#cod john mactavish

[the-raindeer-king]

Price is the kind of guy that'll wake up ten minutes before he has to, just so he can cuddle with you. If he doesn't immediately fall back asleep, he'll take the time to memorize your face, maybe whisper sweet nothings to you. Those ten minutes get bumped up to twenty if he's going to be deployed soon.

Simon spends the whole night spooning you, one of his huge hands on your chest. He can't sleep unless he can feel your heartbeat. It helps him relax, a reminder that you're safe, that he's safe. When he has nightmares, it's your heartbeat that he checks for first.

Johnny's always asleep before you are. Maybe you work different schedules, maybe you have insomnia. Whatever it is, it means Johnny's fast asleep by the time you climb into bed. Regardless of this, he's always pulling you closer. He's never awake when he does this, not even conscious of his actions. But he's got to have you close.

Gaz runs hot, and when y'all fall asleep cuddling, someone always ends up sweaty and uncomfortable. So, on the nights where it's just too hot to cuddle, he'll fall asleep with his hand somewhere on your body. Your thigh, your arm, your tummy, wherever he can reach that night. Just a reminder that he's there, and he's got you.

[felrija]

Here's this guy

Playing mw2 tomorrow fingers crossed I can jump off of that snowy mountain I keep seeing in pictures and clips 🫰

[tobascoart]

Happy New Year!

[angelsworks]

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 07: Drugged

John Mactavish x f! reader

A/N: For @bunnyreaper here's the whump version, sorry it took so long, hope you like it <3

Soap knows that something’s wrong the moment you call him. You drunk calling him wasn’t exactly out of the norm, in fact, it was weird if you didn’t spam him with texts and tik toks letting him know how much you loved him. 

His team often sledged him jokingly for how whipped he was for you, but it was that adoration and care that let him know within seconds that you weren’t okay. There was no excited shout of his name, no blaring music that you were drunkenly singing along to and none of your friends were yelling at him for interrupting girl's night. 

There’s just silence, a terribly concerning silence only accentuated by the shuffling of clothes and shuddering breaths. He’s on his feet and crashing into the wall on his quest for the keys in three seconds flat. His shoes aren’t even on properly and he’s already in the car when he finally gets a response to his barrage of questions. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is slurred and confused in a way that has his blood freezing. You very rarely got so sloshed you couldn’t function anymore but Soap knew what you were like even then, and this was not it. 

When the phone connects to the car's Bluetooth he’s throwing his phone into the passenger seat and reversing so quickly the tyres screech in protest. He knows where you are, you were always good at updating him if you moved venues but it doesn’t stop him from double-checking. 

He has to ask the question three times before you eventually confirm that you haven’t gone anywhere, his heart rate increasing frantically with each second that passes and he’s not by your side yet. 

“Johnny? Wh’re you? I think somethin’s wrong. Don’t feel so good.” Your whimpers fill the car and Soap starts to drive even faster, blowing through two red lights and a stop sign with little concern over the inevitable tickets and demerits he’ll get. 

“I know baby. Am almost there, just hold on a little longer.” He commanded as firmly and gently as possible. “Ye in the bathroom? Locked the door?” 

Once again it takes a while for you to understand and respond to his question but when you do he allows himself to relax a little. He tries to ascertain where your friend has gone and not for the first time he wants to kill her when you tell him you have no idea where she’s gone. 

“Johnny?” you call for him a few more times as if forgetting you’ve already gotten on the line.

He throws the car into park when he arrives, not bothering with the handbrake and not caring that he’s just stopped in the middle of the road. Cars are honking and people are yelling but he doesn’t give a single fuck, his mind is on a one-track mission. 

He’s even left his phone on the seat in his haste and the door open. Undoubtedly, you’ll yell at him when he relays the details later but he’s willing to cop all of your anger if it means he gets to you in time. 

He runs past the bouncer, outpacing the shouting man and ducking past various security members as he beelines towards the bathroom. Vaguely he recognises that he’s being chased but it doesn’t matter because he makes it to the ladies' bathroom well before they catch up.

It doesn’t even register that the bathroom door isn’t locked like you’d said it was when he bursts into the grimy space because his attention and fury are quickly dragged elsewhere. Namely to the motherfucker that was sticking his hand down your pants as you sobbed and tried to get away with your body’s sluggish movement. 

He’s letting out a furious roar and when the man turns with wide eyes at the commotion behind him Johnny’s fist smacks into his nose with a sickening crack that sends him stumbling backwards bleeding and onto the tile floor. 

It’s only the fact that your legs give out without someone supporting you that stops him from beating the man to death as he grabs you and pulls you against him. 

You’re so out of it that you protest, pushing against his chest as you cry because you don’t recognise him straight away. 

It takes a bit of cajoling and pressing soft kisses into your hairline before you recognise him but when you do you completely devolve into a crying, sobbing mess, collapsing against him even further as you finally allow yourself to feel all of the overwhelming panic you’d been trying to hold off. 

Security’s caught up and the commotion they make as they barge into the bathroom sets you off even further and Soap simply shoots them a heated glare before shouldering past them with you safe in his arms. 

Perhaps miraculously, both the car and his phone are still where he’d left him and Johnny gently deposits you in the passenger seat, clipping your seatbelt in. His heart shatters a little further when you start to beg him not to leave you. 

“M not leaving ye bonnie, just need to get myself strapped in.”

“Promise?” you sound so small and Soap is now certain that once you’re safe and looked after he’d going to hunt down the scumbag that dared lay a finger on you. For now though, 

“I promise love.” When he slips into the driver's seat you’re reaching blearily for his hand immediately and he takes it just as quickly, pulling away and driving far slower than he’d gone to get to you. 

“I promise.” The words are so soft that they’re more for himself than you. They’re an oath that he’ll keep even if it kills him.

[issysfantasyworldsblog]

Ghost: What do you call two ducks and a cow?

Soap: Nae, Lt...

Ghost: Quackers and milk

Soap:…

Ghost:…

[crimsonbubble]

Belly bulge with soap 🤐 ? ?¿

cw. nsfw, gn!reader, tummy bulge, size kink, slight pet play *not proofread, just pure horny

[nonnie im gonna kiss you I love you for this ask]

MINORS DNI!!

he's got your legs over his shoulders, leaning down til they nearly touch your chest. neither of you can stop staring at the bump he forms in your lower stomach. he grabs your hand and presses it harshly to the small bulge, his own hand keeping yours pinned to your stomach.

"ya feel me here, pup?" you can only answer him in whimpers, the hand on your stomach makes his cock brush against your sweet spots even harder than before. your clenching and pulsing around him, making him let out whorish moans.

[priceseyes]

this is a post for the cod fandom, specifically towards ghoap shippers because what some of y'all are doing is DISUSTING.

firstly, let's make something VERY clear: ghost x soap is NOT canon and it never will be canon. in fact, their relationship is PURELY platonic yet some of you guys always want a romantic relationship to happen whenever there's a male friendship. are you allergic to platonic relationship's or something? because they do exist.

with that that said: STOP ATTACKING CONTENT CREATORS AND THOSE WHO HAVE AN OC WITH EITHER GHOST OR SOAP (or any other 141 task force member). STOP ATTACKING BIPOC OCs ESPECIALLY AND STOP SPREADING HATE TOWARDS THOSE WITH COD OCs IN GENERAL.

what you are doing is VERY disrespectful and I dare I say, immature. you are not giving creators a chance at having a safe space nor are you letting them have fun pairing an oc with a character in the COD-verse, especially when they want to pair them with either ghost or soap.

please stop attacking these OC creators and stop using oc discourse on them.

just be kind and respectful to everyone in the fandom, let's not spread hate.

[fefy--art]

Even ghosts get tired

[mutantthedark]

Disney TsumTsum!Task Force 141

And nooooo, It's not April Fool's post. I'm dealing with art block rn soooo... I decided to post something cute! Such as except, I'll try to post on Mondays, maybe a week or two, who knows? (Price has a cigar yes). I should probably do the others... *thinking* Bonus! Soap with my oc, Sigma!

Hope you like it! (ノ*°▽°*) <3

[notviise]

“Too Sweet” by Hozier is soo GhostSoap coded.

[felrija]

Sketch commission based on that one kdrama scene

Literally in cod hell and I can't get out 🧍‍♀️

(That's my art he's looking at btw lmao)

[tobascoart]

gym buddies

[iifishizzleii]

princesstiana!reader and princenaveen!gaz.

major points: black reader

rapunzel!reader and flynnrider!soap.

major points: (non-physical) abusive themes

lady!reader and tramp!price.

major points: n/a

anna!reader and kristoff!ghost.

major points: enemies to lovers??? (maybe🎅🏾)

no idk if that’s how the ‘!’ is used and i don’t care😛. BUT i do have plans and i do have motivation SO.

[guakamoleboi]

I don't remember if I posted this before hah

But I saw those sketches while looking at older art

and i think that I need to start posting more of my sketches lol

I love this kitty from the last one, they look like Soap from Call Of Duty, so I decided to draw kitty Soap

[kitkatscabinet]

KINKTOBER 03 - Drugged

John Mactavish x f! Reader

Warnings: non-con, drugged reader, delulu Soap. This is fucked up. For @bunnyreaper <3

Your head was pounding, mouth full of cotton as you attempted to gain your bearings through squinted eyes. Any attempts to sit up are met with immediate and violent protest from your body. The world lurches and you practically fall in a boneless heap against the mattress.

In your brief struggle to orient yourself, the blanket covering what you realise is your naked body, had slipped down to your waist. Exposing bare skin covered in various bruises and bite marks.

Horror seized your body, bile filling your mouth as your still fuzzy mind caught onto the implications of what had happened. Tears filled your eyes, blurring your already fuzzy vision, as you desperately tried to recall what had happened.

Despite your best efforts you remember nothing but arriving at the small party that had been thrown in your honour. A recent promotion had come your way, something that required you to transfer bases, thus the joint celebratory/farewell party.

Had you really gotten so drunk that you’d fallen into bed with someone? Unfortunately, the door opens before you have time to properly gather your thoughts. Your visions still not the best but as the figure gets closer you manage to make out a few distinguishing features.

“Mactavish?” The hoarseness of your voice leaves you cringing a little. He’s close enough that you can see his brow furrow, bottom lip jutting out slightly in a pout.

“Thought I told ye to call me Johnny.” He sets what you now realise to be a glass of water and plate of some sort of breakfast down on the small wooden bed side table as her perched on the mattress. “How’re you feelin?” He raises a hand to gently cup your cheek, blue eyes gazing adoringly into yours.

To say you’re confused is an understatement. You and John Mactavish didn’t exactly run in the same circles, more than acquaintances but certainly less than friends. Even if his eyes did seem to intensely focus on you whenever he was near.

“What? What happened?” You manage to get out, just barely managing to prevent yourself from flinching at his touch. His frown deepens even further at your words, hand dropping from your cheek and your heart begins to pound.

“You don’t remember?” There’s a palpable hurt in his tone. Not good. Even in your unnaturally lethargic state, your instincts are screaming.

Bits and pieces had come back to you, but trying to remember felt like staring directly at the sun. Though you do remember leaving with Soap, his concerned blue eyes flashing in the forefront of your mind at your drunkenness. “I… everything’s a little blurry, remind me?”

“Ye had a bit too much to drink, I brought you home, sobered you up.” His words are clearly not the entire truth, the evidence of what he’d done painfully evident on your skin. He must realise what your silence met as he continued on with a smile as if there was nothing wrong.

“Wanted to wait till you were awake for our first time, but you were so gorgeous lying there, teasing me in yer sleep tha’ I couldna help myself.” He apologised, pressing loving kisses on the inside of your forearm.

You want to scream. Tears already sliding down your cheeks at the verbal confirmation of what you already knew.

Warm hands are instantly cupping your cheeks, attempting to wipe your tears before your face is peppered with kisses. There’s slight alarm in his tone as he says “don’t cry lass, hate to see your pretty face covered in tears that aren’t from pleasure. It’s ok.”

Suddenly the blanket, your only shield, is thrown away and John’s mass is on top of you. “If I’d known you’d be so upset about forgetting our first time then I’d have waited. Let me make it up to ya lass.” With that he’s dipped his head down to claim a nipple between his teeth.

You screech, uselessly weak arms attempting to shove his head away as your panic reaches an all time high. He simply huffs through his nose in amusement, and to your horror let’s out a satisfied groan as your nails scrape against his scalp.

He lifts his head abruptly to claim your lips in an open mouthed kiss. It’s an aggressive clash of teeth and spit as his tongue greedily darts into your mouth. He takes your moment of surprise to bury his already hard cock in your ill prepared pussy. His mouth swallowing your surprised shriek of slight pain as he pants in bliss.

He sets a brutal pace immediately, giving you no chance to adjust as his hips piston relentlessly. Soap only pulls away from your mouth to babble a string of expletives as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder.

“S’fuckin perfect, so pliant and perfect for me, sucking me in where I belong” he grunts, hands gripping bruises into your hips. You’re powerless to do anything but take it, shaky arms scratching at his chest only eliciting a laugh.

To your horror, the pain doesn’t last, your body betraying your minds will as one hand snakes down to roughly press on your clit. His thumb moves in slow circles, greatly contrasting the increasing speed of his thrusts as he mouths at any available skin he can reach.

Involuntarily you moan, clenching down on him as the assault of pleasure becomes too much.

“There’s my good girl, doing so well f’me” Johnny's voice is a little strained, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest as his movements falter. “Need you to cum for me lass” he grunts, and before you can attempt to stop yourself, you do, eyes fluttering shut as you whine pathetically loud.

The feel of your tight walls clenching down on him even harder proves too much for Soap and the dismayed cry you let out at feeling his cum full you is overpowered by his groans.

The sound of the door opening has your eyes shooting open, a sliver of hope filling you as someone else steps in. John on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care about the intrusion, his hips continuing to move as he overstimulates the both of you.

As the figure steps closer you finally recognise Ghost, though all your hopes are cruelly snuffed out when he speaks. “Johnny you done? People will get suspicious soon.”

You didn’t think you could spiral into even more despair but Ghost’s words shatter you. Soap is decidedly very unhappy with the news, though mercifully he pulls away, letting your body rest.

Seeing the devastation on your face Soap frowned, leaning down to place a loving kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry bonnie, I’ll be back soon, and then we’ll discuss your attempt at leaving me.” With that he followed Ghost from the room, locking the door behind him and leaving you to your despair.