I DID NOT NEEE TO CRY THIS MORNING

When you got plushies on your bed and you’re abt to fuck

Gaz: is turning them around so they don’t see

Soap: is lining them up so they ALL see

Ghost: is shoving one under your hips so he can raise up your ass and fuck it

Price: is putting one in your arms so you can hold it and squeeze it when you’re overstimulated and squirming

Nik: putting it in your arms and involving it in the dirty talk tbh (“Carrotcake and I are so proud of you, milaya— taking papochka’s cock to the base like this. Did you fuck yourself in this bed while thinking of me, makýshka? Did your silly rabbit know what a slut you are for me before I did?”)

Combusting and i dont have a reaction image for that ;-; just \•○•/

Filthy Dog

MMA au -> pro!Soap x PR team!reader

Series CW: 18+ MDNI, possessive behaviour, spitplay, oral oneshot - 2K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

“-I'LL HAVE YER’ HEAD ON A STICK!”

You heard him before you saw him- the blur of a man who was truly more bull than human, and the scraping of chairs. Another headache for you. 

You knew this was coming, you knew he wouldn't be happy with this sponsor. You tried to warn them.

“Johnny.” Soap’s manager, Mitch, tried to reason, eyes widening when the fighter’s massive wrapped hands flexed around his freshly-pressed white button down, untucking the bottom from his pants in the process. “-John.” he corrected, coughing awkwardly. When Soap snarled at him, Mitch looked to you with that ‘help clean this mess up’ look.

“No.” Soap bit, jamming a blunt finger into the man’s chest before you could respond to his plea. “This is yer’ problem.”

“We don’t have a problem.” Mitch assured. “Talk to me John, what's up?” 

Soap’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “Ye’ know damn well. Told you I'd sooner quit than work with Max Energy.”

Mitch’s lips pursed, You were unsure what he expected as the outcome of his greed- probably that he would be able to talk his way out of it. “I don’t remember you saying that." he scoffed. "Come on now, Max is great, don't blow this out of-”

Soap growled in frustration, his fist careening into the folding table beside him; a deadly weapon- a warning shot. 

“Tell me, Mitch- why was I-” he snatched the cloth hanging out the pocket of his sweatpants and pushed it into the wiry man’s chest. “-just handed shorts with Max Energy big and bold ‘cross my fucking bits?” 

he leaned in, jaw tense. “Ah’m a joke to ye’? I’ll quit right here, right now.” 

Mitch called your name like he was summoning a maid and you could only sigh in response. “Soap-” “You say one more word for him and ah’ll knock his fucking teeth in.” he warned, not even turning to look in your direction. Your mouth closed, locked tight. 

“John, you quit and all those paying fans out there waiting for you will make sure you never get another damn title again.” Mitch threatened. “They’re not here for some still wet-behind-the-ears openers. They’re sure as shit not here for Kozlov.” he laughed sardonically. “They’re here for you. Don’t ruin this.” ‘-for me’ he seemed to leave out.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Mitch was doing this on purpose, or if he was just flat out stupid.

A deep, rumbling noise echoed around the depths of Soap’s expansive chest, lips curling back like a dog. “I do this fight- then I’m done, Mitch.” Mitch beamed, seemingly only hearing the confirmation he’d be fighting tonight. “-Not for yer’ sorry ass and not for those Max Energy bastards either. For the fans.” Soap grit out.

You could see the gears inside the manager’s head turning as he processed the financial hit he would inevitably take if his golden boy were to leave. “John-” Mitch practically whined.

 “Not up for debate.” Soap snapped, shooting him a venomous look- and like a tornado on a storm path, he chucked the shorts in the bin and left, dipping back into his locker room.

Mitch sighed, rubbing at his temples before setting his eyes on you.

“Do something. You’re Personal Relations- go relate personally.” Mitch snapped at you as he began digging into the trash to retrieve the shorts.

“Public Relations.” you corrected, earning a frustrated hiss and a dismissive hand wave. 

“Don’t change the subject. Get in there.”

You grimaced. “He’ll kill me!” 

“Don't be dramatic and hurry up, he's on soon.” Mitch urged, shooing you off. You made a sour face, heaving yourself up off the padded bench before Mitch could find something else to complain about. “-Wait.” Mitch ordered, as if he was telling a dog to heel. “-Second thought," he hummed "scratch that, let him be pissed for the fight. It’ll do numbers.”

-

Loathe as you were to admit, Mitch was correct- all three rounds had been polished off like they were light meals. You were next, surely. Your knee bounced anxiously as you awaited the full oncoming force of Soap’s post-cage high. “Fantastic! MacTavish v Kozlov-” Mitch barked out a laugh. “What a joke Kozlov was, does his team think it's amateur hour?” 

“Mitch.” you interrupted, knee falling still. “This isn’t really time for celebrations, you're about to lose your current biggest fighter.” He mowed you down with an eye roll “John just needs time to come to his senses, Max Energy contracts like this are once in a lifetime.”

“He’s not-”

The Locker room door nearly flew off its hinges, a beast coated in sweat and blood emerging. “John!” Mitch grinned with outstretched arms that faltered as the big man stormed straight past him.

God. Good god. He was hurtling towards you. Avert your gaze downwards, you coached yourself, you wouldn’t sit well in the stomach of a dog like him. 

Bare feet stopped before you. “You.” he chuffed out around the rubber guard in his mouth, drawing your gaze upwards. “Let’s go.” You looked around, not fully processing the situation. Mitch regained his composure. “Y-yes! Go talk with John.” he urged, desperately latching on to any inch of leeway Soap would give. “Get the fuck out, Mitch.” Soap barked, voice distorted by the EVA covering his teeth.”’Fore I rip yer’ head clean off.”

“R-right! We’ll talk later.” he laughed out nervously and tucked tail as Soap stared you down through the eyes of a starving street dog; getting the hell out of dodge. He kept his eyes on Soap as he left- a survival instinct not to show your back to a hungry predator.

”I tried to warn them about the Max deal.” you pressed once alone, hoping to avoid an argument. “Ah’know, bonnie.” he hummed lowly, a sweaty, gloved hand coming to graze your cheek. His sudden, loose tenderness came as a shock to your system. “Yer’ not like those vultures- Ye’ don’t see me as an asset.” His empty blue eyes relaxed, pupils dilating as his other hand raised to cradle the other side of your face, both thumbs brushing the corners of your lashlines. “Aye, Yer’ the good one. So patient with a daft bastard like me.” Your eyelids trembled slightly, his gaze zeroing in on the movement. “You want me like I want you?” 

Your eyes darted to your lap, urging Soap to tap at your cheek. “Eyes up- On me.” 

“You give the word and ah’ll treat you better than any man ever could. Ah’ll set ye’ right.” his voice dropped to a low boom. “Yer’ the only good thing ‘round me, have been since the moment we met.” You could still remember why you were hired. Soap was on the come up, but couldn't seem to figure out why getting into random scuffs with strangers over little annoyances was a bad thing. Especially for a man with a body that was essentially a lethal dose of muscle and bulk he had been specially trained in how to throw around. Possible fatal outcomes aside, it wasn't making him a man to root for. Every fight needed tension, but Soap wasn't a man built for pyrrhic victories- he was an underdog, biting and gnashing his way through cage after cage; man after man. He was meant to enjoy his hard-earned glory, and because of your work- MMA fans absolutely adored him. 

Soap huffed out, head tilting. “Y-yeah- yes, okay.” you whispered, trying not to psych yourself out. Your lips creased, head nodding before you could chicken out. 

Pulled into an blurred vortex, it took you an embarrassing amount of time to realize you were hiked over his shoulder as he lumbered towards his private locker room for the fight, locking the door behind him. Setting you gently on the luxurious industrial sink counter was his last mercy as he ripped off his gloves and clawed at your bottoms and underwear, yanking them off your legs. A freshly-bare and clammy hand braced itself under each thigh as he jacked your legs up and over his broad shoulders, a pleased grunt passing his lips. 

He lowered down before cursing and pushing your legs back up against your chest. 

You made a small noise, worried you had somehow fucked something up for him which earned you a growl and a headshake as he grunted and spat his mouthguard onto your tummy, sticky saliva coating your skin as it found its resting place before he dove back in, not caring where the plastic ended up. 

He pressed open-mouthed kisses at the apex of your thighs, sucking and biting at the skin like he was underfed and hungry. You whined as his teeth kept digging into the sensitive flesh, earning satisfied hums from the man in response, stubble not helping your case. You flexed, legs caging in his head which had seemed to guide him towards your waiting cunt.

The noises he emitted as he lapped at your folds made you feel nauseated and lightheaded, a blushing mess.

A shoulder jerked upwards to support your leg so he could explore the messy folds with a newly-unoccupied hand, but didnt pull his mouth back to give himself the space needed to do so; leaving you reeling at the feeling of such a concentrated area of stimulation.

As if sensing your limits, he bullied his way deeper, growling into your pussy in a way that left black spots at the corner of your vision.

Brutish fingers began to dip into the spot they had been searching for and you could feel his body tense and flex as he practically humped into the space beneath the counter, hips desperately chasing contact it wasn't receiving. He cursed against your flesh, mouth covered in drool and slick as he rose upwards, reminding you of a hulking behemoth as you were forced to accommodate the new position. He gazed down with hazy eyes and a glistening jaw as he focused on jamming whatever he could of his finger into your cunt, twitching and thrusting the digit inside you. As if the stretch wasnt enough to satisfy that itch in the back of his skull, he stuffed in his ring finger next to it, pinky and index bracing his hand as he fucked the fingers into you, transfixed. 

You were going to pass out at this rate, his knuckles, malformed from years of improper training and injury- kissed at your inner walls, sending you out of body. 

His lids lowered, pace easing as a thought passed his mind. He paused, stretching open the hole as his throat bobbed a few times. Your head clumsily lolled to the side just in time to watch a fat wad of spit drip from his mouth, directly into your slicked pussy. He smiled, happy with himself and savoring the sight for a moment before continuing his ministrations- slower this time, deeper. He angled his hand, thumb massaging at your clit just to see the way you would react. 

You didn't disappoint him, the sight of you causing his mouth to part, drool still hanging from his chin. “Fuuuck.” he breathed, drawing the word out. "-What a sight ye' are." His eyes darted back to your cunt, thick brows quirking as he experimentally ground his thumb deeper into your nub, urging a cry to push its way out of your lungs. His teeth glinted as he huffed out a small laugh. “Yer’ being so good to me too, huh?” he rumbled happily, eyes coasting along your stretched folds and it took you a moment to realize he wasn't talking to you. He pulled his fingers out slowly, scooping the mixed fluids up and popping them into his mouth. “Mmh-” he groaned, diving back in to gather more, this time digging deep. the movement finally pushed you over the edge. “Tha’s it.” he praised, dipping his head low to lap his mess beneath your flexing thighs.  -

You spent the following half hour under a steaming waterfall shower head with a looming mass tucked against your back, cleaning you up and rutting against you in random incriments- his skin surely emitting steam at a higher rate than the water. He bowed his head into your neck, bunting against you and inhaling the smell of his favourite body wash on your skin. “-Got an offer from 141 Athletics a bit ago, they could take care of it all for us, y'know.” he mumbled, pausing and dragging his nose along your nape. “Yer' coming-" he breathed out. “You work for me, not Mitch- You're coming with me.” you could feel his lips drag up in a sneer against your skin when the man's name left his mouth. In an attempt to comfort him, you tried to turn and face him, but thick arms stopped you, curling under your arms and around your chest, sneaking a feel before pulling you into him, the fatty layer coating his pecs molding against your back like a dream.

You nodded.

“Good.” he sighed.

Simon would definitely use “don’t bite the hand that fingers you” unironically

horrific and he'll say it in polite company too. now ya neighbor knows you're getting finger fucked on a lazy tuesday. (as if they can't hear ya while it happens.)

this always happens btw.

Hello! More headcannons! I am having lots of fun <3 kinda got a bit angsty oops

Anyway!

Have some lightly angsty cod headcanons!

Simon has a love hate relationship with cigarettes. Sure, they help him relax. But he hates them. The smell, the bite they take out of his bank account, how they make his teeth worse. He isn't a self destructive angsty teen anymore. So! He decides to quit. Tries his hardest to do it quietly, but the rest of the team notices quick. He chews a lot of gum because he scoffs at the stupid nicotine patches. Goes cold turkey, because he doesn't do things in half measures. Sure, he was grumpy as hell for the first few months, but after a while he notices how he's struggling less. Doesn't preassure anyone else to quit. Just wasn't for him, he says. He keeps chewing the gum though. Just ate mint and cinnamon when he first quit, but he branched out eventually. Likes watermelon the best now.

Johnny is an artist. It's canon, we all know that. I propose a Johnny who volunteers as a muralist when on leave. Goes around, painting walls anywhere he's asked. Hospitals, subways, schools, homeless shelters, bridges, ect. His family helps send jobs his way. He tells himself that it's just to help out. Just to practice and add to the community, have fun with a different medium. Won't tell himself that its a way to make sure he's remembered for anything besides the things he did while deployed. Does he regret those things? Hell no. But does he need to be more than just a soldier? Hell yes.

Price who doesn't have a life outside of the military. Gaz has his support group, Soap has his hobbies, Simon does...whatever the hell he does. Price has nothing. On the way to becoming everything he thought he needed to be, he forgot to be anyone besides the Captain. He pretends it doesn't bother him. And it doesn't, at least, not in a debilitating way. But it shows in the little things. How he always stays late doing work, checking on the wounded, helping out. Pretends it isn't him avoiding his empty apartment. His empty life outside of the military, his boys.

Gaz goes to therapy at the behest of his mom. He checks it off like it was just another box. He pretends at all the progress he's making, hiding how everytime he goes in he goes into the mindset of an interrogation. Let them know nothing, deflect and distract. Lets the therapist think he's a good patient. Talking about his "regrets", the horrors on the field, the nightmares. He does the actual coping later. Journals, then burns them. No loose ends. Writes down everything. The things on the field, how he doesn't- can't- regret a damn thing. Just that he didn't do better. He's suprised when later, after a mission, he's using the breathing exercises the therapist taught him. Maybe it wasn't all pretend afterall.

obsessed with the idea of onlyfans model! reader x Simon

Maybe you’re one of the biggest creators on the platform and you’re very well known after doing it for a few years. Except, you only do solo content, despite your peers constantly asking to collab or getting requests from fans to see you getting fucked.

Then, one day you post a video showing off some new panties and Simon’s tattooed and scarred hand just appears, squeezing the meat of your ass, claiming and possessive. A subtle message he’s sending to your audience as he spreads your cheeks apart, sliding your panties to the side and shows off your pretty pussy dripping with his cum.

i actually need to know people's thoughts on this because at least in my experience the answer to this has drastically changed since i was on tumblr in the 2010s and its driving me fucking insane

*im talking about fandom takes specifically. not someone being horribly evil about a real-life issue or or blatantly factually incorrect. literally just harmless fandom disagreements or differing interpretations of a text/character/etc.

*Hands him the Hobbit*

HENRI PRIVAT-LIVEMONT