#Cod x you

[7s3ven]

tatted! simon motorcycle shenanigans

TATTED UP! Simon Riley who lets you turn him into a colouring book. He doesn’t care how you colour his tattoos, he just wants to see the scrunched up look of concentration on your cute face.

“What colour do you want?” You murmur as you glance at your numerous eyeshadow palettes. Simon wants to say black or grey but he sees the way you eye the pink palette for a moment too long.

“… Pink.” He finally answers, his gaze focused solely on your bright smile.

You find joy in colouring his arm with various shades of pink and purple as he watches. “Look, so cute.” You murmur, eliciting a low laugh from Simon.

“Yeah.” His voice rumbles, “You wanna colour the rest in?”

BONUS

“Aye, LT, you got your tattoo redone or what?” Jonny can barely hold back his laughter as he looks at Simon’s arm. The previously edgy tattoos were now adorned with feminine colours and glitter.

“No. Just making the misses happy.” Simon doesn’t really care for his teammates’ reactions because the memory of your smile is enough to block out Jonny’s cackles.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost: I've caught this stupid disease because of Y/N Price: For the last time, Simon, feelings are not an illness

[beloveds-embrace]

(poly 141 x reader with non-sexual dom john price bc i am a whore for him)

You’re not reckless; you are calculated.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when you rush the objective, half expecting to get clipped, half hoping it might happen just hard enough to matter. A sharp enough consequence to justify the chaos rattling in your chest. A hit that would, for once, hurt more physically than mentally.

But it never happens, because you get out.

Again.

And when you stagger into the safehouse, vest half-shredded, blood caking your neck and a quiet look in your eyes that screams what the fuck is wrong with you, it’s not Gaz or Soap who calls you on it. It’s not even your Lieutenant.

It’s the Captain.

Price doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands near the back wall, arms crossed, eyes cold and unreadable under the brim of his cap. Everyone else talks; Ghost grunts, Soap slaps your back, and Gaz offers water.

Price watches.

Watches you. Watches how you brush them off. How your hand trembles when you take the water bottle. How you don’t really hear anything they’re saying.

And when you try to pass him without a word- head down, body bowed, heart dragging low in your chest- that’s when it happens.

And hand shoots out, and thick fingers wrap around the scruff of your collar, yanking you back with practiced ease. You stumble, off-balance, but he barely lets you flinch before he drags you down into the seat between his knees. Scruffed, like a misbehaving mutt.

It’s not gentle. It’s not rough, either. It’s deliberate. Like everything else John Price does.

“Try that again,” he murmurs low against your ear, “and I’ll make sure you don’t so much as breathe without checking in first.”

His hands settle heavy across your shoulders, just there. Like an anchor. Like a silent demand: Stay. Sit. Don’t move. You’re not going anywhere. Like he thinks if he lets go, you might unravel into the smoke of his cigars and drift out the window.

You stare forward, muscles coiled, but not fighting it because even if you wanted to, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

The rest of the room doesn’t react. Gaz’s back is to you, unbothered, watching Soap root through the medkit. Ghost flicks his eyes your way once, gives a small nod to Price, then moves on.

This is normal. Not just that, but also routine.

You are under Price’s hand now, and they all know better than to interfere when he’s decided someone is his problem to handle.

They’ve seen this before.

They’ve been there, in their own ways.

“You think you’re clever,” he says quietly, voice low enough only for you, “Rushing in like that. Like your body’s expendable. Like I wouldn’t notice.”

You say nothing.

“I told you,” he continues, the growl of his voice like a match striking dry wood. “I see you pulling this shit again, I make damn sure you won’t so much as take a piss without me signing off.”

He tightens his grip just enough to remind you: talk.

You want to tell him to fuck off. To let you go. To stop seeing through you like glass held up to sunlight, but you aren’t stupid enough to do that.

“I’m fine.” You mutter.

“Bullshit,” he replies instantly, and you can feel his glare. “You’re bleeding, you’re shaking, and you’ve looked like a ghost since the last op.”

You try to shrug him off, instead, and it is a big mistake.

The arm around you locks, and suddenly your back is pressed tight to his chair. His breath is hot by your ear, the scent of blood and gunpowder and cigars curling around you.

“You wanna play this game?” he snaps. “Where you pretend not to care what happens to you? Fine. But you’ll do it sitting right the fuck here until I’m satisfied you won’t drop dead the moment I blink. You run, and I’ll find you. You disappear, and I’ll tear up every goddamn city from here to the Urals until I get my hands on you again. You hear me?”

You clench your jaw. Try to keep it together. The ache behind your eyes threatens to spill over.

“I don’t need to,” he murmurs back. “I just need to keep you breathing.”

There’s silence for a while, after that. Your mouth feels stitched shut, and you feel no particular rush to tear it open and let your words spill out. Eventually, your shoulders drop. Your head tilts, ever so slightly, against his knee. The tension bleeds out of you slow, like sap from a broken tree.

Price doesn’t move, and doesn’t say anything more. He simply keeps you there, solid against him, and the others still don’t say anything.

they’re used to how he gets when someone forgets their worth.

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley who never gets mad at his wife. No matter how angry he is. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon was practically fuming. First he'd been ordered by Price to train a group of new recruits, then, the young recruits decided to be a colossal pain in the ass, and to top it off, he'd missed his lunch break where he would normally have some respite by calling you.

So now, he was shouting at the recruits. More than usual. The recruits all looked dead on their feet. But Simon didn't care, they decided to be annoying little pricks. They needed discipline or they'd never make it in the military.

"For fucks sake, you mongrel! Run ten laps!" Simon roared at a recruit, the others looking nervous. Not wanting to be the next one to face Simon.

"Uh, sir?" One of the recruits squeak.

"What?!" Simon roared, the recruit pointing behind Simon.

Simon turned with a low growl, clearly not in the mood for anymore antics, only for him to look down and see you. His wife, in a pretty little sundress and holding a Tupperware container full of something. It didn't matter what was inside, his stomach was growling at the thought of your cooking.

"Swee'heart" Simon sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing and his arms wrapping around your waist. He relished in the squeak that came from you as he lifted you up and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You alright, big guy?" you giggle. Simon grumbling in agreement. Making you laugh again.

Simon set you down, barking at the recruits to find Price and that he'll be taking over the training, before walking behind you with his hands on your waist to guide you to his office.

"Si, if you're busy I can go" you offer, and Simon can barely handle how fucking sweet you are to him.

Simon shook his head, taking off his balaclava and sitting in his office chair. Pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Made you some cottage pie" you grin, opening the container in your hands and handing it to Simon. God it was still warm. "I thought you were gonna yell at me with how mad you were at the recruits"

"Would never yell at you, princess" Simon said, rubbing your hips as you fed him a forkful of the cottage pie. He groaned at the taste, making you giggle.

"good?"

"so fucking good, lovie. Needed your cooking after how shit today has been" Simon smiled, bringing your left hand to his lips and kissing your wedding ring gently.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

btw guys I pulled white lily cookie and dark cacao cookie while writing this :p

[sprout-fics]

I need more of the CoD men cumming early. Like getting so turned on and lightheaded by you doing something filthy they bust a nut too soon. Apologizing profusely even as their eyes roll back and they stroke themselves through it or jut their hips against your thigh, grinding their dick through their orgasm until they're whimpering and breathless. Cumming in their pants like a teenager and promising to make it up to you and saying they couldn't help it. They couldn't keep it in. It's you- your voice, your body, your scent, the very touch of your skin against their that makes them lose all self control and groan in arousal and embarrassment from getting off too soon.

[lxvvie]

Simon never thought his body was anything special—not really.

He's just keeping fit because it's part of the job, sweetheart, so body worship wasn't on his bingo card when you invited him over for some rest and relaxation.

Well, not his body, yeah?

Your eyes lit up like it was fuckin' Christmas when you saw him. Simon had just gotten out of the shower, hadn't really had time to put his towel on, and what the fuck is it with him losing track of time when he's with you? All Simon remembered was hearing you mutter "Bloody hell..." under your breath (heh, he's rubbin' off on ya) and next thing he knows, Simon's laying on your bed. Naked. Under you. Wait a fuckin' minute—

His mind goes blank when he watches you watch him; you look at him like he's a fuckin' masterpiece, like he's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, body hair, cuts, bruises, burns, dents and all, drooling without the drool or what the fuck ever, but shit, it's enough to make Simon's face hot. If he wasn't embarrassed then, he's sure as fuck embarrassed now, and he'd bet every pound he had that knobhead Johnny would have a field day with this.

It's the way you kissed, nipped, and sucked everywhere you could (Christ, you even played with his nipples), making him feel so good, making him feel so bloody seen. Rough skin against your softness, and he's never felt so self-conscious before. You were so damn careful with his latest set of bruises, so fuckin' kind and considerate that he felt his heart jump.

It's the way you ran your hand down, all the way fuckin' down, until it wrapped around his cock. His cock that you're lazily stroking, his cock, hot, heavy, leaking, just... what the fuck are you doing to him?

It's the way you kissed Simon's Adam's apple, soft, gently, and he was afraid to swallow because he thought he'd lose something but he sure as hell felt the goosebumps on his skin and shivers run down his spine.

But it's the coup de grâce, you swopping down to kiss the scar dangerously close to his lips, that shatters Simon completely. Breaks him down so fuckin' much that he's practically holding on to you for dear life. He leans against your touch, wonders what the fuck it would feel like to have your lips against his, and he barely registers the fact that he came, not earth-shattering but a warm blanket over him, and it feels like his very first time.

Fuck, this should've been his very first time.

"Aw, you do turn bronze when you tan, Simon!" He looks down, takes inventory of his tan lines (when has he ever lied to you, sweetheart?), looks up at your beaming smile, snorts, and rolls his eyes. If this were anyone else, he'd probably be pissed that the mood was broken.

It's you, though, and it makes everything feel right.

__

Turning Simon Out series

[kkusuka]

kate laswell would let john price fuck her wife and i stand by that.

it doesn’t matter if she was the one who brought it up, i mean she’s known him forever, they get along great and she knows he’ll treat you the way you deserve. and maybe some part of her wants him to fuck you because she knows that you’re hers— it doesn’t matter how much dick you take when you run back home to her. she wants price to know what a sweet cunt she gets to have whenever she wants.

or maybe she can see the way your eyes travel down his neck, to his built shoulders, all the way down to his thick forearms and sturdy hands. and how you can only look him in the eye for a few seconds at a time, and can only talk to him for two minutes before you’re stuttering and excusing yourself.

she thinks it cute, the way you hide your face in her lap as the captain rearranges your guts. hands gripping the mattress, mouth sucking on the fabric of her panties, trying to muffle your moans and gasps— fucking adorable. you don’t want john to know just how much of a desperate slut you are, as if your mouth being occupied takes away from your soaked pussy.

and it gets so much better when kate pulls you up and off john’s cock only to make you sit up and ride him. but you can barely lift yourself up so she has to bounce you one his dick herself.

and when john finally comes in your sore cunt, she makes you both watch it drip out of your abused hole. and when it stops for print she makes john eat it all back up— i mean he can’t make a mess of you then leave without cleaning it up, can he?

[circe69]

“my fuckin’ pussy” simon says as he’s pounding you in a mating press. your heel-clad feet are hung over his burly shoulders, flopping with every thrust.

“mmmn, yer fuckin” pussy” you slurred back.

“oh my, we’ve gotta talker, doing a little repeat after me? fuckin’ simon says, huh?”

he’s such a tease.

[iixch]

☆ iixch production

Ex Husband Simon

ex husband simon who signed the divorce papers without a fuss yet still wears the wedding ring even though you dont wear yours

ex husband simon who still spends weekends with his kids, treating them luxuriously and still pays the mortgage on your once shared home

ex husband simon who accidentally got you pregnant for the third time after spending “one last night” together

ex husband simon who refuses to take no for an answer now hes moving back into your home while youre four months pregnant

[the-palelady]

you were thankful for the storm that suddenly erupted outside the doors of the small clinic, the darkness of the sky concealing you from prying eyes as your back arched up off the desk.

the thunder that rolled about up above mixed with the sounds of your cries, wanton moans that came out strangled, breathy.

the air was continuously being punched from your lungs each time ghost moved, his hips grinding up against your ass and the backs of your thighs.

your lashes fluttered against the flush of your pink cheeks, mouth hanging open. a sight for sore eyes.

“best…fuckin' meal i ever had.”

his voice was molasses, thick and smooth. you tried so desperately to focus on the way he spoke, on the way his honey colored eyes stayed locked with your own, but it was pointless.

you were too far over the edge, his cock gliding against the spongy walls of your pussy. he was reaching places you could never reach on your own.

“takin’ me so well, sweetheart.”

the warmth of his palm pressed down on on your stomach, and it’s your undoing.

you see a glimpse of heaven, the darkened room suddenly becoming so bright. you clench around him so tight his thrusts stutter from the grip.

but he picks the speed back up almost immediately, his stamina far outmatching your own.

“no, no. not done with ya yet. can gimme another, can’t ya sweet girl?”

a second part to this ♡

[leafavleo]

GHOST likes to gentle fuck you when you’re sad. Your eyes full of tears because you had such a bad day and everything made you upset. Your soft, plump, salty lips meeting his, because he can’t let you go to bed sad.

He’s gently spooning you from behind, holding your hips and thrusting slowly in and out. You don’t even have to move, he has it all figured out.

One of his hands wander to your bare breasts, gently squeezing and caressing there. His warm breath hitting the back of your neck as you feel his muscular body pressed tightly against yours.

You can’t even remember why you were crying earlier, because how well Ghost is handling you. You reach your hand behind to grab his arm as you feel the sweet peak of releasing coming.

“I knew you could do it.” He whispers, his tone low and raspy as his lips do not leave your sweet, soft skin even for a second.

Your sniffles earlier turns into little moans and gasps of pleasure, his cock so gently penetrating your insides, making sure that no tear will left your eye anymore, but it’ll roll down your leg.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: Fuck me if I'm wrong but- Ghost: Wrong. You are wrong Y/N: I haven't even said- Ghost, taking his shirt off: You are WRONG

[beloveds-embrace]

(siren/mermaid reader x simon “ghost” riley written on a whim and a rush)

There’s a silence that only the sea understands; a quiet lull between the crash of waves and the breath of something other watching from below.

You rise just before the tide turns.

Water beads like silver across your shoulders, trailing rivulets down the curves of your scaled skin. The moonlight paints you in cold beauty- sharp and soft, haunting. Your hair drips with salt and secrets. Your tail, dark as the ocean trench and rimmed with glints of blue, curls beneath the surface like a big, lazy question mark.

The boat creaks as you settle on the edge of it, arms resting on the slick wood, claws tapping like soft bells.

And there he is; the one man you cannot drown. Ghost, you’d heard the other fishermen call him. Simon, the seas whispered to you.

You’ve tried. Not out of malice, not really. You’ve never spared the ones who drift too close- those ruddy-faced tourists with their cheap beer and loud mouths, hearts too full of their own importance to sense the predator beneath the waves even when the locals who’ve seen you sinking down whole ships are the ones to warn them. Their skulls now rest in coral nests far below. A song, a smile, a brush of your fingers on their dreams- that’s all it ever took.

But him?

The first time you sang to Simon, he didn’t blink. He didn’t bleed from the ears or follow you into the rocks like a lamb, did not give into the sweet song of death. He just looked at you- as if he knew your song already.

You wish it had ended there, but no. No. He did much worse, he had even freed you-

You can still remember the trap. Rusted iron strung between two forgotten pylons, slick with barnacles and hunger. It had snapped tight around your waist as you’d swum through a kelp forest, cutting into your flesh with a mechanical groan that still makes your bones ache. You’d thrashed, thrashed until your voice broke against the water, until your blood painted the reeds crimson. And then- he had been there. Still, unafraid, with dark eyes peering at you.

He didn’t speak. Just waded into the cold, metal snips in hand, and cut you loose. You had stared at him, weak and trembling, the tide lapping red around you.

That was years ago. And ever since, you come to him. Not always. Never with warning.

Only when the moon calls.

Tonight, it hangs low and red like an omen. The kind that makes fish leap onto shore and birds fly inland, and a different type of hunger coil like eels in youe stomach. Blood moon, the fishermen call it. She will be hunting, they had said. And most know to stay far away when it rises. When you rise.

But not Simon. Never him.

Simon stands on his boat, the Wretch’s Mercy, steady as stone. He doesn’t flinch when you breach the surface, eyes gleaming like polished bullets. Doesn’t reach for the knife on his hip, even if you think he should. He is too defenseless; it takes the taste out of food.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show.” He says. His voice is low and dry as cracked rope, wrapped in northern smoke and salt.

He’s wearing the same black mask, the white skull painted across it like a silent threat. But his eyes- those ever-watchful eyes- glint amber in the dark. Not human. Not quite. How have you never noticed it before?

“I don’t perform on demand,” you purr, tail flicking. “There are no fools in the water tonight.”

“No,” he agrees. “Only monsters.”

You bare your teeth in something like amusement, too sharp to be called a smile. “… You’ve never feared me, sailor. Why?”

Simon shrugs, tugging gently at a net as it coils along the deck. “Yer not the scariest thing I’ve come across, love. Not by a long shot.”

You lean forward, hair dripping over your chest, your irises dark as shipwrecks. You swear your teeth ache with the need to bite into him. “Do they know what you are?”

Simon finally looks at you- really looks.

There’s no shock in his face. No hesitation.

“Who, the locals?” he says, low. “They think I’m just a fisherman that won’t bloody die.”

You study him, the way his broad shoulders roll with the boat, how his body moves with the tide instead of against it. Like you.

“You smell like the deep,” you whisper at last. “Like volcanic vents and whale bone. You’re not surface-made.”

Silence stretches between you. It’s the same quiet the ocean gives before it devours something.

He steps forward, towards you. “You’re not wrong.”

You blink. Your claws curl slightly into the wood. “Then why pretend?”

“Because monsters scare off the catch.”

You laugh- low, velvety, the sound of waves lapping at a sailor’s final breath. But your voice softens then. “You could have let me die.”

He’s close now. Close enough to touch. The net dangles loose in his hands. “Didn’t want to,” he says simply. “Didn’t feel right.”

“Why?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re mine.”

That words stir, primal in your chest. Something that snarls and sings and sinks ships into the bottomless ocean.

“You think you can keep me?”

His hand reaches up- not fast, not rough- just firm. His fingers trail along your damp jaw, calloused thumb stroking the corner of your lip. You don’t pull away, and you don’t bite, even though you should.

But your heart stutters like a dying gull anyways.

“I don’t think,” he murmurs, voice deeper now, trenches miles below. “I know.”

You stare at him, senses drinking him in- his scent, his heat, the thrum of something old and hungry beneath his skin. You lean in, then, lips nearly brushing his, your breath a chill against his mask.

“When the time comes,” you whisper, voice of broken shells and broken vows. “You’ll have to catch me.”

Simon’s smile beneath the mask is something no man should wear. It is something no man would wear- but another deep water monster would.

“Oh, I will. When you follow me down, you won’t want to come back up.”

[succubusvalentine]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐠𝐚. 𝐂𝐖 : 𝐍𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬, 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬.

𝐌 𝐀 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐋 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓

You didn't expect the strange situation you were in with your boyfriend and his teammates to progress further than it already had. Simon would send videos and images of you during sex to the men he trusted with his life, you got an ego boost from the desperate praise from said men. Everything was good.

And yet, one day when you were on your lunch break, waiting for your name to be called at the cafe, your phone dinged.

You were slightly confused, assuming it was Simon despite that he rarely messages you while he's on base.

But when you opened your phone, it was a group chat.

And not a new one, no. Because as you scrolled up, you saw videos of you that Simon had sent. And some familiar text messages from Simons teammates.

Your phone dinged again and you were at the bottom of the chat once more. Only to see an image of Johnnys hard dick.

"Christ, Soap. Do we all have to see that?" Price messaged.

"Couldn't help myself. Got excited to see that Bonnie lass finally got added after Simons been edging us for months about it" Johnny responded.

"Don't word it like that, Soap." Simon messaged.

The short conversation between the three heavily amused you. Making you giggle under your breath.

Once you returned to your office building with your treat from the cafe, you put the small paper bag on your desk before going to the bathroom.

You scoped out the place, making sure no one else was in there. Before you quickly unbuttoned your blouse and took a photo of the lace bra you had on. Suddenly thankful it was wash day for your favourite comfy bras.

Almost as soon as it was sent, a flood of messages from all four men came through. Clearly all salivating at the image.

That's how it went for a while, too. You'd started sending pictures of your tits, cunt, a few of your hand (or Simons) under your panties.

It definitely inflated your ego. And you now loved getting demands from the men. You should feel disgusted by them, but reading a text from Price saying "show cunt", with the following messages of his men agreeing and begging for it...Yeah you weren't disgusted. It only made you throb.

Your favourite was when they would send voice messages after one of your pretty photos. Grunts and the slick sound of their hand stroking themselves raw.

You've even gotten a video or two from Simon and Price of Kyle and Johnny sat next to each other as they tug each others cocks, staring at the video you'd just sent of you touching yourself.

And at the end of every week, after the last meeting of the day on base, Price would dismiss everyone but his favourite three. Switching the presentation to the more personal one. Where they go through all the images and videos you and Simon had sent during the week. More often than not, cocks in hand as Simon described how you tasted and felt like. How you sounded.

And if the boys had been good that week, they all got a pair of soaked panties to take home.

Adding you to the group chat was definitely the right idea.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[codnasties]

price humiliating you 🚬 (🌽 price)

'price is a loving husband/boyfriend', 'he would tend to your every need', 'he's willing to pleasure you in any way you want',... yeah, but he's also one mean fucker. he loves you but makes you beg for half of that stuff.

and as an evil man, if you are fully horny and desperate to get some of that captain john price cock in you, you are going to have a lot of begging and asking for it, and you better pray that he decides to be nice and not play with you.

because if not, you are going to just look like a desperate bitch in heat, humping your ass against him, trying to get him to fuck you, or a the very least some kind of relief from rubbing against his dick, now chubbing up inside of his pants.

and oh does he make fun of you! humiliating you, laughing at your desperate attempts. pinching your sensitive nipples, slaping your tits and chocking you whille you keep rocking against his now rock hard cock. giving your pussy mocking slaps but never any real relief.

he may record one of your desperate tries at getting dicked down, and might even share it.

[partiallysame]

Soap accidentally hits on ghosts girl

“What’s a pretty lil thing like you doing in a bar like this?” He asked as he waved to the bartender to get you another of whatever was in your glass. Turning to see who the cheesy line belonged to, you almost let out a laugh before you realized he was being serious. You immediately recognized the man. Simon had one single thing on the walls in his apartment, a photo of the 141. You knew the man in front of you but by the way he was sliding onto the stool next to you he clearly did not know who you were. This was going to be fun. You looked up at him with this big doe eyes and he was already losing it.

You hummed a little as if you were contimplating his question. “Maybe I come here to meet big strong men.” You batted your lashes at him. “Was hoping to meet a couple actually.” Your response made him raise his eyebrows as he took a drink of the glass the bartender had handed him.

“Oh is that so?” He asked leaning a little closer to you.

“Yes it is” your voice dripped with honey as you leaned closer to him. His hand immediately found your thigh at your action. A big smile came to your face, hand reaching up to place itself lightly on his chest. You two stayed like that for a moment both refusing to break eye contact before you leaned in to whisper in his ear. Lips barely brushing his skin as you spoke.

“You know John. You should probably ask if a pretty lil thing like me is single before you touch” his eyes widened when you used his name and threw the nickname he had used back at him. Pulling back slightly your hand on his chest gripped the collar of his shirt. “Or at least ask her name.” Before he knew it, the soldier was being pulled by you off the stool and dragged by his shirt to the front door where the rest of the 141 had been watching.

“This thing belong you?” You questioned pushing the large man towards his friends.

“Sorry lovie” your boyfriend apologized reaching to take your hand.

Oh Soap was so fucked.

part 2