#john soap mactavish

[mellosdrawings]

Post-OP crash out rkgk

[quarterlifekitty]

cw: dubcon, manipulation, babytrapping?

You ask Alpha!Gaz to spend your heat with you because he’s so chill. He’s always treated you just like one of the guys— since day one. Never once mentioned your designation, because he doesn’t care about that kind of thing, right? So when you ask him why his teeth are at your throat he smiles and laughs like you’re being silly, and says “I’ve been courting you for as long as I’ve known you, love.”

You ask Alpha!Soap to spend your heat with you because he’s so promiscuous. He’s slept with everyone on base, no strings attached, no broken hearts— obviously he’s a man who knows how to keep it casual, right? But when you’re pressed against him, stuck on his knot, he’s rubbing your stomach and asking “How many pups ye want, bonnie? Ah was thinkin’ we’d have a proper big family.”

You ask Alpha!Ghost to spend your heat with you because he doesn’t really seem to like anyone. Not the type to form attachments. Won’t give any part of himself to anyone, right? But he keeps you prone and pinned with his massive body, oriented so he can watch the door, grunting “You’re mine now, understand? Anyone who tries to get between me and my mate s’gonna end up torn apart.”

You ask Alpha!Price to spend your heat with you because he’s your commanding officer. He’s always been calm, cool, and completely professional with you. He wouldn’t compromise the structure of the team over some biological event, right? But he’s panting, tongue soothing over the fresh mark in your neck, telling you he’ll have a talk with your landlord once your heat is over about breaking your lease. “Gotta get you moved in with me, darl’. Pups’ll need more space to run around. What color do y’want the nursery?”

You ask Alpha!Nikolai to spend your heat with you because you trust him, but you don’t exactly have a relationship. You work with him some of the time, and he’s a good man, but he lives across the globe. He wouldn’t disrupt his globetrotting lifestyle to settle down with some omega he barely knows, right? But he’s cooing honeyed words in your ear that you can’t understand, one hand pawing at your abdomen while the other is at your throat, rubbing your gland and bringing the blood to the surface in preparation for his bite. “Imagine the look on John’s face— when he sees I’ve poached his prettiest little sergeant for myself…”

[armacheart]

The most powerful man in the army

[mizushibart]

Just posted a new comic :3 Soap gets to meet his new surprise roommate :0 drawn as a result of April pool<3

[cobaltbeam]

Normal conversations to have on the plane

I'm also doing more cod art on Patreon!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi!!!! I'm currently indulging in your adorable fluff fics about our beloved COD men!! They are FREAKING ADORABLE.

Could you write one imagine with just pure cute, domesticated fluff? Like married life/life w kids or smth with TF141. I'm up for anything haha. It's okay if u don't want to ! 😄<33

I did have someone request domestic fluff not too long ago, but I couldn't help myself. I had to jump on your ask, anon, and write some more domestic fluff!! You can read that other domestic fluff imagines fic here. I incorporated some dad!141 here with Ghost and Price. The whole thing is just softness and sweetness. Enjoy!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: domestic fluff, dad!Price, dad!Simon

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

This isn’t John’s thing, but he’ll do it for his daughters.

John sits at one end of the table while you sit on the other, your two daughters seated on either side. His three favorite girls are all dressed up. You’re decked out in a witch’s outfit, something you found stowed away in a storage bin. His two daughters with you are dressed up like their Dungeons & Dragons characters. One, a wood elf ranger. The other, a half-elf cleric.

John isn’t dressed up, but from the character sheet you’ve put in front of him, his name is Gurlak, a half-orc barbarian. Rip and tear. Punch and smash. Easy. He can do that.

Family board game night has become Dungeons & Dragons night. The girls’ school started a club, and now they’ve brought it home, completely obsessed with it.

“From the dark,” you begin, lowering your voice. The girls lean in, eyes wide. “Yellow eyes peer back at you.”

The girls giggle, the youngest bouncing in her chair.

John smiles, and sighs with contentment. He wishes every night could be like this.

Your hands raise high above you, and then smack against the table. The girls jump, startled.

“Roll initiative!”

John "Soap" MacTavish

It’s early, and Johnny is determined. Upstairs, your alarm is off, silenced on purpose.

Before him on the kitchen counter is everything he needs to prepare breakfast. Eggs, bacon, batter for pancake and waffles, fresh fruit, shredded potatoes—an endless list of items that covers the granite countertop in a sea of colorful boxes and containers.

With the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips, Johnny begins warming pans and popping slices of bread into the toaster. He melts into the work, slicing fruit, placing bacon in the pan to sizzle. Johnny’s minds drifts, and with his back turned to the stove, he doesn’t notice the bacon fat as it urges toward flame.

It’s the whiff of something burning that distracts him from turning a strawberry into a flower. Then the shriek of the smoke detector.

“Hells,” he mutters, snagging the smoking pan and dumping it into the sink. He opens the window.

“What’s happening?” You rub at your eyes, sleep lacing your tone.

Johnny shrugs sheepishly. “Making you breakfast? Burning the house down?”

You blink, and then laugh, rushing to turn the vent fan on, the two of you laughing as you clear the house of smoke.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle awakens in the dark. Immediately, without even having to turn over, he knows you’re not in bed. That familiar weight is missing.

With a slight twist, Kyle reaches out, finding only coldness. Stretching, Kyle sits up, glancing around the silent bedroom. All is still and dark. The bathroom door is cracked, but the light isn’t on. Slowly, with sleep still clinging to his muscles, Kyle guides himself from bed, heading for the door. Out in the hall, he walks toward the living room, knowing that you might be curled up on the sofa, completely absorbed in a book.

But you are not on the sofa with your book and blanket.

Kyle finds you in the kitchen, the double doors of the refrigerator standing open, the harsh light bathing you in its glow.

“Midnight snack?” asks Kyle.

You pop your head out from around the door, chewing on something. Kyle snorts and saunters over, coming up behind you. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he places his chin on your shoulder.

“Willing to share?” he murmurs.

“Not if it’s ice cream,” you reply.

Kyle smiles, and places a kiss your neck. You lean into him, and Kyle pulls you closer.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Dinner is always chaotic, but everyone sits at the table.

Simon forks up some of his lasagna, popping it into his mouth as he grabs the plate of his youngest. Using the child-size plastic knife and fork, he starts hacking away at her portion of lasagna, cutting it into smaller pieces. She watches, pointing and directing while chewing on her garlic bread when she thinks Simon isn’t cutting the pieces small enough for her liking.

The two middle children fuss and argue at each other from across the table. They both want the bottle of salad dressing, but only one manages to snag it before the other. She shakes the bottle, pops the tab, and a massive wad of ranch splatters across her plate. Her sister laughs in her face, and then complains loudly when half of the smeared ranch ends up on her plate.

Simon glances up, finds you in conversation with the oldest as she shows off her report card. His heart flips, surges, becomes so full that it’s prone to bursting. Most of his life, a family seemed a distant, unobtainable dream. But surrounding him is all he cares about in this world.

He couldn’t be happier.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @xllizs @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet @tessakate @mistresssolana

[gomzdrawfr]

YEAH YEET

[mellounir]

I'm a fool for lingering touches and stolen glances

[lanialania00]

werewolfau where Ghost doesn’t know that Soap is a werewolf but notices strange things about him

[softaestluv]

Johnny who makes it everyone else’s problem that he hasn’t got laid in weeks, that he’s so fucking pent up he can feel it in his teeth. Won’t stop his Scottish whining that his hand isn’t enough, needs a warm cunt to fuck or he’ll go insane.

So, you take one for the team, let him fuck all his pent up cum inside of you because you don’t think you can hear another description of how sad his hand feels. Hope to get him to shut the hell up.

But now he just won’t stop whining about needing to fuck your cunt.

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

This is soooo Soap. I can't. 🤣

[quarterlifekitty]

Hi! I don't know how to particularly phrase this, but how do you think the COD guys would react if reader bought a toy for themselves while their partner was on deployment? Hope this makes sense lol! :)

you know for a split second i read this and was like "lol you mean like a rubik's cube???"

Gaz isn't jealous because you're fucking plastic. He's jealous because you didn't ask him to help you pick one out. Next time he's deployed, you'll have a whole drawer prepared of things he wants you to use. Hand picked. Maybe a tripod for your phone, too.

Soap is jealous because you're fucking plastic, but if you're sending videos... he can't really bring himself to complain, to be honest. And I hope you're ready to share when he gets back.

Ghost doesn't mind, but he's an opportunistic man. So when he gets home, he's going to have you crying on that fucking toy. Condescending you, saying "thought you liked your little friend, luvie. Why're you beggin' me t'stop now?"

Price is an educated man. He knows about the time honored tradition of the he's-at-home. His only condition is that once he's back, it goes back into the drawer, banished until he leaves again.

Nikolai is perhaps the most secure in it. He views your pleasure the same as your eating, drinking, warmth... He would love to be able to provide it for you all of the time, but he can't, so he'll make sure you're able to take care of all of your needs while he's away. He probably buys you a toy when he's expecting to leave before you even think to do it yourself. He also recognizes that different tools have different applications. Sometimes you just need something light and quick to get to sleep and wake up bright and early... and Nikolai's cock is not the kind of thing you can take and expect to wake up at 8AM and go on with your life afterwards.

[cicadabeats]

Tis the season to go all out

[darkbunnylove]

Task Force 141 finding out Reader has a crush on them

(mainly fluff but also angst because balance)

You thought you were playing it cool. Emphasis on thought. The glances that linger a little too long, the way your body seems to magically gravitate toward them. Barely noticeable, right? Yeah, maybe not so much. Because feelings like that? Oh, they have a way of showing, sweetheart. And once Task Force 141 catches on? Well, let’s just say you’ve got their full attention now.

Soap stays subtle about it for exactly one week. Conveniently, that’s also the same week he figures out you’ve got a soft spot for him. After that, subtlety goes right out the window. Not necessarily because he falls in love easily, but because he’s been working on catching your attention for months now. Laughing a bit too loud at your jokes? Check. Casual hand brushes? Yup. Memorizing the exact creak your boots make when you walk down the hallway? You bet!

So when he finds out you’re actually into him too? This man doubles down immediately. So much you even start finding little sketches of your face tucked into random notebooks. Oh, and of course, Gaz’s in on it too, sending him updates like: “Rec room. Alone. Go.” and “Laundry bay. Casual. Fold something, I don’t know.”

And sure enough, Soap just happens to bump into you. Constantly. Every day. Always asking if you’ve got time for a coffee. A walk. A chat. Already busy? No problem, how about tomorrow? Oh and while he’s at it, what about dinner this weekend? He’s definitely in too deep to pretend it’s casual now.

Gaz would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little smug about knowing you liked him. Not cocky, just very, very pleased. Well, maybe a little unbearable. But how could he not be? A dream like you, being all sweet on him? It’s taking everything in him not to grin like an idiot every time you look his way.

And the idea of you at his side? Of getting to introduce you like “Yeah, I pulled that. Can you believe it?” It makes his chest go so warm he doesn’t know how long he can take it. So he asks for your number through a friend and tries to play it casual. Then he spends too long staring at the message field, debating how many y’s to add to “hey,” or if he should just play it safe with “hi.”

But it’s alright, because soon you’re texting each other every day. Evenings turn into FaceTime calls. He lies on his back in bed, smiling like a fool while you talk about your day. Sometimes you fall asleep mid-call. But he never hangs up first. And during the day? Gaz always seems to show up right when you need a break. Leaning against your office door, telling some ridiculous story that makes you laugh until it hurts. You tell him he’s impossible. He tells you it’s your fault for laughing. Yeah. You’ve got him. Completely.

Ghost, unfortunately, is not so great about it. At least not at first. When he finds out you’ve got a crush on him, his stomach actually drops. Because there is just no fucking way, right? Not someone like you. Not for him. It has to be a mistake. And if he gives in? He’ll ruin it. He knows he will.

So instead of lingering near you, he does the opposite. He avoids you. For weeks. And every time you do bump into each other, he barely says a word. So you’ve already convinced yourself he’s just not interested. And Ghost? Ghost is convincing himself that staying away is the right thing. Until one night. Maybe it’s stupid but fuck, when he sees you on that hookup app, looking good, too good, and open for something casual, he can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t. But he sends a message anyway. You meet. And a single night slips into hours. Into heat. Into skin against skin...Perfect, right?

No. It eats him alive. Because now he’s sure you think that’s all he wants. That you’ll never know how deep this thing runs for him. He avoids you for another week. Can’t look you in the eye. Until one Saturday morning, he shows up at your door. Apologizing with flowers in hand and everything he can manage to say out loud.

Price doesn’t quite let himself believe you like him. A sweet thing like you? Surely you’ve got admirers. Someone better. Someone not so... worn down. And god, how old were you, anyway?

No, he doesn’t avoid you, but he overcorrects without meaning to. Careful with every word, every glance. Because he refuses to assume. Refuses to risk making you uncomfortable. So everything stays safe. Neutral. Professional. He says things like “Forecast says rain, tonight.” Meanwhile, he’s thinking about the way you laughed at his dumb joke four days ago. Later. Alone. While smoking. Definitely spiraling.

Then, one night at the pub, your people drift off until it’s just the two of you. Maybe you’re sitting a little too close now. Maybe you’ve both had a little too much to drink. He starts to pull away, because he thinks he should. That’s when another man says something. You laugh, just to be polite. Not into it. But still, it stings. So Price moves before he thinks. One step, then he’s there, hand at your lower back. “You alright, love?” he asks. “C’mon, time to go home.” And by home, he means his of course.

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon Riley is a nudist

And hear me out with this one, okay?

Simon loathed clothes. Ever since birth, he couldn’t stand wearing them. Tight shirts felt suffocating, clinging in all the wrong places, while loose shirts bunched up every time he sat down, irritating his skin like sandpaper. Socks made his toes feel trapped. Jeans? Felt like leg prisons.

So as he got older and lonelier, finally getting a place to call his own, he took full advantage of the one thing he had control over: being bare. Naked, free, relaxed. It was like finally exhaling after holding his breath for years.

He slept nude, cooked nude, cleaned nude, and lounged nude. If a neighbor caught a glimpse through the blinds? So be it. This was his damn house. His sanctuary.

He never had a problem with it… until he got a partner.

Simon didn’t really get the memo at first either. He didn’t think you’d mind. You were his, after all. And besides, he trusted you enough to be comfortable in his own skin and scars. And at first, you said nothing. You were happy he felt that at ease around you. Proud even.

But there came a point. A moment where things tipped.

A point where you could no longer ignore the way his balls quite literally stared at you while you were trying to eat lunch. A point where his nuts were uncomfortably pressed against your back at night because he liked to sleep curled around you. Hell, you could barely take him seriously during conversations not when all you could see was his ass swaying as he turned to grab something off the counter.

Still, you let it slide. Until that day.

Your friend was over, and Simon: tired from work and on autopilot made his way inside, tugging off his shirt, undoing his belt, already stepping out of his cargo pants and down to his boxers. The same boxers he was about to take off when he walked into the living room… and froze.

Silence.

Your friend’s face was a picture of horror. Yours was painted in full body embarrassment. Simon? Confused, holding the waistband in his hand.

That was it. The final straw.

You sat him down that night and had the talk.

“Look, Simon. I love you but can you at least wear boxers around the house?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like having to see your ass when I eat. And I can’t take you seriously when you’re butt naked trying to lecture me about safety knives.”

“What’s wrong with my ass?”

Eventually, he relented. He agreed to boxers. And it worked. Peace was restored. You had no further complaints.

Until he got an idea. A plan.

What if he converted you?

It started subtle. He hid a few of your shorts. Nothing major. And soon you were walking around the house in nothing but your panties and one of your shirts. Then he escalated. Began hiding your shirts too. But you simply grabbed his, oversized and soft.

So he played dirty.

He ordered some itching powder off the internet. Just adding a little sprinkle in your shirts, his too: he had to sell the lie. And sure, you could just wash them. But that took hours. Hours you’d be bare.

So when you said you were hopping in the shower, he smiled and sat back.

The door swung open as you stomped out of the bedroom, frustration written all over your face.

“Ugh! Everything I wear is uncomfortable and itchy!” you whined, dumping handfuls of clothes into the washer with enough force to shake the drum.

Simon sat on the couch, arms behind his head, casual as ever. “What I’ve been sayin’, love. Clothes are the curse of people.”

You pouted, flopping down beside him with crossed arms. “Maybe I’ll just go nude like you.”

His grin stretched wide, wolfish and smug.

“Would never say no to that.”

And from that day on, the conversion was complete.

You were barefoot, panty clad, and happy. No shirt, no pants, no problem. Sunlight touched your bare skin as you made breakfast, as you lay in his arms on the couch, skin to skin. You slept bare chest to bare chest with him every night, feeling every steady breath and heartbeat. It was peaceful. Intimate. Freeing.

Until you found the itching powder tucked behind some boxes in the closet.

You almost laughed.

Sneaky bastard.

You should’ve been mad. But you weren’t. You just smiled to yourself, grabbed the bottle, and poured a little bit into his boxers.

Let’s see how he liked it.

Might write more for theses two if I have any ideas since I liked making this