Angry bunbun.🧼🐰
#GhostSoap

(first thing I draw in months, feels like I've forgotten how to hold a pencil)

Soap getting Ghost a puppy as a christmas gift. Ghost loves it, but he is like 'a living being is not a present'.
"Damn, then you really aren't going to like the other thing I got you..."
Next thing Soap is showing him a pregnancy test.
#GhostSoap 💀🧼

He investigates who hung the mistletoe to thank them 🥰

#GhostSoap who end up under the mistletoe some idiot hung up in the mess hall. Soap decides to be brave and kiss Ghost over the mask, thinking he won't get killed in front on everyone.
Only for Ghost to say "new rule, mistletoe means I get to fuck you", and drag him away.

Part 3 out now!🩵

bsky.app/profile/nell...

John hesitates, looks at him through his thick lashes. "Are you coming in with me?" he asks with his raspy, sweet voice.
He really can't. It's a step he shouldn't take. But John's pleading eyes are too tempting, too full of hope.
"Fine."

(Next will be the 4th and —hopefully— last part!)

They stop in front of Price's house. John is still plastered to his side, nuzzling him like a fucking house cat. He whines when Ghost pulls away and gets out of the car, but his discontentment subsides as he opens his door for him to exit.

He looks back at the road.
John gets closer again, and he tenses up immediately. The open mouthed kiss he places against his neck does nothing to quell his guilt.
"So good," he whispers, nipping at the sliver of exposed flesh between the balaclava and the neck of his shirt.

John's face is a mess of pink, his lips swollen and cherry red. Cum drips from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes are hazy. A pretty thing that it hurts to look at.
"Thank you," John slurs.
Ghost wants to laugh, because /what/? He didn't do anything. Except betray a friend.

Ghost makes a sharp turn, gets out of the other lane where he had ended up and nearly drives them out of the road. John is pushed away in the process. When he is sure they aren't going to die, he looks down at him, wanting to make sure he is ok.

John whines. Ghost pushes him down unrelentlessly, cock lodging itself in his spasming throat. Ghost blacks out, the only thing he notices are the pulsing of his dick and the thick spurts of cum easing the way for him to rut mindlessly against John's face.
A car honks at them.

Two turns of the car later and a specially harsh suck, Ghost feels close to bursting. Is that moment when John rolls his balls between his fingers, fondling him firmly.
"Fuck!" he shouts.
He pries one of his stiff hands from the wheel and grabs a messy mohawk instead.

John, the little shit, laughs. "I'll take that as a yes."
He goes back to sucking him, hollowing his cheeks and tracing the underside of his dick with his clever tongue. He moans each time Ghost's hips twitch, shoving his cock deeper into the wet heat of his mouth.

"Fuck, you really taste good." He drags his fist up and down Ghost's length a few times before doing it again, slurping at the precum gathered there. "Want to cum in my mouth?"
Ghost's vision swams, probably because all his fucking blood is busy keeping him hard as a rock.

Ghost growls, a dangerous, desperate sound.
"Shhh, not going anywhere," John promises, mouthing at his hard cock. His tongue flutters against the tip before dipping into the wet slit.
The car swerves precariously.

Ghost curses, the back of his head hitting the backrest while he desperately tries to keep his unfocused gaze on the road. John moans, the vibrations that causes and his constricting throat dragging a shaky groan from him. He bobs his head a few times before pulling off.

"Tastes good, too." John hums and dives in.
His mouth envelopes Ghost's dick like it was made for it, gagging softly only when the fat head hits the back of his throat. He is desperate for it, a mess of spit and precum dripping down Ghost's shaft and onto his balls.

/Fuckin' hell./
John shifts awkwardly on his seat. Ghost wants to look, but he knows if he does he will pull over and bend him over the car's hood. So he stubbornly keeps his eyes to the front. Which makes the wet brush of a tongue against his cock all the more surprising.

His eyes remain fixed on the road, but his mind is focused on John's touch, not willing to go elsewhere.
"How do you like it?" John asks, voice velvety soft. "Rough? Wet and messy?" When Ghost doesn't answer he huffs a laugh. "Don't worry, I'm good at guessing."

Cold air hits his heated skin. It's soon replaced by John's hand wrapping around his length, pumping it a few times, testing.
"So big," he sounds delighted, like he won something.
His grip tightens, the dry drag of skin on skin making Ghost's hips buck.

"Come on, just a little taste, aye?" His hand creeps higher, pinky brushing against the sizeable bulge in his pants. "I will make you feel so good."
Ghost's body is rigid. He doesn't say yes. But he also doesn't protest when John's nimble fingers pull down his zipper.

There's movement, then a voice next to his ear. "I've noticed how you look at me."
/Shit./
There's few things Ghost has wanted in his life as much as jumping from that car in that moment. A warm hand comes to rest on top of his thigh, knee jerking in response.

There's a sharp intake of air from Ghost's side, and he half expects a hit.
Instead, John's voice is nearly a purr when he next speaks. "Don't tell me you don't like it."
Ghost keeps his eyes on the road and grips the wheel tighter, until it creaks. Better that than John's neck.

"Why then? I thought you liked me, big guy." He talks with a hint of innocence that Ghost wants to destroy.
He starts the engine and drives onto the street to distract himself before he makes something stupid.
"Like you?" He barks a cruel laugh. "You are a /slut/."

"Been through worse," he settles for, and snatches his hand back.
"That why I haven't seen you lately? You were injured?" At this point it's a silly boy poking a bear with a stick.
"No." Ghost grits his teeth to not spill anything else.

John is looking intently at the hand he has on the wheel, big and scarred. Ghost is taken aback when the man grabs it, soft fingers tracing the shape of his split knuckles.
"You are hurt."
Maybe he's been punching too hard lately. Frustration tends to do that to him.

John hops down from the bar stool; the guy sitting there all but forgotten by now is about to protest, but Ghost shuts him up with a look.

Ghost opens the car's door for John, damn nearly buckles him up.
"Where to," Ghost demands once he drops onto his seat.
Silence meets him.

The guy gets a good look at Ghost and pales.
John pouts. "Well, he isn't here to tell me himself, is he?" he complains.
"Something came up. He tried to call you."
"Oh." John pout dissolves into worry. "Is he ok?"
Ghost gives a jerky nod. "Come on, I'll take you home."

It's quick work, really. He's sitting at the bar, next to a guy that doesn't know what personal space means. An uncomfortable pang to Ghost's chest has him interrupting as rudely as possible.
"John," he greets. Two pairs of eyes snap to him. "Your husband is worried about you."

He wishes it were like that. But the alternative is worse, so he doesn't correct Price.
"I'll go tell him." Price visibly relaxes, shoulders slumping.
"Thank you."
Ghost doesn't deserve the gratitude.

He looks around the pub upon entering, searching for a ridiculous mohawk.