#cod mw x reader

[prettybird-ie]

misreading the room — S.R.

you fumble with the length of the cloth, tossing the lose cotton dress over your head. arms popping out the short sleeves as the rest of the night dress drapes down your body.

airy violet fabric printed with small flowers was definitely not what simon riley intended to see. he stops, large shoulders slumping as he understands.

no chance he was getting a lay... but may as well give it a shot. fuck it.

"..luv, wots wi' the granny jammies?"

"its called a night gown si'," you step out from the closet. waltzing past him in search of your silk eye mask. "and its obviously for sleeping."

simons frowns, eyes shifting into that large puppy look he insists he doesnt have. alas, you ignore him. puffy slippers gliding over wood whilst you leave your man high and dry. his pants already tight just from anticipation alone, figuring the night was dedicated to mingling bodies and messy hair. expecting ruined sheets and a glowing girl the following morning.

i mean, your night routine makes you glow too. but simons heads were screaming for something, hazing his vision with swimming lust.

hes quickly beside you before youre even able to fix your pillows to your liking. "no. not tonight," youre quicker to shut him down.

"didn' even get t'say anythin'."

"it's obvious." you raise a brow at his peeking boner. a thick blush creeps over his neck, eyes crinkling with amuesment. immediately are you swatting away large hands that try to pry at the sleeves of your gown. "simon! quit acting like a teenager,"

"lovie please, jus' ah quickie?" he nearly whines. thick voice tinged at its edges. simon hated quickies. always left him more pent up than if he had nothing at all.

"you know the drill. night gown means no pound town." you dismiss him with another wave. "go jerk off in the shower or something."

"...you gon' stand 'ere wi' me?"

"get blue balls then."

[rawkonig]

sweet girl - 141 being obsessed with you

the nickname had started with simon first. passing you in the hallway, hand falling on your lower back as he squeezed past you, greeting you with a good morning and “s’cuse me sweetheart, just gettin’ past”

he’d say it when catching you working out in the gym, complimenting you on your form with a hidden “nice form, sweet girl, keep those legs apart”. somehow he’d find his way behind you, pressing his body against you. you never knew how he ended up there.

then it spread to soap, with a little more enthusiasm. greeting you in the hallways, calling the name out loud enough to get the attention of everyone. “what’s our sweet girl been up ta’?”, “anything new goin’ on, sweet girl?”

you couldn’t lie, it turned you the fuck on. especially when simon said it with his low voice, creeping up behind you and rasping it in your ear. soap almost made a humiliation ritual out of it, causing you to run to a private area to play with yourself— thinking of the two having their way with you, all while calling you “sweet girl”.

it was even worse when gaz got to it. he spoke it with such love, smiling with that natural charm he had. “hey there, sweet girl,” smirking as usual. during gun training one day he had your panties soaked from all the praising and pet-names. and you think he knew it.

price catching on is the cherry on the fucking cake. he just knows how to use it in a way that his boy’s don’t. “what’re ya’ doin’ there sweet girl?” “sure you can handle all that?” “need some help there, sweet thing?”

it got so bad you knew it had to be a running joke! something they were all in on. but it wasn’t, you really just were their sweet girl <3

i wrote this at like 3am bc i wanted to do some sfw stuff but ended up being SLIGHTLY smutty bc… phew. anyways !! asks are open !!

[141wh0re]

Thinking about when I was 18, and was fucking this absolute bear of a man who’d just gotten a few new tattoos (one on his bicep, and a bigger piece on his forearm). he’d fucked me too good, and I ended up accidentally clawing both tattoos, so he grabbed me by my throat, rolled me onto my stomach, and pinned my wrists behind my back to finish me off.

Anyways, now I’m thinking about how fucking feral Simon would be if something like that happened to him.

Fresh ink, his precious kitten under him, completely cockdrunk beneath him, and accidentally claws at his fresh ink in the throes of her pleasure.

Simon grits his teeth, releasing a low, feral hiss with his forehead pressed to your sternum.

“Fuckin’ hell, gonna have to de-claw ya like the fuckin’ cat ya are,” he grunts into your skin.

And you’re none the wiser to your actions, too blissed out with his cock buried deep enough to kiss your cervix with every thrust, giving a dumb nod.

Simon’s gaze briefly drifts to the fresh ink, noticing three red, angry lines through the centre of the swollen, tender flesh. But he quite likes the distortion to the image it had caused, making him look even rougher.

He lifts his head, taking stock of your dazed expression, clueless to the permanent claim you’d made on his skin.

Normally, it’d be just another scar. But he liked the fact that this one meant you weren’t going anywhere. And he was going to make damn sure you knew that.

With a feral growl, he gripped your delicate throat in his large hand, and pulled you up as his cock slipped free.

You answer with an indignant whine at the loss of contact before your breath was forced out of you with your face buried in the pillows. Simon’s hand took hold of your wrists, the other rests on your hip, keeping your round ass raised up for him.

He straddles the back of your thighs, then takes his hand from your hip to guide his red, angry member straight into your weeping cunt.

Simon groans with his face pressed into your hair, filling his lungs with your scent. His strong hands keep your arms behind your back as he slowly grinds his hips into you, fucking you in a sensual rhythm.

His cock drags in and out at a pace that has your brain melting between your ears, and your pussy is squelching around him almost embarrassingly so. But you know he loves it. Your moans and whimpers are muffled by the pillows.

Simon’s freehand drifts up to the base of your neck, keeping a firm grip on you before he quickens his pace, and ruts into you with no promise of stopping.

His eyes clench shut the moment your walls clamp down on him, working double time to milk him of all he’s worth.

“It’s like that, huh? Want me to keep my cock stuffed in ya, and fill this little cunt with my cum, eh, kitten?” He grits out in a filthy snarl.

God, he’d love to breed you like this. To know you’re all his, and soon you’ll be round with his fat babies.

“Or should I call you… mama?” He purrs beside your ear.

And that question is your undoing. Your walls pulse around him as your release gushes around his cock, soaking the sheets beneath your lithe frame.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunts, giving his final three thrusts before spilling into you.

[amaranthinespirit]

könig is determined to breed you (p!link)

his pace isn't nice, its straight mean as he pounds his thick, meaty cock into your drooling warmth, desperate to put a baby in your womb. he's not gentle about it either, mind racing and going dumb at the thought, hastily working to make it happen.

your tummy bulges with the way he sheathes his entire bulbous cock in your tight hole, spongy walls constricting around him, feeling every ridge and vein as you hug him tight. his angry, red tip punches against your cervix, ready to spurt his thick load into your sweet cunt.

he knows you'll let him, you'll let him do whatever he wants as he fucks you stupid, jackhammering deeper and deeper with relentless pace. the backs of your thighs reddening and your plush rear bouncing against his hips. his full balls slap against your clit, making you cry out into the bedding, saliva leaking from your lips.

above you, he moans incessantly, pussy-drunk and whipped as he mindlessly humps you, large, rough hands grabbing at your hips, so tight it might bruise.

he mumbles words you can't quite hear, feeling drooling saliva drip from his lips down onto your bare shoulder, running down your back. his jaw is slack, head tilted back and pupils blown.

it doesn't take long for him to fill you full of his seeds, spurting thick ropes of his white, creamy cum to fill your sweet pussy, coating your walls and leaving you full and satisfied. he pulls out to watch it drip out of you, calloused hands pulling your cheeks apart as he watches your slit leak with his release and drip onto the bed. he takes two thick fingers, smearing it across your folds before fucking it back inside you, hoping it takes.

[glimmerfics]

In this Choose Your Own Adventure, you've been married to Simon for two years now. When your husband forgets his home-cooked lunch for the third day in a row, how will you deal with it?

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader Choose Your Own Adventure

🔗 READ/PLAY HERE 🎮interactive fanfic "To Love a Ghost" by Cyberkitty 📖 Episode 1 of 1

[everlong0girl]

𝐂𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

꧁—————————————————————꧂

Price is in his late thirties and entering forties. He’s been wanting to start a family for forever. You’ve had some pregnancy scares before and you’d see he would never get scared or worried, a small smile flashing across his beard framed mouth before disappearing.

He’d come up to you one day, simply asking you to start trying. You’ve been together for long enough right? He was practically shaking, wanting you to say yes more than wanting to breathe. Every time he’d see a baby he’d look at you with a small knowing look. Trying out multiple methods he’d read on the internet like putting a pillow under your hips and whatnot.

Definitely a girl dad. A big strong guy with a little girl is everything. He’d let her dress him up and put that kids makeup on him whenever she asked because he when he enters the room, fragile masculinity vanishes.

Very private and wouldn’t tell his work buddies a thing. Not about trying for a baby, nor having one later on. Why would they need to know anything about his girls?

Soap would need a bit more time. But when he feels that small want for a family, he’s whipped. First you’d notice he’s touching your stomach more and before bed he’d just put a hand on there. Eventually you’d ask him about it and he’d get embarrassed and tell you he just wants a baby.

Would be more of a boy dad. He’d be the type of guy to just start yelling and screaming around the hospital “It’s a boy! It’s a boy!” like the proudest man ever. Biggest dad ever and would take the boy to games and get him a lot of fake guns, which you’d sometimes oppose, though he’d just brush it off like harmless fun.

Would definitely tell everyone about trying. Unintentionally catching some off guard by saying how he and his missus are trying every night for about a week now or more, and would be until they have a bun in the over. Though it wouldn’t be long till you actually did conceive.

Gaz is the youngest out the lot, but he’d get the feeling pretty early. Still in his late twenties, either he’d make a joke about it, or a comment, but then start considering it.

He would seriously not mind if its a boy or a girl. Some people say that too but secretly bias one gender. He’s not like that. He just wants it to be his little baby.

He’d be a gentle parent. None of that yelling or screaming at the kid, just gentle. He has a patience of a saint, and he’d even encourage you to be as calm as you could. Would probably be the most understanding about what you would be going trough while pregnant, and after.

Wouldn’t say anything to his team, and would keep quiet about it. One day he’d let you show up with a baby on your hip, shocking them all slightly, but he’d just be like “Yeah i have a kid”.

Ghost is scared. One random day a thought came to his head and he brushed it off, but later when you came to him with the idea, he considered it. Until he agreed.

He is mostly like Gaz, and doesn’t have a preference. He’d only be really scared about his emotional state and would doubt his ability to give the kid that father-child relationship. Wouldn’t be scared to voice his fear to you, but you’d comfort him and tell him it was okay to be afraid. He was hurt like everyone else, and it felt so refreshing to him that he had you, a person who loved him, and now a little baby. Meaning his hands could be used for something oh so gentle, and not just handling firearms.

He’d hold the baby like it was made out of glass, and during your pregnancy and after, he’d help with anything. What you said was law.

Nobody in his team would know from aside Johnny maybe. He’d tell him since in his eyes Johnny seems the least harmless out the lot for some reason.

꧁—————————————————————꧂

[fernsdelight]

Being commissioned by a certain rich noble to create a marble statue of his beloved gladiator was the last thing you had expected.

They really wanted you to capture the human physique, fascinated by facial expressions and the way muscles moved under the skin, and they really wanted you to capture all of it. What better model to pick than the pinnacle of masculinity, the reigning champion of the Colosseum.

Konig was a little intense when you first met him. A big, burley man in his prime, looking like he'd been born with a sword in his cradle. And his eyes, good lord, they made warmth spread across your cheek and all the way down to you tummy with how intensely he was staring at you.

And he's just so shameless too, you may have found the human body to be interesting, a work of art even, but you were still a lady. He didn't seem to care though, proudly strutting in front of you, completely naked, like some prized stallion. But you guess he technically is... :(

To capture every ridge and vein properly in the warm sunlight where you were sculpting, a slight bit of lavender oil was rubbed into his skin, his strong and toned body now glistening in front of your eyes. And the worst part was that he made you do it yourself, slicking your hands up and guiding your wrists over his tanned skin.

Your soft hands made his muscles twitch and move under his skin, subtly flexing when you touched more sensitive areas of his torso, and Konig is practically purring low in his chest when he inches your hands lower over his abdomen, encouraging you to keep touching. And you just nod along with him, so transfixed by his god-like body.

But the hardest part was trying to not look between his legs, the long and thick cock hanging between his powerful thighs, twitching and throbbing, swelling up with blood when you got closer to him, intending to slick that part up with oil as well.

You tried your best not to peek at his low, full balls, and maybe if you were lucky, you could be filled with his thick sperm and carry the next line of gladiators for him <3

[berry-mint]

the captain needs shaving. 🌶️ (john price x f!reader)

the bathroom was small, trapped in a chokehold of heavy humidity and the scent of sandalwood soap. john price sat on a low stool made from wood, looking entirely too big for the confined space. he wore nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, exposing the rugged expanse of his chest and the dark hair tapering down his stomach.

you stood directly between his spread thighs, dressed only in a thin white camisole that clung to the swell of your breasts, dipping sharply at your waist before meeting your cotton panties. every shift of your weight flexed your hips right at his eye level.

john’s gaze tracked the movement, lazy dangerous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he handed you the straight-edged blade. the cold steel contrast against his warm skin.

“you know how to use one of these, love?” his voice rumbled, low and gravelly from weeks on the run.

“well,” you smirked, stepping closer until your thighs brushed the coarse fabric of his sweats. “i watched my grandpa do it.”

a dark chuckle vibrated against your chest. “mhm. your grandpa, huh?”

before you could apply the shaving cream, his heavy palm came down in a sharp, playful smack against the curve of your ass. the sound echoed in the small room, leaving a burning pink print on your skin.

“yeah,” you softly giggled, swatting his shoulder as you slathered the warm, thick lather over his jawline, burying the thick, overgrown beard he’d been sporting since the both of you went into hiding. (cod:mw4)

at first, john behaved. he tilted his head back, exposing the thick line of his throat, letting you scrape the blade away in neat, practiced strokes. but he was never a passive man. hiss eyes, dark and predatory, locked into your lips. they track the column of your neck, watching the way your pulse fluttered in the hollow of your throat.

slowly, his calloused fingers found the back of your thighs. he didn't just touch, his hands wrapped around them, squeezing the soft flesh with a possessive heavy grip that anchored you right against him.

“john,” you warned, your tone clipped as you held the razor steady against his jaw. “don't move.”

he didn't listen. his hands traveled upward, tracing the curve of your hamstrings until his palms cupped your bare cheeks, groping you shamelessly. he squeezed hard, lifting you slightly so the apex of your thighs pressed firmly against his chest.

“i am trying to work here,” you breathed out, your fingers trembling slightly as you wiped the blade. the heat radiating off him is making it hard to concentrate.

“you’re doing a fine job, love,” he murmured against your skin, voice a rough purr.

he didn't stop. one hand stayed anchored on your hip, while his other hand slid lower, slipping past the edge of your white cotton panties. his thick, rough fingers found the slick, aching heat of your pussy from behind. he stroked you right through the damp fabric, his thumb finding your center with agonizing accuracy.

“john!” you gasped, your hips arching instinctively into his touch as the razor hovered precariously an inch from his face.

he looked up at you through his lashes, his eyes dark with a wicked, unholy satisfaction. “come on then, finish the job.”