#modern warefare

[staytrueblue]

This is one of the most gorgeous and most character defining scenes. The emotion Captain Price portrays knowing that he is completely and utterly helpless in the situation while also being alone and unable to reach his team. The grunt of frustration he has shows it all…

[forsaire]

you know how you might just casually play with your boobs (non sexually) or dick and balls (non sexually) just while like, lying in bed?

soap does that

but he doesn't play with his own. he plays with ghost's

[iloveghostfromcod]

me bringing it up IRL

[uhohdad]

(18+) John Price x Reader - Spanking ♡

WARNING: NON-CONSENSUAL THEMES

John Price absolutely believes in corporal punishment :(

If you’re acting like a brat, he’ll remedy it by throwing you over his knee, holding you tight while you try and squirm away. Locking you down with a sturdy arm over your waist and a leg slung over the back of your knees as you thrash and throw demands you’re in no position to be making.

“What are you doing?! Stop it!”

“Oh no, sweetheart, you’ve been begging for this.”

He’s not afraid to manhandle you, roughly yanking your pants down to your thighs and bunching your panties up to expose your plush ass to him.

The first open palm strike that lands makes you gasp, intensifying the kicking and writhing in his unforgiving grip. He doesn’t fold, keeping you steady with a rigid hold to give you a matching handprint on the other side.

“It’ll be easier for everyone involved if you just let it happen.”

His hits aren’t too painful, but they are hard enough to leave behind a stinging bite that compounds with each strike. John knows it’s not just about the pain - it’s about the humiliation of being bent over his knee with your pretty panties and ass on display, knowing anyone in the vicinity could very well hear your embarrassing punishment. It’s a clear reminder of who’s in charge and what will happen if you step out of line again - that back talk will not be tolerated, because all you are to him is a little girl who doesn’t know her place.

“Cap-Captain!”

“S’okay. You need this.”

His hardened, experienced palm has no problem navigating your squirms, landing his slaps to the height of your ass without fail, alternating sides to make sure he leaves you with an even burn.

You sputter and squeak hit after hit, the repeated, intimidating crack of flesh-on-flesh echoing throughout his office. The crease of your middle is forced against his thigh and your body lurched forward under the force of each increasingly strict swat. His disciplined and evenly-timed strikes have you braced for the next impact before it even lands. You find yourself fighting the pain instead of him, your hands scratching at his legs and your thighs wriggling to expel the stinging sensation his hands bring.

“There we go, that’s it. No need to fight it. You know you needed it.”

His smacks have steadily turn merciless, the pain of his stern hands much harder to swallow. His pace quickens, giving you less time to recover between the burn of each relentless swat. While you’re choking on your own gasped breaths and the broken high-pitched whines coaxed from your throat, you finally give into him. Submitting to his will and lulled by his rhythmic strikes, your mind gone blank, unable to focus on anything other than the next anticipated bite of his unyielding hands.

Reduced to a drooling, limp, sobbing mess splayed across his thighs, his free hand no longer keeping you from thrashing, but offering soothing rubs on your back as he rounds out his final harsh smacks, each sure to elicit a cry and leave behind a handprint. A tender hand follows his last hit, smoothing over your welted backside while you whimper over his lap.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, you’re all done.”

You can’t find it in your right mind or your trembling limbs to pull yourself up anytime soon, but John forgivingly fixes your panties for you, his careful fingers brushing across your warmed, punished ass before he gently tugs your pants back up. He gives calming, feather-light strokes over your sore backside, waiting patiently for you to find your bearings.

You can’t look at him once you slowly bring yourself to a sit, tears welled in your eyeline and your face just as warm as the evidence of your punishment. When he prompts an embrace, though, you all but throw yourself into his arms, burying your burning face into his chest while he holds you tight in his strong arms. From your hiding spot, his words are just a vibration against your cheek.

“Are you my good girl now?”

When you give a silent nod into his shirt, he hums in approval, tracing his fingers up and down your back until you’ve calmed down. He makes you promise him you’ll behave before he sends you on your way with a gentle pat on your backside and your pride in his reddened palm.

John will pretend he didn’t notice the puddle of arousal that stained your pretty panties after your spanking, so long as you pretend you didn’t notice the strain in his pants that had been flush against your side from the moment he put you over his lap. ♡

♡ UHOHDAD’S DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[ghouldtime]

Who was going to tell me that Captain John Price is ONLY THIRTY EIGHT

(I am talking about reboot Price for reference as he seems to be the most popular one)

I'm not making this up

I am floored, I am stunned

I swear to anything I thought he was late 40's early 50's but NOPE

Everyone writes him like he's one good breeze away from falling down the stairs and being in a nursing home. HE'S THIRTY EIGHT???

I'm still calling him peepaw irregardless cause it's funny but I'm losing my mind

For the record thirty eight isn't that old y'all. I'm so tired of people pretending like it is. That's not even fully middle aged. A lot of the COD men are middle aged to just about. Ghost is likely mid to upper thirties possibly around 40, Captain Price is (apparently) 38, König is likely upper thirties to mid 40's (he's probably in his 40's tbh), Keegan is 35, and the list goes on and on. The youngest would be Gaz (who is a bit older than Soap iirc) and Soap who is 26. A lot of operators will be close to if not middle aged, especially higher ranking ones

Let me have my middle age men. You can pry them from my cold, dead hands. I beg of you stop making them younger just for the sake of it outside of AUs because no one can accept that they're mostly not young dudes. Except with Price who apparently everyone decided has got a fast past to being geriatric where he's ready to fall asleep on the couch in his underwear watching the telly with a cold one in hand when it's 2pm on a Tuesday (same tho but in spirit that sounds nice)

(( AUs are great tho keep doing you're thing there and I love seeing AUs like when Ghost was just a Private. Those are so fun))

TL;DR what the hell Price isn't even that old?? and STOP MAKING THEM ALL IN THEIR TWENTIES OUTSIDE OF AUs PLEASE. They're mostly in their thirties and forties and that's okay and wonderful and I love that about them

[kaitawrites]

Mind full of Task Force 141

AN: I only played the game once, and it wasn't the story mode COD, just regular COD. But I ended up in Task Force 141 rabbit hole on TikTok and Tumblr. Currently Obsessed

Pairing: Task Force 141 x Black Reader

I just imagine you are part of a different task force, you were honestly well-known for your victories when it came to cage fighting. You were vicious with your broad shoulders and thick arms. You were a force to be reckoned with. It would be very strange if the 141 didn't hear anything about you.

They rarely saw you on base as if you were a figure of their imagination. They wouldn't believe you were real if it wasn't for the news of your arrival from others. It seems they are always there when you just leave. Truly frustrating when they wanted to see what everyone was talking about.

Until one day, there was another cage fight, and your name was attached to the flyer. Finally, they would have the chance to understand what all the hype is about. There you were in the cage. Your stance was strong, and your head was held high. You positioned your hands before your face, a smug grin on your face as you carefully watched your opponent.

They didn't even know someone could move that fast. They were beyond shock as they watched you. Johnny watched excitedly, his eyes never leaving your sweaty body. He watched the way you dodged your opponent's attacks. He watched the way you bounced from side to side, awaiting an opening to land your final strike. Kyle's eyes danced with amusement at the sight before him. You had landed a hard right hook to your opponent. Simon's fist and jaw clenched, and many thoughts ran through his mind. It was the same for John. Once they had seen the way you held down your opponent, they knew that they needed to have you.

Hope you enjoyed, I am very open to feedback <3

Donations is Motivation

[furystarcat]

"Crossroads"

Part One

[eyelambspider]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫 || 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : While Price catches himself staring at you again, a particular memory of his 'would-be-wedding day' pops into his head. What a horrible fucking day that was. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.1k 𝐚/𝐧 : don't cheat kids bc i will find you + would y'all consider this price x reader? 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : mentions of cheating/adultery, angst, fluff at the end(?)

𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄. In fact, he despised it once. A long fucking time ago.

The thought elicits a soft chuckle from the Captain, who was propped up on a green crate, watching through a huff of smoke as you fiddled with a gun in your lap.

Oh, that's right, he remembers then, tapping the ash from the end of his smoke. Anna, hated him smoking.

"John! Fucking put that shit out," she scolded, swatting furiously at the Marlboro Red in his hand.

She was a pretty thing. Young and dumb, maybe a bit too immature at the time... then again, he was too.

Twenty-one years stupid and on the cusp of marrying the 'love of his life'.

"Sorry love, nerves-"

"Its our wedding day," she sighed, eating up the rest of the words he had in his mouth. "Can you just quit it for a day?" she pouted, her red lip jutting out cutely.

John smiled, his brown eyes skirting over the shape of her frown. She was beautiful. And gods willing, in a few hours she'd be Mrs. Anna Price.

He flicked the cigarette away, blowing the rest of the smoke away from his brides face, unable to stop the smile that cracked over his handsome face.

"What?" She asked him, suddenly softening under that adoring look in his eyes.

He shook his head, gently cupping her thin hands in his. The tip of his thumb running over the diamond engagement ring on her left hand. Studded, sparkly and new. "You just- You look amazing love," he admitted, unable to tear his soft gaze from her blushing face.

Anna laughed, her head craning back a little. Red lipstick against her sparkling teeth, hazel eyes crinkled softly. He knew he loved her, he trusted it better than any god that would wed them. He loved her.

"Baby," she started, the smile still lingering on her face until it fell altogether from her complexion.

He waited for what she had to say, watching as her eyes flickered down to his chest before she squeezed his hands back. "I forgot the rings at home," she admitted quietly, suddenly unable to look at him.

There was plenty of time until the ceremony.

"I'll go get them," he stated, leaning forward to plant a kiss on her before her hand came up. Cold against his lips and pushed him away.

"It's bad luck to kiss me before the wedding," she said sheepishly, and he sighed, the pang in his chest as insignificant as forgetting the rings.

"It's also bad luck to see you in your wedding dress," he chuckled, a sound like the richest whiskeys, pulling her close by her small waist. The silk fabric of her white dress like the heavens against his skin.

She laughed too, swatting him away with a playful laugh, throwing her head back a bit like she always did.

The rings weren't a problem.

He drove the ten minutes through little traffic, a fine Tuesday where no one would bother them or their ceremony much. They had the only people that mattered there, a handful of friends to bear witness to the occasion. Mostly from Anna's side. Price, he had her, and it was enough.

He pulled out another Marlboro while he drove, rolling the window down and letting the noon sun bore down on him. The smoke fading into the breeze.

The rings were in plain sight, just on the kitchen table, and back he went to the chapel. The rings, gold and silver, stuffed into his chest pocket with the pack of reds.

Everyone was outside for a moment, chatting and glancing at him as he walked by, smiling friendly enough to the man who would marry their beloved friend. Congratulations, chatter and a few pats on the back. "A bachelor still before the vows were spoken," they teased.

"Gotta go find my wife," he assured with a charismatic smile. A fine man. Upstanding, hard-working, and full of life. Working towards his military career not only for him, but the family he hoped to start one day.

And this felt like the first step towards all that.

He headed inside the large wooden doors of the chapel. An old stone one, refurbished inside, but still had those stained glass windows Anna liked.

The son of Christ and Mary looking down in their holy light, filtering a kaleidoscope of soft color onto the wooden pews and altar.

In a few moments, less than an hour he imagined, he'd be standing up there with her, promising forever.

Then, a hushed whisper caught his ear. A sound he could never forget, even all these years later. Louder in his dreams than bombshells and firefights.

His feet carried him towards the sound, a tucked away room for a choir, the door slightly ajar.

In an instant, his suit felt like lead on his body. The rings burning a hole into his chest as the sight played before him in slow motion.

Her dress hiked up above her milky thighs, the hands of another man caressing all that he could feel. Her neck exposed for him in the heat of the moment, his lips on her pulse, careful not to suck a mark onto her perfection. His beautiful wife heaved softly in his hands, pressed passionately against the wall, her red lipstick smeared all over his face...

Price audibly grumbled to himself, the memory striking a decaying nerve in him, and it caught your attention.

The Captain seemed... grumpy.

"Price," you called out, putting your gun down for a moment, not receiving a response.

You watched as his jaw clenched, a vein more apparent by his temple, under his cap. For a moment, it worried you to watch him stare at the ground with those hard eyes of his. Probably lost in his head again.

"Price," you stretched his name out, trying to gain his attention to no avail. It was then that you decided to softly discard your gun and walk over.

Wherever he was. He was in deep.

"Captain."

The combination of you 'suddenly' standing in front of him and addressing him finally does it. His attention snapped towards you in a fierce scowl. On the verge of lashing out before his cigar burns out against his hand. The long forgotten smoke kissing his skin with a searing heat.

"For fucks sake!" he shouts, hand recoiling. The ash from his cigar flittering to the ground like flower petals.