#Platonic!Gaz

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Found Pt. 4 | Poly!141 & Reader

Summary: You, Simon, and Price go shopping, while the two work out their problems, and you get new clothes and delicious Thai chicken.

Word Count: ~3.2k

Warnings: arguing, yelling, cursing, but it gets resolved, cuddles

A/N: reader is starting to come out of her shell a bit, which will certainly make things more interesting…hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

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Johnny hadn’t come out to the Jeep yet, and for the past five minutes Simon had been about to drive away, one hand on the wheel, index finger tapping away impatiently as he scowled in the direction of the house. They both seemed almost attached at the hip more often than not. You wondered what was holding the werewolf up.

The front door swung open, but instead of Johnny and his ever-wagging tail coming out, it was Price who lumbered out. The little brown fuzzy’s barely visible on his head, which you assumed were ears, twitched as he approached the car, opened the passenger door, and hauled his body in.

The car shook ever so slightly when he pulled the door shut, slamming it loudly in a gesture that made you jump a bit.

“Where’s Johnny?”

Simon asked, his tone calm but the hint of annoyance creeping in. He raised a brow at Price, who huffed with a hint of a growl that had the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

“Said I’m gonna pull my back out choppin’ wood, told me to come with you.”

John sounded more than annoyed, huffing, his sentence trailing off with his voice growing a bit more than brusque as usual, Simon sighing out through his nostrils.

“Not like he’s wrong.”

He mumbled, putting the keys in, turning them, and starting the ignition, before Price growled deep and low. Your breath caught in your throat, muscles tensing as you scooted more away from the middle of the backseat to the right side, body curling up as you tried to focus on the moving scenery outside the tinted window, the car pulling out of the driveway and bumbling along the bumpy roads. Trees blurred into brown and orange masses as Simon sped up a bit, his and John’s conversation speeding up as well.

“Leave it, Price.”

If you were a hybrid, you might’ve been able to smell the souring of John’s scent or the hint of bitter anger that tinted it.

“You’re hardly younger than me, but those muppets don’t blink twice when you’re doing work, do they?”

A pause from Simon.

“It’s..different, Price. We’re different.”

“Yeah, how’re we different? You saying you’re better than me.”

The atmosphere thickened. You didn’t like how angry he sounded, how Simon’s knuckles were white around the wheel, how John was bordering on a growl every word. He seemed pent up. Angry about more than just what had happened today, as if this had been building for a while, longer than you’d been around to see.

Simon didn’t deny it.

“You muppets, always thinkin’ I’m getting too old for this, well I’m not. I’m not too fuckin’ old to chop wood—“

He snarled out, and your hands went to cover your ears, tears pricking your eyes. You didn’t like angry, cussing men. They brought back bad memories, things you didn’t want to think about again, not right now, if ever. Your knees curled up into your chest, and your blurry vision focused on the window.

The trees had turned into walls of rock, with a few darker spots where water was steadily dripping down, and grass crusted over with frost. The little trees that were on the top had lost all of their leaves by now, the cold chill getting to them.

It was cold in the car, too.

They didn’t have the AC on, which made sense, considering the amount of hair on John meant he didn't need much heat, and Simon’s large body produced enough on its own. Or at least you assumed.

Their argument grew a bit more heated, a few words slipping into your ears despite the hands covering them until they were both yelling at each other, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop it!”

You finally yelled, hands still covering your ears, eyes fearful and scared. John’s mouth was still open from something he’d been about to say before they both turned to glance at you and knew they’d fucked up.

Simon took one look at you through the rearview mirror and internally winced. You witnessed the entire thing, an argument that he and John had been having for years now. The old man was too stubborn to let anyone else try and take care of him, shouldering more and more, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and getting angry when anyone tried to help him if he stumbled.

John’s anger was gone in a second, replaced with the full internal instinct to fix. His cub was upset because of him. It was his fault. He had to fix it.

Your body language alone was screaming “stay away from me, I will bite your hand off”, as was your scent, but he couldn’t just let you sit all terrified in the backseat, so he tried to calm you down just a bit.

“‘M sorry, cub. Didn’t mean to scare you,”

His voice turned from angry to soft and cooing so quickly it almost gave you whiplash, but it still worked a bit on softening the anxiety churning in your gut. Not enough for you to accept the large hand he was offering, though.

Simon looked at the rearview mirror once again, both behind the car, and then at you once more, and was hit with a sudden realization.

You were afraid, fearful, but he didn’t see any hint of surprise in your expression. You’d been in foster care so long, you’d probably seen all sorts of relationships, maybe even experienced a few, if your earlier request to visit a ‘friend’ was anything to go off of, but you probably hadn’t seen what a healthy relationship was before.

And what he and John had just showed you? That wasn’t healthy, not at all.

So he tried to think of what Gaz would do, ever the virtuous young man, always trying to mend relationships and crossing bridges before burning them completely. He’d seen it just a day ago between him and Soap. Kyle was always thinking about what the other person was thinking and feeling, what they might be going through, putting himself in someone else’s shoes.

Simon might’ve not been the best with emotions, but he could recognize the signs of a minor breakdown. Price hadn’t slept well much this week, before you’d come he’d been worried about getting the room done on time, and since then he’d been worried about you getting comfortable. His short temper made sense. And with such a small, new kid in their home, slowly becoming a member of the pack, it made sense for his protective instincts to be on overdrive, making him shoulder more responsibilities as the leader of the pack.

In fact, he hadn’t seen John this worked up in years, not even with their past fosters.

Simon could have some empathy for the man, and after growing up through his childhood with no good father figure, only his dad abusing his mother and being drunk all the time. You deserved better than what he’d had to see and much better than what he and Price were showing you.

“John.”

He interrupted the man’s cooed words, and John at the lack of nickname and the sheer tone that Simon was using. It wasn’t an unkind tone, it was soft and quiet, much less intimidating than the usual monotone and bland voice he adorned.

It caught your attention too, he could tell. His eyes remained on the road, but he could scent the subtle shift in your emotions, from the fear and worry, a bitter scent, to the shift to a calmer, softer scent. Almost like freshly done laundry, and how soft and warm it is coming out of the dryer.

“Yes?”

He was trying to stay angry, Simon could tell, but it wasn’t working.

Simon took a deep breath, trying to push down the embarrassment he already felt for what he was about to say. It felt strange to acknowledge emotions so clearly, but it was necessary, and if he had to push himself out of his comfort zone to make you comfortable, he would. He’d done better for worse people.

“I...understand that you’re stressed, and feel like we’re undermining you, but we’re just worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard, and not trusting us enough to let us help you. It’s not that any of us are better than you, we just don’t want you taking everything on your shoulders.”

He heaved a shaky breath out, eyes on the road as he pulled into the parking lot of the mall, eyes scanning for a parking spot that wasn’t taken up.

“I’m sorry,”

John finally spoke up, voice rough, but not with anger, only thick with emotion.

“I’ve just been stressed, and trying to keep myself busy. I didn’t mean to…”

His sentence trailed off as he leaned into Simon, and Simon leaned his head against him as he finally found a spot, and pulled into it.

As you sat in the back, watching, John finally pulled away from Simon a minute later, giving a little apologetic smile to you as he opened his door, moving to open yours.

“Sorry for scaring ya, cub. Let’s make it up and go get some clothes, yeah?

He offered a hand, and you found that you took it, despite having to lift your arm a bit for your hand to meet his large, calloused one. He was warm.

Simon came around after you heard him pull the keys out, lock the car, and shut his door. He took your other hand, leaving you sandwiched between the two giant men as you all approached the entrance to the mall, which was a lot of sliding glass doors marked with “Exit” and “Entrance”.

As soon as you entered, your senses were assaulted with the smells and musks of other people and perfume, not to mention delicious food and drinks, as well as bright lights from stores and flashing lights from stands selling kids’ toys. It was loud, people talking unabashedly on the phone, to their friends as they laughed and tripped over their own feet, or to their partners as they walked hand in hand. A few other children your age were there, but no humans.

It didn’t necessarily surprise you.

Simon noticed how overwhelmed you were, and he couldn’t say that he hadn’t expected it. Malls were large spaces packed full of people looking to sell things, and others rushing to buy things. Especially with how most people tended to easily be taller than you, or tower over you, he could imagine you’d be easily intimidated by that, let alone all the options of where to go.

Giving your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, he spoke.

“We can get clothes first, then decide from there.”

John met his eye, and nodded, silently agreeing with him. You mumbled a little “okay”, before being led along by the both of them to a nearby area in the mall that was a large clothing store, one of the bigger shopping areas than the hallways full of different, smaller stores.

“Let’s focus on winter clothes first, so jackets, scarves, gloves, pants, those sorts of things. Then we can move on to lighter wear.”

You all navigated the store, meandering around before John spotted the “Children’s clothing” sign, and you finally found the girl’s section. From there, you had to narrow that down to the human section among all sorts of hybrids.

That was the one thing you didn’t envy about hybrids, was how hard it must be to find clothing that properly fit their various parts like wings, tails, etc. There was a reason that seamstresses and embroiderers had become much more popular after hybrids really began rapidly spreading and taking over the population. The business was booming.

“What about this one?”

John asked, gesturing to a striped sweater. You could tell from a few glances that the quality wasn’t the greatest, and that it wasn’t made of real wool or fiber, probably just the type of polyester that rubbed against your skin badly. You reached a hand out, disconnecting from Simon, and rubbing against the fabric only to confirm your assumption. You shook your head.

“Itchy.”

You said simply. They tried pointing out clothes and jackets you might like to no avail, probably not understanding the concept of needing fabric to stay warm, considering most hybrids had fur to keep them warm, if not their bodies practically being furnaces.

Finally, you found the absolute perfect jacket. A hoodie that wasn’t tight around the bottom, but baggy enough to where it went down to your mid-thigh, the sleeves weren’t tight, and the hood was loose and wasn’t so heavy that it weighed the hoodie down or strangled you. The inside felt like a cloud, and it was stretchy but also firm enough to keep heat insulated.

When you finally stopped feening over the hoodie, you flipped the price tag over and winced, putting it back. It might’ve been perfect, but it was a ridiculous amount of money for a hoodie. Too much money for a hoodie.

Simon and Price exchanged a look behind your back as you went on to find other clothes, returning twenty minutes later with, as John requested, a scarf, gloves, some sweatpants, and socks. Simon scoped it all out of your arms and put it in their cart, following behind as John began looking for the clothes for lighter seasons, finding it and letting you choose your pick.

Having spent almost two hours in the one place by now, with you trying on various clothes, John said he wanted to make sure they fit right before buying them, and your mild indecisiveness as well. When it was all said and done, you had plenty of clothes for outfits throughout the year, and they checked out.

It was only after everything had been checked out that you saw it.

The hoodie.

Simon held it carefully, scanning it, before ripping the tag off with ease and handing it to you. You opened your mouth in protest at first, a bit embarrassed, but decided against saying anything as you slid it on. It fit perfectly.

It wouldn’t be very easy for either of them to hold the bags and your hand at the same time, so Simon leaned down, getting on one knee, and gesturing to his shoulders, gently picked you up by the armpit, and lifted you until you were sitting on his shoulders.

You blinked in surprise for a moment or two, but eventually, the shock wore off. The internal cringing after seeing a couple go “awwww” at the sight of you, or a group of women giggling to themselves, seeing Simon carrying you, didn’t though.

John noticed, a little smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t mind anyone noticing what good parents they were to the newest member of their pack, it actually made his chest swell with pride.

“You hungry?”

Simon asked, tilting his head a bit to the side to catch a glimpse of you, just so he knew you had heard him. You gave a little nod, being absolutely starving by now, and he chuckled.

“Me too, kid. Let’s see how much we can convince Price to spend on food.”

You’d both convinced him to spend quite a lot on food, apparently, as you both sat down, eating Thai chicken that tasted scrumptious. You devoured it, eating faster than even Simon, and Price was steadily laughing as he watched you somehow shove more food down your throat.

“Save some for the rest of us,”

Price chuckled, watching as you swallowed more chicken, looking up at him with a look more feral than any hybrid he’d seen, before pouting in what he assumed was a joking way.

“I’m just a girl.”

You said, and Simon’s deep, raspy laughs started up at that. He apparently found it funny. You continued devouring your food, filling your stomach until you were all full, something you weren’t used to from your past foster parents.

Price was enjoying his food as well as you all sat at the Food Court, in a little booth table. The lady working the shop had given extra-large servings after taking one look at Simon and Price, knowing big men like them would need plenty of food. She probably hadn’t known how starved you’d been, and by now, you were too hungry to care about eating nicely in front of them.

There was sauce on your lips and your fingers, but you didn’t care, Price wiping some from his beard, Simon using a napkin to wipe some of it from his mouth, before folding that napkin over, and wiping it off your face. You looked at him, a smile tugging at your lips. He tried to conceal his smirk but failed as you burst into giggles. Price laughed again.

After finally finishing off all of the chicken, both you and Simon were in a food coma by now, Price had to drag both of you out of the mall and into the car, climbing into the driver’s seat. You and Simon lagged behind a little bit, before you broke out into a run to the car, yelling a message for Simon.

“I call shotgun!”

“You can’t just—“

He sputtered, racing after you, but too late as you yanked the passenger door open, collapsing into the seat as you shut the door and locked it manually. He raised a brow, but you buckled up, securing your seat with a badly suppressed smile.

He opened the back door, climbed in, and stretched out on all three of the seats in the back, yawning as he didn’t even bother to buckle up.

You and John both looked back at him, you giggling quietly as Simon’s lips twitched, John just shaking his head in fond exasperation.

The drive home was quiet, other than the low-volume music playing in the background as you curled up in the large seat, watching the window, eyelids heavy, but you resisted the siren's call of sleep for most of the car ride, other than a little five-minute nap, or maybe a little bit longer than five minutes.

Or maybe you fell asleep almost the entire car ride, only waking up when you heard Johnny’s excited voice, followed by hushing, and you shifted around, only to find yourself cradled in John’s arms.

“Quiet, she’s sleeping.”

Kyle murmured, and Johnny whined, the sound almost piercing to your ears.

“No, she ain’t—“

And then you slowly blinked awake, finding yourself being shifted from John’s arms to Johnny’s, warm muscle gently caging you in as soft fur rubbed gently against your skin, tickling a bit. His chest rumbled with a deep purr, one that even had you melting further into him, despite not being the same species. It somehow still affected you.

You heard his heavy footsteps thud down the hall, until your bedroom door creaked open, and the soft blankets in your bed surrounded you now instead of him.

You shifted around a bit, finding a comfortable angle and spot, listening to his quiet breathing and loud purring as he kissed you on the forehead, murmuring something so low that you couldn’t hear it, before leaving the room, leaving you to fall asleep.

Tags:

@theartgremlin

@roastyyytoastyyy

@simonrileysown

@thriving-n-jiving

@angeldemon28

@purple-moonbeam

@d-oo-t

@epochal-oracle

@picklehat3r

@starandcloud

[applejuicebegood]

All My Love - Platonic!Gaz x Teammate!Reader

Fem!Reader

Summary: Stressing over the cooking for that evening and bad memories, Y/N finds Gaz who talks them through what their feeling. A/N: Wrote this for the very sweet @midnights-song and @kaoyamamegami for their very kind words on my last fic. This one is a sorta fallow up, please enjoy! Masterlist

Cw: Descriptions of absent + alcoholic mother, mentions of PTSD-related flashbacks, elder-child syndrome Word Count: 1960

The smell of cedar smoak and garlic clung to your hands and hair. A dull ache snaked its way up the back of your knees and into your thighs. Wringing your hands with a damp tea-towel you looked over your kitchen, the results of your labour tucked away in the humming oven and boiling on the stove top. Flour and spices swirled together across every vacant surface, oil-stained pots and bowls crowded your skink, and potato skins and egg shells were crowded in a pile across from the filled compost bin you were meaning to take outside to feed to your chickens. You puffed out a long breath, resting your wrists on your hips. You had finally finished all of the cooking for tonight's supper for your teammates. 

Your experience with cooking has been relegated to that of your small family. The distant memories of your aunts and grandmothers crowded in the same kitchen where you stood now, knives and peelers making quick work of the harvested meat and potatoes your farm had cultivated. It was the only thing you recalled as you struggled to discern the cramped handwriting of the recipes left behind by your family. Their jovial laughing and quick gaelic speak now distant memories carved into the cabinets and countertops. Smeared on the vintage china and cast iron skillets hung on the oak walls. If you stayed still and concentrated enough you could remember the feeling of your grandmother's rough palm on your supple cheek and her lips on your forehead. The smell of milk and wheat wafting through your senses. 

You were much younger then. Your fingers easily slipping onto the knife's blade and your wrists burned from boiling pasta water. You needed to use your baby sister's step stool to stand over the cutting board properly. Your mother was too busy passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey slipping from her limp grasp to worry about feeding her children. You were the eldest, therefore it became your job to try and emulate the effortless dance you watched your female relatives perform every holiday season or family reunion. 

Now you were quicker, easily controlling the tools in your scarred, tattooed hands. Your time in the military proved helpful in quickening your reaction speed, allowing you to cut through the squash and potatoes faster than before. You had begun the cooking process that morning, refusing the offered help from your teammates. Insisting that guests shouldn’t be expected to cook and that you could handle it. And you could, although it resulted in the ache in your thighs spreading into your lower back, causing a hushed groan to escape from your throat as you tugged at the roots of your hair. 

You quickly turned at the harsh thumping of boots on the creaking wooden stairs. Drawn out of your spiralling stupor. 

‘Holy.. smells fucking amazing in here lass..’ ‘Language! Johny!’ You say through clenched teeth, motioning to the living room couch where your baby sister was supposed to be sitting next to your captain. The volume of the football game on the TV turned down. Johnny winced in apology, hushing his booming voice to a whisper. ‘Sorry.. Sorry, here you go sit.. I’ll clean’ 

Johnny says after looking you over and taking the towel from your hands. Your team had gotten good at noticing when exhaustion or strain worked its way into each other's bodies. Your hunched shoulders and wide eyes giving away your building stress. ‘Oh Johnny no.. you don’t have too-’ ‘Yea.. yea, Go sit lassie.. After mak’in all this food I’m surprised you're still standing’ Johnny says ushering you to the living room before patting your shoulder and turning to find a starting point in the stack of dishes. 

You sigh. The instinct of obeying your higher ranking sergeant hadn’t seemed to wear off yet. Walking to the couch you expected to have your little sister squeal and jump into your arms. Only to find her little body curled against your captain’s side. Her hands bunched up under her chin, the delicate skin of her eyelids shut. Price’s head rested on the back of the couch with his arms stretched out over the cushions, his mouth slightly agape. You quietly leaned down to brush your sister's forehead, as if in response she snuggled her cheek against Price’s side at your touch, not wanting to be woken up just yet. Price twitched in his sleep, pulling Emi closer against him. You kissed the side of her head, pulling the knitted blanket up over her shoulders and across your captain's lap. The warm prick of relief spread across your skin at the realization that your baby sister had grown comfortable enough to fall asleep in the circle of your captain's embrace. Hoping that she had found someone other than you to admire and emulate.  

You made your way to the back porch, pulling on a leather overcoat to protect your warmth from the bite of the winter air. As you swung the glass door open, the brush of cold against your warm cheeks soothed you, your breath clouding up in front of you. You looked out onto the backyard of your farm, a few metres of blanketed gardening space trailing out to the fenced off cliff side. The clothesline pole used in the warmer months stood to the right, the cable attached to the house swinging in the swirling wind. The fence built to keep your cows and sheep and your sisters from roaming too close to the cliff edge poked out from the dull white snow. Past the drop of land, you could see the storm-grey waves churning and thrashing against each other like fighting children. Stretching further into the distance. You slowed your breathing and shut your eyes, trying to test if you could hear the water slap against the cliff side. When you were little, you would climb through the wire fencing and peer over the cliff's edge, never realizing how if you took only a few more steps death would embrace you like the waves embraced the fistfulls of grass and pebbles you would toss over the edge. Sometimes you wished you could return to that state of not even being afraid of falling from a cliff face. 

‘Hey.. Y/N?’ ‘Oh! Kyle.. shit you scared me!’ 

The jolt of surprise at Gaz’s voice ran up your spine and over your chest. In your daze, you didn’t realize Gaz settled on the porch's couch, a book from the living room shelf open in his lap. The deck held a few mismatched outdoor chairs and a couch, crowded with old throw pillows and spear blankets. Small metal lanterns hung overhead, painted and decorated by your sisters when they were both in primary school. The dwindling candle light gently swayed over Gaz’s smooth brown skin, a warm break from the multitude of grey stretching out before you. 

‘Heh sorry, here.. Sit. You look like you need a break’ Your boots scuffed against the deck floor as you settled yourself by Kyle. You tucked your legs up underneath you with a groan. The pain settling in your legs. You were still fixated on the blurred horizon line stretching beyond the haze of clouds that were beginning to roll in from the town harbour. Gaz’s presence beside you blurring like the apparent ending of the surrounding oceans. ‘Hey.. you alright?’ Gaz asked with the snap of his book shutting. ‘Yeah.. yeah of course.. Just, just thinking about.. Ya know, I mean… I-I just want things to be good for you guys’ You say, looking up at him. Folding your arms over your chest. ‘What.. What do you mean? Y/N.. things have been perfect, I honestly don’t know what else you could do to make this trip more enjoyable’ ‘I know.. I mean- I think, I don’t know Gaz.. I just worry that.. that this isn’t.. Ugh! I don’t even know what i’m saying’ You chuckle, gripping your head as you run a hand through your hair. Glancing at Gaz you notice him scratching the jagged scar on his forearm. 

It was during a mission in your last deployment that an enemy soldier split his skin open with a combat knife. Your stitches were frantic and clumsy, being that you were in the back of a moving helicopter for the evac and you had to watch the consciousness drain out of your friend's face. You noticed how as the cut started to heal Gaz would scratch at the scar absently, something that annoyed you being that it would remind you that the split wouldn't be so gnarled had you been able to keep your shaking hands steady.  ‘You really have no clue how to stop worrying..’

His tone was sad, grey like the ocean waters.

‘Worrying ‘bout you lot is my job.. It’s not something I can just.. Turn off’ You were frustrated, picking at the loose threads of the embroidered pattern lacing around your skirt. ‘I get that. I had that during my first break home, not being able to remember how to.. Ya know.. Be normal. To be a person and not a soldier. God, it would drive Ma mad, how I could only get up at five in the morning and.. Ya know.. The flashbacks’ You watched him as he talked, his rich brown eyes cast down at his hands. ‘There really isn’t a proper way to “be normal”, not after what you've been through, what you’ve seen. But that's not something you have to figure out on your own.. I mean hell, most of us would be dead if you weren't on this team Y/N’ ‘Ha.. I know’ ‘Exactly, what I mean is.. You've got people around you who would do anything for you. And we are probably the only ones who know what it’s like to be stuck in trying to remember who you were before deployment. It’s something we’ve all experienced, so don’t you believe for a second you should go through it by yourself.’ Gaz leaned forward, placing his hand on your knee. You instinctively took his fingers into your own, his hands cold. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, gently nodding your head. Your smile tight, trying to hold back the growing dampness in the corners of your eyes. You squeezed his hand, running your thumb over his knuckle. He squeezed your fingers back, a silent language you shared when words were too daunting to put together. You always found it shocking how this kind of comfort felt like it was being directed at someone else. Like it was a puzzle piece ripped in half, it could still fit in the piece but it appeared foreign. You weren't used to it, and how easily it appeared to flow from Gaz. In his words and in his viable willingness to help you. The unusual sensation of being understood made it hard to express your gratitude for it, Gaz knew this. Which is why you both sat there, in a shared understanding only the both of you as colleagues and friends could have. ‘You smell great by the way’

His blunt comment caused a ripple of laughter to fall from your lips, a tear drifting down the bridge of your nose. ‘You dick..’ You scoffed, leaning your head onto his shoulder, tucking your arm under his. 

‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’

You mumble, directing your attention back to the grey horizon line. ‘What does that mean..?’ Gaz asks, following your gaze outwards. You respond with a simple sigh. The stress and aching dissipated for the moment, something you didn’t want to risk losing with your supposed inability to properly thank Gaz for his tenderness and care.

A/N: ‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’ translates to 'your such an angel' in Irish Gaelic

[boowritess]

part 2 lol

so apparently it's really fucking hard to get into the SAS. and ontop of that I've been getting tiktoks of people going around an army base asking why they joined. most responses were to pay off student loans, bills, school, (someone said there's was 6 years of prison or school and *mental note for idea*), the recruiter lied or spoilt them, barracks bunny.

141 (poly?) x notsobaddasssoldier!reader

and now i can't stop thinking of soldier!reader. who really half-assed their way through everything - only doing the job for the money and to pay off student loans + they had nothing better to do.

who somehow ends up being adopted by Price (kinda like Gaz i guess ???) all because reader happened to be in the right place at the right time and saved Price's ass while managing to complete a mission the Task Force were doing.

and it's not that you saved his ass or completed the mission that makes Price go *this is mine* - it's the fact that afterwards all you can say is-

"this shit is so not worth paying off my student loans."

"oh fuck i forgot to cancel my subscription. fuckk- waste of fucking money"

- all the while a building is burning in front of you but yeah just not at all concerned about what had just happened. so price just *grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you up, claiming you as part of his task force now.*

(lol you probably can't do that irl but this is fiction sooo suck my ass.)

and laswell's just like no... they are very much still green john. way too green. no.

but it's too late. he's already introducing you to the task force. singing your praises and you're just like

"man he promised to pay off my student loans and give me food." basically how ur recruiter got ya ass.

enough said. you get the whole off the books speech, saving the world by doing things others wouldn't like. but u couldn't give a rats ass - you should but nah...

and like... you know you're the rookie... you're still green... but some of the shit 141 do you just...

"so you just gonna kidnap the wife AND the child...? right... kid, you wanna watch bluey? here..."

"and you do this often...? crazy."

but you don't exactly protest. how could you with how much you get paid. you kinda just side-eye and look away when it's geta a lil crazy. *bombastic side-eye*

and the other 141 guys - oh my days. become just as enormed as price and want to start really trying to amplify your skills. but every time, they start explaining how to do things - the best way to go about a situation or how to fight a certain way.

you pull this face. like your top lip pulls back, your eyebrows scrunch together, and there's a slight frown on your lips as they speak. like you look confused/disgusted. but you don't even realise cause-

"why're you pulling that face?" 141

"that's... that's just my focusing face..."

"oh..." 141 feels bad

then when they do take you in feild you're shaking your head no. like you haven't been around that long. what the fuck? now you're bout to infiltrate an enemy base!?!?!

"can i just wait in the car?"

"no." price

"i'm gonna vomit."

"aim at the enemy." ghost

people think that because you're suddenly in this badass task force that surely they're just using you for your assets.

they all think you're the 141 barracks bunny. and maybe you should be pissed or annoyed or grossed out. but all you can do is sigh and pause from the burger price got you, and let out a long exhale.

"fuck... maybe i can just do onlyfans or be a pornstar... shit maybe it's not too late..."

"military is bascially sex work - selling my body..."

"not that different from what i'm doing now. body being used, check. body sore in the strangest places, check."

your tone so empty, blank and nonchalant, but there's a serious look in your eyes that when you grab your phone out to maybe do a little research on how you could do that, your phone is snatched from your hand by one of the guys and they walk out the room without a second look back.

with an annoyed huff, you go back to eating your burger. but suddenly, you turn to the person who genuinely thought you were a barracks bunny.

"hey you think if i be a barracks bunny i get out of missions and shit?"

"...that's not how it works..." rando.

"fuck."

and maybe you try...

like you go to price's office and the guys are already in there, chatting about something that you should really pay attention too but you can't be assed. instead you unashamedly start to speak...

"if i suck ya'll dicks can i get out the mission?"

"no. you still have to join." gaz says amused

"even if you-" *que long sigh from price* "even if you suck our dicks."

"that's fucked up. i should've done porn."

and with the most hurt and broken-hearted look on your face, you leave the office, closing the door with a dramatic sigh. the guys just stare at the door in... confusion, amusement, and maybe arousal if ya'll dig that

idk man just gimmie more soldier!reader who just really ain't the fucked, there for money, lowkey hungry and doesn't know what the fuck is happening. kinda a pet or little sibling energy that the 141 love.

bonus*

"wait so they aren't sucking our dicks?" *soap says getting slapped in the back of the head by ghost

a/n: brain is rottinnggg. i should be doing so much other shit but... cod just consumes my brain 24/7

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 5)

You were never one to complain. Living in the foster system means accepting all kinds of shit that comes with being an orphan in a stranger's house.

You almost never received any presents. It was rare the times you did get something at your placements, but if you did, it was a hand me down. Like the thin blue jacket you came wearing, that was a present from a divorced mother who kids were already too big for the jacket. Or the white dress that a christian family gave to you so you could go to church with them 'dressed appropriately'.

Well, you couldn't complain about that one. The simple white dress is to this day your 'fanciest' piece of clothing.

You wouldn't say you were that much of a picky eater either, but you certainly didn't like all kinds of food... which is pratically torture in the system. You just learned to push all kinds of food down your throat quietly, and if it was truly too bad for you to manage? You would simply come up with a weak excuse and run away from the food.

Being any kind of picky eater in the system was torture. Even worse if you have allergies. You knew a boy at your last group home that was allergic to glutten and peanuts, and he was basically as thin as you were. He was still bigger, being a cat hybrid and all, but at least you knew you weren't the only one suffering at these houses.

So imagine your surprise when John, the big dragon hybrid, spend his whole morning gently coaxing you to go shopping with him and Simon, to get 'things you might need', and 'snacks you might like to eat', and even 'go grab lunch at the mall'.

At first, you were too nervous and anxious to say anything, mostly just staring back at him as you fidgeted quietly in place. It took Johnny joining the conversation excitedly, Kyle sending you stupid thumbs up quietly from the living room couch, and Simon picking up the keys to their car while looking at you expectantly for you to finally agree to go with them.

So here you were, walking between two giants of men at a big and loaded shopping center, nervously trying to keep your pace matched up to theirs as Simon made sure to keep a hand enveloped tightly around your much smaller hand.

Worse of all? A lot of people were looking your way. Big hybrids like Price and Ghost weren't unnusual, but the small little human holding their hand surely was. Not only human, but a human under the care of hybrids. You wanted to burry your head in a deep hole and never come out.

"Darlin'." John's deep and purred voice called your attention immediatly as you looked up at him quietly. "Don't try and wander off, understood?"

You nod quietly, slightly intimidated by his tone and serious face.

"Good baby." He purrs out, giant hand coming down on your head as he messes slightly with the small strands there. "Now, sweetness, let's buy you some things."

"I... I really d-don't need anything..." You murmur quietly, a bit anxious about them wasting money on you.

Both of them looked at you with those serious expressions for a few seconds, considering you. John smiled slightly as he compromised, lifting both hands up.

"Then let's look around, if we find something, then that's good." His laugh is deep, slow and rough. It's clear the smoke from his dragon side had some effect on his throat. That, and he probably smoked cigars and cigarettes too.

You just nodded quietly, not willing to go against his word, as you three kept walking around. That is, until Simon grunted, fixing the surgical mask on his face and looking down like he was thinking of something.

".......what...?" You murmur softly, confused.

"I think you're breaking Simon's back, hun." John laughed deeply, shaking his head slightly.

"W-Wha...?"

"You're too small for me to hold your hand confortably." The wraith deadpanned. "Stay still."

"W-Wait, wh- Aah!"

You were stunned for a second, as you were suddenly held high up. Big, thick arms held your legs easily, making you sit in the crook of his elbow, as he held you to his side like a toddler. It was enough to shut your little squeak of surprise as you were just in shock now.

"Simon, I told you to be gentle." The dragon smirked slightly, tho his voice a bit more rough than usual as it seems to always have an edge of a growl on it.

"I am." The wraith grunted quietly as he started to walk once again. "This is the best option for the both of us. Right, luv?"

"A-Ah... I..." You were too flustered to properly say anything, but you still nodded your head slowly, trying to settle on his arms.

"See?" Simon smirked under his mask to John, as the older man simply rolled his eyes with a smile on his face.

"Say, darlin'. Do you like ice cream?" John offers out of nowhere as he smiles confidently, ignoring Simon's remark.

".....some flavors, yeah..." You mumble back, a little arm holding on Simon's shoulder as you looked around quietly, trying to ignore other people's looks.

"What's your favorite?" He asks easily, taking a different path as Simon followed close behind.

"...Vanilla is good..."

"Good, then vanilla is what you're gonna get." He answers simply, with the confidance you don't think you have ever seen on anyone else.

"...it's... it's really okay if you don't..." You try quietly, only to see him shaking his head slowly, looking over his shoulder that didn't have the wing, expression serious and stoic as his rough voice murmured.

"I provide to my hoard, little hatchling. It would do you good to remember that."

Those words, spoken in that way, was enough to immediatly shut you up, your body instinctively curling on itself (more on Simon really) at the sigh of an intimidating predator.

Tho, Simon didn't let you suffer in your fear and anxiety, as his big and wide palm settled on your small back, pulling you closer to his chest for confort as he was speaking, slow and quiet, even if his voice always sounded rough.

"Price's not mad, fledgling. Stay calm. He's not mad, much less mad at you. He's just a protective bastard." He snorted quietly, bouncing you a little on his arms to help you calm down.

"Watch it, Riley." Price mumbled, tho he had a small smile on his face as he slowed his pace a bit to stand by you and Simon, big hand now being placed on your upper back, which was a slightly shock due to how warm it felt. Simon was wearing gloves, but he felt much cooler. "And i'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to scare you."

He was also doing that subtle baby voice, keeping his voice much quieter as he leaned in and gently nudged half of his face against yours, making you freeze a bit at the action. It really felt like a big animal was trying to be apologetic.

"If Kyle was here, you would've gotten an ear full." Simon commented simply as he watched, amused.

"Thank god he isn't." John huffs a little, stepping back. "I don't need mother hen scolding me for this. I didn't even growl." And now, he was leaning slightly closer again, that quiet and gentle tone coming back as he looked at your small, nervous face. "I'm not that scary, am I, darlin'?"

"'Course you are, for a small little thing like this?" Simon laughs roughly, shaking his head, his grip in you getting firmer.

"I-I'm not scared..." You mumble quietly, playing a bit with the sweater that they lent it to you yesterday, not making eye contact with either of them.

"Of course not, darlin'..." John cooed deeply, tho his tone made it clear that he wasn't taking your answer seriously, rubbing your head gently. "Come on."

In the end, they got you a vanilla ice cream on a big cone, that you were licking it quietly. They were speaking with eachother as they planned what next things to buy, and what stores to visit. You weren't paying that much attention, just focusing on your vanilla ice cream as Simon carried you around.

You got used to him carrying you, and now, you were much more confortable on his hold.

"Baby, look here." John's voice once again called your attention as you lifted your head from the ice cream to stare at him. "What do you think of this blanket?"

You tilted your head to the side, slightly confused, but you reached for the soft blanket he brough close, feeling the fuzzy, confortable texture.

"It's... good." You mumble, unsure about what to say.

"Just good?" John asked, considering your answer, looking between you and the blanket, before putting it back in place. "Let's see others, then."

You were not entirely sure what John was trying to do. Maybe buy you a blanket, but... you already had lots of blankets on the bed they gave you. And on the weird nest on the middle too.

Still, you got distracted once again with the ice cream in your tiny hold, going back to licking it. You were already getting a bit full... you were never the biggest fan of ice cream, you got tired of it fast. So, as you looked quietly to the side to stare at Simon's face, you gently brought the cone close to his face, making him look at you passively.

"Do you want a bit...?" You mumble softly, only to see the man pushing his surgical mask to his chin and taking a big bite out of the ice cream you were holding in front of his face.

You managed to see his scary, pointy and large teeth, the slightly too long and sharp tongue at the action, making you instinctively shudder on his hold. It was natural, a human watching their predator showing their dangerous teeth like it was nothing. Still, you were thankful for his help.

"Oww...." You turned a bit alarmed to John's direction as you heard the dragon's deep croon, his eyes getting half-lidded and pupils dilating. "Always soft for the hatchlings, aren't you, Simon?"

Simon just hums, swallowing the ice cream and licking his lips simply, keeping his serious expression.

"I'm used to being the kids' trashcan." He... joked? You were not sure, since he kept his face and tone so stony, but by John's laugh, you deduced it was a joke.

"Here, hun, how does this blanket feel?" John asks as he brings another fuzzy blanket close, light blue and full of colorful little dots.

"Good... confortable..." You mumble, feeling the material.

"Hmmm...." John considered once again, humming as he squinted his eyes.

"John, you know humans don't nest. She's not going to have hard instincts towards blankets." Simon comments, almost bored as te took another bite of your almost finished ice cream.

"I know, it's just... different to see it." John nods slightly before shrugging. "Do you like this color, little one?"

You just nod quietly, now understanding a bit more what was going on. Indeed, you shouldn't expect nesting instincts from a human, but even you could tell when the blanket was confortable and made from a good material.

"Come on, doll. Let's see what else we can find for you before having lunch." John mumbles softly, leaning close once again, quickly kissing Simon on the lips, who kissed back easily, and then kissing you on the forehead gently.

They were... very nice. Even if a bit scary.

Part 4 / Part 6

[jupitersmoon167]

TF141 x WronglyAccusedTraitor!Reader trope where they die from their injuries shortly before/after the task force learns that they weren’t the traitor (they watch in silence as the medics try and bring them back, but the wounds from all the torture the team brought upon them were too severe)

TF141 x WronglyAccusedTraitor!Reader trope where the team has to live with the fact that their teammate (who thought of the task force as their family not that it mattered when it really counted) died for no reason, afraid of the ones they thought they could trust

TF141 x WronglyAccusedTraitor!Reader trope where the team has to break the news to the their family that their child is dead (do they tell them that they’re the reason their child wasn’t coming back?)

TF141 x WronglyAccusedTraitor!Reader trope where the team never gets the chance to make up for what they did (not that they would ever forgive them in the first place) and take that guilt with them for the rest of their lives, always pondering what if?

[7s3ven]

FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC. platonic! task 141

( short one shot of y/n and jonny as besties )

IN WHICH… there is never a dull moment in task force 141 with you and jonny, best friends since kindergarten, together.

Notes: not following plot

—

( literally y/n and jonny )

You knew sneaking out yet again was a bad idea, especially when Price was so strict about curfew. And yet, Jonny had convinced you to go out for a little snack run. He may as well have a period with all the weird cravings he’s ranting about as you walk towards the front door.

Your hand stalls on the door knob, biting softly on your lip as you turn it. It doesn’t budge. Your heart jumps and your eyes widen as you turn you head to glance at Jonny. “Did you bring the key?” You whisper, not wanting to wake Price, Gaz, or Ghost. You could deal fine with an angry Price or Gaz since it only took one flutter of your lashes to calm them but Ghost was not so easy to persuade.

The last time you snuck out and returned home late, having attended a party all across town, you woke Ghost up and he was waiting for you in the doorway, bunny slippers on, mask barely covering his face, and arms crossed over his broad chest.

The glare he gave you still made you shake.

You watched as Jonny felt around in his pockets before he paused, mouth agape. “I thought you had the key.” He hissed back at you. You click your tongue, smacking his shoulder.

“I asked you to grab it, dumbass.” You furrow your eyebrows. “How are we gonna get in now?”

Jonny’s gaze shifted to the balcony door that Gaz must have forgotten to close. He meets your eyes and you quickly shake your head. “Anything but that.” You mutter.

As tall as Jonny was, he could barely reach the balcony. He would no doubt throw you up instead.

“I’m not climbing.” You grumble as Jonny wraps his arm around a pillar.

“Hear me out.” Jonny attempts to reason with you but you wildly shake your head, a second away from pounding on the door to get away from the madman you call a friend. “I’ll boost you up.” He shows you a gesture with his arms to reassure you, “It’ll be perfect!”

You highly doubt that. You huff as you cross your arms over your chest. “No way.” You stand your ground but a low growl has you regretting your decision.

“It’s that damn coyote again.” Jonny mutters, peering through the darkness for the feral animal that keeps digging through your trash and biting Gaz while he mows the lawn. “I’m pretty sure it has rabies.”

You’re at Jonny’s side in a second. “Oh, fuck no. Boost me up.” Your stomach lurches as Jonny lifts you. Your fingertips brush the wood of the balcony before Jonny screams.

“That thing bit me!” He shouted as you lose your balance. The two of you fall to the floor with a loud thud and you hold your breath, praying it didn’t wake Ghost.

“Man up!” You yell, slapping Jonny once more. “It’ll be fine!”

“I’m gonna have to get my leg amputated!” Jonny cried out as he clutches his ankle. You roll your eyes at his dramatic antics.

“You’re gonna wake Simon! Shut it!” You clasp a hand over Jonny’s mouth, begging him to quiet down. He licks your skin and you screech, quickly recoiling back and frantically wiping your hand on the green grass below. “That’s disgusting!”

Jonny merely sends you a mocking grin.

Through the darkness, you can hear the coyote circling you, thinking what idiots the both of you are. The animal hisses, causing Jonny to flinch and scramble back. “Every man for himself!” He screeches.

You cackle as the coyote chases after Jonny, tackling him to the ground. “Karma, bitch!” You scream. You regret your words a second later as you feel sharp fangs sink into your ankle.

With the dim porch light, you can see Jonny silently wheezing, struggling to breathe as he laughs at you wildly shaking your leg.

Between dealing with the coyote that currently had a hold of your leg between its fangs or possibly waking up Ghost, you chose the latter. Ghost would forgive you… this coyote would not.

“Get it off me, Jonny!” You scream, pulling at the animal’s tail. “It hurts! Fuck, ow! Jonny!” You manage to pry the coyote off, throwing it at your friend.

Gaz always said how there seemed to be a shared, dysfunctional brain cell shared between the two of you whenever you were together. You were starting to agree with his words now.

Jonny finally got rid of the coyote by throwing a half eaten sandwich from the trash can a couple yards over, the animal eagerly following it.

“When we get inside, you’re dead meat.” You harshly prod his chest, glaring at him.

“Let’s just knock on Gaz’s door. He’ll let us in, surely.”

You roll your eyes. “Nah, he’s gonna wake Price up to annoy us. Just lift me up again, will ya? I almost had it before that damn coyote bit ya.”

Jonny did so without hesitation, not wanting to become the victim to your bubbling anger.

You were so busy reaching for the balcony that you didn’t notice the doorbell camera turn a faint red, a sign that someone was watching.

“How long should we wait until we open the door?” Gaz asks from his position on the couch as the rest of your dorm mates watch the scene unfold through the camera.

“Just a little bit longer.” Ghost replies, lifting his mask over his mouth to sip on his tea. “I want to see one of them fall again.”

[screamingforests]

Wait wait wait for the shifter!reader au, i just knooooooow price is the dad TM that doesn't want the cat and then a week later, BAM, is the one doing most of the coddling and spoiling.

And i literally mean buying the best fish for kitty, cuddling while watching football, baby talking, the whole shebang.

And i headcanon that the cat doesn't like simon very much, always listens to soap and just looooves biting and chewing on him, and the 141 knows that if kyle is in another room, that's where kitty is going to be. no one can keep kitty in the room if gaz is in another one shshshsh

No this is literally adorable and i love this idea

Price is definitely the one to do all the research for catshifter!reader. At first, it's just food, claiming if he didn't want to eat it, neither should you. That and you refused the cheap kibble they picked at the corner store while heading home after just picking you up.

"I think you're goin' a lil' overboard..." Soap murmurs as Price writes down a list of vet recommended food and treats, and a list of raw foods cats often enjoyed too.

"Kibble is the cat version of an MRE. Do you want to eat an MRE every day for the rest of your life with no change?" Price quips back, and it shuts Soap up pretty quickly.

~

Then, the cuddles start. While you mainly lay with Gaz or Soap because they handle you the best, Price is quickly raising in the ranks. Afternoon naps curled up on his chest were amazing, his heartbeat soothing you to sleep. Though the boys were mad, you stole their spot.

"Think we can kick the cat off and steal the spot?" Simon mutters under his breath, Gaz playfully shoves him.

"Don't you dare, they're finally bonding!" Is Gaz's whisper-shouted response.

~

Gaz and Soap are the ones who tag team toys. They quickly learn your preferences and stock up on that. With plenty of cat trees and scratching posts so you'd stop scratching Simon's bed.

Most times, though, you end up asleep on one of their laps(Kyle's, probably), while they keep themselves entertained. The toys were great for when they were gone, though.

[x-snickersnap-x]

johnny's "please? for me?" must be DEADLY

[krypticcafe]

Can please get fic where young reader almost gets r-word.. like! What happened to ellie on 'the last of us' like make it into that situation, reader kills the rapist and flees away and runs into the 141 team, and their like in this state of like panic, but they calm them down and they explain what happened they are beyond livid so they just reck hell on the people who was with the man who tried to r-word reader.

(this a platonic relationship between reader and the team)

Me and the Devil

rating: mature

pairing(s): platonic 141 x gn!reader

warning(s): no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, non-explicit attempted r*pe, emotional and physical trauma, sexual physical and mental violence, canon-typical graphic violence, comfort

wordcount: ~3.8k

a/n: i'm not exactly sure what anon meant by young, but for context, reader is probably 20-22, I'm just not comfortable writing this kinda stuff for teen or child reader, I hope you don't mind. also, huge, HUGE emphasis on the warnings. though nothing is explicit and there are no sexual graphic terms, the descriptions and actions alone are still very disturbing and uncomfortable! and the violence is a little uncomfy for those not used to it, too. title is from 'Me and the Devil' - Soap&Skin

synopsis: You can see it. The devil. It laughs, and laughs, and laughs, mocks you for your childish stupidity and naivete. To think the angels would come marching in, that you'd make it out with any semblance of sanity. You can't fight it, you can't even hide from it. All you can do is lie in your grave.

Just hours ago, you were alongside the 141, cleaning up and wiping out an enemy base, a typical Tuesday on a summer afternoon. You should've known things would go downhill with how smoothly it was all going. Even Price commented on it with an air of wariness and suspicion. After all, it was a saying that if the fight starts getting too easy, then it's an ambush. And an ambush it was. You want to tell yourself that it was nothing, easy as pie compared to what you've been through. You wanted to say that it was a success and you turned the tables on your enemies. You wanted to say that it ended within a matter of minutes and that you were on your way back to base with your boys, ready for a night of banter at the pub. You'd join Ghost in watching Soap and Gaz try their hand at poker, taking a shot each time Soap's dogshit luck lost him another couple of euros while Price would pry Roach from having another cocktail and piss himself ('it was one time!' he slurs).

But instead, you're here. Locked in a room, bag over your head, tied to a chair, a stereotypical hostage situation but that didn't make it any less tolerable. Though having a potato sack over your head was nowhere near as embarrassing as the reason why you were captured. You tried your best to hold onto the jeep, honestly, you did. Until some ankle-biter decided to latch onto you and sink his teeth into your flesh, causing your grip to loosen and send you tumbling into the dirt. Your bodies slammed into the ground, kicking up dust and your opponent taking most of the fall damage for you. How thoughtful.

Seething at the audacity he had to chomp on your leg like some feral mutt, you gave him a piece of your mind and made sure he'd never bite another ankle again. His friends caught up the moment you were done. They dragged you back down to the coarse dirt and sand of the earth, making you taste and choke on dust. You looked at the lifeless figure in the sand, briefly wondering if you'd be wishing you were him before a bag was slipped over your head and tied like a collar. It didn't help that the sand on the roof of your mouth combined with your ineffective attempts to ration your breathing made for a burn worse than any hard liquor down your throat. Thrashing and shouting like a madman, you cursed them like some teenager who discovered swearing as they tossed you into the back of a truck, rolling you forth with the heels of their boots. Not your finest moment.

Once you were loaded and the rest of them climbed on, the truck shot forward without slowing down for a second, taking you to your own personal hell for the next few days. Knowing the 141, they were probably at the safehouse, planning their next move to retrieve you. In the time between interrogations and routine attempts to break you, you could imagine Soap and Roach pacing around the room, Ghost brandishing a knife with a dark look in his eyes, and Price looming over a map and pulling up contacts with Gaz at his side. While you hated to burden them with your own mistakes, thinking about them all gnawing their teeth in comical anger at your expense brought you momentary comfort, eliciting a small chuckle.

"Something funny?" Much to your ire, all your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of several people shuffling into the room. You could only expect so much privacy in a place like this. The man who spoke up seemed to carry himself like a leader, considering how he spoke above all others and you could hear him carrying out demands every now and then, checking up on you as if he actually gave a shit. And currently, he was on the top of your "to kill" list, along with every other cunt in this prison.

"What'll it be today, more screaming or more silence? You know, you can only stay quiet for so long." He sighed. Judging by the sound of metal screeching on concrete, he pulled up a front-row seat. With a single yank, you were again temporarily freed of the confines of the bag on your face, glaring at the man with a look of ferocity that seemed as if it were etched on your face permanently. His clothes were disturbingly clean-cut and polished despite the blood he spilled for the past few days. Your blood he spilled. "Come now... you know you'll only make things more difficult. Face it, kid, they're not coming, it's been days."

When you felt gloved fingers touch your jaw you snapped, pulling away like an animal restrained by a leash. Your captor let out a taunting "Oooh", and your skin crawled at how he heckled and laughed like some adolescent boy poking a rabid animal with a stick through its cage. "So it bites."

"Fuck you." You rasped.

"And it talks." The humiliation of their nonchalant attitudes made you seethe, you knew it was a tactic to get under your skin and you just wouldn't have it, turning your head away from the men.

"Uh-uh, eyes on me. How is such a fresh thing like you out fighting wars with men like them?" He hummed, gripping your jaw with a strength that took you by surprise and had you wincing. Even though his hands were gloved, it felt as if he were trying to dig into your skin. With no other choice, you were forced to look into his eyes, the pyres of unimaginable anger burning in yours.

However, it was then that you felt it. Something was off. Something was horribly off about him. The several times he'd come in here to either coax you with gentle words or have his men beat you within an inch of your life, he either had some faux kindness or gleeful malice painted across his face. But this time, his eyes were alight with slimy delight. You hated it, Hated how it made you feel small, cornered, pulling on your leash so that you couldn't be yanked from the one place that made you feel safe. You hated how it didn't feel like he was trying to get under your skin, or sink into your bones but instead your mind as if to violate it. You hated how it seemed like he had something more in mind, something that you couldn't predict like a kick to the ribs or a carefully worded reassurance that you'd be in "good hands". It was the one thing you felt like you had control over, knowing what was next, and now you didn't.

With a wave of his hand, his men all filed out of the room, leaving just him and you alone. One came back with a bowl in their hands and you felt yourself doubt your worries. Were you already beginning to lose it in here? "Hungry?" He smiled, taking the bowl and dismissing the soldier. It looked and smelled like a stew, potatoes, and beef, not scraps of stale bread or lukewarm, half-empty beer cans.

"I asked them to make something special today for you, isn't that nice? I suppose even someone like you has a taste for the finer things in life and wouldn't say yes to leftovers." No answer came but it was to be expected as he mixed the stew with a spoon. Your eyes were trained on his face instead, expecting some kind of strings attached. He entertained that expectation by—to your disgust—spitting into the stew, mixing it more, and bringing up a spoonful to your face. "Consider that the cost of being so picky. Open wide, soldier. Surely you won't make a fuss again, now will you?"

There was a pause, you leaned forward, lips ghosting the tip of the spoon before you roughly shoved his chair away from you with your boot. The bowl fell from his hands onto the ground, pooling between the two of you. He could go to hell with his stupid fucking soup.

He let out a scowl of disapproval, his self-satisfied smirk replaced with disgust and irritation like a parent to their troublemaking child. Fine with you, you didn't need that asshole's approval. He stood, grabbing a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his hands and the small splatters on his uniform. "Should've known better that the government's pets would act like such animals. I gave you a chance, I tried to make this easy for you." He snarled, tossing his handkerchief aside and grabbing you by the collar, "But no, you just had to be a fucking brat, huh? Fine, be one. I can work with that. Either way, you'll be put in your place soon enough."

Before you could comprehend what he was implying, he slashed the ropes that binded you to your chair with a combat knife and shoved you to the floor, your head throbbing as it hit concrete, along with the rest of your aching muscles. Vision blurred, you sat up and tried to make out what he was doing, falling back when he roughly grabbed your hair and shoved your head back down into the ground. Like an alarm, every single flight or fight response went off in your body and yet you couldn't figure out what he was trying, you just knew that this was something worse and that you were a fool to let your guard down for a single second.

A twisted smile broke across his lips, "You know, you have a very lovely voice. You sing the loveliest songs."

Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face until you let out a yelp of pain when he pressed into your stomach, already bruised from previous matters. He let out a sigh that made you shudder and you felt bile creep up your throat, moving your face to the side in fear that you'd choke on it.

"Eyes. On. Me." He snapped, his voice sounding so much louder than it actually was, his hand twisting your jaw back to look up at him while his fingers proceeded to dig themselves into whatever spots got you hissing and squirming away. That's all it took for your resolve to break, the blaze in your eyes fizzling out and replace with genuine fear and utter shock as you watched him straddle you and stare with a piercing gaze that trapped you. It forced your attention to stay on him, daring you to look anywhere else but him when that was all you could focus on. Him.

You couldn't even scream, paralyzed when you heard the sound of metal clinking against metal and the brushing of fabric, raw horror setting itself alight in your bones at how he loomed over you. At that moment, you swore you could see the devil itself laughing, cackling, mocking you in his eyes.

It was like you were seven again.

Scared, cornered in your room because you swore, you swore and sobbed and cried that you saw it, a monster in your closet. A dark, shadowy figure that'd taunt you merely with its existence and prayed on your downfall, drinking the fat tears you spilled and listening to your high-pitched cries as if they were music, eyes that you couldn't see but they could see you.

Others tried to convince you that it wasn't real, opened the doors, and closed them again, showing that there was nothing but cleanly folded clothes and hung-up jackets lined neatly along a rack. Every time, you'd feel a little more silly about your fears but anxious that they'd come back for more.

At some point, you nearly forgot about the monster altogether. It ceased to exist in your closet, but never your mind.

"Damn it, what now?!"

Pulled back into the present, you heard muffled speech with loud, obtrusive noises and more screaming and cursing from the man above you. He was faced with the still-closed door, talking to a soldier behind it. Instead of trying to catch up with what happened, your mind raced to its defensive instincts. Finding the spoon dropped from earlier, you reached for it with a strained grunt which caught his attention. Yet with a swift grab and thrust of your hand, you jammed the blunt handle of the spoon into his throat and screamed at him, your vocal cords ripping in deliriously satisfying pain.

Barely giving him a second to let out a final gasp for air, you flipped him over underneath you and yanked the spoon out, blood erupting out of the gash. Fire ignited in your veins and you balled your fists, giving him a taste of the rage of a caged beast with nothing left to lose, just the desperation to survive for more. It was a symphony of grotesque crunches of bone and ligament, and you yelled, screamed, and cursed with each impact at him, at the entire organization, at a godless world for making you live through hell. A pitiful yet gruesomely satisfying attempt to reclaim what sanity and control you lost in that room.

Blood and flesh coated your fingers like warm syrup, and you were sure your knuckles were split. Crimson red was a good look on a sterile uniform, you thought to yourself. The sight of your work made you realize it wasn't the devil in his eyes was laughing at you, but rather its reflection from over your shoulder, still gleefully singing and squealing with delight as it watched you indulge in pure, unadulterated wrath. Its tail wrapped around your neck, strangling you with delirium and bloodthirst, guiding you in your ear as you beat an already dead man to a pulp.

Taking a stand, its whispers remained in your ear, praising you and yet you felt sick looking at what was left of what you had done, of what was left of the man's face. His blood pooled around his shoulders, mixing with the stew into an unholy concoction, evidence that was a testimony to your suffering and to your sin. Using his combat knife, you cut through the ropes around your wrists, skin scratched raw and bleeding. Without a second glance, you took his gun and left the room.

To this day, you tell yourself that you crawled out of hell that day.

"Any signs of the hostage?" Gaz shouted over comms, holding off a room of enemies alongside Price.

The moment they had all seen your fingers slip from the jeep and saw you tumble away that afternoon was the moment they knew they wouldn't be coming back to base for a long time. Roach had watched in despair as he was so damn close to grabbing your hand, swearing that had he'd been a little quicker, you wouldn't be here. Soap had yelled for Price to go back but Gaz and Ghost both knew his hand wasn't going to turn that wheel anytime soon. All of them knew. They couldn't turn back, and you wouldn't have wanted them to either, not unless the entire team and mission were to be jeopardized. However, that didn't stop them from doing whatever it takes to get you back safe again.

"Negative." Ghost answered over the line, standing with Soap in a hallway painted with the blood of the opposition, bodies scattered like lifeless bags of flesh with no greater purpose than to rot.

"I have eyes on them, they escaped from captivity. Currently pursuing them!" Roach responded. He'd seen your figure run down a hall at an alarming speed, and when he followed you, he had a glimpse of the room and the spectacle you left behind, "The leader is terminated, too. Jesus, can someone get over here?! They're gunning it for the west exit and I can barely keep up!"

You were in fact, bolting for the exits, panicking the more you got lost and running so fast that you probably could've broken a record on base. Distant gunfire and blasts snapped at your heels like a pack of dogs, reminding you that if you didn't keep running, you'd be dead, you'd be torn apart and beaten just like their leader and fed to the wolves. Boots trampled the ground behind you like drums of death, the yelling of men ringing in your ears, a requiem to the inevitable. Run, just run, it's all you could do in this frenzied state. If you didn't you'd be helpless, you'd be put down like a rabid fucking animal. Run, even if your bones shook from the pain, even if flames licked at your torn muscles, even if it meant dying of exhaustion because anything was better than dying at the hands of those animals.

At last, you found the light of an exit, finally an escape from this asylum. Your heart felt lighter when sunlight kissed your skin only to be weighed down by getting slammed into, grabbed into a relentless hold. You screeched, shrieked, snapped, and sneered while the voices seemed relieved, almost happy at your capture.

"Don't fucking touch me-!" You screamed with animosity, practically frothing at the mouth, "Don't fucking touch me I'll fucking kill you! I'll fucking—"

"Friendly, friendly!"

Still growling under your breath, confusion flickered over your eyes. Why did it sound like... like...

"Captain?"

"You're safe kid," Price panted, as if he'd been running to chase you. He was chasing you. In all your hysteria, you hadn't realized that the group had been running after you for past minute or so, trying to call for you, get you to slow down. The only thing that worked was to just grab to and hopefully knock some sense into you or knock you out. "It's just us, see?"

Your gaze softened, taking in the features of the man before you. Despite the crossfire and fighting, somehow he still had such a kind look on him, puppy eyes that pitied you and kept you grounded. Turning your head, you saw the rest of the men watching you in concern, all tired but overjoyed nonetheless that you were finally back.

You were safe.

It was like a weight finally lifted off your chest, a pile of restrained misery and relief washing over you, and you wept without a thought to pride. Price whispered your name in a way that felt so comfortingly familiar, tucking your head into his shoulder and letting you muffle your sobs into his uniform. It was painful to hear your wails, the relief and the instability shaking off of you in waves. A part of you expected to be scolded, to be teased for messing up so badly with a simple mistake as letting go of the jeep but they didn't.

"You're in good hands,"

"We've got them covered,"

"They can't hurt you anymore, love."

"Do you have any major injuries?" Gaz asked, but you couldn't say a thing, clinging onto Price's jacket and crying like you were four years old and found by your parents after getting lost. Slowly and gently, Price pulled you from him to examine you, and that's when he saw it. It didn't take long for the others to notice as well. Your clothes were torn and belt undone. While no physical harm was visible, knowing what happened was enough to make Price tick.

"Roach, get them to the car and give them some spares ASAP. Everyone else with me, we're cleaning out the place." Everyone else had the same dark look in their eyes, one that sent shivers down your spine but encouraged you once more you were secure now. While Roach escorted you away, you peeked back to see them disappear back into the building. After you changed in the car, you could hear the distant gunfire and screams, shutting your eyes closed tight, making an effort to drown out the thoughts.

"You okay?" Roach frowned. he had apologized to you a dozen times over on your way to the car and explained all that happened after you were taken, which you appreciated him for and insisted it wasn't his fault. But he was sweet and stubborn, bandaging your wounds and telling you he'd make it up by giving you his dessert for the next month, a gesture that made you smile for once in a while.

"Yeah, yeah just... hope they're safe." You breathed, sinking into your seat with the rest of your thoughts. Though you cried once more, quietly this time and on Roach's shoulder. He was cautious not to initiate too much physical contact, holding your hand only when you asked for it.

The building was silent, not a single soul left to be reaped by the 141. They all regrouped around a body that was beaten beyond belief, to the point where the face was unrecognizable. Regardless, they knew who it was.

Gaz broke the silence, "You think they did this?" They all looked at each other, not wanting to imagine what happened to lead to this point.

Ghost nodded, a confirmation of something they already knew but wanted to mutually agree on. "No one else could've made this much of a bloody mess. HQ's going to have a field day with this. Can't say that he didn't have it coming for him, though."

"And well deserved, too." Soap spat. Price continued to look down on the figure on the floor without any thought to it. Not anger, disappointment, or spite, just disregard. Headquarters would be interested to hear what happened, but he could care less about the report. All that mattered was that loose ends were tied.

Minutes later, the men all piled up in the car again, setting for the road back. You woke from your half-asleep state, rubbing your eyes. You were met with a soft smile from Soap, who ruffled your hair. "You alright there, sleepin' beauty?"

Humming in acknowledgment, you nodded and glanced out the window to see the road whizzing by, the building growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Some dingy warehouse. So that was the hellhole you were stuck in for a near week.

"Dinnae think 'bout it too much," He followed your gaze and nudged your boot with his, "When we said they can't hurt ye anymore, we meant it."

"Yeah," You quietly mumbled, leaning back on Roach, who had fallen asleep and leaned on Gaz for support. "Can smell it on you guys."

That got a rumbling laugh out of Soap and even a little headshake from Ghost who sat in the passenger seat. Looking at the rearview mirror, Price was looking right back at you, eyes flickering to the road occasionally, "Get some rest. It'll be a long ride home."

You nodded like a little kid with a mumbled "yessir" and drifted off once more. For the first time in forever, you feel like you can breathe and ground yourself, no punishment, no torture, nothing to haunt in this rare bit of calm. You didn't feel the pain of your sore muscles, you didn't feel that your body was filthy, you didn't feel small and scared, not anymore. Just surrounded by nothing but a familiar feeling of safety and lulled to sleep by the sound of the engine that took you home.

a/n pt.2: had a tough time writing this one but hey, I think I managed! to be honest, though, I'm not super confident about the ending and proofread this while half-asleep, but I'd love to hear some thoughts about it. shoutout to the people who noticed any reoccurring themes.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~3.6k

summary: child soldier gets into task force 141 part TWO, things are getting a bit funny; first part, third part

warnings: description of scars, some violance (combat training)

a/n: I'm actually pretty shocked of how well this fic is going, I hope you're all enjoying this so far, and the plot's is going to intesify a bit the longer this goes on.... and I'm talking too much. Have fun!

Waking up to the familiar alarm is hard enough, but eventually making yourself ready for the first training together is harder. You put on your new uniform and make yourself look more presentable, only to stop midway by the mirror. Your eyes move instinctivley towards your neck. There's no material covering your neck area, making you slightly anxious. There is a long scar across your neck; the scar tissue white and stands out a bit. You feel your deep scar across your neck that goes horizontally through your skin with a slight curve up to your jaw. Hopefully no one will notice. But how is it possible to ignore such thing? There will be questions, there will be eyes on you all the time, there will definitely be snarky comments, and... deep breath in and out. It's no one's business, and you don't owe an explanation to anyone anyway.

Picking up your last courage for today, you walk out of your bunk to the training hall. Walking in, you see a few other soldiers training together, and also Price seemingly waiting for the rest of his team to arrive. He notices you almost immediately and waves you over to him.

»Good morning. Sleep well?«

You shrug, answering him. »Yeah, good enough.«

»Great, you'll need it today.« Perfect, so he planned something tough for today, that's for sure. Shortly after, Ghost and Soap arrive into the hall, as well as Gaz, who seems to be in a good mood. Price claps once, having the attention of everyone on him. He announces the morning stretch you'll be doing first and the next exercise has got to be some teamwork exercise already.

The supposed 'morning stretch' was nothing short of relaxing, but lucky enough you're flexible and got along just fine. Afterwards, the first exercise begins, and as Price explains it, the more you start to think he can't be serious.

»Trust falls?« Soap asks again, also not having expected this exercise to be the first one. Usually, they never do something like this together since they already trust each other with their lives. Price nods, hands on his hips and dead serious. »Who wants to start?«

You're stiff, silently looking around while hoping you won't get picked out. Luckily, Gaz raises his hand slightly and volunteers as first for the trust falls. The captain smiles and nods once more, letting him pick a person to fall against. He chose Soap as some might've expected, and they do it naturally. Nothing bad happens, they trust each other, and one catches the other. They repeat it after switching also, nothing spectacular happening. You watch silently, arms crossed and with nothing to do. It's almost amusing to watch these buffed military guys do silly things, like trust falls. Next was Ghost and Soap, then Price and Gaz with the others. It's awkward now for you since you're the last one, having to just fall back and trust the other to catch you. How can you not feel at least a little awkward while doing it?

»C'mon, it's fun. Just trust us.« Soap encourages you before you could say anything in the first place and already opens his arms for you. There's really nothing you can do but accept your fate and do the trust fall, knowing you have no choice but to trust them all as your teammates. You turn your back to him with a small sigh and close your eyes before falling back, feeling how he indeed catches you right up and lets you sink down a little more. He feels strong and big against your back, not that you doubted it. Soap leans you back up, and you stand up straight again. You hate to admit it but it was fun. Maybe you'd do it again... oh, you need to do it again. Trust falls with everyone, remember?

Price wants to be the next one to do it with you, an almost loving smile across his lips and open arms as he steps up to you. You do the same as before and fall, feeling how he catches you the same and lets you stand right back up afterwards. He pats your shoulder lightly and steps away, looking to the others to see who wants to go next.

»Me next.« Gaz states with a raised hand, standing at the same pose as the other two before. You can't help but crack a small, tiny smile at that before turning back around and falling back, trusting them all by now. The last one should be Ghost, and to be honest, it's somehow scary. Maybe it's his height or his aura, but there's no choice but to trust him. Eventually, you fall, back and he catches you just the same as the others, feeling as if he's more careful with you for whatever reason. But that could be just your mind hallucinating at this point.

The next station for this training session is more serious and requires more technique and skill. You're glad, it's something you're good at and won't be awkward to complete.

Knife melee. With fake combat knives. Each gets a combat knife to fight with and a randomly assigned partner. You get to be paired up with Gaz, and he shoots you a soft smile before standing in front of you to test out your true skills. Price is mostly there to watch over everyone and lead the practice, standing not too far off the big mat.

»You go first, I'll try to go easy too.« Gaz tells you with a small nod, waiting for you to attack and see how you'll do. Or maybe he's just too afraid to hurt you, knowing how young you are.

»Okay.« You think for a split second before going straight in, grabbing his right wrist with your left hand, pushing it out while moving the blade close to his neck. Gaz is briefly surprised at your attack, especially with how you went straight at him. But he's strong enough to bend his right wrist slightly and wrap his left arm over to grab his knife with his non-dominant hand. You didn't expect this to happen, being spooked for a moment by the sudden action of him wrapping his arm over you just so he has his knife in his free hand. He presses his knife against your stomach just enough for it to be touching your shirt and is about to swipe your feet off the ground.

You back up, trying to kick off the blade off his hand quickly, in which you fail. You don't want to hurt him, but you also know that it's just training and minor injuries are normal. You know it from the camp, but this feels different. You have... more respect for them. Getting back to reality, you're the one who sweeps his feet off the ground, kneeling over him and pressing your knee against his chest with your knife against his throat once more but not pressing onto him.

»Fine- you win.« He gives up and throws his hands up in defence, looking to you impressed. You get off him and give him a hand to stand back up, feeling like he went too soft on you on purpose.

»Was that all you had?« You ask before being able to think about your words longer, not meaning to sound rude. »What? Of course not. Told you I was going easy on you.« He shrugs with a small chuckle, dusting his pants off quickly before standing straight.

»Want me to attack first?«

»Fine-«

He's quick to land a kick to the side of your thigh, making you wince lightly, but you quickly regain your focus and step out of his way. You quickly kick him into his side instead, knocking out his breath briefly. Gaz realises how strong you actually are and decides to go harder on you. There's a sharp pain on your ribs before you feel the dull slice from his fake combat knife against your arm. You give him a rather irritated look before going in once more, slicing across his chest with your own fake knife before kicking him into his chest. He stumbles back, once more out of breath. It's your chance to get close to him and strike another attack, so you do just that. You step closer to him quickly and jab a few more slices against his ribs before kicking his legs in. He's on the ground and probably more out of breath than you. Gaz looks up to you and catches his breath before standing back up, not giving up yet.

»Where'd you learn that?« He questions almost confusedly and simultaneously thinks of another approach at you for his next attack. You shrug, not giving him an answer as you're studying his stance. He's about to cage you in, that's for sure, with his wide stance. That's got to be the most annoying technique for you, not liking how it feels like to be trapped or pinned by anyone. Moving your eyes back at his, you waste no time to kick against him once more, but he catches it.

He has your ankle in his hand and twists it enough for you to lose balance and fall to the ground. You huff and try to get back up quickly, but he's fast, kicking your knife out of your wrist.

Price watches you both fight, and he must admit you're quite strong. Beating Gaz twice? That's already impressive for him. He watches as you manage to fight yourself out of his pin, having him on the ground instead. You both fight like siblings at this point, at least that's how Price views it. He sees that Gaz is still trying to be gentle with you even though he doesn't need to. You're highly trained and fast, thinking logically as well. Meanwhile, Soap gets his ass beat by Ghost since he's trying to watch you fight but gets awfully distracted that way.

Price keeps most of his attention on you both anyway, being curious about how much longer Gaz will be gentle with you before being sick of losing every time. After losing for the fifth time, Gaz stops fighting for a moment.

»Wanna catch a break?«

»If you say so.« You agree and shrug lightly, having a light coat of sweat but being nowhere near done. You're still full of energy but also can't wait to sleep tonight.

»So, how do you like it on the base so far?« He asks, his tone friendly and voice smooth. His eyes are on you, hands on his hips.

»Yeah, it's... fine. Like a base.« There's just no way you can answer otherwise, not sure of how to answer it anyway. You press your lips together lightly, unsure of how to continue. Gaz is rather talkative, so you're grateful for that as he goes on, seemingly wanting to get to know you better.

»You should check out the mess hall too, the food‘s a bit plain, but it's cosy in there.« That's great information however, you do not know how to respond to that.

»Cool.« With a light nod and a more or less forced smile, glancing away shortly after. Gaz notices that you don't seem to talk much, having a similarity with Ghost on that. He accepts it however, and stretches his arms before suggesting another round which, you also agree on.

You're sweating way more now after the training session ended, Price saying that it's time to have lunch and just have a normal day afterwards. The sun is fully up, it's a warm day outside for once and there are no annoying people around you. Until Soap is approaching you on the way out from the training hall.

»Wanna eat lunch all together? It won't be boring, promise.« He suggests with a friendly smile and waits for your answer, coming off more excited than you.

»Uh, yeah. Where's the mess hall again?« You ask sheepishly since you have no clue how this building is laid out, let alone know where the exit is again. »Oh, you haven't been shown around, eh? Well, I'll just show ye around after lunch. The mess hall's on the first floor, 's pretty easy to find.«

Soap explains to you shortly, having faith in you that you won't get lost on your own. You simply nod back in response and make a mental note of where the mess hall should be, retreating back into your own bunk after taking a shower.

You're hesitant at first, having considered just skipping lunch, but you can't let the others hang. So, you make your way to the mess hall shortly after putting on new clothes, making sure to cover your neck once more. Stopping mid-change, you realise something. No one made comments or even looked at your scar earlier. You expected the total opposite, now trying to remember any moment that was close to some of your expectations, but there were none. Maybe, just maybe, they don't care. Not in the rude way, but in a way that they won't judge you. Well, considering the small but slightly more visible scar on Soap‘s chin, there's a chance they just don't want to pick on you with stuff they also have. Brushing away those thoughts, you enter the mess hall and are shortly after greeted with Soap. He stands out from the crowd with the way he waves at you, seeming to be excited to show you around or just have an addition like you on the team.

»Hungry? I don't know about you, but I am.«

His ways of starting a conversation with you are always a little strange. The way he is more energetic around you and is being overly friendly while trying to use 'modern slang' is slightly off-putting.

Ghost would be greater company at this point. You don't say anything, too caught up in the large hall and all the people around that are patiently getting their food for themselves.

»Well, there's where the food is, the trays and the utensils. Alrighty?«

»Alright.« You answer slightly unsure and look to where everyone is picking up their food, seeing that it won't be too difficult. Picking up a tray for yourself, a plate, and a few utensils, you make your way to the buffet. There's an option between a vegetarian meal that looks mostly... bland and another meal that doesn't look too bad. Soap is before you and loads his plate with the second option, grabbing a glass of water afterwards. You do the same, considering the vegetarian food seems too dry to even look at. Sitting down at a free table where Gaz is already seated, shooting a friendly smile your way.

His teammate sits down beside him and you on the opposite of them, taking a last look around the huge mess hall.

»How was the training for ye today?« Soap starts again while stuffing a bite into his mouth, ready to listen to whatever response you'll give.

»It was fine. Easier than at my camp.« Soap quirks his brow at you, asking further. »Easier? What'd you do at your camp, then?«

Ah, there it is. Finally, the burning question that seemed to have been on their minds since the day you arrived, even though they won't admit it verbally.

»Well, any kinds of things. We had a big variety and did everything a little every day.« You explain calmly, leaving out a lot of things for now and just giving out useful and light stuff. Gaz glances at you while eating his own meal, listening quietly to the conversation between you two.

»Everythin'? What was everythin'?«

God, he's giving you no chance to eat right now, is he? »Combat, shooting, underwater training, hostage saving, medical training... oh, and our stamina.« He nearly chokes on his food while you finally take your first bite, thinking it tastes quite good. For military food, it's actually quite good, it tastes fresh and is warm- »Everyday? Every focking day?«

»Language, McTavish...« A familiar, rough voice is heard from behind him, and he quickly glances back to see his Captain. Price takes a seat beside you, facing the two other teammates.

»Sorry, did you hear what she just said? That's like- that's... that should be illegal-«

»I know, Soap.«

He interrupts him again, giving him a hard look. He's either trying to stop him from saying something that could hurt you or is just fed up for some other reason.

»I'm glad we don't have such hard training here. That's it.« Soap realises that he may have gotten too far with his reaction and tries to be more calm and himself from now on. The problem is now that it's awkward because no one talks for a solid minute or two.

»Where is Ghost?« You speak up for the first time by yourself, not able to listen to the silence around the table any longer. Price answers your question calmly, seeing no reason to keep that from you.

»He eats alone, mostly. Or does some paperwork right now.« So, no one really knows what he's doing at breaks. That's something you could have expected from someone like him.

»Do you think his mask looks cool?« Gaz chimes in and looks at you almost amused, waiting for your answer. Soaps eyes also study you now, waiting curiously on your answer. Unsure of what to say, you answer them briefly.

»I mean, it's not bad.« Gaz shoots his teammate a quick look with a small nod, telling him something without saying anything. Soap sulks a little about your response, having hoped you'd say something more positive.

»Told you...« It's very quiet from Gaz and non-threatening, but you still heard it and now feel curious about what these two jokesters are talking about. Price continues to eat his own meal as he's not fascinated by their usual antics, seeing no reason to dig deeper and find out what they're on. That is until Soap notices your confused stare and wants to clear the confusion.

»We had a bet. I thought you'd find Ghost‘s mask cool, but wha'ever.« He shrugs and now has to pay five pounds to Gaz, having officially lost the bet. You can't help it but be amused by it, seeing how they're all trying to understand you, but know absolutely nothing about you but your age and name. They probably think you're like most teenagers, thinking in stereotypes, and you choose to just watch them trying to figure you out.

»He was actually quite scary at first.« You mumble, carefully trying out talking more to them and letting them get to know you more. It's something new for you to be able to be so open and casual with new people that are much older than you. Even though Soap is about ten years older than you, it still seems a lot. It's a whole decade, either way.

»Well, yeah, Ghost has his way to scare people off. But don't take it personally, he's got a good soul.« You glance at Price saying that, reassuring you about Ghost.

What kind of name is that anyway?

»Hm, depends on how you see it. He's only friendly to people he likes. Like a cat.« Gaz shrugs, adding his opinion on Ghost. You're all lucky he's not there with you right now, considering that he would shoot death glares at everyone. You listen to them, being invested in their opinions and views on him since you know nothing about him. »But he doesn't scratch us. So, that's good.« Price jokes, probably still trying to reassure you mostly and not let you get spooked. Eventually, after some more exchanges, Soap is standing up and wants to finally show you around the base. You accept and follow him out, curious to see the whole base and not get lost from now on. He walks through the building and shows you the important parts first: showers and bunks, training rooms and halls, shooting range, going on about the storage rooms, and eventually making your way outside the base. There's a small park attached to the base, great for taking small walks.

»Wanna go for a round?«

»I don't see why not.« You can't help it but still want to add that respective 'sir' at the end of a sentence. It feels like disrespecting him, but they made it clear how open and friendly you can talk to them way earlier.

Walking besides Soap is somehow calming, not needing to talk much when he does most of the talking. »You handled the surprise attack well, yesterday. Just try to warn us before firing, though.« You nod and look away slightly embarrassed, knowing you forgot to give them a sign before doing something like that.

»Sorry, thought too quick.« »'S fine, I'm actually impressed. Were ye taught that back in yer camp?« Soap can't help but be curious and ask questions, making sure to be careful with his wording.

»Yes, kind of. It's always smarter to be meaner to the enemies, so they don't have a chance.« Soap shrugs lightly, thinking about that statement. »Well, yeah... but aggressive approach is not always the best, you know?« He eyes you for a moment, continuing to walk beside you through the small park.

»It really depends on the situation and enemy, there.« You reply back after a second of considering his words, not realising that you once again impressed him.

a/n: came out a bit floppy, but the next part will most likely be better, pwomise :33

[luci4theminorannoyance]

I saw one singular post from you about platonic 141 and immediately followed. You do not understand how much comfort you have bestowed on me. So I'm here to make a request 🤑🤑🤑🔥🔥🔥🔥‼️‼️‼️‼️ What do you think about maybe a younger reader and they wear a mask so no one can see how young they are for security reasons. But on one mission there mask got ripped and the whole team saw they're face. Ever since that mission the team has somewhat soft on the reader. Like in sparring or smth they be a little careful or like whenever reader is off duty, they need to follow reader's every move. NEED TO. Yup that's all, I love yapping as you can see and if your not comfortable with this request pls ignore it. Byee and take care of yourself<33333🥰🥰🥰

a/n: sure! I ❤️ when people yap to me dw, I made it a bit vague so people reading can decide if reader is a minor or just a very young adult, and fully platonic ofc

Ghost:

-on the mission where your mask got torn, he was doing sniper work, he had only seen your face briefly through his scope, but he could pick up how young you looked even from that little detail

-nothing much that was noticeable to the blind eye changed about his treatment in particular, but he slipped you one of his spare masks and when you made little mistakes on your reports and training, he let it slide quite a bit more then usual

price:

-being the fatherly man he was, as soon as he noticed how young you were, he absolutely doted on you. Always made up excuses on why he was giving you extra portions of food or newer gear or whatever he wanted to give you, but everyone knew why in the end

-wanted to keep you safe deep down, but didn’t ever bring it up. Didn’t want you to know he saw, but wanted to know he was there for you.

Gaz:

-certainly was less caring then the others, but just more caring when it came to you, more so then he was for everyone which was saying something. Hid it better then price though

-did some more data hunting through your files and made sure everything was in order for you to not be in trouble if you were caught, with the help of laswell of course. You were his teammate in the end, and he didn’t want you to get into trouble over something as simple as age even though you we’re definitely young to be in the taskforce

soap:

-became a lot more brotherly around you, more teasing and headlocks in the softest most friendly way. It’s just how he always has been, but to the max

-had played a little less jokes on you, and more with you helping him instead since it felt more fair and less like targeting, since he knew it was no longer a perfectly even game of teasing

[bluegiragi]

rooftop talks <3

early access + NSFW on patreon

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 9)

It was snowing.

Actually, 'snowing' was an understatement. It was a freaking blizzard. And it really came out of nowhere too, just a thin layer of snow covering the ground during the early hours and now, you couldn't see anything besides white throught the window.

Oh yeah, you were also sick.

To be fair, you knew you would get sick eventually thanks to this huge change in temperature. It wasn’t even because you were out with Johnny yesterday night; you would have gotten sick regardless. It just happened that everytime the seasons changed, a flu would strike you.

It happens, you were used to it, but still...

You certainly weren't used to the attention.

First of all, you woke up with someone already in your room. Two someones, actually. Johnny was anxiously pacing close to your bed, a frown on his face as he sniffled the air around you. Kyle was with him, head tilted in your direction as he also frowned in concern.

And in a second, Kyle's large hand was pressing against your forehead, then your warm, red cheeks, and then your small neck. His hand felt warm, as always, but even you could feel it that you were warmer, making him tsc in concern.

So, they decided to place you on the large living room couch, still in the sweater and sweatpants you were wearing as pajamas, propped carefully against the many pillows and cushions, with a blanket draped over your lap and legs.

The same blanket John had bought for you the day before.

"Temperature?" Price asks, voice gruff and arms crossed as he watches Kyle staring at the thermometer with a frown.

"37,7ºC. That's high for humans." He sighs, putting the thermometer aside.

Johnny frowns a bit at the information, sitting close to you so he could also check your temperature for himself.

"Almost as warm as a werewolf..." He mutters with his own frown on his face, leaning close enough to almost lay his head against your lap and torso. "How are ye feeling, wee pup?"

"F-Fine..." Your voice sounds a little rough, your throat a bit raspy. "I... I have... I usually get sick when the temperature changes... too quickly..."

He nods and croons at your quiet answer, now actually leaning to rub his head and fluffy ears against your chest.

"Here you go." Simon says quietly as he approaches with a light blue mug on hands, passing to you carefully as he kneels in front of the couch.

The mug was big and warm on your hold, but it was also enveloped in a small white cloth to make sure you wouldn't burn your hands, even tho the liquid inside wasn't even that hot. It was warm, just like it has to be.

"Lemon and honey tea, darlin'. Helps your throat nicely." He grunts out, heavy hand coming up to your forehead too, making you close your eyes slightly in satisfaction. His hands are much cooler thanks to his Wraith nature.

As he takes his hand away, you take a small sip of the tea. You weren't a fan of tea, but considering it's just lemon and honey... you can manage.

"With the way it's snowing outside, it's an indoor day for all of us." Price notes, looking out the window with his burly arms still crossed.

"Ah'll 'ave fun shoveling the snow later..." Johnny murmurs sarcastically as he sits up once again, glaring outside the window.

"Darlin', the tea." Simon reminds you gently after you took too long for a second sip.

You blush a little, nodding quietly as you take another sip. At least it felt soothing going down your throat; it didn’t hurt like it usually did when you forced yourself to drink water all the other times you were sick.

"Okay, I searched, and… it seems to be safe for humans to take Tylenol, but only in small doses." Kyle warns seriously, his wing twitching for a moment as if to reach for your small form sitting on the couch.

"I'll go get it." Simon gets up quickly, going to the bathroom closest to the living room.

You were sipping on your tea, distracted, staring at the direction Simon went off, enough to startle you as John kneels by your side on the couch, fixing the blanket on top of you to make sure it wouldn't slip off.

"Tell us if you feel worse or need anything, yes, hatchling?" he murmurs gruffly, leaning close enough to bump his forehead against yours. You were small enough to do it without his big horns getting in the way.

"O... Okay..." You mumble, a bit caught off guard, shyly looking away. "B-But... I'm fine..."

"Mhm, yeah, lassie, ye are. An' Ahm gonna know if ye aren't..." Johnny murmurs in the most omnious way possible, making you shiver a bit in place as you stare at him wide eyed, John just rolling his eyes with a smile on his lips. "Can smell ye, gonna knae right awa' if you worsen, yeah, wee pup?" He croons, scottish accent strong, leaning closer with a big, smug grin.

"Stop scaring the kid, mutt." Simon growls as he comes back, slapping the back of Johnny's head with a bit too much force in your opinion, but all the werewolf does is snap his teeth at the bigger man's direction with a huge smile still on his face.

"We only have in tablets?" Kyle murmurs, face scrunching in displeasure.

"Unfortunally. I'll buy drops later for next time." Simon rumbles back, gently running his hand over Kyle's ruffled feathers, making the harpy relax a little. "The tablets are good for now."

"These the 500mg?" Kyles asks, humming in consideration as Simon nods.

"Too strong." John rumbles lowly from his place kneeling by your side, hand firmly planted on your blanket.

The harpy nods, agreeing with the dragon as he stares at the tablet he popped out on his hand. In a quick movement, Kyle bites more than half of the tablet off, leaning over the back of the couch to give you the rest.

"Here you go, baby. Swallow it with your tea." He smiles lovingly, sharp nails gently putting the small piece against your small palm.

"Y-You swallowed...?" You mumble, slightly shocked with his actions.

"This medication is not enough to have any effect on me, chick." He smiles, a small and gentle laugh coming out of his mouth.

"Garrick has taken much stronger shit just to stay awake during missions." Ghost huffs humerously.

That comment certainly makes you curious, but your attention is called back to John as he gently pushes your small hand close to your mouth.

"Take it, doll, come on."

You nod quietly, quickly putting the tablet in your mouth and taking a sip of the almost-finished tea to swallow it under the watchful eyes of the four of them

"Good." John croons deeply, his eyes getting lighter for a second, startling you a little.

"Pup needs food." Johnny mumble, once again leaning close to your body.

"I'll make it," John huffs, climbing back to his feet. "Make a good bean soup with some bacon. Gonna liven up the pup right away."

"Add collard greens, great for the human flu." Ghost notes gravelly, leaning over the back of the couch where he and Kyle were standing to grab the empty mug from your hands.

They’re starting to give you a small headache. They truly didn’t stop, did they? They were always moving, always doing something. They worked so well together too, on top of their own game and each other’s.

"While they do that, it's time for a nap, don't ye think?" Johnny rumbles, pulling you to him in a quick motion that gets you almost dizzy.

"I-I just woke up..." You mumble, unsure, trying to look up at him from where you were laying against his body, but you were unsucceful as he simply pulled your blanket over you once again and made you lay sideways, putting a pillow over his stomach so you could lay your head on it confortably.

"And ye're sick, pup. Ye sleep." He rumbles gently, patting your small head of hair.

"That's good. We'll call you when the soup gets ready." Kyle nods with a loving smile on his face, his wings puffing out now for a different reason than his stress from moments ago.

Simon rounds the couch to reach the fireplace, adding more firewood with expertise, moving the still-not-burned logs with his bare hands to make sure the fire keeps going. Kyle takes the time to also draw the curtains close, immediately bringing darkness to the room now that all that expanse of white snow was covered.

You were still a bit in alert, but the darkness helped your mind to settle a bit, Johnny's warmth under you making you sleepier than you though you would feel as his giant hand kept caressing your short hair, sharp nails scratching oh so gentle against your scalp. Apparently, he's going to be with you all the time to make sure you're safe and sound, healthy and comfortable.

He cooed something very quietly, but you didn’t manage to understand it before your eyes fell closed, exhaustion brought on by the flu making you fall asleep quickly.

Your social worker was right... they are so nurturing... you have been with them for barely three days, and yet...

Your eyes go a little misty as you start to lose consciousness.

You don't want to leave.

Part 8 / Part 10

[whimsybats]

Task Force 141 x Batmom!Reader (Pt. 1?)

crossover AU

platonic Task Force 141 x batmom!reader x batfam

Bruce Wayne x Reader

(this is my first time writing headcanons on here or anywhere so I'm so sorry if it sucks LOL I might be adding more parts to this later/making it a series of headcanons? I need to get used to writing characters and their personalities, any tips would be appreciated!)

Batmom!Reader who was brought into the events of MW1 under Laswell's command.

I'd imagine she'd have become a Lieutenant. Prior to the events of MW1 she might've worked with Ghost a few times.

She assisted Gaz and Price in Piccadilly. With her medical skills and tactics she made an impression on both of them securing her place in 141 as the resident medic.

Her alias is up to you! (ex; Soap, Ghost, Gaz etc.)

I'd imagine she met Bruce pre-robin era after Piccadilly and assisted with an evacuation while he was Batman, despite his multiple attempts to get her out as well.

He then likely looked her up on the computer in the Batcave, intrigued. Bruce noticed her military background, seeing her involvement with Piccadilly among other events in her career, it made sense.

"Lieutenant (L/N)..." Bruce eyed the computer in interest.

"Another one of your... projects Master Bruce?"

"Something like that I guess."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Eventually you met as Bruce and (Y/n) and had gotten married along the way with having adopted your kids.

When you found out Bruce was Batman, you weren't too shocked, seeing as one of your teammates literally code name is Ghost and also dresses... in a similar scary fashion.

One by one he met your team. They each took their turns interrogating him, Price and Ghost the most. They had to make sure he treated their teammate well after all.

Alfred and Price got along well, likely bonding over their shared paternal figure roles and SAS backgrounds.

Soap and Gaz likely bond well with Dick and Jason.

I'm fairly certain Stephanie and Soap would make a great duo. They would so play pranks around the manor, one time they messed with Ghost maybe messing with his gear like his mask or something (maybe making it something cute instead of scary idk LOL) and he couldn't find his backup, so he had to go around in some cute cat balaclava or something.

Ghost might give them some jump scares once in a while, maybe standing in the corner like Drax when they realize some of their equipment is jammed only giving them a eerie smile under his mask and leaving them to figure out some of their own equipment was replaced with water guns or something.

You might end up having to defuse potential fights between Ghost and Bruce reminding you of Bruce's old fights with Jason.

Speaking of Jason... he and Kyle might try to "one up" each other but neither thinking that anything can really beat being revived straight from a Lazarus Pit.

"Ever fallen out of a helicopter... twice?" Gaz smirked.

"Nah, but you ever try dying?" Jason asked in response earning widened eyes from Gaz.

"You serious mate?"

"More than I'd like to admit," he shrugged, "but hey, more to hold over B's head the better."

"Bloody hell... Gotham is insane."

"Takes one to know one, or something like that."

---

Okay so we know Ghost likes to throw in an occasional joke but imagine he'd pull one in front of your kids.

"What do you call a soldier who loves to paint?" he asked Damian who simply looked up at him and glared with Jason right behind him.

"An art-illery master," queue the complaining from Jason and an eye twitch from Damian.

Bruce often gets more stressed whenever you're on the field, somehow he always finds a way to sneak into the comms and make sure your okay on a private line.

"Bruce I'm fine," you grunted as you took down an enemy, "let me speak to my damn Captain."

"...No."

"B..." you sighed, "I'll make sure this mission is done as quick as possible. Just go take care of the kids for me."

"Fine," he grumbled.

"I love you- now give me back my line to Price."

He mutters a "love you too" before cutting the line.

"What the hell was that Lieutenant?" Price asked on a private line with you and 141.

"My dumb husband," you rolled your eyes. (This would likely be when they know Bruce is Batman to avoid confusion)

Soap would whistle on the comms "Someone misses their missus huh?"

"Don't push it Johnny."

----

tag list: @otterluver05 @sad-girl09

please feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged for any upcoming fics related to this crossover!

[sevs-corner]

Masterlist + Taglist!

Links to all my works so far:

>> CoD:

~~Tf 141: Mafia AU!

OG Idea behind the AU

Main Story Chapters:

-Chapter 1: The Rain Falls but They Fell Harder

-Chapter 1: Epilogue

-Chapter 2: Jobless? More like Job-Bless

-Chapter 2: Epilogue

-Chapter 3: Home Not-So-Sweet Home

-Chapter 3: Epilogue

-Chapter 4: Its Happy Hour for Them, Not For You

-Chapter 4: Epilogue (WIP)

Assorted One-Shots/Imagines/Short Fic Ideas:

-Small Gift Giving: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz

-Another day at the Bakery w/: Graves, Alejandro

-First Date + Gift w/: Price

-Idea: Soap/ You sing the "Masochism Tango" together!

-Random HCs of the Charas: Food + Drink Preferences!

-First Date + Gifts w/: Ghost

-Them doing the small things for You: Gaz, Ghost, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy, Soap, Price, Konig, Horangi

-They take you out for a picnic for being overworked: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price

-They watch you get drunk and sing: Price, Alejandro, Rudy

-Nursing their Hangovers: Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap

-They notice you opening up to them: Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap

Taglist! <3

@ astreaaaaaa6 | @ accidental-obsessionist | @ sunshineistoofuckingbright | @ sleepisfortheweakpooh

~~One-Shots/ Other AUs

-Singing a Christmas Song duet w/: Graves

-Tf 141: Actor AU!: Ghost, Soap, Alejandro, Rudy, Price, Gaz, Alex, Farah, Graves

-HC's for Roach if he were in the current CoD: MW

-HC's if Roach was in CoD MW (2019~2023) Campaign

-Tf 141: Superpower/Superhuman AU!: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, Roach, Alex

-Tf 141: Navy/ Airforce AU!: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price

-Tf 141 as Savy Playboy Navy boys: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price

-Love at First Sight w/: Price

-Tf 141: Soulmate-Reincarnation AU Idea

-cont idea + part 2 👆by: @ persephone-kore-law

-bridging thoughts on 👆

-Graves as your partner (*yaps)

-Drag Racer! Soap and his Tf 141 crew

-Tf 141 as Demi god

-Tf 141: Transformers AU (Age of Extinction)

-Tf 141 and their s/o having auditory sensory issues

-Tf 141: Soulmate-Reincarnation AU- first impressions (yaps*)

-Your Conspiracy on Tf 141's Lavender Marriage (an inspired idea to @ beloveds-embrace's Lavender Marriage AU )

-Tf 141 as Cursed Dragon Princes

Army! Tf 141 vs Navy! Reader

-Challenge 1: Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy (WIP)

Tf 141 and Their Marriage Problems With You (Mini Series | Angst to Comfort)

-Price | Ghost

Tf 141: as Highschool Jock Tropes: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price [18+ MDNI !! TW: NSFW Themes | Toxicity | Unhealthy r/s] {Inspo Playlist: Currently Updating}

- How the toxic relationship would be like with them

-Promposal Edition!

> Asks:

(Jock! Price First Impressions)

(Giving Simon a Mixtape)

(Simon and You as a Goth Rocker)

(Tf 141's POV of Your and Simon relationship)

Taglist! <3

@ cod-z

CoD x (Soldier) Reader: Retired Comfy AU (Everyone lives under 1 roof + Everything is platonic and has silly plot points)

-Part 1: How did it happen?: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price

-Part 2: Moving into the house: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price

Tf 141: Betrayal AU! (Follows the main campaign plot)

-OG Idea on the premise

-How the betrayal goes (+rant on plot of MW3)

-How the poly relationship between the four exists in MW2-3 (yaps*)

Tf 141: On the Run AU (Based off @/bluegiragi Tf 141 Monster AU) TW: 18+ | MDNI

-OG Idea on the premise

-First Meeting w/: Soap

-You realize you chose to be stuck with them

[7s3ven]

YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN, KID. platonic! task force 141

( short one shot that I randomly came up with after seeing a tiktok )

full masterlist

IN WHICH… night after night, you seek the comfort of your teammates until they can no longer offer you any.

“You’re on your own, kid. You always have been.”

Notes: character death, a little angst, no happy ending (sorry guys 😞), reader suffers from trauma, platonic! tf 141 x reader, reader has sleeping problems, not following the canon plot

—

You never slept well. No matter how soft your mattress was or how heavily your blankets weighed down on you, you just couldn’t drift off. The temperature in your room was perfect, the silence was comforting, your body was exhausted and yet your mind refused to turn off. It replayed the bloody moments you tried so hard to tune out, haunting you until you forced the thoughts away.

With slow movements, you begrudgingly shifted out of bed, soft pillow in hand. Your footsteps were quiet as you dragged yourself towards the small living room in the apartment you shared with your team.

The tiny room was lit up by only a dim lamp as you paused in the doorway, staring at your captain. He sat on the edge of the couch, reading a page of newspaper. Gaz and Soap were at each other’s sides, squished by Ghost who took up the majority of the space.

Captain John Price beckoned you forward. “Couldn’t sleep?” He whispered, careful not to disturb the rest of his soldiers. You took your head before wedging yourself between Ghost and Soap, forcing the masked soldier to move to offer you space. The large blanket your teammates were sharing engulfed you as you clumsily threw it over your body.

Ghost grunted, half awake as he shifted to the side. His heavy body fell onto you, resting his head on your shoulder. You leaned into his embrace. You heard the quiet click of the lamp being turned off, engulfing the room is darkness.

From your position squeezed between Ghost and Soap, you felt safe. Your eyes fluttered closed as you took a deep breath, the strong smell of Gaz’s cologne overwhelming your senses. And yet, it soothed you more than the lavender perfume you sprayed in your room.

Your lips curved into a small smile as your racing heart calmed down. Stuck in Soap’s tight grip, listening to Price’s quiet snores, hearing Gaz’s soft sleep mumbling, and feeling Ghost’s slow breaths on your neck, it felt like home.

Returning to the apartment without the rest of your team felt strange. You opened the door, staring at the interior. Your gaze trailed over the obnoxiously bright table cloth Soap had chosen and the large beer glasses left on the kitchen counter by Price.

You slowly blinked before shutting the door behind you. You half-heartedly expected Ghost to appear out of nowhere and offer you a short greeting like he always did. He did not.

Your team was dead. You were the lonesome survivor of the attack.

Your bag fell to the floor with a loud thud and you weren’t bothered to pick it back up. Your arms were not strong enough to withstand the weight anymore.

As if it was second nature, you trailed over to the liquor cabinet. You didn’t drink much so the cupboard was usually filled with Price’s beers and an occasional bottle of vodka provided by Soap. You grabbed the vodka, disliking the bitter taste of beer.

You didn’t bother to pour the alcohol into a cup; you simply popped the bottle open and gulped mouthfuls of it down. “Sorry, Johnny.” You muttered to yourself as you slumped in a seat, knowing how your teammate hated it when people stole his stuff.

The thoughts of your friends didn’t bother you as much during the day, where you could overwhelm yourself with unpacking and work. But when night hit, you felt yourself drowning in emotions.

You weren’t usually an emotional person, having been through the rigorous army training. Soldiers died everyday and you moved on like it was nothing, leaving a small gap in your mind to grieve for them. But this was different. This was your team, your family.

This was about Price who always assisted you when you needed something, who fixed your broken window when Soap accidentally hit it with a rugby ball. Who acted like an overprotective dad when you brought back a boy.

Soap who brought you snacks without the need to ask while you occupied yourself with paperwork, who somehow taped every concert of your favourite artist and showed you it with a bright smile.

Ghost who knew exactly how you liked your tea and bought you new cups to drink out of when your favourite wore down. Who secretly hated horror movies yet watched each and every one with you.

And Gaz who always returned with a new product to ease you into a more peaceful slumber and who didn’t mind staying up to comfort you from your late night terrors.

They were your closest friends and you missed them terribly to the point where your chest ached. You always hated when Soap raided the snack stash in your room but you’d do anything now to yell at him again.

You collapsed in your bed, exhausted and your body painfully throbbing. You closed your eyes in hopes of drifting off but your attempts were fruitless. You needed your teammates. You needed to sit on that damn couch in the living room with a blanket pulled up to your chin.

The hallway was pitch black as you walked into the lounge, peering through the darkness. It felt odd not to see Price reading his newspaper; your heart clenched at the short reminder that you would never see him again.

You tried to pretend the colorful pillows were your friends as you lay on the couch, that the smell of Gaz’s cologne wafting from one of the pillows was Gaz himself.

It tricked your mind into thinking they were beside you and you fell into an empty slumber.

As the last remaining member of Task Force 141, Laswell originally wanted to add new recruits with you as their leader. You would have gladly taken up the position if it weren’t for your circumstances. Replacing your former teammates would have pained you beyond repair.

As a result, Laswell moved you to a new squad and as thankful as you were when they understood your hesitation, you still refused when they offered you a place in their apartment.

You needed the couch that sat in the living room, collecting dust, in order to fall asleep. You needed Gaz’s cologne, Price’s strange collection of newspaper, Ghost’s spare masks, and Soap’s stupid rugs to calm your horrible thoughts.

You needed the apartment to stay the same, like your teammates had never left, to ignore the images of their bloodied faces engraved in your head.

“L/N, have you completed the paper work?” Your captain asked as he paused by your desk. It felt odd to look up and not be greeted with a beard.

“Yes, sir. Here it is.” You handed him the file with a tight-lipped smile.

“As efficient as ever, L/N.” He complimented you.

“Thank you, sir.” You nodded your head in appreciation.

“How are you doing with your…” He trailed off, not knowing how to word his question in a way that didn’t sound rude.

He meant your trauma, your nightmares, your grieving pain.

“I’m fine.” You say a little too quickly for him to believe you. Nevertheless, he doesn’t question the crack in your voice or the way your eyes dart around. He simply tilts his head.

“Take a break, L/N. I’ll deal with your paperwork for a day.” He places a business card on your desk, tapping on it. “If you need additional support, don’t hesitate to ask.”

You glanced down at the card as your captain exited your office. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment as you realised he had given you a therapist’s card. Was your grief you had been trying to strategically hide that obvious? Well, at least he cared enough to offer you help.

Your short run to the grocery store was lonely to say the least. You dropped the bags the moment you walked into the apartment, staring at the cold kitchen and living room.

The tea bags that you hated but Ghost loved fell to the ground, scattering over the tiled floor. You promised yourself you would unpack the groceries later but as the sun set and the sky darkened, the plastic bags still sat by the door. It was usually Gaz’s job to deal with the groceries.

You knew any attempt to sleep in your own bed would be useless so you gathered your blankets and pillows without any thought, pacing towards the living room.

You let out a loud scream when you came face to face with Ghost.

“Aye, what yer yelling ‘bout, Bonnie? It’s just us.” Soap uttered. You peeked around Ghost, spotting Gaz and Price already on the couch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Price asked.

You knew this was only your mind feeding you delusions, messing with you, but you were too tired to care. All you needed was them and if it took talking to your imagination, you’d take it.