#cod imagine

[joonieskinks]

simon ghost riley is sometimes a little blunt (warning: smut)

You adore him for who he is, but it still unnerves you with just how blunt he can be at times.

It usually happens privately with just you:

“In about 5 minutes, I’m gonna eat you out.” He says as you are in the middle of The Goblet of Fire on the couch. You almost choked on your popcorn.

Or you’re doing laundry in the morning. “We need pineapple juice next time we’re out, want you to enjoy swallowin next time you’re suckin me off.” Jaw dropped.

He does it in front of the team too- and sometimes it’s even worse:

You accidentally dropped your lip balm onto the bar floor while fishing it out of your purse and bend to pick it up.

“Haven’t seen that angle in a while, dove. It’s been too long since we done doggy.”

It’s a never-ending series of eyebrow raises when Simon decides to open up his mouth and you’re around, needless to say. You brunt all of the embarrassment and the deep blushes, Simon couldn’t give a shit. He didn’t even clock it when John, Johnny and Kyle would all give him shocked looks. Man just owns it. Completely unbothered.

“Youre wearin the skirt you wear when you wanna get fucked. That your goal?”

“Simon!” You hiss, you can feel the red hot heat rush to your face.

But he just stares back at you in earnest, waiting for your response. You can hardly believe how composed he is when his Captain is right there glaring at him.

“So?”

“I need another beer.” John excuses himself, he can’t even look you in the eyes right now. Kyle joins him shortly after making a run for it, but you’re left with a quiet Johnny patiently waiting for you to respond. Eager, almost. Joy.

“You can’t just say things like that in public, especially not in front of your friends!” You lecture, pulling down your skirt in the process.

“Why? If you wanted to fuck, you could’ve just said so, love. Give me 2 to down this pint and I’ll meet you in the toilets, yeah?”

“Simon!” You smack his thigh.

“Can I watch?” Johnny asks excitedly.

“No!-“ “Fine.”

Johnny’s face lights up while yours turns slowly to give Simon a death stare.

“Do you want it or not?” You roll your eyes and throw your purse over your shoulder.

“You two are ridiculous.” And they watch you walk away.

Simon only shrugs, pounding back his beer before coming after you. Doesn’t make a difference to him if he fucks you here and now or at home and later.

“… so is that a no?” Johnny asks with puppy eyes.

[bunnyinvanilla]

dbf!john price x bookworm!young fem reader

when it’s your birthday, you always only ask for books as a gift, just like every other year. your bunny room is already filled with books, many bookshelves hug its walls and are swarming with thousands of books. but this year, your dad didn’t get you any because “you already have too many, and there’s no more room for them”

which is true, you’ve run out of space, poor little girl your room is filled to the brim, and you have no more free shelves. nonetheless, as a self birthday gift, you made sure to get yourself some books from your wishlist — the moment you get them delivered to your house, you’re pure sunshine, joyful, the happiest. but you soon realize, where are going to put them?

dbf!john price has spent the entire morning surrounded by the dull sound of his axe chopping off wood, splitting heavy wooden logs with the strength of a man who’s spent his entire life training his body in the military. muscular, broad shoulders flexing every time he lowers the axe, his bare chest exposed to the hot sun, sweaty, hairy and buff. his biceps are thick, the outline of his forearms flex with every hit on the trunk. the white bottle of color spray lies on the grass next to his military boots and a bunch of handiwork tools. rough, deep grunts vibrate from his marbled chest as all the pent up strength flows into the task at hand.

at the end of the day, when the last bite of strawberry shortcake is only a nostalgic taste on your tongue, your eyes sparkle, shining more than the candle you turned off earlier — a mid sized box, pastel pink, lies on the front door. not as pink as the bright blush on your cheeks when you timidly pick up the little note on top of it, seeing the sketch of a pair of bunny ears.

you open the box, your heart flutters at the sight of the content. a white, wooden wall shelf with a delicate and soft design. In the center of the shelf’s back panel, there’s a decorative cutout in the shape of a heart, and a small bunny, carved next to it. your heartbeat increases, butterflies fill your chest as you read the back of the note.

“birthday bunny,

carved and touched every corner, every angle, with craving hands, like i’d touch you

something delicate, like the way i think of you when i shouldn’t. fill it with as many books as you want, sweet girl.

j.p.”

your dad refuses to buy you new books because you’ve run out of shelves, dbf!john price builds you a new shelf instead.

[sweetnothingtm]

inspired by this video ♡

thinking about biker!simon who meets you one night when your car breaks down on the side of the highway, and you can’t manage to get a tow truck out so late at night - so of course he offers you a ride.

he’d pull up beside you and immediately notice the way you’re pouting and huffing in frustration, whining over the phone about how you’re all alone in the middle of nowhere - and how you can’t afford to call a cab, so surely a gentleman should help a poor girl out. and then simon is sitting on his bike with his arms lazily crossed in front of him leaned forward, killing the engine as he asked you what was wrong.

biker!simon would slip off his gloves and lean over the hood of your car as you meekly explained how you really should have changed your oil sooner - and that you really hate to be such a bother, but could you get a ride home?

he’d tell you that a pretty little thing like you shouldn’t even have to worry about something like this, that he could take you home and make sure you’re all safe and sound - and you think maybe he’s hitting on you, but you’re so shy and maybe he’s just being courteous. strangers normally offer to teach you how to change your oil and that next time they’ll make sure to bring an extra helmet - right?

biker!simon would pat the seat behind him and mumble something along the lines of how he usually rides fast, so you’ll have to hold on tight. biker!simon would offer you his jacket and zip it up for you, practically groaning at the way you bite your lip and avoid his gaze - but that damn helmet is so daunting, and how are you supposed to focus when he smells like pine and tobacco?

you would anxiously say that you’ve never ridden a motorcycle before, how it’s just too intimidating - plus you’ve never met anyone who owned a bike. biker!simon would be smirking under his helmet and humming in satisfaction when your arms tighten around his waist as he weaves between lanes.

biker!simon would hold your thigh the entire ride home - and is it just you or is he gently squeezing your leg while talking about how you’re being such a good girl and that for your first time riding, you’re doing so well?

and when he drops you off at home, biker!simon has his hand rubbing up and down your thigh as his bike idles in your parking lot. he would talk about how he’s so glad to have helped out, and how he’d love to pay for the tow truck - it’s the least he can do when you’ve been such a princess.

even though you insist that it’s just too much, and how you really shouldn’t be accepting such gifts from strangers - he’s done more than enough, and is there anything you can do to make it up to him? but then biker!simon is dismissing your concerns with the wave of a hand, telling you that he’s more than happy to help a doll like you.

biker!simon says something about how you don’t need to be strangers, that you’re just such a sweetheart, and how he’d love to take you out sometime soon. you’d smile sweetly to him and feign consideration for his offer - despite the fact you’ve already made up your mind when you were trying to memorize his tattoos and the way that he’d glance over his shoulder to check on you throughout the drive.

he’d help you off his bike and walk you to your apartment because he wouldn’t want you to get into any more trouble tonight, right? when you shamelessly type your number into his phone, biker!simon is pulling off his helmet to reveal a balaclava that hides nearly everything except two dark eyes and the cocky smirk plastered across his lips. and you’re mesmerized by the way he lowers his voice and leans down to speak to you, one hand gripping his helmet as the other sits on your lower back the whole walk to your apartment.

the next day he’s leaning against his bike outside your building, a cigarette dangling between his fingers as you shyly rock on your feet and stutter over a thousand thank-you’s - and he’s so focused on the way you rub your thighs together and bite your lip that he almost misses when you say that you really can’t thank him enough for everything, and that you really do plan to make it up to him.

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

dbf! simon riley with the biggest breeding kink

cw: age gap (legal), vaginal sex, unprotected add, breeding kink, degradation, use of daddy - i did a lot of dbf! work on my main and thought id bring it back here teehee

simon had no business in being balls deep inside his best friends daughter, his body scarred and tatted contrasting with your feminine room. your pink floral sheets tousled around the bed, half hanging off as your head was shoved in your frilly pillow. the flimsy bed frame barely hanging on with simon’s harsh thrusts, each movement a display to his experience and the amount of years he has in you.

“‘m gonna breed this cute lil cunnie yeah?” simon grunted as he watched the way his fat cock stretched your cunt out, a small bulge forming in your stomach. “makin’ sure your all round and plump with my baby, how does that sound luvie?”

he was here to look after you, to drive you back from college because your dad had a business trip, but here he was. “si it’s too deep,” you whined as tears welled up from the slight burn due to the sheer stretch. “i know luvie, i know, but yer gonna be a good girl yeah? let daddy take care of you.”

guys your age didn’t fuck like him, god they came no where near close.

his tatted hand gently wiped the tears streaming down your cheek as you hiccuped. “jus’ relax yeah? evehrbinf will feel better once i fill yer pretty lil hole up.”

simon had years of experience on you, but the way your warm gummy walls clenched around him made him feel like an amateur.

“milkin’ me dry from the way your pretty little cunt is clenchin’ round me.” a low hiss escaping his mouth as an obscene squelching noise left your cunt. he has never felt pussy this fucking good, so warm and tight - like it was begging to be filled.

his cock chubbed at the thought of you all round and pregnant with his kids. simon never considered settling down, but god, how could he not with his pretty birdie that was also his best friends daughter?

“‘m gonna look after you, gonna give you those messages when yer pregnant and feed you so much damn food.” his hands gently squeezed your sides, god - you would just look so perfect pregnant.

“once i find the perfect ring ‘m gonna give it to you, gonna make sure it’s a fat fucking diamond.” he would spoil you rotten, a wedding ring to display his claim, and how other men would not be able to look after you the way he did.

he kept his word, his cock stuffed inside your small cunt as you fell asleep whilst he scrolled looking for the best ring.

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @prettyinpink-bimbo @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Simon Riley who has got it BAD for seeing you wearing his dog tags.

Something utterly primal within him awakens whenever he sees his tags dangle from around your neck, dipping in between the valley of your breasts. You like wearing his tags? He’s fucking done for.

Absolutely fuckin adores when you ask to wear them. Won’t have to ask him twice. Hell, he wont even let you ask. He’ll just throw the chain around your neck the second he’s home from deployment.

No matter how innocent you try to play it, anytime he sees you wearing them his cock hardens in his pants almost painfully.

Will almost beg you to ride him in bed, aching for the sight of you on top of him- aching to see his tags slapping off of your bouncing breasts.

Loves to yank the chain, either pulling you in for a deep searing kiss as he rams himself up into you, or railing you from behind as his tags slowly imprint their mark onto your neck.

Will always stare at you in awe, your breasts covered in his cum with his dog tags falling lazily across your chest. He’s got more mental images of that particular sight in his brain than Simon will ever care to admit.

He hardly ever gets himself off, but when he does, you better believe it’s to the picture of you lying naked in bed with his tags on you. It’s his absolute favorite fucking picture.

Needless to say all rational thoughts go out the window the second his tags slip over your head. Just wear the damn tags for him… okay?

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Ghost AU: Dancer x Bouncer!Simon Riley | Author's note: smut! for some reason Simon is only hot to me in AU contexts; you're welcome btw

You hated Simon Riley from the moment you met him.

Stone-faced, hulking, rude as hell—he never smiled, never talked unless he had to, and always watched you from across the club like you were a goddamn criminal instead of one of the top dancers pulling in customers. His arms would stay crossed over his massive chest, black bouncer tee stretched tight, and his masked face just staring while you worked your magic.

The worst part? You knew he wanted you.

You could see it in the way his eyes would track your every move when you led some drunk asshole to a VIP booth. In the way his fists would flex when a customer got a little too handsy. He'd never admit it, though. Too proud. Too broody.

And he was an asshole, too. Always letting his 141 buddies—some group of Special Forces dickheads—get away with everything. They'd show up, loud and laughing, tossing money around, thinking they owned the place. You weren't even supposed to bring anyone into the private rooms without management’s approval, but if it was his friends? Simon didn’t say a damn word.

You swore he got off on making your nights harder.

That was until Johnny showed up.

Johnny was different. Sweet, funny, a little cocky but in a way that made you grin instead of grit your teeth. He actually talked to you like you were a person, not a piece of meat. When you flirted with him, it felt natural—not forced, not fake for the sake of tips.

One night after your shift, Johnny caught you smoking outside, all dolled up with nowhere to go. He offered to walk you home. Said it wasn't safe for a “pretty thing like you” out in the dark. You almost laughed him off, but his lopsided smile made you say yes.

And fuck, he was a good kisser.

One thing led to another—slow touches, pressed up against the door to your shitty apartment—and you realized maybe hooking up with a customer wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe the rules were stupid. Maybe breaking them felt good.

But of course, Simon had to ruin it.

The next night, you caught him at the back of the club, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. Watching. Judging.

"You gettin' cozy with Soap now?" he muttered when you walked past, low and mocking.

You stopped dead in your heels, turning to glare at him. “Not that it’s any of your damn business, bouncer boy.”

His eyes flicked over you, slow and heavy. Like he was undressing you with just a glance. “Figured you’d have more standards.”

You laughed, sharp and mean. "Coming from the guy who babysits his drunk military buddies? Please."

For a second, it looked like he might actually say something real. Instead, he just stared you down, his jaw clenching under the black mask, something dangerous flashing in his gaze. The tension snapped tight between you—thick enough to choke on.

You hated him. He hated you.

The club was packed, a haze of smoke and cheap perfume clinging to the air. The bass thrummed through the floor, rattling up your spine as you moved, slow and sultry, weaving between the crowd. You spotted Johnny instantly—grinning that easy, boyish grin from the VIP booth, a whiskey glass in his hand, eyes glued to you.

He waved you over like you were old friends. You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder.

Simon was on the far side of the room, posted up near the bar. Arms crossed, black shirt tight across his chest, mask in place. Watching. Always fucking watching.

Good. Let him.

You smirked to yourself and sashayed your way over to Johnny, sliding into his lap like you owned him. His hands immediately found your hips, warm and heavy, but he didn’t push—you liked that about him. He was sweet. Playful. Not like the other guys who came through here.

You leaned down, whispering something filthy into Johnny’s ear just to be a brat, just to feel Simon’s eyes burning holes through your skin from across the room.

You felt it. The weight of Simon’s gaze. The way the room seemed to tilt toward him, even though he hadn't moved.

Yet.

Then Johnny’s hand slid a little lower, fingertips brushing the top of your thigh—right where your garters met bare skin—and that was it.

The next thing you knew, Simon was there, ripping you up off Johnny’s lap with a roughness that made you gasp. One hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, the other braced against your lower back, hauling you bodily away from the booth.

"Oi—!" Johnny started to protest, half-standing.

"Sit the fuck down, Soap," Simon growled—growled—without even looking at him. His voice was low, lethal, enough to make Johnny immediately freeze.

You struggled against Simon’s grip, half-hearted, more out of pride than real resistance. "The fuck is your problem, Riley?!"

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at you.

He dragged you down the hall toward the back rooms, shoving open the door to an empty storage closet and forcing you inside ahead of him.

The door slammed shut.

Silence.

Then Simon stepped closer—slow, controlled, a fucking storm brewing behind his mask.

"You think you’re clever, prancin’ around like that?" he rasped, voice pitched low and dangerous. "Sittin' in his lap, lettin' him touch you?"

You swallowed hard, heart hammering. “I wasn’t doing anything against the rules,” you snapped, but your voice shook.

He laughed. A dark, humorless sound.

"Fuck the rules."

Before you could blink, he crowded you up against the wall, one massive hand slamming next to your head, trapping you. His other hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“You’ve been fuckin’ teasing me for months,” he hissed. “Walkin’ ‘round here like you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You opened your mouth—whether to fight or surrender, you didn’t even know—but he didn’t give you the chance.

He kissed you.

Hard. Bruising. Teeth and tongue and heat, swallowing the sound you made, pinning you completely. His body caged yours, so much larger, so much hotter, pressing you deeper into the wall.

His hands found your hips, gripping so tight you knew there’d be bruises. He dragged your hips against his, and fuck, he was already hard.

"This what you wanted, yeah?" he growled against your lips. "Wanted to get fucked by the bouncer, huh? Wanted me to show you who you really belong to?"

You whimpered before you could stop yourself, grinding against him, desperate for more.

He laughed again, but this time it was low, darkly pleased.

"You’re not leavin' this room 'til you can’t even think about another man touchin’ you," he promised, voice rough with want.

And somehow, you believed him.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Simon's hands were everywhere—yanking your top down, dragging the skirt of your costume up your thighs. His touch was rough, all frustrated hunger, no patience left.

"You like bein' a little tease, don't you?" he rasped against your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse point. "Paradin' yourself around for anyone with a few quid."

You gasped when he shoved your panties to the side, two fingers dragging through the slick heat between your thighs. He groaned, low and guttural, when he felt how wet you already were.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he growled. "Knew you wanted this."

You couldn’t speak—you could barely think. All you could do was arch against him, whimpering when he pressed those thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them just right.

"Look at you," he murmured against your ear. "Already so fuckin’ desperate. Bet Johnny didn't even get you this wet, did he?"

You shook your head frantically, your hands clawing at his shoulders, tugging at his shirt, needing more.

Simon chuckled darkly, dragging his fingers out of you only to undo his belt one-handed, pants shoved down just enough to free his cock. He was big—thick and heavy in his fist—and your mouth watered at the sight of him, even through the haze of lust.

"Turn around," he ordered, voice sharp.

You obeyed before you even realized it, facing the wall, hands braced against the cool concrete. You felt him behind you, lining up, the head of his cock dragging through your folds in lazy, teasing strokes that made your knees threaten to buckle.

"You sure about this?" he asked, voice a little lower, a little rougher. Beneath the dominance, there was still that careful thread of control—Simon Riley never took what wasn't given.

"Yes," you whispered. "Please, Simon—fuck—please."

That was all he needed.

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust, forcing a broken cry from your lips as you stretched around him, full to the point of pain-turned-pleasure. He didn't give you time to adjust—just gripped your hips tight enough to leave bruises and fucked you like he meant it.

Fast, hard, relentless.

The slap of skin against skin filled the tiny room, mixed with your desperate little gasps and his filthy muttered curses.

"So fuckin' tight," he growled, pounding into you. "So fuckin' perfect."

Your head dropped forward, forehead pressed to the wall, as he rutted into you like a man possessed. His hand snaked around your waist, fingers finding your clit and rubbing rough, fast circles that had you screaming his name within seconds.

"That's it," he panted. "Let 'em hear you. Let everyone out there know who’s fuckin' you now."

The coil inside you snapped—white-hot and violent—your orgasm crashing over you so hard your vision blacked out at the edges. Your whole body shook, clenching around him, dragging a guttural snarl from deep in Simon’s chest.

He cursed again, low and savage, before slamming deep one last time, hips grinding into yours as he spilled inside you, filling you up with thick, hot pulses that made you shudder all over again.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the low hum of the club outside.

Simon stayed pressed to your back, his forehead resting against the side of your head, still inside you, panting like he'd just run a marathon.

Finally, he spoke—his voice rough and dangerous against your skin: "You're mine now, sweetheart."

And you were. You knew there was no coming back from this. No running. No pretending. Not with Simon Riley.

The second the high started to fade, you slumped against the wall, legs trembling, skin flushed and hypersensitive. Simon was still pressed against you, breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling against your back.

Slowly—almost gently—he pulled out, a soft hiss slipping through his teeth at the loss of your warmth. You whimpered, your body aching and used, but in the best possible way.

Simon didn’t say anything at first.

Just tucked himself back into his pants, fixed his belt one-handed, and then turned his attention fully back to you.

Without a word, he bent down, thick fingers hooking under your thighs, lifting you up like you weighed nothing. You squeaked in surprise, hands flying to his shoulders.

"Shhh," he murmured, voice still rough but quieter now. "Got you."

He sat you down carefully on an old storage crate, crouching in front of you. His gloved hand brushed your hair back from your face—surprisingly tender for someone who'd just wrecked you against a wall—and then he used his thumb to wipe a tear track off your cheek you hadn't even realized was there.

"You alright, love?" he asked, voice low but sincere.

You nodded, still a little dazed, a soft, fucked-out smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah... just... wow."

He huffed a small laugh, the tiniest crack in that usual stoic front.

Then his eyes darkened again.

"You don’t let anyone else touch you like that," he said firmly, voice dipping into something almost dangerous. "Not Soap. Not any fuckin' customer."

You blinked at him, heat rising to your cheeks.

"You made yourself real clear out there," you teased, but there was no real bite to it.

Simon leaned closer, until his masked mouth was hovering right at your ear.

"You’re mine now," he said again, like a vow, low and fierce. "Only mine."

You shivered, not from cold, but from the possessiveness dripping from every word.

He stood, towering over you again, and grabbed a discarded clean towel from a shelf. Without asking, he knelt between your legs, parting them easily, and started gently cleaning you up—careful, thorough, murmuring under his breath whenever you winced.

"Could've gone easier on you," he muttered, almost to himself. "Couldn't fuckin' help it. You drive me crazy, prancin’ around in those little outfits."

You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile.

Once he was satisfied you were alright, Simon stood again, grabbing your chin between his fingers and forcing you to look at him.

"You need somethin’, you come to me, yeah?" His eyes, the only part of his face visible behind the mask, burned into yours. "Don’t care what it is. Don’t care if I’m on shift, don’t care if it’s three in the fuckin’ mornin’. You come to me."

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "Okay."

"Good girl," he murmured.

The praise made your stomach flip wildly.

He helped you stand, smoothing your clothes down as best he could before tucking you close to his side, his big hand splayed protectively on your hip like a silent warning to the rest of the world.

When he finally opened the door to the club again, you caught sight of Johnny at the bar, nursing a drink and looking anywhere but at you.

Simon leaned down, mouth brushing your ear. "Don't worry about Soap," he said quietly, almost amused. "He knows better now."

And with that, Simon Riley—bouncer, enemy, now very clearly yours—led you through the crowd like he had every right to you.

And you had a feeling he was never letting you forget it.

[simply-ewok]

simon riley loves taking pov videos of you in the dirty moments you share.

he loves holding the camera while you’re on your knees ass up in front of him so that he has the perfect view of your puffy wet pussy, his hard cock throbbing in the frame while his callused fingers grip the meat of your ass. he spanks it leaving a pretty red handprint on your skin, leaving you whimpering “please, i need it simon…”

him groaning as he pans the camera closer to your holes. you hear him let out a gruff “fuck, love…” his thick digits taking the slick from your entrance to rub against your tight little ass, sending shivers down your spine with more pleading moans escaping your lips.

he loves keeping the flashlight on while he records. letting his pink tip glisten in the light, just before he pushes it against your pussy, camera picking up how he twitches as it slides inside you. your walls grip every vein causing you to squelch around him once your ass hits the base of his dick. it’s followed quickly by his throaty groans. his fingers spread your cheeks apart for a better view for the camera. “tha’s it, take it all f’me love…”

it turns you on to perform for him. you give him more of a show as your dripping cunt slides up and down his shaft, moaning all the pretty little things he wants to hear. “jus’ like that baby… god, you’re so big…” his fingers dig into your hips, the frame of focus occasionally drifting upward to better see all of you as you bounce on him.

you spend hours in bed together just to build his personal collection, just so that when he’s gone on mission, he’ll always have every view of you he needs to tug his cock to.

[leviathanleva]

Neighbor! Simon who is sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor, a hand on his stubbly chin while he tries to figure out how your washing machine works.

Meanwhile you're stirring a pot on the stove and glancing down at him apologetically every now and then.

Funny that there's a pack of Marlboro on the windowsill of your balcony along with an ash tray you'd bought especially for him.

Simon's muddy shoes are in your hallway more often than not, and you decided to get him a pair of slippers since he spends so much time there.

He wears them religiously, you find it adorable.

When you finally hear a click and the washing machine whirrs to life, you're so overjoyed that you wrap your arms around his waist and stand on your toes to press a kiss to his jaw.

His expression barely changes except for the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight.

He rubs gentle circles into the small of your back. You insist he stays for dinner.

He ends up sleeping on your couch, just in case something else goes wrong in your new apartment.

[stellar-sky-nightwalker]

First time parents

Pairing: Keegan Russ x reader

Summary: Keegan with his wife during her giving birth to their babygirl

Warnings: giving birth but nothing too descriptive, just pure fluff besides that

Word count: 1.3K

Notes: well, this got a little long haha but what to say . Also, English is not my first language and im sorry for mistakes! AND I'm no doctor and don't know much of giving birth so apologizes for errors in advance.

This is not proofread til the end and you've been warned.

•°•○°`~▪︎■~-》 ♡ 《-■▪︎~`°○•°•

He shoots through the doors of the hospital, his face loosing its color, quickly passing through hospital staff and halls, running to get to maternity hall as fast as possible.

He is still in his military uniform, his mask off and his hair ruffled. His blue eyes panicly scan the numbers above white doors while trying to find yours.

A loud scream comes from 502.

Keegan froze, knowing it's yours.

He stopped in mid in his tracks and he could hear his heart loudly banging in his ears. He recalls the phone call he got while he got back from the mission, two hours away from you.

He gets himself together and without any further hesitation he aggressively pushed the door, just like he did on his ops so many times and though it may have seemed violent and brutal, he was just very worried.

Worried for you and his soon child to be born.

Keegan crashes in only to meet you on the hospital bed surrounded with doctors and nurses, your hair in apocalyptical bun and your face sweaty, puffy and red from crying. Your were in a blue hospital gown and your knees were bent up so you can push his little girl out. Unfortunately she didn't want to cooperate and it made birth even more painful for you.

The doctors and nurses immediately turn around at the violent sound of doors opening and you spot him.

He is there just standing, loosing all knowledge of what to do next. He was always a protector and provider and always knew how ro handle every situation. Every single thing that bothered you. He'd kiss you and hug you for hours when you were sad, cheated by friends or family, angry or anything. But for the first time in his life, Keegan is not sure how he can make your pain go away.

Your lips pout as you lock your eyes with his and you break into small sobs. All you want him is to hold you.

"Are you the dad?" One of the nurses asked and he nodded

"It's okay you can come in. Mamma, let's go. Push again, even harder."

The nurse instructed and you contorted your face at her words, as if you weren't trying so hard for the last 2 hours. You were sure you were going to pass out.

Keegan strides over to your side of bed and takes your hand into his. You immediately transition your firm grip from metal fence of the bed into his hand and look at him fearfully. A whirlwind of emotions surged through you as you took your husband's hand. You are scared, in pain, happy and excited at the same time.

"Come on mom. You can do it." The nurse encourages you again and you turn your sweaty face to Keegan

"I'm scared." You blurt as you try to pull yourself closer to his embrace. You feel a sweat droplet make a trail down your forehead.

"I know love. It's okay. You can do this. We're in this together." He says as he removed a strand of your loose hair from your face

You nod and you make one final push.

You give all of your being's strength, mental and physical into pushing your little babygirl out. The pain in you felt like someone tore you with a knife and crushed all your bones. You gritted your teeth and let out a scream again and feel the pressure in your birthing canal building up even more.

But then comes a relief.

And then, a cry, but not from you.

Your head fell back into saggy pillow of the bed and you closed your eyes, feeling your body failing you.

You then managed to get some strength and you opened your eyes and met with a nurse in her turquoise sterile gown, carrying a creature wrapped in pink blanket not bigger than a watermelon in her embrace.

Tears pooled out of your eyes as she placed your little one on your bare chest and sobs escaped your mouth. She was perfect.

Keegan hovers over you two and looks with unbelief. How his wife is so strong and his daughter so beautiful.

"Hey little one. Mommy is here. Everything's gonna be okay." You cooed as she cried softly

"Keegs look!" You say as you tiredly smiled "She already has your eyes and nose!"

"Holy shit." Keegan curses under his breath as he looks away and subtly tries to wipe away the tears so you won't see

You chuckle at the sight and your eyes go back to her. Even though you were tired as heck you wanted to just look at her. Your eyes and body were saying no but your spirit was so happy and content. She was just the most adorable little creature. She cried for a bit more and then calmed down once she got used to your warm skin.

"She's perfect." Keegan said and placed a sweet kiss down on your lips

"She is." You nod as you gently stroke her small elbows with your thumb

"I'm so proud of you honey. You did such a good job." Keegan said and kissed your head

"Mrs Russ," one of the doctors says taking off his sterile mask "You did a damn good job. That was hell of a birth. Never seen such tough one before."

"She's the toughest in the world." Keegan smiled as he looked at you with a look full of love.

You flashed him a quick smile and started to feel your eyes going down even more. You simply couldn't hold then open any more and after some time your body simply said no.

Keegan noticed it your dread and it tore his heart the sight of you being so exhausted.

"Mom is very tired. She needs some rest." The nurse said "Dad, you can take on the skin to skin contact now."

She said and Keegan obeyed.

"On it."

Keegan said and took off his vest and his black shirt under it. You were already half asleep and the nurse helped Keegan take her from your chest into his arms.

He carefully placed the newborn into his hands between his elbows, watching her as if she is made of glass. She wriggled and wailed as she noticed she is no longer laying against her mither but stopped when her skin touched Keegan's.

She made him so weak. He fought so many enemies, taken down bases and gruesome men but he would not win in a fight with her every time she fluttered her bean sized eyes at him. He would melt away on an instant.

He took his daughter and sat down in an armchair right next to your bed and cooed sweet nothings to her as he rocked her in his big muscular arms.

Keegan couldn't be more happy. His new love of his life in his arms with you drifted off into a well deserved peaceful sleep. His heart swelled with joy and contentment as he looked at you both.

"You're dad's princess, you know that?" He smiled as he whispered to her

A knock on the door got everyone's attention and they pushed open.

"Mr and Mrs Russ have a few visitors."

A nurse with black hair announced and Logan, Hesh and Ajax walk in.

"Ey did we miss the birth?" Logan cheers happily as he walks in but Keegan gestures him to shut up and points at you

"Oh crap, didn't see the missus is asleep." He apologizes and and they carefully make their way over to their friend.

The three men surround Keeegan and melt at the sight of a bundle of joy in his arms.

"Oh look at her! Shes cute as hell." Ajax chirps 

"Damn Keegs." Hesh says and pats his teammate on the shoulder "Maybe it is true."

"True what?" Keegan frowns

"That infantry men actually make only girls. Not that it's bad." Hesh said and the Ghosts laugh just quietly, not to wake you up.

"But this one is a princess." Ajax added

Keegans heart swells with pride as he looks down on her. Little one stuck her tiny tongue out and started babbling out something in her tiny weak voice.

"She's gonna be a real menace, like her dad." Keegan smiled "Because she is already killing me."

[alkaline-wtr]

Can I get a follow up to Johnny and insecure Reader please? 🥺

Description: Soap reassures reader that she has no reason to be jealous of his new coworker.

Generes/warnings: Insecure!reader, Boyfriend!Soap, Jealousy, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, technical fem!reader but no specifics or appearance is mentioned, oneshot

WC: 1.4k **Thank you very much for the ask! I am sorry it took so long. Unfortunately, my perfectionist nature will be my downfall but, I hope you still enjoy. << PART 1

The yellow light of the table lamp lit up the living room where you’d been lounging comfortably on the couch, waiting for Soap to arrive home. It was a cozy night in. Your favorite snack and drink sat within reach on the coffee table, and a TV show played softly across the room as you scrolled through your phone. A fluffy blanket was pulled over your lap and tucked around your legs.

It was only about 9pm when the lock clicked, and the apartment door pushed open with a creak. Your boyfriend stepped in, turning his broad shoulders away from you as he closed the door behind him and discarded his boots on the doormat.

With a sigh, his keys clattered onto the dining room table. His fingers curled around the cuff of his jacket to pull it down his arms.

"Hey, Lass."

He greeted you with a rough kiss to the top of your head. As he turned and disappeared into the bedroom behind you, you called over your shoulder.

“How was work?”

Soap's response was muffled as he spoke from the doorway.

“It was alright. The team and I are heading out for drinks if you want to join.”

You tried your best to mask the disappointed tone in your voice.

“Oh…”

You knew who ‘The team’ included. You figured that out a while back when his phrasing switched from ‘The lads’ to a more gender-neutral term.

You still joked about his 'work girlfriend' from time to time. Still pretending that it was just that... a joke. But, some nights, you barely felt like you were pretending at all.

You considered the question. You had been enjoying your night and were content with it, but his question caused anxiety in your stomach to resurface.

The thought alone irritated you, going out with his friends that you hardly knew, being a third wheel to your own boyfriend and some other girl.

“No thanks, I think I’d rather just stay in tonight.”

You responded, looking back down mindlessly at your phone.

Soap pushed off the doorway and shuffled around the room, getting ready. Your thoughts flooded in and you looked up blankly at the wall in contemplation.

Finally, you got up from the couch, following him to the room to get dressed yourself.

"Actually, I will go."

You said, opening your closet. Soap smiled.

"Alright, good."

He seemed glad you changed your mind.

You didn't feel like going out to the bar tonight but, sitting home worrying about what was happening in your absence would feel much worse than the jealousy of watching another girl practically flirt with your boyfriend.

At least if you were there, you'd know nothing was happening. It was important for your sanity that you avoid the scenarios your mind would drag you through all night. Besides, whether you go or not, the cozy night in was long gone.

You brushed out your hair, changing into one of your best outfits, at least in your opinion, You wanted to feel confident in an otherwise uncomfortable situation. If you put your best foot forward maybe you could keep Soap's attention on you instead.

As time passed and Soap was about ready for the both of you to head out, your mind went on a self-loathing spiral. Suddenly, your hair wasn't cooperating no matter how much you messed with it, your outfit was itchy and not looking as good as you'd originally thought, and irritation consumed you as you desperately tried to fan the thin layer of sweat on your forehead with your hand.

Nothing felt right. Everything was uncomfortable.

Of course, Soap never failed to see the changes in someone he held so close to his heart.

He had noticed your distance in the past weeks. And how your mood shifted on days when she was brought up. At least, that’s what he assumed this was about, the new girl at work. It was evident in how your jaw clenched when you listened to him talk about his day. And then there was the joke. His 'work girlfriend'... a ridiculous title.

Soap was far from dense when it came to reading you. And despite his best effort to keep a cheerful front, he knew something was bothering you.

He’d kept quiet about it, still battling his uncertainty about whether she was really the issue, hoping you’d come to him yourself when you were ready. You normally did.

But, as days passed and the mental torment continued to plague you, Soap knew this wasn’t something you were going to open up about. Not without a nudge.

He began to wonder even, what was it that had you losing sleep? He couldn’t recall any of his interactions with her drifting into cheating territory… and sure she was pleasant enough… Soap thought to himself as he noted her features. Pretty face and slender figure… A part of him, buried deep within, would admit that she was attractive. But that same part immediately reminded him that she didn’t hold a candle to you.

That’s why as he pulled the car into the parking lot, he didn’t move to unbuckle his seatbelt or get out. Instead, he turned the keys to cut the engine and left them dangling in the ignition.

Soap had had enough of this. Your avoidant glances, loud troubled sighs, the heaviness in your shoulders. Clearly, this problem was weighing you down and it was his duty to unload the burden before potentially bringing you to hang out with said 'problem'.

You paused with your hand on the car.

“Aren’t we going in?”

You asked, not understanding why he hadn’t gotten out.

“Not yet, Lass… we need to talk.”

You hesitated and leaned back in your seat.

“What about?”

The tone of your voice suggested you already knew but, part of you held out hope that you were wrong. It wasn’t like you wanted to stuff this all down. The swirling of anxiety that constantly sat in your abdomen was the hardest thing to deal with each day. But how could you bring up something so ridiculous?

How could you look him in the eye and complain about his behavior with another girl when he’d done nothing wrong? It only made you look worse than you felt.

“I know there is something on your mind… So, we aren’t leaving here until you talk to me.”

His voice was sweet and gentle… just as it always had been. With a sigh, Soap placed a hand on yours rubbing his calloused palm comfortingly over the back.

You were prepared to deny it... to remain stoic and pretend that you didn't feel this way but, it was Johnny, and as always something in the way his skin felt on yours caused your stubborn attitude to crumble without much hesitation.

“I don’t know… it’s stupid.”

Something you often said to diminish your own feelings and brush off the conversation.

“Talk to me.”

His concerned tone was genuine, inviting, and warm. He always knew how to make you feel safe and welcome to open up. He gave you no reason to doubt that you would be met with anything less than love and understanding.

“I guess… I’ve just been feeling a bit insecure… and jealous,”

You admitted,

"Of her."

Johnny looked at you attentively. He didn't speak, or change his expression, just listened and waited for you to continue.

"She's everything I'm not. And I just can't help but feel like you would make a much better couple than you and I. She could be someone you could keep by your side without shame and embarrassment. Someone you could be proud to call yours."

For a moment, Johnny was quiet. He turned away thoughtfully before speaking.

"Sure, she's pretty. So what? I've already found the one I want to wake up next to for the rest of my life. You aren't just some girl, Lass... You're funny, kind, beautiful. You show me love like no one else ever has. And more than anything... you're mine. Yeah, maybe I could have had a hundred other girls at my side. But, none of them are you. You're the love of my life. And no one's ever going to change that."

The words weren't anything you hadn't heard before. Hell, he probably wasn't even the first person to ever say them to you. But this time, with Johnny, you believed every one of them.

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man. inclusivity warning: reader gets picked up by Price and carried over his shoulder

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

Price suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute, but that's mostly because I decorated it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell the dog seriously. "He’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually," you say, "I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a military Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh heavily.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh—love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his. 

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you), throws a fluffy towel onto the ground (also for you), and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 02.17.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[disasterofastory]

After a mission, you sit with the guys. They are still shocked by the fact that you managed to haul an unconscious Ghost onto your back and got yourselves out of the building before it collapsed.

Soap just stares, trying to figure out where the hell you are hiding the strength to lift a man like Ghost; all muscle and gear.

Gaz shakes his head. “It’s the adrenaline. Mothers lift cars to save their babies.”

You glance at your LT. His eyes say it all, but you say it anyway, grinning too.

“YOU ARE MY BABY”

Price is just tired.

[bunnyinvanilla]

dbf! john texting his little bunny but he’s lwk old so it’s so cute how he texts and doesn’t understand her lingo etc. ykwim?

—bunny “tysm for the birthday gift sir, please lmk when you can come over to help me hang the shelf on the wall!! need to organize my new books asap!!🐰”

—bunny “oh, btw i’ve put aside a piece of cake for you, jic. xoxo”

john stares at the texts, frowning at those meaningless letters that apparently make no sense to him. the smoke curling from his cigar swirls around the screen of his phone, but that’s not why he’s squinting his eyes to see better. what does that mean? jic? was she supposed to write jp? as in his name?

—john “coming over later today, love. asap? that a new book series you’ve got?”

—bunny “means as soon as possible!🐰”

he grunts. amused, puffing out a little chuckle. obviously, young girls and their use of modern language.

—john “got it doll. pa’s home?”

his large hand came to scratch his thick beard, dwelling into the salt and pepper hairs. but as soon as another little ring put his phone up, he stopped, the cigar hanging from his lips.

—bunny “no sir :(, dunno when he’s coming back, dd”

oh, he didn’t need to ask what that last word meant. he knew that damn well.

—john “on my way, sugar.”

—bunny “you mean ‘omw’, lol!🐰”

[gloomwitchwrites]

i saw a tiktok of a heavily pregnant woman saying “maybe i dont give him butterflies anymore but i do give him high blood pressure” then they walk by their S/O with a latter and power tools. and i have been thinking about how the guys would react ever since

Oh, anon. This is so cute! I love this. I know the trend you're talking about, but I feel like I haven't seen it with pregnant women specifically, but I find it even more hilarious if it is. I had a lot of fun with this one. Thank you for sending it in!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, dad!141, pregnancy, married life, parenthood, domestic fluff

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Get off the ladder, cabbage.” John exhales, trying his best to keep his voice calm.

You’re standing just high enough on the ladder to rest your pregnant belly on the top rung. John stands directly behind you, both hands firmly planted on either side of you against the rail. It’s not to support the ladder but to catch you if you fall. A potentially likely possibility since you’re carrying extra weight in front of you. You could easily tip back enough to lose your balance.

“I’m fine, John,” you reply, continuing on as if he’s not worrying.

It’s maddening how relaxed you are, like the potential factor of danger is a completely foreign concept.

“Please,” he emphasizes. “Get off the ladder.”

“Why?” you ask. “I’m more than capable.”

“You are,” he agrees. “But you’re also pregnant.”

“So?”

“Cabbage,” warns John.

“Fine,” you exhale.

John keeps his hands on your hips the entire time. When you’re back on solid ground, some of that tension melts away, but his heart still thumps quickly.

You lightly cup his cheek, batting your eyelashes at him. “Were you worried about me, John?”

John places his hand on your belly. “Worried about all three of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle sits at the kitchen table, sorting through the mail. With a heavy sigh, he opens the energy bill, removing the paperwork, reading over the breakdown of energy usage for the month.

From his peripheral, Kyle notices movement. Glancing away from the itemized bill, Kyle’s gaze softens when you walk into the kitchen. You’re pregnant, close to your due date. Even waddling around, Kyle can’t seem to keep his hands off you.

He leans back in his chair, appreciating you for a few languid seconds, then his heart drops into his stomach.

“Damn it all. Put that down, love.”

Kyle shoots out of his chair, trying to calmly but quickly make it over to you.

“I’m fine,” you insist, attempting to walk by. “I can assemble it.”

“No.” Kyle’s tone is firm but gentle. “Give it here.”

His heart is pounding, anxiety spiking from not just the power drill you carry, but the cardboard box full of wood you’re attempting to guide down the hall.

“You sit here.” He points to the chair. “Sort the mail. I’ve got this.”

You slowly ease down into the chair, and Kyle breathes deep, trying to calm his nerves. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters.

John "Soap" MacTavish

He hears your footsteps first, and then your voice as you curse under your breath.

Johnny lounges on the sofa, reclining against a fluffy pillow. At his feet are his two-year old twin daughters. On the television, a Bluey episode plays. The girls aren’t watching. They’re smashing their dolls together and running them over with the yellow toy excavator.

Sitting up, Johnny glances over the top of the couch

At first, he smiles. Then frowns. Then launches himself off the couch.

“Put it down,” commands Johnny. “Drop it.” He steps on a doll and winces, wobbling slightly.

You turn toward him, pregnant belly coming into view. You’re carrying a ladder, the large one, and you’re not supposed to be lifting anything over a certain weight.

“Down,” he repeats. “Put it down.”

You roll your eyes and turn away. Johnny makes it to you quickly, grabbing the ladder and placing it on the floor.

“What are you thinking?” he asks. “You’re bloody pregnant.”

“Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m—I’m not yelling,” soothes Johnny, cupping your face in his hands. “But you gave me a right scare, yeah?” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll take care of it. Go sit with the girls.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon is curled up on the sofa, a precious bundle in his lap. His two-year old daughter rests her head against his chest, gaze focused on the colorful pages.

“He started to look for some food,” reads Simon from The Very Hungry Caterpillar. “On Monday he ate through one apple.” His daughter traces the outline of the apple, and then runs her finger over the caterpillar. “But he was still hungry.”

As Simon turns the page, he hears your soft but determined footsteps. He briefly looks away from the book, his gaze falling on your belly, round and full of his child. Inwardly, he smiles, knowing that the family you’ve created together is about to grow by one.

“On Tuesday he ate through two pears,” continues Simon. “But he was still—”

His voice disappears, and his stomach flips, blood pressure spiking as he watches you turn the corner. You have a step stool tucked under your arm and a drill in your hand.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters, lifting his daughter out of his lap and placing her on the sofa. “Daddy will be back shortly, doll.”

He kisses the top of her head, and then takes off after you. With the added weight, your steps are slow, and it only takes Simon a few strides to walk past you and cut you off before you make it to the nursery.

“What are you doing?” he asks, reaching for the drill.

“Hanging a painting,” you reply like it’s no big deal.

Simon sighs. “Give it here.”

“I can do it,” you insist, turning away from his reaching hands.

Simon plucks the drill out of your hand and holds it out of reach. “Give me the step stool.” With a pout, you surrender it. “Gonna give me a bloody heart attack.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @glassgulls @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @hisuccubus @all-by-myself98

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

how simon riley fucks after not seeing you for months

cw: vaginal sex, oral (m) receiving

simon fucked like a man starved, his large muscular body pressed down on yours as he fucked you in a head lock.

“don’ go all dumb on me luvie, we’ve barely jus’ started,” simon cooed softly as you drooled all over his tatted arms, your eyes all hazy. if simon could fuck you for forever he would, your sweaty body combined with his as he rutted into you like a wild animal. “can barely take sum dick eh?” it’s been a few months since he saw you due to his mission, and he was going to show you just how much he missed you.

a low chuckle escaped his lips as you panted, wiggling away from him. “‘m gonna come again si!” you whined as simon’s calloused hand roughly tugged you back into his embrace the headlock making you choke on air slightly as he thrusted into you, your body jolting with each move. “nah, where do you think yer going? we’re done when i say so.” a creamy base already formed on the base around his cock from your previous orgasm, making a mess on his pubes.

“i know yer cunnie has some left, ‘m not gonna stop until i milked her dry.”

it wasn’t just your cunt that he fucked thoroughly, it was your mouth too.

“come on baby, open yer pretty lil mouth,” his hand gently gripping your chin, tilting your head upwards whilst the other pried your mouth open. “jus’ like that,” he instructed as he shoved the tip inside, your eyes rolling back immediately.

“relax luvie, i’ll guide you yeah?”

his hands gently gripped the back of your head, fucking your mouth slowly as he watched the way you took him all the way in. though he fucked messy, within a few seconds has you choking and gagging on his cock, knocking the air out of your lungs.

his cum dribbling down to your chin whilst tears streamed down your face, your ‘waterproof’ mascara smudged.

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @prettyinpink-bimbo @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Once you and Simon get married, you best bet this man is OBSESSED with calling you his wife.

You’re no longer listed as Y/N in his phone, you’ve now upgraded to “Mrs. Riley.” And the man couldn’t give two shits about how much he’s teased for it.

Any time he address you, you’re no longer babe, love, honey, oh no, it’s “wife, where’s the detergent?” “I missed you, Mrs. Riley.” “What would you like for dinner tonight, wifey?”

Is SUCH a proud fuckin’ husband and loves to show you off to everyone. Had the biggest shit eating grin as he introduced you as his wife to the 141. “This is my wife, Mrs. Riley.”

Will always find ways to tell people that he’s married to you. Getting his haircut? “Oh yeah, my wife likes it when I get it cut this way.”

At the supermarket? “Excuse me, my wife is trying to find this, can you tell me where I can find it?”

Getting hit on by folk at base? “Oh you like my mask? I’ll be sure to let my wifey know, she’s the one who made it for me.”

EQUALLY loves when you call him husband, or hubby. This man will never get tired of you calling him as such.

Oh, you called him Simon? Who the fuck is Simon? That’s hubby to you, sweetheart.

Sweet fuckin man just wants everyone to know what a lucky man he is that he landed you as his wifey.