(TW - capture, torture, abuse, assault, sexual assault)
Im thinking about making a COD long ass one shot (or a multi part series) about the reader getting kidnapped by graves or someone else. Like they are on a mission that goes sideways, like that one time Laswell got kidnapped. BUT- they were never a part of 141, and was forced to work for graves. They have a hidden identitty because the character is reported missing. A ton more I want to add. Let me know what yall think!!!
kyle's reaction when you take initiative on flirting
divider credits @enchanthings
taglist
kyle is very good at control.
he’s good at restraint. at reading rooms. at not crossing lines unless he’s absolutely certain they’re meant to be crossed. which is why whatever this thing between you has been, lingering looks, near-misses, orbiting each other like idiots, has stayed right there. unspoken. contained.
safe.
until you decide you’re done being safe.
it happens casually. deceptively so.
you’re standing beside him after a briefing, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch. he’s mid-sentence, explaining something low and steady, eyes focused ahead, when you turn just slightly and say, light as anything,
“you know, you look really good when you’re serious like that.”
not loud. not teasing.
direct.
kyle stops talking.
not dramatically, just… abruptly. like someone hit pause.
his jaw tightens for half a second before he realizes what you’ve said. then he blinks. once. twice. turns his head slowly to look at you.
“…sorry?” he asks, british accent calm but edged with uncertainty. “what was that?”
you meet his eyes. don’t back down.
“I said you look good,” you repeat. softer now. deliberate. “especially when you’re focused.”
something in his expression shifts.
it’s subtle, but you catch it. the way his shoulders stiffen. the way his breath goes just a touch deeper. the way his gaze flicks to your mouth before he schools it back into professionalism.
“…right,” he says, clearing his throat. “uh.”
he has absolutely no script for this.
kyle is used to being the one who notices. who watches quietly from the edges. the one who steps closer almost by accident. not this. not you looking at him like you’ve made a decision.
he rubs the back of his neck, eyes briefly dropping to the floor. “that’s… uh. that’s kind of you.”
you smile. step just a fraction closer.
“just being honest.”
that’s when his composure really starts to crack.
because honesty is dangerous.
his ears go pink. unmistakably. he tries to hide it by shifting his stance, angling his body like he’s checking the room, except he doesn’t actually look anywhere else. he stays right there, attention locked on you like you’ve become the most important variable in his immediate environment.
“…you always this bold?” he asks quietly, voice lower now. warmer.
you shrug. “figured one of us had to be.”
that earns a breathy laugh from him, surprised, fond, a little stunned.
“bloody hell,” he murmurs. “you’ve no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”
and there it is.
the confession, slipped out before he can stop it.
his eyes widen slightly, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. he straightens immediately, professionalism snapping back into place like armor.
“i mean—” he starts, then stops. exhales. gives up.
he looks at you properly now. not cautious. not guarded.
open.
“listen,” he says, voice steady but honest, british accent more pronounced when he’s nervous. “i’ve been tryin’ not to make things awkward. didn’t want to cross a line you weren’t… ready for.”
you tilt your head. “and now?”
his gaze softens. one corner of his mouth lifts.
“…now i’m thinkin’ maybe i should’ve taken the hint sooner.”
you reach out, just barely, fingers brushing his sleeve.
that tiny touch hits him harder than any flirt ever could.
his breath catches. his hand flexes at his side like he’s resisting the urge to take yours. his thumb twitches, not accidental.
protective instinct. restraint. desire.
all colliding at once.
he leans in just a little, lowering his voice so no one else can hear.
“you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he says quietly, “an’ i’m not gonna be able to pretend this is just… orbitin’ anymore.”
there’s no threat in it.
just truth.
later—much later—when you walk away, kyle stays where he is for a moment longer than necessary. watches you go. runs a hand over his face and lets out a slow breath.
price passes by, raises an eyebrow.
“you alright, garrick?”
kyle doesn’t even look away.
“…yeah,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “reckon i am.”
because for the first time?
the tension isn’t heavy.
it’s promising.
and kyle already knows, once you take initiative like that?
Like I know I've already written him something but I just can't stop thinking about it. He's been on my mind ever since. How if you're acting up then he'll just so casually bend you over his knees, pull down your slutty little shorts and give you a nice and firm SMACK! And with the kind of force that would jolt you forward.
It hurts so bad but it feels so good, instantly forgetting what you were pissed off about. He'll make you count each one until each cheek goes a pretty red and numb from the stinging (which lets be honest, doesn't take long), and... why were you upset again?
And once you're crying your pretty little tears, he's apologising profusely and rubbing cooling gel on your poor, raw skin. He's cooing at you, pressing kisses all over you, maybe even eating you out from behind as a way to say sorry. All that attitude has been smacked out of you successfully and now you can go back to being his pretty little trophy spouse.
Mnnghh... someone sedate me..
Masterlist here!
***************
DISCLAIMER
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Price snores in the sun, wearing prescription-grade sunglasses and the strongest possible SPF. He insists on applying his own sunscreen, resulting in red, sunburned patches his hands couldn’t reach. Between naps, he’s wading knee-deep and staring out into the ocean, dad bod on full display.
The most prepared of the bunch is Gaz. He brings the sunscreen, extra towels, booked the umbrellas (or cabana) beforehand. Plays mermaids with Soap in the ocean. Creates a matching mohawk with sand. (It doesn’t last.) Packs the beach sandwich ingredients.
And don’t forget the drinks. Soap and Ghost are hitting up the walk-up bar like children let loose in a candy store. Soap becomes a menace. Body slamming Price when he’s deep in his nap. Splashing everyone within several feet of him while playing with Gaz in the water. Ghost is content sipping on his fancy tropical drinks (umbrella included) beside Price.
John price with reader who can't cum from penetration alone but John is convinced he can fix that, refusing you give you any stimulation other than that and he actually succeeds. Please😭
very unsure about this writing, but i hope you would enjoy!
cw: overstimulation.
john price is one of the most determined men existing around, both in the field and personal life, a character trait acquired in connection with his service, and then work in the army, an admirable captain that doesn't knows how it is — to abandon the goal that he had long noticed for himself, so when you decide to talk with him about your tiny problem, which shouldn't be an issue at all, he reassures you that he got everything handled, but not in the proper way expected.
you see, cocky of him or not, but john is sure in his own knowledge of sexual performance, and with you stuttering about needing some extra attention during sex, fiddle with your cute, pebbled clit, tease your tits and circle your nipples with his tongue, find a position that would make his fat, engorged cock ram rapidly in that overly sensitive spot hidden between your fluttering walls, but what john really wants to explore, is whether he would be able to make you cum without it all.
maybe it's rude, maybe it's unacceptable, really toxic of him, but surely you can forgive him a little excitement, he wouldn't torture you, the second you'll whimper you can't take it — john would stop, or at least, that's what he convinced you, scorching breath scorching your ear as he promised in a whisper, his graying beard rasping against your already overstimulated skin, warming up as he teases you with rough, calloused gropes and nuzzling face, until you would succumb.
that's how john gets you on his lap, his pants and boxers pooling at the ankles, you're completely naked, gorgeously so, tits in his face so he could lavish on them, giving kisses and little bites, and your cunt swallowing his cock slowly, too big to take in one go, always a burning stretch, so you sink slowly, letting your slick dribble down and wet the slide, until he breaches inside, sheathing fully, your hole stretched taut, making you hiccup in pleasure, clawing at his shirt, already impatient.
he won't tease you even with a thumb, only his cock and gentle ramming inside and out of your clenching, pulsing cunt, pace quickening when you start to wriggle, moans turning into mewling sobs, heat curling deep on the billows of your gut, but not enough, a mild satisfaction, but not the limb numbing, scorching hot you need to be able to cum, so you roll your hips faster, plump ass slapping against his hairy, muscular thighs, but john's blue eyes only twinkle at you with mirth, and you don't understand, pleading for his help.
— “make me cum, john, i — i told you, make me.. help, please” through whiny, high pitched sounds, a true honey coating his ears, and he smirks, one corner of his lip quirking up, bringing a movement to his mutton chops, as he gets a proper hold of your hips, blunt nails sinking in the fat, getting a grip, starting to pound into you, hard and thorough, harsh, chopped movements, sending all your nerves singing, alight, you just need a final flick, so your hand sweeps down the stomach towards awaiting clit, and there, john slaps your touch away.
gasping, as if physically wounded, you glare at him with fluttering, doe wide eyes, and the furrow his face wears makes you swallow and whine, unable to form a normal question, but he knows what twists your tongue, and tuts at you, clicking his tongue with a gravelly voiced refusal — “you'll cum from my cock, and nothing else, for now, okay darling?”, and how can you disobey, when your pleasure is in his hands, as john's wide palms wrap around your wrists, holding, and starting to use it as a leverage to pummel your gushing hole.
you won't leave your position on his cock, bouncing on his lap, until you cum, and solely from the sheer weight and feeling of his huge cock teasing your insides, gummy walls tightening, fluttering, spasming, but never enough, not near there, pooling somewhere distant, making you desperate, jumpy, licking against his mouth and pleading under your breath again and again, though john doesn't moves a single finger.
until you're too overstimulated, thighs burning, cunt aching, clit almost numb, desperate for even a little pinch, and suddenly, your tummy feels too heavy, as if something pushes down, heavy and not going anywhere, just staying and crushing, as if a bloating sensation, your movements stuttering, john's thrusts followed by loud squelching just from how slick everything is, as you jerk, overwhelmed, realizing through dimly haze that there's a hard gush, limbs loosening and twitching, cunt clamping.
your head falls against john's shoulder, his chest vibrating with a growl, as he moves one hand from your hip towards the small of your shuddering back, pressing you against himself tighter, as you sag down, his cock down into you to the balls, twitching and spurting warm, vicious ropes that mix with a rush of your own cum, wrenched out of you, as you hiccup and nuzzle in the crook of his neck, gasping his name breathlessly, barely understanding what happened, but judging by the endless stream of rumbling praises, john got what he wanted, and you too.
‼️PLEASE DON’T IGNORE THIS – A FAMILY NEEDS YOU NOW ‼️🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏
This was our home… now it’s gone
We have collected $20,477raised of $40,000 !🇵🇸
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Hello everyone,
We are the Anas family, a fam… ANAS MOHESEN needs your support for ANAS family from Gaza,Help Us Rebuild Wha
save family lost their home ,dreams and everything in Gaza 💔💔
This is my home before the war and after the war how it became💔💔💔
Before: After:
Before the war, we lived a simple but happy life in Gaza. Our home in Shujaiya wasn’t big or luxurious, but it was filled with peace, love, and comfort. We had our own land — a small garden where we planted vegetables, a roof where we sat on warm evenings drinking tea, laughing as a family. Our kids went to school every day with joy, dreaming about their future. We had work. We had neighbors we trusted. We had routines, family dinners, birthdays, laughter. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. It was full of meaning.
The bombing started, and we had to flee our home during the first week of the war. We left everything behind — not knowing it would be the last time we would see our home standing. We first went to Rimal, hoping to be safer. That’s where we heard the news: our home, the place we built with love and hard work, was destroyed. Flattened. Just like that — gone. Everything we owned, everything we saved for, was buried under rubble.
After that, we kept running. From Rimal to Al-Zawaida. Then to Rafah. We’ve been displaced four times. Each time we carry less with us, but more pain. We sleep on floors. Sometimes there’s no roof. Sometimes we stay in tents. The nights are cold, the days are burning hot. There is no electricity, no clean water, no toilets, no privacy. We wait hours just to get a piece of bread. We lost our jobs, our income. We lost our safety, our dignity. We live in fear every day — fear of the next bomb, the next loss.
We used to dream of the future. Now, we just dream of surviving the next day.
We are the Anas family — like many families in Gaza — ordinary people who only wanted peace, a safe home, and a chance to live in dignity. But the war has taken everything from us: our home, our land, our jobs, our dreams, our stability… even our sleep.
It’s hard to write this. It's hard to ask for help. But we are desperate.
Please, if you are reading this, help us. Even a small donation could mean we sleep under a real roof again. Could help us buy medicine, food, or clean water. Could bring back a little dignity to our lives. If you cannot donate, please share this story. You might reach someone who can.
This isn’t just a story. This is our life. And we’re still living through it.
Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
💔
Please, we are in dire need of you and your support. If you cannot donate, you can share☹️❤️🥹
You're in the shower, freshly shaved and smelling wonderful. The R&B, steam filling the room, dim light from the candles, and Simon towering in the doorway. Seeing him, you grab your lufa and fill it with body wash. He sucks a breath.
The soap drips down the curves of your body. The subtle dance you do with the rhythm captivates him, like a musician and a snake.
"Do you taste as sweet as you sound?" His voice is slow and rustic.
You let out a soft giggle. His hands slowly drag from your upper back down to your tailbone, then back up. The warm water can't stop the goosebumps caused from his touch. His fingertips dance to your jawline, to your soft lips.
"Open."
You obey, his fingers rubbing your tongue, then slowly moving from your lips down your neck.
You have been a part of 141 for a while now, and Gaz has always been protective of you. He made sure to be your battle buddy when you went off base into civilian land. He would shave, use Mountain Sage scented lotion with a soft cedar deodorant. His gold watch and matching sunglasses - paired with white sneakers, clean and ironed blue jeans, with a light green shirt. Of course, with his cap.
And you? Anything made him weak in the knees. But when you had grey sweat pants with a white crop top and black active jacket - he about lost it. Your shoes even matched his, y'all didn't mean to. It was just easy to pair. You had just shaved the night before, your hair curled, simple jewelry on, with some soft perfume. You two looked like a couple.
You two went shop-hopping. Bookstores, body shops, thrift, local crafts, everything door to door. Dinner rolls around, and he scopes out an adorable tiny restaurant. Outdoor seating with some inside, with not too dim lighting. A grey rail surrounding the outside matching metal tables. Two cut out glass windows showing some seating inside.
He escorts you to the beautiful soft place, and sits at one of the empty tables inside. The one right next to that beautiful window. The night is full of laughter and smiles, soft glances and ambiance of that small local restaurant make the night wonderful. The food? Mouth watering. You loved the moments like this- the days you two spent together away from work and stress. And he did, too.
what if the 141 men were with reader who could not lock in before sex, like they’re out here spewing FILTH and reader is unable to do anything but giggle and hide their face- not wanting it to stop, but also having no idea how to respond without their cheeks hot enough to light a flame
What a delicious prompt, anon. Sometimes you just need something a little naughty and this one hit the spot. Thank you for sending it in!! Enjoy!
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series
John Price
“You hiding from me?”
You sink further into the cushions of the sofa, hiding your face from your husband. “I can’t,” you giggle, cheeks flaming.
“Thought you wanted to ride my dick until I look like a prune.”
“John!”
His tone becomes sultry. The sofa sags under his weight as he traps you beneath him. “Let me breed you. Fill you with my cum. You can lay on your back. I’ll do all the work.”
John’s large hands find your knees, spreading you wide as he settles between. You refuse to look at him. One peek and you won’t be able to control yourself.
He grinds himself against you, his hardness stiff and apparent. “How wet are you for me? What will I find if you allow me a touch?”
You attempt to wiggle away, but John is much stronger, and far more determined. As you twist away to claw yourself out from under him, John grasps your wrists and pins them to the cushion. He grinds his erection against your ass, and this time you gasp through the giggles.
“I’ll turn that laughter into moans, love. Just spread those legs for me.”
Your cheeks flame hotter with the promise.
John "Soap" MacTavish
Wrapping you up in his arms, Johnny lifts, and then he body slams you into the top of the bed. It’s not rough or breath stealing, more like a weighted blanket falling on you that might be a bit heavier than you expected. You’re completely smushed beneath him, unable to wiggle out from under him. Johnny’s erection pokes the curve of your ass, his need apparent and insistent.
“Johnny!” you laugh, as he starts to aggressively hump you.
Johnny nips at your ear, then your throat, growling with an over-the-top snarl which only sends you further into hysterics.
“Gonna fuck me now, lass?” he asks as you stifle your giggles with the duvet.
“Stop,” you chuckle, even though you don’t want him to.
Johnny turns from humping to grinding, all the silliness in his body leaving as he expertly rocks himself against you. “Could take you like this. Face down.” Johnny’s hand comes down firmly on your butt. “Ass up.” His palms squeezes, comes down again. “Could tie you up this time. Use the spreader bar.” Your face grows even hotter. “Eat your pussy like that for hours.”
You’re unable to look at him, embarrassment and desire clashing within you.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
You don’t hear the shower door opening. You aren’t even aware Simon is there until his hands fall on your hips.
“Si—” His name on your lips is cut short as he halts your attempt to turn around.
Simon presses you up against the shower wall, his muscled body a weight you cannot escape from. His hands roam downward, and then inward to between your thighs.
“Teasing me on purpose?” he asks with a hint of a growl. “Scrubbing your body down in full view of me. Touching your breasts, tempting me with glimpses of your cunt.”
Every naughty word heats your cheeks. It might be sexy as fuck but you can’t help yourself—the flustered giggle emerges unbidden.
“So you do want to fuck me,” croons Simon, grinding his dick against your ass. “Could take you up against this wall.” He lifts one leg, opening you slightly. “Or fuck you like this. Wash away the cum after. Put it all back once we get out.”
“Simon,” you hiss, smacking his arm, face heating to new heights.
“Wet,” he whispers, dipping one and then a second finger into you. “Warm.” He pumps. Once. Twice. Thrice. “And all fucking mine.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
His strong hands are vices on your hips, guiding you backward until you bump against the edge of the kitchen countertop. There is no escape. No running from Kyle when he’s determined to make you melt in his arms. The kiss is languid and slow, sending heat through your body.
“Should I take you right here? On the counter?”
It’s the devilish smirk that bites you. Already, you feel your cheeks flaming bright hot and scorching.
“Or,” he continues, “I can bend over the kitchen table. Fuck you senseless until you come around my cock.”
“Kyle!” you laugh, shoving at him, burying your face in his chest.
But Kyle isn’t done. “All that cum dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.”
The image is luscious, but his words are sending you into a giggle fit. It’s too much too fast, and though you enjoy his words, you’re unable to control yourself.
You place your hand over his mouth, and you feel his mouth form into a smile. Kyle presses in, holding your gaze. The words repeat in your head, over and over until you’re itching to run from him.
Your hand slips and Kyle makes his move. “Bend over.”
Your code name is box. You have elevator combat boots to make you taller, baggy pants with thick fabric, with a hoodie under a large plate carrier. You have large and small packs attached to your vest, adding to size. In addition to your mask with a box voice changer and tactical helmet, you pass as a man. On your neck you have a collar that has your comms and tracker.
“Landing in 5, Box, your ‘new squad’ will be waiting for you in the west hangar. Captain Price will meet you there. Laswell is gonna walk you there.” Captain Jamison informed you as you checked your straps, nodding while looking at a loose buckle on your too-heavy gear.
Jamison snorts as he moves to the other side of the ramp, closer to you. He looks around at the other Shaddows, taking in the faces for- most likely- for the last time. Then, he looks down at you. Burrowing his bushy brows and biting the inside of his lips.
“So, how do you charge your voice?” He asks while pointing to the voice changer attached to your mask.
You look up.
“Lithium-ion Batteries with a waterproof case.” you respond, the box changing your voice to tones high and low.
“Wait really?” His eyes widened, and opened his mouth to ask more questions no doubt.
“No.” you shot back.
He lets out a sigh, and then straightens his back. “Worth a shot.”
The heli starts to tilt, like a boat at sea. Jamison sprints back to the controls for the ramp while the other Shaddows start to settle down. Touch down was sudden, sending everyone into a jolt. You slowly look to the cockpit, annoyed at the sudden landing.
“New pilot.” Jamison chuckles as he straightens himself back out before uncovering the button for the ramp. A loud beep goes off as he slams the button, lowering the ramp. “Alright Shaddows, let’s gear up and move out!”
Yup Yup echoed inside the helicopter, along with the sound of heavy bags bumping metal.
This would be a very long story, with many twists and turns. I have been thinking about it for months now and I really hope everyone likes the start of the story. I don't know if I will do a full story just because I don't even have a love interest yet, or if there should even be one. There are so many Ghost ones already I don't know if I would do one for him. I think Rudy or Gaz would be cute but I need feedback.
I want to write short stories about cod mw2 but idk who to put in what stories. I'll post the title and general idea of the story and y'all lmkkkkkkkk <33333333
Short stories cod mw2
Unfamiliar comfort
(Comfort for SA/Abuse)
Soft petals
(Cute date in a field)
Under Cover
(2+ parts, short parts, you are under cover and something goes wrong)
