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hier--soir · 5 months

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take your medicine

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: *tv sales advert voice* so you've been finding it hard to reach orgasm? lucky for you, our best-selling item "hunky boyfriend joel" is on sale at half price. shipping is free, and he is very determined to help you achieve your goals! call the number on your screen to buy now! OR your medication makes it difficult to orgasm so joel (and your vibrator) help make it happen. warnings/tags: set in the early 2000s aka early thirties joel my lover boyyyy, boyfriend joel, depression [nothing dark or sad], anti-depressants, brief discussion of food/eating, cigarette smoking [f], soft!supportive!joel, mentions of masturbation [f], unprotected piv sex, use of a sex toy, ride 'em cowgirl (1939) dir. samuel diege, cream pie, dirty talk, joel talks you through it. word count: 2.9k masterlist a/n: so this one is.... self-indulgent. shout out to all my friends on anti-depressants that are strugglin' to reach orgasm. me too, pals, me too. and there will be no medication shaming on this account, no there will not! so happy sunday, i hope someone else out there enjoys this short little thing with me x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

Medication is a journey, they say. Every day will be different.

Medication is not the end all be all, they say. We can always try different avenues.

Six months on, now.

Six months since Let’s try the Zoloft for a few months.

Six months since We can reassess in April.

It’s June and summer has settled over Austin with a hot wet vengeance. April came and went with a mutual agreement that you weren’t ready to be weaned off yet. A gentle hand on your forearm and a softly spoken Why don’t we check in again in July?

A low dose. A starter dose. A you shouldn’t experience too many side-effects dose.

And she was right – for the most part. There were no headaches, no nausea, no dizzy spells, no changes in appetite. That shallow, low mood that’d been haunting you for months suddenly began to lift. Begrudging exercise in the afternoons, a three-meals-a-day regiment implemented by your boyfriend, and a happy little pill with every morning coffee.

But fuck – you can count the number of orgasms you’ve had since January on one hand.

Countless nights spent alone in your bed, tangled betwixt sweaty sheets, fingers and forearm cramping until you finally give up. Drink a cold glass of water, wet your face, and go to bed frustrated; a routine disappointment.

You’d gotten lucky a few times, of course. Vibrator on the highest setting possible, pussy all puffed up and numb from the rough speed. Frustrated tears in your eyes, lightheaded by the time you finally feel that sweet sweet relief coursing through your veins.

A few times with Joel, too, in those first few months. And ignorance was bliss—quite literally—until he caught onto what you’d been doing.

“What was different tonight?” he’d asked you on one of those nights, laid out beside each other in his bed. Chests heaving, satisfied smiles spread across your faces.

Your hand had paused against his head, fingers twisted up in his sweaty curls, and you hesitated. So quick, the briefest pause before trying to play it off, but he caught it. Always too perceptive, too watchful of an eye; especially since you’d been diagnosed.

“What’s wrong?” Joel frowned.

“I… didn’t… my…” you’d mumbled, face tucked against his pillow.

“Can’t hear you when you do that,” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Baby?”

“I didn’t take my meds today,” you repeated, voice still low, still wary. But you could tell he heard you. Knew from the way his body stiffened beside you. From how when you looked over his smile had dropped, eyebrows pinching inward.

For a moment he didn’t even say anything. He hardly breathed. And then—Darlin’, why would you do that?—so painfully soft, the faintest tinge of worry in that deep, rasping voice of his.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, and something hot began to burn behind your eyes. Wet, pinching shame. “Just… I woke up and I wanted you. And I wanted it to feel like it used to for us, and I can never… you know I can’t finish when I’m on them, and I hate feeling like I’m disappointing you—”

“Baby,” Joel shook his head, strong hand cupping your jaw. His forehead knocked against yours; a tender but firm kind of insistence. The type that says look me in the fucking eyes and listen up. “You’re not disappointin’ me.”

“Joel,” you sighed, face hot, foreheads tacky where they pressed together.

“No,” he grunted. “I fuckin’ mean it. This stuff takes time, okay? We’ll figure it out the way we always do. Just… don’t do that again. Please.”

“I won’t,” you murmured feebly, nose smushed against his.

“Promise me,” Joel had urged you. “Promise me you’ll take your medicine.”

“I promise, Joel.”

You kept strong on that promise. Didn’t get frustrated when he’d stay over more nights than usual, or drag you back to his place in the evenings – all just to watch you pop that little white pill in the mornings.

It brought out something new in him, the day you’d showed him the prescription. Like some instinctual protectiveness was unlocked and he just kicked into hyperdrive.

Cutting work early to drive you to your doctor’s office, cooking up different meals every night for dinner.

Most days you wake up alone in his bed; wipe the sleep out of your eyes as you wander downstairs. Let him nudge you into a chair at the table, beside Sarah, so he can set identical bowls of cereal in front of the two of you—his girls. Hell, if you had a dollar for every time that man has said Breakfast is the most important meal of the day in the past six months, you’d have more money than you could spend.

Joel didn’t even get mad when you started smoking again in May.

Didn’t bat an eye when he found you at two in the morning, sat on the back porch in one of his sweatshirts with the smell of tobacco staining your fingers.

“Been a long time since I seen once of those in your mouth,” he’d smirked, settling onto the stoop beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced, remembering how proud he’d been when you quit. He rested his head against your shoulder, eyes watering with a yawn.

“S’late,” he grumbled sleepily. “N’you smell now.”

“I’m sorry,” you’d repeated, stamping the cigarette into the concrete. “Today was just… hard. Couldn’t sleep.”

“S’okay,” Joel told you. “Just don’t like it when you sneak out on me, yeah? You know I ain’t judgin’ you.”

The only thing that frustrates Joel, is that he comes, and you don’t.

And it’s not a frustration with you. No, it’s a hot faced guilt that spreads through him every time you fuck. Evident in those frantic touches, desperate pleas of your name, of tell me what to do, tell me how to help, of fuck I’m sorry.

Because you still want him, despite it all. Still can’t help your wandering hands, your fingers that tease back his bed sheets and then his boxers and coax orgasm after orgasm out of him, night after night.

Tonight, you thought, would be no different.

Covers strewn across the end of your bed, pillows askew, you sit astride his lap.

It’s hot; the AC in your apartment has been broken all week, and your thighs are tacky with sweat where they press against his skin. Everything wet – sweat in your hair, slick between your thighs, the soft squelching sound that raises with every press of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, hands tight against your waist. “I can’t—goddammit, I’m not gonna last, baby.”

“It’s okay,” you moan, eyelids heavy as you rock your hips over his.

It’s late, and you both have work early in the morning, but the burn is so good like this. The heavy weight of him reaching so far, pushing the limits of what your body can take. For years it’s been your favourite way to fuck him; poised above his body, admiring the way his stomach tightens and his eyes roll when you sink down on his cock.

“What can I do?” his voice is strained, the veins in his neck bulging as he holds his breath – anything to stave off the impending high.

You only whimper pathetically, grinding your hips into his. Can feel everything in your stomach knotting up into a white-hot ball.

“Hey,” Joel urges, hand landing in a soft slap against your outer thigh. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” you cry out, shaking your head. “It’s right there, but I…”

“But what?” he murmurs, hips snapping up again.

“I don’t think I can,” you finally admit, eyebrows drawn tight in frustration. Your lower lip is bitten raw at this point, incessantly gnawed at by your own teeth. His grip tightens on your hips and he drags you upward until his length slips out, falling against his stomach with a wet smack.

“C’mon, tell me what you need,” he says quickly, and you’re sure that the desperation you see in his eyes is mirrored in your own. Pupils blown round and fat, endless black—pleading.

You stare down at him for a moment. Watch the way his chest heaves with harsh, stilted breathes. How little dots of sweat have gathered at the hollow of his throat. And fuck, you want it so bad.

“Top drawer,” you exhale roughly, pointing to the side table.

Joel doesn’t question the order. Doesn’t say a word as he spreads a long arm across the bed, yanking the drawer open and shoving his hand inside. You watch him rifle around for a moment, pulse increasing as you wait for him to find what you want. What you need. And you can tell when he does; his shoulders stiffen and he lets out a choked sort of sound, pulling out the black wand and shoving it into your hand.

“Show me,” he says, eyes wild.

Your finger drops down against the button, turning your hand to show him which one to press.

“There’s four settings,” you murmur, slipping it back into his palm.

“Does this normally help?” he asks, grunting softly as you grip his cock, notching the tip back at your entrance.

“Sometimes,” you sigh, sinking down, sucking in the heavy weight of him. “Can still take a—a little while.”

He presses the button tentatively, watching as the rounded head of the wand starts to vibrate. Spread open around him, he can see your swollen little clit so easily, and he lowers the wand to press against it. Your body jolts forward, mouth splitting open with a groan as heat flares through you. Your hips stutter against him instinctively, chasing that intense feeling, and he looses a gravelly moan at the feeling of your wasted cunt squeezing around him.

“Look at that,” Joel grunts, dark eyes trained on your face. That wicked pink tongue slips out to wet his lips and he nods in encouragement. “I know, baby, I know it’s a lot, you feel good?”

“Yes,” you gasp, jaw going slack as you settle into the feeling. “Fuck, yes, it’s good, it’s good.”

It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before; nothing your past boyfriends had ever been comfortable enough to try. It has the muscles in your thighs tensing up already; the thick press of his cock paired with that unrelenting, almost overbearing, vibration.

“Can feel it,” he hisses out, head tilting back into the mattress.

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he nods, expression grim. The muscle in his jaw twitches. “So fuckin’ tight like this. All wound up, y’need it so bad, I know.”

You moan, eyelids fluttering as he presses the button again, notching it to a higher speed. You lift up slowly and then press back down over him, and the two of you groan in unison. His free hand falls against the curve of your ass and he squeezes, encouraging you to rock against him, starting up a steady pace.

One of your hands settles on your chest, fingers twisting and pulling at your nipples. You need more, always more, something, anything.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” Joel mutters, and you can tell how fucked out he is already as he watches you. Dark eyes glazing over, mouth hanging open deliriously. “My pretty girl, so damn good for me.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest and you whimper, appreciation for him flooding your senses. He’s been so close for so long tonight already, teetering precariously on that edge but holding off for you. Fucking you into the mattress before pulling out and tucking his face between your thighs, doing his damnedest to get you to that same place. Urging you to get on top, to take what you needed, to use him to get yourself off.

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly, eyes pinching closed as something sharp starts to tingle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joel snarls, hips snapping upward.

“What ar—” your words cut off with choked moan as he clicks the button again, and then again, taking it to the highest speed. Your shoulders shake and you tilt forward a little, hand gripping his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Joel,” you cry out, chest heaving and stomach tightening.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, searching for something to ground yourself against. That firm press against your clit doesn’t falter for a second, and you let out a rough moan.

“Good,” he grunts. “Good girl, give it to me.”

The muscle in his bicep spasms and strains beneath the skin, everything pulled taut as he keeps the wand pressed firmly against you. And it’s almost painful, the way you can feel your high coiling inside you, burning, but never quite reaching fever pitch the way you need it to.

A symphony that builds and billows and writhes within you. Sloping swells of violins and cellos and trumpets. Up, up, up to that shattering crescendo you just can’t seem to reach.

“Joel,” you mewl, and there’s tears in your eyes, on your cheeks. Hot, fat tears that stain your face now, dripping from your chin to splatter against his chest.

“C’mon now,” he grunts, hips shifting up off the bed, meeting you thrust for thrust. The stretch of his cock is so wide, so deep, and every shift of his body punches the air from your lungs.

“I don’t know if I can,” you shake your head, stomach on fire. The vibrations are so intense, the speed so fast, you can feel your clit going numb beneath it. But Joel doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop the fast pace of his hips. The muscles in his abdomen twitch under you, tan skin glistening with sweat.

“You’re so close,” he goads, jaw tight. “Don’t fight it, baby.”

“Stop moving,” you beg then, your voice a high keen. Joel stills instantly, wary eyes darting across your face. He doesn’t pull the vibrator away though. Not yet.

“Fuck,” you cry out, hand firm against his stomach. “Just let me-just—”

Knees on fire against the bed, you grind your hips down into his. Gasp as his cock presses hot and heavy against something deep inside of you that sets your entire body shaking, vibrating against him; buzzing at the same high-speed rhythm as the wand between your legs. You rut against him again and again and then something pulls tight and hot at the base of your spine.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, eyes widening. “Oh god, Joel, I think—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” he moans. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline to his chin. “You’re okay, let it happen.”

“Touch me,” you say, breathless and needy and so so desperate. “Fuck, please.”

Joel groans – a deep, guttural thing. A sound that comes from somewhere in the base of his stomach. It rattles your bones and has your fingernails digging into his stomach, and then his hand is on your chest. Rough fingers squeezing and stroking and pinching and you’re gasping, keening his name as he whispers frenzied words of encouragement and it’s building it’s building it’s building and and and—

Everything goes silent when you come. It’s all blurred vision and deafened ears; an intense ache in your jaw from the way your mouth hangs open. You can feel a vein in your neck, raging beneath the skin; a staccato rushing sound that echoes inside your head.

And you think you can hear Joel’s voice, somewhere beyond it all; Fuck, there it is, good girl, good fuckin’ girl.

When your eyes flutter open, you can only see Joel’s face swimming in your vision. His eyes rolling back, lips parted as he snarls your name.

“Fuck,” he spits. “—yeah, that’s it, there we fuckin’ go.”

You feel his cock kick inside of you; fast jerking spasms and then a warm rush as he starts to come. Your hand wraps around his, pushing the wand to the side of the bed, but he doesn’t fucking stop. He grips your waist and fucks up into you, spitting curses and warbled slurs of your name as he pumps you full of his hot spend.

It’s obscene – a mix of your come and his, squeezing out around his girth and smearing against the inside of your thighs. It pools around the base of his cock and you whimper at the sight, swollen cunt still tightening around him. Only when you start to sag down against his chest does he rest, his thighs twitching and tensing with the aftershocks of his high.

Joel raises a hand, calloused thumb brushing the tears from your cheeks. Then, carefully, he grips the back of your neck, guiding you down to rest against his chest.

Your shoulders slump and you press a lazy kiss against the jut of his collarbone. And for a moment there’s just this. No sounds but that of heavy breaths and a soft buzzing, forgotten somewhere in the sheets. The swipe of his fingertips down your spine, your lips against his salty skin. A gentle tap against your waist and he’s slipping out of you with a sigh, but not letting you pull away, not letting you move from where you’ve collapsed directly on top of him.

“Missed that,” you slur sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Me too,” he mumbles. “Did so good. Made me proud.”

“S’that right?” you smile against his skin.

“S’right, baby.”

You hum, dragging your head up to press a kiss against his mouth. Both of you so exhausted that it’s just a brief, lazy swipe of your lips, but it’s enough. It’s thank you.

“Shower?” he suggests softly, smiling up at you.

“Or… cigarette?” you respond, eyebrows raised, teasing.

“Watch it,” he smarts, laying a quick smack against your ass before nudging you off of him. He stands and holds out a hand to help you off the bed, tutting underneath his breath. “Although I guess you’ve earned it.”

a/n: in hindsight, idk why the fuck i wrote that it took them six months to try this but what can you do lmao.

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: take your medicine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot

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briefalpacashark · 2 months

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~Saviour~

Warning: Hospitals, near death, violence, blood. Graphic descriptions.

Synopsis: when a mission goes south you save your 141 boys.

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Life had a way of throwing shit at you. Giving you a curveball that often cleaved through your life.

This day was no different.

You sat in the med bay. Blood and dirt caked your hands all the way up to your elbows. Your breath was erratic as your left hand clasped and unclasped. Your right arm was numb laid limply on your knee. You glanced at it, unsure why it wasn't moving. Your hand was hidden by a glove that looked a little big to be yours. Were you wearing gloves? You couldn't remember. Your eyes set on the door in front of you. The doors which behind held your squad. The nurses and doctors who rushed around sent brief worried glances at you, but you would simply wave them off. You could only see the blood on your arms. You couldn't see the blood that covered your shirt and down the right side of your face.

Flashes of what happened played on a taunting replay in your head.

It was supposed to be just a simple routine check on one of the outreach bases. Your team was accompanied by about thirty others. You remembered sitting with your squad as Price gave out some simple orders. You remembered smiling brightly at the boys as they cracked a joke.

You remembered feeling the first drops of rain when it happened. You took notice of the water dripping from your body onto the cheap plastic chair as you closed your eyes. You were as wet as a drowned rat. You weren't really sure how it happened. There was an explosion. There were other soldiers, not dressed like you. It was an attack. You were the furthest from the explosion. You remember seeing your squad scattered around? Price and Ghost were the only other ones who recovered consciousness. They went down faster than you could comprehend. Ghost, because of another explosion and due to a loss of blood, a bullet cleaved through his collarbone. Jonny's lung was collapsing and Gaz was unresponsive. You could name every other injury your squad sustained. You had it all listed in your head. Every scratch and laceration. You remembered treating them amid the chaos. You remembered dragging them each to the rally point where they were packed into a chopper and taken to safety. You remembered regurgitating that information up to the doctors. When your mind was done with that, it started replaying what you had done to treat their injuries. Had you done it properly? You followed through your steps, trying desperately to piece them all together.

You couldn't. It was all a jumbled mess. You mind was a jumbled mess.

You weren't allowed in the operating rooms; you weren't qualified. You remembered being pulled out by someone. You remember trying to fight against their arms, but they were too strong. And now you were there. Sitting alone in an empty hall.

As the adrenalin started to run out, you finally noticed the ringing in your head. The numbness up your right arm. With everything you felt, you diagnosed yourself with a concussion, a bad one and possible shock. You didn't know how long you had sat there. Yet when a doctor approached you, your clothes were dry.

"You can see them now. They're all awake and in bay seven," he said, gesturing you in the room. Nodding, you mumbled out a thank you as you walked into the room and noticed that you had a slight limp.

"Heeeyyyyyy. There's our medic. Finally decided to show up and do your job, huh?" your eyes first found Jonny’s. He sat upright in the hospital bed with a bright smile on the right. Ghost and Gaz stood next to Price, in a bed of his own, looking pretty good on the left. You had to give it to modern medicine. It was extraordinary.

"Damn girl, you look like shit," Gaz commented, making everyone in the room chuckle. You chuckled as well as you took them all in. Took in the open eyes and smiles.

They were alright.

"Sorry. Haven't had time for a shower. But I still smell better than Jonny," you said, earning chuckles from them.

"You got a bit of a limp there. You alright kid?" Price groggy voice came from the bed. His shoulder was wrapped up something fierce.

"I'm alright sir. My arms a little banged up. How about you, huh?" you asked.

They were all alive and safe.

"I'm alright. A little disappointed you weren't doing your job, though. But I had a cute doctor so I'm not complaining," Price cracking a joke. A rare but welcome thing.

"Nah, the doctors wouldn't let me in. I don't have the right credentials apparently," you said, feeling something building behind your eyes.

"What a load of shit," Jonny said.

"But you're all ok right?" you asked, your voice shaky as you gripped your sleeve.

"We're fine. A little beatenand bruised, but we're out of the woods," Gaz commented. You weren't able to hold the small sob that escaped your lips.

"That's good. That's good," you said, reaching your hand up to cover the sob with a cough. Yet you couldn't hold back the tears that quickly started to pour from your eyes. The relief you were feeling was too much. The worry and fear that had been suffocating you had lifted, finally letting you breathe. It seemed like the whole time you had been waiting was like being underwater. And with their words, you were finally able to gasp for air.

They were ok.

"Sargent?" Price questioned hesitant looks being passed around the room.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, wiping the tears away.

"Oh come on short stack. These little scratches aren't worth crying over." your squad wasn't sure what to do. They didn't really cry. It was something that was strange to them, so they weren't sure how they should react to you doing just that.

"It's just. God. You idiots really worried me, you know. And now you fuckers got me crying. God. It seems like I really love you guys," you sniffled as you whispered that last part to yourself. Not well enough though. They had each heard it.

"Aw come on. Now. You're gonna make me blush," Jonny’s comment had you laughing as you whipped your nose.

"You better consider yourselves important. I don't just cry for anyone you know," you calmed yourself, your cries settling into only tears and a brief quiver of your voice.

"Come on now, Sargent. Straighten yourself out. And for god's sake, have a shower," Price said with a warm smile. You nodded with a smile.

"Yes sir," you took one last look around the room before turning to leave.

You didn't get far. Your legs didn't seem to get the plan. Your knees buckled slightly, but you were able to keep yourself up.

"Come on," you whispered, straightening up. You weren't on your feet for more than two seconds before you tumbled to the ground.

"Y/N!" As you lay on the cold ground you felt yourself being flipped over. Those who could stand had rushed to you. Then nothing.

Your squad watched all in pure worry as Ghost lifted you onto a spare bed. They yelled for a doctor.

"What's wrong with her?" A doctor who had been yanked into the room asked, taking a torch and shining it in your eyes.

"She just collapsed," Gaz said.

"She's got a concussion," he started.

"She said there was something else with her arm too," Ghost added. Jonny stood waddling over to you. The doctor pulled your left sleeves up to see if there was anything wrong. Seeing nothing, he moved to the right. Pulling the sleeve up, he pauses in slight shock. Your skin was blistered and bleeding with four-degree burns.

"I need nurses here now!" he yelled. He hurried, cutting your shirt sleeves going higher and higher to see the burns all the way up your arm and shoulder. Underneath were the remnants of a burnt shirt. You had put the glove on to get a better grip of whatever you were handling, your hand having become a blistered mess. A few nurses rushed into the room, starting to set up monitors. One nurse cut open your undershirt and paused.

"Doctor," she explained. All attention was pulled down to your stomach. Deep Purple coloring had spread across your abdominal area.

"She's bleeding internally. Get the surgery ready! Let's go!" your squad watched on in shock as the nurse hurriedly ushered your bed out of the room.

Price sat upright in his bed, waiting. They all were. A young private rushed into the room.

"Sir, here's the footage you asked for," he rushed forward holding out a tablet to the Captain. Silently, he pressed play. Everyone watched in shock as they saw the attack play out. They saw you. Dazed and in pain as you took in your burnt arm. They watched your worry quickly shift to them. They saw you pulling them each to safety. Saving them. They saw you get struck in the stomach by an airborne piece of debris. They saw you covered them with your body as more explosions rang out. They saw you come back for each and every one of them even when people held you back.

"How long ago did we get in?" Price asked.

"About a day and a half, sir," the private stated.

"So you're telling me. One of my men sat out in that hall for a day and a half with no medical attention?" Price asked, gripping the tablet tightly. The poor lad nearly shit himself when he felt the glares of all four men fall upon him.

"Sir, the attack borough in a flux of patients," the young soldier wasn't able to finish his response when Price shoved the table back into his chest.

"Then why the hell was she alone in the attack?" he asked. The private eyes darted around nervously. Even if her team had gone down, there were other soldiers around. Where were they? Why haden’t they helped you?

"You were all in a danger zone. We had established a protective line. We were given orders to stay behind it," he muttered.

"So you fuckers were gonna leave us there?" Jonny asked in anger. The private cast his eyes down in shame. They now understood why people were holding you back. You were going against orders to save their lives.

Most of the squad was discarded and getting dressed when a doctor walked into the room, his eyes cast down at his tablet.

"Who's the dick that demanded I personally report a medical condition when I have a whole base full of patients?" the doctor was pissed. When he pulled his eyes from his tablet and took in the inhabitants of the room he gulped quickly changing up his tone.

"How is she?" Price asked.

"Well, she had severe internal bleeding. We patched that up though. She had a few broken ribs. Her arm had four-degree burns. She has a concussion and a slight fracture to the skull. She's going to heal up fine with time but her arm will be permanently scarred. She's unconscious right now. And it might be a few hours before she's out of the woods," he quickly reported your condition. He looked hesitant building up the courage to get the last bit of information out.

"What else?" he asked.

"Her heart stopped beating halfway through the operation. Only for a few seconds though. We were able to resuscitate her with the deliberator," he added. The boy's mouths went dry.

Your squad all stood at the window to your room. You were bandaged up like a mummy, a breathing tube stuck in your mouth. Two nurses shuffled around you attending to bits and pieces. Dread, utter dread seeped into their bodies as they took you in. As reality set in.

The team was a mess after that. At all times, you had at least one of them in your room. Cards and flowers piled up on your bedside table moving to encompass the little corner of the room. As soon as the doctor told him that talking to you might help you come out of the coma quicker, he was unstoppable. Jonny would constantly come in, talking nonstop about anything and everything. Gaz would sometimes bring you your favorite snacks wafting the scent over to you in hopes it would wake you up. Price would pop in every morning before breakfast and every afternoon before dinner, demanding a full report of your status. And Ghost would simply sit by your bed. Scared half the nursed shitless to see him looping finger and skull mask walking about at night.

And they were mad. Price nearly got half the nurses and doctors fired. Those he didnt mange to get fired were transferred.

It was a week before you woke up. You were in a slight daze. Your vision blurry as you took in your painful limbs. After the doctor and nurses checked up on you, you sat upright in bed. They had told you the extent of your injuries. And you were still feeling a bit drowsy.

A nurse had just left from checking your vitals when you heard a thunder of footsteps. Then you saw them. Your squad all fumble into the room. Relieved and happy smiles spread over their faces as they all clambered around your small bed.

You couldn't really remember what they were saying. After all, they were all talking over each other. What you do remember was the looks they gave you. Looks of utter application and relief. And a newfound respect.

"Sargent," they all went silent as Price entered the room.

"Sir," you nodded.

"We saw what you did for us," he said, simply unsure how to proceed with the following words. How do you thank someone for saving your life?

"What I did?" you mumbled in confusion. "What did I do?" you chuckled playfully. Your squad looked over your carefree smile.

"You don't remember?" Ghost asked.

"Not really. I remember we were attacked. Seems like I was pretty fucked. Let me guess, you guys saved my ass huh?" you asked playfully. You really couldn't remember what had happened. It was all a blur. The doctor mentioned you might have some amnesia.

"You did well, Y/N. You did good," Price said, extending his hand out to you. You let out a huff of a chuckle confused by his words but shook his hand nonetheless. The boys would later tell you what had happened but you just shock it off thinking they just wanted to make you feel better.

As you recovered, they harassed the doctors and nurses hanging over their shoulders and constantly asking what they were doing. And you healed.

Ghost would find himself constantly training to keep his mind off his worry for you. Yet halfway through every workout or exercise, his worry would get the better of him. It brought a smile to your face when he would walk in. He would chat and talk, as much as Ghost could, always checking that you had everything you needed. He was also the one the nurses hated the most. Now Ghost wasn't dumb, but he certainly didn’t really understand all the medical mumbo jumbo, as he called it. So when anything beeped, or he noticed something that looked weird, he would press the nurse call button and ask what it was. You found the concern cute but annoying sometimes. A welcome annoyance, though.

After a certain amount of medication, you felt sleep pulling at you. Ghost, noticing your heart rate slowing down, slightly reached for the nurse call button.

"It's fine, Simon," you spoke up through half-closed eyes.

"Then why is the beeping thing slowing down?" he asked, gesturing to the machine as he pulled a chair up to sit beside your bed.

"Your heart rate slows when you go to sleep. Which the current medication is doing," you explained with a small smile.

"Huh," he hummed, settling down in the chair.

"What's on your mind, big guy? You're usually jumpy today," you questioned lazily, waving your arm out to him. Not bothering to bring it back to the bed, you let it dangle off the side.

"The doc said something about a bleed somewhere," he shrugged gently, taking your hand and going to tuck it back under the sheets. Instead, you grasped hold of his pinky, holding it tightly.

"I popped open a stitch, it's fine, it's fixed, see," you said, waving your other damaged hand where a small cut lay underneath the bandage.

"What? You worried about little old me?" you asked with a small smirk, your eyelids drooping.

"Always love," he grinned back, moving his hand to completely engulf yours. You looked over his gentle eye. The honesty in his eyes. He had called your love before. It was always in a playful tone. But that time. The word sounded so different. It sounded sincere.

"Is the big bad Ghost actually saying something sincere?" you asked playfully.

"Yeah well, don't get used to it," he shrugged, going to pull his hand back, but you held tightly onto it. He propped an eyebrow questioning.

"Thank you for being here. It means a lot," you whispered.

"Well, it's the least I can do. And while we're on the topic of thanking. I wanted to thank you for everything," he avoided your gaze as he spoke, having to clear his that afterward.

“I'm the medic, it's my job,” you stated simply.

“Yeah, well you gotta stay alive to do ya job,” he mumbled, his gaze focused on your intertwined hands, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the back of your palm. Flashes of the cold panic reverberated in his mind. The fear that threatened to swallow him when he saw you being wheeled out of the room. The dread that squeezed his lungs so painfully he thought he might have a collapsed lung himself.

“Don't tell me what to do,” you joked playfully. His shoulders did their little jump chuckle thing as he returned his gaze to yours. The warmth you held in your eyes. The warmth that spread through you as he gazed at you so sincerely. You had to admit it now. You were smitten with the lieutenant. Perhaps it was the drugs making you feel truthful. It was definitely the drugs that had you reaching up. Ghost frowned as your hand placed itself at the base of your mask. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine as your fingers dived under the mask trailing up to cup his cheek. Your smile widened as you felt the tickle of a stubble on your palm.

“I knew it. I knew you had a stubble. Jonny owes me a tenner,” you whispered softly, your thumb brushing the skin feeling a scar or two. Ghost found himself placing his hand over your own, moving his lips to press them into your palm. The kiss so tender as it lingered on your skin.

"You know. I'm gonna make you my Misso," now you were sure it was the drugs that had you speaking like that, but at that moment you didn't care. Because only a second after you pulled your hand back, Simons fell with yours as he held it again. Only a second after you had fallen into a deep sleep, your hand still clasped around Ghosts.

A very confused Simon glanced over at your heart monitor before signing deeply.

"What the fuck is a misso?" he asked himself.

Price would come by later to see how you were, only to stop in the doorway. Simon lay propped up on the bed beside you, sleeping peacefully. Your hands still intertwined.

With a small knowing smile, he turned around and closed the door behind him.

================================================

--Cod master list here--

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#141 x reader #141 x you #cod 141 #cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 #simon riley x reader #cod

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greatshell-rider · 2 years

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re: my own tags on a previous post i am too lazy to paste them here but needletail’s talk with violetshine is so shoddily done and i am offended on their behalf. first off it’s in alderheart’s point of view and like. that’s nice that he and needletail got to talk too, they deserved to have that, but COME ON. this whole book (well. some of it sigh) you have needletail’s ghost trying to track violetshine down, violetshine has awful dreams in which needletail disdains her, you have violetshine begging for forgiveness and understanding and reassurance that her one closest friend in ALL HER LIFE still cares for her and doesn’t regret sacrificing her life to save her, doesn’t blame her for anything- and in this scene where they finally talk, it is two lines. two pages before the end of the book. and in alderheart’s point of view

THROWS UP MY HANDS CMON

#truly what fanfiction is for. let the two have a damn conversation dear gods #author builds things up halfway to a point that it could get so juicy and interesting and then just drops the ball- chucks it over their sho #shoulder like nah nevermind imma just call it good here #TAKE THE SHOT DUMBASS. HOOP IS RIGHT THERE. DAMN FREE THROW CMON #and anyway alderheart and needletail's relationship could've been juicer too. thankfully it was never romantic but hhhhhhhh it could've been #so much more. friendships are so good and so undervalued and always forgotten and kicked to the curb and it's a fuckin travesty #*tragedy #gnashing my teeth #really let the ball drop on alderheart's character too i think. he was pretty interesting in the first couple books #a medicine cat apprentice with a close connection to starclan but stuffed full of anxiety #rarely agrees with bramblestar (cuz he's a bitch) and it would be so neat! to have a medicine cat like constantly rubbing the wrong way with #their leader like. so often clan leaders boss their medicine cats around or ignore them or refuse to let them do their job but alderheart ha #has a nice rebellious/noble/gotta do the right thing no matter what streak that could've functioned really well in him doing ANYTHING to see #a prophecy fulfilled. even at the price of disobeying his leader and possibly harming the clan's personal sake yknow yknow #COULD'VE BEEN SPICY #COULD'VE BUILT UP ALDERHEART TO PUT ALL HIS TRUST IN STARCLAN ONLY TO BE CRUELLY BETRAYED/DISAPPOINTED/LET DOWN #but no no for the past few books he's just. wandered about worrying over things but never doing anything about them. worried about needletai #needletail but never checking on her #worrying about skyclan and the rogues but never confronting that #worrying about the new prophecy and the six toed cat but only going looking the once #worrying about the clans falling apart but never pushing to reestablish connections or make deals or try and assist in their problems #make alderheart a diplomat medicine cat that would've been cool #i simply think alderheart would have benefited from learning a thing or two from needletail and rebelled a bit #see if they'd spent more time together they could have learned from each other. 'bad influence' this and that but they were good for each ot #other and the story could've gone a neat direction if the author had cared enough to let them interact beyond the first two books :P #>:(#anyway. once again complaining about shittily written children series about feral cats you are very welcome *takes a bow*#can't believe there are still two more books in this series slkdfjsldfjsdfskj yes there's a lot to wrap up still but whenever they even star #start to fix one problem another one (or the same one let's be honest) boils up and the first problem gets ignored lmao. how many more proph #prophecies will we get in these last two books alone

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miniwheat77 · 10 months

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Rage. (Mean!Ghost x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, smut, rough sex, unprotected p in v sex, ghost being a big meanie, enemies to kinda lovers, hate sex, noncon, choking, (sorry if I missed any.)

This was a request and was edited poorly because I’m lazy. You can find the ask here.

All you ever seemed to get out of Ghost were sighs. No matter what you said or did he seemed to have a problem with it. The few times you tried talking to him he'd huff and turn away from you with a sharp roll of his eyes. After a while, you got fed up with it and ignored him. You did your best to avoid him at all costs. It started snowballing into more. He'd always have something to say when you were around. Always so smug. On occasion if a mission went wrong no matter who's fault it was, he took it out on you. Raising his voice at you, punishing you when Captain Price wasn't around to see it.

He usually black mailed you into it somehow. Telling you that if you didn't obey him, he would go to your Captain. He was quiet around everyone else but always seemed to have the most to say when you were around.

It was tiring. He'd made you run, do push ups, wake up early for drills. He was bordering being abusive. He used his power in his favor and against yours. You contemplated dropping from the task force every once in while, but knew that Captain Price would need an explanation and admitting to what was going on, only put a target on your back even more. You had nowhere to go, you were trapped.

As time went on, you started biting back. When he had something to say, you didn't hold back. Started letting him have a taste of his own medicine. Going as far to annoy him when he made you do push ups or run. You went to bed early so that you were awake and ready for when he gave you drills.

If he was going to make this hell for you, you might as well do it right back.

It was normal. His harassment. He was a bully and you were used to it. You could bite back. Nothing ever really seemed out of the ordinary.

Until the first time he'd put his hands on you.

The power had gone out on the base, which made red lights flash in the hallways, much like in a movie. It was creepy.

You made your way down the hallway to the women's barracks. Nobody but you ever really came down this hallway unless they were coming to ask you a question of course. So when you seen Ghost walking menacingly down the hallway toward you, you were confused. You decided to ignore him, going to walk passed him. The red light illuminated the white on his mask and gloves. It was like something out of a horror movie.

Just as you were about to walk passed him, hands on you had you going to yell out, but he was quick. Clamping a gloved hand over your mouth and slamming your front up against the hard wall. You whimper into his mask at the force of him. He was being aggressive. His deep chuckle is what makes you fight against him, but he draws you back, pushing you hard into the wall again. He wraps his hand around your front, fingertips gliding across your waistline and you freeze, talking into his hand. He doesn't move it, only glides his hand back and fourth, fingertips pushing into your waistband just slightly. His chest was flush with your back and he was holding onto you tight, you could feel his erection pressing into your back. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. He takes in a deep breath, breathing in the scent of you. Following it up with a sigh of satisfaction. "You might as well stop fighting me." They're the first words out of his mouth and they're dark. Laced with venom. "I could do absolutely anything I want to you and there isn't one thing you can do to stop me." He mutters. Breath hot against your ear. "You could scream as loud as you want, beg me to stop and not one soul in this building would hear you. So the next time you want to talk back to me, remember that. You're in one little lonely room all the way off over here and nobody would even know what's going on. I mean.. They didn't notice me disappearing to get these." He lifts up a pair of your cotton panties, and you only sob into his glove harder. You knew he was mean, but this? This was too much.

"Can you stay quiet?" He growls. You nod your head. Tears soaking his glove. He lets out a deep chuckle. He slides his hand away from your mouth and you take in a deep breath. It lasts for only a second before he's lifting your chin to look back at him. "Please stop." You whimper. Earning a chuckle from him. "Awe... Why are you crying hm?" He smiles but he knows you can't see it. You gasp out as his hand slides lower. "Ghost- please don't" You push back into him, which only pisses him off further. “You’ll learn, pathetic little girl. I’ll teach you.” He smiles. “Please, I won’t fight back. I’ll be good.” You mumble. “Oh.. you’ll be good?” He smiles. A deep laugh from him sending chills up your spine. “I know you’ll be good. Because if you’re not…” he trails off. Fingertips gliding over your opening. Only now do you realize, he doesn’t have a glove on his right hand.

“Shit.. you’re wet?” He chuckles. His fingertips glide over your entrance and you’re trying to fight against him now. “Fuck.. you’re actually wet from this. What a little slut.” He grasps a handful of your hair, sliding his hand away from you. “You’re a pathetic girl, Y/N.” He let’s go of your hair, brushing it down with his hand. He moves himself away from you, stepping back. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He turns in the direction you’d just come from, heading back into the mess hall. You watch him for a second, tears still spilling over your eyelids as his dark form illuminatesd by red starts to disappear, Just in time for the lights to return. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

—

You’d just gotten into your room, but you could hear his heavy footsteps approaching your door. He slams it open before you get the chance to lock it behind you.

“What the fuck was that?” He breathes. He’s seething. You’re nervous as you look at him, tears pooling at your waterline. “I did what I had to do.” You breathe. “That’s doing what you had to do? You’re fucking ridiculous.”

His constant nagging has you at your wits end with him.

“Yes. I had no other choice because I was surrounded. If I’m dead, so is everyone else. So yes, I exposed myself on purpose, I called for help. Excuse me for being worried about everyone else around me, unlike you. You selfish motherfuc-“ the breath is knocked out of you when he slams you up against the wall in your bedroom, hand wrapped around your throat. “Did you learn nothing? Stupid girl..” he chuckles. “I learned enough.” Your breath is going away as he tightens his grasp on your throat. Your hands claw at his wrist. He’d cornered you in your room on purpose. “Recite it back to me. So I understand.” He smirks, even if you can’t hear it. You can sense it in his tone of voice. “I’ve learned.. that.. that you’re a complete fucking scumb-“ your face is turning a deep shade of red as he completely cuts your oxygen off. A whimper leaves your lips by accident, and he loosens his grip out of shock before returning it. Only letting you have one second to take in a breath as he tears his mask off. “Fuck- you fucking like this. You like when I’m mean to you don’t you?” He chuckles. Cutting off your air again. Watching you turn red. The little blood vessels in your face are breaking.

“Fuck you” you growl. He lets go completely, smashing his lips to yours and you kiss back immediately. He kisses you hard, purposely being rough with you as he pulls you away from the wall. Shoving you back into your bed. He climbs on top of you, attaching his lips to yours again. He straddles your hips, pulling away from you and taking a second to look down at you. You’ve got a glint in your eyes that he’s never seen before. It’s different.

He grasps your vest, making sure to be extra rough with you as he unzips it and tugs it off of you. “Jesus Christ- you don’t have to be so rough!” You growl. “Yeah right, you fucking like it so shut up.” He mutters, grasping the center of your shirt and tearing it down the center. “Ghost!” You gasp. He ignores you, moving down and pushing your legs apart with his knee. Moving himself between your legs. “Just be grateful, little crybaby.” He groans, tugging your cargo pants down your legs. You roll your eyes at him. Nervousness settling into your stomach. “Grateful for what exactly? Prick.” You mumble. A sharp slap to your clit has you whimpering. “Shut up.” He growls, standing himself up off the edge of your bed and tugging you to the edge by your thighs. He kneels down at the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around your thighs and burying his face between your legs, a gasp leaves your lips. He doesn’t start slow, immediately lapping up your entrance and sucking at your clit. He’s trying to make you as sensitive as possible.

He wants you crying on his cock.

You wrap a hand in his hair, squirming in his grasp but he hold your thighs up against his head. Using your thighs to muffle your sounds. It’s not ideal but he’s got to hold you still. He keeps this up until you’re trying to squirm away from him. Clit overstimulated already. “Simon- please-“ you whimper. Another slap to your pussy instead of his tongue has your body jumping. “I’ll say when you’ve had enough. Now take what I have to fucking give you.” He growls. Tears prick your eyes as he laps at your entrance. Your eyelids the dam holding back the river of tears. You keep it together, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making you cry. You reach your first orgasm with a cry, and he’s right. Nobody will hear it. Your thighs are shaking violently, soaking his face in your cum. But he doesn’t stop.

He flattens his tongue over your sensitive bud, abusing it further.

Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he’s finally pulling away from you. “Get on your fucking knees and suck my cock.” He growls.

You obey him, standing up off of your bed as he sits on the edge. You move yourself between his legs, lowering yourself to your knees as he unbuttons his pants. Only far enough to expose himself to you, leaning back into one hand. You take the tip of his cock into your mouth, making an attempt to tease him, but he’s not having it. He wraps a hand into your hair, tugging your head up so you’re looking at him. “Don’t try to tease me. You’ll regret it, take me.” He growls, pushing you down onto his cock, feeling him press up against the back of your throat. Your mouth waters, holding back a gag. You obey him, not wanting to find out the consequences if you don’t. He forces you down into his cock, holding you there and cutting off your air. He watches you turn red on him. Smirking down at you. At his complete mercy. “Fuck yes- yesss.” He growls. He lifts his hips up, thrusting up into your throat. He’s using you, making no attempt to hide it. He lets you breath for a second before forcing you back down onto him for more.

“Your throat is perfect for my cock.” He chuckles. His cock nestled deep into your throat as he blocks the oxygen from reaching your lungs. “You’re perfect like this yeah? That little mouth isn’t fucking running.” You roll your eyes even on his cock which makes him laugh. You’re a brat, through and through. He pulls you off of his cock and you take a few seconds, breathing in oxygen like it’s limited. “Hands and knees, now.” He grasps your arm, forcefully pulling you up off of the ground and pushing you onto the bed. You stop yourself with your hands, looking back at him. Despite how much of a prick he is, it’s quite the sight.

Disheveled hair, cock blushing and standing at attention. Fit stomach and chest, tattooed arms with veins and muscles bulging as he tugs your ass back into him. You turn forward, blushing to yourself. Every cell in your body prays he doesn’t see it, worried at him finding something else to bully your for. He notices it, but chooses to keep quiet as he grasps the base of his fat cock, pushing the thick tip up against your swollen mound. It’s red and abused from his tongue. He smirks at the work he’s done to you. The thick mushroom head pushes passed your folds, and he groans as you swallow him up. Like your pussy was made for him. He slides into you with complete ease despite the way you’re tightening around him. He reaches your wall, smirking as he bottoms out. He was gentle for a start, but he draws his hips back and slams himself back into you, right up to the hilt. A cry leaves your lips and it only eggs him on further. Abusing your cervix with his cock.

A harsh slap to your ass is what sends you over the edge, his balls hitting your overly sensitive clit with every thrust he takes into you. You can’t take it, tears slipping from your eyes at his abuse. He’s for sure leaving handprints, squeezing at your hips as hard as he can, bullying your cunt with his cock. When a sob leaves your lips, he laughs. Actually laughs at you. “That’s right, cry for me. Pathetic crybaby.” He chuckles. His stomach is already swirling with his orgasm, he loves hearing you cry, he loves seeing you cry. He slides out of you, pushing you over and moving himself on top of you. He pushes your thighs up until they’re pressed against your stomach, sliding into you once more. Deeper this time. He has to see it, has to see you cry on his cock. You’re pulling around him, sobbing even harder as you feel him bottoming out into your cervix, stomach cramping up at the size of him. “Simon please- it’s too much-“ you cry. He groans. “One second..” he pants. “Just- just one more second.” He groans.

He leans down into you, tongue gliding up your cheek. Soaking up each tear that stains your face. Moaning at the taste.

He reaches between the both of you, rubbing quick circles over your clit as you start to squirm. “One more. You can give me one more.” He growls. “No- I can’t!” You cry. “You can. You will. You can cry all you want princess.” He smirks down at you. His degrading is almost too much. He likes to see you like this. He sets a steady pace with his thrusts, slowing the circles he’s drawing into your clit with his fingers, pushing you closer and closer to what you hope is your final orgasm. “You’re going to take it, all of me.” He chuckles. It takes a second for you to realize what he means. You shake your head and he nods his head with an evil smile playing at his lips. “Yeah baby. You’re going to take all of this cum that I have to give to you-” He smiles, wrapping a hand around your throat and growling. Just when you think kindness shines through the concrete walls of his facade, he’s painting back over it with black tar. He cuts off your air once more. “-and you’re going to fucking thank me for it.” He growls. When he lets go of you, another sob leaves your lips as you reach another orgasm, clit throbbing so hard that it almost hurts. His hips halt, an evil laugh leaving his lips. He’s filled you up with his cum despite your protests. “Look at that, pathetic fucking crybaby.” He smirks. Your eyes are heavy as you whimper out. Even now, he’s still mean.

“Get cleaned up and meet in the Gym for your punishment.” He growls, sliding his cock back into his cargo pants and zipping them back up before leaving you there. Cum seeping out of your abused hole, tear stained cheeks. You sit up, body feeling weak. You don’t know how you’re going to make it through his next punishment.

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #ghost smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty

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ghouljams · 4 months

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*punches a hole through a table*

The things I would do to be coddled and taken care of by Price

Oh the things I would do...

He wouldn't even ask for anything in return. "Just doing my job sweetheart" he tells you when you mumble out a quiet thanks. As if he doesn't lay behind you while you sleep and positively purr with how well he's taking care of you. Price strikes me as a man who has to make sure his proverbial pack is well taken care of, whether that's you or the 141 doesn't matter. He positively preens when you tell him he's good at this, at taking care of you. Not that he would ever let you know that, but the 141 sees it when they drop off extra medicine.

"You're really, uh, goin' the extra mile, huh?" Soap asks passing off the pharmacy bag.

"Hm," Price grunts, "hadn't noticed." And it's not like Soap can say anything else the way Price glares at him as soon as he opens his mouth to tease his captain. It doesn't matter if other people think he's over protective or fretting over you too much, all that matters is Price taking care of you and doing it well. Although seeing your fever hazy eyes smiling up at him is almost a reward, you're so cute when you're reliant on him.

#cod x reader #x reader #john price mw2 #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price cod #captain price mw2 #captain price x reader #do i think Price would wanna fuck you while youre delirious? yes #he'd love how warm and desperate you are #how muddled and fuzzy headed you are #dont worry about anything darling he'll make you feel good

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keesdarlin · 4 months

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☆// take care of you (MDNI, 18+)

info! 141 + keegan + könig / fluff, established relationship (?) + gender neutral reader

cw! reader is sick (nothing gross at all, you're just not well)

prompt! you're ill and the boys insist on taking care of you

notes! thought i was dealing with some really gnarly allergies. went to urgent care and it turns out that i have an upper respiratory infection rip. so i'm writing this as copium, enjoy :]

PRICE :

price is all over it the second you say something about not feeling 100%. only really worries about getting sick himself as an afterthought, then scraps the thought as a whole when he thinks about how whatever he's doing is making you feel better. cooks you chicken soup, makes sure you stay in bed, prepares tea for you and gathers stuff for you to do so that you don't get too bored while you're giving your body time to rest. if you're clingy when you're sick (like me), he's cuddling you. again, doesn't really care about getting sick until he has time to think about the risk afterwards.

GAZ :

kyle's mostly clingy, not completely sure of how to handle you being sick. you're a tank! you're not supposed to get sick. so when you say that you're feeling a little under the weather, he's kind of at a loss. he stays by your side the entire time that you're feeling sick, petting your hair and kissing your forehead. the likelihood of him getting sick is ridiculously high and he knows that, if he does, he'll probably get his ass kicked for it, but he figures that he can deal with it if it means that you're feeling even a little bit better. follows you around the house to make sure that you're okay. he'll even sit in the bathroom while you're taking a shower, rambling nonsense at you. if you ask him to go pick up something from the store for you or make you something to eat, he definitely will, it's just not his first thought when he sees you all uncomfortable like that.

SOAP :

this one has a much better idea of what to do when you're not feeling super well. even if it's just a cold or some really gnarly allergies, johnny would be the one to insist on taking you to the doctor just to make sure. he just worries a lot. but once you get out of that appointment, he drops you off at home and ushers you into the shower, making sure you have something nice and cozy to wear once you get out. while you're doing that, he'll run to the store to pick up whatever meds you were prescribed and anything else that might help -- tea, cough drops, soup, snacks. once he gets back, he gets you into bed and queues up all of your favorite movies, tv shows, and/or comfort videos (a little extra incentive to keep you in bed and resting). he'll stay in bed with you, waiting on your every need to try and get you back on your feet as soon as possible.

GHOST :

i feel like he gets a little bit awkward when you get sick. he views you very similarly to the way gaz does. you're indestructible in his eyes and it simply doesn't compute that you would be taken down for a week or so by something as simple as a bad cold. but he's on it once he gets over the what the hell is happening to them phase. it's maximum efficiency with this guy. along with having timers on his phone so that neither of you forget when to take your medicine, he's also making you try every reasonable home remedy to try to get you better as quickly as possible. makes you sit in a hot bath, brings you tea and soup, rubs vicks on the end of your nose to try and clear up your congestion. he almost has you on a schedule with all he's doing to try to get you feeling better. it's honestly really adorable how hard he's trying.

KEEGAN :

keegan doesn't really like giving you special treatment just because you're his partner, but he just can't stand to see how uncomfortable and in pain you are when you're sick. if you're in the same line of work as him and you're feeling a little too foggy to communicate with your superiors properly, he's down to track down your higher-ups and relay any messages for you. he's also pretty good at the soup and the tea and all of the home remedy stuff. kind of tries to take care of it at home, but if it's any worse than a cold he's dragging you straight to the doctor's office. another one that has you basically stuck to his side while he takes care of you. not ridiculously affectionate, but he will definitely let you hang all over him if that gives you any kind of comfort. will stay in bed with you while you lean against his side, hugging him around his middle as he plays with your hair and draws patterns into your skin. super adamant about making sure you rest.

KÖNIG :

like keegan but softer almost. you're usually pretty capable of sucking it up and getting through injuries and allergies and the like, so when some kind of illness gets you down, he worries. doesn't like the idea of forcing you to go to the doctor's so he tries his best to take care of it at home. leans pretty heavily on home remedies -- the good ol' fluids and rest regimen. buys you packs and packs of your favorite gatorade flavor and that chicken noodle soup mix that comes in the little envelope. keeps you in bed and has the wet rag on your forehead if he's worrying about you getting feverish. he doesn't like the idea of making you leave the house, so if it seems that bad he'll make you do one of those virtual urgent care visits. otherwise, your ass is staying in bed. he turns your whole bedroom into a recovery zone with vicks, tissue boxes, a lil snack tray set up on your bedside table, humidifier, all of your favorite movies. literally anything you could possibly need, he has it for you. mans is serious about making sure you get better.

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lundenloves · 6 months

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〝 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 〞¹

≔ mandatory therapy on base, simon is not for it. originally a two part collab with @mistydeyes look to her for the second (medicines and diagnoses, doctor etc rather than a second therapy sit down)

⤷ i wanted to write something of the sort, so here we are. i’ll gesture to this piece of work lacklustrely and let you form your own like or dislike. we’re almost at 2k so i’ll be back and active (writing-wise) for that.

∷ no warnings, primarily angst and lack of cooperation. 2.5k

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“It’s not a question, Simon.” Price dotted his pen, leaning back in the chair and spinning to pull a file from the cabinet beside him. “These files. These evaluations, they’re not changing.” His eyes flicked to the red stamped folder, laying it out on the desk after sliding a sheet from within.

Simon’s tongue ran along his inner cheek, watching his superior closely. “What evaluations?” The question was flat, said without inflection and more venom. His palms flat on the edge of Price’s desk, each finger tapping in succession of the one before.

“The psych, Simon.” A beat. “You’re still hitting subpar levels.” Price shuffled the papers together in his hands, brow lifted at a few of the concerning results. “It’s not good.”

“I’m hardly failing them.” Simon replied curtly.

The captain sat back in his chair with a finger sliding across the page. “Overkill. Aggression. Isolation. Sadistic.” He paused to look up at his lieutenant before continuing. “I quote: ‘I didn’t want to update Lieutenant Riley over the comms, none of us do. We’ll choose Sergeant MacTavish instead.’ Do you know why?”

“That’s not my problem.” He crossed his arms over his chest, widening his stance.

“It’s exactly your problem. It’s among a few other reasons we can’t progress you to be a Captain.” Price held his palm face up, leaning forward and pushing the papers back into the file. “We need to sort it out, Simon.” His tone was that of a disappointed parent, yet still firm enough to land.

“I’ve excelled in every physical, John.”

“There’s zero doubt in physicality.” He cleared his throat, taking a short moment before continuing. “I’m re-enlisting you back into therapy.”

“What the fuck, Captain.” Simon’s eyes bored solemnly into the man before him, as if this was an extended form of betrayal.

“It’s necessary you work out these knotholes, they’re now holding you back.” Price spoke slowly, as ever aware of Simon’s reluctance over his past. “It’s no longer an option. Three times a week, you’ll sit down with Dr. Kaufman. I can’t have recruits feeling unsure around you, Simon.”

“I already had therapy.” His own voice was low, leant close to his superior and practically growling.

“Years ago.” Price stood, silently telling Simon to back up through the action. “The colonel is asking why you’re unable to rank up after five years. What do you suppose I reply?”

“That he hasn’t given me the fucking points.”

The captain sighed, pushing the file back into his cabinet and sitting down to scribble something on a post-it. “It would likely be a formal document stating you’re not mentally fit for the step. Past psych evaluations attached as evidence.“

The small post-it was slid across the desk, Simon’s eyes dropping to the uniformed writing. “I expect you to attend, yeah?” The note read thirteen hundred hours, room eleven.

“Fucking hell.” He said to himself after swiping the note, taking steps backward until reaching the door. “This is for today?” The paper held up between his pointer and fore fingers.

“Today.” Price confirmed.

Simon said no more, walking out with a nod and head hung low like he’d just been kicked in the gut. Passing soldiers ducked their own heads to avoid his habitual glares, angling their shoulders inward to not encourage his barging against them. The halls fell silent as he walked, each conversation seemingly pausing until he was out of earshot.

A breath of annoyance was taken, heavy footsteps taking a handful of lefts — a direction he was never inclined to go, considering everything medical resided within the left side of the barracks — before reaching the rehabilitation wing. An egotistical side of him was embarrassed to be seen standing even anywhere near. And a harsh grunt came with his step toward room eleven, begrudgingly wandering down the ever winding corridor before finding his fate.

“Fuck this.” He muttered, two hard knocks battering on the door.

“It’s open!” Came an answer.

Simon pushed the door open, immediately under imagined scrutiny of the doctor before him. He didn’t speak, not one word, hands anxiously busying themselves by gripping the back of a soft chair. “Simon, Simon Riley.” She confirmed with a warm smile, gesturing he take a seat. “I’m Dr. Kaufman. Lily, Kaufman.”

His stare felt hostile, eyes narrowing at her false show of friendliness. “How are you?” She began typing on her laptop, eyes only briefly meeting his and he couldn’t help to assume she was writing about him. Each key tapped to create a jarring noise against her acrylic nail, Simon’s jaw tightened.

“How long will this take.” His curt words weren’t asked in a question, but rather a mumble of inconvenience.

“It’s an hour long session.” She flipped a sheet of paper, eyes skimming across it. “As set by a— captain John Price.” Simon grumbled at the thought, pointedly kicking his boot against the floor before taking a seat.

His silence was deafening, although Kaufman had grown accustomed to such. He did nothing but stare, arms crossed over his chest, legs in a wide manspread — one recognised to be a subconscious attempt to gain control of the situation, the room even. “What brought you to therapy, Simon.”

“Price.”

She nodded, clasping her palms together over her desk. “And why do you think he did so?”

“You have notes.” He sighed, resting his neck on the back of the sofa and looking to the ceiling.

“Yes, I have formal notes,” She paused, almost for effect until Simon had craned his neck to look at her. “But I'm asking you. Why do you think he did so?” Her question provoked a shrug from him, broad shoulders lifting only briefly

“Psychs.” He mumbled, sticking two thumbs into his eyes before sitting up. “Fucking— the things, the evaluations.” Words strung out impatiently, each one punctuated by a tap to his thigh.

“You failed them?”

“No. I’m just not at the standard they would…” Simon’s eyes skimmed across the room, merely decorated in order for less distraction. A bright looking plant in the corner almost mocked his lack of life. “Prefer.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m angry.” His gaze then dropped to hers, the instant words seemed like a jab. “I get angry.”

Kaufman nodded, her silence was a signal for him to continue although he didn’t take the bait. “Is that the only reason?” She asked, taking pen to paper on the way his leg had begun bouncing anxiously.

“How many fucking questions?”

“This is trust based. Whatever is said here, stays here.” His jaw tightened at her words, boot impatiently stomping into the floor once more. “And we need to get to know one another to start building that trust.”

His stare dropped to the floor, “We’ll take our time.” She continued, pulling her lips inward and smiling once he had looked back up. “You’re in control here.”

The room fell to silence once again, the only sounds being the cracking of his knuckles and the scribbling of her pen. It wasn’t awkward however, Simon’s breakage in eye contact was new — his finger grazed over the only sliver of skin he had on show, his exposed forearm between sleeve and glove. “What do you know.”

“Whatever you’re happy to share with me. This is a clean slate, your session.” He sighed though it came out as a grumble, pulling his arms back across his chest. Kaufman noticed his shifting, “Aren’t you overheating in that mask?” She spoke softly.

“I’m used to it.”

“How long have you worn it?”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, almost judging her question before shrugging. “Years.” She eyed the intricacies of the stitching, how almost every thread was uneven and needled with different shades of grey. It was a handmade job.

“Did you make it?”

“Why.” He bit, his heel kicking against the floor to create a thump sound.

“It’s clear it has a lot of meaning for you.”

Simon nodded slowly, fidgeting with the seam of his pocket before looking back up to her. Eyes dead and fixed to her own, it was beyond obvious he would rather be anywhere else. “I don’t ever take it off.” Kaufman had caught onto the subtle change in his tone, one that warned her not to venture further.

“We don’t have to talk about it. Remember, you’re in control.” She reasserted and Simon rolled his sleeves up, exposing a tattoo on his left forearm. “I’m just going to ask you a few questions. You don’t need to go into any detail, it’s just to help me understand you better.”

“Right.”

“Tell me about your tattoo.” She began, nodding toward the ink and watching as he lifted his arm to look at it himself. “What does it mean?”

He shook his head, “Nothing. It’s a bit shit, I got it when I was young as a cover up.” Sullen face lifting only briefly.

“Covering other tattoos?”

“Mh-hm.”

“Do you regret doing so?” Kaufman asked, playing the field to see if he was an impulsive person. Simon was surprisingly unaware of her techniques despite seeing right through his last therapist.

He laughed a dry laugh, one that lacked humor. “No.” Eyes squinted at her smile.

“Would you get more?”

Simon shook his head once more, this time accompanied by a frown to further his point. Eyes naturally narrowing with the action. “Any particular reason?”

“Getting older.”

Kaufman smiled with a tilt of her head, flipping a few pages backward in her notes. “You’re still young.” She pressed her finger to the paper with his basic information.

His mask made it difficult for Kaufman to distinguish his feelings. It was a complete distancing tool, one that worked well. She figured it was worn to separate himself from the job. “On base, you go by—“

“Ghost.”

“How did you come about that?”

“Long story.” He shrugged, picking at threads by his pockets with an unnerving nonchalance to his tone and Kaufman nodded. It wasn’t difficult to see his reluctance, she pushed backward in the conversation, watching as he rubbed his opposite hand against his arm.

The tattoo was stretched to the crease of his elbow, old ink faded to a dark grey rather than black and many scars adorned the space, creating gaps of blank skin in the artwork. “Do you enjoy your job?” She asked, gaining a slow blink in her direction, one that begged for reason.

“Would you enjoy it?” He mumbled, looking up at her with a drawn out sigh.

“I’d imagine it takes a toll.” She sucked her lips inward, allowing the silence to settle and to create a landing pad for her pending words. “It’s intense.”

Simon grumbled to himself, landing his boots to the floor abruptly one more time after shifting positions. Arms crossed over his chest in subconscious self pacification while pointedly staring at her — a complete and natural embedded military tactic of control. He didn’t want to speak, so stared. Stared to show acknowledgment and active dismissal, Kaufman took note.

“Do you have a family, Simon?” She clicked her pen once more, beginning a fresh page.

“Mh-hm.”

“Kids?”

“Two.”

“Girls, boys—“

“Girls.”

“Young?”

“Six and eleven.”

“And am I fair to assume they know you as Simon, rather than Ghost, yes?” She was slow with her wording, deliberate in the pacing of each and every syllable as opposed to the quickfire questions prior.

He sat back, pushing a stiff hand across the back of his mask before dropping his arm like it weighed a tonne. “Yes.” Lip pulled up as if he was uncertain in his own answer, eyes absently directed to the plant in the corner of the room.

“You seem unsure.”

He shook his head. “It’s different.” Although his voice hadn’t quite grasped confidence, instantly clearing his throat before sitting up precipitously to cement his statement. Kaufman’s silence invited more words from him, suddenly at a point of talkativeness to jump at his own defense of fatherhood. “I don’t take any of this home with me.” He gestured toward his gear, “It’s different.”

“Do they know the mask?”

“They’ve seen it.” His sudden leer was one that assumed he had been tripped up, falling right into her fucking verbal minefield.

“So Ghost does come home with you?”

Bastard, Simon thought. “No.” A bite.

Kaufman took a minute to think of her next question, one that would simultaneously calm him down while also wedging the door to his openness ajar just enough for her foot. “Do you look forward to taking the mask off?”

He shrugged, retreating back into a slouch. A short note was made of his action. “Possibly for the burden it carries?” She offered and Simon let out an audible groan, one that cut her short.

“There isn’t a fucking burden.”

She observed as his hands clenched into fists under crossed arms, the impatient tapping of his heel against the vinyl flooring was something of another warning. “Are we okay to circle back to your family?”

“Hmmh.” He mumbled an affirmative noise though his body language was completely closed off.

“Would you like to tell me about them?”

His foot stopped moving, leg stretching outward to cross his ankles over one another. “Depends what you ask me.”

It was evident that Simon relied on guidance and instruction. Kaufman had gathered that much in the first ten minutes she had spent with him. The constant need for grounding and clarification was the first thing she noticed bar his body language, even when he had tried his best to seem contained.

“You can tell me as much or as little as you’d like.” She put it plainly, watching his eyes narrow and chewed down fingernails fidget against his belt loops. A flurry of thoughts intruded her mind at that, was he anxious at home? The bitten down nails said as much, evidently picked at without his mask on.

“How are your kids?”

“They’re fine.” He shrugged, setting his hand across the sofa edge.

“Yeah?” Kaufman smiled, dotting her pen and Simon nodded, rubbing his brow momentarily before blinking at her lamely. “That’s good.”

Her wrist raised to check the time, an action Simon shifted at, eyes running to the door instantly.

Though Kaufman took no eye to his impatience, writing a few notes before closing her book over, all at her own pace. “Time?” He asked readily, eagerly, bitten nails fidgeting with the loose seams of his jeans once again.

With a brief glance to her wrist, Kaufman gave him the go-ahead. “Yeah. Yeah, that’ll do us for today.” She was left watching pointedly as his shoulders dropped at her dismissal. “May I ask you one final question?” Her pen was placed back on the desk, in perfect adjacency to the mentioned notebook.

“Hm.” A grumble.

“Do you believe in therapy.”

His brows furrowed under the mask, already standing with a hand on the door to solidify her point. “No.” And with that came a nod of departure, the words landing like an opinionated knife — easy to slot in, hard to take out.

Kaufman had her work cut out.

≔ dude i want him. i want to fucking hug him and tell him everything will be ok wtf, this man being emotionally inept is my roman empire.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @st4rluvrz @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon @loveangelic

as always, comments and reblogs are mighty appreciated. thank you for being on the taglist too!

#simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw fanfiction #simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley fanfic #cod fanfic #cod ghost #cod mw3 #call of duty mwii #call of duty #ghost call of duty #cod modern warfare

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rubyfunkey · 1 year

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Exactly one person asked me to share my thoughts on Leander so here's all the notes I've been taking and thoughts I've had since playing the demo a billion times (not all of these are polished thoughts some are simply just observations that i think might be important to understanding him)

- Leander seems to value information the most out of all the LIs

- He is the only LI that asks the MC what they think about everyone

- He asks the most questions

- He repays the MC for their information by providing them with room and board

- Leander sways the MC's opinion

- When discussing Vere, no matter what the MC says about him, Leander makes it clear that getting close to Vere is a bad idea, and that he is a very dangerous individual. Notably, he says "-but like any monster, he's dangerous." which seems to conflict with how he views Ais, despite both being monsters.

- When discussing Ais, when the MC mentions that they met him at the Seaspring, Leander chokes on his drink. If the MC states that Ais was upfront, Leander asks if the price of the Seaspring's effects seem worth it, and implies that he views Ais's "red-eyed minions" as another form of pet that Ais keeps. The topic seems to upset him so deeply that he requests a change of subject. If the MC states that Ais was intimidating, his reaction is almost the complete opposite, almost pleasant, and the subject of the Seaspring drops entirely. When asked if Leander is afraid of Ais, he says not at all, and explains that he sees the two of them as rivals. The MC worries if being rivals with a monster is smart, and Leander downplays the seriousness of it, saying that Ais isn't a bad guy. To me, when paired side-by-side, these two interactions read as Leander trying to sway the MC away from the Seaspring, or maybe even Ais himself. His reaction to knowing that the MC is intimidated by Ais is casual and amused, because he doesn't need to say anything else about it; The MC is already scared of Ais. If the MC WASN'T intimidated by Ais when choosing to say the former option, they probably would have been at least a little more apprehensive after seeing Leander's reaction to the Seaspring's effects.

- When discussing Kuras, regardless of what dialogue option the MC chooses, Leander seems to think fondly of him, with the exception of his bedside manner. If the MC chooses to say that Kuras seems like a good person, they will then ask Leander if he believes that Kuras could cure them. When asked this, Leander's face will drop*, and he will pause before responding, saying that Kuras is good, but he's "only a doctor". If the MC states that they found Kuras to be cold, Leander heartily agrees, saying that "he never warns you when something's gonna sting, and he's stingy with the pain medicine too". His response to both options is mostly the same, what caught my eye was his reaction to asking whether or not Kuras could cure us. Maybe he has some bitter experience with the limitations of Kuras's capabilities, or maybe he just doesn't want to entertain the possibility of the MC seeking assistance from someone outside of himself. Considering his response to hearing that you visited the Seaspring while meeting Ais, I'm inclined to believe the latter.

*I’m not sure how reliable the sprite expressions are re: understanding character motivation, but I’m going to use them anyway. With a grain of salt.

- When discussing Mhin, if the MC chooses to say that Mhin seems lonely, Leander states that he believes that Mhin actually prefers things that way, and goes on to say that if Mhin wanted to be our friend, we would know. If the MC chooses to say that they find Mhin to be irritable, Leander simply agrees, saying that even paying Mhin for work can be a struggle. His responses while discussing Mhin aren't as foreboding, but they don't really need to be. Leander seems to shoot down any hope the MC may have of being close to Mhin, and if they don't show interest in befriending Mhin, then there's nothing more to say.

- Leander is "friends" with everyone, but has something to say about each LI that makes them seem unpleasant or even dangerous to be around

- Leander is the only LI whose silhouette is unaltered

- "not all monsters are inhuman"

- When selecting Leander on the Choose Your Fate screen, the description reads:

Leander offers you something that should be impossible: a taste of normalcy free of your curse. As the first person to withstand your touch, he could change your life, but some things are simply too good to be true.

- When discussing the Senobium with Leander, Leander states "things that seem too good to be true are often just that". He then proceeds to offer himself as "something that should be impossible" for the MC, as the Choose Your Fate screen says.

- LEANDER is an ASSHOLE

- During the scene where Leander is asking you to show him the curse, regardless of whether or not you hold back or choose to trust him, he will grab your hand to prevent you from pulling away. IF YOU CHOOSE TO HOLD BACK, his grip is tight, his face falls, he takes a deliberate step closer, and even reaches for the MC's throat causing the player to worry that they've just ruined him and are now going to get choked out for the second time that day as a result... He then smiles and says he's just fine. I've seen a few people stating that they believed this was the curse beginning to take effect before he managed to push it away, but personally, i think he was just being an asshole. Like, some small punishment for you not trusting him like he asked you to. A silly little guy moment. I hope he chokes

- When first mentioning the Senobium to Leander, his face falls, but he doesn't immediately comment, instead he continues to drink, ignoring the fact that his Bloodhounds have begun verbally accosting you. He only speaks up and snaps at them once he notices you're looking. The first couple times I read this part, Leander's response seems uncharacteristically snide in comparison to how he acts for the rest of the demo, which is NOT me saying he's been written inconsistently, it is me saying he is fake as hell. I hate this dude

- He seems genuinely concerned when asking the MC if they're alright after their run-in with the roughneck. When he asks them if they'd like a drink, he orders the same as them regardless of what they choose. He doesn't do this when you first meet him, he orders beer regardless of your choice. I don't know if this is important to my research. Compels me though

- "Acquaintances are merely friends you haven't shared a drink with yet" -Guy That Has No Friends

Here is a small list of things I believe I could confidently conjure some bullshit out of upon further research (or with enough imagination):

- The Bloodhounds' motto (As Above, So Below)

- Leander's earring. Maybe.

- Leander's quote, "They [flowers] don't last long, but they leave an impression"

- Another quote, "There are solutions to every problem, and alternatives to every solution"

- The ouroboros on Leander's Kickstarter charm

- The fact that Leander likes masquerades and hates sleep

Here is a list of things relating to what the other four LIs think about Leander that caught my attention:

- Literally everything that Vere said

- Vere either has history with Leander that neither of them have talked about (unlikely given how "subtle" Leander was about his relations with Mhin), or Vere is able to read Leander in a way that the others either can't or don't make known to the MC. Vere clearly has sharp senses and sees through the MC like they're made of water, I'm not sure if this is just a thing for the MC but it could probably be assumed that he sees things in Leander that we can't.

- Ais' comment about Leander's resolve

- I could pretend like something Mhin said re: Leander interested me, but I don't think there was any deeper context to their words other than the not-at-all-subtle feelings of forced-down affection and open annoyance. Love Mhin though

- My thoughts on what Kuras had to say are similar to Mhin's, he seems to be fond of Leander and didn't have much untoward to say, unless you count what he said about the company that Leander keeps

I have no idea what's going on with this man. I believe that he may be involved in some harmful magick-y malarky that is having unseen and horrific effects, or maybe he's simply a charismatic manipulator whose personality is just as monstrous as his peers. I have silly little theories but I would be very shrimpterested in hearing what other people have to say.

TLDR; there's something WRONG with this man and I will be spending the next two years crafting a version of him in my brain that is almost certainly dead-wrong but goodness won't it be fun

#talk talk talk #touchstarved #genuinely i am bedeviled by him #leander #leander touchstarved

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dark-is-d3ad · 2 months

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Got covid, so here is a collection of sick!141 headcanons:

• When someone gets sick, Gaz will bully the hell out of them. Last time he told Ghost he had the worst case of sniffles known to man (god knows how he didn't get disintegrated at the spot). But, he's also the one to make ginger tea, bring some snacks, flirt some lemsip out of that pretty nurse for his sick teammates. His actions really balance out the jokes.

• When he gets sick himself, he usually gets all of that back, everyone makes sure he's got everything he needs, and he ends up with way too much snacks, tea, and medicine. He's usually quick to get better, yet it warms his heart to know they care about him just as much as he does about them.

• Soap gets dramatic when he's feeling off. Not on missions, he knows how and when to push through, but God forbid he's going though a cold back on base, he'll let everyone know how fucking miserable he is. If he has an option to take a day or two off, he will do it, screw everything until he's back on his feet. Also, Ghost would usually ignore the rambles but then check up on him every now and again, just to make sure he's actually OK, and there's nothing major going on.

• Ghost usually gets more gruff and moody when he's sick. He also tries to avoid everyone, and he just sleeps it off if he can. Having a runny nose when you wear a mask all the time is not fun, it gets wet and awful. He doesn't like to miss the gym, too, but he usually goes easy if he's not well. The only thing Soap really scolds him for is that he keeps smoking anyway.

• Sick Price is a nightmare for the rest of 141. Not only the man is a fucking workaholic, he's also stubborn as hell. He'd be sitting in his office working his ass off even if his head is stuffed, and he's really not in shape to deal with all that paperwork. It requires a joint effort from all of them to get him to drop it and rest some, and him getting more irritable doesn't help it. That attitude also makes it worse for him, so he's usually sick for longer because he doesn't really allow himself time to recover and jumps straight back the second he feels just a smidge better.

• Soap usually has these awful high fevers for the first couple of nights, he's shivering and all that. Ghost brings him extra blankets and stays with him sometimes, especially when it's really bad. He's seen Johhny being really out of it because of how high his fever was, the guy couldn't even figure out how to use his phone, had forgotten about the meds and was a complete mess. So, Ghost tracks that for him, and makes sure he's OK, and that his fever doesn't fry his brains ("god knows you haven't got a lot left in that noggin, Johnny, you need every braincell").

• Price has a secret family recipe for chicken noodle soup that he refuses to give away, but when one of his guys is really not OK, he usually makes some. Even Ghost can't resist it. He's reluctant to let anyone in, but the smell really hits home, so he opens the door. The small "thank you" he blurts out really tells Price a lot.

"You're welcome, Simon. And you're off for tomorrow, get some rest, OK?"

Also, the only other person that he just can't not let in is Soap. Gaz would just drop off a tray full of things at his doorway, shout him a quick "get well soon, Lt" and be out of his hair, but Soap is a whole another story. Soap is relentless. One time he stayed at his door for hours, so now Ghost knows better than to resist him, it's a fight he cannot win. God knows he tried. Having him is honestly good, too. He somehow makes it easier just by being there, he reminds Ghost to drink his water, makes him comfortable in a way Ghost would never care to, not when it comes to himself.

#cod mw2 #soapghost #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #gaz cod

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waffles-art-writing · 1 year

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Platonic!Task Force 141 X Medic!FtM!Reader

——————————-

Summary: You just wanted a quiet evening to fill out paper work, but you get a surprise visit by the team. They say you’re just like your brother, Price talks to you after you stitch up the boys.

Proofread: Yes when I was half asleep :) - so not really

Pairing: Platonic! Task Force 141 x Medic! FtM!Reader

WordCount: IDK

Age Rating: 15+ preferably

Codename: Stitch

KEY: Y/N - Your Name, L/N - Last Name.

Warning/Info: swearing, light description of injury, normal COD talk, banter, yelling, pissed off reader. Reader is Trans!

Request: YES! Thank you so much!

—————————

You tap your pen on your desk as you read over numerous files, all of them stating similar words to many questions. One of the younger medics is cleaning up the medical wing while you have locked yourself away in your office, shutting the world out as you pinch the bridge of your nose. You drop the pen on the dark oak desk, grabbing the files and storming out of the office, you are reading over a particular file in hand. Written in messy chicken scratch on the patient sheet is ‘Sergeant Mactavish’ and ‘Sergeant Garrick’ . You know them both, well. Too well in fact, yet they don’t know too much about you. You’ve patched them both and the rest of the 141 far too many times for you to count.

Price recruited you for your skills with field medicine, you weren’t always a medic. You were once in communication, but your brother convinced you to become a medic when he showed you some tips and tricks. Which you ate up like a starved animal. You never knew how much this would help further your career in the military, especially after witnessing the tragedy that has left a deep wound in your heart for the rest of your life.

You rip open the curtain that conceals a bed fromt he rest of the medical ward. Your hands clutch the papers in hand, arms crossing over your chest. “What the fuck did you do?” You sneer, your voice low as you eye the two sergeants, Ghost is watching from the side, Price next to him with a small smirk. “Oh hey doc!” Soap cheers, trying to keep you from blowing a fuse. Gaz is sitting there quietly, his hand clutching the side of his arm. “The first patient file I picked up is yours, Mactavish! And you have the heart to include Garrick on this horribly written excuse of a reason as to WHY! You both have either a bullet or knife in your arms!?” You yell, your voice cracking slightly as you growl at them both. Ghost is silently thanking whatever god is out there, that he’s not the one being scolded this time round.

“And YOU!” You spit, pointing at Price and Ghost with the papers, your hold on the flimsy sheets causing them to crumple. “You left them unsupervised?! How idiotic are you guys!?” You slap the papers down on the side table, grabbing some gloves out of their box from the wall. Pulling them on, you're seething. “I’m sorry Stitch… we didn’t mean to actually get hurt…” Gaz quietly mumbles as he looks at you from the other side of the Soap. They are both seated on the edge of the medical bed, Gaz by the foot do the bed, Soap up by the head of the bed.

You grit your teeth as you turn around. You’re slightly shorter than all the men in the room, not by much, but still shorter. Price can see how much like your twin brother you are, the same concern when it comes to caring for the team, the same rage that fuels you when someone has done something idiotic. “It’s fine… No, actually it's not! It’s not fine! You’re both grown men for Christ's sake, you both gotta learn how to stop being children.” You huff out as you stand in front of Gaz, he’s the one that got clipped by the bullet on his bicep. Your touch is soft when you work on cleaning the injury. “Look Lad, we didn’t mean to-” Soap goes quiet when you stare at him out of the corner of your eye. “You have the same look as your brother…” Soap states.

They all knew your brother, he was one of the field medics that helped them in the past on a few missions and especially when they got back. They always went to him for his help, but when the chopper got shot down that he was in, they couldn’t find anyone else they could trust to come on the missions. That is until they found out he had a twin, Price knew of you, he promised to your brother to help you through everything. He was one of the main supporters to help you through your transition, even teaching you how to shave. Which was an experience and half. Many small cuts on your jaw…

“Yeah well, I am his twin after all Mactavish” You huff, gently applying gauze to Gaz’s arm and wrapping it securely in a bandage. “Thank’s” Gaz states quietly, you nod as you change the gloves to a clean pair to start working on Soap. Price is talking to them both, Ghost adding a few things here and there while you just quietly work on stitching up the Scotsman’s arm. You securely stitch up the wound, giving Gaz his knife back after cleaning it. “Now, you two gotta stop doing stupid shit.” You growl as you finish wrapping Soap’s arm. He nods his thanks as he moves his arm around a little, a small wince forming.

“Take pain meds every four hours, on the hour… You don’t want to be chasing the pain like you always do…” you sigh, cleaning up the area. They all nod their thanks, taking the pain meds from you one their way out. Price stops just shy of the door. You turn to look at him, you notice he's staring at you. “Price?” Your voice is quiet, you feel like there's something on your face.

Price walks over, his hand coming up to your jaw. He’s noticed something, definitely. “Be more careful with that razor kid. Don’t wanna slice your neck open next time…” he sighs, his thumb running over the irritated wound on the underside of your jaw. How the hell did he notice that? You don’t have a clue, other than he just knows. “Yeah, I know… one of the rookies slammed open the bathroom door so I got spooked is all…” you chuckles lightly, shrugging as Price just smiles, shaking his head lightly. “You’ve done good kid… your brother would be proud.” He states, his hand squeezing your shoulder gently.

“Thanks… He would be happy to know I can still put the boys in their place even as a guy.” You laugh, Price chuckles along with you, he turns to leave. “You know where to find me if you need something, kid, see you at the debrief tomorrow at O-Six-Hundred.” He says over his shoulder, leaving you with a wave. You nod as you turn to walk back to your office, your hand subconsciously coming up to touch the small cut. You’re happy you have Price there for you, the team doesn’t seem to mind at all about your transition, if they even know anything about it that is.

Overall, working for the 141 has its highs and lows, but you still love them even if they drive you up the walls mad.

542 notes · View notes

brewsterispunkk · 9 months

Text

angel of small death

pairing: joel miller x reader, joel miller x f!reader

WC: 7k

prompts used: “I got shot and I’m fine! Relax, would you?” “The price of my affection is high.” tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity

summary: It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet

a/n: this is my submission for @pedrostories 1,000 follower celebration! as @stompandhollar can attest, I freaked out when I was tagged in this. I’m so excited to share this with you!!

warnings: explicit! 18+! gore, smut, enemies to lovers, mean!joel, unspecified age gap, dirty talk, dear-death experience

angel of small death

- -

You’re sure there was a time that he cared about something—someone. But now, as you watch Joel mercilessly beating someone's head in with a baseball bat, you’re sure that none of that man is left.

It had been raiders. A band of less than ten of them that had picked up on your trail about twenty miles out of Milwaukee. And, of course, you hadn’t picked up on any of the signs before they attacked. And Joel is pissed.

You can already tell, and he hasn’t even stopped killing.

You stumble back a step, dropping the piece of metal that you used to fell one of the raiders that lay dead at your feet. You heave, catching your breath, and lean forward on your bent knees. Thick, crimson blood flows like ink on the linoleum tiles under your feet. You feel your stomach turn.

No matter how many times you have to do it, killing never gets easier for you.

It had been Joel’s idea to pick-over the hospital, not yours. In fact, you had been vehemently against it.

Joel had assured you though that there were no clickers. That five years earlier, when he’d lived in the Milwaukee QZ, they had gassed the place in fear of having a horde so close. Little did you know, it wasn’t clickers you needed to worry about.

But still, you need any medicine you can get.

You cough, the irony scent of blood thick in the air, as Joel finally takes a step back from the bludgeoned man dead on the floor. He drops the metal bat with a clang.

Joel breathes heavily and runs the back of his forearm over his glistening forehead. He’s wearing a T-Shirt despite the coolness of the mid-spring weather, his jacket packed away in the pack he’d dropped at the door of the small lobby when the raiders had attacked.

He looks down at the man in front of him, checking for any signs of life, before nodding in approval when he finds none.

Your sigh catches in your throat when his hard gaze turns to you.

“The hell was that?”

You gulp.

“I–”

“What the hell were you thinking?” His voice is like gravel, his volume low. Joel is pissed.

When he yells was one thing; but when he’s quiet, that’s when you know he’s really, truly upset.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“What did I tell you about checking all the passageways?” He puts his hands on his hips. “You almost got us killed.”

“I did my job!” You burst, white-hot anger flaring inside you. You’re tired of him speaking to you like you you’re a child.

“Yeah, alright,” Joel shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

God, he can be such a teenager.

“There was no one there when I did my checks!” You argue.

“Then you didn’t look hard enough.”

You scoff.

“Mistakes like this cost lives, sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping in condescension. “So–”

“Oh that is rich,” you kick the metal pole—what you’re sure used to be a part of an IV drip—across the room toward him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Joel’s eyes narrow.

“If you have such a problem with how I do my drills, maybe you could, I don’t know, teach me how the hell these assholes operate.”

The silence that follows is electric.

“Excuse me?”

“You always criticize how I do things,” you spit. “So maybe instead of just criticizing, you could tell me how to do them right, so these things don’t happen.”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Joel shakes his head, leaning down to collect his pack.

“I never learned how to do this! I wasn’t a part of a raiding party! I didn’t have a veteran brother to show me the ropes of—”

“Don’t,” his voice is dangerous when you bring up the brother he’s only mentioned in passing before.

“Fine,” you shake your head and shoulder your own pack. “But if one of us dies, it’s on you.”

You storm past him, your shoulder slamming into his in the process. But instead of ignoring it, he grabs your wrist as you move to exit the hospital lobby.

He’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek as he faces you. You could count every wrinkle, every scar, every freckle if you want to. Instead, you’re focused on his dark eyes.

“Don’t let it happen again,” His voice leaves no room for argument, and you see pure ire in his gaze.

You sneer and shove him backward before storming out.

- -

Your paths had crossed by accident. By pure serendipity. You often wonder what your life would look like if you hadn’t met Joel Miller—if you’d still be alive at all.

You don’t remember much of your life before the outbreak. It comes in flashes: the flutter of pigeon wings in a big city, school assemblies, your childhood bedroom, crunching leaves, a stray cat.

Your mother died when you were thirteen, leaving you with a band of survivors looking for a QZ. There had been seventeen of you then. When you found Joel ten years later, there were five.

Initially, when you’d run into the weathered, surly man and his companion, a younger, mousy man who was always looking over his shoulder, you didn’t trust him. Not in the slightest. It had taken him saving you from an infected for you to even begin to trust him.

His companion, a boy named Wesley was bitten a month after he had joined your group. One woman was taken out by a band of raiders. Three of the remaining four left you for the Tallahassee QZ. Six months later, the last man, Jose, had succumbed to a fever. Leaving what was once a group of seven, a group of two.

It’s just you and Joel now. It has been for a year. And in that time, you’re still sure that you slow him down more than you earn your keep.

You're a decent fighter, that’s true. You’d had to learn to be after your mother died. It’s dog eat dog in the wild, and you’d intended to survive.

Joel sees you as a liability, though. Still, you don’t complain; you know he’s your best bet at survival.

You aren’t looking for a QZ—at least not for one like Tallahassee—like you and your mother had been for years before she died.

You’d heard horror stories from passersby on your way out of Florida. Stories of militant soldiers, staunch curfews, and too-few rations. You know our way around plants and herbs: you’d sooner try your luck in the wild than be confined to a QZ.

Joel is of the same mind as you. At least you can agree on something.

It’d taken you months to get some kind of a handle on the older man’s personality. And now, after a year and a half of knowing him, you sometimes still think you have no idea who he really is.

Besides your crisis outside of Milwaukee, Joel is cautious.

He always plans for the worst to happen. Prepares for it like it’s second nature to him. He doesn’t talk much either, which is something new to you.

Maybe it was growing up in a caravan of people, or maybe it’s your own talkative nature, but either way, Joel’s silence was something to get used to.

You know he has ghosts—you can recognize the same signs in him that you see in yourself. The twitches of fingers, the mumbling in his sleep, the haunted look he sometimes gets in his eyes. Joel has been through hell, you’re sure of it. Then again, these days everyone has been through hell.

Some are just better at hiding it than others.

- -

You're certain Joel hates you. That you’re an annoyance to him, something to be saddled with.

You glare at the back of his head as he walks several paces ahead of you on the shoulder of the abandoned highway.

The two of you aren’t stupid; anything could be lurking in the trees on either side of the road. You make a point to stick to as close to the forest as you can get without actually stepping in the brush.

You’re on the road North—to Boston, Joel had said. Where he thinks his brother is.

You’d bitten your tongue at the mention of his brother—Tommy, you’d learned his name was.

It’d been a few weeks ago when Joel had found some old whisky in an abandoned house you’d stayed a few days in. It had loosened his tongue just enough for his brother’s name to slip out.

You didn't tell Joel that you suspect his brother was already dead. Few survive as long as you have in this world, even fewer when they’re alone.

You’ve been quiet most of the day; you can tell it annoys him when you talk too much, and you decide to give him a reprieve, if only for a while. Joel seems to prefer the silence.

But you are so bored.

This particular stretch of highway leaves nothing to the imagination; it’s all cornfields and trees. Nothing, as far as the eye can see.

“You ever gonna tell me anything about yourself, Texas?” You ask him, deciding to speak against your better judgment. You’ve been trying to bite your tongue more, not wanting Joel to tire of your presence enough to ditch you.

“What?” Joel barks over his shoulder gruffly.

“I mean, I don’t know anything about you. Other than you’re a pain in my ass and you’re from Texas.”

“And?”

“And, considering you’re all the company I’ve had for a year, that’s a little sad.”

“Sad?”

You roll your eyes at the incredulity in his voice.

“Forget it.”

You don’t know why you even try. Joel is an egg that is impossible to crack.

Joel casts a look at you from over his shoulder. His hair is windswept—gray mixed with brown spun in sunlight. His brows furrow together as he looks at you, like he’s trying to figure you out.

It’s five minutes later before he speaks up.

“I, uh, I used to play guitar,” he slows down so he falls in step beside you.

“What?”

Joel purses his lips and looks down, like he regrets the small piece of information he shared with you.

“Before,” he sighs. “This. I used to play a little.”

“Guitar?” You ask, and he rolled his eyes.

“That’s what I said isn’t it?”

You sigh. Just like always: one step forward, two steps back. Sometimes talking with Joel is like talking to a rock.

“What kind of music would you play?” You ask after a moment.

“Country, mostly,” Joel’s voice sounds far-off, like he’s recalling another life entirely. You suppose, in a way he is. “A little bit of rock. I would play for—“

He stops himself, a cough escaping from his lips. He shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice is back to its usual no-nonsense tone. “I haven’t played in years. Since before.”

You hum, continuing to walk down the road.

It’s a ghost town of cars. Relics of a bygone time, frozen like metal skeletons of the old world. It almost makes your heart ache to see them.

You remember a time when you’d ridden in a car—before this. Before you were thrust into this cavity of death and decay.

“Where’d you learn to pick out plants the way you do?”

The question takes you aback, making you look at Joel in surprise. He just stares ahead as he walks.

It’s the first question about yourself he’s ever asked you.

“My mother,” you say. “She was a botanist, before. I was young when the outbreak happened so I don’t have any schooling I can remember well. She would teach me what plants were safe or dangerous or edible or had healing properties. She made me write it all down.”

A part of you thinks that she knew she was going to die, and that’s why she made you record all your knowledge in a tattered notebook. You don’t tell Joel that, though.

“Hm,” he hums. “Didn’t realize you were so…”

“Skilled?” You snark.

“Young.” He says it like it’s a pitiful thing. You bristle.

You turn to him, arms crossed.

“I’m not that young.” You state.

“Sure ya aren’t.”

“I’ve lived,” you begin. “I had to grow up running from clickers and scavenging for food. I had to grow up too quickly. That’s something you can’t even begin to understand.”

He turns around and faces you, face stony, before giving you a once over.

You shift uncomfortably as his eyes run over you, not used to being observed. You’re sure you look ghastly. It’s been weeks since either of you have been able to do more than quickly wash up in a stream or river.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you seethe. “So don’t even try to condescend to me.”

Joel only narrows his eyes, before turning around and continuing to walk.

“You coming?”

- -

You’re as surprised as anyone when it happens.

Having a crush on Joel Miller is the last thing you expected of yourself.

One minute, you’d been climbing up a rocky hill, grabbing onto roots to pull yourself up, and the next you were tumbling downward.

Joel’s arms on either side of your waist keep you up as you fall into him, a grunt leaving him as your weight slams into his torso.

“Watch your step,” his voice is gruff beside your ear. It sends a thrill through your chest.

“Sorry,” you mumble, heart beating through your chest.

“Just be careful,” he helps you get your footing, his hands coming to either side of your hips. The heat from his palms seeping through your jeans. “Don’t need you breaking your neck.”

You chuckle at that, chancing a look back at him.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him.

Before, you’d been able to acknowledge that Joel is an attractive man. That much is obvious.

He’s tall, and broad. And even though you’d never admit it, his constant brooding does something for you.

He always looks so grumpy. You couldn’t help but want to be the one to wipe the frown off his face.

Now, though. This is a whole different animal. Looking at Joel now, pure want courses through your veins.

His brow is furrowed, his hair outgrown in a way that makes him look a bit wild. You need to cut his hair soon. A five-o-clock shadow dusts his sharp jaw, and you imagine what it would be like to run your teeth down it.

“Y’alright?” He asked.

You’re acutely aware of how close the two of you are. If you lean in even an inch, you could—

“Hey,” Joel’s voice snaps you out of it.

“Oh,” you cough, turning back to the rocks in front of you. “I’m fine. Just spooked me is all.”

“Hm,” Joel hums, before continuing to climb after you.

- -

You’d awoken to mumbling—the same mumbling you’d grown accustomed to during your time with Joel.

It was a nightmare. You could tell the signs: the twitching, the mumbling, the jerking in his sleep.

You’d never tell him, but you couldn’t sleep whenever you heard him like this. It made your heart clench with thoughts of your own nightmares. You so desperately wanted to wake him, to shake his shoulders until he awoke, but you never had.

You knew that would plunge your relationship into something different. Something bigger, more raw.

There was a reason Joel never shared anything personal with you. There was a reason he never asked for any of your personal stories. He wanted to keep whatever relationship you had professional. You’d respect that.

Until tonight.

Tonight, Joel had whimpered in his sleep. He’d cried, begged for someone to help. You couldn’t just leave him there.

So, you grab his shoulders and shake.

“Joel,” you whisper. His brows furrow in his sleep, his lips mumbling incoherently. You say his name a little louder. “Joel.”

You can feel the exact moment he gains consciousness—his shoulders tensing and his hands going to your neck and squeezing.

Your breath leaves you and your eyes widen at his scared expression beneath you.

“Joel,” you choke out. “Joel, it’s me. It’s me.”

He releases you with a puff of air and you gasp, falling half on-top of him. Air floods through your now sore wind-pipe. You know it will bruise by the morning.

“What,” his voice was ragged and breathless. The same tone you’d imagine he had when he—-

“Why did you do that?”

Oh, he’s mad.

Great, you think. This is what I get for trying to help.

You bristle.

“I was trying to help you.”

“Trying to get yourself killed, more like.” He snaps. “I don’t need your help.”

“Like hell you don’t!” You snapped back. “You were crying, Joel.”

He looks at you, then. Really looks at you, half on-top of him, your faces inches apart. His eyes drift down to your lips, resting there for a moment. Then, they snap back up to yours, void of any emotion that you’d seen a moment before.

You scoff, pulling back from him.

“Never do that again.”

“Excuse me for trying to help,” you push, too pissed, too tired to let it go. “You woke me up with your fuckin’ whining. Forgive me for trying to get you out of whatever the hell was going on in there.”

“In there,” he spits the words at you.

“In your head, asshole! I know a nightmare when I see one.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Noted,” you glare at him, before plopping down on your sleeping bag and turning your back to him. “Asshole.” You mumble.

A scoff answered you.

“You know,” you begin, never knowing when to give up. “It wouldn’t kill you to accept help from someone for once.”

“I don’t need—“

“My help, I know.” You finish for him, knowing how angry it makes him. “But everyone needs people, Joel. Even you.”

“I don’t.” He says. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

You don’t know why you even try sometimes.

You sigh, before closing your eyes and trying to get back to sleep.

- -

You share a sleeping bag one night in late August.

The autumn hasn’t begun yet, but it’s swelling on the horizon, bits of it bleeding through into the last bit of summer. And it’s so chilly that he doesn’t even bother arguing with you when you suggest doubling up in your layered sleeping bags to conserve body heat.

There’s a first time for everything i guess, you think to yourself as he settles in beside you, his back to yours.

The heat from his back bleeds into yours, even through the layers of clothing you have on.

He zips up the sleeping bags before turning over and going still. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was dead. You never understood that about Joel; the man can sleep anywhere.

You’re sleeping out in the open tonight: on the corner of a tiny clearing somewhere in Eastern Tennessee. You’re the only people for miles, and still, you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched. Despite your years on the road, it’s never been a fear you could shake.

You toss and turn for a few minutes before Joel sighs in frustration beside you.

“Can you quit your movin’?” He’s as cranky as always.

“Sorry,” you mumble, looking up at the sky full of stars above you. It’s a sight you’d never tire of, even if it meant having to sleep with no roof over your head. “Can’t sleep.”

“I gathered that.”

“I just feel like someone’s watching me. Or that they’re in the woods, waiting to jump out.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Joel’s voice is dry.

“I know,” you laugh breathily. “Still, though.”

You look up at the deep, black, inky sky, rife with twinkling lights, burning millions of miles away. For a moment you wonder what it would be like to be one of those stars—so removed from this shithole of a world you were living in now. Then, in the corner of your vision, you see it: the streaking of white across the sky.

You gasp.

“Joel!” you say. “Joel, look!”

“What now?” he asks gruffly.

“A shooting star!” Just then, another streaks across the black expanse. “And there's another one!”

“Hm,” Joel turns over just enough to look over his shoulder at the sky. “A meteor shower. Great. Now go to bed.”

You sigh as he turns back over, eyes remaining on the sky, now streaked with countless stars falling toward earth. And for once, you allow yourself to wonder what it might like away from all this. Free.

You don’t feel the bullet until after the raider is dead at your feet.

It starts as a numb feeling in your shoulder, then all at once: pain.

Searing, pulsing pain like you’ve never felt before. It takes everything in you not to cry out.

You feel something warm and wet on your hands and look down to see blood seeping through your long sleeve onto your palm.

Shit, you think. I’m going to die. I’m going to die and Joel is going to be alone.

Part of you thinks he would like it better this way: with no one to look after, no one butting their head into his business.

But you don’t have time to dwell on that thought, before Joel is barreling into the room.

“Where the hell did they even come from?” He pants, leaning into his knees. “Shit.”

You scan his body for injuries, glad when you don’t find any.

“Are you okay?” Your teeth begin to chatter, and all of a sudden you’re so, so cold.

“Fine,” he says, not looking at you. “One of them got a good swipe at my side though. Might need you to stitch it up.”

Somewhere, far off, you think you hum in response, but the fuzziness that started in your shoulder has made it to your head, obstructing your hearing.

“Sweetheart?” Joel’s voice is far away, removed, almost like it’s under water.

“Yeah,” you mumble, stumbling to the side, hand coming to grip your wound. “Yeah, I can—“

“Shit! You’re hit. Why didn’t you say something?”

You’re in someone’s arms, on the ground, your vision going blurry.

“No, no, no. Stay awake. Stay awake for me,” it’s Joel speaking to you. His voice holds what sounds like… panic? No, that can’t be right.

Oh right, you’re dying.

You must have messed up your checks again and missed the raiders. Like last time. Like you’d promised him you wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you cough. “Sorry, l let it happen again.”

“W-what?” You’ve never heard his voice waver before.

“S-sorry,” you’re shivering, and your hands are gripping the canvas of Joel’s jacket in a vice grip. “Sorry I d-didn’t do my checks right again.”

All of a sudden, you’re in the air, one of his hands behind your knees and the other around your back.

“Shh, shh, just stay with me.” Joel’s lips are to your forehead. “Stay with me. You’re gonna be okay.”

It’s all you hear before you black out.

- -

When you wake up, you’re on the floor, in what looks like a house.

You feel cold and clammy, and your mouth is dry. Your tongue feels like sandpaper in your mouth. You shiver under your blankets.

You glance around you, taking in your surroundings.

You’re definitely not in a house—a barn maybe? There are no windows, and the raw wood that makes up the walls and floors around you make you think it is a barn or shack of sorts.

Off to one side of you, there’s your pack, untouched from the scuffle that left you with a bullet in your shoulder.

Your shoulder is numb, if a little achy. You don’t try to move it; you know better than that.

You look down to your torso and see that you’re wrapped in two sleeping bags—both yours and Joel’s.

Joel.

Where is he?

As if on cue, the door to the barn opens, and with a gust of cool wind, Joel comes in, a rabbit in hand.

Your heart stutters.

He looks…tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. How long has it been since you got shot? How long did he have to carry you to get here?

“You’re up,” his eyes are on you, glistening with something you can’t quite place. It’s the most emotion—besides anger—you’ve seen on his face.

“Guess so,” your voice is rocky as you say it. The words catch in your throat, causing you to cough.

“Here,” Joel scrambles, dropping his pack to the ground and pulling out his metal canteen. “Don’t try to talk. You need to drink something.”

He holds out the water toward you, and without thinking, you reach for it with your injured arm. Immediately, you regret it. You hiss, a sharp pain shooting down your arm.

“Shit, here,” Joel kneels down beside you and you’re struck again by just how large he is. His shoulders stretch broadly under the flannel he wears. The top few buttons have been left open, exposing the expanse of his neck.

He opens the canteen and brings it to your lips, one of his hands coming behind your head to cup your neck as you try to lean up. Heat flares your cheeks.

“Take it easy, let me come to you,” he says. “Don’t need you pulling a muscle.”

The water tastes like salvation and you drink so much that some dribbles down your chin. If it were anyone else with you, you would be embarrassed, but this is Joel. He most likely already had to remove your shirt to dress your wound. Besides, he is the closest thing you have to a friend in this world. You try not to think of how sad that is: your only friend doesn’t even really like you.

“Thank you,” you breathe after you’re done. You lay your head back down on the pillow, but Joel’s hand stays on your face, moving from your neck to your cheek.

You still.

His palm covers your jaw and cheek, warm to the touch. His thumb skirts over your cheekbone, and his eyes remain on you, brows furrowed. You can’t bring yourself to look away from his gaze.

“What you did was stupid,” he says after a minute, removing his hand. His eyes move from your face to the floor as he takes a swig of water from the canteen.

You close your eyes and sigh.

“I know,” you mumble. “I should’ve done my checks—”

“I don’t give a shit about your checks,” his voice is quietly urgent as his head whips to you. “You didn’t tell me you were hit. You’re lucky I was able to sew you up. You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t, though.”

“But you could’ve,” he shakes his head at you.

“I got shot! I’m fine. Relax.”

“Relax?” He spits the words at you. “You scared me to death. I haven’t been so scared since–”

“Since what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He sniffs. “Just don’t ever, ever do that again. It was stupid and selfish.”

“Selfish?” You’re confused.

“Yes, selfish.” He pushes. “Did you ever think about what would happen to me if you died?”

Your breath catches in your throat as you grasp—or try to grasp—what he’s saying.

He won’t meet your eyes.

“That’s,” you stutter. “That’s the world we live in, Joel. That’s life. When Jose—”

“You aren’t Jose.” He says lowly, his eyes rising to meet yours.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Joel’s on his feet. He grabs the rabbit from the floor at his feet and goes outside, leaving you to wonder what the hell just happened.

- -

It’s after dinner before you venture to speak to him again.

Your dinner of roasted rabbit and expired canned green beans had been stilted at best, neither of you bothering to say more than “pass me this” or “could you hand me” that.

Your mind has been absolutely racing with thoughts of your last conversation–the need in his voice, the spark in his eyes—but you didn’t want to push it. Not until now at least.

“How long was I out?” you ask after he disposes of what's left of your dinner.

Joel sits down beside you and looks at the makeshift fire in the middle of the room. The reflection of the fire on his eyes makes them look ablaze. You can’t look away.

He’d helped you sit up before dinner to eat, finally removing you from the cocoon of blankets and layers he’d constructed around you. You noticed that he’d dressed you in a shirt of his: a worn henley, deciding to forgo whatever clothes you had in your own pack.

The weather has begun to turn; September bleeding into October and bringing cool winds and red leaves with it. With the lack of insulation in this barn, there’s no way you’ll be warm tonight. You shiver.

“Three days,” he locks his jaw. “You were delirious for a few, before your fever broke.”

Your stomach plummets.

Oh, god, what did you say?

You don’t have the courage to ask, so you only nod.

“We should get to bed,” he says. “I wanna head out early tomorrow. We’ve already been here too long.”

You nod as he walks over to help you from your sitting position near the fire.

His arms move around you, practically lifting you up so you can stand. Sometimes you forget just how strong he is. He smells like the woodsmoke and the cheap soap he uses, and Joel. The scent is heady and swarms your senses. You can’t handle him this close.

“Here just grab onto me, like this,” his voice is right by your ear. “Good girl.”

Oh.

Those words alight something in you and you’re sure you’re blushing up to your ears. You wonder what they’d sound like rasped in your ear.

Seamlessly, Joel lays you down onto where the two sleeping bags are. Where you’ve been sleeping the past few days.

Your brows furrow.

“Where have you been sleeping, Joel?” you ask.

Joel looks down sheepishly.

“Right there,” he says. “My jacket’s warm. Besides, didn’t want you catching a cold.”

As if on cue, you feel a brisk wind breeze through the cracks in the wood and into the barn. You shiver.

“Are you kidding?” you ask. “You’ll freeze to death. Take your sleeping bag.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You need it. You’ve just been shot.”

“And I’m fine now. Albeit a little weak. I don’t need your sleeping bag too.”

“I’m not arguin’ with you,” he says staunchly. He is so stubborn, you want to throttle him. “You’re getting the sleeping bag, end of story.”

“Like hell!”

“Do you always have to be so stubborn?”

“You’re one to talk.”

Joel takes a breath.

“I’m trying to help you.” He says quietly after a moment. “It’s the only way I know how. Over–over there, when you,” he pauses. “When you got shot. There was nothing I could do. Nothing. Let me do this. Please.”

You sit there, stunned at his admission.

You had no idea that your getting injured would affect him this much–affect him at all. Maybe you aren’t just an annoyance to Joel. Maybe you’re a friend to him. Your mind won’t let you wander into thinking it’s something more.

You nod.

“Okay,” you say, voice small.

“Okay,” he nods, before grabbing the rifle. “I’ll take first watch.”

- -

You awaken to teeth chattering from a few feet away from you.

You yourself shiver as you’re pulled from a dream of clickers and your mother, just realizing how cold it is.

Despite being bundled in a long sleeve and two sleeping bags, the cold has managed to seep into your very bones. You can only imagine how cold Joel must be. It’s him whose teeth are chattering beside you.

You cough.

“Joel,” you whisper-shout at him. You reach over to shake him but think better of it, remembering what happened last time you shook him awake.

“Joel,” you say a little louder this time, and he finally stirs.

“What?” His voice is sinful; rough and gravely from sleep. “What happened?”

“I can hear you from over here,” you call. “I told you so.”

“That what you woke me up to say?” He asks unpleasantly, pulling his coat tighter around his body.

“No,” you chuckle. “C’mere.”

He looks over his shoulder at you skeptically.

“Why?”

“Just come here, old man.”

Joel grumbles under his breath—something about an ungrateful girl—but gets up nonetheless, moving a few feet over to you.

“What?” he exacerbates once he’s next to you. You can see how his hair is disheveled from sleep in the dim light.

“Get in here.” You pull back the covers and scoot over in invitation.

There’s a palpable silence as he sits there, frozen, looking at you cautiously.

“I don’t have all night, Joel.”

“You,” he coughs, voice catching. “You just got shot.”

“So sleep on the other side,” you offer. “I can’t sleep with you chattering away over there.”

Joel blows out a breath.

“Alright.”

And in he climbs, kicking off his shoes and maneuvering his lumbering body into the tight space next to you. Every atom of your body feels electric as his scent envelopes you. Your hip presses into his stomach as he sidles up to you.

Joel clears his throat, arms moving around you warily.

“This alright?”

“It’s fine,” you whisper back, scooting further back into him so your ass is pressed to his groin.

You feel Joel stiffen and you try to withhold the smirk from crossing your lips.

“You’re warm,” you mumble.

Joel’s hand tightens on your hip and you feel his breath in your ear as he lays his head on the pillow next to your head.

“Hm,” he hums, before sighing. “Go to bed.”

You close your eyes and try to sleep, comforted by the steady breaths of the man behind you.

– -

You wake with a gasp to Joel’s hands gripping your hips in a vice grip. You’d been having a dream where Joel’s head was between your thighs, his hands holding your hips down to the bed—a real bed.

You blink in the dim light of the barn.

“Wha—” you begin, before you realize the precarious position you’ve found yourself in.

Shit.

In your sleep, you’ve scooted further backward into Joel, your ass pressed up against his groin tighter than before. Your legs have somehow tangled in his, your thighs wrapped around one of Joel’s thighs, grinding.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you think to yourself, freezing.

“I—shit,” you mumble, squirming in Joel’s still tight grip on your hips. “I’m sorry Joel, I was dreaming I—”

“It’s fine, just—quit moving.”

It’s then that you realize that your ass hadn’t been grinding back onto just anything: it had been grinding backward onto Joel’s erection, pressing stiffly into your lower back.

“Oh,” you breathe, and Joel jumps back, scrambling to move away from you.

“Joel, wait,” you say breathlessly. You reach back and grab his wrist without thinking and he freezes.

Slowly, painfully, you bring his hand around your torso to the front of your hips, right to the zipper of your jeans.

What happens next is frantic. Joel’s fingers work with expert precision, undoing the button and zipper on your jeans, and the next thing you know, his hand is in your pants.

His fingers move fast, wasting no time sliding between your legs and into your slick. You’re already soaked.

“Darlin’,” Joel rasps and it's deep, breathy right in your ear. You hum back at him.

“How long you been like this, huh?” he breathes, running his teeth over your earlobe.

You open your mouth to reply, but all coherent thoughts leave your head when his finger rubs against your clit.

The sound that leaves you is something between a moan and a whimper. You grab onto Joel’s forearm, nails biting into the skin there. Joel’s other hand snakes up your torso and palms at your breast over your—his—shirt.

“Right there, baby?” He breathes into your ear, finger adding more pressure to your clit. You whimper and nod in response, mouth dropping open. Your hand reaches up to palm at his hair.

“How long you been this wet, hm?” Joel asks again, sucking a bruise into your neck. “Answer me.”

“A–a while,” you breathe, grinding back into his erection that's pressing into your ass, hard and warm through his jeans.

At your response, Joel inserts one of his fingers into you. He groans as they move in junction with the finger moving against your sensitive nub.

“That right?” his fingers move faster, picking up the pace as you grind and whimper against him.

“And what made you such a mess?”

Heat floods your face. Are you really going to tell him? One stroke to your clit makes any inhibitions you have fly out the window.

“You,” you say, grinding into his hands. His hand over your shirt moves under your clothes and skates up your torso, before grabbing your bare breast and squeezing.

You bite back your moan.

“Tell me more, sweetheart.”

“Y-you, Joel,” you babble, too far-gone to fully comprehend the magnitude of what you’re saying. “Your hands, your shoulders, when you call me ‘good girl’, when you wear those stupid, stupid, jeans–”

Joel sucks a bruise into the base of your neck and you gasp.

“Think you can take another one?”

You nod against him.

“Words, darlin’.”

“Yes, Joel.”

“Okay, baby,” he presses a close-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, before inserting another finger and pumping faster.

He groans against you.

“So tight,” he growls against your neck. “That’s a good girl, c’mon, you can take it.”

You clamp up on him, his words send heat running through you.

“Oh, you like that?” Joel asks. “Being called a good girl?”

You nod.

“You like being my good girl?”

You nod, and his fingers pick up their pace, and your heartbeat and pleasure crest, before you fall over the edge.

You pant, finally releasing Joel’s forearm. Joel’s breath is heavy in your ear as you catch your breath.

“Wow,” you mumble after a moment.

Joel just blows out a breath, leaning back.

“If i’d known getting you to come would make you so agreeable, I’d have done it a long time ago.”

You chuckle, rolling over to face him.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Mm,” he hums, taking a piece of your hair and running it down your nose.

You take this moment to observe him: his weathered face, lined with worry lines, a five o’clock shadow brushing his jawline. His salt and pepper hair is messy–a result of your hands running through it—and his flannel is disheveled from sleep and…other things.

Your eyes travel from his torso down to…oh.

You start at the sight of Joel’s erection.

“Joel,” you say, sitting up. “You didn’t—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Joel sits up with you. “I’ll take care of it.”

“No–” you grab his hand as he goes to stand. “Let me.”

“Darlin’,” Joel sighs as you undo his button and zipper. “You’re hurt—”

“I’m not too hurt for this,” you counter, pulling him out of his jeans.

You marvel at the size of him. In your experience (albeit as limited as it is), you’ve never seen someone as big as him.

He’s… pretty. You want it in your mouth.

You pump him, gripping him tightly. Joel hisses as you do it, head tipping backward.

You move to kneel in front of him, leveling your face with his crotch, but a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“No,” he says, running his fingers along your cheek. “Not tonight.”

You nod at him, moving back so your heads are level with each other. Joel brushes a stray hair away from your eyes, before nosing into your shoulder.

“Lay back,” you mumble. “Let me take care of you, Joel.”

He pulls back and looks at you with a stony gaze. Even now, you can’t read him.

“Let me take care of you.”

He stares at you for a moment, before nodding.

He lets you push him backward onto the sleeping bags. You lay down beside him and reach for his manhood again. Joel throws his head back as you squeeze, jerking him in rhythm.

You hum in response.

“Talk to me,” you whisper to him, running your teeth along the line of his jaw like you always imagined doing. “Have you imagined this?”

Joel moans–it’s a stilted, half-formed thing that comes from the back of his throat.

“Talk to me, Texas.”

He groans, hand moving to your hair as you suck a bruise into the junction of his neck.

“You know I have,” he pushes out. “Naughty girl.”

You hum against his neck, encouraging him to continue.

“You in those tiny tops, never wearing a bra.”

You jerk him faster as his hips jerk up to meet your fist.

“I-Imagined you, like this.” He rasps. “On your knees, my cock down your throat.”

“Then why didn’t you let me–?”

“You’re–hurt,” he half-moans, and you know he’s close.

“Aw,” you coo into his ear. “Big, bad Joel Miller a softy under all that sass?”

“Sh-shut u—” his words are cut off by his own climax, a moan ripping through his throat. He spurts over your hand, hips arching off the sleeping bags beneath him.

As he comes down from is high, you lick his salty-sweet spend off your fingers.

“Did you–”

Joel looks at you with a bewildered expression. You only stare him down with a triumphant gaze.

“I told you I wanted to take care of you.”

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mymreaderlibrary · 4 months

Text

Maybe it's just cause I'm replaying Dying Light but with Cod zombies being a thing I'm thinking about the TF141 in an apocalypse type scenario. Just a blurb idk if I’ll do anything with this.

Gonna lean heavily into the story of Dying Light here because I love it. Note that mc/ reader takes a combined role of Bracken, Jade, and Kyle C. That being said there is no Bracken, Jade, or Kyle in this universe and Rahim is reader’s younger brother.

[TF141 x male reader, no relationship (yet), zombies, death and gore, ramblings/ lore skimming]

[Length: 1,480 words]

The 141 are given a private mission to infiltrate the city of Harran and hunt down a terrorist residing in the area. He's stolen highly sensitive documents and is threatening to have them released through an informant if something happens to him. A standard deal where the task force is concerned however Harran itself is the dangerous part of the mission.

A disease has ravaged the city, being the first documented case of what is now known as the Harran Virus. It is a strain of rabies that zombifies any of those infected, making them instinctively hunt down other warm blooded creatures to spread. The city has been completely quarantined and the virus has not gotten outside of it yet, but this also makes the area a cesspool, concentrated with death and disease. Reports say there are no living (or at least non infected) residents remaining aside from the terrorist group which have holed themselves in an unknown location. Because of this a strike has been permitted to raze Harran in hopes of destroying the virus or at the least any violent infected. A counteractive medicine is in development with its prototype being given to the task force in case of emergency, however there is no solid solution beyond massacring infected. It's not pretty work but the world can't risk this disease breaking out.

The 141 are given specialized equipment, thick gear, loads of medical equipment, and a collection of high end firearms. The team are air dropped into the lower city and instructed to start their search immediately.

The sun is already beginning to set by the time they land. It would almost be pretty if it weren’t for all the viscera in the streets creating a sour rotten stench. Both Gaz and Soap wretch but do their best to push through, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of life. It doesn’t take long for them to find hostiles except to their surprise it’s not infected. Instead a group of well armed thugs attempt to corner them. They’re all carrying machetes and nail bats, some with masks while others have paint creating three jagged stripes across their face. Ghost notes their lack of firearms as odd but chalks it up to lacking proper equipment (even if their body armor told otherwise).

Regardless it goes about as well as you expect for the thugs against such well trained soldiers, however hell breaks loose when Soap decides to fire his pistol. A banshee like scream is heard from across the street and their attackers scatter without hesitation, even leaving behind their wounded. Quickly a horde of infected begin rushing towards the task force, mouths gaped wide and moaning. The zombies they were told of were slow and bumbling but these were ravenous. They ran, yelled wildly, clawed at the 141 with a fervor, and with each shot of the team's firearms another horde would soon follow. It was clear they were overwhelmed and the fear that the mission was over before it even began quickly hit. A pained hiss sounded from Ghost as a zombie managed to pull off his glove and bite into the calloused flesh of his hand. Another slammed Gaz onto the pavement and began chewing into his shoulder. Price and Soap just barely threw off their friend's attackers but the assault only continued.

As another infected went to claw at Price's face the zombie's head flew clean off. The corpse flopped down to the side, convulsing wildly, but unable to keep attacking. A group of young men and women, wearing uniforms unlike the thugs from before, began dragging the team out from the horde. They threw firecrackers over their shoulders and onto the street, catching the infected's focus and separating their numbers. A man in particular seemed to be leading the 141's saviors, giving quiet orders through hand signals to his comrades.

They got a solid distance before the same man began looking them over for injuries in a building. The lowered visibility from the growing dark made it difficult but not impossible. Gaz and Ghost were the only ones bitten meanwhile Soap and Price were scraped from their scuffle with the thugs. Despite the bites being small they bled heavily and the two men had already broken out into sweats. Shaking violently Gaz’s legs buckled and he began to cry out in pain. Ghost faired no better his eyes looking dazed and unfocused as he could only hiss out panicked breaths. Gaz's pain seemed to recapture the attention of the infected outside as banging began on the door of their refuge. A young woman went to barricade the entry but the vicious sound persisted. A fist broke through the wood and scratched at the woman's eye but she didn't falter, using her back to block the entry.

In the commotion Price recalled the prototype medicine he had been given by their contractor and quickly pulled out two small syringes. Their rescuers gave them an odd look before the leader snatched it out of his hands and injected both men without question. It took a moment for the medicine to take effect but the pair began to go lax, heartbeats slowing to a normal pace. However they were still too weak to stand and the door was beginning to buckle. The woman barricading it was grabbed and dragged out into the dark street by the vicious creatures. The rescue leader tried to pull her out but it was too late.

With a pained look in his eye the leader commanded the remaining men and women to take the 141 back to "The Tower" while he distracted the zombies away from them. He left no room for argument and they were whisked away quickly from the regrowing horde. The now nearly black streets greeting them as they ran, carrying their fallen comrades.

The journey to this tower, which turned out to be an apartment complex covered in UV lights, took a lot of climbing but eventually they were welcomed through the front gates. Or well, welcomed was an overstatement, it was more like begrudgingly let through after some convincing from their rescuers. The guards at the door glared at the men and Price could hear them scoffing about their missing leader and how “Rahim is gonna be pissed”. Seems that man wasn't just a leader to those runners but to this tower as a whole. And well if that wasn't a way to instantly ruin your reputation.

They were transferred to the medical ward where Gaz and Ghost stayed, far too out of it to get out of their cots. It was honestly quiet odd seeing the two laying dazed and pale. While the medicine seemed to have some sort of effect, there was no saying for how long. It was still only a prototype.

Soap and Price on the other hand could leave after getting bandaged, only suffering superficial wounds. They were instructed to rest, guided to some rooms a floor below where they saw several civilian types. Men, women, children... a mother in the corner cradling her crying baby trying to convince him to go back to sleep. A father sitting beside his two daughters resting on a cot covered by a thin sheet. A teen boy sitting alone, curled up on a chair shaking. Life. Something they were told didn't exist down here outside of terrorists.

One day on and the mission was already a mess, two soldiers down, emergency meds already in use, a whole community of civilians discovered, a possible ally MIA, and they had not an ounce of info to show for it. Sleeping after that just didn't feel right but the two men supposed there was nothing they could do as the tower was locked until morning. If the screams and yowls of dead were anything to go off of, it sounded like the infected were more active in the night. Who knew if this tower’s leader was even alive out there amongst the savage undead.

It took what felt like a year for the sun to rise again but just as daylight cusped the window Price could hear commotion downstairs. Cheers, shouts, panicked calls for a medic. As him and Soap peered onto the floor above they spotted that same leader from before now being dragged in to the medical ward from the stairs. Blood trailed behind him, his arms littered with cuts, bruises, and bites, but he was conscious and attempting to walk. A thick stream of red pooled from his temple down his chin and for a split second his gaze caught Price. His eyes were near unreadable, murky like Ghost's but still alert enough to be aware of what was going on. He seemed almost satisfied seeing the captain alive and well but quickly was taken away to be bandaged.

This mission was already hell.

#mw #my work #cod #cod mw #dying light #crossover #captain price #soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #gaz garrick #male reader #unspecified male reader #x male reader #cod x male reader #zombie apocolypse au #zombie au #dying light au

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