I'll be wrapped around your finger

18+ MLM & FTM

[codisfishher]

Welcome to the fishtank!

Information

My name is Codfishher, but you can call me Cod! I strictly use he/him pronouns.

My posts currently cover the fandoms The Pitt and reboot Call of Duty. Most are x male reader, some x gender neutral reader. I also write character x character.

If a post is labeled x reader it's written with "you", whilst if it's x unspecified character the format is "he" or "they". Make sure you state your wish in the request.

Anons:

🧿,

Boundaries

When can I interact?

My blog is strictly 18+! I can not stop anyone from reading my content, but do not interact if you are a minor.

My blog and the author is completely free of and against GenAI. Those in support, or users, do not interact.

My blog and the author is completely free of and against the romanticisation of rape, child pornography, incest, beastiality, pedophilia, etc. Those in support, those who create or consume content with those themes for the sake of sexual gratification do not interact.

Requests

My blog is constantly open for requests and questions!

What I will write:

Character x male reader (you/yours)

Character x unspecified m!character (he/him)

Character x gender neutral reader (you/yours)

Character x unspecified gn!character (they/them)

Character x Character

Fluff, romantic and platonic

Smut between two men, or man x gn!reader

Angst, romantic and platonic

MCD

What I won't write:

Character x female reader

Smut between two women, man and woman, or woman x gn!reader

Rape/dubcon/CNC

Incest, fauxcest, stepcest

Beastiality

Kidnapping or torture in a romantic or sexual light

Necrophilia

I may not have gotten everything down, but you get the jist. For questions, the only rule is to act like a sane human being.

Masterlist

Not complete.

The Pitt:

Robby:

Robby and his husband, 1/2/

(Robby x unspecified m!character, breeding kink, creampie, blowjobs, handjobs)

FTM angst and comfort

(Robby x unspecified m!character, implied romantic feelings though can be read as platonic, dysphoria)

Drunken mishaps

(Robby x unspecified m!character, masturbation, drunkeness, attempted sex)

Middle-aged men...

(Robby x unspecified m!character, implied sexual content)

Stress relief (request)

(Robby x male reader, thigh humping, coming in pants, soft reader, implied sub/dom dynamic)

Robby's pup

(Robby x unspecified m!character, pup play, teeny bit of angst if you squint, comfort)

Animal

(Robby x unspecified FTM!character, slight dom/sub dynamic, riding, biting, primal play if you squint, dombot + subtop)

Freeze branded pup

(Robby x unspecified m!character, freeze branding, slight dom/sub dynamic, pup play, handjobs)

Jack:

Jaw aches (request)

(Jack x unspecified m!character, finger sucking, slight dom/sub)

Call of Duty:

Nikolai:

Nikolai and his puppy, 1/2/3/

(Nikolai x male reader, canine!hybrid reader, possessiveness, sexual themes)

Price:

Playful fluff

(Price x male reader)

Graves:

The art of survival

(Graves x male reader, wolf!hybrid reader)

Multiple characters:

Price and Nik ED drabble

(erectile dysfunction, sexual themes)

[xmpxlxx]

Price with a partner who sleep talks

pairing: John Price x gn!reader cw: sleeptalking wc: 903 an: price, the man you are. id forgotten my obsession with him until I found my Tumblr archives on my pc. this was SOOO fun to write, enjoy!

John Price had never been a heavy sleeper. 

While it was a part of himself that had been apparent to him since before his time in the military, it would be foolish to say it didn’t play an important role in it. He rarely got more than a couple of hours of sleep, which his body had adapted to over the years—not without putting up a fight, that is. 

He’d always struggled with the civvie life. Before you came into his life—a whirlwind of colour and a warmth he did not believe himself capable of deserving—he’d hated sleeping outside of the comfort of his quarters. His house was suffocating in its quiet loudness. 

He had become acquaintances with the cat who rummaged through his trash at three in the morning, on the dot. He still woke up whenever the fridge clicked without explanation in the middle of the night—that sharp, sudden noise that had him shoving a hand under his pillow before he could even process the fact that he didn’t need to aim his gun at an electrical appliance. The electrical line that had been busted for almost three months, constantly emitting a loud buzzing noise, had pushed him to the edge. 

Then you’d come along. Quietly, sneakily—like mould. And, God help him, he’d never been more grateful for anything in his life. A toothbrush here, spare socks there, your things all over his house. What could only be described as a parasitic infestation had never felt better. 

Along with your banter over lunch and your tea in his cupboard, came your…peculiar nightly habits. 

He’d heard of sleeptalkers, of course. He was guilty of his own nonsensical mumbling late at night after a string of stressful ops. But what you did wasn’t mumble or whisper softly—it was borderline paranormal. 

The first night he got to witness it, you were jolted awake by the sudden weight laid over your neck. His forearm pressed against your neck, gone as fast as it had appeared. You blinked once in shock, unsure as to what the hell had happened and if you had imagined it in the first place. It’d been John, the following morning, who recalled the events for you.

“Thought someone had broken in,” he mumbled, and if you hadn’t known any better you would’ve sworn he was mad at you. “Scared the shit outta me, love.”

He acclimated—unwillingly. While his military instincts were hard to quiet down, he become almost fond of the late-night conversations and complete lunacy that came out of your mouth whenever midnight rolled around. 

That night, he was woken up by the sound of you arguing with someone who had quickly become Price’s number one nemesis. 

“Colonel Duck,” you whispered with a frown on your face. “This was discussed in the briefing.”

John woke the way he usually did once his body had learned to recognize your nightly conversations as non-threatening—groggily, slow, exhausted. He lay on his side, propping himself up on his elbow while his other hand rested above your stomach. Your shirt, caught in sheets and whatever else you had done to it through the night, lifted to reveal your cold skin. He flattened his palm over his stomach as he stiffened a yawn. 

Outside, only the sound of a nearby creek and crickets were carried by the wind. Inside, Price watched as your nose scrunched at whatever this colonel had dared say to you—a civilian whose only contact with the army was through whatever the man shared with you.

He dragged his palm closer to your waist, twisting you effortlessly so that your chest would be pressed against his. He nuzzled your neck, his beard scratching the sensitive skin in a way that earned a quiet laugh from your otherwise serious façade. 

“John, do something,” you whined against his ear. “He won’t listen.”

Despite the exhaustion, he chuckled against your neck. He pressed a quick, albeit soft, kiss to your jaw before pulling away, feeling the tiredness that clung to his bones slowly bleed into his muscles. 

“M’afraid I can’t, love,” he whispered. “He’s a colonel.”

John’s smile widened at the sight of your pout—so genuine and upset he almost asked Laswell to dig through whatever archives needed to be dug to find this Colonel Duck who had plagued your dreams for the past two months. 

Your arm slid over his waist as you finally closed the distance between you. You muttered something he couldn’t hear, even in the silent room, before burying your nose in the crook of his neck. He chuckled—low and revibrating against your chest. 

“He’s drunk on power,” you mumbled with that voice he’d come to recognize as your finally going back to sleep voice. 

John laughed, then sighed at the feeling of your body going limp beneath him. He felt your hair against his chin and your breath against his skin. His fingers dug into your hip as his lips found your forehead. 

“We’ll report him,” he assured your sleeping form. 

He let his lips linger on your forehead for a beat longer before he let his head fall against the pillow again, arms safely wrapped around you. Your breathing evened, and he listened to it like a lull to fall asleep to. 

John Price had killed a general already. He’d taken on a bloody colonel if needed. 

[shadow0-1]

Very real MW4 campaign leaks just dropped (trust me)

[permanent-fire-hazard]

Something, something nerdy!Robby wearing a button up with the sleeves rolled and it opened past his chest while sitting in frat boy!Jack’s lap so they can make out…

and Jack is wearing a stupid backwards cap and a muscle tank so Robby can run his hands over his biceps…

and their dicks are rubbing together through Robby’s slacks and Jack’s basketball shorts…

[codisfishher]

hope ur pains get better omg <333 if it means more mlm baby robby though....

That's one good thing about getting bucked off! I'm much better today, though, thank you. Maybe I'll get a cool bruise....

[codisfishher]

Inspired by today's events:

Med student Robby who is just going on about his day as usual, learning new things and repeating that which he knew.

Until a man comes in, not much older than himself, with blunt force trauma after falling off his horse.

He's explaining to the doctors himself what happened, won't let the EMTs speak for him.

"Fucker wouldn't stop eating! So I gave him a slight hit with the crop, and he gets all whiny and takes off, bucking like a madman." he groans.

And wasn't that the problem? Michael considered himself a respectful man, but at every slight movement the man's injury flared with pain and he groaned and gasped.

Yeah, Michael could not take this patient and keep his internship...

[codisfishher]

I’ve been watching x files recently and since ER is in the same timeline….

Maybe some agent mulder x med school! Robby??? 👀

-🧿

ps hope you’re doing good!

I am well, thank you. Hope you're okay as well. Unfortunately I have not seen X Files and it is not part of the fandoms for which I write. Very sorry🙏

[comingaback]

med school michael tummy, med school michael tummy, med school michael tummy. everyone look at michael's tummy!!!!

[hatsbuckets]

Part 1. Part 2.

cw: hurt/comfort. emotional angst. amnesia. nikprice

"You're married."

The statement startled Nik. He had to push down the rush to explain everything.

He followed John's eyes. The small, gold metal band around his finger. The little symbolic piece of metal that'd been slid on one evening. John had gotten one too. Silver. Thicker than Nik's.

Nik realized now that they'd cut it off. He hadn't thought to ask what happened. To ask if they had it.

The ring wasn't the first thing he expected John to ask about. But John has always been observant of details.

Nik managed a nod.

"Complicated then." John adds matter-of-factly.

Nik couldn't help the huff of not laughter that escapes him. Something in his chest tightens.

"Something like that."

John observed him for a long moment. Nik lets him. Nik will always let him. Those blues—as pale and greyed as they are in their current state—seem to pierce whatever viel Nik had put up.

Nik had to swallow down whatever was currently curling its way up his throat.

"Ms. Laswell—Kate—told me about what happened. None of the details though. Said someone I cared about would be coming."

"She did not want to overwhelm you." Nik says. He notices, distantly, that he is rotating his ring on his finger. A nervous habit he picked up from John.

There's a long moment of silence. Nik saw John working through the muddy tapestry of whatever memories he did have.

"John?" Nik prompted. Voice as quiet and steady as he could make it.

John looked down at his own hand. "Tell me about them."

Nik shook his head. Not a no. Not a yes either. That in-between space where he could say anything and everything and yet nothing managed to come out.

"He is..."

Nik's throat worked. He looked at his ring rather than at John.

"He takes his tea strong." A breath. "He is loud when something genuinely surprises him. A real laugh. Not many people hear it." Nik's mouth curved slightly despite himself. "He fixes little things when he cannot sleep. A loose hinge. A cabinet door. Things that do not need him at three in the morning."

Nik gritted his teeth. Looked up at the monitor. Then back at John.

"He is..." Nik stopped, then started again. "He has never once told me he loves me without showing me first. Always actions before words. Always." His voice dropped somewhere quieter. "He is stubborn. In all things he does. Including love."

Silence. For a long, immeasurable moment just. Silence. And the monitor humming to his right. And Nik thought he went too far. And his eyes burned. And there was—

"Oh..." Very softly from the bed.

Nik looked up.

John's face had done something complicated, brows furrowed and wrinkling the creases between them. His eyes were wet. It hit Nik again how young John looked.

As if sensing the observation, John looked away. His jaw clenched tight. His eyes searching somewhere in the middle distance that was easier than Nikolai's face.

Nik watched him and let him search.

"Nikolai—"

"It may be complicated, him and I," Nik said quietly, before John could find whatever he was reaching for. "But I am patient."

John's eyes found Nik's again. Wet and faded blue and scared and angry and searching. Nik held them, waited just long enough. Then reached forward and put his hand over John's.

[laswells-ashtray]

While John may be on a solo endeavour, he isn't a stupid man.

With an injury on his back that he can barely reach to clean, let alone stitch up, he needs help, and Nikolai is only ever a phone call away. They have a routine: John reaches out with a location, and Nikolai shows up, no questions asked.

He ignores the worry on the other man's face, the bags under his eyes and the length his hair has grown out to without someone around to help him cut it. He doesn't dare mention their flat, their cat, or the ring he left on his bedside table for both of their sakes.

Nikolai never asks about the knife wound between his shoulder blades, how he earned it or who dished it out. He says very little as he strokes his fingers across John's skin in a familiar pattern, despite the visible weight loss. He allows Nikolai to clean the blood from his hands and treat the raw skin over his knuckles for his peace of mind.

Nikolai offers him one of his cigars, and he takes it and smokes through the sensation of something sweet curdling in his chest. He doesn't ask why Nikolai still buys them; Nikolai doesn't explain. He purposefully avoids meeting the Russian's eyes; they're hollow in a way John has never seen before.

"Do you need... anything?"

"Nah, I'm alright."

John thinks they were destined to end up together; he hurts Nikolai by asking, and Nikolai surrenders to the agony by showing up.

[codisfishher]

ER comes to my Netflix the 9th of June... Every time I open that damned site I am greeted with young Robinavitch's face and am edged like a man tied up in bed taking his punishment....

Young Michael Robinavitch..... Oaaghh.....

[on-a-lucky-tide]

"Ghost."

"Nikolai, how did you get this number?"

"It is... trade secret. I will send you an address. You need to meet me there. Alone."

"Did I have 'mug' printed on my forehead last time we met?"

"I have never seen under your mask."

"Fuck sake, fine... Send the address."

--

Simon spent a few hours scouting the warehouse through the end of his scope. It was empty. Owned by a shell corporation. No one entered and no one left. And then a text pinged through: are you going to wait outside until sunrise?

Bastard.

Instead of walking through the front door, Simon scaled up to the second floor and slipped in through a cracked window. He found Nik by a workbench. He didn't even look up as Simon approached.

"Privyet, tavarishch leytenant," Nik said, holding his hands out either side. If Simon remembered correctly, Nik had a korshun in the back of his belt, and a Udav or a Grach under his arm, as standard. There was no sign of anything else, or anyone else. "Did you come alone?"

"Against my better judgement," Simon replied, keeping his rifle braced against his shoulder. "You?"

"Da. I am glad my judgement of you was accurate."

"Wossis abaht, Nikolai?"

"I have him."

"Price?"

"Da."

"And you f'ought callin' me was a good idea?"

There was a pause. Nik tilted his chin down and then turned slowly. He looked... rough. Unshaven, dark circles under his eyes. He had always reminded Simon a little of Snoopy from the telly, but built like a brick shithouse, with a macabre sense of humour.

"He needs us."

Simon felt his hands tighten on the rifle, a surge of anger winding up his spine. "He left us."

Nik clenched his teeth and dropped his chin, hands rubbing over his hair. "He was there for you when everyone else had abandoned you, no?"

"Don't you focki--"

"When you had driven everyone away like a rabid dog, he was in your corner," Nik bit out. "You owe him. As do I."

Simon's mind filled with it all. The long nights in the rec room when the nightmares wouldn't leave him alone. The annual leave spent together on a beaten old sofa. The missions in the arse end of nowhere. The way Price had cracked silently down the middle on that cliffside.

He lowered his rifle, sighing heavily through his nose. "Take me to him."

--

It was a small apartment in a town not five miles from the warehouse. The sleepy kind that held a market on Saturday and had an honour system for the local library. Ghost wasn't quite ready for the sight that greeted him as he ducked into the living room.

"Drugged?"

"He would have escaped if I had left him conscious while I was out..."

"Oh, he is gonna be bloody hoppin' when he wakes."

"Da," Nik said, sadly.

Price was trussed up good and proper on the sofa. Boots and legs bound, hands behind his back, probably secured against his wrists so he couldn't break his thumbs to get out. "Was the gag necessary?"

"That is because he bit me."

"He bit you..."

"It is not the first time," Nik said, far too fondly.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ..."

Price stirred as Simon placed his rifle against the wall, and the next time Simon looked round, he was met with two blue eyes glaring fiercely at him. They flicked to Nik and narrowed marginally, a very clear 'and fuck you too'.

Nik walked over slowly, and hooked his finger through the gag, pulling it out of Price's mouth and past his chin. The smirk Price flashed looked unnatural on his face; not the big, face-crumpling smile Simon was used to. "Good t' see y'again, Simon."

"We need to have a talk."

Price hummed low in his throat.

"I will make tea," Nik said, tiredly. It was going to be a long night.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Poor Laswell having to deal with boyfriends in crime, she deserves a raise tbh. What do you mean her best friend turned rogue, killed her boss, is now a wanted man and his husband who also happens to be a very well known fixer / arms dealer / just overall shady motherfucker is helping him out while this is happening (let me dream) !!!

Laswell knew he would be there. Her mole had been watching him for a week, and he had repeated the exact same pattern of behaviour from morning until dusk. She had too much respect for him to try and tap his phones or intercept his emails. Hell, she wasn't even sure the CIA could manage it anyway.

As she stepped across the threshold of the bar and the air conditioning washed over her face, she drew in a steadying breath. They had worked together for many years, and it felt alien to sit on the opposite side of the proverbial table. There was still a chance. She had to try.

"Laswell," Nik acknowledged in his low timber, gesturing the barman with two fingers. "You came personally."

"Of course, Nik. You're my..." she hesitated, "...you're my friend, and so is he." How far a spook could have friends was not a debate she really wanted to consider in that moment. It felt right. Like the only word that really encompassed the last decade and a half.

They sat in silence. Two dry martinis arrived. Nik took the end of the tooth pick and stirred the olive around the edge of his drink. She took a sip of hers, lips pulling back over her teeth as she placed it back down. Strong.

Her fingers pushed over the base of the glass. "You can't save him from this one. He's too far gone."

Nik didn't answer immediately. He pulled the olive from the pick and chewed it. "Perhaps, perhaps not."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Sometimes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nik threw the pick onto the bar and returned to nursing his glass. "When he needs me, he calls me. When he does not need me, I wait to be called."

Nik wasn't looking at her, and she realised now that he was deliberately avoiding it. There was a tremor of pain in his voice that he couldn't mask. It was her way in, but she wasn't sure she was cruel enough to mine said wound for intel. "Is he... well?"

"No," Nik said. "He is... broken."

Laswell heard an echo of Price in Nik's choice of words. 'You broken?' She had seen photographs of him in recent months. He looked... gaunt. Everything from his facial hair to his clothes were dark. Like he had slipped from shades of grey to shadow, and lost himself in the process. Nik would have watched it happen, powerless to stop the spiral. She couldn't twist the knife anymore. "Help me bring him in, Nik. Help me help him."

Nik huffed a laugh, and his eyes lifted from where they had been studying a knot in the wooden finish of the bar. "You know I cannot do that."

Laswell felt a lump rise in her throat. Three decades of fucking service and nothing had ever hit her like this. No loss, no operation, no coup. She realised now she hadn't come here expecting to get Nik to betray John. She'd come to say good bye. "It looks like we're sitting at opposite ends of the table for this one then."

Nik sighed. "It seems so."

"I can give you two days' headstart."

"I appreciate it."

She sniffed, blinking quickly, her head tilting back as she looked at the ceiling to gather herself. Steadied, she lifted her glass from the bar. "To old comrades."

Nik tilted his drink to hers. "Za druzhbu."

It burned all the way down.

[permanent-fire-hazard]

WAKE UP Y’ALL ITS CITY BOY!ROBBY/COUNTRY BOY!JACK HOURS

[codisfishher]

I have the

Need

To scratch and mark up Michael Robinavitch’s back dawg

Lord have mercy /ref

-🧿

My brother just another me.....

Because truly the sex is that good! It's not intentional, not an instinct to mark him up, it seriously is just a reaction from a good fuck.

Then getting the privilege of watching him hiss in the shower or whenever his shirt brushes just wrong against the small scars that have formed.

Especially if they're really deep to the point where they actually scar (!!!) and he's wearing them forevermore....

[codisfishher]

OMFGGGG inspired by your post of contriversally young bf robby........cough cough would you mind doing a longer post/or drabble on that pretty please

I ABSOLUTELY could!!! Also, more asks regarding this AU is much appreciated, he's the only thing on my mind right now....

He met Michael for the first time in a coffee shop. The young man had stood in front of him, ordered his drink patiently with impeccable manners.

Michael, his Mike, had been perfect, used his please's and thank you's, waited for his drink before sitting at an empty table.

And though he felt like a pervert, he couldn't help but walk up to him, meet his innocent eyes and smile.

"Is this seat taken?" he'd asked kindly.

If the boy wasn't interested in him then he'd be nothing but a lonely old man, but on the off chance Michael was interested.... Well then he would just be a lonely old man.

And interested he had been.

They'd spoken for an hour or two, exchanged numbers in case he wanted to grab a coffee again.

He didn't hear from Michael for about two weeks.

He was sure he'd been forgotten, until one Friday evening, around eleven, he was called by a very drunk Michael, begging him to come join him at the club he was at.

And being the responsible adult he was, he had instead picked Michael up despite his complaints.

Once they arrived back at his flat Michael pulled the other into a kiss, and the poor man didn't have any time to process what was happening, nor the ethics, before he got lost in it.

He only realised once the grinding Michael had been doing on his thigh caused a spark of pleasure up his own spine.

Suddenly petrified and dead set on correcting his faults his hand wrapped itself around the upper part if Michael's throat, fingers pressed into his jaw as he pushed the boy back.

"Ah-ah," he tutted, taking in the sight of Michael's flushed face, gooey eyes and mouth agape.

Turns out he'd realised too late, and that the harsh touches were the final push needed for a very drunk Michael to cum in his pants.

He only realised once Michael melted into his hands and he glanced down at the now wet spot in the younger's pants.

And, fuck, wasn't that just the hottest, and frankly most adorable, thing he'd ever experienced?

"Shit," he muttered, resisting the urge to flee the scene and, hopefully, the shame of his perverted thoughts.

"Uhm, bathrooms first door to the left down the corridor, guest bedroom across from it." he rambled. "Clean yourself up."

The words were harsher than intended, he knew that, but he really couldn't handle being near that impeccable specimen of a human any longer.

Michael ended up staying the entire Saturday, only coming out of the guest bedroom a few times to puke, use the bathroom, or grab some water.

They barely interacted, and when they did, it was clear both remembered the night before considering Michael avoided his eyes, and the few times he met them his own were sheepish and nervous.

Then Sunday rolled around and he realised they really needed to discuss what happened.

So he sat Michael down on his couch and they talked.

The young man decided to stutter through and apology for what he did, and when reminded of it the older couldn't help but become half hard.

One thing led to another, and suddenly they were in bed.

He pushed into Michael softly, taking his time and watching attentively for any sign of discomfort.

Now, Michael had experimented with men before, hell, he'd even been penetrated. But it'd been just that - experimenting.

Never had he been fucked like this, completely overwhelmed by the experience that could only come from being 20 years his senior.

It ended with Michael crying and whining, so hooked on the feeling of being fucked he had to be jerked off shortly after they finished because of the memory alone.

Yeah, he may be a bit perverted, but who could shame him when the man he'd come to love deeply was so desperate to follow his every whim?

[val3rian]

oh i'm eating his pussy for sure