escapefromrealitysm

[escapefromrealitysm]

Cute Meet?

Started as a kinda character study and idk what happened, i'ma be honest. I haven't written anything with length in awhile, so feel free to leave cc and let me know what you think <3 Just a cute meet kinda scenario, reader is an anxious lil thing and Simon 'Ghost' Riley is obsessed upon first glance. Love? No, not yet.. but obsessed, yes. Word Count: 1.3K Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader/You Warnings: No warnings, no use of y/n tho Enjoy :))

Ghost is the keeper. Ghost is stoic, cold, even apathetic. Ghost can kill a whole platoon without batting an eye, can be covered in the blood of his enemies and be entirely uncaring to watch it flow down the drain once he has enough time to scrub the caked blood from where it seeped through his clothes. He is in charge, able to control his emotions effortlessly, able to lead. He is everything he needs to be. And then there’s Simon. Ghost is the keeper. Simon is the man beneath the mask who needs one. Simon is more akin to a stray dog than a human at times. Face hidden from the world, yet teeth always barred and ready to bite. Hidden behind a mask, a carefully crafted mask that is Ghost. A man with more scars than flesh, a man with more trauma than peace, a man who simply longs for the normalcy of life without a way to reach it. And then came you.

Ghost couldn’t care less for you. The mask is on as he’s on leave, shopping in a grocery store to get something to eat on while he stays in that damned motel for the next couple of weeks before flying out once more. The mask stays in place, a protection, a show the keeper is in charge. You don’t mean to run into him, you’re definitely not the type to go looking for trouble- you’ve had enough of that in your life, and you’re just starting to get your shit together for the nth time. But as you’re both leaving, you stumble, bumping right into him and leaving a couple of his poor bags strewn about on the sidewalk rather than carefully held within each hand. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Ghost grumbles with a sigh, clearly not pleased by the circumstances while watching a can of beans he had bought simply roll off of the sidewalk area and into the road- promptly ran over by a vehicle looking to park. No beans and toast now, british man. “I am so sorry-” You immediately apologize, the sheepish and embarrassed look on your face obvious as you dust yourself off and try to begin gathering the mess that you had caused. Ghost is annoyed at you. Just one look and he’s annoyed. But Simon? Simon is enchanted. The sweet, sheepish smile on your face, the way you scramble to help, the heat to your cheeks in your embarrassment as you scatter around trying to fix the situation. The way your hair falls and how you’re clearly nervous, but you still act anyway. You don’t care of how he looks- all brooding and intimidating with his hoodie over his head and the black medical mask over the lower half of his face. You couldn’t care less of that- you simply want to make things better. Simon notices that though. Simon remains frozen for a few moments, hidden interest in his eyes as he watches you scramble about, resorting your things just to have an extra couple of bags for his things. And you just hand things back over to him, the sheepish smile still on your face, the embarrassment clear- but gods, you look like such a sweet lil thing, lookin’ at him like he’s a human, a person. “‘S fine,” Simon eventually spits out, taking the bags from your hands and glancing once more at the beans staining the roadway now, before turning to focus his attention back on you. He could let you leave now. He could, it’d be so easy. He could leave it at that and walk away, probably never hear or see from you again. I mean, hell, he’s only known you for all of 5 minutes, and it’s because you’re a clumsy little shit who fucked up his shopping. It’d be so easy so why does it feel so hard. “D’ya always ‘ave to make such an impression?” Simon quips out, readjusting the bags comfortably in his grip. You can’t even pretend not to notice his accent- it’s unusual for where you live, you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything like it outside of the media you’ve consumed. It’s pleasant, rings around in the ears for a bit. You finally meet his eyes, and gods, they are gorgeous. Deep, rich, brown- like chocolate with golden flecks scattered. Especially in the sunlight- like they are now- pools of liquid gold swimming about a chocolate river. “Ah- No- Um-” You struggle to find the right words, now your cheeks are warmer, and it’s less from embarrassment and more from the pretty eyed stranger you just fucking throttled on accident. But at least he doesn’t seem angry, so there’s always that. “I’m so sorry,” You settle on apologizing again, one of your hands moving to nervously run through your hair, pushing some strands out of your face. “‘S fine. Really.” Simon says with a slight nod, and you can feel the burn of his eyes as they trail over you. You can’t decide if he means it or not, though, he sounds oddly monotone for such simple words. “Still, I feel bad, I uh- I’m kinda clumsy at best,” You blurt out, sheepish smile on your face despite its softness as you glance away from him before looking back once more, “I uh- just wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going- a real bad habit of mine, honestly- which is surprising cause you’re kinda huge and hard to miss-” 

What the fuck did you just say?!Your cheeks heat up further, hands moving to gesture with your words now. You’re rambling, you know you are, but god did not give you the ability to shut the fuck up. “N-Not that that’s a bad thing! You’re uh- very well-built!” what the fuck you’re making it worse- “I-I mean- You uh- You have lots of muscle a-and that’s a good thing! And you have pretty eyes- always a bonus!” Simon’s eyebrow slowly lifts, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Simon’s been called a lot of things in his life- but he’s realizing at this moment that no one has ever called his eyes pretty. They’re brown. He can recall Johnny referring to them as ‘shit brown’ more often than not.  And you just look so fucking adorable- continuing to ramble, but he’s hardly paying attention to the words now, watching your cheeks get darker, your hands gesturing with your words, nervously shifting on your feet as you try to ‘save’ the situation. Such a precious lil thing, too pure for this world.

Simon was enchanted at first glance.

Ghost decides he could be, too.

A pretty thing like you? In this world? Oh, love, that’s just not safe. You’re a lil bundle of nervous, clearly. How’d ya make it this far? Who made ya like this? Unsure, rambling, nervous? Ghost wants to learn you. Wants to figure out what events molded you into this cute lil thing. You clearly need someone- he won’t judge, Simon needs him, too.

Ghost decides he wants to know you. Simon has made that thought known.

“You know what? I’m gonna shut up!” You finally say, voice a higher pitch and the heat being felt in the tips of your ears at this point as you take a step away from the masked man, who you know you’ve done ruined the chance to know with your inability to shut the fuck up.

“Tell me yer name before ya do,” Simon says, voice smooth like it’s the easiest and most casual thing in the world.

He’s so… quiet. He let you ramble and make an absolute fool of yourself- but now he’s actually wanting to know your name?

After you manage to knock yourself out of your stupor, you finally offer your name to him, cheeks finally cooling down a bit. Only to heat back up once he repeats your name in that voice of his, all low and gruff- says it differently than anything you’ve ever heard before- like it’s something important, something that matters.

“Simon,” He supplies, adjusting his bags in one grip as he offers a hand to you.

Simon and Ghost are two very different people who share this skin suit.

But they both decide you’re theirs.

[escapefromrealitysm]

Request for reader taking Rues place in s1 ep2 when mouse pays a visit to Fez

ofc, hope you like!

fezco x fem!reader (season one ep 02: stuntin' like my daddy)

warning: drug use/abuse, coercion, violence, swearing, slight sexual language, mentions of overdosing, after effects of naloxone (narcan) and fentanyl like nausea, urinary retention, drowsiness.

wc: ±2465

a/n: requests welcome!

gif not mine, all credit to original creator.

The only time you'd ever really see Fez at a party was if he was dealing. He wasn't one who really enjoyed going out or being around a lot of people, but parties were one of the fastest ways to sell his shit, and a guy's gotta eat. On the days he had all to himself, he'd often be at home doing nothing.

The only thing he enjoyed more than relaxing at home, was relaxing at home with you. You seemed to have that effect on him; he enjoyed doing things more when you were around. He'd take you shopping because he knew you'd buy actual food and not just any random stuff with no nutritional value. He'd take you with him on random night drives through the city because you had the best playlists to listen to and he wouldn't admit it, but he secretly loved listening to the different genres of music you enjoyed. He always enjoyed having your presence around the house, and around him.

Right now, however, he really really wished you had stayed home. Not that he didn't want to see you, but he was about 5 minutes away from doing business with one of his suppliers (not one of the nicests guys either), and he didn't want to anywhere near when they arrived.

"Hold on, you can't be in here right now," he drawled nervously when he saw your wet frame enter the living room. "I just came to make you guys dinner, got everything for your favorites," you smiled as you made your way inside, placing the groceries you had bought on the kitchen table. You toed off your shoes and made your way to Fez's room. "Nah, you gotta go Y/N," he said following after you.

"Why, am I not welcome anymore?" you joked, looking through his drawers for dry clothes. You settled for a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt you had forgotten there, and swiftly changed.

"I'm serious, come back in a few hours but right now you gotta get the fuck up outta my house," he said seriously. You frowned at his words. Was he seriously going to kick you out in the middle of a rainstorm? "It's fucking pouring outside, Fez. I can just—"

"Nah you ain't listening, you gotta go right now before these motherfuckers come through," he interrupted you. By now you had grown irritated by his behavior. "Who are you talking about?" you asked angrily, walking past him to go sit on the couch in the living room. "My guy's boutta come through and I don't want you here when he gets here, you understand?" he said following you. Right. His guy, as in his supplier. You were on the verge of asking him what the big deal was if you just stayed out of their way for the few minutes, when his phone buzzed from the table he was previously sitting at.

You peered behind the back of the couch towards the table and then back at him. He did the same, and when your eyes met, you could see the anger mixed with fear on his face. "I could fuckin' kill you right now," he muttered before reaching for his walkie talkie. "Yo Ash, they here," he spoke into it before he started packing stacks of money into a paper bag.

By now you had grown a bit nervous at what was about to go down. Fez never allowed you to join him when he was doing any of his deals. He wanted to keep you as far away as possible from that side of his life, and right now you were about to meet one of his suppliers.

He walked over to the couch were you still sat frozen in fear, pushing his hands between the two cushions and pulling out a gun, checking to see if it was loaded. Your eyes widened before meeting his. "Look I'm serious Y/N," he said quietly, "just stay right there, keep your mouth shut and be cool. These dudes ain't fuckin' around." You could only nod in response, watching closely as he placed the gun back between the cushions.

☆☆☆☆

To say the big bald guy with the face tattoos currently standing behind you was scary, would be one hell of an understatement.

"So this your little bitch?" you heard him ask. You didn't dare turn around, nervously clasping your hands together in your lap to stop them from shaking too visibly. "Nah bruh, that's my girl," Fez subtly corrected him as the guy made his way around the back of the couch. He kneeled infront of the couch and extended his hand in greeting. "Well hello there," he said. You nervously unclasped your hands and placed one in his, which he took and kissed softly. You wanted to retract your hand from the feeling of his cold, dry lips on your skin, but you had no idea if that could potentially piss him off, and you didn't want to find out what he'd do if he got mad.

"My name is Mouse, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said. How ironic you thought, but you couldn't find anything humorous in the way his stare sent chills down your spine. When he walked away you looked over to Fez again, who was sitting right across from you. He gave you a small nod as you tried your best to calm down your racing heart.

Mouse started unpacking and naming all the diffrent drugs he had available. You tried not to look as shocked as you felt, but truth was you weren't used to all of it. Yeah your boyfriend was a drug dealer, but you didn't do drugs, and he's made it his life's mission to keep it that way You turned around and caught a glimpse of all the different bottles and pills all packed in big plastic zip lock bags.

"7750," Mouse's lackey Custer said as he finished calculating the price of everything at a quite impressive speed. Fez quickly got the paper bag with the money, throwing it to Mouse, who threw it to Custer. "Sure you don't want no Fentanyl?" he asked. "Nah man I'm cool off that shit. Too many OD's, man. I don't want the heat," Fez said calmly.

Mouse turned around to where you sat. "How about you pretty girl," he asked, "you ever tried Fentanyl?"

"No," you said quietly, still looking down at your lap. "Nah, she's good bro," Fez said as Mouse took a seat next to you on the couch and placing his arm behind you on the back of it. He used his outstretched hand to play with the loose strands of your hair. "You gonna let your boy talk for you?" he asked with a smile. You looked over at Fez, not knowing of you should answer him or not. "I don't know—"

"Don't look at him, look at me." You felt as though you might burst into flames if you did look at him. You turned your head slightly towards him, and you were met with a smile that made your stomach churn nervously. "You ever tried it?" he asked again.

"Yo forreal bruh, I don't want her fuckin' wit that shit," Fez said through a clenched jaw. You could hear the irritation and anger in his voice. Whether it was aimed at you for being here right now or at Mouse talking to you, you didn't know.

Mouse ignored Fez's talking, moving closer to you until his mouth was at your ear. "You know that feeling when you cum so hard you can't feel or hear shit?" he asked. You frowned, turning your face away from him and looking down at your lap once again. You didn't want to answer him, you didn't want to be talking to him anymore. "You like that feeling?" he added. You couldn't do anything but nod dumbly, afraid of what he might do if you ignored him.

"Well shit, you gon' love this."

Soon he was reaching for his pockets, pulling out a knife and a pouch of liquid Fentanyl, placing a small amount of the substance on the tip of the blade. He bought it closer to your face, and before you could think you were instinctively shaking your head and moving your head away from the knife.

"I don't— I don't think I should," you said softly. "What, you don't trust me?" he asked. "Yo for real man, she's good," Fez said desperately trying to diffuse the situation. He was praying that you didn't come close to that blade, he didn't want you using that shit at all. "Shut the fuck up bitch," Mouse said, still looking at you, "ain't nobody talkin' to you."

"Tell your boy I ain't talking to him right now. Tell him to shut the fuck up," he said to you. You looked over at Fez, the tears already burning behind your eyes. "C'mon don't be scared. It won't bite you." His voice bought your attention back to the blade that was still infront of your face.

"C'mon, try it."

Fez was shaking his head at you, praying that you weren't stupid enough to take up his offer. You were shaking like a leaf. You didn't know what to do, you just wanted to get out of this situation as fast as possible.

Without a second thought you placed your mouth on the tip of the knife and licked the substance off. Please don't let me die the words replayed in your head over and over and over as you felt yourself slowly and quietly slip into a diffrent state. After a while you couldn't even sit up straight anymore, and you found yourself softly falling on the couch cushion. Please don't let me die please don't let me die please don't let me die please—

"It hits quick," you heard Mouse's voice faintly as you tried desperately to hold onto some form of lucidity. Fez was watching you closely, trying to see if you were still conscious. "You like the way that feels?" he asked placing your leg over his lap. "Mhm," you managed to get out through lips that felt as heavy as concrete. "You wanna couple of patches pretty girl?" he asked and you replied with what you hoped was a yes. He got the patches from his jacket pocket and placed them beneath the waistband of your sweatpants.

"Its gon' cost you three hundred," he said to you, but looking over at Fez, "C'mon, pay up pretty girl."

"I only have like, seven dollars on me," you said, slurring your words like a drunk. "I said three hundred," Mouse repeated running his fingertips along your leg. "I bought like, groceries and shit." You could feel the drool running out your mouth and down your cheek, but it felt like your body was nailed to the couch. You felt so relaxed, so good and fuzzy that you couldn't even be bothered by the drool.

"Yo Mouse, lemme pay for it man," Fez spoke up. "I thought you was too good for Fentanyl" Mouse said with a taunting smile. "What is it, everybody changing they motherfuckin' minds on me?" he asked turning to Custer who sat on the back edge of the couch laughing.

"She can't afford it, she gon' have to find another way of paying me. Straight up," he said, now rubbing along your leg. "Ok," you replied, thinking he was still talking to you. Fez wanted nothing more than to pull out the gun from between the two cushions and shoot Mouse right there and then. He could feel himself getting angrier with every stroke of Mouse's hand along your clothed leg.

"Yo man, jus' lemme pay for it. Got the money right here."

Fez stood up from the couch, and placed three hundreds in Mouse's hand. "Damn, your boy must love you. Its gon cost you six hundred now, man."

☆☆☆☆

After Fez gave Mouse his extra money he counted the bills before standing up to leave. "It's always a pleasure doing business with you," he smiled, pushing your leg from his lap and getting up from the couch. As soon as the door closed behind him, Fez stood up, taking the Fentanyl Mouse had left on the couch and calling Ash. "Flush that shit down the toilet, and go grab the Narcan, just in case," he said placing the pouch in Ash's hand.

He went over to the couch were you were still laying quietly and motionless, your one leg still hanging off the couch. He carefully pulled it back up the couch, maneuvering it to prevent you from rolling onto your stomach, and covered your body with the small blanket that layed by the couch's end. He sat by your head on the couch, softly stroking your hair and praying that you were okay. Your eyes fluttered open when you felt his soft touch on your head. "'M sorry," you slurred, trying to keep your eyes open, to stay awake. Your breathing was irregular and soft, and you felt a dull discomfort in your chest.

"It's ok," he said softly, wiping away the layer of sweat from your forhead. "I ain't leaving you."

When Ash returned with the Narcan you were quickly given some in each nostril and after a while your breathing returned to a somewhat normal tempo. You couldn't fight the urge to sleep anymore and soon you were closing your eyes and dozing off.

☆☆☆☆

You layed in bed next to Fez feeling like absolute shit. You couldn't fall asleep. The dull pressure in your bladder and the constant nausea made it impossible to get comfortable. You turned around slowly, to find Fez laying next to you, his eyes trained on you. He hadn't left your side since your little run-in with Mouse, and had you stay with him until you felt better. He even went as far as to ask one of your friend to bring you clean clothes from your house.

"How you feelin'?" he asked, voice thick from sleep. You only shook your head no, you couldn't even find the strength to talk. "You want some' to eat?" he asked softly. The mention of food made your stomach churn uncomfortably and before you knew it you were jumping out of bed and making a beeline for the bathroom for what felt like the millionth time.

You felt Fez's hand rubbing circles into your back softly as you threw up once again. "Let it all out, baby," you heard him say softly. He knew you hated throwing up, and he hated seeing you ill, so he tried his best to give you any sort of comfort.

After you finished you flushed the toilet and wiped your mouth. The cold tiles beneath your knees and the warm press of Fez's hand against your even warmer body grounded you. "I'm sorry for taking that shit," you said through quiet sobs. You hadn't even noticed you'd been crying. "Is alright," Fez said softly. He hated seeing you cry more than anything. "You'll be alright, okay?" he said, pulling you into a hug, "I ain't going no where. Gonna look after my girl."

[escapefromrealitysm]

debt that’s owed : Fezco

Summary: Laurie needs someone to pay her the debt that’s owed to her, Rue ran from her, which gives her the perfect opportunity to use Fezco’s words against him. But, is she worth you?

Warning(s): Angst, Fear, Drugs, mentions of sex traffick, Laurie’s crazy ass, etc.

Author Note: Always wondered what Laurie would’ve done given that Rue got away, so I wrote a piece after the finale. 

p.s. I’m having a lot of trouble with college tuition right now, rent for my apartment, I’d really appreciate it if you guys could help me, I love you guys  Buy me a Coffee? Ko-Fi please spread the word, if you can’t donate! Bless your hearts, my loves! Now, enjoy!

- - -

Keep reading

[escapefromrealitysm]

can you do a klaus mikaelson imagine or headcanon where the reader (fem) is his little sister whos he favorites (even if he never admits it) and shes the one who always stuck beside him even when his other siblings didnt

My feet pad across the cold wood floor, carefully stepping as to not wake anyone up as I peek into Klaus's office, the light seeping through a crack in the door.

Hesitantly, I push the door open, the creak gaining the attention of the man inside, his shoulders relaxing at the sight of me as he blows out a breath of air.

"Are you alright? It's late." He asks, setting his sketches down as he leans against his desk, prompting me to come in with a simple wave. His eyes have deep, dark bags beneath them from days of restless sleep and complete insomnia. My hand pushes the door shut behind me as I sigh, reaching up to rub my eyes.

"I was just worrying about you. With everything going on..." I trail off, watching as his eyes dip to the ground, jaw clenching as his mind runs wild. "I know the rest of our siblings can be difficult and hard to sway but I do think you're doing the right thing, Niklaus. Hopefully one day they can see that too." Mirroring him, I lean up against the desk beside him, my chin tilting to look up at him as he nods, a small smile on his lips as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, tugging me to his side.

"I've always got you, don't I?" He quizzes, a small laugh leaving my lips as I nod, recalling all the time Klaus has had my undying loyalty and trust, treatment he's never received from the rest of our family. He shrugs with a simple smirk. "To hell with the rest of them then."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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[escapefromrealitysm]

Off The Deep End

Pairing: Platonic!Fezco x Reader

Summary: Reader's having a difficult time with her mental health so her best friend Fez takes matters into his own hands.

Warnings: Heavy talk of mental health anguish and swearing.

Word Count: 2k

A/n: Hi guys! I got a request to write a platonic Fez fic with a reader who's been struggling with her mental health. Hope you guys enjoy❤️

Fezco had been my best friend for the longest time.

As long as I could remember back, he was there. I remembered a time when he still lived with his dad, when he'd come to hang out at my house with black eyes and bruises littering his cheeks. I remember when he moved in with his grandma, when Ashtray came into the picture, when his grandma took a turn for the worst.

I was there for everything. He told me anything and everything that happened to him down to the littlest moments in his days. He told me about Lexi Howard, their ongoing bashful and flirty relationship. He was head over heels for the girl and, though his grandma told the both of us to never fall in love and to not trust those feelings, he did anyways. And I was proud that he ignored her warnings and fell into the deep end.

But Fezco has been my only friend for the longest time.

People would come and go, here and there. Old friendships would reignite, fizzling out soon after. It was difficult to maintain a relationship, a friendship, without feeling like I was too much for them, a burden. A noose.

Fez always told me that I could never bother him, that he enjoyed spending time with me and nothing I could ever do could drive him away. He was in my life for the long run so no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that I didn't deserve him, he would still be there.

That didn't mean that I didn't feel the overwhelming urge to push him away when things got rough. He had enough going on, between his personal life, taking care of his grandma and Ash, his other friends. Not to mention is drug business. When things would get rough, the covers being pulled up to my chin as I contemplated not getting out of bed for days, I would ignore his messages, his incessant calls.

He worried about me more than anyone and maybe I was selfish for pushing him away. I knew that he just wanted to help, to care for me. But I couldn't stop the thought in my mind that he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to pry his way into my house, urging me to get out of bed, to eat something, drink something. He shouldn't have to do this for me, he had better things to fill his time.

But Fezco was stubborn and he went above and beyond for the people he loves.

This had to have been the sixth time he's called me this morning, our plans of going to breakfast being tossed out the window as soon as I woke up. I could tell that today wasn't going to be an easy day, that it would just be best to stay in bed and avoid burdening anyone with my presence today.

Tapping the screen of my phone, I see the multiple messages from my best friend along with the missed calls that he's left me.

We always went out to breakfasts on Saturdays. This would've been the first one I've missed.

From Fezzz: You ready?

Hello?

You up, kid?

That's it, I'm callin u.

Seriously, u freakin me out.

I stare at the message through teary eyes, my head shaking as I toss my phone onto my lap. I had voicemails from him too, messages that I couldn't bare to listen to right now without diving into a pool of self hatred for leaving him hanging.

The phone buzzes again on my lap, but this time it's not Fez, it's Ash. My eyebrows pull together nervously, my lip tucked in between my teeth as my finger hovers over the answer button. Pressing it hesitantly, I raise the phone to my ear with a sigh.

"Yo, can you, like, fuckin' answer your phone or some shit. Fez is over here freaking the fuck out." Ash huffs, my eyes closing as I feel my bottom lip wobble. The tears tumble down my cheeks as I take a shaky breath in, sniffling loudly. "Ayo, you okay?" Ash asks, his voice changing to something more gentle, Fez's voice heard in the background.

"Yeah, honey, I'm okay. I just 'm not feeling so good today." I whisper, my voice hoarse as I lie, my body turning over to curl up into a ball. "Tell Fez to stop worrying, I'm sorry for not answering him." I mutter, my breathing slow as I stare at the medication on my nightstand. I know that I have to take them but the voice in my head tells me to just stop, they weren't even doing their job in the first place anyways.

"Well, I know you won't like this but he's already out the door. Have your door unlocked." He doesn't say anything more, just ends the call as I let out a forced breath.

He always did this when I wasn't 'feeling good'. He knew what that meant, he knew that I was against caring for myself right now so that would mean that he would have to come over and do it for me.

The last thing I wanted was someone going out of their way for me right now.

Hearing his car pull up outside, I take a slow deep breath, knowing whoever's home right now will let him in. My room is dim, the only light coming from the cracked window above my head and it's quiet, just how I like and need it to be.

I listen closely as he speaks downstairs, always getting caught up with my family. They always loved Fez, how much he cared for me and protected me. They knew that out of all the friends I've had in my whole life that he was the most special. Because he was just that, he was special.

My stomach swirls anxiously as I hear footsteps outside my door, fingers knocking gently at the wood. I grunt in acknowledgment, the door pushing open to reveal Fez behind it. He smiles softly at me, his eyes flickering to the ground as he shuts the door, stepping further into my room.

"Hey, kid." He whispers, his feet carrying him over to my side of the bed as he kneels down. He places a water bottle in front of me, his assumption that I haven't drank anything today being correct. His head tilts at the sight of me, his brows furrowing in frustration. "Why didn't you tell me it was gettin' bad again?" He asks, reaching out to gently push some hair from my face. I huff with a shrug, my eyes fluttering away from his as I cling to my blankets. He falls silent for a moment, his head turning to look at the bottle of refilled pills. He frowns, knowing that, by the amount in there, that I hadn't taken them in a few days. "You gotta stay on top'a these, ma." He whispers, his fingers wrapping around the bottle. He opens the cap with a click, his fingers prying one out as I groan. He forces the water bottle into my hands, my eyes rolling. "Don't make me shove it down your fucking throat." He chuckles quietly, my lips parting as he drops the pill in my mouth, watching me as I take a few swigs of the water. "See, not so hard?" He taunts and I scoff, a small smile on my lips as he sighs. "Alright, scoot over." He smiles, my body rolling as he lays down next to me with a sigh, his arms resting behind his head as I gaze at him.

We sit in silence for a few moments, knowing that this was all I wanted. I just wanted to have someone that got it like Fez did. It was this constant internal battle of whether to let him help me or push him away once more. But I decide that I just wanted him here, just laying next to me in a comfortable silence. So maybe, just this one time, I'd let him care.

"You wanna hear 'bout my date with Lex?" He asks quietly, his head tilting to look at me as my eyes widen. "Yeah, yeah." He chuckles bashfully, the smile on his lips radiating happiness. It made me happy to see him like this, my heart swelling as I listen to him talk.

I could listen to him go on for hours about Lexi. He loved that girl so much that it was almost ridiculous. This man was the perfect gentleman, he was caring, kind, soft, protective. And Lexi and I adored each other, the two of us ganging up on Fez whenever we could. I guess I could consider her a friend too.

The way that he talked about her, it made me hopeful that I would meet someone who looks at me, who talks about me, in the way that Fezco talks about Lex. With everything going on in my mind it seemed a bit impractical to think that far ahead but, it was something, right?

"Ash was worried when I told him you were MIA." Fez whispers, my heart breaking at the thought of worrying Ash. I take a deep breath, my eyes fluttering shut as he continues. "You can't disappear like that, Y/n. I know you can't promise shit because you not okay right now but..." He trails off, his voice dripping with pain. "I would not survive losing you, you know that?" Tears slip from my eyes as I sniffle, my eyes opening to meet his. I just send him a quiet nod, an unknown weight crushing my chest. His blue eyes shimmer with unshed tears, the weight of his worry for me crushing him.

"I just don't have any energy and I'm tired of making everyone worry." I whisper, his head nodding softly.

"And I get that. But you gotta take your fucking meds. You gotta show me that I don't gotta put a leash on you and take you everywhere I go. You gotta show me I can trust you to be alone right now." I close my eyes with a frustrated groan, my hands reaching up to rub over my face.

"You can't, Fez. I can't be trusted to take my meds and you can't trust me to be alone right now." I answer honestly, some of the weight leaving my shoulders as he scoots closer to me, taking me in his arms. I lay with my head on his chest, his hand resting gently on the back of my head. "I don't want to be this leech that attaches to people, begging them, needing them to care for me cuz I can't do it myself." I cry, fisting the material of his t-shirt under my hands.

"Okay, but fuck that. I'm here, I'm telling you I'm here and I'll do anything to help you get back to feelin' better." He whispers and I know that his words are true. But I can't help but continue to beat myself up over it. "Let me help." He adds, his hand rubbing my back gently as I sniffle. "You gotta let the people who love you help." I nod, my eyes shutting tiredly as I yawn. "So from now on, you're settin' an alarm on your phone, you're gonna take your meds. You're gonna answer my texts and calls and you're gonna come hang out with Ash and I at the store." He orders, no strength left in me to argue. "I'll even pay you. You can stock shit or whatever." He laughs, a teary giggle leaving my lips as I send him another nod. "Alright." He whispers, the weight rising off of me fully as I close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat beneath me.

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

Taglist: @jamespotterswifey @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex--awesome--22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @letmebeyoureuphoria @rafecameronswhore @4lyssasworld @write-from-the-heart @ariianelle @vampviolets

Dangerous Woman Taglist: @garfieldsladybird @jackierose902109 @shawnieeboyy @eatmybuttfromtheback

Euphoria Taglist: @usernamelol @ssprayberrythings

Fezco Taglist: @fudgemesteveharrington

[escapefromrealitysm]

1.8k / 24 / soap soulmate au, part 4

...

Price takes a seat opposite you. Ghost stands behind him, massive arms crossed. Price folds his hands together.

"Tea?" he asks.

You say nothing.

"Ghost, go get us some tea."

Ghost leaves. Price examines you, drumming his fingers against the table. He acts friendly. But he's not playing. You have no doubt he'll extract the information he needs by any means necessary. You need to make sure he doesn't figure out which of your buttons to press.

"You're Soap's girl," he says.

You say nothing. His stare presses in on you as heavily as the silence, pushing your back into your seat.

"Who is he to you?"

You shift, uncomfortable in your chair. "A stranger." You roll your shoulders as if trying to shrug off the implications. "An enemy, ostensibly."

Price leans closer. "You kiss your enemies often?"

Not until Johnny walked into your patrol path. 

"Left quite the impression on Soap. You made a bit of a mark on Ghost, too. Not that it’s hard." Price leans back, giving you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "He’s got a soft spot for Soap, hm? So he doesn't want you hurt. Doesn't want Soap put out."

You remain silent, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He studies you, utterly calm. He's trying to read you. It's obvious he has some kind of game plan, and now he thinks you have one, too.

"Weren't quite planning to walk into someone like him, were you? Things happened, didn't they? Things you had to work through."

"No."

"Really. 'Cause with the way you're acting, I'd wager you had different plans for yourself. Now you're all twisted up in this. Plans got ruined because he came along. Maybe you've got your own plans, hm? Got a whole life back home. A career, clearly. Nice little house. Maybe you've got a boyfriend already."

"What do you want?" you grit out.

"Access, love," he says, like this whole interrogation is just a pleasant chat. That new base of yours, the one Graves commandeered. How do you like it?"

"Barely seen it."

"I imagine you're rather busy lately, then. Lot on your mind. Shepherd must have you working hard." You notice a muscle twitching in his jaw. He has an iron grip on his temper. "But you saw enough of it to get a good look around, hm? The layout, the security, the systems. Tell me about it."

"I don't know anything."

"Nothing?" He leans forward again. He doesn't seem to like that answer. "The security cameras. The guards. The patrols. The sensors." His voice is low. "You don't know anything about those?"

"Didn't ask."

"Hm." His shoulders lift in a slight shrug as the expression on his face hardens further. "You didn't ask." He repeats. "Didn't ask. Didn't ask..." Then he pauses, staring through you. He leans back again. "No, of course not. You follow orders. You do your job. Can't fault you for that." He speaks with a cool tone, but there's a tightness in the lines of his jaw as he says it. "And now you're here and your buddies are gone. Just you. The only target left." He lets the silence stretch out. "Do you think Graves'll come for you?"

"No."

"Hm. Why not?"

"I'm a nobody."

"Hmmmmm." His smile doesn't change, but the lines around his eyes shift as if he finds that amusing. "And you're perfectly content with that? With knowing that when you walk into that base every day, you'll just be another body for Graves to throw onto the heap?”

You hold his gaze. "Yes."

"You don't think you're worth more than that?"

You say nothing.

The smile is still there, but his eyes narrow. He's judging you. Judging your worth. You hold his gaze. He seems to recognize something in you--that you're telling the truth. You know what you are. You're a mercenary. You're expendable.

"You must have a low opinion of yourself." He sighs, crossing his arms and settling a little further into his chair. "You've accepted you're not walking out of this base, then."

You nod.

Price examines you, eyes narrow and intense. Peeling you apart. You're certainly not an idiot. Smart enough to know you're expendable; loyal enough to take orders, keep your mouth shut, and follow through without asking questions. Not the type of soldier he prefers, but in the right hands, you'd be lethal.

Tough to crack, too. He rubs his chin. Hard to threaten someone who doesn't have anything to lose.

Two sharp knocks on the door herald Ghost, who slips back inside and closes the door. He's not carrying tea.

"Might want to pick up the pace," Ghost says. "Soap's back."

You stiffen, as much as you try not to show it.

Price's gaze flicks over to you, noting the tensing of your shoulders. "He knows?"

"Affirmative, sir. Someone outside must've seen her mark and tipped him off."

At that moment, there's a banging on the door. Johnny's voice echoes from the other side. "LT!"

Hearing it is a punch to the gut.

Soap keeps knocking. "Ghost, get yer lyin' arse out here!"

Price looks at Ghost and nods toward the door. "Go on, then, handle it."

Ghost curses under his breath and slips outside.

"Hell's fuckin' bells, LT, what's goin' on?"

Ghost's reply is too low and muffled to catch.

"Busy with what?" Soap snaps. "I know she's here. I need to see her."

Ghost's reply this time sounds harsher.

"Like hell I'm not. That's my goddamned soulmate, aye? My girl. I've got a right to see her. You'll not keep me from the one person in the whole bloody world that's mine."

"Captain's interrogating her." Ghost's tone is low and loud now, a warning. "You don't get special privileges with her."

Soap lets loose a string of colorful curses. You can make out roughly half of them through his accent. "What does Price think she's got that's so bloody important I don't get to know about it?"

"She's a Shadow, Johnny. Chrissake."

"Aye, an' she's in that room goin' it alone. She needs me."

Your heart twists in your chest, and it forces out a breath you didn't know you were holding. It's eating at your resolve. Just hearing him speak about you is making you want things you shouldn't. He sounds like he wants to protect you. Like you're worth something to him. You try to shake it out of your head. You're a prisoner here. This isn't a love story. He doesn’t love you. He doesn't know you.

Then you look up, and your blood goes cold. Price is staring at you, and he's smirking.

His eyes move over you, dissecting you piece by piece, and you feel your expression revealing too much. He saw your mask slip. He saw what you're concealing.

"I'll be damned." His smirk grows. "I thought Shadows were all cold-blooded bastards."

Your mouth twitches like it wants to bare teeth. "Go to hell."

"Ghost," he calls mildly at the closed door, "get in here. And bring Soap, would you?"

No no no no. Panic washes over you. You pull at your cuffs, feeling yourself lapse into a freeze response. Not Johnny. You can't face him. You try desperately to get a grip on your body's reaction, to remember your training.

You turn your head away from the door and fix your eyes on the opposite corner of the room. Among the many rifles and launchers racked on the walls, you find a pistol and you concentrate on it as hard as you can. You study the polish smudged near the mouth of the barrel. The scarred grip.

Behind you, the door opens.

Soap is across the room in moments. He kneels next to you, his hands falling to your arm, to your shoulder, your neck. His thumb brushes across one of the many cuts on your cheek.

You feel outside of yourself. Soap seems too fixated on your state of being to notice.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ. What did you rat bastards do to my girl?" he growls.

"She did this to herself," Ghost says. He puts his hand on Soap's shoulder. "And we need her restrained while we question her--"

"Back off," Soap warns, brushing his hand away. "Am not dealin' with you right now."

Price cuts in, voice firm. "Soap, cool off. Now."

Soap's temper flashes hot. His jaw clenches. His muscles tense. But he takes a deep, steadying breath. "Aye, Captain," Soap says. He straightens up, his hands falling away from your face. But it's clear his blood is still simmering. "Permission to remove her cuffs."

"Negative," Price says. Soap starts to say something, but Price cuts him off. "No. She's unpredictable. You know that as well as we do. We can't afford to trust her until we understand what Graves' orders are."

Soap curls and uncurls his fists, evidence of the sheer will he's exerting to keep his feet planted where they are. "And what do you expect me to do? Just leave her here? Not say a word to her?"

That smirk curls Price's lips again. "Quite the opposite. I'd like you to do the talking for us."

Price stands and gestures to Ghost again, and Ghost guides Soap by the shoulder over to him. Soap resists on principle for a moment before his mind catches up and he walks stiffly to the other side of the table.

“She has information we need," Price says. "Alejandro, remember? Once that's squared away, we'll need no hostage. You understand me?"

There's a beat of silence.

"You want me to interrogate her," Soap says.

"I want access," Price replies.

"And once I have the information?"

"Then she’s all yours. You can do whatever you like. Let her go. Hell, drive her to the airport if you want. But until then" --Price's hand lands on Soap's shoulder and pushes him down into the interrogator's seat across from you-- "she doesn't leave this room. You understand?"

You feel Soap's eyes on you.

"Fine. I'll do it. But it's gotta be me and her. No one else. You let me do my job the way I know it needs to be done."

"Hm." Price glances at you. You're still concentrating on the pistol on the far wall. "That's just fine. Ghost, let's give 'em some time alone."

Ghost follows Price out of the room, closing and locking the door behind them.

"Sir?" Ghost's voice is low and uncertain.

"Trust me, Soap is the leverage we needed. He'll do just fine.”

Ghost is quiet for a moment. "If he keeps his head on straight."

Price hums in agreement, his smile genuine now. "If he keeps his head on straight."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / [part 4] / part 5

more Soap / masterlist tag

[escapefromrealitysm]

what about a fic where he 141 are dealing with something Big; information is doctored, intel is wrong, enemies have infiltrated and fucked up the TFs intelleigence. they're in danger, the mission is compromised, their safety is compromised. someone is feeding them false information and they don't have any idea until it'll be too late.

up on the screen is your face, big red letters plastered over a picture of you indicated that you're a threat. you're associated with the enemy, how could that be possible?

simon is reeling - you're not even involved in the military or anything. you're a civilian, a librarian. a shy, quiet little thing that had looked like you were gonna faint right then and there when simon riley stood at your counter with a stack of books for the first time.

you couldn't possibly be involved. but the intel couldn't be wrong.

soap, gaz, and price all give him sickeningly pitiful looks like they feel sorry for the fool for falling for your tricks. simon is seething.

when you're awoken by a loud crash of your front door being broken down, you don't even get the chance to see who your assailants are before a black hood is shoved over your head. the ringing in your ears and your utter panic keep you from hearing the familiar voice of your husband calling you a traitor. you don't hear the sounds of the men you've grown to love na trust over the years discussing how they have to punish you...torture a confession out of you for this vile act that they have no idea is false information ):

[escapefromrealitysm]

EY ITS FINALS SEASON!

GOOD LUCK ON YOUR EXAMS!

GOOD LUCK ON YOUR ESSAYS!

GOOD LUCK ON YOUR PRESENTATIONS!

GOOD LUCK ON YOUR FINAL PROJECTS!

GOOD LUCK!!! YOU’VE MADE IT THIS FAR!!

and a gentle reminder to take breaks, and get a snack and some water. Don’t forget to take a moment to breathe.

and if you can, try to do something nice for yourself after its all over. No matter how it turns out, you struggled and you survived so you deserve something nice :)

[escapefromrealitysm]

1.8k / 22 / soap soulmate au, part 3

…

Oh, shit, Ghost thinks. What the hell did you just do?

Ghost stumbles out in the road, looking after you in shock. You just... jumped out. In handcuffs. There's no way you think you can make it anywhere like--

Oh, double shit. You're running right for the cliffs in the distance. Looks like you might make it, too. That ain't good. Morally justified or not, he's still the criminal here. If you get to rough terrain and he loses you by car and on foot, you’ll go for help, and his squad won’t stand a chance.

He swears, grabs his pistol, and points it at your back.

He has a clear shot. He's sniped easier targets.

… He sighs and lowers his gun. Johnny, you owe me one.

…

You've got a good head start on him, but when he eventually catches up, he's going to be pissed.

Your ankle and hand sting from your rough landing. Adrenaline pumping, heart racing--you've got to get to those cliffs, and fast.

Behind you, the engine roars closer. Wheels crunch over gravel. He’s catching up. But the cliffs are right there. A river snakes through the rocky terrain. If you can just throw yourself across the water, you can make it. You can lose him on foot.

You pump your legs as fast as you can. The wind burns in your lungs. Keep moving. Just a few more seconds before you reach the water.

You’re so focused on the water that your foot lands wrong between river rocks and your ankle twists. You keep going, gait lopsided. You can’t stop. Once he catches up, you’re either a hostage again or you’re dead. But first, he's gotta catch up, get out of the car, open the door, grab his gun, sprint after you--

Then his car swings around you, pulling what should be an impossible drift over the rocks, one tire scattering river water into the air. You skid to a stop, making a break for the cliffs instead. There's a waterfall. You might make it if you jump--

Then Ghost is on you, a blur from the open car door to the edge of the rocks. He grabs you almost out of the air. You land stomach-first on the ground. You grunt, windless, gasping for air. Pain surges through your body. Fuck, that hurt. The rocks are harder than the grass was. You see stars.

Then you start to realize the position you're in. Your hands are still cuffed in front of you--over your head, now--and he's got his knee on your back. He's holding you down with all his weight, the barrel of his pistol pressed between your shoulders as he grits his teeth.

"Stay. Down," he growls.

He's not gentle. It'd be inconvenient to kill you, but you're really testing his sense of pragmatism. You're making him expend a hell of a lot of effort to keep you alive--jumping off a cliff, fucking seriously?--so he doesn't owe you any extra effort toward keeping you comfortable. Quite the opposite.

You shift your pained body under his knee, groaning into the sharp river rocks cradling your face.

"I said stay down," he growls, grinding his knee down against your back. You feel every individual sharp rock pressing into your skin. "I will hurt you.”

Normally he doesn’t give warnings like this, but he figures he owes it to Johnny to keep your stupid pretty face intact. As much as he wants to put a dent in it right now. And if you keep acting all resourceful…

You keep still, trying to catch your breath. Your hands curl around the river rocks and feel around for something loose and sharp. No such luck.

He grabs your shoulder with one hand to keep you still. His knee moves off your back for a second. You realize he’s trying to get a better look at the soulmate mark on your neck.

"Got to be another John MacTavish somewhere in the world," he mutters. "Bloody common name."

He grips the back of your vest and hauls you to your feet, practically scruffing you as he drags you back to the car. He growls something under his breath along the lines of irritating little shits finding each other.

Back in the car, Ghost’s phone rings again. This time, he glances back at you and switches his phone to his non-dominant hand. He picks up his pistol with his other hand and steers with his knee.

“Ghost,” he answers. This time, the reply has him shifting in his seat. “Negative. Didn’t see her.” Another long pause. The voice on the other end is louder and more animated than the one before. “I told you I’d look, and I did. Wherever she is, she’s fine.” The reply is clipped. “The captain told you not to go looking. Chrissake, Johnny, you’re not hanging out at base looking for a date. You’re a wanted criminal. Have a crumb of self-preservation.” Another long reply, this one rising in volume. “I know. Yes. I hear you. I know— Johnny—”

He goes quiet for a long while, uttering single-syllable responses occasionally. You can’t hear Johnny’s words, but you do hear his tone of voice. He doesn't sound happy.

“If the captain tells you to stay put, you stay put. End of story.”

You glance at the rear-view mirror again. Ghost is looking back like this is somehow on you. The sour face of a man getting chewed out.

Ghost and Johnny go back and forth until Ghost finally seems to tire of it. "No, not right now," he says. "I told you what I know. I’ll call you back."

Johnny curses from the other line right as Ghost hangs up.

Your fingertips are still tingling from the sound of Johnny’s voice, even at a distance, even over the phone. Maybe from the cuffs, too.

You don’t miss the irritated look on Ghost's face. "You in trouble?" you ask.

Ghost doesn’t hold your gaze. "He's a little pissed off, yeah."

After that, you don't speak for a long time. Your whole body hurts, and the adrenaline and sheer length of this day are taking a toll. Your eyelids sag. But every time you drift into sleep, you see Johnny's face again and jerk awake. It's torture. You don't have the mental fortitude to block him out anymore. You’re terrified that wherever Ghost is taking you, Johnny will be there.

You lean your forehead on the window, squeezing your eyes shut. "So..."

"What." There's no venom behind the response this time. He doesn't bother looking at you. But he's listening.

It takes longer than you'd like to work the words you're trying to form out of your throat. "John is still in one piece?”

He keeps driving in silence for a moment. You can almost hear his brain ticking as he considers. There's a tenseness behind him, a tension that's wound up and ready to snap.

"Yeah. Got a few holes in him, but it takes more than that to keep him down. Stubborn bastard." Another long, heavy silence. His hands grip the wheel, and he glares ahead. "Got a problem with that?"

"I'm not sure."

"You got issues with Johnny, you tell me. Got enough problems without you being all coy."

“Do you, uh, have a soulmate?”

Christ, he hopes you're kidding. He can only take so much of this from Johnny, and now you? Obviously Johnny hasn’t stoppedtalking about you. Can’t stop talking about what a pretty thing you are. Face like a muse, he keeps saying. Bastard described you in so much detail that, when Ghost was surveying the Las Almas base, you popped out like a neon sign the moment his sniper scope swept over you. He could've grabbed any damn Shadow, but no, he decided to do Johnny a favor and grab you. Now he can't bloody shoot you no matter how much you deserve it. Lucky Johnny’s not here to see what a bloody mess you’ve made of yourself under his watch. Not that he tells you any of that. Best to keep Johnny in the dark until they get the information they need out of you.

"You're a hostage," he says. "Act like it. And Johnny's off the table."

That’s a relief. You dread the thought of looking Johnny in the eye and trying to figure out how to make excuses for almost killing him. You can only hope to delay it as long as possible.

…

It turns out the "base" Ghost spoke of is a shed in the middle of nowhere. A barn at best—from the outside, but from the inside, it’s huge. You recognize a few members of the Mexican Special Forces, also your former allies before your company betrayed them on Shepherd’s orders. Rodolfo in particular gives you a hard stare as Ghost drags you past him and into a much smaller room. It's a weapons closet converted into a makeshift interrogation room. He pushes you down into the chair hard by the shoulder. You lean on the table, flexing your sore wrists behind you and wishing you could just put your head down and sleep.

He keeps a close eye on you once you're down. You show no clear desire to run again and no more than a passing interest in the impressive spread of rifles and launchers on the walls. You’re in the heart of an enemy safehouse. Even if you managed to grab a gun and escape this room, every other person outside wants you dead. You’re almost glad Ghost locks the door. At least there’s a barrier between you and them.

In the dim light, Ghost notes the bruise on your cheek and the scabbed-over cuts and gashes littered over your exposed skin. Your forehead sports a nasty, wet-looking burgundy splotch where your head hit the ground after he tackled you. You look about as defenseless as a wounded rabbit. If he weren’t busy trying to keep you from escaping as a hostage, he’d probably feel bad about hurting a friend's soulmate.

He's not his most charming self here.

"Stay awake, now," he warns you.

The overhead light clicks on. Ghost stands across from you, but the person standing by the light switch is Captain fucking Price. He stares at you, his hard gaze boring into the soulmate mark on your neck.

Then he smiles. "Good find, Ghost," he says. "This is the one. Guess Soap wasn't lying."

…

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 / part 5

more Soap / masterlist tag

[escapefromrealitysm]

Anything VIII (König x Reader)

The 8th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: No one make any sudden movements. I have returned. Excuse how rusty my writing is.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension

Warning: Graphic Language

What a sight you must behold. 

Sleepless, stressed and on the verge of your breaking point… again. 

It was no wonder that Saint watched you with deep concern, no wonder that they held their pen like it was a lifeline rather than just stationary. You wanted them to just understand, you needed them to know that you weren’t insane- everything was so elaborately planned and you were just on the verge of unravelling it. 

“Saint,” you rasped, “there are people in on this…. The brass. I think König too. It’s a fuck-fight.” 

The doctor leaned back into their chair, eyes never leaving your jittering figure. The sigh that fell from their lips released none of the tension balled tightly in their shoulders. 

“Birdy…” 

You stood to your feet. You didn’t want to hear it. 

You were sick of hearing people say your name in that tone: placatingly, diminishing your thoughts and dismissing you as if you were the local crazy. 

Maybe you were the local crazy. 

Is that how everybody saw you? Did everybody truly think that you were so off-kilter that you’d hallucinate a coup? You were a victim of assault- not insanity. 

“Stop,” Saint put their pen down firmly on the table, drawing your attention back to the situation at hand. “I’m listening. I’m just a little…  hesitant. It’s a very serious accusation, Birdy, but I’m not doubting the source.” 

You shot the medical officer a knowing glare. “Oh,” you drawled sarcastically, “because everybody takes me seriously at this unit with my history, right?” 

“I don’t give a fuck about whether anybody else takes you seriously,” Saint’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I take you seriously, Birdy.” 

The room was doused in tension. Your fingers curled to form tight fists, skin stretching over your knuckles until they turned white. You don’t know why you were angry at their declaration, angry at their loyalty. 

Maybe it was because you knew it was misplaced. 

Maybe it was because you knew you’d disappoint. “Yeah,” you sighed softly, relaxing your hands as you turned for the door. “That makes one of us.” 

_______

The walk to training always held some anxiety but this time it was as if you were drowning in it. Each step felt like a death knell and sudden dryness in your mouth made you want to turn back and run to the safety of your room.

You thought that you were well and truly past this. 

Apparently, you couldn’t get past anything. 

As you approached the door you were surprised to hear voices. No one ever wanted to interact with König, let alone at 7 a.m. on a Saturday. The room was always booked for the two of you at this time, interruptions were specifically warned against by Price. 

It’s just a conversation. You took in a deep breath. Not everything required a downward spiral, not all mysteries needed investigation. 

Literally just a fucking conversation. Get a grip. 

You straightened your shoulders as you approached the door and the dialogue became clearer. 

“Birdy will be here soon.” König’s voice was as familiar as your own. “You need to leave.” 

You pulled up short just before the entrance, frozen like a deer in the headlights. There was a short silence before a soft thud echoed throughout the room. It sounded like a hand being clapped over the shoulder but you weren’t sure. Could have been a punch, could have been a really intense kiss, who fucking knew? 

All you knew was that they weren’t meant to be there. Maybe it was Sunshine. 

Although you hated the arrogant fucker, it would relieve you to know it was them. They were inconsequential and, although they were annoying, they wouldn’t be behind your assassination attempt. 

Sunshine would have made sure you were in the ground, no matter the cost. Sunshine would have succeeded. 

Instead, the voice that rattled in your ears wasn’t your fellow coworker. 

“Just be careful. Wouldn’t want to jump the gun, would we?” 

Your blood turned to ice.  

Graves. 

You could almost hear that snake-like grin in his words, you could almost see the look in his eyes that was nothing but predatory. Phillip was charming when he wanted to be, but there was something terrifying about him.

Like a trap lying in wait. 

Like a traitor waiting to strike. 

The sound of sure and steady footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts. Panic flooded your system, kicking your adrenaline into gear. There was nowhere to hide, not even a small nook in this god-forsaken hallway.

As Graves drew closer to discovering your presence, you bounced back a few steps from where you’d been frozen. Throwing your arms above your head as if you were stretching and squinting your eyes with an outrageous yawn was all you could pull together. 

Phillip rounded the corner with a cocky sway that made your heart race. You watched him scan your slowly approaching body, seemingly tired and unaware. You acted surprised to see him, carefully schooling your face to return to the usual lifelessness that it held. 

“Birdy!” Graves said, slowing his pace. With a flash of teeth, the corner of his mouth pulled upward into a knowing smirk. “Good to see you.”

“I bet,” you said monotonously, adding a dismissive nod at the end like a punctuation mark. 

Phillip’s smirk turned into a smile. 

“Enjoy your session,” the man said slowly. As he drew closer you could feel your chest tightening. He smelt fresh like he had just gotten out of a long, hot shower. You hated that he was close enough to smell the fucking body wash on his skin. 

His shoulder brushed yours as he passed by, setting your body alight with fear. You didn’t dare look over your shoulder as you trekked towards the gym door, eyes firm on that handle. His footsteps still echoed along the hallway by the time that you’d reached the entrance. 

“You’re late.” 

König’s voice startled you despite making direct eye contact with him. 

The man looked disgruntled, to say the least. His hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over, and your guess was confirmed when he roughly raked it over once more. König’s eyes were looking anywhere but yours. 

“I’m not.” You’d meant for those words to have some bite to them but you couldn’t muster up the venom. Not when he looked like that. 

“You are,” he insisted with a snarl. 

You raised your hands up in surrender, eyes narrowing at his hostility. The urge to leave grew tenfold and so did your distrust for the man before you. There were too many things that pointed towards his guilt in planning your assassination. 

The way he’d tried to blow off your concerns, the vehement way he’d shouted for you to drop it, and now, his interaction with Graves. You thought back to your time in the kitchen when Phillip had first encountered you both. 

“Now, who’d have thought that you’d both be so… close.” He had said.

The Shadow had watched with intrigue as König stepped in front of you as if protecting you from him. If you really thought about it, most of his smarminess was aimed at the man beside you, rather than yourself. 

You swallowed and choked on your own spit. It was a distant reminder of when it had been your own blood that you’d coughed on. 

König’s sigh tore you from your spiralling conspiracies. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. His tone was quiet but his eyes were genuine. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat. “No, it’s fine. I get shitty when I deal with Graves, too.” 

But why was he with Phillip in the first place? 

You wanted to ask him, everything in you pleaded to seek out the truth. You needed to investigate-, you needed to know. Your mouth opened to get the answers you so desperately desired, but a thought made you stop in your tracks. 

What if you let on that you were suspicious of him? 

It was clear that you were no match against König. Your entire life had become interwoven with his and it felt like he was there in your every waking moment. If he knew that you suspected him, it would only put you in danger again. He’d busted through your bedroom door once and that was enough to tell you that you wouldn’t be safe from him anywhere you went. 

You distantly realized that König was watching you carefully from where he stood, jade eyes analyzing every quirk of your lips and every twitch of your brows. 

“What?” You said, feigning self-consciousness. “Admiring your handiwork?” 

The man shot you a glare and you prayed that was enough to shift his attention. 

“I hate it when you say things like that,” he hissed, pulling his jacket down his arms and throwing it aside. “Seriously.” 

“Yeah, well I hate having a chopping block for a face.” You tilted your head to shoot him a deadpan look over your shoulder. “Seriously.” 

“I cannot deal with you sometimes, Birdy.” König hissed. 

“I can tell,” you jerked your thumb towards your marred features. 

You knew that you were playing with fire. The way the man stood straight, his gaze narrowing and any sense of banter dissipating from his features, made it very clear that it was time for you to stop pushing that particular button. 

“Your attempt at deflecting is not as effective as you may think,” König said, his words slow and deliberate. Jade eyes bore into yours and your breath stuttered in your chest. 

You could lie to him, you could play dumb. He was dangerous and if you tipped him off you would be dead by morning.

You couldn’t make sense of that logic, though. If he wanted you dead, you’d well and truly have been dead by now. Your cheeks stung at the thought… you suppose that there wasn’t a lack of trying. Maybe it really had just been a failed attempt. 

“Birdy,” the soldier said, shooting a glance at the door. “I know what you are thinking and you need to put a stop to it.” 

Those contesting thoughts came to a staggering halt. 

“I don’t even know what I’m thinking,” you snapped. “What would you know?” 

König raised a brow at your tone, opening his mouth to deliver what you would assume to be an infuriating response. The words choked and fell from his tongue, though. There was a huff as he turned on his heel, stalking towards the exit and closing the door. 

You swallowed thickly. 

When he swivelled to look at you it was with a burning gaze that pinned you to where you stood.

“You bring attention to us in ways that will get us killed,” König whispered harshly, his accent was sharp and heavy with each enunciation. “You need to stop.” 

“Stop what?” You waved your hands at him. “You’re so fucking vague.” 

He flinched forward, pushing his finger onto your lips. You smacked his hand away like a cat pawing at something irritating. 

“Would you be quiet?” He snarled through gritted teeth. König took in a deep breath, casting another look at the exit. He was watching the light beneath the door, making sure there were no shadows tipping off an eavesdropper. Why was he suddenly the paranoid one? 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You lowered your tone but the urgency behind it was still present. 

“You need to stop chasing this lead,” König shook his head, gaze imploring. “You need to stop trying to find who planned the accident.” 

Your mouth went dry. 

“Is that a threat?” The words were a true whisper this time. Barely falling from your lips and only as audible as a soft gasp. 

König’s eyes widened. “What?” 

“Are you in on it?” You asked, taking a step backward. 

Bile roiled in your stomach as if mimicking a stormy sea. There was a distinct buzzing in your ears, numbing you to anything but the situation at hand.

“What?” König repeated. “What? No. That is not what I meant by that.” 

You shook your head, “the other day- the way you reacted says otherwise.” 

He reached out for your arm and you wonder if it was to comfort you or to detain you. You finched away from him but this time the man before you didn’t yield. He did not back down and he did not allow you the illusion of control. 

Instead, König held you firmly by your biceps. 

“I need you to listen to me, Birdy. We don’t have time for this back and forth thing that we do every time.” 

Rage tore through your chest at his dismissal and you would have told him as much had he not looked so desperate. Instead, you kept your mouth shut as the man watched you pleadingly. You would let him speak because maybe he had the answers you were searching for, maybe König would be the evidence to prove that these suspicions weren’t delusions. 

The man cast another glance towards the doorway before letting go of your arms. You straightened cautiously, being mindful to not rub at the skin he’d had contact with. 

“Well?” You whispered impatiently, waving a hand at him to continue. “You wanna manhandle me or do you want to talk?” 

“It’s not safe for us to talk here,” König’s words were barely audible. “You need to stop with your head-hunting. Stop asking questions.” 

His eyes were fierce, warning you not to challenge his demands but you couldn’t care less. He, of all people, had no right to be telling you when to chase answers.

He raised a hand before you could speak. “You are going to get us both killed because you gather intel like a child-” 

“What does that even mean?” You interrupted harshly.

“It means you have alerted everyone, Birdy!” König snapped, his voice harsh and his eyes flashing. “Whoever did this knows that you’re onto them. They know that we know.” 

You blinked dumbly, stunned. 

The man glared at you for a long moment, his chest heaving with laden breaths. The silence that eneveloped you both was anything but empty. There was a buzzing in your ears and you weren’t sure if you were relieved or horrified that he’d confirmed your suspicions. Blind rage filled your lungs as if you were drowning. 

“You mother fucker!” You hissed between gritted teeth, shoving at his chest with as much force as you could muster. “You fucking knew?” 

“Of course I knew!” König bit back as he stumbled for his footing. “I’ve been trying to find them and you have been hindering me every fucking step of the way, Birdy.”

You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, you wanted to bash this man over and over just like he’d done to you. You weren’t insane but he was more than happy to intimidate you into thinking that you were. 

“How could you keep this from me?” Your fingers dug into the skin of his arms as you grabbed him. You wanted to shake the truth from the giant before you, rattle the honesty right from his mouth. “After everything that’s happened!” 

König didn’t so much as wince at your nails in his skin, fury simmered in his eyes like molten jade. “I was your main suspect and you outright told me about your suspicions while you were locked in a room with me, Birdy. What would have happened if I was actually everything you make me out to be?” 

You swallowed thickly, your fingers loosening their grip. 

“I could have killed you right there,” König continued softly, “at this rate you’ll die before you find them.” 

“You said I already tipped everyone off,” you rasped, almost meek in tone. “How have they not come for me yet?” 

The man rolled his shoulders, shooting another paranoid glance at the door. He continued talking as he scanned the room, searching for telltale signs of a third party.

“Everyone thinks you are disabled, Birdy, no one is taking your concerns seriously.” König straightened, levelling you with an evaluative glare. “But I knew better.” 

You drew in a deep breath, holding it in for a few moments before releasing just like Saint had taught you. Your heart squeezed in your chest at the thought of your therapist. You told them everything- König was right. You’d mouthed off your suspicions knowing that Saint and Price were close. What if Saint had told Price? Then Price would have told Shephard and Simon and then- God. 

You’re so fucking stupid. 

Of course everyone knew, you’d practically blasted it across the unit’s P.A system. 

“What now?” You managed to croak. “What do we do now?” 

König frowned at you, his body falling still. “We?” 

“You’re not leaving me out of this,” you ground out. 

“We are not doing anything together,” he said, eyes roaming over your features quizzically. Your heart lurched desperately, there was no way you’d let him do this without you. You deserved to be a part of this, you deserved to get your justice and whoever did this deserved to die.

“You owe it to me!” You nearly raised your voice, fear trickling down the expanse of your spine. Not a fear of the man before you, but this time it was a fear of being left behind. Left to paranoia, left alone with your thoughts and suspicions and no one to hear them. 

König shook his head, “we cannot work together.” 

“We have to!” 

“We can’t!” 

Your eyes were wide and your chest was heaving as the man before you gripped your shoulders. He lowered down to a knee, drawing close enough that you were only a breath apart. You opened your mouth to offer a shaky response but the way his gaze ran over your features stole the words straight from your tongue. 

“I will not risk your safety again, Birdy.” König’s words brushed against your lips, warm but sorrowful. “That is what I owe to you.” 

[escapefromrealitysm]

Images from Pinterest

[escapefromrealitysm]

i don't feel like talking so i write.

[escapefromrealitysm]

“So, do it. Decide. Is this the life you want to live? Is this the person you want to love? Is this the best you can be? Can you be stronger? Kinder? More compassionate? Decide. Breathe in. Breathe out, and decide.”

— Meredith Grey

[escapefromrealitysm]

thank you thank you thank yooou!! And I don’t mind waiting for good stuff 🤷‍♀️

Okay so my idea kinda was in episode 7 when George and Lipton is in the same foxhole. So they get “hit” by the dud but the reader is so scared something actually happened to George, so she is running towards their foxhole and George is screaming for her to stay put cuz he’s okay and then she gets hit….or almost…I mean something tragic. I wanna bawl my eyes out.

And of course…feel free to not do it, if you think it sucks🧡 Love your stuff and have a good day !

louder than bombs (george luz x reader)

word count: 1800+

warnings: blood, gore, death, angst (w happy ending), bff! roe, mutual pining, i hint at both renée x roe AND baberoe

notes: used some hcs from this (shameless self-plug), and happy new year to all! i hope that 2024 is your year :)

“So, you and Luz, huh?”

Despite Lieutenant Dike’s request not to (like you'd listen to a coward like him anyway, even if he did have a good point), you and Eugene were sharing a foxhole — one a few meters behind where Skip, Penk, Don, and Luz were standing around in a circle, joking and laughing.

Taking your eyes off the man in question — you'd been staring at him from afar for too long, anyway — you turned to Eugene with a befuddled expression. “What do you mean, ‘You and Luz?’”

He took one look at your face and chuckled around the cigarette in his mouth. “It can mean whatever you want it to mean.”

“You say that as if we’re together or something, Gene,” you scoffed and held yourself tighter for warmth.

“Practically. Seen yourself lately? You blush and smile whenever he talks to you.”

Spluttering in response, you could feel your ears going red. “Well, Bayou, what if I’m blushing because it's zero degrees out here? And what if he’s just a funny guy in general?”

Eugene glanced over to the group of men, and, as if on cue, they were cracking up at George’s impression of the chickenshit lieutenant. “He’s a good match for you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, I'm so glad you approve,” you said, rolling your eyes at your friend. “Gonna read our wedding rites now?”

He put out his cigarette. “He makes you laugh. We could all use some of that.”

You inspected the faraway look in Eugene’s eyes, and you knew he was right. The fatal accident with the goddamned Luger that killed Hoobler recently, the barrage earlier today that sent both Joe Toye and Bill home with missing right legs, the overall misery of this frozen hell. You’d all seen your fair share of blood and open flesh; the company needed the beam of light that was George Luz.

Watching Luz as he was pulled aside by Lipton, you exhaled, nodded, and huddled a little closer to Eugene. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right.” After a few quiet, thoughtful moments, a small smile creeped back up on your face when you thought of something to bring up the mood again.

“You never heard me teasing you about Renée,” you muttered beneath your breath, loud enough for him to hear and correct you on because you had teased him about the Belgian nurse. Before he could, you pushed on, your grin growing, “Hey, what about you and Babe, huh?”

Now it was his turn to turn to you shocked. Your snickering was interrupted by the roaring, deafening sound of a bombardment shredding trees around you.

“Shit!” you cursed, the night sky lighting up with fireworks of yellow and white. Snow and dirt erupted from the ground like spurts of lava from a volcano. Through the ringing in your ears, you heard bellows of “Incoming!” and other indistinct cries.

Turning to the man next to you, you shouted above the din, “Eugene, you alright?”

“Fine,” he shouted back as he clutched his helmet tight to his head. “You?”

“Fine,” you echoed with a nod, though maybe your head had moved on its own with the shaking ground beneath you. You strained your ears to single out cries for a medic; you didn't catch any, and you weren't sure if that was because no one had gotten hurt yet or because they were dead within an instant.

You peeped over the edge of your foxhole. In the flashes of light, you could make out amongst the silhouette of wrecked trees George hurriedly crawling on the ground towards a foxhole with two soldiers in it, yelling for him to come on. If your hearing wasn't failing you, you recognized their voices as Skip and Penk.

“What d’ya see?” Eugene poked his head out of the foxhole.

Your voice was strangled in your throat as you helplessly watched George inch his way toward cover. “I—” you started, before a shell directly hit the two men in the middle of their calls. Frantically, you backed into your foxhole. “Skip and Penk, they’re…”

“What?” Eugene shouted, and you realized you had only murmured it.

“Muck and Penkala got hit!” you cried. The look you gave Eugene told him that there would be no saving them.

You got back up to peek over your foxhole and saw that Luz had vanished. Your heart sank in your chest, right down to the pits of your stomach.

Before your mind could register what was going on, your feet lifted you up and out of the foxhole. You could faintly hear Eugene yelling at you to come back, (Y/N), what the hell are you doing? You hit the ground at the same time a shell did just meters away from you, showering you in debris. Yet, you felt distant from the thought of danger or bodily harm, your raw instinct on overdrive; the only thing that was running through your mind as you dashed through the devastated forest was if George was okay.

Eyes flitting around, you caught a glimpse of him getting into a foxhole with Lip. As waves of relief washed over you, you jumped into a foxhole a distance behind them. A shell impacted nearby and swept the fallen trees acting as their cover towards you. You pulled your knees close to your chest and covered your head, staying like that as the barrage kept up.

Then, for just a second, it was silent. Closing your eyes, you caught your breath. A whistling sound ceased the brief respite, and you peered over just in time to see smoke coming from George and Lipton’s foxhole. Your mind disconnected itself from your body once again; it felt like you were moving in slow motion as your feet took you to them. That smoke clouded your senses, your thoughts — all you could see and hear were the vivid memories of Hoobler’s wound gushing blood and his dull eyes closing shut for the last time; you treating Bill’s still twitching leg while Toye’s shredded one was being bandaged by Eugene only feet away; and Muck and Penkala’s foxhole going up in a spray of dirt and a show of light, abruptly cutting off their shouting.

What were you going to see when you arrived at their foxhole? Bloodstained snow? Mangled limbs? Ruined corpses? Even the thought made you want to sob.

Your heart thundered in your ear, louder than any bombs or artillery the Germans could send at you, but you could vaguely discern George’s voice in your trance.

“Damn it, am I yelling medic? Stay right fucking there, (Y/N)!”

Right as you were shaken out of your own head, your eyes focusing on the two unharmed men as they yelled for you to stay put, a shell hit a tree hardly an arm’s length away from you. The burst launched you backwards, lodging shrapnel into your face and all over your body.

You let your eyes flutter closed as the screaming started.

-

“(Y/N)!” George bawled, witnessing the last shell of the bombardment blast the tree right next to you.

“George, get down!” Lip pushed George down into the foxhole from where he'd been peeking over to helplessly watch your unsteady advance.

George couldn't get the image of you shielding yourself at the last second out of his head. He broke free from Lipton and crawled out of his foxhole to your unmoving figure, relieved to find that you were still breathing out clouds of vapor, albeit unevenly. Your right cheek was cut and bleeding, as well as your arms, legs, torso — hell, was there anywhere you weren’t bleeding from?

He cradled your head to his, whispering that it's gonna be alright and you’re gonna be just dandy, (Y/N), even though he didn't believe those words himself. He lifted his head from yours and yelled for a medic with a hoarse voice, already scratched up from having to shout over the booming to tell Lipton that Muck and Penkala got hit.

George then realized that he had gotten extremely lucky that day; Muck and Penkala had been shelled just before he reached their foxhole, and the shell that had landed next to him and Lipton was a dud. Staring down at your bloodied form, he darkly concluded that maybe he wasn't lucky — maybe he just brought bad luck to everyone else.

Eugene seemed to materialize out of thin air at the panicked calls for a doctor and kneeled over you, ordering, “Set ‘em down, set ‘em down!” George laid you down on the icy ground, and he saw that your eyes were open now, darting around at your surroundings. You looked frightened and pained, yet when your eyes finally settled on him, you seemed somewhat at ease.

“Jesus, what did I tell you, (Y/N)?” Eugene reprimanded, but the concern in his voice was evident. He began picking out the shrapnel from your flesh, and you wailed out in agony. Ripping open a sulfa packet with his teeth, he then shook the powder onto your countless wounds.

In the back of his mind, George knew that your pained whimpers would haunt him forever if you didn't pull through, acting as the price of his "good luck".

“Told me to come back, Genie,” you smiled mirthlessly, which quickly became a wince with the gash in your cheek. The white medic band around your arm was stained the same color as the red cross on it.

Lipton was out of the foxhole at this point and assisting Eugene with bandaging your injuries. “You’ll be fine, alright? Just hang in there.”

George registered that he had only been staring, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He intertwined his fingers with yours and squeezed your clammy hand, to which you weakly squeezed back.

Grimacing while he injected you with morphine, Eugene said to Lipton, “They’re bleeding bad, Sarge; we gotta get ‘em back to an aid station.”

George’s voice sounded far off from himself. “I’ll radio for a jeep.” As he did so, his hand still clutching yours, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the excruciation on your face. For some reason, he felt guilty.

Though it felt like years to him, the jeep arrived shortly, and the three of them carried you to the stretcher on the hood of the vehicle and gingerly placed you upon it.

Gazing down upon you on that stretcher, your face streaked with crimson, your hair matted with dried blood, George wanted to say, “I still find you beautiful, Bloody Mary," but for what felt like first time in his life, the words weren't there and the wiseass comment just refused to come out right.

What came tumbling out of his lips instead was, “I love you.”

Pausing, Lipton and Eugene exchanged a knowing look and watched with bated breath. Meanwhile, George wanted to smack himself for letting the adrenaline coursing through his veins get to him; this was definitely not what you wanted to hear — rejecting him should be the least of your worries right now.

To his utter disbelief, you smiled, in spite of yourself and the grim circumstances. “I love you too, George.”

Once his brain wrapped around the fact that you needed him as much as he needed you, he implored, "Come back to me, alright?” He gently caressed your cheek, his voice sounding different to himself with the undertone of desperation. “I—I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

You placed a feeble hand over his and turned to press a kiss to it. “I'm counting on it.”

The driver finally grew tired of the delay and urged them to get moving. George stepped away as Eugene hopped in the jeep’s shotgun seat to escort you back to the aid station.

Lighting a cigarette with trembling hands, George watched the jeep dissipate into the blanket of night.

-

Eugene let things sink in for a while; you were grateful for the time to rest as the morphine kicked in. When you arrived, though, you were awake enough to hear him ask again, a rare smirk hidden in his voice:

“So, you and Luz, huh?”

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101, @samwinchesterslostshoe, @fxxiva

[escapefromrealitysm]

requested by @lamialamia ☁️ thank you!

[escapefromrealitysm]

northern lights photographed from space

[escapefromrealitysm]

We'll Meet Again

[One-shot]

Eugene Roe x Nurse!Female Reader

Nine hours is all it takes for Eugene Roe to realize that his hesitance to share his feelings for you was completely misguided.

Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Pining, Questionably Written Cajun Accent, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: The title of this fic is based off the song We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn (I recommend the version where she is accompanied by Sailors, Soldiers & Airmen of His Majesty's Forces). This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7578

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“Roe it’s not mine, I’m alright. Roe.” Eugene was vaguely aware of your voice as he pulled at your blood drenched field jacket, fingers fumbling slightly as he fought with the buttons before he was able to delve beneath, beginning to tug at your sweater and wool shirt, desperate to find where you were hit. “I’m fine, please…Eugene!” You grabbed his wrists forcefully, your blood-slicked fingers sliding against his skin, but it was enough to finally pull his attention to your face. “It’s not my blood, I’m alright.” You repeated gently as his eyes met yours and he exhaled at last.

He frowned anew as he lifted a hand to wipe at the splatter of arterial spray across your cheek, succeeding only in smudging the scarlet across your beautiful skin, marring it further. You sighed and gestured with your head to the SS officer laying on the table behind him, his now-unseeing eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling, the wound at his neck obviously the source of all the blood you wore.

You tugged at his left wrist, which you still held within your grasp, and he looked back to you quickly, following as you led him over to a bank of sinks at the back of the room. As you released him, he watched you grimace slightly at the sensation of the blood growing slightly tacky between your skin and his. You took both his hands in yours and gently began to wash them.

Eugene’s heart throbbed tenderly as he watched the warm water sluice pink before your fingers thoroughly coated his skin with soap then rinsed it clean. Looking up to you with a soft smile, he was reminded of the state of your face and quickly swiped it clean with his wet thumb, lips stretching hopelessly wider at your warm grin.

“Nine hou’s.” He sighed, jaw clenching as his chest constricted painfully, the terror and anguish he’d been desperately trying to hold at bay all day flooding back to him.

“What?” You asked, confusion painting your face and he swallowed roughly, having to fight to focus while standing in your presence after so many months apart.

“Ya were missin’ – a hostage – fo’ nine hou’s.” He pressed his lips together, struggling to hold back the depth and breadth of his feelings on the matter.

He watched you swallow and put on that brave smile you wore for the sake of soothing your patients. “It was just like any other nine hours, except there were German patients and machine guns.”

“Please don’ give me tha’ smile.” He muttered sadly. “Are ya really alrigh’?” He pressed, eyeing you meaningfully.

Your brow twitched, mouth opening, looking about answer his question when the door to the room opened and you stepped back to grab a towel, handing it to him. “I’m just fine, Roe, thank you for asking. The rest of the SS patients are through that door there.” You gestured, nodding to the latest arrival, Webster, who quickly went through to secure the next room with Liebgott hot on his heels.

Roe watched as you assumed your professional mantle, leading him into the room where seven SS men, prisoners now, were being looked after by the rest of the nurses that had been in your hospital convoy when the 6th SS Mountain Division had decided to take you all hostage to provide them with medical care in this abandoned nursing home near Juchen. The women immediately flocked to you for direction and Eugene realized that you now wore a silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia on your collar, promoted since he’d first met you that night in February of last year in Swindon.

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“These heels are killing me…” You muttered as you finally escaped the dancefloor to sit at the table next to Eugene’s, wedging yourself into the corner defensively.

He’d been watching you all night. Watching as trooper after trooper of the 506th from Able right through Item asked you to dance, barely giving you a moment to sit despite how tired you looked, behind that beautiful smile of yours, and how time and again you accepted, too polite to refuse.

“I’m surprised you didn’t wear your combat boots.” One of your tablemates teased.

A mischievous grin crossed your features and Eugene ducked his head as he found his lips twitching automatically in response to it. “Well, I would have except every time I upend the things, I still find sand from North Africa.”

A chorus of laughter flitted around the table and Eugene was convinced that yours was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, finding himself thoroughly annoyed when it was extinguished by a couple of men sidling over to pull a few of your fellow nurses onto the dancefloor again.

“What was it like…over there…” A timid voice piped up as the band began to play that Vera Lynn song the Brits were crazy about and Eugene risked a glance at your face as you addressed a young woman, she could not be much older than twenty, only the two of you remaining at the table.

“Well, Barbara,” You paused thoughtfully, eyes focusing on some distant memory, the hints of fatigue he’d seen lurking beneath your smile coming to the fore for a brief moment before you turned to your colleague with a reassuring warmth. “It’s exactly like they say it’ll be.” You nodded firmly.

The girl’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled in relief, nodding in renewed confidence as you each took a sip of your drink. Eugene swallowed, wishing he could hear your real thoughts on North Africa, not just the canned propaganda reels put together to show before the pictures, but the firsthand account of a medical professional. There was only so much training could prepare them for, and they all knew as soon as the weather was right, they were headed for France.

Despite the longing he felt to do so, Eugene did not ask you to dance that night. He drank a few beers and smoked more than a few cigarettes as you forced yourself onto the dancefloor three additional times before you and the youngest of your companions decided to call it a night. Eugene felt that was a sensible idea – the number of buses back to Aldbourne was growing increasingly limited by the hour.

As dictated by the blackout, clumps of people were walking on either side of the road with their flashlights pointed downward, barely lighting their way as vehicles with their headlights reduced to mere slits wended their way through the crowd of inebriated celebrants. Eugene could not help but feel like it was a recipe for disaster, but your laughter, like the peal of bells, pulled his attention from across the darkened street.

“It’s snowing!” You declared with a wonder-filled gasp, and he blinked up at the sky to feel the kiss of melting snowflakes on his cheeks, his breath curling and hanging in the notably colder air.

The peace of the moment was shattered as an unruly group of men from Fox company bolted across the road, trying to reach the same bus stop he was heading for, a drunken straggler not seeing the delivery van and unfortunately the driver not seeing him either – until it was too late. There was a squealing of tires, a ‘crash’ as the load within the van was displaced, and a sickening ‘crunch’ followed by a wail of pain. Eugene lunged into the street, surprised to find you already kneeling beside the victim as you looked him over.

“What’s your name, trooper?” You were smiling warmly, your colleague hovering behind you nervously as the driver had begun pacing anxiously.

“Robert Boye, Ma’am.” He replied through clenched teeth.

Unlike the calm look on your face, your hands were a flurry of movement, honing in on the compound fracture on the man’s leg, lifting your fingers into the slim beams of light to reveal blood from where the bone had broken through his skin. Eugene was already undoing his belt when you turned to him, and you graced him with a brilliant smile that had his adrenaline-fueled heart skipping a few beats.

“I’m a medic, Ma’am. Tourniquet?”

“On his thigh, please, trooper.” You nodded, shrugging out of your overcoat to drape over Boye. “We’re going to get you to a hospital, alright Robert. Just hold on.” Standing quickly, you walked over to the delivery driver though Eugene wasn’t able to hear your conversation as he finished checking over the man in the road, confirming there were no other apparent injuries.

“You’e from Fox company, righ’?”

“Yeah, that’s right…Easy?” He replied, shaking from the cold or shock – or both, most likely.

Eugene nodded in reply, lifting his eyes as the delivery driver raised his voice at you, the sound of crates and empty milk jugs hitting the sidewalk filling the night air.

“Ya crazy Yankee cunt, what in god’s name d’ya think yer doin’?!”

By then quite a crowd had gathered in the road, and the slur hurled your way had more than just Eugene’s hackles up. Undeterred, you stepped forward, looking the rude and careless man directly in the eye. “You’ve struck an innocent pedestrian and now you’re going to make it right, sir. Your cargo will be right where you left it.”

He returned the look coldly but seemed increasingly aware of the looming threat in the darkness about you, eventually huffing in agreement. You provided directions to a hospital Eugene recognized as the nearest American hospital, surely that was where you were stationed, before sending several men to help him load Boye into the back.

“Medic, please come with me?” You looked to him as you climbed into the van and Eugene nodded quickly, jumping into the back with you as you looked to the wide-eyed young woman standing at the curb, watching you in awe.

“Barbara, go back inside and find Fran. Get her to walk you home.”

“Y..yes Ma’am!” She nodded quickly before hurrying back toward the dance hall as the back doors of the van were closed, leaving the three of you in darkness as the van lurched into motion.

“Medic…” You huffed and introduced yourself properly before asking him his name.

“Eugene Roe, Ma’am.” He replied quickly, turning on his flashlight. He was rewarded once again with one of your heart-stopping smiles.

“Wonderful, you have a flashlight. Thank you. How’re you holding up Robert?” You turned your attention back to the patient, checking his pulse at his wrist, pressing a hand to his forehead – most likely to assess for temperature and perspiration.

“Hurts an awful lot, Ma’am.” He grunted as the van hit a rut and you nodded sympathetically, kneeling on the floor beside him in your dress uniform, balancing easily as the van wove its way through the crowd outside the dancehall with more care this time.

“Thank you very much for being so brave for me. Where are you from?”

“Yakima, Washington.”

“Tell me, Robert. If I were to visit Yakima, Washington what is the food I absolutely must try?” You asked, bracing yourself against the roof as the driver took a wide turn.

“My momma’s cherry pie, without a doubt. My father grows bing cherries. Best in the state. And then my momma makes the best pie you will ever eat in your life.” Robert replied with relaxed smile, conversation taking his mind off the pain in his leg.

“Cherry pie – that sounds positively heavenly. So, you grew up on a cherry farm?” Your practiced smile and encouragement prompted the injured man to ramble on about his childhood playing amongst the cherry blossoms, gorging himself on ripe fruit, and skiing in the mountains whilst you the pair of you subtly kept an eye on his wound and vitals. Ever vigilant for a sudden change in demeanour that might signify a head injury or internal bleeding – your patient management was effortless, and Eugene could only feel his affection for you growing.

He was admittedly a little disappointed when the van came to a stop, the flustered driver opening the doors as a duty nurse came outside and gasped to find the three of you in the back of the unassuming vehicle.

“I’ll be right back with a stretcher!” She called out before dashing inside, returning promptly with two orderlies to help load the injured Boye so he might be carted inside.

The pair of you rushed behind into the temporary hospital in a building that looked like it had begun its life as a warehouse of some kind. The shift Doctor appeared from down the hall, and you quickly provided all pertinent information related to treatment.

“Well, you two had best inform the MPs as well, before that driver disappears on us.”

“Yes, sir.” You replied quickly, shooting Eugene an apologetic look before leading him to the MP office at the front of the hospital to make your report, pulling your garrison cap from your head, reminding him to do the same.

You’d barely started your tale when the MP told you both to ‘take a seat’ and dashed out of the office to try and stop the driver and you looked to him with even more pronounced regret. “I’m so sorry, Roe, I’m sure you were just trying to get back to your billet.”

Your use of his last name undoubtedly came from place of professional courtesy, however a part of him ached with the longing to hear how your mouth might form his first name.

“Not at all, Ma’am.” He gestured for you to take one of the empty chairs, only sitting once you had sunk into it with a soft sigh.

“Thank you very much for your help. I was feeling quite adrift with no supplies but then the universe sent me you.” You smiled warmly and he swallowed thickly.

“Ya did all tha work, Ma’am, I was jus’ there.”

Shaking your head stubbornly, he frowned a little as he watched a small shiver roll through you, belatedly realizing your coat had long since vanished with Boye. He started to pull at the jacket of his dress uniform, and you lay a hand on his arm.

“I’m alright, just tired. Based on your accent, I’d say you need your jacket more than me.” You smiled teasingly and he huffed a laugh, looking down at his shoes briefly as he straightened his uniform before lifting his eyes to meet yours quickly.

“It was impressive, Ma’am, how ya stood up ta tha’ man.”

You looked to him earnestly then, not sugar-coating your expression, or your answer, as you had for Barbara. “If we don’t stand up for our patients, Roe, no one will.” You spoke with breathtaking sincerity and all he could muster in response was a firm nod.

The door banged open as the MP hauled the very man in question into the office, his expression going livid as he once again came face to face with you.

“Goddamn Yankee cunt.” He spat at you, making Eugene surge to his feet to stand in front of you protectively, the scent of liquor potent on the man’s breath as he brushed by his rigid frame.

“I’ll be right back to take your statements, one moment.” The MP muttered, putting the uncooperative driver in a back room.

“Could this night get any longer…” You whispered and pinched the bridge of your nose, making Eugene turn back to you.

“How long ya been in England?” He asked, trying your own trick of distraction on you as he resumed his seat.

“Hmm? Oh, landed two weeks ago, I guess. Thought a break from the heat would be nice, hasn’t been quite as quaint as I was led to believe.” You laughed softly and shook your head. “You?”

“Las’ Septembah.”

“Well, I bet you know all the best spots by now then, hmm?” You smirked and he shook his head with rueful smile but did not have the chance to elaborate on his lack of free time as the MP returned to finally take your full statements.

It was nearly two in the morning once all the paperwork was done, the driver of the van turned over to the local police while the MP summoned a subordinate to return the pair of you to your billets.

“See you in a few hours.” The nurse who’d first greeted the pair of you poked her head out of the doorway to the treatment room.

You laughed without much energy. “For sure, Betty. Thanks for your help.”

“You work weekends?” Roe asked quietly, offering a hand to help you into the back of the jeep and you nodded as he settled next to you.

“My days off are Monday, Tuesday.” He must have frowned visibly as you shrugged with a weary smile. “It’s alright, I was the last to arrive here and someone needs to do it.”

As you hugged your arms around yourself tightly in the open back of the vehicle, overcoat still nowhere to be seen, he shifted to try and block the wind with his body. As you shuffled closer, huddling against him slightly, he swallowed thickly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“You’re going to do great out there, Eugene Roe.” You smiled warmly, the vehicle pulling up outside a nearby shop with an apartment on the second floor.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He murmured quietly, taking a shaky breath as you climbed out of the jeep, pausing to wave at him from the curb.

He ought to ask to see you again, to write to you, something, but a part of him was reluctant to start anything he might not be able to see through with his future so very uncertain. He lifted his hand in return as the MP pulled out to drive him back to Aldbourne, regret immediately settling into his gut, leaving a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

Eugene was surprised when his belt arrived at his billet the following Thursday along with a note from you, once again thanking him for his assistance with Robert Boye’s care. You also assured him the patient was doing well and would be ‘fighting fit’ within a few months. He was impressed to see not a trace of blood on the woven fabric, indicating that you had obviously taken the time to clean it for him. Unable to stop the fond smile from unfurling on his features, he quickly hid the note in the pocket of his ODs as he heard Spina’s footsteps on the stairs.

“You coming to London this weekend, Gene?” He asked, sitting heavily on his bed in the corner and Eugene found himself shaking his head in return.

“Too much to do.” He replied vaguely, recalling one of the posters from the hospital hallway calling for blood donations.

“You’re missing out.” Spina teased in a sing-song voice, laying back on his bed once he’d taken off his boots.

The smile you greeted him with Saturday morning when he arrived to donate blood thoroughly convinced him otherwise.

“That’s very generous of you Roe, follow me, I’ll get you set up.” You turned to lead him past a few of the occupied beds and he nodded warmly to Boye as he looked up from a letter he was reading. “If you could take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve please, I’ll be right back with the supplies.” You said as you gestured to a cot, unfolding a privacy screen before turning to fetch the necessities.

Eugene complied, swallowing thickly as he watched the way your hospital dress swished around your hips as you walked away, quite frankly preferring this outfit to your dress uniform. Returning with a collection bottle, needle, and some tubing, you lifted his arm to search for a vein. He swallowed thickly at the goosebumps that rippled across his skin, able to smell the scent of soap lingering on you, the proximity nearly killing him.

“I never did ask, Roe, where are you from?” You glanced at him with your professional smile, fingers settling over their target in the inside of his elbow.

“Loosiana, Ma’am.” He murmured softly, watching you insert the needle so smoothly he barely felt more than a pinch before his blood began to fill the bottle in your hands.

“Louisiana.” You repeated warmly, eyes flicking between the bottle and his face, listening while monitoring the volume you were collecting. “Famous for Mardi Gras, yes?”

He nodded quickly. “Tha’s righ’, yes.”

“A lot warmer than England, hmm?” You chuckled and shook your head.

“Did ya get you’ jacket back?” He tilted his head. “Thank ya fo’ returnin’ ma belt.”

“I did, yes. And again, it was the least I could do.” Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled this time, his heart swelling as he was becoming more skilled at discerning your real versus polite expressions. You pressed a piece of gauze over the needle before pulling it from his arm, the bottle now filled with the crimson fluid from his veins. “Could you apply pressure to that for me please?”

He nodded, fingertips brushing against yours as he took over, a jolt of electricity sizzling through him. Your eyes met his briefly before you turned back to the task at hand, and he could not help but wonder if you had felt it too. As you lay your fingers over his to lift the gauze and take a peek at the puncture in his skin, Eugene bit the inside of his cheek trying to maintain his composure. Replacing it with an adhesive bandage, you handed him a cookie to eat as you jotted down his information on the label on the bottle.

“Thank you aga–” Your gratitude was cut short by a loud crash over by the nurses’ station that had Eugene quickly on his feet though he noticed you barely reacted. “Sorry about that.” You sighed and urged him to sit back down with the gentle pressure of your palm on his shoulder. “I keep trying to fix that darn shelf, but the screws won’t stay in the wall.”

“Sorry!” Called a timid voice Eugene recognized as Barbara from last Friday’s dance and he looked up to you.

“I’d be happy ta take a look at it fo’ ya.”

You eyed him a moment, clearly weighing your desire to impose on him further. “Eat your cookie and then we’ll talk.” You ultimately said and he nearly inhaled the thing.

“I like fixin’ things.” He murmured once he’d swallowed, rolling down his sleeve and following you over to inspect the carnage Barbara had unleashed.

You helped her stack the last of the clipboards and manuals that were scattered across the floor onto the edge of the desk as Eugene looked over the shelf before eyeing the screws and finally the holes in the wall.

“You’ screws are stripped. Needs some new ones an’ maybe a few anchors.” He added as he eyed the weight of what you intended to store up there.

You worried your lip between your teeth for a moment before grabbing a key from the desk. “Maintenance room is this way, shall we see if they have what we need?”

He followed you down the hall and around the corner to a room that was no more than a glorified cupboard. You pulled the cord on the lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and he began rooting around, collecting tools in an empty toolbox before nodding to you to signal that he’d secured everything necessary.

“Don’t carry that with the arm I just took blood from please.” You reminded gently and he nodded again, walking back with you. “How can I help?” You tilted your head, nurse’s cap barely hanging on by the pins in your hair, presenting quite possibly the most adorable sight Eugene had ever seen.

“Could you an’ Miss Barbara hold tha shelf up fo’ me, please? Show me where ya’d like it?” He set the toolbox on the ground, grabbing the pencil he’d prepared as the pair of you positioned the shelf on the wall. He made a series of marks beneath it where he would drill new holes and marked the end placements. “Thank ya both, kindly.” He nodded and you set it down with a smile.

The sound of the door opening signalled the arrival of the doctor to do his midday rounds and you glanced at him, looking ready to apologize but he shook his head. “Don’ worry ‘bout me, you’ workin’. I’ll get this fixed an’ get outta you’ hair.”

“Thank you, Roe.” You nodded warmly before grabbing the clipboards from the desk and hurrying over with Barbara in tow.

Eugene did a thorough job of re-installing that shelf for you – putting new holes in the studs with the hand drill before tapping in a set of anchors to ensure it would never let you down again. It may have taken him a little longer than necessary due to the numerous glances he stole at you over his shoulder, but when his eyes met yours around the fifth glance, he turned back to his work quickly, cheeks burning, and did not risk another.

Once he was satisfied in the shelf’s structural stability, he began to place the manuals back onto it, hazarding a guess that you would want them in alphabetical order, glancing at you as you stashed the clipboards – now neatly back in their rack – beside them, rounds clearly complete.

“This looks amazing, Roe, I am once again in your debt.”

“It should hold alrigh’, even if ya get mo’e manuals.” He nodded humbly. “It was ma pleasu’e.”

“Well, I assure you we are extremely grateful.” You nodded firmly and he was unable to stop the slight smile that snuck onto his lips, watching as your own grew brightly in return. “Now I’m sure there’s somewhere you’d much rather spend your days off than our boring little hospital.”

He swallowed tightly, quite convinced that was utterly untrue but was unable to verbally disagree. “I’ll leave ya to it then, Ma’am.” He nodded, putting the tools away before shrugging into his uniform jacket once more and heading out into the drizzly afternoon.

It became a habit, spending his Saturdays at your hospital, fixing up little things that were broken but not priorities for the regular handyman. Donating blood every few weeks when you’d let him. It was, of course, all a thinly veiled excuse to see you – not that he would ever reveal that to you. As winter melted into spring, training and preparation for what was to come only intensified, and the potential outcomes remained at the forefront of his mind. If he were to speak honestly, Eugene, like many men, did not expect to survive the assault on France. Hitler had been there too long, had had too much time to get dug in snug as a tick. What they were planning to attempt was nearly impossible – just like his chances of survival.

You deserved better than that. Better than to open your heart to a man like him, if you even cared to, only to have him wiped from the earth by some piece of artillery or some such horrific ending. Eugene had a sense you’d seen enough horror first-hand in North Africa and he wanted no part in inflicting more upon you. So, he remained cordial, friendly, holding his breath and biting his tongue when your hands would brush, when you’d gently fix his tie after he’d gotten it crooked under the sink and when you’d swipe the sawdust from his shoulders before he put his uniform jacket back on.

The domesticity of your care and concern for him made his heart ache something fierce but he bore it stoically, silently, repeatedly like some kind of martyr. A smarter man might have stayed away but Eugene needed those few hours with you every week as badly as he needed the comforting nicotine of his Lucky Strikes. The news that they were shipping out to Upottery in late May was thus a rude reminder that his time, his life, was no longer his own.

The entire time he was packing, Eugene debated with himself before ultimately deciding to jot off a quick note of apology explaining his absence for that coming weekend and wishing you well until ‘next time.’ What a terrible expression it was. Forcing himself to take it to the post office, he sent it to the hospital where you worked before boarding the transit truck to move out. The days passed in almost a blur, the frenetic pace of preparation and practice jumps all leading up to the inevitable.

Eugene was dressed in full gear, having just secured his leg bag when he heard Vest call out his name, waving a letter addressed to him. Settling back down on the tarmac to open it, his brows furrowed in confusion at the unfamiliar handwriting.

Eugene was so taken aback he nearly missed Meehan’s announcement that the jump was off due to bad weather that night, spending several hours re-reading your letter, thinking about the things he wished to write to you in reply. Vowing to put them on paper if he ever saw the end of this thing. By the time he made it back to Aldbourne in July, he made a visit to the hospital where you had been stationed only to be informed by Barbara that you’d left for France with the 47th Field Hospital five days earlier.

He swallowed his bitter chuckle while Barbara kindly scrawled your post address now that you were deployed. “If you’d like to write to her.” She murmured timidly and he took it with a soft thanks before heading back to his billet.

It made perfect sense that you had been sent to France; nurses with field experience were hard to come by and you were obviously too talented to loiter in England. Thus, he had taken the time to reply to you, a proper letter this time, though still withholding his true feelings now that his eyes were well and truly opened to the rapidity with which a man’s fortunes could change.

 Mail was slow, your replies taking a frustrating amount of time to reach him, and Eugene was certain you felt the same, especially as it became increasingly apparent that your paths through Europe were remarkably similar and yet did not cross again. Not until Easter Sunday of 1945.

2nd Battalion had left Belgium that morning, crossing the border into Germany in the grey light of dawn. It had been deeply unsettling to pass so close by their former positions in Bastogne, Foy, and Rachamps the day before. Memories, thick as winter fog, had put a damper on the mood of excitement amongst the men at being on the move again, a hush that persisted into the morning. It was a quiet that allowed them all to hear the frantic honking of a jeep horn, many of them, including Eugene, sitting higher in their transports to see a vehicle painted with the Geneva cross pull up beside that occupied by Winters, Nixon, Speirs and Welsh, bringing the entire convoy to a halt.

Craning his neck, Eugene strained to hear the conversation, but his attempts were futile as they were simply too far away. His brow furrowed as the rest of the batallion’s Lieutenants were called up by Speirs, a map was then unfurled on the hood of the jeep, intense conversation occurring amongst the huddled officers. Like some kind of silent movie without the title cards.

“What the hell do you think that’s all about?” Heffron griped beside him, and Eugene shook his head, completely at a loss.

It wasn’t until Lipton returned to the back of their transport, hauled up with the assistance of Luz’s friendly hand, that Eugene understood the gravity of the situation.

“Hospital convoy has gone missing, boys. Left Aachen over four hours ago and should have arrived in Juchen by now. There’s no trace of them.” He began putting on his gear, a silent signal for everyone to do the same.

“Nobody just vanishes in Germany, Lieutenant.” Heffron muttered grimly, securing his webbing.

“Major Winters’ thoughts exactly. We have eleven nurses and four ambulances unaccounted for somewhere between here and Juchen. So, we’re going to find ‘em.”

“What hospital, sir?” Eugene piped up as he secured his satchel around his body, the men glancing at him, reminding him that he rarely spoke.

“Uh, the 47th Field Hospital I think, Doc.” Lipton replied before getting the men off the truck to begin combing the roadside for clues.

The 47th Field Hospital. Your 47th. He stood rooted to the spot, blind to all that moved in front of him, sound muffled as he felt like the only thing he could be sure of – your safety – came crashing down around him.

“Hey Doc, you coming or what?” Heffron called up to him and Eugene blinked rapidly before hopping out of the back of the transport to follow quickly.

Eleven nurses missing. Field Hospitals had roughly eighteen nurses, if fully staffed, meaning there was more than a fifty-fifty chance you were among the missing. He shoved his balled fists into his pockets and began searching. Searching for what, he had no idea. The infuriating feeling of helplessness rose within him like the tide, relentless and uncontrollable.

It took a further three hours of driving, stopping, searching, until finally a farmer reported having heard machine gun fire earlier that morning near Titz. A yawning pit of dread opened deep within his stomach as all manner of possible scenarios played out in his mind. The three companies split up then, with Easy heading into the town of Titz while Dog continued on the road to Juchen and Fox turned towards Gevelsdorf.

He was not able to lay eyes upon you for another two hours, and to find you soaked in blood had sent him immediately into a frenzied state of triage, desperate to keep you alive after finding you at last. Calmed only by the proof that you were unhurt, at the reasonable explanation for the state of your clothes lying dead behind him, Eugene had never been more annoyed with Webster and Liebgott than when they had interrupted his chance to speak with you.

The rest of 2nd Battalion arrived, taking over the building for the night and securing the prisoners until MPs could arrive the next day to take them to a nearby prison camp. Winters had ensured a wing was reserved exclusively for the nurses, though you had assured him a guard would not be necessary. Eugene had offered himself and the other Battalion medics to help with the schedule you were drawing up to watch over the patients, but you politely refused, insisting he had done enough. Eugene certainly did not feel that way.

Finding himself unable to sleep that night, he slipped out of the room he shared with Spina, Heffron, and Ramirez, making his way down to the makeshift treatment space you had set up to see if he could be of any use. He stopped at top of the stairs as he nearly ran into you, making your way up to the nurses’ wing with your wet field jacket in your hands.

“Roe!” You breathed, startled, before smiling at him tiredly. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Ya neithah?”

“Wanted to try and get this somewhat clean for tomorrow.” You murmured, gesturing to your jacket before glancing at him. “But no, not really.” You admitted softly.

He motioned with his head for you to follow him to sit on the ledge beneath a large bay window opposite the staircase. You draped your damp jacket over the back of a wooden chair that had seen better days, turning to look out over the landscape as raindrops began to patter against the glass. He slid a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket, offering it you and only once you had declined with a shake of your head and kind smile, lit it for himself.

“Nine hours isn’t a long time considering the years I’ve spent away from home.” Your hushed voice, a continuation of your conversation from hours previous, broke through the sound of the rain hitting the windowpane.

Eugene exhaled slowly, smoke curling from his lips. “It only takes seconds ta die…”

You eyed him sharply in the dim light, shaking your head. “You of all people know how little control we have over that.”

Swallowing tightly, as you did have a point, he nodded. “Sorry Ma’am.”

You huffed a little. “Eugene, every time you call me Ma’am I feel like my mother.”

“But ya outrank me, even mo’e so now 1st Lieutenan’.” His nose crinkled in confusion.

You hummed noncommittally, an uneasy silence falling over the pair of you as Eugene finished his cigarette, stubbing it out against the windowsill behind him. Neither of you seemed certain of what to say or do next. Of what you were anymore – no longer just acquaintances, colleagues, or pen pals. Despite his best efforts, Eugene was terrifyingly convinced you were a great deal more.

“What’s something you wish you had done before you came over here?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he inhaled sharply before giving you his answer without hesitation.

“Shoulda asked ya ta dance tha’ nigh’.”

He heard your breath leave your lips with a shudder, watching you stand with the sinking feeling that he’d misjudged the entirety of your relationship. It was only when you turned back to him with your hand outstretched that he remembered how to breathe.

“Dance with me now, Eugene.”

His eyes widened, confusion surely evident on his face even as he set his worn and battered hand in yours. “But there’s no music.”

Your fingers closed around his, tugging him to his feet as you began to hum that Vera Lynn song, bringing a smile to his face as he set his other hand on your waist to begin dancing with you in earnest. Your fingers laced through his, a shiver running through him as you wrapped your arm around his shoulder before laying your head against his collarbone.

“Cold?” You whispered and he shook his head.

“It’s nice.” He replied as you started humming again, the repetitive nature of the song making him grin slightly. “Finally got ta dance in you’ comba’ boots.” He murmured, discreetly inhaling the scent of you.

You giggled softly against him, leaning back to look over his features in the low light. “Why didn’t you ask me to dance, Eugene?”

He swallowed roughly. “Ya looked tired, Ma’am. Didn’t want ta make ya suffah any mo’e.”

“Dancing with you is not a hardship.” You whispered, the pair of you still moving to the ghost of the song in the now silent hallway. “I would have said yes with one of those smiles you like.”

He laugh softly, squeezing your hand slightly. “I was worried, too. Worried I’d do somethin’ stupid like make ya care ‘bout me an’ then get myself killed. But then I thought I’d lost ya today…did lose ya fo’ nine hou’s…” His throat clenched with emotion, sealing off his ability to say anything further.

Your feet came to a stop as you eyed him intensely. “Eugene Roe, you have no control over that either.” You admonished gently. “I do care about you, whether you like it or not.”

The sound of his heart frantically pumping blood through his body filled his ears as he stared at you in wonder, awestruck by your fierce determination to bear affection for him despite the risks.

“M..may I…” He struggled to speak through the overwhelming adoration he felt for you, and you sighed fondly, leaning in to press your lips to his.

His grip tightened on your waist as his eyes fluttered shut, your soft mouth feeling like the finest silk brushing against his. He sighed dreamily as your fingers abandoned his shoulder to wend their way into his hair, drawing him tighter to you. He indulged in the impulse to slide his hand up your spine to rest between your shoulder blades, the feeling of your back arching in response headier than any liquor he’d ever tasted.

Your fingers gently unlaced from his, hand shifting to cup his jaw as you pulled back to press featherlight kisses across his brow and down his nose. “You didn’t lose me, Eugene.” You sighed against his skin, lips traveling across his left cheek. “I’m just fine.”

As you made your way along his jaw, he turned his head to kiss you fiercely, tongue darting past your startled lips to communicate all the things he could not seem to be able to say, holding your body so tightly against his as though he wished he could absorb you into his very being. You clung to him, matching the ferocity of his embrace with a reassuring tenderness of your own that had him melting against you, face burrowing against your neck.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He sighed with a bone deep weariness and felt your body shake against his as you laughed softly.

“Call me something better, Eugene.” You chided sweetly, kissing his temple. “Especially if you’re going to kiss me like that.”

He smirked before pressing his lips to the column of your throat, trailing kisses up towards your jaw, reveling in the way your breath hitched in your throat in response. “Alrigh’ cher.” He smiled warmly before kissing you gently.

“Cher.” You repeated softly once he released your lips.

“Cajun for darlin’.”

He watched your teeth sink into your lower lip, a grin stretching over your face as you looked to him through your lashes making the muscles of his abdomen clench.

“That will do quite nicely, Eugene.” You sighed before your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him in to kiss him deeply.

You were both short of breath by the time you pulled back, hand caressing his face as your features contracted apologetically. “I should go before someone finds us.”

Eugene nodded begrudgingly as you were once again speaking the truth. “Goodnigh’, cher.” He said softly, loosening his hold on you.

“We’ll met again, Eugene.” You smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth in the not-so-dark hallway as the light of pre-dawn began to seep through the tracks of rain cascading down the window, and his eyes widened as he realized that was the name of that damn song.

“You’d bettah not be covered in blood nex’ time, cher.” He admonished playfully, freshly addicted to the way your lips ticked up at the corners every time he said it.

“Likewise, Eugene.” You laughed and blew him a kiss before grabbing your surely still-damp field jacket, walking backwards as far as you could until you absolutely had to turn around.

He stood on the porch the next morning, hiding from the rain as he watched you load the nurses in your charge into newly arrived ambulances to complete your journey to the field hospital in Juchen. He barely looked up as he heard the scuff of jump boots on the worn brick beside him, Heffron leaning against the wall to light a cigarette, trying to soak in every last moment of your presence before you were inevitably parted once again. It was a great comfort to know you’d be just twenty-five kilometres behind him, perhaps a sign of kinder times ahead.

“So, you get your hands on some tits in Titz?” Heffron asked with a sly grin, making Eugene turn to him sharply.

“Heffron, watch you’ damn mouth.” He snapped at him brusquely, making the redhead’s eyes widen.

“Sheesh, Doc, she must be somethin’ special. Sorry.” He squawked and pointed at the road. “She’s looking this way.”

Eugene looked back quickly to see you, drenched by rain, waving at him with a bright smile he could still see despite your helmet, and he waved back, cheeks aching a little as his expression automatically mirrored yours.

“You’d bettah keep this to you’self, Heffron.” Eugene rounded on him with a serious look that he hoped was intimidating as soon as you pulled the backdoor of the vehicle shut behind you.

“Your secret is safe with me, lover boy.” Heffron winked, and Eugene did not believe him for a second.

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Read the Sequel - Born To Be Yours

Band of Brothers Masterlist

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