#i loovveee writing scots dialect its so fun to research all the different terms

[iceman-soup]

amab masc!reader x top!soap

Getting fucked more intensely than you've been in years after a mission where you escaped death by a fraction of a centimetre, a close-range bullet with your name on missing by sheer luck alone - and it's all just too overwhelming for Soap, too scary and too real.

He drags you straight from medical to his barrack the second you both get the all-okay, pressing you against his wall once he's locked the door shut, his knee between your legs making you whine and grind against him. Your mouth is on his - desperate, messy kisses only broken to tear each other's clothes off, stumbling to the bed and letting him lie you down against it.

He's scrambling to find a halfway decent bottle of lube, one hand on your chest to keep you in place as he mutters about "m' pretty boy, almost gettin' hurt," not letting you reply, instead shushing you as he manages to undo the cap on a bottle.

"You're mine," his tone is insistent as he preps you as quickly as he can, far too much lube on his fingers making you whine at the cold, half-heartedly complaining that he's being too harsh. "Mine- my boy, mine," is all he repeats, stuttered between kisses whilst he works you open.

Once you're ready, Soap pushes his tip into you, breathing heavy as his head falls onto your chest. He presses open-mouthed kisses to the skin, one hand wrapping around your own cock and pumping at increasing speed as he moves his hips, groans falling from both your lips.

"Cannae have tha'- don't need you gettin' hurt-" rambling between pants and moans 'til you cum, then looking down at it on your stomach, "bonnie lad, m' hen.."

He slams into you, ignoring your whimpers as you start to become overstimulated, then grunting and resting his sweaty forehead on your collarbone, hips flush against yours and legs trembling as he cums, pulling out a few seconds later, slumping down next to you and pulling your tired body into a desperate embrace.

The room is quiet other than the sound of steadying breathing for a moment, before the Sergeant kisses your hair and squeezes you gently. "Bloody eejit, gettin' me all worked up."