Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
In which you work at the nearest store at base, Ghost being your least favourite and unfortunately, most frequent, customer. Is there a connection there, or is it in his head? yALL - all these COD stories on tumblr got me hyped! So here I am tryna catch some clout ;) Be warned, this is possibly a very inaccurate version of military life, but then again, it's just a story. Word Count: 2.5k
Man, post-graduate life is hard.
Graduating top of your cohort of nearly 300 students in your masters degree within Psychology was impressive. Saving enough money from shadowing your senior Psychology professor and moving out to your apartment was impressive. Owing your own car was impressive.
What wasn't impressive though, was nearly hitting the 6 month mark of unemployment.
So here you are, stuck calling all your classmates for any open roles. You're so desperate at this point, you'd go for anything!
"Hey, Mahir! I know we didn't quite end of good terms...um-you know...when you asked for the mid-terms answers last year, and I- um...left you on delivered, and you had to retake the exams...but um, I hear you started working at the University as a Researcher and you're looking for a assistant? Well gee, don't forget how smart I a-"
Disconnected.
"Yooo, Josephine, it's me! From the Psychopathology group project! Yeah, I'm sorry I shouted at you for not doing your part on the project, and filing a complaint against you, haha...although, like, come on, it's your fault - you're 25, not a 5 year old bab-"
Blocked.
Wow. You were not liked.
So one evening, when you were on the phone to your childhood friend, Jordan Biggs, and had managed to slip out how desperately broke you were, he kindly offered a potential role at his workplace.
"Shop keeper? What, like a convenience store?" Remind me where you work again? Aren't you in the navy? What stores are you talking about?" You rambled, I mean a possible job - finally?!
On the line, Jordan chuckles, "Slow your roll, man. I've been been with the army for around 3 years now, I'm currently on a mission but we'll be home soon. Our base has a shop, that sells, you know, tactical gear-"
"GUNS?!" You interrupted.
Jordan laughs, then in shushed by, what you assume to be his teammate, "No, not any weapons. Just, tactical gear, MREs, bits and pieces of uniform. Sometimes you might be asked to clean the base, set up rooms for meetings. And ooh my favourite - work at the canteen. We serve the country, you serve us food." Jordan explains.
So you complied.
I mean, yeah, your degree isn't being utilised, but we're in a cost of living crisis, for Christ's sake.
And here you are, clad in a plain dark grey fleece, and straight black trousers, trying to look as professional as possible.
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Your first day was silent. You found that you lived only 30 minutes away from the base, so you didn't struggle with the early shifts, working almost full days at the base, with a surprising decent salary.
You learnt you had replaced the previous worker, Katherine, a grumpy senior who quit, being fed up with the stench of these sweaty unkempt soldiers, and their rowdy behaviour after missions.
You also met your staff at the base, being the youngest one there gave you no surprise, with most your colleagues being double your age. You liked it. It was quiet, having met a few of the soldiers.
Your role was relatively simple. Consisting of various tasks such as ordering enough food to satisfy the recruits, more training equipment, when a recruit seemed to damage one. All in all, you were satisfied, especially when the first pay day rolled in.
You also noted that your colleagues, without fail, always seem to talk about a specific group of soldiers, such as Friday evening, when you all found yourself eating an early dinner.
"Soap is so sweet! He's always so generous when we talks to me, although I can't lie, I don't know what the fuck he says half the time." Your colleague rambles, shoving a spoon full of Friday's roast dinner into his mouth.
Another agreed, "Nothing beats the dilf of a man - Captain John Price. I may be chewing steak but that ain't the meat I want in my mouth, if you get what I mean-"
You choked, "Margaret, you're married with grand-kids, lord."
After a quiet but much needed conversation, you learnt about the most well-known team within the base, Task Force One-Four-One, lead by Captain John Price, forming of Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, and the one you were most curious about - Simon 'Ghost' Riley.
"But like, why Ghost? If he's close to this Soap dude, why not call yourself Shampoo or something?"
Your colleagues laughed at your naivety glancing at each other.
"My dear, I don't dare to call him anything other than Lieutenant. He's entered a 10 metre radius of mine, and I've already pissed myself." One stated.
"I've heard he threatened to attack Katherine, just because she overcharged him, long story short, she quit." Another replied.
It seemed you didn't understand how feared Ghost really was...
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By the time you all had finished dinner, the staff split up, some going back to the canteen to prepare dinners for the soldiers finishing training, some going to clean up the barracks, and you found yourself going back to your designated shop.
Aah, this is peaceful. You mumbled, drinking your hot chocolate, whilst sorting out all the army boots on display.
As the clock strikes 10 p.m. though, the silence is broken and you hear a stampede of soldiers, once you assume had come back from a month long mission. The majority of them, from what you'd heard, sprinted to the canteen to rid themselves of their strictly MRE diet, and finally eat some home cooked food, whilst others ran off to their freshly cleaned barracks to get some well-deserved sleep.
Your little shop also seemed to be quite busy, a long queue waiting to buy water bottles, bandages, blankets, you name it. From nearby chatter from the tired soldiers, it seems most of the teams had arrived back from Afghanistan, a successful mission with no death and a few minor injuries.
An hour goes by and the queue dies down to around 6 people, with one at the till: Jordan.
"So a water bottle, that would be £1.50, payin- my God, Jordan?" You smiled, getting in front of the counter and pulling into a hug. He smelt like dusty and you joked that 1 bottle of water wouldn't suffice to rinse him of the smell.
"I haven't seen you in forever, it's been like 6 months? How's the job been treating you?" He enquiries, placing a kiss against your forehead. By now, the nearly empty shop turns to face the both of you, many assuming the situation to be a couple reuniting.
You and Jordan continue to catch up on everything - his mission, your job...Margaret's obsession with which positions she can take Captain Price in...
"Bro, she was going so in depth into the many ways she can contort her waist for, what she calls, the Price penis?!" You pull your most fake-disgusted face, as Jordan cackles loudly.
But his laugh falls short as a deep scruffy voice interrupts him-
"The only thing being wasted right now, is my time. Hurry the fuck up and pay for your shit. You act like we have all the time in the fucking world."
You jump slightly at the harsh words, although this is a military base, you should be used to this foul language.
"My guy, she said waist, not waste-" Jordan begins, before straightening his back and realising who he was talking to.
He turns around to face the man's voice, his back now turned to you, obstructing your view of the unknown soldier.
"Lie-Lieutenant. My apologies! Lemme grab this water and get out of your way," Jordan nervously chuckles, you can't see who he's talking to, but you can tell this was a man of higher authority, given how Jordan stutters. "Ooh, I see what you wanted to buy! Gloves, nice, socks, cool, Coc-Coco pops?!"
"My fucking God Biggs, the only thing big about you is your stupidity and your pussy attitude, grab your shit and go. Stop holding the fucking line, mate." The male's British accent is so prominent with every word enunciated, and you wish to never run into this stranger again.
"Sir!" Jordan turns to you, handing you a fiver and awkwardly side hugging you, "Have fun with this jerk wad." He whispers into your hair, before running out the shop, his water bottle still on the counter.
"Jordan your bottle-"
Holy shit.
After Jordan moves, your eyes feast before you, revealing a godly 225 lb man, standing at an impressive 1.89 metres, dressed in his dark and intimidating casual attire, his face hidden behind a skeleton mask, his piercing eyes squinted and penetrating into your shorter frame, his biceps bulging out of his sweatshirt, his shoulders broad, his trousers failing to hold his impressive bulg-
"Are you going to continue gawking at me like a fuckin' donkey or should I not pay for this shit?" He huffs out in disappointment.
Rude. Plain rude. Sexy...but rude.
Now you know why Jordan couldn't move a muscle when faced with this guy. Putting 2 to 2 together, you clocked. The way other soldiers left the shop as he entered. The way one look from him gets them to shut up so quickly. The skeleton mask-
"We- I- Um-" What the hell? Why can't you form a damn sentence?
"I- I- I don't give a damn. My shit, here." He mocks you, slamming his items on the counter. By now, the other customers have scurried off in fear. It's now you and Ghost in the shop.
You nod, humming a yes, eyebrows furrowing at his unkind words.
The next few moments are followed by near silence, the only sounds being the scanning of the items and your quickening breath. His foot begins tapping rapidly, as sign that you're taking to long.
It's uncomfortabl-
"The old hag before you's gone then."
Yes, Ghost, she is. And if you keep acting like this, I will be too. You grunt a response, unable to find the right words.
"£28.50" You say curtly, after a while. He hums in response, pulling his wallet to pay.
You watch him nervously, you did not expect to see one of the most respected soldiers in front of you so soon. Someone so handsome, someone so fucking sexy, but someone so fucking bitchy...
Oh. You said that last bit out loud.
Ghost pauses his actions, his head slowly craning upwards, his gaze drinking you in.
Your eyes meet his, quickly looking back at the counter, unable to meet his furrowed but amused glare.
"'m so bitchy, but you seem to love it, sweetheart. So red, like you're fucking in love with me or something." He scowls, slapping a £20 note on the counter.
"Maybe next time stopping droolin' over other men when you have your own cunt of a boyfriend." He mutters, before taking his shit and leaving. You don't fail to catch the smirk in his voice, as he exits your shop, loud footsteps booming behind him.
Oh my god.
You were at a loss of words. You were also at a loss of £8.50.
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"Jordy, you don't fuckin' get it! Dickhead left the place, without paying the full fucking price, mind you." Frustration was evident in your voice.
"Bitchy and broke," Jordan snickers.
"And the audacity to call you my boyfriend? Bye." You huff in annoyance, whilst Jordan chokes on his spit. If anything, he was a like a brother to you!
A week has gone by since that first encounter and your conversations with Jordan at the shop, when he passes by, always seem to end up at the topic of Ghost. The way he glares at you as you walk past him in the corridors. The way he sees you struggling when you carry boxes upon boxes- oh he won't help you, by the way. When you ask, he simply scoffs, "You're getting paid and you don't even want to do your job?"
Since that day, you've met all of the Task Force members. Price was as Margaret mentioned, sexy. Soap, comical, Gaz, kind-hearted, Ghost...yeah, he's there.
"But you don't get it man, he's so big- like over 6 foot! And those eyes- man those eyes. So condescending...but so hot..." you continue.
"Damn Margaret wannabe, we get it." Jordan jokes, drinking his can coke - which he didn't pay for. You'll tell him later.
As you both converse, loud footsteps enter the store.
Ghost. Again.
Did I mention he's been in here every day since the first time?
8 a.m. sharp, the moment you clock in for your shift, and 10 p.m. on the dot. Fucker's so annoying, he'll stay around the shopfloor, lazily looking at the various protein bars, even after you state the shop is already 10 minutes past closing.
But you don't mind. His silently stares at you, as if trying to remember the exact location of every beauty spot on your face, the consequent reddening of your cheeks, the slight touches of his rough callous fingers brushing against your own. All this unspoken tension, leads to your every thought being consumed by Simon Riley.
And when he enters the shop, wow. Buys the most random unnecessary shit ever. You notice how he walks in and purchases his singular Coco Pops cereal bar, day after day. This man isn't sick of them?
I mean, come o-
"Your obsession with me is flattering." He states.
Oh, forgot to mention, he's still an asshole. But at least after rehearsing to yourself in the mirror, you can actually speak up for yourself.
"Guh- buh- we- u-" Fuck's sake.
But he actually laughs this time. A loud imploding chuckle exits his mouth, and you actually smile a little at this unfamiliar emotion.
You can't tell what his face is doing under the mask, but his voice suggests a small smile rests on his face, but it soon disappears before he coughs awkwardly.
"Your boyfriend's in the infirmary by the way." He looks away, emphasising boyfriend a little too roughly.
You stare in confusion. Boyfriend? He picks up on this.
"Biggs. Rolled his ankle or some shit. Dunno why he can't just man it up. I've had worse injuries." He mumbles, smiling under his mark slightly, assuming Jordan isn't in fact your boyfriend.
Your eyes widen, "Jordy? Wha-who-how?"
"He-" But before he can answer your question, you're running out the shop to the infirmary, stealing a snack from the shelf for Jordan.
You fail to notice that you'd left a dejected Ghost at the counter, who'd picked up 2 coco pops instead of 1 this time, his smile faltering, as he planned to give you the 2nd, as a token of apology for his impolite behaviour.
In the end, he realised he'd been holding onto a ghost of a connection, overshadowed by the presence of another man.
He winces, being left alone at the till, hoping to actually strike up a conversation with you, as he gathers his (unpaid) belongings and walks out the door, off to shout at any rando that dares get in his way.
yALL its 2.30 a.m. and i'm craving coco pops-