#Cod OC

[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

[shadow0-1]

they're lost as hell

[baty2004]

I headcannon Ghost to be a picky eater soo..

Have this little cute video :)

Ghost taking little kid to eat out :D

Then making a horrible ordering mistake that’s easily fixed, phew

I discovered I have a problem with drawing ghost and men in general is that I draw them younger looking than they are…,, need to fix that smh

I think it has to do with the fact that I started by drawing anime and especially old school anime, now im trying to expand my horizon so bear with me until I get good :)

[gomzdrawfr]

❤️🧡💛Patreon Pride Requests💚💙💜

141 + NikPrice

GhostGaz (ftr RavenJelly)

Laswell and her wife :3

[link]

[scared-dogs-bite]

All Your Ways [2] Uno

[masterlist]

ghost x original female character. 3.9k words cw: guns, blood, violence, obsessive thoughts. 18+ mdni

chapter song [brain stew - green day]

Wrapping a towel around his hips, he glanced at the slightly fogged-up mirror. He stepped closer, running a finger over the fine cut that sliced across his throat. A slight sting, blood smearing. Dark brown eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror. All that scrubbing and she had still left her mark on him.

“So let me get this right, you let over ten insurgents sneak up on you and neither of you had any idea?”

Ghost and Soap glanced at one another before Ghost answered. “Affirmative, sir.”

Price sat back in his chair, shaking his head. He laughed, an empty heartless sound. He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing into his palms. Ghost and Soap had only gotten back an hour ago after a hasty EVAC.

Five more of them were waiting outside the building when Ghost stepped through the door. He had glanced up at the wall the first woman had climbed. It was a near-impossible feat; he wasn’t sure how she had done it. It looked completely flat, nothing to grasp or hoist herself up on.  Unless she had dropped down from the roof, his eyes cast up to the opposing buildings, several metres lower and apart from his. He would have heard an airdrop, would have heard the plane.

Maybe she did just appear out of thin air, just like the rest of them. A spectre blowing in on the wind.

They were all women. All with their faces covered. Some pale, some darker skin, no identifying badges, all dressed in some variation of sand or dirt coloured material. Made to blend in, to disappear. They looked more like a gang than a military unit; maybe that was the best way to describe them. Lawless, vicious. Appearing and disappearing without a trace, only carnage left behind. Ghosts in their own right. They were like the silt floating through the air, impossible to see, impossible to catch. When they marched them out of the town, executioner style, it had been a gruelling walk under the baking heat. Half of them had stayed in the town, the other half had walked Soap and Ghost out. Five armed personnel for two soldiers seemed excessive, but then again, they had judged both Soap and Ghost right. Any less and the two men would have overpowered them. They were smart too, or their leader was. She had ordered the team to keep Ghost and Soap almost ten metres apart, unable to talk to one another, weapons trailed them the whole walk into the desert. The two soldiers had been dumped in the middle of nowhere, the women leaving their weapons in a pile at their feet. 

“You move, you die.” One of them had said, pointing to the faraway town. She had the same twang to her accent.

There was a glint in the morning sun. Ghost squinted at the spot. His three-story building, where he didn’t doubt there was a sniper perched on the roof. It must be close to two klicks away. A near-impossible shot. Soap chuffed, rolling his eyes, thinking the same as Ghost. Moments later, a bullet whizzed by both of them, embedding in the sand at their feet. Soap crouched, swearing under his breath, covering his head with his hands like that would stop a bullet. Ghost resisted rolling his eyes at the Scot, instead choosing to stare down at the disturbed dirt at his feet, the echoing crack of the sniper rifle finally reaching their ears. The woman laughed, and his eyes trailed up, following the track the bullet would have taken. 

“She doesn’t miss.” One of them sneered at him.

He stared out across the desert, to whoever was on the other end of the gun. An impossible shot. He did not doubt that if they moved, it wouldn’t hit the ground near their feet the next time. Ghost would bet all the money he had on who was at the other end of the rifle, cocking another bullet into the chamber, sage eyes bright. 

The insurgents were long gone by the time EVAC got to them. Soap and Ghost had done what they were told, for once, and not moved. Only when their helo was approaching did they pick up their weapons and make their way over, with their tails between their legs. Laswell not even speaking to either of them before touchdown, storming off the helo without even a nod to either of them. Debrief was to be right away. The walk to Price’s office was almost as torturous as the walk under the desert sun. Price eyed the both of them head to toe, his morning cup of coffee still steaming at his desk. He rubbed his hands over his face again, a grumbling forming in his chest.

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, “Us too, sir.”

“But you understand how bad this makes us look, makes the whole team look?”

Ghost clenched his jaw, “Apologies, sir.”

Soap nodded, “It won’t happen again.”

Price levelled them with a stare, “No, it won’t. Bloody muppets, dismissed.” 

They both stood from their chairs, Price already reaching for the satellite phone resting on his desk, raising it to his ear with a sigh before either of them had left the room. Ghost shut the door behind them, and they made their way to the barracks, Soap sighing to himself. 

“What a shitshow.” he rubbed his hand over his mohawk, dust puffing up into the air.

They were both overdue for a trip to the showers. But debriefing came first, while it was still fresh in their minds. It was gruelling going over every detail of their fuck up with a stone-faced Laswell and Price glaring at them across the table. Four days, and hours of recon, and they had gotten nothing. Laswell had left before they even finished up. The mission was a complete failure. They still knew nothing about the new group emerging across the continent. Whispers of it remained; all they had were brief descriptions of a handful of women, nothing identifiable. They weren’t even sure if these women had anything to do with the new organisation. There was no indication that they did. All the information Laswell had on the group contradicted what this group was.

The new organisation was ruthless, slaughtering towns so they could then occupy them, and reports of men taking women, children. Bodies had been found barely recognisable, the killing had been remorseless and unrestrained, mowing people down indiscriminately, without thought. The town both groups had found themselves in had been abandoned, not massacred. There were no signs of slaughter, no bodies left to rot. This group was all women; they could never assume, but it was safe to say they wouldn’t be taking any women or children for themselves. There were no reports of an all-female group in any of Laswell's initial recon, but she had promised to dig further for anything. They weren’t sure if they had stumbled on the same group or something else entirely. His skin itched. Those mesmeric green eyes, astute and mocking, would haunt Ghost a lot longer than the briefing would. 

“I need a shower.” He needed to wash the feeling of her off him.

Soap grumbled, head hanging low. Ghost almost broke away from him, almost, but stopped before they headed to their individual rooms. He sighed, his skin feeling tight, before he turned to Soap. 

“Johnny.” Soap looked up, his eyes meeting Ghosts. 

“We’ll be ready for them next time.” Ghost slapped his hand on Soap’s shoulder.

Soap smiled, and nodded, “Too bloody right, LT.” 

“Hit the showers, Johnny, you smell like week-old arse.”

Soap laughed, the smile back on his face, and he took off in the direction of his quarters. 

“Had week-old arse before, sir?” He yelled it through the hallways, soldiers just going about their morning tasks, turning their heads at the two of them.

Ghost couldn’t keep the smile that curled at the corner of his mouth, not that Johnny could see it. 

“It’s my favourite,” he yelled back, turning round to head to his own quarters, Johnny’s laugh echoing, he could still hear it even when he rounded the corner. 

Being in the 141 granted the team a few special privileges. It shouldn’t, but it does.

Laswell pitched it as “do special missions, get special compensation”. Ghost hated it. Hated feeling like he was given something others deserved more. It was a lot of different things: better equipment, better missions, longer leave, fewer rules. He didn’t like having something others couldn’t; he didn’t like not feeling like he had worked for it. But this particular privilege, this one Ghost let himself enjoy.

Private quarters were few and far between, usually reserved for captains and army majors. How Price and Laswell had swung everyone in 141 to get one, Ghost had no idea. But after years of waking at three in the morning to have a shower alone, sleeping with his balaclava on, he was grateful. Punching the code to his room, he practically sagged when the door closed. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle, exhaustion and anger.  

How could he have fucked up so royally?

He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Should have let Soap talk him into it, shouldn’t have given in. He had his arse handed to him by Laswell, by Price, and he deserved it. They had one lead, and they blew it. It was his team. His mission. His responsibility.

How could he have let them sneak up on him like that?

Soap was on watch, but it was Ghost’s team, as Lieutenant, he was in charge. The failure fell solely on him.

He unbuckled his helmet and unplugged comms, removing those before ripping the balaclava from his head. Dust exploded from every single weave in the material. He threw it into the washing basket in the corner of his room, along with everything else he wore. His tac gear he would take back to the 141’s ready room tomorrow. He was too tired to lug it all back today. He scrubbed his hands down his face, a feeling he seldom got to indulge in. A sharp sting erupted over his cheek, and he glanced over at his washing basket. He had nearly forgotten.

He dug through the clothes, pulling out the balaclava again, staring down at the cracked mask. The whole right side of it was split into two places, each crack rippling out from the eye socket. The only thing holding it together was the stitching around the edge of the shell of the mask. Switching from the washing basket to the rubbish bin, he lobbed the broken mask in, scratching his sore cheek as he did. The feeling of the silt on his skin was maddening; it coated everything. Every piece of clothing down to his pants, and then every single lick of skin on him. He shouldered open his bathroom door and cranked the shower as hot as it would go. The second he stepped in, the water turned brown, the muck was stubborn. His neck and face stung whenever he dipped his head under the spray of the water. He scrubbed himself raw, but the water still came away tainted. It was almost half an hour before he shut the shower off, giving up and deciding that it would take repeated scrub-downs for him to get rid of the feeling of it on his skin. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he glanced at the slightly fogged-up mirror. His eyes caught on something, and stayed glued to it. He stepped closer, running a finger over the fine cut that sliced across his throat, just below his Adam's apple. It was still red and slightly bleeding, from the heat and harsh hands he used on his skin. He ran his finger over it again, a slight sting, blood smearing. Dark brown eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror. A deep cut under his eye, weeping a little as well.

All that scrubbing and she had still left her mark on him.

His skin tingled. He stared at himself in the reflection.

He hated it. 

Weeks went by without a word from anyone. Ghost was beginning to get antsy.

He filled his time as he usually did when not on a mission. Wake up. Eat food in his quarters. Sit with the rest of the lads in the DFAC and not eat anything. Head to the gym. Work out while the odd soldier who was new to the barracks stared. Shower. Eat food in his quarters. Head to the shooting range. Or to the training yard. Or to brush up on intelligence. Or to the library. Work through the mountain of paperwork he always seemed to have sitting in his office. Play cards with Soap, with Gaz, with Price. Eat food in his quarters. Sit with the rest of the lads and “bond”. Read. Sleep. It was mind-numbing.

Laswell and Price had paused all missions until they had some more information on the new insurgents in the game, and not having something to do was even worse than the toughest mission he’d had. He’d rather get shot on the job. He had already washed the clothes he had worn on their last mission five times over. Had thrown his trousers out, the hole sliced in his crotch unable to be mended. Cleaned his weapons twice over, the empty sheath from his stolen knife discarded at the bottom of his locker. The feeling of the dirt, the smell of— It still all stuck around. He’d already reorganised the bookshelves in his office. Twice. He couldn’t go to the gym for the third time in a day. His ID number would get flagged for review if he visited the range anymore this week. He'd rather avoid the questions from Price. He was mainly looking for a distraction. Something to consume all his time, all his thoughts. He couldn’t seem to pull them away from the mission. Soap had moved on, the first night back he and Gaz had practically drunk each other under the table, and he was back to how he always is. Loud. Flighty. Ghost, however, was practically consumed by the botched mission. He had gone over every single step, beginning to end, to see where they had gone wrong. 

They had entered the town expecting it to be empty, that was their first mistake. They had seen no signs of life, of anyone occupying the town, and their intel had told them it was abandoned, so they didn’t check. Didn’t think to check, to confirm their intel was solid. It wasn’t. 

They had sat in that town, keeping an eye on the horizon for any movement, when it had been under their noses the entire time. He didn’t have any doubts in his mind that the group that had ambushed them was part of this new terrorist organisation.

They had to be.

There was no other reason why they would be there. They had been quick, organised, well-trained, and had the determination to succeed. All the call signs of a well-oiled machine. The only thing that stumped Ghost, the thing that had him digging through file after file, was that they had left them alive.

Never, in all his years serving, had he ever run into a terrorist group that had shown mercy. They let them go. They escorted them out of the town and left them there with their weapons, food and water. If the shoe had been on the other foot, Ghost would have shot them dead.

That is what brought him to seek out the information, to sit at his computer and scroll through page after page of reports in his office, asking Laswell for a favour for higher clearance so he could dig deeper.

She had looked up from her computer in her office, nodded at him, and tapped a few keys on her keyboard before looking back up at him. 

"Be careful with that." She warned him before ushering him out of her office with a jut of her chin. He had returned to his own office with his higher clearance and immediately requested access to the files he needed.

What kind of group of terrorists would leave the other guys alive? Had they done it before?

He pulled reports and files of everything. Any that mentioned female soldiers, masked soldiers, anything at all, from the past five years. He knew there would be something, somewhere, this was not the first time this group had run into anyone. It couldn’t be. She had seen his uniform, seen his equipment, the badges, and knew immediately who he was, his rank, what he was here for. Someone had to have taught her it, someone had to have known. That is learnt knowledge, trained over years. Four days now, four days he had been spending his spare time hunched over his desk in his office, biting the head of anyone who interrupted, reading report after report. Reading anything, everything.

Requested EVAC 0815 one klick west of drop point. Encountered insurgents en route to EVAC point. Seventeen masked insurgents. Taken effective fire. Five of Delta team down, MVAC called. 

First deck rooms cleared. Second deck, made contact. Four female insurgents. Targets neutralised. No identifying markers. Not civilians. 

Ran into friendlies at 2200 hours while clearing town. NZDF. Was waiting for EVAC after unrelated mission. The one with the green eyes reported seeing the target due west. Target was located and acquired. No casualties.

Seventeen masked insurgents. Could be them. But it was dated seven years ago, and the activity of this particular group had only started in the last couple of years or so. They were all too young as well to be active seven years ago.

Four female insurgents. No identifying markers, not civilians. A year ago. That could be them. But this particular mission had happened in Thailand, not in the Middle East. Unless they were playing for a spot here, Ghost doubted it was them.

The one with the green eyes. He narrowed his gaze at the line. It was a strange thing to include in a report. Not relevant information, but the soldier who had completed the report had kept it in. It was dated three years ago. There were no mentions of names or any other description, Ghost wasn't even sure if the person with the green eyes had been a woman. Just that one thing. Green eyes. 

He skimmed the words again. New Zealand Defence Force. Their allies. He had crossed paths with many of them. They breezed through regularly, being a part of the Commonwealth, it was normal to see them about, the British flag joined by four red stars. These insurgents did not have any identifying badges or markers on them, so that didn’t fit. Neither did the demeanour of the group of women. But the unnecessary line tugged on something inside him.

The NZDF were a boisterous lot, the barracks always seemed to turn into chaos when they arrived. Rules were broken, the boundaries of their superiors pushed, and Ghost often had a sigh of relief when they left. They were uncharacteristically friendly to Ghost. Most other soldiers found him standoffish and therefore avoided him. But for some reason, they always endeavoured to include him in whatever trouble they were getting up to at the barracks. It was agony. Gaz and Soap loved them and had a permanent hangover whenever the NZDF visited. He thought back to their accents and tried to compare it to the slight twang the two women had, but it was a lost cause. 

Ghost sighed, sitting back in his chair. They could be anyone, anywhere. It was a waste of his time to look for them. They were a needle in a proverbial haystack, and he had been picking up straw for days. Only when he ran into them again, and he would, only then would he be able to get his answers. And he would get them, slowly, painfully. 

He glanced at his watch before sighing. Soap had convinced him to come to drinks with the team. Often he declined, feeling like a right git sipping a whiskey and soda out of a straw, but he had dodged the last three, any more and Gaz would start taking it personally. Standing from the desk, he stretched, joints cracking in protest at being stuck in one position for too long. Powering down the desktop, Ghost made sure to lock his door behind him, he got there just in time for the dealing of the cards. 

“LT, you made it!” Soap’s words were already slightly slurred.

Ghost sucked in a breath, and tried not to let the sigh out that he desperately wanted to as everyone else turned to see him enter the room. 

“Someone’s gotta hand you your arse in poker.” 

Gaz made his way over to Ghost, a smile on his face. Ghost felt that slight twinge of guilt that sprang up whenever he was unable to return it. Gaz slapped him on the shoulder, making a loud noise. The plain black hoodie Ghost wore didn’t do much to protect his shoulder from the assault. He handed him a glass of whiskey and soda, just how he liked it, “We’re playing Uno now, mate.” 

Ghost’s eyes snapped to Price, the knowing look already there, smoke curling from the lit cigar that held an almost permanent residence in the captain's mouth, on or off mission. 

Gaz asked Price once how he got around smoking in a government building. Price had told him he’d spent three consecutive nights getting up while everyone else was asleep to sneak around and manually override all of the smoke detectors in the place so they didn’t go off. 

“Isn’t that a little dangerous, sir?” Gaz had asked. Price shrugged.

Soap and Gaz had then gone around testing all the smoke detectors. Another captain had caught them both teetering on a single stool, arms wrapped around one another, giggling while attempting to get the thing working again. They had gotten laundry duty for three weeks as punishment. 

He followed Gaz to the table and sat down, a few bottles of beer already littered the surface. Uno cards were dealt out in whatever space Price could find. Gaz and Soap slapped their hands down on the same deck of cards and began a sort of tug-of-war for whoever got them. Ghost, in the middle of the chaos, took a large gulp of his drink. 

“You been stuck in your office a fair bit, mate.” His eyes met Price’s blue ones.

The entirety of his face moved when he sniffed, beard twitching. It wasn’t a question or a reprimand, but a curiosity. Laswell had told him of his office visit then. Ghost nodded, lifting his mask to take another drink, draining the glass. Gaz won out, which meant Soap was on refill duty for the table. He took a few bottles back with him to the DFAC. 

“I’ve been trying to track down the insurgents from the last mission.” He scratched the back of his head, knit moving against his short hair. Gaz glanced at Price before looking at Ghost. 

“The women that got the jump on you?” 

It was hard not to grind his teeth, not to clench his fists at his side. He nodded. 

“Anything?” Price spoke again, his eyebrows raised slightly. Ghost shook his head. 

“Nothing.”

Price sighed smoke billowing out of his mouth as he stamped out his cigar before speaking, “I’m not surprised. UAV didn’t even pick them up.” 

“Like fucking ghosts.” Gaz shook his head, still nursing his own beer. He snickered before glancing at Ghost, “No offence.” 

Price and Ghost shared a look, Price smirking and shaking his head. He slapped Ghost on the back, finishing off his own beer before picking up his cards, face going serious. 

“Don’t let it get to you Simon, we’ll be ready for them next time.” 

Gaz nodded along, tucking his cards tight to his chest and eyeing Soap as he returned from the DFAC, arms full of beers, two glasses in his hands, both filled generously with whiskey, minus the soda. They were unceremoniously dumped in front of Ghost, and his cards pushed towards him.

He started down at the table, a bowl of salted nuts in the centre. He let Price’s words sink in, tried to let them soothe him, tried to soothe the constant sharp edge to him that had not dulled since they got back.

Laughter and jokes rattled around him, but he could barely hear it. It was rare they were all together for such a long time. He should enjoy it, he should pick up his cards, drink his drinks, and laugh with Soap and Gaz and Price. He shuffled in his chair, and couldn’t get comfortable. Price flipped the card for the first colour. Fucking green. Ghost glared at the green seven staring back at him. He glanced at his own cards, a frustrated sigh leaving him. Slamming his cards down on the table, he picked up his drink and downed it in one go, burning the whole way down. Soap was yelling, Gaz smiling, and Price narrowed his gaze at him. Ghost cracked his neck to one side, and picked up a card.

He didn’t have one fucking green card in his hand. 

He was beginning to hate the colour.

[gildui]

Joe Bowler's 'painting study'

[ghostsiriley]

crow, ghost, and soap height hcs

[shadowsolaris]

The OC not getting his dog back... Meet Daniel Brooks. More information on him under the picture..

Name: Daniel Brooks. Nickname(s): Danny Gender: M (He/Him) Height: 5'10'' Age: Thirty-six (36) Eye Color: Hazel/Blue

Relationship Status: Divorced

Date Of Birth: Mar 30th Place Of Birth: Newcastle, OK, USA Parents: Unknown Sibling(s): Two (2) Children: One (1)

Operational Status: Active Languages Known: English, Spanish, German, Russian. Affiliations: Shadow Company (Former), Kortac (Former), Konni (Current).

Positive Traits: Adaptable, Caring, Confident, Creative, Efficient, Open-minded, Patient, Practical, Supportive. Neural Traits: Honest/Dishonest ( Tends to flip flop depending on situation ), Loyal, Protective, Sarcastic. Negative Traits: Defensive, Impulsive, Inconsistent, Indifferent, Pessimistic, Spiteful, Vague.

Nervous Tells: Running hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck, Toying with anything in his hands. Tells for Lying: Thumb tends to tap on other fingers or any surface his hand rests against. This isn’t reliable as he does tend to fidget.

Habits: Plays with hair, Uses filler words a lot ( “Like”, “Uh”, etc.), Adjusts clothes if it’s bothering him, Glancing around the room, Muttering under his breath or talking to himself.

Other Notes, IMPORTANT:

He tells jokes with a straight face at times. Sometimes, he doesn’t. Just assume he’s being serious he will let you know if he’s joking. But even then, assume he was serious.

He’s inconsistent, patterns change often, sometimes drastically. If this happens, keep an eye out. He is surprisingly sneaky and quick for a guy with a metal leg.

Try to get on his good side and stay there. He’s slow to trust and even slower to forgive if you cross him or people he cares about. Don’t be surprised if he appears randomly in hallways, rooms, etc. He does this with every new person he meets. He’s territorial but seems to calm down after a week or two.

Very vague with everything if he doesn’t trust you, unless he needs to be specific, yes it’s annoying, no there’s nothing you can do to get him to stop doing that ( besides getting him to trust you)

He likes animals, and he works with the K-9’s. He has two dogs, Maverick and Freya ( German Shepherds ), both are trained, commands often heard spoken in German.

Do not ask him about his family unless he brings it up first. There’s no faster way to get him to be suspicious of you.

He grew up in the foster system, aged out of it. Biological parents are unknown, He does have two siblings, both names unknown, genders unknown, locations unknown, but he’s hinted to being the middle child.

Additionally he’s said he’s a father. Nothing is known about that. Or who the other parent is, possible adoption.

EXTREMELY UNPREDICTABLE, Do Not let your guard down around him, he is protective, skilled in many different things, and loyal to a fault, any perceived threat can spell disaster. Best, keep your distance until he feels safe around you.

Report by: #$@%!&?

[rozodejanerowrites]

Self indulgent shirtless drawings of a young Price and Kelli (fanfic OC) Scene is from chapter 8, which is why neither of them look particularly happy.

Ngl it started with Price but then I was like, hmmm its my fanfic so i can also make Kelli hot right? If the CoD fandom has taught me anything, its that everyone in the military is hot - no exceptions.

[callmelitlesunshine]

Desperate Measures pt. 2 Pt. 1 here

It seemed that many difficulties were already behind them. They were almost spotted, but Belikov covered them, as he promised. After all, he was an extremely reliable agent, who had helped Adler's team out of various scrapes on Soviet territory more than once.

They had almost reached their goal — the coveted elevator was in front of them. Bell inserted the right key, Adler pressed the button, a little more — and the mission would be completed with success, because they had a clear plan.

A strong hand appeared in the elevator door, and then a man whose face inspired only mistrust and only his gaze was repulsive. Bell shuddered slightly when the man entered the elevator — now everything was under threat, but she couldn't show it.

— Fresh faces. When did you two arrive? — Unfortunately, Bell didn't have an exact answer to this question, because Belikov hadn't instructed Adler and her on this matter. Therefore, she gave out completely random information.

— We arrived last week, comrade. — An awkward silence followed the answer, but it was short-lived, because the man replied:

— Well, yes, of course. — He chuckled. — Who did you say you report to again? — He continued to press with questions, but this time the spies had an answer. Adler turned his head towards Jessica, as if expecting her to answer. She turned her head to the side, as if she wanted to direct the answer directly to the serious man standing in front of them.

— We report to Commander Sobol. — An awkward silence hung in the elevator again for a few seconds. And now the agents were preparing for the worst.

The man pressed the elevator button, the door opened and he hurried out. It seemed that their answers sounded quite convincing.

— Why I have an appoitment with him now! — He said, feigning surprise, and walked out of the elevator, looking at the "newbies". — I'll give him your regards. — Bell nodded approvingly at the man. He finally turned away and walked along the wide corridor, leaving the elevator doors. Jess exhaled. She and Adler looked at each other again, realizing what awaited them further, right behind this door, but several floors below.

Taglist [in/out]: @that1avian @gerdi-mitchell @mutant-okuri-inu @adlerdaduck @carlosoliveiraa

@tommyarashikage @alexxmason @nohimeren

@iamcautiouslyoptimistic @sergeiravenov @pricescigar @ladysouthpaw1213

@drug-overdose @guigz1-coldwar @kings-out-of-pocket-hell @lordskellington003

@fw-priyanshu @kylezkie4adler @ikenpachiizarakii @mygoldenmile

@vanessa3103 @septic-salad @whisperingexecutioner @altcvnningham

@elyseenmiel

[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

[thisnoah]

Guys and their scars

[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

[tiredkatzz]

Ok, these are the last doodles of my OC for now✋🤚

I was having awful cramps and felt sick during the first days of my period, so how do I cope? Give cramps to my OC and draw her getting comfort from my fav fictional men.

[zer0tox1c]

If Horangi & Hyena(my oc) saw this they would be brutally honest with him

Horangi: you look like a serial killer

Hyena: hun i think you attract the wrong audience

Yes.. Normal

I saw this picture a few hours ago and can't stop myself from made a quick art of König