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cyxnidx · 6 months

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WANDERING EYES !

character: simon 'ghost' riley x colonel!reader

genre: uhh thirsts..? idek man, just some hcs & scenarios of simon being thirsty for big, muscular, strong women

a/n: the idea of simon being hands and knees down bad for muscular, dominant & stronger women plagues my mind. also: we've made it to 1k followers <3

simp!simon, who worsens his gym habits when he notices you in the weight room around the same time as himself.

you let out a deep sigh, dropping the heavy weight you were once lifting before throwing your hands onto your head. catching your breath, you look over and smile when you see simon entering the weight room. "why, hello, Lieutenant."

simp!simon, who feels his knees buckle when hearing you address him by his rank.

simp!simon, who admires the way your muscles tend to flex out your shirt while doing pull-ups.

small, snuffed out groans continue to leave your pretty mouth as you pull yourself up over the bar. you were far past your usual amount - simon had counted for you, he memorized your sets and all. he knew you were far beyond your usual amount - so why were you going beyond your limit? finally, you drop from the higher pole. "god damn." you groan, clapping your hands together, looking and giving him a smile. it amazed him with the amount of sheer femininity you could still show despite being so masculine seconds ago.

simp!simon, who adores the way your eyes look when you're focused.

walking by your desk, simon peeked over not-so-sneakily, taking in your features. your resting face - eyes narrowed in on the object at hand. lifting your head, you leaned back in your seat, almost startling poor simon. "anything i can assist you with, Lieutenant?" you ask, smirk crossing your lips while your eyes traveled his body. you could swear he looked light headed.

simp!simon, who loves the way you look after being tired from lifting so much.

eyes heavy, breath harsh and body almost glossed in sweat, simon admires you as you pick up your towel, bottle, and begin to make an exit. "heading out for the night, Lieutenant. Ciao!" you call.

simp!simon, who almost gains a boner when watching the way you seem to easily over power your opponents.

after slitting a man's throat, simon looks up to see his one-and-only flipping an enemy soldier over them, finalizing their fate with a gun shot to the throat. "good one, colonel." he praises, hoping it wasn't obvious he was watching for too long. you pat his helmet, continuing to pave your way through the mission.

simp!simon, who can't help but remind himself that he shouldn't feel this way, but it's intoxicating.

watching you from the side of his eye, simon sighed to himself. he knew it was wrong - deep down he did. lieutenant and colonel, together? dating? hooking up?? that was beyond inappropriate. almost criminal.. but he couldn't help but admire you. your muscles, sheer strength, agility, and all the other talents you have that made you, you.

simp!simon, who's chanting your name almost every night, hoping one day you'll hear and intervene.

hand around his cock, simon rests his head against the pillow on his bed. he's been like this for the past hour, edging himself, something he thinks you'd do. he moves his in hand in a motion he imagines you would, with fantasies of your voice flowing through his head, guiding him. when he feels his orgasm approach once again, he can't stop himself - imagining your pretty body and pretty voice, pretty hands around him, even if it's just his imagination - it feels good. cumming into his fist, your name falls from his mouth, almost like it's the only thing he really knows how to say - almost like he's trying to summon you. after coming down a bit, he sighs to himself before going to clean up. such a pervert!

simp!simon, who just loves you for so many reasons.

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verdantcreek · 1 month

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real (confirmed wife-haver) recognizes real (confirmed wife-haver) 👍

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fossilizedpr0tienpowder · 4 months

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What if I drew the cod women?

#cod women #cod mwii

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pertinentpostmortem · 1 month

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characters i'm open to writing:

any pedro boy

ellie williams

abby anderson

any of the 141 boys + girls

↳ i am open to writing other characters, but if i am not familiar with them i may not be able to write it well/at all.

↳ i reserve the right to deny any requests.

immediate nos:

real person fiction (rpf)

anything including (but not limited to): incest, underage, noncon, scat, watersports, etc.

general notes:

i can be rather slow at writing with classes as well as inspiration. please do not harass me to write quicker.

if you want something longer, shorter, or some kind of headcannon, please specify.

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ghastlybirdie · 5 months

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John Price is, of course, the husband that has a special whistle just for you

Did he lose you in a store or needs to get your attention? He whistles in the way meant for only you

Only needs to do it once till you’re bounding the corner seconds later and going straight to him, no detours, smiling at him just the way he likes

It’s worked on day one and knew from then that you were his

#sunny writes #my parents are like this #and my step dad always whistles for my mom #and she never fails to respond with a ‘voy’ and bee lines for him #I find it very cute #it’s also funny when a bunch of women pick their heads up like prairie dogs looking around for their husbands #john price #cod captain price #captain john price #john price x reader #john price x you

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bi-writes · 9 days

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ghost always gets what he wants. (18+, blood kink, dark)

right now, what he wants is sitting across the pub from him. she's smiling, swinging her legs a little as she talks to the bloke next to her. he's leaning into her space, making her laugh, buying her drinks and keeping her smiling and a little drunk. he's putting it on heavy, ghost can tell--actively listening to her, engaging in the conversation, never letting her add her drink to any tab but his own.

ghost tilts his head to the side, running his tongue over his teeth under the mask. that man wouldn't know what to do with that kind of a girl. she's all woman, soft skin, wide hips, a pair of tits he knows would feel like welcome weights between the palms of his gloved hands, pouty lips that deserved to be kissed and bitten and sliding along the length of a cock that can fill her up and choke her from the inside out.

that's what pretty girls like her deserve--to be fucked spineless, to be reduced to nothing but a teary, whimpering mess. a muppet like that would never know what to do with her, how to touch her, how to make her sing.

she's a soft thing. a pretty thing. and he wants her, so he will have her.

you exit the bathroom, a skip in your step as you shuffle outside. he said he would get a car, take you home, and you bounce on your toes as you wait by the curb, looking around the empty parking lot for your ride. but after a few minutes, you turn your head each way, and you realize no one is here, and there is no car coming.

you fully spin around when a dark figure comes out from behind the alleyway. big boots crunch the gravel underneath, and when he comes under the light of the streetlamp, you take a small step back.

the light cuts an angle over his face. you swallow, taking in the breadth of him, tilting your head to look up at him as he steps closer. his mask covers most of his face, and the eyeblack clouds his skin, but you can see the determination in his eyes. it is in the rigidness of his shoulders, the way he stands--and it is the pass of a tactical knife over his chest that you understand the danger that one person can impose.

he wipes one side of it over his dark jacket, stepping closer, until he's in your space, hovering over you. your lips part as he brings the knife down, pressing the other side of it against your throat. you tense a little as he meets your eyes, passing it over until the blood against the sharp edge wipes off, staining the skin of your neck.

he pauses when he sees the hint of a smile on your face. he narrows his eyes, expecting fear, expecting something other than the interest that sparkles in your eyes. like you are all-knowing. like you see everything he is, everything he is not, and like you know what it is he wants.

"i see you," you whisper. "all the time."

ghost sniffs, glaring, and you keep your eyes on his as he drags the knife down your chest, the tip of it moving down between your breasts.

"you're not very subtle," you finish. "quite obvious, what it is that you do...why you do it."

ghost tilts his head to the side, clicking his tongue, and you almost giggle.

"is tha' right, swee'eart?"

you nod.

"been waiting," you say softly.

"for wot?"

you smile.

"for you to make your move," you murmur. your eyes flicker down, eyeing the blood on the front of his jacket. you look up into his eyes again, pursing your lips, and ghost bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood. fuck, the same thing he sees in his dreams, it's in your fucking eyes. you're not afraid, and it angers him, repulses him, and fulfills him all the same. "hmm...you didn't approve of him?"

ghost growls, "was a right muppet. cried like a baby."

your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and ghost follows the drag of your tongue hungrily. you are not the screaming, soft, doe-eyed little thing he thought he might like to have.

you are silent, deadly, a wolf in sheep's clothing, and he does not just want to have you. he needs you. he needs you to live under his skin. he needs to taste you, to have you flood his mouth, to chew and eat and swallow and breathe.

he would say you are his match made in heaven, but he knows this does not exist, because if it did, he wouldn't be real. and neither would you.

"ooof," you scrunch your nose. "i hate cry babies."

you almost make him laugh.

he steps closer, sliding the knife lower until it rests at the curve of your waist.

"you don't need that, you know," you whisper, and he leans in, the front of his mask brushing against your lips.

"no?"

"no," you echo, smiling wider. "if you wanna feel up my skirt, all you gotta do is ask. it'd be nice to have your name first though."

"ghost."

you giggle, "your real name, baby."

"'s ghost."

"that what you want me to say when i'm in your bed tonight?"

"who said you'll be in m'bed?"

you reach up with one hand, dragging the tip of your finger down the strong line of his jaw. he towers over you, shadows you, and the knife is sharp against your skin, but all you want is to be a little closer.

you close your eyes when you feel his hand. the tips of his gloved fingers graze the skin of your upper thighs, and you suck in a soft breath when he drags that hand up under your skirt. you put both hands on his chest as you tremble slightly, holding onto him for support as his big hand fondles one side of your ass. his fingers creep lower, and he groans audibly.

"no knickers, swee'eart?" he mutters, and you just giggle breathlessly. "how long 'av y'been waitin' for me, huh?"

you open your eyes, tilting your head back and holding back a whine when you feel his thick fingers prodding at your folds, soaking up the slick there and teasing your cunt. it's sick--you must be sick, you must be awful, you must be so dead inside, you have to be, but it's so hard to care.

you gasp when he grips your throat, forcing your eyes on his, and you hold him there.

"answer me. how long 'av y'been waitin' for me?"

you soften, smile, bare your teeth for him.

"my whole life, baby."

#i love unhinged women #ill write them til the day i die #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon thoughts #dark!simon

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sentientcave · 16 days

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Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter One - The Perfect Gift

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Stalking, Drugging, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Threats (open-ended), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real.

~3.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

"I told ye, she's perfect," Soap said, eyes on the window across the street. They could see you puttering around your living room, wearing a pretty flower print dress as you tidied up. "Good with bairns too, met her when I was pickin' up the niece and nephew from school. She was workin' for some rich family, an' they let her go because the wife found a pair of her knickers in her husband's briefcase." He snickered. He'd been the one to put them there, although, in his opinion, he’d been pushing the bounds for a long while anyway. Sure he’d essentially cast you adrift, jobless and with no one looking out for you, but, well, they were looking after you now, weren’t they? So it wasn’t all that bad.

"Good job, pup," Ghost said fondly, ruffling Johnny's hair. "Captain's gonna love 'er."

"How do you lads want to play it?" Gaz asked. "Could go in tonight. Won’t take much to knock her out, pack up her things, take her to the cabin. Get her nice and situated for when Price gets back."

"No point in waitin', is there?" Ghost asked. "Nice she's on the ground floor. Makes takin' 'er things easier. I'll go round 'n' check the windows in a bit. Should wait till after midnight. Don't want to be spotted by the neighbours."

"No' much risk o' tha'," Soap said. "Knocked over a bunch of bins last I was here and the cunts didna even turn on a light. Just the bonnie thing worryin’ while the rest of ‘em sleep sound."

Gaz lit a cigarette, nodding thoughtfully. "Small apartment too. Is there much to move?"

Soap shook his head. "Nah, no' much. Sweet girl lives simply. I told ye, she's perfect for the captain. He'll be able to spoil the fuck out of her, once she's broken in, aye?"

"Know 'e'll like that. Man needs a wife to dote on. ‘e’s been goin’ a bit crazy, all alone. An' 'e can train'er up nice."

"Think he might share?" Gaz asked wistfully, exhaling a stream of thin smoke as he sighed. "Nice soft girl like that-- Plenty to go around."

Ghost laughed. "Thought we'd 'ave trouble gettin' Johnny to keep 'is 'ands to 'imself, and you're the one droolin'."

"Scuse me for having eyes, mate. Just think she looks sweet."

"We'll get to see first 'and soon.” Ghost clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on lads. Let's get ready."

You wake up on the hard metal floor of a moving vehicle, your pounding head cradled in someone's hands. That's what you notice first, and the thumbs rubbing circles against your neck soothingly.

It has the opposite effect. Your eyes fly open.

“Hi, bonnie,” a somewhat familiar face grins down at you, blue eyes smiling, but too intense, glittering in the low light that filters in from the windows at the front of the truck. “How’s yer head?”

You grimace, trying to make sense of what’s going on around you. The back of the van seems to be filled with boxes. “Aren’t you Finn and Rory’s uncle?”

“Aw, ye remember me? Knew ye were a sweetheart.”

You try to sit up, but Johnny puts a strong hand on your shoulder and keeps you where you are. Your head feels too heavy to try and fight him, your muscles weak. “What’s going on?” you ask. “What— Is this a kidnapping?”

“Tha’s an ugly word, bonnie. We’re doin’ ye a favour, really. Settin’ ye up with someone respectable. Captain’ll take good care of ye.” He pats your cheek. “Whyna get back to sleep? Still a ways to go, aye?”

Maybe it’s just a bad, weird dream. You do feel foggy, like you’re not fully attached to your body, and keeping your eyes open is a struggle. You’ll wake up back in your own bed, and have a funny story to tell if you ever bump into Johnny again. He’s definitely too nice to be a kidnapper, right? Like, people don’t really do that sort of thing. It has to be a dream.

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes close again.

As you suspected, you wake up again in bed. The headache’s receded some, and there’s warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. You bury your face into the pillows, and then bolt upright. The pillow smells weird, like sweet tobacco and spice, and you don’t get morning sun in your bedroom. The window faces a brick wall across a narrow alley.

The room you’re in now is not your room. It’s sparsely furnished, just a dresser under the window and the bed you’re tucked into, and two doors, one that’s clearly a closet, and one that must lead out into the rest of the… house? Judging by the sound of birdsong outside, you’re out of the city.

You pad to the window and look out. There’s a van in the driveway, and three men carrying things in. One of them looks up and spots you in the window, waving cheerfully.

Not a dream. Fear grips you, ice sliding down your spine, shards settling in your stomach, needling and uncomfortable. Your sinuses prickle like you’re about to cry, but no tears come. You’re too dehydrated to summon them. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out— It’s fully daylight outside, but you have no idea what time. A second look around the room finds a digital clock sitting on the nightstand, 3:05 glaring back at you in red.

There’s a knock on the door, and it pushes open. The man who walks in is handsome, smiling at you so beautifully that your automatic response is to try and smile back, although you feel that it’s flimsy, unsure. There’s no chance that this man is here to help you, but you at least hope he’s not here to hurt you either.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice is as pleasant as his face is, smooth and cheerful, although it makes you wary about him on principle. “You hungry?”

You shake your head. It’s not true, but you can’t trust that there wouldn’t be drugs in anything they give you.

“Well, come on downstairs, hm? Get some water at least. Maybe a tea?”

Your stomach churns. “I might be sick,” you manage to squeak out. He quickly ushers you out into the hall and into a bathroom. You don’t make it to the toilet, but you do manage to make it to the sink. If you had a little more fire in you, you might have tried to vomit bile onto the pretty man’s shoes, but it’s hard to shake the instinct to be good, not to make any trouble, to hope that they’ll just let you go. You’re not even sure what they want. You have no family to ransom, you don’t have any money to speak of, you’re just a fat little ex-nanny still paying off an English Literature degree from a second-rate college.

You turn on the sink to wash away the sick, and rinse your mouth out. Your hands start shaking when you realize your toothbrush is sitting in the holder next to the sink, like it belongs there. Your makeup bag is sitting on the counter too, and when you look down, you realize you’re standing on your own bathmat, taken from your home and arranged here, as if effects from your own house are supposed to make you feel comfortable. You look at your reflection in the mirror, and then at the man still standing in the doorway, his brown eyes all concern, as if he wasn’t party to a fucking nightmare.

You straighten up, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “What the hell is this?” you ask, trying to inject some authority into your quaking voice. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I’m Gaz. Nice to meet you. Johnny had lots of nice things to say about you.”

So that hadn’t been a dream either. You look around the room desperately, looking for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, but Gaz seems to know exactly what you’re doing, and he steps into your space quickly to grab your hands.

“None of that. Come on. You’ll feel better after a tea, yeah? Then you can get ready to meet the captain.”

He leads you downstairs. Questions spin around your head, but you’re not sure if it’s worth asking. Gaz only bothered to respond to one of the three you’ve asked so far, and it wasn’t the one that you were most interested in an answer to. So you stay quiet instead, taking in the layout of the big room. A front door and a back door, and windows that look out onto a forest on one side of the property, and more forest on the other side, beyond a large cleared space with a neat garden and a few fruit trees. There’s a second building that you can just see the corner of from the kitchen window, more likely a garage than a neighbour.

Gaz backs you up against the counter and leans down slightly, his hands gripping your thighs. You panic, the touch surprising you, and slap him across the face. The sharp sound makes you freeze, like it wasn’t you that had done it. He takes advantage of your surprise to shove you up onto the counter and grab both your hands with one of his, all the friendliness draining our of his eyes in an instant as he points a scolding finger at you. You feel like you’ve done something naughty that you’re not fully aware of the implications of yet, a badly trained dog or a child. “I’m going to let that one slide, because I understand that this is a big change for you. But you’re not going to like what happens if you try that again, understood?”

You nod quickly, your own eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry,” you say, the instinct for appeasement rearing it’s skittish little head.

And then the smile returns, as pretty as before, storm clouds blowing away as though they’d never been there to begin with. “It’s alright, doll. Just don’t do it again. And definitely don’t try that attitude on with the captain.” He taps the pointing finger against your nose playfully, and lets your hands drop back into your lap.

The rules seem simple enough. Be good and sweet, and get friendly faces in return, to a degree. No matter how cooperative you are, you doubt they’re going to let you go home. Fighting back means consequences, and you’re not sure how far those consequences will extend. If you’re too much trouble, it’s not a stretch to imagine that they’ll just kill you outright and try again with a meeker woman. You don’t yet know if death would be the more preferable outcome.

You pull your sweater down over your thighs. The black zip-up hoodie isn’t yours (the word Riley is stitched onto the front of it), but it’s big, and even though it smells faintly of cigarettes, it affords you at least a little modesty and comfort, more than the tank top and the sleep-shorts you’re wearing underneath do. Riley must be the third man. Was he the captain? Or was there a fourth one somewhere?

Johnny comes through the door carrying your suitcases, and he grins widely when he sees you, the charming, boyish one that you’d thought was handsome before. It’s only unnerving now. “Didja have a good sleep, bonnie?”

“You drugged me,” you accuse.

“Weel, of course. You were no’ goan ta come all peaceable, and LT wouldna be patient if ye were cryin’ the whole way here.” He trots upstairs, and you can hear him drop the bags with a thump, before he’s clattering back down the steps and leaning against the counter next to you. “How’d’ye like yer new home, bonnie? S’a nice place, aye? Better than tha’ little shoebox back in the city.”

“I like my apartment,” you protest.

“Psh, ye’d say tha’. Puttin’ on a brave face since yer such a good girl. But it wasna verra safe, was it? No’ a single neighbour paid us any mind while we were loadin’ up yer things. No’ a good place for a single girl, aye?” He reaches out and puts a big hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Now ye’ll be taken care of, like ye should be.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of.”

“Nonsense. Ye’ll be glad, once ye get used to things. Already looks real homey in here, don’t ye think?” He gestures at the living room.

You twist to look, and your stomach sinks. Your throw pillows are on the couch, one of the afghans you crocheted hanging over the back of it. You recognize the titles of your books on the shelves. These men were nothing if not thorough, surgically removing your entire life and transplanting it to this house in the woods, with it’s wood panel walls and big, overstuffed leather couches.

He continues blithely, like he’s not delivering some of the most horrifying news you’ve ever heard. “Most of your furniture’s in the garage, ye can sort tha’ out with Price, aye? But we brought all yer clothes and decorations and whatnot in. Figure ye should wear tha’ pretty black sundress, an’ those long stockin’s with the clippy belt, ye ken the one? Cap’ll like those.”

They’d been through all your things. If you had anything left to throw up, you might’ve again. Gaz sets a glass of water on the counter next to you. “How d’you take your tea, doll?”

“Milk, two sugars,” Johnny answers for you. “Our sweet lass has a sweet tooth, aye?”

“How do you know that?” You can hear the quiver in your voice, and it doesn’t slip by either of them.

“Come oan, hen, ye ken I didna jus’ pick ye off the street. Did my research. Wouldna pick just anyone for the captain.”

“When he said he’d found the perfect girl, we didn’t believe him at first,” Gaz says, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen while the tea steeps. “But Ghost and I knew he was right, soon as we saw you.” He nods at the glass. “Drink your water. You haven’t had anything since last night.”

“Is it drugged?” you ask flatly.

“No, want ye awake for when Price gets here. Yer a real cute thing asleep, but we want him ta hear yer pretty voice and see that smile, aye?” Johnny reaches past you and picks up the glass of water, taking a big swig to demonstrate it’s harmlessness.

You take a careful sip when he hands it back to you, and then another, resisting the urge to just gulp the whole thing down. The door opens again, and the biggest man you’ve seen in your life walks in, wearing a black t-shirt and a mask with the jaw of a skull printed on it, pulled up over the lower half of his face. He looks at you dispassionately, and then at Gaz and Johnny. “What the ‘ell have you two muppets been sayin’ to the poor thing?” he asks, his voice rumbling like an avalanche. “She looks like she’s gonna faint.”

“Figure she’s just peaky,” Gaz says defensively. “I’m making her tea.”

The big guy swats Johnny’s hand away from your knee impatiently, and cages you in against the counter, one huge arm on either side of you. “How’re you feelin’ bird? Be honest.”

“Terrified,” you admit.

He chuckles. “Sensible, considerin’. But you don’t need to worry, olright? No one’s gonna hurt you, so long as you’re good. And you want to be good, don’t you, bird?”

You nod. You’d thought Gaz and Johnny were big, but this one’s huge, broad and tall and even scarier. It’s clear why they started off introducing themselves to you in the order they did. If this man had been the first thing you’d seen after waking up you probably would have gone into hysterics.

“Use your words, pet.”

“I want to be good,” you say obediently, because you don’t see any other options, at least for the moment.

“Good girl,” he says, and there’s the slightest hint of a smile in his dark eyes.

Somehow, this is the most comforting thing that you’ve experienced all day. You won’t be hurt if you’re good, and you are being good.

He pushes back from the counter slightly, giving you more space, takes the mug of tea from Gaz, and hands it off to you. “Small sips,” he instructs. “And maybe a biscuit, if you think you can keep it down.”

“Are you the captain?” you ask nervously, gripping the mug with two hands.

“Hm? No. ‘e’s still about an hour out. I’m Simon. Ghost to these two.” He fishes an open package of biscuits out of the cupboard and sets them next to you. “Once you finish your tea, we’ll get you ready. Want to make a good first impression, right bird?”

“Not really,” you admit. “I’d like to go home.”

He laughs, at least finding your honesty amusing. “That won’t be ‘appenin’. If Price dun’t want you, I’ll keep you myself. But I’ll tell you right now, you’ll like Price better. If you’re good for him, he’ll be real good to you, understood?”

You bite your tongue. It won’t do you any good to point out that a man that would accept a person as a gift is probably not capable of being good to anyone. Good is subjective, and the three men in front of you are lunatics. Their captain probably has the slightest bit stronger a grasp on his sanity, or a consistent moral code, if not a particularly righteous one. So you just keep your mouth shut, and drink your tea, and eat two chocolate digestives while Gaz and Johnny start collecting things to make dinner.

As soon as you set your empty mug to the side Ghost pops you down from the counter and ushers you upstairs with a big hand placed a little too low on your back. He tells you what to wear (down to the lingerie), but blessedly doesn’t insist on watching you get dressed. He does sit on the edge of the tub and watch you put on makeup, however, requesting red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Your hands are still a little shaky, but you manage to do as he asks. His eyes smile at you just a little when you’re obedient. You feel pathetic for not making a fuss, but you’re not sure what you can possibly do, except something stupid that will make them angry enough to hurt you.

He helps you into a pair of strappy red heels that had been languishing in the back of your closet before they dug everything out, and straightens the seam of your stockings, running his big hands up your calves. It’s like you’re a doll, dressed just how he wants, something to look pretty and say less than nothing, a gift for some other man you’ve never met to keep on a shelf.

Or worse, to play with.

You hear Johnny and Gaz greet someone downstairs, their voices loud and excited, and your heart skips nervously.

Ghost rises to his feet, smiling so big you can see it even with the mask. “Wait right here, pet,” he says firmly, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed while he goes off to greet his captain. “Want to introduce you proper.”

So you sit, and you wait, shaking and nervous, for what feels like eternity, until you hear Simon’s surprisingly light footfalls on the stairs again. He offers you a hand, and hoists you over his shoulder as soon as you’re on your feet, carrying you down into the living room.

“We all pitched in,” Gaz says, as casually as if he meant throwing in five dollars for a card. “But she was Soap’s idea.”

“Picked ‘er out special, Cap,” Johnny says. “She’s perfect for ye.”

“She?” an unfamiliar voice asks. “Don’t tell me you got me a dog.”

“Better than that, skipper.” Ghost laughs as he circles around the couch, and drops you carefully into the man’s lap, stepping into line with the other two. “We got you a wife.”

I've been low-key thinking about this concept since I read ohbo-ohno's Don't Leave Me Locked in Your Heart a while back (If you haven't read and you like a good dark fic, you should click that link, you may enjoy it). I think getting someone a person as a gift, or being given as a gift, rather, is a fun fucked up fantasy to explore. I'm not entirely sure where I'll take this but I promise to put in content warnings. Let me know if I miss something, I don't want anyone to be surprised by what they find!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

#cod mw fanfiction #cave writing #John Price x Reader #x reader #dark fic #Price please keep your dogs on leashes they are terrorizing women #The boys missed the real retirement party because they got emergency deployed and they've been trying to reschedule all year long #Good thing they've got such a good gift to make up for it #The homies in discord agree: These guys are unsettling

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shadow0-1 · 4 months

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The Laswells

#call of duty #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #MWII #CoD MWII #CoD MWIII #MWIII #blender renders #Kate Laswell #OC: Angela #oUUUUUU themmmmm #women....

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blingblong55 · 15 days

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Bitches, lets talk, seriously now

what kind of Monster High doll do you think the COD men and girlies would be? I need a presentation on your reasons for the doll and the character...

#cod mw2 #cod #mwii #call of duty #cod men #cod women

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cyxnidx · 6 months

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Hello, könig, simon 'ghost' riley,valeria,soap and tall medic fem reader (7.15) some call her for example - Lady Dimitrescu (LMAO), giantess, Queen Kong

The reader puts on heels and this situation happens: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8BpNhks/

Lady Dimitrescu ?!

oooo, im intrigued. lets see what i can make out of this! (i had no idea how to title this so lady dimitrescu it is.)

no warnings, just pure humor and fluff.

part 2 is here.

König

"come in," you sing when you hear a knock on the door. you were traveling all over looking for your heels - only to find that they were in your office. könig enters quietly, analyzing your current position. "sorry, i couldn't find the damn things anywhere until just now." you apologize as he approaches you, sitting on the medical table beside you. finally, you stand and shoot the colonel a soft smile as you smooth down your clothes. "so, how can i help ya?" though, when you look back at him, his eyes seem to be starstruck and blank. "..yeah." he responds, completely ignoring the context of your question.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

"..why hello, giantess." simon mumbles under his breath, surprised with not only the height he was greeted with but the person. "i see they must've got a new medic.." he adds to his previous statement as you welcome him in. you nod, ignoring his previous reference to your height. "apparently she'd died.." you sit on a chair and analyze his body, seeing no wound in sight. "tell me, sergeant. what's today's problem?" simon shakes his head. "it's something of emotion and pride - you've hurt my ego." he admits.

Valeria

"well shit!-" valeria yelps, holding the top of her head from the crash she's had with your body. you kneel down carefully, "apologies. are you alright?" valeria looks up at you and nods, allowing you to return to your regular position of standing. though, another thought comes to mind: "..i'll be damned. Lady Dimitrescu?" she questions, eyes lingering over your height.

Soap

"you must think you're better than me, huh?" soap questions, his tone light hearted and joking, though he refuses to look you in the eye as you walk back over to patch his wounds he gained from the most recent deployment. "it's not my fault my dad loved me enough to give me all of his height." you joke, applying medical alcohol to the wound. "fuckin.. queen kong." he mumbles, almost similar to a little kid being bested by their older sibling. you only laugh though, "oh, don't be mad, you poor rabbit." you feign a pout, pinching his cheeks. though, that only makes his whining worse.

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verdantcreek · 1 month

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gold star for effort! ⭐️

she’s so silly and underrated can we as a fandom please recognize the female operators more 🙏

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hanwiore · 6 months

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You only met him only a couple minutes ago, in a halloween club filled with men that had wives and kids at home. It was ironic that you said this because you—a wife. Were outside shaking your ass while your husband stayed in his office late once again because of his new secretary was dumb and needed help, for the third week of already being there.

You knew he was a lie, coming home with lipstick stains and the smell of perfume that was too cheap to be yours, you would smile at him and kiss his cheek ignoring it all because you rather have peace than anything other. “i’m going out.” You say, the speaker on your phone on while your husband rustled with paper on the other side. “Yea? With who?.” you rubbed perfumed body oil between your boobs, fixing the strap of your bloody red short body-con dress and grabbing your devil ears.

“hm, with akita.” You fix your body wave weave that sat atop your ass, moving the curtains bangs and slapping gloss on your plump lips. “well have fun, love you.” he whispered and you almost said “you too.” But you hung up soon after with mo response at all.

Your friend picks you up and now your at the club, shaking your ass on some guy because his friends said “he doesn’t get any bitches.” But soon you found out that was far from it. So now tattooed scarred hands are gripping on your waist while everyone yelled and hollered, you were tipsy— a-lot more then just tipsy .

You got up giggling, your ysl heels clicking as your turnt around and winked at that man in a weirdly ghost looking mask. The mouth half way on and a tight black pro long sleeve and black cargo pants, the man sat with his legs spreading, combat boots tapping on the floor to the beat of the music you were just shaking your ass too.

And thats what got you here. In this big ass SUV blacked out truck, your legs wide open and heels off somewhere you wouldn’t even know. The man with the ghost masked that now told you to fall him “simon.”

“Hnn fuck!” you cry as your manicured nails scarped against his tatted veined arm that was holding both of your wrist together and pulled your arms down against your stomach, using them as leverage to fuck up into you harder, “yea? that feel good dont it?” He gruffs out

His voice now strained and quiet, making sure he can hear your pussy squelching, he looks down at it, chubby lips marking his dick that was red, sensitive and covered with two thick veins that scraped your walls every time he pushed—more like forced, his way through them again. And every time his dick pushed forward more of your juices will pile up and make a frothy substance.

“y-yes s-si- imma cum again.” you groaned, your head falling back against the fine leather, the leather that was moist with your seat but smelled of Marc Jacob and victoria secret. He laughs slightly, moving his mask slightly up so his plump pink lips were exposed and he moves down to kiss on your neck, loudly slurping on it. “Sloppy pussy making a mess on this dick.” His hot breath against your ear, white teeth scraping against them. “Gonna cum on this shit baby? I feel it baby, fuck- feel you squeezing.”

Simon moans and suddenly shoves his hands away from your wrist and grips on your jaw to shove his thumb against your tongue, he had you gurgling and slopping over it. Your hips grind up against his dick so in can dig deeper and rub against your sweet spot. Your eyes roll back as you cream and cum on his dick. He groaned and leaned up.

He licks on the thumb that was just in your mouth and smashes it against your abused puffy sensitive clit. “Imma cum in this pussy, this married pussy.” You see his crooked smile as he grabs your hand and rubs on your ring that sat there. “He dont fuck you like this huh baby? Gotta get dick from someone else.” He shoves his mask back on and his hips move sloppier. Both of his hands on your neck and his hips slam down against you. One hot spurt of cum goes in your hot cunt and he moans “f-fuck- shit, ugh!” His fingers squeeze tighter against your neck having you gasp for air,

All while still tightening and milking his dick dry.

“D-dirty fucking pussy.” One of his hand moves against your neck to your pussy to slap yo clit and rub fast circles against it, and now your already squirting on him while he still nuts in your pussy. “Shit yes.”

Ya’ll breath in, you were calming down until you saw a flash on you phone, he took a picture.

“Lets send this to your husband.”

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