everybody's alive

141 x reader | fics & moodboards | 25f

[pricecallme]

welcome!

there will be mentions of military, guns, and other sensitive topics. requests are welcome!

masterlist under the cut

141 x reader:

individual scenarios:

unwanted advances

sticky situation

group scenarios:

flesh wounds

flesh wounds part 2

preferences:

how they show affection

how they first kiss you

how they show jealousy

they see you crying

[pricecallme]

Hello!! I love your fics!! How would they react if they saw you crying :((

they see you crying | 141 x reader

Price: Words are not his choice of comfort, nor is he very good at giving them. His physicality, however, is heavy and all consuming. He smothers your doubt against his chest and replaces your distress with the safety of being tucked in his arms.

He doesn't need to ask you what happened. No, he already figured that out. While Price holds you, he is busy plotting how to fix it. He will not let this cause you pain again.

Gaz: He knows that the last thing you need is an interrogation, so he won't force you to explain anything. Gaz would approach you from behind, arms around your waist, lips at your ear, and tell you the sweet nothings that just seem to make the tears fall harder.

When you feel safe enough to tell him, he listens. He coaxes out answers. He won't give advice, not unless you ask. He just wants to make sure that you feel heard.

Soap: He is definitely asking questions. His mouth is running a mile a minute - who, what, where, when - while his hands check over you for any injuries. Once he knows you aren't physically hurt, he would scoop you up in his arms and take you somewhere else.

Either the shower, so he can wash your hair for you, or the bed, so he can bury his head against your chest and hold you tight, offering himself up as a stress toy.

Ghost: His first instinct is to get angry, but not at you. If you're upset, then that means something happened. He is full of anxiety, itching to go confront someone on your behalf. You would need to tell him to stay if you don't want him running out of the house.

If he stays, Ghost would make himself busy. Drawing you a bath, making you dinner, etc. He will serve you, hand and foot, until your tears dry and you thank him with a kiss.

[pricecallme]

quick recovery | 141 x soldier!reader

Part 2 of flesh wounds

The room smelled of rubbing alcohol and old floor wax. The tube light flickered overhead, casting a jittery, pale glow over the papers you have strewn across your hospital bed. In your hand, you hold a clipboard and a pen, working on documentation for the mission.

You shifted slightly, and a sharp, hot needle of pain flared in your side, reminding you of why you were in the infirmary and not your office. You look down at the heavy white bandages around your torso. The memory of how you got here is distant and discordant.

The door creaks open and four shadows spill into the room. One after another they fill the cramped hospital space with the sudden, overwhelming presence of gear and masculine energy.

Price takes one long look at you and sighs. "You know, we had a bet on how long it would take for you to start working again."

You hardly look up. "Who won?"

"I believe I'm owed some money." Ghost answers. He's got his arms crossed over his chest, tattooed forearms on display.

Soap grabs one of the chairs and pulls it over to your bedside. His gaze is fixed on your bandages. "Don't listen to them," he tells you, "You need to focus on getting better."

"Yeah, don't try to be a hero by getting up too fast." Gaz adds.

You roll your eyes, "You guys just don't want Ghost to win."

Soap laughs loudly, "Damn right."

"Day's not over yet, mate." Ghost cuts in.

When you laugh, the movement creates another pinch in your side that has you wincing, air in your teeth. The banter ceases and the men watch you carefully.

"Relax," you murmur, waving away the tension, "I'm fine."

Gaz scoffs, "You keep saying that."

Price walks to your other side. Wordlessly, he replaces the clipboard in your hand with a brown paper bag. You hadn't noticed him holding it before, but now the smell is unmistakable. Sweet and sugary.

You hesitate. "But the doctor-"

"I'll take the fall." Price answers, already expecting your argument. "A restricted diet does nothing but sap your will to live."

"Yeah, you've been getting fed slop through a tube." Soap adds.

You smile. It's a bit uneasy, muscles in your cheeks stiff like they haven't been used in a while. The opening of the bag twists between your curious fingers. Still, you hesitate, as though waiting for a command.

Gaz gives it. "Go ahead. While it's fresh."

Inside the bag are two blueberry scones, decorated with a white striped glaze and crystal granules of sugar. The smell of the blueberry is ripe and you can't help but groan, nose tucked into the bag.

"That good?" Ghost asks, amused.

You nod, eagerly pulling one out. You don't remember telling them that these were your favorite. You wonder whose idea it was. Across the room, you catch Ghost's eyes.

He winks. "Make a quick recovery, soldier. I got money on it."

[pricecallme]

You give Gaz so much personality I love it!! Thank you!!

he's honestly such a spitfire in the games that it's surprising to see him get written so mild-mannered... not that I don't love both!

[pricecallme]

flesh wounds | 141 x soldier!reader

Prompt: You return from a mission injured and the 141 find you.

The mission started as a routine check. Your squad was sent out to survey an abandoned outpost and report back any suspicious activity, but what was meant to be a simple patrol quickly became a bloodbath when you were ambushed shortly after arrival.

One rushed extraction later, you were back on base and begging into your radio for all available medics to meet you at the tarmac. Your main priority was to get help for your squad. Your makeshift patch jobs with the field medkits wouldn't last much longer.

When support came, it was a flurry of movement. You supported each squad member up onto a cot - giving quick, concise explanations to the paramedics about the location and severity of their injuries. You leave out anything about yourself.

The swarm left, not a minute later, leaving you alone on the tarmac. As the adrenaline began to fade, so did your tolerance for pain. A horrible, pulsing ache at your side became known. You let your fingers graze it, just enough to feel for the thickened, dark blood.

Shit. Your vision is already starting to darken at the edges. Nausea curls up your throat from your stomach. You hear your name being called, once quiet and far away, then louder as they get closer.

"I'm fine," you try to say, but the ground tilts when you take a step, your boots slipping on loose gravel.

A hand catches your elbow, grip like iron. "Bullshit," Gaz growls, hand instantly finding its place at your side where the source of thick sludge-like blood leaks out. "Why didn't you go with the others?"

You blink, trying to focus on his face, but his features blurred. "It's nothing," you slur, "Just- help them. Please."

Someone is behind you, broad chest pressed against your back. You let your head tip onto their shoulder, searching for that expanse of heat as your eyes fall shut and your face turns to the sky in prayer.

"Eyes open, Sergeant." Ghost tells you, fingers tapping at your cheek. His voice was rough, offering no room for arguments.

"Get the shirt off," Price shouts, "We need to stop the bleeding."

Your undersuit is ripped open with a practiced jerk, exposing the jagged tear below your ribs. Sluggish, bubbling blood fills the cut. You don't feel the pain when Gaz's fingers press into the flesh around it, assessing it. That's bad. You know that's bad.

"-losing too much." Someone, Soap, swears violently. The scraps of your shirt are pushed into the cut, shoved so far deep inside it's as if they mean to plug it into the hole itself to stop the bleeding.

Your knees buckle, threatening to send you to the ground. The boys don't let you. Nearby, you can hear Price barking orders into his phone.

You blink up at the sky, trying to keep your eyes open like Ghost asked, but the blue won't stay still. The hands holding you up are your only anchor.

"Hang on, lass." Soap tells you. His jacket has been shrugged off, thrown over your front to obscure your chest. "Stay with us."

Gaz was muttering numbers - blood pressure, pulse, but it all meant nothing. The voices slid away, replaced by static. Your eyelids flutter.

Ghost smacks your cheek again. Once, twice. The sting is distant, a mere pinprick in a sea of painful sensations. "Stay awake, damn it."

You wanted to tell him that you were trying, but your tongue was lead. Gaz's fingers were at your neck. Numbers again. It meant something, you knew they did, but all meaning dissolved like salt in water.

"Talk to me," Soap tries, near desperate.

Price steps into view, phone still at his ear. His lips are moving, probably another order, but it's all muffled to your ears. You reach out, bloodied fingers grazing his jaw. For a moment, you feel warm. Almost safe.

Suddenly, your body is being lifted away. Something sharp pricks your thigh. It makes you panic, even as you struggle to stay conscious. The last thing you see is their anguished expressions before you pass out.

[pricecallme]

can you do one about jealously (thanks for feeding us!!!)

how they show jealousy | 141 x reader

Price: Too old to get irrational. He does, however, make himself known. Either by your side or with the jewelry he gifts you to wear on night outs. Subtle reminders that you are spoken for. Might even refer to you exclusively as his wife/partner, even before you're married.

Gaz: Guilty of getting a little jealous. He doesn't want to see you with another man, especially a single one, but the most he would do about it would be inviting himself into the convo, arm around your waist, kiss to your head, maybe a subtle flex of his muscles to the guy.

Soap: Your independence is very important to him. He won't jeopardize that by coddling you. His "jealousy" is just him being upset that anybody could look at you and think they have a chance with you. He's more of a constant presence nearby, there whenever you need him.

Ghost: Definitely territorial and it definitely stems from insecurity. He believes you could do far better than a man like him, but it still hurts to see you with anyone else. Any moment he can steal from you, selfishly asking for another kiss, or just wasting your time, he takes.

[pricecallme]

Mdni or your fine???

I don't write smut. Anything explicit would be below a line with a trigger warning for 18+ 👍

[pricecallme]

how they first kiss you | 141 x reader

Price: A quiet moment stolen just for the two of you. Somewhere private, like his office. A cigar burns nearby, cloying the air. He sits in his leather office chair, legs spread so you can stand between them.

You have the authority to control the pace, but he is still fully in control. His hands at your hips pull you closer, until the lines of your bodies meet. The way he looks up at you is reverent, a picture of worship.

The first kiss ends with you breathless, grasping his shoulders. He holds you steady, letting you initiate another.

Gaz: It's the conclusion of a date after you both had a few drinks. He walked you to your door, his jacket around your shoulders. You have matching dilated eyes, goodbye lingering heavy with suggestion.

It doesn't take much more than a passing breeze to push him into you, smiling lips falling onto yours. His hands find your waist, digging his desperate fingers in like he just can't get you close enough.

He mumbles into the kisses, compliments and nonsense, mouth running on a motor, asking for another, and another.

Soap: Something domestic, like in a kitchen, early in the morning. There's coffee brewing and you're yawning. He invites himself into your space, winding his arm around your waist and pulling you hip to hip.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world, he cups your face in one hand and kisses you. Sweet and soft. It tastes minty. He moves his warm lips to your cheek, then down to your neck, following a trail.

His beard tickles your skin. He swallows your giggle with another seering kiss and lifts you up onto the kitchen counter.

Ghost: A pitch black room with the curtains drawn shut. He pulls his mask up to his nose. His cold hands hold the sides of your neck, testing the fragility and feeling for your pulse beneath his calloused fingertips.

It's tentative, the way he angles your head up so he can nose along your cheek. His hulking body quivering with raw, untapped energy. His breath pants over your skin, lips chapped when they brush against yours.

The first kiss is hesitant, but his desperation bleeds into the next one, consuming you completely without any guilt.

[pricecallme]

hiii!! I really like your imagines so far <3 your version of the 141 feels so mature... can I make a request for how you think they would show the reader affection??

how they show affection | 141 x reader

Price: Spending time together is the most important thing for him. He cherishes every minute he has with you. He wants you by his side while he works, in the room while he sleeps, all because it brings him comfort to know that you're there and alive.

Gaz: His love for you is loud. Definitely words of affirmation. He talks about you, shows you off, wears your accomplishments with pride. He's an active listener and remembers all the little details you tell him. Never lets you leave a room without complimenting you.

Soap: He is obviously physical touch. He really just can't keep his hands to himself. It doesn't even need to be sexual, he just needs you under his arm 24/7. Love bleeds into every kiss, every caress, and every smack on your ass. He just loves touching you.

Ghost: He wants to earn your love through acts of service. If you mention a problem offhand, he is fixing it by the morning. Does your chores while you sleep. Rubs your feet. Serves you however he can. His goal is to make your life easier in every way.

[pricecallme]

sticky situation | 141 x civilian!reader

Prompt: You get caught in a crossfire and the 141 saves you.

It was a beautiful, sunny day in the city. You were thumbing through the wares of a local street vendor, admiring their fresh flowers for sale and humming softly to yourself.

The usual urban noise fills the background. Chatter and laughter from locals, commuter cars passing by, the occasional honk of an impatient driver. You tune it out as you always do.

Across the street, you see a few dark vans with tinted windows pull up at the curb, throwing open their back doors. Men get out by the handful, hoods over their heads.

You go still, intuition turning ugly in your stomach.

A metallic click echoes from somewhere behind you. The birds on the street burst upwards. Another click, closer this time. Flat and dry, like a heavy book dropped to the floor. Then you hear screaming.

People are running in every direction, sprinting past you, but you feel frozen and completely exposed. Blood rushes to your ears, hands shaking uselessly at your sides. You don't know what to do.

Price: You get knocked down by the people fleeing, falling to the ground on your hands and knees. Panic clouds all your common sense. Completely abandoned, there is nothing left for you to do but crawl. Everything gets louder. Two hands grasp your shoulders, pulling you up. You are spun around to face a man. There's a gun strung across his back. He sweeps a cold gaze over you, assessing, "You hurt?" You shake your head, mouth gone dry. He nods, turns you back around, and pushes you in the direction the others ran. "Go quickly. Find somewhere safe."

OR

Gaz: A man grabs you by the arm, yanking you behind a nearby car. You notice his gun before anything else, and it makes your breath hitch, squirming away. He tightens his grip - not reassuring, but a warning. "Don't move," he tells you. His sunglasses don't hide the calculated way he scans the street, locking onto something before he raises his pistol and begins to fire. You take notice of his uniform, letting it comfort you. "What's happening?" You whisper, scared to look anywhere but at him. Your fingers clutch uselessly at his jacket. "Close your eyes. It'll be okay."

OR

Soap: One of the people rushing past hooks an arm around your waist, sweeping you against their side. Your panic is swallowed by their palm, head pulled to their chest, until suddenly you're out of the street and tucked into a nearby alley. He keeps you hidden behind him as he leans his upper body out of the alley, gun pointing into the street. "You alright, lass?" He asks, though you can barely hear him over the gunfire. Shakily, you manage a nod against his shoulder. When he fires his own gun, you gasp, gripping onto his uniform harder. "Aye, I got you. Keep a hold on me."

OR

Ghost: You stumble back, hitting the brick wall behind you. As you sink to the ground, knees weak in shock, a shadow falls over you. All you can see is a broad back, a man so large and imposing that you can no longer see the sun above you. There's a gun in his hand and another at his hip. When he looks over his shoulder at you, you notice the skull mask that hides his face but not his eyes. Wild and dark. "Get up," he barks. Desperate pleas start to spill past your lips. You stand on shaking legs, begging him not to hurt you- "When I say, you run into that alley. Got it?"

[pricecallme]

unwanted advances | 141 x civilian!reader

Prompt: You are rescued from an uncomfortable situation by the 141.

You twirl your drink in your glass, eyeing the patrons around you with mild interest. It's a quiet night and the bar is mostly empty, save for a few men in the corner playing pool. Above you, the bar lights flicker and buzz, echoing your exhaustion after work.

"Can I get you another drink?"

Glancing over, you see a stranger leaning on the bar beside you. He's far too close already, but you stay polite. "No, thank you."

His smile is strained. "Not interested?"

"I've had a long day." You tell him, hoping it's enough to express your disinterest without also upsetting him.

"One drink." He insists, sitting beside you.

"Sorry, this is my last one for the night." You try instead.

"Then you can keep me company."

You sigh, giving up and deciding to just start gathering your things. "I should get going-"

The stranger stops you from getting up with a hand on your arm, but before he can say anything else, he is interrupted.

Price: "There you are, love." A hand, wide and scarred, lands on the bar top between the two of you. Another sits at the back of your seat, leather creaking beneath a firm grip. His broad frame blocks the overhead lights, bracketing you between two thick arms. He is careful to keep space between your bodies, even as he leans himself over you. His voice was warm velvet when he was speaking to you, but it turns to gravel when he looks at the stranger. "You keeping my wife company?"

OR

Gaz: "We got a problem here?" There's a man standing at the other side of the bar, holding a tray of drinks. The cap on his head doesn't hide the narrowing of his eyes when he looks at the stranger, nor does his sweatshirt hide the strength of his body under the loose fabric. "Hands to yourself, yeah?" He says and the stranger rips his hand away like he had been burned. The man then jerks his chin in your direction, addressing you only. "Let me drop these drinks off to my friends and then I'll walk you to your car."

OR

Soap: "Don't think she's interested, mate." The voice booms across the quiet bar. Both you and the stranger turn to the men playing pool, where a man is watching you with a big smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's got a pool stick in hand, emphasizing the bulk of his biceps. There's an ease to his posture, like this confrontation means nothing to him. He wears the nonchalance well, keeping his smile as he walks over to you and holds out a calloused palm. "Come now, bonnie. Care to join me for a quick game?"

OR

Ghost: "I would fuck off, if I were you." You startle, not expecting the sudden presence looming behind you. A large man stands a foot away, arms crossed over his chest. Behind the black mask he wears, his dark, indifferent eyes are locked onto the stranger, challenging him to argue. He doesn't let up, doesn't move, doesn't say anything else. Not until the stranger is scrambling out of his seat and far away from you. Only then does the large man lower his arms, offering a polite nod in your direction. "Have a good night, miss."