Howdy! Name's Brooke, and this is my CoD hyper-fixation side blog.
âŒïžPosting: I am a person human with a human person full time job and a volunteer on the side. Writing is my favorite hobby but I am not going to post and update everyday, though I try to throw some things out. Bigger works take more time.
22. Long time resident of the big 'ol Lone Star State of Texas, uSa. Yee-HAW. Currently on the East Coast US (GMT-4)
I write things sometimes. (almost exclusively MW'22 'round here)
I play games! CoD. RDR2. Horizon 1&2. Ghost of Tsushima and Yotei. To name a few.
And I read books and comics too :D
Writing Tag: hat's writing
See: The Masterlist!! (This needs to be updated so badly I'm sorry)
âRules of Engagement, Info, & Writing Boundaries:
TLDR: Don't be an ass. This blog's got a mix of fluff and filth. NSFW is tagged and flagged. I don't talk with minors and expect them to scroll responsibly. Curate your experienceâthis is your heads-up. No AI đââïžđ€
Want to be added to a tag list? For on-going series, yes! just ask in the replies, dms, or askbox! (Please note that if you're a new blog, it may take a few days for hellsite to allow you to be taggable. Make SURE you have your allow tags set on!!)
For random blurbs (like random hybrid stuff or random thoughts) no taglists :( ... A lot of my posts are random blurbs, and I don't have the capacity to keep up with smaller things like that. Sorry <3
Rules/FYIs:
This blog has 18+ content.
You are the curator of your internet experience, I will tag CWs the best I can.
Don't be a dick. <3
Ask box always open :)))) No promises on answers tho. But I try. (please send me asks so I can procrastinate I'm begging) I try to answer in the order they come in, but obviously some things can change/alter that.
There may be NSFW; it will be tagged and flagged.
There's enough hate in the world, don't bring it over here. (See #3)
We're chill here, yeah? Just out here enjoyin' some dudes. (See #3)
War crimes are only acceptable if they are fictional and meant for exploring the bigger topics of humanity, thanks.
I know won't write certain things, but I'll cross those bridges if I get to them. For now:
No incest
No age play (look okay, we can negotiate. daddy/mommy kink is a v situation dependent thing)
No piss kink (ikik tomatoes tomatoes) and no scat kink.
No cannibalism đ (am down for some blood stuff tho, das it)
No non-con and probably no cnc unless it's borderline straight up consensual (like waking up to blowie is probably my line on it.)
Things I loooovveee to write:
Slice of life and comfort.
Post-torture/post-whump caretaking
Men crying big ol' fat tears from their big wet eyes
creature*!soap who is a part of a hive mind when in like normal state. just vibin.
And then Ghost gets into trouble on a mission, and Soap, seeing it beneficial to the hive, helps him.
But the save Ghost, Soap has to integrate with him. Maybe Ghost loses an arm and Soap takes the place of that arm. Perfectly camouflaged.
But Ghost's mind is stronger than Soap's and the hive mind's. So ghost essentially ends up separating soap from his connection to the hive.
And first soap is all freaking out "oh my God what are you doing I want to be with the hive!!! >:((((" And the hive is like bad in the sense it doesn't know it's bad, maybe trying to like consume idk.
And Ghost is like "no, you're my problem now."
And eventually soap gains more and more consciousness, and through watching TV shows decides to become more and more Scottish idk. But he can only talk to Ghost.
And together they defeat the hive, because technically the hive got more intelligent when Soap first integrated with Ghost before Ghost mentally cut off the connection.
*in my head the creature is sorta like venom but also like a ghost idk don't ask me
** thought about switching their rolls but I like clingy Johnny
wait are we meant to believe price didn't have his initial 141 team pulled for stuff or at least meet and train together before the events of mw2
bc tbh if I think about it, the way ghost and soap greet each other feels less like brand new and more "i know who this fucker is and we've had sum of 3 trainings before getting shipped around and I could stand his stupid voice" and "workin with the spooky lt again >:) I live to make him roll his eyes."
I mean idk maybe the sleep deprived me (*checks clock* Christ it's three am?) is reading too far into it. But honestly it makes there more steady and quick connection in the game so much more believable to me.
Idk maybe I'll so some deep dives. Go see if there's anything in Soap's Journal about it. I wanna re-read that silly lovable thing again anyway so.
cw: disassociating, maybe absence seizures. very brief, very light, soft but interrupted smut. Hurt/comfort. TBI. soap x reader. (Another Whumpee!Soap piece what can I say. He is my muse.)
Johnny and his post-tbi disassociation, the distances and absences you've become familiar with.
How his smile fades at the dinner table, eyes drifting away to some distant place. His hands just... pausing over the dirt while you're both in the garden.
At first it broke your heart. The doctors had said 'be patient' but no one had explained what that meant.
No one had explained it would mean conversations stopping for minutes on end. No one had explained it would mean taking sharp objects from his hands just in case he forgot they were there. No one had said how much it would hurt to see your Johnny come back from wherever he goes and tears spring in his eyes. Scared, or lost, or angry. Or wherever it took him that moment.
You learn, slowly, that the best thing to do is wait. Sometimes you keep talking, gently. Sometimes you sit in silence with him. Sometimes you keep your hand steadily brushing through his hairâhe'd started letting only you care for it since coming home from the hospital, slow nights spent cleaning around the bandages turned into your little routine. Sometimes just a hand over his, something to hold onto when he surfaces again.
Mostly though, it's become just... a part of your days. His and yours. They frustrate him still, but mostly it's better. It's okay.
That is until he's panting over you, lips pressed to your neck as he moves slowly. Hips thrusting between your legs, trying to bury himself and stay there forever where it's warm and safe.
And he pulls back to smile down at you. And you see it long before it happens. The gloss washing over. Bright blue eyes greying over.
And Johnny just.. stills.
"Johnny..." You manage, hand coming up to cup his face.
He's still for a long moment. Longer than usual by your count.
Your eyes sting before you can stop them. Hand brushing back Johnny's hair. The other stroking absently over his arm.
"John..." You try again, throat squeezing down around his name.
And finally he inhales. Blinking back to you. His eyes find yours. And that familiar realization passes through them. His forehead drops to your shoulder. He doesn't move for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Love. I'm so sorryâ"
You feel him shift, like he's going to move to get up. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close.
"Shh don't apologize. Are you alright?"
He manages a nod.
"Want to keep going?"
He's still for a moment. His breath is warm, shakey against your chest.
Finally, he shakes his head.
"Alright," you whisper. "That's alright."
He moves slowly out from between your legs. Only moving as far as to lie next to you, head still buried in your neck.
You lie there for a little while, just breathing together. His weight against your side something solid to hold onto.
Your hand moves through his hair, slow and steady. The other rests against his arm.
His tears come gradually. He doesn't make a sound, just the wet against your skin, and the occasional unsteady breath.
At some point his grip on you shifts. Tightens, his fingers finding yours and holding.
You feel the moment his breathing evens out. A slow exhale. The tension leaving his shoulders by degrees.
You press your lips to his hair.
"Bath or shower?"
He breathes. Then, quietly: "Bath."
You ease yourself up and pad to the bathroom, running it warm. Not hot, he'd told you once, early on, that too much heat made it worse.
When you come back for him he's sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. Staring at the floor. You can see the wet at the corners of his eyes he's still trying to hold back.
You stand in front of him and open your arms. He folds into you without a word, face pressing into your stomach. His shoulders shake.
You hold him and let him cry into you. Your own tears dripping from your cheeks to his head.
It takes a moment. Moving slowly from the bed to the filled tub. But eventually, you're both in the water. His back to your chest, your chin resting on his shoulder. His hands have found yours beneath the surface and he's holding on with both of his.
"Still here," you murmur.
His grip tightens.
You press your lips to his cheek. The corner of his jaw. The soft skin just below his ear. And then longer on the back of his neck.
"Love you," he says, voice rough and quiet.
"I know." You hook your chin on his shoulder again. "Love you too, Johnny."
cw: disassociating, maybe absence seizures. very brief, very light, soft but interrupted smut. Hurt/comfort. TBI. soap x reader. (Another Whumpee!Soap piece what can I say. He is my muse.)
Johnny and his post-tbi disassociation, the distances and absences you've become familiar with.
How his smile fades at the dinner table, eyes drifting away to some distant place. His hands just... pausing over the dirt while you're both in the garden.
At first it broke your heart. The doctors had said 'be patient' but no one had explained what that meant.
No one had explained it would mean conversations stopping for minutes on end. No one had explained it would mean taking sharp objects from his hands just in case he forgot they were there. No one had said how much it would hurt to see your Johnny come back from wherever he goes and tears spring in his eyes. Scared, or lost, or angry. Or wherever it took him that moment.
You learn, slowly, that the best thing to do is wait. Sometimes you keep talking, gently. Sometimes you sit in silence with him. Sometimes you keep your hand steadily brushing through his hairâhe'd started letting only you care for it since coming home from the hospital, slow nights spent cleaning around the bandages turned into your little routine. Sometimes just a hand over his, something to hold onto when he surfaces again.
Mostly though, it's become just... a part of your days. His and yours. They frustrate him still, but mostly it's better. It's okay.
That is until he's panting over you, lips pressed to your neck as he moves slowly. Hips thrusting between your legs, trying to bury himself and stay there forever where it's warm and safe.
And he pulls back to smile down at you. And you see it long before it happens. The gloss washing over. Bright blue eyes greying over.
And Johnny just.. stills.
"Johnny..." You manage, hand coming up to cup his face.
He's still for a long moment. Longer than usual by your count.
Your eyes sting before you can stop them. Hand brushing back Johnny's hair. The other stroking absently over his arm.
"John..." You try again, throat squeezing down around his name.
And finally he inhales. Blinking back to you. His eyes find yours. And that familiar realization passes through them. His forehead drops to your shoulder. He doesn't move for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Love. I'm so sorryâ"
You feel him shift, like he's going to move to get up. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close.
"Shh don't apologize. Are you alright?"
He manages a nod.
"Want to keep going?"
He's still for a moment. His breath is warm, shakey against your chest.
Finally, he shakes his head.
"Alright," you whisper. "That's alright."
He moves slowly out from between your legs. Only moving as far as to lie next to you, head still buried in your neck.
You lie there for a little while, just breathing together. His weight against your side something solid to hold onto.
Your hand moves through his hair, slow and steady. The other rests against his arm.
His tears come gradually. He doesn't make a sound, just the wet against your skin, and the occasional unsteady breath.
At some point his grip on you shifts. Tightens, his fingers finding yours and holding.
You feel the moment his breathing evens out. A slow exhale. The tension leaving his shoulders by degrees.
You press your lips to his hair.
"Bath or shower?"
He breathes. Then, quietly: "Bath."
You ease yourself up and pad to the bathroom, running it warm. Not hot, he'd told you once, early on, that too much heat made it worse.
When you come back for him he's sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. Staring at the floor. You can see the wet at the corners of his eyes he's still trying to hold back.
You stand in front of him and open your arms. He folds into you without a word, face pressing into your stomach. His shoulders shake.
You hold him and let him cry into you. Your own tears dripping from your cheeks to his head.
It takes a moment. Moving slowly from the bed to the filled tub. But eventually, you're both in the water. His back to your chest, your chin resting on his shoulder. His hands have found yours beneath the surface and he's holding on with both of his.
"Still here," you murmur.
His grip tightens.
You press your lips to his cheek. The corner of his jaw. The soft skin just below his ear. And then longer on the back of his neck.
"Love you," he says, voice rough and quiet.
"I know." You hook your chin on his shoulder again. "Love you too, Johnny."
(post mw3 canon. hurt/comfort. Angst angst) another vers of the necklace post low-key
soap likes pie and the lads get him a pie every year for his birthday.
whether it's from their favorite bakery, a local shop on a mission, ordered as take away. even if it's the tiniest slice of pie any of them have ever seen. Even if it's the ugliest thing made of literal mud. They always find a way to make sure John MacTavish has a pie for his birthday.
That summer Soap enjoyed his birthday pie surrounded by the lads at a FOB. It was sunny. Spirits were high. everyone got a piece.
At some point between Las Almas and that summer, someone had started calling Johnny and his pies "good luck pies." If soap was in a pie mood, things were sure to go well. Didn't matter if he actually ate any pie, as long as the thought and joy of pie was there.
the next birthday, ghost finds a bakery two streets from the safehouse. nobody asks him to. he just comes back, sets it on the table.
the lads filter in. someone pulls up a chair. someone else leans against the wall with their arms crossed.
nobody cuts it for a while.
eventually ghost says, flatly, that soap would've already had half of it gone before anyone else got a look in. someone makes a sound that isn't quite a laugh, the others join in.
gaz cuts it, same as always, more or less.
it's not an FOB. it's not sunny. spirits are not high. and everyone gets a piece.
maybe that's the thing about the good luck. it was just as much about him being there. john macŃavish, in a good mood, with a pie.
they were lucky to have that. lucky to know him. lucky to have him.
The afternoon hung over RAF Akrotiri like a curtain, turning everything a hazy gold and stifling everyone on base with a sticky heat.
The airstrip shimmered in the distance, empty but for the low, hulking figure of a C-17 being prepped for refuelling. Near the hanger, Simon and Price had turned a tiny strip of cracked tarmac into a makeshift pitch, a well-loved ball between them; its once shiny surface worn down to the raw leather in some areas, its branding long since faded away.
They had stopped off halfway home. Nik's Black Hawk needed repairs and the station commander owed Price a favour or seven. With a few days down time and intel for their next move thin on the ground, the 141 had grown restless. Garrick and MacTavish had headed into town to enjoy the nightlife, leaving Simon and Price to their paperwork. Or so they thought.
Nik watched on from the top of an empty ammo crate, his heels drumming against the painted wood, a cold beer propped on his knee and a cigarette hovering over the other. Price tapped the football forward, a sly grin creeping across his flushed face. âCâmon then. Letâs see if yer more than jusâ pub talk.â
Simon rolled his shoulders and swaggered up with exaggerated nonchalance, his boots scuffing over the concrete. The smell of fuel and heat hung thickly in the air, and their t-shirts were stained a shade darker with sweat around their chests and under their arms. âYer about to get a lesson straight outta Etihad.â
Price smirked. âAmateur then.â He tapped the ball forward, coaxing it ahead with the inside of his boot. Simon rushed him, but Price twisted, sliding the ball through his legs with a cheeky nutmeg. Simon let out a bark of laughter as Price darted around him, arms raised in triumph. âOi! Be âavinâ it! Straight through the uprights.â
Simon snorted, dodging left and then right, trying to intercept. âOld dogâs got some tricks.â
Price laughed, rolling the ball around with his toe. âTextbook. One for the highlight reel.â
Simon lunged playfully, missing as Price danced the ball away with exaggerated flair, knees high, tongue out like a kid on a school playground. Dust kicked up as they darted to and fro, Price rolling the ball back and scooting it away from Simon's feet before moving forward into the open.
Price tried to keep control, dribbling the ball with fast, sharp taps, weaving through invisible defenders like he was playing at Anfield. His boots scuffed against the tarmac, grating through gravel with every pivot as he showed off to not only Simon, but Nik as well.
Simon closed in again, this time more measured, waiting for an opening. âYa know yaâve got the touch of a bin lid, right?â
âJealousyâs an ugly emotion, Simon.â Price went for a stepover, but Sinon anticipated it, sweeping in with a low tackle that took the ball and half of Priceâs pride along with it as he stumbled over Simon's leg.
Price threw his arms up and turned towards Nik. âOi! Ref! Thatâs a red!â
Nik rolled his shoulders in a shrug. âYou are not bleeding. That makes it a clean tackle, no?â
Simon scooted the ball away, cracked leather scraping over gravel, offering mock commentary as he urged the ball back in the opposite direction. âAnd Riley, against all odds, wins possession⊠Price is left wonderinâ where it all went wrong.â
Price barked another laugh and danced back, soon catching up. They scuffled, legs tangling in an illegal tackle that ended up with Simon's head in a lock under Price's arm, Simon trying to keep his feet on the ball but knocking it away instead. They ended up in a heap on the dusty concrete, cussing each other out through breathless laughter.
Price threw his hands behind him, legs stretched out. ââM claiminâ victory.â
âLike shit you are. Play dirtier anâ you fight,â Simon said, kicking at one of Price's boots.
âPullinâ rank. One nil tâ me.â
âCheeky wankerâŠâ Simon slumped onto his back, running his fingers beneath his balaclava to scratch at his jaw, skin prickling with sweat. When his hands returned to his chest, he gazed at the expanse of sky above, the darker blue of night time bleeding through the oranges and reds. âMad, innit? Feel normal⊠jus' for a bit.â
Price hummed, and knocked his boot against Simon's again. âThat a good fing?â
Simon sat up on his elbows and stared down the length of tarmac towards the buildings; hazy, uniform grey blocks fading in the twilight. He looked next at Nik. The pilot had shrugged his jacket off and was basking in the warmth, his head tilted back, aviators reflecting the ombre sky.
The three of them were lingering in a pause; a suspended moment in time where nothing mattered and the weight was gone. Simon looked back at Price and felt something warm and sweet tug in his chest. With his hair wild and auburn, his blue eyes bright, Price looked striking in the failing light. Simon couldn't help but savour the sight. âYeah,â Simon said finally. âReckon it is.â
Price rolled to his feet, dusting off his backside with his palms. âAlright, one-nil to me. Winner stays on.â
Simon followed him, jogging over to retrieve the ball from where it had fallen into a pothole in the concrete. âYou wish. Lookinâ a little tired there, old man.â
âLess lip more action.â Price gestured a come on with his fingers, feet spread, knees bent.
And just like that, the world paused again. They weren't lieutenant and captain, but, for another hour at least, they were just two northern lads playing kick about with a battered old pigskin.
Simon looks at the scuffed old ball in his office before he deploys from Credenhill to hunt the man that gifted it to him after they left Cyprus.
The feeling in his chest indescribable, his mind defaulting to business to avoid dwelling on what Price might force him to do. Wondering how much of his captain is left beneath the twisted tangle of grief, and rage, and revenge. Whether there will be anything to save in the end.
He has to try. He has to. He owes Price that much.
Thinking about koala hybrid!reader, who is constantly falling asleep, being free use for the sergeants...
Being a koala, your body just doesn't absorb much nutrients, and you naturally spend your day taking naps around the apartment. It's no issue, given kyle and johnny pay for it so long as you keep it clean while they're on leave. A nice, safe space for you to relax.
Oh, but when they're home? You can't catch a break and it's amazing.
You'll fall asleep scrolling through Instagram on the couch, and wake up to soap grinding against your face post-workout, only offering a "couldn't fuckin' concentrate, thinking o' you." When he notices your awake.
Or when you decide to lie down for your mid-morning rest, and wake up to gaz rutting between your thighs. jerking your body roughly against his hips in a way he never does when you're awake. He gentles a bit when you whine, presses a kiss to your temple "might've left some bruises, sorry love."
Of course, non of that keeps them off you when you are awake. It seems one of them always has a hand on or in you in some way.
"Christ, tight today" soap huffs behind you. two thick, hairy arms wrapped around your torso and bouncing you roughly. You rest your chin on the back of the sofa, rumbling happily.
"Can I get a turn or are you hogging it all night?" Gaz snarks, buy he still plops the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table and starts the movie.
"Yeah, just give me a secondâ" soap hisses through his teeth, head tossed back as he savours the orgasm. When he finally goes to help you up, he snorts fondly "fell asleep again. You still want it?"
"And give you a cockwarmer all night? Give it to me."
*busts down door* WHAT'S UP QUEERS *tears shirt* ITS FUCKIN *punches the wall* TACO *bites into a tortilla* FUCKIN *pours salsa on a sexy shirtless man* TUESDAY MOTHER FUCKERS RAAHHHHHH *air horn sfx* đźđź *looney toons noisey* đđ„đ„ *mariachi band*đ«Żđ«Żđ«Ż
soap falling asleep on the rec room couch in a little pile with the 141. And when the Scot is safe and warm, he becomes Immovable Objectâą âš
This means that the other lads have to disentangle themselves from his sleeping form. No one minds. They're glad to see him sleep.
But this disentangle also means that have to be careful and sneaky. Because as soon as the snoozing rock senses movement, his hands grip the nearest thing to him like a baby monkey on its mother's back.
Kyle is typically the victim of his grip. Nevertheless content to stay with Johnny until he wakes.
And sometimes, when they're all freed from tangle, no one wants to leave him there. So Ghost, the only one who can manage it, maneuvers Johnny into his hold.
Johnny goes willingly, so trusting into those arms. Hooks his legs around Ghost's waist just enough to make the trip easier.
Ghost lays him in bed and brushes his mohawk back. Smiles to himself about how ridiculous this man is. Then closes the door gently.
Dying over how good you are at writing the comfort after all the hurt. Love how you put the characters through hell and show them being picked up by the rest of the team. Want to sink in the comfort you give them all. đ€
wahhhh đ„ș thank you non!
I love whump so so so much but I especially love the comfort that comes after.
going through the worst and having something soft and safe to land makes me feel all squishy and warm inside.
I hope u get to sink into some of the cozy comfort too nonny <3
