#my fuckin medics were bleeding

[hypaalicious]

TFW you spend an hour & a half getting to seaborn!Skadi just for her to wash your party like a typhoon

IS3 is going great btw

#just about every damn operator was inflicted with some sorta status effect too #can't believe all them damn relics deleted every bit of light I had wtf!!! #my fuckin medics were bleeding #texalt was doing most of the lords work but I gotta find a better way to get pre!transformed Skadi down better #granted this was the first time I even attempted the third ending but #the fact that I gotta do all that bullshit AGAIN??? #also unrelated and idk if anybody else has this problem but my tumblr app literally won't let me post anymore #I hit the button and it does nothing so I had to log in on desktop to write this? #why is it every damn day something wrong happens with the app like isn't Tumblr itself broken enough?? #I might try and reinstall it but idk #I also might just try again in IS3 because now it's personal LMAO #I feel is3 is def easier than is2 thus far cause I blew through the bosses way faster #but we'll see when I crank up that difficulty mode to max and probably start crying LMAO #okay these tags are A LOT so lemme go #arknights #IS3

[perfinn]

translate your vibration

rugby player!soap mactavish x reader

wc: 3.1k

summary: you're a fieldside medic for a rugby league team and you care a bit too deeply for one of the players. he cares right back

cw: NSFW, f!reader, medical inaccuracies, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), johnny's face is covered in blood, medical malpractice too probably, semi-public sex, johnny is lowkey concussed so dubcon just to be sure (but he wants this trust)

special thanks to @kitkatscabinet for helping this come to be!

read on ao3, divider by saradika

“Ye come here often?”

It takes everything in you not to laugh at Johnny’s obvious attempt at flirting. Not because he’s misguided or the advances are unwanted– truly, you wouldn't mind at all in any other circumstance. Only right now, you’re trying to assess him for a concussion. That, and he’s still got his mouthguard in so paired with the blood dribbling from his nose, his words are a garbled slur. 

“Stop moving, Johnny,” you tell him, handing him another cloth to press to his bleeding nose– broken again, you’d wager. You’ll get to that in a moment. 

“‘Am no,” he mumbles, lifting his head when you tilt up his chin and giving you a charming grin. Even with the mouthguard and a twisted nose, he’s still the most handsome man on the team. Which, given your own penchant for beefy rugby-type men, is saying something. “Just askin’.”

“It's not helping your case, then,” you say, gripping his jaw tighter when he tries to move again. “Because you know good and well I come here often. I’m your medic.”

“ Mine ?” Johnny echoes with a somewhat-delirious chuckle. “Och, I’m lucky then, have ye all to maself.” 

You want to correct him, to tell him that you're technically the whole team’s medic, but you don't. You let him be, and instead reach to grab a light to check his pupils. He does manage to hold still as you shine it into his eyes, though he’s helped along by your firm grip on his jaw. His pupils react normally, but you’re still concerned. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask, taking a seat across from him as he finally spits out his mouthguard and presses the cloth to his nose. “Head pounding?”

“Aye,” he says, and you frown as you watch the cloth steadily soak with blood. “But it has just been knocked off my shoulders. ‘Am not seeing  two of you, if that's what you mean. Wouldn't be complainin’ if I were, mind you.”

You hum in response, seeming dubious. You suppose that's good, all things considered. Flirting aside, if he is concussed, it's not deeply serious. Still, you’re concerned. But you know Johnny. He loves to play, loves the game. And he’s one of the best players in the club. You glance behind you at the screen that's playing footage of the game, biting your lip. You can see how desperately Johnny wants to get back out there, he’s practically buzzing in his seat. So somehow, you’re going to have to break it to him that you’re keeping him off the pitch for at least the remainder of this half. Naturally, he’ll be a nuisance about it. Whine, complain, probably beg you to reconsider. Part of you doesn't want to deal with the guilty feeling those puppy dog eyes envokes. 

So, you stall. 

“And the nose?”

“Fuckin’ kills,” he confirms, lowering the rag and grunting in satisfaction when no more blood drips free. “Broken.”

“Again,” you sigh, moving to stand up again. The fact his nose has stopped actively bleeding does loosen the vice-like grip of worry that’s wrapped around your ribcage. He’s breathing okay too, which loosens it again. Still, though, it’s suffocating. 

(You shouldn't worry so much about Johnny. He’s been knocked around far more than you could ever handle and played through much worse. But you’re a bit selfish when it comes to Johnny… you care about him more than you ought to as a professional.)

“Cannae complain when it means I get to see ye,” Johnny says with a cheeky grin as you put your fingers to his nose. “I like it when ye dote on me.”

“You won't like me in a second,” you say. He laughs shortly, and you suppose that he assumes you’re talking about setting his nose. In a way, you are. But that's not why he’ll actually be miffed with you. He’d probably never be miffed about setting his nose anyway, he knows it's a necessary pain. 

You give him a smile, gently prodding at his twisted nose to get your hands in the right position, and you don't bother giving him a countdown. Instead, you break the news to him as quickly as you can manage as you snap the bone back into place, “I’m keeping you off.”

“ Fuck ! Yer what?!” Johnny rears back in his seat with the combined impact of the pain and the sudden information. You step back, wringing your hands together as he blinks harshly. You’re sure there’s dots in his vision from the pain, and once his head clears enough he’ll process what you’ve said. 

“Bonnie,” he says slowly after a moment. The sweet name makes your stomach twist in a strange anxious delight. “Tell me yer joking.”

You give him a sheepish smile, unmoving– and he knows you won't budge. He also knows how much his coach trusts you, and if you say he’s out, he’s out. His coach won’t put him back in if you say not to. But you know he’ll argue anyway. “Until the next half, at least. I need to keep an eye on you.”

Johnny groans deeply, sinking down in the chair. He growls your name, and you’re a tad ashamed to say it goes right to your core. 

“We’re only 20 minutes in, I’ll miss half the game! You cannae-”

“You’re staying off, Johnny,” you say firmly. When you’d started on as the Eels’ medic, you’d been a bit shier. But you’d learned quickly that these men were hardheaded in more ways than one, and being shy and timid would get you nowhere in enforcing their safety. So you took note from their coach and got tough with them. It earned you the respect you needed, and also the trust from their coach in knowing that you could handle them. “And you know I won’t be changing my mind. Now if you want to go back on at all, you’ll behave.”

This earns you another groan, but the growly tone of it says something entirely different than the last one. You feel your cheeks warm, and hope to god he doesn't notice. 

“Talkin’ dirty won’t make me forgive you, you ken,” Johnny says, knuckles pressed against his closed eyes. “Ye really won’t budge?”

“You know me better than that.”

“Aye, I do,” he sighs, dropping his hands and lowering his lidded gaze to you. “Lucky yer sweet talking me, lass. Wouldn't be so forgiving otherwise.”

It's not a threat meant to be taken seriously, you know. It's a threat that does something else entirely, but you hurriedly stand and clear your throat. Professionalism, you tell yourself. It's the backbone of your career. To be surrounded by hot, burly, virile men all day and not do anything about it is a god damn superpower. 

“Price will be as disappointed as you are, but he’ll let you watch from the bench-”

“‘Am no going out there,” he says, standing up with less hurry and far more care. Despite his protests, he is heeding your warnings and taking care with his head. “Can watch the game from in here. Got another way for us to pass the time.”

You stop as you’re turning toward the door, glancing back at him while he inches closer to you. “Johnny…”

You know exactly where he’s hoping to go with this. And as much as you want to – god, you want to – you truly can’t. You’d lose your job. Probably lose your licence if the powers that be were feeling extra annoyed by it, and absolutely shatter your reputation in the process. 

But then… that’s only if you get caught. There’s no security cameras in the locker rooms– there isn’t allowed to be. There’s 20 minutes left of the half, no one’s going to come in here until then. You could. You could do it, and be done with it before anyone notices.

(You’re obviously being intentionally naive in thinking you’d ever be satisfied with just one taste of Johnny, but for now it’s the only way you can rationalise it.)

“C’mon, bonnie.”

You turn back round to face him, bouncing a bit on your toes. “We’ll need to be quick.”

Johnny’s bloody and bruised face lights up with a toothy grin and he nods dutifully as he closes the distance between you both. He lifts his hand to place it on your cheek, his palm warm and rough against your skin. “Cannae tell ye how much I’ve thought about this.”

You laugh a bit, staring up at him. You don’t mind so much that he’s still a bit covered in his own blood. “This is so unprofessional.”

“Aye, it is.”

He doesn’t waste another second before he’s putting his mouth on yours, teeth clacking against yours with the desperation and intensity of his kiss. You hear yourself make a soft noise of surprise, or something akin to that. It’s hard to say, hard to organise your emotions when your brain only wants to focus on Johnny, Johnny, Johnny.  

He’s intoxicating. If being around him and simply being flirted with by him was as addictive as it was, actually kissing him, touching him beyond just treating his injuries, is heroin. He’s backing you up toward the lockers before you realise it, moving his hands from your cheeks down to your body. His hands explore you with no inhibitions, his rough hands squeezing at your tits. He groans into your mouth, pulling his lips away from yours to look down.

His forehead presses to yours as he takes in the sight of your body. Of course, you’re fully clothed and it’s nothing he’s never seen before, but it’s the fact that for this moment it’s his.

(Johnny is well aware that half his team wants you. Maybe more than half, but half of them had openly expressed it. While you’re gone, while they’re winding down in the locker room. But none of them could pull it off. None of them had seeped through the cracks in your professionalism and found their way into your pants. But Johnny had. He had barely even started with you, and he's already thinking about how he might gloat about it.)

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, bonnie,” he mumbles, pressing a short kiss to your lips. “Would love to take my time with ye.”

“Me too,” you breathe, arching into his touch as he gropes at your tits. “But we can’t.”

“Aye,” he says, a scowl creasing his bloodied face. “Bloody tragic. S’alright, lass, next time.”

Part of you wants to say there probably shouldn’t be a next time, which is true, but your brain is already surpassing its ability to form sentences– and the idea of denying yourself of more Johnny sounds like a nightmare right now. You can’t even entertain the thought, not while Johnny is pressing his bulge to your leg, groaning as he shamelessly ruts against your clothed thigh. 

“What d’you want, bonnie?” He asks, voice breathy, almost growling in your ear. “Tell me. I’ll give it to ye.”

You have to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from asking him to fuck you outright. You’re not entirely sure why you don’t say that, actually. Maybe it’s the time constraints, or maybe it’s his cock pressing against your thigh, but fuck, you want to taste it.

“Let me suck you off,” you demand unceremoniously. Johnny chuckles, likely at your commanding tone, but nods as he presses a kiss, then another, to your neck.

“Christ,” he says between heated kisses. He seems almost disappointed to let you sink to your knees, leaving his mouth unoccupied. He almost starts panting as he sees you stare up at him from your knees, reaching for the waistband of his shorts. “Yer fuckin’ perfect. Goan then, lass, then I’ll give that pretty pussy of yours the treatment it deserves after, yeah?”

Nodding along to his ramblings, you tug his shorts down and find yourself disappointed as you come face to face not with his cock, but with his compression shorts. The both of you groan, and Johnny almost tears them off in his desperation to remove them, cursing the shorts under his breath– you bite back the urge to remind him of the medical benefits of wearing them; besides, any thought you have is cut off by the sight of his cock, hard and leaky, springing free. 

It's beautiful, which is a strange thing to say about a cock, you know, but there's little else to describe such a pretty thing. You wrap your hand around the base, licking an appreciative stripe along the underside of it. 

“ Fuuuuck ,” Johnny groans, hand falling gently on the back of your head. Not pushing, but just resting there. “Good fucking girl.”

You take the head of him into your mouth, gazing up at him as you begin to take him deeper, bobbing your head along the length of him. Johnny’s head hits the wall as he moans freely, seemingly unashamed of the idea of being caught. He’s lost in the warmth of your mouth, and you can't much blame him, because you’re lost in the weight of his heavy cock on your tongue. 

Johnny’s eyes are lidded as he turns his gaze down to watch you, and you feel his thumb rub gently over the back of your head as you take him deeper, stopping about halfway down his length, and just stroking what you haven't fit. 

“S’alright, bonnie girl,” Johnny mumbles, voice low. “Dinnae have to take me all today, we’ll work at it, aye?”

His muttered promises make you moan, and that makes him moan. You go back to bobbing your head, the locker room filled with the lewd noises of your mouth. 

It doesn't take Johnny an exceptionally long time to start reaching his end, his hips twitching as he holds back on the urge to fuck right into your mouth. He has the self control to care for your comfort at least. 

“Gonna- fuck , lass, can I come in your mouth?”

Were it anyone else, or any other situation, you’d probably say no. But it's Johnny ; and right now the two of you can't exactly afford to deal with a mess. You hum your affirmative, and apparently the slight vibration of it is enough to have him coming. You see the muscles of his lower abdomen tense before you feel his hot release spill onto your tongue. You take every drop, even when it begins to feel a bit much. When his body relaxes and he leans back against the wall, you pull away and swallow, making Johnny groan lowly. 

“Perfect,” he praises, gently guiding you to stand before kissing you again. He licks into your mouth, tongue laving over your teeth like he’s trying to taste himself. Only as you lean to return the favour, he’s flipping the both of you around so your back is against the wall and he’s kneeling before you. 

“Promise is a promise,” he mumbles, tugging eagerly at your leggings. You can tell he’d love nothing more than to rip them from your body, but he exercises enough self control to just drag them down to your calves, your panties going along with them. 

The position isn't ideal, but Johnny’s enthusiasm isn't hindered. He spreads your legs as far as the leggings will allow, one thumb tugging your lips aside. He groans, leaning forward and inhaling deeply. His nose brushes against your clit and you whine, cheeks warming at the lewd gesture. 

“Johnny,” you urge, threading your fingers through his mohawk and tugging gently. Johnny moans. Then, he shuffles forward on his knees and presses his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue over your dripping pussy. 

One of his hands grabs at your thigh as he licks you, slurping desperately at your slickened cunt. Another tug at his mohawk draws his focus to your clit, which he sucks into his mouth with an appreciative groan. Even when he can't talk, Johnny is incredibly loud; there would be no hiding this from anyone listening outside the door. 

He sucks at your clit, hand moving from your thigh to slip a finger into your cunt, making you moan before you slap a hand over your mouth. Johnny’s eyes open, and his eyebrows furrow. 

He pulls away, despite your whined protest, and takes a short breath. “Lemme hear ye, lass,” he encourages. “Don't hide from me.”

“Johnny,” you begin to protest, cutting yourself off with a gasp when he eases another finger into you and curls them right against a spot that has a loud moan falling from your parted lips. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, ducking right down to graze his teeth over your clit.

His mouth combined with his rough fingers is driving you mad, making you squirm in place as pleasure begins to sear the ends of your nerves. 

“ Johnny !” You cry, head banging against the wall as your orgasm hits you without warning or much buildup at all. It feels as though it's been punched out of you, making your body tense and tremble for a few good seconds, mind floating miles above your body. 

When you return to earth, Johnny has pulled his fingers from your pussy and has them in your mouth, his nose pressed against your clit as he ruts his hips against his hand. You're entranced watching him rub himself through the overstimulation, fingers in his mouth and bruising nose in your pussy. It's only a few more moments before Johnny spills into his fist, a guttural groan muffled by your cunt. 

He sighs, pressing a loving kiss to your pussy. Then, he pulls back, face shiny with your slick, and looks up at you, grinning lopsidedly. “Alright, bonnie?” He asks, like he hasn't just jerked himself to a second orgasm on his own. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, words like laughter. “Are you?”

He nods, shuffling awkwardly to his feet and looking at the mess on his hands. Pants still around his knees, he shuffles over to your medical supplies and gets himself a tissue, wiping his hand off before tugging up his shorts. 

He returns to you, who’s struggling to stand, and gently tugs your pants up for you. He kisses you, softer and sweeter than before, and smiles against your lips. “Ye were perfect, bonnie.”

You hum, shifting your legs so that your underwear doesn't press wrong against your oversensitive cunt. 

The door opens before you can respond, and the first person inside is Johnny’s coach, John Price. The two of you must have somehow missed the siren in the heat of your joint pleasure. The bearded man takes in the scene of the two of you standing so close, and the slick on Johnny’s flushed face, and a heavy sigh leaves his lungs. 

“Fucking hell, MacTavish.”

#soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #cod #my work #do not ask me how tjis ended up 3k words. i dont know #smut #cod smut #rugby au

[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 1

➠ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠ SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠ CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. kinda mean!ghost. wc 2.5k. ➠ AUTHOR'S NOTE | ayyoo, so i had an idea for a series with ghost with lots of angst and i finally wrote the first chapter. so let me know if you like it and if i should continue. it looks like it will be around 10 or so chapters. its a slow burn and will be a lil dark. okay, enjoy! feedback appreciated!

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

you adjusted the strap to your med bag, shuffling as quickly as you could down the hallway, dodging tipped over medical trays and beds shoved haphazardly in the aisle. the lights above you flickered as you scurried in the direction of the hollering voices, the rumble of gunfire shooting off in the distance like fireworks.

you burst into what you suspected was once the hospital's lobby, debris and paper scattered everywhere, jumping over chunks of stone from the wall.

“sergeant,” a deep voice called to you. you looked over at captain price and darted in his direction. before him sat a large body, a man who intimidated the fuck out of you. you were lucky you were strung out on adrenaline or you might have been too nervous to do your job properly.

“it’s ghost,” price said, his hand firmly placed on the man’s abdomen, a blood soaked cloth beneath it.

you slid down to your knees and chucked your med bag beside you and started digging around. “what happened?”

“got fuckin’ shot, the hells it look like,” the grumpy asshole, who should be a lot nicer to the woman saving his life, said.

you rolled your eyes and dug out a clean linen, replacing the one price was using. “hold,” you instructed him. normally you were a bit shy around the men, especially your superiors, but in moments of panic, you functioned at your best.

it didn’t take you long to disinfect and pry the bullet out of ghosts abdomen, taping the wound shut with medical glue and wrapping it in gauze. it took you all of 4 minutes. and you only thought about the fact that your hand was on ghost’s exposed skin a few times.

“and that’s why you’re the best,” price chuckled, slapping a hand on your shoulder.

you gave him a weak smile, wiping away the sweat that was forming on your forehead. the adrenaline was starting to subside, your nerves creeping up on you.

a loud shout and the sounds of rifles going off sounded in the distance. ghost and price glanced at each other. “go,” ghost urged.

price nodded before leaving you alone with ghost, who seemed more than upset over the fact that he was now dead weight. you wanted to tell him he was an asset to the team and they wanted him whole instead of trying to fight at half efficiency. but you figured he already knew as much.

you rubbed your hands on your pants before pointing at ghost. “you—uhm—got blood all over your mask.”

ghost grunted, trying to stand up.

“wait, let me help you.”

he ignored you, using the wall behind him to push up. stubborn bastard.

“ghost! if you rip out the perfectly good work i just did, i swear to god!”

he looked at you surprised, as if hearing you shout was the most startling thing in the world, and halted all movement until you slid beneath him and helped him stand. his arm rested across your shoulder as you stood in sync with him. you tried to ignore the burning sensation you got from the contact.

“didn’t know you could get that loud,” he mocked.

you squeezed your lips together; your mask that sat slouched around your neck suddenly felt suffocating.

as ghost leaned back against the wall, catching his breath, you put your hands nervously on your hips. “you should let me check…” you hesitated, pointing at your own face to let him know you wanted to see if he was bleeding under his mask.

“no,” he said sternly.

“ghost, i—“

“it’s not my blood. nothin’ to check, then.”

“nothin’ to check, then,” you repeated quietly, slightly irritated. you knew good and well that he was lying. he had no idea if it was his blood or someone else’s that soaked the white skull on his mask.

“what?” he asked, causing you to snap your eyes away. shit, you were staring.

“you ever let anyone see what’s under there?” you asked timidly, making it sound like he had something wildly inappropriate hidden beneath his mask.

“price,” he said chastely, clearly thinking there was a time and place for everything, and the battlefield was not said place.

“oh.” after a beat. “why?”

before ghost could retort, soap came storming in. “we gotta go.” he must have talked to price because he came rushing to ghost’s side to help him walk, already aware of the extent of ghost’s injuries.

you followed as the three of you hustled out of the decrepit hospital. another beautiful building lost to the brutality of warfare, you thought sullenly.

when you were safe on the humvee, you shifted your bag awkwardly on top of your lap, ghost’s large presence taking up almost all of your personal space. you tried not to think about the way your thighs touched his.

it made sense, ghost was hurt, so of course he’d sit next to the medic, but still, your heart raced rapidly in your chest as if he purposely chose to sit next to you for other reasons. you tried to shut your brain up by closing your eyes.

the vehicle went over a bump, sending you sliding against ghost’s side. “s-sorry,” you muttered, your eyes springing open, and you hurriedly pushed away from him.

he didn’t even look down at you, his eyes glued to whatever it was he was staring at straight ahead.

he was infuriatingly difficult to read. his eyes might have been expressive, but they only ever looked some various level of pissed off. but you knew there was more to him than that. you had seen the way he spoke to soap. there was a human beneath the artificial exterior that was ghost.

the road was seemingly filled with dips and crags because the back end of the vehicle kept bumping and shifting. you opened your legs slightly so you could hold on to the seat between them to prevent you from slamming into ghost and the soldier on the other side of you. 

ghost must have been annoyed at the way you continuously jostled around with every shift of the humvee because when the car rattled through a particularly big pothole, his muscled arm outstretched across your chest, stopping you from flying forward. 

you felt your face heat, utterly embarrassed. all these men around you were so much taller and properly built. you, on the other hand, stood a good foot below ghost, it was no wonder you were easy to slide around the vehicle. ghost was weighted in place by muscle. seat belts would have been a smart addition, you thought. 

it was in your nature to want to thank ghost, but when you spared a glance up at him, his head was shifted in the complete opposite direction. as the road transformed to smoother terrain, his arm fell back to his side as if nothing had happened. 

you wouldn’t lie, the fact that you were supposed to be the one caring for ghost, the bullet wound in his side and all, made you feel small and inferior when he had to hold you down. it probably hurt him to life his arm like that too, though he would never admit it. 

when you got back to base, you changed and showered before anyone could find you and drag you into doing something you didn’t want to do, stealing you away from your time to rest. and as if you willed it just from that thought, one of your teammates grabbed your shoulder as you walked passed the infirmary. 

“hey! can you cover for me? smith is out and i was supposed to have my dinner break an hour ago.”

your fellow medic looked at you with puppy dog eyes, playfully steepling their hands to beg. 

“fine,” you said with mock irritation. 

“ah, thanks! you’re a lifesaver.” you followed him into the dimly lit infirmary. “i was just about to rebandage the lieutenant up,” he said.

you froze. “wait, we got back an hour ago, why hasn’t he been rebandaged yet?”

your teammate glanced at you as he grabbed his things. “l.t. was busy debriefing with price. said that was more important.” he shrugged then hurried out of the room before you could say more. 

shit shit shit. 

no, this is fine. stop overreacting, you told yourself. you can handle facing ghost again. granted, the first time you were doped up on adrenaline. now, you weren’t so sure you’d be able to keep a steady hand. 

you never had any real issues with authority before. and you didn’t get this way around the captain. but something about ghost unsettled you. he was a cold-blooded killer after all. 

you knew that lots of the men here were technically killers, but there was a mythical aura around ghost. even the enemies knew to beware the man in the skull mask. once you see him, it’s too late, you’re already dead. 

and it didn’t help that ghost seemed to despise you. you’ve seen him get irritated at the others before–especially soap. but you’ve also seen him joke and act friendly too. just never with you. if you knew why, you’d change that thing about yourself. anything for peace. but you couldn’t wrap your mind around why he hated you. maybe he just hated medics? but he didn’t seem to mind any of the other medics on base; at least not that you saw. 

maybe he just didn’t like women. especially ones that thought they were macho enough to fight in the military. but that didn’t seem quite right either. 

god, you needed to stop overthinking everything.

regardless of ghost’s reasoning, you squeezed your hands as you grabbed a medical tray and rolled it over to ghost’s bed. 

you tried to disguise the gulp when you saw him, outstretched in bed, his tactical gear shed and scattered on the ground. boots on, but untied. his long sleeve shirt now tossed on the end of the bed, stained with blood–a t-shirt his only covering. his pants low on his hips as his shirt rode up from how he laid propped on the bed. his neck exposed from where his mask and shirt collar didn’t meet. 

oh my god, you were acting like a victorian man with the way your heart was suddenly racing at every little bit of exposed skin. 

you pried your eyes away and slid on a pair of latex gloves. 

you grabbed a disinfectant and turned to him, trying to conjure a polite smile. 

“look like you’re gonna be sick,” he grumbled. 

“i’m smiling. this is me happy,” you said back, the forced grin slipping away now that ghost called you out on it. 

you swore you almost heard him chuckle.

you tentatively reached out to the hem of his shirt and pushed it up to where the bloody bandage you put on earlier sat. 

you felt his eyes on you as you began working, removing the old bandage and cleaning his wound properly. you shifted back and forth between ghost and the tray table beside you, dabbing up the blood and gingerly washing the wound. 

after it was cleaned and you were struggling to keep your mind clear, you needed to do a small strip of stitches to keep the gash from widening. 

“i’m just going to go ahead and give you a few stitches,” you said quietly, avoiding the dark gaze of his eyes. you applied a numbing agent that you knew wouldn’t affect his skin deep enough to mask all the pain. you had to save the proper sedation and anesthetics for more serious injuries, always cautious to not run out of supplies while only getting provisions delivered on occasion. 

you got the suture kit out before you. eyeless needle ready in hand, you began to quickly slide the needle through his skin to close it up. ghost didn’t so much as flinch as you went to work. 

ghost had shifted his position slightly, his shirt riding up in the process and exposing the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips, the V of his lower abdomen coming into view. 

your cheeks felt hot as you tried to pretend you hadn’t noticed. 

“shit. take it easy, love,” ghost grunted. you hadn’t realized you were putting pressure on his wound as you stared at the hair that trailed up towards his navel, completely losing all train of thought.

“oh my god. i’m sorry,” you stuttered, wanting to hurry up and finish so you could get out of here. 

did he just call you love? your chest exploded with unwanted feelings. god damnit, you cursed to your-easily-seduced-self. stop being irrational, he’s british, they call everyone ‘love’.

you could feel ghost’s eyes burning holes through you, tempting you to lose the steadfast nature of your hands.

“nervous?” he asked in such a nonchalant way. 

you refrained from gulping as you secured the end of the suture. “n-no.”

“you’re a bloody soldier. there's no place for nerves.”

you felt your heart sink deep within your chest at his harsh words. ghost had noticed your nervous ticks, the way you were distracted around him. he might not have known that he was the source of your jitters, but he noticed nonetheless. and he clearly thought you were weak for acting like that. how had someone like you secured a job in the military? you wanted to tell him that you weren’t usually like this. that you were always good under pressure–it’s where you thrived. that you were quick on your feet and ready to risk it all to save your teammates. 

it wasn’t you being afraid. it was you being intimidated by his looming presence. wanting to please your lieutenant. wanting to get on his good side. but you didn’t know how. and it made it far more difficult when you began to notice your attraction to him. how were you supposed to act cool and collected in front of ghost when his piercing gaze sent goosebumps up your spine. or how his words made you lose all thought–stealing yours right from your mouth. 

and it didn’t help that he was a grumpy, negative, and an all around contentious bastard. you tried so hard to tell yourself that you weren’t attracted to him. he was just another soldier (a rude one at that). you didn’t even know what he looked like under his mask for fucks sake. 

when you finished up, placing a fresh bandage over your work, you threw your gloves in the bin and turned to him. “i’m sorry.” the words escaped you before you could stop them. you were seriously apologizing for being nervous? how was that going to make things any better? he was certainly going to think you were too soft for this line of work now. an anxious surgeon wasn’t the best attribute for your lieutenant to think you possessed. 

shocked by your own words, you turned to leave, stopping when you heard ghost mumble under his breath. “how the fuck did you manage to make it through combat training?” 

you tried your damndest to reign in your tears before you made it to your room.

chapter 2 ➡

#ghost #simon riley #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2 #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #mw2 fanfic #beneath the mask

[khuzena]

Just a coworker

Dr ratio x g/n!reader (i tried)

Part 1, Part 2

cw. angst, super slow burn, they eventually get tgt, hurf/comfort, jealousy brr, reader is unhinged, mentions of drugs, kinda cringe but who cares I've written worse, not proofread, dr ratio is a pussy

a/n: I HATE LIFE SJNAANAN

A week passed and you got the jist of it, you were already done with the basics but everytime that man always found a reason to keep tutoring you.

You were grading some papers until you felt someone looming over you and snooping around your laptop.

“Hey!”

“Do you really need to shout?”

You hid your laptop away from him as he pried for any more info, causing you to kick his leg.

“Who’re you talking to?”

“Why the hell would you care? Plus im grading some papers, you asshole”

You typed away as he didn't leave your side, just watching you input some values— damn one of your students got a 2/100? Might as well make them repeat a grade.

“Which idiot fails literature? More or less just essay writing?”

“Uh…”, you paused, your other hand getting your coffee and sipping on it, “An illiterate person?”

No other words were shared as you two just sat in silence, him staring at the grading sheet and you typing away on your keyboard.

…

It was a quiet day, peaceful even. If it weren't for a fight that broke out at the food court. You should mind your business, but your favourite student had been gravely injured; worry comes easy.

You ran to the student, one hand rested on his leg as it bled, “Hey, stay with me— breathe.”

Your student, Mike, had been buying some coke from some guy in your coworker’s class, turns out Mike got scammed and well, you did not know the full story to take any full action but the blood shed was enough to panic.

“Mike, Mike!”

You held him, you were not an expert at cpr or had any training on how to deal with that much bleeding or anything about dealing with concussions.

Shit, shit.

“We need a doctor!”

Despite your desperate yelling, none were brave to come forth to help, the others just recording or covering their eyes.

What were you supposed to do?

You held onto mike as the others tried to restrain the guy that hurt him, this was bad.

Until you saw Veritas buying some coffee at the new coffee shop from weeks ago.

“Hey you!”

Veritas does not flinch, he does not respond.

“DOCTOR VERITAS RA—”

He groaned, about to run away yet you yelling his full name was enough to make him regret not buying earplugs prior to this incident.

He walked up to you and your student as he kneeled at the both of you’s level.

“What exactly happened?”

No matter how much he hates you and your guts, he still has a duty as a doctor.

“Some asshole beat him up, fuckin’ hell”

He doesn't say anything, before laying Mike down in a more comfortable position and getting a pill from his pocket.

“What's that?”

“Tylenol”

He forced open Mike's mouth and shoving down a pill.

“Isn't that a tad bit aggressive?” Mike was near choking as you patted his back and elevated his seating position.

“So it's better to airplane the pill in his mouth like he's 2 and let him die then?”

“That's not what I meant.” you sneered before some guys from the medical department ran to your side and took care of it.

Now you two were just standing behind the infirmary door and waiting for any update.

“I'm going to miss my class because of you.”

You laughed, the audacity of this man?

“Then go, I didn't ask you to stay.”

It's so hard to read this man when he has his alabaster head on, you can't even tell what he's thinking.

“You talk too much”

“You started it!”

“Just stop talking”

“Whatever.”

You peaked through the window and saw Mike unconscious on his bed, even though it wasn't your fault, it feels like it is…

You sighed as the nurse left the room, standing still before she spoke, “He's fine. It's good that you and Dr. Ratio was there.”

“Uhh yeah…”

You really didn't do much…

Veritas stayed silent as the nurse left, he's not one to like small talk.

“huff… huff… finally.”

You raised an eyebrow, before registering whose voice it was, your eyes lighting up.

“Amir!”

“Whew… I had to end class early, I learned about what happened too late.”

“It's not your fault”

Amir sighed while leaning so ungodly close to you, before Veritas had some audacity left in him to make a comment, “Actually, it is.”, he really has no shame does he?

“I apologise.”

“Now you're just being rude.”

Veritas turned away, can't that man just leave you both alone?

“I don't care. It was both your student's that got into this mess.”

“I have over a hundred students, how could I monitor all of them?”

“Yet you still have to take responsibility for it. I can't believe you let it get to that level.”

“Then leave, if you're just gonna be rude then shut up.”

Amir's jaw hung when he heard you literally tell the Dr. Ratio himself to shut it, not even the people from the IPC would have this level of audacity. It was your last straw, you've already dealt with enough bullshit for the day.

Usually, he would have some snarky reply up in his sleeves but what's crazy is that he just walked away.

“Did you just—”

“I did.”

“Wow.”

—

You were already about to go home as it was getting late, who knew having to shoulder the aftermath of that fight would be that tiring? No shit sherlock.

Peace and quiet, no one to bother you—

“You there.” that familiar voice echoing in the hallways as loud stomps were nearing your direction.

You spoke too soon. Why him of all people?

“You didn't come to today's tutoring session.”

You crossed your arms, looking up at him. Wow. He wasn't wearing his alabaster head? Can't say that it's new but the opportunity to stare at his face was a rare occurrence. But, he infuriates you too much that you'd rather kiss mud than oogle at him.

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’? I was waiting for you.”

You eyed him up and down, he did look upset. But did he really think you'd have the energy to confront him, much less see him after what happened today?

“I told you I wouldn't be able to attend tutoring lessons as I have someone to tutor too”

“When did you say that?”

“Two days ago?”

He was baffled, utterly baffled. When did you say that? You must be lying. Despite his stone head obstructing you from any chance to see him right now, by his voice, he was fuming.

He crossed his arms, his right foot tapping aggressively, “I do not recall you saying that.”

“But I did.”, his eyebrows furrowed as you spoke with clear conviction, what do you mean you did?

“You should've told me.”

“I did.”

“Then— why are you being so difficult?”

“It's not me who's being difficult, why are you even mad?”

Like that, the words at the tip of his tongue vanished. Exactly, why was he so worked up?

“You're just using this as an excuse to not deal with the issue.”

You had enough of his bullshit. You started to walk the other way but he just couldn't leave you alone.

“And what if I am? Get lost.”

“We need to talk.”

You turned your heel and faced him, face red and hot then you pointed at him,

“About what? About how sure it's absolutely my fault about what happened today, I'm an idiot, I don't know anything!”

“Now you're just blowing the issue up into something completely different.”

“What else is there to say?”

“You—”

He got silent, biting his lip under that stone head as his temper got the best of him.

“You really are an idiot.”

…

“Just leave me alone.”

There were no other words exchanged as you walked away, your footsteps getting more faint as a second, another one and another pass.

He shook his head at your outburst, you really were an idiot, incompetent and… whatever. At least now that blabbermouth always peering over his shoulder is gone.

…

As you walked home, you couldn't help but cry. There was nothing to cry over but it was too much. The heads berating you for not paying attention to your students, that a scandal like that could ruin the university— to hell with that shit, to hell with that university.

At least you felt safe, at home, with the company of your cats.

“Meow?”

Ah.

You hugged your cat, its fur getting wet as tears dripped, you were starting to taste the saline tears as it creeped into the corners of your lips.

Your phone rang with notifications from the doctor, Wait— how'd he even get your number? shit. But god won't he just leave you alone?

With a click, the notifications died down leaving only your quiet sniffles and your cat’s purr to be heard in the living room.

You didn't have any energy to eat, to hell with your health.

You turned off the lights and plopped into your bed, your cat joining you (yay) as the soft glow of the lamp illuminated the room.

You let out a yawn, turning the lights off but there was a call notification.

‘From Unknown Number’

You felt the urge to swipe and listen to what he had to say, but it's probably bullshit.

You fell asleep.

[From Unknown Number.]

:hey.

:answer me.

:stop being so difficult and just give me 3 minutes.

:Are you there?

:idiot.

:hey.

[99 more unread messages]

…

Time flies, three days flew by already yet it still feels like yesterday. You feel like shit, yeah the issue has been resolved, everything's fine but why did something just feel so wrong?

It was a good rest though, bless that lady who allowed you to have a few days off.

[From Unknown Number]

:I know you're seeing this.

:Stop acting like a child.

:Come on.

:You moron.

[231 more unread messages]

…

Phew, when you entered the faculty room, there was no Veritas in sight. Good, good.

You laid down your satchel on your desk and readied some stuff before heading out, making sure to check all hallways before you make a move; don't want to see the Doctor so early in the morning. (checking every hallway 24/7? What is this? Fnaf?!?)

Things were uncannily peaceful today, did he not come to work today? Or… Maybe you just got really lucky that you both did not cross paths for today.

“And,” you wrote diligently on the whiteboard, “That ends our discussion for today.”

The time ticked to 4:58 pm, you could already see some of your students pack their things.

“Any questions?”

They all shook their heads no as you finally dismissed them, oh how you missed being in your classroom despite being away for merely 3 days.

Today's a lucky day, no issues, no Veritas Ratio in sight.

“Hey __”

You jolted at the sudden call of your name, your head turning from the sound as you see Amir with a worried expression.

“Oh, Amir?”

So suddenly, he pulled you into a hug.

“What're you doin—”

“I was worried.”

“About?”

“You were no contact with everyone for three days, we were all worried.”

You awkwardly laughed, Amir was a fine man, definitely not your type though. You squirmed away from his hold.

“Yeah, just needed a break”

“Oh, I see.”

He paused, “You good now?”, his tone laced with concern.

“Yeah, at least I think so.”

“That's good.”

Your best friend, he was not stupid. He was intuitive too, he eyed you like you were some sort of experiment and like with any experiment, he's made his hypothesis.

“You don't sound ‘good’”

“What do you mean?”

“Is this about Dr. Ratio?”

Bingo, right on the money. There was no use trying to lie to him, especially not after chuckling awkwardly when you got caught.

You nodded, confirming his guess, “Knew it.”

He was in deep thought as he tried to think of any and every possibility why.

“Are you guys dating or something?”

You choked on your own spit— him of all people? Is he out of his mind? At this point, the idea of getting with that socially inept man sounds like an insult.

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“Calm down sponge bob squarepants, geez”

You groaned as he handed you a juice box. “Thanks,” you quietly muttered out.

…

It was 5 pm, by now, everyone's probably clocked out by now.

It's weird, a 5 pm where you don't get tutor lessons from him.

Whatever, food for thought.

As you left the faculty room, a small part in you wanted to catch a glimpse of him despite you trying to avoid him. Did you miss him? or was just not being alone at these hours too comforting?

He wasn't there. As expected.

…

The next day, you see Veritas, you two walk past each other, he did not spare you a glance.

“Doctor…”

Wind breezes through the both of you but you stood still as he kept walking to his class. How cold.

It was no use trying to confront him, atleast, not here.

For a second, your gaze softened but you quickly got back to your senses. This feeling was strange.

…

The bell rang and, as usual, everyone left. What a fulfilling job.

This week has been really quiet. Peaceful but something was missing. Your life was fun, not this mundane even before Veritas but a part of you looks for him. No no, you were just being insane or something.

The faculty room door slid open, then, just as you wished would never happen (oh really?) Veritas was at you guys’ usual tutoring spot.

You wanted to run but your bag was there. Mustering up the courage, you tiptoed and grabbed your satchel, it felt like playing a horror game with how stealthy you were trying to be.

Shit.

Your pen fell, hopefully it didn't catch his attention.

Just as you were about to go grab it, he took it and handed it to you.

You gulped and took the pen, wanting to run but you froze on the spot.

“You look stupid trying to act stealthy.”

You didn't reply, only gulping nervously as you stayed still.

“What? Say something.”

Truth is, you had nothing to say.

“Sigh, you really like making things so difficult, don't you?”

He doesn't stop you from leaving, but maybe it was you stopping yourself from leaving.

An awkward silence ensued, it was getting annoying, for him, atleast.

“Aren't you going to leave?”

You don't say anything, just standing still, again.

“Answer me.”

Why did you enter the room?

“...” Veritas walked up to you, his codex not in hand as leaned closer.

“Give me 3 minutes.”

He raised your chin with a finger, face unreadable despite his alabaster head gone. It's the third or fourth? You've lost count how many times you saw his real face. Your memory was shit.

“I just want to talk about how…”

He bit his lip, yet his eyes remained fixed on your blank expression.

“That I want to apologise for my behaviour last week.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

That same old silence, he couldn't find the right words, he doesn't know how to say sorry.

“Well…”

“Well?”

Did he stutter? That's odd; very.

“I…” His eyes leave yours, he's practised saying it but it's the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, “I'm…”

Curious eyes gaze into his conflicted ones. Can he even say it?

“So…” sorry.

“I'm sorry.”

You stare at him with shock, did he just apologise?

“Did I hear that right?”

“God damn it.”

He pulled away and walked away to his desk but you followed him, “Hey, did you mean it?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

He knew you'd react like this, he expected you to laugh, mock him or anything but you just look at him with a look of shock—

“I see.”

—And somewhat relieved of what he said.

“I'm sorry too.” He was envious of how easily you spoke those words, you were no genius, yet you were better than him at apologising.

“I shouldn't uh—”

“I just want to say that—”

You cleared your throat, licking your lips in anxiety, “You go first”

“No you—”

“No, you.”

He hung his head low, before looking in your direction.

“It was uncalled for me to treat you and that man that way.”

“I'm listening.”

“I didn't take into account that you both were probably stressed from the situation and…”

He couldn't find the words, nothing was new to him. Complex maths? Easy. Medicine? Easy. Philosophy? Done. History? Is this a joke? He knows everything!

Other than one thing.

“I'm sorry.”

Apologising.

His words brought you immense relief, it was your turn to speak. For the first time, you can read his face. He looked pitiful. Did he not get enough sleep lately?

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have lashed out on you.”

How could you just have the knack to be so… Human? That, he couldn't understand. Being genuine, felt new.

“I understand.”

…

“What now?”

He fixed his books on the shelf, the ones he wanted to share with you.

“I dont know.”

“I thought you knew everything?”

He rolled his eyes as you teased him for it, he shouldn't have apologised.

“Stop talking, and also.”

He handed you some wipes, what was it for?

“Your hand,” you looked down at your dominant hand, seeing whiteboard marker creases, “Clean it up.”

“Oh okay.”

You wiped the stains off, but you wondered how perceptive he was. You didn't even notice it yourself.

“How's the tutor lesson with your student?”

Ah, that guy. It's been long since you've finished tutoring him with the basics.

“Went smoothly, he passed his exam”

He hummed, he finished tidying up his desk, good that you listened to his lectures.

“What did you teach him?”

“Until just page 25”

“Huh?”

But you studied the entire book with him, if you just needed help with just page 25, the tutor session would've only taken a week.

“Did you just keep going to the tutor sessions to see me?”

“Maybe, maybe not”

A soft smile creeped up in your face as you saw him short circuit for a bit before regaining his senses.

“You jest”

“I do not.”

…

“So… When's the next session?”

“At my place, tonight. It's getting late.”

Oh? At his place? What a bold offer—

“Just reviewing?”

“Just reviewing.”

You laughed as he rolled his eyes, the two of you leaving the faculty room.

“Under one condition.”

You raised an eyebrow, what was he asking for now?

“A date.”

“Pardon?”

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

You choked on your spit, that's absurd— god.

“No, I heard you. Fine.”

“Agreeing that easily?”

“Do you want me to refuse?” He was starting to get cocky, might as well drag him back down to earth.

“No, you still need to learn more about Quantum Mechanics.”

“Fine.”

…

Veritas pulled you close to him as you both walked the sidewalk, isn't he such a gentleman?

“The tab's on you?” no way were you paying the tab, he better pay it.

He scoffed, he could feel you hold onto his arm as he made sure you were on the right side of the lane to protect you of some sort.

“Whatever, you moron. Hurry up, we still have so much to review.”

A/N: its so bad wtf😭😭😭😢

#dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #dr ratio fluff #dr ratio angst #hsr fluff #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail angst #veritas ratio

[riverbutghost]

Stop The Pain

Pairings: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even though you weren’t supposed to be on the field, you were. And you weren’t alone. You got a rookie under your wing, and that was fine until you got shot.

Categories: Angst/ Fluff, happy ending

Warnings: Graphic language, blood, wound, military stuff, sexual themes. Also, Medic!Reader.

The reader’s call sign is Pearl. I don’t know why.

A/N: This is my second fic and i’m over the moon with my first one aaaaggggh!! Anyway, happy reading lol, don’t forget to rb to support me :) still waiting for the day when someone’s gonna request something-but no complaining-

“Keep your eyes open, kid!”

You yelled over the storm, one hand pressing on his wound and the other trying to pull him by his arm. He was trying so hard not to close his eyes, but you knew it. You knew he was dying soon.

“C’mon, kid. Just a little, ugh, longer,” You huffed as the storm got stronger.

The mission was the hardest mission you’ve ever been to. And it was the first mission you had to use a knife to kill someone. A fucking knife. You were a medical professional after all, why would you need or use a knife to kill someone?

“I swear to God or whatever is above there-“ Your breath hitched and you stopped talking as a bullet pierced through your thigh. You pulled the rookie with you to somewhere safe, then looked at your thigh. It was bleeding.

Thankfully it wasn’t something fatal, but it still hurt. You looked at the kid, you were still holding him with one hand. You quickly retreated your other hand to his wound.

“Deep breaths, kiddo. You got this, I know you do.”

You checked your comm, but it wasn’t there. You suddenly started to feel helpless, useless.

“Shit, okay- you’re okay. We’re okay-“

He coughed blood, making you feel a lot worse.

“C’mon kid, just a little more, stay with me.”

He nodded his head but his eyes were blurring. You wanted to stop the war. It wasn’t fair.

“Talk to me. How old are you?” You said while trying so hard to stop the bleeding. You ripped your shirt, which was under your vest, and started pressing on his wound with it.

“I’m twenty two- this my first…” You nearly cried. this was his first mission, and he was dying. No, you said to yourself. You weren’t going to let him die, he had to live.

“You’re not going anywhere, buddy.” You tried so hard to reassure him, to let him know that he wasn’t dying soon. But he was.

“What the fuck?! “ You yelled when another bullet landed on the tree behind you. You wanted them dead, all of them. Fuckin’ terorists, you mumbled. Killing and torturing people, that’s what they fuckin’ do.

“Stay here, yeah? I’ll find a comm.” You told the kid. He nodded his head, trying not to drift away. You took his gun.

You stood up carefully, walked around the secure area that you found surprisingly. The area before you was almost empty. The keyword is almost.

You placed the sound suppressor on your gun, the rookie’s gun, and shot the enemy who was kneeling before a dead body. He didn’t even have a chance to look at you.

You quickly scanned the area and carefully kneeled down next to a dead body, which was wearing a balaclava. You figured it was someone on your team. You took the little piece and put it on your ear.

“Hello, is anyone there? It’s Pearl, I need immediate help. Please is anyone there?”

You were shaking now. You gripped your thigh, the pain making you more stressed than ever.

“Is anyone fuckin’ there! God damn it!” You yelled and stood up, going back to the rookie.

“Hey rookie, you good?” You swallowed the shakiness.

“Not- not a rookie. Soldier-“ He flinched and gave a shaky breath.

“Of course, just stay with me a little more, hm? ”

You were on the verge of tears now. No one was there. No one could help the kid. No one. You pressed your com.

“Please, I need help-“

A static voice came suddenly from the other line. You held your breath.

“Pearl, where are you?”

You relaxed a bit after hearing your lieutenant’s voice. He spoke in a cold manner, but you knew him. He was worried.

“S- Ghost, I don’t know I- We- The kid is dying- I-“

Your hands started shaking, your breath was limited. You tried to think about different things, but it was hard to do that in your situation right now.

“Are you hurt?”

“My t-thigh-“

“We’re comin’ , stay where you are ‘kay?“

You nodded your head stupidly. You looked down, the rookie was barely breathing.

“Hey kid, c’mon they’re coming!” You yelled and started tapping his cheek to wake him up.

He groaned but still didn’t open his eyes.

You were fully crying now. You didn’t know why were you crying. You’ve lost many many people in your life, some young some old, but this has never happened. Yes, you’ve shed a few tears but you’ve never felt like this.

“What’s your name, kid?” You wiped your nose on your sleeve.

He didn’t answer. You closed your eyes for a moment and when you looked at him, you checked his pulse with trembling hands.

He was gone.

Your shoulders dropped. Your eyes started producing more tears, if that was possible.

You gripped his dog tags and pulled them out. You looked at his name.

Theodore Moreau

You wipes your eyes then got up. No, you tried to, because there was a sudden pain that made you whimper and fall down again.

You had forgotten about your thigh.

You held your thigh, but your head was pounding. You weren’t sure if that was because of the shot. It was because of your panic attack.

You needed your Simon.

You cried harder at that thought, feeling selfish. But you needed him. Maybe he wasn’t thinking about you like that, but after that night you were sure you would talk to him about your feelings. Because losing someone was so easy at this point.

You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth and holding your wound.

You tried thinking about something else, something that would take you away.

You drifted away.

-

Simon was nauseous.

He was panicking inside, but didn’t show a single emotion on the outside.

Were you shot? Were you wounded? Did you need him?

He was angry.

Angry at Price for making you fight with the enemy. Angry at Soap for leaving your side to fight someone.

Angry at himself because you probably needed him and he wasn’t there.

Gaz looked at Price.

“Where are they? What if they’re both dead-“

“What? No way, yer aff yer heid.”

Simon shuddered at the thought.

“She’s not dead, Kyle.” Simon’s cold voice was heard. He had an authority, making Gaz shut up.

“We’ll look this way, and you’ll look thay way, got it?” Price spoke suddenly. Everyone agreed and went down the paths.

Simon thought about the first time he felt a thing towards you. It was three months ago.

-

You were cleaning Simon’s wound.

He was super close, you were super close. He was looking at your eyes while you were looking at his bicep. It was a sight.

You were a sight.

“You’re staring, Simon.”

His heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. It suited you.

How sweet would his name be if you moaned it. Just for him-

“Simon.”

He cleared his throat.

“Sorry, had a rough day.”

You smiled at him. That sweet innocent smile.

Fuck, he thought.

“It’s okay.” You continued working on him, your touch gentle.

“Am I hurting you?” You asked him with genuine concern.

He gulped.

“No, you’re not.”

You smiled again. He was feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

“Well, that’s it. Come again if it starts to bleed, Simon.”

He sighed and nodded. You stood up from the medical bed, and washed your hands.

Simon wasn’t sure if he was okay.

“Simon are you sure you’re okay?” You asked him while removing your white uniform, which was something like an apron.

“I’m, yeah. I’m okay. I’ll just leave,” He stood up quickly.

Your face fall. Did you want him to stay?

“Okay, uhm…” You cleared your throat.

“Do you mind me coming to your room tonight?” You asked him innocently. His pants were tightening.

“What?” He found himself asking.

“Y’know, to- to look at your wound. If that’s okay for you?”

He was sweating now, wanting nothing more than taking off his mask.

“Yeah, yeah that would be okay.”

You licked your lips. He sighed. Don’t, he wanted to say. Don’t do that.

Your gaze fell to his pants, making him more uncomfortable. Your breath hitched and you gulped.

Your eyes met again.

“I’ll come tonight.” You said breathlessly. He nodded.

And he couldn’t wait for the night.

He was right to feel that way. Because he felt like he was born again that night.

-

“Ghost?”

He turned to Soap, shaking the images of you from his mind.

“Yes sergeant?”

Soap pressed his lips tighter than before.

“I know you care about her.” Simon felt claustrophobic all of a sudden.

“I-“

Soap held a hand for him to shut up.

“I know. And I know you’re my superior and I have to respect you, but you were super loud, Simon.”

Simon gave a slow breath. Soap cracked a smile.

“And I know she cares about you too. I saw how her breath hitched when she saw you on the treadmill.”

Simon smirked. But his smirk fell when he realized you weren’t with him. You were in God knows where, and he was talking about you and him and your relationship with Soap. He gulped.

“Focus, Soap. We have to find her.”

Soap nodded.

“We will.”

-

“Pearl!”

You immediately opened your eyes and looked around frantically.

“Oh my God! You’re alive.”

Price sighed and looked at your form.

“Price, I’m sorry. Couldn’t save him.” You said while trying so hard not to sob. He gave you a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, he knew it was going to be a hard mission. He was a real soldier.”

You smiled weakly.

“Let’s get your wound cleaned up, yeah?” You nodded and let them take you to the truck.

“We’ll meet the helicopter in a second, Pearl.”

You nodded and clenched your jaw. The pain was starting to feel unbearable.

“Where is Simon?” You asked Gaz, who was holding you at the back. He scratched his neck.

“I’ll inform them.”

He held his comm.

“We found her, meet us in front of the heli.”

“Roger that.” Came Soap’s voice in a second.

You closed your eyes, finally feeling relaxed. You weren’t sure if you’d be mentally relaxed though.

-

-

-

You felt like an absolute shit when you woke up. You didn’t wake up because of the beeping or anything, you woke up out of nothing.

“Simon.”

Simon shifted his mask, you assumed, and turned around.

“Y’good?”

You nodded and swallowed.

It was pitch black other than the little lamp near you on the nightstand and it was comforting.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have been on the field in the first place. It’s our fault, and I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, Simon.” You smiled reassuringly at him.

“It’s not gonna happen again, don’t worry.” Simon said while looking at the floor.

You put your hand on his, which was on your side.

“It’s okay, I got shot. Accidents happen.” He clenched his jaw.

“Not to you,” He said your real name in the end. It made you shiver.

“We lost that kid, sadly. What if that was you? I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Your expression fell after the mention of the kid. You suddenly felt disappointed again, at yourself.

“I want to give his dog tags to his family.”

He reached out for your face, gloves already off. He stroked your cheek and you suddenly felt touch starved.

“Okay,” He mumbled, words vibrating his chest. You blushed.

“Don’t do that.” His hand found your lips, caressing them softly.

“What?” You said, meaning it.

“Don’t blame yourself.” You sighed.

He moved his hand to your chin and caressed there softly too. He was making you forget things, and you weren’t complaining.

“Can I see you?” He stopped caressing your face and took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to!” You suddenly said.

He took his mask off in a second. Your mouth was hung open.

“You’re really pretty, Simon.” You bit your lip, tilted your head. He felt his heart beat faster.

“Knock knock knock!! Pearl!”

A sudden voice was heard and Simon quickly put on his mask.

“How is our little Pearl?” Soap’s sickly sweet voice came in, behind him was Captain Price.

“I’m really good, actually .” You smiled at them softly then made eye contact with Simon.

“I’ll need assisting for a while, though.” You said mischievously. Soap laughed at that.

“Well, you sure need it.” Price said looking at Simon.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Simon rolled his eyes then got up.

“I gotta go, I’ll see you tonight?”

“You will.”

Simon got out, smacking Soap’s head on his way out. Gaz came in a second later, making you stop your chit chat.

“Well, that was disgusting. But I guess I won the bet!”

You rolled your eyes while laughing at their antics.

You couldn’t wait for the night.

Just like 3 months ago.

That was so rushed. I hate it tbh but this is my second fic and I’ll improve. I just feel like I can’t sum up my fics? Whatever, please like and rb if you liked it!!

#call of duty #simon riley angst #simon riley x you #cod mwf2 #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #call of dooty #johhny soap mactavish #john price #angst fluff #call of duty x reader #modern warfare x you #modern warfare ii

[onestopfanficshop]

if you still write for carmen, would you mind writing something soft and sweet for him <3

omg anon i'm so sorry this was late 😭 i hope you can forgive me and i hope you like this!

warnings: language, mentions of cut skin and blood, mostly just carmy taking care of you :,)

“Honey, that knife is really fuckin’ sharp. Be careful, yeah?” Carmy warns from the sink.

You roll your eyes, pausing your cutting to look at Carmy pointedly.

“Yes, Chef,” you say exaggeratedly, waving the knife around to punctuate your words. You appreciated his concern, really, but you could handle yourself.

“You know I hate it when you call me that, hon,” he says, smiling softly at you.

You dismiss his protests with a wave of your hand and turn back to the onion you were cutting. There was one little slice of onion left. It was narrow, but you wanted it a bit smaller, so you carefully lined up the knife to split it two.

It all happened so fast you didn’t even process what had happened. It wasn’t until later that realized that you must have pushed the knife down a little too far to the left, and the blade of the knife had sliced cleanly into your left thumb instead of the onion. The blood had come out flowing more freely than drinks at a frat party.

“Shit, shit, shit!” you hissed quietly under your breath. You jerked your hand away, narrowly avoiding dripping blood onto the cutting board and onions slices. Carmy’s head whipped around, and his mouth dropped open when he caught sight of your hand.

"Holy fuck," Carmy exclaims, his eyes getting as round as a dinner plate. He tore off a couple paper towels from the roll on the counter, lifting your wrist with one hand and wrapping your finger with the other.

"Just hold that in place, honey, okay? Keep a shit ton of pressure on it," he instructs you, his voice muffling on the last sentence as he stuck his head in various cabinets. Where did he put that fucking first aid kit?

After finding his cabinet raid unsuccessful, his hands began to fly to the drawers in the kitchen island, jerking them open and not bothering to close them when he didn't find the kit. He frantically rummaged around until he finally found what he was looking for: gauze pads and medical tape.

"Okay, okay, I'm here," Carmy says, carefully unwrapping the now-soaked paper towels from your hand. "Is it still bleeding?"

"I don't know," you say, trying to prevent the lump in your throat from showing in your voice. "I know you said to put pressure but... it just hurt too much to keep pressing down on it. M'sorry," you finish, hot tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. 

"No, no, no, don't apologize. It was an accident, hon. That's all it was," Carmy tells you, squinting at your thumb. He had wrapped the gauze tightly around your finger, and was now putting on the medical tape to keep it in place. "Is it too tight, honey? Is that okay?" he asks, rotating your thumb to examine it further.

You knew that if you opened your mouth to speak, your voice would falter, so you simply shook your head no, forgetting that Carmy's eyes were completely focused on your finger. When he didn't hear a verbal response, he finally looked up at you. And when he did, you sort of lost it. You shook your head again, but hot tears began to run down your cheek.

"Does it hurt real bad, honey?" Carmy asks, eyebrows furrowed with the utmost concern.

"No. I mean- yes, it hurts, but... Carm. You literally told me that the knife was sharp. And I ended up slicing open my thumb three seconds later. Like an absolute idiot," you say, your voice cracking with emotion.

"It wasn't on purpose, though, baby," Carmy replied, furrowing his eyebrows. His hands come up to rest on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. "Hey. Can you look at me, hon?" 

You're forced to lift your eyes up to meet Carmy's gaze, and when you see the amount of tenderness in his eyes, it makes the lump in your throat grow even bigger.

“Every single chef I know has sliced themself open at one point. And that’s how you know they’re the real deal. It’s like... it’s basically like a badge of honor. So don’t sweat it, okay?” Carmy says softly, kissing the top of your forehead. “You want me to finish these up for you?” he asks, gesturing to the onions.

“I don’t think you have a choice, Carm. I’m basically incapacitated,” you laugh tearfully, looking at your bloodied thumb.

“Okay,” Carmy chuckles. “Just sit tight. I should have this done in a minute. Do you want some Advil?” 

"No, m'okay," you promise. "Although I think I'm developing an intense hatred for onions now. Fuck onions," you say, chuckling.

Carmy chuckled at that, using his knife to sweep the onions into the pasta sauce he was making. He made his way over to you, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Fuck onions," he said, smiling at you.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto blurb #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #onestopfanficshop

[hyperfixiation-station]

Lighter

Summary: You and Ghost are on a mission and you take a bullet for him. With evac too far out and next to 0 medical supplies, the only way to keep you alive is to cauterize the wound.

TW: Blood, graphic depictions of injuries, angst

Part 2

Part 3

You had been shot, the bullet lodging itself in your hip, just barely nicking your artery. You were headed back to the extraction point, mission completed, when something rammed into your left hip, sending you stumbling back. The white-hot pain came a second later. 

Ghost dragged you to cover, cursing your stupidity the whole way. He tore your shirt off, using one hand to stem the bleeding while the other fumbled with the med kit.  Now, you were propped up against a wall, pale and shaking as Ghost labored in vain to stop the bleeding, pressing gauze into the wound, then replacing it ten seconds later in a never-ending cycle. 

"I don't think gauze is going to stop the bleeding." You wheeze, breath ragged. Your eyes flick to the growing pile of red-soaked cloth, then to your blood-slicked skin, then to Ghost’s masked face. 

"No... No, it won't. But it buys us time." Ghost murmurs as he applies more pressure. One hand comes up to his shoulder and he clicks the radio. 

"We need a medevac to our location. ASAP." You shake your head, knowing that they won’t get to you before you bleed out. Your eyes flick down to your belt, where a lighter sits, and you get a terrible, horrible, possibly-only-option idea.

"I have...a lighter..." You rasp out before you can change your mind. 

"You want to cauterize it?!" Ghost asks you incredulously. "You’re fuckin’ insane."

"It's better...than bleeding...to death" You gasp, eyes fluttering. 

Ghost hesitates, the thought of causing you such intense pain making him wince. "You're right... but, bloody hell…I can't do it. I can't hurt you."

"Do...you want...me to die?" You wheeze, smiling weakly at him. 

"No... No, I..." Ghost bites his lip and closes his eyes, visibly trying to find the strength to do this. He gently pulls your jacket off, folding and tying it around your mouth, shoving the cloth in between your teeth so you don’t bite your tongue off. 

He hesitantly pulls the lighter from your pocket, flicking it on. He straddles you, holding you in place with his thighs as he brings the flame to your wound.

“You ready?" he asks softly. You nod shakily, and Ghost hesitantly lights the flame. As he brings the lighter closer, the heat sears your skin. You scream against the gag and try to escape the source of pain, body involuntary jerking away from it. Your skin and blood bubbles, quickly sealing the wound shut. 

Your body seizes, your screams muffled by the gag. Ghost lets go of the lighter, certain that the bleeding has stopped, but he doesn’t get off of you. He holds you in place as your body jerks involuntarily, wiping tears from your cheeks. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, "I'm sorry...I’m so sorry." Ghost winces and places his hands over the burn, trying to apply pressure and dull the pain as much as he can. He brushes your hair from your face, frowning at how clammy and pale your skin is. He places his fingers against your neck, feeling for your pulse. Your breath comes in ragged, rapid gasps, and your pulse is quick and thready.

He finally gets off, his hands deftly tape gauze over the burn, protecting it from the elements. 

You let out a ragged sob, curling up around your injury, pain radiating through your body. A weight is placed over your body and distantly you recognize that Ghost put his jacket over you. You float away, the only tether to your body being his hand on your shoulder. I don't think seeing my own body is a good thing you think, but it's a passing thought, not concerning you. From above, you watch him tap your cheek, trying to get you to wake up. But you just stare at him with unfocused eyes, trembling. 

“C’mon Y/N.” He says, gently tapping your face. He looks at your unresponsive form worriedly.

"Fuck." He moves your body, positioning it so that your legs are slightly elevated, resting on his lap. 

“Soap,” He calls into the radio, “You’ll have to come to us. She’s gone into shock.” 

"Fuck. Alright, we’re three minutes out, Lt." His voice is distorted and staticky, “we’re going as fast as we can.” 

Ghost nods, though Soap can’t see him. He looks at your pale, ashen face and prays to a god he doesn't believe in that you’ll make it to tomorrow.

The next three minutes pass agonizingly slow. Every time your breath hitches he fears it's your last. His heart hurts at the pain etched on your unconscious face, and he rests his hand on your thigh, hoping to provide some comfort. 

The sound of an approaching helicopter grows louder, and Ghost’s could almost cry in relief. 

Dust and debris blow around as the helicopter hovers, ropes dropping down from above. A medic drops down, followed by Soap, and they help Ghost load you onto a stretcher, securing you and letting you be pulled up before following. 

“Hang in there Little Bird.” Soap says, placing an oxygen mask over your face. The medic tucks a shock blanket around you and takes your blood pressure, unable to do much else with limited supplies. 

“You alright Lt?” He asks Ghost, checking over to make sure he isn’t injured either.

“Fine.” He snaps, pausing to take a deep breath before continuing in a softer tone, “They took the bullet for me.” Soap nods in understanding, looking at your limp form before looking back to Ghost. 

“They’ll be okay.” He pauses as the helicopter hits turbulence, steadying your stretcher with his hand, “They’re one of the toughest people I know.” 

Your eyes flutter open several minutes later, vision hazy, ears ringing, and head spinning. There’s people talking to you, at least, you think there are, but the voices are quiet and distorted. The last thing you see before being pulled back under is Ghost, standing above you. 

Ghost sits in the waiting room, still dressed in his blood-soaked clothes. He sits in the hard plastic chair, not moving an inch for the entire 4 hours the doctors have you in surgery. 

Soap and Price sit with him in silence for the first couple of hours, but are called away before you get out of surgery. Ghost doesn't even acknowledge them as they leave, eyes fixated on the OR doors had been rushed through. 

The second the door to the OR swings open Ghost is up, towering over the surgeon who came out to deliver the news. 

"How are they?" He asks harshly. 

"They, um, lost 1.2 liters of, um, blood, and their, um, left hip bone was, um shattered. A bone fragment, um, broke off and ripped through some important bits, causing some, um, internal bleeding. They are, um, stable now, but they did, um, flatline 3, um, 3 times on the table." The nurse stutters out.

"Are they awake?"

"Um, no sir, um they are, um, in a coma, we're not, um, we don't know when, um, when they are, um, going to wake up, um, of they, um, wake up." The nurse, who couldn't be older than 20 says timidly, "if they can, um, make it through the, um, night then we-we believe they'll pull through." 

"Can I see them?" Ghost asks, voice marginally softer. 

He's led to a bed in the ICU, where you lay pale and lifeless. There's a tube down your throat, tubes in your arms, and wires crisscrossing everywhere. He sits down, tentatively grabbing your limp hand, careful to avoid pulling your IV out. 

His eyes unfocus as he stares at your limp form, your blood-curdling screams echoing in his ears. The guilt he feels at the fact that you got shot protecting him, that he caused you pain, makes him physically sick. He didn't deserve to be saved, and he definitely didn't deserve to be sitting in your room, holding your hand. 

The atmosphere of the ICU did not help with Ghost's silent existential crisis. The constant beeping, the lighting, the moans and groans, the ever-constant presence of the nurse were all succeeding in putting his nerves even more on edge. 

He tenses as the monitor by your bed starts beeping wildly, lights flashing. Medics rush in, shoving Ghost to this side as they check your body.

"-pressure is dropping!" 

"-oxygen to their-"

"-failing. Need to-"

"-already had one!"

A nurse grabs Ghost by the arm, marching him out of the ICU and pushing him into a chair in the hallway.

"You just wait right here, sugar. I'm gonna go get you a glass o' water while they try to save your sweetheart, okay?" She says gently.

His hands shake, barely, as he takes the cup, his eyes trained on the window of the ICU, through which he can see multiple medical professionals surrounding you. 

Please, he begs silently, I need to apologize. Please hold on for me. He knows it is selfish and he feels disgusting for even thinking it, but he doesn't know what he'd do if he never got to tell how sorry he was he hurt you. Please.

Pt.2?

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #angst #writing #live laugh love angst #no beta we die like men

[koenigsbleachedshirt]

Please I need some emotions...I need how all three would react to finding YN beat up or something. The emotions, the angst, the possessive and protectiveness....PLS I BEG OF YOU

Bet 🙏🏻

TW: graphic violence, fighting, shooting

y/cs = your callsign

initial situation -> you were out on a mission with your team to deal with a no-name terrorist group. Everything had gone well until the last standing member managed to slam the butt of his gun against the back of your head. You toppled to the ground in pain, vision peppered with black spots. "Fuck... you piece of shit." You hiss when he gets you on your back and starts beating down on you.

Ghost

He hadn't seen or heard of you after calling through the comms, so he grew worried. "Cap', y/cs hasn't responded to my inquiries, I'mma go 'ave a look." Ghost informs Price, who nods in return.

He was decently close with you, so it left a bitter taste in his mouth when you didn't respond. What if someone had managed to mortally injure you and you were laying somewhere and bleeding out?

Ghost hurried through the rooms of the mostly cleared building and came to a stop when he spotted one of the terrorists on top of you, his fists continuously beating down on your, by now unconscious, body. Then he saw red.

Simon ran towards the fucker who dared to touch you yanked him up by his vest, literally throwing him a few feet away from you before proceeding to punch his living daylights out. "Ya fuckin' dare to hurt one of our mates?! I'm gonna fuckin' kill ya, damn cunt!"

He doesn't stop bashing his face in until it's a bloody mess, his fists dripping with the man's blood. He doesn't spare him another glance before going to check on you, blood running cold when he sees the state you're in. Simon's heart is beating out of his chest at the sight; your lip is busted and still slightly bleeding. There's also a laceration on your cheekbone and a nasty bruise forming around it, and not to forget the black eye you're starting to get.

Ghost exhales a shaky breath and gently scoops you up into his arms, careful not to hurt you any further. That bastard has probably beaten more places than just your face.

And he's going to kill them all by himself if he has to.

König

He had just finished absolutely obliterating five of the terrorists in another room and was about to check up on his team when he heard your pained cries from across the hall. König didn't waste any time, running to the source of the sound and kicking open the slightly ajar door.

The man was sitting on your stomach, violently beating you up; you try your best to kick him off, but he's too big. All you can do is try to shield your face, but it doesn't do much because he still got a few good hits on you.

But then you see your Colonel behind your attacker, distracting you enough to catch a fist to the jaw, and suddenly, you're out cold.

The giant colonel did not enjoy that. He picks the asshole up by the back of his collar and puts him in a chokehold. "You made a giant mistake here, du kleiner Bastard." König says into the terrorist's ear, sounding almost demonic, before he manhandles him around.

And then he breaks his back, like a stick that's being snapped over his knee. The man screams bloody murder, but König isn't done. Next, he breaks the arm he used to beat you up with, snapping it so hard the bone broke through the skin. And then the man went limp, either fell unconscious due to the pain, or straight up died.

He couldn't care less, though, as he tossed him aside and moved to kneel down next to your knocked out form. A pang of panic went through him as he hurriedly picked you up to evacuate and get you to a medic as soon as possible.

König is not going to lose you. Not when he finally found a new purpose.

Keegan

He witnessed it all through the scope of his sniper rifle, jaw clenched tightly. How dare this terrorist scum hurt you?

"Sergeant Russ here, I'm going in." He says into the comms before quickly making his way to where this man decided to touch something that wasn't his.

When Keegan arrived, you were already knocked out, his blood running cold. "You dare hurt my y/cs? Oh, you've made a grave mistake there." He says, voice dangerously low as he raises his assault rifle.

The terrorist on top of you freezes, arm raised back for another punch, but not plowing down again. "Get the fuck off of them, hands in the air."

The man does what he's told, but right when he's back on his feet, he moves to take out his gun, probably trying to shoot Keegan.

But instead, he aims it at you. Keegan's eyes widen, and without thinking, he shoots the terrorist straight through the forehead. The man's aim falters but still pulls the trigger, and the bullet lands inches from your face on the ground.

Keegan drops his rifle from the shock; that fucking man almost killed you right in front of him. His whole body is shaking as he flops down next to you, one hand gently caressing your cheek. "You're safe now. Let's go back to base." He says before slinging his rifle around himself and then picking you up and carrying you out of the building.

#ask - answered #cod mw2 #cod x reader #konig x reader #könig x reader #ghost x reader #keegan x reader #konig angst #könig angst #ghost angst #keegan angst #tw violence #tw guns #tw injury #tw shooting

[queenhunter102]

Part 10 (Part 9) (Part 11)Lore Page

“The Basements?” Johnny asked, his eyes flicking between You and Gaz before they flicked to John and Simon, Gaz opened his eyes and shook his head, “Best not talk about them, Johnny” Gaz said. Johnny looked between you and Gaz confused, “Why it sounds like a club or something” Johnny said, Simon sighed as he spoke “Johnny…It’s not...It’s not-” He was cut off by you. “Before the ORAPA law existed or before OHEADA came into effect when an Omega became, the Government would test different types of medication on Omegas,” You say, taking a deep breath before you continue, “it often resulting in deforming the Omega or making them barren, during the testing they were, forced into aiding an Alpha’s rut” Johnny looked at you confused, his brows knitted together “How did that create The Basements” he asked, you figured he was never taught, it wasn’t like Scotland was never cruel to their Omegas but they were never cruel to the extent of England. “It meant that there was no chance of a pregnancy the Omega would still go into heat, but no pregnancy, So no responsibility, and no baby to test on, So I guess there was some good that came out of it” You say, feeling something wet coming from your hand, you look down to your patch and see that you had scratched at the glue and you were bleed, your nose crinkles at the scent. “Shit, Gaz go get me plaster,” Simon said, as he grabbed your arm, pressing his hand to the scratches Gaz returns with a plaster handing it off to Simon, Simon fixes you with the plaster, “There’s a reason we don’t talk about The Basements,” Simon says. Johnny rubbed his face, “I thought it was some underground club or something, not some sick plan” He says, “Johnny, you’re too young to remember, what life was like before the laws, I remember what it was like” John says, patting Johnny on the shoulder. “Yeah I was little too young, But I remember bits and pieces” Simon says, Alejandro nods his head in agreement, “I only know because my grandparents told me about it, The good old ‘A fair alpha, is a good Alpha’” Gaz says, as he walks back to his place next to Alejandro. “So what I’m hearing is that The Government is evil and all Alpha’s are bad?” Johnny says like he is trying to make sense, and you laugh at him “Historically yeah” John makes a face of understanding, “Ok, I get the fear now”. When Simon was finished with your arm, he pulled away leaning his hip on the metal footboard “So Ven, How did the NBOC allow you to Join MI5, let alone allow MI5 to loan you out to us” Simon said, changing the subject. Your shoulders tense, before you roll them to ease the tension “Why? It’s nothing of major importance” You say, as you fidget with the plaster on your arm, “Venom, You gotta tell us something tell us something, we have to trust you with our lives out here” Gaz says. You sigh, rubbing your face not wanting to discuss why you were placed with MI5 and why you were passed to the 141, your head snapped in the direction of a growl your eyes meeting John. “Fuckin hell, You were given an order” He growled, you roll your eyes growling back “And we just talked about how Omegas were treated, so forgive me for not being forthcoming” You growled back, you really didn’t like John, he was one of those Alphas who were used to Omegas obey him. Alejandro stepped in between you and John, “Alright Captain, They asked why, and we responded” He said, turning his head to you, you huffed, as you climbed back onto your bed you crossed your arms over your chest, your eyes resting on the plaster, as you sucked your teeth. How could you tell them without, getting abandoned, or getting your ass chewed out by the NBOC, you make a clicking sound from your mouth when you came to a decision. “Ok, Fine, I was sent to the MI5 as punishment”

#captain price x reader #ghost riley #captain price #cod mw22 #cod smut #johnny mactavish x reader #cod cod mw22 cod x reader o/b/a #cod story #john price #konig smut #cod #gaz x reader #price #Captian Price #Captain Price x Reader #Ghost #Ghost x reader #Simon Riley #Simon Riley x Reader #Soap #johnny mactavish #gaz #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #o/b/a #soap #ghost #simon riley x reader #Captain Price x reader #captain Price

[saintship]

Can I request #20 with Soap please🥺 Hope you have a great day!!

Prompt #20 - “You’re safe with me.”

Medic reader time ;)

Soap Mactavish x Reader - Flight risk

Your training did not cover this. The first steps after relocating a patient with a fatal gunshot wound are clinical. Stop the bleeding. Clean the area. Remove fragments. Administer lost fluids. Not this.

He paced the safehouse wildly, leaving sickening trails of crimson everywhere that he stumbled. He checked the door, checked the windows, opened fire at the shadow of the truck outside, when was the last time he blinked?

“Soap, hold still!”

“Need to.. s’not safe here.. need to go.. keep moving.. exfil..”

“Sit down before I sedate you.” Your tone was harsh, but you were frantic on the inside; the pooling of his blood not helping your growing panic. He exhausted himself eventually, groaning as you removed his vest and cut open his shirt.

Pack the wound.

Finger over finger.

Keep steady pressure.

Keep calm.

“Doc..”

His voice was hoarse from overuse, his eyes low with weariness.

“Don’t talk, Sergeant..” You finally pack the gauze down so you could use your hands again and dig for your cleaning supplies.

“Tell Price it’s not his fault.”

Your movements stilled; his eyes were closing. You held his face in your hand, uttering a quiet apology before slapping him, jolting him awake.

“You are not dying here, Johnny. Do you understand me? Bite your tongue, keep fuckin’ breathing; I am not losing you.”

You cleaned his wound, his only reply to your sternness being grunts of pain. By the time you’d done everything you could, he’d returned to a hazy, but conscious state. You held his canteen to his lips.

“Drink.”

His eyes flickered to the container. “It’s Scotch..”

“Jesus Christ, Soap..” you confirmed his comment by smelling the contents, rolling your eyes. You held your own canteen to his lips, making sure he didn’t spill much. He drank eagerly; making your job easier for once in his life.

“Nearly slapped the brains outta me ‘ead..”

You don’t know how you’d dragged him to sit against the wall, but he was still struggling, broken phrases tumbling from his lips.

“I wasn’t going to let you die in this shithole.”

“So if we were in a castle?” He grinned crookedly.

“You’ve had a good run.”

You knew laughing hurt him slightly, but you were so selfish for the sight of it.

“You scared me.” You murmur.

“Gettin’ sweet on me?”

You grind your teeth absentmindedly, toying with the idea of just spilling your guts once and for all.

“Yeah, maybe a little.”

You held the canteen to his lips again to prevent any other incriminating questions before checking his pulse.

“You’re gonna be alright.”

“Obviously—I’ve got the best doctor around.”

“What is it with you flirting when you’re on the verge of dying?” You began gathering your tools.

“Thought you said I wasn’t?”

“You’re dodging my question.”

He huffed, adjusting his weight.

“I guess I lose my filter.”

“You don’t have a filter.”

“Oh, I do..” His tone became softer, his reply near immediate. His eyes trailed to the side as if to recall every time he’d held his tongue. Your head tilted, intrigued.

“Are you unfiltered right now?”

He smiled. “Maybe a little.”

His throwing your own words in your face made you laugh quietly, shaking your head.

“Okay, uh.. if I ask something, will you tell the truth?”

“You know I wouldn’t lie to ya.”

“Really, that’s funny, because-"

“Alright, once or twice..” He shook his head, smiling. “What’s your question?”

You smiled at his resignation; it wasn’t often you saw him so laid back. Even in pain and delirious, he was good company. You took a breath before spitting out what had been troubling you.

“Do you trust me?”

He leaned forward, his brow upturning for just a moment.

“What? Of course I do, you’re my squad mate.”

“But.. me. As a person. As your medic. I brought you to this safehouse and you were still so erratic, I thought.. I thought you didn’t think that me being here was proof enough that you were safe. But you are. You’re safe with me.”

Soap was stunned into silence, which, quite frankly, deserved an award on your part. He wasn’t laughing, teasing, joking, deflecting. He was lost for words.

“You’re one of the best.” He began firmly. “I trust you with my life; if I didn’t I wouldn’t be living.”

He carefully took your hand, but held it tight when you allowed him to. “I am safe with you. But out there is a gamble. I can’t let my guard down.” He muttered. “I trust you.” He repeated.

You look at your joined hands; the scar running from his thumb to his middle finger. You’d stitched that gash before the base surgeon took over; with every puncture, trying to weave your desires into his skin. But that was years ago, and you know he can’t read your mind.

“You.. You’re important to me.”

“You’re important to me too, you’re my friend.”

Your teeth scraped again.

“Yeah. Yeah..” you squeezed his hand assuringly, but didn’t miss how he tilted his head.

“Doc?” He murmured.

“Mhm?”

Likely for the first time in his life, Soap looked thoughtful. You could’ve sworn he glanced down just a centimeter before his words distracted you.

“Slap me again if you need to, okay?”

You blinked. “What?”

His thumb slid past the hem of your vest, just enough to tug you forward slowly. You let him.

“Soap..”

“Tell me to stop..”

His hand shifted to hold your hand again, the moonlight slanted through the window reflecting off those bedroom eyes.

When you shook your head, his huff almost sounded like disbelief. “This is alright?”

“Yeah.. I’m glad you’re as bold as you are.”

He grinned, and the moonlight now shined on his smile along with his iris’.

“Are ya?”

“Makes it easier to do this.”

You knew it was unprofessional and irrational and idiotic, and twenty other bad things.

But his lips were soft, and he was alive because he trusted you to keep him that way. And as you moved closer to sit beside him, you were able to deepen that kiss into something less chaste.

He pulled back gently to speak, his gaze soft.

“I didn’t know..”

“You do now..” You reply gently, briefly touching his uninjured shoulder. “You know I’ll always be here, right?”

“S’why I’m always gettin’ hurt.” He grinned, glancing at his bandages. “I know you’ll patch me up.”

#call of duty modern warfare #cod requests #cod mwii #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #call of duty mwii #prompt list

[prettyboypistol]

TF2 Scout x M!Reader || Mind Meltdown +18

[Top Scout] [Masturbation] [One-Sided Pining] [Dirty Talk]

You and him had secured a victory after battle. He had killed the particularly pesky Medic, he shouted in victory. "Take that, Deutsch-bag!" To the bleeding out corpse of the enemy Medic. You let out a gasp in breathless amusement and utter shock.

You choked out a chuckle, but couldn't hold your laughter for long as you doubled over. "Jesus! That was- holy shit, Scout! That's fucked up!"

Scout looked over at you, confused, but high on the victory as he wiped his bloody baseball bat off in the dirt. "Huh?"

You punched him playfully in the shoulder as you try to say what you wanted to tell him. "Jesus! Nice one! I woulda never thought of that!"

Scout furrowed his brows as he laughed as well, a little awkward at the praise. "Ah, you're just sayin that.." He shrugged sheepishly. "What'd I do again?"

"Dude, your insults are fucking wicked! God, I live for what you scream out!"

"I live for what you scream out!"

"I live for what you scream out!"

God, he wanted to scream for you.

Scout knocked the back of his head against his door as he fumbled to lock the handle without looking down, his other hand writhed desperately underneath his pants to get some sort of heat and friction against his aching dick. You always knew what to say to rile him up, dammit! He though about you on your knees in front of him, mouth open and that stupidly proud look you always give him when he does something awesome- oh shit he wouldn't last long if he thought about how tight your throat would be, how shameful it was to want to cum down the mouth of his co-worker! Before Scout was able to even think properly, he choked out a small curse as he soaked his underwear and hand with his semen.

As young men usually were, Scout's virility was not done after merely taking the edge off. He sighed and flopped over to his bed. Once the soft smell of the laundry hit his nose and the pressure of his weight on the mattress pushed just fucking right on his dick. Scout whined softly as he pushed himself deeper onto the mattress, the force made the young man bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut.

"That's it, you totally fuckin' want this, don't'cha?" Scout whispered as he imagined you beneath him, with your ass up and your face smushed into his pillows. "Filthy fuckin'- fuckin' slut. God, I know you need this dick in you."

He wondered about how you moaned, how you'd beg for him, how you would grab him as he fucked you. Would you claw at his back? He hoped so. He fantasized how you'd react to him finally not being so awkward like he usually is, he could totally sweep you off your feet. You looked so hot when you smiled at him with that curious look you seemed to default. You know, the one where you knit your eyebrows and purse your lips together in a sweet smile, as if you're holding back your laughter.

Scout breathed heavily into his pillow as he kept his pace, his hand wrapping around his dick again as he muttered incoherently to himself. "God, I'm gonna cum so deep in you that you'll be thinkin' about my cock for weeks!" He rambled as his hips finally started to stutter and ache from the first orgasm and subsequent doubletime workout to get off fully. Scout gasped, his lungs feeling far too weighted as he felt the churning in his pelvis slowly swirl inside him as he raced towards more- more!

Jeremy pushed himself to lie on his back as he jerked himself rough, fast, and desperate. It only took a few seconds as he breathed out your name like a prayer. The crisp and cooling air flooded him like a third orgasm, the bliss of relief and sighing of non-warm air knocked Scout out cold. Jesus fucking Christ, this was all your fault to him, just stop being so hot!

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 x reader #fanfiction #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 scout #scout x reader #scout x male reader #scout x m!reader #tf2 scout x m!reader #tf2 mercs x reader #tf2 mercs x male reader #tf2 x mreader #tf2 x male reader

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

x g l a s g o w g r i n n e r

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!OC / 2.1k words

Soap’s always been a little too comfortable playing at violence, always gone-bright when he can turn the threat of it into a promise. Joke’s on the world at large: Special Agent Bordelon’s into that shit.

Or: Soap pulls a knife on a stranger for being a creep, because he’s from the brutal street stabbing capitol of the UK and that’s just how you say “Hi, hey, hello—back the fuck off.” And a million kisses to @lunarvicar for encouraging my bullshit! LOVE YOU NAT 🫶

It is never hard to run with Soap and keep his breakneck pace—the only thing that had been difficult was adjusting to the fact that someone else could finally keep up with hers. It’s a stomach-thrilling shock to look from the corner of her eye, and find the blur of his burly shape there, winking and clicking his tongue without breaking a sweat.

Bordelon is soft for the Scot sook, god forsake the shit out of her.

He’s landed in D.C. on medical leave, a broken collarbone leaving his arm in a sling, and the first thing he’d done—after kissing his way up her neck to the spot behind her ear that made her skin sing and her palms sweat—was sling his good arm around her neck, pulling her in close, and nibbling her earlobe. “Christ, s’it always pishin’ it doon here, too?”

“Naw,” she laughed back, reaching to tangle their fingers together on her chest, his backpack slung over her shoulder, “just October, couillon.”

“Ohh, talk that dirty, fake French to me, mah cherry,” he mock-growled, which just earnt himself a pap! of the palm to his cheek. All play, no sting, and he beamed.

That night burns down to the coals—traipsing back to her apartment, showing off the ugly bruise that bleeds does from his neck to his bottom-rung rib, kissing and touching and figuring out a way to fuck that doesn’t hurt him too-too much.

(The man likes a little ache in it, here and there. Calls dichotomy in that blessed, rock-fall accent. Ratios of sweet to sour, black to white, sun and night. As if he had any more concept of balance and moderation than she.)

He lies across the bed in that silly-ass sling, watching her bitch her smart TV a blue-streak while wearing one of his threadbare navy t-shirts and nothing else. Rubs the spot at the bottom of his sternum, listening to rain slap heavy sheets against the old windows, and says, “Perdita.”

“Don’t you full name me,” she warns, shaking her head, because it is an ill-fitted address. For him, she is Hen, or Perdie, in much the same way he is her Johnny, Jean, or John-boy. A thing you love is all in how you name it, and their names are softened and held close; in the way of lovers who began as friends, once they were strangers no more.

“We’re getting married ‘fore I ship back tae Glasgow,” is how he finishes his thought, and Bordelon turns on her hips, back and forth, vaguely pointing the remote at the screen. He gives her a challenging tooth-sharp smirk. “Thought I should warn you.”

“Mhm. Yeah.” She wonders if she should count this a proposal, or call his bluff, and then she thinks—might as well nail both options to the fuckin’ wall while she’s got the knife. “We go our way onto the courthouse tomorrow. Keep it simple, ça c’est bon?”

International marriage is never that simple, though, and they’re both the wiser to it. But the sentiment is pretty, and it sparks amongst the hard-bought bonfire that lives in the depths of her chest, flames rising and licking to glorify his name. So, they call it an engagement, and Soap pulls a turn-around she doesn’t expect, turning his phone off to pull a shade of night over only the two of their heads.

He’s no family to call, apart from his 141, and even then, there’s a hesitance to his hands. Her man—her bombastic, beautiful bastard—could not stand to be a burden, no. A nightmare that is for him, himself. Even if he were to reach out with the utterly, desolately rare delivery of good news (a phenomenon grown so rare that Neptune would sooner complete circuits around the sun these days), it would make his skin crawl.

Were he to have his way, his burdens would never leave the span of his shoulders to weigh down another’s back, even something as small as what might be an inconveniently timed but otherwise benign or even welcome call.

Come the gray and misting morning, he’s handsy and all-paws, even short a limb, groping for Bordelon as the woman rolls upright on the edge of the bed, pushing her sleep-tangled hair away from her face before it irritates her to death. His hand is warm, callused, and heavy with insistence as it settles into the dip of her violin hip, trying to pull her back into the warm expanse of his hard-packed body.

“Perdie, Hen,” he grunts, tone shading toward playful complaint, “the fuck’re y’doin’ awake?”

“Startin’ off,” she croaks, shaking her head, pushing at his fingers as they crawl closer to her cunt. “Stop that—arrête ça! You’re mangy this morning, T’Jean,” she laughs, pushing more firmly at his grip. “No, get up. Got a friend, knows her way ‘round immigration policy, and she always got an envie for brunch.”

“Brunch?” he questions, flat as buried flounder, falling back into her mountains of mismatched pillows with a dreadful look on that handsome face of his. “Darlin’, am no getting my fat ass outta bed, even for brunch. Feel kinda fruity even sayin’ it.”

“Even for to get us married?” she darts back, turning to look at him, drawing her fingers in circles through the hair on his lower stomach, cooing ridiculously in her rasp-rough drawl, “Even for me.”

“Goddamn,” he groans, throwing baby-dog eyes her way. “I mean, was hopin’ you’d take it serious—cannae tell wi’ your ass—but.” He swallows, one of those corny, I’m-about-to-fuck smiles threatening the corner of his mouth, the one that makes him all coy and keen, looking down at her pale, spidery fingers drifting closer and closer through his thick, dark body hair to his fattening cock. “Wouldn’t you rather stay in bed? Cold morning like this, I could keep you warm.”

She just barely brushes her fingers over his cock before she’s snap-sliding out of bed, copperhead quick, tossing over her shoulder, “Nope! Already sent an email, she knows we on the schedule,” on her way to the shower.

Soap drops back against the bed, rubbing his stubbled face, grunting, “Bordelon, you arsehole.”

But he can’t withstand the siren call of watching her in the shower, so, ever-faithful and ever-horned up, he follows after.

D.C. is about as filthied up with the sorrows of addiction and homelessness as any other place, Bordelon supposes. Can’t tell if it’s better or worse than any of the time she spent down New Orleans or Baton Rouge way. Colder, mostly. But it’s not all the time you need to know about the homeless or the drug addicts—keepin’ eyes on them, keepin’ them in your ears, at least at the sides.

Sometimes, it’s the fella in the khakis, with a puffer jacket and prescription glasses, his behaviors making his Rolex look cheap shit.

Bordelon and Soap slide last into the car before the doors pull shut, close to standing-room early in Crystal City as lunch hour approaches. All the suits are out their offices, scrounging for edibles, droning loud and monotone on their cells. Whole car is damp and humid from the downpour, human body heat causing an intense mugginess that crawls under the clothes to irritate the skin. It’s damn near enough to make Bordelon’s head spin, neck uncomfortable with sweat the way it was all them years down deep, deep in the south.

“No, sit doon,” Soap says, flapping the good arm great and wide, trying to get her to pop a squat on the only empty seat left, shaking his head. “Dinnae try bossin’ me, talkin’ wi’ that spooky-arse agency voice. Want away from you a minute.”

He dresses up chivalry as dismissal, and she can’t help but grin, even as she dawdles on sitting.

“What? You don’t like how Tiffany sounds? I swear, she’s perfectly nice. And outstanding in her field. She’s an accomplished agent, and her superiors are recommending her for a promotion,” she says, in that self-same agency voice of which he’d complained—rich and clear, dialect: nonregional, speech pattern: nondescript.

“Oof, fuckin’ hate that, stop,” he snorts, faking a shiver, but he does complain, “Hey, what? Where you goin’?” when she actually does move to sit down, tugging her up by the collar of her shirt just a bit to pop a grinning kiss against her mouth.

She doesn’t realize, at least not right away, that the tug at her collar disrupted her shirt. Just enough to make a few buttons slip, exposing more of her right tit under her open coat. Wore a thin top today, loose, but figured the dark fabric would hide any transparency. Hated tight clothes, hated bras, and never wore one; just figured her rack had spent thirty-three years being nothing to comment on.

Well. More than half a tit exposed was enough to catch the attention of the man who cheapens his Rolex by being the one to wear it.

Soap likes strange things because he, himself, is a strange thing, and Bordelon had thought to take him the two hours north to Philly to hit the Mütter Museum to see their medical abnormalities, because once their brunch is out, they’ll have an entire day to themselves. She’s busy showing him pictures, enticing him, when the woman next to her taps her thigh.

Like an alarm hollerin’ in her head, she starts running two tracks instant-like, leaning without looking as she whispers, “Yeah, chere?”

The woman is older, in maroon scrubs—some kinda tech, smell of jelly on her says maybe ultrasound—and nonslip clogs. Can’t quite see her name badge, but that seems on purpose, covered up by her fleece.

“That man over there—he’s takin’ pictures of you,” she whispers back, straightening her jacket needlessly as a hint, “just wanted you to know. Maybe tell your man?”

“Oh, no,” Bordelon hums, smoothly pulling her shirt back into place, “I tell him, he gonna light that stupid bastard up like a candle.”

“Who’s lightin’ me up like a candle?” Soap stage-whispers, all play, and Bordelon knows exactly how the next ten seconds are gonna go, and it plays out picture perfect to her premonition. Bordelon tells him don’t worry, I got it, the Good Samaritan in maroon scrubs informs him of the creep, and the smile on Soap’s face turns into a flesh-ripper grin as all the fun burns outta his gaze like a gas fire in a hyperbaric chamber.

“Oh?”

“MacTavish,” she warns him, “wait til the stop.”

“Naw, naw, naw. I’ll play nice, Hen.” That means, sure as shit, he won’t.

The switch knife he takes out his back pocket is deadly smooth, and so is his broad step to the stranger and his budget, Amazon-bought phone case, pushing straight into his man-spread legs.

The fact there isn’t an immediate uproar, but the man’s face is blanched and staring up at him with a shitload of oh fuck on his face speaks to Soap’s own scary-ass career, and Bordelon can barely see the tip of the knife pressing into the spot just below the stranger’s ribs.

“Hey, pal, mornin’,” Soap says, bright and easy as anything, voice not droppin’ even a note, head tilted real friendly. “Do me a favor, eh? Just drop your phone next t’my boot, yeah? We’ll just get this little creeper session done and dusted.”

Can’t even hear the clunk when it slides out of the man’s limp hand, and it’s even quieter when the heel of Soap’s boot shifts over to destroy the screen, grinding it to dust.

“Good man,” he says, pulling the knife back to close it and slide it into his sling. “Next stop, you’re off. But you’re gonna leave your phone on the floor. Hope you dinnae eat shet on the way home to your ol’ lady.”

Bordelon resists the urge to slap a hand over her face, but when Soap kicks the phone back to her, she catches it under the toe of her boot, catching the expression of the tech to her side, unsurprised but impressed. Must have herself a man like Soap, waiting for her to make it home.

“Sorry ‘bout the screen, Perdie. Think you can get in there and delete his shet still?” Soap asks, tone a bottom lip pout, and Bordelon nods, tucking her fingers into the back of his belt before snaking them up under his shirt, swirling her fingertips into his back dimples.

“Hah. You know it, Johnny,” she hums, looking up at him from under her lashes. It’s a tenderness, sweet and true, taking up space between her lungs. Mad bastard. Crazy motherfucker. Loony bitch. When he looks back at her, he curls his fingers under her jaw, looking relieved. Poor thing knows hit dog hollers, and he long ago stopped yelping when he was struck. He’s looking to be told he didn’t do something bad. But she finds his pace, she always does. Of course, she did.

But that goes beggin’ the question: what’s a hellhole-heart like her supposed to do with a love like this?

Tag List: @alittleposhtoad @skinnyazn @dotcie @snail-eggs @parttimeprophet @kastlequill 💖💖

#john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap MacTavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty #soap x oc #call of duty mwii #call of duty #mw2 #cod fanfic #cod mwii #cod mw2 #oc: Bordelon #dunno what else to tag this as #my work #enjooooyyyyy 💃👯👯‍♀️👯‍♂️🕺🏻

[unwishablestars]

Hi I’m not sure if you take this type of requests and if you don’t you can just ignore it. Could you do Cassidy, Hanzo, Genji, Lifewaever and Mauga (not sure if you writ for him) comforting their s/o after they got rescued from being kidnapped. Can you also add that the s/o was pregnant but had a miscarriage due to the kidnapping? If you don’t want to add the last bit that’s fine.

Thank you. 😊

I failed

Pair(s): Cassidy x Pregnant!Reader | Hanzo x Pregnant!Reader | Genji x Pregnant!Reader | Lifeweaver x Pregnant!Reader

Genre: Angst , Hurt/Comfort (little comfort ngl)

Word Count: 1.3k

Tags: Headcanons, Angst, Miscarriage, Multi-Character, uhhhhhhhhhhhhh

TWs: Miscarriage, Kidnapping, Angst, Mildly-described violence

Summary: Cassidy/Hanzo/Genji/Lifeweaver's partner get kidnapped while pregnant leading to reader's miscarriage.

A/N: HIIIII ANONNNN!!! Thank you so much for your request!<3 I'm really sorry about the delay since life got in the way a bit :( And sorry I don't write for Mauga cuz idk how yet--- fresh hero ykyk</3 I hope you like this though!! Sorry for the delay again :(

Cassidy

Even before joining overwatch Cassidy was already a pretty wanted man due to him being part of the dead lock gang

And it never really changed when he joined overwatch

Though this time he wasn't a criminal but he was still in a dangerous field, but you always loved him because you've seen him in all the ways he loves you.

He was swooned when he met you.

One cheesy love story later, BOOM, you're preggers.

Whether you were a civilian or an agent, Cassidy WILL NOT let you get involved with his work while pregnant.

So he was absolutely distraught when he couldn't find you in you're shared home.

He walks through the door calling out for your name, ready to pamper you for the night, only to get no response.

Suddenly, he sees the signs of struggle. Knocked over furniture, thrown books, and just a general mess of your home

He is frantic.

Starts yelling your name, running around the house trying to look for you. "..Fuck..FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK"

After a few hours, they eventually locate you. They waste no time at all.

The plan was simple, (maybe even too simple), just get you out of there. Unharmed.

Cole, with worry and adrenaline as strong as ever, finds you tied to a chair. Crying, distraught, and bleeding.

Now you lay on the base's medic bay, face showing numbness as you learned the news of your baby.

Everyone had left after attempting to comfort you. All except for you lover.

He held your hand as he felt a familiar pain of loss, holding back tears, he just wanted to make sure you knew you weren't alone. And that he is so sorry.

"Darlin.. fuck.. I'm so sorry.. I was supposed to protect you. Our child.. it's my-- I'm so fucking sorry, love. Please.. please don't hate me."

Of course you didn't hate him. But too exhausted to speak, you brought his hand up to your cheek and weakly said "Just.. stay.."

"Darlin.. I will never leave your side."

Hanzo

Hanzo has been hiding in the shadows and constantly on the run for years. Alone. Until you, of course.

You offered to give him a place to stay after seeing him about to doze off sitting on a bench in the park

"No, it's fine. I'm just resting." He was literally about to pass out--

He had eventually opened up to you after much persistence and kindness, and grew incredibly fond of you.

To him, you brought him peace.

For a while, he tried to lessen contact with you as to avoid any conflicts with the people searching for him.

But he was conflicted when he found out you were pregnant. He did not want to leave your side but he also did not want to endanger you, especially in this state.

After some reassurance, he agreed to stay and take care of you.

He had hoped he would lay low enough that not only would he have to worry about your safety but also be able to be a present father to his child.

But when he came to your shared home and the door wide open, he fuckin lost it.

Frantically looking for you in your home, swearing all sorts in his home tongue didn't solve the issue.

He couldn't find you but he did find an envelope containing you're whereabouts.

They've been planning this for a while, how long were they watching him? Why did they only strike when you're health was so critical.

Hanzo was livid realizing this.

He headed to your location and found you tied to a chair, sac over your head, in a dimly lit warehouse

He knew it was a trap but ain't no way he would let anyone put a finger on you.

After being roughed up himself, (but ultimately beating the shit put of a of em) he took a look at you and saw the bruises, the scrapes

and the blood down there

he held you close, forever blaming himself for what happened

Genji

Genji and you met during your time in overwatch while they were in their prime

He was emo back then but you liked that,

And when he realized he liked you're unconditional admiration, he liked you too.

He didn't admit it of course, neither to himself nor to you but whatever.

Years later, Winston sends the recall.

And he was pleased to find out you had come back,

With a new mentality, a new acceptance of himself, and a more open acceptance of your love.

This time he made the first move, trying to act smooth like his pre-overwatch days, but his stuttering and nervousness gave it away though.

He was worried you'd remembered him as the angry and vengeful man he once was, but you saw who he was deep down

Which is the exact reason why he fell in love with you.

Eventually, after feeling a bit of morning sickness he urged you to go Mercy or Bap or anyone to help you get better.

Only for you to find out you're pregnant.

You stayed away from missions for a while as Genji requested, at most doing paperwork and helping a bit around the base.

But when the base was suddenly attacked, Genji pinned, yelling at you to stayed back.

You tuned out his pleads and gripped your weapon to help the father of your child.

And you did, but you were knocked out and taken away. He was too weak to reach you.

They immediately set out to rescue you, fully aware of your vulnerable state.

Though they had insisted for Genji to heal up first, through his broken visor, he shot them a glare that wouldn't stop him from saving his love.

After finding you in a cell, bruises all over in a weakened state, unconscious, he carried you back to the ship and held you close, eye getting watery.

You woke up in a hospital bed in the medbay, the first thing you notice being the ache your body feels, and the pain in your stomach.

Then, you notice your lover hold you close and tight.

Followed by the sorrowful looks of the doctors.

They left to give you two some space.

"I'm.. so sorry.. please.. forgive me.."

With tears in your eyes, you held each other close, never wanting to let go again.

Lifeweaver

You had worked alongside Lifeweaver in his development of biolight,

He loved having you at his side.

Soon he took you dates, brought you gifts and food, too show appreciation.

Not realizing he was indulging in his growing love for you.

After giving him some clarity of his feeling with a bold kiss, you two were inseparable, even more than before.

After you had missed you're period, you showed your lover the positive test and he way beyond joyful.

He always urged you to rest and didn't let you lift a finger. He didn't want you to be stressed or worried, he saw such beauty in you.

But those you wanted his biolight saw opportunity.

He was out buying food for you and his future baby but he came home to an open door, silence, thrown trinkets and portraits.

In his panic, he wondered whether or not he would need to contact his family. Or Satya. Or Baptiste. Anyone.

He received a video file on his desktop.

Asking for the acces to his biolight as well as the information to it's creation.

He was shaking, he wasn't strong enough to fight them on his own, he needed help. He needed you. Please come back to me.

He cannot wait any longer. He caved. Only for you. And for them.

He had sent all the information they needed. And as breathed heavily on his knees. He heard a vehicle arrive at his estate.

He hurried out, even almost tripping in the process, he needed to see you were okay, that you were both okay.

He saw you being lead to the front gate, and the abductors lackey walking back to their vehicle.

Giving him a face of no remorse.

As he held you in his arms once again, the look in your eyes had told him everything.

You two stayed there. Just feeling the comfort of what you two still had. Each other.

#writing #fanfic request #overwatch x reader #genji x reader #cole cassidy x reader #hanzo shimada x reader #lifeweaver x reader #headcanon #angst #fanfic #hurt/comfort #uhh please read trigger warnings

[ragingbookdragon]

Note To Self, A Truck Only Goes So Far On Half A Tank

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Explicit Language, Blood and Wounds

Author's Note: Oh my God and they were patient and doctor! (All parts to this story will have lyrics of Randy Houser's "Note To Self") -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was a seemingly quiet day in the clinic, how she liked it. Quiet meant no bleeding soldiers, no wounds, no worries. She could focus on maintenance, making sure her supplies were in order, and caring for her facility. Being recruited into the 141 wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d expected a tent in the middle of the desert, tools that reminded her of the American Civil War, and comforting soldiers who knew they weren’t making it home.

Instead, she was nestled in a tiny, fifteen by thirty room, black-gray walls made of metal and reinforced with concrete, LED lights overhead in a single row that lit up the room and shadowed the rest that didn’t catch, they even had a bulb that flickered every so often. A little too cold for her taste, only two windows on either side that let in what little sunshine England offered, but it did the job. It wasn’t great, but there were worse places to heal in. From her desk in the back left corner, she saw all who entered before they came in. It was, of decent surprise, when Sergeant MacTavish entered with Lieutenant Riley in tow.

She glanced over the rim of her laptop at the two soldiers, one trying to shake off the other, while the one is trying to hold him. “Doc,” he called. “A little help?”

“Might I suggest asking politely, Sergeant MacTavish?” she offered, not bothering to rise from her seat.

He frowned. “Doc, Ghost is bleeding.”

“I can see that. That being said, I’m no one to be ordered around. Ask me again. Politely.”

His jaw clenched. “Doctor. Would you please assist us by not letting one of our best soldiers bleed out?”

“I’d be happy to. It’d be a shame for such a soldier to go to waste,” she chirped, rising from her chair. “Bring him to the bed.”

“I’m fine standing,” Ghost muttered.

“Lieutenant Riley, are you a medical officer or professional?” she awaited his answer. “Lieutenant, I asked you a question. Answer me.”

“No,” he spat out.

“Then you will not be making the decisions on how I treat you. On the bed. Now.” As he sat down, he peeled off his jacket and lifted his shirt, letting her look at it. “Looks like you were stabbed. Needs stitches from what I can see.”

“It didn’t hit any major organs,” he said. “Just give me a shot and I can stitch myself up.”

She shot him a look. “Did I not just explain that you will not tell me how to do my job?” He fell silent, glaring at her and she started gathering her supplies, and putting on gloves.

“Sorry about that, LT,” Soap winced, scratching the back of his head. “Didn’t mean to.”

“I’m not bothered,” he replied. “Good strike.” He didn’t even wince as she wiped the area down with alcohol.

“Thanks. I remembered how yo—”

“Sergeant MacTavish, are you bleeding?”

He blinked in shock. “I—uh, no.”

“Are you in immediate danger of perishing?”

“I…don’t think so?”

“Are you awaiting a prescription from me?”

“No ma’am.”

“Then why are you still standing in the middle of my clinic?” she inquired. “The door’s there. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

Soap rolled his eyes and gave Ghost a look before turning on his heel. “Christ, what a fuckin’ nag,” he griped, loud enough under his breath for her to hear.

She wasn’t bothered in the slightest. She’d heard worse from her own mother.

As he left, she pulled the curtain around Ghost’s bed, blocking them from view. “This is a shot of lidocaine,” she explained, sticking into his side. “It’s going to block the pain while I check the deepness of the wound and stitch you up. If you feel it beginning to fade, let me know and I’ll prepare another round.”

He grunted in return and she took it as a go ahead; she took a cotton swab and stuck it down into the wound before pulling it out. “Five deep. Given the location, it just cut through tissue and muscle beneath. No major organs.”

She set to stitching. “You’re quite lucky, Lieutenant. This could’ve been a lot worse had it been closer to your intestines.”

Another grunt.

As she pulled the thread taut, she tied it and cut the remaining length. “That should do it. Let me—where do you think you’re going?”

Ghost started to rise from the bed. “Back to my quarters. I hate hospitals.”

“Firstly, this isn’t a hospital, secondly, no, you’re not,” she retorted, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You will sit in this bed until I give you discharge to leave.”

“I don’t take orders from you. You’re USN not SAS.”

“True, we’re different militaries and no, you don’t take orders from me, but I am higher rank than you. Lay down.”

Ghost stared at her, daring her. “Gonna pull that rank, Doc?” It felt threatening.

She leaned down, getting right in his face and growled, “Lieutenant Simon Riley, hardly ever do I have to pull rank with the men and women I treat day to day. The respect I command in this clinic is the same respect given. Do not make me pull rank on you because I will take you to see the Skipper, and let me tell you, he’ll be unhappy to see me, but more so to see you in tow.” Her eyes narrowed. “Lay down. I won’t tell you again.”

They stared on another down and then he huffed through his nose, laying back on the bed. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

As she started to clean, she pulled over a BP machine and thermometer. “Remove your mask.” He lifted it above his lips. “Open.” He let her stick the metal under his tongue as she slipped the cuff around his arm and put the pulse oximeter on his ring finger. She watched the monitor for a few moments, then it beeped, and her expression pinched. “Temp’s two over a hundred. Hmm…little high for my taste.” As she pulled the cuff off, she added, “BP’s ninety-five over sixty-two. Pulse is forty-one. These sound about average?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She removed all the wires and such, leaning over him with a flashlight. “Follow my finger,” she said, holding up a finger. “Pupils are reactive. Any pain? Headache? Discomfort?”

“No.”

She frowned. “I’d like to give you an IV of fluid to rehydrate you and dose you with some extra strength ibuprofen for now.”

“I’m fine, Doc, it’s just a stab wound. I’m not dying.” He started to rise, and she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Be that as it may, I am your acting doctor. At least until your fever breaks.”

“If I leave are you going to chase me back to my quarters?”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll even get off the bed.”

Seeing as he was stuck either way, Ghost let out a heavy sigh and lay back down, holding out his arm. “Just don’t stick me a shit-ton of times, yeah?”

“I’m good at my job, thank you very much,” she retorted and readied him.

He watched her. “You don’t cuss.”

“No, I don’t,” she said. “It’s for those who have a lack of vocabulary. Besides, I’m also a lady. It’s unladylike to use foul language.”

“How are you such a high toff in the military?”

“I’m assuming ‘toff’ isn’t a compliment.” She stuck the needle in. “I went to college and got my doctorate. I decided to use it to make a difference.”

“Do you feel like you’re doing it? You’re stuck with a bunch of SAS taking the piss on each other.”

“I’m patching you up, aren’t I?” she replied. “One of the best SAS soldiers this world has apparently.”

As he watched the fluid seep down the line, he started to feel drowsy after a while, lids beginning to droop, and the last thing he remembered was her pulling the curtain behind her as she left.

***

He was awakened by a damp towel being placed on his forehead and he reached up, grabbing the wrist of whoever was touching him in an iron-clad grasp; a gasp escaped them. “Lieutenant, it’s me!”

“Where’s my mask.”

“Right here,” she calmly said, and he looked, squinting in the dark to see it there on the table. “Your fever rose in the night, so I removed it. Now let go, or I’ll break your hand in three different places.” He let her go and sat back, watching her like a hawk.

“How long have I been out?”

“A few hours.”

“How long?”

“Since thirteen-hundred. It’s twenty-one-hundred now.”

“I’ve missed meetings.”

She shoved him back. “Do you ever stop being so headstrong? Captain Price knows you’re here. He told me to take care of you. Relax.”

“I could’ve handled myself,” he retorted. “It was a fever.”

“I’m beginning to learn you don’t like being told what to do.”

“No shit.”

“Watch your language, Lieutenant. This isn’t a bar, it’s a clinic for healing the wounded. You will treat it with respect.”

“That horse ever get too high?”

“Only when soldier like you think they’re indestructible,” she replied and wiped the sweat on his brow. “I don’t understand what it is about men like you. Think you’re beyond basic medical care. It’s like inhaling fumes from paint and wasting already rare brain cells.”

“That’s the most exhaustingly long way I’ve been called an idiot.”

Her lips curled up in a smile and Ghost felt something funny in his gut as she laughed quietly. “I never said that, Lieutenant.”

“Mhm.”

She looked at him. “How’s the wound?”

“Fine.”

“Lieutenant.”

“It stings.”

“I’ll prepare another lidocaine injection.”

He grabbed her coat, watching as she cocked a brow and looked between his hand and eyes. “I’m fine, Doc. Really. It’s not bothering me.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You sleep here until zero-five-hundred, and I’ll quit doctoring you, okay?”

Ghost let go of her white coat and held out his hand. “Shake on it.”

“Alright, soldier,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “Now get some more rest.”

***

When she woke, the lights were off in the clinic, rays of light coming in from the small windows in the room. She looked over to where Ghost should’ve been, the curtain pulled back, the bed empty and made with fresh sheets.

“Can’t ever get them to stay still,” she muttered, starting to rise when she saw a note on the bedside table there; she picked it up and read it.

Sorry for the bruise. Hope this helps. -G

She turned her wrist, sure enough seeing a purplish-black bruise in the form of a hand-print on her skin; her eyes found the tube of menthol pain cream. She smiled. I guess he’s not so cold after all.

#simon riley x reader imagine #simon riley x reader imagines #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagines #simon riley imagine #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader imagine #ghost x reader imagines #ghost x reader #ghost imagines #ghost imagine #ghost #cod imagines #cod imagine #cod #call of duty imagines #call of duty imagine #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #mw2 imagines #mw2 imagine #mw2 #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap

[ourmadmusings]

I can’t be the one left here dragging you down, let me drown - 

Your first mission with him goes…not well.  “What is wrong with you?” He’s all teeth, he’s mad. You’ve seen him annoyed, tired, a little miffed perhaps, but never properly mad. “Are you just stupid, or do you think this is a game?” You blanch a little, your mouth closes and opens like a fish out of water - you really don’t know what to say to him. You leave your mask to cover your guilt, but his falls as he gets in your face. You feel like a child being scolded for breaking your mothers nice end-table lamp - “I should have let him kill you, teach everyone a fuckin’ lesson.” He’s going on and on, and you can’t muster the words to tell him to fuck off, you were doing what he asked of you, being reckless wasn’t even a thought, you were just doing what you thought he wanted - risking your hide for the betterment of his cause.  The anomaly had gotten away, though, because he’d stopped mid swing, just to help you. The Green Goblin had slipped through your webs and was cruising full-speed to string you up, you hadn’t even noticed the blades on his hover-board ejecting and tipped right at you until Miguel had shot a single web dead-center on your chest and yanked you to safety. The foiled attack left you on your hands and knees a few feet away with only the smallest of cuts on your forearm, bleeding disproportionately considering the size, Miguel distracted with you, and the villain of the week cruising away down the main drag. You stood and Miguel yelled.  “I- I’m sorry! I thought-” “Oh so you were thinking? That’s almost worse, in that case. If you’re going to waste my time, you’re better off going back home. I already have to babysit Gwen, Peter, half of the universe! I don’t want to add you to that long list.” His hands fly up to fiddle with his device sitting on his wrist. You can still see his sharp canines, he’s still scowling.  “I’m sorry.” You trail off as a portal opens, he doesn’t have to say anything for you to know you were being relieved of your duties on this mission with him.  You step into his main quarters back at the citadel, shame and embarrassment heavy on your shoulders. You trail a hand up your arm to stop some of the blood - Lyla is quick to buzz from your wrist, “you should let someone look at that back in medical, it could be worse than it looks.” You don’t even raise your hand to reply, simply plugging your homeworld coordinates in and lettings a portal open up, you yank the watch off and toss it on O’Hara’s chair as you stalk through - you didn’t know much but you knew well enough that no one was going to scold you like a dog. You were trying your best to help, fuck him. 

You ignore everyone for weeks. Peter B. was the first to come and try to convince you back, then Pav, Gwen, and even Hobie gave a little effort, but you told them all the same thing - “he doesn’t want my help anymore, and I have stuff to worry about here.” It doesn’t escape you that Miguel was never bothered enough to ask you himself, he didn’t do anything to help the situation. Were you being reckless? Maybe. Did he overreact though? Yes. Were your feelings more hurt than you realized, your ego bruised that he’d hollered at you, scolded you like a child? Moreso than you cared to admit.  It’s a week short of two months before Jessica comes looking for you, telling you O’Hara needed to speak directly to you, to which you’d shrugged, said whatever it was wasn’t pressing enough to be bothered with, that if it was important, he would have reached out.  “Kid-” she sighs, rubbing a hand on her lower back, and suddenly you do feel a little bad, maybe you were just being stubborn, “that’s not his M-O and you know it. You know as well as I do that he’s just embarrassed he yelled like he did at you, of all people.” You know she can see the smoke coming from your ears as you think over what she’s saying. Why would someone like him be embarrassed of anything? “Just think about it, will’ya? For me, not for him. Screw him, he can be a major prick, I know it.” You hum a reply, and she leaves a shiny new watch on your kitchen table before she’s gone and you’re alone again.  “How’d it go?” Peter is quick to catch Jess, and she laughs a little. “As well as you’d think, Pete. I think I got through a little, though.”  “Should we send Pav back? He’s always the ray of sunshine, maybe that’ll be a good move.” Jess just shakes her head at him, “I think she’s got enough to worry about.”  “What did Miguel even say to ‘er? I didn’t think she’d have such thin skin.” Hobie is quick to match pace, they know he’s not really invested, but he loves to hear the gossip first-hand.  “I don’t know, but it must have been harsh.” Peter chimes in, Jess picks up her pace, trying to get to the cafeteria and leave the two nosey men behind.  They share a look behind her back, “it probably wasn’t what he said, boys, it was probably because it came from him.”  They don’t quite know what that means. 

Two more days go by before you hear the device beeping an awful little tune. You try and try to ignore it, but like an alarm, it just keeps sounding off at your table, exactly where Jess had tossed it. Two full minutes stretch by and you finally pick it up, blood boiling, trying to simply silence the machine, but you fumble. You don’t want to admit to yourself that maybe, just maybe, it was purposeful.  His face lights up your small space, he looks a little surprised, but the look melts into his usual uninterested gaze as quickly as you notice, you snap a quick, ‘what,’ before he can even open his mouth.  You think you see the flashes of hurt, embarrassment maybe, but he’s quick to mumble a little, “are you done pouting, or are you going to hide out forever?”  Your eyes are wide as soon as he says it, “Pouting? That’s all you’re gonna say to me, really? Accuse me of-”  “You know what I meant, so are’ya comin back anytime soon?”  Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, and Miguel notices, “don’t roll your eyes at me, kid.”  “Back to scolding me so soon, huh? No one else around to talk down to over there lately?” You know you shouldn't say it, but you can’t help it. You’d never spoken back to him, but the lack of physical proximity made you brave.  “Scold? How is that scolding, you shouldn’t roll your eyes at anyone like that, it’s an ugly habit.”  “So you’re callin’ me ugly now, too?”  You can see his jaw clench, you’re being childish and stubborn, you know, but you can’t help it. Really, what was he going to do about it anyways?  “Are you being difficult on purpose, or does the attitude come naturally to you?”  “Does being a dick come naturally to you?” You counter with a sneer.  He huffs, you’re not sure why you’re being obtuse, but your feelings were still hurt. That’s reason enough for you to give him a little lip.  “God you - Jesus Christ, fine.” He looks around at something off-screen, “I’m sorry I yelled at you, alright? I shouldn’t have talked to you that way-” “No, you shouldn’t have.” You interject.  “Would you please just, please - I am sorry, I was just worried you’d get hurt.” He’s quiet now, bashful, if you didn’t know him any better than to know the man was incapable of being sincere. “Would you please come back? I think you could still be of use to us here.” 

You’re stuck in your spot, teetering a little back and forth, he did sound sorry. You whisper a quick ‘I’ll think about it,’ before beeping the watch off and putting it on top of your fridge.

a/n: Hobie’s a messy bitch and we all know it. Pt. 1 - Pt. 2- Pt. 3 -  

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #spider-man: across the spider-verse

[1800nosleep]

hii i have this idea about the lost boys with a reader their already in a relationship with (poly or not idm and any gender) but the reader gets hurt somehow and is like bleeding out and the boy/s are trying to help them but they are also struggling with the blood. idk if this makes any sense but i just had a thought. thank you!!

Lovers Lust

the lost boys x reader

warnings; gn! reader, blood mentions, blood loss, vamp activities and duties, biting, can be read as platonic

(a/n) I'm having really bad writer's block so if this is bad or short, my apologizes, also b|c of that this is going to be hc's

So, you got hurt? Here's how to deal with it

do NOT go back to the cave unless you want four grown ass men on top of you wondering where your bleeding from

also your best bet if you have nowhere else to go, go to michael and sam

i hc that lucy has a medical degree / shes a nurse

anyways, if you have to go to the cave, make sure that the boys are gone unless you're into them yelling at you for being injured

its mostly david yelling but whatever

if they are home, man your screwed, good luck

so... their home and honestly they won't notice the blood stain on your clothes or the smell until you sit down and let out noises

then they are literally on top of you trying to find out where you're injured

"babe, where are you hurt?" paul asks first, as marko is trying to gently raise your shirt to find out

them struggling to control themselves won't happen until they get your shirt off and see how much you're truly bleeding

"fuck, I can't, sorry dude," marko says softly as he backs off and gets far away from you

"yeah, sorry babe, I don't think I can handle so much blood," paul apologizes as he too backs off leaving dwayne and david to attempt to help you

at this point, whatever you were using to stuff your wounds is covered in blood and the amount of blood you've lost is probably enough for you to pass out from

dwayne covers his nose and he attempts to help you, he and david have some gauze and some hydrogen peroxide and some needles and thread just in case

"god, alright brace yourself, i'm gonna remove the thing stopping most of the blood," dwayne said softly as david got the supplies ready

dwayne gently removed the thing before david poured some hydrogen peroxide quickly, making you wince and cry out

"sorry, sorry, but we need to clean it," dwayne whispered as he quickly accessed the wound. "damn, what happened?" david is getting all of the stuff ready so they can pack and fix your wound

"some douchebags fuckin' attacked me when I was at the chinese food place," you winced out as dwayne poked around your wound, resulting in you slapping his hand

"sorry!" dwayne exclaimed as david gently and caringly packed your wound as dwayne tried to keep the bleeding to a minimum

"alright, i don't think we'll have to stitch you up," david said as he covered your wound with gauze before taping it to your skin

"thank god" you mumbled as you closed your eyes in relief

SO IN OTHER WORDS, don't go to paul and marko for help, they will not be able to control themselves

go to david and dwayne and get some half assed medical care

THANK YOU FOR READING !!

likes and reblogs are appreciated

please do not repost or steal my work as that is plagiarism and a crime !!

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagines #dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys david #the lost boys marko #marko the lost boys #kinda gorey #tw: blood