#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!"

[partiallysame]

Being Price’s lil wife

-Task force 141 knew Price was married. Man wore his ring religiously, always putting it back on the second they were in the helicopter/plane/whatever after each mission

-He’d come to work with a lunch packed with a cute lil heart note

-To be honest they all assumed you were the same age as Price (old) He always said he’d been “married for years” (3)

-They never knew your name, Price only ever referred to you as The Missus

-Gaz swore Price had a photo of you in his wallet (he did) but they never knew what you looked like untilllllllll

-You called your husband simply to complain. The AC had gone out and the repair man wouldn't be able to get there for a couple days. No no this simply would not do, his perfect lil lady could not be uncomfortable in her own home he wouldn’t have it but fuck he’s out of the country for a few more days. His team however is not and while stupid, they do know how to do maintenance work (why? Just because.)

-He called his team for a very important mission. Gave them the address, accompanied with “I don’t want to hear a fucking thing about you causing any trouble or being disrespectful to the Missus you hear?” The boys were absolutely giddy to finally see the ever so important Missus.

-The second you opened the door Soap was apologizing for having the wrong house and oh so politely asked if you knew where the Price household was. This had to be the wrong one because there you stood, pretty young thing, big doe eyes. Standing in just a big shirt ending at the very tops of your thighs, lashes batting at the three soldiers standing at your door.

-“You’ve got the right place. John told me you were coming, please come in.” You had to hold in a giggle, watching all of their eyes go wide. Gaz immediately looking at the sky, the floor, anywhere but the wife of his captain that he was just undressing with his eyes.

-When you turned to guide them into the house they all saw PRICE printed on the back of the large tshirt just barely covering your ass (this is your own home pants are never required and its hot as hell without the ac). Now it was Ghost’s turn to look anywhere but at you.

-As they worked you’d bring them water or snacks. They now understood why Price kept you hidden from them. The perfect lil housewife. The woman of all of their dreams already taken.

-When they were finished they went to the kitchen to inform you they were done only to find a full meal set on the table waiting for them but worst of all? There you were reaching up to the top cabinet. On your tippy toes, your shirt (Price’s shirt) riding up enough to expose the bottom of your ass and lacey pink panties. Soap had to bite his knuckle to keep from groaning. Ghost grabbing the tops of his teammates heads, turning them away from the incredible sight in front of them.

-Price was right to keep you hidden from them

-They might just have to sneak in and break something every time Price was out of town if it meant this is what they got to see.

Price's lil wife Masterlist

[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...?

[rosiereveries]

John who fucks you raw for the first time.

You've been dating for a year now, and you always tried to be safe. But now, he came home earlier from a mission, and you didn't have the time to buy the condoms.

But how you can say no to him, when he begs you to let him fuck you. He says how much he missed you and your pussy. So, you agree that you will give him a pussy job and he can push the tip inside.

John thinks that he never felt anything better than your pussy raw on his dick. Everything feels so intense, and he can't control himself. With few hard thrusts he is completely inside you and he can't hear your whimpers when you remind him that he is only allowed just the tip.

Now he has you under him and he promises that he will pull out, but he slowly starts to realize that it won't be possible. He thinks about you full with his child, with your breast getting bigger and his load spilling out of your pussy. How lovely would you look with his fat baby on your hip while being pregnant with another one.

He never thought he had a breeding kink but once he tried your pussy without a condom everything changes.

He pins you down to the mattress pushing his dick deep inside your pussy and when he feels you reaching your orgasm and squeezing his cock he spills his seed inside of you. With few more thrust he fucks the cum deeper inside of you.

And when you moan his name so overwhelmed and sensitive, he knows that he needs to make sure that it sticks. It doesn't take long and he is spilling another load into you.

And than another one in the shower while he has you pressed against the glass. And another one on the couch when he makes you ride him, while he smokes his favorite kind of cigars.

When the next day you come home with a pack of condoms, he quickly hides them away from you when you're not looking. He needs to make sure that soon enough you will be fat with his baby.

Masterlist

[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.

series masterlist

[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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: Hey so as my stalker exactly how much of my life do you see? Ghost, from inside the walls: Are you asking because you tripped on your own shoelaces in the hallway and fell on your face? Y/N: oh..so you saw that... Ghost, trying to be nice: ....no

[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.

[partiallysame]

Soap accidentally hits on ghosts girl

“What’s a pretty lil thing like you doing in a bar like this?” He asked as he waved to the bartender to get you another of whatever was in your glass. Turing to see who the cheesy line belonged to, you almost let out a laugh before you realized he was being serious. You immediately recognized the man. Simon had one single thing on the walls in his apartment, a photo of the 141. You knew the man in front of you but by the way he was sliding onto the stool next to you he clearly did not know who you were. This was going to be fun. You looked up at him with this big doe eyes and he was already losing it.

You hummed a little as if you were contimplating his question. “Maybe I come here to meet big strong men.” You batted your lashes at him. “Was hoping to meet a couple actually.” Your response made him raise his eyebrows as he took a drink of the glass the bartender had handed him.

“Oh is that so?” He asked leaning a little closer to you.

“Yes it is” your voice dripped with honey as you leaned closer to him. His hand immediately found your thigh at your action. A big smile came to your face, hand reaching up to place itself lightly on his chest. You two stayed like that for a moment both refusing to break eye contact before you leaned in to whisper in his ear. Lips barely brushing his skin as you spoke.

“You know John. You should probably ask if a pretty lil thing like me is single before you touch” his eyes widened when you used his name and threw the nickname he had used back at him. Pulling back slightly your hand on his chest gripped the collar of his shirt. “Or at least ask her name.” Before he knew it, the soldier was being pulled by you off the stool and dragged by his shirt to the front door where the rest of the 141 had been watching.

“This thing belong you?” You questioned pushing the large man towards his friends.

“Sorry lovie” your boyfriend apologized reaching to take your hand.

Oh Soap was so fucked.

part 2

[skyrigel]

Reader who doesn't speak English as their first language and Simon being so in love !!

Over the dinner course, you leaned forward confidently, like you were sharing a secret.

"I think we should buy a baby wheelchair for them."

Price's missus was going to have a baby shower next week.

"Wot?" Simon blinked.

"A baby wheelchair—" You pulled your fist into a punching stance and moved it back and forth, mimicking a tiny car. "Like a baby car… phew phew."

"Oh, that's a stroller." Simon raised a brow, watching your head bobble in a self-absorbed nod.

"Exactly, baby car… stroller."

And it was so cute when you looked up at him whenever you forgot certain words.

"Simon, how do you say in English? The takka-takka-takka—"

"Helicopter," Simon said fondly, earning himself a sweet peck on the lips.

The task force enjoyed it immensely. When Soap said, “Break a leg !” and you raised up a fight at why Simon should break his leg.

Or when Kyle couldn't stop laughing so much with the way you pronounced, “Bitch” to the bird who was hitting up on Simon.

And Simon loved it all, felt love in your eyes through your words, especially when you used his vocabulary—God, it did something to him.

Saying "bugger" when you put too much ketchup, and "bloody freezin’, innit?!" with that corky little smile because you knew how much it wrecked him.

"Bollocks," you would curse, and he’d already be losing his heart and mind, dragging you to the bedroom.

The way you would slip into your native dialect when you were upset, voice rising as you made frustrated noises—Simon would forget the argument entirely, just watching you with that pretty face he’d go to war for.

And something, something about the way you said "I love you" in your native language first, just as softly, and how you called him "my love" in that same way too.

Bloody hell, he’s so in love.

Masterlist

[rosegolden13]

Some thoughts about John Price who owns a hardware store in a small town post-retirement for a bum leg… That man could never be forced to not work. He’s not one to sit still for long, even with a small limp. 

Maintaining the place is simple work, easy on his heart and mind after all the stress of his previous job. Does he miss the adrenaline? The feeling of importance? Of course. So, he runs that hardware store like he’s still a captain. You bet those aisles are fully stocked and organized by product and alphabetized by brand. His book is always neatly filled out at the end of each day, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he records the daily finances and stock in a neat print. 

He wears kakis that fit just a bit too tight around the crotch, a red collared shirt that all the employees wear with a little logo that Soap designed over the chest pocket where John always has a pen tucked away. 

The biggest perk? The cute little clueless bird that comes in irregularly, needing help. Finally, he gets to feel competent again, needed by someone for his skill and expertise. 

The men almost never ask for help, too obsessed with their own masculinity to do that. Most of the women don’t need it, experts at the gardening or DIY projects they’re doing. 

But you? There’s some sort of home maintenance crisis you need help with nearly every month. John’s beyond grateful that you don’t just go on YouTube for tutorials or call a repairman like everyone else seems to be doing these days. He needs those doe eyes of yours trained on him as he explains the different types of hammers they have in stock and which one would be best for that loose floorboard of yours. He needs your sweet, grateful smile as you thank him for all his help.

He’ll get you the right wrench, doll, don’t worry your pretty little head. In fact, here’s his number in case you need help fixing your leaking sink. 

You need fertilizer for your garden? He’ll carry out the premium brand to your car for you and brush off your thanks with a simple “anytime, sweet'eart”.

The rest of the boys come in on their leaves to help out around the shop with stocking shelves and whatnot. Gaz and Soap cackle like hyenas the first time they see Price rush to your side when you tilt your head in confusion at all the different types of super glue. Even Simon is smirking a bit under his mask. The man is whipped.

[femalefemur]

18+ minors do not interact!

so you know that stupid tradition of the groom sticking his head under the bride's dress at the reception to pull the garter off? yeah that but every single one of the 141 would kiss your pussy while doing it.

johnny's full on making out with it over your underwear, leaving it sticking to you from a mixture of his spit and your arousal.

simon's got it pulled to the side so he can plant one directly on it and you can hear the deep rumble in his chest when you gasp in surprise.

kyle would place a kiss right over where your clit is under your underwear before running his tongue up the length of it.

and john would stuff his fingers in you while he gives your clit a harsh suck before letting go with an audible pop, comes out from under there with the garter in his teeth and licking his fingers.

[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.