#soapghost smut

[kathy-ifnt]

Soap sent a selfie to ghost and ghost lost his shit! Obviously…

See his reaction on my PATREON!!!

Also the censored version of the comic is available for every member of my patreon so go check it out!!! 💖💖💖

PATREON | TWITTER

[spinning-stars]

"Cheeky☠️"

GHOST X SOAP smut

Warnings⚠️- Teasing, blue balls.

Ghost was sitting in his chair doing work in his office, the entire day Soap has been teasing him. On the Field when Ghost was tying his show, soap was there in his knees, giving Ghost the bedroom eyes with a giddy smile on his face. When Ghost would try to do anything Soap would smile and leave, innocently skipping away. Every time Soap passed Ghost he would kiss the sweet spot on the back of his neck, when Ghost would look he wouldn't see Soap at all. Soap was smart, he would only do things when the room was loud or when Ghost wasn't paying attention so it's not like Ghost could grab him in time to pull him somewhere private. Soap was driving him mad.

Soap crept in behind him trying not to break him out of his thoughts. Ghost snaps out of his trance when he feels soap's warm hand rubbing up and down his arm slowly. He kisses Ghost's neck again then pulls away. "I'm heading to Gaz's for some bear, bye!" Soap says while a smirk creeps on his face. Ghost reacts rather fast, grabbing Soaps arm and lightly tugging him closer. "Alright you cheeky bastard, why have you been doin' this all bloody day." Ghost says while looking up at Soap. "I have no clue what you mean Lt." Soap said while softly carrying his hand to Ghosts chest. Ghost pulls up his mask just enough to show his mouth and pulled soap in for a kiss. Soap bit down on Ghost's bottom lip making him open his mouth just enough for Soap to slide his tongue in and explore every inch of Ghost's mouth. "Fuck Johnny..." Ghost groans quietly as he pulls away. Soap looks down and notices Ghost's boner as he stands up. "Hm, looks like you have a problem there L.t, it's a shame Gaz is waiting for me... toodles!" Soap says while kissing Ghost on the cheek. "Goddamnit Johnny you-" Ghost gets cut off by Soaps giggle and teasing voice. "Awe, what? Don't like it when I stay cheeky, I'll bring you back a beer, love ya!" Soap yells while shutting the door. Leaving a hot and bothered Ghost in the room alone wanting so much more.

❤️Authors note- Hiii requests are open! I wanted to write a short fic of these two goobers idk why. Currently I'm making a 'MASTERLIST' so that it will be easier to find some of the genres and fandoms I post on/do. Have a lovely day<3

UPDATE- MASTERLIST IS DONE AND OPEN

[ka-freaking-boom]

Morning After

Seven Deadly Sins AU

Lust Soap x Wrath Ghost

Warnings: NSFW, Attempted Coercion, Violence.

___

Soap flopped back into the bed, the cheap springs creaking as he settled with a content sigh, the man next to him following his example with a low, satisfied groan. Soap’s full pink lips curled into a smirk as he stretched, the delicious ache of sore muscles causing his dick to twitch where it lay limp and wrung dry against his sweat-slick thigh.

“That was good. Maybe we could do this again sometime?” The smiling nameless man to his right turned on his side in order to face Soap, who was grinning at the stained ceiling with half-lidded eyes. The disgusting undertone of insecurity in the question snapped Soap out of his post-orgasmic haze, causing the Scot to roll his eyes with a mocking snort, his bedmate frowning at the unkind noise.

“Nah, Ahm going ta have ta pass. It was fun, but yer not good enough tae come back ta fer seconds.” Soap sighed as he sat up, rotating to plant his feet flat on the floor before pushing up to stand. He listened with half an ear as the man behind him scrambled to his feet as well, confusion clear on his face as he watched Soap search for his discarded clothing, which seemed to be scattered about the cheap motel room.

“I'm sorry- What?” The man stuttered and Soap let out a heavy breath, his mounting annoyance ruining the perfect afterglow that he had been basking in up to that point. The Scot ignored the man’s desperate inquiry in favor of bending down to grab his briefs when he spotted the corner of the gray cloth peeking out from under the small table near the kitchenette.

He pinched the fabric between his fingers and dragged it out from its hiding spot, pulling them up his legs to rest in their rightful place over his lower half. Soap licked his lips at the sight of the damp spot on the front of his briefs directly over his groin, the clingy material doing its best to reawaken his endless libido. 

“Aye.” Soap casually clicked his tongue when he found his jeans, slipping them up and over his legs as well. He let the waistband ride low enough to shamelessly show off his delicious V-line, the suggestive grooves tracing a straight path down to his slowly refilling cock. “Ahm goin' ta hav' ta pass, mate. Ah wish Ah could say that it was a pleasure.” Soap gave the man a lazy two-finger salute as he threw his jacket on, leaving himself bare-chested in favor of just carrying his stained shirt. 

The whole reason for Soap’s sex-scapade in the first place happened to be because of his ruined shirt. 

Earlier that night, the man he’d bedded had somehow managed to trip and spill his sour-smelling drink all over the fabric while Soap had been returning to the pool table that his siblings had claimed with food for himself and Gaz. Fortunately for the dumbass drunkard, Soap had convinced his siblings to let him handle it and he'd found a way for the clumsy idiot to pay him back for soaking one of his favorite shirts in alcohol in a way that wouldn't end in a bloodbath.

Or, at least he’d hoped. He was actually a bit disappointed with the guy’s performance if he was being honest with himself.

“Wait, hang on a sec!” The man spluttered as he rushed to catch up with Soap before he could make it to the door, blocking his exit with his body as if that alone would be enough to keep Soap from leaving. “You could stay for another round and we can see whether or not you’re not impressed after I'm done with you." The insistent man’s attempt at seduction was subpar at best and Soap would know since he practically invented the concept. 

Soap rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, trying to channel Price's seemingly infinite patience, before shifting his gaze to take in the messily-dressed idiot that he had taken to bed. This was why he hated indulging most humans with a vengeance, they always ended up turning into little whiny bitches that were desperate for validation. He much preferred the big, dangerous types that could give as good as they got and keep up with his stamina.

Soap let his tongue wet his lips, his eyes glazing over as he recalled the last time he and Ghost had fallen into bed together. Neither of them had paid any mind to the loud crack of the door slamming into the opposite wall as they burst into their shared hotel room, both of them far too occupied with trying to devour each other that Soap had impatiently forwent digging around for his keycard in favor of simply kicking it open.

Soap shivered with barely-contained excitement at the memory of Ghost shoving him down onto the mattress so violently that Soap had actually bounced a few times before he was stilled by Ghost draping himself over him, taking both his wrists into one big hand and pinning them above his head. 

The man's gaze was an alluring mix of dark, covetous and hungry as he slowly rolled his mask up just enough to reveal the bottom half off his face before slithering down Soap's body. The tip of his nose brushed lightly over Soap's skin, the Scot’s core muscles rippling at the ticklish sensation, before Ghost's thick hands gripped at his hips, each of his heavy breaths fanning out across the bulge in Soap's pants as he leaned in-

The delicious fantasy shattered when noticeably slim and uncalloused fingers curled over his bare hip, pulling Soap out of his daydream and throwing the smug male in front of him into sharp focus, the sudden close proximity very much unwelcome.

“Change your mind, baby?” The man purred and Soap reached down to wrap his own thicker fingers around the offending wrist, letting his grip rest there for a moment before he suddenly tightened his grasp, the fragile bone unceremoniously shattering with a loud crunch when Soap jerked the limb into an unnatural angle.

“Not a chance, mate.” Soap answered casually as the man’s high-pitched scream of pain echoed off the walls. When the other man's knees buckled and he fell, Soap released his grip in order to let the trembling body drop, watching with thinly veiled disgust as the man curled into the fetal position while cradling his broken wrist. 

Without another word, Soap opened the door with a click, moving out into the hall and leaving his most recent lover cowering on the floor of the skeevy motel room. Soap whistled an upbeat tune as he took the stairs two at a time, eager to get back to his siblings, who he'd ditched back at the bar. He had no doubt that they would be exactly where he had left them since they never bothered relocating if Soap went off to play with a new toy.

They were considerate like that.

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

taking one (& another & another & another) for the team | soap x reader x ghost | inspired by: @softaestluv johnny's pent up blurb

It started as a joke. "I'm gonna die if I don't get my cock wet soon," Johnny whined, sprawled backward over the couch, legs spread, hand draped over his forehead like he was seconds away from his last breath. *"Swear I can feel it in my fucking molars, mate. I'm gonna explode."

At first, you and the others ignored him. Typical Soap — loud, dramatic, a walking sexual frustration PSA. But it didn't stop. If anything, it got worse: every mission debrief, every meal, every late-night sit around the barracks, Johnny lamented his poor, poor cock like it was a national tragedy.

When he started describing how tragic his wanks were — "My hand's too fuckin' rough, not the same, need something wet, something tight—" — you snapped. Loud enough for everyone in the room to hear: "Christ, Soap, I'll fuckin' take one for the team if it'll shut you up."

Johnny sat up like you'd just offered him oxygen.

Which is how you found yourself bent over the nearest flat surface, jeans yanked halfway down your thighs, Johnny pressed tight to your back, rutting into you like a man possessed.

"Fuck—fuckin' hell, love, yer savin' my life," he groaned, hips slamming into you like he was trying to crawl inside. "Warm 'n tight, fuck, could stay here forever."

You barely bit back a moan, hands braced hard enough to hurt. You weren't supposed to enjoy this, just do your duty to the squad’s sanity.

But then Johnny started whining again — not his usual loudmouth bitching, but these needy, half-choked sounds against the back of your neck.

"Need ya," he rasped, like he couldn't help himself. "Need yer cunt, fuck, not gonna be enough, need it again—'m not done—"

Even after he came — hot, messy, filling you to the brim — he didn't stop. Still rocking against you, still murmuring desperate filth into your skin, already hardening inside you again.

You realized then: You hadn't fixed the problem. You'd made it worse.

He barely pulled out before he was pushing right back in, thick and slick with his own cum, grinding into your overstretched walls like he could merge the two of you if he tried hard enough.

"Fuckin' perfect," Johnny slurred against your neck, teeth scraping along your skin. "Mine now, y'know that? Filled you up good—fuckin' claimed you—"

You tried to push him off, half-hearted at best — muscles trembling, brain fogged from how full you felt — but Johnny just wrapped an arm around your middle and held you there, hips rolling slow and filthy, fucking his own mess deeper inside.

"Nuh-uh, love," he muttered, pressing kisses to your shoulder, messy and possessive. "Said I'd lose my mind if I didn’t get to fuck you. Y’think one load's enough to fix this? After all that sufferin’?"

You whimpered, feeling his cock twitch again, fully hard despite just cumming. He chuckled low against your skin, voice dark and wrecked.

"Told ya I'd go mad. Now yer stuck with me, sweetheart."

He fucked you slow the second time — not like the frantic, desperate slamming from before, but a grinding, possessive rhythm, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you properly. Every time you clenched around him, he gasped, praising you in that ruined, filthy brogue.

"That's it, good girl," he breathed. "Take it all, take it like y'made for it. Fuckin' born to milk my cock, huh? Gonna pump you so full you won't remember what it feels like to be empty."

You felt him bulge even thicker inside you, grinding down into your cervix, every thrust stretching you wider, making you feel owned in a way that had nothing to do with orders or duty.

Johnny growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. You barely registered it before he was moving — hands gripping your hips, manhandling you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

"Wanna see," he panted, almost delirious. "Wanna see how fuckin' ruined you are for me."

Your legs were shoved open before you could think to protest, ankles tossed over his shoulders. Johnny leaned back just enough to look — and groaned, obscene and ragged.

"Fuckin' hell, look at that," he hissed, watching his cum leaking out of you, your cunt red and puffy, still clenching greedily around nothing. His cock throbbed in his hand, still wet, still ready.

"So messy, love. Drippin' for me already. Y'know what that means, don’t ya?"

You shook your head weakly, breath stuttering in your chest. Johnny just grinned, all teeth and danger.

"Means I’ve gotta fill you up again. 'Til you can't take any more."

Without warning, he lined himself up and pushed — forcing his cock back inside your sore, sloppy cunt in one thick, slow thrust. You cried out, back arching, and Johnny moaned like you were his whole damn salvation.

He didn’t give you a chance to breathe. Started fucking you immediately — deep, grinding strokes that had your whole body jolting with each brutal snap of his hips.

"That's it, that's it," he gasped, head tipping back, sweat dripping down his temple. "Take it all, pretty thing. Gonna make sure yer stuck full of me. Walkin' round leakin' my cum for days."

Your brain barely worked anymore. Just open-mouthed whimpers, toes curling, walls spasming around him like you wanted it — wanted everything he was giving you and more.

Johnny's pace turned frantic again, slamming into you harder, the sound of skin against skin filthy and wet between you.

"Belong to me now," he growled, words punching out of him with each thrust. "No one else. Fuckin' mine."

You couldn’t even pretend to fight it. Couldn’t think past the way he filled you so perfectly, the overwhelming heat, the way his cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you until you felt tears spring to your eyes.

He buried himself to the hilt one final time, grinding down against you, hips jerking as he spilled deep again, thick and endless. You could feel it — the heat, the stretch, the way he pulsed inside you like he was branding you from the inside out.

Johnny didn’t pull out. Just collapsed over you, mouth hot and messy against your jaw, still twitching inside your wrecked cunt.

"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "Still not enough. Need you again, love. Gonna fill you 'til you’re round with me, swear it."

Johnny stayed buried in you for a long moment, hips grinding lazy, slow circles, as if trying to force every last drop even deeper. You could feel it leaking out around his cock — hot, sticky, obscene — and you whimpered, overstimulated and wrecked.

Johnny noticed immediately. Growled against your throat, feral.

"Leakin'," he muttered, almost offended. "Can't have that. Gotta keep it all in, love. Need you drippin’ full for me."

He finally, finally pulled out — and the flood of cum that gushed out made you sob, weak and broken. But Johnny didn’t give you a second to recover. He dropped between your legs, shoving two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep and obscene, scooping the mess back up.

"No wastin' it," he rasped, fucking his cum right back into your cunt with slow, filthy thrusts. "Take it all, greedy girl. You fuckin' need it."

Your legs kicked weakly at the overstimulation, but Johnny just grinned — wild and unhinged — before spreading you wider, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit while he stuffed you full with his fingers.

"Gonna breed you proper," he whispered hoarsely. "Fill you so deep you’ll be round with me. Belly all heavy, stuffed full of my fuckin' load—"

You sobbed, hips rolling despite yourself, body desperate for more even as your mind shattered into static. You should have known it’d be like this — Johnny didn’t do anything by halves.

He leaned down, mouth dragging messy, possessive kisses along your trembling stomach like he could will it to swell.

"Mine," he murmured. "All fuckin' mine."

And that’s exactly when you heard the door creak open. You barely had the strength to lift your head, vision blurry — but you saw a tall shadow in the doorway.

Ghost.

He stood there, silent, unreadable behind his mask — just watching. Johnny didn't stop. Didn’t even slow down. He curled his fingers inside you again, making you cry out, making more of the mess spill down your thighs.

Ghost's head tilted slightly, almost curious.

"Problem?" Johnny barked over his shoulder, voice wrecked but cocky as hell. Like he wanted Ghost to see — to know.

Ghost said nothing. Just crossed his arms slowly over his broad chest.

Johnny smirked and turned his attention back to you, dragging his fingers out with a wet squelch just to stuff them right back in — slow and possessive.

"That's right," he said lowly, clearly for Ghost’s benefit now. "Had to take care of it myself. Filled her up so good she's fuckin' leaking. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?"

You whimpered in response — too broken, too full, too wrecked to argue.

Ghost watched you for a long, heavy moment — chest rising and falling — before he spoke, voice flat and unreadable: "You better clean up after yourself, Soap."

Then, calmly — without another word — Ghost shut the door behind him with a click.

Johnny barked out a wild, breathless laugh against your stomach. "Come to help, mate?" he panted, fingers still lazily dragging through the wrecked mess of your cunt. "Think she needs it. Poor thing's so fuckin' stuffed already, can't hold it all."

Ghost didn’t answer. Didn't need to.

He stalked closer, heavy boots thudding against the floor, until he was standing right at the edge of the bed — looming over your trembling body. You watched through blurred eyes as he popped the button on his cargo pants, dragging the zipper down slowly, deliberately.

Johnny shifted you slightly, spreading your legs even wider, thumbs digging bruises into your hips to keep you open — presenting you like a ruined offering.

"C'mon, Ghost," Johnny muttered, voice rough and wild. "Don't leave the girl waitin'. Look how pretty she is—drippin' fuckin' ready."

Still silent, Ghost wrapped a hand around the base of his cock — thick, flushed, already leaking — and lined himself up.

He didn’t ease in. Just pressed the fat head against your already-used, dripping hole and pushed.

You screamed, body arching off the bed, overwhelmed instantly by the stretch, the pressure, the unbearable fullness of taking another man inside you without even a second to adjust.

Ghost let out a low, broken sound, not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, and buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"There we fuckin' go," Johnny whispered against your ear, laughing breathlessly. "Take him, love. Take us both."

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Ghost fucked you without mercy — slow, devastating thrusts that forced Johnny’s mess and his own spit to spill down your thighs in filthy, wet streams. He said nothing — just breathing harshly through the fabric of his mask, hands brutal on your hips, using you like a living, breathing fucktoy.

Johnny kept whispering filth into your ear — encouragements, praises, commands — while Ghost destroyed you from the inside out.

"That's it, good girl," Johnny crooned, petting your hair while Ghost slammed into you. "Take it like you were fuckin' made for it."

You felt your mind fracturing — pure overstimulation, pure broken pleasure — as Ghost fucked you harder, grinding deep, his cock stretching you to the point of tears.

And then Johnny shifted again — ducking low between your legs to lick around where you were stuffed full, his tongue dragging over your overstretched rim every time Ghost pulled out just a fraction.

"Fuckin' hell," Johnny gasped, almost reverent. "Look at that, Ghost. Cunt's swallowin' you like she needs it."

Ghost let out another low, broken sound — and picked up the pace. The bed creaked violently under you, your body jolting with every brutal, punishing thrust.

You could feel it building — some dark, overwhelming climax you couldn’t fight — tightening low in your stomach, burning up your spine.

Ghost suddenly reached down and gripped your throat — not tight, just heavy, possessive — and that was it.

You shattered. Clamping down around him so hard Ghost actually groaned, thrusts going sloppy, brutal. And then you felt it — hot, thick, spilling deep inside you, Ghost’s cock pulsing violently, joining Johnny’s mess inside your ruined cunt.

You lay there twitching, barely conscious, as Ghost finally pulled out — slow, heavy — and watched as his cum immediately leaked out after him.

Johnny's hand was already there — catching it, stuffing it back inside you with lazy, satisfied fingers.

Ghost pulled his gloves back on silently, redressing with mechanical efficiency. Said nothing. Before he left, he pressed one gloved hand to your trembling thigh — firm, approving — and then disappeared out the door without a word.

Johnny leaned down over you, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

"Told ya, sweetheart," he whispered with a wicked grin. "Was gonna fill you proper."

And from the ache in your gut and the obscene mess between your thighs —you knew he wasn’t lying.

Morning hit like a slow, heavy sledgehammer.

You barely even remembered falling asleep — just flashes: Johnny fucking his cum deeper into you with lazy, loving thrusts while you sobbed into the sheets; Ghost’s heavy hand gripping your thigh one last time before disappearing without a word.

Now your entire body ached. Your thighs were sore, trembling even at the slightest twitch. Your pussy was a wreck — raw, swollen, still leaking a slow, lazy drip of milky white that soaked into the crumpled sheets beneath you.

You tried to shift — to roll onto your side — and whimpered immediately. Everything hurt. You could feel the mess drying on your skin, inside your cunt, coating your thighs.

And Johnny, of course, was already awake.

He lay stretched out beside you, arms tucked behind his head, a smug, satisfied smirk spread wide across his face.

"Mornin’, sunshine," he drawled, voice rough from use, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Sleep well?"

You glared at him weakly, too exhausted to even muster words. Johnny just grinned wider.

"Y’look wrecked," he said cheerfully, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from your sweaty forehead. "Proper job, that."

You tried to move again — a pathetic, sluggish attempt — and Johnny laughed, full-bodied and warm.

"Aw, poor thing. Can’t even fuckin' walk, huh?"

His hand drifted down — over your collarbone, the bruises he’d left, the fingerprints, the possessive marks — until he palmed your lower belly, pressing down just slightly.

You gasped, muscles clenching reflexively around the lingering mess inside you.

Johnny's grin turned wolfish.

"Still full, are ya?" he murmured. "Good girl. Holdin’ it all for us."

He sat up slowly, bare chest gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, and pulled back the sheets.

You whimpered as cool air brushed your ruined, sore cunt — thighs automatically trying to close, to hide yourself.

Johnny tsked softly, spreading you open with two rough hands like you were something precious to be displayed.

He hummed low in his throat — a sound of satisfaction.

"Ghost’ll be pleased," he muttered, almost to himself.

You blinked sluggishly at him, confused.

Johnny chuckled and gestured toward the nightstand. There — sitting neatly next to a bottle of water — was a simple piece of paper. No name. No explanation. Just three short words, written in Ghost’s heavy, blocky scrawl: “Hold it in.”

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest.

Johnny laughed again — delighted, wrecked — and leaned down to press a filthy, claiming kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.

"Guess we’re not done after all, love," he whispered against your skin. "Orders are orders."

And from the wicked glint in his eye, you knew you weren’t getting a break anytime soon.

[jaesblogstuff]

He doesn't listen I fear.

You know those instances where you’re a kid at school and your parents have to pick you up from school because you’re sick. That reminds me of Simon only time he’s much more stubborn and doesn’t take no for an answer most times.

⸻

You told him not to go in.

That morning, watching him drag his shirt over trembling fingers, you knew something was off. His shoulders slumped just a little too far, his voice caught in his throat when he said, “Just tired, that’s all.” And the heat rolling off of him when you touched his forehead—hellfire, even then.

“You should sit this one out, Simon,” you said quietly. “You’re running a fever.”

He grunted. Kissed your temple. “I’ve had worse.”

You didn’t argue. Not really. You just watched him lace up his boots and walk out the door like the stubborn bastard he is.

⸻

It doesn’t take long.

He holds out through briefing. Through training updates. Through a round of morning paperwork where he stares at the same page for twenty straight minutes. Nobody says anything, yet, but Price is watching him closely. Always is.

Then it happens.

Mid-conversation, Simon loses his balance. He rights himself fast—too fast, but not before his hand slaps against the edge of the table for support. He’s pale beneath the mask, which makes the red flush on his neck stand out even more.

“Riley.” Price’s voice cuts through the air. Calm. Measured. “Med bay. Now.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re burning up, son.”

Simon opens his mouth to argue again—but sways instead.

Price sighs. “That’s it. You’re done. You’re no good to anyone like this. Go. And we’re calling your emergency contact.” you

“No—no, I’m good,” he rasps.

“Not asking, mate.”

⸻

The number they dial is the only one listed.

Just “Mrs. Riley – Home.”

When you answer the call, your voice is calm but laced with expectation. You excused yourself from the meeting you were in. “Let me guess. He didn’t make it through the morning.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Then, “That’d be correct, ma’am. Captain Price here. I’m sorry to call out of the blue. He’s in the med bay now—won’t let anyone near him. We’d like you to come collect him.”

You’re already getting your keys. “I told him this morning to —. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

And you are.

⸻

The base is quiet when you arrive—at least the part they bring you through. You’re escorted by a corporal who keeps glancing at you like he doesn’t know what to make of you. Neat coat. Composed expression. Eyes like polished glass. You move like someone used to command, but not in the military sense—something quieter. Older.

They don’t know who you are, not really. They’ve heard of “the missus.” Simon’s muttered references. A few quiet mentions of home, of normalcy. But none of them have seen you before.

Until now.

You step into the med bay and everything shifts.

There’s Simon—half-sitting on the cot, mask still on but sweat plastering his shirt to his back. He looks miserable. Barely holding himself upright. The medic stands a few feet away, clearly not trying to get too close.

You don’t speak loudly. You don’t need to.

“Simon.”

His head lifts.

The change is instant.

His shoulders relax. His breathing slows. He looks at you like salvation has just walked in wearing your coat.

“Love,” he croaks. “Didn’t want them to call you.”

You walk straight to him, planting yourself at his side.

“You should’ve stayed home.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re delirious.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Lets you rest your hand against his forehead. His skin is scorching. You look at him for a long second, then reach to gently peel the mask up and off.

The medics blink. Soap, lingering in the hall, actually stares.

You’re the only one he lets touch him like that.

“Let’s go,” you murmur. “Now.”

And he follows.

Like a shadow. Like a man undone.

Nobody says a word as you lead him out—his massive form leaning on you like he’s hollowed out, his head bowed slightly, his steps heavy but obedient. He doesn’t resist. Doesn’t argue.

The sergeant at the desk stares openly. One of the privates murmurs under their breath, “That’s Mrs. Riley?”

Price just nods once to himself, looking quietly satisfied. “Told you she was the only one who could get through to him.”

⸻

He’s out before you hit the highway.

One arm folded against the window, cheek pressed to his sleeve, breath slow and raspy. His body sinks into the passenger seat like it’s the first safe place he’s had all day.

You glance over at him, your fingers tight on the wheel. A small sigh escapes your chest.

“You never listen,” you whisper. “But I’ll always come get you.”

[presepohne]

Currently I have this thought of Johnny being the perfect fuck boy (what do you mean by the perfect fuck boy) who has got all this charm and very charismatic aura around him that does attracts men and women alike (my boy bi), and then there is you the nerd who is trying to get dicked down because everyone makes fun of you as the innocent virgin friend.

Johnny has a mate, Simon who is also a fuck boy, but more on the scary side— totally your type, big, buff, scary dog privileges. Oof— but he doesn't do virgins, inexperienced sweethearts; so when you come up to Simon with your request he's flicking you off ain't got time for innocent birds sweet'art and dismissed you.

So you go to his best mate, Johnny ofc to get fucked. And Johnny complies because you're such a sweetheart stuttering and so shy asking and almost on the verge of tears because Simon rejected you. And Johnny does fuck you good, so good but the whole time you're crying on his cock over Simon's rejection.

Johnny has never been turned on and annoyed, he just fucks you harder because Lass I'm the one making ye feel so good, why thinking about that wanker? Hmm?

(in my head simon joins the fuck, it's a threesome)

[abusivegymrat]

Gaz outside the military:

[subliminalghoest]

Safe house

Ghoap x f!reader

The safehouse was barebones—four walls, a door that didn’t close properly, and a single narrow bed shoved against the wall like an afterthought. One thin blanket. No heater. Concrete floors so cold they bit through your boots.

Soap stepped in first, glancing around with a sigh. “Right, well. Guess this place was built for one poor bastard, not three.”

Ghost dropped his gear by the wall with a grunt. “I’ll take the floor.”

“Hell no,” you said automatically, slinging your pack down. “You’ll freeze.”

“I’m used to it.”

Soap rolled his eyes and gave Ghost a flat look. “You’ve got enough screws loose without adding hypothermia to the list.”

“Then I’ll take the floor,” you offered, already tugging at your jacket zipper. “I’m small enough to crash on my pack.”

Both men gave you the same sharp look.

“No,” Ghost said, voice final.

“You’ll ache for a week,” Soap added. “We’re not doing that.”

You all stood there a moment, silent, stubborn. Then Soap looked at the bed again and shrugged.

“We’re all adults. One bed, three bodies. Head to toe if we have to.”

You arched a brow. “Ever tried sleeping with Ghost’s boots near your face?”

Ghost snorted, the faintest smirk in his voice. “I’m not sleeping in my boots, you know.”

Eventually, an agreement was made: all three of you in the bed, boys facing outward—Ghost on one side, Soap on the other, and you safe in the middle. They’d flank you, keep you warm, no funny business. Just sleep.

That had been the plan, anyway.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you woke up—just that the moonlight had shifted and the room was bathed in soft silver. You were too warm, wrapped in heat that had nothing to do with the thin blanket.

Soap’s arm was slung lazily over your waist, his hand resting just beneath the hem of your shirt, skin-to-skin and entirely unbothered. His breath tickled the curve of your neck, soft and steady. One of his legs had somehow worked its way between yours, your leg hitched over his.

Behind you, Ghost was molded to your back, chest pressed close, the slow rise and fall of his breath an anchor against your spine. One of his arms wrapped around your middle, the other tucked beneath the pillow you shared. Protective. Possessive. Present.

You shifted slightly, caught between warmth and awareness, and felt Soap's fingers twitch.Ghost’s hand tightened, just a fraction. Like they both felt it too.

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t anything overt. Nothing crude. You were surrounded, caged in heat and strength and quiet tension.

And God, it felt good.

You could’ve pulled back. Should’ve. But you didn’t. You leaned in—drifting your fingers along Ghost’s forearm, letting your leg press deeper against Soap’s. Neither man spoke, but Soap’s breath caught, quiet and sharp.

Ghost... Ghost exhaled against the back of your neck, slow and deliberate, his face pressing in closer.

You fell asleep again like that—wrapped in the kind of tension that lulled you rather than startled. Wanting to stay wrapped in this dream a little longer before having to face reality.

—————————————————————————

The second time you woke, it was slower—every inch of your body aware before your mind caught up.

Warmth. Weight. Pressure. Breath against your throat.

Soap had shifted in the night, his head now tucked beneath your chin, resting lightly on your bicep. Your arm had curled around him, cradling him. His hand had drifted lower, fingers curved gently around the dip of your thigh. Your hips pressed snugly to his. Innocent, but barely.

Behind you, Ghost had only pulled you closer—his hand now splayed along your ribs, thumb rhythmically stroking the soft skin just under your breast.

You stayed still. Testing the moment.

Then you moved—just a little. A shift, nothing more.

Soap stirred against you, his body pressing closer.

Ghost’s hand stilled… then resumed its slow stroke.

Deliberate. Intentional.

“You’re awake,” came Ghost’s voice—low, gravelly. Dangerous.

You swallowed. “Didn’t mean to move.”

“Didn’t say stop.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Soap chuckled, his voice still thick with sleep and something else. “Think she likes waking up between us.” He arched his neck up and you felt his nose run up your neck, running back down to your collar bone where he nuzzled into you.

Your breath hitched.

“You’re imagining things,” you mumbled, but your voice betrayed you. Soft. Breathless.

“You sure about that?” Ghost leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear through the mask. “Because from where I’m lying, you haven’t moved away.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. You were burning now—trapped between them and completely unwilling to escape.

Soap shifted again, his hand trailing down your thigh, thumb brushing the edge of your shorts. “We won’t do anything you don’t want, love,” he murmured.

“But if you want something…” Ghost said, voice dropping to a low, dark promise, “…just say it.”

The silence stretched.

And you wondered how you were going to convince yourself that this was a bad idea.

Part two Here

[goaskangel]

how the 141 eat you out !!

price, ghost, gaz, soap headcanons ^o^

price likes to keep things easier for himself. augh, he’s just getting older by the minute and can’t keep up with your youth—doesn’t mean he’ll let his birdie down, of course. he’ll shush any overthought anxieties that come from you when he tells you to get up and sit on his face. 

laying down on your comfy, shared bed and patting the space next to him, praising you, “tha’s a good girl,” when you comply, hovering over his jaw. your clothed pussy’s drenched middle sends soft grins to the man below you, he takes a quick lick at the sweet slick seeping through and hums in delight. 

he wastes no time to rip them away to kiss and suck at his favorite girl. his big hands massage your thighs to keep them open as his beard tickles and scratches at your inner thighs, his obscene spits and skilled tongue’s noises are faint under the hearty moans you let out. you sure as hell won’t be strong enough to get up from the sheets when he’s pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you. 

ghost is just nasty with it. he doesn’t care where you guys are or what you’re doing, if he’s craving the taste of you on his tongue, he’ll go for it. his speciality being kneeled down and smothering his face into your cunt. in public, he’ll push you and seduce you enough into going into a bar’s stingy bathroom, “nobody will catch us, ‘ere, love. just follow me.” 

he’ll sacrifice his good jeans to kneel down on the dirty floor when he’s got you sat on the clogged sinks, your short dress coming up even shorter as he hooks his fingers down to get to you. simon lifts his cloth mask up just above his nose to kiss and suck at your sloppy folds. he could almost laugh at how nervous you were before to just how wet you were for him and how loud you were moaning, but he just shoves his face deeper into you. 

and some–most–of the time, he’ll get on his knees in the kitchen where you stand at the counter, jumping slightly with the surprise of your boyfriend behind you, lifting your little robe up to shove his tongue to your pussy. he loves spreading your ass, kissing ‘em gently as well before focusing on swirling his tongue on your clit. he’s definitely leaving bite-marks on your ass. 

gaz is awfully impressive with how he eats you out. from how his mouth tongue-fucks yours and his skilled fingers rolling waves in your cunt, he loooves combining the two when he gets the chance to kiss your pretty pussy. when you’re both home from a long day and he joins you in the bedroom, kissing up on your face as you hold him, giggling, before trailing down your body to your open legs.

he undresses you with smooth and romantic touches, his lips holding that same love. pressing little kisses around your slicked folds and finally frenching with your clit. he’s trying to hide his eagerness but he can’t help it, you instantly start writhing when he licks pressured tongue-kisses on your needy bud, waiting until you produce enough slick yourself to slither two fingers inside.

you gasp at the impact and involuntary feel your eyes roll back at the double satisfaction. the feeling of kyle’s fingers rubbing right on your gummy spot inside you while he’s sucking your clit right gives you an early climax. he sits up, licking his lips as his hand goes past his waistband, “needy, needy girl. how’s about your cunt kissing something else?” 

soap goes to you almost always the same way when he wants you. just comfy, what you think is plain and boring-old you. you’re lying lazily on the couch, watching some show that came on until johnny comes in with love-filled eyes. ( i mean when aren’t they??? )

he admires the pretty figure of your body just relaxing, your shirt loose but tight enough to emphasize the curves of your tits. maybe you’re not wearing a bra and he’s literally drooling at the nice plump shadow of your shirt. he finds his spot between your legs, pulling your shorts off with his teeth, “don’t mind me, bonnie. continue whatcha doin’.” but god it’s so hard to focus on the crappy tv show when he’s just lapping at your sweet pussy and stimulating your puffy lips with his tongue. 

your body moves in waves as you whine at his stupidity. but it’s not stupidity at all but rather the best fucking session he’s given to you. just random love he’s making to your cunt with his tongue. you pull and tease at the tufts of hair, climaxing immediately when he looks up at you with the same slyest and sexiest gaze he got you with.

want some more cod?

[mrsparrasblog]

COD porn links

MDNI

I tried to add some more inclusive vids like male X male plus sized and fetishes

Kyle

He is mad at you for flirting with another guy

Dryhumping childhood best friend Kyle

Kyle fucks you while you're handcuffed

Sucking his dick after deployment

After he tells you I love you for the first time (mxm)

Kyle being a good boy

Kyle and his wife

Price

John teaches his rookies some respect (mxm)

You talked back Infront of the team ( god he looks so much like price - respectable drooling not from the mouth)

Husband Price

He apologised for being so long on Deployment

John price with his new insecure sergeant

Sucking older bf price

Price is hungry for your cunt

Simon

Simon uses your cum as lube (male X male)

You're not allowed to cum (mxm)

Pre military Simon fucking his first girlfriend

Just the tip love

Simon always loved them bigger

Soap

The minute he comes back from deployment (male X male)

Johnny in lingerie

The video Johnny shows when someone asks how you look

(never shows your face but your cunt is okay -idiot)

Johnny has a foot fetish

Johnny loves you

Please let me play with your tits

Johnny is a needy bastard

Extra

The video you got after sending them a nude

But why does it give Johnny and Simon "we're just friends" vibes

Threesome with Simon and Johnny

Johnny getting himself off in the barracks

Sunshine and price from my fanfic

Valeria and Alejandro sharing you

[call-of-daydreams]

Price, entering Johnny's room: "Why are you naked??"

Soap: "I-I don't have any clean clothes"

Price: *opens his closet*

Price: "What are you saying? You have shirts, pants, socks, hi Simon, more shirts, jackets-"

[steriotypicaloutlaw]

So, most of y'all said let the man purr. So I let the man purr.

Here's the fic. Be warned, it is smut.

[phantasm-ae]

cw: suggestive writing, afab reader x soap

HEADCANON: Soap almost loses goes feral it when he sees you in a milkmaid dress holding his little niece. Giving him some ideas and thoughts he shouldn’t have in his mam’s backyard get-together

PAIRING: John Soap MacTavish x reader

now Johnny had seen you in a lot of things even in nothing that was a given.

You in his shirts. His hoodies. His pretty pretty lass in that one tactical vest during a Halloween party that nearly ended the night early. But nothing. And Soap means NOTHING could have prepared him for this.

His sweet sweet minx in a bloody milkmaid dress. All soft cotton and wispy ribbons. The material cradling your frame just perfectly. Hugging you in all the right places. Cinched at the waist. Flowing just enough to tease but not enough to hide. Sleeves slipped delicately off your shoulders. Water running sinfully down glass is what it was.

Clinging and catching just long and sultry enough to burn.

Artemis in his fucking childhood backyard. Steamin' Jesus.

And to top it all off. As if just to ruin him completely -- you were barefoot in his mam's garden, holding his wee niece on your hip like you'd been born for it.

Smiling. Glowy. Bright and so fucking beautiful that Johnny almost passes out with how fast blood rushed down south to his groin. Brain absolutely short-circuiting at that.

Almost dropping the plate of his gran's mash he was holding too. Some poor sausage roll already clinging to gravity as his mouth parts a bit in utter, primal disbelief.

Johnny stood there, frozen, jaw slack, brain gone smooth. You hadn’t even noticed him yet -- busy chatting up his mam and sister by the garden fence, bouncing the babbling baby gently as sunlight hit your hair like something out of a painting. Like some goddamn pastoral fever dream. The kind of visions that made his knees weak and his thoughts utterly unsalvageable.

Rocking his chubby-cheeked niece gently in your arms, cooing like some divine, barefoot angel conjured from some kind of paradise in Tunisia.

Then -- Fucking THEN -- you lift the baby higher, nuzzle her soft little cheek, and say something sweet in that voice of yours that makes his entire soul leave his body.

Done. He’s done.

Funeral's next Thursday. Bring flowers.

He swore his bloody soul ascended.

His body though? Stranded on earth, bloody rock-hard and tragically overdressed in cargo shorts.

“Jesus Mary Joseph -- ” Johnny hissed under his breath, still frozen by the garden path, mouth dry, thighs clenched, gripping his gran’s ceramic dish like it was the last link to his mortal tether. One wrong look from you -- just one, he swears -- and he’d be spilling mash and something else right there on the bloody grass.

You turned, then. Bright, carefree, holding his niece like you’d been practicing for years. And when your eyes found his -- when you gave him that soft, warm smile that screamed home in a way the Highlands never could --

Johnny staggered.

Just a half step. A little foot wobble. Barely recovered. Didn’t matter.

Your brows lifted, concerned and confused. “You alright, darling?”

Oh no.

You said it like you didn’t know you were dressed like the wet dream of a fevered Scottish farmhand.

He opened his mouth to respond. Nothing came out. Absolutely nothing. There was a whistle in his brain like a kettle left too long on the stove. Every single survival instinct screamed “do not pop a boner in your mam’s garden.” Every. Single. One.

And then you bounced the baby on your hip again.

His niece giggled.

His mam laughed softly and said something about how good you were with kids.

And that’s when John 'Soap' MacTavish, elite sniper, tactician, demolitions expert, and renowned special forces operator... blacked out from sheer lust.

No, not really. But close. So very close.

He stumbled forward like he’d been summoned, forcing his legs to work, cock already straining at the worst possible time. His brain screaming be normal while his dick whispered breed her right now.

“Love?,” you asked again gently as he reached you, the baby tugging playfully at your neckline, unaware she was the only thing keeping you from being pinned to the side of the garden shed like a poster.

“You alright, Johnny?” you repeated in concern, brushing your fingers along his forearm, completely unaware of the meltdown behind his eyes.

He looked at you. Then the baby. Then the milkmaid dress. Then back at you.

And said, with all the composure of a drowning man clutching his last breath:

“Y’ever think about havin’ like... seven?”

You blinked at his words. “Seven what?”

Johnny looked you dead in the eye.

“Bairns.”

You choked. “Excuse me?”

But his mam. Nosy. Gleeful. Loud and always knowing, was already shouting -- “I told you he was gon’ propose one day soon!” -- at the top of her lungs like the whole of Glasgow, Scotland, and even bloody England at that needed to know her prophetic gifts had finally borne fruit.

And if Johnny’s gran finally noticed her plate of mash had been sacrificed in the name of horny spiritual warfare. She didn't need to say a word through her smile.

masterlist

[angel-z-xdx]

soap x reader

needy soap / breeding kink inspo from @soapysoapysoapysoapy

“Think I’m gonna die,” Soap muttered from the floor, arms flung out

“I think my balls are about to explode,” Soap groaned, collapsing onto the floor like a fallen warrior, one massive hand dragging over his face in frustration. “This is a medical emergency. I need relief.”

At first, everyone ignored him. Typical Soap — huge, intimidating, and apparently constantly horny. He’d been whining about it for weeks. After every mission, every briefing, somehow his thoughts circled back to his aching body like it was some kind of personal crisis.

You’d rolled your eyes so many times it felt like a reflex. But when he started describing the color, the shape, and even the emotional texture of his cum — “like very sad yogurt” — someth

like he was waiting for a chalk outline. “This is medical. I’m not even being dramatic this time.”

You didn’t even look up from your report. “You say that every time we come back from an op.”

“Aye, but this time it’s real. I’ve got… pressure. A build-up. It’s like a ticking bomb in my bollocks.” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m a hazard, lass. A walking threat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to add ‘blue balls’ to your file under injuries sustained?”

“Serious question—if a man hasn’t come in three weeks, does he legally qualify for disability?” His voice dropped into a pained, breathy whine. “I need to put it somewhere. It’s not even horny anymore. It’s primal. Instinctual. If I don’t get it out soon, I might start humping the wall like a bloody terrier.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you with that dangerous smirk, “you’re still here. Still listening.”

That part was true. Against your better judgment, you were still here. Still listening. Still thinking, God, if he keeps talking like that, I might actually let him.

Something in your face must’ve slipped, because Soap’s smirk deepened.

“Oh?” he drawled, voice low now — a little too low. “You thinking about it? Bet I could split you in half, bonnie. You want that, yeah?”

Your breath caught.

He stood, slow and deliberate, towering a little too close. “Want me to fill you up so good you can’t walk straight? Pin you down and make you forget your own name?”

He waited just long enough for you to stammer something — maybe a protest, maybe a challenge — before he had you backed against the wall, large hands gripping your thighs and hoisting you like you weighed nothing.

“You’re lucky,” he growled against your neck, breath hot. “I’m a generous man. And I’m done being patient.”

You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on yours — biting, consuming, owning. Everything about him was heat and pressure and pure, restrained power.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.

He took his time getting you open for him, whispering filth the whole way through — how tight you were, how much he’d thought about this, how he was going to make you take it.

By the time he finally rolled his hips in and filled you to the brim, your head was already spinning.

“You feel that?” he rasped, one hand at your throat now, firm but careful — just enough pressure to make your eyes flutter. “That’s mine now. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

And he did.

Every thrust was sharp, unrelenting, punctuated by dark promises. “Gonna breed you so full they’ll see it in your walk. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Filthy little thing.”

Your nails left marks. Your moans turned to cries. He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down when you clenched around him, begging for a break.

“Nah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. “You started this. And I’m not stopping until I’ve filled you proper.”

[v1x3n]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ - TOXIC FWB GHOST X READER X SOAP

simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mctavish ⸝⸝ navigation part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 ୨୧ tags : angst, suggestive

୨୧ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 : you start talking to johnny after realising that simon isnt going to love you back.

simon 'ghost' riley who's one of your closest friends. he soon flirts with you and then you two decide to start shagging - no strings attached. just sex, a friends with benefits situation.

you had promised, even pinky swore to never fall in love with each other, he took the rules seriously and never fell in love but you couldn't last long.

simon knew you had liked him, hell, you fucking loved him. even before the casual hook-ups, and he still went through with it all. knowing you were in love with him. he took advantage of it.

he would grab onto you and fuck you whenever, you were his outlet, he knew you would spread or bend over whenever he wanted. he was your light and best friend, you would do anything for his love. yet the love never delivered to you.

simon soon regrets his choices after he caught you talking, laughing and checking out johnny 'soap' mctavish. Simons best friend.

comment to join main taglist!

[presepohne]

peaches and wine.

nsfw. Fuckboy!John McTavish x F!Reader [ALTERNATE UNIVERSE]

summary: johnny fucks the sweet innocent bird, just a trailer or intro to the bigger oneshot i'm writing.

warnings: johnny is a filthy man and we love that, the reader is inexperienced asf, virgin, just the reader getting half way naked, mostly for shits and giggles.

note: as i was taking forever for the johnny smut so i posted a small snippet from it.

FULL FIC !

Johnny has seen many men and women in his life, fucked 'em good. Pretty blondes, sassy women, men who could bend him at different angles, women who could step on him, men who would beg for him, women who are sweet and kind, men who are absolutely amazing at their dick game, women who cheated on their husbands, experienced and inexperienced alike.

And gods, he loves women and men both.

But women mostly.

But it bewilders him to see you creep up to him at a party. He knows you, yeah he does. He has seen you lurk at the last benches of the classes, a pen in your mouth or sometimes fiddling with it. You're a good student, great even— top scores always and he admires you for your dedication.

So it comes to him as a shock as you ask him to fuck you, straight up, no bulshit.

Clearly, you are drunk, cheeks flushed pretty as you pouted and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. The shorts looking so fucking good on you and making you ass look so fucking bite-able.

He shakes his head, clearly you're out of your mind. A sweetheart, who has never focused on anything else but her academics asking him to fuck you, without any hesitation.

"Aye lass you sure—"

He just wants to make sure, doesn't wanna take advantage, afterall he's a gentleman fuckboy. He'll ask if you're comfy, he'll make sure consent is consent, hell he'll stop half way naked if you ask him to stop.

But that gets a nervous reaction out of you, lips trembling and lashes damp with tears as you start to stutter, a fumbling mess with words as you try to look away, the soft bloom of red on your cheeks now absolutely flushing you.

That makes him groan, in want. He's trying to think of ten different ways to clam his chubbing up dick down.

Think about her doing maths– that's hot, fuck. Think about Simon– fuck he's hot too, think about Gaz— aye nah mate—

His brows are furrowed as he tries to negotiate with you— "Ay– lass nah me didn't wanne make ye cry–"

But it's already out of the box and you're getting all teary and sobbing so he complies.

He takes you to his apartment, doesn't shove his tongue down your throat— but does squeeze your waist as he leads you to his door— it's a nice place, smells like cheese more than anything. You grimace, but smile at him.

He looks at you, "Should I get ye some water lass?"

"No thank you"

Your head is now drowning in guilt— of using Johnny to lose your virginity. Some sort of pitch black feeling clawing up into the pit you call your stomach— salt already dampening your cheek because—

You are reminded of Simon's words.

Now you know you look all sweet and innocent, kind of a person who would never indulge into such activities, it makes you head spin how easily people fuck each other and give away their body.

It makes you absolutely sick.

But it also makes you feel alienated from your friend circle when they talk about sex, or one night stands. You awkwardly standing and looking here and there to appear nonchalant about the whole sex talk of your group.

It began to get worse everyday when your friends started to coo and coddle you with the tag of the innocent friend. To the point where they wouldn't really take you out— that's bad, that's mean.

Maybe logical too if you tried to squint a little— because honestly you really wouldn't enjoy.

But humiliation plays a bigger role and here you are at Johnny's apartment, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt as you try to undress yourself in a seductive manner failing horribly when you can't unbutton your shirt. Johnny has vanished somewhere in the hallway— you know Simon stays here too.

Simon, that bastard of a man. God's you want to punch him square in his face and maybe break his already crooked nose.

Tears that were on the bay now falling down your cheeks again as you wipe them furiously, recalling his words of dismissing you. Nah, don't do innocent girls like ya sweet'art. And turn around without soaring a second glance.

Johnny is back from god knows where with two popsicles in his hands, honestly he thought of trying to talk you out of it— share something sweet and book you a taxi back to your apartment.

You are half way undressed, bra on the floor, shirt crumpled somewhere along the doorway, your hands on your shorts— clearly unbuttoning it to pull 'em down.

A few minutes might have gone, Johnny gulps, the popsicles melting down his hands as he straightens up. "Ye– ye serious lass?" He's looking like a puppy, too shocked or something– closer to thanking God.

He does, in his head he is reciting prayers in the name of almighty suddenly.

Your skin is so tender, soft to look at and Johnny wonders how it would feel under his hands. Your breasts round and so fucking pretty, nipples perked up because of the cold air of the AC, your shy gaze.

All the fucking sheer will he used to clam his cock down thrown out of the window— (he shoved his dick under the cold tap water, blue balls) and the only thought that consumed him was how many angles would he be able to bend you in and fuck you raw.

You're a shy but squirmy thing now, arms wrapping around your chest instinctively as you look away, a hot blush of red over your skin as you bite your lips nervously, but then again you're more embarrassed and hurt at Simon's rejection than Johnny seeing you naked.

The surge of adrenaline as you look at him again and speak clearly, "John McTavish fuck me" has his blood searing down south.

He whistles, throws the popsicles into the dustbin.

"Aye— as you command mam—"

Oh he's gonna fuck you to oblivion.