𝖾𝗑-𝖿𝗐𝖻!𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 “𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵” 𝗋𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝗑 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Childhood best friend!Soap who becomes your friends with benefits because you said you weren’t looking for a relationship and he’s convinced that every time he makes you cry on his dick from how good it is that he gets a little closer to making you fall in love with him

And then, when you’re laying with him and cuddling afterwards one night, you tell him that you’re not sure how much longer this is gonna go on— that you met someone recently at pub. And you really like him. His heart starts to pound. He thought you weren’t looking for a relationship— this isn’t fair—

It’s someone wearing a black surgical mask who had dark eyes, like a shark’s eyes. Deep voice and a Manchester accent. Broody, you call him.

POV: You're Bella and you sat next to Edward in biology class

I realized I REALLY love the bug guy x smol guy trope, which is probably why I'm so into Sal/Gabe. Also Sal is just.. simply hot.

It's also probably why I love Bowuigi so much. Big x smol. Man your Bowser art from, idk when you posted it, was soooo good.

I'm like, a monsterfucker, but I wouldn't actually fuck a monster. I'm the asexual equivalent of a monsterfucker. I'm a monsterdater. I would date the shit outta Bowser

ch1 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

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“Yer gettin’ married next week.”

You scoff at your brother staring at his Scotch whisky like it holds the answers to the universe.

“And you’re the king of Egypt. Funny, Simon.” He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he glances at Johnny, his husband and right-hand man. The two have a silent conversation, a head twitch followed by a pursing of lips. Johnny’s lips are cracked and split, something you can’t imagine your brother is attracted to. Superb mental health does not run in your family.

Johnny rises out of his chair, a wooden thing that creaks with effort, and takes his leave. He ruffles your hair on the way out while you try, for the thirtieth time, to shove his side. You are, yet again, unsuccessful. He’s built like a tank.

“M serious, love. ‘Ve been in negotiations the past month. It’s happenin’ next Saturday, St Etheldreda's Church.” You run through a list of churches in your head. St. Ethledreda’s is not in Manchester. In fact, you’re pretty sure it’s not in your territory. Which means…

“Why’re you naming a church in London?” Simon’s quiet as his eyes bore holes into yours. This is one of his favorite tactics to use on his men - staying silent until they find the answer themselves. You hate when he uses it on you like you’re under his command and not his younger sister. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“We need an alliance an’ they offered.”

“Then write a fuckin’ treaty! Not a marriage certificate.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“It’s the 21st century.”

“Not in this family.”

That’s something you can’t argue against. Most people outside of your immediate circle don’t even know Simon’s married to Johnny, let alone into men. When he first came to power, you created a sob story for him - early marriage to his (female) childhood sweetheart, then fast-spreading cancer, ending with a man struck by grief. It allowed him a known reason for turning down arranged marriages while making him seem more human than your shared father. No one paid enough attention to you two as children to know the story wasn’t real, and fake certificates of marriage and death are a dime a dozen. Everyone knows he’s close with Johnny, his right-hand man, and that’s that.

“What about my bookstore?” It’s your pride and joy, plus it’s 95% legal. Mostly. 

“There’s bookstores in London.” London. Only 200 miles away, but it’s like another world. Another world where you can’t walk down the street where every single storefront owner knows who you are. Where the cops are on your family’s payroll and don’t blink an eye at the gun strapped to your hip. It doesn’t matter if you were raised away in your formative years, losing your accent and most concepts of slang that baffle you. It doesn’t matter if you only share a father with Simon, that your mother was a Riley employee and not Mrs. Riley. Manchester is your home. 

It doesn’t occur to you that you have a choice, mainly because you know you don’t. The firm, or mafia, gang, or whatever you want to call it, still operates as if women are objects to be traded and bought. Marriages are merely political agreements. Getting to run a bookstore, or cash-cleaning business, as a woman is almost unheard of where you’re from. Others might call you lucky, but it’s more like being a bird in a gilded cage. A glimpse of what a true, normal life might look like. Living in a flat above your store, hosting local book clubs, setting out free cookie samples - all to be ruined when Johnny stumbles through with a gunshot or the newest recruits are sent to grab more bullets from the basement. Every other week, you snap back from your daydream and remember that you’re a mafia princess at the end of the day, though duchess seems more adequate since the Rileys don’t have that big of a territory.

“And who is my husband-to-be in London?”

“John Price.”

“I’d rather marry Nikolai. In fact, I might just go elope.” Simon glares and you glare back. “I’m not marrying John Price.” You clarify, for emphasis. Simon leans forward in his office chair, looming over his desk like a puppet master. You’re in the chair across from him, crossing your legs casually like you’re not discussing your arranged marriage and potential future. “Contract’s done, love. Jus’ waitin’ on yer signature.” Your signature, the one change from the barbaric practices of old England. You could say no, but then Simon would have no choice but to cut you off. It would be a sign of weakness to the other families if he let a delinquent bastard half-sister run his decisions.

“I want to negotiate the contract.” It’s the closest your brother has ever been to rolling his eyes. They twitch with restraint, blonde lashes flickering. “This isn’t a TV show, kid. Yer not negotiatin’ yer bloody contract.” You uncross your legs, hands on your armrest like you’re about to leave. “Fine. Let me go call up the NCA, tell them all about my brother and his scary gang.” He sighs deeply, then pulls out his phone. “Bloody hell. Can’t wait t’ marry you off, fuckin’ arsehole.” You grab the bright pink stress ball on his desk, a stocking stuffer you gave him as a joke, and throw it at him. He doesn’t even bother to look up from his phone, huffing as the ball hits the side of his head. 

“Here.” He tosses you the phone that’s already ringing. There’s no contact name, just initials. JP. “Riley. Got a problem?” A smooth baritone emits from the phone’s tinny speakers. “Hope you’re not busy this weekend, future hubby. I can’t wait to see you.” Simon sighs at the consequences of his own actions. John’s silent on the other end, processing your words. Bit thick, that one.

“An’ why’s that, sweetheart?” It’s a term of endearment but he laces it with vitriol. “We’re having tea on Saturday at my store. Bring your contract and favorite lawyers. See you then!” You hang up before he can answer, tossing the phone back to Simon. He shakes his head at you.

“Smile, Simon. It’ll be nice to bond with your brother-in-law.”

This is going to be a very long marriage.

If you even get down the aisle.

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Why does reader hate John? Why is she also a little shit? All will be revealed :)

Ghost still needs to make sure that Soap is alive

The way soap would lose his goddamned mind if you told him he had boyfriend dick

He’s already like 1% away from complete thoughtless ecstasy when he gets to watch you ride him, and then?

“God, you have such a boyfriend dick— I could take it every day, it fits so right—“

And like, you’re not dating. But he sure is looking at rings anyways.

Asexual m!reader who took a nude modelling gig at some art school

And art-student!Soap who was immediately attracted to you at first sight, and made it a mission to make you hard as you pose in front of everyone

Only for you to sit there, unbothered, looking at him with a glint of amusement in your eyes. Because he was so shameless..

With how he didn't even try to hide the way he oggled at your body while biting his lower lip, letting out sensual grunts while making it seem like he was simply making noises of frustration

And when he noticed that you seemed to be unaffected, he pushed it further and started biting on the end of his pencil before flicking it with his tongue.

His eyes locked onto yours, silently telling you that he imagined his pencil to be your cock. Jeans rode down his hips, showing a tantalizing glimpse of skin, a hint of hipbone and happy trail

He must've thought that he loooked sexy as fuck

..but to you, he looked ridiculous

His classmates seemed to have splitting opinion on that, based on how some frowned at his shameless behavior, while the others discreetly checked him out

And your dick stayed limp

Eventually, he gave up. Huffing with a shade of red decorating his cheeks as he glared at you before focusing back onto his sketch with a pout

And while you never understood the appeal of sex, it didn't mean that you didn't know how to pleasure a pretty boy. Really, he didn't need to do all that embarassing act, he just needed to ask

You definitely didn't mind rewarding him for making your day by making a fool of himself

simon riley pisses on your leg when you shower together and he either does it and has a smug little grin when you turn around with a blank stare (unamused but also unbothered, used to his antics by now) or he’s standing super close, one hand on the back of your neck to force very direct eye contact, and the other holding his dick to your thigh… he might even aim the stream just below your belly button

he's marking his territory. he's probably ticked off because some asshole smiled at you when you were out running errands and you didn't immediately snap at him that you already had a man.

thinks it's funny when you squirm and try to pull away because it's gross, you say. that's the point. he's gonna get it through your thick skull that if you're gonna entertain men by being cutesy and flashing your pretty smile at them then you have to deal with the consequences.

Captain John Price cock hypothesis

18+ MDNI

A/N: Written at the request of @velvetyhydrangea. After much deliberation and research, these are the conclusions I’ve come to regarding Price’s cock.

Captain John Price cock head-cannons:

Naturally, he’s uncut. No surprise there. (I’m pretty sure that’s the norm over there in the UK. Can’t speak form experience, but if I ever get the chance to cross the big pond, I’ll be sure to investigate thoroughly and report back with my data.)

Price is hairy almost everywhere, so of course he’s sporting a full bush. Man so furry he could be mistaken for a bear. I need to suffocate myself in his chest hair. He doesn’t shave, either, and honestly, I think the world is better off that way.

Price is 8 cm long when soft, and 14 cm long when hard. So he’s slightly shorter than Simon, but he’s still packing something in his pants that you should be afraid of and I’m not talking about the glock. (Source: trust me bro)

Price has one of those cock where the tip is relatively normal sized, but it gets disgustingly fat in the middle before tapering off slightly at the base. Perfect for impaling yourself on. (If you know you know)

We begin with a diameter of 4 cm, but swiftly expand to a diameter of 6 cm and a circumference of 18.85 cm at the midpoint. For reference, that’s as thick as a can of Monster Energy. Good luck trying to fit that thing in your mouth.

Breeding balls… fat, fucking breeding balls packed pull of swimmers as hardy and resilient as he is. He’s the reason my IUD is only considered to be 99% effective. Johnathan Price is thee one percenter of breeding.

Decided to redraw the last page of my sketchbook 19 for the last page of sketchbook 22. So here have my ghost with turned wherewolf soap.

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