#141+

Simon simply watched from the other side of the room. He wasn't the dancing type either.

Hell. He'd probably step on her feet every ten seconds.

But if dancing meant wiping that sad little look off her face…

He would've become fucking Michael Jackson.

She'd visit the base every now and then just to make sure Johnny had properly eaten.

Always carrying a bento box.

Rice. Meat. Vegetables.

Enough food to feed half the bloody task force.

Sometimes she'd bring sweets for the whole team, too.

The moment she left, Johnny popped the lid open.

"Tch. Don't like this."

Without a second thought, he shoved the whole thing across the table.

"Anyone wants it?" Simon frowned.

The fuck?!

Simon would never do that.

Never.

If she had made that lunch for him…

He would've eaten every last grain of rice.

Hell, he'd lick the damn container clean before letting somebody else touch it.

Days kept passing, and Johnny kept running his fucking mouth.

Complaining.

Rolling his eyes whenever her name came up.

Like loving her was somehow an inconvenience.

How she wanted to dance.

How she always worried if he'd eaten.

How she texted him good morning every single day.

Then came the night at the bar.

Simon hadn't meant to look. Johnny didn't care enough to hide it.

One hand around another woman's waist.

Then..

...a kiss.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

How could anybody cheat on such a perfect bird like ____?

If she were his… He would've thanked every God willing to listen just for letting her choose him.

Still. As furious as it made him…

That wasn't what finally broke him.

It happened back at base.

Johnny started talking about his first time with the missus.

"She's always asking for kisses. Wants hugs all the bloody time." The whole room laughed. Simon looked up from the paperwork in front of him.

"And don't even get me started on sex. She keeps trying to make it all romantic while I'm just trying to stick it in—" Johnny never got to finish that sentence.

The lieutenant's fist broke his nose before anyone even realized he'd moved.

"THE FUCK, RILEY?!" Blood poured down Johnny's face while he stumbled back, holding his nose. The room fell dead silent.

"I'm taking the missus away from you."

"You what?"

"Heard me."

Without another word, he turned around and walked out of the base.

Somehow, he ended up standing outside their apartment.

He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there.

He just knew he'd started driving.

Now he was here.

"Oh… You're Johnny's teammate, right?" She smiled politely.

"…Yeah."

"What brings you he—"

"You know he's cheating."

Her smile faded.

"You already knew. You're not stupid." She didn´t answer. Didn´t have to.

Simon clenched his jaw.

"…Take me instead." She blinked.

"…Excuse me?"

"Take me instead of that fucking asshole."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough." She looked away.

"I'd treat you better. The way you deserve." She turned to stare at him.

"…Why?"

For the first time that night… Simon hesitated.

Then he didn´t.

"I'd never make you beg."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

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.

-

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He threw you onto the backseat and pushed the seats of the mom van all the way back. You didn't have to say anything, Simon just went straight to business. He pulled your shorts off and eat you out like a hungry beast. As you were inside the car, in the garage, away from the kids, you weren't afraid to moan your heart out. He growled into your pussy, ravishing the flavor he so much missed. Finally, he had you all for himself. 

The car shook with every deep stroke in you. Simon was moaning in your ear, finally releasing all his frustration into your poor pussy. Rough, desperate for attention. He held your arms behind your back so you wouldn't escape, as if you wanted to begin with. His heavy balls impacted your ass, making a sloppy sound that just added an extra touch to the muffled lust symphony.