#task force 141 reader

[karlachismylife]

OK 🆗 this isn't a ask I just wanted to say

We all love you and we are amazed and proud of you every day for doing what you do I love your work and believe you are as a person too and I know I probably won't ever meet you in irl but I want you to know that we are here for you as much as you are here for us <3 Love you pumpkin🎃 stay bright! Were her if you fall.

That's such a sweet thing to receive, love, thank you! I'm holding this message right to my heart and feel it calming down. I'm really not proud of myself in general, but as long as I can make people smile and want them to tell other people kind words, I think that's my mission successful.

Since you gave me this pretty pumpkin and we're approaching Halloween, here are some headcanons about task force 141 carving pumpkins.

CW: gn!reader, mild injury mentioned in Gaz's part.

Used the cutest dividers by @saradika-graphics

Soap is the Halloween kid. This might be his favourite holiday of the year (maybe second after Christmas), and the older he got, the more elaborate his celebration became. So you shouldn't have been surprised when one day he grabbed you and dragged along to a proper farmer's market. You just followed him, as he circled around stalls filled with rich harvest, wagging his metaphorical tail, and loaded a little trolley with pumpkins - you surely weren't naive enough to expect him to just choose one, but when he struggled to balance five on top of each other, you had to pat him on his shoulder and caefully suggest that maybe five was more than enough.

You can't really tell how he managed to convince you to help him carry two more, while all thee gaps too small for pumpkins in the trolley got filled with turnips.

At home, you took one look at his sparkling blue eyes, bright asa deep loch on a cool autumn morning, and started covering the whole kitchen in newspapers and oilcloths. And judjing by the whole arsenal of tools Soap whipped out, you made the right call - you only solidified in your decision to cover the floor and windowsills when he grabbed a powerdrill. "Tae scoop all the shite from th' inside," he explained, checking the circular blade and whatever that constructional whisk was.

"Johny, love, are you sure we can't empty them the normal way-"

"Aye we can, tha's nae fun tho, right, bonnie? C'mere, Ah'll show ye."

Yeah, you certainly didn't overprepare with the covers. Everything got covered in pumpkin guts, Johnny's palms were two shades oranger and you had to tug him down to get a few strings stuck in his mohawk,

"Mm, sweet. We can make soup from the scraps," you licked the juice from your thumb, smiling a little to broadly to pretend that going ham on pumpkins with powertools wasn't fun. Johnny, wiping sweat off his forehead and panting after he took on the biggest one - a real monster - solo, grinned like an idiot in return and kissed the sweet taste off your lips.

"Aye. Or cookies. Ah'll clean up, bonnie, and ye collect the seeds, aye? Gonnae fry them too."

After you cleaned the kitchen together from the main carniage, Soap pulled a chair out for you and finally reached for some more traditional tools for the job - although you had to cower a few times when he drilled starter holes to get some work space for the blade.

Johnny was extremely protective over his designs, hiding his work from you and turning his pumpkins away, only showing you the end results with the proudest chest puff ever. They were quite detailed and drastically different from one another, but all scowly, sharp pumpkin fangs and triangle eyes - very, very spooky. When you showed him yours, with round silly eyes, he looked at it for a few moments, tilting his head to one shoulder and then the other, and finally gave his verdict.

"Very cute. Wanntae drill 'im a mouth?"

You spent the whole evening carving all the pumpkins - and the turnips had to wait for a whole another weekend before you managed to go through the giant veggie pile together. There were enough cut scraps for soup and cookies both. Your drill had an orange hue that couldn't be washed off easily.

But the look on Johnny's face, when you lit up all the candles inside them and fixed some fake cobweb he pulled out along all the other decorations, was so worth it all.

As soon as you told Gaz that you wanted to carve pumpkins together, he planted a kiss on your knuckles and grabbed his cap off the shelf to go to the store. Sure, you would've loved to choose them together, but you trusted he would bring back some nice ones - which is why you were surprised to see him with two completely different pumpkins, a small pale one and a much bigger, bright orange.

"Don't look at them like that, angel, I have an idea," you must've looked really upset with the unfair pumpkin difference, because Kyle laughed softly and pulled you into a hug, kissing your forehead and temples. "How about we make a pumpkinburster? You know, the little one clawing its way out from the big one, like in Alien? Pretty creepy, innit?"

That was damn clever, you couldn't lie. Together, you sat down with your respective pumpkins next to you, and sketched for a bit, coming to an agreement over one of the designs - Kyle promised he'll make sure the combined construction would hold together, and you chose the vibe and the way your little pumpkinburster would creep out of the deseased bigger gourd.

Kyle made sure to stock up on snacks and drinks, and put yet another movie from your horror marathon - every day since October 1st, several rounds on days off - on, preparing for your carving session. He took the big boy on himself, leaving you to work on the little guy with all the time for details you could ask for. You sat there, the tip of your tongue stuck between your teeth, going with a tiny scalpeel blade on the little scary teeth of your pumpkinburster, when suddenly the knife slipped on the juice slick covering the place you were diging into, and with a surprised gasp you cut the pad of your thumb.

"Ouch, love, wait, let me see, shush, stay still-" Kyle dropped his knife faster than you even fully realized what happened. Carefully, he grabbed your hand, wiping off pumpkin waste and quickly gathering blood, and inspected the cut with a concentrated look on his face. "Hm. I'm no medic, but I suppose your survival rates are quite high."

Earning a chuckle, he kissed your hurting thumb and then you, before getting up to fetch some better, sterile wipes and a bandaid - after some rummaging, he returned and presented you Halloween-themed bandaids.

"Saw them at the store the other day, couldn't resist, lovie. Wanna have a pumpkin one to remember what battle gave you that scar?" - "No, thank you, I'll take the one with skeletons."

Needless to say, Kyle hovered over you for the rest of the evening, making sure to watch you with all the sharp blades. Somehow, he managed to finish his "chestbursted" pumpkin too, and under your supervision he carefully combined the two, creating your gore galore.

"Do you think we can put a candle in there too?" You asked, leaning your head on his shoulder to admire your work. Chuckling in response, Gaz kissed the crown of your head and sighed dreamily.

"Of course, angel. Whatever you want."

Price took your suggestion to decorate your shared home with a carved pumpkin very seriously. You saw him going through the next few days, stopping at random times and staring into the void - and each time he responded to your concerned questions that he just got another idea for a nice pumpkin design.

Once he had enough of brainsstroming, he took you to go pumpkin shopping; grumbling all the way about how there aren't any "proper" pumpkins left, he, however, trusted your choice completely, agreeing with each and every one you pointed one to him. "Yes, love, that one would be perfect. Oh, you're right, this is even better, look at 'er, so bright... ya wanted another shape? Sure, darling, whatever ya say."

When you brought your prize home, though, everything completely changed: without as much as allowing you to cut the gourd open and take the insides out, John stole it and dragged to his woodwoking table, muttering something under his nose. You were baffled: never would you take him for a greedy pumpkin hoarder, but the truth was right there, all the creative control concentrated in his capable hands.

You waited for hours for him to come out so that you could give him a piece of your mind for cutting you off from the fun, but eventually all the outrage subsided, leaving you to worry about John - he didn't even show his nose when you called for lunch, and all you heard from his workshop area was constant tool buzzing and muffled curses.

Finally, you decided no pumpkin was worth starving himself, so you took a plate with his lunch and carefully entered the working area, immediately inhaling rich pumpkin smell.

"Love, I brought you something to eat... maybe take a little break?" Not wanting to startle him while he was working with a woodcarver, you stopped a few feet shy from his table and reached your neck to sneak a peek at his work.

The rough shape of the face his pumpkin had was terrifying. The ugliest mug you could imagine, something between a scowling smile and... and a Monster INC monster. Even half-done, it looked incredibly detailed, and judging by the amount of tools covered in orangy waste laid out, John used almost everything from his arsenal to carve it.

"Sorry, love, you said something?" Finally noticing you, he put the tool down and turned to you, blinking in confusion when you burst into laughter - how could you not, though, with his beard having te perfect orange shade, thoroughly moisturized with pumpkin juice too.

"I see you've had your lunch break already, but maybe eat something a bit more filling? The pumpkin's not gonna run away. Although it looks capable of anything. Did you have to make it that creepy?"

You leaned down to kiss John, his cheeks clearly blushing from your praise of his ablities to create the ugliest pumpkin critter possible - or from realization how he must look, since you took a napkin and tried wiping his beard clean.

"'Course, darling. How else are we going to scare all the kids away from eating our sweets?"

You were cozying up with Ghost with The Nightmare Before Christmas on - part of your attempts to convince him to wear a Jack Skellington costume - when you hummed at some of the movie background beauty and muttered: "Gotta make sure to go shopping before they buy all the nice pumpkins... wanna come with me? Choose yourself which one you want to do?"

The silence that followed was deafening enough for you to shake the mild sleepiness off and toss in Simon's lap, turning over like a sausage on a stick, tangling in the oversized hoodie (also Simon's, obviously) until you finally managed to push the hood that was obstricting your view off your face and stare at the man himself. Did you even ask out loud or did you even think the question?

"Which one I want to what?" Finally asked Simon, looking at you a little too seriously - his blond eyebrows furrowed as if you asked him a rather complicated mathematical equation, not if he wants to choose his own Halloween entertainment.

"Which one you want to carve? Like, make a Jack-o'-lantern? I thought we could just have each our own pumpkin, make them matching or something. You don't want to?" It was your turn to look confused, but you let your head fall back into his lap and looked at him with a smile. "Don't worry, I won't force you. I can just do a little one for myself."

"No." Simon finally managed a word out and found your thigh to squeeze - for moral support. He looked like he was processing the whole concept of sitting down as a family and carving Halloween decorations together, and you scanned his face, trying to guess what exactly he was thinking. "Let's do each one. But you choose 'em, lovie, I don't know shit 'bout 'em pumpkins."

You wondered if that would be his first time doing this at all or just in a really long time - so you picked up a nice, beginner-friendly, almost cartoon-perfect pumpkin for him and a slighly more lumpy for yourself. "It's got character!" defended you it when Simon looked at your yellowish monster and said it looked "more interbred than the royal family tree".

All that smugness vanished, though, once you sat him down at the kitchen table with a Halloween playlist in the background and dove head first into carving, your enthusiasm making up for the lack of technique.

Simon barely moved, constantly peeking at you and your stabbed interbred gourd. He just managed to start cutting out the circle cap in its head by the time you had already been scraping the inner walls with a spoon - you've never seen him less confident with a knife. Usually it was you who had to be extra attentive with all kinds of blades, while Simon cut anything and everything with a few efficient swipes.

Right now he looked no more capable than a toddler with a plastic knife.

"Need some help, baby?" You asked carefully, and after thirty seconds of inner turmoil, Simon responded with a defeated grunt. Chuckling, you got up, kissed the corner of his scarred lips and snuck behind him, intending to guide his hands Ghost style. Pottery might be more suited, but it still felt heartwarming to show him how to finish that top hole, leaving more or less curvy lines instead of the sharp corners he made with his cuts. "Ooh, look how bright the pulp is! Must be yummy."

You cut yourself a little piece of that bright orange sweetness - as a tax for helping him - and laughed, kissing Simon right after to share it. Then you gave him a sharpie and advised to draw his design on first. It might've been the sightly dimmed lighting in the kitchen, where you already put a few candles for the vibes, or the light reflecting off your bright pumpkins, but his ears definitely seemed quite glowy.

"Hey, no peeking! You have to make up your own face!" You covered your pumpkin from him, but Simon leaned to grumble into your ear, kissing and nibbling on it ticklishly, and seized the moment to grab your creation and turn it around.

There was a pause.

"The fock is tha', lovie." Looking at his dumbfounded face, you snorted and reached to peck him on his nose bump. You knew he'd looove seeing his skull mask recreated in a pumpkin with your less than finesse artistic additions.

"That's my Ghostunkin. You like him? You should, he's your twin!"

"Oi, c'mere ya little shit!"

[itsoutrageouss]

It’s the first time Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley sees you cry that something in him changes profoundly. You had always had your different skill sets out on the field, it was what made you such a powerful duo for the task force. You were sly, agile, a killer in the dark and he was a brute show of force and strength, able to kill with his bare hands. You argued a lot, though. Your differences that made you work so well also made you clash time and time again. He found you annoying. You found him arrogant.

But after a mission, Ghost finds you collapsed on the floor in an empty building— Crying. He’d never seen you do that before, but he knew you were a softer more sensitive soul, you were just good at hiding it.

He was moving before he realised it, crouching down in front of you, eyes narrowed as he tried to find your gaze that was lost in a heap of warm tears. His hands got clammy and his throat dry because how could he make it stop? It was like the sight had reached in and seized a part of him long gone, maybe one he’d never found before now.

“Stop crying.” He said foolishly, but his tone had lost its usual edge, and the very rare lilt of pleading had laced into his voice. Why did he suddenly grab your shoulders and press your trembling body into his? He had no clue but he wanted to shield you from whatever had made you look so vulnerable before him.

A part of him didn’t like seeing this, didn’t recognise the garbled sound of soft sobs, the way your body’s strength seemed to evaporate into a fragile, soft one that he wanted to pick up and put back together. Another part of him was sucking in this moment, afraid it would get lost and maybe feeling a bit guilty about it. But this feeling of… was it protection? Protection, yes. He’d never had it like this before. Usually, protecting means killing and hurting. Right now it meant nurturing as your small hands reached around his neck and you curled into him. He reacted immediately, sitting down and scooping you into his lap.

He closed his eyes, his chin resting on your head with a sigh. He had no idea what came next. This had to change your dynamic in some way because he couldn’t ever look at you the same. He saw your softness and maybe he fell in love with it right there, and wanted to be the one you showed it to. Only him.

“Im sorry” You whispered into his chest. His hands flexed around you, fighting the urge to smother you even more against him.

“Dont say that. Just keep holding onto me.” His voice was more hoarse than usual as his fingers unconsciously combed through your hair.

Whatever had happened, he was sure you felt it too, or you would’ve never let him this close. And he wished for everything you would let him again one day.

pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

[lxvvie]

Simon doesn't think he's ever tasted something so good in his fuckin' life before.

He didn't know what he was in for this time when he got back from deployment, and nicotine and whiskey ain't got shit on this. Poor bastard can't remember the last time he had something so good invade his senses like this.

You said you had a treat for him, made him lay down, and promptly sat on his face, and Simon was fuckin' gone. Don't know what the fuck possessed him but he took one whiff and was instantly hooked.

Simon feasted on your cunt like a man starved. Tongue, lips, fingers, you name it. Anything to get his fix, anything to make you moan.

Anything to make you cum.

Didn't let up for shit, not even to breathe, and when you voiced your concern while whimpering and trembling, Simon didn't give a fuck and still continued to love on your pretty cunt because where the bloody fuck are you going?

Shut up. Shut the hell up and let him make you cum, sweetheart.

Actions have consequences. Shouldn't have made him feel so bloody good, shouldn't have poked at the beast, and he'd be damned if he didn't think this was the best post-deployment gift he's ever gotten. Better than the nicotine high or occasional pity wank.

Fuck, it's been so long and he's absolutely disgusting about it.

And Simon's aware of it all, the way his cock is so hard it's bloody painful and leaking in his pants, the way you're grinding on his face, smothering it and fucking his mouth (don't you dare stop, either), and how his everything is consumed by you. You coat his stubble, fill his nostrils up with your scent, his tastebuds are fired up—bloody hell, need he explain more?

Simon could die a happy man right now, and what would his gravestone say? Here Lies Simon Riley, Died Eating Cunt.

He'd chuckle if he wasn't too busy at the moment. Shit, he probably did if the way you're moaning is any indication. That felt good, didn't it, sweetheart?

It's your turn now to say his name like a prayer and believe in him just as he believes in you.

And it's the best fucking thing to ever bless his ears.

--

Turning Simon Out: Part I and Part II.

[stargirlstabber]

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...?

[sigh-tofm]

when they come home drunk…

… price

- thinks it’s important that he loudly tells you he’s married while you steady him upstairs to bed. points to his ring incessantly, slurs on and on about his perfect wonderful wife with the big ass and soft tummy. you roll your eyes and can’t help but smile when he doesn’t let you hold on to his arm to support him. something about protecting his virtue for his wife, as if you’re not standing right beside him. proceeds to lock you out of your own bedroom when you finally get upstairs, telling you his wife will be home soon so he can’t have a strange woman in their bedroom (but still remarks on your wonderful ass). you decide it’s too early in the morning to persuade your drunk husband to let you in, so you go down to sleep on the couch. you wake up with price sleeping soundly on the floor beside you, having gone to find his wife when she never showed up in his bed the night before.

… kyle

- gets sappy and apologises for being away. loses all concept of time when he’s drunk, says he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to be away so long, he was thinking of you the whole time, the guys pulled him along and he couldn’t say no. while he’s on his knees at your feet, pressing his face to your thighs and mumbling into your marbled skin, almost making you lose your balance with his fervent apologies, you gently remind him that you were the one who made him go out with the boys because he needed to unwind after a stressful weekend of combat drills, and that he had left with them less than two hours ago. he refuses to hear and only hugs your thighs closer, so much so that you have to support yourself on the wall. turns out all he needed to relax was you.

… johnny

- is horny. almost starts drooling when he eyes you at the top of the stairs, after struggling to close the entrance door for a good minute, causing you to investigate what made all the noise. gets a wild look in his eyes when he sees you in just his t-shirt and makes you scream and giggle as he chases you back up the stairs and to the bedroom. being absolutely shitfaced, he has the coordination of a tranquillised moose and stumbles head over heels across the floor, catches his foot on the doorway and narrowly misses the edge of the dresser with his head as he falls. still, his little soldier is courageously tenting his pants when you worriedly lean over him and he gets a good look right into the collar of your shirt.

… simon

- is emotional and clingy. can’t get enough of you, won’t leave you alone. you can’t make out half his words when he’s had this much to drink (and the mancunian in him breaks out too, making it ever harder to make out the words), but you play along, smile and nod and let him sit on the closed toilet seat and talk and talk while you do your night routine in front of the mirror. so lucky to have you, luv. how could’a lug like me get a pretty one like you, luv. his melancholy statements of love become comfortable background noise for you as you remove your makeup and apply moisturiser. lets you wash the sweat and grime of the day off his face with a washcloth, closes his eyes while you massage your floral-scented moisturiser into his skin, never once stopping his little speech. ambles after you out of the bathroom, holding on to the hem of your shirt, when you’re all finished and ready for bed. his devoted mutters only let up when be falls asleep next to you.

[khioneee]

tap out.

simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.

based on this.

simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.

in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.

but simon is an orphan now.

there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.

over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.

the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.

he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.

maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.

no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.

still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.

then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.

it’s you.

you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.

you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.

—you. you. you.

and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.

he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.

you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.

he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.

and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.

with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.

then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.

in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.

his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.

‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.

his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.

you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’

and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.

. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.

wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)

fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!

falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.

they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.

[hidingwhere]

John Prices wife coming to pick him up at the airport after he returns from a mission, but the car is now full of military men.

One look at the three boys, completely exhausted and pulling their phones out to book a taxi had your heart crying. Without thinking, you offered them all a lift to yours and Johns home for them to stay overnight.

So now there’s three men cramped onto your three backseats, John having the luxury of sitting in the front. Simon is on the end (still in his balaclava but luckily not the skull mask because you’d be a little creeped out seeing that every time in the rear view mirror), Johnny in the middle and then Kyle on the other end. Johnny complains for about 10 minutes that he’s squished in and has no room to move but after that he’s completely zonked out on Simons shoulder.

Your music plays quietly through the speakers and they’re happy to listen to anything that isn’t gun shots or explosions.

Once you arrive home, they all climb out the car, grabbing their bags from the boot and dumping them down in the living room.

“Place looks less lifeless than last time I was here,” comments Johnny.

“Finally got a woman’s touch to it,” adds Kyle.

You smile a little at the non-direct compliment. Price also looks around, noticing the little details that have changed or the things that have been added around his house, keeping a hand on your back. He leans down and kisses you gently, mumbling “I missed you” against your lips.

“I missed you too. But it looks like you’ve lost weight.” You glance down at his body. “I’ll fatten you up again,” you tease with a little giggle as he chuckles.

It’s around 9pm by the time you’ve cooked dinner for four people who have appetites of bears. They all look at you as if you’re an angel sent from heaven when they see the food, sitting down at the dining table silently and scoffing down the meal.

By 10pm, you go into the living room thinking they’re all watching TV but instead they’re all asleep. You grab some spare blankets from beside the sofa and cover them up except for John. You shake him awake and make him move upstairs into bed with you. There’s no way you’re letting him sleep on the sofa and not with you after weeks apart.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost: I cut my finger Y/N: I can kiss it so it'll get better Ghost: That works? Y/N: Yeah my mum used to do it when I was little *later* Ghost: I need you to punch me in the mouth Roach: Fucking finally

[rosiereveries]

You're neighbour John who you find sitting on the stairs in your apartment building after he comes home from mission. He is so tired that when he realized that the elevator is broken, he just needs a few minutes to gain more power.

You help him get into his apartment (thank God it's only on the second floor) and you know that you need to take care of this man. You wonder quite a lot how this beautiful hot man can still be single.

So, when you help him sit on the couch in his living room you know that you need to show him how good you could be for him. You know that he likes you, you can hear him moan your name when he is masturbating in his bed late at night.

You just don't know why he doesn't make the first move and asks you out. He doesn't even need to ask you on dinner, if he told you to just get naked and into his bed you would.

You help his get rid of his clothes and you go to prepare a bath for him. You quickly go to your apartment taking all the bath salts and bath oils you could find. You prepare his bath and when you help him sink down into the hot water you can hear him moan from pleasure.

But that not the end, you help him get clean, you wash his hair while he praises you for being such a good girl for him. He tells you how lucky he is that you're taking such a good care of him.

When you massage his neck and shoulder he starts to moan, and you can feel how he's starting to relax. You can't really see his naked body under the foam that is in the bath, but you can imagine. And when he moves, and you see that he is fully hard you know that you can't let your neighbour like that.

So, you slowly start to touch his chest and when you put your hand fully in the water to touch him you can feel how hard he is. He starts to breath faster when you touch him just like he always imagined. He can feel your soft hand around his thick dick, and it been too long since anyone touched him like that.

He is used to his hard hand and fast tempo that will make him cum in minutes. But you take your time with him. You're gently touch him and when you start to slowly kiss and suck his neck, he feels like he is in heaven.

He cums in your hand shaking and moaning your name. You help him to get out of the bath and when he starts to dry himself with towels you clean the bathroom. When he asks you to bring him some clean clothes your just walk away slowly undressing your own clothing.

He finds you in the middle of his bed, naked and waiting for him.

And when the next morning John wakes up after a good night of sleep, he knows that now it's his turn to show you how good he can take care of you. He spends the whole morning fucking you in his bed making you cum on his cock, his fingers and his mouth. He needs to make sure that he thanks you enough for how good you were to him last night.

Masterlist

[luminni]

Simon has a favorite jumper. It's simple, black wool, fits him well, and he wears it all the time. Only problem is, he wears the thing all the time. He's had the thing for years and it's practically all he wears when he's on leave. By this point, the poor thing is threadbare, little holes around the armpits, the neckline, and the cuffs. It's pilling everywhere and it's covered with dog hair (from where, he has no clue).

You loved the jumper on him, he looked fantastic in it, but even you could see the thing was in a dire situation.

"Simon?" You questioned, holding up the jumper in your arms, folding it after its last round in the wash (which it mercifully survived).

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever...thought about getting this thing dry cleaners?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Don't trust 'em, they'll ruin it."

It was a simple answer, one that told you the subject wasn't up for debate. But just because he didn't trust the dry cleaners with his jumper didn't mean he wouldn't trust anyone with it. And there was no one he trusted more than you.

...

Simon came home from his last deployment late into the night, trudging through the front door and setting his bag down as gently as possible as to not wake you. Toeing his shoes off and finally being able to tug off his mask, he couldn't wait to get out of the rest of his gear.

Stepping lightly through the house, dodging the floor boards he knew were going to be squeaky on his journey to the bedroom. Ready to join you in bed the moment he got into a pair of sweat pants.

When he opened the bedroom door however, he did not find you tucked away in the covers. You were crouched on the floor, humming along to quiet music playing on a small speaker. And you were bowed over that black jumper of his.

"Love?"

"Oh! Simon you're home!" You squealed, jumping up and throwing yourself into his arms, snuggling your face into his chest and drinking in the scent you had been without for so long like you could get drunk off it, and in many ways you could.

"Hey there sweet'art" he cooed, practically purring it into your ear and enclosing you in a big bear hug. "What'er ya' up to?"

"Oh just..." you turned back around, anxiety lacing your voice, "doing a little repair work." You handed him his black jumper, folding it into his hands.

He could believe his eyes, it was smooth like it was new, no pills of fabric clinging to it. The tiny, threadbare areas and holes were patched up. Now, perfectly matched black wool was weaved in to fix it. He stared at you, wide eyed, in disbelief while you just grinned nervously. He brought it up to his face, no dog hair to be seen and it smelt like you had just picked it up off the shelves.

He kept on staring at you "how..?"

"I just," you turned back around, grabbing the sweater trimmer, the replacement wool, the sweater scent spray, and the lint roller, all in your hands. "Used a couple things" You grinned

Simon could have sworn he never felt this way before. There was this weird tightness in his chest, it felt like it was going to explode. He had owned that sweater when he Tommy was still alive, that sweater had seen the first pub crawl with the 141 boys, he wore it on your first date. The sweater was more than just something he wore often, it was his good memories wrapped up into one piece of soft and comfortable wool. His arms moved before he could stop them and he buried you in another hug, squeezing you (and his jumper) into him.

"Oh- Simon!" You giggled, dropping your supplies.

He buried his nose into you shoulder, lifting you up into him, off your feet.

"Thank you," he murmured, voice cracking a bit, "thank you."

[itsoutrageouss]

Sitting on Simon’s face to shut him up?

It's when you think he gets too arrogant, too mouthy that you push Simon 'Ghost' Riley down by the shoulders. He could easily stop you and you both know it. But he welcomes it, a little taken aback by the sudden gesture but intrigued.

You had been arguing over yet another mission- he said you were too soft and sentimental, you said he was too cold and aloof. One day arguing had led to him hoisting you up against the wall and fucking you to prove a point. You guys hard argued a lot more since then.

He lets himself lay down on the bed, feet still planted on the ground. It takes you 0.1 second to slip off your panties under your skirt before you're crawling over him, climbing him like a tree and slowly sitting yourself down

You manage to catch his eyes before his face disappears under your skirt. You think it might be love, the way he looks up at you.

And it worked because he doesn't say a single thing- no protest or thanks. He just gets to work, hands curling around your thighs, opening his warm mouth for you and letting his tongue delve into your cunt. Eventually there's a groan of appreciation that sends shivers up and down your spine, making you arch and simultaneously press yourself down onto his mouth harder. He sticks his tongue out in response, urging you to move by yourself with a tug on your hips.

It had been a ridiculous discussion where he'd been praising his skills far too much and yours far too little- but it melted from your mind as you rocked your hips over his face, feeling his nose nudge your clit.

He mumbles against you, slobbering and sucking diligently -doing his duty- serving his apology with gentle sucks on your clit.

His eyes are closed tightly. What had you been arguing about? And why exactly hadn't you shut him up like this before? And would you pretty please do it again?

He feels you drip down his chin and onto his neck, his brow furrowing as he groans. He wanted to actually at you up, gently scraping his teeth on your sensitive clit as you cum all over his face. He was gonna piss you off more often now on purpose if this was how you'd punish him.

[lxvvie]

Simon never thought his body was anything special—not really.

He's just keeping fit because it's part of the job, sweetheart, so body worship wasn't on his bingo card when you invited him over for some rest and relaxation.

Well, not his body, yeah?

Your eyes lit up like it was fuckin' Christmas when you saw him. Simon had just gotten out of the shower, hadn't really had time to put his towel on, and what the fuck is it with him losing track of time when he's with you? All Simon remembered was hearing you mutter "Bloody hell..." under your breath (heh, he's rubbin' off on ya) and next thing he knows, Simon's laying on your bed. Naked. Under you. Wait a fuckin' minute—

His mind goes blank when he watches you watch him; you look at him like he's a fuckin' masterpiece, like he's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, body hair, cuts, bruises, burns, dents and all, drooling without the drool or what the fuck ever, but shit, it's enough to make Simon's face hot. If he wasn't embarrassed then, he's sure as fuck embarrassed now, and he'd bet every pound he had that knobhead Johnny would have a field day with this.

It's the way you kissed, nipped, and sucked everywhere you could (Christ, you even played with his nipples), making him feel so good, making him feel so bloody seen. Rough skin against your softness, and he's never felt so self-conscious before. You were so damn careful with his latest set of bruises, so fuckin' kind and considerate that he felt his heart jump.

It's the way you ran your hand down, all the way fuckin' down, until it wrapped around his cock. His cock that you're lazily stroking, his cock, hot, heavy, leaking, just... what the fuck are you doing to him?

It's the way you kissed Simon's Adam's apple, soft, gently, and he was afraid to swallow because he thought he'd lose something but he sure as hell felt the goosebumps on his skin and shivers run down his spine.

But it's the coup de grâce, you swopping down to kiss the scar dangerously close to his lips, that shatters Simon completely. Breaks him down so fuckin' much that he's practically holding on to you for dear life. He leans against your touch, wonders what the fuck it would feel like to have your lips against his, and he barely registers the fact that he came, not earth-shattering but a warm blanket over him, and it feels like his very first time.

Fuck, this should've been his very first time.

"Aw, you do turn bronze when you tan, Simon!" He looks down, takes inventory of his tan lines (when has he ever lied to you, sweetheart?), looks up at your beaming smile, snorts, and rolls his eyes. If this were anyone else, he'd probably be pissed that the mood was broken.

It's you, though, and it makes everything feel right.

__

Turning Simon Out series

[certifiedyapperx]

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”

[simonrileysfavteacup]

Simon picked your engagement ring himself. He went to the jeweller, saw the ring, and immediately thought of you. He loves it. He’s always kissing your left hand. He’s so in love with you, it aches. 

When the two of you finally get married, he never stops looking at his ring. It’s a plain thick silver band, but he loves it so much. He’s just so afraid he’ll lose it. 

Instead, he wears the ring on his dog tag chain and gets your initial tattooed on him. The day he comes home from deployment, at first, you don’t notice anything different but his facial hair. Then, when you ask him to get you a fork at dinner, you gasp, “What’s that?”

“What?” he raises a brow.

You grab his hand, pointing to the tattoo. “What? Where’s your ring? What’s this?”

“Here,” he tugs at the chain around his neck. “And ‘is is jus’ to show people ’m married.”

“It’s permanent!”

“Is our marriage no’ supposed to be?” 

“But-”

“Are ya tryin’ to leave me, lovie?”

“No…it’s just…permanent…”

“Good. You’re my Mrs. ‘hat’s permanent too.”

You giggle. “Fine. I’m getting one too.”

“Like ‘ell you are. ‘M not letting you ruin that perfect skin.”

“But-”

“Lovie,” he warns. “No means no. I know how much you love me and you hate needles.” 

“Okay…”

“You could spread your legs to prove it though.”

“SIMON!”

[khioneee]

simon is too big for you.

his hands gripped your hips firmly, his breath heavy and labored as he tried—really tried—to ease himself into you. but no matter how patient he was, how slowly he pushed, your body resisted, tightening around the sheer size of him.

simon was desperate—aching to thrust, to rut into you without restraint. every muscle in his body screamed for release, the urge to roll you beneath him and pound his seed into you overwhelming.

he wanted to bury himself so deep that your body had no choice but to take him, to force his release to take root in your belly.

“fuck…” he muttered under his breath, resting his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his composure. “you’re so tight, lovie. i don’t think i’m gonna fit.”

every inch he fed you burned with pressure, leaving you gasping, your fingers digging into his arms as you trembled beneath him. your body clenched instinctively, fighting to accommodate him, but it was too much—too thick, too deep. you whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “si, it’s… you’re too big!”

“shhh, you’ll take it,” he whispered, voice hoarse with restraint. “you’ll take all of me, i promise.”

he exhaled sharply, every muscle in his body tense from holding back. “relax, sweetheart,” he coaxed, brushing a soft kiss along your jaw, his hands slipping lower to hold you steady. “i know it’s a lot… but you can take it, yeah?”

you nodded shakily, lips parting with a soft moan. “try again… please,” you whispered, gripping his shoulders tighter. “i want you. all of you.”

with a low growl, he began to push forward, inch by agonizing inch, feeling your walls flutter and stretch around him. “good girl,” he murmured through clenched teeth, savoring the way your cunt fought to take him. “that’s it. you’re doing so good for me.”

it was slow—painfully slow—but with every careful thrust, you felt yourself adjust just a little more, inch by inch, as he stretched you wider than you’d ever thought possible. and the moment he was finally buried inside you, completely, ghost let out a low, guttural groan.

“see?” he whispered against your ear, a grin tugging at his lips. “i told you—you’d take me, love. every inch.”