#rommy queue

[rawme-price]

Thinking about gaz who has a mortifyingly intense crush on the medic the 141 tend to work with.

Which usually isn't a problem, he can stumble through conversations well enough so long as he doesn't get distracted staring at your hands patching someone up. Gaz has made sure to keep his crush tightly contained, no need to humiliate himself with that.

That of course, all goes out the window when he's shot twice in the stomach. Blood loss and adrenaline have the sergeant fully convinced he will be dead before you manage to save him.

Might as well confess, right?

"Love, i– i need to tell you something–" he mumbles, trying to grab your arm but being swiftly held down so he doesn't get in the way. "I always liked you. Really liked you."

For a split second, like a fucking amateur, you freeze.

Gaz doesn't notice, already rambling further "you're perfect, yknow? Christ– nights I've spent thinnking about thos' hands of yours. Wanna feel them wi'out gloves–"

"You're losing blood, sergeant." You mumble quieter than you would, trying to rationalize his behavior as nothing more than momentary delusions.

"M no' lying—" gaz huffs, head tossed back but still lucid enough to catch your implication. Not lucid enough to stop himself when he says "can't fuckin' get off to normal shite anymore. All medical porn, innit? thinkin' about you, sometimes just imaginations enough—"

"Sergeant." You warn mildly, pressing at his wound just that bit harder. Retribution for your burning face.

"Mghh! Fuck— keep doing that, love. Need my last breath to be under your hands—" gaz groans, truly having lost it now because you can see the way his cock twitches in his trousers. "Press a little harder, please—"

Ah. The drugs worked.

Gaz goes limp under you, and quietly you thank whatever above that you were the only ones to hear that. Face burning, you finish patching him up to drag to emergency evac.

"Almost had me fooled you felt the same, sergeant." You whisper, completely unaware that kyles comms have been on the whole time.

[rawme-price]

Ghost and the secretary on base have been dating for the past three months, everyone knows this.

Well...everyone but you two.

It's painful for everyone else involved, watching you happily approach ghost with a "hey, si. We still on for tonight?" When most people go out of their way to avoid the creep who wears a skull mask all the time.

Really, it's so obvious you like ghost. You always carry around two lunch boxes, one packed specifically for ghost because "that poor bloke would survive on raw spinach and dog food if I let him."

Not to mention how physically affectionate you two are. The most physical ghost is with others happens on the field, pats on backs and rough bicep grabs in a show of military solidarity. But with you? Gaz swears he's seen you and ghost hold hands when you walk back to your cars at night, and soap has walked in on you and ghost cuddling in an empty meeting room multiple times.

But when anyone asks about it, you just smile and wave a dismissive hand "ah, simons a good friend, that's all."

As if you're completely blind to the way ghost only relaxes around you. How he waits for you at doorways and saves trinkets he finds to give to you at lunch. Its so damn obvious ghost is infatuated with you, and you him.

Or, that's what everyone thinks.

The truth? You and ghost had tried dating, when you first realized how well you clicked. It just felt like the thing you ought to do. Anyone else would've.

Only. Dating made ghost freezes up over everything, made you feel weird and trapped, made everything wrong and bad. You almost cut contact before coming to a solution.

No definitions. No words or labels for what you are. Friends, lovers, something in between or something completely different.

It's the happiest you've ever been with someone.

[rawme-price]

John "a few nights with me can fix you right up, love." Price who laughs openly when you tell him you're ace. He thinks it's just a phase, and gets all huffy when you keep refusing to do anything sexual with him. Tries to leverage his money and the "favors" he does for you to make you break, genuinely believes you are mentally ill and tells everyone as much.

Vs

Simon "okay? Don't matter to me. Anyways these beetles—" riley who seriously couldn't give a fuck. He can hardly get it up half the time anyways, and his hand works plenty fine. He'd rather listen to you ramble about your interests or cuddle and watch a nature documentary.

[rawme-price]

John Price, when he's able to be, is always put together and that includes his shoes.

He keeps his appearance clean, crisp, controlled. Even years after leaving the service, your husband still clings to any influence he has over how others perceive him. Anything but the old veteran who means nothing.

Which is to say, he keeps his shoes clean. Polishes the leather, conditions and cleans it. It's a routine for him, always keeping them presentable. You've never once been out of the house with your husband without him flaunting those shoes.

Right now, they are being trampled on by tiny muddy shoes.

"Ah, balance little miss, hold my hands." He coos down at your little girl. She laughs, high and loud, tiny hands gripping two of johns fingers tight in her palm.

Price slowly steps in circles around the kitchen, rain battering against the window. His sweet daughter keeps her little feet planted atop his shoes, so whoever he steps so does she, like a waltz. "Ah, there you go, pumpkin. Yer a natural."

You watch from the doorway as price lets his daughter get mud well into the creases of his shoes. His shoes, always kept so clean, now dirtited so his daughter can dance with Papa in the kitchen at night.

You smile when you realize in the morning that he didn't clean his shoes, instead keeping your daughter tucked close to his chest.