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Chapter 4: I've never been one to let go

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series:The Divine Violence - Chapter 4: I've never been one to let go

Wordcount: 5.9K

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Grooming, Self-harming behaviours

Description: You share your knowledge with the team, reminding you of darker pasts, while Simon seeks to rekindle his familiarity with you.

A/N: You. Yes you. Go drink water. Right now. Good job :)

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The meeting room has lost its fresh smell a long time ago. Too many of the early morning hours spent looking over papers and files, that are all entirely useless to you. Paperwork. It had always been the bane of your existence, even back when it truly mattered to your career. Necessary, and all the more frustrating for it.

The morning sun had already arisen to be at the perfect angle, right where its shine hits you in the eyes when you bend down to read. It had no business being that sharp in this season. It provided so little heat in the late November days, and tended to become more of a hindrance than anything.

Every file on the table listed people of interest, cities, landmarks, field reports from past agents. You flip another one over, trying your best to ignore the file that lays at the edge of the table. The list of casualties. All the crimes of the cult wrapped up into one set of clipped documents. You didn't dare look, to see how many of the names and faces you'd recognize.

"Auness, Backfield, Springview..." Gaz lists off the cities on his document, "I haven't even heard about half of these."

Soap leans over the table from across him. He snatches the paper out of his hand, despite the little protesting sounds Gaz let's out. "Ah, think I’ve been to Springview once...lovely neighbourhood," Soap says with a grin on his face.

"They're all small communities, some were only truly fostered to life after the cult's influence," you inform them. The document in your hand lists off a field report from years ago, a group of soldiers passing by Backfield only to be met with hostility. There had been 10 when they went in, 2 came out. That had been the true start of it back then, when things really derailed.

It had been all over the news for a time. It's incredible how quickly the world forgets.

"All done by the dishonourable... Michael Wilder..." Gaz picks up the document that had been placed in the middle of the table. The only person that ever took any responsibility for it all. Though never suffering the consequences for his crimes, he let it be known he was the one that stood behind it all.

"Ah expected his name to sound different....well...anything other than Michael..." Soap makes a distasteful face, leaning back in his chair. "What kind of cult leader is named Michael, it's not a very intimidating name." Rich coming from a guy named Soap, you think, but the comment never leaves your mind.

"I think that's the point," Gaz corrects, to which you can only nod.

He did have another name once upon a time, but you can scarcely remember it now. Perhaps even before you truly got to know all the things he's done. Maybe he had a nicer side once, that was lost to some tragic event from bad people. It didn't do any good to dwell on it. Who he is now is your problem.

"Murder, Torture, Arson, Kidnapping, Rural crimes...bloody hell, what hasn't this guy done," Gaz says exasperated. There’re many things that man hasn't done that he wanted to; you don't doubt that he would've done a lot worse if there hadn't been a collapse in management. He was building something grand.

"Speculative all of them...can't connect him to all of it, but there's nobody else that could have possible been responsible, the cult is a collective." You can still remember what it was like the first time you walked amongst these cultists. The clear admiration, the shock and awe, the forsaken faith in a brighter future. They might have been misguided, but they truly believed in what they were doing, there was no deceit from them.

"Shit, even something as small as vandalism, who'd have thought" Soap points to it on the list.

"He burnt down a chapel."

Both of them turn their heads to you in an instant, the surprise on their face shows most of their thought process to you. There's not much to explain, the whole ordeal was pretty straight forward. The only crime you personally had physical evidence of still.

"Ah thought they were supposed to be a religious cult..."

"They are. And still he set fire to the chapel, watched it burn down along with the surrounding forest."

You don't feel like their open mouth in awe reaction is warranted. The cult has been responsible for far worse, is planning far worse, is doing far worse as you all speak for all you know. There's only one true problem with the retelling, you're not about to bore them with the details.

"Were there people inside? Any get out?" Gaz asks carefully.

"Twenty-two, none recovered."

The silence stretches out to an uncomfortable extent. You've already made it awkward. That's got to be a record for you by now, how long has it been? Not even 30 minutes. Despite how much you want to refute your words, they are true. There is nothing remotely funny about the group of people you're after.

"There's been more documented causalities, everything is accounted for," you try to sound reassuring, but it comes out as uncertain. The two men either don't care or don't seem to notice.

A chill runs through you, unexpected, a subtle reminder of the eyes on you. Once upon a time you'd be worried about sharing too much information with the wrong kinds of people, the reminder had been helpful then, now it was a nuisance.

"At least we finally have a good shot at getting to these guys," Gaz speaks up and tries to break the uncomfortable atmosphere you've created. "This is extensive work," he nods to you and gestures to the entire table, "impressive."

Soap nods to agree, and you follow the motion idly without thinking. A little too late, you let out a rushed, "thank you."

You block out the rest of their conversation, only perking up your head when anything of relevance was shared. The two kept a good flow of idle chatter and gossip. Nothing you paid any mind to, gossip wasn't why you were here, you reminded yourself.

"So have ye ever actually spoken with any of them?" Soap asks.

"Wha..what?" You stutter. The question came seemingly out of nowhere. You almost drop the pen in your hand. It would have made an annoying clattering sound if you did. The thought makes you tighten your grip.

"They seem like a nasty bunch, preaching all of that with no remorse," Soap continues in an attempt to explain himself, "have ye met with them? Spoken to Michael?"

You want to snap at him. It's a dumb question you want to say, inappropriate and entirely irrelevant to the investigation. Except it's not.

You want to shut him down just as badly regardless.

"Uh... I..." *Fuck me* "Yeah...he's not pleasant...listen I need to get a few of these files scanned in, so I can send them over to Laswell, you two just keep at it, and I'll be back." It's an obvious lie to everyone in the room, a bad attempt at getting out for fresh air. Neither of them comments on it, and within a flash you're gone.

Opening the front door is a dreaded action. You can already imagine the battlefield you'll be entering; the feint mumble of raised voices can already be heard from your position. The minefields are always planted carefully, specific spots that you don't expect unless you've been traversing those dirts for years at a time.

It's never specific, never the same thing.

One wrong step, and you've got someone screaming down your face.

That battlefield was your home.

Opening the door only makes the feint screaming louder to your ears. You quickly locate it to be the kitchen, easy enough to avoid. Just have to kick off your shoes, place them neatly, tiptoe past the little opening and through the living room, to the stairs and your room. All without being noticed.

"Deus spes nostra, my child."

You stop abruptly. The only reason you don't let out a loud squeak of surprise, is the hand you slapped across your mouth. Your head whips towards the couch, gone are all thoughts of the perfect view into the kitchen you're right in the middle of.

Your expression falls when you realize who it is. An old friend of your father's from his military days. He sat on the couch with his usual poise and striking manner. He'd been staying here for the last two months, something about vacation, something about deployment, something about no money, something about too much money.

You had tried asking your father several times, whenever he was in the mood for your presence. Each time you got a different answer, and there was no way you'd find yourself asking the actual man himself.

In no way did you dislike him. He'd always been nice to you, making conversation in the silence, giving you gifts when you were upset. He'd almost been a part of the family since you were young, but he'd been gone for several years, and now you felt like a different person to back then.

"What?"

A grin breaks across his face. His form relaxing into the cushions behind him as he regards you just long enough that you're about to repeat yourself.

"Did your father never teach how to properly respond?"

He runs a hand over smooth blond hair, bleached you'd say, but you have no doubt he'd disagree. Ever since he had come back, he tried to make conversation with you, foster a friendship with you, trying to become some type of adult figure in your life. You don't know what you actually see him as. A man, your father’s friend, a stranger mostly.

"Respond to what?"

"Deus spes nostra, you respond with Deus lux mea est." His stare is a piercing blue, spikes digging into your soul and setting hooks in flesh and meat.

"Why," you ask sceptically.

"It's an affirmation of our faith, an identifier, so to speak." He sees the way you stare quizzically, the way your brain is picking up on the small things, learning the minor details that you haven't even realized yet.

A loud bang can be heard from the kitchen, the split and shatter of glass, and then silence. Your mind panics at the implication, old defence mechanisms going into place. You flinch and move quickly to the nearest couch, curl up on it, making yourself seem as small and unnoticeable as possible. Every fibre in your body told you to end the conversation and go to your room, but the man didn't feel like letting you go just yet.

"Easy, my child, nothing will happen to you as long as you stay with me." He speaks soft words of comfort. It does nothing to ease you.

You try to combat the tremble in your voice, you put on a fierce look, one of strength and deep hidden anger.

"I'm not a child."

He chuckles at that. Two breaths, dry, not believing.

"Oh sure, you do seem very mature for your age."

He's mocking you. It's nothing you haven't heard before, despite the truth of the statement, you were still deemed a kid by most adults in your life. You felt like you had grown faster than the others, you acted with more care, more knowledge, and somehow you still feel behind in every aspect.

"I guess...people have told me that a lot" You look towards the opening to the kitchen. All it would take was for the conversation to become too loud, to bring attention upon yourself. It would be so easy to bring on the wrath of your father or the disgust of your mother. You had the marks to count for it.

"You're a special one, your father tells me as much. I can still remember when you were younger, always a bit peculiar." That would be a head turner if you've ever heard one. There’s no part of you that actually believes his words, yet he says them with such conviction.

Any word that comes out of your father’s mouth about you has never been in a positive light. Occasionally he'll drop a hint of satisfaction whenever you do something for him, but that's as good as it's gonna get. Being called special or peculiar by your father must be more of an insult.

The man reaches out and places an unwelcome hand on your knee. He seems to notice the change in your expression. An uncertain frown settling on your lips. "Not in a bad way, dear, you've got something others don't, a potential that others can't see, but I do," he says.

That doesn't reassure you in the slightest, but the little flame in your heart is already lit.

"You're turning eightteen soon, isn't that right? Next year?" He asks and pulls back again. He takes note in the way you seem to release the tension in your shoulders. There's no longer any noise from the kitchen. You don't hear it.

"Yeah..."

He smiles.

"Have you ever thought about enlisting? Serving with your brother and sisters in arms, I'm sure it'd make your father very proud." He seems too sure, and perhaps he was right. Your father's time in the military had always been described with honour and respect. A time of his life where he did something worthwhile, it made him the man he is today.

"Uh...I...No...I haven't"

You never want to be anything like him.

"You can't be serious, Simon!" Your voice echoes throughout the graveyard. A few of the crows in the trees fly off into the sunset. Simon knew you'd react like this. He thought himself prepared for your outrage, ready to comfort you and make you understand. Your emotions are intense and renders him silent.

"You can't go! What about everything we have going on here, we had a plan you know! You can't just bail on that."

The plan had always been a fantasy, he thought you knew that. Something you would whisper aloud in the quiet of the night. Dreams of running away, of scraping enough money to get a small flat together, of helping each other through the adult years of your life, at least until you both got stable.

He had seen it for what it was, a childish fantasy. It wasn't a reliable solution.

"God, and even just listening to the stories from my dad, it's awful there, why would you want to be a part of that!"

The graveyard feels ice-cold. The spider lilies are dead. There's no warmth to gain from the lowering sun, painting the sky in gold and orange. You've never looked more beautiful than this. Emotion so evident in your eyes, and the sun's glow reflecting it. He doesn't fail to notice the tears lining your eyes, the breaths you hold in an attempt to not cry.

You look divine, an angel on earth.

The last thing he wants is to see you plunged into darkness. Something he fears will happen when he takes his departure alone. He adores you, he always has deep down, but he needs to prioritize himself, get himself out before this place kills him completely.

"I thought we were in this together! I thought you cared for us, for me, for all this!"

Your words are chipping away at his patience. Your inability to understand his side of things, the unwilling part of you that won't even try. He understands as far as it allows him to. He knows you're afraid of what will happen if you're separated. You've always struggled with believing in yourself.

He knew you'd be fine. He knew you'd find your own way out, that you could be reunited in a few years somewhere better, healthier and safer.

"We are!" he yells back, "I care so much for you, for what we have even when it's here."

"Then why won't you-"

"But I can't stay here spider, it's killing me" he cuts you off.  The words leave a sour taste on his tongue, it's the bare-bones truth that can be applied to both of you. Your own childhood homes weren't safe for neither of you. Mentally nor physically.

"I get that...but...what about me..."

"Spider, not everything is about you!" he regrets his words just as quick as they leave his mouth. He can see the look of betrayal on your face, it matches the dread he feels in his stomach. You take a retreating step backwards. "Wait-" he calls your name; he reaches for you, but you don't let him touch you.

"You have to understand, this is the only way out for me. In the military, I might actually be able to do some good," he tries to explain to you.

You're not having any of it.

"Fine, go then! Get yourself killed" you shout, turning on your heel before he can stop you. His brain screams at him to follow you, to comfort you, to get you to understand so you won't be mad at him, but he doesn't.

After years and years of searching, Simon has found that roaming the halls aimlessly has become an adequate stress relief. There are certain times of the day when the halls are completely deserted. Each step echoes and bounce off the walls around him. A rare occurrence when he doesn't care to make his steps featherlight, he let’s people hear he's coming.

It makes for a good trance of thought. He disliked most of the walks outside around base, the frost biting at his covered skin, and damp boots seeping water into his socks, but the hallways were dry and quiet. Most of the time.

He's solved a lot of internal problems this way. Stomping through the hallways deep in thought and looking as intimidating as ever. Back when he and Johnny were new and uncertain, he used to avoid him this way. One easy way to avoid someone who was always looking for you, was to always be on the move.

Of course, it hadn't worked forever, Johnny eventually found him, and made him confront his own feelings despite how uncomfortable it made him.

This time around, his thoughts drift to you. They always drift to you these days. Like a disease you've infested his thoughts, reminded him of things that was once buried deeply. There's still a lot of things unresolved between the two of you, things he wishes he could sit you down and talk to you about.

Ever since you've arrived, you had a weird effect on him. You manage to leave your presence in every room you walk into, he can almost sense where you've been, the people you've talked to. You're everywhere, and whenever he needs to find you, you disappear completely.

It's a frustrating cycle.

Perhaps for the first time, he understands how frustrated Johnny must have been those years ago when he avoided him like the plague. You seem to be doing the same thing now, whether you're conscious of it or not.

Part of him is completely fine with it. You stay out of each other's way, avoid bringing up any bad blood. It doesn't absolve his endless questions, however. He can barely focus, even when he's with Johnny, every scar of his that he lets his eyes run over, his thoughts go to yours. How did you get them, who gave them to you, are they still alive?

He could always figure it all out on his own. There was no real need to ask, but he still held a modest amount of respect for you.

He doesn't pay attention as someone zooms right past him. Whoever they were, they were in a hurry, and in his mind, it was no concern of his. More than likely just a recruit late for training, or a soldier forgetting their report.

It's only when he refocuses his eyes and sees Johnny standing in the distance with a look of disbelief on his face, that he turns around to see you zooming away in the distance, rounding a corner when you finally get far enough.

He raises his brows behind his mask, his eyes turning to narrow slightly as he pieces together a situation, which he has no context to.

"They finally get sick of you?" Simon questions broadly, his voice taking a joking tone with the man lingering in the doorway.

Johnny didn't look all that much amused, his eyes continuing to follow you until you were completely out of sight. "They're an interesting one," Johnny mumbles while letting out a sigh.

"Don't like them?"

"Ye kiddin? Ah adore the dark, mysterious, quiet bastards that somehow always enter my life" Johnny's tone comes across as sarcastic, but there's truth to his words. Early on in their relationship, Simon had been convinced that Johnny just had a huge case of saviour complex for him. He still doesn't know if it actually did start out like that, but he can say with certainty it's developed much more complex.

Simon scoffs and shakes his head. "They didn't use to be so..." he trails off, looking back at where you went as if he could catch another glimpse, but you were already gone.

"Moody?" Johnny proposes half serious.

"Distant," Simon corrects him.

Johnny nods. He walks out of the doorway, does a gesture to someone inside, and lets the door close behind him with a soft click. The hallway is plunged back into silence as the two look at each other. Simon has never really liked intense eye contact, but he makes way too much of it on purpose.

"Have ye talked to 'em yet?" Johnny walks over to the nearby wall, leaning against it lazily. He looks tired, worn out, which is a surprise from the lack of meaningful things to do over the last while. It's not completely nonsensical, Simon is well aware of how easily Johnny can be drained from lack of activity. Having something to do is what scratches that needed itch deep in his brain.

"I've tried to." Johnny doesn't look like he believes him. He would like to convince himself that it's true, but a part of him hasn't been searching for a level ground with you either. He has no idea where to start, how to re-establish that familiarity you once shared. It makes all the deep corners of his mind stir.

Johnny gives him a look he knows well. He knows he should get on it, push past any fears and at least get back on a professional standing instead of skittish cats tiptoeing around each other like the other is going to strike.

"Don't look at me like that," Simon says defensively. Johnny puts his hands up mimicking surrender, his teeth flashing through in his smile. The smirk could easily be wiped off his face, but he has no energy to do anything about it.

"Just talk to them already, ah can practically feel the tension three rooms over every time ye two are in each other's vicinity." Johnny shakes his head, before urging Simon on his way.

A droplet of sweat falls into your eyes. It stings and leaves a burning sensation behind. In any other scenario, you'd be fighting yourself to get it quickly wiped away, to get the pain to stop. Your focus is elsewhere. Plastered on the punching bag in front of you.

Each hit sends you further and further into a locked state of mind.

One two one two one two.

It keeps your thoughts occupied. Prying them away from the creeping shadows and their tempting whispers.

Miss it. Miss it.

Hit yourself. Hit yourself.

You close your eyes and continue to count.

One two one two

Bang your face against the wall till the bone inverts.

They're insistent tonight.

You switch up your stance. Circling the bag before taking it on at a different angle. You want to excuse your jittery movements on too much coffee, but you know the reminder of how close you're getting to going near that hell is enough to have you like this.

The more you think about it, the more the small whispers in your ears taunt you. A scent of sulphur and burnt flesh sometimes pass you by. It makes you do a double take in your movements, before you can tell yourself that it's not here. It doesn't make it go away, but if you focus just a little more on the red fabric of the bag instead of the red on your knuckles, then maybe it will tone itself down.

It's a futile attempt. The voices never really listened, no matter how much you answered them or ignored them. Independent of your reaction, they only seemed to want to taunt your mind. You could hardly recall back when your mind would be relatively empty, but the time had been there.

You try to circle the bag again, coming back and forth between the space you're allowed. Your respite comes in the knowledge that nobody would be here to observe your uncertainty. There was hardly anyone at the gym this late at night. The reason you chose it in the first place.

You were rusty, a bit out of shape, but you still had your technique. It had been hammered into you for years, you wouldn't forget it that easily. Each hit to the bag makes it sway slowly around, the massive weight not being very deterred by your punches.

Blood rushes through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest and causing you to breathe unevenly. It's an afterthought to put yourself through small breathing techniques between sets. Every sound that emits in the room plays into your mind, flashes images to the forefront of your brain.

The sound of the wind outside splashing against the windows. The sound of your punches against the bag. The sound of distant footsteps. The sound of a barking dog outside, one that would bear red crosses on white pelt. The sound of low murmuring all around you. The sound of a gunshot.

You whip your head around, choking on your own spit, when you're met by the sight of the man you've been avoiding. Your eyes flicker to the person behind him, made of shadows, smiles and bad omens. It puts an uneven hand on Simon's shoulder.

The sound of your beating heart is loud in your ears, you almost fear he can hear it as well. Your breath is low, uneven, easily excusable to the exercise you were doing instead of the nightmare standing there. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palm. Small droplets of blood trickle in-between your fingers.

He hands you a water bottle. It takes you by surprise, a sudden gesture of kindness. "You look about ready to collapse," his voice is gruff and tired. You bite the inside of your cheek when you accept it.

The cold water is like heaven for your dry throat. Your body graciously accepting the hydration it's clearly needed for a while now. He wasn't totally wrong about your state. You heard the whispers, how you've been looking sick the entire day. Then again when don't you.

"Thank you..." you mumble quietly, taking another gulp from it.

"Yeah..." he looks at you like he's expecting something from you.

You stare at him wearily, trying your damned hardest to discern whatever expression he's making under the mask by his eyes alone. More than anything, you wanted to pull it off of him. You wanted to see him, truly see him.

Would he have stubble? A full-on beard, maybe. Would he have the same hair length as back then, would he have smile lines, wrinkles when he laughs? His voice was deeper, would his laugh sound different now?

"We need to talk," he says your name so quietly, like he's afraid to utter it, as if you'd spring on him like a monstrous creature or haunted ghost.

"We're talking," technically you aren't, but for you this might as well be a conversation already. Heat blooms in your chest, rising unwillingly to your cheeks. Once upon a time that would've been from bashfulness, now it was more of a deep-rooted shame, a fear of your own anticipation for what's to come.

"I'm..." he stutters over his own words, "I'm not entirely sure what went wrong between us."

He pauses and your eyebrows furrow, your mouth quivering with words unspoken.

"Maybe it was something I did, being the reason, we stopped talking but..." your eyes flicker around his mask, the urge turns pained in your chest. He shakes his head. "I hope we can put it past us, for the sake of the mission."

You hand the water bottle back to him. He accepts it, but you can see in his movements how he takes it as rejection. Your eyes are clear on the target he's becoming.

"No, I..." your voice comes out raspy. You clear your throat. "I'm not sure either, what went wrong, but I hold nothing against you...Simon...I guess we just grew apart." It's a big fat lie, but the millisecond of what you'd call relief that shows in his eyes are well worth it.

He exhales his breath loud enough to be noticeable, his form sagging just a little without breaking. "You don't?" when you nod as confirmation, he matches it. "That so...I'd like to start again...I'm curious where you've been all this time, it would be nice to catch up...begin again."

That little voice in your head bristles. A quiet little thing that belongs to a childhood version of you. It wants him to shut up, to stop the pretending front he's putting on. Then there's the other little voice, a voice of reason, one that's still young and malleable. They fight over your decision-making.

He looks down at your hands, notices the feint trail of blood where you split a knuckle. His eyes go small, focusing on it a tad too long before you can pull your hands out of view from him.

Your teeth catch your lip before you make the conscious decision to let it go. "Yeah...we can...try again...from the beginning," the dry laugh you let out doesn't sound convincing, but it seems to be enough for him to buy into. Maybe all you had isn't dead just yet, and when the call comes crashing it all down, you can use the connection for your own burning benefit.

"Right..." there's a note of excitement in his voice, the slightest change in octave and rhythm. "I'll be looking forward to it," he takes his turn to leave the same way he had sneaked in. "Oh, and spider, clean yourself and the equipment up, gonna give yourself a bad reputation like that."

He's being cheeky behind that mask, you can tell. Yet the reawakening of the nickname stirs the softest of a smile to almost make it to your lips.

Your feet hurt. Every step sends another spike of pain up your legs, every swaying movement threatening to send you barrelling forward. You're late. Horribly late. Each breath catches in your throat, and you barely look at the road before you pass it. Only a loud honking alerting to just how close you were to being run over, but you couldn't stop, you had to catch him in time.

You couldn't believe you were almost missing this. Your last chance at seeing him before he leaves for good. The wind hisses in your ears, the cold burns at your uncovered feet. You couldn't believe you had let it come to this.

For the last few weeks, you had been ignoring him, only sharing the most necessary of things. There was no banter between you, no jokes or laughter, and all because you couldn't contain your own anger for his decision.

His stupid, stupid decision.

You couldn't talk him out of going.

He couldn't talk you out of resenting him for it.

The sky is on fire. Rays of the sun blinding you on your way, making you squint your eyes to see. The oranges mixed with yellows makes the clouds look unreal. It's a thing that would have stopped you if it weren't for the agonizing consequences of your decisions weighing on your shoulders. The sky meant nothing to you now.

The graveyard is a welcome sight, the rusted gate creaked open wider than normal. You zoom past it, stumbling over one of the larger rocks scattered about. It propels you forward into the yard, crashing your knees against the gravel. It cuts and stings, but the buzzing under your skin is too loud to notice.

You call out his name. Your voice holding no bounds for your desperation. The only sound that comes back is the crows squawking, the fluttering of wings as they fly far away from you. There's no answer to your call, no familiar voice sounding out to meet you, no warm hand on your shoulder that would pull you into a hug.

He's gone, you realize all too late.

One forgetting mind, two arguments with your mother, and a punishment to follow, all for nothing. You missed your window. You missed the time he'd said he'd wait. He's left and with what, the only knowledge that you're angry with him. He's putting himself in potential danger, and he thinks you resent him.

More than that, he's actually out of reach for you now.

A fear that had infested your bones long before his ugly announcement. A fear that was now no longer just a fear.

Your breathing stutters. Your vision blurs. Blues, oranges, greys and reds, blobs of nothing filling your vision spilling down your cheeks. They might as well freeze in place. Your legs refuse to obey, your body hunches over from every dry heave, every soundless sob and every claw at the ground.

You were alone now.

Yet a hand places itself on your shoulder. It spooks you enough to let out a scream, yet when you whip around, you're only met with a soft smile. The hand is too big to be Simon's, too rough and too scarred. You stare into the eyes of a different man.

A friend. An enemy. A figure you could cling your shattered mind to in your late teen angst.

"You'll be alright," he mouths the words, and you're sure he speaks them, but they never reach you.

"You can meet him again," he stands tall, watches down at your kneeling form with a twist of something that churns your stomach, "I can show you the way to him."

"What?" Your voice is barely audible.

"Through the path to God we may find redemption, and through that path you may find your friend once again, we are all the same under His light."

He tosses a lighter down on the ground next to you.

"Let me show you the path to the light."

You can smell the smoke in the air, taste the ash on your tongue, feel the blood beneath your nails.

It's too late to let go now the hook has sunk into flesh.

The flame is already lit.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz @spicyspicyliving @kaoyamamegami

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 3: Ghosts Of The Past

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series:The Divine Violence - Chapter 3: Ghosts Of The Past

Wordcount: 5.5K

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Implied eating disorders, Jealousy, Past abuse, Underage drinking, vomiting

Description: Soap approaches you to eat lunch with him, you begrudgingly accept.

A/N: Wooo another chapter done! Finally getting into some of the angsty bits that's gonna be a gateway to things we're going to expand upon later in the story. Everybody stay hydrated and I hope you enjoy it!

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The night is young and beautiful. Stars would cover the sky above you if it wasn't from the pollution of the city lights. You can still count a few, one, two, three, even four. They're bright here, one even seems to be blinking at you before you realize it's a plane.

It feels almost too ceremonial with the full moon in the sky, and Simon standing by the little makeshift fire in the pile of trash. It reminds you a little of your confirmation, years past by now. Though the church was a lot cleaner, the people like minded. Clothing of white making you shine in the sun, your proud mother with her uptight smile, and your father who had never before seemed proud of anything you did, now smiled warm toned at you.

You can still remember each word the priest spoke to you. Etched so deep in your brain it might as well have been carved into the back of your palm.

Thinking back to it, you realize it's different to this, so much different. The grittiness has a charm to it, but the real reason your nerves have skyrocketed is because of him. You take a step closer to the fire, watch him pop open the bottle of vodka. The one he had stolen from his father’s cabinet. Easier now that he wasn't home as much.

"Nervous?"

He grins at you, grabbing your fidgeting hand in his own. "We can still leave it be?" he offers kindly, but you quickly shake your head no. You had asked for this, you wanted to try it, because you knew the closest way you'd ever come to alcohol otherwise was the wine (Which wasn't even wine, it was grape juice) at the communion in church.

Simon had so graciously offered when you mentioned your want in passing. The curious nature in your soul wanting to try it at least once, even if you turned out to dislike it. You squeeze his hand, as if to jitter out your nerves. Being this far from home never felt good to you, a festering anxiety in your mind that your parents would find out and punish you.

There was a lot of things Simon could help you with, even take the fall for you should the situation call for it, but not this. No, this would be on you, and it would not feel good.

The fire crackles in front of you, something sharp snaps and brings your focus away from the bottle. You had no clue what was burning in there, but it provided a warm place for you to be so you didn't have much to complain about.

"Whenever you're ready Little Spider," he teases and brings the bottle to your hand.

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Does it really burn that bad?" you take the bottle with a small grimace. Your eyes nervously flicking from the liquid to him and back again.

"You seem very determined that this is what you want to do, so why don't you take a sip and find out?"

Another moments hesitance, and you bring the bottle to your lips. In the first second it doesn't burn, just so that the little thought of relief can enter your brain, before being squashed by the lit fire in your throat.

He quickly grabs the bottle away from you, when you start coughing and spurting. The sounds of your distress drowned out by his roaring laughter. His hand comes to pat you on the back, his eyes almost filled with tears from his laughter.

"Oh my oh my oh my, why why why did I do this."

"Oh c'mon, it wasn't that bad, was it?" he looks down at the bottle experimentally. Acting as if he hadn't tasted it countless times before. He brings it to his lips when your outburst calms down, taking a sip seamlessly, taking the burn proud and easy.

"How in the world," you sound astonished by his display. He tries to keep a straight face, but fails very quickly when he sees how you look at him like he's crazy. "Hey don't laugh!" you swat his arm, but soon fall into the laughter along with him.

The fire illuminates his face, casting shadows of you both behind on the wall. The soft orange glow makes some of his features stand out more than normal. His little scars close to his mouth that's normally almost invisible, now almost makes him look scary if it wasn't for how his face was lit up with joy.

"Oh wow," you grab the bottle back to read the inscription as if that would give you more clarity. "I don't understand how people drink stuff like this daily...I mean it's not that good."

His smile falls a little, his breathing catching up from the fit of laughter. "Well, drink enough of it and you'll start to feel funny," he explains simply instead of doing in-depth.

"Huh..." you look at the little alcohol percentage on the bottle, "have you been drunk before?"

He doesn't respond immediately, almost as if he seems ashamed of it. "A few times," he admits and trails closer to the wall, "with a few other guys from school." He leans on it, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes him look edgy, his dark attire and the illumination of a dumpster fire. He looks older than he is like that.

You come closer, tilting your head to the side slightly. He looks at you tentatively, taking in all that is you, the way you look, the way you move, the way you position yourself in front of him, so very close.

"What else have you done?" you ask in a knowing tone that didn't know much at all, "that you haven't had the heart to tell me about yet?" His eyes widen slightly panicked for a moment. You already know how he's compiling an excuse in his brain, or some way to explain himself away from anger, but you aren't angry.

"I just didn't think it was your thing...didn't want to bother you with it...make you feel like you had to," he explains quickly. You shake your head, making sure to give him a small smile as reassurance. His shoulders sag more.

"It wasn't..." you tell him, “But now I’m curious."

"Are you now?" his voice turns back to teasing. How you'd love to smear that smug smile off him, one way or another.

You bring the bottle to your lips, drinking way more than you probably should.

"Yeah, so let's find out."

Your throat burns whenever you throw up. It's become a much more frequent occurrence. The stress of your problems taking wear on your mind. You're no more surprised to find a singular grey hair protrude from your scalp, than you are from the blood mixed with bile in the sink.

That had been your breakfast most likely. The only meal you had found yourself able to sneak away to eat in peace of your assigned room. It left your stomach empty again, the pained hollow feeling you despised despite how much of your life was spent in it.

You'd take anything over this. Oh, how you wished you could be like anyone else, the majority of the reasons to throw up being a hangover, or being sick. Though alcohol hasn't touched your lips in years.

The fluorescent lights blink above you, the little buzzing drowned out by your heavy breathing. The space is better than what you've had the past while, but you did miss the privacy of the motel. People had a tendency to stare here.

You turn on the water, guiding it along with your hands to wash away the bile. Blood trickles down from your knuckles, the split ends of flesh flaking off the bone. You can see the white underneath. The sound of the door opening brings your attention away from it. You avoid the mirror despite its desperate pleas.

No what you can't just leave me here! Please you can't be serious! You're just going to let him keep me in here?! Please just look at me, don't go.

You look towards the mohawk showing itself first.

When you first met Soap, you had been taken aback. He had a very intense personality, a fire within that outshined in his actions. You have yet to determine your own disposition on him. He's friendly enough towards you, all things considered.

"Ah there ye are." He's been standing outside that door for who knows how long. He likely heard the wretched sound as your stomach gave in on itself. Why he chose now to step in, eludes you.

You clear your throat, the hunch in your back stretching out after you turn off the running water. Your fingers run over your knuckles; the wounds gone. "Do you need something?" keeping your voice steady and polite proves a more difficult task than you'd like it to.

"Have ye had lunch yet...?" he's being careful with you. It's a revelation you didn't expect to have for him, did he figure something out he shouldn't have? Does he know?

"Ah was gonna invite ye to join us this mornin' for breakfast, but ah couldn't find ye." Good that had been the intention. A part of you did recognize you couldn't hole yourself away forever though. You were already the odd one out in the group of four.

"Oh.."

Your voice is too weak

The mirror echoes.

"Right...I..."

You clear your throat again, it feels too constricted, the air in here is not enough for you.

You catch yourself in his vibrant blue eyes. You could see an ocean in them, the beautiful waves at sea, the smell of salt in the air. You can feel the surgent winds ghosting over your skin, the sting and burn as water enters your lungs, a warm hand on the back of your neck holding you down. A faraway chanting of prayer echoes muffled in your ears.

"No...I haven't" you try to muster a smile.

"Good," he says pleased "ye're with me then."

The sea is faraway.

The mess hall is the exact kind of hell you expected it to be. Loud, obnoxious, filled with potential social threats and unnecessary questions on the verge from the man sitting in front of you. The only bit of luck you seem to have kept, shows itself in the lack of soldiers here at all. Most of them had likely already eaten.

The meal Infront of you looked anything but appetizing. Yet Soap seemed all the more happy to devour it with no complaints. He's been talking your head off ever since you sat down, clueing you in on things at base. Most of it is useful information you manage to retain, but after awhile your ears goes deaf despite how much you want to listen.

Though you have to admit that it sounds like they're a tight knit group. The 141 formed quite awhile ago, managing to take out several high-level threats. It made sense to put them up against the divine principle, but you couldn't help the doubt in your mind that anything would come of it. Even if you managed to take the group down once more, they would just resurface years later until you took out the root of the problem.

You had failed to do it once.

"...are ye listening?"

Your eyes flicker up from your murky food, locking eyes with Soap. What the hell kind of name was that anyway. Was he good at cleaning dishes? A lot of code names tend to be teasing or insults, so maybe he got teased for it?

"Yeah," you reassure him by briefly giving him your undivided attention. You'd quickly trail out again.

"Ye can tell me to shut up, ah know ah talk a lot" he doesn't sound ashamed of it, but you can hear the hint of self deprecation. Someone's definitely shamed him in the past. You had no intention to do so, you quite preferred people who talk a lot. They talk fast, easy, and typically give way more information than they should which paints you a better picture. A bonus point that it fills out the silence you bring.

"No... it’s nice," you mutter and pick up your fork. You might as well try to fight some of it down, you hadn't even touched any of it yet, and Soap was practically done even with his rambling.

You didn't know whether the lack of people in a typically populated space made you more or less anxious.

"So, ye used to hunt these people a few years ago?"

You meet his eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. You're not sure what you were supposed to find in them, but definitely not the curiosity that shines. This entire taskforce is playing with a hellfire they do not understand. It's practically impossible to take it down, even from within, lord knows you've tried.

"Yeah."

You could bite your lip bloody trying to think of ways to continue the conversation from here. He goes wildly quiet for you. Is he expecting for you to elaborate? What does he even want you to say? What were you allowed to say? What did they know? How much information is appropriate over a lunch in a very public area?

You were starting to regret your decision of agreeing to all of this. You hadn't even started and the stress was pulling you down under.

"They're hard to find, even with a full team" he shakes his head amused, "ah can't even imagine what it must've been like hunting them practically all alone."

"I wasn't alone."

He seems surprised. Good.

Kate hadn't told them every detail.

"They were tenacious then; I don't doubt the group wont behave much different this time around. They always end up with the same values, the same goal." You ramble on, catching yourself by biting your tongue.

"What's the goal?" he asks.

"Doomsday preppers in a nutshell, just add a slimy layer of misguided religion on top of it." You finally take a big bite of your food. It slides down your throat slowly, the dryness, or size catching you off-guard.

Soap slides your glass closer to you. "Not new, but also not every day ye see it to this large of an extent."

"It's been organized for years now, they're not likely to stop from a threat from the authorities. Only way is to take out the roots." You mumble on after getting your throat cleared. There were quite a few ways to go about doing that, all of them left an acidic taste in your mouth.

You could see the way he wanted to ask more. He should refrain, wait for it all to be revealed in proper time instead of probing you for information in an informal interrogation. A quite nice one at that.

You had yet to decide on how close you wanted to get to him.

John MacTavish, Soap.

He was a sergeant, chatty nature, one for jokes, witty, smart. A person worthy to note, despite rebellious appearances.

The captain had yet to earn your respect, and likewise yours his. He was impressive on all accounts. He would also be the first person to throw you off this mission at a sign of weakness. Valuable in its own right.

Kyle was indifferent towards you, a bit cold perhaps, though he seemed a gentleman when it came down to it.

Ghost was......Simon.

You didn't know what you expected when you met Simon again. He's a lot more different than you thought he would be. Taking on the persona of Ghost, you suppose you can't blame him for needing an escape, but the motif still stirs something awful in your chest. Neither of you really got over it.

Maybe you'd have preferred it if he wasn't so aloof with you, a bit more direct in your long-awaited reunion. Perhaps it would have been better if it had mimicked TV, the rain and yelling and screaming in a scenic location to make it more meaningful to you. Unfortunately, reality tends to be far more boring.

"So did he always wear that mask?"

"Ghost? Aye, as long as I've known the bastard," he chuckles "can ask Price about before that, he's known 'im the longest."

There's a pang in your heart, something that feels an awful lot like a drop jealousy, but you can't allow that. It wouldn't be one bit fair. If you were the one to walk away from him then, were you really allowed to feel anything at all for him? Certainly not jealousy over the new relationships he'd build. You should be happy, you really should.

But how dare he abandon you so fast.

You shake your head free of the feeling. Wrongful, wishful, thinking wouldn't change the truth nor the fact he was supposedly better off here.

"Known him long?"

"Ever since we got assigned on this taskforce, give or take a few years now. And Ye?"

"Old acquaintances."

There's another sting in your heart that burns something fierce. All the nights you had spent wishing you were still in contact with him coming back to you. Times when it felt like a single word from him would make life worth living again. A single glance from him could make it worth anything.

You tried to ignore that bit.

But the mask had a symbolism you didn't like any better. You'd only be arrogant to think or claim that you still knew him and his thoughts, but it was still distasteful. Had he forgotten? You had both ran from it, difference was he now wore it on his face and you watched it creep in the shadows.

You had always hated the cold streaks in first signs of winter. When the temperature went freezing, the trees losing their colour, the sun hiding more often now behind threatening clouds. However still no snow. All the unfortunate parts with none of the benefits.

And standing on Simon's freezing front porch didn't help. He was taking too long. It had been half a minute since you rung the doorbell. Where the hell was he? His parents were supposed to be out, and despite his little brother still being home, the two of you would take any opportunity you could take.

You wrap your jacket closer around you. The biting frost nipping at your cheeks and nose. For a moment you debate whether you should ring the bell again, but you remember his words clear, he had told you to just go in, even if it felt wrong to do that without a formal invitation straight from the door.

You hadn't been here too many times. Some part of yourself too scared that the smell of smoke would sting your clothes, and that your parents would know exactly where you had been. You needed to be careful, one wrong decision and they'd forbid you from seeing him again.

You aren't sure if you could handle that.

The door creeks when you open it, too loud for your taste. It makes you grimace. You try calling out for him, to no response. There's a smell of freshly baked bread, likely at the hands of his mum.

A smile tugs on your lips, your stomach twisting hungrily in your body. Hurriedly you kick off your shoes, and hang up your jacket, emerging in the home's living room. For a moment you wonder if anyone is even home, it feels cold from the lack of interaction.

"Simon?" it's not like him to leave you alone like that. Was he even home?

You tiptoe towards the hallway peeking down the dark way. When you stare too long, the shadows move occasionally, takes shape like moving smoke. Another time you softly call his name, slowly coming up to Simon's and his brother’s bedroom.

It's cracked open very slightly, the shine of light coming from the slit. It illuminates the dying flowers placed neatly on a bookshelf. You move to open the door, but before you can get there, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

The hairs on the back of your neck rise, the subtle warm breath from someone else hitting your skin. It felt wrong, and in the back of your mind you knew who it was, what he was doing. You whipped around, the fear having already seeped into your eyes. You were ready to shield yourself, stare into the tall figure that looked like the personification of death.

The scream that erupted from your lungs, weren't only of fear but also from genuine shock. The figure wasn't tall like you had expected, instead you had to glance downwards to meet the eyes behind a white skull mask. You stumble backwards, crashing your body against the door and falling all the way down to the floor.

The boy stands above you, a fit of psychotic little giggles come from him which make your stomach churn with disgust. He holds a butterknife in his hand. It's the only reason you haven't gotten up yet as you stare at his display, trying to mimic his father.

"Tommy what are you doing!" you shout out offended. You hope it covers the tinge of fear you carry. In no universe should Simon's little brother look like this, in no world should he be able to scare you this badly.

The antsy sensation isn't just from the initial surprise, it swirls in your blood at the sight of a raised knife. It doesn't matter that it isn't sharp, it doesn't even matter that it's not directly pointed at you.

It makes you remember. The late nights, the early mornings, the fights that took place within your own home. The list of threats you'd heard, you could recite them as clear as your favourite quote from your favourite book.

"Tommy...put down the knife." You don't hear the tremble in your voice but he does. He tilts his head; a line of light falls over the skull mask. His eyes are illuminated beneath it, they carry nothing but distaste for you.

He's never liked you. You were fine with that, but this is just too far. Where was Simon anyway!? If Tommy was home then he should be as well, maybe even his mother if anything at all.

Like a saving grace, an angel sent from the heavens, you hear his uncertain voice call out shakily.

"Tommy what are you doing, give that to me."

Simon pulls you even closer to his form, your legs shift from how you're sitting halfway into his lap. He had practically forced you this close when you started to complain about the cold. Not that you minded the proximity itself.

"Are you sure we can't just lock a room, so he won't disturb us?" You nuzzle closer into his side. A big breath exits your lungs, it rises upwards like a little cloud. His arm pulls your jacket closer around, his hand settling on your waist to give you a little squeeze.

"We're fine here," he mumbles into your hair "got you all to myself."

"I know," you say exasperated "it's just why would he do that...it's not...its..."

You don't know how to formulate your words right. It's hard to explain exactly what you saw from your perspective on the floor. A terrifying display you never want to see on Tommy's innocent face again. That look was reserved for his father, not that you were any happier seeing it on him either.

"He's been acting up...mood swings and all that" Simon sighs and shakes his head. "He's done it to me too a few times when mom and dad are fighting...I... don’t understand it. Even when dad brought that snake in, he was all giddy...I don't think he really understands," Simon confesses.

"Wait, what snake?!" you manage to pull yourself away from his arms. You stay close in his hold to keep sharing body heat, but you raise yourself on your knees so you're looking down at his face. "Your dad brought a snake into your home, to you, and he just laughed?" you sounded pissed off, and rightfully so you were. He'd never told you this before now.

"Yeah, were years ago now but..." he raises a hand, his thumb brushing over to dull marks above his lips "it bit me."

Your eyebrows furrow and you have to hold yourself back from not yelling out in frustration. You bite down on your own lip hard, and reach a hand up to gently run your fingers over the two scars in the form of dots. He closes his eyes as he feels your skin on his, let's out a shuddering breath. He always gets like this now at your touch, he always seems so affected, always positively.

In the beginning you thought it was just hormones, puberty for him now that you're both well into your teenage years. A round of "Boys will be boys," as your mother would keep saying whenever you told her how you saw the boys at school pick on the girls in the most horrendous ways.

Simon's a boy but you've never seen him be that cruel. And then you started to think it might just be you he's like this with, that to anyone else, any other girl or boy that gets close never gets to see him have this kind of reaction.

He opens his eyes and your breath catches in your throat with an ugly little sound. It makes you snort, giggling into your hand as you listen to his rumble of a chuckle. His arms snake around your waist, bring you in closer, pressing your bodies up against each other as much as can be.

He looks up at you like you're the only person in the world.

Like you're everything to him, as if you were to go his world would collapse around him. And you know it's true because you feel the same way. If he were to ever leave, you wouldn't know how to function, you wouldn't have an escape from the abuse, a person to keep you afloat when you're drowning.

You lean down a little to place a soft peck just above his lips, on the dotted scars.

You're not sure what true love is, but if you'll ever have a chance at it, it has to be this. There can be no other explanation for that glint in his eye reserved only for you.

He looks at you with pure love.

Soap looks at you expectantly. The dull sounds of the mess hall fill your ears again, you didn't even realize you zoned out. You only pray it wasn't for an unusually long time.

"We knew each other way back, before he joined the military I think." You try your best to play it off as not a big deal. As if you hadn't been in deep with him once upon an easier time. You doubted Simon would want to bring more attention to it than necessary when it came to his teammates.

"Before? Woah, can finally say ah know someone who knew the legendary ghost before he became ghost." He sounds pleased with himself. You don't understand the difference.

Like speaking of the devil himself, the tall dark figure with a mask you wanted to rip off him, emerged into the hall. It didn't turn many heads, but the way you whipped your head dramatically brought Soap's attention to him as well.

"Well...speak of the devil..." he mumbled. You could hear the smile on his lips without looking.

It's a bit late to come in for lunch, but when you think about it you didn't see him go eat with the others, while you were actively avoiding them. He would always retreat into his own room or office, like you would do.

Both you and Soap watches as he goes up to select what his lunch will be. Occasionally you glance towards Soap, observing his interest in Simon, you try to gouge at their relationship. They'd likely be good friends, having a soldier camaraderie for years now. It made you wonder if Soap would now qualify as one to know more about the boy you used to be so close with, than you do yourself.

You look back to Simon, trying to get a proper glimpse of his mask again. You have to bite back an annoyed groan when they flood your vision again.

The shadows encompass his mask all around. They block out the once dirty white with a coal black. It moves around like a mass, obscuring his face, his head taking on spiky ends, then blocky, then smooth. It makes him look like the creatures in the mirrors, the only thing left being the uncanny clear view of his eyes.

They're so visible to you that they freak you out more than the moving shadows, looking straight out of an uncomfortable picture you'd find on the internet. When he finally picks up his food and turns to your direction, your breath catches in your throat with an ugly little sound.

Soap looks at you concerned, but you wave him off quickly taking a big gulp of your water.

You look back to see exactly what you thought it was. You'd recognize that look on him anywhere from just his eyes. People say eyes are the windows to someone's soul, you don't know if you believe it for everyone else or even yourself, your eyes look so dull in the mirror, but for Simon it's the truest statement you've heard.

Despite the time apart, that look is burned into your retinas. It's been an image you clung to over the years, you last remnant of him, something to remind you of what you once had.

And he's looking towards you, like he used to do.

He's looking towards you with an expression you haven't seen in person in years.

He's looking towards you with a look of love you'd never think you'd see on his face again.

He's looking towards you with such devotion that someone like you doesn't deserve from someone like him.

You realize it too late. You glance away from Simon and look to the man sitting in front of you

He looks at you with pure love.

He's not looking at you.

Are you seriously jealous over a man you haven't seen in years?

You know it's pathetic. You know it's nonsensical. You know you shouldn't.

Yet you pace back and forth in your room, the shadows louder than they've ever been in months. They corner you in on every side, lunge out at you when you get too close to the walls. Their thousand little voices overlap in a chorus of insults.

Vile, pathetic, weak, useless, killer.

Your hands raise up to cover your ears but it does nothing to dampen the intensity. Your clothes feel too tight on your body, the air too humid, a certain place in the room burning hot with agony and shame. The little space under your bed. The bag with the letters that once brought you comfort.

They burn hot even from a distance. A rush of hot and cold going through your bloodstream. Ice beneath your skin one moment and boiling blood the next.

Did he ever even look at you like that? Wasn't it different back then? He had the dumb puppy love for you none of that was real.

"Shut up," your voices breaks in your throat and comes out a meek whisper.

Just take a look at those pathetic letters.

"No..."

Each one of them so much later than the next. Spaced out perfectly to leave you in the dark, first a week then two then a month then two months then...

"Shut it!" you shout out with the animalistic ferocity you've been taught. The shadows retract slightly, giving you more room to breathe. Normally you try to ignore the voices that go through your head, you've found answering them only encourage their absurd bait. They could taunt you all they wanted. Voices instilled by vile men in your life, repeated over and over and over and over and over.

Until they manifested themselves within your skull and refused to leave.

In a way you know the things you are seeing aren't real, but it feels so solid. All of it just your fragmented mind trying to make sense of what you were forced to see. None of it could be real.

Sometimes you think that you could actually reach out and touch them, but anytime you've tried they just retract further away from you. You've always hated how it swims in your vision, distracts you from what's actually important.

You look towards the bed, under it, the bag, the letters that almost flood out of it from where you've thrown it. They call to you, scream at you so silently. Your legs are sluggish like walking through water as they carry you there. Your fingers touching what feels like knives as you pull out the nearest letter.

The little piece of paper he left on your bed before he left for the military.

You read quietly, the whisper barely even audible on your lips.

To my love, my dear little spider

I'm sorry that I have to go. Don't fall apart without me, okay?

See you soon, your Simon

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz @spicyspicyliving @kaoyamamegami

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 2: Arachnophobia

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 2: Arachnophobia

Wordcount: 6.2k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - Religious trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Angsty, Fluff, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: It's been so long since Simon last saw you. He already has a million things to worry about, and the reappearance of an old childhood friend being one of them, was not something he expected.

A/N: Finished editing sooner than expected, so thought I might aswell release it now. Also first time doing taglist, so let me know if it's not working. I think I did it right, but I don't know.

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The crows are especially loud this time of day. Always placing themselves in the dead trees that lean in over the graves. They screech and scrawl at anyone who dares come into the cemetery. They act like unofficial guardians of the dead, as if any presence that moves in would disturb their eternal sleep.

Simon has never really minded them, but his tolerance only goes so far when they don't seem to quiet down. It's the same routine every night in the late banks of summer. The warm glow of the sun would put the entire cemetery in a different mood. This place doesn't look so dark and miserable when you take a look at it from a different angle.

The fence door creeks in tune with the crows. A few of them look towards Simon as he pushes himself inside from the little opening he made. He knows exactly where to look to catch a glance of you. It never fails to surprise him how you manage to come earlier than him, but there you are. Climbed high above to the roof of the little shed, and bathed in the light of the descending sun.

Your figure is set in a defensive stance as you screech right back at the crows. He can't help the smile that crawls unto his lips, subtle and small. It was something you always ended up doing when the crows got too loud. Not even Simon's relentless teasing could stop you.

Sometimes the crows would fly away, too annoyed from the disturbance you gave right back. Other times, they would stare back at you, and Simon would start to worry they would fly down and peck their beaks and claws at you.

Luckily, they never seem to go that far.

"One of these days you're going to fall and break your neck." As soon as his voice reaches your ears, you whip around with the brightest smile. You always had a way of smiling from ear to ear like an idiot.

"Si!" You yell out, dropping down to your knees and crawling to the edge to greet him. He would have chewed you out about it, but he knew your knees were already bruised as scarred from getting up there.

"I brought food," he lifts up the plastic bag to be in your line of view. It twists around, making the handle choke against his skin and the water in the flask slosh around. You let out an excited squeal, and by the sounds of your loud rumbling stomach, he made the right choice to bring extra.

Getting up on the roof proved harder than he expected. The ladder you usually used had been locked inside the shed. Some snitch must have seen the both of you up there, and told the graveyard keeper.

You had found some creative way to stack some boxes on top of each other. However, there was still a small way you'd have to pull up, and while he was working on getting stronger, he didn't succeed in masking the few grunts and groans on the way.

"I swear you're going to be an old man by the time you turn 18 with the way your knees are popping," you teased when he swung his legs up over and rolled in. You had gracefully taken the bag from him when he was halfway. You were quick to take out it's contents and lining it up.

"Says the one who's been acting 18 since they were 10," he retorted out of breath.

You merely scoffed in response, but he caught the small smile. "Whatever, old man" your hands smoothed over the sealed bowl. You looked like you were waiting for his permission. It never failed to amuse him. He had brought the food for only you and you alone. You never actually accepted it before you were sure that you were allowed to.

"Go on, I could hear your growling stomach from the gate" he motions for you to just get to it. You rip the lid off like an animal starved. He can practically see the way your mouth glistens, at the sight of the freshly cooked meal.

"Ugh, you're a lifesaver Si, thank you."

He watches as you fold your hands, drop your head low and close your eyes in silent prayer. You do it every time before a meal. Simon can't even pretend to begin to understand why, or what the point of it is, but he knows it's important to you.

He respects it and doesn't interrupt you with stupid questions, but there will always be the little itch in the back of his brain that reminds him, that the religion forced upon you is a big factor of your pain.

You always try to convince him that it's fine, that you want it to be like this. He knows you're lying. Despite how much your parents will glorify it for you, he won't forget that it's them who starves you, just for accidentally taking the lord's name in vain.

"Say thanks to your mom from me," you mumble out through a mouthful of food. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips at the sight. You looked so content with your favourite food right at your fingertips.

"I made it."

Your eyes shoot up to meet him, surprised. "Really? Damn, you're a much better cook than I am." There's a swell of pride in his chest, he wasn't going to admit to you how many times he had failed to make that dish good. He had waited for the right moment to show you, and it paid off in the end.

"Flowers are in full bloom," he mentions offhandedly. He looks down at the small corners of red, covering the grave areas. The graveyard keeper had planted them awhile ago, hoping to let them bloom and give the grey space a pop of colour. An added bonus that it would deter people from messing with the graves.

The old man didn't like the two of you very much, chasing you out whenever he caught you here, and trying to find out who you were so he could tell your parents. It quickly made Simon internalize the man’s schedule so you could keep the space to yourself. Not like anyone ever came and visited these old graves. Not in this part of the yard.

"Mhm I know," you speak with your mouth full of food, "I plucked a few from behind the shed." He raises a brow, his curious look almost making you chuckle before swallowing. He always wondered how you lost all your manners as soon as you left the house, though he had decided to let you be on the subject long ago.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

You scoff, gulping down almost half the water bottle he brought before answering. "No, I didn't, you have so little trust me. I was careful," you assure him. You nudge to the little plastic bag of six red spider lilies. Their strings crumbled in some places, from where you had been a little less careful.

He gently picks them up. The plastic bag rustles when he moves them around, putting them into the shape of a bouquet. "You know, they kind of remind me of you" he brings them closer to his face. He looks down into the bundle of red strings, and green stalks. The sweet floral fragrance is surprisingly overwhelming. He scrunches up his nose, before moving the flowers away.

"Really?"

"Of course, my little spider" he gives you a cheeky grin. He can't help the small surge of giddiness, that rises in his chest when he sees your annoyed face. He had given you the nickname with no explanation two years ago. You didn't like it one bit, but he never relented. Over time, it just became part of your friendship.

"Are you serious? Is that why you chose it?" You didn't sound impressed. Your annoyance definitely wasn't relieved, by the potentiality of the pretty flowers being the reason for your odd nickname.

He snorts, shaking his head quickly. "Nah, could be partly" he offers you the spider lilies ceremoniously, like one would offer their partner romantic red roses. "More likely, you remind me of spiders" you accept the flowers unsure, "cute, always there, hiding in the shadows."

You swat his arm, "Hey! I do not hide in the shadows like a creep!"

His laugh echoes out louder than he meant it to. The both of you looking around suspiciously, eyeing the place to see if the graveyard keeper should suddenly pop out of the shadows and chase you away with a pitchfork.

"Of course, not love, you have absolutely never done that once in your life."

He finds himself unable to look away from your eyes, when you chuckle along with him. The little creases of genuine joy in the corners, the way they light up with life. It's a look on you that he realizes he's missed. Much more than he thought.

Simon's room is drenched in darkness when he wakes up. It's only after he forcefully blinks that he's even sure he actually did open his eyes. His breathing turns quiet and strained, the images of his dream replaying on his mind like a sick mantra. It hadn't even been the usual night terrors that he got; this one was something old yet new.

His lungs felt too big for his ribcage. The warm hand resting atop his chest felt all the more restrictive. It wasn't his own. A quiet panic sets into his blood, one that's relieved just as quick when the man next to him stirs in his sleep.

Johnny had always been a restless sleeper. Even when he was deep asleep, he had a tendency to twitch around. The first few times they had fallen asleep together, Simon hadn't gotten much, but he still found it to be worth it. Being able to hold Johnny close in his arms, and make sure that the man got as much sleep as possible, did things to the protective voice in Simon's head.

He gently moves Johnny's hand off his chest. He had fallen asleep caressing his scars. A much more frequent occurrence now that Simon had finally gotten the courage to tell Johnny of the origins. They weren't new by any means, but it felt nice regardless.

He hadn't felt cared for like this since…. well, since you.

He sits up, trying to not disturb him. His hand wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, and grimaces at the feeling. He needs a shower. Why had he even dreamt of you now, after all this time? It didn't make sense to him. Sure, he occasionally had a thought about you, but you hadn't had any prevalence in his life for a long time.

The memory was distinct to him, but it bled together with countless others you had shared on the roof of that shed. This was the first time he could see the vibrancy of the blood-red fill his vision. Those damn flowers you loved so much. The ones he nicknamed you after, when you expressed how much you hated your own name.

He could feel the touch of your fingers, running down his arm, over the tattoo he had gotten in secret. A quiet rebellion towards his own family. The softness of your skin was stuck in his mind, gripping him like a vice and choking him through his uprising emotions.

It was so clear to him. Terrifying, really, he had felt so deeply about you. Now you were but dust in the wind for him.

"Simon…"

A much rougher hand than yours had been, gently rubs his arm, bringing his attention to its owner. Johnny stares up at him with drowsy eyes, the deep blues looking to him for an explanation.

"Nightmare?" he asks, his voice still laced with sleep.

Simon shakes his head. It wasn't a nightmare, was it? His emotions are disturbed, for sure, but his nightmares are violent. They leave him rattled and shaken, barely allowing oxygen into his lungs. They have him fighting back against any physical force, and remind him of his worst memories. Typically, it didn't include scenic graveyards, beloved childhood friends and red spider lilies in full bloom.

"Then why are ye cryin'?"

Simon's eyes widen. His hand come up to touch the tears, wiping them away in a quick motion. Yeah, why the hell was he even crying. It wasn't something to cry over, it was simply the past. It wasn't even something he regretted. It was a pleasant memory; one he wishes he could go back to.

Johnny's hand traces up his muscle, until he is fully sat up himself. His lips come into contact with Simon's cheek, giving him a soft kiss.

"Ye wanna talk about it?" Johnny looks like he's ready to pass out any second. He always had that interesting ability to become sleepy anytime he's around Simon alone. Managing to become relaxed enough to let down his defences.

"No…" Simon let's out a deep grumbled sigh. He moves his head to the side, meeting Johnny's concerned gaze. He dips down to place a kiss to his lips, just as soft. "Go back to sleep…you can still catch a few hours," he says in a whisper.

They both had another day of hard work ahead of them. It wouldn't be any use if Simon was the reason the both of them were lacking energy. Their current case was a difficult one. The entire taskforce was more used to short clear-cut missions, one after the other they cleared them with minimal struggle. All they've done the last few weeks has been intel gathering, and a few fruitless ops to various places in the world.

It was, in short, frustrating. The group of people they were looking for were incredibly good at keeping themselves in the shadows. Trying to catch them has been like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

They've been down two men as well. Ever since, Price and Gaz left to retrieve extra help, so to speak. He doesn't see how any more help will do anything for them, the people they've already consulted were dead ends. Talented absolutely, he even learnt a new thing from one of them, but not what they needed.

The stress of the job itself was taking its toll on his brain, but he couldn't ever imagine himself doing anything else. Not when he's got this far already. People like himself aren't suited for a quieter life, somewhere else doing something that's a lot more mundane. At least he can't complain about having a boring day to day.

"Yer thoughts are loud."

Simon let's out a heavy sigh. It's too late for this, or early rather. He shuffles under the sheets, brings Johnny with him as he morphs his own body to his. Johnny instinctively wraps his arms around him, squishing themselves close as they can get. The heat of the room ignored.

"Sleep…" he mumbles and closes his eyes, "We can talk later."

A sharp knock pulls Simon away from his report. His eyes narrowing at the door as it opens, taking notice of the creek. The hinges have needed changing for a few years now. No one ever got around to it.

"Got yer lunch," Johnny steps into the low lighted office. Always with that tone of optimism that Simon can never really grasp.

"Jesus, ah don't understand how ye can see anythin' in 'ere." Johnny pushes the door closed, and makes his way over to Simon's desk. He puts down a plate of whatever he could find (that Simon would like) from what they're serving today. A task that could prove challenging.

Johnny squints in the low light, even the lamp Simon keeps on his desk doesn't do much for the total lighting in the room.

He prefers it this way though, it goes easy on his eyes, and he doesn't have to listen to the incessant buzzing from the lights that apparently only he can hear.

The first time Johnny questioned him on his choice, Johnny had called him a vampire in response. In retaliation, he had woken the man up in the middle of the night, and scared the shit out of him.

He was not questioned again.

"Got yer favourite," the Scot scoots an extra chair over to his desk. He tried to sound as upbeat as he could. The last while had taken a visible toll on everyone in the taskforce, and between the two of them, Johnny wanted to remain positive for them both. Simon sure as hell wasn't going to.

Simon let's out a grumbling noise in response. "Oh, quit that," Johnny waves his hand between the report and his face, "ah know for a fact, that ye barely ate anythin' this mornin'. What's the matter with ye."

The quiet stretches between them. He ignores the offended sputters, when he removes Johnny's hand from his view. He was right though, unfortunately, Simon hadn't had much of an appetite ever since he failed to go back to sleep. There was something about the dream he had, it wouldn't leave his mind.

No matter how much he tried to convince himself it was nothing, the reminder of the past felt like a storm in his body. It swirled old emotions back to the top, things he never got over and had instead repressed the hell out of.

He tried to not make a habit of dwelling on things he couldn't change. Yet now he finds himself wondering what could have been different if he chose other actions, than what he did all those years ago.

What if he hadn't given up on reaching out. What if he had tried to find you. What if he still knew you.

What if, what if, what if.

He bit back on a groan. Normally it was the annoying (Loveable) Scotsman occupying his thoughts, not childhood crushes.

For a time, he had tried finding you again, years later when it would already be too late. What he found was abnormally little, and nothing worthy of note. All he could boil it down to was that you had your own life now, somewhere else, far away from him.

"Simon," Johnny snapped his fingers, "Ye don't get to ignore me, talk to me." Still, he remains quiet, only gracing the man with his supposed undivided attention at his request. Whatever Johnny wanted from him would be better than fantasizing about a past he couldn't return to. It wasn't like him.

"Jus' stressed."

"Aye…sure…just the stress," Johnny mocks him light-heartedly, his mouth tugging in the corners. "C'mon Si, ah know what ye're like when ye're stressed…this is different…is it the supposed non nightmare ye had?" He's adamant on not letting the morning go.

Simon had been more quiet than normal, hastily going on with his day in an attempt at finding something to distract him. He had failed miserably in his pursuit, instead letting himself drown in the unanswerable question. What exactly was the goal of The Divine Principle.

"It wasn't a nightmare," he stresses.

"Didn't say it was."

Simon puts down the pen he had been writing with. The small joints in his fingers aching at the release. The pen was the only thing that had been at his disposal for several hours, which allowed him to fidget. Anything else left him restless, only the bouncing of his own leg did it justice, but even that got tiresome after a long time of it.

"I dreamt up memories." He looks away from his partner's unwavering attention. He had told several things from his past already. Old ghost stories that's better left dead and buried under the rubble of his past self.

He allowed Johnny in years ago, opened up his stone turned heart, and let him hold it. He gave him the ability to squeeze the life out of it, drain it of whatever feeling it still had left.

Instead, Johnny let it prosper in his care. Showing the scars of his own, and gaining mutual love and understanding.

There were still things he didn't know. Wounds that never really turned into scars were still left in the darkness. Scabs being picked at every few years or so, reminding him of the hurt he never quite tended to.

"Yer family?"

"An old friend."

"Childhood friend? Not somethin' ye've ever mentioned before," Johnny says in an intrigued tone. He pushes the plate of food In front of Simon's vision to remind him.  It doesn't forward his eating. He barely even looks at it, instead remaining his fixed gaze on John.

"And I don't intend to," he doesn't react to the disproving look he gets, "at least not yet."

"Aye…Ah not gonna force ye to Si…but it's clearly botherin' ye." Johnny let's out a pleased sound when Simon finally rolls up the bottom of his mask above his nose, and pick up the fork to stab at his food.

He takes a big bite before he continues. It gives him enough time to gather his own thoughts. They still spiral within his skull, feelings of want and longing buzzing in his bones. "I jus' didn't expect it," he whispers, "been years since I’ve had a dream from the past that wasn't riddled with…unease."

It's not a generous term. It doesn't quite grasp the full complexity of it, but he'd rather suffer beneath a blade once again before he admits it out in the open that they terrify him.

Nightmares are frequent, things from the operations he goes through here. Night terrors have become a much smaller occurrence for him, his therapy sessions helping more than he thought they would, and extra support from Johnny had done wonders.

He didn't know what to make of it, but Price's words from years ago of how far you could go with a solid support system, were apparently true. He wasn't planning on admitting that to the man anytime soon, however.

Johnny stares in silence, waiting for him to continue, but the matter is dropped when he shakes his head no. Johnny let's out a deep sigh, and with a soft shake of his head, he begins eating his own brought lunch. "Fine, have it yer way" he mumbles while he chews, "Captain and Gaz should be coming in a few hours."

"I would've thought you'd show more excitement over new people," Simon speaks after swallowing his mouthful of food. He didn't want to go back to the subject of his dream, instead letting it simmer in the back of his head.

"Ah would, but I'm too busy worrying about yer ass." Johnny grins, and though he means it, Simon can see the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. He had always been one for the newcomers, the few people that had helped them on the cult case so far had been on the questionably delightful receiving end of Johnny's flirtatious manner.

"You worry too much."

"Funny, ah should be the one saying that," that earns Johnny a look of annoyance. One he can only chuckle at. No matter how much Johnny would humour it, he was right, even if Simon didn't want him to be.

He always found himself something to worry about, or so he's told from everyone around him. One thing was for Price to say it, the hypocritical bastard. Another was for Johnny to mention it, it got him thinking, but it was a complete third thing when even Kyle would give his two cents of concern.

He was labelled a worrier, through and through. Not something he took on with particular pride, but it kept them safe. It made him aware of the dangers, all of them, and with the right precautions he could fight them before they took something precious of his.

It's the unknown that's the hardest to compete with. He knew nothing about the upcoming arrival, he couldn't prepare his proper defences, or what he needed. His brain still had to constantly remind him that the person coming wasn't a threat to his peace. They were coming to help. That was all.

One thing Simon can be thankful for, is that the base doesn't feel it when it's at it's busiest. The quiet can still reap the noise in the halls, and outside the wind is reduced to a slow breeze.

There's a chill in the air, the leaves of autumn already starting to fall from the dedicated few trees left on base. The colour on them had kept something pretty to look at around, soon they would bare and boring again. Sometimes the snow would make up for it, if there was enough of it.

He'd been waiting out here a tad too long. Not even Johnny would join him before the plane got a bit closer. The anxious part of him wouldn't allow him to be late. An ideal he'd always held to, rather be too early than too late.

It keeps him within of that carefully crafted control.

A control that very quickly starts to dwindle when the doors open.

A part of him finds himself relieved when he sees Price and Garrick come out of the plane unscathed and in the same state as they went. He could try to deny it to himself all he wanted, but he had grown to care about the taskforce as a whole, not just Johnny.

That part of it all was fine, a variable he knew.

The person walking languidly behind them, is what sets him out of his carefully calculated control.

It trails down his back like claws of ice, bringing the warmth of his blood into an ever long cold. His limbs cease, his already rigid stance becomes like stone. The person that walks towards him, is not a person he knows any more, nor is it a person he ever expected to see again. Because that person is no longer the little kid, he would watch scrape their knees climbing the trees, or the little kid he would hold close when they broke under pressure.

The little kid was now a grown adult.

And in tow behind Price with a nervous look.

You look different.

He couldn't even be sure that it was truly that little kid, sure they carried your features, more mature and older, a new amount of scars and weariness you should never bear. It's been so long, he can almost convince himself that he's hallucinating. That his own sleep deprivation is finally catching up to him, and forcing him to make correlations based upon his own wishes.

"Boys, it's good to see you" Price voice thrums out. The smile playing on his lips tells Simon more things than he likes. The eye-contact they're making only makes the nausea in his stomach worse. If only throwing up would fix the problem standing in front of him, half obscured by Gaz.

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting out here too long," Price voice almost echoes, "I want to introduce you to someone."

The tense air doesn't alleviate, and when your name leaves the captains lips, Simon knows that he is completely and utterly fucked.

"Ye know them, don't ye?"

Johnny's voice startles him out of his thoughts, bringing him back up from the rabbit hole he ventured down. He's been standing here for who knows how long, staring out at the training recruits doing their drills for the evening, or at least that is his cover. Truly he doesn't see anyone of them, he looks past the moving crowd, his eyes boring into your figure on the other side.

He answers Johnny with a simple grunt. He still can't quite believe it himself, that it really is you, that you're alive and here. It makes him angry to even think about, you being here. You're not supposed to be here at all, you were supposed to be far away from the likes of the military.

You weren't supposed to look like you did, flimsy and cautious reactions to everything that moved, new scars he knew nothing about adorned your once soft skin and made it rough, your eyes were no longer sweet and innocent, they had seen things he had as well.

A future he had blissfully believed you wouldn't have to share with him.

His nausea hasn't left since you arrived hours ago.

"Not on good terms, then?" Whatever Johnny thought of you, he was having a mighty good time with this. Since you'd uttered your first words, Johnny had been smitten with you. A quality to impress that you still seemed to possess, despite your differences.

Simon had worried that Johnny would have scared you away with his overwhelming form of an introduction. His presence commanded space, something Simon counted on when he wanted to retract into the shadows of a room and go unnoticed. But on you and your tense muscles, you looked more like a frightened rabbit ready to sprint back into the plane.

You didn't.

No, you held yourself in place, did the courteous thing and introduced yourself as properly as you could.

There hadn't been a whole lot of time for reunions. Simon didn't even know whether you knew it was him under the skull mask. He hadn't greeted you, too afraid of his own reaction to you, and he had likely looked like a rude, brutish soldier that wanted nothing to do with you.

He wanted to adhere to that, keep up the act, and keep hoping you wouldn't see through him and his longing glances.

"I think they're quite charming," Johnny says with a hint of suggestion, "pretty thing."

"Keep it in your pants, MacTavish."

Across the yard, he sees you light a cigarette. You bring it to your lips and take a puff, rolling your shoulders back to release tension. It's a nasty habit, one you shouldn't indulge in. You should've stayed away from it, just like he told you all those years ago.

His hand twitches when you take another puff, and the pack of cigarettes burn against his thigh where they rest in his pocket.

"I thought ye liked to take said pants off-" he lets out a scoff when Simon moves past him, not allowing him to finish.

He crosses halfway through before the small voice in him quivers and changes his mind. He trails to the side, slowly making his way towards you by staying close to the raised wall. You don't look towards him, but with the way you had anxiously assessed every corner of every area you went, you likely knew exactly where he was and what he was doing.

Nonetheless, he found himself standing with a distance to you, using the excuse that it was a dedicated smoking area, to actually allow himself this close. It feels out of place for him to be this cautious of his own movements. Normally his moves were calculated, a bit heavy and tense, sneaky, when need be, but not the nervous caution he embodies now.

He fishes out his own pack of cigarettes, narrowing his vision on it while he lights it to make sure he doesn't let himself trail towards you. He needs to be strategic about this, he couldn't just assume you knew who he was. You might not even remember him.

"I was starting to wonder whether you were going to come say hello, or if you were going to keep hiding in the shadows, and staring like a creep."

The first drag comes into his lungs wrong. He seals his lips and lets the cough reside in his chest. A mistake to do, since you seem to notice anyway. Your voice isn't what he would think. Though, he starts to realize he doesn't actually remember what you used to sound like in his memories, but it wasn't this.

"Wasn't staring," he defends.

"Sure, and I’m royalty."

At least you hadn't lost your love for sarcasm.

He takes a better drag of his cigarette, lets the nicotine into his body like he needed it to breathe. He really should kick the habit, set an example. If not for you, then for Johnny. He didn't quite think you'd care so much for his 'example' any more.

"No reintroduction?"

"So, you know then," he turns his head to look at you. He meets your eyes, already staring at him, looking him over like he's some fascinating creature you've never seen before. Yet he feels like you're staring right through him at the same time.

There's something haunted about your appearance and stance.

"Of course I know, Simon, you really think I would've come here if I didn't get all the information."

Simon doesn't know what to think. You're not even supposed to be here in his mind. "Been a long time," he comments idly, instead of indulging your rhetorical question. How many years had it been since you parted? Since you stopped answering and turned away? He can't remember.

"It has," you bring your own cigarette to your lips to take a drag, the silence kills, "you've come far."

"I thought you were too stubborn to join up." He watches on as you look away. Is that a hint of shame he sees? He's not going to pretend to know what's going on in your head anymore.

"People change," is all the answer you seem to muster up and give him, "and I’m not currently enlisted."

His jaw twitches behind the mask, it clamps to his face uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too scratchy against his skin.

People change.

He knew that, he wasn't delusional about it. It just didn't feel right for you to change so drastically. He had always imagined that you'd be living alone by now, in a city far away from the likes of him, maybe even a different country. You'd have bought that flat or house you always fantasized about, finally making it yours. You'd have a beloved pet or two, and a husband or wife to keep your bed warm.

He lets out a grunt in response, taking another shot at filling his lungs with smoke. "Well, you're not the only thing that's changed over the years," he doesn't know what point he's trying to make, yet he tries nonetheless.

"Clearly." He no longer likes the tone of voice you've taken on.

You turn yourself to him fully this time. He has no idea what's going through your head. There's mystique in your eyes, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for him to realize you aren't staring at him, but his mask.

"Out of all the motifs, you could've chosen…" you sound almost disappointed in him. He doesn't understand why it stings. You look down at his skeletal gloves with the same expression. He's never been one to be embarrassed, or self-conscious about his persona. You've only been back in his life for a few hours, and the old standard he held for you long ago comes back like it wasn't ever gone.

He can't even remember caring that much about your opinion of him. Maybe it's because back then you adored everything about him. Now your eyes don't hold the warmth he's come to miss.

"You got a problem?" His jaw tenses behind his mask. He regrets his tone of voice the instant he sees the narrow squint of your eyes, the distaste never quite leaving your face.

"You know that I do." He does. He doesn't try to deny it. Back when you were kids, he knew you better than even your own parents did, your family or anyone else you would surround yourself with.

"If there's a conflict of interest-"

"Always so prone to the extreme," you cut him off. A callback he doesn't appreciate as much as he once would. "Good to see not everything is changed," none of your words are said with honesty nor the friendliness he could've expected from you.

There's deceit, passive aggressiveness, a hostile tone you've never bourn before. You've never had to Infront of him before. It's a foolish realization to only have now. It's the only constant he could be sure of the first time he saw you again, in all these years. You weren't going to be the same, you have changed, and so has he.

To go back to such a time isn't a possibility. It rests within either of your memories, buried beneath layers of stone and ice. The feelings you once had couldn't be expected to be upheld. It was unfair of him to think such a way.

He doesn't recognize his own voice when he softly calls your name. His3 hand moves forward about to graze at your arm, but before he can even come near, you back away. It's a rejection that cuts deep, and one he wishes he actually could blame you for. Alas he can't.

"No," you say steadfast "don't do that. It won't end well…for either of us."

He doesn't nod, doesn't shake his head. No verbal response is offered, only a mere silent movement, the retraction of his own hand to give you the space you have asked for. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it anymore than he liked the way you became a ghost all those years ago.

You're finally within reach of his grasp, and you've never felt further away.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

Wordcount: 6.8k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - Religious trauma, PTSD, Hallucinations, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: You ran from it all for a reason, it's easier to disappear when everyone thinks you're dead, but what happens when someone wants to bring you dangerously close to your past, the one you've been trying to run from for so long?

A/N: Trying to not panic over the fact i'm finally releasing this- Hope you enjoy it!!

[Next Chapter]

Through all your problems in life, your most prominent ones always seem to have a connection between the weather, and unnecessary questions. Since the dawn of time people have had this annoying notion of being very nosy.

There aren’t many places in the world you've been to where it's different. They can deny it all they want, it's all the same no matter where you go. Simultaneously the weather has never quite agreed with you. It makes your nonstop travel tedious, a draining task that often takes more time than you'd like it to.

Even here, with the amount of time it took you to get here in the first place because of the weather. It's an ironic turn when only a few days after your arrival, the sun turns the concrete into a fire from hell. A stark contrast to the storms and rain, that kept your flight delayed, again and again.

The heat makes you want to never leave that little flower shop, with the big fan in the corner. If it wasn't for the sharp floral smell, and the continuous buzzing of the thing, you could even have considered working here. It's not prone to traffic of many people, and those who are here are usually in a hurry, so they don't engage you in too much meaningless chatter, while you would work.

Unfortunately, you rarely have that luxury, every turn and twist in your day-to-day life, threatening you with the underlying feeling of being caught, of being known.

A loud sound erupts from the back, when the old man drops a pair of scissors. Children squeal outside the shop, as soon as the ball goes into the hoop placed above the window. It's a disaster waiting to happen. However, it kept the children happy and busy, in the early hours of the morning, when there was nothing to do yet, and the heat wasn't high enough to spoil their activity.

The quiet sound of snips continues soon after, the man continuously giving you odd looks from your request. You don't pay it any mind. Your hands nervously clutch at your wallet, the ache in your knuckles barely noticeable anymore.

One of the kids outside pick up the ball again, launching it at the hoop but missing by an inch. The ball bounces back, and you realize it before you see it. The silence between the kids is almost comical, the squealing and happy yelling gone within an instant.

A little streak of crimson runs down from the kid's cheek, the bruise already forming with unnatural colors. The other kids flock around them, fuzzing about with caring tones and careful touches. One of the older ones finds a rag to gently dab away the blood.

You wonder if it would still be warm to the touch, metallic in taste, an awful sign of life.

The kid's eyes keep staring ahead, through the window. You could pretend that they're looking at the pretty flowers, but you hold their eye contact with purpose. They look defeated in their shock, too big of a reaction for a little accident in your flawed opinion.

You could've stopped them, prevented it before it happened, they wouldn't have gotten hurt.

They continue to stare you down, a frown settled on their lips. Do they really think that you could've stopped them. The kids would've laughed at you at best. The eyes multiply tenfold when the other kids notice the injured one's staring. You keep it up, not backing down despite the uncomfortable feeling of too much attention on you. You've been too exposed today.

You've had eyes in the back of your neck ever since you left your room this morning. Not the usual way either, this time it's been from an unknown source.

You don't miss the man leaned up against the wall to a clothing boutique. His hood raised up, his lips moving to speak every now and then. He's doing a good job at pretending to watch the kids have fun and play.

The old man clears his throat. He's already arranged the flowers beautifully, they now rest on the counter, waiting for you to pay up.

You put down your payment in coins, ignore his grumbling in favor of grabbing the flowers and getting out of there in a hurry.

The café has been your only place of respite. A quaint little space you found when you first came to this place. It sits open to the streets, while still managing to feel packed away. Behind those old curtains, and dainty accessories adorning yellowish walls, is the best coffee you've had in years.

Ding

A pleasant little sound fills your ears every time you open the door, and step down in the lowlight place. As much as you liked it, every time you were here, you'd be fighting your instincts to make the sound again and again and again. Your own mental oblivion urging you forward.

Coffee is already placed on your table. Steam rising from the little blue cup, the one with a chipped side, unofficially assigned to you. The little corner is always free when you come in. There was always the question of whether the little spot was unpopular, or if there were other external factors for its lack of use.

It was hard to tell, by the already general lack of customers and patrons, but the little seat was always there for you.

Confined in your own little corner, you would spend the mornings of the past month sipping coffee, and looking like you belonged in a prison cell. With the amount of paranoia your posture exuded, it's impossible to not think you had something going on.

Luck has a tendency not to follow you in places like these, so you refrain from interacting too much with anything. It leaves you looking a bit like a social reject, but you comfort yourself in the knowledge that in a month, none of these people will see your face again.

At least people don't ask questions here.

You walk over to the counter and place the bouquet of spider lilies down next to the registry. Being careful not to disturb the beautiful order the nice old man had put them in. Your eyes linger for but a moment.

A meek old woman owns the place. Elena. She took a quick liking to you the first you arrived here a few weeks ago. She seemed to understand you in an underlying way, she never asked you the hard questions, she accepted your secrecy in a way only a mother who's seen the worst can do. It freaks you out.

You still feel bad about lying to her.

Had she been someone else, you might've been more inclined. To let the woman know who -what- you really are, would only put her in more harm’s way than necessary. That would even be before she could get a chance to hate you, for the things you've done to stay alive.

The wood protests when you settle into the chair. You pull back on the urge to wiggle in it. The old woman was nowhere to be seen, but the little rustle of pots and pans in the back gave you clear indication of where she is. There's always the fresh smell of newly baked pastries in the mornings, just before everyone wakes up for their daily hustles.

Not many people would come this early, making it a regular occurrence for you to spend that time here. Little hole in the wall only really served the continuing patrons, most others took to the more populated places.

A flash of light shines through the thin curtains, illuminating the dust swirling around in the air, as well as the colorful pillows carefully placed in each chair. They felt out of place to everything else in here. Newer. You quickly learnt a lot of things about the mentality of the people living here, you had to if you intended to blend in inconspicuously. Something you found out the hard way, was that the old woman tended to take things personally.

It didn't matter how much you meant it positively, negatively, no meaning at all. One little comment a faint evening, and the next day the pillows were all replaced.

You squint your eyes from the raging orange and put your focus back on the coffee. It's no longer steaming as much as before. You hadn't originally picked this place because it would provide you cover. In all fairness, if the place wasn't as cozy on the inside, it would likely be shady enough to be conspicuous, from the odd looking outside alone.

Yet still, it serves as your little paradise.

You find your brain goes quiet when you're in here. You can sip your coffee in peace, unaware of the shadows creeping in the corners of your eyes. It's numbing. Your little respite away from the danger outside, the danger within, and with Elena's nurturing soul, it makes you not want to leave.

Ding

Unfortunately, fate has a funny little tendency to give you the middle finger. It has never been on your side, and you doubt it is ever going to be.

Your little paradise is about to be invaded. With lingering smells of gunpowder, and blood so thick it will stain your soul. Patches of blonde and black hair, one making its way to your corner, and the other stationary at the door.

You take a sip of your coffee. It tastes wrong.

The blonde woman pulls out the chair opposite of you. She takes a moment to get comfortable before leaning in, her arms neatly folded on the table. She's playing on your domesticity, your familiarity, you know her too well to expect anything else. You don't doubt if you were look up, you'll see those blue eyes full of desperation, ready to ask you to move heaven and hell for her.

She's a few years too late.

Much to your surprise she keeps quiet when you take another sip. How kind of her. It doesn't last long. As soon as you put the chipped cup down, and acknowledge her, she opens her mouth to speak.

"No" you intercept her.

She closes her mouth, opens it, closes it. "You haven't even heard what I have to say," a small smile plays on her lips. It seems innocent enough. You know her better. She has blood on her hands, the same way you have blood on your teeth.

"The answer is no."

"I wouldn't come to you if it wasn't serious," her folded hands tighten, "You know that." She's honorable, as far as you know, but you're not ready to get back into your harness, so she can pull on your collar.

The next sip burns your tongue. You bite down on it, choke the yelp deep down in your throat. "Laswell..." you speak her name with urgency. The quicker you can shut her up and get her to leave, the quicker you can get back to making your plan to move.

"I need you to just hear me out alright?" she pauses, "it's in your best interest."

She's not letting you leave this place unless you agree.

Your eyes dart over to the man standing at the entrance. There's more than one way to get out of here, the one he is blocking is the least convenient. But you suppose you do owe it to Laswell to hear her out.

If you narrow it all down to the dirt and bones, she is the only reason why you're sitting in this café alive, while remaining dead to the world.

Your would-be grave is far from here. Dug and scraped with your own charred hands and broken nails.

Crack crack, bury the sin beneath blood and bone.

You can still hear it when you unfocus your brain, they won't let you forget.

"It's him, he's back" the words soil your throat, and they didn't even come from your own lips. "He's brought his group back along with him, and they're causing a bigger disturbance," It's sickening that she's even bringing this up.

She continues despite your grimace, "I would have pulled out every other resource I could before coming here, but you're the only person I can rely on to see this through."

She wants you to go back.

Go back, Go back, Go back.

"You're the only one I know that has both skill and cause."

Your eyebrow twitches, and you bite down on your tongue to not retaliate. You can taste the metal before you relent. The last thing you want to do is cause a scene in here.

The old woman doesn't deserve this.

"I understand your apprehension to this, but you know how important it is that we put a stop to him, you should want this more than anyone else."

The chair screeches as you push yourself to your feet. Your palms connect with the table, and it in turn rattles. The man who was standing stationary at the door breaks form. He reaches behind him, and let's his hand settle on something.

Not that you thought she would come here unarmed.

Laswell calls your name, bringing your attention back to her. She's a lot calmer than her jumpy backup. "It's just a talk, nothing more for now," it's all lies is what is.

"Bring attack dogs to all your family meetings?" you don't settle back into the chair. You were done with this place the moment Laswell and her soldier set foot in it.

She spares a single glance back at her friend, something reassuring in her face, it makes him ease back up to form. "Fine, there's no going around it with you," she wants it to all be lighthearted, to ease you in, you won't fall for it again.

"I am cashing in the favor, you'll be properly paid of course, and you can settle a score, does it really sound that bad?"

"Yes."

You stare into her blue eyes. She smells faintly of smoke. Her eyes won't leave you, but you see the contemplation in them, the searching of your figure. She's looking for the right bait, looking for the best way to sink her hooks into your ribs and drag you along.

"I don't want to have to do this to you..." her voice is quieter. It almost surprises you, but you know what she's talking about. She's in a bind herself.

She's not going to wait forever for you to say yes, and she needs you. On paper you are the perfect candidate for whatever she has planned. Though you doubt your mental profile lives up to the required standards. Certain things can be overlooked in desperation, you suppose.

"I'll hear you out," you start "somewhere else." The determination in her eyes border hope. It's pitiful that she thinks you'll have so much influence on her mission. You're really not all that.

You have the basic training, but also enough history to disqualify you, from any position within the military ever again. Laswell let's out a sigh of relief. Was she really that worried?

"Everything alright petal?" your eyes snap to Elena, a pot of something steaming in her hands that she places on the counter.

Laswell's backup twitches, seemingly surprised that the place wasn't as empty as he thought it was. You give the old woman a curt nod. It's enough to make her go about her day as normal, and you silently thank God that she isn't one to question.

"Always pick the jumpy attack dogs?"

Laswell stands up, breathing in harshly. If she doesn't like your resistance, she can pick someone else. "The squad is still weary from the last op." She explains.

You nod quietly in response. At least that's one thing you can sympathize with.

"Come, I'm not going to wait around for you to change your mind."

You hope Elena likes the flowers.

You feel like an idiot. Not even an hour out of the town you resided in, is an off the map military base. You are disgusted, appalled, shocked, disappointed. Every word in the book they could find.

You had prided yourself in being able to outrun anything. When Laswell helped you fake your own death, it was even easier. The amount of preparation you had to do when moving from place to place, was to put it mildly, extensive.

Somehow you completely missed this place.

It has your head reeling. Not even the rumbling of the car, or the passing outside, is enough to distract you. You catch Laswell eyes in the rearview mirror. She was first to get behind the wheel, which is a...choice.

Allowing out a soft sigh, you let your head rest against the window. The base is out past the middle of nowhere. You'd go crazy if you had to count all the corn fields you've passed by now.

Oh look...a cow.

"Nervous?"

The man next to you startles you out of your thoughts. You spare him a glance, not allowing yourself to linger too long at a time. He's casually dressed, his weapons hidden cleverly beneath layers of clothing.

If you remember right, Laswell called him Gaz. Odd nickname but not like you can judge, you've been called way worse.

He's got a good build, even with the blue hoodie you can see how his muscles fill it out. You don't doubt he could deck you fast if he wanted to. There'd be very little you could do about it, so out of form as you are. Occupied with everything else and staying out of sight, you haven't much time to keep yourself excessively fit.

Laswell picks her attack dogs well.

How sweet the sound of his bones breaking beneath your boot would sound.

You shake your head, grimacing at the thought. The little cracks that fill your ears are deafening.

"Don' worry, Cap's nice enough"

You don't doubt it, you just can't find it in yourself to care. Promises can so easily be broken; at the end of the day everyone wants something. That something has a tendency of putting you in danger, so you're not particularly excited.

"Gaz..." Laswell looks through the rearview mirror, making brief eye contact with the sergeant. Does she really think you that unhinged to not handle a simple conversation. A bit insulting.

"What...jus' making conversation," Gaz mumbles and turns his head to the side, subsequently joining you in looking out at the passing cows.

How much would she even tell Gaz about you. He couldn't know much, over half the things you're included in would be classified, and he's but a sergeant. His standoffish stance in the café was likely just to assess the danger, but the switch up is kind of freaking you out.

He seems nice enough overall, but you can't decide whether or not you actually want him to be. In a way it would be easier if he wasn't. You're not here to cultivate new friendships, you're here because you don't have another choice.

Whatever conversation he tries to make, dies out for the rest of the ride.

As soon as the car is put in park, Gaz jumps out. Gone within a blink of an eye, which you came to expect. The rest of the way was spent in awkward silence, and as much as you'd rather have silence, it was bad even for your taste.

Laswell takes it upon herself to lead you through the base. It's hard to ignore the looks and glares you get. You're an unknown variable, and without Laswell, you likely seem like an outright danger. It's a bit uncanny, to think that you once stood on their side, shoulder to shoulder with a sibling made of war.

She doesn't talk to you as you walk through base. You rely on your prior knowledge of the layout of UK military bases, to know where your exits would be. She parts with you in front of the "captains" office, a small throwaway promise to come get you once she has talked to him.

You don't question it, but it does make you raise a brow. Has she even told the captain you'd be coming? He would be the one supervising you when Laswell wouldn't be there, it's a pretty big thing to leave him in the dark about.

As soon as she closes the door, you let out a frustrated gust of air. This was already turning more complicated than you wanted it to be. Why didn't you resist a bit more, protest a bit more, you didn't even negotiate better terms with her. The shock alone, of seeing her again so soon after everything, rendered you unable to think logically.

At least the hallway is relatively empty.

Shadows start to creep in the corner of your vision. Thousands of little things hide there, occupying the otherwise empty space around.

You read the inscription on the door; Captain John Price.

The captain wasn't completely unknown to you. Though it all stems from rumors you heard, when you were a recruit. A few of your teammates had spoken about him in quiet whispers. Back then he didn't have the rank of Captain yet, nor a whole taskforce to command. He's come a long way.

Could they be similar?

No.

No one else could be like that, not that far. Especially not an old Idol, that would just be cruel.

"Kate you can't be serious...have you seen their file."

You perk up when you hear the slightly raised voices from inside. They're talking about you. You tilt your head closer. A grumbled brass voice sounds out, it reminds you of that of a dragon, most likely one belonging to the captain. You try to put a face to the name, but you can't remember any of the old pictures you saw. Every vivid image in your mind is distortedly different.

"You asked me to find extra help, this is it."

You'd laugh in her face if she was out here. There are much more qualified people than you, even with dealing with a group such as this.

"You could read one line in this and know they should not be handling a gun; much less be sent out in possible high-pressure situations."

You nod along for no one to see. You've done this song and dance trying to get reenlisted, twice before. More for the protection aspects than anything else. It would’ve been a lot easier getting your hands on weapons that way, instead of the unconventional way you've resorted to in your time away.

You did give yourself a bit of credit. Despite everything you had fared quite well for yourself, without Laswell's extended help. It came with strings, so you had turned it down.

At least you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere, which to be quite fair, you wouldn't put it past you for it to happen.

"John..."

"Kate..."

You start to wonder if Price would look like a dragon in human form. He already has the voice to match. Maybe he has a fiery beard, a tone that commands the respect of thousands. Would he hoard his possessions, to a disturbing extent?

The door scrapes against the floor when its opened. The sound makes you want to tear your ears off.

"Come on in" Kate waves you inside, making sure to close the door behind you. His office is simplistic, no personal touches around, only the standard issued items rest on his desk. From what you remember, he's used to moving from place to place often, it's likely that this office won't be his anymore by the end of the week.

"This is Captain John Price" She introduces you, and you offer him a nod of hopefully mutual respect. It's not reciprocated.

At first glance you notice two things about the captain.

One.

He stands tall. You don't doubt no matter how many meters you have in you, the man has ways of making you feel small.

He has a beard, beautiful eyes too, when you find it in you to look past the serious expression. It tells you all you need to know about him. At least he's not incompetent, he knows you shouldn't be here. Anyone would know after a single glance at you, even if Kate seems to think otherwise.

And two.

Price doesn't look like a dragon.

You don't know why it disappoints you. You knew very well he would not, and still, you find your heart sinking just little at his dismissive look.

It's a fantasy.

You stopped dreaming years ago; you have no intention of starting the childish notion again. You see enough things that weren't real, why add to it.

Price let's out a long sigh. His frustration with you is clear, but Laswell is steadfast in her opinion, no matter the resistance she wants you in this. The look she's sending his way, does as much as a firm set of words would. He folds his arms over his chest, looking back at her with as much determination as she is.

The quiet is...intruding.

You feel like you're witnessing something that you shouldn't be. The type of conversations, that your boss would have about you in private, to decide what to do with your behavior. You feel a need to say something, to break the silence and remind the two in the middle of a staring contest, that you're still here.

"Fine" Price concedes reluctantly, "but if there is anything-"

"There won't be any problems," she assures him "right?"

You freeze up the moment she refers to you. What were you supposed to say to that. You didn't want to be here, it was only out of obligation to her, to pay the blood debt you owe her.

You shrug your shoulders, finding a spot in the floor to stare at. The stain morphs and changes, subtly getting bigger and smaller, wider, and thinner all at once. It bleeds into the tile. You try to place a shape to it, but it changes too fast for you to decide on anything.

"Right then," Price moves over to his desk and pulls out a folder of multiple files. "You're going to want to know who you're going to work with," he slams the folder down on the wooden table. It creeks. You fight back a flinch.

"Kate has promised me you're going to be able to help," he doesn't sound convinced, "we'll see what you can do."

Laswell gives Price another glare. It would be comforting -her protectiveness- if it wasn't shrouded in obligation. It's laughable how much she believes you can solve her problem.

"You'll be accompanying the 141 in this, they've been working on this for the past month." Laswell chimes in as Price gets out the files of each respective member.

"I thought you needed my help immediately."

"I told you I was going to pull out all other resources before bringing you back into this." There's something pitying in her eyes, it makes you feel sick.

You were always going to be in this. No matter how much you hated it. It has been a part of so much of your life, there's nothing you can do to peel it off your skin. Lord knows you've tried to.

"Yes...We've been gathering as much information as we can on the group," Price leans his hip against the table. "We haven't found much, like the last time they were around, their efforts are very secretive, but we know where they're grouping. We have received reports, threats, missing persons rapports, all the signs the same group gave a few years ago, it seems very possible they have the same leader as well."

"The Divine Principle" you dig your nails into your palms. Your eyes catch the captains, now suddenly more attentive of you.

"You-"

"That's what they call themselves. I've hunted them before; I thought Laswell said." You don't bother looking towards the woman on your left, this is between you and the captain. He didn't seem to be quite convinced of your knowledge or skills. You didn't blame the man. You couldn't prove your skills worthy just yet, so your knowledge had to suffice.

You don't know why you suddenly feel the need to prove it to him, but there's something about his presence that makes you want him to like you. It's a rare feeling, the last time you felt like this you-

"She did, but she did not explain much about you, other than what's available in your file."

"I know enough to know they aren't good people," you switch up your stance, mimicking the way he was standing when you first came in. Your attention catches on the files again. You wonder who they could be, what their skills would include, if they would collide with your own.

You weren't used to working in groups like this, it was going to be different.

"Then you also know how important this mission is, they've done irreparable damage in the past, we can't have it happen again."

Price pushes one file towards you, holding the other three files in his grasp. "Gaz, who you already met as I understand it." You nod, thinking back to the man. Part of you had expected to meet him again, you should've realized he likely already was in the taskforce if he was accompanying Laswell.

"There's Soap, he'll be enthusiastic having a new member on the team I'll assure you that." Price places his file for you to see, giving you a moment before moving on. John MacTavish, Scottish by the looks of it, and an interesting hair choice of a mohawk. You're almost surprised they let him keep it.

"Lastly Ghost, and myself" he puts down the last file. It has no attached picture, but that isn't what initially grabs your attention as out of place as it is. What settles deep in your bones, is his name.

Simon Riley

Simon.

That Simon.

Your brow furrows as you read his name over and over and over again, gradually wishing he had a picture so you could confirm it for yourself. You hadn't seen or heard the name in years, not since you left Manchester. Was there really a chance it could be him.

"There's no picture," you pick up his file, as if reading his name closer would bring clarity to your adding questions.

"Never is," Price observes your hesitance the way you give Ghost's file more attention than the rest, "Do you know each other?"

"Might, it was a long time ago though, I doubt he'd even remember me."

He observes you for what feels like forever, trying to look past your carefully crafted mask, to gouge out the state of the relationship. "Well, it'd be good to have some familiarity on the team," he shrugs "can make the transition easier for you."

Yeah, if he doesn't despise you still.

You don't feel the need to tell the captain of your possibly declined relationship with the man. There's still a chance it's not him. You don't know why you're trying to fool yourself that it's not. You knew even back then that he wanted to join the military, that it had been all he ever wanted.

He's a lieutenant now. Despite everything you can't help but feel a little proud of him for making it this far, even if it's tinged with sadness.

"Will it be a problem?" Laswell brings your attention to her. Her voice layered with a sense of supposed knowledge that she is not supposed to have. It's hard to not get a little irritated, at this point you have no idea how much information the woman has in her skull. Information that you'd love nothing more than to erase from her memory.

"No, it will not" she isn't expecting any other answer. It's not like she's suddenly going to let you go if you do. Worst case scenario she restricts your workspace to avoid a conflict, and if she so desperately wants you to do this job, then you need your space.

"Make it quick, yeah?"

Gaz comes to a stop in front of the door to your little motel room. He makes a quick glance down each side of the hall. Deeming it clear, he leans back against the yellow tinted walls. Too bad he can't see the shadows breathing down his neck.

Though you'd never experienced anything shady or violent, you knew there was a rising criminal activity in the motel. You just never really spent enough time here to witness any of it.

"Yeah yeah," you grimace fumbling with your keys. You really should get rid of some of them, most of them didn't have a purpose anymore. Though like with most things, you had a hard time letting go.

The inside of your the little room you rented is exactly as you left it. Dresser door broken and splintered, curtains half closed, shadows looming in every corner and crevice.

Home sweet home, or something to that effect.

It's not a lot, but you don't complain, you've certainly lived with worse. Not staying in one spot for more than a month at a time didn't leave many options for work, so you had made do.

As much as you trusted Laswell's skills, and her promises, you had your own wariness to battle against. This way was the only one that actually made you feel like you had an advantage, against those that meant you harm.

The duffel bag with most of your belongings, had been hastily shoved into the dresser the morning prior. You find it uninterrupted in the same place, as expected. You glance towards the window and mark your possible exit. Should the man outside turn for whatever reason, the window would be loose, and you could break through the rusted glass frames.

For now, though, you had to trust that this taskforce you were to temporarily join, didn't actually want you dead. Yet.

Your variables are changing, and fast. There isn't a bigger part of you that enjoys this, and meeting up with Simon again could only prove trouble. He probably still held some resentment towards you, there's only the small hope that he keeps things professional.

You look down into your bag, rummaging around in the sealed pocket to locate your pile of papers. Years old and stained letters, some answered, some not. It was your only means of communication for a time, until it all stopped. You don't think he ever found out why, he would've contacted you if he did right? Or maybe he had decided then and there you weren't worth his energy.

Pushing the thoughts aside proved a much harder task than normal. You had gotten used to putting all into a tightly sealed box in your brain, but now that you knew for certain it would all come flooding out, it proved it harder to contain overall.

There isn't much to collect from the room itself, most of your things were already packed and ready for an easy go. You pick up an extra set of shoes and stuff them in before venturing to the bathroom.

You had to give it to this place, they had some of the most uncomfortable bathrooms you'd had the pleasure of occupying. The mirror is stained and dirty, the tile an ugly brown color, and not even to talk about the toilet itself, or the odd smell. Though the latter could be explained by you and your own ministrations.

Your eyes land on the cross tossed into the tub. Little thing on a chain, the same one you had worn for years at a time. Dried blood still gives it that discoloration.

Your knees click when you reach down and place it in the cup of your hand. To think that this little thing carries so much of you. It has seen it all, witnessed your greatest heights making you feel light as a feather, and watched all your sins unfold, burning like hellfire against your chest.

You've never hated a thing more.

Slipping it around your neck is a thoughtless process. The muscle memory in your fingers do the work for you, securing the chain on the back of your neck, like reattaching a leash.

You stand up straight and walk to the sink. Your toothbrush has fallen, it's green hue so faded it's turning white in some areas. You really should just get a new one.

Your reflection catches in the mirror, and you make the mistake of not looking away. Your face turns to a blob of colors and bleeding effects. There's nothing to tell and nothing to see. Your eyes cave in, your nose splitting apart, your ears fuse with your hair and your fingers are too long dragging off your skin.

You barely recognize yourself anymore. You know it's in there, begging to come out, but it'll only come worse than before if you let it.

It all morphs together. A thousand different shadows standing behind you, their long digits running over your arms and shoulders, beckoning you forward. They lean into your ears, fester in your brain, in your eyesight. The shadows in the corners are always the worst in front of mirrors.

It's your fault. You know what you did. You know that they would've still been alive if you hadn't done it. Why are you still here. Why do you think you can hide? You always go back, it's your place, it's ingrained on your skin.

There's never been an out for people like you.

You grab your toothbrush and exit the bathroom.

"You really been livin' in here?"

You clasp a hand over your mouth, masking the shriek you would've let out. You thought he was going to stay outside.

Gaz looks into mirror hanging next to the dresser with the broken door. He inspects his reflection, rubbing a thumb over a smudge of dirt on his neck.

"It was a temporary solution," you tell him as soon as you get your spiraling mind under control. You walk over to the duffel bag on the bed, throwing in the rest of your dwindling belongings.

You can feel his eyes on you, likely judging you. At least he has the decency to keep his mouth shut. You couldn't afford nicer in your current situation, and moving as frequently as you were, this was the least costly option.

"For how long?"

He walks over to the bed, glancing into your bag once before continuing his move around your room. You didn't truly know the answer to that question yourself.

Very long, too long, as long as you can hide like a coward.

"As long as necessary," you answer him while zipping up your duffel bag. It slings around your shoulder, fits neatly against your back. It's a familiar lightweight. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, you were planning your move anyway.

He gives you a curious look, waiting for you to elaborate. You don't. His shoulders sag a bit when he seems to realize. "Hurry it up," he says and walks to the door, "don't got all day, we have a plane to catch."

He leaves you alone in the hollowing room. It turns a shade darker when the sun shifts outside the window. The shadows consume more of the room. Millions of little eyes watching you in secret.

You walk over to the wall and kneel. It feels wrong to do. There's so many little dents and scrapes hammered into it, the pattern of the wall hiding the little room perfectly. You bang on it once and quietly. Moving the cutout piece out of place, you reach inside to find the gun.

You check it, still fully loaded, and put it down amongst what little clothes you have. It's only for necessity of course, nothing vicious yet.

Come come come.

Your head tilts towards the window, the curtains managing to flow ever so slightly. They bleed into the background, the murky watery color splitting with the patterns on the walls, and the greenery outside.

All of it dark and gloomy. Threatening.

Your legs carry you there. The sun has disappeared behind a set of clouds, leaving dark promises of rain and thunder. The whispers are always the loudest when you're alone. They're not always saying anything. Sometimes they're shaming you, reminding you, other times it's incessant noise.

Occasionally they take shape. Shadow figures with creepy smiles, wide bloodshot eyes. It hides down in the forest behind the motel, to watch you through the window to your room. It's crooked grin bleeds and oozes. You forcefully blink a few times, trying to will it away, but you know it won't disappear until you get distracted, or it wants to go.

You don't hear it; it merely mouths it to you.

He'll find you.

And the scariest part is, you know it's right.

There's never been anywhere you could hide.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

[nocturnesanomaly]

Safety Nets

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x GN!Reader Wordcount: 6k Tags: Polyamory, established relationship, Hurt/comfort, a LOT of comfort, the guys take care of you, that's the fic CW/TW: Military inaccuracies? canon typical violence, insecurities, heavy self doubt and self blame, minor character death, A/N: This is probably inaccurate mission and military wise but idc i wanted to write something like this for so long- though i am open to constructive criticism if you got some notes. (Read on Ao3)

-You come back from a mission that shook you to your core, the boys help you back on your feet as they always do-

The wind raged like a storm in your ears, despite the heavy earmuffs which sat too tight on your head, you could hear it clearly. When you closed your eyes, you could imagine it being a hurricane, a wind so strong it would scoop you up and carry you to who knows where. One that would tear you apart and leave no remnants of who you were.

The thought seemed nice, to be taken away and to never return. To be freed from not having to face your own failures in the disappointed stares, that awaited down on the rapidly approaching platform. Your body rocked with every little swerve of the helicopter, no longer having the strength to go against the motion.

"Lieutenant?" Your head snapped up to the soldier in front of you. You ignored the crack in your neck and the ache that pooled into your muscles. He'd been calling on you a few times now, his concerned eyes searching your face for an answer. "We're about to land sir," the soldier let you know, you couldn't muster up a verbal response, only a nod to acknowledge you'd heard.

Ever since they had picked you up on the site, they had that look of pity. It made you squirm, feeling all too self-aware of the way your clothes were caked in mud and blood. Your bones hurt, and your joints felt like snapping in half. You had spent the majority of the mission running, believing that you wouldn't make it out. You had fled, and you had left them behind.

The size of the heli was too big for just you, the soldier, and the pilot in the front. The space felt like caging you in, reminding you of your failure, of who you had lost. Your eyes threatened to shut, the exhaustion whispering in your ear that it would all feel a little better if you let yourself drift away into sleep.

Except every time your eyes slipped closed it wasn't darkness you saw, it was their screams, their blood, and their gore. The cracks you heard when one of the bullets pierced someone's skull echoed in your ears, as if you were still down there on the battlefield.

You were pulled back into your own head, your mind running laps to go through the mission once more. Every single second accounted for so you could dissect your failure. How each one of them had fallen, one by one they dropped like they were nothing. How you had ran with what was left of your team, until one got caught in a bear trap and pulled under falling debris, and the other was shot in the stomach.

You had hoped your head would fill with fog, that it would help you forget and suppress the last few moments of that soldier’s life. His name had been Jacob, his callsign Wisp, he had been difficult to deal with but his progress under your guidance had been noticeable. You hated how it was only now you could remember every little thing about him. Before you didn't care, you did your job in training him, guiding him, but you never made an effort to know him. You wished your brain would stop remembering every little thing now, making you feel all the more guilty.

You wished your brain would do that thing it's supposed to do, block out the traumatic memories so you didn't have to deal with them. Yet they were there still so fresh in your mind, like an open wound, his last words repeated over and over in your mind. You'd think someone's last words would be scared, or sentimental or a sweet last wish. Not his, no he decided his last wish was to let you know just how much you had failed them all.

Over and over again you replayed that memory, how his blood had mixed with the dirt and gravel under you both. You remember how his hand had clutched onto your arm, digging his nails through your sleeve and into your skin. He had pulled you down with him in his final moments, uttered those words into your ear with so much disdain the tone would have rocked your core on its own.

"This is your fault, you led us here."

There was more to his words, you were sure there was but maybe your brain was doing part of its job now. You could only cling to every part of the memory you could before it slipped away into the fog. It was only when someone gently nudged you that you snapped out of your own mind once more. "Sir?" your body went rigid at the touch and the voice, and you fought the distinct urge to disarm the person that was in front of you.

It was the same soldier that had been with you ever since they found you. He had been careful around you ever since he saw the casualties, walking on eggshells around you as if you were a loose cannon, maybe you were. "Sir?" he repeated, being a little more patient now that he had your attention, "We're here."

You felt your stomach drop, nodding slowly and glancing towards the opening doors, the platform outside. You could already glimpse at the two people that were waiting for you, they had probably been on edge for days. It only made you more guilty how you must have worried them, ever since your call for immediate evac. You weren't even sure you could reassure them once you got down there, you weren't sure you wouldn't just collapse to your knees the moment you were within their vicinity.

"Do you need help Lieutenant?" the soldier in front of you hadn't moved, it surprised you slightly, having been sure he would be just as eager to get off and way from your stench of death. For a moment you want to say yes, tell them to get someone to carry you, because your knees would give out the moment you went to stand, but how would that look for you. A new promising Lieutenant, the first op you led after you got your new rank and it turned out like this.

You didn't dare look up at the soldier, too afraid that your own eyes would give you away. You considered for a moment, to tell the soldier to go get the only two people who would know what to do. The only two people you would trust enough to become vulnerable with. "No..." your voice barely comes through, but he seems to register it, his legs moving quickly to get down on the platform. It was time to face them.

It had been a long few days ever since you said goodbye to the two of them. 72 hours since you had left on the plane with the promise of being back sometime the next day. 24 since Johnny had started complaining about your absence. 6 since Simon had been alerted of the fact you had called for immediate evac, that the supposedly simple mission had gone wrong in every way possible.

He hadn't relayed all the grueling details to Johnny, just that the op had gone wrong and that you might come back a little rattled. Simon wasn't entirely sure what had gone wrong either, he just knew there was casualties, and the team wasn't coming back in one piece. The scot next to him was restless, practically jumping in place from anxiety, watching intently as the heli descended and the doors opened.

Simon kept one step in front of him, knowing the man all too well, and even though his eagerness is shared within Simon's own veins, he knows that you might not be in a state that could positively receive that. He knew the both of you inside and out, the years he had spent with both you and  Johnny allowed him to know you in ways he didn't think possible.

He was quick to find out exactly what made you both tick, what set you off, what made you happy and what would comfort you. He didn't like the uncertainty; it was a rocky start when he was still mapping out your emotions. By now you all knew each other well, like three puzzle pieces that fit together, you had found each other and filled out the holes in each other’s lives. Certainty was assured when he was with either of you because you both knew he needed it.

This was new, this was an uncertainty he didn't like. He had no idea what you would be like when you came down to the platform, down into their arms once again. Not to mention the fact you and nobody else had come out yet only churned that unsettling anxiety in his stomach further.

"L.T?" the sound of Johnny's accent filled his ears, his shoulders managing to relax just a little. He wasn't alone in this, he reminded himself, Johnny would be here to figure out how to help you as well. Johnny's pinky curled around Simon's, his urge to pull them both away from the public area would have overpowered if it wasn't for the fact, they were waiting for you.

The pilot had gotten out almost as soon as they landed, but you were still nowhere. He could just peak inside, trying to look for you or anyone else he would recognize. He only caught a glimpse of your form, hidden behind another soldier who was speaking to you. "What's taking 'em so long," Simon mumbled quietly, his mask obscuring his already quiet speech.

Johnny let out a heavy sigh, the hold his pinky finger had was surprisingly strong. They shared the anxiousness, the uncomfortable knowledge that you weren't okay. "Ah dinnae ken" he answered, trying to angle himself so he could get a better look at you. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot he could see at the distance.

They waited, as patiently as they could, the inconspicuous grip they had on each other also served to hold themselves back. Their resolve was wearing thin, and they both knew it, that soldier was talking to you about something, something they didn't know about, and they didn't like it. Simon almost completely lost it when he saw the soldier emerge without you, but his attention was quickly turned when you appeared not long after.

Your walk was slow, in no hurry to get back to them, it should've been the first sign. You looked around as if you were confused, as if you hadn't walked down this path a hundred times before. Johnny wasted no time bolting forward, closing in on you with the clear goal that you were his target. It startled you and Simon almost wanted to berate Johnny in that moment for being so quick with his movements.

Though what Simon saw almost made him want to have a little more time to prepare. The look in your eye rattled something foreign in his bones. It was something familiar, something he had seen in himself once upon a time. Something terrifying he'd never have wished upon you, how it felt when his bare soul had been chipped away at. He looked behind you, expecting some other members of your team to perhaps clue them in on the horror that had occurred.

The hit felt even harder when he realized, you were the only one.

By the time they had gotten you inside and settled in the tub you were a little more present. Your awareness a little higher from when they were on the platform. You had barely spoken a word to them, so vary of threats on every corner that you didn't even let your guard down for them as you usually did.

Only when they had managed to drag you inside, convinced you that your report could wait for later, and gotten you safely inside the space of your own quarters, did you settle. Johnny had carefully helped you out of your clothes, taking the task of cleaning you up and settling you into the safe atmosphere that was them.

He had whispered soft praise in your ears as he removed layer after layer, meanwhile suppressing the want to berate you for each little wound he found on your body. He knew you didn't need the extra scolding, the pure shock from the mission would be enough for you. However, he still felt that sting of hurt in his heart, knowing that neither he nor Simon was there to look after you, to take care of you.

He was well aware that you were capable on your own, you wouldn't have made it this far if you weren't good at what you did. If your rank wasn't enough to go from, then your other various accomplishments on your resume was. But when he saw you like this, with the silent knowledge that you could've been wiped out along with the rest, it put a dark cloud over his mind.

He helped you slowly lower yourself into the bath Simon had previously prepared. You winced in pain when the warm water touched your wounds. None of them were severe enough to cause major worry, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt just as much. Your movements were sloggy, relying on Johnny to not lose yourself completely.

"There ye are," Johnny mumbled quietly, forcing a soft smile on his lips in hopes you soothing you. You let out a shuddering sigh, doing your best to relax into the warm water. You pulled your legs close to your chest, resting your tin atop your bruised knees. "Oh leannan," he gently presses his lips to your temple, cradling your head in an attempt for comfort.

It feels like you're not fully present, watching the world from a third person view that doesn’t exist. You have half of your comfort with you, his hands grabbing the washcloth and slowly moving it over your skin. You look around the small bathroom, trying to locate the other half of your comfort, the missing equation.

"Si..." You're taken aback on your own voice, the croak and soreness of it all leaving you wondering whether you had yelled or screamed more than you thought. You tried to think back on it, settling your mind into the mission again but it made a headache form.

Johnny's motion came to a slow stop, his eyes catching your pleading ones. He knew what you wanted, but he wasn't the one that could give it to you. "He's comin' soon," he does his best at keeping your calm, "S'ok jus' relax." His free hand finds your cheek, making you focus your vision on him.

You lean into it, your body trembling slightly beneath his touch. It was warm and safe, two things you hadn't felt ever since you left. He moved the washcloth over your face, rubbing at the dirt that had infested itself on your skin. His eyes never left your face, his attention and devotion completely yours. His eyes fell on your trembling lips, before quickly flickering upwards to see the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

"S'ok love, yer okay" He lets the washcloth rest on the edge of the tub so he could take your face in both hands. His forehead leans against yours, bringing you close and gently coaxing you into more contact. "Just breathe with me aye, he'll be back in no time" your eyes fluttered closed, listening to his instructions, glad that you were able to let go of the part of your brain that needed to make decisions.

Fortunately, he was right, as he often is.

Heavy footsteps could be heard and then the creak of the door, it made you snap your eyes open, their searching beginning once more. They landed on the tall brute, Simon's eyes fixated on you since the moment he made his way into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and made his way towards the tub, planting himself on the toilet seat right next to it.

He was still wearing his mask, tired eyes searching your body and gliding over the wounds in your traumatized state. He lets out a deep sigh, reaching his hand up to his mask and slowly sliding it off. You had seen his face so many times, by now it shouldn't affect you anymore, yet still you can't help that feeling you get when you see him shed the mask in front of you and Johnny. The trust he has in the two of you makes your heart flutter.

The look he's giving you almost makes you feel ashamed, even though you know that he's just concerned. He's always been, that's why he's so harsh on you, on Johnny, even on occasion Garrick. You're pretty sure the only reason he isn't like that on Price as well is because of his higher rank and better experience. He's trained you hard so you could overcome anything, but no amount of training could prepare you for this kind of thing.

Johnny leans back, allowing Simon more space to move closer. You move before he does, leaning your body slightly to the side. The sound of splashing water went deaf on your ears, even as Johnny yelped from some of the water going overboard. Your chin ended up nestled atop Simon's thigh, his eyes never leaving you as you moved. His hand coming down to rest on the back of your head.

"How we doin' pet?" his voice of gravel is like a blanket for your soul, the years of smoking giving him a voice that makes you shiver. In truth you don't feel like speaking, you don't feel like answering at all. You know you have to; you can't hide forever but you still hope they won't inquire about the mission just yet.

You let out a huff, almost hoping that the answer would suffice for Simon, but he keeps looking at you with those expectant eyes. "I don't know," you whisper quietly, letting your eyes fall, your body going slack against the side of the tub.

Simon nods in response, a hum of understanding going out to you. "S'fine, you don't have to know right now," he tells you, giving you the peace of mind to just have a non-conditional existence between them.

Johnny picks up the washcloth again, guiding your arms in his direction so he could continue his work of getting you clean. They're both quick and efficient with cleaning you up, Simon's rough voice filling the room as he updates you on things that's happened since you were gone. It's not much, mostly trivial things you don't care about and will likely forget, but it keeps your calm, giving you something else to focus on.

"Ye should've seen Cap he was livid," Johnny's laughs and you muster a smile, hearing about his latest misadventures, and the dumb thing's he'd rode Gaz into. His hands run over your scalp, working in the shampoo and grimacing when he takes out a small clump of dirt. "Aye darling, how the hell did ye get so caked in mud anyway," he sighs, parting your strands to get to the nape of your neck.

You bend your head down to allow him to work through your hair without straining his arms. "I..." you do your best to think back, but the number of times you fell down and scraped against things were a blur. "I think i tripped a lot...it was a muddy area," You held back a pleasured groan, as Johnny worked his fingers over your scalp, small goosebumps going down your back and arms.

"I don't really remember," you admit and let out an exasperated sigh. Johnny finishes up your hair, going for a little longer than necessary in hopes of keeping your enjoyment going awhile longer. When he pulls back to reach for the shower head, he boops your nose, leaving some soap on your face. His mischievous grin is infectious, and it manages to tug the corners of your lips upwards. The way his eyes light up when he sees your half smile makes your heart hurt, you've worried them so much, you're still worrying them.

As soon as they got you out of the water you were clinging to them like a leech. Refusing to let go of the precious contact you've already established with them. They move you around between them, molding you to them as they do the teamwork of getting you dry. Simon peppers soft kisses to your lips and cheeks while Johnny moves the towel over your back.

Even after they're done getting you as dry as they can, they keep you there. Sandwiched between them they hold you tight, and in tune each other. Johnny's head nestled in the crook of your neck and Simon's chin resting on top of your head. It's a stance that squeezes you tight, your own head getting light from the amount of love they try to squeeze into your bones.

It makes your heart burn, and your eyes sting with tears. Your breathing coming out in small gasps, as you end up choking back on a sob. Every single little thing coming crashing down on you now that you know you're safe in their arms. They've always got you, ready to catch you in case you fall. That hasn't changed, and being so subtly reminded by them brings it all out.

"Breathe," you aren't sure who says it, the disorienting feeling not alleviating even as they accommodate you. "Good Good," you recognize Simon's praising voice when you manage to take a few deep breaths. The tears never manage to fall but you don't doubt that they both know just by looking at your pathetic state.

"Love, we need to treat your wounds," he starts off quietly, not having any haste to move you, "Johnny'll go get you some food, and then we can get you settled into bed, okay?" He's making it sound more like a question, but you know it's just to make you aware of their next movements.

Even so you can't help but cling to Johnny's presence as he starts to unattach himself from the cuddle. You look up at him with pleading eyes, hoping he would stay if you just used puppy eyes enough. You almost think he'll budge as he moves closer to you again, his lips descending onto yours for a chaste kiss. Reluctantly he pulls away again, "Be back soon, ah promise ye."

Before you can protest and force him to stay, Simon scoops you up and places you on the bathroom counter. Distracting you from Johnny's quest of finding food that will be easily digested. He holds your face in his hand to keep your eyes on him, while the other one rummage through a cabinet.

You had gotten extremely lucky all things considered, the worst of your injuries the long scrapes on your back from sliding down a hill with sharp rocks. The rest included rough bruises, sore joints, and jumbled mind. Your other teammates had been much less fortunate, led right into their death by your own incompetence.

You're softly called back to reality, Simon gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek and calling your name. You don't know how long you were zoned out, but it was long enough to give him that worried glint in his eye. "Sorry..." you croak, swallowing thickly to hold it all back but this time it's not as easy.

The tears come slow and quiet, the shake in your body forcing them out of your waterline and down your cheekbones. He gently wipes them away, pulling you in closer to his body again and cradling you against his chest. "You survived," he reminds you, "You're still here."

You want to nod along with him and take in his words to keep close. But you don't know if you agree with him, you survived but should you have? Why did you survive and not Jacob, not any of the other soldiers who trusted you to see it through.

Simon placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and then leaned over you to get a look at your back. He gave no reaction to whatever he saw as to not make you panic, though from the bleeding warmth in your back told you it probably wasn't looking the best.

"Lean back for me pet," he instructs you, slowly plucking you from his chest. With a reluctant sigh you lean back and look down at yourself. Your eyes trailing over every little bruise that littered your body. Simon was silent as he took care of you, giving you gentle squeezes over small kisses after every little wince you made.

When he was done treating the visible wounds, you could hear Johnny rustling around outside the bathroom. The only thing left was your back, the one you dreaded the most out of all your wounds. Simon leaned back just as Johnny came back into the room, a set of your clothes hanging over his arm. He places it on the counter and picks through it, handing you a fresh set of underwear, sweats, and t-shirt.

"Wait with the shirt, need to check over your back," Simon reaches over for the underwear and sweats, helping you into it and lowering you back to the floor. You stretch out your limbs, groaning as you feel the exhaustion in your body, your joints popping when you stretch your arms above your head.

Johnny takes your hand in his own, smiling at you and leading you into the bedroom. "Ah found ye some soup, there wasn't a lot to choose from at this hour," he told you as you crawl onto the bed. You glance at the nightstand, the soup bowl steaming and looking good enough to make your mouth water. The little chocolate bar next to it makes you smile, just until Simon guides you to lay on your stomach.

The real pain is about to start, you think. His hands smoothe over your back, avoiding the ridges of your wounds and grabbing the salve. "It'll be quick, am sure" Johnny lowers himself onto the bed next to you, mimicking your way of laying. His head right next to yours, his loving eyes staring into your own and the giddy smile he wore made you huff out the air in your lungs.

"Hi"

"Hi"

His hand reaches out and caresses your cheek, gently running his fingers over your scalp. He does his best at distracting you from the pain in your back. "How ye feelin'?" he asks quietly, his thumb running over your cheek and fixating on your lip.

"Like shit," you scoff and turn your face into the mattress. You feel Simon's hand run over your back, the aching pain making you whine into the sheets. His hands hesitate, smoothing over unscarred skin as an apology before going back to his work.

The work on your wounds is tedious, and when he finally pulls away your eyelashes are wet. The clutch you have on the sheets beneath you is starting to hurt your knuckles. Simon's touch leaves you, but you don't take any action to turn or move. Someone else guides you to move, the difference in touch leading you to believe it's Johnny.

He moves you closer to him, slowly turning you up so you're sitting and leaning against him. He gently helps you into a t-shirt before moving you around like a ragdoll once more. You're settled between his legs, your back to his front and his big forearms wrapped around your waist. He buries his head in your neck, squeezing you and inhaling your scent as if it's the only thing he ever needs.

"C'mon, you need'ta eat," the bed dips as Simon gets back on it, this time having the bowl of soup in hand. He settles in front of you both, reaching forward and gently rubbing your calf. "And we need to talk," he knows you don't want to, that you'd rather bury it deep. Unfortunately for you, he also knows where that will lead you, and the sooner you put it into words for them the easier you'll be able to process it.

You take the bowl from him, agreeing to at least eat something. You couldn't remember when you last had gotten something nutritional, your stomach felt like a gaping hole that was trying to eat itself. You brought the spoon to your lips and savored the taste. Despite the limited options Johnny had still managed to get the things you liked.

"Don't wanna talk," you mumble between your bites, trying to ignore the look Simon is giving you by staring into your swirling soup. "There's nothin' to talk about," You swallow thickly, ever since you had been back you had been fighting the thoughts that urged to trap you. They were just waiting for you to trip in your careful state, they would pull you under the bridge, drown you into the water until you couldn't breathe through your panic.

Simon didn't let go of your leg, rubbing slow soothing circles into your calf. His full attention was on you, and there was nowhere to hide from the man in front of you and the man behind you. Johnny placed a soft kiss to your neck, and mumbled into your skin, "We know ye don' wanna, Leannan, but when ye came back ye were like a Ghost."

When you didn't answer they elected to let you eat in silence for a while longer, unaware to the emotional storm inside your body. You knew that you would have to make that report eventually, that they would hear about the details eventually. But actually, being met with the demand was something else entirely.

You didn't know if you could bear their reactions, the thought of them being disappointed in you made the anxiety roar. You didn't want them to realize that all the time they had spent being proud of you for your achievement had been wasted. That you were nothing of what you promised to be.

You only realized how shaky your hands had become again when you raised the spoon to take another bite. Simon let out a soft sigh, before taking the spoon and bowl from you so you didn't spill on yourself or Johnny. "Darling?" the question was laid bare for you, he gave you the opening to start talking, to confide in them like you always did.

Your hands fall to your lap, right along with your sight. You try to calm your own nerves, trying to rationalize the stirring thoughts in your head. After an elaborate breath, that is more like an exhausted sigh, you find your words. "It was supposed to be a simple op, and it was in the start, find the target and neutralize him," you start quietly, grasping your own hands together.

"But once we were there and set up, nothing went as planned," you lightly shake your head along to your words, "They knew we were coming and hunted us like dogs." You swallow thickly, noting how the shakiness had nestled into your voice. "I tried to reroute our objective; we tried getting out of there, but this was unlike anything I had ever been up against."

Johnny's hand came to encapsulate your own, stilling your shakiness and you freeze up. Feeling all to self-aware all of a sudden, how the attention was on you, as they listened like you were the most important thing in the world. It was both a warm and agonizing feeling, their protectiveness was nice, but it was also scary.

"We were so close to getting out but...they were faster and I...I couldn't..." you choked back on your own voice, feeling the hotness burn on the back of your eyes. "They were better..." you admitted in a whisper, "If I had taken a different route maybe we could have avoided the trap, maybe we could have gotten the drop on them before they got to my team but...."

The feeling of Simon's hand cupping your cheek made you halt, teary eyes meeting his in temporary shock. "It wasn't your fault love," the sincerity in his voice rocks something deep in you, "There was no way anyone could've known." You tilt your head to the side slightly, you wanted to argue, to tell him you could've done a thousand things better.

"Aye, ye acted just how ye were supposed to, ye kept a level head and guided the rest to the best of yer ability," Johnny briefly took over. His voice was hot on your ear, his quiet whispers just as reassuring as the hand on your cheek, "Ye did everything ye could, and ye survived because of it."

"But they didn't..." You sank further into Johnny, sniffling as you held his thumb inside the little cocoon, he made of both of your hands. "They died because of me," you try to argue, despite being grateful that they didn't seem mad you almost wanted them to lash out, to give you right, to let you feel like a monster.

"They didn't die because of you, they died in action, trying to complete the mission they were given," Simon's voice turned a tad harsh, the determination to get through to you all the more prominent. "They knew this was a possibility when they signed up, you did everything you could for them, and the way you make it up to them is to keep going," he told you sternly.

"I know what it's like, to have people fall under your command," he sighs, "S'never not tough, and it's all too easy to fall into the spiral of whose fault it was." You paid close attention to him as he spoke, he always had a captivating way of speaking, just like when he dished out orders, he commanded authority in his mere presence. "It's somethin’ that happens love, it's important to mourn and assess," he looks you directly in the eye, "But it's also important that you know, it makes you neither monster nor failure."

You never knew whether to love or hate the way he could read your brain like had he telepathy, or personal access to your every little fear and sorrow. "It doesn’t make it feel any better," you said quietly, tilting your head into his palm, nuzzling against his skin.

"I know" he puts the half-finished bowl on the nightstand, "Gonna hurt for a while, but we'll be here with you through it." He gave you a half smile, moving closer so he could place a kiss to your forehead. "We're not going anywhere, ain't that right Johnny?" he glances to the man behind you.

"Aye," Johnny's chest rumbles with a hum, his lips placing a trail of loving kisses over your neck. "Not gonna let those nasty thoughts get to ye," he whispers and slowly moves you as Simon directs. Johnny gets you on your side in the bed, your back pressed even further into his chest. Simon gets out of the bed but only for a brief moment. The lights turn off above you, and soon after the bed dips.

You sigh when you feel Simon's skin on your own, his lips find your cheek as he settles in with you and Johnny. His arm supporting both you and Johnny's heads, his other hand coming over you to hold onto the man behind you after moving your hair out of your face. Compressed between them like this always felt like heaven, the pressure they put on your body was grounding and reminded you that you weren't alone.

"Sleep now," Simon's voice rumbled, "We'll be here when you wake up, and we can try again."

They were always here for you, even when you didn't know you needed the extra support. They had worked with you for so long, you had changed a lot with them and for the better. You felt safe with them, no matter how many times you would fall, they would always be there to catch you and get you back on your feet.

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[nocturnesanomaly]

And if you die, I wanna die with you

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader Word count: 4.8k Tags: Angst, Hurt/No comfort, Heavy injuries, Flashbacks, Established relationship, Medical inaccuracies in terms of wounds and severity CW: Major character death, no happy ending, Canon Typical Violence A/N: ✨And if you go, i wanna go with you, and if you die, i wanna die with you, take your hand and walk away✨ (Read on Ao3) - "Would you still love me if i was a worm?" "Would you still love me if i was a Ghost?" -

The world is muted.

Completely muffled to your damaged ears, the aftershocks of the explosion were still fresh on your body. The sharp pain in your arm indicated most likely a broken bone, you couldn't even pinpoint where the rest of the screaming pain was coming from. Every little movement you tried to make send white hot pain through your skull.

"G- h…ost" you gasped for air, the sound of his callsign was supposed to be a yell, but it fell only on a whisper. You tried to look around, to locate the person you needed to see, but everything in your line of sight was rubble and debris, a distant fire and smoke. Each agonizing second that passed taunting you with the fact he wasn't responding.

You slowly raised yourself upwards, moving every limb that wasn't broken and supporting yourself against the ruined wall you had been pushed against. The air in your lungs stung, every breath you took reminding you of your state. You reach for your radio, trying to locate the box that should be strapped to your torso, but it was gone.

A groan bubbled up in your throat, it was hard to think when your own head felt like it was cracked wide open. You were rolling completely on barebones instincts, your only thought being to find him, to make sure he's okay.

You can still hear the occasional gunshots from somewhere else, everything is dampened, as if cotton has been stuffed in your ears. The probability of hearing damage becomes a much scarier reality the more you get back in tune with your senses.

You push it into the back of your mind, it's not important right now, it's a probability you can process later. The wall behind you is half crumbled down, too much pressure makes it threaten to spill right over you. You push against it, slowly raising yourself up to standing once again, your knees barely wanted to obey your internal commands. Everything in your body was delayed, your body wasn't listening to you.

Even as you commanded your arms to shield your fall, they weren't fast enough when your knees buckled under you and you faceplanted right into the dirt once again. "F- uck" you groaned, you didn't want to let the fear take hold, but you could feel its cold hands clawing at your ankles. Your eyes honed in on the rubble of debris in the corner, the place he'd pushed you away from in the last second.

One arm in front of the other your clawed at the ground, wincing at the feeling of your broken nails. In slow motions you began to move, crawling across the room that now felt so much larger. You still couldn't fathom that he had pushed you out of the way, you should've taken the fall, but he took your place.

It wasn't supposed to go like this whatsoever, he wasn't supposed to take your place, he was never supposed to take your place in danger. Air eludes you, making you gasp and sputter as you reach the mountain of broken ceiling and furniture.

"Simon…" you rasp hoping that he somehow could hear your strained voice from wherever he was. There was no response, only the muffled sound of the blearing wind, the distant fight and the screaming in your own mind. You caught sight of your bloodied hand, latched onto a chunk of the debris as you did your best to pull, you couldn't help the shaking, the innate fear that he might never respond.

Some of the stone and dirt trickle off, the piece pulls aside, and you notice the small critters crushed underneath. Some bugs you can't name, a roach that almost made it out. A worm, half its body mashed to liquid and other half still wiggling in desperate search of escape.

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Simon looks up from his phone, a little caught off guard by the sudden intrusion of the silence. "Seriously?" he asks unimpressed, not having expected you to throw him that question of all things. He rolled his shoulders back, working out the tensing that had formed from laying at such an awkward angle in the bed.

"C'mon answer the question!" you swatted his arm, inching closer to him as you waited for his answer, "Would you love me if I was a worm?". You rolled onto your stomach and leaned closer to him, propping yourself up on your elbows and placing your chin in the palm of your hand.

"No"

You let out an exaggerated gasp of offence, "Why not?" you moved yourself even closer so you could place your head on his stomach, angling your body sideways in his bed. He sighed and put his phone away, his eyes flickering to you and giving you his undivided attention.

"Cause you'd be a worm, I'd probably crush you by accident" he gently ran a hand through your hair, rubbing his calloused fingers over your scalp. Your eyes fluttered from the sensation, the feeling of goosebumps going down your back.

Still, you manage to let out scoff in mock offence, "Mean." You pout and turn your body to lay on your back again, ignoring the way Simon fakes the sound of being crushed under your weight. You've seen him carry another soldier the size of himself, he would be fine.

He keeps his hand resting on your head, gently nudging you a little further up so you weren't laying it directly on his stomach. "Would you still love me if i was a Ghost?" he asks, countering your own silly question with one of his own. You raised a brow at that, curious that he was now indulging you in your sappy feelings.

"An actual ghost?"

"Yeah"

You turned your head to watch the curling smile on his lips, how you'd love to kiss the teasing grin right off. You blow out air through your nose, your shoulders jolting just a little in amusement. The question didn't sound like it needed a serious answer, it was obviously just a ploy on his own callsign. Yet you were out to annoy him right back, so you gave it some serious thought.

"Yeah, I think I would," you say with a grin on your face, "I mean I know you'd always watch over me." His smirk widens at your answer, looking at you as if he didn't quite believe your sentiment. "Even if I couldn't see you, I'd love the fuck out of your ghost," you roll your body again, letting out a satisfied huff when you settle atop of him, and he starts complaining again.

You always knew it wasn't serious, his complaining amounting to nothing because instead of pushing you right off he pulls you closer. Cuddling you tight as he mumbles his complaints in your ear, while you can still hear the teasing smirk on his lips.

Your mouth feels like it's full of sand, the dry heat stirs your discomfort to a new level. The sting in your eyes is no longer from the impact, and you bite back on your tongue to muffle a cry. A cry for him to hear, the one only he could soothe, the ache only he knew how to quell.

A newfound strength burrowed itself in your bones from your agony, the drive to pull chunk after chunk. Every little piece brought you closer and closer to your goal, to something that was terrifyingly far away. Every piece hurt; every stone made your hands bleed even more. Every new area uncovered that didn't show sign of him festered in your heart, every moment you didn't find him stabbed a knife into your wretched heart.

Your own lungs couldn't contain you, the need to scream his name bubbled up and was just barely suppressed when you saw that familiar glove. The one you had studied in your own hand time and time again, the hand it usually encompassed wasn't there. His skeleton gloves having been pulled off during the tumble. Your own shaking hands grab it and hold it close to your chest, it was full of dirt and blood, the bone markings ripped, and some parts were even peeling off.

You quickly pocketed the gloves, intent on giving them back to him as soon as you both got out of here. They meant a lot to him, even if it was for silly reasons, he always wore them, they were his. The mountain of rocks felt like an impossible task, but he had to be here, you had to get to him quick.

There was no way to know what kind of state he was in, but guessing from your own injuries his would be even worse. The cold dread started to form in the pits of your stomach, you wanted to throw up. This was never supposed to happen to either of you, you were supposed to be invincible, you were supposed to be able to protect each other from harm.

That was the problem, he had protected you from harm, in the one moment where you wished he didn't. You removed another piece of debris and felt your heart spike in your throat. His hand was covered in a layer of grey dust, his blood coating a thin streak right over his palm. You felt your panic take hold, the creeping fear now sinking its cold teeth into your back.

Piece after piece after piece is removed in a haste, and you let out a cry of frustration when some of it tumbles in the wrong direction. You uncover his arm; the fabric of his shirt is torn but you no longer pay attention to the extent of the damage. The rest of the rubble covering him is easily removed, and you settle next to him, frantically searching his body for wounds before checking his lucidity.

His mask is torn in half, his balaclava ruined and giving a view of the bruises underneath. You choke back on a sob, seeing the mangled state he was in sent spikes straight into your heart. "No no no," you move your shaking hands to his face, gently sliding his mask fully off so you could cradle his face.

Tears filled your eyes making it hard to see, what was right in front of you. You tried to gently shake him, while trying to hold back what would become hysterical sobbing. He wasn't moving, you couldn't see if he was breathing, he wasn't responding. "No no no! You can't leave me, i can't do this without you!" you cried out for him, "Simon!"

"I can't do this without you" you sobbed, your pouring tears mixing with the downfall of rain. It was all too climactic, too cheesy and movie like, you hated it more than anything, because the pain in your heart didn't feel like when you watched those movies. This was real, and it held unfathomable power over you, a single person’s answer being able to either make the rain stop or tear your world in half.

He stood in front of you motionless, he looked something akin to a statue in the darkness. You desperately wished he would be more expressive, at least for you, at least in this moment. His clothes were soaked through, his balaclava sticking uncomfortably to his face no doubt. You had no idea how long he had been out here waiting for you.

"I don't want to do this without you Simon," you pleaded with him, "I know you said it wouldn't end well, and that my feelings would pass but i know they won't." You spoke pathetically through your tears, you wanted to scream at him, blame him for getting you into this but you knew it wasn't just his fault. You were just as much to blame, for the developing of your feelings.

It had started off as a simple arrangement, something to get both of your frustrations out after missions. However, it quickly developed into so much more, you had promised each other to keep it on a tight leash, to not let it become more than that. You both knew after that first night that it wouldn't be possible to keep it from running loose.

"I love you."

Your eyes were desperately searching him, looking for anything that could be deciphered as an answer. He drove you crazy, every single part of his existence drove you to that line of madness. A love, an obsession, a devotion so strong it was breaking you to know he didn't want to feel the same.

"I don't want to just forget about you, i want you, all of you," you continued, consciously glancing away as you couldn't take his piercing stare anymore. "I want us to be together, to grow together, to die together," you feel the cracks in your voice get worse, "I know you said we shouldn't fall in love, but i want to love you SimMmh-"

You feel his rough lips crash unto yours, forcing you to step backwards in shock but he would only follow. In all your years knowing him, you never understood how he moved so much muscle so effortlessly, and so quietly, nonetheless. You hadn't even noticed how he had bolted forward in the middle of your grand speech, how he had ripped off his balaclava and exposed his hair to the rain.

You only felt how his lips moved feverishly against your own, how his hands grabbed your face and waist and pulled you closer. His grip was strong, there was no escape even though you didn't even want one. You move in sync with him, feeling his caressing tongue, his digging fingers, and his soft groan. He kissed you like you were the only person in the world.

"You're a bloody fool" he whispered against your lips, resting his forehead against yours as you pulled in air. "To not see how much I love you too, how fuckin' enamored I am with you," his dark brown eyes stare straight into your own, "Don't you understand just how much I would do for you? It scares me to love you, because I know I would do anything you'd ever ask of me, I’d give you my heart, my soul, I’d tear my own flesh if you wished it of me."

You stared back in shock, taking in his words like were they priced possessions you would never get again, "I just want to be with you, I don't want to be alone anymore". You couldn't tell what was rain and what was tears on your wet cheeks anymore, but the way he held you, so carefully wiping tear and rain away, like you might break if he moved the wrong way did things to your heart.

"Then that's what we'll do, no more hiding from each other" he whispered close to you, the overpowering sound of pattering rain deafening the world around you. Creating a bubble of safety that consisted just of two, "You'll never have to be alone again".

The sound of his rasp cough made you jerk your hands away from him. In one quick motion your wiped away the tears that blurred your vision so you could focus on him. He looked so pale, his eyes half lidded as he slowly moved his head.

"Oh god, oh my god Simon, why did you do that!" you can't help your outburst and the tears that come along with it, you shake him not thinking of his injuries, "You can't just do that!" A weak hand gently grazed your arm to make you stop.

"E- Easy" he struggled to get his words out, he was no doubt still adjusting to the disorienting feeling. The hollow look in his eyes terrified you, and you quickly grabbed his hand squeezing it tight in your own.

"Simon, you're…" your teeth sink into your own lip, you hadn't checked the extent of his injuries, you hadn't checked where he was bleeding or if it was all blunt. Your eyes scan him but it's hard to see in the darkness, his black gear and attire blending in with the grey shadows engulfing you both.

You feel him trying to squeeze you back, but the force is so feint, if you didn't know any better you'd think there's no intent behind it. "M…okay…" his voice is so quiet in your ears, even more muffled than the rest of the world around you.

"No no you’re not!" you have no idea whether you’re shouting or screaming or crying, it's probably a mix of all three. Your free hand starts moving around his torn clothes, pushing it aside to get a look at the scratches and cuts on his body. Your eyes fall to his stomach, the place where his shirt is clamping to something wet.

Your heart catches in your throat and you choke out a pathetic noise. You didn't want to raise his shirt, you already knew what you would find, but you didn't want to know what it would mean for you right now. "Hey…" his voice sounded so solemn, as if he already knew, as if he already had it figured out how it would end.

"S'ok…" he mumbled quietly, trying to squeeze against your hand. He sounded almost floaty, the pain going through him must be immense, enough to mess with his head if the fall didn't do it.  "B- Breathe darling…need you to stay strong, okay?" you hadn't even noticed the way you were starting to panic again.

You never understood how he did it, how he managed to stay so calm during such crucial situations. You were good at keeping a level head in most types of life-threatening situations, but this was different, too different. "Why did you do that? Why did you push me away," you bite down on your tongue intentionally, now desperately wishing you had a better control over your emotions.

"M'always gonna push you away from the danger," he says quietly, a smile that was barely visible resting on his lips. "It's what we agreed wasn't it?" his hand gently comes up to graze your cheek, the weak nature of his shaking hand only made you cry harder.

"Not like this, it wasn't supposed to be like this," You cup his hand that's resting against your cheek. His thumb gently vibes away the falling tears, and you feel the way it runs over a bruise. It hurts but it's nothing like the ache in your heart.

"And you?" he asked quietly, the soft glow of the cigarette bud illuminating him in the night, "Would you give your life f'mine?" The conversation had come up during your nightly ramblings, going over everything and nothing, however the mood strikes.

"Without hesitation," you say determinedly, reaching out to grab the cigarette from him so you could take a puff. "I'd trade my life for yours any day" you tell him again after your drag. He looks at you with an amused glint in his eyes.

"No hesitation, huh?" he leans back against the wall behind him, watching your expression as he contemplates it. "I think, if it came down to it, I’d be okay with dying if it was with you" he says after a moment of thought, he takes the cigarette back and flicks off the gathering ash.

"Hmm" your noise of disagreement wasn't lost on him; you move in front of him walking into his space and staring at him with narrowed eyes. "Yeah, but you're not dying" you say and press a finger against his chest, almost accusatorily.

He lets out a scratchy chuckle, clearing his throat before returning your stare in an amused way. "Not planning on it anytime soon sweetheart" he takes your hand in his own before bringing it to his lips, "How could I ever let you be alone like that."

"I know…I know," he hates the sound of your cries, it feels worse than the blearing pain his stomach. "Love…are you injured?" every word he speaks becomes harder and harder to force out. His body isn't working with him, and he despite how much he doesn't want to accept it, he knows it's no use. His only chance now is making you realize you need to get out of here.

"No….yes…..I…fuck.." it's hard to think when it feels like everything you ever cared about is on the line. "I'm okay…I’ll live…" he nods slowly in response, his eyes clenching shut as he bites back on a groan of pain. He knows what he's about to ask of you is gonna cause undesired feelings to stir within you, he doesn't even know if he can convince you, but he has to.

"Listen to me darling," your eyes snap to his droopy ones, he envied your awareness, "You need to survive….you need to go." Your eyebrows furrow, a frown falling onto your lips as you realize what he's asking you to do.

When you just think the situations, severity couldn't dawn on your harder, it does. Your stomach churns with nausea, a million different scenarios going through your head to think it through, but it all boils down to it, there's no way you can get him out of here.

"No no wait just let me think I can…" you rub your hands frantically over your face, trying to force some sort of epiphany to happen in your brain. The one thing that could save you both, anything that would not have you leave him here to die. "Shit, your radio, do you still have it? Mine broke doing my fall but if yours…" you move his shredded gear around to look for a sign of his radio.

You had no idea whether the radio would even work out here, it was a likely scenario that there is some kind of jammer up by now. But if there's even a sliver of hope, a small chance you could call for evac, or backup, or anyone, you'd take it. There was no way you were carrying him out here on your own.

All you had to do was find his radio, and pray it wasn't crushed under the debris.

"Darling…darling no….stop" he tries to catch your frantic hands, but his movements are too slow to do it before you move them to a new place. It's as if he can feel his own heart start to slow, every single second that passes he knows it's just a few more until he'll close his eyes. "Stop," his authoritative tone is so different on your ears, but it still makes you listen like a spellbound command.

The radio is nowhere to be found, in bits and pieces alongside most of his other gear. Crushing the hope, you had along with it, taking your final chance at saving him right out of your grip. It makes you freeze faster than any of his commands ever has done before.

He presses you to his chest, successfully maneuvering you into an awkward position that's halfway into his lap. The fall he took when the debris crushed him from above, left him in a weird almost sitting position.

You latch onto him, angling your hands to put pressure on the wound hiding beneath his shirt. You desperately wish it would help, as if by some comedic divine intervention would heal his wound and you could go on home. That if you just believed hard it enough then maybe this wouldn't be happening to you or to him.

"S'ok, s'gonna be okay love."

The cough that escapes his lips betrays his words of assurance; you look up from your place against his chest. Red blood smears down his chin, indicating of how little time you could have left. You don't want him to go, there's still so much you want to do with him, this isn't how it was supposed to end.

"M'gonna marry you someday," he mumbled sleepily into the crook of your neck. He was heavy on top of you, all of his weight relaxed unto your body and giving you the grounding, you needed. A long time ago he would be worried he would crush you, now he relishes in the feeling of relief he can give you, and the soft scalp scratches he gets for it.

"What?" you ask dumbfounded, it had been total silence between the two of you. You had been sure he had been asleep in all honesty, and then his voice rumbles out. Not just catching you off guard by him being half-awake, but the nature of the statement aswell.

"M'gonna get you a wedding ring, n' m'gonna marry you," he continues his mumbled rambling. You wonder if he even knows he's telling you this, if he's in that state between awake and sleep, his walls of defenses completely gone as you hold him.

If it was possible to have hearts for pupils, that's probably what'd you look like in this moment. So drunk off of his love, and he wasn't even awake to witness it. "You want to marry me?" you had already gotten your answer, but you wanted to hear it again, and again and again. Right up until that fated moment at the altar when you would finally hear the words.

"I do"

"M'sorry I couldn't marry you," his shaking hand cradles your face as you cry into his chest, using all the strength he has left to comfort you and assure you. Despite the way he's starting to dip in and out of consciousness.

The engagement ring, hanging in the chain you wear under all your gear, normally safely nestled against your chest, now burned like a thousand suns against your flesh. The promise that was supposed to be fulfilled a year from now, the promise of something better, a future in each other’s arms no matter what the world would throw at you.

"I can still see it, the little cabin we would retire to, the animals you'd insist on keeping, our nights spent on a porch watching a sunset"

"Please…Si…"

His smile is crooked, the blood coating his dried and dusted lips hurts to look at. It's not supposed to be there, it's not supposed to be his. Everything you had promised him would fade into dust, every little whisper of something better would mean nothing. Your relationship falling into the dark corners of your memory.

"It's gonna be okay….we'll…see each other again….I'll always watch over you…remember…" he tries to cheer you up, to lessen the impact he knows his inevitable demise will have on you. He can see it in your face, the betrayal and hurt, the uncertainty and pure devastation. "C'mon, lemme see that beautiful smile," he urges you.

When you don't comply he tries to do a dramatic pout, mimicking your own behavior in an argument with him. You can't decide if you appreciate his less serious side in this moment, you don't know how to feel yourself.

"C'mon," he says again, "Why don't blind folk skydive? Cause it'd scare the shit out of their dogs." The joke is old, used, but it's so him you can't help the small smile that tugs on your lips. "There it is, that gorgeous smile," he mirrors it, smiling brighter through the pain in hopes of you doing the same.

"Simon," there's a longing in your voice, the look in your eye so full of sadness it doesn't even escape your smile. He knows what you’re thinking, all the inevitabilities that'll happen after this moment. How desperately he wishes he could be there for you, that he could do something, anything to alleviate the situation.

The calm acceptance is already rolling through his brain, his quiet thoughts preparing him for the darkness his mind is slowly pulling him towards. You come impossibly closer to him, soaking up to him and taking every moment as the last. Your forehead gently rests against his, and he takes initiative himself to taste your lips one final time.

It's a slow agonizing kiss, every thought, every emotion, every promise is poured into it. His lips connected with yours, allowing you peek at his mind, his darkest fears becoming a frightening reality that you're going to be left with.

"I love you"

He holds you close for a long time, and you stay even longer. Even when his arms slowly go lax around you, even as his eyes close, even as his movements seizes. You don't find it in yourself to let him go, even as his body goes cold and his last breath is exhaled. You stay in his cold embrace, his name falling from your lips in silent prayer. A prayer directed to anyone that could hear you, that they might give back your lost love.

[nocturnesanomaly]

And no room for error (2/2)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader Word count: 5.7k Tags: Hurt/comfort, Fluff, Happy ending, Established throuple, polyamory, military inaccuracies, Mental instability, Ambiguous reader CW: Trauma, Panic attacks, Paranoia/anxiety, Insecurities, (let me know if I missed anything) A/N: Part 2 is heeeereee, hope you enjoy, I recommend reading the first part first, but I suppose you can read this as a standalone too. (Part 1) (Read on Ao3) -They help you through the recovery process-

It feels like you're drowning.

There's no air left for you in the world. All the oxygen that was reserved for you, has been stolen right out of your lungs, leaving them burning. Everything feels like it's on fire, making you long for the days when any pain you might feel would be so much less.

Someone's arms are around you, but you don't recognize them. All you can feel is the muscle in them, how strong they must be, how easily they could overpower you without leaving a chance to fight back.

They're telling you something, something about being safe, that you're home, that nothing can hurt you. Lies. It's all lies being fed right to you, nowhere is safe, not anywhere has been safe for a long time. The moment you show weakness is when they'll strike, you have to keep it in, keep it together.

But being broken down into a heave of sobs isn't exactly keeping it together. Your hands are clutched against your chest, pulling at the fabric of a shirt that's definitely not yours. The hands that had been circled around your body like a cage, moved to help you pull the shirt over your head and take it off. Leaving your upper body naked, but finally feeling able to breathe, you suck in a large amount of air that almost does the opposite of its intent and makes you cough.

You turn your head away from the world, into the chest of the body that a few moments ago felt so threatening, now turning into a beacon of light that wants to guide you. Their voice fills your ears, no longer muffled and incoherent, but filled with a comforting familiarity.

"There ye go love, ye're alright."

You breathe in their scent, light smell of aftershave and something else that you can't place, but it's familiar it's home. You're home. The realization finally settles itself back into your skull, making your inherent panic slowly make its way down.

When you look up and stare into those beautiful blue eyes, you find an adoration and love that's tinted by guilt and sadness. It makes you want to break down into a sob again, his sad blue eyes and his sad mohawk was making you frown. How can a mohawk be sad? You don't know, it just is right now.

"Johnny…" your voice breaks just as you call his name, you're not even sure what you want from him. For him to let you go, for him to hold you closer, get you something for your dry throat, or to wipe your tears away. Everything feels like a big blob of nothing in your body, something that feels so painful, and yet also feels like nothing at all.

He shushes you quietly, tugging you impossibly closer, encouraging you to cry it out and get it out of your system. You sigh against him, letting your body turn from rigid to soft and malleable, molding yourself against him to get comfortable. Your breathing slows, coming back from your wild state once you realize where you are.

The bathroom lights hit sharply in your eye, making you turn away with a wince. You lay half naked in his grasp, only a towel hastily draped over you, giving you a little decency. Not that it used to be a problem, both your partners had seen you naked too many times to count.

You look towards the bathtub, filled up and ready. It threatened you, looking endlessly deep and ready to swallow you whole. It whispered to you, that as soon as you dipped your toes in, you'd be dragged under, filled around with a black mass until the water would enter your lungs. That no matter how much you tried to rise up for air, someone would be holding you down.

The second sigh you let out is a lot shakier, the panic is replaced with guilt quicker than you can recognize it. Shame creeping across your chest in a prickly feeling that makes you bow you head away from him.

He interrupts you before you can say it, "It's okay, no need to feel guilty." He shifts slightly on the floor, being careful to not move you too much. "Doctor said it would take time, we'll take it at your pace okay," he says in a quiet comforting tone.

"You ready to try again?" he urges quietly, placing a kiss of encouragement to the top of your head. He rests his chin atop your head, patiently waiting for you to gather yourself and give him a response.

When you gently shake your head against his chest, burying yourself into him once more, he merely nods. There'll be time to try again later in the day, all he cares is that you feel safe enough to try again.

The pancakes are coming out weird. Normally Simon would say he's quite good at getting a round shape and a fluffy look, but today the batter and the pan don't seem to be working with him. Maybe it's the stress, but he doesn't want to admit it.

You've been back for a few weeks now, finally back in their grasp, back in their arms where you're safe and where you belong. Though he should be relaxed now that you're back, he's tense in an entirely new way.

He's no longer afraid that you might be dead, but there's a new fear that has taken residence within him. Ever since you got back you haven't been the same, understandably so. You were put in therapy promptly whether you wanted to or not, weekly sessions that you haven't expressed much opinion about yet.

It’s hard seeing you like this, you're eerily quiet way more often, staring off into space, and no matter what you refuse to be in any room alone. It doesn't matter if you're sleeping, showering, or doing nothing at all. The biggest struggle has been on that matter, they support you in every way they can, but they also know how much you hate it yourself.

How you so easily go in a panic if you're left alone in a room, how hard it is to get you back to a state of calm. It's exhausting on your psyche, and they can see the toll it takes on you. It's bad enough they're not keen on letting you out of their sights for long anyway.

Your therapist said that it would take time, but eventually you'd be able to work yourself back to a state of normalcy, and that until then, all that Simon and Johnny could do was give you all the support you needed. And so, they did, no questions asked.

Simon sighs as he flips another wrecked pancake over, the sizzling of the pan getting to him, the noise grating something disgusting in his brain. He tears his eyes away from his deformed child pancakes and looks towards the couch in the living room.

He smiles at the sight of you and Johnny snuggled up on it, fast asleep the both of you. Stray rays of sunlight comes through the closed curtains, painting your cheek and Johnny's chest in a soft golden glow.

Johnny's arms are secured around your waist, holding you close to him, your head on his bare chest listening to his steady heartbeat for something real for your mind to grasp at. You've been sleeping a lot more recently.

Johnny theorized that you're just catching up on sleep, finally being able to rest and recover now that you were safe. Simon thinks that your brain finds it easier to exist when you aren't conscious most of the time. Though he wishes that Johnny's theory is all it is.

Simon knows all too well what it's like to come back from something as traumatic as that. Some days he feels like he hasn't even fully recovered himself from his own past. It's something that still lives with him all these years later, and it kills him to know that it's likely to be a similar journey for you as well.

At least he can give himself the small reprieve in the knowledge that both he and Johnny will be there for you every step of the way, no matter what you might need from them. However, even then it never escapes the back of his mind that it might as well have been their fault that you got taken.

He pushes the thought away just as quick as it arrives, he's already spent so long entertaining the idea, but the facts are also staring him in the face. You had been targeted almost randomly, at least in the sense that it had nothing to do with them or their job. The men had been revealed to have no connection to the 141 or anything even closely related.

More or less, it was one terrible, terrible coincidence.

He flips over the pancake one last time before putting it on the plate with the rest of the deformities. He turns off the stove and moves the pan off the heat, looking over everything to make sure it's alright to leave.

With a sigh he grabs a towel and dries off his hands, walking out of the open kitchen and into the living room. It wasn't any of their choices, this apartment was not the best fit for the three of you, but it was what they could get on such short notice.

Only having you back home for a few weeks now didn't exactly invite mental space to consider apartment hunting. Though Simon knew you wouldn't thrive for long here, you had already expressed your dislike of the bathroom, and of the window placement. It gave him a little hope that you'd be able to go looking with them soon, that they'd be able to get a full new start soon, but for now it was still too early.

He crouches down next to the couch, carefully reaching over to gently caress your cheek. His thumb glides over a forming scar that’s still visible near your ear. His eyes search over your face, watching the way the light falls on your skin, the way your complexion is, the color of your hair. He maps out the way your face looks, the new changes that weren't there before, he wonders where every little new crease comes from.

You haven't spoken a lot about what the traffickers did to you, also understandably so. You said you were working through it in the therapy, but it didn't make them any less anxious about what happened to you.

"Mh…Welcome home Si…" Johnny's sleepy voice ruffs out, quiet and careful to not wake your sleeping form in his arms. He looks to Simon through half-lidded eyes, he swallows through his dry throat, moving just a tad to try and wake his sleeping limbs.

"When d'ye come back?"

Simon let's out a huff of a sigh, a small sound coming from deep in his chest. His hand moves from your sleeping face to Johnny's instead. His fingers gently gliding over the rough stubble, as he watches his partners soft blue eyes get more and more visible as he wakes up.

"An hour ago," Simon mumbles in response "didn't wanna wake the two of ya, made some pancakes though… " he looks towards the opening to the kitchen and winces, "Well I tried to."

"Hm, am sure they taste delicious, like always" Johnny says with a smile on his lips, his eyes closing as he leans his cheek against Simon's hand. It's a moment of bliss for the both of them, their own little cocoon of happiness, all neat and wrapped up with you in the middle.

It doesn't take long before you're stirring as well, sensing both their presences to be awake. Simon retracts his hand when you start moving your head, to make sure you don't bump into him. "Mornin' love" he whispers quietly, leaning in to place a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your lips break into a soft smile, an even softer sigh escaping you as you mumble something back that was probably supposed to be a good morning. Your eyes remain closed for as long as you can stand it, basking in Johnny's warmth and burying your face into his neck, eliciting a chuckle from him.

"C'mon loves," Simon grumbles rising himself back up to stand, hovering over the couch "let's eat yeah?"

The bedroom is dark and quiet, the only noise that could be heard above the ringing tinnitus in your ears would be Simon's heartbeat. You had always loved being smushed between the two, now more than ever it helped you feel grounded, safe.

You had been awake for a while now, softly listening to their breathing, Johnny's soft snoring and Simon's deep air flow. It's comfortable, nowhere else in the world you'd rather be in this moment. You just had one tiny hang-up about it all.

You needed to pee, really badly.

Johnny's arm was firmly draped around your waist, keeping a pressure that you usually liked while he pressed his chest into your back. You could feel his soft breath on the back of your neck, his presence is overpowering alone already, and next to Simon it's always like things are doubled for better or for worse.

Simon on the other hand, wasn't holding onto either of you per se. His arm was draped out to the side, allowing you to snuggle up to him and lay your head on his warm chest, meanwhile Johnny could use his arm as an extension of his pillow.

You could easily wiggle free if you wanted to, but that was the thing. Even though your brain screamed at you to get a move on to the toilet, you knew that as soon as you closed the door to the bathroom it would be screaming for different reasons.

You had a tendency to really hate your brain lately, and a sudden surge of indecisiveness didn't help the subject either. You don't know how long you've been laying here and thinking about getting up.

You had considered waking up Simon, he said you could, if there ever was anything yet your muscles didn't move.

There hadn't gone more than two nights between, before you had another nightmare that would wake you up. They'd always be there of course, either talking you back to sleep with kind words, or if sleep avoided you, they'd take you to the living room to watch a comfort movie, leaving the other to continue sleeping had they been so fortunate as to not wake up.

You felt beyond guilty about it. You knew that their sleep tended to border horrible already, and you certainly weren't helping it. They were exhausted from it, you could see it, maybe even more exhausted than you, and yet they never complained.

With a soft sigh you manage to wiggle free from Johnny's grip, wincing and recoiling every time one of them seemed to be waking up. Slowly but surely, you managed to get out of their hold, and both of them seemingly still asleep.

You could still remember earlier in your relationship with them when it was all still new and fresh. They'd be much more easily woken up by the tiniest movements, always on alert. They still were occasionally when they had just gotten home from deployment, but it didn't usually take long to get them back into that sense of comfort and safety.

The bed creaks as you settle in the end of the bed, crossing your legs and looking towards the little bathroom that's connected to the bedroom. It's right there, maybe if you're quick, close your eyes, hurry and maybe you can be faster than your fears.

Yet not a single muscle in you moves.

All you find yourself doing is sitting there and staring at the door. You've never felt more pathetic than you do now, and it's not even something you can control. Because god knows you wish you could control it, that you could will it away with a flick of the wrist.

Tears press on your eyes, and you snap them shut to stop them from falling. You refuse to cry, not now, not over something that's so stupid to you. You let out a heavy shaky sigh, your hands coming up to rub at your cheeks and smooth out to your neck. You let your head hang low, trying to get your brain to make up its mind.

You freeze when the bed creaks again but not from your movements this time around. You don't need to look back to know who it is, and another sigh escapes you when you feel his burly body mold itself against your back.

His blonde curls coming into view when he buries his head against your neck and places a featherlight kiss to your skin. He still seems half asleep, his body heavy against your back, using you to lean himself against as he processes what's going on.

"Bathroom?" he asks in a hoarse voice, his tongue smacking against his lips to wet them along with his throat.

You nod quietly, not finding it in yourself to answer him verbally, you have no idea what kind of tone would come out from your vocal cords. His arms tighten around you briefly to mimic a hug, his chest humming against your back when he acknowledges it.

"C'mon love," he leans back and rubs the remaining sleep out of his eyes. When he moves out of the bed you don't immediately follow him. Your eyes going back to Johnny as if to check that he's still sleeping, that you didn't ruin both of their cycles this time.

Simon's hand gently cups your cheek, guiding your gaze upwards to meet his own. "He's still asleep, c'mon" his hand moves from your cheek to your arm, hoisting you up to your feet. Once you get steady it moves again to settle on the back of your neck. A soft and guiding grip that he knows helps you relax, allows you to stop thinking about anything, and put your trust in him to get you to where you need to go.

It's a simple thing, not really needed in this context but you appreciate his attention to detail anyways.

You both quietly move to the bathroom so you can do what you need to do. He slowly sinks to the ground with a sigh, leaning up against the white wall while he lets you do your thing. He almost looks like he's fallen back asleep sitting up by the time you’re done.

You slide down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder before he moves his arm to pull you into his chest. "I'm sorry," you whisper quietly against him, feeling the need to say it over and over again.

"Don't," he stops you quickly, squeezing you closer and placing a kiss to your temple. "You can't help it right now,"  he sighs and gently runs his fingers over your scalp. "You know that we'll always take care of you right? No matter what you need, big or small it's not a problem," he cranes his neck to look you in the eye.

"I know…" you whisper quietly, "I just feel like I'm ruining everything, nothing has been the same since…well you know…"

"What was done to you was cruel, and completely out of your control dove," he pauses briefly as if to think about the words he's going to say next. "None of it is your fault, a lot of things are different now yes, but it's not changing anything between the three of us, you needing a bit of extra help is not you ruining anything," he reassures you.

You let out a heavy sigh, curling into his body as his hold tightens around you. "It still doesn't feel good," you mumble into his chest, closing your eyes and enjoying his warmth. He had always been a bit of a human furnace.

"I know love, I know" he presses another kiss to your head, "It'll get better though."

A calm quiet settles over the two of you while you rest against each other on the ground. Your hands gently fiddle with his shirt while his own hands tap over your scalp. It doesn't take long before it starts hurting to sit on the hard ground.

"Let's go back to bed…" you suggest with a deep sigh, feeling him nod against you and begin to move to get back up.

You're not surprised to find that Johnny is still fast asleep, having not even moved an inch. He was always such a heavy sleeper when he finally was home, the safety it brought giving his body reprieve he wasn't able to get anywhere else.

Though he didn't fail to notice as you and Simon fell back into bed. He stirred slightly, groaning sleepily as you molded your body to his once again. He pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck and breathing you in.

"Where'd ye go" he asks quietly, his voice breathy and almost incoherent to you. His accent always got thicker around certain times; mornings included. Your back arched as you stretched out and got comfortable in his hold, pressing yourself into his chest while Simon comfortable next to the two of you.

"Bathroom," Simon answers slightly groggy, already feeling the pull of sleep beckoning him back under. Johnny mumbled something in response, but you didn't manage to catch it, already off in your own little world of dreams and sleep wrapped up nice and warm in-between them.

When you finally started getting better, it began looking up again. Both your boys were happy with the progress, and for once, you were too. You still had a long way to go, but small steps, one at a time showed progress. It also helped more of your usual personality come back, and of course not to mention the amounts of complaints you had about the apartment they had temporarily found.

Enough so that they finally decided to look at different listings and get a move on the whole process.

Johnny looked on with a smile, as you quietly went through the empty apartment like a cat on the prowl. It was the fourth place they had been to, each one before you had been unsatisfied with, and though Simon had liked the third place shown, he agreed it wouldn't be enough space.

So far you hadn't had any complaints about this one, it was spacious, had a little more room than the old place, and checked off almost everything in your checklist. As far as Johnny could tell, this could potentially be it.

He could definitely see it, lazy mornings spend in the bedroom, Friday movie nights on the couch, Simon and Johnny baking your favorite cake in the kitchen for your upcoming birthday. It was a life he could envision in this apartment, a happy space that was just for the three of you.

You had disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes now, and it got him curious enough to follow you. He walked over and leaned against the open doorway, his eyes landing on you standing in the middle of the room.

Having sensed his presence, you spoke without bothering to turn around and look at him, "There's no tub." His eyebrows creased, as his eyes scanned the small bathroom. There wasn't a whole lot of space, most definitely smaller than the last place, but not any worse in Johnny's humble opinion.

"An absolute need?" he asks you curiously, making his way over to you and sliding his arms around your waist. You let out a sigh and let yourself lean back against him, feeling his chin come to rest on your shoulder.

"Well, no but…" you chew on your lip while you try to formulate your words, but you never get a chance to finish your sentence.

"Right, I've had enough of this prick let's go," Simon appears in the doorway, his arms crossed and even with the black surgical mask on it wasn't hard to see that he was pissed off. Johnny moved to the side, keeping one hand on your hip as he looked back at his other partner.

"Why what's wrong?" you ask concerned, looking back at his darkened eyes, and crossed arms. As much as you had always enjoyed the muscles on his body, he had a very special way of looking threatening when he was angry.

You quietly went over to him through a few steps, Johnny gently letting you go, only being a few steps behind. "Prick's not worth our time, we'll find a new realtor" Simon grumbles, his stance becoming less standoffish as you come into his space.

His eyes soften as he looks at you, and then Johnny behind you. Whatever the realtor did or said really didn't sit right with him. "What'd he do?" Johnny asks in a tone that's as concerned as your expression.

"Doesn't matter," Simon answers his tone laced with annoyance, "we can find better than this place anyway, no tub." He uncrosses his arms to gesture around the bathroom, your own gripe with the place having no tub wasn't only yours.

"The both of ye really want that tub huh…"

Johnny's chuckle makes you smile, turning around to face him and crossing your arms to mimic Simon moments prior. "Of course, the tub is the most important part," you say cheekily looking over your shoulder again to see if Simon agreed with you.

"Obviously" he backs up you up proudly, watching on as Johnny looked at the two of you like you were ridiculous.

"Well, we better get goin' then, clearly this place would be better burning" Johnny laughs, his infectious happiness making you smile even when he ushers you out of the bathroom. You don't get all the way before you collide with something that might as well have been a brick wall.

You blink twice before realizing that the brick wall was a human, and the human was your realtor. You take a quick instinctive step to the side to get out of his way, but at the same time he takes a step back as well.

"Ugh finally, are the three of you done, I've got other appointments you know" The realtor barely even gets to finish his sentence before he's pushed back by Simon. He lets out a pathetic yelp when he drops his clipboard.

"Now listen here Mark, if you ever as much as look wrong in their direction again, let alone even try to actually insult them, I will personally make sure you never see the light-"

"Oookay, time to go love," Johnny's voice filters through Simons hyper specific threats, his hands resting on your shoulders as he steers you towards the door, leaving Simon to it. Despite your struggling and tries of looking back to call for your partner, you don't get free of Johnny's grip before your out in the hallway again.

"Christ…he's not gonna bash his teeth in again?" you ask nervously, trying to ignore the urge to go back in there and drag him out here. It wouldn't be much use, unfortunately he was a lot stronger than you.

"No of course not…the idiot isn't…well he's not that dumb, I think he's just gotta get the threats out of his system…fucker kind of deserved it," a crooked smile decorates his lips as he gently pulls you closer to him.

"He wasn't that bad…he's probably just stressed" you tried to reason, one hand gripping Johnny's forearm as you leaned into him. You had always been rather seeking of touch, even before what happened, but even moreso now, it always felt nice when they instigated it first.

"Darling he…"

"Okay but still, he shouldn’t get worked up so easily…" you decided on, leaving little room for arguing, not that Johnny ever wanted to on purpose.

"Ah know love…" Johnny sighs, his head perking up when Simon comes back out as well. He had always been a bit prone to anger, most of the time it was a quiet simmer inside him, but occasionally it would bubble out.

It was something he said he was working on, but sometimes you wondered how exactly he was doing that. It usually wasn't a problem, so he probably was in control of it, but it never failed to surprise you how quick he was to go off on someone if they were rude to either you or Johnny.

"We done here?" he asks clearly still in a mood, as he looks between the two of you.

"If you're done chewing his head off" Johnny said in response, knocking his head in the direction of the stairs so the three of you could get a move on. He moved away from you and started making his way to the stairs.

Simon took his place at your side, looking to you with a tinge of concern. "You aright?" he whispers quietly, as if he wasn't the one that had spouted a rather colorful threat to someone else. You let out a small, amused huff, nodding your head yes in the process.

"Yeah, I’m just fine."

"And uhm…how long is it gonna be?"

You're sitting quietly on top of the kitchen counter, your back leaned against the wall behind you as you watch Johnny cook. The new apartment suited you; it didn't take long for you to start decorating it with everything that screamed you. Both Simon and Johnny were happy to see it, it was going really well, until they got called for another deployment.

"Price said it would only take a few days, maybe a week" Simon pockets his phone and crosses his arms. He avoids your eyes like they'd burn him if he looked back, he knew he'd buckle so fast if you were using that soft disappointed look.

You hadn't been happy at all when Price made contact with the boys to let them know they'd be deployed for another mission. Theoretically you knew that they'd have to go back eventually, it wasn't like that part would change, but it still felt so soon.

You had only gotten fully integrated into this apartment for a few days now, and while you had done your best to make it home, it was still new. You didn't like the idea of having to be alone in it for even that amount of time.

Johnny hadn't spoken a word about it yet ever since Simon emerged in the kitchen with the news. Though his silence was a pretty clear indicator of his mood about it. Just moments prior he had been chatting away about everything and nothing, now he was quieter than a mouse.

"Look we don't want to go any more than you want to see us leave, but it's nothing we haven't done before," He moves over to stand beside you, his hand running over your thigh and giving it a squeeze. "I'll help you make a list, so you don't get lost in your head," he adds when your hands lay on top of his.

You both look towards Johnny, observing his movements that have become distinctively sharper. He moves the pan off the heat and turns off the stove, not turning to look at either of you for a good few more seconds.

"Don't ye think it's a bit early…" His nervousness is the first the Simon notes. He knows what he's thinking about, the fear of coming back home to you being gone once again. Simon wasn't too keen on the thought either, but their lives couldn't be stopped completely, they had to return at some point.

"We'll be back in no time, just like usual" Simon tries to reassure, at this point not only you and Johnny, but himself as well. Johnny nods, moving closer to the two of you and settling in-between your dangling legs.

He knows they don't have a choice in the matter, it's their job, it's what they signed up for and they have a duty to fulfill. They upped the security on the new apartment, and they've helped you learn some self-defense techniques, he has to put trust in those and in you. He has to believe that your safe, even on your own.

"Love…d'ya pick a movie yet?" Johnny changes the looming subject that puts dread in your mind, to something less thought consuming. You smile for yourself, turning slightly sheepish as you nod your head yes.

Simon seemingly already picked up on it, chuckling quietly at it "Your favorite?" At your confirmation, he scoffs amused, he didn't have anything against it, but you had been watching it on repeat the last week. He was surprised you were still able to watch it without getting bored, but it was your favorite for a reason.

"Aright love, let's go put it on the TV, let Johnny finish our dinner," he pats your thigh bringing Johnny in for a kiss before stepping away and leading you to the living room. You immediately aim for the couch, plopping down and making it creak a little from the sudden impact.

Your eyes go around to the various decorations and pieces of home you've placed around. You've done anything you can to make it feel like your old place, you knew it wouldn't have the exact same feel, but you could still make this new feeling a good one here.

Simon finds the remote and takes a seat next to you, allowing you to cuddle up to him while he flips through streaming services to find the right movie. Before long Johnny would come in with the food, you'd all watch the movie, talk and joke around before falling into bed, cuddling each other until each one of you fell into deep sleep, safely nestled in each other’s arms.

And even though you knew they'd have to leave on deployment again soon. You also knew that they'd come home safe and sound like they promised, and when they do, just like you promised, you'd be here open arms and warms smile, ready to bring them in to the sanctuary you've built.

[nocturnesanomaly]

And no room for error (1/2)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader Word count: 5.6k Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Happy ending, Established throuple, polyamory, military inaccuracies, Mental instability, Ambiguous reader CW: Kidnapping, Human trafficking, Torture, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, canon typical violence, Allusions to unhealthy habits A/N: Forever holding these two close in my heart. Can be read as a standalone but might do a part two i dont know yet (Part 2) (Read on Ao3) -They come home to an empty apartment-

Johnny feels sick.

As he stares at the open door at the end of the hallway, he feels sick. The one he spotted when he wasn't even fully up the stairs and made him sprint the last few steps only to stand frozen when it's in full view.

He feels the worry gnaw the insides of his stomach, all the excitement that was eating him alive only moments prior, now transformed into a wretched beast of anxiety. The clutch on his duffel bag tightens, the string underneath his palm cutting uncomfortably against his skin.

He doesn't even need to be all the way there to see that the door is halfway off its hinges, or the hole that's been punched through it. It’s all types of wrong, something that shouldn't ever be, not on their apartment, not with you in it.

It’s as if a part of him fully blacks out, no thoughts, no feelings, only one purpose. He walks the short distance like a man possessed, dropping the duffel just outside the broken entrance before marching through it.

He calls out your name and finds no answer. His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable as your name falls from his lips again, over and over again in a desperate prayer. He moves like a jittery animal through the apartment, he doesn't take notice of its state, he doesn't spend extra time investigating, seeing the damage, he doesn't have to.

He knows what it means, the horrible implications and the terrible outcomes. He flays open the door to the bathroom, nothing, he opens the door to the home office with his shoulder, nothing, he carefully opens the door to your shared bedroom, terrified at the emptiness. The lack of your presence was something he never wanted to feel, something in his heart reaching out to you and failing to find you.

He stops, standing in the middle of the room that's in shambles. He sees the dresser that has its contents flipped upside down, some of your favorite clothing pieces torn to shreds on the wooden flooring.

He sees the splintered wood on the bedframe, a place that they had spent so many orange mornings with you in, the sheets now ruffled and unkempt void of a morning glow. He sees the broken mirror, the same one you insisted on having when the three of you moved in, you said you'd use it, but you never really do.

He sees the damage; he sees the sign of struggle.

The evident feeling of what happened here makes his muscles stiffen, his joints feels like they're about to snap. His head blacks out, fills up with an angry fog, tears prickling at his eyes and cold shame bleeding through his back.

It's a horrible feeling that makes him want to puke up his emotions, a habit they coaxed you out of after extensive support. He wants to think better thoughts, that you are at your friend’s house, and this happened while you weren't here.

But as he feels the looming presence behind him and hears the duffel bag crash against the ground out of shock, he knows this is happening and it's the most terrified he's ever been.

Where were you? Who were you with? Are you hurt? Are you even still alive?

Questions of horror plague Simon's mind as he paces the living room of disarray. The place had been completely ransacked, not only were you gone, but everything they had of sentimental, or material value had been destroyed, not taken, destroyed.

A nightmare come true, no, something worse than. It made Simon's skin crawl, his stomach doing twists in hopes of finding a better feeling. He felt freezing cold, the apartment was frosty, the heater you loved to sit in front of on cold winter mornings hadn't been used in too long.

How long have you been gone? How long has it been since they took you?

He hadn't felt fear like this in a long time, something that came to compare with a certain unspoken Christmas. A fear that kept him from getting too attached to anyone, not until he met Johnny who tore down his defenses, or you who phased right through his walls of reinforced steel.

Now it creeped its way back into his senses, reminding him that they failed to conceal you, they failed to keep you out of view, they did not keep you safe, and you were suffering the consequences of it.

Simon called the cops as soon as he got out of his own shock, he called Price immediately after knowing which of the two would be faster. Price had always been fond of you since the day they introduced you to him. Various holidays spent with Price and his family since they didn't live far, and you clearly enjoyed his cooking just a tad more than Johnny's, even if you didn't want to admit it to their faces.

Simon was still holding the phone to his ear long after Price had hung up with the promise of being right there. The phone was still warm against his skin, making him want to not pull it away and feel the eerie chill that the apartment shouldn't have.

He looks towards Johnny who's sitting on the couch, even more eerie than the apartment itself. He's too quiet for any of this, Simon had halfheartedly expected him to go off the rails in this type of situation, but no. He's completely quiet, staring down at a pair of dog tags in his hands, clutched tightly like they might disintegrate if he lets them go.

It's the dog tags they gave you, the fake ones they got made with each of their names since you were so fixated on their actual ones. Despite how much they adored the look of you with nothing but their tags, they would still need them in the field when they went out. To remedy it, they got you your own, one with Simon’s name and one with Johnny's, a mark to claim you as theirs.

You never went anywhere without it after you first laid eyes on them. You'd always have them dangling around your neck if you went out, or if the outfit called for something else, you'd have them wrapped around your wrist, or safely tucked in your pocket.

It was your piece of them, something to hold close whenever they weren't home. A testament to the fact that they still had their own, that they were not gone forever and would come back to you. You weren't wearing them now; you didn't have them with you.

"Who do ye think it was?" Johnny's voice interrupts the cold dread silence that filled a living room that was supposed to be warm and safe.

Simon's head snaps up, the muscles in his arms finally relenting and letting him take the phone away from his ear. "What?" much like Johnny's, his voice had that constant tinge of fear ever since they entered the apartment.

"Ye know how many enemies we've made" Johnny sighs, his head bowing down to rest his forehead against his knuckles, "Which of the sick bastards do ye think took 'em." It makes Simon sick to even consider, but it’s becoming blaringly obvious that it was what happened to you.

Nothing else would make sense in their heads, this was no ordinary break in. If you were staying somewhere else, you'd answered their dozen calls, and their 50 messages. There was no reason for you leave, no reason for you to ghost them and leave the apartment like this.

"We must've been made a mistake somewhere, left a trail, led them right to here," Johnny continues, going down a spiral road that promises a fall to every turn. "Right to them" he tries to conceal the crack in his voice, biting down on his tongue to stop the rising panic in his chest.

It’s no use, there's no getting past Simons observant gaze, not a feeling to be hid when his eyes flickers over you and brings out every little thought you've ever had. "I called Price," Simon's voice becomes a tether between them, something to bind them together and hold the uncontrollable explosions in their chests at bay.

He pockets his phone and moves over to where his lover is sitting. Every step feels like his legs are full buckets of water, sludgy movement accompanied by a certain lightheadedness. He has to stay strong for the both of them, for you, wherever you are now.

He positions himself between Johnny's legs to take his attention away from your dog tags. His roughened hands gently glide over the stubble on Johnny's cheek, guiding his eyesight upwards and bringing him into an encompassing hug. One to keep him tugged away from the scene, away from the reality. A hug to compress them both together, to stop them from falling apart in your absence.

Simon doesn't view himself as a religious man, spiritual or anything of the sort, but right now he prays. He prays to any god that will hear him, any entity that will look upon his bloodied soul and carry pity for him. He prays for your return, your life, your being, that when they find you, and they will find you, that you won't be hurt, that you will still be you.

Price comes first, as expected, the police shortly after. When he first saw Simon's number pop up on his phone, he felt confused. There was no fear in him yet just confusion because Simon doesn't call ever, unless it's important.

When he found out the reason, he felt the claws of fear himself. A situation everyone in the 141 grapples with, when they have the knowledge of loved ones at home. Knowing it was you only made the fear worsen.

Though skeptical, he had been happy when the boys had introduced you to him, happy that they found something to care for and trust other than themselves. He had multiple times admitted to himself how well the three of you fit together, each of you completing something that the other would be missing.

The paternal or brotherly instinct in him that he held for his boys in the 141 quickly translated over to you as well. Much like for anyone else in his family or the 141, he'd go to great lengths for you. In fact, he's pretty sure he broke a traffic law or two to get here so fast.

He watches from afar by the staircase, Simon was talking to one of the police officers that came by his body rigid ever so tense. He knows that this is something that could destroy these two to a new level, a level Price would not have seen before.

He knew Simon better than Johnny, and while Simon prided himself in looking like he had it all together, he had seen the man in his worst times, and it was destructive. A place he could barely pull the man out of once he sunk down to it.

Johnny had placed himself on the staircase, unable to face the direction of what was once a home of warmth and safety. He was quietly talking to Kyle on the phone, informing him and of what they knew and what they didn't, in a sense helping each other calm down while preparing what needs to be done.

Kyle had offered to come over there asap, sounded practically halfway out the door but Johnny managed to talk him out of it. Price was already here, along with him and Simon and the police it was already a crowd that didn't need more attention than necessary.

Price had stopped listening a while ago, trusting any other finer details for Johnny to deliver. He was focused solely on Simon and the officers. They looked almost bored as they listened to Simon explain the needed details, their general lack of respect firing irritation into his veins.

He knew that he cared for them in a way no superior technically should, this wasn't just about keeping his soldiers in one piece so he could have use of their skills in the field, it was about the bond they shared, the traces of family between them all. It brought them together when needed, they could trust each other to see things through, and help when things seemed hopeless.

That trust extended to you too, a heart full of so much emotion you never failed to surprise Price with your range. He had met so many different people in his time, and rarely did he ever find someone like you, a personality of range so raw it repelled the wrong people and drew in the ones that could handle you.

He looks towards the door that creeks open, red fiery curls, that you had described one time over tea, poking out along with a set of curious eyes. A nosy neighbor you had particular disdain for, finally now looking to see what all the noise is about.

He gives them eyes sharp like daggers, promising blood, and vengeance if they didn't kindly close the door again. It often fell into topic during your teatime with him, petty gossip shared between the two of you. You had called them creepy, perverse, gross, eyes that stared too long at you when you passed in the hallway, and words drawn out as if you keep you close longer whenever you talked.

Price already had plenty of reason to distrust and dislike them, but even more so now because of their plain ignorance. Even if they didn't know how long ago the deed was done, the damage is noticeable, the noise it must have made when it was done isn't something you just miss.

No, your neighbors had deliberately ignored the obvious signs. Walked past it thinking someone else will call it in, someone else will help, but nobody ever did. The red curls disappeared again, most likely got bored with the lack of a scene to watch now that the police were searching the home.

"You think they will find anything?" Price's attention was promptly brought back to Johnny, who had seemingly finished his phone call. Now looking up to him with worry and fear, occasionally glancing back at the open door and wincing at the reminder.

He wants to assure him, to tell Johnny that yes, they will find everything they can, they'll build a case, your sweetheart will be safe and sound within the morning, but Price doesn't like to lie to them when it doesn't benefit them.

"No…" Price answers with a sigh, his arms coming to cross over his chest, "But we will find something."

He can already feel it in the way the officers halfheartedly take on the case, the disinterested stares, their overworked faces. They won't find anything, and they certainly won't find you. Even if they wanted to it's more likely that this is beyond them.

This isn't something simple, it’s something that could go way back. A deliberate hit on the two of them, revenge maybe, or a message. Time would reveal which one, only one thing was certain right now, you were their top priority.

The first few days back on base are like hell for Simon and Johnny. Having to go back to work with the knowledge of your absence makes both of them go a little mad. They know Price is doing everything he can to speed it along, to find out something about your whereabouts, but it takes time.

Meanwhile they're left with nothing to do except work and wait. They both know they can't return back to their apartment with the intent to live there anymore, but the task of looking for a new place is all too daunting. Not to mention it would feel wrong without your input, with your acceptance of their new flat, a big decision they didn't want to make without you.

They have different coping mechanisms in your absence. Johnny is a lot more withdrawn, in his own head all too much thinking about you and what state you could be in now. He draws but its barely an escape anymore, it doesn't help him unwind like it used to, so he goes to the gym, he works out, he punches the bag imagining it’s your captors face whatever they might look like.

Simon swamps himself with paperwork, taking on way more than he can handle, because if a single thought of you presses into his head, he might not be able to keep his composure. He's barely keeping afloat as is, holding Johnny close every night calming each other down the best they can.

Even so there is a definite distance between them, the lack of overlap in their activities and work putting them at bay from each other during the day. The constant separation in the morning and the sleepless nights take a toll on them both.

One that Simon only truly realizes when he opens the door to his room and sees Johnny broken down into a heave of sobs. He wasn't unfamiliar with panic attacks, having them himself on an annoying basis, but he knew they didn't plague Johnny as much as they did now.

Johnny felt sick ever since the apartment, he hadn't been eating properly because how could he when you might not have food, he hadn't been resting because how could he when you might not be rested, he couldn't do anything unless it was to further the task of finding you. Every time he tried, he was filled with an unbridled shame that bled into his bones, and made it infinitely harder to do.

Simon softly closes the door, making his presence known but still being quiet as to not startle him on either end. He walks over, watching his partners state of panic, kneeling to take him in his arms and hold him close.

"Breathe…" he whispers against Johnny's scalp; he's still crying and gasping for air but he melts against Simon like he's always meant to be there. Johnny shifts, pressing fully against him and burying his face into his chest.

"I need you to breathe love…"

Johnny tried gasping for air again, tried to focus on the steady heartbeat in Simon’s chest but it felt futile. "I..I can't…" his voice broke over midway "What…what if we never find them Si….what if they're not even ali-"

"Stop."

Simon pressed his partner even closer, halfway into his lap at this point in an attempt to soothe him. He knew how many times he must've gone there by now, entertaining the thought that there will be nothing to find anymore, that what they're looking for is no longer a thing. He doesn't want to go there, he refuses to believe it as a possibility, because Simon isn't sure what he is going to do with himself if that turns out to be the case. 

He might crumble fully this time, fall with nothing to catch him. He desperately wants to be there for his partner no matter what, but losing either of you would destroy him, and he knows this as a fact.

"What if…what if they think we're not coming" Johnny tightens his hold against Simon’s shirt, "They know that right…they can't think we're abandoning them…they can't."

"We're going to find them Johnny," He promises him, "We're bringing them home" he promises him something he isn't sure if he can keep.

Slowly but surely, they get moved onto the bed, not bothering with removing any layer of clothing. As much as the skin on skin might help, Johnny would still be too out of it. Right now, he needs a steady hand, something to rest against as he cries himself dry.

Simon pulls him against his chest as they lay down, barely even separating at all. Their legs tangling, heartbeats together, Johnny begins to calm down. His sobs become quieter, but the pain in his heart is still at large.

Simon can feel it in his own, from Johnny's, all around them. He doesn't let it be known, nor does he do it loud, but a few tears escape from the corner of his eyes, falling down his cheeks. It makes him hug Johnny tighter, to keep the one thing he still has left close in his arms, because if he lets this go now, he will truly be lost.

Crack

Johnny winces as he hears another finger snap, watching it bend the wrong way and eliciting another broken scream from the guy in the chair.

They've been at it for an hour by now, the fifth guy they've managed to bring in this week alone. It didn't take long before they started finding potential leads of your whereabouts, bringing in blokes who might have even the tiniest clue.

Price was technically supposed to be here as well but had conveniently left them alone with the poor guy, for better or for worse. It was one thing Price knew he could do nothing about, if he didn't help the two bring them in, they'd do it on their own anyway and with a much higher chance at getting themselves killed before they even find you.

Another crack and pop.

Johnny lets out a sigh as he watches his partner interrogate the terrified fella. It almost looked intimate, with how close Simon was in the guy’s face, tapping his hands over the man's hands before snapping another finger. Fortunately, Johnny did know better than that, there was nothing intimate about this, the things said in low threatening voices were things whispered with pure malice, a promise of revenge against the people that took their love.

He was getting a bit dejected however, this guy’s wasn't the first and certainly wouldn't be the last. They hadn't found a single thing about your location; they had a slight idea of the people that took you, but it didn't add up with other evidence they had. Every new thing they learned was either a lie or well-orchestrated plan, something that put them back to square one.

"No no no! Not that anything but that!" The man screamed trying to squirm away from Simon. There had always been something terrifying about the way Simon did his work in here, it made Johnny incredibly grateful to be on the same side as him, to not be the guy in the chair on the receiving end of all that.

"Johnny, do you mind?"

"Not at all LT" There was a certain venom in both of their voices, a danger whispered into the chords. It made them move as one, the same thoughts flowing through two brains almost like telepathy, one goal in mind.

Johnny moved over to the steel table, moving a bloodied wrench out of the way. He pitied whoever was going to clean this up, because it likely wasn't going to be them. They were still counting that this guy had some sort of information. In truth he did give them all sorts of info that they will catalogue and report later, but nothing about you.

He picks up the jumper cables and moves it all closer, onto the tray with squeaky wheels that Price promised to get changed months ago. He looks at the skull mask that’s now faced towards him, he sees behind it, the brown eyes a little duller and not as full of life.

He knows that Simon could go all night if it meant that he would finally get your location, but he was tired, not just physically but mentally as well. They could both use a break, a long one, the type that could give their very souls the needed rest, but neither of them stopped, it wasn't an option.

Johnny rolled the small table over to Simon, letting him do his thing. He lets out a sigh as he listens to the pathetic pleading from the guy in the chair as Simon hovers the cables near his crotch. With a heavy sigh Johnny excuses himself, having had enough of the whining and moaning, and feeling a headache come on.

He closes the door behind him to the room just in time, the muffled screaming from inside combined with Simon's incessant yelling quickly drowned out. He feels the cold breeze on his face, letting the feeling of fresh air fall over him. The warm stench that always got into a room during the torture finally washing away from his nostrils.

It's cold out, he notices as he feels the goosebumps ride up his arms. If you were here, you'd be chewing him out about going outside without a jacket, telling him that he can't get a cold, because if he gets a cold then you'll get a cold, and you really don't want to be sick. He'd ruffle your hair, much to your annoyance, and tell you that he wouldn't get sick, but of course he would a few days later, and even then, you'd be taking care of him so sweetly, despite complaining before it.

But you aren't here.

He takes a few deep breaths and tries really hard to keep the panic looming in his body concealed. He had to stay tactical, calm, and in control, but they had hit too many dead ends. Their first thought was that they somehow had let you be known to their enemies, and that some had come to take you as leverage but the chilling realization that nobody they had tried knew anything about you became an uncomfortable itch.

Maybe that was what was the scariest thing about this situation, it having nothing to do with them and everything to do with you.

The moment they get a proper lead on a location is when things start to go fast. Not even 2 hours after the briefing are they on the plane and landing on a base that would be close by the revealed location. It doesn't take a lot of convincing to have Price agree to the mission, perhaps just as eager himself to finally put an end to the madness.

Was it logical? Not all the way, smart? Fuck no, but it was hope, and Price knew at this point that if he didn't find a way to make it happen fast, then Johnny and Simon would just steal a plane and go on their own, Gaz would likely join them too if they asked.

But the fact remained, someone had finally cracked, who it was, Simon barely even remembers. The past week or so he's been avoiding thinking about you like were you a vicious disease that spread whenever someone mentioned its name, but now you were the only thing that consumed his thoughts, along with a overwhelming brooding rage.

He's not even sure you're going to be there, a human trafficking ring, their supposed base of operations revealed to them. If it wasn't for the anger boiling in his veins, he'd feel sick upon learning the knowledge of all the kidnappings that had been happening in your area.

You hadn't ever said anything, but he didn't doubt that you knew, you just also knew that they would worry too much and wouldn't go do their jobs if they knew. He wants to scream at himself, yell at a mirror for being so stupid and careless, if he had just stayed up to date then maybe he could've prevented all of this.

You might still be at home, waiting for them to join you in bed, the three of you cuddling together in your favorite position. If only he could go back and change his mistake. He knows he can't, he knows he can't change what he did or didn't do, but he will correct it now, and get you back in their arms.

The place is massive, but he barely even registers it, nothing feels real as he pursues anything and everything that could lead his way to you. He's mauling people down with scary precision, unleashing his rage on them while somehow still keeping them covert. He can feel that Johnny is behind him, watching his back, but he never actually turns around to confirm.

They've passed several rooms, or cells more like with plenty of victims, but none of them had you among them. After securing the victims safety, they left it to the other soldiers behind them to get them out of there while they continue to comb through the building.

Johnny starts losing hope once they've nearly been everywhere, all enemies neutralized, and victims secured. Though they have a few rooms left, they've seen no sign of you or anything that might've belonged to you.

And of course, that's when it happens, when they turn the handle on the last door, the last of their hope almost extinguishing, only to spike in their throats from the scene revealed to them.

The room is bigger than expected, at first hand it seemed more or less like another one of the rooms they kept their poor victims holed up in, but there was only one person in there. A body in the corner, naked, bruised, dirty, with unmistakable features that they used to caress at night within the safety of their own bed.

Once again Johnny feels sick, almost bends forward to wretch everything up right then and there as well but he has to keep it together. He wants to scream and cry, rip the person who did this to shreds, but it's likely Simon already did that unknowingly out there.

His partner doesn't stand frozen beside him for long, but likely going through a similar round of emotional turmoil. They both sprint to your side, trying to check your state both for injuries and your awareness.

Cuts and scrapes litter your body like a fucked-up pattern, your naked skin covered in dirt, dust and perhaps even mud. Your eyes are barely open, void and tired, they can practically see the redness and the crust from your crying stained onto your face.

Johnny smoothes a hand over your thigh to check a wound but flinches away when he hears you whimper. They feel a crack in their hearts as they watch you spur a little to life, pathetically trying to inch away from them but having no more energy to do so.

"No no…Sweetheart it's okay…it's us" Johnny tries to be soothing, not forcing touch on you but still trying to guide your vision in his direction. He almost can't bear to look at what they've done to you, inhumane things and then just to leave you here in a room by yourself.

When your eyes finally meet his, he chokes back on a wretched noise, your terrified look is something he never wants to see directed at him or Simon. Not from you. He gently guides you hand up to his hair, in the moment he doesn't care about the blood or the dirt, all he wants to do is remind you. He helps your fingers tangle through like you've done so many times before, hoping to kickstart your memory.

At first, you're stiff, unwilling, but slowly your hands start squeezing at his hair out of your own volition. A little more clarity in your eyes as you choke out his name, and when he hears he nods rapidly. His hold on your hand tightening as he looks down at you with tears in his eyes.

He wants to hold you, crush you against him, but he knows he has to be careful. Along with your visible injuries, they have no idea if you have broken bones or worse going on inside. "Yes, love…it's me….we're here…we found you…" he nods and brings your weak hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

They have to move you, and get you out of here with the rest, but Simon is afraid to touch. Scared that one motion from him could make everything infinitely worse. He's been sitting paralyzed next to Johnny and you, watching as Johnny brings part of you back to reality instead of the mental prison you've no doubt locked yourself in.

He looks away from your hand and back to your face, almost horrified to see that you're now staring up at him. He missed you greatly, but right now, he almost can't bear to have you look at him. He reaches his own hand up, wincing when he sees the blood on it but continuing regardless to pull his mask off.

He sees the tears forming in your eyes as you see him again, his hand gently cupping your face and wiping away the falling tears. "It hurts…" you sob quietly, and all Simon can do is nod, because he knows, he knows all too well about the pain you're in.

"I know love…I know…" He lets out a shaky sigh, giving an affirming glance to Johnny before moving around. They need to get going, and they need to get you to safety. He gently hoists you up, tries to not think of your desperate whimpers of both fear and pain.

He holds you close to his chest, Johnny's hands tugging your matted hair away, so it didn't get stuck on any gear. Simon's grip on you is fierce, a grounding touch you've needed for so long, and with Johnny's warm voice softly assuring you, you start to settle away from your panic.

They keep you close the entire time, assuring you, holding you, keeping you tugged away from the gore and the defiling monsters that lay dead on the ground. They keep you close, closer than ever before, and they won't let you go, not again, not ever. They'll carry you through the recovery, they'll get you back on your own feet again, back to yourself again.

They will never let any of this happen again.

[nocturnesanomaly]

Your Mooneyes

Word count: 4.2k Tags: 2nd person POV, gender neutral reader, Smoking, hints at addictions and substance abuse, indirect talk of death, hints at self-isolation and other destructive behaviour, hurt/comfort, bittersweet A/N: This is very self-indulgent. Also, if anyone notices the small cyperpunk2077 reference I put in there, Hi, I love you, let's be friends. - You thought you could finally have some peace up here on the rooftop, a place where it was just you, the smoke, and the moon. Then he came along, and for some reason you don't mind it -

Smoke filled you from a heavy breath, it entered your lungs and swirled the nicotine into your system. Only when you felt that familiar buzzing, your shoulders relaxing just a little, did you let go of the smoke and air. It mixed with the winter air around you, tainting its sweetness and churning with the bitterness of the frost.

The taste in your mouth turned sour, putting a dirty gland over already yellowed teeth. You didn't usually smoke, truthfully you didn't. Though it had still become a ritual for you, the only reason you bought the stupidly expensive brand that wasn't even good. It wasn't the worst of your vices, there were way more effective ways of destroying oneself. It was however one you would never part with even if your life depended on it.

You didn't particularly like the taste or the sensation it gave you, it was bitter and made you cough, it did much more bad than good. Yet you still found yourself lighting a cigarette, every year on this very night, as well as the nights leading up to it. When the snow would be covering the grounds of the forest outside the base, and when everyone had either gone home or were celebrating inside with their fellow brothers in arms.

Up here on the rooftop where nobody went on nights like this was your moment of peace. You found comfort in the moon and its light of solitude. Its cold gaze was like an old friend greeting you once again, your only true guidance in the creeping darkness of not only your mind. It was your solace in the bitterness of the merry Christmas spirit.

You didn't fault the people around you for taking part of the festivities, you didn't pay them much mind. Usually you kept to yourself, even more so during this season. Despite Soap's adamant attitude at including, you everywhere, along with Gaz's attempts at pulling you along after your small protests. You adored them and their efforts, yet they simply didn't understand how you could possibly be so gloomy this time of year. It was a time for friends and family, for baked goods and cheery spirits.

Perhaps that's why you disliked the season so much. It was a mix of many things, but Christmas reminded you of darker pasts. Not to mention it was a stressful time to be in, the frost outside was cold and harsh, and if you hear one more repetitive Christmas song, you might actually pull your gun on someone.

You didn't want to hate it if you were being honest with yourself. You wanted that connection the people beneath your feet had. You wanted that sense of family, that sense of comfort and safety. To be protected within a tightknit network of people who know each other inside and out. You didn't have that anymore, and you no longer sought it out. It was presented to you on different occasions, but the innate fear that it would all be for nothing, again, was too much.

The soft click of the rooftop door opening pulled you out of your own head, your head turning instinctively to check out the new threat that had moved into the vicinity of your solitude. You find yourself surprised to see the soldier with the skull mask, the rough and harsh Lieutenant that the recruits made up ghost stories about, your Lieutenant, your LT Ghost.

He seemed just as surprised to see you out here, his body tensing up as your eyes locked. Your pupils darted over him, scanning his body language and the twitch of his hand on the door handle. He was looking ready to just about bail as soon as he saw you, perhaps he had hoped for the emptiness of the rooftop that had called to you in the first place.

And just as quick as you saw the tense hesitance, it disappeared into the thin night air. Instead, something in him shifted and with heavy steps he made his way towards you. The determination in his form almost took the breath from your lungs, having you force back a cough from the resisting smoke.

In the time you've known him you've done your best to get a mental profile on his psyche. You had been able to prod and dig into Soap and Gaz easily enough, their openness making them easy reads. Your captain was a bit more difficult, be it his years of experience and stoicism, or the fact you didn't see him as much as the rest you didn't know just yet. Though at the end of the day you still knew where you stood, you knew what kind of people they were, you knew their tells and how they would respond to situations. It was your job to know in a sense.

Now your Lieutenant was a completely different story to the rest of your squad. You prided yourself in your ability to read others, it was a useful skill in interrogation and other means. A skill that unwillingly carried over into your every aspect of your life, finding yourself analyzing and dissecting every person you met just for fun if anything else. However, Ghost had been your greatest challenge yet.

Maybe it was wrong to think of it like that. He wasn't a challenge for you to complete, you wouldn't get a reward for your work on him, nobody would even know if you did it right. But he was so enticing in a way you couldn't comprehend. His mask was one thing, it hid most of his facial features, and his dark style of clothing made him blend into the even darker surroundings.

If Soap was an open book to you, then Ghost was locked up with a steel lock and the key was thrown into the sea.

It was only when he reached your space on the rooftop, that you looked away from him again. The cigarette hanging loosely between your pointer and middle finger. You brought it to your lips, watching him from your peripheral. Despite having deliberately decided to come over, he still put distance between the two of you. Out of respect or out of his adverse nature to touch was unclear.

There wasn't much acknowledgement between the two of you, but you allowed him to stay, for now. There had always been a silent understanding between you both, you may not have him figured out but there was mutual respect. A sign of trust between you from the countless times he had saved your ass for a bad decision, and the few times where you had saved his.

Ghost had been in the taskforce a lot longer than you had, and his reluctance at your entrance had been tough. It took you a long time before you could safely say you had earned his trust. He had respected you as one respected another professional, but his dramatic indifference at your presence had been discouraging compared to that of his other coworkers. Yet over time you had been able to remedy that.

"Since when do you smoke?" His gravelly voice disrupted the comforting silence, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. He didn't know about your habits, at least not the ones that only presented themselves at certain times of the year. It was the most surprised at the fact he was still here on base, and not off somewhere celebrating Christmas with anyone.

You expelled the smoke you were holding in your lungs, scooting it downwards as you leaned more forward against the railing. "They taste like shit and make my head spin," you said with your gaze returning briefly to the moon above, "But once I start something I don't quit."

His response was more of a quiet rumble from his chest, a noise followed by the slight nodding of his head. "From one addict to another, I sympathize" He responded and held out a hand towards you, "Bum a smoke?" You looked down at his hand, once of the rare times he didn't wear his gloves and allowed the world to see a little of his skin.

Your metal cigarette case was softly cradled in one hand, the custom-made piece that held the few cigarettes you smoked every year. Your thumb ran over the small crystals that were probably fake, they covered over the entire thing, and reflected light on its surroundings when it was just right. Wordlessly you clicked it open, sliding one of them out and placing it neatly in his hand, making sure to not accidentally touch him in the process.

You weren't totally sure why you avoided touch so much when it came to him, he never recoiled from it when someone did come in contact. Though he very rarely initiated it himself, and normally he always positioned himself so it would be the least likely thing to happen in most scenarios.

"Thought you went home," Your voice was quiet in the night, glancing up at him and looking into those brown eyes. You found yourself allured by them; they were the eyes of a person who had seen so much. "Most of the others did," you add quickly, flicking the ash off the cigarette and bringing it to your lips for another drag.

Ghost shifted the weight on his legs, his hand coming up to tug up his balaclava, so it rested just above his nose. You took in the sight, the scar over his lip, the slight stubble on his jaw, the way his lips moved when he was about to speak. You stopped yourself from analyzing further, it took a direction you didn't know whether you were mentally prepared to address.

"Just finished my last report for the night," he brought the cigarette to his lips, and your body sprung into motion. You fished out your lighter from your pocket, turning your body to the side so you were facing him more directly. He leaned, accommodating so you could light it up for him. His eyes caught yours, and you held the eye contact, trying to ignore the way your cheeks warmed.

It reminded you of occasional lingering moments the two of you shared. The times when you would do paperwork together in silence, how he would sometimes rise to hover over you and help you where it was needed. You were perfectly capable of doing it yourself, but you let him, for the mere reason that you liked the attention he gave you. You felt safe with him, in a different way than you did with the others.

His gaze held yours until his cigarette was lit, he breathed in heavily closing his eyes as he relished in the calming feeling. He leaned his back against the railing, letting the smoke out into a small cloud above. "You smoke a strange brand," he said and cringed from the flavor that touched his tastebuds. He pulled back and looked down at the cigarette as if it had insulted him personally.

A smile tugged your lips, you could feel the start of a laugh bubble in your throat, but you decided to repress it. "They're not really mine" you admitted, dropping the hand that was holding your own cigarette, to your side. They belonged to you now, the cigarettes, the case, the habit, but it was never really yours.

Your eyes snapped to the slight movement in his mask, above his eye, indicating a raised brow. Either contemplating his own confusion or curiosity. You figured he probably found you weird, though he had never said it aloud. "Who's it then" he didn't sound too interested, not that you could blame him for it. The man had a lot of mysteries to deal with in his job alone, he didn't need the extra vagueness.

"Was my Ma's" you answer him, turning back to the railing so you could lean your arms on it. You had started this little ritual years ago, it helped take the focus off of the painful memories that surrounded you and clouded you during the season. Intent on not bringing focus towards it again, you change the subject, "You're not gonna head home and celebrate?"

There's another moment of silence between you both, and for a second you wonder if he's even going to grace you with an answer. "No," his answer was short and curt, "I don't typically celebrate." It made sense to you, not everyone celebrated or made a big out of Christmas, but you thought he would still have someone waiting at home. A family, some friends, maybe a partner.

"Don't got anyone waiting at home?" You settle for asking him directly, unable to hold your curiosity at bay. You felt unbelievably intrusive even asking, you knew how private he was, even though he answered a lot of Soap's questions he avoided the ones that dug too deep.

He lets out a small cloud of smoke through an audible sigh, his head turning towards you to look at you. For the first time you felt slightly self-conscious beneath his piercing gaze, the analyzing nature you used yourself was now turned on you. "Do you?" he asked, avoiding the question like he always did, in his very own way of turning it against you.

You blew out the air through your nose in low amusement. You weren't sure if he had always done this, but he had definitely toned it up when it came to you. Taking from your own example, you were starting to think he was being insufferable on purpose just to make you laugh. "I'm still here," you say and take a long drag from your cigarette, "What do you think."

You heard the rumbling sound of his hum in answer, it came right from his chest, and it made you wonder what it would be like hearing it when you were pressed close. "Johnny practically invited everyone over for the holidays, you could've said yes," his body turned around, mimicking the way you were leaning forwardly against the railing. His gaze looked up towards the moon as well.

It was oddly comfortable out here with him, you had expected to be tense, annoyed that he disrupted your quiet alone time. Though you found yourself now enjoying the time, hoping he would stay for a while longer.

You thought back to a few days ago when Soap had left the base to travel back home to Scotland. He was celebrating with his family as per usual, every few holidays he would invite the team over, insisting that you were all family at this point anyway. Aswell with the fact that his own family absolutely wouldn't mind more people either.

Sometimes Gaz or the captain said yes, insisting themselves that his family was delightful company and very welcoming. You didn't doubt them, but you had yet to say yes to the offer yourself. Most holidays you made your own plans, and Christmas was different, not one you usually allowed yourself to spend with others. This time around both Gaz and Price had refused as well, having their own people at home that they were celebrating with. Ghost hadn't ever agreed either, despite Soap's pestering he hadn't budged yet.

"Why didn't you?" you countered him, using his own insufferable way of avoiding questions with questions. You had always expected that Ghost would go with Soap unless he had his own plans at home. But he had never even met Soap's family, a fact that had surprised you when you first learned. They always had such chemistry together, the banter they shot back and forth in the field as well as the off time they occasionally spent together in whatever way that made sense. They seemed like good friends to you.

The sigh he let out indicated he didn't exactly appreciate the countered question, though the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes did make it seem like he was smiling at least a little under the mask. It made your own smile show itself and tug at your lips. "I don't think I'm ready to meet 15 different versions of MacTavish," he admitted.

This time around you snorted audibly, it made his eyes snap to you, the crinkle in his eyes getting bigger as he looked at you like you were the most adorable thing in the world. "Does he really have that many family members?" You asked highly amused and just a little bit horrified at the possibility.

The chuckle you heard from him was different, one you didn't get to hear like this all that often. Normally his laugh would consist of quiet breathy chuckling, not the audible one he let you hear right now. It almost managed to make you forget why you were out here alone in the first place. It was a nice feeling, making you feel just a little less alone.

"No idea" he shook his head through his chuckle, "But I'm not risking it just yet." You couldn't fault him for that, the possibility of meeting a lot of new people all with the same energy as Soap might be overwhelming at first. Normally it wouldn't strike you as the type of crowd Ghost would surround himself with, not that you think he'd surround himself in any type of crowd willingly.

You felt his shoulder bump against yours, intentionally, and it made you freeze up out of shock. You look him in the eye with confusion but instantly start mentally berating yourself for your reaction of surprise when you see his own uncertain look. As if he was already regretting making the contact, he cleared his throat, "So, why are you really out here?"

You didn't answer, you didn't know if you wanted to. Were you and Ghost even that close? Would he be weirded out by all this? You knew a lot of things about him, but then again did you even really know him. "My Ma used to say that people reside in the stars" you speak quietly, gazing up at the twinkling stars in the midnight sky.

"That when we pass over to the next plane of existence, we leave remnants of our souls in the stars we cross, that way you leave something behind to guide the next generation," it was something she had told you about over and over again. How so many of your family members were looking down at you, that the shooting stars, and the twinkling lights where their way of communicating. You don't know if you believe it but.... "I feel closer to her out here."

You couldn't see his expressions, or what his reaction was to your words, too focused on watching the stars like they were the most interesting thing in the world. In truth you were scared, maybe he would laugh, or tell you off, scoff and mock you. He didn't.

"Do you think she was right?" You were surprised when you heard Ghost's voice inquiring interest. Was he just being nice for the courtesy? No that wasn't Ghost, he didn't dance around subjects he always said he didn't have time for that. He was asking genuinely.

"Maybe," you say a little taken aback, you had spent months mulling over the question yourself. Did you believe the same or were you just clinging onto the remnants of her in you. "I want her to be," you admit to him in a whisper. You could remember all the times you had looked up at the stars and looked for a sign, a twinkle or movement, anything from her.

A silence fell over you both as you looked up towards the stars, getting absorbed in their beauty and their places next to the illuminating moon. You wondered if he had lost people too, that it could be why he was so closed off, why he refused to let you in too deep no matter how much you prodded at his walls of steel defense.

He made a noise you couldn't discern, something between a hum and a sigh. "I hope so," he sounded hopeful, and disheartened all at once. It was confusing to witness without the needed context behind his emotions. His eyes were focused on a specific clutch of stars, allowing you to look up at him unnoticed. "I think it'd be nice," he whispered quietly, matching your own tone of voice.

Maybe he hoped that whoever he had lost was up there too, maybe he was looking for a sign as well. Maybe he was just like you were, or maybe you were completely delusional. For a moment you allowed yourself to fall for the fantasy, the thought that maybe the two of you weren't all that different. Broken souls and scarred hearts, just waiting for someone to see them for what they are.

When he moved his head to look at you in turn, meeting your eyes with a feeling you didn't know what was. You fought the flinching urge to look away from his gaze, feeling like you were intruding on feelings you weren't allowed to see. Your long-forgotten cigarette almost falling out of your hand when he spoke, "She'd be proud of you, if she could see you now." Your eyes widening just a fraction and your mouth slightly agape in your own confusion.

His gaze was dissecting, almost uncomfortable as he pierced through your own defenses like they were pudding. How he did it you had no idea, techniques running through your head, but you dismissed them, there was nothing malicious about this, just pure emotion. "I hope so," you cringed at the choked-up note in your voice.

Ghost let out a huff, something akin to a silent laugh with the nod of his head. His eyes softened and it almost tore your bleeding heart right out of your chest. You had never known yourself to be this easily picked apart at the seams. A skill you didn't know he possessed, as if he had been observing you for a long time and just now revealed just how easy you could be. Your brain was quick to make it out to something negative, but deep down in your heart you knew Ghost wasn't like that.

"I'm proud of you."

The words froze you over, your cigarette falling from your rigid hand as your own emotions pooled in your eyes. You didn't know whether you wanted to be angry with him or thankful for this newfound ability of his. Maybe you weren't as well walled up as you thought, and apart of you didn't mind it. His eyes kept you in a trance, "Ghost..." your vocals were barely there.

"Call me Simon," He turned to you fully, his presence had never been so inviting, "For tonight at least." The amusement in his voice was clear to you, his grin barely concealed behind that skull mask of his. It only made your confusion greater, your brain processing too many things at once as you comprehended what had just changed in the relationship with him.

"What?" you blinked dumbfounded; you had heard him clearly enough, but the spiking overload was rendering you momentarily confused. A thing he seemed to pick up on, quicker than you had expected him to.

"C'mon, it's getting cold out here," his threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his foot and double checked yours too. Then his hand grazed yours with caution, this time you didn't recoil or flinch away. You let him slide his hand over yours, holding and gently tugging you along to the stairs that led down from the roof. Out of the safe place you had created and into a new one in his presence.

You stumbled after him, your brain catching up to the fact that you were now leaving. You weren't used to being overloaded so quickly; he did things to you that you had no explanation for. "Wait- Where are we going?" you didn't know what he had intended, but this wasn't the way back into base, the door on the roof would've been the easier choice if that was the case.

He chuckled; the sound muffled behind his mask as well as the fact you were still walking a step behind him. "I'm not leaving you out here alone," he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the feeling making your cheeks heat up again, "I know a pub, they're alright at holidays, you'll love it." He reassured you as if he knew it for a fact, that he was so certain you wouldn't dislike it. You wanted to argue, protest that you weren't in the mood. But the way he looked at you rendered you quiet, the urge to trust him being great, the urge to be fine with the fact that maybe he did know you.

He saw you the way you saw others, he read you as easily as you would read anyone else. In all your years spent analyzing people and their behavior so you could accommodate them, you had forgotten how much you needed someone to do that for you. You needed someone to see you.

And he saw you.

All of you.

[nocturnesanomaly]

(Main Masterlist) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Status: Ongoing

Fandom: Call of Duty

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" Mactavish x GN!Reader

Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, polyamory, pre-established relationship between Simon and Johnny, Childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers, many military inaccuracies, flashback heavy(?), Suggestive themes

TW: Heavy religious trauma(Christianity centred), Religious fanatics, themes of indoctrination and people doing bad things in the name of religion, Grooming, PTSD, Hallucinations, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, (Reader has severe undiagnosed mental issues), Torture, Graphic descriptions, Sexual assault, Child abuse, Toxic relationships, Child death, Drug use, Suicide and depictions of it, Self harming behaviour, Obsessive thoughts, Disturbing imagery, Stockholm Syndrome (Please tell me if I missed anything at all)

Summary: When the 141 is assigned to go take down a resurgent cult, Laswell calls in a last resort. Someone who knows exactly what kind of fanatic group the 141 is looking for, and how to deal with it. So what, if they're technically supposed to be dead, and has a complicated past with a certain masked lieutenant, it's just work, right?

A/N: I used to do this series on my old account. I will be continuing it here. Everything is the same, just a new place to post on Tumblr. Everything remains the same on Ao3 as well, if you wish to read it there.

Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

Chapter 2: Arachnophobia

Chapter 3: Ghosts Of The Past

Chapter 4: I've Never Been One To Let Go

[nocturnesanomaly]

(About me) - (Ao3) - (My Reblogs)

Master list: Call of Duty

The Divine Violence : Series ongoing : Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Safety Nets : Oneshot : Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

And if you die, I wanna die with you : Oneshot : Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

And no room for error (P1 - P2) : Duo : Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Your Mooneyes : Oneshot : Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Masterlist: Miscellaneous - WIP

Old Masterlist (Some of my works are linked to a different account as I didn't want to post them again here as well)

[nocturnesanomaly]

(Masterlist) - (Ao3) - (My Reblogs)

Welcome to my corner of anomalies

You can call me Anomaly

I am an autistic writer and admirer of everything tragic, dark and horrific in fiction

I mainly write for Call of Duty, but I also intend to do stories for Baldurs Gate 3, Star Wars, and Cyberpunk 2077, along with whatever else I'm hyperfixated on

I'm not able to write as fast as I used to due to continuous wrist injuries and issues, so please be patient.

I do requests! Send me your idea and if it speaks to me I'll get on it as soon as I can.

I hope you enjoy your stay

If you recognize my works from @nocturnesmoon well that's because that's me! I've moved over here now, welcome!