#modern warfare

[cod-dump]

Gaz, looking at a tablet: Hmm... pass

Ghost: Agreed

Gaz: *swipes the screen and stares for the moment with a thoughtful look*

Ghost: Smash

Gaz: Really?

Ghost: Yep

Gaz: Damn, pass for me- *swipes screen*

Soap, whose been watching them for the past five minutes: What are you doing?

Gaz: ... looking at the mugshots of the Shadows

Soap: Fucking excuse me??

Ghost: Got some lookers

Soap: Oh my god- How can you two sit there and just say ya would fuck any of those damn-

Gaz: *shows him the tablet*

Soap: -oh! Oh... oh oh I see...

Ghost: Graves can do a evil runway

Soap: ... smash

Gaz & Ghost: *nod in agreement*

[alchemyfreak321]

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Credit: OG Ghost render by Pavseh@deviantart

[variety-fangirl]

Sweet god 🥵🥵 i'll be so goddamn good for him 😩🤸‍♀️

More Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley coming into your room at night, no words needed. Follow up on my last post.

His hands are gripping your waist and your tummy, but not only that, he’s actually dragging you downwards with all his strength, pawing at you so your body scoots down the bed, onto his face, ruffling the sheets. The sounds he makes are unholy and like nothing you’ve heard. He’s always barking orders, grunting in disapproval. Now he’s moaning, nearly whining into the wet mess he’s making between your thighs, spit and slick everywhere.

You can’t even see him, only faint moonlight illuminating his bulging arms and head snug between your thighs. You still haven’t said a single coherent word since he came in, running a hand through his short hair, tugging in a way that makes his whole body shiver. He can’t breathe and he fucking loves it, feeling the stress melt from his muscles with every flutter of your hole around his tongue, cramming it inside you.

Everything is a haze. You had been asleep, and now your lieutenants stern, usually hidden mouth was enveloping as much of your pussy as it could and just slurping. Your thighs quivered around his head, feeling worshipped with the way his hands pulled and pulled on your flesh to get you closer.

He inhaled sharply, groaning in his exhale as his shoulders relaxed. You were his free therapy right now. It wasn’t even for you, because he moved up your body at a crucial second, unconsciously edging you. An annoyed whine left your lips, but he was quick to silence you with two fingers slipping between your lips, calloused fingertips pressing down onto your tongue.

“Good to me” was the first words spoken. His voice was hoarse, quiet and you weren’t sure if he was talking more to himself than to you, his eyes narrowed as they observed the way spit pooled at the corners of your lips as you suckled his fingers in contentment. It sounded almost like a surprised observation as it fell from his spit slicked lips.

You blinked up at him in the darkness, spreading your legs to accommodate his wide hips as he slotted them between your thighs.

Your hand curled around his wrist and gently pulled his wet fingers from your mouth. “Can be even better,” you whispered softly, an innocent expression on your face that he found cruel because how could you look at him like that? He had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second to gather his bearing before he looked at you again.

“Show me” he commanded lowly, lowering his chin, his expression dark and set like the lieutenant he was.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

The taller you are the farther you fall.

König learns this the hard way.

[geneviveleocardius]

the way you see me

feat. simon ‘ghost’ riley

your boots crunched against the gravel as you leaned back against one of the metal supply crates in the training yard. ghost, as always, stood at the edge of the scene, observing the rest of the team with his usual quiet intensity. his gloved hands were adjusting a strap on his vest, every movement precise, calculated. he looked like he didn’t care about anything—or anyone—but you could tell he noticed everything. he always did.

it was hard not to watch him. there was something magnetic about his silence, the mystery he carried like a second skin, the mask that kept the world at arm’s length.

“what?” his voice startled you out of your thoughts, low and gravelly, catching you in the act of staring.

your mouth moved before your brain could stop you.

“nothing,” you said, a playful smile tugging at your lips. you leaned slightly toward him, as if sharing a secret. “it’s just… i was noticing your eyelashes. they’re blonde.”

the air seemed to still, like someone had paused a movie mid-scene. ghost turned his head toward you, slowly, as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“come again?” his voice was quiet, but there was a hint of something—curiosity, maybe?

you grinned, fully committing now. “your eyelashes,” you repeated, motioning with a finger toward his eyes, where the mask couldn’t quite hide them. it was such a small detail, but once you noticed it, it was impossible to ignore. “they’re blonde. makes sense, doesn’t it? if your hair is the same color, i mean.”

a sound escaped him then, something between a huff and a laugh, though it was too faint to call it either. he seemed more bewildered than annoyed.

“let me guess,” you continued, clearly enjoying how off-guard he was. “you’re blonde. not bright blonde, though. more like…” you squinted, imagining him beneath the mask. “dark blonde. sandy.”

ghost crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head just slightly to the side. his gaze, or what little you could see of it, was fixed on you now, and there was something… intrigued in it.

“and what if i told you you’re wrong?” he asked, his voice carrying an edge of amusement.

“i’d say you’re lying,” you shot back without hesitation, your grin widening.

the silence that followed was long but not uncomfortable. you could feel the weight of his attention now, more focused than you expected. it wasn’t threatening, though; it was the kind of silence that made you feel like he was truly studying you.

“no one’s ever said that to me before,” he finally said, his voice softer this time.

you raised an eyebrow, playful. “what? that you have blonde eyelashes?”

he shook his head, slowly. “that they noticed something like that.”

there was something about the way he said it that dimmed your smile for a moment. his words were quiet, almost hesitant, and they carried a weight you hadn’t expected. like he wasn’t used to being seen—not really.

“well… someone had to,” you replied, keeping your tone light, though there was a gentleness beneath it now.

ghost didn’t respond right away, but something in his posture shifted. his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have, his focus sharper, more deliberate. it was like he was trying to commit this moment to memory—your voice, your expression, your words.

and though you didn’t know it then, that was the moment you carved a place in his mind. one he’d never let go of.

[forsaire]

A Simon Riley that isn't worshipping John MacTavish isn't a Simon Riley at all

[gremlinmodetweeker]

I cannot stress how these types of comics are my favourite. The trope of chaos flying by a calm and serene person never fails to make me cackle.

"Spring Training"

When I need to take a break from NOPA pages, I doodle in a separate file that I've mentally dubbed "what happened during spring training" and essentially fills in the gaps of the Ghoap relationship speedrun.

Some of it is silly, some of it is horny, it's all amusing (to me). I'll likely collect all the sketches into a PDF once NOPA is done.

[msriri030]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Depressed! Reader

cw: suicidal thought

You stared out your bedroom window, your gaze following a house sparrow as it flitted across the blue sky. Its wings cut through the crisp morning air with ease, yet all you felt was an aching emptiness. A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you peeled yourself away from the cocoon of your bed, the warmth fading the moment your feet met the cold, unyielding floor.

“Maybe a shower will help,” you murmured to no one in particular.

The bathroom felt smaller than usual, the walls closing in as your depression gnawed at the edges of your protective shell. The air seemed heavier, thick like water pooling in your lungs. You turned the shower knob, listening to the rhythmic patter of water as you stripped off your pajamas, waiting for the steam to creep up the glass and warm the room.

When you stepped under the stream, the water kissed your cold skin with a burn that was almost too sharp but just gentle enough to be bearable. The heat wrapped around you, a temporary refuge from the storm raging inside.

You hoped—desperately—that the water would wash it all away. The weight, the melancholy, the intrusive whispers that never seemed to quiet. Even as your mind raced, you tried to anchor yourself. You repeated softly, almost like a mantra, “It’s okay. I… I love myself.”

The words felt hollow.

Or maybe they were a lie.

But it was a beautiful lie, and maybe that was enough. Maybe believing it, even for a moment, was worth it.

You scrubbed at your skin as if trying to care for yourself in the way you knew you deserved, but the tears betrayed you, slipping silently down your cheeks. They blended seamlessly with the water streaming over your face, hidden but not unnoticed by you. You paused, letting out a shaky breath as you leaned against the shower wall, eyes closed.

When you finally turned off the water, the bathroom was heavy with steam, the air damp against your skin. As you reached for a towel, your gaze landed on the neatly folded clothes on the counter—clothes you hadn’t left there.

Your breath hitched, a flicker of warmth breaking through the fog.

Your husband.

He’d left them for you, anticipating the small comforts you might need. As you picked them up, you noticed they were warm, the heat still lingering as if he’d just taken them out of the dryer. A soft smile tugged at your lips despite the tightness in your chest.

He always noticed, didn’t he? You could never truly hide your feelings from him.

You held the clothes to your face, inhaling their warmth and faint scent. The gesture felt almost instinctive, a small attempt to ground yourself. But the tenderness of his act overwhelmed you, and tears welled up again, threatening to spill over.

You sniffed, swallowing hard to push them back. You didn’t want to cry. Not now.

You scolded yourself silently. I shouldn’t cry. There’s no reason to cry. I need to suck it up. The words echoed from years of conditioning, the lessons drilled into you by your parents. But the tears didn’t care. They hovered there, a testament to the feelings you tried so hard to suppress.

Taking a deep, centering breath, you blinked them away, the threat of breaking down receding slightly. Once you felt steady, you dressed slowly, letting the warmth of the clothes wrap around you like an embrace.

Once you were dressed, you shuffled your way to the kitchen, the faint smell of breakfast guiding you. There it was, laid out neatly on the counter—a plate of fluffy pancakes, golden eggs, and homemade hash browns. The meal was carefully wrapped in plastic, a thoughtful touch to keep the food fresh and free from any pests.

You approached it slowly, almost hesitant. You weren’t hungry, not really, but you knew better than to skip a meal. It wasn’t about hunger—it was about taking care of yourself, even if you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

Sliding into the chair, you unwrapped the plate and began eating in quiet bites. The food was good, warm and comforting in a way you didn’t quite expect. Still, the act of eating felt mechanical, your movements slow and deliberate.

The familiar lump in your throat threatened to rise again, and you sniffed, willing yourself not to break down. You closed your eyes for a moment, grounding yourself. One step at a time, you thought, echoing the mantra that had carried you this far.

When you opened your eyes again, you noticed the small card tucked to the side of the plate. It hadn’t been there before—or maybe you’d been too caught up in your thoughts to notice. Picking it up, you read the simple, scrawled phrase:

You got this, Doll!

A soft smile tugged at your lips, fragile but genuine. Simon. Even when he wasn’t there, he had a way of finding the cracks in your armor and mending them, piece by piece.

You sighed, setting the card aside and finishing your meal. Once you were done, you stood and set about tidying up the house. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress. Small victories against the weight pressing down on you.

You turned on some music, letting the sound fill the spaces in your mind that the dark thoughts so often claimed. The steady rhythm of the songs became a lifeline as you moved from room to room.

By the time you started washing the dishes, your chest felt a little lighter. But then, without warning, that heaviness crept back in. Like a sudden wave, the weight in your chest pushed down, stealing the air from your lungs. Your breaths grew shallow, rapid, the world closing in around you.

Not now. Please, not now.

You gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady yourself, but the panic clawed at your mind, refusing to relent. The thoughts came flooding in—your failures, the unresolved problems that loomed over you, the insecurities that whispered lies in your ears.

You tried to focus on the running water, the feel of it splashing over your hands, anything to anchor yourself. But it wasn’t working. The pressure was too much, and the voices in your head grew louder, urging you to succumb.

And then your eyes landed on the knife you were washing.

It was so simple, so easy, the voices whispered. It could all stop. The pressure, the pain, the endless fight—it could all fade away.

Your hand trembled as you held the blade. Tears blurred your vision as you fought against the pull of those dark thoughts. The voices were deafening, the weight suffocating.

“Doll?”

The voice cut through the noise like a beacon, grounding you. Your head snapped toward the doorway, where Simon stood. His broad frame filled the space, his face shadowed with concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice calm but firm, his sharp eyes taking in the scene—the trembling in your hands, the knife clattering as you dropped it into the sink, and the way you stumbled back like you needed to put distance between yourself and the thoughts that had almost consumed you.

You couldn’t find the words to answer him, your throat constricted with the weight of everything. Tears threatened to spill.

Simon didn’t press you. He crossed the kitchen in a few long strides, his movements deliberate but gentle. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand explanations. Instead, he reached out, his warm hands steadying you as he guided you to sit at the kitchen table.

“Breathe, Doll,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he crouched beside you. “You’re safe. Just breathe.”

You nodded shakily, focusing on his voice, his presence. Slowly, the storm inside began to settle, the waves receding enough for you to catch your breath.

Simon stayed by your side, his hand never leaving yours, as though anchoring you to reality. His thumb traced small circles against your skin, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone in this fight.

Finally, when your breathing evened out, he tilted his head to meet your gaze. His eyes were soft, filled with a quiet understanding that made fresh tears spring to your eyes. But this time, they weren’t tears of despair.

“I’m here,” he said simply, his voice a promise.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the tears began to fall again. “I tried to hold it together, but I couldn’t. I feel… angry, and hurt. And I don’t even know why.”

The words tumbled out between sobs, raw and unfiltered, like a dam breaking under the weight of everything you’d tried so hard to suppress. You wiped at your face with trembling hands, trying to stem the flow of tears, but it was futile.

Simon sighed softly, his expression unreadable for a moment before he leaned in, wrapping his strong arms around you. His embrace was warm and steady, grounding you as you crumbled in his hold.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Let it out, Doll. You don’t have to hold it all in.”

His words were a balm, allowing you to fully release the emotions that had been suffocating you. You buried your face against his chest, your sobs muffled by the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you tighter, one hand gently running up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head.

Simon didn’t rush you, didn’t say anything more. He just listened, his steady presence a reminder that you weren’t alone in this, even if it felt like it.

You cried until there was nothing left, the tension in your body slowly melting away as the storm inside you quieted. Your breaths were uneven, but the tightness in your chest had eased.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice hoarse as you pulled back slightly, though Simon’s arms stayed firmly around you.

He shook his head, his thumb brushing away a tear that lingered on your cheek. “Stop that,” he said gently. “You don’t need to apologize for feeling. It’s not weakness to let it out.”

“But I—”

“No ‘buts,’” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind. “You’ve been trying to carry too much on your own. You don’t have to do that anymore. You’ve got me, Doll.”

His words struck something deep within you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe them.

“Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into his chest again.

Simon rested his chin atop your head, his arms still holding you securely. “Always.”

And in that moment, as his steady heartbeat thrummed beneath your ear, you felt a fragile sense of peace beginning to take root—a small but vital reminder that you didn’t have to face this alone.

Simon guided you to the couch, his hand resting gently on your back as he steered you. When he sat down, he pulled you onto his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a fortress. You protested at first, mumbling something about being fine, but he wasn’t having it.

“Lay down, Doll,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You sniffled, giving him a pout that you knew usually worked in your favor, but not this time. His lips twitched into a rare smile, and a soft chuckle rumbled through his chest.

“It’s not funny,” you grumbled, crossing your arms in mock defiance.

“Sure thing, Doll,” he teased, clearly unfazed by your attempt to sound serious.

Before you could fire back, Simon grabbed the remote and put on your comfort show—the one he always claimed was "mind-numbing" and “rotten for your brain.”

Your eyes widened, and you looked up at him, surprised. “You’re really putting this on?”

He shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You like it. That’s all that matters.”

Warmth spread through your chest at his unexpected gesture. He wasn’t the kind of man who did things halfway—if it made you feel better, he’d endure just about anything, even a show he despised.

Before you could thank him, Simon laid down with you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. It was unhurried yet intense, a silent promise wrapped in affection. When he finally pulled back, your cheeks were burning, and you quickly buried your face in his shirt to hide the blush.

His arms tightened around you, his hand coming up to gently stroke your hair. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he murmured, the teasing lilt in his voice making you nuzzle into him further.

For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt the weight on your chest ease. As the show played in the background and Simon’s steady breathing mixed with the sound of his heartbeat, you found yourself slowly relaxing.

“Thank you,” you whispered softly against his chest.

He pressed another kiss to the top of your head. “Anything for you, Doll.”

And as his warmth surrounded you, you realized that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay—because with Simon by your side, you knew you wouldn’t have to face your struggles alone.

[giotanner]

When Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley was invited by Captain John Price to join Task Force 141, he hadn't considered that... the more elite the squad, the more colorful the personalities within it would be (see: the young Scottish Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish)

If you like this, please consider to reblog it—it helps stay in the Call of Duty circle!

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ART COMMISSIONS OPEN

[aussiepineapple1st]

Gay Sex Thursday Post!!

[you-raggedy-bitch]

I cannot BREATHE

tagged by @ryuzakemo128

1: Go to Character Headcanon Generator

2: Type the name of your current #1 kin character/comfort character

3: Press the “Create Headcanon” button

4: Take a screenshot of the headcanon that it generated and post it in your reblog

5: Tag some moots

tagging

@londonfog-chan @jozstankovich @xxladymjxx @userchai @eddiemunsonfuxks

@somethingvicked @emmykaleidoscopeheart @hippiegoth97 @gea-chan96

and anyone else who wants to

[cod-dump]

Price: *minding his business in his office*

Gaz, throwing the door open: PLEASE

Price: Please what?

Gaz: GET HIM A BELL

Price: A bell... on Ghost?

Gaz, tearfully: YES

Price: If I put a bell on him, he's just going to learn how to sneak with it. Is that what you want? A sneakier Ghost?

Gaz: THERE'S NO WINNING

[noahdrawsalot]

“JOHNNY-? GET AWAY FROM THAT-!”

“I’ve got it handled Si.”

“LUV, WE’LL GET THE BOMB SQUAT, PLEASE JUST LEAVE IT!”

“Mo ghraidh, I am the demo expert here.”

“SERGEANT, IT’S AN ORDER.”

“Aye sir, pulling rank now, are we?”

Simon drags Johnny away out of the kitchen, muttering under his breath in exasperation.

[ltash]

HAUNTED

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

Smut warning

The city's towering silhouettes blurred past as your crimson Ferrari tore down the deserted road, its engine a throaty roar slicing through the quiet. You gripped the wheel with white-knuckled desperation, the lines between prey and predator blurring in your mind. A spy on the run, from him. The Ghost. A relentless specter of vengeance chasing you down.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, your heart seized as his black Hummer loomed larger, a hulking shadow gaining on you. You slammed the pedal to the floor, coaxing every ounce of speed from the Ferrari's frame. The engine screamed in protest as the car surged forward, but it wasn't enough. With terrifying precision, his Hummer closed the distance and rammed into the Ferrari's side, the impact sending a shockwave through your body. The sleek red machine swerved violently, tires screeching against the asphalt. The chase was no longer a game, it was a battle for survival.

"Fuck!" you hissed through clenched teeth as the Ferrari lost control, spinning wildly before screeching to a halt. The world tilted for a dizzying second, and when it righted, you found yourself face-to-face with the beast, his black Hummer growling like a predator ready to strike.

Heart hammering, you slammed the gear into reverse, the Ferrari lurching backward at full speed with his Hummer following inches apart. Your hands gripped the wheel with brutal force, knuckles pale under the strain, as the deserted road blurred into streaks of shadow and light. But he followed, relentless. The Hummer's headlights bore down on you, twin orbs of menace cutting through the dark.

Then you saw it, his face, or what little of it he allowed. Beneath the skull mask, his eyes burned with an unholy intensity, and that smirk... It was as if the chase thrilled him, as if this was all a game he intended to win. The sight sent a chill racing down your spine, a visceral reminder that you weren't just running from a man, you were running from a hunter.

Your mind raced as fast as your car trying to maintain your distance from his Hummer. You couldn't outrun him, not like this. Ahead, the road curved sharply, a wicked hairpin turn that could be your salvation, or your doom. Teeth gritted, you made your choice. With a sudden push of the pedal, you stopped the Ferrari. The decision was made. Now, instead of running, you were charging straight at him.

The Hummer didn't flinch, nor did the man behind the wheel. He held his ground, his smirk deepening as though daring you to try. You braced yourself, adrenaline roaring through your veins as the Ferrari roared forward. At the last second, you swerved hard, the Ferrari sliding past the Hummer in a hairbreadth maneuver, its side grazing his with a metallic shriek.

You didn't look back. The road stretched ahead, and you gunned the Ferrari, praying the maneuver had bought you enough time. Behind you, the Hummer roared like an angry beast, and you knew the chase wasn't over, not by a long shot.

The Ferrari tore past the Hummer in a blur, but your victory was short-lived. The road narrowed ahead, hemmed in by sheer concrete walls on either side. Your breath hitched as you yanked the wheel, trying to avoid slamming into His Hummer as it roared past, its taillights burning like embers in the dark.

But it was too late. The Ferrari skidded, tires screeching, before the side of the car collided with the wall in a deafening crash. The impact jolted through you like a lightning bolt, and the airbag erupted, slamming into your face and cutting off your vision with a blinding burst of white.

For a moment, the world was silent but for the hiss of the deflating airbag and the pounding of your heart. When you forced the door open and stumbled out of the crumpled Ferrari, the Hummer had already stopped, its reverse lights glowing ominously as it began backing up toward you.

Instinct screamed at you to move. You took off, legs trembling beneath you, and sprinted toward the only cover in sight, a decrepit, abandoned building looming in the shadows. The sound of the Hummer's engine drew closer, a monstrous growl hot on your heels, but you didn't stop.

Inside the building, it was dark and cold, the air heavy with the scent of dust and decay. Your heels clicked against cracked tiles as you bolted up a crumbling staircase, every step echoing like a gunshot. You didn't dare look back, but you could hear him, the sharp clink of his boots, the low rumble of his breath, the relentless cadence of his pursuit.

You reached the second floor, lungs burning and heart racing, and ducked behind a broken pillar. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of the stairs beneath his weight as he followed. You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling the sound of your ragged breaths, your eyes darting to the shadows, searching for a way out.

But you knew there was no escape. He wasn't just a hunter, he was the ghost who always caught his prey.

You tossed your heels aside and darted up the crumbling staircase, your bare feet barely touching the cold, cracked tiles as you raced to the top floor. The building groaned under the weight of your frantic ascent, but you didn't stop. Finally, you burst through the door to the rooftop, the open air hitting you like a slap.

The city stretched before you, its sprawling lights shimmering like stars, but they offered no solace. You stumbled toward the edge, your palms pressing against the low concrete barrier as your eyes darted wildly, searching for a way out. The wind whipped against your skin, tugging at the red silk slip dress clinging to your frame, the hem fluttering like a flame in the night. Your hair danced in the breeze, strands brushing against your face as you gasped for breath, heart pounding like a war drum.

Behind you, heavy boots thudded against the rooftop. The sound froze you in place, and your pulse quickened as you sensed him drawing closer.

"Nowhere to run..." His voice cut through the night, low and husky, each syllable dripping with a dark promise. It sent shivers down your spine, pooling dread and something else entirely in your chest. You turned slowly, the city lights framing you against the abyss, as he stepped forward, his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlit sky.

"You're right," you said, your voice trembling but defiant, carried away by the wind. "I have nowhere to run. Because everywhere I go, I find you."

You turned around slowly, the city lights painting your figure in sharp contrast against the darkened sky. Your eyes locked on his as you raised your hand, fingers gripping the cold steel of your gun. For a heartbeat, the tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Then with a measured breath, you raised your trembling hands, palms open in surrender, the silk of your dress shimmering faintly in the moonlight. The wind tugged at your hair, but your gaze didn't waver, your expression caught somewhere between defiance and resignation as he stepped closer, the weight of his presence swallowing the space between you.

Your breaths grew shallow, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven intervals as he closed the distance between you. The air seemed heavier with each step he took, his towering frame swallowing the moonlight and casting you in his shadow. His presence was overwhelming, a force that seemed to pull the very air from your lungs.

You averted your gaze, biting your lip as you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat impossible to ignore. Your pulse thudded like a frantic drumbeat, a rhythm you couldn't control. Instinctively, you backed away, the dirt and debri clinging to the soled of your feet. Your back was pinned to the short wall of the edge now.

He followed without hesitation, his pace deliberate, predatory. When he finally reached you, his arms caged you in, hands braced against the wall on either side of you. With a calculated step, he took the gun from you before throwing away its magazine and discarding the gun on the floor. You froze, every muscle in your body locked in place as his eyes bore into you, an intensity that made it impossible to look away even though you wanted to. The wind swirled around you, but it couldn't carry away the weight of his presence, the unspoken tension pressing down like a storm about to break.

"Accept it... you are mine now," he murmured, his voice dark and commanding, sending a shiver through your spine.

With those words, he removed the skull mask, revealing his face for the first time. The moment you saw him, your breath caught. His features were sharp, intense, his eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering, almost predatory gaze. The man behind the mask was more than you'd ever imagined, and for a split second, you were speechless.

His hand found the nape of your neck, strong fingers tangling in your soft, silky locks. With a gentle but insistent tug, he tilted your head back, exposing your throat to the cool night air. A soft gasp escaped your lips, unbidden, and his smirk deepened, a flicker of triumph in his piercing gaze.

"Trapped," he murmured, his gruff, husky voice laced with a British accent that made your pulse stutter. "Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide."

His words sent a shiver racing through your body, but you mustered what little defiance you had left. "In your dreams," you retorted, though your trembling voice betrayed you.

His expression darkened, the smirk replaced by something far more dangerous. "It's not a dream, darling. It's reality," he replied, his voice low and intimate, wrapping around you like a velvet chain. "Now imagine..."

His other hand moved, sliding up from your ribs, fingers grazing the swell of your breast, then tracing a deliberate path up to your throat. The touch was slow, purposeful, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his hand finally settled on your delicate neck, his large fingers enveloped it completely, his grip firm but not crushing.

"Tsk, tsk," he chided softly, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. "You're a wounded bird. Fragile. Beautiful. It will be my pleasure to clip your wings, to cage you in, and keep you all for myself, love."

Your breath hitched, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive. His thumb lingered on the rapid beat of your pulse, his touch igniting a heat that spread through your body like wildfire. The closeness of him, the sheer, overwhelming presence, left you trembling, your body betraying your mind as it arched subtly toward him, drawn by a force you couldn't resist.

His thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point, his lips curling as if savoring your reaction. "Feel that?" he murmured, his voice like silk draped over steel. "That frantic little heartbeat. It's not fear, is it? No... it's something much sweeter."

Your breath came in shallow gasps, and you tried to look away, but his grip on your neck held you in place, his gaze unrelenting. "You're so defiant," he continued, his tone laced with dark amusement. "But your body... it's honest. It tells me everything I need to know."

"You're delusional," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, though the tremor in it betrayed the truth.

"Am I?" He leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over your ear, the faint brush of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Then why aren't you pulling away? Why aren't you screaming for me to stop?"

Your lips parted, but no words came. His hand slid from the nape of your neck to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward him. "You want this," he said, his voice dropping to a near growl. "Even if you won't admit it. Even if you hate yourself for it."

"I don't-" you started, but the words died on your lips as his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, his touch electric.

"Shh, darling," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Lying doesn't suit you. Let me hear the truth instead."

His hand tightened ever so slightly on your throat, the pressure sending a rush of heat through your body. His lips hovered just over yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

"Mine."

The single word dripped with possession, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced, caught in the tug-of-war between defiance and surrender, but it was his overwhelming presence that tipped the scales.

Before you could muster a response, his lips crashed onto yours, fierce and unrelenting. The kiss wasn't a question-it was a claim, searing through you like wildfire. His hand tangled in your hair, tugging you closer as though he couldn't bear even an inch of distance. The other hand gripped your ass, fingers digging into your flesh with an unapologetic need that made you gasp against his mouth.

The sound seemed to spur him on, his body pressing you against the pillar with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. His chest was solid against yours, his heat radiating through the thin silk of your dress. Everything else, the danger, the chase, the fear, melted away, leaving only the intoxicating fire between you.

His kiss was dizzying, a heady mix of hunger and dominance that left you reeling. His tongue explored your mouth with a fervent need, tangling with yours, your breaths mingling as your saliva mixed. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, like being drunk on a potent cocktail of adrenaline and desire.

Your knees buckled, legs turning weak beneath you. As if sensing your faltering strength, he shifted, his thick thigh sliding between yours, parting them effortlessly. The action left you straddling his leg, his firm grip anchoring you as he pressed even closer. The pressure was maddening, his body a force you couldn't escape, and didn't want to.

"You feel that?" he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. "That's what surrender feels like, love. Don't fight it."

Your only response was a shaky exhale, your body betraying you as it arched into him, every inch of you ignited by the raw, undeniable power he exuded.

You felt his massive hardness poking into your pelvis, your core, thinly covered by the fabric of your thongs, rubbed against the fabric of his jeans as your hips bucked forward. You couldn't stop the moans of pleasure escaping your mouth.

"You have no idea how bad I want to fuck that pretty little cunt of your." His words set your body ablaze.

With ease he hoisted you up on his shoulder and started taking you downstairs, the building was eerily silent saved for his deep measured breaths and the thudding of his boots and your maddening heartbeat.

You were dizzy, intoxicated, still reeling from the sheer force of his kiss until you hear the door of his Hummer opening.

You were thrown on the back seat. The door closed behind him as he climbed on top of you.

It all happened so fast, your head spinning from the intensity of the moment. His lips had been on yours mere seconds ago, possessive and unrelenting, leaving you breathless. Now, here you were, sprawled on the cool leather of his Hummer's backseat. The faint scent of leather and his cologne filled the enclosed space, mingling with the heat of your desire.

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the silence. His massive frame loomed over you, every movement deliberate and calculated as he climbed in, his predatory gaze locked on yours. The dim light from the street lamps outside filtered through the tinted windows, casting shadows on his angular face.

"You've no idea how long I've wanted this," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine. His hands found your thighs, rough palms sliding up and under your skirt, brushing against the edge of your lace thong. He gripped you firmly, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he spread your legs apart. The sound of your breathing filled the small space, quick and uneven, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself.

"You're mine," he growled, leaning down until his lips were at your ear. "Body and Soul."

The heat of his breath sent waves of anticipation coursing through you, and you could feel his body pressing against yours, the weight of him intoxicating. The fabric of his jeans rubbed against your bare skin, teasing, torturous. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, a small, desperate sound that only spurred him on.

He tugged your thong aside, his movements firm but unhurried, as though savoring the moment, the anticipation building between you. His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing against your wetness, and you gasped, your hips arching into his touch. The look in his eyes was feral, dark and dangerous, and it sent a thrill of both fear and exhilaration through you.

"Let me hear you," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Don't hold back."

The moment his glove hit the floor of the Hummer, your pulse quickened. His now bare hand was rough, calloused from years of work, and it felt electric against your delicate, slick folds. Every touch was deliberate, every stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your head fell back against the cool leather seat, exposing the delicate curve of your throat, your breaths coming in soft, trembling gasps.

Without warning, he pushed two thick fingers inside you, the sudden fullness making your back arch off the seat. A sharp cry of pleasure escaped your lips before you could stop it, the sound echoing in the small space. You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying in vain to muffle the cries that bubbled up from deep within you, but the sensation was too much, too overwhelming. His fingers curled just right, hitting a spot that made your vision blur.

"You can't hide from me," he murmured, his voice like gravel and honey. His free hand came up to grasp your jaw gently but firmly, pulling your face toward his. "I want to hear every sound you make. Don't you dare hold back."

Your lips parted, and a soft, desperate moan spilled out, your body unable to obey your mind's feeble attempts to stay quiet. His fingers pumped steadily, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge. His thumb brushed over your swollen clit, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the pleasure he so effortlessly gave.

"That's it," he growled, his eyes locked on your face, watching every expression you made. "Good girl."

With a low growl of impatience, he tugged the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders. The delicate fabric slipped, pooling at your hips, leaving you bare before him. His gaze roamed over your body, dark and hungry, devouring every curve, every inch of exposed skin. A wicked smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned down, his breath warm against your chest.

His mouth found your hardened nipple, his tongue swirling around it in slow, teasing circles. The sensation sent shivers racing down your spine, a breathless moan slipping from your lips. He sucked gently, his lips tugging at the sensitive bud, before releasing it with a soft pop and moving to the other, giving it the same devoted attention. His teeth grazed the delicate skin, nipping at the underside of your breasts, his hot tongue soothing the sting.

All the while, his fingers remained buried inside your soaked core, curling with precision, hitting a spot that made you see stars. His thumb brushed against your clit, the pressure sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins. Your body was alive, every nerve ending alight with sensation, your hips bucking in time with the rhythm of his hand.

You writhed beneath him, your back arching off the seat as you chased the release that hovered just out of reach. Your fingers clawed at the leather, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps, the heat pooling low in your belly threatening to consume you.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his lips brushing against your flushed skin. "So beautiful, so needy. I could watch you like this forever."

His words only fueled the fire burning inside you, your movements growing more frantic as you rocked against his hand, desperate for the sweet release he controlled so effortlessly. "Please," you whimpered, your voice barely more than a whisper, the plea escaping your lips without thought. "Please..."

His dark chuckle sent a shiver through your already trembling body. "Please what, love?" he teased, his voice a dangerous mix of amusement and raw desire. But you couldn't answer, couldn't form a coherent thought as his relentless fingers drove you closer and closer to the edge.

Your back arched off the seat, toes curling as your body tensed in anticipation of the release that was just within reach. The pleasure coursing through you was all-consuming, a tidal wave threatening to drown you. And then, just as you were about to tip over, he pulled his fingers away, leaving you gasping, desperate, and aching for more.

Before you could even protest, you heard the metallic sound of his zipper, the anticipation sending a fresh jolt of need straight to your core. He moved swiftly, one arm slipping under your waist, lifting you effortlessly as his other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open for him.

Without warning, he thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. A scream of pure pleasure tore from your lips, echoing through the confined space of the Hummer. He was massive, stretching you in a way that was almost too much, yet exactly what you craved. Your walls clenched around him as he filled you completely, his girth hitting spots you didn't even know existed.

He didn't hold back, his pace brutal and unrelenting as he slammed into you, his hips meeting yours with a force that left you breathless. Each thrust drove him impossibly deep, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. Your hands clawed at his back, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to anchor yourself, but the overwhelming sensation left you spinning out of control.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice strained as he watched your every reaction. "You're so tight, love. Taking me so well."

Your eyes rolled back, your head pressing into the seat as his relentless rhythm pushed you closer and closer to the brink. Each thrust, each movement, was pure bliss, and you felt yourself unraveling, your body surrendering entirely to his. The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of you, tangled in a storm of passion and need.

You tried to grasp at the leather cushioned seats but in vain. Your hands fell your sides as you completely surrendered. Body arched I pure bliss, mouth drooling from the sheer magnitude of pleasure his thrusts brought. His cock hit your cervix in a painful yet delicious way sending you to the oblivion.

The Hummer shook with the intensity of him thrusting into you, the fabric of his jeans hitting the inside of your thighs, your juices destroying his clothes. He lifted you up arching your back more.

The coil became tighter and tighter in your core. Your breaths shuddered, your moaning intensified as his pace become more brutal.

Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your whole body trembled, toes curled, with a groan he released his essence into you filling you to the brim.

His hands rested on both side of your head as you laid beneath him unable to even respond, your body writhing with the aftermath.

He slowly pulled out, his cum dripping out of you flowing down your thighs as you squeezed them shut.

"You are delicious." He whispered in your ear. "And now I got a taste of you, and I want more and more."

He chuckled darkly before he zipped back his jeans and took the drivers seat. Behind him you slowly sat, tugging the straps of your dress up again.

"Clean up." He threw a box of tissues your way.

You took the box with your trembling hands.

"Fasten your seatbelt sweetheart, it's gonna be a rough ride." He said as he started the engine. The Hummer coming back to life.

You looked at your crashed Ferrari desperately.

"Don't worry. You will get it back. As long as you are a good girl for me." He teased.

The Hummer roared to life as he accelerated, the wheels screeched on the asphalt as it raced, disappearing into the night.

[mossygirl333]

kinkmas- day 2

John Price x assistant!reader

synopsis: Price had no one to celebrate Christmas with, his ex-wife got the kids this year. It was lonely in the house, coping with beer and a good cigar. But when a sweet little lass like you comes to his doorstep with cookies and a present, he has to let you in! And reward you of course, you were always such an attentive assistant, now it's his turn to be attentive.

Tw/Cw: mentions of divorce, mentions of cheating, groping, daddy kink sorta???, slow sex, praise, male + female masturbation

Smut under the cut!!

Christmas felt real shitty this year. Standing alone in a dead silent home, barely having the energy to put ornaments on the tree. He would've been a bit more jolly if his kids were around, he would never ruin their Christmas, but now that Christina took them out with her new husband, he was rarely in the mood to do anything.

Warm liquid burned down his throat, the light flickering off the amber bottle. Whiskey breath was heavy on his tongue, wiping the drink off his chapped lips. Head swimming with the buzz of alcohol, an escape from the thoughts that plagued him.

That whore. That whore took everything from him and got to keep everything. With her new husband, military too, she seemed to have a type for them. A new baby on the way, the Facebook posts he stalked only hurt his hardened heart more.

He shook the thought from his head, bringing the bottle to his lips. Huffing out a sigh when the doorbell suddenly rang. Old creaky joints strained when he got up, an ache settling into his lower back.

John slid his hand to the cool wood, practically pulsating under his fingertips. Eye peering out of the peephold.

All he could see for a moment was the top of your beanie, before your eyes looked up...His assistant? Why were you here, with a tin full of-

He swung open the door. "Cookies?" He raised a thick brow, startling you a little.

"Price!" You laugh off your skittishness. "I'm sorry, I just baked more cookies than I needed and thought maybe-"

"Just call me John dear." His warm voice bellowed deep in his chest, gently taking the tin from your hands. Warm digits sliding across your stiff cold ones. "Come in, ya look freezing."

You couldn't even decline his offer before he's tugging you inside. Dragging you along into his living room. "Ya want somethin' to drink swee'heart?"

You laugh, shaking off your jacket. "It's warm in here. And anythings okay." Setting down the tin of cookies on his coffee table, settling down awkwardly on his couch.

"Mulled wine alright?"

"Oh yeah that's good." You nod, watching his burly form walk off. A heat starting to form In your cheeks. You had never been in Prices- Johns home before. And seeing him out of uniform was a new experience. In a tight black T-shirt and flannel pants? Watching his muscles bulge and tense, those gentle hands that grabbed yours. Made you dizzy.

You settled on the wine glass set in front of you, John grabbing the tin and sitting closer than he needed to. You could see how his chest heaved ever so slightly, fabric stretched across his massive chest. "What's in here luvie?"

"Oh um!" You snap out of your staring, peering into the box. "Those are gingersnaps, sugar cookies I decorated myself, those are some Aberffraw biscuits - good in tea ya know."

"Very good in tea." He mumbles, shifting through them. "Thank you. So much, this means-" John leans in slightly, the smell of alcohol filling your nose. "-a lot to me."

"I'm glad." You whisper. If you leaned in another inch, you'd end up kissing him. And you didn't know what to do with that information.

"Any way I can...repay? This generous gift?" He tilts his head, his warm palm sliding over your thighs. Giving a small squeeze.

A flash of heat boiled up In your belly, swirling and spreading till your limbs felt tingly, swallowing thickly your lips parted. An invitation.

He took it with fervor.

Whiskey stained lips pressed into yours, meaty hands grabbing at you to tug you impossibly closer. "Wanted to kiss you for so long-"

You choke slightly, feeling him grip at your throat, settling on top of you. Pinned to his couch cushions, your knees slid up and ankles locked behind his back. Your hands finally settling on his broad shoulders.

He pushes you deeper, groping and squeezing at anything he could reach. Sliding your shirt up, beard scratching at your skin. He softens up a bit, pulling away. "M'going to fast-" He shakes his cloudy head.

"You're fine." The words came out more breathless than you wanted to, heart beating rapidly against your chest, almost like a rabbit thumping away.

"No- no...gotta savor you. Just how I wanted to."

You paused for a moment, before settling into a more comfortable position on the bed.

His lips explored your skin, leaving trails of heat and moisture behind. Slowly grinding his swollen cock against the edge of your thighs, hips stuttering ever so slightly. He breathes heavily against the valley between your breasts, licking and dragging his tongue around your buds.

"So...good f'me..." John murmurs, palms kneading into the doughy flesh of your hips, nuzzling in deep. "Need ta see ya luvie, all of ya"

Your thighs quiver slightly, jeans sliding down and being tossed aside. Eyes blown out, tongue heavy in his mouth as he looks down at your soaked panties. "God...wet huh?"

"I am." You weakly laughed, cheeks red and hot as you watched him. "God I really am.." You trial off, feeling his fingers loop the fabric and tug them down. A trail of slick, glistening and sliding down your puffy folds. Shudders running down both your spines.

The front of his pants go undone, the zipper sliding down his aching cock. Springing out, fat and heavy, throbbing just for you. Beads of precum sliding down his red shaft.

You suck in a breath, holding it as he sits back. "Aren't you...gonna fuck me?" It came out shyly, squirming slightly as his eyes burned holes into your exposed body.

"Not yet. Touch yourself for me. Please." He swallows thickly, calloused palm wrapping around his base. Slowly stroking to get himself lubed up.

Your fingers timidly go down to your wet pussy, hot and twitchy. Biting your lip in slight embarrassment. Have you touched yourself to the thought of Captain Price? Yes. Too many times. But that was in the privacy of your own bedroom, where you could cry for him and no one would hear. Price didn't have to know, he didn't have to know how bothered he made you.

But now, it was too late to go back. So you swallowed your pride and dignity, and slide two digits into your cunt. Warmth enveloped your hand, slick sliding down into your palm as you pumped your fingers in and out. Timing them with the thrusts of his hips, Johns thumb swirling around the fat leaky tip.

Your hips stuttered alongside his, the climax fast approaching for both of you. Locking eyes, sweat gathering on his brow line. "God, look so beautiful. As pretty as I thought you'd be."

A whine left your lips, pathetic and needy. "Did you jerk off to me before?"

"So many times. So, So many times." He pants, hand rubbing faster and faster, blood felt hot. Head felt heavy, in his tipsy state everything was on the table. "Imagined bending ya over my desk, get rid of those silly papers I get ya to do. Treatin' ya like a real man should. Put a nice rock on that finger."

Your fingers move faster, pumping in and out, digging into your g-spot. Your thumb passing over the pink bud of your clit, hips jerking and thighs shaking as you grow closer and closer to the end.

"There you are. Get loud. Cum f'me...Cum for daddy." Your eyes roll back, mouth open and chest heaving as high-pitched moans and sighs forced themselves out. Choking slightly on your spit, your chin dips down. Watching as your fingers disappear into your pretty drooling pussy, thick globs of slick trailing down your thighs.

"M'close..." You sob slightly, hitting that one spot that finally made you sing. The heated coil in your belly snapping. A wave of slick gushes out, coating your palm as you hear a deep groan leave John. Thick salty ropes of cum covers his jeans and hand and wrist, leaving you both trembling and reeling.

"Oh...Oh my god-" you pant out, barely getting to your knees until you collapse into his arms. Held tightly by his thick meaty biceps. "Felt s'good..." Slurred words reach his ears and he smiles.

"Spend Christmas with me?"

"Yeah...Yeah I will."