#I don't know what to tag this for re: content warnings I hope nightmare is a good enough umbrella

[lunellum]

Brought to you by me having non stop nightmares for the past few nights:

[teconkaals]

Walking With A Ghost Chapter 5

“Simon, we're soldiers, and that means we lose friends more easily than most people do. We might even die on a mission. We know what we're up to coming in here. And your partners knew it, and so did you. Sometimes things go wrong even if we do them well.”

Ghost wakes up from a nightmare and Soap asks him what's going on.

AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 5 - Nightmare

Fanfic Masterlist: Here

Next Chapter: Chapter 6 - Darkness

Previous Chapter: Chapter 4 - Home

Wordcount: 6002

Rating: Mature

Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex

A/N: I want to warn you that there is a part marked as sensitive content due to torture, suffering and blood. Although it is in the fanfic tags, I have marked that part in the text. Just like in the original Modern Warfare 2 with the "No Russian" mission, this part can also be skipped. It's not a part of gratuitous violence for the sake of it, it explains a couple of things about Ghost's past but, after that part, there is a mini summary in the form of a dialogue between him and Soap. Hope you're fine and thanks for reading!

I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - TF 141 NIGHTMARESOAP’S HOUSE, HEREFORD, UKNOVEMBER 10, 2022, 04:15

He woke up with a start. Sweating, he put his hand to the left side of his chest, near the sternum, where a small white scar stood out against the skin. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to remember that the pain wasn't real and he wasn't bleeding. That he wasn't drowning in his own blood.

That he was safe.

Simon stopped hyperventilating after a couple of minutes, managing to regulate his breathing. Also his heart, whose heart rate had increased, dropped the number of beats. Ghost ran his hands over his face wearily and turned his head to see the alarm clock on Soap's nightstand. He sighed resignedly when he saw that it was four in the morning. Too early to get up and too late to go back to sleep. He looked down at the lump next to him, relaxing when he saw that John was still sleeping. He looked at him for several minutes until he decided to get out of bed. Simon tucked him in and gave him a soft kiss on the shoulder before dressing and going out onto the small balcony off the kitchen.

The cool night air greeted him as he leaned against the railing and Simon took a deep breath. It was all silent, only he could hear the thud of some cars in the distance, in the center of the city. He looked up and down the street and smiled a little as he realized that John lived in a quiet neighborhood. Simon wasn't going to complain either, he hated the noise and that was the closest thing to a haven of peace that he’d had in years. More than his room, in the barracks, where all the movement of the base could be heard.

The small smile faded and he sighed. Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, opening it to search for a specific number. He hesitated before pressing the call button, waiting a few seconds for someone to pick up on the other end.

“FOR ALL THE FUCKING SAINTS IN HELL, SIMON! IT'S ABOUT TIME!”

Ghost moved the phone away from his ear a little as a slight smile played on his lips.

“THREE MONTHS YOU MORON! THREE MONTHS NO HEARING FROM YOU! I SHOULD TRACK THAT SHITTING PHONE OF YOURS AND STRANGLE YOU WITH YOUR BALACLAVA, YOU FUCKING BASTARD.”

“I'm glad to hear you too, Amelia.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and Simon knew she was wiping away tears of relief. He felt a pang of regret.

“I'm sorry,” he added.

“Don't worry,” she whispered. From her tone of voice, he knew she was smiling. “I knew you were fine. I've my contacts, remember?”

“I know, but still… Sorry for not calling earlier.”

“You must've been busy. Anything you can tell me?”

Simon was silent, thoughtful, before giving her a little recap of the past few months. Amelia listened without interrupting, as always. It was one of the virtues he liked most about her: that he knew how to listen.

“Actually, there are many things,” she commented when he finished. “But… I have a feeling you're not just calling me to catch up.”

And, another of them, was that she also knew how to read between the lines.

“König is alive.”

He released it without any kind of anesthesia. He knew that she would prefer it that way and, just as he suspected, there was a heavy silence on the other end of the line. A silence that even he could feel on his shoulders.

“Where?”

He wasn't surprised that Amelia's voice was as hard as steel.

“Ukraine. Though I doubt it's still there.”

“You're after him?”

“Not our main objective,” Ghost replied. “But if he doesn't get in our way, I'll go after him.”

“Simon…”

The soft, loving tone in Amelia's voice made his heart sink a little.

“You know I can't let it go.”

“Honey, you should. We tried once and you saw what happened.”

Yes, he did. How could he forget the great pool of blood beneath Amelia, growing with each passing second as life drained from her.

“This time you don't need to come with me.”

She huffed.

“Do you think I'm going to let you go alone? I'm retired, but I'm still just as good, Simon. We made the mistake of leaving him for dead, we won't do it again.”

Ghost didn't answer. He knew he wasn't going to be able to change her mind; Amelia was a woman as stubborn as lethal.

“If that bastard’s alive,” she continued, “I'm sure you've had nightmares again. Am I wrong?”

“No,” he muttered.

He heard noises on the other end of the line and knew that she was making herself a drink.

“Sometimes, wounds hurt; even though they've healed. It sucks, but it's normal,” she said kindly. “On the other hand, obsessing over König will only make you sleep worse.”

“I'm not obsessed with him,” he snarled at her.

“With him or with feeling guilty about what happened. Either one works for me. It wasn't your fault. And I don't hate you for it.”

He was silent. That was what hurt him the most, that Amelia wasn't angry with him. That she treated him the same as she always did, despite everything, despite the damage he had done to her.

Despite having ruined her life.

Bringing pain and suffering to the people you care about again, a small voice in his head told him.

“Stop thinking so much, I'm hearing you from here,” she grumbled.

Ghost sighed.

“I don't know how you do it.”

“Well, perks of knowing you so well.”

“That's not what I mean. To forgive me. I don't know how you've been able to.”

“Idiot, aren't you listening to me? I told you it wasn't your fault. I can't forgive someone I haven't been angry with. I haven't hated you at any time and I don't consider you guilty of anything either,” she paused. When she spoke, her voice was softer, full of love. “Sometimes things go wrong even when we do everything possible to avoid it.”

Simon sighed. He had grown tired of life never giving him a break. To keep trying and failing. So he threw in the towel and stopped fighting. However, remembering it hurt just like the first day.

“I don’t hear the music,” he said suddenly, changing the subject. “Where are you?”

“At home, it's my day off. Something you'd know if you'd come to see me, you jerk.”

“I've been busy.”

“Fuck off,” she snorted. “And you, where are you? I don't hear the noises from the base.”

Ghost unfocused his gaze for a few seconds. He sighed before answering.

“In Hereford.”

Amelia fell silent and Simon knew she was going to yell at him again.

“YOU BASTARD! YOU'RE IN TOWN, AND YOU DON'T EVEN COME OVER TO SEE ME?”

“I'm not alone,” he replied, unable to contain himself, regretting the moment he had said it.

“You're not alone?” she asked warily. “Are you in danger? Do you need help? I can track your shitty phone in half a minute, you know?”

“Calm down,” he couldn't help but make up a half smile. “I'm… in a safe place.”

Amelia didn't respond instantly.

“A safe place,” she repeated slowly. “In Hereford. A place that's neither my home, nor my bar. Simon, where the hell are you?”

“At a partner's house,” he replied. He’d heard the concern in her voice and didn't want to lie about it. Actually, he didn't want to lie to her about anything. “John MacTavish.”

“The Scot sergeant of the 141?” she asked, confused. “That one you said wouldn't leave you alone?”

“Yeah.”

Amelia sighed, and when she spoke, Simon knew she was smiling.

“Well. Who would have thought? It's okay to give your body a treat once in a while.”

“Sure.”

His friend was silent for a few seconds.

“Oh, Simon. You like him.”

“I think so,” he whispered, looking at the balustrade.

“And, does he like you?”

Simon smiled.

“Yeah. Although I don't understand why,” he paused briefly. “He's… good to me. He treats me like I’m going to break me at any moment.”

“Honey, you're going to break at any moment,” she replied. “That's if you haven't already done it. If he treats you like this, it means that he knows you have a lot of things stored away and none of them are pretty.”

“Amelia, I can only offer him pain,” he murmured.

“That's bullshit and you know it.”

“It's not. Anything good I touch ends up withering away.”

“I'm still alive, Simon.”

“You were dying for a week,” he reminded her.

“And I did recover, so your argument doesn't hold up,” she took a deep breath. “Honey, you lost your family and your team too. And you almost lost me, but that doesn't mean you don't have good things in life. Or that you have to live without them. Price is still there, just like me. And now you have John. And I also know that you care about your teammates and that you enjoy their company. Even if you grumble. You can't live in fear of loss, Simon. It's not healthy.”

Ghost was silent. He didn't know what to answer her because the only thing he could say is that Amelia was wrong; yet a part of him wanted to believe her, to be able to accept that even he could be happy. And that caused a pain in his chest that almost kept him from breathing. Simon didn't know how to handle all of this, he had no idea what to do and he didn't know how to ask Amelia to help him either.

“I think… I'm going to hang up,” he whispered.

“It's okay,” her voice, full of love and understanding, forced him to close his eyes to hold back the tears. “Remember to let go and enjoy, okay? I'll be a phone call away if you need me,” she paused. “I love you, Simon. Don't forget it.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone and he knew she had hung up. Simon took a deep breath and slipped his phone into his pocket, running the back of his hand over his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to cry in the middle of the night, so he looked up at the sky to distract himself. He felt guilty for not being able to give more of himself, for not being able to do what Amelia said. It hurt him that she was still there for him, supporting him whenever he needed it. Simon still didn't understand why a person as good as her, who had nearly died because of him, was still willing to pick up the phone at four in the morning. Why did she keep telling him that she loved him despite having taken a brother from her. And despite the pain all this caused him, Simon felt selfish for allowing it; for letting her remain a part of his life. Of being able to turn to her when he didn't know who else to call.

I should have been the one to die, he thought sourly.

He buried his face in his hands and sighed.

“Simon?”

He turned abruptly at John's sleepy voice. His friend was at the balcony door, rubbing one eye, barefoot and wearing pajama pants.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Simon asked, concerned.

Soap blinked and moved closer to him. He smiled, half asleep.

“Of course not. I drank too much water at dinner and my bladder said it couldn't take any more,” he cocked his head. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn't sleep,” he replied, leaning against the railing again. “Go back to bed, I know you can catch up on sleep.”

“What? No!” He leaned next to him. “I'm not going back to bed if you don't come with me. Besides,” he added as Ghost's mouth opened, “I want to know what's wrong with you. Is it because of what you told me yesterday? Did you have a nightmare?”

Simon looked at him for a few seconds and nodded. Soap put a hand on his shoulder, warm and firm.

“Why don't you tell me?”

“It's… not nice.”

John let out a soft chuckle.

“Well, that's why it's called a nightmare. If it’s something nice, it’d have been a dream.”

Ghost didn't answer, wondering how to broach the subject, and John didn't press him. He waited patiently for him to be ready, his hand on his shoulder in a supportive gesture, and Simon thought he would choke on that show of affection again.

“Remember the bombings in London? About ten years ago,” he asked in a whisper.

“I do.”

Simon nodded, letting the memories take him away.

“My unit should’ve prevented it. It was… my first mission as a leader. Both my captain and Lt. trusted me,” he snorted bitterly. “And you’ve no idea how wrong they were.”

Soap began to trace circles over his shoulder with his thumb to remind him that he was with him and Ghost took a deep breath, looking down at his hands.

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - SASFAILUREMETRO MAINTENANCE TUNNELS, LONDON, UKMARCH 5, 2012, 12:40Sensitive content warning: torture, suffering, blood. (You don't need to read this part, just scroll until you saw another "Simon Ghost Riley" text like the above)

Ghost raised his fist and his two companions stopped at once. He took a deep breath and quickly leaned around the corner, peering both ways. Clear. He gestured for them to follow him and they continued down the tunnel, as quickly and silently as possible.

According to the information gathered by MI6, a terrorist group was preparing to commit an attack in London. After a lot of investigation, they found out that they were going to use the underground maintenance tunnels to move around, so the SAS had sent several units to try and prevent this. Due to the size of the terrain to be covered, they had divided into several smaller groups, each led by a lieutenant or sergeant. Although Ghost was reluctant, both Captain Price and Amelia, his lieutenant, convinced him to lead two of his companions.

“I know you'll do well,” Price had said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“And I know you'll take care of my brother,” Amelia had added, smiling, gently punching him on the chin.

Ghost closed his eyes briefly and continued down the tunnel. He took a quick look to see that both Roach and Rebel were still behind him. Despite the fact that he was a person who kept his cool in any situation, being in charge of the safety of two people, especially so close to him, gave him a pang of uncertainty. Scary. If something happened to one of them, he would never be able to forgive himself.

And he certainly wouldn't be able to look Amelia in the face again if something happened to Roach.

He pushed those thoughts away as he came to another fork. If his memory served him correctly, they had to continue east. Simon consulted the map quickly and turned left, walking until they came to a closed door. He gestured to his two companions, who nodded, and he carefully opened the door. Ghost entered crouching and saw an enemy with his back to him. He took a quick look around, checking to make sure they were alone, and pulled out a knife. He reached out to him and, with one swift movement, covered his mouth and stabbed him twice in the chest before driving the weapon into his throat. He yanked the knife away and set the body down, carefully. Roach entered after a few seconds and Rebel followed him, silent.

After radioing that they had located the enemy, they continued on their way through the tunnels. They encountered more and more hostiles and Ghost began to worry. The orders were clear: keep going until the leader of the terrorist cell was arrested and avoid the attack at any cost. An easy task at first that, unfortunately, was complicated because they were only three men. Three people against dozens of enemies.

It was a fucking suicide.

Yet here they were, gaining ground without much hiccup. He didn't like that either. The feeling that something was wrong settled on his shoulders and pulled him down like an invisible weight. He forced himself to pay more attention to everything, to any movement, to any sound. However, nothing he perceived was out of the ordinary in an assault.

They entered another room and he fell on his face when something hit him on the back of the head. He heard a series of shots and voices, but he was so stunned that he couldn't tell if they were from his team or from his enemies. When he felt himself being dragged, disarming, guilt fell on him like a slab of cement. they had been caught. And he needed to know how his friends were. They were not to die there. Not under his command. He cursed himself for being careless. For not telling them to wait while he led the way.

They were going to die because of him.

“So it was you,” a voice said. It had a heavy accent that he didn't recognize at first. “You are the rats who have been killing my men.”

Simon looked up to see a huge guy, over seven feet tall and with his head and face covered, approaching him. He carried a pistol at his hip and a combat knife in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roach and Rebel on the ground, a couple of meters away. They didn't move and his stomach turned at the thought that they were dead.

“I'm talking to you,” the man growled, kicking him in the gut. Someone picked him up and the giant cocked his head. “What the hell are you wearing?”

He laughed as he took off his balaclava with the mask. He looked at the garment for a few seconds and dropped it to the ground. He rested the knife under Ghost's chin, forcing his head up, and Simon recognized it as the standard Austrian Army knife. He forced his mind to focus and reminded himself that this was not the best time to focus on insignificant details.

“Much better, don't you think?” The handful of terrorists standing there laughed and he cocked his head. “So you're a sergeant! You're the leader of those two bastards,” he looked back at Roach and Rebel. “Interesting.”

“Don't you dare!” Ghost snarled, trying to break free of his captors.

The giant turned on him and struck him with the hilt of the knife. Simon felt a burst of pain in his left temple, blinding him for a moment.

“Don't I dare, you say?” he hissed. “Who the fuck do you think you are to ask for anything?”

Simon glared at him. The guy didn't seem to like that because he hit him again. When Ghost regained his vision, he realized that the big guy wasn’t in front of him, but had approached his companions. Ghost stopped breathing for a moment when he saw Roach being lifted up. Part of his uniform was dark and he knew it was blood. He tried to locate where the wound was, but he couldn't.

They had hurt him because he hadn’t been able to do his job well.

They were going to kill them because of him.

He unfocused his gaze and, with a sharp yank, freed himself of his captors. He snatched the gun from one of them and bashed the butt into his head until the enemy stopped moving. Simon took aim at the other, ready to fire, when the sound of an explosion echoed through the small room. Then he felt a stabbing pain in his side and knew he had been hit. He ignored it and opened fire, taking down the terrorist before turning to the rest.

Two more shots hit him. One on the thigh, the other on the shoulder. Enough to bring him to his knees. Simon leaned on the rifle and took several breaths before getting up. Compared to Mexico, this was nothing. He could take a couple of bullets. Although he fired at the hooded man, his aim was not very good due to the wounds, so he hit him in the chest instead of the head. From the sound he knew he was wearing a bulletproof vest and he gripped the gun more firmly to fire when it jammed.

Damn.

He glanced at the ground and on one of the two corpses he saw a gun. He reached down to grab it when something hit him in the side, knocking him to the ground. They turned him onto his back and, out of sheer reflex, he raised his hands to defend himself, stopping a knife-wielding arm. He held the hooded man's other arm tightly and, although he tried, it was impossible for him to free himself from his grip. He had sat on his thighs and Simon couldn't move his legs, so he only had his hands to free himself from him. And the guy was very strong.

“I have to admit, you're one tough bastard,” she said, leaning over him a little and resting her chest on the handle of the knife. “But you should assume you won't get out of here alive. Neither you, nor them.”

He dropped a little more and the knife plunged into Ghost's chest. He grunted in pain as he felt the blade go in and tried to push the huge guy off of him… It was useless. Simon gasped when the knife’s guard hit against his chest and the giant sat up, yanking the knife out. A bolt of pain tore through Ghost's body, blinding him for a few seconds. The weight on his legs disappeared and someone yanked him off the floor and onto a chair. He tried to stand up, but they forced him back down, tying his arms behind the backrest. Simon coughed and tasted the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The huge guy crouched in front of him and placed the point of the knife against his cheek. He pressed down a bit before lowering it toward Ghost’s jaw, slashing.

“I think I'll kill your men first,” he said, cocking his head. “And then I'll deal with you.”

“Leave them,” Simon growled, his voice barely a whisper. They just followed orders.”

“The ones of an incompetent superior. But,” he clucked, amused, “that's life. Unfair, isn't it?”

He moved away from him to approach Roach and Rebel. Despite their efforts, they couldn't get free and that guy stabbed the first one in the abdomen, just below the ribs. Then he plunged the knife into Rebel's side. Finally, he slit their throats and they were dropped to the ground, where they arched for air as the blood choked them. Ghost didn't even have time to yell, he was only able to watch how his teammates were killed. His friends. He felt anger course through his veins and tried to break free. However, all he did was fall to the ground with his chair. He coughed again, feeling gasping for air, and the hooded man turned to him. He crouched down next to him and placed the knife in his side, in the same place where his spleen was.

“And now it's your turn,” he leaned a little closer to him and added: “You’re going to die knowing that you’re the culprit of their death. And the death of hundreds of innocents because you’ve failed,” he leaned a little closer to him and lowered his voice as he spoke. “You won’t be able to stop the attack.”

He laughed and jabbed the knife in. Simon closed his eyes and grunted in pain, taking another whiplash as the knife left his body. The guy wiped the blade on his pants and Ghost saw him get up to walk away. All the people in the room began to move, and within minutes, the room fell silent. Ghost fixed his gaze on the bodies of his two companions, of his two friends, and hardly realizing it, he began to cry. Not for him, but for them. He coughed again and blood stained the floor in front of him. His breathing became heavy, full of noise and pain, and his vision blurred.

He heard distant footsteps, increasing in volume in a matter of seconds. Various voices filled the place and someone stood before him. He felt them release him and check his throat for a pulse, placing him on his back. Ghost didn’t take his gaze from the corpses of his companions.

“Simon! Hold on, son.”

Price?

He wanted to ask out loud, but all he managed was to cough again. A hand was placed on his chest, and he heard the Captain's voice again. Simon didn't understand what he was saying, but he sensed that he was asking for help, reminding him that he was there with him. Ghost struggled against unconsciousness. He knew that he shouldn't fall asleep, that it was dangerous, however he was very tired and it hurt too much to breathe.

“Gary? Gary, no. Please, no. No, no, no!”

Guilt squeezed his heart and forced him to close his eyes, shedding several more tears. He knew the voice. And also the heartrending cry that broke the silence of the place. A sound that would accompany him to unconsciousness and that he could never forget.

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - TF 141NIGHTMARESOAP’S HOUSE, HEREFORD, UKNOVEMBER 10, 2022, 05:35

Ghost took a deep breath as soon as he finished speaking and looked down at his hands again. Silence fell over them and, though Soap's hand was still on his shoulder, he didn't dare look at him. Simon heard him take a breath and knew he was going to speak.

“I'm so sorry Simon,” his voice was barely a whisper. He felt him press a little on his shoulder, a comforting gesture that nearly turned his guts. “I understand you feel responsible, but it wasn't your fault.”

Ghost turned on him sharply, angry. John's hand remained in the air, just at the level where his shoulder had been seconds before. Simon was going to answer if he had suddenly gone deaf, if he hadn't understood anything he had just told him... However, he relaxed his posture when he saw that John’s lips were slightly blue and he had goosebumps. How had he been as selfish as he was to let him stay there, on the balcony, wearing only his pajama pants?

With a quick movement, he removed his sweatshirt and draped it over John's shoulders, zipping it up.

“I'll make coffee,” he whispered before walking into the kitchen.

Soap followed him, shoving his hands into the sleeves, and closed the balcony door. He stood there, confused, watching Ghost get the coffeepot out of a cabinet. He took a deep breath.

“Simon, what…?” He tried to ask a question, but it didn't come out.

“Your lips are blue,” he replied, not looking at him, as he poured ground coffee into the pot. “I should’ve realized before how cold it is outside.”

John huffed and moved closer to him. He placed a hand on his forearm and pressed a little without saying anything. Simon, realizing that he was waiting for him to look at him, turned his face to John’s, feeling his heart choke as he saw his smile. That he was giving him a loving smile.

“Stop feeling guilty about everything,” he whispered, circling his thumb over Simon’s skin. “Of course I felt the cold and I could’ve interrupted you to ask you to come in. But, for me, it was more important to listen to you. To know why you got up in the middle of the night and went out on the balcony. And now that I know, I stand by what I said before. I understand why you feel this way but, really, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I was the one who led them there. The one who got them into that room full of enemies,” he snarled, turning off the heat and pushing the coffeepot away. “I’m the one to blame for Roach and Rebel dying. Who left his best friend without a brother. They were my responsibility.”

“You were following orders from Price and he from higher command. You couldn't refuse and you know it,” John replied calmly. “Simon, we're soldiers, and that means we lose friends more easily than most people do. We might even die on a mission. We know what we're up to coming in here. And your partners knew it, and so did you. Sometimes things go wrong even if we do them well.”

Ghost closed his eyes, tightening his lids to hold back the tears. Deep down he knew that both John and Amelia were right. That it was a bad coincidence that everything ended like this. However, he refused to accept it, to forgive himself. Simon rubbed his hand over his eyes, realizing that the reason for doing so was that he hurt. Plain and simple. Feeling guilty about it caused a pain he was used to. His whole life revolved around it. To the pain he felt day in and day out due to past events and decisions. And it was strange to stop feeling it. Unnatural. As if he was leaving his comfort zone.

He hated himself a little more when he realized it.

“Come here,” Soap suddenly whispered.

John turned him around and placed one arm around his back, gently pulling Ghost  against him, and the other arm around his shoulder, stroking his hair.

“Sorry,” Simon murmured into John's neck; the voice broken by the lump that he had in his throat. “I'm trying, but…”

Didn't finish the sentence. He hugged John tightly and buried his head a little more in the crook of his neck, letting the tears out.

“I know. I know it's easier to get carried away with guilt because you get used to the pain. But that doesn't mean it's a good thing.”

Simon frowned at this and pulled back slightly to look at him. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, focusing his full attention on Soap.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked slowly. “How do you know pain is easy to get used to?”

John looked at him, surprised, and smiled resignedly. He shook his head and breathed in deeply. He moved one hand, from Simon's back to his chest.

“We're not talking about me,” he whispered.

“I do now.”

Soap was silent for a few seconds, managed a friendly smile, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the chin.

“Another day, perhaps,” he broke away from him and opened one of the cupboards to pull out a teapot.

Simon looked at him without saying anything. He felt a pang of worry in his stomach as he realized there was a lot he didn't know about Soap. That John, despite being an outgoing person, kept personal things under lock and key. And that threw a new uncertainty into Simon’s mind: that Soap didn't trust him enough to open up like that. What did he have to do to earn his trust? For John to let Simon help him? To pay him back for what he was doing for him? He didn't know and that generated a mixture of anger, anguish and pain in him, which he didn't like at all.

“It's not because of you,” Soap said then, cutting off his train of thought. Simon focused on him as he handed him a steaming mug. “I just need to be ready to talk about it. And we've had enough emotions tonight, don't you think?” he added with a half smile.

Simon nodded, feeling the sudden stress melt away, giving way to relief. He wasn't completely calm because he was still worried about him, about what John didn't want to tell him. However, he was relieved to know that it wasn't because of a lack of confidence, a touchy subject for him since Simon didn't give it easily.

He moved closer to John and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him against his chest to kiss him on the forehead.

“I'll be here when you're ready,” he said firmly.

“I know,” John replied, smiling a little more. He reached up a hand and caressed his cheek. “That's the nice thing about this, isn't it? That we're there for each other.”

Without giving him time to reply, John moved to grab another mug and fill it with coffee. Simon was still processing John's words, the seeming meaning behind them. He didn't want to name it because it scared him. It scared him that saying it loud and clear would mean putting a target on Soap's back. He stood by what he’d told Amelia: everything good he touched, died. And that could apply to John. And he didn't want anything to happen to John, not if he could help it. But that Soap seemed to be clear about what was between them… that was something else entirely. Something that felt too big to handle right now. Still, Simon let his heart warm at that thought as a strange feeling settled in his stomach; a feeling he hadn't had in over ten years.

Happiness.

He hadn't been happy since his days as a corporal, when he was on the same team as Roach, Rebel, and Amelia. Of going out at night to the city to drink and laugh, of going to pubs to listen and play music. Of the card games at Amelia's house, the only one with her own house thanks to the lieutenant's salary. Happy times that turned sad and dark when that mission failed. By losing his friends. And the certainty that history would repeat itself stabbed into his chest with the same force as König's dagger. Soap would die to be with him, to be by his side. And Simon, the only one capable of remedying it, was too selfish to put his friend's safety before his own happiness.

At that instant, a familiar smell hit him, and Ghost shifted his gaze to the cup in his hand. It was a cup of tea and not coffee. But not just any tea. It was his favorite. He was about to ask John how he'd figured it out, when he knew that to do so would be to underestimate him. Soap was a person who paid attention to detail and Simon knew it, he’d seen it many times on the battlefield. It wasn’t unreasonable that he had noticed what tea he drank.

Simon smiled helplessly, feeling how his chest was bursting with love for John, and he moved so he could hug him. Soap handed it back, confused, and laughed.

“And this coming to?”

“Nothing in particular,” Simon whispered, holding him a little tighter.

“Okay, but be careful or you'll make me spill the coffee. And it's very hot and I don't want to burn myself.”

Ghost smiled and kissed Soap on the lips. Simon broke away without saying a word, set his mug on the counter, and took out the cake he'd made the night before. He cut a couple of pieces and put them on two plates, setting them on the table. Soap's smile widened and he sat up, setting his coffee cup aside and taking a big bite of the cake, groaning again.

“Fuck, even cold is still good.”

Simon laughed, sitting down across from him. He let John eat his part too and enjoyed, for the first time in a long time, happiness.

[kazewhara]

behind those eyes.

# — pairings: kazuha, xiao x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, kazuha, xiao

# — summary: "your nightmares follow you like a shadow, forever." – alexsandar hemon

# — warnings: nightmares, mentions of abandonment and death

# — tags: canon non-compliance, poly kazuha × reader x xiao, hurt/comfort, nightmares, grieving, fic re-write

# — notes: this is just a bigger re-write of something i wrote on my old writing blog, so god forbid if you ever come across it, just know that it's mine, lmao. anyways i'll give you three chances to guess how my morning started. as always, reblogs and reactions are appreciated and i hope you enioy

wanna join the tag list?

✧ — 🍁 + 🍃 — ✧

"does it ever get any easier?"

xiao and kazuha share a look over your head, neither one understanding your question or who it was meant for. both of them are situated on either side of you, enveloping you in their combined warmth. you'd been trembling violently until a few minutes ago and until now, you were completely silent. both men were content with your silence so neither of them were expecting such a question.

"does what get any easier, starlight?" kazuha's fingers weave into your hair. he swiftly undoes any kinks or knots he catches as he does so, silently relishing in the little sigh you gift him with. he pulls back to get a better look at your face, though he immediately wishes he hasn't. your eyes are red-rimmed and watery still, though there's a fragile smile on your lips.

you're facing him but you don't look at him. you sniff and chuckle humorlessly, the sound thin and flimsy. "losing someone close to you." you explain. "coping with it. does it ever get any easier?"

again, your lovers exchange a look that you can't see. both of them know why you're asking such a thing but they hesitate to answer. while kazuha lets the question marinate in his head, xiao takes the lead. you always let down your guard around him, but you're especially vulnerable right now. he does his best to choose his words carefully.

the first thing that comes to mind is a firm no. there was not a single loss in xiao's life that he didn't still feel the consequences of. nothing ever got any easier for him; his karmic debt was proof enough and you knew that. there's been many a day in which you and kazuha have had to watch as he suffered from flare-ups that he couldn't handle, the two of you paralyzed by your inability to help lessen the pain.

the same went for kazuha, who also hesitates to be honest and tell you no. though tomo's death was in the past, it haunts his dreams so often that it may as well happen every single day. you've found kazuha rendered silent and immobile by his grief on more than one occasion while you could do nothing but hold him in your arms.

but perhaps their situations were extraordinary. xiao isn't human and kazuha is a fugitive; both men have special circumstances much unlike your own. the average human will never see as many years as xiao has, and the average person will never perish from the musou no hitotachi like kazuha's friend.

what you needed in this moment was not blunt honesty, but genuine comfort.

"if you're asking for my personal opinion," xiao begins, "i don't believe that it does."

you take a shuddering breath and xiao's lips curve downwards.

"however, that doesn't mean i believe that you should grow used to it." he continues. his fingers find rest on your waist. "nor should you spend your life anticipating it, either. my knowledge of mortals may be limited, but i know that living in such a way isn't... it isn't truly living."

kazuha, who'd been listening intently, picks up where xiao leaves off. "like most things," he says, "i believe loss is best taken in stride, though it may hinder your movement. it's..."

painful, he struggles to tell you. agonizing, even. his heart still hasn't fully mended after all this time and xiao's will never be truly mended. the three of you came together and did your best to put each other back together, but there were still pieces that none of you could find and put back into place.

then, like a stray bolt of lightning, the answer strikes him, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.

"loss is best experienced with another."

xiao blinks at kazuha a few times. there's something in his tone that gives away his revelation, but xiao doesn't mention it because within a few seconds, he understands as well. neither of them are sure why it took them until now to understand the truth behind those words.

kazuha keeps speaking, his fingers sliding down out of your hair and coming to cup your jaw. "when... tomo passed, i... i was alone. nobody helped me process the events of that day when it happened, so i had to learn firsthand that time is the best cure for such things."

xiao pulls you a bit closer to his chest, his thoughts calming when he feels you relax some more. "but in your case," xiao murmurs, "you will not be alone. you will have us." your eyes close and kazuha sees a few stray tears slip past your lashes.

"i will take on as much of your suffering as i can if you allow me." kazuha tells you.

you start to shake again, a wave of fresh tears likely about to descend upon you. "you guys have enough to deal with." you stammer, your voice breaking. "i don't... you don't need to do that."

"but we will." xiao's voice is firm behind you. he ducks down and presses a kiss to the back of your neck, your breath catching when he speaks again, his lips still on your skin. "that wasn't a request."

"we will always be here if you need us." kazuha gently clears your face of your sorrow and his throat tightens with the urge to share in it. "you are never alone, dove. you never will be." how fortunate it is that kazuha is the one seeing you cry and not xiao -- xiao's never been very good at handling your tears.

xiao and kazuha feel your gratitude more than they hear it. you wrap your arms around kazuha and squeeze, and you finally allow your legs to tangle with both of theirs. the two of them sink into the bed further, relieved that they've managed to put you at ease, even if only by a little.

"pain like this will destroy you if you shoulder it all by yourself." xiao says again. you nod shakily in understanding.

kazuha sighs and allows the pained tears to sting his eyes. a few get the better of him and fall, but he doesn't make any move to stop it. he kisses your forehead as you allow yourself to sob once more.

the things they've said are not only true to some degree, but they are also things that they wish they'd been said to them when they needed it the most. they can never go back to those times -- they don't want to -- so they keep their eyes forward. you would do the same for them in a situation like this. in fact, you already have.

it was you who went to zhongli in search of the medicine xiao needed; you who went with kazuha to visit tomo's grave after months of avoiding it; you who coaxed kazuha out of the shell he'd unknowingly forced himself into; you who made xiao understand that the life he lives was not one he sought, but one he was given -- that he was still worthy of love. it was all you.

you were the angel who taught them to feel pain, to let it trample them, but to slowly but surely get up, and keep on their way.

you taught them to be human, and they'll be damned if they ever have to let you suffer in the way they have to -- the way they do.

so until this passes, until you understand that you, too, can be human, they will be here.

✧ good morning, ig.

[danpuff-ao3]

Uncensored

Fiction (noun)

1.) literature in the form of prose, especially novels, that describes imaginary events and people.

2.) something that is invented or untrue.

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Disclaimer: no real people were harmed in the creation of this fanwork (or any others.)

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Content Rating E: Explicit: only suitable for adults.

This post will discuss mature themes that requires rational thinking and an open-mind. Tread carefully.

Content Warnings: discussions of violence, death, and sex. Mentions of other "questionable" content. Acknowledgment that content you do not like probably exists.

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YKINMKATOK (or KINKTOMATO) (aka Your Kink Is Not My Kink (And That's OK): Kinks that you do not like exist. Their mere existence is not hurting you. Please feel free to click away from any subject matter that does not appeal to you.

SALS (aka Ship and Let Ship): ships that you do not like or outright hate exist. They are not hurting you by existing, no matter how "immoral" you believe them to be.

DL;DR (aka Don't Like, Don't Read): seriously, folks, there's a back button. Feel free to click it any time.

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Dead Dove; Do Not Read: I'm warning you, turn back now. This post is anti-censorship. If you cannot handle reading such content, now is the time to turn back. If you continue reading, do so at your own risk.

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Horror films have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. The really good stuff, too. Gore splattered on the screen. Genitalia hanging loose. Sex, and murder, hand-in-hand.

The primary reason for this was that my father wanted to watch horror films, and we as a family did what my father wanted. My mother never stopped it, because she didn't believe in censoring anything. The world is what it is; she was never going to hide us from any of it.

For years, my brother and I would cover our eyes with our hands when two characters so much as kissed onscreen. Not because our parents told us to; society had sunk its claws in early, regardless of my parents' will. We peeked between our fingers; we wanted to give the illusion of purity without actually partaking in it.

Our parents weren't always present when we watched horror films. As a child it would sometimes be just my brother and I watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre or Nightmare on Elm Street or the Chucky franchise.

I've never killed anyone. Not with a chainsaw, not with an axe, not with a gun, not with my hands. I've never killed anyone, ever. I've never wanted to. I don't even believe in the death penalty.

Being exposed to violent media never made me violent.

Did it alter me in any way, being exposed to such extreme media so young? Who knows. Maybe. I don't know who I would be without it. I've never known life without it. But I like to think I'm a decent person. I don't commit crimes. I try to be nice to people. I'm a hard worker. I'm pretty goofy.

It's also made me pretty anti-censorship and...well. Some people might see that as a crime; as a sin. And in that case, well, you might as well ban everything to prevent people like me from existing.

(You don't actually think that will work, do you?)

(I hope not; I did say this post was for adults only, didn't I?)

I read Flowers in the Attic...young. I was 9 or 10 maybe. It was before I discovered fanfiction. It never gave me unseemly feelings towards my brother or my parents; it never gave me the urge to lock up small children, or poison them.

At age 11, I discovered fanfiction. It was a happy accident from Googling "Harry Potter" and somehow stumbling on an explicit Drarry fic.

Should I have read that fic at age 11? No. But that's my fault for lying about my age. It's my parents' fault for not paying me any mind. It wasn't the fic's fault for existing.

The whole world isn't child-safe and it never will be. It's the responsibility of caretakers to mind their wards; not the world's responsibility to tiptoe around you and your rules.

The real world doesn't have content warnings. There is no tagging system for real life. And real life is much more dangerous than fanfiction.

Soon after reading that Drarry fic, I moved onto Snarry. I dove right into the deep end. I inhaled dead dove content at lightning speed. You couldn't pry me away from it.

11 year old Danni understood what an E rating meant. 11 year old Danni also understood what fiction meant.

I've never looked at a minor sideways. I've never wanted to. I've never touched anyone without clear and enthusiastic consent.

In fact, and this might be TMI, but I've only ever been with 2 people in my life. My first time was at age 18, with a guy I'd been with for a year and who I was engaged to.

All around, I was what one might call a "good kid"; I studied, I went to school, I didn't party, I didn't sneak out, I didn't do drugs. I skipped school once my senior year and other than that my worst crime was lying about my age to read questionable content.

Watching monsters onscreen and reading about them in books never made me a monster.

Or, well...I do spend my time writing underage stories, and non-con, and the occasional incest. I write infidelity and horrific angst. I write about morally questionable content, and that's as good as actually doing those things, right?

So if that's how you see it, maybe I am a monster. The monster putting words to page for others to read and enjoy.

If you're a wannabe monster hunter, and if fictional wrongdoing is as evil as real wrongdoing, then you might as well go after the easier target, right? You won't actually save the world that way, but you can pat yourself on the back for a job well done, I guess.

So while the torches and pitchforks are being prepped and the Tiktoks uploaded, I'm gonna go continue working on my very messed up porn. Just like I always have, and always will.

~Fin~