John Price
- Oh Darling (price x pregnant!reader)
- Guppy (fisherman!price x mermaid!reader
- a little bit of price comfort
- a sad insecure smut something something idk (18+)
- crybaby
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
- Gaz x Insecure!reader [pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3] + general ideas (anons and asks abt it)
- Gaz x insecure!reader meeting the team for the first time (first time didn't count, ok?)
Johnny "Soap" Mactavish
- torturing poor Johnny with the silent treatment
- tbi!Soap x reader (dead dove do not eat 18+)
- meetcute:)))) at a sex shop
Simon "Ghost" Riley
- spirit guide simon
- djungelskog....
- he's NOT letting your ass get a boob job. sorry queen
Nikolai
- little drabble on flight attendant!reader x nikolai
- daddy kink with nik (18+ nsfw)
- Yet another daddy kink with nik
Random HC
- tf141 as knights
- tf141 + nik with hybrids!! (18+)
- a little mini thought on our guys dealing with vaginismus (18+)
- tf141 w/ a camera-shy gf
Now imagine a soulmate au where your soulmates name is written on you, right?
You've known the name "john price" long before you knew how to write your own, child fingers tracing the letters on your arm, reverent.
You tried finding him, of course you did, but as it happens john price is far too common of a name. You give up on your dreams eventually. life demands you to actually live it instead of waiting for the signal to go.
As it happens, on one of your nights out you stumble upon him.
John price. You had noticed him in the bar earlier, drawn to him in a way you couldn't explain, and now it's him approaching you. He nods at your exposed arm, body between you and the rest of the crowd, almost possessive. "You are my soulmate, yes?"
Your name rolls off his tongue like honey, has your soul thumping at the thought of the one.
John price is big, strong, and dangerously handsome. He smells like whiskey and smoke and expensive cologne that tells you the gold around his neck is real. He keeps glancing at your mark with a smile, awestruck the same as you.
"Can i see my name? I want...I want to feel it." You tug at his leather jacket impatiently.
"Ah, bad idea. I was...hurt. left a scar right next to it, looks quite gruesome." He frowns, redirecting your hand to his lips for a kiss. You understand, soulmarks are personal, add in insecurity about scars and...you decide not to push.
Still, when his hand slides low on your back, eyes lidded in desire, you follow him home.
God are you thankful john is your soulmate, you're not sure how you could enjoy another man after the night he gave you. Entire body sore and pleased, face-down on his bed.
That's the exact image nikolai sends price, your soulmark clear in the frame. Followed by the message "warmed it up for you, john ;)"
Not the comfortable silence you and Simon used to share on long drives. Not the kind filled with music playing softly through the speakers or quiet laughter over something stupid one of you said.
This silence is heavy.
Devastating.
It fills the car until the air feels thick, until the walls seem too close and your lungs feel too big for your chest.
Simon doesn’t say a word.
His knuckles are white around the steering wheel, his gaze locked onto the road like a sniper staring down a target. Focused. Unmoving.
Unreadable.
Even after all this time, there are moments you still can’t read him. But you know him well enough to know he’s hurting.
The silence follows you both into the house.
The house that was supposed to feel different soon. Supposed to be louder. Brighter. Filled with the tiny sounds of a life you’d both been waiting for.
A home for three.
Now it feels like a hollow shell.
You don’t eat. You barely sleep. The days blur together in a haze of exhaustion and grief.
Every morning you find yourself standing in the doorway of the room with the pastel yellow walls.
The nursery.
The crib sits empty.
Sometimes it feels like it’s mocking you.
You stand there for minutes—sometimes longer—just staring at it, imagining what should have been there.
The soft rise and fall of a tiny chest.
The quiet little noises babies make when they sleep.
What could have been.
Simon never tries to pull you away from the doorway.
Never tells you to stop looking.
He just… takes care of things.
He clears the empty mugs from your bedside and replaces them with fresh ones. Brings you food and gently nudges the plate closer when you don’t touch it.
“Just a few bites, love.”
Even when your appetite has long since vanished.
At night he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. Solid. Warm.
A steady, silent presence while you lie awake staring into the darkness.
A week passes.
And not once do you see Simon cry.
Not a single tear.
Tonight, though… the question slips out before you can stop it.
“Simon…”
He glances down at you where you’re resting against his chest.
“Hm?”
“How are you doing?”
Your voice is quiet, careful.
Because you know Simon. If he’s going to talk about it, you’ll have to pull the words out of him.
He’s quiet for a long moment.
Then he exhales slowly.
“How d’you think I’m feeling?”
His voice sounds empty. Hollow. Like the weight of everything is finally starting to catch up to him.
“Angry,” you say.
Not guessing.
Knowing.
He lets out a quiet, humorless breath.
“Yeah.”
The word cracks like old stone.
“Angry.”
His jaw tightens, teeth grinding once before he looks away.
“I wanna smash something,” he mutters. “Punch through a wall. Find whoever’s in charge of this shite and ask ‘em why it had to be us.”
His voice drops lower, rougher.
“Why you?”
The words tremble at the edges.
“But I can’t even do that.” He swallows hard. “Because if I break down…”
His eyes flick back to yours.
“Who’s gonna hold you?”
Your chest aches.
You lift your head from his chest to look at him.
“I need you to break.”
Simon goes still.
He’s used to being the strong one. Used to carrying things so other people don’t have to.
His hands slide down to your waist, his thumbs tracing slowly over your hips through the fabric of your clothes.
“I don’t want to break, love,” he murmurs.
“Not while you need me.”
“I need to know it’s not just me,” you whisper.
Your voice cracks as you tuck your face into his neck.
“I need you to grieve with me, Si.”
Your tears soak into his skin.
His breath hitches.
A tremor runs through him—deep and sudden, like something inside him has finally fractured.
Then it breaks.
A choked sob tears from his chest, raw and helpless.
His arms tighten around you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the world.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps, voice shaking. “I’m so bloody sorry.”
His grip on you tightens.
“I couldn’t… couldn’t save him. Couldn’t protect you…”
His body shakes as the grief finally tears its way out of him.
I love all your fics but my fav has been with small chested reader. I was thrilled to find a fic like that and I felt so seen!
yipppeeeeeeee!!!!!! honestly I try to avoid making specific body types in works so I can be more inclusive, but I feel like small chested ppl get no love lol so I’m glad you felt seen! lowkey it’s also one of my favs too bc it’s so self-indulgent for me <3
dad’s best friend!Simon who’s got you crying in his arms over your most recent breakup, rubbing your back, and murmuring in your ear how he can make it all better.
Won’t you let him make it all better, sweetheart?
You don’t entirely know what he means, but this is your third break up this year and you’re starting to think something’s wrong with you because all your friends have more success in their dating life’s. You trust Simon, he’d never do anything to hurt you after all. You’re just so tired, eyes puffy from crying so much and you do just want to feel better again, so you nod, whispering a quiet plea.
You didn’t expect to be laid out across your bed with his fingers in your panties soon after, covering your face, and squeezing your thighs shut when he starts to slide them off your hips. And he just cooes how he knows you so well, that you don’t have to be embarrassed with him.
Won’t you let him see your pretty pussy, baby? He just wants you to feel good.
every time y’all say “I want to fuck that old man” then point at a 30 year old you are introducing an invasive species into the fuckable old man ecosystem
actually I bet Ghost is pissed at him because Price went rogue and true to form forgot to ask his best buddy to join him. Poor Ghost has been staring at the door waiting for his owner to come home for weeks and slowly wasting away.
husband!simon ghost riley coming back from a mission with a buzzcut!
if there was one thing you loved about your husband, it was his hair. there had been countless nights where the two of you curled up together on your bed while you ran his hands through his soft golden locks. it was an unspoken ritual that existed between the two of you.
it didn’t matter if he came home late, shoulders heavy and quiet, or if the night had been easy and light — somehow, you always ended up there. your fingers in his hair, slow and gentle, and him slowly melting beneath your touch.
after he had been sent on a week mission, the door barely had time to close before you were already there. only one other person had a key to your house, which was him, simon.
“simon—”
you stopped mid-step.boots stepped inside, heavy but familiar. a duffel bag dropped by the door. and then you shrieked:
“what happened to your hair?!”
he froze slightly, like that wasn’t the reaction he’d prepared for. his hand instinctively went up to his head, rubbing the short, rough strands—buzzed down, clean, military neat. gone were the soft, golden locks that used to fall into his eyes, the ones you were always playing with.
“it’s regulation,” he said, a little unsure now.
your fingers brushed against his head, slow and careful, like you were confirming it was real. the texture was different now: short, prickly, unfamiliar. like a fucking hedgehog.
“i can’t even run my fingers through it anymore,” you mumbled, genuinely devastated.
“observant, bird. it's called a haircut.”
“that’s not a haircut,” you gasped softly. “that’s a tragedy.”
he huffed under his breath, but there was no real bite to it. you stepped back in front of him again, eyes softening a little as you reached up —hesitant for just a second before your fingers brushed against the short strands.
“it’s kinda cute though,” you admitted quietly.
he paused. “cute,” he repeated flatly. because you could seriously not call the six-foot three, one hundred and one kilo man cute.
“mhm,” you nodded, gently rubbing your thumb against his head. “like a little… angry marshmallow.”
he shook his head slightly, but didn’t move away. didn’t stop you, either. your fingers kept tracing small, absentminded patterns, like you were getting used to it. “i used to play with it,” you mumbled, almost to yourself.
“i remember,” he said, softer now.
you looked up at him again, eyes warm. “can i still?” you asked.
he didn’t answer right away. just reached up, gently taking your wrist and guiding your hand back to his head. “you already are.”
you grinned. “true.”
you leaned a little closer, standing on your toes just slightly so you could look at him properly. “i missed you.”
“yeah?” he said.
“yeah,” you nodded, more serious now. “a lot.”
for a second, neither of you moved. then he set his bag down properly this time, one hand coming up to your waist, pulling you in without much effort.
you let out a soft little laugh as you bumped into his chest. “hi,” you said again, quieter.
“hi.”
you tucked your face against him, arms wrapping around his middle like it was the most natural thing in the world. he held you there, one hand resting at your back, the other absentmindedly brushing your hair away from your face.
“still think it’s a tragedy?” he asked after a moment.
you hummed, pretending to think. “a small one.”
he scoffed softly. you tilted your head back to look at him again, smiling.
“but you’re still my favorite person,” you added.
that earned you a pause. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you said simply. “hair or no hair.”
his thumb brushed lightly against your side, almost unconsciously. “good answer.”
you beamed. then, without warning, you reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
he blinked. “what was that for?”
“for coming back,” you said.
he studied you for a second — really looked at you — like he was memorizing something. then his hand came up, gently cupping your face this time. “missed this,” he muttered.
you leaned into his touch immediately, smiling softly. “me too.” and after a second, you added: “i’m still gonna complain about your hair though.”
he let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh, forehead dropping lightly against yours. “wouldn’t expect anything less, bird.”
and this time, when you reached up to “fix” his nonexistent hair he just let you.
So ever since I read soap TBI something in me has reawakened like I have reread it so much I think I dreamed it. Do you usually indulge in DDDNE content if you do, do you have any recommendations/ favs 👀
i'm so glad you liked it!!!! it was definitely very different from the other stuff i write, and i still don't know what possessed me to write it lol, but im happy to hear it made it into your subconscious (i hope thats a good thing? no nightmares hopefully omg)
i actually dont indulge in DDDNE content that much? i don't really have many limits to what i read, but i honestly have this really weird fear that i'll somehow manifest whatever im reading into my real life because im kind of batshit crazy i think
but when i DO indulge in it, i do enjoy myself pretty heavily. i can't really think of much off the top of my head but here's just what is coming to mind as I type this:
@cod-indulgences has a lot of really good writing, especially if you're looking for more of a dubconny DDDNE kind of situation
@ilium-ilia is one of my favorite writers on here. i highly recommend all of their works, but i think if you like TBI soap, then you'll really enjoy the As Your Skin Gives fic (my fav work by them heehee)
also i've reblogged this work, but THIS work by @arabellasfvv is also very scrumpy and good
and uhhhhhh yeah :) that's all i have for you right now unfortunately bc my brain can't rbemeberrrr anythnggggg
I can just see his girlfriend suggesting to him, politely, maybe it’s time to get a new phone. The Motorola is from like 2009, probably slides up with a keyboard, and the screen is cracked to hell.
“Babe, you think you might want to get a new phone?”
“Nah. This one works fine.”
Probably takes 20 minutes for any search engine to load, the photos look like someone smeared Vaseline over half of the lens because he’s dropped it so many times, and there’s probably tape holding it together.
You had to make a call one evening and your phone had died, so Simon leant you his. The speakers sounded evil.
He doesn’t see any reason to get a new phone if he can call you and take half-crappy photos every now and again. When you text him with emojis it just shows up as the square box with the x inside. He never asked why you sent that little box so many times, and honestly didn’t care.
He has some idea what emojis are but think they’re really just children’s toys, because they’re so commercialized.
I am a firm believer he does not have your number saved under a name, but it’s the only number on speed dial. When he sees the digits he basically just reads them as your name.
It’s a miracle the thing is still working and you’re half convinced it’s because the phone is scared of failing Simon.
and nikolai's sidepiece @captainpriceslilwife - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
