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John Price
“This for me?” John saunters over to the bed, absently rubbing his hairy chest. “And above the sheets?”
“No,” you warn, because you know that look. You know what John is up to. “Don’t think about it. Not tonight.”
He cocks an eyebrow, all flirty mischievousness. “Have I done something?”
“No,” you repeat. “It’s hot. And you’re a furnace. You’ll get me sweaty.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
John dives at the bed, crushing you beneath him. “Doesn’t have to be a cuddle, love. Could do something rigorous.”
You twist, evading a kiss. “Stop poking me with your dick.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
You and Kyle lay on your backs, staring at the ceiling. Overhead, the ceiling fan whips up a breeze but offers little to alleviate the heat. Worst heat wave in the last decade. That’s what they’re saying.
“I know,” you reply. “I hate it, too.”
The pillows are gone, bed stripped down to the fitted sheet. Both of you are freshly showered and naked, and still you’re sweating. Kyle’s arm shifts, the side of his hand brushing against yours. Your index fingers connect, hook around each other. Sweat immediately accompanies it.
Kyle reaches for his phone. “I’m ordering another fan.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
“Johnny,” you grumble, half-asleep.
His hand pauses on your bare hip. “Can’t touch you?”
“Too hot,” you mumble. “How are you not hot?”
The bedding is tossed aside, pushed to the edges of the bed. It’s the middle of the night but feels like the middle of the day. Has been for weeks. A goddamn heatwave.
Beside you, the bed shifts. “Not even a hand?”
“No.”
“What about a finger?”
“No.”
Johnny sits up onto his elbow. “A tit?” You open one eye and glare. “A quick squeeze?”
“Fine,” you mutter, relenting. “But only one tit. And only one squeeze.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Sleeping naked under the covers isn’t an option. It’s disgustingly hot out. If you just lay here, on your stomach and above the covers, naked, unmoving, you’ll cool off. You just can’t move. You can’t—
A hand comes down on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap.
You bolt up, startled. “What the fuck, Simon? I’m trying to sleep.”
Your husband stands next to the bed, hand still raised like he’s aiming for another. He shrugs. “Couldn’t help myself.”
You roll your eyes but Simon is settling beside you anyway, handsy as always.
simon ‘ghost’ riley x female!reader [3.3k]
summary ⤍ your boyfriend slept horribly on a good day, and hardly closed his eyes on a bad day.
warnings ⤍ 18+ (mdni) explicit language & smut (handjob), mentions of ptsd/war/military, mentions of nightmares and death.
a/n ⤍ it’s my birthday so here’s my gift to u. simon riley u have my heart <3
You don’t know what pulls you out of your sleep - whether it’s a forgotten dream or your subconscious - but you jerk out of it all the same. Sleep clouds your vision, blurring it and it takes you a moment to blink and take in your surroundings in the darkness. The covers tucked tightly over your naked shoulders fall when you shift into a sitting position, supporting your weight on a wobbly arm against the rigid mattress.
There’s a slight ache in your back that you choose to ignore. Your boyfriend slept badly on a good day, and he hardly closed his eyes on the bad days. If a rigid mattress helped him get even an ounce of sleep, then you’d endure whatever you had to.
At the thought of him, you turned your head to find his spot on the bed empty. Your fingers touched the sheets, finding it cold and barely slept on. You’d gone to bed together, but he must’ve gotten up the second you dozed to sleep. He was good at that, slipping off unseen without alerting anyone. It was his job after all.
You shed the covers off your body, shivering slightly at the frosty bite of the air and you hurried to close the window that you’d left ajar. It had gone cold overnight and you wasted no time to find a pair of sweatpants to pull up your legs.
It was silent in the house, almost eerily so, and you fought the sudden need to turn back and crawl into bed as soon as you reached the dark hallways. It was ironic that you were scared of the dark you were, considering how you were living with someone whose call sign name went by Ghost of all things. Who thrived in darkness and used it to his advantage. A ghost.
Simon was almost hard to miss, tucked away in a corner of the appointed gym room and lifting dumbbells like they were the lightest things he’d ever touched. Your eyes tracked the movements of his lifts, taking in the swell of his arms as they strained and the straight line of his back. It almost startled you when he turned his head and looked straight at you from the corner of his eyes. It shouldn’t have surprised you how aware he was of his surroundings and you took a moment to calm your sudden racing heart before you stepped further into the room.
“Hi.” You greeted him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.
You knew not to ask too many questions, because you already knew the answers to them. Are you okay? No, he wasn’t. Why aren’t you sleeping? Because he couldn’t and working out was one of his many ways to shed those nightmares plaguing his brilliant mind.
Your boyfriend grunted as he lifted the dumbbells for one more rep, setting them down next to his feet. His eyes looked weary, tired from lack of sleep and troubled from whatever was weighing on his mind. It wasn’t an unusual expression he donned, but it made you sad all the same.
“Did I wake you?” He asked, voice rough.
You took another step toward him, shaking your head in the negative and watching his eyes flit to the tips of your toes - almost like was watching where you were heading. His legs separated just a tiny inch, but it was an invitation if you’d ever seen one. You wasted no time to close the distance between you two, stepping into the space between his thighs. He welcomed you without any words being said, arms circling your hips and closing the remaining distance between the two of you.
“Do you want to go back to bed?” You asked, though you knew the answer. Your hands found his hair, sliding your fingers through and touching the damp strands gently. “We could put a film on and have a little cuddle.”
You couldn’t help but notice how the man in your arms leaned his head against your stomach, just like he always did when you were sitting on your sofa watching the telly, or when he’d had a particularly bad night and you stayed up with him. You knew that it was a tactic to hide himself, shield his face from your observing eyes so you wouldn’t read it or see the emotion he never hid well in his eyes. It didn’t mean that you didn’t appreciate it though, considering how he’d shut himself off completely at the beginning of your relationship. It was a tough road, but you’d gotten there eventually.
“‘m not done.” He murmured against the fabric of your sweater. “You can go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”
A minute meant until the sun rose on the horizon and the light found its way through your curtains. You couldn’t have that.
“Hey,” you tugged at his hair, gently enough for him to look up at you; Blinking his blue eyes, looking innocent as ever. “I can sit here and watch you.”
He didn’t react when you pulled yourself out of his embrace, taking big, theatrical step back and raising your arms out by your sides with a smile. It was your poor attempt at making his lips twitch into one of his rare smiles, and all you got in return was a slight arch of his eyebrow that shouldn’t have looked as attractive as it did.
“What? I’m not even tired.”
Your insistence was proved wrong when a yawn crept up out of nowhere, and you hurriedly tried to hide it behind your hand even though it was too late.
“Okay, maybe a little.” You lamented when your boyfriend narrowed his eyes at your obvious lie.
“Alright pet, let’s get back to bed.” He pushed himself up onto his legs, his hulking six foot something form looking particularly menacing in the dim room.
You reached your hand out, not wanting to grab him without his consent and he immediately took you up on your offer by sliding his hand into yours. It almost made you grin like a fool and you bit the inside of your cheek, opting to guide him out of the room and back to your bedroom instead.
The room wasn’t as chilly as you’d left it, and you felt your body yearn for the bed at the sight of it. Just when you were about to close the distance, Simon pulled his hand out of yours and it made you look back at him questioningly.
“Just need to clean myself up.” He explained and you nodded.
He left the room to seek out the bathroom. You watched silently before turning back to your bed and slipping in. Instead of taking your spot on the right side of the mattress, you plopped yourself in the middle and shoved your feet under the covers to keep them from going cold.
And then the waiting game began.
It took a moment for Simon to come back from his shower, but you waited patiently. Your eyes were just starting to droop when the screech of the shower knob echoed from down the hall. The pour of the shower stopped, and you didn’t have to wait long until your boyfriend came walking back in.
He stopped at the sight of you and you could see the gears in his head turn. How he noticed you sleeping smack dab in the middle of the bed, your feet shoved under the covers and your hands hidden in the sleeves of your sweater. You would’ve missed it if you blinked. Simon’s lips twitched into one of his smiles, the ones he’d reserved for you, and you only.
“Cold?” He asked, yanking a drawer open to rummage through it for clothes.
You hummed, watching him dress himself with more ease than a lot of people. “It’s freezing. Need someone to warm me up.”
It almost felt like an award when his lips transformed into a smile, dimple deepening the side of his cheek adorably. It wasn’t a full blown smile, but your stomach twisted at the sight of it anyway. He finished getting dressed, draping the wet towel over the back of a rocking chair in the corner before he plucked a pair of fuzzy socks from a different drawer.
Your heart beat its way into your throat when you realized what he was doing; Tracking his movements when he sat down on the bed by your feet and gently fished them out from the cocoon of the covers. His eyes were soft, mouth set into a straight line like they always did when he got particularly focused on a task. The task right now? Pulling the fuzzy socks over your bare, cold feet.
“Thank you.” Your voice sounded choked up even to your own ears, but his soft side never failed to bring tears to your eyes and butterflies to your stomach.
He glanced up at the sound of your voice, wrapping a hand around your calf and giving it a squeeze. His way of saying you’re welcome. You raised your arms and waited for him to scoot up the bed and into your embrace. He grunted as he situated himself right up against your side, one leg thrown over yours and his arms tightly wrapped around your torso. You knew that he probably heard the sound of your heart beating unnaturally fast, but he didn’t say anything about it as he laid his head against your chest.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked quietly.
He shifted against your side.
“Nothing you haven’t heard already.” He replied.
It was true, probably. From a traumatic childhood to the horrors he saw when he was deployed, there wasn’t much Simon Riley hadn’t experienced in his lifetime. Hearing about the things he’d been through as a wee child had almost brought on a panic attack on your side, because no one deserved to grow up in the environment he had and your boyfriend deserved the world and everything beyond it.
You squeezed him closer to you at the thought of a dirty blond haired boy, scared out of his wits and lonely in a house that never felt like a home to him. The scent of his shampoo grounded you for a moment and you buried your nose into his wet hair.
“I’m alright, love.” He spoke after a moment, most likely picking up on your breathing and stuttering heart. No one was as attuned to you as him.
“I know, I just love you a lot.”
There was no mistaking the intake of breath at your words. It was clear to you that he had a hard time hearing those words directed at him, and it had taken some time for him to believe them when you spoke them. He’d been a hard man to crack, and he still is. There were so many things you still didn’t know about him, and you were too afraid to ask. Afraid of what his answers might be.
“I love you, too.” His voice sounded ragged, tight.
Any moment now, and he’d be pulling himself away from your embrace. You respected it, how he sometimes did that when he felt overstimulated or got way too into his head to pull him out. But it had been a long week and you were craving his closeness more than you wanted to let on.
So, he didn’t protest when your fingers found his sharp jaw, pushing slightly to tilt his head up to look at you. His eyebrows were knit, pupils blown out and he looked like a man on the verge of getting sucked right back into the black hole. In a moment of slight panic, you leaned down and closed the small distance between you two, pushing your lips onto his. He barely responded at first and for a moment you feared that you’d misread his emotions and was just about to pull away when he shifted his body to face yours. His lips responding to yours made you sigh on relief through your nose, opening your mouth to his insistent one and kissing him deeper.
The low rumble in his throat made you grip him harder, letting him straddle you without putting any real weight on your body. But you craved it, craved his warmth and weight and everything he had and wanted to offer.
No words were spoken as you kissed and kissed, and kissed. Your lips turned raw, swollen and you wanted more. He didn’t resist when you somehow managed to flip him over, albeit a little clumsily. He let you straddle his thighs, hands finding your face and neck to hold as he tasted your tongue.
His hands had been through enough, shed more blood than you liked to think about and killed people in combat. But you had never felt as safe as you did when he touched you like this.
The urge to show him how much you loved him became too big, too great to keep inside anymore.
There was a question in his eyes when you pulled back a little, eyebrows drawing together when your hands made quick work of pulling at his sweatpants and locating the hem of his underwear. You could see his hands reaching out to presumably grab you from the corners of your eyes, but he stopped himself in the last second and folded his hands into fists instead. You flickered your gaze up to his eyes, finding him staring at you.
“Is this okay?” You asked, halting your movements entirely. He nodded after a second of contemplation and you bent down to kiss him. “Words, Simon.”
“Yeah.” He rasped out, breath hitting your smiling lips. “‘s good.”
You didn’t waste more time to pull his pants and underwear down enough to fish his cock out, finding it half-hard and heavy in your hand. The weight of it made you squirm in his lap, turning your head to nip at the stubbled skin of his jaw.
Simon was a big guy, chunk and muscles all around. He filled out his clothes well and all those sleepless nights allowed him to work on his body and stamina. He didn’t go out very often, but there was no mistaking people’s stares and gaped mouths when he walked by them and you couldn’t blame them. Although you often glared at those who rudely stared until they had the decency to look embarrassed and turn their heads.
Your boyfriend being a big man also meant he was packing heavily in his nether region, thick and long enough to reach spots inside of you that you didn’t know were possible. You had half a mind to tug your own sweats off and sink onto him but you held off, knowing that what Simon needed first and foremost was relief. He just needed to be taken care of, and all you craved from him right now was him.
You made sure to have a good grip on him, not too tight and not too loose, before you started jerking him off to get him in the mood. Judging by by the way he was panting against your ear, it wouldn’t take long to get him there. His hands scrambled to find something to grip, settling on cupping your face and bringing you to his lips.
It was much filthier than your other kisses you’d shared tonight, teeth nipping and his nose pressing to your cheek as he found comfort in your lips. It didn’t take long for his cock to fill out, making it harder to have a better grip on him so you brought a hand up between you to lick a thick stripe on the palm before grabbing him again.
He hissed, eyes closing in a tight squeeze when you reached the tip of him. He was wet, precum beading on his head and you swiped your thumb over it; Using it as lube to make touching him way smoother and pleasurable for him.
One of Simon’s hands raked through your hair, finding a good grip on it and tugging until you let out a moan against his lips. He pulled you off further to look at your face, almost like he needed to know what you were thinking and if you were feeling the same type of pleasure that he was.
“You feel so good in my hand,” you nodded at his searching gaze, hand squeezing just a tad bit tighter around him. “Warm and heavy.”
He grunted in response, letting go of your hair so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. You placed small, sucking kisses to the sensitive skin there and scraped your teeth teasingly right beneath his earlobe because you knew how much he loved it. He’d go absolutely feral for the tiniest prick of pain.
It had the desired effect on him, hips humping up and sliding his cock further into your fist, making him hiss and hands grab at your back. He was close, it was evident in how he started chanting your name lowly in your ear. The reverent way his hands were scrambling to grab a hold of you and pull you closer.
“I’m -“ he shuddered when you picked up speed, jerking him off and bringing your free hand down to touch at his balls. “Fuck.”
The shudder in his voice had you soaking but you put all your focus on making him feel good, needing him to come and growl in your ear the way he always did.
“Come on, baby,” you whispered against his neck, nuzzling your nose up to his cheek and giving it a chaste kiss. “I got you.”
It was like that’s what he was waiting to hear, hips bucking up and body stiffening like he’d been electrocuted before his cock started spitting against your palm. It got on his clothes and yours, but you couldn’t care less when he finally let his mouth drop open and he moaned from deep in his gut. You slowed your pace gradually as he shuddered through the last of his orgasm, pressing little kisses to his cheeks and jaw until he made a noise at the back of his throat.
You let go of him, knowing that any more and he’d become overstimulated and that wasn’t your intention for tonight. All you needed was for his body to relax enough to get some type of sleep before the sun rose outside and night became morning. One look at his lax body and you knew you’d succeeded, kissing his slack mouth before sitting up gingerly.
It was warm, and you huffed in discomfort before shrugging your sweatshirt off and flinging it to the side somewhere. You’d need to do some laundry tomorrow, making a mental note in your head.
“D’ya need - ?” He started to ask, hands gesturing tiredly to your body but you cut him off with a firm head shake.
“Not tonight.”
He nodded once, lips twitching into a small smile and you leaned down to kiss it. Nothing suited him better than a smile, and you’d made it your mission to tell him that once every day.
There were very few words exchanged as you took off his soiled shirt and got him a chilled water bottle from the refrigerator. You left the door wide open like Simon needed and double checked so the latch was shut on the windows before crawling underneath the covers where your boyfriend was waiting.
You turned on your side, as did he, and shared a small secret smile.
“Thank you, pet.” He whispered and you stretched a finger out to touch his stubble, right where his dimple remained hidden.
Reader pulling a prank on 141, claiming they found their friend(s) on Hinge and showing the profile, only for the 141 to realize that reader has to be on Hinge to see those profiles in the first place.
requested by @/tokyo-rev-old-blog
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Reader
Content & Warnings (mdni): established relationship, swearing, suggestive themes, implied sexual content, fluff, humor, brief angst, gn!reader
Word Count: 700
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
You plop onto the couch next to John, snatching his phone out of his hand and tossing it behind you. It lands on the cushion. “You have to see this.”
John’s mouth is a thin line, tone deadpanned. “Trying to beat my best time on sudoku.”
“That’s nice, honey.” You hold your phone up to his face, grinning wildly. “Look at this. Your team is on Hinge.”
John takes the phone. “Would you look at that,” he muses. “Simon’s pictures are nice.”
“Browse their profiles,” you giggle. “Click on them.”
John’s thumb shifts over the screen, going in for the tap. It pauses just shy of the glass, his amused expression turning downward. The gears are turning, and you’re close to cackling at how John’s face morphs into concerned husband.
He turns the phone screen toward you. “Are you on Hinge?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you on Hinge?”
“You said you overheard them talking. Wanted to spy.”
John exhales heavily. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gave me a scare.”
“You’re stuck with me forever,” you tease, kissing his cheek.
John glances in your direction, holding the phone up again. “Then how did you match with them?”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Coming up behind Kyle, you wrap your arms around his middle.
“Morning,” he murmurs, gently squeezing your arm.
“I have something to show you,” you sing-song, voice rough with sleep.
Kyle shifts just enough to glance over his shoulder at you. “You have something to show me?” As your arms loosen, Kyle fully turns, grabbing your waist to pull you back against him. “What is it?”
“Remember last weekend, when you brought me to that pub?”
Kyle inclines his head. “With the rest of the team?”
“That one.”
“What about it?”
“Johnny was teasing Simon about jumping into the dating pool. Poking him about his profile and all that?”
Kyle chuckles and kisses your forehead. “I remember. Thought Simon was going to slug him.”
“Yeah, well, I found his Hinge.”
Kyle draws back. “You what?”
Showing him your phone screen, you beam with pride. “Look!”
At first, Kyle is intrigued, but his smile begins to fade, concern replacing it. “Why are you on Hinge?”
Shit.
Nearly dropping your phone, you place it on the kitchen counter, grasping the sides of Kyle’s face. “I was just spying. I promise!”
He sighs, holding you tighter. “Gonna give me a goddamn heart attack.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
“Johnny.”
“Hm?”
“Johnny. Look.” You slide over to his side of the bed, practically throwing yourself on top of your boyfriend. His arm immediately slides over your back, holding you close. “Captain Price is on Hinge.”
“What?” he laughs. “Give me that.” Johnny bursts out laughing. “Is that Price? Man cleans up well.”
Johnny scrolls through his captain’s profile, giggling to himself. “How’d you find this?” he asks, and then it hits him like a train. “You made a profile.”
“I did.”
“I’d be upset,” and Johnny makes direct eye contact, “but I know how much you love my dick.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
“Your bestie is on Hinge.”
Simon pops his head into the closet as you dig through the mess, searching for a shirt. “Soap?” You nod. “Knew that.”
“But have you seen his profile?” you ask, holding up a shirt. Frowning, you toss it. “Tell me you’ve seen it.”
Simon enters, leaning against the doorframe, blocking you in, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s shirtless, wearing only grey sweatpants. “Why would I want to see his profile?”
You toss another shirt to the side. “Aren’t you curious?”
Simon’s eyes narrow. “Why are you curious?”
“Why are you evading the question?”
“Why are you evading the question?” Simon is inside the closet now, nearly on top of you.
Reaching for your phone, you unlock it, going to the Hinge app. Finding Johnny’s profile, you show Simon.
“Here,” and you offer him the phone. Simon simply stares at you. “What?”
“Why are you on Hinge?”
You lock your phone. “Spying.”
“Spying?”
“Yes. Spying.”
It’s a standoff. Simon is unmoving and you can’t dart around him.
He moves first, startling you, turning you around and pushing you onto hands and knees.
“Simon!”
“Looks like I need to fuck the answer out of you.”
There was this tiktok trend where kids and their mums would pull a prank on their dads by telling their mums to shut up...141 with a teenage son who tries it?
Anon, I am very aware of this prank. If mom is in on it, I consider it all in good fun, but omg, these guys would be absolutely stressed if they heard their teenage son tell mom to "shut up." Heads would absolutely roll over that!
Price is certainly old enough to have a teenage son on the older side. I would even say the same for Ghost. Gaz is old enough for a younger teenage son. With Soap's age...that's stretching it. BUT SUSPEND DISBELIEF Y'ALL. I'm aging Gaz and Soap up a bit for this one.
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ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
“Ugh. Shut up, Mum.”
There is a brief pause between mum and when the television remote hurtles across the room. Your son doesn’t duck in time, the hard plastic hitting his shoulder before bouncing onto the kitchen island with a loud clack.
Before your son turns, Kyle’s baseball cap with the Union Jack, soars through the air like a frisbee. This one your son manages to avoid, but it’s quickly followed by a slipper. It flies past his head, and you catch it out of the air before it makes contact with the front of the microwave.
You and your eldest son turn in Kyle’s direction as he manifests in the kitchen entryway, the other slipper in hand, poised to launch it at the first sign of any movement.
“Wanna repeat yourself, mate?” Kyle appears calm and poised, but you notice the subtle tension in his jaw.
“It was a joke, Dad! Promise!”
Kyle’s arm holding the slipper starts to rise.
“Kyle,” you say. His gaze flicks to you. “Just a joke. No harm. I was in on it.”
His shoulders immediately sag. Kyle shakes his head. Rolls his eyes. Heading for the fridge, he opens it up, grabbing a can of his favorite beer.
Kyle sets the beer down on the island, pointing the slipper at you and then his son. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words come out, just an exasperated huff.
Kyle snatches up the television remote and sticks it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Keeping hold of the shoe in one hand, and his beer in the other, he gives the two of you his back, heading into the living room.
“No one bother me until the game is over,” he says over his shoulder. “And someone bring me my bloody slipper!”
John Price
"Fucking hell, Mum. Shut it."
John is up and out of his seat so fast you hardly see him move. He strides over to his son, yanking him off the stool by the scruff of his shirt.
"John! It's a prank!" you say quickly, reaching for his arm.
The boy is dangling in the air, toes just shy of touching the ground. "A prank?" asks John skeptically.
"Mum is in on it. Promise."
John sighs heavily and slowly lowers his son to the ground. The moment his feet touch ground, he tries to step away, but John holds firm, keeping his eldest child immobile. He leans forward a bit. Lowers his voice.
"Prank or no, you never talk to your mother, your sisters, or any woman in that manner again. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good boy." John releases his son. "The lawn needs trimmed."
"Yes, sir."
Your son scurries away. It isn't until the door to the garage opens and shuts that John moves toward you. His arm drapes over your waist, hand landing firmly on your ass, squeezing hard.
"You're coming with me."
"To do what?"
He presses his lips to your ear. "For a different sort of punishment."
John "Soap" MacTavish
"You’re off your head, lad.”
With Johnny’s cold tone comes a tension to your son’s shoulders. He becomes rigid, sliding down into his chair like he can escape from his father by cowering underneath the table. Johnny comes around the corner, a bit of sweat on his brow. He's been building furniture all day for the nursery.
"Want to repeat that for me?" asks Johnny.
Your son’s voice cracks. "It was just a prank, Dad."
"It was what?" Johnny strides forward.
"It's a prank. I'm in on it. Promise," you say, attempting to soothe Johnny’s anger.
Johnny crosses his arms over your chest. "Is it?" He glances between the two of you and sighs, muttering, “Am pure done in.”
He disappears down the hall, returning with a stack of instructional manuals, dropping them into his son’s lap. "You're building furniture."
"But I—"
“You right scunner. C’mon.” Johnny yanks his son out of the chair, the stack of instructional manuals goes flying. Your son reaches for them all, desperately clasping them against his chest.
“Johnny," you call out, walking around the counter to intervene.
He glances over his shoulder, frown gown, sly smirk on his face. “Deal with you later."
Simon "Ghost" Riley
“Oi, Mum. Shut it.”
Your son is a wonderful actor. You’ll give him that. Even you almost believe him. Not that he would—he’d never—but his delivery reminds you of a completely pissed football fan ready to throw a punch at a member of the rival team.
He should consider theater.
Simon, your husband, is watching a rugby match in the living room. The television is on but at a low volume.
Within seconds of the words leaving your son’s mouth, Simon appears like a phantom guardian in the entryway. In one he holds the remote like a weapon. The other arm cradles his infant daughter. She looks like a small bean. Slightly curved as she snuggles closer against Simon’s chest as she sleeps.
He's not looking at you. He's staring at his son, gaze intense and full of fire.
You’ve seen that look before.
Mission abort.
"He's joking, Simon. It's just a prank,” you soothe, knowing you need to get ahead of this.
Not that Simon would hurt you or his son, but he rarely takes any shit. This prank was a gamble, and you’re completely regretting it.
"Don't mean it, Dad."
Simon just stares for a long minute. His daughter squirms and that is when he glances down, severing the connection. Observing her must change something in him, because his gaze returns to the two of you, and there is a calmness now.
Sighing heavily, Simon shakes his head, completely exasperated. The eye roll is so apparent it’s like a shout.
In the moment he was pissed—livid. But now he’s over it, more annoyed and unamused than actually mad.
Turning on his heel, daughter still cradled in one arm, Simon returns to his recliner, settling back into the soft cushions to finish watching his rugby match.
141 when a younger recruit has a very obvious crush on you (not dating yet)
Oh, anon. I had fun with this one. Simply because it's a "we aren't dating yet so why are you jealous" scenario just waiting to happen. That's where my mind went with this. The boys have zero claim on you but they are possessive and territorial as fuck. omg. Do you hear that? It's me standing outside screaming because I need to get a fucking grip. Anyway! Enjoy!
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Task Force 141 x Reader (gn!reader except on Simon's)
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
John is the superior here. He's the one in charge.
Yet he feels completely out of control.
This isn't happening. This isn't fucking happening. He has spent months—months gently putting himself before you. Jealousy and possession are strange to him. They don’t come easy. And yet here they are, eating him from the inside out, chewing away at his resolve.
Anger and irritation are starting to seep in.
A new recruit with an obvious crush shouldn't make him this irate. There isn't any competition, but John can't help himself. All he sees is this wanker making eyes at you, speaking softly and with such tenderness that it's driving John up the fucking wall.
Which is insane. Stupid. You do not belong to him. The two of you are not dating—not anything—but somehow that doesn't matter.
His feet are moving before he even realizes it. The recruit turns in John's direction and instantly pales.
Good. Fucking good.
You turn too, brow furrowed.
"Captain?" asks the recruit, straightening his spine.
John shoves himself between, staring the recruit down, all venom. "You're wanted elsewhere."
"Y—yes. Sir."
The recruit salutes and takes off, the primal jealousy purring softly with contentment.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle is going to grind his teeth into dust if he doesn’t unclench his jaw.
What the fuck is this bloke doing over on this side of the complex anyway? He’s a goddamn new recruit. Freshly arrived and still green.
Do you even realize he’s flirting? Kyle can tell just be the way he stands far too close, or the subtle way he touches your arm. His smile is stupidly large. The man is completely struck by you. You appear completely oblivious, having a conversation with him like there’s nothing amiss.
Nope. Kyle is pissed. Furious. Which is fucking ridiculous. The two of you are not a couple, even though Kyle wishes otherwise.
“You look right scunnered.” Soap appears at Kyle’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“That,” he growls.
Soap frowns, following Kyle’s line of sight. Soap’s frown turns to a knowing smirk. He turns it on Kyle with a mischievous glint. “Want Ghost to scare the shit out of him?”
The rest of the team knows how Kyle feels about you even if they don’t comment on it.
“That would be great,” says Kyle flatly.
Soap lightly pats Kyle’s shoulder. Turning around, he cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Lt!”
John "Soap" MacTavish
"I could rig an explosive. Put it under his bunk. That’d be fucking brilliant,” murmurs Johnny.
"We're looking to scare him. Not to maim everyone in his immediate radius,” replies Kyle.
"What about a firework? Poppers? Oh! A stink bomb?"
"That’s fucking childish, Johnny,” mutters Simon.
Johnny isn't jealous. Really, he's not.
He's just...protective. That's what he tells himself anyway.
Kyle, Johnny, and Simon observe you from across the communal gym. A new recruit from the latest batch is hanging on the ropes of the boxing ring. His stance is casual, skin glistening with sweat as he gives you his best smile while he chats you up.
The lad is putting it on thick, and Johnny is having none of it.
You are not Johnny’s spouse. You are not dating. You are not his…anything.
But that hardly matters.
Because Johnny has stolen plenty of kisses from you. He’s put his hands on your body. He’s been far too close for the comfort of a coworker or friend. In that, there is a claim. Johnny can draw the line somewhere.
He is so close to making you his.
No one is getting in his way. Not even a charming new recruit.
Simon "Ghost" Riley (Female Reader)
"Don't do it, Simon. It's not worth it."
Johnny's words don't satiate the anger. Rage is boiling beneath Simon's skin. It is white hot—fierce. All of this emotion and yet Simon has no claim over you.
It still hurts. Still aches.
The two of you are not together—not dating. But it's Simon's name you scream with pleasure, and that counts for fucking something.
His fists clench, muscles coiled with wrought tension. Johnny places his hands on Simon's shoulders and shoves him back down in his seat. If Simon weren’t ready to flay his newest target alive, Johnny wouldn’t be so bold.
"Remove. Your. Hands," growls Simon, slowly.
Kyle grimaces, his gaze darting between Simon and Johnny. He looks ready to jump in if Johnny needs him.
"I'm doing this for you, Lt,” murmurs Johnny, even as his hands keep the pressure.
"She's mine."
"We know,” reply Johnny and Kyle in unison.
One of the new recruits is putting on his best performance, following you around like a lovesick puppy. Johnny is right. Simon can't go over there and knock the man to the ground, no matter how much he wants to.
Okay, anon. I'll be honest. When I read this prompt, I immediately thought of "cute aggression." Not sure if that is what you meant or if you meant something else, but that's what I went with. Kinda. There are some more suggestive undertones in a few of these. I had a lot of fun with this one. Thank you so much for sending it in!
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
"Are you teething?” asks John. “Do I need to get you a pacifier?"
John sounds annoyed, but you know that he isn’t. Not really. He happily puts up with your shenanigans.
"Can't help it,” you reply, showing your teeth. “You're too tempting."
The two of you are curled up in bed. He’s trying to read. And you’re trying to annoy him. When John is shirtless and reclined in bed, you have a clear view of his muscles. The temptation is always there, and it’s a pull you can’t resist. The aggression isn’t violent. It’s just overwhelming.
Clearly not liking your answer, John grunts. He tosses his book aside, uncaring of losing his place. One moment you’re next to him, and the next you’re fully on your back, trapped beneath his weight.
Giggling, you playfully shove at him, but there is no intention to escape from him. It’s not like you could break out of his grasp if you tried. He is warm and taut. A weighted blanket. This is what you wanted all along. To be beneath him.
"Stop."
He nips at your throat.
"Fucking."
Then he nips at your shoulder.
"Biting."
Finally, John nips at your upper arm.
"Me."
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
"Someone's going to think you're abusing me."
You grimace, even though Kyle’s tone is teasing and not at all upset. His arm and neck are peppered with small teeth marks. Most of them look like random little indents in the skin while others appear to be in the beginnings of bruising.
“I might have used excessive force,” you murmur, thumbing one of the marks.
Sometimes you can’t help yourself. The need to do it is overwhelming. Most times, you shake it off.
Kyle grins. “I like them. They’re little reminders.”
You laugh. “Oh yeah? Reminders of what?”
Kyle leans in, hand sliding up your back to grasp the nape of your neck. Pulling you close, Kyle lowers his voice. It’s all sultry smoothness.
"Of how many times I can make you come,” he coos.
“Kyle!” You lightly smack his chest, face heating as his gaze softens.
He shrugs. “You also just like to bite me.”
“Can’t help it,” you mutter.
“You’re like one of those small dogs,” he teases.
You roll your eyes. “Don’t you dare,” you scold.
“Adorable. Sweet at first glance.”
“Kyle.”
“Mean bite.”
“I swear to God, Kyle.”
“A—”
You place your hand over his mouth.
John "Soap" MacTavish
With Johnny as your bed, you spread yourself over him, head resting against his right pectoral. A rugby game is on. Johnny’s completely focused on the television as the two teams move about the field like small insects.
Johnny’s large, muscled arms are draped over your back, but his left bicep is dangerously close to your face. Every vein is pronounced. Tempting. You want to trace them with your tongue.
A naughty little urge creeps in. Makes itself known. Slithers around your brain to whisper that you should.
What’s one little bite?
It won’t hurt.
Like an itch that needs to be scratched, you lean forward, lightly chomping down on Johnny’s arm. The urge settles, the neurons in your brain content and happy.
Startled, Johnny jerks. Then, he laughs, arms tightening around you.
One second, you’re in full cuteness aggression. The next, Johnny is rolling you over, trapping you beneath him against the couch. Instead of you biting him, it’s Johnny biting you.
You shriek playfully, but he continues to nibble.
“Let me go,” you laugh. Smacking at him does nothing.
“You little goblin,” he mutters, dragging you off the couch and hauling you toward the bedroom, rugby match forgotten.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon wears only a thin, black shirt, leaving his arms bare. Your mouth waters at the sight of the protruding veins and taut muscles. The urge to touch and taste is overwhelming. It burns bright and hot beneath your skin.
"What are you looking at?" asks Simon without looking away from the menu board on the far wall.
“Nothing,” you reply instantly, glancing away like you weren’t thinking about his muscles.
A few seconds pass, and then you slip an arm between his, clinging to Simon. He doesn’t react. The menu board has his full attention. Simon is more worried about filling his stomach.
Turning your face into his arm, the urge to bite down—to unleash the aggression—wells inside you like a tsunami. At first, you resist, reminding yourself that you are in public and this behavior is inappropriate.
But you lose.
Your mouth starts to open, teeth poised to lightly bite.
“My arm isn’t a chew toy,” says Simon out of the corner of his mouth.
"I didn't bite," you mutter.
Simon slips his arm out of your grasp and then drapes it over your shoulders.
He leans in close. "You can bite me all over later."
Vampire!Gaz who spends lifetimes searching for you. He travels around the world, finding you in different faces and genders. Each meeting is a dance. Will you recognize him? Will you sense the deep tether that binds your souls eternally? A gamble with fate and not always successful. But as many times as you die, as many times as you elude him, there are moments of connection, when you return to him as the willing lover.
Vampire!Ghost has no agency. He’s an assassin. A dark shadow. The vampire lord that turned him pulls his strings, forcing Ghost to dance from target to target. It’s why he was created in the first place. A legendary warrior felled by a larger beast. Twisted into bloody teeth and lashing tongue. Ghost’s blade is sharp. It cuts the throats of kings and heirs. Brings darkness to distant lands. Ghost’s Lord is waging war against the living, and Ghost is his crimson executioner.
Vampire!Price who works in the mythology and occult department at the University of Exeter. He teaches classes on artifacts, detailing the history of witches and witchcraft in the United Kingdom. These classes are held at night in an old building that’s more cathedral than modern architecture. Students find the ambiance exciting, never knowing that it’s all a ruse. Professor Price is centuries old. He’s lived this history. It’s an artifact he’s after. A cup used by the fallen angel Lucifer said to reverse the bonds of vampiric immortality.
Vampire!Soap is in love with his hunter. You’re as much prey as you are predator. First, your father sought him out, wrongfully believing that Soap murdered his wife. You’ve taken up your father’s mantel, swearing on the man’s grave that you’ll avenge him. Soap finds this amusing, taking it so far as to approach you in an opium den in East London as you were attempting to pick up another vampire’s trail. You’ve taken a liking to him, and this pleases him. Perhaps, when you least expect it, he’ll go in for a bite.
