im in love with your content omgđ your writing style is just chefs kiss
can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?
its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3
pardon? â python333
â â â â
synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3
relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.
characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.
word count 2.6k
warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].
note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!
ââeah, and now we have to camp out here âcause he canât be arsed to do it âimself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if theyâre willing to leg it out of here with us,â An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.
You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent youâd been using for the past five minutes youâd been talking to this guy.
âYeah, yeah, totally,â You agree, clearing your throat before asking, âYou know where the others are stationed?â
âYou donât?â He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.
âMate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,â You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, âI just know Iâve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.â
The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, âI donât think Iâve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if weâre in the same platoon, donât youââÂ
You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of.Â
You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you.Â
â[c/n], how copy?â Priceâs voice crackles through on your ear piece.Â
You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, âCopy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.â
âYou were there for five bloody minutes,â Gazâs voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, âHowâd he already catch onto you?âÂ
âThe British are smarter than I thought,â You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like theyâd snap if someone sneezed on them too hardâperfect for climbing up.
You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but donât say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder.Â
âReminder that thereâs three British people with you, currently,â Ghostâs deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell heâs whispering into his mic, âAll of which are very smart.â
âI caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, donât fuckinâ talk right now,â You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like itâs going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and youâll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up.Â
âThey were circles,â Ghost says, exasperated, âI didnât know if that made a difference.âÂ
âI thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,â You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder.Â
âYeah, L.t,â Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that heâs running, âThought ye Brits were sâpossed to ken everything âbout tea.âÂ
You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.
You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle youâd been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up.Â
You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that itâs aiming directly at one of the soldierâs heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get intoâbut doing this didnât change much.
Regardless of if you got in or not, he wouldâve died, and the others wouldâve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.
You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, âThe guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot âim down.âÂ
âI donât think we need to get in just yet,â Price hums, âBut maybe in a minute.â
âMâkay,â You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemyâs conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.
The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier youâd eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what theyâll do once theyâre on leaveâlike they would be able to do that after you completed your assignmentâand just some general team camaraderie.
The lackluster subjects of their conversations werenât bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about.Â
It was their stupid accents you hated.Â
Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents arenât stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents youâd heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.
They used slang words that youâre certain youâve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didnât even make senseâyou heard one of them use the words, verbatim, âDonât get stroppyâ. Stroppy? Stroppy?Â
You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation theyâd just started up.Â
ââeah, âcause he canât be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethinâ to happen,â One of the soldiers scoffs, âIâm telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runninâ âround out here, Iâm legging it from âim immediately.âÂ
You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isnât that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?
âYouâre legging it?â The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, âWhat happened to you chattinâ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?â
âAll thatâs irrelevant when the fuckinâ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkinâ people like heâs been doing for the entirety weâve been here, mate,â The first soldier laughs, âYou think I wanna be here when he does that?âÂ
âDonât act like a prat about it, manâfuckinâ talkingâ like you can outrun him.â
âA prat? Iâm notââ You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.
A prat? Legging it? Canât be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, âI need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.â
Immediately, Priceâs voice rings through, âWhat? What is it? What happened?â
âThe soldiers are British and I canât tell what theyâre saying,â You answer, ignoring Priceâs relieved sigh on his end, âI need help.â
âJesus, fuck, donât scare me like that,â Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, âAlright, what do you need help with?âÂ
âFiguring out what theyâre saying.â
This time, you hear Gazâs voice crackle through, âWell, youâve got three British people hereâtell us what heâs saying.âÂ
âOne of the guys was talking about âlegging itâ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost âmurkingâ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a âpratâ about it and he got all offended,â You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return.Â
âTheyâre just saying theyâre gonna run away if they see Ghost because heâs been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is likeâŠâ Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, âSomeone whoâs kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.âÂ
âThey couldnât just say that?â You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers.Â
âIâm gonna pretend you didnât just say that,â Priceâs voice cuts through, âGo ahead and shoot the guy down. Iâm ready to head in.â
âGot it,â You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, âShooting him now.âÂ
You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.
You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers.Â
They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, âPrice, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.â
Wordlessly, they do as theyâre told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gunâs aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing itâs functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open.Â
âThanks for that,â Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price.Â
âUh huh. Of course,â You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap.Â
âAre they in?â Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. Thereâs no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.
Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk.Â
âYeah, theyâre in,â You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, âDidnât you hear the sirens?âÂ
You can see Soapâs eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well.Â
âI did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,â He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, âItâs a surprise seeing you here.âÂ
âImagine how I feel,â You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, âGhost, you donât wanna join us on the rooftops?âÂ
âAbsolutely not,â He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soapâs grin grow, âIâm perfectly fine on the ground.âÂ
âWhere are you?â You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, âI feel like I havenât seen you this whole time.âÂ
âIâm just behind the facility,â Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, âIâm gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case thereâs anyone left.âÂ
âYouâve been behind the facility this whole time?â Soapâs voice cuts through, surprised by the fact.Â
âMhm,â Ghost hums.Â
âItâs a bit boring back there, innit?â Gazâs voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, âYou can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.âÂ
âFucking faffing around?â You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle.Â
As if he can read your mind, Priceâs voice comes through, âFaffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].âÂ
You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, âYou couldnât just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?âÂ
âItâs not silly,â Gaz says, his frown audible, âThey were faffing around.âÂ
âJesus, fuck,â You breathe out, laughing lightly, âItâs totally silly.â
âNo, itâs not.â
âYeah it is.â
âNo itâsââÂ
âI just want one day where you two donât start up stupid arguments like this,â Priceâs tired sigh comes through, âJust one day, I beg of you both.âÂ
âAw, Captain, we were just faffing around,â You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic.Â
âThat is absolutely not how you use that,â Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voiceâfrom your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought.Â
âIt sounded natural to me,â You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you.Â
âYouâre insufferable,â Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, âNever use British slang again, please.âÂ
âWhat if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?â
âNothing can fix what youâve said today, [c/n].â
âWell thatâs dramatic,â You scoff, âIâll learn British just for you guys.âÂ
âHoly shit, please stop talking,â Priceâs exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, âYouâre both insufferable. Drop it.âÂ
â⊠I donât think I will,â You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, âIâll use Duolingo or something to learn it.âÂ
âBritish isnât a language you learn, you muppet,â Price grumbles, making you snort.Â
âMuppet?âÂ
âItâs someone whoâs dumb and clueless and canât take a hint, like you,â Ghost defines, âAnd Soap, most of the time.âÂ
âDaenât go dragginâ mae into this,â Soapâs voice quickly cuts through, âI havenât said onything.âÂ
âUh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?â Gaz argues, ignoring Priceâs protests for him to stop arguing, âAbout Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?âÂ
âOh, Iâll have you all knowââÂ
âGhost, donât startââÂ
You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that theyâd be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.
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But I need Simon "Ghost" Riley to be my dad. Not Daddy. Like. dad. Father. My paps. Teach me to fish and go to airsoft games with him and have him help me on my homework and kiss me goodbye when I go to school and damn I have bad daddy issues don't i
So I saw a post looking for a specific fanfiction and it kinda of gave me an Idea of making a fanfiction search thread or blog specifically for CoD stories. (I don't really know, I'm new to tumblr)
If this already exists lemme know if not... I dont really know I kinda Im just kinda curious because I have so stories that are kinda lost in the archives of my brain.
your writing is literally the best in the cod fandom. we need more injured reader angst. it's too good
don't breathe â python333
â â â â
synopsis [reader] gets buried alive after refusing to give intel to enemy soldiers and *slips up and writes reader almost dying again* oops how did that happen haha
relationships platonic!price & gn!reader.
characters cap. john price.
word count 2.7k
warnings suffocation [reader], just generally really depressing thoughts, near death??, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].
note aww tysm :(( dont say its the best im gonna get a complex LMAO but i appreciate it!! and yes i agree injured reader angst ftw :3 i present to you: reader gets very injured and theres a lot of angst and its basically just you suffering for a good 3/4 of the fic while the last quarter has the actual comfort!
âHello?â You try again, your voice cracking and your tone as desperate as it can get, âPlease, God, say someone can hear me.âÂ
Youâve been trapped in a casket for about five minutes nowâat least, you woke up five minutes ago. God knows how long youâve been stuck in the stupid thing, but realistically, itâs probably been much longer than five minutes.
The last thing you remember from before you were buried is being in the interrogation room of some small terrorist groupâs facility, one you and the others were led to believe was abandoned weeks ago.Â
Unfortunately, whoever gave you the information mustâve either had incredibly outdated information or was setting you all up for failure, because the facility was very much not abandoned and was instead full of enemy soldiers.
You all had already gotten into the building before you knew that, because of course you all had to be in the same spot at the same timeâpractically sitting ducks for the enemyâand of course you all had to be clueless about the possibly hundreds of people in the facility until it was too late.Â
As far as you know, everyone managed to escape. Everyone but you. They didnât mean to leave you behind, of course they didnât, they were more focused on just booking it out of the facility. However, because of that, you were now stuckâyou assumeâseveral feet underground in a casket that has a limited amount of oxygen that drops every time you take a breath.Â
You let out the breath youâre currently holding and suck in another deep breath, holding it as you think. Your strategy of holding your breath until you no longer could mostly worked, but it wouldnât for long, you knew that soon youâd suffocate in all of the carbon dioxide gathering in the enclosed casket.
You donât know how long youâd been unconscious in the casket, breathing in oxygen carelessly in your slumber, which made the whole situation worse. You didnât even know how much time you had left.Â
You hate to waste your breath checking your comms, but the enemy soldiers had accidentally left your earpiece in your earâthe small device apparently going undetected under their radarâand you wanted to make the most of it. You move your arm from your side and press onto the PTT button on your earpiece, wincing a little at how cramped the casket was.
âDoes anybody copy?â You ask again, staring up at the almost pitch black space above you, âI repeat, does anybody copy?âÂ
Itâs a vain attempt at contacting your team, really. You donât know if theyâre thinking about you, if the signal is going through, if they even have their earpieces onâyou know nothing, and that terrifies you because you really donât want to die right now but thereâs literally nothing else you can do besides helplessly talk into your earpiece, not knowing if anyoneâs listening.Â
Your lungs start to burn and you let out the breath you were holding, taking another deep breath and beginning to hold that one. The air feels⊠thick. Itâs starting to get harder to breathe, and you know you shouldnât panic but you canât help the few worried thoughts that come to the forefront of your mind.Â
What am I going to do when I run out of oxygen and the only thing left for me to breathe in are my own discarded breaths? What will I do when all there is to do is suffocate? Am I going to try, in one last desperate attempt, to break out of the casket, or am I going to just lay here and die? Will my team try to find me, or will they forget about me? Have they already forgotten about me?Â
Before you can listen to any more of those depressing thoughts, a voice comes from your earpiece.Â
âHâlo? [c/n]?â Itâs hard to tell with the static and the cuts in between the words, but you think itâs Price talking.Â
âPrice?â You ask immediately, all thoughts of preserving your breath forgotten. âHoly shit, you can hear me?âÂ
âJeâsâ wheâeââ He cuts out for a moment and your stomach drops when all you can hear is static for a moment.Â
âYouâreâ Youâre cutting out, Captain, what did you say?âÂ
âWherâ âre you?â It takes you a moment to realize what heâs saying, your mind working much slower than it usually does, but once you do you shake your head negatively despite him not being there to see you.Â
âI donâtâ I donât know,â You respond, taking a deep breath before adding on, âI think Iâm underground, I just know Iâm in a casket and itâs getting harder to breathe andââÂ
âOkay, oây,â You hear Priceâs voice crackle, his voice becoming more distant and sounding almost muffled to you, âSaâ âur breâth, Iâll try to gât someâe to track yourâ âtion.âÂ
With the constant cutting out of his words and the distortion of his tone, you can barely register or process what heâs saying, and that only panics you more but you refuse to let your emotions get the better of you even in the state of disorientation youâre in, so you keep holding your breath.Â
A minute later, Priceâs voice crackles through your earpiece again.Â
âOkay, weâve got your locâtion,â Priceâs voice sounds⊠oddly far away, âWe canââÂ
His voice slowly becomes muffled, and you release the breath you were holding without realizing it, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of the casket. A sort of haze falls over your mind and you can barely even hear Price anymore before you suddenly snap back to reality and hear his now much clearer voice loud in your ear.Â
â[c/n]? [c/n], are you still there?â You recognize his tone now, and youâre just a little shocked at the sheer amount of worry in it.Â
âHavenât moved an inch,â You breathe out, before lying, âYou cut out for a second for me, sorry.âÂ
âDonât be sorry, itâs okay,â Price reassures you, âI said we got your locâtion and weâre heaâg out thâ âw. Itâs not tâ far away from where âe alreâdy are, weâre baâely three clicks away.âÂ
â⊠Clicks?â You ask, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.
âYes, clicks,â Price replies, sounding concerned, before hesitantly asking, â⊠You know what those are, right?âÂ
âI donâtââ You struggle to find words for a moment before you speak again, your own voice starting to sound distant, âI donât think so?â
âWhat do yâu mean you donât thiâ âo?â Price asks, his voice sounding freakishly close, âAre you okay?âÂ
âNo, yeah, Iâm fine,â You lie through your teeth, not wanting to worry Price further, âI just⊠how far away are you?âÂ
âJust abât two cliâks now,â Price says, before pausing and clarifying, âTwo kilometers.âÂ
Two kilometers⊠how far is that? âAnd thatâs⊠is that far, or?âÂ
âNo, itâs not too far. Itâs just a miâte away, we didnât geâ âo far before Laswell got your locâtion,â Price tells you, âWeâll be there soon, okây? Weâll get yâ âut of there.âÂ
âA minuteââ You cough and feel tears pricking at your eyes from how hard it is to take another breath, âA minute?âÂ
âYes, a minuteâ [c/n], are you okay?â Price asks again, before laughing nervously, âYou know what a minute is, doâ âou?âÂ
â...â You struggle to answer the question, thinking long and hard for a few seconds before hesitantly answering, â⊠Yeah, I do, sorry. Itâs sixty seconds.âÂ
âWhyâd it take you so long to answer?âÂ
âI donât know, Iâm sorry, Iââ You take a few shallow breaths, and feel a headache start to build up, âHow far away are you guys?âÂ
âWeâre almât there,â Price promises you, âThe heliâs abât to lând, and weâll dig you up, andââÂ
Why is it so cold? Priceâs voice cuts off and when he stops talking you realize that youâre shivering. You ball your fists up and canât even feel your nails digging into your palms, your hands having gone numb from the cold, and realizing that makes you discover that your lips feel numb too.Â
Your ears start to ring and you feel that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling in your hands, the sensation slowly traveling up your arms, making you both wanting to peel off your own skin and also grateful that you can at least feel something besides the cold.
In the midst of your thinking, you hear muffled thumping coming from above youâwhoever buried you couldnât have buried you anything below six feet.Â
ââllo? [c/n]? Are you still there?âÂ
You bring your hand up, the movement slow and sluggish, and you try to search around the side of your face for your earpiece. You eventually find it and when you do you press against it until you feel the PTT button being pushed.Â
âStill here,â You confirm breathlessly, coughing again as you take a few more shallow breaths, âI think Iâm running out ofâ of⊠whatâs the fuckinâ air that you can breath in, it starts with an oâŠâÂ
â⊠Oxygen?â
âOxygen, yeah,â You slowly blink up at the ceiling of the casket, âThereâsâ I thinkâ I donât⊠I think⊠I think Iâm gonna pass out, Captain.âÂ
â[c/n], donât you fucking dare,â Price growls, âYou stay awake, I swear to fucking god.âÂ
âI canâtââ You take a few more shallow breaths, before coughing, the tears escaping your eyes reaching the corners of your mouth.Â
You can hear Price briefly talk with someone else, his voice the most serious youâve ever heard it, before he talks directly to you again, âHow much longer do you think you have before you run out of oxygen?âÂ
It takes you a moment to register the question, but when you do, you answer, âUh⊠I donâtâ I think⊠maybe a few more minutes? I canât tell, itâs just hard to breathe, I canâtâŠâÂ
âOkay, okay,â Price softly says, gusts of wind blowing into his mic as he talks, âGive me a second, okay? Weâre almost there, kid, weâllâ weâll be there in just a minute, we just passed over you, I just need you to stay awake.âÂ
âIn a minute,â You repeat to yourself, before taking a deep breath, hoping that you have enough oxygen to make it out of this casket because you really donât want to die here, not when thereâs help just a minute away.Â
After what you assume is a minute or two, instead of thumping, you hear something cut into the dirt above you. The sound, however, is heavily muffled, so muffled to the point where you donât know if youâre hallucinating or not.
Is that a symptom of CO2 poisoning? Hallucinations? You lay still in the casket and canât help but release the breath youâd only just taken, the ringing in your ears starting up again and growing louder faster than they had before.Â
Your entire body is numb, your chest is heavy, and you can feel a sort of fog fall over your mind. You can distantly hear Price yelling through your earpiece, but you canât find it in yourself to respond, instead simply laying there, your blinking starting to slow down before it eventually stops, leaving your eyes closed.Â
âÂ
For a moment, you think you died and went to heaven, which would be weird, considering all the things youâve done in your life. Not saying youâd go to hell, just saying God would probably hesitate for a second before letting you in through the pearly gates.Â
You blink awake, slowly but surely, and the first thing you realize is that you can feel things again. You tilt your head down to the bump under the white bed sheets laid on top of you, and squeeze your hand into a ball, watching the bump move and feeling your fingers dig into your oddly sore palms.
You let out a sigh of relief and pull your hand out from the sheets, bringing it up to your face and feeling the oxygen mask thatâs been placed over your mouth and nose.
âDonât mess with that,â You hear a voice say to your right. You turn your head and see a very tired Captain Price, dark eyebags hanging under his eyes and arms crossed, his hands having a white knuckle grip on either one of his elbows.Â
ââŠâ You donât say anything, instead you simply stare at him until he sighs and gets up from his seat. You watch silently as he leans over your bed and bends down, before pausing, and then quickly snaking his hands under your back to pull you up just enough for him to properly hug you.Â
You reach up with shaky hands and tentatively hug him back, not nearly as tightlyânot that you donât want to, but you physically canât with how weak your arms are right nowâbut with just as much sincere affection. You can feel Priceâs beard rubbing against your neck and hear his small sniffles as he embraces you tightly.Â
Maybe itâs his sniffling, or the way you can finally feel warmth for the first time in what feels like forever, or maybe itâs just the fact that heâs holding you with so much care and affection that it almost makes you burst at the seams, whatever it is, it causes you to tear up as well.Â
Those tears quickly become sobs that bubble up in your throat and crawl their way out of it, forcing you to tuck your head into the crook of Priceâs neck and muffle your sobs in it, muttering a small âsorryâ after each one.Â
After each âsorryâ, Price responds with, âItâs okay, let it out, sweetheart, youâre okay,â and those reassuring words only make you cry more because God, you didnât even think heâd find you, yet here he is, letting you cry into his neck and is reassuring you after every apology that itâs okay.Â
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorryââ You mumble a litany of apologies into Priceâs neck, your breath stuttering and hitching as you try to hold back your sobs. Price only shushes you and rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture, bringing his head up to kiss the top of your head.Â
He tucks your head under his chin, âDonât apologize, itâs okay. You didnât do anything wrong.âÂ
And fuck, you know itâs just words, but it only makes you cry more.Â
Your sobs eventually stop, leaving you hiccuping against Priceâs neck, silently crying as he continues to rub your back.Â
âI thought you died,â He whispers, his hand stuttering on your back, âI thought you died and I was going to dig up your dead body, when you didnât answer me.â
You stay silent, letting him continue, âI thought you were dead when we dug you up and needed to feel your heartbeat for myself to confirm that you were still alive.âÂ
He pauses for a moment before continuing, âIâve been here ever since they put you in here. I havenât slept, Iâve just stayed here, waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you that Iââ
He chokes up for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, âIâm sorry for not even thinking to drag you out of the facility with me when we all ran out. You wereâ you were right there, and I couldnât just grab your arm and take you with me, I just had to leave you behind and IââÂ
âYou watched me while I was asleep?â You ask quietly, your eyebrows drawing together.Â
Price pauses and pulls his chin off of your head, and pulls you away from his neck so he can properly give you the most incredulous look he can pull, before saying, âIâm pouring my heart out to you and apologizing for practically leaving you for dead, and thatâs what youâre worried about?âÂ
âWell, Iâm not worried, Iâm justââ You shrug, not knowing how to explain it. Price sighs and chuckles quietly before tucking your head back under his chin.Â
âYouâre insufferable,â He mumbles, sniffling a bit.Â
â⊠I forgive you, by the way,â You say after a moment of silence, âI didnât really blame you in the first place.âÂ
âYou had the right to.âÂ
âSure I did.âÂ
âBut you didnât blame me.â
âRight.â
ââŠâ Price stays silent for a moment before pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head and saying quietly, âYou should blame me.âÂ
âMaybe,â You mumble back, âBut I wonât.âÂ
Later, maybe an hour later, if the others see you asleep in Priceâs arms while he keeps your head tucked under his chin and rubs your back affectionatelyâno they donât.
synopsis ur walking home from school and theres a weirdo following you, luckily the 141 are there and they help u out!! :3
relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.
characters cap. price, soap (for like 2 seconds, so sorry soap enjoyers), ghost, gaz.
word count 2.4k
warnings a creepy old man following [reader], [reader] intended to be in high school, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of y/n [your name].
note i have like 5 drafts and all of them are requests from people so im so sorry i havent been working on those!! i pinky prom once i get the motivation to write them--which probably sounds weird since i wrote this but trust me when i had to force myself to write this lmao--i will be posting them :3 i hope u all enjoy this fic, its all fluff and emotional hurt/comfort + protective-ish 141!!
You really wish you had listened to that first warning light.Â
For a whole two days, your car had been in an auto repair shop, because you decided to ignore four whole warnings signs that something was seriously wrong with your car. Suspension and alignment issues, theyâd told you yesterday, The wheels need to be realigned, the damaged suspension components need to be replaced, and the whole thing would take a day or two.
Fast forward to now, itâs 3:30 in the afternoon and youâve been walking from school to your house for about ten minutes. The sun is close to being fully setâone of the worst parts of winterâand thereâs been a guy following you for about five minutes now.Â
He showed up once youâd exited the school premises and since then had been very determined to follow you home. You obviously did not want this to happen. But it didnât matter if you walked faster, because he would only match your pace. If you tried to run, you assume, heâd just run after you, and seeing as he had far longer legs than youâyou were pretty fucked if you decided to run.Â
You would try to call an Uber, but your phone had been dead since fifth period. And you would try and catch a bus or something, but there were no bus stops near where you live, and even if there were, you werenât carrying any cash or any cards on you.Â
So, again, youâre pretty fucked.Â
You look back at the man again, and turn your head right back around to look ahead of yourself once you see him looking right back at you, closer than you remember him being. Is he walking faster? Do I have to walk faster?Â
You let out a shaky breath and keep walking, speeding up your walk just a bit and widening your strides, trying to think of what you should do. You didnât want to just lead him to your house, that was just stupid. But you couldnât just not go homeâwhere else would you go?Â
You continue to walk, speeding up a bit when you start to hear the man behind you speed up, and you try to control your panicked breathing. What are you supposed to do? You mentally curse yourself out for not carrying any self defense on your person, and continue your walking.Â
Then suddenly, as if they were sent by God himself, you see four men come into viewâone with a mohawk, one wearing some sort of skull mask-balaclava, one with sunglasses on even when the sun is almost set, and one with a boonie hat onâall walking together, all engaged in a casual conversation.Â
You wonder for a moment if you should try and get closer to them to see if the guy would leave you alone. You hear the guy behind you speed up as you think and you take a deep breath before walking significantly faster to get closer to the men ahead of you.Â
Am I really gonna trust a group that has a guy wearing a fucking skull mask in it? You hear the man behind you speed up as well and you speed up in retaliation, trying to think more about what to do, Do I just walk near them or do I straight up pretend I know them?
You think that the second option would be more likely to ward the weirdo following you away, but how would you even go about it? Do you just walk near them, or actually talk to them and join in on their conversation?Â
You look behind you again and see the man significantly closer to you.
Deciding to take the risk, you rush up to them, swallowing down your panic when you hear the man behind youâs footsteps speed up to try and match your own speed.Â
âHey, guys!â All four of the guys turn around to look at you, their expressions all varying looks of confusion as you continue to talk, âCrazy seeing you guys here, itâ itâs been so long.âÂ
You try to get as close to them as possible while not touching them and end up standing right by who you assume is the oldest. You try to subtly gesture to the man who was just following you, and the man youâre standing next to seems even more confused for a moment.Â
âUh, I donââ One of his friends cuts him off with a swat to the arm and when he turns his head to look at them in confusion, they nod over at the man whose just now catching up with you, and his mouth shapes into an âoâ before he looks back at you with a bit more understanding in his eyes.Â
âRight, yeah, it has been really long,â He corrects himself, the other two of his friends catching on and stepping closer to you, almost creating a shield around you. He looks you over for a moment, before asking, âYou just get out of school?âÂ
âYeah, yeah, I did,â You nod, grateful that they caught on, hoping your gratitude is somewhat apparent, âAbout ten minutes ago.â
âNobody picked you up this time?â The older man asks, tilting his head to the side a bit. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the man whoâd been following you getting closer, but you force yourself to ignore him.Â
âYeah, no, everyone was kind of busy, so I have to walk home,â You respond, shoving your hands into the pocket of your hoodie to hide their shakiness as the other man stopped to stare at you twoâs conversation.Â
âAw, well that sucks,â The other man frowns, before offering, âI was just heading back to my car, I could drive you back to your house? Itâs on the way to the hotel weâre staying at, anyway.âÂ
You hesitate, trying to see if the man whoâd been following you was still there, and much to your disappointment, he was. It was like he was just waiting for you to make a decision.Â
Not knowing if you had any other choice, you nod affirmatively, âYeah, sure. If thatâs okay.âÂ
The older man gives you a small smile and pats your shoulder, âOf course itâs okay. I donât want you just walking out here by yourself.â Â
You almost sobbed in relief when you heard the creep that was following you scoff and finally walk back to wherever he came from after hearing that you accepted their offer of a ride. The older man takes his hand off of your shoulder and looks over, noticing the man has left as well, then looks back at you with a more concerned expression on his face.Â
âSorry, I almost gave you away at the beginning there,â He sincerely apologizes.Â
âItâs fine, he probably didnât even notice,â You put on a small smile and take a deep breath before adding on, âThank you for that. I didnât think he was ever gonna go away.âÂ
âYeah, no problem,â The older man smiles at you, and tacks on, âI was serious about the ride, by the way. If youâre comfortable with that, of course.âÂ
You pause for a moment at that and think about if you trust them enough to have him drive you to your house and know your address and everything.Â
âItâs my car, by the way,â The guy with the sunglasses butts in, âIâm the one paying for it. No clue why he said it was his.âÂ
âBecause it was easier than saying it was yours,â The other guy sighs.Â
âActuallyââ The one with a mohawk interrupts, before immediately being cut off by the other two with a simple âshut upâ. He rolls his eyes, and does indeed shut up.Â
The one with a skull mask must notice your slight confusion, because he comments, âWeâre renting a car for this week. Gaz is paying for it.âÂ
âDonât call me Gaz in public,â Gaz grumbles, âThatâs weird. Just call me Kyle.âÂ
âThat sounds weirder,â The one with the skull mask argues, before the one with the almost-bucket hat sighs exasperatedly, the sound enough to make the two others shut up.Â
âUhâŠâ All their attention is back on you as you talk, making you resist the urge to shrink back in on yourself, âI mean, if you guys are totally okay with it, then Iâd be⊠okay with getting a ride home.âÂ
âGreat!â Gaz smiles at you before dropping the smile and turning to the one with the skull mask, âYouâre getting an Uber or something. Iâm not driving you after that.âÂ
âWhââ The one in the skull mask, despite you only being able to see his eyes, looks baffled, âI didnât do anything, fuckinâ kick out Soap or something!âÂ
âMe? Why me?â The one with the mohawkâSoap, you assumeâsquawks, watching as Gaz actually thinks about it before nodding.Â
âGood point. Soap, call an Uber soâŠâ Gaz pauses before turning to you, âWhatâs your name, love?âÂ
You give him your name and he nods before turning back to Soap, âSo that [y/n] can take your spot in the car.âÂ
âIââ Soap begins to argue, before sighing and rolling his eyes, reaching into his back pocket for his phone, âFine. Whatever. Fuck all of ye.âÂ
âSorrows, sorrows, prayers,â Gaz says dryly before turning back to you, âThe carâs just another block up.âÂ
âGot it,â You nod, âSo I should just follow you guys then, orâŠ?â
âYeah,â Gaz confirms, âStay a little closer in case that guy decides to come back, or if anyone else tries to follow you, alright, love?âÂ
You nod again and take another step closer to the man with the skull mask and follow everyone else as they continue walking down to their car. Theyâre silent for the rest of the walk back, the man in the skull mask and the one with the almost-dad-going-fishing-hat keeping an eye out for any creeps while Gaz leads the way to the car.Â
Once youâve all reached the car, Gaz unlocks it and the man in the skull mask and the one in the almost-bass-pro-shops-hat immediately get into the back seats, letting you have shotgun. You mentally thank them for it and wordlessly get into the passengerâs seat, happy that itâs not too dirty in the car, closing the car door once youâre in.Â
You buckle yourself in immediately and look right out the front window whilst Gaz gets in. This definitely wonât end up in me being kidnapped, You tell yourself, Totally not. This is the best idea Iâve ever had. Getting in a car with someone who goes by Gaz, someone who wears a mask from Spirit Halloween, and someoneâs dad who somehow ended up here. Fucking perfect idea. I should do this more often.
Gaz gets in and buckles himself in, putting the car key into the ignition and twisting it, starting up the engine. You continue to stare out the window wordlessly as Gaz pulls out of the parking lot heâd been in and gets onto the road.Â
âCould you give me the directions to get to your place?â He asks you once heâs stopped at a red light right outside of the parking lot. Silently, you nod.Â
âYeah, just, uh, keep going straight then take a left on Monroe,â You instruct him quietly. He nods and presses on the gas once the light turns green, continuing straight like youâd said.Â
âYou alright?â The bearded man in the back pipes up, making you twist your head back to look at him.Â
âYeah, Iâm fine,â You assure him, half-lying, âJust a little tired and creeped out.âÂ
âReasonable,â He hums, before adding on, âIâm John, by the way, and this is Simon.âÂ
Simon, the dude wearing the Spirit Halloween mask, perks up at the sound of his name, but otherwise doesnât say anything.Â
âGood to know,â You respond, wondering if you should say anything else before awkwardly turning back in your seat to continue staring out the window, watching as Gaz takes a left.Â
âTake the next right, then just continue straight and then take a right on Balboa,â You tell him. He nods and takes the next right just as you told him to.Â
Itâs probably safe to assume they arenât kidnapping you, You think, your breathing finally back to normal now that you know youâre probably not in any danger.Â
âSo whatâs with the name âGazâ?â You ask Gaz without thinking, tired of the silence in the car. Based on the way Gaz groans and John huffs out a laugh, you assume itâs somewhat of a long story.Â
âItâs kind of a long story?â Bingo. âBut in short, I just donât talk too much, and someone decided to make a big deal out of that.âÂ
âI never made it a big deal!â John insists, all while Simon looks at him like he knows heâs lying, âItâs just a nickname!âÂ
You listen in on their bickering, grateful to finally have some noise in the car, and huff out a small, amused laugh at their antics.Â
Soon enough, Gaz is turning right on Balboa, and he drives right into your neighborhood.Â
âItâs the house right up there,â You point to it, and he looks at the house you pointed at and speeds up a bit to reach it faster.Â
Once heâs at the house he thinks you pointed at, he asks, âThis one, right?â and pulls into the driveway when you nod in confirmation.Â
He parks the car in your driveway and turns off the engine, immediately unlocking the car and turning to you.Â
âWell, I hope you have a good rest of your day,â He says politely, offering you a smile.Â
âThank you, you too,â You smile back, feeling a little bad for being so eager to get out of the car. Then again, you really just want to get inside of your house where itâs safe, so you quickly unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door.Â
You carefully get out and close it behind you, fishing your keys out from your back pocket, walking up to the front door of your house and unlocking it, only hearing Gazâs car pulling out of your driveway after youâve successfully opened your front door.Â
You yawn as you walk in, and close the door behind you, toeing off your shoes and leaving them by the front door.
You think, in the back of your head, about how weird it is that you didnât get kidnapped despite that being the perfect opportunity for them to do soâbut you donât think about it too hard. Youâre just grateful to have gotten home safe.
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synopsis you and ghost are more similar than the two of you realized.
relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.
characters ghost.
word count 2.88k
warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [call sign/code name], ghost's backstory [yes that is a warning within itself], kind of badly written.
note holy shitttttt i'm so sorry i haven't posted in two months. to everyone who is disappointed this isn't a req they submittedâi am very sorry but i have like. no motivation. please take this small fic as a peace offering after being silent for two months. also yes i said alej fic but i only had motivation to write for ghost LMAO
âSoâŠâ Ghost can hear Price next to him, creating an echo as he speaks through his earpiece, âDoesnât it get hot, always wearing that mask?âÂ
âNot when itâs made of the right materials,â Your voice crackles through, the wind blowing by slightly distorting your voice, âItâs also winter, captain, so no, it doesnât get hot.âÂ
The corners of Ghostâs lips twitch upwards when you answer, but he otherwise doesnât say or do anything, simply leaning against the wall parallel to Price. For you, maybe your mask doesnât get hot, but his certainly doesâthough, he doesnât voice that, simply listening.Â
âOh really?â Price hums, looking around the corner of the wall heâs leaned up against, spotting a few enemy soldiers walking by without a clue of who theyâre in the presence of, âWhatâs yours made of, then?âÂ
âPolyester,â You answer.Â
From what Ghost understands, you wear a mask for the same reason as himâanonymity. As much as he can respect that and understand the want to remain anonymous, he canât help but wonder why you would want that. Is it for reasons similar to why he wears his? Have you gone through things similar to what heâs gone through? Did a fellow SAS soldier also murder your entire family and attempt to pin it on you, to which you responded by killing him, stealing his dog tags, and burning your own house down? He had many questions, but didnât ask any.Â
He doesnât think youâd answer them, anyway. He certainly wouldnât. Heâd maybe try to divert the conversation with a bad dad joke, or simply not dignify the question with a response, anything but an actual answer. He strangely expects the same of you.Â
He vaguely remembers a conversation he had with Price when you first joined maybe two months ago, specifically a comment Price had made about your file; âI had the same conversation with Laswell about their file that I did when I first got yours. She said the same thing when she saw their file, too, word for word.â
It turned out that they had the exact same exchange that they did when they saw Ghostâs file, verbatim. Laswell had pointed out that you had no picture, and Price said, âNever.â Ever since then, Ghost has felt an inexplicable connection to you, despite not having talked to you that much.Â
Heâll admit, he tried to initiate a conversation with you more often than he did with the others when he first met them. Maybe one or two times a day, heâd find you and make small talk, something that made his skin crawl with discomfort but something he still forced himself to do, just to try and make sense of the invisible line that seemed to tie you both together.Â
This small talk started off as anything from a question about the weatherâyes, Ghost asked about the weather, unfortunately for the both of you considering how awkward and stilted that short conversation wasâto asking about training and skills. He didnât normally initiate conversations with anyone else, he was typically the one that was walked up to and barely even had to carry any conversations he was in.Â
Every conversation the two of you had always ended the same way, though; with you cutting it short the moment it got anywhere near your personal life, or even just your life outside of being a part of the 141, and walking off elsewhere. Ghost could see the tiniest bit of himself in you everytime you did that, and an annoying voice in the back of his mind always asked, Was I always that much of a hardass? ⊠Am I that much of a hardass?
âGhost,â Priceâs voice snaps Ghost out of his train of thought and he grunts, looking over at Price. The man in question nods his head towards the now clear path to the building they needed to get into, and Ghost nodded back, taking his SMG out of the sling and moving out of the small alleyway theyâd camped in, following after Price.Â
They quickly rush over to the building, the doors thankfully unlocked and the soldiers guarding it stupid enough to not be right beside the front doors, and lock the doors behind them once theyâre in.Â
âAre you guys in?â You ask, the wind no longer distorting your voice, the background of your audio now relatively silent except for your faint breathing.Â
âYeah,â Price replies, the darkness of the building making him squint as he scans the walls for some sort of light switch, âAnyone notice we got in?â
âNot that I can see, no,â You answer, your sigh audible through the comms, âTheyâre pretty far from the building, actually.âÂ
âPerfect,â Price hums, patting his hand along the wall for a moment before finding a large lever. He hesitates to pull it, and ultimately decides against it, deeming it too risky. Instead, he searches his tactical vest and goes through a few large pockets that sit around his lower midriff before finding a relatively small flashlight.Â
He presses the button on the end of the handle with a small click, and the flashlight flickers for a moment before the light becomes consistent and a small buzz begins to sound. Price looks around for a second, scanning the area for any immediate threats, and motions for Ghost to follow him.Â
âSee anything?â You ask curiously, some rustling heard on your end. Ghost looks around for a second, footsteps echoing eerily through the building.Â
âNothing important,â He replies, voice quiet, âJust dust and old furniture.âÂ
âHis office is just down there,â Price interjects, nodding towards the hall to their left, making Ghost look in that same direction, âIâll head down there, you stay here, let me know if anyoneâs coming.âÂ
The echo from Price talking to Ghost both through comms and being right beside him, as well as the echo from being in such a large room, starts to irritate Ghost. He rolls his shoulders and puts his gun back in the sling, looking back at Price.
âTurn off your comms,â His suggestion sounds more like a command, but heâs sure Price understands itâs more of a request than anything else, âYouâre echoing. If anything happens, I can just talk to you without them.âÂ
Price pauses before nodding, and pressing the small button on his earpiece to turn off his mic, and the piece entirely. He trusts Ghost wholeheartedly, and it shows. He takes one last look around before walking towards the office he pointed out.Â
The office belonged to the man who had stolen vital intel from the 141ânot intelligence on the task force itself, but rather a separate team that had recently allied themselves with the task force. They couldnât risk that data being taken, as it would not only expose the other team, but several other similar teams and task forces.Â
Ghost waits until Price is actually in the hall before speaking again, âYou still there, [c/n]?âÂ
âYeah,â You answer almost immediately, âNeed something?âÂ
âNo,â Ghost hums, leaning against the wall behind him, âJust wanted to talk.âÂ
âPlease donât ask me about the weather again,â You sigh, almost exasperated, âOr about how my training is going, or about how my CO is, orââÂ
âIâm not,â Ghost interrupts you, not sure whether to laugh or cry at your examples of past conversations.Â
âPromise?âÂ
âPromise,â He says, before asking, âHow long were you apart of the army, before joining here?âÂ
âBefore the 141?â You pause, thinking for a moment, âSounds kind of personal.âÂ
âYou donât have to answer,â Ghost offers, voice almost reassuring, âJust curious.âÂ
âArenât you always,â You mutter, a comment Ghost promptly ignores, before you properly answer, âJust a year. Maybe a year and a half.âÂ
âAmerican army, right?â
âMhm,â You hum, âWould you believe me if I said we sang Yankee Doodle before going on any missions?â
âOh, sure I would,â Ghost chuckles, before countering, âWould you believe me if I said that song was made to mock Americans?âÂ
âIâm not sure if I should be offended that you believe that,â You say, a lighter lilt to your voice as you do compared to a few moments ago, âBut yes, I believe you. I think that almost every American has reclaimed it as one of the most patriotic songs, though.âÂ
âAlmost every American?â Ghost questions, growing more amused as the conversation goes on. It confuses him, making him wonder why heâs so easily drawn into conversations with you, no matter how small or dry.Â
âIâm sure thereâs some here and there that donât like it,â You elaborate, âBut I havenât met any. Not yet.âÂ
âAlright,â Ghost nods even though you canât see him, before asking another question, âWhat branch?âÂ
âThe Navy,â You answer, now without questioning Ghost which brings him a strange sense of relief, âI flew planes around and stuff. Didnât really like it, though.âÂ
âOh yeah?â Ghost sounds more interested now, âWhy not?âÂ
âThe soldiers there arenât the best people to be around,â You hum, the sounds of you moving audible, âOne mention of any sort of mental issues, even if itâs just something like feeling anxious or being sleep deprived, and suddenly everyoneâs on your ass pressuring you to be better or just⊠being weird about it. It gets draining after a while.âÂ
âI bet,â Ghost murmurs, âIs that why you left?âÂ
âPartially,â You answer honestly, âHalf of it was that, the other half was that I just didnât like flying planes. I was also eighteen and couldnât really control my impulsive thoughts, so a majority of the time I was fighting myself trying not to crash the plane on purpose.âÂ
âMakes sense,â Ghost considers what you said for a moment, before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he asks, âIsnât the enlistment age for the Navy nineteen?âÂ
âIt is,â You assure him, âI was an exception, âcause I was a month or two away from turning nineteen.âÂ
âDid you wear the mask back then?â Ghost asks, praying that the question isnât too personal to the point where you stop responding. Heâs been dying to ask the question, always worrying whether or not it was too personalâit was pretty personal, to be fair, but he wasnât used to worrying this much over another soldier, much less one he only met two months ago. Sure, you both wore a mask and remained somewhat anonymous, but that didnât mean you two were automatically best friends who braided each otherâs hair.Â
â...â You donât respond for a moment, making Ghostâs worry increase, before you reply, âNo.â
Your simple answer makes Ghost more curious, and he canât tell if he should ask why or not. He stays silent for a few seconds, weighing his options, before he ultimately says, âAlright.âÂ
He tries to leave it up to you whether or not you want to tell him about your own story, of if youâre comfortable with that, which you probably arenât, considering thatâagainâthe two of you only met a couple months ago.
âDid you wear the mask?â You ask quietly a moment later, catching Ghost off-guard, âBefore this?âÂ
âBefore the 141?â He echoes your question from earlier, nodding to himself, âYeah. For some time before this, I had a different mask, but it was still a mask.âÂ
âWas the skull always there?âÂ
âMhm.âÂ
â⊠For just aesthetic purposes, or?â Ghost feels the corners of his lips tug up in amusement at your question, and at how genuinely curious you sound.Â
âEh. Not really,â He answers, taking a deep breath in and out through his nose. He doesnât say any more than that, not being able to as his mind takes him back to a time a while ago, when he was being held hostage and was in the same room as some kids who heard him spill his entire background to the men holding him hostage.Â
He remembers one kid in particular, a little girl with blonde hair, who had listened to every detail that heâd said. When he was telling the story of why he has the call sign Ghost, in hopes of distracting the men so that the 141 could rescue him and the kids, she had clung to every detail and later asked him if what he had said was true, her tone of voice eerily similar to yours.Â
He remembers when he was carrying her out of that room, the questions sheâd bombarded him with, and how he answered every one with as neutral of an answer he could muster. He debates doing that now with any questions you ask, but decides against it almost instantlyâsomething that shocks him, even though it was his own thoughtâconsidering that he wanted to ask you those same questions. Not about your call sign, only about the mask.Â
âItâs a long story,â He says after youâve been silent for a while, your curiosity somehow palpable even through just the comms, âBut it has to do with some family members.âÂ
âYeah?â You hum, âI know a thing or two about that.âÂ
âDo you?â Ghost asks, slightly ashamed at the small jolt of excitement he feels at the opportunity of hearing more about you.Â
âMhm,â You pause, staying quiet for a moment, before continuing, âAbout family members. Dead ones.âÂ
âAh,â Ghost nods, the discomfort he originally felt sharing some of his own story starting to melt away, âDead ones. I understand.âÂ
âCanât tell if I should be glad or not,â You snort, âLike, Iâm glad you understand, but also sorry.âÂ
âDonât worry about it,â Ghost grins under his mask, âI was wondering the same thing.âÂ
âSo⊠dead ones,â You think out loud, before asking, âThatâs why you have that call sign and mask?âÂ
âYeah,â Ghost looks around for a moment, reminding himself to keep watch while talking to you, before cautiously asking, âAre yours the reason for your mask?âÂ
âNot really,â You answer honestly, with a little less resistance behind your answer to Ghostâs relief, âWell⊠I mean, kind of. But theyâre not the reason-reason. I didnât really like them, so Iâm not gonna give them all the credit, but Iâll give them⊠maybe twenty-five percent of it.âÂ
âA quarterâs still a lot,â Ghost points out, âWhatâd they do to earn that?âÂ
âThey died, andâŠâ Youâre doing more pausing and hesitating now, making Ghost wonder if heâs going to personal every second that you stay quiet, before you finally answer in a more guarded tone, âI almost got blamed for it. Almost.âÂ
Ghost gets hit with a pang of mixed emotions, like a weird sort of uncomfortable nostalgia. They almost got blamed for it. He lets out a breath thatâs slightly shaky, and thinks for a moment before saying, âAlmost?âÂ
âAlmost,â You confirm, tone a little less guarded, presumably at Ghostâs more calm reaction, âThen I handled it the best I could, and the guy who killed them got what he deserved.âÂ
âWhich was?â Ghost feels more of that uncomfortable nostalgia bubble up, giving him an uneasy feeling in his gut, as if he knows where this conversation is going.Â
âDeath,â You answer softly, âAnd the nameplate on his uniform stolen, which I replaced with mine. I wouldâve taken his dog tags, but we didnât really wear them on missions âcause our drill sergeant didnât care too much.âÂ
âAnd the body?â His lips move before he can think.Â
âBurnt.â You answer simply, âThe whole house. It was mainly drywall, so it took a moment to actually completely catch on fire, but it was quick enough. It also smelled disgusting.âÂ
âYeah, I bet,â Ghost swallows, vividly remembering the smell of his own house, before continuing, âHe was a soldier for the Navy, too?âÂ
âMhm. He was⊠a Private, I think,â You reply, âI wasnât too close with him. I wasnât with anyone.âÂ
âAnd so the reason you wear the mask isâŠ?âÂ
âI didnât really exist anymore after that,â You hum, âAt least, not to them. I was dead in a burned down house, my own house, and was far gone. I like wearing the mask; it keeps me as just another soldier, not as the person who died in that house.âÂ
âBut you didnât,â Ghost points out, trying to ignore the eerie feeling that only grows stronger the more you talk, âYouâre here.âÂ
â⊠Yeah, I am,â You say after a moment of thinking, smile evident in your voice, âDoesnât mean I can take that back, though. âs not the best feeling, doing something like that.âÂ
âTrust me, I know,â Ghost chuckles, âIf anyone here, Iâd be the person to know, kid.âÂ
âReally?â You ask, voice more curious like it was before, âWhyâs that?âÂ
âIâve⊠weirdly been through almost everything you said,â Ghost admits, âWord for word with the house burning down, actually.âÂ
â⊠Huh,â You huff out a small laugh before saying, âIâm wondering if I should feel happy or sad again.âÂ
âMe too, again,â Ghost smiles, eyes flickering up at Priceâs footsteps sound through the hallway, his silhouette slowly coming into view, âOne last question.âÂ
Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!
I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.
If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!
If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! đ«¶đŒđ«¶đŒđ«¶đŒ
self-slaughter â python333
â â â â
synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!
relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader
characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.
word count 6.6k
warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].
note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!
It gets kind of old after so long of doing it.Â
Almost like itâs a choreâas if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight.Â
Right now, youâre alone in the medical bay. It wasnât often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes itâs been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts.Â
And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didnât help that you felt oddly guilty today, either.Â
Well, the guilt wasnât odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago.Â
The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the teamâs well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasnât particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important.Â
However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, youâd been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag youâd been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadnât noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment.Â
All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasnât that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, youâre hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didnât have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder.Â
The scalpel looks so tempting.
Itâs not like you hadnât used it beforeâyou have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though theyâd been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them arenât nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, youâd successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off.Â
Ironic, isnât it? A medic harming themselves?Â
Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. Itâs become as easy as blinking for youâwhich is scary, honestly, the way youâve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if youâve cut too long or deep.Â
Itâs no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool.Â
You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like youâre in some sort of trance right now.Â
It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used itâthree days ago, the longest youâd gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that youâre able to stop whenever youâd likeâthat youâre able to quit at any time. Itâs a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that itâs true.Â
Youâre still staring at the scalpel.Â
Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though itâd only been in the medbay for maybe a few monthsâsomething nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting.Â
You blink. You hadnât noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife.Â
You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail thatâs been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things youâve done to yourself.Â
It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways youâve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didnât allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways youâve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations.Â
You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you wouldâve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isnât enough.Â
About how much better youâd feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it.Â
The thought makes you wince. That is⊠disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind.Â
Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just canât. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about.Â
The fists your hands have formed become tighter.Â
Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring.Â
Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel.Â
You donât even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin.Â
Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you canât find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain.Â
You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.
Once you see that nobodyâs coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that theyâll obscure anyone elseâs view of you using the scalpel on yourself.Â
You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger.Â
With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed.Â
Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.
Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your fleshâso while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun.Â
Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldnât scar.Â
The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice youâve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred.Â
So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go.Â
You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. Itâs easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.
You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.
All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mindâlike it never existed in the first place.
Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where youâd originally have to swim, itâs because a tsunami is building up.
You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed youâre sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpelâs handle into your mouthâignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contaminationâand biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area.Â
You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box itâs kept in with your non-bloody hand. Itâs a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart.Â
In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it.Â
Thereâs a knock. Then another.Â
The door handle twists.Â
You stare at the door, and everything feels like itâs in slow motion for a second.Â
The door opens.Â
âHey, dae ye hae anyââ Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, âHoly shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?âÂ
He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip.Â
âNothing! Everythingâs fine! Just an accident,â You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, âI was just about to clean it up.âÂ
âDae ye need help wrappinâ it, an cleaninâ it up, or anything?â Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried.Â
âNope,â You insist, âItâs fine. All good here.âÂ
â... Ye sure?âÂ
âUh huh,â You nod your head, âAll good. Donât worry about it.âÂ
ââkay then,â Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, âWhit happened?âÂ
âJust a little accident with some of the equipment,â You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, âThatâs all.âÂ
It must be obvious youâre lying, because Soap sighs and says, âI think we baith ken that thatâs a lie.âÂ
You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, âYe ken if ye dinnae tell me, Iâll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?â
You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soapâs eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, âI used the scalpel. On myself.âÂ
âYe whit?âÂ
âI used the scalpel on myself,â You look away, and rush out, âand Iâm really sorry, I just couldnât help it, itâs not likeâ like a normal thing or anything, itâs just this once, I swear, andâ andââÂ
â[c/n], calm down,â Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, âItâs okay.âÂ
You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you donât think you could handle eye contact right now, âIâm really sorry.âÂ
âWhy would ye dae that tae yerself?â Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die.Â
You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally.Â
âDae yeâ dae the others ken?â Soap questions.Â
âNo.âÂ
âIâmââ Soap looks conflicted for a moment, âI hae an assignment⊠Iâll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? Anâ Iâll check in wiâ ye as soon as possible?âÂ
You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you donât even want to think about how theyâd react to this whole situation. Itâs all gone by so fastâone moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next youâre found out by Soap of all peopleâyouâve barely had time to think about the others.Â
âOkay. Okay, okay,â Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, âJesus, fuck, okay. Iâll go get him, ye stay here, aye?âÂ
You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred.Â
âYeâre gonnae be okay, okay?â Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soapâs gaze soften.
He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gazâs locationâmost likely his sleeping quarters.Â
You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. Itâs not like itâll hurt to do a few more. Iâll stop when the others arrive.Â
You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasnât anything you werenât used to, but still.
When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they arenât Soapâs.Â
The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worriedâpresumably from what Soap told him about your⊠situationâwith another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far.Â
Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word.Â
âLetâs not, okay?â Priceâs version of âknock it offâ, âIâm here, Iâll take care of their⊠thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?âÂ
âYupâ Yes, sir. Captain,â Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation wouldâve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest.Â
Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, âGo sit over there and wait for a few seconds.âÂ
You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. Itâs the room furthermost to the right, the one thatâs also the closest to the door and the one youâd coincidentally gone into to cut yourself.Â
You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.
Betadineâor iodopovidone, whichever name you preferredâwas a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well.Â
Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were⊠definitely not looking forward to.
âSergeant,â Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, âGo and grab the skin stapler for me.âÂ
âYes, sir,â Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.
With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads.Â
âHow did this happen?â He asks, breaking the silence.Â
âSoap didnât fill you in?â
âNo.â
You think about what to tell him for a moment. Whatâs too straightforward? Whatâs too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention?Â
Eventually, you settle on, âI wasâ ⊠I saw the uh⊠scalpel, and I just⊠decided to use it a little bit. On myself.â Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? âOh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didnât I probably wouldâve had a panic attack or a mental breakdownâ?
ââŠâ Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, âWhy?â
âWhy what?â
âYou know what Iâm asking, [c/n].âÂ
Heâs asking why you did it. Thereâs not one simple answer you could give himâsure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that youâve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldnât be the whole truth.
You canât fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. Itâs like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled.Â
Except, with you, itâs like youâre cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of controlâmaybe thatâs why itâs so addicting, You think, itâs the only way Iâve been able to control my feelings.Â
But you canât just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no.Â
Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesnât satisfy Price one bit.Â
âI could see you thinking about it,â He sighs, âI know you at least have some sort of real answer.âÂ
Well, fuck. âItâs a long answer.âÂ
âI never said it couldnât be.â
He doesnât move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk.Â
You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, âI was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of⊠had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckinâ⊠I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, itâs a really stupid reason, because the thing that Iâm feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but stillâIâve been feeling really guilty about it. ItâItâs not like I canât stop, if I tried I could, I sweâswear, and I justâ itâs been really easy to justâ you know? Iâ honestly, itâs not that big of a dealââÂ
âHey, heyââ Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, âItâs okay. I understand.âÂ
âI juâst⊠Iâm sorry, IââÂ
âItâs okay, itâs okay,â Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, âYouâre okay. You donât have to say sorry.âÂ
âBut IââÂ
âShh.â You hadnât even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, thereâd been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks.Â
You canât help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, itâs practically game over for you.Â
Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.
It all happened so fast, you donât even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Priceâs hand.
Suddenly, thereâs a knock at the door, then someone walks in while youâre burying your head further into Priceâs chestâGhost. You can tell itâs him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sittingâto your right instead of your left.Â
Gaz mustâve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Priceâs chest. Normally, you wouldâve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didnât find much room to give a shit.Â
You feel Priceâs head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that heâs having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before youâve managed to control your breathing a bit more.Â
Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, âIs it alright if I clean your cuts now?âÂ
You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Priceâs chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it.Â
Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once itâs soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms.Â
Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again.Â
âItâs okay,â Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, âYouâre okay.âÂ
You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you.Â
Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly oftenâoften enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use itâautomatically made your stomach turn.
âTold ye Iâd come back for ye,â Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what youâd done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.
As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you couldâve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpectedânot that you donât think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didnât think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That youâd be punished for punishing yourself.Â
Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better.Â
"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click.Â
He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier.Â
âFinished with this one,â Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small âthank youâ Price utters.Â
You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly.Â
You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you canât help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghostâs hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adamâs apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin.Â
His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure.Â
Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as heâs kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghostâs, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once.Â
Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what theyâre doing for a second, before giving Ghost a âone momentâ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.
Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it.Â
Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel youâd used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you couldâve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you couldâve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort.Â
They donât look like any of the pretty descriptions youâd given them. They donât look like cat scratches youâd gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bearâthey donât make you look strong and brave like you thought they did.Â
They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like youâd been counting down the daysâor seconds, minutes, hoursâuntil youâd had enough. Until youâd had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more.Â
Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned.Â
âYouâre thinking about something,â He points out softly, âTell me whatâs going on in that head of yours.âÂ
You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, âJust thinking about how these are gonna scar.â Itâs not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either.Â
Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, âDo you know how theyâre gonna scar?âÂ
âWell, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.â
You can tell he wants to ask how theyâre gonna scar, so you decide to just say, âTheyâre all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so theyâll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, theyâll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and itâll make it look a little bit puffy.âÂ
âAlright,â Price hums, tone neutral, âSo theyâll be⊠visible.âÂ
He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.
âYeah.âÂ
âOkay then,â Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler heâd been using earlier, âAnd itâll take a few months to heal, you said?âÂ
âSeveral months, yeah.â Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin.Â
âDo you think youâll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?â He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question.Â
ââŠâ You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, â⊠Yeah.âÂ
âMâkay,â Price hums softly, neutrally. âAnd would you want me to be the one who does it?âÂ
You think for another few minutes. Preferably, youâd be doing them yourself, but you didnât trust yourself enough for thatâso getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldnât mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldnât mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either.Â
âIt doesnât matter,â You settle on, before tacking on, âAs long as itâs one of you four.âÂ
âUs âfourâ being⊠?âÂ
âYou, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.âÂ
âGot it,â Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. Heâs probably thinking that he shouldnât be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghostâs thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally.Â
Your words affect them more than you thought they would.Â
Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince.Â
Itâs silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, âI almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckinâ Lieutenants do?âÂ
You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you.Â
âNobody told you to get it,â You shrug, before tacking on, âThank you, though.âÂ
âUh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uhââ He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, âWeâre both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something⊠again.âÂ
âWorst fucking timing ever,â Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, âRight, Iâll check in on ye later, and help ye wiâ anything ye need me tae, aye? Iâll come wiâ mair chocolate than Gaz did, âcause Iâm better than him.âÂ
âGot it,â You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghostâs hand isnât occupying, before heading out with Gaz.Â
Then, youâre left with Ghost and Price.Â
âI should get going too,â Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably.Â
âMâkay,â You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like heâs about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did.Â
And then, it was just you and Price.
Itâs silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.
âYou think a lot,â Price comments, finishing up the last staple.Â
âDoes that surprise you?âÂ
âA little bit, yeah.âÂ
You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, âItâs nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.âÂ
âWanna give me some more detail than that?âÂ
âNot really, no,â You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, âBut I have a feeling youâre gonna want me to tell you.âÂ
âI do.âÂ
âItâs just something stupid, like earlierââÂ
âThat wasnât stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.âÂ
âIâ I know. Itâs just that this is actually stupid.âÂ
âWell, tell me what it is, and Iâll be the judge of that.âÂ
You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, âI used to think that the scars sort of⊠symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feelâŠâ You canât think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so youâre forced to say, â⊠brave. And strong. I justâ I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now Iâm questioning all of that.âÂ
âYouâre very brave,â Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like heâs reassuring a child, âAnd youâre so strong. But this⊠this isnât how you show that. Thisâcutting yourselfâdoesnât make you either of those things. It doesnât show that youâre either of those things. It shows that you need help.âÂ
âBut you just said that I was strong.âÂ
âI did.âÂ
â⊠Arenât you contradicting yourself?â
âHow would I be contradicting myself?â Price asks.Â
âYou said that meâ me⊠harming myself shows that I need help.âÂ
âIt does,â Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, âYou needing help doesnât mean you arenât strong. Needing help and being strong arenât connected like that.âÂ
You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up.Â
âIâll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, Iâll be back to keep you company. Or Iâll send someone else overâwhichever you prefer.âÂ
âMâkay,â You mumble, squeezing Priceâs hand back before letting go. âYou can do whatever. I donât mind either one.âÂ
âSounds good.â Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.
Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."
He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."
task force 141 reacting to [reader] clinging to them â python333
â â â â
synopsis just as the title says bb!! just some headcanons of the boys reacting to the reader clinging to them and basically following them around like a lost puppy!
relationships platonic!tf141 & reader.
characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.
warnings written in 2nd person pov [you/your/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], non-scottish reader [or could be read as scottish with less of an accent], probably ooc :{
note this is so. self indulgent. BUT i need to get my thoughts out rn about these boys because its too much to contain my silly little brain won't let this go and i need to just hdjhsdfjdhj. if anyone wants to request something for me to write pls do it because this is the only thing thats gotten me out of my writers block.
JOHN "BRAVO SIX" PRICE
â„ i honestly donât even think heâd notice at first.
â„ about a week after youâd gotten to know everyone on the team and started to get used to their quirks, you decide your target to cling onto is gonna be price⊠because why not?
â„ when i say cling i mean following him around like a lost puppy, just about watching his every move, basically being his shadow.
â„ itâs not until about three days of you doing this when he realizes youâre shadowing him.
â„ when he confronts you about it, itâs less of a confrontation and more like him saying â... do you need something?â and then brushing it off when you shake your head ânoâ.
â„ heâs not really irritated or angry about it, more confused but generally okay with it.
â„ so when he realizes youâre gonna be doing this often, he canât tell whether he should feel honored or bothered.
â„ spoilers: he ends up feeling honored. itâs his fatherly instincts, yâall already know.
â„ heâs awkward about it at first, now that he actually knows youâre following him, heâs constantly checking over his shoulder and â yep, youâre still there.
â„ so he doesnât confront you about it again, and just lets you follow him around, and once yâall get closer he teases you for following him around like a duckling would with its mother.
â
Youâd been following Price around for a few days now. He hadnât noticed so far, thank God, but he was definitely close to finding out. You could see the way heâd occasionally glance over his shoulder and see you following him, then keep eye contact with you for a moment before going on with his day â which really confused you at first, but who cares as long as heâs not stopping you? â and letting you follow him.
You had been following him out of habit. You didnât mean to follow him in particular, it just⊠happened. Something about his demeanor, youâd convinced yourself, He just feels safe. Itâs inexplicable and we will not be diving into my underlying issues to figure out why he feels safe.
So when heâd confronted you about itâor, asked you about it is probably more accurateâwith a questioning tone and the words, âDid you need something?â, you shook your head ânoâ, and that was that. The older man had looked at you for another second, eyes looking over your expression as if trying to read you like a book, then went on with his day. You had let out a sigh of relief, and continued your little routine of following him around and being his little shadow.
â
JOHN âSOAPâ MACTAVISH
â„ heâs such a silly guy, man.
â„ heâd notice but pretend he didnât, just for the sake of seeing how long youâll follow him.
â„ if anyone points out your presence heâll ignore it and change the subject.
â„ of course, once he realizes you arenât letting up your clinginess, he confronts you about it in the most professional way possible!
â„ âDo ye trail everyone âround like that, or am I jist special?â
â„ it takes you a moment to figure out what he just said because holy fuck that accent is THICK.
â„ but you figure it out after a quick moment of thinking and struggle to respond, before offering a quiet, â... Uh. I guess youâre just special?â
â„ he is very happy about this.
â„ he nods approvingly and goes on with his day, letting you trail behind him.
â„ he really doesnât mind, and actually enjoys having you trail behind him.
â
Following around Soap was more of a challenge than youâd intended. It was fun, for the most part, and you liked that he didnât acknowledge you at all. The main reason you had kept following him was because he didnât bother you at all, and didnât even glance back at you as you followed him, no, he simply let you follow him around and shadow him all day.
Of course, you still had training and practice, but the moment you had gotten out of the showers and were done for the day, youâd gone back to following Soap, once youâd found him. Your daily routine was basically: wake up, eat breakfast, follow Soap, go to the training room and follow your COâs orders, shower and eat lunch or dinner, find Soap, follow Soap, sleep, repeat.
Then one day, on a particularly idle day, Soap had turned to you and popped the question â âDo ye trail everyone âround like this, or am I jist special?â
Maybe you were just being dramatic, but holy fuck , his accent made it almost sound like he was speaking a whole different language. You process his words for a moment, before responding with a quiet, âUh⊠I guess youâre just special?â
He seemed pretty satisfied with that answer and never really bothered you with it again.
â
SIMON âGHOSTâ RILEY
â„ he realizes immediately and ohhh boyyyyyy.
â„ âDo you need something?â âDid you need something?â âWhy are you following me?â âStop following me.â âDo you need something?â
â„ he is. Very bothered.
â„ constantly looking over his shoulder just to find your annoying ass following him.
â„ will always ask you why youâre following him, and when you shrug or give a bullshit excuse, he gives an exasperated sigh and goes on with his day.
â„ sometimes heâd even try to lose you in the crowd, and when you miraculously continue to follow him through it, heâd somehow become even more miserable. itâs impressive, your dedication to following him around like this.
â„ heâll warm up to it eventually, maybe a month or two after youâve started following him.
â„ by month one heâll stop constantly asking you why youâre following him, and by month two heâll stop constantly glancing over his shoulder.
â„ and eventually, heâll stop trying to lose you in the crowds, and instead look for the easiest way to get through them with you trailing behind him.
â
Ghost shouldâve known from the moment you persisted with your following of him through thick and thin that youâd never give this up. Honestly, itâs impressive how dedicated you are to trailing behind him like a little shadow, never even speaking to him, just following him.
However, Ghost could persist as well.
Youâd follow him around as much as possible, starting at the break of dawn and briefly pausing your following to do whatever training your CO instructed and then resuming your following till curfew. Day after day, Ghost would interrupt your following by questioning it, then when given an answer, heâd give an exasperated sigh and storm off, not waiting for you to catch up.
At first, he thought you wanted to win over some sort of attention or affection from him. So, he made sure not to give you any. He didnât spare a single moment for you, besides glancing at you over his shoulder and questioning your presence, and yet you continued to follow him. So he experimented with it a bit â he didnât spare a single glance at you one day, didnât speak to you one bit, didnât do anything. Just went around as if you werenât there. And yet, you continued to follow him, not put off by his behavior at all.
So, he just stopped thinking too much about you, in the nicest way possible. He wouldnât glance back at you and question your presence, but he also wouldnât try and lose you around the base. He wouldnât storm off and leave you running to catch up. Sometimes, he even forgets youâre there at all. He warms up to it, albeit after a few months, but he still warms up to it nonetheless.
â
KYLE âGAZâ GARRICK
â„ i think heâd notice fairly quickly but wouldnât point it out right away.
â„ like, heâd glance over his shoulder and see you following him, but gaslights himself into thinking youâre just trying to get to the same place he is, so he doesnât confront you about it or anything.
â„ so when he realizes that youâre following him and not just trying to get to the same place he is, heâs kind of weirded out, but still doesnât confront you.
â„ heâll ask soap for some help on what to do and the damn idiot just goes â[c/n] probably has a crush on youâ so now gaz thinks you have a crush on him.
â„ i mean, heâs flattered, but also he has no idea who you are, soâŠ
â„ heâs now even more awkward.
â„ so then he goes to price for help,
â„ and price is just a tinge more reasonable.
â„ price tells gaz that youâre probably just shadowing him because you see him as some sort of mentor, or maybe there was someone in your past that was similar to gaz and you followed them around as well.
â„ his reasoning doesnât help all that much, because what the fuck is gaz supposed to do with that, but whatever.
â„ he really doesnât know what to do about you, to be honest.
â„ after way too long, he asks you why youâre following him.
â„ and when you shrug or give an excuse as to why youâve been trailing behind him ever since youâve gotten here, he shrugs back and goes on with his day.
â„ doesnât mind all that much, so yippee!!
â„ eventually, when you two get closer, he tells you that you can walk by his side instead of behind him.
â
Making Gaz your target was probably the best idea youâve ever had.
Heâs pretty quiet, doesnât actively try to get you to go away, and best of all, he really just walks around and does any tasks he needs to. Itâs oddly nice, just watching him do his work. He doesnât talk to himself under his breath like Soap or Price does, and doesnât do his work in complete silence like Ghost does. Heâll often hum to himself or whistle, a noise thatâs quickly become weirdly comforting to you.
Itâs kind of disappointing realizing you have to go off to training, honestly. Following Gaz around has quickly become the pinnacle of your day. Which sounds really sad now that you think of it, but who cares.
About a month of you following him later, he finally asks you why youâre following him. In the nicest way possible, of course.
âIs there a reason youâve been following me around all month?â
When you shrug or give an excuse for your actions, he thinks about your words (or your wordless shrug) for a moment and mutters a quiet, âAlright, then,â and goes on with his day.