#cod bf

Your boyfriend gets cocky and agrees to try one of those period cramp simulators with you. Except what he doesn’t expect is for you to be completely unbothered. Chill. Unflinching. Meanwhile, he’s gasping like he’s been shot. And the longer it goes on, the more he realizes: this is your normal.

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE — “Do I look like a man who taps out at level five?”

It started as a joke.

You were in one of your chaotic TikTok moods—messy bun, oversized hoodie, devious little grin—and John should’ve known something was up when you said, “Baaaaaabe… you love me, right?” while setting up the simulator on the coffee table.

“Not a chance in hell,” he said immediately.

You pouted. You begged. You reminded him of that time you made him a steak dinner and didn’t film him falling asleep mid-bite like a Victorian grandfather. He sighed. “Fine.”

You strap the simulator to both your stomachs, grinning like the demon you are. He glances at the controller like it’s a live grenade.

“Ready?” you ask sweetly.

He nods, all masculine pride.

Level 1: Nothing.

Level 2: Still nothing.

John smirks. “S’not bad.”

Level 3: He shifts in his seat. “Alright. Bit of tension.”

You’re completely chill, sipping your iced coffee.

Level 4: His eyebrow twitches.

Level 5: He lets out a grunt. “Okay. Now it’s… yeah, alright, it’s uncomfortable.”

You glance at him. “You wanna stop?”

He glares. “Do I look like a man who taps out at level five?”

Level 6 hits and he flinches hard. “Bloody—fuckin’ hell, that’s not tension anymore, that’s a punch.”

You’re still sitting pretty, scrolling on your phone.

Level 7.

He jolts. Actually jolts.

“Jesus CHRIST—" He’s gripping the edge of the couch, sweat beading at his temple. “What the hell is wrong with this machine?”

You: “That’s my Monday morning, babe.”

Level 8.

He growls. Growls, like he’s in a firefight. One eye closed. Breathing through his teeth. “How are you—how the fuck are you still—talking?”

You shrug, smirking at him a little bit. It was oddly satisfying watching your big strong man experience the things he and most of society brushed off as normal pain that you and billions of other women were forced to continue to live life through without acting like it bothered you. “I usually get nauseous around this point. Sometimes I puke.”

He blinks. Stares at you like you just told him you walk on glass every day for fun.

Level 9.

He rips the strap off. Rips it off. Slams it on the coffee table and stands, breathing heavy like he just ran a 5K.

You're really not shocked. “That’s your limit?”

He looks at you. Then slowly sits back down beside you, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

“You go through that. Every month?”

You nod. Shrug.

He just stares for a second.

Then leans over, presses his forehead to your shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You kiss his head. “It’s okay. Now go fold the laundry while I bleed in silence.”

He does.

With extra snacks.

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK — “i'm seeing god, she's mad at me.”

Kyle thinks he’s tough.

He’s run half-marathons. Rucked uphill with a 70lb pack. Taken hits in training and grinned through them.

So when you say “Let’s do the period cramp simulator,” he laughs. Laughs.

“Easy win, babe. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

You just smile, quietly connecting the pads to his lower abs, and flip on the app. You’re both in sweats on the couch, your phone filming the whole thing. You press start.

Level 1: He shrugs. “Tingles. Cute.”

Level 2: “Okay, it’s a little weird.”

Level 3: He winces. “Bit stabby.”

Level 4: He clutches the throw pillow. “Okay—wow. That’s... that’s actually rough.”

You’re beside him, not even blinking, watching the show.

Level 5: He yelps. “Wait. People live like this? On purpose?”

You: “Not by choice, babe.”

Level 6: His eyes widen.

Kyle: “Oh my god. It’s like a cramp. Inside a cramp. And it’s angry.”

Level 7: “BABE I’M GONNA PUKE.”

You laugh a bit. “That’s normal.”

Level 8: He keels over sideways, curled on the couch, gasping.

Kyle: “I’m going to pass out. I think I’m hemorrhaging.”

You arch a brow at him. “Want me to go up another level?” You wiggle your eyebrows, teasing him.

He doesn’t respond. He just lifts a single finger like he’s drawing his final breath.

Level 9: He rolls off the couch entirely and lays on the carpet.

“I’m seeing God. She’s mad at me.”

You turn it off, having a good giggle to yourself as you watch him. "You okay down there baby?"

Kyle lays there a minute.

Then, very quietly asks “...You go through that every month?”

You nod. “Since I was thirteen.”

He blinks. Looks at the ceiling. Then at you.

“I don’t know if I wanna fight you or hug you.”

You: “Why not both?”

He crawls back onto the couch, pulls you into his arms, and whispers, “I’m buying you a heating pad and a Costco pack of chocolate tomorrow. I swear to God.”

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY — “That's internal combustion.”

Simon sits down like it’s nothing.

“You sure?” you ask, raising a brow.

He scoffs. “How bad can it be?”

He’s seen combat. Been tortured. He thinks he’s built different.

Level 1: “Huh. Feels like static.”

Level 2: “Bit annoying. Like pins and needles.”

Level 3: “Okay, bit of a pinch.”

Level 4: “...Starting to think this is a trap.”

You’re relaxed beside him, arms folded.

Level 5: His leg twitches.

Simon: “Did the setting change?”

“Mmhmm.” You munch on a cracker from the small bowl sitting next to the couch.

Level 6: “What the fuck was that? That’s not a cramp. That’s a curse.”

Level 7: He sits up straighter. “Nope. Nope. That’s internal combustion. That’s demons.”

You, sipping water respond calmly. “That’s ovulation cramps combined with regular ones.”

Simon looks at you like you’ve been suffering war crimes in silence.

Level 8: He rips the velcro off and tosses the simulator like it insulted his mother.

“Turn it off. We’re done. That’s it.”

You almost laugh. “Tapping out, pookie?”

He stares. Hard.

Then his voice drops low.

“You go through that. Every month. And still do everything.”

You nod slowly.

Simon doesn’t speak. He just walks out of the room.

When he returns, he has a blanket, painkillers, and a hot water bottle.

Then he pulls you into his lap and wraps you up.

“You ever need anything—anything—you tell me. No questions.”

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH — “That's a dragonslaying cramp!’”

Johnny’s too confident.

“Piece o’ piss, lass,” he says, strapping the pads on. “I’ve dislocated my shoulder before, can't be any different. I’ll be fine.”

You smile sweetly. “Ready?”

“Bring it.”

Level 1: “Tickles.”

Level 2: “Okay. Weird. But nothing wild.”

Level 3: “That was a twitch. Did it twitch? Or was that me?”

Level 4: “Aight. This is... it’s makin’ my leg bounce.”

Level 5: “HOLY HELL.”

You watch him start shifting like a toddler who has to pee.

Level 6: “SWEET FUCKIN’—WHAT IS THAT?!”

You’re laughing. He’s grabbing your hand.

Level 7: “That’s not even funny anymore, babe. That’s a dragonslaying cramp.”

You: “It lasts 6–8 hours, minimum.”

He stops. Eyes wide.

Level 8: He’s wheezing, clutching his stomach like he’s giving birth.

“I—can’t—I need—a priest.”

You turn it off.

He flops sideways, panting.

Then lifts his head, looking at you like he just saw an angel of death.

“You deal with that every month?”

You nod.

He stares.

Then bursts into a fresh round of whining. “I AM SO SORRY. I’M BUYING YOU FLOWERS. I’M BUYING YOU A NEW CAR. I’M—I’M NEVER ASKING FOR SEX AGAIN IF YOU’RE ON YOUR PERIOD I SWEAR.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “You said that last month.” You take yours off too. "I'll take you up on that new car offer if period sex can still be on the table..helps sometimes, with the cramps.."

He whimpers.

Then crawls across the couch and kisses your stomach gently like an apology to your uterus.

“Yer a fuckin’ warrior. My warrior.”

You forgive him for all the times he's dismissed your pains before, or asked why you hadn't put on real clothes, or why you were crying when nothing happened to make you cry..

But only after he does your chores for a week and buys you that new car like he said.

MORAL OF THE STORY:

recap of my week: passed the 911 dispatchers exam with a 92.50% AND got the interview with the PD i wanted to interview for..im currently on day four of a migraine and had to call out of work because I need to go to the dr because my rescue pills haven’t even touched it..how was your guys’ week so far?

Vacations were supposed to be relaxing.

Sunshine. Crystal-clear water. Not being shot at for once.

That’s why you and your boyfriend—along with the rest of Task Force 141—were currently enjoying a well-deserved getaway at a tropical resort.

It was perfect.

Until you walked outside and saw your battle-hardened, highly-trained, special forces soldier of a boyfriend absolutely sloshed in the hot tub, belting out "Part of Your World" from The Little Mermaid at the top of his lungs.

Captain Price – "M’also in love."

Price was deep into his cups.

Whiskey bottle resting on the side of the hot tub. Shirtless. Chest hair glistening.

And absolutely slumped, letting the bubbling water carry him like a goddamn prince of the sea.

The second you step onto the patio, you hear it—

"I wanna be where the people are—"

You freeze.

Price lifts his arms, sloshing water as he gestures toward the sky.

"I wanna see—wanna see ‘em dancin’—"

Your jaw drops.

"John—"

He slowly turns his head.

Blink, blink.

"Sweetheart." His words are slurred, cheeks flushed from the booze.

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

The whiskey bottle tips over.

You stare at it.

You stare at him.

"John."

"M’a grown man, love. I can handle a bit of—" He gestures wildly and sloshes a tidal wave of hot tub water onto the patio.

"You absolute menace—"

Price just smiles lazily, reaching for you. "C’mere, love. Lemme hold ya. I’m floatin’—"

You sigh, shaking your head. "You’re sloshed."

"M’also in love," he declares, grinning up at you. "Come float w’ me."

You do.

(And get soaked in the process.)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – "That’s your tequila, baby.."

Gaz is fully stretched out, floating like a goddamn starfish.

"Look at this stuff…" His voice is soft, dramatic, as he raises his hand, water dripping between his fingers.

"Isn’t it neat?"

You peek out from behind your phone, already recording.

Soap and Ghost are dying in the background.

"Mate," Soap wheezes, "he’s gone."

"Aye," Ghost mutters, shaking his head, "fuckin’ tragic, innit?"

You finally step forward. "Kyle?"

He blinks, grinning lazily. "Baby!"

You cross your arms. "What are you doing?"

"I just—" He sloshes forward dramatically, grabbing your hands. "—wanna be where the people are, babe. The sea is callin’ me—"

"You are in a chlorinated hot tub."*

Gaz squints. "…Aye, but it’s a salty hot tub."

"That’s your tequila, baby."

Gaz stares at the drink in his hand.

Blink, blink.

"…Oh."

You laugh, dragging him out before he actually starts believing he’s a mermaid.

Simon "Ghost" Riley – "See ‘em dancing.."

Ghost doesn’t get drunk often.

But when he does?

He feels the music.

You step onto the patio just in time to witness your big, bad, terrifying boyfriend gripping the edge of the hot tub like he’s about to belt his soul out on Broadway.

And then—

"I wanna see—wanna see ‘em dancin’—"

Your brain blue screens.

Ghost pauses, blinking up at you.

Blink, blink.

Silence.

Then, very quietly—

"…Shit."

You just grin. "Simon Riley. Are you drunk and singing The Little Mermaid right now?"

"No."

You point at Soap, who is recording from the shadows.

Ghost’s jaw clenches. "MacTavish."

Soap, grinning: "Aye?"

Ghost stands up.

Soap runs.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – "wanna be where you are."

Soap has had one too many mojitos.

You step onto the patio just in time to hear—

"What’s a fire, and why does it—what’s the word BURN?!"

He clutches his chest, staring dramatically into the distance.

…He’s fucking crying.

"Johnny—"

"BABE." He whirls, water splashing everywhere. "She just wants more—"

"Are you crying?"

"IT’S SAD!"

You wheeze, grabbing a towel. "Alright, Sebastian, let’s get you to bed—"

"NO."

He pouts, reaching for you. "Come w’ me, lass. Be part of me world—"

"Johnny, you are soggy—"

"I WANNA BE WHERE YOU ARE—"

Ghost, from the shadows: "She should’ve fuckin’ left you there."

Moral of the Story:

Your tactical soldier of a boyfriend?

Yeah. He’s an absolute mess.

And now?

ooooh this is a good one !! i feel like they'd be a heavy mix of dramatic & offended, especially the more stoic of the bunch! hopefully this does it justice!

hi friends :) it's been awhile!

series masterlist here!

tiktok made me do it!gf vs tf141 bf

in which you give your unshakeable bf gray hairs because you're a menace

Captain John Price – "christ above!"

You’d set up your phone in the living room, angling it just right so Price, sitting on the couch with a cigar stub in hand and a newspaper open, was in the background. He wasn’t fully paying attention to you—eyes scanning the crossword, muttering about “bloody Americans spelling colour wrong” under his breath.

The music plays. You dance around, all innocent towel and smile. He glances once, shakes his head like he’s humorously resigned to your antics. Then—the drop. You snap open the towel.

Price’s cigar nearly falls out of his mouth. “OI, LOVE—!” The paper goes flying. He vaults off the couch with surprising agility for a man his age, practically rugby tackling you out of the frame. His massive hand clamps the towel back against your body while his other hand wrestles you behind him like he’s shielding you from incoming enemy fire.

“What d’you think you’re doin’—?!” he half-roars, half-panics, trying to cover you while glaring at the phone. “Christ above, the whole bloody internet doesn’t need to see that—”

But as you cackle beneath him, he notices your tank top and shorts. Price freezes. His face goes through the five stages of grief, ending on deep, bone-deep exasperation.

“You’re clothed?” he growls.

You beam, nodding.

Price pinches the bridge of his nose, mutters something about “grey hairs you’re givin’ me.” Then, with a sigh, he slams the phone down flat so it records nothing and hauls you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “That’s it. No more TikToks. Gonna ground you like you’re a bloody teenager.”

Simon “Ghost” Riley – "find out how funny it feels"

You never expect Simon to actually react to TikTok pranks. He’s always so stoic, right? Wrong.

He’s leaned back on the edge of the bed, mask still on, scrolling through his phone lazily. He keeps half an eye on you, more amused than annoyed as you spin around in a towel.

Then you snap it open.

It’s like flipping a switch. He’s off the bed in half a second. His phone clatters to the ground as he barrels into you, snatching the towel mid-air like some kind of British ninja. He’s growling in your ear, “Are you mad?!” while dragging you out of frame so fast you’re dizzy.

The towel is re-wrapped, knotted, and practically welded to you before you can wheeze out a laugh. “Si—wait—clothes, I have clothes—!”

Simon pauses, looks down, sees the black tank and shorts. His breathing slows. The silence is suffocating.

Then he mutters, low and dangerous: “You think you’re funny, do you?”

You nod enthusiastically, still laughing.

His mask tilts. “Alright. You’ll find out how funny it feels when I hide every towel in this house. Enjoy your showers, sweetheart.”

You gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” he says flatly, before grabbing his phone off the floor and going right back to scrolling, like he didn’t just nearly break the sound barrier getting to you.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick – "don't laugh at me!"

Gaz is the easiest target—you know he reacts loud, always. He’s sitting at his desk, headset around his neck, casually fixing up a gun mod while you record.

You dance, music blaring, and he’s grinning faintly at you, shaking his head. “You’re mad, babe, but cute—”

Snap.

“OIY!” Gaz screams like he’s being murdered. He launches out of his chair so hard it topples. He skids across the floor socks-first, grabs you around the waist and twists you out of the camera’s view.

“ARE YOU INSANE?!” he’s yelling, fumbling to wrap the towel back around you with shaky hands. “D’you know how many people are online? You—you—you’re—!”

You’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe, and when he finally sees your shorts, his voice cracks. “You’ve got clothes on?!”

“Yup!”

Gaz groans and collapses against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, muttering fast and panicked: “Nah, you can’t be doin’ that to me, babe, my heart—I swear, I nearly went into cardiac arrest—don’t—don’t laugh at me!”

You only laugh harder.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish – "evil wee gremlin"

Soap’s on the couch with a controller in hand, headset mic flipped up, trash-talking some poor soul online. You’re in the background with your towel-dance setup.

“Ach, hen, whit are you doin’ now?” he calls, half-distracted.

Then—towel drop.

Soap howls. “NAKED—?!” The controller goes flying. He launches over the back of the couch like a professional wrestler, full-body tackling you to the floor.

“Camera OFF! NO’ A CHANCE!” he bellows, shielding you with his body like incoming mortars are raining down. He’s wrapping, re-wrapping, and triple-knotting the towel while his Scottish accent gets thicker with panic. “Ye’re—ye’re out yer bloody mind! D’ye want the entire world to see ma lass starkers?!”

You giggle out, “Johnny, I’ve got clothes on—”

He stops, blinks, looks down. The shorts. The tank. The smug grin on your face.

Soap’s jaw drops. He rolls off you, staring at the ceiling in betrayal. “Ye evil wee gremlin. I’m… I’m gonnae get ye back. Mark ma words.”

Later, you find he’s taped all your towels into a giant ball.

König – "nein!"

König’s towering frame is bent over, fiddling with some gear when you set up the prank. He’s humming quietly, completely oblivious.

You dance, he gives a small, bashful glance your way but doesn’t say anything.

Then you drop the towel.

“NEIN!” he booms, sprinting across the room. He snatches the towel mid-air and wraps it around you so tightly you can’t move your arms. Then he picks you up like a ragdoll, tucking your head against his chest while he stares daggers at the phone camera.

“No one looks. No one.” His voice is iron.

You wheeze, “König! Clothes!” You kick your legs, laughing, but he doesn’t budge. He stomps over to the camera, slaps his giant hand over it, and growls until it stops recording.

Only when he sets you down again and sees the shorts does he freeze. “…Oh.”

You smirk.

“…I still don’t like it,” he mutters, flustered, tugging his hood down further.

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra – "mi amor, you cannot"

Rudy’s cooking in the kitchen when you decide to prank him. He’s stirring something, humming softly, apron on. You set the phone up, dance into the frame, and—snap.

He gasps so loud it startles the pan. “¡Dios mío!”

He nearly trips over the rug sprinting to you, ladle still in hand. He throws the ladle like a weapon, grabs the towel, and yanks you into his chest to cover you. “No, no, mi amor, you cannot—!” He’s half-yelling, half-pleading.

You giggle, tugging his arm. “Rudy, look—clothes!”

He stops, peers down, sees the tank and shorts. His shoulders sag.

“…You scared me.” His voice cracks a little. Then he sighs and presses a kiss to your hair. “That is not funny.”

But when you keep laughing, he just shakes his head. “Ay, cariño. One day, I’ll prank you back. Then we’ll see.”

Alejandro Vargas – "not while i still draw breath!"

Alejandro’s polishing his rifle at the table, eyes occasionally flicking up at you dancing. He chuckles, shakes his head—until you drop the towel.

“¡NO, MI AMOR!” he bellows like a telenovela star. He leaps to his feet, knocking over a chair, and charges at you. The towel is whipped back around your body in record time as he positions himself between you and the phone, spreading his arms like a shield.

“You will not corrupt the internet with this! Not while I still draw breath!” he proclaims, fire in his eyes.

You laugh so hard you collapse, and he stares down, confused. “Why are you—”

He notices the shorts. The shirt.

“…You tricked me,” he whispers, looking utterly betrayed.

When you nod, Alejandro groans dramatically, throwing his head back. “You wound me, corazón. Right in the heart.”