summary: your boyfriend loves feeling the bulge he makes in your stomach
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"this feel good, baby?" your boyfriend asks you, kissing your cheek. he was pounding menacingly in your pussy, absolutely abusing your precious cunt.
he had you in a mating press, your legs sat on his shoulders. his body completely rested on top of yours, the sound of his balls slapping your ass echoing throughout the room as he thrusted in and out of you. your moans sounded horrifying, almost like the man was harming you.
your pussy always had to stretch so much to fit simon’s cock, a large bulge printing your stomach.
simon was intoxicated. the sight of your stomach moving, knowing it was from his cock, made him all the more feral, pounding into your cunt even more, your little body shaking under his.
he moved a large hand to rest on the bulge, your eyes rolling at the feeling of him occasionally applying pressure. your toes were curling from the pleasure, your boyfriend bruising your poor cervix at this point. he wouldn’t even let you have a little break!
the water works started, your body not knowing how else to respond to the stimulation.
“tha’s a good girl,” you boyfriend says, watching you come down from your orgasm.
you were certainly mistaken if you thought simon was done with you for tonight. he hasn’t even cum yet!
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.
Roommate!Simon Riley who says, "I'll consider it.". he worries about getting your hopes up, away for long periods of time and rarely home. it's mostly said in passing to random comments you makes. "Simon— you should wear brown more often. It'd match your eyes.", "Hey Simon, I think you'd like this series. You should try watching it.", "Oh! Simon, we should try this new place that opened before you leave again.", and every time, without fail, he grunts, "I'll consider it."
Roommate!Simon Riley who comes home from shopping with more bags than usual. staple groceries and snacks put away before the rest of the bags are hauled off to his room without a word. you notice it on the third day, his usual black and white t-shirts worn around the house quietly replaced by brown sweaters and shirts. when you ask him about it he shrugs, "Thought I'd listen t'you for once.". he spent too long in the store trying to figure out which textures you'd like if you ever stole one
Roommate!Simon Riley who doesn't spend a lot of time watching media. he's got nothing against watching a match at the bar, but usually just busies himself by inspecting his weapons at home. you do a double take when he mentions a character from a series you love, the one you suggested to him. he barely glances your way before walking off, "Like that loud one, reminded me of you.". he spent three days catching up on it so you could talk to him about it
Roommate!Simon Riley who'd do next to anything to make up for lost time while he's away. he'd never make a promise given his occupation, but the little things are easier to accomplish. you seem to like the little things, rushing to put your shoes on as he fixes the sleeves on his sweater. "I can't believe you got a reservation!", your giddiness has him glancing away, listening to you gush about what to order. he locks the door behind him on the way out, watching as you walk ahead of him, "Maybe we could go out for breakfast tomorrow, what do you think?". he doesn't say anything for beat, but you already know what's coming
the concept of ur boyfriend cheating on you and you’re pissed as fuck and military lieutenant simon ghost riley, minding his own business, fresh off a deployment, is drinking coffee in a diner and you see him and go “yeah that’s a military mf”.
so you go to him and ask bluntly: “can you help me sign my cheating ex up for the army?” simon stares at you, blinks, and says, “sure.”
you sit with him and he helps you do just that and you end up being so charmed by his dry wit and amused smirks (and how plainly hot he is) that you end up getting his phone number.
Fucking you in missionary, gazing into your eyes with his body shoved up against yours isn’t enough, so he hikes your legs over his shoulders and presses deeper inside.
Kissing you goodbye isn’t enough, so he comes back for another kiss… then another… then another. Thirty seconds later, he’s got you caged against the wall, devouring your mouth. It’s so easy and messy, the way his tongue delves into your lips and the way he sucks at your spit.
He starts on his stomach to give you oral. You’re lying down with your legs parted. But it’s not enough to taste you; he needs you taking over all his senses and suffocating him. So he flips you around and seats you on his face like a throne before returning to eating you out.
Being in the same house isn’t enough. When he has a day off, you can’t count the number of times he molds his body against yours or touches you in some way.
“Fucking perv.” You mutter as he deeply inhales your scent before returning to his business.
“Fucking perv.” You repeat when you realize that wasn’t enough, so he went to your bedroom to jerk himself off while smelling your panties. Maybe even that isn’t enough either because next thing you know, you’re riding him, his mouth gagged with your panties and savoring the slight flavor.
more of Simon being needy for you
Shy loverboy Simon
Authoress’ note: Hii, y’all! Feel free to drop a comment or DM me with a thought
There's nothing better than the concept of ghost who didn't really have the support he needed growing up, and later on suffering alone in the military.
So he develops some weird, complicated psychosexual emotions around being treated like a person. You'll be shopping with him and ask what brand of beans he prefers and suddenly ghost has a white-knuckle grip on the shopping cart from how horny he got.
He definitely feels like a weird pervert for getting off on such normal things, it doesn't help that he fits the description of a weirdo pretty well, but he can't help tucking his face into your back and railing you against the kitchen counter when you ask how he's feeling.
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
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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.
