#Ghost doctors: >:( it's mandatory

[starwrighter]

You know what I love in DpxDc crossovers?

When people explain Jason's pit madness as having to do with ectoplasm. Whether it be the hc that the pits are corrupted ectoplasm, Jason being a revenant before being dunked in the pits or any other idea/theory I love it all!

But you know what I don't see much of? The pit madness being seen as something more clinical. In most of the DpxDc crossovers I've read it's always treated as something that can be easily and quickly fixed. I don't see much content about Jason's pit madness being treated like an serious illness and it's honestly underrated.

Make his pit madness be like cancer for ghost's. Something spread throughout his body like a fucked up spider web slowly killing him as it continues to go untreated. Making his life emotionally and oftentimes physically painful. Have Jason assume his pain is just the consequences of his vigilante life since nobody could ever diagnose him with anything.

Danny feeling heartbroken when he sees Jason not because he can sniff it out or sense it but because he can see it. Oftentimes cancer doesn't show symptoms until it's advanced. For Danny this is like seeing someone who's medical treatment has been so neglected that they're covered in tumors! Danny screaming bloody murder at Bruce for allowing things to get this far; for not getting him help and allowing things to fester like this. Danny's ugly crying because he's a child and he doesn't know how to react to something like this! It's a horrifying sight when medical care is neglected, but seeing someone suffering so much without even knowing what's going on? It's terrifying.

Jason trying to comfort Danny but Danny just starts crying harder because Jason doesn't know what the hell is going on and someone has to be the one to tell him.

Treat Jason's pit madness as a symptom of something bigger, not something that can be fixed with the flick of a wrist. Show me the grief of having a loved one/being the loved one suffering from something that has a good chance of killing them. Where the treatment can make you feel worse than the disease does sometimes. Seeing a loved one get weaker and weaker yet reassuring yourself it's just the process of healing and they're going to be fine.

Have it be something that's treatment is long and strenuous, something that might need surgery to fix. Jason needing a bone marrow transplant or an organ and Danny being the only halfa that's willing to give it to him. Jason having to choose whether he's willing to risk a child's life to save himself or if he's just going to die a second time.

(Bonus! Have Jason deny the operation but Doctors work differently in the realms so it's done anyway without his consent. Does Jason think Danny died from the operation? Maybe it's some important ghost bone marrow/organ and the doctors being dodgey and refusing to let anyone see Danny before he's recovered enough? Jason grieving over a child and lashing out because "why would anyone decide the life of a child was something you could throw away like that!")

[beloveds-embrace]

Idgaf abt how military works sorry yall but imagine the 141 gang having to do mandatory charity and no, not even Ghost can opt out of it regardless of how he says he’s honest to god not fucking fit to be visiting sick patients. But alas.

But they end up meeting you- frail, fragile, and sick you, no visitors around you. Though you look at them with curiosity and admiration, you keep yourself away, almost as if you don’t want to bother them.

You can’t help looking at them, though. You’ve been sick all your life- born to a mother who left you on the doorsteps of an overcrowded orphanage, left alone often and long for your body to just… fail you. You don’t think you’ve seen outside the orphanage walls and then these hospital grounds since your birth. You would be dead now if it weren’t for the CEO of the hospital taking pity on you after you turned eighteen and the orphanage cleaned their hands off you.

And so, you can’t help but envy them just a little. Strong, agile people in the military, bodies fit and healthy. Despite knowing they are always putting themselves on the line, constantly in danger, you can’t help the longing you feel. Longing you don’t realize is clear as day in your eyes.

The one to approach you first is the man you thought one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He introduces himself as Kyle, and despite your silence- your interactions with others that are not doctors or nurses are far and few, and you are painfully shy- but he is nice. Gentle. Easily keeps the conversation going despite. He is so easy-going he has you grinning and laughing in no time. It catches the attention of a the Scot with a mohawk, who joins in by sharing even wilder stories. And then the man with the scary ghost mask, so often in their stories, comes to your little crowd. He is big, scary if the nurses’ reactions are anything to go by, and yet the only thing you’ve ever truly been afraid of is dying with a life not truly lived. So you don’t flinch or cower from him, merely ask if he has anything interesting to share with you.

The last you speak with is John Price. Captain John Price. If there is a man that can embody a bear, it has to be him. You are sure of it. Especially when you witness him smacking the back of Kyle’s head lightly after a teasing comment.

Maybe your chances of a long, fulfilling life are slim but today, just for today, you allow yourself to envision a life with them. Such a strange desire, a useless and wistful one.

“Thank you, for today.” You tell them quietly, when it’s nearing time to leave. Your hands are held in Kyle and Johnny’s, frail and weak compared to theirs. You smile at them, squeezing lightly. “I think this is the most happy and content I’ve been all my life. I won’t forget today.”

And in return? Neither will they. How could they ever forget you, the sweetheart in the hospital bed, your sickness keeping you away from the joyful life you deserve?

The won’t forget you. Not at all. And when you start receiving gifts, polaroids and letters and texts, you already know who is sending them to you.

It makes things just a little easier- your life just a little brighter.

Other works + help me choose a title for this!

[oceantornadoo]

the ex-wife chronicles pt.4 (ex husband!john price x f!reader)

masterlist | next

follow and turn on notifications: @tornadoowarning

tw: smut. heheheh. also drunk actions also unedited

The rest of the week passes in a blur.

The men meet their mandated therapists. Sure, they’ve had psych evals and required sessions before, but these are new ones, therapizing with what happened to Soap in mind. It’s where another part of your job comes out: nanny. You have to build them up after sessions break them down. Learning what makes them tick: Ghost’s tea, Gaz’s candies, John’s cigars. Soap visits in the afternoons, going straight from physical to mental therapy. The routine is grueling and quiet a change from their normal activities when they aren’t on a mission. That’s why Friday becomes a mandatory pub night.

“Now, I’m not saying to solve your problems with alcohol,” you preach to Gaz, your third glass of white wine in hand. So what if you’re taking advantage of their Frisky Friday deals? “But sometimes, you need to get drunk with your team.” The word ‘your’ is hard and heavy in your mouth. “The people you work with. Coworkers.” You correct yourself. He nods slowly, clearly also impacted by his third drink of the night (tequila and lime).

You scored the last booth in the extremely packed pub. Gaz sits in the middle, with Ghost and Soap on his left and you and John on his right. You restrained yourself from stumbling when John waited for you to get in, instead of sitting near his sergeant, but you were too drained from the week to question it. The booth’s only meant for four, and with how much muscle this group has, you’re all thigh-to-thigh under the table. 

“‘Ve got an idea.” Soap pipes up from across the way. He’s been nursing a beer while Ghost occasionally sipped on his scotch. Doctor’s orders are no alcohol, but you told him he owed one drink for his troubles. “Was tha’?” Gaz replies. “Never have I ever.” Everyone groans, even Ghost and John. That you find comical, sending you snickering and leaning on your shoulder towards Gaz until John tugs at the belt of your jeans. It’s under the table but somehow sends the whole group stock-still, watching. You send a glare towards John, and he sends you an unimpressed stare back. 

Gaz starts asking Soap about his favorite drinking games, giving you enough cover to reprimand your ex-husband. “Don’t do that.” You whisper sharply. He leans forward into your airspace until his lips meet your ear, soft stubble rasping against your cheek. “Y’ were about to fall into Gaz’s lap.” It’s pissed you off, this handsyness of his that’s been suddenly acquired in the past week.

His hands on your stomach during the ATV ride. His thumb swiping under your eye as he murmured ‘eyelash’ under his breath. A guiding pat on the back as he moved behind you in the kitchen, completely unnecessary with how much space there was. A squeeze to your shoulder after his therapy session before he shut himself in his room for hours.

“What if I wanted to?” You snip. A lie, but cutting all the same. John Price is too practiced to show his emotions on his face, but you are were his wife. You can see how he grinds his jaw under his beard, how his eyes flicker with darkness. That same disregard for compromise that shows up in his file, time and time again. Except in the military, he’s done enough good deeds to earn it. With you, he has years to make up.

“Let’s play!” You turn back to the group, aiming a smile at Soap. He cheers, nudging Ghost who gives him a mellow look underneath his black balaclava. Soap completely ignores it.

“Aye, hen. Never have I ever shot at hostiles while hangin’ from a heli.” Gaz grumbles and takes a swig from his drink. Ghost’s eyes seem to sparkle at the memory. Soap gestures at Gaz to ask the next question, to which he rolls his eyes. “Never have I ever fucked a coworker.” You can tell he meant it to call out Soap, who makes a production out of guzzling his beer while Ghost takes a slow sip, but they all freeze when you and John drink at the same time. 

You didn’t expect him to admit it. You wonder if there were others, if you were the start of a pattern.

Then you wonder why you care.

“Cap’n!” Even though he seems more laidback than the others, you’ve never seen Soap so…loose. He’s only had half a drink too, but there seems to be a weight off his shoulders. John doesn’t respond to his taunts, simply raising an eyebrow. After a second, he shrugs and gives a non-answer. “A man’s got to have his secrets.” Soap shrugs, then turns to you. “Doc?” You shrug as well, fighting the urge to tuck your chin under the heat of four pairs of eyes. You haven’t worked your way up and invented a whole new occupation just to fold after a few drinks of wine, but you do like to stir the pot. “Don’t know why you’re singling me out, Soap. Seems here everyone does it.” He snorts, satisfied that you won’t given in. “Righ’ ye are, hen.”

The game gets fiery as Soap delivers another round of drinks (and a ginger beer for himself). You learn new things about the team: Gaz has a sister that loves to prank him, Soap’s nickname does not mean what you think it does, Ghost likes to tell bad dad jokes. John seems to be more restrained, commenting on the others while refusing to acknowledge his own answers.

As Gaz starts his fifth drink, there’s a twinkle in his eye that puts you on guard. “My turn. Never have I ever been married.” Underneath the table, your thigh goes rigid. John can feel it, you know, which means Gaz can as well. It’s a giveaway you’ll allow only due to the new glass in your hand. You sip slowly.

John does too.

He could have lied and no one would’ve known. He’s not drunk, on his second glass of whiskey when you know he practically has a tolerance. 

Ghost doesn’t seem surprised, so you wonder if he sniffed it out. On the other hand, Gaz and Soap are frozen, like someone dumped a bucket of water over their heads. Their eyes are on him but Ghost’s are on you. You feel akin to a mouse caught in a trap.

“Cap?” It’s Gaz, questioning something he never knew about his mentor. Like a son discovering his father’s lie. John swallows slowly, then cocks his head with that disarming close-lipped smile of his. “A few years ago. Not married anymore.” Gaz makes a noise in the back of his throat. You take an extra sip of wine for good measure.

“Doc?” Ghost asks. The sergeants turn their gazes to you, no less interested. The bare skin on your left hand vibrates under their attention. “Mine was a while ago. We were young and…”, you trail off, shrugging. 

“Ain’t tha’ funny.” Ghost grunts. You cock your head at him. “What’s that?” His eyes flick to John, then back to you. “Both were married awhile ago. Might’ve crossed paths at th’ license office.” Soap and Gaz laugh; forced, choked sounds. You smile slightly, then look down into your glass of wine. You don’t look at John.

“Makin’ it sound like I’m a hundred years old, Ghost.” John shoots back. With his approval, or more lack of disapproval, the game continues on. You nod at certain intervals, drinking when necessary. When Gaz asks if you’re okay, you mutter that the wine got to your head.

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

“You’re insane, Lieutenant Price.”

He snorts into your hair, tucked under his chin as you cuddle in the early Sunday light. A rare weekend of leave, hunkered down in the flat you share in London. Six months ago, he reasoned it was easier to split one rent instead of paying for two, since you were both barely home. Things are still in boxes and there’s no art on the walls. No bedframe either, a full mattress on the floor covered in floral sheets you insisted on. 

“Two Lieutenant Prices. That’ll fuck with the Captain.” Your Captain is a piece of work, but not enough to the point where you’d get married just to fuck with his head. “You really know how to propose to a girl, John. I’m near fainting over here.” He snorts, the bare skin of his chin brushing your forehead as he nuzzles him. Last night, you told him he’d look good with a beard. He said he’d look like a bear, which made you growl at him until he bent you over the couch (the singular piece of furniture you own) and fucked you into its cushy fabric.

“Stay here.” You whine as he gets up, a terribly ugly roll out of the bed because of its proximity to the floor. There’s scratch marks on his bed, new ones on top of those that had barely healed. You’d been sent on a training mission, separated for a month, and couldn’t wait to get your hands on him. Lover. Boyfriend. John.

“Close your eyes.” You closed them, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around your bare body. He never got you gifts, and neither could you, too busy being grunt workers to the captains you both got tossed around to. It was a miracle you were granted leave together. Something that had never happened before.

“Open.” He was sitting, no, kneeling in front of the bed in a fresh pair of boxers. You squinted at his face, confused. His eyes flicked over somewhere to your left and you followed them and – 

Oh.

“John.” The ring is beautiful. Older than the minimalistic styles now, which means he didn’t go out and buy it. “Baby.” His face is open and calm, always self-assured. A second look reveals a twitch in his jaw, a tell. “It’s a ring.” You point out stupidly. He laughs, something that’s become deeper recently, which you blame on his newly acquired cigar habit. “Found it in the bin an’ thought ya might like it.” He jokes. “John.” You plead.

“Marry me, sweetheart. Become the better Lieutenant Price. Yell at me when I get you pregnant and your back aches. Pick out the grey hairs in my beard.” There’s something in your eye. It’s the only explanation for the tear that trickles down your cheek, the one he swipes at with his thumb and brings to his mouth. “I can’t be a housewife, John. I mix my colors with my whites in the wash and I’m more comfortable with a gun in my hands than kids and I can’t plan a wedding.” He captures your lips in a kiss, then pulls back smiling. “Let’s elope and I’ll get a vasectomy. What’dya say?” You think. You think about how you don’t even need to think. Then you nod.

“Let’s get married.”

Soap calls it a night an hour later, muttering how he needs to take his meds. There’s an ache in his voice when he says it, mourning his past life. Ghost follows him out with a hand hovering at his shoulders. Gaz sticks around longer, talking footie with John and making eyes with a woman across the bar. He’s gone half an hour later, his arm around her waist and his mouth at her jaw.

“Forgot how easy it is.” You mutter, eyes on the sway of her hips as they exit the bar, Gaz turning back and winking. It makes you feel like a bitter hag, mourning the fun you used to have. John nudges your knee with his own, compelling you to look up. “What’s easy?” You nod in the direction of the doors. “Pickin’ up someone for the night. Not thinkin’ ‘bout the next day.” He grunts in agreement. John signals a waiter, mutters something to him, and then turns back to you. “You sayin’ you haven’t fucked anyone in a decade.” You scoff and roll your eyes. “I have, in fact. Used to be just like Gaz, pickin’ up someone new everytime I got stationed somewhere. Fun for a few nights and then gone.” John takes a sip of his drink, his jaw straining with effort.

“Gets tirin’ after a while.” He grunts. You blink, then nod. “Playin’ coy about the dog tags, the scars an’ the bullet wounds. Wakin’ up in the middle of the night an’ not bein’ about to explain a nightmare.” Though you haven’t been in combat in a while, you can relate. There’s a new layer of horror when you’re trying to heal soldiers and you get a glimpse inside their head, the bloody carcass of the beaten thing they call a brain, warped by gunpowder and bomb residue. 

“Why’d you tell them you were married?” You wonder aloud. He shrugs, shifting the hand that’s been laying on his knee. Because of the movement, it slides between the two of you, the tips of his outer fingers grazing your thigh. You should pull back. The wine argues you shouldn’t. It wins.

“You’d rather I lie?” This time it’s you shrugging, your leg pressing closer to his. He doesn’t pull away. “I wouldn’t have cared. You don’t owe me anything.” His other hand leaves its position on his drink and finds your wine glass. You watch, enraptured, as he brings it to his mouth and swallows. You thought he hated wine.

“I think about it.” He murmurs. You know the answer, but you ask anyway. “Think about what?” He turns to look at you, blue eyes searing into you. “Our marriage. ‘Fore you came, still thought about it.” Before you can answer, a paper container of fried food pops out of thin air. The smell wafts over and you perk up immediately. 

“Are those cheese curds?” You became obsessed after your first trip to America when you were stationed in the Midwest. “C’mere.” He wraps an arm around you and pulls. You decide not to question it and stay silent.

“Open.” There’s a cheese curd in front of you. Obediently, you open. He hums as he places it in your mouth, your lips wrapping around his fingers and tasting the grease on them before letting go. As you chew, he pops one into his mouth, licking at his thumb. You whine at the loss of fried goodness. “Still a vulture with food, hm?” Instead of answering, you reach for another one, but he pins your hand to the table with the hand that isn’t around your waist. That’s when you register your position on his lap, propped on his leg as he feeds you a treat you didn’t think he knew existed. (You were divorced by then, no contact for a few weeks.) The way you’re sitting is unprofessional and comfortable and so delicious when he feeds you another bite. And then another. It continues until the container is empty and your belly is full and your head is slightly clearer.

You look up and he’s there. Bearded and wrinkled and hardened. The bright blue of his eyes has dulled into a stormy ocean grey. His hat is stupid and you want to curse whoever bought it for him. There’s no ring on his finger and by the sound of it, no one waiting in his bed. And you, his ex-wife, are here in his lap, your thigh pressed against the hardness that strains the denim of his jeans.

There’s crumbs on your face. He’s seen you pimply on your period and heaving after a bad hangover and squatting in a dark forest after a spoiled MRE (who knew they could go bad). Yet, he still yanked you onto his lap and now his face is tucked into the crook of your neck, sniffing. His nose brushes the skin behind your ear and trails around it until your earlobe is between his teeth. 

“John.” Your hands curl into the khaki fabric of the black button-up he wears. He groans into your neck, shifting you further into his lap. “John, you’re drunk.” He licks at the skin above your shirt and you gasp, the feeling so alien. You’ve been celibate for a year now and this much physical contact, all-consuming with the man you once loved and made vows to, is overwhelming. John doesn’t answer, tongue occupied with licking the salt on your skin. Your view is blocked by his stupid, stupid hat so you rectify the situation by taking it off him and plopping it on your own head. He pulls up immediately.

“You’re drunk too, sweetheart.” He hasn’t called you that in years. Something inside you clenches, too difficult to tell if it’s your heart or your core or the space in between. “C’mon.” He pushes you off his lap and out of the booth, hands at your hips to help you stand. John crowds your back as he guides you to the one-room bathroom. Are you really doing this, with him? The  monsters of your marriage turn out to be just trees when you think back, blurred by the pressure of him behind you.

“We’re not fucking.” The bathroom door opens, and shuts closed with a click. “Tha’s fine.” You’re pressed against the wall. “And I’m not getting on my knees in this filthy bathroom, John.” A knee slots between your thighs. “I ain’t either.” You scoff. “Then what-”

“Y’gonna let me kiss my wife now?” He shuts you up with a kiss. Lips you haven’t felt in ten years, five months, and three days. Not that you remember that last fuck, the night before you agreed to sign the papers.

His hands pull you forward, your clothed cunt sliding against his denim-clad thigh, and you whine with understanding. It was your favorite way to get off (still is, but no one else can do it correctly) when you were together. Grinding against him, the seam of your jeans hitting your clit as you pant into his mouth. Strong hands guide you up and down and wetness pools in your underwear, simple cotton ones you didn’t think anyone would see. You bite down hard on his lips, wanting him to feel your frustration at how well he still knows your body. All he does is smile against your lips.

“Now y’r quiet, pet. Ten years an’ so fuckin’ predictable.” You whimper at the new nickname. His presence has changed from upstanding to all consuming, his words from sweetheart to pet. Lips trail down your cheek, your jaw, your neck. That godforsaken hat is still on your head and almost slips off, but the strap catches on your chin. The pressure in your core is unbearable, encouraged by the firm muscle under you that hits every angle. Your hands curl around the nape of his neck, nails digging into the skin there, wanting to make him hurt a little. To feel the same bodily betrayal that seeps into your veins, murmuring all the reasons this is wrong. Except all it does is urge him on, those paws tugging you up and down.

“Probably soakin’ through your jeans, huh?” He murmurs in between bites to your jaw. “Not possible, would have to be wet for that.” You attempt. He growls, bearlike. “Can fuckin’ hear the sound of you, pet. Don’t play dumb now, I know you’re close.” You give up on being coy and tuck your head into the nape of his neck, losing steam as your thighs burn. He makes up for it, maintaining the rhythm that has something coiling deep in your core.

“John, John, I’m right there, will you-” He bites the juncture of your neck, a vampire in another life. You squeak at the thrill it sends down your spine, at how you tip over and into your orgasm as your cunt clenches and spasms. He helps you through it until you beat at his back and plead for him to stop, your voice almost gone from all your whines. John gently places you on your feet, your head against his chest as you catch your breath. And he just stands there patiently, hands at your waist until your breathing evens out.

“Feel ok?” You nod, then shake your head. “That can’t happen again. It’s not- this isn’t professional and I’m going to be here a while.” His hand sneaks under your shirt and presses into your stomach, like he’s checking for something. “Yeah, baby. Whatever you say.” You tug on his shirt until he meets your eyes, choosing to not acknowledge the hold he has on you. “I’m serious, John.” He kisses a spot near your lips and you mourn that he ignored them. “I’m serious, too. Let’s get you back now.”

It’s a short walk back to base, time passing by as fast as the stars overhead. When you reach the barracks, you shoo him away and tell him to go through the back entrance. All he does is pat your ass before walking away. When you walk through the entrance, smoothing down your shirt, you stop at the light in the kitchen. Ghost sits statue-still, nursing a steaming mug of tea. Eerie, since you thought he and Soap weren’t sleeping here. That thought floats away when he opens his mouth.

“Nice hat, Doc.”

Fuck.

-

comment if you spot the t swift lyric! it's not from this decade (2020s) if that helps...

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Your lips | Pt. 1

(A/N) I don't think this will be along series, but there will be at least on more part! Also, I'm no doctor, or nurse, that's why I mostly skipped over the exam part!

Pairing: Simon x fem!pregnant!Reader

Warning: mutual pining, medical stuff (nothing graphic), mention of scars, pregancy

Synopsis: Almost done with your day (and your pregnancy), you get a last minute patient. The usual stoic and guarded Ghost is immediately charmed by you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

“There is a lot I can spare you from Simon, but the medical checkups are mandatory. There is nothing I can do about that.”

Price had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrows were pulled together in a slight frown as he regarded his Lieutenant. Simon on the other hand just looked annoyed. There were many reasons as to why he joined the military, but being fussed over by grown people was not one of them. He opened his mouth to, surely, whip out a smart remark, but Price held up his hand before he had the chance.

“You have until tomorrow six p.m. to go to the clinic yourself, or I’ll drag you by your scruff, you hear me?”

With a defeated sigh, he nodded, before he left Price’s office. Might as well get it over with, right?

One look at your computer told you that it was almost time to go home. Your to-do list for the day was all ticked off and your list of patients had no name remaining. With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself out of your chair and onto your feet, your hand instinctively cradling your swollen belly. Your lips pulled into a smile as you felt a kick right against your hand.

With slow, even steps you made your way to the door of your office and leaned outside until you caught the secretary’s eyes. She smiled at you. But not a bright, sunny smile, no, it was a sad, apologetic smile. Your own smile faded, but you nodded before waddling back to your desk. By the time you sat down, a new patient file was displayed on your screen.

His entire name was redacted, only his callsign was displayed. Ghost. You quickly read through his file, noting that he obviously hated all medical personnel, since he barely showed his face here. By the time you were almost done, a sharp knock rang out from your door.

“Enter!”

From the heavy steps, you could discern that it was the soldier who had been added to your day last minute. Still, you kept your eyes on the screen, trying to get all the information into your head.

“Take off your shirt and sit down on the bed. I’ll be with you in a second.”

Your tone might have sounded harsh, but you quickly learned to use an authoritative tone with soldiers. Otherwise, they might not listen. Your eyes were still fixed on the screen as rustling sounded through the room, followed by the creak of the bed. Now that he was done, you slowly rose to your feet again and squeezed some sanitizer into your hand, grabbing your clipboard before waddling over to the man.

“Just a regular checkup, right?”

Your eyes finally landed on the man’s back when he grunted in response. And good lord, he had one hell of a back. Covered in scars and a few tattoos, his shoulders were broad and strong. You felt yourself blush as some not-so-innocent thoughts entered your mind and it took you a second to switch back to work mode and to stop admiring him. You dealt with soldiers all day, every day, and yet none have had that effect on you. Until now.

To distract yourself, you quickly started with the exam. Looking for any injuries, listening to his lungs and heart. Within a few minutes, you were done with his back and slowly moved to his front. You were ready to just continue the exam when your baby landed an especially firm kick against your womb. You came to a quick stop, placing your hand against the place the baby had kicked.

“Woah, you okay there, love?”

Ghost jumped to his feet, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, but you just waved him off, by now being used to it.

“I’m fine…just…pregnant with a very active baby.”

An amused huff left his lips before Ghost sat back down. And even though he looked the same as before, you noticed how his eyes were more focused now, looking for any sign of trouble. He almost seemed…protective.

After a few moments, you recovered and let out a sigh, closing the distance between you and Ghost. But you hesitated for a moment. How would you reach his chest? As if reading your thoughts, Simon spread his legs, allowing you to step between them and reach his chest. A smile tugged on your lips.

“Thanks.”

He nodded in response, keeping still while you continued your exam, only moving when you asked him to. You instinctively reached to your right, ready to take his blood pressure, but your hand came back empty, you had forgotten to bring it with you from the table. A tired sigh escaped your lips and you took a few steps in the direction of the table when Ghost placed a hand on your arm and stopped you.

“I’ll get it.”

Before you could answer, he was on his feet and already at the table, picking up the device. Something that always seemed so large in your hands was easily dwarfed in his and you couldn’t help but admire his hands. Hands which he used to kill people. Hands which surely could do unholy things to your body. Hands which…

Your thoughts were interrupted by the clearing of a throat and you finally noticed that you had been staring at his hands.

“Oh, uh, sorry.”

With flaming cheeks, you grabbed the device and swiftly pulled the sleeve up Ghost’s arm. Pressing two buttons, you watched as the sleeve slowly began to fill with air. This part was always kind of awkward since all you could do was wait. You expected it to be the same way with him, but instead, he suddenly spoke up.

“How far along are you?”

You looked up, surprise clear on your face.

“Uh, thirty-three weeks.”

A small smile pulled at your lips as you gazed at your belly, your hands softly gliding over it.

“Hm…husband must be excited.”

You chuckled dryly and shook your head as the device finally displayed the value you had been waiting for.

“No husband. No father at all, to be honest. Left as soon as he found out I was pregnant.”

If you weren’t so focused on filling out the form on your clipboard, you would have noticed Ghost’s entire body tensing up and his eyes darkening. His gaze swept over you, following your curves, as his mouth watered. How could someone abandon someone who looked this delicious?

But before his thoughts could continue, you looked up from your clipboard and smiled at him.

“All that’s left is drawing some blood. But since it’s already late, I assume you’re not sober, so could you come in tomorrow morning before breakfast? That way we can get the most accurate values.”

Ghost found himself nodding, a smile hidden behind his medical mask at the thought of seeing you again tomorrow.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

You grinned before waddling back to your desk and sinking down on your chair. As soon as you were out of sight, Ghost quickly pulled his shirt on and got to his feet. He turned to look at you and for a split second, caught you staring before you quickly averted your eyes.

With a grin under his mask, he started to walk to the door, before he got an idea.

“Are you done for the day?”

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with confusion.

“Yes, why?”

Ghost nodded and walked back into the office.

“I could accompany you to your car if you’d like. Carry your bag, you know.”

Your eyes widened, a smile tugging at your lips.

“I’d like that, but I took the bus to get here. I don’t exactly fit behind the steering wheel anymore.”

“Oh, in that case, let me drive you home. You shouldn’t be on your feet that much.”

You shook your head, about to protest, but Ghost insisted and finally, you accepted. He watched you finish up your paperwork and pack up before he grabbed your bag and offered you his arm to hold onto.

With slow steps, he led you through the clinic to the doors and towards one of the base cars. One that could be used by all soldiers. On the way you gave him your address, not noticing the smile once he noted that you lived on base yourself.

After he helped you get settled and made sure you were buckled in, he got in and started the car, carefully taking off in the direction of your house. The car ride was spent in comfortable silence, and with you almost falling asleep in the passenger seat. But all too soon, the car pulled up in front of the army-issued house and Ghost quickly rounded to your side to help you get out.

He insisted on helping you get inside, only being satisfied once you sat on your couch with a glass of cold water in front of you.

“Thank you, Ghost. I really appreciated you bringing me home.”

He nodded, his mask hiding a sheepish smile and red cheeks.

“When do you start tomorrow?”

With a slight frown, you told him that you usually started at seven a.m. and he nodded, before saying goodbye and walking towards the door. But at the last second, he stopped and turned to look at you again.

“It’s Simon…my name.”

A grin spread on your lips as you nodded and slowly repeated the name, almost to yourself. But Simon heard it and he couldn’t deny that he loved how his name sounded coming from your lips.

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Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

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[cherie-doll]

I don’t know if u have gotten any requests like that but could you write about what would happen if the cod men got injured at work and they have to stay at home for a long time with us. Would they freak out like a workaholic or just chill?

Thank u Cherie for being really really awesome ✮

dawg i received this back in december and am just now answering it wth but thxx ^^

𓍊 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

❥ Price always complains about pain bothering him, and he's heard the countless times you've told him to take a break; he needs it. He would always nod and say he would try to get some time off soon. Except this man can be a major procrastinator, and it wasn't until he got badly injured and told by the doctor to take some time off. It was made clear that it wasn't an option but mandatory. So now he's at home, on the recliner without allowed to get up unless to go to the bathroom or move to the bedroom. You bring him all his meals and at first he thinks it's silly how strict you are with him. He had even brought a pile of paperwork to do but you quickly got rid of that. It doesn't take long for him to get used to your coddling him.

❥ Simon didn’t know how much of a break he needed till he slept soundly without interruption, thanks to the pain numbing medication. He awoke the next morning feeling very well rested and for once he didn’t have a certain annoying Scottish waking him up in the middle of the night to tell him lame jokes. Before he couldn't imagine quitting the military, but now? After a period of having slow mornings, enjoying homecooked meals and spending more time with you; he could definitely get used to this. Goes back to work as grumpy as ever.

❥ Johnny is ecstatic to spend some time with you. Since he used up all of his days off and took every holiday, he's sort of glad for getting an injury. Except he doesn't know chill, rest and relaxation are not in his vocabulary. This man enjoys going out, doing things with you, so it is sort of difficult to get him to stay at home. Anytime you're going out to buy groceries, run an errand or even walk down to your mailbox, he's begging to go along with you. Doesn't even want to stay lying in bed if you've already woken up and are having breakfast in the kitchen, like he wants to be in the same room as you. Really tough when it's time for him to go back.

❥ Kyle at first was sort of annoyed for the injury, he's the only one who had gotten hurt out of his team. Everyone else got away with minor injuries, barely a scratch or two, while he got a leg broken. He's complaining at home while you're nodding along, massaging his shoulders and he starts talking slower, melting into your touch. Leans back fully in the recliner and is like "This ain't so bad". Realized he needed that extended break anyways and relaxes. When he goes back he's bragging about how he got the longest time to heal up while his partner took care of him.

❥ Roach was long due for a break. He needed one, and this injury couldn't have come at a better time. Doesn't even mind the pain if it means sleeping in late with you and being able to stay all day by your side. He doesn't understand those who are married and are somehow still workaholics. Like, what do you mean you wouldn't immediately ditch work at any opportunity you get in exchange to spend some time with your partner? Would prefer your caresses over his medication, which he forgets to take as the doctor prescribed. "You'll just take longer to heal if you don't remember to take your medicine." And he doesn't care, it means he might be able to extend his leave.

❥ Alejandro feels restless, wanting to move and do something. He was fine being able to lie around the house for the first couple of weeks. No longer was he groaning and complaining about how he never was able to get time off, he was resting well now. Except since he's spending so much time inside his house, he's starting to notice things that need to be fixed. You're catching him on a ladder changing a lightbulb, fixing a door that makes too much noise when it opens and closes. You tell him to go back to resting, but he feels like he's gotten all the rest he needed. He's also asking the doctor how much longer he has to stay home, truth is he's just missing his work boyfriend Rodolfo.

❥ Rudy would chill at home during the time he's given off. Loves you taking care of him and leaves work at work, like he's telling anyone who calls asking where he's at, he's resting at home like the doctor said. Doesn't wish for more time off nor is rushing either The doctor thanks his lucky stars he got a normal patient who isn't moving too much or slowing down his healing process. When time is up he's getting up and starting to get ready to head off again.

❥ Phillip was sort of stressed at first, because if he isn't there to take care of his Shadows then who else would? He's always been there for them, either in the front lines with them or behind the scenes making sure they're alright. But now he can't even be on base to see them? He's going to different doctors hoping one of them would tell him something different than the same thing the last five have said... how he needs to rest and not strain his body. He appreciates you being with him though, if there's one good thing out of this is that he can't deny his favorite thing in the world is being next to you.

❥ Makarov either takes it really well, knowing that he needs to lie low anyways or, he sees this injury as an interference to his plans. It really just depends on the timing of things. But either he's wayyy too laid back for your liking, for God's sake he nearly lost a limb! Or he's itching to go back out there, literally being held back by you and the doctor who prescribes him a ton of medication because he's slowing down the process of healing by getting up and doing stuff.

❥ Keegan isn't a workaholic by any means but he prefers to stay busy. For as long as he's been in this, he's taken on almost every mission and task that comes his way. He doesn't shy away from it and doesn't let no small injury get in his way. That sort of changed when you came along though. He no longer had to change his bandages alone while at home, no longer had to struggle to make a meal if his hand or arm was injured. He felt a sort of warmth from you that no comrade could provide him with. So, he would be content healing at home.

❥ König is a big guy. Big guys like him don't get knocked out by just any small wound. Which means that the fact that he got sent home to you means he must've been hurt pretty badly. You were worrying until the doctor told him it was a problem König had been ignoring for several years. Turns out all those muscle aches he frequently got weren't just from working out or going out on missions, it had been an underlying problem. He was too busy groaning in pain to even consider doing any strenuous activity, so he wasn't too anxious.

❥ Horangi probably didn't even get an injury bad enough to give him time off but decided he wanted a vacation and caused himself an even worse injury just so he'd have justification for going home. He isn't lazy by any means but when he's tired and wants rest... you better not be counting on him to do anything for you. Actually, he wouldn't even let you get anything done. He'd pull you away from doing the dishes, doing laundry or even trying to care for him. "I can take care of myself" and if you really insist then he'll tell you the only option you have is to stay cuddled up next to him because that's the only way he'll feel better. His corny ahh

❥ Nikto barely registers his injury after it has been treated by the nurse, so it likely confuses him when he's sent home to rest up. He feels fine? Doesn't know why you're fussing over him either, but he welcomes the extra hours to catch up on some much needed sleep and time with you. He's learned to not take it for granted and even leans into your leniency to eat in the living room while watching tv in his boxer shorts knowing you won't say anything about the mess he's making. You're more worried about him healing anyways.

[crazychaoticizzy]

Serendipity

Your husband asks you to shave his face every chance he gets. He never tells you why, but you suspect it’s because of the silent moment of peace it gives you.

NOW PLAYING: “Serendipity” | Laufey

ERWIN SMITH X READER

CONTENT: domestic fluff, fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

masterlist

AOT masterlist

The sun beams streaming through the open window seemed to make Erwin glow. His golden hair reflected the light in a way that gave him an angelic appearance, and the ever present smile he had when he was around you seemed brighter in that morning light.

The moment seemed so intimate. It was a rare stop in time where Erwin was home—a rare stop where he wasn’t rushing to get anything done.

He’d asked you to help him shave the night before. You knew the main reason he’d asked was due to his recently severed arm, but even before that incident he asked you when he had time.

He was on his mandatory leave. The doctor said he wasn’t to strain his body and that it’d be wise to not overwork himself, so Erwin had decided to return home to you.

Even if it was a fleeting moment that would be over before you knew it, you would remember the closeness years down the road. You would remember the way Erwin was slotted between your legs, the smell of him overriding your every sense. You’d remember the look in his eyes, so clearly smitten with the woman seated on the counter in front of him. You’d feel the ghost of his hands against your hips for weeks after.

A soft breeze blew a lock of his hair into his eyes. You gingerly pushed the damp strands away, tucking them behind his ear. His smile widened as he stared down at you, and it was obvious he was fighting the urge to lean forward and press his lips to yours.

You returned the smile, but soon looked down to lather the shaving cream in the bowl. You gave a few swirls with the brush, making sure you had a decent start on lathering it before you looked back up to Erwin.

His eyes were boring into you. The love struck stare he always had made you nervous, even if you had been on the receiving end of it for years.

“What?” you asked, your brows beginning to pinch together as you continue to slowly circle the bristles of the brush in the bowl. “Is there something in my hair?”

Erwin just shook his head, his hand warm against your skin as he rubbed gentle circles with his thumb. “You’re just pretty.”

You bit back a smile, glancing down at the bowl again. The shaving cream had begun to get sudsy, so you lifted the brush from the bowl and looked back up at your lover.

Your eyes followed the line of his jaw as you swiped the brush across his face. You admired him, everything from the curve of his lips to the rise of his cheekbones.

Erwin Smith was undoubtedly the most beautiful person you had ever seen, and it filled your heart with an indescribable amount of overwhelming joy to know that you had somehow charmed him into being yours.

Now you were fighting the urge to lean forward and kiss him, too. It would be so easy, and he would be willing. He’d pour himself into that kiss and make sure you were satisfied before pulling away.

But if you did that then nothing would get done. The shaving cream on Erwin’s face would be wiped away and he would lead you to the bedroom. You knew Erwin didn’t like the feel of stubble on his face—you couldn’t imagine how he felt with the more grown out facial hair.

You smiled at him. Wide and bright. Bright enough to rival the sun. You carefully set the brush and bowl to the side, then picked up the straight razor. You opened it facing away from him, and then gently ran the pad of your thumb across the blade’s edge to test its sharpness.

“Careful,” Erwin whispered. He watched as you caressed the blade, recalling the first time you had done that and accidentally cut yourself. You still had the scar from it on your other thumb.

“I’m being careful,” you whispered back, locking your gaze with your husband’s once more when you decided the blade’s sharpness was sufficient.

“I meant with me.” You scoffed at his quip. Erwin’s lips curled up, and he leaned forward ever so slightly.

“Says the guy missing an arm.”

“Hey.” He laughed, a sound that rarely blessed your ears. “It’s too early for that.”

You hummed, acknowledging the teasing tone of his voice. You brushed your hand against his neck, turning his head so his cheek faced you.

“I’ll be careful,” you said.

“I trust you to be,” he said. A moment of silence passed before you glided the sharp blade across Erwin’s cheek. Your movements were calculated and you took great care to not nick your husband’s handsome face.

Erwin allowed you to work in silence. That’s when you focused best. Being able to see you with your brows pinched together in concentration was a bonus for him. He’d always said you looked like an angry lap dog belonging to a rich lady from the interior.

Your caresses against his face were another bonus. The way your fingertips brushed against his jawline and ghosted along his neck to turn his head left goosebumps on Erwin’s arms. He always welcomed your touch, and in a soft, intimate moment like this he wanted nothing more than to just pull you closer.

Erwin enjoyed when you shaved his face. It gives the two of you a moment of isolation where no one else exists. A pause in time where there is nothing to worry about except the person he chose in his arms. Not to mention that his shave turned out smoother when you did it (although he could be imagining that).

His favorite part, though, was the end.

His favorite part was when you would finally take the swath of fabric off his shoulder and clean the straight razor one last time. He loved watching you clean up after yourself, and he always offered to do it for you.

You would accept his offer, and then lean forward to press your lips against his just like you were doing now.

Erwin would glide his hands from your hips to hold you more firmly by the waist. He would tug you closer to him, your bodies pressing together so he could deepen the kiss further.

His favorite part was the feeling of your hands in his hair. You would thread your fingers through his golden strands and massage his scalp, something he always seemed to crave when he was with you. Your touch was always gentle—so much so it made him weak in the knees.

His favorite part was the closeness it built. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. He’s known from the moment he met you that he would marry you, but it was moments like these that made him feel with his whole soul and being like the two of you were made for each other.

It was because of moments like the one being shared now that Erwin understood why people went to war. It was to protect the fragile bubbles of peace you built with your love. Your life. It was to protect your chosen one from everything bad in the world.

Erwin would gladly go to war. He would gladly fight any titan or rival force just to keep his peace with you. Because Erwin Smith poured his entire being into the things he cared about, and he cared about you.

it’s been a while since i wrote something but don’t think i forgot yall

so obviously this year didn’t go as planned with writing…. next year guys. next year.

🏷️ if you’d like to get notified anytime I write for Erwin leave a comment or DM to let me know!

[iggyshippingcorner]

short n sweet stobotnik drabble (660 words) based off of some heinously adorable ideas from a mutual :'^)

~-~-~-~-~-~

Stone hears the sharp tak-tak of metal sensor caps clicking together and has already set all the pans on the stove to simmer before he’s properly recognised the sound. The version of the doctor that eagerly takes up space in his mind even when he’s off the clock gleefully crows about “clicker training”. He doesn’t bother taking off his apron, but he does toss his dishcloth onto the counter on his way out of the kitchen. 

When he rounds the corner and enters the main lab, he spots Robotnik at his secondary desk, still trapped in a remote meeting with Walters and some other stiff-necked higher-ups. He doesn’t acknowledge Stone’s appearance with anything other than a simple gesture-- index and middle fingers crooked, come hither my dutiful henchman. Stone comes hither. Keeps his steps silent and measured in case the doctor is un-muted. When he comes just within reach but wisely out of camera frame, Robotnik drops his hand into a different gesture: all fingers curled except the index, which points down at the floor beside his rolling desk chair. 

Stone spares a longing thought for the dinner he’d been halfway through preparing, but he kneels obediently and shuffles closer to the doctor, keeping his head out of frame. Robotnik’s face doesn’t betray so much as a twitch, deadened stare fixed on his webcam in a way that Stone knows makes everyone deeply uncomfortable. Stone gets close enough to his chair that his head nudges the doctor’s down-stretched hand, and then stills as those gloved fingers begin carding through his hair. This late in the day, his styling gel has all but given up the ghost, and his hair ruffles easily between the doctor’s fingers. The metal of the sensor caps warm quickly to his skin but still give him a bit of a shiver when they trace over the shell of his left ear. 

The doctor’s other hand pats at his thigh after a moment of silent petting, and Stone shuffles forward the last few inches needed to close the distance between them. He settles himself carefully with his arms folded over Robotnik’s lap, letting his cheek rest against his arms while his torso leans against the doctor’s legs. His foot-tapping, leg-bouncing ceases immediately, and a nigh-imperceptible amount of tension leaks out of his frame. Jackpot, Stone thinks, and settles in for the long haul. 

Robotnik smooths his hand from the crown of Stone’s head to the nape of his neck, then down across one shoulder to play across the bare skin of his forearms. From there, back up the opposite bicep to neck to crown again, a constant circuit of contact that makes the droning Zoom conference more tolerable. Stone closes his eyes and listens as best he can to the sound of the doctor breathing deep and even, the rasp of fabric when his gloved hand brushes against his shirt, catching on the folds where he’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The occasional tik-ta when the sensor caps connect. 

When Robotnik eventually has to verbally respond, his voice is a little too loud for the proximity they share, but Stone hangs off every word. His hand has stilled, lightly gripping the back of Stone’s neck like he’s trapping him there, ensuring he won’t go skittering back to the kitchen while Robotnik focuses his attention elsewhere. Like there’s anywhere that Stone would rather be at the end of the day.

Eventually, the call will end and Robotnik will release Stone back to his cooking without any words exchanged on the matter. Eventually, Stone will finish making dinner and they will eat at the kitchen island and Robotnik will rant and rave about the new budget adjustments and the new mandatory conference in Houston. But for now, Stone lets the doctor dig his fingers into his pulse-point, pin him in place like an unruly lap dog. For now, Stone weathers the storm at the doctor’s side, mooring him in the tide.

[clairewritesfanfics]

No Goggles!Mark Grayson Origin Part 2

Part 1

The past three months were unbearable. Your daily life has been so intimately intertwined with Mark’s that even one day apart was difficult to comprehend. 

To be frank, when you met him three years ago, you didn’t think your relationship would last for so long.

It was two in the morning, and your very first day as a clerk was as hellish as expected. You couldn’t answer any of the questions your resident asked you, you were cursed with several horrible patients, your seniors were assholes who ordered you to go fetch them coffee but then refused to pay, and one of the attendings kept giving you weird looks all day. After your shift was over, you opted to climb up the roof. 

The sky was really pretty. You couldn’t remember the last time you looked at the stars.

You shut your eyes and inhaled the crisp air.

“You’re not going to jump, are you?”

If you weren’t so exhausted you would’ve screamed at the unexpected visitor.

Leaning over the rooftop’s protective parapet was the city’s second favorite hero, Invincible. 

“If I did, will you save me?”

“I kinda have to, ‘cause y’know–” he gestured over his uniform.

Judging from his physique and speech, he was likely in his early twenties.

“Right.” You looked back at the sky. 

“You do realize I can’t just leave a flight risk.”

You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to jump. I just needed some fresh air.”

“That’s what a lot of jumpers say.”

“Really?”

“Well, maybe not a lot, I don’t have the exact numbers, but judging from experience, a lot of… at risk people like to make excuses and say they’re fine.”

“Mm.”

He quieted down and turned to the stars. “There was a meteor shower a few hours ago.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It was okay for a meteor shower. I’d give it a five out of ten.”

“Is that so.”

“Yup, it was barely anything–”

“Hey,” you interrupted him, smiling softly. “I really did come up for air.”

He was silent for a moment. He put his hands behind his back and awkwardly said, “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” 

He coughed and you could faintly see his cheeks turn pink under the moonlight.

“I guess I shouldn’t disturb a doctor during their break. Thanks for your service, er, no wait… that doesn’t sound right. Um… bye.” He looked just about ready to explode.

“Hey.”

“Y-yeah?” He seemed super reluctant to look you in the eye.

“Thanks,” you said.

He finally glanced over his shoulder and beamed.

When he left you looked at the stars one more time before taking a deep breath and going home for some much needed rest.

Patients are always told to get six hours of sleep at least, with the best being eight, but medical students and doctors are the worst at taking their own advice.

You couldn’t afford to sleep for more than four hours, and even then those few hours were already a luxury. You had to study, meet with patients and deal with their families, study, write the mandatory research papers, fill in the paperwork, study, receive lab reports, speak with consultants and residents, and study.

“Fresh air?” Invincible appeared again from behind the roof railings, floating like a ghost in yellow and blue. 

“Yeah. Plus I’m making it a habit to appreciate the little things more.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“Are you calling me old?”

He raises his hands placatingly. “No, I’m saying it’s good. Mom used to tell me to always appreciate everything, even the small moments. It’s one of the few things I remember about her.” He paused. “She died when I was eight.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, thanks, I didn’t mean to make it weird. I don’t know why I said that, actually.”

“Sounds like she was a great woman.”

“Dad thought so–I mean, yeah, she was.” 

You chuckled. “Shouldn’t you be patrolling the streets or something?”

“I was actually on my way home. My da–Omni-Man’s got everything covered.”

“That’s good.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “A-anyway, I gotta go now. You take care.”

“Mm. Oh, by the way, kid.”

“Huh?”

You smiled. “Thank you for your service.”

He seemed to freeze in mid-air. His ears turned red and he quickly babbled something incoherent before flying away at breakneck speed.

You burst out laughing.

You really needed that.

You had just found out that a patient you really liked, a feisty and vibrant old lady who wouldn’t be out of place in an episode of the Golden Girls, passed away. She was no spring chicken, but she had a healthy heart and the only reason she was at the hospital was because she broke her leg during a jog. She was an avid jogger, a great cook and had just taken up gardening. No history of any cardiovascular diseases, or hypertension, or even arthritis. She was healthy, for all intents and purposes, and had maybe five more years.

Then she just died.

All those years of ruthless studying could have never prepared you for the heartbreak of seeing someone die.

After witnessing a resident announce her time of death, you had to run up here to breathe. You almost thought of quitting.

But you felt much better now.

You met Invincible on a near nightly basis. He talked a lot, and sometimes not on purpose. He seemed uncomfortable with silence, resulting in slip-ups like his age and birth month, his love for Seance Dog, and his dislike of his peers, to name a few.

“I’ve never been close to anyone,” he confessed, sitting cross-legged on the rooftop floor right next to you. “In fact, I used to be outright bullied. I broke a girl’s nose and another boy’s arm.”

“Why?”

“I don’t remember. It was probably because of something stupid. Dad was super mad when he came to pick me up. He said I should learn to fit in better.”

“Did you?”

He shrugged. “After I transferred schools I learned how to be more well-liked. I smiled more, talked to everyone, and I mean, everyone. I stopped fights and did my best to impress my teachers. I became super popular, even when I got to college.”

“Not to mention super humble.”

He laughed and hunched forward, eyes glazed over. “But you know, looking back at it now, I didn’t actually have anyone I could call my friend. Everyone loved me but no one was ever mine.”

He then flinched and swayed his face towards you, brown eyes bulging. 

You raised your arms in the air. “Sorry, I…” You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry for touching your head, you looked like you wanted someone to comfort.”

“No, I was just…surprised.” He then leaned forward, offering his head. “Can you do that again?”

You hesitated a bit, but ultimately did as he requested.

You gently ran your fingers through his hair and lightly scratched his scalp. “Good?”

“Mm.”

You giggled. “Good.”

Headpats became a sort of ritual between the two of you. It was nice. Until one night, he didn’t show. 

No big deal–should’ve been what you thought when you realized that daw was close and there was not a glimpse of that familiar yellow and blue suit.

To be honest, you liked the nightly rendezvous with him. In fact, you might’ve developed a small crush on him. 

But he was a young guy, a superhero to boot, so he probably got bored. 

You were no different in the past. You would get super interested in one thing for a few weeks then move on to the newest hyperfixation. 

You understood. Still, you couldn’t help but be disappointed as you dragged your legs towards the house you rented three blocks from the hospital. A short walk, but a woman walking alone in the city at 3:49 a.m. could never be too careful, that’s why you started running the moment you felt like you were being watched.

When you tripped on a crack on the sidewalk, you swung your bag–heavy with all your study materials and medical equipment–to stop the body rushing towards you.

“Hey, wait, wait! It’s me!”

You stopped. 

Your “attacker” was none other than Invincible. His clothes were torn and soaked with blood. He reeked of death. Fortunately, you’ve grown accustomed to it. 

“You scared me.” You said calmly, pulling your bag back. Using it as an improvised weapon ripped up one of its zippers though, causing some of your stuff to spill.

“I figured. Sorry about that.” He knelt down, picking up stray pens, a hand sanitizer, a compact powder and a handful of candies. He raised to his feet and gently put the things inside the main compartment. “I didn’t mean to scare you. When I got to the roof you weren’t there, so I figured you might’ve gone home, but I got worried and decided to fly over but then I saw you here and well, you know the rest,” he explained rapidly, hands waving all over cartoonishly.

You reached for his chin, the touch shutting him up instantly. You examined his face. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you injured. I didn’t think it was even possible for you to get hurt considering…”

“It’s usually hard to hurt me actually. I had to fight off a couple of exceptionally strong bad guys today.”

“I see. All right.” You pulled back.

“Are you mad?”

“Why would I be? You’re the one who looks like hell.”

“Ouch. Now that hurt.”

“Follow me.”

“Huh?”

“I have a first aid kit at my house, though if you prefer the hospital–”

“No! I mean, your house is closer so we should go there.” He then offered his hand.

You stared at it, then you cocked a brow at him.

He grinned sheepishly. “Your bag looks heavy.”

“Ah. Thanks.” You gave it to him, your own shoulders thanking you. “I’m sorry for hitting you.”

“It’s okay, I’m glad you can defend yourself.” He started walking. “The way to your place is really dark, you know, the streets could really use some more lamps.”

He talked a lot for a man with cut lips, not that you minded. 

“Oh.” He stopped in front of an old house with peeling paint. “We’re here.”

“You can set my bag down in the living room. Take a seat.” You opened the door and motioned for him to come inside. “I don’t have any housemates so you don’t have to worry.” This rundown house was cheaper than the apartments near the hospital. 

You went to get the first aid kit and rejoined your visitor on the couch. “This may sting.” You prepared to clean his wounds.

“Thanks for your help.”

“It’s no problem.”

You both fell into a rare silence. You could hardly focus with his eyes on you. 

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” you spoke, bandaging his arm, “Have you always been following me home?”

His muscles stiffened. “What?” 

“You knew the way to my house.” Tonight wasn’t the first time you felt like you were being watched either.

“That… um…” 

You looked at him. He flinched and quickly bowed his head.

“I’m sorry. I swear it’s nothing creepy! I just wanted to make sure you were safe. You told me you walked home and your shift always ends right before dawn.”

“Then why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t want to insult you.”

You laughed.

“Y-you’re not mad?”

“Nah. I mean, it would’ve been better if you just asked me that you wanted to walk me home, would’ve saved years of my life. I swear I thought I was going crazy, I thought maybe I was being stalked the past few weeks. But I can understand why you didn’t.” He may have learned how to charm his schoolmates and teachers but deep inside, he was an awkward guy. “Thanks for looking after me.”

He seemed taken aback as he didn’t say anything while you finished. 

“I cleaned up the wounds on your face the best I could, but there’s not much I can do because of the mask. I’ll get you some ice.”

You stood up but he tugged on your scrubs. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Honestly?”

He nodded.

“No.”

He looked utterly heartbroken. “Most people would’ve asked me to take me off.”

“Don’t look so offended. It’s just that… well, it sounds like a pain.”

“You’re not good at comforting me right now.”

“I think what we have right now is fine.” In a way, not knowing each other truly meant there were less expectations and few disappointments. That’s right. It was fine. This was fine.

“You want us to stay as strangers?”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, and he didn’t give you any time to think, because he quickly added, “Because I don’t. I like you and I don’t just want to be Invincible to you.”

Oh. 

“One date. Just one date and if you still think we can’t work out we can just pretend that nothing happened. We’ll go back to being perpetual strangers,” he offered, almost desperate.

You blinked. “Okay.”

“Seriously?”

You nodded. “One date and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I should warn you though, I don’t always have control over my own schedule and when I’m free I’m usually studying or asleep, so be prepared for any rescheduling conflicts.”

“Wow… I can’t believe you actually agreed. Shit–I-I mean, uh, sorry.”

You smiled. 

“I should probably show you my face.”

“Well, you don’t have to do it right now–”

He pulled off his mask, revealing a handsome face. Of course. 

“Call me Mark.”

Mark.

He was always so sweet and understanding. You “warned” him about your job’s demands and you were prepared for his, but he never complained and it was always you who had to reschedule. It got so ridiculous that your “first date” was eating takeout at your place while watching Seance Dog’s movie adaptation. You felt guilty but Mark looked happy enough. In fact, he learned to cook so you could eat together in your rented house, and eventually, in your apartment, and then, in the condo he surprised you with. 

As beautiful as that unit was, it was too big now that Mark was gone. 

You wondered if he finally got tired of you after months apart. When he decides to break things off for real, you’ll give him back the condo. It didn’t feel right to be living in the place he bought you.

“You’ve been sighing a lot lately.” It was one of your co-workers. He was a new hire, and a friendly enough guy, but you weren’t close. “Everything all right?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you said curtly. You paused and sighed again. “Sorry.”

He chuckled. “I get it, things are tough. Haven’t been seeing your little boy toy lately. Did you guys break up? He did seem a tad bit immature.”

Asshole.

You finished the rest of your coffee and threw the can in the trash. “I gotta go.”

“If you wanna drown your sorrows, we’re gonna grab a drink later.”

Another doctor arrived and interrupted him, “It’s pointless to ask. She never goes anywhere unless it’s mandatory.”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s true.” You nodded. “I don’t drink that much in the first place.”

“Then you can order something else–”

“I told you, it’s pointless. I’ve been asking her to join me for a girls’ night out for what, a year now? This one is a strict professional who keeps business and pleasure separate, unlike you.” 

“That’s a bit boring–”

“Anyway, take care on your way home,” she cut him off.

Your savior. “Thanks.”

And with that you packed up and prepared to go home. 

Today was the deadline but Mark hasn’t sent you a single text. Maybe he was pissed and decided to ghost you.

…nah. Mark wasn’t like that.

He’d break up with you properly. 

But since this was your idea, you should be the one to reach out to him first.

You stared at his name on your phone. 

This ends tonight.

[bejeweledblondie]

König Headcannons

A/N: just like Ghost’s headcannon’s I’m taking inspiration from my experiences living on a military base

Warnings: NSFW

König x F! Reader

• König initially first met you while you were volunteering with the United Nations & Doctors Without Borders

• you were administering vaccines to children in the Middle East, & providing medical services to the underprivileged communities

• he was awe of your empathy & kindness towards these children, you treated them like they were your own & took your job super seriously

• KorTac was providing security for the community from potential terrorist attacks, as taking any western countries citizen for ransom seemed enticing

• After a surprise attack on the camp that was set up, he immediately brought you to safety & held you as you sobbed into chest out of fear for your life & all those innocent civilians that caught in the gunfire

• “shhh, schatz it’ll be okay” he whispered to you

• he finally asked you out after months of waiting for the right time

• you were giving him his flu shot when he asked you out

• your first date was in his off post apartment, he had cooked you homemade Austrian food

• his cooking is divine, he always chef’s it up in the kitchen

• you guys moved in only a few months into dating (which seems early but in the military world you’re slacking)

• he proposed with his Oma’s ring

• he also asked your parents over FaceTime for your hand in marriage, they were reluctant but he was very persuasive

• you’d probably wind up working at the hospital on post, & the soldiers that come in 100% know you’ll take care of them

• during Christmas leave both of your families meet in Vienna for Christmas time, I mean cmon Vienna is gorgeous at Christmas

• you two announce your pregnancy at Christmas dinner

• his Oma jumped up & ran over to hug you

• this man’s genes are freakin strong

• you definitely get pregnant with twins

• König is deployed when you find out & you tell him over FaceTime

• he cried pure tears of joy & his whole team celebrated

• due to the fact he’s like a giant he produces large babies

• you’d have to get a c-section for the birth because of it, & König makes it in the last second.

• he still had his hood on & was in his tactical gear scaring the entire nursing staff

• imagine their surprise when he just asks where his wife is

• you have a girl & a boy

• they’d definitely be named after his grandparents

• he sings lullaby’s in Austrian to them to introduce them to his home country’s culture

• he hates leaving for deployments now that they’re born & he definitely became more ruthless on the battlefield due to it

• he 100% would bring the babies to work whenever it was a mandatory fun day or a super relaxed day at work

• these hardened military men would be all over your babies & arguing as to who gets to hold them next

• they’re very well protected & König made sure of that

• he’s a family man at heart & he will do anything to protect them

✨NSFW ✨

• you weren’t very experienced when you met König & when you first saw his cock you were in absolute disbelief a man could be that hung

• you let your intrusive thoughts win & asked if he’d fit inside of you

•it took a lot of foreplay for him to fully fit snug in you

• he definitely would say the most absolutely filthy things in Austrian to you even if you understood them or not

• massive size & breeding kink

• he just loves how small your hands are compared to his cock you need both of them to jerk him off

• when he found out you were pregnant he was elated that his efforts worked out

• loved to see your body change & baby bump grow

• also loved how horny you were as a pregnancy symptom ( it killed him that you’d have to deal with that alone while he was deployed)

• like most military men he too has a collection of your nudes & plenty of videos of him fucking you

• he loves your hips & how wide they are to him it digs deep into the primal instinct of carrying his babies

• König is just as stealthy in bed as he is in on the battlefield

[lokisswiftie]

My beloved ghost and Me (Spencer Reid x Reader)

3.2k words

First time writing for Spencer, please be nice! I’m open for requests :)

Summary: Spencer Reid was your entire world. Until he died, leaving you with nothing but the ghost of him. But Is the ghost of him more present than you expected?

Warnings: Main Character Death (it’s literally the premise of the fanfic), mentions of Guns/Gunshots, loss and grief is a key theme, Reader is probably depressed, BAU!Reader, Heavy Angst, descriptions of violence, Ghost!Spencer, possibly ooc Spencer because I’ve never wrote for him before, written with early seasons Spence in mind. Yes I did make Wuthering Heights the book, who is going to stop me? Tell me if there’s any I missed.

When you first met Spencer Reid, you were both young agents at the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Before he ever became close to you, you’d found yourself slightly intimidated by his vast intellect. Still, you grew close fast, Spencer Reid was a kind person, more than that all his little quirks seemed to make you like him even more. The rest of the team could see you both falling for eachother fast, they could see the way his eyes always found you after he told a fact- searching for your approval. He always got it.

There was reluctance to accept the love between you. Love could hurt, and the two of you had experienced enough hurt to know that. But try as he might, Spencer Reid could not pull his eyes away from you. He could not stop himself from wanting you. The longing between you grew and resistance was futile. So on that quiet night at some hotel the team was staying at, when he had sought you out and your lips had met for the first time, it was a breath of relief after so long pretending.

After that your life was filled with Spencer Reid, and you woke up in the morning when the sun was creeping through your windows and saw him next to you and knew this was were you needed to be. You saw a brightness in him that seemed to pull you towards him, like a moth to a flame. Though, in the time that Spencer Reid was in your life he had only ever hurt you once. The pain of that flame came unexpectedly.

You both knew that with your work, with the job that you both had that there was danger. Part of the reason you both had for being so reluctant to be together was that something happening to one of you in the field was a haunting thought. And it could happen. And though you reassured eachother constantly, promised to be careful and tried to be… it did happen.

You never should have left him. There was a sinking feeling of dread in your gut the moment Spencer even proposed the idea of splitting up, but you had pushed it down. You had given the okay, agreed to him taking the back of the building and pushed down the crawling feeling of nausea in your gut.

Less than a minute. Less than a minute after your beloved had left your sight, the snap of gunshots echoed through the air. Your head had snapped in the direction of the sound, hands flying to your radio to alert Hotch that something had happened. Something had gone badly wrong.

Try as you might since that day, you can’t forget the sight of Spencer on the floor of the building, dark blood pooling around him. His eyes had been wide with almost childlike surprise, looking at the blood on his clothes like he didn’t even realise what it was. You stayed beside him till the EMTs came, and he’d begged you not to go. While you had been holding onto his steadily whitening hand, he remained as calm as he could and promised you everything would be okay.

Spencer died in the hospital. The gunshots- yes, that bastard had shot the love of your life multiple times- had broken inside him. Just like something had broken inside you the moment the doctors told you and the team that Spencer was gone. The rest of your team were doing their best to support you, but loss weighs down heavily. Especially when someone like Spencer is gone.

Since Spencer died life has felt at a stand still. Mandatory leave has resulted in you trapped at your apartment. Surrounded by your shared belongings. In the months after he died, Penelope was a rock for you, and bless her she really did try to keep you steady. She forced you to actually venture outside the apartment. And on the days when she arrived and you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed, she stayed with you too.

Nothing could replace him though. And the team couldn’t be there all the time- you understood, of course. But when you were alone, you felt the darkness creeping in. You couldn’t bare to open the curtains so your apartment remained in half darkness most of the time. When you slept, you dreamt of Spencer. And though you knew it wasn’t helping… you were just glad to see his face again. Even if he did fade with the morning light.

Three months after Spencer died, and you think you’ve driven yourself mad with pacing your apartment like this. Your daily routine has turned into getting up, and finding a new area of the house to be flooded with memories of Spencer by. Today you were standing by the bookshelf, swaddled in your pyjamas. Tears wet your cheeks. They always do.

This apartment had originally been Spencer’s, but when you moved into it he had accommodated space for your belongings. Both of you being avid readers, a large chunk of that was books. Your fingers trace over the spines of countless books, eyes flickering to titles. You don’t have an eidetic memory, but you can remember Spencer’s voice reading these stories to you during cold winter days, his arms around you tightly. You pull your hands away when you find a book Spencer had read to you late one night when you were both stressed after a case. Wuthering Heights.

You can feel the tightness in your throat already, and when you close your eyes you can see him again. Your hands hover over the bookshelf while your mind flicks back to that day with Spencer. Your Spencer.

“Are You okay?”

Spencers voice broke you out of the trance you had been in, your head snapping up to look at him in the bathroom mirror. He looked exhausted, already wearing his pyjamas and leaning on the door with tired eyes. He’s been watching you. Watching you staring at your hands, soaking them in the sink for so long they’ve started to prune. The water stopped being filled with blood long ago, but the urge to scrub your hands so hard the skin peels prevails. You wipe your hand on your face, sniffing while you quickly drain the clear water from the sink.

“I’m fine. Sorry I’ll be right in-“

You freeze in the middle of drying your hands, staring at yourself in the mirror. You can see the haunted look in your own eyes. Somehow the flickering bathroom light isn’t bright enough for you to forget what you saw on that case. Both of you know it. Spencer watches you for a moment, watching how you visibly recoil at the sight of yourself. For a long moment neither of you speak, the room filled with the sound of your ragged breathing.

When Spencer’s arms gently encircle your form, you jump at first before settling into him. Admittedly, you’re shaking.

“It’s Not your fault.”

He whispers by your ear, his voice as soft as the sweater he’s wearing. You’re looking at yourself in the mirror and find your lip trembling. There’s a look of skittish fear in your eyes that’s strange to you. You don’t remember starting to cry.

“I know-“

You try and reassure him, unable to meet the soft brown eyes you know are staring back at you.

“It’s Not your fault,”

He repeats it anyway, saying your name with a firmness. you realise how much you’ve begun to lean on him, and how his hands steady you. You’re filled with a rush of emotions and you turn around in his arms before he can see you fully start sobbing. Spencer pulls you into his chest without hesitation. Your eyes sting so you press your face further into his neck, and he repeats those words over and over again until you can believe it. Until you can’t cry any more, and he’s gently rubbing your back and pulling away.

You know you must look even more of a mess now, skin puffy with broken sobs. But he doesn’t look at you with anything less than adoration. His hand comes up to hold the side of your face and you exhale shakily, the space between you tiny.

“Let’s go to bed baby,”

And so you do, following Spencer into your shared bedroom and slipping under the lavender covers. You look up In confusion when he doesn’t join you, and your eyes land on him as he finally comes to join you with a book in his hands. He smiles when he sees you squint in questioning, and you could melt at the adoration in his eyes at that moment. He slips into bed beside you, beckoning you closer which you eagerly comply with and find your designated place in his arms.

“What’s this?”

You question finally, looking up at the sharp curve of his jawline from where your head rests on his shoulder. His face is focused as he flicks through to the first page of the book.

“Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë.”

He replies, and sensing the scrunch of your nose in confusion he adds with a coy smile.

“I’m going to read to you.”

You’re sure you’re burdening him with your unpleasantness, because once again you find yourself replying in a far more abrasive tone than his.

“I’ll probably fall asleep before you’re even started.”

You grumble, and you’re not sure why you’re fighting off the affection but something within you wrestled with your morals, begging you to be difficult. Maybe to see if he’ll love you anyway.

He turns his head to look at you when you say that in that specific tone, and his eyes have this way of seeing through you.

“That’s the point. Get comfortable, I’m about to start.”

He turns his head back to the book and as promised, begins to tell the story to you like you’re a little kid. You settle down without another word of protest, too exhausted and too content by the sound of his voice to fight it anymore. You find yourself Inhaling deeply while you watch his fingers dart over the page, surrounded by the scent of his cologne and drifting in a sea of his voice.

As promised, you slip into a sleep quickly, one far more restful than would be without his help. And when Spencer tenderly brushes your hair back from your face you lean into his touch. Sometimes you still find yourself leaning, but find nothing left of him to hold you.

A choked gasp leaves your throat at the memory, and then before you can judge the situation better you grab the book tightly by the spine. It’s hurting your hand how hard you’re gripping the ornate cover, clammy hand shaking with rage. The sound of your own crying has become like white noise over the past few months. It's filled so much of your time recently that the sound of silence is more distressing than the wretched sobs.

Your eyes flash and once again your head is filled with images of Spencer. When his eyes appear in your mind, you hurl the book right at your front door. For a moment you choke on your own sobs, before caving into the bookcase and without much grace slump to the floor. With your eyes blurry with tears you can see the book, it’s spine looking cracked. Spencer would have hated that. Spencer would have hated you for doing that.

“God, I’m sorry-“

It’s pathetic, you tell yourself. How often you find yourself apologising to the memory of your partner. The reason why changes every time. There’s so many reasons to beg for his forgiveness now.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry-“

You wail, and you can’t even be bothered to think about your neighbours. The first few times your wailing had disturbed them they had been understanding, and they gave you the same pitying smiles in the corridors that everyone did. Now, you're certain their sympathy has worn off. The bookcase makes a noise while you suddenly slam your head back against it. It aches deep into your skull, and when you find that it somewhat muffled the sound of Spencer’s voice in your head you do it again. And again, and again and again and again and-

“Y/N.”

No. You’d been slamming your head back so hard you were starting to see stars. Surely reprieve from the torment that is his voice should have come by now.

“Y/N.”

No, he sounds clearer this time. You almost scream in frustration. You weakly hit your head again.

“No!-“

Your voice comes out in a scream that silences the voice for a moment. The relief doesn’t even get a chance to fill you, before your chest starts to feel like it’s being crushed. You keep Your eyes screwed tight shut to avoid the sting of your own salty tears, and deep down to avoid his voice. Jesus, you must be past the point of insanity now.

“Y/N!”

Like a crackle of thunder, Spencer Reid’s voice echoes into the air around you. And it is a startling realisation, one that spurs you to blink your eyes open- but you’re certain. You didn’t make that up. He’s here.

Tears blur your vision, and you struggle to make out the room in front of you for a moment before it swims into focus. The sight rips the breath from your lungs all at once. Your eyes travel up, from his shoes which are shiny and polished, to the top of his head where his hair shines like a halo in the warm lighting of your apartment. There, like a mirage in the depth of the desert, is Spencer. Your Spencer. And he looks back at you with soft eyes.

The seconds where you stare up at him like a worshipper to a god seem to stretch into hours. You gape like a fish wrenched from the ocean, silently begging for words. Begging for an explanation for the man you love standing In Front of you, when for the past months all you’ve done is remember him dead.

Finally the silence breaks when you wheeze out a reply, breathing his name like a prayer while tears threaten to cloud your vision again. You frantically wipe them away, lest he disappear from the world again and leave you more broken than ever.

“Spencer?”

He looks back at you, his eyes startlingly alive. So bright, you could almost kid yourself that the young man before you is still alive and well, and not buried with all of his future in the ground with him. The guilt eats like maggots under your skin, a rot you’re certain is polluting the air around you. The way he looks at you with some kind of divine forgiveness in his eyes does not ease this feeling.

“I’m here, it’s me.”

He replies, his voice eerily nostalgic. And then he reaches out a hand to you, and you look at it. You realise how pathetic you must look, on the ground with your lips wobbling while you suck in breath after breath. You can’t seem to care when all you feel is disbelief. You stare at his palm; you don’t trust yourself to grab ahold of it in case he vanishes like mist in front of you.

“How… are you here?”

Your voice cracks and his fingers twitch like the sound pains him. You look up at him and can’t restrain the flood of liquid to your eyes when you say the words out loud.

“You’re dead.”

He looks down at you, his eyes warm with heartbreaking pity, and then he comes closer as he drops to the ground. You watch with stunned half believing eyes as he sits beside you, leaving a distance of approximately five inches between you both as he too comes to lean against the bookshelf.

“I was. I don’t know. I think I still am, I’m not sure I-“

His voice is like a fever dream, every syllable making you shiver with memories. You stare up at his face, and he cuts himself off and looks down at you. That’s when you know this must be real, because he has that look. The one that seems like he’s totally enraptured with you. None of your previous visions of him had given you that mercy, the burn of hatred in his eyes was more common. Spencer looks down at you with sorrow.

“I remember dying. I remember… watching everything that happened after.”

He explains, fixing his eyes on his hands while you stare at him numbly.

“I watched you for so long, Y/N. I tried to talk to you- I think I wasn’t strong enough then, maybe or something like that.”

Your heart, which you didn’t know could still shatter further, somehow does. Spencer. He’s been here, within reach but somehow not. If you could remember how to, you would laugh bitterly at the revelation that the universe has found yet another way to kick you down.

“What changed? How are you here now?- I don’t understand-“

You frantically ask, and he quickly reaches for you. His eyes flash with hurt for a moment when you duck away from his touch before they fill with understanding.

“Y/N, please- I’m here. I don’t know how, I think maybe I’m… stronger? I’ve been trying to get you to notice-“

You listen to him and at this your mind flashes with memories of the various objects that have been falling off of tables. You didn’t care at the time, but the pieces fall into place now. He continues.

“…I saw you hurting yourself and I didn’t think about it, I just spoke. And you heard me.”

There’s a moment of silence where the world seems to settle- it turned on its head when you saw him, and you’re not sure it will ever return to the way it was before. But the world around you settles as you grapple with the knowledge.

You stare at your palms stunned, and you can hear the anxious tapping of Spencer’s fingers against his thigh. It’s a sound you didn’t realise you’d missed. It’s then you realise sluggishly that he’d tried to touch you, and you’d pushed him away. It’s then that your body is filled with overwhelming need for Spencer, and it’s the moment that you realise you can have him again.

He lets out an exclamation when you quickly turn towards him and briefly look at his face. Not bloody, not bruised, not pale and lifeless. You choke on a sob, and launch yourself into his arms again.

“Oh my god, Spencer-“

You sob, and his arms wrap around you without hesitation. He’s just as eager to have you in his arms again, and he doesn’t flinch at the way you squeeze him harshly. He’s real. You reach up and you can feel the softness of his hair under your fingertips. You bury your face in his neck and you can smell his cologne once more. Then his hand moves up to gently cup the back of your head, which you’ve only just realised has started to sting. He cradles you close to him, and you can sense the worry emanating from him.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”

He whispers, and presses a firm kiss to your forehead. You shudder at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as his breath tickles the hair on your neck.

“I’m here. I’m here.”

[i-am-grell]

We Now Return to Anime Poll

I finished Thriller Bark yesterday, I'm gonna blitz through Sabaody arc today, and then it's time for a Mandatory One Piece Break™️ so I do not go or drive the people around me Insane. (Grell is not sorry for all the One Piece spam especially that which features a Blond Man.)

If you're new here, I enjoy watching anime and don't enjoy making decisions. Solution? Poll.

Propaganda* (*yapping, and clickable link for one option) below the cut. You're allowed to reblog to yap/propagandize in tags, for reach, or third reason. You do not have to know me, follow me, like me, or like/know/have watched any of the options to vote.

Propaganda:

Fairy Tail - Time has been skipped. Bisca and Alzack my married beloveds. This poll option will count for Season 5 (ep 126-150) and Phoenix Princess.

Ameku M.D.: Doctor Detective - Have you tried the medicine drug?

Heaven Official's Blessing - Link. Also @ dazaimaru would love if you chose this one, but I ain't tagging her; if she wants to vote for this, she's seeing it organically 😈

Ghost Stories - I've never had a proper watch of the Ghost Stories dub. That's it. That's the propaganda.

Maid-Sama! - I know the button phrase may not be the most correct, but far be it from me to ignore the chance to Ouran-ify everything.

Parasyte - I mean, that's my understanding of it. Tell me if I'm wrong, but I'm right.

[the-secret-garden1]

Hello there, 👋

I am Tamer Aldeeb, a dentist from Gaza.

We have suffered greatly from fear, displacement, and the destruction of our home and my clinic, and everything we literally own...

We want to save ourselves from what seems like an inevitable death.

I hope you can take a look at my campaign on the pinned post on my profile ,and help us by donating or sharing our campaign to reach the largest number of supporters.🌹🌹

Our campaign is verified by @90-ghost , @ibtisams , @el-shab-hussein , @nabulsi and @fairuzfan 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

Thanks a lot in advance ❤️❤️❤️

Tamer Aldeeb's Family

Status: €18,796 raised of €40,000 goal | donate here

Click for more info ⬇️

To begin their story, it is important to introduce their family, who are the core of Tamer's existence and the source of his strength during these turbulent times:

They are a family of four suffering for over nine months from a brutal genocide that spares neither humans nor stones.

His mother is the heart of their home.

His mother embodies generosity and kindness as a devoted homemaker, always prioritising her family's well-being. Her unwavering love remains our sanctuary amidst the chaos.

Their father is the pillar of strength.

His father, Majed, is a dedicated professor. Faced the destruction of the university he served. Despite this, his commitment to education and society remains unshaken.

His brother is a beacon of healing.

His brother, Mohammad, is a compassionate doctor. Who confronts the challenges of healthcare amidst dwindling supplies and occupation brutality, showcasing remarkable dedication to healing.

As for Tamer, he is a dream deferred.

Tamer, was on the verge of a new beginning, with aspirations to further his career in Germany. He'd had saved thousands of dollars for the mandatory block account to support my stay abroad. However, the genocide has not only shattered his professional dreams but also consumed what didn't burn of his savings, compelling him to fight for his family's survival amidst the escalating costs of basic human necessities.

[Picture of Tamer's family before the war]

They have lost the lives of their dearest friends, neighbours, and much of what they loved. They have lost their home with all its dreams and memories. A five-floor house completely levelled to the ground.

[kaliforniared]

The Resident Patient Pt. 2 (SPOILERS)

Alright sequel notes coming up now!

Fun sleepover, huh? Yeah if only

Poor John sounds so scared

Right, Mariana would be a believer in ghosts 

NOT THE SPINNING POTTERY SCENE REFERENCE, JOHN

Tippy toes? Wow

Ooh yes! Using the mic to bring up recorded evidence is a feature we don’t hear option but SHOULD

I’d be just like Mariana bringing up The Shining in this situation, except I’d do it more liking a joking skeptic

‘Roadkill’? Damn, that was kinda rude Mariana

Mariana: “Call the journalist!”, John: “I don’t want to!” - same John I hate phone calls

This little exchange was cute to me: 

Avery: “What? What’s this hmm? Are you a doctor?”

Sherlock: “No but he is” *referring to John*

John: *ahem* “Hello”

“The only crime that is rife around her involves tax evaders or high-end sex workers. You don’t strike me as either” - okay SHERLOCK?

Ah yes here’s where Sherlock refuses to help the guy because he’s lying 

What’s the deal with magnets in this case?

JOHN’S I LOVE LONDON SHIRT MENTIONED AGAIN!!

Oh wow Sherlock is HEATED about this dude, even saying “go ahead and die, see if I care”

Spooky sleepover!!

Ah yes a mandatory Blair Witch Project mention when recording in a spooky place

Another fun exchange for this episode:

Sherlock: “Good God!”

John: “What is it?!”

Sherlock: “This jacket is grotesque”

John: “God sake”

John…are you asking Sherlock to strip your corpse so your ghost wouldn’t be stuck wearing the pjs you died in??

“Would you like to be found naked? Or perhaps in the disgusting jacket?” - we’re getting silly & sassy Sherlock in this case, I love it!

“You have a sharp mind. You’re a brilliant man, your thoughts and opinions are never stupid” - awww Sherlock complimenting John is so sweet!!

“Well that’s just stupid” - welp that didn’t last long

“Fill a brother in” - NOT SHERLOCK SAYING WHAT JOHN SAID IN PT. 1

Why are they being so cute right now???

Oh shit, crime is happening! GO AWAY, Sherlock and John are bonding!

Listening with headphones sounds like Sherlock is whispering over my shoulder (creepy and uncomfortable)

Ouch, at least you tried to do it, John (maybe better luck with that in the future?)

The disgusting jacket ends up being useful!

“You ok, mate?” - I honestly love how John asks how his friends are doing during cases

Oh…looks like he went ahead and died just like you wanted Sherlock…

Oh wow, that ending for Pt. 2 is…dark. I knew it was gonna happen based on reading it from the ACD story, but it’s always interesting to hear how they present it in the podcast. 

But on a more positive note this case is so Johnlock-positive! Whether or not you ship it, you gotta admit that they’re so much friendlier towards each other here. Also Sherlock is just so much more silly and feral in this case and it’s so funny to me! We need more ‘silly goofy mood’ Sherlock. Alright, tune in next week for the Resident Patient finale…

[itsohh]

Ghost and Price Soulmate AU

A/N: G/N reader, posted as seperate fics on ao3 with each specific tag relating.

Warnings: Angst, self-mutaliation, reference domestic abuse

AO3 Masterlist

Ghost

He never believed in soul mates. Not in the matter that most people thought. Sure, they were real, sure there was someone out there destined to be ones other's match. Ghost just didn't believe it meant anything. Not really.

He of course had seen what it lead to.

His mother, destined to be with his father. They were soul mates and yet he treated her just as bad. His father loved his mother, sure, but he loved himself so much more.

So when that fated day came, that one when a bullet hit Ghost directly on his thigh, he couldn't help but be a little relieved.  The nurses had been so sympathetic, the doctors too. They hadn't been able to save the soul mark. Now replaced with a gunshot scar. A blessing in disguise. It was a weight off his shoulders.

Escaped. He had escaped destiny.

-

Legs rather comfortable on Soaps lap, you hand your arm over your eyes while you quietly rest. "How'd you get this one?" He poked the scar just under your knee. If anyone else had asked, you would have given them a piece of your mind. Asking about a scar wasn't a line that everyone could cross.

"Some dude tried to go for my kneecap and missed."

"Ouch."

"Didn't even hit me hard enough to shatter my kneecaps regardless of his shit aim."

The door clicked open and you heard the quietest of footsteps enter the room. "Sergeants." Ghost.

"Hey LT, what's the sit'?"

"Price's put us all on mandatory vacation leave." Your arm lift from your face at his voice as you stared at him.

"For real?" You asked, disbelief written across your face.

"Two weeks." You heard a huff from his voice as he sat down opposite to you. There was almost a relief in his eyes. He had been working hard. Too hard.

"Well gives the pair of you a perfect amount of time for a honeymoon huh-" Soap's tease was cut off by your kick but only made him laugh harder. Your relationship with Simon wasn't a secret, not to Soap anyway.

"Alright, alright I was joking. Shite."

"Perhaps you could use that two weeks to learn how to be funny." Your eyes narrowed at him.

"You wound me." He jabbed a finger next to a scar. "Speaking of wounds, How'd you get this one?" You looked over to the exposed skin just under your shirt.

You froze for a moment and your eyes didn't go to Soaps, but to Ghosts. The pair of you had never brought up the matter at hand. Soul marks, it never seemed important. So many people so dedicated to finding that person that the world designed for them, it just didn't seem to matter for you. You loved Ghost, you didn't want to know it was because of an outside force. You loved him and nothing would change that.

"That's my soul mark."

"Damn, that's rough. Not a pretty one." Soap looked down at the nasty scar.

"No, I mean it was. Alright, so when I was a kid I was totally in love with this girl at school called Lilith."

"Oh yeah?" He raised a brow while Ghost continued to watch.

"But she had a different soul mark than mine and wouldn't even look at someone who wasn't her soul mark. She was only gonna date her soulmate."

"What happened?"

"I figured I couldn't have the same one as her but maybe she would date me if I didn't have one. Like how would she ever know if I lost it."

"So you burnt it off?" Soap looked at you with slight horror.

"Cut actually. It uh, really fucking hurt but man she was really pretty." Soap straightened his back slightly and you swallowed.

"I presume it didn't work out."

"We started dating happily and were together up until right before I joined the military. Until her actual soulmate showed up."

"Ohhhh, rough." He gave you a look of sympathy.

"At the time? Was not happy. But I think everything worked out okay." Your eyes locked onto Ghosts for a moment.

"Cute. What about this one?" Soap asked and you looked at the scar on your hand.

"Think that was when I burnt myself making an omelette." Soap barked out a laugh and you could have sworn you saw Ghost's eyes squint from a smile.

"For fucks sake, Soap!" A grumble turned into a yell and the pair of you froze at Price's voice. In all honesty, Price didn't shout like that very often, especially at one of you. Normally it was more akin to a tired sigh.

"Whaddya do this time?" You removed your legs from his lap.

"Better go find out." He jumped up and cracked his neck. "If you don't hear from me in three hours then I want stripers at my funeral." He gave you a wink and headed out the door. The fact he locked the door after him wasn't something you missed.

Silence settled between the pair of you. Eventually, Ghost spoke up. "Can I see it?" Your eyes lift up and met his. You knew exactly what he meant.

"Sure. It's just a scar now, nothing special." Ghost stood up and towered his way over to you. He replaced Soap and your feet settled on his lap. Carefully, Simon removed the mask from his face and placed it on the coffee table next to you. You watched as he bit the top of his glove and slid it off his hand for it to join his mask.

His hand gently grazed the old scar. "Do you regret it?"

"No. Not really, to be honest after things didn't work out with Lilith I didn't think I would date again."

"Why did you?" His brown eyes settled on yours while he continued to stroke the scar.

"Well, we spent what like three months skirting around each other?"

"Four."

"Mmm, I mean you're an attractive man Simon. Enough to make someone change their mind."

"You couldn't see my face."

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for tats." You grinned and he raised a brown. His curled lips betrayed him and you let out a small laugh. "Honestly blame Soap, dunno if he did the same to you but god fucking dammit was he a persistent wingman. I enjoy your company and he didn't let me forget that."

"Hmm, seems he played matchmaker for the pair of us."

"Are you really surprised? It's Soap, he loves to meddle."

"Probably why Price is ripping him a new one," Simon muttered and his eyes sent back to the scar.

"Does it bother you?" Your voice was small, quiet and concern drew across your face. "That I don't have a mark anymore. That we will never know if we were made for each other." Simon paused and then suddenly got up from the chair only adding to your uncertainty. He placed his leg on the coffee table and started to pull up his trouser leg.

Confused you watched him until he pointed to a particular scar. "See that there?"

"You got shot?" You raised a brow.

"That there's where my mark god before it was shot. Lucky bullet. Can't be upset with you an't having one if I don't have one now."

Simon let the trouser leg fall and sat back down on the couch. This time he grabbed your legs and pulled you up onto his lap. It was a swift movement that had you automatically let out a small laugh. He had that adoring look on his face. The corners of his lips all crinkled up. Now with you in arm's reach, his bare hand caressed your face. "Couldn't give a flying fuck about that shite. I'm with you because I want to be, not because some destiny bullshit tells me to. But because I choose to love you."

Price

It had been a completely innocent moment that he saw it. That mark on your torso. A cropped singlet showed it off while you played netball with your squad. A particular game that Gaz had joined. Price wasn't even supposed to be there, he was only getting Gaz. Yet he froze when he saw that mark. The one that was identical to the on his wrist. Just under his watch.

Gaz forgotten about, Price had a call he had to make.

"Look, Kate, doesn't need to be somewhere safe or dangerous just anywhere but where I am."

"John I can't just have people reassigned for no good reason. Are you trying to sabotage their career? Is this a personal thing?"

"No, fuck, I'm not trying to fuck with their career. I'll be compromised around them, it's not a problem now but it might be in the future."

"Are you in a relationship with this person? Or were you?" Kate asked and John let out a sound of slight frustration through the phone.

"They're my soul mate Kate. They don't know it but I saw it." The line went silent. John eventually heard a sigh on the other end of the line.

"I'll do what I can."

-

After that phone call, John hadn't heard from you again. Despite the desire for companionship feeling deep down inside of him, he knew he did the right thing. It wasn't your fault and it wasn't his. Yet he had decided to override date, to override destiny.

Laswell never told him where she sent you. On any other day, he would have said that was for the better.

Any other day.

Gaz sprinted alongside him, guns firing about near them. "Fuck!" He could hear Gaz as the building nearby crumbled down into dust, a building they had just come from.

The pair of them were overrun and for a moment he looked at Gaz and regretted bringing him to his death. There were just too many from too many directions. With no proper cover, the pair of them were fish in a barrel. Bullets came from in front of them but not at them. By some miracle, a door opened while gunfire continued to cover them.

The door promptly shut behind them as both Gaz and Price fell to the ground in their hurried movement.

"Well, I'll be damned, long time no see Gaz." You held a hand out for him and Price watched as you pulled Gaz off the ground.

"Hey, Lieutenant! Didn't expect you to be here." Lieutenant? Price never knew you were promoted. Then again it's not like he wanted to hear about you, it was easier pretending you didn't exist.

"Yeah well, not the worst place to be at. I presume you guys are here due to the attack three days ago?"

"Affirmative on that." Price finally spoke up, he could pretend at least now that you weren't his soul mate.

"We have been here since then, then you two were running through dead man's land."

"Are you guys stuck here?" Gaz asked while you lead them over to a table with a map on top.

"Of course not. We have an underground pathway in our access. But they don't know that. They think that we are stuck here, they tried to push a could of times but Katey up in the best keeps taking them out."

"Are they hoping to starve you out then?" Gaz asked and you nodded.

"Yup in the meantime we have been setting up."

"Setting up what?" Price asked and you gave him a big grind.

"Fireworks show of course. The tunnels below here are far more extensive than everyone originally thought. It goes directly under their set up so we are going to hit the supports."

"Have it crumble from beneath them." Gaz breathed and you nodded.

"Only problem is that there's a high chance that our tunnels will collapse too, we are right on a cliff face so it's gonna be close." Your Sergent popped up next to you.

"This is Sergeant Lawyerson. Demolitions and structural expert."

"The idea is we will evacuate everyone first. " You explained.

"Speaking of, we should get to that. I onto have one set of charges left."

"Right we have to be quick then, when they realise that we don't have people at their posts they might push."

"I'll go get them in place now. Captain, Sergent do you mind looking after my men? There's a side path on the mountain we need to take, it goes from tunnel to straight cliff face. It's pretty risky but KitKat knows the way."

They both gave you a nod and started to work with the squad to leave. Yet Price's eyes lingered on you for a moment. You were a storm, not one to be trifled with. You spoke with certainty and confidence. The perfect leader for your squad. He could see the trust in their eyes.

"Lieutenant!"

"What is it, Katey?"

"Fuck, they got a tank out here!" Price watched as you froze for a moment then sprinted to the exposed gap then swore.

"Right, everyone evacuates now. KitKat eyes front."

"What about Attorney?"

"I'll get Lawyerson, the rest of you go." Price was swept up with the small crowd and followed KitKat down a tunnel. He only had a glimpse of you before you ran down a different path away from him.

"Captain, this way." KitKat had a kind smile on her face but he couldn't help but feel the pit in his stomach form. Was this a result of the bond? Or was this a gut feeling? He couldn't tell.

With Gaz in front of him, he was led through the path until he reached outside. It was an old climbing path, the bridges were old and wooden while the actual path was thin. It didn't allow for fast movement.

A few minutes later his head whipped around to see you following your Sargent. "Blow it." You commanded as the pair of you expertly hurried down the path. Far faster than everyone else had. He couldn't help but wonder how many times the pair of you had travelled it in the last few days.

"We're too close to the blast!" Price's eyes went to the entryway as more voices started to echo down.

"We can't let them reach here else everyone's dead. There's no cover here."

"We can handle some!" She protested.

"Some, not a goddamn army." You were right. She glanced at you over her shoulder then hit the detonator.

A rumble echoed it as the pair of you continued to sprint. Echos of your enemies' screams carried through the tunnel and out into the open. True to Lawyersons suspicions, the tunnels on your side had started to collapse too.

Unfortunately, not all your foes were caught. A brief area by the exit was reinforced rather well and they survived. Meanwhile, the path around you started to crumble. Gaz lit up his gun in an attempt to cover the pair of you.

Price snapped to action just in time for the wooden bridge to collapse under both you and Lawyerson. She managed to barely leap over to safety but your jump, slightly further back didn't make it.

But he caught you.

Price's hand found yours as he dove prone to the side. With one hand off the side, you dangled to his hand. "I got you." His eyes bore into yours as the pair of you tried to pull you up. Yet the wood that you used cracked under your weight and all progress was lost. Lawyerson recovered and went to help pull you up but a bullet in her leg had her cry out.

A curse left John's mouth as a gunshot hit his shoulder. They were getting lit up trying to save you. Your eyes turned to see the small group that had survived. They were aiming for the three of you.

"Let go, you need to leave." Your voice came and for the first time in a very long time. He froze.

"I'm not leaving you."

"You will die if you stay and I'll die regardless. Don't water your life like this. " He felt your hand go limp against him and he used all his strength to continue holding on.

"I can't."

"They always said you were such a level-headed man. Let go. Don't put the weight of your death on me. Lawyerson will need help with that leg of hers. Save her."

His eyes glanced at the small mark on his exposed wrist, your eyes followed him and you gave him a weak smile. John couldn't say it out loud, that he was your soul mate. A man you only knew from word of mouth.

"I already knew. Gaz showed me a picture of the pair of you, your wrist was showing." His lips parted.

"You didn't say anything."

"Love wasn't an option for me. Soulmates? That's a fantasy for civilians to have. Not us. But for what it's worth, if there was anyone worth being cosmically tied to, your a pretty damn amazing man to be it."

He shouted your name and with your free hand, you pried yourself from his grip. "Go!" So John watched as you fell, a love finished before it had even started.

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Not Rated Fics Masterlist (14)

Part 1 /Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 /Part 8 /Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 /

Created: August 22nd, 2024

Last Checked:-----

For the Wrong Reasons-oh_wellau (ao3) Summary: They weren't part of the rebellion. In fact, it was years ago. That first summer Katniss had to wonder why her father had died fighting to end Snow’s reign, if now she had to watch mandatory viewing and see as Capitol children were reaped for another version of the Hunger Games. This was their new life. At first of ghosts and memories. Of reconstruction, cold winters, and thin bare clothes. They got a cat, maybe in replacement of a mother. The Capitol is gone, but nothing is really different. Herbarium-oh_wellau (ao3) Summary: Katniss wouldn’t want a flower because it’s pretty. No, she'd want a flower because she likes studying them. She likes to know their names and then save them, pressed carefully inside her books. Katniss and Peeta, age 11. Modern AU. Life Can Be Good-rarepairheathen (ao3) Summary: Can be a prompt if you like: District 12's harvest festival is in full swing- tell us about how Katniss and Peeta spend the day. Post-rebellion/epilogue Mockingjay setup./Once Katniss's banishment is lifted, she finds new traditions in other districts and able to see that she can enjoy life. Look at me-Hdishebrna (ao3) Summary: Peeta can’t look Katniss in the eye Lost Boy-Ronja (ao3) Summary: From the "Chance You Didn't Take" AU, Peeta's musings in the night. Definitely a companion piece but probably understandable even if you haven't read TCYDT. Discusses the Everlark relationship through Peeta's eyes, before and after the part where the story goes AU. Picture this-Hdishebrna (ao3) Summary: How I pictured Peeta icing the cake in 13 for Annie and Finnicks wedding, written as… a picture Pin me to the ground (and never let me go)-oh_wellau (ao3) Summary: Happens in Catching Fire, before the Quarter Quell, but after the announcement. Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch train for the Quell with Rye's help. Slightly OOC. Fluff. Selfish-Pagedancer87 (ao3) Summary: For user: infinitegraces Prompt: Everlark without the Games AU—Games can never have existed or still exist, I’m just a sucker for “It would have happened anyway” fics Summary: “It’s really okay for there to be times when you stop putting everyone else first, and just do what’s best for you.” The Hunger Games Asks on Tumblr-rarepairheathen (ao3) Summary: With the recent scare of Tumblr shutting down, it was a good reminder to save your meta posts as much as you would your fics! Here you'll find a series asks from Curious Nonny on tumblr who has sparked debate and dialog through the fandom to keep it alive. The White Light Of The Moon-VanillaCottonCandy (ao3) Summary: “You’re alright, Katniss. You just had surgery.” Of course. This was a planned operation, to fix a malfunction the hasty removal of my spleen three years ago during the war caused. The District Thirteen doctors were rushed and made some mistakes. “Did the surgery work?” / Based on the prompt : “could you write something where katniss has surgery and peeta looks after her 😭😭”

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Hogtied: Part 2

A month later, your fingers itch to pull up his file. You resist, knowing, and believing that everyone is entitled to their privacy. It is why most workers can only access a heavily redacted copy of Ghost's medical record at your insistence. The full copy is buried in your private files in your office under a false name, same as most of the men you treat, including the Captain.

You've yet to see König since his re-check as you have spent a lot of time eating meals in your office recently as due to the mandatory full physicals recently. These days drag on as most do all they can to avoid coming in. Right now, you are waiting on your next appointment. Pulling the file, you see that it is supposed to be Ghost. Grumbling, you stand. There's no way he will show up voluntarily.

Walking into the gym, his most frequent hideout, you see him grappling with someone. "Ghost, you need to come with me." He freezes, and the other man slams him to the floor while he is distracted. You wince, but Ghost pops back up like nothing happened.

"Got me there, König. Rematch later?

"Ja, das klingt gud. I look forward to it." You nod to him as you follow Ghost out.

"I was winning before you distracted me, luv."

"Sure you were, tiger. Sure you were." You delight in hearing him mutter under his breath about annoying doctors. "I wouldn't have been a distraction if you would show up voluntarily for your check-ups." He is quiet the rest of the way and strips down to his pants without you needing to ask while you mark down his compliance with the mandate in his public file.

"Are you in pain today? Scale of 1 to just cut it the fuck off." He snorts, which has you grinning, though he can't see it as you lock the door.

"Two, bit of an ache on my side and arm from being slammed down." His tone implies that he thinks it is your fault. You refuse to rise to the bait, giving him a full check from neck to toe, including the hated turn your head and cough. At the very end, you ask him to remove his bally so you can finish up. "Why? I'm perfectly healthy."

"You're not, but this is to make sure you don't have a surprise pop up. I'm the only one who will see, promise." You go through this every time with Ghost. He trusts so reluctantly. "Let me see you, Simon." His real name always stuns him. You use it so rarely. He nods and slips it off, closing his eyes. Averting your own, you give him a moment to come to terms with the lack of fabric before quickly checking him over. At your quiet, "done," he hurriedly puts his mask back on. It shouldn't make you sad, but knowing that he feels more vulnerable, showing his face than having you cup his royal jewels always hits you hard. "I'd like to say see you next year, but we both know you won't stay uninjured that long."

He smirks. "I'd miss your hands on me too much, princess." You shake your head and slip out the door to give him privacy. When you look up, you see König sitting in the waiting area.

"Are you waiting for Ghost?"

"Nee, you. I have appointment."

"Oh! I'm so sorry. I hadn't looked ahead. Let's go on back." He follows you amicably, sitting on the exam table. "Before we start," you say locking the door. "Do you want me to redact facts on your public file? I do for many of the team members. The original is kept under lock and key with a pseudonym in my office, but that way, no one else has access to your medical history or anything else you want kept off of it."

"I did not know that was option. Yes. There are questions I have refused to answer."

You nod. "It is a common issue, so I buck the rules a bit for you men. If you could mark this up for me then. It is a copy, so don't hesitate to cross things out. Bring it back to me and I will make the changes. Please strip down to your pants. The mask is up to you for now." You turn away and hear him shuffling a bit before he sits again. Turning, you begin your assessment. He leaves his mask on, but is fidgeting heavily as you take in his broad form. "Perfect," you say trying to keep your admiration for his physique from coloring your tone. You take a steadying breath, then jump right in as though he was no different from any others you have examined. The warmth of your cheeks is a sure sign that you do feel differently, despite your best efforts. You manage to get through everything and when you gesture, he slips off his mask without an argument. You tried to force your eyes away from him when you first saw his face as your supposed enemy, but now looking at him as a friend, you let your eyes linger a bit, tracing over his scars and the chunk cut from his ear. You take notes of the various features to add to his file. "Was it a bite or a knife that did that one?"

"Knife, about three years ago. One of yo - our team, actually." You tut quietly and move on.

"It is optional, but we also offer an std panel. Since you haven't had one before with us, I do recommend it just to have a baseline, but I recognize that it is a private matter that you may wish to take off base. It is a blood draw that you can schedule through the online portal. Seems most don't want to have to ask a pretty girl at the reception desk about it." His smile is lopsided as he slips the mask back on.

"Ja, I could see a problem with asking the pretty doctor for a test." You laugh and wave him off.

"We are done here. Make sure to bring those papers back so I can get that handled. For now, I will move your file, so if you get hurt, make sure they know to call me so I can pull it. Have a good night, König. It was good to see you again."

You leave, settling back in your office with his file in hand. Head in your hands, you try to ignore the way your body reacted to being in his proximity. Your panties are soaked, and nothing untoward even happened. After a long think, you lock up the file, readying to leave for the day. You pass Soap in the hall, ignoring his declarations of undying love. He switches tactics suddenly, "ye goin t'be at the pub tonight, lassy?"

You stop and consider it. "Yea, send me the address and I'll stop in. Haven't been out in forever."

He whoops. "Sounds like a randan, hen."

"Nae, ye cannae." You glare at his back as he hurries off, ignoring your protest. Throwing your hands up, you relax in your quarters for a few hours before getting ready to go. You hem and haw more than normal, finally deciding on a knee-length skirt and a cute blouse with a bit of makeup. Looking critically in the mirror, you add a set of leggings, too self-conscious with the scarring on your thighs to risk anyone seeing them on accident.

Entering the pub, you see about a dozen members of the team have shown up and sequestered themselves to one area. All of them are men unsurprisingly. Most of the few women at work refuse to have anything to do with the adrenaline junkies that you treat, not wanting to deal with rough men. Having been around them at work and at leisure, you know that most have a few rough edges, but they always make an effort to include you even if they are incorrigible flirts.

It takes only a few seconds for one of them to spot you, "Oi! It's the doc! In a bloody skirt!" You laugh with the men, walking over and getting passed a pint from the table. Taking a sip, you nearly gag.

"Oof! Who bought this swill? You fucks on a diet or somethin?!" You set it down in disgust and ask for a pint of your favorite at the bar, a nice frothy glass of Guinness. Bringing it back, both Soap and Ghost gasp as if wounded.

"Ye cannae be serious, not Guinness!"

"Am scunnered ye think tha piss taint pure minging."

"English, ya fucks. Use English."

"What, like right proper Bri'ish, chappie? That piss is a load of tosh. Downright naff, it is." Soap burstd into a fit of giggles at your horrible impression of Ghost. Gaz wraps an arm around your shoulders.

"Never, ever pretend to be English again. My God your accent is horrid."

"Wäre Deutsch besser? 아니면 한국어? (Animyeon hangug-eo?) Quizás el español sea mejor. I can do this all night."

"Rather have you speaking tongues on my cock, later," says a newer recruit. He is promptly elbowed by the guy next to him and a quiet argument breaks out. You opt to ignore the idiot and turn to Gaz.

"How have you been, mate? I haven't seen much of most of you and too much of the rest lately." He chuckles knowing exactly what time of year it is and drops his arm to your back.

"Busy, Captains got me running a lot of things right now trying to keep ahead of the König mess."

"I shouldn't ask, should I? They mad we nabbed him and gave him Stockholm Syndrome?"

"That's putting it lightly. They've tried legal and illegal ways of forcing him back. It's been a right mess. I think it will clear up soon though. Poor guy's been through the ringer, but you wouldn't know it. He's been a good asset, thanks to you." You freeze, drink halfway to your lips. Putting it back on the table a little too hard, you turn to face Gaz.

"What do you mean thanks to you?" He scratches his head nervously.

"I just mean, you treated him up nice and it put him in a better mindset. Cooperated with everything and all. After the second meeting, he agreed to join us when nothing would sway him before."

"Oh. Umm... ok. Should I put that on my resume? 'Bedside manner good enough to make men turn traitor'. That sounds like an in-demand skill." He looks shocked and hurt.

"You're leaving us? Why? Is it because of the FNG over there? I'll smoke him right now if it is." His exclamations have drawn the attention of others who also demand answers.

"No, it was just a joke, mate. I ain't leaving. It'd make my parents way too happy, after all. And I'd miss my little arsonists and murderers." You wink at Soap and Ghost who stand a little taller, proud of their work.

"Now, I thought you were gonna get mad wae it, Bubbles." Soap groans at the new moniker.

"It's Soap, nae Bubbles, hen. Noo, haud yer wheesht." You laugh at his descent back into his mother language, not missing the way Ghost's eyes lit up at the nickname. Much of the rest of the night is spent trading stories until last order is called then piling into shared taxis back to base. You end up scrunched between Ghost and Soap, as per usual. They are always perfect gentlemen and don't want to risk that someone else isn't when you can't get away.

Waving them off near their quarters, you stop to enjoy the view of the city. A boot scuffing nearby startles you. Spinning around to face it, you lose your balance. Arms wrap tight around your waist, catching you and pulling you against a large torso to steady you upright.

"Oops!" You giggle, the drinks making you feel loosey goosey.

"You must be careful, Schatz. It can be dangerous." You cheeks flush pink at the nickname. It shouldn't effect you this much to be called treasure by anyone, but it does.

"Ja, alles klar. Ich bin vorsichtig. (Yes, I'm ok. I am careful) You say as you pull away carefully, not thinking much of it. "Gute Nacht, mein König." Patting his chest, you turn to walk to your quarters, not realizing that you have stunned him into silence by speaking his mother tongue so easily and calling him yours.

You're glad to have the next day off to nurse your hangover. When you make it to mess at lunch, the men tease you about your preference for dark beers. You ignore them, trying to focus on the dry toast you convinced the cook to hand over and your glass of water. "Worth it," you say at last. "Dark beer is always better going down and light beers taste like you had someone drink a dark beer then piss in a cup for you to drink."

The laughter your statement causes makes you wince in pain, which in turn has them trying to hold it in. "Surprised you aren't tucked into a hoodie, luv. Couldn't find one this morning?" You glare at Ghost.

"You took it back last time. I'm out of comfortable hoodies."

"Och, ye poor lassie. The big bad men took their clothes back." You flip Soap the bird, then jump when a hand comes into view.

"Here, Sonnenschein." You look up at König who has apparently been sitting next to you this entire time, holding a hoodie out for you.

"Oh, thank you. It's even softer than Ghost's." You slip it on, happily. The sleeves hang off your hands by several inches and when you stand, it hangs down to your knees. The warmth from his body hasn't left it, making it feel a bit like a heated blanket. "It's lovely. You're never getting this back, now." König chuckles, adjusting himself to better see you.

"Looks good on you." He turns back to his food and you make the mistake of glancing up at Ghost and Soap. They are staring at you, mouths slack in shock.

"Gonna eat a fly if ya don't shut yer gobs." You turn back to your toast with a small smile. Hearing their teeth snap together turns it into a full-blown grin.

You veg out in your room the rest of the day, lounging in the hoodie until dinner. Feeling better, you leave it in your room. Sitting next to König, he looks you up and down.

"Mein Schatz, you have forgotten to wear my clothes."

"Just saving it for later, Großer. I don't want to wear it to bits too soon." From across the table, Ghost huffs.

"That's true, too. My hoodie was fuckin threadbare when I got it back. You're rough on clothes, Lamb." You grumble at him, not denying anything. König chuckles at your attitude and Ghost smirks beneath his mask. You eat quietly the rest of the meal, listening to them discuss an upcoming mission. You make a mental note to check supplies as it sounds like more than a quick in and out thing.