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Simon has weird fucked-up kinks bc of trauma (just like me fr) and Johnny has weird fucked-up kinks bc hes just like that™️

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some people will take any opportunity to control women, shame women, find ways to blame them for all the world's problems. this has been happening for centuries. they'll even try to disguise it as activism.

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inspired by this

cw: ghost, smut

it had always been like this. you and ghost—locked in orbit since the day you crash landed on the task force. no insults, no cheap shots. just a constant hum beneath your skin. unspoken tension. coiled pressure.

every run, every drill, every breach, you moved in sync. trained that way—always matched. always parallel. the others noticed. joked about it sometimes. called it healthy competition.

—until it wasn’t

not after this last op—surgical clean, the two of you barely a blip on the radar. smooth in-and-out.

but then that moment; one target, one heartbeat, two shots. yours and his. one kill.

you glanced across the clearing, and met his eyes—or at least the dark voids his stupid plastic skull mask made to shade them. you offered him no nod, no smirk. just that look. flat, unreadable. but something behind his eyes cracked.

and now, here you are.

in the back of a humming humvee, inky darkness pressing up against the windows, night wind curling around the scalding metal frame. price and soap are already on the road ahead. you and ghost were left to follow behind

—“cleanup duty,” if anyone asked.

and he’s on you.

his gloves still streaked with blood as they fist your tac vest, dragging it off your shoulders. your shirt goes with it, teeth flashing under the half-lifted edge of his mask as he devours the curve of your throat, your ribs, the soft flesh just above your waistband.

it’s not gentle.

it’s not sweet.

it’s earned, though

no words pass between you—they hardly ever do. this is no exception.

but you gasp, spine arching as he forces your pants and underwear around your knees, mouth dragging heat down your abdomen. he licks a stripe along your hipbone like he’s tasting victory—like you’re his prize.

he grips your thighs with both hands and presses them to your chest, clothed calves in the air as he exposes your dripping cunt to him. he steadies you like a weapon in his palms. and then—without so much as a glance—he presses his blood-slick glove between your lips.

pushes his fingers in until your mouth parts for him, obedient.

“quiet.”

first word. rough and low. and you swear it sparks something in your chest.

you moan around the roughened threads, eyes fluttering. his breath is hot against your thigh as he growls, bites down hard enough to bloom red under your skin. the seat underneath you is cold, but you’d let him take you on ice if it meant he’d stay in this close.

he lines himself up with no warning. no prep. but he knows you’re ready—slick and aching from the way he’s touched you, looked at you. and when he pushes in your whole body pulses.

“fuck—” he exhales into your neck, voice worn ragged. “tight as i knew you’d be. always fuckin’ got t’one-up me, yeah?”

you try to respond but you can’t. he’s so achingly deep and there’s no room for anything else but him.

he drives into you, pace brutal, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the back of the truck like thunder in a tin roofed chapel.

the humvee rocks.

his mask stays on. of course it does. only just high enough to bare his mouth, the cut of his jaw. and even now, his teeth graze across your chest like a warning—like a mark.

you writhe and you whimper, but you take him.

and when your release hits you, it does so like a wave crashing to shore. your whole body pulls tight around him and he gasps, doesn’t even try to hold back the broken sound in his throat.

he mutters it then—half-shattered, like the words surprised him too.

“fuck, you win.”

and then he’s coming, hard, buried deep inside, hips stuttering before he finally stills.

silence. for a moment.

he stays there. doesn’t move. just breathes—chest rising, falling. then he leans down, rests his temple against yours, voice low and spent, chapped lips on the crest of your ear.

“next time, try not t’shoot my fucking kill.”

you huff a laugh and take the sodden gloves out of your mouth, lips swollen.

“next time, move faster.”

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#MyPrice

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Alone Time

John Price x F!reader CW: Sexual content, BDSM, consensual restraint, mildly suggestive language.

Your husband, God bless him, doesn’t always know how to deal with you, which, to be fair, is completely valid.

To understand his exasperation with your general aura and personality, you must first understand Johnathan Price. As an SAS captain, he’s had enough danger, excitement, and spontaneity to satiate him for the rest of his life.

This is what had originally attracted you to him, truthfully: how peaceful he made your life. No dramatic arguments, no real issues, actually. Sure, he’s a tad controlling, but it’s nothing overbearing, and truth be told, you never minded giving him that control. It’s no surprise the wedding happened so quickly after meeting; who wouldn’t give up today’s very questionable dating scene in favor of a man who finds whiskey and the newspaper “fascinating”?

Despite what most may consider ‘boring,’ you love your husband and his strange little interests. You think he must feel the same way about you, but in reverse: you’re the woman who barks at men in the pub just to weird them out enough to leave you alone; the woman who puts karaoke on the TV just to make him laugh; the woman who says things like, “How do we feel about me learning the harmonica?” and “What if I turned into a chicken… what would you do?”

He adds peace to your life; you add some much-needed energy to his. Your husband’s ‘boring’ nature, however, does not extend to the bedroom, because thank God, he was neither shocked nor put off when the third brown Amazon box this week showed up to your home.

“What’s that?” he hummed from his spot on his recliner, blowing out a plume of smoke as the words left his lips.

“Straps for the bed,” you said nonchalantly. Any embarrassment you may have once had pertaining to sex left your head a long time ago.

“Good purchase, love.” He chuckled and smiled. You knew that look: he was going to put that to good use. And good use he did. That evening, you two thoroughly tested the restraints, had what was honestly probably some of the best sex of your life, and knocked the fuck out.

The straps, your new favorite toy for the time being, got broken in a few more times in the next few weeks before you both inevitably lost a little interest. Despite the fact they hadn’t been used in over a month now, they still remain attached to your bed. “Just keep ’em there,” John had said. You figured maybe he planned on having one of those days he plays a little rough in the near future and left them. However, you were incredibly deceived.

Because your husband, while he loves your wild nature, also values his alone time, and he found his way to get it.

“Lovie,” John’s voice called from the bedroom. He typically doesn’t have to call more than once; that loud, deep voice could get anyone’s attention. So you made your way up the stairs to your shared bedroom, only to find John standing beside the bed.

“C’mere,” he said, the sound deep in the back of his throat. As you walked up to him, to put your hands on his bare, hairy chest, he lifted you, surprising you a bit, but you definitely were not complaining. You let out a little squeak as he placed you on the bed.

For a moment, your interest was quite piqued when you watched him grab hold of one of the straps to fasten it around your wrist. He hadn’t undressed your clothes, but you figured maybe that was part of the game.

“Oh?”

“Mhm.”

You lay there, waiting patiently as he tightened all four straps. You didn’t speak much, just watched him. However, what was turning into excitement died and turned into confusion as he grabbed the remote to the telly once he’d adequately had your hands cuffed.

“What are you doing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him, the confusion visible on your face.

“Bunny rabbit,” he began with a little smirk, a mischievous look on his face that you very rarely see.

“Yes, sir?” you asked, laughing at him just a little bit, more out of amusement or confusion than anything else.

“I have been trying to read that book for three weeks. Do you know why I can’t?” he asked you. His question had no genuine irritation or anger; his words were followed by soft laughs.

“No?” you asked. If you were being honest, you hadn’t even realized he didn’t finish that book yet.

“Well, I can’t concentrate, because you’ve been humming that song nonstop, and I can’t focus… so I’ve come up with a solution. I’m gonna turn on a movie, and you’re gonna stay here until I finish my book.” He smiled. Both you and he knew that if he had just asked you to stop humming, you would’ve. Clearly, this was fun for him. You weren’t in any harm, you weren’t upset, so you decided to go along with it. It’s been forever since you’ve actually sat down and watched a movie anyway.

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious, rabbit.” And so, through your giggles, you watched as he checked the straps, turned on some ’90s movie, and left the room. Actually, you ended up falling asleep in the middle of the movie, but John finished his book.

Only John would think to use the sex toy you bought just to get some alone time.

CoD Masterlist

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Don’t you guys forget that I am still a Fnaf kid at heart!

Secret of the Mimic!!

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All my Ghoap:

(X Reader & regular Ghoap fics)

Ghost x Soap & Price x Reader - John's meddling Wife.

Ghost X Soap - LT's Tattoo

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Lt’s tattoo.

(Johnny sees a little sliver of a tattoo on Ghost's waist and can’t function properly for months) GhostXSoap CW: Sexual Content, Alcohol, Minor Violence, Johnny is a little bit weirdly obsessed for kind of no reason

Johnny was no simple man. He worked hard, fought hard, and played hard. But on leave, life was different. He partied, he drank, and he brought home his little playthings for the evening, having always had an affinity for pretty things. Unfortunately for him, the prettiest thing he had found lately was his lieutenant.

He wasn't even on leave, but he found it increasingly difficult to separate his home life and carefree personality from his work. He remembered when it all truly started. It was an early morning, the day beginning as it always did, with a head nod and a grunt from Ghost as he walked into the base gym.

As the two powered through their workout, Johnny caught a glimpse of something. It was small, minuscule even, yet it mattered profoundly. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was God's design.

He glanced to his left, not just at the towering man working out, but at that same colossus stretching his arms above his head. In any other situation, it would've meant nothing. But the shirt was a couple of inches too short. Simon left little to the imagination in that fleeting moment. Catching a sliver of that tiny tattoo sent Johnny into a frenzy he didn't quite understand at the time.

The months went on, and the infatuation grew. What was the tattoo? He'd only had a peek. Why did his hulking, masculine lieutenant have ink on his waist? And more importantly, how could Johnny get him to show it?

It was a quest of sorts. Johnny loved The Lord of the Rings; it was exactly like that, a quest, but instead of a short hero, Frodo was a slag, drooling and silently pining over a man he was meant to respect.

He realized just how completely and totally fucked he was on a random Tuesday afternoon.

"Johnny," the familiar voice rumbled from behind. Johnny turned his head to face his lieutenant.

"Yes, sir?" Johnny asked, though that phrase seemed to carry a lot more meaning these days than it once had.

"Wot the fuck!" were the next words from Ghost's mouth. Johnny wished so desperately, after the fact, that he had paid attention to what Ghost was actually upset about. The only thing he could focus on was the way the taller man's muscles flexed underneath the dark fabric.

He could just imagine how it would feel to touch them, to have them wrapped around him. Yeah, he was so screwed. Somehow, he ended up getting a stern talking to for not listening. His distraction had accidentally put Ghost in a piss-poor mood for a week, and then he had half the base up his ass about it.

That's when the dreams started, not just in sleep but daydreams as well. He'd wake in a cold sweat, a cock so hard it bordered on painful, all while thinking about that obnoxious Mancunian accent grunting orders into his ear. But oh, it didn't stop there; that would be too easy. No, the fixation extended to his daylight hours as well. Who would have thought that watching his CO kill someone with a combat knife could get him so hot and bothered, making him wonder just how rough the older man could be with another kind of weapon.

And the trip to the pub after that mission? Practically torture. The booth was too small, Johnny's thigh pushed up against Ghost's. Kyle's drunken ramblings about how much he missed his girlfriend grated on him. Price made four trips outside to smoke, each one leaving them more alone in the suffocating closeness. All the while, Ghost sat there calmly sipping his whiskey as if the heat from their bodies weren't mingling.

Johnny tried to cut the awkward tension that was probably mostly in his head. They had always been able to make conversation, right?

"Think I need more drinks to deal with these idiots."

"Bit o' change, you're usually the idiot," Ghost replied, his deadpan stare following the teasing insult.

"Ha, yeah," was all Johnny could manage.

Suddenly, this man, his friend, his lieutenant, was making him so nervous he could barely string a joke together. It wasn't just being in Ghost's presence, something he knew he could muscle through. It was the fact that that meaty, muscular thigh hadn't moved an inch from his own. And it was the fact that Ghost didn't seem bothered by it one bit.

"You did good work this past week," Ghost said after a bit of silence. A compliment from him was a rare occurrence; he wasn't the type, though they did happen occasionally, especially when someone saved his ass, which was exactly what had happened.

"Aye, you too, sir." Johnny replied, and with that the conversation grew quiet again. But not without Ghost doing something that sent Johnny into a month-long spiral. Simon simply patted his thigh, a "good job" kind of pat. What was interesting was he didn't move his hand. It wasn't high up, nor was it squeezing or kneading the flesh, but it just remained there like it was no big deal.

They often flirted over comms, usually played off as a joke. Now, Johnny realized maybe he had always been serious, and he'd just pretended otherwise. But this was different. Johnny was just tipsy enough to abandon his usual caution, doing something he normally wouldn't. He rested his hand on top of Ghost's. And the craziest part? Ghost didn't react, didn't move his hand, and didn't say a word.

Johnny thought about this interaction the entire month he was on leave, the entire time he was home with his family meant to be enjoying himself. He found himself quietly thinking about how much more he would enjoy it if his lieutenant was here in the sea of redheads with him.

Johnny thought so hard about the diet handholding at the pub that he actually ended up telling his sister about it. She responded, "Next time you come home, it better be with a boyfriend," which was incredibly unhelpful. But Johnny didn't really expect her to be; he just needed to vent. All of this thinking led him to do something he possibly wouldn't normally, just out of sheer desperation for closeness. He texted him.

Johnny: "How's your leave goin?"

Ghost: "fine"

Johnny: "do anything fun?"

Ghost: "hunting"

One-word responses from him weren't shocking, but Johnny left it at that, deciding not to respond. Clearly, Johnny was interested in him. Surely Simon did not feel the same way.

As his descent into sexually frustrated madness continued, he had been sitting on his mother's living room couch, watching some old movie and listening to the snores of his father. His phone pinged again, only a few hours since the last text had been ignored.

Ghost: "How is your family?"

Johnny took a moment to think about a response. He was nervous, as if this was some kind of blooming relationship.

Johnny: "good, watching a movie, ma is cooking."

Johnny put his phone back in his pocket, trying to convince himself it wasn't a huge thing, and he didn't have to check for a message. Just the same, as soon as he felt another buzz, he nearly fell off the couch trying to retrieve it. This went on for days. They texted back and forth: Johnny sent a photo of the mountains he and his sister hiked, Ghost sent a photo of the deer he had hunted, Johnny sent a meme, and Ghost reacted to the meme. Of course, they'd always been good friends, but this was a new development.

This too came to an agonizing, frustrating head when Johnny finally worked up the courage to say something maybe a tad out of pocket; it's not like he didn't do it all the time in real life.

Johnny: "What’s the tattoo on your waist."

Ghost: "wouldn’t you like to know"

And yes, he would like to know. But he didn't push it. Ghost already knew Johnny had been looking at him enough to notice that in the first place, and Johnny didn't want to further embarrass himself. Once they were back at work, things went back to normal. The days were long, the work was hard. The paperwork was stacked. But Johnny found himself looking at Ghost in a different light. There was a potential, granted, a small one, that Ghost was actively flirting back; they were just two big, macho men too reserved to be bold with it.

Well, that was until it happened for the second time. Johnny got another glimpse of the tattoo, in the very same situation as before: the base gym, just him and Ghost. Except this time, when Johnny walked through the threshold, Simon Riley was shirtless. Suddenly, Johnny felt very thirsty; it was hot in here.

"Mornin'," Johnny mumbled as he went to put his bag in the locker room. Ghost didn't respond. He was many things, but a morning person wasn't one of them. Johnny gave himself a quick glance in the mirror before heading to his workout; he was red as a tomato. Oh god. Throughout the workout, Johnny noticed Simon glancing over at him more so than usual, noticed the mask pulled up higher over his nose, more than usual. This motherfucker was teasing him, and by the looks of it, it was on purpose.

As the two men started to slow their workout, needing to shower and get ready for the morning meeting, Simon said something that changed everything.

"Didn't stare today like you usually do."

And with that, he walked out of the room. He wanted Johnny to stare? Johnny was trying so hard not to look, because if he looked, his brain would start going and he wouldn't be able to stop. But now that seemed like not only permission, but like a request, like it was something he always did, something he was meant to do.

Three days. Three days the team spent on mission, three days thinking about the words exchanged in the gym, three days of "jokingly" flirting over comms, three days of Johnny being forced to look at this mountain of a man. He was made only of muscle and bad jokes, covered in blood, dirt, and other things that would, to anyone else, be considered a turn-off. Not Johnny though. No, not to Johnny. Lord help him.

What he didn't expect was the way that Simon looked at him the whole time, as if he knew something he hadn't previously. Like he knew the thoughts in Johnny's head. And honestly? Maybe he did. Simon has always had this weird way of getting in people's heads, his typical silence allowing him to get better reads on them or something.

"Fuckin' 'ell, stop bouncing your leg." The deep voice cut through Johnny's thoughts like a blade. He lifted his head to look at Ghost across from him in the heli.

"Sorry, sir," Johnny muttered, slowing the movement of his leg to sit still.

"The fuck are you nervous about?" Ghost began. Johnny was going to respond, probably with some unconvincing tale of him not being nervous, but Ghost interjected as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Actin' like I actually showed you the damn tattoo."

Johnny was sure he looked like a deer caught in headlights for a moment, just staring into those brown eyes as if to beg the masked man to ease up a little. It took Johnny a minute, but he got his bearings, pulled himself together. He decided to go about the situation in typical Johnny fashion.

"Aye, well, maybe if you'd stop teasing me we wouldn't have this problem."

Silence. A long stare. More silence. Not a single word from that point going forward was uttered from the lieutenant, no jokes, no nose sniffles, nothing. Not even so long as a glance in Johnny's direction during debriefing.

Johnny was absolutely certain he'd royally fucked up. He was tired though, and he'd deal with the consequences of his actions later. His limbs felt heavy, his neck sore; he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. But as the Scot made his way through the halls of base, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the feeling of a gloved hand on the back of his neck.

Despite Simon's size, he's incredibly light on his feet. To say he startled Johnny would be a massive understatement. Even still, Johnny wasn't left with a lot of time to react as Ghost pulled his body back by the scruff of his neck.

"You think I'm teasing you, s' that it?"

"Aye, think it's on purpose." Johnny is a grown man, but even he could admit his words came out more like a squeak. Simon stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again.

"You got about 15 minutes to have your arse at my door, go!" And with that, Ghost let go of him, shoving him a bit, as he always did. Johnny had never showered that fast in his life, never tried so hard to run through base without drawing attention. Never tried so hard to casually walk into his lieutenant's quarters without looking nervous. He managed anyway.

For a moment, once the heavy wooden door shut behind him, Johnny just stared at the now maskless man before him. His hair was blonder than Johnny remembered it, shaggier than the last time he'd seen it. As if Johnny wasn't already completely captivated by Ghost's general aura, he couldn't help the way his shorts tightened around his waist.

"Been practically begging like a whore for months to see the tattoo, now you're just standing there?" Simon asked, the words teasing, almost taunting.

However, the thing about Johnny is he's not embarrassed to behave like a slut.

"No, sir." Johnny quickly snapped out of it. He crossed the room to stand in front of his lieutenant. Once in front of the taller man, Johnny reached his hands out to place them on Simon's waist. He momentarily glanced up at Simon as if to check that what he was clearly about to do was okay. When he met Simon's eyes, he didn't find a head nod or a verbal 'okay', but rather a glass-eyed, starving expression.

Johnny began tugging the sweatpants down Simon's hips. There was so much to take in: the way he'd pulled the sweats down just enough to be considered indecent, revealing the dark line of hair leading downwards. Simon's cock was huge, visible through the fabric. The tattoo, however, was exactly as Johnny had imagined: cyber sigilism stretched across his torso, stopping at each hip bone. And he had the audacity to call Johnny a slut.

Johnny took his time exploring the body before him, running his fingers along the ridges of his stomach, the scars, the tattoo, the hair. Simon's breathing was no longer steady but heavy; he just stood there, not like a statue but like a man lost in lust as Johnny touched him.

At some point Simon seemingly lost patience with the soft teasing, because of course it's okay when he does it but not Johnny.

"Johnny." The words sounded more like a plea than anything.

"Yes, sir?" Johnny asked, hooking his thumb under the waistband of Simon's sweatpants, letting the digit brush the fine hair hidden behind the fabric.

"Oh? What was that, to get me back for toying with you all week?" Johnny knew in that very moment he had no idea what he'd gotten himself into. And truth be told, he didn't, not until his face was being pushed into the pillow by a huge right hand. Johnny had never in his life been this full. Simon wasn't playing with him anymore.

"Yeah? That what you wanted?" Ghost's taunting words rang through Johnny's ears as Simon pushed himself in and out. God, he could barely even think.

"I...uh." He tried, he failed badly; what came out instead was a strangled moan. Simon was rough, pulling Johnny by the hips.

"Yeah? This all it takes to get you to shut the fuck up?" Johnny didn't answer, mostly because he was having a hard time forming words. His cock-drunk brain only got worse when Simon snaked his hand up Johnny's side to grab hold of his throat.

"Fuckin' 'ell." Ghost grunted, the absolutely brutal pace in which he was fucking into Johnny was mind-numbing. Both men had spent an unreasonable amount of time thinking about this, apparently, because it came so naturally, like they'd been fucking for years. Like this was what they were supposed to be doing.

Because maybe it was. Maybe it was what they were supposed to be doing. Maybe Johnny's obsession with his lieutenant, the tattoo, the muscles beneath his shirt was, after all, a merciful act of God, the man he made for him.

Johnny's thoughts about fate and God faded quickly as his orgasm reached its peak, Ghost's following quickly behind. The two lay there for a minute, breathing heavy in the silence. Johnny for a moment thought to say something, but Simon beat him to the punch.

"Been waiting months for that."

"Yeah, me too."

CoD Masterlist

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☙hey, Tumblr, just thought I’d show you my Ghost tattoo❧

(also if this post outs me and you saw this on TikTok…no you didn’t)

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CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE | CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE II

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hmmmmm

another contribution to the cod community y'all

no I still do not take constructive criticism

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this kind of shit is happening way too often this year to be a coincidence

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Soap, calling to the next room: Ghost, c’mere.

Ghost: . . .

Soap, rolling his eyes: Ghost, I know you hear me!

Ghost: . . .

Soap, frustrated: Simon!

Ghost: . . .

Soap, sighing fondly: Mo chridhe?

Ghost, appearing in the doorway: Yes?

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Johnny: If I died- Simon, cleaning his gun: Death will not get you out of this relationship

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All my John Price X Reader:

Ghost x Soap & Price x Reader - John's meddling Wife.

John Price X Reader- A difficult Woman.

John Price X Reader- John likes to upset his Bird.

John Price X Reader- Giving your boyfriend shit.

John Price X Reader - Johnny's Best friend.

Ghost X Price X Reader- Husbands

John Price X Reader- Tattoo Artist

John Price X Reader- John's Bird

John Price X Reader - Alone Time

Main Masterlist