Sam

Sorry for the frequent asks, I just really like the way you write (⁠T⁠-T⁠)

I'm here because a hybrid!peacock!reader who works in the medical field is ✨

Not joining the team for missions because of the vibrant colors.

AWWW THANK UUU.

Simon was never one to go to the medical wing- at least not on his own devices. He usually does his own stitching, bandages, and other smaller medical procedures.

So when he heard there would be a new medic, he wasn’t planning on meeting you any time soon. That was, until he broke two ribs and fractured his arm on an op.

He work up in the medical wing, the soft glow of the orange lights filling his eyes, the feeling of the medical bed much softer then his own. He tried to get up, he didn’t need to stay another night in here- he’ll do just fine on his own, his bed is also capable of letting him heal.

“Get up and I’ll break another one of your ribs”

Non of the other medics talked to him that way, they where all to scared of him to do that. What were you again? Peacock? Made sense, you were much shorter then most of the hybrids he’d seen.

“Don’t need this” he muttered, voice gruff form however long he was out for. He tried to get out of bed, the bandages around his ribs tightened every time he breathed, the sling making it harder to move.

You didn’t even respond to him, just pushed him back onto the bed. Now, any time he even slightly NEAR the infirmary, you sniff him out like a hound dog for him to get a check up. You never cared if he complained, didn’t give a fuck if he had “other things to do”. He was getting a check up.

He hated it- at least that’s what he tried to tell himself. At first, he thought you were just another annoying nurse, but then you wouldn’t leave him alone. Soon, he caught himself going past the medical wing more on purpose,and his threats had less bite to them.

Sometimes his eyes linger on the colorful baby feathers that are on your face, in the back of his mind he wonders what the others look like. He did a little research, knew it was called a train, imagined the colors in the shitty base lights.

All the times he’d seen you, you were always wearing that medical coat- so you’d understand his reaction when he saw you without it off.

You didn’t have a train, no bright colored feathers that glistened in the light. They were short, brown, and fuzzy looken. He thought something was wrong, were you not eating enough? Not exercising? Not enough sleep?

Well, he’s now taken upon himself to get you back to normal. He stopes by with small bags of food he brings back from the cafeteria- he assumed most medics work long hours and don’t take time for themselves.

Sometimes when it’s late, and he knows you’re still up and it’s a slower day, he’ll coerce you to come back with him to his barracks. “Just this once” he says. Your to tired to argue, somehow finding yourself already in his arms, falling asleep.

And yet, nothing seemed to work. Your color never came.

“Why don’t you…what happened to your colors?” He had asked one evening, you where stitching up his hand from a gash he “randomly had”, that your pretty sure he gave himself.

“My- what?”

“Your feathers” he gestured to the small of your back.

“My-“ it dawned on you, the extra food, the extra care, always checking on you- he thinks something wrong. “-oh. No- no no no” you couldn’t help but snicker, it was- cute, that he carried so much.

“Those are- seasonal. Not permanent”

Well now he felt stupid. They were seasonal, never ment to be on your forever.

Then pull to now, where on the more easy days he comes in, watching your plume go full when you see him. It was his little guilty pleasure.

He started looking up what seasons your train would be out, always wanting to be prepared. So what was this about mating season? What does that have to do, with…

Oh.

Yet when it comes to mold, my stomach is made of iron. I’ve eaten so much mold it’s concerning. I’ve eaten a handful of extremely expired items and not noticing till it’s too late.

He’s body doesn’t move like it used to, his joints ache most days, a sense of tiredness always there- like it somehow pours out of his bones. His hands shake, small tremors noticeably when he’s pouring himself tea.

He hates it.

He knows that’s apart of life, how aging comes for everyone. But he used to be impotent, unstoppable. Before retirement, he was a man to be feared.

And now- now he’s just old. Gray hairs sprouting from his hair and beared, he gets cold when the temp goes below 76, he gets cranky if it’s past 7.

He also doesn’t look the same, the hard muscle now lined with something softer, the rough edges now smoothing out.

Then, there is his Sargent- or formally was once his Sargent.

He still comes by, still lets price hold him- it’s one of the few things he can control that way. He’s fitter, younger than price, can run when working out and his knee won’t feel like giving out.

John feels- guilty. Kyle is young, fit, handsome. He shouldn’t be with- him. He should be with someone his age, someone who won’t complain about back pain or rambles about “kids these days”.

But then he sees the way Kyle looks at him, the way Kyle holds John’s hand, how he kisses his temple every morning on his way out for a run.

If preferences are allowed, I'd like one inspired by Loki from Norse mythology.

Love the name, trying to be creative I see. Also yes 🙂‍↕️, I don’t think I’ll be exact but I’ll try to be similar.

You took a liking to these mortals, don’t know why- but you have. You’ve been watching them for a while, poking around and seeing how they live and behave. It was silly, really- but you had nothing better to do.

You liked the funny one, what was his name again? Johnny? You liked him.

Johnny was- fun. Energetic. Destructive.

You liked watching him, keep a close eye on him. It used to be easy to do that, come and go as you please, popping in and out whenever. But- something’s different now.

After the bullet to the head, he’s different. Not the fact he shouldn’t be alive, but..something else.

It’s like he senses you. Well, not you entirely, but something. How his eyes linger near the trees from where you sat. Not seeing you, per se, but the area of you. How he feels something heavy around his shoulders when you’re near.

Sometime you would like to fool him, make something miner go wrong, watch him get irritated by it. But now- it look like he can’t do that anymore. Like it hurts if he does to much.

Now you move things, most of the time to make thing easier for him- but that doesn’t stop you completely. You like to move objects to make him look for them.

Johnny- feels something’s there. Like someone is watching him from afar. But he knows it isn’t- harmful? Is that the right word? It feels like a mother watching there child play in the park. Protective, vigilant, always there. Whatever, it’s probably just a side effect of the accident. It hasn’t happened in a while so that means it’s probably going away.

Besides, he’s seeing someone now. There funny, they also like to play practice jokes- something he misses. People treat him like he’s might break after what happened. But them? They treat him normally. Like he was like any other person.

It odd though, recently he’s been having that feeling again, feeling watched. But- when he turns, it’s just you. Maybe it’s just nerves, just his body acting up again.

And

It could be funny 😭

FUCK THATS GENIUS. I might make angst of this later…

The team never forgets your a shape shifter, how could they? You shift so often, infront of anyone if there next to you. To you, you sometimes don’t even realize it. You always shift, have to shift.

Every fiber in you screams to shift. Like something under your skin itches when you don’t, like a yawn you’re holding in. So you never stop.

Small thing, sometime bigger, sometime smaller, different eye colors, your eyes bigger then the last time someone saw you, teeth placed differently in your mouth, hands more bony.

Then there are the big things, the things the team find less unsettling. Like how you have your own separate snack cabinet in the rec room. Shifting, especially larger more dramatic forms, takes up a lot of energy and uses a lot of calories. So you’re constantly eating.

Or how if you’re embarrassed enough, you just turn into fog. Like someone set of a smoke bomb. Thick smoke just puddled into one dense blob. It’s easier to do that and sulk away.

Sometimes to mess with people, you shapeshift into one of your team meats and make it feel like every one of going crazy that they’re seeing things.

I have like, zero ideas on what to write currently, and also lack the motivation. I want to continue writing the immortal and monster aus and all that fun stuff, however I think that’s gonna take me a little longer to push out.

Idrk what to do other then that, i suppose u guys could ask me stuff??? Or like, put in requests? I wouldn’t mind that and maybe it would help take me out of whatever funk I’m currently in.

You look- nothing like you’re supposed to. Monsters are feared, something not many people like looking at- as harsh as that sounds. Not many people are monsters, those who are usually end up in some kind of positions where there strength is needed.

Bodyguards, illegal or legal fighting rinks, and most importantly, military. That’s why everyone is so puzzled when they see you- a normal looking human- on a team, solely filled with monsters.

You don’t look like you can handle yourself, but you somehow do. Most monsters who are in the military, well, they look the part. Take price for instance, big guy, big hands. There tough, big ol claws- he could punch reinforced concrete easily. Mancini bite as well, could split a piece of metal in half.

Even Gaz, he’s considered the more human looking person there- even then, he has extra eyes on his face, even his hearing is heightened immensely.

When people ask you why you look so different, you just say you got more human genes from your mother. You can lift far more than the average person, run faster and longer too. More stamina, you say that’s all you got.

No one really understands it, but you do a well enough job that they don’t care. Besides, they have other problems and thing to deal with, like why there where so many mangled animal carcasses around base?

You do remember one thing, your Simon.

You see him, your not supposed to, you where never supposed to keep living. But you do. Clawed your way out of what ever damn nation you were in.

To you, he still looks the same, still looks like your Simon. The same brown eyes, same tiredness that seems to always cling to him, the same man you fell in love with.

But to him? You don’t look anything like his lover. You’re now just some creature, something that looks like it belongs is a child’s nightmares, something that hides under beds and in closets.

He thought he was having a nightmare again, seeing things at the edge of his bed, the way you eyed him, like maybe he was as so recked in guilt this was his punishment for everything.

He couldn’t move, maybe he didn’t want to. Reality and imagination tangled together in some hideous cloud. All he could do was listen to your whispers.

The slivers of words coming from you, less like talking and more like your words were crawling out your mouth by themselves. You wanted to hold him, to tell him how much you love him and miss him.

The way you hold his face, he thought it was just some sick joke his mind was playing on him, but- your hands, while cold and burned his skin, felt like yours. The same way your thumb slide over his cheek, your eyes twisted and haunting, poured into his like you used to do.

“My Simon…”

That was the only coherent thing among there mass of whispers leaking out of you. And even though it hurt to hold you, made his thoughts ache when looking you in your eyes, every fiber of his being told him to move to run to get away- he held you. Even if you were to big to hold.

Kept you close in his arms, buried his face into your shoulder. He’d let himself get burned, let himself go mad, just to hold you again. Just for you to be with him again.

Price, raising an eyebrow at Gaz who’s drinking his tea and reading.

But could you please try to make a angel!reader with a biblically accurate appearance and cynical sense of humor? ❤️‍🩹

I am a follower.

Hmm… idk, could take some time for me to be convinced…

….

Ok I’m convinced , also apologies if it’s not what you expected- I’m VERY bad at writing dialogue.

When most people think of an angel, they think of something holy, something divine. When they hear that an angel walks among mortals, they think of some grand entity, someone who’s high morals allow to make righteous decisions.

Some might think a person like that, would take a position in something higher or considered giving. So you could imagine the teams surprise when they hear Angel!reader is on the team.

They heard aloud be coming to base, but assumed you’d be maybe medical or hr dependent due to- well, you being an angel like thing.

To there shock, you’d be the one holding the gun with them. You were good too, quite with kills, good in stealth. Remained everyone if Ghost- if Ghost was less broody and talked more. So like many experienced, Soap got attached quite quickly.

One of Soaps favorite things about you is, in his words, when you go biblical. As annoying as you find the nickname. Truth be told, you were able to shift into a more, “biblically accurate” version of an angel.

Something that has numerous eyes, wings that span wider than a person, and a look that sends a shiver down Soaps spine.

“Aren’t chu gonna tell me to ‘be not afraid’ or somethin’ like that?” Soap asked, it was late, both of you sitting quietly in the rec room

“Hm..I would, but you where never afraid to begin with- maybe more perverted then anything else”

“Aw, not even a little?” He slightly pouted, maybe to help convince you

You scoffed, rolling your eyes “Sometimes I pity you for how weak minded you are”

“Wot? Can you blame me?” he grinned- always that shit eating grin.