Dutiful Wildcraft

Dani | COD & OC sideblog | 30's | 18+ |

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Welcome! I’m Dani (She/her) and I mostly lurk, but occasionally write! I primarily write AU’s and/or poly relationships in addition to plus size ocs/readers.

A03

MDNI. this is an 18+ account.

This is a sideblog so asks don’t come from here

Masterlist under the cut (Updated 3.24.25)

Price

Secondhand News (xF!OC)

Plush

Retail

Observation Duty

Missing You (NikPrice x Reader)

Sickly (NikPrice x Reader)

Nikolai

Restoration Worship (Gargoyle!Nik x Reader)

Lies and Alibis (Mafia AU)

Gaz

Pampered (Gaz/Ghost)

Honest Sweet (Gaz/M!OC)

Ghost

Burnout (Ghost/M!OC)

Meeting Soap's Family (Soap/Ghost)

Ghost at a music festival

Soap

Alpha!Soap x F!OC

Pretty in Pink (Soap/M!OC)

Autistic Soap

Original Characters

Darren "Thumper" Martin

Ruby Martin

Paloma Hadley

Kortac

Strange Candy One , Two (Hiatus)

Alt. Universes

Monster AU

Outlast AU

Life's Sweet Bells (Farm Sim AU)

Misc. & Headcannons

Video Games

Music Tastes (With mixes!)

141 Metal Band

Disordered Eating (This is exactly what it says it is)

Other Fandoms

Resident Evil

Wesker x F!OC

[ghouljams]

ghost found you the way he assumes you found your collection of stray cats, soaked to the bone from a sudden storm and crouched behind a dumpster to hide from someone who wouldn't think twice about hurting you.

it must be that soft spot that soap keeps insisting he has that makes him stop with his cigarette half lit and stare at you shivering in the cold, well past the hour when pretty things should be home or in someone else's bed, your mascara running rivers down your cheeks and your lipstick smeared, a nice bruise blooming on your cheek where someone hit you (probably the same person that smeared your lipstick). you look up at him with wet eyes and a pitiful expression and he can't stop himself from offering you the cigarette, eager to taste your lipstick stain when you hand it back to him with shaking fingers. it feels like the beginning of the end to invite you upstairs to the little attic flat he's renting.

he doesnt pretend to be a gentleman when he offers you a towel and tells you to warm up in the showrr, doesnt turn around or avoid staring at you when you hesitantly strip. just as well when you pilfer one of his shirts and curl up on the mattress he's shoved in the corner, your lips still trembling as you hold your arms out to him.

its a bad move, mixing business with pleasure, but ghost hates the city and he can't say he feels bad turning his back on it to bury his face between your soft thighs. the same way he doesnt feel bad exchanging numbers in the morning when you set off to wherever home is with a pep in your step. the sex is meaningless, its a time killer for an otherwise boring mission

so then why does he feel his stomach clench when you tell him you'll miss him? why does he recognize your strays with the same familiarity as spotting gaz at the pub? why does he keep a budget line running for that shitty little attic flat that he said he was never coming back to?

and why the fuck do you keep texting him like you were something more than a convenient hole for him? (and why is he starting to think there might not be anything convenient about you?)

[553580]

ao3

part 2

obsessive gaz x telepathic reader

cw: telepathy, marijuana use, vague sexual fantasies

heaven is a cafe located two blocks from your flat and one block out of what you've mentally dubbed 'kyle's blast zone'. with each step the screams and explosions playing on a loop in his mind grow fainter and fainter until they're completely gone- buried behind a new mum's worries about her baby's growth percentile and a barista daydreaming about snogging her favorite middle-aged regular that she's mentally dubbed 'mister oat latte'.

it's therapeutic, in a way, to let more mundane thoughts and memories wash over your mind and cleanse your palate of the horrors your neighbor had been unwittingly subjecting you to. it's a much more intimate method of people-watching, and you enjoy sitting in your corner with the book you aren't reading propped in your hand, trying to match what memories and thoughts belong to which customer.

the young professional squinting at his laptop screen is likely the one who's trying and failing at making complicated financial data make sense. the young teenager waiting for her iced coffee is likely the one that's agonizing over a bad test score. you're pretty sure it's either the barista or the pretty goth girl that's still in line trying to mentally plan their next manicure and wondering if their nail tech is up to the challenge of a particularly ornate design. it's a total toss-up which four folks have their minds totally distracted by the big fluffy samoyed that's sat outside the big windows, patiently waiting for it's owner to finish her animated conversation with her friend about how her work acquaintance is likely embezzling from the company.

your coffee is delicious, the cafe' is full of wonderfully mundane thoughts and memories, and the weather is gorgeous. a thought floats across your mind- one of your own- and you wonder if you should try making a little money tonight. after all, there's a back room poker game later on this evening- god knows it's an easy way to pad your pockets and kill several hours away from home. it's not a terrible idea, really, but there's a mental exhaustion that comes with actively reading multiple minds at once and strategically bombing on occasion so as not to arouse any suspicions of cheating again.

after all, your pinky never did really heal right after the first time you were questioned. it arches away from the rest of your fingers, not bending fully around your coffee- a crooked reminder to not get cocky or comfortable when you're playing cards with sharks.

the only downside to choosing to play poker all night is that it's a cash-only game- which means you have to go back to your flat, braving the contents of kyle's mind just long enough to grab the stack of cash hidden in your closet and slip away again. with any luck (and a lot of strategy) you can walk away from the table with enough extra money to hole up for a week in a nice hotel. you can soothe your stresses in a big jacuzzi tub and order room service and-

your planning grinds to a halt as you feel outside thoughts gradually growing louder and more vibrant in your mind, and it freezes the breath in your lungs as you slowly realize what's happening.

-then it's just two more bloody days until i can get back and finish what we started. better remember to get mum's birthday flowers ordered when i get back to the flat- a flash of a bouquet, peach colored with little bits of pink and yellow- maybe i'll order takeaway for dinner while i'm at it- a rolodex of local restaurants flips in his mind, landing on your favorite lebanese place- i'll have to ring soap and see if he wants to play fifa tonight, that could be fun-

it's almost shocking how normal kyle's thoughts are when he's out of his flat. you stare out the window, looking for any sign of your neighbor heading your way, your eyes wide and mouth agape in shock. you've never seen him in person, really, but you've seen him looking in the mirror before plenty of times. the sound of his thoughts grow steadily louder, and any hopes you had of him simply passing some other direction die as soon as you spot his blue baseball cap bobbing down the street and heading straight towards you.

-so bloody knackered, probably coffee instead of tea today. cappuccino, maybe- a stylized cup of coffee floats through your mind, image sharpening with every step your neighbor takes- yeah, that sounds nice. i wonder if that redhead still works here. what was her name? nina? marina? fuck, she had a nice arse. wonder what it would take to get her to let me fuck it. probably not much.

you can't help the exasperated sigh that slips out of you. it's not like you're a prude- after all, you've had a lifetime of hearing people's most sexual thoughts about one another since way before you were old enough to know what any of it meant- but by virtue of it being from kyle, someone you're already biased against, it's the most obnoxious thing in the world.

a pretty red headed girl smiles she hands over an americano. it's wintertime, she's wearing a turtleneck and the sky is grey outside the cafe windows. christmas music is playing softly in the background, muted by steamers and the low din of chatter in the cafe. she turns to work on another drink, and kyle's eyes catch on the curve of her ass as she bends to pick up a dropped lid.

in your heart you know you should take your coffee and leave, but you're too curious. for one, it's interesting to you that the murder and mayhem you're used to seeing from him is suddenly gone now that he's out and about and not just puttering around his flat. maybe that's just what happens when he's bored- his mind fills the gap between active thoughts with memories, good and bad, because it can't stand to just rest. the epiphany almost makes you feel bad for the man... until you remember the things you've seen him do while on deployment.

hm. maybe karma is real.

it's not until he's crossing the street that you see his face for the first time, and it feels so strange to see him in real life like this. you've managed to avoid running into him for years, and now here he is, just on the other side of a pane of glass, stepping back onto the sidewalk and then pushing open the door to the cafe. he really is a handsome man- and even prettier in person, if you're honest. he looks like a model as he tucks his cap under his arm, flashing a charming smile to the barista behind the counter that gets her twitterpated and giggly.

it was such a surprise the first time you'd seen him through his own eyes in the bathroom mirror- never in your life had you imagined that a face with such kind eyes would be capable of the brutality you'd seen him dole out. it was a shock to the system and a memorable re-enforcement of a lesson long since learned: never ever trust appearances.

it's hard not to stare, but you do make a valiant effort to finally pretend to read your book as he puts in his order. your eyes lock onto a a slightly smudged looking 'b' on the page, watching through his eyes as he dicks around on his phone, texting his sister about birthday plans for their mum as he waits for his order to finish. it's strange to see yourself in the periphery- out of focus, but still very much there, the red cover of your book standing out slightly against the beige and white decor of the cafe.

"americano for kyle?" a pleasant voice rings out over the din of noise, both in your ear and in your head. kyle's attention snaps back up off his phone as soon as he taps 'send', and you sneak a glance right as he happens to look your way.

the shock of it- making eye contact with yourself through his eyes, of the way his thoughts skid to an abrupt halt at the sight of you- almost makes you flinch. instead you drop your gaze back down to your book, pretending nothing happened, waiting for him to move on, to do another sweep for the redhead before he leaves-

he's watching you sit in the corner, eyes lingering on how your round ass fills the seat you occupy. he sees that you're staring down at a book he vaguely remembers hearing someone talk about, and he knows you're not reading. he's noticed your eyes aren't traveling across the pages,instead stuck still on one spot- shit, fuck, goddammit- oh, now they are. how interesting-

bootfalls come closer and closer as you skim your book, strategically choosing to turn the page despite having retained nothing of what your eyes had glossed over.

-just sit close enough to see, but not close enough to raise attention. fuck, what a pretty thing, he thinks as he sits a few tables over. bet i could really bite down on that arse- there's so fucking much of it. i could just sink my teeth in, dig in my fingers, fuck. been a while since i followed a big girl home, wonder if she's a screamer-

flashes of half-formed plans to seduce you flit across his mind, and you wish the samoyed was still here, that kyle could've been distracted by the big beautiful dog instead of you. lebanese, fifa, and flowers for mum are all wiped clear from his thoughts- he's determined to get you in his bed, to bite and fuck and use you as he likes.

there's absolutely no way you're letting that happen- he might be pretty and he might have a big dick, but you've seen the kind of man he really is. you know the things he's done. you're not about to let a goddamned war criminal between your legs.

i'll just catch her eye again, flash her a smile, and ask about her book. that'll get her to talk to me. it'll be easy after that.

his confidence would be sickening if you didn't acknowledge how right he is. if you couldn't hear his thoughts, that beautiful smile paired with that handsome face would make you putty in his hands, there's no denying it. you've seen the memories of him flirting- the man has game. you wouldn't stand a chance.

you pretend to check your phone for the time, pretend to suddenly realize you're late for something, and pretend to be in a massive hurry to leave. it's not an oscar-worthy performance, but it's enough to make your sudden exit plausible, and that's all you need. kyle chuckles to himself in mild surprise when you don't even glance his way, sipping his americano as he watches you through the window, fantasizing about what it would be like to bounce his hips off your ass as he fucks you from behind.

fuck, where are you going, babes? where are you hauling that big fat arse to? bloody hell, look at the jiggle on that girl. what's i'd give to see her on a trampoline-

kyle makes no move to follow, and it's a relief when you're finally out of his sight. the intensity of his little fantasy fades the further out you get, and by the time you're home it's at a much more manageable level, barely distinguishable over the worries of the old woman next door who isn't sure if she forgot to take her meds or if she took her meds and already forgot.

you pull your phone up to your ear, phone already calling a contact that you have saved simply as a red diamond emoji. the call connects, and you don't even wait for a greeting.

"what's the buy-in?"

"it's off." a familiar voice says, clearly annoyed. big d is, on the best of days, a gruff motherfucker anyways- but there's something else happening here. something more than their everyday levels of irritation.

you blink, hard, staring at the inside of your closet where your little portable safe is tucked away under your winter coats and behind your boots.

"it's off?" you repeat, surprised.

"s'wot i said, innit?" d snaps. "the kraut earned 'imself an hmp 'oliday, and until we know wot's been said, it's off."

ah, shit. if that big dumb austrian's been pulled in by the police, god only knows what will happen next. he's a weird one, to be sure- when he's not playing cards and focusing on putting hands together, his thoughts are usually just... empty. nothing there at all. no stray curiosities or memories or even to-do lists. as far as you can tell, the space between his ears is vast, cavernous, and filled with fuckall.

god only knows what a man like that does and says in police custody.

"ah." the phone disconnects in response, and you sigh as you slide it back into your pocket, closing the closet door. so much for your evening plans, you guess.

you preheat your oven for a small frozen pizza as you mull over your run-in with kyle. it's encouraging that he's only replaying his nightmarish memories when he's stagnating at home- and it makes sense, you suppose. you also start thinking about rancid shit when you start feeling stir-crazy, and a man who routinely jumps out of aircraft and gets shot at probably feels restless the second he's off-base and off-duty. with any luck he found someone else to lust after, some other fat girl to follow home and work off some steam with so you can have a peaceful night with mediocre frozen pizza, a joint, and a few good documentaries.

two slices and a half a joint in, you start to feel kyle's thoughts growing louder again. he must be coming home, you reason, and take another deep toke as you brace yourself, cursing your optimism that he might go somewhere else for the night.

-even if it is french. still, could be good. can't remember the last time i read anything for fun, busy as i've been. ghost's a reader, wonder if he's read this. wonder if he liked it. was it him that was telling me about it? or was that raven? so bloody hungry, i should've gotten more than a coffee for lunch. i wonder if that girl is a regular there. i should go back tomorrow, see if i can find her again. wouldn't mind taking a bite out of her, fuck that arse really did look thick enough to sink my teeth into- a proper bite, no holding back- an image flashes in your head, a woman who looks a lot like you, but isn't you. her skin is too clear, hair too perfect, eyes just a little bigger, tits a little perkier. she's an idealized version of you, still fat and sat in the corner of the cafe, reading your book, glancing shyly over the cover.

ugh.

through kyle's eyes, you watch him approach your building, shopping bag rustling on his arm as he fishes out his keys in the lift, mentally finalizing his dinner order for tonight. fantasy-you giggles and smiles at him in both of your minds, and you take a particularly deep toke and turn up the volume on your documentary, david attenborough's voice nearly loud enough to drown out kyle's fantasies as he narrates the journey of a particularly cute looking penguin. it's somehow just enough to distract you from when he imagines you bent over the edge of his couch as he slides the key into the door, toeing off his shoes and digging out his phone to order dinner.

it's not until later, as the credit roll across your screen as orchestral music swells, that you even notice kyle's thoughts again. it's not a memory-it's too vivid- the image playing clearly in your mind: a man in a straw hat and a pale little girl walking across farmland. the little girl speaks simply of god and angels, and they pass by an abandoned church- hey, wait a second.

focusing a little more, you realize that not only is kyle reading, he's reading the same book you'd had in the coffee shop. he must've gone to a bookstore this afternoon and picked it up before heading home. closing your eyes, it's like getting a private movie of your novel, one entirely imagined by your neighbor. it's incredible how clear and realistic his imagination is, and it's better than any film adaptation could ever be. the remote finds your hand, finger instinctively turning off your television as you opt to lean back, eyes closed, head resting on the back of your couch as you let kyle's imagination illustrate your book. for once in your life, the strength of kyle's mental signal to you is an asset, allowing you to enjoy the book at the same time as him.

it's hard to say how much time passes like that, with you blissed out and dozy as you lie back and let your neighbor's imagination wash over you, but it's brought to an abrupt end as a loud knock at your door stirs you from your reverie.

through the peephole is a teenage boy clearly delivering food, little cardboard boxes adding shape to the plastic bag in his hand.

"delivery from agora." the boy says in a bored voice when you open the door.

"oh, uh, i didn't order anything, i think maybe for my neighbor-"

as if summoned, the door to number 542 opens, and your neighbor pops his head out. as the delivery driver peers at the receipt in his hand, you watch kyle's face run through a range of emotions: surprise, disbelief, confusion, and giddiness.

flashes of you on your knees, bend over his couch and smiling coyly over your shoulder, pinned to his mattress underneath him- ugh, god, it's too much too suddenly and you are way, way too high for this.

"goodnight!" you practically squeak, and as the door closes behind you, and you can practically feel kyle's rush of excitement as he stares at your door, the number burning into his memory as he takes the food from the apologetic driver.

a thought that is not of your own mind rings out loud, clear, and full of awe through your wall:

found you.

[witherfide]

jumping off the leather daddy nik post. nikghost petplay au… simon in a pup hood…… ough the dynamic between them

i like the idea that simon would need some form of organized play to get comfortable with sexual intimacy again… relying on the structure of each scene and unlearning bad habits under nikolai’s guidance.. perhaps a part of him finds comfort in being in a mask while also getting to drop the “ghost” facade and not think for a while.

i think simon would fall into some form of codependency in the beginning with it being so out of his depth, but nikolai whips him into shape through being just as stubborn as simon is. ensures that simon knows they are on equal footing and that he can voice his opinion at any time, stop a scene at any time, or just outright decline a session for no reason at all. though don’t get him wrong, nik still very much enjoys having such a strong man drop to his knees with as little as a glance when he forgets his place..

friendly reminder to keep heavily explicit comments to yourself! i don’t care if it’s an inherently sexual post. keep it civil.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

John will never write Nikolai a love letter.

But when Nik broke his leg during a black op for Laswell, John used his entire year's worth of leave to look after him until he was mobile again.

John will never scatter rose petals over the duvet and light candles.

But when Nik said he would like an outside patio for their cat, because she looked sad sometimes, John had his tools and measuring tape out within half an hour.

John will never recite poetry or make grand romantic gestures.

But the way he looks at Nik, the way he is silly and goofy and soppy, the way he kisses and hugs and nuzzles, the way his entire face lights up when Nik walks through the door...

John Price loves quietly, but with his entire being.

His love is written in every action.

No candle will compare to the warmth of his arms.

The poetry is in every moment he spends at Nik's side.

Nik wouldn't have him any other way.

[femalefemur]

[rawme-price]

Inspired by [this] post by @hurrraaid

Imagine ghost getting shot in the knee during a mission, a career ending injury, right?

He also happens to take a crowbar to the head, and it'd only by you dragging him some two miles does he even survive. You feel horrible about it, ghost was assigned to work with you after all. You spend hours in his hospital bed, even in the medically induced coma he's in.

You know your lieutenant better that most people do, had he been anyone else you would've even called yourself his friend. You also know that the military is all he has, that his apartment is empty and the only time he gets a warm meal on leave is when you drag him to your own apartment.

The whole team is there when the doctors wake him up. For the longest moment, ghost says nothing. He just stares at his legs covered by the thin blanket, the raised portion where bandage is wrapped around.

"...I'm done for then, eh?" He finally asks, voice completely blank. You have no idea how he feels about it, but you nod and take his hand.

"Cap has already handled it, sir. We got you a decent house and a monthly paycheck." A fact you had to fight like hell for, but it worked out nonetheless.

Ghost nods, looks at price "I'm not a lieutenant now? Officially done?"

At prices nod, you brace for some sort of anger or despair. An apology is already on the tip of your tongue when ghost looks back to you. His hand grips onto your bicep.

And proceeds to pull you in for a kiss.

You startle for only a second, mind stuttering over the reality of your lieutenant kissing you. Your hands burn where you touch his skin, melting into the kiss that really could be better. His lips are dry and the angle is awkward, but you'll be thinking of this moment for years later.

A cough from across the room.

Oh shit, your teams still here. You pull away, face blazing in embarrassment. Ghost looks nothing but please, with a smug look on his face as he lies back in the bed with content. At gazs pointed look and soaps gaping mouth, he says "wot? Ahm' not a lieutenant anymore. Can't get me on fraternization now, can you?"

You should probably stop to think about what just happened, but you've been fantasizing about your lieutenant kissing you since you met him.

So you ignore the sigh price lets out when you dive back in for another kiss. Ghost hums into your mouth, taking his time with this one and letting his hand rest on your waist. It's hot, heavy, and everything you've wanted.

The room quickly empties when you swing your leg up onto the bed and over his waist.

[dungeon-bitch]

[thepenisyoinker]

if you need me i will be sucking on his arms until further notice

[slater-baby]

How Johnny Mactavish texts btw

[lucy-stone]

a sign of life 🌱

found a few old sketches from last year and figured they deserved to exist somewhere outside of my folders 😭

[childishrage]

we have a very healthy victim/abuser relationship, actually, thanks for asking

[wyvern-whiskey]

Protected

[babybunnydoodles]

After training nap

[peppermint-toads]

you never understood why men insisted on emptying every last thing from their pockets before taking their trousers off. such a waste of time when you’re spread out on the bed looking so sweet for whoever it is you took home.

typically keys, wallet, maybe some gum, pocket knife, whatever. never a condom, funnily enough.

simon riley has so many stupid pockets on those stupid cargos of his.

chapstick (shocking considering the state of his lips), at least two lighters, a pen, flip phone, wallet, money clip. seriously who needs a wallet and a money clip.

safe to say the process is going on longer than usual.

you tip your head back in frustration, getting wetter and more impatient by the second. you hear it before you see it. the clicking of his gun being set on your dresser.

you look at him, watching his fingertips leave the sleek metal. it looks like it would feel cold on your skin. whatever. no big deal. it’s just this big, giant man, trusting you enough to leave his military issued firearm unattended on your dresser while he fucks you.

you’re not really sure why this is really getting you going. it’s the complete opposite of the time that one guy pulled his mango strawberry vape out of his pocket and you sent him home immediately. total opposite.

what’s really crazy is you never see another man other than simon riley after that night.

[brav0-6]

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE | CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE II

[veliseraptor]

i am terminally A Sucker for characters who have a towering and generally earned ego about their own ability and absolutely no self-worth about themselves as a person at all. intoxicating combo.