#taskforce 141

[sweetpianoxoxo]

Breeding kink! Breeding kink! Breeding kink!

Simon Riley, who has hyperspermia. Can fill a condom with just his precum and doesnt really have sex anymore cause most women dont wanna run the risk of being pregnant.

Until he meets you.

You, who beg for him to cum inside and sleep with his cock still in 'so it sticks'. You who will bend over any surface for him if you can tell hes getting uncomfortable.

After the first time fucking you, he fell completely into the idea of breeding you too. Couldn't stop imagining you swollen with his copious amounts of seed, holding your intertwined love in that tummy.

And of course, within weeks, it would happen. People would call him crazy for getting a girl pregnant that he wasn't even dating for a month.

He liked to think he was efficient.

[softsnarl]

cw: fatshaming; misogyny; Simon is ready to snap necks and disembowel someone for you

You lean against the kitchenette counter in the rec room, stirring sugar into your tea while three junior sergeants from logistics hover nearby, pretending to wait for the kettle but really just loitering.

One of them, Sgt. Harris, glances over with that fake-casual smirk men get when they’re about to say something they think is clever.

“Honestly, love, you’ve got such a pretty face. You’d be an absolute bombshell if you dropped a few stone.”

The other two snicker into their cups like he just invented comedy, but you’re not fazed. It’s one of those backhanded compliments you’ve heard many times before.

You take a slow sip of peppermint tea, clicking your tongue and letting the silence stretch just long enough for them to start shifting their weight awkwardly.

Then you smile, sweet as arsenic.

“Funny you mention that,” you reply, calm and clear. “That exact attitude is why you lot are eating instant chicken-flavour Ramen for dinner every night instead of something someone actually cooked with love.”

Harris opens his mouth, but you’re not finished.

“And just so we’re crystal clear: I wouldn’t date any of you boys now, and I still wouldn’t date you if I lost fifty pounds. My standards aren’t measured in kilos—they’re measured in basic human decency, and you’re all currently deep, deep in negative numbers.”

You push off the counter, tea in hand, and brush past them without spilling a drop. Behind you, the kettle clicks off into dead silence.

From the doorway, Simon (who’s been standing there the entire time, arms crossed, mask in place, ready to kill) finally speaks, voice low and flat as ever:

“My wife is a bombshell olready, and you sorry lot wouldn’t know what to do with one if it fuckin’ detonated in yer lap.”

He steps aside to let you pass, hand settling possessively on the small of your back as you walk out together, giving your generous curves a possessive squeeze; his buff chest puffed out with pride.

They go quiet, ears pink, heads lowered like pups submitting to the big dogs.

Needless to say, Simon will make their lives a living hell for disrespecting his a woman like that.

[ ᴄᴏᴅ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ]

[ghostedink]

This is heavily inspired by @twolegsandbleeds and their Simon can’t flirt series<3 (go read it. It’s amazing.)

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

Simon Riley didn’t do soft.

He didn’t do gentle smiles across a room or teasing glances that lingered too long. He didn’t know how to lean against a wall and charm someone with a few well placed words. Those were things other men did—men who grew up in homes where love looked like laughter and warm dinners.

Simon grew up where love looked like broken dishes and bruised knuckles.

So when he realized he liked you, it confused the hell out of him.

It started small. You worked nearby—same building, different department. He’d seen you around enough to recognize the soft way you moved through rooms, like you were trying not to disturb the air. Always polite. Always quiet. Eyes that never quite held his for long.

At first, he thought you avoided him because of the mask.

Wouldn’t be the first.

But then he started noticing other things.

The way you’d freeze when he walked past, shoulders going stiff. The way your fingers would tighten around whatever you were holding. The way you’d duck your head so quickly he barely caught a glimpse of your face.

Right.

You were scared of him.

Simon leaned back in his chair in the rec room one night, arms crossed as he stared at the ceiling.

Brilliant, Riley.

Still… it didn’t stop the feeling.

It was strange, liking someone. He didn’t know what to do with it. Soap had once said something about flirting—buying drinks, cracking jokes, smiling.

Simon wasn’t about to start cracking jokes.

After two weeks of overthinking it, he came to a conclusion.

Best to just ask.

Direct.

Clear.

Efficient.

All the things he was good at.

So the next morning, when he saw you standing alone near the coffee machine, he decided that was as good a moment as any.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You were focused on the coffee cup in your hands, carefully stirring sugar into it. Humming under your breath as the small spoon clinked softly against the ceramic.

Simon approached like he would a hostile building.

Measured steps. Quiet. Controlled.

When he stopped behind you, his shadow fell across the counter.

You noticed immediately.

Your shoulders stiffened.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned.

And then you saw him.

Six foot something of silent military presence, broad shoulders filling the small breakroom doorway. His skull mask stared down at you, dark eyes watching from behind it.

Your brain immediately chose panic.

Your hands tightened around the coffee cup like it might protect you.

Simon studied you for a moment.

You looked… small.

Not weak. Just… delicate. Like if someone spoke too loudly you might flinch.

He frowned slightly behind the mask.

Right.

Words.

He cleared his throat.

It came out rough.

“You.”

That did not help.

Your eyes widened immediately.

Simon mentally swore.

He tried again.

“You’re… uh.”

Christ.

Why was this harder than interrogation?

“You’re the one who works down the hall.”

Your voice came out soft and nervous.

“Y-yes, sir.”

Sir.

He hated that.

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh—sorry—”

You looked like you were about two seconds from apologizing yourself into the floor.

Right. Focus.

Simon straightened slightly, forcing himself to just say it.

His tone was blunt. Matter-of-fact.

“I want to take you out.”

Your brain completely short-circuited.

“…what?”

Simon nodded once, like he was confirming a mission objective.

“Dinner. Or coffee.” He gestured vaguely at the machine. “Whatever people do.”

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Your face slowly turned pink.

Simon misread your silence immediately.

His stomach dropped.

Right. Of course.

Why would someone like you want anything to do with someone like him.

“You don’t have to,” he said quickly, voice flattening into its usual military tone. “Was just askin’. Forget it.”

He started to turn away.

And that’s when you panicked.

“N-no!”

Simon froze.

Slowly, he turned back.

You were gripping your coffee cup with both hands, face red, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“I mean—” you swallowed hard. “I—I’d like that.”

Simon stared at you.

“You would.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded quickly.

“Y-yes.”

Simon studied you again.

You were clearly terrified.

Fidgeting. Avoiding his gaze. Nervous energy practically vibrating off you.

And yet… you said yes.

Something unfamiliar settled quietly in his chest.

Not pride.

Not victory.

Just… warmth.

He nodded once.

“Alright.”

You waited.

Simon waited.

Neither of you moved.

Finally you asked softly, “S-so… when?”

Simon considered it like he was planning a tactical operation.

“Friday.”

“O-okay.”

“Six.”

“Okay.”

Another pause.

You looked like you might faint.

Simon shifted awkwardly.

Then, after a moment, he added gruffly,

“I won’t wear the mask.”

Your head snapped up in surprise.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck again, clearly uncomfortable.

“Figured it might help.”

Your expression softened just a little.

And for the first time since the conversation started…

You smiled.

It was small.

Shy.

But real.

Simon felt something in his chest do a strange, unfamiliar flip.

Yeah.

Maybe this whole flirting thing wasn’t as hard as he thought.

[zee-what-i-zee]

pregnant but simon just pisses u off.

Simon was a big teddy bear, and you loved him for it!

But that big teddy bear needed to back up and leave you the fuck alone.

Being pregnant was already a struggle, but being pregnant with a Riley baby is even harder.

Simon himself was in the 95th percentile when he was born, so of course, his baby was as big as a watermelon at 6 months.

So with a watermelon-sized baby kicking and bouncing on your bladder, and big teddy bear Simon constantly trying to help you where overstimulated.

“Lovie you shouldn’t be walkin’ let me just help ya?’

This was your last straw, you where pregnant not helpless.

”Oh my fuckin’ god Simon! I swear to god let me breathe.”

You gritted out jabbing a finger at his stupidly sculpted chest.

Simon looked stunned, he just stared at you mouth still agape.

He looked heart broken and now you felt bad but you where an independent bad ass, so you walked waddled off to the kitchen.

The next few days Simon was letting you breathe, but a little to much.

He stopped helping you get plates from the top shelf, no massages, no shared showers. None of it.

And now you where even more pissed, after a lonely shower you walked to the bed climbing in next to him.

”babe..why are you ignoring me?”

You mumbled out with a whine tinged in, you looked over at him a big fat pout on your lips.

”ignoring? Thought you wanted to breathe?”

He huffed out putting his book down and turning to face you.

”So you hate me?”

You glared into his soul and he looked distraught, he immediately started stuttering.

“doll- i no i would never hate you! i love you.”

Simon was a blubbering mess, and thankfully you decided that being angry wasn’t worth it today.

i hate this one a lot.

all work done by @zee-what-i-zee

[witchthewriter]

Simon Riley who took you home after a night out, expecting sex but you couldn't go through with it.

You were both already naked, your hands on his chest, straddling the large man when you just ... couldn't do it. Being a virgin at this age felt embarrassing, and tonight you wanted to get rid of the title.

Simon, saw the dismay on your face and wrapped a blanket around you. Your face was bright red from embarrassment, god, what was holding you back?

"it's alrigh' love."

You felt the need to leave. You hadn't given him what he wanted...so you guessed it was time to hit the road.

So, both of you got up to do very different things.

You started putting on your dress and shoes, but when Simon turned around, he had a pair of his shirts and large sweat pants for you to wear.

His gruff voice was so gentle.

"You don't 'ave to leave..."

You weren't expecting this. There were no alarm bells, nothing in your stomach to say 'run.' But Simon Riley knew the dangers that women faced and he never wanted to make another woman feel that way.

"I uh, just want you to know, you can do whatever you like. I just ... fucking hell. What I'm tryin' to say is, I'd like to spend more time with ya...if that's alrigh' by you..."

He offered you a shower, and god did you want one. Surprisingly enough, Simon had pretty good products in his bathroom. None of that 30 in 1 shampoo. Clean towels. Everything was in perfect order; neat, tidy.

When you had changed into the perfectly oversized clothes (he is like 6'6?), and walked downstairs, Simon was waiting on the lounge with various drink options, and a sheepish grin.

"Thought you'd need some water, but I also have whiskey, coffee, tea..."

"Oh, thank you! Um, I'm fine with water...and maybe a tea."

"Woman after me own heart," he said with a grin and went on to make the best cuppa he's made in his life.

[moody-alcoholic]

CW: stalking behaviour, over protective 141, fluff.

“See her coming out now.” Ghost says over the radio.  

“Afirm.” Soap’s voice comes back almost instantly. Ghost watches as you stumble over the pavement, pulling your jacket over your shoulders. It’s almost 3am, and most clubs are closing. The friend you came out with left an hour ago. Now you’re alone, drunk, swaying through the streets of London on a busy Saturday night. 

“Watch your distance Soap, no need to spook her.” Price says.

“Copy.” Soap says as he weaves his way through the crowd of clubbers spilling out of the various nightclubs and bars. He keeps his head low, making sure to keep a safe distance from you. They’re not going to lose sight of you though. That’s what Ghost is for. 

He slips between the crowds on the other side of the street, slipping into the shadows every opportunity he gets. 

“She’ll take the next right. Don’t lose her.” Price says as you pick up your pace slightly. He’ll be driving to the next location, ready to pick you up at a moment's notice. You pull your phone out, typing while you struggle to keep your balance. Ghost lost track of how many drinks you had. 

It was a celebration after all, your friend getting a big promotion, she took you to one of the fanciest bars in the city. Even though she left early you still seemed to be having fun, helping yourself to another drink before finally deciding to call it a night. 

The streets off the main road are darker, quieter. Less room for error.

Suddenly you make a sharp turn, almost throwing your body down a dark alleyway. Ghost’s lost visual, he speeds up his strides, he has no idea if the alley is a dead end or not. 

“Soap, don’t lose her.” Ghost orders panic building in his chest. There’s no reply, now Ghost can’t even see Soap. “Soap, confirm visual on the target.” 

Ghost jogs to the next street over, nothing but shuttered buildings and the odd person heading home. 

“Stand-by.” The seconds feel like they’re ticking on for hours. “Eyes on target, she’s-” 

The line goes silent. 

“She’s just throwing up, seems like she’s had a few too many.” Soap says. Ghost can almost hear the collective sigh as he slips back into the darkness waiting for you to emerge from the alley. When you do you seem even more unsteady on your feet. 

“Keep it tight, she’s got another main strip to cross.” Price says. He’ll be moving on already. The amount of times you’ve walked this route. The amount of times they’ve practiced this route, it’s almost like a rehearsed play they could do in their sleep. 

You move on weaving through the growing crowds of the next cluster of clubs. They seem busier than the last. You work through them quickly, Soap keeping his distance, pushing through people without a care. He has one motive, one mission; never lose sight of you. 

As you make it to the quieter end of the street a group of lads cat-call you. You brush it off waving at them as you skip over to the next turn. Almost home. 

“ETA 10 minutes.” Ghost says hugging the shadows on the opposite side of the street. 

“Copy,” Price says, he will be in his final position. For the next few minutes the walk goes smoothly, you’re almost home, almost safe. 

“Got a guy on her six, just overtook me.” Soap says. Ghost’s eyes flick over in an instant. 

“I see.” Ghost says, watching as the man’s pace slows. “Hang back Soap. I got eyes.” 

Ghost doesn’t even hear a reply, his eyes digging into the man now following a few steps behind you. You seem to notice too, quickly taking a peak over your shoulder, pulling your jacket around you tighter. You’re almost there, almost home. 

“Want me to grab him?” Soap asks. As he says it you pick up your speed, your body straightens up. 

“Negative.” 

You turn into the front garden of the house, shutting the gate behind you. The hairs rise on the back of your neck as you fumble with the key pressing it into the lock and opening the door. The feeling of being followed suddenly fades as you make it inside, locking the door behind you. 

“Hey, welcome home.” Kyle says, sticking his head out the kitchen. You smile walking over to him and wrapping your hands around his neck.

“It’s late, you didn’t have to wait up.” you say pressing your lips on his. He kisses you back, his hands gripping your waist. 

“Needed to make sure you got home safe.” You hear John say. You break from the kiss looking over at him sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of tea in front of him. You walk over wrapping your arms around him from behind squeezing him. 

The smell of tea fills your nose and makes you thirsty. 

“Cuppa? Or bed?” Kyle asks, walking over, placing his hand on the small of your back. You hum looking round the kitchen.

“Where’s Johnny and Simon?” You ask. 

“Sleeping, they’re not used to staying up as late as you are.” John chuckles. You smile looking up at Kyle.

“Bed.” You say. He smiles back at you kissing the top of your head. 

“C’mon, I’ll give you a hand.” Kyle says pulling on your waist turning you to the stairs. John hears you giggling as you stumble up the steps to the first floor. A few seconds later the back door slowly opens, Johnny and Simon slipping in. John raises an eyebrow, quickly checking behind him to make sure you’re definitely gone. 

“You better hurry up, I’m pretty sure she’s looking to climb into your bed tonight.” John says as Simon and Johnny look at eachother. Johnny's smiles, taking his coat off and leaving his radio on the kitchen island. 

“Get some rest cap, you look exhausted.” Johnny says, patting him on the shoulder as he passes him. John sighs looking up at Simon. 

“Another successful night.” John says as Simon puts his radio down. 

“Always.” Simon smiles.

_______ Things go a little wrong - Things go very wrong

👏zero👏self👏control👏

[skulldetergent]

taskforce 141 as animals based on an old post of mine

☆ GHOST – wolf / black cat

☆ SOAP – border collie / honey badger

☆ PRICE – quokka / brown bear

☆ GAZ – seal / doberman

[konigswaifu]

Captain Johnathan Price, the same Captain that saved your ass when a mission went haywire. Bullets whirling, pounding into walls behind you. Near misses. Too close for comfort. Captain John Price who scolds you when you're caught up in the razor wire during a crawl, his rough hands patching you up after giving you stitches in the field. Cpt. John Price, the superior that pats your shoulder, griping it firm when he sets papers on your desk that need your attention. His hand hot and heavy, lingering longer than necessary.

John Price, the man that wakes up the same time as you, sitting with you to share a moment of quiet before the day starts. Bitter coffee and wandering eyes that pair well with a smirk. John Price, the gentleman that gets you alone after a successful mission, congratulating you with more than words. John, the lover who lavishes you in attention everywhere you need it. His hands never straying far from the places that make you sing loudest. John, the partner that kisses you on the side of your mouth when he tells you how good you are for him. How good of a man you make him want to be. John - the name you hear in your dreams when missions are tense, teams separated, comms disrupted. Johnathan - the name you cry out when you meet at exfil, both barely wounded, but alive. Johnathan - the same name you cry out in the middle of the night when he's buried inside of you, his lips pressed against everywhere he can reach. Your name spilling from his lips like prayer as his hands map you like a Captain charting unknown waters. The same name you cry out when he spills inside of you, promising a future, a ring and a home far from war. Price, the name you wear only second to your own. Months down the road on some hillside farm under an arch covered in vine and ribbon. Simon, Kyle and Johnny all standing to the side of John, smiling for the photo you'll soon have hung in the living-room of your new home. Price, the same name your soon to be daughter will carry.

"Proper names are poetry in the raw.  Like all poetry they are untranslatable." - W.H. Auden