Price not wanting his daughter to get into truble at the club so he lets the boys watch over her.
So now you have three military bodyguards that murder every guy with their eyes the moment they get close to you.
You don´t notice that though. You only want to have some fun with your girls.
The three men notice when you´ve had enough to Drink and should go home.
Gaz walks over to your giggling form that is talking to a random guy that approched you after your Friends left and even after your guarddogs tried to kill them with their eyes.
"We have to go now, sweetheart." Kyle puts his hand on your back and turns your body into him.
You giggle while resting your forehead against his chest.
The rando tries to interupt but Simon is already shoving him back and turning away from him to focus on you.
Johnny gets to the group after paying your bill.
"Come on bonnie, we need to go" Johnny takes your other side, wraps his arm around you and thats how Kyle and him get you out of the club.
Simon follows after making sure that none of your friends are still in the club, cause he knows you wouldn´t leave them behind when you could bring them home too.
The men get you to the car and that while your walking on your own.
Your hands are holding Johnnys and Kyles and you playfully let them swing around.
"can we get ice Cream?" you look at the three with a pout and they all immediatly know they will have to get to McDonalds now. None of them can say no to the girl they all three shouldn´t be atracted to.
That's not my name, silly.
You call them by their government name, instead of the pet name you have for them
TF141 x reader headcannons//Imagines
a/n: thank you, anon, for the request. Hope y'all enjoy <3
Checkout my masterlist!
Captain Johnathan Price
“Old man”
You and Price had been happily married for some time now, and with that shared history came small, deeply ingrained forms of intimacy. Specifically, you almost exclusively referred to him as ‘old man.’ Because he was, in fact, your old man.
Price absolutely adored it. To him, the nickname solidified his position in the relationship, but more importantly, he was a traditional man at heart. The weight of that title felt like more of an ‘I do’ than any gold ring ever could. Because it had become your ultimate default, you almost never used his actual name. Ever.
Well, that was until very specific situations forced you to do otherwise.
You had been happily married for as long as you could remember, yet here you were on the evening of your anniversary, dressed beautifully with a temper hot enough to match. Your poor old man had completely forgotten what today was. In his defense, work had been incredibly tense recently, but having finally secured some rare, precious time at home to relax and enjoy with you, the date had slipped clean through his fingers.
You marched into the sitting room where he was currently strewn lazily across the couch, watching the footy. Your heels clicked sharply against the floor, each step carrying the full, crushing weight of your fury. You stood purposely right in front of the television, blocking his view, your foot tapping as your patience wore incredibly thin at the sight of your far-too-relaxed husband.
“You look stunning, pet. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he teased, his dark eyes far too happy and clueless for your liking.
“Johnathan Price. Get up.”
The words came out cold, clipped, and squeezed through tight lips.
You could visibly see the color drain from the poor man’s face. He nearly hit the roof he sat up so fast, his military reflexes kicking in as his spine went completely rigid. If you weren't so profoundly pissed off, the sight of the legendary Captain Price scrambling like a recruit would have made you laugh.
A violent shiver ran straight down his spine. He knew he was in trouble. Big, catastrophic trouble.
In that exact moment, Johnathan's life flashed before his eyes. He scrambled to use every single ounce of brainpower he possessed to try and figure out what the fuck he had done for you to not only wear a expression of pure, unadulterated fury, but to use his full government name. It was a name he was certain you had only used twice in the entire history of your relationship—the first time being your official wedding vows.
He let out a weak, nervous chuckle, clearing his throat. “…Did I mention you look absolutely stunning, love?” he tried, saying anything in a desperate attempt to buy himself a few more seconds of survival.
But as he took a closer, frantic look at your elegant outfit, his eyes naturally darted past you to the small calendar hanging on the far wall. The date seemed to jump out at him. It hit him like a roaring freight train. Johnathan wanted nothing more in this exact moment than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
Before he could even utter a syllable of an apology, you silenced him instantly, thrusting a perfectly manicured finger directly in his face.
“You have exactly one hour to fix this,” you pointed, staring him square in the eye with zero room for negotiation. “And I swear, if you don't, you will regret the day you were born, Johnathan Price. Do I make myself clear?”
Price swallowed hard, looking exactly like a schoolboy who had just been chewed out by his headmistress. “Y-yes, ma’am,” he stammered, the fearsome Captain reduced to pure obedience.
“Good.”
With a sharp flick of your hair and a mean, deliberate sway of your hips, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room.
Never in his life had he seen you this angry, but as he stared at the empty doorway, his heart hammering against his ribs, he realised with a sudden, dark rush of heat that—by God—he desperately wanted to see it happen again.
-
Simon Riley
“Bear”
Being one of the very few people permitted into Simon’s carefully guarded life meant a great deal to you—and secretly, it meant everything to him. Although he had never been the type to be overly or publicly affectionate, ever since your very first date, you had jokingly referred to him as a 'Bear' due to his mammoth, intimidating height. From that night on, the nickname had simply stuck.
It was a lazy Saturday morning, and you and Simon were currently tucked up beneath a mountain of blankets, completely tangled together. Unfortunately for your plans of productivity, Simon possessed zero intention of releasing you from his embrace. He had you completely caged beneath his heavy, solid arms, his massive frame acting like an inescapable anchor as he fully intended to hibernate for just a little longer.
“Bearrr, come on. Time to get up,” you chirped playfully. You kept your voice light, airy, and sweet in a desperate attempt to coax your sleeping giant of a boyfriend back to the waking world.
Simon only let out a low, gravelly grunt in response. Instead of shifting, his grip tightened automatically. One of his massive forearms locked like a steel vice around your waist, while his other thick arm hooked directly over your shoulder, burying your face right into his chest and effectively pulling you into a heavy, affectionate headlock.
“Simon! Simon! Baby, I can't breathe—” you dramatically cried out, your voice muffled against his skin as you feigned succumbing to death by a pair of elite-soldier biceps.
The moment his government name left your lips, he shot wide awake.
In a fraction of a second, the heavy drowsiness vanished. Simon effortlessly loosened his hold only to flip you onto your back against the mattress, pinning your arms to either side of your head. He loomed over you, his massive chest shadowing your frame, his dark, sleepy eyes filled with a mixture of sheer hurt and profound disgust.
“What did you just call me?” he demanded, his voice a low, rough rumble as he sought to confirm his ears had actually heard what they did.
You lay beneath him, utterly trapped, but you couldn't help the bright laugh that bubbled up at his sheer, unadulterated dramatics. “Oh, so that’s what it takes to get you moving, huh, Simon?” you teased, deliberately leaning into the provocation.
He didn't offer a verbal reply. Instead, a dangerous, wicked glint flashed in his eyes. His large hands slid slowly down your sides, finding your waist, and he launched a relentless, targeted tickle attack.
Completely unable to breathe through the sudden onslaught of laughter, your body writhed beneath his hands as you begged for mercy. “Please, Simon! I’m sorry!” you choked out between breathless, echoing laughs.
“Who’s that, dove? Never heard of a Simon,” he murmured evilly, his thick fingers continuing their torturous, playful assault without a single ounce of pity.
“BEAR! BEAR! I’M SORRY, BEAR!” you squealed loudly, your body twisting as you tried in vain to wriggle free from his iron grip.
Only when he finally heard his proper title did the giant relent. He let out a low chuckle, collapsing down onto the mattress right beside you. In an instant, he reeled you right back into his chest, pulling your back against him before raining a heavy trail of open kisses all over your hair, your temple, and the sharp line of your jaw.
“That’s more like it,” Simon grumbled, his voice vibrating deeply against your skin as he buried his face in your neck. “No more of that Simon bullshit from you, miss.”
You couldn't help but roll your eyes at your incredibly dramatic boyfriend, but a soft, helpless smile spread across your face nonetheless. You loved every single unmasked, ridiculous piece of him. And, just as he wanted, you ended up spending the entire remainder of your Saturday tucked safely away from the world, being perfectly lazy and cozy in bed.
-
Soap “John Mactavish”
“Love”
You were heavily pregnant with your first child, and for the most part, the experience had been a complete dream come true. Johnny had miraculously managed to secure extended leave for these last few months, and he had been a constant, unwavering presence.
He was right there beside you for every prenatal class, eagerly sprinted out for midnight snack runs to satisfy your weirdest cravings, and would readily stand behind you to lift the heavy weight of your belly just to relieve the pressure on your aching spine. He was, without a doubt, the perfect partner.
On this particular evening, you were sitting on a stool at the kitchen breakfast bar. Johnny had insisted on cooking dinner from scratch, promising a hot, relaxing bath afterward to soothe your exhausted body.
“Nearly ready, lass. Hope you and the wee bump are hungry,” he teased playfully, glancing over his shoulder with a bright grin. He was a sight to behold, wearing a kitchen apron over his broad shoulders as he busied himself prepping the plates.
“Thanks, love. I’d be completely lost without you,” you beamed, smiling dotingly at him as he put the final touches on his culinary creation. You absentmindedly rubbed your stomach, noting that the baby was kicking quite a bit today. You didn't think much of it, given how incredibly close you were to your official due date.
But it was in that exact, unsuspecting moment that you felt it.
Your water had broken.
You could barely see your toes past the massive curve of your belly as it was, but as you looked down, a sudden, violent surge of panic shot through your entire body. The once-dry kitchen tile beneath your stool was completely soaked.
“U-uh… Johnny?” you called out shakily, your voice tight.
Johnny, who was still fully animated and yapping away as he plated up the food, let out a distracted chuckle. He didn't even turn around, completely misreading your panicked tone for a bit of banter. “Johnny? Aye, what’s with the formalities all of a sudden, lass? Usually I get a 'love' or a 'darling' when there's food on the line.”
“Johnny, listen to me—” you tried again, your breath catching as a sharp wave of adrenaline hit you.
“Who you calling Johnny, lass?” he teased, playfully shaking the spatula in the air, his back still turned. “You only use my proper name when I’m in the doghouse, and I know for a fact I’ve been an absolute angel today—”
“For fuck's sake, John!” you screeched.
The full government name cut through the kitchen like a flashbang.
The spatula fell silent. Johnny whipped around instantly, his blue eyes wide with a mixture of total bewilderment and sudden concern. He had never heard that specific, lethal tone leave your mouth before, and the sheer gravity of John completely shattered his playful mood.
“My water broke,” you said, staring right at him.
The legendary, highly decorated SAS sergeant stood completely frozen. He had a spatula gripped in one hand and a dinner plate in the other, utterly paralyzed like a deer in the headlights. In this exact moment, he did not look like an elite soldier trained to think critically under high-pressure, life-or-death scenarios. He looked like a man whose brain had just completely short-circuited.
“Johnny!” you screeched again, snapping him out of his trance as you began taking heavy, rhythmic breaths to regulate your racing heart. “I am about to have your child right here on our kitchen floor! I highly suggest you get us to the car or call an ambulance—whichever one is faster!”
“Y-yes! Right! Okay!”
With his military reflexes finally overriding his sheer panic, Johnny dropped the spatula into the sink, his training kicking into overdrive. He shifted into pure logistics mode, scrambling to grab the pre-packed hospital bag, your coat, and the car keys, his movements a blur of chaotic efficiency as he helped you stand and guided you toward the door.
Just as you reached the hallway, preparing to brace yourself for the drive, you reached out and grabbed his hand tightly, pulling his knuckles to your lips to give them a soft kiss. “Thanks, love.”
The familiar, gentle pet name acted like a tether, instantly dragging him back to reality. A massive wave of relief washed over his face, a bright, fiercely protective grin breaking through his nerves as he squeezed your hand back. He was ready.
-
Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick
“Handsome”
Gaz came home from what you could only imagine was a brutal, exhausting deployment. He hadn't been himself since the moment he walked through the front door, clamming up every single time you tried to reach out to him. You knew it was part of the territory; being a military wife—especially to an SAS soldier—was never going to be a walk in the park.
Still, he had barely muttered more than five words to you over these last few days. He ate in silence, went to bed in silence, and ran off to God-knows-where during the day in a desperate attempt to clear his mind. You had tried your absolute best to give him space, but you were rapidly reaching your limit. You couldn't watch him drown in his own head anymore.
You woke up in the dead of night yet again to the sight of him sitting rigidly on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor, totally stuck in his own skull.
Sitting up, you clicked your bedside lamp on, the soft golden glow cutting through the dark room. You shifted over and instinctively wrapped your arms around his broad, tense shoulders, placing a soft, lingering kiss against his skin.
“You okay, handsome?” you softly asked.
He brushed off your concern exactly as he had been doing all week, pulling away from your touch with a tired sigh. “I’m fine, love. Just tired. Don't worry about it,” he muttered. It was his usual defense mechanism—his way of telling you to go back to sleep because he didn't want to talk.
But you were completely fed up. Fed up with being pushed aside, and fed up with being kept in the dark when all you wanted was to remind him that he didn't have to carry the weight of the world alone. Not anymore.
Rejecting the dismissal, you climbed out of bed, marched all the way over to his side, and plopped down on your knees directly in front of him on the floor. You took his rough, calloused hands in yours, forcing him to look down.
“Look at me, Kyle. It’s me.”
Hearing his actual name—not his callsign, and not a soft distraction—caused his tired, shadowed eyes to meet yours. It was only for a brief, fleeting moment, but it was all the confirmation you needed to know that your husband was still in there.
“Kyle, look at me,” you whispered again.
As you spoke, warm tears began to well up in your eyes. When his gaze finally locked onto yours this time, it was filled with so much raw, unspoken pain that you couldn't help but let those tears fall, weeping silently right in front of him.
The sight of your tears seemed to shatter whatever walls he had left.
Slowly, his broad shoulders completely relaxed, the rigid military tension finally bleeding out of his body. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead down against yours in a silent, powerful gesture that let you know he was finally ready to let his guard down.
“God, I missed you,” he whispered, his voice cracking from the overwhelming release of pure emotion.
Before you could reply, he hooked his arms under you, effortlessly pulling you up off the cold floor and onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around you in a fierce, crushing grip, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
“I missed you too, handsome. More than you could ever know,” you sweetly cooed back through your tears, wrapping your own arms securely around his neck and pressing a gentle, reassuring kiss to the side of his head.
You didn't know exactly what had happened to him over there, but in this moment, the details didn't matter. All that mattered was that your husband was finally safe in your arms, letting his walls crumble so you could help him heal.
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.
You are extra exhausted, extra sensitive, and extra emotional. All things the battlefield never taught Ghost how to handle.
You are cleaning the toilet right now—because why not clean instead of resting? You shift, your breasts sore and let out a small groan. Ghost is behind you in an instant.
“Love’?” He asks in concern.
You turn and give him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m ok, Si.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “Don’ lie te m’.” He huffs, crossing his arms. “Tell’m e the tru’th.”
You frown, knowing he knows you too well. “I…” You hesitate, flush creeping up your cheeks. You and Simon have talked about it before. But you can’t help but be embarrassed.
His eyes narrow as he waits for you to answer.
“I’m tired. And hurting.” You sigh, finally deflating and spilling everything before you can stop. “My breasts hurt every time I move. I’m so exhausted. I want to sleep forever. But I also feel like I want to cry forever. And scream. And stare at the wall until I combust.”
Tears are streaming down your cheeks in rivers at this point and you somehow end up in Ghosts arms.
“Shh, lovie’,” he says, trying to calm you despite being unsure how to. “Do whatever you’ need. Scream, cry, sleep, I’ll be ‘ere.”
His words are like a haze over your soul, lulling you into a sense of peace.
nsfw +18 mdni. - car sex. - husband!simon "ghost" riley
Being a lieutenant was hard. Being a husband was hard. Being a father was hard. Being the three was tough. It was a busy life for Simon. The hardest part wasn't the patience, the never ending tasks, nor the physical exhaustion, but the logistics of them all.
Every time you tried having some sexy time with your husband, one of the kids would knock on the door, asking for a glass of milk or to check for monsters under the bed. Every. Single. Time. It almost felt like it was on purpose. And you would oblige because like any good mother would. He couldn't remember the last time you did it, so he was at his wits end.
After a long day of never ending meetings and scolding rookies, Simon came back home wanting only one thing: You. But when he came home, you were busy as always. So he had to busy himself to think about something else. He helped with dinner, giving the kids a bath and tidy around the house.
When you finally put the kids to sleep, Simon picked you up and carry you over his shoulder. You thought he would take you to the bedroom, but he couldn’t risk his night being ruined once again. He had to make sure you could be somewhere unreachable, so he took you to the garage.
He threw you onto the backseat and pushed the seats of the mom van all the way back. You didn't have to say anything, Simon just went straight to business. He pulled your shorts off and eat you out like a hungry beast. As you were inside the car, in the garage, away from the kids, you weren't afraid to moan your heart out. He growled into your pussy, ravishing the flavor he so much missed. Finally, he had you all for himself.
The car shook with every deep stroke in you. Simon was moaning in your ear, finally releasing all his frustration into your poor pussy. Rough, desperate for attention. He held your arms behind your back so you wouldn't escape, as if you wanted to begin with. His heavy balls impacted your ass, making a sloppy sound that just added an extra touch to the muffled lust symphony.
Simon liked having you on top. The weight felt cozy and nurturing, like a constant hug where he could never felt cold. He made you arched your back to hit that perfect spot that made your eyes roll back. The ecstasy was too much that your hamstrings gave up completely, so Simon had to take in charge that extra length to cum. You felt so good that maybe another kid didn’t sound so bad.
