covesbf

[covesbf]

smaller!reader

thinking about how the more time you spend with john (price), the more you notice he's so much like a damn bear.

during winters, the time on leave he gets for christmas is predominantly spent snoring with you tucked under his arm. if you even attempt to get up, price'll groan and whine about how you can sleep in just a few spare minutes with him. once he's finally up and out of the tangle of blankets and sheets, he'll pester you about taking a nap on the living room couch with him.

or how he uses the door frames around the house to sate his constant need to itch his back. pressing the between of his shoulders to the trim, letting out little grunts that sound suspiciously close to a bears huffy growls as he rubs back and forth against the wood.

the man is also a brute. broad shoulders that roll like the hills of moors; a chest that flexes and softens with nearly every breath. when you press your hand to him, your nearly stunned that you two are the same species solely based on how he's built.

but most of all, his forests of hair on nearly every expanse of flesh. the downy fur that adorns his chest, or the dark blankets that wrap around his forearms like armored cuffs.

it's part of his charm, you suppose.

[covesbf]

barbed-wire kisses | 1

Synopsis: Soap, the SAS and 141's most prized explosives detection hybrid and demolitions expert, gets a new handler.

Pairing: hybrid!John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x fem!handler!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ | Soap is a purebred German Shepherd hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adopted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | enemies strangers to lovers; forbidden love; angst; hurt/comfort; heavy smut; eventual romance; canon-typical violence; military inaccuracies; dom/sub elements; forced submission; cussing; humour (Please mind the warnings for each chapter!)

Based on this idea 🩶

Big thanks to my bestie @bloodytalefeathers for helping me handling our boy Soap 🐶

It’s always a rather impersonal affair as a hybrid serving in the military–getting a new handler assigned and vice versa.

John sniffs you out, of course, before Captain Price even has the chance to properly introduce you. When the Sergeant is given your file along with the handlership documents on a random Wednesday in February–the ones you’ve already signed a few weeks prior–he gets one deep whiff of your musk still lingering on the paper and starts prowling the base on the lookout for his new target.

Despite the many familiar, surrounding scents among the different smells announcing the beginning of spring, it doesn’t take too long for a specimen like him to pick up on and find you on the large military base, letting the winds do most of the work for him.

He's just way too good at his job, and his little self-imposed challenge leaves his chest puffing with pride and the blood in his veins buzzing with an odd eagerness to meet you once he finally spots you among the large crowd of soldiers on the training grounds.

John decides to skip his lunchbreak and watch you instead. He takes a seat on a well-positioned bench with a good view of the field where you’re currently going through drills with a platoon that you’re serving as their temporary CO. His tail swishes lazily against the wooden planks of the bench, pushing off some dry leaves that gathered there.

He’s read about you, knows that you’ve just come back from a five-month overseas deployment in Al Mazrah–supporting their local forces with the training of the serving hybrids, among other duties.

John can see it in the tension you carry in your neck and shoulders, in the way you keep checking your surroundings while you give orders to your soldiers, and with the dark circles under your eyes–all of it speaks volumes of how well you’ve adjusted to living on base again so far, and, boy, does it look bad.

On top of that, you’ve just been transferred to Hereford from your previous base and task force–after getting your new orders while you were still deployed–so you must be twice as stressed and thrice as vexed about this whole new arrangement you’re finding yourself in right now, thanks to the brass. He also knows that you’ve already moved and settled into your new place close to the barracks. Close to where he lives, too.

Fucking brilliant, John thinks, and his large furry ears twitch as he grins wickedly. It’ll be more than easy to get rid of you if you’re already feeling this worn out; perhaps even easier than it went with the previous handlers he’s had since boot camp.

None of them ever made it past the six-month mark before they were transferred again due to their incompetence, though none of the higher-ups has ever admitted fault and called it what it is.

No, it’s always just been ‘Soap being a bloody handful’, slippery and clever as he simply happens to be, and yet the brass still keeps refusing him that exceptional permission which would finally grand him freedom–the freedom to operate without a handler on, and to a certain degree, off duty.

He is a canine hybrid, yes, and his nature might make him extraordinary, aye, but he’s not a fucking toddler in need of assistance and guidance 24/7. It’s bad enough that his rank as Sergeant can easily be outranked by a human subordinate simply because he happens to be a hybrid.

His thought process is disturbed by the crunching of boots on the gravelly road leading up to his makeshift recon spot, when a group of soldiers walks up the rolling hill to have a smoke break.

Scrunching up his sensitive nose at the stench of cigarettes despite being used to the smell, John gives up his seat for the group, straightening his shoulders with a curt nod at them before he makes his way back to HQ.

There’s a meeting he needs to prepare for after all.

A few hours later, the briefing room clears again when everyone claims to not have any questions left to simply get it over with.

“Right,” Price utters roughly. “I’ll leave you two to it then. Lieutenant,” he gives you a curt nod and John has to suppress a smirk when the Captain shoots him a glare as soon as his back is turned towards you. “Soap.” And John can hear the stern warning underlying Price’s voice before the latter leaves the briefing room and shuts the door behind him with finality and a raging ball of concern lodged in his guts.

And even though Price has left, and took his commanding aura right with him, the room feels even smaller and stuffy now with only you and John, standing across from each other like it’s a Mexican Standoff.

While John lets his eyes roam freely, assessing you thoroughly and searching for weaknesses, you simply keep your sharp eyes trained on his with a kind of effortlessness that is slowly making the fur on his tail bristle–up, up, up his spine until it tickles his neck and makes his ears twitch involuntarily.

Your hands are firmly clasped behind your back, your stance relaxed as your hip leans against the table behind you; keeping your whole front exposed and vulnerable while you’re oozing nonchalance and confidence with no trace left of all that tension and fatigue he’d noticed earlier when he was watching you train with your platoon.

You almost look… bored now that you’re finally alone with him, and John doesn’t quite know what to make of this reaction.

His thick brows furrow and he caves, despising the tense silence already. “Ye not gonna say nothin’, lass?”

Suddenly, your lips twitch into a humourless half-smile. “That’s still ‘Lieutenant’ to you, Sergeant,” you reply coolly. “We’re no friends yet.”

“Right,” he half-snorts, half-huffs in response. “Well, ‘am lookin’ forward ta workin’ with ye, ma’am.” If you’re just a wee bit clever, you could easily pick up on the sarcasm in his words, and judging by the way your eyebrow twitches, you can. His tail swishes proudly in response, and then John mirrors your stance; clasping his hands behind his back before rolling his broad shoulders and straightening up to his full height.

“Oh, are you now?” It’s a rhetorical question, and John finds the way you tilt your head to the side like a wee pup utterly adorable, along with the fact that he’s taller than you, forcing you to crane your neck if you want to maintain eye-contact with him despite the thick-soled combat boots you’re wearing.

“Well, in that case–” You bring your arms forward suddenly, clutching a black collar in your hand; brand new and personalized, the scent of its full-grain leather still fresh and thick in the air. His eyes zero in on your name and rank stitched into it, along with your emergency contact and military ID number. “May I?”

John’s tail stills, bright eyes widening imperceptibly as he stares at the collar and processes the implication behind your words. He doesn’t get collared like this, no; usually grabs the damn mandatory thing and puts it on himself to get it over with.

“Ye insistin’ to put it on me, la–Lieutenant?”

You simply stare up at him with those unimpressed, gorgeous eyes – eyes that have seen as much, perhaps even more, horrific crap he has in combat–and his heart starts jumping in his chest in return. “You tell me, Sergeant. You wanna be a difficult pup?”

He swallows hard, clenching his teeth and wrinkling his nose at the raw condescension in your voice. Aye, he wants to make this difficult, wants to get rid of you already and let everyone know that he doesn’t need a handler–doesn’t need you–and yet he can only shake his head slowly while you stand before him so confidently, triggering his natural urge to please, to submit to a leader.

None of your predecessors ever made him feel quite like–this–so effortlessly. They always tried to force it yet never succeeded.

Almost subconsciously, John steps forward, towering over you though you still don’t move a muscle before he leans down, bracing his palms on the table you’re leaning against, now practically bracketing you in. “Go ahead, then,” he hums roughly, lowering his gaze to hide the way his pupils are dilating while his skin begins to prickle at the sudden close proximity to you.

As you unclasp the collar to bring it up to his neck, he gets a real whiff of your scent and nearly groans; an all-natural concoction of female pheromones, sweat and skin hidden underneath a layer of artificial peach-scented body wash and deodorant. His mouth starts salivating and he gulps it down harshly, fingers twitching against the table as you fasten the collar around his neck.

“Atta boy,” you mutter and your warm breath puffs against his rapidly flushing skin, making his pulse jump in his neck. His dog ears twitch as he leans in closer until his nose nearly brushes against your shoulder and he exhales a shuddering breath as the collar finally wraps around his throat.

“Need it a wee bit tighter, ma’am,” he rumbles and his breath hitches as you oblige; he swallows thickly, barely able to, while the leather creaks and tightens, pressing against his Adam’s apple snugly. You fasten it with nimble fingers, leaving goosebumps in their wake and his pulse sky-rockets at once. “Aye… perfect,” he breathes, almost panting now, his voice strained while another tingle runs down his spine that has warmth pooling between his thighs, and his cock chuffing in his boxers with interest.

An unexpected chuckle makes his eyes flicker up to meet yours again. “I see how it is, Sergeant,” you muse, a hint of a smile playing on your lips that makes him smirk boyishly in return.

Then, your index finger hooks through the metal loop for his leash, and another gentle tug makes his heart flutter and his chest rumble with a playful growl.

“Well then, let’s get to fucking work, MacTavish.”

And it’s the firmness in your words or the pure determination twinkling in your eyes that leaves John’s tail wagging.

Perhaps both.

[covesbf]

Simon Riley, who discovers (and accepts) that he has a raging Mommy kink on a random Saturday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly as he checks out the new flavours of Ramen noodle cups.

And his spine goes rigid, when you address him directly.

"Big lad like you needs a proper meal," you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. "In my humble opinion." You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.

Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.

His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a "Have a good day, love." and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.

By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.

And he doesn't quite now what he's feeling in this moment, but he puts the Ramen back into the shelf, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.

Oh, Simon's going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping you'll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.

[covesbf]

Simons large fingers squishing my cheeks together to kiss me would be so healing tbh

[covesbf]

MDNI 18+

i’m sorry but i just have the biggest obsession with simon riley’s body. thick beefy thighs that his cargos would hug in all of the right places, his thighs large enough for you to sit on or ride, your slick cunt leaving a trail. his arms, strong and muscular to manhandle you to his liking, bending you in whatever position he wanted as he abused your sloppy aching hole. he was so god damn big you would see his bulge in his cargos, your eyes constantly drawn to it when he was near you. sometimes he would fuck you in a headlock, you babbling and drooling all over your chin which then slowly dribbled down to his elbows. whenever he fingered your cunt, knuckles deep as your arousal coated his thick fingers his muscles would flex, his arms inked with tattoos swirling around with prominent veins running along. his chest was all hard and muscles, from years of training and hard work all on display just for you. sometimes, if he felt a little mean and didn’t feel like making that small ache of yours go away, he would make you ride his abs, good sloppy cunt grinding on it pathetically as your hips buckled. don’t even get me started on his cock, a small bulge appearing in your tummy whenever he fucked you, his ego inflating. “feel how deep i’m in you love?” his large hands gently squeezing your lower abdomen to feel every inch.

[covesbf]

༉‧₊˚. Simon Riley letting reader use him cw// ᴍᴅɴɪ, age gap that's legal? (simon in his early 40's and reader in her mid 20's), heavy somnophilia, creampies

𐙚 Simon Riley never denied his sweet little girl, he gave her everything she ever wanted. You started your periods and needed him to stay home wanting cuddles and kisses? He's calling the captain for a urgent leave. You want him to wear the matching promise rings everywhere? He's being questioned and teased at the base by the sergeants. Want that expensive diamond necklace that you just glanced at? He's purchasing it without a question. Wishing to go to Paris for a romantic getaway? Everything's booked swee'heart just look pretty f'me.

So how could he say no to you when you said you wanted to try somno but you wanted to reverse the roles and get him to sleep while you fucked yourself stupid on his fat cock. He was getting old now, barely being able to keep up with his lovely birdie's high libido like he used to but he still keeps her little cunt fully filled and satisfied.

And here he was, out cold in the sheets just in his sweatpants with his bulge hard and ready for you. You stare at his bare chest that was filled with scars and healed bullet wounds, your admiration and respect for him raising high. You softly breathed out, tracing his scars for a moment your lip between your teeth.

You leaned down and started to lick them with your tongue as you left hot open mouthed kisses he always left on you. You move slowly, carefully pulling down his sweatpants trying not to wake him up as you straddle his hips. His fat cock is already hard , thick and the sheer weight of it is weighing it down against his stomach, begging for your attention. You watch in fascination as his red mushroom tip leaks precum, making it seem like it's almost angry. You run your fingers over the underside, watching his cock twitch to life.

You sink down onto him with a low moan as your whole body shudders at the delicious stretch of your tight cunt. You can feel him deep like this, brushing against your cervix as you whimper out feeling already filled to the brim. You feel him groan beneath you, his hips lifting on instinct but he's still not awake.You start riding him slowly rolling your hips lazily, his large pecs anchors for you tiny hands as you use his fat thick cock to chase your release. You watch him through half lidded eyes, feeling tears build as you try hard not to moan loudly.

You pick up your pace, the bedroom echoing with the slick sounds of your wet cunt being pounded by his hard dick. He grunts lowly, his brows contracting as you clench around him, your tight cunt milking him for all he's worth

"Oh fuck! dovie w-wha'?"

He let's out another groan, his gruff sleepy voice making you drip more onto his cock as he thrusts into you purely on instinct hitting your gooey spot. His head falls back on the bed again, as you keep moving fucking yourself harder now, bouncing on his fat cock while he stares up at you, dazed and wrecked letting you do whatever you want.

"ngh, si-simon? You ah like it when I-"

You mouth falls open in a silent scream as his rough fingers found your throbbing clit, pinching and tugging on it roughly to pull an orgasm from you. His other calloused hand snap to your hips, his grip bruising as he helped you ride him. Rugged moans and grunts falling from his throat.

“c-cum in me s-si, need to feel you!”

"shit lovie, cl-clench around ma cock"

He groans your name like a sacred prayer when he finally spills deep inside your fertile little womb, flooding it with his hot seed. You whimper and cum around him, his cock covered in your mixed fluids , as your body fell forward on his. But he doesn't really have any plans for stopping as he grabs your hips roughly and fiips you over on your stomach as he drives his still hard cock in your filled little cunt.

"gosh swee'heart, 'm not gonna stop till yer lil cunnie is overflowing with ma seed"

@sidollie

༉‧₊˚. masterlist

[covesbf]

Simon Riley is a loverboy warnings: established relationship, mentions of pornography, very fluffy Simon Riley blurb

He loved you, that much was obvious. Your initials were carved onto the handles of his guns— messy handwriting, all passion and longing— and a wrinkled polaroid of you accompanied him everywhere he went. He'd stick it to the wall beside wherever he slept, stick it to the ceiling if he got to sleep in a bunk bed (one of those with the loose springs that shriek at every movement, that poked into his back and made him miss your touch more than ever).

Johnny had asked him about it one day, half mocking Simon, he was just in disbelief that their closed off lieutenant had found someone, and reasonably so. It was late at night, they'd been sitting still for hours, the target had yet to exit the building they were watching— Price had told them to wait.

So, he tried to make small talk, gossip a little. He said he'd seen that old polaroid in his quarters, seen it get tucked away in his pocket, tacked to walls and ceilings. He'd seen Simon hold it in his hands when he sat in bed— his breathing leveled, face hidden by his mask, mumbling something under his breath before he laid down to sleep. He'd made some stupid comment like what porno she sneak out of?, a comment that would usually earn him a chuckle and a tap on the arm, but that this time earned him a slap to the back of his head and a grumble.

"Respect my bird, Soap." He'd said, deep voice coated in annoyance, almost venomous.

It was obvious he loved you when, you came to pick him up after he got back from being deployed. Obvious in the way his gloved hands immediately found yours, in the way a weight seemed to lift off your shoulders; in the way his gaze, concealed with a balaclava, was so soft, so loving.

They all heard it in his voice, sweet, almost saccharine; saw it in the way you'd touch him, and he'd let you. You could poke his side after making a joke, and he wouldn't flinch, wouldn't bend your arm back or slap it away; he'd laugh, he'd hold your wrist in his big, calloused hand and laugh lightheartedly.

Soap and Gaz watched, enthralled, as you completely took over Simon's personal space, your hands moving up and under his t-shirt, your face settling in the crook of his neck as you held him close, squeezing him tight "to make up for lost time". They watched as Simon grunted out complaining, but lifted up the lower section of his balaclava and kissed your forehead, then your lips.

Ghost was their closed off lieutenant, but Simon Riley was completely wrapped around your little finger, and he loved every second of it.

────୨ৎ────

tags:@laceyfaeryy @cherrycolaheartss

[covesbf]

Johnny who makes it everyone else’s problem that he hasn’t got laid in weeks, that he’s so fucking pent up he can feel it in his teeth. Won’t stop his Scottish whining that his hand isn’t enough, needs a warm cunt to fuck or he’ll go insane.

So, you take one for the team, let him fuck all his pent up cum inside of you because you don’t think you can hear another description of how sad his hand feels. Hope to get him to shut the hell up.

But now he just won’t stop whining about needing to fuck your cunt.

[covesbf]

Me when people replace Gaz:

[covesbf]

You wanted more? Here’s Part 2 of the lie detector drama.

You don’t see Simon for the rest of the night.

Not for lack of trying—he’s just gone. Vanished like a ghost. Granted, this is kind of his whole thing, but you can’t help but feel like he’s actively avoiding you.

The others eventually settle down after rinsing every last drop of entertainment out of the situation. Soap keeps making exaggerated heart eyes at you across the room until Gaz tells him to shut up. The whole thing feels like a joke to them. Just another way to get under Simon’s skin. But you…

You don’t know what to do with it.

Because it was a lie.

Or—no, it wasn’t, that’s the whole point. It was the truth. And Simon, who never gives anything away, who never lets his guard down, got caught. And now, he’s gone.

You find him outside later, standing near the edge of the base, smoking. His back is to you, but you know he hears you coming. He always does.

“You hiding?” you ask, stopping a few feet away.

Simon exhales slowly, a curl of smoke drifting into the night air. “No.”

“Mm.” You cross your arms. “Could’ve fooled me.”

A beat of silence. Then, quietly, he says “They wouldn’t let it go.”

You huff a laugh. “Yeah, no shit.” You hesitate, shifting your weight. “You know it wasn’t faulty, right?”

He tenses just slightly. Not enough for most people to notice, but you do. “You gonna stand there all night?” he mutters, voice low.

“Maybe.”

After a short moment, Simon sighs, dragging a hand down his mask before turning just enough to look at you.

“I didn’t want you to find out like that,” he admits. His voice is gruff, but you can feel his hesitation to be vulnerable like this with you. “Didn’t want you to find out at all.”

That stings, but you keep your face neutral. “Why?”

“Because it doesn’t change anything.” He flicks his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with his boot. “I’m not… good at this. I wouldn’t be good for you, and you know that.”

You exhale sharply, watching him. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

For the first time since this whole mess started, you’re the one pushing, the one backing him into a corner. And Simon, who always has an answer, always has an escape, has nothing.

So you take a step closer, closing the space between you. “So?” you ask, voice softer now. “Was it a lie?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Just watches you, while his whole body is tense.

And then—finally—he exhales, so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“No.”

Your heart stutters, and before you can say anything else, Simon shakes his head, looking away. “You should go back inside.”

You should. You know you should. But you don’t.

Because now, it’s your turn to decide what happens next.

So, you don’t go back inside. Instead, you stay there, watching him. And he’s tense, like he’s waiting for you to laugh in his face.

And maybe that’s the worst part—that he expects it. That he thinks this is just another joke for everyone else to tear apart.

You pause, not sure what to say, but you don’t let the silence stretch too long. You take a step forward, closing the space just slightly. “I’m not going anywhere, Simon.”

He blinks, a little thrown off. “…Okay?”

You meet his gaze, shrugging. “Yeah. I’m not the one running away from this.” You give him a small smile. “So, you coming back inside with me, or do I need to drag you back?”

Simon looks at you like you’ve just done something impossible. Then, with a sigh, he shakes his head and starts walking back toward the barracks. You follow, and he doesn’t tell you to leave.

But the moment you both step inside, the team is waiting.

“Ah, there they are!” Soap crows, grinning like a madman. “Took you long enough, lover boy.”

Simon freezes mid-step. You feel him tense next to you, but before he can say something, Gaz chimes in, laughing.

“Thought we’d have to send a search party,” he teases. “Where’d you run off to, mate? Staring at the stars? Whispering sweet nothings?”

Price, leaning against the table, lifts a brow. “Should we give you two some space? Light a few candles?”

Simon exhales hard through his nose. “Fuck off.”

But that just makes it worse because now they know they’re getting to him.

Soap practically bounces on his feet. “Oh, come on, Lt., don’t be shy,” he drawls, clapping Simon on the shoulder. “Tell us how you really feel.”

Gaz smirks. “Maybe another round with the lie detector?”

Simon’s hand twitches at his side. You’re genuinely concerned he might strangle them.

So, before they can take it further, you step in. “Alright, that’s enough,” you say, crossing your arms.

Gaz and Soap turn to you in unison, grinning.

“Oh, come on,” Soap whines. “We’re just—”

“No, I know what you’re doing,” you interrupt, leveling him with a look. “And it’s enough.”

Gaz holds up his hands. “Hey, we’re just having a bit of fun.”

“Yeah?” You arch a brow. “And if it were you in that chair, getting put on the spot in front of everyone, would it still be fun?”

Gaz hesitates. Soap, to his credit, actually looks a little guilty. Price just sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose like he’s debating whether or not to step in.

Simon, beside you, is completely silent.

The others might not notice, but you do—the way his shoulders have relaxed just slightly, the way his fingers aren’t curled quite so tightly.

You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you.

It’s just a second. Just the briefest flicker of eye contact. But in that moment, something unspoken passes between you. Something that tells you thank you—even if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

You shrug. “Didn’t think so.” Then you turn back to the others. “So, are we done?”

Soap groans dramatically. “Fine,” he mutters. “But I’m not letting this go.” He winks at Simon. “You’re so in love.”

Simon glares. “Soap—”

“I said I’m done!” Soap backtracks, throwing his hands up as he retreats.

Gaz just chuckles. “For now,” he murmurs.

Simon groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I fucking hate you lot.”

You smirk. “Nah. You love us.”

And for a second, you swear the corner of his mouth twitches.

-

Simon keeps to himself more than usual over the next few days, which is impressive considering he already barely talks. He’s not outright avoiding you, but he sure as hell isn’t seeking you out, either. And you?

You’re waiting.

Because at the end of the day, the lie detector didn’t make him say anything. He did that. And if he really thinks he can just pretend it never happened, he’s got another thing coming.

The moment finally comes after a late training session. Most of the base is winding down for the night, and you’re grabbing a drink from the kitchen when Simon walks in.

He stops when he sees you, like he’s considering turning around and walking right back out.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

He exhales through his nose, hesitating, and steps further inside. He moves to grab a cup, but he doesn’t say anything.

Fine. If he won’t start, you will.

“You planning on talking to me anytime soon, or am I supposed to pretend all of that didn’t happen?” you ask, leaning against the counter.

Simon stills for a second before setting his cup down on the counter. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

You snort. “Oh, please. You’ve been dodging me like I’m holding another lie detector.”

He tenses at that. “…Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

His eyes flick to you. “You enjoying this?”

You tilt your head. “A little.”

He huffs, shaking his head, but still doesn't speak.

You watch him for a moment, then soften. “Simon.”

He looks at you fully this time

“You don’t have to act like this didn’t happen,” you say quietly.

He holds your gaze, then, after a long beat, he exhales, leaning against the counter next to you.

“…I don’t know how to do this.” It’s so quiet you almost miss it.

Your chest tightens.

“Then let’s make it easy,” you say, nudging his arm. “Start simple.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he asks, “Would you want to go out sometime?”

It’s not smooth. It’s not confident. But it’s him. And that’s enough.

You smile. “Yeah, Simon. I would.”

He nods once, like he expected that answer but still needed to hear it. Then, after another pause, he mutters, "But, you're not gonna let this go, right?"

You smirk. "Not a chance."

He huffs a small, almost amused breath, then—before you can process what’s happening—he leans in.

It’s barely anything. Just a brush of warmth as he presses a slow, soft kiss to your forehead. But it stuns you, leaves you frozen in place as your heart stutters in your chest.

By the time you manage to blink, he’s already pulling back like it never happened.

"Thought so," he mutters, voice gruff, and then—just to really make sure you’re left speechless—he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there.

And, worst of all?

You swear you see the smallest smirk on his way out the door.

You're still standing there, stunned, your brain short-circuiting over what just happened.

Simon Riley—the man who barely lets people look at him the wrong way—just kissed your forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it wasn’t a huge fucking deal.

Except, it is.

You blink, trying to process, but all you can feel is the lingering warmth where his lips were, the way his hand ghosted over your cheek. You should say something—chase after him, demand an explanation, something.

Instead, you just whisper, “What the fuck.”

And that’s when Soap rounds the corner. Of course.

He barely gets one look at your face before he stops dead in his tracks. His eyes narrow, scanning you like he already knows something just happened.

"Oi," he says slowly, crossing his arms. "What’s that look for?"

You blink at him, struggling for words. "What look?"

Soap squints. "The one that says you just got your entire world rocked, and I wasn’t here to witness it."

You scowl, turning to leave. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Soap gasps dramatically. "Betrayal!" He jogs to catch up, falling into step beside you. "C’mon, tell me! Was it Lt? Did he—" He pauses, then gasps again. "Did he kiss you?!"

You stop dead.

That’s all the confirmation he needs.

"HE DID!" Soap howls, clutching his stomach like he physically can’t handle how funny this is. "That cold-hearted bastard actually—oh my God!"

"Shut up," you hiss, smacking his arm as you start walking again.

"I can’t! This is golden!" He wipes a fake tear from his eye. "Wait till I tell Gaz—"

You whip around, grabbing his shirt, eyes narrowed. "You will do no such thing."

Soap raises his hands in mock surrender, but his shit-eating grin doesn’t budge.

"You can’t keep this a secret forever," he singsongs.

You exhale sharply, pushing past him. "Watch me."

Behind you, Soap just cackles, already pulling out his phone.

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

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @trash-important @marylimlp @hayrunnwr

[covesbf]

Does Chubby Bunny ever go into heat? What would the boys reaction be to that the first time if she does?

a/n: sorry i’m late to this ask!!! also i added konig because why not and i’ve been obsessed with him

john price – the most level-headed at first, but even he starts slipping when he realizes what’s happening. he’d probably notice the way she’s acting clingier, more flushed, and maybe even whimpery. tried to be responsible about it—keeping her comfortable, making sure she has everything she needs—but there’s only so much discipline a man can have when his sweet little bunny is looking at him with needy eyes.

simon “ghost” riley – the second he realizes what’s happening, he goes silent. stares at her for a long moment, jaw tense, fingers twitching like he’s restraining himself. he should leave, put distance between them, but then she nuzzles into him, whining his name softly, and he’s absolutely wrecked. he mutters a low, “you don’t even know what you’re askin’ for, love,” but stays put, arms locked tight around her.

johnny “soap” mactavish – oh, he’s done for. absolutely feral the moment he catches her scent. his usual playful teasing turns into something darker, more desperate. he’s normally good at holding back, but now? now he’s practically begging for permission to take care of her. tries to be gentlemanly about it but is constantly shifting, fidgeting, gripping at things like he’s barely keeping himself in check.

gaz – he’s torn between being worried and completely enchanted by how soft and needy she is. tries to joke his way through it, but his voice keeps dropping an octave, and his hands won’t stop hovering around her waist. eventually, he gives in and just keeps her close, pressing little kisses to her temple while muttering, “dunno if you know what you’re doin’ to us, bunny…”

konig – oh, he’s in hell. his massive size already makes him cautious around her, but now? now she’s looking at him like she wants something from him, and he doesn’t know if he can handle it. ends up physically restraining himself, clutching the arms of chairs, gripping at his own thighs, anything to keep from reaching for her. the moment she whimpers his name, though? all bets are off.

[covesbf]

task 141 with their bunny hybrid

a/n: bunny is described as chubby / plus size

john price

price is completely smitten. he calls you "sweetheart" and "bunny girl" constantly, always patting your head between your soft ears. he thinks you’re the cutest thing on base and has a real soft spot for how round and warm you are. you remind him of home—something gentle in the middle of all the violence. whenever you get nervous, twitching your nose or thumping a foot, he’s the first to soothe you with a big, calloused hand on your back.

"easy, love. no one's gonna touch a hair on that fluffy head of yours."

simon “ghost” riley

ghost is weak for you. he won’t admit it, but you catch him staring all the time. something about how soft you are makes his protective instincts go haywire. you’re smaller than him, but your plushness makes you seem even more delicate—so much to hold. if anyone so much as looks at you funny, ghost is at your side in an instant. he doesn’t mind your nervous bunny instincts; in fact, he kind of likes that you’re a little skittish. makes it easier to pull you into his lap and hold you still.

"settle down, sweet’art. i got you."

johnny “soap” mctavish

soap is obsessed with your ears. he’s constantly rubbing them, playing with them, and scratching behind them just to watch you melt into a little puddle. he also teases you relentlessly about how soft you are, calling you "his wee marshmallow" or "fluffball." but if anyone else makes a comment about your weight? he’s ready to throw hands. no one gets to talk about his bunny girl except him.

"aw, bonnie, look at ya. soft as a cloud, eh? c’mere, let me see those ears."

kyle “gaz” garrick

gaz finds you adorable and is always sneaking you little treats, especially carrots. he doesn’t care if they’re a stereotype—you love them, and that’s all that matters. if you get all nervous and twitchy, he’ll scoop you up into a hug, rubbing circles into your back. He also loves watching you nap, because you get all curled up, warm and cuddly, and he swears you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

"you getting enough snacks, bunny? here, one more bite—good girl."

extra stuff they love about you

you twitch your nose when you’re anxious, and it kills them.

you thump your foot when you’re frustrated, and soap teases you mercilessly for it.

the way your body runs warmer than theirs, so in cold weather, you’re prime cuddle material.

you get sleepy easily, and they have to stop you from curling up in random places.

they all have their own ways of making sure you don’t get startled—price talks soft, ghost moves slow, gaz announces his presence, and soap? He just grabs you so you can’t run.

this would be the most soft but protective dynamic ever. you’d have four massive, dangerous men wrapped around your tiny, chubby bunny paw.

[covesbf]

Could you write something about Price infantilizing his girl a bit? (Think “awww, all dumb for me? Can’t even think) but MORE

“you all dumb for me now, sweetheart?” price drawled, voice low and thick with amusement. “can’t even think, can you?”

you blinked up at him, glassy-eyed, mouth slack where he had your chin tilted up with his thumb. you were in his lap, bare thighs over his cargo pants, dress straps sliding down your arms. he hadn't even touched you properly yet—just a few whispered praises, a little pressure here, a teasing kiss there—and you were already gone for him.

“look at you,” he cooed, almost mockingly sweet, brushing your hair behind your ear like you were something breakable. “so soft. so stupid for me, huh?”

you whimpered, body twitching when he leaned in and pressed a warm kiss just beneath your jaw.

“that brain of yours shuts right off the second i get my hands on you. don’t it?” he murmured, nipping gently at your neck, pleased with the way your body arched into him instinctively. “poor thing. bet if i asked you your name right now, you'd just blink at me.”

you tried to say something, anything—but all that came out was a breathy little sound. your eyes fluttered. you couldn’t even remember what you were trying to say.

“useless little baby,” he chuckled darkly. “don’t worry your pretty head. i’ll do all the thinking for you.”

then he kissed your temple, warm and patronizing, like you were a pet or a doll. you melted into his chest like it was the only place you belonged.

and maybe it was.

[covesbf]

If you write for John Price, can you write about him always wanting his wife to sit on his lap, even in the presence of others. He just loves her weight on him so much. The pressure just has to be comforting, maybe a bit of a turn on too.

you barely make it two steps into the room before you feel it—his eyes on you. warm, steady, and a little too intense for a briefing room full of people.

john’s already leaning back in his chair, legs spread comfortably, one hand resting on his thigh. as soon as he sees you, he pats it, casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“c’mere, sweetheart.”

your gaze flicks to the others—soap slouched in his seat, ghost looming in the back, laswell with her arms crossed and already mid-sentence. but none of them matter, not to him. not when it comes to you.

he pats his thigh again, slower this time. waiting. wanting.

and you go. you always do.

you settle into his lap, and he exhales like your weight knocked the air right out of him—in the best way. like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. his arm comes around your waist immediately, strong and grounding, his gloved fingers spreading wide against your soft middle.

“good girl,” he murmurs, just for you.

you can feel it in the way he holds you. the way he shifts, adjusting you just so until the pressure is perfect. he loves this. loved your weight pressing into him, the warmth of your body relaxing into his, the softness that only he gets to feel like this.

you’re not small, and you’ve never needed to be. he wants you just like this—present and heavy and real on his lap. a solid thing to hold after the world’s gone to hell.

you shift a little, trying not to squirm under so many eyes. but he holds you tighter, murmurs something low near your ear that makes your stomach flutter.

“stay still. feels good when you’re like this.”

you feel the tension in his thigh beneath you. the way his fingers grip just a little harder around your waist. It’s comforting, grounding—maybe a little filthy too, in the way only he can make it feel.

soap coughs behind you, clearly trying not to laugh. “she helpin’ you focus, captain?”

you feel price smirk against your neck. “better than you lot ever have.”

there’s a ripple of laughter, but no one tells you to move. no one dares to.

because you’re not just his wife. you’re his anchor. his comfort.

and you’re staying right where you are.

[covesbf]

Perhaps :3cc John price who just cannot keep his hands off u for the life of him, always has to have his hands on ur hip or hands !! Sweet sweet man uu//

- 🐇

doesn’t matter where you are—his hand’s always there.

on your hip when you’re standing next to him, thumb lazily rubbing back and forth like he’s not even thinking about it. like his body just needs yours close to breathe properly.

“stay there a sec, love,” he’ll mutter, barely looking up as he reaches out to hook a finger through your belt loop, tugging you just a little closer.

in the kitchen? his palm finds the curve of your lower back while you’re chopping something, big hand sliding under your shirt just to rest there, warm and grounding.

out in public? doesn’t matter. hand in yours, fingers laced tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away the second he lets go.

“you alright, sweetheart?” he asks, glancing down at your joined hands, his thumb stroking over your knuckles like it soothes him more than you.

and god forbid you sit next to him.

you’ll feel his fingers on your thigh before you’re fully settled, spreading possessively across the fabric of your jeans. or he’ll curl an arm around your waist, pulling you into him without a word, chin hooking over your shoulder like it’s second nature.

“’m not clingy,” he mutters once, half-asleep, arms locked tight around your middle. “just like knowin’ you’re there, s’all.”

but you know better. he’s clingy. he’s obsessed.

can’t keep his hands off you for the life of him.

and the best part? he doesn’t even try to hide it. doesn’t care who sees.

“what, can’t a man hold his wife?” he’ll grumble when someone teases. “not my fault she fits perfect right here.”

his hands say what his mouth doesn’t—mine. stay close. don’t go far.

and you never do.

[covesbf]

What would the 141 boys be like if their girl was drunk and got very flirty/handsy with them?

john price

he’d chuckle low under his breath the first time you slid your hands up his chest, eyes flicking down to you with that half-smile of his.

“easy, love,” he’d murmur, one hand catching your wrist, the other steadying your waist. “didn’t know a few drinks’d turn you into such a flirt.”

you’re leaning in close, whispering something ridiculous in his ear, and he shakes his head, amused but trying to keep you grounded.

“come on then, let’s get you home before you decide to start undressing me in front of the lads.”

he wouldn’t push you away—he likes the attention, really—but he’d tuck you under his arm and guide you somewhere quieter, protectively. his palm would settle warm on your lower back, his tone gentle and low.

“you’re gonna regret sayin’ that tomorrow, sweetheart.”

simon “ghost” riley

simon would freeze when your fingers slide under the hem of his shirt. his shoulders tense. eyes widen just slightly behind the mask.

“what the hell’re you doin’, love?”

your voice is slurred and teasing, and you’re pouting when he tries to step back, so he sighs and lets you cling to him a bit more.

he’s not annoyed—more like confused and trying really hard not to enjoy the way you’re pressed up against him.

“you’re drunk,” he mutters, jaw clenching. “and too bloody handsy for your own good.”

but then you whisper something dirty against the fabric over his neck and he chokes. literally coughs and backs away, cheeks flushed.

“fuckin’ hell. alright. we’re leavin’. now.”

he’d throw his jacket over your shoulders and pick you up if he has to. no chance he’s lettin’ the others hear the filth coming out of your mouth when you’re this tipsy.

johnny “soap” mactavish

oh, he loves it. the second you start getting handsy, giggling and trailing your fingers over his tattoos, he’s beaming.

“whoa there, bonnie,” he laughs, arms wrapping around you without hesitation. “didn’t know ye turned into such a lil’ menace with a drink in ya.”

he lets you touch him, playfully catching your wrists when you get bold, holding them up between you with a wolfish grin.

“behave,” he says, even though he’s definitely not discouraging you.

but he knows you’re drunk, so he won’t let it go too far. he’s still protective—just the type who lets you get it out of your system while teasing you to hell and back.

“you keep talkin’ like that and i’ll have t’ remind you in the mornin’ exactly what you said—word for word.”

phillip graves

graves is leaned back in his chair, drink in hand, boots up on the edge of the fire pit when you stumble over to him with that tipsy grin and all that sweet mischief in your eyes.

“darlin’, you’ve been starin’ at me like i’m dessert all night,” he drawls, lips quirking as you plop yourself right into his lap like you’ve got no shame left in that pretty little body.

you’re giggling, nails dragging lightly over his chest, your words sticky-sweet and slurred.

“you’re so big, phil… jesus, what do they feed you in texas?”

he damn near chokes on his bourbon.

his hand finds your hip, firm but not rough, grounding you as he leans in close with a smirk, voice low and honeyed.

“sugar, you keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna forget you’re drunk.”

he lets you run your hands over him, lets you press your mouth just shy of his neck, but he ain’t about to take advantage. not his girl.

he’ll shift you so you’re sitting more sideways on his thigh, wrapping an arm around your waist like a seatbelt, fingers tapping against your leg to distract you from grabbing at his belt again.

“alright now, calm down, sweetheart. you’re handsy as hell and we got an audience.”

if anyone dares make a comment, he gives them a look that shuts them up fast. then he’s tilting your chin up, all fondness and southern charm:

“you wanna act like a lil’ tease, baby, that’s fine. just know payback’s a bitch come mornin’. and i got a good memory.”

[covesbf]

More of Kyle "Gaz" Garrick because I can't stop drawing him.

I couldn't decide on one angle so u get both :)

Price is fighting for his life to stay my number one rn.

Fellas, what do we think about OCs that are just self inserts? Asking for no reason...