✦Meeting & Flirting W/ The C.o.D Men✦
(Five scenes were gn!reader meets, flirts, and eventually gets with the C.o.D guys. You can thank Gaz & a Doja Cat song for this)
✧Gaz, Price, Soap, & Ghost. The others will come later✧
✦Flirting, light sexual tension here and there, basically just fluff, some mild descriptions of wounds/war, no specified appearance but I do hint that you're shorter than the guys here and there in a subtle manner. Sporadic use of Y/N that I apologize for. Random callsigns I made up on the spot.✦
Laswell walked beside Price whilst leading the team out onto some tarmac. "I know you all are very competent, but this is a rather big mission, and so I wanted to give you backup I think you can depend on." She said calmly, coming to a stop, turning to the four men. Ghost crossed his arms and bit back a scoff. Kyle smiled for a split second because of it, though shrouded in mystery, it was no secret that Ghost hated working with others. A black jeep rolled up from a slight distance. Gaz wasn't too interested, he'd been tired all day and meeting new people sounded like a bit of a pain. He adjusted the hat on his head and kept his gaze on the ground, even when some footsteps approached. He glanced up at least, not paying any particular attention to the five individuals in front of him. Though he did give his full attention to Laswell when she began speaking.
"Team 141, this is Team Sonar. They'll be working with you this upcoming mission, which we still need to go over." The woman explained. Their captain shook hands with price, an older man with dark hair and a broad white streak in the front. Two younger men stood to the side, Soap greeted them. One was blond and the other, a light brunette, they looked like twins. The fourth one was fairly androgynous, tall, eyes cast at the ground. Gaz was just about to look back at Laswell when his eyes fell on the last member. Dressed in black military gear, holding a rifle aimed at the ground, vest decorated in patches and a filtration-gas mask over the lower half of their face. They looked up and locked with his gaze, a spark let off in the air as soon as they did. Gaz rolled back his shoulders, pinching the inside of his cheek between his teeth. He watched their eyes scan him up, down, then slowly back up. By the way their eyes scrunched slightly, he could assume they were smiling, giving him one more quick once over. It was hard not to smile as well, especially when their eyes stuck to him whilst turning to face their captains.
"Careful sergeant." Ghost's deep voice made Gaz jump. "Ahem, right." He mumbled, shifting his hat down a bit. Though he did risk stealing one more glance, feeling an ego boost when he caught them doing the same.
"You ever take that hat off?" They asked, leaning on the common room's table as he sat down, arms crossed. "I do, I just don't feel like it." Gaz shrugged, adjusting the ratty baseball cap on his head. "The flag is literally fallin' off, mate." They teased with a smile, reaching to nudge the brim, making it push down. Gaz snorted and took it off for a split second to fix it. He gasped when it was snatched from his hand, smiling when he saw their face covered in a cheeky grin, holding the hat away. "Alright, c'mon. Give it back." He insisted, holding out his hand. They hummed, tapping their chin whilst looking at the ceiling. "Nnnoo, no I don't think so." They replied with their tongue stuck out. Gaz tucked his tongue into his cheek and glared at them playfully. He laughed when they jerked back as he lunged for it, smiling more when they hid it behind their back.
"Oh, playing dirty now?" Gaz asked, moving to snatch it once more, only to be dodged. "I think you look better without it, actually. I'm doing you a favor." They insisted, backing up more and more. He naturally followed. They reached up to put it on, chin tilted at an endearing angle. "Should just lemme have it." Gaz shook his head, although he did enjoy the sight of them wearing it. "Over my dead body, give it!" He laughed. They blocked his arm when he went to grab it one last time, reaching into the back pocket of their camo pants. Good thing about military pants? Big pockets. Gaz blinked in surprise when he felt a pressure on his skull, raising a hand to feel a different hat. He quickly took it off and looked at it. A baseball cap with a British flag and an embroidered "K.G.G" on the brim, in a dark green color. He gazed at it with some awe, feeling a quick wave of sentimental joy enter his system. "I think green is more your color." They said, prompting him to look at. He blinked when they booped him on the nose and then turned to walk away.
"Hey, what about my original hat?!" Gaz called. They turned, walking backwards. "It's mine now! No take-backsies!!" They giggled, rotating on their heel. The man ran his tongue over his teeth as he chuckled in disbelief. He glanced once more at the hat before putting it on, shaking his head fondly.
(nsfw implication in this one; cause Y/N a bold bitch)
Gaz hummed to the tune of his music as he sat on one of the chairs in the common room, waiting for time to pass until their next briefing. Listening to Y/N make themselves tea, occasionally passing conversation between them both. The topic now? Why he never used his actual name. "I guess I just don't really get it. It's not like it's a bad name." They said, pouring hot water into a mug. Gaz shrugged whilst scrolling through a playlist. "I used to like it, now I don't. A lot of people don't like their name." He answered, glancing over at them. They placed a teabag into the water and turned to look at him, hip leaned on the counter. "Yeah, I guess. But usually there's a reason if you specifically dislike it, ya know?" They retorted. Gaz nodded and adjusted in his seat. "I guess...I dunno, anytime I hear that name, it usually means somethings going wrong? Either someone's needing something from me or I'm like, in trouble? So, I prefer the nickname." He explained, looking back down at his phone whilst they threw away the tea bag.
"Then it's not the name, it's what you associate hearing the name with! You just need to put a different context to it." They said, though their voice was a bit muffled by his earbuds now. He snorted. "Oh yeah? Well, lemme know if you got any ideas." He said sarcastically, not hearing them walk closer. "Let's try this then." Gaz jumped a bit when the earbud was pulled from his ear, replaced with the feeling of warm breath. Hot blood rose to Gaz's cheeks and neck as the cupped their hand around his ear. "Oh Kyle...~" His breath stopped at the sound of a very convincing moan, heart stuttering as they laughed quietly, gently putting the earbud back in his ear. They made it a point to lightly drag their fingers across his shoulders when walking around him. Gaz watched them walk away with wide eyes until they were out of sight. He then sunk in his seat, hand covering the lower half of his burning face. He forced in a deep breath. "Fuckin' hell..." He mumbled while replaying the sound in his brain. They at least had a point. Hearing his name like that was pretty enjoyable.
"Gaz, Spark, how copy?" Gaz's radio crackled, Ghost's voice cutting in and out. "Copy sir, we're in a safe house. Hell of a storm outside, we'll need to wait it out." He said. Y/N was checking the pipes and looking around for firewood as Ghost gave choppy orders. The man huffed and took off his vest when he saw the fire being lit, grabbing a rickety wooden chair to pull up next to it. "Fuckin' snow." He grumbled as he heard the wind bare down on the house. "Not a winter guy?" They asked, making him look over his shoulder as they walked in with two cups. "Found coffee. I know you're more of a tea type, but warm is warm." They responded softly. He thanked them and took the cup, though he cringed at the bitter taste, swallowing so he could answer their question. "Nah, always liked Summer more." They nodded before setting their mug on the floor.
"So, we're alone for god knows how many hours." They said, looking at a tactical watch on their wrist. Gaz rose an eyebrow while taking another sip of his coffee. "Yeah? What of it?" He asked. "You gonna finally make a move or should I keep pretending there's no tension here?" Their blunt words made him choke and began coughing. They laughed and lightly smacked his back, snickering when he cleared his throat. "I uh, wow, okay. Bit blunt to put it that way, innit?" He said with a breathless laugh, putting the cup down. "Bit rude to eye fuck me all the time and do nothin' about it, innit?" They mocked with a grin, making him blush, though thankfully the melanin in his skin left it unnoticeable. "Okay, I do not...alright, maybe a little, but listen." He laughed bashfully. He watched them roll their eyes with a heavy sigh, looking down at him with a smile. "What? Do I have to do everything?" He rose his hands up and sank in the seat slightly as they placed their hands on his knees, leaning in slowly. "Didn't take you for such a scaredy cat, sergeant.~"
Gaz cleared his throat and couldn't stop himself from laughing nervously again. "I'm not a scaredy cat. I'm just...patient."
"Patient?"
"Yes, indeed."
They hummed and clicked their tongue. "Well, I'm not." Gaz felt his lungs constrict and the air expel from his body once their weight rested on his lap, hands on the back of the chair, which creaked under their combined weight. He watched them take his hat off and rest it on their head. "So, sergeant major Gaz. You gonna make a move, or should I?" They asked quietly. He let out a slow exhaled before shaking his head. "You...are gonna get me in so much trouble." He said fondly, though he did invite them leaning in dangerously close. "Guess that's a risk you gotta take." They whispered back. He hummed in thought, stalling for the sake of mischievousness now. "Eh, only live once." He shrugged, grinning as they laughed, unable to stop smiling when the held his face to kiss him. Trouble or not, it was inevitable.
John sighed and messed with his dog tags as he waited of Laswell to come back into the room. She’d said she had something important to tell him. She finally poked her head into his office with a calm smile, giving him a nod. “A few weeks ago, you asked for a sniper. I found one I think is suitable.” She said, opening the door a bit further to reveal them. Stood in a compression shirt and camp pants, arms behind their back. John straightened his back as he took their figure in, acknowledging slightly nervous body language. They seemed young, but not by much compared to the rest of the team. “Alright. Lemme talk to’em.” John mumbled, motioning with his hand for the soldier to step inside. Laswell patted their shoulder as they entered, crossing the office to sit in the chair across from Price. Laswell left with the door closed.
“You’re nervous, soldier.” He said. They swallowed and nodded, patting their leg. “A little sir, yes. Trying not to be.” They answered honestly with a little chuckle. “You afraid your skills aren’t up to snuff?” He questioned, voice gruff, trying to poke for insecurities. Not that he was cruel, but he needed soldiers made of steel on the field. “Oh, no. I’m 100% confident in my skills. It’s uh, just hard to not feel anxious when you’re sat in front of a captain with such an impressive resume. I’m uh, well, I’m worried about my impression is all.” They admitted bashfully, clenching their hands in their lap. John rose an eyebrow and let out an amused huff at their praise.
“You’re certain you’ll keep up?” He asked. “Yes sir.” They answered immediately. John nodded, he motioned for them to stand as he did the same. They listened without hesitation. He rounded his desk and stood in front of them, watching them force back nerves in order to meet his gaze. He held out his hand. “I‘ll look forward to seeing you work, soldier.” He said. His smile grew when they shook his hand, a spark growing in their eyes. “You won’t be disappointed, sir.”
John huffed and rubbed his temple, soreness radiating through his skull as a result of persistent annoyance. He'd been put in charge of some new recruits, a batch of youngsters, all of which seemed to enjoy testing his patience. They all liked to slack off, lose focus, occasionally take a little jab at him. John was a patient man and did his best to keep his cool, usually only losing it in dire circumstances. But, he was a human, and humans had their limits, and the captain was at the end of his rope as he watched the recruits joke around. All right after he specifically told them to run laps, a standard training exercise. His frustration must've been obvious on his face, hence why Mist approached him. "You alright, captain? You look ready to blow a gasket." They asked, voice soft, showing sympathy. The brunet huffed and rested his hand on his hip, feeling a bit soothed by the gentle pat on his bicep.
"These damn kids won't take me seriously, and I've bout had it." He explained, motioning to the group. The soldier's eyes widened and looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Unable to fathom it. They weren't much older than the newbies, and they'd already shown a genuine and powerful admiration for John. For various reasons. John watched them frown and shake their head. "Try again." They motioned, giving an encouraging nod. John was a bit confused but he cleared his throat and shouted to get their attention. "I said to run laps, not stand chit-chatting! Move it!" He demanded, voice rough and commanding, but not as intense was it was in the heat of battle. Y/N's blood boiled at the blatantly disrespectful laugh one recruit let out. "Whatever, old man!" A young man replied. John felt his jaw tighten and he took in a breath to yell again, on his last nerve, before a voice beside him beat him to it.
"WATCH YOUR FUCKIN' MOUTH!" Mist exclaimed, voice echoing in the air like flying daggers. They'd been rather soft, quiet, and gentle the whole time they were with 141. Excluding battle. To see them so angry, so intense, it was enough to make John even jolt in surprise. "When your commanding officer gives you an order, you execute it on the first fucking demand! He said run, you sprint damnit! If you think you can dick around at the sake of the training that will save your life and the lives of your comrades, FUCK OFF BACK HOME!" They hissed, baring teeth like a raging dog. "Now, move it! Forty fucking laps at least and if I hear more disrespect at my captain, I'll have your fuckin' heads!" The recruits had already began on the track, wincing when the threat landed in their ears. John watched Mist compose themself with a look of shock interlaced with endearment. They gave him a bashful glance and cleared their throat. "Uhm...there ya go." They smiled. John let out a quiet chuckle and patted their back. "Remind me to stay on your good side." He said playfully.
(Brief description of bullet wound & war)
The sounds of gunfire were sharp on the ear drums. Air permeated with the scent of rubble dust & metallic blood. Mist jumped over an enemy corpse as they dodged around a building, clicking the button on their radio in order to answer their captain. "This is Mist! Ran off about six yards east, where are you, cap?" They asked, chest heaving. "Three yards to your right! Haul ass before these cunts reload!" It was probably a terrible time to think it, but they couldn't help but worry about his throat, all those cigars surely made his voice rougher than it was naturally. That thought was pushed back by the need of survival, although their worry was barely focused on themselves, more on the safety of their captain. They found him settled behind some large stacked crates, littered with bullet holes. Taking no time to slide up beside him, huffing and puffing, face smeared with paint & dirt. "Are you steady, Cap?" They asked breathlessly. John nodded, adjusting his bucket cap. "For now. We gotta move out toward the evac, Soap's got this place set to blow and I wanna be out before it happens." He explained whilst loading a rifle. "Understood, I'll cover you." They replied.
Whilst sprinting away from the enemy, ducking when the gunfire got heavy, their barriers were thinning. John huffed and pushed through, scanning for the next thing they could duck behind. As he did, he was left open. The young soldier's eyes locked in on a sniper overhead, gun angled directly at the man beside them. The world moved slow and frightfully quick all at once as they shoved John off to the side whilst shouting for him to take cover. The bullet spun through the air and made itself home in Mist's leg. John was quick to act, able to aim his rifle up at the roof, landing a rather lucky headshot in retaliation. "Damnit, soldier, what the hell were you thinkin'?!" He exclaimed, using his arm to help them stand. They didn't respond, teeth gritted in pain as the two of them continued to move. Making it to the evac wasn't easy, but it happened. The team left like a bat out of hell, holding up with shotty attempts at first-aid until they could get to a medic.
John put Y/N on priority for one since the bullet was lodged in their thigh, risking a problem with an artery or bone. Thankfully though, it was just a muscle issue. They'd need recovery time and rest, but overall, they'd be fine. Likely to only sport a scar by the end of it. They sat on a medical bed as John heard the verdict, eventually waving off the doctor so he could speak with them alone.
"What the hell were you thinking?" John whispered harshly. Though Mist was the more sensitive type, they didn't flinch, not a single waver as they met his gaze. "Thinking about saving your life." They answered. "And you got shot cause of it." John replied, making them snort. "I can handle a shot to the leg. Far less damage than losing you. In terms of pros & cons? I think I weighed'em pretty well." John felt his chest constrict as they gave him a satisfied smile, as if they weren't still covered in the signs of war. He opened his mouth and no words came out, he gave up and sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He stared at them for a moment. Eventually, his hand fell limp at his side, chuckling quietly. "You'll be the death of me, soldier." He said. They laughed and shrugged. "Nah, I think I'll keep you alive for awhile longer. That's my plan anyway." Their retort played like music in the strings of his neurons, sending waves of serotonin & oxytocin in his system. "I'll hold you to that." He sighed.
(NPC death mentions)
The sound of paper rustlings and the scratch of a pen was monotonous and soul sucking. John had always been a diligent worker, but, he'd never enjoyed paper work. It was something he found particularly boring even as he got older, and there was always an air of somberness when he was filling out reports on men who'd died. Lost their lives under his command. In the late hours of the night where silence was suffocating and the loneliness began to grow more obvious in his bones, continuously marking his signature down on dotted lines until his wrists were sore. His throat was dry and his eyes stung. There was a bottle of whiskey on a side table calling his name, but he didn't have the energy to move, and he knew it wouldn't satisfy any actual thirst. The sigh he let out was full of exhaustion. Then, he flinched, silence broken by a knock at the door. The brunet's brows furrowed in confusion & suspicion, given lights out was at least two hours ago.
"Who is it?" He called after clearing his throat. "It's me." The voice was unmistakable, and though he hated to admit it, his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Enter." He instructed, finding it worrisome how it felt easier to breathe when their figure poked through the door, entering slowly. A cup of steaming tea rested in their hands. "You should be asleep, soldier." John said, leaning back in his seat. They gave a soft laugh and a nod, walking up to his desk. "Couldn't. Kept thinkin' bout you, knowing you were overworking yourself. Finally gave in and made you a cup of tea. With all due respect, sir, you should also be in bed." They answered, setting the cup on the desk. Like a godsend, able to sense his unspoken needs from across the base. He was a providing type, protective too, he'd been called a "dad" type as well, always caring for others. Although being cared for was foreign, he couldn't help but have his heart melt in a way he hadn't really felt in a very long time. The man sighed, grabbing the cup, blowing on it before he took a sip. He could feel his soul grow warm as he realized it was a perfect replica of how he'd make it, ideal to his preferences. It was impossible not to smile. "You're a real saint, you know that?" He asked. The room felt brighter as they laughed again.
"I'm not sure about that, but thank you." They replied. "I mean it. You stick out your neck to make things easier for me, even when I don't ask. I notice it, even if I'd prefer you keep a bullet out of your leg." He scolded lightly, making them nervously shift their gaze to the side, recalling the shot they'd taken for him. "Eh, I don't really regret it." They said, moving around his desk in order to sit on the same side as him, remaining on the corner of the wooden table, careful to avoid sitting on any of the papers. John shook his head. "I'd probably take another eighty bullets for you." They answered honestly, ignoring the stutter in their heartbeat as he stood, chair scraping on the rug below. "Now why would you do that?" He questioned cynically. The response he got struck every chord in his heart. "Because I care about you too much to see you get hurt." They whispered. "You're such a good person, and you do so much for everyone else, even when you're at the end of your rope. There really aren't people like that in the world, and I don't think I could really handle losing something so rare."
John inhaled and stepped in front of them. He was intently in their personal space, but they didn't feel the need to lean away, even if their nerves were alight with a specific type of anxiety as he tilted their chin with his hand. He didn't say anything for a long while, only gazing, adoringly and intensely full of passion. Finally, he smiled with an amused breath. "I think I hit the nail on the head..." He heard their breath catch when he leaned close enough for his facial hair to lightly prick at their skin. "You're nothin' short of a saint, sweetheart."
✧Johnny "Soap" MacTavish✧
The bar was crowded and rowdy, dimly lit and teeming with energy. 141 settled in a booth. The bar was popular with veterans and active soldiers, so there wasn't a corner of the building that didn't have some camo print in it. Johnny chuckled at a joke Gaz made at the expense of a recently defeated enemy before taking a swing of beer. He scanned the bar lazily. At the same time as others, cerulean eyes settled on a small scene in the crowd. Kyle leaned around Soap to get a better visual. "Yeesh, can't a man take a hint?" The man mumbled as they watched a tipsy soldier flirt with, what seemed like, a civilian. Dressed up for a night of fun but clearly not having a good time with a slurring and pushy man not being able to take a no. "Think we should step in?" Soap questioned, to which Ghost rose his hand, a signal to stay seated. "Look at their friends, they look like they're waiting for somethin'. Maybe they've got it covered already." He mumbled past the fabric of his balaclava. Johnny cringed, scrunching his nose at the scene, biting his tongue, literally.
"They're a civilian against a trained soldier. Drunk or not, they probably need some help." Kyle commented. It was immediately after he finished his sentence that the "civilian" set their drink down, face showing annoyance. They turned to the drunkard and in quick, trained movements, took him out. Or in less intense terms, knocked him out cold with a swift elbow to the chest and a well formed punch to the jaw. The bar went quiet after a collective "oooohhh" in response to it all. The "civilian huffed and rested their hands on their hips, shaking their head. Soap's jaw was lax as he watched them walk over to the bar, pay, and leave. Left in utter awe intermingled with disappointment that he hadn't had a chance to talk to them.
Up until a week later when a higher up declared he'd be gifting a lieutenant with an impressive track record to aid the task force in a mission. A huge help, since apparently they had specialized information. The four men waited for the mystery person right outside of base. When they walked up, they had a mask on, but a collective string of shock hit the men when they came closer. Gaz let out a little laugh and nudged Soap with his elbow. "Looks like you get to talk to them after all." He teased, watching Johnny fight to keep his jaw closed. They stopped in front of him with their arms crossed and face stern. "You lot must be 141. Lieutenant Fern." They said. Price stepped up calmly to introduce the team. Johnny cut him off, practically leaping forward with his hand extended to greet them. "Sergeant Soap, pleasure to meet'cha Lieutenant." He said with a boyish grin. They tilted their head with a raised eyebrow. "You always this excitable, sergeant?" They asked. Johnny's eyes glimmered with childlike fascination and liveliness. "Only with beauties like ya'self." He said boldly. They scoffed with some amusement, shaking his hand as they glanced at an embarrassed Price. "Bold, this one." They praised.
Soap grunted and slammed his hand on the floor twice, letting out a strained word. He took a deep breath when the pressure let off his neck, hearing a few tongue clicks. "That's the third take down, Soap. You gotta stop leaving yourself open." Fern sighed, giving him a hand up. He rubbed his neck and coughed, frustrated at himself for letting his performance slip. It was showing on his face and in his shoulders, weighing down by the sense of failure. "Oi, suds, quit that." They ordered, making him look up with confusion. They made a vague motion to his person, referring to his posture, before resting their hands on their hips. "The self-doubt and anger at yourself. It ain't gonna help ya. You're not bad at what you do, you're learning still. That's normal." They explained. Though their tone sounded blunt and rough, as usual, Johnny had been around them enough now to hear the hint of softness that lingered in their words. Something he had yet to hear before. He huffed and dropped his hand at his side. "I shouldn't be havin' these fuck ups, L.T. I been doin' this for too many years for fuck ups."
Johnny let out a yelp and a whine as he received a flick to the bridge of his nose. "'nough of that, sergeant. What'd I just say?" Fern demanded with their gaze sharpened. They poked his chest to keep his attention. "You listen here, and you listen good because I won't be repeating myself. You're smart, and you're good at what you do. Fuck ups happen no matter how long you've been doin' something. You ain't perfect and I ain't expecting you to be. I expect you to be observant and open minded." They stated. Johnny's face softened and so did their tone. Fern sighed and shook his head. "Don't beat yourself up over shit that's fixable or that you can't control. Doing that won't help you, it'll just make you feel like shit. Enough of that will turn you into a stick in the mud." Their hand smacked on his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. Soap felt his heart squeeze when they gave him a rare and small smile.
"And I like you as the puppy dog you are, alright, soldier?" Johnny blinked before he snorted and nodded, taking their words to heart. "Good man. Now, c'mon. Let's go again. I'll go slower and correct your form and we'll get those slip ups worked out. On your mark." They ordered, gentler this time. Soap got into position with a grin and determination lit aflame once more. "On it, Lieutenant. Hit me." He challenged, burning with joy when they gave a fond chuckle.
Music and commotion filled the air with noise, adding a backdrop to a conversation that flooded in and out. Soap threw back some whiskey and cringed as it hit his taste buds. He coughed and set the cup down, shaking his head whilst the person across from him chuckled. "Not a whiskey type, suds?" They teased. He shook his head and slid the cup over, letting them take it and refill it. "I'll stick to my beer, thanks." Johnny replied with a huff. He pushed down the warmth in his face he got from watching them drink out of the same glass, mouth placed over where he'd just pressed his lips. Unintentional, most likely. He felt ridiculous being flustered over such a school-yard level of intimacy, and indirect kiss from sharing a glass was juvenile. He looked over their face, eyes settling on the signs of exhaustion in their expression. The Scotsman frowned and tapped the table a few times before he gave into his thoughts. "You ain't been sleeping, 'ave ya?" He asked. They looked up from following the patters of paint in the wall beside the two of them. Their silence was answer enough but the fact they shook their head sealed the deal.
"Mind if I pry?" Soap asked, leaning in a bit more on his elbows. Fern shrugged and sank in their seat a bit, sighing. They rubbed their eye before regaining eye contact. "Different reasons. Old demons, mostly." They muttered. Johnny's brows dipped in sympathy. "You got a way of dealin' wit' that? Therapist?" He asked, sadness bubbling in his chest as they gave a humorless laugh and headshake. "Nah, I ain't gonna put my shit in someone else's hands. It's my problems, I should be able to deal with'em-" "Now that's a loada shit, L.T." Soap's voice cutting them off caught them by surprise. Johnny was a bold man, a loud man too, but he knew respect and knew when he needed to bite his tongue. He'd never really given an outburst at them. "Ain't you the one always tellin' me an' the team to speak up when we're in trouble?" He asked. They opened their mouth and shut it, unable to formulate a response. Their eyes softened when he reached over and rested his hand on top of their own.
"Don't hesitate to ask for help. When you're out your depth, holdin' you pride too tight will get'cha killed. That's what you said."
Fern blinked before a sad smile crossed their face. "Yeah...I did say that." They nodded, heart clenching as Johnny gave their hand a squeeze. "Then take your own advice, Y/N. Don't'cha owe yourself that?" He asked in a hushed tone. They bit the inside of their cheek and took his words to heart, nodding slowly with a slow exhale. "You're right. I'll keep that in mind...thank you, Johnny." They replied. He gave that sunshine filled grin in reply. "Ain't gotta thank me for that, L.T. But, you can buy me a drink if you wanna show your gratitude." He joked, feeling proud when it got them to laugh. "How's a tequila sound?" They asked. "After my 'eart, you are! I'll take three." Johnny responded with a grin.
(Implied wound)
Soap grunted and leaned against a wall whilst holding his side. Pain shot through his nervous system with every movement. He huffed and thumped his head against the brick. His skin was growing clammy and moving his head too fast lead to his vision blurring, the dizziness was something that always got him the worst. He'd never been good with the sensation. It always felt him nauseous. The brunet groaned past gritted teeth as he tried to force himself to focus, will his brain to work despite the myriad of overloaded senses. His radio crackled with sound and a voice that was choppy thanks to the slightly cracked speaker. He let out a huff and rose his arm to click the button whilst trying to focus on the words, spoken by a familiar voice. "Soap? Soap, do you copy? C'mon mate, don't leave me hanging here." Fern asked with a hint of worry. The man grunted and that alone let the lieutenant take a sigh of relief. "You broken, serge?" They asked. Johnny swallowed in order to clear his throat. "Cracked, L.T. Took a hit to the side. Not sure of the damage but I ain't doin' so hot." He wheezed. Speaking brought on a coughing fit. He barely heard the order to stay put as his ears rung from the pain coughing caused.
His vision was going spotty by the time he heard footsteps rapidly approaching. In his half focused state, he weakly tried to reach for his gun, only for a gloved hand to stop his arm. "It's me, Johnny." Fern's voice brought him a sense of relief. He leaned his head back to look at them, giving a weak smile. "'ey there, beautiful." He said, coughing again, which was followed by what could only be described as a whimper. Fern frowned as they checked his wound, using one hand to keep him steady. "Shit, Johnny. We need to get you to the evac right now. Can you stand?" They asked. He shook his head, slumping on their shoulder. He sighed, soothed by their body heat. "Just go on...I had a pretty good r-FUCKIN' CHRIST!" He screeched as they applied pressure to his wound. His face was grabbed sternly, forcing him to look them in the eye. Shock flooded his system as he saw saltwater building along their lower lid.
"You listen here, you bloody fuckin' moron. You ain't allowed to die on me. Not until I fuckin' say so." They hissed. Soap blinked and opened his mouth to speak, letting out a noise of surprise when their lips collided with his. He let out a shaky breath whilst leaned into them, hand clutching a strap on their vest. Left tingling and energized by the action as they pulled away.
"You pull all that fightin' spirit back in your fuckin' body and fight for me. Then, we get you out of here, we get you fixed up, and you owe me a fuckin' date. You got me, loverboy?" They demanded. The Scotsman heaved some breaths before he nodded. "I got'cha." He replied. Fern gave a single nod and stood up, pulling up the weakened soldier, getting under his arm to keep him steady. "Atta boy. Keep your head up, Johnny. I need you to keep your word." They said as they began helping him move. He gave a weak chuckled and a wheeze. "Roger that, L.T. Roger that."
(Brief description of an NPC gettin' knifed in the face)
The stairs creaked under Ghost's weight as he moved up behind Price. The man made a hand motion to move up more, which Ghost followed. "Stay steady, boys. Remember, not everyone in this place is a hostile." Price whispered gruffly, getting some affirmative responses. Ghost motioned for Soap to help him scan one side of the second floor, moving slowly through the rooms. Three hostiles were down in the span of two minutes. "Floor clear?" Gaz asked. "Affirmative." Soap replied, looking around. Just as Ghost was about to move out of the room, his eyes fell on a door he hadn't seen at first, with noise from behind it. "Negative. Unchecked room to the south." He motioned. The men rose their guns as Ghost moved toward it, carefully turning the door knob. He listened closely before swinging the door open quickly, locking in on a target almost instantly.
They rose their hands with a yelp, an unidentified box in their hand. Ghost's finger twitched on the trigger before they spoke. "Friendly, don't shoot! Unarmed!" They declared, which made Price motion for the team to hold fire. "Name!" Ghost demanded. "Y/N L/N, call sign Blister. I'm a medic with S.A.S, and currently a hostage!" They said, voice sounding out of breath from the rush of adrenaline. Price clicked into the radio for Laswell for an identification as Ghost's eyes looked back at the box they held. Now he could see it was white with a red cross on it, as well as some faded stickers.
He lowered his gun as Price confirmed they were telling the truth. Ghost motioned to the box and opened his mouth to demand they hand it over before they tensed, eyes locked on something right past him. "COVER!" They exclaimed. Shots ran past him, Gaz & Soap ducked. An enemy had snuck up behind them. About to reload before a white box flew and clocked them in the face, quickly followed by a throwing knife. As the body dropped limp, the men of 141 looked over with widened eyes as the medic let out a huff. "You said you were unarmed." Ghost replied gruffly, pushing past his feelings of shock. "One knife compared to four AK-12's is pretty much unarmed, big guy." Blister retorted. Ghost scoffed a small amused huff with a nod. "Fair point and good aim." He praised, watching them smile slightly. Price snapped his fingers to get their attention. "Need a gun?" He asked, to which Blister nodded. Ghost took his pistol out and handed it over, though he jerked it from their grasp at the last second with a warning look.
"I better not regret givin' you this." He threatened, slowly holding it out again. They took it from his palm slowly, fingertips brushing against his gloves. "Relax, big guy. Only grief I plan to give is to the enemy." They said, checking the ammo clip before putting the gun in their pocket. Price motioned for them to move, stay low. Ghost was sure to trail the medic closely from behind. Unaware that it'd be soon that a higher up would decide that 141 needed a medic, and who better than one with perfect aim?
"Bit late to be up, ain't it?" The voice from behind him made him tense and nearly choke on the smoke in his mouth. Ghost looked over his shoulder as he exhaled the vaporized tabaco, pulling his mask back down once it was expelled completely. He watched Blister meander up to him, highlighted by the color of the moon. "Could ask you the same thing, medic." He replied. They snorted as they came to stand beside him. "Fair point, Lieutenant, fair point." They nodded, tilting their head to look up at the sky. The air was cold and the roof was quiet, below their feet were sleeping soldiers, unaware of the bright moon and twinkling stars. Blister tilted their head as their shoulders fell lax, something Ghost noticed. They never seemed tense and he couldn't fathom it when he couldn't ever relax, even when he was alone his muscles were tight, ready for fight-or-flight at all times.
"You're staring, sir." They whispered, looking at him in their peripheral. Ghost scoffed and looked at the sky. "Was not." He denied, hearing them snicker. Silence passed between them before the medic noted Ghost's posture, just like he'd done to them. "You ever gonna let your shoulders relax? Your muscles' are gonna snap under that hypertension, sir."
The blond clicked his tongue and shook his head. "These are as relaxed as they're gonna get, medic." He answered. "Because you're burning off constant anxiety?" Their response hit him a bit hard and he snapped his head to look at them. They stood with all their weight shifted to one leg, head tilted. "You don't hide it real well, ya know. All that unease. I know it ain't my place to pry, but I want you to know I can see it." Y/N said softly. Ghost let out an exhale from his nose. "And so what if you do? You're on thin ice, Blister." He warned, getting a headshake in reply. "I'm saying I see it so you know you're not invisible to me." He scoffed, crossing his arms after tossing the put out cigarette off the edge of the roof. The moonlight bounced off his irises, providing superficial light to replace the one that'd been missing since he was young. "Hard to miss me. I'm a "big guy in a Halloween mask", aren't I?" He said, using air quotes. They clicked their tongue. Ghost tensed and looked at them once more as their hand rested on his arm.
"What I meant is; I see when you're struggling. And I'm here for you when it gets a bit too heavy. Whether you like it or not. I'm stick to ya, like a superglued plaster, sir." They patted his bicep and gave a kind smile. "Come see me sometime, you don't have to be injured to talk to me. My door's always open." Their words hung in the air as they walked away, and Simon couldn't help but pivot to watch them leave. When they disappeared off the roof, he cursed under his breath, feeling his chest clench and a pressure in the back of his throat. He looked up at the stars with weakness in the circles of his pupils. "...fuckin' help me ma, I'm screwed." He whispered into the night air, watching a star blink back at him.
(Ghostie gets a panic attack but it's still fluffy)
Ghost let out a shaky sigh as pins and needles made themselves at home in his extremities. His veins buzzed with anxious energy and his hands had begun to shake slightly. His breathing wasn't erratic yet, but he knew it wasn't long before it would be. He bounced his leg and weighed his options before he stood up, chair squeaking along the floor at the speed of which he did. His footsteps were quick and heavier than usual as he rushed down the halls and toward med-bay. It never made sense to him, why he'd be perfectly fine and then suddenly be hit with sense of panic. Like there was a guillotine hanging over his neck that he couldn't see, but he knew the blade would drop at any second.
The med-bay was empty of anyone, except for one person, organizing a new shipment of bandages. Blister heard the door click shut and the ragged breathing. They looked over their shoulder, surprised at first to see Ghost. They went to greet him before noticing all the signs of something they'd seen a million times. Twitchy, anxious, unable to breathe clearly, trembling hands. Without him saying a word, they pulled out a chair and motioned to it. "Sit." They demanded.
Simon wasn't one for listening to other's orders if he didn't have to, but he did it, bouncing his leg. Y/N walked over to the water cooler and then a mini fridge, pulling out an ice pack. They walked over with it in hand, along with a tiny cup of water. Y/N placed it on his chest and motioned for him to hold it there. "Simon, look at me." They instructed in a soft voice. "I need you to try and take a deep breath. I know that's not easy, but try your best." He felt them lift his balaclava just far enough to rest over his nose, making it easier to breathe. "Can't you just shoot me up wit' somethin'?" He gasped. "I'd rather not if I can help it. Do you know what's happening right now?" They asked as he took the cup, tossing back the cold water. He shook his head. "This is a panic attack, Si. I'm gonna walk you through it, you just gotta do your best to breathe and focus on me." He didn't have much choice.
They took his free hand and sat in front of him, looking him in the eye. "Follow with me. Give me five things you see." Simon swallowed and scanned. "Uh...peeling paint, cracked window, fire hydrant, ugly tile, broken light." He answered. They nodded and squeezed his hand soothingly. "Four things you feel." He took a deep breath. "Your hand, the seam of my jeans, ice pack, my itchy ass stubble." That got a little amused huff out of the medic. "Very good, you're doing great. Now, three things you can hear." Their praise was more comforting than he liked to admit.
"My heartbeat, the clock on the wall...your voice." He whispered. They gave him a gentle smile and another squeeze to his hand. "Two things you smell." Simon took a deep breath through his nose and noted what came with it. "Sanitizer and somethin' fruity." He mumbled. "That'd be me. Now, last one. Take a deep breath and then tell me something you taste." They asked. Simon did as he was told, it felt easier now, less like his lungs were collapsing. "Mmph, tea. Bad tea, let the bag sit for too long." He complained. Blister chuckled and stood up, taking the ice pack from him and putting it on the table. They rested their hands on his shoulders, lightly pressing into them as they told him to take some more deep breaths. Once his breathing was steady again, he sighed and blinked slowly. "You alright?" They asked. Simon nodded, though he felt tired now. "You're...a real good medic." He muttered, feeling warm as they snorted cutely. "Thanks, big guy. I do my best."
(Reference to Ghost's poor self image & a singular mention of a wound)
Ghost sat in an unmarked van with his back against one of the doors, watching Blister rummage around in hopes of finding medical supplies. His eyes drifted down to his leg, a broken pipe ran through his thigh. It hurt like hell and based on the annoyed growl the medic let out whilst throwing away another useless box, there wasn't anything they could do to help at the moment. Their radios overlapped with the sound of Price's words, informing them about the evac on the way, and how they'd ensure to send the help needed to get Ghost out of there safely. Said man shook his head as Y/N replied to their captain. "Just go. I'll slow ya down, it ain't worth it." He grumbled, wincing as he attempted to move his leg again. "Shut your fucking mouth, lieutenant." Blister hissed back. The man blinked in surprise at their response. They rarely snapped, not unless they were in the midst of battle.
"Damnit, medic, don't be stubborn right now. Just fucking go, leave me here. That's an order-"
"God damnit, Simon, shut your fucking mouth!"
Ghost flinched at their shouting, now even more caught off guard. He watched them stand, walking a few steps to sit between his thighs. They gripped his vest roughly, eyes sharp like daggers and their nose scrunched in anger, teeth clenched tightly. They pointed a finger in his face while breathing heavily. "Now you listen and you listen good, I am not fucking leaving you hear. I am not leaving you anywhere, you understand? We are gonna get you in that fucking evac." They insisted. Ghost rolled his eyes at their declaration. "I am a liability, Blister!" They jostled him roughly. "You are fucking important to me, Simon! Your survival fucking matters to me, and until you stop breathing I am going to ensure I do everything in my power to keep you alive. And not just because it's my fucking job, but because I give a shit!" They shouted. Simon's chest felt tight again. His hands trembled so he curled them into tight fists to hide it. He felt like a kid again, weak and vulnerable. Something he despised.
"Why?" He whispered past clenched teeth. He watched their gaze soften and their grip on him loosened, leaving their hand resting on his chest. "Because I care about you, but I know you don't care about yourself. But whether you like it or not, I give a shit whether you live or die. And one day, even if it takes my entire god damn life, I will get you to the day you can look in the mirror and love what you see. In and out. In order to do that, I need you alive. I need you alive to see the great man I see every day, o you're gonna get in that fucking evac, we're gonna get you patched up, and you're gonna live." Their voice shook and he watched their bottom lip shake slightly. Simon shuddered under the weight of their words. "Do you copy?" They asked. He stared at them, unable to find any hints of deception. They meant every word. Simon bit his lower lip and inhaled slowly. "...yeah, I copy."
