#john soap mactavish

[ramvur]

good morning

[guhbwuh2]

this is so stupid I'm sorry LMAO

[gloomwitchwrites]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSjHFAReU/

This TikTok lit a fire in me ,like just imagine it happening with the 141 and possibly Alejandro 🥲their reactions after they open the lunchbox

141 + Alejandro? Yes, please. Also, I absolutely adore this. I keep imagining reader angrily packing their lunchbox and muttering under their breath but still thinking "goddamn it I love this man" and "this'll show him." Like, we might be upset with them because of the argument but we aren't sacrificing their nutrition over it.

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

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, married life, swearing, arguments, brief suggestive themes, light angst, fluff

Word Count: 2k

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

John Price

John is alone in his office.

There’s a pile of paperwork on his desk. Files. Photos. Unfinished reports. It’s never-ending, and it’s the least favorite aspect of his job. John would rather be out in the field or back home with you.

But going home feels a bit daunting. The fight the two of you had last night was the worst one, not that there are lots of fights to begin with. With heated words exchanged, the two of you argued until you were both red in the face. You had stormed off, locked yourself away, and then John sat in silence for hours afterwords, staring at the wall.

All of that, and it was his unpacked lunch that broke him. You always pack it with filling food that keeps him going on the days that he’s not in the field and just sitting behind a desk. He loves the notes you leave inside, and how you always prank something in his meal that makes him chuckle.

But right now, all he can do is stare at the container before him, knowing there’s nothing inside it except what he packed himself last night.

“Damn it all,” he mutters, slowly tugging on the zipper, knowing it’s better to just face the measly meal than ignore it.

Yet as he opens up the container and glances inside, John finds something odd. Everything he packed last night is gone. In its place is what he’s always come to expect.

Disbelief spreads as John removes container after container, opening each one in turn. How did you manage it? How did he not sense you getting out or even returning to bed in the night? How did he not hear you in the kitchen?

John leans back in his chair, staring at the spread before him.

Where’s the note?

Grabbing the bag, John checks, and finds nothing. He even opens up each food storage container, trying everything to see if you’ve tampered with it. And still, everything is fine.

Reaching for his phone, John opens his messages, and there—right there—is one from you.

Sorry. Forgot to pack a note. Love you.

John sighs heavily, tapping the phone against his forehead. All this stress, all this worry, and you still care about him.

Thank you, he texts back. I love you, too.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“I’m done talking about this.”

Johnny shakes his head, grabbing your upper arm to pull you back into the conversation. “And I’m not.”

You roll your eyes, but Johnny ignores the attitude. Whenever the two of you argue, it’s mostly frivolous nonsense that ends with the two of you fucking until the both of you are too exhausted to care about whatever you were arguing over in the first place.

This is not that sort of argument. The both of you are far too heated for this to devolve into rough kissing and even rougher sex.

“I know you’re angry,” replies Johnny. “But—”

“Let go, John.”

Johnny cringes on hearing his government name. You never call him John unless you’re looking to draw blood.

He releases your arm and steps away. “Fine. But this isn’t over. I’m not going to let this go. We have to talk about it.”

“And we will,” you sigh. “But I can’t—I can’t think. I need…space. Just…space.”

Johnny watches you walk away and hates every second of it. The feeling only worsens when he glances over and notices his empty lunch pail. You always prep it for him, making sure he’s fed. He likes that you do it. Makes him happy every time he opens it up on his lunch break.

But you’re raging mad, and it’s late.

Johnny is on his own.

With reluctance in every step and movement, Johnny fills the pail with all sorts of junk. It’s all snack food, but he hardly cares. If he has to, he’ll grab something while on break. When he’s done, he heads into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway.

You’re already in bed, covers pulled up over your head.

Johnny frowns but he doesn’t bother you, and when he finally rolls into bed, sleep alludes him for a solid hour before seizing him.

The morning isn’t much better. You’re still submerged under the covers and unresponsive. Johnny dresses for work in silence, grabs his lunch he packed in silence, and leaves the house in silence. He can’t even bring himself to turn on the radio or listen to his favorite music. Part of him is empty.

The day drags at the construction site, and when he finally—finally sits down to eat, he doesn’t want to open up his lunch pail and see the pathic meal he packed for himself.

“Fuck,” he mutters while pulling on the zipper and flipping the lid.

Johnny blinks, staring down at the food before him. Gone is the prepackaged snacks and junk food. There’s a homecooked meal in here along with several snacks, fresh fruit, and veggies. On top of it all is a small handwritten note on heart-shaped pink paper.

I’m mad at you but I won’t let you starve.

He didn’t even hear you get up in the night.

Johnny’s eyes sting, and when he blinks to chase away a few tears, he realizes how stuffy his nose has become.

“Fuck,” he mutters, opening up the container of strawberries.

You’ve cut them into heart shapes.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon has been a grump all day.

Doesn’t matter that he wears a balaclava, and no one can see his face. He hasn’t cracked a single smile once. Any question asked is responded to with a grunt, and if he must speak at all, it’s nothing more than a one-word answer.

He’s not in the mood. His mind is elsewhere. All he can focus on is the fight the two of you had last night. Fights are rare but they’re always fierce, and you never back down during an argument. For Simon, it’s simultaneously attractive and frustrating.

“Up to trade anything, Lt?” Johnny saddles up to Simon, peering over his shoulder at his lunch pail.

The rest of the team teases him endlessly about the fact that you always pack Simon a lunch. They call it cute—domestic. But they’re also jealous. Johnny is always trying to barter and trade with him, and Simon always refuses.

Until today.

There is absolutely fucking nothing in his lunch pail except a protein bar and a bag of crisps. Simon packed his lunch last night while you went to bed after verbally chewing his head off. This time, Simon is willing to trade the whole thing, but he’s too proud to spend money on picking something up. He’d rather starve.

“Maybe,” answers Simon as he unzips the lid. “What you offering?”

Johnny’s eyebrows rise slightly. Simon never shares. Never.

Simon flips the lid over but doesn’t look.

Johnny leans forward, eyes widening. He whistles lowly. “Damn, Lt. Wifey hooked you up today.”

Frowning, Simon glances down and finds—not the lunch he packed himself—but one you packed for him.

“Changed my mind,” mumbles Simon, closing the lid and pushing the lunch pail away from Johnny’s reach.

“Changed your—” But Simon is already walking away, intending to enjoy his meal in peace. “Oi! Lt!”

Argument aside, you still got up early and put this together while he slept. For the first time today, Simon smiles.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle holds onto the lunch pail like a lifeline.

It’s such a silly hesitation. He already knows what he’ll find inside. He packed the damn thing.

Cup-o-Ramen. Plain crisps. An apple.

I don’t want to talk to you right now, Kyle.

Leave me alone. Give me some fucking space.

Even now the resentment and anger still lingers on Kyle’s tongue. For all the years you’ve been together, arguments have been few and far between. And even when there is a fight, the two of you talk it out until a solution is found. Neither of you like going to bed angry.

But last night was an atomic bomb. An explosion of dissent.

You broke off to the bedroom, slamming the door, and locking it behind you. Kyle ended up sleeping on the couch with nothing but a decorative pillow and a throw blanket that hardly covered his body.

After all the yelling, after all the back-and-forth and then your sudden disappearance, Kyle was left with two realities. One, you were pissed at him, and nothing was resolved. Two, you didn’t pack his lunch.

It’s the one thing Kyle loves most about working, knowing that you’ve put together something healthy and filling. The cute notes aren’t so bad either. But there was zero possibility that you’d pack him anything after that argument, so Kyle set to it, dumping stuff into the lunch pail before falling asleep on the sofa.

And now, here he is, sitting down for lunch and dreading the choices he made last night.

“Better get to it,” he sighs, tugging on the zipper.

When he flips the lid over, he’s momentarily stunned. Gone is the Cup-o-Ramen and plain crisps. The apple is still there, but it’s sliced and in its own container with some chocolate spread on the side of dipping. You’ve replaced it all with sealed containers. Pasta. A salad with homemade dressing.

And on top of it all, a sticky note.

I’m mad but I love you.

Kyle’s trepidation vanishes. He chuckles as he picks the note up and presses it to his lips.

Everything is fine.

Everything will be okay.

Bonus: Alejandro Vargas

When you and Alejandro fight, it’s explosive.

If something doesn’t break from being thrown, it breaks because you and him were fucking like animals on it.

Last night wasn’t a simple disagreement. You threw a shoe at him, and when Alejandro knocked it out of the air and kept going, you threw a pillow, and then attempted to throw the lamp. All in vain. He had yanked the lamp out of your hand, had it back on the end table, and tossed you onto the bed in a matter of seconds.

It was just pure need after that. All carnal lust.

After all the energy and anger vanished, Alejandro was left staring up at the ceiling as you dozed beside him. Nothing was resolved. Nothing was fixed.

And when he woke up late and rushed out the door, he didn’t even think about that fact that you hadn’t packed his lunch. Alejandro grabbed the container, brought it with him out of pure fucking habit.

Not, it stares back at him, and he doesn’t know if he should even open it. Not like you got up in the night and packed it. Alejandro would have woken up if you had crawled out of bed in the middle of the night and returned much later.

No. No.

He won’t find anything in here. Nothing. A shame really. He’s going to have to convince someone to go out and grab something for him, or hope someone brought something to drop off in the break room.

Alejandro swears under his breath and then opens the damned lid.

He expects nothing, and yet, it’s not empty. For a second, everything freezes, and then Alejandro isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. Inside is easily enough food for two. You’ve packed it to the brim, and as he explores, he even finds your homemade tortillas.

“Is this an apology?” he asks out loud, as if you’ll pop into appearance and answer.

There isn’t any note, and there isn’t a single message from you on his phone. Either you’re waving a white flag, or you’re still angry, but not angry enough to allow him to go hungry.

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[littlelunababi]

Dating Mctavish 🧼

I imagine he’d be just a bit tame at first. He didn’t want to scare you off with his antics. He’d be a gentleman nonetheless. He’d hold and open doors, help you with your heels, all the works because he’s in love.

He would then, start getting comfortable, and you’d see he’s a bit of a tease and an asshole, but you love it though. It’s kinda cute when he does it.

I also feel like he’d be handy and handsy. The door is squeaking? No problem, but he WILL grab a handful of your ass on the way to fix it. And on the way back to grab his tools, after seeing what he needed. And when he finished. And when he went to put his tools away.

I also feel like he’d be the type to DOG you out and count that as one round, and be ready to go again. Like- you cannot tell me his drive and stamina are not high.

He would have your hands pinned above your head, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you into the broken bed. He’d bite your neck and lips before kissing you. He’d mutter in his accent too, “ya feel tha? Yeah? It’s makin’ ya drool Bonnie”, and trust he licked it right up too.

After you both came, he would slide between your legs and eat you quite literally like a starved dog. You’d grip his hair trying to pull him away, your cunt raw and sensitive but nothing is stoping this man, not unless you actually tell him to and you haven’t so.. womp womp.

Later, you’d be lying with your legs spread, letting the air cool your freshly cleaned body and sore cunt. He’d be grinning at you. Not at all sorry at your state and quite ready to worsen it. Yes, he’s addicted, and no, he can’t get enough, and yes he is a hound about it.

One thing he would LOVE though, is when you’re both in bed, and you ask him stories about some of his missions. More so, the blowing up bits. His eyes always sparkled a little when talking about it.

A cute little pyro-puppy 🥹

[lanialania00]

Soap is going to kill Ghost again

[aary-soap]

he wants that cookie so damn bad

[quarterlifekitty]

Thoughts on matrimony vs reality

Gaz spends a lot of his life thinking about what his image of a family is, and what it's supposed to be. Getting married seems inevitable because it's the done thing, so it must be good, right? But I think he may very well end up in a lifelong relationship that doesn't need a label or a legal binding. You just are what you are, and it's no one else's business. And he derives great pleasure from reminding people of that. Man's gotta have his secrets.

Price changes the most over the course of his life. He says he doesn't believe in divorce, says they promised for better or for worse until death, but he definitely can't hack it with the first marriage. Too young, too wet behind the ears, doesn't have his priorities in order-- he thinks of the relationship as accessory to his work, that he'd always want to be a hero above anything else. By the time the second rolls around, he's a much wiser man, not keen on the same mistakes. And he cherishes like you wouldn't believe. Nothing will drag him away. He's served the world long enough, it can wait. Phone is turned off and buried in a drawer once he walks in the front door.

Johnny fucks around a lot, but it's only because he's waiting for magic, for fate. He doesn't get serious with the people he fools around with because he knows one day he'll feel the spark, and that will be that. True love. Soul mates. The problem is that he's had false alarms. Too many to count. Too quick to read subtext that isn't there. So when he tells his mates about how you're the one, they really don't think you'll last for more than a few months. But he surprises everyone. Simon may be the best man at the wedding, but he only really realizes you're here to stay at child #2.

Simon does not think he'll ever get married because life has taught him that love and wanting are crimes that reap only punishment of the cruelest order. But one day, against all odds, he finds himself in love and in a bind. Some slight, some stupid mistake that could break what you have together completely, and it's his fault. He's always been one to let relationships go once they get too hard. But for the first time, he's scared that this could be the end. And that fear overcomes all others when he blurts out marry me, unplanned and with no ring, in the midst of a row.

[heymurada]

Dumb joke comic I had to color

[cod-dump]

Gaz: Who would you say is the worst gossip here?

Soap: Price

Gaz: *snorts*

Soap: I'm not joking, I heard him filling in Ghost on the shit his neighbors get into when he's on leave. Like he couldn’t even wait to tell him

Gaz: Like you don't do the same after visiting home

Soap: I share delectable information about my sister's latest boyfriend, Price has murder theory board about the lady that lives next to him

Gaz: *wheezes*

[alfiestreacle]

real

the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object

[void-my-warranty]

18+ gender neutral reader

Teasing Soap because it’s fun.

Pretending to cuddle, absently running your fingers up and down his soft cotton shirt, feeling his abs tighten on their own every time your hand drifts lower.

Ignoring his half chub to make little comments about what’s on TV, how much you dislike how that person pronounces that word. Playing with the bottom hem of his shirt, letting the backs of your knuckles skim slowly back and forth across his happy trail.

You’re too good of an actor because he genuinely doesn’t know you’re doing it on purpose. He’s too much of a gentleman to ask you to touch him, but it feels too good to ask you to stop, so he just takes it. Stays hard and neglected and riveted on every movement of your hand, every smile and innocent flash of your eyes in his direction.

Burrowing your fingers in those soft hairs covering his belly, mindlessly petting and stroking him like you would a cat. Casual enough that he can convince himself he’s making it up in his own head. Slow enough that it gets his cock twitching and his body restlessly fidgeting.

Finally he realizes he’s let it go on too long. If he says anything about it now, he’ll just look like some gross pervert who’s been taking unwarranted pleasure from this for the last half hour. He has to hold out. There’s nothing he can do but helplessly stay in place under your hand, and hope a random thought about having sex will spontaneously pop into your head if he thinks about it desperately enough.

He practically chokes when you turn to him with soft eyes and ask, “Johnny, do you want to… get us a snack?”

The disappointment. The incredulous, rapid blinks of those feverish eyes. He thought you were going to ask something entirely different, and it’s all you can do to keep your vaguely hopeful smile on your face when your chest wants to erupt with giggles.

“Yeah… sure.”

He clambers stiffly out of bed, and you have to plaster your eyes square onto the TV to have even a hope of missing his obvious erection.

He comes back with some very good snacks, and you simply can’t keep up the charade any longer. As soon as he’s settled in beside you with his poor, half-flagged hard on, you set the snacks aside and silently tug his sweatpants down, put your mouth where he needs it.

The noise your poor baby makes goes straight between your legs, and you shiver with your own arousal as you work to make up for all that suffering. 💙

[goatgoesmbe]

OK HEAR ME OUT YALL, the alternate universe of this

Alpha!Poly141 x Omega!reader

Where reader always had bad experience with alphas growing up. Whether it's from your own family or past relationships.

But despite the suppressants and all, you still need the presence of Alpha to soothe your needs.

Plus, suppressing your heat for a long time was unhealthy.

And so you approached them to fulfill your needs, but then left when you were done like nothing happened.

Simon probably appeared indifference, but you often found him lingering around you, observing you. Storm swirling behind dark eyes, a glimpse of the emotions held within.

John would be professional, thinking it was just something that had to be done to keep his soldiers in line, so you could focus on your job without worrying about stupid hormones. But you noticed how he seemed to care more despite what he said. He'd always whisper sweet nothing to your ear as he held you after a passionate sex, wake up before you just to observe your sleeping figure, and always prepared everything you need when your heat approaches.

Johnny is a whore would act casual about it, being the most laid back of them all, he'd give you the best fuck ever everytime you spend your heat with him. He also would probably brag about it to everyone else after, relishing the envious stares from the others. He didn't seem to take it to heart when you leave him alone in bed, and could still talk and flirt after like nothing happened. You appreciated that really, he was the best option out of the others because of it. That is, until one time you overheard Johnny fucking with someone in his quarters. Most of the time it was Simon, sometimes it was Kyle or together from the voices you heard. And you froze when you caught Johnny moaning out your name instead of them, they didn't seem to mind though.

Kyle would be the most devastating. He was such a total sweetheart, making love with you instead of giving you a quick fuck. He'd put it all during and after, making you feel loved. He'd look at you like you hung the moon as he took aftercare seriously. And looked like a kicked puppy when you push him away and leave. Trailing after you everywhere when he senses your distress. And of course, eventually he'd tug at your heart strings.

Maybe you'd keep your distance, maybe you'd make the distance bigger, closing your heart tighter to protect yourself from getting hurt.

But they would never give up.

[aary-soap]

Twisted dejavu

Inspired by this amazing fic “Mockingbird” and the og Ghost backstory comic

(Warning?? i guess??: Ghost comic images ahead)

Joseph based on the comic Joseph, and i noticed the little plane so had to add it ahahaha *cries* we love angst in this household 🫠

[minniture]

flord have merthy

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH Call of Duty: Modern Warfare III (2023)

[quarterlifekitty]

Lord!Johnny who detests the lot he’s drawn in life. He has no patience for propriety, for decorum. He just wants to be free— that’s all. To enjoy life and live without worry. He doesn’t realize how good he has it.

He fools around with you, one of the ladies in waiting, a respected member of the royal court. Cornering you in empty halls to kiss your neck and ruck his hands through your skirts.

You don’t want to deny him. Having his attention is nice. But you’ve told him before that you want to be courted properly— for this to be real.

And scoffs. Isn’t this real enough? You enjoy each other. That’s not anyone else’s business. Why ruin a good thing by playing some silly dating game for the pleasure of everyone else in the court? He likes things the way they are— free and easy. Enjoying you without any of the harsh expectations.

Enter Lord Riley, who was not born into this life. He earned his title, his lands, everything— through tears, sweat, and bloodshed in service of the crown. Men of such valiance are often offered to choose their reward, and he wants to be able to court any lady of his choosing. The other ladies are terrified— his skull mask and brooding demeanor, the lives he ended— not to mention the knowledge that he’s common born.

You don’t particularly care. Men have their reasons for doing such things. And you’ve found men born into wealth and titles are nothing spectacular themselves. So it should come as no surprise that he picks you out. And it seems he’s done his research.

Despite not being much for conversation, he is a perfect gentleman. You wonder if he would’ve treated a peasant girl so gently— and you have the feeling he would. He meets you at least once a week, has tea brought to the garden for you to sit with him. Your first kiss is in the hedge maze, backdropped by rose bushes. His hold on your waist was firm— like you were something he couldn’t bear to lose.

Needless to say, Johnny isn’t happy. You’ve been turning your nose up at him when he tries to pin you, batting his hands away from your skirts. Doesn’t take him long to find out why.

“So, some bloke with a scary mask waltzes in and suddenly yer done with me? Ah thought we had a good thing going, pigeon—“

“Maybe we did, but I’m not going to fool around while I’m being courted.” You know he hates that word.

“What’s he even got that ah don’t? I make ye feel good, don’t I?”

“He might marry me. That, and a million other reasons.”

“Marriage— what good is that? It’ll just tie ye down, bonnie, ye don’t wan’ that—“

“I do. I’m not like you, Johnny. My fortune won’t care for me forever. Men can get married as they please, but women— I only have so much time before no one wants me. Don’t you see that? And don’t try to tell me whatever was between us was going to be permanent. You would’ve left just as soon as someone else turned your head. That’s who you are.”

At the same time Johnny feels his heart start to bleed, Simon puts in a commission with the jeweler.