ryaiga

[ryaiga]

The One God Forbade

Chapter 2

Pairing - Captain Price X GN!Reader X Lieutenant Riley

MDNI 18+ PLEASE.

WORD COUNT:  7.7k

Summary: You finally get some well deserved downtime, getting a new tattoo to hide a scar you had. However, you get a call saying that you were recently transferred from the ECHO team to Task Force 141.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AT THE END! 

WARNINGS/CWS/TWS: Military terms that might be wrong, Paranoia, Drinking.

Spacers/Headers by: @mmadeinheavenn , @imlevis , @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

“Please!- Please- I have a- a- a family.. Please, I swear I didn’t want to do all that to you! I was just doing as I was-” BANG-

Your body jolted forward, waking you from the slumber that was fueled by the nightmares of being on the field. You raised your hand to see them, clenching and unclenching whilst you turned them repetitively to inspect for any change. Your t-shirt clung to your body with the remaining sweat that was too stubborn to evaporate into the cold air. The room was dark, with nothing but the moonlight emanating from the window. You weren’t on the field, you were in your small apartment complex now. You took deep breaths as you scanned the room, looking at the trinkets you had scattered over the few surfaces you had. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see picture frames of the Echo team and one of your mom sitting across your bed. A reminder that you weren’t in the barracks. A small speaker with white noise playing softly sat on top of your dresser. Slowly, you felt yourself being grounded back to reality.

Nights like this meant that you weren’t going to get more sleep now that you were rudely awakened. That being said, you walked to the bathroom of your small studio apartment with a clean tee in hand. You changed and sat on the bed, not wanting to forget the words said in your dream, you reached over to the bedside table for a small journal with quotes that had awakened you the same way tonight’s little plea did. You merely wrote it down, not wanting to dwell on the thought or memory any longer. You figured that you might as well preoccupy yourself with a little spring cleaning to allow your mind a break. Or so you could zone out, like the times on the field but without a sniper rifle in hand. 

You chose to start with the laundry. You grabbed all the ‘dirty’ clothes and placed them in the basket before walking to your washing machine and stuffing it with said laundry. Doing what’s necessary, putting the two cups of detergent liquid, closing the door, and setting the machine to mix before starting it. Then, you made your way down the list; Dishes? Washed and dried. Furniture? Pushed back to the exact millimeter of where it was first placed when you first moved in. Dust? Hunted and dusted. Laundry to end it off, dried, folded, and kept in their respective places. Doing all this helped ground yourself more with reality, bringing you out of the deployment mindset that was conditioned into you. Albeit, it was also what you were used to doing back in the early days of being a Navy recruit.

And as per the routine, the clock strikes 6:00 am, three hours since you woke up. Now it was time for your morning run around the street. You put on your shoes and grabbed the headphones from the table that housed your knick-knacks like your keys, wallet, and karambit. You grabbed the two, hooking the keys through your pants loop, and holstered your karambit in its place by your inner thigh. Wallet and phone in hand, you leave your apartment, locking the door and exiting the complex.

It's been a week. Yet no amount of vodka helped with the nightmares. But something about last night’s dream was different. It wasn’t just the sounds that followed the war and the imagery of corpses from both sides littering the field. Instead, it was the body of a man who had pulled your fingernails. And this time he was begging to be given a chance before it was abruptly interrupted with a pistol shot to… to? 

That you don’t remember. Yet it haunted you as you ran. Every stride you took awakened a feeling of fear in you from that day for some reason. Running your usual route with tunnel vision slowly creeping into your sight. Sounds of even more white noise playing through your headphones usually helped with it, making sure your mind didn't drift away. But 

You finished your run and decided to drop by the local tattoo parlor you wanted a ‘cover-up’ of the branding scar you had. It still sustained a little of its bright red color, so you thought why not slap a knight holding a sword to help divert the viewer’s eyes? You’d embrace the scar on your left arm instead of just hiding it. You didn't know what to get, not wanting to be the typical American soldier who gets an eagle or skull with any form of ammunition. You decided a knight with a shield that has the Echo team insignia and a sword would fit both you and the spot perfectly.

Since you knew the artist who works at that shop, the booking went smoothly. All that’s left is to come in tomorrow since she was nice enough to keep a slot open for you. Your next stop was a hole-in-the-wall cafe for a light snack and coffee.

You diverted from your usual routine. See, usually you’d buy your order of americano with a nice little blueberry cupcake (it’s what you’d get at the base for breakfast.), but today felt off. It felt like you had eyes on you. You weren’t on the field, and definitely not too far from base. Yet the paranoia and instincts in you are blaring brighter and louder by the second, similar to a flare that was shot out in the midst of the night’s darkness. Unavoidable. You gave it time just in case it really was just paranoia, you decided it would help if you sat outside the cafe. You’d scan your surroundings with just your peripheral vision, something that was instilled into you for reconnaissance missions. No one stood out.

An hour goes by and you were starting to get stares from small families who’d pass you, taking it as a sign to leave. You beelined home, not wanting to deal with more stress than you already felt. The nightmares weighed your consciousness long enough and the possibility of someone stalking you was making you feel on edge. You got home, checked all the rooms and locks. Sweeping from one end to the other, bathroom windows locked and covered, bedroom windows locked and curtains drawn, all living room windows got the same treatment. And there you sat, by your bed with a pistol in hand with a clear shot to the front door. That’s where you remained for the rest of the day, glad that you took care of the chores earlier that morning. 

You were awoken by the buzzing of your phone. Just your alarm, 6 a.m. Time for your run. You must’ve been so mentally tired that you didn’t realize you’d passed out. However, you were glad you were that tired as there were no nightmares, just empty silent darkness as you rested. You got up and headed to the bathroom, remembering that you didn’t have a rinse after the run. You got ready, headphones, keys, karambit. But today you had your pistol with you too. You kept it hidden in your boots. 

You went for your run, nothing out of the norm yet. No prying eyes followed you like a hawk, as it should be. You made your way to the tattoo parlor for your appointment, you know it isn't the brightest idea to get a tattoo on a recent scar but you'd rather look at art than a bright red scar. You looked around and realized that the shop was empty, your tattoo artist made sure to not have people around so you can have peace of mind while being tattooed.

She sat you at one of her booths and got your arm ready for the long first session. It was a big piece for a first and she asked if you really wanted to get the entire tattoo in one go . You've been through a lot so a needle continuously stabbing you should be fine. The concerned expression she had faded as she starts. You sat there in her care with the buzz of the needle she wielded and the radio playing in the store. She'd tell you stories, from the different clients she had to the apartment complex and her weird neighbors.

 You had bumped into her on a moving day. With your small stature and zero presence, you couldn't blame her. She felt bad and chose to help you despite you telling her you didn't need it. Apparently, she lived in the apartment across from yours. She told you about her little tattoo parlor. You never caught her name surprisingly, considering how she helps keep your apartment dust-free whenever you go on deployments. She treats you like a younger sibling, occasionally inviting you over for food which you always accept. Better than the shitty microwave meals you had procured in the freezer. She’d keep you up to date with what’s going on with the neighbors. 

She was your only form of social interaction and you were honestly glad. But you could never tell her anything about your ‘job’. All she knew was that her neighbor is never home and when they are, she’ll never know until they bump into her. Hours later she finished the piece, you thank her with a simple ‘Thank you, neighbor.’.  “You do know I have a name right? No need for neighbor anymore, it’s Jordan.” Both of you walk to the counter as she tells you how to care for the fresh tattoo but she stops you when she sees you pulling out your wallet. “On the house. You keep me company while you're home and eat whenever I invite you. This is the least I can do since I talk your ears off.” She chuckles and tells you to come over tonight for dinner, it was burrito night and you wouldn’t miss it for the world. You agreed and left the parlor. Deciding that maybe you should bring a nice drink to Jordan’s place, you walked to the store.

That’s when you felt something out of place again. Someone watching. Not close, but within said person’s peripherals. You quickly took to the sheltered alleys and crowd. It’s off-putting, the fact that you are spending your downtime feeling like you were being watched. You couldn’t just blame it on your paranoia anymore. It honestly starts to piss you off, you shot Jordan a message with your burner phone. You asked if she could cook for you every day now. The feeling of being watched made you decide that it wasn’t worth leaving the house, you can run loops around your apartment and Jordan loves cooking for you so it seems like a win-win in your book. You finally reach the supermarket, grabbing a trolley. You start filling the trolley with ingredients for Jordan, 2 big bottles of soft drinks you think she’d like, and a bottle of vodka for yourself. You quickly make your way to the checkout, you feel the eyes of civilians, and yet the one who’s following you is what caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand. You practically threw a hundred-dollar bill at the cashier and rushed out with the bags. The person was a professional stalker because no matter how well you scanned the people around you, you couldn’t spot them.

You finally made it to the flight of stairs to your apartment level. You dropped off the ingredients by Jordan’s door before knocking it and heading back to yours. You needed a shower before dinner. You needed to feel the cold water wash the sweat and paranoia off your heavily scarred skin. You needed it off you asap. It's funny how it's about a week into your downtime and it feels as if you were on the receiving end of a reconnaissance mission.

You stepped into the shower and stayed under the water for a solid 30 minutes. You only left as you hear Jordan yelling at the door saying something about phone and dinner. You dried off, put on your usual fit, and made your way to the fridge to grab the soft drinks. You hoped that a bottle of sweet tea and some soda would make up for asking her to cook meals for you. You quickly shot a message to Jordan to make sure all curtains are drawn and to not ask why. You didn’t want whoever to see that you were acquaintances with a civilian and that her safety is not jeopardized by your friendship with her. You waited 5 minutes before heading over. 

Jordan welcomed you in with that bright smile of hers and the smell of beef hits your nostril, making your mouth moist. It’s been a while since you had something that had even smelled this good. You walked to her little dining table and set the drinks on it before heading to her kitchen and helping with setting up. She knew exactly what you liked and made your burrito perfectly to how you did the first time you two had burrito night. All this simply from watching you eat. Both of you finally sat down after a long day and were ready for dinner and a little chat. You thanked Jordan for dinner and started eating, she started talking about how the neighbor next to her had their boyfriend move in and every night has been a nightmare for her. Just as she was about to say what was the reason, your burner phone rings. You apologized to Jordan but by now she was used to it from the few dinners you had to up and go back to base. You stood up and pulled your phone out to see who it was that is bothering your dinner time, it was Rodney. You excused yourself to the bathroom to answer it. 

“Hey (Y/N), just got a call from Laswell. Warrant Officer (Y/N), you are officially part of Task Force 141 as of today and are to report back to base to collect your gear and fly to their base. Congrats on making it into the big boy league and thank you Echo 2 for everything, hopefully, we’ll get to run missions with you in the future. As the Echo team once said, Best 2IC. I know you’ll do well there, you are still welcome to talk to me whenever (Y/N). Rest up, Echo team and I will see you off.” Just like that, Rodney ended the call before you could say anything. 

Leaving the Echo team? So soon might you add. It’s only been 3 years since you were assigned to the Echo team and yet you were the one selected to transfer to TF141. It made sense as you were a warrant officer but it was usually just for a mission or two with a different squadron. But never a permanent transfer. It’s not that you’ll miss them, you weren’t close to them in the first place, but you felt that someone better was more deserving of such a position. However, you never doubted Rodney’s decisions ever so you’d have to learn to get used to the new team, or the other way around.

You went back to the dining table and apologized again to Jordan for interrupting her. You felt that telling her you might not be home for years on end could wait until after dinner. You let her continue talking, listening, and chiming in on the conversation every now and then with small questions. You felt bad for leaving as it means she’d go back to helping make sure your apartment was kept dust-free while you were away and it’s no longer a few months but potentially years at a time. Maybe you could get her little souvenirs as a thank you. 

You polished your plate and brought both of your plates to the sink to wash. You felt that you’ve been there longer than usual and decided to call it a night. Before you left, you called out to Jordan who was confused as you usually just leave and she didn’t need to see you off. “I wanted to let you know that I’ll be traveling for work now Jordan and it might be for a year at a time. That being said, you really don’t have to clean my place while I'm gone-” “If you think I wouldn’t clean your place just because you’ll be away longer, you’d be very mistaken. Plus I could stay at your place if Rachel and her boyfriend decide to fuck every so loudly. You wouldn’t mind would ya?” You chuckle at how she purposely mentioned the loud fucking part loudly in hopes that the neighbor would hear. You told her she could use your place whenever but to make sure that everything stays in its place for the sake of your OCD and to make sure the curtains remain closed at all times when she’s there.

You went back and immediately went into your routine of making sure everything is secured. After which you immediately crashed onto your bed, too tired from everything that happened today. You’ll worry about packing tomorrow morning.

In your seventeen years of being in the military, you never would have predicted that you would have been selected to be a part of something bigger. 

You’ve done six years in the Navy, two years in Afghanistan for your first tour. During your time there on patrol duty, you saw it all. From being your fellow soldiers being shot at by terrorists who were kids armed with Ak-47s to the burn pit where every and anything is thrown and burned. Not forgetting the time where the humvee your team was in happened to drive over an IED and exploded, causing it to flip. Thankfully everyone was safe, walking off a concussion and a few scratches. You spent another year in Germany for the same thing. Throughout all this, you climbed the ranks and became a lieutenant. You managed to impress the higher ups with your combat skills and they had recommended you to go through the BUDS training to become a navy seal. Since you had barely any sense of direction to how you wanted to leave, you went with the flow.

Six months of grueling training and seeing soldiers drop out purely from how intense it was, you made it out as a Seal team operative. Another 6 years of deployments as a Seal op and you witnessed many deaths, you’ve lost so many friendlies and some to which fueled your nightmares from how you wished (and sometimes knew) you could’ve saved. In a deployment, you were blown up by a rogue IED that the Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) Specialist had missed. Luckily for you it wasn’t enough to kill you but it did rattle you for the few months after, being very wary of where you stepped. What was your luck with IEDs? At some point people knew you as an IED detector that detects them a second too late, you even considered becoming an EOD specialist but decided not to as you were already a sniper and a combat medic.

Once again someone had eyes on you and had invited you to DEVGRU training to which you once again went. This time it was six weeks of training and you were part of the tiny few who were approved. Not to mention as they were deciding who to accept, you had caught Rodney’s attention but at this point Echo team was a complete team. You spent two years training and waiting for a position in any team. To make use of the time, you decided to go to the Special Force Warrant Officer Institute. Not long after becoming a warrant officer, you were called in to join Echo team as a member had stepped down to retire. That’s where you met Rodney and the team.

And that’s where you found yourself again, the door that led to the cages but this time was to say goodbye. Everyone stood by the table in the center with shit eating grins on their faces. “Finally made it here 2ic, we’ve been waiting man!” Ricko spoke up, he was Echo’s K9 handler. The pup, Cerberus, comes up to you as if he knew that it was your time to leave. It touched you that they wanted to send you off, never would’ve thought that you were that much of an impact to the guys. Rodney hands you a picture, it was a picture of Echo team after your first deployment with them. You chuckled before patting him on the back, you turned to the guys and thanked them for coming to say their goodbyes. You stepped into your cage to grab your gear. You told the team that you’d want to visit the surplus store to get more stuff just in case. A couple more inner long sleeves and pants wouldn’t hurt to have.

You soon made your way to the store for a quick shopping session, with Echo team behind you being rowdy as their usual selves, it got you thinking whether you’d miss the noise whenever you're on base awaiting a green light for the next mission. You grabbed the clothing you needed, in hopes that it is enough for your time in the new base, then again you could shoot Rodney a text for a care package if needed but you’d rather be prepared for now. You decided to grab a couple of t-shirts in a material you like to repurpose into a fitted mask that would simply cover half of your face down to your neck, the balaclavas available were nice but you wanted a more personalized article of clothing for your face. You were about to pay when the entirety of Echo team fought each other to pay for your items, you simply stood back and chuckled alongside Rodney. Never in your time in the military would you imagine seeing grown men fighting each other to pay for clothing specifically. 

It soon came time to board the plane to the UK to meet your new team. The guys had lined up the walkway to the plane’s entrance with Rodney next to the entrance itself. Before you could make your way to the walkway, someone walked out the entrance. A lady with blond hair comes out to talk to Rodney. You walked past the guys, man hugging them and telling them to take care of each other now that you were gone. You waved your final goodbyes to them and made your way to Rodney and the lady. “(Y/n), this is Station Chief Kate Laswell, she supervises all the missions Task Force 141 goes on.” You shook her hand with a slight bow of your head to show respect to her. “Take care of this one Laswell, they’re quite a handful but a handful worth keeping.” He lets out a soft chuckle and you could see that Rodney was a little sad behind those eyes of his, he looks at you and gives you a sincere smile before telling you to take care of yourself and to text him if you need anything. He soon joins the boys to see you off from a distance.

You boarded the aircraft with Laswell, noting that there were a few other officers from your base who were making the trip with you. None of whom you personally knew, you’d find an empty corner and chose to sit there. It wouldn’t hurt to take a nap during the flight over. Despite your eyes being closed, your mind was awake. You heard everything around you, the whispers of you by the other officers on how you were terrifying. Little did they know, you were merely a quiet one and not that scary if they bothered to chat. Even if you didn't like talking to new people thanks to social anxiety, you wouldn't have been that much of a killer if they'd just said hi.

The flight was as smooth as you could get when traveling between bases, you 'woke' up from the nap thanks to Laswell and had helped the rest gather up their bags before touchdown. Soon enough the pilots gave us the announcement that we arrived safely and could depart. You braced yourself, not sure who's in your new squad and whether they were going to be nice enough to you.

You grabbed your bag and gear, 'no reason to be nervous, you're more than capable' you told yourself. You set foot onto the asphalt, sun glaring down at you as if it was foreshadowing your 'bright' future with TF141. Eyes finally adjusting, they set upon only Captain Price. Surprisingly enough the rest of the team wasn't there, you were almost glad until you heard a familiar Scottish accent.

"Sorry capt, tried to get Lt out of his office but apparently he has much more pressing issues to handle before meeting the new recruit- I mean lieutenant." If you recall his name correctly, Soap corrected himself when he saw you. He donned a look that wasn't bad nor good either. You simply chalked it off to the vase incident you two had. "Hell's fuckin' bells if it isn't you, you vase chucking cunt." He chuckles before smacking you lightly behind the head. Well that clears the air, no hard feelings for the past and clearly he was on best friend status with how he greeted you.

Laswell had gone to Price to chat a bit before he walked up to you. "Welcome to our base (Y/n), glad to see that you came prepared already." He pats you on the back before having Soap show you to the barracks. "Didn't catch my name did ya, Sergeant Johnny "Soap" McTavish but I'm not one for the whole formalities shite. Plus you're now part of our fuckin' team, practically family now." He sure does talk, not even the boys from Echo could compete but at least it isn't an awkward silence. "Warrant Officer (Y/n) (Y/L/N). Nice to properly meet you Soap, apologies for the vase." He merely waved you off, laughing and giving you kudos for catching him off guard.

You weren't far off from the barracks from what Soap has told you, glad that you weren't going to lug around your gear for much longer. But you suddenly felt those same eyes from back home on you once more. It almost had you stop in your tracks just to look around, but you didn't. You had a nagging feeling that Soap was gonna bombard you with questions and right now you were in no mood to entertain an interrogation. You tried to ignore it for now. The two of you finally reach the front door to the barracks, with the stalker still watching. 

When all of a sudden the door nearly flies off its hinges with 2 guys chasing one another out. "Gaz!- Get back here right the fuck now before I get the old man here!" A British man with tight curls dashes right past you with an American man with hazel hair chasing close behind. You quickly moved aside not wanting to get rammed into. "Steamin' hell- well that was Gaz and Alex, although you won't see Alex around base too often as he's helping a special someone back in the Urzikstani Liberation Force. More on that later!"

Soap proceeded to drag you to your room. "Nothing too fancy, just consider yourself lucky not having to share a bunk with the other guys." It was pretty similar to your apartment and way better than your barrack back home. Although, it was a little more on the luxury end of a military barrack. The common room was rather spacious, that in itself was a major difference from what you had back home. Soap had shown you the little break room they had if the squad decides to eat a meal together. Soap stated specifically to not eat in the common room unless its snacks aren't messy, this was because a certain member was rather particular on the barracks cleanliness. He did not specify who exactly it was. Soap shows you to your personal room. You thanked Soap for the tour before deciding to place your stuff down and organize them into their respective spots. 

Once you were done, you realized it was already 7pm there. It's been 2 hours since you touched down and you are definitely long overdue for a good wash down. That's when you also found out that the barracks here have private bathrooms and not a communal one. You walked into your shower, it wasn't big nor was it small enough to feel stuffy from being in it. Thankfully there were spare towels in the cabinet under the sink, you grabbed it and instantly used it to cover the mirror. You were about to shower when you forgot your toiletries in one of the bags you brought.

Wrapped in a towel, you stepped out to grab your toiletries. You turned to head back for a shower when there was a knock on your door "(Y/n)? We're heading out to a local pub not far from here. Wanted to see if you wanted to come." Unfamiliar voice, probably Gaz. You gave a quick response, agreeing but that you wanted a quick shower before you leave. He gives you the go ahead and you finally take that well needed rinse. You squatted low under the showerhead as you let the harsh mist wash the sweat from your body. You must've zoned out because Soap was hammering on your bathroom door. "Oi! Gaz said you were showering, not fuckin' asleep in there. Hurry up so I can drink Gaz under, you vase cunt!" You hear Soap chuckle at someone's disagreement, that you couldn't quite hear, coming from the common room.

You dried off, taking your dirty clothes and placing them neatly by the sink, before wrapping yourself once again with the towel. "Steamin' Jesus- give a brother a heads up!" You caught Soap by surprise when you stepped out, receiving a slightly disturbed look by him before he turned to leave. You quickly grabbed some cargo pants, a crew neck instead of the usual as you weren't in the mood for a hassle, and chose the half-face balaclava and a cap. You pocketed your burner phone and wallet after putting on a simple pair of gloves.

"Finally the diva is out, shite. Gaz and Alex meet (Y/n), pretty sure you remember the fucker Alex." He giggles after his little comment to Alex before it turns into a full blown cackle after seeing Alex grimace. You mentally noted to apologize for whatever you did. Soap grabs you and starts pushing you out the barracks door, only to be greeted by a 6 '2 (189cm) man with a lower half of a skull painted on his balaclava. You dug your foot into the concrete just in time to not get pushed into the man in front of you. Soap smacks his face into your back causing him to groan. 

"(Y/n), this is Lieutenant Riley." Price walks up from behind the man. Oddly enough, his presence felt familiar, but you dont think it's in a good way. "I think he prefers-" Soap butts in but is interrupted immediately. "Just Ghost will do soldier.” Ghost shot a glare towards Soap, garnering chuckles from the rest of the squad. Price beckons for you guys to get into a pickup truck as enough time has been wasted. He also called for you to ride shotgun while the rest sat in the cargo bed. You followed as told, sitting next to the captain as he started the engine and drove the whole lot of you towards the pub they frequented. 

"Enjoy your personal space here? I know it isn't much but if there's anything you need, do let me know." Price shot a smile at you before knocking the small window behind both of you, letting the rest know that we'll be reaching soon. Price finds a spot that is right next to the pub's entrance. "Try to relax, I know we pulled you from your downtime so use this as both a welcome gesture and an apology for pulling you to base." He spoke softly as if the rest could hear. Once the truck came to a stop, your door was yanked open and similar to the door you were next to be yanked. 

Soap practically pulled you out the truck like nothing, laughter from Gaz and Alex soon followed. The trio dragged you into the small English pub, definitely different from the usual bar scene you were used to with Echo. You just hope that they had something you could drink. The trio sat by a booth not far from where the bar was as Ghost and Price went to. Alex got up to get a round for the booth, coming back with 2 tall boys in each of his hands before passing them out. Despite not liking beer, you took it to be polite. 

The three chatted amongst each other catching up from what seemed like individual assignments while you took sips of your beer. You turned to Alex, "I wanna apologize for the uh, incident..?" Alex simply leaned his head sideways, "Don't even sweat it greenie, you happened to just come back from something traumatic. Just don't remind Soap- too late…"

Before Alex had the chance to finish, Soap’s ears had perked up. He starts retelling his version of the incident. Soap had swapped watch duty with Alex to grab a bite and after he felt rather nice because he had grabbed snacks for Alex. He came back to med bay when he saw the doctors trying to pull you off Alex who was honestly too flustered and confused at what just went down. "Okay, in my defense, I just walked in and all I saw was bare ass. Sorry (y/n), but honestly that gown did jack shit for your ass. Why do medical gowns not cover ass even?" Alex stuttered as he tried to defend himself.

Your cheeks now flushed red, you had almost spat the sip of beer in your mouth when Alex brought up 'bare ass'. Apparently, the doctors at med bay were doing their daily checkup on you when you came to again. You had assumed the worst and were defending yourself, Alex had caught you by surprise when he walked in. Soap literally had to pull you off him as Alex was too confused at what went down. You couldn’t blame him either, how would you react if some random soldier jumped you and you were flat on the ground within 5 seconds?

You thank Soap in your head for segwaying into messing with Alex and how he reacts to shit that happens out the blue. Gaz simply chuckled and soon added onto the teasing. You took this opportunity to slink your way to the bar for some alone time. You wait for the bartender and when they come to you, you simply tell them to keep your shot glass filled with vodka and a glass of bourbon constantly topped up till you tell them to stop. You were a heavyweight drinker and knew that it took a shit ton of drinks to actually feel somewhat drunk. Guess you could thank the sleepless nights for building your tolerance to alcohol.

You were down 10 shots of vodka and 2 glasses of bourbon, picking at the threads that lined your forearm while tuning out the noise of the rest of the pub. You didn’t notice Price walked up and sat next to you. “So how did Laswell get to know you (y/n), CIA then soldier? Cause if she sent you, you got one hell of a track record.” Price was the one to start up a chat. Captain being proactive and learning about the new member before anyone else, nothing you weren’t used to. “Seventeen years climbing the ranks from Navy to Seal, but I’m sure you’ve seen my file Capt.” You felt that whenever your team captain asked how or why you got transferred over, that they surely already know about your past in the military. “That's quite a lot of years in service. How did you become a soldier, you grew up with a soldier parent? or was it just something you wanted to do?”

You decide to entertain Price's questions, nothing to hide after all. “No. Dad died and I left mom after college. Somehow ended up in the Navy. After 5 years there, I was promoted to a Lt. I decided to transfer to special ops, did BUDS and DEVGRU training that took another 5 years, the last 7 years was doing missions with Echo Team wherever we were needed.” 

 Price hums in response as he lights a cigar. “Life's tough soldier. But as long as you have a good team, it becomes a little less hard. What's your opinion on war?” The question threw you off, no one had questioned why any of you were sent to war. “dumb politics. the only reason for war. politicians feeling the need to one up each other, and at what cost? Their brave soldiers and the lives of innocent civs.”

“I agree. Politicians send our boys to hell and for what, money? power? they're not the ones fighting or dying. But it’s for the better good of maintaining some resemblance to world peace.” Price gave a response that you’d expect from someone who’s been in the military for a while. You were glad that both of you were on the same page. “So, how do you deal with stress? I’m sure a soldier as experienced as you must’ve got some way to cope, enlighten me.” Price asked as he finished the glass of whiskey he brought over. You chuckled, “I’m sure it’s similar to any of the others, vices. Drinking, smoking. That's about it.” You followed suit and downed your own glass. He waves for the bartender, offering you some whiskey to which you felt that you couldn’t turn down.

“To The soldiers that made the ultimate sacrifice.” Price holds up his hand up his glass to cheer.”To those we lost along the way, the bravest ones as well.” You smiled sadly under your mask, remembering your partner that you lost on a mission. The two of you take a drink from your glasses. “Aight enough about the heavy subject soldier. What was the funniest thing that happened to you in the military?” You appreciated the change in topics, you sit and think for a bit before remembering what Echo did recently. “Being given a trophy that reads "The best 2IC of the year", I brought it over from base.” You laughed, the mixture of alcohol has definitely made you looser than you’d normally are. You asked for your last shot and glass of bourbon from the bartender. 

Price took it as it was time to head back to base, turning to the boys in the booth and being met with the sight of Alex with his head down on the table and Gaz slurring at a Soap who’s for sure too drunk for his own good as he himself was slurring random Scottish gibberish while laughing. Price stood up and headed towards Ghost who was simply drinking water as he smoked, letting him know that he'll drive the team back. Ghost took his last puff before heading to the booth. He grabs Soap by the back of the collar dragging the drunken Scott out the booth before gently getting Gaz and wrapping his arm around his neck. Ghost with the two drunks walks his way out the pub and to the truck, setting them in the cargo bed. You down your drinks quickly to help Ghost with Alex who was clearly too hammered. You slowly guided him out the booth before slinging his arm around your neck and walking him to the truck. You pass him off to Ghost once you reach the cargo bed.

You only managed to get one foot on the step of the bumper bracket when Price walked out as he thanked the bartender. “(Y/n), you’re sitting passenger, I’ll handle the boys back here.” You tried to offer to watch the boys when he reassured you that this was the usual routine the team had. You weren’t gonna argue with the man so you stepped down and headed to the passenger side and entered. You buckled the seat belt and Ghost took his seat on the driver side. He buckles himself before knocking on the glass window behind him, letting Price know that he was about to start the drive back.

“What’s with the mask.” Ghost took you by surprise with that conversation starter, his focus still locked on the road. “Keeping my face to myself, maybe for the right people I can trust.” You were sure he saw what you looked like, especially since he was one of the people who came to your rescue. “Don’t worry, Price made sure no one saw your face when he found you.” It was as if the broody British man read your mind, it was a relief to say the least. You decided to shoot the same question back, similarly curious as to why he wore a mask himself. “Same reason as you.” That was it. One sentence. It was painfully honest that he did not want to indulge in sharing more than necessary. Not pushing, you nod in response and go back to staring out the window.

“Anyone back home, family or partner?” You wanted to question why he wanted to know more about you, maybe it’s just to see if he can trust you or hell just to know you. But it did break his character, or the infamous character everyone labeled him. “No. Dad died, disappeared from mom’s life. No partner.” He hums, tapping on the wheel as if the cogs in his head turns as he looks for a response but doesn’t. That’s where the line of questioning from your fellow lieutenant. The rest of the ride was simply filled with an oddly comfortable silence and the sound of the wheel rolling over the gravel road as you pulled up to the gates to base.

Ghost drives through base to park up by the parking lot closest to your barracks. “Help Price dump the boys in the common room. They’ll go to their rooms in the morning.” He states as he parks the truck. You hopped out and headed to the cargo bed, opening the tailgate door and pulling Soap to the edge to get him safely. Price lays Gaz on the couch while Ghost sets Alex on the recliner, leaving no spot for Soap. Ghost tells you to just drop him on the floor and you do. You walk into the communal kitchen to grab a drink before stepping out for a cigarette. 

You settled for a bottle of water to help hydrate yourself and prepare for the headache you'll get in the morning. You sat on the step leading to the entrance of the barrack, lighting a cigarette once you were comfortable. You sat there for a while, smoking alone and looking at the sky. You were glad the balaclava was thin, allowing you to take a drag without even lifting your mask. You touched your clothed face, reminded that you are scarred and that no one will look at your face without fear. You chuckled at the thought that stumbled into your mind, maybe Jordan would laugh instead of fear you, just like the older sister she is. 

Just as you finish that thought, Ghost walks up next to you. “Can’t sleep, soldier?” “Not that, just not ready to sleep.” You lit another cigarette, not wanting to say that your mind was still yelling at you on random topics. You take a drag before asking “You? Why are you out here?” No answer, nothing not to be expected of the silent man. You tap at the cigarette, tapping the ash off onto the gravel. You offered, to which Ghost surprisingly took a stick from your pack of cheap cigarettes. Once again like the drive back, the both of you sat in silence. A comfortable quiet, one that both of you welcomed. 

You were finished with your cigarette, getting up, you pat Ghost’s back before heading back in. He grunts in response. You threw the bottle away before checking up on the three that were out cold. You decided to place blankets on them before stepping into your room. You looked around, a bed you weren’t familiar with, four walls which enclose you in this new unfamiliarity. Your new room. Just like before, when you were first tasked to Echo team. But this time, no one was around to silence the voices. Those you had to kill, their pleas for mercy despite the heinous crime they committed mere seconds before, the cries of your fellow brothers and sisters in arms dying in your arms. No one to yell at each other to keep quiet so that anyone could sleep, no sound of someone watching a video on the lowest volume yet it was too loud for anyone to ignore, or even the sound of someone’s loved one on a call, talking like it was going to be the last call they’ll ever make.

Now you were left in the silence of these four walls in a country you weren’t familiar with. Surrounded with soldiers you knew nothing about except for the rumors about them and the long tales of the missions that they’ve come to complete. What were you there for? Whose shoe did you have to fill now? Questions like that started to plague you, filling your mind with doubt that you belonged. You weren’t meant to leave Echo, you certainly didn’t deserve a place in a prestigious team like Task Force 141. Right? 

You threw your clothing to the side, tears on the brinks of escape. You laid on the bed, in your garments. Wondering if it was truly your own thoughts or it was just the effects of the alcohol. You drifted to sleep, still questioning yourself as you fell deeper into the nightmare that awaits you in the hours to come.

A/N:

I KNOW- It's a long awaited chapter release, but between college and my health, it's been hard to get anything out. I've been chasing deadlines with all my projects on top of trying to not fall sick since catching Covid (thanks to my weak immune system). Not to mention the mountain of ideas that keeps flooding so it was hard to figure out how I wanted this to play out without revealing too much. Thank you to my proof reader for helping make sure this chapter has little to no grammatical errors and that the writing was perfect for you readers!

TAGLIST:

@thychuvaluswife  @tiny-kasper @tapioca-marzipan @rafaelacallinybbay @idkbroimjusthere  @wolfyland07 @berryjuicyy

[ryaiga]

DIVIDERS

divider dump / archived !!

[ryaiga]

UPDATE

To all who are waiting for the second chapter, I'. SORRY- Progress for the chapter slowed down significantly due to me catching covid not long after the first chapter and I've been stumped with mid year exams and projects from college so I am very sorry for the long wait. Not to mention i had hit a block with both pacing and direction for the second chapter making it harder to complete.

I even debated on publishing a shorter chapter. However, I didn't want to go below my self given word count minimum(5k at the very least). I am hoping that I am able to complete it soon and before the end of next week. After that it is my term break meaning I am able to focus on the fic even more! I'll end this with a thanks for all of your patiences!

Taglist:

@thychuvaluswife  @tiny-kasper @tapioca-marzipan @rafaelacallinybbay @idkbroimjusthere  @wolfyland07 @berryjuicyy

[ryaiga]

If you love what's in store so far, you'll have a blast with what I have in mind for future chapters

The One God Forbade

Chapter 1

Pairing - Captain Price X GN!Reader X Lieutenant Riley

MDNI 18+ PLEASE.

WORD COUNT: 6.3K

Summary: You survived an interrogation but don't remember anything except the pain you endured and Captain Price saving you. Once you recovered, you were left with more questions with seemingly no answer.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AT THE END! 

WARNINGS/CWS/TWS: GRAPHIC SCENES(DETAILED GORE, there will be a warning and a spacer just for it so you can skip), Military terms that might be wrong, Drinking, Childhood trauma, mention of abuse, death and mentions of death, talks of scars, implied rape.

Spacers/Headers by: @mmadeinheavenn , @imlevis , @animatedglittergraphics-n-more , @wanwanparty

{(N/n) = nickname}

It was a surprise Kortac didn't sign you from the get go. You knew of a couple of their members, König and Horangi specifically, only by mere whispers. You were the new recruit on base. Anyone and everyone would kill to have your spot, a vacancy was opened and granted to you to join Task force 141. Nobody saw it coming, you'd always thought it was the best soldier from your squad who'd be nominated, but everyone including you was blindsided by the choice. 

You were home, on leave for only a week after a grueling mission your platoon had to complete and after recovery. Intel was needed and special ops teams Alpha, Delta and ,your squad, Echo were tasked to gather it, eliminate all threats if faced and by any means get said intel. Other squads joked (some meant what they said) that you didn't belong in the army, but rather a mercenary group like Kortac. The lengths you'd take to accomplish a mission gave you that title. It was a switch, something even you can't control. What lays in your wake is the multiple sights of mangled and bloodied corpses, those whose faces were intact belonged to people you have never come across once in your life.

That mission made your attempts to sleep futile, it haunts you every night when you rest your head. You were separated from your team, trying to exfil but ended up amidst an ambush. Everyone knew how skilled a soldier you were, but never had taken you for the type to sacrifice yourself for the means of your fellow squadmates' safety. You'd make headway to a couple of your injured comrades, shooting at enemies who’d even think of taking a step forward. Dragging them back to the safety of the group, you’d left them to get first aid, hell you even threw your back up kit on top of one of the injured before running to the last man. The few before him received shots to their limbs, nothing that would render them dead, but the last man had more than just a shot. 

Rodney was Echo team’s Field Team Leader(FTL) and had been by your side pulling the injured and returning fire on the enemies. That was when a stray IED happened to go off, you swore that a pebble triggered it but you didn't have the time to think about it. Luckily for the both of you, it wasn’t close to do deadly damage but it was enough for the building in front of you to shake and a piece of rubble had fallen onto Rodney’s leg as he was trying to get up after the explosion. You had been scraped by flyaway shrapnels but one happened to embed itself into your thigh, right above your knee. Seeing that he had it worse, you made it a priority to get that injured comrade out of the way first so you can focus on Rodney after. You’d almost — or hell quite literally — thrown the man to safety and dashed for Rodney, using the momentum, you attempted to kick the rubble off and thankfully it did. Placing a tourniquet on Rodney’s leg so he didn't bleed out. 

You'd only manage to drag him halfway to the group, before a crazed hostile came charging at you with a knife. Stupid as it was to bring a knife to a gunfight in a literal sense, you reached for your pistol and raised it to shoot the hostile, hearing a click instead of a shot going off. An empty mag, you chuckled. Shouting for Rodney to crawl the rest of the way and yell for someone, you holstered the pistol to exchange for your trusty karambit. You've been in hand to hand combat for training but for some reason this was different. You found yourself on the ground quicker than ever, despite being top in your batch. 

The man stood over you with a sinister look, with a grin stretching from ear to ear. “Another American added to my collection, I won’t kill you so soon. Not yet at least, we still need to know how you found this place. And dear little soldier, oh how much fun I’ll have torturing you and keeping you barely breathing.” He proceeded to plunge the knife into your side, somehow missing everything vital but you convinced yourself that it would be blood loss that kills you at this point. You’d rather die quiet than betray the military. Blacking out due to the shock, the last thing you heard Rodney yelling for the rest to fire at the man and not just stand there with their dicks in their hands. At last it was too late, the team had to exfil but not without calling it in and letting the team who was aiding us with the mission about the situation at hand. A rescue mission for a fellow soldier.

 Neither you nor your team knew that the intel was for Task Force 141’s next deployment, you were the bait Laswell had deployed. It was to ensure that the ring leader didn’t take the situation seriously, a random military team out on patrol happened to stumble upon a measly little operational base they had out in the sandy town, a perfect bait. Bringing back the intel to the team at base, Laswell gave Price the details of your rescue, unbeknownst to you of course.

TORTURE SCENE AHEAD, AVOID IF YOU AREN’T COMFORTABLE WITH SUCH

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

You woke up to the sharp and pulsating pain in your side, vision blurred and arms shackled to a metal table, you remembered what happened. You braced yourself for the worse, nothing like good old torture. The next 8 hours felt like hell, from waterboarding, branding you with a metal rod that was heated to the point of it glowing bright orange, to nails being pulled starting from your toes then to your hands, you endured every second of torture being thrown at you. Sure it was horrible, but you kept your mouth shut by any means possible. Every time a nail was pulled ever so agonizingly slowly, you bit your lips to the point that blood dripped down your chin and that the pain was now numbed, you no longer felt it. You closed your eyes, counting every second.

1, 2, 3, 4- “How did you find this compound?” 9, 10. 30600. 1, 2, 3- “I know you can hear me!” 7, 8, 9, 10. 30610- Another slow pull of a nail, this time it was your right pinky toe, no nails on the right foot 8 hours, 35 minutes, 20 seconds into being kidnapped. Yeah they took a whole 5 minutes to torture your pinky toe for information. 

1, 2, 3, 4, 5- the door to the room opens again, a different man enters. This time with a trolley with surgical tools. You could see a scalpel, clamps, retractors, suction, staples and energy systems, you could tell this man enjoys the torment he inflicts. With the orchestra of surgical tools laid out in front of him, he was the conductor who was gonna lead your screams into a melodious conforment of the perfect harmony, a symphony to his ears. 45950. 

1, 2, 3, 4, you felt him cut open the top of your hand, using the clamps on the nerves and playing with them, all without anesthetics, you growled as your face contorted to the pain. Cauterizing the incision, “You know, I had enough sessions like this, I could get a medical license just from how talented and skill I am with my tools.” Deranged as he sounds, you kept counting. 50400. It is now 50401. You had enough when you felt him grab your belt buckle. That’s where it happened. You blacked out. The last that you remembered.

Back at base, Laswell called for the last mission briefing after Price gathered the boys and informed them of what was going on. After which Price and the few members of Task force 141 geared up. He led them onto the helo and they flew out to the sandy plains you were left at. 3 hours after the incident was called in. 

Laswell had informed him of the prestigious yet silent soldier that was being considered for his team. He’d lost a recruit in an earlier deployment, one he took to heart. Like many from the past, another scar added, that lay permanent by his chest and the haunting that left him shaking and restless at night, another one failed by his very leadership. Making even the unshakeable captain wake in cold sweats and trembling and to his vices in the attempts to be grounded to earth once more. So to hear that he was getting a new member that was as or more skilled than the one before, meant that the military was willing to sacrifice yet another valuable asset if it meant that his team was complete from every angle. A well trained sniper, hardy in hand to hand, a versatile team player yet nothing more than your skills were known. Similar to his lieutenant, you were an enigma. Not even a drop of ink was placed about your past and how you came about the military. Your file had a picture, a battle hardened soldier who completed every mission with ease and precision of high caliber, but no other name besides (N/N). You hadn’t been rewarded with a callsign, no one knew enough about you to even give a title to your talents, unlike Soap or Ghost. Price read up on your previous missions, but to his disappointment (or amazement), every debrief on the details stated that no one saw how you executed. It was always done and over with by the time the rest came to you, and it happens within mere seconds. A regal display of crimson red, a mural of your skill assets that leaves even your FTLs in fear of ever being your enemy. However, No one was ready for what was to come. For you’d gain a title like no other, a prestige as high as the greatest artist known to man, the difference being that it came not from art. But from your ungodly fits to kill and survive, a display left out to strike fear in any person who wronged you.

Price and his team sat in the helo, adrenaline slowly creeping along their nerves as they awaited for the pilot's call to jump. “Hope we get there in time, wouldn't be good if we found ‘em KIA. Laswell seemed rather fond of the enigma.” Ghost briefly spoke, an utter breath that Price barely caught. Nodding in response, Price wanted to see what you were. How you handled the predicament you were in, knowing full well if it was one of his men, that they wouldn’t even think of breaking. Could he blame you? Not even your platoon had knowledge that you were against a group of skilled mercenaries guising as cartels selling American weapons on middle eastern soil. He’d seen what they’ve done to the soldiers before you, they never made it home and if they did, it was a closed casket ceremony. 

Needless to say you were in desperate need of saving if you even want to think of coming out alive. Ghost reminds the rest that they aren’t to hope too highly of your chances, another tag and body bag might be amongst them on their return. A slim chance that you’d even be crawling out that hellscape. It was a bad omen that Price hated, he didn’t like the thought of a rescue being a failed attempt before it even began. Before he could even try to save the person. The helo landed miles away from the building, too many for the team’s liking. It meant time was wasted traversing the dunes, and time was not on their side.

They managed to reach the building on the 14th hour, Gaz situated at a high vantage point and taking out any guard that would alert the others and prevent the team’s entry while Price and the other two got closer. Price split the teams, Gaz with him and Soap with Ghost. Ghost and Soap would make the initial breach, having that Soap was their demolitions expert. Gaz made his way to the other side of the building with Price to flank and surprise any enemies with the possible off chance of stumbling into you during the sweep. Over the comms, he gave the signal. A blast shook the building, he’d hear a handful of footsteps rush towards the other two, giving it a second before kicking the shitty metal door open. Entering the 4 story building, they cleared the first floor with ease before coming across a walkie talkie on one of the now dead tangos. “Goddamn it! Kill whoever that was, we need to handle-” the person on the other end was cut off and without a second for Price to ponder what the situation was, more enemies came barrelling down the steps, managing to count 6 as they entered a room for cover before a gunfight ensued. Soap deployed a 9 banger - a flashbang that would go off 9 times back to back - a headbanger experience for the poor dead men walking. Using that as a distraction Gaz took out 3 enemies before Ghost and Price eliminated the remaining few. 

Ghost and Soap rushed to the second floor while he and Gaz went to the third. ‘Faster’ echoed in the back of Price’s mind. The team only managed to clear 3 rooms when a gut wrenching cry and a shot going off not long after was heard. It came from the fourth floor, He waited for the two below them and got into formation. Leading his men into the unknown, they hurried up the flight of stairs. Looking down the dimly lit and putrid corridor stood 4 rooms, only one of which was closed, something wet leaked from its crack but the lighting made it hard to distinguish what it was. After clearing other rooms of hostiles, Price had Gaz stand guard by the stairs, Soap covering his and Ghost’s six. His clothed hand slowly reached the grimy steel knob, twisting and pushing it open to find that it was locked from the inside. You had to be there, surely. He tapped Soap and motioned for him to breach with a thermite. Bracing for the explosion, the thermite goes off rattling who stood by the door no doubt, using the initial explosion as a distraction, Price enters. 

He’d heard of soldiers crawling away from death’s grip, but nothing he’d seen or heard would have prepared him for what he had just walked into. Before Ghost could turn to clear and call out on the comms, Price stopped him and the other two from entering. A war torn soldier wasn’t an unusual sight but the horrors he’d just laid his desensitized eyes on was enough to remind him of what he once feared back when he was a young recruit in the SAS. A trolley with surgical tools and a lone pistol stood at arms reach of a small figure wearing a familiar uniform, hands busy with what he could only assume was the soldier’s face, chains jingling as they continued with what they were doing all whilst embracing the sun’s warm grace. That wasn’t what shook him, a metal table typically used to interrogate people stood to the right of the room. The chains that held you down were broken, the spot where the chains were welded to the center of the table had an upwards dent - you ripped the chains off the table with sheer force.

A man in surgical garments sprawled on the table, innards now turned out for all to see. A spectacle made out of human intestine, organs pinned outside the man’s body by multiple scalpels that went through the metal and blood viciously splattered around his corpse. Price wished he could say that was it but the gruesome art went beyond just insides turned out. The man’s entire nervous system was intricately laid out around his organs, decorating the entire table in a mix of thin blue threads barely visible amongst the puddle of red. The nerves still connected together in a web, not severed in any section, the extreme precision to carry such a brutal butchering left Price speechless. The scene was as if it paid homage to the Blair Witch Project, or worse a page from a sacrificial ritual. Price could only hope that the man was dead when all of this was carried out.

Another, laid on the floor not too far between the man on the table and inches away from the door. A pistol in his mouth, brain matter laid out on the ground, his face frozen with a plea for mercy. That was what he was standing in, and what had seeped out the door crack. Yet another lay in front the soldier Price was facing, neck snapped and his dead body laid to rest sitting up right by the wall in front of the aforementioned soldier, a metal rod shoved into his mouth and the sharp end had protruded out his torso. Price took another step forward before he heard a whimper to the left most corner of the room, their target - the head honcho of the operation - sat bare and huddled. His clothes on the ground at arms reach yet the man was too afraid to take a step forward. As though he would meet the same fate as his men if he took even a breath of air.

“(N/n)? It’s Captain Price, Laswell sent Task Force 141 to rescue you.” Price spoke softly, not wanting to surprise you, unsure of the current mental state you were in. Especially after what was laid around you and the torture you went through. “Are you injured?-” You didn’t answer, instead opting to slowly turn. Price made the right call, the state you were in was dire. “Ghost, call for exfil ASAP, (N/n) is alive but in serious condition.” Price called out to his right hand man with urgency and a slight tremble in his voice. 

Your eyes. He’d thought that when he first met Ghost, that his eyes were the epitome of cold and soulless. But somehow yours went beyond that, for a lack of better words. A frigid cold looms behind those dull and matte black pupils, reminding of the cold he once faced during a deployment in Russia during a winter’s snow storm, striking his very core cold. Bangs sticking to your bloodied face by sweat and grime from the hours of torture you endured. A chunk of your skin hanged off your face, a knife cut and what looks like one of the man’s attempts to rip the skin out and off your face. It started right above your eyebrow traveling down to your lips. He was hopeful that it was repairable, it wasn’t a wide injury, barely missing your eyes and narrows down where it ended in the middle of your upper lip, still connecting at both ends to your face by what looked like a thin fishing line. You were stitching your skin back to your face. Your hand had a butchered attempt to stitch a wound close with one hand, nail beds down to your knuckles had trails of dried up blood. Uniform stained a dark red, mixture of your injured comrades blood from the fight and yours, the side of your torso had a big patch of blood. Sleeves rolled up, bright red burn marks running down your entire forearm, the man before you had branded you with the very metal rod that was now embedded in him. On your other arm were 12 lines stitched into your skin, 8 weren’t freshly stitched in, leaving Price confused and curious as to what it was. 

END OF TORTURE SCENE

Price could see the soldier mouthing something softly. His ears strained to hear the soft word, or numbers when he realizes that you were counting out by tens and adding to a bigger number before repeating. The hours you were torture. He slowly approaches you, calling out to you. It took a solid minute for you to realize what was going on. Signs of a soul return to your eyes, glossing over as soon as you hear your name. Arms slowly raised to surrender and it starts to tremble when before they were as still as though belonging to the world’s best brain surgeon. Tears drip down your cheeks, face still emotionless. You were dazed. The sound of the chopper’s propeller came to earshot, fresh sunshine scalding your back through the glassless window.

Gaz calls out to Price, “They’re here! Let’s go!” Price immediately takes off his shemagh and drapes it over your head, covering your face before standing to your left. He gave you a shot of morphine he had on hand to help with the pain. Grabbing your left arm, wrapping it over his shoulders, bending both of you and carried you bridal style as you were in no condition to walk - your toenails gone from the torture and the piece of shrapnel still in your thigh, he could only imagine the pain you were going through. He carried you out the room, ordering his team to escort the two of you to the safety of the chopper. Before he could descend the stairs, you spoke softly. “My karambit. Find it, I can’t lose it. I won’t leave without it.” The team shoots Price a confused look before turning to each other. “What are you waiting for? You heard the soldier. Quickly find it.” Price commands, he feels your breath starting to get labored, he hurries the guys and tells Gaz to follow him out.

The medics on board administered emergency first aid, shooting you with a dose of adrenaline to make sure you stay awake during the flight. They had laid you down on a stretcher. Not long after you, Price and Gaz enter the chopper, Ghost and Soap follow suit with your karambit in hand. Soap walks to your side, kneeling before he places your Karambit safely onto your chest and grabs your left hand to be placed on top of the knife. “Rest easy now (N/n), you and your karambit are safe.” Soap shot you a comforting smile as he spoke with a tone to reassure you.

Beeping. You hear the sound of a heart monitor beeping to the same rhythm as your heartbeat, however it was muffled. Eyes fluttering open, squinting due the harsh and glaring light that was directly over you. Consciousness returns to your still body. A body that didn’t feel like yours, sore all over and strapped down to the bed, limiting your movement. Your vision blurred, you attempted to analyze the room. Aside from the continuous beeping of the heart monitor, the fluorescent lights that had basically served as a flashbang buzzed like white noise. Reminding you of the time when you were living in that shitty college dormitory, but there wasn’t that stale air that was permeated by the pungent scent of body odor from athletes who freely roamed the halls. Instead, it was the smell of disinfectant that was greatly welcomed. The A/C hummed quietly, you soon realized it was a hospital or medical bay that you were in. 

Something was off. How did you get from that dry and sweltering room that was stained with the smell of mold and bodily fluids to this clean environment. You scrapped at your foggy memory, who came? Was it the military who came to your rescue or did the fuckers who tortured you, who sold you off as a token and bargaining chip to a client? Panic creeps up your leg, feeling it coursing through your veins. You quietly looked for a way to get out of your restraints, not wanting anyone to hear you scheming away.

Your eyes spotted a paperclip that was left right on top of your cover, probably dropped from a clipboard. You started to shimmy under the tiny metal paperclip, it inches to your reach and soon you popped it into your mouth to bend it in a way that allowed you to lockpick the 4 locks that held your restraints against the bed. You hurried, taking off the restraints that were on your hands and started to work on your foot. 

You only managed to free one foot when you heard someone walk into the section of the medical bay that housed you. Your heart starts beating aggressively quick, the sensation made it as though your heart was in your throat and actively trying to suffocate you. Before you were able to formulate a plan, someone was sliding the thin curtain aside. "They should be out cold, that wasn't an average dose of sedative Capt. Had to get Alex to hold 'em down with me and he just got back too." Scottish man but he wasn't alone, you glared at the curtain to gauge how big the Scot was. Standing at 6'2(1.88m), nothing you haven't encountered, a build fit for a soldier. You weren't gonna take your chances though.

You leaned to grab the flower vase that stood tall on the bedside table, readying your other hand with the paper clip to fling it at the man as hard as possible once you distracted him. The curtain pulls back and sure enough he was distracted talking to the other person accompanying him. You threw the pot straight at the Scottish man's face, catching him by surprise and stumbling onto the ground with his hand on his nose. The pot didn't break, if you weren't trying to escape and it was safe, you'd be laughing in the back of your mind. Immediately turning your attention to the other man who merely looked at his buddy on the ground groaning in pain. You took that as a free opportunity to get the man. You flicked the paperclip hoping to at least get it embedded into the side of his neck.

However, to your horror, he leaned back just in time to dodge the clip. It pierced the concrete wall next behind him. Before you were able to do anything, he turned to you and pinned you down against the bed. Your wrists in his hands and above your head, you tried to pull away but to no avail. You started to buck your body against his, trying to get him off. This only causes him to yell at his comrade, who's whining and rolling on the ground in pain. "Soap if you don't get up and help me pin their legs or hell, even get the doc, so help me I will ensure the lavys are nice and grody just for you to clean till next month." The man that you almost stabbed in the jugular with a goddamn paperclip has his body on your torso, just so you’d stop struggling, had an annoyed look similar to a dad reprimanding his son for breaking a glass and not bothering to help. 

“It’s Captain Price- Calm down Echo 2, we aren’t going to hurt you. You're back at base and safe.” Captain Price? Price? You heard of his name. Rodney had mentioned that name before, something about a transfer. You stopped fighting back, as he mentioned you’re safe now and realized you nearly killed a higher up, you apologized. He slowly got up, wary that you’d try to pull something. Especially after that stunt. “You had woken up several times the past few days, manic on several occasions. We had Soap watch over you in case you woke up and chose to attack the Doc.” 

“Permission to speak. How long was I out? And are my platoon mates safe?” You asked after Price gave you a nod. “A week, your body was weak from blood loss. The doctors helping you had stabilized you. Removing the shrapnel in your thigh, stitching the remaining skin that you hadn’t stitched back onto your face, treating your stab wound and the burn you had from the branding. Your platoon was brought back safely thanks to you Sergeant (N/n).” It came back to you. The ambush during exfil, dragging injured man back, Rodney, the counting, the questions, and you don't remember much after that. Funny how it all went down within 24 hours.

The doctor came in with a Soap who wasn’t too happy to open the curtain. Doc ran a couple of tests to make sure you were clear for rehab. Your recovery was a speedy one and rehab was smooth sailing. The platoon came to visit you, those you saved came to show their gratitude. Some silently cried as you laid in the comforts of your hospital bed. You were still trying to register what happened, how you got 3 more stitches on your left arm. You had 8 on your arm from your past, marking those who wronged you. 

One belongs to your deadbeat dad who abused you and your mother when you were younger, he died mysteriously. All you recalled was the newscaster covering his death as a brutal and grotesque murder that the nation had witnessed in years. Your mother knew what happened but she never disclosed that information, not to the cops and especially not you. You had stitched a blood red thread into your arm.

Another was a friend who left you to die after a crash that nearly rendered you paralyzed, you remember crawling with only your arms trying to get help. 

Six belonged to each member of a jock clique who trapped you in the college’s equipment shed and took turns abusing you in too many ways yet you didn’t remember how. All you could remember was limping away in your tattered clothes covered in bright purple bruises that covered your body and a permanent red line that went around your neck. 

The last one belongs to a guy who was close to one of the jocks, he somehow had entered your dorm room and attacked you after coming home from a long study session in the library. A scar ran from the back of your right bicep down to its shoulder blade. What amazed you was that you never remember what happened after those traumatic moments. All you knew were they’d end up dead one way or another.

You ran your hand over the stitches, something about it is soothing to you. Last thing you remember was seeing Captain Price walking up to you, and the mangled bodies scattered around you. Before you could get lost in your thoughts, Rodney came to visit. “(N/n)? How you holding up?” He pushes the curtain aside with his crutch and sits on the chair sat beside your bed. “As good as I can get Echo 1. How’s the leg?” The two of you made small talk, he told you that the rubble had broken his leg and that the medical team had to place a metal rod in there to treat the issue. He also mentioned something about gifts being dropped off and placed in your cage. Shocking considering you weren’t close to the team, “You know, if it weren’t for the bandages covering your face, I wouldn't know what you’re thinking. But your eyes speak volumes, it was thanks to you that we got to come home safely. At the expense of your own safety. I don’t think any of us could show just how grateful we are and could never repay you for it.” you didn’t say much, purely unsure what needs to be said. You simply reached for his shoulder, resting your hand on it. “Rodney, it's my job as much as yours to keep the rest safe. The least I could've done.” Rodney looked up at you with great admiration.

“I came here to let you know something. All I can say is that I left a good word in for you.” You were confused by what he just said and was about to ask what he meant by ‘left a good word in’ when he got up. “The platoon is waiting for you to fully recover, they want to head to the bar. I know what you’re about to say, ‘It's fine FTL, I’ll sit it out’. Not this time Echo 2, we’ll be celebrating your return before we get some down time.”

About 2 weeks after the incident with Captain Price and Sergeant Soap, you were given the all clear to head back to cages. The stab wound was still limiting your range of movement but at least you weren’t bound to the hospital bed or the confines of the rehab room. Being able to wear your uniform felt good, however you had to stop by the base’s surplus store to buy more balaclavas considering the huge scar on your face. You weren’t one who loved being stared at or given attention for no reason. When you walked in the surplus store, the lady working the cashier stared at you the entire time. You didn't hesitate to grab a couple pairs of gloves while you're at it. You immediately wore one of the all black balaclavas, walking out with a new cap as well, it didn't hurt to add a cap to your wardrobe, especially since you didn't want to look like a clothed bald. You chuckled at the thought, now you don't have to worry about your hair not meeting the requirements, you could even grow it out if you wanted.

You made your way to the cages, finding the aforementioned gifts on yours. The platoon had gotten you new clothes like multiple thin long sleeves to wear under your t-shirts or uniforms, balaclavas, a bunch of hats. A lot of gifts for a second in command that hadn’t bonded with the team much despite being with them for years now. What caught your eyes was a trophy, you picked it up. It reads ‘Best 2IC of the year’. You felt eyes staring holes into your back, “You guys know that you can’t sneak up on me right?” you turned to see the platoon hiding by the doorway, they came charging in. They picked you up and started to toss you up into the air, clearly happy that you were back. They never once seemed to like you until now, you can’t deny it, it felt good to feel appreciated. But you’d never show it.

They let you shower and change out to something more comfortable. You had chosen to wear some cargo pants, one of the thin long sleeves under a windbreaker you owned, not forgetting the balaclava and cap you bought. Once you changed, they carried you out to one of the trucks Rodney drove and hopped in after you. The drive to the bar was chaotic, the boys were singing alongside the handful of ladies who braved war alongside you. Music blasting through the truck, you could barely hear your own thoughts. The truck halts to a stop, now at the infamous bar that every soldier from base would frequent, The Old West. They were known for their top shelf bourbon and scotch. The guys dragged you in, the bar had an oaky scent that was somehow comforting. You and the platoon had taken up the biggest table and since the bar offered food, you ordered some mozzarella sticks to share with them. After sitting and chatting with the platoon, Rodney bought everyone a beer to celebrate. A cheer was called for and it being a weekend, the bar soon became loud with everyone joining in to cheer you guys. 

After a while, you needed a moment to yourself. You had made your way to the bar, sat on one of the bar stools and had ordered a shot of vodka and a glass of whiskey. You didn't realize it but you were shaking, you weren’t used to being in a ‘huge’ crowd. Thankfully you had sat at the end of the bar and somewhat away from the noise. That's when you spotted Captain Price. He was talking to the bartender and hadn’t noticed you, how could he especially with how you looked now. And you’d like for it to be that way, still feeling bad for nearly killing him. You down the vodka with ease, nothing you weren’t used to considering how it was one of your many vices that helped you forget about the atrocities that you had committed over the years. You pulled your phone out to scroll the news, blankly reading it and enjoyed the whiskey.

“Care for another soldier?” Somehow you didn’t see the captain saunter his way next to you. The bartender had placed 2 drinks in front of you, that was the talk that he had with the bartender. Not wanting to be rude, you humbly accepted the drink. “At ease soldier, I'm here to enjoy a drink just like everyone else.” He turns to you and shoots you a smile. You simply nod. It stayed that way for the remainder of the night, with the occasion of either of you calling the bartender over for a refill. It wasn't as uncomfortable or awkward as you thought it would be.

Rodney spots the two of you and comes to say hi, “Captain, sergeant. Hope y’alls enjoy yourselves as much as the rest of the bar.” he chuckles, arm around your shoulder and beer in his other hand. “Hope this one right here will do you good captain, it’ll be sad to see ‘em leave. But it's for a better cause. Anyways, (N/n) the rest wants to leave in a bit, thought to let you know!” Rodney walks back to the rest, albeit a little wobbly than you’d like. You turned to ask Price what Rodney was on about but he was already up and had paid. ”Drinks on my soldier, see you the next time we meet.” 

So many questions, yet nobody answers them.

A/N: Raiga here! This is the first chapter of the TOGF series, heads up that this will predominantly focus on your rs with Price, I might change the way this is heading as I do have a couple ideas on how to carry this story. I want to preface that the dynamic is not going to be too romantic. All this while writing my first GN! oh so many first! so do give feedback as it is greatly appreciated. If you’d like to be a beta reader, shoot me a message as it would help with releasing each chapter faster. 

The first chapter was mainly to give you an idea of the ‘mc’s’ behavior. Sorry if it’s much, most of it is based on my experiences. So if you happen to dislike it, I wouldn’t fault you. But I do hope you are able to enjoy the story! I’m also trying to avoid having the boys be OOC too much, I want it to feel more authentic as it can get if you were to fall in love with your captain despite it being forbidden.

Till then, that’s all from me! Raiga out.

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[ryaiga]

I'm curious why people let this site slowly die and polls get more interaction so here we are:

Please reblog, I know, the irony... but I wanna know why is it so hard to understand that we are losing writers and artists and other content creators because of the lack of interaction.

[ryaiga]

The One God Forbade

Chapter 1

Pairing - Captain Price X GN!Reader X Lieutenant Riley

MDNI 18+ PLEASE.

WORD COUNT: 6.3K

Summary: You survived an interrogation but don't remember anything except the pain you endured and Captain Price saving you. Once you recovered, you were left with more questions with seemingly no answer.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AT THE END! 

WARNINGS/CWS/TWS: GRAPHIC SCENES(DETAILED GORE, there will be a warning and a spacer just for it so you can skip), Military terms that might be wrong, Drinking, Childhood trauma, mention of abuse, death and mentions of death, talks of scars, implied rape.

Spacers/Headers by: @mmadeinheavenn , @imlevis , @animatedglittergraphics-n-more , @wanwanparty

{(N/n) = nickname}

It was a surprise Kortac didn't sign you from the get go. You knew of a couple of their members, König and Horangi specifically, only by mere whispers. You were the new recruit on base. Anyone and everyone would kill to have your spot, a vacancy was opened and granted to you to join Task force 141. Nobody saw it coming, you'd always thought it was the best soldier from your squad who'd be nominated, but everyone including you was blindsided by the choice. 

You were home, on leave for only a week after a grueling mission your platoon had to complete and after recovery. Intel was needed and special ops teams Alpha, Delta and ,your squad, Echo were tasked to gather it, eliminate all threats if faced and by any means get said intel. Other squads joked (some meant what they said) that you didn't belong in the army, but rather a mercenary group like Kortac. The lengths you'd take to accomplish a mission gave you that title. It was a switch, something even you can't control. What lays in your wake is the multiple sights of mangled and bloodied corpses, those whose faces were intact belonged to people you have never come across once in your life.

That mission made your attempts to sleep futile, it haunts you every night when you rest your head. You were separated from your team, trying to exfil but ended up amidst an ambush. Everyone knew how skilled a soldier you were, but never had taken you for the type to sacrifice yourself for the means of your fellow squadmates' safety. You'd make headway to a couple of your injured comrades, shooting at enemies who’d even think of taking a step forward. Dragging them back to the safety of the group, you’d left them to get first aid, hell you even threw your back up kit on top of one of the injured before running to the last man. The few before him received shots to their limbs, nothing that would render them dead, but the last man had more than just a shot. 

Rodney was Echo team’s Field Team Leader(FTL) and had been by your side pulling the injured and returning fire on the enemies. That was when a stray IED happened to go off, you swore that a pebble triggered it but you didn't have the time to think about it. Luckily for the both of you, it wasn’t close to do deadly damage but it was enough for the building in front of you to shake and a piece of rubble had fallen onto Rodney’s leg as he was trying to get up after the explosion. You had been scraped by flyaway shrapnels but one happened to embed itself into your thigh, right above your knee. Seeing that he had it worse, you made it a priority to get that injured comrade out of the way first so you can focus on Rodney after. You’d almost — or hell quite literally — thrown the man to safety and dashed for Rodney, using the momentum, you attempted to kick the rubble off and thankfully it did. Placing a tourniquet on Rodney’s leg so he didn't bleed out. 

You'd only manage to drag him halfway to the group, before a crazed hostile came charging at you with a knife. Stupid as it was to bring a knife to a gunfight in a literal sense, you reached for your pistol and raised it to shoot the hostile, hearing a click instead of a shot going off. An empty mag, you chuckled. Shouting for Rodney to crawl the rest of the way and yell for someone, you holstered the pistol to exchange for your trusty karambit. You've been in hand to hand combat for training but for some reason this was different. You found yourself on the ground quicker than ever, despite being top in your batch. 

The man stood over you with a sinister look, with a grin stretching from ear to ear. “Another American added to my collection, I won’t kill you so soon. Not yet at least, we still need to know how you found this place. And dear little soldier, oh how much fun I’ll have torturing you and keeping you barely breathing.” He proceeded to plunge the knife into your side, somehow missing everything vital but you convinced yourself that it would be blood loss that kills you at this point. You’d rather die quiet than betray the military. Blacking out due to the shock, the last thing you heard Rodney yelling for the rest to fire at the man and not just stand there with their dicks in their hands. At last it was too late, the team had to exfil but not without calling it in and letting the team who was aiding us with the mission about the situation at hand. A rescue mission for a fellow soldier.

 Neither you nor your team knew that the intel was for Task Force 141’s next deployment, you were the bait Laswell had deployed. It was to ensure that the ring leader didn’t take the situation seriously, a random military team out on patrol happened to stumble upon a measly little operational base they had out in the sandy town, a perfect bait. Bringing back the intel to the team at base, Laswell gave Price the details of your rescue, unbeknownst to you of course.

TORTURE SCENE AHEAD, AVOID IF YOU AREN’T COMFORTABLE WITH SUCH

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

You woke up to the sharp and pulsating pain in your side, vision blurred and arms shackled to a metal table, you remembered what happened. You braced yourself for the worse, nothing like good old torture. The next 8 hours felt like hell, from waterboarding, branding you with a metal rod that was heated to the point of it glowing bright orange, to nails being pulled starting from your toes then to your hands, you endured every second of torture being thrown at you. Sure it was horrible, but you kept your mouth shut by any means possible. Every time a nail was pulled ever so agonizingly slowly, you bit your lips to the point that blood dripped down your chin and that the pain was now numbed, you no longer felt it. You closed your eyes, counting every second.

1, 2, 3, 4- “How did you find this compound?” 9, 10. 30600. 1, 2, 3- “I know you can hear me!” 7, 8, 9, 10. 30610- Another slow pull of a nail, this time it was your right pinky toe, no nails on the right foot 8 hours, 35 minutes, 20 seconds into being kidnapped. Yeah they took a whole 5 minutes to torture your pinky toe for information. 

1, 2, 3, 4, 5- the door to the room opens again, a different man enters. This time with a trolley with surgical tools. You could see a scalpel, clamps, retractors, suction, staples and energy systems, you could tell this man enjoys the torment he inflicts. With the orchestra of surgical tools laid out in front of him, he was the conductor who was gonna lead your screams into a melodious conforment of the perfect harmony, a symphony to his ears. 45950. 

1, 2, 3, 4, you felt him cut open the top of your hand, using the clamps on the nerves and playing with them, all without anesthetics, you growled as your face contorted to the pain. Cauterizing the incision, “You know, I had enough sessions like this, I could get a medical license just from how talented and skill I am with my tools.” Deranged as he sounds, you kept counting. 50400. It is now 50401. You had enough when you felt him grab your belt buckle. That’s where it happened. You blacked out. The last that you remembered.

Back at base, Laswell called for the last mission briefing after Price gathered the boys and informed them of what was going on. After which Price and the few members of Task force 141 geared up. He led them onto the helo and they flew out to the sandy plains you were left at. 3 hours after the incident was called in. 

Laswell had informed him of the prestigious yet silent soldier that was being considered for his team. He’d lost a recruit in an earlier deployment, one he took to heart. Like many from the past, another scar added, that lay permanent by his chest and the haunting that left him shaking and restless at night, another one failed by his very leadership. Making even the unshakeable captain wake in cold sweats and trembling and to his vices in the attempts to be grounded to earth once more. So to hear that he was getting a new member that was as or more skilled than the one before, meant that the military was willing to sacrifice yet another valuable asset if it meant that his team was complete from every angle. A well trained sniper, hardy in hand to hand, a versatile team player yet nothing more than your skills were known. Similar to his lieutenant, you were an enigma. Not even a drop of ink was placed about your past and how you came about the military. Your file had a picture, a battle hardened soldier who completed every mission with ease and precision of high caliber, but no other name besides (N/N). You hadn’t been rewarded with a callsign, no one knew enough about you to even give a title to your talents, unlike Soap or Ghost. Price read up on your previous missions, but to his disappointment (or amazement), every debrief on the details stated that no one saw how you executed. It was always done and over with by the time the rest came to you, and it happens within mere seconds. A regal display of crimson red, a mural of your skill assets that leaves even your FTLs in fear of ever being your enemy. However, No one was ready for what was to come. For you’d gain a title like no other, a prestige as high as the greatest artist known to man, the difference being that it came not from art. But from your ungodly fits to kill and survive, a display left out to strike fear in any person who wronged you.

Price and his team sat in the helo, adrenaline slowly creeping along their nerves as they awaited for the pilot's call to jump. “Hope we get there in time, wouldn't be good if we found ‘em KIA. Laswell seemed rather fond of the enigma.” Ghost briefly spoke, an utter breath that Price barely caught. Nodding in response, Price wanted to see what you were. How you handled the predicament you were in, knowing full well if it was one of his men, that they wouldn’t even think of breaking. Could he blame you? Not even your platoon had knowledge that you were against a group of skilled mercenaries guising as cartels selling American weapons on middle eastern soil. He’d seen what they’ve done to the soldiers before you, they never made it home and if they did, it was a closed casket ceremony. 

Needless to say you were in desperate need of saving if you even want to think of coming out alive. Ghost reminds the rest that they aren’t to hope too highly of your chances, another tag and body bag might be amongst them on their return. A slim chance that you’d even be crawling out that hellscape. It was a bad omen that Price hated, he didn’t like the thought of a rescue being a failed attempt before it even began. Before he could even try to save the person. The helo landed miles away from the building, too many for the team’s liking. It meant time was wasted traversing the dunes, and time was not on their side.

They managed to reach the building on the 14th hour, Gaz situated at a high vantage point and taking out any guard that would alert the others and prevent the team’s entry while Price and the other two got closer. Price split the teams, Gaz with him and Soap with Ghost. Ghost and Soap would make the initial breach, having that Soap was their demolitions expert. Gaz made his way to the other side of the building with Price to flank and surprise any enemies with the possible off chance of stumbling into you during the sweep. Over the comms, he gave the signal. A blast shook the building, he’d hear a handful of footsteps rush towards the other two, giving it a second before kicking the shitty metal door open. Entering the 4 story building, they cleared the first floor with ease before coming across a walkie talkie on one of the now dead tangos. “Goddamn it! Kill whoever that was, we need to handle-” the person on the other end was cut off and without a second for Price to ponder what the situation was, more enemies came barrelling down the steps, managing to count 6 as they entered a room for cover before a gunfight ensued. Soap deployed a 9 banger - a flashbang that would go off 9 times back to back - a headbanger experience for the poor dead men walking. Using that as a distraction Gaz took out 3 enemies before Ghost and Price eliminated the remaining few. 

Ghost and Soap rushed to the second floor while he and Gaz went to the third. ‘Faster’ echoed in the back of Price’s mind. The team only managed to clear 3 rooms when a gut wrenching cry and a shot going off not long after was heard. It came from the fourth floor, He waited for the two below them and got into formation. Leading his men into the unknown, they hurried up the flight of stairs. Looking down the dimly lit and putrid corridor stood 4 rooms, only one of which was closed, something wet leaked from its crack but the lighting made it hard to distinguish what it was. After clearing other rooms of hostiles, Price had Gaz stand guard by the stairs, Soap covering his and Ghost’s six. His clothed hand slowly reached the grimy steel knob, twisting and pushing it open to find that it was locked from the inside. You had to be there, surely. He tapped Soap and motioned for him to breach with a thermite. Bracing for the explosion, the thermite goes off rattling who stood by the door no doubt, using the initial explosion as a distraction, Price enters. 

He’d heard of soldiers crawling away from death’s grip, but nothing he’d seen or heard would have prepared him for what he had just walked into. Before Ghost could turn to clear and call out on the comms, Price stopped him and the other two from entering. A war torn soldier wasn’t an unusual sight but the horrors he’d just laid his desensitized eyes on was enough to remind him of what he once feared back when he was a young recruit in the SAS. A trolley with surgical tools and a lone pistol stood at arms reach of a small figure wearing a familiar uniform, hands busy with what he could only assume was the soldier’s face, chains jingling as they continued with what they were doing all whilst embracing the sun’s warm grace. That wasn’t what shook him, a metal table typically used to interrogate people stood to the right of the room. The chains that held you down were broken, the spot where the chains were welded to the center of the table had an upwards dent - you ripped the chains off the table with sheer force.

A man in surgical garments sprawled on the table, innards now turned out for all to see. A spectacle made out of human intestine, organs pinned outside the man’s body by multiple scalpels that went through the metal and blood viciously splattered around his corpse. Price wished he could say that was it but the gruesome art went beyond just insides turned out. The man’s entire nervous system was intricately laid out around his organs, decorating the entire table in a mix of thin blue threads barely visible amongst the puddle of red. The nerves still connected together in a web, not severed in any section, the extreme precision to carry such a brutal butchering left Price speechless. The scene was as if it paid homage to the Blair Witch Project, or worse a page from a sacrificial ritual. Price could only hope that the man was dead when all of this was carried out.

Another, laid on the floor not too far between the man on the table and inches away from the door. A pistol in his mouth, brain matter laid out on the ground, his face frozen with a plea for mercy. That was what he was standing in, and what had seeped out the door crack. Yet another lay in front the soldier Price was facing, neck snapped and his dead body laid to rest sitting up right by the wall in front of the aforementioned soldier, a metal rod shoved into his mouth and the sharp end had protruded out his torso. Price took another step forward before he heard a whimper to the left most corner of the room, their target - the head honcho of the operation - sat bare and huddled. His clothes on the ground at arms reach yet the man was too afraid to take a step forward. As though he would meet the same fate as his men if he took even a breath of air.

“(N/n)? It’s Captain Price, Laswell sent Task Force 141 to rescue you.” Price spoke softly, not wanting to surprise you, unsure of the current mental state you were in. Especially after what was laid around you and the torture you went through. “Are you injured?-” You didn’t answer, instead opting to slowly turn. Price made the right call, the state you were in was dire. “Ghost, call for exfil ASAP, (N/n) is alive but in serious condition.” Price called out to his right hand man with urgency and a slight tremble in his voice. 

Your eyes. He’d thought that when he first met Ghost, that his eyes were the epitome of cold and soulless. But somehow yours went beyond that, for a lack of better words. A frigid cold looms behind those dull and matte black pupils, reminding of the cold he once faced during a deployment in Russia during a winter’s snow storm, striking his very core cold. Bangs sticking to your bloodied face by sweat and grime from the hours of torture you endured. A chunk of your skin hanged off your face, a knife cut and what looks like one of the man’s attempts to rip the skin out and off your face. It started right above your eyebrow traveling down to your lips. He was hopeful that it was repairable, it wasn’t a wide injury, barely missing your eyes and narrows down where it ended in the middle of your upper lip, still connecting at both ends to your face by what looked like a thin fishing line. You were stitching your skin back to your face. Your hand had a butchered attempt to stitch a wound close with one hand, nail beds down to your knuckles had trails of dried up blood. Uniform stained a dark red, mixture of your injured comrades blood from the fight and yours, the side of your torso had a big patch of blood. Sleeves rolled up, bright red burn marks running down your entire forearm, the man before you had branded you with the very metal rod that was now embedded in him. On your other arm were 12 lines stitched into your skin, 8 weren’t freshly stitched in, leaving Price confused and curious as to what it was. 

END OF TORTURE SCENE

Price could see the soldier mouthing something softly. His ears strained to hear the soft word, or numbers when he realizes that you were counting out by tens and adding to a bigger number before repeating. The hours you were torture. He slowly approaches you, calling out to you. It took a solid minute for you to realize what was going on. Signs of a soul return to your eyes, glossing over as soon as you hear your name. Arms slowly raised to surrender and it starts to tremble when before they were as still as though belonging to the world’s best brain surgeon. Tears drip down your cheeks, face still emotionless. You were dazed. The sound of the chopper’s propeller came to earshot, fresh sunshine scalding your back through the glassless window.

Gaz calls out to Price, “They’re here! Let’s go!” Price immediately takes off his shemagh and drapes it over your head, covering your face before standing to your left. He gave you a shot of morphine he had on hand to help with the pain. Grabbing your left arm, wrapping it over his shoulders, bending both of you and carried you bridal style as you were in no condition to walk - your toenails gone from the torture and the piece of shrapnel still in your thigh, he could only imagine the pain you were going through. He carried you out the room, ordering his team to escort the two of you to the safety of the chopper. Before he could descend the stairs, you spoke softly. “My karambit. Find it, I can’t lose it. I won’t leave without it.” The team shoots Price a confused look before turning to each other. “What are you waiting for? You heard the soldier. Quickly find it.” Price commands, he feels your breath starting to get labored, he hurries the guys and tells Gaz to follow him out.

The medics on board administered emergency first aid, shooting you with a dose of adrenaline to make sure you stay awake during the flight. They had laid you down on a stretcher. Not long after you, Price and Gaz enter the chopper, Ghost and Soap follow suit with your karambit in hand. Soap walks to your side, kneeling before he places your Karambit safely onto your chest and grabs your left hand to be placed on top of the knife. “Rest easy now (N/n), you and your karambit are safe.” Soap shot you a comforting smile as he spoke with a tone to reassure you.

Beeping. You hear the sound of a heart monitor beeping to the same rhythm as your heartbeat, however it was muffled. Eyes fluttering open, squinting due the harsh and glaring light that was directly over you. Consciousness returns to your still body. A body that didn’t feel like yours, sore all over and strapped down to the bed, limiting your movement. Your vision blurred, you attempted to analyze the room. Aside from the continuous beeping of the heart monitor, the fluorescent lights that had basically served as a flashbang buzzed like white noise. Reminding you of the time when you were living in that shitty college dormitory, but there wasn’t that stale air that was permeated by the pungent scent of body odor from athletes who freely roamed the halls. Instead, it was the smell of disinfectant that was greatly welcomed. The A/C hummed quietly, you soon realized it was a hospital or medical bay that you were in. 

Something was off. How did you get from that dry and sweltering room that was stained with the smell of mold and bodily fluids to this clean environment. You scrapped at your foggy memory, who came? Was it the military who came to your rescue or did the fuckers who tortured you, who sold you off as a token and bargaining chip to a client? Panic creeps up your leg, feeling it coursing through your veins. You quietly looked for a way to get out of your restraints, not wanting anyone to hear you scheming away.

Your eyes spotted a paperclip that was left right on top of your cover, probably dropped from a clipboard. You started to shimmy under the tiny metal paperclip, it inches to your reach and soon you popped it into your mouth to bend it in a way that allowed you to lockpick the 4 locks that held your restraints against the bed. You hurried, taking off the restraints that were on your hands and started to work on your foot. 

You only managed to free one foot when you heard someone walk into the section of the medical bay that housed you. Your heart starts beating aggressively quick, the sensation made it as though your heart was in your throat and actively trying to suffocate you. Before you were able to formulate a plan, someone was sliding the thin curtain aside. "They should be out cold, that wasn't an average dose of sedative Capt. Had to get Alex to hold 'em down with me and he just got back too." Scottish man but he wasn't alone, you glared at the curtain to gauge how big the Scot was. Standing at 6'2(1.88m), nothing you haven't encountered, a build fit for a soldier. You weren't gonna take your chances though.

You leaned to grab the flower vase that stood tall on the bedside table, readying your other hand with the paper clip to fling it at the man as hard as possible once you distracted him. The curtain pulls back and sure enough he was distracted talking to the other person accompanying him. You threw the pot straight at the Scottish man's face, catching him by surprise and stumbling onto the ground with his hand on his nose. The pot didn't break, if you weren't trying to escape and it was safe, you'd be laughing in the back of your mind. Immediately turning your attention to the other man who merely looked at his buddy on the ground groaning in pain. You took that as a free opportunity to get the man. You flicked the paperclip hoping to at least get it embedded into the side of his neck.

However, to your horror, he leaned back just in time to dodge the clip. It pierced the concrete wall next behind him. Before you were able to do anything, he turned to you and pinned you down against the bed. Your wrists in his hands and above your head, you tried to pull away but to no avail. You started to buck your body against his, trying to get him off. This only causes him to yell at his comrade, who's whining and rolling on the ground in pain. "Soap if you don't get up and help me pin their legs or hell, even get the doc, so help me I will ensure the lavys are nice and grody just for you to clean till next month." The man that you almost stabbed in the jugular with a goddamn paperclip has his body on your torso, just so you’d stop struggling, had an annoyed look similar to a dad reprimanding his son for breaking a glass and not bothering to help. 

“It’s Captain Price- Calm down Echo 2, we aren’t going to hurt you. You're back at base and safe.” Captain Price? Price? You heard of his name. Rodney had mentioned that name before, something about a transfer. You stopped fighting back, as he mentioned you’re safe now and realized you nearly killed a higher up, you apologized. He slowly got up, wary that you’d try to pull something. Especially after that stunt. “You had woken up several times the past few days, manic on several occasions. We had Soap watch over you in case you woke up and chose to attack the Doc.” 

“Permission to speak. How long was I out? And are my platoon mates safe?” You asked after Price gave you a nod. “A week, your body was weak from blood loss. The doctors helping you had stabilized you. Removing the shrapnel in your thigh, stitching the remaining skin that you hadn’t stitched back onto your face, treating your stab wound and the burn you had from the branding. Your platoon was brought back safely thanks to you Sergeant (N/n).” It came back to you. The ambush during exfil, dragging injured man back, Rodney, the counting, the questions, and you don't remember much after that. Funny how it all went down within 24 hours.

The doctor came in with a Soap who wasn’t too happy to open the curtain. Doc ran a couple of tests to make sure you were clear for rehab. Your recovery was a speedy one and rehab was smooth sailing. The platoon came to visit you, those you saved came to show their gratitude. Some silently cried as you laid in the comforts of your hospital bed. You were still trying to register what happened, how you got 3 more stitches on your left arm. You had 8 on your arm from your past, marking those who wronged you. 

One belongs to your deadbeat dad who abused you and your mother when you were younger, he died mysteriously. All you recalled was the newscaster covering his death as a brutal and grotesque murder that the nation had witnessed in years. Your mother knew what happened but she never disclosed that information, not to the cops and especially not you. You had stitched a blood red thread into your arm.

Another was a friend who left you to die after a crash that nearly rendered you paralyzed, you remember crawling with only your arms trying to get help. 

Six belonged to each member of a jock clique who trapped you in the college’s equipment shed and took turns abusing you in too many ways yet you didn’t remember how. All you could remember was limping away in your tattered clothes covered in bright purple bruises that covered your body and a permanent red line that went around your neck. 

The last one belongs to a guy who was close to one of the jocks, he somehow had entered your dorm room and attacked you after coming home from a long study session in the library. A scar ran from the back of your right bicep down to its shoulder blade. What amazed you was that you never remember what happened after those traumatic moments. All you knew were they’d end up dead one way or another.

You ran your hand over the stitches, something about it is soothing to you. Last thing you remember was seeing Captain Price walking up to you, and the mangled bodies scattered around you. Before you could get lost in your thoughts, Rodney came to visit. “(N/n)? How you holding up?” He pushes the curtain aside with his crutch and sits on the chair sat beside your bed. “As good as I can get Echo 1. How’s the leg?” The two of you made small talk, he told you that the rubble had broken his leg and that the medical team had to place a metal rod in there to treat the issue. He also mentioned something about gifts being dropped off and placed in your cage. Shocking considering you weren’t close to the team, “You know, if it weren’t for the bandages covering your face, I wouldn't know what you’re thinking. But your eyes speak volumes, it was thanks to you that we got to come home safely. At the expense of your own safety. I don’t think any of us could show just how grateful we are and could never repay you for it.” you didn’t say much, purely unsure what needs to be said. You simply reached for his shoulder, resting your hand on it. “Rodney, it's my job as much as yours to keep the rest safe. The least I could've done.” Rodney looked up at you with great admiration.

“I came here to let you know something. All I can say is that I left a good word in for you.” You were confused by what he just said and was about to ask what he meant by ‘left a good word in’ when he got up. “The platoon is waiting for you to fully recover, they want to head to the bar. I know what you’re about to say, ‘It's fine FTL, I’ll sit it out’. Not this time Echo 2, we’ll be celebrating your return before we get some down time.”

About 2 weeks after the incident with Captain Price and Sergeant Soap, you were given the all clear to head back to cages. The stab wound was still limiting your range of movement but at least you weren’t bound to the hospital bed or the confines of the rehab room. Being able to wear your uniform felt good, however you had to stop by the base’s surplus store to buy more balaclavas considering the huge scar on your face. You weren’t one who loved being stared at or given attention for no reason. When you walked in the surplus store, the lady working the cashier stared at you the entire time. You didn't hesitate to grab a couple pairs of gloves while you're at it. You immediately wore one of the all black balaclavas, walking out with a new cap as well, it didn't hurt to add a cap to your wardrobe, especially since you didn't want to look like a clothed bald. You chuckled at the thought, now you don't have to worry about your hair not meeting the requirements, you could even grow it out if you wanted.

You made your way to the cages, finding the aforementioned gifts on yours. The platoon had gotten you new clothes like multiple thin long sleeves to wear under your t-shirts or uniforms, balaclavas, a bunch of hats. A lot of gifts for a second in command that hadn’t bonded with the team much despite being with them for years now. What caught your eyes was a trophy, you picked it up. It reads ‘Best 2IC of the year’. You felt eyes staring holes into your back, “You guys know that you can’t sneak up on me right?” you turned to see the platoon hiding by the doorway, they came charging in. They picked you up and started to toss you up into the air, clearly happy that you were back. They never once seemed to like you until now, you can’t deny it, it felt good to feel appreciated. But you’d never show it.

They let you shower and change out to something more comfortable. You had chosen to wear some cargo pants, one of the thin long sleeves under a windbreaker you owned, not forgetting the balaclava and cap you bought. Once you changed, they carried you out to one of the trucks Rodney drove and hopped in after you. The drive to the bar was chaotic, the boys were singing alongside the handful of ladies who braved war alongside you. Music blasting through the truck, you could barely hear your own thoughts. The truck halts to a stop, now at the infamous bar that every soldier from base would frequent, The Old West. They were known for their top shelf bourbon and scotch. The guys dragged you in, the bar had an oaky scent that was somehow comforting. You and the platoon had taken up the biggest table and since the bar offered food, you ordered some mozzarella sticks to share with them. After sitting and chatting with the platoon, Rodney bought everyone a beer to celebrate. A cheer was called for and it being a weekend, the bar soon became loud with everyone joining in to cheer you guys. 

After a while, you needed a moment to yourself. You had made your way to the bar, sat on one of the bar stools and had ordered a shot of vodka and a glass of whiskey. You didn't realize it but you were shaking, you weren’t used to being in a ‘huge’ crowd. Thankfully you had sat at the end of the bar and somewhat away from the noise. That's when you spotted Captain Price. He was talking to the bartender and hadn’t noticed you, how could he especially with how you looked now. And you’d like for it to be that way, still feeling bad for nearly killing him. You down the vodka with ease, nothing you weren’t used to considering how it was one of your many vices that helped you forget about the atrocities that you had committed over the years. You pulled your phone out to scroll the news, blankly reading it and enjoyed the whiskey.

“Care for another soldier?” Somehow you didn’t see the captain saunter his way next to you. The bartender had placed 2 drinks in front of you, that was the talk that he had with the bartender. Not wanting to be rude, you humbly accepted the drink. “At ease soldier, I'm here to enjoy a drink just like everyone else.” He turns to you and shoots you a smile. You simply nod. It stayed that way for the remainder of the night, with the occasion of either of you calling the bartender over for a refill. It wasn't as uncomfortable or awkward as you thought it would be.

Rodney spots the two of you and comes to say hi, “Captain, sergeant. Hope y’alls enjoy yourselves as much as the rest of the bar.” he chuckles, arm around your shoulder and beer in his other hand. “Hope this one right here will do you good captain, it’ll be sad to see ‘em leave. But it's for a better cause. Anyways, (N/n) the rest wants to leave in a bit, thought to let you know!” Rodney walks back to the rest, albeit a little wobbly than you’d like. You turned to ask Price what Rodney was on about but he was already up and had paid. ”Drinks on my soldier, see you the next time we meet.” 

So many questions, yet nobody answers them.

A/N: Raiga here! This is the first chapter of the TOGF series, heads up that this will predominantly focus on your rs with Price, I might change the way this is heading as I do have a couple ideas on how to carry this story. I want to preface that the dynamic is not going to be too romantic. All this while writing my first GN! oh so many first! so do give feedback as it is greatly appreciated. If you’d like to be a beta reader, shoot me a message as it would help with releasing each chapter faster. 

The first chapter was mainly to give you an idea of the ‘mc’s’ behavior. Sorry if it’s much, most of it is based on my experiences. So if you happen to dislike it, I wouldn’t fault you. But I do hope you are able to enjoy the story! I’m also trying to avoid having the boys be OOC too much, I want it to feel more authentic as it can get if you were to fall in love with your captain despite it being forbidden.

Till then, that’s all from me! Raiga out.

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Taglist;

@thychuvaluswife @tiny-kasper

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Captain John Price

This mans shoulders AAaa! They sculpted him so well 🥹

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John Price

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what are you all waiting for. go create weird fictions

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old tech dividers

*୨୧┄┈୨୧‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆̩·̩̩ A𐌾𐌾n𐌼 ·̩̩⋆̩*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧୨୧┈┈୨୧

‹ free to use with credit ›

requested by anon

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techcore dividers

*୨୧┄┈୨୧‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆̩·̩̩ A𐌾𐌾n𐌼 ·̩̩⋆̩*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧୨୧┈┈୨୧

source

‹ free to use with credit ›

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[ryaiga]

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 𝙳𝗂𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏©v6que

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏꒰੭  give me credits if you use

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𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 | heartlines.

the first one I did was the banner / flag style, but I kinda dig this style too. and look, a different font hehe !!

feel free to use; please like, reblog, and credit〜

more masterlist banners →

[ryaiga]

hii love!

So I had an idea for a divider but I wasn’t sure you’d want to make them.. horizontal lightsabers..

anyways.. sorry if that’s too wild for you to make.. thanks in advance!

Ahh no, I love this idea!! I picked out a couple of my fave lightsabers and made up some dividers with them - I hope this sort of matches what you were thinking! 💙❤️ thank you for sending this in!

(edit: added some more here!)

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[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

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DIVIDERS

divider dump / archived !!

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me