#Avoid In 2023 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ohbo-ohno · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober Day 18 - Body Modification

Ghost x Soap - 4.9k (on ao3)

summary: Johnny's tattoo artist doesn't give him the design they'd agreed on. (Johnny POV)

cw: noncon!!, trans johnny, kinda mirror sex, implied future kidnapping

“It looks great!” Johnny confirms as he looks down at the design Ghost holds up for him.

It’s the very bottom of what will become a full back piece further down the line, but Ghost had explained that for a piece as large as the one Johnny was looking for he’d have to get it done in sections. He mostly knew that - his sleeves hadn’t been done in one day, after all - but he also hadn’t been expecting to have one full section done with nothing anywhere else. Maybe lining, then color, then shading, but he trusts Ghost’s process.

Johnny’s been going to Ghost’s tattoo parlor - 141 Ink - since he was twenty-two and drunk off his ass, looking for anything fun to do after a night out with Kyle. The two of them had stumbled into the tattoo shop close to midnight, half-way to blacking out already, and gotten themselves a pair of matching tattoos. The owner of the shop, the eternally grouchy John Price, had talked them down from matching rifles on their thighs to a pair of puzzle pieces on their ankles - something to laugh at in the morning, not something to start saving up for a cover-up after seeing.

Johnny had come back a week later to get something done on his kneecap - a skull with an open jaw - and the only artist open for walk-ins had been Ghost. He’d thought the man hated him for most of the process when he didn’t respond to any of Johnny’s attempts at small talk or jokes, so the next time he planned to get something done he’d scheduled an appointment with Price. But when he got there he was told his artists had been switched, and that Ghost would be working on his piece instead. He was almost as quiet as the first time, but the tattoo came out perfectly, and Johnny figured it was a fair trade.

Ghost has done all of Johnny’s ink since - the matching kneecap, both of his full sleeves, and now the start of his back piece. It hasn’t even occured to Johnny to try finding someone else to work on him. He’s working up the nerve to get a tongue piercing done, but the idea of having Ghost so close to his face with his fingers in Johnny’s mouth… he’s got to get his rampant crush under control a bit more before that can happen.

“Good,” Ghost grunts, nodding over to the leather chair set up in the middle of his office. “Shirt off, pants down, chest to the back of the chair.”

Johnny’s already pulling his shirt off before what Ghost said registers, and he pauses halfway to the chair, laughing a little awkwardly. “Sorry- pants down?”

Ghost makes a noise that Johnny interprets as yes, idiot. He’s never had to fully take his pants off for a tattoo before but… well, he’s also never had his lower back tattooed. So he trusts Ghost, kicking off the sweats he’d worn in preparation for a long day.

“Boxers too, Johnny. Come on, we don’t have all day.”

Johnny blushes as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, hesitating with a thumb hooked in the fabric of his underwear.

“Uh, you’re sure-?”

Ghost sighs, raising his head from where he’d been preparing his ink and shooting Johnny an unimpressed look. “Don’t get prudish, MacTavish. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

That’s not actually reassuring, but Ghost’s dismissive tone makes Johnny feel… well, not more comfortable necessarily, but more like he was the one being weird in this situation. He takes a deep breath and quickly takes his black boxers off, folding them on top of the rest of his clothes and quickly straddling the chair. He hasn’t mentioned his transition to Ghost before, but there’s a pride flag hanging in the shop’s lobby, so he knows he’s at the very least not a bigot.

“I’m not a prude,” he defends, wrinkling his nose as he glances in Ghost’s direction to see if he’s looked at Johnny yet. “I’d bet I’m more than you could handle.”

A snort from Ghost, and Johnny resists the urge to look over again and see if he’s wearing one of those half-smiles. “That’s a good joke, Johnny. You might have a career in comedy.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, smiling. “Yeah, real funny, Ghost.”

He shifts a little in the chair - he’s uncomfortably exposed like this, despite the banter. With one leg on each side of the chair, he’s spread just enough for his cheeks to part and a cool breeze to blow over very sensitive areas. He has to hover a little awkwardly to avoid just pressing his spread folds to the leather. It takes a bit of wiggling for him to lay a bit more comfortably as he speaks, but he isn’t able to quite shake the feeling of being too exposed.

Ghost lays a hand on Johnny’s shoulder as he sits on a stool behind him, and Johnny can’t help but jump a bit at the sudden contact.

“Steady,” Ghost commands. “You’re fine.” He pushes down with just enough force that Johnny is pressed to the chair, and he winces a bit at the shock of cold from the leather

“Easy for you to say,” Johnny snorts, shaking out his shoulders and trying for levity even as goosebumps race down his arms. “You’ve still got your drawers on.”

Ghost laughs a little in response, and Johnny counts it as a win.

“You want me naked too, Johnny? Gotta pay extra for that.”

Johnny’s glad they’re not facing each other so he doesn’t have to fight down the heat rising in his cheeks. “Och, I’m paying you to get me naked here, and I’ve got to give you even more for some reciprocation? Feels unfair, Ghost.”

“You’re paying me to stab hundreds of needles into your skin for a pretty picture,” Ghost corrects, the machine buzzing to life. “Now settle. You know it feels better when you relax.”

The innuendo there has to be intentional, but Johnny chooses - for once - to be mature and swallow all the jokes sitting on the tip of his tongue, instead sinking into the leather and forcing the tension from his muscles. He’s glad he’d shaved before coming, he’s not sure he could handle both of Ghost’s hands cleaning him up like that right now.

Johnny’s always enjoyed getting tattooed - enjoyed it maybe a little too much, honestly. He’d done a few stick and pokes in university (faded from lack of care and easily covered by the black and gray work on his arms) and knew even then that pain felt good in a way very inappropriate for the public eye.

That fact has only been reaffirmed again and again with each tattoo he’s gotten professionally, and Johnny always finds himself trying not to squirm in the leather chair as he grows more and more slick.

He’s pretty sure he’s hidden his clenching thighs and shivery breaths from Ghost, but he tries to tamp it down as much as possible just in case.

But sitting like he is, legs spread and completely nude, it’s a little harder to hide the way his hole starts to drip, the cool air making his t-cock twitch. He goes limp in the chair as soon as Ghost starts working, the pain a comfort despite his impending embarrassment, leaving his cunt pressed awkwardly into the seat.

Usually Johnny would talk endlessly during one of their sessions. Ghost plays at being annoyed by his rambling, but the man also got offended when Johnny mentioned another tattoo parlor across town, so he’s confident there’s at least some affection there. Plus, Johnny’s seen Ghost shut down rowdy customers without any hesitation - if he was really bothered by the endless talking, Johnny would know.

He’s not keen on babbling this time, though. Not when he feels like an exposed nerve, skin and muscle stripped away and leaving him bare. He sits with the pain, lets it sink into him, and just rides the sensation. Ghost never talks much while tattooing, so they’re left with just the sounds of Ghost’s machine buzzing.

He doesn’t bother to ask Johnny if he needs a break when he pulls away to swipe at certain areas of the tattoo. The first time Johnny had asked for one - his first sleeve, and because he needed to use the restroom - Ghost had levelled him with a distinctly annoyed look and gone back to his work without responding. Johnny had nearly pissed himself, but he hasn’t bothered asking for a break since.

It’s not like he does need one. The few seconds Ghost takes to change ink or clear some of his skin is more than enough for him to catch his breath from the pain. On one such break he shifts his legs a little closer together, squeezing the chair between his thighs. It gives his core a little more cover, makes him feel less like he’s just spread wide for Ghost to see.

Ghost grunts when he turns back to Johnny, giving the outside of his thigh a few harsh taps. “Relax again. Can’t have you tensed up like that.”

Johnny glances over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “‘M not tense. Just putting my legs together.”

Ghost scoffs and rolls his eyes above the black surical mask. “What, like a lady? No need for modesty here, Johnny. Spread ‘em.”

Johnny goes crimson at the comparison, burying his head in folded arms while he reluctantly spreads his legs again. The wetness between them feels more obvious now, and he bites his tongue to keep from ignoring Ghost’s command.

“Good boy,” Ghost says, then goes right back to tattooing. Johnny just has to sit there and pretend those two words don’t have him leaving a puddle on the chair below him.

The session passes mostly without incident after that. Johnny’s blush never fully abates as the wetness pooling beneath him becomes more and more obvious, but Ghost doesn’t say a word about it so neither does he. The pain is easy to manage, and they’re done before he’d even expected.

Ghost is, as always, a little harsh as he wipes the fresh ink off. “Alright. Looks prettier than I expected. Wanna take a look?”

Johnny’s a little confused by that - they’d agreed on an epic battle scene for the piece, it certainly shouldn’t be pretty - but he’s excited to see the finished product, so he’s quick to hop up.

“I’m sure it’s great, Ghost,” he compliments, stretching and moving towards the mirror hanging against the wall. Before he can get far, a warm glove wraps around the nape of his neck, pointer finger and thumb squeezing. Johnny freezes, his back arching instinctually.

“You gonna leave that mess on my chair?”

The slight growl to Ghost’s voice is unfairly sexy, and Johnny prays that he doesn’t start dripping down his thigh. He tries to laugh off the humiliation at being caught once the words register. “Sorry, sorry. You got any towels?”

Ghost grunts, then muscles Johnny forward without warning. He can hardly keep track of what’s happening as he’s forced down, bent at the waist with his nose pressed to the leather, hands just barely darting forward to catch him in time.

“Be quick about it.” Ghost’s tone is dismissive, like there’s nothing out of the ordinary here.

Johnny isn’t quick. He stays like that, Ghost’s hand on his neck and hip pressed against his side, and breathes heavily with wide eyes. The puddle right in front of his mouth is tiny, but noticeable, and he feels a little choked up at the notion that Ghost had seen it.

“C’mon,” Ghost pushes his head a little further, until he makes a small noise in his throat from the sharp pressure in his nose.

He feels a little like he’s living in a fever dream, like at some point while getting tattooed he fell into another dimension where it’s socially acceptable to bend over your naked clients without batting an eye. But Ghost’s hold is firm and unrelenting, so tentatively, Johnny sticks out his tongue.

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles, squeezing the nape of his neck again. Not harshly, like he had before, but almost like a massage. “The rest of it now.”

Johnny shudders at the tone but listens, darting his tongue out in quick little licks to clean up the slick and sweat from the session. It doesn’t take very long, but he feels every second like a heavy weight on his shoulder.

Once he’s done, Ghost pulls his hand away. “There you go, attaboy. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Johnny doesn’t respond as he stands back up, blushing from his hairline to his chest. He can’t quite work up the nerve to glance up and see if Ghost is staring at him, instead focusing on taking a few deep breaths and stomping down the insistent throb between his legs. He probably shouldn’t be okay with what just happened, certainly shouldn’t be aroused, but his clit isn’t on the same page.

“Come have a look now,” Ghost says, laying a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and giving him a slight nudge towards the mirror. He walks over on slightly wobbly legs, heart still beating a little too fast in his chest. His mouth is dry now and he compulsively licks his lips to try and alleviate the sticky feeling on his tongue.

He’s still a bit shaky in front of the mirror, and he has to twist a little awkwardly to see the tattoo, but once he manages to get a good look his heart stops.

There, in two thick lines right over the crack of his ass, is a large bold script reading “PROPERTY OF SIMON RILEY”.

Johnny can’t quite get a breath in. He hadn’t even known Ghost’s real name - if that is Ghost’s name at least - and now… now it’s tattooed onto him. What the fuck?

“What-” he can’t even get the words out, takes a shuddering breath and tries to twist to get a better look as he starts again. “What the hell is this?”

He reaches back to run a hand over the reddened skin, like touching will make it less real, and Ghost - Simon? - catches his wrist mid-air with a tsk.

“No touching fresh ink,” he scolds. “You know better, Johnny.”

He meets Ghost’s eyes in the mirror, confusion painting every inch of his face. Ghost looks calm and collected, cocking an eyebrow just slightly.

“What the fuck?!” Johnny’s voice rises to a near shout, and he tries to yank his hand away from Ghost while throwing himself back. “You- how dare you- why- why would you do this? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Ghost follows him when he pushes himself into the mirror, one hand dropping to grip his ass and pull his hips forward so the only part of him touching the glass are his shoulders and head.

“No touching,” he purrs, pressing their chests together and leaning so close they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “Didn’t I just say that? Someone should teach you how to listen.”

Johnny’s breath hitches in his chest and he pushes against Simon’s shoulder with his free hand. “I’m not fucking listening to you, you bastard, you’ve- you fucking mutilated me!”

Ghost scoffs and rolls his eyes, pressing even closer. “Don’t be such a drama queen. My name looks real good on you.” His voice pitches a little lower and he pulls Johnny fully off the mirror, looking over his shoulder and down at the reflection. “Yeah, fits you perfectly. Now everyone will know who you belong to, hm?”

Johnny’s in shock, that must be what this is. He’s fallen into some sort of wormhole and entered an alternate universe, and now he’s in shock. That is the only feasible explanation for his tattoo artist - who he’s only ever seen at scheduled appointments - is making a claim on him via non-consenual tattooing.

He’s pulled even further away from the mirror, left stumbling into Simon’s chest when he can’t catch his balance. Ghost grabs him by the chin and cranes his neck back around, forcing him to stare at the tattoo.

“I don’t-” Johnny cuts himself off when he can’t quite get enough breath in. His voice is almost embarrassingly quiet, but he can’t bring himself to be any louder. “Why the fuck would you do this?”

Ghost hums low in his chest, stroking his hand over the curve of Johnny’s ass and to just below the fresh ink, careful not to touch the reddend skin. “It’s easier this way. Now you and I and everyone else knows who you belong to. No more confusion.”

“There wasn’t any confusion,” Johnny protests, one hand pushing weakly at the arm holding him in place by his shoulder. “I don’t belong to anyone, let alone you. We don’t even really know each other. This isn’t- this isn’t okay.”

Ghost snarls at that, a shockingly loud animalistic noise that sets off every warning bell in Johnny’s head. He’s gone completely stiff as Ghost pulls him closer by the hand on his ass, ducking down to snap in his ear. “You’re covered in my work. You’re mine.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond as Ghost hauls him away from the mirror, throwing his body over the leather chair in the center of the room. He’s left splayed onto his stomach with the mirror right in front of him, bent over at the waist with his ass facing towards Ghost.

Just as he gets his hands beneath him, complaint already on the tip of his tongue, a hand lands between his shoulder blades and pushes him down with such force that the air is knocked straight out of his lungs. He blinks dumbly at himself in the mirror as Ghost steps behind him, his all-black outfit a sharp contrast to Johnny’s tanned skin.

“Wait-” Johnny starts, some primal part of him (or maybe the part of him that’s watched too much porn) knowing exactly what Ghost wants to do. “Wait, Ghost, you can’t-”

There’s a sudden, stinging pain on Johnny’s ass, and the sound of a smack echoes in his ears. It takes a minute for him to realize that Ghost spanked him.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare-” he snarls, rearing back as much as he can under Simon’s hold. He gets another harsh slap for that, then several more. Ghost lands blow after blow across his ass, each hit thudding and heavy. Johnny bites out insults he’s never used before, fighting as much as he can to no avail.

Eventually the pain sinks a little too deeply, and he goes limp beneath Ghost’s palms. That gets him a purring rumble, and the hand on his back strokes across his shoulders.

“There you go,” Ghost purrs, leaning his hips into Johnny’s reddened ass and shushing the ensuing whine. “Fight all you want, I’ll beat you into submission as many times as you need, Johnny.” He chuckles a little, pressing a kiss to Johnny’s back. “That’s what good boyfriends do, huh?”

Johnny whines at that, a little choked up. He gets his words a minute later, forcing out, “Not- not my boyfriend. You’re gonna rot in jail for this, jackass.”

“Oh?” Ghost coos, leaning to Johnny’s ear and whispering his words, like they’re just meant for him. “Will you come see me? Maybe a couple of conjugal visits from my sweet cunt on the outside?”

His free hand creeps down Johnny’s body, and he has no time to prepare for the palm suddenly stroking over him. Johnny almost dances on his feet, trying to find any way to get the stimulation off.

“St-stop!”

“Stop? But you’re so wet, baby, why would I stop? I can tell it feels good.”

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t let perverts fuckin’ touch me, get off.” He tries to throw his head back into Ghost’s shoulder, but the hand on his shoulder quickly catches him by the mohawk and yanks him back instead. Ghost’s face - mask now taken off - hovers upside down above him, a smug curl to his lips.

“Really? I think you might be a little pervert yourself. Look at how wet you are.” He delivers a quick slap to Johnny’s folds, and the wet sound is humiliating in the otherwise silent room. “You liked licking your mess up that much? Don’t worry, you’ll be cleaning up all your messes from now on. I’ll teach you how to behave properly once I take you home.”

“Home-?” Johnny blubbers a bit, wriggling around but only managing to shift a few inches in any direction. Simon works insistently at his dick, jacking and rubbing the bundle of nerves in an agonizing pattern that has Johnny dripping.

“Yes, home, Johnny. Did you think I’d give you my ink then leave you wandering the streets?” Ghost snorts as he shifts to stand up more fully, forcing Johnny’s head forward more so he’s staring at the pair of them in the mirror again. “What if you got lost, baby? Then some horrible pervert might just scoop you up all for themselves. No, you’ll come home with me, and stay right there, safe and sound.”

Johnny’s past words - he just sort of gapes at himself in the mirror, mind still stuck thirty minutes ago, when everything still made sense. Ghost doing all this, having him bent over, rubbing his pussy in the perfect way… it doesn’t make sense. He has to bite back the confused noise wanting to escape him, tears welling in his eyes from the restraint.

To his chagrin, Ghost notices.

“Oh, baby,” he hums, condescending tone out in full force. “You’re just so needy, huh? Need fucked so bad you’re crying over it? Don’t you worry, Johnny, will fix that for you. Here - I’ll even skip the prep.”

That hreat along with the sound of a belt being undone jolts Johnny back into his body, and he desperately pushes himself up on his hands. Simon’s grip doesn’t let him fully stand, but he manages a bit more leverage.

“No, no, Ghost, you can’t- you can’t fuck me, please-”

“Why not?” Simon just hums, perfectly at peace as his jeans fall to the floor. “Your cunt’s soaked, Johnny. Might be a bit of a stretch, but I’m sure a slut like you can take it. Price’s out, so no one will hear your cryin’ and beggin’.”

“I’m not gonna fucking cry-”

Johnny immediately proves himself a liar as Ghost pushes the head of his cock into his slick hole. He doesn’t push any further than that, but even just the head has Johnny’s arms giving out and leaving him to slump back to the chair.

Ghost is fucking massive. Johnny’s not sure he can even breathe past the stretch, his hole feeling like it’s on fire. He’s sure he’s bleeding - there’s no way something can hurt this much without blood.

He doesn’t even notice he’s crying until a hand turns his head to the side and wipes at his cheeks. “What was that?” Ghost asks, the smugness palpable in his tone. “What were you not gonna go, Johnny?”

He can’t make any sound past a whine, desperately trying to breathe through the stretch.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ghost pulls back and rests his hands on Johnny’s hips, fingers stroking soothingly. “You’re not bleeding, so I think you can take a bit more.”

“No, no-” is all Johnny manages to gasp out before Simon moves forward, and everything he just felt is multiplied by ten.

He’s almost certain he blacks out from the first push to the press of hips against his sore ass. He feels split down the middle, like the things shoved inside of him is going to keep going forever, come right up out of his mouth and leave him in two pieces. He can feel the tip of Ghost’s cock at his fucking cervix.

By some mercy, Ghost doesn’t fuck him immediately. He coos and whisperes condescending comforts, little hums that humiliate more than they soothe.

“You’re alright, baby boy, just relax. Deep breaths, relax into it. You know how to relax for me Johnny, seen you do it beneath the machine enough time by now. Your body’s meant to take my cock, you’ll be fine. You really are a little drama queen, huh? All those pretty tears and I haven’t even started fucking you yet. You gonna be my little pillow princess, baby? Lay there and let me do all the work?”

Johnny doesn’t even try to work up the energy to respond.

“Alright,” Ghost eventually says, giving the side of Johnny’s ass a pat. “I think you’re about as comfortable as you’re gonna get. Deep breaths now, Johnny, be good for me.”

Johnny’s so deep into sensory overload, he hardly notices when Ghost pulls out. He definitely notices when he thrusts back in - the sudden punch at his cervix has him crying out, even as drained as he already feels.

Ghost chuckles behind him. “I know the pain feels good, Johnny. Just lean into it, baby, it’ll feel good soon.”

He’s right - it only takes a few well-aimed thrusts for Johnny’s body to turn even further against him. The sharp pain of a too-soon stretch is still present, but the drag of a heavy cock inside of him, the way Ghost rubs at his clit and manages to hit his g-spot, it all leaves Johnny with a slack mouth, drool dripping to the tile.

Each touch to his cervix is a shot of pain directly up his spine, but that pain just sets sparks off in his cock. He’s closest to orgasm at those moments, every press deep inside of him nearly shoving him into a pleasurable abyss.

Ghost keeps him riding the edge for a while, doesn’t give him the rush he wants so badly.

“Want to come, sweet thing?”

Against his own better thought, Johnny can’t help but gasp, “Ye-es, need it, oh god…”

“Yeah? Go on then, Johnny, beg for it.”

“Nooo,” he hiccups, hips jerking back into Ghost’s movements before he’s stilled by a harsh squeeze.

“Yes,” Ghost hisses mockingly. “You can feel good once you start to behave. Now come on, beg for it.”

Johnny bites his lip, determined not to give in.

He barely lasts two more thrusts before he can’t take it any longer, riding the knife’s edge of an orgasm driving all rationality out of his head.

“Alright, okay, please, please, need to come so bad, Ghost. Come on, please let me come? I’m right fucking there, I can’t- I can’t fucking breathe, please, ‘m gonna die, needta come, please, please…”

Another laugh from behind him, and somehow the fucking gets even rougher.

“You’re gonna die? There’s my favorite little performer, you just need it so bad don’t you?”

“Yes! Please, please, please-”

“Alright, alright, I hear you.” If Johnny were anything less than completely cockdrunk, he’d have the wherewithal to be offended by how non-chalant Simon manages to sound. “That was a good start, baby. I’ll teach you how to beg properly once you’re home, okay? You can go ahead and come, c’mon, let your cunt milk me.”

Like his brain is already trained to obey Simon’s every whim, Johnny comes as soon as the words are out of Ghost’s mouth. He feels shattered by his orgasm, his vision whiting out as he screams from the pleasure. He clenches down so strongly on Ghost that the stretch feels like too much again, and the sparks of pain just prolong his orgasm.

“There you go,” Ghost moans, hips pumping slowly into Johnny’s snatch. “Gonna make me come, baby.”

He’s got just enough presence of mind to whine at that. “Not- not inside…”

“Not inside?” Ghost almost sounds offended. “What, you want me to come on your back? Johnny, you just got a tattoo done. You want me to give you an infection? No, no, you’re gonna keep my come nice and safe in your cunt. Say, thank you, Simon.”

Johnny whines at the first spurts of come painting his insides.

“No - not quite,” Ghost leans his weight over Johnny’s back, panting heavily. “Try-try again, baby. Come on, be good for me.”

The words don’t encourage Johnny much, but the series of sharp taps to his sensitive clit do that trick.

“Ow- ow, fuck, th-thank you, Simon…” he gasps out, squriming against the pain and then moaning as Ghost just shifts further into him.

There’s a long, content sigh over him. “Good boy,” Ghost praises, then huffs a laugh at the clench of Soap’s cunt.

They lay there in silence for several long moments, both of them slowly sinking back into their bodies. Johnny stares with half-lidded eyes at the mirror, still partly unable to really grasp what just happened.

Eventually, Simon pulls out, shushing Johnny’s whine and wince at the sensation.

“We’re done now, Johnny, stop your cryin’. You’re gonna be alright.”

Looking at the pair of them in the mirror - Johnny, soaked in sweat, tears, and come, and Ghost, standing tall and proud seemingly without a care in the world - he can’t help but doubt the words.

But he doesn’t have the energy to think about the future right now, it’s all been fucked out of him. So Johnny lets his eyes drift shut, figuring that things surely couldn’t be any worse when he wakes up.

#ghost calls johnny “baby” a LOT in this and i dont really know why. i was trying to avoid “pup” but i probably shouldve said love lmao #ghoap #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #bo writes #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #john mactavish x simon riley #soap mactavish x ghost riley #ghostsoap smut #ghoap smut #kinktober day 18 #kinktober #kinktober 2023

167 notes · View notes