No one can take you and Simon anywhere with them in public, you hear? Just inside jokes galore. It's you hitting him with the, "Hey there, handsome..." Simon just rolls his eyes in faux irritation and grumbles, "I'm married, sweetheart."
"So am I." Cue the snort, mortified stares from onlookers, and you laughing so hard, you're crying.
Next go round? "What's a pretty thing like you doing here?" "...Waiting on the missus, luv." "Oh. Wanna wait together?" Simon smirks, you guffaw, and you notice someone haul ass from your periphery.
But the crème de la crème? When one (or all) of the boys happens to be out with you two. "Haven't seen you around these parts before. Fancy a shag, gorgeous?" Simon goes, " 'm not that kind of bird, mate. Gotta ask my boyfriend." Kyle and Johnny are a good lot, playing along. Price has rolled his eyes so many times that they practically live in the back of his head at this point, and you can't help but feel sorry for the kindly old couple who heard it all. Poor bloke's eyes were wide as saucers, and his poor wife was clutching her pearls in shock.
Part 2 of Rookie!Reader has no idea she’s unraveling Lieutenant!Simon Riley one small, innocent moment at a time
You, sliding into cover on a live op, breath sharp in your throat. Dirt on your cheek, eyes too wide. Simon sees it and is suddenly right there, chest brushing your back, voice low over comms as he growls, “Stay with me.” He doesn’t move away for a beat too long.
You, squeezing past him in a narrow hallway, the wall forcing your bodies close. Your vest drags across his ribs. Simon goes rigid, shoulders locking like someone hit him with a stun round. He mutters “Careful.” Not like a warning, lke a plea.
You, adjusting your earpiece, thumb grazing the soft line of your jaw. Simon, mid-stride, stopping dead, because your mouth parts just slightly in concentration. His eyes drag from your lips to your throat before he jerks his gaze away like he’s been caught doing something indecent.
You, breathing hard after a sprint between buildings, sweat beading at your temple. Simon reaches out without thinking, thumb wiping a streak of dirt and grime from your cheek. His hand freezes when he realizes what he’s doing. You look away.
You, checking your rifle, leaning in too close because the gunfire’s loud and you need to hear him. Simon’s breath hits your ear. He answers in one word again, “Good.” It comes out rough enough to make your pulse kick.
You, ducking behind cover as a round zips past. Simon grabs your waist and yanks you flat against him, shielding you with his body. His hands stay on your hips a moment too long, fingers pressed firm, claiming.
You, whispering “LT?” when the dust settles. Soft and questioning. Simon, swallowing hard like the word punched the air from his lungs, turns to you with something hungry and frantic in his eyes. He forces it down. Barely.
You, pretending you don’t notice how he’s unraveling. Simon, pretending he isn’t.
Both of you failing.
You, lying awake on your cot that night, pulse rabbiting as your mind loops every place his hands touched you. Your thighs pressing together but it’s useless, wetness already pooling, slick and aching. You slip your hand between your legs, breath catching as your slender fingers slide through the mess he left you with. And god help you, you pretend they were his, those thick, gloved fingers stretching your tight cunt open.
Simon, none the wiser, sitting on watch outside your tent, jaw locked, chest tight, fighting the same hunger clawing through him—your breath, your voice, the shape of your body under his hands. He’s losing the battle before he even admits it’s begun, cock already hard in his gear as he forces himself to stare at the treeline instead of imagining spreading open your thighs.
Hi! I was wondering if you’d be open to writing about 141 guys where they come home after a long deployment. The reader is already asleep like just completely exhausted but when the guys quietly slide into bed to cuddle her, they realize she’s pregnant .Just something super soft and emotional like that quiet moment of realization before all the joy hits.
Oh, absolutely, anon. I adore some soft, sweet, domestic fluff, especially surrounding pregnancy (which is hilarious because I never want to experience pregnancy or childbirth in any capacity) but GOD do I adore it in fiction. I kept this one afab!reader and focused more on the emotions of the 141.
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x afab!reader
Content & Warnings: pregnancy, fluff, domestic fluff, mild language, married life
Word Count: 1k
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John "Soap" MacTavish
Johnny buzzes with excitement. He’s not interested in food or a shower. All he longs for is to hold you in his arms.
He finds you asleep. It’s late, and Johnny didn’t tell you he was on his way home. Why ruin the surprise?
As you peacefully sleep in bed, Johnny kneels on the edge, silently crawling until he’s beside you. The urge to cuddle up to you is overwhelming. Johnny is handsy by nature, and his fingers itch to touch you.
He resists, as much as it bothers him, and simply stares down at you, watching you sleep. For a time, Johnny is content, happy that he’s here with you. You make a small sound, turning to your back, turning again until you’re facing him.
It’s then that he notices a difference.
With a tentative hand, Johnny splays his fingers wide, resting them against your stomach. There’s movement under his hand. And then a sharp kick.
You’re pregnant.
The two of you were actively trying before he left, but Johnny couldn’t imagine this. That he’d come home to you carrying his child. Love floods his heart, a little piece of him healed and happy.
This is perfect. It’s everything.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle is dumbfounded.
Not that it’s impossible, but because he didn’t expect it. Really, he shouldn’t be that surprised. Between missions, you and Kyle were on each other all the time without protection or prevention. Marriage has been wonderful. These last few years have brought infinite joy to Kyle’s life, and when you told him you were ready to start trying, that happiness only increased, consuming him utterly.
It's funny how perplexed he is by this discovery. That for these last few months away, you’ve been pregnant, and Kyle blissfully unaware of it. But now he’s buzzing with excitement, eager to start building the nursery, of turning this home into a suitable place for three. He’s ready to be a father, even if the prospect slightly scares him.
If Captain Price calls him up, he’ll have to wait. You are far more important. He needs to be here for you and the baby, to see his son or daughter be brought into the world. Family is everything. A job is just a job. Price will understand.
Kneeling beside the bed, Kyle delicately strokes your stomach, smiling when he feels the baby move beneath it.
Protecting you is his duty now.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
It’s dark in the house, but that’s to be expected. Simon’s arrival is unanticipated. On a mission, he is unable to contact you.
He silently creeps through the dark house, leaving his boots by the door, dropping his duffle next to the closet, stripping down to nothing, grabbing a pair of sweats from the closet. You remain in bed, undisturbed and peaceful, oblivious to his movements. Bravo, a retired bomb dog Simon adopted, is curled into a ball at the edge of the bed, head down but eyes open, following Simon’s pacing about the room.
Simon stretches and carefully pulls back the duvet, slipping in beside you. You hardly twitch at his intrusion, at how he makes himself the big spoon. As if you know it’s him, even in your sleep, you exhale deeply, melting against him easily. Simon smiles against the back of your neck, his hand sliding over thigh and hip to find your stomach. There’s an unfamiliar swell, and Simon freezes.
It's a slow realization as he flexes his fingers and explores.
Before he left, the two of you were constantly on each other. No protection. No pulling out. Simon only had a couple months off between missions, and knowing that, the two of you made love often.
He’s not sure why this possibility never crossed his mind, that he could return home to find you pregnant, stomach starting to swell with his child. It startles him at first, feeding into an anxious pause, a long-awaited anxiety that always lurked in the back of his mind that he’ll be a terrible father because his own was shit. But Simon is not his father, and you are the most important thing in his whole world.
Sighing with contentment, Simon cradles your stomach, his joy lulling him to sleep.
John Price
John’s body aches. This last mission took a lot from him, pushing John and his team to their limits. Rigorous hardly describes the shitshow. It’s over now. People died on both sides, but it’s finished.
It’s the middle of the day, but the home he shares with you is oddly quiet. Several windows are cracked to let in fresh air. With the mission still fresh, John is alert, moving slowly through the house to check for anything suspicious.
He finds you in the sunroom, napping on one of the lounge sofas. A blanket haphazardly covers you, bare feet sticking out. One arm hangs over the side of the sofa, the book you were reading on the floor beneath your limp fingers.
John carefully moves across the floor, a small worry taking root in his chest. He crouches beside the sofa, and smiles. You’re snoring softly, a little line of drool at the edge of your mouth. It’s hilariously adorable, and John won’t disturb you.
Instead, he settles beside you, snuggling up as best he can without disturbing your sleep. Shifting his weight, his hand slides across your back and over your waist, heading for your stomach. His hand stills. Shifts. Stills again.
You’re pregnant.
John was only gone for a couple of months, but it’s not like the two of you were careful or even attempting to prevent pregnancy. It makes sense, especially with how often he was inside you. You’re further along than the time he was absent, which means you were likely already pregnant before he left.
Did you know? You were hiding it? Waiting to make sure?
John dismisses the questions, because frankly, he doesn’t care. A bit of him is growing inside you, and after so much death and violence, a potential child brings him joy.
innocence never stood a chance against their doubt...
part one two
imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team.
knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you.
water.
water, where your feet can't touch the ground.
water you can't see through.
at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool.
even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid.
your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self.
how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?
Dad’s Best Friend John Price who teaches you how to drive. Owes some favors to the bastard who saved his life and can’t exactly say no when he cashes in on one with driving lessons for his daughter.
Not really complaining though, not when you’d walked out of your father’s house wearing a pair of shorts that exposed far too much of your thighs.
Can’t reach the clutch even with the seat pulled as far forward as it would go, so there’s no other option left love, except for you to sit in his lap, the soft heat of your ass pressed fully against the line of his cock that’d been half hard since the moment you climbed into the truck.
“There,” he murmurs. “Better. Now you can actually feel what you’re doing.”
Hand low on your stomach under the thin excuse of steadying you, the other resting high on your thigh, thumb already stroking slow, idle circles against the soft inner skin just beneath the hem of your shorts.
“Left foot on mine,” he instructs and you obeyed instantly- god, such a good girl- shoe settling over his boot, and his habd on your thigh slides higher, tips of his fingers slipping beneath fabric, resting against bare skin.
Cooing against your hair when he feels you tense, the way your breath catches for half a second before you force yourself still again.
Doesn’t move his hand away, just keeps it there, warm and heavy, thumb stroking higher in slow paths while he guides the clutch with your foot like this is all still just a lesson. Like he isnt already hard enough to ache under you. Like the soft globes of you ass isn’t pressed right against the thick line of his cock with nothing but two thin layers of fabric between you.
“Easy,” he murmurs against your hair, words soft, grip on your thigh not. “Seat’s tight. Keep still for me.”
Every tiny shift of your hips only makes him pull you closer, arm around your waist tightening, dragging you more firmly back against him so you can feel every inch of how hard he is for you now.
Hand under your shirt drifting lower, palm spreading over the soft skin of your stomach, fingers splayed, measuring the space he’s about to claim.
“You’re doing fine,” he says near your ear, voice low, gentle. “Just keep your hands on the wheel. That’s all you need to worry about right now.”
His fingers slipping beneath the edge of your underwear, two thick fingers pushing into your cunt, stretching you open. The wet sound of it obscenely loud in the quiet of the cab. His thumb finding your clit a, pressing down with the same controlled patience he uses for everything else.
“There we go,” he murmurs against your hair, when you head tips back, shuddering moans spilling out. “That’s better.”
Trying to close your thighs, feels too good, already trying to squirm away from the pleasure. His knee forcing them back open, keeping them right where he wants them.
Clicks his tongue while he works you open with, fingers curling deep every time your breath hitches. The arm around your waist never loosens, trapped between his body and the steering wheel, impaled on his fingers, forced to take exactly what he gives you.
“Listen to you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “My best mate’s little girl, dripping all over my hand. Been thinking about this for ahilw. You know how many times I’ve sat across from your father and looked at you and wondered what you’d feel like clamped around me while he had no idea?”
He doesn’t stop when you start shaking, doesn’t ease up when your thighs tremble or when soft, broken sounds start spilling out of you. Just keeps going, thick fingers relentless, thumb steady, until you come with a quiet, wrecked little cry, clenching hard around him.
Price humming low in his chest and keeps his fingers inside you while the aftershocks roll through.
“Good,” he murmurs. “That’s one.”
He pulls his hand free.
You hear the soft sound of his belt being undone, the quiet drag of his zipper, the blunt, hot head of his cock pressing against your cunt, slick with your own mess, and there’s nowhere to go.
“Stay still for me,” he says against your ear, voice almost gentle again as he starts to push in, arms locking tighter around your waist. “Just like that. Nice and slow.”
Sinking into you, stretching you open around the thick length until he’s fully seated and your breath is punched out of your lungs.
“There,” he breathes, almost reverent. “Fuck. That’s it. That’s what I’ve been thinking about every time I looked at you.”
He thrusts hard, just once, and the sound you make makes him groan low in his chest, and he starts moving, doesn’t give you time to adjust, strokes that force you to feel every inch of him, free hand sliding up to rest around your throat, holding you in place while he fucks you with the same patience he used on the clutch as he thinks about how much your father trusts him.
Who’s going to look him in the eye later and thank him for teaching his daughter how to drive. How you’re going to sit across from him at dinner with his best friend’s come still leaking out of you.
❦ task force 141 when they receive teardrop stained letters from their lover ❧
summary: how the boys react when they see your dried up tears littering the letters you send from oceans away
warnings: lowkey just sad, they’re all obsessed and heartbroken. very fluffy
simon “ghost” riley
he notices immediately, brushes his fingers over the wrinkled paper. feels his heart break and swell all at once. he misses you terribly, and it’s killing him that you miss him enough to cry about it but—he’s never felt this loved before. he can’t help but imagine you back at home, curled into one of his hoodies on your shared bed, shedding tears for him. he’s never deemed himself worth much, let alone your pretty tears. he uses the letter as motivation to make it back home to you.
johnny “soap” mactavish
he stares at the smudged ink for a long time before he even reads the words. runs his thumb over one of the water-stained spots like he can feel the exact tear that made it. “oh, sweetheart…” he murmurs, swallowing thickly. he jokes a lot, flirts like it’s a reflex, but this—this makes him ache in the chest. you cried missing him. the idea alone nearly unravels him. he kisses the corner of the letter before folding it back up and hiding it in the inner lining of his vest, close to his heart.
kyle “gaz” garrick
his chest tightens the second he realizes what those faint stains are. you’d been crying. for him. he bites down on the inside of his cheek, blinking hard, reading every word like it’s your last. he hates that you’re hurting, but gods, he loves how open you are with him—how honest, how soft. it means the world. that letter doesn’t leave his side for days. he traces the lines of your writing with a gloved finger when he can’t sleep. sheds a few of his own tears next to yours. he writes back that night, asking you to keep writing, even if you cry. especially if you cry.
captain john price
his hands still when he sees the tear marks. jaw clenched, eyes sharp. the mission’s not over, but he’s already thinking about you. thinking about getting back to you. he reads the letter in private, sitting on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, your words and those little stains etched into his memory. he doesn’t cry—but it’s close. his reply is shorter than usual, more clipped, but there’s a weight to it. “you keep those tears for joy, love. i’m coming home soon.”
In this Choose Your Own Adventure, you've been married to Simon for two years now. When your husband forgets his home-cooked lunch for the third day in a row, how will you deal with it?
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader
Choose Your Own Adventure
🔗 READ/PLAY HERE
🎮interactive fanfic "To Love a Ghost" by Cyberkitty
📖 Episode 1 of 1
