Hello My Worms, I Just Wanted To Tell Ya'll That I'm Not Forgetting About Your Ideas And Requests, I

If you're still up for some drabble ideas, I was thinking of Horangi falling in love with his neighbor's foreign bestie (reader). He just got back from an assignment, and he meets a foreigner at his apartment back in South Korea. He's smitten the moment he talks to them and is elated that they're staying at his neighbor's place for their time there.

If it's too wild of an idea or if it's not your type of style, then you could just ignore this.

A nice leave

Note: Hey there, anon! First off, thank you for being my first ever request. And sorry it took so long, I honestly just didn't know where to start with this one. I'm only going to make it a short drabble to see how ya'll like it, should you do, I'll write more : ) Also, I don't speak Korean, so I had to use google translate, sorry if it's cringe to read. Word count: 289 Trope: Fluff, gender neutral reader

The mission was a full success. Everything went smoothly, and Horangi got away with only some small bruises and cuts. He was placed on leave for two weeks, and went back to his apartment in South Korea to relax a bit. He could hear his bed call him when he stood in the lift of his apartment building, the duffel bag over his shoulder heavy. When he stepped out, he saw you. Standing in front of the door next to his, big smile on your face. He looked twice. You were beautiful. "안녕하세요. 제가 도와드릴까요 (Hey there, can I help you?"). "What?", you turned around, smile still there, albeit slightly confused "Sorry, I don't speak Korean". "Ah, ok. Can I help you?", he asked again, this time in English. "Oh, I'm just waiting for my friend, but I think they're asleep", you chuckled. A grin spread on his tired face. You had a nice smile. "Are you going to stay longer?", he had a slight hope in his voice. You nodded happily. "Yup! Two weeks, to be exact" It made a warmth flow through him, even though he tried to suppress it. He thought about saying something, maybe invite you over for a drink or something. But before he could, the door opened and your friend, very sleepy and ruffled hair, appeared in the doorway. "Sorry", they mumbled. "Oh, no problem (friends name)". You grinned at Horangi, and the familiar flutter came back. "I'm (name), by the way" you extended your hand. "I'm Kim", he shook your hand, but you dissapeared in your friends room before he could say anything.

He was definetely going to sleep well.

Fluff and theft

Note: This is my first try at writing x reader, so I apologize if it is a bit cringe or weird, I‘m still learning. I also have never played the games, so I don’t have a perfect view on their personalities, but I‘ve tried to get it as accurate as possible. Word count: 619

Prompt: "Is that my shirt you're wearing?" Gender neutral reader; platonic, can be read as a bit more.

Ghost:

It wasn't your fault, really. You fell into the mud on the obstacle course, and well, that was your last clean shirt. Conveniently there was one of Ghosts giant shirts laying around in the laundry room. It was so comfy, but you could use it as a dress. Where it looked tight on him, it completely engulfed your body.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?", a deep voice sounded behind you as walked in the common room. "No....", you mumbled. Ghost chuckled. "I give you a ten seconds head start", he said. Shit.

You ran. But it was no use, of course. Ghost was way faster than you. When he caught up to you, he quickly put you in a head lock. You couldn’t move, but you could feel he was still being gentle. „I need my shirts, (name), you know?“, he grumbled. You snickered. „Yea, and so do I“ You knew he was frowning, even if you couldn’t see it. „I‘ll get it back tomorrow. Washed. Otherwise, you’ll be doing at least ten laps around base“, he said.

„Yes sir“

Gaz:

His shirt just looked so inviting, it really wasn't your fault. When he forgets his shirt in the laundry room, oh well, he has to expect it to be stolen.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?", an amused voice sounded from the kitchen when you walked in the common room. "Maybe", you said. Gaz chuckled and rolled his eyes. „Are you planning to steal my wardrobe?“, he asked. You looked at the shirt, which had a big „Garrick“ written on the front. „Noooo, you know I‘d never do that“. Gaz snorted. „Oh, I know you would, (name)“. You looked at him with played offence. He just shrugged. „We’re team mates, I know you a bit at this point“. You flipped him off and tugged at the shirt. „Just so you know, this is mine now“, you stated, walking out the common room. „Oh no no no, no it isn’t“, you could hear Gaz and started running. „Catch me if you can, pretty boy!“, you shouted.

Soap:

Mixed up laundry, it happens. It wasn’t your fault, now you had a big shirt in your basket, which clearly wasn’t yours. Not that that’d stop you.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?", Soap chuckled when you walked into the common room. „Yup. It was in my laundry basket“, you said, opening the cup board. „Is that so?“, he grinned, looking you up and down. The shirt was way too big for you, not that you minded. It was comfy. „Not that you’re not looking good in it, but I kinda need that shirt“, he said. You shrugged. „You can have one of mine“. He laughed. „I highly doubt that’d work. You’re way smaller than me, shorty“. „Oh well“, you said, „then you’ll have to get a new one issued“. He rolled his eyes and got up from the couch, stepping behind you. „I‘ll get it back tomorrow“, he said. „Maybe“.

Price:

It wasn’t your fault Price left his shirt in the locker room. He should care more about his stuff.

You walked in the common room, Price sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen. He looked at you slightly confused. "Is that my shirt you're wearing?" „Yup. You left it in the locker room“. You looked down at the shirt. „Comfy. Mine now“, you stated. He chuckled. „I don’t think so, soldier. I need that back“. You gave him puppy eye „But it’s comfy“. He rolled his eyes. „I‘m not gonna get that shirt back, am I?“. You giggled. „One day“. He shook his head. „One day I won’t have anything to wear“. You smirked. „I won’t complain“

Apr 2023

Military man yaoy

I have a hankering to write rn so I was wondering if you would be so kind as to assist me with this task?

If yes, could you please give me a prompt to base a drabble/one-shot on. It can be in any of the following: Star Trek, COD: MW2, or Lazytown [can only be one ship as most of the cast are kids (im covering my bases)] [state which ship you have in mind too if you have one].

These are the few fandoms that I would feel somewhat comfortable writing in at the moment. If you don't know any of them or can not think of an idea that is okay. Just say so in your answer to this ask! That would be completely understandable 😊✨️

Thank you in advance ❤️✨️

Hey there, sure thing

Since I only know COD, I'd choose my all time favourite of Ghoap or Körangi with a nice bit of physical hurt and comfort.

since i'm rambling about self inserts? (is that it?) now you're miserably turning over on the bed, pulling the comforter over your head because you wasted a whole whopping 70$ for MW3 only to get an unfinished game and a piss-poor half-assed shock value main character death.

You fall asleep thinking about what you'd do differently- how johnny wouldn't die so needlessly, maybe even convince Captain Price to let Johnny put a bullet in Makarov's head in that helo.

And when you wake, your surroundings are different. The bed is too small when yours is a king, the innerspring mattress creaks when you sit up, even though you explicitly bought a memory foam.

The walls are spartan instead of the personalized decor you had. Looking over the edge of the bed, the floor isn't carpet. It's an ugly, white vinyl tile.

Where the fuck are you?

Your hands are callused but the only time you even got one was when you tried your hand at gardening, only to eventually realize you could kill a cactus with your brown thumb.

Hopping out of bed, you beeline to your bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror. Almost everything is the same. Eyes, hair, body, height.

Only difference is your flesh. It's littered with scars- both old and new. A thick, pink jagged line across your clavicle (a blade?), a puckered star shaped keloid above your hip bone (A gunshot wound?)

Stepping back out into the room, you carefully survey the space around you. A tac vest you swear you've seen before hangs on the back rest of your small chair.

Two black glock-19's sit on the desk. How do you know that? You don't know lick about weapons.

There's a large sheathed blade by your nightstand table. Didn't Rambo have one of those?

Suddenly, it hits you like a ton of bricks. You're dreaming. Jesus. Maybe you should start reading some smut fanfiction before bed to get Simon in your-

A knock at your door pulls you out of your degenerate thoughts.

oooookay.

Padding quietly to the door, the metal of the handle feels shockingly cold. How wildly vivid.

"Ye- what the fuck?"

What the actual fuck?

"Language."

...

Your mouth gapes in utter disbelief. "Simon?"

His dark eyes narrow behind his skull mask. "Chummy, are we?" He steps forward, forcing your neck back at an uncomfortable angle to keep your eyes fixed on his. "You and I, Sergeant, ain't friends. It's Ghost to you. Clear?" he snarls.

You swallow thickly. "C-Crystal, sir."

He tips his chin forward. "Get decent, I'm to take ya to the debriefin' room."

what?

"Now."

Spinning on the balls of your feet, you hastily dress, and grab the vest on the chair. UK flag on it. Tactical. Heavy as hell.

Your hands move on their own, and fingers smartly clip buckles, pull up zippers and close the pockets- as if you've been doing this your whole life.

What is happening?

When you get to wherever it was you were going, you're met with more recognizable faces.

Captain Price stands in front of Laswell, bulky arms crossed as he speaks to her in a hushed tone.

Gaz sits on a chair with his head hanging back as he blankly stares at the ceiling, trademark cap in place.

And then there's- "Bonnie!"

Johnny.

"Good to see Simon dinnae eat ye on the way here."

Simon Ghost doesn't react to the jibe at all.

Why are you sitting in the middle of the 141 listening to Laswell debrief about Hassan? Why aren't you waking up yet? You're lucid. The sharp sting of your nails digging into the palms of your clenched hands isn't dulled.

"Good hunting."

This can't be happening.

This isn't real. The heavy helmet strapped to your head. The weight of the bulky tac vest full of equipment. The painfully tight straps around your thighs. The way the rifle feels in your hands, solid and dense.

Not real.

Until you're offloading with Bravo Team in Al-Mazrah on the search for Major Hassan. The tall grass grazing your pants, the NVG's over your eyes to help you see in the dark. The harsh recoil of a weapon you've only ever used in a video game. The gurgling sounds of the enemies as they choke on their blood by your feet. The bullet whizzing past you, clipping your cheekbone. The burning sting of it, white-hot pain.

Real.

It feels fucking real.

Riley bros

Bonus: wee Johnny

The sharpest lives :)

I'm not sorry

Thanks now I gotta cry in class

🥲

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

part one here / part three here

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

spring 🌼🌧️