#strap for medical mask

[thingsthatidontneedtoexplain]

Some interesting AI prompts.

[7s3ven]

Sex pollen w/ Simon Riley

Notes: MDNI, fem! reader, mature content, this is lowkey freaky (had this idea for a while), consensual, ghost x reader, tf 141 x reader, the rest of tf 141 are listening, y’all are in a warehouse but nobody’s there, sex pollen, reader isn’t part of tf 141 but working with them, reader has hair, make out, ghost and reader kinda switch who’s in charge, cussing

- You were starting to hate the unpredictable nature of the world. New plants were popping up everywhere, including a natural aphrodisiac that was apparently 10x stronger than those chocolates everybody raved about

- Jonny laughed at the thought of such a strong plant. “Ay, does that mean we gon’ a have ta fuck each other if we come in contact with it?” He laughs at his joke, not at all meaning it. You see Gaz’s face scrunch up in disgust

- You weren’t officially part of Task Force 141. You were merely asset, an extra pair of hands given to the unit to help with this specific mission

- “You think that sex pollen stuff is actually real?” You ask as you walk alongside Ghost, gun strapped to your back. The mission was a success. The harder part was regrouping with the rest of TF 141

- You and Ghost had been split from them and currently, the hints they were giving to you about their location were not helping in the slightest

- “Nah, load of bullshit.” Ghost replies. He wishes he could take his words back when he accidentally steps on an unknown plant, sending a puff of yellow pollen into the air

- Even through the masks, you both unintentionally inhale it. You cough, your nose stinging. Your body suddenly feels unusually heavy and… hot. There’s a pit in your stomach as you realise what Ghost stepped on. He seems to realize it too

- “Load of bullshit, you said?” You mock him. He sends you a glare, not appreciating your sarcasm.

- “L/N, Ghost, do you read?” You can hear Price’s voice as clear as day through your comm.

- “Yes, sir.” You reply since Ghost seems to be having a hard time maintaining his cool. “But we were exposed to the pollen. What are your orders, sir?”

- It takes Price half a beat to answer but that’s enough time for Ghost to grab your wrist and tug you into a nearby abandoned warehouse

- You squeak as he pushes you down. He’s trying his best to control his himself as he removes his vest from his sweating body. His actions have your mouth dry

- “Stay put, the both of ya. We’ll call a medic and find you.” Price says, oblivious to how you’re currently eyeing up his soldier.

- “Yes, sir.” You turn your comm off. “Ghost, you good?” He’s flushed but you aren’t in any better condition

- “Fucking hurts.” He mutters. He’s an inch away from you, his strong cologne washing over you. You press your thighs together, shuddering

- There’s a minute of silence as you curl yourself into a ball, almost trying to distance yourself from Ghost. He’s panting heavily, biting down on his gloved fingers to push away his thoughts

- And when you can’t handle it anymore, you pounce. You still have some dignity left as you hold his shoulders. “You sure?” You carefully ask. Ghost silently nods

- His hands rest heavily on your hips as he drags you back and forth, finally creating some friction that has you tilting your head back in relief

- But it’s not enough. You’re now lying face down, ass up, as Ghost ruts into you from behind, fingers sure to leave bruises on your soft skin. He’s hitting all the right spots and all you can do is quietly mewl

- Ghost grabs you by the hair, pulling you up until you’re pressed against him. Your knees ache from digging into the rough dirt below but you pay it no mind

- The pathetic noises the both of you, yours substantially louder, echo around the empty warehouse. You tilt your head back, unintentionally giving Ghost full access to your neck

- He leans his head down, nuzzling his masked face in the crook of your neck. His hands run down your body until they rest on your thighs, prying them open

- You’re grinding against the palm of his hand, small yet high-pitched huffs slipping past your lips

- And then your comm makes a noise. Ghost hears it too but he doesn’t slow down. “Do ya two know we can hear ya?” It’s Jonny speaking, his thick Scottish accent making it hard to understand his words

- As much as you want to actually turn off your comm this time, something prevents you from doing so. You tighten around Ghost at the mere thought of his teammates hearing what you’re doing

- “Think she likes it.” Ghost shamelessly tells his team

- “What position have yer got her in, Ghost?” You’re surprised Price isn’t yelling at the two of you. Instead, he plays along. Ghost shoves you back down and you narrowly avoid getting a mouthful of dirt

- “Put her back in doggy, Captain.” Ghost is speaking casually as if he’s not blowing your back out right now

- You whine, back arching at his hard thrusts. Beads of sweat run down your neck, a side effect of the pollen

- Ghost’s quiet grunts escalate in volume and the sound of such noises spurs you on

- You don’t have time to react until Ghost is turning you over, throwing your legs over his shoulders with ease. His large hands grip your shoulders as he lowers his head. You quickly slip his mask half up, eagerly pressing your lips against his

- It’s an intense kiss. There’s still a string of saliva that connects you when he pulls back. His hands trail down, stopping at your chest

- You almost forget the rest of Task Force 141 can hear you. Almost. “She come yet?” Jonny asks. Gaz is unusually silent but you can hear his heavy breathing as he listens

- “Not yet.” Ghost answers, “Probably almost there, though. Can feel it.”

- “Should make her ride you.” Gaz finally speaks up. He laughs, fully meaning it as a teasing comment but Ghost halts

- “Captain, your orders?” Ghost asks. You pout, bucking your hips up. Ghost stills you

- “What Gaz said.” Price answers, “Make her do the work.”

- You can only squeal as Ghost switches the position for the third or fourth time. You’re on top of him again but Ghost isn’t doing anything

- You crease your eyebrows in annoyance before rocking back and forth without his assistance. It’s an agonising slow pace but once you find your rhythm, you speed up

- You throw your head back, caught up in the moment. Ghost’s grunts are growing louder by the minute, which only fuels you. This time, you’re the one leaning down, tongue running over Ghost’s exposed neck

- It desperate and somewhat pathetic and… hot? The two of you are going at it like there’s no tomorrow. Like rabbits or animals in heat

- You pant, back arching even more. Your eyes are rolling back as Ghost finally helps you. You can’t help yourself from sinking your teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard. You think Ghost likes it when he loudly grunts, hips harshly bucking up

- You’re nearing your release, you can feel it. It’s so close. Your movements are sloppy as you grow more tired and Ghost decides to take over again

- You’re drooling, saliva leaking out of your mouth and landing on Ghost’s chest. He doesn’t complain, only picking up his pace. Your tongue is lolling around and you no longer have control over your limbs

- “Practically going cross-eyed.” He says, though you don’t know if he’s talking to you or his teammates

- You know it’s over when Ghost’s lips wrap around one of your nipples. You’re practically sobbing as the coil inside your stomach snaps, your fluids staining the dirt below

- Ghost keeps going and you gladly take it. Your hands rest on his chest for support as he closes his eyes in bliss. He finishes not too long after you but there’s a mutual understanding that you both need more

- “Fucking like rabbits in heat, ay?” Jonny speaks, chuckling

- It’s filthy as you and Ghost try to rid your senses of the pollen. You’re humping him as he tries to catch his breath. His lungs are telling him to rest but the rest of his body disagrees

- It takes three rounds until the both of you are back to normal. You’re lying on Ghost, panting. His arms are wrapped around your waist, keeping you grounded

- “You two done?” Price asks, but there’s a strain in his voice

- You and Ghost scramble to pick up your discarded clothes, quickly getting dressed

- You regroup with Price, Jonny, and Gaz with hot cheeks. And as you climb back into the car that Ghost is unfortunately driving, you don’t miss the way they all eye you

[lotus-tower]

Mask recommendations for ordering online (NA)

Note: for consistency, practicality, and simplicity all prices are listed in USD.

masknerd has a comprehensive data set on hundreds of masks he's tested according to his own criteria and methodology (pinned tweet). find his recommendations on his youtube channel. many of the following are on his list as well!

DISPOSABLE MASKS

3M Aura and Vflex: one of the most commonly recommended brands of N95. Where to buy?

- US: see here - Canada: see here - Multiple sizes per model. These suppliers are good for bulk ordering. If you aren't sure if something will fit you, check out the sample kits in the next recommendation - Price point: varies from $1-1.3 USD per mask depending on supplier

Breatheteq (US):

- KN95s that come in small, medium, large, or XS (kids) - Offers sample kits so you can test out what your size is - Comes in a few different colours. shoutout to the lavender - Earloop only - Price point: $69.75 USD for a 50-pack (~1.4 USD per mask)

Canadastrong (Canada):

- The Canadian equivalent to Breatheteq, but also carries N95s of other brands such as 3M Aura and Vflex, Vitacore, and Drager X-plore

Vitacore (Canada and US):

- N95 certified, but actually has 99% filtration - Both earloop and head strap versions (warning that the head strap seems to fit considerably smaller) - Regular and small adult sizes offered, also a kid's size - Price point: $33.99 for a 30-pack (~1.1 USD per mask)

Wellbefore (US, ships to Canada):

- N95s, KN95s, and KF94s - Head straps, normal earloops, or adjustable earloops depending on model - Kids/petite size available for certain KN95 models - Wide range of colours (excluding N95s) - Price point: varies per model, from $0.79 USD to $2.09 USD per mask - Also sells Covid tests, over the counter medication, and medical supplies

Masklab (US):

- This is an indulgent option for if you want to go out and look good, while still staying safe. These are masks that are part of your outfit - FFP2 certified, equivalent to KF94s - Standard size and slim fit series - Many beautiful patterns - Price point: $24.44 USD for a 5-pack ($4.88 per mask) for the patterned KF ones, ~$3.4 USD for the plain KF ones, ~$3.3 USD for the slim fit series, including patterns.

ELASTOMERIC MASKS

Flomask (US, ships to Canada):

- Reusable elastomeric mask (with replaceable filters) that meets KN95 standards - Two adult sizes (low/medium nose ridge and medium/high nose ridge) and a kid's size - Adjustable straps - Price point: $122 USD. 50-pack replacement filters: $81.46 (filters to be changed after 20-40 hours of use, depending on filter type)

A humble P100 elastomeric respirator from your local Home Depot or similar store! Magnitudes cheaper than the Flo mask (both the respirator itself and the filters)--however, I can't offer estimates for how often filters should be replaced. May not look pretty, but the most economical option for the highest degree of filtration if you aren't self-conscious.

General advice:

N95 or higher are the most reliable. They normally come with head straps, which offer better protection by making a tighter seal around your face.

But fit and comfort are the most important! Find a mask that fits your face and leaves the least amount of gap possible. KN95s are often more comfortable and breathable--find what's right for you.

You can wear different masks for different situations depending on risk level!

If you're hesitant to buy online, here's advice on how to tell if your respirator is legitimate.

A SIP drinking valve can be installed on any disposable mask to allow you to drink in public with less risk.

If anyone has other recommendations, please feel free to add!

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART SIX

pirate poly!141 x reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, not much for this chapter, but as always, be cautious! masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Morning came, and when you woke, the Captain wasn’t by your side. Rather, the pair of shoes Soap had gifted you, left behind in the brig during the overwhelming visit from Price, laid neatly on his side of the bed. A note was placed on top, the telltale sign of Price’s handwriting written, one you recognized from the brief glimpse of his secretive map.

“Soap urged me to return these to you. Join us for breakfast when you wake.”

Tossing your legs over the side of the cot, you meticulously strapped the shoes to your feet one by one, tying them with careful hands. You couldn’t remember the last time you wore shoes, and the feeling was foreign.

Wiggling your toes for good measure, you found you had plenty of room. Taking a few steps around the room guaranteed they stayed. Soap had somehow observed your previously dirtied and battered feet and somehow sized them to his best knowledge.

They were perfect. You felt brand new.

New clothes and now new shoes. Bathed and scrubbed clean without a speck of dirt tainting your skin.

Perhaps you could give them a chance. At least, until you were able to get back on land again and say a silent farewell to all four of them. That was what you still wanted after all, right? Freedom, regardless of how kind they were trying to be.

Stepping out of Price’s quarters was that first taste of freedom you’d had in a while. Not a man to guard you like a dog, teeth bared if you tried to bite back. This time, it was peaceful.

The sea was calm with the waves lightly lapping against the sides of the boat. The scent of saltwater filled your nose and put all worries at ease. The sun was shining brightly above you, beating down with a lovely warmth that tickled your skin.

For a brief moment, it felt like you were home again. It was nothing like it, while mirroring it all at the same time. A bittersweet feeling it was, to feel a touch of serenity in a place so far from the place you knew.

You dared to think that this was somewhere you could rebuild a home with. In a way, this could be the freedom you’d been seeking. Far from entrapment on an island with no way out, with the feeling of sea legs on a boat that could take you to places you never knew existed.

You shut the thought down quickly. At the end of the day, the ones halting that dream were four rugged men who wouldn’t dare let you live out the fantasy long enough to cherish it. They were your captors. Not your friends.

It was fairly easy to figure out where their dining hall was. The boat was large, but the sounds of burly laughter and banter billowing through the breeze was unmistakable and it led you right to where you needed to be.

Your initial walk in wasn’t acknowledged. Not because they were ignoring you, but because they were far too occupied to realize. And by they, you really meant Soap and Gaz.

The two were bickering puppies. Mouths full of food, like ill-mannered children, spewing complete nonsense.

The first to notice you was Ghost. His gaze was chilling, eyes locked on you. While being uninterested and almost bored, there was also that glint of annoyance that came from your mere presence.

That alone was your subtle reminder that these men weren’t your friends. Your reality was not so lucky, and a few spouts of kindness given from the other three weren’t enough to warrant any comfort on your end. You were still in an unfair situation, one that you simply had to grow used to for the time being.

Ghost was a force, though. Just from his stare, you could feel the foreboding threat that lingered deep within. The mask he wore certainly didn’t help. In fact, it made him almost inhuman, like he was a vessel for something far more dangerous.

Eyes were the window to the soul, yet all you saw was an empty void.

Ghost’s shift in attitude seemed to transfer to the others. Next thing you knew, all eyes were on you, peering at you like a pack of wolves when an enemy entered their turf.

You felt severely underdressed. You weren’t much of a sight in your old rags, but now, clad in Price’s sheer clothes that ended near the knee with Soap’s new shoes clinging to your feet, you felt a sense of embarrassment.

The men were dressed appropriately, white shirts with billowy sleeves down to their wrists, heavy coats with a dizzying amount of buttons undone that fell to their knees, as well as classic breeches and thick boots. The colors were bland, yet the jewels they displayed were beyond comprehension.

You hadn’t taken much notice before of the extravagant gems.

Soap adorned that of sapphire, dangling from his neck and worn along his fingers. The blue glinted in the dim sunlight that peeked through the windows of the dining hall, shining brightly.

Gaz wore ruby, the deep red jewels clashing with his clothes and skin near perfectly. It accented the warm tone of his eyes that stared back at you, swirling with uncertainty yet a hint of curiosity.

Price preferred pearls, and it made complete sense. He was Captain, and pearls were the heart of the ocean. The waters were his home, and he held a piece of it wherever he went.

Ghost’s jewelry was the one who mirrored him completely. Black onyx, glistening on nearly every finger, paired with silver bands that held the precious jewels. The only difference was the single skull ring that stuck to his ring finger, staring back at you tauntingly.

You felt like a parasite in comparison. Jewels were something you could only dream of.

“Hungry, dove?” Gaz broke you out of your trance, raising his eyebrows at you. His tone was soft, holding no previous resentment. The man was a mystery, picking and choosing when to butt heads with you or express his displeasure. Yet not, it seemed that had all begun to melt.

“Quite,” you murmured in response, shifting uncomfortably from where you stood. You made no effort to sit next to them, deeming yourself unfit and unwelcome.

Gaz stood in an instant, leaving the table and fluttering to the kitchen. Your eyes followed, watching the swinging doors sway behind him as he disappeared.

“Sit,” Price gruffed, nodding his head to an empty seat across. You stared for a moment, unsure, before hesitantly taking the seat next to Soap.

Soap had said nothing yet, but his eyes never left you — or more specifically, your feet. The shoes, the one he’d specifically sought out for you that fit perfectly on your feet. They were a nice gift, despite the events that transpired after.

“They fit,” Soap stated, finally looking up at you when you sat. You gave him a brief nod, eyes peering down at the table. “Do ye like ‘em?”

You shifted your toes in the shoes, wiggling them around in the bit of space left. They felt comfortable and they’d protected your feet from the splintered wood of the ship when you made your way to the dining hall.

“I do,” you confessed quietly.

You felt strange. You felt almost shy, as if nervous to disappoint Soap.

His face broke out in a boyish smile, seemingly pleased with both himself and your answer. “I’m glad,” he sighed in relief, returning to his meal.

Price and Ghost remained quiet, though Ghost continued to stare. It was harder than before. Now, it felt more like a glare. You could practically feel the intensity of it toying with you.

You risked a glance at him, which only worsened the hit. In an instant, his eyes narrowed, a growing fire burning fiercely. It caused you to feel unsettled, and you wondered what you had done to make him agitated.

Sure, he wasn’t nice before. He was an angry brute from the very beginning. But it had never been this… personal.

The table shook when Soap knocked Ghost’s shin under the table. Ghost’s head whipped over to switch his glare to Soap, who only gave him a warning look in return. Price, seeming bored and rather used to the banter, simply sipped at the drink in his cup.

“Don’t mind him,” Soap dismissed sheepishly. “He’s just…”

“Jealous?” Gaz mused from behind you, and when you turned to look, he was holding a plate of hot food. He placed it in front of you before taking a seat on the other side of you.

Ghost let out what sounded like a scoff, muffled under his mask. He stood from the table, the force of him shaking it once more, before he set off to the upper deck without a spared glance.

Jealous? That was a strange way of describing what you witnessed. What Ghost held seemed far from jealousy, and resonated more with hatred.

“Jealous is a nice word,” Soap hummed, stabbing his food with his fork and popping it into his mouth.

“Why would he be jealous?” you asked hesitantly. “Are you…?”

“Aye, that’s complicated territory yer gettin’ into, dove.” Soap gave you a grin, full of food. You grimaced, resorting to your own food.

The three men fell into simple conversation while you remained the outsider. It was how it had been up until this point, something you were growing used to. After all, you were still a prisoner, even if you had a shed of freedom now, and you were still supposed to resent them.

“Awfully quiet today, dove,” Price said. His tone held no mockery. “You had quite a lot to say last night.”

Images of last night flashed through your mind, the ones where the two of you came to an agreement of getting along. No bad blood, as he said.

Quite a bit had happened last night. So quickly, too. One moment you were in the cell, awaiting a punishment for a failed attempt at fleeing their crew, then the next you were bathed and asleep in Price’s bed. Now, as the morning came, you were offered a meal rather than more unkindness.

You wondered if it was all a test. You had even snooped through the map laid out on Price’s desk, memorizing the poem scribbled on scratch paper. It seemed all meticulously planned, and you prayed it wouldn’t be your downfall.

“I have nothing to offer to the conversation, Captain,” you replied meekly. “I am quite bland.”

“I don’t think that’s quite right,” Price mused. “You were rather witty last night with your jest.”

“A jest?” Soap piped in, curious. “Ye got her to joke with ye, Captain?”

“Aye.” Price nodded. He crossed his arms, leaning back on his chair. “She’s a part of the crew now, after all. Isn’t that right, Soap?”

There was unspoken conversation between the two men. Gaz seemed just as lost as you, before something dawned on him. You remained clueless, separated from a secret agreement.

“Aye,” Soap agreed with a nod. He seemed prideful of something, but that you weren’t sure of.

Had they spoken of things without you? Perhaps it was the reason Price let you off so easily. Where you were expecting to be lashed out upon, angry words of your stupidity spewed your way, you had gotten a softer side of Price. An understanding one.

You sat dumbly, confusion evident on your face. Your mind swirled with every possibility of what they could mean, but nothing useful popped up.

You felt like a fool. You were a pawn in a game, and this you knew from the beginning. It had everything to do with your capture and the hidden reason as to why.

The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

The answer was right in front of you, yet it felt impossible to grasp.

“You will stay with Soap and Gaz tonight,” Price said. You were zoning out quite a lot today. “I have business I must attend to in my quarters.”

You blinked at the Captain, turning your head to Gaz. You couldn’t fathom Soap having an issue with the arrangement, but Gaz was a unique case. You weren’t friendly, nor were you enemies.

Ever since throwing your food on him nearing the first nights, there was an awkwardness, but it certainly wasn’t bitter. It simply felt like two people who had gotten off on the wrong foot.

Gaz stared back at you before turning away. You weren’t sure how he felt about you staying in his quarters. He didn’t make it obvious.

You just hoped it wasn’t as awkward as it was right now.

Gaz and Soap came to collect you when the night began to fall. Price had let you bathe once more before sending you off, where the two men stood waiting for you outside.

“Hello, dove,” Soap greeted warmly. He seemed bashful that you were staying with him.

He was a strange one, for sure. He was also the most welcoming from the jump.

You didn’t let it fool you, though. You’d seen a side of him when you ran from him during your time on shore, and you knew he had a personality that made him the feared pirate he was, just as the rest of them.

Gaz offered you a nod in greeting, and you gave one back.

The two guided you across the deck and to the other side of the ship. It was quiet between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or strange. What was strange was sharing a bed with two grown men.

“Come in,” Gaz said quietly, opening the door to their quarters and allowing you in first. It was gentlemen-like, which was unforeseeable coming from his background, but you took it with grace.

The quarters were much more cluttered than Price’s, and you safely assumed it was from Soap. Gaz didn’t seem the messy type, though you could be terribly wrong.

“Sit,” Soap ordered, grabbing you by the shoulders and plopping you down on the edge of the bed. You watched as he shuffled into a small closet, your ears picking up on ruffling fabric.

Gaz stood silently, deep in thought. You didn’t bother to ask.

“Here ye go, dove,” Soap offered, returning with new clothes.

Would this be a pattern?

“Will I be using all of your clothes?” you asked, taking the folded shirt and placing it in your lap.

“We will get you new ones soon,” Gaz replied. “Once you don’t wish to flee again.”

Soap snickered, finding it amusing while you mulled in your own humiliation. At least they were being humorous rather than crude.

“Understood,” you grumbled with a small huff, standing with the shirt in hand. The room stood still while the three of you stared, shifting between each other. “I’d like to change now.”

Soap’s mouth gaped, before he sputtered out an apology. Gaz scruffed him by the collar, dragging him out of the room, leaving you alone.

Your thoughts wandered as you changed into your fresh shirt. While you would’ve worn Price’s shirt some more, used to the old rags you collected grime in in the beginning of your capture, being offered new clothing for a second time was nice. It was kind.

You didn’t like to admit it, but despite weeping bloodshed and performing heinous acts upon the innocent lives of those on islands, such as your own people, they really were just… boys.

Boys with a sense of wonder, a sense of joy that was smothered by their titles.

They were still guiding through the world in their short lives, learning how to live as people. Just as any other. It was their first time living, too, even if their actions could be cruel at best.

When you stepped out of the room to let them know you were finished, you only found Gaz,

leaned up against the wall. He spared you a quick glance upon seeing you, offering you another nod like before.

“That certainly fits better than Captain’s,” he murmured, acknowledging the shirt that didn’t quite reach your knees anymore.

“Yes, it will do,” you replied quietly. Your hands fumbled in front of you, that familiar awkwardness filling the air.

With Soap, it was easy. With Price, it was witty. Ghost was an entirely other story.

But Gaz? Why did it have to feel so strange? Like a lingering cloud of tension?

“I am grateful to the Captain for allowing me a chance of redemption after I… fled,” you continued.

The sparkling of stars shone brightly above the two of you, and you made your focus on admiring them rather than on Gaz.

“I don’t know how he did it, but Soap convinced him of your worth in all of this.” Gaz joined you in staring up at the night sky, his fingers picking at the loose string of his shirt where it remained untied by the collar. “We fucked up your life, after all. That’s on us.”

“Soap?” you asked, baffled. “What does he have to do with it? The Captain came to me willingly.”

Gaz turned to look at you, his head cocked in confusion. You mirrored him, eyebrows pulled taut.

“He spoke highly of you after you attempted to flee,” he explained carefully. “Price was angry with you. Soap was your voice of reasoning. Even got me on your side, too. I had my reservations at first for obvious reasons.”

Ah, so he was still bitter about the porridge you’d thrown at him.

You allowed his words to digest, letting them sink into your bones and simmer. All this time, you thought they thought of you in disgust. You were an inconvenience.

Except… you weren’t. They had their formed opinions on you, but you were clearly worth more than they let on. It was why you were spared, why you weren’t rotting away to flesh and bone in their brig.

All along, you thought they simply hated you, that they were unkind, mean pirates.

But just as you thought moments ago — they were boys deep inside. Human. Navigating through life without a compass or map.

“With time, things will begin to connect,” Gaz continued, voice softer. “We are not as cruel as you may think. There are far bigger fish out there, and they are much, much worse.”

You prayed that you would never have to face it, for as long as you remained on this ship.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Cold Kisses (TWS)

Summary: The winter soldier always comes to you for help after a mission. He hardly speaks, let alone kisses you after a treatment...

Warnings: a kiss? flangst?

WC: 794

Read on ao3!

--

The quiet hum of the medical bay was a stark contrast to the chaos that had undoubtedly unfolded on the mission. You adjusted the strap of your medical kit, fingers steady despite the anxiety that curled in your stomach. The Winter Soldier, the lethal assassin whose presence had haunted your every shift, was back. He had returned after every mission, but today... something felt different.

The door to the med bay creaked open, and there he stood—his cold eyes hidden behind the mask, his body battered and bruised from the violence that had unfolded. He didn’t speak. He never spoke unless absolutely necessary. His steel grip held the doorframe, his breath a shallow exhale.

You stepped forward, your professional mask slipping on as you took in his condition. The bloodstains on his combat gear, the bruises, the cuts, the faint but unmistakable signs of a mission gone wrong. He had returned before, but the desperation in his eyes today was something else entirely.

“Winter Soldier,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “You’re hurt.”

He nodded stiffly, moving past you toward the medical table. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but you could tell there was pain in each step. He sat down with a low grunt, his body too worn for his usual icy stoicism.

“Let me assess you,” you said, setting your kit down beside him. You kept your voice steady, though your hands betrayed you with their subtle tremor. The air in the room thickened as you began to examine him, your fingers brushing lightly over his bloodied skin, checking for injuries. You didn’t want to ask questions you knew he wouldn’t answer. But you couldn’t ignore the feeling that this mission had taken something more from him than usual.

The metal arm—his most iconic feature—was scratched, battered, a reminder of the relentless nature of his work. You gently checked his wrist, noting the way he winced but kept his gaze forward, unmoving. The silence between you two was familiar, but today it felt heavier.

“Your arm?” you asked, though you weren’t sure why you bothered. It wasn’t like he’d answer.

A grunt was his only response.

You moved on, your fingers tracing over a bruise on his side, one of many that had begun to form beneath his tactical vest. As your hands brushed against the cool skin of his torso, you could feel the tension in his muscles, the strain of too many fights, too many betrayals. His eyes were fixed on the far wall, and for a moment, you wondered if he was even aware of your presence.

The only sound now was his breathing, shallow and uneven. You frowned as you gently lifted his shirt to inspect the cut across his abdomen. It wasn’t deep, but it would need stitches. You reached for a needle and thread, your hands shaking slightly as you began to stitch the wound shut.

You didn’t mind the silence. It was part of the routine. But today, it felt like a weight, one that had been building with every passing second.

As you finished with the wound, you prepared to clean up the mess, but before you could move, he shifted on the table, his gaze suddenly sharp as he looked at you. His eyes narrowed—like he was studying you. Something in them had changed.

You were so focused on the task at hand that you didn’t notice him moving until it was too late.

Before you could react, he leaned forward with a suddenness that left you breathless, his lips crashing against yours. It was raw, desperate, and completely unexpected. His kiss was fierce, his hands gripping the sides of the table, his body leaning closer until you had no choice but to lean into him. The cold metal of his arm brushed against your cheek as he deepened the kiss, his breath mingling with yours.

Your heart raced in your chest, every muscle in your body frozen in shock. His lips tasted of blood and sweat, the remnants of the mission lingering on his skin. You didn’t know what to do, what to say. The Winter Soldier—this man who had been trained to kill without hesitation—was kissing you, and you had no idea why.

As quickly as it had happened, he pulled away, his face impassive once again, his eyes dark and unreadable.

He didn’t say a word as he stood, his movements stiff but purposeful. You stood there in stunned silence, your lips still tingling from the unexpected kiss.

Without another glance, he turned and walked toward the door, his presence as cold and mysterious as it had always been.

But something in you had shifted, something that would linger long after he was gone.

--

if you enjoyed, please reblog this! leave a comment!

[quazies]

Enough time has passed, so I'll give you guys a look at the BLU teams concept art! Side characters usually don't get a full character sheet, just a single reference pose like this. I have a bad habit of changing designs in the middle of animating, so you'll notice Sniper overall looks a bit different, Pyro has a more round mask, Demos sleeves are half white.

BLU Medic got very close to having shoulder straps, but I decided his very blank/un-accessorized outfit fit his vibes better.

Here's the earliest piece of concept art I could find for the BLU Team, not much stuck around from this. I like my art style a lot better now lol

BLU Scout's sheet! I decided between episodes I wanted him to be older/bulkier, so you'll notice he's a bit different looking between episodes.

His original concept made for "Pootis Last Date"

BLU Engie's concept sheet! Basically just snatched this design from the comics with some minor tweaks.

Blootis' Sheet! He actually has the longest history of concept art and has been in the works for awhile. I planned from pretty early on to introduce a BLU Pootis, but I waited until it felt natural in the story to introduce him.

Very early Blootis seen on the left, probably sketched very early in the series judging by the art style. Middle Blootis was for Pootis Last Date, ended up with a much nicer color scheme in the end :)

And the earliest concept art I could find from 2 YEARS ago! This file was just called "blootis." His lore runs deep.

[goldfades]

paige bueckers x medic reader blurb

idk why this has been on my mind but here's something to feed you guys while i recover from whatever the fuck last semester was

here’s the thing about paige bueckers: she’s annoying.

not in the throw-your-clipboard, tear-your-hair-out kind of way, but in the she’s-too-charming-for-her-own-good kind of way. the kind that makes your pulse skitter and your cheeks burn, and—worst of all—she knows it.

you’re certain she figured it out the first time she winked at you during pre-season. she’d just finished a shooting drill, her braid swinging like a metronome as she jogged over to your side of the court, flashing that grin—the one that’s equal parts mischief and sunshine.

“think i’m pushing it too hard, doc?” she asked, her hand brushing yours when you handed her a water bottle. your stuttered response? a dead giveaway.

and now, it’s practically her sport. teasing you, that is. not basketball though she’s otherworldly at that too. but here she is, six months post-acl surgery, stuck in the monotony of rehab, and somehow still making you feel like the one who’s sweating under bright gym lights.

“you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?” her voice cuts through your focus as you jot down notes on her progress for the day. when you glance up, she’s watching you from the training table, her injured leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack wrapped snug around her knee. her head tilts, blonde strands falling loose from her messy bun, and there it is—that look.

“i don’t even know what you mean by that,” you mutter, knowing full well she’s waiting for you to take the bait.

she leans back on her elbows, her lips curving into a slow smile. “i’m just saying, if you don’t stay close, how am i supposed to recover? pretty sure moral support is in your job description.”

you roll your eyes, even as your heart hammers against your ribs. “pretty sure my job description is making sure you don’t blow out your knee again, bueckers.”

“so you do care about me.” her voice lilts, sing-song and undeniably smug, and god, you’re starting to regret all the years you spent chasing a degree instead of learning how to mask a blush.

you try not to sigh too loudly, scribbling something on the clipboard even though it’s just a nervous scribble now. she’s watching you like she knows—because, of course, she does. she always knows. it’s like she has a sixth sense for your embarrassment, and worse, she’s figured out exactly how to weaponize it.

“i care about all my patients,” you say, finally looking up from your notes to meet her gaze. it’s meant to come off clinical, professional, but the way her eyes sparkle makes you feel like you’ve said something embarrassingly sweet instead.

“but do you care about me more?” she asks, tilting her head, her voice dripping with fake innocence.

you deadpan her. “paige.”

“what?” she grins wider now, the kind of grin that should probably come with a warning label. “i’m just trying to gauge my ranking on the medic hierarchy. am i at least in the top five?”

“you’re lucky you even have a ranking,” you mutter, setting the clipboard down and moving closer to check her ice pack. you’re trying—really trying—not to make a big deal about how close you are to her now. but then her hand shifts, casually brushing against yours as she adjusts the pack herself.

and just like that, your resolve? gone.

“aww, come on,” she says softly, her voice lower now, almost teasingly gentle. “you can admit it. i’m your favorite.”

your lips press into a thin line as you busy yourself with checking the straps on the ice pack. “you’re impossible.”

“you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” she counters, and it’s so smooth, so shameless, that you actually pause mid-motion.

you glance at her, half tempted to say something snarky, but she’s already watching you with this expression that’s somehow both playful and too much. like she’s trying to figure you out and enjoy herself at the same time. it’s unfair, really.

“is this what you spend your time thinking about?” you ask, attempting to sound exasperated. “ways to embarrass me?”

“not just ways to embarrass you,” she says, and the mock sincerity in her tone is criminal. “also ways to make you smile. you should smile more, you know.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to give her the satisfaction, even though—damn it—you’re already fighting the urge to crack a grin. she sees it, of course. she always sees it.

“you’re insufferable,” you mumble, stepping back to grab another piece of equipment you need for her session.

“but you like me anyway,” she calls after you, her voice sing-song.

you don’t respond this time, opting instead to take an extra moment to gather your thoughts while pretending to look for something in the cabinet. when you turn back around, she’s already back to lounging on the training table, her arms folded behind her head like she’s posing for a magazine spread.

“okay, let’s get serious,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to anything resembling professionalism. “how’s the pain today? any stiffness?”

she shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something more serious in her expression. “a little. nothing crazy.”

“you need to let me know if it gets worse,” you remind her, stepping closer to start her mobility exercises. “overdoing it isn’t going to help your recovery.”

“yes, ma’am,” she says, her tone light, but you catch the way her eyes soften when she watches you. it’s different from her usual teasing—quieter, more thoughtful—and for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with it.

you busy yourself with guiding her through the exercises, focusing on the mechanics, the angles, the movements. but it’s hard to ignore the way she keeps glancing at you, her smile smaller now but no less present.

“you’re good at this,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

you blink, looking up at her. “at what?”

“this,” she gestures vaguely, her hand moving to encompass the room, the exercises, you. “taking care of people. making them feel like they’re gonna be okay, even when they’re not sure they will be.”

her words catch you off guard, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. it’s so… earnest. too earnest for someone who’s usually throwing out flirty one-liners and over-the-top winks.

“that’s… my job,” you manage to say, your voice quieter now.

she shakes her head, her gaze never leaving yours. “nah. it’s more than that. you’re more than that.”

and just like that, the air feels heavier, charged with something you can’t quite name. she doesn’t say anything else, just watches you with those impossibly blue eyes, like she’s waiting for you to say something back.

but all you can do is focus on the way your heart is racing, the way her words linger, soft and unshakable, in the space between you.

it was hard to forget the day it happened. the sound of it—a sickening pop that cut through the air like a gunshot—still haunted you sometimes, echoing in your mind when the gym got too quiet. you’d been courtside, clipboard in hand, watching as paige went down. she didn’t get up right away. that was how you knew it was bad.

paige bueckers wasn’t the type to stay down. she played like she was invincible, like nothing could touch her. but that day, she just lay there, clutching her knee, her face twisted in pain. it wasn’t just the physical agony that got to her, though; it was something deeper. you could see it in her eyes when she finally looked at you as you rushed to her side—this raw, unfiltered fear. like she’d just watched her whole world shatter in an instant.

“is it bad?” she’d asked, her voice barely above a whisper as you carefully assessed her knee. there was a tremble in it that you weren’t used to hearing, and it made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“we’re gonna take care of you,” you’d said, dodging the question because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her the truth. not yet.

she’d nodded, but her jaw was clenched, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench where you’d helped her sit. and when the scans came back, confirming what you’d already suspected, the devastation in her face nearly broke you.

the weeks that followed were some of the hardest you’d ever seen her endure. paige wasn’t herself—not the confident, fiery leader everyone knew and loved. she was quieter, angrier, and you could tell she was struggling to keep it all together. rehab was slow and painful, and there were days when she’d show up to the training room with this blank look in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure she’d ever be the same again.

but then, there were the moments when you caught a glimpse of the paige you knew. the one who refused to stay down for long. like the time she’d walked in with her crutches slung over one shoulder, grinning like she’d just won a championship. “figured i should start carrying these instead of letting them carry me,” she’d joked, and for the first time in weeks, you’d seen a flicker of that unshakable determination in her.

those moments grew more frequent as time went on. she threw herself into her recovery with a single-minded focus that was equal parts inspiring and infuriating. there were times you had to physically stop her from pushing herself too hard, reminding her that she wasn’t invincible. but she’d just roll her eyes and flash you that grin, saying something like, “gotta keep you on your toes, doc.”

and now, watching her sit on the training table, her ice pack wrapped around her knee and her confidence radiating from every pore, it was hard to reconcile this version of her with the one you’d seen at her lowest. the injury hadn’t just changed her; it had shaped her, strengthened her in ways that even she probably didn’t fully understand.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks suddenly, breaking through your thoughts. her voice is lighter now, teasing as always, but there’s a softness in her gaze that catches you off guard.

you hesitate for a moment before shrugging, a small smile tugging at your lips. “just thinking about how far you’ve come.”

she raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “yeah? and what’s the verdict?”

“the verdict,” you say, setting your clipboard down and meeting her gaze, “is that you’re still a pain in the ass.”

her laugh is loud and genuine, echoing through the room in a way that makes your chest feel a little lighter. “you love it, though,” she says, grinning like she knows a secret.

and maybe she does. because no matter how many times she teases you, or how much she flusters you, you can’t help but admire her resilience—the way she got back up when the world tried to keep her down.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[soullessdianthus]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐱 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠)

Summary: During the mission somewhere in Austria, König takes an interest in TF 141 medic. Little did he know, she's Lieutenants Riley's girlfriend.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

A/N: Possessive/Protective boyfriend Ghost? Yes, double and give to the next person. Also inserted Hank/Connor "lieutenant" reference, I just find it funny. Y/C ━ Your Codename (have fun, pick something babes) Poorly translated German ━ correct me if needed!

Warnings: nothing, reader is eastern european coded (we deserve more recognition as reader inserts ꃋᴖꃋ )

Word count: 1.8k

The tree line of the thick forest melted into the base of the rocky mountains. Your gaze traveled across its pointy shapes and up higher - there hadn’t been a single cloud on the sky that day, causing a slight heatwave.

You let your body slightly wag as the car passed over surface bumps on the earthen road. The dry lump grew in your throat as the dust hovered all over the convoy and all you could think of was a sip of cold, mineral water. 

Soon, you reached the small town in Austria, secluded from the ring roads. The cars were parked near the surrounding forest at the entrance of the village. Lieutenant Riley's sight crossed with yours as he helped you get out of the truck. 

He could be such a gentleman sometimes. 

A handful of soldiers gathered near the vehicles - some of them wearing a KorTac patch on their shoulders, the other ones (from your unit) a Task Force 141 badge. But besides those sigils, none of them were wearing full battle gear. 

There was no active fighting against the enemy at the moment. It was just a careful chase after the terrorists - following their footsteps, interviewing associates, gathering proof. Because at the end of the day, the military (or army related organization) cannot shed blood over a defamation.

But KorTac and TF 141? Quite an unusual partnership between the two groups, right?

━ Ghost, Y/C you’re goin’ with me ━ Captain Price announced, adjusting his hat as he closed the car’s doors behind him. ━ Gaz, you’ll stay here, is that clear? 

Captain heard a firm ‘yes, sir’ from your teammate Kyle who was to stay at the parking spot. Meanwhile the KorTac colonel gave an order to his soldiers in German. “Such a tough language” you thought to yourself. Only two of his people went along the wood road with the rest of you.

The Colonel. 

Exceptionally tall, Austrian man who served many years for his country. The one you found yourself in on the latest mission. 

Each time you wanted to look at him while Colonel König was speaking, you had to chin up. And even though, a black hood with a red paint on it covered his whole face besides his cold, blue eyes. He was lowkey intimidating with his massive size, but just like your captain, the Austrian’s rough looks didn’t reflect his character. At least to you and your comrades he was quite nice. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t say the same about his teammates. 

You didn’t have to walk for long as the isolated, one floor house emerged behind a hill. By the quick peek at that building and the noises coming from the inside you knew, it felt like a warm home. 

As you approached the building, you heard a child’s cry. 

Price knocked at the front door and soon after a man with dark bags under his eyes opened them slightly. He was peeking through the crack.

━ Jakob Hausner? ━ The Captain asked with a playful smile under his mustache, his thumbs interlocked with the gear straps over his chest. 

━ Ja, wie kann ich helfen? [ger.: Yes, how can I help?]

━ Can you ask him if he speaks english? ━ John looked over his shoulder towards König, asking for a favor. 

━ Yes, I speak english ━ master of the house answered with a thick accent, before colonel could translate. ━ What do you want? 

He wasn’t trusting at all, well, how could he? You were all strangers at his doorsteps, two of your partners wearing scary looking masks. But it all had a purpose - they were supposed to look… intimidating, yes? 

A loud wailing made their ears hurt, it was that damn baby again. Jakob sighed loudly, his shoulder collapsing as he opened the doors a little bit more.

━ We just want to talk about the company you were working for. ━ Price continued talking. 

━ About them again? ━ Mr. Hausner frowned his eyebrows and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Poor man was exhausted apparently. ━ Okay, okay, ja, come in. 

The man let you all inside, however König told his soldiers to have a look outside the plot - to make sure it’s safe here and you’re not being watched. Poor Jakob wasn’t even fully aware (because of his state) that he let in a group of military people inside of his home.

As soon as you crossed the hallway into the dining room with a big, wooden table, you noticed a struggling toddler in a children’s chair. The girl was crying, her face red from the tantrum. 

━ I’m sorry, it’s just my daughter, she… she doesn’t want to eat her–. Lina, bitte. [ger.: Lina, please.]

Being a parent. Must be tough, huh?

Not when you were forced to babysit your siblings or cousins since you were a teenager. 

━ She’s not hungry. ━ You noticed the way the little girl pushed her plate away and how she tried to climb out of the seat. Christ, that man really had to be exhausted. ━ Can I?

You took a few slow and calm steps towards the sitting child - a warm smile painted over your face. Even your boyfriend Ghost was slightly… surprised? Seeing you drop the apathetic shell, then becoming more warm and gentle towards the little girl.

━ She’s our medic ━ your Captain explained to the worried father ━ let her take the kid and we’ll have a talk. In peace. 

Mr. Hausner let you take care of his unsettled daughter, so they could have a conversation about his former employers. You took the girl out of her chair and placed her over your left hip, pushing it outward. 

━ Come, Lina ━ you addressed the girl by her name, even though she probably couldn’t understand what you were saying ━ let’s leave the stinky men alone, ja?

You left the dining room and entered the seemingly endless garden behind the house. Since you took that girl in your hands she already began to calm down, perhaps a woman's touch was all she needed? 

“Where was your mother? Was she at work working a long shift? Did something happen to her? Did the bad men–” your thoughts seemed to take a rather pessimistic route, so you had to quickly change it. 

You didn’t know much German. Well, you didn’t know any at all. 

Fuck.

But at that moment you were thanking the heavens that your father watched movies about Hans Kloss or war on a regular basis. You were happy that your father was taught some phrases and somewhere in your subconsciousness he passed them to you.

You sat on the wooden bench somewhere in the garden not far from the building. Then, you placed the child on your lap and began talking to her - mostly in your mother tongue. Then you added some words in German that you knew, like: 

━ Schau, schmetterling! [ger.: Look, a butterfly!] 

Soon you grew more comfortable around the girl named Lina, even though there was a language barrier. Without your knowledge, your legs began to bounce her, pretending she was riding a horse. 

If anyone would point that out later, you would certainly deny it. You, getting soft for a child? No, no, no. 

You were so occupied with entertaining her that you didn’t even notice a looming, black figure in the corner of your eye. Watching the scene from somewhere nearby.

König was standing just next to the doors, leaving against the white plaster on the outside walls. He listened to your attempts to speak German, finding it… adorable? 

Never did he meet a woman in his profession so empathetic and gentle. Especially the one who managed to catch his attention. Let’s be honest, most of them were cold blood murderers and he was a colonel - he couldn’t let himself have such a luxury of having a family. 

Until now.

His imagination began to play a nasty and stupid trick on him - just because he saw you speaking German with a kid. What if it was you to take care of his children? Were your hands usually this delicate? Would you care for him as much?

The tall soldier was intrigued by you and his dreamy stare exposed him for it.

━ Don’t even think about it. ━ Ghost voice snapped him back to the reality. The British soldier emerged from the building the same way the colonel did after the conversation came to an end with Mr. Hausner.

Simon Riley wasn’t a fool. He noticed all the little peaks at his girlfriend other soldiers usually would take, she was in fact a pretty thing. So it didn’t take much to notice that the tall guy from KorTac took a liking of you. Too much liking in Ghost’s opinion. 

━ Verzeihung [ger.: Excuse me] ━ König apologized, flustered slightly by obviousness of the situation. He instantly understood the reference. ━ didn’t know she was… taken. 

━ Yeah ━ British lieutenant scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark irises didn’t even dare to stare at him. His eyes were on you ━ she’s very much taken. 

There was a dead silence between the two of them - for a short moment, before Ghost gave you a heads up. 

━ Y/C, we’re moving. 

The rough and firm tone of Ghost’s voice made you snap back into reality. You were in the middle of something, right? Yet, you almost jumped on that little bench painted in floral patterns. 

━ Coming, lieutenant. ━ You declared quickly, before putting the little girl over your hip again and heading inside of her home. 

Ghost was a few steps ahead and so you had to pass the massive figure of König to go inside again. You pressed the child’s head into your cleavage as she was a little scared of colonel’s hood. 

Well, you would be too, if you saw his cold stare in the middle of the night from under that veil, right?

━ Don’t worry, he just looks scary. He won’t bite. Isn’t that right, sir? ━ You sent him a polite smile as you tried to comfort the petrified girl. Your hand caressing her golden locks.

But he was speechless at the moment. He couldn’t form a simple sentence. A fucking grown ass man. “So fucking pathetic”, he thought to himself. Your lips twisting into a wide smile for him. It wouldn’t be easy for him to erase that sight from his memory. König would have trouble falling asleep that night, thinking of you.

A/N: ♪ Two big guys and they grab on my thighs ♪

[nastybuckybarnes]

Watch Your Step

Pairing: Ghost X Reader

Summary: Soap's a little clumsy and Ghost is very grateful.

Warnings: Minor Angst, minor violence, language(?), Fluff, Slow burn progression

Word Count: 952

A/n: Another little one just for now. I'm reeeeeaaallly liking making this little series thing?? I hope y'all enjoy it cause i've got like 3 - 4 more parts already in the works and i am SO open to requests or ideas for this. Anyway, love ya

~*~

"All clear," Soap murmurs into his radio, slowly moving through the house.

"Nice work, Johnny," Ghost replies.

With each day that goes by, they take back more and more ground. Today is no exception.

Ghost watches closely from his position on a rooftop a few buildings away, eyes peeled for any sign of danger while Soap cleans out the house, living up to his callsign.

And, as usual, he's not the only one watching.

You peer from the shadows, watching as if entranced as Soap clears out the house with practiced ease.

He glances around, seemingly oblivious to your presence, but you're more than aware of his.

Your eyes focus on the red light drawing up the wall through the window, and your eyes widen as it slowly moves over until it climbs his chest up to his head.

You're not the only one who sees it, but you see it first.

You're launching forward as Ghost's voice rings out through the radio.

"Johnny, get down!" His words are a second late, and he watches in horror as Soap goes tumbling to the ground.

He tracks the sniper and, with a quick twitch of his finger, eliminates them.

He packs his gun up and begins making his way towards Soap, teeth clenched together so hard it's a miracle one of them doesn't crack.

Meanwhile, you crawl up near Soap's head, frowning when he doesn't open his eyes.

You hover your ear over his nose, nodding to yourself when you hear his steady breathing.

He must've hit his head when you yanked his leg.

You turn his face to the side, confirming the bullet missed him, then carefully tuck your drawing into one of the straps of his vest.

Hovering your fingers over his radio, you contemplate calling to Ghost, letting him know his friend is alive but needs help, but the sound of boots approaching the house has you changing your mind.

You grab Soap by the vest and haul him into the darkness, huffing out heavily at the strain.

The way he carries himself with such ease, you would've never guessed he'd be this bloody heavy.

You lean him up against the wall and give his shoulder a pat for good luck, then scurry through the house, up the stairs, and out one of the bedroom windows.

Ghost enters the house not five seconds later, brows pulling together when he doesn't see Soap on the ground.

Scanning the room carefully, he finally sees his boots poking out of the shadows, and he rushes to the man’s side.

His fingers find the Scot's neck and he lets out a relieved sigh at the feeling of his strong pulse.

"Don't fuckin' scare me like that," he hisses quietly, inspecting the man for injuries.

He finds none but does see the paper tucked into his vest. He tugs it out, huffing out a breath when he sees the familiar drawing on it.

He lets out a chuckle of disbelief and shakes his head, dragging a hand down his masked face as his heart rate slowly returns to normal.

He brings his mouth to his shoulder and clicks his radio on as he shoves the paper into his pocket.

"This is Ghost. I need medical."

~*~

You're roaming a back alley when he finally finds you, about a week after you saved Soap's life.

You don't hear him coming, but you can feel his eyes on you long before you see them.

"Thank you," his voice says.

You frown and spin around, looking for him.

He emerges from a doorway, eyes piercing.

"What for?" You question.

He scoffs and steps closer until he's near enough to hand you back the drawing you had tucked into Soap's vest.

"The man you saved. Thank you. He's... a friend."

You smile up at him and nod, taking the picture and tucking it safely into your pocket.

"I know. Friend of Ghost... is friend of Mouse."

His gaze softens and he lifts one hand, gloved fingers stroking over your cheek gently.

You lean into the touch, letting your eyes close for a moment and sighing softly. When you re-open your eyes, it's to gaze up at him longingly.

His own eyes are locked on yours, entranced, and he leans down until your foreheads are almost touching.

You huff out a gentle sigh that he feels dance against his mask, and once again he wishes the damn fabric wasn't there.

His mouth opens to speak, but the crackling of his radio interrupts him.

"Soap to Ghost, how copy?"

An irritated groan falls from his lips and you can't help but giggle, reaching one hand up to trace over his mask as he responds.

You trace the skull pattern, then let your fingers drop lower to the black fabric covering the lower part of his face. You watch as your fingers map out his face, tracing gently over his lips when he finishes speaking.

"I've gotta go, Mouse," he whispers, leaning his lips into your touch.

You frown and shake your head, stepping closer and looping one hand around his tac belt.

You tug him closer and he obeys, stepping forward until he's all but pressed against you.

"You be safe, Ghost," you whisper, tilting your head back to lock your eyes on his.

He chuckles but nods, one big hand finding the small of your back.

"Always am," he murmurs, "I've got my mouse watchin' out for me."

You grin up at him and nod, stroking his cheek gently then sighing and taking a slow step backward, breaking free from his grip.

"Bye-bye, Ghost."

He gives you one last longing look and a nod, before turning and heading back toward base.

[pathologicalreid]

hello my new favorite tumblr writer 😇 i will b honest i have never requested anything before so!! bear with me. however the spencer reid brainrot is all too real SO would you be open to doing anything with a hotchner!fem!reader? bau or not for the reader! something something hotch is very hesitant about their relationship but maybe reader gets caught in the crossfire of something and hotch and prentiss see them together afterward and prentiss is like “that looks pretty real to me.” DOES THAT MAKE ANY SENSE OKAY I’M LEAVING NOW THANK YOUUUU 🫡

a father's daughter | S.R.

in which your father doesn't approve of your relationship, but who knows how he'll react when reid jumps into action after a threat against your life

who? spencer reid x hotchner!fem!bau!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, blood, stitches, hospitals, medical inaccuracy word count: 2.03k a/n: anon you are legendary. this is an incredible request and i am so honored to be your new favorite tumblr writer! i am an absolute sucker for anything hotchner!reader (or rossi!reader) so i absolutely ate this request up! (also if anyone wanted to drop a request in my inbox... it would be welcome)

Aaron Hotchner was the most professional person in the BAU, except when it came to you. You, like him, had gone to law school. You were a public defender for just a short time before being put into WITSEC, and when your mother died, you applied to the FBI Academy.

Plain and short, it was nepotism, but no one was going to argue with the man whose wife was murdered by a serial killer. Your dad wanted you in the BAU so he could keep an eye on you, and there was nothing Erin Strauss could do about it. What your father couldn’t control, was your relationship with Reid.

He could tell you that he didn’t approve, but so long as David Rossi, king of inter-bureau mingling, was around, he couldn’t actually do anything to stop you. “I’m just saying that I’ve never seen Reid be consistent with a relationship,” your dad said, having pulled you away from the team to, once again, try to warn you off of your relationship.

“He’s been pretty consistent for the last seven months,” you responded, rifling through the victims' files that were in your arms.

You started to make your way out of the empty office when your father spoke again, “And he’s too old for you.”

Stopping in your tracks, you pivoted and faced your father, “He’s three years older than I am, I’m twenty-six. That’s hardly an age gap to bat an eye at.” The two of you had always had a rocky relationship, he missed a large portion of your childhood due to this job and you always tried to not resent him for it.

Your parents’ marriage fell apart, neither of them handled it well, and you weren’t all that surprised. They had gotten married when your mom got pregnant with you because they thought that was what they were supposed to do, and when Jack couldn’t keep them together, everything fell apart.

“You have no right to lecture me on relationships, Agent Hotchner,” you snapped, staring him down. Daring him to challenge you.

He sighed, obviously trying not to lose his patience with you. “I’d just hate for you to find out you wasted your time on something that wasn’t real.”

The door behind you swung open, you spun on your heels to face Emily. “Sorry, uh, we have a location, Morgan’s coordinating with SWAT,” she said, looking between you and your father.

“Great, let’s go,” your father said, his parental demeanor falling away as his Unit Chief mask took its place.

You walked out the door to see the rest of the team, Rossi tossed you a Kevlar vest as you walked over to where Spencer was standing with the police chief, “Where are we headed?” You asked, undoing the Velcro on the vest and pulling it over your torso. The beige precinct was buzzing as agents and officers prepared to break into the UnSub’s home base. Hopefully to find his most recent victim still alive.

Reid reached over and adjusted the strap of your vest, making sure it was evenly tightened over your shoulders. “Garcia found a warehouse on the other side of town. It’s being rented out under an anagram of the first victim’s name,” he said, gently squeezing your arm before dropping his hands back to his side.

Nodding, you followed the rest of the team out the metal doors of the precinct and into the black SUVs. “Your UnSub’s name is Jonas Watts, he used a different name to rent the space but the account he uses to pay for it is under his name,” Garcia’s voice rang through the speaker as she told you about the perpetrator. “He checks every UnSub box we have, raised by a single father after his mother left, and… oh, multiple arrests for assault.”

You looked up to the driver’s seat, your dad was white-knuckling the steering wheel, entirely focused on driving as you listened to Garcia reciting the UnSub’s rap sheet.

When you arrived at the warehouse SWAT was already there and Morgan started organizing the tactical assault. Drawing your weapon, you nodded at your teammate when he instructed you to go around the back with himself and your father. Allowing Morgan to kick the door down, the three of you held your firearms up and began clearing the warehouse.

Further away, you heard Emily and Spencer clearing the front. “Clear, moving up,” you called into your radio as you approached the stairs, stepping on them carefully so they didn’t creak. On the landing, you looked at a trail of blood on the ground. “There’s a blood trail in the upper west wing,” you whispered.

“Move up, little Hotch, I’m right behind you,” Morgan responded.

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, one that you had begged him to stop using, you moved forward, keeping your firearm aimed right in front of you. Turning into the room that the blood trail led to, you immediately ducked when you saw a knife coming for you. Keeping your gun aimed, you faced down the UnSub, “Jonas Watts, FBI!” You announced yourself, scanning the room for the girl he took last night.

Watts shook his head, “You’re not supposed to be here! You can’t be here!” He shouted in distress.

“Where’s the girl, Jonas? Where did you take Isobel?” You asked him, not seeing her in the room the two of you were in. There was another entrance on the left of him.

He stepped toward you, and you cocked your gun, “I don’t have her now. I lost her, she’s lost,” he said, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Unnerved, you decided to take a leap of faith, “Jonas, where’s your partner?” A partner hadn’t been part of the profile, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. The crimes were too complex, it didn’t match up with something as simple as using an anagram of a victim’s name for the warehouse rental.

Morgan filed in behind you, aiming his gun at Jonas, same as you. “Time’s running out, Jonas. If you tell us about your partner we can help you,” he said, slowly inching toward Watts.

“It’s too late,” Jonas wailed.

Someone knocked into you from behind, causing you to stumble forward before you were pulled to your feet. One arm was locked around your torso, and another was holding a knife to your throat. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll cut her fucking throat!” The unnamed man said from behind you, he was almost impossibly tall, easily overpowering you.

You didn’t dare move, not with that knife to your throat, one false move and you’d bleed out. Morgan shouted for him to let you go, but he just pressed the knife tighter to your neck, splitting the skin.

Shutting your eyes, you tried not to cry, fearing the damage it would do to your throat.

Your captor held you tightly to him, using your body to block Morgan from shooting. Something warm trickled down your collarbone, and you weren’t sure if it was blood or tears.

For a moment, you thought you could swing your foot back into his knee, but the fear of having your carotid cut outweighed your bravery.

Ever since you were a kid, you thought death would be quiet. Something you slipped into like sleep, but your death was loud, and it left your ears ringing.

The afterlife was the weirdest place you’ve ever been, someone was calling your name, and you heard your rights being read. Although, why you would need your Miranda Rights in the afterlife you had no idea.

“Angel, please open your eyes,” someone said.

Confused, you opened your eyes and saw familiar eyes staring down at you. Golden and bleary. Spencer, Spencer was here. You tried to sit up, but he held you down, keeping a hand on your throat.

Morgan was shouting for medical, saying there was an agent down. You turned your head to see the still unidentified UnSub on the ground, shot through the temple. Using his free hand to turn your chin, “Don’t look,” Spencer whispered. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, angel.”

If you weren’t still coming down from an adrenaline high, you might’ve smiled at the irony of the nickname. Being called ‘angel’ after having your neck cut felt like tempting fate.

Where was your dad? Of everyone here, you expected him to be here, barking orders at people.

As if summoned by your thoughts, your dad appeared, nearly hauling an EMT behind him, “Help her,” he said.

Yeah, that absolutely tracked.

The EMT’s packed your wound and assured everyone that your carotid had not been slit, against your protests, the ambulance brought you to the hospital for stitches. Emily had run to the hotel to get your go bag, allowing you to change out of your bloodied clothes.

Thankfully, the doctors said you didn’t need to stay overnight, meaning you and the team got to go home. “How are you feeling?” Spencer asked while you were waiting to board the jet.

You hummed, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes, and leaning against a car, “Tired, but I’m alright.” Tired might have been underselling it, you felt like all of the energy had been physically drained from your body. “You worry too much,” you whispered, closing your eyes for just a moment. Your throat was a little raspy, but it should go back to normal after a couple of days.

“Your throat was cut about four hours ago, some might say I’m not worrying enough,” he responded, reaching down, and picking up your bag, carrying it over to the jet once they got the okay to board. On the jet, he gestured to the seat, “Lay down, get some rest.”

You furrowed your brows, “Isn’t it kind of frowned upon to take up a whole seat?” You asked, of course, sometimes it happened, but you didn’t want to take up too much space.

Spencer cocked his head at you, “I don’t think anyone is going to fight you on it, love.”

Taking a deep breath, you sat down on the seat, laying down and closing your eyes, falling asleep before you even left the tarmac.

Being the Unit Chief had its perks, surely, but the piles of paperwork sometimes felt never-ending. Aaron took a deep breath before he closed the file, Rossi sat across from him, nursing a glass of whiskey.

“Hey,” Prentiss whispered, taking the seat next to him and setting her glass of water down on the small table. “Do you see that?” She said, gesturing with her head toward where you were lying down, asleep.

Right next to you was Reid, who usually had his nose buried in a book at this point in a flight, but he was wide awake, and all of his focus seemed to be on you. Begrudgingly, Hotch watched as Spencer reached over and tucked a blanket around you as if he was afraid you’d freeze on the temperature-controlled jet. “What about it?” Hotch asked, reaching over for the next file.

His eyes flicked up again, Spencer was sitting on the floor of the jet. Everyone had elected to leave the couch seats for the two of you, but the one across the aisle from you was empty. Like Reid didn’t even want you to be any more than one foot away from him.

Leaning back in the chair, Emily shook her head, “That’s what we in the business call hypervigilance.”

Hotch didn’t respond, he just spared another glance over at the two of you. “’We in the business’?” He inquired, humoring Prentiss.

“I’m just saying… the hovering? The blanket? I don’t know about you, but that looks pretty real to me,” she said, leaning back in the leather seat.

Silently, he glared, it would seem his hopes of getting the team to stop eavesdropping on familial conversations were quashed.

“Just let the kids be, Aaron,” Rossi said, grinning into his glass.

He cleared his throat and flipped open the new file before he acquiesced, “Fine, for now.”

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[elisegravesbondageliberation]

Bionic Breathing In a dimly lit room filled with the hum of machinery, Ruby Riots sat straitjacketed and strapped to an antique medical chair, their big, beautiful eyes doing all the talking as their mouth is stuffed with an unrelenting gag. We watch as Ruby deals with the situation at hand. Eventually Elise enters the room and explains that the gag should have stretched out Ruby’s jaw by now, and it’s time to assess Ruby’s natural air flow. Elise does this by prying open Ruby’s face with the use of a nose hook and a tongue clamp. Elise uses her fingers as well as a dildo to challenge Ruby’s ability to breathe under pressure. She passes the test, and it is therefore time to move on to the controlled breathing activities. Elise attaches a hose from the ventilator to Ruby’s gas masked face. Ruby’s darting eyes expressing her concern. The rhythmic rise and fall of their chest is a testament to the machine's relentless work. A vibrator is fixed between Ruby’s legs, reminding them that they are not in control of their own breathing, nor their own arousal. Elise intently watches as she incrementally turns the power of the vibration up - and the breaths per minute down. It is a joy to witness someone out of control!

[the-winter-spider]

Waiting Room | 3/3

Bucky x avenger!Reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: Angst......

A/N: Yall i really had no idea where i was gonna take this lol lets remember this was suppose to be a one shot turn into a 3 part mini series lol 😂 not sure if i like this but its whats happening so lmao

Part One

Part Two

----

The med bay was suffocating, a stark, sterile room that felt more like a cage than a place of healing. The white walls reflected the harsh fluorescent lights, the steady hum of machinery filling the space with an oppressive monotony. The faint beeping of monitors, the quiet whir of fans in the equipment, and the faint antiseptic smell in the air were all reminders of where you were—trapped, restrained, and utterly disconnected from the life you once knew.

You laid rigid in the medical bed, your wrists bound by thick restraints bolted to the frame. The straps were reinforced—designed for beings far more powerful than the average soldier. They had to be, for super-soldiers, gods, and now, you. You stared blankly at the far wall, your expression as hollow as your gaze.

Tony and Bruce hovered near their workstations, their faces illuminated by the glow of holograms and screens streaming endless data. They barely spoke, their silence a testament to the weight of what they were trying to undo. Each test they ran came back with the same damning conclusion: the serum coursing through your veins wasn’t just making you stronger, faster, more dangerous. It was chaining you—body and mind—to commands that had been burned into your neural pathways. The serum wasn’t just invasive; it had fused with the super-soldier formula already in your system, weaving itself into the very fabric of who you were.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the weight of what he was reading. His voice, usually measured, wavered slightly. “This isn’t just physical,” he muttered, glancing at Tony. “It’s neurological. It’s rewriting her instincts, suppressing her emotions… amplifying aggression.”

Tony, who usually filled even the heaviest moments with quips or sarcasm, was silent. His fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Yeah, I see it,” he said finally, his tone clipped and uncharacteristically somber. “This isn’t some dollar-store brainwashing. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They’re rewriting her at the molecular level. I’ve seen a lot of tech—nothing like this.”

Behind the reinforced glass separating the med bay from the observation room, Bucky sat slumped in a chair. His broad shoulders were hunched, his head bowed slightly, and his metal hand gripped the edge of the seat so tightly the frame creaked. The Bucky they knew was a composed soldier, a man who could compartmentalize his pain and push forward. But now, his mask was gone, his expression stripped down to raw guilt and desperation.

He watched you intently, his eyes never leaving your face. Your blank expression, your lifeless stare—it tore at him, unraveling what little hope he had left. He leaned forward, pressing his elbows to his knees, his voice soft and trembling.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone cracking with exhaustion. “Please. I know you’re still in there. You’ve gotta fight this. Fight for me… for us.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with longing and heartbreak.

You didn’t react. Not a blink, not a twitch. You were as still as a statue, your chest rising and falling in a mechanical rhythm dictated by the serum coursing through your veins. The vibrant light that once danced in your eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, unfeeling void.

Occasionally, you tilted your head, a small, calculated motion that seemed more analytical than human. It was as if you were studying him, assessing him as an object rather than a person—an obstacle rather than someone who loves you.

The silence between you was deafening, and it crushed Bucky like a vice.

He leaned back, exhaling shakily, running a trembling hand through his hair. His voice dropped to a whisper, as if speaking directly to the version of you he desperately hoped was still buried beneath the serum’s control. “I’m not giving up on you,” he said, though the cracks in his voice betrayed his struggle to believe his own words.

On the other side of the glass, Bruce and Tony exchanged a brief glance. Neither of them said it aloud, but the reality hung between them like a dark cloud: time was running out, and you were slipping further away.

-----

The common room felt as heavy as the med bay, the air thick with unspoken fears and fraying hope. The faint hum of the base’s systems was the only sound until Natasha’s calm, cutting words pierced through the oppressive silence.

“She’s not coming back on her own,” she said again, as if repeating it would make it easier for the others to accept. Her arms were still tightly crossed over her chest, her expression as unreadable as ever, but the way her shoulders were set betrayed her inner turmoil.

Steve stopped pacing and turned toward her, his frown deepening. “Don’t say that,” he said, his voice low but firm, like he could will her to take the words back.

Natasha’s eyes flicked to him, unwavering. “I’m being realistic,” she replied, her tone matter-of-fact but softer now. “You think I want this? Shes my sister! But every day, that serum, whatever it is, digs deeper. You can’t just power through something like this with good intentions. I’ve seen situations like this before, Steve. They don’t end how you want them to.”

Sam shifted forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “She hesitated at the warehouse,” he said, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. “That means something, doesn’t it? She’s still in there. She’s fighting.”

“Yeah, and that hesitation nearly got us all killed,” Clint snapped, dragging a hand over his face. The frustration in his voice was barely masking the underlying fear. “What happens when she doesn’t hesitate next time? Because there will be a next time.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, and he clenched his fists at his sides. “We’re not giving up on her,” he said with finality, his voice brooking no argument.

Natasha’s sharp gaze softened as she glanced toward the med bay. For a moment, her mask slipped, and a flicker of pain crossed her face. “It’s not about giving up,” she said softly. “It’s about preparing for the possibility… that she isn’t the person we remember anymore and that maybe there is no way to get her back…”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and unrelenting. No one moved.

Then Bucky’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and trembling. “She’s not gone.”

The team turned as one to see him standing in the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted against the light from the hall. His face was raw, his eyes red-rimmed but blazing with a fierce determination that silenced any response they might have had.

“She’s not gone,” he repeated, stepping into the room. The words were firmer this time, carrying a weight that dared anyone to contradict him. He stopped near the center of the room, his metal hand flexing unconsciously as he looked at each of them in turn.

“And I’m not giving up on her, you shouldn't either” he added, his voice steady but filled with a quiet, devastating pain.

Steve stepped closer, his expression softening as he studied his oldest friend. “Buck—”

Bucky cut him off, his voice rising slightly. “I’m not giving up, Steve. I don’t care how deep that serum’s buried. I don’t care how long it takes. I know her! She’s in there, she’s still in there.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t flinch. “I know she is....”

Natasha pushed off the wall, her arms uncrossing. She held his gaze, her expression unreadable again, but her voice was gentle. “What if she’s not?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t respond. Then he took a step closer, his voice low but unwavering. “Then we fight until there’s nothing left to fight for. But I’m not stopping... ot until she tells me herself that she’s gone.”

The room fell into silence again, but it wasn’t the same suffocating quiet as before. This silence was heavy, yes, but it carried the weight of something more than grief—it carried resolve.

Steve finally nodded, his voice steady but quiet. “Then we fight.”

Sam looked at Clint, who sighed heavily but gave a small nod. Natasha’s gaze lingered on Bucky for a moment longer before she turned away, her agreement unspoken but clear.

Bucky didn’t thank them, didn’t acknowledge their support. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked back toward the med bay. He didn’t have time for discussions or strategies. He had already made his decision.

As the door slid shut behind him, the others exchanged glances. “He’s not going to let her go,” Sam said quietly.

Steve crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “Would you?”

Sam didn’t answer. Neither did Clint or Natasha. Because the truth was, none of them would, none of them wanted to.

--------

The lab had become a battlefield of hope and despair. The glowing holograms floating above the table displayed the intricate web of changes the serum had wrought on your body—twisted neurons, altered muscle fibers, and corrupted synaptic pathways that mapped out the story of how the fixer had transformed you into a weapon.

Bruce’s fingers hovered over the holographic display, tracing a complex string of data. His voice was quiet, almost reluctant. “This serum… it’s not just controlling her. It’s fused into everything she is. It’s rewriting her body, her mind. Every instinct, every reaction—it’s all amplified, all his..”

“It’s not just control,” Tony added, his voice devoid of its usual bravado. His face was drawn, his sharp features softened by exhaustion. “It’s enhancement. She’s stronger, faster—more dangerous than any of us combined. And the way it’s fused with the super-soldier serum…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s no way to separate them without…”

“Without killing her,” Bruce finished, the words falling like a hammer. He avoided meeting anyone’s gaze.

The room was silent except for the faint hum of machinery. Bucky stood at the edge of the group, his arms crossed tightly, his jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder it didn’t snap.

“Then we don’t separate it,” he said, stepping closer, his voice low and deliberate. “We find another way.”

Tony exhaled sharply, his arms spreading in frustration. “Another way? Bucky, we’re talking about molecular-level integration. This isn’t a wound we can stitch up or a wire we can snip. If we don’t stop her, she’s going to take us all out. That’s not an if—it’s a when.”

Bucky’s eyes locked onto Tony’s, cold and unyielding. “We’re not stopping her, we’re saving her!"

Tony’s gaze didn’t waver, but his voice softened. “And what if there’s no saving her? What if the only thing we can do is stop her before she does something none of us can undo?”

"There's always a choice!" Bucky shouted, his voice raw. "You're supposed to be the smartest guy in the room, Tony. Act like it."

Tony's jaw tightened, but he didn't reply.

The weight of the question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“It not an option,” Bucky said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Natasha leaned against the table, her voice cutting through the rising tension. “It might have to be.”

Bucky turned to her, his eyes blazing. “You don’t mean that..”

Her expression was calm, but her eyes held a trace of sorrow. “I hope I don’t. But if it comes down to her or everyone else—”

“It won’t!” Bucky snapped, his voice shaking with barely controlled emotion. His fists tightened at his sides, and he took a step forward, his frustration spilling out in a torrent. “Why does it sound like you don’t care? Why do none of you seem to care? It’s Y/N we’re talking about!”

Natasha flinched slightly, but he didn’t stop. His voice rose, trembling with desperation. “The one who knits us matching scarves every Christmas! Who puts Avengers-themed band-aids in all the med kits because she thinks it’ll make us feel better! The one who sings those stupid pop songs on the comms even though they drive you all crazy! The one I love!” His voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply, looking around at the others as if daring them to argue.

“And you’re all just ready to toss her away like she’s nothing,” he continued, his voice breaking. “Like she hasn’t been the glue holding us together. Like she hasn’t saved every one of us a dozen times over!”

No one interrupted. The room was silent except for Bucky’s heavy breathing, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“This is my fault,” he said finally, his tone dropping to a whisper. “I pushed her away. I told her....." He trailed off "I thought i was saving her, all I did was drive her straight into the arms of someone who turned her into this. I wasn’t there when she needed me, and now…” His voice cracked again, and he shook his head. “This can’t be how her story ends. This isn’t how our story ends.”

Steve stepped forward cautiously, his voice gentle. “Buck… no one here wants to give up on her. We’re just—”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, his voice rising again. “You don’t get to say that. You’re all standing here talking about stopping her like she’s already gone. But she’s not. I’ve seen her fight…. I know she’s still in there.” He turned back to the holograms, his voice trembling but resolute. “And I’m not going to let her go...I can't”

Steve sighed, his shoulders sagging as he glanced at Natasha and then back to Bucky. “We’ll keep looking. But, Bucky… we’re running out of time....She's running out of time."

That night, Bucky sat in the med bay, staring at the empty bed where you had been just days ago. The sterile light seemed colder, harsher, and the hum of the machines now felt like a mockery of the life you had once filled with warmth.

He sank into the chair beside you, resting his elbows on his knees and running a hand over his face. “I told them,” he murmured after a long moment, his voice raw. “I told them we’re bringing you home. They don’t believe it, not really. But I do. Because I have to. Because if I don’t…”

He trailed off, his throat tightening.

“I told you it was for the better, and it wasn’t,” he continued, his voice trembling. “It was the worst thing I ever did. You deserved better than me pushing you away because I was scared….. And I’m not going to let that mistake be the last thing I ever do for you.”

His metal hand reached out, gently brushing against your wrist. “I’ll fix this. I don’t know how, but I will. I just need you to hang on a little longer, doll. Just a little longer, please."

And so he stayed, watching you in the dim light, his quiet determination the only thing keeping the weight of his guilt at bay.

---

The quiet hum of the med bay filled your ears, the sound of the monitors beeping in rhythm with your heartbeat. You weren’t entirely sure where the sound ended and the signal in your head began. It was constant now—a low, thrumming pulse that vibrated through your skull, tugging at your thoughts, distorting them, and twisting them into something unrecognizable.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been strapped to the bed, the restraints tight against your wrists and ankles. The team—your team???—had been coming in and out for days, speaking to you, pleading with you. You couldn’t remember all the words anymore. They sounded muffled, as though underwater. But one voice pierced through the fog: his.

The fixer’s signal was clear, sharp, and undeniable.

“Come to me. Complete the mission.”

It was like a hook embedded deep in your mind, pulling you with a force you couldn’t resist. You knew where to go. You knew what you had to do. The mission was clear. And yet…

A part of you—small, fragile, buried deep beneath the layers of control—was screaming.

“Don’t go. Don’t leave. Stay.”

You felt it every time Bucky spoke to you, his voice trembling with emotion as he begged you to fight. You felt it when Natasha stood silently by the glass, her arms crossed tightly, the mask of calm slipping just enough to show the hurt in her eyes. It was there in Steve’s steady, quiet resolve as he promised they would bring you back.

You wanted to stay.

But the voice grew louder, overpowering that small, desperate part of you. It wrapped around your thoughts like chains, drowning out everything else. The fixer’s voice wasn’t just in your head anymore—it was in your body, controlling every instinct, every movement.

“They’ll never understand you like I do. You’re meant for more than this. You don’t belong here. Come to me.”

The restraints on the bed groaned as you shifted against them, the serum-enhanced strength coursing through you making the reinforced bindings strain under the pressure. The voice was relentless, urging you forward, telling you that escape was the only answer.

“You need to leave. Now.”

The hum of the med bay sharpened into a buzzing, a dissonance that pressed against your skull like a knife. The monitors flickered faintly, your vitals spiking as the signal reached its crescendo. And then, something inside you snapped.

You didn’t remember breaking free, not really. One moment you were bound, and the next you were standing, the restraints dangling from the bed, bent and broken. The world tilted as you moved—too fast, too quiet, too precise.

“Get out. Go.”

Your body moved on autopilot, fluid and silent as you slipped into the darkened corridors of the compound. The alarms hadn’t started yet. You had time. You knew their rotations, their blind spots. You’d trained with them long enough to anticipate every move, to know exactly where to go.

But with every step, a tiny voice in the back of your mind whispered: Stay.

You passed the common room first, your shadow blending into the dim light spilling out from the slightly open door. Inside, Clint was slumped on the couch, his head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling. Sam sat beside him, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze distant.

They didn’t see you.

The signal tugged at you again, stronger this time. “Keep going.”

The hallway stretched before you like a tunnel, the exit growing closer with every step. You could feel the pull of freedom, the fixer’s voice growing clearer with every breath.

“They can’t stop you. You’re faster. Stronger. This is what you were meant for.”

But the deeper you moved into the compound, the louder that small, fragile part of yourself became.

“Don’t go. Turn back. You’re one of them. You’re loved.”

The faintest image of Bucky’s face flashed in your mind—his wide, desperate eyes, his trembling voice as he whispered your name like a prayer. You hesitated, your steps faltering for the briefest moment.

But the signal roared back, violent and overwhelming. It drowned out everything else, silencing the tiny part of you that had dared to hope.

You pushed forward.

The armory was your next stop. The door slid open silently, the familiar scent of oil and metal hitting you as you scanned the rows of weapons. You moved with efficiency, your hands grabbing what you needed—a knife, a sidearm, extra ammunition. Everything was automatic, every action mechanical.

The compound was chaos incarnate. The blaring alarms drilled into the team’s ears, the red emergency lights casting jagged shadows that made the corridors feel narrower, more oppressive. Every step echoed with urgency as the Avengers scrambled to find you, to contain you before the situation spiraled further out of control.

You were a ghost, slipping through their defenses with inhuman speed and precision. The enhancements from the serum made your movements impossibly fluid, calculated, and lethal. Every strike you delivered, every dodge you made, was the product of something no longer entirely human.

Bucky was the first to corner you in the armory. His breaths came in ragged bursts as he blocked the exit, his metal arm raised defensively. The flickering lights above cast a faint, uneven glow on his face, emphasizing the desperation in his expression.

“Doll,” he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. “You don’t have to do this.”

You stood across from him, a silent shadow. Your head tilted slightly, studying him as though he were a puzzle to solve. The cold detachment in your eyes felt like a dagger to his heart.

“Come back with me,” he pleaded, stepping forward cautiously. “We can fix this. I promise we can fix this.”

For a fleeting moment, something in your posture faltered. A twitch of your fingers, a shift in your expression—it was subtle, but enough to make his breath catch. He clung to the flicker of hope as though it could tether you back to him.

But then, as quickly as it came, the flicker disappeared.

You moved first.

Without a word, you lunged at him, your speed a blur.

Bucky barely dodged the first strike, the wind from your punch grazing his face. The second came faster, and his metal arm caught it with a sharp clang. His feet slid back from the force, his boots screeching against the floor.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice rising in desperation as you struck again, your attacks relentless. “Stop! This isn’t you!”

His words didn’t reach you.

He didn’t fight back—not really. Every movement was defensive, an attempt to slow you down without hurting you. But you were faster now, stronger. When he grabbed your wrist to stop a blow, you twisted effortlessly, breaking free and delivering a brutal kick to his chest.

The force sent him flying into the wall, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. He crumpled to the floor, gasping, as you turned and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

By the time Natasha and Clint arrived moments later, weapons at the ready, you were already gone.

------

The next three weeks stretched like an eternity.

The team threw themselves into the work, pouring over the fixer’s files with a level of intensity that bordered on desperation. Holograms of molecular structures and fragments of decrypted codes hung in the air like ghosts, flickering reminders of how little they’d managed to piece together. Every breakthrough was fleeting, every promising lead dissolved into another dead end.

Bucky barely spoke. He spent most of his time in the gym, taking out his frustration on punching bags or lifting until his muscles screamed for relief. When he wasn’t there, he was in the lab or the common room, lingering just within earshot of the discussions about you. He rarely contributed, but his presence alone was enough to remind the others of what was at stake.

Tony paced back and forth, his hands gesturing sharply as he stared at yet another set of encrypted data on the floating holograms before him. His bloodshot eyes betrayed sleepless nights, his movements jittery from too much caffeine and not enough rest.

“We’re out of time,” he muttered, breaking the heavy silence. The strain was evident in every word, every line of his face.

Steve, standing nearby with his arms crossed, looked up sharply. “What are you saying?”

Tony stopped pacing and turned to the group, his expression grim. “She’s gone after him—the fixer, whatever he calls himself. He’s still alive. And you don’t need me to tell you what that means.”

Sam frowned. “That it’s a trap?”

Tony nodded, his voice clipped. “It’s a trap. He’s counting on us coming after her. But we don’t have a choice.”

“We’ve been chasing shadows for weeks,” Clint said, leaning forward in his chair. “And now, out of nowhere, we have a location? This smells bad.”

Steve’s gaze darkened. “If it’s a trap, we spring it. We’ve dealt with worse before.”

Tony let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah? Worse? This isn’t just some ambush, Cap. That stuff pumping through her—it’s not taking a break. Every second we wait, it’s digging deeper. Taking over every cell, every fiber, everything that makes her her….But if we wait any longer…”

“She’ll be gone,” Natasha said quietly, cutting in. Her voice was calm, but her words carried a sharp edge that made the others glance at her.

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of the holograms around them.

Bucky, who had been sitting rigidly in a chair across the room, suddenly shifted. His metal hand gripped the edge of the seat so tightly it creaked.

“She’s not gone,” he said, his voice low and steady, though it trembled faintly at the edges.

Tony hesitated, looking at him. “Bucky—”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to stand here and talk about her like she’s already dead. She’s not.”

Steve stepped closer, his voice softer now. “We’re not giving up on her. You know that, Buck.”

“Do I?” Bucky snapped, finally looking up. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy, his expression raw. “Because all I’ve been hearing for the past three weeks is what happens if we can’t save her…What happens if she’s too far gone. You’re all ready to bury her, but I’m not. I can’t, I won’t”

Natasha’s voice was quiet but firm. “Bucky, this isn’t about giving up. It’s about being realistic.”

Steve frowned, his tone hardening. “You’re saying we just let her go?”

Natasha’s gaze shifted to him, and her voice softened slightly. “I’m saying we can’t afford to keep chasing her if it means risking everyone else. She’s either going to come back to us, or we’re going to have to stop her. For good.”

The words sent a chill through the room, the weight of their meaning settling heavily over the team.

“None of us want to lose her,” Natasha said, stepping forward. Her voice softened slightly, though her expression remained hard. “But if this is a trap, we have to be ready for what we might find.”

Bucky stood abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. “What we’ll find is her,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And we’re bringing her home. I don’t care what it takes.”

Steve placed a hand on his shoulder, but Bucky shrugged it off, his jaw clenched. “I’m suiting up,” he said flatly. “We’re wasting time.”

-----

The quinjet was a tense, quiet place as it cut through the night sky.

Steve sat in the cockpit, his hands gripping the controls tightly. Sam was strapped in beside him, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his wings folded neatly against his back. Clint and Natasha checked their gear in silence, their movements brisk and mechanical.

Bucky sat alone near the back, staring down at his gloved hands. His foot tapped against the floor, a restless rhythm that matched the pounding in his chest.

“We’ll find her,” Steve said quietly, glancing back.

Bucky didn’t respond.

Natasha looked up from her weapons. “You need to get your head on straight, Barnes. If you lose control out there—”

“I won’t,” Bucky said firmly, cutting her off. He lifted his gaze, his expression hard. “She’s all I’ve got left. I won’t lose her.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence, the team bracing themselves for whatever lay ahead.

When the quinjet touched down, the facility loomed before them like a fortress of steel and concrete. Its towering walls were lined with searchlights, and armed guards patrolled the perimeter in tight formations. The stormy sky above rumbled ominously, lightning flashing in the distance.

“It’s a fortress,” Sam said, his voice low as he peered through the cockpit window.

“It’s a trap,” Natasha said, her tone dry.

“And we’re walking straight into it,” Steve said, standing and grabbing his shield. “Let’s move.”

The team exited the quinjet in silence, their movements practiced and efficient. Bucky fell into step behind Steve, his metal arm flexing as he scanned the facility ahead.

Every fiber of his being screamed that this was wrong, that the odds were stacked too heavily against them. But he couldn’t afford to think about that.

All he could think about was you.

This was it. One way or another, it would end tonight.

The cavernous room was bathed in harsh fluorescent light, a cold and unfeeling illumination that seemed to leech the warmth from everything it touched. The fixer stood at the center, his posture relaxed, his confidence unshaken as the team burst through the double doors, their weapons raised and their eyes scanning the space.

And there you were.

You stood at his side, motionless, your face devoid of emotion. The cold detachment in your eyes sent a chill through the team, freezing them in their tracks. You weren’t holding a weapon yet, but the tension in your posture was enough to set everyone on edge. You looked through them, not at them, as though they weren’t people, just obstacles in the way of your programming.

“Well, well,” the fixer drawled, his voice smooth and mocking as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Took you long enough.”

“Let her go,” Steve barked, his shield raised defensively as he stepped forward. His voice was firm, but there was an edge of desperation in it. “Now.”

The fixer smirked, shaking his head. “Oh, Captain. You’re still under the delusion that this is your game to win.” He gestured toward you, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “She’s not yours anymore. She’s not even hers anymore. She’s mine.”

Bucky’s voice broke through, raw and trembling. “Y/N!” he called out, taking a step toward you despite the warning glance Steve shot him. “You don’t have to do this! Fight it!”

For the briefest moment, your head tilted slightly, your gaze flicking toward him. There was a flicker, something deep in your eyes that might have been recognition.

Then it was gone.

The fixer chuckled, pulling a small remote from his pocket. “Touching. Really, it is. But you’re too late. This is her final mission, it's a great one really, I think you'll all love it: either end the Avengers… or end herself..."

"Or you all die trying." He pressed the button.

A loud beep echoed through the room, followed by a harsh metallic clanking as a digital timer lit up on the far wall. It glowed blood-red, counting down from five minutes.

The fixer gave them a mock salute, his grin widening. “Have fun.”

Before anyone could stop him, he disappeared through a side door.

“Clint, go after him!” Natasha barked, her voice sharp and commanding.

“On it!” Clint was already moving, his bow raised as he sprinted toward the exit.

“Y/N, don’t do this!” Steve shouted, stepping forward with his shield raised. “You don’t have to listen to him!”

But the signal had already taken hold.

Your hand reached for the nearest weapon—a sleek pistol holstered at your side. In one fluid motion, you raised it and fired, the bullet ricocheting off Steve’s shield with a deafening clang.

“Y/N, stop!” Bucky yelled, his voice filled with desperation as he moved to block Natasha. “You don’t want this!”

You didn’t respond. Your movements were sharp, calculated, as though choreographed. You fired again, this time aiming for Tony’s chest. He raised his gauntlet just in time, the repulsor absorbing the bullet.

“She’s not holding back!” Tony shouted, his voice clipped as he dodged another shot.

Steve advanced, his shield up, but his movements were measured, almost hesitant. “Y/N, listen to me! You’re stronger than this—stronger than him!”

You turned on him, your pistol empty now, and dropped it without hesitation. Your hand reached for a knife at your belt as you lunged, the blade flashing in the harsh light.

Steve caught the strike with his shield, but the force of it drove him back a step. “Natasha, help me!”

Natasha moved in from the side, her movements swift and deliberate. She aimed for disarmament, her focus on neutralizing you without causing harm. But every move she made, you countered with ruthless precision, forcing her onto the defensive.

“Damn it, Y/N, fight this!” Natasha snapped, gritting her teeth as she narrowly dodged a high kick.

Meanwhile, Tony and Sam had turned their attention to the timer on the wall.

“Five minutes, huh?” Sam muttered as he landed beside Tony, his wings retracting.

“Four and counting,” Tony corrected, his HUD scanning the device. “And this thing is a beast. Give me a second to figure out how to disarm it.”

“You’ve got three,” Sam quipped, his eyes darting back to the chaos behind them.

Bucky wasn’t fighting. He couldn’t. His metal arm raised instinctively to deflect a stray knife you hurled in his direction, but his voice was soft, pleading.

“Sweetheart, please,” he said, his feet planted firmly between you and Tony. “This isn’t you. I know you’re still in there. You don’t have to do this.”

Your eyes met his briefly, but they were cold, unrecognizable. You moved toward him, your strikes quick and unrelenting, but he didn’t fight back. Instead, he blocked and dodged, his every movement defensive.

“I’m not giving up on you,” he said, his voice cracking. “You hear me? I’m not.”

“Bucky, move!” Natasha shouted, intercepting you with a spinning kick that sent you stumbling back.

You recovered instantly, your hand moving to the explosives strapped to your belt. You hurled one at the team, the small device landing near Steve’s feet.

“Get down!” Steve bellowed, throwing himself over the explosive as it detonated with a deafening boom. Smoke filled the air, momentarily disorienting everyone.

“Two minutes left!” Tony called out, sweat dripping down his face as he worked furiously on the timer. “Sam, hold this!”

Sam took over the wiring Tony handed him, his brow furrowing in concentration. “You sure this won’t blow us all to hell?”

“Not if you don’t mess it up!” Tony snapped, his fingers flying across his gauntlet’s interface.

Natasha and Steve regrouped, their eyes scanning the smoke-filled room for you.

“She’s moving fast,” Natasha said, her voice low as she raised her batons. “Too fast.”

“Nat, on your left!” Steve shouted as you emerged from the haze, a blade in each hand.

Natasha intercepted your strikes with her batons, the crackle of electricity filling the air as she deflected your blows. “Y/N, snap out of it!”

But you didn’t.

Bucky moved closer, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Doll, look at me. It’s me—Bucky. Remember? You know me. You love me, I love you."

Your hands faltered, the knives trembling in your grip. For a moment, the haze in your eyes seemed to clear, and you froze.

“Thirty seconds!” Tony shouted, his voice panicked.

“Y/N,” Bucky whispered, stepping closer, his hands raised. “Come back to me.”

But the signal surged, stronger than ever, and the haze returned. Your grip tightened on the knives as the timer ticked down.

“Twenty seconds!”

“Tony!” Sam shouted.

“I’m on it!” Tony barked.

The final seconds felt like an eternity as the room erupted into chaos once more.

The room was chaos, the countdown timer on the wall casting its blood-red glow over the flickering lights and the frantic movement of the team. The fight raged on around it—blades clashing, bullets ricocheting, and desperate pleas falling on deaf ears.

Bucky blocked another of your strikes, his metal arm catching the blade with a metallic clang. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt, his eyes glassy with unshed tears as he shouted your name again. “Baby, stop! Please, just stop!”

You didn’t respond. Your strikes came fast, precise, unrelenting. It was clear the signal had fully taken hold, driving you like a machine. The fixer’s voice, now silent in the room, still echoed in your mind. “Complete the mission.”

Natasha ducked under one of your swings, slamming her electrified baton against your side, but you twisted out of the way with unnatural speed. Steve joined her, his shield raised, deflecting an incoming strike meant for Natasha.

“We’re running out of time!” Steve called over the din. “Tony, what’s the status on that bomb?”

“Ten seconds!” Tony yelled, his voice tight as his hands flew over the exposed circuitry. “If I screw this up, we’re all toast!”

“You won’t screw it up!” Sam barked from above, sweat dripping from his brow as he hovered near Tony, ready to assist.

“Friday, guide me,” Tony snapped, his voice frantic. The seconds ticked down—nine, eight, seven—and then suddenly the timer went dark.

Tony exhaled sharply, leaning back against the wall. “We’re clear. The bomb’s deactivated.”

Relief washed over the team for a brief moment—but only a moment. You were still fighting, your movements relentless and mechanical. There was no victory here, only desperation.

“Doll, please!” Bucky shouted again, catching your wrist as you lunged at Natasha. His voice cracked, trembling with emotion. “I know you’re in there! Come back to me!” He begged

His words made you falter—just for a moment. Your body stilled, your breathing hitching as you stared at him. Something deep within you flickered, a small light in the overwhelming darkness.

“Doll, it’s me,” he said softly, his voice trembling as he took a cautious step closer. “Remember that time in D.C.? You dragged me out to that diner at two in the morning because you had to try their blueberry pie?” His lips quirked in a small, broken smile. “And then you made me order pancakes just so you could steal them?”

The knife in your hand trembled. Your head tilted slightly, your lips parting as if to respond.

“You told me I made you feel safe,” Bucky continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You made me feel safe. Doll, you don’t have to fight anymore. You don’t have to do this. Just come back to me.”

For a moment, everything was still. The haze in your eyes cleared, replaced by something fragile and human. You dropped the knife, and it clattered to the floor.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your voice cracking.

His heart leapt as he stepped closer, reaching out to you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick with hope. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

But then the darkness surged again. The fixer’s programming tightened its grip, dragging you back into its depths. Your body stiffened, your breath quickening as the command blared in your head: “Complete the mission.”

“No, no, no!” you gasped, your hands trembling. Your gaze darted wildly, panic etched across your face as you reached for something on your suit. Your fingers closed around a small syringe strapped to your chest.

Natasha’s eyes widened in horror. “She’s got cyanotoxin,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Y/N, put it down!”

The room froze.

You held the syringe to your neck, your hands shaking violently as tears streamed down your face. “I can feel it,” you said, your voice barely audible. “It’s in me. It’s all I can hear. I can’t stop it, Bucky. I can’t—I can’t!”

“You don’t have to do this!” Bucky’s voice was raw, his steps slow and deliberate as he approached. “We can figure this out! Just put it down, baby please!

Your tear-filled eyes met his, and for a moment, the pain in them was unbearable. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Y/N, stop!” Bucky screamed, his hand reaching for you. “Don’t do this! Stay with me—stay with me!”

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “It’s for the better.”

And then, before anyone could stop you, you plunged the syringe into your neck.

“NO!” Bucky roared, his voice echoing through the chamber.

The syringe fell from your hand as your legs gave out beneath you. You crumpled to the floor, your body already limp and lifeless.

Bucky was at your side in an instant, his arms wrapping around you as he cradled your body against his chest. “No, no, no,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Tony rushed over, his gauntlet lighting up as he scanned for vitals. “Friday, give me a reading!”

A pause. Then: “No vitals detected,” Friday said quietly.

The words hit Bucky like a hammer. His breath caught, and then a gut-wrenching sob tore from his chest. He held you tighter, his tears falling freely as he rocked back and forth.

“How can any of this be for the better?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “How?”

The team stood frozen, their faces etched with grief as Bucky’s cries filled the room. The weight of your loss settled over them, heavy and suffocating.

For Bucky, the world had stopped. All he could see was you—your lifeless body in his arms, and the memory of your final words echoing in his mind:

“It’s for the better.”

[lamboraven]

dreamy

They take you in, the machine sits next to the table, with a black mask, lovely black corrugated tubing hanging in loops, the rebreather bag, hanging beside. They get you to sit up, and put sensors on - pulse ox, BP, ECG. You hear them beeping, tracing your excitement, which you try to contain.You keep looking round, and see intubation tray but nothing else.

You'd come as a volunteer for medical trials, not expecting this but that's OK, you're open minded and know they'll look after you

They're not really speaking to you, short orders - lift your arm, lean forward, hold still.Then they reach for the mask.

"Let's get you started" one says from behind her face mask.She takes the mask in her hand, and stands behind you, reaches round and holds the mask to your face. It smells strongly of sweet rubber, you get a little shiver as it closes on your face, and then it's held on ,by her gloved hand.

"Breath normally, from this point on I'll be managing and controlling what you breath" you take a breath, your chest expanding as the gas slightly rushes in. "Its just air" you think

Her colleague stands in front of you, mask straps in her hand. She reaches round the left of your head, her other hand grabbing the other end of the strap, and clips it tight on both sides. Your face is slightly squashed but it feels soft and nice. You're suddenly very aware of the sound of your breathing. You notice the rebreather expanding and contracting with your breath. You hear your heart rate rise on the monitor. The BP cuff suddenly springs into life, squeezing your arm tight

You keep breathing, the mask feels cool and the gas, the air feels normal, if coming in with more pressure than you expect.

"Time to lay back" you're told. Two hands on your shoulders guide you down as you rotate and lift your legs up onto the table. It's firm but comfortable. As you lay back a small pillow is under your head.

"Arms out, please" one says. You stretch your arms out and two boards are swung out, your arms are velcro strapped to them

"That's 5 minutes"

"start, 30%"

You realise you can't see what they are doing, and a new smell comes unto the mask. You breath it in and after a few breaths feel a woozy and detached a little. You look up at the white ceiling of the room. You try to turn your head towards the machine. Two hands firmly return you head to centre

"stay focused on your breathing, leave us to do our job" you're firmly told

You feel a sharp scratch in your arm. A canula is placed. You hear "push the..." but cannot make out what was said. You feel coldness travel up your arm

You start to feel quite distant, the sounds echo round you. "Breath with me" is the instruction. As you take your next breath, you feel it being somewhat forced in, quicker than you'd like. And again. And again.

You get scared, why are they forcing me to breath? You hear a tray rattle behind you

"Ready"

You feel another drug go in, this one burns, for a second or 2, then another cold sensation as another goes in

"That was a muscle relaxant, I'll soon be doing all your breathing for you"

The mask comes off

"Head back, open your mouth wide"

You're too spaced to do anything other than follow the order

"Now swallow"

A wet feeling in your mouth, you look down to see a tube, an lma entering your mouth, and being pushed in

You swallow as best you can, it's awkward but you do it. A tightening in your throat as the cuff is inflated

The tubes from the mask are attached. You look upwards and back, and realise the rebreather bag is in her hand, and she's squeezing it hard and often. Your lungs burn a bit as each breath is pushed in, but after 5 or 6 you realise the ability to breath is lessening, she is more and more breathing for you

The relaxant has taken effect, you try to move your head and realise you can't.

"Sevoflurane to 4%"

In the next couple of breaths, as the gas takes affect, as you get more and more distant, you hear

" see you soon, get used to this" ......

[eyelessfaces]

caregiver

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: when miguel sees how wrong your mission went, he only wishes for you to let him take care of you.

warnings: description of injuries, blood is mentioned once and there's not a lot of it

tags: gn!reader, slight angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, fucking oblivious idiots in love

word count: 1.8k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

I love him

You pressed the button of the strap around your wrist with difficulty, opening a portal to the spider society. 

It took a good amount of your strength just to get back onto your feet after having collapsed into an empty alley after finally escaping the people chasing you, and you were thankful that your webs had helped you transport yourself earlier, because your legs couldn’t have done the job. 

It was the first time you had fled a scene without stopping the bad guys, but if you hadn’t fled it, they would have stopped you, and worse could have happened.

When you arrived at the spider society, almost everyone stopped in their task or conversation to stare at you, watching you limp through the crowd. A few of them gathered around you and offered you help, but you gave them a small smile and a lame excuse and that seemed to be enough for you to be able to move on. 

That was until Miguel turned his head at the hubbub you had caused and saw the state you were in.

He pushed every other spider person away, making his way to you hurriedly, his eyes gradually widening and lips parting in disbelief as he made his way to you.

"What on earth happened to you" he asked from a distance, his path now clear as everyone had made way for him to join you. 

He stood right in front of you, and though he couldn't see your face, he could imagine it through your mask, and he knew you wouldn’t tell him what happened. 

He looked at his side and realized everyone was staring. He sighed and turned so his back was turned to you, now facing the crowd that had circled the both of you. "Nothing to see here, we're fine, you can go back to your occupations" he ordered, and people awkwardly moved on from the situation, trying to act like nothing happened.

Miguel turned back to you once the movement had dissipated, and his face dropped in worry again. He had seen the way you were limping, and he was now seeing how you were holding onto your left shoulder, thoroughly trying to cover it with your hand. And hell, you hadn't even dropped your mask, but from the cut in it on your forehead, it was already bad enough.

"What happened" he asked again, more calmly and composedly this time.

"It's okay, I'm fine" you discarded the question, starting to walk until he put a hand over your other shoulder to stop you.

"If you don't wanna tell me what happened, let me at least help you now" he almost whispered, his gaze falling to meet your eyes to let you know that he was serious about this.

"No."

With that you left him behind and continued walking, difficultly, and Miguel sighed one last time.

A startled yelp left you when he shot a web at you and pulled you to him, making you land over his shoulder. It was so easy for him, his superstrength allowing him to handle you like you were just a rag doll to him.

You hit his muscled back with the bit of strength left in you, your desperate ministrations barely affecting him. "Let go of m–"

"Look at the things I have to do for you to let me take care of you" he cut you off in a monotone and low voice, trying to ignore all the pairs of eyes glued to the both of you again as he carried you over his shoulder. 

You gave up on trying to fight him, you knew you couldn't even if you really wanted to, you didn't have enough energy and he wouldn't want to let go of you anyway.

—

He brought you to a secluded quarter with medical supplies, and you were finally alone and not putting on a show anymore. He pulled a chair thanks to a web, and made you sit down on it before getting another chair in front of you and gathering the stuff he would need to clean up your wounds.

"Sorry if I hurt you when I shot the web and pulled you to me, but if you weren't so stubborn–"

"That's okay, I appreciate your concern" you cut him off huffing a laugh until another jolt of pain from your shoulder coursed through your body, making you suck in air through your teeth.

He looked over at you and hurried to get everything ready to take care of your wounds, putting the stuff on the table next to the chairs once ready.

"Let me see your shoulder" he asked throwing his chin at it, noticing that your hand hadn't left the spot since you came back to the spider society.

You released your tight grip from the wound slowly and carefully, your covered hand stained with a bit of blood. The wound wasn't so bad, it wasn't too deep, but it was long scratches that hurt every time you moved your arm even just a bit.

The worst part of it for you was that you were going to have to change your suit now that it was ripped to shreds in that area.

"Okay" Miguel muttered, inspecting the injury. "I think you're gonna heal pretty fast, but the first days are gonna be tough. The placement isn't the easiest to live with" he said while sitting down in front of you.

"You wanna talk about good placement? I probably have a cut right over my face" you declared, sliding your fingers under the hem of your mask. "I haven't seen it yet but I felt it for sure." you grunted, taking the piece off with a sigh of relief, happy to finally feel some fresh air.

He stared at the slash going from the side of your eyebrow to your forehead, his gaze quickly diverting to his lap where he was getting his stuff ready when your eyes met.

"There's no good spot to get hurt. I just meant that there are spots where it won't disturb you while it's healing" he declared as he prepared the gauze pad and soaked it with disinfectant. "Your forehead, it won't get in your way. It's inconvenient because it's visible and in the middle of your face but it won't disturb you. Your shoulder, it gets annoying when you shower, when you sleep, when you want to reach and grab something"

"Right"

He pinched his lips in a skeptic smile. "You ready? It's gonna sting a bit" he declared looking at you seriously, and you responded with a small nod.

He took care of your shoulder first, helping you rip off your suit a bit more so he could have full access to the wound. Your heart ached at the sight of your beloved suit getting torn apart, but Miguel telling you that he would get you a new one, even better than this one, made you feel a bit better.

If you thought your shoulder was hurting before, it was nothing compared to that feeling when the disinfectant met your flesh. The sudden burning feeling made you let out a scream of pain, accompanied by a few swear words including a 'motherfucker' you hoped Miguel wouldn't take personally. 

He was trying to be gentle, he really was, the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt you, but no matter how soft he could be you both knew it would hurt anyways. You appreciated the way he tried to soothe you with kind words, telling you how good you were doing, telling you he was almost done cleaning it up and it was almost over.

You hoped he didn’t mind the way your nails were digging onto his bicep as you hissed in pain, and you knew he didn’t when his kind eyes met yours once he was done.

"Let me bandage you then it's over, okay?" he softly asked before shooting you a small smile. "It won't be as painful for your forehead."

—

You took the time to drink some well deserved and needed water before Miguel took care of your forehead. 

The proximity was another new feeling from this whole experience, and it almost made you forget about the slight pain located at the side of your face.

Miguel had your chin trapped between his thumb and forefinger to hold your face, causing your lips to slightly part. It was endearing to see him being so focused on trying not to hurt you, being so careful for each of his even smallest movements.

You hadn't even noticed he was done until he waved a hand in front of your face, making you apologize for being so disconnected from reality. You wished that moment could have lasted longer.

"Thank you" you absent-mindedly mumbled. "Sorry I was being a pain in the ass, I'm actually thankful you could take care of me" you softly smiled, and he mirrored your action.

"See, you should listen to me more often" he replied smugly, his soft smile changing to a toothy grin exposing his sharp fangs.

You huffed out a laugh and playfully hit his arm before shaking your head and standing up with a grunt.

"Hey" he called, a serious tone in his voice as he stood up in front of you. "I know you don't wanna tell me what happened but just know that I'll have Lyla get your previous location, I'll track them from here and I'll take care of them"

You paused for a second.

"You don't have to do this for me"

"I know" he declared, pinching his lips. "I want to."

"I'd need to properly thank you for that." you declared, raising your eyebrows until a sting reminded you of your cut there.

"You don't have to do that"

"I want to." you repeated his previous words with a smirk. You paused, then an idea came to your mind. "What about… What about you go to another universe with me so we can grab dinner?" you proposed, walking around your chair – still slightly limping – so you could slide it back under the table.

"So, a date"

"N– Yes." you bit down on your bottom lip as you looked back at him, trying to figure out what was going on in his head at that moment and studying his face, trying to guess if he would accept your offer. "If you want it to be"

"I think I'm fine with that." he smiled, crossing his arms.

"Good" you smiled back at him, your heart ready to burst out of your ribcage at any moment. "Shall we?" you asked, pressing the button to open a portal where the door of the room originally was.

"After you" he offered with a teasing smile, waving his hand at the halo. You grinned and started walking, until Miguel huffed out a laugh behind you. 

"God you need to do something about that limping. I guess I'll just have to keep carrying you around"

—

feedback is always extremely appreciated plsplspls!!

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[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 1

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

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ghost grunted, trying to stand up.

“wait, let me help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no,” he said sternly.

“ghost, i—“

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

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

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

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

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

“oh.” after a beat. “why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“fine,” you said with mock irritation. 

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

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

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

shit shit shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

god, you needed to stop overthinking everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you swore you almost heard him chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

chapter 2 ➡

[horrorslvts]

stuck zipper 🐰 (dick grayson x fem reader)

tags: female reader, no sex mentioned, nsfw if you squint, breast fetish, latex fetish, teasing, mentions of smut, blood if you squint.

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you pretty much forward rolled inside your apartment on the sixth floor and landed on your knees, you could feel them starting to bruise already. dick followed behind you and closed the window shut, leaving you two in your dark living room with the only light source coming from the city lights of bludhaven outside your apartment.

the dark haired male leaned back on the window rim, chest rising up and down from heavy breathing as he practically ripped the mask from his face to reveal a bruised cheekbone and a bloody nose.

“i told you..” he spoke between panting and huffing. “to stay behind me.”

you lifted yourself from the hardwood floor using your scratched hands and stretched your body; you felt the wet feeling on your shoulder blade and the breeze entering your skin through the latex. you knew you had been injured, just not the semantics of the injury.

“i thought i had him..” you muttered and turned to face your partner in the city while removing your mask off your flushed face.

“youre bleeding.” dick pointed out.

“thanks sherlock.” you said back bitterly and turned your back on him.

“can you tell me how bad it is?” you ask and stretch your body for him.

dick places a hand on your spine and tries to take a look by positioning you near the window for better vision.

“i cant tell, you have to remove your suit.” he says back.

“go ahead-slowly-the latex is sticking on my body.” you say and breath heavily from pain.

“yeah i can..i can see that.” dick says after a small gulp.

he lets his fingers snake towards your neck and attempts to pull the zipper down, but has no luck doing so.

“y/n ill have to cut the suit off you. its stuck.” he informs you.

you fish out a blade from your strap around your thigh and pass it to him.

“go ahead.” you say.

dick then pulls a beeline from the top of your neck down to your spine with the blade, careful to not slice through the fabric and pierce you. then he places the blade between his teeth and uses both hands to rip out your latex skin tight suit, without realizing how much strength he had given on that pull; so he ends up cutting it all from your torso, causing your cleavage to pop out as the fabric dropped like overalls down to the floor.

“grayson-!” you yelp and use your hands to cover your chest.

“relax-“ he says with a muffled mouth as he still holds the blade on his teeth. he then removes it and throws it to the side.

“its not as bad as you feel it is. just a deep cut, but it didnt hit any muscle.” he says and uses his hands to navigate around the skin.

his left hand softly moves from your shoulder blade to the side of your body and up to your side boob, softly gropping the skin with his fingertips.

“grayson..” you say again and let out a heavy sigh, half annoyed.

“its for medical reasons, cmon.”

you groan and let him do as he pleases. the male then moves his fingertips on your nipple and softly plays with it.

“lift your left arm.”

you roll your eyes and do as he asks.

“now bend your body down.”

you follow his instructions and feel his right hand move to the side of your waist.

“hand on the chair real quick-“

you use your stretched hand to grab on the chair and feel your shoulder stretching.

“how does it look?” you ask.

“fuckable.”

“not me idiot! the injury-!”

“its a scratch.” he laughs and softly slaps your ass before you turn around and gently smack his bloody face.