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careinneed · 2 months

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Mastering Wound Dressing at Home: Balancing DIY Techniques with Professional Nursing Care

In the realm of healthcare, the significance of proper wound care cannot be overstated. Whether it's a minor scrape or a more serious bed sore, timely and effective dressing plays a pivotal role in the healing process. While professional nursing care offers expert attention, there are instances where home-based wound dressing becomes necessary. Understanding the nuances of both can empower individuals to navigate their healing journey with confidence. In this comprehensive guide, we delve into the intricacies of wound dressing at home, particularly focusing on bed sore management, and how it complements professional nursing care.

The Importance of Wound Dressing at Home

Wound dressing at home serves as the first line of defense against infections and promotes the body's natural healing mechanisms. It not only accelerates recovery but also enhances comfort and overall well-being. Here's why mastering wound dressing techniques at home is essential:

Prompt Intervention: Immediate attention to wounds, especially bed sores, prevents complications such as infection and tissue damage. Home-based dressing allows for timely intervention, minimizing the risk of further deterioration.

Continuity of Care: While professional nursing care is invaluable, home-based dressing ensures continuity of care between healthcare visits. It enables individuals to actively participate in their healing process under the guidance of healthcare providers.

Cost-Effectiveness: Routine wound dressing at home can significantly reduce healthcare costs associated with frequent clinic visits or hospital stays. It promotes resource optimization while maintaining quality care standards.

Comfort and Convenience: For individuals with chronic wounds or bed sores, frequent trips to healthcare facilities may not be feasible. Home-based dressing offers the comfort and convenience of managing wounds in familiar surroundings, promoting psychological well-being.

Mastering Wound Dressing Techniques at Home

Effective wound dressing at home requires a combination of knowledge, skill, and appropriate resources. Here's a step-by-step guide to mastering the process:

Preparation:

Gather Supplies: Ensure you have all the necessary supplies, including clean gloves, sterile dressings, antiseptic solutions, and wound care ointments.

Clean Environment: Set up a clean and well-lit area for dressing changes. Wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water before and after the procedure.

Assessment:

Examine the Wound: Assess the size, depth, and condition of the wound, noting any signs of infection such as redness, swelling, or discharge.

Document Changes: Keep a record of the wound's progress, including measurements and any changes in appearance or symptoms.

Cleaning and Preparation: Gently Cleanse the Wound: Use a mild saline solution or wound cleanser to irrigate the wound and remove debris. Avoid using harsh chemicals or alcohol, as they can damage healthy tissue. Apply Antiseptic: If recommended by your healthcare provider, apply an antiseptic solution to the surrounding skin to prevent infection.

Dressing Application: Select Appropriate Dressing: Choose a dressing that is suitable for the type and severity of the wound. Options include gauze pads, hydrocolloid dressings, or transparent films. Proper Technique: Carefully apply the dressing, ensuring it covers the entire wound and extends beyond the edges to maintain a sterile environment.

Securement and Monitoring: Secure the Dressing: Use medical tape or adhesive strips to secure the dressing in place. Avoid applying excessive pressure, which can impede circulation. Monitor for Complications: Keep a close eye on the wound for any signs of infection or other complications. Contact your healthcare provider if you notice any worrisome changes. Bed Sore Dressing at Home: A Specialized Approach Bed sores, also known as pressure ulcers, pose unique challenges in wound management due to prolonged pressure on bony prominences. Effective dressing at home requires a specialized approach tailored to the individual's needs. Here are some key considerations: Pressure Relief: Prioritize pressure relief by repositioning the individual regularly and using supportive surfaces such as pressure-relieving mattresses or cushions. Moisture Management: Keep the skin clean and dry to prevent moisture-related complications. Use moisture-barrier creams or dressings as needed to protect vulnerable areas. Optimal Nutrition: Ensure adequate nutrition and hydration to support tissue repair and prevent further breakdown. Consult a dietitian for personalized recommendations if necessary. Regular Assessment: Monitor bed sores closely for any signs of deterioration, such as increased size or depth, foul odor, or changes in drainage. Seek prompt medical attention if needed.

The Role of Professional Nursing Care

While home-based wound dressing is essential, it complements rather than replaces professional nursing care. Qualified nurses bring expertise, experience, and specialized resources to the table, enhancing the quality of care and outcomes. Here's how professional nursing care factors into the equation:

Comprehensive Assessment: Nurses conduct thorough assessments to identify underlying factors contributing to wound development, such as immobility, poor circulation, or malnutrition.

Advanced Interventions: Nurses are trained to perform advanced wound care techniques, such as debridement, irrigation, and application of specialized dressings, which may not be feasible at home.

Education and Support: Nurses educate patients and caregivers on proper wound care techniques, preventive measures, and signs of complications. They offer ongoing support and guidance throughout the healing process.

Collaboration with Healthcare Team: Nurses collaborate with other healthcare professionals, including physicians, wound care specialists, and physical therapists, to develop comprehensive care plans tailored to the individual's needs.

Striking a Balance for Optimal Healing

In the realm of wound care, striking a balance between home-based dressing and professional nursing care is key to optimal healing outcomes. While mastering wound dressing techniques at home empowers individuals to take an active role in their recovery, professional nursing care provides the expertise and resources necessary for complex cases. By leveraging the strengths of both approaches, individuals can navigate their healing journey with confidence, comfort, and resilience. Remember, whether at home or in a healthcare setting, prioritizing wound care is an investment in long-term health and well-being.

Through this comprehensive guide, we've explored the intricacies of wound dressing at home, particularly focusing on bed sore management, and highlighted the synergistic relationship between DIY techniques and professional nursing care. By understanding the importance of each component and integrating them effectively, individuals can embark on a path towards successful wound healing, reclaiming their quality of life one dressing change at a time.

#Wound dressing at home #Professional nursing care near me #Bed sore dressing at home

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max-home · 4 months

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Wound Dressing at home in Noida

Max@Home offers convenient wound dressing services in Noida, ensuring professional care within your residence. Our adept team specializes in meticulous wound care, delivering expertise to your doorstep. With Max@Home, experience hassle-free, top-tier assistance for wound dressing in the comfort of your Noida home. Our trained professionals prioritize your well-being, utilizing advanced techniques and sterile equipment to ensure optimal healing. Embrace convenience and quality with Max@Home, your trusted partner for exceptional wound care services in Noida.

#Wound Dressing at home in Noida

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advertisement23244 · 5 months

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#nursing care at home #nurse at home dwarka sector 7 #alzheimers #alzheimer's patient care at home #wound dressing at home #patient caretaker service #caretaker service for elderly

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emmaameliamiaava · 8 months

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Wound Dressing 101 - For Faster and Effective Wound Healing

Different wounds need different types of wound dressings. Learn which plaster or bandage to use so that it aids in faster wound healing and provides comfort and relief.

#wound-dressing-at-home #wound-care-steps-and-wound-care-procedure

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fazalkhan2914 · 7 months

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Home care companies in Dubai:- Avani Home is the finest home care clinic provider that comes to your home and treats you very softly and it's one of the best cleaning all over. Contact us right away. https://avaneehome.care/

#Elderly home care in Dubai #Peg tube nursing care #Home dressing for wound

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orcelito · 9 months

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Turns out depressed mood has won out

#speculation nation #negative/#sitting outside for a bit. bc i just... need to decompress.#not crying or anything. just. felt wound up a bit too tight.#didnt. actually tell anyone where i was going. whoops.#i need to go back inside before too long. but it's a lot of sitting and a lot of remembering.#im not very good at that part.#i really am not graceful when it comes to Any emotions now that i think about it.#me dressed in all black sitting in the shadow of a funeral home #within view of the road. like art in motion.#i dont know. being a glaring marker of this location's purpose is still somehow better than being surrounded by people.#im just. exhausted. and the service still has yet to start.#and i am so. fucking. sick. of wearing a dress.#as soon as i get out of this shit im gonna manspread to the extreme. fuck being lady-like.#... i probably will need to go back inside soon. but maybe just a few more minutes out here...#being outside always helps me decompress. there's just something about fresh air and open sky that makes it feel like things will be ok #things just dont feel real right now. it doesnt feel real. i dont know if it will ever feel real.#i hate living through death. i really do.

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ritumistry11 · 11 months

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Wound Care Routine at Home, Stay Home, Stay Safe - Hansaplast India

While at home take care of yourself and your family during this quarantine period. Learn about the steps of wound treatment, and use of wound plasters and bandages. https://www.hansaplastindia.com/articles/health-and-protection/wound-care-at-home

#wound-dressing-at-home #wound-care-steps-and-wound-care-procedure

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dinosrawr · 1 year

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I learned on/was held up by all three of my friends last night. I really hate that I randomly get lightheaded. I really love being (literally) supported.

#okay but also. my heart. it burst. when i had the opposite of past traumas happen #i really hope i didn't get all stiff and freak out and make her feel awkward or anything. i know i flinched internally for a second #but someone putting their arm over my shoulder to pull me close used to be accompanied by one of two things #a punch in the gut or a punch in the feels. a way to whisper in my ear something awful and demeaning that no one else could hear #but yesterday i was pulled close and told 'i got you Boo'#and yeah. she was being both supportive and silly at the same time #but even silly little words like Boo or Love used to be weilded as weapons against me #hearing a -what the HECK are they called??? oh!- term of endearment coming from someone who actually holds me dear #let's just say i took it home with me. unwrapped all my feelings over it. and fell asleep feeling loved #i didn't realize how much i needed to hear something like that -from her specifically- until it happened #Like. you can save yourself. you can patch yourself up. but you didn't wound yourself #so it would be awfully hard to fully heal yourself. i sure got myself out of there and covered the pain in bandages.#but i gotta change the dressing before it festers and kills me anyway. the salve i could never find on my own is friendship #hey google. play pieces by red #and if Bestie felt me flinch tell her that i didn't mean it. she can support my dizzy ass whenever she wants

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bottomcyclonus · 1 year

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My sister is a total cunt and around when we were kids, 12 (her) and 15 (me), she became a really big fan of that Jesus guy, but in a ‘if you wear lipstick that’s TOO red you’re clearly a whore who is doing naughty things with the devil’ and ‘all “dark” animals like black cats, snakes, rats, spiders, and bats were sent by the devil himself”. W e had an older home, and the way it was set up is that one of our vents had a chute that went over the porch, and you could look down it and see basically right over the porch itself. This is relevant because I, at the time, really wanted a cat and our parents were considering it. However, cheese cunt (my nickname for her which she hated <3) saw me looking at an adoption page for a black cat. She absolutely lost it and said that I was trying to bring the devil into our home and that I was going to hell and that that cat was evil and going to claw out my eyes in my sleep. We got in a BIG fight over that. By the time we moved out there were still puncture marks in the wall from where she went at me with a fork. Back to the porch and vent. Kind of. I _needed_ to get this bitch, so I recruited two of my good friends who I knew would be ready to commit a fuckery. One of them had a pet snake (which I think she found in her yard and abducted adopted) and she fed him frozen mice and whatnot. Obviously we weren’t going to involve her snake, but the frozen mice? Those were fair game. Her job was to bring the mice and help behind the scenes. My other friend, he’s a big guy, intimidating if you don’t know him, *his* job was to be the devil. We’d found a dead bat in my attic (again old house) and made it look alive with popsicle sticks, then tied it to a string wound through the vent. We planned the fuckery for when our parents were staying at a hotel for their anniversary, so we were home alone all weekend. We had a pizza box as bait outside, with the frozen mice inside arranged in a pentagram. My guy friend was dressed up in a stereotypical grim reaper outfit, big black cloak, white ghoulish face, lantern, the works. We waited around until night, then he rang the door bell and hid, with the pizza box left on the porch, just far out enough that you would have to step outside. Me and my friend were in the bathroom when then happened so that my sister would have to go look. In reality, she was waiting above, ready with the bat, and I was hiding behind the garage door, which was right next to our front door. The moment I hear my sister let go of the door I gently closed it and locked it on her. I heard her scream and the sound of her dropping the pizza box, which was my friends cue to drop the bat on her and dance it around. At this point she’s freaking out and trying to get back inside, screaming and shrieking. I turn off the porch light, and from the shadows across the street, emerges my friend, face dimly lit by the lantern in his hand. I had to muffle my laughter with my fist in my mouth cause my sister is yelling like she’s going to die, which yeah, I can see her thinking that. All my friend had to do was walk across the street and point at her to get her to start crying, and she bolted into our backyard, where she tried to get in through the back door that was unfortunately for her, locked, courtesy of me. We made her stay out there for an hour or so, giving us time to put everything back to normal and sober ourselves up from laughing so hard. Then I let her back in and acted like I didn’t know anything. We got the cat and I named him Pizza.

THIS IS A TRANSFORMERS BLOG

#GOD #its been so long since somebody sent me some WILD ass shit like this #askbox confessional time ig?????#anon #askies #long post

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ceilidho · 3 months

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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether.

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious.

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection.

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it.

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention.

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction.

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home.

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive.

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything.

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious.

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel.

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that.

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends.

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up.

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked.

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent.

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug.

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny.

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning.

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away.

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him.

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically.

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room.

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him.

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare.

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes.

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched.

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?”

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting.

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side.

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life.

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything.

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench.

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes.

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank.

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word.

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one.

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat.

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.”

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll.

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building.

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face.

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in.

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand.

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet.

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #soap/reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader

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