(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)
The phrase started as a whisper.
It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.
It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.
Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.
He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.
Then the mission happened.
It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.
“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.
“Pull him out!” Price ordered.
But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.
This is it, he thought. This is where I die.
The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.
You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.
But instead, you looked like salvation.
“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.
Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.
“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.
You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”
“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.
“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”
Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.
It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.
“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.
Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.
You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.
“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”
“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.
You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”
“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.
Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”
Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.
Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.
Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”
“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.
Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”
Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”
You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.
Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.
You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.
Here comes the sun, he thought.
(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)
stormborns
jbbartram-illu
baratheonpilled
vaporwave
areudirty
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
