#it's always ghoap

[shotmrmiller]

silly little thought of trying to bait a reaction out of simon because even though monogamy is inferred with the both of you, he seems to not give a damn if you actually are. (your privacy became nonexistent the moment you invited him into your home. he knows you turn anyone interested down and those that can't take a hint, take one from him.)

and that stings. that he isn't even wondering just who could be texting you so late at night when his cum is still warm between your thighs stings. you'd like the chance to tell him that you're your own person at least once.

so you make the terrible, awful decision of batting your lashes at his friend, johnny— the overly friendly (borderline invasive) scottish man who could talk paint off a wall.

(he didn't even try to seem like he wasn't interested. one small curl of your lip shot his way and he was already sliding in the barstool next to yours, clever fingers warm around your thigh.)

what had meant to be a not-so-innocent flirt here and there ended up with your skirt rucked up to your waist and your ankles crossed around his. that after the fact, johnny casually brings up how simon and he have shared guns, bandages and spit before so simon oughta not mind sharing you either had you speechless.

(being so guilt-ridden you 'fess up to simon and he instead asks you how many times did johnny make you come.)

[soapcloth]

Corporate office worker!Ghost. The big guy huddled over the computer in the cubicle next to you muttering to himself, fingers too big to reasonably use the allotted keyboard, always in and out of HR because every time he opens his mouth at the water cooler he’s spouting a new morbid joke, but his work speed is unmatched and he’s incredibly competent so they can’t get rid of him— you’re almost sure he’s losing his mind and every lunch he’s staring at you across the break room through hollow, tired eyes like you’re the thing he really wants to eat.

[hai-nae]

favorite seat in the house

[pricetagged]

MEDIEVAL SCAMMER GHOAP?! Please enlighten us🙏🙏🙏

Since you both asked so nicely, have a snippet of a whisp of a concept😅

I have an idea. Not fully fleshed out. I could go in two directions, either historical Ghoap working as Pardoners and taking advantage of ignorant village reader (corruption kink, religious themes, abuse of power etc.).

OR, for my monster-lovers, has anyone seen Dragonheart? I was picturing, like, one of them is something beastly, the other plays at knight = profit? Fantasy scam and rescue? So, it would go something like this:

(Tw kidnapping and kind of mean Ghoap)

---------

Your situation didn't look any better flipped on its head. Flipped on your head, rather. Snatched and thrown over a bulky shoulder, high– higher than even your standing position. It was discomfiting; it was terrifying. Blood rushed to your face not only in fury but also in shame as your skirts fluttered in the breeze.

He noticed, too. His greedy fingers dug into your thighs, skimming down like he was soothing a skittish horse. But you felt the way he lingered. The way he chuffed and squeezed tighter when you kicked out with all the strength of a skittish colt.

Your fists pounded uselessly against heavy splint-mail, hands-catching on rough nodules and spikes that didn't quite register as pain. Not to your panic-stricken mind, thoughts flying off in the wind behind you as the beast carried you off.

But the smack registered.

Perhaps it was the sound, the harsh slap of flesh on flesh. Whipping crack, like the snapping of a great branch. The precursor to an eerie stillness, violence begetting obmutescence. And it worked–

–for a second. For the time it took for your stinging nerves to catch up with your racing mind. Then you howled. Kicked and clawed and hissed like a feral cat as tears welled in your lash-line.

"How dare you–"

"Quit yer fashin'. Ye'll bring the whole kingsguard down this way–"

"–good–"

"–and then I'll have tae kill them all," That had your attention, legs tense under the heavy band of his bicep. "Dinnae much feel like sharin' ye around."

"Oh, you beast! You foul, vile, disgusting–" Your voice was high, words scratching as they hitched out of your aching throat.

It hurt to speak, vocal cords already shredded from the way you'd screamed when he'd first ransacked your village. Coughing on heavy, acrid smoke and crying futile warnings about the Black Knight and his monster-in-arms ('Quiet, girl. Viper-tonged harlot, slither off and for gods' sake, quiet!') . But it hurt more to be silent. You flung insults like broken arrows, hoping that they would somehow land. That they would hit, fortuitously, and pierce the thick-hide of this brute. But hope is vain, and the fancies of men make gods laugh.

You landed hard on something soft.

Ego almost as bruised as your knees, you kept your eyes low. Sweeping. Marshy, wet silt. Topsoil sluiced off, only mud and clay and reeds to your right. A cheerfully babbling brook just beyond, water murky and discoloured with backwash from– the water flowed past the estuary of the village so it must be– no–

The realisation was caustic. Mordant. Burning at you like the scorched air in your lungs.

"You're a monster," you spat the words, mouth watering in your haste to let ichor drip forth and blacken him as much as the foul, brackish water ahead.

"Noticed that, did ye," he laughed, words glancing off like feeble blows. "Best not tae piss me off, then. Stay there and behave yersel'. Company's comin'."

Glancing up at him was like a blow to the stomach, wind punched out and body shaking. You already knew that he was big, inhuman. But now you could see every inch; monstrous, twisted mockery of natural features. Like a man formed of rock, too immense and hard and jagged to pass for anything but artificial. Counterfeit. Contranatural. Creation's bastard. All tusks and teeth and shorn hair. Hair everywhere, even down his bare, bulging forearms and thick knuckles. Coarse, dark.

His eerie, bright blue eyes blazed around black, pupils wild and blown. It could be the thrill, cruel playfulness of an apex predator. Berserker-wide, coming down from the kill–

But he'd been carrying you for a while, bloodlust long-since sated on the men and manse of your homeland.

You shivered, sweat and cold mingling in a discomfiting damp that raised the hairs on your arms. (The hairs on the back of your neck were already needle-stiff and prickling).

You pocketed a stone, a big jagged filthy shard. One you hoped could bruise and slash and poison, turn wounds weeping and sick.

Now that you were silent, he seemed especially strident, swaggering around the barebones of what you supposed must be a dwelling. You felt the slight whistling of air from the cave behind, cavernous and black. If you had to run, to hide, you'd take your chances with the forest and river ahead. To be lost in the appetites of the mountain abyss would spell death as surely as at the hands of this creature.

You watched him, cocksure and comfortable as he shucked off his warhammer and began unbuckling his braces. If you could read the snarl of his crooked teeth, you'd perhaps say he was in high spirits. He sent you a wink as he shrugged off his splint-mail, gravelly laugh echoing in the cavern behind.

It disguised the approach of your visitor.

"Grabbed the wrong one, Johnny," you shrieked as something grabbed your forearm, hauling you up. Looking down you saw the muted sheen of a spiked gauntlet. Black patina, flaked in iron rust. You swallowed hard, lump in your throat so big that it caught any words that might try to escape. Him. The Black Knight. The Liar. 

"Ye said to grab the pretty one by the fancy house."

"She's not the magistrate's daughter. No ransom for her." He spun you around, metal biting hard into your chin as he arched your face towards his.

Cloaked in ink-black helm and visor, you could just about peer in to meet his gaze. He looked back with cold, assessing eyes. The voice that rumbled forth was as harsh and breccial as you remembered, words rending you apart with serrated precision: "Not worth a rescue mission."

He released your chin with a final shake of your head, huffing amusement as you rubbed at the thin scratches he left behind.

It was hard to breathe now, stomach swirling and head-light. Even if you could will yourself, it wouldn’t help. There was already a faint coppery smell leeching from the Knight; your heart recognised it even if you would not give name to it. It sped up, fast enough to rush past your ears with discordant force. 

You didn’t feel the other one step up behind you, not until it was too late. There, trapped between man and monster (man the monster), tight enough that you couldn't even shiver. You felt the power of the creature even more now without the armour, all muscle and fat, sheer power close enough to sink your fingers into. But you couldn't move, your shallow breaths already catching in your throat into soft, hitching whines. 

"Shh, it's alright, bonnie," Rough, clumsy fingers swiped under your eyes. You felt him crouch lower, stubbly hair and tusks digging into your powder-soft cheek. "Looks like we're gonnae have tae keep you, then."

------------

[rainyramblesscramble]

Request? Soap wearing an oversized hoodie and making sleeve paws.

used this as an opportunity to test a new pen—the last one made every doodle come out looking blurry af 😭

Hope you like!

[angel-bugz]

Lazy, tired writing today bc I need to write something... life is hectic for me recently...

Overworked!Reader who, on the rare occasion, is asleep by the time the boys return from deployment. More often than not will you be able to hold out for long enough and stay awake to welcome the two back home - to eat together, and to all crawl to bed.

This time, the space is quiet as they enter the front door. Too quiet. Simon is yet to hear your soft footsteps padding down the hallway and Soap can just barely smell the remnants of a home cooked meal. They know instantly, that it's been one of those days. They soften at the mere thought of you in bed, cozy and warm. One shushes the other and they quietly set down their belongings, taking off their shoes with a caution similar to that of a recon mission. Hushed reminders to each other to 'be quiet'. Entering the bedroom, peeling off their most of their clothes in silence. The need to eat and shower forgotten about when they slide under the covers - one on either side of you.

In your sleeping state, your body knowingly melts in between theirs. Simon's arm wraps around your middle and Johnny's over your shoulder. All six legs tangled together. Perfect. Sleep and sound.

[deandoesthingstome]

You've seen the look before.

That deep, soulful yearning. That ease of ache that told him he was home. Safe. Protected.

You've seen his brown eyes gloss with adoration, soften in the knowledge he has everything he ever wanted. The way he gazes at the nape of the neck of the man nose and tongue deep in your pussy.

Longing. Love.

Johnny is it for Simon. You've always known that. Johnny was it for you too, from day one.

But Simon. Sullen. Sulky. Angry. Mean. Absolutely uninterested in sharing the toys in his sandbox. Johnny had a way of smoothing it over when he first brought you home to meet his lover. It was only supposed to be a onetime thing. A way of proving to Simon he could have his cake and eat it too.

Johnny had been wrong at first and Simon only watched from afar. Noticed the ways Johnny made you squirm and the ways you made Johnny proud. When Simon finally joined for the first time, he didn't touch you once.

Moving in was tense. They set you and your belongings in the spare room for "a bit o' privacy, ya ken?" and though dinner was together and you christened the bed in your new room in style, Simon wouldn't sleep with you and Johnny that night, choosing instead to return to their room alone. Johnny balked when you suggested he didn't need to cradle you all night to spare your feelings.

Days, weeks, months of meals, errands, nights at the pub, homecoming celebrations, lazy Sundays. Something began to shift. You couldn't put a finger on it but his demeanor toward you was changing. He was thawing.

You felt it in his fingertips, glancing across your skin more tender than you'd ever expected. His lips, taking over for Johnny. Yes, these touches had started out rough, rushed, almost mechanical. But eventually Johnny no longer needed to urge him to partake of your pleasure.

Simon started accompanying you on shopping trips alone, when Johnny was off on solo missions. Started meeting you at the pub while Johnny stayed behind on base to run through an explosives test with the captain, keeping you company until Johnny could show.

They both knew you hated when they tried to "rescue" you from any ill-advised advance from some bloke or other at the bar. But Simon's heart broke open a little when he heard you refer to them as your boyfriends, for the first time, "so kindly fuck off, yeah?"

And that's the night you see it. The way that gaze shifts to you, watching you fall apart as you grind your center up into Johnny's face while he presses his hips back into Simon's deep thrust.

See the way his eyes draw you in and hold you close, even staring from what seems like miles away. The orgasm that rips through you when he says the words right as Johnny's tongue makes it's way finally, thankfully, reverently, insisently to the spot that never fails to break you loose is more powerful than any you'd ever had before.

Tangled in limbs and sheets, sweat and spend drying in spots you know will be hard to reach, you nuzzle into Johnny's chest and keen when he asks quietly "that true, lt? You really love her too?"

need more?

[siriussimon]

just thinking about johnny being jealous and hating when he’s not the center of attention. a scottish man with a mohawk, how could he not be an attention seeker?

sitting at the bar johnny was nursing a glass of whiskey. the boys had been spread across the bar and he got stuck alone and slightly tipsy already. nobody’s come to talk to him yet and that’s brought his mood down significantly. usually he’s gone home by now with a pretty bird wrapped in his arms.

his eyes start scanning the bar looking for his saving grace. if he was getting anything tonight he new exactly where to go.

tha’ fuck?

his eyes had locked on to the big brute chatting up the prettiest thing he’s seen in awhile. she seemed timid, eyes fluttering, her fingers fumbling with her glass as she looked up at this weird fellow with a mask.

johnny downed the rest of his drink before walking towards the two.

“ah was lookin’ for ya, si.” johnny practically purred, pushing his way between the two of you and leaning himself up against the wall. simon gave him a deep hum, eyes squinting, knowing exactly what he wanted. like a dog asking for a bone.

you watched this whole interaction, downing the rest of your drink to ease the tension in your body. they looked pretty close…were they—

“why don’t ya introduce yourself, love?” simon’s gruff voice broke the silence, his eyes looked heavier as they looked at you, it looked like he moved closer to johnny too. what is happening?

“oh, uh, hi..johnny.” you murmured so sweetly, you told him your name, and he gave you a toothy grin in return.

“aren't ye sweet? hud tae see whit's git mah man's attention nicked fae me... Ah kin see why..” his eyes raking down your body, eyes steady on the cleavage peeking from your little top. didn’t help that you had clasped your hands in front of you out of nervous habit, not noticing the way your arms pushed your tits out even further for the filthy bastards in front of you.

“oh my god.. i’m so sorry. i didn’t know!” you frantically apologized, hand coming to rest on his bicep before turning to leave this terribly awkward situation. of course simon was taken, 6’5 bulk of a man, and his boyfriend was just as handsome.

johnnys finger hooked into your loop of your jeans pulling you back agaisnt him. your ass flush against his hips now, arm sprawling across your waist to pull you in incredibly close. you felt your face heat up when you notice simon get in front of the two of you boxing the both of you against the wall, shielding you from the rest of the crowded bar.

“look perfect wrapped up in his arms, birdie.” simon drawled out, fingers grazing along your cheek, pressing his thumb against the bottom of your lip. you felt your knees buckle but luckily johnny was there to hold you still.

you felt so overwhelmed but so fucking good. fuck it. two hot men fawning over you? when will you ever get this opportunity again. suddenly you were turning in johnnys arms, his forehead pressed against yours, hands splayed across the fat of your ass giving it a tight squeeze. a little squeak leaving your lips.

“now give ‘im a kiss. our boy needs us, yeah?” simon whispered agaisnt your ear.

[incinerated-vestiges]

based on this post

<3

Without text

[shotmrmiller]

who is taking full offense that you're not wincing as you take a seat after spending all night split open and why is it ghoap? because it's ghoap.

it's johnny choking on his eggs while you plop onto the chair, legs creaking under the weight. he'd remembered having to warm compress for days after his first ghost lay. hissing through his teeth every time he had to sit on any flat surface. even now, as a seasoned veteran, he still wakes to a lingering ache. it'd be impressive if he didn't feel a bit slighted. (you took them both last night and the only thing average about him is his height.)

it's simon, thinking about how johnny made him take it easier on you. dinnae wanna scare 'er off, he'd said, yer too intense, and here you are, prettier now that your neck and chest is peppered in their love bites, wearing his shirt and johnny's boxers, with an appetite to rival that of price's. clearly you can handle him. handle them. he'll test your mettle soon enough. (that he wants to see you look up at him with discomfort pooling in your eyes after the fact is something he'll keep to himself.)

(it's you, limping to the bathroom in the middle of the night and almost sobbing when you spot the bottle of tylenol on the counter, swallowing it with a cupped hand full of sink water. as you sit in front of them now, foot coming to rest on simon's thigh, there's a lingering ache that no doubt would've left you curled up in bed for most of the morning. thank god for medicine.)

[hatsbuckets]

Sunday Softies: 141 and Spoiling Each Other <3 basically a continuation of this.

Listened to this song while writing this and cried so I mean :)

Price takes care of his boys like it’s instinct, like it’s written into his bones. With Ghost, it’s all in the details. He knows Simon won’t ask for anything, so he doesn’t wait to be told. A new knife that he's been eyeing appears in his kit. A bottle of scotch, older than most of their squadmates, finds its way to Simon’s bunk after a rough op. No words exchanged, just the weight of it in Simon’s hand and the silent understanding between them. With Johnny, it’s a little different. More direct. He keeps the younger man fed, rested, tethered. Listens, even when Soap’s bouncing off the walls mid-story. He remembers every offhand comment, every preference, and somewhere in the quiet middle of it all, Johnny’s boots are shined, his medkit’s fully stocked, and his favorite damn candy bar is sitting on the edge of his bunk with a note that says, "Stop forgetting to eat." And Gaz? Gaz gets time. Price watches the way Kyle gives and gives and gives, and so he clears schedules behind the scenes. Slides a long weekend into Kyle’s calendar, books a quiet rental outside the city, and tells him, calm and final, “You’re off the clock, Sergeant. Go rest.”

Ghost gives back in ways that barely register until they’re needed most. With Soap, he’s a quiet constant, hands Johnny a hot meal before he even asks, keeps that extra hoodie in his bag just because Soap always steals it. He knows when Johnny needs noise and when he just needs someone to sit with him, wordless. And sometimes, when Johnny’s pretending everything’s fine, Simon just reaches out, tugs him in, and holds him like he knows... because he does. With Price, it’s quieter still. Simon watches his captain carry too much, for too long, and one day there’s nothing but a note left behind and a cleared schedule: “Sleep. You’ve earned it.” No fuss. And for Gaz, there’s this quiet awareness, this little habit of handing him things before he even realizes he needs them: gloves, gum, the right pen at the right time. Simon doesn’t ask for thanks. He doesn’t need them. He spoils through presence, through care, through the stillness of someone who stays.

Soap spoils like it’s his full-time job and nobody told him to stop. With Ghost, it’s both obnoxious and tender. He brings food, always, tells jokes until Simon smirks, then holds him close like it’s the only thing that matters. He’ll press a kiss to Simon’s temple and pretend like it didn’t mean something, even though it always does. With Price, he’s lighter, teasing, dragging the older man to the couch and throwing a blanket over his legs with a grin: “Cap, sit down before you keel over.” He’ll make tea. He’ll cook something just barely edible. He’ll poke and prod until he gets a laugh, and then he rests. And for Gaz, it’s the little things, checking in, sending dumb videos back and forth at 2am, slipping him protein bars or painkillers without a word. Soap loves by making people laugh. He listens, he sees, he knows in all those silly little details and he shows up.

Gaz, for all his gentleness, spoils in a way that says I know you, I see you, I care. For Soap, he makes sure there are clean towels, listens when he needs an ear, stocked snacks, and a fresh change of clothes folded neatly on the foot of the bed after a long op. He doesn’t make a scene of it, just kisses Johnny on the cheek and says, “You looked like you could use a reset.” For Ghost, it’s quieter still, smoothing out rough edges before they can snag. He notices the tension, sets a hot pack in Simon’s locker, never brings it up. Forces a bottle of water into Ghost's hands without a second glance or hesitation. And with Price, there’s this mutual respect, this soft undercurrent of care. Kyle makes things easier, files the paperwork, handles logistics, brings him coffee just the way he likes it. Sometimes, he says nothing at all. Just puts it on the desk, touches Price’s shoulder, and goes. And that’s enough.

[farahfriday]

let’s keep it tight boys

[giotanner]

Lt. Simon "Ghost" Riley and Sgt. John "Soap" MacTavish in: TROUBLEMAKERS

(support the entire tiktok here!)

(Please support my drawings with a Reblog to stay in CoD circle here on tumblr!)

ko-fi

[ghcstao3]

civilian au with born-deaf simon. and johnny whose favourite bit to do with his partner is getting him to guess what things sound like even though he’s always completely off the mark

the best times are when johnny asks simon to try and do an impression of people’s voices, and while he’s usually wrong to varying extents—for whatever reason, his price imitation is almost spot-on. it’s hilarious (price is offended but also impressed)

then after all laughs are had, certain sounds simon will ask johnny to describe, if he’s really curious. and johnny will always happily oblige and do his best, be it through words and signs, or tapping/scratching/drawing patterns on simon’s skin, or anything else he can think of

[lemonwrap]

Soap was lucky enough to meet his soulmate at twenty four. The thing is…they didn’t get along great. That’s not completely unheard of for soulmates, but it didn’t make Soap and Connor get along any better.

They didn’t hate each other, no. Some days they got along well. The conversation flowed, the laughter wasn’t so strained, and the sex was good—but things always seemed better when they were apart.

They clashed on nearly everything. Connor thought Soap’s mohawk and callsign were childish, and Soap thought that Connor was overbearing and that all of his friends were assholes. Soap’s talkative nature often annoyed Connor, and Connor’s nitpicky personality often annoyed Soap in turn. Connor didn’t like Soap’s job because it kept them apart, but the military was what held Soap together and provided structure when he didn’t have much else. Soap felt out of place at Connor’s large family gatherings, where his entire family was formal and a bit cold, but Connor felt suffocated by Soap’s small but lively family.

Soap and Connor’s soulmate status didn’t seem to matter much whenever they argued. They fought until they mutually decided to break it off a few years later, and although Soap was upset, the relief vastly outweighed it. He hasn’t attempted to seek anything else out, though. How can he be right for anyone if he isn’t even right for his soulmate?

Soap tries to keep this attitude when he’s recruited into the 141 and meets Ghost, but Ghost is…well, he’s Ghost.

Soap is pretty sure he could write a whole book about his lieutenant, starting with the way Ghost kept him grounded with jokes while he was sneaking through the streets of Las Almas and ending with how the first time Ghost took off his mask, it was to kiss Soap.

They get along startlingly well, even in shitty circumstances—two peas in a pod, two halves of a whole, two pieces from different puzzles that just happen to be a match—Ghost and Soap are a fantastic team. Their arguments don’t usually last long, and they’ve never been over trivial things like Soap’s haircut or Ghost’s habit of hoarding tea well past its expiration date.

On the field, they have each other’s six, and sometimes Soap doesn’t even need an order from Ghost. He just intuitively knows what Ghost needs, on and off the field. They just work, and Soap didn’t realize that he could ever get along with someone this well.

Ghost has revealed little of his past even to Soap, but he said that his soulmate died before they even met. Trauma after trauma and a few failed relationships made Ghost eventually decide that he wasn’t going to bother, and he kept to himself until Soap joined the 141.

Soap is damn glad he somehow found his way into Ghost’s heart like he did. Soap thinks of Connor sometimes, and he’s sure Ghost thinks of his own soulmate occasionally, but neither of them truly loved someone until they met the other.

Maybe your soulmate isn’t someone who the universe chooses for you—your soulmate is someone you choose for yourself.

[bone-trash]

My toughts on war criminals are asking you your HCs on every member's (so Nik and Roach are included) shower routine. Who has the most steps? Who is a gorilla that showers once a month but only if they get completly covered in shit? Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Does ghost keep it on even when he showers?

This is such a good ask! Ok some of this is coming to me on the fly. Or how I like to think of it, like a message from the universe that I, your humble oracle, am delivering as gospel ✌️💀

Ghost: My man is autistic as fuck so the process of going to shower, like the transition of it, and using communal showers is rough. Luckily he’s got his own private shower so that isn’t a problem so much anymore (therefore he’s maskless in his shower at least.) However, he will use 12-in-1 body wash or even dish-soap if not stopped. Blame a childhood of poverty and neglect for his opinions of wasting money on “fancy soap.” He is not a hairy dude (what hair he does have is blond and sparse) so he doesn’t have to do much grooming in that regard but he shaves his face every day with a Bic to avoid the sensory nightmare of new beard itch under his mask. If he can’t wash in his own space he just doesn’t and so he comes back from missions smelling gnarly.

Soap: Johnny lives up to his nickname when it comes to cleanliness. He was the only son in a house full of girls and he internalized the importance of proper hygiene, hair/skincare and manscaping. He favors woody scents and is very particular about his grooming (ie: a weekly Mohawk touch up, not letting body hair get out of control— though he lets go of the later a bit when he finds out that Simon is into a bush.) He is mildly horrified by the way Ghost washes when they first start hooking up and replaces his godawful drugstore body wash/shampoo/conditioner/??? and Simon doesn’t complain once Johnny finds him some nice minty scented options.

Gaz: Kyle always smells fucking good. He’s much more on Johnny’s level and they do spa nights together (sheet masks, scrubs, cucumber slices the whole deal.) I see Kyle as a shaver, he’s just simply not a fan of body hair on himself (though he has no issues on how his partner wears theirs) and also the first person to complain when someone (Ghost, Price, Nik) needs to go wash their ass.

Roach: We know he washes because he never stinks, but no one has ever seen him shower. Where he goes, what he does or uses is a mystery.

Price & Nik: Forgive me treating them as a unit but tumblr has me convinced they’re married. In short? They’re kinda gross. Between Price’s soft spot for cigars and general apathy to feeling dirty, and Nik being a fucking scent goblin, it’s not a priority. If you were to ask they’d joke about how men are just kinda dirty and smelly but really it’s kind of a sex thing sometimes. You’re better off not asking.