#black bops

[wildmayhemz]

Bell’s having a great time, or can you even tell?

Thought this was funny. Also my first time drawing bell.

[wildmayhemz]

Bell’s a living meme.

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[wildmayhemz]

Hot take — let me dance on the table

[wildmayhemz]

Just a crush. Right?

Frank Woods x Medic!Reader-no gender, no warnings on this one

The rumors started subtly. A passing glance. A touch that lingered half a second too long. Woods’ habit of sticking close whenever you were in the field, always keeping you in his line of sight.

It wasn’t unusual for Woods to be protective—he watched over the entire team like a damn hawk—but with you? It was different. More deliberate. More personal. The others noticed.

“Y’know,” Hudson muttered one evening at base, eyes flicking toward where Woods stood beside you at the briefing table, “he doesn’t hover like that over anyone else.”

Mason snorted, arms crossed. “Woods? Nah, come on. He’s just—”

“Just what?” Adler cut in. “Just watching their six a little too much? Just finding every excuse to be next to ‘em? Just nearly broke a guy’s arm for getting a little too friendly last week?”

Mason paused. “…Shit. Maybe.”

The team started making a game of it. Not in a cruel way, but in the way soldiers do when they’re stuck in the same hell together and need something—anything—to keep morale up.

Mason started keeping count of how many times Woods said your name in a day. (The record stood at twenty-seven.) Weaver made a point to watch Woods’ expression whenever you laughed, smirking whenever he saw the telltale softening around the man’s eyes. Even Hudson, the most skeptical of the bunch, muttered a knowing huh when Woods immediately handed you his canteen after a long mission, before you even had a chance to ask.

You, of course, were oblivious. Or at least pretending to be.

One evening, the teasing hit a peak.

You were patching up Mason after a rough skirmish, hands steady as you worked. Woods leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with that ever-present gaze of his.

“Y’know, Woods,” Mason drawled, wincing as you tightened a bandage, “you could just admit it.”

“Admit what?” Woods grunted.

Mason smirked. “That you’ve got it bad.”

The room went still. You froze mid-motion, heart hammering in your chest.

Woods scoffed, but there was something—something—behind his voice. “You talk too much, Mason.”

Mason chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

You dared a glance at Woods. He wasn’t looking at Mason. He was looking at you. And for the first time, you saw it—the truth written all over his face, clear as day.

The rumors weren’t just rumors.

Not anymore.

—

You chose to ignore it. You had to.

Even when you felt Woods’ eyes on you, burning, heavy, searching. Even when Mason’s words settled in your chest, rattling around like a stray bullet.

Because it didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense.

Frank Woods—loud, reckless, sharp as a damn blade, the kind of man who chewed up war and spit it back out—liking you? Wanting you like that?

It was easier to pretend. Easier to brush off the heat that crept up your neck whenever he was close, whenever his voice dipped just a little lower when he said your name.

And God, it wasn’t like you didn’t want him. You’d had a thing for Woods longer than you cared to admit.

Tall, mean, all man.

He was everything you weren’t.

Where he stormed into danger, you stayed back, steady hands stitching the team together when they inevitably fell apart. Where he cracked jokes and barked orders, you let yourself fade into the background, content to play your part.

But then—

Then there were moments.

Like now, when you finally tore your gaze from Mason’s knowing smirk and dared to look at Woods.

He hadn’t moved from the doorway, still leaning against the frame like it was the only thing keeping him steady. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were locked onto yours.

And you swore, just for a second, something in your chest tilted.

“…I should finish this,” you mumbled, turning back to Mason, trying to ignore how unsteady your voice felt.

Mason didn’t say anything, but his smirk widened.

Woods exhaled sharply through his nose and pushed off the doorframe.

“Don’t let him get in your head, Doc,” he muttered as he walked past, voice quieter than usual.

But the thing was—he already had.

—

The base was quiet, save for the distant hum of generators and the occasional murmur of voices from the night shift. You sat outside near the barracks, a cup of lukewarm coffee in your hands, watching the smoke from Woods’ cigarette curl into the night air.

Neither of you had spoken much since earlier that day, since Mason’s comment. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That nothing had changed.

But you could still feel it.

The weight of Woods’ stare. The way he always seemed to find an excuse to be near you. Tonight wasn't different. The way his voice softened—not much, but enough—when he spoke to you.

The rumors. The looks. The possibility of it all.

“You’re quiet,” Woods finally muttered, tapping ash off the edge of his cigar. “More than usual.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Didn’t know you paid that much attention.”

His brow twitched. “I do.”

Your fingers tightened around your cup.

A beat of silence. A long, stretching pause where you swore the night got heavier, pressing against your skin.

“…Is it true?” You blurted before you could stop yourself.

Woods shifted beside you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Is what true?”

You exhaled sharply, eyes flickering to the ground. “What Alex say.”

Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t empty.

It was charged.

Then Woods sighed, running a hand through his hair, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. When he finally spoke, his voice was different—gruff, but quieter.

“He talks too damn much.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “No, it ain’t.”

You swallowed. Your pulse thrummed at your throat. “Frank—”

He turned to you then, really looking at you, his gaze intense in a way that made your breath hitch.

“I ain’t good with this kinda shit,” he admitted, voice low. “Never have been. But yeah, doc, it’s true.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

Before you could process it, before you could say anything, he reached over, plucked the half-empty coffee cup from your hands, and took a sip, like he hadn’t just turned your whole damn world upside down.

You stared.

“…You just—”

“Didn’t wanna waste it,” he muttered, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

You wanted to laugh, wanted to say something, but all you could do was shake your head, cheeks warm, heart pounding.

The cool air biting at your skin, but you barely felt it. Not with Woods sitting so damn close. Not with your mind reeling from his words.

It’s true.

He said it so easily, so plainly, like it was just another fact of war, just another mission brief. But it wasn’t. Not to you.

“…You really mean that?” you finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Woods huffed, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” He leaned back, balancing his cigar between his fingers. “Kinda figured you’d noticed by now.”

You let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “Noticed what, exactly?”

He turned his head to you, eyes sharp and unreadable. “That I got a thing for you, Doc.”

Your stomach flipped, and your fingers curled into your lap to keep yourself steady. “Frank—”

“I ain’t expectin’ anything,” he cut in, voice rougher now, like he was forcing the words out before he could take them back. “Just—” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wanted you to know. I don’t do this shit often, and I sure as hell ain’t good at it, but… it’s been there a while.”

How long? You wanted to ask.

How the hell did I miss it?

Because now, looking back, it was obvious. The way he always stood between you and danger. The way he lingered near your side after missions, making sure you were in one piece. The way his voice lost its usual edge when he spoke to you, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful.

The realization hit you like a damn freight train.

“…I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, voice small.

Woods chuckled, the sound low and warm. “For once, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing only made your pulse quicken. He was still watching you, still waiting, like he needed some kind of answer—even if he’d never ask for it outright.

So, instead of speaking, you reached over and took the burning cigarette from his fingers.

And then, before you could lose your nerve, you brought it to your lips and took a breathe in.

Woods froze. His gaze flickered to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

“…Really?”

You shrugged, barely biting back a smile. “Didn’t wanna waste it.”

A beat of silence—then a bark of laughter, loud and unrestrained, as Woods shook his head.

“Jesus, Doc. You’re somethin’ else.”

You weren’t sure what this meant, what would come next—but for now, with Woods looking at you like that, it didn’t feel so cold anymore.

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[wildmayhemz]

Lord, please keep Russell Adler away from compression shirts. The world isn’t ready. Amen.

[wildmayhemz]

Frank Woods x reader Angst

This was hard to write and I definitely did cry at least once in the process…

You're having nightmares at the safe house, but no worries—you have Frank again. Well, sort of. The thing is, he's been distant the past years since he lost his legs, and you're not sure if he actually wants to talk to you at all anymore. So, after you get the courage to go to the mission room, knowing that’s where he was sleeping.

Peeking into the room, you see Frank sitting up against the wall on the cot, eyes shut, arms crossed. Hearing footsteps, he looked over to the large doorway. He still wasn't used to seeing you again, but Frank knew why you had come to him in the middle of the night. After all, he wasn't immune to the effects of war, and you used to seek comfort in each other before he shut you out.

You stood there looking at each other until he rolled his eyes and lifted his blanket, offering you what little room the cot he had left. Before you lay down next to him, he had to take a couple moments to shimmy down the flimsy makeshift bed. As hard as it was to be around you again, it was even more challenging when he had to do things ‘differently’ now. But if you cared or noticed, you didn't say anything and let him get comfortable, at least as comfortable as he could.

He tried calming his racing heart, but it just got worse when you settled against him. How long had it been? Too long. Way too long. Your nerves were at the same level as his. Feeling him against you once again was a little emotional. Shutting your eyes to try to calm down. There’s a dull ache in your heart, knowing he still trusts you even if he doesn’t want you to see him like this.

You cling to him tighter, scared he’ll change his mind and tell you to leave. Your head on his chest tells you his heart is beating the same way. After minutes of silence, you move your leg onto him to get a little more comfortable, asking him, “Is this ok?” Referring to your leg on his, he hums, not wanting to think about what made him leave you, but it's enough of an answer for you to stay.

He was tense, which ultimately was like him, but it was a different kind of strain. Only getting older and now unable to walk was starting to make living more and more painful. Something that his muscles recognized. He thought he had trouble sleeping before, but now it was impossible. Not just because of the disability but because he pushed the only thing that gave him comfort away.

Soft and tenderly, sinking into his side like you did years ago shouldn’t be this painful. For the first time in a long time, it wasn't his legs that hurt the most. It was his heart.

If only he wasn't so prideful.

If he wasn’t stubborn.

If he’d just ask for help, for once.

But then… he wouldn’t be Frank Woods. So you stayed quiet, letting the battle of both your emotions wage war on each other as you held on tight to one another. Basking in the heat of the hot blood pumping through his veins. Proof that he was still here, still alive. It wasn’t fair to be mad at him.

A quick gasp out of your lungs as a rough hand grabbed your arm and pulled the weight of you almost entirely on top of the man. “I’m not made of glass, sweetheart.”

Looking up with wide eyes, you saw his own unmoving from the ceiling. It was his first time speaking to you directly since you got to the safe house. Cautiously resting your head into the dip of his neck, the sudden movement was a reminder of how strong he really was. And the nickname, well, it just put more heat into your pumping heart.

Rubbing his chest, you nuzzled into his neck, blinking back tears. Slowly, you bring the hand feeling over his steadily increased heartbeat to his face. Scratching his beard on the side of his jaw, he turned his head toward you and finally pierced you with icy eyes.

He shouldn’t have pushed you away, but he couldn’t change the past. He knew that all too well. Having you here at the Rook suddenly wasn’t a punishment. Having you against him again was the most healed that Frank had felt in years.

Not that he’d ever admit that…

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[wildmayhemz]

Not smut—jealousy actions

You weren’t sure why you agreed to come. A night out with the team usually meant chaos, and now—now you sat squirming at the bar in a too-tight dress, fingers twisting in your lap as one of the newer guys leaned in too close.

“Didn’t think someone like you would show up like this,” the recruit smirked, his voice dipped in suggestion. “Kinda cute when you’re all shy.”

Your laugh was nervous, your eyes darting past him—to where Frank Woods sat like a storm cloud, jaw clenched, one hand gripping his glass like it might shatter under pressure. He’d been staring for the past ten minutes. He hadn’t said a word.

You didn’t even hear him approach.

Large hands came down heavy on your shoulders, and before you could speak, Frank was behind you, his mouth at your ear, voice low and venomous.

“Enjoyin’ yourself, sweetheart?”

The recruit faltered, but you froze. Your voice caught in your throat as Frank leaned down, breath hot on your neck.

“I asked you a question,” he murmured darkly, “or are you too busy letting him eye-fuck you?”

“Frank—” you started, but it was too late. His grip tightened, and the possessive gleam in his eye darkened into something rough.

“We’re leavin’,” he growled.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

[wildmayhemz]

Jungle Heat

Frank Wood x nurse! Reader

No gender specified/ just a lil fluff/ light crushing

—

Vietnam's jungle was relentless. The heat was a living thing, pressing down on you from all sides, thick and smothering like a wet blanket you couldn't escape. Even in the shade of the trees, the air felt like soup, clinging to your skin, making your uniform stick in the worst places. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, wincing as you felt how slick you were with sweat.

"Jesus," you muttered, shifting your med pack against your back. "This place is hell."

A low chuckle sounded from behind you.

"You get used to it," Frank Woods drawled as he fell into step beside you, cigarette dangling from his lips. His sleeves were rolled up, dog tags glinting against his sweat-slicked chest, and even though he looked just as miserable as the rest of the squad, he was handling it with his usual easy confidence.

You scoffed, adjusting your canteen strap. "That so?"

Woods smirked, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "Nah. It sucks ass. But complaining doesn't change it."

You shook your head, focusing on the uneven path ahead. Your boots squelched in the damp earth, the sound merging with the distant hum of insects and the occasional distant crack of gunfire. It was too damn hot to be out here, but what choice did you have? The war wasn't going to pause just because you were uncomfortable.

Still, the heat was messing with your head, making you sluggish. You wiped your brow again, groaning under your breath.

Woods glanced at you, then let out a low chuckle. "Gotta say, sweetheart-never seen you like this before."

You frowned. "Like what?"

He gestured lazily toward you. "All flushed, sweaty, exhausted. It's kinda workin' for you."

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Excuse me?"

He grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette, completely unbothered. "I'm just sayin'. Usually, you got that 'proper nurse' thing goin' on. But now?" His gaze flickered over you, slow and deliberate. "You look a little wild."

You stared at him, torn between shoving him and laughing. "God, you're insufferable."

He smirked. "And yet, here you are, still walkin' next to me."

You rolled your eyes, pushing forward through the jungle. But as much as you wanted to dismiss his words, you could still feel his eyes on you, lingering, amused.

And maybe, just maybe, the heat wasn't the only reason your face was burning.

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