“Stitching up 10K after he got shot and him kissing you”
I’m so sorry I found this imagine on Tumblr somewhere and I was sure I favourited it, but now I can’t find it anymore? If someone knows who posted this please let me know and I will give credit!
“Lay him down over there,” Warren commanded as Doc and Vasquez struggled through the doorway, both holding one of 10K’s arms, propping him up.
You pushed the materials that were on the table off them, swiftly. Not caring that they went crashing to the floor. 10K was plopped down gracelessly and he made a slight ’oof’ sound in discomfort.
“He’s loosing a lot of blood, he needs stitches” Doc assessed the wound, before pressing a cloth compress back down on it.
“(Y/N) was training to be a nurse before, she can do it?” Addy said before even asking you. You’d been a trainee nurse and you were terrified everything you had learnt had been forgotten and replaced with gun techniques and how to properly disarm an opponent using random tools.
“Uh, um-” You stuttered, you were already panicked by the amount of blood that covered 10K’s trousers in a shiny coating. Even in black you could see the wetness. 10K looked nervously over at you with lidded eyes, his breathing heavy and his mouth lay open slightly in pain.
My geneticist suggested that I start wearing compression clothing, and compression joint supports with exercise or any activity that is painful. I bought a few things, and they seem to be helpful so far.
Several months ago a photographic colleague of mine introduced me to his single friend. We’ll call him Roly Poly, RP for short, because that is what he reminded of. RP had instant visions of a photographic empire where he and I would be royalty. “Can you imagine that?” ( I absolutely could not).
During our talks, he talked about his ex, we talked about mine. I told him that my photography business was definitely part of the demise of my marriage. He said triathlon was the demise of his. Then he told a story about how his wife would sleep in her workout clothes and compression socks and that was “so NOT sexy.” That she got so into it she got muscles and you could see the veins in her arms.
That was my cue - ABORT ABORT! Exit stage right. So I tell him I’m not looking to build a photographic empire and that I may be the closest thing to his ex he could find. And we have never spoken again.
Last night I had to sleep with my heart rate monitor on so that I could see how many calories I burned while sleeping. I got into bed and thought of RP, and how un-sexy he would think I was. Triathlon is NOT sexy. Not even a little.