Cod Drabble - Tumblr Posts

Simon was about to make another cut on the man's already maimed face when the phone rang up.

“Would you look at that ?” He smiled, his grin cocky as he flashed your caller Id, saved lovingly as Babe, a red heart too. The man in question had eyes puffed and bruised beyond vision and Ghost only relished in the torture.

“Now keep your pathetic excuse of a mouth shut while I talk to my sweet love.” His words were dagger sharp, glaring as he wiped his hands, bloodied and bruised.

“Baby !” You chirped on the phone, Ghost smiled, heart melting at your voice.

“Haven't you slept yet darling, come on, it's past your bedtime.” He teased you, you whined, scoffing at bedtime.

“I can't sleep without you.” You whispered softly in the phone, Simon cocked his head as the man, tied and on the edge to death whimpered, his expressions hardened and he brought a finger to his mouth, Simon shaked his head at the man, making a throat slashing sign, the man clamped his mouth shut, a sob dying in his beaten throat.

“I am coming home to my sweetheart, with icecream if you be a good girl.” He added with soft chuckle, Simon bit his lips when he heard you giggle on the other side.

“Be quick, I am waiting.” You purred, he was sure you pouted and he so, so wanted to kiss your lips, softly and delicately, like you were made to be cared for.

Simon reluctantly ended the call, kissing the screen as if it were your face, finally turning with devilish look in his eyes.

“Would you like mint chocolate or strawberry ?” He asked, flexing a gun in his slender hands, the man was shaking his head profusely, sobbing almost, trying to free himself.

“Didn't you hear bastard ?” Simon snarled, the man winced, " she can't sleep without me so you better be quick."

“Mi...mi...min...” He stumbled against his words, wincing at every second.

“Too bad.” Simon said nonchalantly, pulling the trigger, “M' sugar likes strawberry more.”

Part 2

Masterlist

Nikto x Reader Angst Drabble

You love Nikto. But Nikto does not love anybody.

Word count: 829

Allusions to smut! Readers are warned for mentions of NSFW.

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"I do not love you."

You're bent over, hands clutching the bedsheets, fingers bunching up the fabric in a shaky, white-knuckle grip.

Nikto, who had been thrusting into you, was still, as still as a statue, and, although you cannot see his eyes, you imagine them to be stony, the expression under the metal mesh plate of a mask stoic, unresponsive. Disgusted.

Five words. Just five single syllables, whispered in a voice that is hoarse from groaning, gravelly and rough like always. A voice which belongs to Nikto, the voice that you had hopelessly fallen in love with, despite how reckless of you it was for you to grow accustomed to it, to be comforted by it. To find solace in it.

You hadn't meant to let it slip. You really hadn't. It was in the heat of the moment, even though those feelings were anything but. Those feelings were a fire, and Nikto the fuel, a finite source that you should have known better than to extract from.

He would be gone for weeks, for nights, months at a time, deployed on missions with intel classified to you. You never knew what would happen, what was the goal, where, and why. What you would know is that Nikto survived each time.

And what you do know is that you're a toy for him to be used, abused, and reused, dumping weeks' worth of semen into you.

You enjoyed it. Nikto enjoyed it. Really, it was meant to be no strings attached — just a case of arriving at your apartment when least expected, the intensity of his gaze enough for you to realise his intentions, and you'd be bent over the nearest surface before you could do so much as blink, clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor and half-naked.

Nikto did not exert warmth. Not comfort, nor love. Stoic and stone-cold, his heart a hard rock incapable of oozing love for anything, his mind irreversibly damaged and traumatised, he was incapable of emotion, of feelings. Incapable of reciprocating your feelings.

Aftercare was nonexistent. Every careful caress of his scarred skin, every tentative touch on an area that is sensitive, even the merest of kisses that appeared too intimate, too affectionate, too full of care, were swatted, spat on, and chastised. Nikto's nose scrunched in utter disgust at the prospect of intimacy, and he positively felt sick to his stomach whenever you mistakenly kissed him, too lost in the moment for the consequences of such a mindless action to register.

You were meant to be a toy. And that's all you are. That's all you are, you repeated, was reiterated, was reinforced.

Yet, you longed for more. How fucking pathetic of you to think that Nikto could offer you more.

"I..."

Licking your dry lips, you swallow the build-up of saliva in your mouth, throat bobbing up and down as you do so. Although drool had collected at the corner of your mouth in pleasure, saliva built up from guilt, from shame, from humiliation.

You lie through the skin of your teeth, thankful that your facial expression isn't visible to Nikto from this position: "I— I-I didn't mean it in... in that way. You— you know that, Nikto."

Tears collect in your eyes. Why couldn't you have contented yourself with the sex? His presence? His existence? Why did you have to fall in love with a man who would never, ever love you?

"I meant— I meant I love what you're doing. W-what you're doing to me. J-just— it feels so, so good."

He grunts in acknowledgement, and you gulp a little too audibly for your liking, blinking profusely in the hope that you convinced him enough.

His callous fingers tangle themselves in your hair, fingertips scratching your scalp — not fingernails, because some are missing. It never warranted an explanation because you didn't deserve one.

The silence is deafening. For those seconds, you don't dare breathe. Your eyes are wide, panic-stricken, and you're mentally praying for any salvation, for any mercy — anything.

Finally, Nikto's grip on your scalp loosens, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and he resumes his thrusts, grunting into your ear again.

A quiet moan escapes your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears to go away.

"Good," he laughs, laughing a cruel, callous laugh, apathetic. "And I love it when you keep that mouth shut. So keep it shut, or I'll cut that tongue out if you keep letting such shit leave that goddamn mouth."

You feel so pathetic. So ashamed. So humiliated.

And you are. You really are.

But you can savour his touch for a few moments more, lose yourself in the pleasure for a some more thrusts, orgasm some more, until Nikto decides that he is satisfied, and abandons your apartment to return to the barracks.

And who knows? Maybe this is the last time he will ever come back to you — abandon your apartment forever without a word of goodbye.

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Haven't written in a while, but this came to me as I was on c.ai, and the inspiration was so strong that I wrote this all in one sitting lolol 😝

Still obsessed w Nikto behind the scenes. I am on my KNEES 🛐, PLEASE GIVE ME MORE NIKTO CONTENT I AM IN NEED 😭🙏😭🙏😭🙏 IDC IF YOU DO NOT FOLLOW ME OR KNOW ME TAG ME IN ANYTHING I NEED IT SO BAD 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

Anyways although this isn't my headcanon, it suits Nikto's character, and as tragic it is for me to imagine this, it's pretty accurate (I would say)... 🥲💔

141 + König teaching Medic!Reader to spar

—————

141 + König & Reader

Short Drabble

Price decides that you need to learn how to spar. He doesn’t really explain it, but you go alone with it anyway.

It would be inaccurate to say you weren’t surprised when Price called you into the gym in the middle of the day. You were in the midst of getting as much paper work out of the way as you could before you took your lunch break when you got the call.

“Head down to the gym, need your help with something.” Was all you got from him before he hung up. You were expecting to have to supervise a particularly rough sparring session.

Once you’re in the gym, Price calls you over to stand in front of him. “I’ve never seen you in combat, so I want to know what you can do.” Lucky for you, you were already dressed in some workout appropriate clothes.

“Don’t worry. You’ll have a good teacher.” He says, gesturing to…

———Simon “Ghost” Riley———

Isn’t going to go easy on you and treats you like any other rookie in need of training

Doesn’t train like he would with Soap or Price, makes sure to treat you like you have no experience in fighting

Doesn’t spend time letting you get any “free hits” in, not a hardass but definitely not just gonna “let you win”

Believes in the “people out there won’t be nice to you, so it’s best you learn now with people who will be”

Ultimately just wants to see you learn and be safe

Ghost steps onto the mat in front of you, practically staring you down through the holes in the fabric mask he wears around base. His gaze is cold and calculated, already analysing you as you step on in front of him.

He drops into a low stance, feet spread slightly, looking relaxed. His hands come up to shield his torso and face, balled into loose fists, hovering still in the air.

You barely have the chance to try and mimic him before he’s stepping in and throwing you to the ground. It’s a clean and controlled takedown, nearly landing you on your front. You would’ve been winded were if not for Ghost’s hand balled up in the fabric of your shirt, holding you up.

The moment doesn’t last long at all, as he elects to drop you onto the ground. You manage to catch yourself on your forearms before rolling onto your back and staring up at him. He holds a hand out to you, eyes crinkling slightly with a smile.

“Get up, you’re not gonna learn anything on the floor.”

——John “Soap” MacTavish——

Mostly fun and games, even during this

He doesn’t feel the need to be absolutely serious, but will still point out areas where he feels you need to pay attention

Knows this is likely your first time ever fighting, so takes it easy - but not too easy

Kind of forgets you aren’t a solider at one point and gets a little too harsh with his hits - he feels so bad

Enjoys helping you learn

Soap is bouncing on the balls of his feet as you try and ready yourself. You haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re supposed to be doing with your hands or feet. Luckily, Soap is here to guide you!

“Hands up, protect your organs and your head - they’re important, ‘specially for someone that has to think all the time, like you,” he chuckles lightly, bringing his head up slightly, looking directly into your eyes.

His eyes sparkle with mischief as you follow his instructions. You find your body sinking slightly, easing into a lower stance that makes your thighs burn after a few minutes.

“I’m going to punch you - slowly - and I want you to try and block it.”

He does as he says and you do your pathetic and best attempt to block it. That attempt being you brining your hands up to shield your head and scrunching up your face.

“I think we’ve got a lot to learn.”

Despite his chaotic nature, he makes a surprisingly good teacher.

———Captain John Price———

Feels responsible to do this, seeing as he’s the one who called you down here

Very slow in his movements - a combination of him being a patient man and knowing you have little to no experience

Much like Soap, he tries to keep it more lighthearted so you don’t feel under pressure

Spends a lot of time correcting you, moving to grab your arms and tug them into place or kicking/tapping your ankles to get you to move your feet

Price doesn’t bother trying to fight you, instead opting to stand with his arms crossed across his chest before you. He looks at you with a look somewhere between disappointment and analysis - you can’t really tell. Something about him does, however, says ‘deep in thought’.

“Hands up, legs apart, relax your knees,” he speaks while moving to stand behind you, placing his hands in your upper arms. You quickly realise he’s doing this to support you as he gently kicks at your ankles. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s just hard enough that it causes your legs to shift and you to sink your stance.

“There. Much better,” he mutters, moving round to the front of you and taking your wrists in his hands. “A low stance means a low center of gravity. A low center of gravity if good for balance. Better balance, less likely you are to be knocked over. I’m sure you can infer why that’s a good thing.” He speaks as he moves your hands, placing your hands about half a foot in front of you.

“Keep your guard up. You got one head, if the enemy gets it, you’re gone. Don’t give them the chance.”

He stands in front of you, out of reach of any misplaced punch or pathetic kick you might try and throw.

“You learn quick enough, I’m sure this’ll go smoothly.”

———————König———————

He’s well aware of both his strength and size and is incredibly nervous to try this - especially when he thinks about the fact that you haven’t been trained to fight

König wants to do right by you, he really does, but his nerves get the best of him sometimes

He’s very hesitant to touch you, so ends up taking a very hands off approach to teach you instead, opting to stand next to you and have you copy him instead

König is fidgety as he moves to stand next to you, holding his hands up with his left hand in front. He waits, unmoving for a second, before looking down towards you.

“Could you copy me please?” He speaks, voice seeming to crawl out of his throat at the same speed that honey drips off a spoon.

You do as you’re told, trying your best to copy his stance. It takes a few minutes for you to get it right, not including you making tiny little adjustments to your position to try and be as accurate to your teacher as possible.

König can’t help but chuckle a little at your actions. He makes a small comment, asking you to raise your front fist up slightly.

“Put your non-dominant hand forwards, so when you punch, you can punch with your dominant hand.”

You do as told, holding your non-dominant hand further in front of you than your dominant one. This prompts another laugh from him.

“You need to also put the same leg forwards. Left hand forwards,” He pauses for a second, taking care to gesture to his left hand. “Left leg forwards.” He does the same thing, this time gesturing to his leg, planted sturdy in the ground, providing a solid support.

“You have to do the same,” he speaks with a hint of a smile but with nervousness dripping off of every syllable.

“Don’t worry, it gets easier with time.” He reassures you, and you’re almost certain you see his eyes crinkle in a smile.

Oh my god!! The thigh comment is amazing!! Also price eating your pussy like a starved man is great!

you see price sitting like this when you walk into a room post mission- and you know exactly what it is he needs.

he's licking at you and holding your thighs open with his rough palms- and you can't take it. his calluses and his beard and the fabric of his sleeves are rubbing at your legs just right- but not enough for you to lose focus on his hot tongue rubbing on you and in you and you've never been wetter in your LIFE.

his only problem? you're still moving too much. he can't reach where he wants to inside of you because you keep wiggling out of his way. his hands want to touch you everywhere- not just hold your thighs still. this is when he begins to squeeze at you everywhere, and tell you to rest your thighs on his shoulders.

"b-but price- hhnngh ohmygod- i c-can't. they're too big. thighs are too big"

you whine at the loss of contact, but then you look down and see him staring at you with massive pupils and a wet face. "lovie- my shoulders are broad for a reason. rest your thighs on em and i swear they'll have enough room"

and you listen, and you're crushing his ears with your thighs, and he's never been happier. the next time you look down? he's rutting into the mattress and you see his hips stutter when he groans into you and your vision goes white

(@chamomiletealeaf and i had SUCH A HORNY discussion about this and she told me to post it so here i am- and also omg photo creds to her. we've gotta reign it in lmfao)

Wearing your brother’s dog tags brings a lot of questions, which meant problems. Especially from men, especially at a bar where said men try to pick you up. Or strike a conversation about the mysterious dog tags. Lucky for you a certain Scot lovingly doesn’t think to ask too many questions. Not until Johnny “Soap” Mactavish’s tongue is down your throat in the back of his car on holiday do the gears begin to turn. But only, yes only after, a few odd weekends of small dates and letters when he can write, he finally decides to ask who your tags belong to between deep kisses and pants. You frown as you pull away to respond, the mood dampened.

“Oh I really shouldn’t say..” you sigh not wanting to explain the long story typically because it ruins the mood “my brother gave me these so I wouldn’t worry about him when he leaves on missions. His call sign is Ghost and…” Shit. Johnny’s whole body seizes up as his heart makes a pitfall down his body. His hearing stops as his brain repeats your joined last name over and over and over; Riley, Riley Riley Riley. Fuck why didn’t he connect the dots. Ghost always was secretive and protective about his younger sister, everyone knew he always declined to bring you as his plus one or even show photos to the rest of the 141. Damnit he knows somewhere down the line if Gaz or even worse Price hears about this that he’ll never live it down. If Ghost hears about this - shit he’ll never live. He finally zones back in to hear you say

“…but that doesn’t matter because you guys don’t run in the same circles, right?” Soap’s nervous smile gives you all the time for your heart to join his in dropping down below. But as your phone rings both of you are sure your hearts have dropped down to hell as the caller id reads: Simon Riley.

Drabble Drabble, I’m tired and I wanted to put this on paper before it slipped my mind. I’ll expand upon this later but this is mostly an idea for @glossysoap to enjoy because Glossy loves Soap as much as I do. So I hope you enjoy btw not proofread so toodles xoxo - Moon

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