Let's smooch them fellers.

[Not taking requests] xReader writings that will typically contain some level of softness or humor. Currently CoD-focused, but may very well become multifandom.

[softspectre141]

SoftSpectre141 Masterlist

Content tags

GN reader ☾ - Fem Afab reader ✩ - Smut ♡ - Triggering content ✧

Task Force 141 x reader

Scenarios

141 bids for a date with reader ☾ 141 when you're trying to find a bra ☾ Johnny and Simon when you get left at the alter (part 1?) ✩

Fics

None at present

John Price

Scenarios

Your first time having sex and it's with John Price. At a reverse gl0ry h0le ♡☾ Comfort after a long day ☾

Fics

Smitten ✩♡ - Planned, oneshot, minor details available here

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Scenarios

Helping Kyle find an outlet after he is medically discharged☾ Gaz keeping his hand down your pants on the couch ♡☾

Fics

You Can Do Better ✩♡ - Planned, oneshot, minor details available here

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Scenarios

Simon sleeps soundly thanks to you☾ How Simon reacts to you enjoying a cherry popsicle☾ Simon fingering you in the morning ♡☾ Simon taking care of you when you're sick☾

Fics

Mirrored ✩♡✧ - Chapters: (1) (More to come soon)

John "Soap" MacTavish

Scenarios

Johnny's odd way of deciding you love him☾ Johnny overhearing that you don't like being eaten out ♡

Fics

Distance Closed ✩♡ - Planned, oneshot, minor details available here

[soilents]

Can you draw the Task Force doing training drills? Also, I love how you draw, and your rendering is French kiss

they are serious about bets

usual rounds..

Here you go! 💥💥 and tysm anon 🪱🪱

[loverifle]

new MW4A trailer. No Gaz. First soap now him. What else can infinityward take from me.

[ottervii]

🧢🚿

[silverlullabies]

(“We’re just best friends,” you insist- both of you, every time- when the lads catch Johnny’s arm slung heavy over your shoulders or when your parents laugh about the way you finish each other’s sentences like an old married couple. You say it easy. Practiced.

You’re just childhood best friends who swapped secrets, who fought over the last slice with elbows and sharp fingers, who fell asleep in a tangle of limbs during movie night with your cheek on his chest, his hand in your hair, the credits rolling blue over both of you in the dark.)

Childhood best friend Johnny who now has you bent over the kitchen table with two thick fingers buried to the knuckle inside you from behind, curled against the spot he found years ago on a drunken night when comfort turned into his hand between your thighs on the couch you grew up sharing. Your slick audible around his knuckles. His cock grinding slow against the curve of your ass, hard enough you can feel the twitch of him through his joggers.

Childhood best friend Johnny who pulls his fingers free and replaces them with the blunt, swollen head of his cock, pressing, catching, sinking, stretching you open on the same table where you used to race him through after school snacks, elbows knocking, mouths full, laughing.

Childhood best friend Johnny fucking you hard and graceless, one fist wound tight in your hair and pulling just enough to arch your spine, the other hand reaching around to find your clit with the pad of his thumb, rubbing in the exact tight circles he knows collapse you fastest.

Childhood best friend Johnny who has your body memorized after years of late night hookups that started with movies on the old couch and ended with you shaking apart on his tongue or his fingers or his cock and neither of you acknowledging it in daylight. Who knows the precise angle to cant his hips and drive up into you until something white hot fractures behind your eyes and your legs give and you’re clenching so hard around him you can feel your own pulse.

Childhood best friend Johnny who catches you before you buckle, who wraps your legs around his waist and carries you down the hall with his cock still inside you, each step a shift that makes your breath hitch, who pins you against the wall of your childhood bedroom.

(The same room where you built blanket forts out of bedsheets and played games until sunrise turned the curtains gold. Your wrists caught in one of his hands above your head, pressed right next to the poster that’s been thumbtacked there for years, curling at the edges now.)

Childhood best friend Johnny who’s hips snap forward, deep enough to ache. He knows exactly when to grind against your clit, when to set his teeth into the tendon of your neck, when to speed up until you’re sobbing his name into the humid space between your mouths and coming so hard your vision dissolves to static.

Childhood best friend Johnny who lowers you onto the bed the two of you used to sprawl across after school, uniforms still on, shoes kicked off, talking shit about teachers and lunch hour drama until one of you fell asleep mid-sentence.

Childhood best friend Johnny who settles between your thighs now, pushing in slow, incremental, until his pelvis is flush against yours and there’s no space left between you that isn’t heat and skin. Forehead pressed to your forehead. Blue eyes half lidded, the color of them almost swallowed by black.

Childhood best friend Johnny who rolls his hips in a lazy rhythm, savoring every flutter and clench of your walls around him, kissing you slow and open mouthed, sliding his fingers through yours, lacing them tight against the sheets. Who murmurs against your lips, breath warm and accent thicker than it gets in daylight, “Look at ye. So pretty like this. Takin’ me so well.”

Childhood best friend Johnny who buries his face into the curve of your neck as he spills inside you because he’s not wearing a condom. Never wears one. Not with you. Tempting fate every single time.

Childhood best friend Johnny who doesn’t pull out right away. Who stays buried inside you and rolls onto his side with his arms still locked around you, pulling you with him so you’re tucked against his chest, his heartbeat hammering against your shoulder blade, settling by degrees.

(The same position the two of you defaulted to as kids, limbs tangled, breathing synced, your face pressed to his collarbone like the years between then and now are just a fold in the fabric.

“We’re just best friends,” you tell anyone who asks.

But one of these days the two of your are going to have to stop lying to yourselves).​​​​​​​​​

[popipopipopipopipo000]

After a match

More rugby stuff bc yes!!!

[bluvp]

Task force 141 eyes 🫶🏻

[archivedgaz]

CALL OF DUTY + TUMBLR TAGS *.·:·.☽ kyle "gaz" garrick edition

[brav0-6]

CAPTAIN PRICE 🤚 IN MODERN WARFARE III

[brav0-6]

+ “SHUSH” EMOTE // CALL OF DUTY WARZONE

[machineryangel]

a man's most important accessory is some blood on his face. his second most important accessory? his chest hair

[rosaries-and-thorns]

Johnny browses Craigslist when he’s bored. It’s a habit he picked up as a teenager and he’s never really stopped. He sees all sorts of weird shit on there- sex ads, sketchy electronics, animals, fist fighting offers, even paying folks to be wedding crashers (One of which he did reply to. It was one of the best nights he and Gaz have ever had together)

Today, however, as he’s lounging in the rec room between drills, his eyes scan over a listing posted five minutes ago

ISO: Someone to break into my asshole ex’s house and steal my cat back. Details inside.

Soap feels his mouth curve upwards as he scrolls through the posting, smile undeniable as he reads the utter frustration and bitterness in your words.

My dickhead ex cheated and left me for his side chick. I don’t know how, but when he came to pick up his stuff he took my cat with him. He keeps denying it, but I know he has her. I’ve been over twice and each time he’s refused to answer the door. Cops are no help. Close to breaking in myself but I can’t afford a record.

Attached, a picture of a fluffy grey cat with blue eyes and white paws.

Cute, Soap thinks.

Message me for his address. If you can break in and get my cat I’ll pay you and provide an alibi. Cat’s name is Chestnut, but she goes by Chessie.

Soap has admittedly made some terrible decisions in life- faking his age to join the military, developing a frankly concerning fondness for pyrotechnics- not to mention that one tattoo on his ass. Still, he thinks to himself as he thumbs the message button: bad decisions make the best stories.

Soap: Heard ye were in need of a cat burglar You: Cute. Hope you're actually serious, because I'm getting kinda desperate Soap: Ahm serious. Though you should ken I kill people for a livin' You: Very funny

It's not a joke, he thinks, but decides not to press it.

Soap: You able to get him out of the house? Otherwise can leave it tae me You: Ugh, I'd rather not see his stupid face again if I can help it You: Just don't...kill him. I guess. Or do, but I'm not covering for you if you do You: Even if you are funny. and maybe cute

Soap feels a grin slowly creep across his face, eyes twinkling as he types

Soap: Ah'm very cute, ta. Also a good thief You: I guess we'll see. How much do you want? Soap: I ken we can talk details when yer sweet puss is back home safe n sound You: Right. Well, here's his address. and you can meet me here after

Soap reads the address, mentally going over in his mind whereabouts it is, and what tools he'll need.

Soap: I'll be there with yer bonnie cat by 2100, see you then bonnie You: See you then, cat burglar

Soap's got a little pep in his step as he makes his way back to his bunk, enough so that even Ghost notices.

"Good news, sergeant?"

"Aye." He grins. "Got me'self a date tonight."

----

He finds the bastard's house with little issue- typical street house with a tidy little yard and a bike in front. It's dark by the time he gets there, and there's a light on on the second floor that tells him your ex is home.

He's got a doorbell camera, which is fun. Unfortunately it's hooked to a primary power source, which means it won't survive what Soap has in mind.

Soap can't help but hum to himself as he goes about tinkering with the electric meter outside, out of view of the camera. While he does, he imagines what you must look like. Surely you're pretty, surely a sight for a weary soldier to rest his eyes on. You've got a little bite to you by the sounds of your texts messages, and the more Soap thinks about it the bigger his smile grows- until at last he snips a chord in the box and the whole house goes dark with a little fizz of power.

"Bloody hell." He hears from upstairs, followed by footsteps. He's probably going to come inspect the box. Not a problem, Soap's done a similar feat enough times to make it seem like a decaying old circuit- something chalked up to a bout of bad luck.

As the bastard comes out the front door, Soap goes in the back- lock already picked.

"Here kitty kitty." He whispers, voice quiet as he stalks through the dark house. "Chessie, pspsps."

Right on cue- there's a lonesome little meow from a room behind the kitchen, and as the man curses outside Soap moves towards it, gently opening the door to the laundry room to discover a small cage on the floor. Dirty food bowl, water bowl empty, and a pair of glinting eyes staring up at him with a pathetic little mewl.

"Och, ye poor sweet thing." Soap croons, and the poor wee thing bumps it's head up against the bars with a quiet sound of greeting, still sweet despite it all. "Not to worry, ah'll have ye back home in a few."

There's a duffel slung on his back, and Soap makes sure to apologize to the cat before unceremoniously zipping it up. He can hear her in the bag whining, and tuts a small reassurance before going back the way he came- making sure to throw the gas on the stove before he leaves.

Just in case. If the fellow decides to blow himself up on accident- well. Soap's always loved a good explosion.

He waits in the shadows of the backyard for the bastard to go back inside, talking angrily on the phone to an electrician about an overtime fee.

Soon as he's out of sight Soap hops the fence once more, out towards the street, and whistles a tune as he goes on his merry way.

The bag meows again beside him, and Soap pats it gently.

"There there." He coos. "Ah'm sure yer mum will be happy to see ye."

And hopefully me too. He adds as a panicked shout echoes from the house behind him.

---

He's exactly three minutes late as he walks up to the car park you had texted him from, and in the dim glow of the streetlights Johnny sees a car idling directly underneath one of them.

He offers a friendly little wave as he walks over, holding up the duffel beside him and unzipping it so a fluffy head pops out with an indignant little yowl.

The door unlocks, and Soap watches as you step out.

Bless his wee heart, you're about as pretty as he dared to dream, hugging a jacket around your shoulders, blinking against the light as your eyes widen at the sight of your cat.

"Chessie!" You gasp, racing forward to cradle the cat's head between your hands, cooing and bestowing a flurry of little kisses on her head. Soap unzips the bag so you can cradle her, watching as you hug her and whisper sweet little words to her that makes his battered heart tug against his chest. Chessie purrs about as loud as your car engine, bunting her head up against your chin with a series of happy little chirrups.

"You're an angel." You tell Soap, who's eyes dart up to yours as you speak. He watches you blink, pause for a moment, and then offer him a shy little smile.

Be still, his beating heart.

"Nae, I wouldnae go that far." He shrugs, but returns you smile even so.

"He didn't see you, did he?" You ask, wrapping your jacket around Chessie.

Soap shakes his head. "I was in an' out before he noticed. He'll have a nasty electrician bill tomorrow."

You blink again, but this time a laugh follows as you shoot him a sort of puzzled look. "Sounds like you know your way around these things. You're not like...an actual burglar or something, right?"

Soap grins, and can't help himself from leaning a little into your space, eyes glimmering. You take a half step back, but Soap ignores it. "A burglar? No, but if you're not careful I might steal yer heart, bonnie."

He relishes the way your eyes go a little wide, the way your lips part in surprise. You try and stammer a response, but nothing comes. When he reaches up his hand, Chessie rubs her face against his fingers.

"How about that alibi?" He asks, voice velvet soft and seductively low. "I dinnae need cash for a good deed, but I reckon the company of a sweet thing like you will suffice."

Besides- Soap mentally adds. A'hve been dying to see that other sweet puss o' yers.

[cyclops5430]

Soap looks small in-game, but he turned out to be taller than I expected.

[mellounir]

I'm so back

[beescuitxx]

Another yumeship comms i did back February

[dot41g]

[brav0-6]

CAPTAIN PRICE IN “PICCADILLY” | MODERN WARFARE 2019

[brav0-6]

SERGEANT KYLE GARRICK | CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE (2019)