COD Husbands: “Yeah.......the bed didn’t survive the night”
Main Masterlist | COD Main Masterlist
Price
One second he’s in rhythm, the next—CRACK, THUMP! You both hit the floor.
The crack of wood breaking mid-thrust makes him freeze. He looks down at you, blinking like an owl.
He lands half on you, half tangled in sheets, blinking like he’s assessing battle damage.
“Bloody hell—” he groans, rubbing his back.
“…That was the bed, wasn’t it?”
Then he looks down at you, smirks. “Well, love… guess that counts as a tactical takedown.''
You both collapse into laughter, but he’s already muttering, “Bloody hell, gonna have to build us a new frame. Again.”
Captain’s strong hips? Deadlier than artillery fire.
Simon Riley
The fall doesn’t even faze him. You hit the floor hard, and he just keeps going, adjusting like nothing happened.
The moment the bed snaps, he doesn’t even flinch—just adjusts his rhythm like nothing happened.
You gasp, “Simon—the bed—!”
“Doesn’t matter.” His voice is low, gravelly. “Hold on.”
By the time you’re done, you’re lying on a lopsided mattress on the floor, and Ghost just shrugs. Mission accomplished.
By the time he’s done, the mattress is half off the frame, and you’re pretty sure the neighbors think an earthquake hit.
Next day-on the phone
''Hello,uhm...i wanted to ask if you guys sells beds from steel?....Why? We learned that wood isnt enough....yeah,im aware we bought a bed 2 years ago and that the bed should go atleast 10 years,but here we are''
Soap
When the bed breaks, he laughs so hard he loses his rhythm completely.
You both crash down mid-thrust and he SCREAMS LAUGHING.
“AHHHH—THE BED’S DEAD, THE BED’S DEAD!”
He’s rolling around in the busted mattress, holding his stomach from laughing so hard.
You’re glaring, trapped under the collapsed frame.
“Johnny, get OFF—”
“Not my fault I’ve got superhuman thrust power, lass!”
He’s bouncing on the busted frame like it’s a trampoline, still laughing while you’re glaring at him.
Next morning? He’s bragging to Gaz: “Mate, I literally shagged so hard the bed gave up!”
Kyle Garrick
He actually yells mid-fall. Like a proper “OI—!” before you crash onto the floor together.
The second you land he’s sitting up, horrified.
The crack makes him panic.
“Oi—was that me?!”
“Yes, Kyle, it was you!”
He pulls back, wide-eyed, then groans into his hands. “Nah, man… this is so embarrassing. I broke the bloody bed with my—”
You cut him off before he finishes, but he’s sulking for the rest of the night.
Alejandro
The bed crashes down and he doesn’t stop for a second. In fact, he gets cockier.
“You feel that, mi reina? Even the bed can’t handle us.”
Keeps going until you’re breathless, mattress tilted halfway onto the floor.
Now you both are giggling and trying to keep your laugh down at 4 am in the morning as you look at them......disaster.
Later he tells Rudy about it with zero shame. “The bed is dead, hermano. She survived, though.”
Graves
You crash down, and he doesn’t even stop. Man’s still moving like it was part of the plan.
The frame’s collapsed, mattress sinking, but Graves leans down with that smirk.
“Well, darlin’, guess they don’t make ‘em like they used to.”
Keeps going, zero shame, as if destruction was part of the plan.
“New bed’s on me. Gotta keep up with my own… horsepower.”
“Darlin’, when I said I’d take you down—I meant it literally.”
He’ll never let you live it down. Ever.
König
The BOOM of the frame breaking makes him yelp, practically jumping.
“Oh, scheiße! Did I hurt you?!”
You’re laughing too hard to answer, and he’s frantically checking you over like you’re fragile glass.
You’re crying laughing while he’s frantically trying to pull you both up off the floor, babbling apologies.
When you tell him you’re fine, he just stares at the wreckage and mutters, dead serious:
“…Next time, reinforced steel. Industrial. No more wood.”
the decision to give kyle (played by elliot knight (a black man)) the mantle of Gaz, something that was previously carried by a short tempered/quickly aggravated white man and making him, yes, still “aggressive” but only when he gets rightfully emotional about things is so beautiful to me; for two reasons.
One being that in society black people, men in particular, are so often depicted as being aggressive individuals (whether that be through calling them criminals, or just simply calling them loud and brash), and while yes, they have Kyle act “aggressive” at times (cause let’s be honest, activation will never be fully “with the times”) it’s always for good reason. Some good examples of this are in mw2019 where he has his conversation with price about how he and his men had been tracking the cell; and in that same interaction his famous quote of “they can tell us where, they can tell us where.. don’t tell us how” and the emotion backed behind it that he’d trying (and failing) to control.
Also in mw2019 we get his “iconic” scene where he impulsively charges at the same guy he saw kill a child in front of him, mind you, after the guy fucking mocks Kyle. He was already emotionally involved in the situation because of his lack of ability to do anything to save the kid, made worse by the fact that he hasn’t fully yet learned how to seperate his emotions from the job (spoiler: he never fully will, not like other characters do at least) (which, if anyone wants to talk about the urge to save everyone possible he starts with and slowly loses as he witnesses more death, let me know (it will bring up price throwing that hostage with the bomb strapped to his chest)). This leads me into point number 2: him having a vast emotional spectrum.
Men, especially military games catered towards men, don’t usually get good representation of valid emotional responses. And yes I kinda got into this in point one a bit but I wanted to outline it as something separate because Kyle is a very emotional individual who uses that and his emotional intelligence in his job.
Kyle utilized the different sides of his personality/emotions in multiple ways. Along side Kyle’s sass and quick retorts we’re shown throughout all three games, we’re also shown a side of him that acts as a voice of reason/a light in a storm. This is most explicitly displayed in mw3 2023 in two different scenes. scene one being when they’ve been given the intel job by Shepard and price is immediately put off by the idea. Laswell tries to talk him into it but realizes it’s fruitless which gives Kyle the opening to say his line of “we do deals for intel all the time. this is no different” this causes the other two to jump in and ultimately convince price. the big reason I mentioned this is because he’s the one who starts breaking price down. he knows price and therefor knows what to say to get what he wants (he’s a manipulator at heart). personally I think this can be connected back to how he’s been shaped by the military, just simply his personality, or its a skill he picked up due to something in his childhood (pick your poison).
Him being the “light in the storms” is in reference to something that I do not think is talked about nearly as enough as it should be; his response when soap dies. A lot of people talk about Simon and even prices reactions but per usually, Kyle gets left out. after soap gets killed and price is, reasonably, off kilter; Kyle is the one to regain prices attention and get him to explain how to and then help diffuse the bomb. Kyle only allows himself to process whats happened after the job is done. now Simon has his lack of ability to move away from soaps body (probably had to be dragged away) paired with his likely willingness to die since he didn’t bother helping with the bomb and price has his staring at soaps body, the charging at makarov, etc but Kyle.
Kyle turns away from the bomb and jerks his head to the side likes he only just realized what’s happened, gets his first good look of his friends dead body and immediately starts moving. and I’m not exaggerating when I say I can talk about the way his legs shake as he walks over to soaps body for hours, how they look like they’re gonna give out of him. and his fucking face as he stares at soaps body, how he looks like he’s trying to push back his emotions but it’s like suddenly all that work he’s done to get a handle on them is gone in the face of his teammate, his friend, being dead.
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might add more to this later cause I only talked about like 5% of my thoughts on this man
So like. Imagine Ghost being the one guy in the neighborhood all the kids can come to and trust. Cus Ghost knows. He knows what it's like to have a horrible dad. He knows what it's like to be food insecure. To be quiet at school. To be isolated. To not have a cool thing for show and tell. To getting free lunches from the school even though everyone else can afford to buy theirs. From always shaking his book bag before going to school in case of roaches. To renting out text books and school uniforms instead of buying them. To having a mother who was so passive she didn't fight for herself or for him. He knows what it's like to be one to take the punches so Tommy could be protected, he knows what it's like to have to save his lil brother before he became a statistic. He knows what it's like to work a job throughout school cus things were getting expensive. He knows what it's like to be scared to cry because he'll get in trouble. He knows the sounds of broken beer bottles and fighting and fists meeting bone as much as he knows the sounds of gun shots and explosions. Whatever his drill sergeant said to him during basic training will never hurt as much as what he had to hear at home and he carries that in his chest where his dog tags lie. He knows and he'll be damned if he let's any other kid know what that's like
Summary : M!reader and Nikolai are captives of the Ultranationalists.
Pairings : Nikolai x M!reader
Rated : E
Word Count : 1.5k
Warnings : SMUT, DUB-CON, NO USE OF Y/N, porn w/o plot, frottage, military-typical violence, reader dons a chosen call-sign, 'Anvil'
COD Masterlist / Masterlist
A/N : This is one of my first attempts at a male reader's POV in an insert prose, written in haste during my most recent MW1 playthrough. Please let me know how I did !! Crossposted on ao3
The pay grade was too good to be true, that much was certain, now.
For all the ache that was active duty, it kept his folks at home fat and happy. Now, granted, perhaps now was a risky time to be an able-bodied enlisted lad.
The pay jump from being an aerial repairman to a mounted gunner for transports was stupid, and hard to turn down. There had been a certain stir within him, a restless, gluttonous urge to get moving, again; As always, he fed it.
Now, he was in Russia.
Now, he'd pay the penance.
The other day, he'd been ordered to extract a crucial package with urgency, and just yesterday, at least two teeth must've been knocked out of his head during the ambush on their transport.
Anvil didn't understand a word of Russian, and most -- if not all -- of his teammates had been slain on the road or maimed during interrogation. At the very least, he wasn't alone.
The 'package' in question.
A Russian spy for the S.A.S., known by alias as 'Nikolai.'
They'd attempted to pry himself open a couple times, but Anvil refused to crack out of his own interest to stay alive -- if not for his former training keeping his will ironclad.
The heavy gunner's preceding thoughts were sliced by the light of the hallway cutting into the dark room, spilling across the floor. Some guttural protests tumbled past the door as two of Zakhaev's men crossed the threshold, finding the aforementioned spy doubled-over in their grip. Some curses were spat in Russian, some of which Anvil recognized -- "Mongrel," and "bastard," to name a couple -- before Nikolai was shoved into the corner of the room to stumble on buckled knees into Anvil, sat against the wall.
He grunted as his duct-taped wrists uncomfortably squished between his large frame and the wall, but managed to absorb most of Nikolai's weight upon impact. The spy writhed in Anvil's lap with a curse, struggling to get up -- he cursed himself as a grunt crawled from the base of his throat, managing to bite it down long enough to aid Nikolai in sitting upright without the use of his hands.
Once the door shut, Nikolai spat a series of furious Russian curses towards its rotting face, his face flushed with a sheen of sweat, a vein popping out from his neck over the collar of his gray crew-neck as he shouted in a tone that felt raw from protesting his interrogators.
Fuck him, this dry spell was something...
The spy turned toward Anvil, his ire shifting as he saw him there. Nikolai spoke quickly in Russian, clearly prompting him.
"What?" Anvil croaked, blinking like a fool.
Nikolai huffed, "I said, 'what did they ask you?'."
Anvil blinked once more, flexing his bound hands at the small of his back as Nikolai's gaze flickered over his profile in the dark. " 'Asked me about you."
"Yes, and?"
The former repairman shrugged minutely, swallowing hard as he pried his gaze away from the bead of sweat trickling down Nik's stubble; "I know nothing, lad."
There was a subtle shift in Nik's expression that Anvil may have missed had he not been practically mapping out this unfortunate informant down to his bloody genotype.
Something inscrutable.
A silence stretched on between them, settling over the room in a thick discomfort as Anvil tried to subtly fix the growing firmness within his cammies. The quiet became suffocating, roaring in his ears, when Nikolai's head angled back towards him, it took every remaining modicum of his restraint to resist meeting his gaze.
This was precisely the reason he was kept from fieldwork to begin with.
"You stiff, right now?"
Anvil gulped hard, feeling his Adam's apple bob within his throat as a shaky breath of denial slipped past his lips, "No..."
While avoiding the informant's gaze, Anvil could hear him chuff with an unreadable sort of amusement, feeling his face scathe as Nikolai muttered under his breath in Russian. Once Anvil opened his mouth to half-heartedly apologize, however, Nikolai spoke;
"Are your hands free?"
Anvil paused, the hot flush in his face draining with a chill. What the hell did that mean?
"N-no, why?"
He couldn't help but ask, this time, unsure as to where the lad was going with his line of questioning. Anvil dared a glance at Nikolai, and swore his heart could've dropped to his ass.
Steely-colored eyes weren't just looking at him anymore, ogling now, with flared pupils and a bitten bottom lip.
What in the green hell...
Anvil wasn't sure what Nikolai had uttered in Russian, but before another one of his incessant questions could rile the skittish spy, he was pouncing. Nik wasn't a small man by any means -- broad, at least six-feet-tall with a stocky build -- but Anvil would've thought so, based on how the man swung a leg over Anvil's thighs to straddle him where he sat.
What the fuck~~
There was hardly a chance to voice any protests or ask for reassurance before the enigmatic informant sealed his mouth over Anvil's.
It was as if he'd been baptized in boiling oils as Nikolai kissed him, warm breath sighed into the Russian's growing stubble, wavering when their teeth clicked together. It was nothing romantic, their desperation was apparent as their kiss quickly evolved into teeth and tongue.
Nik's tongue would pass the roof of Anvil's mouth as he beared down over the stiff bulge in his jeans, swallowing any moans that may pass. Anvil's head spun on its axis, battling Nikolai's tongue for a modicum of dominance in their dubious situation. Everything else was secondary.
Zakhaev's men were just outside this door -- rotting and without a doorknob -- a goddamn sneeze could have those bastards barreling in here. It hardly mattered to him now, blood roaring on his ears, cock throbbing against the zipper of his cammies as he squirmed to meet Nik's hips.
Nik's mouth traveled down Anvil's chin, up his jaw to the patch beside his ear, mouthing hot kisses down to the crook of his shoulder and nip a mark there -- hidden just-barely beneath the collar. With his jaw set, on the edge of letting his restraint snap, Anvil opened his unoccupied mouth to protest -- giving Nik another opportunity.
Anvil couldn't find it within himself to protest anymore as Nikolai lapped into his mouth again, greedily mapping every tooth, suckling the tip of his tongue before withdrawing. He'd incinerate this entire field without concern for his brethren if it meant kissing this bastard again for another heartbeat --
Like a prayer being answered, Nikolai cocked his head back, scooting back on Anvil's lap and bringing his hips along, trapped between his strong thighs. He swore to God he would've passed away, there and then, and would've gone with glee.
"Work with me, for Christ's sake," Nikolai hissed, leaning back in Anvil's lap -- he understood it now. Anvil followed in suit as he leaned back with a groan that Nikolai echoed in a rough baritone, hissing a breath inward every so often as Nik bucked to meet his thrusts.
Anvil couldn't tear his eyes from the tent in Nik's jeans, writhing with mounting desperation as the Russian found a rhythm, churning the bulges of their cocks into each other, seeking the dry friction that made them jump behind the contrasting fabric of their trousers. He couldn't speak for Nik, but Anvil had been halfway there since the brutish bastard was thrown into his lap, feeling his pleasure mount with the stiffening discomfort in his jeans.
He'd give absolutely anything to pull his cock out, to fuck his fist until he painted the front of Nik's shirt -- or, Goddamn, if Nik would let him, run his cockhead over Nik's sweltering tongue.
"G-Guh~~ fuuuck..." Anvil growled, setting his jaw to keep his noise to a minimum as his cock jumped against Nikolai's, feeling the Russian's jerk in response. "Fuck, you're so..." he wasn't able to deliver a full sentence, but he was blessed to know that Nik understood.
Quite well, he was afraid.
A guttural moan strangled Anvil at the base of his throat as Nik threw his hips into a doubled rhythm, bucking to meet his hasty partner's thrusts as their cocks notched together through the fabric --
A few silky words in Nikolai's mother-tongue, and Anvil was folding like scaffolding made of fucking toothpicks.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Nik --" Anvil hissed under his breath, gasping for air like he was held underwater as he exploded in his cammies, mutedly moaning and twitching as Nikolai persisted, riding him until Anvil was jerking from overstimulation, boot-heels scuffing the dirty floor.
Anvil's eyes shot open as he raggedly gasped for air, meeting Nikolai with a panicked plea as his stimulation bordered on white-hot pain; Satisfied with the image of the burly gunner, teary-eyed and desperate below, Nikolai let himself go with a broken groan, shuddering in Anvil's lap as the front of his jeans bloomed with a damp spot over his crotch, warm and welcome against Anvil's own.
Once the euphoria wore off with a slow fizz, and their heads stopped spinning long enough to let the roar of blood evaporate from their ears, Anvil and Nik could hear the distinct echoing-pop of gunfire. With an airy huff of laughter, Nikolai pressed a deep kiss to Anvil's chapped lips that kept his face tingling afterwards.
The informant practically chirped, "Glad the boys weren't punctual for once."
Footnotes : THANKS FOR READING !! I will be participating in Kinktober this year to exercise the smut muscles in my brain, feedback on my MLM prose would be phenomenal ♡♡
