#kyle: smash or pass

[gretahayes]

connor’s the kid of guy that’s impossible to play smash or pass with because it takes three hours for him to even understand the point of the game and then he can’t pick smash because he doesn’t want to fuck any of these people but also saying pass seems mean because that implies a lack of worth, so he ends up just listing what’s attractive about them in a very neutral voice until you move on to the next person

[seb-the-poet]

My friend, we weren’t even doing smash or pass but he just said smash so I started asking questions XD

[wrestler-smash-or-pass]

Kyle O’Rilley, but specifically Revolution Kyle pleeease

[supervillain-smut]

Smash or pass: Green Lantern

Specifically, and only, Kyle Rayner

I've been doing some digging about him ever since that other anon sent in an ask about him. Dudes a cutie. Stupid pretty. Dorky. I like him. A lot. That being said, Smash! Dudes got some serious creativity with that ring. Can't wait to explore it further 👀.

[marvelsmashorpass]

[shhh-secret-time]

To be honest, stardew valley has me in such a chokehold. It always has, even before the 1.6.

In such a way that my brain wants to smash my hyperfixation into it. So late at night I'll be awake thinking of this stardew/south park mashup.

Call that bad boy Star Park AU.

But no brain! Bad! We already have too much going on! You have a Secret Soulmate AU. Fantasy AU, A Cowboy AU story staring Kenny that's still in the outline phase, and these one shots!

(Look at the tags to watch me descent into madness)

[fe-smashorpass]

[milflewis]

u think I'm a scared? u think I can't handle u saying micks a boring little ken boy with the sweet little personality of a sponge?? BABY THATS WHY I WANNA FUCK HIM! go on then smash or pass mick schumacher.

first. don’t put words into my mouth. i have never said mick is boring or has the personality of a sponge. it’s like you don’t even know me tf. second. i would smash mick so fucking hard are u kidding. the tits and the thighs and the jawline and the eyes! mhmm yes. the man has a praise kink louder than god and this eagerness to be good! to learn! to be included! i’d blow his mind and he’d thank me for it. how is that boring

[smash or pass?]

[smashorpasspolls]

[smashorpassgilf]

Roles under cut

Anime

Accel World - Additional Voices.

Attack on Titan - Mitabi Jarnach.

Baki the Grappler - Hanayama, Vladimir.

Bleach - Sōsuke Aizen, Ganju Shiba, Metastacia.

Blood Lad - Dek.

Blue Dragon - Gilliam, Legolas.

Blue Exorcist - Ryuji "Bon" Suguro.

Blue Gender - Sgt. Robert Bradley, Seno Miyagi.

Buso Renkin - Sekima Hiwatari, Kinjou.

Case Closed - Vodka.

D.Gray-man - Georg.

Darker than Black - Reiji Kikuchi.

Digimon Data Squad - Belphemon.

Digimon Fusion - Dorulumon, Ballistamon, Greymon, Piddomon.

Dragon Ball series - Son Gohan (Adult/Future/Gt. Saiyaman), Pikkon, Narrator, Announcer, Various.

Durarara!! - Horada, Taro Tanaka (screen name of Mikado Ryugamine), Setton (screen name of Celty Sturluson), and Kanra (screen name of Izaya Orihara).

Ergo Proxy - MCQ.

Eureka Seven - Ken-Goh (Ep. 29).

Fate/zero - Berserker.

Freedom Project - Gosche.

Fruits Basket - Makoto Takei.

Fullmetal Alchemist series - Vato Falman.

Ghost Slayers Ayashi- Hozaburo Ogasawara.

Gunslinger Girl - Mario Bossi.

Gurren Langann - Kamina.

Hell Girl - Yoshiyuki Kusuno.

Honey and Clover - Ippei Matsumoto.

Initial D: First Stage - Keiichi Tsuchiya.

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders - Noriaki Kakyoin.

Kenichi: The Mightiest Disciple - Tsukuba.

MAR - Peta.

Marvel Anime: Iron Man - Ho Yinsen.

Mega Man Star Force - Omega-Xis.

Mobile Suit Gundam Unicorn - Yonem Kirks, Watts Stepney.

Monster - Fritz Vardemann.

Moribito: Guardian of the Spirit - Jiguro Musa.

Naruto series - Kiba Inuzuka, Mozuku, Inoichi Yamanaka, Ebizo, Akatsuchi, Okisuke, Kiji (Shippuden Ep. 224), Mozuku (Shippuden Ep. 231).

One Piece - Nefertari Cobra.

Ouran High School Host Club - Kazukiyo Soga.

Persona 4: The Animation - Mitsuo Kubo.

Pokémon Origins - Professor Oak.

Puella Magi Madoka Magica - Tomohisa Kaname.

Rumbling Hearts - Hiro.

Sailor Moon - Priest/Boxy (Ep. 26, Viz Dub)

Samurai 7 - Mosuke.

Shigurui: Death Frenzy - Naotsugu Andou.

Soul Eater - Masamune Nakatsukasa.

Space Dandy - Ferdinand (Ep. 21).

Strain: Strategic Armored Infantry - Mechanic.

Street Fighter IV: The Ties That Bind - Ryu.

Sword Art Online - Kains (Eps. 5-6, 25), Godfrey (Ep. 10), Patrick (Ep. 16).

Tenkai Knights - Beag, Eurus.

Tiger & Bunny - Mr. Legend, Eric Lyle.

Higurashi: When They Cry - Jirō Tomitake.

YuYu Hakusho - Karasu.

Zatch Bell! - John Owen.

Films

Avengers Confidential: Black Widow & Punisher - Cain.

Bleach: Memories of Nobody - Bau.

Blue Exorcist: The Movie - Ryuji "Bon" Suguro.

Dragon Ball Z: Battle of Gods - Gohan, Ox-King, Narrator.

Fairy Tail the Movie: Phoenix Priestess - Cannon.

Lupin III: The Columbus Files - Burton.

Lupin III: Dead or Alive - General Headhunter.

Lupin III: The Pursuit of Harimao's Treasure - Goering.

Lupin III: The Spirit of Twilight Gemini - Butrakari.

(IMDb)Magnum Farce - Blivit, the sniper - Gov. Arnold Schwartzenhertzen-Geldengrubber.

Manborg - #1 Man (voice).

Naruto the Movie: Ninja Clash in the Land of Snow -Mizore Fuyukuma.

Naruto the Movie: Legend of the Stone of Gelel - Kahiko.

Naruto Shippuden 3: Inheritors of the Will of Fire - Kiba Inuzuka.

One Piece the Movie: The Desert Princess and the Pirates' Adventures in Alabasta - Nefertari Cobra.

Puella Magi Madoka Magica: The Movie - Tomohisa Kaname.

Tekken: Blood Vengeance - Kazuya Mishima.

Wreck-It Ralph - Ryu.

Video Games

Street Fighter 4, Marvel Vs Capcom 3, Street Fighter X Tekken - Ryu.

League of Legends - Ezreal, Jarvan, Graves.

Resident Evil 6 - submarine computer, BSAA soldier, BSAA agent, Umbrella Juavo, refugee.

Guild Wars 2 - Hamar, Great Ginz, Ogron.

Xmen Arcade - all male voices for PS3/XBOX/mobile versions.

World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King - Algalon the Observer.

World of Warcraft: Burning Crusade - Blood Elf

Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of a New World - Richter Abend, Dirk the Dwarf.

Sonic: Colors (DS) - Big the Cat

Dynasty Warriors 6, 7, Strike Force, Next - Sima Yi.

Soul Calibur V - Cold Assassin (custom voice).

Devil May Cry 4 - Bael/Dagon.

Persona 4 (PS2) - Mitsuo.

Lollipop Chainsaw - Basketballer, Geek Zombie.

Star Ocean: The Last Hope - Arumat, Crow.

Star Ocean: Second Evolution - Dias Flac, Jophiel.

Fire Emblem Awakening - Frederick, Validar.

Dragonball Z - Narrator, Teen/Adult Gohan, Ox King, Pikkon, General White.

Naruto - Kiba, Inoichi, Akatsuchi, Manda, Ebizo, Shinga.

Bleach - Sosuke Aizen, Ganju Shiba, Kaein Shiba.

Rune Factory: Tides of Destiny - Gerard, Goblin Captain, Belzagor.

Saints Row the Third - Tough Guy White Male, White Bum.

Marvel Pinball “Vengeance and Virtue table - Odin, Juggernaut.

Marvel Pinball “Avengers Chronicles” table - Iron Man, Silver Surfer, Odin.

James Cameron’s Avatar - Rai’Uk.

Hyperdimension Neptunia MK2: Clan of Champions -Narrator, various.

Resident Evil 5 - Majini.

Resident Evil 6 - Submarine computer, BSAA soldier, Umbrella Juavo, Refugee, BSAA agent.

Mugen Souls - Soul.

Ar Tonelico Qoga - Hikari Gojo.

Gods Eater Burst - Lindow.

Desperate Housewives - Carlos Solis.

Atelier Totori: The Adventurer of Arland - Guid.

Devil Survivor: Overclocked - Naoya.

Time Crisis: Razing Storm - O’Neal.

Zettai Hero Project PSP - Pirohiko.

Comic Jumper - Benny, security guards, villagers.

Wolfenstein - Hans Grosse, PA Voice (Xbox/PS3).

Kamen Rider: Dragon Knight - Xaviax.

Mad World - Big Bull Crocker, Scissors Man, Ninja.

Wild Arms 5 - Volsung.

Baroque - Archangel.

Castlevania: Dracula X Chronicles - Narrator, Nose Demon.

Riviera: The Promised Land - Ledah.

Armored Core: The Answer: Otsdara/Thermidor

Tenchu - Kurogawa, Ninja.

Final Fantasy XIII, XIII-2 - Cocoon inhabitants, various.

Steel Batallion: Heavy Armor - various.

Skylanders: Giants - various stadium attendees.

Soldier of Fortune: Payback - Thomas Mason.

Red Alert 3 - Imperial Nanocore, Allied Mobile Construction, Allief IFV.

Chocobo’s Dungeon - Marris the Fishmonger.

Guilty Gear 2 - Blade, Roller.

The Last Remnant - Zuido.

Yu Yu Hakusho: Dark Tournament - Karasu, M2.

Everquest II - Voidman, Stone Golem, Skeleton, Ogre, Werewolf.

Growlanser: Heritage of War - Zeikwalt.

Dawn of Mana - Masked Guru.

Infinite Undiscovery - Sigmond, Held.

Watchmen: The End is Nigh - thugs.

Golden Axe: Beastrider - beasts.

Bloodrayne 2 - demons.

Enchanted Arms - various.

Baten Kaitos: Origins - Juwar.

Summon Night: Twin Age - various.

Rondo of Swords - various.

.hack GU Part 2-3 - Krewhaha, Skumumu.

Magna Carta 2 - various.

Wordchums - zombie, cat, pig, alien.

Battle High 2 - Jiro.

[mikuluvu]

Not saying 'I love you' Back

Tf141 x fem!reader

Phillip Graves x reader

A/n: 6/10 cod fics. It's been like 2 weeks since i posted- hehe sorry about that. i was sick :(

Oh Captain, My Captain (Cap'n john Price)

Are you mad? Because if you are, he WILL fix it.

You were both about to sleep, his arms wrapped around you from behind, his beard tickling the back of your neck. He let out a slow exhale, eyes closing as he murmured, “I love you.” His voice was deep and gruff.

…Huh. Weird.

Any minute now…

Okay, what the fuck.

His eyes cracked open, and he lifted his head slightly to glance at you. He couldn’t quite see your face, but he was sure you were still awake.

“Love…?” he whispered.

His fingers gently rubbed circles against your hip. "What's this about?"

You couldn’t hold back a giggle, your body shaking slightly against him. That only made him more confused.

Turning around to face him, your nose mere inches from his, you smirked. “I was just messing with you, silly. Wanted to see how you’d react.” you admitted,

Price huffed a small chuckle, shaking his head. “You little menace.” He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s the last time you’re getting a love confession out of me.”

You knew that was a lie.

“Mm, we’ll see,” you mumbled sleepily against his chest.

He sighed, amused. “Bloody troublemaker.”

But his arms tightened around you anyway.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You were both cuddling in bed, him as the big spoon while you were the little spoon. His veiny, strong arms were wrapped securely around your waist, his face nuzzled against the back of your head. Yes, he still had his mask on. But you weren’t complaining… who would even complain?

"I love you,” he murmured—calm, low, steady.

The only reply he got was the sound of rain pattering against the window.

He didn’t react immediately. He just… stared at the back of your head. Processing.

A minute passed.

“…Right.” His voice was unreadable.

It made you wonder if he even cared. But in reality, he did—he just wouldn’t show it easily.

His grip subtly tightened, like he was bracing himself. He wouldn’t ask if you were mad—if something was wrong, he figured you’d say it.

Then, he felt you shift. Turning around to face him, a grin on your lips as you giggled at his expression.

“I love you too… sorry to keep you waiting.”

He exhaled through his nose. A slow, deep breath.

“Not funny.”

But his arms stayed wrapped around you. A little tighter this time.

Later, he would get you back. Probably by making your legs wobbly when you least expected it.

Better than your regular soap (Johnny McTavish)

“Mhm… I love ye’.”

...

He paused, waiting for your sweet voice to say it back, thinking maybe you just didn’t hear him. But when a minute passed, he gasped.

“Oi, did ye just ignore me?” he asked.

Still, you didn’t respond—you were too focused on the movie.

Then you felt it. A poke to your cheek. Then a nudge. And then, he started gently shaking you.

“Helloooooo? Y’feelin’ alright, bonnie?”

Silence.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him. He let out a dramatic sigh and threw an arm over his forehead like a theatrical little shit.

“Ach, I knew it! You never loved me!”

That made you break.

“So dramatic… I was just messing with you,” you laughed.

He stared at you for a moment before groaning. “Hehe—ACK!”

Before you could react, he tackled you into the couch, fingers mercilessly digging into your sides.

“Ye’re gonna pay for that, lass.”

“HAAH—W-wait! Noooo! Pfft—HAHA—”

After a few seconds of your struggling, he finally stopped, only to smash his face against your chest, wrapping his arms around you so tight you couldn’t escape.

“Yer lucky I love ye, menace.”

Pretty man (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick)

When you didn’t say it back, he let out a playful scoff, thinking you were just teasing him. “Oh, so that’s how we’re playin’ it, yeah?” he said, but you still didn’t respond.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning in a bit. “Wait… you’re not actually mad, are you?”

God, you felt bad. He looked like a puppy that thought it did something wrong, giving you those sad, pleading eyes.

“Don’t leave me hangin’ like that, love.”

He took your hand, slowly caressing it before moving to tickle your sides. The moment his fingers made contact, you burst into laughter.

“Wait—no! Not there!” you squealed.

He blinked at you a few times before groaning. “You are the worst. I almost started drafting my apology speech.

”You smirked at him, and in response, he flicked your forehead.

“Hey—!”

Phillip Graves

The briefin ended, and the room gradually emptied as the Shadows left one by one. Boots echoed against the floor. You stayed, standing near the table, eyes staring at the map spread across it. Your mind was elsewhere, on the mission, on the risks,... on him.

Phillip was across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting.

When the las soldier was finally out the door, he pushed off the wall, closed and locked the door, and then approached you.

"Y'good sweetheart?" he asked,

You nodded automatically, but the worry weighted in your chest stayed. The mission details kept messing with your head, the potential dangers and the things that will be unexpected. You'd been through plenty together, too many, really, but something about this one made your gut twist.

You felt his hand on your waist, fingers curling around the fabric of your uniform as he pulled your closer. "C'mon now," he murmured, tilting his head to meet your eyes. "Ain't got much time,"

This was routine. After every briefing, before going to meet with the shadows, you both stole a moment like this. A secret between husband and wife, hidden in plain sight.

His hand brushed over your cheek, it was warm. “Be safe out there,” he said softly, eyes searching yours.

“You too,” you whispered.

His thumb grazed your jaw before he leaned in just slightly. “I love you.”

You opened your mouth—then hesitated.

You wanted to say it back. You always did. But this time, the words caught in your throat, tangled up with the worry clawing at your ribs. What if this was the mission that went wrong? What if this was the last time?

Graves pulled back just enough to look at your face. He waited. And when you still didn’t say it, his grip on you tightened ever so slightly.

“Darlin’,” he said, a bit more serious now. “Say it back.”

You swallowed hard, eyes darting away. “I just…” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I’m worried, Phil.”

He knew. He always knew.

“I know, baby,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “But I need to hear it. Just once.”

You let out a shaky breath, forcing yourself. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto him like he might slip away if you let go.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He huffed out a quiet chuckle, though there was relief in his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

REBLOG W COMMENTS IS APPRECIATED! SUPPORT ME BY BUYING ME A COFFEE

[wrestler-smash-or-pass]

kyle fletcher? very cocky while vaguely being a heel and screams through his entire matches

[reveluving]

The relieved sigh I let out when they passed Laswell 😭😭

But Gaz is so right about the Lana-coded + old man fucker. Like yeah, I may be mad when you say it but I won't deny it either ✌🏼😔

part 4: smash or pass

a/n: I had this already made and ready to go. I just forgot to post it.

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @silviafantin15 @reveluving @bobastayhigh @originalsimp @h-leigh @gxldyjess @msdrpreist @chaoticevilbakugo @lacunaanonymoused @whore4dilfs @canadianmilkbag @ahoeformando @ray-rook @wardencommanderoakenshield @darlinglittledevil @jinxxangel13 @sae1kie

[galaxymacbeth]

The Gods

all gods have legends, don't they? stories of how they came to be.

cw: violence, past abuse, kyle is still unhinged but so are the rest of them so

Before they were gods, they were men. Unfortunate victims of battles, wars, and personal demons. Unwilling but masters of their craft. None of them had sought it out—no—war found them.

In the swing of a father’s fist, the starched parchment congratulating him on his conscription, the sunken eyes of a starved child, the flash of a foreign empire’s banner.

They were not born into war but they would master it, so help them Gods.

Each was a weapon alone, their steel only making them deadlier. Captain John Price was a competent tactician. His knights trusted him and each seemed to love him more than the Lord they were beholdened to. It was a well known secret that he’d wanted nothing to do with war. Conscripted into the King’s Army at a young age, he proved himself handy with any weapon put in his hand. It wasn’t until he was made commander of a small militia that his skill truly shined. Commander Price made war look easy. Men begged to be put under his command. Battles were quickly won.

And they were fair. Price despised war, but he despised dirty war most. Any knight found breaking rules of engagement were swiftly put to death — by Price’s hand. Some claim Captain Price killed more of his own men than enemy combatants. He never refuted the rumours.

So it was no surprise when a plan to end his reign crossed his desk. The knight at the helm was a young commander who was loyal to coin above all. Graves wanted Price’s title—the recognition and power. The gold. He was approached by a Lord that had little use for Price’s brand of honour. Lord Shepherd paid handsomely for Graves’ abilities. But no one had the skill of Captain John Price. When Graves slipped into the captain’s tent one night, he found it empty. All that remained of a careful exit was a single piece of parchment.

Try again.

Lord Shepherd’s body was delivered to the King’s throne room two days later. Two of Captain Price’s most loyal soldiers dumped the body onto the dais and stood stock-still as King’s Guard arrested them. The single dagger protruding from Lord Shepherd’s neck was starmetal, a delicate rose pattern carved into the blade. An amber gem in the hilt. Captain John Price’s resignation.

Price had found the letters from the King, sorely authorizing the captain’s assassination.

No one ever saw the silver and gold knight again. And the King never slept soundly again.

Kyle was nothing like Captain Price. John Price grew up in the capital city of his kingdom. Kyle Garrick wasn’t sure that he’d ever seen a knight up close before. His village was barely so, the four hovels that remained could hardly be called homes. When his father disappeared in search of food and work, it was Kyle who became the man of the house. His sisters huddled together in the cold.

Kyle took up the last thing his father had ever given him. A twin pair of hammers, said to be his father’s father’s. With not a look towards his sisters, a young man stepped from his hovel and onto the road.

You see, the road to the capital waltzed right through his village yet no one ever stopped. Wagons and coaches rattled past empty homes and Kyle’s sisters watched with rapt eyes. Gold glittered in the sun and steel glinted in the moon. The wealthy did not stop or notice them. Did not notice Kyle and his hammers.

Kyle’s rage never did touch the unworthy but once.

The first caravan he’d ever accosted was a merchant, a man who’d passed through with little goods left from a fruitful venture in the capital. A hammer smashed down onto the wheel of his cart, vegetables and fruits flying from their crates. The merchant stood stunned, staring at the boy who held a second hammer.

“Please.”

The merchant had little else to say. His wife had warned him of bandits that might pillage and steal. Never once had he considered it to be a boy.

“Gimme your food.”

Kyle raised his hammer overhead, poised to strike should the merchant not heed him.

“F-food?” Kyle nodded. “Take what you must.”

The Garrick sisters ate like kings that night.

Kyle Garrick continued his attacks. The small village Kyle called home soon came to be a warning to those who would pass through it. A real life Robin Hood lived in the woods by the road and only the peasants were spared.

Kyle would learn, though, that his vigilantism would not be ignored by the Crown. The King had long since forgotten about the village’s existence; they had never had a Lord to look out for them and it wasn’t a farming or merchant town. But when four of the King’s caravan’s were attacked within two months, he could not ignore it anymore.

Reports were baffling. Knights were ambushed as they crested the trees, blows coming in such quick succession that they didn’t know where they were coming from. Few ever survived the attacks. Their bodies were found littering the area around the wagons, disfigured beyond recognition. The gold and jewels were found sold in towns that were days’ worth of travel away. Food was distributed to the village nearby.

The King ordered an ambush of their perpetrator. He would have the head of this, so called, Robin Hood.

A month later, another royal caravan rattled down the road. Four guards walked along it. One sat beside the driver who couldn’t contain his shaking. He’d heard just about enough of the gang of bandits that awaited royal wagons.

As the horses cleared the forest, the first blow came. A guard trailing behind the wagon gave a short scream as a hammer slammed into his helm. He crumpled to the ground and another hammer smashed in the helm of the second back guard. In the front, the driver raised his reins but the knight beside him snatched them. He pleaded as the knight pulled the horses to a stop.

To their left, a hammer flew at the knight beside them and he, too, dropped. The hammer hit the ground with a thud. Standing, the knight threw the reins at the driver with a demand to stay put. But the second his feet hit the ground, a sick grin met him and his helm crushed into his brain. The armour of the final guard clinked together as he rushed around the back of the wagon, gasping at the sight of his fellow knights’ bloodied bodies.

When he rounded the wagon, his body froze. The driver slumped in the footwell of the wagon. A single man stood beside the horses. The knight couldn’t get a word out of his throat before the man surged towards him and ended his life with a single swing.

Kyle chuckled to himself as the driver groaned. He’d barely tapped the back of the man’s head. Hammers slotted at his sides, Kyle stepped over the two bodies in front of him and yanked open the door to the wagon.

He had only a second to blink before he was pulled into the wagon and surrounded by six King’s Guard.

Kyle Garrick spent two weeks in the dungeons under the King’s castle. His limbs were yanked clean out of their sockets, then pushed back into place. Skin marred with the faintest, shallowest slashes for each knight he killed. Nothing made him flinch back from them.

He was asleep, slumped against the brick of his cell, when the door crashed open and two knights entered laughing. They all dressed down when they tortured him but this time they had weapons. Kyle’s eyes blurred before he fully sat up. The knights had surely made some comment he wasn’t awake enough to hear, but once his eyes focused, they hardened.

“Don’t fucking touch those.” Kyle lurched forward, the chains around his wrists cinching tight with the movement.

They laughed, stepping just a hair out of his reach. One reached down and lifted the hammer from the frog at his hip.

“This? You think you’re in a position to order me around, thief?” The knight scoffed at him and tested the swing of the hammer. It teetered in his hold and slipped from his hand. The hammer slammed to the ground and the other knight jabbed at him for not being able to handle it.

He picked it up and swore at his companion, challenging him to try it himself. The other knight was less successful than the first, throwing the hammer at the bench that was just out of Kyle’s reach. The bench shattered and both knights fell into laughter again.

“These are the worst hammers I’ve ever held. Shit quality,” the first sneered in Kyle’s face.

Kyle snarled and pulled at the chains again, but they wouldn’t give.

“You’re powerless here, Garrick. Wanna know what getting hit with one of these feels like?”

The knights, for all their talent and training, were stupid. The King did not have high standards for his knights, lest Kyle would never have been able to kill as many of them by himself as he did. It was a simple fact that Kyle Garrick was happy to know.

The knight lifted the hammer over his head, aimed towards Kyle’s face, and swung. It caught air as Kyle ducked, shucking the chains from his wrists and charging at the unprepared knight by the door. He’d screamed, but Kyle smashed a hand over his mouth while his other snatched the hammer from his hip. A gasp was the last sound he made.

When he’d been given them, Kyle’s father made him practice for hours. The hammers were, in truth, unbalanced to allow for more force behind their hits. It had taken his grandfather years to master them; Kyle’s father just as long. Somehow, they seemed made for Kyle. It’d only taken him a few months to be able to wield them. The savagery he was able to commit with them was unfathomable.

Kyle turned to the remaining knight, wiping at the blood on his face. The knight’s eyes widened and he took the hammer in both his hands.

“You see,” Kyle stalked forward, leisurely and collected, “they’re made to kill.” Without strain, he swung the hammer in front of him, the weapon gliding through the air like a feather. “You don’t know how to handle quality weapons. You aren’t a quality knight.”

With that, Kyle struck, shoving off his back foot and slamming the hammer into the knight’s side. He stumbled, choking on the breath evacuated from his lungs, but kept his grip on the hammer. Kyle paid his other hammer no mind as he let loose a fury of hits on the knight.

There was no chance for the knight to swing back. Each blow Kyle landed was designed to stagger him, leave him vulnerable to the next attack. Blood sprayed from his nose and mouth, coating Kyle’s skin in maroon. It was only the final blow—a precise hit to the temple—that had the hammer slipping from the knight’s hands. Both weapons clattered to the ground. His breath came in short, laboured pants.

Then Kyle disrobed the knights. Piecing together his own disguise. Hammers at his side, he stepped out of the cell and shielded his eyes at the sun beaming through the windows in the halls. Kyle didn’t know much about the castle, besides when knights were supposed to come to bring him molded bread and cheese but no one seemed to question the man wandering through the castle, half covered in blood.

He snatched the arm of a passing maid. She tried to scream, but he grabbed her head. One hand pressed to her mouth, the other cradling her hair.

“The King’s room,” he demanded.

Her eyes widened and body shook. Then she garbled something into his hand. Kyle lifted it ever so slightly away from her mouth. And she gave him exact directions to it. He nodded at her, releasing his hold, and turned.

“You’re him, aren’t you?”

“Just a knight.”

News came the next morning of the King’s assassination. A knife buried in his throat. The Queen was spared, though she claims to have never seen the assassin.

His home was dark. Candles were rarely lit and only burned for a few minutes before dousing the one room cabin in darkness. And maybe the darkness was what Simon needed. Tommy shivered beside him — wrapped in the only blanket in the house. Tommy was scared of the dark; of what could come out of it, who could come out of it.

Their father had long since left to the tavern, their mother in short tow behind him. The gold she’d earned mending women’s clothes was held tight in his fist, ready to show off as he ordered more rounds than coin. A heavy handed slap came when she could not produce more money. Then the threat of offering her for the tab. No one ever took Mr. Riley seriously. Simon wished for years that they would.

And when Mr. and Mrs. Riley came home, Tommy burrowed deep under the blanket and Simon took up the fight. In the dark, no one could see if Simon landed most of the hits or if Mr. Riley tried to snap Tommy’s wrist. No one could see Mrs. Riley dab Simon’s bloody cheek with a spit wet piece of her skirt. And in the dark, Simon Riley felt right at home.

No one in the town paid the Riley family any mind. It was large enough that there could be any number of reasons Simon and Tommy wore bruises on their sickly frames. It could be because Simon always picks fights with the older boys—while Tommy slips his tiny hand into the unconscious boys’ pockets. Maybe they were caught stealing candle wax off the altars of the gods again. The priests and sages could swear it was why said gods showed them no mercy. Simon once swore to a priest of Farah that no god could hurt him like his father did.

Simon sometimes wondered if that was his downfall.

The older the brothers grew, the worse the abuse became. Mr. Riley almost seemed to enjoy the fight. Dark nights spent trying to placate him slowly turned into dark nights of dodging punches and kicks. Simon excelled. As if he could see in the dark. He soon was too much for Mr. Riley to fend off alone—though he had little qualm about enlisting so-called friends to join in beating his eldest son. Simon spent much of his beatings reminding himself that his pain was less for his mother and Tommy.

There was, however, a single downside to Simon’s chivalry. Tommy admired his brother. Idolized him. Wanted to be like him. And while Simon had his bravery, Tommy had his pride. Simon would wonder, one day, if humility was the thing that would have saved his life.

Mr. Riley had long since stopped being a functioning member of society. Four times in the last week, he’d been dragged from the taverns and thrown into jail. And each night he came home, he let his rage be known to his sons. Simon had, fortunately unfortunately found a job to try to get his mother out of their run down home. He was gone the night Tommy decided he would be just like his big brother.

Neither Tommy nor Mr. Riley would have been able to tell you exactly what happened. The home was dark and the moon hid itself behind the clouds as if it knew what was to come. When Tommy took the first swing at his father, Mr. Riley screamed at his impertinence. Mrs. Riley could not bear to listen to the sounds of her husband and son fighting. She stepped from the home, a single beam of light slipping into the home from the lanterns outside. Mr. Riley’s hand slammed onto the table. Tommy took another step, another swing at his father.

And the dull kitchen knife slipped so artfully between Tommy’s ribs. He choked out a gasp, body slumping against his father and sending them both to the floor. Mr. Riley let out a cry, the blade wedging deeper into Tommy’s stomach. The door flung open and the lantern light shined in. Mrs. Riley’s voice left her, hands flying to her mouth in horror as her husband shoved his son’s body off his. Tommy let out a single, weak cry as his face slammed into the rotten floorboards.

“Filthy brat.” Mr. Riley spat on his son’s hair and shoved himself to his feet with the table. Tears streamed down Mrs. Riley’s face as she back away from the door, letting it slam shut.

Simon had only just finished locking the front door of the butcher’s shop when a child skipped up to him. He stared, but the child merely told him to go home. His mother needed him. Simon raced home, but stopped just short of his mother crying into a neighbor woman’s arms. Simon’s eyes flicked to the dark house. Inside, he glowered at his brother’s body. Mr. Riley nowhere to be found.

Simon lit the only candle in the house, sitting beside the bed that he and his brother once slept in. The light was dim, hardly enough to see where his hands were. But Simon Riley could see in the dark. Gold coins glinted in the fading light as he bundled all of them, hidden in a hollow bedpost, into a coin purse. Simon knew how many coins were in it, he’d spent days counting them. The purse was shoved into his mother’s shaking arms.

“Bury Tommy, move from here,” Simon demanded, pressing a light kiss to her head. The knife he’d carefully pulled from his brother’s stomach clutched in his right hand. If Mr. Riley thought his problems could be solved with a simple kitchen knife, Simon would show him how wrong he was.

To no one’s surprise, Mr. Riley hadn’t made it far from his home. With no gold or wife to provide it, he resorted to robbing. Haunting the town where he’d killed his family. Mr. Riley would never notice that sometimes, the shadows shifted around him. That there was always a phantom watching him. Waiting.

Simon didn’t have to wait very long. After buying a pitiful round with pilfered money, Mr. Riley stumbled out of the tavern and into a dark alley. He slumped against the wall, his back meeting a soft bed of hay. Had the man had an ounce of his wits about him, he might have thought it too convenient. He, however, did not. Mr. Riley grinned, laughing drunk to himself.

The first swing came from the dark. Mr. Riley sputtered out a curse and fumbled to get to his knees just in time for the second punch. It knocked his head into the stone and he gasped as the pain radiated through his body. He swung haphazardly towards the phantom, but never could catch flesh. The phantom, on the other hand, never missed a hit. Mr. Riley couldn’t feel his face, limbs, any part of him. And just as the final punch knocked him into the light of the street lanterns, Simon leaned over his father.

“Filthy brat!” Mr. Riley surged forward only to suck in his final breath.

Simon slipped the rusty old kitchen knife between his ribs with a smile. His father coughed, blood immediately filling his lungs. With little pomp, Simon lifted his father over the fence beside them. The pigs had been sleeping, but jostled awake at the choking sounds.

And Simon Riley stood, watching as they feasted. The butcher would be pleased to find his prized pigs fatted without a coin spent. Simon Riley picked the clean skull from the sty, one pig almost fighting him for it.

Then slipped back into the shadows. A ghost that would not die. Nor let the dead rest.

The MacTavish Clan was large. Their keep the biggest in the North. John was the eldest son of Chief MacTavish. It was, above all else, his job to show the rest of the clan that the MacTavish family was strong and worthy of leading. The keep was nestled against the fjords of the North Sea and John swore once that he saw barbarian ships being helmed by a skeleton. No one was inclined to believe the MacTavish boy, however. For while he often proved his family name proud in skirmishes and Northern Games, John was also known for causing mayhem.

Not one or twice, John MacTavish set off blasts within the keep. (No one could keep count of how many of his alchemic concoctions exploded outside the keep walls.)

He’d begrudged the nickname Soap; earned after using far too much of it to prepare himself for a neighbouring clan’s princess—who turned out to be six years old. It stuck, however, when he was made to clean the entire keep after each and every explosion.

Even despite his disdain for the nickname, he lathered himself with all the soap he could find when his father told him a king would be visiting their keep. The Kings of the South often left the Northmen alone. Northmen were prideful and hard to meet in battle. Few Southern Kings ever won against the North, fewer yet survived to tell the tales of defeat. Apparently, this King desired a peace brokered between himself and the MacTavish Clan.

Soap was late, racing through the keep as screams rang out against the stone. His heart pounded in his chest as he tripped over people he’d known from birth, laying bloodless on the ground. John’s boots slipped against the blood soaked furs just in time to see the blade plunged into his father’s heart. The knife into his mother’s neck soon followed.

The Southern King turned at his hollow scream. The King smiled, gentle and welcoming, as he directed a knight to John’s shaking form. Another arm pulled at John, though, and he looked to a clan warrior. The warrior’s face was painted with blood and pleaded for John to take his father’s place. With a nod, John pulled himself to his feet and charged away from the once Great Hall. The knights followed, though most of the clan’s fighting force had arrived to the blood bath by then. John wasn’t sure if it was really him barking out orders to the warriors—but it was his voice.

Two men followed him to the alchemy lab long abandoned in the keep’s dungeon. His mother had demanded he move his lab far from the town but no on had bothered to repurpose the room. Lucky him.

John shouted out orders to collect as many agents as the two men could carry. They dared not ask what he was planning, only where they should take the agents. He gave no answer, but swept past them with an old journal and a lit torch. He led them to the old cells in the dungeon, flicking through the book at lightning speed. Above and around, they could hear a battle the Southerns did not want.

“Leave.”

John didn’t look up from his old writings. The two warriors gawped at him.

“Leave! MacTavish willnae fall t’day. I’ve a feckin’ head tae deliver. Take the rest of ‘em wit’ ye!”

John spilled agents carefully across the ground as the two ran off, collecting as many warriors as they could along the way. John twisted vines together, shoving spares into his sporran, and set them at the entrance of one of the cells. His mother would have to forgive him in their next lives for this.

The torch barely singed the vines before the line of agents caught fire. John sprinted to the stairs, letting the heat of the flames lick at his back. And as he kicked away a flailing, dying knight, the castle imploded.

Warriors stood outside the crumbling keep, eyes alight with fire and screams from knights still trapped inside. John MacTavish could not find it in him to care. In his journal, he circled agents while others received a strikethrough.

“Get these made,” he handed the journal to a warrior beside him. A boy who was barely a man but well versed in alchemy. “We’ve a kingdom to visit.”

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masterlist

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[mactavishenjoyer]

Unlike Ghost Soap's family wasn't murdered. Just a series of advents. Suicide is what took his father. Alcoholism is what took his mother. She ended up passing after two years of dialysis. That's what soap remembers the most about her. That she didn't listen to anyone that tried to help her. That she was mean in those last two years. That he had felt guilty when he was just tired of taking care of her. Him and his brother ended up in foster care. Getting split up but finding each other surprisingly quickly when his brother hit 18. His brother died in a car crash a year later. 19 was too young to go but death didn't care. His brother was the only person Soap buried. He deserved to rest somewhere nice. Instead of sitting in a box shoved into some closet like their parents. Soap must have been around 27 when he had actually spread his parents ashes. It only took 15 years to do so but he did it. Something he'd never admit out loud was that he didn't care. It felt wrong but it just wasn't a big deal. The only time he remembered crying over his family was burying his brothers smashed and unrecognizable body. Soap doesn't talk about it. Not because he wants to keep it hidden but because he is tired of the train of "I'm sorry" that comes with telling people. It annoyed him. He would also never say that out loud. He'd never tell someone that it was a waisted sorry. That he truly didn't care that his parents were gone. Paired with his career people would think he was crazy. They'd think that he lacked emotions when that was far from the case. He knew his emotions well. He knew the feeling of dread that washed over him when Simon didn't finish a solo mission in the estimated time. He knew the fear that ran through him that he'll pick up a call just to hear that Kyle didn't make it. He knew the terror that coursed through his body when Price would go dark. He knew the panic that would set in when Gary would get split up from another member. He knew he loved his team. He knew this was his family. He knew that he'd be lost without them.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

I've just re-read my previous requested fic for tf 141 x reader with high pain tolerance, and I think we could extend this prompt (and as always you can take it or leave it, no pressure a yea 👍🏻)

What if TF 141 almost lost F!Reader again, this time she got caught by enemies and got tortured for crucial/classified information. While being tortured, you can't help but feel a little grateful that you have such an extreme pain tolerance. You finally managed to get out that place by your own (and of course after unaliving your enemies) and got back to your team. Men are worried as hell cause 1) you look like shit, like someone has just crawled out of hell (which in your part it isn't wrong), 2) the fact that you have extreme pain tolerance just make it worse

And when you finally got evaluated by medics, including clothes off, that's when they knew you'd have it worse than what they've imagined. Black-ish bruises almost every where, broken bones, dislocated joints, dried blood etc. It's heartbreaking seeing you like this. Probably some will have self blaming, guilty, rage, and other mixed emotions. Hmm imagine the heavy angst but also the massive comfort after that.

Thankskie 🦈

Summary: high pain tolerance F!Reader get tortured, after you getting rescued, enjoy the FLUFF between you and TF141

cw: very slight gore (interrogation), canon swearing, canon violence

blahaj, FLUFF, TF141*F!Reader

last req about high pain tolerance F!Reader

Oh, This isn’t great. You probably going to die this time.

You licked your chapped lips, the bitterness of iron is obnoxious, making you regret the motion and go back to try to piece together your memories again.

You counted the time when you first got caught, but after endless rounds of interrogations, your mind is too hazy to keep up the measurement.

With your hands bounding tightly on your back, chains and steel bars preventing your legs from moving, all you can do is just prey for your teammates to come.

At least you aren’t afraid, no fear of death, nor fear of pain. It’s always these moments that you feel grateful for having almost no feelings of pain, it makes you keep composed and adamant.

Well, starving kind of sucks though, you guess you’ll even devour those vegetables you hated and shoved into Kyle’s plate if it’s presented to you.

Your mind wanders, from your pudding hiding in the deepest part of the fridge in case someone (Soap) eats it, to how Price will scold your ears off for being too reckless when you’re back, until the footsteps outside the door remind you to concentrate.

Damn, you need to get out alive if you want to listen to your dear Captain recite the rules.

The door creaks open with the broad man stepping in and his dogs tailing after with weapons.

The cool water gets splashed on your face when the man stands still in front of you.

“New toy, yeah?” you spot the machete in the man’s grip

“Glad to see you awake, sergeant?” The man laughs “Seems like the mouth still works pretty well, I hope your mind is clear too so we can cooperate perfectly today.”

“Sober enough to tell you ‘no’, I guess”

Red pours from your shoulder the second after your taunt, and you frown slightly at the little sting.

“Fucking bitch still has a sharp tongue after these wounds...” He eyes down at you with a bit of disbelief.

Even though you can’t see yourself, you know you look like shit either. Burnings from the lighters, slash wounds from various tactical knives, dark bruises forming on your thigh and other parts after countless punches and kicks.

All you need to do is buy time, but even if you barely feel pain, you still will die from blood loss if this keeps going.

The rest of the interrogation is just adding more injuries to your broken body, and your consciousness starts fading.

You really want to take a nap... but will you wake up again? you’re not sure especially when another smash lands on the back of your head.

Just about minutes before you sure will pass out again, you hear the noise. Gunfire, yelling, screaming of a massacre.

They arrived...

“Go check what’s wrong.” The broad man gestures, and one of his subordinates walks out to

“Guess your saviors have come... now” You look straight into the man ’s eyes when he puts the muzzle between your eyes. “No time for playing, one last time, tell me the people gave you the intel.”

The chaos outside is getting louder and closer. Buy time, you tell yourself again, so you whisper

“Okay... Okay... I will tell you, please don’t kill me, please...” You sniff, and start sobbing while your head stays lowered.

“Finally giving up, huh? Tell me, I need their name, who do they belong.” The smirk on the man’s face gets wider, god, you really want to punch his face.

“It’s...” You murmur, and the man leans closer to hear clearly.

“It’s go fuck yourself, you bloody bastard.” You spit the blood on his face and grin like a maniac.

and the door swings open, the gunshot splatters the man’s blood on your face, but you don’t care.

You win.

“Hey, guys, long time no see.” You smile at your teammates after the man collapses beside you.

“You’re fine now, don’t worry, we got you.” Soap rushes to your side “Price is calling the exfil, Ghost and Gaz are outside making sure everything’s clear.”

“Thanks...” You melt into Soap’s arm when he unties the rope and carries you.

“I tell the bastard to go fuck himself, hehe.”

“Stop talking, bonnie, ye need to rest.”

“Did I do great?”

“Yes.” The gravel voice of Soap’s becomes softer as he answers.

“May I rest now?” you blink slowly.

“Of course, lassie.”

Getting the confirmation, The warmth radiating from Soap is too soothing, you want to tell him how much you miss them, but those words are unable to come out as you get dragged into a coma instantly.

“damn...”

Your eyelids flutter open, the familiar white ceiling is the first thing you see.

“Morning, bonnie, how do ye feel?”

“dizzy as fuck.”

“pain?”

“Nah.”

“Sometimes I think you’re not human...” Soap laughs, but he’s worried, or worried can’t describe his mood when he saw your wounds as you were sent into the infirmary.

That day when they back to base, all of them followed you, and didn’t pay any mind about getting their gears off first.

You looked like someone who just found her way out of hell, beautiful face swollen, large bruises spread across your skin like some nasty paintings, and the situation was worse than they expected after the medics cut your clothes off and started their evaluation.

Soap couldn’t forget the rage swallowing him like flames when he saw what you went through in those days, the more wounds they spotted, the more tension in the air became more insufferable.

Gaz and he cursed when they saw the huge burn on your back, skin obviously inflamed, and when the deep cuts that exposed the bones revealed from the cover, he noticed Ghost clenching his fist to suppress anger.

Price stormed out of the infirmary and called Laswell between the medics surmising how many of your bones were broken.

“Wait...” your voice pulls Soap back to reality “blahaj! 4 blahaj! Where do they come from?”

“Price gave them to you, as rewards for your hard work. He said you keep rambling about wanting to have one.”

“awwww” Soap grins as he watches you struggle to hug all of them at one time.

“There ya go.” He helps adjust the plushies so you can get them all in your arms.

“Oh yeah, where’s others?”

“Price’s on op, will be back in a week. Ghost and Gaz will visit you soon.”

“Hmmmm.”

You caress one of the blahaj’s head and turn your face

“Thank you.” you grin “For coming to save me.”

“What are you talking about?” Covering his hand on yours, he looks into your eyes, without those playful glints in his azure ones.

“We’re a team, or more than a team. Ye think we will throw ye there and do nothing?”

The seriousness on his face infatuates you, you meet his gaze without darting, and finally, break into tender giggles.

“yeah, sorry, you’re right.” You chuckle “You know what? In that basement, All I wanted was to get out of there and come back to eat my pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“Yeah, I have one in the fridge.” nodding in excitement, you continue “I should ask the doctor if I can eat it.”

“Wait that’s yours?!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ehhh...” Soap’s smile freezes on his face under panic “I ate it.”

“...”

Soap MacTavish gets kicked out of the room with a new mission: buy 10 puddings.

When Gaz knocks on the door and steps into your ward, you are staring out the window, but turn to him immediately when you hear his arrival.

“Hey, Kyle.” You wave with your better hand.

“Feel better?” The sugar-coated smile he has always provides you with energy, your mood lights up as he takes the seat beside your bed.

“mmhmm, not that dizzy anymore.”

“loves those sharks very much?” He points at the blahajs you squeeze close to you.

“Damn, they’re my new babies now.” You show Gaz each of them.

“This is Pricey, this is Ghostie, this is Gazzy, and this is Soapy.” Proudly introducing them to Gaz, you give the sharkies a few pats.

“Such Innovative names, hm?”

“I don’t think Gaz is some special name too, Kyle.”

You both giggle at the stupid names you granted to the sharks, while Gaz lands his eyes on your arm hanging mid-air, his laughter gradually comes to a halt.

“Hey.” He watches you raise an eyebrow when he calls you “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Just...” His eyes stay on your bruises, traveling along them, and he hates that they lead his gaze to roam your whole figure. “We should be there faster.”

His brown eyes are full of distress when they meet yours again.

“Garrick, come closer.” You beckons, and he follows suit.

“Don’t apologize. When I saw all of you on that goddamn chair, I knew I was safe now.” You cradle his cheek in your palm “You guys are my shelter, my home, and I never thought the chance that my team wouldn’t save me, Soap said it yesterday, and I’m sure you’re the same, yes?”

“Of course.” His eyes soften, and you return him a reassuring smile when

“Time for you to go train the rookies, right?” Shooting a glimpse at the clock, you ask.

“yeah, time to deal with those troubles.” He stands up from the chair and looks down at you “See you, lovie.”

“see ya.”

You watch him walk towards the door, but stop after a few steps.

“Why does Soapy have a huge dent on his head?”

“Oh.” You pout “He ate my pudding, so I punched his shark since I can’t spar with him now.” another punch hit Soapy when you finish speaking.

“Wow...”

Gaz mourns for his brother’s future with his whole heart.

“Still awake?” The gruff yet gentle voice floats into your ear the moment the door slides open.

“Been sleeping the whole day, LT.”

Ghost watches you shift, and lies on your side to face him.

“How’s the day, Ghost?”

“Shit as usual.”

“How about seeing me, feel better?”

“Feels worse.”

“Hey, honesty is a virtue but not here.”

He scoffs at your retort as he observes your face.

“The bruises on your face look smaller.” Ghost indicates.

“Oh yeah, my face! How does it look like?” You point at the hand mirror Gaz brings you, and after Ghost hands it to you, you open the lid.

“Jesus Christ!” you shout when the reflection shows you how shit you look like “I’m so ugly right now!”

“We all know.”

“Damn, if there’s an award for honesty, you will be the winner, Simon.” You throw the mirror back into his grip.

“Will you congratulate me?”

“I will give you an ‘I’m a winner’ sticker for you to paste on your mask.”

He chuckles at your banter, but you can sense his exhaustion, from his limp body to his half-lid eyes.

“You’re tired, Simon. Go back to rest.” You coo softly.

“I’m not leaving until you sleep.”

“but I’m not that sleepy now.”

“Should I sing you a lullaby, sergeant?”

“I’m afraid that my ears don’t have the honor the hear your beautiful singing, Sir.” you feign an ‘oh hell no’ face to him, but your eyes light up when an idea comes to mind.

“Hey, how about you lie on my bed? it can fit 2 people.”

“I don’t know you’re such an active woman.”

“Fuck you, Simon. If you want me to fall asleep then get on the bed right now!”

Sighs in compromise, Ghost rises from the chair and sits on the edge of your bed with a grunt, and you scoot inward to leave him more space to lie down.

“You’re like a bear, Ghost, I’m gonna squash into a pie by you and the blahajs!”

“Then throw those bloody sharks on the floor.”

“No! they’re Tf141 blahaj!” You pet the one in your arms when Ghost gives you a confused face. “This is you, Ghost.”

“The real Ghost is beside you and you choose him over a fake one?”

“I don’t know you’re that active, lieutenant.”

You smirk at him, he’s only wearing a balaclava, so you’re able to see the corner of his eyes crinkle at your words.

But Ghost must have some magic, you grow sleepier under his presence, maybe it’s his steady breath sounds like a lullaby, or it’s because safety he always generously offers to you.

“Sleepy now?” He speaks slowly and quietly as if he’s fear of scaring your sleepiness away.

“a bit...” A big yawn answers the question better than your slurry voice.

“Close your eyes then.”

“mmm.”

You secure the Ghostie blahaj in a tight embrace as you follow Ghost’s command.

you feel light pats on your non-injured part, and you scoot closer to the bulky man, letting him lead you into a peaceful sleep.

Ghost watches you fall asleep, and he moves off the bed as gently as he can.

“Sweet dreams.” He chants in a low voice, and he takes other sharks in his hand, placing them closer to you.

Making sure the sharks are cuddling you, he leaves like a ghost in the serene silence.

You look down at yourself, ankles tied to the chair, blood dripping from the knife that’s barely in your sight.

Aren’t you already out of that basement...?

Is it all a dream? In reality, you’re still getting interrogated?

You try to fixate on the noise outside the door, but you feel the cold metal touching your forehead.

Am I never going to see them again? I want to see them again...

I want to hear Price’s praises, want to hear Soap and Gaz fighting over the last biscuit, want to hear Ghost’s annoyed voices at my frolic.

Tears gather in your eyes when you hear the click from turning off the safety of the gun.

“... geant...sergeant... sergeant.”

“Ahh!” You let out a yell as you snap your eyes open, which are wide with horror.

“Cap-Captain...” You pant whilst you recognize the person pulling you from your nightmare.

“Yes, it’s me, love. You’re safe now, you’re in the base, infirmary, remember?” He caresses your hair to calm you down.

Oh, yes, you aren’t in that basement. You’re back.

You’re with the people you love.

“Why are you here, Captain?” after you breathe steadily again, you notice it’s 1 am, and the aisle outside is silent.

“Just came back from the op, and want to see you.”

“You should have some rest, Price.”

“You mean I leave now even when you just woke up from a nightmare?” He crooks his eyebrows.

“Well...”

“Be selfish, love. I will stay here.”

“You don’t blame me for being too stupid and getting caught by the enemy?”

“Things went south sometimes.” He shakes his head “It’s not your fault.”

“...”

“Say it, luv.” He encourages you when you hesitate.

“I...” “I thought I was not afraid of anything... at least in that basement, pain’s not a big deal for me, starvation is bearable, and death... if that means I won’t lose to those dorks, then it’s nothing to me.”

Price gives you a grunt as acknowledgement, so you continue.

“but... I think I’m still afraid of dying...” You fidget your fingers “I want to see all of you again... I want to come back to you.”

“I don’t want to die...”

You haven’t noticed tears staining your cheeks until Price’s finger — calloused yet warm — wipes the tears away.

“We all know you’re brave, kid.” Price cups your face, hand barely touches your skin, must be avoiding trigger your pain, but you don’t care, nor you can feel the pain, you shove your cheek in it and earn a chuckle from the man.

“Your high pain tolerance makes you look forward to your target without worrying yourself, but keep in mind.”

“Don’t make us worry, you need to come back to us, we can’t lose you, just like you can lose us. Understood?”

“Yes, Capt.”

“You want to go back to sleep?”

“If you tell me a bedtime story, then I will.” the mischievous grin returns to your face.

“Greedy, eh? I thought those sharks could satisfy you.”

“I want your bedtime story too.”

“How about I tell you a story about how to become an attentive soldier?”

“Fuck you, Captain.”

You hit Price with the plushie, which he catches easily, and put it on his lap, letting you give the shark little punches to drain your excessive energy, as he starts telling what happened when he met Soap the first time.

You aren’t afraid of pain, and you become an undaunted person on the battlefield. Yet still, you now keep in mind that there are people who love you, and are worried about you.

You all are a team, a home, and a haven for each other, always by each other’s side, or waiting for others to return safely.

and it’s really nice to be able to come back home.

a/n: thanks for reading! and thank you sharkie for the request, I hope you will like it (or not too disappointed) !! :D

Have a nice day/night, everyone!