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deebris · 7 months ago

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Weight of Care

Simon Riley x little sister Reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: Simon, your older brother, has been your guardian since you were a baby. Amid the collapse of your family, he made the courageous choice to take you out of the house, raising you as if you were his own. However, despite being happy, your relationship is complicated. While you see Simon as a paternal figure, he struggles with the pain of being mistaken for one. His heart tightens every time you call him "daddy," and he thought you had managed to move past that—until you do it again one night.

Warnings: Just a little angst with a happy ending; reader is 6 years old.

Word count: 1.2k

“Did you brush your teeth?” Simon asked upon hearing your muffled laughter. He opened the bedroom door, its walls now marked by your numerous drawings. Toys scattered across the floor shifted as he entered, and with the first step he took inside, something cracked underfoot, breaking.

“How many times have I told you that you need to put your toys away after playing?” he said firmly, shooting you a stern look. Simon hated messiness, but with you around, it seemed impossible to keep everything in order.

“I was going to put them away,” you murmured, embarrassed by the scolding. But your guilty expression quickly turned into a tearful grimace as your eyes fell your sheep, now shattered on the floor. “You broke it!” Your childish scream echoed through the room, and you hurried to gather the pieces with trembling hands.

“If you had put it away, this wouldn’t have happened,” he accused you, hoping it would serve as a lesson. Maybe then you would finally start to be more responsible with your things. And even knowing he was right, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at seeing your broken sheep.

Watching you wipe your tears with the sleeve of the pajamas and hearing sniffles made his heart soften. It was frustrating how he simply couldn’t stay mad at you. The last thing Simon wanted was for you to become a spoiled child, but in that moment, it was hard to maintain his sternness.

He already felt guilty for not being able to take care of you completely due to work, and knowing that Mrs. Trelawney, your babysitter, was much more lenient than he was only made everything harder. Every time Simon came home, you seemed more stubborn and whiny.

“Come on, it’s time to sleep.” He lifted you by your armpits and placed you in bed, pulling up the yellow blanket that you loved so much. You had already taken a bath and were wearing clean lilac pajamas covered with stars. “I’ll buy you another one, you don’t need to cry.”

“But it’s not the same,” you murmured as he collected the toy pieces from your hand, placing them on the dresser to throw away tomorrow. Some parts were sharp, so he checked your delicate hands, worried about possible cuts.

“It’s the same,” he insisted, sighing tiredly as he tucked your feet under the blanket. Surprisingly, you didn’t argue, remaining strangely silent. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” you whispered, feeling bad for upsetting him. “I promise I’ll put it away.”

Your promise made him cast a quick glance at the bedroom floor, where pink, blue, and all other colored toys were scattered. Even your dolls were out of place, thrown in various corners. He still felt frustrated because you always said you would tidy up and never did, but this time it seemed different, so he decided to put a bit of faith in your word.

“Tomorrow. Now you need to sleep.” He stood up to leave, but suddenly remembered something:

“Teeth.” Simon said, and you blew near his face, letting him feel the freshness of mint on your breath. “Show me your tongue.” He spoke in a suspicious tone, knowing that you sometimes didn’t clean your mouth well. “Good.” He praised, satisfied to see you sticking your tongue out, then making a face, which made him laugh inside.

He turned off the bedside lamp, watching you settle into the pillow, and began to move toward the door. But hearing your naive voice, he stopped in his tracks, his heart tightening:

“Daddy, can I go to the museum with my class tomorrow?”

“What?” Simon asked, stunned, still turned away from you, his hand frozen on the doorknob. Surprise echoed in his voice, mixed with a thread of worry. He slowly turned around, trying to decipher the expectation in your gaze.

It had been so long since you last called him that. Simon thought he had finally managed to correct you after so many attempts, but he realized that wasn’t working. He had lost count of how many times he repeated that he was just your older brother, but deep down, he knew he was guilty. In trying to erase any trace of your father in your life, he had created a space where that confusion was natural. It was understandable that you saw him this way.

“Miss Sarah is taking us to the museum tomorrow. Can I go?” You repeated the question, oblivious to the tension in his shoulders.

“Why didn’t you ask earlier?” Simon swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.

“I forgot,” you explained, sitting up in bed to grab a piece of paper from your backpack. It was a permission slip for guardians to sign, allowing the trip. “Please?” You pouted, holding the paper in one hand and one of your decorated pencils in the other, as if that could increase your chances.

“To the museum?” He asked, his voice tinged with melancholy. Simon sat on the edge of the bed, already starting to sign his name on the line, but his mind wandered to a distant place, filled with his conflicting memories and feelings.

The situation between you two was complicated. You were the only family Simon had left, a little girl. He still remembers when he found out that his mother was pregnant and, even more, the first time he saw you. He had been away from home for several years, and coming back always felt torturous. But the idea of having something so small and innocent waiting for him was what truly saved him.

Simon took you from home long before your parents died, unable to bear the thought of you growing up in that environment. After his brother died, he projected all the fears and regrets an older brother could carry onto you. It was as if you were his only way to redeem himself for Tommy. You were so young that you barely remembered the rest of the family; for you, the world revolved around Simon.

He didn’t even realize he was wandering until he felt you gently pull the paper from his hands. Your big eyes locked onto his for a moment, filled with concern, until you broke eye contact, standing to put the paper away and lie back down, pulling the blanket over yourself.

“Are you okay?” You asked, noticing he was still standing there, lost in thought. The nervousness in your voice snapped Simon back to reality, bringing him to the stillness of the room, where silence hung between you.

Simon thought of several things to say, like, “You know I’m your brother, right?” or “We’ve talked about this,” but it felt like a never-ending cycle. It was as if nothing could stop you from continuing to call him that. He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. He knew that, in practice, he played the role of a father in your life, something he chose for himself. Even so, every time he heard, a strange sensation coursed through his body.

“Good night.” He simply said in his deep, familiar voice, but now, something different was in the air. For the first time, he didn’t try to correct or resist, finally allowing himself to accept the way you called him ‘daddy.’

You hesitated for a moment, sensing something strange about him before responding softly: “Good night, Si.” And a faint smile formed on his lips, something rare, as if, at last, something had clicked into place.

Taglist: @aenishas

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lemonmaid · 6 months ago

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Poly Task Force x Adopted Reader

Warnings: fluff, omegaverse, obv platonic, gender neutral

It was the middle of the night when John got the call that their pup was born.

Cue everyone stumbling out of bed, grabbing last minute items, re checking the car-seat for the hundredth time, and making sure they are dressed for first impressions.

Kyle is nervously tapping his leg, John is walking up and down the hallway, Johnny is fighting the urge to check with a nurse for the fifth time, Simon has his hands clenched as he goes through ciggerate withdraws (he made a commitment to stop smoking before you arrived).

Finally after only an hour, the nurses made the boys follow them into a room where they had set up for the pack bonding period.

The tears that feel when the boys held you for the first time, the heavy tears that fell when they started to do skin to skin scenting.

Let's make it clear, John is the pack alpha and Simon is the head omega. Johnny is also an omega and Kyle is the pack beta. It was Simon who said he wanted pups, but do a mission that happened a while back it made it nearly impossible to have pups of his own. Johnny said he didn't want to be pregnant, "lose his muscles and good looks".

The first few days in that room with you was heaven and hell, I mean, you were a baby you're supposed to cry and scream on the top of your lungs.

When they took you home, it seemed like all you needed was their scents instead of the hospital sanitation. They didn't want you sleeping by yourself but they knew the dangers of co-sleeping so they settled on having the bassinet next to the bed. They got you the fancy one,

They all made an agreement that since they are still in service that two will be shipped out and two will stay home with you, so you can grow up with structure.

Luckily Simon and John's terms were almost up, how convenient timing.

Now, Simon being head omega ment that he was kinda of your main parent (along with John). He was there for most of your firsts, when your teeth came in, when you started crawling, hell he was so proud that you called Johnny "Dada".

Simon and John were the "bad cops" even though they didn't want to, it just kinda happened. Johnny was always enabling you, Kyle was there as support for either team.

There was only a few times where Simon felt bad for being strict, when you were a toddler you had a problem like every other kid with hitting, you kept hitting poor John awake. Not wanting the bad behavior to continue, he scruffed you, causing a two hour tantrum that only stop when you cried yourself to sleep.

Simon felt really bad, but scruffing pups was normal, it just so happened it was the first time you were scruffed.

As you grew, your milky pup scent started to fade, Johnny was the first one to notice this when he did the laundry. He cried for days, hell he even put one of the shirts in a bag and wrapped it up. That's when the talks of having another pup in the house.

You were always smiling, always full of energy. You lit up the boys life, they couldn't have it any other way.

They love you so much.

#simon riley x reader #john price x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #poly task force 141 #task force 141 imagine #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod imagine #child reader #platonic task force 141

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whimsybats · 5 months ago

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

crossover AU

platonic Task Force 141 x batmom!reader x batfam

Bruce Wayne x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Something like that I guess."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

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

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

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

Soap and Gaz likely bond well with Dick and Jason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You serious mate?"

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

"Bloody hell... Gotham is insane."

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

"...No."

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

"Fine," he grumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't push it Johnny."

----

tag list: @otterluver05 @sad-girl09

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

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7s3ven · 8 months ago

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

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

full masterlist

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn’t sleep?” Price asked.

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

#ghost cod #call of duty #john price #john mactavish #soap cod #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #platonic #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #captain john price #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod x reader

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screamingforests · 8 months ago

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

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

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

No this is literally adorable and i love this idea

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #task force 141 #cat shifter reader #shifter au #poly tf141 #poly 141 x reader #eventually #and probs be mostly platonic bc of the whole cat thing #maybe #we'll see #fluff #the sillies

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krypticcafe · 2 years ago

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

(this a platonic relationship between reader and the team)

Me and the Devil

rating: mature

pairing(s): platonic 141 x gn!reader

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

wordcount: ~3.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck you." You rasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was like you were seven again.

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

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

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

"Damn it, what now?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Friendly, friendly!"

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

"Captain?"

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

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

You were safe.

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

"You're in good hands,"

"We've got them covered,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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luci4theminorannoyance · 1 year ago

Note

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

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

Ghost:

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

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

price:

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

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

Gaz:

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

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

soap:

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

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

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sevs-corner · 6 months ago

Text

Masterlist + Taglist!

Links to all my works so far:

>> CoD:

~~Tf 141: Mafia AU!

OG Idea behind the AU

Main Story Chapters:

-Chapter 1: The Rain Falls but They Fell Harder

-Chapter 1: Epilogue

-Chapter 2: Jobless? More like Job-Bless

-Chapter 2: Epilogue

-Chapter 3: Home Not-So-Sweet Home

-Chapter 3: Epilogue

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

-Chapter 4: Epilogue (WIP)

Assorted One-Shots/Imagines/Short Fic Ideas:

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

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

-First Date + Gift w/: Price

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

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

-First Date + Gifts w/: Ghost

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist! <3

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

~~One-Shots/ Other AUs

-Singing a Christmas Song duet w/: Graves

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Love at First Sight w/: Price

-Tf 141: Soulmate-Reincarnation AU Idea

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

-bridging thoughts on 👆

-Graves as your partner (*yaps)

-Drag Racer! Soap and his Tf 141 crew

-Tf 141 as Demi god

-Tf 141: Transformers AU (Age of Extinction)

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

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

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

-Tf 141 as Cursed Dragon Princes

Army! Tf 141 vs Navy! Reader

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

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

-Price | Ghost

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

- How the toxic relationship would be like with them

-Promposal Edition!

> Asks:

(Jock! Price First Impressions)

(Giving Simon a Mixtape)

(Simon and You as a Goth Rocker)

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

Taglist! <3

@ cod-z

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

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

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

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

-OG Idea on the premise

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

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

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

-OG Idea on the premise

-First Meeting w/: Soap

-You realize you chose to be stuck with them

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gatitties · 2 years ago

Text

War & crack II

—Task Force 141 x young!reader

—Summary: more headcanons with your team as you being chaotic

—Warnings: none

Part One / Halloween special

yeah, I didn't finish my brainstorm and I bring more things from this sudden idea 🫣

─ Listen, you have a lot of problems.

─ And we are not talking about your jokes about death biting your ass anymore.

─ Price's going to go bald before he retires, how the hell are you still alive today? It is a mystery to them.

─ Everyone noticed during a mission where they had to stay in a safe house for a few weeks that you had the same concentration as a fly, empty thoughts behind your eyes lost in a distant point of reality.

─ You looked like another person when you were a simple civilian, Gaz had to pull you so you wouldn't get run over a couple of times for not looking at the traffic lights.

─ Price needs to put on videos of crunchy slime or Subway Surfers so you could hear what he was saying, (Soap won't admit that it also helps him focus).

─ They discovered that you can sleep in any position, seriously, whether it's standing up, in the bathtub, your body bent in an unusual way, now they understand why you complain so much about back pain.

─ Everyone looks in silence when they give you little impulses to do stupid things, like, last time you were walking to see the area and you found a woman walking her dog, you asked her if you could pet it and when she said yes you pet the woman instead of the dog, Ghost dragged you away murmuring an apology.

─ The following days they decided that you would stay at home, they simply fed your stupidity, every time they arrived you received them with the phrase 'where have you been, loca?' while playing a wolf howl in the background.

─ Luckily it was time to return to the base, during the trip you were listening to music, despite having your headphones you had the volume so high that everyone could hear it, Soap stuck to you because he liked what you were listening, the others decided to drown out the noise with some light talk.

─ Once you returned to the base you relaxed, returning to your working state, you focused again, which relieved all.

─ One day they decided that you needed a nickname since everyone had it except you, so they began to investigate your record as a cadet and even your years in the military school.

─ You kicked and fought because you were something else a while ago, but it was inevitable to find an old report where it said that you were violent with some classmates.

─ And in your anger for probably some nonsense, you ended up biting the ankles of a guy, or a group of guys, or even one of your lieutenants...

─ Soap and Gaz cried with laughter because there was a video of what was evidenced and you looked like a rabid chihuahua attacking its worst enemy.

─ Nibbles, at least it was temporary because you didn't entirely agree with the nickname.

— Since you were now known like that, you went from friendly punches to friendly bites.

─ Once you got kidnapped and you returned to the base the next day because your captors couldn't stand having you sing old Justin Bieber songs or listening to you talk about all your obsessions, they tried to cover your mouth but you just kept making too much noise, the information was not worth it.

─ You arrived in the middle of the meeting they had to prepare the rescue, having the courage to enter the room asking who they were trying to rescuing.

─ Price casually replied that they were looking for you until he did a double take, realizing you were there.

─ You were buried in a mass of muscles after the realization.

─ When you're depressed at random times (because you don't understand how your brain works and you feel bad out of nowhere), everyone will quickly notice, like even though you're not the most talkative person all the time, you usually drop some stupid comment, but on your bad days you are simply a piece of flesh and bones that walks without knowing where it's going.

─ The first time they saw you like this they tried to do something to cheer you up, Price gave you a few days off hoping your mood wasn't due to work overload, he even wrote some of your reports.

─ Soap bought stickers and decorations to your liking to decorate your prosthesis, he also told you that he could draw you a design to have your personalized arm.

─ Gaz tried to talk to you but you just didn't want to open your mouth, he chose to just keep you silent company, maybe you hug him, you need a little physical support.

─ Ghost will leave objects scattered around knowing that you would find them, knowing that they were things that you liked or had been looking for (because the poor guy always has to pick up what you forget around the common room).

— Nothing seemed to work until a stray kitten snuck in and lit up your face, so the easy answer was any baby animal would brighten your day, it was free therapy.

— You once dyed the boys' clothes pink by accident, but at least you told them that now they could go see Barbie with you.

— You promised you'd take them to see Oppenheimer, and that's why they agreed.

— You created a group chat just to send shitpost and teach them the meme path.

— Price just leaves it on seen, Ghost has the group muted, Gaz answers from time to time and Soap is the most active, he learns fast about today's shitpost.

— You really resist the urge to trim Price's beard to make it heart-shaped.

— You use the radio to sing parts of songs when you take too long to jump into action, Price scolds you for it.

— You complain that he seems constantly in a bad mood and you open a profile for him on every dating app you know, even on Grindr.

— You found Ghost's profile browsing Tinder and Soap's profile on Grindr... you decided to use it as a weapon in case you needed any favors.

— Gaz caught you red-handed, but you made a deal and he wouldn't say anything if he can profit from the manipulation.

— You hide it like you're hiding war crimes.

— Why does Price have so many likes from single moms?

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hotmencoreplus · 1 year ago

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DOMESTIC 141 + KÖNIG HEADCANONS

Pairings: Captian John Price, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, König x fem!reader (she/her)

Summary: Random headcanons of what TF141 + König are like domestically/ as fathers.

Warnings: Deployment, pure domestic fluff

Word count: 1000+

A/N: Choosing baby genders based on what I can picture more. I appreciate feedback! Let me know what you think :)

Likes and reblogs are much appreciated! Copying and reposts are not! My fics are only posted on tumblr, under this sideblog @hotmencoreplus for the account, @hotmencore

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

‣ Definitely 1 girl, 1 boy.

‣ Is very big on respect. If either of them disrespect you, shout, or start being bratty, he is right on it.

‣ Got his boy into football at a young age, and is the loudest dad out of them all. He will be shouting to him on the field just like when he barks out orders to rookies.

‣ Always wants to go on fishing trips. Always. I feel like it would be something him and his daughter do more than anyone.

‣ He isn’t big on technology at all. Pretty much just because he just can’t wrap his head around it.

‣ I imagine him keeping up with the new iPhone models, but would not change a thing about them. This man has default everything on his phone (apart from his lock screen of you and the kids).

‣ He is 100% one of them dads that never know what to call airpods.

‣ “What was it he wanted for Christmas? Airbuds? Earpods? iBuds?”

‣ “Airpods, John.”

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

‣ 3 girls. You cannot convince me otherwise. And he definitely secretly hoped for all girls.

‣ When Simon is home from deployment, they go to him for everything.

‣ Nightmares? You will wake up in the morning to find him missing from your bed, only to find him asleep, half hanging off of one of their beds with his arms round them on his chest, snoring loud.

‣ Simon is so usually on edge, though has learnt to zone his girls out when they are arguing.

‣ “Dad, tell her I’m right.”

‣ “Hm?”

‣ He especially zones out when his oldest girl is talking about school drama. He isn’t listening to a word of it, sat on the living room sofa with his head leant back, eyes shut, humming every so often to make it seem like he is following.

‣ I don’t think he ever shouts. Raising his voice for assertiveness? Yes, but he never shouts at his girls. It reminds him of how his dad use to be with him, and the thought of being even a smidge like his dad really scares him.

JOHNNY ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

‣ 2 girls.

‣ He aspires for them both to be bestfriends.

‣ He aspires to be their bestfriends. Like he admires them both.

‣ He will never turn down a tea party invitation. Never.

‣ You’ll be cooking dinner, and have no idea where Johnny is. But you hear distant giggles, and follow them up to your daughters’ room. There, you find your military husband sat at a little plastic table, wearing a tiara, clinking tiny cups together with your daughters and their little bears.

‣ “Well it’s nice to see you again Mr. Snuggles. And who is this new gue- oh, hey lass. Wanna join?”

‣ When they start to grow up, he lets them experiment with make up on him.

‣ And seeing your military husband with sparkly pink eyeshadow on and red rosy cheeks really is a sight for sore eyes.

‣ When on deployment, he will tell any and every story of his little girls to anyone that will listen. He loves to show them off.

‣ This ‘anyone’ is usually Ghost.

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

‣ 1 boy.

‣ Definitely has a modern style for his kids. He 100% bought him a pair of adorable tiny airforces.

‣ Is his son’s biggest supporter, in everything.

‣ He is big on praise. The biggest softie ever.

‣ Will put up every single painting his son has made. Your fridge is literally covered in paintings, drawings, pretty much anything made by your little boy, will be put up somewhere in the house.

‣ He vlogs literally everything. More than you.

‣ He watches them all when on deployment, missing you both, usually forgetting about sleep so that he can rewatch his little boy’s first steps for the 100th time.

‣ He also big on getting his boy into his own hobbies. Even though he has no awareness to suitable ages.

‣ You’re on the phone with him one night whilst he is away, as he talks to you about what he wants to get your son into.

‣ “When I’m back I’m gonna take us clay shooting. I reckon he’d like it”

‣ “He’s 2 Kyle”

KÖNIG

‣ 1 girl, you cannot argue.

‣ He worships the ground his babygirl walks on.

‣ He will literally do anything for her. And you, of course. But his little girl is the light of his life.

‣ He loves when he is home because he takes every opportunity to dress his little girl. Every single time he does he is internally screaming at the size of the clothes.

‣ Every. Single. Time. He will come home from deployment with a bouquet of flowers for his wife, and pull out a singular flower before he reaches the door to give to his babygirl.

‣ You are definitely the one wearing the trousers in the household, always having to put your foot down. Because there is no way this man could ever say no to his little girl.

‣ Is always taking photos of the both of you. Always. He isn’t often in photos himself, but will never miss an opportunity to take one of either of you.

‣ When he is home and takes care of your daughter whilst you go to work, he will be sending you videos and photos 24/7 as little updates.

‣ I can imagine him being the driest texter on the planet. Like he is a proper dad, will just send a ‘👍’ or one word answers. So these photos and videos will rarely ever have context. He will just send them randomly.

‣ Is completely unaware of suitable bedtimes for kids. You will spend a night out with your friends, and come back in at like 10pm to find him up with your toddler making pancakes.

‣ “König! She should have been in bed at 7pm!”

‣ “Oh”

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 platonic #könig #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #call of duty #dad!reader #husband!reader #könig fluff #fluff #domestic fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley

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satanslittlefucker · 1 year ago

Text

[On a mission where y/n has to seduce a target]

Y/n *lost in thought*: As much as the success of this will do wonders for my self confidence, I'm pretty sure it's not a very healthy way of doing it.

Y/n: ...Oh the voices are back!

Y/n: Nvm, sorry.

Ghost: ...

Soap: ...

Gaz: ...

Price: ...

Ghost: Price get the kid a fucking shrink already.

Y/n: What? Noooo! I've got coping mechanisms! And i like them!

Soap and Gaz: They're unhealthy!!!

Y/n: They're fun!!

Price *utterly exhausted dad sigh*: Why...? Just why...?

#incorrect cod quotes #cod incorrect quotes #cod mwii #call of duty #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #john price #x reader #gn reader #141 x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 x reader #platonic task force 141 #call of duty incorrect quotes #modern warefare ii

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floffytofu · 2 years ago

Text

Child Reader : what did you draw?

Price : a dog and he's bored, what did you draw?

Child Reader : a stick.

Price : a stick???

Child Reader : a stick from the park where- YOU PROMISE TO TAKE ME TODAY!!!

#task force 141 #john price x reader #platonic #child reader #cod captain price #modern warfare 2 #mwincorrectquotes #cod x reader platonic #call of duty incorrect quotes

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python333 · 2 years ago

Note

your writing is literally the best in the cod fandom. we need more injured reader angst. it's too good

don't breathe — python333

— — — —

synopsis [reader] gets buried alive after refusing to give intel to enemy soldiers and *slips up and writes reader almost dying again* oops how did that happen haha

relationships platonic!price & gn!reader.

characters cap. john price.

word count 2.7k

warnings suffocation [reader], just generally really depressing thoughts, near death??, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note aww tysm :(( dont say its the best im gonna get a complex LMAO but i appreciate it!! and yes i agree injured reader angst ftw :3 i present to you: reader gets very injured and theres a lot of angst and its basically just you suffering for a good 3/4 of the fic while the last quarter has the actual comfort!

“Hello?” You try again, your voice cracking and your tone as desperate as it can get, “Please, God, say someone can hear me.”

You’ve been trapped in a casket for about five minutes now—at least, you woke up five minutes ago. God knows how long you’ve been stuck in the stupid thing, but realistically, it’s probably been much longer than five minutes.

The last thing you remember from before you were buried is being in the interrogation room of some small terrorist group’s facility, one you and the others were led to believe was abandoned weeks ago.

Unfortunately, whoever gave you the information must’ve either had incredibly outdated information or was setting you all up for failure, because the facility was very much not abandoned and was instead full of enemy soldiers.

You all had already gotten into the building before you knew that, because of course you all had to be in the same spot at the same time—practically sitting ducks for the enemy—and of course you all had to be clueless about the possibly hundreds of people in the facility until it was too late.

As far as you know, everyone managed to escape. Everyone but you. They didn’t mean to leave you behind, of course they didn’t, they were more focused on just booking it out of the facility. However, because of that, you were now stuck—you assume—several feet underground in a casket that has a limited amount of oxygen that drops every time you take a breath.

You let out the breath you’re currently holding and suck in another deep breath, holding it as you think. Your strategy of holding your breath until you no longer could mostly worked, but it wouldn’t for long, you knew that soon you’d suffocate in all of the carbon dioxide gathering in the enclosed casket.

You don’t know how long you’d been unconscious in the casket, breathing in oxygen carelessly in your slumber, which made the whole situation worse. You didn’t even know how much time you had left.

You hate to waste your breath checking your comms, but the enemy soldiers had accidentally left your earpiece in your ear—the small device apparently going undetected under their radar—and you wanted to make the most of it. You move your arm from your side and press onto the PTT button on your earpiece, wincing a little at how cramped the casket was.

“Does anybody copy?” You ask again, staring up at the almost pitch black space above you, “I repeat, does anybody copy?”

It’s a vain attempt at contacting your team, really. You don’t know if they’re thinking about you, if the signal is going through, if they even have their earpieces on—you know nothing, and that terrifies you because you really don’t want to die right now but there’s literally nothing else you can do besides helplessly talk into your earpiece, not knowing if anyone’s listening.

Your lungs start to burn and you let out the breath you were holding, taking another deep breath and beginning to hold that one. The air feels… thick. It’s starting to get harder to breathe, and you know you shouldn’t panic but you can’t help the few worried thoughts that come to the forefront of your mind.

What am I going to do when I run out of oxygen and the only thing left for me to breathe in are my own discarded breaths? What will I do when all there is to do is suffocate? Am I going to try, in one last desperate attempt, to break out of the casket, or am I going to just lay here and die? Will my team try to find me, or will they forget about me? Have they already forgotten about me?

Before you can listen to any more of those depressing thoughts, a voice comes from your earpiece.

“H—lo? [c/n]?” It’s hard to tell with the static and the cuts in between the words, but you think it’s Price talking.

“Price?” You ask immediately, all thoughts of preserving your breath forgotten. “Holy shit, you can hear me?”

“Je—s— whe—e—” He cuts out for a moment and your stomach drops when all you can hear is static for a moment.

“You’re— You’re cutting out, Captain, what did you say?”

“Wher— —re you?” It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying, your mind working much slower than it usually does, but once you do you shake your head negatively despite him not being there to see you.

“I don’t— I don’t know,” You respond, taking a deep breath before adding on, “I think I’m underground, I just know I’m in a casket and it’s getting harder to breathe and—”

“Okay, o—y,” You hear Price’s voice crackle, his voice becoming more distant and sounding almost muffled to you, “Sa— —ur bre—th, I’ll try to g—t some—e to track your— —tion.”

With the constant cutting out of his words and the distortion of his tone, you can barely register or process what he’s saying, and that only panics you more but you refuse to let your emotions get the better of you even in the state of disorientation you’re in, so you keep holding your breath.

A minute later, Price’s voice crackles through your earpiece again.

“Okay, we’ve got your loc—tion,” Price’s voice sounds… oddly far away, “We can—”

His voice slowly becomes muffled, and you release the breath you were holding without realizing it, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of the casket. A sort of haze falls over your mind and you can barely even hear Price anymore before you suddenly snap back to reality and hear his now much clearer voice loud in your ear.

“[c/n]? [c/n], are you still there?” You recognize his tone now, and you’re just a little shocked at the sheer amount of worry in it.

“Haven’t moved an inch,” You breathe out, before lying, “You cut out for a second for me, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, “I said we got your loc—tion and we’re hea—g out th— —w. It’s not t— far away from where —e alre—dy are, we’re ba—ely three clicks away.”

“… Clicks?” You ask, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Yes, clicks,” Price replies, sounding concerned, before hesitantly asking, “… You know what those are, right?”

“I don’t—” You struggle to find words for a moment before you speak again, your own voice starting to sound distant, “I don’t think so?”

“What do y—u mean you don’t thi— —o?” Price asks, his voice sounding freakishly close, “Are you okay?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” You lie through your teeth, not wanting to worry Price further, “I just… how far away are you?”

“Just ab—t two cli—ks now,” Price says, before pausing and clarifying, “Two kilometers.”

Two kilometers… how far is that? “And that’s… is that far, or?”

“No, it’s not too far. It’s just a mi—te away, we didn’t ge— —o far before Laswell got your loc—tion,” Price tells you, “We’ll be there soon, ok—y? We’ll get y— —ut of there.”

“A minute—” You cough and feel tears pricking at your eyes from how hard it is to take another breath, “A minute?”

“Yes, a minute— [c/n], are you okay?” Price asks again, before laughing nervously, “You know what a minute is, do— —ou?”

“...” You struggle to answer the question, thinking long and hard for a few seconds before hesitantly answering, “… Yeah, I do, sorry. It’s sixty seconds.”

“Why’d it take you so long to answer?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I—” You take a few shallow breaths, and feel a headache start to build up, “How far away are you guys?”

“We’re alm—t there,” Price promises you, “The heli’s ab—t to l—nd, and we’ll dig you up, and—”

Why is it so cold? Price’s voice cuts off and when he stops talking you realize that you’re shivering. You ball your fists up and can’t even feel your nails digging into your palms, your hands having gone numb from the cold, and realizing that makes you discover that your lips feel numb too.

Your ears start to ring and you feel that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling in your hands, the sensation slowly traveling up your arms, making you both wanting to peel off your own skin and also grateful that you can at least feel something besides the cold.

In the midst of your thinking, you hear muffled thumping coming from above you—whoever buried you couldn’t have buried you anything below six feet.

“—llo? [c/n]? Are you still there?”

You bring your hand up, the movement slow and sluggish, and you try to search around the side of your face for your earpiece. You eventually find it and when you do you press against it until you feel the PTT button being pushed.

“Still here,” You confirm breathlessly, coughing again as you take a few more shallow breaths, “I think I’m running out of— of… what’s the fuckin’ air that you can breath in, it starts with an o…”

“… Oxygen?”

“Oxygen, yeah,” You slowly blink up at the ceiling of the casket, “There’s— I think— I don’t… I think… I think I’m gonna pass out, Captain.”

“[c/n], don’t you fucking dare,” Price growls, “You stay awake, I swear to fucking god.”

“I can’t—” You take a few more shallow breaths, before coughing, the tears escaping your eyes reaching the corners of your mouth.

You can hear Price briefly talk with someone else, his voice the most serious you’ve ever heard it, before he talks directly to you again, “How much longer do you think you have before you run out of oxygen?”

It takes you a moment to register the question, but when you do, you answer, “Uh… I don’t— I think… maybe a few more minutes? I can’t tell, it’s just hard to breathe, I can’t…”

“Okay, okay,” Price softly says, gusts of wind blowing into his mic as he talks, “Give me a second, okay? We’re almost there, kid, we’ll— we’ll be there in just a minute, we just passed over you, I just need you to stay awake.”

“In a minute,” You repeat to yourself, before taking a deep breath, hoping that you have enough oxygen to make it out of this casket because you really don’t want to die here, not when there’s help just a minute away.

After what you assume is a minute or two, instead of thumping, you hear something cut into the dirt above you. The sound, however, is heavily muffled, so muffled to the point where you don’t know if you’re hallucinating or not.

Is that a symptom of CO2 poisoning? Hallucinations? You lay still in the casket and can’t help but release the breath you’d only just taken, the ringing in your ears starting up again and growing louder faster than they had before.

Your entire body is numb, your chest is heavy, and you can feel a sort of fog fall over your mind. You can distantly hear Price yelling through your earpiece, but you can’t find it in yourself to respond, instead simply laying there, your blinking starting to slow down before it eventually stops, leaving your eyes closed.

—

For a moment, you think you died and went to heaven, which would be weird, considering all the things you’ve done in your life. Not saying you’d go to hell, just saying God would probably hesitate for a second before letting you in through the pearly gates.

You blink awake, slowly but surely, and the first thing you realize is that you can feel things again. You tilt your head down to the bump under the white bed sheets laid on top of you, and squeeze your hand into a ball, watching the bump move and feeling your fingers dig into your oddly sore palms.

You let out a sigh of relief and pull your hand out from the sheets, bringing it up to your face and feeling the oxygen mask that’s been placed over your mouth and nose.

“Don’t mess with that,” You hear a voice say to your right. You turn your head and see a very tired Captain Price, dark eyebags hanging under his eyes and arms crossed, his hands having a white knuckle grip on either one of his elbows.

“…” You don’t say anything, instead you simply stare at him until he sighs and gets up from his seat. You watch silently as he leans over your bed and bends down, before pausing, and then quickly snaking his hands under your back to pull you up just enough for him to properly hug you.

You reach up with shaky hands and tentatively hug him back, not nearly as tightly—not that you don’t want to, but you physically can’t with how weak your arms are right now—but with just as much sincere affection. You can feel Price’s beard rubbing against your neck and hear his small sniffles as he embraces you tightly.

Maybe it’s his sniffling, or the way you can finally feel warmth for the first time in what feels like forever, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s holding you with so much care and affection that it almost makes you burst at the seams, whatever it is, it causes you to tear up as well.

Those tears quickly become sobs that bubble up in your throat and crawl their way out of it, forcing you to tuck your head into the crook of Price’s neck and muffle your sobs in it, muttering a small ‘sorry’ after each one.

After each ‘sorry’, Price responds with, “It’s okay, let it out, sweetheart, you’re okay,” and those reassuring words only make you cry more because God, you didn’t even think he’d find you, yet here he is, letting you cry into his neck and is reassuring you after every apology that it’s okay.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” You mumble a litany of apologies into Price’s neck, your breath stuttering and hitching as you try to hold back your sobs. Price only shushes you and rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture, bringing his head up to kiss the top of your head.

He tucks your head under his chin, “Don’t apologize, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And fuck, you know it’s just words, but it only makes you cry more.

Your sobs eventually stop, leaving you hiccuping against Price’s neck, silently crying as he continues to rub your back.

“I thought you died,” He whispers, his hand stuttering on your back, “I thought you died and I was going to dig up your dead body, when you didn’t answer me.”

You stay silent, letting him continue, “I thought you were dead when we dug you up and needed to feel your heartbeat for myself to confirm that you were still alive.”

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’ve been here ever since they put you in here. I haven’t slept, I’ve just stayed here, waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you that I—”

He chokes up for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I’m sorry for not even thinking to drag you out of the facility with me when we all ran out. You were— you were right there, and I couldn’t just grab your arm and take you with me, I just had to leave you behind and I—”

“You watched me while I was asleep?” You ask quietly, your eyebrows drawing together.

Price pauses and pulls his chin off of your head, and pulls you away from his neck so he can properly give you the most incredulous look he can pull, before saying, “I’m pouring my heart out to you and apologizing for practically leaving you for dead, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“Well, I’m not worried, I’m just—” You shrug, not knowing how to explain it. Price sighs and chuckles quietly before tucking your head back under his chin.

“You’re insufferable,” He mumbles, sniffling a bit.

“… I forgive you, by the way,” You say after a moment of silence, “I didn’t really blame you in the first place.”

“You had the right to.”

“Sure I did.”

“But you didn’t blame me.”

“Right.” “…” Price stays silent for a moment before pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head and saying quietly, “You should blame me.”

“Maybe,” You mumble back, “But I won’t.”

Later, maybe an hour later, if the others see you asleep in Price’s arms while he keeps your head tucked under his chin and rubs your back affectionately—no they don’t.

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asterdisaster06 · 2 years ago

Text

Rottweiler's Callsign Story

platonic 141 x reader

summary > The mission was supposed to be an easy in and out stealth operation; however, you getting cornered by enemy guards that weren't drawn out by the team's distraction left you to desperation. Such circumstances resulting in unsavory acts needed to get out alive and back to your team. Half the blood on you might not even be yours, but you're out alive and safe.

word count > 5.6k

warnings > graphic description of blood and violence, like i'm not kidding. medical terms used to describe some of the gore. reader is described like a feral dog.

ao3

You had always been quite animalistic in your ways, vocal on the battlefield with snarls and hisses escaping your lips through the sheer effort of your tyranny. Grunts and growls being a point made to enemies you faced before absolutely thrashing them to death. Your skills with a gun whether a handgun or an assault rifle were top tier, your training made sure of it, but your real talent laid in hand to hand combat. Specializing in utilizing your own body and surroundings to tear your enemy down. It was something that had confused and yet impressed your teammates on the taskforce. They stared at you with something akin to visceral horror and pure adoration when you save their asses more than they can count.

Whether that comes from tackling the one on top and pinning them by their throat or managing to spot an enemy that they had missed on their six. Either way, any way, they were significantly impressed by you and your prowess. Your expertise offered something new to the group. Your bones held your pride that was either to be completely snapped or remain unwounded. Your muscles flexed to show the pride that was your mortal self. Your teeth were bared to the world like a stray dog. And in a sense, that was what you were.

You were found by Laswell and Price with your fur matted and your teeth too sharp from eating trash-thrown bones. Metaphorically of course. Literally though, they were your saviors. She took you off the previous military base you would’ve died on and Price raised you like his own flesh and blood. He took the limping, ugly mutt and showed a kindness you had always heard directed at others but never you. You learned to not bite at the hand that feeds you.

The others came later once you were settled in - learning very little of your past; only knowing what you had seethed through tight lipped smiles. At that point you were known simply as ‘hound’ to them. You’re not entirely sure how or when it came about, but it seemed to fit you for the moment.

You weren’t exactly talkative, similar to Ghost in that aspect. That’s not to say that you didn’t learn to open up and trust, especially when you were on a mission that required trust and teamwork. Collaboration and communication were the foundation for the taskforce, and it wasn’t something you could opt out of. You mostly sat back and smiled at a few of the jokes shared, but the one time you spoke to add onto the dark humor from Simon scared the shit out of them. Even Simon was a little caught off guard despite his vehement denial. It was the start of the blossoming friendship between you and the team.

This particular mission was no different than the others. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. Unfortunately, the world had different plans in mind for you and the boys.

Soap had been talking your ear off and you listened in with a small smile on your face at his antics. It was amusing to you that he wasn’t put off by your scars, both physical and mental. He looked past them, not quite ignoring them but not pushing for you to spill the story behind them all if you weren’t ready. You were forever grateful for that. Gaz was in a similar vein, learning to eventually see you for who you were. Sometimes he poked and prodded you, but only in the intentions of helping you. Especially when you refused to see a therapist. Not after the last incident.

Ghost respected you at face value. The mask was who you were to him, and it didn’t make a difference in the slightest for your identity. It was a refreshing contrast to the other two who were not exactly openly prying, but their curiosity emitted from them like radiation. And you didn’t need a geiger counter to see that being near them would eventually unravel your DNA containing your secrets. Ghost simply left your skeletons in the closet lie. A needed deviation in your life.

This mission required you to sneak into the compound in order to collect intel about nuclear weapons that a recent terrorist group had gotten their hands on. Obviously, that was a paramount issue that Shepherd had wanted the taskforce to take care of. Your boys would be creating a distraction away from your position, eventually creating a path to your location for a safe exfil after they had planted bombs around the compound. This establishment wasn’t going to be left standing after you guys were done with it if you could help it.

“Is everyone clear on their positions?” Price’s voice breaks through the disassociation your mind had thrust you into.

The ringing in your ears faded as the chatter began to quiet down and focus was injected into your veins. There was a small nagging feeling in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off as simple leftovers of anxiety growing mold in the fridge of your consciousness. You responded with a simple affirm alongside the rest of the team, eyes beginning to lose the dazed look within the cornea. You blink once and then twice as you take in your surroundings and run your tongue over your sharpened canines.

Your muscles tense with anticipation, letting your legs carry you out of the truck that was about one klick from the objective. You were to be going on foot from here to avoid raising suspicion. The treeline would offer some cover for the infiltration attempt, the leaves in full swing. Unfortunately that also meant so were the bugs and thorns. You would just have to deal with it, although Soap wasn’t so easily placated.

“Fucking hell,” Soap exclaims, swatting at a very vague buzz that was swarming him.

“Here,” Gaz says, throwing Soap a can of bug spray.

The droning and whirl of wings belonging to insects that lived long before humanity came about offers you a weird amount of comfort. It’s almost a commiseration of sorts between the creatures that nobody wanted around. You and the acarids. Nonetheless, you cover yourself in a self assumed shield of the spray that sticks to your skin in a way that makes you almost uncomfortable. The thorns and sticks pricking you through your tactical gear brings you relief. The opposite from what you presumed the others were experiencing.

It’s not like you were a masochist, peace and comfort have just never quite been something you’ve gotten used to. It’s what you’ve known most of your life and it’s what you’ll continuously go through. Much to the chagrin of your boys.

Speaking of, they appeared to be having varying levels of reaction to the harsh woodland environment. Soap has been openly complaining, although you knew it was mostly to break up the monotony of the trip alongside easing the anxiety of the others. He knew just how to utilize his personality like that and he wasn’t scared to come off as brash or even semi-annoying. You try to humor him enough to keep that spark going in his soul. That’s honestly a thought that keeps you up at night; Soap becoming like you or Ghost.

Gaz was experiencing his classic bad luck; truly trying to avoid any muddy spots or tripping on an exposed root, but it appears that it wasn’t working out for him. He had tripped over his own feet two times, an exposed root five, and almost twisted his ankle thrice. It was almost as if the woods had it out for him. You wince and make that last thing four times now as Gaz tripped over a small pebble and had to execute an almost ballerina-esque move to avoid falling face first into a puddle. It made you huff out a laugh, earning you a middle finger in your direction. Gaz truly does try his hardest in everything he does, placing expectations upon himself that nobody else even thinks of. Pressure mounting upon him that moves you to make sure he takes care of himself. You’ll be damned if you let him drown himself in the same way you do.

Ghost was similar to your apathy, although you could tell from his body language that he was in as much discomfort as Soap was expressing. He refused to let even a slip of a grunt or groan escape from his sealed lips. His combat boots were sinking into the mud as much as Gaz, but he had significantly more coordination and confidence in his steps than Kyle did. You observed him quietly, seeing thorns stick into his skin - likely releasing the red ichor of his mortal body. Nonetheless, he braved on with only a slight wince betraying his emotions. It reminded you of how he faces his own torment and demons with nothing showing to anyone around. Not unless they’re particularly attuned to him and his distinctive micro-expressions. You know this as well as anyone, so you make a conscious effort to try and get Simon to open up to you. Not a lot, and sometimes not at all, but enough to sand down the roughness around his edges. Enough to heal him one scar at a time.

Price was admonishing Soap for being so loud and semi-obnoxious. All in good fun, at least, at the distance you were away from the location. Given that Price was back at the car, you couldn’t exactly see what he was doing or his own personal quirks. However, you had known him long enough to know his personality and behavior. You had spent a good chunk of time analyzing the man that had offered you not only a position on this team, but a hand to help you up from your back-alley way of living. He was a tired man that needed some positive affirmation in his life if you were being honest. He had this entire team on his back alongside his position that designated him to a life chained to his work. His title delegated him to the duress that came with everyone expecting victory from you. It’s probability is down right improbable for him to always come out on top. Although, you doubt that he’s come to terms with that idea. You try your best to offer support in your own way, realizing that words alone aren’t going to cut it. You try to guide him to sleep if he’s too caught up in paperwork or offer him a cup of coffee just the way he likes it if an all-nighter is inevitable. You want to be there for him like he is for you.

Laswell’s voice cuts through the comms and snaps you from your stupor. Kate Laswell. She offered you kindness while others offered you chains. She let you into her life instead of caging you like a feral animal. She took the muzzle off of your maw and let you speak. She presented you with a purpose outside of being a killing machine for your previous team sent in with no regard for your health or happiness. She gave you a life. One of your own. A team that you could rely on with a street of protection that goes both ways. Possibilities were opened up that you had never dared to dream of beforehand. You owed her your life, and that’s what you fought with on every mission.

“You’re closing in on the base. Can we get a general overview of how it’s going?”

You smiled and shook your head before the Scot even opened his mouth.

“How’s it going? Oh wonderful, absolutely joyous,” Soap spoke with mock annoyance, good-natured humor shining through despite his tone.

“All is well, the intel we were given appears to be good. There should be no difficulties from our view over here,” Ghost answers, genuinely.

“Affirm, I’m all set and ready here, Kate,” Price speaks, his commanding timbre sending rumbles down your spine and through your nervous system.

“Remember, get in and get out, don’t get caught up in the blast,” Kate reminds you all, as if you could forget.

A chorus of proclaimed agreements echoes throughout the trees of the forest. The silence that falls over the group afterwards makes you tense up and get into the mindset of the feral mutt that has kept you alive for this long. Your breath ends up heavy, saliva coating the inside of your jaws as you harshly swallow it down - almost choking every time you do. Your shoulders rise and fall in time with your respiration. Ghost checks in with the group one last time before you’re sent off first into the craw of the compound. Being a sacrifice is nothing new to you, but it still causes you to shudder in anticipation. Goosebumps rise all across your skin despite the temperature dictating otherwise.

You wander forward, joints creaking in protest as you sneak around the side of the building. It’s inevitable that you have to utilize your knife, but you use it sparingly - not wanting the alarms to ring because some unfortunate soul stumbles upon the body of their fallen comrade. It’s almost second nature to you at this point and you would’ve zoned off if it wasn’t for the pure adrenaline rushing through your system. You finally reach point A in which you reaffirm with the rest of the boys that the plan is a go and no complications have arised.

You hear a plethora of acknowledgements before you begin to move forward with the permission of Ghost and Price. You snake cam the door before lock picking it after deeming it safe. There didn’t appear to be any enemies nearby much to your satisfaction. The less possibilities for this plan to go wrong, the better. It’s a waiting game as you come upon the stairwell door leading up to the room you were meant to infiltrate. The clock ticks down, the beats of your heart sounding out in your ears as a unit of measurement.

Boom.

It’s the signal for you to proceed as all of the cameras are abandoned with the clicking of the gun trigger replacing the clack of keys in the office. You were all set up and ready to acquire the real reason your mission was handed out. Pushing past into the stairwell, you’re met with the surprise of an elbow to the face, effectively causing a gush of blood to start trickling down your face. Despite the advantage the enemy had from his effort of concealment working to catch you off guard, you gained your balance back quickly, and the pounding of your head did nothing to quell the vexation that led you to putting a knife in the guy’s eye. You shoot a bullet straight into his cranium with a glare, just to cover your tracks.

You lick your chapped lips, tasting the metallic mouthful you had gotten from your little scuffle. You didn’t hear a crack, but it was definitely going to be a pain in the ass the next day. Nonetheless, you pushed on, aiming to be more aware of your surroundings. There was an odd lack of guards around the area for what seemed like the main structure. It set off warning bells in your head, but there was no turning back now. From the gunfire sounding out from below it seemed that the others would be too caught up to engage in a verbal conversation regarding your worries. Not like you weren’t confident in your own abilities, quite the opposite, but Price had managed to drill into your head that not everything had to be faced alone. Jokes on him, this situation had the appearance of it being a one man operation.

You and your blood soaked sleeves made your way to the computer where you gathered yourself into a semi-coherent being in order to upload data from their system. The hard part was already done for you; all you had to do was plug a hard drive into a computer and wait. And that you did. You almost felt sorry for getting their keyboard all slick with your carnage escaping from your sinuses. It also felt as if you had bitten your tongue during the altercation, your mouth being yet another outlet for the liquid escaping you. You spat on the floor, maroon saliva staining it.

Running down your neck, the blood seemed to stop at that point, trickling off into a simple seeping of gore. You consider yourself lucky, just in time for the information to be uploaded onto the hard drive you were given. You report over to Price and Laswell, a slight lisp imbued into your words due to the tip of your tongue suffering from puncture wounds your teeth had embedded into the soft muscle. They understood you perfectly fine however, and you were instructed to continue with the orders you were given. At that moment however, the lack of communication on your part about your suspicions of an ambush was coming back to bite you in the ass. Almost literally.

A gloved hand smothers your mouth, effectively suffocating you. If the arm around your throat and its connected hand stifling your ability to productively breath wasn’t enough, there was now a knife lodged in your side. Your attacker drove the knife you suspected he took from your gear even further into your abdomen, twisting it like he was wringing out the last of his laundry. Except you were the clothes and your blood was escaping you, much to your chagrin. Fortunately for you, this particular guard was practically brain dead when it came to medical knowledge, so you were pretty confident that you were going to live. That is, if you could escape without being asphyxiated to death.

You maneuver your maw into an opportune striking position, opening your jaws like a dog being thrown a bone. The coincidental nature of that thought would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t currently on the verge of being slaughtered and gutted like a pig. You chomp down and dig your teeth into the metacarpals of his skeleton, relishing in his grunt of pain and attempt to recoil. You were like a dog with a bone though, and you’d be damned if anyone tried to take it from you. His attempt to pry your jaws open with the hand that soon abandoned the knife in your side after the puncturing of his palm. You ground your teeth into the fat of his hand before realizing the glove was going to be an issue. You turn your teeths’ attention to his exposed wrist, aiming for his radial artery. Unfortunately for him, your fangs found their intended target and perforated his skin. You threw your head back, grasping his arm with your other hands - clawing at it like a feral beast.

You effectively were one, your mouth full of flesh and muscle that didn’t belong to you. Although, you suppose that one could argue it didn’t belong to him either. Not anymore. You spat out the pulp of tissue, realizing that he had let you go. You put a bullet right through his eyes, spraying blood and brain matter across the room. Well deserved for someone like him. You drive your boot into his lifeless corpse, really kicking the man while he was down. Your joke, although knowing nobody alive was around to hear it, made a hysterical laugh claw its way out of your throat. Your larynx had really betrayed your deranged and volatile behavior. Your manic nature had kept you alive so far, so you supposed you had only yourself to thank.

You shoved your bloodied tongue around your mouth, hoping to wash out the taste of human flesh. It wasn’t the worst thing you’ve tasted - that goes to Ghost’s attempts at cooking - but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. You wiped your mouth against the back of your hand, quickly realizing that it too was bloody. Red wasn’t really your color right now, otherwise you would have appreciated the look. You quickly checked over your supplies, knowing that you could make due with anything around the room or at the very least your hands, but feeling comfort in the weight of the metal contraption that delivered death at a much quicker rate. Hemorrhaging from either a knife or a gun was much more effective than your bare hands. Or teeth.

It appears that your enemies didn’t appreciate your sentiment though, ambushing you only to take away such things from your grasp. There were two this time. They almost reminded you of Soap and Ghost, if those two were actively trying to kill you. Your boys only sometimes did that, and most of the time it was pitiful attempts. You were actually the one that got quite a few new rules implemented during training - but seriously, who stops in the middle of a fight to ask if something is legal? No-one, which is exactly why you simply did what was necessary to survive, to quote verbatim what you had said to Price as your excuse when Soap had ended up in the med bay.

Be that as it may, these guards weren’t who you thought them akin to. Therefore, everything was on the table. Especially since they had made the grave error of giving your standard weapons a place on the backburner. Now, the only thought in your mind was kill. At all costs necessary. Your sharpened canines glinted in the dim lighting with a scarlet staining the pearly white as your mouth opened. It’s unfortunate for them that they didn’t have a muzzle on hand.

Before the one in front of you had an opportunity to shoot you through any vital organ, you used your body weight to shove the one holding you to the ground - the bullet whizzing above you. A guttural growl escaped your throat as you turned your attention to escaping the grasp of the poor soul restraining your body. You grasp his upper arm, twisting yourself to use his body as a human shield. It would’ve made you gag if this was the first time you’ve done this. Regrettably, you have quite a bit of experience in this particular experience.

The bullets pierced the soon to be corpse of his comrade, narrowly avoiding you except for one that grazed your side. You really were losing a lot of blood today. Making your way to safety was your biggest priority; however, that was proving difficult with leftover guards that were actually doing their job semi-well. You untucked yourself from under the weight of the stiff remains and threw yourself at the unlucky fellow who had just run out of ammo in his weapon. A simple click is all you heard as the gun escaped his grasp in favor of his bare hands. You were thrown into a chokehold yet again. These guys really did like their chokeholds. His hand gripped the knife slick with your own blood from your hands and ripped it out, leaving you to bleed to death. His mistake though was only using one hand to contain your rage filled body made of torn flesh and bones.

You tore yourself from his grasp, with the worst luck in all of history happening with the knife getting knocked down the stairwell - sounding like a fork being dropped in the sink on its way down. You were in no condition to run or even jump after it, and the only other weapon was out of ammo, so it seemed you were yet again stuck using your bare hands. They trembled as you gathered yourself, preparing yourself for what you were being forced to do in order to escape this ordeal alive. You settled your weight into your haunches and launched yourself at the enemy, vision bloodshot and tinted red. An animalistic growl escaped yourself, sounding almost like a hyena’s maniacal laugh. Your lunge proved fruitful as your claws came into contact with his facial features, digging into his eyes to blind him. The texture of the soft tissue under your sharpened nails flexed and then ruptured. The front layers of his cornea gave way to the gooey gel similar to egg whites that filled the orbs.

A visceral scream escaped the man below you, causing Price to finally check in over comms. At least, you think so, it was getting hard to hear with the ringing in your ears. You didn’t respond either way.

You knew that even blind, the man was still a liability. Or maybe he wasn’t, but to your addled brain firing neuron after neuron that drove you with the only thoughts occupying you being: survive and kill; well, the feral nature of yourself pushed you to make sure he was dead. You had your training to thank for that. You knew that the rest of his body was protected by the structure of his epidermis, much to your dissatisfaction. Your thoughts wandered back to the first enemy you encountered as you loomed over the blinded man. Your mind was made up.

In a split second decision, you descended your fangs into his throat, sinking your teeth into his trachea and hearing a sickening squelch of his bare flesh. The muscles gave way as you shook your head like a rabid dog, separating his tissue from their home within his body. You didn’t stop until you felt his carotid artery begin to hemorrhage. You shakily stand up, staring at the massacre you had left behind. Your jaw would definitely be sore the next day. There wasn’t a surface of you that wasn’t absolutely drenched in blood, and you couldn’t tell where yours began and theirs ended. The corpse beneath you had stopped screaming after the first puncture of your teeth - at least, you’re pretty sure. The haze surrounding your mind made thinking about it too hard. It almost fills you with a sense of regret at letting the monster you once were out of their muzzle yet again. The halfway decapitated body was left as you limped down the stairs and out a back door.

You shambled out into the woods, faltering only twice to prevent yourself from tripping since you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to get up again after that. The rush of blood in your head faded as the sounds around you finally cascaded back into reality. You swore you could feel the dripping of blood spurting out of all open wounds in time with your heart. The chaos finally sunk in, the screaming over comms for your response demanding your attention.

“I’m,” You break up your sentence with a cough. “I’m fine,” Your voice sounds crackly and hoarse. Not that you’re surprised.

“Where the fuck are you, you were supposed to be out of there five minutes ago,” Price yells out over the radio.

“I don’t exactly know. Somewhere out in the woods?” You respond, your head pounding.

“Ghost, find them!” Price had apparently discerned that you were in no condition to be taking in your surroundings accurately enough to ascertain an accurate location.

“Fuck, I think I see them. Hound!”

You think you hear a faint yelling of your name, although it doesn’t quite register to your unhinged and disoriented brain. All you could tell through the muddy fog of your mind was a person. Enemy. Kill. Survive. Escape. You felt their hands on you, your throat closing up in response as you preemptively expected to be strangled half to death. You let out a snarl, baring your teeth and coming into contact with what you think is a hand. Either way, it doesn’t matter to you and you bite down with the force of a wild animal. A yelp is heard, only cementing your actions in your mind.

“Calm the fuck down Sergeant.”

A voice cuts through the haze like a hot knife through butter. You fall limp in the grasp; whether it’s because you recognize the voice or you simply are accepting your fate is up in the air. Nonetheless, your surroundings begin to load in, your eyes stopping their constant darting around and focusing on a singular face. Or, faces. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. They had found you. You were safe. You notice Soap has a bleeding hand - your own handiwork without a doubt. Guilt floods you, your behavior similar to a puppy hearing the words ‘bad dog’ for the first time in their life.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You did great, Hound,” Soap begins to say.

“Come back to us, Love,” Gaz whispers, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” You cry out, finally feeling the effects of your pure exhaustion.

“I don’t blame you, Jesus, you’re gonna have a hell of a story to tell us when you get all patched up again, Hound,” Soap exclaims.

“How much of this blood is yours?” Ghost finally cuts in.

“Not a lot, just where the knife was and I might’ve gotten shot.”

“Might’ve?” Soap laughs.

“Mission, guys,” Price finally interrupts. “I’m glad you’re safe, Hound.”

The mission continues, you leaning on Soap since you’re pretty sure stumbling down the stairs strained one of your ankles. You spewed out numerous apologies for his hand, but he didn’t want to hear any of it. The go ahead for the air team with Laswell to level the building was given, and the exfil point was finally reached by your ground group. At that point, you were barely conscious, hearing echoes of pet names assuring you only a little longer and to stay with them. They plagued the darkness that overtook you and greeted you as you woke up to the blinding light of the medical room.

“Welcome back to the world of living,” Soap says. “The doctors hadn’t seen anything like you before,” He laughs.

“Do you want to explain why they found human tissue in your mouth?” Ghost asks, his tone inquisitive.

“Shit man, let them have a bit of a break before we interrogate them,” Gaz chuckles, offering you some water, much to your appreciation.

You gulp down the water like it was the last time you would ever get the precious liquid, your body thanking you. You sheepishly hand the empty cup back to an amused Gaz. You clear your throat, not quite ready to delve into the specifics of what you had to do to survive, but knowing you had to. Being open in communication was a non-arguable point to being a part of the taskforce.

“Most of the blood on me when you found me was probably belonging to the man I might’ve,” You pause, “ripped the throat out of?” You rush that last part out as quickly as you could, knowing that despite your efforts, they’re going to question you.

Both Soap and Gaz’s eyes widened almost comically, both quickly exclaiming different curse words. One being Scottish curses that you could barely make out from his accent. The other being aggressively British expletives spilling out of Gaz’s mouth. Ghost simply looked upon you with what seemed to be both admiration and affirmation. You had known he would be the most likely to not be surprised at your actions. He knew what it was like to have an untamed beast within you.

“What in the bloody hell did you say?” Price was apparently looming in the doorway, keeping himself hidden until this moment.

You cough, and ask “Is now a good time to mention I also might’ve done the same to a man’s hand?”

Soap had a horrified look upon his face. “You’re saying I could’ve lost my precious hand?”

You had almost forgotten about Soap’s injury, and stared at him with a semblance of guilt flashing across your face.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” You say quietly.

“What happened to the good ole knife or bullet?” Soap asked, offering you his bandaged hand to hold in an offer of forgiveness and trust.

“They stole my shit, and my knife ended up kicked down a staircase after it was ripped out of me,” You pouted, the drug concoction of morphine and other such things loosening you up to talk.

“You’re quite a rabid beast, ain’t you?” Price said, his tone betraying the fact that he was in fact quite proud of you. It wasn’t meant in a derogatory way and you knew that. You smiled in his direction, jokingly baring your teeth at your Captain.

“Aye, I think you’re more than a baying hound at this point. Maybe Rottweiler would serve you better. That mouthful of teeth sure does remind me of my childhood,” Soap says, shivering at the thought of being the victim of your maw.

“I hate to think of the final view those soldiers saw of you,” Gaz laughs.

“I think Rottweiler suits you,” Ghost says. “Fearless yet loyal.”

The rest of the team nods in agreement, surrounding you with support and love. Something that still unsettles you to this day, but not in the same way facing down the barrel of a gun would. It’s a warm embrace in front of a fireplace that sends a jolt of something new down your spine. A fondness spreading like wildfire, adoration deep seated in your bones to those around you. Just like a dog, you were a fierce protector of your family, but with them? You were a tender beast that rolled over at their feet.

You couldn’t think of anything better than that thought which warmed your heart.

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