#og mw2

[garyroachsandersonsbf]

i got a little distracted…

[h3llh0vnd]

chupi chupi chapa chapa rubi rubi raba raba

[killingbill]

Roach Tells Soap how he got his name 🧍‍♂️😭

sfw, mw2 09, captain mactavish x roach sanderson

It's quiet. A typical scenario where Roach was concerned. His hands are on either side of the sink, though without the gloves nor the bulk of his vest he looked a lot smaller. Yet, somehow they all looked a little more human without the gear.

The soldier is tipped off to Mactavish's presence from the moment he creaks open the door. The small bit of light peering into the dark space, or his visage roughly reflected in streaked mirror.

"Ye never told me how y'got yer name, in the first place."

The man tenses, a bit. He's not sure if he wants to speak, but he decides that it's better not to deny his captain. Besides, he'd never asked before -- and with their previously shared intimacy, it may be rude not to.

He exhales.

" . . . i survived an' es'plosion." Roach replies, watching with a soft anxiety settling in his chest as the captain comes in fully.

He softly latches the door behind him.

"S'that right, now?" He asks, lumbering up behind Gary.

"Mm. Yessir." Roach replies, easing backward slightly. His form relaxing.

"An' how'd ye manage t'do that?" Johnny asks, head over Gary's shoulder as he leans in real close. His strong arms bracketing the soldier's hips, while the heels of his palms press against the porcelain.

Gary clears his throat.

"Well, I was th'only one 'ho go' ou'." He shrugs, crossing his arms as he leans back against Soap's chest.

"Crawled inta' an open air-ven' n' closed the grate. Er, more like jumped fer m'life, but... it didn' folla' me."

"Smart man." Soap nods. "Knew I was smart in pickin' ya."

Roach blushes in the soft yellow light as Soap's lips caress the base of his jaw.

"When th'choppa came fer' m'exfil, they said i was unkillable. jus' like a bloody roach, i was."

"Mm. Well tha' explains the scars." Soap mumbles, pushing his hips up into Gary's, while fingers curl just a little bit tighter around the sink's edge.

The man in-front exhales, with his head falling to one side.

He's referring to the burn scars on Roach's face, and hands -- close to his jaw. Ones Gary looks at with a lidding of his hooded eyes.

"Mm." Is all he says in response. " -- Sir." He tacks it on for good measure.

Of course, he doesn't divulge the blast of flames that licked his skin as he closed said grate. He hadn't been sure if the tight channel was going to be enough to save him.

Seemed self explanatory.

"Well jus' keep it up, will ye' -- i ain't losin' ye on my bloody watch, that's fer sure." Soap mumbles between kisses.

"... S'why we ended up t'gether..." Roach says this unexpectedly. "Los' my old team."

Soap's head rises from the crook of Gary's neck, and he looks up at their reflections in the mirror. There's a bit of a smile that crosses rugged features, at that.

"Well, welcome t'the family, Roach. I'll make sure they take real good care a' ya."

[unmotivatedartistry]

🧼 click for better quality i guess 🧼

"i'm a good artist I swear captain soap mactavish for scale😿😿😿"

anyway something possessed me a little bit while I was playing with whiteboard. should I do something in this coloring style again??

[omgwowhahah]

Me going on a rant to my boyfriend about the entire OG Modern Warfare story. I be out here like “and the conversation with Price and Shepard at the beginning of Contingency-“ and then proceed to quote the entire thing. “-and then he says -looks like we lost our connection- BUT he actually HUNG UP on Shepard’s crusty ass.”

[bluegiragi]

leather and lace

early access + nsfw on patreon

[yooo-lets-go]

Not made to last

[cristaq]

Old and retired og pricesoap but Price falls prey to Alzheimer’s and he is in Soap’s care. Price often forgets who Soap is so he has to point out their wedding bands as proof of them being husbands. Price always stares in disbelief, having a hard time imagining himself brave enough to be married to a man. His younger self used to struggle a lot with sexuality.

When the name John MacTavish doesn’t ring a bell, the Scot hopes that the name Soap might help joggle the old man’s memory. Price huffs. “Soap? What kind of name is Soap anyways?” The answer brings tears to Soap's eyes. Maybe the man before him hasn’t actually changed much.

The daughter they have adopted together visits often and tries to help in any way. But Soap hates to burden her youth by caring for old people.

But it’s all worth it for the small moments of clarity. “I will always remember you… No matter how many times I forget. I love you.” Price says. “The moment I won’t be able to do so, put me down. That’s not me anymore, love.”

As the disease progresses, dementia sets in and the tantrums become more frequent, to the point that it breaks Soap’s spirit. They had a good thing. Thirty happy years after the end of the war together. But there is not much to do now. Price always hated feeling helpless. His doctors approve the use of assisted suicide.

The moment I won’t be able to remember you, put me down. That’s not me anymore, love.

[bravo666]

mdni • price x f!reader

captain price has a ritual and his men know better than to disturb. every time 141 gets back from an op and rumbles back to hereford, they unload, debrief, file the necessary reports and then some, all that dreary bureaucracy that needs to be done within the first couple hours of touching back onto english soil. and then, at the first opportunity, he fucks off. captain’s privilege, he says.

the others do too—on the town or to the bunks or to their own flats or wherever—but price never joins them. he has his own destination in mind and it’s a solo journey, so quit nosing about trying to find out, sergeant. he’s only ever gone for a few hours, six at the most, before he rolls on back to base, squares his shoulders, and throws himself back into work. at least he always seems a bit lighter when he comes back.

said destination is a pub not one, not two, but three villages over. the further from base, the less likely it is for him to run into one of his men, and he’d just hate it if that happened, would feel like a dog dragging mud in through the garden door, crossing his wires. he might not like it about himself, but john price is a greedy and selfish man, and the pretty little thing that’s been tending bar for the past few years is a morsel that he wants to keep all to himself, cradled in his jaw and savored.

the dingy pub is nondescript and uncreative, a local establishment that’s been around since anyone can remember and hadn’t changed a whit. price found the place back when he was first made captain and started looking for further out watering holes, looking for some peace and quiet away from the places where the recruits drank. he almost wrote the place off his lists of spots before he saw the flustered young bartender duck in for her shift.

since then, he’s been a regular—for a given value of ‘regular’, as much as a military man can be—ever since. started swapping conversation after the third or fourth visit. polite conversation turned friendly, then raucous with laughter, then warm and teasing.

that’s as far as he let’s it go, naturally. with a job like his, he’s married to his work; there’s no room, no time in his life for a sweet little wife, no matter what he dreams at night with his cock fisted in his grip or whose face he happens to see play the role. he tried the whole wife thing once, chased after it, even, and all price has to show for it is an alimony payment set to automatically go out every month.

(his ex-wife couldn’t handle him in the end. she was the type of woman who needed him at every hour to keep her love alive and couldn’t stomach the weeks alone while he was deployed, and even when price was home, she didn’t have an appetite to match his when he slipped himself off his leash. they both jumped into it without looking ahead. such is life.)

so he ignored the hungry need for a woman beside him, and even if he ever did go down that route again, it couldn’t be her. she’s young and bright and untouched by blood. playful flirting and occasional brushes of fingers hovered somewhere plausibly deniable as a service worker buttering up a favorite patron, or—and price only lets this thought loose for a moment before snatching it and shoving it down with a growl—a friend. he’s gone half the year anyway, or something like it. every time he comes, he carries the irrational, ugly fear that in she’s moved on, moved out, got a new job, left the country, got married—

when he shoulders through the door now, sawdust sticking to his boots, his girl’s—because that’s what she is, even if it’s only the sight of her that he lets himself claim and hoard—wiping down glasses behind the sill, the pub just about empty as all the old timers went home. his first thought is that she’s still there, thank god. his second’s that she’s changed up her hair. it looks good. price pointedly ignores the way the sight of her with her new hair and those pretty lips makes him chub up a little.

his girl’s eyes crinkle a little when she looks up toward the door. “john,” she says warmly, and before he’s even seated at his usual spot on the bar, she’s filling him up his favorite pint. “how are you doing, handsome? just got back from saving the world?”

a snarling, hungry, traitorous part of his brain tells him that his wife is being so good, keeping him fed and watered, and the only thing next on her wifely duties is to keep his balls drained. he tells it to go stuff itself.

“still working on it, sweetheart,” price says with a sip. maybe it was worth it, when she asked a while ago why he showed up so irregularly, to tell her that he was SAS, if only for the way she called it after. saving the world. that’d be nice.

this time, though, he notices something else that’s new besides the hairstyle, and it makes his beer taste like dust in his mouth. a glint in the light, on his girl’s left hand.

not really his girl anymore, is she?

price swallows down his mouthful and tries to quell the sudden heat that rises in his veins, a raging anger that feels, inexplicably, like he’s been stolen from. his molars clench together for dear life as he rearranges, tames, quiets himself. it was fine. it was fine! she’s just his bartender, is all. his friend. modern country and whatever, she could go meet whoever, get engaged to whoever, fuck whoever, and if she was happy, then—then price would have to be happy for her.

(she better be happy, he thinks. if whatever little boy she’s found isn’t making her feel like a bloody princess every god damn day then he doesn’t deserve the fingers he touches her with or the cock between his legs—)

this was good, even. with a ring on her finger, price’d always have a reminder that pretty girls didn’t owe him anything, don’t belong to him like a dog with a bone. kill the fantasy, keep his head on the missions. a better soldier. it’s that tightening thought that lets him calm himself enough to say “congratulations are in order, i assume?”

his gi—the—she furrows her brow in confusion, but she follows price’s gaze—how could she not, with him practically burning a hole in her finger with his stare—and laughs. “oh, that,” she says, easy as ever. “no, nothing’s happened.” she wiggles the ring off her finger and sliding it across the counter to price for his inspection.

under his touch, the tell is obvious: it’s plastic, cheap, almost gummy plastic. the faux diamond is cheap acrylic, only close to sparkling because she’s gone through and polished it up. it takes him a moment before he puts it together, but before he does, he briefly becomes so angry that he thinks he might actually kill a civilian for treating her this way.

“bought that online for five quid,” she keeps going. “just to stop some of the patrons from asking questions, or flirting, or, you know, trying to introduce me to their nephews and that kind of thing.”

a decoy ring. a dummy, a shield, something with no actual suitor attached to the other end. price is so relieved that he can feel every muscle in his aching body untense, and it pisses him off because he knows he shouldn’t care this much about his friend’s love life. “smart,” he says, his voice a bit thick before he clears it. “smart. though, you know, sweetheart, you could always try telling them you’re not interested.”

“please, john, you think i haven’t tried?” she shrugs. “no, most of them don’t listen without seeing a little proof that that seat is taken. always thought they could convince me otherwise. the ring shuts up most of them, and the few that still don’t get the hint, i end up having to tell them stories about ‘my husband’ before they piss off.”

the word husband coming from her mouth makes something rumble in price’s chest that’s becoming dangerously difficult to ignore. he tries a chuckle, tries to focus on the feeling of his beard bristling his own cheeks and not the way they would feel against hers, and tries to lighten the mood. “so, what, you just make up stories about this husband of yours? grand tales of romance?”

but she looks away, and—is his girl flustered? she picks up a rag in her hands and starts wiping idly at the counter, like she’s trying to avoid his eyes. “oh, you know,” she says. “i keep it simple. just enough to, er, get them to stop, and consistent, so they can’t pick holes. he’s—he’s in the military. leads a team.”

then, quietly, “he’s out there saving the world.”

the dog slips his leash.

when price finally leaves to make the long drive back to base, his shirt rumpled and his chin wet with slick, he keeps the plastic ring in his back pocket, not bothering to give it back. why would he? she doesn’t need it anymore, because he’s going to buy his girl the real diamonds that she deserves.

[swanparties]

you know the ship is good when the actors are basically holding up little dolls of their characters and making them kiss

[druap]

[garyroachsandersonsbf]

HE HAS BLOND HAIR!! LOOK AT THE EYEBROWS!

[h3llh0vnd]

roach university au part 2

[tanked-up]

Remember when…

[mizushibart]

Riley x2 I just think they should meet <3

[valkyrss]

"Break's over, Roach. Let's go."