John "Soap" MacTavish

<p>AnyPov // You've captured the enemy, Soap </p><p><a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://forms.gle/919XevHgCj26CYrZ8"><strong><span style="color: #dd7eff">Requested</span></strong></a> by Anon</p><hr><p>They’re bloody fucking attractive, the type Soap searched for in dim and dingy bars. The mean glint in their eyes, the curve of their jaw and the way they loomed over him had him shivering for the wrong reasons. </p><p>He glares up through his brows, the perfect picture of defiance. His eyes linger on their lips for a spare moment, then returning to their own. He’d seen a picture of them once briefly, it was grainy as all hell and <em>nothing</em> compared to the visage of them, flesh and blood. </p><p>The ache in his knees long forgotten, replaced with a rapidly growing one between his thighs. </p>