Morgan Myst

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 Price

The air reeks of car engine oil, thick with humidity, and clinging to your skin like honey the moment you step into the garage. John is crouched next to his car removing the lug nuts, his gaze flicking in your direction when you enter. As you pass by him, a small breeze from outside kicks up, sweeping into the garage and ruffling the hem of your dress.

John’s head wipes around. “Hold on, love.” He reaches for you. “What’s this?”

You swat his hand away. “Your hands are filthy, John.” For most of the day, John has been in the garage working on his car. He’s shirtless and sweaty, hands greasy. “You’ll ruin my dress.”

“I’ll ruin more than that if you keep walking away from me,” he scolds, grabbing a nearby towel and scrubbing at the grease on his hands. “Lift your dress.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you ask. “The neighbors are right there.” You gesture with one arm toward the open garage door.

John, with a knowing smirk, stands as he cleans in his hands. With a jerk of his head, he indicates the front of the car. “Stand there and they won’t.”

You place a hand on your hip and stare at him, pretending like you’re annoyed when really, you’re buzzing beneath your skin. Mimicking the gesture, John discards the dirty towel. The man never takes your shit. He always knows when you’re up to something.

Sighing loudly, you stomp over to the front of the vehicle. When you make no move to do anything else, John saunters over, flicking the hem of your dress. “Lift it.”

“Why?”

He takes a step forward. Then another. Another and the backs of your legs are pressing into the front bumper. “Because,” he says, “a little breeze went by, and you had nothing on underneath.”

You keep a straight face. “Not true.”

John holds your gaze in challenge. “Then show me.” Your mouth forms into a thin line but you’re not backing down. “Thought so,” he chuckles.

One moment you’re facing your husband, and the next you’re facing the windshield, your front pressed into the hood of the car, the skirt of your dress flipped up. There is no hiding what’s underneath—which is absolutely nothing.

“Thought you could leave like this?” John tuts and gives your ass a quick spank.

You push up with your palms, twisting to look at your husband. “The neighbors, John.”

“Fuck the neighbors,” he growls, undoing the front of his belt.

Your core clenches, and a slickness blooms. This is what you were after, and he knows it. A little pressure, and you’re moaning, fingers curled and desperately clinging to the hood as John thrusts. Possessive to the bone.

The dust and dirt on the hood will ruin the dress, but you hardly care. John is stroking deep, keeping you pinned in place as he deals out his punishment. You eagerly push your hips back, meeting him, begging to be filled.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“That new?”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

Kyle gives you an exaggerated once-over. “Give us a spin, yeah?”

Giggling, you twirl. The dress you wear is linen and stops just above the knee. The skirt portion of the dress has a slight flare to it, giving it a flowy quality, allowing plenty of movement. The only difference to this look is that you’re not wearing anything underneath.

Sometimes, you need to keep Kyle on his toes.

The breeze from your spin teases your bare thighs and buttocks, and when you come to a full stop, Kyle’s eyebrows are arched toward his hairline in clear shock.

“What?” you laugh, pretending like you’re oblivious to the fact that you’re not wearing underwear. “Something wrong?”

Kyle’s initial shock ebbs, becoming curious interest. “Were you expecting me to find out now, or later?” He shifts closer. “How many people would see what’s mine before I noticed?”

You keep your head held high, and the only emboldens him. “Why do you do this to me?” but he says it with a smile, as if the whole situation amuses him.

As he nears, Kyle seizes the backs of your thighs, squeezing tightly. You’re unable to step back, but this is exactly where you want to be. Your hands go up to his shoulders, holding you steady as his hands massage the backs of your thighs, slowly creeping upward to the curve of your backside.

Kyle’s head dips in intimate connection, lips slightly parted like a kiss is imminent. A swirling tingle blooms under your skin, roaming outward until you’re warm everywhere. As Kyle’s lips graze against yours, a finger parts your pussy, revealing your slickness.

“Tried to leave like this, and you think I’m going to reward you?” Kyle’s hands suddenly disappear. He backs away, shaking his head. On his pointer finger he twirls your car keys. “Think again.”

You lunge for him, aiming for the keys. “Kyle!”

He sidesteps you easily, pocketing the keys. “Think I deserve an apology. Making my heart race like that,” he coos.

“I don’t have to wear anything under here if I don’t want to,” you retort.

Kyle shrugs, unperturbed. “Course you can. Didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“We’re playing semantics now?”

Kyle plops himself onto the sofa, spreading out, lazily tapping his thigh in an invitation to sit. “We are. But we can play while you’re on my lap.”

Damn him.

You stomp over to the sofa, but you’re not actually angry. If anything, you want to do exactly what he’s telling you to do: to ride him as you argue.

Kyle’s pants are down the moment you sit down, guiding his cock into you. You both groan, and then you’re bouncing on his dick.

From the softness in his brow, you know Kyle’s arguing comes from a place of teasing. “I’m mad at you, love.”

“No, you’re not,” you gasp, grinding your hips.

“Furious,” he says, bunching your dress at your hips to give himself a clear view.

“Liar.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Johnny!”

“Been hiding this, lassie?”

You’re bent over the nearest surface which just happens to be the arm of the sofa. You nearly made it outside without Johnny noticing that you aren’t wearing anything under your dress. Testing Johnny’s awareness is always a gamble. This time, your shenanigans did not pay off.

Placing your palms flat on the cushion, you attempt to push yourself up. A stinging retort is on your lips, and you want to hurl it at Johnny. You make it a few inches before he’s shoving you back into position, your bare ass in the air, toes hardly touching the hardwood, cheek pressed into the sofa cushion beneath you.

“We’re going to be late,” you snap, but that hardly appears to faze him.

Johnny glides his hands up and down the backs of your thighs. “Aye. That’s a pretty sight.”

Your pussy clenches, the lust in his words sending a shiver through you. Johnny chuckles, his large, calloused hands sliding between your legs to guide them apart.

“Did this on purpose. Didn’t you, lassie?”

There’s no use denying. Whatever you say won’t really matter. And it’s not like you don’t want this. Going without was a tactical move, a teasing one because you love Johnny riled up.

You suck on your bottom lip, teeth slightly pressing into the flesh as you refuse to confirm or deny the accusation. Keeping his hands firmly on your ass, Johnny uses his thumbs to open your pussy, revealing how turned on you are.

Johnny licks a line up your cunt, dipping the tip inside briefly before retreating. “Won’t talk? That’s fine.”

A hand falls away, and then Johnny spits onto your cunt, following the saliva with a sharp slap to your pussy. It fucking stings but it’s as good as it hurts. Your muscles clench and Johnny repeats the movement. The contact of his palm against your pussy creates a wet sound that fills the room. You’re turned on and whimpering, shifting your legs wider, your big toes the only part of you touching the floor.

“I know you, lassie. Could have asked if you wanted a fuck,” chuckles Johnny, shifting into a new torture.

Johnny slides two fingers into your pussy, moving them back and forth, fucking you while his other hand lightly spanks your clit.

“Johnny. Baby,” you gasp. “I’m gonna come.”

Just as your body tenses, Johnny replaces his hand with his mouth, sucking on your clit until you bear down around his fingers, crying into the sofa cushion as the orgasm hits you. The wave is bright and loud, flooding your senses, making you numb to everything, reality only flashing back when Johnny shoves his dick inside you, bottoming out.

It’s rough, forcing your pelvis into the sofa arm, but you smile through it, moaning happily until Johnny’s end comes. He holds just the tip inside as he fists the base. Warm cum fills your pussy. You gently squeeze your muscles around the head, milking every drop.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Playful to punishing.

One moment you’re twirling for Simon, showing off the cute dress you just bought, and the next, his hands are under your dress, his mouth slightly parted, the middle of his brow creased as he realizes you’re not wearing anything underneath.

Simon kicks the stairwell door shut with his booted foot. You hear the lock engage, and then he’s on you. Turning you around to face away from him, Simon brings you down onto your knees. Your hands go out, steadying your descent, shifting to your forearms for support. He hardly says a word. It’s all grunts behind you as you’re forced onto your hands and knees, spread out over the stairs in submission.

Simon has his dick out and inside you in seconds. It’s startling, actually. The man is thick, and you choke on an exhale as he bottoms out.

This isn’t your home. It’s a goddamn parking garage attached to the building you and Simon live in. Any resident could scan themselves in, open the door and find Simon crouched behind you, dicking you down in a weird, reverse mating press that’s more doggy in nature. And if someone doesn’t come through the door, they could come from above with a much clearer view.

This is what happens when you think you’re being funny.

Simon’s hands slide up, grasping your throat without squeezing. Your pussy flutters, tightening with arousal as he continues to rut into you. Leaving the apartment with no underwear on was only going to result in Simon fucking you.

“Giving me an open invitation,” he growls, the first words he’s said since sticking his dick in you.

Around you, the wet slap of your bodies meeting, your breathy gasps, and Simon’s feral grunts echo off the walls.

“After,” huffs Simon. “In the car. You’re gonna finger yourself. Push all my cum back into this perfect fucking cunt.” Your response is a little whimper as Simon thrusts harder. “And then I’ll fuck you again. Fill you up. We’ll go to lunch with your family. They won’t even know.”

Simon’s grunting becomes a groan, heady and wanton. You recognize the sound, and your body responds to it. He’s going to come, and you’re about to take all of it.

Simon’s hips snap forward, grinding into you. Warmth floods your pussy.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he chuckles, promptly removing himself from you.

Your limbs melt, but Simon has you up on your feet. He tucks himself back into his pants, and then you’re out the door, the two of you hurtling toward the black SUV parked nearby.

“In the back,” he instructs, opening the rear door.

You slide in, turning onto your back immediately, spreading your legs wide so Simon can see your cum-filled pussy. He follows in after you, his gaze trained on that spot.