Sucker For Platonic Fics - Blog Posts

Happy Father's Day. I broke my own heart writing this. This is purely self-indulgent and only those who have lost a father or father figure I think will truly understand the emotion in this. This is a description of a platonic relationship. Please use discretion when reading as it has brief mentions of grandfathers, stepfathers, and biological fathers passing away by heart attacks and suicide. No graphic descriptions but mentions of blood. I listened to this the entire time I wrote. Enjoy <3

That's My Girl

1.2k She had lost every father figure in her life, so what was she supposed to do when her Captain rumbled praises to her which simultaneously broke and healed her wounded heart. And what is she supposed to do when he takes a bullet in his shoulder?

She had struggled with the lack of a father figure in her life since she was a girl. Her grandfather stepped up when she was little, he had already been a constant in her life, but once he had cemented himself in it he died soon after. Her stepfather came into her life in a whirlwind of emotion and she wasn’t sure how to feel about a person her mom preferred over her when it suddenly didn't matter anyway as he died of a heart attack when she was ten. Her uncle didn’t know she existed and from what she had heard he preferred it that way. And the dominos all fell because her father committed suicide when she was still a babe. 

It led her to here. Emotion bubbled from her chest every time her commanding officer praised her. His gruff rumbling voice hit just where she needed it most. The smoothness of his voice scraped against a jagged piece in her heart, constantly reminding her of all that she had unfairly lost. He was a tall, rugged man, all she had imagined a father should be. His presence was a welcoming one of safety and security. Knowing that no one could get through to her if he was standing in the way made her heart soar. 

It was all massively inappropriate, and she knew it, but the way his presence soothed her was addicting. She hadn’t felt such peace since she was a child. Alone in bed, she wished for his strong arms to wrap around her, embracing her in the safety of a fatherly reassurance that everything would be okay.

She had always kept this boundary because she knew what it meant if she crossed that line. They were not family, and if they were they could never be on the same task force. Emotions blind logic, and if she thought about the way this man, her Captain, presence made her feel she knew that she would do anything to keep him alive. She couldn’t lose another father figure, especially one that she had chosen for herself. 

It wasn’t until the mission that she realized how horrible her infatuation was. Captain Price was yelling orders when he took the bullet to the shoulder. It felt like everything began moving in slow motion after that. All she saw was her grandfather in the coffin, her stepfather on the bathroom floor, and some inkling in her heart from when she was a baby when that first piece of her heart shattered off at her fathers' last breath.

Before she could even blink she was on her knees before him, hands pressed into the wound that was oozing blood. Glancing him over she assessed what she could do. He was shot inches away from his vest, bullet lodged in his muscle.

“I’m gonna have to dig it out.” Her voice grated as she pulled her hands away from the wound. 

Captain Price grunted underneath her. She looked at him for the first time since she went to him, his eyes were scrunched and forehead creased, but he was awake and aware. He reached out, a gloved hand gripping her bicep. 

“Fuckin hell.” He gasped, gripping her arm as she cut away the clothing around the wound. There was no time to be kind, not when she still heard the sound of bullets whizzing above them. The rest of the task force had them covered, but this was something that couldn’t be put on hold until they were out of the line of fire. 

Embracing the calming sensation of adrenaline she focused on the task at hand, grabbing packing gauze and alcohol from her kit. The sound of his grunts of pain was background noise as she packed the wound, the bullet now lying on the ground beside them.

It wasn’t until he gripped her arm to the point of bruising that she realized he had been calling her name. Not her rank, not her last name, but her name. He was leaning toward her on his good shoulder, trying to make eye contact.

“You good?”

“Hey, hey look at me.”

“Sergeant.”

That did it, she looked up at him eyes locking into his.

“You broken?” He was worried, she could read it all over his face. Why would he be worried? He was the one who was shot, the other men were still taking fire, and it was starting to rain.

Rain, they were inside a building. She looked down at her pants, watching the droplets fall. She was crying. Tears were pouring down her face, her bloody hands trembling on her lap with the scraps of his shirt and bloody gauze.

She shook her head, reaching to clear the overflowing tears from her eyes until she realized her hands were still covered in blood.

A large hand reached out to brush her cheek, wiping some of her tears away. Captain Price stared up at her, surprise and compassion swirling in his eyes.

“You called me, Dad”, he said under his breath, cupping her cheek against his palm.

Her eyes slid shut against the touch. Too worn out to comprehend what just happened. Letting out a shuddering breath she whispered, “I’m sorry, Captain.”

He humphed, a short sound in the back of his throat. 

“Look at me.”

She obeyed the order, taking another deep breath and bracing for a lecture, but his face was soft.

“I don’t have kids. You muppets are enough.” He confessed softly, bullets still whizzing above their heads. “I don’t think I will ever have kids, but to know that you respect and care about me enough to mistake me for your father when I’m hurt..” He trailed off.

“I’d like to think I’m all of yours father, in my own way. Don’t be embarrassed, everyone has their own stories from before coming into the army. Now don’t tell Ghost this but even he has slipped up once or twice with calling me dad.”

A smile twitched at her cheeks, the adrenaline finally melting away allowing her to feel the gravity of what just happened. Her heart felt like it was in her throat as she chuckled softly at his confession. 

Captain Price smiled at that, patting her cheek gently, “That’s my girl. Now since you got me all patched up Sergeant let's see if we can get evac in here.” 

The helicopter ride back to base gave her time to process and realize how much she had overthought her reaction in the first place. Captain Price's words healed her in some way she didn't even realize. Of course, she wasn’t the only one dealing with daddy issues. People escape into the military for all sorts of things. And she did her job, she was focused on saving his life and didn’t mean to call him dad. Even though she did he didn’t look at her with disgust, but with fatherlike pride, like she had just validated something he had been wrestling with for a while. 

After that, the only thing that changed was Captain Price's willingness to interact with her in more ways. A clap on the shoulder, a hug pulling into his side, letting her rest her head against his shoulder on long flights back from missions. It was something they both needed, and they found it in each other, an adopted father and daughter.

HAI! i rlly like your platonic 141 fics and I'm wondering if we could get some more dad price and/or brother gaz sleepy cuddles? :3

stretched too thin — python333

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synopsis gaz notices you overworking yourself one night and decides to step in before you end up pulling an all-nighter.

relationships platonic!gaz & gn!reader.

characters gaz.

word count 2.05k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of pet names [love, darling], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note oh my god im so sorry i disappeared for like. a month. ill try my best to not be gone for more than a week at a time, but with all of my schoolwork and just over all stress ive been experiencing lately, i dont know if ill be able to get fics out every week :< ill try my best though! please accept this fic as an apology—its another big bro gaz one!! special shoutout to everyone else who has an older sibling thats very distant with them, you and me are in the same boat fr!! also, last thing—im thinking about making a discord server where i announce when fics are being written and published and stuff, but i dunno if yall would join or anything, so if u would pls lmk!!

You haven’t left your office in five hours. 

Recently—just about two days ago—you finished up an assignment fairly quickly and, as a result, had to write a detailed report of said assignment. It went over the mission you’d gone on, and listed off every major detail you could think of, though because you just can’t give yourself a break you were constantly thinking of other details you might’ve missed even though there was little chance you’d missed anything.

The mission wasn’t anything too important, honestly. It was originally going to be a week-long camp-out reconnaissance by an enemy task force’s base, obtaining information on their schedule and what they did throughout the day and whatnot. However, only a day into the mission, the small squad of soldiers that had accompanied you saw another small military group observing the same group you’d been observing.

So, naturally, you observed them as well. Aren’t you just the best multi-tasker?

The task force eventually found out about the other group, just a day later, while your squad was still in the clear to continue your observations. So, your mission had quickly come to a close—but, because of the circumstances under which the mission had come to a close, you were required to write an extremely detailed report on the other group and the group you’d been observing.

It would be an understatement to say you were tired. You’re exhausted.

Between the non-stop writing, the coffee sitting on your desk that’s been microwaved five times and has been refilled thrice, and the uncomfortable chair you’ve sat in that you have yet to replace, you’re extremely exhausted. Your movements are sluggish, your fingers aren’t as swift on the keyboard of your computer as they usually are, and worst of all—you still have more to write. 

Your eyes stung and felt dry, your hands felt like they were going to stop working completely at any moment, and you were overall just exhausted. 

You look over at the clock on your desk, and it reads 02:28 AM, indicating that you would only have about four hours to sleep if you went to bed now. I’m too far into this report to stop now, You tell yourself, sighing as you blink slowly at your computer screen, If only my vision didn’t keep getting blurry… 

Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and for a second you think you’re hallucinating until the knock sounds once more. 

Reluctantly, with a voice raspy from not using it almost all day, you call out, “Come in!” 

Your voice is softer and quieter than you’d like it to be, but it doesn’t matter too much to you at this moment—at least, not in your foggy mind that still begs you for sleep, even when you have far more of your report to finish. 

The door opens with a creak, and in walks Gaz. 

“Sarg,” He greets you, not bothering to close the door behind him as he walks up to your desk, “Pleasure to see you for the first time in, what… three days?” 

“Two days and eighteen hours,” You correct him, taking a moment to crack your stiff knuckles, not taking your eyes off of your monitor, “And you know you don’t have to call me ‘sarg’ or ‘sergeant’ or anything. We’re the same rank.” 

Gaz promptly ignores you, “Right, well, anything over a day is way too long for me to go without seeing you. Why’re you all cooped up in here on your computer?”

“‘Cause I need to write a report on my assignment,” You briefly explain, before lightly goading Gaz, “Not all of us need a shit ton of attention every day like you do.” 

“Ehh,” Gaz theatrically makes a thinking face, before shrugging, “Not sure what you mean by ‘us’, but alright.” 

“By ‘us’, I mean everyone but you.” 

“Surely that doesn’t include you, right?” 

“It does.” 

Gaz gasps quietly at your reply, before dramatically responding, “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely can,” You hum, finally taking your eyes off of your computer screen to look up at Gaz, “Is it so hard for you to believe that I don’t need to talk to you every waking hour?” 

“It is, actually,” Gaz scoffs, “Because I know that you do need to talk to me every waking hour.” 

“Uh, no I don’t,” You childishly argue, raising an eyebrow at Gaz.

“Uh, yes you do,” Gaz immaturely argues back, crossing his arms, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that the past two days and eighteen hours haven’t been shit because I haven’t given you any attention.”

You open your mouth to form a response but quickly close it, realizing that yeah, actually, I kind of do crave his attention. 

Fuck.

“You’re not the only person that gives me attention,” You point out, hoping to find some way to change the subject.

“Sure, but you like the attention I give you the most,” Gaz hums, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on your desk opposite of where you sit.

“You don’t know that.”

“Then tell me that I’m wrong,” Gaz challenges you.

You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him for a moment before sighing, “You suck.”

“Maybe I suck, but you look like you haven’t slept for the past week,” Gaz points out, “You look exhausted, by the way. And dehydrated. Actually, you just look like the human embodiment of a headache.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“I mean that in the most loving, non-offensive way possible.”

“You come into my office, accuse me of needing attention from you, then you insult me by calling me the human version of a headache?”

“It wasn’t an insult!” Gaz raises his hands in surrender, before sighing, “I’m being serious. You look dead, [c/n]. You need sleep.” 

“What I need is to finish this report,” You huff out, beginning to turn your attention back to your computer, before Gaz’s hand is quickly placed on your chin and forces you to look back at him. 

“No, what you need is some rest,” Gaz argues, more serious this time, taking his hand off of your chin—something you shouldn’t miss nearly as much as you do, the warmth of his hand fading far too quickly from your face—and bringing it back to rest on the desk. 

“Maybe you need rest, Gaz.”

“Sure I do,” He shrugs, “But I’m only going to sleep if you do.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Really? You’re pulling that card?”

“I am.” 

You stare at him for a moment, mentally weighing your options, before sighing and bringing your elbows up to the table so that you can place your forehead in your hands.

On one hand, if you stay in your office you can finish up your report before four and then go to sleep, and hope that you magically feel active even with just an hour or two of sleep in the morning. On the other hand, if you go to sleep now, so does Gaz, and then you both get more than just two hours of sleep. 

After another moment of consideration, you huff out a frustrated breath and mutter, “Fine.” 

Gaz smiles down at you and walks around your desk to your side of it, holding out a hand for you to grab to help yourself up from your chair and using his free hand to save your report and power off your monitor. 

You take his hand and stand up, your legs a little weak and balance iffy from sitting down for so long, but within the next few minutes you’re sure you’ll be able to properly walk. You let go of his hand once you’re positive you won’t fall over, and once he sees that you’re able to walk, Gaz silently walks towards the door of your office. Just as quietly, you follow him. 

He turns off the lights for you and lets you walk out of the office first, locking the door from the inside and closing it once you’re out. Once he’s done, he takes the lead again and you follow him down to his sleeping quarters. It’s not too long of a walk there, only two minutes at most.

Once you’re there, Gaz opens the door and lets you walk in first. Once you’re inside and Gaz has closed the door, you shrug off your camouflage patterned jacket and toe off your already loosened tan boots, leaving you in just your camouflage cargo pants and army green undershirt.

You look down at your pants with a frown, knowing from experience that sleeping in them was incredibly uncomfortable and left you regretting your whole existence the morning after, but before you could even look over at Gaz to tell him of your situation, you felt something being thrown at you. 

You immediately turn your attention to the item that had been hurled at you—the item in question being a pair of gray sweatpants, some that would probably be a little bit looser than you’d prefer on your figure—and then look over at Gaz with a questioning look. 

“Figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in that,” Gaz shrugs, nodding to your cargo pants in response to your nonverbal confusion. 

You hum in appreciation, not wanting to talk too much at the moment, instead waiting for Gaz to look away before slipping off your pants and replacing them with the sweatpants Gaz had thrown at you. The fit isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought they’d be—they’re loose and hang low on your hips, just like you thought they would, of course, but they don’t feel nearly as weird as you thought they would.

Once you’ve tightened the strings on the waist of the pants, you get into Gaz’s bed, pulling the covers up and over yourself. Gaz quickly settles into the bed next to you, quickly getting himself comfortable under the sheets, and pulling the covers up and over his shoulders in one swift movement.

He gets closer to you, so close that his chest presses against your back and you can feel the tip of his nose ghosting over the top of your head. He wraps one arm over your body to pull you impossibly closer to him, and his other arm snakes underneath the side of your body so that both of his arms are wrapped around you.

He hums contently and his thumb rubs small circles into your clothed stomach, the action—despite being small—causing your stomach to warm up almost immediately. 

“Comfortable, darling?” Gaz asks quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Very,” You mumble back, trying to subtly lean your head back against Gaz in hopes of getting at least one more kiss. Noticing your efforts, he huffs out a small laugh and presses another gentle kiss right at the edge of your hairline before pressing one last one to your forehead. 

Even with the comforting atmosphere, you can’t find it within yourself to fully relax, your body still tense and stiff underneath the blanket. Gaz, just like he did with your “subtle” movements, notices and frowns. 

“Just sleep,” Gaz tiredly mumbles into the top of your head, “You have to get up in three hours. The sooner you sleep, the more sleep you get.” 

You don’t respond, instead simply sighing and forcing your eyes closed. You do have to admit, it’s nice being able to actually close your eyes for something other than blinking, and closing your eyes for longer than half a second has made you realize that they were even drier than you thought they were. 

Exhausted and ready to finally sleep, you eventually get to a point where you no longer need to force your eyes shut, and as a result, your whole body relaxes for the first time in almost six hours. 

“G’night, love,” Gaz murmurs, feeling your body relax next to his. You hum in acknowledgment of his words, not finding the energy within yourself to properly respond, instead finding yourself drifting off into a deep sleep. 

And if four hours later, Gaz wakes up and simply lies there, not waking you and instead letting you get some more sleep despite you having to be up soon, nobody has to know.