#CoD OC

[rozodejanerowrites]

Various doodles of the CoD gang:

John getting annoyed that his 3 year old god daughter doesn't understand chess.

Baby John and Kelli

Gaz being my the favourite child

Ghost being scarousing

Soap when he was a goalkeeper (which makes a lot of sense. lol)

Might render some up at a later point.

[ask-volatile-sergeant]

((Stealing this for Aster.))

Gemstone Headcanons

Another set of questions aligned to gemstones to help develop characters! Send in some gemstones to learn more about the muse(s)!

Agate: What or who will your muse protect with their life?

Amazonite: How do they go about comforting or calming down others? Are they good at it?

Amethyst: Do they have a good intuition? If so, do they typically heed it or not?

Apatite: Do they find it easy to communicate with new people, or do they avoid it as much as possible?

Aquamarine: How insightful are they?

Aventurine: Are they the opportunistic sort, or do they typically let chances slip by?

Blue Topaz: Are they the courageous sort? Do they find they can overcome obstacles in their way with relative ease?

Cat’s Eye: What sorts of things soothes them when they’re worked up?

Chalcedony: How do they consider their allies in regards to themself? Do they reach out to them, or do they typically keep to themself?

Citrine: How open are they to new ideas or cultures?

Diamond: Do they find themselves getting sick often or do they have a relatively strong immune system?

Diopside: Are they a creative person in any way? How so?

Emerald: Do they suffer from any sort of mental illness?

Fluorite: Are they able to concentrate easily no matter where they are, or do they need a quiet space with little distracts?

Garnet: What are they most passionate about and who are they most devoted to?

Iolite: Are they financially responsible or do they tend to blow their money as soon as they have it?

Jade: What are their opinions on luck? Do they believe in it?

Jasper: What do they typically do to relax?

Kyanite: What is their temper like?

Lapis Lazuli: How aware are they of others and of their surroundings?

Moonstone: What inspires them? Why?

Onyx: How do they handle hostility from others, whether verbally or physically?

Opal: Are they the emotional sort?

Peridot: Are they open to new growth and change in any way, or are they resistant to it?

Prehnite: Do they find it easy to recall their dreams or do they hardly remember them?

Rose Quartz: Do they typically hold grudges? Are they the type to compromise as best they can during a conflict?

Ruby: Do they typically keep their heart on their sleeve?

Rutile Quartz: Do they have a habit of looking for the source of a problem? Are they the type to attempt to solve it if they’re able, or do they try to avoid it?

Sapphire: What makes them happiest? Is there a reason why?

Smoky Quartz: How is their physical endurance? Are they the active sort of person or not?

Spinel: Are they a worry-wort or are they carefree?

Tanzanite: Do they heal quickly or do bruises and cuts tend to heal slowly?

Tiger’s Eye: Are they self-confident or wracked with doubt?

Topaz: Are they the type to cheer on others or do they prefer to be center stage?

Tourmaline: Are they the understanding sort or do they have trouble connecting with others?

Turquoise: Do they strive for success or do they typically prefer to go with the flow?

Zircon: How wise are they?

[boodarko]

who knew becoming a ghost had such silly rules..

[islandtarochips]

Do your ocs ever have one of those moments when they feel lonely? And if so do they deal with them by themselves or do they reach out to someone?

Oof. This is a very touchy subject though. Lol. Okay.

To tell you this, the OCs that I have who have felt that loneliness. Is Tiala, Rangi, Nigel and Alana. And even for my Black Ops OC named Koa.

Tiala has always felt so lonely almost every night when she goes to bed. It makes her so uncomfortable to keep having these nightmares that she hears. Not just nightmares but horrible memories of how every night she slept on someone's bed that had...ahem...you know. And sometimes sleeping on the cold hard floor for her punishment. It scared her so much of being alone. And she sometimes had to deal with it by herself because of not wanting to show anyone how weak she was. But...she sometimes would go sleep with Kanoa in his bed asking for comfort. Kanoa wouldn't mind at all and he doesn't ask about whatever is bothering her since he knows Tiala doesn't want to talk about it.

Now for Rangi, Tiala and Kanoa's 3rd older brother. He'll have that moment when he feels lonely sometimes. Because of that guilt he felt for not saving his brother and even left Farah after that. It made him feel like he's responsible for everything that had happened. Makes him feel like he's alone in making those choices for leaving. And even making a choice of not seeing his family to deliver the news and not going to his brother's funeral. It's like he's making these difficult choices by himself. It's hard for him to endure all of this guilt. So he had to take care of it by himself. But once he came back to help Farah, he started to feel more at ease since he stayed with her and her people. And he sometimes opens up to her or Aelan of how he feels. And I'm sure the girls would make sure that Rangi is never alone.

Now to Nigel. His situation is the same as Rangi. The guilty feeling. Because of how his ex-team had betrayed the 141 back in Las Almas. And even when he transferred himself to the WTF. He still got those glares from them though. Even from Alejandro. He can't blame them and understands it. But that feeling still lingers as he felt alone. Even though he's part of the WTF, he still feels like he's all by himself. That guilt kept eating him up, telling him that no one will ever forgive him after all of that. He had nothing to prove to them to trust him. It made him tear up. So he reached out to Agnes, his best friend, to help him. She gladly let him come over and let him lay with her. As she did her best to cheer him up and give her comforting words.

Next up is Alana, you have NO idea of how much she went through just to come back after...still thinking of how long though. Just to see her daughter again. And she also came back home ALONE. By HERSELF. Only HER. None of her men weren't even WITH her. Why? You will see it soon for her lore. Another guilt trip for my OC. She has been carrying it and she tried not to think about it because she has a good reason. And it made her feel so alone after remembering that horrible event. But as a strong and independent woman. She handles these feelings on her own. She doesn't want anyone to know about her weakness because she is the LEADER and she needs to set an example.

And now onto my Black Ops OC! Captain Koa "Hunter" Nikau! If you already know his bio though then you should know why he's always alone. Like, you could imagine him walking down the streets or to the park or at a store. He would sometimes see some family hanging out happily and it made him remember about his own family. The family that he had already lost because of his stupid behavior. So he's always alone. Except that he had Shelby (his pet snail) and Pono (his military dog) with him. They always comfort him. But he still misses his family and hopefully that he'll make it up to him once he has the courage to do so.

So yeah, that's all of them though! And I'm starting to feel bad now for them....but it's for Character Development! So they need to suck it up and move forward! Thank you for sending this ask! I enjoy sharing my OCs with ya'll! Love ya, pele! 😘💖

[tiredkatzz]

I honestly have no idea if I can post these on tumblr... so go check out my bluesky for something more spicy

[scared-dogs-bite]

All Your Ways [4] Chase

[masterlist]

ghost x original female character. 3.8k words cw: blood, gore, gunfire. 18+ mdni

chapter song [run boy run by woodkid]

A twig snapped behind Ghost, and his body whipped round to the movement. Brown eyes locked with green, and before he could blink, before she could breathe, she was running, and he was chasing. 

The realisation about the group they were hunting gave the task force a renewed sense of purpose, it fueled that fire that was usually driven by chaos and carnage. They were quicker, smoother, trained harder, worked better. Each time they went out on a mission and were too late to the game, bested by this unknown other, it did not deter them. Ghost saw what it did to the team, they would spend hours picking through every little thing, collecting the smallest speck of information in the hope that it would lead to something, someone. Ghost was the same. That bubbling rage had been replaced by something razor sharp again, it dug into his gut painfully. Like the twisting of a knife in his side, each setback was another turn. Another notch in the belt. Another line added to the tally of blows he would deal to them if– when they caught them. 

Months went by, each defeat feeling less and less like a failure and more like a stepping stone closer to them. And they were getting close, he could practically smell it. The more they searched, the closer they got, and the messier the cleanup became. 

First, it was a medkit found in a dead hostile's hand. Ghost thought nothing of it at first but when one of his men pointed out the harness that was still attached to the medkit, Ghost gave it a second look. It was a military-grade medkit, similar to the one all soldiers were given. Easily stolen from one of them, gunned down and pillaged. However as Ghost began rifling through it and picking it apart, did he see the cracks. It had been personalised to the soldier, things had been taken out, like arm sling kits he knew were always given in these medkits, and extra vials of pain medication and suture kits had been added. The medkit was not just a collection of British items or American items, but items from almost every military around the world. Australian, Korean, Canadian, Ukrainian, items from almost everywhere. Ghost had pulled the medkit from its harness, which was slightly frayed and well used. It had been ripped from its owner's leg, grasped by the dying hostile in a desperate attempt at salvation. The man had died with it in his hand, still zipped up, its owner long gone. This was a carefully curated medkit, one that would have taken time to assemble. This was not something stolen in the night, this had thought put into it. It had been pulled apart, traded and changed to suit the needs of its owner. And the more Ghost dug, the more he learned, the more he doubted.

Next, Gaz found some leftover used gauze. In the past, it would have been discarded as simply an insurgent bandaging a wound. But they all saw what it was now. Military-grade gauze ripped out in haste, some dropped, dribbles of blood falling with it. He had found it behind a flipped table, someone desperately looking for cover while bandaging their wound. It was something, so they collected it and returned it to base. Laswell reported back that the DNA was not a match to any of the dead hostiles. They had one of them. Intelligence was accessing every database they could, searching for the lone soldier and their DNA. There was yet to be a match, but they were still searching, still requesting access to undisclosed military data. Laswell hoped for a lucky catch. Ghost wasn’t as naive.

On and on they looked, no longer hunting for information on the insurgents. They now hunted for information on who had gunned them down. This hunt had them in Georgia, near the Black Sea. A small shack on the edge of the water, far away from anything. The picturesque sandy beaches and lush green bush behind them looked out of place, it was too pretty of a place for such carnage. He could still hear the gentle lapping of the water against the shore as he turned in his place, boots scraping against the wood and glass that littered the floor. It was a small space, a hideout or a safehouse maybe, with only one room. There was a small kitchenette with an ancient wood stove, a kettle, and empty cabinets. A discarded mug of tea was left on the counter. A table in the corner, four chairs around it, and a small couch shoved against the wall, a blanket still haphazardly thrown across it. There was a small collection of shells on the windowsill, all lined up in a row. Someone had carefully placed them there, collected over time. And there was blood. Everywhere. 

Eyes scanning the floor, he searched for something, anything that could be of use. Blood had been splattered across the floor, the walls, specs of it on the seashells, red stark against the sun-bleached white. 

“Looks like a bloody Jackson Pollock painting in here.” 

Ghost turned to Gaz, “Fan of art, are we?”

Gaz merely made a face at the gore that littered every inch of the place. There had been four men in the room, all dead. All were shot through the head, their skulls blown out at the back. Their bodies still warm, blood still cooling. They had been killed mere hours ago. 

They were getting closer.

Ghost scanned the floor again, stepping over a patch of brain blowout, then ducked his head to look out the window, to the steep hills and mountains out the back of the little shack, “Whoever it was, they were a fine artist.”

“You’re sick, sir.” Ghost almost smiled at the sound of disgust in Gaz’s voice as he continued looking. Ghost’s eyes remained on the hillside, scanning for the perfect spot, a good vantage point, out of the wind, hidden from return fire— there. He was already moving. 

Gaz turned, watching Ghost head for the door ���Sir?”

“Stay here and keep looking.”

A nod, “Rog.”

Ghost pulled the rickety door shut behind him, the frame rattling with the swift movement, and he kept his eyes glued to the spot he had picked out from inside. There had been no bullet casings inside, none in the surrounding dirt and sand outside, which only meant one thing.

Ghost began the accent up the hillside, dried grasses crunching under his boots. 

Death from above, a sniper had killed the men back in that room. 

It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for. He looked back down at the small shack, raising the scope on his weapon, and spotting Gaz waving at him through the window. He could see the whole interior of the small house from here, the view from the two windows barely leaving any spot inside hidden from whoever had camped up here. The kettle, the couch, the four chairs sitting prettily right in front of the window. They had picked the spot perfectly. Lambs set for slaughter. Ghost couldn’t have picked a vantage point more perfect if he had done the killing himself. 

Staring down at the ground, his eyes traced the outline of the small frame that had laid prone at his feet. The grass was still compressed from the weight of their body, the dirt still freshly disturbed from where their feet had rested, swishing from side to side as they had waited for their prey. He could even see the two small indents of where their bi-pod had rested. There, nestled in the dirt, were four sniper casings. Four bullets, four kills, no more. Even though the small shack was easily more than a kilometre away, extra bullets were not needed. He dropped to one knee and brushed his hand over where they had rested. It was a small indent of a body, if he had to guess they were no taller than 5’4, maybe more, maybe less. There, a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye, he stood and made his way over to the bullet lying in the grass. They had gone this way when they were done, footsteps small and careful in the grass, to not make much noise. It must have been nighttime then. The morning sun was barely breaking the horizon. They had done it overnight then. No need to be quiet in the daytime, no reason to hide in the sunlight. He leaned down and picked up the bullet. It was long, definitely a bullet for a sniper rifle, but he wasn’t sure which one. Possibly an L115A3, but it looked slightly different. Rolling it between his fingers, he paused at the small engraving etched into the metal. 

His free hand dropped his weapon and reached for his comms, “Bravo 0-7 to Watcher.”

Laswell came through almost immediately, “Send traffic.”

“Laswell, can I get a quick definition of something?” He ran a gloved thumb over the inscription, clearing away the sand.

“Doing your crossword in your downtime, Lieutenant?”

“I prefer sudoku.” 

Laughter from the other end of the line, “Go right ahead Lieutenant.”

“Malak al-Maut.” He spells it for Laswell, but before she has time to respond, Gaz cuts in.

“Don’t need a translator for that, sir. Malak al-Maut is the Angel of Death.” 

Ghost stared down at the large casing in his hand. 

Angel of Death. 

His eyes flicked up to the shack, to the four dead bodies still cooling inside.

Fitting.

Laswell comes through a moment later, “He’s correct, how do you know that Kyle?”

“Some of us actually went to Arabic lessons, ma’am.” The teasing tone in Gaz’s voice was merely a reminder of Ghost’s ineptitude when faced with the language. 

Laswell huffed a sigh, “How many times do I have to tell you, don’t call me ma’am.”

“At least once more for good luck, ma’am.”

She sighed, “Why ask about the translation?”

Ghost squeezed the bullet in his hand, “It’s carved into a bullet.”

“What’s your location L.T.?”

“Behind the X, found a sniper's nest. Small thing, they barely disturbed the sand up here.”

“Anything else?” 

Ghost turned and headed back to the disturbed ground, leant down to pick up the other casing, carefully placing them in a ziplock bag and slipping them into his pocket.

“Every casing has the same inscription. Nothing else.”

“Carved into each bullet? Bit of a bleak way to pass the time.” Gaz spoke.

“Or it’s a warning. Letting them know who sent them to their end.”

Ghost hummed at Laswell’s musings, “That’s one way to do it.”

“Cold-hearted.”

“Reminds me of you, Lieutenant Riley.”

Ghost raised his scope, tracking Gaz through the blown-out windows of the shack, “I prefer leaving one alive to tell scary stories around campfires,” 

Gaz leaned down to meet Ghost’s gaze, “Sometimes you scare me, sir.”

“Bag it, it could be useful. If they’ve done it once, they might have done it before.”

“Already done.”

A twig snapped behind Ghost, and his body whipped round to the movement. Brown eyes locked with green, and before he could blink, before she could breathe, she was running, and he was chasing. 

They both barreled through brush, Ghost hot on her heels. 

With his heart in his throat, he ran. He could barely breathe, barely think past the voracious hunger to have her in his hands, have her pinned underneath him with her pretty little neck squeezed in his grasp. 

Ghost's voice echoed through the hillside as he shouted down comms, “Fucking sniper’s still here!”

God, she was fast.

Like an arrow shot from a bow, she sliced through the surrounding foliage, it was as if the surrounding greenery bent to her will, not the other way around. Ghost, with his lungs burning, chased, and struggled to keep up. Didn’t take his eyes off her, watched her arms and legs pump faster than his, her sniper rifle, an L115A3, bouncing against her back as she ran.

 “Bravo, wait for backup, do not pursue!” Laswell’s panicked voice was in his ear. 

Ghost’s strained voice barked through comms, “Too late.”

And he'd rather break his bloody legs falling down a cliff than let her go.

“Fuck sake!” He could hear Gaz’s huffs as he ran up the hillside after Ghost. 

Boots pounding against dirt, branches bending til they snapped as they both worked to get the upper hand on the other. Her, further away from him, him, closer to her. She was so bloody fast, darting and weaving through the brush, while Ghost merely ploughed through, a battering ram through the greenery. He was so close, so close he could reach out, could touch her. So close he could see the thick braid of her hair, tell the colour of it as she sprinted away from him, feet flying, arms pumping.

Her hair, it was dark brown, almost black.

“Can’t keep up, old man!” Her laugh grated against his skin, and he couldn’t hold back the vicious growl as he pushed his legs harder, thighs burning from the exertion. 

It was her, he knew it.

There was a fallen tree ahead, too tall for her to scramble over. He had her pinned. He huffed a laugh, but it quickly died in his chest as he watched, half enraged, half impressed as she dropped, using her momentum to slide underneath the fallen tree, just big enough for her to squeeze through and he lost sight of her.  

Little slippery bitch. 

Ghost vaulted over the fallen tree, skidding to a halt, his eyes scanning the treeline. Silence echoed through the empty forest. Insects chirped around them, the birds just waking up for the day, the early morning light breaking through the canopy above. Trees and bush surrounded him, but not her. She had disappeared. Like mist in the daybreak, she had melded into the shadows. Chest heaving from the sudden sprint, breath collecting behind his mask, wetting his face with the building condensation from his panting. Eyes wide, he hunted her. She was so close, so bloody close he could touch her, smell her. She was hiding though, hoping he wouldn’t find her.

She was wrong.

His eyes dipped to the disturbed earth, where she had continued to slide on the ground. Spotted her handprints as she heaved herself off the path and took off. He followed the hasty footsteps, heading one way, then changing directions. He couldn’t help the small smirk that curled at his lips under his mask— smart little thing, trying to get him to head in the wrong direction. Sucking in deep breath after deep breath, he tried to centre himself. His body hummed with the anticipation, the bloodlust. Like something inside him begged, pleaded for pain. Her pain specifically. 

A bead of sweat trickled down his spine. Head low, he followed her small footprints, on silent feet until her trail went cold, as if she vanished into thin air.

His brows furrowed under his mask, and Ghost took a handful of measured steps back, tracing and retracing her footprints in the dirt. She had wasted his time, wasted his team's time, and he would take his pound of flesh, take it and then hand her over to Price and Laswell. He swivled in his place, trying to spot where she had gone. 

Had she jumped to try to get him off her trail? 

Was she foolish enough to even try—?

His head tilted up to the canopy above him, but before he could scan the treeline, she was upon him. Dropping down from above, she landed on his shoulders and his breath fled from his chest at the impact. Thighs wrapped around his head and squeezed.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, and for a brief moment, he was disoriented. Thrown from the mottled morning light through the canopy into utter darkness, and his heart jumped into his throat. The scent of freshly tilled soil filled his lungs and he choked on it. The darkness was punishing and complete.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. His hands grasped at the legs around his head, fingers digging into flesh, soft but strong.

She grunted and threw her body backwards, his feet went with them. She used her momentum and what little weight she could throw around to force him to lose his footing and fall with her. Their bodies hit the dirt hard, his spine screaming as his back hit the earth. The pain sharp and jarring, snapping his body back into itself like a rubber band. They struggled, rolled and she clamped down further on his head, squeezing tight.

Usually, he wouldn't mind having his head crushed by a pair of pretty thighs, but this one. This one. He knew she wouldn't let out when he tapped. She would kill him. And smile while his chest stopped rising. His fingers slipped between her calf and shin and he tugged. Arms straining, shoulders screaming, he yanked. Her grip slipped with every tug, he could hear her grunts, hear how hard she was flexed around him, how hard she was trying to incapacitate him. 

It was cute really. 

He heard the small curse under her breath as he hauled them both up, and then slammed her body back into the earth again, and again, and again. Finally, with a pained gasp, she let go of him. Untangling her legs from around his head, and scrambled to get to her feet. He sucked in a well-needed breath, rolled over onto his belly and wrapped his hand around her ankle before she got too far away. A near animalistic growl escaped him as he yanked her back towards him, crawling up towards her at the same time, his eyes pinned to her. They were unrelenting and all-consuming and for the first time, he saw that slight hint of fear in her eyes as she drank him in. His body hummed with it, his skin tingling slightly. 

And she fought, God, did she fight him.

Swinging her other leg back, the heel of her foot connected with the side of his skull, and he grunted as his head whipped to the side. Ears ringing, tasting blood. He'd bitten through his lip.

His skin went tight and hot.

Ghost pulled her underneath him, by her ankle, then tugged at her tac-belt, finally wrapping around the shoulder straps of her plate. She squirmed and kicked and lashed out every single inch she got closer to him. Nails digging into his forearms, fists connecting with his ribs, over and over and over again. But she was too small, and he was too big, and he had her pinned underneath him, and she knew it. But still, she struggled against him, desperate huffs and small whimpers.

He wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed. She stilled underneath him, Ghost watched those piercing green eyes go wide as she gasped for air. He let out a sigh, had to resist the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his skull.

Finally. Finally. 

He lifted her head and slammed her back into the ground, coming face to face with the little snake that had caused him so much frustration. They stared at one another, their heaving breath mixing, her hands wrapped around his wrists, nails digging into the skin there. She had been a thorn in his side for too long. Weeping and festering like an infected wound, she had wormed her way into his very being. He drank her in, eyes filtering over the slip of skin exposed through her balaclava. And as he watched her, she watched him. She was a sickness in him, one he was more than willing to cut out.

He had her pinned, his hands tight around her throat, nose to nose, hips to hips, both bodies pressed into the dirt. She attempted to heave into him, bucking her hips against him, trying to wriggle free, but he simply stared at her beneath him and the more she tried, the heavier he became, the more he pressed her into the ground. Eventually, she gave up, her head falling back to the earth, her chest heaving against his, she let out a frustrated sigh, and her eyes met his. 

They stayed that way, staring at one another, their chests meeting in the middle. 

“You gonna kill me?” Hearing her voice again, so soft and gentle, it was jarring. 

He tightened his hold on her throat, and hummed at her, “I’ve thought about it.”

He could see the stretch of her smile under her mask, she dipped her chin, “Fantasied?”

Ghost leaned in further, til his lips were over her face, and he squeezed her throat until it cut off her airways, until the half-lidded look in her eyes was replaced with panic. 

“Too many times to count.” He gritted through his teeth.

Her eyes flitted across his mask, and she stretched her neck under his grip from one side to the other. Ghost watched, eyebrows pulling together, as she closed her eyes and almost seemed to lean into his grasp. She murmured something, barely audible. He loosened his hold on her throat, leaning in, “What?” 

Her eyes snapped open and her hands folded over his on her throat. Squeezed his tighter. 

“I said harder .” 

Her body bowed off the dirt, spine curving. She bared her throat to him, he swallowed thickly, fingers twitching against her pounding pulse and she gasped.

Ghost sucked in a breath through his nose, sudden and swift, and his hands leapt from her throat. He let go of her like she was burning him. Scrambling to his feet,and pulled his gun on her. Swallowed again, his stomach churning.

She laughed a deep, throaty laugh. His chest heaved. That gasp. The sound tugged at something deep in his belly. 

“God, men are so simple .” She sat up on her elbows, and stared up at him, eyes bright. 

He cocked his handgun, “Don’t fucking move.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” she raised her hands to either side of her head. Ghost kept one eye trailed on her while he reached for his comms, radioing in both Gaz and Laswell. 

“Bravo-7 to Watcher, enemy subdued. Requesting backup.”

Gaz’s huffed breath came through a moment later, “I’m nearly there, you arsehole.”

Returning his full attention to her, his weapon remained trailed, following every breath she made.  Her eyes trailed upwards, to the tree canopy, drinking in the leaves that shuddered and waved above them. He watched as she crossed her legs, leaning back on her palms, huffing a breath and continued to watch the breeze like she wasn’t worried in the foggiest.

It worried him. How blissfully at ease she was being captured. She sighed and began examining her nails. 

“Up.”

She glanced up at him, strands of near black hair dancing across her face, “You told me not to move.”

He stomped over to her, “Get the fuck up and turn around.”

She gazed up at him through her lashes, and Ghost wrapped his fingers around her bicep and tugged her to her feet.

Surprisingly, she did as she was told, turning around and he grabbed both of her wrists, strapping them together. Each click of the small mechanism locking into place ticked over something in his chest, and his heart slowly began to settle back somewhere safe behind his ribs.

Turning her back around, he holstered his weapon, the sound of the safety clicking back on filled the silence between them. Her eyes stayed glued to the gun. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” 

His eyes trailed down her body, sand uniform covered in mud and dirt, tactical gear dishevelled, some of it coming loose in the fighting, her arms behind her back. 

He had the nerve to laugh, “Done what, love? Put away my gun?”

She shook her head at him, and pinned her shoulders back, “No.”

“What shouldn’t I have done?”

She cocked her head, neck cracking, her eyes crinkling, “Underestimate me.”

The words barely sunk in before she was moving, hinging at the waist and bringing a leg up behind her to connect with his face. Blood sprayed into his mask, wetting everything, and he fell into the dirt. It was only a moment, a moment of shock before he was moving again, knife out, he had it cocked and ready to fly, their eyes meeting. She was standing at the edge of thick woods, one step and she would be gone. 

Her tied hands now in front of her, palms out. Like two predators meeting, their eyes remained locked on one another. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly "You prepared to lose another knife?"

Ghost blinked and saw red, "Be a good girl and come back here."

He nodded to the space in front of him, where she had been standing seconds ago, but she shook her head. He blinked through the blood that was seeping into his eyes. 

Her chest heaving, every inch of her braced, each muscle as tight as a bowstring, ready to fire. She made eye contact with his knife before they returned to him, “You better have good aim.”

His arm reached further back to throw, “I do.”

She nodded, her feet shifting in the dirt, “Good. because if you miss, I’m gone.”

His grip tightened on the knife, tight and loose. He had never missed. Ever. He didn't plan on missing today. “You ready?”

Her eyes heavy-lidded, it tugged at that thing inside him, again, “God yes.”

His wrist flicked, deadly quick, and he watched it heading right for her shoulder. It would bury to the hilt, and God, it would hurt. Time seemed to slow, his lips parting as she moved quicker than he thought possible, her body bending at an impossible angle to dodge the knife. It flew into the bush behind her. 

Ghost blinked. 

Saw a flash of a smile, a finger tugging down a balaclava. 

And then nothing. 

She was gone. 

[xenzou]

baby

[arturhunter]

I decided to make a kinda ugly headcannon design for how i think Simon 'Ghost' Riley looks under his mask I made him bald this time around cuz.. i was feeling lazy, didnt wanna draw hair- Plus a stupid sketch of him with my (and my sister's) other cod ocs

[callsign-ghosthand]

[ there's a stack of freshly washed black shirts outside your door, along with a wrapped sandwich. turkey on white. ]

He stared at the stack of shirts and the sandwich just as he was trying to make them fly into the closet on his own. Thanks to the immobilizer on his leg and the crutches he needed, he can't bend down to pick them up

[sidollie]

┈─★ Simon Riley ruining reader cw// ᴍᴅɴɪ, simon riley being a big meanie, choking, rough sex, creampies, throat fucking, nipple play, mentions of breeding, simon being a bit disgusting

ᯓ★ Simon Riley knew that he was big, big in every possible sense. a huge mass of a man that wore a skull mask to hide his rugged scarred face from the world and it was only natural for people to get intimidated by him. And being in the military on top of it he wasn't exactly shaped to be a gentle soul but he always tried to be very gentle with especially you, to his pretty little dove.

But here he was, pounding mercilessly into your swollen little cunt. His thrusts made the wooden bed frame slam into the wall and he was certain that it will only take a couple more thrusts for it to break completely.

He tore his gaze away from the frame and looked down at his dumbed out girlfriend. His thick tatted arm choking your pretty neck while his hips maintained their ruthless rhythm to let his thick mushroom tip graze on your cervix,

"look at ya lovie, takin' my cock so well"

his other hand moves down to pinch and twist your sensitive nipples while he continues to pound you, your mouth hangs open in a silent scream of pleasure. your eyes blur with tears as you struggled to breathe from his large tatted hand that is clasped around your throat like a collar.

"s-simon c-can't! 's t-too much"

"c'mon swee'heart, ya can take it now be good f'me"

His rugged face broke into a smug smirk as he sped up, his hand abandon your abused nipples and travel down to your swollen puffy nub, pulling on it playfully as your hips buck into him. Your walls clamp down on his fat cock, gripping it like a vice as your orgasm rips through you.He grunts loudly, his jaw tightening as he bottoms out, his fat tip pushing against your womb as he releases a huge load in you

He grunts loudly, his jaw tightening as he bottoms out, his fat tip pushing against your womb as he releases a huge load in you.Still fucking you through your intense orgasm, he collapses onto your chest, breathing heavily. Simon licks the trail of sweat that was running down your neck slowly, whispering into your ear,

"feel my cum inside you, dovie? Hm?"

He slowly releases your throat, feeling your sensitive walls flutter around his still hard cock. He pulls out of you and watches as his hot load leaks through your spent cunt, feeling immensely proud. You watch in confusion as he repositions himself on top of your face,

"s-si? wha-?"

"Shh lovie, jus' be a good girl and open yer mouth"

He puts his knees on either side of your face and lightly settles on your chest making sure not to crush his precious girl. You obeyed, nails digging in his thick trunk like thighs as he grips the base of his cock and lightly slaps it on your lips

Without a warning he forces his thick length down your throat making you gag and choke as he fucks your mouth harder, not slowing down even as you cough and sputter around his thickness. Saliva slobbering everywhere as you take every inch of his fat cock.

"that's it babygirl take it all, yer doing so good"

You sucked hard on him, lips parting wide because of his dick as he groans, bottoming out feeling your throat while holding you down by your hair as he releases and insanely huge amount of his hot load down your throat.

"fuckk, good girl swee'heart! being such a good lil slut f'me"

You gulped down his cum while some dripped down from inbetween your lips, he chuckled and leaned down licking his cum from your pretty face. He let out a breathless chuckle, watching your teary eyes and tired expression.

"we're jus' gettin' started dovie"

@sidollie

ᯓ★ masterlist

[phantasm-ae]

cw: fluff, afab reader x price, grumpy x sunshine, older man x younger woman

HEADCANON: The team meets Price’s missus. Not expecting it to be a sweet little thing like you

PAIRING: John Price x reader

Captain John Price was a lot of things.

Gruff. Sharp. Tactical. A man who could disarm a room -- or a bomb -- with the same deadpan focus. So when he finally, finally, agreed to let the team meet his wife at a casual pub night, everyone had… expectations.

Soap pictured someone tough -- maybe military herself, someone who could handle the Captain’s brand of grumpy affection. Gaz bet five quid she’d be ex-SAS too. Ghost said nothing, but even he imagined someone stern, serious, maybe with a scar or two.

They were not prepared for what actually walked through the door.

She was wearing a pink sundress. A little cardigan. And carrying a fucking tote bag with a bloody cartoon duck on it.

Bright smile, eyes sparkling, practically skipping over to Price -- who visibly softened the moment he saw her, like someone had pulled the batteries out of a bomb.

"Hi, darling," she chirped, throwing her arms around his neck.

Price -- their Captain Price, grizzled and grumbling and terrifying to entire warlords -- bent down and kissed her forehead like he was the bloody Prince of Wales.

The entire team stared. Mouths slightly open. Brains short-circuiting.

Soap recovered first, elbowing Gaz hard enough to almost knock his beer over. "That's nae his wife, aye?," he whispered, scandalized. "That’s his — his niece. His... his fairy goddaughter, maybe."

Price gave them a look over her head that very clearly said: say one more word and die.

Introductions were made. She was sweet, bright bloody decades younger than Price, asked about their hobbies, and listened earnestly even when Soap described "this absolutely sick drift he pulled in an APC."

But as the evening wore on, something strange began to happen.

She asked Ghost if he liked lemon drizzle cake -- and then pulled out a homemade one. Wrapped in that same floral-patterned foil that they've seen Price carry around in meetings despite Ghost's insistent shake of the head. Said it was “a little treat for the boys yeah? Just a taste love”

She scolded -- gentle parented -- Gaz gently for leaving his pint too close to the edge of the table. “You’ll knock that over, darling. Move it here, where your elbow won’t catch it.” She pulled a crossword puzzle out of her bag, a newspaper crossword, and started muttering about how “they just don’t make them like they used to.”

Soap caught her humming along to a 70s soul track that only Price ever put on the pub jukebox. Ghost watched her separate her chips from her mushy peas with the same quiet care his gran used to.

And suddenly, despite the pink sundress and the tote bag and the glowy, Disney-princess energy -- they all realized:

She was old at heart.

She might’ve looked like she belonged on some cozy campus or fairy-tale book cover, but she moved through the night like someone who’d been here before. Patient. Observant. Steady. She had Price’s tea order memorized ("two sugars, no milk"), reminded him to take his vitamins -- "m'serious John you have to stop missing your medication dear" -- with the same tone one might use to scold a naughty golden retriever.

Price. Captain John fucking Price. Grumbly. Growling. Feared by half the globe, didn’t argue. Just muttered, “Yes, love,” and obediently took the tiny chewable multivitamin she pressed into his hand like it was ammunition.

Soap nearly choked on his beer.

She fussed over Ghost’s sleeves being damp. Asked if Gaz was getting enough fiber. Told Soap she’d found the cutest mug that looked like a little sheep and bought it for him -- “because you always remind me of a sheepdog, with all that energy!”

They were under siege.

By the end of the night, Ghost. Big bad, massive, hulking, and brooding Ghost -- who once broke a man's wrist for looking at him sideways. Cleared through a room with just a pistol. Battered through a man in half -- was sitting very still as she gently lint-rolled his hoodie. Tutting about the pub cat’s fur.

When they finally left, Price tucked her under his arm, pressed a kiss to her temple, and shot the team a look over her head that said, without words: She’s my peace. Touch her and I’ll bury you under the bloody barracks.

And every single one of them -- elite, seasoned, hardened soldiers -- nodded in perfect silence.

Soap leaned in to Gaz, still stunned. “Mate,” he whispered. “She’s got 'im on a leash, nae doubt about it”

Gaz nodded back, wide-eyed. “Pink. Fluffy. And bulletproof”

Even Ghost, unflinching, unbothered and stoic Ghost, gave them the sharpest, most solemn nod of agreement in his life.

Because clearly, Captain Price didn’t command that squad.

She did.

masterlist

[amaranthinespirit]

brother's best friend!simon riley is a man you shouldn't like

he's older, albeit a few years, but older nonetheless. you grew up around him, him being your brother's best friend. they never left each other's side, it felt like. attached at the hip.

you always had an eye for simon, the boy was alluring, quiet and reserved, but regardless, you wanted him. you couldn't have him though, with him being buddy-buddy with your older brother, he was off-limits.

especially since your brother is outright aggressive in his protections for you, he even got simon on the bandwagon. you deluded yourself into thinking simon didn't want any other guys around you, but came to the reality that he was just helping your brother out, as friends do.

but as you got older, the quick glances turned to lingering stares and prolonged eye contact across the room, with brief touches and grazes against arms or legs whenever you sat near.

every single time, you reminded yourself that your brother would have simon's head for even conjuring the thought. in simple fear for his life, you didn't do anything further.

now it's been years. your brother and simon went off to the military and got deployed. coming back home as hardened soldiers, your brother became closed off, silent. like a hermit, he holed up in his room, leaving the once joy-filled rooms empty with only despair.

it was like a void had been made in your heart, left only with the bulky man simon grew to be. sure, he had also seen some stuff, but he had had rough home life so he knew how to deal with it, to some extent, and it was the reason he spent so much time at your house in the first place.

slowly, simon filled the voids your brother had left, shushing you with hushed words that he's just doing what your brother would want. making you happy.

and it's exactly what he does, pounding into your tight warmth that drools over his cock. a creamy ring of arousal forming at the base of his length as he fully sheathes inside your pussy. his hand is rough against your mouth, cooing about how you wouldn't want your dear brother to find out how simon's filling you in a way he should've years ago.

yet his pace is brutal, the sound of skin slapping together, enough to turn it red, bounces off the walls, and you'd be surprised if your brother didn't hear it through the thin plaster.

regardless, he didn't relent, making up for lost years by making you orgasm more than what you could count before you quickly became stupid, drooling over his fingers and crying out his name, muffled only by the tight grip of his hand over your lips.

your brother will come around eventually, right? simon tells you that he'll accept it once he sees how happy he makes you, and you have no choice but to believe him.

[milkywayhou]

Dad!König

I desperately need to sleep owch

[baty2004]

Another art cuz lately ive been enjoying drawing way too much,

I think I also really like how my drawings turn out :))

(Also I know I drew the tattoos on the wrong arm but I wanted to show them anyways 😔🙏)

[tiredkatzz]

More CoD OC stuff because she's the only thing I've been doodling sorry :3 (will get back to tf141 boys soon)

This big guy is Bruce, @wheresreznov 's oc! They're buddies and I love them so so much <3

More info?

I actually don't have much-

Made her as a self insert to draw her with tf141 for my own comfort, but after chatting with a few cool people with cool cod ocs, now I wanna make her more interesting too...

Still brainstorming background stuff. What I've got on her is that she works with Price while he was still lieutenant, they get parted just cause of the nature of their jobs, meets him again as the captain of tf 141 and work together once again. He gave her the nickname and it stuck.

That's all I'm comfortable sharing rn ^^. If you guys got any questions my asks are open!

Oh, and here's a vague sketch of her tattoos