Frankie

hi, I'm frankie! she/her, 2003 baby, (side blog). Will hopefully be posting more of my writing stuff. minors dni.

[goingthruthedishwasher]

Heyyyy

Aspiring fanfic writer, right now writing exclusively cod. Feel free to say hi! Masterlist under the cut. NFSW. Minors dni.

Things I've done so far

Poly 141 (or mostly poly 141)

Take your shoes off, stay awhile - cod apocalypse au

(gaz x soap x ghost x reader)

prologue

chapter 1

Drabbles

The massive bed

Price x reader

Drabbles

Theme parks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Currently working on:

chapter 2 of take your shoes off, stay awhile (20% done)

ghoap x reader fic (10% done)

stalker!simon fic (20% done)

[goingthruthedishwasher]

Take your shoes off, stay awhile -

Cod Apocalypse AU

Ongoing, sporadic updates (as is obvious). Prologue linked here, This is the first real part tho. gax x reader, ghost x reader, soap x reader. Canon-typical violence, eventual smut, probably not super slow slow-burn. nfsw. I apologise for my accent-writing in advance.

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(Soap POV)

The truck was quiet.

Well, quieter than it used to be. When they first commandeered it (the concept of 'stealing' doesn't work so well after the end of the world), the truck was loud. It was this big rumbly, diesel-hungry beast that huffed and groaned and grumbled. But, it turns out, Simon was handy with a wrench, and, as Price put it "Got the damn'd thing to shut the hell up." So it trucked along (hehe get it) down the road, mostly quietly.

That was something they had found out, that noise tends to attract... things. Soap wondered if they'd ever be able to come up with a good name for them. He'd proposed a couple, all shot down by Simon or Gaz: Stinkers, Shuffley Boys, Oozers, Gross-Fuckers, Deaders, etc. He was still quite sold on Shuffely Boys— "C'mon, doesnae feel like it would be an ol' boy band name? Aye, like those Backstreet boys, or what 'ave you?"

But regardless, they had been unable to settle on a name.

They tended to park the truck a wee way from base, in case it did become a beacon, in all the wrong ways. This way, there would still be some separation between them and it. So it was a short bike ride to the truck, stashing the bikes in an old shed, before heading off on another supply run.

This was their routine. It wasn't like they needed all these supplies, despite there still being a fair few people back at base. They had already stockpiled enough to get everyone through a few more decades. But Price has grand plans for starting a commune, a safe, gated community to hide from the Shuffely Boys. Soap is still not convinced it's a good idea, but at least it gives some meaning to these daily trips. So, off they go. It enables them to get off base, at least for a little while. Three soldiers, three grown men, all go a bit stir-crazy when they are asked to stay inside every day.

Plus, it enabled Price to have some time alone with the missus. Price's fucking perfect little wife. That's not fair, Soap mused. Not fair of him to be mad at Mary. She was lovely enough and a heck of a good cook, great at making do with whatever strange assortments of food they brought back. But Price didn't share, and it had been over a year since Soap had managed to wet his cock with anything other than his spit - a fact he was particularly caught up on as of late.

"Knock knock" Ghost huffs from the driver's seat. His balaclava hodded eyes flicked up to the rear mirror, catching Soap's. He was sprawled out in the backseat, leaving Gaz to pour over the maps in the passenger side. Ghost still wears that fucking balaclava everyday, despite their being little concern for his idenitiy getting out now. After all, the world's fucking over. But Soap doesn't press the issue (one time he mentioned this fact, Ghost didn't talk to him for three days, and Gaz practically chewed his ear off, so he keeps his mouth shut about it now).

"Ah foer fuck's sake Ghost. Not another one of yer jokes. Can't a man get a break? Even at the end o' the world?"

Gaz chuckled in the front seat. "Who's there?"

Simon's balaclava twitched, and Soap just knew he was wearing a shit-eating grin right now.

Ghost then proceeded to let out a throaty, wet, disgusting kind of noise- "Oooouuguhuugrrhrhrruhruroohe" like he was in the middle of actively dying.

Soap couldn't help it - he threw his head back and laughed aloud. Gaz just shook his head in befuddled judgment. "You call that a joke?"

"Yeah. It's the fuckin' things turnin' up at the door to kill ya."

"Yeah, we got that part Riley," Gaz returns to his map, putting his feet up on the dash and reclining his chair. "But why exactly does your zombie impression sound like Chewbacca dying?"

Soap scoffed, leaning forward to hang his head between the two men. "And to add to that, how fucken long did it take yer to learn to do that?"

Simon paused a while, eyes fixed on the road, when he answered. "I've been practin' tha' for weeks."

The car erupted into laughter.

----

[goingthruthedishwasher]

You’re splayed out on the bed- this enormous thing Price organised for the four of you-

It was delivered by two moving guys who already looked overwhelmed at the prospect of getting it out of the truck, let alone carrying it down your garden path & into your attic bedroom. Lucky for them, Soap took it as a personal challenge to organise Simon (mostly), Gaz (somewhat) and Price (not at all) to lift and carry the bed up park, through the French doors and the stairs.

Price pulled you onto his lap, and you both sat on the deck admiring your men (pretend to) struggle under the weight of the mattress. Price lit a cigar and snuck a hand up your shorts-

“Well then missy, I suppose we better find something to put it on.”

“You didn’t think to get a bed frame?” You turn into him, as he takes another drag, “that might be the most guy thing you’ve ever done.”

“Ah don’t worry about it sweetheart,” he huffs, his fore finger skimming the elastic of your underwear, “ ‘m sure me and Simon can knock something together.”

And they did- this minimal but incredibly solid bed frame made of reclaimed oak- one they insisted on “breaking in” more than a few times

[goingthruthedishwasher]

cod141 apocalypse au

(really going feral for a cod141 apocalypse au rn)

((absolutely not edited or even re-read or anything, I might fix it later tho))

(((reader has curly hair)))

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It's been a minute since it all happened. You don't really like to think about that- the first few days. When the TV was on 24/7, when screaming and yelling and just noise crowded in on your sense of self. You were lucky, you had a friend out in the country, the 'middle of butt-fuck nowhere', he used to say. You high-tailed it there quickly, right at the start, filling your car up with gas and speeding down the highway on the very first morning the news reporters began saying anything was wrong. They were telling people to "stay put" and "remain calm". Your uncle was a doomsday prepper (like a real one), and his voice rang too loudly in your head that morning- talking about getting out of urban areas and putting yourself first. You figured even if it all was nothing, your friend would like the company. You've never been more grateful for your family's paranoia.

Your friend disappeared a few weeks ago. They went out on a supply run and never came back. You tried to go after them, retrace their steps, find any sign of life- but they were just gone. In the end, the dark was steadily approaching, and you had to go home. You've barely left since.

You've been tending to the garden, hoping to get enough food to get you through the winter. Unbeknowst to you, there's been a visitor in your garden recently.

When the world ended, Ghost rang Price. He didn't have anyone to go to, to save, to protect.

"Wha's the job?" He asked down the phoneline (tuned into the military frequencies, hence why it was still working).

Turns out, the rest of the boys had the same idea. Which is why now, Price, Gaz, Soap and Ghost had set up a deeply fortified bunker, out in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. It just so happened, to be near your little farmhouse.

Price's wife, Mary, had done her very best to make their fort into more of a home. She and was a kind woman, the type you'd find baking pies and organising community events. At least, back when people make pies and hosted events. But Price didn't share, and the other three boys were getting a bit restless. So, when they left the fort, which they did quite frequently, they had a nosy. They left for supply runs, looking to find survivors, and just generally getting some fresh air, and sometimes they took long detours, off the usual routes, searching for any sign of people.

You, with the garden of colourful vegetables, curly hair falling in your face, were definitely a sign of people. They watched, watched you hitching up your skirt to step deliberately around the plants, coming in and out of your home, sitting on the porch. You were careful, watchful, and always alert, but what match were your observational skills for three highly trained agents?

They were letting you have your fun, and play at being independent and self-sufficient. But they weren't going to let you try and take on this winter alone.