Hey, So I Have Trouble Sleeping, And I'd Love For You To Do A Post Inspired By Him Helping A Teammate

And what if I give Soap a younger sister that joins the SAS a year or two after Soap does because their home life wasn't great? And what if she worked hard like him, busted her ass like him, to be put in his unit so they could be together because he was the only comfort she had? And what if she got to his unit the day he died, not even having a chance to see him after a year because their leaves never lined up? And what if the last memory of her brother she has his his body being carried with blood dried to his head as Ghost brings him to where he needs to put the body? And when Price has to call her to see the body that's the first time 141 got to meet Soap's sister? The sister he bragged about all the time? The sister who was almost a mini him, with a similar interest in demolition and explosives? And what if Price pushes her up a rank so she's a Sgt?

Price using Soap's sister as his replacement, holding her to a standard that's basically impossible for someone who has been a sergant less than a month. Making her self esteem lower and lower until Laswell has to step in and make Price see that Soap's sister isn't him. That Soap may live on in his sister in a sense, but that doesn't mean she is him.

I just love Soap's sister being very similar to him and being emotionally destroyed by 141. Idk why I live for it

Idk if I should put a cw but... mention of murder and spoilers for s1

Okay, okay, hear me out

Bear, who felt like God had taken his firstborn daughter as punishment for the murder of an innocent child during a mission, saved a 13 y.o. girl, though he wanted to bring Rip home more than anyone else on the team.

And Caulder, who literally once rejected Rip as his commander because of a broken trust, shot Nasry and stopped him from killing Rip. 

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

nothing more flattering than someone saying "oh don't get her going" in reference to you when a topic you're passionate about is brought up

LOVE

allistic simon x autistic reader was just so heartwarming and relatable to read as i’m someone with the tism that often feels like a burden on others. it was so lovely, feeling like simon didn’t want to change the reader as a person or expect anything unreasonable of them, but rather accommodate them where he can. i also liked that he didn’t have to compromise himself and was able to do an activity he likes, but also care for reader! all around just really enjoyed the piece.

if i may, i’d love to request something where one of the reader’s safe foods/essential items is out of stock or being discontinued and how simon would help them navigate that situation. one of my fave essentials just got discontinued and i’m devastated lol ♥︎

hi there! i'm very happy that you enjoyed my first autistic reader piece. i'm sorry that your safe food is out of stock ): i get fairly frustrated when i can't have access to things that comfort me. i apologize in advanced for the subpar writing that will ensue this message.

allistic simon x autistic!reader: crisis averted

in which your lovely husband attempts to help you navigate the sudden unavailability of your safe food.

simon came back from his meeting on base a bit winded and more confused than when he'd originally left the home. the meeting was a cooperative planning session involving KorTac, and your husband failed to keep up with the newly-introduced objectives and profiles. his head hurt, frankly. the entire meeting he'd only been wondering what you'd been up to and if you missed him. when he finally entered your shared home, he was relieved to have the workday slide right off his broad, strong shoulders.

simon hummed as he heard the tapping of your PC keyboard, knowing you'd likely well into a deep dive of one of your special interests. he took off his boots by the door and calmly took steps toward the study, whistling as he walked. his eyes fell upon you in the throws of your own world of wonder, irises blown as you took in the information before you. Simon cleared his throat to grab your attention, and you peeled yourself away briefly to greet him. ,"hey Si," you hummed back distractedly, and your husband chuckled in response. "hi lovie," he grinned at you, moving to stand beside you and take in the media you were consuming. he stands there for a moment, enjoying your company, before he decides to trek to the kitchen for a snack.

simon peers around the area for signs of your appetite, signs that you had been feeding yourself and staying hydrated. he was met with an empty sink and dishwasher, and the items in the fridge looked untouched. the water filter was exactly as full as when he left this morning. he sighed, shaking his head before a lightbulb went off. maybe we're out of [food item]. that could do it, he thinks to himself, treking to the pantry to confirm the item was missing. he padded back into the study to greet you again, politely asking for your attention.

when you spin around to see a frowning Simon you instinctively feel puzzled, and of course Simon can tell by the way you stare at him blankly. "lovie, you didn't eat today?" he's soft when he speaks to you, ensuring that you don't feel scolded or punished. Your lover has been so understanding of your mannerisms, fully aware that your appetite was fickle and sometimes undetectable. you shook your head in response, words lost on you as you tried to recall your last meal. "there's no food item so I can't really eat right now," you responded cooly, and Simon nods his head in response. usually he'd kept up with the supply of your items, and he was honestly quite shocked that this wasn't upsetting you as much as he'd always imagined it would. he didn't want to press the issue, but he was mildly concerned that you may be pressing it down. "why didn't you say anything, are you not upset?" the question slides over your head, and you direct your attention back to the media in front of you. " 've been busy today," you respond as your eyes focus again on the screen. Simon sighs again, turning on his heels and heading to the bedroom for a change of clothes. he knew he'd be heading to the store now, or helping you through a meltdown later.

Simon had read up quite a bit on the fickle nature of meltdowns, and he was well versed in how unpredictable they may be. he'd listened to numerous autistic media creators mention their experience in reference to valves. when the 'special interest' tank was where you needed it, and your 'manual labor' valve was at a minimum, then that allowed for things like social interaction or emotional regulation. when you had no time to yourself and no time for the things that keep you happy, your mask began to slip and 'smaller' things that you normally coped with began to feel a lot heavier and less manageable. he knew that your special interest tank currently filled your cup to the brim, allowing you to ignore the constant discomfort of hunger and dehydration. he also knew that should this hunger persist it may heighten other, seemingly less significant, senses and experiences and he'd find himself well into meltdown territory. the longer he waited for you to notice your hunger, the more likely dysregulation would occur.

at the store, Simon's breath is stolen from him. the damned item was out of stock. he haggled a store employee, begging them to check their inventory again, but they'd been completely out of it. Simon found himself driving all over the city in search of this item, but he found nothing. at the fifth store he felt defeated, and he decided to search for the item online. to his dismay, it'd been discontinued. there was a pit in your husband's stomach at the information. to Simon's surprise, it seemed that his lovely spouse's support of this item hadn't been enough to singlehandedly keep the item in service. he scoffed as he thumbed through the list of items he knew you liked, all of which seeming a reach to coax you into eating.

Simon drives the 45 minutes back to the home, and you're pacing in the living room with your headphones on. Simon doesn't even have to ask, he knows you've overdone yourself with the screens and now your head hurts and your ears hurt; your ears always hurt when you're overstimulated. No matter how much you loved [special interest], you still found yourself overwhelmed if you indulged for too long.

you turn the music down at the sight of your husband in the doorway, waiting for him to speak. "Lovie, it seems that item has been discontinued." The words take a moment to be processed, but you fail to hide the disgust and frustration you feel about the information. you feel your chest getting tight, and the music doesn't feel loud enough. "i know this is difficult but-" 'How could we not notice it was discontinued? Why didn't i pay attention! It can't be! I don't want that. I don't want it." you began to cry, frustration coursing through you as your ears began to sting. You'd tried so hard to do better, to feel better for Simon, but now you felt helpless. Your brain began to eat away at you, blaming you for not keeping up with your own foods and snacks. Your pacing continues as you find yourself striking your chest repeatedly, trying to dull the pain of the situation. your mind felt like it was melting, and the tears continued.

Simon steps to you slowly, striking his own chest lightly and he nears your smaller frame. he slowly reaches his arms out beside him, allowing you to walk into his chest. his arms remain at his sides, and he allows the painful stimming to be transferred to his chest. your strikes feel nothing close to anything he'd truly suffered, and he hoped this would help you make it through this world-shattering time. he stands there for as long as you need him to, fully prepared for this to last several hours. the tears stain his shirt as you sniffle and sob, strikes getting lighter and lighter. you cry so much it leaves you dizzy, and your arms slowly reach out to simon's to wrap them around your frame. you give him two taps to let him know that you'd like to be squeezed, and he does so without complaint.

"You're safe, lovie. I'm sure this is very frustrating, so how about we order that Chinese food place you like. I know it's not safe food but it will feed you. I even have the exact order from last time, hm?" you offer him another two taps as confirmation, and he smiles.

Once you begin to come down from your meltdown, Simon is sure to help you change into your favorite pajamas and wraps you in your compression blanket. you two spend the evening in your bed watching your comfort show and eating takeout.

an: i hope this as comforting for you as it was for me while writing. simon would be such a loving and comforting partner, and I deeply believe he'd study you and learn you so well that he can help. if anyone you love is having a meltdown, try to remove any extra emotional or cognitive labor for them.

i think simon's hair would get pretty scruffy when it grows out on leave...

(speedpaint under the cut!)

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Credits:

@yumethefrostypanda

Roxana Silva- Pinterest

I know last pic is Ai but I found it hot so I posted.

Tw for Simon’s comic backstory, his dad, and abelism but…

I feel like Simon flapped his hands as a stim when he was a little kid, but his father would hit him or yell at him for doing it because it made him “look special” or something, so now Simon just doesn’t stim, and if he does then it’s always something super small. Like he’ll rub the fabric of his sleeves between his thumb and index finger but that’s about it. It’s been beaten into his head by not just his father, but his life experiences that stimming is bad and something he should suppress.

idk if yall missed my headcanons but i got bored and figured out which dog breed the 141 would be + co authored by my dog neek friend

👑Platonic cod with a younger reader who has adhd and got extremely over stimulated by rude soldiers? (People suck)

Thank ya😙

K first of all I don't know hoooow tf I missed that you made a request, thank you, and I gotchu (people do in fact suck).

I'm not sure if I wrote out what you asked for, but this is what I came up with. I do hope you like it.

(This will be a gn!reader I hope that's ok!)

Platonic!141 x gn!reader

Warning: bullying, swearing, badly written fight scenes, actually just bad writing in general.

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

Working with the best of the best comes with a very heavy burden.

For one thing, all of your relationships end up in the gutter or strained even if they're family, friends, or even actual people you're interested in.

But this was an outlet for you to better yourself.

It gave you a routine, and it taught you discipline.

Even if all you wanted to do was sit down and let your mind spiral for even a moment. Even if you wanted to get up from your seat and just fucking move.

How you ended up here is something you have a hard time understanding. But you climbed your way to the top. You've earned your place. So well in fact you've found a home with Laswell. She introduced you to John, and thanks you him, you have a new calling.

Unfortunately, that leads everything full fucking circle.

You start over again. The only ones who know who you are are John and Laswell. The other three know you, but from passing conversations when you're in meetings with them.

They just know you as the backup thanks to Price.

At first such a name easily put you down. No matter what you did, it wouldn't chance the way you felt about certain things. Like if there was a new mission, how everyone treated you like some low-man. Someone to just clean their shit everywhere they fucking go.

And to see the pity come from Garrick or the words of assurance from MacTavish. Oh, you felt tiny.

You just tried to fit in as best as you fucking could.

So you thought maybe making some friends would do you some good.

Until that turns out to be your biggest regret.

Every mistake someone else made, your name had to get thrown in there somehow.

One soldier didn't strap something down, right?

"(L/n) was supposed to help."

Another soldier didn't show up for inventory?

"(L/n) was holding me up."

Soldiers made a riot coming back into the barracks?

"Had to be all (L/n). Rather loud that one."

Jesus Christ, it was incredible the way your name was being drugged through the mud. Eventually, you just stopped interacting with people altogether unless it was absolutely necessary.

Like right now. It's sparring time with your teams. The 141 were busy training among themselves while you were left with your usual 'team.'

One of them straight up walked right up to you, leaning in close so you were the only one who heard. "Honestly, a runt like you doesn't fuckin' belong here." they snicker. "You really think the 141 took a liking to you? You only got to where you were because you got Laswell wrapped around your little finger."

You roll your eyes, ripping away from them before stepping up to the ring. The previous pair had ended their session.

The original partner you were sparring made no sign to move, until you realized the soldier who was just talking to you was making their way into the ring.

You sigh in defeat, unable to think of a reason to get back out. What were you gonna do? Cry about? This wasn't a schoolyard, this was the military.

"Whenever you're ready, runt."

Unbeknownst to you, a few sets of eyes were on you, and not just from your training group surrounding the ring like a pack of wolves.

You felt trapped. You felt targeted. For a while of this happening, it was just too much in this instance. Your head wasn't in the fucking game.

Without that focus, that soldier took you down like you weighed absolutely nothing. One grab and a trip over his foot, you were on your back.

Not even the blows you were landing on the side of his face were doing you any good. Eventually, you did get the upper hand, only to humiliatingly get kicked right in the head.

Everything went dark after the pain blossomed from that side.

This wasn't you. You knew that. You knew you were so much better than this. But how the absolute hell were you to fight this without getting into some drama?

How were you going to prove to those asswipes you belonged here?

Waking up, you squint your eyes at the blinding white light just above you. Blinking to settle them, your sight lands on Price sitting in the corner right next to the door.

His arms are leaning on the armrest as his eyes bore into yours.

For a second you don't say anything until he clears his throat. But even then, he beats you to it.

"Seems I came at the perfect time." He grins. It's small, almost friendly. With a level of professionalism behind it. "Was wanting to talk to you about what happened."

Like a balloon, you feel yourself deflate. Your eyes refuse to meet his after that sentence and all you let out is a quiet, "Oh."

The captain coughs, a light smoker cough you would guess before sitting forward and leaning his elbows on his knees.

"That soldier you were sparring with. Has there been any altercation with 'em?" Price asked, earnestly curious. "Maybe something that was done a while ago that hadn't been brought to my attention?"

You inhale, holding your breath. This felt childish. Right? Tattle-telling on a soldier?

It wasn't like you guys weren't already fighting so...if anything this was on you. It had to be. You just need to better your skills. There is always going to be someone better. There is always going to be someone stronger. There is always something-

"(L/n)." Price interrupts your racing thoughts. "It's up to you if you want to say something. You're not in trouble."

He stands, his hand holding his wrist right in front of him as he slowly walks towards the foot of your bed.

He reaches over, tying your bootlaces as he speaks.

"I know you, (L/n). You're strong. But I'm sure you know there is always someone stronger. That's why your speed and that mind of yours are what drew Laswell to you. You know this."

You finally let a long breath out of your nose, blinking rapidly. "I know."

"Good."

Price gently finishes the bow he made out of your laces, and pats your boot. Another sly smile on his face. "Well, you know," He continues, "This isn't a friendship club. We're all adults here. And you surely won't get in trouble if you know..."

He stares into your eyes knowingly. "...decide you've had enough of the bullshit. Right?"

Your brows slowly furrow in, unsure if you're reading his words correctly. But he doesn't elaborate further. Instead, he turns and walks to the door. "Oh by the way," He turns to look at you. "Ghost and the others will be handling your training during your conditioning hours. Be on time now, (Y/n)."

With that, he slips out the door, leaving you to dwell on his hidden messages. If that's what you should call it.

...

"Again."

You groan from the ground, eyes landing on the hand in front of you and the grin from Soap. "Come on, then. Up ye go." He quips as he pulls you to your feet.

"Try tha' again. And remember to put all that strength into that kick. That's yer knockout. Ghost? Ready?"

The lieutenant's brown eyes bore into yours. It reminds you of Price sitting intensely in the corner of the medical room. Fighting the lieutenant doesn't feel as...well...violent? If that's the right term to use.

Sure this lean, mean, killing machine is a much harder target to fight. But you can't complain. Especially since he is kicking your fucking ass.

"If you step to the left again," Ghost warns. "You'll be rollin' off the side of that ring."

Yeah. Safe to say you've been at this for a while now.

Before you can even begin, the door to the gym opens and a whistle sounds out. "Tav!" Sergeant Garrick's voice sounds out. "Price needs you!"

Soap breathes out his nose before nodding towards you. "Strengthen that kick, you'll have the fucker down before he even blinks." He speaks as he starts to walk to the doorway. Something tells you he isn't referring to Ghost.

The sergeants tap each other, sort of like they tap each other into a situation, which brings a small chuckle to your face.

"Come on, (L/n)." Ghost calls to you. "Need your focus, not trying to send you back to medical."

The recent memory deflates your newfound joy just as Garrick reaches the end of the ring. Before you could even take your stance, you see Ghost wag his finger at you. "Try that again."

You frown. "Sorry?"

You begin to maneuver your stance, thinking you were off balance or something of the sort before he walks up to you and pokes you right between your collarbone.

"When someone is fucking nitpicking you. Stop givin' them a reaction." He grunts. "They know how to hurt you. People you trust would even use that against you."

Garrick leans on one of the ropes, adding in. "Keep your face straight when you're up against someone." He points to Ghost. "If you can't see their emotions, you can't predict their next move."

Just as he says that Ghost becomes lax, looking into your soul with his hands to his sides. You swallow a groan, feeling your body screaming at you.

Like, you fully believed Sergeant Garrick, Ghost really didn't have to show you what he meant.

But then the lieutenant just starts...stalking around you. The both of you go in circle after circle until he finally,

and might I say finally,

strikes.

You jump in your skin, feeling one arm go around your waist, the other hoisting the rest of you up and just dropping down onto the mat with a loud 'oof'. The impact takes the wind right out of you.

You lay there for a moment, with half of the 141 task force staring at your position.

"You really didn't have to do all that." You wheeze out. "I fully believed you."

A hand is outreached to you, and with mild (not so mild) hesitation, you take it. Ghost pats you on the back as you take your walk of shame to the bench right on the side, next to Gaz.

"You know, that was a lot more patience than we thought you were gonna show." He smiles. "Truly. The amount of times Ghost gets Soap with that trick? Never gets old."

He reaches behind you, grabbing a water bottle that was passed to him by your lieutenant and handing it to you. "Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen you make that first move before, Ghost."

The lieutenant chuckles, leaning on the ring. "No. The little soldier had me tired of waiting." He opens his own bottle, picking it up to his lips. "You could really use tha' the next time that prick wants to give you shit."

You frown, confused. "What do you-"

"Soldier," Gaz sighs. "We see the way you let these tossers treat you. You could have said or done something about it a lot sooner."

You're quiet for a moment before sitting up straight and taking another drink of water. "Just don't want to cause issues. Laswell wanted me to take care of myself."

"But to let these nobody's treat you like shit? For the sake of laying low when you don't have to?" Gaz's words have you making eye contact with him. He's staring at you as if he's trying to pull you apart, find out something that really isn't hard to find.

You don't like confrontation. Never was your strong suit. If you needed something shut down, it was difficult to do on your own.

Not impossible sure, but when you're constantly the punching bag it takes a toll on your confidence.

Hell, that's why you joined the military. What else did you have going for yourself?

"Yeah...I guess I just didn't wanna hurt anyone."

"Well, we're not telling you to kill anyone." Ghost cuts in. His steel eyes bore into yours. "Not now anyways."

At that, and you're not sure why, but you crack a smile. Nodding you finish off your water bottle and stand up.

"Am I excused, sir?" You look to Ghost, who only nods his head.

"See you tomorrow, soldier."

...

The next day, both the sergeants and the lieutenant meet you in the gym. It's eerily empty again, save for a few stragglers talking in the corner.

Soap spots you first, giving you a grin. "Righ' on time. In the ring, now."

A sigh leaves your lips as he ducks under and over the bars of the ring, seeing as you're fighting the most excited member today.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did ye wan' Gaz to be in front of ye? We can arrange tha'-"

"No!" You hiss out. "No, please God, no. This is fine. Just...just don't do that fucking thing with your arm and your thumb."

Gaz heaves a large sigh. "Soap we told you to stop doin' that to the rookies."

"Aye, but they're not a rookie now? Are they?" Soap grins.

"MacTavish."

"Aye, sir."

You laugh, setting down your items before joining Soap in the ring. "Alright. What are we working on today?"

The room falls silent, watching as the smile remains on the sergeant's face but then he leans back into the ropes, shrugging.

"Last day of conditioning. Just wanted to talk."

Your brows furrow. "Sorry?"

"You heard him." Ghost calls from behind you, on the other side of the barricade. "You're just talking."

"Aye." Soap puts his hands behind his back, walking towards you. "And just know, truly, 's nothin' personal."

Confusion hits you harder than any punch you received this week. You didn't know what that meant. Nor what it could mean. It scared you only for a moment until Soap reached out and shoved you off balance.

Immediately, you try and position yourself before he tuts at you. "Nae. I'm not fightin' ye today."

You lower your hands, the body still tensed because you don't know what's happening.

"Sorry, I'm lost here."

"Aye. Small minded. Cannae says I'm surprised."

What?

"Sorry?"

"Stop apologizing." The sergeant snaps. "We'll have to work on tha' too."

You're arms crossed, almost like you're guarding yourself. A confused smile breaks through your face, and now you're really unsure of what the fuck is happening.

"Can someone explain to me-"

"Ye need an explanation?" Soap sneers. "Need someone to hold yer fuckin' hand all the time?"

He's walking right next to you, going around you like a shark in the water. "How have ye made it this fuckin' far?" He laughs, and a deep grave tone settles in his voice. "Ye think people owe ye the respect we've earned?"

Ouch. Yeah, that one hurt a bit. You've only been a part of this task force for a fucking year. And you assumed you and Soap formed a small friendly bond.

"How did ye survive selection." he continues. "Honestly. The amount of fuckin' crap ye must've tapped away on should be extraordinary."

"Dude." You scoff. "What the fuck is happening?"

"Again with the fuckin' questions. Ye really think you're gonna get any answers," for once, from this weird interrogation (if that's what you call it), he hesitates. His eyes glance at Ghosts, staring before he nods. You don't even get the chance to say anything or even look behind you before he hits you with it. "A runt like ye doesn't belong here."

The room falls silent. So quiet you could hear a pin drop.

If it wasn't for the way Soap's Adam's apple was bobbing around, you would've taken him very seriously. His eyes refused to leave yours. But you can see the nervousness.

You understood what this was.

Your anger dies down, and you fight any emotion that threatens to come up. It's not easy. You spent years trying to control your emotions. Holding things in, disassociating as a coping mechanism.

This is not the time nor the place to do that, however.

"Nothing to say? Runt?" Soap smirks. It's breaking him.

"Runt's never have a thing to fuckin say. Too busy worrin' bout-"

"Say somethin', (L/n)." Ghost states in the middle of the sergeant's degradation. "Go on then. Give him what he wants."

'Try that again.' the lieutenant's voice goes through your head. 'They know how to hurt you. People you trust can use that against you.'

"Come on then. Say somethin'." Soap hisses right beside your ear. "Aren't ye just dying to run along? Tell me? What'd ye plan on doing, runt?"

You stay rigid as can be. Your eyes never leave a spot you choose to stare at. If you stared at it long enough, you can just mentally check out of this. It'll go by faster.

"Yer just gonna stand there, are ye? Keepin' quiet like a good little solder? Doin as yer told-"

Your eyes snap to his. Emotionless, with a cold smile on your face.

It successfully stops Soap from whatever he was going to say next. The both of you stare at one another for a moment before Soap is the first to break. "Good." He grins. "You finished your last training."

Soap pats you on your shoulder, walking away from you until he's out of the ring.

"What the fuck was that...?" You question. "What You just...hurt my fuckin' feelings and call it training?"

"If we gave you a sticker would you feel better?" Gaz asks, sarcasm dripping though his teeth. "We're teaching you what to do the next time you're in a pinch."

Ghost knocks on the ring floor from his side. "You can't always use your fist, (L/n). But you can always trust that minimal interaction is the best way to get them frustrated."

"And if they decide they need to get physical," Gaz points to Soap, as the other sergeant sits on the bench, finishing his sentence. "Then ye have full authority to let loose!"

"To an extent." Ghost warns.

You blink up at the ceiling, light huffs of laughter breaking from your throat. "You guys are tellin' me," You walk towards the edge, leaning on the ropes. "That this is all because you want me to-"

"earn your respect, (L/n)." The Captain's voice rings out from the entryway. "Show these muppets just why you were handpicked for us."

...

The next team training came a lot sooner than you thought. You've had minimal interaction with the prior group until you were in sparring teams again. What was supposed to be four groups of six, ended up turning into a giant turn-taking fight. People were standing off to the sides, watching the fights go on.

The same asshole from before walks right up to you, standing shoulder to shoulder as you watched the first two soldiers go at it.

It ends with one picking the other up, and dropping him upon his side, a sticking crack sounding from the fall.

A series of 'ooohs' goes around the ring, even the winner kneeling before his partner and helping him out of the ring.

"Take him to medical." The Captain excuses them. He turns to you, motioning to the ring. "You're up (L/n)."

You choose not to make a sound, nor give much of a reaction. Until the asshole's name gets called out to enter with you. His sickening laugh prickles your skin as you make eye contact with all three of the other members across the gym. They each nod at you before you turn around and face your opponent.

"You ready for another beatdown, runt?" He smirks, fists up.

"Keep it focused, Soldiers. if you have time to talk, you have time to waste. And I don't want my fucking time wasted." Price hollers from the side.

Your opponent grins at you, watching your every move. You don't take a stance right away. Your arms appear limp y your sides as you begin to circle each other. You're on high alert, unsure if you would be at this for some time like your training with the lieutenant.

"Come on, runt. You gonna make a move?" He teases. "Come on. Show me that big guy mental the boy showed you this week."

His comment breaks you. A smile cracks through your facade and you can hear Soap speak. "Show time."

Your opponent's patience wears thin, as he rushes and throws a punch right to your left side. Where you had the habit of turning to. But you step to your right, reel back your hand, and land a punch right to his throat.

The soldiers around wince and groan at the sight. But you take no moment to stop before you wrap an arm around his waist and flip him over when the other lifts his legs over your shoulder.

He hits the ground with a loud thud, immediately trying to get back up. His sight must've not been all there, as he stumbles and lands on his knee. "Piece of fucking shit-"

"Oh shut up." You groan out before you swing your leg around, your heel meeting his jaw, and knocking him out.

You sigh, relief flooding your veins as you put an arm up in victory. Turning to the guys with a bright, toothy grin on your face.

"There's that bright smile." Laswell chuckles beside Price. "Hasn't done that in some time."

The captain nods, watching as you make your way straight to his three teammates, each of them patting you with their own words of praise.

"Oh, yes." He sends you his own nod of approval when you turn to look at him with a light that seems to return to your eyes. "Glad it came back."

Thanks for requesting- so sorry it took forever to come out.

Please comment and/or reblog I'd appreciate it! Requests are open!

REAL. I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPEND NEXT..

i am once again sad over the ending of History's Six. can you imagine the terror Joe would feel when he learns what happened to Lena. Right after he said he was ready to start a family, mind you.

He knew the risks of his job. It's not easy being a seal, even harder for the family. With every mission there's the risk of not coming back home, leaving a worried wife behind. But he never considered the other way around did he? The possibility of Lena dying never occurred to him, even after Nasry told them he had men out there. Maybe he should've believed Ricky, maybe he should've called the mission off like he suggested. But he put the mission first, and they lost Nasry, and now it cost him his wife. How sad must it be for a team leader. How will Joe ever cope with that 😭