#i have to get up for work at 0400.

[worldblight]

Can my roommate stop having a racial debate over the phone when I'm trying to fucking, sleep

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: mentions of violence and death (ofc), blood Next >>

John Price stood at a round table, leading the mission brief for the team’s upcoming operation. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat around the table in various positions. Soap with his boots kicked up onto the table, chair tilted back; Gaz leaned forward onto the table, his forearms on the surface; Ghost leaned back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Soap and Gaz wore their regulation tan t-shirts and camo pants, while Ghost was clad in a black long-sleeve and his standard skull balaclava.

“So if we’re stormin’ the building, we’re all accounted for,” Soap pointed out, clicking the pen between his fingers. “We need a sniper.”

“Called in a favor with a good friend, who should have been here–”

“Ten minutes ago,” a strong but mellow voice cut in as a figure turned through the doorway. “I know, sorry John. Got a bit caught up with my room assignment. Tried to put me on the other side of base.”

A woman came into view, offering her hand out to John. They firmly grasped each other’s forearms in a quick shake. Soap and Gaz both had only slightly surprised expressions. Not at the fact that their sniper was female; they’d worked with plenty of fierce women during their time in Task Force 141.

The fact that she did not look the part.

She wore a massively oversized black sweatshirt that brushed her thighs and dark blue skinny jeans, her hair loose down her back. Must’ve just got off a plane, Soap thought to himself, looking her up and down. Her stance showed her confidence, feet shoulder-width apart as she faced the team with a bright smile (one not often found in their field of work) and glowing skin. She wasn’t necessarily small, more average height, but her attire dwarfed her frame. 

“Thank you for joining us, Captain,” Price nodded at her. “This is Freyja. American Special Forces, sniper, undercover ops. She’s been briefed and will be joining us temporarily for the op. She comes highly recommended and outranks all of you, so I’d suggest you be on your best behavior.”

The woman jabbed Price with her elbow, rolling her eyes, much to Soap’s surprise. He barely suppressed the laugh that bubbled in his chest, unable to help the small choking laugh that escaped. Ghost glared at him and he quickly piped down.

“Thanks, John, but I think I’ll be fine. Glad to be of use.”

“Happy to have you. Let me know if you need anything while you’re here. I’ll leave you to it, get acquainted. We leave at 0400 hours. We’ll be infiltrating in daylight; prepare accordingly.”

“Aye, Captain,” Soap nodded once and saluted him, setting his chair back down as he rose. He watched John pat her shoulder on his way out, sharing what seemed like a knowing look, before finally departing to his quarters. Interesting.

Soap was the first to cross the room, taking her hand in a firm grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. Sergeant John Mactavish,” he introduced, shaking her hand. He noted her equally firm grip and the cool metal of a wedding band pressing into his palm. Her skin was calloused yet soft, not as rough as his own. 

“Soap, right? Heard a lot about you.”

“Aye. Good things I hope?"

“Mostly.”

A boisterous laugh left him, so loud you’d think the room shook. Soap heard Gaz gag on his water before breaking into a choked wheeze. The other man approached, shaking her hand as well. “Kyle Garrick, call me Gaz.”

Her hands found their way into the pockets of her sweatshirt.

“So, Freyja… like the–?”

A gentle, airy giggle floated into his ears. What a lovely sound. “Yes, like the goddess. I know, my husband’s idea.”

Soap groaned, his head lolling back in faux agony as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re breakin’ my heart, lass. Was hopin’ ya didn’t have one’a those. He in the service?”

“He is, but you wouldn’t know him. Keeps a pretty low profile,” she shrugged, keeping her eyes on the two men in front of her.

”D’ya think I could take him?”

”Probably not.”

Neither Soap nor Gaz noticed the way Ghost’s mask twitched slightly, evidence of the smirk that pulled at his lips. But she knew his microexpressions like the back of her hand, even out of the corner of her eye. The Scot remembered Ghost’s presence suddenly and waved his hand in his direction. He hadn’t made any move to greet the newcomer and hadn’t spoken during the entire brief.

“Steamin’ Jesus, Ghost, you heard the man. Be nice to the lady!”

Ghost grunted, keeping his arms folded on his chest. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant.”

The two stared at each other, her brow quirked. As the seconds passed, the interaction became increasingly awkward for everyone else in the room. Even the thickest person on the planet could have sensed the tension. Unable to take the silence any longer, Gaz stepped in to attempt to relieve some tension. “You two worked together before?”

“You could say that,” Ghost stated as he rose from his chair. “A word, Freyja?”

Her tongue poked at the inside of her cheek and she squinted at him. It was almost comical, the height difference between the two. Typically, Soap would have made a snarky quip, if not for the vicious look in her eyes. He wouldn’t say it out loud to him, but the scowl rivaled his lieutenant‘s. Finally, she spoke, “Excuse us, gentlemen. I’ll see you in the morning. You know where to find me in the meantime.”

“G’night, Cap,” Soap nodded and moved to the side, allowing her to pass to the door. Ghost didn’t spare them another glance as he followed behind her. The two men stood silently until they heard a door slam shut up the hall. Soap snapped his gaze to Gaz and found him already looking with wide eyes.

“What was that about?”

Soap shrugged noncommittally. “Not a clue. Bad history? Ghost’s no’ exactly skilled in manners.” He went to head to his room when he noticed a military-issue duffel where Freyja had been standing, an American flag patch on the side. He bent down and slung it over his shoulder. “Left her stuff. I’m gonna drop it by ‘for hittin’ the hay. See ya in the mornin’.”

They went their separate ways, Gaz disappearing to the armory to stock up for the mission. Soap approached the only spare room in their wing and rapped his knuckles against the door. He waited for a few beats to no response and repeated the motion.

Nothing.

Soap’s brows furrowed when he heard what sounded like a muffled argument from the next door up, labeled “Lt. Riley”. Soap should have just left her duffel in front of her door and continued on his way to his bedroom, and gone to bed.

But no, he just had to snoop.

He crept toward the door, still holding the bag as he pressed his ear to the hollow wood. They clearly knew each other, but Ghost hadn’t seemed happy to see her. He felt a bit guilty spying on his lieutenant, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He heard Ghost’s deep voice first.

“We had a deal. You’re supposed to be on leave, and Price knows that. I have half a mind to wring his fucking neck–”

“John didn’t ask me to be here, I volunteered–”

“Cut the shit, Y/N. I’m not daft. He has no place calling you in without asking me first.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Simon!”

Simon? Just how familiar were they with each other?

“Oh, I’m well aware. I just figured that when your husband asks you to stay home, you'd listen! How silly of me!”

So he knows her husband. Interesting. 

“That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“You want to talk about fair? You went around my back to my Captain. I’d say anything’s fair play at this point.” Heavy boots crossed the floor. “This isn’t just about you anymore. You’re not my superior, you’re–”

Soap shuffled his feet, he realized too late how loud the noise was in the empty hallway, and the voices suddenly stopped. He knocked in an attempt to recover, quickly stepping back from the door before it opened. The woman appeared, now in a too-big band tee, her dog tags resting on her chest. “Hi, Johnny,” she greeted, her tone significantly warmer than it had been a moment ago. 

He didn’t remember mentioning his preference for the name, but he couldn’t find a reason to comment on it then. “You, uh, left ya bag. Wanted to drop it off, figured you’d be here.”

“Oh, my bad. Thanks, I appreciate it.” He transferred her possessions to her. The bag that appeared standard when he carried it looked huge compared to her frame. The added weight did not phase her. “We have an early morning. I’m heading to bed.”

Ghost moved from his spot near the bed on the other side of the room. “Frey–”

She held a hand up, sending another chilling glare in his direction. Soap was impressed when Ghost didn’t even blink at the look. “Enough, Lieutenant. That’s an order.” He didn’t miss the eyes behind the skeleton glowering or how the fabric near his mouth shifted. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he growled through clenched teeth. 

She brushed by Soap, readjusting the bag on her shoulder as she stormed to her room, somehow gracefully maintaining her posture. Before he could turn back to question Ghost, the door swung shut in his face.

Real polite.

~*~

“Alpha-One, in position.”

“Copy that, one. Alpha-Two, in position.”

“Bravo?” Soap’s partner looked over his shoulder at the white light flashing at them in the distance. There was a muffled choking sound and a swallow, followed by a sniffle. “Freyja?”

“Sorry. Multiple armed guards. Two snipers at the east and west sides of the targets.” Her voice, while calm, sounded tired and a bit drained. As if she could sense the unspoken question, she came through their headsets again. “Little sick this morning. I’m fine.”

Ghost's jaw set and he rolled his shoulders, blinking a few times to focus. Soap noticed the motion and covered the mic on his headset. “You a’right, Lt.?” he asked, his voice concerned with his brows furrowed. 

Ghost ignored him. “Can you get a visual inside?”

“Negative. Windows are blocked in both buildings. You’re going blind.”

“What’s the call, ma’am?” Gaz’s voice.

“This is Price’s op. I’m just here for support.”

“Ghost?” Price this time. 

Ghost audibly sighed, his irritation at the situation clear. Soap wondered how bad their last encounter could have been for the usually collected man in front of him to be so disheveled. Soap looked over at the lieutenant, who had turned his attention back to the opening in the wall between them. “Bravo, hold your position. Understood?”

“Affirmative.”

“Alpha-One, move in on your target on my command.” Ghost clicked off his mic and slid the chamber back on his pistol, doing one final check.

Soap took the opportunity to follow up on his unanswered concern. “Ghost, you good? Seem tense. Something going on with the lass?”

“Shut up, Sergeant.” He reached up to click his headset back on. “Freyja cleared hot to engage.”

“Standby.” A beat passed, then another, until the suppressed shot of a sniper rifle rang through their headsets, followed by the bolt being pulled back and pushed forward. Another shot. “Clean hit. Snipers down.”

“Copy. Alpha-One, move in. Keep it quiet,” Ghost commanded, signaling Soap forward with a tilt of his head.

She watched Ghost and Soap move swiftly around structures and cars forward to their target. Her gaze periodically adjusted between them and Alpha-One, Gaz and Price. Soap’s accent was low in her ear. “Approaching target. Engaging two hostiles.”

The pair dispatched the guards with ease, the same as the other team up the road.

“Be advised, I have no eyes inside,” she reminded the group, surveying the surrounding area as both teams entered the building.

“Roger. Breaching.”

On their frequency, angry shouts and gunfire had her writing uncomfortably in her spot. She didn’t like not having a solid visual of her team; it made her feel helpless. The audio of the scene inside wasn’t helping her nerves (or nausea) much, either. The sniper was almost lost in her thoughts when she caught movement at the edge of her scope up the street.

Reinforcements.

“Ghost, engaging incoming hostiles. You might want to bug out,” she suggested, taking several shots at the armed men back-to-back. “Alpha-One, sound off.”

“Heard. Intel acquired,” Price acknowledged. “Clearing out.”

“Alpha-Two, how copy?”

The radio crackled once before Soap came through. “Copy, I’ve lost visual on Ghost. Got separated in the firefight,” he grunted, still firing shots inside the building. “‘M gonna have to squirt.”

Something wasn’t right. “Ghost, how copy?”

Silence.

“Lieutenant, what’s your status?”

Her skin crawled at the repeated silence. “Fuck.” She took a deep breath and pulled her knees underneath her body, her stomach suddenly stilling, nausea disappearing. “Abandoning post.” Her voice pierced through their radios with urgency. She abandoned her rifle and made her way down from her perch.

“Absolutely not. We’re converging at the meeting point now.” Price cursed under his breath as she brandished her sidearm and sprinted towards Ghost’s last location. “Stand down, Bravo, that’s an order!” The captain commanded, rough and authoritative.

“All due respect, Price, get bent.”

Price and Gaz watched helplessly as she disappeared into the structure, Soap approaching them from their flank. “The absolute balls on that one, aye?” he snickered, eyeballing Price. He didn’t even flinch, expression hard as steel as he rubbed his face. He hadn’t seen his captain that stressed in quite a while. Maybe not the time for jokes…

The blood-curdling screams Soap heard would scare any man straight. It sounded like a horror movie slaughterhouse over their comms, whether it was caused by Ghost or Freyja he didn’t know. He did know it was her voice that said Ghost’s name and assumed the distant, heated mumbling was Ghost. He must have lost his headset if they couldn’t hear him clearly, and what they were hearing was whatever her comms picked up. “Shut the fuck up and move. If you were fine, I wouldn’t be here, Lieutenant. You can thank me later,” she snapped, sounding eerily similar to a stereotypical angry wife. There’s no way she cleared out that entire convoy on her own…

Right?

Moments later, without any other gunfire, the pair emerged. Ghost was indeed missing his headset, while Freyja trudged in front of him, taking long steps to cross the street. Her helmet was gone, and her hair had come loose. Gun in one hand, a familiar black combat knife in the other, dripping blood. Strands of hair clung to her face, coated in dark red, along with her hands, bare arms, and vest. Soap’s eyes blew wide. “Steamin’ bloody Jesus, did she–?”

Price hummed and nodded beside him. In the same breath, she stumbled over to a car and gripped the door handle, dumping her stomach on the dusty road. Soap and Gaz moved to help, but Price stopped them with a single grunt. Ghost was immediately on her, expertly sweeping her hair into one hand as he pulled her earpiece out, cutting off their audio. One of her hands grabbed his vest for support while his other hand rested on her back.

“Well, that’s unusual,” Soap chimed, his head cocked to the side as he watched the display.

“Quit starin’ and load up. I doubt that’s the last of those reinforcements.” Price waved at them, catching Ghost’s attention and pointing to an approaching Heli, waving his hand in a “roll out” motion.

~*~

The ride back to base in the heli was one of the most awkward experiences of Soap’s life; not a word was spoken during the short trip. Ghost pulled a rag out of his vest and silently handed it to Freyja to wipe some blood from her face; she passed him the blade she had carried, and he finally placed its familiarity when Ghost tucked it into the empty holster at his hip. She looked utterly drained now that they were in close quarters. In another shocking moment, she rested her head on Ghost’s shoulder, and he didn’t move to shove her off.

What the fuck?

At the base, Ghost dropped her off at the medical bay before storming into the meeting room where the team had gathered to debrief. “You’re a dead man, Price,” he barked, finger jabbed at him as his skull plate skittered across the table when he threw it. “You fuckin’ knew–”

“Simon, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t “Simon” me. Sorry’s not gonna cut it, Captain! If she’s hurt–”

“I didn’t think she would compromise herself that easily.”

Ghost barked a dry, humorless laugh as he pointed in the general direction of the infirmary. “Of course, she’s bloody compromised! She’s my fuckin’ wife, you git!” he snarled, teeth viciously bared as he ripped off his mask.

“Hell’s fuckin’ bells…”

“Bloody hell…”

He was too angry (and, frankly, scared for his wife’s health) to acknowledge their audience. “This is exactly why I told you not to call her. I can’t focus if I’m worried about her safety right now. She’s supposed to be safe at home, resting, not running into a bloody warzone, for God’s sake!” 

“She was told not to leave her post–”

“When has she ever obeyed a direct order?”

Silence fell over the group, Price effectively losing the argument. Neither Sergeant wanted to find themselves on the other end of Ghost’s rage. They had no envy for Price and dared not get between them. No envy at all. On the other hand, Soap had so many questions. Since where was Ghost married? When did he have the time for a wife? And an American at that? How long had he been keeping her a secret?

“Simon.”

Four heads whipped to the soft voice across the room, finding the woman of the hour standing in the doorway. A superficial cut on her forehead had been taped up, her face clear of blood. Soap and Gaz stared at her in disbelief, jaws dropped as they looked from her to Ghost and back again. She chuckled at their expressions but didn’t move to approach them. “Captain Riley. Lovely to meet you both, officially,” she reintroduced herself, a slight smirk on her lips. She finally met her husband’s gaze, her expression softened at his bare face, save for the black paint.

He curled two fingers at her, one arm crossed over his chest. “C’mere. Now,” he ordered her, though his tone had little bite to it.

Even only knowing the sniper for such little time, Soap was outright shocked at the display. Flabbergasted by her obedience when she immediately strode to the spot next to him, barely leaving any space between their chests. It didn’t seem like her. He was obviously wrong, considering what he’d just witnessed. 

Ghost took a deep breath as he peered down at her, examining her visible skin for injuries. “I’m right pissed at you, love,” he muttered, allowing her to loop a finger in his belt loop.

She smiled up at him, her admiration clear now that the sergeants had been let in on the secret. “I know.”

“Don’t give me that look.” The man sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. He knew he couldn’t hold his ground with that smile of hers. He dropped a gloved hand to rest on her lower belly, rubbing the spot with his thumb. “You alright?”

She placed her hand on top of his and bobbed her head. Her familiar glow from the night before had returned.

“I’d like an apology.”

“And I’d like a parade in my honor. Oh, and a good ol’ fashioned fu–”

“Oi, better watch that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“You love my mouth.”

“Tha’ I do. Just not right now, sweetheart.”

Soap couldn’t take it anymore. “Steamin’ blood Jesus L.t., are you…flirting?”

“Shamelessly,” she giggled, never once tearing her eyes away from the man towering over her.

Ghost rolled his eyes again, his other hand slipping into its home on the side of her neck. “You’re done. I mean it. And if you call her again, I walk,” he threatened, turning his head to address Price directly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Ghost, she held her own just fine,” Soap interjected from his chair. “Hen took out an entire squad practically single-handedly, plus the convoy before she went in after ya. I don’t see the problem.”

Realization dawned on Gaz suddenly, forcing him to his feet again. “You’re pregnant,” he exclaimed, both in shock and awe. “That’s why you were feeling sick. And the big clothes. You’re on maternity leave."

The lack of response from John and Freyja and how Ghost studied Gaz said everything they needed to know.

“No wonder you’ve been downright crabbit with her! Can’t say I blame ye, ‘s too dangerous out there to be mucking about with a little one in there.” Soap rose to his feet too, smiling like a cheeseball, ready to ruthlessly tease him. “How’d you manage that, Ghost? A bangin’ wife and a baby?”

“I know it’s been a while for you, Sarge–”

“Aw, away n’ bile yer heid!” the Scot barked, dismissing his lieutenant with a wave.

“English, MacTavish.”

“Sorry, sir, let me translate…Go fuck yourself.”

“Much better.”

He moved on from Ghost, addressing Freyja now. “I’ve so many questions! How long ‘ave you been together?” Soap leaned against the round table in front of them, his hands dragging across the shaved portion of his head.

“How old am I?” Ghost asked in a low, teasing timber.

Her upper lip tugged upwards as her hand wavered, indicating an estimate. “Five years, give or take.”

“Five years?! Son of the god-damn-devil, Lt! You’ve had a secret wife for five years–” He cut himself off with a gasp, his volume dropping to a brash whisper. “Does he take the mask off when you—”

“Tha’ll do, Johnny.”

Her bubbly laugh filled the room, and she swatted his tactical vest with her palm. “Si, don’t be an ass,” she warned, raising a brow at him. “Oh, John! I have pictures for you!” The woman let go of her husband and dug out folded ultrasound photos from her zipped pocket. She, Price, and Gaz moved to another corner of the room, gushing over the snapshots of her latest appointment before flying out, leaving Soap and Ghost alone by the meeting table.

A mischievous grin overtook Soap’s face. “An American, eh, Lt.? And she outranks you?”

“Not another word, Sergeant.”

A long pause stretched between them, although not long enough for Ghost’s liking.

“So… Goddess of love, beauty, and war,” he inquired, raising an eyebrow at the Brit, who threw him a questioning side-eye. Soap hummed. “Fitting.”

Soap almost gawked at the smirk (borderline smile) that Ghost bore as he watched his wife animatedly pour over her photos. “I’m well aware.” Another moment passed between them before Ghost fully turned to the other man. “Johnny?”

“Yeah, Ghost?"

“Flirt with my wife again, I’ll knock your teeth in."

"Noted, sir."

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[blurredcolour]

The Only Truth... | Part One

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

While your journeys are very different, fate brings both you and Major John Egan to Stalag VIIA in Moosburg, Germany.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Descriptions of Aerial Combat and Plane Crash, Reader Injury (2nd Degree Burns), Death, Blood, Gore, Angst, John Egan Injury, Forced March, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7531

-------------------------

January 8, 1945

A cacophony of thunderous explosions and shrieking metal shredded your restful state where you lay perched on the bottom stretcher in the back of a C-47, desperately trying to recover from the routine 0400 wake-up that came on mission days before your arrival at the advance airfield where some eighteen wounded men would come under your care. As the plane lurched and shuddered again, you bolted upright, cracking your head on the middle stretcher above you with a sharp expletive as the rows of jerry cans that you had helped load to fight off pre-flight jitters rattled against the floor where they were strapped down.

You had never experienced flak before. You had trained for the possibility of it at the School of Air Evacuation in Bowman Field, Kentucky, but the reality of it was something entirely different. Watching pinpricks of daylight appear through the alarmingly thin skin of the aircraft flooded your mouth with the bitter taste of adrenaline, your heart pounding violently as it prepared to fight or flee – but given that you were thousands of feet in the air, neither of those options were really available to you. Scrambling to your feet, you stumbled along the narrow path between the supplies that had been crammed onto the plane to be left at the front, to be traded for wounded patients on landing, and tried to get to the nose of the plane. Tried to get to cockpit where Major Roy and Captain Mercer were, pilot and co-pilot – the senior officers. They would surely know what to do.

Grateful for the decision to add your sheepskin flight jacket and gloves to your uniform of olive drab jacket and slacks with shirt and tie, a garrison cap pinned onto your sensibly styled hair, you still felt a shiver run through you despite the added warmth as you neared the radioman Warren and the brand new, baby-faced navigator Schmidt. With brown eyes wide as saucers and freckles splattered haphazardly across his face, you would not have believed the boy to be a day over fifteen. Given the fact that the plane had wandered into the range of enemy guns, your suspicions were growing all the more likely. Turning to see the back of your surgical technician, Fitzgibbons, blocking the entry into cockpit, you were about to tap his shoulder when a shower of wet, hot viscera splattered across you from the left – the only trace of Warren that remained, as a ragged hole in the fuselage now replaced his radio operator’s position.

You were vaguely aware of someone screaming, not realizing the haunting and horrified noise was emanating from your throat until Fitzgibbons grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you firmly.

“Lieutenant!” He shouted, seemingly exasperated with you. “Are you hurt?!”

Snapping your mouth shut, you smeared your hands across your face and down your body, shaking your head as the acrid smell of fuel flooded your nostrils, returning your senses to you. You quickly looked to Schmidt on your right, worried he might have been in the line of fire, and frowned to see him trying to yank a sizeable piece of metal from his shoulder.

“No, don’t!” You shouted firmly and grabbed the first aid kit from the wall above him, quickly padding the penetrating object with gauze and wrapping it, finding the purpose and procedure of it steadying. “It’ll keep the bleeding slow, ok? Keep it in, Schmitty.” You offered what you hoped was a reassuring smile, but with the remnants of Warren, mixed with the contents of the fuel tanks, splattered across you, who was to say what image you presented in that moment.

“It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault Ma’am, we shouldn’t even be here, got lost in the clouds an…” He began to blubber, and the plane shuddered and lurched again as Mercer tried banking out of the hail of flak, fairly dumping you into his lap.

“Easy now, easy…” You cleared your throat as it began to burn with irritation, lifting your head to see smoke billowing in from the hole in the fuselage.

“That’s it, we’re bailing out!” Roy yelled from the cockpit as he hit the bailout bell and Fitzgibbons quickly collected your parachutes, but you insisted on sending Schmidt down the aisle and out the door behind the wing first, given that he was injured.

“You know what to do Schmitty, try not to land on that shoulder.” You nodded firmly as you strapped your parachute on, fumbling slightly due to shaking hands and your thick gloves, but the repetition during your training paid off with your eventual success.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded before seeming to vanish out the side of the plane.

“Sergeant.” You turned to Fitzgibbons, but he shook his head.

“You may outrank me Ma’am but you’re still a lady.” He muttered stubbornly, gesturing insistently toward the door.

“Get a move on!” Came Mercer’s impatient cry from the now-distant cockpit and you glared at Fitzgibbons.

The smoke that had been curling around you ignited then, a wall of flame licking through the air, fixing to separate Fitzgibbons from the door. A look of pure terror crossed his face – in a plane loaded with fuel, carrying dozens of jerry cans and tanks of oxygen, fire was certain death. Gripping the doorframe tightly with your right hand, you flung your left forward in advance of the encroaching, fierce heat, somewhat protected by the leather you wore, though the searing pain on your wrist assured you the flames had still found a way through. Grasping the surgical technician by the collar, you yanked him toward you just before the oppressive wall of fire sealed off the front half of the plane, checking that he nor his parachute were alight before shoving him out the door. You did not wait long to follow him.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as the sleeve of your jacket was smoldering, the leather hardening and shrinking, the fleece on the inside trapping agonizing heat against your flesh. But your first priority was gravity. Yanking on the ripcord, you cried out at the sharp jolt from your midsection as the parachute caught the air and flung you upward before you began a gentle descent. Then you were able to begin frantically smacking at your coat, trying in vain to stop further injury. But it was not the leather itself that was burning, rather the fuel that coated the surface of it, and it refused to be put out. You had to get the damn thing off.

At last the disorienting cloud gave way to mercifully flat Italian farmland, the ground rushing up to meet your feet. You punched the harness free from your chest, yanking off your gloves, and wrestling free of your coat before stumbling forward toward the sound of a nearby stream, collapsing onto your chest to submerge the screaming flesh of your arm into the icy water. The relief of it drew a soft sob from your throat. The sliver of skin that had been exposed between your sleeve and glove was already starting to blister, would surely scar. You could not see the rest of your forearm trapped beneath your uniform sleeve, but it might have faired somewhat better.

You could have happily lay there for all of eternity, numbing the agonized nerve endings in your arm, but the sharp press of a rifle muzzle between your shoulder blades brought an abrupt end to your moment of bliss.

“Up.” A sharp command was issued in an angry, accented voice and you carefully, if awkwardly, raised up onto your knees with your hands in the air, turning to face the man.

The German soldier’s eyes widened, and his jaw hung slightly open for a moment, his shock more than evident as you revealed yourself to be a woman, before a hardened mask fell over his features once more. He gestured sharply with his rifle for you to rise to your feet and you were quick to obey. He stepped forward, reaching out as if to search you and then stopped, once again looking to your face.

You had read a pamphlet once, on what to do if you were captured. At the time, the situation had seemed utterly preposterous and unlikely, but standing face to face with a German solider in the middle of occupied Italy, you were suddenly grateful you remember something of what to do. You gave him your name followed by,

“Second lieutenant. N-741432.”

“Leutnant?” He muttered, nose crinkling, but his gaze moved to the gold butter bar on first your right shoulder and then your left, the second lieutenant’s insignia. His eyes narrowed further to see the silver wings on your left breast with the prominent N denoting your status as a Flight Nurse. “Schwester…”

The first bit of German was easy to extrapolate, sounded very much like the English version of your rank, but the second sounded like ‘sister’ more than anything else and you were not entirely certain what he was trying to communicate. He seemed finished with the conversation when he motioned to the left with his rifle.

“Go.”

And so you went, keeping your arms raised despite the arching protest of the left, past the still-smoldering remains of your flight jacket and your gloves, past your parachute tumbling across the field on the icy breeze, towards a group of two more German soldiers who seemed equally shocked as your face came into view. You supposed the slacks and loose fit of your jacket made it difficult from a distance to determine that you were a woman, but each of them was quick to smother their reactions as soon as they were revealed. One of the new fellows, so blond he barely had eyebrows, motioned for you to drop your hands and you were barely able to conceal your pain in doing so.

A flurry of Germany left his lips, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion before he gestured at the wet sleeve of your jacket. “Hurt?”

Nodding emphatically, you swallowed, pulling the fabric up slightly to reveal some of the blistered skin. The three men turned to one another, and a rather heated debate ensued, or at least that was the impression you gleaned from their tones of voice and body language, before the loudest among them seemed to prevail.

“You, come, medic.” He grasped your uninjured elbow and led you through the field on a slightly different vector toward a semi-ruined barn where several German soldiers were receiving treatment.

A soldier bearing a white armband with the Geneva cross came over when your guide beckoned and after their brief exchange, gestured for you to take a seat on an old barrel. Taking a pair of scissors, the medic carefully cut through your jacket and shirt, revealing angry, blistered skin all the way up to your elbow. Very gently, your arm was bandaged before he offered you a couple of pills that you did not recognize, and you refused them with a soft shake of the head. He shrugged and tucked them back into his pocket.

“Go, schwester.”

You frowned and pointed at yourself. “Schwester?”

The medic nodded and pointed to your golden nurse’s Caduceus insignias pinned to the lower lapels of your jacket and your eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, nurse.” You muttered quietly and stood. “Thank you.” Nodding to the medic, you followed the soldier out of the farmhouse as you rolled up the ruined ends of your sleeves to keep them from flapping obnoxiously.

What followed was a seemingly endless amount of walking, your entire body beginning to shake with cold and shock, as the soldier sought out his commanding officer. Everything felt surreal, the sound of battle so close at hand, German soldiers all around you, casting repetitive glances your way – it felt as though you had stumbled into the wrong side of a John Wayne film. When, at last, you plodded into the correct house on the outskirts of a small village, you were unspeakably grateful for the fire roaring in the hearth behind the desk of the imposing German officer who glared down his nose at you.

“Too bad you’re a woman…” He muttered in startlingly good English, making it your turn to look on in shock as your legs threatened to give out. “I suppose you also only know name, rank, serial number?”

Clenching your jaw, you nodded stubbornly, trying not to let your face betray the way your heart lurched hopefully at the word ‘also’ and he exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “You can put the contents of your pockets in here.” He held out a small burlap sack and you frowned, but obediently surrendered your favorite tube of lipstick, the four spare hairpins you always carried around, and your change purse – things all stored in your uniform jacket as you found the pockets of the flight jacket too unreliable for storage anyway. Satisfied you were carrying nothing more, he nodded to the man behind you and issued an order in German.

It was difficult to convince your legs into motion again as you were led down to a grimy root cellar with a dirt floor and only one window letting in little light. You had never seen a more welcome sight in your entire life as Schmidt and Mercer lifted their faces to meet you, their equally grimy and worn-out but elated expressions quickly blurring behind tears of relief that mortifyingly flooded your eyes. Dabbing them away, you quickly moved to Schmidt’s side and frowned to see he still had the remnants of your hasty bandage job and the piece of shrapnel in place, seemingly not afforded the same medical care you had been.

“Shit, Schmitty, they didn’t do a thing for you did they.” Kneeling beside him you began to unravel the bandages and gauze. “This needs to come out, then. Captain, would you mind holding him still, sir?”

“I’ve got him.” He nodded and grabbed the boy’s hands as you took a steadying breath.

Wrapping your fingers around the protruding end of the warped, jagged piece of metal, you began to carefully pull it from his shoulder, angling it forward as an uneven, wider piece was revealed on the end. Schmidt did an admirable job of relegating his protests to whimpers and murmurs of ‘oh god,’ only letting out one great yelp as you pulled the last of it free. You would have preferred to flush the wound with something, but there was no water available. Encouragingly, though, there was no great gush of blood.

“You did so good, Schmitty.” You smiled broadly and frowned a moment at the filthy bandages you had removed from him before beginning to unravel the relatively clean ones from your own arm.

“M…Ma’am!” He protested, voice cracking as he saw the state of your skin.

“You’re at much higher risk of infection than me, Sergeant, I won’t take any argument.”

“I don’t suppose I have any say in this?” Captain Mercer arched one of his rather elegant, black eyebrows and you swallowed.

“I’m sorry sir, but not when it comes to medical treatment. Besides, they went out of their way to bandage me once, maybe they’ll do it again.” You muttered and tied off the dressing on Schmidt. “Let me know if it gets hot or more painful, ok?”

He nodded quickly, settling back against the wall and you followed suit, feeling quite fatigued, sore, and to your surprise, hungry. Resting your throbbing arm atop your knee, you leaned your head back against the bricks of the foundation, closing your eyes to listen to the scuff of jackboots across the floorboards above you. Your mind wanted to whirl like a top, to turn questions over and over like ‘Where are we?’ ‘What will they do with us?’ ‘How long will they keep us down here?’ ‘Where are Fitz and Roy?’ but it would just be a waste of energy. Your fate was no longer in your hands and what would happen next would come no matter how hard you dwelt upon it.

The sound of the door at the top of the stairs scraping across the worn floor had all three of your heads snapping up as three sets of feet tromped down into the cellar. It was difficult to hold back your smile as Fitzgibbons peered out from between two German soldiers, the first gesturing for him to join you all on the floor while the other set down a tin plate of thick slices of dark bread covered with thin smears of margarine and four mugs of bitter smelling, black coffee. The first soldier crouched down and pointed at your arm, speaking in German.

“I needed bandages.” You pointed at Schmidt, and he frowned, either not understanding, or unimpressed. Perhaps both.

He straightened with a huff before digging around in his woolen jacket to produce a thick, rectangular bundle, tossing it at you. The two of them then retreated upstairs, shutting the door firmly behind them. Fitzgibbons was on you almost immediately, grasping the folded bandage to unravel it curiously.

“This does not look good, Lieutenant.” He looked at your arm pointedly and you huffed.

“Schmitty was worse off, Fitz, needs must.” You muttered but held out your arm without further protest as he quickly familiarized himself with the foreign bandage and carefully wrapped as much of your burn as he could.

“Thank you for what you did, Ma’am.” He murmured, voice barely audible, and you shook your head quickly.

“You’d have done the same.”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, gaze filled with a vulnerable uncertainty, and you squeezed his shoulder with your free hand.

“Let’s eat something you two.” Mercer chimed in once he had finished bandaging you and the four of you descended on the plate of food, which tasted a lot better than it appeared. The coffee was just as bitter as it smelled, but was hot and that was entirely welcome.

After the plate was emptied, Fitzgibbons looked to Mercer slowly. “Roy?”

The Captain shook his head and you swallowed your gulp of coffee painfully – of the six of you that had left the airstrip outside Rome that morning only four had made it. Two of you were injured, and your journey had most certainly only just begun now that you were captives of the German army.

As the slim shaft of light that penetrated the cellar began to fade, your companions were fetched one by one for individual questioning by the German officer who had greeted you upon your arrival. When it at last came to your turn, the sun was well set, and though you tried to pay more attention to the detail of the rustic country house, it was hard to pick out much in the low light of the sporadically placed candles.

There was a chair waiting for you opposite the desk this time and you sank into it gratefully, every muscle in your body tight with pain as it felt distinctly like someone was rubbing sandpaper over your superheated flesh with every movement you made.

“I’m terribly sorry about your radioman and pilot, must have been horribly shocking to see such things. What a terrible day you’ve endured Lieutenant.”

Shifting quietly in your chair, you shook your head as he offered a cigarette from a pack of Lucky Strikes – surely confiscated from one of your crew members as they were not so readily available in occupied Italy.

“Is there anything I can get you to ease your discomfort? Blankets? A coat? More bandages?”

Pressing your lips together in a thin line you dropped your gaze to your lap, focusing on filling your lungs to a count of three before slowly exhaling, then repeating the process. Each offer of comfort, each word of kindness was horridly tempting and yet the source also filled you with revulsion.

“It’s a far cry from Lido De Roma where you’re going, no beaches or sea air…” Your head jerked up in shock and a slow, devious smile curled onto the German officer’s thin lips as his mention of the 802nd Medical Air Evacuation Squadron’s posting finally garnered a reaction from you. “I hope you like the Alps, Lieutenant. You will see them on your way by.”

Tears of shame pricked the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously, looking to the side. Slamming his leather-clad palms flat onto the desk, you jumped and eyed him warily as he stood slowly. “If you have nothing of value to add, then?”

Inhaling slowly you repeated your name, rank, and serial number one last time – much to his ire – before he barked out an order to have you removed from the warmth of his office and returned to the cellar. This process was repeated several times at random intervals throughout the night, the four of you taking turns resting and watching for the unfriendly arrival of an errand boy soldier to haul you upstairs for another ‘chat’ with their English-speaking officer. Sometimes he was friendly, other times he was intimidating. Once he simply sat opposite you in the near-dark and glowered.

Eventually, time or patience ran out and just as the grey light of dawn began to permeate the misty winter morning, the four of you were marched as a group up the stairs and loaded into the back of a canvas-covered truck partially filled with crates. Wedging yourselves into what open spaces you could find, you had barely sat down before the vehicle lurched into motion and began its long and jolting ride to your next destination. The sun was much higher in the sky by the time you arrived at a small train station, emerging into midday, the mists long burned away. Herded across the tracks towards a cattle car, you were startled to see a group of other American soldiers – infantrymen, being loaded in.

“Up.” Came the command from the German soldier at your back and you reached up gratefully for the broad hand of corporal already in the car who helped hoist you inside.

“How the heck did you wind up here?! Ma’am…” He quickly tacked on, and you could not help but laugh a little at the bewildered expression on his face, shuffling further into the car as the last of your comrades were loaded in.

“Well the long and the short of it is, we ran into a bit of trouble during our flight…”

Captain Mercer scoffed as he came to stand behind you. “You could say that again, Lieutenant.”

The space was suddenly plunged into darkness as the door was slid shut and barred closed. You nearly toppled over as the train jostled forward, thanking Fitzgibbons as he steadied you. You embarked on a seemingly endless journey in darkness as the train ascended and descended, stopped and started, climbed and came down across unknown landscape. It was nigh impossible to see through the thin gaps between the slats of the car itself, but you knew from your ‘conversations’ with the officer that you were crossing the Alps. Could feel the air grow cold as you huddled closer to the men around you for what warmth you could glean as your breath hung from your lips in foggy exhales.

Your bladder ached until you could no longer deny needing to use the squalid bucket in the corner. Mercer, Fitzgibbons, and Schmidt formed a human wall with their backs to you, loudly clearing their throats as you took quite possibly the longest piss in the history of womankind. With that basic need met, the ravening hunger set in. Those slices of bread were long digested by the time the train came to a stop and disgorged the lot of you, blinking into the daylight like mole-people, squinting for signage.

“Moosburg.” Mercer muttered under his breath, and you hugged your arms tightly around yourself as you stumbled through the snow to form two lines as instructed by new soldiers whose uniforms sported the double lightning symbol of the SS.

You would had never thought it possible to envy a dead man, but standing there shivering in the snow as cruel-faced men in well-cut uniforms marched up and down the lines with their snarling dogs, you wondered if perhaps it would not have been better if that piece of flak had taken you out at the same time it had struck Warren. You were not entirely certain if you were strong enough for what was to come.

 ------------

April 11, 1945

Every step was an agony. It was remarkable, really, how many injuries two goons had managed to inflict on Bucky’s body in the brief moments between Buck’s escape and Lieutenant Colonel Clark’s intervention. At least two of his ribs were cracked by the butt of that rifle, severely hampering his ability to breathe properly. Then there had been the sharp kick to the back of his calf, wrenching his knee. The coupe-de-grace had been the left hook to his jaw, shredding the inside of his lower lip across his teeth and flooding his mouth with blood. If Clark had not called them off with the threat of riot, Bucky was not entirely sure he would have made it out of that village.

As it was, he had barely made it off the floor of the church the next night, requiring a great deal of prodding from DeMarco. Teeth gritted against the raw ache in every limb, every joint, he had risen to his feet through sheer force of will, knowing the alternative was a bullet to the brain. Somehow even though Buck was well on his way back to the American lines – by god he truly hoped so – Bucky could not face the thought of disappointing him by dying like that and so he had persisted. Had kept putting one foot in front of the other as they had trudged through the mud, crossing the Danube, putting another twenty kilometres between them and Nuremberg.

It had not made it any easier to keep up, however. Bucky had felt himself slowing, felt his body refusing to keep pace with the rest of the men. Every time he had lifted his eyes from the boots of those in front of him plodding through the endless muck, he had been surrounded by different faces. As he had neared the back of the group, lightheaded from pain and lack of oxygen, he had taken a second glance as he realized the faces around him were those of Brady, Cruikshank, DeMarco, Murphy, and Hamilton – all men from the Hundredth. All had been keeping pace with him.

“We’re almost at 20, Bucky.” Brady had murmured quietly under his breath, glancing back at the pair of goons bringing up the rear.

“Keep it up.” Cruikshank had nodded encouragingly.

By some miracle he had made it into the half-collapsed warehouse, crawling into a corner that was still partially covered by its patchy roof and had promptly fallen asleep. There had been a gentle prodding against his shoulder sometime later, daylight filtering in through the dust motes drifting thickly in the air and an offering of bread had been waved in front of his face. He had pushed it away clumsily before falling back asleep. Bucky’s next return to consciousness had been with his arms slung across the shoulders of DeMarco and Brady, a great amount of protest falling from their lips about the size of him.

It had been dark again. Darkness meant more walking and so he had awkwardly planted his feet. Relieved sighs had filled his ears from both his companions as the three of them worked together to propel him out of there and down the muddy road. Night had yielded to the hazy light of dawn and at last a sea of barbed wire fences, clapboard buildings and canvas tents came into view. Bucky had quite honestly never been so pleased to see a Stalag in his entire existence.

“Almost there.” Groaned Hamilton, who had since switched off with DeMarco, though the stalwart Brady had yet to budge from beneath his right arm.

As they stepped through the gates into the main courtyard, Bucky lifted his head to eye Clark blearily. “Guess they’re not gonna process us.” His words were slightly slurred as he tried to present his usual level of joviality, but the man’s brows only furrowed deeply in response.

“Get him to the hospital immediately.”

There was a chorus of ‘yes sirs’ and some hesitation before Hamilton and Brady got their bearings, but then they were on the move again. Bucky’s legs were barely responding by this point, toes mostly dragging through the incessant muddy landscape that seemed a consistent feature of every Stalag he’d had the misfortune of visiting thus far. As his vision began to go fuzzy, black dots eating away at it while it simultaneously began to dim at the edges, Bucky began to worry this might be his last camp.

“Put him right there please.”

Bucky tried to swing his head towards the most musical sound he had heard in over a year, but Hamilton and Brady were turning him to lay on his stomach, rambling about the broken ribs on his back and all he could see were worn wooden floorboards. Until suddenly your gorgeous face flooded his vision as you knelt beside his cot, your shockingly feminine fingers cradling his face to gently turn it and ensure he was not smothered in the pillow.

The style of your hair, the lashes framing your eyes, the cupid’s bow of your upper lip – the unmistakable womanliness of you; it made his heart ache.

“Must be in heaven…” He slurred as there was certainly no way he could be alive anymore. Women did not exist in this reality of underfed men and murderous goons.

“They got you good, Major, but you’re still very much with us.” You smiled warmly up at him, and he groaned out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re killing me, angel face.” He wheezed, lips clumsy and barely responsive, before promptly blacking out.

------------

Your heart plummeted as you watched his eyelids fall, shuttering those stunning, if exhausted, blue eyes, terrified you had lost another one before you even had the chance to try and save him. Fingers delving beneath the collar of his shirt, you were greatly relieved to find his strong pulse. Holding your cheek in front of his notably plush lips, the bottom one all the more pronounced by his recent injury, you were even more encouraged to feel the caress of his steady breathing. Sitting back on your heels, you nodded up to his mismatched pair of friends reassuringly.

“Did he just call her ‘angelfish?’” The blond one with angular features and a mouthful of gold muttered as they watched over their friend protectively but also seeming shocked, as everyone before them had been, to find an American woman in a POW camp.

“Maybe he was going for ‘angel face?’” The brunette with sturdy eyebrows replied in a hushed voice.

“Are you gentlemen in need of anything?” You asked, fighting hard against the amused smile that wanted to break through. They were truly a distraction when you had a patient in need of attention before you.

“No, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Ma’am” They shuffled off to leave you to your work.

Taking a moment to assess the length and breadth of your patient, you carefully worked off his leather flight jacket before untucking his uniform shirt and undershirt to reveal the deep purple bruises on his back. His friends had been very right to be worried about broken ribs – at least three by the span of the contusion. Kneeling back down you looked over his face once more, gently lifting his head to inspect both cheeks and confirm the bones were all intact. There did not appear to be anything in need of bandaging. It was most likely that undernourishment, the march, and the broken ribs all compounded to extreme exhaustion.

“What do we have here, Nurse?”

You looked up as Major Chalmers, a British surgeon, and head of the hospital emerged from one of the exam rooms. He had been a resident POW of Stalag VIIA for nearly eight months when you arrived in January, happily surrendering one of his exam rooms to become your separate quarters in return for your work in the camp hospital. It was an arrangement that benefited both of you, kept you safe and out of the male population and occupied the long and lonely hours that seemed to pass at their own pace in this place.

Chalmers had done what he could to care for your burned arm, re-bandaging it daily. However, by the time he had been able to start giving it proper care, the damage had already been done. The skin was now permanently mottled by scars, unnaturally smooth, with a texture akin to crumpled cellophane. You were always very mindful to keep your mended sleeve down to your wrist. It was not all that difficult to cover your shame when the rest of your wardrobe consisted of standard men’s POW wear from the Red Cross – the sweaters draping over half your hands and the winter coat blissfully warm but nearly swallowing you whole.

It was only due to Chalmers’ temerity that anyone walked away from the camp hospital at all. With supplies chronically low, men were dying of the most preventable and treatable things. All you could do most of the time was put on a brave face and hold their hand, give them a little comfort at the end. Even Schimdt, despite your best efforts, had found his shoulder wound quickly beset with infection in the less than sanitary environment. Penicillin was non-existent here and he had faded fast, lost in a feverish delirium as you held tight to his hand, watching the light fade from his burning eyes. Your brave façade was second nature to you by this point, showing itself more often than your real, bedraggled self who only showed her face in the cold isolation of your locked exam-room-turned-solo-combine at night.

“Newly arrived American Major, force marched over eight days, beaten two nights ago. At least three broken ribs, damage to lower lip, abrasions to the face and contusions to the back but nothing else I can see. Pulse is strong, breathing is steady, but lost consciousness almost as soon as we laid him down, sir.”

“Hmmm.” Chalmers made a noise of displeasure at the last and conducted his own exam, digging out one of the makeshift charts to add some notes before glancing at his watch. “Do we know when he last ate?”

“No, sir.” You shook your head.

“Alright, I want you to sit with him and keep an eye on his vitals. Hopefully, he’s simply sleeping this off, but I want you to get some water and broth in him as soon as he wakes up alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

Collecting the requisite liquids, you settled onto the sliver of floor space between the Major’s cot and his neighbor’s, working at folding some boiled and dried bandages, now ready for re-use. The actual hospital itself was unspeakably crowded, men nearly stacked atop one another around a small cast iron stove. Originally built for 10,000, the camp’s population had been well over that when you had arrived in January and seemed to multiply every week now. Things had become so dire, a tent hospital had been erected adjacent to the building you lived and worked in to allow for the treatment of more men. It was crowded and ripe, and even surrounded by all these humans you still felt alone as the sole representative of your sex.

As you pulled each strand of once-white fabric from the basket, carefully rolling and tucking the ends to form neat bundles, you studied the unconscious man’s face. Errant dark curls were dangling across his tall forehead and the most absurd and yet endearing dusting of hair graced his upper lip. Clearly, he was going for a Clark Gable, but it was not quite there. Even with one ear poking a mile out to the side, however, you swallowed tightly as you realized you would not change a thing about him. Taken individually his attributes seemed odd, yet combined to make an incredibly handsome whole. Not to mention his feet were dangling off the end of his cot, his shoulders barely contained by the sides of it. If he woke up, no when he woke up, he was going to be a devastating sight to behold.

Reaching the midway point of your task, you slid forward onto your knees to check his vitals, pleased they were holding steady and noting so on the chart, before settling back onto the floor. You had nearly reached the bottom of the basket when a pair of boots entered the hospital. Not German, you had long since become familiar with the way jackboots reverberated across wooden floorboards. Most likely American or British. Peering around the end of the bed your eyes widened as you caught a glimpse of a silver oak leaf – a Lieutenant Colonel! That was the highest rank you had yet to encounter in camp.

Struggling to disentangle yourself from your laundry and not kick over your patient’s waiting fluids in the process of trying to rise to your feet and accord the man the proper greeting that his rank entitled him, you looked up startled as he addressed you first.

“At ease, Nurse.”

He was the first man to seem utterly unfazed by your presence and you somehow found that unspeakably reassuring.

“Thank you, Colonel.”

“How is Major Egan?” He peered down at the still very much asleep man.

“Major Chalmers, our Surgeon, is certain it is no more than a case of exhaustion and he will recover with rest and fluids upon waking. He’s just down the hallway behind you there if you’d like to speak to him yourself, sir.”

He nodded thoughtfully as he glanced over his shoulder before looking back to you. “The Red Cross knows you’re here?”

“I filled out the card when I arrived in January, sir.” You nodded.

“Where have they put you?”

“Converted one of the exam rooms, sir. I eat, sleep, bathe separately.”

“Good.” He nodded in return, seeming quite satisfied with your answer. “Name’s Clark, please find me if you need anything.”

“Thank you very much, Colonel.” You smiled warmly, feeling strangely fragile as the warmth of it actually emanated from deep inside you rather than a mask plastered on for the comfort of the recipient.

Dismissing himself from your presence with one sharp nod, he turned to follow your directions down the hall, most likely in search of Chalmers. Turning back to eye your patient, Major Egan, you sighed a little as he remained blissfully unconscious, lips parted against the thin pillow to allow heavy exhales to fall rhythmically. There was little change to his condition as the sun made its way across the sky before hovering at the horizon, preparing to set. Your dinner was delivered to the bedside and there was a rather heated exchange between Chalmers, Clark, and a few of the guards before they conceded you could remain unlocked for the night to keep an eye on your fragile patient. This Lieutenant Colonel was obviously not someone to be trifled with.

You waved off Chalmers when he asked if you were up to the task, taking advantage of his presence to make a quick bathroom run and fetch a blanket before returning to your post. It was your first night spent amongst others in months, their soft snores and nightly noises combining with the sound of rain pattering onto the ramshackle roof to do their very best to pull you under into sleep. The downward slide of your eyelids was halted abruptly by the first vocalization from Major Egan since his contested term of endearment – angel face? Angelfish? Whatever it had been, silence had since reigned over his mouth until he began to mutter and emit soft sounds of protest, his features tense and furrowed. Shifting up onto your knees, you lay one hand over his clenched fist, trying to smooth the crease in his brow with the thumb of your other.

“It’s alright Major Egan, you’re safe.” You soothed in a hushed whisper, hoping to dispel whatever unseen terror was plaguing his thus far peaceful sleep.

He shifted slightly in response, lips smacking a little as his hand moved with alarming speed to engulf yours in a tight grip and hold it close to the side of his chest. Barely smothering your gasp of surprise, you held your breath a moment until he stilled completely, features relaxing and breath evening out as he slipped deeper into sleep once more. Exhaling slowly you gnawed on your lip a moment before shifting to sit on the floor with your back against the cot, hand still very much held captive by his. Allowing yourself to drift a little more, quite certain any movement on his part would now alert you to his wakening, you barely noticed the hourly checks the goons were making on you – clearly uneasy about having you roam free amongst the hospital patients, but for whatever reason Clark’s demands had been honored and it was a refreshing change around here.

It was just before dawn of the following day when Major Egan began to shuffle and groan behind you, your hand slipping free from his. You straightened stiffly, turn to watch him roll onto his uninjured side and take stock of his surroundings.

“Good morning, Major, have a good rest?” You asked quietly, hoping not to wake the others sleeping around him.

His head immediately snapped down towards you and he eyed you in bewilderment once again. “I thought you were a hallucination.” He rumbled, voice roughened by disuse.

You smirked slightly and nodded. “I got that impression. Thirsty?”

He bobbed his head in a small nod, and you slid to your feet, grasping his elbows to help him sit up. Grabbing the mug from the ground, you offered it to him, only allowing him to take a small sip before pulling it back. He blinked at you sluggishly for a moment before you offered him the mug again. After three limited sips, which he clearly found frustrating, you allowed him to keep hold of the mug as you wrapped your fingers around his thick wrist to track his pulse.

“How long was I out?” He asked once you were finished noting your findings on his chart.

“Almost a day. Seems as though you really needed the rest. Ready to try a little broth?” You smiled as he nodded once more and picked up the other mug from the ground. “I saved you some, I’ll get it warmed up.”

He slowly lay back down as you took the mug of broth over to the stove in the centre of the room and set it on top, swirling the liquid until it was steaming and then decanting it into his now empty water mug so it would not burn his hands. As you returned to his bedside, he leveraged himself up with barely concealed, painful effort and you frowned as you set the mug in his hands.

“I’m here to help with that, Major.”

“Please,” he took a sip of the steaming liquid, “call me Bucky.”

You smiled and introduced yourself properly as well before your lips tugged into a mischievous grin. “But do feel free to keep calling me angelfish, I certainly haven’t gotten that one before.”

He choked a little on his next sip, giving you a rueful albeit lazy smirk. “Kick a man when he’s down why don’t ya, angelfish.”

You were unsuccessful in smothering your answering giggle, several of the men around you muttering and tossing restlessly as you had accidentally woken them. Bucky pressed a long finger to his lips teasingly before turning back to his broth, slowly finishing it before setting the empty mug on the floor beside the low cot.

“I uh, am sure the facilities are lacking but…” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully and you swallowed, gesturing for him to follow you, and assessing his movements with your medically trained eye.

It was of course a test, of his balance, pain level, and energy to see how he moved across the floor and into the rustic patients’ washroom. You, of course, left him to his own devices in there, but walked him back to the bed, noting how he grew stiffer with each step.

“I’m sorry we don’t have anything for the pain.” You whispered when he lay down once more on his stomach, small grunts of discomfort escaping him.

He shook his head. “S’fine, angelfish.” He mumbled softly, sleep tugging at him again already as you tucked him in with the worn blanket.

“Rest then, Bucky.” You soothed, relieved that he was quite cognizant, able to keep his food down, and resting well.

This one might make it.

-------------------------

Read Part Two

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747

[itsscromp]

I just remembered a post I saw about soap (I think) falling asleep in ghosts shoulder after a mission and him not moving an inch because he doesn't want to wake him. I thought that maybe you could do this with reader instead of soap? Since I haven't played the games I don't really know if this is accurate at all :')

Have a nice day ❤️

Rest easy sergeant

I KNOW THE ART YOUR TALKING ABOUT AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH THANK YOU !!!!

It was a long ass mission compared to the other ones that you did, You left at about 1900 hours and began to return to base at 0400. But a successful mission paid off thankfully.

Your eyes grew heavier the longer you flew back to base, leaning your head on someone's shoulder, you soon passed out. Who's shoulder to be exact, none other than Simon's shoulder.

As your head gently touched his shoulder, he started to tense up. But upon seeing you, he relaxed slightly. Soon becoming completely still to let you rest. He did not move a single fucking muscle.

The others were shocked by how still he was being. Like you just became a second pillow to him. "Lt how are you do..."

"Shhhh" He lovingly glared at wanting you to get as much sleep as possible, You worked incredibly hard during the mission and he wanted you to get the rest you deserved. Soon landing back on base and you were still out. He carried you back to your room and tucked you into bed. "Rest easy sergeant, you did well today mate" He smiled softly under his mask and quietly shut the door, off to get some rest himself.

@callofdudes @fun-k-board

[g0ose-bumps]

Soap Gets a Visitor

Soap and Ghost but cat edition™.

There was a cat staring at him from the halls of their base. It was sitting in front of his door and it's fur was a striped tawny brown. The size of it threw him off; it was shockingly massive for what looked to be a tabby. There was a hard glint in it's eyes that made it look remarkably human in its distaste.

Soap stares back. He rubs a hand over his eyes tiredly. It was a strange day when he was hallucinating indifferent cats right outside his doorway. Soap should really wake up now.

He wipes his face more vigorously and closes his eyes. Counts to ten and opens them. The cat was still there. This time it looked even more unamused at him. Feline features showing a minute displeasure in the way it grimaced.

Soap boggles for a second. If he wasn't dreaming then that meant there actually was a cat on base. He couldn't believe the balls on whoever brought the cat in. They were really pushing their luck. Aside from working dogs, animals weren't allowed and even then, Soap tried his hardest to avoid them. Dogs and Soap had never gotten along. The scars from his last encounter were just another reminder of that.

The bushy ringed tail of the cat swishes on the ground, thumping loudly at the flooring. The sound shocks him from his stupor and draws his focus to the black tip that was waving jerkily by his feet. The cat seemed to be annoyed at Soap's lack of attention on it and was handily showing him its ire.

Soap makes a quick decision. It wasn't every day he got to pet a cat, and despite Soap's poor relationship with dogs, he liked cats. They were more prone to giving him space and walking away when they had enough. And he couldn't help but have a fondness for them; they reminded him of a certain lieutenant of his afterall.

Soap furtively checks for anyone around. It would be best if there were no witnesses. He didn't want to get sent to latrine duty if he was caught. Soap just knew Price would do it if he had any inkling that he was going to let the cat stay with him till he found its owner.

It was only going to be a couple hours anyway and it was better for everyone if he had the cat in his room. He couldn't let the animal roam around the base unattended.

The sergeant crouches down and offers a hand. The cat only wrinkles it's nose and backs away from the hand.

"Yer a tough customer." He chuckles softly. "Ye remind me of someone I ken." He tells the disinterested animal.

It pauses, yellow green eyes tracking him curiously.

Soap grins and withdraws his hand. "Curious now?" A tail swishes impatiently. "Aye, ye are aren't ya." He replies back teasingly.

The cat gets up and stretches, it's mouth opening to show off its teeth in a large meandering yawn. Soap felt he could relate. He'd been wakened by scratching at the door. According to his beside clock, it was 0400 hours. Too early for anyone not on a night rotation to be up.

Ghost would be up though—albeit on duty. Soap was a little tempted to go and find the man. See how he'd react to the animal. Soap wasn't sure if they'd get along. Ghost liked dogs, but that didnt mean the reticent man would like cats too. Maybe the cat and Ghost would get into a cat fight and hiss at each other; it was a possibility.

Soap widens his door open and scoots back a few steps, crouching down low to encourage the cat to come in with low pss, pss, noises. He holds out a hand just in case the cat decided to rub against it for pets.

The cat only wrinkles it's whiskers and saunters through the door, pass his outstretched fingers. It had the sort of feline grace that was inherent to all cats (and a ghost) that made it seem like they owned the place and was only deigning to come in cause they felt like it and not because you wanted it to.

Soap was already halfway in love.

Despite the dimness of his room, it jumps neatly on Soap's bed, nudging around his sheets for the best spot to lay in. The cat seemed eerily focused on the bed. Soap couldn't help but find it a bit strange. Not that he had any experience in this exact circumstance, but usually animals tended to investigate new areas first. Though it did made sense if the cat was someone's pet and thus, was already used to the general layout. The sergeants room was just a basic copy of every other private room available.

The cat wiggled around some, deciding to lie in the exact centre of the bed. Soap snorts. "You're a demanding one, aren't ya." He sighs, a little helplessly. Warmth spread across his chest like weeds sprouting in pavement. God help him but he always did like the hard to please type.

Soap closes the door quietly. He carefully creeps up to his bed, wanting to see if he could pet the cat. With each step closer, the cat straightens up from its sprawl. It's ears flicks back for a moment and then eases. "I'm nae gonna hurt ye." Soap murmurs softly.

For all that the cat invited itself in, it seemed to be wrestling with itself in whether to flee or not. Closer up, he can see the fine scars that ran the bridge of its nose. It's eyes appeared to be set in a permanent glare. Soap was struck by the resemblance.

"Ye really do remind me of Ghost." Soap tells it wonderingly.

The cat freezes and it's ears flatten out showing the white spot on the backs. Soap manages to get one step away from it and lays a hand out near its mouth. He knew he was gambling. Leaving his hand vulnerable to bites was something only a fool would do. But some instinct of his told him he just had to be patient and outwait the cat.

It's white jaw twitches as if it wanted to bite. Soap waits. The cat bores a hole into him. There's a weighty pause, both of them seemed intent to wait and see what the other did first.

Soap thinks. It seemed to like hearing about Ghost, maybe talking about him would help.

"Ghost was like this too with me." He says.

The cat's orange tinged face scrunches up. "He was!" Soap argues. "He didn't like me talking to him at all." A wry grin forms on his mouth at the memories.

"But I wore him down." Soap inches closer against the bed, one finger touch away from the cat's scarred face. It's long whiskers twitches and it's eyes were dead set on him.

"Yer a bonnie one." He whispers to it.

The cat freezes. Soap takes a leap and strokes the side of its striped cheek. It was so soft Soap wanted to cry. At the touch, the rigidness of the cat melts away. It's tensed muscles unclench, visibly relaxing.

Soap does it again. A deep purr erupts from its chest, eyes closing blissfully as Soap rubs the base of its spotted ears.

"Yer just a big softie underneath the scars." He whispers, more to himself than anything. The words pour out like the fingers that ran a line down the curve of the cat's spine. It's back arched to follow his hand. He could feel the thick muscle and scars that hid beneath the striped fur. It's purrs going deeper still, vibrations shaking the white tuff on its chest.

The cat's striking eyes shut, caught on the bliss of Soap's careful hands.

Soap shifts despite himself, a pained exhale coming from his throat as he moved. His kneeling position by the bed was starting to hurt. The cats eyes open at the sound of Soap's pained grunt.

It got up shakily and walked to the far corner of his bed, away from Soap. "No, don't go." Soap pleads. He wanted to keep on stroking it's soft fur, but if the cat didn't want him to then he'd better give it some more space.

He gets up onto his feet and makes to move away. A plaintive meow stops him in his tracks. He turns to see pleading yellow eyes stare back at him. The cat seemed to want him to get on the bed and pet it some more.

"So demanding. Just like The Ghost." He grins. "Don't tell him I said this, but he's just a needy big guy like yerself. Ye both soak up attention like yer starving for it." Soap muses.

The cat's tail lashes at the remark. "Ach, don't be so mad." He shushes, coming closer to the bed and sitting on the side. "It's not's a bad thing—" Soap swings a foot carefully on to the bed. "Being needy that is." He finishes softly to the cat.

"I wish Ghost needed me more." Soap confides.

The cat's paw raises as if it wanted to push him away. It's all tensed up again, a hunch rising on its back. "It's okay." Soap croons. A hum grows from his throat. He shuffles closer, sheets ruffling up under his movements.

"We all need some love in our life." He lets a couple fingers hover near the cat's face. The cat stands dead still, it doesn't even appear to breath.

Soap rubs the top of its head near some of the scarring. Motor boat purrs stutter and start, sounding more like an engine than feline. It was shockingly loud. Even the cat looked surprised at the intensity.

He was beginning to think the animal wasn't anyone's pet, or at least not any longer. The cat didn't seem used to physical affection. It was scarily alike Ghost in all ways. Soap could tell that just like his lieutenant, those fine scars on its face and body went far deeper than the physical. It seemed simultaneously too confident and skittish with human contact.

Soap continues his mission to have the animal melt into mush. He carefully massages behind its ears and strokes underneath its chin. It seemed to like it. It's purrs taking up the whole room. The cat relaxes even more, going from solid to liquid. It resembled a lazy puddle more than an alert predator. Soap's heart swells until it feels fit to burst. The cat liked him!

Soap gets comfortable on the bed, fully enraptured by the animal sprawled out on it. The cat yawns again, it's eyes drooping in its apparent tiredness. Soap felt tired too. It was just so nice—having company right next to him, so warm and alive that wanted his affection.

His hand falters. He yawns. His eyes shut close. Everything felt like a hazy dream. If only Ghost was here, it'd be perfect. Soap could already imagine it: a nice cottage out in the countryside, a cat slinking around, going as it pleased and a gravely voice and an even more gravely body to cuddle up to. "Wish Ghost was here." He rambles to it tiredly. "I'd think you'd fall in love with him too." Tiredness draws heavy eyes shut.

"Just like I did."

Darkness chases his eyes. The sound of purrs drowns the rest.

Soap sleeps.

—

Soap wakes up. He was lying on his bed over the covers. Strange. Wait. The cat. Where was the cat?

He looks around, trying to catalogue any sign of that bushy black tail but to no avail. He gets up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and checks his closet and underneath his bed. Still nothing. He checks to make sure the door was closed. Yup. Closed. His clock beeps at him shrilly. Shite. He had to go.

Soap readies up to go, making sure he got his boots on right and his sheets tucked properly. The cat would have to wait. If it was even there at all. It might have been all some dream of his. Though if it really wasn't a dream, the cat wouldn't have been able to leave his room without being able to suddenly open a door knob with no opposible thumb.

Regardless, he was going to be late if he dawdled longer. He rushes out of his door, not wanting a lecture from Price. Soap only got three metres from the doorframe before slamming right into something solid, large and black. Ghost.

"Sorry Lt." He chokes looking up, embarrassment colouring his cheeks pink. Ghost looks at him oddly. Something about his heavy gaze made the man appear vaguely embarrassed to Soap. Perhaps it was the visible squint in the lines around his eyes. Ghost had decided to forgo eyeblack this morning.

Ghost grunts at him.

"Ye happen to see a cat anywhere, sir?" Soap rubs a hand back his neck nervously. "Big tabby with a black tip?"

Ghost stiffens. "No." He barks agrivatedly and leaves. Soap is left watching the rapidly retreating back of his lieutenant.

Soap blinks. He could've sworn he saw the man blushing at what he said in the brief look he managed before the man beat a hasty retreat. There was a heavy red on the visible patch of skin. It was a noticeable departure from the sallow colour of the man's skin.

Did Ghost somehow know the cat?

One thing for sure, Ghost knew more than he was saying.

Soap was going to find out what.

+

[spectrerie]

Ok I have no idea if your requests are on or not because I literally never request but I love your writing so here I am! Anyways I can’t stop thinking about ghost x hacker reader who works with 141 and they have to go with the guys on a mission to like hack through security systems or something (idk) but ghost absolutely refuses to let them go like he is so against it. And maybe while they’re on the mission the reader gets hurt or something idrk I haven’t thought that far ahead but I thought you would do so good with this idea!!! Thank you!!

Hello!!!!!!! This request is so good! I got a bit carried away and wrote 3.5k words on it lmaoo, but I'm happy with it now, so I'll post it as an answer to this ask

If you die, I swear I'll kill you.

Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Please enjoy this anon, and anyone else who reads it.

TW: injury, slight workplace bullying, enemies(?) to friends

“With all due respect, sir, no. I don’t need to babysit some egg-head while I’m in the field.” Ghost sat with his arms crossed, knees apart, filling his chair and the room with his presence. 

You glanced at Price, you’d both expected this reaction, but it still hurt to hear him say it so easily.  For nearly two years you’d put your best foot forward. Did everything to get him to like you until it became clear that he never would. You were ready to settle for respect, for a crumb of acknowledgement. Though soon that too was clearly out of your reach. Now you were just happy to keep out of his way. You weren’t part of the 141, no matter how much information you’d stolen for them, no matter how much data you mined for them, no matter how many sleepless nights you’d given them. You weren’t a soldier. Ghost made sure to remind you of that at every chance he got. 

At every debrief he treated you like you were just a piece of the furniture. He ignored you with ease, asking questions to everyone but you. Making plans and strategising with everyone’s strengths in mind but yours. Any information he needed about what you could do he’d obtained through Captain Price. Often with you in the same room, going over your head like you were some machinery he’d be crazy to speak to. 

You typed and looked through files. You were a glorified intern as far as he was concerned. 

“Well Lieutenant, it’s not up to you, is it? Owl is going with you, and that’s final.” 

A part of you cringed at the nickname despite the joy it normally filled you with. You’d felt honoured when Soap had coined it. The night owl of the 141, playing with mice and bringing veritable feasts of information back to the nest. But hearing it used in front of Ghost felt wrong. You could feel his eyes roll without even looking at him. 

You didn’t need a call sign. 

You didn’t need to be closer to the 141.  

You didn’t even need a name, because they didn’t need you. 

“Yes, sir.” He said as he stood to attention, mumbling his acknowledgement to the Captain            as he prepared for his dismissal. 

“Final brief at 0400. Wheels up at 0500, understood?” Price barked out at the two of you. You both gave your acknowledgement and he nodded, satisfied for now. 

“Alright, dismissed.” 

Ghost made a quick exit, as though being in your presence was more than enough to make him ill. You sighed and began to move, but a hand at your shoulder stopped you. 

“Owl, don’t let him get to you. You’re a part of this team, and you’re needed on this mission. I wouldn’t send you out if I didn’t believe you needed to be there.” 

You nodded, dropping you head to pull back the tears that threatened to fall. 

“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.” 

“I know you won’t. Your intel has always been good. We don’t have the time to wait for the boys to bring the drives back, if they even knew what to look for, time isn’t on our side.” 

You knew that better than anyone. If only Lieutenant Riley would admit that you weren’t an incompetent civilian, maybe things would go along quicker. 

 — — — 

“Alright boys, this one should be simple, yeah? We go in, subdue any hostiles, grab the tech and get the fuck out. I don’t want any mistakes, I don’t want any problems,” Ghost’s eyes stopped at you as he said the last word, “I don’t want any bad news, understood?” He said as his voice boomed over the sound of the plane's engine. 

“Yes sir!” The group called out as one. This would be easy, as he said. You didn’t have to do too much, just follow the group and live long enough to break through the encrypted drives. From their you could relay the information back to Price and Laswell. Simple. 

Your eyes drew closed as you took in a breath, trying to centre yourself. Get in, get the drives, get out. Job done. You repeated your mantra until you fell into a fitful sleep.

You woke with a start as your name was barked out. 

Lieutenant Riley stood over you, arms crossed. An obvious scowl beneath his mask. 

“Gotten enough beauty sleep, sunshine?” 

The plane was empty, your teammates stood out on the makeshift runway, watching your change out of earshot. The late evening sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows into the plane.

“I’m sorry sir, I just wanted to be rested for the mission.” 

“Well, aren’t you considerate, thank you so much, Pigeon.” His voice dripped with a saccharine sarcasm that cut you to your core. You hate that he’d made a mockery of the callsign you were so fond of. You were sure other people had slept on the flight over. Why was he singling you out so cruelly? 

“Are you still on your bloody arse?” He barked out, loud enough too draw the attention of your teammates. “Sorry, sir!” you replied as you jumped up. Your body was yanked back with a start, bucking against the fastening that had kept you in your seat. Your head knocked back against the body of the plane, tilting your helmet over your eyes. 

“Oh fucking hell, Pigeon. If you get yourself killed on this bloody mission, I’ll murder you.” His hand made quick work of your seatbelt, snatching it off you in one sharp motion, sending you lurching forward.

If only you’d had the confidence to tell him off. 

If only you had the kind of easy relationship with him that he had with everyone else, one that transcended rank enough to quip back at him. 

If only he didn’t hate you. 

If only he could see you. Not just look at you scornfully, but see you. See your efforts, see your strength. 

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” You said with your eyes focused on the floor. Your gaze could have cut two pinholes in the undercarriage of the plane. You grabbed your gear and rushed down the gangway, thankful Ghost hadn’t pointed out all the things he found wrong with your apology. With your posture, with your face, with your breathing, with your existence. 

“Alright. It’s 30 klicks to their base, but we’ll have to trek the last 5k. Johnny, you get us in, Gaz and I will clear a path while you watch our six. You,” Lieutenant Riley said with derision, “don’t die and find the drives after we’ve swept the place, understood?” You nodded sharply. 

“Alright lads, this one’s easy. Any hostiles will be eliminated on sight, in and out, home in time for Eastenders.” Soap and Gaz laughed easily at Simon’s joke. You weren’t sure if you were allowed to show any crumb of happiness in front of him. Maybe he’d yank your tongue out if you so much  as chuckled and bring it home for his dog. 

As you made your way to the jeep Soap fell into step with you. 

“Ye alright?” He asked, a gentle smile playing on his face. How could you be alright? He was always so kind to you, and Kyle always treated you with respect. Even the KorTac boys said ‘hello’, or ‘thanks for the intel’ once in a while whenever you ran into them. Ghost seemed pissed that he had to breathe the same air as you. 

A short sigh escaped before you could regain your composure, “yeah, I’m okay. It’s just… I don’t want to mess up. It’s my first time really out in the field and—” and Lieutenant Riley, your best friend and our commanding officer hates my guts and doesn’t care to hide it. “And I just want to do well.” Soap nodded, though he couldn’t really understand. He’d been a soldier since he was 18. He’d proven himself time and time again even before he ever saw active duty. His abilities were undeniable. 

You, as Ghost loved to remind you and everyone around you, were a desk jockey egg-head recruited after you’d been caught ransoming credit card companies and running stings on pedophiles with your ‘internet pals’. Caught or betrayed, the thought still plagued you, though the end result had been a job offer from the British Army in lieu of prison time. Soap and Gaz thought you were a genius, some sort of cyber Robin Hood fighting the good fight from smokey internet cafes or 6 monitor supercomputers. Captain Price saw you as a clever kid with good intentions but questionable methods. 

Ghost… well Ghost made no secret of the fact he thought you were an egg-head. An energy  drink guzzling college drop-out with a lot of free time and no common sense. A basement dweller with more waifu body pillows than real life friends. A useless kid with no place in battle, regardless of the fact that your intel was what told him where to go more times than not. 

“He doesn’t hate you, he’s just… well he’s just Ghost. He’s never worked with you, I’m sure things will change after this.” You nodded, thankful for the reassurance though you didn’t really buy much of it. As you opened the jeep door and slid into one of the back seats you noticed Ghost’s eyes were trained on you through the rearview mirror. Watching for something to pick on you for, of course. 

You held his gaze as you closed the door and dropped your gear bag between your feet. ‘That’s right Lt, I can sit down without strangling myself on the seatbelt’ you longed to say to him. You settled for holding his gaze and raising your eyebrows at him. As the jeep rumbled to life you could have sworn you heard a laugh. 

— — — 

Ghost glanced at the pistol holstered on you thigh, as well as the knife sheathed at your hip. The urge to ramble about your right to protect yourself and defend your teammates bubbled up in your chest, the citric need to bite back at him almost won. Thankfully he spoke before you did. 

“You do know how to use that, right?” He whispered to you, crouched to your right, Gaz to your left. You’d gone through basic gun training and safety as well as first aid at Captain Price’s insistence once you’d begun working more and more with the 141. A fact you were sure Ghost knew. He’d never let you carry a weapon without a direct order from Price. A direct order not to snatch it on sight and send you to sit in a corner and think about how stupid you were. 

“Of course, sir,” you quipped back. Your sarcasm was cut with anxiety. This was real. You didn’t have to kill anyone, you just had to keep up and not die. But this was so real. A gun range was nothing in comparison. The slide of the gravel beneath your boots, the heat of your comrades beside you, the dull green of the night vision. This was real. 

“Ghost, do you copy? 30 seconds to detonation.” Soap’s voice was tinny through the comm on Ghost’s shoulder. 

30 seconds? 

Seconds?!

Your heart pumped a punishing beat as the reality of it all sunk deeper and deeper. 

A hand on your knee brought you back to the moment. “Look at me,” the last voice you’d ever expect to comfort you was all that filled your ears. The surprise washed away the fear for a moment as you looked into Ghost’s eyes. 

“The second you hear the blast, stay low and follow us, okay? You’ll want to jump up, don’t.”

“Okay.” 

His dark eyes stared into you as he spoke. “Keep your weapon in your hands, keep your eyes on me, keep up, and keep calm. This is the fun part.” A low chuckled from Gaz calmed you further. 

“I’ve got your six, just focus on moving with the group, okay?” Gaz whispered beside you. 

“Okay.”

All you could do was agree, any eloquence you’d had before had long since dissipated. 

A deafening boom rang out and the urge to run flooded every nerve in your body. You watched Ghost. 

Keep your eyes on me

You focused on Ghost’s broad back as you moved with him. Focused on keeping close. On surviving. 

The next minutes were a blur of gun fire and barked out commands. The muzzle flash of the weapons around you was enough to make the night vision useless and so with shaky hands and shallow breaths you pushed the goggles up as you moved through a maze of rooms with Ghost as your guide. 

A heavy hand against your chest stopped you before you had a chance to run into your Lieutenant. 

“Gaz, now.” He barked quickly as a heavy boot made contact with the door, pushing it from the frame. Garrick fired as he moved deftly into the room, sweeping the corner as Ghost fired at a figure hunched over a laptop. 

Everything was happening too quickly. You were pushed into the room, or pulled, you couldn’t know. As your body entered your mind stayed back and watched as a figure rose from a position under the desk. Before you could even see their eyes they hit the floor with a thud. 

A wave of nausea spread through you as you moved to where they’d been, pushing the bodies away from the computer as you grabbed it and began to type a series of commands into the terminal. Your hands shook as you pushed a thumb-drive into a port and watched as your code froze the deletion process. You left that to work as you pulled open desk drawers and riffled through their contents, shovelling everything in sight into your pack. 

“Hurry up!” 

You obeyed, moving quicker as you grabbed files and thick plastic drives with greedy, shaking hands. The final drawer was locked tight. You wanted to call out for a key but shame held you tongue. You pulled at it and it held firm. Ghost could have yanked it open with one hand, you were sure. His presence in the room motivated you to think like a soldier. Think like him. 

‘I’m not useless. I’m not useless. I’m not useless.’ You chanted to yourself as you reached to you side and gripped your knife. Jamming it into a gap in the drawer you pushed your whole weight onto it and heard a click. 

Yes. You weren’t useless after all. 

“Owl! Wait!” 

With unbridled euphoria you yanked the drawer open and felt your body and mind reconnect with a violent snap. Like a spark to gas you ignited with something you couldn’t recognise. Warmth spread through your middle as you glanced down into the drawer. It was empty. 

“Oh shit.”

“Soap call in a medevac, now!” 

Why was it empty? Were they all shouting because it was empty?

Your hand dug into the wooden cube, patting around until you felt something give. You pushed up into it and heard something drop. Another hard drive. 

“Owl, Owl you need to move, now.” 

A firm hand grasped you by the shoulder and you shook it off. You bent down to pick up the drive and a white hot pain seared your abdomen. You ignored it, and with a sharp wince you grabbed the final drive. 

Why were your hands shaking so much? Was it the excitement of war?

You turned to collect the laptop but it was already in Gaz’s hands. He was shoving it into your pack as Ghost grabbed the drive in your hand and tossed it to him. 

“No! No, I have to decrypt the—”

“You have to move. Now.” Ghost retorted sharply as he angled himself to block your view of Gaz. 

When had they stripped you of your pack? 

Why was Lieutenant Riley suddenly pushing you out the door you’d all just come through?

How were you able to see your group moving through the halls? Watching the retreat from an unnatural vantage point, making note of the thick trail of something syrupy behind you. 

Was that blood? Did your sloppiness get one of them injured?

— — — 

The jeep you’d left 5 kilometres away speed into view in front of the compound you’d just sacked. 

Was it moving or were you? 

Hands pushed you into it and began pulling off the kevlar and fabric of covering your torso. 

‘Is it bad?” Soap’s voice came from the front of the vehicle. 

“No, its not too bad,” Ghost said to you rather than Soap. You craned your head down to look at the wound, but a strong hand tilted your chin away. 

“I thought I told you to keep your eyes on me, Pigeon” he said lowly as you searched his face for some clue of what was happening. His derisive diminutive sounded odd now, it was laced with something tender. 

“Sorry lieutenant, I just wanted to—” you didn’t know how to finish. 

I just wanted to see for myself? 

I just wanted to be a part of the team?

“— I just wanted to impress you. I’m sorry, sir.” You mumbled as your lids grew heavy. 

The pressure on your stomach increased as Ghost spoke to you in low whispers. “Impress me? How? By falling asleep? We’ve already talked about that, soldier. I told you to keep your eyes on me. That’s an order.” 

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” 

— — — 

Your eyes fluttered open, catching a glimpse of a white stucco ceiling. 

Shit. 

Ghost would kill you for falling asleep again. As you tried to sit up your body barked out in protest. A dull ache blanketed your left side and pulsed through you. 

A hand pushed you back down gently. Resting for a beat on your shoulder before pulling away.

“Slow down, kid. You’ll rip your stitches out.” You knew that voice. You turned your head to look at the Lieutenant. You’d already known it was him, all that surprised you was the lack of contempt in his voice. 

You couldn’t speak. You just looked around, taking in the small makeshift clinic you’d found yourself in. 

“The hospital was too far,” Ghost said, answering the question you mind was already forming, “so they set this up in a safe house nearby.” You nodded, laying back against the pillows. “Sir? What happened?” 

You heard Lieutenant Riley sigh as you stared up at the ceiling above you. Too timid to look at him as he recounted your failures on the mission. 

“The drawer was rigged. If you’d been taller, or wider, the shrapnel that hit you would have been fatal, Owl.” 

The name drew your eyes to him before you could stop yourself. 

“I’ve graduated from Pigeon?” You asked, trying to cut the tension in the small room. He laughed,  and the sound was enough to make the pain in your abdomen dissipate. 

You’d made him laugh.

You had made Ghost laugh. 

“You got injured, and didn’t give up. That was a tough thing you did, Owl. I’m proud of you.” 

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, it took everything you had not to let them fall. A warm  on hand your head was what completely undid you. Hot tears slipped out of your closed eyes as Lieutenant Riley stroked your hair more gently than you’d ever thought a man of his size was capable of. 

“You did well, don’t worry.” 

You gathered yourself, remembering the objective of the mission. “How long was I out, sir? Has the  operation window passed?” 

He pulled his hand back slowly before he spoke. “Intel over here took a look at some of the materials before sending them back with Soap and Gaz. The boys back home will decrypt as much as they can while you’re healing up here. Doc said you’d be okay to fly within 48 hours.” 

You nodded, trying to keep your disappointment in check. You wouldn’t even get a chance to do what you were good at. 

“But,” Ghost said slowly, drawing your attention away from the pity party you’d already began throwing for yourself. “No one could make heads or tails of what was on the laptop.” 

“So its useless then?” You asked, trying to push the hurt out of your voice. 

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” Ghost let out a low chuckle. God, you’d become addicted to that sound already. “Whatever you plugged into it before you got hurt completely stumped everyone, they said only you’d be able to retrieve anything from it.” 

A warm pride filled your chest. No one could do what you could. You weren’t useless. 

“So… unfortunately for you, Pigeon. I’ve brought you some homework while I babysit you. Are you up for it?” 

Ghost dropped the laptop onto your lap. Your thumb-drive was still plugged into it, filled with malware and viruses you’d cooked up over the years. 

You smiled at him, beaming with pride as you opened the device. “Of course, just keep your eyes on me, sir. I’ll be done in no time.” 

[babygirl-riley]

Change of Plans Pt 2

You have been with Shadow Company for a couple of months. When you get orders to help with Los Varqueros and 141.

A/N: Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. I got very sick with some cold flu thingggg. But here is the 2nd part of Change of Plans. 👀

Taglist:

@glitteryeggalmondherring @notyourlittlesunshine

“Swtichin’ the positions for you. Cookin’ in the kitchen and I’m in the bedroom.”

Warnings: talks of violance, not too bad of angst, fluff, smut, reuniting sex, quick sex, PiV, swearing, soft!simon, former141!reader, shadow!reader

Pt. I Pt.III

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst

You anxiously waited on the plane as you landed on Alejandro’s base. When you heard his voice, your body reacted immediately. Your heart fluttered and your pussy clenched. You haven’t seen him in months, you haven’t seen your old team in months. “Remember this is business first. After that, you can say ya hellos.” Graves said smiling at you.

He knew that with your former team, you were all close. So once he told you that they were working along side 141, he saw the gleam in your eyes. “Yes sir.” You said smiling at him as you felt the air craft land.

Graves patted your shoulder as the doors opened. Your heart pounding in your chest as you followed him out. “I have to meet them where they have Hassan,” You frowned as you walked next to him. Graves turned to you. “Don’t worry kiddo they will be back here soon. Just stay with the men and get them acquainted with Alejandro’s men,” You nodded stopping in your tracks he kept walking before he stopped and turned to you. “Also make sure we get a tour of the base.”

“Yes sir.” You said as you watched him walk towards a humvee.

Disappointment surrounded your chest to your mind. You were excited to see all of them, especially Simon. You have been thinking about where he has been, if he was alright. All the 9 yards of missing someone you love. You inhaled as one of your team mates came behind you asking for instructions. “Hello Lieutenant,” You turned to face one of Alejandro’s men. “My name is Rudy, Alejandro wanted me to come back to see if there is anything I can do.”

You smiled and reached your hand out. “Just call me y/n. I am hoping we won’t be here long enough to be too comfortable Rudy.”

He smiled in response. “As would I hope as well,” He paused and gestured out towards the base. “Come on let me show you around.”

Rudy was a nice solider, he was respectful and kind. He talked highly on his Commander and his troops. He would smile and crack some jokes around that made you even laugh at times. You really enjoyed him, seemed like he would be someone you would get along with. He made sure there was a barrack that your men would sleep in however, you and Graves had separate rooms. He stated that the higher ranking officers have their own space.

It took a couple of hours to tour the whole base which eventually turned dark. You thanked Rudy as you excused yourself to bark more orders to the men. Have some routine going, making sure that they had rest and tasks to do. You rolled your shoulders as you watched your men move from one end to another, helping Alejandro’s men with tasks.

“Sargent,” You yelled as one of your men’s head turned. “I am going to freshen up, I will be out here at 0400 keep the men in line!”

He nodded as he turned to another solider talking to him. You inhaled deeply as you walked back into the base. Walking past rooms and hallways, you were tired. Beat tired. Graves and Shepard have been on high alert for a while, reasoning? You didn’t know, it made you on high alert as well. More stressed and more duties that Graves made sure to give you. Making sure that all the men were properly accounted and trained.

You opened the door that was your temporary room. It had one bed and a dresser, it was a white room with no window. It did have a bathroom, when you looked inside it just had the sink, toilet, and shower. You thought it was a good place and happy as hell that you didn’t have to share showers. Your bag was already in the room as you started to unzip the bag.

You started to take your gear off placing them on the dresser, neatly. You have always been particular on how your gear was laid out. Due to your first Captain, snapping his men on how your equipment should be handled. You started to unbutton your pants until your door had a knock.

God damn it, the Sargent better not have fucked up something. He always had since you joined and it made your blood boil. You stomped to the door. “I swear to fucking god Olsen if you,” You opened it to lay eyes on a much bigger and taller man but what made him distinctive was the skull mask. You shut your mouth as your body relaxed. “Simon.” You whispered.

Simon stepped forward as you backed up silently accepting him into the room. He shut the door and locked it, he walked up to you and placed his hands on both sides of your face. “Fuck ya have no idea how much I missed ya,” He whispered placing his forehead against yours. You leaned into his hands. “I want to hear everythin’, how you been. However, I really needed you right now.”

Your heart fluttered as you places your arms around his neck. Tippy toeing to his ear. “I need you too Simon please.”

That’s all it took, his mask ripped off and thrown somewhere as he latched his lips on yours. It was a heated and neediness kiss, pent up months of not being around each other. Your skin burned of wanting to be touched by him. “Clothes off.” You mumbled in between kisses.

He smiled against your lips. “Get all promoted now makin’ you demanding love?” He asked as he kissed down your jaw to your neck. He started to lift his sweatshirt to take it off as you lift up your shirt. You both desperately ripped off your clothes just to feel each others skin. You moaned as he backed you up to the small bed. “Oh shut it Riley.” You teased, he chuckled lowly as he hovered over you kissing down your body.

You bite your lower lip as he sucked and bites your skin. You moaned as you rolled your hips up. “Si please, I just need your cock now.”

Simon chuckled as he crawled back up to you. “No foreplay doll?”

You shook your head, you placed your hand on his cheek. He leaned into it kissing your palm, his beautiful brown eyes looking at you. “No please Simon.”

Simon pulled his boxers off and gripped your panties. You lifted your hips up so they were easily pulled off. You both were so quick and needy, both of you not teasing each other about it. Simon wanted you so bad that it was driving him absolutely insane. All the frustration and anxiety of the situation with Hassan. Have both of you in a tense feeling, needing it to be released.

You watched as he pumped his cock, precum coming out of his tip. You will never forget how large he was, his length was average but his girth was what made him hard to fit in. Made it feel fucking better than your fingers. You licked your lips as he looked down at you. “Ya lookin’ at it likes it’s candy.” He teased as he leaned down, guiding his cock towards your entrance.

“It’s my personal can…” Before you could finish he pushed in, making you gasp. Simon groaned, feeling how tight you were. He looked down as he watched his cock being sucked more na more in. Your pussy fitting him like his cock was made there. God how you missed the stretch that he made with his cock. Love to watch his cock fit into so perfectly, like god made you just for him.

Your mouth was left agape as he kept pushing more in. “Relax babygirl I have-fuck…I have ya.” He whispered, as he felt you slowly taking him in, relaxing more and more until he settled near your cervix. “God you take me so well. So fucking beautiful. All fucking mine.”

You moaned feeling him settle more inside. You loved how it felt being so full and warm when he was inside you. You both sat there for a minute panting, taking in the moment. Simon placed his forehead against yours, looking in your eyes. You placed both of your hands on his cheeks rubbing your thumb up and down his cheek bone. “I missed you.” He whispered leaning down to kiss you.

You kissed him back, it was gentle and passionate. His tongue dancing with yours, you gasped as he pulled all the way out and snapped back into you. At first his hips movements were slow, taking his time, with hard thrusts. Making sure you were ready for the hard pace he was going to do. You mewled as you gripped his shoulders kissing him.

“You feel so good Si,” You whimpered hooking both of your legs around his waist. “Need-ah-I need you to go harder-faster please.”

Simon grunted as he started to pick up speed. Which made you gasp, Simon smirked and kissed down your neck. “God-‘ve missed the way you moan my name sweeathear’.”

He placed his forehead against yours as he rutted into you more. The room sounding obscene, both of your skin slapping against one another, moans and grunts filling the air. God you missed this, missed Simon. Missed being this close to him. Miss feeling his skin. His breath. You could feel your orgasm building up, Simon’s cock hitting the right sponge spot.

“Oh fuck.” You whined squeezing your eyes shut. Scratching your fingers down his tattooed arm. Gripping it at the end. You felt his thumb placed on your lips making your eyes open.

“Keep ya eyes on me,” He grunted sitting up more and gripping your hips. “I want to see you cum around my cock. Cum-Ugh…cum with me.”

You gasped loudly as you opened your eyes, his face contorting to pleasure. His lips parted as his grunts left his mouth. The sweat that built on his forehead. The sweat layering his body. You loved his scars, his toned body. Fuck, it made him look like a fucking god. You inhaled deeply as you let out a high pitch moan, your orgasm hitting you like a train. Your hand went to grab the back of his neck as your other hand went to your clit. Rubbing fast as the pace his cock going in and out of you.

Simon growled as he felt your pussy clench around his cock. Milking him for all his worth. His spine shot up with pleasure as he felt his balls empty into your pussy. Coating your walls with his seman, he thought of his cum traveling into you. Simon placed his head in the space between your shoulder and your side of your head. Groaning lowly, he twitched when you rubbed your fingers lightly up and down his back.

Simon was still inside you feeling his cock soften inside. “I missed you so much,” You whispered raking your fingers up through his dirty blonde hair. “Thought wasn’t going to see you for a while.”

Simon hummed lifting his head up to look at you. God he thought you were just an angel, the thin sweat layered against your skin, your beautiful eyes that he couldn’t stop staring at. It made him lost into it. Never did he think that he would feel empty without having someone near. Having you near. Simon thought the last time he saw you would be the last. At least for a long time. Yet you are here. With him.

“Same here love,” He whispered bringing up his hand to brush a strand of hair away. “I’m just happy to see ya here.”

You smiled as you kissed him softly. Feeling his soft lips against yours. He rolled off of you, still having his dick inside, and placed your head in his chest. Simon sighed as he played with your hair, soothing both of you to sleep.

[andhumanslovedstories]

I'm a housekeeper at a hospital and I heard this conversation like a month ago and I haven't stopped thinking about it

Dr: [Patient] complained about being woken up in the middle of the night to be weighed. Y'all need to stop that, we've talked about this. We don't need to weigh him until the morning.

Nurse: I did! I waited until morning today even.

Dr: Well, what time did you weigh him?

Nurse: 4 o'clock.

God you've unleashed my mini rant about daily weights. At my hospital, daily weights are automatically scheduled for four in the morning, and I'll be real with you, it is the task I'm responsible for that I am the worst about actually doing. I HATE HATE HATE waking someone up at four am so they can get out bed and stand on a scale. Some patients really do need daily standing weights before breakfast, but a lot of patients who have them ordered don't necessarily need them. And frankly a lot patients that need them also frequently need to get up and pee during the night, and that's when you strike with the scale. Morning labs are also scheduled for 0400 which can be even more disruptive to patients. Best case scenario, you coordinate with lab so that you only bother the patient once. Worst case, lab comes and goes while you're doing something else, the patient gets back to sleep, and you kick their door open dragging the scale behind you like "god sorry sorry sorry."

I get why these things are scheduled at this time for the convenience of the hospital as a massive institution that needs timetables to function, but it sucks so bad for the patients. Doctors want lab results and weights before they round, and they come round early in the morning. Day shift people want stuff ready for them so they can do their job, and unfortunately because of how the shifts work, that means a lot of stuff is supposed to get done before like six am. I can see how it's efficient in this one regard, but it comes at the expense of patients being able to get uninterrupted sleep, which is a cause of delirium, a major and common complication of hospital stays. It's also a cause of feeling really fucking bad because you didn't get good sleep. There's a lot you can do as the individual to rearrange things to be as convenient as possible for the patient, but christ the institution itself doesn't make it easy.

All this to say, if there was a note in a patient's record that I didn't need to wake them up for weights, I would jump up in the air clicking my heels together and whooping like an old prospector.

[notroosterbradshaw]

TBE Bradley and yours day off, what would the day be like

LONG MORNINGS IN BED... because they are so infrequent. Soz, this became a thing... unproofed, because you know I’m wild that way.

Hmm, would def start with a sleep-in and Bradley may sleeping beyond his strict 0400 alarm, but it’s uncommon. He still likes to start his day early and get in a run (ew) with Betsy, to get the coffee started. He can get that done, as well as shower before sneaking back into bed (he's learned the art of stealth to avoid waking his not-so-morning person beside him) with our reader, who sleeps to a reasonable 8/9am, usually woken to a mass of butterfly kisses on the pulse, across her cheeks and lips when Rooster just won’t wait any longer.

"The only acceptable way to be woken up," you say with a bold stretch and yawn, Bradley snuggling into your warmth and being enveloped by your arms. He likes to snuggle in the morning, quite content being the little spoon when required. It doesn't need to lead to anything sexual (it mostly does), but he's just content having you close. "How long have you been awake, or is that a stupid question?"

"Stupid question," he admits. "Coffee on your bedside table."

"My God, I love you," you gently push him off to take a sip as he giggles quietly, making himself comfy on his pillow. He knows his rank in the morning. You don't know why it tastes better when Rooster makes it and he swears he doesn't do anything except press the button, but it does and you can't explain it. "Did you sleep okay?"

The fairweather shrug of his muscular shoulders tells you probably not. That is becoming more frequent and at a time that's not right now, you're keen to ask if he's considered giving more time to the shrink. He hasn't quite been the same since his last detachment and you can't quite place why, because he's very convincing that things are truly okay.

"Come here," he says, opening his arms to you once the hot coffee is a safe distance away. You gladly fall into them, he's freshly showered and smelling like that cologne you love that smells like summer and fruit. "What do you want to do today?"

"No plans."

"Awesome, because I have a thought."

"I'm all ears," you said, your hands tracing the lines and ridges of his chest and abs. Rooster wasn't big on the romance, so him planning anything for the both of you was always something considered, rarely off the cuff.

"Boozy late lunch at that grill on the pier you love," he started. Smiling to yourself, he took the hints you dropped last week about wanting to go again. Good work, Rooster. "Yes, I listen occasionally," he could feel your smarts with a small laugh.

"I know, you're a very good boy," you teased, patting his face as he caught your hands, kissing your knuckles.

"You're as subtle as a fuckin' sledgehammer,” he muttered.

"I gotta get into that pretty head of yours."

"You are a permanent fixture. 24/7," he sighed wistfully. "And then sundown on the beach, what do you say?"

"Sounds awful," you told him, looking up at his grin back to you. "So, late lunch?"

"Yes, you don't have to get out of bed," he stroked your hair.

"Good, because you're nice and warm."

"Yeah, yeah," he rolled his eyes, tucking you up tightly.

"I love mornings like this."

"I know," he said softly. "We don't get enough days like this."

"Yeah," you said solemnly.

"Wanna do it more often," he said, but you weren't sure if it was a question or statement. "So, I, uh, spoke to Cyclone's yesterday."

"Argh, what did you do this time, Rooster?" you almost didn't want to know. It has been a while since he'd been done for insubordination, but knowing his wit and occasional bursts of frustration he couldn’t contain, it got him in trouble enough at the best and worst of times.

"Hey," he laughed, smacking your ass with a rough thwack as you cursed a little... enjoying it. "Who said anything about a punishment?"

Keeping your trap shut, you let him speak.

"I was offered a position as an instructor again."

"Again?" you sat up to look at him, squinting. "When were you offered one before?"

"Before we started dating," he reassured you as you settled back on his chest, happy to avoid that argument. But he wasn't entirely being truthful. Rooster had approached Cyclone about taking the position if it was still available. 'The position was never off the table, Lieutenant. I did expect you to consider this appointment well before today because of...' You. It all came down to you now. "But it just seemed right. I get to come home to you every day."

"Does it mean you could still be called up?"

"Yeah," he admitted, “But it means I won't be away for months on end anymore. Hopefully."

Smiling into his chest, you tried to blink back tears. "Did you accept?" you asked meekly.

"What do you think?” he dragged your body up to his. “Totally knocked it back.”

You knew he was joking but kissed him deeply. “Oh, my goodness,” was all you could say.

“You are gonna get so sick of me.” he teased, apples of his cheeks flushing red. 

“Impossible.”

“Okay, for that news, you get the good lovin’ this morning,” you said, whipping off his ratty, old NAVY shirt as he boogied to himself.

“Yes,” he clapped quietly, wrapping you up and rolling you over. Days off were the fucking best. 

[cliophilyra]

Writing Patterns

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

Tagged by @rdng1230 - thank you!

1. Keys To Fit Our Locks - saltommy fluff (opening line is a text message)

SAL >This rain is fucking biblical

2. Show You Off - bucktommy exhibitionist smut thing.

It’s been a long and surreal day.

3. Like A Circus Wheel - saltommy smut (Including second line cos the first one feels like cheating seeing as it’s nicked from the script lol)

“He’s insinuating that you’re gay.”

Tommy looks over at Sal’s smart-ass smirk and for a second he’s frozen.

4. Therefore Love Moderately - SPN Dean/Benny smut & angst

The rain comes down in horizontal sheets, driven by the wind, soaking the wooden boardwalk until it’s slimey under his boots.

5. Worth Getting Out of Bed for (Worth staying asleep) - Sandman, Dreamling smut

Dearest students,

Because I am a very nice person I am writing to offer both a reminder and a bribe.

6. Precipice- Steve/Tony dialogue only thing inspired by a line from another RDJ movie. The first line is the one that inspired it so I have included second & third lines as well!

“I don’t want him to love me. It's a bad idea. I love you Tony turns into You failed me Tony, turns into very bad things. That’s my limited experience. I don’t want to be on the other side of that with him, would you?”

“Does it have to go like that?”

“It’s not a question of has to, it’s a question of will. It will. It always does.”

7. Accidentally On Purpose - Spideypool sex-pollen adjacent smut

Peter is falling asleep at his bench. He blinks hard, trying to clear the fog from his brain as the figures on the screen in front of him slide in and out of focus.

8. The Story We Are Telling - Destiel angst

It’s in the car on the way back from Garth’s that Dean feels the first flicker of something different.

9. Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered - Steve/Tony maybe time travel sort of fluffy thing set during WW2. Was just a scene that was firmly stuck in my head but which I couldn’t come up with the rest of the story for so I just ended up posting it as it was.

It’s late, the party’s over and couples and groups are stumbling out into the humid summer night, heads spinning from a potent combination of cheap beer and energetic music.

10. The Time Travellers Husband - cablepool angsty thing. Again meant to be the beginning of something longer that didn’t come to anything. If anything in my writing is a pattern it’s that! 🤦‍♀️

It's 0400 and they're all still at Sister Margaret's, propping up the bar and shrouded with that creeping sense of ennui that comes after a battle, when the thing that has been taking up all your attention ends and all your old problems flood back in to fill the void.

***

This has been really interesting actually. I can see that I like to establish a place first most often - which I kind of knew - but also that I over use the word It’s 😆 I do also like opening with dialogue, sometimes that really helps me if I’m stuck. Might try and do that more often as it stops me overthinking how to start!

NP tags: @evansboyfriend @alchemistc @drcloyd @leandra-winchester @newtkelly @thingbe @kirkaut and anyone else who fancies doing it!

[skinnyazn]

Contact

Takes place before: In the Bleak Midwinter

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar)  Chapters: 2/4  Notes: Jag's first interaction with Simon, she wants to bite into his meaty thighs so bad yumyumyum, their ~banter~ is top tier (sarcasm), this is heavily inspired by zero dark thirty can u tell?,

Part One | Part Three | Part Four | AO3 | MASTERLIST

The following weeks stretched on with meetings, each one filled with a little more sustenance than the last. You spent your time researching potential routes that your target could have taken. Made lists of people you could find and contact and press for information—forcefully or otherwise.

In the privacy of your own room, you opened your laptop and patched a secure video-call to Laswell.

“How’s it going?” She looked tired; it was still early in D.C..

“Getting some solid leads. Price and his team don’t skimp on making detailed rosters,” you ran your fingers through your choppy, black hair. “Ghost and I are investigating Alekskeev, while Gaz and Soap look into the target’s family in Yerevan.”

Laswell thought for a moment. “Why not Omarov? He’s in Kazakhstan.”

“Alekskeev was our target’s closest confidant before going dark. If anyone knows where he’s fucked off to, I’m betting on the Russian—Alekskeev would have arranged his entry into Kazakhstan anyway.” You took a sip of burnt coffee. “Omarov is just a distraction.”

Kate sighed through the screen. “Price thinks otherwise.”

Your brows furrowed slightly.

“Well, I hired you for a reason. It’s your call. Update me when you get back.”

You nodded.

“When are you shipping out?”

“Thursday, 0400.”

The older woman blinked. “Good luck.”

You straightened. “We’ll get him. Should get some rest though, Laswell. You look tired.”

She chuckled. “I’ll get some rest once we land the bastard.”

The call disconnected. Your reflection stared back at you on the dark screen; you squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled.

__

Stepping outside the base, you drew in a deep breath. The fresh air felt good in your lungs as the sun’s presence struggled to pierce through the clouds. All this grey and cold reminded you of San Francisco. Zipping up your fleece pullover, you started walking. Some soldiers were jogging this morning; you could hear their labored breaths as they passed you. 

You rarely let yourself get worked up before a mission, opting on meditating to sharpen your edge before shipping out. But today your mind wandered. Maybe it was because you were going as a team, with people you had never worked with before, that had you so agitated. You hated liabilities.

An echo of a gunshot freed you from your introspection. You had walked the perimeter of the base, ending up at the stretch of green that was the long range. A bulky, black mass was crouched ahead, clothing straining against his bent form; you studied him as he lined up the next shot. 

Bang.

“Jus’ gonna stand there and watch?” The Manchester voice came out gravelly.

You walked closer to the man. A variety of comebacks about irony came to mind.

“Not used to being watched?” You said instead, speaking loud enough that he could hear through the protective headphones. 

Bang.

“Not particularly.”

“Does it make you nervous?”

“Negative.” He shifted.

Bang.

Ghost ejected the spent clip from the SPX-80 and cleanly reloaded a new one. He slid off his ear protection and faced you. 

“Still ‘aven’t seen you in action.” The behemoth of a man eyed you cooly behind his plain black balaclava.

And it was hard not to have a reaction when he stared up at you like that, lounging calmly on the verdant grass, like some large apex predator. The truth was, you hadn’t had many interactions with the man since your arrival on base. Simon usually parted after meetings, skulking away to wherever he went during the day. Aside form the task force, the other soldiers were afraid of him, avoiding him at any chance. There were rumors about him; you wanted to see which were true. Occasionally, you’d catch Simon and Johnny in the rec room, chatting together in a calm voice—interrupted by periodic bouts of Johnny’s laughter. Sometimes you’d ask about him to Kyle, but the kid would always shrug and say “that’s just Ghost.” It both annoyed and intrigued you.

Grabbing a pair of headphones from the rack, you placed them over your ears and bent down to take his rifle. Simon quirked an eyebrow underneath the mask, before propping an elbow upon his massive thigh; the fabric strained against his bulk.

You looked at him. “You wanted to see.”

Simon’s chest contracted, letting out a sharp breath, before waving his hand for you to proceed. 

Resting the weight of the barrel on the wooden railing, you peered through the scope. Glass bottles were placed rather evenly 300 yards down the field. You wondered if Ghost placed them there or some sorry recruit. Probably Ghost.

Sucking in a steady breath, you lined your shot, squeezing the trigger on the exhale.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The hot shells steamed on the turf at the contrast in temperature. You pulled away from the scope, giving the rifle back to the massive man.

“Handles well,” you said, taking off your ear protection.

“That she does,” Simon stared down at the gun, turning it over in his hand. He ejected the spent clip.

You relaxed against the wood as Simon reloaded the weapon. His gloved hands dwarfed the scope. In the distance, the soldiers passed another lap around the base.

“What are you like?”

His fingers stilled. “On the field?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Efficient.”

You shifted on the cold grass. “And with me?”

Simon looked at you, contemplation behind those blonde lashes. His eyes lowered slightly, before flicking back to meet yours. “Long as I’m not on th’other end of that scope, we shouldn’t ‘ave a problem.”

You shifted your jaw slightly and you nodded. “Looking forward to seeing you on the field then, Ghost.”

Standing, you returned the headphones to the rack and made your way back to the barracks—the rifle shell was still warm to the touch in your pocket.

______

Tags (let me know if u don't/do wanna be tagged for updates): @deadbranch @dotcie @prosopagn0sis

[topazshadowwolf]

GoopTales: Part 13

Don't call Nightmare Noot or he will take you on a field trip.

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13(you are here)

AO3: Ch 1 (1-4), Ch 2 (4-8), Ch 3 (9-12)

---

Nightmare stared up at the ceiling, unable to get himself to sleep. The boys were cuddled into the nest of blankets and pillows he had built for them. Lyra was sleeping on the sofa in her own set of pajamas. As for Nightmare, he was in the recliner and in his own black flannel pajamas that she had felt “compelled” to buy for him.

At this point, it was apparent he wouldn’t get any sleep. So he looked at the time.

0400

Well, there was no sense in just lying on the recliner, staring at the ceiling. His mind was swimming with too many thoughts for sleep, not that Nightmare needed it now. He can go days without sleep without feeling tired or having ill effects. Carefully he climbed off the recliner, knowing full well that putting the leg rest down would cause a loud sound that would wake everyone. In the darkness of the room, he melded into the shadows and made a silent exit.

First, he stopped off at his room to change clothes. Once dressed, he went to his office to get some work done, but he couldn’t even focus on that.

What if there was no cure?

He may have to raise his henchmen….

Nightmare could handle immature adults, but can he raise four tiny baby bones?

Will they be the same as he knew them?

Will their old memories return as they get older, and how will they react to those?

0435

Sci’s AU is an hour faster, but he didn’t plan to pick him up this early. But then, he couldn’t wait that much longer.

After writing a quick note that he placed in the kitchen, Nightmare left to pick up the young scientist. It will be good for him to face matters that science can not explain. Exiting his portal, he looked around the lab. He saw the Sans in question sitting at a desk, slumped over some papers. The soft snoring made the guardian chuckle softly.

“Ah, it seems sleep has finally caught up with you,” He mused in a soft tone as he walked closer. Looking over Sci’s shoulder, he read over the notes. All were about the mice and the orange substance. Speaking of the mice….

He saw several cages with mice and looked in at them. After a moment, he spotted the ones marked with a purple spot so Sci could easily find them. … Nightmare did not know enough about these mice to understand what to look for.

“mmm…,” Sci started to sit up and stretch.

“Good morning, friend,” Nightmare said smugly as he looked down at the young scientist.

“oh! uh, nightmare, i wasn’t expecting you this early… heh… you wouldn’t happen to be reconsidering what you said yesterday?” Sci chuckled nervously.

“Hmmm… Sci, what did you call me again?” Nightmare feigned thoughtfulness as he tapped his chin.

“n-nightmare?” Sci was trying to play innocent.

“No… it was not that. What to try again?” Nightmare grinned.

“look, nightmare, i’m useful for you here, and you know it. so, please… let me just keep doing my research,” Sci said as he turned back to his notes.

“Now, if I did that, you would not learn your lesson, and you may dare to call me that nickname again. Besides, I am positive that this experience would be good for you,” Nightmare chided playfully before curling a tendril around the scientist. “Come along, little lab rat, time for you to learn something new outside of these walls.”

“i rather like my four walls, thank you,” Sci protested, but Nightmare ignored him.

He opened and walked through the portal to the AU in question. On the outside, nothing looked out of place with this AU. The odd spark of magic in the air set it apart from the rest of them to the dark skeleton. Magic was usual in all AUs, but the magic was heavier, darker, and more tangible this time. Nightmare could almost taste it in the air. Amusing. Though magic is not his domain, so he gained no benefit.

“Well, my friend,” Nightmare said as he set the scientist beside him. “Tell me, what are your first impressions.”

“well, it’s the underground. ruins, to be exact,” Sci said as he adjusted his glasses.

“True, go on,” Nightmare mused.

Sci sighed and looked around more. “seems no different than any other ruins.”

“Close your eyes, Sci,” Nightmare instructed, “You are a scientist. Use your other senses.”

“right, right…,” Sci closed his eye sockets and put his hands in his lab coat. After a moment, he hummed, “smells like spices… like nutmeg and cinnamon? the ruins are usually described as musty.”

“Good, what else….” Nightmare inquired.

“sounds… too quiet… but that could just be the nature of the ruins? it’s not as populated,” Sci said as he opened his sockets and looked up at Nightmare.

“Hmmm, yes, but that is indeed a good thing to keep in mind, correct?” Nightmare questioned.

“... is this how you train your boys? you’re not thinking of replacing them with me, are you?” Sci questioned.

“Nonsense, lab rat, you are more useful to me in your maze of machines and facts. I am just teaching you an important lesson,” Nightmare chuckled. “Besides, these are skills the boys picked up on their own. Now, close your eyes again. Take in that smell and sound and how the air feels, and then tell me how you feel.”

“how i feel? …as in emotionally? that’s subjective,” He said with a frown, but Nightmare gestured for him to go on. Rolling his eyelights, Sci did as asked. There was a pause as Sci frowned. “it’s… odd… i feel unwelcomed?”

“Oh?” Nightmare mused.

“it’s like… when you walk up to some coworkers who were talking but become oddly silent and short with you,” Sci frowned. “you just get the feeling they don’t want you there.”

“Good, for this is as you should feel. To magic like what is in this AU, you are indeed unwelcomed. This magic thrives in being unexplainable, in its own enigma. Someone like you reveals it for what it really is, and that weakens it. So, Sci, stay close and observant. You will learn something more as you do. Do you now understand why I wanted you to come?”

“yeah…,” Sci replied.

---

Next

[itsscromp]

Male reader who is a little smaller and doesn't have as much muscle definition as the other guys. Especially when he see Price or Simon, and he gets very self conscious. Simon get hurt on mission and reader drags Simon all the way back to safety and starts to feel a little better when Simon recognizes he's strength.

Love your writing, thank you ♥️♥️♥️

More than just muscle

Awww anon, I love this idea so damn much. *cracks knuckles* let's get into it. Warnings: canon-typical violence Word count:1.2K

You knew since joining the army it would be the most physically and mentally demanding job you have ever faced. You were able to pull yourself through for the most part, but every time you see either Captain Price or Ghost, you can't help but feel insecure.

I mean look at you... and look at them, Price with his broad shoulders and snake-like veins popping out whenever you see him workout. Showing that he has worked hard to get to where he is. But Ghost... Ghost you envied the most, Tree trunk-like arms, broad shoulders, huge pecs and brick-like abs. whenever you see him, you can't help but look away and feel incredibly insecure about yourself. How could you rival something like that.

One day, you were called into price's office. "Sergeant, good timing, I have a mission for you"

"What is it, captain ??" You sat down in the chair, listening in.

"Recently we have been tracking down a group of rebels planning to stage a coup on their government, we believe we found their base of operations. I need you and Ghost to have a look into it for me"

You nodded contently "Yes sir"

"Good, You two will be leaving at 0400 hours, get some rest for now, Dismissed" He said as he went back to his paperwork.

You got up and then left the office, You couldn't help but feel a slight sting when you heard Ghost's name. You had to work with the person who made you incredibly insecure about yourself, It was even worse when you worked past the mess hall, seeing him goofing with Soap and Gaz, where he popped his pecs to the two just to show off for a laugh.

You went back into your room and began to pack for the mission, During which you found yourself staring into the mirror. You couldn't help but feel disappointed in yourself, You had no muscle definition whatsoever, you couldn't even bench press a good amount and you were a bit smaller than the two, the same height as soap, but Ghost towered over you. You sighed as you turned away and then climbed into bed. Dreading the mission that was to come.

0400 hours

Your alarm went off and you quickly changed into your gear, heading to the tarmac where the helo was waiting for you, as you buckled in Ghost soon joined and buckled himself in. You tried not to make eye contact with him as if you did, your insecurities would ruin the mission, now obviously ghost didn't know this, thinking you were getting sick from the flight, so he decided to lighten up the mood a little.

"Need an aspirin sergeant ??, No need to go puking all over the helo they just cleaned it" He chuckled.

You feigned a smile. "I'm ok lieutenant"

The helo then landed at the extraction point 30 minutes later just near the suspected base, You and ghost hopped out and began the hike to the base lookout, Once arriving you then began to scope out the base, confirming this was the suspected hideout for the rebel group.

"Bravo-0, we have confirmation that the target base is the suspected hideout" Ghost communicated back to price.

"Copy that, Infiltrate the base and figure out when they attempt the coup so we have a chance to stop them." He said back.

"Copy, infiltrating now, over and out. Let's go sergeant" Ghost nodded to his direction as he pressed on.

"Yes sir"

The two then snuck their way into the base, hiding in the shadows as they dodged any and all rebel members. Ghost took the ground floor while you took the second floor. Checking room to room to help find the plans. Almost having no luck until you then found a room with a dim light and a corkboard with a map attached, this was the plan. You pulled out your phone and then took pictures to send to Laswell and Price. "Ok now to get out of here..." You whispered to yourself, But as you finished that sentence, You then heard gun shots before the alarm was run, Shit they found Ghost.

You rushed out to the ground floor, shooting any enemies that got in your way, You found ghost, Huddled up in a corner with his sides injured. "Shit, Bravo-0 come in, we've been compromised, requesting evac now !!" You communicated to him.

"Copy evac is on its way now with an ETA of 4 minutes."

Now you just needed to protect ghost in the meantime, As more rebel members found you and tried to shoot at you, you tossed a flashbang and blinded them, quickly killing them with a few shots to the head.

Once you were certain they had slowed down, You rushed over to Ghost, who was almost barely holding on. "Sergeant..."

You had to get Ghost out of here as quickly as possible, So with all the might that you had, you began to pull him out of the corner and drag him away from the base with all the strength that you had. While Ghost was trying his hardest not to fall unconscious, he did see that someone was helping him to get him out of the base. He looked up briefly and saw you... You were dragging him out.

By the time Evac arrived and got you two out, Ghost fell unconscious and stayed in the hospital for a couple of days to recover, But he still remembered seeing you dragging you out. That took great strength to get him out of that position and he couldn't be any more proud of you. Once he was out of the hospital he went to go find you and thank you for saving him. What he didn't expect was to see you in the gym, going all hard on the punching bag until your knuckles started to bleed.

"Easy now Sergeant" He gently went over and held the punching bag, prompting you to stop.

"Your out" You looked at him briefly before going to grab your towel, wiping your sweat off.

"Y/n, I wanted to thank you for what you did. What you did took immense strength to be able to pull someone twice your size out of a dangerous situation."

You froze briefly when he said that, he... recognized your strength... "Th... thank you, sir..."

He looked at you briefly, knowing that something was up. "Is everything ok ??"

You tried to play it off before then saying "What you said... that means the absolute world to me... Sometimes I can't help but feel... I don't get recognized for that. I mean... Look at me... and look at you..."

"Strength doesn't come from just muscle alone y/n, It's what you do with this strength that makes you the person that you are today." You looked at him, seeing the crow's feet in his eyes, he was softly smiling under the mask. A smile which you also returned "Thank you Ghost"

"It's Simon... Just Simon" He added.

"Ok just Simon" You chuckled at the joke.

He was right though, Strength didn't just come from muscle, That made you feel better about yourself, knowing you didn't have to go out of your way to exhaust yourself at the gym to catch up to the others. You were strong just how you were.

Taglist: @callofdudes @fun-k-board

[xxsarcasm]

Heyyy!! can I request a Kyle Garrick (Gaz) x fem reader where Gaz and the reader are on a mission and they find a puppy and take care of it together :)

Gaz x Y/n Gn!reader

Minors welcome.

A/N: I totally forgot you said fem reader(so sorry) but it's not hard to read it as fem because I didn't state gender in this. ❤️

__________________________

0400 – Paris, France…

It was a pleasant morning, the sun hadn't quite risen and the morning dew still fresh in the air. You had a rough night's sleep as it has been the first time in a few weeks there hasn't been some kind of awful sound attributed to your efforts against the inevitable war that approached.

Seeing that it was already morning thanks to your alarm clock with it's red hue shining right at you, you decided to go for a walk and get accustomed to your new surroundings.

You put your old worn in boots on and tie them up and throw on your jacket, as you walk out of your single bed hotel room that you and your team were staying at.

You were a temp member for the task force 141 as you had a good friendship with one of the members, Kyle Garrick. You were a recon/med personnel and they needed another snicky member on their team and you fit in perfectly.

As you open and close your door ever so quietly as to not wake your exhausted team you see Kyle walking down the hotel stairs. You follow him down the stairs not calling to him as it was so early

Once you and him had gotten down the stairs you call to him

Kyle!

Y/n?? He said as he turned around to face you. What are you doing up? You scared me.

I was up so I decided to go for a walk, you know to get more comfortable with the area… what are you doing up this early? You ask him folding your arms

I… I was also going for a walk, it's nice out and I couldn't sleep. Would you like to join me? He asked with a raise of his brow and a small smile.

I'd like that. You say as you return the smile.

You both walk out of the hotel via the from entrance past the beautiful red reception desk placed in the middle of the entrance room.

It smells so nice out here, reminds me of home. You say as you take your friends hand.

It's sure does, I could go for a nice lay down in my bed back home. He says has he squeezes your hand playfully.

As the two of you walk around the beautiful city and take in the rare quiet sight of the tourist hub at it's most peaceful time.

We should come here sometime when we get time off, just you and me. It would be so fun. You say as you let got off his hand and try and walk a bit faster than him.

Paris? I don't know, it sounds like a date, not just a trip. He says teasingly as he catches up with just a few steps.

Before you had a chance to answer you hear a noise.

Do you hear that? You asked with a worried face

… I… yea.. is that whimpering? A dog maybe? He says as you both started looking around for what is making the noise.

As you both frantically search the area you finally find it, it's a puppy, a Great Pyrenees, it was sitting in a trash can trying to get out.

Ky I found it! It's a puppy! You yell to him as you pick up the little puppy, still damp from the morning sprinkle.

A Pyrenees?! It's so cute he's says as he starts to pet it with you and checks it over for injury.

What are we gonna do with a puppy? We have a meeting with the Intel group in 3 hours.. you ask him holding the puppy a little tighter.

Well vets aren't open till later, we'll have to take him wi-

We can't take him with us! Cap will be so mad. You say butting in

Not if we hid it. He tries to bargain with you. Y/n it's a puppy we can't just leave it.

*Sighs* I could say it's in training. That might work. You say rubbing the bridge of your nose with one hand.

Would you? Please that would mean so much to me. I'll take care of it after you won't even know it's here. He says giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes.

Ky… fiinnne we'll take him with us but I need a harness. You say as you cave

Awesome! I saw a shop down the road they might have something. He says with the biggest smile as he drags you in the direction of the store.

You know Ky, I'd.. I'd like to go to Paris with you in our free time. You say with a slight blush.

Kyle stops dragging you and turns to you. I'd love that. He says as he kisses your forehead. Let's go get this pupper a harness.

A/N: aaahhhh I'm sorry if this isn't quite what you wanted or if it is that's great. I hope you like it and I hope everyone enjoys it.

[paeonia-horse]

Making a public apology like one of those youtubers that have done something shitty, ya know like:

"I regret my actions and apologise to those I have hurt, and going forward I will get help with this issue and be a better person."

Except I am doing it at 0400 in the morning and leaving it for myself for when I gotta get back up at 0830 for work.

"I regret my actions (sitting up til 0400 drawing a horse) and apologise to those I have hurt (me in about 5 hours), and going forward I will get help with this issue (if I don't get distracted tonight I might go to bed as early as 0200) and be a better person (less cranky)"

[dizzydispatch]

A Night in the Life

Day 1

0652. Medical comes in just before shift change, meaning it’s a cluster and a half (sorry, Ms. Carol, the guys were fighting over whose turn it was to deal with you and your angina this time). I should be on my way home, but I've gotta stay late so I don't saddle the morning shift with the burden of a half-finished call.

In the middle of the mess, Officer Areyougoingforaworldrecordintrafficstops? (nice name you got there / thanks, it’s German) has to get one last traffic stop in. Hey, here's an idea. If a medical call is currently being dispatched, instead of making me juggle that and your unnecessary traffic stops-- I don't know, maybe go to it?

0734. Thank you for threatening to pull me over for my broken tail light on my way into work tonight, Officer Hardass. I can’t even tell if you’re kidding or not. Guess I better go to the nearest auto parts store and replace my brake light in the freezing cold. 

0812. Good thing I did it here in the store parking lot before I left, because you guys sold me the wrong bulb. Oh, you don’t have the one I need? Great. Can I get that in writing for Hardass? Also, I was shivering so hard that when I tried to take the ill-fitting one out that I dropped it and it broke. But at least I’ve got the rest of the day to myself. Right?

828. Oops, I forgot that I agreed to tutor my GED student today. Was expecting to have the rest of the day, but hey, it’s for a good cause. I still have all afternoon to sleep and shower. 

1100. Call from my Lieutenant. Did I want today’s eve shift for overtime? I jumped for it. Eves are my favorite shift, after all, and every overtime shift that I put straight towards my student loans brings me 0.01083% closer to financial freedom.

1101. Realized that now I had to be back at the station in four hours, and we’re in the middle of a quiz. Too polite to kick my pupil out mid-quiz, I silently resign myself to not getting a shower today. 

1205. Finally, bed. Two blissful hours of--

1415. GOD that alarm is loud. Gotta get up and haul ass. No time to primp, just throw a bandana on, fresh uniform— aaaaand it’s damp.

Day 2

1500. Freezing My Butt Off Because My Uniform is WET and Dispatch is COLD.

1655. Remembered that as the dispatcher, I’m in charge of the dispatch office, and therefore I control the thermostat. Cranks heat. 

1938. Relentlessly mocked by Lieutenant about keeping Dispatch a sauna.

1941: Retaliated by playing up the cold symptoms related to an ongoing, non-contagious sinus infection, then fake sneezing on said (germaphobic) Lieutenant.

1956: Noise complaint from a guy whose neighbors are watching a movie "so loudly it sounds like World War Four in there." (I'm sorry, did I miss World War Three somehow? Any particular reason we jump right to four?)

2056: I should make some coffee. I sure hope the coffee machine isn't-

2057:

2143. Where’s Officer Goingforarecord when you need him? At least the constant traffic stops would be something to keep me awake. I guess the fact that the sun was out helped me forget that three in the afternoon to a night shift person is like everyone else's three in the morning.

2300:

0000: Is it seriously only midnight?

0100:

0200:

0300:

0400: My favorite officer to chat with has decided to let me talk his ear off. While I’d like to believe I am simply that good company, I also suspect that it’s because my mindless chatter is impossible to sleep through. He looks about as tired as I feel.

0500: After talking pretty much nonstop for an hour, my voice hurts. But if I stop, I’ll lose the momentum and adrenaline of a mostly one-sided conversation about the relative benefits of being a bandana girl. Sure, it’s not exactly a runway-worthy fashion statement, but can you tell how long it’s been since I washed my hair? 

0549: I wonder if this would make an interesting blog entry? Dispatch: A Night in the Life. 

0601: Should I at least format it into essay style? 

0636: Too tired. Transcript will have to suffice.

0639: I swear I know how to spell the word lieutenant, Mrs. Overton, my dearest seventh grade English teacher. I even use the pneumonic you taught us: lie-to-u-about-ten-ants. I’m just so tired, my brain won’t cooperate. (I won’t even tell you how many times it took me to spell pneumonic.)

0646: Wait, why would an officer lie about ants? Do we have ants in the station???

0649: I guess after the mouse that Dave’s mousetrap caught, a few ants shouldn’t be too much concern. 

0651: Almost time to...

0652: You have got to be kidding me, Carol.