#Soap Mactavish

[amazeingartist]

barely done anything cause soap keeps going into cardiac arrest. also I’m retweaking my ghost design, bare with me as I familiarise myself with new tattoo designs

[johnprice-asks]

😔

TASK FORCE 141

[thybreadmolds]

[forestshadow-wolf]

If it's chilly outside Soap is "shivering like a wee kitten" and trying his hardest to claim Ghost's hoodie for himself. He's not meant for the cold.

But if they're on an op and they're underequipped he's the first to give up his own jacket and gloves, saying that he'll be fine without them. He grew up in cold, wet scottish winters, he knows how to handle the cold, and he knows hypothermia intimately. And not a peep of complaint from him.

[lushrue]

dinner party (nsfw)

ghoap x fem!reader

cw: oral (m and f receiving), dubcon (sort of?), voyeurism, dom ghost

it was supposed to be a normal dinner party.

by all accounts, it had been up to this point. it wasn’t unusual for your husband to invite the men he worked with over for dinner, especially johnny. the man lives alone, he’d said, least I can do is give ‘em a nice home-cooked meal every once in a while. you always pulled out the stops, cooking something bordering on gourmet that the mess halls couldn’t even hope to replicate. tonight, it had been grilled salmon with wild rice and roasted asparagus.

conversation over dinner was normal, aided by the wine and whiskey loosening everyone’s lips. you’re far more sociable than simon is, but that doesn't take much, so the alcohol kept the words flowing freely. it wasn’t until after dinner that things started to shift.

the three of you settled in the living room with your respective spirits, wrapping up the night with friendly conversation over light dessert. you moved to your usual spot in the armchair beside the bookshelf, but the sound of simon clicking his tongue at you stopped you in your tracks. he was sat in his own chair nearest the sofa, legs spread like a king on his throne. you couldn’t quite keep your eyes from wandering, admiring the way his jeans clung to his thighs. he met your gaze, the corner of his lips quirked up in a mischievous smirk. he patted his thigh and you felt embarrassment burn your cheeks.

you glanced over to johnny, as if to remind simon that you had company, but he didn’t seem to care. his dark eyes stayed fixed on you, silence falling over the room as johnny’s gaze followed his lieutenant’s. simon cocked his head, a gesture that you recognized as obey or else. you didn’t feel like testing the waters tonight, so you padded over to him, perching yourself on his thigh.

your husband’s arm snaked around your waist as you swirled your wine in your glass, staring at the whirlpool it created to distract you from the way johnny was eyeing you. simon had pulled you onto his lap for a reason, and part of you wondered if it wasn’t entirely selfish motivation that had you positioned here. simon’s hand stroked over the crushed velvet of the dress he’d insisted you wear, sliding down to grip your ass occasionally when you got too fidgety.

conversation gradually turned to their work, so you tuned them out. it wasn’t that you weren’t interested; most of it just flew over your head. it gave you time to focus on the way your husband was feeling you up. his hand never stayed in one place too long, sliding from your shoulder to your spine to the nape of your neck and down. it made shivers run down your spine, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs the longer it continued. despite your squirming, you managed to stay ladylike, a metaphorical aspirin between your knees as the two men talked.

“so, how’s y’r sex life?” simon asked, which snapped you back to attention. johnny seemed just as bewildered as you did at the question, his cheeks flushed scarlet beneath the stubble. you nudged simon’s shoulder, shaking your head at him. “simon, that’s not polite,” you said, but he didn’t pay you any mind. he was too busy watching johnny fluster and scramble to find his words. “l.t., I-” he started, but simon held up a hand to stop him. “nah, don’ play dumb with me, lad. heard ya jus’ the other day in the rec room. talkin’ about how ya haven’t had a good shag in months, somethin’ like tha’.”

you were just as embarrassed as johnny was now. you knew simon wasn’t the most tactful of men, but this was a whole other level. johnny stuttered around his words, trying to find some kind of reply that was appropriate for the situation. nothing would be appropriate for this situation, you thought. simon just chuckled, his hand rubbing the plush cheek of your ass. “look how flustered ‘e is, lovie,” he said to you, finally giving you his full attention. “poor man, doesn’ have a good bird like I do. no one to cook ‘im a nice dinner and keep ‘is cock wet.”

as flustered as you were, the words sent a jolt straight to your core. taking care of your husband was a sense of pride for you. you got a primal satisfaction out of sinking to your knees and sucking him dry after he’d had a hard day. it meant the world to you when his shoulders sagged and released the burden that he’d been carrying, all at your hands. you shifted on his lap, pressing your thighs together to get some relieving friction.

simon looked back at johnny, who seemed just as affected. he had his hands clasped over his lap, his gaze cast down at the throw rug like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “ya wanna know wha’ it’s like, sergeant?” simon asked, his voice dropping into a register only you got to hear. “wanna feel my sweet, pretty dove wrapped aroun’ ya?” johnny jolted like he’d been shocked with a prod, wide blue eyes looking up at his commanding officer. there was bewilderment there, you noticed. clearly, he hadn’t been expecting this. but behind the surprise, there was something more carnal. he looked hungry, like a mutt begging for scraps from the table.

your husband placed a firm hand on your back, taking the wine glass from your hands and coaxing you to stand. “g’won, lovie. on your knees for our bashful lad, hmm?” simon’s choice of words struck you. our. this was for both of you, not just simon. the two of you had discussed the idea of a threesome once, but it felt like a pipe dream then. you’d expressed interest, never really expecting simon to share but confessing your fantasy all the same. and now, here it was. Happening.

you did as you were told, kneeling in front of the sofa where johnny was. from this angle, you could see how harshly his chest was rising and falling, his breath quick and uncertain. it brought you a strange sense of satisfaction that you could fluster a special ops soldier so easily. you sat there expectantly, but johnny didn’t move. he just stared at you, almost the same way he’d stared at his dinner plate before digging in. his eyes traced the contours of your body, over your shoulders and down to your full chest, over your breasts and down to the plush of your stomach and thighs where they pressed against your dress.

“starin’ won’ make ‘er cum, johnny,” simon quipped. you drew in a sharp breath, glancing back over your shoulder at your husband. he clicked his tongue again, motioning back towards johnny. “ah-ah, keep your eyes on ‘im, precious. he needs y’r attention more’n I do.” you looked back up at johnny dutifully, your lips parting slightly as you waited for him to do something, anything. the fabric of the rug was biting into your knees, making you a tad uncomfortable. “she’s yer wife, simon, I cannae jus’-” “you can an’ you will,” simon interrupted. “the only way she gets any pleasure tonigh’ is by your hand, an’ I don’t let my wife go to bed unsatisfied.” you let out a whine at that, the stakes so much higher now that you knew the terms. johnny just had to touch you.

“steamin’ jesus,” the Scot cursed under his breath, your whine sending a spark of pleasure between his legs. he’d never heard a woman make that sound before, especially not at the prospect of being pleased by him. “i can touch ‘er?” he asked, but he didn’t look at simon for an answer. his stare was more intense, sizing you up, deciding which piece of you would be most juicy to sink his teeth into. simon hummed in amusement. “unless y’r bloody telekinetic, s’pose ya have to, don’ ya?” simon responded, shifting in his chair. you heard the zipper of his jeans go down and it was almost painful that you couldn’t look at him.

johnny reached forward, taking your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he stroked his thumb along your jaw, shuddering on his exhale. “y’r so soft,” he breathed out, marvelling at the beauty of you on your knees. you lean your head into his touch, following the pulls and pushes of his hand as he inspects you. “such a bonnie bird,” he cooed, spreading his legs and pulling you in closer to him. you shuffle forward, settling yourself more squarely between his knees.

“simon says ya suck cock like a dream. is he righ’?” johnny asked. you nod, leaning forward to mouth at his crotch through his jeans. you could feel how hard he was already from barely having touched you. instead of focusing on the fact that simon was going around blabbing about your blowjob skills, you chose to take in as much of johnny’s musk as you could through his pants. you couldn’t quite smell him, but there was the barest hint of his body wash peeking through.

simon had started stroking himself to the sight of both of you, the wet shlick reaching your ears and emboldening you. knowing that your husband was enjoying this ignited a fire that started in your core and spread through your veins. johnny got the same motivation, locking eyes with simon for only a moment before shoving his jeans and boxers down. you gasp at the suddenness of it, placing your hands on his bare thighs to steady yourself. before you can fully get your bearings, johnny grabs the back of your head and shoves you down.

he’s not as long as simon, but he’s certainly thicker. he fills your mouth almost instantly, your cheeks aching a little with the stretch. you and johnny moan in unison, your eyes fluttering shut as johnny’s hand balls up in your hair. simon chuckles behind you, his hand tightening around himself. “tha’s it, lad. fuck ‘er mouth good, she likes it a bit rough.”

johnny’s hips start thrusting, the ruddy tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. tears bead up in the corners of your eyes, whimpers and moans giving johnny some vibration as he fucks your throat. you applauded yourself for the decision not to wear mascara; cleaning the tears and spit from your face would be difficult enough. saliva dribbled down johnny’s length, wetting your lips as you hollowed your cheeks. the salt of him coated your tongue, precum leaking down your throat. above you, johnny was grunting and groaning like a rutting bull, thrusting into your mouth with abandon. “how’s my girl feel, johnny?” simon asked, his voice sounding strained. hearing just how affected they both were had your pussy dripping with arousal. “fuck, si, she’s…ah, so warm. fuckin’ milkin’ me.”

your tongue traced the protruding vein on the underside of johnny’s cock, delighting in the shudder you earned from him. it didn’t take long after that for him to finish down your throat. you swallowed every drop, taking in everything he offered. he was more bitter than simon, but you enjoyed it all the same. you pulled your mouth off of johnny’s cock with a wet pop, peeking up at him with heavy lidded eyes. the man you saw was not the man who’d sat across from you at dinner. he looked downright feral, grabbing you like a man possessed. he pulled you up from the floor, laying you out on the sofa and tugging your underwear down.

before johnny tossed them away, he held them to his nose, drinking in the smell of you. he groaned, balling the fabric up in his fists. “y’r bird smells like heav’n, l.t.,” he rasped, dropping the panties and fixing his wild gaze back on you. “bet she tastes even better.” without any further warning, he dipped his head between your thighs, thick tongue lapping up the moisture from your cunt. you squealed in surprise, throwing your head back against the cushions. simon bit back a curse behind his hand, watching his best friend devour his wife like his last meal. the mere thought was enough to make him spill all over his hand and stomach, his release silent so as not to distract johnny.

you didn’t think anything could. your thighs clamped around his head to keep him in place, but it was hardly necessary. even the rapture couldn’t pull him away from your pussy and the nectar that dripped from it. as much as you enjoyed the feeling, johnny wasn’t as coordinated as simon was. his tongue was wild, moving for his pleasure rather than yours. 

you twitched and moaned when he would happen to graze your clit, hoping that he’d get the hint, but he never did. there was no technique, no purpose. johnny came up for air, hazy eyes meeting yours. he was pussy-drunk, your juices shining on his lips and chin. he nosed at the inside of your plush thigh, sinking his teeth into the fat there. it stung and your back arched, reaching down to push his head away. the sting wasn’t pleasurable, not compared to his tongue against your cunt.

the moment simon caught the resistance from you, he was on his feet, yanking johnny back by his mohawk. the Scot gasped, back arching as simon held his hair tight in his fist. “easy, mutt,” simon growled in johnny’s ear, pushing his head down to look at you. “tha’s my girl, and y’r gonna treat ‘er with the respect she deserves. not some blushin’ virgin tha’s never had a woman, are ya?” johnny huffed, taking the question as an insult to his manhood. “‘course not,” he said, voice tense and strained. simon shook johnny’s head, then released his hair. “didn’ think so. remember y’r place, treat ‘er right.”

the scolding from simon had leveled johnny, forced him to slow down and think with his brain and not his cock. you twitched and whined as he paid more attention to your aching clit, swollen and puffy with desire. your hips bucked against your will, pressing against johnny’s tongue harder. 

finally, his tongue pushed inside you, caressing your walls. you clenched around him, tension building in your lower stomach. “don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged, chest heaving. simon appeared at your side, stroking your hair. his gaze was soft, admiring, a welcome contrast to johnny’s. “cum on his tongue, love. he’s been waitin’ for it, not gonna stop ‘til he gets it.” those words were all it took to push you over the edge, shuddering and whining as johnny licked you through your orgasm.

you felt floaty after, the pleasure of having your husband’s best friend eat you out while your husband watched going straight to your head. there were cooed praises and kisses to your cheeks, but you weren’t entirely sure who they came from. hushed words were exchanged at your feet, then johnny was zipping himself up and kissing you goodbye. simon wrapped you in your favorite fuzzy blanket, the gentle sway of his gait soothing you as he carried you to the bedroom. once he’d laid you on the bed, he started to leave, but your soft hum and hand on his arm stopped him. “si? can we do that again?” you asked, voice soft and wrecked.

simon just chuckled, brushing your hair away from your face. “don’ you worry, lovie. he’s comin’ back for dinner next week.”

[johnprice-asks]

Looks cozy enough, right lads?

Some old poly 141 art. i dont think i like this one too much but still. Eepy boys that were trying to watch a movie.

[ang3lc]

How about having a steamy shower sex with a pent up and touch starved Johnny McTavish after a long deployment, the hot water cascading on their body as he hoist reader up and pressed her against the glass wall. If you write about it I'll def read it

HOMECOMING | johnny mactavish

2.4k words, johnny x fem!reader cw: unprotected piv, shower sex and all that comes with it

the front door creaks open, the sound barely audible over the hum of the fridge in the kitchen. you freeze mid-step, your heart leaping into your throat. no one was supposed to be here. you reach for the bat leaning against the counter—always in arm’s reach since Johnny left—gripping it tightly as you inch toward the sound.

“who’s there?” your voice wavers, the question a mix of fear and adrenaline.

there’s a heavy pause, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots scuffing against the hardwood floor. you raise the bat as you round the corner into the foyer, your hands trembling as you prepare to swing. but then, a voice cuts through the silence, low and familiar.

“'a'm home, lass,” he murmurs, stepping into the light. “it’s me.”

you blink, the bat slipping from your hands and clattering to the floor. johnny stands there, still in his tac vest, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. his hair's grown out, messier, and there’s a shadow of exhaustion under his eyes. but he’s here, real and solid, and the sight of him hits you like a freight train.

“johnny?” you whisper, your voice breaking on his name.

“aye,” he breathes, dropping his bag as he closes the distance between you in a few long strides. his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. the familiar scent of him—sweat, gunpowder, seafoam—floods your senses.

“you aren't supposed to be back for another week,” you manage, your words muffled against his shoulder.

“couldn’t stay away,” he replies, his voice rough and quiet. his grip tightens like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. “needed tae see ye.”

you pull back to look at him, your hands cupping his face. his blue eyes, though tired, are bright and alive.

“you look like you’ve been through hell,” you say softly, your thumb brushing over the faint scruff on his jaw.

“been worse,” he replies with a crooked smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “just need a shower an’ some time wi’ you.”

he doesn’t wait for your reply, scooping you up in one swift motion that makes you yelp. “johnny—!”

“shh,” he murmurs, carrying you toward the bathroom. “need tae wash the dirt off before i can touch ye proper.”

the promise in his words sends a shiver down your spine, your protests melting into anticipation as he carries you to there bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

he sets you down, his hands lingering on your waist as his gaze roams over you. there’s an intensity in his eyes, a hunger barely restrained, and it makes your skin prickle with anticipation. the bathroom feels smaller with him in it, his presence filling the space as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the counter.

“you’re filthy,” you tease, though your voice comes out softer than you intended.

“ye’ve no idea,” he replies, his tone laced with something deeper, something that sends warmth pooling low in your stomach. dirty minded fucker.

he turns on the shower, the spray hitting the tile with a steady rhythm. you start to undress, but johnny’s hands cover yours, stopping you.

“let me,” he says, his voice a low rumble that makes your heart skip.

his fingers work with deliberate care, peeling your clothes away layer by layer. his touch is reverent, as though he’s committing the sight of you to memory, and by the time you’re bare before him, the weight of his gaze makes your cheeks flush.

he doesn’t rush. his own clothes come off piece by piece, the tension in his shoulders easing as he sheds the layers of deployment—sand, grime, and the heavy weight of duty. when he’s finally standing before you, fully exposed, you can’t help but drink him in. scars you’ve memorized and new ones you haven’t trace stories across his skin, each a testament to the man before you.

“beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes dark and full of adoration.

he steps into the shower first, holding out a hand for you. the water cascades over his broad, muscular shoulders, slicking down his hair and catching on the sharp lines of his jaw. you take his hand, letting him pull you in, the heat of the water a welcome contrast to the cool air outside.

the sound of the water drowns out everything else. johnny pulls you close, his hands finding your hips as the spray washes over both of you.

“missed ye,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. his voice is low, almost reverent. “missed this. missin’ ye damn near got me killed”

“god... don't tell me that... at least you're here now.” you reply, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

his lips find yours, and the kiss is everything he hasn’t said, everything he’s felt in the long weeks and months apart. it’s slow and all-consuming, becoming a tangle of heat and need that leaves you breathless.

his hands wander, mapping out the curves of your body as though reacquainting himself. his touch is possessive but tender, a silent promise in every brush of his fingers against your skin.

“jump,” he whispers against your lips, his voice thick with want as he taps your thighs. .

you obey without question, you lift your legs and he catches them as they wrap around his waist. a shiver runs through you as he wraps his arms around your waist and rear, holding you steady.

each of johnny’s thrusts slams your body against the glass wall, the pane trembling under the force of his movements as if it might shatter from the intensity. the cool surface bites against your overheated skin, a contrast to the heat radiating from him. every inch of his body feels like a live wire, coiled tight, sparking, and setting you on fire.

he moves with an unrelenting rhythm that leaves you breathless, his need palpable in the way his hips snap into yours, precise and consuming. his mouth laves on you—your neck, your jaw, your lips—branding you with a promise that the water can’t wash away. the glass fogged long before the steam had a chance, each breath adding to the haze as your breaths mingle in the humid air.

his hands are firm on your ass, lifting and holding you with an ease that speaks to his strength. his fingers dig into the soft flesh with a bruising grip, grounding himself in the reality of you, here, wrapped around him as you suffocate his cock. there’s desperation in his touch, but beneath the ferocity, there’s tenderness—a thumb stroking your skin, a whispered affirmation against your ear that steadies your racing pulse.

“fuckin’ perfect,” he groans, his voice raw and needy as he licks at the crook of your neck. his words, spoken more to himself than to you, send a shiver through your frame. his hips slow to a steady, deep roll, nudging your g-spot with his mushroomed tip while the thatch of hair at the base of his cock teases your clit.

“fuckin’ hell,” he mutters against your skin, “ye’ve nae idea how much i’ve needed ye, lass. thought about ye every fuckin’ day, every fuckin’ night.” his teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, pulling a borderline pornographic moan from your lips as your walls clamp around him, dragging another groan from his chest.

“oh- oh fuck... j-johnny-” his name falls from your lips in a broken whimper, and it’s enough to let him know that you're close, his forehead dropping to yours. his breaths come heavy and uneven, his body trembling as though holding himself back takes every ounce of control he has left.

his hands shift, one cradling the back of your neck, the other anchoring your hip against the glass. his eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide, his gaze dark and unrelenting. “say m’name again,” he rasps, his voice low and raw. “need tae hear it. need tae know ye’re here wi’ me.”

you thread your fingers into his damp mohawk, "l-love you, johnny-" he smashes his lips against yours before you can finish and you're sure he knocked a tooth loose.

he picks up the pace, each thrust forces out a mewl that he swallows down greedily, his groans vibrating against your lips. his hands tighten on you as he drives into you, your nails dig into his muscled back, drawing faint streaks of crimson that the water washes away.

his lips leave yours, kissing and sucking down to your collarbone, your shoulder, the hollow of your throat, followed by the scrape of his teeth and the press of his tongue to soothe the burn.

he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “fucked m’fist tae that dirty little polaroid ye left in m’wallet,” he taunts, his tone teasing but laced with something darker. his eyes gleam as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “what? didn’t think i’d notice, did ye?”

your response is lost in a gasp as his pace quickens, his thrusts growing erratic, pounding deeper and harder, his cock bruising your cervix with a burn that devolves into pleasure.

his forehead presses to yours, his breaths heavy and uneven, mingling with your own. “you’re so fuckin’ sexy, fuck,” he rasps, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. his eyes lock onto yours, dark and full of emotion, as if he’s holding onto this moment, burning it into the back of his mind.

your nails dig into his shoulders as you feel the coil tighten, heat pooling in your belly as you tense, “johnny… oh go- fuck! don’t stop, please,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the words. “i’m so close. please, don’t stop.”

his left hands grip on you tightens, and his right thumb slips between your bodies, drawing tight circles on your clit, a sharp yelp from your lips as your hips buck. “never lettin’ ye fall, love,” he groans, his voice rough and raw. “come f'me. let me feel that cunt gush 'round me.”

your body arches toward him as the coil snaps, a wave of pure, blinding heat that tears through you. you cry out, your voice trembling as you clench around him, sucking him in keeping him there.

“that’s it, baby, milk my fuckin' cock,” he murmurs, still pistoning his hips into you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in overstimulation. his lips brush against your temple as he stops you from squirming. “fuckin’ beautiful… that’s my girl.”

his hips stutter as he chases his own release, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “fuck, lass, ye're squeezin’ me so tight,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, sucking a bright red blotch that'll fade to purple.

you thread your fingers into his hair, tugging gently to bring his face back to yours. his hips begin to stutter when he looks in your eyes, “let go, baby. i’m here. i’m yours.”

with a final, shuddering thrust, he spills into you, his hot seed filling your cunt and dripping down his legs, onto the shower floor, “jesus… fuck,” he rasps, his voice breaking as he collapses against you, his arms locking around your waist.

johnny shifts, carefully lowering you to the shower floor, his strong arms still wrapped around you as if afraid you might disappear. the water cascades over both of you, cooling the feverish heat left in the wake of your passion. he leans his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the steamy, wet cocoon you’ve created together.

“you okay, love?” his voice is soft now, a tender rasp that pulls you from the haze of your climax.

“yeah,” you whisper, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the strong, steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. “better than okay.”

his lips curve into a small smile, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering as if to savor the moment. “good. because a’m no' sure how i’ve gone this long without ye.”

you manage a soft laugh, your fingers brushing through his damp hair, pulling him close until your foreheads touch. “you’re a sap, johnny,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

he grins, the tension melting from his face as he cups your cheek, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin. “aye, maybe. bu' a'm yer sap.”

the tenderness in his eyes makes your heart ache, the intensity of the moment softening into something sweeter. he shifts slightly, holding you closer as the water falls over you both, washing away everything but the feeling of him, solid and steady, against you.

“a'm nae leavin' ye again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight kiss. “promise.”

you nod, your arms wind around his neck, anchoring yourself to him. he kisses you again, slower this time, as if savoring every taste you have to offer. when he pulls away, he moves to turn off the shower, the sudden quiet amplifying the intimacy between you.

“let’s go tae bed,” he says finally, his voice low and warm. “want tae hold you proper.”

you nod, letting him guide you to your feet. the love in his eyes is steady, unshakable, a quiet promise that no matter how far he goes, he’ll always find his way back to you.

mlist

[jive-buggy]

Incel! Soap

warnings: Incel behavior

A/N: theres like a 9/10 chance im expanding on this, im just stinky at writing. anyway as always Reqs are open, so drop em!! :3

Soap whos wayyyyyyyyy to freaky and gets no women because of it.

He'd be sitting in bed late at night, fisting his dick into a soft cotton sock as he scrolled threw the newest photos his favorite Twitter girl (you), posted, his eyes locked not on the panties on your body, no, but a pair of cotton underwear from one of those 8 packs hanging out of your laundry basket that happened to make it in the back of your pictures. Soap would zoom in and then get a nasty idea, he went into your Twitter DMs and requested the panties in the back.

Soapstaysslick: Hey bonnie, ill pay pal ya 100 for the knickers in the back, the ones with the stripes

When you read the message you were confused and mildly perplexed, those weren't hot underwear by any means, old, stained from being on your period and just overall should probably just be thrown out, and trust you let him know that they were stained and gross and of course like the freak he is responded.

Soapstaysslick: Perfect.

So you complied with his request, deciding to be nice and add a couple polaroid of you wearing the underwear before you mailed them to him. When he received the panties he'd open the package, shove his nose in the bubble mailer and deeply inhale, before he even pulls the panties out. When reaches in he finds the polaroids and isn't super interested just yet because he's already smelt them, he was locked in, once the panties were pulled out he took his time looking over each an every blood stain, holding them by the crotch to bring them to his nose, inhaling deeply the scent of built up discharge in the underwear.

Safe to say by the end of the night he's rutting into the panties like a dog in heat while dm-ing you to ask for more panties.

[johnprice-asks]

Peepaa core

im THIRTY FUCKING NINE

[501st-rexster]

Literally the most perfect man right there.

Neil Ellice looking extremely handsome in these new/old pictures

[corporalellie]

pov: your boss finds your naughty artwork of him➰

I loved their chat bout my artwork so much that I ended up doodling it ... lol

inspired by @ask-phillip-graves @ask-soapmactavish

[ghouljams]

(Tw emetophobia(throwing up), altered mental states, fae magic bullshit)

You've been fuzzy since Johnny got his hands on you, unfocused and bleary eyed, your head full of cotton and your viscera feeling ticklish. There's a buzzing down the center line of your body that makes you want to cough until you choke up whatever got lodged in you. You settle for rubbing your knuckles against your sternum, trying to clear the phlegm with something other than the desperate pounding that's left bruises over your chest.

You hop off the train and follow the throng of people up out of the underground station, squinting at the grey light as the sun descends behind the horizon. Your feet barely lift off the ground as you shuffle towards the bar, you arms are heavy, your vision swimming with each pounding beat of blood over your brain. You rub your temple as you push the bar door open, trying to quell the mother of all migraines that's threatening to split your skull open.

Your hip catches the corner of the bar and you wince. The pain barely brings you back to your own body.

What did he do to you?

You fumble your shaker, ice catches the tips of your fingers, you squint at a man on the other side of the bar and you can't- you can't divine what to make him. He's too fuzzy at the edges, spread too thin across your reality, there's no substance to him, no inspiration or calling, the voice in your head that guides your hands is maddeningly quiet. Unnervingly quiet.

Your hands shake from the withdrawal of it, your body unsure how to move on its own, how to mix or measure what you've never had to think about. There's an insistent pushing behind your eyes that makes you think they might pop.

Someone in front of you snaps their fingers in front of your face and your eyes zero in on a woman. She's leaned over the bar, her elbow resting on the wood and her fingers inches from your face. You don't know how you didn't see her before.

"That's a nasty bit of work," she hums, "should get it out of you sooner rather than later."

Your vision is already starting to blur again.

Her fingers drop and press against your neck, swiping up towards your chin quickly.

You feel it in an instant, the sick churn of bile in your stomach. The gurgling mess of hest and pain that clutches your stomach and makes you race for the nearest trashcan so you can heave into it.

Whatever comes out of you is thick and sticky, and black. It seems to roll up your throat, tendrils sticking and slipping against the lining of your esophagus, before it's forced to try it's hold against your teeth. You can feel the fishing lines that it reaches for you with snapping under its own weight as bile forces it into the bin. Your body shudders and heaves again, your muscles constricting to push anything else that may have gotten caught in the sticky web out. Every bone in your body aches, your joints creak under the weight of your skeleton, and your muscles tremble with the strain of holding you up.

The soft muddled feeling that had clouded your thoughts cuts through your head like a saw, back and forth, thrusting with a desperation that sinks it's teeth into you and splits. Back and forth. Your body tenses as you heave a third time.

"Oh dear." The woman calls over the bar, "that is a mean one." You try to glare at her but your body is focused solely on gripping the edge of the bin, your knuckles starting to hurt under the strain your forcing on them.

You manage a glance at the woman, your eyes watering and your body still threatening another heave.

Ginger tea with lemon.

She raises a brow.

What the fuck did she do to you, or rather what did she get out of you?

"You really shouldn't eat anything they give you," she tells you with a smile, "or drink anything, it extends to drinks as well."

You search your memory for any food or drink you might have received in the last 24 hours. You make your own meals it's not like anything enters your mouth without you knowing where it came from. The only thing that's touched your lips without your permission was

Soap

He'd kissed you last night, and you'd swallowed something.

Your stomach rumbles.

Oh you were going to kill him.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Batter Up

This new apartment was at least three times better than the hovel that sent you through the floor and into Simon’s lap. Both the deadbolt and the doorknob locked and used the same key! It had only been a month since moving in and you were still learning how to coexist with a man who maybe spent three out of every ten days in his own bed.

He didn’t text much and had yet to give you a heads-up on when he might be home. Today would be your only day off this week and you spent it deep cleaning the apartment and settling the last of your items into their homes. You had vacuumed Simon’s room, your room, and inside the couch. It was a newer couch but you still didn’t trust that it would be clean. The last one spawned crumbs like it had been put on this plane for that purpose alone.

As the sun settled you settled as well. TV on, volume low, you sip a glass of wine and relax until nearing midnight. Settling into bed you leave only a small plug-in nightlight in the kitchen to illuminate the darkness.

Quiet sounds, shuffling of feet, and the lock of the front door sliding home wake you from a restful sleep.

Terror kicks off as you fight to free yourself from your blankets. A bat lived under your bed next to the headboard for this reason. It had to happen while Simon was gone—course it did. Your toes are silent on the carpet as you pull out your protection. The bright pink softball sock had been a gift from a friend who moved before you finished school.

Opening your door on silent hinges you slip into the hallway. All is dark in the flat like you left it. There. Someone moves in front of the night light.

Lining yourself up with the opening into the kitchen you pull back, wound and ready to beat the brakes off whoever broke into your flat.

You catch him in the stomach as he steps from the kitchen. Your fear spikes when you see he is wearing a mask. There is no reason to wear a mask at night.

“Oof.”

Large hands grip the bat to his stomach. In a fight of muscle, you would have lost. Good thing you had your handy dandy sock. Pulling the bat down the length of the hall you leave the intruder with nothing to turn against you.

Winding up you aim higher this time.

He moves faster than his size suggests. One paw of a hand clamps down on the wrist closest to him, the other on the bat. Your sock must be on the floor somewhere.

The wailing cry that burbles out of your throat as your shoulders are slammed into the wall overtakes whatever your attacker is trying to say. The bat leaves your hand, fingers fighting in vain to hold onto the knob.

“Hey.” He shakes your shoulders back against the wall, “Hey, it’s me. It’s Simon.”

“S-s-simon?” You hiccup out the word.

The darkness obscures him still.

“I am going to let you go and turn on a light. Stay.”

You slip down the wall, strength leeching into the floor. The kitchen floods with light and there he stands, your roommate. You had hit the man with a bat.

A new kind of horror slips through you. Both hands cover your mouth in shock.

“I’m so sorry I hit you with a bat Simon. I didn’t know you were going to be home tonight.” Your words come out muffled by your fingers.

He groans as he settles down next to you on the floor of the hallway.

“It’s my fault for not letting you know we would be in tonight,” he winced as he shifted his arm over your shoulder.

Leaning in you let your tears water the sweat stains on his hoodie, a bit more salt won’t change much.

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Maybe we can make it a rule to tell me when you’re coming back?”

Simon laughed and then groaned. You started apologizing for hitting him so hard.

“Quit apologizing for protecting yourself. What was that on your bat anyway?” he looked to the floor outside the kitchen. Incongruous the pink sock causes both of you to laugh.

When you settle in bed after a cuppa, heart more settled than when you woke, the image of that single sock would leave you smiling as you drift.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

@lilynotdilly @theyarereal I finally remembered to finish this thought.

[johnprice-asks]

Do you need a new phone..?

💦

Full on patreon

[deathblossomm]

NEIL'S FIRST PICTURE IN ANIMATE RALEIGH

all credits to @/clubbingclown on twitter:

[gugapuppy]

Abortion - Part 7 (A!Ghost x O!Soap)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7

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First of all, HAPPY 2025!!! 🙌🎉🥳 I hope you had a great New Year's Eve with lots of food, music and fun!

Now, on to the chapter.

CW: Abortion (Offscreen)

═══════════════════════════

"So... what did you want to talk about?" Soap stared at his own coffee, which exuded a slight vapour, and on the other side of the table, Laswell sat with her arms folded, her face calm.

She had arrived early the day after she and Price had come, saying that she would like to talk to Soap without the lads getting in their way, so the two of them decided to go to a coffee shop a few blocks away.

She swallowed and cleared her throat, making Soap look at her.

"First of all I'd like to explain properly about last night, I insisted that Price didn't come yesterday, but he wouldn't listen." She uncrosses her arms and places them on the table. "Let me explain the Ghost situation."

"Laswell," Soap exclaims, not knowing whether or not he wants to hear about his ex.

"Just... listen to me, after that I won't say anything else." Soap stares at her momentarily until she decides to give a small nod and take a sip of her coffee.

"Last night Ghost called Price, I was with him at the time." She takes a deep breath before continuing. "What Price said last night about Ghost wanting to be a part of your pregnancy is true."

"Then why did he leave me and accuse me, Laswell?! Why?!" A few people look round at Soap as he raises his voice.

"A few years ago, Ghost became a POW for a cartel in Mexico, the things those people did to him... it's something that shouldn't be commented on."

"And what's that got to do with it?" Soap almost spits at Laswell in indignation.

She pauses, thinking about how to tell Soap until she decides to just be blunt. "The reason Ghost walked away after you broke the news to him is because he thought he was infertile."

Soap pauses briefly, repeating Laswell's words in her head on a loop for a moment. The reason Ghost walked away is because he ‘thought’ he was infertile? He could have spoken to Soap if he was unsure!

"Ghost apparently shared this information with Farah who made him take a fertility test, the results of which showed that there were no fertility problems or STIs." Laswell added, leaving Soap with his mouth ajar and anxious.

Someone had to force Ghost to take a test... didn't he even think that maybe he was the father? He didn't even imagine the likelihood, he just jumped into what he always does and ignored everything. As if it was nothing. As if Soap simply didn't matter.

The touch of Laswell's hand on his makes him blink back to reality.

"He didn't trust me? Why didn't he tell me about this doubt, this could all have been avoided if he'd just..." Soap just shakes his head.

"Sometimes people are insecure and prefer to ignore the small ray of hope." She squeezes Soap's hand before letting go. "What do you want to do John?"

Soap doesn't answer right away, he thinks for a moment until he finally decides on an answer.

"I can't go back to Laswell... What guarantee is there that he won't ignore me or abandon me again? I tried to go after him even when he was accusing me of things I would never do... I can't go back to him. Not anymore."

Johnny tries to be strong, but every few moments his eyes start to get heavy and his jaw quivers with a small sob. His head shakes slightly,

Laswell's breathing is cut off for a moment, the smell of a stressed and sad omega spreads through the air. She moves over and stands next to Soap, trying to scent him and calm him down, which gradually works.

While she's crouched down next to Soap helping him, she says calmly. "I'm here for you, John." She hugs him straight away.

Soap returns the alpha's embrace, and in a stammer he says. "Kate... I need a favour."

--🧼--

The next day after the conversation with Laswell, Soap decided to write Simon a goodbye letter, he knew that seeing the alpha wasn't something that was going to happen.

When the day finally arrived, Johnny was nervous, every atom of his existence telling him not to proceed. But he knew that it was the omega's instincts, the instinct to look after the baby and not let anything hurt it. To be a dad.

Gaz had one arm around Soap's shoulder, one of his hands gripping omega's tightly.

Soap felt more at ease with his best friend there. He just wanted to make a nest and put him and Gaz inside, never to come out again.

Some of the patients passing by thought it was strange to see two big, strong men, one of them purring loudly at the other, but in all honesty, Soap didn't give a damn what anyone else thought.

The moment Gaz's sister called out to them, the two of them followed, Gaz saying that he would wait for Soap.

John was taken to a room where he was instructed to wear one of the hospital's clothes. Gaz's sister offered more strongly for the last time that Soap might see one of the therapists first, but the sergeant refused.

And then he was redirected to the room where the surgery was to take place.

As one of the doctors put on the anaesthetic gas mask, John's consciousness gradually faded, leaving only one thought. 

I'm sorry, pup.

--🧼--

When Soap finally woke up, he was lying on a bed, his body was sore and a slight dizziness ran through his head.

Next door he heard someone getting up and then something being put near his mouth, Soap jumped away, but then he heard it.

"It's just a straw, it's water." Gaz said calmly.

Soap drank the water little by little, his throat didn't hurt but his body did, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a private room, a window in the wall showed that it was night.

Slowly he sits up in bed, holding his hands a little too tightly. 

Gaz sits down on a small part of the bed next to Soap, who, just as Gaz gets into bed, rests his head on his shoulder. Gaz puts his arm round Soap and shakes him little by little, as if he were a child.

Soap slowly hides his face in Gaz's shoulder, and it's not long before the beta hears sniffling and something wet on his neck.

"It's done..." Soap sighs quietly.

Gaz lightly lays them both down on the bed, giving them little rubs.

"It's done..." Gaz affirms.

═══════════════════════════

Yes, it happened, and yes, there is no happy ending to this story. But this story will have two or three more chapters, which will be the bad ending and the hopeful ending.

If you're going through a difficult time and you're having doubts, see a counsellor for your own good. They will be able to help you.

Take care, and see you guys later.

PS: I guess because I was having a happy day this week, there wasn't much angst, but I'll make it up to you in the next chapter.