#captain mactavish x reader

[gh0vtzb1og]

Why’s he so… and his grunts omfg

This is my personal gameplay btw 🤍

[frogchiro]

I-I just can't stop thinking about Captain MacTavish and his stupidly large, uncut cock and full, low hanging breeder balls :((

He's just,, so much man you get me? He's large, and bulky, well developed muscles moving and flexing beneath a layer of fat, thick, slightly tanned skin and a thick layer of dark hair all over his chest, tummy and happy trail and he's fucking proud of it.

Captain MacTavish isn't afraid to strut and parade himself like a prized stallion, showing off in front of all the soldiers but especially in front of you, like that one time in some backwater safe house.

It was a real shit hole, barely holding together but it was better than nothing and poor little you had almost cried out of relief when you set the heavy backpack with your technical equipment down on the dusty floor, Captain MacTavish, Captain Price and Gaz following shortly after. Except there was one tiny problem; there was a very limited amount of warm water supply so either you shower all together or someone will get an ice cold bath, and with the raging snow storm outside, the rapidly declining temperature and only a shitty old fireplace to keep you 'warm' the answer was obvious.

While you were given the 'courtesy' of having a flimsy old curtain hung to protect your modesty, to be honest you kinda resigned from it since it was basically see-through anyway.

So now you were all naked, your poor soft body sore from all the running and carrying heavy equipment and to top it all off you were surrounded by equally naked, powerful men too :(( While Soap, Price and Gaz made a half-assed promise to not look, they obviously did just that; sneaking glances at your soft tits and broad hips, thick thighs all nice and bitable looking- but the worst of all was Captain MacTavish :((

He wasn't even trying to be subtle, he was shameless in fact. Soap was standing the closest to you and he made use of that position, flexing his burly body and turning you you could see his half-hard cock hanging between his powerful legs, balls hanging full and swollen form all the backed up sperm; fighting always made adrenaline and testosterone run hot through his veins and the close proximity and scent of a pretty young thing like you?? If Soap was a worse man he'd bend you over right there and then and stuff his fat cock inside your poor cunt, tip right against your cervix and all and maybe, just maybe his cock drooled a nice amount of precum while smirking like a wolf at your flustered squeak and the annoyed, jealous groans of the men around him :((

[majinbangus]

Captain MacTavish giving you dick so good you start drooling into the sheets and the fucker has the nerve to laugh (affectionately) at you and mockingly asks if it's not enough but before you can say anything (not that you could get more than a few babbles out), he repositions you until you're bent in half and thrusts deep deep, pulling pathetic little squeals from your throat as you scramble to hold onto anything- the sheets, pillows, him- to keep yourself grounded while you're getting the life fucked outta you, but then he goes harder and you really think you'll be brain dead by the time he's done with you.

[sprout-fics]

Danger Close

(Captain John Soap MacTavish x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+) Minors DNI Wordcount: 3.8k Tags: Power imbalances, Unrequited pining, Shy Reader, Stuck in a lift, Dry humping, Dirty talk, Seduction, Praise kink, Vaginal fingering, Secret affair, Pet names Warnings: None (ask to tag) A/N: This is a quick little idea of the OG himself. I'll probably do more headcanon based ideas soon, but for now enjoy the filth

The thing about Captain MacTavish is that he’s…intimidating.

The self proclaimed red-blooded Scot is built like a brick shithouse, as one of your fellow officers once put it. Ruggedly handsome, strong, thick with muscle with coarse hair over his arms and stubble along his jaw. There’s a scar over one of his eyes, a slashing wound that should have blinded him. It crinkles slightly when he offers a lopsided smirk that taunts danger, that bares a reckless nature he hasn’t fully shed despite his years of experience. You tell your bunkmate that he’d make very good money as a bouncer at a nightclub, and her laughter nearly wakes up the whole hallway.

Intimidating.

Which is not necessarily the right word, you think. The Captain has a way around his men and fellow officers, an easy likeability that’s hard to ignore. He commands respect from his troops not in the way of brute posturing or snarling demands, but in the display of capability that has saved their lives many times over. He’s the firm touch on their shoulder as they check their gear before deployment, the firm reminder of level headedness over comms, the sharp, ringing command that cuts through gunfire when everything else has gone wrong.

The man exudes leadership, and you are among those helplessly drawn to it.

Yet there’s something closed off there that you can see in his eyes, an untold story that has drawn the lines of age in the corner of his steely gaze. It feels as if there’s an invisible barrier around him that prevents others from getting danger close. Magnetic, it pulls you in despite yourself, an inextricable attraction towards the nick of a blade you long to taste. Dangerous, like a moth to flame.

Not that you’ll ever do anything about it of course. As much as you daydream about the time you saw the captain’s broad back shiny with sweat on the sparring mats as he trained the other recruits, the low lilt of his accent that clouds your thoughts, you know it’s a terrible idea to develop a crush on your superior.

It’s hard not to, not when you deliver him his daily intelligence report in the afternoon, and he always makes sure to look up and greet you as you hand over the folder, smiling and offering: “Thank you, lass.”

Traitorous, you think, how your stomach devolves into butterflies just at the sight of his pleasant grin. 

Worse is the fact that despite his gruff exterior the man is always such a gentleman to you. He gives you his full attention when you speak, ensures his other male officers do not interrupt or speak over you, holds open doors when you walk into the meeting room together, ensures his men don’t harass you just for your status of being a woman. You think it’d be easier if he was just as pompous and arrogant as his fellow officers, but instead Captain MacTavish has the ability to make you feel special, like you’re the only other one in the room with him. 

It makes you feel a little guilty, admittedly- that he’s kind and decent and you constantly think about what it would be like to bend the rules so he can bend you over his desk. 

Caught in fantasy as you are, you don’t notice the way his eyes watch you out of the corner of his eye, take note of you stretching on your toes to reach something in a filing cabinet, the way your brow scrunches in thought as you scrutinize his paperwork, the slight tremble of your hand when you pass him a cup of coffee in the mess hall, the duck of your head when he offers an amicable thanks. 

You don’t notice the way he’s thinking anything but decent thoughts about you.

It’s hard to help. You’re a sweet, shy thing, and Soap is a man not immune to the charm of your bashful nature. He enjoys your wide eyed gaze as he selfishly sneaks gentle touches, a hand on your shoulder as he scoots past you in a crowded hallway, letting his fingers linger a little too long when you pass him a stack of files for him to sign off on, the barest little hitch of breathing he hears when he lets his voice dip an octave as he speaks.

“Thank ye, bonnie.” He tells you this afternoon, and relishes the way you repress a shiver at the endearment. 

Later, when he catches you at your desk gazing dreamily into space, he enjoys the glassy tint of your eyes, and imagines you’re thinking of him.

And, secretly, he thinks what it would be like to have you mewling and trembling under his war-worn hands. 

For all his decency and charisma, there is one thing you don’t know about the captain, and that is that he’s a wolf.

And you, you’re an adorable bunny waiting for the killing bite of his seduction.

Yet shy as you are, never to act on this, Captain MacTavish decides to take things into his own hands. 

He has you move your desk to his office, helping him with his own paperwork, and offers to buy you lunch on the basis of being a good boss, a good superior. He ensures you have everything you need for your space and helps you pick out a better desk chair when you complain about the standard base ones hurting your back.

And if he uses his rank to ensure your colleagues and higher ups don’t complain? Well. That’s his business.

“Good lass.” He tells you in passing when you find a piece of intelligence he requested, offering a small squeeze of your shoulder and feeling you stiffen under him before exhaling unsteadily- unaware of his smug grin just behind your shoulder. 

Cute, the way you think he won’t notice your little reactions, your dreamy eyes and the fantasies hidden behind them. 

In all places, it comes to a head in a stuck lift.

The meeting is in fifteen minutes, and you insist on taking the lift because of the obstacle course drills you were put through yesterday, whining about your aching thighs. Soap, the good captain that he is, acquiesces and allows it, crossing his arms and watching the doors close-

Only for the lift to give a groan and shudder to a stop.

“Bloody old building.” He gripes, giving the doors a small kick in grumbling protest. “Told maintenance these things needed to be repaired months ago.���

He’s not concerned. Worse comes to worse, he’s crawled up through elevator shafts before. Besides, it’s not as if you’re on the eighth floor, merely stuck between the first and second. It’s an inconvenience, but not an inescapable or deadly one. He’s not as young as he once was, but this shouldn’t be too beyond him.

You, on the other hand, press the call button frantically, trying to ask for help and rescue. The operator is quick to tell you that mechanics and the fire brigade are on the way, and tells you to stay calm. 

“How long are we going to be stuck in here?” You ask Soap, fidgeting. A nervous little filly, he thinks, as he eyes you with mild amusement.

“Maybe an hour.” He drawls, watching as your eyes go wide.

“We’ll miss the briefing.” You manage, a little choked, as if that is the gravest of your concerns, and not the thoughts Soap has about taking full advantage of the privacy he has with you.

“Aye.” He replies with a snort. “Shame, that.”

You make a little sound at that, something between petulance and despair, slumping into the wall as your face crumples.

“Hey, easy.” Soap offers, voice gentler now as he approaches you, gloved hands easily balancing you by your elbows across the wall. “It’s alright lass. We’ll be free in no time. Take a breath for me, aye?”

You nod at that, eyes turned towards the ground to avoid his gaze as you suck in a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out slowly.

“Good girl.” He purrs, unable to help himself, and relishes the way your eyes dart up to his, pupils blown wide as you realize for the first time just how close he is.

This is dangerous.

He’s got you crowded into the wall of the lift, all but blocking escape with his brawny frame. The shadow of his figure falls over your smaller form, dwarfing you. His hands cup you by your arms, bare fingers skimming along your exposed skin and leaving goosebumps rising in their wake. Your captain’s expression is calm, but even with the overhead light backlighting his face, you can see the intent, the scarcely concealed fixation there hidden beneath kind eyes and whispered only though a knowing smirk. 

Prey in a snare.

“S-sir-” You manage, voice tight as you finally realize the true nature of his intent with the way he hums a low, deep note in his chest that makes you shiver.

“Thought I wouldnae ken you watching me, bonnie?” He asks in a low, rumbling intonation that vibrates at the base of your skull. “Sneaking looks and off with the faeries everytime I called you a good girl?”

“I-” You try, and it’s a useless effort really. You could summon a thousand excuses, but you know none of them would work on him. Captain Mactavish’s eyes are too keen, too knowing for that. If he’s seen this much, if he’s seen the way you daydream while he doesn’t look, the way you try desperately to quell your infatuation with him, then there’s no use trying to pretend otherwise. 

"You like being called a good soldier? A good lass?” He goes on, and you bite down hard on a whimper of want that threatens to bubble up your throat. Your captain’s thumbs stroke the inside of your elbow gently, pressing down on the divot of sensitive skin and loosing an unsteady breath from your chest. 

“Look at you wobbling like a wee fawn.” He purrs in that low lilt of his. “This isn't because of me, is it? Developing feelings for your superior. Tut tut. Naughty thing."

“Captain-” Your voice is a strangled thing in your throat, choked by the cognitive dissonance of this, of something straight out of your wildest fantasies, a secret you keep to yourself in the dark of your bunk with your fingers buried between your thighs.

John hums, allowing his eyes to roam down your form, gently caged into the wall as you are, eyes glimmering with a hunger you didn’t know he possessed- A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Tell me to stop.” He murmurs then, voice serious. “I won’t touch you. I’ll transfer you if that’s what you want.”

“No.” Your answer comes so quickly it surprises even you, and suddenly your fingers are gripping on the inside of his forearms as if trying to keep him from retreating. “...Please.”

He gives you a moment, then another to reconsider, to retract your agreement and shove him off you. When you don’t, your captain grins.

“Shy little bonnie.” He croons. “Didnae have the words to ask for what you wanted from your superior, did you?”

You shudder when his gloved palm cups your cheek, leaning instinctively into it, sweet and willing. His thumb presses down on the plush bed of your bottom lip, and it takes a moment of courage to part your lips, lean forward so it rests on your tongue instead.

The sound your captain makes is carnivorous.

Hungry, wanting, dark as sin as he watches you engulf the digit and make eye contact with him, as if tempting danger. He tastes like the steel like of a sharp blade, cutting through your senses and leaving crimson want dripping against your thoughts. 

He removes his thumb so a drip of spit trails after it, and before it can spill your captain bends and kisses you.

It’s dizzying, all consuming, all open lips as he groans into you, one arm snaking around to the small of you back to balance you on wobbly legs, the other gripping your chin and directing you exactly how he wants you, tilting your head just so he can kiss you deeper. You feel unbalanced by the sheer force of it, leaving little choice but to clutch at his uniform, go a little limp in his arms and mewling into his open mouth.

“Aye, that’s it.” He groans between wet, sloppy kisses, dragging his teeth over your bottom lip and feeling you press back into him, eager for more. “Fuckin beautiful, hen.”

His warm breath spills against your open throat, where you think he might bestow a killing bite if you’d let him, groaning in appreciation at the raw, heady taste of you as he takes everything you can bear to give him. 

“Sir-” You whine when he wedges a knee between your legs, hands planted firmly on your ass so he drags your clothed cunt over the rise of his thick thigh. “Oh God-”

“No God here, love.” He huffs as your head flops gently to the side, his words fanning across the shell of your ear so you shudder. “Just you an’ me.”

That might be for the best, you think. One less witness to the act of your captain defiling you the way you’ve dreamt of for longer than you care to remember. 

Your captain’s hands grasp the fat of your ass as you give an experimental rock onto his thigh, stifling a little whimper as you do. It only makes him chuckle, dark and hungry into your ear as he nibbles on the sensitive skin  beneath your jaw. 

“C’mon lass, you can do better than that.” He huffs, and you feel him smile against your neck. “Go on, take what you need. Wanna feel you get off just from grinding on my leg like this.”

You’re not sure if you can, honestly, but gods above do you want to try. 

You grab at his neck for support, pressing him further as he bows over you, engulfs you with the heat of his frame. Then you allow your knees to fold, letting him support the weight of you as you begin to drag yourself along his thigh.

The friction is delicious, sends your nerve endings alight with sensation as the pleasure of it spills past your lips with an open groan. You wonder if the mere act of this, of humping your superior’s leg like a cat in heat while he purrs praises into your ear, does more for you than the actual motion itself. Either way, you begin to feel a warmth unfurling in your core, cunt clenching down on a needing emptiness that has you bury a whimper into his shoulder. 

“Thaaat’s it.” MacTavish- John, you wonder if he’ll let you call him, croons in your ear. “Lemme hear all those pretty noises, hen.”

You do, realizing there’s no one else to hear you. You give in, allow him to hear every hitch in your chest, every shuddering gasp and breathless plea of “S-sir-”

“Feel good?” He asks, hands kneading the swell of your ass as he helps rock you along his thigh. “Just imagine bonnie, could have had this weeks ago if you’d only let me.”

He’s right. If you’d only said something to him, had made a move on him, then you could have been having his low, Scottish lilt purr right in your ear as you try to get off ages ago.

But this is good too.

“Cannae even imagine how much it took for me not to pounce on you.” He huffs, pressing fluttering kisses against the thrum of your pulse. “All those sweet little looks you thought I couldn’t see, the way you were mooning over me like I wouldnae notice-”

“That’s- that’s not-” You try, managing to sound a little indigent despite your heaving breaths. 

“Oh I know, bonnie.” He croons with a huff of laughter. “You were just trying to be a good soldier, didn’t want to get caught seducing your superior, aye? What would the other officers think?”

You whimper at that, clutching a little tighter if only out of a remnant pulse of shame. Yet John doesn’t let you stop, drags you more insistently over the bulge of his thigh straining through his pants. 

“They don’t get to know.” He tells you, smirking. “They don’t get to know how sweet ye are like this, how pretty you look trying to come all over my leg, aye bonnie?”

You feel it rising inside you, feel your oncoming climax mount with every low rumble of words against your skin, with the way his scent clouds your senses so there’s nothing else but the sensation of him, the pleasure of you grinding your wet, empty cunt against his leg.

“C’mon, little one. Can feel you trying. What’dye need?” He huffs, and you shake your head into his shoulder. 

“Empty.” You tell him in a little, shy whisper, face burning as you refuse to look him in the eyes. Yet a hand catches your cheeks, turns you up to his gaze so you have no choice but to look into his bright, glimmering stare. 

“What was that?” He asks, and Gods, you think he may eat you alive. “Need to use your words, sweetheart.”

“E-empty.” You tell him a little louder, catching sight of the glassy eyed stare reflected in his eyes, feeling your legs shake with the effort of trying to hold your own weight. 

“Oh poor wee lass.” John sighs, bending down to kiss you again, swallowing the little whimper that bubbles up your throat. “Dinnae fash, I’ll take care of you.”

He pulls away so quickly you nearly drop to the floor, were it not for the hand slung across your hip that keeps you upright. You hear the clink of a belt, and for a single hopeful moment you think maybe it’s his, only to groan in disappointment and need as he squirms his hand past your own waistband, slinking his fingers between your folds. 

“Christ almighty, lass, you’re soaking wet.” He breathes, bracing his forehead against yours so you feel his warm huff of air on your swollen lips. “Just from this?”

Yeah. This. You want to tell him. As if ‘this’ isn’t something straight out of your wildest wet dreams, him easily handling you in close quarters, treating you with greedy hands and yet touching you as if you’re something prized, a beautiful weapon he’s admired from afar for far too long. 

When he sinks a finger into you John groans a deep, resounding noise in his chest, open and appreciating the way your slick heat instantly clenches around his fingers. 

“Fuck, the feel of you, hen.” He breathes as he pumps his fingers with deliberate slowness, as you whimper and writhe and try to force yourself down onto his hand to chase your just out of reach climax. “So warm and tight, cannae even imagine how you’d feel around my cock.”

“Please.” You gasp desperately, body flushed with want as you grind against his fingers, seeking to angle them just right. “Captain.”

The sound John makes is primal, and you’re given little warning before suddenly he’s plunging a second finger into you, giving you only a moment to adjust to the stretch before he’s setting a rapid pace that has you wail into his chest. 

“Is alright lass, I got you. C’mon, wanna feel you cum all over my hand.” He growls, panting, entire body coiled tight as he pushes you further towards your climax. “I’ll fuck you proper after, promise. Just need to feel it when you come, wanna hear how pretty you sound, c’mon-”

It’s that thought, the one of him having you right here in the lift, bending you against the wall and fucking you just like this that makes you arch with a broken little shout, clenching down hard on his fingers as he slowly works you through it, murmuring sweet endearments down at you as you tremble. You feel your walls pulse around his thick digits, coating them in slick and you realize too late he never took his glove off.

You nearly buckle as the last pulse of pleasure pulses bright and powerful through you, clutching at him with a little whimper as you come down slowly. You’re warm all over, muscles flooded with a bright release that has you wobble where you stand. The pulse of your heartbeat echoes in your ears and you try desperately to catch your breath amidst it all. 

And, naturally, that’s the moment when the lift starts moving again.

You almost entirely lose your balance when the floor beneath you jolts, squeaking as you lean fully into your captain. He doesn’t seem to be caught off guard at all. If anything, John seems amused at the sudden motion of the elevator, huffing a warm sound of disbelief up towards the ceiling. 

“Think we’ll still be late for that meeting, bonnie?” He asks, grinning mischievously, as if he didn’t just make you come so hard your knees wobble.

“No sir.” You breathe, leaning back against the wall as he pulls his hand from your pants, leaning up and licking his fingers free of your wetness. 

“Fuck.” You breathe helplessly, head flopping back. “You’re glove-”

He hums, as if just now realizing you stained the palm of his fingerless glove, pulling the velcro strap with his teeth as one hand balances you while you regain your strength. 

“Keep it safe for me.” He tells you, jamming it into your front pocket as the lift whines to a halt. “Give it back to me later. After the meeting.”

After can mean a lot of things, you realize.

The lift dings pleasantly, and your captain hauls a brawny arm to keep the door open for you, ever the gentleman. 

“Go on then lass,” He smiles, friendly and easygoing despite the knowing, hungry glimmer in his gaze. “Tell them I’ll be a few. Have to give the mechanics a talkin to.”

You nod, still a little shell shocked, a little disheveled, blinking dazedly as you scoot past him, then pause. 

Checking the hallway, you twirl around and lean up to kiss him so you hear the little breath of surprise against your lips. 

“After, captain?” You ask sweetly, blinking your lashes up at him and watching his pupils blow wide. 

“After.” He declares, voice just as sultry, leaning down to nip teasingly in front of your face, fangs and all. 

You sway off to the meeting, sneak into the back row and explain the hold up, and nobody looks at you twice, shy as you are. When your captain comes in five minutes later, only you notice the way he struts to the front of the room, smirking wide and assured as he briefs his men on their next target. 

“Weapons hot, lads.” He declares, arms crossed, a smile taunting danger. “We’re danger close.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiiiii, Congratulations on your 5K !!! Idk if ur reqs r still open, but I'll try (pls feel free to delete this if it's closed alrdy)

I was supposed to ask for a Cap. Price but since u've said that there are low reqs for Soap, I'm (humbly and kindly) asking for a Soap oneshot. U can do whatever u want (I just want fluff pls, I'm so inlove with him, he's such a cutie)

—Alive and Breathing

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You're sick. Very sick. John takes drastic action.] ❞

Your head pounds violently, groaning softly under your breath as the room pulses with heat and fever. Sweat stains your forehead—dripping off the side of your nose as the bed is heavy with it. The window was shut tight, the sheets layered high on you in a heap akin to a garbage pile with shaking feet twitching from out the end. Your muscles jerk, lungs heaving for air that gets harder to come by. 

No matter how hot you tried to become, nothing was making you any more comfortable. You felt like you were freezing; standing out on an ice sheet and plunging into arctic waters. Everything was a sheen of blurry delirium, and you hoped that John would get home soon so you could have him help out around the house. 

You’d taken some cold medicine after you called him, but nothing was working. 

Not moving beyond the ragged coughs that make you gag on your saliva, you stay there even when the front door opens—a call of your name on the air a dull buzz in your drums. Like a fly. 

And then, suddenly, there’s a serious face in front of yours, and a hand is shoving back your blankets until you’re partially visible. 

“Up you get, now,” John grunts, eyes narrowed and his scar pulling tight at the sight of your state. Your mouth twists into a tight frown, panting at the chill of the air; you shiver violently. “I’m takin’ you in, aye?”

“M’cold, John,” you mutter through a hoarse exhilation. Shapes shift and shadows move. A heavy hand is pressed to your forehead, flinching momentarily at the heat that makes John hiss lowly. He looks your body up and down, taking in the scent of sweat and sickness. 

This was worse than the light fever you’d described over the phone. 

“Holy hell…” He breathes, glancing at the rapid pulse point in your neck. “Cold? You’re fuckin’ burnin’ up down there, Dearie. Did you take anything while I was away? Christ.”

A mind is made up quickly, concern striking John in the heart. 

He digs you out of the last remaining covers, gripping your slick body as your eyes flutter—you don’t answer him, muttering under your breath. 

“Fuck,” John growls. Once he knows you’re not going to slip out of his arms, he grips you tighter and rushes into the bathroom, nerves in his gut not leaving as your limp arm sways. “Hey!” He shouts at you, jostling your shoulder blades.

You whine, your head stuck at his pec. Everything pulses. 

Glaring, John’s blue eyes are laced with worry as he sets you down into the tub—scarred hand snapping to turn on the water on the coldest setting. 

Hands grapple your cheeks. 

“Hey, now,” the man utters, accent thick and deep as emotions take over. “Hey, focus on me. C’mon.” Water spreads over your legs—soaking into your clothes as your shivering continues even now. Your lashes flutter, teeth chattering. “C’mon, Sweetheart, right here.”

The water sloshes over the lip of the tub by the time John turns it off, the liquid cold enough to make the man shiver himself, but he doesn’t even notice—eyes trapped on your body. 

After a few long, tense, minutes, your rapid heartbeat slows to the visible eye. Your lungs ease back to a nearly-normal rise and fall; small hitches still in the muscle. 

“That’s a girl,” John runs his thumbs up and down your flesh. “That’s right.”

You huff, face still full of drying sweat until the man ahead of you takes a palm full of water and drenches your head with it. Sputtering, you weakly push at his other wrist near your cheek, gasping down air. 

“W-what the hell,” you stutter, water dripping off your nose and over your eyes.

“I’m getting you medicine,” John grumbles. “The correct kind. Cold bath won’t help in the long run, but I was out of options.”

You blink at him, still sluggish. 

“I’ll be fine, John.” A firm brow raises in challenge and you sigh shaking your head.

“It’s that or I bring you to hospital. Your choice.” 

Silence falls, only broken by the shift of the water and your small sickly sniffles. Blue eyes move and soften before John brings a hand up to his face and rubs it. He holds the limb there for a moment, taking a shallow breath. 

A kiss is pressed to your still steamy forehead, the lips staying there as you sag forward into John as his arms circle you, bringing you to him. 

“Scared me,” he utters lowly. 

You hum, tired. 

“I had the strangest dream while you were gone,” your mouth whispers. John grunts into your skin. “You were fighting a bear.”

“A bear?” He smirks, eyebrow quirking and pulling his scar tight. “Bit big for me to do alone, Dearie…I win?”

“Of course,” you try a hoarse chuckle, arms limp in the water. 

“Oh, aye, an accurate dream.” He chuckles with you. “How’d I do it, then? Was I barehanded? Knife?”

“...I’m just stroking your ego, John.”

“Can’t stroke something you can’t reach, can you?”

[bonkchai]

PLEASE spare some love for Captain Mactavish too, LOOK AT THIS MAN

HE’S FR SO FINE. I wanna give his scar a lil smooch 😚

[brewed-pangolin]

MDNI 18+

Captain MacTavish doesn't play music when he fucks you anymore. Instead, he'll find some classic 90s action flick and set the volume to 11. Then proceed to bend you over every flat surface within sight as the distinctive baritone of Arnold Schwarzenegger echoes around your apartment.

You question him after a few times. Asking why he doesn't choose his usual playlist. He answers with a nonchalant, 'wanted to change things up a bit'. You don't question him any further.

And he breathes a sigh of relief. Because God forbid you ever know that he nearly blew his cover to Don Henley's 'Dirty Laundry'.

The memory of your supple lips around his cock invading behind his eyes as he took position behind some dilapidated hotel. The beat muffled and distorted through the broken speakers, yet still he recalled the way your tongue flattened so perfectly around him, nearly causing him to bust in his pants as he momentarily lost all focus on his main objective.

Once they RTB, he decides not to join the rest of the team as they watch Terminator 2. The echo of your screams while he railed into you doggy style still too fresh in his mind. He'd rather take care of business in the privacy of his own quarters. And to the subtle and enigmatic nuances of Enya's 'Sail Away'.

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Continuation of Soap using military talk on you, let's change things up a bit

When you use military talk it always makes Soap crack up.

The first time it happens he's playfully chasing you through the appartment. "You little shit! You ate the last one, don't deny it!", he is shouting after you. And when you just giggle he can feel his heart skip a beat.

"Can't prove it Johnny, maybe you ate it and forgot!", you counter. And you can hear the soft thumping of his feet speed up.

You're sqealing in delight as you try to rush around the couch to have a barrier between you and him. Before you can do that, there's fingers on your waist and Soap grabs you. Your body abruptly changes directions, being thrown onto the couch instead of running behind it.

You land with a soft "oof" and Soap immediately holds your wrists down. His cheeks are tinted a lovely shade of pink and he's panting.

You wriggle in a mock attempt to get free and say: "Captain! There's been an ambush!"

He grins: "Yeah? Captain, really?"

You laugh a bit and answer "Captain we got a Situation Alpha over here!"

Your heart soars when he barks out a laugh. "That...", he tries to stop laughing and fails "That's not how it works."

Now you're both breathless with amusement and you get out between huffs of breath: "We need backup! Got a charly foxtrott here! Need an evac right now, or we'll be in a deep code red!"

Soap absolutely wheezes in laughter above you, his entire body shaking and he finaly collapses onto you. His voice mocks you between his bursts of laughter. "In a code red...", he's near hysterical as he throws your words back at you "Got a charley... charley..." He gives up trying to repeat you, rolls off of you and falls to the soft carpet next to the couch with a thud.

You lean over the side still giggling and watch him, as he clutches his ribs while shaking with laughter.

"Ow, ow, ow it hurts.", he wheezes between laughing and your grin grows soft and fond.

Finally he calms down and smiles up at you, both your expressions mirroring the affection of the other.

He crawls up to you again, caging you in between his arms and leaning down until his lips brush yours. "Better rescue you from your dangerous situation then."

The following kiss if full of smiles.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

FWB Captain MacTavish

Content Warnings - Fingering, massive cock, oral, squirting. Captain MacTavish makes my ovaries combust.

At first MacTavish or John or Captain or Sir or- At first he treated you like any other member of his task force. A strong guiding hand, always calling you out on your problem areas as much as he patted your shoulder for doing a good job. Then the touches lingered after a particular mission left the two of you stranded in the Russian woods during winter with broken comms.

It was easy to grow close to the older man. Worryingly so but you didn't put much thought into it, he was easy to get along with so long as you obeyed his commands and didn't try and get yourself killed every time you went into the field.

Then the lingering touches combined with long stares. You'd catch him staring at you from across the tarmac or in the truck or at the mess hall. He couldn't keep his eyes off you and you'd be lying if you couldn't keep your eyes off him. He was built like a fucking tank, large hands and expansive shoulders. A scar that barely missed his eye and Scottish brogue that made your panties wetter then you'd like to admit.

One mission where the two of you had to sit around and wait, with nothing better to do you talked. Talked about home, what you missed most about being at base, if there was anyone waiting for him or for you. You joked about blowing off steam once back on base since he had sheepishly (a word you would have never used to describe him ever) admitted he was going through a dry spell. That knowledge was news to you but you also admitted to also having no action within the sheets for a while too.

"Need a release lass?" He teased you.

"Not nearly as much as you." You had retorted. The deal had been struck. Friends with benefits. A way to blow off steam without busted knuckles.

You had barely gotten into his quarters when he pushed you back onto his bed, his blue eyes nearly feral as he pulled your clothes off. He latched onto one nipple, sucking and licking at it while the other was pinched and lightly twisted between his thumb and index finger. You mewls filled the room and he slotted one thick thigh between yours, the command simple and obvious. You grinded against his still clothed thigh, panting like a bitch in heat as you juices smeared across the fabric.

When your nipples had become sore from the constant attention he switched his focus to your pretty cunt. Your clit was engorged and red, desperate for attention as your pussy dripped your slick onto the sheets. He dived between your thighs, pushing one up as he kneaded the soft skin. His stubble rubbed against your inner thigh in a way that sent sparks into your lower spine.

He ate you like a man starved, growling if you tried to wiggle away as he sucked and licked at your clit the same way he had your nipple. A single digit swirled around your pulsing hole, desperate for attention. "Sir please." You whined. A rumble came from his chest, apparently pleased with your word choice as he stuffed his finger inside you. You keened, fisting the sheets.

"I'm gonna take ye apart lass." He said, finally speaking. "Need ye to come on my fingers." He pushed a second finger in, crooking them up and feeling around for the spot that made your toes curl. You nearly screamed when he found it and then abused it. Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, your legs thrashed as your back arched in a way that was nearly painful.

He wasted no time to slurp up the juices that leaked around his fingers as he kept pumping them in and out. He forced you to ride that high for as long as possible even as you squealed and kicked. He didn't bother to undress himself, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down just enough so his thick cock came out. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. Uncut, thicker around the middle with a length that might've made you run for the hills if you weren't do damn horny.

He chuckled at whatever look must've been on your face before grabbing your other thigh and pushing it back to meet your other one. He rubbed the head of his cock, red, neglected and drooling precum, against your slit. Gathering the sticky juices around the top of his mushroom head and tapping it on your clit a few times to watch you twitch.

As he pushed in, you swore. The stretch was sinful, almost too much as your walls fought to accommodate him. He kept you pinned under him as he leaned forward, pushing his cock further into you fluttering cunt. "Fuck." He growled, "Grippin me like a damn vice."

"You're so big." You whined as you threw you head back against the pillow. It felt like it was never going to end, his dick just kept getting further and further in. To places not even your dildos could reach. It was only when he touched your cervix was he forced to stop.

"Can't even take all of me yet." He taunted as he looked down and it was true. There was still an inch or two left till he fully bottomed out but his cock was heavy inside you, twitching each time your walls convulsed around it. He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in small, mean circles. He groaned, nearly collapsing on top of you as your pussy clenched on him. "I havenae even moved."

"God." You sobbed, "Just move. Please move."

"No god here lass." He muttered into your ear as he slowly pulled back before he rammed back into you. "Just me."

"John!" You cried out as his cock kissed your cervix, just this side of bordering on pain until it melted into pleasure.

"Aye, thats my name." He grunted as he set a brutal pace, the sounds coming from your pussy were sinful, enough to make even the devil himself blush as he ruined you for any man. For any of your toys too. His thumb didn't stop either and you could hardly breathe when your next orgasm hit. Your eyes squeezed shut as you screamed his name, certain that the entire base could hear you. "Ah fuck, would ye look at that?" He muttered to himself as he admired the glistening juices all over his abdomen. "Good lass."

[ava-yukiii]

imagine,

(they're are in a poly relationship including reader/you, you have been together since the beginning)

You and the task force141 were sent on a mission, you had lost them in a building they were no sight of them, pr any signs of them, they didn't respond to their radio, so you came to feild were gunshots were still heard, it worried you slightly.

As you got to the field, your face was filled with horrid and disgust seeing dead bodies civilians- soldiers,you screamed all of your team mates/lovers name hoping the they would answer, waiting and waiting, tears run through you cheeks not wanting to look at the dead bodies, hoping that they weren't dead.

"Don't be dead please I don't want to be the person to go to all of your parent house to remind them that they're son are/is dead." you cried silently as you fell to your knees.

Not loosing one lover but four. Four special people that sticked through you promised you kids, and marriage when it was time to retire. All lost in a mission one fucking dumb mission.

After years through grieving your four lovers death, you retired shortly after. Opening a cafe in a small town, the cafe was successful enjoying every smile with the customers as you served them.

Until one day, the bell rang as 4 men entered the cafe, you look up slightly seeing 4 familiar faces. Ones you haven't seen since that day.

Reblogs and likes are appreciated </3

[frogchiro]

On this beautiful christmas day I come to you with the image of Captain MacTavish and his hairy musky body :((

He's build like a tank, thickly corded muscles woth a nice layer of fat over them and most important- his thick, dark and coarse hair that spans thickly over his pecks, chest and down to his tumny up until his thick happy trail :((

John is a very proud man, very boisterous and loves to show off his body, especially to you♡ May come off as a bit pushy but that's just how he is, he's a captain and used to authority so when you're seated on his big dick, all whiny that you're tired already, that your poor hips re bruised and achy from all the rounds he put you through and you still need to debrief with Price about the information you found! :(( And Captain MacTavish is so mean! Doesn't want to let you off of his dick, says that after that last mission that unexpectedly lasted longer than previously thought, his balls are simply bursting with so much backed up sperm and now he has to empty himself in a pretty soft thing, namely you♡

[majinbangus]

Soap making you do a 'walking test' after he fucks you and if you can still walk, he drags you back in bed because obviously he didn't do his job right if you passed the test. It's a process he will repeat over and over again, overstimulating you until your legs are jelly and you literally can't move a muscle. Only then will he be satisfied with his hard work and let you rest (after cleaning you up with his mouth- stop squirming, he has to keep his toys clean- then he'll let you rest)

[sprout-fics]

Reboot Captain Price and OG Captain MacTavish sharing a housewife.

Starts off as Soap being embarrassingly besotted with his sweet soft wife who packs him lunches and leaves lipstick stains on his cheek, seeing Price harbor a secret jealousy about wanting a pretty, adorable thing to share moments of mundane peace with.

A simple invitation for dinner turns into Price scarcely holding back his moans as you swallow around his cock as a thanks for keeping your husband alive all these years- all while Soap sips on scotch and watches with a clever, knowing smile and dark, lidded eyes

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

omg stop a cap mactavish drabble where they're caught 'n he's gotta keep the reader calm would feed my soul

—Listen To My Voice

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞

“Jus’ keep your eyes open and listen to my voice, eh?” The heavy Scottish drawl snaps you back into focus, your head pounding awfully and pain ricocheting up and down your limbs. It’s a stiff and unyielding order. “C’mon now, Sergeant.” 

Coughing, you hack up splatters of blood onto your cargos—hands and arms tied down with rough rope that skins you every time you shift. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, blinking rapidly as the footsteps walk away from your holding cell and disappear with the slam of a far-off door. 

The Captain ahead of you grunts, his hard blue eyes sliding down the wreckage of your uniform; the open wounds and torn fingernails. He doesn’t look much better, truth be told. Your captors had taken pleasure in making you watch the other get brutalized—the vile rage in your eyes yet the inability to do anything. 

It was mental torture as well as physical.

“Oversight ought to know we’re gone,” Soap slides out smoothly, tilting his mohawked head to the side to study the room in casual sweeps, as if not bloodied and broken. “—they’ll be sendin’ out recon teams to scout the area in little under a day. Standard protocol.”

His voice trails, seeing your gaze locked onto the door of the cell, pupils nothing but tiny dots in your burst veins of the once white sclera. Blue finds the way your body shakes, and the man’s large fingers twitch along the arm of his chair.

In the back of his throat, he lets off a rumble and resets his stubbed jaw; the scar along his left eye shifting with his expression. 

“Sergeant,” your face twitches, but you don’t look at him. Inside your chest, your rattling lungs can nearly be heard aloud. 

Captain MacTavish’s lips tighten. “Didn’t I tell you to listen? Pipe up! This is important.” 

Your mind dances between hysterics and the numb oblivion of shock. While Soap had years to adhere to the idea of bare torture—even going through it before—you had no such luck. Experienced with weaponry, yes, but One-Four-One had only taken you on with the idea that you could become better than you already were. 

You’d never gone through an actual interrogation beyond training. 

Fast flinching eyes dart to your superior, chest heaving and adrenaline coating your expression. Blood drips to the floor. 

Soap grinds his teeth and sighs through his nose.

She won’t last like this, he tells himself—blunt and honest. He’d told Price it was a bad idea to let you tag along, and without the reassurance from his fellow, he would have straight-out denied you coming. Too inexperienced. 

This was exactly what he had been worried about. 

But, hell, if that fear in your eyes didn’t make his stomach knot; a heavy rage at the image of your broken skin as all he could do was watch. But it was a silent kind of fury. Weighted with the knowledge of revenge. 

While the man hated dogs, he sure acted like a loyal one. 

“One day,” the Captain tells you—hardened; inflexible. His orbs are like hard steel and his stiff body like rock. “You can take one more day. Just need to focus on me…Copy? I don’t want your eyes to leave me. Not through any of it.”

You push through your haze, staring into his eyes with the vile stench of fear in the air. It was human nature to not want to be harmed. To dread pain and suffering in all senses. 

This man seemed apart from that. 

The Captain grunts, harsher now, “Copy?”

“I-I,” you stutter, lashes fluttering. “I copy, Sir.” 

“Relay.” He barks, watching you closely.

“One day.” Answering immediately, you clear your throat and stifle your whimper of agony—a few of your ribs are broken. “I can make it one more day.”

“Good.” Soap’s accent makes the words clipped and true. Taken as law. “Nothin’ll happen that won’t be repaid. Keep that close, it’ll help.” 

“How many times have you been through this?” Talking helped with the nerves, your focus leaving the sounds in the distant hallways and the loud voices wafting in the vents. The room was cold; you shiver and grimace as your body moved. 

“Too many.” Soap huffs, pulling at his restraints with a heavy hand and growling under his breath when nothing happens. “Comes with the territory, you’ll get used to it.”

You lick your bloodied lips and feel the cuts in them. “...Is that a good or a bad thing, Sir?” 

His lips twitch into a low smirk, shooting you a sly narrowing of his lids. “Well, I’d say that’s up to you now, isn’t it?”

In the grimness and the barbarity, you huff what can be described as a dead woman’s laugh. 

The Captain, still trying to find a loose area of the rope, grits his teeth and utters, “There’ll be no deaths here ‘cept the ones outside this cell, eh? Like I said—focus. When I tell you something, I don’t care how hard it is, you’ll be listenin’ to me. Got that?” 

Footsteps sound up again from beyond, and you tense, eyes flinching wider. Soap grunts out an order and you keep your feral gaze locked on his. Blue eyes bore into you, flaying their meaning deep into your body like you’re made of clay. The uptick in your pulse makes you shake wildly. 

“Keep those eyes right on me. Nothing’s goin' on that’ll kill you, aye?” The door turns and the unlocking of the barrier snaps like electricity up your spine. You want to run, but you know you can’t.

And through it all, you stare straight into Captain MacTavish’s frozen eyes—his strong brow pulled in with authority. He nods his approval with a quick jerk of his head. When the door opens, you can’t help but fear he’s lying.

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[chamomiletealeaf]

Captain MacTavish who makes you wear his dogtags as he fucks you with your knees pressed to your ears so he can see the way his name bounces against your tits.

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[brewed-pangolin]

I'm really tired and I kinda just want to forget about today. Pretty sure getting all cock drunk and going limp on Captain MacTavish's lap would fix everything.

Also gives him an excuse for some good cockwarming, which is on par with his most prized whisky and paired cigar.