Call of Duty: WW2 Imagines

Insubordination pt.2 (Pierson/Reader)

I finally finished part 2!

It took some time, but I did it. I hope you all enjoy it! It's a bit longer than the first part, but it's worth the read. 

Also, Im closing requests for the time being, since I have over 10 (yikes) and I take a long time to even write one. I thank you all for supporting this book, no matter what. I promise to keep writing so long as the passion is still there.

~Lyssa

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Puffs of cigarette smoke escaped your ruby lips as you sat on a crate of ammunition with a partially assembled M1 Carbine laying on the table before you with various cleaning tools and additional attachments scattered about. Your critical, (E/C)-eyed gaze scanned over the messy table for a brief moment while you gracefully inhaled and exhaled another puff of smoke before taking the cigarette from your lips and snubbing it out on the nearby ashtray.

Your hands began to work delicately and quickly on the weather-beaten rifle. The barrel was caked with scrapes on the outside from the various close encounters with the German soldiers and the varnish on the wooden hand grips was worn down and faded from the constant contact of the owner's calloused hands. The only way to get the gun fully functional again was to replace those parts with new ones, and that's what you did. With this rifle being your last one to fix, you were sure that you would most definitely meet Pierson's demands as well as exceed them.

While you put the finishing touches on the refurbished rifle, your mind started to wander and you were soon thinking about why Pierson hated you so much out of all the men in the platoon, besides the fact that you were the only woman serving in it; you knew that there was something hidden deeper in that little argument between you two the day before.

Pierson was hard on you the moment his mysterious, yet strict hazel-eyed gaze landed on you. He often expressed his distaste for you serving among the ranks of men, but he was discreet about it; he hardly told a soul besides Turner and the only reason the other men and you heard about his hatred was because he spoke a little too loudly about you to Turner and Davis before D-Day took place. He said that the moment the boat landed and drop their doors, that you would be the first casualty and you wouldn't be much help on the battlefield and it would be better if you stayed on the main ship doing paperwork, like a woman should.

Of course he was reprimanded by both Turner and Davis for trying to act as a superior force as well as shaming you because of your gender, but that didn't stop him from letting his anger and hatred grow. He was starting to be more direct with his comments and made sure that you heard them as well as the other men; the others didn't speak against him, because they feared insubordination, but you could care less about being written up for a little thing such as insubordination. Whenever you heard him say something, you challenged him with questions, and when he ordered you about in camp, you refused to listen to him and went directly to Turner instead.

You used to admire Pierson for his dedication for serving in the army, but things were changing the more you saw the other side of him. If you had to admit it, you might have had a thing for him, but all that has been changed by his attitude and opinion of you. You would've tested the waters earlier during the war, but you feared that it would only ruin your professional relationship and get you both in more trouble than what it's worth. You also told yourself that he would reject you since he was all about the war and rarely spoke about anything other than that.

You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts the minute you heard Zussman's voice behind you. He stood in the entrance of the tent, holding a small metal mug that had light, wispy steam coming from it. He wore a light smile as he slowly approached you, holding out one of the metal mugs for you to take. With no words exchanged for a minute, you took the mug and sipped it for a moment, humming as the nice and hot liquid touched your tongue and made you wish that you were sleeping instead of trying to prove your worth to a bigot of a man.