More Angst

price with reader who never got much attention as a kid/growing up??

very self indulgent but hear me out. price is a lover man. he takes his time for his partners, gives them what they need, even if he's busy. you on the other hand are simply used to being put aside, people only listening to you half heartedly, not looking at you and getting distracted when you talk, other things were always more important than you and you felt that. you got used to it, it's normal to you.

but when you're with price he's the total opposite. he looks at you intently when you talk (if not hes leaning his head towards you so he hears you better), putting things down when you ask him something - hes attentive. he listens. and its absolutely strange to you, it makes you feel flustered, kinda watched. at some point you ask him why hes looking at you like that, the tv running in the backround. he furrows his eyebrows at you, with a confused chuckle. "what do you mean, love?"

"you're starin' at me." you accuse him, your cheeks getting hot.

"you're talkin' to me. where else would I be looking?" he jokes with a soft chuckle, wondering what the hell you're on about.

"your show's on." you say, gesturing to the tv. he looks at you like youve got three heads.

"I'm listening to you, love."

best friend!simon ‘ghost’ riley x single mom!reader

NSFW 18+ MDNI

You knew Ghost would be upset with you once you returned home. Not just because you had tricked him into coming, but because you had tricked him forced him into babysitting. Your best friend that has always insisted he hates children, babysitting your 1 year old.

However, he decided and stay to help you out. After all, you were his best friend. He would do anything for you. Even if that meant spending time with the thing he hated the most.

Once you were home you quickly made your way to the nursery, expecting an angry grumpy ghost to deal with. Instead you were met with the big man sitting in your rocking chair, holding your little one in his strong arms.

You were shocked to say the least. Not just because of his usual dislike for children, but because you had never seen him so domestic. The look in his eyes was soft, just as his voice while he whispered to your child. “I’ve got ya, sweet thing”

For a moment you stood frozen in the doorway. Not necessarily out of shock, but taking in the moment. It looked and felt so right. It was unexplainable, but Simon Ghost looked like a natural.

Though the second he noticed you his demeanor shifted, back to his usual bluntness. He was quick to get up, gently putting your baby back down in their crib. “Y’re late. Don’t ya dare ask thi’ of me again. You said ya’d be home by midnight”

He would never admit what this awakened in him. Not even to himself. But he could never avoid where his thoughts wandered off to as he fisted his cock, wishing he could fill you up with his cum and get you pregnant again. He wouldn’t just pack up and leave, he’d be there for the entire ride. He wouldn’t mind seeing you sick and swollen (the latter might turn him on) with his child. The thought made him finish instantly, cum spurting all over his stomach and hand.

He might not hate children so much after all.

——————————————————————————

This is my first work so…don’t expect it to be good. English isn’t my first language so ignore any mistakes lolol.

Welp, since absolutely no one asked

Here are the types of bodies I think the 141 have ✨

TF141 x Female Reader

Tags: cum eating, blow jobs, oral (fem receiving), cumming in pants, multiple orgasms

Warning: NSFW imagery beneath cut

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

As far as sheer beauty goes, Gaz might top them all. I head canon Kyle as being pretty lean, body composed of sculpted, sheer muscle. He's got a slim frame, like a runner or boxer.

Graceful. Strong. Built for endurance and agility.

What's more? It's fucking effortlessssss. Like, legitimately. When he was a middle schooler, he might have been told he was skinny once or twice. But the minute he hit his growth spur and shot up like a bean stalk, no one could say shit.

Why?

Because Gaz looks like a goddamn male model and he doesn't even have to do anything to maintain it.

Perfect skin? Yep. He uses five dollar lotion.

Legs like a ballerina? Uh-huh. The only training he does is for work.

Sculpted, mouth-watering abs? Check. They were built by McDonald's fries, Netflix, and the grace of God himself.

Let's face it. Gaz looks like he walked off the cover of a magazine purely because the lord has favorites. Let's move on.

Now, Gaz might only go the extra mile when it comes to work training...

But those muscles didn't just come from anywhere.

And the first time Gaz gets you underneath him, cock pounding into you for what feels like hours, you finally fucking understand.

Gaz's body—slick, strong, and slim—is built for agility. For endurance.

It's built for trapping you beneath the length of his covetous frame until you're too exhausted to struggle. For holding you down until he's dripping with sweat, until every muscle in his shaking body screams for a break.

Until his long, aching cock is slowly dripping semen onto the flat of your stomach.....for the third time in the past hour.

Gaz might loathe running the track, but he'll have you fucking like bunnies until you manage to buck him off.

The man has stamina that could rival a racehorse, and god help any woman that found herself in his grasp.

"Sit still, baby," he pants loudly, wrenching the globes of your ass in two of his model-esque hands, "M'not fuckin' done yet. One more...I just—need one more."

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Now Soap? probably the exact opposite of Gaz.

When body building became popular online, Soap jumped right on the bandwagon. Perhaps he grew up as the youngest brother in a horde of boys...or perhaps he was just tired of being the shortest boy on the football team...

But the minute he was old enough to afford a gym subscription, he was there. From dusk 'til dawn, practically. To Johnny, the gym is more than just a hobby. It's a lifestyle, and one that he enjoys immensely.

Soap is bulky, built of bulging muscle, broad shoulders, and thin hips. Every inch of it, from his plush chest to his cut abs, was painstakingly earned by hours of pumping iron.

He goes lifting six days a week, tracks all of his nutrition down to the last calorie. Everything he puts into his body is tracked and monitored--and that's the way he likes it.

He'd never say it aloud, but if it were up to him, I think he'd be the type to participate in those fitness/body building competitions.

In simple terms though? Without all those fancy words? "Macros?" "BCAAS?" What the hell is that?

In layman's terms...

Johnny has arms like tree trunks and ass for fucking DAYS. With the bulk and cut cycle, he oscillates between beautifully fatty in the thighs....to shredded like a piece of paper.

You can't help but watch him go back and forth, mind reeling with the change.

In the winter, you rest your head against the soft plains of his stomach while you lap at the head of his cock, soft and squishy from holiday cookies and hot cocoa. You like him like this.

Full. Rosy cheeked. Cock leaking strings of slick in the dip of his belly button, semen thin and stringy in your mouth.

In the summer? God help you.

In the summer, Johnny's out more than he's in, running himself ragged between his diet, work, and the gym. When he comes home, he's grumpy and agitated, balls achingly full, and semen thick after months of careful water intake.

His caloric intake might be down...but he prefers a different type of eating, anyway.

Good thing he has all those muscles. All the better to hold you down while he fucks you on his tongue.

"Johnny—" you mewl, shoving at his head when his tongue curls around your clit again, "It's past five already—aren't you ready for dinner?"

His lips pop when he pulls off of your swollen clit, eyes glazed over while he watches the way your pussy leaks.

"M'not hungry, doll," he mutters, "Got more than enough to eat here, anyway..."

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Simon Riley....

Now, he's just a big fucking boy. Like, 6'4, over 250 lbs type of big.

Hear me out. Contrary to popular belief, I think Simon has more trouble keeping weight on than keeping it off. I wholeheartedly believe that when he was a teenager he was a thin guy.

Like, he'd fully grown into his height, but just didn't have the nutrition to support it. Simon doesn't cook, and...for lack of a better description, he's not great at taking care of himself. When he was a teenager, still trapped in his parents house, he probably skipped more meals than he ate. And before he joined the army, I think it's safe to say he was a lanky, underweight kid.

But the minute that man starts eating three meals a day?

GODDAMN DOES HE GROW. Like, I'm pretty sure by the end of basic training his drill sergeants were terrified of the monster they'd created.

Simon's fucking heavyyyyyy. Built equally of fat and muscle. He likes the gym, but his body isn't built for the magazine. It's built for utility. For war. For fucking blood. He doesn't care about appearances. He needs strength than can kill.

Barrel chest. Biceps bigger than your head. Stomach muscled and heaving. A trail of wispy, blonde hair leading down from his belly button into the hefty bulge at the front of his pants....

Simon's a behemoth, and anyone whose fought him on the mat knows better than to stand within his arms' reach.

Now, his weight fluctuates pretty heavily, too. A rough few months in the field could see his weight dropping quickly, in which case his hard earned muscle would show through.

But when he's on leave?

...homeboy sustains himself on granola bars and ramen noodles. He gets soft around the middle and also should probably drink more water but...good luck trying to get him to eat more than convenience store junk. He’ll set the kitchen on fire if he tries to boil some water.

Simon's big.

And he's big everywhere.

The zippers on his jeans are remarkably tight. His fatigues look almost like lingerie on his thick thighs. And if he's wearing grey sweatpants?Simon's a lethal fucking weapon at that point.

Why am I telling you this?

Because the first time you see him naked, you might be tempted to reconsider opening your legs for a man like him...your cervix will be bruised to hell and back--not to mention your ass and thighs, too. His hands aren't kind like Kyle's, nor are they careful like Johnny's.

He'll rough you up, pound into you like any reasonable woman could ever manage to take the full length of him without crying.

He'll bite his identity into your collarbones, burn his fingerprints into the fat of your ass cheeks. And when it's all said and done, he'll bully the fattened head of his ruddy cock between your lips and watch the tears drip from your eyes, swollen mouth quivering when you try to swallow his cum.

And if it's all too much to handle? Good luck getting out from under him. Because once you're there, you're not leaving unless you can push him off, match his strength, or make him cum fast enough to leave before he's hard again.

Though, nobody's ever managed it before...not like they'd ever want to.

"Mm—Simon, you're—“

"Shhhh, love," he grunts, your body shoved flat to the mattress beneath his massive frame, "Don't move. Don't fuckin' move. I'm almost there, just....fuck, sit still and let me fill you up, yeah? Then I'll let you go...I promise this time."

Captain John Price

Now, if there is anyone in the 141 that actually enjoys the food they eat, it's Price.

HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

okay so, Price, as a Captain, probably makes substantially more than the other three. That, and he's a good bit older too. He's past his prime (or so he thinks), and whether or not he has a perfect six pack when he looks in the mirror is the LAST thing he could ever care about.

Price isn't one for keeping up appearances--at least not as it concerns his body shape.

Is his beard trimmed and oiled? Always. He's damn near neurotic about it.

Is he always freshly showered, groomed, and cologne-d? Without a doubt. It's a point of pride.

Does the watch he's wearing compliment his clothing? he spends a STUPID amount of time thinking about it.

Will he gain another pound if he eats the Oreo cheesecake at the end of the night? Yep. And he'll enjoy every. Single. Second of it.

Price is as close to a foodie as a purebred military man can get. He loves cooking, and he recently remodeled his kitchen. He has GREAT taste in wine and spirits, and has spent a significant amount on amassing a good collection in his house.

If there's one word that describes Price, it's this: DECADENCE.

This man drinks, smokes, and eats as much as he pleases because he's lived long enough to learn the value of hedonism.

Why skip the cigs for the cigar when you could smoke both? Why stop at popping a just a single bottle bottle? Why not order the most expensive steak on the menu? Or the thickest slice of chocolate cake you've ever seen? What, like he'll regret it?

Price doesn't regret anything, and his body reflects that.

Of course, due to his profession, he never truly falls out of athletic shape (he's ready to be called away at a moments notice, after all). But he's LONG SINCE ditched his glory days. Like the others, his body fluctuates between highly cut to soft around the edges.

Price is thick around the ribs and plush in the chest. His weight settles around his hips and arms, making his biceps fluff up if he eats enough. His stomach is soft and sweet. So are his thighs.

The only thing that doesn't change?

The hair. Holy shit this man has a lot of chest hair.

All in all, Price likes a good meal, but he's still in elite fighting shape. Though, unlike the other three, his age stops him from being purely athletic. If anything, he looks more like a construction worker or landscaper. Someone who spent a long time building things with their hands instead of running laps around the track.

Now, what was that about decadence? Drinking, smoking, eating...

Price was indulgent in every sense of the word. Indulgent to himself, to his friends, and to his family.

But in bed?

The way Price fucks makes you understand why people let their teeth rot for another bite of Halloween candy.

Price wouldn't know moderation if it hit him in the face. And when it comes to your pleasure, to your body in and of itself, Price will be damned if you walk away without a smile on your face.

He's a service Dom through and through. Hell, just feeling your cunt clench around his fingers, your voice crying through another orgasm, is nearly enough to make him cum in his pants.

He'd done it before, too.

Was he embarrassed about it?

Not at all.

"John," you gasp, watching his length twitch rapidly beneath his jeans, a wet spot appearing at the top of his bulge, "Did you just..."

"Yeah," he groans between kisses, "So what?"

"It's—It's just that...isn't that a little—"

"Embarrassing?" he chuckles, "Hardly...Not if you'll go as red as I think you will when I let you lick me clean."

To John, watching you lap at his softening cock--and enjoy it too--is more than enough to get his blood pumping.

He'd always give you exactly what you want...even if you didn't have the guts to ask for it aloud.

gazghost needs to be talked abt more. need to be the rookie recruit who catches ghost bottoming for gaz and having to lick the cum out of his hole

omg i got so lightheaded i had to lie down for a bit. bottom ghost is so scrumptious and i should start writing about fucking him until he's gaping more often. red u get it so bad

hnngnhhh just being tugged over by gaz after he's pulled out and pushed down to your knees right behind your lieutenant's dripping asshole. he's reaching back and spreading himself open for you, peeking over his shoulder with those sweet, teary eyes, silently demanding (pleading) you clean him up.

gaz has a firm hold on your nape, guiding you forward, and you flatten your tongue against ghost's balls to follow the streak of cum that leads back up to his hole. he's so pliant like this—both body and personality—as you lap at his stretched rim. whimpers real airily too when your tongue dips inside, mind still a jumbled mess from gaz's rough fucking, and you just about make the same noise when your head is pushed closer.

"atta girl," gaz sighs, replacing ghost's slipping hand with his own and spreading a fat ass cheek so he can really see how your tongue works. "tha's a good pup, make him feel good."

you're so eager—angling your head better so you can shove your tongue as deep as possible, making all these soft, keening noises, hands squeezing at his meaty thighs. you're practically making out with his hole, sloppily mopping up as much cum as you can while he rocks back, white-knuckling the desk beneath him.

meanwhile, gaz is watching intently, lazily pumping his still-hard cock as he murmurs praises to the both of you. he guides you when you get too self-indulgent (play with his balls, too, eh? simon loves it, look how much his cock's leakin'), and he prods a finger around your tongue, chuckling when ghost arches his back into a lovely little bow.

him leaning over to check on his lieutenant and smiling when he finds the bigger man damn near cross-eyed and drooling right through his mask...

nearly overslept for class and ugh. i hate that i have to wake up in the mornings to go to class that I need to get a degree instead of having a tall, buff military man spoil me materially and financially. literally the only thing that’s been keeping me going the past couple weeks is the thoughts of 141 sugar daddies 😭

Anon, I feel your pain. Us struggling college students have to get through this together. <3

That being said, absolutely delicious idea. Yum.

Price is the obvious choice but @ceilidho put the idea of sugar daddy Gaz in my brain and he’s been fermenting in there for days.

Unfortunately I think Soap spends his money as he gets it on dumb bullshit. As much as he’d love to spoil you he simply doesn’t got it like that. (He probably collects funko pops or something literally stupid) (I love him he’s horrible.)

And Ghost is a stingy motherfucker just because. Like he just doesn’t want to spend his money until he absolutely needs to and even then he’d probably consider being homeless for a little while before it came to that. (He actually just sucks idgaf he’s a nightmare. I want to put him through my mattress.)

BUT Gaz saves all his checks because he simply has nothing to spend them on. He gets the essentials, maybe rents a little flat for when they’re home, but otherwise he just tucks the money away. It’s not intentional, per-se, like he would spend it if he really wanted something, he just doesn’t really see the point in spending large amounts of cash on himself because he’s never stationary long enough to enjoy things like that.

Maybe he meets you by chance, it’s a one-off date that ends up going REALLY well. He foots the bill for dinner at a nice restaurant (bc he’s classy like that) and gives you a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night when he walks you back to your car. Next day, he has flowers delivered to your place with a note that says something about how he’d love to go out again if you’re interested.

Obviously you accept, but then the time comes around for your next date and you have to cancel because someone was offering quite a bit of money to get their shift covered at work and it was simply too good an offer to pass up. You apologize profusely and he’s completely understanding, tells you to just let him know when you want to reschedule.

When you get off work there’s another arrangement of flowers waiting on your doormat. Another note stuck in them with an envelope tucked behind it. The note is sweet. He’s sorry you had to go to work because he really would have loved to see you. There’s a gift card and instructions to get a coffee on him before class tomorrow because he remembered how miserably early your schedule started.

And then you open the envelope and there’s a few hundred dollars cash tucked neatly in it. You text him and ask if he meant to put it there and he responds with;

Didn’t want you to have any reason not to come next time. :)

You’re shocked to say the least. So so appreciative, but you try a few times to get him to take some of it back. Insisting it’s too much and he barely knows you but he shuts you down and insists it’s better spent on you than sitting in his savings gathering dust.

As time goes on, he’ll get to know you and your interests and niches better and instead of flowers, you’ll find new notebooks and a pack of the fancy pens you say write better. Straight up cash in an envelope with a scribbled heart on it. Jewelry he said reminded him of you. Lingerie, but always two sets at a time. One in your favorite color, one in his. Bits and baubles either from shops nearby or from his travels. Always with a handwritten note about where they’re from or why he got them for you or what he was doing when he saw it.

You make some joke about how he’s practically your sugar daddy and he teases you back in the moment but the idea sparks something fucking crazy in his brain. Loves the idea of taking care of you. Pays the rest of your lease as a birthday gift. Calls in and pays your tuition for your anniversary. If you ever try saying it’s too much, he’ll wave you off and shush you. Maybe try distracting you with lunch or he’ll say some fuckboy shit about I know how you can pay me back.

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

masterlist | next

-

“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.

-

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

141 with reader on their team

You’re a soldier like the rest of them, but know quite a lot about medicine and therefore share the role of both soldier and medic. You’d been with them ever since the task force had been assembled and the rumours flying about on base never really died down.

You, Kyle, Simon and Johnny. Were you friends? Lovers? No one knew. Some swore they’d walked in on you and another kissing, but none of you had ever denied or confirmed that. John didn’t comment on the whispers he heard so frequently, letting his children live peacefully.

Heaven forbid one of them saw John sitting on the sofa alone; because they’d join. If Simon innocently sat down beside him, Kyle would then find him and sit next to him. Then Johnny would find them, dramatically laying across the three of them who had already fallen asleep. Eventually, you’d sniff them out and lounge on top of Johnny, only lightly disturbing him as he rests a hand over your back.

The team worked perfectly together, like a puzzle with all the pieces. A father and his four chaotic children, causing havoc with one another as laughs and giggles filled his office where they lingered after missions.

Even some nights, when Johnny would complain about his sore muscles, he’d always convince one of you to join him in the shower. That’s why peoples opinions were always so mixed on the four of you; how could a group that close not be romantic? Others just suspected friends with benefits and left it at that.

During missions, if any of the boys got injured, you’d be next to them in a heartbeat, staying calm as you patch up a non-fatal bullet wound or force an oxygen mask over their mouth after suffering a concussion or close explosion. You’d kiss their cheek, sometimes with a little too much force, after you knew they were fine and would recover well. Johnny would sometimes ask for one on the lips (and you’d sometimes give it to him).

Gaz would demand massages everywhere after the mission, and Simon (although wouldn’t say directly) appreciated when you sat with him afterwards in silence, and enjoy when you’d yap about random things. It kept him entertained and focused on something other than his negative thoughts. He’d act annoyed when Johnny, Kyle and you would squeeze into his small bed on base and refuse to budge, all lying in the small space, limbs tangled and bodies pressed close together.

However, when they all went home, you’d never mention anything about what you were doing, if you were meeting anyone, seeing family. You were always quieter on the plane ride back to England, more distant and lost in your own head. They knew where you lived, on the outskirts of London, but wanted to know more. One day when Kyle asked if you’d be seeing family, you shrugged your shoulders. “Dunno,” was all you responded with.

So John invited you round his house. Then Johnny found out, claiming his apartment was too far away and convincing John to let him stay round his house as well. Then Johnny forced Simon to stay with them (he didn’t need much convincing); and when they arrived at the airport Kyle somehow ended up in Johns car as well (influenced by you).

At Johns house, the four of you ended up falling asleep over one another on his sofa as he cleaned up the mess of the food you’d nicked from his cupboards. Johnnys snoring woke you up multiple times, but he made up for it in his own ways.

————————————————

this was a random idea I had that I needed to get down 🙂‍↕️. Interpret it how you want, they could be just friends or they could all be secret lovers. Who knows? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

me waiting on yall to make these sinner fics 😭🧍🏾‍♀️

Any advice for someone with a strong gag reflex? I want them to enjoy it but no one enjoys getting their dick thrown up on

Baby a soft mouth is still a mouth. Stay at the tip and suck really nice while you swirl your tongue around the head and only bob as deep as you can comfortably. Stroke the rest with your hand and pull off occasionally to spit on the tip and lube up your hand. Lick and kiss the shaft if you're really feeling like your neglecting it.

Nothing says you gotta get the whole thing down, the modified hand/blow job works wonders.

Thinking about Simon Riley standing on a bridge in the dead of night on Christmas Eve trying to get the energy to jump off. Snow falling down and dampening all the sounds around him.

All the sounds except the crunching of boots as someone approaches, someone bundled up to the gills in their coat and scarf (but no hat on to cover the ridiculous haircut that makes them look years younger, as if the cherry red of their nose didn’t do that already).

“Planning on takin’ a swim?”

“No. Hoping I sink.”

“Big lad like you very well might.”

“Ta.”

“Come back to mine,” he says. “Sleep on it.”

“Always hit on men tryin’ to die?”

“They’re usually the only ones desperate enough to say yes. Got a clean couch and a cup of coffee in it fer ye.”

“Prefer tea.”

“I’m walking away then!”

A snort. He sticks out a hand, fingers stiff and pale from the cold. No gloves. Cautiously says: “Name’s Simon.”

“John.”

“You won’t try to stop me in the morning?”

“No promises.”

“Lead the way to this couch then, Johnny.”