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☁️ Fluff
⭐ Light
🌧️ Angst
🌕 Mature +18
🌤️ Violence/Sensitive topics
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Series
Louder than bombs ☁️🌧️🌤️
One-shots
Keep dancing my love ☁️
Automatonophobia ☁️🌧️🌤️
Rain cloud 🌧️🌤️
Drabbles
Earthquake ⭐
Voicemail 🌧️
Second chance | Part 2 ☁️🌧️
Pregnancy ☁️
Asleep 🌧️
Past lives ☁️
Bombs 🌧️🌤️
Happy birthday ☁️🌧
Single dad Simon 🌧
Wolf!Hybrid Ghost ⭐
Simon's brute love ☁️⭐️
Ideas
CoD Series
These are some ideas I've had, but haven't been inspired to continue, so feel free to develop them if you'd like! Just please give me credit and tag me!
Task Force 141
Drabbles
Hybrid!TF141 x Hybdrid!Reader | Part 2 | Part 3 🌤️
Series
Makarov's family 🌤️🌧️
If you want to know a little abut me and what I write, you can see it here.
You're a beautiful creature my dear, remember, you're loved
The creaking of the metal door woke you from your sleep, though you didn't react. Expecting it to be John or one of them, you remained still and silent, internally bracing yourself for another interrogation or perhaps some insult. Instead, it was Kate who knelt beside you.
"Hey..." Of course, you didn't say anything. While you didn't feel your heart being stabbed by her, you didn't expect anything from her anymore. Or from anyone. Fortunately, she wasn't expecting a response from you either, so she continued, speaking in a maternal tone that by this point you couldn't tell if it was comforting or painful. "I'm going to clean you up and treat your wounds, okay?" Your lack of response left nothing clear. She was aware that you didn't care anymore, but she also didn't want to make you feel even more violated than you already were.
Carefully, she began to tear your clothes with her knife. At the first touch, your body tensed, and although you didn't resist, she immediately tried to calm you. She needed to clean you thoroughly and examine your wounds, so she had to undress you. Somehow, that relaxed your body, even though you didn't care, the trauma was something unconscious that you couldn't control.
Her touch was incredibly gentle, as if she were caring for a small baby. Her maternal image was as soothing as it was painful, because it made you think of your own mother. She had lied to you your whole life, lies to protect you that ironically plunged you into this hell. And yet, you couldn't help but wonder, was she alright? Had she suffered the same fate as you?
Was she alive?
That last thought stabbed you in the soul. Finally, for the first time since that hell had begun, you started to cry. Each hiccup hurt your torso and made it hard to breathe, but did it matter? You no longer had a life, and you didn't want to live the little you had left. You didn't know if you wanted to see your mother again, the woman who had unwittingly put you there. You didn't know how to go on living with the reality of being a Makarov, and the world that had already failed you wouldn't have mercy on you either. Kate said nothing. She let you cry as much as you needed while she cleaned every inch of your body with water and a soft sponge, being twice as gentle when cleaning your wounds.
By the time your crying stopped, you were completely clean. The acrid smell of your own urine was gone, and your skin, though bruised, was clean. Even though you couldn't see your face, just feeling it was soft and supple again told you there was no trace of blood.
Now all that was left was to get dressed and treat the fracture in your leg. You looked at Kate, her serene face and gentle expression reminded you of your own mother. It was ironic, just as your mother had tried unsuccessfully to protect you, looking back you realized that Kate had done the same, with the same failed result.
"I'd like to thank you for believing in me. But I can't..." She looked at you in surprise, she hadn't expected you to speak at all. She opened her mouth only to close it again, a sad smile appearing on her face as she continued carefully cleaning your broken leg. Now that you looked at it closely, it was a horrible sight, swollen and with lumps around your ankle and halfway up your shin, right where your bone was broken. The skin was coloured in a map of intense red and violet tones.
"Did you always know I wanted to protect you?" Despite the tension in her body, her voice was just as soft and gentle, as was her touch.
"No. Not until now..." A weak giggle escaped your lips, followed by a hiss of pain, your ribs were agonizing. "When you look death in the face, you see your whole life with clarity... Knowing you're going to die makes you realize a lot of things."
"They're not going to kill you." A second giggle reverberated in your chest, hurting your battered torso once more. You didn't notice, but she bit her lip to stifle herself. If she told you that the four men had fallen in love with you, that they loved you despite everything, you wouldn't just disbelieve her, it would be like a knife to the heart, and you were already too broken for that.
"They should. I deserve it." She looked up at you, and even though you were still staring into space, you noticed her lips parting to refute you, something you didn't allow. "Anyway, if they don't kill me, I'll do it myself." The tension in Kate's body was palpable, so much so that you could feel it in yourself.
"What do you mean?" The softness of her voice was tinged with fear.
"They already killed me, Kate... My damn face is everywhere, like the niece of a fucking psychopath." A tear rolled down your cheek. "I have no life anymore. If I get out of here alive, the army will expel me without exception, and society will always see me the same as him. Wherever I go, I'll be a pest, no one will even give me a job. I'll always have a fucking sign on my head that says I'm a terrorist too."
More tears flowed from your eyes, the pain in your torso no longer mattered to you, because however horrible it was, it hurt much less than the emotional pain.
"And you think I'm going to keep wanting to live knowing I'm a Makarov? Knowing my whole life has been a lie, that I am what I've fought to destroy..." Finally, you looked at her, your face distorted by pain and rage. "If they don't kill me, I'll take my own life."
That final sentence froze her entire soul. For a moment, she didn't know what to say, her heart clenched in her chest, and she knew the team's must be feeling the same or worse ―they could hear through the hidden cameras and microphones in the room.
How could she respond to that?
She had no right to demand that you keep fighting for your life when she was also to blame for your current situation. It would be selfish to force you to live a life that, just as you had said, would be hell. But she also couldn't allow you to give up. She couldn't lose you. She wasn't going to lose you. Wouldn't fail you again.
“At least let me be by your side.” Her response surprised you, and the sadness in those blue eyes tore at your soul even if you didn't want it to. “I know I don't deserve it, but I can't leave you alone. Not again.” Her words hurt you while simultaneously filling you with fury. She was right, she didn't deserve anything from you, nor anyone did, not even your own mother. And yet, something inside you clung to her promises, perhaps it was the damned faith we all hold onto without realizing it.
Or perhaps it was that deep down you knew you couldn't blame anyone completely, not when the life of a single person can save or condemn thousands more. The eternal dilemma of sacrificing an innocent person to save thousands more. Your life, which hung between guilt and innocence, in exchange for all those who could be protected from Makarov's hands.
If you were in Kate's place, in the team's place, would you have done the same?
Probably yes.
Even so, that didn't take away the consequences or the pain caused, much less fix your life.
“If that’s what you want.” That was all you could manage to say, you had no energy —nor the desire, to think about it anymore. There was no clear answer because, to begin with, you didn’t know if you were going to continue. You weren’t even sure what you felt.
Hate. Love. Pain. Guilt.
For a while, neither of you said anything else, until finally she finished cleaning you.
“I’ll have to immobilize your leg. I need you to breathe deeply.” You nodded slightly and closed your eye, inhaling as deeply as you could, bracing yourself for the pain. You had never broken anything before, but you had suffered serious injuries in the past, so you knew that what was coming wouldn’t be pretty.
On your third breath, Kate began applying pressure to feel the extent of the damage. Then she applied bandages, gradually adding thin wooden boards to create a makeshift splint. The pain surged through you, and you had to bite your cheeks to stifle a scream. Why? It was more instinctive, it wasn't as if anyone was going to judge you after everything you'd been through.
Be that as it may, with your teeth digging into your cheeks and your breathing controlled, you endured each painful sting, letting the pain remind you that despite everything, your heart was still beating.
"Ready?" Nodding, Kate pulled you toward her, shifting some of your weight to help you walk slowly but surely out of that cell. Once you were in the hallway, you noticed that wherever you were, it was quite large. The hallway seemed endless from end to end, with only a few doors along the way. It smelled like a house that wasn't neglected but had been uninhabited for a long time. You couldn't tell if it was the colour of the walls, but everything looked old, as if time had frozen decades ago inside.
Each step, even with Kate's help, ached in every muscle of your body, in every bone. At times, you thought about simply giving up, after all, it wouldn't matter if you died right there. But your body stubbornly kept moving, as if there truly were a purpose, or something good waiting for you.
They arrived at one of the rooms. The dim, whitish light illuminated the only two pieces of furniture inside: a single bed and a small dresser, as well as a door that probably led to a bathroom. Compared to the cold cell, it was paradise. Kate laid you down on the bed. Your body could finally relax, feeling the soft, warm mattress beneath you—it was like a cloud for your wounded body.
Kate showed you a hidden button inside one of the drawers. If you needed anything, you just had to press it. You nodded silently at each instruction, not even saying goodbye when she left the room.
You were left alone, your only company your thoughts, which with each passing second were retreating into darker corners.
You had reached this point because of other people. The world kept turning, and without realizing it, you were being left behind, carrying the burden of others' guilt. All the people you loved were slowly hammering the nails into your coffin, without giving you time to react, much less beg for forgiveness you shouldn't even have to ask for. And now, locked in a metaphorical —and quite literal— coffin, your life hung by a thread, waiting for who would finally bury you, taking your life away.
Shouldn't you be the one to do it?
It was your life, and you had endured enough of others acting for you. Everyone had failed you, your mother, your team, and outside that place, only more punishment awaited you, the hatred of the people.
It was unfair.
Each person had the right to their own life, and therefore, to decide when to end it. Perhaps one should wait for their mother to die first, since taking one’s own life would ultimately kill her as well. But wasn't it she who first took your life with her lies? Yes, she did it to protect you, she did it out of love.
And that love now had you counting the seconds, waiting for someone to pull the trigger.
You could pull it first.
You only had to bite your tongue until the veins burst, in a matter of minutes, it would all be over. Automatically, your tongue slowly traced your teeth, then settled between them. Your jaw clenched for a few seconds, relaxed for a couple more, and the cycle repeated. It felt strangely good, you were in control now, the final decision, you and no one else.
So why couldn't you do it?
Before you, you saw the face of your mother, the woman who betrayed you and dragged you there with lies. The faces of John, Kyle, Simon, and Johnny, the team that was supposed to protect you but ended up breaking you from the inside. Kate, who could have saved you earlier but didn't.
People you hated.
And whom you loved at the same time.
Did you truly hate them? Or was it just pain speaking for you? Clouding your mind in the same way that fear had blinded them to the bigger picture.
In the end, that sea of conflicting emotions overwhelmed you so much that you didn't have the courage to go on.
You curled up in bed and cried yourself to sleep.
"Price, don't do this." Kate's voice was tense, serious, but with an unmistakable hint of pleading. "You're all pissed off, I understand. But we have to keep calm."
"She betrayed us!" Despite Kyle's sudden outburst, she didn't flinch, she stayed resolute. "I saw her, Kate. She was laughing with that son of a bitch like nothing was wrong." The sergeant took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. Price placed his hand on Kyle's chest, stopping him. The younger of them two snorted in frustration and stepped back, rubbing his face.
"Let's do this right, lads." She kept insisting, even though she knew it was futile. Just seeing their eyes, filled with rage and pain, she knew nothing was going to stop them.
"I did things right, Laswell." John approached her, invading her space, not threateningly, but rather frustrated, wounded inside. A pain that all four of them carried equally. “And when I did it, Makarov not only escaped, but he also almost killed Soap. I won’t make the same mistake again just to ‘do the right thing’.”
Kate pressed her lips together; the memory of the youngest member of the group fighting for his life in a hospital bed still hurt, and she knew it was even worse for them. They had a unique bond, strong like few others. Price still carried the guilt of what had happened, and fear gnawed at their souls, a well-founded fear that kept them alive, alert, protecting each other. They weren't going to let it be broken again.
With those words, your sentence had been handed down a day ago. Simon thought about how ironic it all had been. For protection, they hadn't let you break them, but instead, they had broken you. You, the one who needed protection the most.
His steps felt like a ton of weight. He had always had the strength to face anything, it wasn't that he wasn't afraid, it was simply that his strength had always been greater. And yet, now there wasn't a trace of that strength left. He was terrified to see you, ashamed of himself, hating himself like he never had before. He wasn't the only one, but at that moment it weighed ten times heavier as he walked toward your temporary room. Every time he closed his eyes, your bloodied and wounded image struck him in places he couldn't even see.
With a deep sigh that sounded more like a growl, he entered the room. Your body, curled up on the bed, tensed instantly. You woke with a start but didn't move, staying still, bracing for the worst. And that was worse than if you had reacted, because at least that would have been a sign that you were still fighting for your life. This, on the other hand, was seeing a person broken to their very core.
Broken because of him.
Silently, he approached you slowly and gently, terrified of scaring you. His heart ached inside him, making him nauseous. He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch you, cursing as his weight sank into the mattress.
“You need to take medicine.” He cursed inwardly again because of how raspy his voice sounded, almost threatening. He wanted to touch you, he longed to hold you in his arms and beg for your forgiveness while protecting you from the world, from himself. But he stopped when he saw your swollen ankle. Despite the clothing and splint covering it, the lumps around it were enormous, impossible to ignore. He had done this, broken your leg just like he had broken your nose months before. As always, he broke everything he touched. “Please…”
When you heard his voice crack, something stirred within you, something that hurt. Why? It was what he deserved, he and everyone else, to suffer and pay for what they did to you. And yet the pain in your heart intensified without you understanding why. Perhaps it was because he made you aware of everything, perhaps it was because he made you feel alive. Or perhaps, unfortunately for you, affection doesn't die overnight, and even though it hurt, your heart still held a place for them in the same way that it continued to long for your mother.
Rage, fear, betrayal, confusion, melancholy, love. All encapsulated in your fragile body.
You slowly sat up on the bed, hissing in pain, and instantly he held your torso carefully, making sure not to hurt you but keeping you steady. His muscles tensed, just like yours, he’d crossed a line, and you hadn't expected it. You didn't know what to feel or do. For a second, neither of you said anything, until finally you moved, allowing him to support you. You managed to sit up without hurting yourself. You were about to thank him, but in the end, you didn't. After all, you were like this because of him, it was the least he and the entire team should do.
"Easy..." He had to bite his tongue to keep from calling you something affectionate. He didn't deserve it, and you certainly weren't going to allow it. When he was sure you were okay, he let you go, took a small canteen out of his pocket along with a couple of pills, ―painkillers, according to Kate it was the only thing they could give you until you received medical attention.
With your uninjured hand, you took the pills and put them in your mouth. Your movements were slow and felt like they were going to take your life, so Ghost gently took your face in her hands. Despite the terror that gripped you and tensed every muscle, you allowed him to continue. He brought the pill to your lips and helped you drink calmly. Although Kate had already hydrated and fed you properly, your body was so weak from the torture that it needed more.
When the canteen was empty, Ghost slowly released you and put it away again.
Everything fell silent, a silence so thick it suffocated, like water. You longed to be alone again, it pained you to see him. Your mind churned with the desire to scream at him and everyone else, to unleash your hatred and make them pay, to do the same to them. At the same time, it battled the fear born of trauma, compounded by the pain of betrayal at the hands of those you loved. He, for his part, yearned to kiss your feet and hands, to inflict pain upon himself to earn your forgiveness. All four men wanted that, to wound themselves until they were worthy of at least your gaze, to tear off their skin if necessary.
“We don’t deserve you… No one does…” His words pierced you to the bone. He was right, absolutely no one in the world deserved you. You had dedicated your life to helping others, to taking down those who made the world a horrible place, and all so that in the end, the very world you sacrificed yourself for had repay you like this, with hatred and betrayal.
And yet you couldn't hate completely, because that damn love got in the way, and that only made you angrier, everything hurt ten times more. Human beings weren't logical, emotions were a damn chaos without a switch, even when faced with betrayal and violence contaminating a bond of love, it doesn't die and clings to what it once was
It was unfair.
Just as you opened your lips to reply, Ghost's radio crackled to life, John's voice firm and cold on the other end.
As an elite soldier, you were accepted into Task Force 141, and although you initially fit in well with the four men who seemed to care for you, one day, after departing on a mission, you wake up tied to a chair. The men who once looked at you with affection are now cold, and without giving you a chance to defend yourself, they tell you a harsh truth that will change your life forever.
TW: Angst, graphic descriptions of torture and violence, canon typical violence, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, blood, urine, dissociation, betrayal.
I go by she/her, but they/them is totally fine too. Late 20s (which is really just a delusional way to admit I'm almost 30), bisexual, happily married, working a 9-5, and trying to find time to write a few things (to calm down the voices in my head).
English isn't my native language, so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know kindly.
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The day before your arrival at the base where you would officially become a member of Task Force 141, while the team was discussing what it would be like to have you there, Kate entered the office. The smiles on the four men's faces vanished at the sight of her serious expression. Before anyone could ask, she handed John a tablet. The captain took it, frowning with concern. Without asking anything, he simply turned on the screen.
An audio clip of barely five seconds played, but that brief moment was enough for them to recognize Makarov's voice. The four men became so tense their veins bulged. It wasn't a big deal, just two words in Russian, "ya v poryadke," and the call was cut off.
"What the fuck is ‘his?" Johnny's thick Scottish accent echoed in the room. Kate responded calmly while searching for other files on the tablet. A map opened, displaying coordinates. It was one of those sparsely populated rural areas where the houses were meters apart.
"We detected this signal. It happened a month ago in this area." Kate paused briefly before continuing, her voice lower. "The nearest house is her mother's."
Confusion. That was the emotion that hit them for a second, then transformed into acrimony. Makarov had been near your only relative.
Technically, it didn't mean anything. He most likely just happened to be passing through the area because of its low population. But it was too much of a coincidence that it was you, the newest member of the team, who just happened to have Russian ancestry.
"Do you think she's a spy?" The question alone was enough to make the air even heavier, so thick it was suffocating.
"No. She's an SAS agent, John. Her entire life is on file. I've investigated her myself." If there was one person the team trusted implicitly, it was Kate. Not only was she as intelligent as she was loyal, but she also had a sixth sense that had never failed her. However, this was too much of a coincidence, even she knew it. "I think it's more complex than it seems."
Even though logic dictated your guilt, they listened to Kate intently, trusting their keen instincts. They needed to investigate you to your very core, to what couldn't be seen or touched, and to do that, they needed to gain your trust. So, they gave you the first opportunity upon entering, treating you with cloying sweetness to learn your innermost secrets. And it worked, you revealed much about yourself, confiding in them, which caused a painful dissonance within the four men. They were human, after all, and the more they learned about you and the more time they spent with you, the harder it was to remain true to their mission.
Your warm smiles, your heartfelt laughter, even the way you looked at them, admiring what lay beneath layers of spilled blood and years of hardship, eventually planted a tiny seed of affection in their hearts, a seed that took root so strongly it overshadowed their primary objective. Their sweet words, the subtle touches when they were near you, the desire to always be by your side, everything became genuine. Every time they saw the innocence in your eyes, their whole world crumbled, their bodies weakened, while in their minds, only the thought that you were indeed innocent persisted. If you were to say one day that the ocean waves were made of magic, they would believe you without hesitation.
And that is why reality tore their souls apart.
“She is his niece.” A month after your arrival, all the evidence of your family tree —the real one, the one that had been hidden from the world, lay on Price’s desk. A newspaper article, never published, announced that a young waitress was expecting a child with Mr. Makarov, the politician who was one of the most prominent figures in the USSR. That article had been buried and almost forgotten, but now it resurfaced years later. That baby was your mother, Lena Rudakova, and although there were no records of her having any contact with the Makarovs and her entire record was clean, she was just one of the many children and teenagers who fled that fateful night almost three decades ago, the signal recorded near her home didn’t lie. There was a connection between you and Makarov.
“She’s a fucking spy.” Simon’s deep voice echoed through the office, filled with hatred, but above all, with a pain that weighed heavily on everyone. How could they see you now, knowing you were a traitor? The four men’s hearts shattered into a million pieces, burning under the weight of a betrayal you hadn’t even committed.
But they didn’t know that. They only knew what was in front of them, the evidence of your betrayal.
“It doesn’t mean she’s involved, John.” Kate tried to be rational, even though everything screamed that you had joined the team to extract information and break them up in Makarov’s favour. She believed you, there was something in your story that spoke of your innocence.
“Then explain this.” John slammed his fist on the desk, startling her slightly. “The last sign was near her mother, and now we know they’re related.”
“That’s not enough proof, John, you know that.” And yes, he knew perfectly well. They were coincidences that led to mere assumptions, but the real evidence, the tangible evidence, pointed to zero contact between you and that terrorist. There wasn’t even any proof that your mother knew who her real father was, so they couldn’t act.
But the pain was there. Fear and uncertainty can be the worst enemy. It wasn’t the first time they had faced betrayal from someone close to them, one of those betrayals had almost ended Johnny’s life. So even if nothing was clear, they weren’t going to make the same mistake.
Despite Kate’s warnings and her insistence on your innocence, the four men turned against you. Unable to do anything directly, they began with psychological abuse in an attempt to break you and make you talk or at least make you show your true colours. Cruel words, beatings disguised as jokes or training exercises, belittling you until you even doubted yourself. That afternoon when Simon crossed the line and put you on sick leave due to the resulting concussion, something hurt in their hearts again. They didn't break you, but they did break something inside you.
You distanced yourself, but you didn't give up. You did everything you could to survive. They tried to do the same, to ignore you and continue as if nothing had happened, watching you from a distance, every movement, every word, even every micro-gesture, a continuous analysis that never stopped. And at the end of the day, they always reached the same conclusion.
Kate was right. You knew nothing about your relationship with Makarov, and therefore, you were just another soldier striving to fulfil her duty, just like them.
Regret arrived slowly but surely and painfully. The seed of love that had taken root in them never died, they knew it well. The mere sight of you hurt like hell. It was a constant battle between wanting to be by your side, begging for your forgiveness, and the fear that you would betray them, a fear that brought out the worst in them, the monster each of them carried inside, and which, despite everything, you had accepted them as they were at the beginning.
Little by little, they began to approach you again, and of course, it wasn't easy. Every time they came near, you flinched like a small, defenceless animal, the tension in your body crushing them with guilt and remorse. How could they justify their actions? How could they explain something you seemed to know nothing about? That would only make them look worse, and it was already enough knowing they had hurt you. Even so, deep in your heart, you found a kind of forgiveness, enough so that, despite never being able to be as close as before, they gained some of your trust, and they gave you theirs.
It should have all ended there, a mistake they tried day after day to rectify and compensate you for the pain they caused.
Until that fucking day.
Kyle had visited one of his sisters, a normal day like any other, except that on his way back he decided to stop at the supermarket. Just as he reached the veggies aisle, he saw you in the distance, but before he could approach, he stopped when he saw you talking to a man, and the mere sight of him was enough to make him feel a knife in his chest.
He knew him well, how could he forget? He was a member of Konni. He had faced him that day they almost lost Soap, shot him in the leg and the stomach, thinking he was dead. But there he was, the wretch, alive, limping slightly, smiling and making jokes that made you laugh.
God, that beautiful laugh that made his legs tremble, which turned his world and the team's world upside down. That laugh you were now offering to one of Makarov's men, a damned terrorist.
For him, there was no doubt at that moment, you were a traitorous snake, a spy working for Makarov, your uncle. But what he didn't know was that that man was just a casual acquaintance you met occasionally at the supermarket, just as you didn't know he was a member of Konni, sent by Vladimir himself to watch over you and protect you.
A tangle of misunderstandings.
With his heart breaking, he followed you at a distance, waiting until you went home before ambushing the man. With a single blow, he knocked him out and forced him into his car.
"She's with Konni." That was all he said. He sent the audio and drove to Price's house, where Johnny and Simon arrived shortly after. There in the basement, they began interrogating the man, who only mocked them and, despite the beating they gave him, didn't utter a word, staying loyal to his boss.
In any case, they didn't need any more. Everything was crystal clear to them. You were a traitor, a psychopath like the rest of your family. That very night, they conducted their plan. Without your knowledge, your mother was arrested and imprisoned for interrogation, while at dawn, you were called on an emergency mission. Without being given many details, you left with them for a wooded area in the Scottish mountains, where they ambushed you unexpectedly. One moment you saw the clouds in the sky forming a rosy hue, and the next, everything went black.
So now you were there, in a safe house that from the outside looked like an abandoned building. Tortured, with a broken leg and a couple of internal haemorrhages, a living dead.
The four men looked over and over all the information your mother had revealed, both of your bank accounts, cell phones, personal accounts, absolutely everything. Every word she confessed was recorded, begging that you weren’t be harmed because you knew nothing, that if anyone should be punished it was her for hiding the truth.
What had they done?
“I told you, John.” Kate’s voice was so tense it felt sharp, stabbing each of them. “I told you hundreds of times, she’s innocent.”
They wanted to justify themselves, but they knew there was nothing they could say in the face of their actions. Your silence in the face of each torture inflicted wasn’t to protect Makarov, it was simply because you truly knew nothing. Your surrender, your being broken now, waiting to die, wasn’t cowardice, it was the result of everything they and the world had done against you. The lies, the doubts, the violence. They had finally broken you.
“She was wi’ a Konni, what were we supposed t’dae?” Johnny’s voice was so broken it hurt, but Kate wasn’t moved, her fury was greater.
“Properly interrogate her instead of bringing her here and torturing her.”
Torture. The word was a knife to the gut.
“The evidence was there, Kate.” John tried to justify himself, not to her, but to themselves, to you even though you couldn’t hear them. “She’s his niece, there was contact with her mother, and she was with a Konni.”
“So, aren’t we all guilty too? Guilty of the things our families have done without our knowledge.” That was the last straw. A final, sharp, and destructive blow. “She showed herself as she truly was from day one, never gave a single reason to suspect her, endured everything, and stayed by your side.” Memories of that first day you arrived flooded back to them. Innocent, joyful, sparkling, and full of life, eager to earn your place on the team. Smiles that turned into dark circles under your eyes and tension in your muscles because of them, because of their mistreatment, and when you smiled again, they snatched everything away once more.
There was nothing left of you. And honestly, nothing left of them either, only a guilt that would never heal.
Kate knew it, and she also felt guilty for not having insisted more, for not having defended you enough. She was also guilty in a way, just like your mother. The whole world failed you, and your only sin was not knowing the truth.
The pain of each of them was palpable, heavy as a mountain, suffocating to the point where they felt they couldn't breathe. You were a couple of meters away, broken inside and out, and all because of them. Kate sighed, she knew well that they loved you and that this love hurt. But now that didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was bringing you back to life, protecting you, and this time doing it right.
“Makarov will show signs of life very soon, you’d better fix this before it gets worse.” Without another word, she left the office and headed toward the cell where you were. Leaving behind four remorseful men, their hearts shattered, unsure how to undo what they had done.
Tw: graphic descriptions of torture, blood, urine, dissociative episodes.
"So, are you going to keep lying like the rat you are? Or are you finally going to confess?" Despite the cruelty in John's voice that tore at your heart, you couldn't cry because of the shock. The papers and photos lying in your lap were a punch to the gut, they showed pictures of your mother's house, its exact coordinates, which were the same as those recorded for Makarov's last activity nine months ago. Next to them were photos of you talking to a young man whom you used to run into occasionally when you did your grocery shopping, along with registration photos of that same man as part of Konni. And, of course, your little Mak.
Too many coincidences, even if each one had an explanation, not even you’d believe it.
Your whole life had been a lie. Your mother, the person you trusted most, had lied to you from day one. And now that you were facing reality, even if it wasn't your fault, you were going to have to carry it forever, if you miraculously made it out of that place alive.
You didn't answer, not a single word escaped you. You couldn't. The whole world was crashing down on you, pounding you with guilt that wasn't yours. Even if you had the strength to speak, it would be useless, no one would believe you.
A loud bang on the wall startled you. Johnny approached you, his palpable fury burning you to the bone. Grabbing your hair, he forced you to look at him. His face, distorted by rage, contrasted sharply with his beautiful, glassy blue eyes, brimming with tears he refused to let fall.
"See this?" He pointed to a scar running across part of his skull. "Yer idiot uncle sent me tae th’hospital fo’ six months, during which I didny know if I'd ever walk again." He released your hair only to cup your face in his hands, squeezing your cheeks painfully. His hands trembled with rage and pain. As you tried to focus, he continued, his voice now broken. "We wanted tae trust ye, and this is how ye repaid us!"
There was no blow, at least not from him. As soon as he let go of you, Kyle untied you from the chair only to roughly pull you to your feet and place you in front of John, who grabbed your face and dug his nails into it.
"Where's Makarov? Last chance, rat."
Nothing came out of you, not a whimper, not even a breath. At this point, it didn't matter. You were dead anyway.
Faced with your silence, John punched you in the face, knocking you to the ground. More blood gushed from your mouth and nose, filling your senses with a sharp, metallic taste. Without giving you a chance to breathe, one of them began crushing your left leg with his foot. For the first time since you'd arrived, you let out a scream of pain as the force he applied repeatedly finally broke the bone, tearing through the muscle in its path. Your scream was cut short by a kick to the back that made you spit blood again. Whoever it was pressed his weight onto your back, crushing you and making it hard to breathe properly. However, it didn't last even a minute, not out of compassion, but because they needed you alive.
At least half alive, that would be enough.
Simon roughly hoisted you up like a sack of potatoes, not caring that he was hurting your broken leg in the process. He dropped you onto a cold, hard stone table so roughly that you landed on your dominant hand, spraining it. The pain made you groan weakly, but they didn't even care. Once you were lying down, they proceeded to tie your hands behind your back, chaining your neck to the table, even your legs were tied together, though you couldn't move them much anyway because of the fracture. Your own weight hurt your poor wrist, the slightest movement strained your shoulders painfully, and so, defenceless and unable to move, they wrapped a towel around your head and then soaked it completely. The feeling of suffocation soon arrived, you suddenly panicked and instinctively moved trying to free yourself, but it was in vain, your mobility was limited and what little you had hurt like hell.
You had been trained to withstand simulated drowning, you knew what to do to stay strong despite the terror. But now, pain was added to the mix, and that only made your brain drown in stress. The worst part was that there was nothing you could say, because to begin with, you weren't to blame. You were just a victim of the consequences of others' actions, like a snowball that no one stopped until it crashed into you, crushing you with nothing but reality.
Meanwhile, they only stopped to ask you questions, or rather, to demand an answer from you, which never came. Your body ached and burned as if you were in hell, paying for a crime you didn't commit.
For a moment, your mind shut down in an attempt to survive. You felt every torture inflicted upon you, but you no longer registered the pain. You didn't cry, you didn't beg, nothing. You remained motionless, allowing them to hurt you as much as they wanted. It didn’t matter. Your life was worthless, after all. All you could do was pray inwardly that your mother wouldn't suffer the same as you.
You didn't know how long they tortured you, insulting you and yelling at you to speak, which you never did. When your brain finally switched back on, they were gone. There were only you and a horrible pain that lacerated every muscle, lying in a pool of your own blood. The pain overwhelmed you suddenly, there wasn't a single inch of your body that didn't ache, especially your broken leg and your wrist. You could only see out of your right eye, the other was swollen shut. Miraculously, you managed to move to a corner of the room. Your body felt like it weighed a ton, you couldn't breathe properly, and the pain was unbearable. But when you reached that corner, you curled up into a ball as if that would end the nightmare. You were soaked, and combined with your fragile body, you couldn't stop shivering from the cold. But even so, you didn't complain, you didn't cry, you didn't do anything. You just shivered silently, huddled in that corner, hugging yourself for warmth and comfort.
Time seemed to vanish at some point, all notions of time and space dissolved completely. You dozed, teetering between exhaustion and pain, this latter being the only thing that kept you conscious for brief moments, while most of the time you slept or simply lost yourself in your own mind, lost in thoughts and memories of what was nothing but a lie.
You didn't even react when, after a few hours, John entered the cold room with a couple of rations and some water.
"Eat." Surprisingly, his voice, though authoritative, was no longer cruel, and a tiny glimmer of sadness seemed to shine in his eyes. Be that as it may, you didn't even register it, you didn't respond or move a single muscle. He, for his part, let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. "You must eat. We need you alive."
Alive.
The word itself seemed so distant now, alien, contrary to your reality.
When you refused, his frustration increased. He grabbed your cheeks, squeezing them and forcing your mouth open —not wide, but enough to shove the spoon in. Your brain was so focused on conserving energy that you didn't taste anything. It was a watery, tasteless mass, which you didn't swallow, just left in your mouth. John gritted his teeth, muttering some insult you didn't understand, then grabbed your face, covering your mouth and nose, forcing you to swallow. But instead, your tongue contracted, pushing some of the food down your throat. It went numb, as if it had lost its function, part of the bite went down wrong, and you immediately started coughing. John let go, and even though you spat on him, he didn't seem to care, though he was clearly frustrated.
Before he could say or do anything, a wet stain began to spread across your groin. You were urinating on yourself.
"Fuck." He stepped back, staring at you in astonishment and disbelief. He'd forgotten that food was just one of all the basic human needs. But what shocked him most was realizing you'd completely given up on yourself. You weren't fighting for your life, not even by instinct. Nothing mattered anymore. Your mind was blank, waiting for your heart to finally surrender.
He'd seen hundreds of men break down during interrogations. The most resilient stopped talking but remained steadfast, stubbornly refusing to surrender. Those who broke wept and begged. Among them were those who, instead of crying, remained constantly alert. But they all reacted, they lived. You, on the other hand, had become a corpse, an empty shell breathing by a miracle. He knew your whole life story. Your mother was your only family. You had hardly any friends, much less a partner. You only had her. Did you not care about her anymore either?
For the first time in years, he didn't know what to do or say. Your image, so broken inside and out, was like a knife to the gut. Despite his fury, he had feelings for you, the whole team had, and that hurt. Loving you hurt. He had never doubted his decisions, not until now. Had he been wrong? Was you innocent as Kate had told him so many times?
No, the evidence was clear. You had contact with Makarov, you were his family, his damned spy. He couldn't risk everything just because your mere existence had ignited something in their hearts.
He couldn't look at you anymore. His stomach churned with the hatred of your betrayal and his need to believe you and protect you. Without a word, he quickened his pace and left the room, leaving you alone once again.
When he returned to the old office where the others were waiting for him, the pain in his chest only intensified, tightening his gut. None of them said anything, just by looking at him, they knew what was going through his mind.
Doubt.
The same feeling they had. Not knowing if they were doing the right thing, and worse, knowing that even if they were right, their affection for you still made it hurt.
Guilt or betrayal. Which hurt more?
There was no time to ask that question. Just as Price sat down, the door burst open. By muscle memory, the four men drew their weapons and aimed, expecting to see an intruder, but instead they were greeted by Kate, tense, her jaw clenched, her gaze colder than ever before.
"Her mother confessed. She handed over evidence, and the accounts of both were reviewed." The air grew thick with tension. None of them dared to speak, not even ask a simple question. They just waited, uncertainty pricking their skin. "She's innocent."
will the Makarov!Reader stories end up with a happy ending for reader, or more bittersweet or bad ending.
just wondering because I realize it’s really heavy subject matter and might not be for me if it doesn’t have a happy resolution. Just know this sort of trope I have to tread carefully. I really get into Readers head
If that I not the case I will just move on, which people should do if a story does not work for them.
Hi! Thank you so much for your words! They really mean a lot to me and motivate me to continue with my little stories ❤️️
As for Makarov!Reader story... I don't want to give away any spoilers, but I understand your intrigue. I could say that it definitely will be bittersweet, I want to make it realistic, but I'm also a sucker for happy endings, so... Yeah, it'd be bittersweet, though to get to that point everyone (specially reader) will go through a lot of pain =(
It's okay if you don't want to read it anymore, your feelings and comfort are the most important!
You kicked and screamed, not caring about anything. You screamed with desperation, frustration, fear, hatred, and yet Kyle didn't care either. He continued carrying you like a sack of potatoes, not letting go until you were outside those tunnels.
The moment your feet touched the ground, your fury exploded. You pushed Kyle away, trying to get as far away from him as possible. Your angry glare broke his heart, and you could see it in his eyes. But you didn't care. Your emotions were exploding violently inside you, pricking your skin like thousands of needles.
"Why did you do that?! Do you think I'm not capable of this just because I smell like damn prey?!" He raised his hands in surrender, trying to look smaller, less dangerous to you, and that only added fuel to the flames of your fury.
“I know you’re capable of that and more, we all know it.” That damned soft tone of voice he and the others used with you stung your skin even more, pricking your lungs and making it hard to breathe with rage. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re fragile.”
With those words, you finally exploded.
“Fragile?! I’m a damn SAS sergeant! Do you think this is my first dangerous mission?” He tried to calm you down, took a step toward you to take your arms, but you backed away, demanding he not touch you. “I earned my place on this team with sweat and blood, I’ve faced predators my whole life, don’t you dare say I’m fragile!” Before you could continue, John’s voice crackled over the radio, along with other noises you could easily distinguish.
“Gaz, where are you? Is she safe?” The mere question was like a knife to your gut, but you didn't say anything because, despite your fury, the reality of what was happening hit you like a bucket of cold water. Your concern for them overwhelmed you more than your own rage. You didn't know if they were alright, if Johnny had managed to get out safely. Kyle, for his part, sighed in frustration, immediately resuming his characteristic upright and strong demeanour.
“We're okay, Cap. Where are you guys?” As soon as John mentioned that the enemy had been successfully eliminated, some of the weight in your chest melted away. Although the anger still simmered, you knew it wasn't the time, so for now, you had to focus on the mission.
A helicopter began approaching you and Kyle to extract you and the team.
“We’re not done.” You murmured loud enough for him to hear, but he said nothing, simply nodding in complete surrender, not daring to look at you.
The return to base was incredibly tense. None of them dared look at you, not even John, who simply said, "I'm sorry", and nothing more. Johnny had escaped unharmed, and ironically, it was Simon who was injured —nothing serious, just a stab wound in the arm that would take at most two weeks to heal. You, for your part, sat in a corner of the helicopter, staring out the window in complete silence. The anger you felt at times surfaced, pricking your chest, but you managed to calm yourself by accepting that at least everyone was alright, despite everything.
Upon arrival, you got off so quickly that no one had time to say anything. Simon would be fine, so you had no reason to stay. You simply headed straight to your room. After eating and taking a cold shower, which, besides washing away the smell of sweat and gunpowder, helped you think things through calmly, you waited until you finished filling out the mission paperwork to face the reality that awaited you.
As night fell, you finally mustered the courage to go to the military hospital where the four men were gathered, tending to Simon. The moment they saw you, they stood up to approach, only to stop short, their ears drooping and their tails tucked between their legs in complete submission, as if you were the predator. The mere thought almost made you laugh. Almost.
You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at them with a chilling seriousness. The first thing you did was ask about Simon's condition. Although you knew he was fine and would only be there that night for monitoring after receiving a blood transfusion, you wanted to make sure they were at least physically alright.
“If you accepted me on the team, why are you doing this to me? Why are you pushing me aside like I’m a little girl? Aren’t my skills enough?” Your voice, though low, was full of emotion, but above all, full of rage and pain, so strong it almost broke, enough for them to feel like you were stabbing them with every word.
“Luv, yer skills are mair than enough, ye’re enough.” Johnny was the first to speak, eager to repair the damage, to obtain your forgiveness even if he had to kneel. And honestly, the rest were the same, one step away from begging and humiliating themselves before you.
“Do you think we accepted you just because of your pretty face?” Simon’s hoarse voice tickled your chest. However, you pushed that feeling aside and demanded a clear answer.
“Luv, you’re the best addition we’ve ever had to the team.” Kyle looked at you with a mixture of frustration and gentleness, as if he were grappling with his own thoughts. “Without you, we wouldn’t have arrived in time to help Soap, and this story would be very different.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re fragile.” John’s words intensified the pain you already felt inside, the pain that was gnawing at your soul. That flame of rage was rekindled within you, this time threatening to never be extinguished. “That will never change your scent. Your abilities will never stop you from smelling and looking exactly like prey to the enemy.”
And although what he said was true, this time you didn’t hold back your anger.
“So what?! It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with this. Do you think I don’t know my entire existence is that of prey?” Your voice grew louder and louder, and although you knew you should calm down, you couldn’t. You didn’t care about anything else. “Fuck! Ever since I was a child, I’ve had to fight my way through this fucking world because everyone thinks I’m a damn pet.”
“That’s exactly why we’re not going to risk you!” At that point, John also stopped caring that he was in the hospital, and from what you could hear inside their chests —their laboured breathing, their hearts pounding so hard their blood was flowing at a dangerous speed, the rest of them were in the same boat.
“I chose this! I chose to take risks even knowing what I am!” In the distance, you heard the medical team's footsteps approaching, something you couldn't care less about. “I didn't choose this career out of stupidity. I chose it because I wanted to!”
“Luv, understand, ye're lek a fucking dessert tae other predators. Fuck, dae ye think we don't notice how even preys look at ye? Lek ye’re…” Johnny couldn't finish, the rage coursing through his veins mingled with his frustration. At that moment, the medical team entered, and you didn't even deign to look at them, much less allow them to say a word.
“So why the hell did you accept me on the team? If I’m a liability, why having me here?!” Before one of the doctors could speak, the four men glared at him and the rest of his coworkers, growling with pure rage, sending them running. Maybe it wasn’t the first time they’d dealt with predators, but the Task Force was definitely something else.
And that made you even angrier.
“Oh, so now we’re going to use our predator advantages to scare others off?” The way they looked at you was so tense that for a microsecond you regretted it, but you still maintained your firm stance. You weren’t going to back down now.
“Don’t you dare say that.” John’s warning held anger, yes, but also a painful frustration that, though different, you felt could be compared to your own. He took a step forward, tense, but fighting himself not to appear so intimidating. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“No, I don’t know because unlike you, I have had to prove myself by working ten times harder than everyone else, even harder than real prey! And for what? So that when I finally feel I’ve earned my place, you come along and tell me I’m just a fucking piece of meat!”
After those words, the room fell into a deathly silence, so thick it could be torn with a fingernail. For what felt like hours, neither dared to say a word, they simply breathed heavily, almost panting, their muscles as tense as marble. The scent that filled the room was a mixture of theirs, not the softly musky aroma you were used to, this was their scent in its purest and wildest form, bitter, but not disgusting, rather suffocating, drowning out your own scent, which, still full of adrenaline, remained soft and sweet.
They were predators in their purest form. Majestic, dangerous, and so vulnerable before you.
The realization gripped your chest. John's words echoed in your ears. You didn't know what you were saying, of course not, because their experiences were very different from yours, but no less meaningful for that. It was instinct to want to protect you, to want to be a haven for you instead of the danger everyone saw in them.
It wasn't personal, it was simply the curse that came with being a hybrid, having human reason mixed with animal instincts. Even if having to deal with the world's rejection your whole life and having to work much harder for acceptance couldn't compare, you could understand what they felt too; the daily struggle to be something more than a designation dictated by instinct.
“I’m not prey.” A traitorous tear traced a path down your cheek. The rage mixed with pain and frustration had finally overwhelmed you. “I know I’m not like you, but damn it, I’m a predator too. I’m just as capable. I can defend myself. I can protect others.” The look you gave them literally broke their hearts, you heard them clench painfully.
“We know, luv…” Kyle’s soft voice didn’t bother you this time, even though it still hurt.
“But we can’t risk you.” You didn’t have the courage to argue with Simon’s words because, even though it frustrated you, you could understand him in a way.
John took another step toward you, but seeing you tense up instinctively, he stopped dead in his tracks. Not only him, but the rest of the group too, their ears lowered further, trying to make them look small, defenceless to you. And by this point, you didn't know whether it hurt or enraged you.
"We need you. You're an incredible soldier, just the one we needed." Before you could demand more, he continued. "But like Ghost said, we can't risk you. We can't lose you. We'd never forgive ourselves if something happened because of us."
Oh, how reality hurt.
Everything would be easier if you simply weren't you, if you were human, or even if you were prey, real prey. Then at least that group would accept you, and you'd have a place in the world.
“Well, we have to do something about it, because my nature will never change, just as nothing will change the fact that I’m as capable as you.” Finally, they dared to look at you, and that gave you the courage to continue. “I’m a predator, but above all, I’m a fucking soldier.”
Without another word, you left the room, not caring that everyone watched you sobbing as you walked by. Did it matter? To the world, you were nothing more than a human pet anyway.
At that moment, your mind exploded, shattering into a million pieces, which you wouldn't know how to pick up and put back together. This had to be a nightmare, a mistake, a lie, anything but the truth. You knew your mother's story, everything she lived through and suffered, all the pain she endured that motivated you to become a soldier so you could protect her and all the people who had gone through the same thing.
But what you didn't know was that her story went much further back, before you were even a thought.
1980.
The year Vladimir Makarov was born in what was still the Soviet Union. However, he wasn't an only child, at least not officially.
An accident, that's how his father called to one of his many flings. A young waitress who got pregnant almost at once as his wife. Despite that she never really cared about her husband's infidelities, she took charge of everything. After a few visits to the woman's home and threats, the poor waitress was forced to sign a contract, if she wanted to keep her baby, she'd have to stay quiet and never say a single word.
That's how your mother was born. Lena Makarov, or well, officially recognized as Lena Rudakova.
Sr. Makarov used to visit them, not because of sentimentalism, since legally she wasn't his daughter he had no obligations towards her, so it was more to guarantee that the deal was being kept. One of those visits was when Vladimir met his half-sister, and he had that day tattooed in his memory as fresh as a recent event. He didn't remember how he knew Lena was his sister, he only knew that he loved her since the first day. She was his sister, his alone, and throughout the years he continued visiting her on his own, even after his father had committed suicide when the URSS came to an end, didn't even care that his mother hated her, Lena was his most important person.
And that love was reciprocated, regardless of their differences and opposite ideals, they loved each other, their bond was unique, unbreakable.
Everything was perfect, until she got pregnant. She was only fifteen and ironically, it'd been a stupid accident, just a night of hormones with Vladimir's best friend. It'd been a punch in the guts, he trusted his friend enough to present Lena to him, and in exchange he had taken advantage of her. Perhaps it'd been consensual, just a fling, but to him it was a betrayal, an abuse. And the worst part was that despite everything he couldn't help but to be instantly captivated by that little seed. He didn't care whose it was, to him, you were his blood, the baby of HIS sister, and therefore, you were his too.
Perhaps that's why one morning his friend's corpse was found lying in the street. Officially, it was declared a robbery, nothing unusual given the rise in crime after the fall of the USSR, not even politicians or wealthy families were safe from the violence that plagued the country in those years. Whether he was the killer or someone else, the truth would never be known. The only thing that mattered was that Lena wouldn't need another fool, a traitor, only her family and, consequently, him, who continued to care for her and shower her with gifts, counting down the days until he could finally hold you in his arms.
The day he never got to see.
A terrorist attack, that's how it was described in the newspapers. Some men —almost children, fed up with everything, decided to simply detonate five small bombs as a form of protest to bring back Mother Russia.
A stupid way to do it.
Lucky for them they died among the victims, because Vladimir would've taken care of them and not in a nice way. Because of their stupid unplanned act, Lena lost her parents, and since she'd been one of the few survivors, she fled away from her country that same night. A ship carrying wheat, which was the means that dozens of parents chose to send their children far away from there, knowing that they would most likely never see them again, at least they knew that they would be better off than there.
Thus, Lena escaped from her home, from the only thing she knew, and without speaking any language other than her mother language. Many things had happened in that journey, too many stops, hunger, fear, and fortunately she didn't remember most of that time, passing between flashes of reality and dissociative episodes. The only thing she clearly remembered was to being in a First Accommodation in England, and after having passed through several medical tests and a lot of questions about her whole life by the social services, she was finally put with a foster family.
With time she could continue with her studies, learnt English and about British culture, made friends, and above all; she gave birth to you. The light of her life, her angel.
That was the story you knew. How she'd lost her family and arrived to a foreign country completely alone, pregnant, vulnerable, starting from the scratch.
But just as how the state never knew she had a half-brother still alive in her homeland, you didn't know about it either. Much less that that brother was Vladimir Makarov, the man who a few years later would become a feared soldier and eventually, a terrorist.
The same man who somehow had a soft spot towards Lena, and especially for you, the love of his life, his self-proclaimed daughter. So, of course, he wouldn't let you go away that easily. The night your mother scaped, he promised himself to found you both, no matter if he had to move oceans apart and earth itself as long as he could be with you.
How poetic. Lena went away on her birthday at midnight, a cold autumn night under a new moon. And two years later, the day she turned eighteen, in the middle of the cold night, Makarov visited her. The sky was clear, moon showing its dark side, and a subtle breeze that was enough to cause goosebumps. Just like that fateful night.
"You betrayed me." There wasn't hatred in his voice, neither in his expressions, just a deep emotional pain.
"You know I got no option." And yes, he did know perfectly. But that didn't made it hurt less, not when all that he wanted was to give you the whole world.
Despite that you were already asleep he carried you as if you were made of the most precious glass, looking at your sleepy face with heart eyes, his chest aching in pure love.
"She's mine too, my niece, moya douch'."
"She is. But not officially." And even when it shattered his soul, he had to accept it, for your own wellness.
That night they both spoke for hours, he never let go of you, not until sun rose in the sky and he had to leave to come back to Russia, where he was now part of the army, a young recruit that soon stood out for his sharp skills and bright mind.
Since then, he used to visit you sporadically, months passed between each visit, but he never let you, even if he had to wait for you to be asleep to be by your side. Your mother never said anything, didn't do it when his obsession for the great URSS lead him to commit questionable acts within the army, speaking openly about his invasion and control plans. Not just didn't do it out of the fear of being deported back to Russia, but because the love she had for him regardless of everything.
And so, years passed, your mother who became a secretary, continued with her life, hiding that secret from you and the world. Never married or got involved with anyone, it'd only complicate things more. While he continued protecting you in the shadows, alongside your mother you lived normally, just another woman like the rest. Joined the army turning eighteen to protect her and fighting against people like those young men who killed her parents and other innocent people, leaving behind those dreams about opening a bakery with your mother.
But there was a memory buried deep inside you, a memory that was now coming to the surface after spending years drowning.
"I... he's not my uncle..." Your weak almost pathetic murmur was enough to make their blood boil.
Ghost took out something from your bag. Something too little that his hand engulfed it, so you couldn't see what it was until he dropped harshly on your lap.
Your precious Mak.
A little plushie that had been with you since you could remember. It was a little teddy bear, specifically a Cheburashka, so little you'd used to bring it with you on every mission as a lucky charm.
In that moment, like a bucket of cold water, your brains revealed the truth before you. A forgotten memory.
Makarov's patience grew thinner with each passing year that passed without being with you as he should be. He couldn't bear it anymore, not being able to talk to you, content with seeing and hearing your laughter from afar, your smiles never directed at him.
It wasn't fair.
The day you turned six, early in the morning, Vladimir was already there. When you put a feet outside your home he called you by your name, you turned around to see him, those wide innocent eyes of yours made his heart ache in pure adoration.
"Hey, little bean." He knelt in front of you and gave you a little teddy bear, so little it fit perfectly in your little chubby hands. "Here, it's a present for you, for being such a good little angel." When you took the plushie his smile grew wider, and he couldn't help but tuck away a stray hair from your face. Your gummy smile and giggles were enough to make his heart pump like crazy inside his chest, so hard he felt it in his brains, shaking his guts. All that he wanted to do was to wrap his arms around you and pull you against his body, promising to you that he would do everything just to see your smile.
A promise that he kept it someway, hidden in the shadows.
With time you'd forgotten about that day, your mother had told that Vladimir —or Vlad as she'd called him, was an old friend of hers, nothing else. And you never saw him again, his face was blurred in your memories, it only took two months for you to forget him, believing that your little Cheburashka was a gift from one of your mother’s friends you knew. A little plushie that you caried everywhere with you, even as a grown woman you used as a key chin, old and with too many stitches around. Its name had been a coincidence, you’d celebrated your birthday on McDonald’s, so you just named it Mak, with “k” instead of “c” for some reason you never knew.
But he never forgot that day, how could he when it'd been the happiest day of his whole life? He'd lie if he'd say the idea of kidnaping you didn't cross his mind, he loved you, and now that he'd taken a little part of you, he didn't want to resign to you.
Although he knew it’d only hurt his sister, he had no choice but to continue his sporadic nightly visits, watching you sleep peacefully, oblivious and innocent of him. But he was always there without your knowledge, always watching over you, loving you even when you decided to join the army to fight against what he defended to the death. You were his little girl, the one he loved most in this messed-up world. And now that he saw you again, this time through a screen, tied up, face bruised, a gun held to your chin, his blood boiled like never before.
A fire ignited within him, impossible to extinguish, a fire that promised to burn the entire world to find you.
He knew well who was behind it all, and God help anyone who stood in his way of rescuing you and finally having you by his side.
Tag list: @dirgeofgrace @2kool4skoolll @hypertail @fertilise-me @cherryresidence
The cold metal of the gun aiming directly at your head thrilled your guts, its cruel caress sent a chill down your spine in the most disgusting way you’ve ever experienced. But what really churned your heart draining your blood was their voices, cold and nonchalant, making it clear that your life meant nothing.
Never did and never will.
"You've been accepted."
Eight months ago, those words were enough to make you jump around, at least internally. After months of harsh tests and several invasive interviews about your whole life, you've finally been accepted to form part of Task Force 141, the legends, the men who could burn the whole world down if necessary, leaving nothing behind, not even ashes.
Kate Laswell presented you to them, you were so excited that day that you didn’t even notice the tension over her shoulders and how her grip was firm as a rock. Was she trying to protect you?
Whatever it was the four men greeted you with a honeyed politeness that was almost cloying. Even Ghost who was reserved offered you a few words of welcome, direct and simple but seemingly warm.
That’s how it all started.
At first, during the first two weeks they were weirdly charming with you, especially Soap and Gaz. Meanwhile Price guided you like a warm mentor, and Ghost was always next to you wherever you were as some kind of guardian, the youngest men asked you so many questions about you all the time, from the basics to most intimate topics like your exes and family. Being honest it wasn’t much to say, you only had your mother, and your love life had been average, nothing special. Outside of your work, your personal life was pretty normal, and that’s what you told them, the pure boring truth.
You thought that maybe that’s what pushed them away.
After a whole month of being treated like one of them, things started to twist to the point of blaming you for nothing.
It started with Price, the Captain, the man who you trusted blindly stopped being that sweet mentor to turn into a cold boss. If you needed to ask something the answer was always the same.
“You should already know that.”
That was if you were lucky, otherwise he'd just ignore you because he was “too busy”, even when he was literally doing nothing. The worst part came when you had to hand your reports, no matter how perfectly made they were or whether they had the Pope’s blessing, Price always returned them, scolding you for not knowing how to do something so simple even a recruit would know how to do it.
Ghost stopped being the quiet guardian you got used to, almost from the first moment Price began to be rude towards you, the giant Lieutenant stopped being at your side, though he didn’t stop watching you. Or well, the correct word to describe his behaviour was lurking. No matter where you were, he was always near, a few meters away, hiding. The few times you managed to see him in the shadows, his gaze was the same, cold, cruel, as if he wanted to rip your limbs. But it was even worse when you didn’t see him, paying tribute to his codename, he was a real ghost, invisible and dangerous, stalking you in the darkness like a hunter, a human predator.
But what hurt the most was Gaz and Soap. The Scottish Sergeant was mean, one moment he was greeting you as if you were good friends only to make mean jokes a second later.
“Oh look! Isn’t that a hummingbird?”
And the moment you looked right where he was pointing, a slap in your head echoed in the hallway, so hard it provoked an earthquake inside your head that shook your brains painfully.
Gaz wasn’t any better. He was mean not physically but emotionally, made passive-aggressive comments about everything, always with a cloying mocking smile decorating his handsome face.
“You know? I really admire you, it takes a lot of nerve to wear such a hideous shirt.”
And the training was the worst part. In the training room when you must fight them, they attacked you with no mercy, as if they really hated your guts. One day Ghost was so harsh that he broke your nose and knocked you unconscious for a few minutes, so, due to the concussion you had to be absent for a whole week.
Has he or the team ever apologized?
Of course not.
The third day of being at your mom’s home to be cared for, you finally were honest with her.
“Maybe I’m not good enough to be in the team…”
She tensed for a second before kneeling before you, grabbing your hands.
“Darling, you’re more than enough, you’re the best person in this fucked up world, you’re a good daughter, a good soldier, my sweet angel.” A tear ran down her cheek but that didn’t stop her. “But you know I never liked your decision of being a soldier, you’re too good for them, too pure, too…” Despite her inner turmoil she managed to compose herself and continued, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Please angel, quit, leave that world and come back home, we can open the pastry shop we dreamed about when you were a little bean.”
Her words moved you, touched your very soul and for a second you wanted to agree, to leave everything behind and start from the scratch. In that moment you didn’t care about anything else, all your efforts to be an elite soldier, your promise of saving people and protecting your mother no matter what, your fierce determination to find the light in the darkness. Nothing mattered, you’d resign and leave everything behind.
But you didn’t, and oh god how much you regretted that stupid decision of keeping going on.
You said you’d try again and if things were the same or worse, you’d resign from the army.
That’s what you did.
When you returned everything felt different. They acted as if nothing had ever happened, not even a sarcastic comment from Soap telling you how delicate you were, so much so that you’d take a rest from a simple punch.
But it wasn’t better either.
The tension grew stronger, thicker, they almost only talked to you if it was work related, and if not, it was obvious that they forced themselves to keep things at bay. You didn’t mention anything either, you just wanted to forget about everything and move on. So you started to pass the time with other soldiers or even the military medics, to avoid conflicts with Price you made a deal with another Captain, every morning you'd got him a warm cup of his favourite tea ready on his desk and in return he'd check all your reports, approving them before handing them to Price, that way he couldn’t have any reasons to say your work was useless.
During the next weeks it worked, they ignored you and you did the same, keeping a non-spoken peace deal, a thin white flag waving between you, surrounded by tension that with time you managed to deal with. Even on missions, regardless of the heavy air surrounding you, you did your work perfectly, you weren’t an elite soldier for nothing. It didn’t matter if the four men barked orders at you despite your efficiency and perfectly sharpened skills, or if they tended to let you behind or sent you alone to work all by yourself, you did your job and that’s it.
By the sixth month you were more than used to that routine, you could even say that you didn’t care about it, you were doing what you loved, keeping your promises. Nothing else mattered.
Until they slapped you right in the face once more.
Slowly but more than noticeable, they began to approach you again, a “good morning” first thing in the morning, a soft pat on the shoulders acknowledging your efforts, even Price stopped being a pain in the ass when you handed in your reports.
Of course, your natural reaction —besides confusion, was to tense up, if any of them was near you less than one meter your body prepared itself to attack and protect itself. And they didn’t say anything about it, it’s not like you were waiting for an apology, but trying to reach for you, treating you all lovey-dovey like nothing was a damn kick in the guts.
Like a dog who's been beaten so much in the past it feels in constant danger even if surrounded by good people, it took another month to get kind of used to their gentle words and friendly behaviour. The tension in your body ceased little by little, though you were still alert you didn’t feel in danger either and by far that was an improvement. Of course it wasn’t the same anymore, they'd hurt you badly, wrecked more than just your trust, but you couldn’t deny either how nice it felt to be appreciated again. Even when they didn’t apologize directly, they tried to compensate you in one way or another.
For now, you were teammates, not friends or close as you once dreamed about to be, you trusted them enough to know they got your back as well as you got theirs, and from time to time you spent some minutes at day with them, laughing at their jokes.
However, underneath that weirdly peaceful deal you’d formed with them, the emotional damage was still there. It’s not like you held a grudge against them, but you hadn’t forgiven them either. At nights memories of all the hurtful things they did in the past invaded your brains, wondering over and over just one thing.
Why?
You didn’t know. But that question lingered wherever you were.
And now, eight months later after joining the team it was the only thing you could think of.
Why?
Why was Price aiming right at your head? Why were you tied tightly to a cold rusty chair? Why did the four men who once tried to repair the damage they’d done to you were now staring at you with pure hatred, not caring about the fear and confusion your whole soul was screaming?
“Guys, what—?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Price’s voice felt like a slap in the face. His eyes, just like the others’, showed no mercy for you, not a single hint that they’d any feelings for you other than pure hatred. A disgusting chill ran down through your spine, leaving behind a painful sensation as if your nerves were shrinking.
Despite the thousands of questions running inside your head you didn’t dare to speak, fear was consuming you from the inside out, unadulterated, burning like acid. It wasn’t the first time you were in a situation like that, you were a damn SAS; part of your training was to endure cruel interrogations. However, this was different. These men weren’t enemies, people you hate or part of a training. These men were your team, the men who you started to trust, to care, to appreciate, to notice the slightest things about each one.
You tried to think of a reason, something they might be doing this to you for, and the only thing you could think of was that probably some enemy was trying to undo the team by attacking from within, making you the enemy.
A trap.
“Guys, I swear I—”
“I said shut the fuck up!” Price’s shout echoed in the room, but not as hard as the slap that crossed your face, almost knocking you to the ground.
The inside of your cheek cut against your teeth, steel invaded your tongue, pain numbed by the ache in your heart. A damn traitorous tear ran down your cheek, and you hated yourself for it.
“Aww, wee hen’s crying. Who’d say yer fucking blood has feelings?” Confusion distorted your face as you looked at Soap while he stared back at you, eyes invaded by a burning fury, as if you’d killed his mother. “Daenae look at me lek that, ye fucking rat.” A third slap landed on your cheek, so hard that this time it knocked you to the ground, chair and all. Your eye immediately stung, and your face burned. Without even looking, you knew your cheek must be red, and in a matter of minutes it would turn purple; you could even feel your eyelid swelling.
And yet, the physical pain wasn't even half as painful as the emotional anguish tearing you apart from the inside. It took an enormous amount of effort not to cry. Despite being trained not to give the enemy the satisfaction of seeing you break down in real time, this was different; it burned inside you relentlessly, as if your blood were alcohol eternally fuelling that flame.
There on the floor, you spat blood mixed with your saliva, staining part of your face. Right after, Ghost grabbed the chair with one hand and lifted you as if you weighed no more than a mouse, a rat, grunting as he finished, which made it clear how annoyed he was, because if it were up to him, he would have left you lying there. The pain in your heart, added to the physical pain, wore you down in the blink of an eye. From one second to the other you felt a heavy weariness, a burden that weakened your body. Perhaps that's why you kept your head down, or perhaps it was out of fear, knowing that when you saw them, you would find nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred.
You heard noises around you, footsteps and the rustling of clothes. The only source of light —an old ceiling lamp that barely illuminated the room, cast shadows that moved slowly around you. Gaz stood beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pull something black from his pocket and put it on his head, probably a balaclava like Ghost's, though seemingly without any pattern. Judging by the sounds, the others did the same.
Then, while Soap roughly grabbed your hair to lift your head and keep it firm, Gaz drew his pistol. Instead of pointing it at you, he placed it under your chin like a cruel support. You knew this was the end. You would die a triad; the enemy you had dedicated your life to eradicating.
You closed your eyes and, accepting it, waited.
Waited.
And waited.
But what came next was worse than a thousand bullets piercing your body.
When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by a camera pointed at you. The red light indicated it was recording, and despite the darkness, you could make out two imposing figures behind them, Ghost and Price. You didn't have time to react, much less to ask questions. You could barely breathe when Price's distorted voice sealed your fate.
“Vladimir Makarov, if you want to see your little niece alive again, you have 24 hours to come out of your fucking hiding place.”
It was supposed to be a surprise, at least that's what you wanted, that's how you planned it. But seeing your colonel in your office, standing before the small altar you were just starting to build, his face etched with utter seriousness, you knew the surprise was ruined.
You knew you were going to be suspended at the very least for engaging in activities outside of military protocol on base, and you also knew that saying it was part of your heritage wasn't going to save you.
Seven years old. That was the age you were when you moved to the UK because of your father's new job, more specifically to the outskirts of London, in a quiet area where every morning you heard birds chirping sweetly, and at night the soft hum of the wind was like a lullaby. And although you fit in very well and got along with the other children, you never left behind your traditions or language. At home you spoke Spanish and continued your customs; even your mother experimented with native spices and vegetables, adapting them to your typical dishes.
Of course, it wasn't always that easy. Some cultural barriers sometimes got in the way when it came to socializing, especially as you grew older and people no longer saw you as a little creature they could guide. This difference was particularly noticeable in relation to the Day of the dead, or Día de los muertos as you preffer to call it. When you were a child, you used to mention it with excitement every time the date approached, but seeing the expressions of other children and even adults, that joy faded. You couldn't blame them; unlike Halloween and its long history, the Day of the Dead seemed like some kind of Latin ritual dedicated to ancient gods of death, even if it wasn't that at all and for you it was a day full of love and sweet memories.
But in the end, you were happy despite everything; you and your family were.
That's how, at 18, you decided to embark on the vast oceans of the army, and over time your sharp skills and cunning took you further and further, until you reached the present moment.
Sergeant, a member of Task Force 141 for a year after rigorous physical and psychological testing. To say you fit in with the team was an understatement; you were one of the gang, a perfect, tailor-made member of that small but loyal family. Banter came naturally, especially with Johnny, with whom you sometimes engaged in playful arguments. While he used his beloved Gaelic slang, you responded with colourful insults in Spanish.
But without a doubt, the person you had the closest connection with was Simon. Feared by many, known by few. The gigantic man who, despite being extremely distant when you first arrived, was like a building-sized teddy bear to you. Even his occasional grunts and dark humour made your heart flutter.
Oh, how you loved him, him and your team of giant cotton candy-filled men.
And so, when October arrived, you knew you had to do it, celebrate that tradition so deeply ingrained in you. You had casually mentioned the Day of the Dead a few months ago, expecting the same reaction as always, but you were pleasantly surprised when, instead of bewilderment, the four men began asking you more about that day—genuine questions, full of curiosity. Johnny was delighted, so much so that he shared the similarities that day had with Samhain, and for you, it was wonderful to be able to talk about those two days that were for remembering those who were no longer physically present, but whose memories continued to accompany you like a beautiful tattoo on your soul. A way to reunite with them in spirit once more through colourful altars, flowers, and food that filled the air with delicious aromas.
That's why you wanted it to be a surprise, something intimate and special, dedicated solely to your team. You already had the starting materials: LED candles—since using fire inside the base was prohibited—coloured paper that you had to cut by hand, sugar skulls also made by you, and several flowers of cempasúchil—which you absolutely refused to call French marigolds; it was bad enough having to order them in advance from Indian markets when they were everywhere in Mexico.
And now there you were, your surprise ruined, in your colonel's office, thinking you were in trouble for setting up an altar in your office without telling anyone. You expected a reprimand, a suspension, even a lecture about how the army should be secular and free of religious beliefs. However, your brain short-circuited when, after several serious questions about the date, the colonel spoke with a smile on his face.
"Do you think you can make an altar for the entire base? Just say what you need."
What?
The man let out a soft laugh, so genuine that even his eyes sparkled.
"I think it would be a good way to remember our fallen brothers, and everyone can participate." Then the man rose from his chair and walked over to one of his enormous bookcases, from which he took an elegantly framed photograph. He looked at it for a couple of seconds before walking back to his desk and handing the photo to you. It was a portrait of a man in his mid-thirties, in uniform and smiling as brightly as a star. Judging by his insignia, he was a lieutenant, and from the slightly pinkish tones, it must have been a photo taken sometime in the 1990s.
"Lieutenant Maston, died in '99. Please put this photo on the altar." Your stomach felt light while your chest warmed slightly. It was a warm, pleasant feeling, one that touched you. Even though you were only focused on making your offering with the team, knowing that there were more people out there united by loving memories filled you with a bubbly feeling. You gladly accepted, mentioning everything you needed to make a much larger altar, and the colonel granted each request. Of course, you took the opportunity to ask permission to have your own small personal altar for you and the team, which he readily agreed to.
So now all you had to do was start preparing every detail.
For an entire week, you dedicated your free time to creating an altar, as precious as it was large. You had a dedicated space to house this sacred, five-tiered altar. Now that you had a nearly unlimited budget, you could indulge in small luxuries, like buying kilos of purple and orange sawdust, a couple of ceramic figurines in the shape of skeletons and skulls, and even purple flowers, which were more expensive than the orange ones.
The altar quickly attracted attention from the very first day. Several soldiers gazed in wonder and asked about every detail, inquiring how to make their own altars at home, while some even gave you small photos of their loved ones and pets who had passed away. But despite your joy and enthusiasm, you saved the best for the small altar in your office, to which you dedicated your time and affection every day before going to sleep, still keeping it a secret.
And keeping it that way was relatively easy; you just had to ask that no one enter your office, since that's where you kept the materials you'd need. And since everyone knew about the offering, you had the perfect excuse to ask the team for photos of their deceased loved ones.
Everything was perfect until it was time to talk to Simon.
Simon "Ghost" Riley, the enemy's terror, the same man who every morning had a cup of tea prepared especially for you, just the way you liked it.
A man marked by pain since his early childhood. An abusive father who forged his protective personality, always alert and distant from most people, always avoiding being the centre of attention. And while the army offered him some refuge—not ideal, but necessary for him to become independent—that stability crumbled the day his family was murdered by the enemy.
You knew that story from small, simple comments he'd made in the past, never going into detail.
"My family was murdered."
He was direct, his words so cold they shattered the warm atmosphere of just moments before. After telling you about the last Christmas he'd spent with his family, he responded to your genuine and innocent comment, "Christmas must be very warm at your house."
He wasn't angry or offended; he simply stated the truth. And although he seemed calm, behind the balaclava you could see the sadness in his eyes, a pain that still festered, lacerating his heart.
After that day, you began to notice how the scars left on his soul were manifesting. You finally understood why he was initially avoidant with you, his dark humour that served as a coping mechanism against the pain and cruelty of the world, and how in the sporadic times he mentioned his family —besides never mentioning his father— they were always mentions of things that somehow kept their memory present.
That's how you understood that, although death was a natural part of any soldier's life, for Simon it was a much more complex matter. It was a reminder of what he no longer had, that no matter what came after death because what remained in life weighed more heavily; the grief of those left behind. And in his particular case, that grief was even more painful. Without him saying a word, you knew that he had once felt guilty about the death of his family, and even though that wound had healed, the scar was still raw.
How could you ask him for a photo of his family, which he kept as his most treasured possession?
At first, you thought about asking when the whole team was together, to make it seem like something casual or kind of a trust exercise. Then you decided it was better to talk to him privately, it was the best thing to do. But now that there was the altar at the base, he would absolutely refuse to share a piece of his soul with anyone who wasn't part of his soul family. Of course, there was also the option of simply being direct and telling him about the personal altar you had in your office, even if it ruined the surprise.
In the end, you accepted that option; it was direct, just the way he liked it, straightforward and sincere.
And you really tried.
There were only two days left until November, but every time you were alone with him and saw his eyes soften when he looked back at you, something inside you broke, and you simply couldn't ask him for a photo of his family.
What if he ended up hating you? What if he thought you were being invasive of his private life or that you were taking lightly the burden he carried? You'd much rather be shot in the knee than have to bear the thought of hurting him. Much less could you risk him hating you for being inconsiderate.
"Ye hevny asked him yet, huh?" Johnny's thick accent relaxed you for a moment before reminding you of the predicament you were in.
"I don't know how to ask him," the sigh you let out was so heavy you could even feel it physically, "I don't want him to hate me."
The snort that escaped Johnny's chest made you blush, and you playfully nudged him with your elbow, which he easily dodged despite being behind you, brushing your hair and trying to create the pretty crown braid Kyle had taught him.
"Ghost wuid wear a princess dress if ye asked him. Dae ye think he'd be capable of hating ye?"
Despite the heaviness in your chest, you couldn't help but smile at the thought of Simon dressed in a princess dress that obviously wouldn't fit him, so it would be ripped in the torso area.
"Seriously, Johnny, I don't know how to bring this up." You pressed your lips together as you processed the storm of thoughts and emotions swirling inside you. "You know what he's been through, you know it better than I do. It's not just asking him for a picture of his family, it's..." A tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek. "It's asking him to show me a part of himself that's too intimate, too... raw, like a scar that just won't stop hurting..."
For a moment, neither of you said anything, not even a muscle moved. It wasn't until Soap sighed, finished tying the hair tie, stood up, and walked around to where you were. He knelt down, invading your personal space, and leaned in, looking at you intently.
"Daennae ye think he'll feel worse if ye leave him oot o' 'is?" The question —more of a statement, hit you like a ton of bricks, but before you could answer, he continued. "Jus' as ye ken his story an' care aboot him, Simon also ken and understands yers. He ken wot 'is date means to ye, and he ken that whatever ye dae, you'll dae it from the heart." When another tear welled up in your eyes, Johnny wiped it away with his thumb, then gently patted your head. "Stop overthinking it an' jus' dae it."
A smile spread across your face as you realized Johnny was right. Simon might not have the prettiest story in the world, but he was a resilient and understanding man. If you made him uncomfortable, he'd tell you without drama or fuss, and most importantly, without hating you.
"But afore ye go talk to Simon, ye shuid go see Kyle first. Yer hair looks like a rat's nest."
"McTavish!"
The base was silent, a relaxing calm that would have lulled anyone to sleep. Well, anyone but you. It was already midnight, and you couldn't fall asleep, no matter how much you tossed and turned. The problem wasn't having to talk to Simon anymore, but that you were now desperate to do it instead of waiting until dawn.
How ironic, just this morning the mere thought of talking to him had filled you with pain and dread, and now the longing to see him was consuming you. Would he be awake? Would he agree to see you in the middle of the night, or would he tell you to wait until tomorrow?
So many questions ended up taking root in your entire body, taking control of it. Before you could even think about it, you were already on your feet, your boots on and loosely tied. You left your room and walked, perhaps too quickly, towards Simon's room, and once you were in front of his door, your heart stopped for a second. A deep sigh was all it took to snap you out of it, and you gently knocked on the door.
“Simon? It’s me…”
Absolute silence.
You waited a minute in the middle of the hallway without receiving any response or even hearing any noise that would indicate he'd heard you, so with resignation you turned around, ready to leave.
"What's wrong?" You spun around with a start. Standing in the doorway was the imposing figure of Simon, without his balaclava, a pillow mark on his cheek, and wearing black pyjamas that had seen better days. His voice was deeper than usual, raspy, which was a sign that he'd been asleep for at least an hour.
"Sorry, I uh…" You were speechless, not knowing what to say. Of course, going to wake him up at midnight wouldn't be a good idea, even if he didn't seem angry, nobody liked being woken up out of nowhere. "Sorry, let's talk tomorrow. Sweet dreams." However, before you could even take a step, Simon stopped you firmly, taking your arm —not enough to hurt you, but enough to freeze you in place.
“If it were something that could wait, you wouldn’t have come to see me at this hour.” As always, Simon didn’t let anything slip by.
“Well…” You looked directly into his slightly swollen eyes, your heart fluttering like a butterfly in spring as you imagined him lying in bed under the covers. Your hands even tingled with the warmth you would feel touching his skin.
You mentally slapped yourself and lowered your gaze, trying to focus on what you had to say.
“It’s not really urgent, I can wait until morning.” Your name escaped his lips in a velvety sound that resonated within your chest. How did he manage to turn you into a walking wreck with just his voice?
“It’s bothering you enough to come here, just spit it out.” The grip on your arm softened, though he didn’t let go, gently stroking it with his thumb. Your skin prickled instantly, but you didn’t pull your arm away; in fact, what you wanted most was to lean completely against him.
You sighed deeply, a sigh from your soul releasing a small part of that burden.
“I want to show you something.” Gathering all your strength, you turned away from him and started walking. He didn't waste a second and followed you very closely, so closely that you could feel his body radiating heat.
With each step, your heart raced faster and faster, so much so that you could feel it pounding in your gut. For a moment, standing in front of your office door, you hesitated about what you were about to do. However, you knew there was no turning back; you had to face it. So, taking a deep breath, you opened the door and entered slowly, with Simon following behind, keeping pace.
“What… What’s that?” His voice didn't sound annoyed; in fact, it had a touch you had very rarely heard from him, a hint of astonishment and curiosity. Even so, you didn't want to risk it and avoided looking at him.
“This was my original idea.” Your voice was so subdued that if he hadn’t been literally a step behind you, he definitely wouldn’t have heard you. “An altar just for us. The colonel saw it, and that’s why he asked me to make one for everyone… But I saved the most special things for this one…” Slowly, Simon began to move, walking cautiously toward the offering, each step so silent it was surprising considering he was a giant of approximately 120 kilos of pure muscle and fat. For a few seconds, he stood facing the altar, taking in every detail, before gently touching the flowers, as if afraid that even a single hair might topple thar sacred space. Little by little, his hands moved until they reached one of the photos. It was of Kyle’s grandmother, a sweet woman who had passed away just two years before, and whom he'd had the pleasure of knowing.
“I did all this with love, for you, the team, so that together we can remember those we loved who are no longer with us…” He remained silent, his hands brushing against the photos, admiring even the smallest object. You didn't know if that was a good thing or not; you couldn't see his face since his back was to you, and his silence didn't help. The tension in your body grew so much that you lowered your gaze, fidgeting with your fingers. “Only your photos are missing… But of course, I understand if you don't want them. I know your family is sacred to you, so… Well, yeah…” You felt cringe at yourself for your clumsy explanation. You had prepared everything you wanted to say, and now that the moment had arrived, you blurted out simple, short words, worsened by the slight stutter caused by nervousness.
For an eternity of tension, he remained silent, still as a statue before the altar. Until suddenly he stood up and, without looking at you, spoke seriously.
“Don’t move.” And just like that, without another word, he hurried out of your office, without even looking at you.
You felt your heart begin to expand, it was beating so hard, filling your entire ribcage and crushing the rest of your organs, you could even feel it in your throat.
Fuck.
Was that good? Bad? Was he angry with you and just wanted to get away from you as quickly as possible?
A wave of negative thoughts began to drown you; you truly felt like you couldn't breathe. The few sounds around you became muffled, static. Your hands trembled, and the lump in your throat threatened to unleash a torrent of tears that was impossible to stop.
And you probably would have, cried yourself silly, if Simon hadn't returned in the blink of an eye. You didn't dare look at him, you didn't want to see his expression of disgust, but you knew he was walking toward you, his presence becoming more tangible with each tick of the clock. By the time he was behind you, and the heat of his body sent shivers down your spine, your body felt like it weighed a ton, sinking you deeper into that sea of intrusive thoughts. When he touched your shoulder, you jumped involuntarily.
“Sorry, love… Just, look at me, please.” His voice was so soft it sounded like a prayer, begging to see you and for you to look back. So, you did, slowly turning around until you were facing him, just inches away, so close you could feel his soft, warm breath caressing your face. With the gentleness only you knew him for, he took your hand and placed it on his chest. The warmth emanating from him melted your entire body like butter, and you had to make an almost superhuman effort to stay upright and not collapse into his arms. “Thank you… This is…” Finally, you mustered the courage to look at him. You raised your head and saw his face softened by a melancholic expression. It was subtle; Simon wasn't the most expressive person, but after a year of knowing him, you knew how to recognize his emotions, and the one that was now welling up from every pore of his skin made your chest ache. You'd never seen him so vulnerable, so exposed, so emotional.
"Simon..."
“Fuck, don’t say my name like that.” It wasn’t a complaint, it was more of a plea, a beg to keep him standing, and to avoid falling, he took your cheek in his hand, clinging to you as if his life depended on it, with a soft, sweet touch, dedicated solely to you. “You have no idea how much this means to me…” He moved his hand to the back of your neck and gently pulled you closer, your torso colliding with his, and somehow your whole body felt as if it were merging with his, as if it had always been moulded to fit together. He rested his forehead against yours, and this time you relaxed, closed your eyes, and simply felt with your heart.
“I love you…” That confession electrified you from within, a spark that ignited your body at the speed of light. In an instant, you became aware of your feelings, of that love that had long since sprouted in your heart without you even realizing it. You couldn't answer, even though you wanted to express that overflowing love that ran through your veins, all you could do was stand on your tiptoes and give him a small, shy kiss on the lips.
His eyes widened in surprise, and for a second, he froze, unsure what to do or say. So, he simply let go and hugged you tightly, trapping you against his body, an embrace that made you feel like you were in heaven.
Time stood still, you didn't know how many minutes passed, nor did you care. You simply savoured him, his essence, his body, and his very soul merging with yours. His heartbeats synced with yours in a lullaby that seemed composed just for the two of you.
"Thank you, love, thank you..." A soft sob escaped from within him. You looked up and saw his cheeks were wet, so you tenderly wiped them with your hands.
"Thank you for letting me be a part of your life." The smile he gave you was so sweet you could taste it, your lips tingled with the urge to kiss him and you didn't think twice, you kissed him again but this time he held you, pulling you closer to him, his fingers twisting through your hair to deepen that kiss, which was tender but also full of overflowing passion, a flame impossible to extinguish.
As you parted, you looked into each other's eyes, smiling without saying a word, simply savouring that intimate moment.
"Where can I put my photo?" Still stroking each strand of your hair, he gazed at the altar, admiring it with a sparkle in his eyes.
"Here..." You took his hand and walked toward the altar, pointing to a small space next to a couple of flowers. Without a word, he took a photo from his pocket, unfolded it, and placed it in that little corner dedicated to him.
The photo was from the last Christmas he spent with his family, that day you knew he treasured with every fibber of his being. For a moment, he knelt before the photo, admiring it completely. Then he turned to you and extended his hand, which, when you took it, drew you toward him, making you sit between his legs, your back against his chest while his arms encircled you with a warm protection, moulding themselves to you. He rested her chin on your shoulder, so she could inhale your natural scent directly from your skin, causing a tickle that made you laugh.
“Mom would have adored you…” His words touched you to your very soul. You looked at the photo again, this time focusing on the face of that sweet woman you would have given anything to meet. “And Tommy would have never stopped teasing me, saying I kidnapped you.”
The mere image of a family dinner with his family warmed your heart and made you laugh with tenderness.
And so, for what felt like a sweet eternity, in front of that altar, Simon told you stories of his family, sharing his most precious memories with you as he reverently caressed your skin, a worship in which he exposed himself vulnerably, solely for you.
“I know it’s not the same, but…” You sighed before continuing. “My mom will come to visit me tomorrow. She’ll bring pan de muerto… She hasn’t met you yet, but she already adores you…” For a moment, he said nothing, until he buried his face in the crook of your neck and spoke softly.
“I guess it’s time to meet my mother-in-law.” The casual way he said it made you blush and gave you butterflies in your stomach, like thousands of fish were swimming inside you.
“Yeah… After all, this is the day when love unites us all beyond death…” His hug tightened, pulling you closer, as if he wanted to take you into his soul.
That's the last you could remember. When you opened your eyes, a bright light hurt your eyes and immediately you shuttered them again, a low almost inaudible growl reverberated inside your chest.
"Fuck, she's awake!" Jhonny's voice tinkled in your ears. As always it was warm, but right now it felt like a slap in the face, harsh and harming.
You heard more voices around you, Kyle's and John's, though it was hard to understand what they were saying. And it wasn't until that moment when all your senses finally reacted that you were aware of the calloused hand wrapped around your wrist.
Trying to open your eyes again and focus your gaze, dots of colours danced in front of you, making different forms that slowly took the shape of your team. Simon was right next to you, holding your wrist tightly, not so much to hurt but to get you, as if he was afraid of letting you go. He wasn't wearing his balaclava, not even his typical surgical black mask, his face was bare, exposed. Dark circles decorating his tired eyes, and his messy 5 o'clock beard made him look even more serious, it was evident that he hadn't slept in only god knew when.
"Simon?..." your voice was hoarse, raspy due the lack of use of your chords and your dry throat. Even so you continued. "Where are we? What happened?"
"Wot happened?" Johnny's thick accent caught your attention, he looked almost as tired as Simon, same with Kyle and John, all of them gathering around you like guardians. "Jesus Christ hen, yer—"
"Ya almost died, tha' happened." Simon interrupted the Scottish, if his voice didn't make clear the fury and pain tearing his guts apart, the way he was looking at you definitely did it. "Wha' the fuck were ya thinkin'?
A flashy memory crossed your mind. You were ambushed by an enemy soldier, the second hand of the damn terrorist you were trying to capture. In the middle of the fight, you disarmed him and so he did to you. Through his radio he tried to give the order to detonate a bomb, something you couldn't let happen, but continuing to fight would only drain the little energy you had left. So, without thinking it twice, you embrace him, clinging with a strength you didn't even know you had, you jumped into a nearby waterfall with him.
Simon's screams were heard before you drowned, the moment your body was violently enveloped by the water and darkness turned off your mind. And now you were there in the military hospital, bandaged and sore.
"I..." you frowned, not understanding why Simon was so upset. "I did what I had to do."
"No, ya fuckin' almost killed yerself in the most stupid way." He let go of your wrist and your stomach churned, missing his warmness. "I don' fuckin' care if it was necessary, from now on yer prohibited from puttin’ your life at risk, understood?"
Those last words sounded almost broken, lower and so, so hurt you could feel his pain physically. Of course he was mad, what you did was a suicide, you'd hurt him and your team. It was a miracle that Johnny, Kyle and John weren't mad too.
"I'm sorry..." A little tear rolled down your cheek. "I won't do it again, I swear."
"Ya fuckin' be'er." Then he grabbed you by the chin making you look at him while wiping away your tears. "Did ya think tha’ you'd get rid of me tha’ easily? Think twice, luv." You frowned in confusion, what was he talking about?
"What do you—" But he didn't let you continue, he got closer to your face, and you could feel his breath tickling your cheeks.
"If ya try to sacrifice yourself, I'll go to the ends of the earth to drag tha’ pretty ass of yours back." Your cheeks blushed though he didn't care. "If anythin’ happens to me, I'll come from hell and come back to ya. Yer not gettin’ rid of me, luv. You've got me tied to you for life. Yer stuck with me."
The silence that followed was electrifying; your brain was working at a thousand miles an hour trying to fit the pieces together.
Had the most feared man on the entire base just confessed his love for you?
"Simon, do you... are you—"
"Shh, rest now luv. We'll talk abou’ this when you get discharged."
Your guts churned, not in an unpleasant way but intensely, your whole face was red, and your brain had melted from firing off one idea after another, you could even hear your gears grinding and overheating inside your head.
Simon Riley, the Ghost himself loved you and had confessed his feelings just in the same way he was; a silly giant brute.
And meanwhile you were trying to ground yourself while Simon stood there like a damn statue staring at you, Johnny and John were complaining and handing over their bet money to the pretty Sergeant. Because yes, they had bet on how Simon would finally propose, and just like Kyle said, Simon was a brute who still needed to be domesticated.
Luckily, you were there to domesticate that poor behemoth of a man.
This is a little (very late) birthday present for @galaxy-stardust. Sorry for the delay! And I hope you like it ❤️️
Also, thank you all so much for reading my stories and your likes and comments, they've really encouraged me!
I don’t go here but you’re sharing on AO3, you could use “Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings” if you want to keep the spoiler. On tumblr it’s a little trickier because we don’t have that catch-all for “this may have content you don’t want to read, so read at your own risk.” I personally think that you as a writer should write and tag as works for you, but by that same tokens, readers can and will walk away from a fic that isn’t tagged the way they wanted. (I’m a big user of “chose not to use archive warnings” because I like having the surprise, but those fics don’t come to tumblr ever)
Thank you so much to all the lovely people who answered my questions! I appreciate your patience and comments ❤️️
It's been a while but a little person commented on one of my stories that I should tag or put a warning for "major character death". At first I thought that they were right, but now I'm not sure about it cuz well, it's part of the plot twist and it'd be a spoiler. Also, I tagged it as "hurt/no comfort", "angst" and even "graphic descriptions of violence", if you read it knowing it won't have a nice ending it's up to you. Literally you'd expect anything comming from that kind of stories. But maybe I'm just stupid and don't understand how fanfiction works…
So, I want to know what do you think about it.
Should I tag my stories with specific tags like "major character death" and similar?
Yes, it'd be more specific
No, it's part of the plot/suspense
Voting ended onOct 22, 2025
Btw, just to be clear, I'm not mad with that person, I could never be! I'm just confused, I'm too dumb for this world =(
Hybrid!Simon "Ghost" Riley who can't control his instincts.
At least not with you.
He’d always been controlled, stoic, considered by most to be cold and aloof. Even some said he was weird, that something was broken inside him, something too shattered beyond repair. Otherwise, how to explain that his instincts seemed to be dead?
He never reacted to other hybrids, not even when they were in heat or rut, their scents magnified ten times pushed him away. Humans were the same to him, nothing unusual, he treated every being equally. And before joining the Task Force he’d always been the literal definition of a lone wolf, physically and emotionally. Always alone, quiet, away from people, almost avoiding them.
But actually, with his team, his pack, his instincts flowed more, feeling comfortable and bonded with them everything felt more natural. Of course it was subtle, soft shoulders’ brushes, breaks in the common room where he liked to be close to them and enjoy their scents mixed. The most notorious act was the way he watched them constantly, especially on missions. As a wolf hybrid he was always behind them, checking the surroundings with all his senses alert, ready to attack and protect them with his own life if it was necessary.
That’s why he considered himself as differently wired, he had instincts as any other hybrid, but they were subtle, almost imperceptible. Even his ruts were like any other season, punctual as a clock and forgettable as a dead leaf.
That was Ghost. Controlled, impassive, collected.
Or so he was until he met you.
A new addition in the team, a skilled human soldier with an impressive history record. But it wasn’t your skills what caught his attention, after all it was the minimum required to be part of the Task Force.
No.
He couldn’t put a name on it, but a burning spark tickled inside him, a fire burning beneath his skin the moment his eyes lay over you. Was it your soft delicate scent? Your bright personality that fit perfectly in the team? He didn’t know, but could feel it inside him, an unfamiliar sensation bubbling in his ribcage, making his long tail wave for the first time since he was a child.
Despite that, as the Ghost himself it was relatively easy to keep his instincts at bay at first. Relatively. He treated you like any other comrade, but his guts were a tangled mess, and his brain wasn’t doing it better, feeling like a mass of jelly unable to think straight whenever you were around.
As time passed, he felt the urge to be nearer to you, so he started to make excuses to be in the same room as you, wherever it was to help you or just hear your rambles about everything and nothing at once. It should stay like that, just a search for connection.
But then his urges grew stronger. His skin itched to touch you, to feel you against his until you both merged, an urge that didn’t hesitate to make excuses so he could feel your skin under his calloused fingertips. His snout ached wherever your scent dissipated, sore as if someone had punched him in the face and broke his already broken nose. And the neediness of scenting was the worst part, it wasn’t enough that you smelt like him and the team, he needed to rub his neck and whole face all over you.
You triggered his instincts like nothing else before, bringing them back to life just to embrace them in a burning paradise.
And he tried to control himself, God knew he really did. But as they say, the more you run away from your destiny, the fastest you’ll crash against it.
It was a simple cut, you were trying to reach a bunch of folders that were placed at the top of the locker, and in your attempt to reach them, you knocked them over. One of the sheets grazed your cheek, creating a small cut in the process. You didn't even finish whining when, in the blink of an eye, Simon was by your side, examining your face and asking if anything hurt and if one of the folders had hit your head.
No matter how much you downplayed it and even laughed at the situation, his heart was pounding, and when the smell of blood filled his nose and his eyes stared at that tiny scratch, his instincts hit him with a force that shut down his reasoning.
Cupping your face in his hands, he licked you with a slow, gentle licking that silenced your giggles in an instant. His tongue gently ran over your cheek, leaving a warm, wet trail of saliva behind it.
Your eyes stared into his, and while you saw the same tranquillity in his chocolate orbs, he wanted to scream and run away.
What the hell?
He'd let himself get carried away to the point of licking your wound to heal it. Yes, it was part of his instincts as a canid hybrid; he'd lick any wound to heal it; it was primal in him. But he was the damn Ghost, always stoic and controlled; he was beyond his instincts and primary urges, he was better than that.
And yet, there he was, yearning to keep licking your face until that scratch was completely gone. Simon had to use all his strength to let go of you and take a step back, pretending it had been as normal as a handshake.
“Better?” He didn't know how, but he was infinitely grateful that his voice didn't break because of the lump in his throat. He spoke as calmly as ever, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and his seemingly relaxed demeanour concealed the turmoil inside him, that storm of instinct and desires that burned his soul.
The silence that reigned for a few moments felt so heavy it hurt. His legs screamed to run as far away as possible, and he probably would have if it weren't for the sudden laugh, you let out, so honeyed and sincere it paralyzed him in a warm fizz.
"That was very sweet, thank you, Simon."
Oh fuck.
That sweet, bright smile adorning your face short-circuited his brain.
What?
He expected your cold, direct rejection, that you would yell at him, or even start ignoring him from then on, giving him the cold shoulder.
But this? Laughing, calling him sweet, and then thanking him for losing control of his impulses? He didn't expect it at all.
Your beautiful smile didn't disappear of your even more beautiful face, tickling his cheeks in a warming sensation. But just before you were about to say something, John knocked at the open door, calling for him to go with him to Laswell's office. Simon wanted to close de damn door in front of his leader's face for interrupting him, but he just exhaled in silence, keeping composure.
"Yes, sir." He looked at you once more, his gaze softening while his hands ached to grab you again and this time never let you go.
"Well, see you, Ghost." If your shining smile wasn't enough to fill his guts with thousands of butterflies, you, with all the innocence in the world, patted his head tenderly. "Good boy."
And so, without saying more you just left the room, leaving him burning alive, tail waving like crazy and his heart bumping inside his head, numbing his senses until the only thing he could think of was you and how your warm skin fit perfectly against his. He didn't even care that John was seeing him coming undone in love, whipped for his teammate.
Well, maybe it was time to erase the team and become his mate. After all, you were the beautiful creature who fuelled his instincts with an overwhelming force that was also soft and warm like home.
The home he would soon have with you for eternity.
I'm alive!
Sorry for my absence =( Work's been horrible lately, and well, things with my family aren't any better so I've had a bit of a block.
Anyways, thanks for continuing to read my nonsense and for your support! ❤️️
After discovering that your fiancé died along with his lover, that woman's husband enters your life. Now it's up to you to deal with the mess left behind by the man you loved.
CW: Hurt/Comfort, cheating, mention of a terrorist attack, canon-typical violence, insecurities, anxiety, healing process, intrusive thoughts.
Masterlist
How had things gone so wrong? You were dying inside, suffering immense pain when just this morning, a few hours before you had woken up like any other day, dressed up nicely to the end-of-school-cycle ceremony.
“You look so beautiful darling.” Those were the words that Marcus, your fiancée had told you the moment he saw you all dolled up, he kissed your cheeks, looking at you as if you were the most beautiful woman in the earth. For him you were.
A cute couple living their dreams, a nice apartment, a job that filled your soul, a lovely family.
Beautiful. That was the perfect word to describe how your life was. Not perfect, no one’s life was, but for you it was beautiful just as it was, and you couldn’t ask for more.
Or so you thought.
Marcus apologized again for not being able to go to the ceremony, even though he’d already apologized last night when he told you about his last-minute call from the buffet. You understood, really, being a lawyer was a demanding work, it wasn’t the first time he’d to absent suddenly. At this point you were used to, and well, he made it up to you in one way or another.
After dropping you off at school, he kissed you a little too passionately, not that you complained, it was just curious that he seemed kind of eager. However it was, you didn’t pay it attention and started your day.
Everything was already prepared for the ceremony, all you had to do was to welcome parents and seat them in their respective places in the auditorium and check that everything else were going fine. The waiters, the food that parents brought, the children, and even the sound. Of course, the tasks were distributed among all the teachers and staff, but you loved to help with whatever you could.
The ceremony was beautiful as always, among emotional speeches and seeing your children growing up was always something that you kept in your heart. That day you received an award from your students for being the favourite professor, and even a few parents gave you little gifts for being so sweet with their kids, as well as to congratulate you on your engagement.
By noon you were just enjoying the delicious meal that parents made for everyone else, drinking cider with Olivia and Tania, a mother whom you got along very well. They were talking about your engagement and future as a wife. It was kind of embarrassing but sweet anyway, and just when you were explaining yourself, the atmosphere felt heavy in a sudden, a thick silence crushed you like an anvil, bones breaking inside you could be heard. It was strange, but not only you felt it, every parent, every professor, even the waiters and the students felt it too. A bubble that locked you all, drowning you in dark waters where you couldn’t see, much less breathe, killing the cheerful atmosphere in mere seconds.
The moment you tried to catch your breath the bubble exploded due to a cell phone ringing, letting you and everyone else to breathe again. A father answered the call, then, like a domino effect, more incoming calls rang all over the building. In less than a minute, chaos erupted, parents crying and screaming for reasons you didn't understand, but you knew they were connected.
Before you could try to calm the children and take them somewhere else, your cell phone also rang, stealing your breath away. With trembling hands, you answered the call. A female voice, one that you'd never heard begore asked for you, calling you by your name, and it was enough to stop your heartbeat. When you responded confirming that it was indeed you, her answer exploded inside you.
"The city centre was attacked. Marcus Fridge was found dead among the victims."
Time stopped. The arson that followed that explosion consumed you in a second, engulfing you alive with no mercy. You tried to scream, but no sound came out. The fire numbed your limbs, and you fell on your knees, screaming silently while your heart was turning to ashes. You felt someone grabbing you by the arm, if it was Tania or Olivia you couldn't know, the pain burning your every organ didn't let you.
Marcus, the man you loved was dead.
Olivia gave you a ride towards the building that was serving as a temporal morgue, the place where Marcus was.
"Liv, I... Please leave me face this alone, I need it." It was a miracle that she could hear you, your voice was barely a broken whisper. Broken as you.
At first, she didn't want to, how could she let you alone to stand this? No, there was no way. But you spoke so firmly that despite her insistence, at the end she agreed, even when her mind begged to stay with you no matter what.
The building was an hotel, very fancy, though it's not like you cared about it. Inside there were soldiers and so many people, most of them searching for their beloved ones with desperation. Maybe there wasn't any destruction there, but the chaos was as terrible as it was on the outside.
Your body moved on autopilot, you asked for Marcus to the first military you saw, a beautiful woman who, despite her obvious stressed state, she gently answered all your questions and lead you to where the corpses were being kept, waiting for recognition.
Right in the corner of the saloon there he was, your beloved man. All the people around, crying for they lose didn't matter to you. The noises muted to turn into static and like a photo filter, your peripherical vision blurred to only focus on him. Cold, naked, covered in bruises, dirt and blood. But what hurt you even more to the point of gag, was his absent arm, which had been torn like paper. A paper that bleed.
Tears sprout violently, your arms moved by themselves and grabbed his cold hand, holding into it as if you could bring him back to life again. However, his face stayed the same, dull, tense like marble, eyes shut to never open again.
He was gone.
For what felt like hours you cried and begged him repeatedly to wake up, to not leave you. By the time your cries ceased it was rather because you were exhausted than because you wanted to stop. And it was until then that you noticed the military woman who'd never left your side, she just stayed there, keeping her distance to respect you, quiet.
When she confirmed that you were at least conscious enough to think and move, she handed you a folder with the records of Marcus' death. With a sorrow crushing you, you took them and read them slowly.
Marcus died because of a fucked-up man who decided to suicide, but not alone, he wanted to die accompanied. So, with a bomb that only God knew where he got, the man wrapped his torso with it and just like that, made it explode. That was the first explosion, the one which took many people away, collapsing buildings and creating a painful chaos.
The second bomb exploded inside you when you knew Marcus was among the victims, that he was dead and never would come back home with you.
But a third one exploded right there, in a hotel's saloon, tearing out what was left of your soul. Marcus wasn't at work but in a hotel the moment the attack occurred, and he wasn't alone. His body was found with another woman, both naked over a bed, glued into each other. The scene couldn't be clearer.
Marcus had a lover, and he'd died making love to her. He, your fiancée, the one who professed loving you, promised to make you happy for the rest of your life.
Lies.
Lies that finally were discovered thanks to that terrible bomb, stabbing you with a painful truth.
If you cried, screamed, froze or denied everything you couldn't know, no matter how hard you tried your memory only showed you static, a blank image and drowning noise. And well, being honest, at this point you didn't care anymore. Your brain shut down, switching to survival mode. It stopped recording your surroundings, only focusing on survive, so, the only things that you could remember were signing the official documents of his dead, and calling funeral houses. Though at the end you didn't hire any service.
And now you were there, in the waiting room of the hotel, existing but not living. A zombie with a beating heart and a numbed brain, dissociated from the reality. Sometimes it hurt, and the pain reached deadly peaks that turned your mind shut again, repeating the cycle.
What will you do now? Your phone had a lot of messages from Olivia, asking you to call her when you were ready, something that you weren't yet. Same reason why you hadn't called your mother. What would you say to her? That you're a pathetic woman who never noticed how her fiancée was cheating on her for only God knew when until it was too late? Oh, and just thinking about your in-laws only worsened you already horrible sorrow.
Being just, you didn't have any obligations with him, especially now. You could just leave the bother onto your in-laws and leave without looking back. But you wouldn't, they were as innocent as you. No one was guilty of his decisions.
Marcus.
Fucking liar.
“So, you’re Marcu’s woman, huh?” A cold deep voice made you react, as if you were coming to the surface after hours at the bottom of the sea you breathed abruptly, deeply. Then looked at the strange man who called you and your body froze for a second.
Tall, burly as a truck, looking at you with cold rage. Or well, that’s what it seemed since all you could see were his eyes, the rest of his face was covered by a skull balaclava. He was a military and judging by the dirt and blood stains all over his uniform, he’d been part of the rescue soldiers.
For the first time in hours, you felt something more than pain or numbness. It was almost certain that he knew about Marcus and his lover considering his job. What did he want? Make fun of you? Pretend to feel sorry for you just to get information out of you?
You frowned and spoke seriously, almost furious.
“Who are you?”
The man didn’t respond, he just stayed there, standing still as a statue, looking at you without blinking. Five, ten, fifteen seconds passed, probably more, but he didn’t move an inch, and that made your skin prickled. The tension was so thick that you wanted to speak, but before you could, he finally answered.
“I’m the husband of your man’s lover.”
What?
That was the only thing you could think of.
What the actual hell?
Your gaze froze into him, unable to look away. The tension in his body crawled your skin, piercing mercilessly with every step, his intimidating height and build made you feel little, a tiny mouse with no scape.
Why was he telling you this? What did he want? Hate you and blame for something that you discovered just an hour ago? Vent his anger on you just for being the fiancée of the man who destroyed his marriage?
Your face turned red out of rage and pain. You were already suffering, wasn't it enough? The world had felt above you, crashing your every bone 'til grind them with your wounded soul. What else did he want? Make you beg for forgiveness? Get on your knees and accept that you were a pathetic woman engaged with a coward?
You mouth opened and closed a few times with no sound coming out, your voice broke, and the oxygen wasn't enough. The fire born from your emotions was an arson consuming you from the inside out, and oh God if it didn't hurt. Your fists clenched at your sides and finally you were able to look away, your lips pursed in a painful silence and just like that you walked away, not looking back. You didn't care.
Reminding where the bathrooms where you headed towards them. Once inside you stood in the middle of the room, trembling like you were freezing, clenched fists, heavy breathing, feeling everything around you were spinning uncontrollably. Inside your head many voices echoing and crushing your brains hurt you, a pain burning your nerves.
Marcus’ love promises, your beloved ones congratulating you for your engagement, that soldier’s confession. The image of Marcus making love to someone else, not caring about you.
Inside your heart an arson started to consume you, a fire that spread to the rest of your organs, burning from within until reaching your limbs. Bombs exploding in your head, calcining your brains to ashes. The pain you felt was unbearable, muted noise stabbing your ears, colours distorted around you, blurred, your skin prickled in heat, your lungs stopped functioning since the air was heavy and insufficient. You were dying, you knew it.
“Hey, look at me.” A prickling sensation invaded your shoulders, like two ice chunks covering them to make you react. You looked in front of you, a black mass with no face was centimetres away from you, so close the fire in your skin got altered. That voice.
Who was he?
You waved your hands in desperation trying to get away from his grip, but he didn’t let go. He even continued talking to you, although your brain couldn’t decode his words, you knew he was talking to you softly, almost gentle, his deep voice like velvet. But you didn’t care, you were dying, consumed by an uncontrollable arson.
“You’re safe, I got you.” This time you could understand him, clear as water. The tremors in your body subsided slowly, little by little. You didn’t feel safe yet, but his voice was a good anchorage to make you react, to know that you weren’t dying. His hands and the heat of his body was ironically like fresh water that calmed the fire in you. Your senses became alive once more, odours, noises, tastes. Your vision became normal, focusing on him. It was him, the soldier ―the husband of Marcu’s lover. His gaze now was soft, lightening in what seemed genuine worry for you, and just for a moment you felt that just maybe he didn’t want to hurt you.
Until the images of Marcus and his lover flashed in front of your eyes.
You pushed him away, and although his imposing size kept him immovable you moved away from him, walking towards the opposite side.
“What the hell do you want? An apologize?” You knew it was wrong, regardless of his intentions he was a victim too, just like you, and until that moment he hadn’t been rude or taken out of you, but the rage of what was happening was eating you alive, and you didn’t want to see him. “Good! I’m sorry for being engaged with the fucking coward Marcus was, ok? I’m so fucking sorry!”
He didn’t say anything, just stood there two meters away from you, looking at in you in an unreadable expression, no rage, no pity, nothing. He just let you discharge your fury on him.
“I didn’t know anything!” By that point your face was getting wet by your own tears for the third time that day. “I thought he loved me; he asked me to marry him just three months ago and he was… this funny sweet man who was my friend too…” And just like that, you threw up all your emotions and pain. That morning you’d woken up ready for another bright day, ready to celebrate, feeling loved by your fiancée, and now he was dead, leaving behind a painful truth.
Marcus didn’t love you. Or at least not enough to care about you.
“I didn’t know…” You murmured as you slowly let yourself fall to the ground until you sat down, hugging your legs, not caring that you were in a public bathroom. Your sobs were lighter now, barely audible. “It wasn’t my fault what he did… I don’t know what you want from me, but I just want to bury him and never look back, okay? I’m so fucking sorry…”
He remained still and quiet, even when you were looking at the ground you could feel his gaze all over you, examining you, for what? Only he knew. And you didn’t care anyway.
For what felt like hours you both stayed there, the only sound came from your weak sobs. It wasn’t until someone entered the bathroom that you finally looked up. It was a woman, part of the hotel staff judging by her uniform. The moment she saw the scene she got concerned and asked if you were fine. Of course, you weren’t, but you force yourself to assure her that you were fine. What you less needed right now was to make a fuss over a misunderstanding. So, you stood up, thanked the woman and without looking at the man you left.
The reception was quieter by the time you came out, many of the families and people searching for their beloved ones had left.
What will I do now?
You must call your mother, that’s for sure, and therefore your in-laws too. But above all, you had to take charge of Marcus, whether he deserved or not you couldn’t let him there to rot away.
After you’d finally hired a funeral home, you were now waiting for them to come and take Marcus away to prepare his body. Your mind shut down and gave you a break, moving on autopilot. For several minutes you’d looked your phone’s screen, you had many calls to do, and the easiest ones where to your mom. The hard one? Calling your in-laws. It wasn’t only about giving them the news of their dead son, but also about explaining what you discovered and, therefore, didn’t want to pay for his funeral service nor for anything, didn’t want his belongings, the car or his life insurance. You wanted to bury him literally and figuratively.
As soon as the funeral home staff arrived you talked with them and explained the service you wanted; simple. After signing some documents everything was ready, the only thing you had to do was to talk with your family and prepare for the service.
Once the cab arrived you walked towards the exit, and the moment the air hit your face, someone grabbed you by the arm, not hard but it was enough to stop you. Before you could demand explanation, your gaze crashed against his.
The skull soldier.
Your breath caught, however, this time you didn’t feel angry against him, instead, seeing him again, so serene and controlled made you feel ashamed of yourself about your emotional vomit.
For a whole minute in heavy silence none of you said anything, not until he grabbed your hand so gently as if he was afraid of breaking you and put a piece of paper.
“Call me when you feel better.” And just like that, he let go of you and turned around to enter the hotel again, disappearing inside like a shadow.
What?
You frowned in confusion, of course, you didn’t want to call him, why would you? The less you knew about Marcus and his lover the better. Soon he’ll be erased from your life forever, so why continuing stabbing yourself?
Despite that you kept the paper in your pocket and got in the cab, preparing yourself for what was coming.
The funeral had been exhausting, physically and emotionally. But at least it meant the end of a painful stage in your life.
Right?
You spent the whole ceremony more dead than alive but given the occasion everyone understood and treated you like the most fragile glass. You were considered by them as a poor wife who had lost her husband, even when you were not married you were seen as that, respected as Marcus's woman.
How funny that the real woman was dead too. The wife, not his, but a wife he loved and worshipped at your back.
How was that soldier? The poor husband who endured your outpouring of rage and vent in silence. Was he feeling just like you?
You didn't want to think about it. About him.
A gentle pat in your shoulder made you react slowly. When you turned your head, the intense cerulean eyes from your father-in-law greeted you. Instinctively your hand tightened around your mom's, so, she caressed the back of your hand. It's not that you were scared or didn't want to be with your in-laws per se, it was just that your brain was a mess balancing between numbness and hyper sensibility.
Your mom gave you a moment with the man that once you considered as the father you never had. When he sat next to you, he didn't say anything, not during the first minute.
"I'm sorry, hun... I..." his voice broke causing your skin tickle in a disgusting way. You insisted that it wasn't his or anyone's fault, but he shook his head and tried to continue despite the heavy lump in his throat. "I know, but... I should've noticed it before, I should... Fuck." In the seesaw that your mind was balancing you hesitated if comfort him or not, on one hand you were exhausted, but on the other he was suffering too, his son was gone for God's sake. "I talked to him, said you were a diamond in the rough that he should take in marriage... And he..." This time he couldn't hold back anymore and began to cry while you just stay quiet.
Well... Now you understood some things.
Regardless of the turmoil in your head you managed to rub his back, not said anything, it wasn't necessary, with that gesture you were saying enough.
The rest of the ceremony went kind of normal, if you could say so. Your mom, Olivia and you in-laws were all the time with you, helping you with whatever you needed. And when it was the time to bury him, you felt nothing. Despite of being surrounded by cries and sorrows, you felt empty. Instead of seeing the man you loved being burred meters down earth, you felt like burning a photo or a page of your personal diary. Kind of liberator for now, though you knew there was still a long path waiting for you to recover from this.
And so, it was.
That night the emptiness was still there, until the next day when you woke up at you mom's home. The pastel blue quit covering your body was cold, not physically but in an emotional way. It was the first time in two years that you woke up alone, an empty bed. That loneliness stabbed your heart until making you react. Marcus was dead, it didn't matter what he did, his lies and betrayal, you still loved him, and his absence hurt as much as the pain he'd inflicted on you.
Muffling your cries with a pillow you cried and cried until your throat hurt and the pain in your heart was numb, like anesthetized, leaving a numb prickling sensation all over your body.
At noon your mom entered to your room to check up on you.
"Hun, you have to eat something..." She was right, you must even if you didn't want to and the mere image of food made you sick of the stomach. All that you wanted to do was to sleep and don't wake up in months.
But at the end you gathered the little strength that was left in your body and agreed to eat just a little, as well as take a bath and dress up in something different than your pyjamas. After all, you still had to visit your apartment one last time.
You mom accompanied you, not leaving you alone for a second. On hand you felt kind of guilty for being a bother, you were almost in your thirties and now you were like a little child who needed the guide of your mommy. However, could you blame yourself? In the same day, withing few hours, you'd kissed and loved your fiancée, saw his dead body and discovered that he'd a second life at your back, a lover that was married and her husband wanted to talk to you for some reason you couldn't understand and didn't want to.
Yeah, in a single day you've endured more than what many people had experimented all their lives. If you were half dead now, it was more than it could be expected from anyone.
The apartment felt cold, not only physically but in your heart too. The scent of Marcus' lotion still lingered in the air, a smell that for two years had made you feel at home now was causing painful goosebumps through your spine. Your in-laws were already there, checking all the legalities Marcu's left.
Your once called home was at his name, after all he was the one who bought it. However, just a month ago without you knowing anything about, he'd changed all the documents and left the apartment in your name, including the furniture. The only thing that was still his was the car.
Why?
It was like he was preparing for a divorce, which wasn't surprising considering his not so little adventure. If he'd asked for marriage, it was because of his father who insisted on it. But it's not like he'd been forced to, in fact, he'd been helping you preparing everything for the wedding, even in his bank account he'd sections to pay the dress and the hall.
What was he planning to do then? Marry you for a year and then got a divorce? Or stay married until you discover his infidelities and he has a backup plan?
At that point you didn't know what you think or believe. The man you loved, your best friend, the man you wanted to get married soon, that sweet man was a liar. Was his love real? Apparently, he cared about you a lot, he left you completely insured. Then why cheating on you?
Looking at his phone and the messages he had with that woman, they felt something more than just adrenaline or heat. Did he love her? Did he love you?
The carousel of ideas gave you stabbing headache, no matter how many times you thought about it, nothing made sense. He loved you and loved another woman. He didn't love anyone. He lied. He said the truth. So many ideas crashing against the others and at the end you were even more confused than before.
More shattered from the inside out.
You rejected all that he left for you, his life insurance, the apartment and everything he stipulated in his will. Maybe your heart still craved for him, begged to bring him back to life and forgive him for everything, and yes, maybe once he'd been a good friend and a good partner, but you needed to say goodbye to him and move on even if it tore your heart.
Your in-laws wanted to protest and insist on you to keep at least Marcus' insurance, a little part of him, something you could carry with you as a sweet memory, or at least something to keep you connected to them, to the only thing they had left of their only son. But they knew it'd only hurt you more, it was selfish, and you needed to heal, not more stones that would drag you to the bottom of an abyss from which it would be almost impossible for you to escape.
In the end, they agreed that they would be the ones to keep everything, so you would have to sign some paperwork in a few days for the succession of rights. Everything was coming to an end.
"Please darling, just... Think about it, to keep in contact with us, please." Your mother-in-law whispered right in your ear when she hugged you as a goodbye. It broke your heart despite of how shattered it already was. None of them were guilty for what happened, much less for their son's decisions, they lost everything in the blink of an eye, just like you. You couldn't imagine the pain of losing a son, the only they had.
"I'll do it, promise..." Was all that you could say, a half-made promise. If they knew it or if they cared about it didn't seem to matter, they were happy and that was enough for now.
It was the beginning of an end. The beginning of moving on and leave everything behind, to say goodbye to who you thought it was the love of your life. Goodbye to a future that never came.
That last goodbye hit you like a truck a thousand per mile in the middle of the night.
Denial. The first stage of grief. The numbness in your brain disappeared, you were suddenly pulled from a dark ocean, and a fire engulfed you in flames that burned your flesh to the most intangible parts of you. That fire made you struggle in denial, heading in the opposite direction from the heart of that scorching fire, as if you could flee from the lava of truth.
Marcus was dead and he'd never come back.
No, he wasn't dead, he was just sleeping, he'd entered in your room any time soon and hug you with love, showing you how special you were to him, the love of his life, his fiancée. That woman wasn't real, nor her husband. The rescue soldier had mistaken everything, right? It must be, how could you explain all the love he'd professed to you these two years if he didn't love you? Therefore, he couldn't be dead, he'd never hurt you and leave you behind with your soul turned into ashes.
No, no, no. Never.
Then why wasn't he there with you? Assuring you that everything was just a nightmare.
That night you cried even more than that morning, it was an almost inhuman cry that came from the depths of your soul, the cry of love, of a broken heart, of a lie, of death. Too excruciating that it made it hard to breathe and you could only scream, begging for him to come back. The pain was so unbearable, so drowning that you didn't notice the moment your mom had entered to your room and held you tightly against her, rocking you just like when you were a little girl crying due to a terrible nightmare. She didn't say anything, just cooed you in silence, caressing your back and scalp in soothing motions, let you to cry your pain out until you come undone completely and there was nothing left of you but ashes.
With every passing day you felt like being fire tortured, an innocent woman burning at the stake. You passed through the rest stages of grief, in a disorderly manner and each one worse than the last. Just when you thought you were starting to heal reality punched you in the guts and a new emotion pulled you back in the stake. It was like that bomb had never been controlled and its fire continued burning around you.
Nightmares attacked you every night, whatever with images or sounds. Sometimes you were seeing everything without being able to move or do something to safe Marcus. Other times you couldn't see anything, just feel the fire cooking your living flesh while hearing Marcu's voice along with a feminine one, promising love to each other. To say that you were a mess was an understatement, dark circles around your eyes and messy hair greeted you every day wherever you looked at yourself in the mirror. When was the last time you'd taken a bath? Who knows. Not to mention that you locked yourself in your room, your only safe place. Even messages from Olivia, your coworkers and some parents felt invasive, no matter how sweet and understanding they were, every word hurt like hell.
By the third week however, you finally accepted things as they were. Marcus was dead and he had a second life, once he loved you heartedly, if he still did when he died, you'll never know, but you were fine with it for now.
After a warm long shower since only God knew when, your body felt less sore, your muscles weren't so tense, and the pain started to be bearable. Of course, your heart still ached and weighed like an anvil, little cries came out of nowhere, but it was fine, you were trying, even if like a rollercoaster for moments you were ups while others completely drowned a burning darkness, it was a progress.
On Wednesday your appetite returned to normal, smells didn't make you sick of your stomach anymore, and food finally had taste. So, regardless of your insistence on cooking breakfast, your mom didn't let you and instead prepared one of your favourite meals, grateful that you were better despite the grief and sorrow in your heart.
It felt nice, like nothing had ever happened. Conversation with you mom grew natural, talking about the ceremony which you hadn't even mentioned due to Marcus’ death. She never forced you into talking more than you were ready to. Didn't ask what were you planning to do from now on, she was just there with you, reminding you that you weren't alone, giving you your own space to settle down and heal step by step.
"Mom..." She smiled tenderly at you while she was washing the dishes, waiting for you to continue. "What do you think about... calling the soldier?" She froze for a second and avoided looking at you. But when you wanted to retract yourself, she sighed before responding.
"Well, maybe it could be good for you, talking with someone who's going through the same thing as you, like one of those support groups." She smiled at you again, though this smile was sadder. "But it also could bring you back to the bottom again if you're not ready."
She was right with both options. Talking with him could be helpful, kind of therapeutic. But were you ready to face him? To face again what happened? The mere idea of being surrounded by the pain again was a stabbing in your poor heart. In itself you didn't have more to say or know, you accepted what happened. So, it wouldn't be a big deal, right? Just talk, understand each other, or whatever would suppose happen.
"Maybe I should call him."
A call wouldn't be enough, it won't explain you anything, that's why you were now waiting for him in a cafeteria, your fingers tapped against the wood table, legs bouncing despite that you weren't thinking about anything, your mind was in blank, but well, sometimes body and mind fight against each other.
Your heart stopped beating for a second when a deep voice called your name, the goosebumps that it provoked on your skin made you react out of sudden. The moment your head turned, a wide torso greeted you, so, slowly you looked up and a familiar pair of chocolate eyes looked back at you. They were exactly as you remembered, except that this time they looked tired, a reflexion of your own gaze.
"Ah, yes, I uh—." You stood up clumsily and almost crashed into him, lucky you he had inhuman reflexes and stepped back while holding you, avoiding you to fall. His giant hands held you
A nervousness mixed with discomfort washed over you, and you felt cringe at yourself for being so clumsy and awkward. Three weeks locked up and apparently you didn't know how to interact with anyone anymore. And he wasn't helping matters at all with his unnerving silence and heavy gaze, which, although this time softer, was still imposing, like everything about him. At least this time his face was uncovered.
"Come, let's sit." His deep voice sent another shiver down your spine, less heavy but just as intense. You complied anyway and sat down again, careful not to stumble again like you had a few moments ago.
Once you were both seated, silence reigned, an awkward and tense one. At first, you wanted to speak, so you looked at him, but when your gaze met his and you saw how dark it was, you avoided it and focused on your hands on the table. Once again, your leg began to bounce, and this time there was plenty of reason to. You felt Simon's intense gaze on you. Even if it wasn't as icy as that first time, it was still profound. Without even seeing him, you knew he was analysing every part of you. If he told you he could see right through to your soul, you'd believe him without a second thought.
And that was just the beginning.
What would you say to him now that you finally had him face to face again? You had been the one who asked to see him, and yet now you didn't know what to say. You had so many doubts, and at the same time, you weren't so curious to know the truth. You had finally come to accept things as you knew them, so now your head was blank, not knowing what to say.
Although, thinking about it, it was he who had asked you to find him that day. Why?
You could start there.
"Thanks for coming." You finally looked up and met his gaze. Just as you had felt, his gaze was fixed on you, reflecting the same tiredness you felt, maybe more so. The dark circles under his eyes were so deep that, if you didn't know his story, you'd think it was makeup. And for some reason, that made you feel guilty. Why? You didn't know, but it was a feeling that churned in your chest.
"I... I'll be honest with you..." You sighed heavily, then remained silent for a couple of seconds, maybe a full minute. He waited quietly, never taking his eyes off you. He looked so still he was like a statue, making you wonder if he was even breathing. "I don't really know what I should tell you. I never knew about Marcus's affair with your wife." That sentence left a sour taste in your mouth, a bit pungent in an unpleasant way. "He never gave me reason to even imagine what he did."
For a moment, you remained silent again, staring into space. Hundreds of memories flashed before you, making your heart clench inside you. Each memory hurt, and you couldn't help it, a tear rolled down your cheek. You didn't try to wipe it away, much less deny it; you just let it go.
"He was a good friend," a sad smile graced your face, "he was there for me in my tough times and looked out for me." For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he moved, very slightly and almost imperceptibly, but he seemed to have let out a breath that finally made him relax his shoulders a little. "Of course, that doesn't excuse what he did. He hurt me and his family; he chose the cowardly path." Another tear rolled down your cheek, and you had to let out a sigh to ease the pressure in your chest. "What I'm trying to say is... I've come to accept what happened. I don't know if I forgive him, or if I ever will. But however it happened, I don't want to hate him. I just want to keep the good things and move on with my life."
After your words came silence, an even more tense, heavier one. He remained silent, motionless, without taking his eyes off you, which made the situation even more awkward.
Had you said something wrong? Probably not, but to him it was. You were talking about the man who messed with his wife, saying he'd been a good person despite everything. Even if you didn't mean to, it could have been perceived as selfish, that you only considered what you felt for a person who, although made you happy, also brought pain to you and others, just as you’d said.
Before you could regret your words and apologize, he finally spoke. His deep, velvety voice reverberated inside your ribcage, drowning out all other sounds around you.
"They'd been together for a year." The shock of reality took your breath away. You'd barely read two weeks of messages between Marcus and that woman, Pearl, partly because you knew reading further would only hurt yourself more, and the other part didn't want to know exactly how long he’d been cheating on you, even if something inside you was dying to know. But despite what you came to imagine and accept, it was hard to believe that for an entire year you’d been living a lie.
How many times did you wait for him until late because he was working hard? Or so he said. So, you waited until nightfall, so that as soon as he arrived, you could give him a delicious dinner. And now you realized that probably at least one of those times, he wasn't working but was with Pearl.
How many times did he come home after being with her? How many kisses he gave you had been shared? How many sleepless nights had he spent sleeping next to you thinking about her?
Your heart wrenched inside your chest, your body suddenly felt heavy, as if instead of organs, you were filled with large stones, dragging you toward an abyss where, instead of finding cold and darkness, you were once again engulfed in burning flames that burned you from within.
However, no more tears came out despite the pain you felt. All that could emerge was immense rage. Why was he saying this to you? What was the point? You'd made it clear you wanted to leave Marcus behind and move on, so why hurt yourself like that? Did he want you to suffer like him? To drag yourself with him through that searing pain.
You looked into his eyes, ready to unleash your anger at his selfishness, but seeing that dull gaze, filled with a mixture of acceptance and resignation, stopped you in your tracks. It wasn't just like looking in a mirror and seeing the same grief you felt reflected back at you; there was also an abyss within him, a darkness born from a life filled with pain. A pain he’d accepted even though it ate away at him from the inside.
Then you understood that he wasn't trying to drag you down with him; he was simply releasing some of the burden that weighed so heavily on you as it did on him.
"I'm sorry..." What were you apologizing for and why? You didn't know, but it was all you could manage. He, on the other hand, gave a slight shrug, a gesture that told you it wasn't your fault. Despite knowing it, it was a relief to you.
“You didn’t know. At least I suspected.” Your face must have been a poem, because for a split second his lips twisted slightly in what seemed to be the ghost of a smile, almost imperceptible. “Three months ago, Pearl suddenly became depressed. She denied it, pretended to be fine, but I noticed anyway.” You couldn’t help but frown as time slapped you in the face. It had been three months since Marcus proposed to you. Simon could easily read your expression and continued. “At first, I attributed it to certain things.” For a moment, he remained silent, his words lingering in the air. It wasn’t difficult to understand that he was quite reserved, one of those people who listened and barely spoke, so you didn’t pressure him or ask any more questions, much less judge him. No one deserved to go through what you two were going through, much less someone who, despite his intimidating aura, seemed to be someone good. You didn’t just say that because of his actions, which until now had been kind to you, in their own way. But it was a feeling, something you could perceive through the chocolate in her eyes.
"It was a few weeks ago that I discovered the truth. Part of it." Your curiosity grew within you, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from asking any questions. "She came home late, and her story didn't add up, but above all, there was a happiness on her face I hadn't seen in years. That's when I knew there was someone else in her life."
He didn't say anything more; it wasn't necessary.
The silence that hung in the air, although no longer tense, was heavy, full of discoveries and questions, especially one that forced you to speak before even thinking.
"Why didn't you do anything?" The lump in your throat made your voice sound so tense that you seemed annoyed, though you weren't, especially not with him. You simply didn't understand his actions. He, for his part, shrugged as if it didn't matter, although his tired gaze told a different story.
"I didn't have any physical evidence to prove it. By the time I investigated, it was too late anyway."
His words hurt you without fully understanding them. Maybe it was the memory of Marcus's death at his lover's side, or maybe it was the familiarity of knowing you would have done the same. For fear of the truth of a lie, you’d wait for the idea of being cheated on to sink in before finally confirming it.
It was a damn mess.
Once again, both of you remained silent, a stinging feeling inside, like needles penetrating you until they pierced you from side to side. Despite that, you didn't cry, nor did any tears flow. Of course, it hurt, it burned, but in the end, nothing changed things.
Marcus and Pearl were dead; they died loving each other, and only their memories remained, tainted by lies. None of them changed the story you lived at their side, just as nothing changed their betrayal. So, although you would surely cry later that night, for now, you let everything flow without pressure, without thinking, and without holding on.
"You're strong." His deep voice broke the silence. You frowned in doubt and looked at him with palpable curiosity. His eyes held a hint of softness, and that was enough to flutter in your stomach, leaving you speechless. Fortunately, words weren't necessary, because at your doubts, he continued. "Even if you haven't forgiven him, you don't hate him either. You appreciate the good and you move forward. Few people are capable of doing that; it requires strength and courage."
Your face felt hot, not unpleasantly so, but a little intense, making your chest flutter.
Did he really think that of you? You opened your mouth, but no words came out, not even a 'thank you', not because you didn't want to, but because your brain had gone numb, frozen like a computer unable to run its own hard drive. All you could think of was the tingling on your skin and the warmth that sprouted in your heart and spread like a vine to your face.
"You're like a puppy who just keeps going straight ahead even if after falling down the stairs."
And just as that warmth was born in your heart, it eventually transformed into confusion mixed with disbelief.
What?
You stared into his eyes and all you were met with was the same seriousness as always. As if he'd told you the most obvious and common thing in the world.
For a few seconds that felt like an eternity, you didn't say anything, nor did he; you just sat there silently staring at each other. Until finally, something exploded in you.
A laugh. Simple at first, barely giggling, but it soon grew into a laugh that came from the heart. With one hand, you covered your face while placing the other on your stomach to calm yourself, which was difficult. You laughed at the anticlimactic nature of his words, at his way of telling you that you were like a dumb puppy, at how strangely good it felt, and you laughed mostly out of happiness. You laughed so hard your cheeks hurt, as did your stomach, but you didn't care because inside it felt so good, liberating, as if a part of your pain had vanished with that laugh.
When you finally calmed down, you noticed a small smile on his face, but this time it was more visible, softening his expression subtly.
He should smile more often.
“You’re a silly one, really.” At your words, he let out a soft but deep chuckle that vibrated in his chest.
“You smiled. It suits you better.” Again, your face warmed at his compliment. While it was flattering, at the same time, you were a little frustrated that he said things so calmly, as if he were saying the weather was cool.
“Same here, smiling suits you.” He chuckled again, a little less softly than the previous time, though just as deep as his voice, deep but pleasant to listen to, as if he could caress or tickle you just by speaking.
In and of himself, he was pleasant. Maybe you didn’t really know him; it was too soon to fully assume his personality, but in the hour you had been with him, you could safely say that despite his gigantic and intimidating appearance, he was kind in his own way. Direct, serious, and seemingly with a taste for making silly, anticlimactic jokes, he thought through everything he said and did, with a self-control worthy of his profession. He also listened attentively without interrupting or judging you; he even made you feel good without even trying, which was another virtue of his. He didn't force himself to be someone he wasn't, even if it might give a terrifying and repellent impression. He was sincere, never pretending to be something he wasn't.
You just hoped he was actually sincere, that your hunch was right and not just an illusion created by your mind as a coping mechanism.
That afternoon you had a pretty good time despite your initial nervousness and the awkward way it all started. The two of you talked a little more about each other, though you talked more than him. Simon listened to you attentively, occasionally chuckling softly. Even though he didn't say anything significant about himself beyond the basics, the conversation flowed naturally without him needing to say much. He asked you a few questions while you told him some of your most special anecdotes from your life. It was such a fresh moment that it soothed your soul, to the point where you forgot about time and the world.
By the time you realized it, you'd already spent four hours by his side, talking about everything and nothing, even forgetting the reason you'd met in the first place. It wasn't until your mom called you that you reacted and became aware of time. The poor woman was worried about you because you hadn't seen a thing since midday.
“Sorry, I have to go…” The smile you offered Simon was a little embarrassed. For some reason, you felt bad about having to leave, especially considering that, just like when you were a teenager, you had to come back home with your mom.
“It’s okay, pup.” You giggled at the nickname; despite how cute it sounded it was also funny.
“You took the bit about me being a puppy who fell down the stairs very seriously.” He smiled with a hint of teasing.
“It suits you.” He shrugged as if it were a given, which made you laugh again. It was incredible how, even amidst the pain you both felt, you’d found a small glimmer of peace in each other.
“Silly.” The smile he gave this time was gentler, you could even say it was tender, even though you could see it in his subtle facial expressions, that touch of kindness shining in his dark eyes.
His eyes are beautiful.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, well, despite everything…” you felt a tightness in your chest, a painful pang that faded as soon as he responded gently.
“Anytime, pup. Same here.” The two of you stood almost side by side, his great height sending a slight shiver down your spine, not from fear but from awe, as he wasn't just as tall as a mountain, he was also wide, burly, and rough on the edges. You couldn't remember ever meeting someone as huge as him. "Take care." You smiled brightly at him, feeling your chest flutter warmly.
“You too. Good luck with your job.” For a moment, you stared at him intently, taking in each of his features. His dirty-blonde hair, his crooked nose that had obviously been broken many times before, the scar on his upper lip, and another one on his eyebrow, larger and reaching almost to his scalp. They were rough, brute features, but that was precisely where his charm lay. He wasn't the man who would appear on magazine covers or have thousands of followers on Instagram, but he was still very handsome in his own unique way.
You mentally slapped yourself when you realized you'd been staring at him, so you looked down, completely embarrassed by your awkward behaviour.
“Sorry, I uh… Bye, Simon.” Although you didn't look at him, you smiled shyly.
“Bye, pup.” Without another word, you walked out of the small café, and just before leaving, you looked behind you. Your gaze met his, as he saw you too. Your face reddened, but you smiled awkwardly one last time before finally leaving the premises.
The fresh air gently caressed your face, tickling your cheeks. With each step you took, your soul felt more liberated. You were leaving behind a chapter in your life, one that, although it had an abrupt and violent climax like a burning fire, you could finally close it in peace, without any more drama or additional burdens.
You felt light despite the pain. You still had a long way to go; Marcus's death and the love you felt for him were still palpable, and that was okay. You didn't have to pressure yourself to leave it behind, you simply walked at your own pace.
You were at peace.
So why was there a sad hole in your heart? You felt free, yes, but also sad, not for Marcus or the situation, but for him.
Simon.
You no longer had any reason to stay by his side. Both of you had ended that complicated situation you were initially involved in, and you’d done so well, warmly. So, he too was left behind along with your doubts and grief, there was nothing else that tied you to him.
That was what tugged at your heartstrings, saying goodbye to someone who showed you a beautiful flame in the darkness you were going through.
Would you ever see him again? You doubted it; it was unlikely. So, with a sad, heavy sigh, you looked up at the sky, remembering his dark chocolate eyes, as dark as they were warm.
"Goodbye, Simon. Thank you for everything."
And without further ado, you walked forward, ready to face what the world still had in store for you.
