#modern warefare

[iloveghostfromcod]

me bringing it up IRL

[uhohdad]

(18+) John Price x Reader - Spanking ♡

WARNING: NON-CONSENSUAL THEMES

John Price absolutely believes in corporal punishment :(

If you’re acting like a brat, he’ll remedy it by throwing you over his knee, holding you tight while you try and squirm away. Locking you down with a sturdy arm over your waist and a leg slung over the back of your knees as you thrash and throw demands you’re in no position to be making.

“What are you doing?! Stop it!”

“Oh no, sweetheart, you’ve been begging for this.”

He’s not afraid to manhandle you, roughly yanking your pants down to your thighs and bunching your panties up to expose your plush ass to him.

The first open palm strike that lands makes you gasp, intensifying the kicking and writhing in his unforgiving grip. He doesn’t fold, keeping you steady with a rigid hold to give you a matching handprint on the other side.

“It’ll be easier for everyone involved if you just let it happen.”

His hits aren’t too painful, but they are hard enough to leave behind a stinging bite that compounds with each strike. John knows it’s not just about the pain - it’s about the humiliation of being bent over his knee with your pretty panties and ass on display, knowing anyone in the vicinity could very well hear your embarrassing punishment. It’s a clear reminder of who’s in charge and what will happen if you step out of line again - that back talk will not be tolerated, because all you are to him is a little girl who doesn’t know her place.

“Cap-Captain!”

“S’okay. You need this.”

His hardened, experienced palm has no problem navigating your squirms, landing his slaps to the height of your ass without fail, alternating sides to make sure he leaves you with an even burn.

You sputter and squeak hit after hit, the repeated, intimidating crack of flesh-on-flesh echoing throughout his office. The crease of your middle is forced against his thigh and your body lurched forward under the force of each increasingly strict swat. His disciplined and evenly-timed strikes have you braced for the next impact before it even lands. You find yourself fighting the pain instead of him, your hands scratching at his legs and your thighs wriggling to expel the stinging sensation his hands bring.

“There we go, that’s it. No need to fight it. You know you needed it.”

His smacks have steadily turn merciless, the pain of his stern hands much harder to swallow. His pace quickens, giving you less time to recover between the burn of each relentless swat. While you’re choking on your own gasped breaths and the broken high-pitched whines coaxed from your throat, you finally give into him. Submitting to his will and lulled by his rhythmic strikes, your mind gone blank, unable to focus on anything other than the next anticipated bite of his unyielding hands.

Reduced to a drooling, limp, sobbing mess splayed across his thighs, his free hand no longer keeping you from thrashing, but offering soothing rubs on your back as he rounds out his final harsh smacks, each sure to elicit a cry and leave behind a handprint. A tender hand follows his last hit, smoothing over your welted backside while you whimper over his lap.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, you’re all done.”

You can’t find it in your right mind or your trembling limbs to pull yourself up anytime soon, but John forgivingly fixes your panties for you, his careful fingers brushing across your warmed, punished ass before he gently tugs your pants back up. He gives calming, feather-light strokes over your sore backside, waiting patiently for you to find your bearings.

You can’t look at him once you slowly bring yourself to a sit, tears welled in your eyeline and your face just as warm as the evidence of your punishment. When he prompts an embrace, though, you all but throw yourself into his arms, burying your burning face into his chest while he holds you tight in his strong arms. From your hiding spot, his words are just a vibration against your cheek.

“Are you my good girl now?”

When you give a silent nod into his shirt, he hums in approval, tracing his fingers up and down your back until you’ve calmed down. He makes you promise him you’ll behave before he sends you on your way with a gentle pat on your backside and your pride in his reddened palm.

John will pretend he didn’t notice the puddle of arousal that stained your pretty panties after your spanking, so long as you pretend you didn’t notice the strain in his pants that had been flush against your side from the moment he put you over his lap. ♡

♡ UHOHDAD’S DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[sterifels-blog]

simon "ghost" riley

The first time Simon saw your boyfriend, he knew.

Oh, he knew. Not in that “you’re too good for him” way you half-expected your protective, burly best friend to behave. No, Simon hated him with a ferocity so immediate, so visceral, it made his blood hum a little sharper. He didn’t just hate him. He despised him. Abhorred him. Wanted to roll his sleeves up and grate him into the damn carpet with the sheer force of his forearms alone. And if that wasn’t enough, he wanted to spend the rest of his natural-born life proving to you (and to himself, if we’re being honest) that he was better.

Tighter shirts. The flex of his fists when your boyfriend spoke in that grating voice Simon privately referred to as "discount Casanova." The subtle, almost casual cracks of his knuckles whenever the man dared to open his mouth about you in any way that wasn’t pristine worship. Every time your boyfriend laughed at you instead of with you, Simon would let out a low, bone-chilling chuckle of his own— a rumbling thing, gravelly and sharp, because he wasn’t laughing at all.

And then there was that one night.

It wasn’t like Simon was trying to hover. He wasn’t. He didn’t need to be your babysitter. You were strong, capable, smarter than everyone Simon had ever met— except, apparently, when it came to that bloody waste of oxygen you called a boyfriend. But when he saw the way your smile dimmed just a little too much at something the guy said, the way your fingers tightened around your glass as if to crush it, something ancient and primal roared inside Simon’s chest.

He stayed behind when you went home. Watched the fool stagger out into the night like a walking bad decision. Simon followed him with the quiet, measured gait of a shadow given form—leather jacket snug over his frame, boots heavy, but silent as sin.

Simon wasn’t poetic about what happened next. He didn’t need to be. There was no artistry in the precise, methodical lesson he taught your boyfriend in a dim alleyway under a broken porch light. (Broken now, thanks to your boyfriend's skull, if Simon were feeling particularly cheeky about it.) He made sure the man knew exactly why he was being "affectionately" restructured. And when the lesson ended, Simon left without a single word but with a vivid reminder that would stick for weeks:

stay the hell away.

The next morning, your boyfriend broke up with you via text message. A single line of lukewarm cowardice you barely had time to process before Simon was at your door, arms laden with snacks, beer, and the sweater you always stole anyway.

You curled up next to him on the couch, face half-hidden in the collar of that massive gray hoodie, and let out an exhausted sigh. Your voice was soft when you mumbled- sniffling with a stuffy nose from your previous sobs, “I just don’t get it, Si. I thought he cared..”

Simon didn’t answer right away, gaze fixed on the screen as Finding Nemo played in the background—a film you’d insisted on because you needed something light and harmless. Of course, to Simon, it wasn’t harmless at all. He frowned as Marlin yelled at Dory, the tiny blue fish babbling nonsense with frantic, short-term determination.

“'Course he didn’t care. Idiot didn’t even notice he was playing chicken with a shark,” Simon finally muttered, his deadpan delivery laced with something so dry you almost didn’t catch it.

You looked up, confused. “Huh?”

“Forget your boyfriend,” Simon said, tone flat as a blade. “This is why I don’t swim. Can’t trust anything with gills. Bloody sharks, jellyfish, clownfish...all useless. Why d’you think they call it Finding Nemo? Should’ve named it Simon Was Right: Stay Out of the Water.”

You snorted, unable to help yourself, and Simon glanced down at you, lips quirking upward just enough to show the barest hint of satisfaction.

And there it was. That warmth. That comfort. Simon didn’t need to say it, didn’t need to spell it out for you in big, stupid letters. You could see it in the way his arm stayed firm around your shoulders, in the way he made sure your blanket covered your toes, in the way his ridiculous commentary on Finding Nemo somehow made you feel whole again.

Yeah. You'd find your own way to thank him later.

[ghouldtime]

Who was going to tell me that Captain John Price is ONLY THIRTY EIGHT

(I am talking about reboot Price for reference as he seems to be the most popular one)

I'm not making this up

I am floored, I am stunned

I swear to anything I thought he was late 40's early 50's but NOPE

Everyone writes him like he's one good breeze away from falling down the stairs and being in a nursing home. HE'S THIRTY EIGHT???

I'm still calling him peepaw irregardless cause it's funny but I'm losing my mind

For the record thirty eight isn't that old y'all. I'm so tired of people pretending like it is. That's not even fully middle aged. A lot of the COD men are middle aged to just about. Ghost is likely mid to upper thirties possibly around 40, Captain Price is (apparently) 38, König is likely upper thirties to mid 40's (he's probably in his 40's tbh), Keegan is 35, and the list goes on and on. The youngest would be Gaz (who is a bit older than Soap iirc) and Soap who is 26. A lot of operators will be close to if not middle aged, especially higher ranking ones

Let me have my middle age men. You can pry them from my cold, dead hands. I beg of you stop making them younger just for the sake of it outside of AUs because no one can accept that they're mostly not young dudes. Except with Price who apparently everyone decided has got a fast past to being geriatric where he's ready to fall asleep on the couch in his underwear watching the telly with a cold one in hand when it's 2pm on a Tuesday (same tho but in spirit that sounds nice)

(( AUs are great tho keep doing you're thing there and I love seeing AUs like when Ghost was just a Private. Those are so fun))

TL;DR what the hell Price isn't even that old?? and STOP MAKING THEM ALL IN THEIR TWENTIES OUTSIDE OF AUs PLEASE. They're mostly in their thirties and forties and that's okay and wonderful and I love that about them

[kaitawrites]

Mind full of Task Force 141

AN: I only played the game once, and it wasn't the story mode COD, just regular COD. But I ended up in Task Force 141 rabbit hole on TikTok and Tumblr. Currently Obsessed

Pairing: Task Force 141 x Black Reader

I just imagine you are part of a different task force, you were honestly well-known for your victories when it came to cage fighting. You were vicious with your broad shoulders and thick arms. You were a force to be reckoned with. It would be very strange if the 141 didn't hear anything about you.

They rarely saw you on base as if you were a figure of their imagination. They wouldn't believe you were real if it wasn't for the news of your arrival from others. It seems they are always there when you just leave. Truly frustrating when they wanted to see what everyone was talking about.

Until one day, there was another cage fight, and your name was attached to the flyer. Finally, they would have the chance to understand what all the hype is about. There you were in the cage. Your stance was strong, and your head was held high. You positioned your hands before your face, a smug grin on your face as you carefully watched your opponent.

They didn't even know someone could move that fast. They were beyond shock as they watched you. Johnny watched excitedly, his eyes never leaving your sweaty body. He watched the way you dodged your opponent's attacks. He watched the way you bounced from side to side, awaiting an opening to land your final strike. Kyle's eyes danced with amusement at the sight before him. You had landed a hard right hook to your opponent. Simon's fist and jaw clenched, and many thoughts ran through his mind. It was the same for John. Once they had seen the way you held down your opponent, they knew that they needed to have you.

Hope you enjoyed, I am very open to feedback <3

Donations is Motivation

[rottingcorps3s]

"Daddy Issues" - J.P.

John Price x f!reader

Rating: 16+ (no smut, just cute) Word Count: Like 800?? Notice: Hey Alexa, please play “Daddy Issues” by The Neighborhood. I feel as if the title is self explanatory. A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve posted! Had a few ideas I wanted to get out so I decided to write this while I waited for Skyrim to download lol This was written on mobile and not proofread. Might make multiple parts of this, might not. But hope you enjoy!

His grip was tight on your hand. His fingers having completely engulfed your own as he pulled you through the crowd of people. His other hand holding onto the few shopping bags you had accumulated throughout the day.

John was an older man, not much older, but still older. You didn’t mind, obviously, but other people seemed to. It was evident in the stares from strangers that would linger just a second too long.

Is that your dad? You’d heard a hundred times over.

Is she your daughter? They’d ask John, a defeated look crossing his eyes.

When people realized that the two of you were in fact a couple, it tended to sour their mood. Seeing a younger woman with an older man their mind immediately went to Sugar Daddy. Which was far from the truth…kinda.

Did John spoil you? Definitely. Who wouldn’t want to? The multiple Cartier bracelets you owned, the 24k gold necklace that sat delicately against your sternum and the fact that your nails were always done every 4 weeks were proof of his generosity to you.

But your relationship was so much more than that. To him, you had done more for him than he’d ever be able to pay you back for. Your warm touch and inviting smile was all he needed to be satisfied, but you had gone further beyond that.

Since you had entered his life, not a day went by where he wasn’t thankful. Making sure he always had a hot meal waiting when he returned from deployment no matter the time of night. A hot bath already prepared by the time he was done eating. Your warm embrace waiting for him in bed as he washed away the horrors of war.

God forbid he spoils his woman a little.

You felt it happen a few blocks back, your shoe having slowly dragged your sock down the back of your heel and under your foot. It was driving you crazy, but the car was only a few blocks away. John could tell something was wrong as you seemed to lag behind him and stumbled every couple steps.

You had been looking into the window of one of the shops you passed by, seeing if anything interesting caught your eye before you were met with the solid chest of your boyfriend. You looked up at him and met his gaze, his eyebrows raised and a questioning look in his eyes.

“Are your shoes hurtin’ you?” he asked, pulling you off to the side to avoid being trampled by people.

You looked down at the shoes you were wearing, they were a simple pair of white sneakers. A pair John had bought you.

“No,” you said simply, a small smile forming on your lips as you admired him for a moment.

“You keep tripping over yourself?” he said as more of a question.

“My sock rolled under my foot, but I was just gonna fix it in the car.” You said simply.

His eyebrows furrowed as he listened to you, his eyes scanning your form and ultimately landing on your shoes. He paused for a moment, your gaze having wandered back to the window of the shop, waiting for him to start leading the way once more.

He let out a small sign before moving the bags he was holding further up his arm and got down onto one knee in front of you. His knees popping as he did.

You looked down at him with a questioning gaze before he gripped the back of your calf and set your shoe on his knee. You quickly gripped onto his shoulder as you used it to balance yourself. He made quick work of untying the laces and slipped your sneaker off. His hands felt ice cold against your feet as he gently pulled your sock back over your heel.

For as big as John was, he was extremely gentle. His fingers were calloused over and rough, but his touch was the complete opposite. He was nothing but gentle, and caring, and soft with you (unless you requested otherwise).

You felt your face heat up from the interaction, a deep red blush covering your cheeks as he slipped your shoe back on and tied the laces. He set your foot back down on the ground before grabbing ahold of the other one and doing the same thing.

People were staring, you both knew that, but it was such a sweet gesture that you completely blocked out the existence of everyone else around you. John stood back up once your other shoe was on, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment before he turned back around and continued to the car. Your hand still gripped tightly into his own.

You had a huge smile plastered across your face as you pushed yourself into his side. Your other hand holding onto his bicep, your nails gently digging into them.

“Thank you…” you said appreciatively. John smiled in response.

��Anything for you, love.”

(someone please stab me, I love John so much)

[multific]

First Kiss - Modern Warfare Men Preferences

John Price, Simon Riley, Johnny MacTavish, Kyle Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, König, Logan Walker x Fem!Reader

John Price

Your first kiss with Price would be special. He would plan the entire thing and as often, his plan is perfect.

He would plan the perfect romantic date with candles and flowers and he would prove he is a gentleman over and over.

He is the kind who would ask if you are okay with everything that he does. He would ask if he can kiss you if you are comfortable. 

And who would say no?

His very first kiss with you would be simple, private and affectionate. He would test the waters and make sure you are 100% okay with everything that is happening.

And once you give him the go-ahead once more and relax against him, that's when the real fun begins.

His hand would go from your cheeks to your waist, pulling you closer than physically possible. John is a romantic, and in every single one of his movements, you can feel it.

Simon Riley

Both of you were in a fresh relationship, even if you two spent years dancing around one another.

You two were on a mission. A mission which went down as soon as you got off the plane.

You were cornered, scared and alone. Simon tried to calm you through the comms but sometimes no one could reach you in that state of panic.

When you finally met him in the agreed house, you were still on high alert.

Your ears were ringing, your pulse was going insane. 

You didn't even hear Ghost calling out for you.

Until suddenly he kissed you.

He raised his mask just to uncover his lips and soon you found them on yours. 

The shock of the kiss got you out of your panicked state. 

"Finally, that got you back." he said when he pulled back. You could only stare at him.

You two finished the mission in time with minimal damage. You still couldn't believe your first kiss was on the battlefield while guns sounded off in the distance and you were hiding from the enemy. But you didn't know what you expected from Simon Riley.

Johnny MacTavish

Johnny preferred to be random and spontaneous. 

Much like how he asked you out on a date for the first time after he spent days admiring you.

So of course he wouldn't plan the kiss or how he wanted to get to the kiss.

He would just out of nowhere one day kiss you on the lips. And you would be okay with it and so would he. 

A simple kiss to show his love for you was enough. But you would totally reach for his neck the next moment and pull him in for a longer kiss.

Kyle Garrick

Kyle would be leaving for a mission when he visited you, letting you know that he would be back as soon as he can.

You tried not to cry, you didn't want him to feel guilty, so instead when he was about to turn around and leave, you would grab his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

A kiss that was more like a promise from him. A promise that he would return and a promise from you saying that you will wait for him.

No words were needed. Your lips against his did all the talking.

And Kyle would soon be back from his dangerous mission. He would have a dislocated shoulder, but he would be back.

Back for more kisses.

Alejandro Vargas

Alejandro was always a doozy in the mornings. Barely registering what happened before he had his coffee.

Like that morning, it was your first time staying over to his house when he waddled into the kitchen the morning while you were making coffee. 

He would thank you with a short kiss before he left with his mug. You just stood there, confused as he walked away.

After his third sip he realized what he just did and rushed back to the kitchen only to find you still in the same place, frozen as your eyes were scanning him. He grabbed the mug out of your hand and placed it on the counter before pulling you in for a full blown kiss. 

He didn't waste another moment without his lips on yours.

Logan Walker

While Logan was more reserved and collected, you thought your first kiss would be completely random.

But on the inside, Logan was a mess.

You were the most delicate and beautiful thing in his life, and he swore to protect you and be gentle and kind to you.

It was a promise he intended to keep. Even when his brother was making comments about it, Logan didn't budge. 

He was nervous around you which he thought he was hiding well. And he was. You really thought he was not going to kiss you anytime soon, figured a tough guy like him wasn't sweating about it.

But you were very wrong.

He was so nervous he made up his mind like four times now whether he should or shouldn't kiss you.

You two would be out on a date and suddenly he would pull you in. In your mind, it was completely spontaneous. But in reality, it was a carefully crafted plan. 

Of course, he would make sure you are comfortable with everything, but he would find himself lost in the kiss very soon.

König

König is the kind of shy guy who would make up his mind to kiss you and then 0.1 seconds later he would find himself running out of the room because he couldn't do it.

He was scared you would think he hates you and that's why he wouldn't kiss you, but you would know that is not the case.

You knew he was the shy giant. You didn't expect him to be open and ready for a kiss so soon.

After all, you knew what you got into when you started dating him.

You expected yourself to be the leader in certain situations. So you figured this could be one.

But you were wrong.

The first kiss you ever shared with him would catch you completely off guard.

He would be heading out to train as you said goodbye, he would pull you in and give you a quick peck on the lips.

Simple yet effective.

It left you smiling for the rest of the day and him red for the rest of the week.

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  @mandoloriancookie​ @noname2246​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[forsaire]

imagine if - contrary to many of the other soliders - Alex actually has gone to college, and as a result is like... really good at beer pong

he'll naked mile you really quickly if you're not careful

and he only gets better as he drinks

[mudgazing]

I like to think that Farah's troops call Alex "Farah's white boy" or "Farah's American" (affectionate) in private

[ifyouwalkedinmyskin]

First MakaYuri art of the year <3

Oug- life is life-ing and I'm ill jdndmsksm

I shall work on more art soon-

Now I'll crawl back into my rabbit hole and finish what I started :]

[iloveghostfromcod]

I’m imagining you doing something dumb and ghost is like “what the fuck was that for?” Kinda scolding you, and because you’re already in a bad mood you just start crying. And then ghost starts profusely apologizing like “no no no wait I didn’t mean it” and then you kiss and everything is fine

[sterifels-blog]

All the Pretty Little Things

John is a man of quiet convictions. His truths settle deep in his bones, tucked between sinew and marrow, built from years of ironclad certainty. He believes in hard work. He believes in duty. He believes in you.

That last one— God, that last one— sits in his chest heavier than anything else.

You, his Little Lady. His Dove. The sweetest thing the military has ever pressed into his hands, so soft and golden-lit that sometimes he wonders if he ought to feel guilty for keeping you. You, with your gentle hands and even gentler voice, tending to his men like they were yours, murmuring sweet nothings as you pressed careful fingers into aching muscles and rubbed circles into scarred skin. You, laughing— soft and bell-bright— when they pouted through the pain, shaking your head like you weren’t indulging them, when you so obviously were.

He knew, from the moment he met you, that you were good. Too good. One of those rare, untouchable things that men like him weren’t supposed to have. And yet, somehow—miraculously— you were his. Had been for years now, steady at his side, all soft smiles and sweetness, something sacred in the way you looked at him.

That much hadn’t changed.

What had changed, was the way he looked at you.

Not in love—no, no, he’s loved you since the first time you kissed his bruised knuckles, tutted at him for not taking care of himself. Loved you since you let him press his forehead against yours in the quiet of your office, the scent of antiseptic giving way to the perfume on your skin. No, that part is the same. What’s different is how the idea of you is shifting—growing. Solidifying.

And it’s all your fault.

You’re too damn soft with babies. That’s the problem.

It started small, at first. A brush of fingertips against a stroller when you passed one on the street- you and the mum sharing wide grins at the little bundle of life. A coo under your breath at some little cherub-faced thing in a shopping cart, pink cheeked and drooling, big baby eyes locked on you like they knew how much you adored them. You never stopped. Not once. Always lingering—hands clasped, eyes bright, lips parted with something breathless and wistful.

And John… John noticed.

He noticed when you stopped in front of the boutique in town, the one with the pale blue awning, the little silver bell that jingled when you passed. He noticed the way your gaze caught on the baby clothes in the window display—tiny knits and soft cotton, lace trim and pastels. Your fingers curled against the glass, like you were holding yourself back. You didn’t say anything, just let out a dreamy little sigh before walking on, but— fuck.

John hadn’t thought about kids in years. Not properly, at least. It wasn’t something a man like him was supposed to have, not with the kind of life he led. The idea of coming home to something small, something fragile and pink with life, was too far removed from what he knew.

But you—you—were ruining him.

It was getting worse.

The universe loathed him, dangled the idea in front of his face, and dared him not to bite.

His mate had a kid recently— a baby girl, fat-cheeked and sweet, cooing up at the world with dark lashes fluttering against rosebud skin. And God, if John thought you were bad before, watching you with her was something else entirely.

You held her close, arms cradled like she was something precious, something made just for you. And she— the little thing— she knew. Giggled up at you like she’d been waiting to see you her whole life, tiny fingers flexing against the air until you let her wrap them around one of yours.

“You’re so beautiful, little love,” you whispered, brushing a featherlight kiss against her forehead, voice full of something deep and aching.

John had to excuse himself.

Had to sit on the edge of the bathroom sink and breathe through the way his chest felt tight, his stomach hot, his slacks suddenly far too restrictive.

He could barely look at you the rest of the night.

Because the thought—the one he hadn’t let himself have before— had finally settled in, took root.

You’d look good carrying his baby. Fuck.

You, all soft curves and flushed skin, with his child tucked safe in your belly, growing under his touch. You, walking into his office one day, belly round and full, glowing from head to toe, pressing his hand to the curve of you like it belonged there. You, giving him something his, something yours.

His stomach clenched. His jaw tightened.

And that was when it started.

The taunting.

Baby advertisements showing up in his emails. Algorithm somehow deciding he needed to see prams, cribs, bassinets. He scoffed, rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop himself from clicking. Thought about the nursery. Thought about putting it together himself, hands deep in sandpaper and wood glue, smoothing varnish into something he made for you.

He tried not to let it sink in. Tried.

But then he caught you in the mirror one morning—fresh from the shower, towel slung low on your hips, rubbing lotion over your stomach with slow, absentminded strokes.

And John—John was gone.

Something deep inside him cracked, fissured open, let something dark and desperate spill through.

He wanted it.

Wanted you—soft and round, belly full with something his. Wanted to press his palm against the stretch of you and murmur, 'hello, little one', and watch you melt into him like you always did. Wanted to carry you to bed and take you slow, so slow, hands firm on your hips as he pressed the idea into you, again and again, until it wasn’t just a thought.

And you—God, you. You must’ve known.

Because when he finally looked at you—when he finally let himself—you smiled, soft and sweet; but secretive.

“Something on your mind, Captain?”

And John— John just groaned, pulled you into him, and let himself sink.

[ghouldtime]

Task Force 141 and the pillow pets they'd have

With no explanation

Captain John Price

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish

[servethelight]

My theory for the next modern warefare is:

1. Ghost goes bonkers and gets killed

2. Gaz gets killed

3. Price kills Makarov and the game ends with him smoking cigar while the police arrives

This is based on the fact that in the originals Gaz is the first to die out of 141 and Soap the last. Since this time Soap was the first to die I figured maybe they reverse the stop breathing order. Also given Soap and Ghost’s close relationship in this game, it would be the perfect starting point to make Ghost do something stupid.

[ask-sgtcrow]

hey everybody, welcome to my channel!

i went ahead and made this blog, like everyone else, cuz i need to prove i’m the elite sergeant on the 141. soap and gaz? they get wayy too much attention.

little bit about me, uhh i’m latvian, russian and irish. Don’t ask, i’m as confused as you. my callsign is crow, you want my real name? you’re gonna have to play detective. i’m like 175 cm tall, that’s 5 ft 9 for you losers who use imperial, and i’m 27 years old. i use he/him pronouns, but i’ll be real i couldn’t care less what you refer to me as. oh and i love love music, Rammstein and Type O Negative are some of my favourite bands.

from what i’ve seen on this app so far, all of ye are little freaks, so i ask you to tone it down a little while chatting with me, alright?

awesome, ttyl! ;)

-🖤

(hey gang it’s the person that runs this blog. you can call me birdie and, like crow, idm what pronouns you use for me.)

(i made this blog cuz it seems super fun as someone who used to rp and quit out of nowhere because of a loss of motivation. it’s also a pretty cool way to flesh out my oc some more, so i beg, send in some sort of ask i’ll be eternally grateful)

(some quick rules before you send in an ask:

1: anyone is free to send in asks as long as you’re relatively nice and not just straight up hateful.

2:keep this blog somewhat family friendly. flirting is fine but there’s always a chance i’ll ignore it.

3: nsfw is allowed but there’s a chance i’ll also ignore it. straight up nsfw will probably be ignored

4: i made anonymous an option in my ask box but if any of these rules are violated by an anon it’s outta here

5: more immersive/extensive roleplay when interacting with me is welcome and actually encouraged. i need to drag myself out of my many years long writers block somehow

6: keep ai off my blog. if you support or use ai art/content then please avoid interacting with my blog)

(annd that’s all thanks for checking me out <3)

(picrew pfp by PotatoLord. altered by me)

[floating-space-jellyfish]

A compilation of Blingees for the 141! ^^