.”

He huffed. If it were anyone else, you might have guessed it was a laugh. His eyes, hooded and dark, dragged over you. “We’ll see.” In one swift movement, he placed a handgun on the table and then reached across to grab your uninjured arm. He pulled it toward him before you could even think of pulling back. He twisted his grip on your wrist to have your palm up and only then did he release you.

You knew better than to retreat. You needed them to believe you—you were the victim in all of this. You. Not them. You. If you had to sit here with the Grim Reaper to prove it, you would. But it was when he tugged the glove from one of his hands that you felt your next breath stutter behind your teeth. And you were sure he felt it when he pressed the tips of his fingers against the delicate skin of your wrist’s underbelly.

He was warm. Solid. And oh god were you really this touch starved? That the man tasked with interrogating you—to make sure you weren’t a terrorist—was making you burn all over like a schoolgirl? It didn’t help that you felt his broad legs on either side of yours beneath the table.

Get it together.

He asks you questions and you answer. Truthfully. You listed all the places you’d heard, names you could decipher, cargo, shipments, everything. Anything.

Ghost listened to it all with that same hooded stare anchored on your face. Someone else probably would have squirmed under his gaze but you didn’t. If anything, his immovable presence was weirdly comforting. What was wrong with you?

And when you were done, when you had exhausted any and every bit of information you thought you had squirreled away from your time in the tunnel, the man in front of you simply drummed his fingers against your pulse and stood, putting his gun back in its holster and pulling his glove back on.

Funny, you hadn’t realized there were more bones stitched on them, too. At least he was consistent.

He strode toward the door and then turned back to stare at you again, unblinking. “Stay put.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly allowed to leave.”

His dark eyes narrowed for a moment and he huffed. Was it a laugh? You didn’t know, but you wanted it to be. But he left the room before you could ask.

It had been a risk, he knew, and had done it anyway. She could have been a spy, a trained one, good at deception and emitting pity. But he had felt her heartbeat skitter beneath his fingers, an impromptu lie detector. Simon knew she was being truthful. An open book.

A rare thing in times like these.

Well, open enough for him to believe her answers and her muttered instance that she wasn’t “some sort of Russian plant” because she wasn’t “dumb enough to be a criminal.” She was…something else. Simon wasn’t quite sure what that something was, but he knew that he thought of the curve of her bottom lip when he left the room and reported what he learned to Laswell and Price.

The pair looked at each other, matching looks of knowing on their faces. Her knowing about Kastovia hadn’t been expected but it didn’t seem like she knew that they (Gaz and Price) had already gone and had been led on an infuriating game of hide-and-seek with the transport of the Sarin gas. If the bird had been awake (or more willing to share what she’d heard before), they would have been back on base days earlier because it had been exactly where she’d said they would be.

“We need to keep this quiet. Makarov already knows she’s alive and at least suspects that she heard something. He wouldn’t’ve sent his men to the hospital if he didn’t.” Laswell scratched at her chin. “If any more of her intel pays off, this could be invaluable.”

The two continued, looking over the points Simon had written down after leaving that tiny room. And there had been shipments and their locations, names of people who probably would receive them, and then targets. Possibly. It was so much more than what they’d had when Makarov had vanished into the belly of the tunnel.

“She’s given us gold.”

“Or an unpinned grenade.” Laswell sighed and flipped through the pages again, handing one to Price and they spoke again in low tones. Simon listened, as he always did. They would still be sent out, following those breadcrumbs, with glowing red letters.

Something twisted in Simon’s chest, behind the crooked and dark ribs, and he thought of that curve of her bottom lip. “What happens to ‘er?”

You didn’t mind paperwork. Not really. Was it your favorite thing? No. But it was a fact of life that paperwork was inevitable. You almost liked that most of it was the same: sign here, date here, birthdate here. Easy. Simple. Unchanging.

But you weren’t entirely in love with how you knew you were basically signing your life away as Soap stood sentinel in the corner, his matching sling still around his bulging arm. They’d already “handled” your job, telling your supervisor that you had been injured and would be taking a leave of absence from work.

They promptly fired you.

Laswell winced at that and then said that “they” would take care of it. Who “they” were, you didn’t know and didn’t have the wherewithal to ask at the moment. But she inferred that your bills would be paid by someone else so you didn’t really care. Whatever. You’d been an archivist at one of the many museums in Chicago, cataloging anything and everything that came in. It had been good work, to be fair. You were actually using your degrees and the fact that they had you working overnight was almost a perk. It was nice to not have to worry about coworkers’ feelings or them microwaving fish in the communal microwave when you were trying to work.

But…whatever. It was fine. This was…fine.

You were given three meals a day and sometimes a snack. Tea in the early afternoon, much to your delight. You had a warm bed. Things could be worse.

Whenever the doctors or nurses would come in and check on your stitches and your range of movement, he—Ghost—would just be there. In the background. Waiting. Silent and unmoving.

And the painkillers you were given must’ve been some good stuff because you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Or maybe his unhurried gaze was weirdly comforting. Knowing he was there, was always going to be there, was nice. A weird constant in the upheaval of your life. (And maybe you should call up your therapist after you finally get home.)

You signed your name on the last paper and then managed to stack everything neatly with one arm before handing it to Soap who took it with a small smile. “Ye’re handling this well.”

“Yeah.” Been through worse, is what you could have said. But worse was debatable. At least in some regard. You could handle being fired. You had savings. You could find another job. Your sister always said you had the uncanny ability to land on your feet. You’d let her keep that assumption. It wouldn’t be the first one she’d made about you. “Can I make a phone call now?”

Soap tapped a finger against the papers and his blue eyes were full of pity. You almost hated it. “I’ll ask Laswell.”

Well, that wasn’t a firm no, at least.

It had been a few days since your interrogation with Ghost. You had deduced that you were on a military base of some sort, with the people walking by in uniform and the staccato of gun shots at exactly eight o’clock in the morning, every morning. Probably a firing range. While you weren’t allowed out of your beige hospital room, they were kind enough to bring you a few very well worn novels to help pass the time. Again…it was fine.

The door opened a few minutes later and Ghost and Laswell walked in, a large black brick looking contraption tucked beneath Laswell’s arm. Your heart stuttered for just a moment. A satellite phone?

“You need to understand that anyone you call could be in danger. Used against you.”

The next breath rattled behind your teeth. You had expected that. You knew that. But your sister deserved at least something. “Did you see her in my file?”

“Who?”

“My sister.”

Laswell’s answering quiet was all you needed. Good.

“I’ll keep it quick,” you said, stretching out your good arm toward the phone. “Promise.”

“Any funny business-”

“I’ll expect a bullet between the eyes. Yeah, sure. Can I please have the phone?”

Ghost made that huffing sound again and you felt the corners of your mouth push into a twitching smile for just a heartbeat to two. The phone was weighty in your palm as you plugged in the number and held it up to your ear. It rang twice before… “Hello?”

“Hey, Kirby.”

There was an answering giggle and it shifted a weight on your shoulders. “Hey stranger! I thought you were living it up in London for a few days more? Thought you were gonna call me when you were home.”

“Oh, um. So there’s been a change of plans. I’m gonna stay for a little longer. I’ve been asked to consult at one of the archives here.”

Kirby hummed, crackling the line. “Consult. You’re so important. That mean you left-”

“They fired me, actually.”

She gasped. You imagined her clutching her phone tighter, placing another hand over her heart. She was always so delicate. Outraged on your behalf, too. “No!”

“Yeah. But it’s okay. You said I needed a new job anyway.” You shut your eyes, feeling them burn with tears. Lying to her didn’t feel right. She was the only person in the world you trusted.

“They were awful to you. But, you always land on your feet, don’t you?”

You smiled despite it all, wobbly and crooked. God, you missed her. “I try. But I didn’t want you to worry if you didn’t hear from me for a bit as I get settled here.”

Kirby laughed. “You’re the worrier, not me.”

“That’s true.” You were. And even know, with a bullet wound and a supposed bounty on your head, you worried about your little sister. You might worry about her forever, actually.

“You’ll still be able to make it to the delivery, right?” The smallest bit of trepidation dipped into the syllables. Kirby wasn’t scared often and it twisted at your marrow. “I need you to hold my hand.”

You opened your eyes and looked at Laswell and Ghost, lifting your chin a bit. You were going to be there. Come hell or high water. Or more terrorists. “Wouldn’t miss it, Kirbs. You know that.” You eventually said your goodbyes and “I love you” and “I love you, too” before ending the call with a quiet, “give the little one a hello for me, okay?”

The phone clicked in your hand and you let it slip back into Laswell’s grip when she reached for it. “Any other family you need to call that weren’t in any of your files?” The question was tinged with exhaustion.

You didn’t feel bad. “No. It’s just her.”

Laswell frowned but said nothing else as she strode from the room.

You expected Ghost to follow. He seemed fond of doing that. But he didn’t. His unmoving stare was anchored on you. “Why wouldn’t your file show your sister?”

Well, he certainly cuts to the chase. “It’s a long story.”

His large arms crossed over his broad chest (you ignored how your heart hiccuped. God he was so big.) “We’ve got time.”

Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!

[hatsbuckets]

Sunday Softies: CoD MW Characters and Hands

My little take. Cod Head Canons

Price: His hands are big—strong, steady. The kind of hands that settle on your shoulder and make the world feel a little more manageable. Rough, calloused, worn, but clean, always clean. His nails are short, neatly kept, a small indulgence. When the air turns cold, his knuckles crack, and he rubs in lotion with a quiet sigh. There's an old scar across the top of his right hand, a silly accident from long ago. They carry weight, and when they land on a shoulder—solid, grounding—it feels like safety.

Ghost: His hands are huge, warm in a way you wouldn’t expect. Scarred, yes—rough and brutal in places, fingertips ruined by a life spent gripping weapons—but there’s a care to them, a quiet consideration. His nails are kept short, trimmed neatly, because anything else is a liability. His hands don’t fidget, don’t wander. When he moves, there’s always purpose, even when his fingers card through a certain mohawk, absent but intentional. He doesn’t like people staring at them, doesn’t like people noticing him, but if someone's lucky enough, if he lets you 'em close, they'll find that his hands are softer than they should be. Capable of violence, but warm against the back of a neck, against a wrist, against the small of a back in the dark.

Gaz: His hands know work, but they also know grace. Strong, lean, capable—the kind of hands that belong to someone who moves, who acts. Always steady, always precise. He keeps them clean, nails trimmed just so, but not out of vanity. Just habit. Just necessity. There’s a scar along his trigger finger, a strange, scattered thing that throws off the swirl of his fingerprint. His hands know where to be, when to touch, when to hold on tight and not let go. They tremble, sometimes, after a close call, after the rush has faded and the weight of survival settles deep. When that happens, he clenches them tight—around his gear, around a railing, around a hand offered without question—and waits for the shaking to stop.

Soap: Smaller hands than some of the others, but God, they are strong. Rough palms, thick callouses, a collection of burn scars dusting his fingers—each one with a story he’d happily tell if you asked. His favorite stretches up his left middle finger, jagged, sharp, like a bolt of lightning frozen in his skin. His nails are short, neat, but his cuticles? A disaster. Picked raw when he’s not paying attention, worrying at them until they bleed. His hands never stop moving—tapping, fiddling, reaching. They’re good for steadying himself against someone’s shoulder, for nudging into a certain Lieutenant's ribs with a teasing poke, for gripping tight in the quiet when he thinks no one’s looking.

Farah: Her hands are small, but every inch of them is earned. Scars, old and new, weave across her knuckles, her palms, the delicate bones of her fingers. Her grip is firm, her movements efficient—nothing wasted, nothing unnecessary. There was softness there once, long ago, but duty demanded more. She keeps them clean, but not obsessively so; there’s always a little dust beneath her nails, a reminder. When her hands touch, they touch deliberately. When they hold, they mean it.

Alex: Pretty hands. That’s the first thought, always. Long fingers, well-proportioned, calloused where they need to be but never rough. He takes care of them, rubs in lotion whenever he has the chance, lets himself enjoy the softness while he can. Not many scars—he’s lucky that way—but there’s a strength in them, a quiet steadiness. His hands know how to touch, how to soothe, how to hold without taking, how to grip without clutching. Warm hands, warm in the way that makes someone want to reach for them in the cold, just to see if they’d allow it.

Laswell: Hands that don’t shake, no matter how much pressure she’s under. Trimmed nails, always clean, always practical, no room for indulgence. There’s a small scar on her thumb, almost invisible, but it’s there—an old kitchen accident from back when she had time for hobbies like cooking. Her fingertips are calloused from years of pressing against desks, tapping against phones, gripping the edge of a chair as she listens to intel roll in. When she reaches out, she does it with intention—a brief press to an arm, a squeeze to the shoulder, an anchor.

Alejandro: Warm hands, hands that hold. Big, strong, sun-browned, worn from years of hard work but gentle in the ways that matter. He clasps a shoulder like he means it, grips tight when he pulls someone in close, runs a thumb over the back of a hand without thinking. There’s an old scar running across his palm, a memory from a blade fight long ago. When he touches, he touches with everything.

Rudy: Steady, quiet hands. The kind you’d trust, no questions asked. Rough in places, smoothed in others, as if time itself can’t decide what to do with them. His knuckles are scarred, his fingertips burned in small patches. His hands aren’t fast, aren’t impatient—they wait, they assess, they understand. Alejandro’s hands pull—Rudy’s keep safe.

Nikolai: Broad hands, hands that know both work and finesse. Rough palms, thick fingers, nails that are never quite clean of grease no matter how much he scrubs. His knuckles are scarred, his grip firm, but when he touches, it’s with a careful kind of certainty. He holds a gun, a wrench, a bottle of vodka with the same natural ease, but there’s something different in the way his hands linger when they settle on a friend’s shoulder, when they grip tight in the quiet moments between battles.

Graves: Strong hands, confident hands, hands that never hesitate. Always clean, always controlled, nails trimmed just enough to show he cares. A scar crosses his index finger, an old story he rarely tells. His hands move when he talks, expressive, animated. He’s the type to clap friends and foes on the back a little too hard, to grip too tight when the stakes are high.

Valeria: Elegant hands, but make no mistake—they’re dangerous. Rings glint on her fingers, hiding the scars beneath, a distraction, a deception. Her nails are painted, sharp, perfectly maintained. They are capable. Deadly. She touches lightly, absentmindedly—her pistol, the rim of a glass, the hollow of a throat. She doesn’t hold—she possesses.

Roach: (yes, he's here too) Quick hands, clever hands. Hands that talk for him when words won’t do. Compact, efficient, built for movement. His fingertips are rough, his nails bitten a little too short, like he’s always thinking, always processing. His hands know things—how to grip, how to steady, how to hold on. They linger when they touch, like they’re memorizing. Like they want to remember.

Makarov: (oops he made it too.) Cold hands, but not in the way that means poor circulation—cold in the way that means absence. His fingers are long, precise, his grip calculated rather than careless. Scars scatter across his knuckles, faint but deep. His nails are well-kept, but not out of vanity—just another detail controlled, another thing made to look effortless. His hands move like they were made for command, for taking. He touches lightly, almost delicately, as if savoring the sensation, as if indulging in the quiet power of it. And when his fingers close around something—someone—they do not tremble.

Sunday Softies first edition. I'm doing this because this is how I wanna start my week from now on. Soft, thoughtful, etc. etc.

[rainybubbles]

What hug COD men would give you ?

Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz, Keegan

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

G H O S T : Comfort hug.

You always used to jokingly ask Simon, "Want a hug?" knowing how much he detested physical contact.

He'd always respond with a firm no.

It became your way of greeting this burly soldier, a ritual of sorts.

So why... why was he now whispering those words to you?

"Need a hug?" His voice was hoarse, raspy, bearing the marks of too many cigarettes and too much silence. Yet there was an unexpected warmth in it, a warmth that could thaw you.

"No." you said.

Cold and trembling, with lips turning blue and tears welling in your eyes, you were at your breaking point.

It started with a soldier's criticism, then your chief's belittling of your work, followed by a letter from your mom, a malfunctioning oven, and a stubborn onion. It all culminated in your retreat to the cold room, seeking solace, seeking release.

But the door was jammed, leaving you alone in your despair. What a pathetic demise for a cook. Yet Ghost, ever watchful, came to your rescue, finding you in your distress. And in that moment, he echoed your jest.

"Need a hug?" he repeated.

You nodded. He knelt beside you, gathering you in his arms, offering not just his warmth but also solace. Your arms instinctively wrapped around him.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"It's okay."

"The lock, it—"

"For everything."

"Do I look that awful?"

"Yeah."

"You're supposed to say no."

"Not a liar, darling."

"Not a hugger either, but here you are."

"You're the exception, I suppose."

You were.

What you initially thought were mere circumstances now seemed to hold a deeper truth.

And the next day, when you initiated your ritual greeting with "Need a hug?" Simon's response of "maybe" signaled a shift in your dynamic.

________________________________

SOAP : "I'm home in your arms" hug.

He always gives hugs.

Soap is a very physical person; you knew that even though you were just a friend of a friend. You never dared to speak to him much, too shy. He seemed like a sun.

At gatherings, you were always quiet, so you weren’t sure if he remembered your name.

But he always had his eyes on you, always had his hug for you, and when nobody listened to your ramblings, he was there asking you to continue.

It was a silly crush; his hugs were something you secretly enjoyed. A thing, a treat for your heart, even though you knew it wouldn’t be more.

So when you opened your door, expecting it to be the delivery man from something you ordered online or maybe some important packages to sign, but…

You got bumped into.

You fell with the strength of the stranger’s hug until you recognized the mohawk.

“John?”

“Sorry, I got carried away,” he said, helping you up.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m the one who needed a place. Mancy asked you, right?”

You remembered.

Mancy had asked if her friend could stay at your place for one week.

You didn’t know it would be John.

“Oh, yeah.”

“You don’t seem happy.”

“Well, if you hug me so hard I’ll fall every day, then no.”

He chuckled.

“It’s because I’ve missed you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, after three months without your pretty smile, a man goes insane.”

“My dad lives just fine without it.”

“True, but he’s a moron. I’m not. Now give me a hug.”

“Okay.”

And you did.

Gently, you noticed his hands around your waist, the way he slowly soothed his breath.

You didn’t know, but the only thought Johnny had in mind was, “I’m home.”

____________________________

GAZ : "I'm sorry" hug

The TV droned on in the background, but your gaze couldn't focus on it. Your stomach was tied in knots, and you felt utterly lost. 

The argument had been trivial, blown out of proportion by fatigue and frustration. You and Kyle were both drained, and the clash of tempers only fueled the misunderstanding, escalating it into a full-blown confrontation.

Now, you found yourself at a loss for what to do next. Kyle had stormed off for a walk, his usual retreat during tough times. But this time, his absence felt like an eternity.

You knew you could reach out, ask him where he was, beg him to come back. Yet, your stubborn pride held you back.

Was it pride or fear? Fear that he wouldn't return?

The nagging voice in your head echoed the doubts others had planted—that you weren't good enough for him, not pretty enough, not kind enough. You felt inadequate, unworthy of his love.

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, your nose tingling with the threat of more to come. It felt absurd to be sitting here, watching a documentary while your relationship teetered on the brink of collapse.

Your eyes stung with unshed tears as you sat there, watching a documentary you couldn't even comprehend. 

When the door finally creaked open, your heart leaped into your throat, memories of past confrontations resurfacing. But the footsteps that followed were hesitant, tentative.

Turning slowly, you found Kyle standing there, mirroring your own disheveled state. Puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks spoke volumes of his own internal struggle.

Standing up, you met his gaze, unsure of what to say or do.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the silence that enveloped you both.

"Me too," you replied, your own voice catching in your throat. "It was foolish of me to let my anger get the better of me."

"I agree," he murmured, stepping closer. "We need to find a better way to communicate, darling."

"Yeah, and maybe get some sleep," you added, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Definitely," he whispered, extending his hand towards you.

You took it, feeling the warmth of his touch, and allowed him to pull you into an embrace. In that moment, words became superfluous as you both sought solace in each other's arms, tears mingling and laughter bubbling forth.

"I feel ridiculous," you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest.

"Me too," he confessed, his grip tightening around you. "But being with you makes everything better."

"Agreed," you murmured, snuggling closer.

"What if..." he began, his voice trailing off.

"What if what?" you prompted, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

"What if we can't sleep because of the neighbors?" he suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, what about them?" you replied, confused.

"Let's move out," he proposed, his eyes earnest.

"Kyle, we live in separate apartments," you reminded him, a hint of skepticism creeping into your tone.

"Then let's get a house," he persisted, his gaze unwavering. "A place where it's just you and me, lost in the forest. Our sanctuary."

"You're just saying that," you countered, though a flicker of hope ignited within you.

"I mean it," he insisted, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I want a life with you, everything included. The silly arguments, the morning wake-ups, all of it. I don't want to wait to see you, but I also don't want you living on base. A house... it's us, it's safety, it's peace, it's..."

"Commitment," you finished for him, the weight of his words settling in your heart.

"Yeah, that too," he admitted, a shy smile gracing his lips.

"Okay," you whispered, a surge of emotion welling up inside you.

"Really?" he asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"Yeah," you confirmed, squeezing his hand.

He enveloped you in a tighter embrace, and in that moment, you knew that perhaps this sorry hug was the beginning of something beautiful.

________________________________

PRICE : last hug

You felt his embrace, and a smile graced your lips.

“I never pegged you as a hugger, Captain,” you remarked.

“Don’t talk, soldier,” he replied, his voice firm yet gentle.

Nevertheless, you found comfort in his arms, basking in the warmth they provided. Your consciousness nudged you to close your eyes and surrender to the moment.

“Cap, can I rest?” you inquired softly.

“Not yet,” he responded tersely.

“But why? Even ghosts nap during brief,” you persisted.

“Don’t make me spell it out,” he said, his voice trembling, tears glistening in his eyes. 

Confusion laced your whisper, “Why are you crying, Cap?”

As you attempted to step back, you felt something damp on his hands. Bringin your own hand up, you saw it- red, your blood.

Blood.

Your blood.

It wasn’t a mere cut; it was a hemorrhage.

“Why…” you began, your voice trailing off.

“Don’t give up,” he interjected, his tone weighted with understanding.

He knew. You knew.

You wouldn’t last, and the medics wouldn’t arrive in time.

“Cap, could you...hold me tighter?” you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper.

“Soldier,” he acknowledged.

“Just one last embrace, please,” you implored, a desperate longing for affection evident in your words.

Yearning for one final moment of love.

He acquiesced.

You buried your nose in his aftershave, despite the mingling scent of tobacco. Your arms savored the feel of his gear, your cheek nuzzling against his neck, the roughness of his beard against your skin.

Despite the warmth he provided, a chill crept over you. Your lips grew heavy, your eyelids too burdened to stay open.

“I'm glad it was you, Cap. Your hugs are the best,” you murmured, a serene smile gracing your lips.

With your blood staining his gear and your body cradled in his arms, he granted you your last hug, whispering your name softly.

____________

KEEGAN : "you're alive" hug

His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, his ears filled with screams. His eyes focused on Ghost’s voice, and then he saw you, lying on the ground.

What were you doing on the battlefield? You were a civilian. He sprinted towards you, but your body remained still. He reached out for your hands, but they slipped from his grasp.

Nightmare.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room. His back was drenched in sweat, his mind replaying the image of you lifeless. He couldn’t move.

Reaching for his phone, he knew he wouldn’t believe you were alive until he saw it with his own eyes. He made his way to your shared flat, knocking on your door.

As you slowly opened your bedroom door, relief washed over him. "Keegan, what the hell—" He cut you off with a tight embrace, his hands on your neck feeling the rhythm of your heartbeat. "You're alive."

"Yeah, obviously. You saw me just two hours ago, we're roommates, Keegan."

"You're alive," he repeated, his voice trembling with emotion.

Seeing his state, you melted into the hug. "You need to sleep."

"I can't."

"In my bed, you can check if I'm alive like this, okay?"

"I don't want to—"

"Keegan."

"Okay."

Slowly, he settled into your bed, your warmth comforting him. You worked on your laptop, but he didn't mind. His arms wrapped around your body, he could feel the steady beat of your heart. He knew it was his favorite sound because it meant you were alive.

"Sleep well, Keegan."

"Thanks."

And that night, he didn’t have any more nightmares, wrapped in your embrace.

If you want more : my masterlist

[cherie-doll]

COD Characters + Metal Band AU

·✮· Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price would take you to reunions with his ex-band members. Having you sitting next to him, real close so his buddies can see how "he's still got it". Talk about the records they broke and blah blah. idk sorry.

Ghost carves your initials on his guitar. When he's playing at a show on stage, his fingers run over the jagged outline of the letters and thinks about you, either somewhere in the audience or watching him through the tv screen at home.

Soap likes having you by his side 24/7. He'll bring you along on tour, doesn't care about anything else. Will let you style his mohawk and would prob make you wear his band merch. Right before he goes on stage he makes you give him a kiss for "good luck".

Gaz is that nice neighborhood kid you grew up with and now you discover he's started playing in your local metal band? Not only is he friendly but it even softened your heart when he offered to teach you to play the drums.

Imagine being in the same band as Roach and both of you being so oblivious to the obvious mutual pining. Literally everyone else notices when you both get a lil too carried away during practice or on stage that your chemistry is like no other.

You find yourself bonding with your band's manager Alejandro on a road trip to what could be your big break. He's always been there for you and your band members, but recently, he's been giving you more attention than everyone else. Begs you not to replace him once you make it big.

Phillip didn't think he'd ever be the type to get into metal music. Probably listened to country and is maaybeee entering his y'allternative phase when he saw you on the cover of the local newspaper talking about your interesting mix of music genres.

You might've been a little out of your mind when you said you could bag Keegan, your celeb crush, if you'd be granted the opportunity. Was it that much of a stretch if you now find yourself waiting nervously backstage for a vip meet & greet and his eyes keep flickering over to you?

Why are you just finding out now that your boyfriend König has been in a metal band this entire time? It never crossed your mind he even listened to metal music much less was in a band and made it.

Horangi is that vocalist you looked up to. You've always admired him and the band he created. Now you're having a collab with him??? How to not freak out whilst sitting next to him in an interview? And did he just say you're his favorite member from the band?

Nikto joined the band to replace a member who had quit. Where did they find a replacement so quickly? He barely responds when you ask him and he wears a facemask. What's with that? Apparently it's part of the persona or whatever. You can't deny how good he is with his hands at playing...

[amagialp]

COD story/writing help basic description info <3

for all my authors out there and or aspiring ones, here is a list on physical description on majority of COD characters, based off of only canon (confirmed) and what we see from in game models

hope this helps!

Task Force 141

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Eye Color: Brown (comics), possibly blue in-game

Hair Color: Brown, possibly dyed/bleached blonde

Height: ~6'4.5" (189 cm)

Build: Broad-shouldered, muscular

Weight: Estimated 90–100 kg

John "Soap" MacTavish

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Dark brown, mohawk

Height: ~5'10" (178 cm)

Build: Athletic

Weight: Estimated 75–85 kg

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Black

Height: ~5'11" (180 cm)

Build: Lean, athletic

Weight: Estimated 70–80 kg

Captain John Price

Eye Color: Blue-green

Hair Color: Brown with hints of gray, beard

Height: ~6'2" (188 cm)

Build: Strong, muscular but not overly bulky

Weight: Estimated 85–95 kg

Alex Keller

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Light brown, short cut

Height: ~6'1" (185 cm)

Build: Lean but strong

Weight: Estimated 80–90 kg

Los Vaqueros

Alejandro Vargas

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Black, short with beard

Height: ~6'2" (188 cm)

Build: Muscular

Weight: Estimated 90–100 kg

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Black, military cut

Height: ~5'10" (178 cm)

Build: Lean, athletic

Weight: Estimated 75–85 kg

Shadow Company & La Ara��a Cartel

Valeria Garza ("El Sin Nombre")

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Black, straight, often tied back

Height: ~5'7" (170 cm)

Build: Lean but toned

Weight: Estimated 60–70 kg

Phillip Graves

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Brown

Height: ~6'0" (183 cm)

Build: Athletic

Weight: Estimated 80–90 kg

KorTac + Others

König

Eye Color: Blue (speculated)

Hair Color: Blonde (shaved)

Height: ~6'10" (208 cm)

Build: Massive, strongman-like physique

Weight: Estimated 120+ kg

Sebastian Krueger

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Blonde, short

Height: ~6'0(+)" (183~ cm)

Build: Lean but strong

Weight: Estimated 85–95 kg

Nikto

Eye Color: Blue (possibly cybernetically altered)

Hair Color: Unknown (typically masked)

Height: ~6'2" (188 cm)

Build: Muscular

Weight: Estimated 90–100 kg

Keegan P. Russ

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Dark brown, short cut

Height: ~6'0" (183 cm)

Build: Athletic

Weight: Estimated 80–90 kg

[thewriterg]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧’ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 chp.5

pairing(s); simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x fem!reader, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x fem!reader, john ‘bravo six’ price, werewolf!soap, harp crow hybrid!gaz, dragon hybrid!price, wraith!hybrid (?) ghost, phoenix!hybrid (?) reader

summary; debriefs, makeups, and a cockatrice.

word count; 3.0k+ | chasin’ chaos masterlist

warning(s); monster au, dark twisted themes, normal cod violence, firearms, knives, combat, pinning (?), poly themes, death, r call sign is flatline, blood consumption, eventual smut, kissin, and language

A/n: Daddy’s home 🌝

“Preliminary recon?” Gaz notes, reading over the files that were passed around sitting in the window seal of the meeting room. He appreciates this room the most, the open bay window gives him a break from all the artificial lighting of base. The drift he gets against his wings that slightly ruffle his oak colored feathers against the radius lifts his spirits a little. —something to do with the nature of harpies, he's sure—. The crow hybrid has one leg underneath the other, talon clawed foot poking out along with the few stray feathers that lay against his calves in patches: unflexed, delicate, and soft since no threat was present.

“For the international corps. They’ll be sending us three of their best soon.” Price answers, arms crossed over his broad chest, stray wing spread strong, thick hairless pear green tail still behind his knees, horns mirroring the sight. He has the small quirk of his lips that he usually does, his form screams power and it wouldn’t take a wolf or vampire to smell the authority on the captain.

“Whew… really making us earn our keep, Captain” The rich skinned sergeant whistles combined with a slight chirp.

“Kyle will take point, Ghost and Deity on support, and Soap on clean up if it calls for it.” You sit in front of Gaz, your chin resting on your propped up knee staring boredly at the Mohawked sergeant across from you that immediately went to protest at his position.

“Clean up duty? What I do to you Price, shit in your coffee?” The wolf’s sarcastic remark doesn’t go unrecognized and his deadpan expression makes it all the obvious he’s not impressed.

“With the full moon in a few days you’re lucky I’m letting you leave homebase at all lad” The dragon matches the man’s tone, gaze pointing at him directly as to say: ‘don’t dig a hole for yourself’. You lean back in your chair, backside pressing against the wall and can feel Gaz’s calf feathers puff up against your shoulder there ghosting over his skin. It could bring a smirk to your face, that he still flaunted himself towards you way after the courting process. You throw your arm out on the edge of the window as you would on the back of the couch and the harpy wants to chur at the open initiation of touch. The hand that wasn’t balled in a fist propping up his cheek goes to brush against your forearm. The strokes are precise and broad like a paintbrush and if you weren’t immune to it goosebumps would’ve risen atop of your skin at the slight drag of his claws.

Kyle wasn’t stupid he knew you were reaching out about the night previous. You barely affectionately reached out to any of them but he didn’t take it to heart after a while. ‘Emotionally constipated’ he liked to joke to the team. Yet you had more than enough reason to reach out when night terrors plagued his mind.

💌💌💌💌

Gaz was painfully aware of this situation he was in being a dream and he didn’t know if that was worse. Dressed head to toe in tac gear bullets punctured through his shoulder and thigh. The sight around him makes him sick, his homebase rained hell upon. The 141 all lie in a pool of their own cold blood, dead before they have a chance to hit the floor.

The sergeant's wings were totaled and if he didn’t have more to worry about he would sob at the connection dying from them. Pitifully, he drags himself to cover behind a base issued truck. His ears are ringing and his body is overheated. When he settles and finally stops turning his head over his shoulder, the feeling of burning bile rises up in throat. Price lied unmoving, staring right back at him with lifeless eyes. One side of the dragon was completely burned and the other battered with bruises and knicks. Calm shore crashing blue eyes turned to nothing but still cold waters.

The harpy is not sure how exactly a phone made its way to his palm, if he’d taken it off the captain or got it off himself, all he knows is he’s dialing that number so familiar to his finger tips.

He fully come to terms that he’s in a dream now if he hadn’t before, somethings are just physically impossible to happen in real life —Yet it still hurts all the same.— The world almost fades to black and just before the tine fails he hears a click on the other side. A scene begins to draw itself out in real time as the hybrid begins to see you standing outside somewhere dressed in your usual all black attire.

“Y/n?! Y/n are you there I need you?!” He opens his mouth and it has yet to register to his shaken brain.

“Kyle?” You questioned, having only called him his real name on occasion and he missed the way he sounded on your lips.

“Oh thank god-, thank god y/n, you’re gonna save me right? I-I called you and you're comin’ to get me?” He tries to suppress his broken whimpers at the end of his rushed rant yet they escaped, neither of you cared to comment on it.

“Kyle, why did you call me? I work for another task force now, I can’t save you.” His brown eyes look at you on the other line, phone pressed against your ear, lips pressed into a line, and brows furrowed. The reality settles on him.

“You didn’t pick up…”

“Right.”

“It went to voicemail.”

“Yeah.”

“..So, this is where it ends.” The words were automated, he wouldn’t say that! He could fix it, he would fix it!

“It’s too late, what’s done is done…” He looks at you again and you of course can’t see him there. The way he painfully reaches out for you, his dead wings weighing his weak body back. You're picking at a loose thread of your jacket, staring off into the abyss.

“There’s nothing I can do Kyle, I’m not real. None of this is…” He knows, he truly knows it deep down yet�� he hates to hear you say it.

“So what do I do now?”

“Kyle… it doesn’t matter”

“Well if it doesn’t matter… Can I stay on the phone with you at least?” He hums lying on his good side as the adrenaline wears down and out of his body.

“Okay…” You hum, sitting on the curb of some sort.

“How was your day?” The toffee skinned sergeant sighed gently, rattling his lungs.

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, my day was good.”

💌💌💌💌

“The op’s meant to be covert, Mactavish. A giant dog scream that to you?” Ghosts gruff voice falls over the conference room and the mutt ‘tsks’ underneath his breath before responding with a curt

“No sir”

You watch the interaction intensely, always the one to observe. Another moment passes and you hum standing from your chair, eyes advert towards your form. Gaz ignores the yearning in his chest and the urge to feel your skin underneath his fingers.

“Pups on clean up, got it. Mind if we wrap this up? I'm hungry.” Price looks at you wearily, before muttering a gruff ‘dismissed’ underneath his breath. You turn expectantly at the harpy crow pulling him with your eyes before you move towards the exit. The hybrid doesn't miss a beat hoping down from his position in the window. Soap irritably follows you both out, parting ways from the debrief room with a stiff tail.

“I was thinking, we could go to the abandoned dock… If you didn't have anything to do.” Gaz watched as you uncertainly inquired with an unusual bashfulness to you that lied underneath the surface of your mask. The harpy fights the calling to puff out the feathers on his chest in response to the rare display.

“Is the sky blue?” He teases and you can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes while the sergeant laughs at the display. You sigh as you both reach the outdoors the wind ruffles the feathers on the crows wings and sends slight chills up your spine at the quick change in temperature. The walk to the dock isn't too far from base somewhere close, yet scheduled and soon enough you're both stepping on the boardwalk. The wood doest croak beneath the pressure while making a way to the ledge Gaz takes a seat his leg dangling above the lake and you follow in suit. The silence is comfortable, the environment around you says what you don't. The current of the water, the leaves rustling in the trees, the bees humming and buzzing further away.

“ Did you sleep any better last night?” The sergeant’s gaze adverts while you stare out onto the water. He couldn't help to stare at your form, your eyes soft and your posture laxed. It was nice to see you so… domesticated. When he doesn't respond your eyes pierce him expectantly waiting for a response and he hums.

“Always sleep better with you” He grins and it isn't short of beautiful. You nudge his shoulder with yours in mock annoyance, the warm skinned harpy leans into you and you allow it. The silence falls over the both of you once more while the sun begins to set against the horizon. He feels you shift above him but doesn't move to look.

“Kyle, I'd never leave you for dead. No matter what happens or how things end… I'll always care for you” As the sergeant moves his line of sight to you his eyes slightly widen at your bare face. Youve shown your face to him a handful of times, usually in the small group setting you always preferred and his breath always seemed to slip away from him despite the fact. The color of your irises, the curve of your nose, the plump of your lips, stray scars from years of battle, the way your curls roll down your shoulders falling loose from the bun you had them in. He could never tire from any of it.

“I know you wouldn't.” He nods his head in response, never averting his eyes from you. The sergeant begins to sit up right and you meet him halfway; the kiss is gentle and soft; it says everything and nothing. Kyle defines himself as a selfish man because the thought of having to break away from you and eventually go back to base is almost worse than the night terror that plagued his mind the night before. You eventually break away from one another and Gaz chases your lips. You huff and nudge him away with your cheek trying to retreat from his over exaggerated puckered lips, you both tip backwards falling back on the boardwalk. The harpy rolls atop of you prepping kisses all over the surface of your face: The plumpness of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the curve of your lips, the skin on your neck. You grunt at the affection and once you had enough you flip yourselves over taking position on top of the harpy. Your hips position on top of his and you take hold of his wrists.

“I’d live in this position if I could Lt.” The toffee skinned sergeant grins up at you while you roll your eyes at his remark.

“You're hangin’ around Soap too much” He hums in response, not moving to deny, it makes you sigh all the more. Gaz grins mischievously and before you could raise a brow he flaps his wings forcing you down to press against his chest.

“If you wanted me closer, all you had to do was ask.” You can't stop the quirk of your lip at the way he looks at you and you're suddenly aware of proximity as well as your position. Your crotch is positioned atop of his, your chests are pressed against one another, and you could feel his breath against your skin. He hums in reply before his lips part.

“I always want you close, Luietantiet.” He practically growls and it isn't hard to give in to his succumbs as your lips smash together and your hips start to rock at a steady pace.

💌💌💌💌

“A fucking cockatrice, so much for a covert OP.” Soap chimes arrogantly into his mic, the Scott wasn't fully transitioned but he did double in size, ears pointed, and more hair adorning his body. He just sounded like he had a smirk on his face and it took everything in Ghots’s being to not wipe it off.

“Hey- silver lining! You're not just cleaning up anymore.” Gaz grunts between words he's perched on the hybrid's shoulders, wrestling a cloth on its eyes as it struggles beneath him. Out of all the bird hybrids he probably hated cockatrice the most and this one wasnt giving them a better track record at all.

“Hell of a recon mission Price.” The harpy chirps into his own mic, as soon as he thought he had a good grip the bird opened his mouth with a screech. The warm skinned sergeant lost his balance falling to the ground and the opposing bird didn't let up, grabbing hold of his wings and pinning them to his hips, applying much more pressure on one over the other. He curses openly twisting in the rabid animals' hold, freeing one wing and unsuccessful in granting freedom to the other. The cockatrice hisses, eyes an uncanny, piercing, red. Soap jumps on the back of the threat, tearing his claws into the hybrid's back, pasts his feathers and into his flesh.

“Chicken..” The two lock eyes and the cockatrice doesn't take a second before flinging the wolf off his back with the flap of his wing. The white feathered being began to panic when Ghost's shadows wrap around his wrists. The skull masked lieutenant pulls the rope like smoke down as the bird struggles underneath him.

“How long are you two gonna keep catching your breath?” He questions gruffly into his mic the hybrid slipping his shadows after twisting and turning from every which direction. The hybrid settles before opening his mouth to let out that wretched screech, but before he could fully project your orange and red sparks of energy wrap around his body and beak.

“Shut the fuck up.” You hiss before throwing its mass form into the tree with the swipe of your wrist. There's littered cracks up your skin like a cracked glass doll that shines a glowing orange underneath the surface. You take a few strides to stand at the side of Gaz and Ghost.

“You broken? The Phoenix and Wraith look at him wearlily and the harpy notes the thin sheet of worry underneath the glare of both of his lieutenants' eyes. Your face is free of your mask the hybrids doing, he was sure; your face matches your hands –the only skin not covered by your gear– cracks kissing your cheeks and your eyes glowing a faint orange.

“Fucker got my wing.” The sergeant huffs rolling his shoulder and attempting to stretch his cramped wing.

“Pay him back for the favor.” Ghost remarks gently raking his gruff fingers through the twisted feathers as gently as he could.

“Planning on it.” He mumbles, handing you your mask that he kept tucked away since he found it. You nod at him in thanks before slipping it back over your head, slipping your gloves back on in suit from your pockect. Before you could part your lips your attention directed towards the stray tail that came at you. Gaz expands his good wing stretching it behind your backs acting as a wall of protection. You and Ghost Interlock shadows and energy to rope around the cockatrice's tail. You all come to see Soap tearing a chunk out of the hybrid's neck as its squeaks and screeches die out. He’d tripled in size and shifted completely.

“..Fucking hell…” Ghost mutters

“So much for keeping it together ‘till the full moon. Guess we're lucky he's getting his energy out now, Soaps a handful when his wolf takes over.” Gaz hums knowingly at the scene.

“Less of a chatterbox at least.” You muse watching as the wolf digs into the white feather bird way past his time of death.

“Sure, but harder to wrangle. Can understand orders well enough, doesn't mean he’ll follow them and he’s… got a lot less inhibitions.” The wolf lands in front of you all, tail swiftly thumping behind, him panting softly.

“Menace in all forms, Huh?” You chide rubbing up and down the wolf's snout while his tongue darts to lick at your hand. Ghost fights the quirk of his lips at the sight, as the scott rubs himself against his body, stealing chin scratches from Gaz.

“He stuck like this until the end of the full moon?” The skull masked lieutenant questioned taking the thought from your mind.

“Or when the wolf gets bored. Whichever comes first.” The harpy replied not taking his eyes off the thick furred sergeant. He eventually hums and nudges you both with his eyes for help. You begin to lead the way, quickly turning around at the sound of the wolf whining and whimpering. Ghosts has his shadows around his neck as a makeshift leash yet that doesn't seem to be the reason for his protest. His animalistic brown eyes don't seem to leave your form as he approaches you. The Scott’s snout nudges your shoulder and you lift your hand up to see what he wants and with sharp teeth he tugs your glove off.

“You serious?” You huff at him as he licks your hand before nuzzling his neck on the same spot, whining when you didn't seem to comply.

“Alright, Alright.” You roll your eyes as you take part in Ghosts' shadows, red and orange sparks littering the black smoke around the wolf's neck. You both have hold of the wolf while Gaz lied perched on his furry back. You could imagine the facepalm and deep sigh Price would give you all when you returned to base.

💌💌💌💌

Not the post you were expecting on your feed 😭

it’s been a hell of a year and it’s only march hello?

trying to form a posting schedule, mind you.

[nthewriter]

(Sorry for the wait but turns out writing domestic stuff is not my forte. Hopes it satisfy some of you! Angst is coming ! And also planning some more fics with the cod characters being parents and some with romantic meet cute with them. I shut up now)

Being Simon's long lost biological child

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 (you are here!)

Living with someone who had an ankle monitor was odd.

The person being his own flesh and blood was even weirder.

Simon watched them like a hawk, as they visited each of the room he and Johnnh had bought together. A small English cottage, with a garden, and a vegetable one for Simpn. His therapist said it would help him in a way, to manage his anger and his stress. And, even if he hated to admit, it was working pretty well.

His child looked and observed each detail in the living room, mainly the pictures adorning the wall. They stopped in front of one: a picture of Soap and Ghost on their wedding day. It was a small wedding, only with a few people attending, and Johnny's family.

"You're married, uh?" They spoke, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah. To Johnny." Simon replied with a matter of fact voice. Why was it so hard to speak to them?

"You didn’t even keep a picture of me and mom." They growled with a huff, resentment in their voice, as one of their feet scratched the ankle monitor.

He wanted to say they were wrong. Wrong because Simon had kept some pictures but didn't put them on display. For him, it was a dark time. He was constantly on OP, out, and when he wasn't, he would try to spend time with his child. But being a father was difficult. Too difficult for him because he constantly thought he would be like his own father, and would end up hurting Elsie and the kid.

Johnny came behind him, placing a gentle hand on his hip and a kiss in his neck. But Simon didn't really move. Too much of a coward to face his past.

"Wanna see your room?" The Scott asked (Y/N) gently. "I mean- it's a guest room but it can become your room."

"Whatever."

"Even got your attitude." He mused back to Simon, as the angry kid walked past them.

The older man was no fool. He saw how Johnny tried to sound and be happy, joyful, hopeful, as if everything was going to be alright. But he saw right through him. He saw how frightened he looked. Johnny had been a bit skittish ever since being shot in the head, poor man got deeply traumatised. It was the straw that broke the camel back.

"I got it. Just- take a breather." Simon pecked his lips, smoothing the iconic mohawk of his husband. Smoking was an unhealthy habit they both shared. But as unhealthy as it was, it felt good in a way. Like their problems were going away when they blew out the smoke "And a nice cupa."

He found his kid roaming the room. It was a simple bedroom, with a big bed, the walls were painted a soft blue colour, Johnny's favourite. There were a few paintings done by one of his sisters on the wall, and a China vase his mother has given the couple. And of course, a big wooden closet, full of old clothes and boxes.

"Isn't it nice?" Simon said softly, hands in his pocket. "We could go shopping and-"

"Can't go out of the perimeters of the house except to report back twice a week to Captain Garrick, remember?" (Y/N) spoke back immediately.

"Right. I forgot. Sorry."

"I'm tired." They then spoke out bluntly, clearly not wanting their father here with them.

"I should let you sleep a bit then." Simon moved to close the curtains, plunging the room in darkness. He stopped himself from... from tucking them. Memories flashed back of little four year old (Y/N) squealing in delight when Simon would tuck them, when Elsie was busy studying. She had been a good mother despite her young age. "Erm. If- if you wake up, me and Johnny will be downstairs. We'll try not to be loud or anything."

Would he be ever able to connect with them? Simon wondered as he closed the door.

[writer-fennec]

CoD shifter AU

I don't keep in mind birth location, but rather the looks and behaviours of each animal.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz for me is a Crin Wolf. Looks like a hybrid between a fox and a wolf, the fucker has looooong legs, since to the shoulder it can reach up to 120 cm, I tought mainly the colouring suited Gaz. Also I imagine that with those long legs falling usually hurts more (because you acquire higher velocity) and this explains the "I'm hanging from a bloody rope, Nik!" thing a lot better. Also since it's a canine it is obviouslya very smart species, and it's a solitary animal.

John "Soap" McTavish

Have you ever heard about the Stiped hyena? Now you have.

The males have a natural mohawk, and they look like Hyenas (that part is kinda obvious), but with stripes! They tend to haunt in groups and they usually have various puppies in one go, which would only ancourage the idea that soap has many sisters and I mean... Look at those puppy eyes, look at those eyes!

Simon "Ghost" Riley

It might sound a little obvious, but I wanna say that he is a bat! I had many options of black animals, but look up bats eating fruits, it is the cutest thing ever!

I had many different possibilities for Ghost since the main thing about him is black, but then I remebered that his call sign is literally associated with the supernatural, and the closest thing we have to the supernatural that is also an animal are bats since they could possibly be vampre shifters (bear with me) and then I tought that since Ghost is a big lad he must be a big bat! Soooo Large flying fox for Ghost! I saw this animal in a zoo twice and they are BIG! Like they can hug an everage sized person with their wings and eat some fruits while sitting on your lap!

Also, depite them being brown-orange coloured (AKA Ghost's eye colour) they are still a dark colour if not hit by direct light! ANd they are also nocturnal, explaining how Ghost can sta wake at really tiring hours of the night and how he takes down enemies so efficently (echolocation baby!)

John Price

Defnitely the linx! It's a deadly predator, can jump four times his height, has the PAWS that are pretty big and a natural beard

Look at this fella! Its him!

@bone-trash should I make the rest too?

Nikolai

No context given

@bone-trash should I do the rest of the characters too?

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand; Part 3

Pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Warnings: OOC Simon (kinda?), fluff, alcohol, pregancy, talks of abortion, vomiting,

Summary: Its been 3 months since your night in the sheets with Simon and your life just got a whole lot more complicated.

A/N: I know, I know. okay. I get it. Not everyone like the pregnancy trope, so if you dont im sorry. If i lose some readers for this then im sad to see you go but i hope to see you in future writings i do for the COD men. This is not going to be like other pregnancy tropes that get all mushy and fluffy and light after. This story will be filled with dark themes coming in later chapters that i hope will keep people interseted. We all know Simon Riley's life cant be easy, so if you're still here after this part. Buckle up. Its a wild ride.

Word Count: 5,015

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 1, Part 2

The bar looked exactly the same as it did three months ago. The music wasn't as loud, but that was probably because it was still early. Many people were still at work at 5pm on a Thursday.

Not you, you had found a job working online, writing articles for business pages. It wasn't the most exciting thing in the world but it paid well, and it occupied most of your time. An added bonus of not leaving for work was you never had to worry about coming home from the office to find someone on your couch. You shake your head trying to clear the thoughts. You weren't even 100% sure why you were here, the chances that Soap even knew Simon were slim. But he had said he knew almost everyone that came to the bar. 

So there was a chance.

One you couldn't pass up, you had to at least try.

Wrapping your coat around you tighter, you walk into the bar. The dim lights reflect off the shiny tables. A few people sit at them, watching a replay of a game on tv. You glance around behind the bar, looking for the familiar mohawk. 

It pops up from behind the bar towards the end, Soap holds a bin of limes in his arms. He sets the bin down on the shiny black countertop, pulling a small cutting board out from the top of the bin and a knife. He slices a lime in half as you slide into the seat in front of him. His blue eyes meet yours and a smile breaks out on his face. 

“Lass! Good to see ya, you disappeared on me the last time ye were here!” He smiles, turning the lime and cutting it again. 

“Sorry about that, I needed to clear my head, I hope I didn't upset you,” you smile back, placing your hands on the bar.

“Nay, what can I get for ye? Vodka Soda?” he asks, setting the knife down as he turns towards the shelves of alcohol behind him.

“Uh, actually, can I just have water instead?” You bite your bottom lip and Soap nods, grabbing a glass and filling it. He slides the glass of water in front of you, and you stare down into it. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, looking at you with one raised eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah, I'm fine. Early day tomorrow ya know? Don't want to be hung over is all.”

“Aye i get that, so what brings you here?” Soap leans his forearms against the bar, “Miss me?” He smiles.

You can't help but roll your eyes, “Oh totally,” you laugh.

“I knew it, not many women can resist the MacTavish charm,” Soap grins, he stands back up and picks up the knife. He cuts each lime into wedges before putting them in the bin, you reach over grabbing one from the cutting board and squeeze it into your water. 

“Aye! Paw off,” Soap smiles, shaking the knife at you. A smile of your own breaks out on your lips as you watch him. 

“You have plenty to spare, plus someone around here has to keep you busy.”

“I assure you Lass, the folk around here keep me plenty busy,” Soap points over your shoulder where Price and Gaz are walking in. They’re deep in a conversation as they make their way over to where you are sitting in front of Soap. 

Kyle is the first to notice you, and he pauses looking at you over. “Y/n, it's good to see you again, not going to lie. I was kinda sad you left without a goodbye last time,” Gaz takes the seat on the left.

“Sorry about that, I promise to say bye this time. I don’t want to bruise your ego,” You say over the rim of your glass. 

“Good, I don't think I can hear him wallow about it anymore,” Price says as he sits in the stool on your right. “So what do you think of London? Everything you could’ve imagined?”

“It’s alright… It rains a lot more than I'm used to, but it's not too bad. Definitely different from the small town I'm from,” you look over at him. He gives you a small smile, and turns towards Soap. 

“Soap, we ship out tomorrow morning, be ready at 0600 hours,” Price grunts as Soap puts the last lime into the bin. 

“Yes sir,” Soap turns towards the bottles of liquor on the shelf and grabs a bottle of bourbon. He sets it down on the counter with a soft thud, he then grabs two glasses for them, pouring each man two fingers. He slides the glasses across the bar to them, the acidic smell of the bourbon makes your stomach turn. Saliva pools in your mouth as you desperately try to swallow. 

“Oh uh, Soap, I wanted to ask if you knew someone actually,” You take a sip of water, your eyes following him as he moves behind the bar. Soaps bright blue eyes look over at you, his brows furrowed together. 

“I might,” he smiles. A loud noise from behind you startles you, and a drunken man tumbles into the back of your stool. His drink spilling down your back as he leans against the back of the barstool, the smell of the alcohol hits your nose. 

“Oops,” the drunken man mumbles, his breath wafting over your face.

Your stomach rolls, as Price and Gaz help the man up. Gaz and Price half drag him away from you as he continues to mumble about his drink. Gaz says something and pats him on the chest as they pull him to the door. You stand from the chair, the fabric of your coat and shirt now sticking to you. Nausea rolls through you as you try to breathe through your mouth. 

“You alright lass? You look a little green,” Soap is now standing in front of you, a clean bar towel in his hands. He gently pats the towel against your soaked shirt and coat trying to soak up some of the liquid that's seeping into your skin. 

You can't answer, if you open your mouth you’re sure you’ll throw up so you push past Soap and hurry towards the bathroom. Soap follows behind you, pausing at the door to the women's room. You shove open one of the stall doors and drop to your knees. The cold tiles bite through the fabric of your jeans, as the contents of your stomach is emptied into the porcelain bowl. It takes you several minutes to stop dry heaving, your stomach clenching painfully with each contraction of your abs. When the feeling settles you stand, before rinsing your mouth out with some water from the tap. You grab a paper towel, wiping your hands and mouth.

“You alright in there?” Soap calls through the door, his voice laced with concern. 

“Yeah..” you call back, tossing the paper towel into the bin and pulling open the door, “Sorry about that.” You shove your hands into your pockets as you come face to face with Soap. His eyebrows knit together in worry as he looks over you, one hand hovers in the air as if hes going back and forth on if he should touch you or not.

“You su-” he pauses looking over your shoulder, his eyes widened slightly.

“MacTavish, the bar can't run itself…” A familiar voice rumbles, the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Memories of your night 3 months ago rushes back, that same voice that murmured praise to you as he pounded into you. 

You whip around, at the end of the hall stands Simon, his black hoodie pulled up over his head, his mouth and nose covered by a skull print face mask. His brown eyes widen slightly as he sees you. “Y/n…” he whispers. 

“You two know each other?” Soap muses from behind me, his hands coming to rest on my shoulder as he walks by. An uncomfortable silence settles over the hallway and Soap slips by, muttering “I’ll leave you two alone…” 

Simon takes a few steps towards you, and it seems like he takes up the whole hallway. You look up as he towers over you, his face is unreadable, he lifts a hand, brushing his fingertips across your cheek. It sends electricity skittering across your skin, your breath catches in your throat.

Over the past 3 months you have tried to forget about the man whose brown eyes haunted your dreams. Whose touch caused your mind to go blank. Like someone wiping a harddrive. But there was no forgetting, not anymore. He was here in front of you, sure, you had come to ask Soap if he knew him. But you hadn't expected to run into him tonight. You still had no idea what you were going to say to him. How do you justify just leaving his house at 3am?

“You could've said goodbye, you know… You didn't have to sneak out and call an Uber at 3am..” Simon whispers, and guilt slams into you. He knew you left. He wasn't asleep like you thought…

“I-I..” you stumble over your words, unsure what to say. There wasn't anything you could say really. You knew you should’ve just waited, dealt with the awkward small talk. Maybe even exchange numbers you would never plan on using. But nope.

Instead you fled. Just like you fled after your sister's funeral.

At least you were consistent. 

“I’m not upset, I understand.” Simon adds after a moment, his hands shoved deep in his pockets of his hoodie. 

“Simon.. I.. I’m sorry.. I’ve been going through a lot. And i didnt .. I couldn't face you after that. Not, not that you did anything wrong. Because you didn't! I mean you were great. I just,” You run a hand through your hair. “God, this is not how I wanted this to go.” 

“Breathe. Love, breathe.” Simons hands cup your face and you freeze. “It’s okay, like I said I'm not upset with you,” he lets his hands drop, and you nod. 

“I didn't know you knew Soap,” He muses, leaning against the wall. You shuffle your feet, taking a deep breath.

“Yeah… I met him the same night I met you… You know him too, yeah?” 

“Soap, Gaz, Price and I all serve together,” Simon rubs the back of his neck with his hand, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Oh! I don't know how I didn't pick up that you were military,” You bite your lip looking down at his black boots. 

“We didn't exactly get to know each other very much that night..” Simon says, and a small blush creeps up your cheeks at the mention of your night together. “So what brings you here tonight?” Simon asks.

The familiar feeling of nausea swirls in your stomach again, you clench your fists, nails biting into your palm. Something you have come to do a lot over the past few months. “I came here to ask about you, actually. I needed to talk to you..” You whisper, and Simon's brows furrow.

“Well you found me.. What did you need to talk about?” He asks, as you chew your bottom lip. Anxiety creeps into your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs like an icy hand. The air rushes from your lungs, your eyes burning with tears.

 How the hell could you turn this man's life upside down?

“Hey, hey,” Simon whispers, his large hands clasp your shoulders steadying you. The world feels a million miles away, like you were floating out in space untethered. Everything sounds muffled, and the lights are suddenly too bright in the hallway. You raise your shaky hands, running them through your hair. A large hand guides you down the hall a little until the bitter cold air of winter in London hits you. You gasp, your lungs filling with the cold air, goosebumps break out along your heated skin. 

The world slowly comes back into focus, soft murmuring in your ear as large arms wrap around your middle holding you against a solid chest. “Breathe, you’re alright, you’re okay… Just breathe, Love.” Simon murmurs into your ear. Tears fall from your eyes, trails of hot tears stream down your cold cheeks. 

“I’m sorry I left that night…” you gasp in between sobs, “and i am so sorry im going to say this…” You whisper the last part. At first you aren't sure Simon heard you but after a moment he turns you around. His arms are still around you as he looks down at you, your teeth starting to chatter from emotion and the wind.

“Whatever you have to say can't be that bad, love. Did you find out you had some like STI or something? Do I need to get tested?” He asks, his brown eyes searching your tear stained face. His hands moving up and down your body in an attempt to warm you up and comfort you at the same time.

You shake your head, if only an STI was the least of your problems. “N-no, i didn't give you anything like that…” you choke out.

Simon watches you as you stand face to face with him in the same alley you met him in 3 months ago. Although this time you’re different, instead of the woman who was caught in her own head. Who was running from demons he couldn't see, trying her best to show the world it couldn't break her. Instead standing in front of him was a woman who was scared, who looked so lost in the world, like she was barely hanging on. He studies you, even as you stand in front of him crying, your entire body shaking. You were still beautiful, and he would be lying if he said he didn't think about you. 

You had haunted him every moment since he heard you leave the apartment. When he heard the door click shut it took everything in him not to follow you out. But he didn’t, he laid there staring up at the ceiling until almost 5, before he got up and started making himself some tea. It was then he noticed the note you left your swirling handwriting on the scarp paper wishing him well. He was saddened to see you hadn’t left a way to contact you, but part of him understood. He had offered you a chance to get out of your head for a while. He hadn’t asked you on a date. He DIDN'T date. 

The onslaught of disappointment was tough for him to swallow. Simon was never upset when a woman he brought to bed left with no goodbye, and a hasty note. Simon preferred it that way, it was better if the one night stands didn’t stick around but for some reason Simon couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how your curves felt beneath his palms. The silky smooth expanse of your skin. The way your moans stirred something deep in him, or the way your eyes told him more than you ever would. 

Now as he looked down at you, standing in the darkened alley way. He knew whatever you wanted to say was about to bring his world crashing down. But instead of the overwhelming feeling to flee, that he normally had when confronting emotional issues like this. Simon wanted to hold you close and tell you that it was okay, that whatever it was you could face it and make it out the other side. During his years of doing interrogations and studying people he had learnt the signs of when someone was teetering on the edge. It was clear in your face and body language that you were one gentle gust of wind from toppling over. Crumbling into pieces he wasn’t sure anyone could put back together.

“What is it then Sweetheart? I’ll help you figure it out, whatever it is.” He whispers, pulling you closer to him, his body heat seeping into you, as the wind blows. You sniffle, your shaking hands coming up to swipe at the tears under your eyes. You take one last breath, eyes closed as you brace yourself.

“I’m pregnant.” 

It’s like the world stopped spinning.

Time was suddenly suspended, as you pried your eyes open to look at Simon. His brown eyes were guarded. His brows pulled together, as his hands stopped their motions for a fraction of a second. Your lungs burned from holding your breath, your throat tight. Every muscle in your body was tense, as you waited for him to say something. Do something. You needed some sort of reaction from him. Yelling, screaming, swearing, anything was better than the earth shattering silence that took place after you muttered the two words you hadn’t yet said out loud since you found out.

It wasn’t like you planned on getting pregnant by your one night stand. Hell. It was the LAST thing you wanted. You were always careful to get your birth control shot every 3 months. But with the chaos of the last few months, somewhere along the line you must’ve missed your last appointment. It wasn’t until you went into your appointment earlier today to get a shot that they had informed you they couldn’t administer it. That you were already pregnant.

“Okay.”

The word shocks you, and for a moment you aren’t sure you hear him right. You raise an eyebrow, as you look at Simon.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll figure it out.” Simon states, his hands resuming their soothing motion up and down your sides.

“You’re not.. not going to freak out?” You whisper.

“There’s nothing to freak out about, this isn’t just going to go away. So we need to talk about our options, and we will. Just got standing in the back alley of a pub.”

“Okay…” you whisper, as Simon’s hands guide you towards the emergency exit door that he brought you through. The inside of the bar is louder than before, more people have shown up. Soap, Gaz and Price are all talking at the end of the bar. Your glass of water is filled and sitting on a napkin. They all look over when you two walk over.

“Ghost, Soap was just telling me that you and y/n know each other. Small world isn’t it?” Gaz smiles, his brown eyes looking between us. 

“We do,” Simon turns to Price, “I’m going to be bringing her home, I’ll see you at 0600 tomorrow, Captain.” 

There’s a look that passes between Price and Simon, but he just nods, then turns towards you. “I hope to see you again, dear, maybe next time we can all have a nice meal.” 

“Maybe,” you smile, after waving goodbye to Soap and Gaz, Simon leads you out to the street where the cars are parked. 

“Did you drive here?” He asks, looking down at you.

“No I took the bus,” you shove your hands into the pockets of your coat. It was still wet from where the guy spilt his drink, and you shivered.

“I’ll drive you home,” Simon takes your hand, pulling you towards his truck. He pulls open the passenger door and waits for you to get settled in the seat before shutting it. You run your hands together as Simon climbs into the driver's seat. He starts the truck, turning the heat on high.

“Where do you live?” He asks, as he turns on the headlights. 

“On Ashton street, the apartment complex there” from the corner of your eye you see Simon visibly stiffened, but he doesn’t say anything as he pulls away from the curb. The ride is mainly quiet, neither one of you having much to say. As you get closer to your apartment your anxiety starts to grow again. What if he tells you to get rid of it? 

Is that what you wanted? What if he decided he would rather give it up for adoption? Would he help you find a family? Maybe he would tell you he didn’t want anything to do with a baby? Could you deal with a baby? Bile burns in the back of your throat, and you try to swallow it back down. You weren’t about to throw up all over his nice truck. The grimy bathroom of a bar was one thing, but Simon’s leather interior of his car was not an option. Simon turns down a side street, there weren’t many streetlights on this stretch of the drive. You try to focus on the passing shadows but the rolling and twisting in you hug doesn’t let up.

“Can you pull over please?” You whisper, and Simon glances at you. Your hands bunched in the fabric of your coat, your eyes closed as you take deep breaths. Simon eases the car over, barely putting the car in park before you flung the door open and hop out. You move a few feet into the woods, your hands scraping against the tough bark of a tree, as you get sick. Bile burns your throat and nose, tears stream down your cheeks. 

Warm hands gather the hair from your face and hold it back. Holding your hair back with one hand the other rubs up and down your back. It takes several minutes of dry heaving for you to be able to stand up. A handkerchief is suddenly floating in front of you. You take it and wipe your mouth with it, shoving it into your pocket after.

“You okay?” Simon asks, as you take a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sorry..” you mumble, as you turn back to the car and climb back in. Simon doesn’t say anything as he climbs in and continues to drive to your apartment. As he parks his car, he glances around, his eyes resting on the boarded up windows of the glass door.

“Everything okay?” You ask, noticing as he stares at the glass like he’s trying to get it to tell him what happened to it.

“Yeah. Sorry, let’s go inside,” he mumbles, climbing out and coming to your side. He pulls open your door and offers you a hand. You walk towards the building Simon’s entire body is tense as some residents barrel out of the door. They’re shouting and swearing as they stumble out, a lit cigarette dangling from their fingers. Simon pushes you behind him, as they pass, he watches as they head over to a parked car and continue arguing in front of it.

“They’ll stop arguing after a while. They do this often..” you mutter to Simon as you take his hand pulling him towards the door. He grunts and follows you up the three flights of stairs to your apartment. You hesitate, your hand on the knob as you take a deep breath. Entering was always the hardest part now, every time your hand touches the handle the images of your family break through the mental box you shoved them into. You let out the breath you were holding and pushed open the door. Flicking on the light switch next to the door. 

Your eyes falling on the empty couch against the far wall in the living room. Some of the tension leaves your shoulders as you stare at the threadbare fabric. You step further into the apartment allowing Simon to slip in behind you. He turns the locks on the door, and reaches down unlacing his boots. 

“I don't have much to offer.. Is water okay?” You ask as you shrug off your alcohol stained coat. The fabric is a sticky mess, the fabric ruined from the drink spilt on it at the bar. Tossing it onto the counter, you head over to the cabinet and take down two glasses. 

“Water is okay,”  Simon walks into your living room and takes a seat. He watches you fill the two glasses with water and you come and sit on the other side of the couch, handing him the glass. 

“When did you find out?” Simons asks, taking his face mask off and shoving it into his pocket and taking a sip of water. 

“This afternoon… I went in to get my birth control shot and they make you do a pregnancy test…” You pull your legs up to your chest, holding the glass of water in one hand. The other hand wraps around your shins keeping them pulled up to your chest.

“Did they tell you how far along you are?” He asks, “So we know what our options are, I mean.” 

“They said based on the blood work, 12 weeks. But I have to go in to get an ultrasound next week..” 

“Okay, so we don't have a lot of time to make a choice… have you thought about what you want to do?” Simon sets his glass down on the table next to the couch.

“I .. I don't know.. I was waiting to hear what you had to say before I made up my mind.” You mumble, your eyes trained on a spot of carpet that is fraying.

“If I'm being honest, I never wanted kids. They were never in my cards… I'm not saying I don't like them, kids are great, I just never pictured myself having any,,” he admits.

Your heart sinks.

Here we go, he's going to tell you to get rid of it, and tell you to delete his number, forget he exists and move on with your life. 

“But, with you, it feels right.. There's just something about you that I can't get out of my head and at the risk of sounding like a total barbarian. The thought of having you in my life until I die because of this baby fills me with excitement. I wanted to go after you when you snuck out of my apartment but I didn't want you to be uncomfortable. The night I spent with you was one of the best nights I've ever had. So if you would like to, I would love the chance to raise this baby with you. Even if it's as friends and nothing more. Because I know that you were put into my life for a reason, and I'm going to take any chance I can get to keep you around,” Simon finishes, his hand coming to rest on your ankle. 

You sit there for a few moments, mind reeling with everything he just said to you. He wanted to raise a baby with you? Just so he could get to know you? Did you really have that much of a profound effect on him? Would he still feel the same when he found out what had happened to you? Could you do this? I mean really do this?

Babies are huge commitments. They were for life; there was no backing out. But the way Simon was looking at you, like he would take on the world for you with barely knowing you. It made you feel like you could do it. As long as you didn't have to do it alone, well, at least not completely. You chew on your bottom lip for a few more minutes, the thoughts rolling around in your head as Simon's eyes trail around your apartment. 

“Okay…” you finally whisper and Simon's head whips towards you.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I-i don't think i can get rid of it anyway… The thought makes me feel sick,” you confess and the tension in Simon's shoulders all but disappears. 

“Alright, we can figure this out. No pressure for us to be together, we can just start by becoming friends, and seeing where things go okay?” He smiles, and its a real genuine smile. Your heart stutters in your chest, and you can't help your own smile that spreads across your lips. 

“If we’re being honest here,” you sigh, wringing your hands together in your lap,”I couldn't stop thinking about you either… I mean, even before all… yeah.. You know.”

Simon's hand comes over to rest on the side of your face, and he leans forward pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I'm glad to hear that I wasn't the only one with lingering thoughts,” he chuckles.

Simon drops his hand and looks around your place once more, a furrow deep in his brow. He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it, before he notices the time on the clock hanging on your wall. It was almost 10 and he needed to check over his gear before he shipped out in the morning. 

“I hate to do this… but I have to go,” his lips pulled down into a thin straight line.

“Oh right.. You told Price you would see him in the morning…”

“Yeah… Look, i can't tell you much, but i don't know how long i’ll be gone…” he looks around, and grabs the notebook you write your ideas for articles down in and scribbles on a spare piece. “This is my number, i won't promise i’ll respond while i'm away, but if anything happens, call this number 3 times in a row and you’ll get through to someone who can get a message to me okay? But that is only for emergencies, otherwise just text me and i’ll do my best to get back to you, alright?” He tears the paper out, coming to stand in front of you. He presses the paper into your hand. It crumples slightly as you close your hand around it.

“Okay,” you murmur, looking up at him from your spot on the couch. His fingers crush along your cheek as he brushes a strand of your hair back from your face. 

“Be safe, keep the door locked… i’ll be back soon and we’ll go do something fun and get to know each other.” Simon smiles, as he takes a few steps backwards towards the door. 

“I’ll hold you to it,” you smile, “Be safe out there.”

The only response is the soft click of the door.

Next: Part 4

[astr0exe]

ong i feel like im bothering you with my requests 😭😭😭 but if you still do reqs can i suggest FTM bratty pillow prince R with any cod character? maybe some overstimulation n character eating R out?? if you don’t want to do it its completely okay! Hope you have a great rest of your day/night 🫶🏼

not bothering me at all ml🫶🏻💐 have a good day/night yourself and hope this lives up to what you hoped !!

tw : tm!reader (swollen dick is used) , brat reader, overstimulation , slight degradation (?) , lots of praise , squirting , aftercare , no actual sex

bratty!reader with a Soap who is smitten and soft until he snaps.

bratty!reader who lounges around in one of Johnny’s camo shirts and a tiny thong, talking back and being rude. “But Johnnyyyy, I’ll do it later, pinky promise” you mumble, not even paying attention to the man in front of you too engrossed on your phone, your legs kicking in the air behind you as you go back to ignoring your boyfriend.

bratty!reader with a Johnny who just sighs shaking his head, trying to be nice and calm, his patience decreasing every second you ignore him. He finally has enough of your tone and attitude and just picks you up and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

bratty!reader who gasps and struggles before getting a swift spank to the arse, a hard one at that, making you whine and whimper at the pain. Johnny still not saying anything as he just marches you to the bedroom. Basically throwing you on the bed before pushing your hips against his as he straddles you, staring down at you with narrowed eyes “I’ve ‘ad enough of you’r attitude bonnie..” he sighs running his hands over his face, shaking his head “I ken wha to do with you boy.”

bratty!reader who huffs and rolls their eyes pushing against Soaps strong body “Johnny.. get off I’m boreddd” you whine huffing again, still pushing your small hands against his large muscles. Johnny just closes his eyes, “Bonnie.. stop being a brat..” he mumbles, trying to figure out a way to get you to be his good boy again:(

bratty!reader who LAUGHS in Johnnys face. Johnny’s face hardens as he basically glares down at you his hands working down your body slowly, his grip tight and unforgiving as he reaches your hips and thighs, not caring for the possible bruises that may form, Johnny will kiss them better tomorrow he thinks to himself, but tonight? tonight you are getting treated like a little slut.

bratty!reader whos eyes widen when Johnny comes face to face with your drenched pussy, pulsing and quivering around nothing, your thighs being sticky from your arousal dripping down them as well, making Soap laugh at the fact you get off on pissing him off. His tongue nudges your swollen dick, taking it in his mouth as his hands come to rest on your inner thighs which he lets wrap around his head.

bratty!reader who moans loudly from their sensitive dick being overwhelmed by Johnnys soft mouth and impressive tongue, you moan and whine, writhing around to the point where Soap has to hold down your hips, glaring at you to be still and nipping at your sensitive thighs before diving back into your sopping cunt.

softdom!johnny who mumbles praises into your pussy “good boy there we go.. not so bratty now hey doll..” his words inaudible but the vibrations that hit you were so strong your legs started shaking around Soaps head. Your legs clenching and unclenching in the same rhythm that Soaps tongue is dipping into your cunt, Soap won’t come up for air until you cum on his tongue.

bratty!reader whos mind blanks as soon as Johnny’s tongue prods your drenched entrance, you have no thoughts.. no words.. all you can do is cling to Johnny’s sweat drenched mohawk and squirt over his face, your juices filling his mouth as he moans happily, his eyes rolling back at the taste.

bratty!reader who tries to push Soap away after you come down from your orgasm, but to no avail. You whine and moan loudly “Johnnyyy” is all you can say, your legs trembling around Johnny’s head as he smirks into your pussy, he’s decided on your punishment. Overstimulation.

softdom!Johnny keeps eating you out and sucking you off like a man who has been lost in a desert and he has finally found water, your juices running down his chin as his nose nudges your overly sensitive cock. All you can do is whine and moan, your hands gripping the sheets with white knuckles, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your shouts become more high pitched.

bratty!reader who can’t even speak as you cum again, just drenching Soap even more pushing against his head exhausted, needing to stop as you black out due to your orgasm.

bratty!reader who wakes up completely cleaned up with Johnny next to you, playing with your hair softly mumbling praises. When he realises you have woken up he grabs you the cold bottle of water along with the bowl of fruit that was on the bedside table.

bratty!reader and softdom!johnny who end up just putting on a disney movie, cuddling. Falling asleep knowing you are safe within his arms

[ghostmoon1]

You know what, to start the year off, Imma make this lil appreciation post.

Now it's only been like, less than a year since I joined Tumblr about, I've been writing and drawing for years before this point, but the community here, especially the CoD community which I am mainly apart of just made me feel amazing. Everyone I've met here are some of the nicest people.

I have gotten my old hobbies back, giving me reason to write and draw again which have majorly helped with my own mental health, and now I just wanted to give the amazing people a shout out to start the year off, to hopefully make peoples days, and to just let them know that I appreciate yall!

In no specific order :3 and if you don't wanna be pinged again by me, please let me know and I won't!! No harm done, I hope this is okay :) and this is prob gonna be cringe or smt.. all sappy but like.Yeah here yall are lmao-

Putting them under the cut as there are a few :3

@gomzdrawfr - You've been a massive influence since I joined the CoD community, I adored your art from the very start, and your just such a sweet and kind person, one that I'm so thankful to have met, and so proud to be able to call you my friend. You're the first proper friend I've made here, and I can't tell you how much our talks make me smile every single time. And I'm also so thankful for the community you have sorta helped me get into, you've helped me feel comfortable interacting with more people here :3

@shadeops21 - You were honestly the person that got me to join Tumblr! I was looking for something to try and make my own Konig cosplay (that's been given up on bc motivation and Tik Tok just. yeahhh) and I found you, and all your amazing work! I basically made my account to see if you'd make any more, cause I just love what you do so much, it's got to be so helpful for so many people!!

@sleepyconfusedpotato - After Shadeops, you were the very second person I found here! And oh my gosh how much I obsessed (and still do) over your art, especially Jade. You inspired me to write my first ever fic on here, actually, where I made my first CoD oc ship with Soap, your art and what you do honestly helped me feel comfortable making something like that for myself, cause some of the toxic people on Tik Tok made me uneasy and unsure about that lol- And now, I finally have an OC I'm working in depth on, and you're my biggest reason to thank for that.

@soaps-mohawk - Your writing has inspired me so much, and I couldn't thank you enough for making your wonderful fic. I may not be like, a OG, but I've been there since around chapter 20 I think? I could be wrong, but half way through sorta. You are the biggest reason I started writing again here, you just create masterpieces. And this is the first time I've ever been hooked into a fic so much, and what got me into liking the Omegaverse (you hooked me and I can't let go of it now...) Thank you for taking your time with your writing, and thank you for all the inspiration you have given me.

@on-a-lucky-tide - Oh my gosh how much you have yanked me into the Nikprice community. I adore every single one of your writing pieces, and honestly, you are another who has helped inspire me to write more. All your writing is so filled with emotion and love, I want to be able to do that as well. Your a wonderful person, I've seen you interact with this community and everyone, and I just adore you as a person and all the hard work you put time and effort into creating.

@rainyrambles-overcod - I adore your oc's and rambles so much!! And I couldn't tell you how happy it makes me to have a friend that is okay with the tag games, I never know who to tag for those sorta things, but I actually feel okay tagging you and they are so fun and always brighten my mood :3 Keep creating, I can't wait to see what else you come up with. Thank you for all the tag games and fun!!

@nekrosmos - Yet another that has helped drag me into the Nikprice community or cult ig that too. Your art is absolutely amazing, I truly want to be able to draw like you do. Just everything about your art has me in awe, the emotion, the style, the love everything. Seeing your art brings me so much happiness! Oh and your writing is BEAUTIFUL. That also brings me joy to take a little time out of my day to sit and read the time and effort you put into everything, and how kind of a person you are. I always hope you'll keep creating, and always remember how much joy you bring both myself and others.

@daredaredoodles - I know we don't interact a whole lot, but you honestly mean a lot to me still. You were my first ever mutual on this site, and I will be forever grateful for this. Personally its anxiety that stops me from barging into peoples Dm's and talking, but yeah. Thank you for that, even if it is only a small thing.

@cricricorner - you were my first follower, and I still see you in my notifications from time to time, which always brings me joy! It's wonderful to see your followers still interact with your content, and I couldn't say how grateful I am. I couldn't tell you how happy I was to gain my first follower here, so thank you for taking your time to read my writing and see my art.

@daydreamsareallineed - You were pretty much the first person to show so much interest in my main fic!! And oh my gosh I couldn't ever tell you how much joy it brought me to read your comments, to have someone so interested in my writing, that personally I didn't even think was that good. I haven't given up completely on the fic dw, I'll hopefully update it soon! Motivation just go brrr. Thank you so much for all your support, it means the world to me.

And another shoutout to everyone who supports me, who follows me, and to every single one of you that like and reblog my content. I look through every single note I receive, I assure you none of you are left out.

And my final shoutout to everyone that creates on this site. The community here is like nothing I've ever experienced before. I adore scrolling through everyone's art, it all makes my day. I've never felt so comfortable and unjudged before. Thank you to everyone who contributes to this, you all make my day <3

This turned out a lot longer than I meant it to be- but I just wanted to share how I felt with this new year. I'm sorry if you'd rather not be pinged-

But have a lovely day :3 I love you all!!

[anonmousegosqueak]

The CoD brainrot is reeeeaaaalll :(

(not the other tumblrean, though I do love them. No like the real medical condition I'm suffering from.)

On vacation right? It's why I haven't been posting as much, I'm a little busy. But then I see THESE TWO-

It's motherheckin Ghost and Soap.

>:(

And I want them soooo baaddd but they're soooo exppensssiveee

They were also the only ones angled at each other. Why? Cus they're in love, that's why!

The photo isn't great but basically it was the only dear with such a mohawk and the white one has some darker gray patches on his face. Aka, Ghoap.

Idk, someone needs to make a fanart with them like this. Give Johnny deer horns and curly hair, give Ghost big ol' goat horns and fluffy white hair.

I'm gonna go cry.

[chaoscreaturewrites]

Call of duty, shorts, ghost, soap

Part 9 COD shorts

Masterlist

Gets dumped loudly and publicly in the movie theater during the commercials. Ghost and Soap had just walked in as the guy was finishing and storming away from her.

They look at each other, one nod and they have the same plan. They start walking up to her row. They cross paths with the guy and Soap being a bit petty ‘bumps’ shoulders with him basically pushing him into the wall, but the guy doesn't dare say a thing back when he catches sight of ghost and he runs out

They go up to her and take a seat on either side. Ghost, always prepared,hands her a pack of tissues. Once she's done crying Soap gently takes her hand and pours some candy into it.

They said nothing to her, just acted. They didn't even speak to each other, so well tuned they didn't need words, only looks.

That's how she got dumped, watched a movie with 2 hot strangers, was fed food by a guy with a mohawk and her tears and chin wiped by a guy with a skull mask.

[cherie-doll]

☾ Headcanon: COD Men As Werewolves

⨯ Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

His breathing becomes ragged, hot breath fogging the clouded reflection in the mirror. His body trembles and his knuckles turn white as he grasps the mirror edges. His mind blurs as he tries to concentrate on his image in the mirror, with each pounding heartbeat, his pain grows unbearable.

He could feel the fur prick through his skin as it covered his body, a set of sharp teeth grew, and pointed claws broke through the pads of his fingers. His gaze became unclear, turning into something less than human before he lost all focus.

Ghost

He for some reason gets a lot of scars and scratches from accidentally clawing at himself

He hasn't been a werewolf for long so he's still getting used to it just like you are

You treat his injuries yourself because you can never decide whether you should take him to the doctor or the veterinarian

Soap

You find him acting odd, like truly doing the weirdest things. But when is he ever normal?

That new chewing toy you bought for your puppy? Suddenly you find Johnny with it in the living room gnawing on it, at least it's not your furniture

Will randomly lick/affectionately bite you

Dude imagine how cool he looks in his werewolf form with his mohawk

Gaz

Kyle absolutely despises being a werewolf in summer, you can always be sure to find him soaking in the bathtub all day

You both sleep with a fan in summer, just sleeping next to him makes you feel the heat radiating off of him, you can't even imagine how he must feel :(

But it's an advantage in fall and winter, practically turns into your personal heater in winter, just cuddling together the entire time, and since he bought the best conditioner for his fur it's so soft

Roach

Loves you stroking his ears and tail, gets highly sensitive with his tail

He frequently runs off for days and when he comes back he always brings something for you

You don't want to hurt his feelings so you have to pretend that the dead bird he brought you is the best gift you've ever received whilst he watches, tail wagging and seemingly content :(

Alejandro

Imagine how much hair would be on his chest ૮꒰´ ཀ ྀི꒱ა

Sheds everywhere

You have to help him shave it because the amount of thick hair he grows is insane and even gets in the way sometimes

He'll be getting it stuck in zippers, tangling it even more when he tries to cut it with scissors

Completely gives up wearing clothes and just stays inside the entire time because he overheats with clothes on

Phillip Graves

He gets territorial and stays lurking near the house, the mailman can't even come near to deliver the mail

Bares his teeth and being downright mean so you can't have anyone over but turns soft for you

And when he gets hungry you make him eat outside, you can’t stand watching him eat raw meat or making a mess inside

Keegan

Likes scaring the living daylights out of you

Sometimes it's easy to forget your boyfriend is a werewolf when he doesn't tell you exactly when he transforms

He laughs seeing your sleepy eyes widen in surprise when you wake up to a beast in your bed

He stalks around at night scaring kids too, loves scaring the little shits knowing no one is going to believe them if they ever told

König

He's strong but imagine how much stronger König becomes when he transforms

It sounds hot but also imagine how much of an inconvenience it is for him

He's constantly breaking doors when pushing/pulling on them, breaking chairs, can't get a single pair of pants or shirt on without it ripping

Horangi

Likes to tease you by biting or nipping at your skin, especially in sensitive areas like your neck, chest and thighs

His nighttime activity increases, when you wake up in the middle of the night to find his side of the bed cold and empty, you open the Find My app to track him and find that he decided to take a walk around town and even went out to eat

Sometimes you accompany him but it's almost every night he does it and you can't keep up

Nikto

He's actually really gentle as a werewolf

Although you're used to his big body weighing down on you

Since his claws grow out he has you filing them down and clipping them, as a joke you sometimes paint them and he has to go around looking like a menace until someone sees his hot pink nails

Is very protective of you, like a lot more

Won't let you go anywhere by yourself, especially at night and is by your side 24/7