sopi_soph

Yep, I do! Will try my best, though if it's not something gross or inappropriate:>

Summary: You got kidnapped by cartel.

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, fighting, kidnapping, shooting, blood, car accident, English is not my first language.

Mexico. A country with incredibly beautiful nature and a rich history. Wherever you look, there's greenery, sunshine, and delicious food... it was, until the car turned into a dark alley.

But the people are so welcoming! So cheerful, and their language is charming, too. Yet you can't understand what these dudes were saying, and it makes you quiet sad. A few familiar words slip out, but their meaning isn't quite clear to you.

The jeep made a sharp turn, you almost fell face-down, if not for a heavy, hairy hand that pulled you back into your seat by your hair. Sandwiched between two guards in the backseat, you helplessly rubbed your wrists, bound together behind your back.

Well... at least the music is rocking it. The bass boomed from the speakers at full volume, vibrating deep between your ribs.

"So, uh... any sightseeing recommendations?" You chirped. The thug in the passenger seat glared at you through the rearview mirror. Driver with a scar on his right cheek gripped the steering wheel tighter. Yeah, if only you could loosen your restraints...

"Perra, mira por dónde vas!" The guy behind the wheel turned the it unexpectedly, eliciting outraged cries from his accomplices, which were cut short with a blow to the side of the car. This ensuing chaos was your cue.

A tinted window lowered only slightly, but the familiar van honked loudly enough to drown out the music. Jeep accelerated, pressing you deepwr into the leather seat. Your kidnappers cursed, shouted at each other, and vigorously explained something until the one in the passenger seat took a bullet to his temple. Glass shards rained down on his knees, and the big guy toppled forward like a rag doll.

Task Force van began to prop up the car, pushing it closer to the edge of the road. Two guys on either side of you started shooting back, and while one of them was forced to lean over you, the restraints on your wrists finally gave way, so the next second you had his gun, and the poor guy was shot.

A struggle ensued with the other one, the gun was knocked out of your grip, and obviously, it was harder to take him down with your bare hands. The shaking of the car, which was swerving in sharp zigzags, didn't help at all. The shooting stopped— apparently your teammates finally used their brains and remembered you were there too.

"Stop the fucking car!!" A scream carried through the broken window, but the driver, on the verge of hysteria, clutched the wheel with both hands, trying unsuccessfully to squirm away from his pursuers. Another blow to the side of the jeep sent your assailant flying, with you on top of him. You managed to reach a shard of dark glass— and now only the driver remained.

He was shouting and screaming as you scrambled to the front seat. The tires squealed, the air smelled of blood and gunpowder, and your ears were filled with this ridiculously cheerful music.

Pulling a belt from one of your captors' pants, you slung it over the driver's neck, and when his grip on the steering wheel loosened, you climbed over his unconscious body to drive. The car was gradually slowing down, but you couldn't budge his heavy body from the gas pedal.

You turned your head, and your gaze met Price's at the wheel of the van, but a moment's lapse in concentration cost you dearly. With his last breath, the scarred cartel member spun the wheel, and you couldn't control the car anymore. The jeep veered off the road.

.

.

.

You woke up to the sound of your own name. When you opened your eyes, you didn't immediately understand why the floor of the car was over your head.

"Pull this piece aside, I'll try to pull her out!"

The shine from a lone streetlight hit your eyes, and you let out a weak gasp of pain. Two warm hands reached under your shoulder blades and under your armpits, pulling you out from under the wrecked car. Your head was ringing, vision blurry, and a sudden, sharp pain shot through your body.

"I know, I know, sweetheart, I'm sorry," you heard Price's voice, but you couldn't focus on his face.

"Bonnie, that was sae epic!" Johnny yelped excitedly and released the metal sheet that he, Kyle, and Ghost had been holding. The Jeep now kinda resembled a crumpled tin can.

"Don't let go so suddenly, damn it!" Gaz protested, jerking, but Ghost merely rolled his eyes, holding the heavy piece with one hand.

"Think... my collarbone... broken..." You croaked, seeing the four people leaning over you in a circle more clearly now.

"Don't move, our heli is commin'," Ghost ordered, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. His mask doubled before your eyes.

"How's your head, kiddo?" John frowned, crouched by your side.

"Maybe we should put somethin' under her neck? She's got a nosebleed," Soap suggested nervously.

The lamp's light split at multiple blurry dots, dancing against the black sky.

"Johnny boy, you're a genius," you smiled dreamily and closed your eyes.

Summary: You speak a rare language.

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, mentioned torture, English is not my first language.

Ghost could boast of how good an interrogator he was. While it wasn't his direct responsibility, Simon became the unofficial "heavy artillery" when the interrogation reached a dead end. You're tellin' me you see that big boy with the skullface and you're not gonna start sweatin'? Fair to say, Ghost looks terrifying.

It's a dirty work, which, contrary to popular belief, doesn't bring pleasure to the interrogator. Because guess what, you have to be a true psychopath to enjoy torturing another person, and Simon definitely wasn't one. But that was no excuse for the horrible things Ghost did with his own hands to extract information.

The prisoner's head hung low to his chest. The man was breathing heavily, his whole body shaking. Ghost stood in the corner, glancing occasionally at the black glass in the wall.

"Cap, the meeting has been postponed for the second time, everyone is waiting for you!" You whispered-yelled as you stepped into the small observation room. Price sat in a chair in front of the tinted glass, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His jaw muscles flexed in angry silence. It probably wasn't the best timing...

"Ye might need tae call it off altogether..." Soap noted, sending you the look that says 'we-are-fucked.' You raised an eyebrow, standing by the door until a tired growl interrupted your silent conversation with Johnny.

"He won't crack. The bastard keeps talking nonsense, and he'll keep pretending until Ghost breaks his neck." John ran a hand over his face, leaning back in his chair.

You approached the glass, glancing at the situation on the other side with a heavy feeling.

"But look, he's mumbling something!" You watched the bloodied prisoner weakly move his lips. "Why aren't you listening?"

"Because," Price rolled his eyes like he was forced to explain the most obvious thing ever, "he's saying gibberish! This dude pretends to speak only russian, but when we got a translator, they said it makes no sense!"

By this point, the Captain was openly irritated. You frowned, turning to Johnny.

"Turn the sound on, I want to hear it."

"Right, because ye're somehow gaun'ae crack the code this dude is spewing oot of his mouth," Soap grunted skeptically, but clicked the sound button.

Ghost's heavy boots echoed dully off the walls. Wiping blood from his gloves on a rag, he stepped out of his corner, preparing to continue what he had started.

"You know, I don't have the day for this bullshit. I'm giving you the last chance before I dispose of your dead body," his voice sounded as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "Where did the trucks with people your men were transporting go after they crossed the border?"

The man stopped trying to break free of his bonds. He whined in pain, shaking his head, and snapped back with all his might, "Я не ведаю, боўдзіла! Я не разумею, што ты хочаш..."

You broke out in a cold sweat. You didn't think twice when you'd reached the control board, pressing down the microphone button before either of your friends could stop you.

"Ці будзеце вы гаварыць, калі побач будзе перакладчык?" [Are you willing to speak if you get a translator?]

Price yanked your hand away as if you'd touched hot metal, and the sound cut off, but it was too late. The prisoner jerked like from an electric shot, his eyes bloodshot and wide. He began struggling and screaming with renewed vigor, searching for the source of the sound.

Hearing your voice, Simon froze, and something flashed in his eyes for just a second. He stared at the glass, and you almost believed he could see you.

"What the fuck did you just do?!" John yelled, waving his hands. "What language are you even spe—"

"Wot is going on here?" The low, hoarse voice joined the commotion. Slamming the door, Simon entered the observation room, turning to you first.

"Apparently, it's now allowed to infringe upon the order and interfere with the interrogation," Price growled, glaring at you.

"But you almost killed him with no use!"

"He's a terrorist and a human trafficker," Soap reminded him with a skeptical mockery.

"Yeah, I know! What I meant is, the language he speaks is Belarusian. He's not being stubborn, he just doesn't understand," you explained, and for a good minute the room was silent.

"Who even speaks Belarusian?"

"Oh, as if many people use Gaelic!" You huffed.

"Touché..."

"Well, I don't think we have a translator for Belarusian," John scratched the back of his neck, puzzled.

"You do!" You smiled proudly. "Me!"

"Ahem- Nerd," Johnny grinned, and you glared at him.

"Yeah, the nerd who knows more languages ​​than you had romantic partners."

He took a deep breath to protest loudly, but John slapped the table. "Alright! Let's get it done. Ghost, you keep her safe while she's inside. You have 10 minutes."

Summary: Pierrot is scared you're mad at him.

Pairing: Pierrot x reader

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, gn!reader, no use of y/n, arguing, English is not my first language.

A/N: I feel like this one won't gain much attention, because I feel like the TFC fandom isn't really that active. But I still wanted to share this lil something;)

P. S. If you know the artist of this picture, please let me know, because I found it on pinterest and there was no tag.

"Ow- ow- ow- Ouch! Sweetheart!"

Harlequin followed you, hunched over almost to the ground, as you led him by his horn. Taking long, hurried strides, you angrily pushed back the tent flap, stepping into its darkness.

"Who sent him?! Jester! Was it you?"

"Were you leading him like this all the way from-"

"I deliberately told you, don't spy on me, and what do I see? His prying his bitch-ass eye in the window!"

Gesturing indignantly, you jerked your hand, causing Harlequin to stumble and almost fall face-first into the floor.

You found Jester and Ticket Taker preparing for the next show, discussing something until you interrupted them. Pierrot sat cross-legged in the corner, sharpening his knives. Doctor was out of sight, but his looming presence was nearby.

"I told you, I can handle it myself, don't follow me—"

"You were with a man!" Harlequin tried to chide, but you, still holding his left horn, pinned the poor guy closer to the ground.

"I was with the supplier! I'm trying my best for you, I almost signed a contract for the circus, but SOMEONE hypnotized him and now he's acting like a Chihuahua. Literally!"

"My love..." Pierrot started to stand, but you glared at him.

"Sit down, Pierrot." He sat up straight, looking at you with an offended expression.

"It's fair to say Harlequin volunteered to follow you." Ticket Taker elegantly straightened his jacket.

"It's fair to say," Harlequin mocked sarcastically, "that I wasn't alo-!"

Before he could finish speaking, a gleaming blade flew over his head, leaving a precise cut in the fabric of his green hat.

Harlequin jerked toward Pierrot, but you shook his head, finally releasing his horns, and forced him to stand upright, separating the two clowns like fighting toddlers.

Jester, seeing your anger, waved his hand dismissively. "And what if he turned out to be a rapist? Consider us saving you, you should be grateful!"

Powerless in your anger, you growled, "Be grateful to yourselves, because now there won't be any fabric for the tents! Mend the holes yourselves!"

You spun on your heels and walked outside.

Cool night air blew across your flushed face. This part of the circus was quiet and dark, unlike the center. You hugged yourself, wandering aimlessly around the territory.

Most of the time, you enjoyed living in the circus, you really did. You had no ties to the world before you met the guys, had nothing to lose. And, oddly enough, you quickly integrated into the group of freaks (whatever that says about you). But sometimes they were... too much. Just like now.

"My lady!"

Of course. You rolled your eyes.

Pierrot caught up with you alarmingly quickly, stopping too close in front of you, but still not touching.

"Are you mad at me? Let me explain!" He stared at you with big puppy eyes, clasping his hands together, as if unsure what to do with them because you were already mad.

Were you though?...

"Just let me be alone." You snapped and walked past him.

"My dearest?..." He followed you a few steps after, reaching out to grab the hem of your sleeve.

Something twisted painfully in you, making you pause.

"I know you're upset, and you most certainly should be, but I followed Harlequin purely out of the goodness of my heart to protect you!" Pierrot looked at you with such genuine despair that you felt ashamed for raising your voice at him earlier.

You sighed heavily, placing both hands on your hips.

"I need you guys to learn to respect my personal space, because right now you follow me like a tail! I am an independent human being, and I want you guys to let me handle some things myself. And if I feel threatened, I'll turn to you." By the end of your little tirade, he was almost worn out with anxiety, awaiting the verdict. "Got it?"

The sudden bear hug Pierrot pulled you into took the breath out of your lungs. Your feet left the ground, and the suddenness forced you to grab his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, my dearest! I didn't mean to upset you!!"

"Pierrot, I know, I just—"

"You're not leaving, right!? You're not leaving me, say it! My love, I cannot bare the thought..."

"I'm not leaving, okay! I only wanted you to understand. Not just you personally, but—"

"Oh, sweetheart!" He hugged you even tighter, burying his face in the softness of your hair, and you could have sworn you heard a sob.

"I'm sorry..."

"I know. Sorry for being rude earlier".

He held you like that for quite a while, and not that you minded, but your legs were already starting to go numb.

"Pierrot, can you put me down, please?" You sighed.

"One more minute, my lady..."

Summary: you've encountered a doppelganger...

Pairing: Ghost x reader

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, horror themes, pain, blood, body modifications, cussing, English is not my first language.

Blood was dripping down from your split eyebrow, blurring your vision, but you still stared at his silhouette. The rifle trembled in your grip, and you took it in both hands, aiming it at him. He took a step toward you, and you pulled the trigger...

***

"How could you even think of such a thing?! You're British, for fuck's sake!"

"I don't have time to wait for the kettle to boil. I can heat water in a microwave, so wot?" Ghost rolled his eyes.

"You disgust me," you chuckled, adjusting the rifle on your shoulder. "What next? Drinking tea from a bowl?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Time passed faster as you playfully argued. It was especially useful in the cold night forest, with hours left before the end of your patrol, and you were pacing around the abandoned concrete building like idiots, as if anyone would actually want to break in. "A strategic facility, my ass," you thought, stepping over a rotten log in your path.

The night was moonlit but cloudy, so the satellite was of little use. The forest around you was quiet, comatose-like in it's sleep, the only sounds being the crunch of dry branches underfoot and the occasional squeal of a mosquito in your ear.

The ugly gray building stood hidden from view deep in the dense forest. Its purpose was unknown even to the patrol, but then, it didn't really matter. There was no need to inspect the building, unless—

"Did you hear that?" Ghost turned to you, frozen in mid-step.

"What?"

He listened, exhaling, "Someone's walking nearby."

You tried to understand what he was talking about, but all you could hear was the trill of crickets and the whisper of leaves.

"Maybe an animal?"

"I'll go check."

No trace of the playful mood remained. Simon disappeared into the branches of the snarl, clutching his weapon to his chest. You tensed, but standing still was impossible, and you had to continue walking along the outlined perimeter.

"Ghost, you copy?" You pressed the radio to your lips, trying to get a signal. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen, and then there was no time for jokes.

"L.T., I can't hear you, copy?"

Anxiety began to coil around your spine, and a warning bell rang in your head. You fumbled for the flashlight, but the white beam only illumined the strip of grass beneath your feet. You finished your rounds and turned around to go meet Simon, in case he'd been chasing you this whole time, but it was no use—he was gone. Angry at yourself for wasting the time, you cut across to the abandoned building.

You were greeted by tall iron gates, half-open. The path, trampled years ago, was overgrown with weeds, and the dew-dampened grass rustled under your boots.

"Ghost!" ...

Your voice echoed mockingly across the empty spaces of the building, which seemed even more incongruous from the inside than from the outside. The structure simply defied logic: here you were greeted by a vast, columned space akin to an underground parking garage, and at the next turn, it led off into a long corridor with a dead end.

You were starting to get angry, and worse than anger in this situation was fear. Not the kind that shakes your entire body and sends a painful rush of adrenaline into your kidneys. It was a persistent, nagging feeling of something unnatural. It made your legs weak and your breathing uneven. The whole thing seemed like a feverish dream. In the darkness, broken only by the flashlight beam, you moved through illogical spaces, waiting in vain for a response on the radio, but-

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a quick movement about 10 meters away. Your first reaction was to grab your weapon - a perfectly honed reflex - and the flashlight beam revealed a tall, large body, half-hidden around the corner.

"HOLY SHIT!" You yelped, lowering your rifle. "What the hell, Si, I couldn't reach you! What the fuck are you doing here?!"

Anger and tension boiled within you. Seeing Ghost, you felt such relief that you weren't even embarrassed by his appearance.

"Don't ever do that again, you hear me! I almost shot you!" You stepped closer to him, taking a deep breath. "Did you find out what you heard in the woods?"

There was something odd about his silence. It wasn't that Simon was talkative under normal circumstances, but it was the way he was silent. Maybe he seemed a little taller in the darkness, or perhaps it was the strange way his chest didn't rise when he breathed...

"We need to..." you trailed off, looking him up and down in confusion. "We need to go back." Ghost jerked his head, half nodding, half cracking his neck.

The wind howled through the concrete holes where windows should have been, blowing dry leaves across the floor. A single graffiti, painted plain black, adorned the wall. You turned your head away for just a few seconds, but there was no one in front of you now.

"What the fuck?..." you whispered under your breath, your voice lost in the shock of everything happening. You couldn't help but want to pinch yourself.

"Ghost!" A desperate scream tore from your chest, and your eyes stung. "It's not funny, stop!"

It was quiet again. The silence was disgustingly loud. You couldn't latch onto the slightest sound, because there were no longer crickets chirping, no rustling leaves, no flapping birds. It was as if you were in a vacuum, outside of reality, in a dream where you try to run but can't.

Your heightened senses and perfected skills detected only the slightest shift in the draft before footsteps approached you from the darkness of the endless corridor at terrifying speed. A body advanced with an uneven, crooked rhythm, as if running on multiple limbs. Tall, broad-shouldered, that damned mask. And when he was dangerously close, you saw his arms outstretched and bent in the darkness, as if his shoulder joints had been twisted backwards, his head hanging limply on his neck, like held by a rope.

You didn't have time to think before you had to shoot. The first bullet hit him in the shoulder, the second in the thigh, but he - it - even lame and crooked, kept running until the battering ram knocked you off your feet.

The blow landed on your back, knocking the air from your lungs with a powerful jolt. You fell to the ground, rifle flying off somewhere to the side, your brain frantically searching for an explanation for what had just happened. Because it wasn't Simon.

You barely managed to roll onto your side when the creature lunged at you again, surely leaving a crack in the concrete where your head had been a second ago. It didn't feel tired and knew no order, staring at you with the empty eye sockets of its parody of the scull mask. It was his flak jacket, his Union Jack patch, his black and white striped shoelaces, which you and Johnny had swapped out for fun, and Simon hadn't bothered to change. But everything was different, even when everything was identical. You took the blows, one after another, with cracking ribs and your painful sobs, stubbornly moving toward the corner where the rifle should have been.

"SwEetHEart, are You sCaReD?~"

Tears sprang to your eyes at the horrific, unnatural sounds the creature formed into a sentence. It was as if dozens of different voices were coming from its throat, merging into one in their cacophony. A terror you'd never known, even in the fiercest battle, gripped your body. Your jaw dropped in shock, and your lungs forgot their function.

"Are YOu... aaaAArE... ScreD...Skr... ScArED?!"

It rose to its full height, swaying slightly and crunching what should have been bones. Where Simon's arms had been, the creature's long, thin appendages dangled, pressing into the very ground.

Your brain should have shut down long ago, disconnected the wires, and said, "Technical problems, don't switch channels." But for some reason, you still stood there, trying to comprehend these unimaginable horrors, not recognizing Simon's familiar features.

There was nowhere to run: either into its clutches, or upstairs and throw yourself from the roof. The creature lurched toward you, and your legs buckled.

A sweeping swing of rusty rebar whistled through the air, landing squarely on the side of the creature's head. Ghost - your Ghost, your Simon - pounded its skull again and again, with unbridled cruelty, with something deeply personal. He was clearly wounded and didn't have a gun, but with a frantic surge of adrenaline, he managed to knock the creature down.

"RUN!" He yelled at you, struggling to keep the beast on the floor, and maybe you would have listened if it hadn't risen from the ground with renewed vigor to pounce on Simon. In a chaotic tangle of body parts, they both tried to end it. The parody growled and squealed with a wet crunch, but no matter how its joints twisted, no matter how many holes Ghost's iron rod left in it, it continued to punch and scratch, strangle and slap.

Your face was bloody, your chapped lip stung with every breath, and a thin, warm trickle ran down from the cut onto your eyebrow. But you managed to catch a glimpse of your rifle, still lying in the corner.

It howled and, with inhuman strength, threw Ghost off itself, hurling him against the wall. You couldn't hold back a pained cry, but Simon didn't answer to his name, he lay motionless. It all happened in a matter of seconds: the monster straightened up, stretched almost to the ceiling, and advanced on all fours toward you. Clutching the weight of the weapon in your hands, you pulled the trigger. You didn't have time to see if you hit it, because the creature's final blow caught you in the chest, and the next second your feet were no longer touching the ground. You were falling out the window.

.

.

.

"Wake up, c'mon..." fragments of phrases reached you through the fog. Something liquid and warm was breaking under your neck. The pain in your body was throbbing, spreading smoothly through you, growing with each breath. "Can you hear me?"

Somewhere nearby, sirens were blaring. Or maybe it was just in your head...

"You alive?" You wheezed, managing to tilt your head just slightly to look at him. Simon limped, the right side of his balaclava soaked with blood and glistening slightly in the moonlight. He only nodded weakly in response.

"Where's..?"

"You shot its head off."

"Oh."

You didn't have the strength to speak anymore, and he apparently couldn't find his breath either.

Summary: You're stressing over exams.

Pairing: wolfstar x reader

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, nervous tics, academic pressure, comfort, English is not my first language.

A/N: Unfortunately, self-insert... For all my babes who read fanfics between study sessions.

You sat on the floor of the common room, because a desk couldn't fit the number of textbooks, papers, folders, and notes you were trying to memorize. You nervously dangled a pencil between your fingers, tapping its tip against the wooden floor.

Finals season is always nerve-wracking, but this time you couldn't shake the feeling that you weren't getting anything done. You started sleeping worse and eating less, which, of course, your boyfriends noticed. You were tearful and constantly tired, which they tried to help with, but your worries only grew with each passing day.

Remus sat by the window, muttering under his breath, trying to find a spell to clean the ink spill from his white shirt.

The room was quiet, but everyone was busy with their own affairs. Sirius was sprawled on the sofa, half-asleep, waiting for his lovers to be ready for bed. Through his drowsiness, Sirius heard your voice.

"What was that, love?" He muttered, rubbing his eyes, and looked in your direction.

"Huh?" you asked, not looking up from your notes. A frown of concentration formed between your brows.

"Did you say something?"

"No, I didn't."

"But- ouch!" Sirius jumped up, clutching the back of his head. A ball of knitting wool that had been thrown at him rolled down the worn floorboards. He turned to Remus, who was glaring at him.

"Pads, come help me bring my books, please," Moony said, tensing up. In a few seconds of eye contact, the boys seemed to have a whole conversation without a word.

When Remus pushed his boyfriend out the door, Sirius stared at him wide-eyed.

"Why would you bring this up? She's already stressed enough!" Moony hissed, lowering his voice in fear that anyone could hear. His loud whisper had already attracted the attention of a couple of noisy paintings.

"Bring up what? I didn't do anything!" The dark-haired boy raised his hands in surrender.

"You didn't notice," not a question, but a statement. Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Sirius was offended by the accusation, even though it was true, but it was unpleasant that Moony had noticed the changes in you before him.

"Her tics, it's back. She's been humming for a few days now."

"No, she's just... why do you think they're tics?" Sirius frowned. "Maybe she was humming a song or..."

"Honey, you know it sounds different. And that was it."

Pads pursed his lips, sighing deeply. He stared at the toes of his boots, crossing his arms over his chest, and said somewhat dejectedly, "We should tell her, huh?"

Remus looked away thoughtfully, pausing for a moment. The people in the paintings were showing more and more uninvited interest, peeking into the dark hallway.

"She'll only worry more. We'll tell her, but later."

When the boys returned to the common room, you were still sitting with your books, but now your pale face was frozen. You stared at the spot where the ink had left a blot on the notebook, motionless.

Sirius brought you out of your trance with a gentle touch on your waist. He wrapped his arms around your torso, helping you stand, and you swayed like a rag doll.

"Let's go to bed, baby," he cooed, still holding your waist.

"M-my notes..."

"Moony will gather them, come on. You'll sleep with us tonight."

In a moment of silence, half-asleep, you let out a soft humming, which you somehow didn't notice. But the sound made the boys tense, exchanging worried glances. Without further argument, Pads led you upstairs.

Remus collected all your things from the floor and carried them into the girls' dorm, handing them to Lily. She nodded without further question and said goodnight. Had she noticed the tics too? At least, she didn't comment. Just as Remus pretended not to see James's mop of curls in her bed through the half-open door.

When Moony went up to their room, he felt the weight of fatigue on his shoulders. It had been a long day, weighed down by constant worry about your well-being. Peter's snores echoed loudly in the quiet room. The lights had already been dimmed, and only a single candle by Sirius's bed cast a faint glow on the walls. You sat there, cross-legged, crying silently. Sirius, frowning with stress, helped you pull on your pajama top.

"Hey, sunny, what's wrong?" Remus immediately knelt down by the bed, gently stroking your knee. You shook your head, pressing your lips together more firmly.

"Says she doesn't know," Sirius whispered, guiding your hand into the sleeve of a shirt.

It happens sometimes. When fatigue and worry exhaust your nervous system to the limit, tears start to wet your cheeks. Your thoughts were preoccupied with tomorrow's exam, thoughts jumbled and memorized phrases from your textbooks blurring together.

"I'm gonna fail," the words left your lips quieter than a sigh, but the boys heard them. This phrase carried more than just insecurity. It was the weight of your parents' demands and expectations, imprinted like a mantra inside your skull: either perfection or failure.

When the tears stopped flowing, you found yourself wrapped in a soft, heavy blanket. Sirius had his arms around your waist, resting his forehead on your shoulder. You buried your face in Remus's chest, who gently stroked your head, whispering sweet reassurances.

"You've got it, sunny," he murmured against your temple. His free hand found Sirius's, intertwining their fingers under the blanket. "We belive in you."

"Yeah, I mean, you studied so hard, I couldn't read as much in a whole semester as you did in three days."

"Although you should have, actually," Remus chuckled.

"I'm hoping for a miracle, and my faith is strong."

Mhhmm.... hm...

The quiet humming interrupted their conversation. Moony cradled your head to his chest, murmuring soothingly.

"Shh, shh, shh, sleep, my love. You're okay."

"Huh?..." You were sleepily confused, not understanding the sudden shushing.

"Nothing, just relax," Sirius gently massaged the area between your shoulder blades.

A/N: thank you for such an interesting request! I like to learn new things and here I really needed to do some research. Hope you don't mind my interpretation;)

The Cure

Demi-human AU

Summary: Ghost is suffering and you are helpless.

Pairing: Ghost x demi-human!reader

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, feline demi-human reader, no use of y/n, pain, fibromyalgia, reverse comfort, English is not my first language.

Ghost honestly tried to comprehend what Price was saying during their briefing, but it was no use. It felt like a red-hot nail had been driven into his head, cutting off the flow of blood and thoughts. The room was dark, save for the beam from the projector, its soft hum echoing in Simon's fevered brain with pain.

Pain. Dull, constant, nagging. Pain lived in his body, making itself at home. Pain was master, possessing every limb, crawling up his spine, flowing through his veins, and spreading through every cell. Pain. Where does it hurt? Everywhere.

When did it start? Oh, years had passed, and it was impossible to tell whether a specific incident or accumulated experience was the trigger. Doctors merely shook their heads sympathetically and wrote down a word too long to mean anything good—fibromyalgia—in the medical report, saying there was no cure. Ghost always thought he was handling pain well, recovering quickly and not making a big deal out of it. Until his central nervous system treacherously gave in.

The illness ebbed and flowed, and for several days now, Simon had been cramping muscles and breaking bones. Over the years, he'd learned to hide this pain so skillfully that even on his worst days, others could only chalk it up to a bad mood. The thing was—you always knew.

Even now, you glanced sideways at Ghost from your spot at the corner of the table. He sat leaning back in his chair, restlessly bouncing his leg, staring into space. His hands were clasped tightly across his chest, clutching the jacket around his forearms.

You twitched your fluffy cat ear, frowning anxiously: it was back again. You felt his pain, so to speak, before it even began, and as confirmation this morning you noticed bags under his eyes and the subtle scent of pills from his bedside table, which only your heightened feline sense of smell could detect.

"So, it'll take a few days to prepare the gear, and we'll be moving out on Thursday as planned. Any questions?" Price summed up, turning to the room. Gaz shook his head, and Soap looked like he'd just woken up. Ghost's eye twitched as the lights came on in the room.

"Then that's all for today," Captain said, interrupted mid-sentence by a phone call, and left the conference room.

Johnny stretched out in his chair, leaning back. "Oi, Sergant Whiskers, want tae grab something with us in the mess hall?"

You were too focused on Simon, who was leaving right behind John, for the offer to register right away. You raised your eyebrows, slowly turning to Johnny.

"Don't fucking call me that, it's so cringe my teeth hurt," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "You need to realize, the only reason your nose isn't broken yet is because you are privileged."

"Privileged bi such natural beauty?" Soap smirked smugly.

"Maaan..." Gaz wheezed through a fit of laughter, covering his face with his hands. Your long tail twitched irritably.

Trying to remember which way Ghost had turned in the hallway, you shook your head. "I'll join you two later, gotta go now."

Simon was nowhere to be found. Or rather, wherever you found him, he quickly disappeared. Avoiding you again, of course.

The inability to help tormented you terribly. Because Simon was one of the most important people in your life, an integral part of it. He was attentive to you, caring, though few knew this side of him. And most importantly, never, not once, had he treated you like an animal, like you were less than himself.

It was approaching curfew when you stood at the threshold of his room, anxiously tugging at the tip of your fluffy tail.

"I know you're in there. I can hear you." His breathing was shallow and rapid, as if he were forcing his lungs to fill with air, counting his inhalations and exhalations. "And I can smell you too. You need to shower."

Approaching the door, you listened to the creaking of the mattress and the quiet growl of discomfort.

"I'm coming in, Si. Alright?..." came out too pitifully, and to avoid thinking about it, you pressed the handle of the unlocked door.

Ghost sat with his back to the door on the edge of the bunk, elbows resting on his knees. His head was down, broad back shaking with an uneven, ragged rhythm of breathing. Stepping so softly as not to disturb even the air around him, you approached and crouched between his knees to peer into his face.

"Simon, are you okay?"

He shook his head briefly, either to say he wasn't feeling well or warning not to ask him. He was trembling slightly as you reached for his face, hooking your fingertips under the edge of his balaclava, and paused, waiting. Ghost didn't react, and you took that as a green light.

"Have you been taking your pills?" You whispered, gently cupping his face in your hands. "Say something..."

He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. Simon felt like his body was filled with lead. Such heavy fatigue weighed on his shoulders, but he knew sleep would only last a short time.

The only thing you could do now was help him lay down. One by one, you unbuttoned his jacket, pulled off the heavy boots, and coaxed him to stand up to pull off his canvas pants (yes, I know, sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be quick, almost done). As Simon lay under the blanket, his pale face could no longer maintain its neutral mask. The facade of pretense cracked, revealing pain, anger, despair, and fatigue beneath.

Rumbling through the drawers, you found an orange bottle and poured a couple of pills into your palm.

"Listen, just lift your head a little, just a little..."

"No, they're not helping anyway," his voice was unusually quiet. He couldn't even move a finger. "Turn off the light, little one."

You pursed your lips, frowning. Your worry for him caused a lump in your throat, and your eyes stung with suppressed tears. After the lamp clicked, you remained sitting in the darkness, and after a long silence, you whispered in a broken voice.

"How can I help you, Simon? I'll do anything..."

The question was mostly rhetorical, so neither of you continued the dialogue. With his last bit of strength, he opened his arms and called out, "C'mere."

It's unfair and so twisted. It's so wrong that he has to live, surviving from relief to relapse, while all you can do is watch. Gritting your teeth tightly, you curled into a ball at his side, wrapping your fluffy tail around his thigh, and closed your eyes.

The unrelenting deep ache was buzzing under Simon's skin, like constant static. Attempting to get accustomed to this severe pain, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on anything but the feeling. Ghost would have given anything to be able to sleep through the night again.

Fatigue made his thoughts drift randomly between topics, and only after a while, far in the back of his mind, did the timid, absurd realization hit: it no longer hurt. His body, overcome with throbbing exhaustion, passed through itself a soft, even vibration that displaced the pain. It seemed to untie the knots in his muscles, turning off the pain. Your purring was a smooth sound produced involuntarily, in an attempt to soothe and comfort.

The sound itself caught him off guard. Simon didn't even know you could do that, but the effect your purring had on him was incomparable.

Summary: What did you do about your fever? Took a hot shower and passed out:0

Pairing: boyfriend!Ghost x f!reader, bff!Soap x f!reader

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, fever, sickness, hurt/comfort, English is not my first language

Everything went wrong. You knew from the start it was a bad idea, that you shouldn't have agreed to the extra shift. The accident during rookie training had aggravated the headache that had been bothering you since this morning. You shouldn't have been training them at all today. So now some idiot who can't listen to orders has a broken arm, and a pile of paperwork awaits you impatiently in Price's office.

You were in a rush, your head was spinning, that horrible cracking sound of broken bone kept ringing in your ears. Your nerves were shot to pieces, which made you snap at Soap just because he was nearby.

"Don't tell me anything right now!"

"Please—"

"No! NO! Fuck off, it's not doing it, it wasn't even my fault!"

"Bonnie, I'm no sayin it is! This idiot violated safety regulations—"

"Yes, and now I have to take the qualification test!"

A sharp pain throbbed in your temples.

"Bonnie-"

"McTavish, shove it!"

Your yelling echoed off the hallway walls. You quickened your pace, but Johnny was no longer catching up. He stopped with his arms hanging limply at his sides, and anxiously watched you go.

Your bedroom door slammed against the wall when you pushed it too hard. You gripped the doorframe tightly, closing your eyes, shaking from the cold. Freezing, every fiber of your being. The cold was so deep inside you that it was physically painful, and you couldn't think of anything. You just wanted to quench this cold.

Clenching your teeth tightly to keep them from chattering, you dragged yourself to the bathroom, turning the taps on full blast. The phone was ringing in the room, but you didn't care. Carelessly throwing your clothes on the floor, you let out a sharp sob as hot drops hit your back and shoulders. The water burned your skin, but did little to break the ice inside.

You sat in the shower for who knows how long, but climbing out was even harder than getting to your feet. Holding onto the edge of the sink for support, you squeezed your eyes shut. This was a very bad idea, a horrible fucking idea.

Weakly wrapping a towel around your body, you slid down onto the wet tiles, overheated, fever now significantly worse than before. Chasing the brief relief, you leaned your forehead to the chill wall. The phone rang in the room, but you couldn't hear it anymore...

***

"Ah thought ye had a key!"

"There's no spare key to her room," Simon sighed wearily, pounding his fist on your door again.

You didn't answer. Silence.

"Maybe the techs or the administration dae have one, I could speir," Johnny rocked nervously on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. "She ran away over an hour ago, but she definitely didnae leave the room, I'm sure o't!"

"Fuck it," Simon muttered, taking a step back.

"What—"

"Hush."

"Right, because awbody feels the need tae shut me up today," Johnny rolled his eyes, waving his hand indignantly, but took a step back just in case.

Ghost stood sideways by the wall and, with one powerful kick, knocked the door nob down with the heel of his combat boot. The heavily dented piece of metal hung by a single screw, and the door swung open slightly.

"Or we could dae that, yeah..."

Your room seemed untouched since this morning (just as Simon had left it). The bed was hastily made, curtains drawn, the nightlight forgotten (and a corner of a condom wrapper under the bed). Johnny called your name, Ghost just looked around suspiciously, listening to the dripping of water in the shower.

You were somewhere far away from reality when they found you, and gentle taps on your cheeks weren't enough to clear the fog in your head.

"C'mon, baby, look at me. Open your eyes, right now," Simon shook you gently, kneeling on the wet tiles in front of you.

Your breathing, rapid and shallow, was interrupted by pitiful sobs.

"I know, luv, I know. Look up, can you do that for me?" He wiped your cheeks with his thumbs, feeling how hot and sticky your skin was with sweat, almost as white as the towel. "Please..."

"What happened? Whit's wrong with her?! Bonnie, whit's wrong??" Johnny tried to look over Ghost's shoulder, his accent getting thicker because of being worried.

He carefully scooped your shaking body into his arms. Water dripped from your wet hair, the towel was damp, but he only pressed you tighter to his chest, not minding his clothes getting soaked. The movement caused a sharp, shooting pain in his head.

"Give me another towel. And face the wall, damn it, have some decency!" Simon growled, focused on drying you up. He moved quickly, while you just lay limp on the bed, too weak to even keep your eyes open.

Johnny, unable to stand up straight, was pacing from wall to wall, holding his phone to his ear. He sharply turned to his friend, exclaiming indignantly:

"WHA— nah, I didn't— EW! I wasnae even thinkin aboot it! Ye moron, I'm trying tae help, by the way! And even—oh, where the hell are ye, I've been trying tae call ye for the sixth time! Are ye even working?!"

While Soap was trying, not very politely, to reach the med bay, Simon had already finished dressing you and put you to bed, tackling a blanket under your sides. You clutched the fabric, pulling it up to your chin.

Your head spun, eyes rolled back, and your body went limp. Even when someone called your name, your brain ignored the plea.

Even during sleep, the fever was leaving you alternating between bone-chilling shivers and intense hot flashes. You felt like you were being tossed about on waves. Dreams came in bright flashes and blurry images, until a slight shaking pulled you from the clutches of your nightmares.

"Shh, shh... it's okay, you're okay. Breathe," Ghost leaned over you, wiping your hairline with a cold cloth. "Good girl, you're doing well. Just breathe, hmm?"

You lay motionless, staring into the tired eyes through the slits of his mask. So pretty...

You were no longer shaking so much, and breathing seemed easier. Only now did you notice the itching in the crook of your right arm and unconsciously reached out to check.

"Put it down, baby. Stay still, don't rip the bandage off, they gave you an injection."

An injection... a doctor came... how long had you been unconscious? Fighting through your own thoughts was like swimming against the current. A chill ran down your spine from the sudden realization.

"Price... I need... there, the report—" you croaked nervously.

"Johnny's already on it," Simon gently ran the cloth over the bridge of your nose, under your eyes, along your cheekbones. The touch was so gentle that for some reason it made your eyes water.

"Shit, all that work is wasted," you breathed out shakily, to which he hesitated. After finishing with the cloth, he lay down on his side next to you, mindful of the soreness in your limbs.

"Rest and don't think about anything. You're practically a hot dog already," he teased without reproach, to which you curled up into a ball, burying your face in his chest.

"I was cold..."

"And, did it help?"

"You're an asshole."

can i ask for any headcanons you have of him?? not only romantically but other areas of his life (friends, how he handles his life/hobbies/free time maybe?? whatever you can think of related to him) i would love to read it!!!

sorry for the anon im shy,, have a wonderful day ❤️

A/N: thank you so muchhhh, I appreciate your comment! I'd love to share some of my headcanons with ya! There's not much for now, but maybe I'll do pt.2 later♡

Summary: headcanons for Ghost

Pairing: boyfriend!Ghost x gn!reader

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, gn!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, implied trauma.

Simon needs routine. A mission schedule, a training hour, a meal plan. Of course, his line of work required him to be prepared for rapid change, and he had no problem adapting. But having a plan in at least one aspect of his life helps him feel anchored and in control.

When you workout together, Simon always steals one of your earbuds. It's become a tradition. He won't admit it, but he just likes sharing something in common with you, knowing which songs make you nod along to the beat and which ones you scroll through on your playlist.

Simon would sometimes get cold. After a grueling mission or another nightmare, when his body can't cope with the pent-up anxiety and fear, he gets cold because his body is unable to control the temperature regulation. He's getting shivery, even if the heat is radiating from him, and that's when he is urgently searching for you. His system is screaming error, senses so fucked that he starts to shake. A blanket is not enough, Simon would hold you all night, gripping your waist and thighs, nuzzling into your neck and demand that you hug him tighter.

Simon needs the confirmation that you're feeling good during sex. It's crucial for him, almost paranoid, to know that you're okay, otherwise he won't enjoy it himself. There are constant check-ins (from both sides), safe word is picked just in case. "Give me a colour, love, what's up?" Simon listens to the sounds you make, observes your body language, your breathing. And only when he feels the deep emotional connection, the pleasure you both share will he reach his own release.

Ghost doesn't like to share his personal items. He doesn't offer his food, not out of greed, of course. This habit stems from childhood, when sharing meant giving away and going hungry. Ghost doesn't give his clothes to others - he finds it too intimate, and especially he can't imagine anyone else eating from his dishes (poor Johnny, who took Ghost's mug by mistake that one time...). Although, with your arrival in his life, there have been exceptions. His T-shirt, he says, looked better on you, and he's shared a bottle with you without a second thought, because, well, if you share kisses, it's kind of silly to disdain the neck of the bottle.

Simon's not a fan of coffee. He can drink it, one sugar, no milk, but it's not really his thing, because he prefers tea. However, this brew, as he makes it, is so potent that coffee will taste bland afterward. "I ain't paying to drink coloured water, there must be a taste to it," he says. You're not even sure where he gets this explosive mixture of dried leaves, but it definitely has more caffeine than a double Americano.

A/N: HEAR YE HEAR YE! My first request! Thank you for the great idea, I was trying to make it realistic enough, hope you like it:>

Summary: Simon is dealing with the guilt of wanting you.

Pairing: boyfriend!Ghost x f!reader

Warnings/tags: SA, traumatic past, hurt/comfort, minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, English is not my first language

Simon's life had been devoid of comfort. He didn't know how to ask politely, how to touch gently, how to speak softly. So much of your relationship was new to him, but he was learning to be better for you, even if you insisted he was enough already.

He started getting more sleep because the warmth of your body in his arms now drove away his nightmares. He started eating better because: "Absolutely not, you're not having a damn granola bar for your entire dinner. Here, let's share mine." Simon loved learning to be better. Touching no longer felt like grabbing. And if he could, he would taste every square inch of your skin because kissing now had meaning to him. It was overwhelming, deep, necessary, but not in a sexual way.

It's not like you didn't want each other. You were just both fine without it... or where you? That question was rarely addressed. He understood that you had no experience and didn't want to rush. And you knew he was struggling with the unspeakable things he kept in his head.

"And it's obviously not my fault. I've warned him about it like six times, but you know Johnny, why would he listen to anyone?" You paced the room in just panties and Simon's T-shirt, putting fresh laundry on the closet shelves.

"So he got this burn on his butt, and had the audacity to complain, even after I've deliberately put the curler away—"

Simon wasn't really listening to your story. He was too distracted by your elegant body language, hair around your face still damp from the shower, your soft exposed thighs. But most of all, he was distracted by the growing tightness in his pants. Ghost pulled the pillow on his lap closer to his groin.

Simon didn't remember what had happened to him. The incident (if it was even morally permissible to use this euphemism) was lodged somewhere in the back of his mind as vague images and unclear sensations. He didn't remember how he'd gotten through it. He didn't remember how he'd lived before it.

Ghost didn't feel like he was owning his body, perceiving it more like a tool he was lending. The pain seemed distant, alien, but what he began to feel with you scared him. Because this feeling belonged to him.

"I told him, I didn't even hit him hard! And he's like, 'You broke my nose!' Well, you know, the fact that he can't spar is not exactly my problem. What is he even doing in the army then?"

Simon didn't know what to do with this feeling. It was like a thirst that only your gaze or sweet voice could quench. Your touch made him feel calm and agitated at the same time. Goosebumps ran through his body, but not like from being cold, and he wanted to breathe deeply, shakily, quickly, moaning at every exhale...

Hands, hands, hands. Where they shouldn't be. Where he didn't want them. Static, white noise in his head, screams and crying. On dark, lonely nights, he began to try to quench his thirst. It happened on its own, without intention, when he thought about you and realized he was fucked, feeling a long-lost warmth in the pit of his stomach. He felt sick of himself. Dirty for touching what he had rejected. Guilty for wanting it to be you. And since then, he suddenly began to notice how often your shoulders accidentally bumped, and how unbearably hot the room was when it was just the two of you.

"Si? Are you listening?"

Simon didn't notice that you had finished your story and were trying to call for him. Your boyfriend blinked a few times, unconsciously hugging the pillow closer.

"I- sorry, got lost in thought."

You frowned, setting aside the stack of washed T-shirts and walking to the edge of the bed.

"What were you thinking about?" Your voice was soft, gentle, in the tone that always comes with the attentive tilt of your head. "Are you feeling alright?"

You slowly raised your hand, signaling your intent to touch. Fingertips lightly traced his temple, up to his short, straw-colored hair. An electric current ran down his spine, treacherously striking his groin. Sick. Dirty. Guilty.

"Nothing. I'm fine." Simon managed to squeeze out, a little too roughly, and immediately regretted opening his mouth. "Just..."

"It's okay. You're okay, love," you took his face in your hands, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs.

He dissolved into it. It felt like boiling water was coursing through his veins, pulsing in his heart and groin, painfully pleasurable. When the sensation felt too much, his hands left the pillow and found your hips, gripping the soft flesh and gently kneading. Simon pulled you closer between his knees and buried his face in your stomach, letting out a shaky exhale. His eyes stung, it was hard to breathe.

You froze in surprise, at a loss for words. Your hands found a place around his head, soothingly stroking his short hair.

"What is it? Something hurts? Tell me, I'll help, Si..."

He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth, trying to confess through the lump in his throat, "I can't be without you..."

And before you could ask, he pulled you close with an impatient jerk, causing you to lose your balance. The pillow from his lap fell to the floor, and you instinctively brought your knee up to brace yourself on the edge of the bed... It all happened in an instant—you were straddling your boyfriend.

Simon's whole body flinched, as if struck by lightning, when you accidentally brushed against the bulge in his sweats.

The silence was devastating.

Breathing heavily, you stared at each other with wide eyes, you - in shock, he - oh well. Warmth climbed up your neck and face in one rush, painting it dark red up to your ears. Your arms were covered in prickly goosebumps.

"Are- are y-you..."

A quiet "I'm sorry" pierced the ringing silence. It felt like your brain was delayed, because you didn't immediately register what Simon was saying.

"What?" You whispered.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I just don't know how to hold it back anymore." He paled, clenched his teeth tightly, and shyly buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You were holding back for me?" The words sounded half-realization, half-question.

"I thought you weren't ready for intimacy."

"You didn't ask..."

These words made Simon feel both cold and hot at the same time. He pulled back slightly, gathering the courage to look into your eyes.

"I love you, Simon. All of you. So I just..." You struggled to find the words, stumbling and stuttering awkwardly. "I want you to feel good with me."

The wetness in his eyes mirrored your own. Without another word, Simon pressed his lips to yours.

"We don't have to do this," you breathed into his lips.

"I was supposed to say it," he huffed.

You wanted to protest, but you both gasped as he pulled your hips closer, grinding your core against his aching erection.

Summary: You're comforting Ghost after a bad day.

Pairing: boyfriend!Ghost x f!reader

Warnings/tags: implied sa (but not mentioning), fluff, minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship,

You were always careful with touching when it came to Simon.

You'd known each other for years, and your relationship had naturally evolved from coworkers to friends, and then into something more. He knew every detail about you, and you knew everything about him. The most important detail, which you learned painfully quickly, was how thoughtful you had to be with physical contact.

He didn't like to talk about it, and yet you knew enough that it brought tears to your eyes just thinking about everything this man had been through. You saw his flinch when the contact was unannounced, felt him tense when he didn't know how to respond. Through trial and error, you both learned to live with this shared knowledge, having seen more than one therapist together. Simon convinced himself he knew how to accept physical contact: you were regularly intimate, and he considered himself above it, normal. But sometimes, it was as if you saw more than he did.

That late evening, you were on the floor of your room, your feet tucked under the bed to keep from slipping during your abs workout, you were feeling the pleasant heat in your core from exercising. There was a laptop on your bed with your favorite streamer on the screen, making you giggle occasionally: "What do you mean "bro is built like a 1x1 lego piece"?! What even is a 1x1 lego piece?? Yep, you're banned. Have a good night."

The door opened without knocking.

"Hey," you smiled, breathing heavily from doing crunches.

Ghost didn't respond, nodded silently, and headed straight for your bathroom. You frowned, watching his tense back.

Faucet started running, and you stared at the bathroom door, still sitting on the floor. The lights in the room were dim, only a table lamp casting a warm orange hue on the walls. For a moment, you listened to the steady whisper of the water.

Knock-knock. But there was no answer.

"Si... can I come in?" You called, waiting for confirmation. Instead, Simon pushed the door open softly.

He stood bent over the sink, his head down, mask forgotten on the edge of the tub. His hair and face were wet from the cool water, large droplets trickling from the ends of his wheat-colored hair, rolling down his sharp cheekbones, and falling from his chin.

"Had a long day?" You asked softly, almost whispered.

"Fucking hate newbies, it's the same as training a kindergarten group," he mumbled without lifting his head.

"Since when do you train newb—"

"Garrick convinced me to replace him today."

"Oh," you breathed. Your hand hovered hesitantly over the hollow between his shoulder blades. "I'd like to see their reaction when you came in instead of Kyle."

"How flattering," Ghost said with a weak chuckle. He choked on the sound when your warm palm finally settled on his back. Slowly, carefully, at first just your fingertips. And now you were gently massaging his tense muscles. You stood there for a few minutes in complete silence, watching his ragged breathing even out.

"Stay over at mine for tonight, hmm?" You coaxed, approaching him from the side. He finally opened his eyes and looked up at you. Simon looked tired and sleepy, his eyes bloodshot, a frown etched between his brows. Slowly, giving him a chance to stop you, you planted a small kiss on his cheekbone. Then on his brow, under his eye...

There was no need for further persuasion. You barely had time to help Simon pull off his work clothes before he collapsed onto your bed, pinning you beneath him.

He lay half-sideways so as not to crush you, his head on your chest, big arms tightly gripping your waist. So warm, soft, cozy... He was afraid he'd involuntarily purr with pleasure when your fingers buried themselves in his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

"Is that alright?" You whispered, placing a tender kiss on top of his head. He groaned something incoherent, cuddling himself closer into your body.

"You always know how to make it alright," Simon sighed, thankfully kissing the nape of your neck.

The bedside lamp flickered a few times before you turned it off, tackling Simon's head to your chest. "Well, i know for sure that you need a nap right now. Huh?"

Summary: You got drugged on a mission, and the mystery substance make you see things...

T/W: MDNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign Echo, drugs, bugs, kinda gore, blood, sh, hurt/no comfort, angst, hallucinations, English is not my first language.

A/N: enough fluff for yall, get some tissues.

P.S. lowkey this was inspired by that one scene from The Devil's advocate where Kevin was breaking down the door... iykyk.

Read trigger warnings!

Empty. Suspiciously empty. There wasn't a soul on the premises. A simple mission to capture terrorists had failed the moment it turned out there were no damn terrorists here.

"Maybe we got the coordinates wrong? Wrong building?" You muttered, cautiously moving through the dusty corridors of the abandoned hospital.

"Or maybe the assholes somehow found out we were coming and ran," Ghost responded grimly.

You pursed your lips, clutching your rifle tighter to the shoulder, and continued moving deeper into the building.

"I'd kill for a slice of pizza," you said after a long pause. Simon stifled a chuckle.

"Wow, that's very professional."

"What? I didn't have time to eat before leaving!"

Your conversation was interrupted by Price's voice on the radio. "Echo, what's up? Over."

"All clear, sir. Over."

The building was damp and cold, like a freezer. Chill seeped even through your uniform jacket, and you were struck by an unpleasant feeling. You walked further down the corridor while Ghost turned the corner to check the remaining space.

Rooms, one after another, were all identical, concrete boxes with similarity arranged simple furniture. Here and there, small trailers with surgical instruments or saline bags still stood.

At the end of the corridor, you turned around and almost missed a narrow door, out of place in the perfect row. It was unlocked - curiosity got the better of you.

"Where are you?"

You pressed the walkie-talkie button, stepping into a dark, dusty room. There were no windows, only a small viewing hole in the door, covered with wire mesh and glass.

"I'm coming."

"I'm not asking what you're doing, I want to know where you are."

You giggled, running your fingertips across the dusty surface of a metal table. "Jeez, why so sassy today?"

This was clearly not an examination room; it looked more like a lab. There was no bed or even chairs, save for a bulky stool in the corner. Folders, papers, and notebooks, already yellowed with age, were scattered everywhere.

"Nobody forced you to talk about pizza," Simon chuckled on the other end of the radio.

Some cabinets, minus the spiders and cobwebs, still held strange jars, boxes of pills, and powders, like something out of a Guillermo del Toro film. There seemed to be less dust on the lower shelves...

"Drop this crap and let's go. Helo is already on it's way"

Here and there, the test tubes on the table contained contained a few milliliters of some dark red, thick liquid. The blood wasn't dried.

"Echo-"

A pop startled you. It felt like a balloon was popped, but you couldn't tell from which direction. The air before your eyes filled with dust... or rather, some kind of powder.

"Echo, how copy-"

You were frozen with horror, unable to even move a finger. A thousand thoughts raced through your head, and among them—the protocol. What did the protocol say?

You coughed, pounding your chest. What should I do- what should I do- what should I do? Your eyes stung, and your fingertips felt numb.

"Ghost, evacuate," you croaked into the radio, leaning against the wall for support. "Here... Something exploded, some kind of powder. Drugs." You mumbled incoherently, but he already understood. The worst thing you could hear from your Lieutenant— there was a pause.

"Where are you?"

"No, Ghost—"

"Where?"

You shook your head. Everything around you was flickering and pulsing. You were breathing rapidly, your heart was pounding, fast, too fast, almost painfully. The air felt wrong: too thick, too sticky. Your sweaty palms were shaking so hard they missed the radio button.

"Sergant, give me the bloody answer!"

What should I do- What should I do- What should I—

You bolted from your place in a terrifying panic, slamming the door shut. The slam echoed deeply down the long corridors, the sound reverberating into your very bones and lodged there as a fine, uncontrollable tremor. The walls narrowed and began to loom closer and closer...

"Echo! Open the door!"

...closer and closer and closer...

Ghost pounded on the door, trying to peer at you through the blurry window. Through the slits in his mask, his shocked, frightened eyes sought your gaze.

Something was crawling under your clothes—tiny legs, prickly, tickling, scratching—thousands, millions of bugs tearing at your skin. Tiny bumps beneath the epidermis buzzed and vibrated, melting your brain with the oncoming hysteria. What had initially been silent horror now exploded in your head like rolling credits: RUN RUN RUN RUN. You scratched the skin of your arms and neck, deep, until the blood started soaking your uniform along with the sweat.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Ghost couldn't remember how his feet had carried him to that damn door. He'd followed the scream.

"Echo!"

There was no answer, but rustling and chattering could be heard in the room. The door slammed right in his face, and he began pounding on the wooden blocking on his way.

"What the hell is going on? Open the door!"

"Evacuate—"

"Cut this bullshit! What did you inhale? What did it look like?!"

Simon was terrorising every radio channel in a desperate attempt to call for backup, for medics. Extraction group required - send help - tell Lasswell. When the incoherent muttering gave way to hysterical screaming, driven by fear, he slammed his shoulder against the door with all his might. It screeched, but didn't budge.

"Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop..."

Simon called your name, over and over again, but you were too deep in the nightmares of your own mind. Your blurred silhouette disappeared for a second from the small square of dirty glass. He took a deep breath—and before he could let it out, the glass shattered with a loud clang, shards raining down into the room, and then Simon saw through the wire mesh.

"Sweetheart..." was all he could whisper.

You sat on the floor in the middle of the lab, your head bowed to your chest, sobbing softly, smearing blood across your cheeks. Your hands were covered in blood.

"Baby, open the door, okay? Let me in."

Ghost saw in real life what slasher films usually censor. He heard screams and cries, he saw death and sowed it himself. Torture, pain, and blood—that's his job. But even in the deepest pit of his life, he had never felt horror like this.

"It messes with your head, but you gotta resist it. Hear my voice, listen to it!"

Your whole body shuddered, your gaze slowly crawling to the shards on the floor, lingering on the shiny pieces. He saw your eyes, red and wet, your pupils so large that the irises were invisible.

"I can't take this anymore," you whined, deadly tired. "It's taking me away, it hurts so much, Si..."

"Open the door. Open the door, please..."

"It hurts so much, Simon..." you picked up the shard, clutching it in your blood-slick hand.

"It's okay... Alright, just let me in, sweetheart," he raised his voice, trembling with suppressed panic and anger. Anger at himself, at his impotence and uselessness. And with renewed vigor, he began to knock on the door, slamming his full weight into the barrier.

"Open the door, come on. Open the fucking door!"

"I'm scared, please..." your hand tightened on the shard, bringing it to your chest.

Even if Simon shattered his shoulder now (maybe he already did), he would continue to use it as a battering ram, because at this point he had trouble comprehending what was happening around him. He didn't even register the distant sound of a helicopter. The hinges wobbled under Ghost's force, but held too stubbornly.

"Echo, drop it, THAT'S AN ORDER! THAT'S A FUCKING ORDER!"

Bam- bam- bam- bam-

"Look at me." He screamed and commanded, begged and coaxed. "Please..."

"Stop it... I need to stop it..."

"Look at me! Please, my love, don't-"

Summary: Unpleasant events can lead to happy consequences

Warnings/tags: pure fluff!, minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n.

A/O: don't really like how this one turned out, don't judge too hard hehe

"Kyle, I really don't want to be an inconvenience. I'll sleep perfectly fine in the common room."

"As hell you will!" Gaz huffed, helping you gather dry clothes from the closet. "Johnny's waiting for you like you are Santa Claus. So I can't go back alone, or we'll be sleeping in the common room together."

You giggled, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Your bare feet slapped the floor, with water up to your ankles. All this was the result of a broken radiator that had decided to flood the entire floor of your barrack room on a random Saturday evening. Rivers of water had flowed from the pipes under the windowsill, from the damn outlets, which had knocked out the power. There was nothing valuable on the floor at the time, except maybe your phone charger. The only problem was finding a place to sleep.

"Alright, I think we're done," you smiled gratefully at Gaz, heading out into the hallway.

"You know, it's not like I'm complaining, but I thought you'd stay over at Ghost's, since youuuu..." he trailed off.

"Hush!" You punched his shoulder lightly, eliciting a loud laugh from your friend.

"I just... I dunno, we agreed to keep it private. I figured he wouldn't want any unnecessary rumors." You rubbed your neck sheepishly.

Gaz nodded understandingly.

When you entered the boys' room, Soap was standing by his bed, his upper body covered in the duvet cover. He was thrashing, lost in the large piece of fabric he was trying to pull over the blanket.

"Is this your mating dance? It's coming along well," you doubled over, bursting into a loud laugh. The Scott winced, and a few seconds later, a tousled mohawk emerged from the folds of cotton.

"Bonnie! Damn it..."

After helping Johnny escape the trap he'd gotten himself into, the three of you prepared the bunk for you, with Soap settling down on the floor next to it.

"Ye look like a wet cat"

"You're very observant."

"How long will it take to dry up yer flood?"

You rolled your eyes, snapping, "It's not MY flood. A multi-million dollar organization with the latest military technology can't replace a damn plumber." You stretched sweetly, cracking your bones. "I called Price, he didn't pick up—"

There was a knock on the door.

"Speak of the devil," Kyle chuckled and went to open it.

"How do you know its John?" You raised an eyebrow.

"He's the only one who ever knocks."

"Fair."

Price stood in civilian clothes, a simple T-shirt and sweatpants. He leaned against the doorframe and sighed wearily.

"Hi, dolly. You alright?"

"I've seen better," you chuckled without malice.

"Plumbers are already on your room. The floor will also be replaced."

You all settled into the small room somehow naturally: Kyle on the top bunk, hanging upside down, you curled up on the bottom one, John plopped comfortably into a chair in the corner, and Soap sprawled on the floor next to the bed like a sea star, his eyes blissfully closed. A wind storm howled outside, lulling you with its roar.

Price cleared his throat after a couple of minutes of silence. "Not to intervene, but I thought you'd stay at Ghost's—"

"BRUH, ARE WE SERIOUS!" you blushed, covering your face with your hands.

"Hey! Isnae anyone going to ask me?! Like hell, she's staying with us. I didnae bother with these sheets for nothing!"

"I was just asking!" John raised his hands in surrender, while Gaz nearly fell off his bunk laughing. "We're all rooting for you here."

"Rooting for what?" Ghost entered the room as if he owned the place, closing the door behind him. His unexpected appearance made Johnny yelp.

"See?? That's what I'm saying, not even bothering to knock!" Gaz protested.

"Guys, have ye ever thought about how we dinnae actually have to raise yer hand to knock on a door...?"

In this chaotic atmosphere, your blush deepened, you run a hand over your face.

"What kind of unauthorized gathering is this? I couldn't find anyone," Simon muttered, climbing onto the bed to lie down next to you.

"Aww, did ye miss us?"

"Definitely not you, McTavish"

"Love ye too!" Soap giggled.

The howling wind and playful bickering lulled you to sleep. You snuggled deeper into the blanket, feeling the warmth of Simon's body. No one was leaving.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Summary: You seek comfort after a terrible nightmare.

Pairing: WolfStar x f!reader

Warnings/tags: fluff, minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, hurt/comfort.

James pulled himself out from under the covers with an irritated groan, and, dragging his feet, went to check on the knocker. Scratching his head sleepily, he nearly bumped into the corner of the table in the darkness.

"Who could— oh, darling, are you alright?..."

You didn't let him finish and tried to squeeze into the room, holding back sobs. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I need... really need to... need... sorry."

Peter propped himself up on his elbow, awakened by the whisper, and peered into the darkness, confused. "What's going on? What happened?"

You bit your trembling lip until it almost bled, hugging yourself, and stood frozen in the doorway. You couldn't help but sob when Remus's head finally appeared from behind the curtain of his bed.

"Merlin, sunny, are you alright? Come here," he reached out his arms worriedly, pulling you into the warmth of the bed.

Sirius stirred, disoriented, and when he found you in the bed with them, he froze for a moment, as if his brain was still asleep.

"There, come here, good girl," Remus pulled you under the covers between him and Sirius. "What happened? Another bad dream?"

"I can't t- take this anymore," you breathed out shakily, curling into a ball. Sirius, finally coming to his senses, wasted no time in pulling you to his chest, covering your head with small, tender kisses. Moony whispered and the hum of Imperturbable charm followed.

"It was... really bad one," you sobbed into Siri's chest, shaking with your whole body. Remus exchanged a worried glance with his boyfriend, wrapping his scarred arms around your torso.

"Shhh, listen to my voice, okay? You're here with us. We won't let anyone hurt you." He leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your temple. "Hey, look up, my lovely".

You shook your head, but cold, pale fingers gently touched your chin. You were turned onto your back, someone wiping the tears from your wet cheeks.

"Baby," Sirius called, so tenderly it made your heart ache. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shook your head in panic, starting to cry again. The tears choked you, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe, and you sat up abruptly, hunched over. For a moment, everyone was silent, but it brought comfort. Pads stroked your back, applying some more pressure between your shoulder blades, and you clung to the grounding feeling, following the breathing pattern Sirius was demonstrating.

"Sunny, look here," Remus asked quietly. You turned your head, and he brought a glass of water to your lips. The cool moisture ran pleasantly down your throat, and then you were able to breathe deeply.

"Want to lie back down?" Sirius suggested, helping you sink more comfortably into the soft mattress. Your head now rested on Remus's chest, he carefully massaged your scalp, kissing your hairline, the tip of your nose, your eyelids...

"Such a sweet baby," Pads purred contentedly, his soft curls tickling your cheek as he buried his face in your neck.

You were safe. Finally, this feeling had found a home in your heart, calmed by the even breathing of your two dearest people.

"I love you," you managed to whisper, almost surrendered to sleep.

"We love you too, little one," Sirius grinned, hugging you tighter.

ZombieApocalypceAU

Summary: You are sick and trying to hide it from the team.

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, reader's callsign is Echo, being sick, zombies, hurt/comfort

You choked on the disgusting powdered porridge from a packet, but kept bringing the spoon to your lips, just to feel the warmth in your sore throat.

Under the awning of a ruined grocery store, you and the team sat in a circle to rest and refresh yourself. Needed to eat quickly: the sun's going to set in about four hours, and you had to get to the radio station while it was still light outside. For now, you turned your gaze to the grating scratches on the sides of TF 141 tinted van.

"Tony told me they're extending the curfew an hour because it's getting dark earlier," Gaz muttered quietly to Johnny, his mouth full of dried bread.

"Oh, I hope sae. A'm not getting any sleep with all that snoring of yours, sae at least I can toss and turn in bed for an extra hour." Soap chuckled with a satisfied grin.

"Have you even heard yourself?! You should start taping your mouth shut before going to bed!"

"Oi, keep it down, the last thing we need is a horde of undead running to your screams."

Price finished his chemically sweet Nescafé 3-in-1, warming his cold fingers on the mug. He hands you his protein bar, but the thought of food makes your stomach churn. John looked calm, even relaxed somehow. A light breeze blew, it felt like sharp needles, blowing right through you.

Ghost leaned over his rifle, screwing on the polished barrel. He wore a warm black hoodie and a denim jacket. Heat seemed to radiate off him in waves, and you wanted to snuggle up to him for warmth...

"Time to go," John slowly stood up, wiping his aluminum mug with a rag, and headed for the van. Throwing your name over his shoulder, he added, "Echo, take the wheel."

"Wait, it's my turn—" Soap protested.

"Nope. Not happening," Price cut him off, causing Gaz to burst into laughter.

You were actually glad you had to drive. At least focusing on the road helped distract you from the overwhelming fatigue. You were almost certain you had a fever, a headache was pressing behind your eyes, but you forced yourself to concentrate.

Outside the window, the ruins of the city lay deserted, devoid of any living creature. Not a single green leaf in the late autumn chill, not a soul in sight. Dogs and cats, even birds, hid in their holes in some unfathomable anxiety. A light rain drizzled, leaving tiny beads of droplets on the van's windshield.

The undead were visible in the narrow streets and dark backyards of abandoned houses. Swaying slightly, they mooed incoherently, or didn't move at all, their blind white eyes darting toward the brick walls. They weren't particularly interested in the passing van, but you knew from experience that would change once the sun went down. You had to hurry.

A light touch on your shoulder brought you out of your reverie. "Luv, are you alright?"

Glancing in the rearview mirror, you met Simon's gaze behind you. The others had grown suspiciously quiet, as if they'd already called out to you several times, to no avail.

"What? Yeah, just... got lost in thoughts," you replied, gripping the steering wheel tighter with both hands.

"Turn left, dolly," Price repeated softly, and you nodded briefly. Ghost's warm hand remained on your shoulder.

...

The radio station stood on a hill at the edge of town. It had grown cold outside, and in the last rays of the sun, the antennas and towers cast long, crooked shadows. The fence surrounding the area was closed, but it couldn't be ruled out that zombies were trapped inside.

A rifle slung over your shoulder. Five soldiers were as quiet as the rustling wind. Splitting up. On positions.

You shiver, your whole body shaking, not from fear, but from the aching pain in your bones, from the sick fatigue. Your sore throat stings, burns, and tickles, but you can't cough. Clutching the gun tighter to your shoulder, you enter the location.

From the other side of the square, the wind carries several muffled gunshots. But you hear no roar, no crunch, no movement.

"Alright?" Price asks as the team gathers inside the station.

Gaz speaks up, nodding. "Yes, sir. Three zombies were outside, but they were barely moving anyway."

Stop shaking, damn it, stop shaking like that before the guys notice.

"Echo and I gonna look for electronics. You can take care of radiators," Ghost suggested. So that's what they agreed on.

"What are we looking for?" You ask, as you and Simon find a storage room with long rows of shelves.

"Anything. Wires, batteries, if they work."

You exhaled, and without further ado, began examining the boxes on the dusty shelves.

Your head hurts terribly.

The pain throbs in your temples, spreading throughout the depths of your skull. You're grateful that the dim light hides your bloodshot eyes. Seeking a moment's relief, you leaned your burning forehead against the cold metal frame of the shelves, closing your eyes. You'd kill for an hour of sleep...

"Hey," Simon called, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fuck.

"Don't," you warned without moving.

"I'm not blind, I know—"

"I know you know, but just don't."

"If you aren't going to help yourself, I will."

"I'm not asking you to help!" You snapped and froze, breathing heavily. You were silent until a quiet "Sorry" escaped your lips.

Simon didn't even flinch, reaching out for your forearm. "It's—"

An unmistakable, wet growl echoed off the walls in the darkness of the far corner.

Ghost tagged you behind him and pulled his pistol from the holster on his hip. A weak flashlight couldn't reach the source of the noise, and Simon stepped silently into the darkness.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you desperately peered into the darkness, trying to force your eyes to adjust. It was so alarmingly quiet that the slap of bare feet behind you felt like a trigger. You turned around, but not fast enough. The stench of rotten flesh and mold suddenly filled your nostrils.

"Echo!"

It was too late, and you couldn't think of anything better than to backhand, but not before something heavy, cold, and sticky hit you at breakneck speed. You realized you were falling, and the next second your back hit the doorframe with brutal force.

The zombie hit the concrete floor with a dull smack as Ghost's bullet knocked out the rotting remains of its brain. But you didn't hear it anymore, choking on a painful coughing fit that the impact had knocked out of you.

Your lungs contracted and refused to let air in. You buried your face in your bent elbow, pulling your knees up to your chest. Gagging and gasping, you struggled to breath. Head was spinning, chest burning like fire. Hurts, hurts, hurts.

"No, no, sit up straight. Mm, okay," Simon knelt in front of you, grabbing your shoulders to make your back straighten up. "Open your chest. Try to breathe through your nose."

The others came running at the sound of the gunshot, crowding around the entrance, watching in mute shock as Ghost struggled to get you to breathe.

In the last contraction, your body shredded and went limp. Your eyes closed on their own, your body ached with a dull pain in your muscles and twisting in your bones. Ears rang, and you no longer heard the worried voices nearby.

...

"Here, put her down. McTavish, grab a woobie from my bag."

Strong hands laid you down on a small leather couch in the former operator's room, lit by a small camp lamp. The windows were boarded up. The whole radio station was quiet, and only crickets chirped outside.

"Relax, baby. You can rest now," a warm blanket was carefully wrapped around your shoulders.

Kyle was squatting by the MRE heater, boiling water in Price's aluminum mug.

"Ye didnae put enough water in the bag," Johnny protested, plopping down next to his friend. "Ma Bonnie's gonna die of thirst before you warm up a damn cup of water."

"You think I can't figure out a heating pack?"

"Well, apparently!"

"Maaaan, go do somethin'!" Gaz rolled his eyes.

"Stop bloody yelling," Ghost growled, and your friends instantly fell silent, playfully nudging each other in the sides.

You winced, hugging yourself, and curled into a ball. Your head was throbbing, you let out an involuntary pitiful sob and pulled the blanket higher.

"Shhh, breathe, baby," Simon coos, stroking your hair, and you couldn't help but lean into the tender touch.

John emerged from the next room with a plastic bag of pills. He held out a strip of white little beads, quietly conversing with Simon. "Bloody hell, we don't have anything for her throat, but I found some ibuprofen to calm the fever..."

You weren't listening. Fatigue finally washed over you, forcing your eyelids to close. And now sleep was fogging your clouded consciousness...

"Not yet, I'm sorry, Bonnie," Soap lifted your shoulders so John could place his jacket under your head. "Ye need something warm tae drink. Garrick didnae torture that poor bag for nothing."

Kyle rolled his eyes again, as if checking to see if his brain hadn't melted yet from talking to Johnny. He lifted the mug to your lips, and for a few heavenly moments, warm water soothed the sandpapery feeling in your throat.

"Good job, now you can finally sleep, dolly," Price winked at you, and you were lowered back into the couch.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered hoarsely. All four men for a second forgot what they were doing.

"Agh, don't start that bullshit where you apologize for getting sick," Johnny threw up his hands in mock irritation.