#soap cod

“No fair!”

“Ain’t our fault youre shit at poker. Now you know the rules.”

Gaz takes you first, biting his lip to hold back the sly grin he has as he sinks you down on his cock. “So pretty perched on a cock.”

His hands gently guide you back and forth, musing nothing but praises. “I’m almost there, baby. I know you want it. Can you feel you wanting it.”

Eventually he holds you still, rutting up into you while his thumb draws soothing circles on your hip. The others watch intensely before he slams you down, keeping your hips pressed firmly against him as he pours his release inside.

Gaz combs your hair out of your face, placing a delicate kiss on your forehead before he peels you off. But not before he gives your cunt a gentle grope with the palm of his hand. “Thanks love.”

He passes you off to soap who’s been bouncing in his seat since you were in your undergarments. He’s quick to get you bent over the table before sinking his dick in with a deep groan.

He’s meaner than Gaz, insisting that you squirt for him before he lets you go despite you cumming multiple times. “I can’t, Johnny! Icanticanticant,” you sob, pussy puffy and swollen.

Soaps arm slinks down between your legs before his fingers repeatedly swipe across your poor clit. He has no aim, but it gets the job done and your vision nearly goes black as you’re leaking onto the edge of the table.

Soap grins victoriously. “So ye can do it. Fuckin’ liar you are.”

Then there’s ghost. He’s not trying to be an ass about it. It’s just that he’s so damn big that it’s bound to hurt no matter how many times Gaz and Soap have cum inside you.

He lifts you up from the underside of your knees, spreading you wide open before nudging inch by inch inside. “Nice view, LT.”

“Wish it were you, aye Johnny?”

Soap smirks. “Who? You or her?”

The conversation ends there, ghost too enthralled by the way his dick pumps out cum with every thrust. The position makes it perfect to see the tip of his dick bulging as he brings you down to the hilt.

“Fuck,” you pant, barely audible over those heavenly wails you let out.

“I know, doll. That’s what I’m doin’.” You don’t even have it in you to tell him to piss off and that’s exactly how he likes you.

Last is price, who lays you gently down on the table with a hand resting on each thigh. There’s no resistance as he slips his dick inside your warm and sloppy hole.

Immediately you shudder from oversensitivity, hands pawing at his abdomen to push him back but there’s no strength behind it.

He’s gentle, but the experience is there when he’s grinding up his dick to all the right places.

Two of his fingers scoop up the leaking cum (probably a mix of all three) before drawing delicate figure 8’s across your abused clit.

You squeak, legs tensing as sparks fill your vision. “There she is, nice and fuckin’ tight.”

And once he knows he has you teetering on that edge, he’s pounding into you like there’s no tomorrow.

The table shakes under the intensity and it proves to be worth it when you’re mumbling gibberish in hysterics.

Price finally pulls out, patting your pussy twice as a reward. “Good girl.” And you don’t know if he’s talking to you or your cunt.

You feel a hand cup your cheek but your vision is blurry and every voice sounds as if you’re underwater. “Ya look like you’re seeing stars, lassie.”

“I’m never playing poker again.”

Your comment earns a few chuckles from the group. “Oh don’t be like that. You almost almost had us!”

“Kyle’s right. You’re improving fast. You’re bound to win the next one, soldier.”

"the height not workin' out fer ya, ya deciduous bastards?" Soap grumbles.

"bird doesnt date horses," Ghost grunts.

"they what?" Soap's mouth twitches.

"don't date horses," Price grumbles, his lighter sparking pathetically as he tries to light his cigar.

"and that means?"

"Anyone over 6 foot," Gaz slumps, tipping the last dregs of his pint back and forth in the glass.

Soap nearly vaults the table, scrambling to spin you from the bar and announce,

"Ahm 5' 11"!"

you bite your lip hard against your grin, its the sweetest thing he's ever seen.

"could wear tall heels around me and ah won't complain," he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, "the horses have me well trained lookin' up."

"how about from your knees?" you laugh, reaching to hook a finger in his belt loops.

price: this man is dressing you in the sweetest little gingham shorts to show off your fluffy tail, getting you to hop around his cottage yard to find the eggs he’s hidden for you. he’s too old to play games, so he’s content to watch from the porch as his cigar smoke curls in the spring sunshine

gaz: similar to price, he’ll be spending it with you outside. the bastard loves to show off, so he’ll pick a popular park to have a picnic with you, making sure everyone can see your bunny ears are real and not just a headband. might even enter you in a stupid hop competition just so you can beat them all and be his winner (which he will be sending to soap)

soap: he’s a family man, what can he say? he’ll have you in scotland, playing with all of his nieces and nephews — arts n crafts, egg hunts, and he even lets his niece trace your ears on a paper so she can cut them out and wear them like yours. any chance alone he’s murmuring in those fluffy white ears about how nice it would be to have wee bunny!hybrids bouncing around you all with his ridiculously blue eyes (“think about it, bun, hey?”)

You grabbed the barrel and shoved it forward, pressing it into your forehead. The cool metal kissed your skin as you looked up at him with bright eyes. Sweet and sultry.

He made a choked sound behind the mask when you cocked your head just slightly, fluttering your lashes, daring him to do it. Pull the trigger.

He couldn't.

He barely caught the edge of your smirk under the moonlight before the gun slipped from his gloved hands and a shot rang out into the night.

The next thing he knew he was on the ground. You shot him in the leg. Not enough to kill him. Just enough to keep him down while you escaped with the intel.

He lay there, splayed out, contemplating his life choices when Soap rounded the corner, eyes wide, gun at the ready.

But he took one look at his masked comrade on the ground and holstered his rifle with a sigh. He grumbled as he hauled Ghost up, slinging one of his massive arms over his shoulders.

“Christ, L.T...again? What are we always tellin' ya about lookin' girls in the bloody eye?"

—price when you banish him to the couch, he could be one of two ways—mature and forces you to talk it out nicely or toxic, flat out refuses, and fucks you back to your senses. the first way, when the words spill from your mouth, his shoulders slumped with dejection as he steps from the room. no point in arguing when you're worked up. after stewing in your anger for thirty or so minutes, he returns—armed with food—and talks it out with you. the other way, he flat out refuses to sleep on the couch. i could see him manipulating you with the "I paid for that bed, and I'll sleep in it." you're stubborn, muttering something about you sleeping on the couch then, which is how you end up getting your brains fucked out.

—soap I imagine soap just pushed your buttons way too much that day. you know how he is sometimes—over the top, hyper, and an all-around instigator. he was looking for a reaction, and he found it—just not the one he wanted. immediately pouts, acting like a dejected child before he goes on to try and convince you to change your mind. real annoying about it too, doesn't give up until you're at your breaking point.

—kyle the only one that I see actually accept his banishment with stride. he knows he made you upset, respects the boundary you placed with him and doesn't take it to heart. there's also a big possibility that, by the end of the night, you end up talking it out anyways like mature adults. he knows you needed to get it out of your system, and you serving punishment to him did just that.

—simon the second the words leave your mouth, he shuts down. you see the moment he deflates, doesn't try to reconcile, and just accepts it. he doesn't want to upset you further or make you more mad than you already are. simon doesn't respond well to domestic conflict. the second his back hits the cushions? he's tossing and turning. he barely fits the couch to begin with, and you both learn you need each other to sleep—bonded like a pair of cats.