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soaps-mohawk · 2 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 15: Bonnie

Summary: Your heat is over and your pack has moved on with their lives, settling back into the familiar routine. Except, some things have begun to change, and you're not entirely sure if its for the better.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7456 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, oral, handjobs, overstimulation, P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hair pulling, switch Johnny, Johnny's lingerie kink, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, mention of nightmares, brief talk about killing and violence, insomnia, fluff, and of course a bit of angst

A/N: This chapter was an absolute bitch to write. I'm not kidding this was a nightmare. I'm happy with the changes I've made though, and how things are progressing. We've made a little bit of a time jump here, but not much. I think I'm getting sick so, posting the chapter before I inevitably pass out again. Oh, and Happy Easter everyone that celebrates.

Want early access to chapters, as well as other bonus content? Consider supporting me on Patreon.

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Your eyes fly open as the alarm blares. They burn as you squint against the bright phone light. An arm reaches over you, the warm skin sliding against your back as he fumbles to turn off the offending noise.

You let out a quiet groan as you catch the numbers dictating the time on the screen before the phone is placed back on the nightstand. “‘S too early.” You grumble, rubbing at your crusty eyes.

“Go back to sleep.” John murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before he shifts, climbing over you to get out of the bed. He tucks the blankets back around you before slipping into the bathroom.

You won't go back to sleep. The last time you'd glanced at the time on your phone had been two hours ago, at 2 A.M. You’ve been awake most of the night, as you have been the last couple nights. You haven't been sleeping well. It was like your heat opened a floodgate and now every time you close your eyes, you're transported back into the past, back when you were a child. Back when things weren't fine.

You've started trying to avoid sleep, waking constantly during the night from nightmares or from your brain’s own fear of them starting back up. It’s only been a week since your heat ended, and yet you feel no more rested than you did coming out of it. Nothing you’ve tried has worked, not even staying awake until you inevitably pass out prevents your subconscious mind from pulling up the horrible memories of your past.

Even sleeping next to your alpha hasn’t provided any comfort for your mind. His presence isn’t enough to quell the fear in your mind that the nightmares might come back, that the memories might surface.

Even he can’t protect you from this.

You close your eyes as the bathroom door opens again, pretending to sleep as John dresses for his morning workout. He’s quiet, near silent as he moves about the room. It’s almost terrifying how quiet they can be. Though, you suppose, if your survival depends on it, it’s a skill you’d spend plenty of time honing.

John grabs his phone from the nightstand, running a gentle hand over your head before he leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him. You lay there for a few minutes, trying not to let the guilt eat you alive. You should tell them you’re struggling to sleep, that your mind is plaguing you with memories from your past, but you’re afraid of what they might think of you. You’re not the perfect omega, you’re not as whole as you might seem.

You’re held together with duct tape on the inside. They already have enough to worry about now, they don’t need the weight of your misery thrown on top of the loads they all carry.

You let out a long breath, turning over in John’s bed. You press your face into the pillow, inhaling the imprint of his scent on the fabric. It’s still warm where he was laying, and you shuffle over into that spot, letting your body go lax as you imagine him still there with you, arms still wrapped around your body. You want to bury yourself in his arms, press against his chest until you sink into him and become one.

Only then, perhaps you can feel safe enough to sleep.

You press your face further into the pillow, every inhale filled with John’s scent. It lulls you into a daze, the hypnagogic stage between sleep and wakefulness.

You jolt as a hand touches your arm, calluses smoothing over the bare skin. You blink your eyes open, letting out a quiet groan. It’s light outside now, the room bathed in white light instead of the yellow tinge of the nightlight John had bought for his room for you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” John says, gently squeezing your arm. He’s already dressed for the day, hair still damp from the shower. You hadn’t even noticed he’d returned.

You roll over, rubbing your eyes. “‘S fine. Didn’t even know I was asleep. Breakfast time?”

John hums, leaning over you. “Almost. You’ve got time to get ready.”

You blink up at him blearily, your mind still trying to wake up completely after your short nap. You stare up into his eyes, getting lost in their blue depths. You feel like you could swim in them, his deep earthy scent drawing forward memories of camping and swimming in the lake. Memories you could pretend were happy, memories not tainted by fear and grief.

“Christ,” He breathes, pressing his lips to yours. “So fucking beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, your lips moving against his as you kiss. You trail a hand up his arm, sliding it to his back. His shirt is soft, thin enough that you can feel the muscles in his back as you smooth your hand across his shoulder blades.

“Wish I could stay here all day.” He murmurs, his face pressing into your throat. You tilt your head for him, a quiet groan rumbling through his chest at your sign of submission. He sighs, pressing his nose against your scent gland for a moment before he straightens back up. “Got a job to do.”

You let out a groan as you stretch, arching your back. “Fuck your job.”

“I’d much rather be fucking you.” He says, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip before he stands up, grabbing the shirt you’d worn to slip into his room last night off the floor. It’s one of his, one you’d stolen from his laundry hamper while he was in the shower. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that.”

You grin, pushing the sheets down before sitting up on the edge of the bed. You rub your eyes tiredly, stretching again before pulling on his shirt, slipping your slippers on. You pad back to your room, changing into more appropriate clothes for breakfast. You’ll be left to your own devices again afterward as the guys return to their normal training schedule. You won’t be napping this time, though, you fear. Instead you’ll be looking for ways to keep yourself awake.

You and John walk hand in hand to the mess. It’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it, and you find you’ve grown to miss it a bit. You don’t miss the stares, the looks that pass over you and your entwined hands as John leads you to the line to get food. It’s like they know, like they all somehow witnessed what had transpired over the last couple weeks, like they had all been spectators to it.

John makes your tray for you again, carrying it to the table where the others are already seated. You take your normal spot next to Kyle, both him and John sitting closer to you than before. Perhaps they were picking up on your nervous energy, but even Johnny and Ghost seemed to be sitting closer. You cast a glance between them before digging into your tray. Something had transpired, but you’re not quite sure what.

You might never get to know.

It’s quiet as you eat, the coffee bitter and watery, but you don’t care. You’ll suffer anything that might give you a boost of energy to make it to lunch without falling asleep.

Johnny walks you back to the barracks after breakfast is over, his arm around your waist as you take your time crossing the courtyard. He’s oddly quiet compared to how energetic he usually is this early in the morning. Something must have happened to make him silent.

“Johnny?” You ask after a group of soldiers jog past behind you.

He hums, looking down at you. His eyes are still bright, but his brows are slightly furrowed.

“Is everything alright?” You ask carefully, not wanting to risk pushing any buttons.

“Aye.” He answers after letting out a sigh. “Jus’ an incident in the gym this mornin’. Nothing ye need tae worry about.”

You raise your brows at him, silently conveying your desire for more information, if he can give you any.

“Just some alphas talkin’ shite, like they do. Callin’ ye the 141’s whore. Askin’ if we all take turns or if ye let us all go at once.” He says, his tone practically seething as he leads you into the barracks. “Simon reminded them of their place.”

You can only imagine how that went.

Despite their obvious tension at the jabs made at you by the other alphas, you don't feel as angry as you probably should. Being called a whore was a bit demeaning, but part of what was said wasn't entirely wrong. Perhaps it's just some leftover hormones surging from your heat, or maybe being claimed has shifted your feelings towards your packmates, but the idea of being shared by them has warmth spreading through you. The mental images piecing together in your mind of taking them all at once would probably make the alphas that made that jab at you blush furiously.

“Johnny?” You ask, turning to him when you reach your door.

“Aye?” He stares down at you, his blue eyes soft as they gaze down into your own.

“I, uh, I wouldn’t mind if at least part of what they said was true...” You sink your teeth into your lip. “You...uh...you’ve been waiting for a while...for your turn.”

He gulps, shifting slightly on his feet. You can’t tell if he’s nervous or excited or something in between.

“Well, I’ve been officially cleared to partake in more...strenuous activities..”

“Christ.” He breathes, crowding you against the door. For a moment you’re worried he might just do it right here, right now, but instead he leans in, close enough you can smell the coffee he had with his breakfast. “I’d love that, kitten.” He bites his own lip as he stares down at yours. “Let me know, and I’ll be ready for you.” He leans down, closing the short distance between you as he kisses you.

You lean into him, kissing him back. It feels like the first time you kissed him, except you can feel the hunger, the restraint behind this kiss. You can feel how much he’s been holding back, how long he’s waited to finally have this moment. To think of anyone desiring you in such a way makes your head spin. He wants you for you, not what you can do for him, not what you can give to him. Not even just for what’s between your legs, even if that’s what you’re going to do.

He wants to be with you because you’re you. He doesn’t have to, he could choose not to, but he does.

He pulls away, staring down at you. His eyes are darker now, speaking promises of what’s to come. “When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.”

“You're tired.”

You blink, your gaze snapping to his face. You had been drifting thoughtlessly, quite enamored with a single spot on the floor. You're not sure how long he let you stand there, empty-headed and practically dozing upright.

You rub your eyes, trying to force your brain back to awareness. “It's early.” You give the excuse, toeing off your shoes. “Been a while since we've done this.”

“You're going to have to work extra hard to gain it all back.” Ghost says, pulling off his sweatshirt.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to his arms, the strength in them, the tattoos on his skin. You bite back the desire to move closer, to get just a glimpse at one close up. You want to sit and trace them, hear the story of every single one. You want to push his sleeve up, watch the way his muscles bulge and flex, see how far his tattoo goes up his arm.

You snap yourself out of your thoughts, moving onto the mat before you do something embarrassing like starting to drool. You watch him as he stands at the edge of the mat, brown eyes taking you in as you stand there. Something tickles in the back of your mind, a hint of fear, the sense of sudden danger prevalent. What would you do if he suddenly ran at you? Try to dodge and make it to the door? Where would you go? The med center again?

“Easy.” He grumbles, sensing your obvious tension.

Your gaze snaps back to him, his posture relaxed as he stays still. “I'm putting a lot of trust in you.”

“I know.” He says, standing almost as still as a statue. You wonder how he can possibly be so still, but you suppose it's something he learned to do. “I should never have broken that trust in the first place.”

Your eyes widen, brows lifting as you stare at him. You didn't expect such a straightforward apology from him. You haven't really gotten one, until now. You hesitate as you stand there in silence, Ghost obviously waiting for your response.

“I don't know if I can forgive you.” You finally say.

“You shouldn't.” He shrugs, his gaze shifting to the wall behind you. “Even if you weren't really in danger, it was still a dick move.”

Your eyebrows raise even higher. “An apology and admitting you were a dick? Should I be worried?”

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Consider it an offering of amicability, for Johnny. I know you two are getting close, so inevitably we're going to find ourselves around each other more often than we have previously.”

“Well, I suppose I could accept that.” You say, shifting on your feet. “I don't think you could convince Johnny otherwise.”

“Hardly. He wouldn't listen anyway.” He finally moves, shifting on his feet. “You gonna put your hackles down so I can approach?”

You take a deep breath, relaxing the tension in your body. You don't really have a reason to fear him, despite what he did. He hasn't given you a reason to fear him since then, and he's even gone so far as to apologize in his own way. John wouldn't have allowed this to start again if he didn't trust Ghost not to do something that might put you in danger.

John trusts him, so you should be able to as well.

Ghost slowly approaches, your eyes watching him carefully until he's directly in front of you. You stare up at him, holding his gaze. You wish you could see the rest of his face on the off chance it might give you a hint at what he's thinking and feeling. You wonder if that's partially why he wears the mask.

Ghost holds out his hand and you place your own in his. It's so much bigger than yours, his long fingers engulfing your wrist as he wraps your hand. You could probably do it yourself by this point, but you like making him do it. You like the way his hands hold yours, the roughness of his skin against your own.

He starts out reviewing things you already know. Punches, kicks, dodging. It doesn't take long for you to get back into the groove of things, moving like it hasn't been nearly a month since your last training session. You notice the fatigue faster than you had during your last session, but you expected that after almost a month, paired with your heat two weeks ago.

“Now, punching and kicking will only get you so far in a fight.” He says, giving you a moment to breathe. “Almost all fights are going to end up on the ground. Even if your goal is disarming enough to escape, the chances of you and your opponent ending up on the ground is highly likely.”

He swipes your feet out from under you before you can even blink, nearly knocking the wind from you as you land on the mat on your back. He’s on you quickly, dropping to his hands and knees over you. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him above you, his hulking form seeming even larger from this angle. Your mind begins to run wild, imagining all the things that could happen in this position.

“Focus.” He grumbles, arms flexing as he presses his hands into the mat where they rest on either side of your head. “You don’t want to be in this position in a fight. You’re too vulnerable.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. You are vulnerable like this. Even with him, someone who doesn’t want to hurt you, it would be so easy. Your head begins to turn, your gaze leaving his as instinct begins to take over.

“No.” He snaps, gripping your chin to turn your head back so he’s looking in your eyes. “You do that in a fight, you’re not going to see the other side.”

You gulp, trying to ignore the warmth of his fingers on your face, the firmness of his grip as he keeps you from showing submission to him. That’s not why you’re here. He’s right. If you do that in a fight, it’ll be over before you even have a chance to run.

“Your legs are far stronger than your arms. Use them to your advantage.” He says, showing you how to get him into the right position to flip him.

You know he’s helping you as you flip him onto his back. If he really was fighting you, you’re not sure you could have done it, even if you managed to land enough of a hit to disarm him. You wind up on top of him, sitting on his stomach. The position doesn’t help your racing thoughts, and you pray you can keep enough control over yourself so you don’t make it obvious.

“Use your legs to pin my hands.” He directs you. You shift your knees slightly, trapping his hands against the mat. “Good.” He says, laying still under you. “You can’t hold a bigger opponent down here for long, but that’s not the point. This gives you a moment of opportunity to go for the face or the neck. Stun them and that gives you a headstart. If you have a weapon available, then you have one less person to worry about chasing you.”

You gulp at his words. It hadn’t even crossed your mind during your training. He had said it so simply, so easily. You suppose it is to him, after years of doing it, after countless moments where it’s his life or theirs. Is that what he tells himself? Is that how he rationalizes it? Is there so much blood on his hands now that killing is as easy as breathing?

You wonder how they all rationalize it. They all have blood on their hands, they all have killed, and will kill again. Every time they leave and come back, it’s with more blood, more nameless faces on the list of lives they've taken, all in the name of the greater good.

Is violence and death really the path to the greater good?

“What?” He asks, sensing your inner turmoil.

You sit back on his stomach, your body rising and falling with his even breaths. “I don’t know if I could do it.”

He tugs his hands from beneath your knees easily, resting them on the mat next to your legs. You can feel his fingers twitch as the blood rushes back into them. “You might not have much of a choice.” He says, holding your gaze. There’s a softness in his gaze you have never seen before. “Sometimes it’s the only choice. If they’re attacking you, they’re better off dead. Even if their goal is to take you alive, the things they’ll do to you.” He shakes his head.

He’s speaking from experience. You know he’s seen things, witnessed the brutality omegas are subjected to at the hands of the worst kinds of alphas and betas. He’s watched omegas die in front of him while he’s sat helpless.

His hand lifts, cupping the back of your head to pull you down closer to his face. You catch yourself with your hands on either side of his head, fighting the urge to tense your shoulders. His hand doesn’t move from the back of your head, his fingers not even twitching as he holds you steady.

“If they’re willing to do it to you, how many others have been on the receiving end? If you’re not willing to be the last, how many others will come after you?” He says, his gaze intense as he stares at you. “I hope you never have to, but you always have to prepare for the worst.”

He holds you there for a breath, staring up into your eyes before he releases you, flipping you off of him and onto your back on the mat. He pushes himself up to stand, staring down at you as you lay there, catching your breath and thinking over the last few moments that transpired.

“Come on. It’s almost time for breakfast.”

It’s quiet in the rec room. The TV is off for once, only the hum of electricity and the occasional turning of a page the only sound breaking the silence. You and Ghost are the only two in the rec room, both of you relaxing silently as you read. He’s in the chair as usual, and you’re stretched out on the couch.

You’re only halfway paying attention to your book, still thinking over your conversation with Johnny earlier, and what transpired in the gym during your training session yesterday. You know how much Johnny wants to be with you, and you're more than willing to go that far with him. You like Johnny, more than just as a packmate. It's hard not to fall for him with his confidence and his playful demeanor. You know he's been desperate to take things to the next level too.

All he's waiting on is you saying the word.

He will never force you into it. He'll impatiently wait for you to go to him, to tell him that you want it. All jokes and teasing aside, you know he'd never make you feel like you were being forced into something.

The thought makes you want to cry.

“Pull his hair.” Ghost’s voice cuts through the silence, nearly making you jump.

You lower your book so you can see him, eyebrows raising in surprise at his words. “What?”

“When you finally fuck Johnny, grab him by the mohawk. He likes it.” Ghost says, not even looking up from his own book.

You stare at him wide-eyed, wondering for a moment if he can read minds, or if you’re just not quite as subtle as you think you’re being.

“I'll, uh, keep that in mind.” You say, lifting your book again to hide your blushing face.

The room descends into silence once more, the two of you continuing to read as if nothing had happened, as if that conversation hadn’t transpired. You wish it felt that way in your mind, though. The mental images Ghost’s words have drawn up drowning out the words on the pages that you’re trying to read. You’re trying not to get worked up further, but you can’t help it. After your training session and the thoughts that had come to mind with Ghost, and now these new images of Johnny, you’re sure your scent has begun to sweeten with arousal.

You need to rectify this, and fast.

You knock on the door, shifting nervously on your feet. Your hands have disappeared in your sleeves, the weight of your phone in your pocket the only thing keeping you from floating to the ceiling and dissipating into the air from the anxiety.

Your stomach nearly drops from your body as the door swings open, Gaz standing there in his full glory.

“Everything alright?” He asks, staring down at you with those big brown eyes. “You look nervous.”

You swallow the nerves, nodding in response. “Yeah, I just...wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

He steps away from the door, brows still pinched in worry and confusion as he motions for you to enter. You brush past him as you step into his room, taking a look around. You haven't been in his room before. It's slightly smaller than yours and John's, and it doesn't have a private bathroom. There's artwork up on the walls, and a couple of plants on his desk, along with a few personal belongings. It's neat and tidy, not that you expected anything less.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asks, turning to face you after closing the door.

You take a deep breath, calming the nervous twist in your stomach. You shouldn’t be nervous. It’s a natural thing to bring up to packmates. You blame it on the fatigue from your lack of sleep putting you on edge.

“I wanted to ask you something.” You start, staring into his big brown eyes. They’re so beautiful, so expressive as they stare down at you. “Johnny and I...we’re going to...sleep together soon and...I just wanted to make sure that was okay? In case maybe you wanted to go first?”

Kyle’s lips slowly lift up into a smile as you stare at him nervously, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “He’s been an absolute tosser since before your heat, and he’d only become utterly unbearable if he didn’t get to go first.” He steps up closer to you, grinning down at you. “For the sake of everyone’s sanity, I don’t mind being patient. Besides,” He leans down, his breath fanning your ear. “I at least know what you look like naked, so I can occupy myself while I wait.”

Your face burns with warmth at his words, a shiver running down your spine. He’s not wrong. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, lost to your heat, naked and stuffed with John’s knot. Your brain flashes back to the start of your heat, the feel of his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. You swallow thickly, meeting his gaze as he pulls back.

“Enjoy your time with Johnny, love.” He slips his hand into yours, lifting it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re ready.”

You feel a bit out of breath as you leave Kyle’s room, and you’re sure your scent has sweetened with arousal and excitement. You might have been tempted to just jump Kyle’s bones right now, had it not been for your desire for Johnny, and your commitment to letting him be first again. You know Kyle’s right. You’d never hear the end of it if Johnny didn’t get the chance to be next in line.

Now you just have to find him and tell him the good news.

“Ye look nervous. Are ye nervous?”

“I mean, this is a big step...” You say, wrapping your arms around Johnny’s neck as he shifts you into his lap. You try not to think about how strong he is, how easily he moves you.

“Ye don’t have tae do this, if ye don’ want to.” He says, looking down into your eyes.

“It’s not that...” You say, shifting in his lap. “It’s more...there’s no going back after this.”

He wraps his arms tighter around you. “If I didnae want it, I wouldnae offer. Yer a fucking stunnin’ omega, kitten. Would be crazy not tae want ye.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, your gaze dropping from the intensity of his own. His stubble tickles your fingers as you trace the line of his jaw, working your way towards his lips. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip as your fingers trace the jagged scar on his chin.

“Just...go easy on me? At least this first time?” You say, tracing his lips with your fingers.

“‘Course, kitten.” He says, pressing a kiss to your fingertips. “Wouldnae want to scare ye away.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the implications of his words, your stomach fluttering with excitement and a hint of fear at what he could possibly be alluding to. His hand lifts, gently grasping your chin, tilting your face slightly. He closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours.

“Don’ worry.” He murmurs against your lips. “Take good care of ye.”

You hum against his lips, tasting the chocolate he’d been snacking on when you sought him out as his tongue slips into your mouth. His hand leaves your chin, sliding down your throat to rest right at the base of your throat, fingers splayed across your clavicle. His thumb rests right on the edge of your mating mark, the pressure making you shiver.

Johnny pulls you tighter against his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck. He moans against your lips as you shift against him, the bulge in his pants pressing against your ass. It’s not the first time you’ve felt it, but this time it’s different. This time you’re going to do something about it.

“Fucking christ, take ye right here on this couch, if I’m not careful.” Johnny groans, nipping at your bottom lip.

“Then best take me to bed, Sergeant.” You say, pulling back slightly to give him what you hope is a sultry look.

The groan that’s pulled from his lips is downright salacious, something flashing in his eyes as you call him by his rank. He curses, tightening his hold around you before he stands, maneuvering you so you’re tossed over his shoulder. You let out a squeak of surprise that’s quickly replaced by giggles as he packs you down the hall to his room.

He sets you on your feet once you're inside, closing the door. You look around his room, surprised to see it full of art supplies with drawings and paintings all over the walls. You stare open mouthed, taking it all in. It's messier than John and Kyle's rooms, though there's still a sense of order to it. A chaotic order, but you suppose that explains Johnny perfectly.

“You draw?” You say, studying the art on the walls.

“Aye,” Johnny says, coming up behind you. “In my free time.”

“I didn't know that.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “They're beautiful.”

“Thank ye, kitten.” He wraps his arms around you from behind, reminding you of why you came in here in the first place. “Not quite as beautiful as you.”

Your face warms at his compliment and you tilt your head back, staring up at him. “You're such a charmer.”

“Try my best.” He grins, leaning down and kissing your forehead. “Promise I'll show ye my drawings later.”

You turn in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck. “I know. You're desperate.”

“Been waitin’ weeks for this, kitten.” He groans, grinding against you.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You tighten your grip around his neck, jumping into his arms. He manages to catch you, stumbling half a step back as his hands grip your thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, lifting yourself so you’re face to face with him.

“Christ.” He groans against your lips, walking forward until he reaches his bed.

He drops you on your back, your body bouncing on the mattress as he settles on his knees over you. His eyes have darkened as he stares down at you, your stomach twisting in excitement. Warmth has started to pool between your legs, your scent sweetening with arousal.

Johnny’s hands are rough as they slip under your shirt, tugging it up over your head. He groans, eyes fluttering as he realizes you’re without a bra underneath. He curses quietly, something you can’t quite understand as his hands immediately close around your breasts. Your lips part as he squeezes the flesh in his hands, leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth. You gasp at the sensation as his lips close around the sensitive bud, suckling at it like he’s a man starved.

Well, you suppose he is.

He has been waiting for quite a while for this opportunity. Something about it makes your brain tingle, arousal pooling in your stomach at the thought of someone desiring you that much.

It’s not just him, though. Three of the four members of your pack have expressed their desire for you in such a way. The thought makes your head spin. You’re just a simple omega, and yet, here they are going half crazy over you.

Johnny releases your nipple with a pop, shifting so he can give the same attention to the other one. Arousal continues to pool between your legs, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. You drag your fingernails across the back of his neck, a shiver wracking through his body, his hips grinding down against your thigh.

“Fuck,” He gasps, releasing your nipple to stare up at you.

You repeat the motion, dragging your fingers slower. His eyes roll back, hips grinding harder against your thigh. He’s so sensitive, you think, pushing your thigh up against him. He lets out what can only be described as almost a whine, rutting his hips against your leg.

“Fuck,” He curses again, pushing himself back up onto his knees. “Tonight is about you, kitten.” He takes a deep breath before slipping his fingers under the waistband of your pants, tugging them down quickly and tossing them on the floor next to your shirt.

He sinks his teeth into his lip as he stares down at your panties, one of the pairs he got you on your shopping trip before your date with John. You had changed into them specifically for Johnny, remembering how excited he’d looked when he bought you five pairs of the lacy garments. He groans quietly as he runs his fingers over your lace covered skin, slowly lowering his fingers between your thighs. He glances up at you, meeting his gaze and you give him a nod before his fingers dip lower, trailing the wet spot on the lacy fabric.

You part your legs more for him as he rubs you through your panties, quiet moans leaving your lips at the feeling of the friction from the fabric. His eyes are still on you, glued to your face as the pleasure begins to build just from his touch. You buck your hips against his hand, searching out more. More pleasure, more of his touch, more of him.

“Look at ye, needy little thing.” He groans, his thumb dragging up your slit until he finds your clit, slowly circling it through the fabric. “Barely touched ye an’ yer cunt’s already soakin’ yer skids. Fucking sweet little thing, so needy for me, aren’t ye?”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, staring down at him. “Are you going to sit there and run your mouth all night, or are you going to fuck me?”

He grins wickedly at you. “I’m just gettin’ started, kitten.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee before trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His thumb continues to stroke you through your panties, applying more and more pressure as he gets closer and closer to your center. He whispers out a curse as he shoves your panties to the side, revealing your glistening folds to him. He leans forward, warm breath fanning your slit before he closes his mouth around you.

You gasp at the sensation, dropping back onto your back on the bed as he drags his tongue through your folds, flicking it across your clit before he closes his lips around the sensitive bud, suckling at it like he did your nipples earlier. Pleasure shoots through you as he eats you like a man starved, slurping away at your pussy obscenely.

“Fuck, Johnny!” You gasp, legs trying to close around his head, but he holds your inner thighs, keeping them spread.

You’re not going to last very long, not with him alternating between sucking at your clit and swirling his tongue around it like that. He’s done this before, and you can’t help the momentary spike of jealousy at the thought of him between any other omega’s thighs now that he has you.

“Gonna cum!” You whine, hips bucking against his face.

“Yeah? Gonna make a mess all over my face?” He groans.

You curse, your back arching as he continues to work you up, hands fisting his sheets.

“That’s it.” He groans against your clit, dragging his teeth over the sensitive bud. “Be a good omega for me.”

You cum with a cry, soaking his chin as he continues to tease you. He laps at your juices, not slowing any as he works you through your orgasm, even as you begin to shake with overstimulation.

“I-I can’t.” You gasp, the burning feeling starting to pulse through you as he continues to suck at your clit. It’s quickly becoming too much, the feeling overwhelming you.

Ghost’s words flash through your mind at that moment, his suggestion yesterday while you both spent time in the rec room reading. You reach down, sinking your fingers into Johnny’s mohawk, gripping the short strands. He lets out a groan as you tug, pulling his face from your pussy finally. His chin is glistening with your release, his tongue darting out to lick your juices from his lips.

He follows as you tug upwards, drawing him away from your pussy. He crawls up your body until you’re almost face to face, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“I said that’s enough.” You say, slightly breathless from your orgasm, but you put as much authority in your tone as you can manage.

“Yes ma’am.” He practically whines, the muscles in his arms flexing as he sinks his own fingers into the sheets around you.

The sudden shift in control has something buzzing in your brain, the back of your neck tingling. You’re an omega. You’re not supposed to be in control, and yet, here Johnny is, practically folding in front of you. A thrill shoots through your veins at the thought of what you could make him do, what lengths he’d go to for you simply because you have him in this position.

“Take your clothes off.” You say, releasing his mohawk.

He sits back without complaint, tugging his shirt over his head. You take him in, the hard lines of his muscles, the dark hair on his chest, the line disappearing under the waistband of his pants. You lick your lips as he undoes the button on his pants, undoing the zipper before tugging them down with his boxers.

His cock is hard and practically standing at attention as he kicks his pants off. He’s slightly smaller than John, but not by much. Your pussy clenches at the thought of him inside you, but you’re not ready for that quite yet. You guide Johnny back up to your face, pressing your lips against his. You can taste yourself on him, making him groan as you lick into his mouth.

You guide him onto his back, trading places with him. He settles beneath you, his hands lifting to your hips, but you push them back as you pull away. You smirk down at him for a moment before you move, changing your position so you’re facing away from him. You trap his hands against the bed with your legs like Ghost showed you, sitting yourself on his taut stomach. He has a clear view of your ass still sporting your lacy panties, your wet folds pressed against his skin.

“Simon show ye that one?” He asks, flexing his hands under you. He could easily overpower you and free himself, but he doesn’t.

“Uh huh.” You say, wrapping your hand around his cock.

“Hells bells, what are you two gettin’ into during trainin’?” He groans, obviously starting to picture the lewd things you and Ghost might be doing. You wonder how he’d react to seeing you on top of Ghost like you were yesterday.

“He’s just teaching me how to defend myself.” You say, slowly pumping his cock. “I’m finding there’s not much of a difference between fucking and fighting.”

Johnny lets out another groan, but you’re not sure if it’s because of your words, or your hand on his cock. You continue to pump his length, feeling the softness of him in your hand, squeezing gently to feel the vein running along the bottom side. Johnny lets out a choked groan, hands twitching again under your legs.

“Fuck, I cannae last much longer.” He gasps desperately, his length twitching in your hand.

Pearly white beads of precum have begun to slip from his tip, and you can’t help but lean down and drag your tongue across his head, gathering some in your mouth. He lets out a whine that rivals ones of your own, his hips bucking as he gets closer and closer to his own orgasm.

“Please, kitten, let me cum inside ye.” He begs, pulling his hands free from underneath you so he can grip your hips.

You pull away from his cock, sitting up on his stomach. He’s panting, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. You shift yourself again, turning back around to face him. His eyes are hooded as he stares at you, pupils blown with lust. His lips are parted as he pants, sweat beading on his forehead from the strain of holding himself back. You push yourself back until you’re hovering over his cock, pulling your panties to the side with one hand, grabbing his length with the other.

You groan as you sink down onto him, bracing yourself with a hand on his stomach as he stretches you open. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing your hips as you work yourself down his length.

“Fuck,” You breathe, pressing your hands against his abs as you sink down completely onto his cock, your hips flush with his.

“So fucking tight and warm,” He groans, his grip near bruising around your hips. “Fucking feel fantastic, kitten.”

You slowly begin rocking your hips, using your hands on his stomach for leverage. Your toes are curling already from this angle, the tip of his cock brushing that spot deep inside you with every rock of your hips. Small whines and whimpers leave your lips as you fuck yourself on his cock, squeezing your legs around his hips. They’re shaking already, and you know you won’t last long in this position.

Johnny seems to notice that as well, his grip on your hips tightening as he starts to guide your movements. You’re starting to sweat from the effort, your thighs burning, but it feels too good to stop. You’re getting close again, the stretch of him inside you paired with the high of having such control over him just a few moments ago driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Johnny pushes himself up as your movements begin to slow, wrapping his arms around you to shift you in his lap, laying you down on the bed facing the footboard as he slots himself over you. He takes over, thrusting into you, setting a frantic pace. Your head falls back as he pounds into you, your back arching as he folds his body over yours, pressing his face into your neck.

“Gonna cum for me? Need tae feel ye squeezing ‘round my cock.” He grunts, nipping at the skin of your throat.

You let out a whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “Just like that.” You pant, squeezing your legs around his hips. “Don’t stop!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He groans, continuing to rut into you like your pussy is the only thing that can save his life.

You practically see stars as you cum, squeezing around his cock as pleasure jolts through your body like electricity. Your hips buck against his, grinding together like some sort of forbidden dance as he’s forced into his own orgasm by your walls squeezing around him. His hips stutter before he stills, warmth spurting into you as he cums. You hold him there, his body trembling with yours as he groans into your throat.

“Fucking hell.” He moans, starting to shallowly thrust into you. He’s still hard, his cock dragging through your sensitive walls as he continues to fuck you despite having just orgasmed. “Never gonnae tire of this sweet cunt.”

He probably won’t, you think as he continues to slowly thrust into you again.

You’re in for a long night.

Taglist:

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse #john price x reader #captain price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gax x reader

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soapybutt17 · 2 months

Text

The Next of Kin

Summary: Simon needed to update his contact information, as dodgy as he was for giving everyone even a glimpse of his private life, he did so. Who would have ever thought that it would become handy after an injury left him high on painkillers and needy for his girls back home. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Cassandra "Cassie" Riley). John Price. Word Count: 1,615 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Injuries. Drug Consumption. Slight Angst. Mostly fluff.

Masterlist || Request are Open

It was the annual checkup in the base, something that Simon had dreaded the most knowing what it entails. Not only was his current and past injuries being monitored but he was all too certain about the wacky doctor would also make an appearance to check on his mental state. It wasn’t a fun time as any of his other team mates point it out to be.

“Should we update your emergency contact, Lieutenant Riley?” The nurse had inquired dealing with his medical records.

A part of him wanted to say no, but remembering what was waiting for him home, he could not allow himself to break his wife’s heart as well as his own daughter if the time ever comes that he dies in the middle of battle. He would want to ensure if ever that was to happen, you would know and hope that you would move on.

“Yes,” He agreed accepting the clipboard and pen handed to him.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrote your name and your number under his emergency contacts.

His handwriting was decent and readable at best, chicken scratch at worst as Johnny had eloquently pointed out during reports. But there was this special care with the way he wrote your first name and his last name that you were more than happy to take as soon as you married all those years ago. Your number was ingrained to his brain as he wrote it, having forced himself to memorize in the event he didn’t have his personal phone with him and simply a burner phone for missions.

What truly took him a second to write was the blank space dedicated to his relationship with you. No one knew he was in a relationship, nor did anyone know about his marriage. It took him a full two minutes before he found himself slowly opening the flood gates of his personal life that he had tried his best to hide from the world.

“Never knew you were married, Lieutenant.”

“Never planned on letting anyone know about it.” He spoke honestly, the cold demeanor and tone enough to stop the conversation from going further about his personal life.

Little did Simon know that the upcoming mission would lead to him having to make use of the emergency contact.

When you had begun your relationship with one Simon Riley, you had always accepted that he would always be gone for uncertain amounts of months in a year, you had accepted that part of him. How mission would always mean the world was a little safer from the dangers of man. You accepted all the big and small flaws that came with Simon and even in your eventual marriage and the birth of your daughter, you had come to accept the danger that would come in missions that would place him badly bruised or beaten beyond repair. You would always be there to tend to each and every single wounds and be the shoulder for him to cry on when he was good and ready.

But nothing could have ever prepared you for another unknown call coming from your phone. You’ve always expected it to be your husband, checking up on you before the mission begins like he always does. But the voice of an unknown man was the last thing you would have expected.

He called himself John Price and you know the man from your husband’s few conversations when he talks about the people he works with. You had feared for the worst as soon as he had explained that your husband has just gotten out of surgery after a mission. A few broken bones and a superficial gunshot wound. But it was enough to worry you as Simon himself has been asking for you as soon as he was out of surgery and in lucid consciousness.

On most days you were calm and collected, but it was the panic of seeing the worse of your husband that had you carrying your two year old and a baby bag towards your car with a mission. The Captain had asked if you could possibly have someone come get him but you know no one else better to check up on him but yourself and your daughter that was all the more excited about being in the car.

The travel was rather long and rather tedious knowing you and your husband had agreed to live away from the city and away from any dangers that may come to you and the baby while he was gone. You had appreciated the distance, the peaceful tranquility that came with being away from the bustle and noise of the city but not this time. It had meant a longer journey and a more hectic one since the base was all the way across the other side.

Once you had arrived to the base, all eyes were on you. Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name. You know for a fact that your husband’s name and reputation beholds him, but you never knew nor did you ever try to question to what extent. It unnerved you more was how avoidant everyone had been of you aside from one of the soldiers tasked with bringing you and your daughter to your husband.

Outside the infirmary room was a rugged man. The man exudes an air or control and intensity and rugged strength, but not as much as your husband did. His posture was upright, suggesting discipline and years of military training. Dressed in an all too familiar tactical gear, he gives off a no-nonsense vibe that immediately commands attention.

“Ma’am, my name is John Price.” The man introduced the moment he caught sight of you.

You spoke your name and your daughter that was surprisingly all too mum in the whole situation, you were surprised that she wasn’t crying at being in an unfamiliar environment like she usually was.

“It is best to assume that you two are Simon’s wife and daughter, I presume?” He inquired.

You took a moment to think if it was alright to agree with his statement. Knowing your husband and the array of precaution he had come to give you, you were uncertain if you could trust the man with such a fact.

“Yes.” You spoke, dealing with the consequence later as there was something more important that needed your attention. “How’s he doing?” You inquired wanting to change the subject now.

“Stable. A little loopy from the drugs, but he’ll make a fast recovery.”

You nodded, hesitation of asking if you would be allowed to see him now in his state.

“He was looking for you.” He opened the door for you and you were welcomed with your husband in bed with his mask still on.

“Dada!” Your daughter squealed upon the sight of your husband groggy still.

You watched as his head turned to look at you and your daughter.

“Love…” He grunted wincing at the pain that you were certain that was coming in full force now.

“I’m here, Baby.” You whispered approaching him, cupping his cheeks gently. “Me and Cassie are here.” You assured trying your best to hide the tears that were fighting to fall at the sight of him.

When Simon Riley had opened his eyes, the first thing that he had come to notice was the pain that surrounded his entire body. The next thing that he noticed was the warmth that wrapped around his calloused hand.

Turning his head he saw the most beautiful sight that he had the fortune of seeing in his life. His wife and daughter. The more pressing matter was the fact that you were asleep in an all too familiar uncomfortable plastic chair with one hand on him, and your other arm held onto your baby sleeping on your chest.

“Baby…” He grunted harsher than he intended.

Slowly blinking away, your eyes immediately turned down towards your daughter before your eyes met his own.

“How are you holding up?” You inquired immediately, trying your best not to wake your sleeping daughter still cradled snuggly on your chest.

“Like a bitch.” He muttered appreciating being able to swear with his daughter still asleep. “But I’ll live.”

“I’m glad.” You sighed, rubbing his hand tenderly. “I was so worried about you when your boss called me. I thought something worse has happened.” You whispered.

“I didn’t really want to worry you—or have you see me like this.” He muttered.

“I know.” You nodded gently letting go of his hand to cup his cheeks that still was covered with his mask. “But I’m still as glad to be here right now knowing you’re alright. Me and Cassie get to see you’re alright.”

At the mention of your daughter, Simon noticed his daughter begin to get fussy from your chest. Gently pushing himself up until he sat on his bed much to your protest, he took your now crying daughter into his arms, gently laying her onto his chest and how quick she was sated in his warmth.

“Daddy’s here, Angel. I’m here.” He began to whisper, pulling off his balaclava to kiss his daughter onto top of her head. “I’m not going soon for a while. I promise.”

He has yet to tell you about the doctor’s insistence that he takes a few months off. It would be something he would tell when you get home. Once he finishes up with the paper works, he’ll let you know of the good news. For now, all that’s important was he had you and his daughter here with him, even in his most vulnerable state.

#cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley fanfic #fem reader #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x female reader #cod fic #mw2 fic #mw2 x you #mw2 x reader #ghost riley #simon riley fluff

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undercoverpena · 4 months

Text

1. butterscotch orange

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. frankie being a single!dad to a son. coffee date. an: it is finally here! this little thing has rotted me from the inside out and nothing brings me more joy than a romcom. so here we go. buckle in. all hail @secretelephanttattoo for the wondrous idea and support (seriously thank you, i know you know ily, but i don't think I've been this happy writing something in so long). a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who i forced to read this when we had our sleepover, ily.

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics [winks]

IF I CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT. ALL YOU NEED—

It rings, echoes through your skull.

Has been doing so the whole ride over—your groan doing nothing to dilute it, even as you kill the engine of your car and are welcomed with silence.

There’s an element of regret you feel thrumming in you since discovering that perky voice, her high-pitched excitement becoming the bane of your existence. Forever replaying in your head. Regardless of whether it is actually playing. It remains on a loop in your mind—all light and sweet—grating on you from the amount you’ve had to watch it, just to get to this stage.

Realistically, you know you shouldn’t hate the voice, because it has been helpful—in that effortlessly playful way that’s kind of begun to fuck you off.

But then, you’re not even sure if any voice would fare much better. Because you just don’t feel like it’s just that easy—so possible, all simple and quick to do.

Because DIY apparently isn't that trouble-free for you. The bandaids on your palm, fingers, and forearm are proof of it.

Yet, somehow you’re outside of a hardware store.

One that Google promises will have all you need and more. Not that you know what that is.

The only thing you do know is that it at least gives you another reason to focus on something other than the mountain of boxes that never end. The ones not unpacked. In the home that’s now only slowly beginning to feel more like yours, and not the people you purchased it from.

Eyes flicking over the front of the store, the clutter of things all left outside—in judging various shades of buckets and plastic garden chairs—before your eyes land on the door to Harold’s Hardware.

There’s no breeze, but the door moves ever so slightly. Sitting, slightly ajar, as though once—a long time ago—it fit in the frame perfectly, but now remained warped and unwilling to even try. Then there’s the glass, all smeared and sitting inside (what you assume) would have been a bright-white frame that’s slightly yellowed and has been adorned in scuffs, swinging in its layered overuse.

But, at least it’s visited, you think. Shoving open the door, a bell sounds in some distant corner, ringing, it almost muffled by the voice from the video continuing to play in the space between your ears—a to-do list, a handful of items required, listing themselves on a never-ending loop, the billionth play through since you’d woken up.

It’s so much bigger inside than you banked on. Jaw-ticking to the side, eyes marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling display and the array of things all living and existing under hanging signs that appear worn and peeling.

With each second, more and more of the charm comes to you.

That there’s a radio, crackling away, a song from decades gone by playing with difficulty, as an array of scents swirl, fighting themselves for your attention. But, two stand out, fresh-cut wood and lemon disinfectant. The latter you assume kills dirt but doesn’t make the floor tiles gleam in the way they once did. Scuff marks adorning well-walked paths. But the former, you gravitate more to, wish for it to fill your nose and remain with you long after your visit.

Adjusting the strap of your bag, you glance about again, almost fidgeting your feet in your shoes, before it dawns on you. Slams into you as you flick your gaze from sign to sign—

You haven’t got a clue about where to start.

Listing the things from memory—suddenly distant and difficult to find amongst the dooming overwhelm—as your feet begin moving of their own accord. Choosing an aisle, selecting it—all eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

Because better that, than standing aimless, lost. Watched on some flickering CCTV in the back where you assume the person who works here is.

Dragging your eyes, scanning them up and down, taking in the varying types of paint brushes, different thicknesses, different intentions. Moving from single purchase to grouped, to multi-packs, and landing finally on rollers before you’re turning, heading down an entirely different aisle.

The next isn’t any less overwhelming.

If anything, it’s more, because it’s at least more of what you needed.

Screws, bolts, fixings.

Your brain assessing, attempting to assemble whether a bolt is what you need, a screw or—

“You need a hand?”

It throws you off, the voice.

Cuts through your processing, through the low replays of the video (the ones only in your head) and the cracking radio which has moved into an advert for migraines.

It’s low, a slight gravel that he rids with a clear of his throat as you look over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the owner of the voice, eventually turning to face him.

And fuck.

He’s broad, dressed in a deep green t-shirt under a tan apron—name badge scratched over, only leaving the lingering marks of a “here to help” and the fading logo you’d seen outside.

You don’t mean to gawk, but yet you do all the same.

Practically swallowing, attempting to whir your brain into gear as you take in the rest of him. The thick loose curls atop his head, the strong nose and the round-brown eyes. His moustache, the wiry facial hair across his chin he slowly begins to scrape at, as he remains waiting for a response.

“Screws.”

“You… you need screws?”

Nodding, you will your brain to work, to function. But, he’s just so—

Lifting his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, waiting, waiting, until he smiles. “Do you know the kind?”

Think. Think. Fucking think.

And then you do. Somehow able to unspool some thoughts, find sentences. Beginning to explain, in barely-there pauses and animated hand gestures about your move, and your new lease of life, and this video you found and how you felt inspired by it to the point it had led you to order wood cut to size and tools from the internet, but screws, screws and this and that are all that you’d forgotten.

And, he listens. Sliding a hand over the sleeve of his sun-scorched tee as he does. Just nodding on occasion. Thin lines appear along his forehead at certain parts of the story, but nonetheless listening.

“Show me.”

“Show… you?”

Then he smiles. Soft, it slides up in a slow, almost cautious way, but then it’s at his eyes, touching, brushing itself there and sending sparks up into the darker brown flecks.

Licking his lips, he gestures, “The video.”

You do.

A quick shuffle in your pocket, a slide to unlock your phone and then your fingers are brushing his. They’re warm, his. That you can tell.

Heat radiating from them, slowly blanketing yours as his hand and yours cradle the phone like a newborn in an announcement photo.

From there, your chest tightens, more so when you meet his eyes, finding them watching you as intently as you wish to look at him, and it makes your heart stammer, skip—a full chaos of beats following before he’s holding your phone independently.

That’s when a new crisis calls. A new thought is all set to erode your mind.

Because your phone looks tiny in his hand.

The plastic case is almost dwarfed by him as he tips his chin, watching the video, occasionally tapping at the screen to skip ahead before he nods to himself, you all but busy trying not to choke on your own drool.

“I know what you need.”

“You do?”

A foolish question, all escaping without thought or rationale.

He just smiles, in a way that seems to settle your incoming anxiousness.

��I do.”

And he does.

A tilt of his head, his back turned to you, a brief thought crossing your brain at the sight but you quickly rid, and you’re following. Listening as he explains, as he points out things with his long, thick finger, as you nod, as though nothing lives in the space between both of your ears.

It isn’t until you’re back in your car that it hits you. Do you suddenly wish as your engine ignites and your car roars to life, that you had asked for his number—or better yet, his name.

It’s been days, and you’re still wondering if some part of you’d concocted him, made him up—thrown up an illusion of a man and exaggerated how good he looked.

The more you thought about him, the more insane it got. Even hearing yourself explain it to a friend made you question if you'd been dreaming. That maybe you’d let days mould him, shaping perfection in your consciousness.

It has more weight when you walk past the older man at the till, all white hair in a slick-back style and who tips his head and looks more what you’d expect from the decor of the place.

But a part, one fighting, scrapping for a moment to exist, still believes. Hopes.

Forcing your legs to wander down aisles you don’t need, pausing at each corner, desiring to be proven wrong. Hovering, hoping—half-wondering if it was essential that to make him appear, you had to look lost and hopeless—or whether that had just been a coincidence that first time.

With each up and down, you almost give up. Hope almost gone, erasing itself with each step, all but fading.

But there, in the centre of the paint aisle, speckled in dried flecks, it clinging in varying shades—a kaleidoscope dream on his jeans and worn t-shirt—is him. The man you haven't stopped thinking about.

"It's you."

"It's me," you grin, heat flooding your cheeks, growing up into your neck.

Arm lifting, hand brushing the back of his curls not housed in a cap, as he matches your grin. "New project?"

"Something like that."

His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lessen, not as his grin slopes into a shy smile, before he wipes his hand on his jeans, offering it out. "Realised... I never... I'm Frankie, by the way."

You hand him your name, dropping an octave as you do—all unmeaning, entirely accidental—fingers sliding past his as you shake his hand.

“I don’t… you’ve not got your apron on.”

Glancing down, you find him grinning when he looks up, “Not my day today. Here on personal business.”

“Oh is…” squinting at the paint can in his hand, “Butterscotch Orange on a hit list or something?”

His lips slide into his cheek, a tooth-filled smirk. “Should be, it’s a right bitc—pain in the ass to sell.”

Rolling your lips, you trace your tongue across your teeth as you grin. “It’s no…” eyes squinting. “Mt Rainier Grey.”

His brow arches. “That your shade of choice?”

“I like it—don’t hate the orange though. So, maybe it’s not the paint, but the seller.”

Something twinkles in his eye, lips still cocked to one side, smirk still ever-present.

And it’s a challenge to drag your eyes to look at the floor, you shift your weight. Trying, and failing, to think of an excuse, to leave before it gets weird—before you become too much and ruin this nondescript thing. But, his throat clearing stops you. It forces your chin up. Barely just able to catch it, the whisper, how it’s almost said to the can in his hand than to you.

“You… doing anything right now?”

Shaking your head slowly, you bite your cheek as you grin. “Just talking to a man holding a paint can.”

Tapping his fingers along the top, lips rolling, “You fancy getting a coffee? With me?”

You have to bite your smile, out of fear you’ll show how practically beaming you are. Mouth opening, but he adds an addition of I don’t usually do this that makes your lips curl into a smirk.

“What? Invite random customers for coffee or accost them with paint you can’t sell?”

Biting his upper lip, he shakes his head, tucking a curl behind his ear as your eyes glance over at them. How they glisten under the yellow-fluorescent light.

Letting your heart dance like leaves in the wind. “I’d love to get coffee with you, Frankie.”

It’s nice, the coffee place.

Not a far walk, a few doors down. The charm of it coaxes you in with sounds of crunching beans and strong scents of varying levels of caffeine sliding over and relaxing your shoulders from your ears.

Because suddenly you’re nervous.

A slight shake to your bones, a twitch of your fingers.

“Let me get this.”

Smiling, you find him watching you, not caring to drag his eyes away when you catch him.

“Because you never do this or because you’re hoping to persuade me to buy your unsellable paint?”

Smirking, he traces his eyes over you, “Both.”

The corner of his mouth slides back into his cheek, a dimple appearing, deepening—one you want to brush over with your thumb the longer he keeps looking at you the way he does.

All dark eyes, beedy, but sparkling.

'Who's next?' breaks the spell. Shatters the magic. It forces you both to blink, to focus on the task at hand. Both orders said, whirring and crunching sounding as you admire the place, glaze over the menu until he’s nudging you.

With your order in hand and tucked away in the corner—the large window letting in light and warmth from the sun on your back—you try not to moan at the taste of your drink once it hits your tongue.

Because it’s good. Brilliant, practically everything.

To the point you have to bite back a thank you, one that you feel would be never-ending, a constant swirl of words landing on the circular table between the two of you. Nothing napkins and good conversation could soak up.

Because good coffee is always great, but knowing where to find it in an unknown place is something else.

Distantly, you hear him say your name, chin dipped, eyes focused, realising—in a flood of embarrassment—he’s been talking to you.

“Sorry?”

“I said, I’ve not seen you in the store before…”

Swallowing, you take a steadying breath.

“You don’t have to…”

But, you do all the same. You pour open small bits of truth, words falling, tumbling half-strung together as your history rolls out in a timeline in front of you both. How you’d bought a new place, that it’s a bit run down, seen better days—a determination to prove friends wrong by doing it yourself.

Foolish, you comment with a shake of your head, I know fuck all about decorating.

And he listens—to the fact you’re alone, not even a pet; he listens even as you talk about your work, all boring, not entirely interesting. The two of you simply lost in one another, surrounded by coffee mug swirls and the sounds of sizzling food, coffee shop noises and mumbling daytime talk as you ask him about work, about his love for orange shades.

And your eyes glance down at his phone, how it’s turned over—his all undivided attention given to you—yet your eyes linger on the phone case. The one with a drawing, likely in pencil, a man in a hat on a hill, a child next to him and a sun with a smile on its face.

“I… I have a kid. Luca—shared custody,” he says, nodding, tongue peeking out between his teeth, hands leaving the table and wiping back on his jeans in slow slides up and down. “He… he made it me.”

It’s the grin that makes your heart swell.

Makes your hand cup your mug a little tighter so you don’t offer it out to him to hold, a thing which feels so natural, no thought required. Except you don’t know his last name—barely know a thing about him.

Yet, your body practically leans forward as you mirror the smile—all soft, as another piece of a missing puzzle sliding into place.

“Does he like drawing?”

Laughing, his palm slides along his jaw. “Loves it.”

“How old?”

“Five—does that… does that bother you?”

“That you’re a dad?” He nods, and you lick your lips, you make sure to hold his gaze. “Not in the slightest.”

You smile, watching him mirror you this time. It rushes out, kissing across every bit of his face—a shyness soon fluttering over him before he clears his throat.

“So, you freelance? You like being your own boss?”

“Not especially, but it does mean I can work at night.”

Nodding, he slides his hand around the white porcelain, hand practically dwarfing the mug. It makes you want to ask him to hold things, to see if IKEA pencils or children’s eating utensils look more ridiculous than your iPhone and a regular coffee mug.

“Prefer the night?”

“I prefer the quiet of it... to think. It’s why… why I began trying to do something in the day, needed to still be busy.”

“Sitting still not an option, Rainier Gray?”

Shrugging, you smile. “Says you Butterscotch and your three tins of unsellable paint in the bed of your truck.”

“You got me there.”

“I just… like to be busy, and with the new house, no partner—commitments, I thought why not try a bit of DIY.”

Nodding, he lifts his mug, and takes a sip—eyes remaining fixed on you as he does, as though it buys him time, lets him think up an opinion, an assessment. It makes your skin warm, but for all the uncomfortable reasons, the panicking ones—parts of you beginning to catastrophise that you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Open up your Instagram.”

You stare, blinking.

“Trust me.”

And you do. With another fumble, another slide of your phone screen open, and you follow his instructions as you type in the spelling he gives you. When you click the page, it’s hard not to grin, to not have your face explode into a smile so large it cuts into your cheeks.

“I don’t like to sit still either,” Frankie adds, as though the thousand photos and videos, the tutorials and follower count don’t say that on their own.

You’ve fallen down a hole—willingly.

It cracked open the moment you’d sat on your couch, drink in hand, blanket half over your body.

The moment you’d begun your scroll, you discovered you couldn’t stop. Starting with the latest and moving back, until you realise you’d rather see the story in the way it happened.

Choosing a moment, almost nine months ago, before you work your way forward to the present.

You were cautious, more careful than needed, to not like anything too late—to not give away how deep into his page you’d gone. Even if you were in awe, a little proud—your cheeks a little warm and lips turned up into your cheek—as you saw in real-time his confidence grow. The way he’d look at the camera, began experimenting with angles, all in all being smoother, more happy.

You suppose that’s why you type a comment under one picture:

Is that butterscotch orange in the flesh? 🟠

Stalking me are you?

Getting some tips from Mr DIY himself.

I know you went back some months, Rainy.

How do you know that?

Because as soon as you commented that’s what I did. You looked nice at the beach.

Now who’s the stalker, Butterscotch.

Me. Clearly. I’m being very upfront about it.

Out of interest, do you tutor at all? Gives hands on help to beginner DIYers?

You genuinely asking or flirting?

Big-headed much?

I can help you with something if you need it.

I think I do.

Then I’m yours. Don’t worry, I promise to only snoop in your drawers when left alone.

Think we should get food first, show you what I’m thinking—make sure you’re up to the task.

You asking me on a date?

No. But if you keep showing off tools topless I’ll be tempted to ask you.

Knew you’d gone back further than a month.

FRANKIE’S INSTAGRAM 🌝

NEXT CHAPTER

an: you do not understand how giddy i am about this series. the chapters have flown out of me. i hope you enjoy it half as much as i'm enjoying writing it. see you soon xx

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories

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darklordofthesimp · 11 months

Text

Anything VII (König x Reader)

The 7th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - 7 - Part 8

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: I’ve already got the next chapter mapped out hee hee

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension

Warning: Graphic Language

You’d barely slept, how could you?

Though you supposed that you should have been used to broken rest, this time it wasn’t for the usual reasons. There were no nightmares that clawed at your mind, no anger that made you sweat- but, there was paranoia.

There was crippling anxiety that had you wanting to hide beneath the covers, there was fear that gripped you by the throat. The sensation of being stunned was overwhelming, your thoughts were scattered and your world was tipped upside down.

Everything that you believed, everything that you had come to terms with, it was all a lie.

You risked a glance at the clock, groaning as you realised that you’d have to get up. It was a mission, more so than usual. Dragging your sorry ass from the safety of your sheets was proving difficult, but the knowledge that you’d have to go train with König made it all the more impossible.

You took a deep breath in as you pulled your top over your head. It was different now, the lines were blurred and König might not be the enemy that you imagined him to be. If there was anyone that was going to help you unravel this with the same urgency that you felt, it was going to be him.

He’d do anything to prove himself, anything to stay as a sniper.

He wanted to keep the life he’d stolen from you.

Your stomach turned at the thought, the words weren’t sitting as right as they used to. The anger that occupied your chest with relentless heat has begun to cool as of late. If König was truly misinformed, it would mean that he really was just trying to do his job.

It meant that he was paying the consequences for someone else's misdeeds.

It meant that he was also a victim.

A chill ran down your spine and the fire in your chest reignited. Maybe he was a victim, but he sure as fuck didn’t look like one- he didn’t look like you.

You groaned as you stepped through your broken doorway, the reminder of how unhinged König could truly be was unwelcome as always. You thought that the Austrian kicking the door down would terrify you, it told you that you were never safe no matter where you locked yourself up. Instead, the fact that he’d done it to ensure your safety confused you.

You mulled over it as you walked towards the gym, mindlessly stepping one foot in front of the other.

A couple of minutes spent trying to decipher how you felt towards König felt like hours, any small bead of energy expended suddenly blew out to exhaustion. The man was an enigma who left you stranded in your own thoughts, flailing to find land.

“Good morning, Birdy.”

You forced yourself not to flinch away from König’s voice as you stood deathly still in the doorway. The man offered you a small wave from inside the gym, his arm stretched over his head as he loosened his muscles.

You didn’t want to gawk at him, honestly. It was just kind of hard not to.

He was larger than life, something that would never fail to amaze you. The sheer size of him was one thing, but his presence took up the rest of the space in the room. The breath in your lungs dissipated into nothing as you took in his visage.

“Good morning, König,” you managed to say softly.

You both froze for a moment, the gentle return of his greeting had caught the pair of you off guard. You supposed that there had been a shift between the two of you over the past few weeks.

But the way you felt about the man before you gave you whiplash.

Torn between hatred, fear, familiarity and comfort, you wished you could just chalk him down to a psychotic beast that wished you harm.

But he wasn’t and he didn’t.

The path your mind had begun to wander reminded you of the revelation you’d come to.

König cleared his throat, slowly standing upright as if he didn’t want to shatter the fragile friendliness between you both. Finally, you stepped into the room, one heavy foot after the other and your heart in your throat. You wanted to break the silence between you before that unnamed tension could grow, feeding on the quiet and everything that went unsaid.

“What did you have planned today?” You questioned with a raised brow, “anything torturous and terrifying?”

The Austrian snorted softly through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. The slight smirk that pulled his lips upward had your breath catching in your throat. He cast his eyes downward before flicking that jade gaze back up to meet yours.

“Isn’t everything I do “torturous” and “terrifying” according to you?” König said, the playful tone was obvious but tentative.

You took a deep breath. He wasn’t diminishing the incident, he was finding some semblance of humour between the both of you. You swallowed the small drops of rage that threatened to open the floodgates.

“No,” you said, pushing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. “That’s just you, I meant the training this time.”

You watched the shift in König’s features, the way his shoulders relaxed and his eyes softened. The olive branch had been extended, received and the see-saw of emotions between you had finally tipped to fall on the opposite end.

“Well,” König offered a small smile, “I promise that the training today will not be as scary as I am.”

You tried to ignore the genuine relief that flooded through your chest, tried to maintain the easy-going air that had settled in the space between you. Despite your best efforts, anxiety threaded itself across your throat as you stepped closer to the looming figure before you.

König slowly uncrossed his arms, sensing the shift in your attitude. It seemed like he always knew, even when you said nothing and your face didn’t change, he knew. Sometimes it irked you, but at times like these when he could read you and adjust, you appreciated it.

“I promise,” he reiterated, that jade gaze as soft as ever.

You took in a shaky breath, then released. “Okay.”

“Okay?” König repeated, taking a step toward you.

“Okay.”

And right there and then was the first time you’d seen him smile.

It was brief, barely a flash of his teeth as he quickly regained control of himself, but it was enough. You knew that you’d never be able to dispel that image from your mind, you knew that you’d be thinking about it as you went through the never ending cycle of wondering whether you hated him or not.

You knew that you’d want to see it again.

A shiver ran along the length of your spine and an unfamiliar heat spread across your neck. You cleared your throat in an attempt to clear your thoughts. It might have been unsuccessful in that regard but it did get König to step into action.

“Right,” he said with a sigh, scanning the space around him. “The sooner we get started the sooner you can escape the torture.”

Now it was your turn to snort as you took your sneakers off. “If only it were that easy.”

König rolled his eyes, approaching you with slow and lazy steps that had your heart racing. You straightened up, letting him move closer until he was barely a breath away. The moment that you had both shared in the kitchen raced across your mind, the scene beginning to look dangerously similar- hopefully Graves wouldn’t appear around the corner to trigger your fight or flight reflex this time.

“Can I help you?” You managed to choke out, dropping your gaze from his.

“Uh, no.” There was mirth in his voice. The man took a step backward, his hands raised with his palms facing outward. “Are you not ready?”

You tried to not look at the size of his fingers, you tried not to remember how they felt wrapped around your throat.

“Ready?” You stammered.

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact, frozen as you stared at those fucking hands. They’d done so much damage, so much.

You tried not to remember.

Saint had always told you to replace a negative interaction with a positive interaction whenever you’d begun to spiral. When you remembered how hard his eyes had been when you'd been on that roof, you tried to remember how soft they were when he spoke to you now.

Your mind fell back to the moment in the kitchen.

“I’m ready.” You nodded, taking in a deep breath as he moved in close again. The scent of him flooded your senses, the faint recollection of his deodorant, something sweet and woodsy.

Those hands slowly lowered and you watched as they fell to rest on your forearms.

You remembered them holding you down, pinning you to the concrete as the weight of him pressed into your stomach. But, you also remembered those same fingers holding you ever so softly as he inspected you for burns.

You let loose a soft breath, forcing your gaze upward. He was already watching your face, his eyes scanning your features for any sign of serious distress.

“Well,” König murmured, his words tasting of the caramel latte he’d been sipping on earlier. “You going to take me down or not, kleine vogel?”

You raised a brow, “you don’t need to cuss me out, I’m getting there.”

The man frowned for a short moment, mouth opening and closing as he fought to find the appropriate response. “I did not swear at you?”

The sentence was more of a question than a statement and while he was stuck in his confusion, you saw opportunity.

You swung your hands around the grip that he had on your forearms, digging your fingers into his skin instead. You dragged him towards you with a sudden jerk that took every ounce of strength that you had.

For a moment, you were worried that the giant wouldn’t budge. However, his whole body fell forward as you dropped onto your back with him above you. Both your feet came up to rest on his pelvic bone, bracing as the entirety of his weight fell onto your legs. The momentum was your best friend with this movement, pulling his hands to your chest as you kicked him over your head.

The sound of 300 pounds hitting the ground hard behind you had your heart soaring. Adrenaline was pumping through your system, propelling you to your feet as you spun to mount your victim.

König’s face was contorted, teeth bared as he gritted them hard. His hands were above his shoulders, fists clenched and you could tell that you’d stunned him.

Satisfaction flooded your being.

You scrambled up the length of his body, pressing your weight onto him as you clenched your knees hard onto either side of his hips. Your hands came down to push against his wrists, pinning his body as best as you could.

The silence between you both was only broken by the sounds of panting. König’s chest heaved beneath, shallow and quick breaths as his eyes slowly fluttered open to glare up at you.

“That was rude,” he groaned. “Smart. But rude.”

“Yeah, well,” you replied with a shrug, taking a moment to try and wet the dryness in your throat. “Fights are often unfair.”

König’s eyes narrowed for a moment before conceding your point. “Yes. Yes, they are.”

You’d seen the signs too late, the way his lips quirked upward before he ripped his hands from yours. You’d felt his fingers grip your waist but you were unable to react before the world tipped from beneath you. The floor met your back hard enough to banish the air from your chest and your body froze as you were spun right back into the disadvantage.

A gasp ripped from your throat, eyes wide as you stared at the man now above you. His hair fell across his forehead, resting atop his lashes as he watched you through a hooded gaze. Neither of you said a word and you didn’t bother trying to fight him off. König made a show of slowly moving to grip your biceps, your fingers scrabbling uselessly against his forearms as he pressed you into the ground.

His body was tucked between your thighs, spreading your legs far enough apart that they were rendered useless from beneath him. You swallowed hard, struggling to catch your breath.

“Very unfair,” he confirmed with a husky murmur.

“It’s always unfair with you,” you rasped, your fingers gripping his skin tightly. “Always, König.”

König’s face fell, any trace of satisfaction turning into something akin to sorrow. He cast his gaze aside.

“Perhaps,” he said. “ But, perhaps if you were prepared it wouldn’t have been so unfair.”

You watched him carefully.

“Wrong place, wrong time.” You whispered.

König met your gaze again, observing you for a long moment before offering a hesitant nod. “Yes.”

Maybe, this was your chance. This was the opportunity to talk to him about what you suspected, to hear his side of the story entirely. Maybe, if you could sift through the discrepancies between your stories and what his chain-of-command had told him, you could both unravel the mystery.

Either someone was trying to kill you and used him as the weapon to do so or something bigger was at play.

Maybe, both?

“Speaking of,” you began shakily, your fingers nervously tapping against his skin. There was no real way to gently ease into the topic, you’d just have to drop the bomb. “Do you think that maybe the whole incident was a little too… convenient?”

König fell completely still, his eyes baring into yours.

You supposed that maybe you could have been a little more tactful.

You swallowed nervously when his chest didn’t move to breathe, he was as still as a sniper watching for their target. He reminded you of a snake lying in wait, preparing to strike out at any given moment. Suddenly, you didn’t feel so confident that he was the one that you should have spoken to about it.

The man said nothing and you’d begun to realise that he didn’t plan to.

“I just mean that,” you scrambled for words, anxiety clawing at your throat when he only stared. “I just mean that maybe it wasn’t just an accident or a miscommunication, maybe they were using you as a way to get what they want.”

König’s face didn’t change when he spoke. “And what would that be?”

You hated how perfectly still he was.

“To take me out.” You could barely spit out the sentence.

The mans grip tightened against your arms and the small amount of trust that you’d built between each other teetered on the edge of a proverbial cliff. Adrenaline dumped into your system when he took in a deep breath, clenching his jaw. His eyes never left yours, holding you captive not just physically but mentally. You were scrambling for air.

“I think that you are overthinking,” he finally said, relaxing his grip and releasing the tension from his lungs.

Your heart dropped.

Overthinking?

Why wouldn’t he want to investigate this further? It would exonerate him, it would relieve him of the guilt, it would make him innocent.

“What?” You rasped, blinking as though it would clear your confusion. “How can you say that?”

“Easily,” König said, sitting up. His demeanour was suddenly so cold. He let go of your arms, shooting you one last look before he attempted to stand up. “You’ve been through a traumatic event. Overthinking is normal.”

Desperation clawed at your chest. Before you could stop yourself, you reached upward to snatch his hands. König’s fingers interlocked with yours and his eyes widened when you pulled him back toward you. Your hands were trapped between his and the floor once more, his face only a breath away.

But you couldn’t even think about the proximity and, for once, you didn’t even care.

How could he just dismiss you like that?

How could he just try to leave without even hearing you out?

“König,” you whispered pleadingly. “Please, just listen.”

The man shook his head immediately, trying to pull his hands from your grip. You held on as tight as you can manage, his name falling from your lips over and over as you begged him to stay. You needed him to hear it, you needed him to help you.

“Let go, Birdy,” his voice was firmer than you’d heard in months, the sound of it a shock to your system. How the tables had turned, this time you were not the one trying to escape. Regardless, you disobeyed, only tightening your hold on him.

“Just tell me what happened, maybe we can work it out,” the words sounded desperate, even to you. You sounded like a lover pleading for a second chance to make the relationship work. You sounded like you were holding to your last tether of sanity. You sounded crazy.

König’s face was hard when he tugged back again. “We already know what happened, Birdy.”

“Listen to me-”

“Let it go, Birdy.”

“But if you just-”

“Enough!”

You recoiled, flinching as he yanked his hands from yours, breaking your grip as easily as tearing a cobweb. König’s fingers wrapped around your biceps, pushing you back against the floor, restraining you from getting a steady hold on him.

The man leaned down, jade eyes alight with something you’d never seen. He burned, the thunderous expression painted across his features warned you that his blood was simmering beneath his skin.

“Enough,” König seethed, his voice dangerously quiet.

Fear trickled down your spine.

Your heart dropped.

As you watched the Austrian soldier lean over you with a ferocity that rivalled that godforsaken night, you realised that in your desperation you had been so stupid. So, so, so fucking stupid.

König wasn’t going to help you.

König was in on it.

#konig x reader #König x reader #König #könig cod #könig call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty #Modern Warfare 2 #könig modern warfare #könig mw2 #COD MW2 #cod mw2 x reader

2K notes · View notes

avocad1s · 1 month

Text

Trial By Combat - 6

Requested By: No one. Original Work

CW: manipulation?

Summary: Arlecchino’s got a secret…

Note: You all asked and I will provide! Here’s part six <3 this chapter is a bit slow but I promise it’s leading up to something great!

Part One —> Part Five

Fontaine, for the most part, had finally begun to go back to normal. Although no trials have been held since the Creators trial, many shops have reopened their doors to the public once more. It’s as if Fontainians want to disregard the event entirely, treating it as a work of fiction like the Prophecy. However, this doesn’t stop The Steambird from posting every single update regarding the Creator, nor does it stop every copy from selling out.

Despite the lack of trials, it hasn’t prevented the Chief Justice from sending criminals to the Fortress of Meropide, and only hours from now, Paimon and Aether would be a part of the group sent there. The two were the only customers dining at Cafe Lutece this afternoon, the owner seemed almost eager to provide the gluttonous amount of food the duo had ordered.

“Oh Paimon is feeling a bunch of nerves right now and it’s just making her more hungry.” She whines while rubbing her stomach. “I’m just hoping that the food in the Fortress is actually tasty.”

Aether lets out a soft chuckle, “it’s a prison Paimon. I doubt that the food will be any good”

Paimon pouts crossing her arms. “Hopefully will be rightfully compensated for our due diligence. Oh! Maybe even something from the Creator themselves!”

The traveler gives her a look, “you shouldn’t think like that Paimon, not when they are currently missing right now.”

The travel guide immediately covers her lips, muttering out a small apology.

“Speaking of the Creator,” Paimon says, “do you really think Childe might know something? I mean, we’ve heard how he’s talked about them before.”

It was true, during their time in Liyue when they had met Childe, he had expressed how heavily he revered the Creator. Not just him, all of the harbingers they’ve met have mentioned the Creator in a positive light. Aether even recalls when the Wanderer told him that the only thing all of the harbingers could agree on was their ultimate respect for them.

“Based off our interactions with the Fatui before, they might have some respect for Their Grace. But we still have no idea why they want the Gnosis, maybe it’s connected to the Creator.”

Paimon nods in agreement. “You’re right. If the gnosis are what connect the Archons to Celestia, then maybe the Creator has something similar?”

“Hopefully if the Fatui got their hands on Their Grace, they haven’t left Fontaine yet. We should still be able to rescue them.” Aether adds.

“Paimon hopes so too! Oh I can only imagine the type of horrors they could be putting them through!”

“Are you talking about Their Grace?!”

A familiar girl with a pink bob holding a camera in her head pops out of a bush quickly approaching the table. It was Charlotte, and she had a large smile on her face.

“Do you two have any nuggets of information about Their Grace? Oh please share it with me, I’ll make it worth your while!”

Paimon and Aether share a look before looking back at the journalist.

“We don’t have any new information on The Creator.” Paimon explained, “we didn’t even know they had returned until Monsieur Neuvillette told us.”

Charlotte makes a look of surprise, “wait seriously? It was such big news! I’m sure everyone in Teyvat wrote the piece I had written.”

Charlotte places her camera on the table taking a seat across from them. “I’m just hoping for Their Grace to have a speedy recovery. I would love to interview them if they let me, it just seems like all of the big names in Fontaine never have the time for an interview. Monsieur Neuvillette and the Duke of Meropide have been on the top of my list for ages now!”

“Oh right, you’re a journalist Charlotte! ” Paimon exclaimed, “do you have an information about the Duke?”

Charlotte ponders for a moment, “not really, just the same regurgitated information I get from people who leave the Fortress. Why do you ask?”

“We actually are going to the Fortress later today.” Aether answers.

Charlotte’s eyes get as big as saucers as she’s jumping in her seat. “You two are going to the Fortress?! Will you two please get some information about the Duke for me?

Noticing the restrained looks on their face, Charlotte quickly adds, “I’ll pay for your meal! Yeah…! Let’s make it a deal, you get information on the Duke for me and this meal of yours is on me!”

Paimon grins, “it’s a deal!”

Charlotte shares Paimon’s enthusiasm as she pulls out a small bag of mora ready to pay for the meal. At that moment, the owner returns with multiple plates and bowls filled with various amounts of entrees and desserts wheeling it to the table.

“H—how much did you order…?”

———

Many journalist stood outside of the Palais Mermonia demanding answers from their Archon who had entered the building earlier that morning. Luckily, gardes stood outside preventing anyone from entering.

Inside of the chief justice’s office was him, the God of Justice, and the Champion Duelist whose hair was damp with sea water.

“I checked the surrounding area,” Clorinde says, “there is no traces of Their Grace anywhere. The only logical conclusion is that the Fatui must’ve done something with them.”

Neuvillette nods. “Thank you for looking Clorinde, your help is appreciated.”

Clorinde nods, “it’s no trouble. We all want Their Grace to be found safe and sound.”

Furina had a worried look on her face as she paces back and forth in the office. “W—what are we supposed to do now? We looked all over Fontaine and they aren’t anywhere.”

“Lady Furina.”

Furina stops pacing, turning her gaze over to Neuvillette who looked calm considering the situation. “I think it’s time to meet with the Kanve, wouldn’t you agree?”

“T—that Knave?” Furina stammers, “ha, why would we meet with her? Don’t we have more important things to worry about?”

Neuvillette clears his throat, “until we find Their Grace, we must operate like normal. If the others find out that we lost Their Grace—“

Furina lets out a breath putting on a confident stance, “yes! Right of course!” She interrupts, “I was thinking the same thing… I will prepare for the two of us to discuss relations with her as soon as possible.”

“Who said that I would be joining you?”

Focalors lets out a short gasp as she quickly approaches his desk, her gloved hands balling into fists. “Y—you expect me to attend the meeting alone! No! You must go with me!”

Neuvillette closes his eyes as he shake her head, “I must focus all my attention on the Creator, we must locate them before the rest of Fontaine and Teyvat begin asking questions. As the Archon, this is something you should be able to handle. Correct?”

Furina tenses slightly but lets out a sigh. “But… wouldn’t attending the meeting be the best thing for Their Grace?”

Neuvillette furrows his brows, “What do you mean?”

Furina’s confident flair was back just as quickly as it dissipated, “Attending the meeting will give us the chance to indirectly interrogate the harbingers before she even knows that we suspect her.”

Noticing the look on the chief justice’s face, Furina lets out a boastful laugh. “Naturally I, the God of Justice, would be the first one to think of this! Worry not Neuvillette, I believe that after this meeting, the truth shall be revealed!”

Clorinde mutters how she needed a towel and Neuvillette lets out a sigh.

“Very well... I will participate in the meeting.”

In between Fontaine’s Lumidouce Harbor and Chenyu Vale, a large ship was anchored the familiar insignia imprinted in the sail. There was a plethora of Fatui agents stationed on the ship that it was overwhelming, it would be impossible to infiltrate the ship without being spotted.

Many of the agents weren’t even aware why there was such an urgency to return to the homeland. Curious glances and whispers spread throughout the ship like wildfire, wondering what could the Knave possibly be doing in the lower deck that no one else was allowed to enter unless they brought news from Fontaine. All of them knew better than to question their harbinger, but she hadn’t been seen since the night before.

“Your Grace.”

Arlecchino’s soft voice cuts through your thoughts. Fontaine was in danger and you were the only one who could help, at least that’s what she believed. It was only a matter of time before the nation was completely wiped off the map, Lady Furina has done nothing but bury her head in the sand.

You glance at her face, despite her sharp features she still had a soft yet powerful air around her. Maybe that’s why the children from the House of the Hearth trust her so much.

“Are you hungry? I have chefs on board, they can prepare anything you desire.” Her hand rested on top of yours, her long nails rubbing against your knuckles in a comforting way.

You were famished. You knew she was capable of, but she was making you feel so welcomed. It felt as if you could trust her, tell her anything and she would understand.

You nod slowly and she smiles.

“I’ll be right back.”

She stands up from her spot next to you leaving the room. Her luscious black and white hair that was pulled into a low ponytail flowed behind her. Arlecchino returned quickly letting out a soft sigh.

“They are preparing a Snezhnayian specialty, the food is quite delicious. I hope it’s to your liking” She commented placing her hand right back on top of yours.

“We will be heading towards Snezhnaya at sunset.” She says. “Although leaving Fontaine wasn’t originally apart of my plan, but considering the circumstances, changes had to be made.”

You furrow your brows. “The circumstances?”

Arlecchino nods. “Your power…or rather, lack there of.”

“I have a colleague, I do not trust nor like him very much but I cannot deny his intelligence, I believe he may be able to figure out the answer… or even Her Majesty may know.”

So there was a colleague within the Fatui who had extreme intelligence that might be able to help you. Maybe he would even know why you were healing so quickly? Or does that tie into your “godly” abilities too?

“Is that why we are leaving so quickly? Because of my supposed amnesia?” You ask.

The Knave shakes her head, “not necessarily. It’s mainly for your safety, you don’t wish to stay in a nation that tried to kill you, right Your Grace?”

You were forced into a corner with that question. Wanting to stay in a nation that almost killed you was bad, but wanting to go to a nation that had the capability to kidnap you wasn’t any better. Yet you had to pick your poison, and in that moment you decided—

“Right.” You reply. “Leaving Fontaine is the smartest option.”

“I knew that you would see it my way,” she praises, “I only want what’s best for you and all of Teyvat.” She gives your hand a squeeze a small smile spreading on her red lips.

A small knock on the door interrupts the moment, Arlecchino looks at the door her gaze becoming icy. “You may enter.”

The door opens and a young lady whose face is obscured by a mask enters and she immediately kneels.

“Y—your Grace… Lady Harbinger.” Her voice was almost breathless, her gaze transfixed on you. “I have news from Fontaine.”

Arlecchino lets out a sigh crossing her legs. “News? What is it?”

“Focalors has agreed to have a political meeting with you. The chief justice Neuvillette will also be attending.”

The Knave doesn’t even try to hide the smirk that spreads on her face, “Very well then. Was there a time mentioned for this meeting?”

“In the next few hours Lady Harbinger. We’ve already got a boat ready to return back to Fontaine’s harbor.”

Arlecchino stands, her gaze becomes soft once more when she looks back at you. “Your Grace, I will return as soon as I can. If you have any needs anyone on the ship will be more than happy to serve you.”

She exchanges a few whispers with the agent before giving you one last smile leaving the bottom deck. The agent looks at you one last time before stuttering out.

“I—I’ll go get your meal immediately Your Grace!” She rushes out of the door leaving you alone once more.

The Fortress of Meropide was more grand than Aether had anticipated. Surrounded by Fontaine’s sea, there was no escape from this prison besides the path they embarked, which was at the rear of the Opera Epiclese.

After heaving their mugshots taken, Aether and Paimon are escorted onto a ship where they meet their tour guide, who is also just another prisoner within the Fortress. The entire tour he was standoffish and dry only giving the required amount of information. If the two asked for more information about credit coupons, secret rules, or about the Creator, he would say they’d have to pay for that.

The prisoner leads the two down the large hallway of the Fortress when multiple gardemeks came around the corner. The traveler immediately takes a stance ready for a fight when a voice eases his worries coming around the corner with the machinery.

“Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide,” the man greets. He had dark clothing and dark hair with a scar under his eye.

“Y—your Grace!” The tour guide quickly says, his standoffish nature immediately disappears. “Lovely weather we’re having!”

The man glances over at the tour guide, “Hm? Oh yes, I guess the weather is nice. If we could see it.”

The prisoner lets out an awkward laugh as the Duke looks back at Paimon and Aether. “I’m Wriothesley, but you can call me Your Grace.”

“You’re the Duke of Meropide?” Paimon asks in a shocked tone. Wriothesley nods.

“So, how was your tour?” He asks, “was everything up to standard?”

Aether glances as the tour guide for a moment before giving Wriothesley a firm nod. “Yep. No complaints here.”

“Wonderful.” Wriothesley smiles, “I think we should be able to reward you with more credit coupons then?”

“T—thank you Your Grace! Thank you!” The tour guide says. He then looks over at the traveler, “and thank you for such kind words! If you ever need anything! Anything at all! Please come find me!”

Once he rushes off, the Duke turns his attention back onto the newcomers.

“So, is it normal for you to greet all newbies in person like this?” Paimon asks.

Wriothesley lets out a soft laugh. “No it’s not. I just heard that you two were friends with Neuvillette so I figured I finish the tour myself.”

“Wait, how do you know that?” Aether questions.

“The Fortress might look like it’s cut off from the rest of the world but word still travels fast. Just like what happened to Their Eminence.”

Paimon glances at the traveler briefly. Wriothesley continues, “Many people in the Fortress were ready to leave just for a chance at seeing the Creator. But since they are still in the hospital recovering, I managed to keep them under control.”

“What else do you know about the Creator?” Aether asks.

“Nothing really.” He responds, “I haven’t had the time to leave the Fortress and go visit them myself. Unless you’re talking about the basic information, there’s books all around the Fortress that can tell you that.”

Wriothesley continues on with the tour, showing the where the so-called cafeteria was, the Pankration Ring, and where they would report to work everyday. He also mentions Sigewinne, the nurse who looks after anyone who gets hurt or sick.

Lastly, he shows them where they’ll be sleeping. As he explains the procedures for their room, Aether gazes falls onto someone walking nearby. An oddly familiar magician.

Lyney stops walking and looks back at him, but once Wriothesley notices, Lyney lets out a soft laugh doing a dramatic bow.

“Well hello there Your Grace! It’s lovely to see you out of your office!”

Wriothesley crosses his arms, “it’s good to see you too, but shouldn’t you be reporting to work?”

The magician gives him a cheeky smile as he stands back up, “of course! That’s where I was heading right now! But these two must be very important to get a personal tour from the Duke himself.”

Wriothesley says nothing in response but Lyney quickly excuses himself, his gaze falling onto Aether once more before walking out of sight.

“Come on,” Wriothesley says, “there’s one last stop I’d like to make.”

———

The three sit at one of the tables in the cafeteria, the chef bringing over three welfare meals. They remove the lids revealing the delectable meals inside causing Paimons mouth to water.

“Oh is this what the food is like in the Fortress?” She rubes her hands together, “Paimon could get used to this!”

“Actually, I managed to pull a few strings to get this meal, after today, you might not get another meal like this.”

The fairy didn’t seem to be paying attention as she keeps shoving more food into her mouth. The traveler rolls his eyes at his companion, looking back at the Duke.

“So you said there was books in the Fortress about the Creator?” Aether asks, his fork pushing around his meal mindlessly.

Wriothesley nods. “There are groups within the Fortress to make people feel more welcome or comfortable. There’s quite a few revolved around Their Eminence. Prayer groups, wanting a stronger relationship, or just normal worship in general, they’re actually pretty popular.”

Paimon swallows the food in her mouth, “How do you feel about them?”

Wriothesley ponders for a second, “I don’t know anyone who has a negative view on Their Eminence, including myself. I would be honored to go up to the surface soon and share a cup of tea with them.”

Aether didn’t say anything in response, but he had a feeling that Wriothesley knew more about the Creator than he let on. He did say word travels fast from the surface, is it possible he already knows the Creator is missing?

“Anyways,” Wriothesley says, “I have other things to attend to, enjoy your time in the Fortress and try not to cause any trouble.”

The Duke gives one last farewell, leaving the table without another word. Aether and Paimon continue eating their welfare meals preparing themselves to adjust to their new situation and figure what exactly Childe may know about the Creator.

———

“You were right.”

In a dark corner of the Fortress, the twins from the House of the Hearth spoke in quiet whispers.

“Paimon and the Traveler, I just saw them.” Lyney explained.

Lynette’s ear lay flat on her head, her tail swaying slightly. “Monsieur Neuvillette must’ve told them and they’re here to investigate.”

“We have to do what Father told us to do.“ Lyney adds, “although playing ignorant to figure what they know won’t hurt either.”

Lynette lets out a sigh. “…and what about Tartaglia?”

Lyney shrugs, “what about him? He’s not here. We have to focus on the Creator. Without Their Grace, the Fatui won’t be able to—“

“I know.” Lynette interrupts. “Let’s just focus on the traveler for now.

“I must say, the timing of this meeting seems almost convient…” Arlecchino narrows her gaze as she brings her teacup up to her lips.

“I’ll just cut straight to the chase. I’m here about my colleague, Childe and of course, Their Grace.”

The table inside of Neuvillette’s office was covered in sweets from Snezhnaya, something the Kanve brought to ease the tensions within the meeting. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be working.

“Childe was declared innocent by you, the Iudex, yet was still given a guilty verdict by the Oratrice…” Arlecchino explains, “and only days after that, you declare that Their Grace is an imposter and almost kill them.”

Furina shifts uncomfortably in her seat, “Y-yes… we are aware of our… transgressions. The Creator is being well looked after and is healing quite quickly.”

Arlecchino perks up, “Oh? They are? So is it possible for me to see them for myself?”

“That won’t be possible at the moment, I apologize.” Neuvillette quickly adds in.

Arlecchino brings a forkful of cake up to her mouth as she lets out a scoff. “An outright refusal? I must say, I am surprised…”

Neuvillette crosses his arms, “this meeting wasn’t called to talk about Their Grace, but rather Mr. Tartaglia, correct?”

“That is correct. Then am I able to enter the Fortress to check on the wellbeing of my colleague?”

“That also won’t be possible.”

Arlecchino sighs, “so I cannot see Their Grace and I cannot see Childe. What exactly will this meeting accomplish?”

“We already have a course of action for Their Grace.” Focalors adds, “but we cannot share it with you or any other nations for now. This meeting was just a… common courtesy”

“And as for Mr. Tartaglia I am investigating matter.” The chief justice adds.

“A common courtesy?” The Knave questions, “everyone in Teyvat is wondering just what exactly will Fontaine do after committing the biggest sin known to man… and all you can say is that it’s confidential? Not to mention the prophecy you refuse to address.”

Furina shoves another bite of cake into her mouth, scooting her chair closer to Neuvillette.

“As long as Their Grace is in our nation, they are under our jurisdiction.” Neuvillette explains.

Arlecchino clicks her tongue. “A disappointing outcome indeed… but I cannot say I am shocked.”

Arlecchino finished her tea, “the Fatui is willing to extend our help if you need it. You all seem to have a lot on your plate at the moment. Maybe it’s best to pass some of the responsibility onto someone else?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Neuvillette states.

The Knave stands from her seat, brushing her bangs out of the way, revealing her red X eyes. “I think it’s safe to say this meeting is concluded, I have to return back to Snezhnaya immediately.”

Furina raises a brow, “returing so soon? W—why such a rush to leave?”

It falls silent in the room for a few seconds.

“Her Majesty cares very dearly about the Creator, I am expected to report any and all news directly to her.” Arlecchino explains, her back facing the two.

“Snezhnaya as a whole cares deeply about Their Grace, and once they heal completely we will welcome them with open arms… not a trial.”

Focalors looks down at her lap as Arlecchino leaves the office returning to her ship anchored near the border of Fontaine and Liyue. A sinister smile spread on her lips while Neuvillette and Furina sit in the office in silence, a sour taste lingering in their mouth even with the baked goods in front of them.

Note: Good luck to all my Arlecchino wanters! I got her and her sig weapon so I give all my luck to you <3

Tagging: @bittersweetorpheus @esthelily @tempestlart @angelofdarkness2 @mmeatt @dxprived4-starboys @Itm-acct @honey-lemonz @ymechi @nervouseaglelover @livelaughlovekuni @vianitry @vvyeislazzy @kbar1013 @ichiraku-verse @chaoticfivesworld @mabvo @noahrandom @haunts-gh0st @pix-stuff @riiriin @emmbny @shiki-jin @ra404 @leekingsman @ash1 @mahi-does-some-art @bitchyfanfics-posts @emilymikado @sarah22447 @swagbucksjester @nex-crowley @iruiji @cloise @scalyalpaca @game-savvy @dreamlessnight @myluckymoon @luxie963 @spffldlbrnf @missnella-nova

I know it’s been a while so if you want to be removed let me know!!

#genshin cult au #sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau x reader #self aware genshin

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ravenelyx · 7 months

Text

I need you. - Sebastian Sallow

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader

Words: 1.1k

Chapter Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, angst and comfort, Sebastian needs to be snuggled, Sebastian is also sad, and Sebastian needs love, neck kissing, cuddling and snuggling, Soft!Sebastian Supremacy, House or gender is not specified, (implied) established relationship, use of 2nd person for the reader

Summary: Sebastian has different ways of dealing with being hurt. One of them is burying his face in your chest while you cuddle him

A/N: IT'S SALLOW SUNDAY and since people seem to like my soft!seb heacanons, I wrote a whole fic instead <3 I woke up feeling snuggly, sooo...

Masterlist

you can find the whole fic on ao3 as well <3

Ominis' version

You didn't even hear his steps, yet when you saw a grimace creep up on Leander's face as he spoke to you, and strong arms wrap around your torso, you knew.

Sebastian left a soft kiss on the top of your head, looking at Leander with a small frown. You thought it must be one of those things only boys understood, because Leander sighed and nodded, without saying a word. Sebastian relaxed against you.

Pair of eyes looked between the two boys, as if expecting a fight to come out of it, but Leander just smiled in acknowledgement. "Sallow." Then his eyes met yours. "I'll see you in class. Don't forget your Leechjuice again."

You rolled your eyes. "It was one time."

Many people mistook it for possessiveness. You knew the real reason for it.

Leander walked away, waving you a goodbye, and Sebastian leaned his head against yours.

"Hi," you whispered with a small smile. He nuzzled your cheek, leaning his weight on your back.

While you never reproached him for showing his touchy side in public, you were starting to feel a little self-conscious of all the curious eyes piercing the two of you, so you turned around in his arms — albeit with great difficulty as his iron grip on you seemed unmovable — and cupped his cheeks.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You swore you saw a few tears collect in his eyes as you spoke, so you walked him backwards to a more secluded bench. He sat down and immediately pulled you onto his lap.

After two years of dating, Sebastian had no more qualms about showing you his need for affection. You were there through it all: when Anne was cursed, when Sebastian desperately tried to find a cure, and even now, when he was diving into a dangerous path with his new friend. He had begun to rely on you, and on something only you could give him.

Security.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, affectionately scratching his scalp, and he let out a soft whine – a whine of pleasure, and a whine of something else. Something sad and guilty and that made him tighten his grip against you and bury his face in your chest.

"He has sent another letter!" he began, running his hands along your back and hips. You learned it was a way for him to reassure himself and calm down. "He told me the if I don't stop, he'll never let me see Anne again!"

Your face softened, hand now cupping the back of his head and pulling him closer. Usually, when Sebastian had a fight with Solomon, he'd retreat in the Undercroft, angry and incensed and ready to burn his own rage to the sound of very loud Confringo's. But there were times when his uncle's words got to him, made his heart sink with the need of a love that was stripped from him. A love he tried to silence by hugging his pillow tight at night when he was young. A love he found in you.

"He won't actually do it. Anne will always be your sister," you reassured him softly. "She'll want to see you, and he can't stop her from that."

He breathed heavily in your chest, pressed his palm under your thighs to pull you further in.

"She doesn't agree with what I'm doing…" He muffled his broken voice in your shirt.

"I know…"

"And she might stop loving me…" he said tearfully.

"She won't." You said earnestly. "She's your twin. In her heart, she knows she'd do the same for you."

He trembled a little, emotions threatening to explode.

"You don't trust Solomon," you began, stroking his hair, "but you can trust me. And you can trust Anne."

He stopped quivering, and you could almost feel the gears turn in his brain at your words. He began to kiss you through your shirt in gratitude.

You thought the position must have been uncomfortable to him, even if he didn't show it, so you slightly pushed his torso back, his face leaving your chest with a displeased frown, and leaned him on the seatback a little, then nestled in his arms, face nuzzling his neck. He sighed in relief as you cuddled against him.

"I know I'm too much sometimes…" he said in a small voice, hiding his face in your hair.

"You're not," you answered immediately. You could see his insecurities start to creep up on him, and you wouldn't have that.

"I annoy you."

"You don't," you protested, looking up at him in concern.

"I always come to you—"

"I'm glad you do."

"—and I'm always too needy."

"I don't see a problem with that."

You sighed and cupped his cheek again, drawing him down to press your mouth to his. It took a small touch for him to ignite, leaning his whole torso over you to deepen the kiss, desperately tugging at your lips. He pulled back with a grimace again when he noticed, and turned away, almost guilty.

"Don't refuse my affection," you whispered.

"I will consume you."

"I'm yours anyway."

He looked back at you, eyes fleeting over the gentle smile on your lips.

"Now come and kiss me a little more."

The battle in his mind seemed to settle immediately, and he lunged forward, placing one hand on the back of your head to keep you in place as his lips feasted on yours. His other arm circled your waist, holding you impossibly tight against him. And he was everywhere — his body caging yours, lips hungrily pulling and biting and bruising, hands desperately kneading your flesh, prising your shirt open to touch your bare skin. You felt dizzy at the force of his affection, and you knew he was right. He would consume you, like a wildfire, an eruption, a cataclysm about to blow your heart in a pulp of blood and passion as his tongue claimed yours. And you'd stop feeling like a person at his touch, so overcome by him you'd lose yourself. And then he'd settle it all right, kissing the blood off your lips with reverence, caressing your bruises gently, putting order into your feelings and reminding you once again that you would do anything for him.

"I need you," he breathed out, dipping his head in the crook of your neck. "Every day…"

You didn't stop him when he sucked a love bite into your skin.

"It's a good thing I feel the same," you chuckled.

"Even if you don't need me as much as I need you—"

"I need you more than you can imagine."

He looked up at you, and you kissed his lips again. This time he was gentle as well.

"Don't stop coming to me. Ever."

He nodded and kissed you again. And again. And again. And again, until Professor Weasley reproached the both of you for inappropriate behaviour and sent you to detention for a week.

And he'd kiss you there, too.

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lilywastaken · 1 year

Text

⇝ shadow .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART TWO OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: All Simon wants is to explain his disappearance to you, but he can't really expect you to be willing to listen.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Mentions of NSFW, Angst, Pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications, Soft!Dad!Simon.

A/N: Second chapter!! Almost exactly a week after the first one LMAO. No smut in this one, I'm afraid, but some very fluffy moments between Simon and Tommy! <333 Once again, please reblog and comment if you enjoy this, it helps a lot!!!

WORD COUNT: 10k.

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

You were pretty sure your fingers were about to snap.

The grip you had on the door could rival that of a professional arm wrestler, your whole body stiff and frozen in place as your gaze locked onto Simon's.

Was it even Simon? His eyes didn't hold the same warmth it had the last time you'd seen him, his body wasn't as relaxed as it had felt beneath your touch, his whole frame covered in dark clothing that left his eyes as the only source of light that shone through that shadow of a man.

Well, you couldn't even consider them that, his blue orbs lacked that speck of light you'd grown accustomed to seeing in your son's; it left him looking like a ghost, a shell of a man. But maybe that was appropriate, he never did look like the kind of bloke you'd expect to be kind or sweet, he suited more the idea of a cold, ruthless man that had abandoned you and your son.

Even after having spent a night in his arms, felt the touch of his lips on your skin, memorised the feeling of his cock inside of you; he was still a stranger to you, a man you had idolised so much during the first days after your encounter that he had begun to form into someone completely different in your mind.

And now that he was in front of you, you knew. This wasn't the Simon from your dreams that held you in his arms, the Simon from your dreams that pressed kisses to your swollen belly whenever the baby would kick, the Simon from your dreams that hadn't left.

It was like a slap in the face.

One that brought you back to reality, that flushed away any daydream or idealised version you had of him from your mind, and forced you to focus on the man standing in front of you.

"You-"

"Did you keep it?"

As if you'd been sucker punched right in the gut, you felt the air leave your lungs, the words you had intended to speak sitting on the tip of your tongue like the bitter taste of black tea.

"It? Wh-"

"Him. Our son."

Our son.

It was funny, how he'd managed to say the two simple words that immediately made your blood boil in rage, tears forming at the corner of your eyes out of frustration as.

"Oh, so he's our son now?" You willed yourself to keep calm, but you couldn't help how your voice wavered when you spoke, this whole situation baring to be too much to handle along with your already declining mental state. "You didn't seem very interested before."

"I was gone."

"Oh, trust me, I know." You snarled, your harsh tone causing him to look away from you, whether it was in shock or fear, you didn't care. At least you couldn't feel small beneath his stare if he wasn't looking. "How long has it fucking been, Simon? A year. 9 months carrying your child and 3 months raising him. You have no fucking right to come knocking now and asking to see him."

"You don't understa-"

"I don't need to fucking understand, Simon!" You cried out, your voice ringing down the hall and in Ghost's ears, "I was alone! I am alone! I went through a terrifying pregnancy on my own because you couldn't bother to pick up the goddamn phone! Where were you when I needed you!? Where were you when the doctor told me that the birth might leave irreparable damage on my body!? Where were you when I almost lost him!?"

Silence filled the building, dull ringing in Ghost's ears from how loud you'd shouted, his gaze shifting up from the floor to you, his heart skipping a beat at your dishevelled state, your flushed face and tear stained cheeks, the hand that had been resting on the door now clenching your shirt right above your heart, as if the simple act of talking to him pained you to no end.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it, Simon. Sorry doesn't make up for this past year, for all the fucking pain I went through while you were, what, ignoring me the whole time!? Waiting until an 'acceptable' time to show up and fucking demand to see him!?"

"I'm not demanding." You flinched as one of his hands came to slam onto the top of the door that separated the both of you, his hand clenching around the wood hard enough to break it, and you knew that if he wanted to, he could. "I'm asking. I'm asking to see him, for you to let me explain why I was gone."

Your lower lip quivered at the way he spoke, so calm and composed compared to you, who'd let your emotions take control of your words and had just

"I don't know what you went through. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand. And.. I'm, I'm sorry, that you were forced to go through it alone," The apology that slipped through his lips sounded almost forced, like it was his first time hearing and speaking the words out of his mouth. "I'm not here just to see him. I'm here because you deserve an explanation on why I wasn't here. And I know it won't take away the pain, but I ho-"

The door slammed shut.

Ghost was left outside of your apartment, hand still testing on the flimsy wood of your door, staring at the point where your eyes had been mere seconds ago.

You'd closed the door on him.

You'd ripped any chances he'd had of seeing his son and explaining himself to you in half.

He'd gone through his speech for hours in the car, making sure that he wouldn't come off as rude or mean to you, that everything was explained slowly and coherently, but you'd just… Closed the door on him.

It was a funny sight, really. A giant of a man standing in the corridor of a beat down building in the middle of Manchester, outwardly looking like a kicked puppy if it weren't for the fire that was burning inside of him, bubbling beneath his skin as he got the urge to rip the whole fucking door off just so would fucking listen to-

The door opened again, properly, this time. No little gap where he could barely see your full body, where you were able to hide from him in fear that he'd do something disastrous like he'd just been thinking of.

You were letting him in.

That much was obvious, by the way your shaking frame was glued to the wall of the small corridor, allowing him space to cross through into the apartment he'd spent the night in a year ago.

No words had to be spoken, the reluctant look on your face telling him more than enough.

The few steps he took to enter your apartment felt like crossing a border to another world, one that he couldn't recognise as much as he tried to think back to the last time he'd been there.

Everything had changed. The wallpaper with the flowers that reminded him of his grandma's old home had been striped, replaced with a more cool paint over; the dingy sofa where he'd ripped your tights open was replaced with a much more softer and plush looking model, one that could no doubt be pulled into a bed; the bookshelf he'd gotten the sticky notes from had been ridden of many of the books that had littered it, replaced with children's books and a few pictures, baby toys strewn across the floor in front of it.

It felt like a whole different place than what he remembered. He didn't know what he had expected, for you to have a child and for nothing to change? He was aware of the chaos that a child brought, remembering how annoyed he himself had been as everything started to change around him when his brother had been born, the need it brought to rearrange the whole house to accommodate the baby and not have any dangerous items lying around.

Ghost made a mental note to himself as he picked up one of the picture frames from next to the small telly to clean up his own house before bringing his son there (if he was even allowed to), recalling the dust and grime that covered the corners of his rooms, the glass shards from the last time he'd drunk and passed out on the sofa littering his floors.

You pushed the door closed behind you both, shaky hands pressing onto the cool wood in an attempt to ground yourself, trying not to focus on the silent yet imposing footsteps of your son's father.

You don't know what possessed you to open the door, to let him into your space, that he'd now taken over like a shadow. He looked so… out of place.

A demon along the angels, a ghost along the living.

His dark clothes contrasted heavily with the bright colours of your son's toys that laid strewn across the floor, with the soft colours your walls were painted in, with the colourful blankets that you'd tried spicing up the sofa with, despite no one being able to appreciate them other than you.

It didn't feel right.

It didn't feel right to have him here, walking around your home like he belonged there, like he'd been there all along. It was wrong.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, like your throat was closing off and preventing any air from reaching your lungs properly. Your nails dug into your own palms as you clenched your hands closed, trying your best to even out your breathing and focus on anything but the impending conversation you'd have to have with him.

You could hear him say something, but your brain was so caught up with trying to stop yourself from spiralling that it didn't even comprehend what he was saying. The balaclava over his face was moving, indicating that he was speaking, but not a single sound was reaching your ears.

Your body was trembling at this point, mouth gasping for air as your throat continued to constrict, your eyes going blurry with tears as you watched him come closer to you, mouth still moving.

"Breathe." Two hard hands grabbed onto your shoulders, shaking you out of your stupor bordering on what you could easily identify as a panic attack, ones that you'd been prone to ever since you gave birth. "Look at me. Breathe."

Simon immediately knew what was happening without even having to look at you.

The laboured breaths that were leaving you were enough to activate the alarms in his head, recognising them immediately. He'd heard them many times before coming from him, his teammates, the people whose heads were pressed against his gun. You were spiralling, falling into the harming grasp of your anxiety and letting it infect your body.

When he got a panic attack, Simon rode through it. The therapist that Price had assigned him a few years ago had advised him to consider doing breathing exercises whenever he showed signs of having one, but during the year he'd seen her and the years to come, not once had he considered doing them. Sometimes, he felt like he deserved to feel like that, like he was suffocating, like his heart was about to be ripped out; for all the pain and suffering he'd inflicted on others, he deserved to feel at least a sliver of it.

But the thought of letting you experience that same pain, the same panic, the same hopelessness he felt whenever he'd cave into his depression, it wasn't a good one.

So despite his initial lack of remembrance of the exercises his therapist had offered, he tried his best to talk you through it, hands grasping at your shoulders and squeezing every time he saw you start to slip away back into that pit of anxiety, keeping his eyes on yours through the whole thing, not letting you go until you'd stopped shaking and your breath had become even once again.

You'd been so focused on the anxiety coursing through your veins that you hadn't even realised who was helping you through it, blindlessly following orders and breathing along with him, your brain subconsciously recognising his voice as something to cling onto, to pull you out of your own plunging thoughts.

But as soon as you realised whose eyes you were gazing into, whose hands were holding you down, you panicked again. Your own hands came up to push him away, the action catching him off guard and making him take a few small steps back from you, eyes still fixed on yours.

"Are y-"

"Shut up." You breathed out, interrupting him for what seemed like the 100th time that night, mimicking him and taking a few steps away from him and wrapping your arms over your upper body. "Sit."

Ghost finally tore his stare away from you to look down at the sofa, hesitantly taking the first steps forward like a cat meeting its owner for the first time before finally taking a seat on the sofa, sinking into the plush pillows thanks to his weight and looking around from the new perspective.

"Do you normally have panic attacks?" He spoke up, thankful that you didn't interrupt him this time, voicing his concern.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down at your fuzzy socks as you thought back to all the times you'd had to go through them on your own sitting at the doctor's office, lying in bed after putting Tommy to sleep, looking at yourself in the mirror after your labour…

Your doctor had warned you about the rollercoaster of emotions your body would go through after giving birth, including the depression many women suffered that unfortunately had affected you too during the first few weeks; but you hadn't expected it to continue until this late.

"...sometimes." You mumbled, hands running up and down your arms as you squirmed beneath his glare. "It's normal. For a lot of women."

He didn't answer, nodding in response instead before turning his head to the side table, where a small picture of a very tiny Tommy sat, his hand itching towards it to take it in properly.

The silence that followed what you could barely call a conversation was unbearable. The tension that hung in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, the silence almost suffocating you as you tried to muster up the courage to speak up if he wasn't going to, despite him having almost broken down your door in order to talk.

"...so? Are you going to explain?"

Simon stayed quiet, the whole speech he'd rehearsed back in his car suddenly fizzing away from his mind like a shooting star in the night sky. He was left with barely an outline of what he wanted to say, a vague idea of everything he'd tried his best to put into words before seeing you.

But actually having you in front of him, sitting on the same sofa he'd once pressed you against, gazing into the eyes he'd once thought so much about before the start of that god awful mission, made every last thread of sanity that remained in him snapped.

He was sure that without the mask he'd look like a fool, mouth slightly open and half lidded slate blue eyes fluttering with every blink, transfixed by the vision that was you, in front of him.

"Look, if you're not even going to fucking talk, you can just go right back out the fu-"

"I can't tell you exactly what happened." You stopped mid-rant, cheeks burning in embarrassment after being the one who was interrupted this time. "My job doesn't allow it."

His job? Was he really blaming everything on his job? What kind of goddamn profession forced you to go radio silent for a whole year?

"What do you work in?"

"..." Simon regarded you with a poignant sheen in his eyes, clearly at odds with deciding what to say, the truth or what he had been taught to recite in a situation like this. "I protect."

Even if he didn't outright say what his vocation was, you could do more than assume.

Protection could mean many things, like working at one of those security alarm companies to working as a bodyguard for some fancy rich guy, but with one look at the man sitting in front of you, you could tell.

And it was terrifying.

You'd assumed he was some type of bodybuilder when you'd first saw him, but as you recalled his tactical steps as he walked you down the street, the way his hand flew to his belt when you'd pass some creepy looking guy, as if he was expecting something to be hanging from there, it all started to click.

You had two options before you. He was either a fucking mercenary or military. And although both options were terrifying on their own, you hoped to whatever god that was looking down on you that it was the latter. You wouldn't know what you'd do with yourself if the father of your sweet baby boy was some type of criminal.

"You protect?" You let out, careful with your words in case you said something that you shouldn't, terrified with the prospect of him getting annoyed or angry now that you had an idea of what he did for a living.

"I protect." He parroted, lifting his hand to shove it into one of the pockets that adorned his jacket, pulling out a slim laminated piece of paper, what you could only assume was some sort of identification. "Here."

You took it hesitantly, flipping it over to scan your eyes over the confusing words that lettered the ID, mostly all words you'd never heard before in your life, but you were smart enough to grasp the concept of it.

"You work in the army?" You question, finger running over his title, repeating his newly discovered last name in your head, cursing at yourself for even thinking of how normal it would sound led by your son's name.

"SAS. Lieutenant. Can't say more than that." His gloved hand came back up to hopefully grab his ID back, but you dodged him, taking a few steps back and flipping it back over so he could see what you were pointing at.

"There's no picture." You finally referred to the black space that filled what was supposed to be a headshot of whichever soldier's ID it was. "How… how do I know this is real?"

You watched the mask move as he furrowed his eyebrows, the hand that had fallen onto his knee now gripped at the cargo pants, his eyes showing the disbelief that shot through his body.

"Y'think I made a fuckin' fake ID?" He grunted out, lifting himself from his spot on the sofa and glowering down at you, who did your best to not stand down almost immediately out of fear of his massive frame. "I don't carry 'round a picture of my face, defeats the whole purpose of my fuckin' mask."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried coming up with some type of rebuttal that would shut him right up, but you ended up once again asking another desperate question.

"That doesn't explain why you were gone."

Silence.

The crickets that sang from downstairs, the sound of the creaking from upstairs with every step one of your neighbours took, the suddenly suffocating feeling of your tiny apartment, everything seemed to increase ten fold with every second that passed.

"I can't tell you much." He leaned his head back, twisting his neck to a side to reveal some of the hair that had grown down to below his chin after a year of not properly shaving, making you look away from what almost seemed like an invasion of privacy.

"Oh, fuck you." You let out an amused scoff, unbelieving that still after everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd been back, he still refused to say anything. "Go to hell, Simon."

"I was on a fuckin' mission. A long one. I wasn't allowed any devices, like always, so I couldn't get back to you." He looked back at you with a glare that easily rivalled yours, voice rising in volume with each word he spoke, clearly pissed off at how you were acting with him despite having tried to explain himself, but deep down he knew that it was expected from you after what you'd gone through, yet he still couldn't help but feel disappointed deep down.

"Don't raise your fucking voice at me, I'm not the one who's at blame here, Simon!" You shoved a finger into his stiff chest, doing barely as much 'damage' as you pretended to, but you did your best to get your point across.

"I'm not raising my vo-"

A high pitched cry cut through both of your raising voices, Simon's hand immediately going to his belt out of instinct while you whipped your head in the direction of Tommy's room, wincing in both fatigue and shame for having forgotten about your poor, sensitive to noises baby boy.

You put a finger up before Simon could even get the idea of heading there first, an authoritative glare on your face as you grew 10 times braver now that it came to your son's mood and well-being.

"Stay." You hissed, almost like you were reprimanding a mutt instead of a grown man. "Don't fucking follow me."

Once you were sure you'd gotten the message across, you pulled yourself away from his gaze and quickly entered your son's nursery, cooing and shushing at him as you neared his crib.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, duck, I'm sorry." You whispered, carefully picking up his fidgeting body in your arms and pressing him to your chest, rocking him as gently as you could in your told. "Mommy's sorry, she didn't mean to scare you."

His crying didn't cease, only getting louder as you desperately tried to get him to quiet down, terrified of the racket he was no doubt making for the next door neighbours, who'd probably come by tomorrow with some not very nice words.

Your hands were shaking as he still didn't calm down, a shiver running up your spine while goosebumps racked your body as you saw the light that came from the living room be blocked by a large mass of what you could only assume was Simon.

"I told you not to follow." You kept your voice small as he took slow steps towards you, not wanting to agitate Tommy even more than he already was, knowing how enervated you'd be in the morning if that was the case.

"I want to see him."

You bit down on your tongue before you shot out a snappy response, realising that this was not the time nor the place for snarky comments, as much as you wanted Simon to finally get a hint and leave you both alone.

"You haven't even told me his name."

Screwing your eyes closed, you pressed Tommy to your chest a bit tighter, both to calm the two of you down and in an attempt of caging him away from the shadow of a man towering behind you.

"You never asked for it." You felt him stop behind you as you spoke, his eyes staring holes into the back of your head, as if that would finally get you to move so he could see his son.

He stayed silent once again, looking over every single detail in the nursery, from the row of knitted stuffed animals to the plastic fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling above the crib, eyes trailing over the bookcase that looked a bit too unstable for his liking, the screws too loose to be holding up all that weight properly.

"Did you build these yourself?" Simon watched you turn your head over your shoulder to see what he was referring to, glowering at him crossly as you looked over the furniture.

"Didn't have anyone else to do it, did I?" You snapped, going back to the crying baby in your arms as he continued to look around, gloved fingers running over some of the spines of the books that laid on the shelves, recognising some of them from his own childhood bookshelf.

"You still don't believe me, d'you?"

A beat.

The finalising sound of his footsteps exiting the room made a weight you hadn't realised was pressing on your chest dissipate out of relief, only to come back heavier than ever as he pushed the duffle bag he'd been carrying towards you with his foot.

You looked down at the spilling contents tentatively, almost worried that there was some type of danger in there that would force you to take cover or cower in a corner, but all you found were military pants and clothes, a gun hidden in its holster, and in the hand that slowly appeared in the corner of your vision, dog tags.

"Look." He brought them up closer to your face so you'd be able to see even in the dim lighting that came from the fluorescent stars stuck on the ceiling and the small nightlight, the name engraved in it identical to the one you'd found on the ID. And although most IDs were pretty easy to fake, you were pretty sure dog tags like these weren't. They had the SAS' inscription on them along with a few codes and numbers you were too ignorant about the army to understand; but for all you knew, they could be as fake as the ones some men wore as fashion.

Maybe that still wouldn't have been enough, if it weren't for the gun. England was very strict with gun laws, and the only people you'd ever seen handle one were the police and the military. So he'd either gotten one very illegally or was truly who he said he was.

And as much as you wanted it to all be fake, for him to be the random bloke you'd had sex with that had no connections to anything dangerous, you knew it wasn't. It was blatantly obvious now that he'd laid down everything in front of you like a puzzle, he was telling the truth.

And god, how much you hated it. You hated that the so-called excuse he'd used before was close to being set in stone by now, that everything was falling into place.

"They're real. I promise."

His promises meant nothing to you, and he knew that, but he had to try anything he could for you to finally believe him, to pull down the walls you'd built and let him in.

"..." You looked away from him and his outstretched hand, pulling your still weeping baby closer to you as you debated on what to do, mind torn between two headspaces.

A shaky sight left your lips as he finally started to tone down, his small pudgy hands grabbing at your sweater in an attempt to ground himself, to find a smell and feel he knew brought safety.

"...his name's Tommy."

You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse.

"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"

"Why?" It was your turn to repeat what he'd said, turning around fully and allowing him the first proper look at his infant son.

Any feeling of displeasure or uncomfort left Simon's body as his eyes landed on the small boy whose teary eyes were trained on his mother's, soft hands clinging onto her like all hell would break loose if he weren't, pudgy body wrapped up in soft blanket decorated with a tiny duck print, the animal something he'd heard you refer to him as before.

God, he wasn't even listening anymore, too enamoured with the small being that lied in your arms, his hands itching towards him in hopes of taking him in his own.

His stomach sank as you stepped back in tandem with him, shielding Tommy from him like he was a monster.

"I, uhm…" you looked up at him through glassy eyes, clearly having been taken aback by his sudden advance towards you both, ending with you pressed against the wooden crib's side. "I didn't really think about it. It just… felt right. It sounded nice. There isn't really any… meaning behind it, as far as I know."

And that was true, as far as you knew, Tommy was just one of the names you'd underlined in one of the many baby name books your mother had brought over with her. But for Simon, it was oh so much more than that. It brought back memories that he hadn't thought about in a very long time, including those rough times he'd spent cooped up in that godforsaken house trying his best to take care of the only family he had left.

And although he hadn't heard from his brother in a long while, he couldn't help but feel slightly hollow at the simple thought of him, who now unknowingly shared his name with his new nephew.

"...right." Despite everything that was whirling around in his brain, every single memory and doubt he wished he could share without destroying himself inside out, that single word of confirmation was the only thing he could get out.

Tommy let out a whine, small hand tugging at your shirt as he instantly pulled your attention back to him, small body fidgeting in your hold in a way that would make you drop him if you weren't used to his urge to not stay still.

"Yeah, I get it, duck." You said, balancing him carefully in the crook of one of your arms before picking up the half-empty bottle you'd placed next to the crib, knowing he'd wake up within the little time the milk could sit out and demand to be fed with his startling cries. "It's here, don't worry. You're not going to starve."

Simon watched from the shadows as your son immediately latched on to the bottle, acting like he'd been starved for over a week, when his last feeding session had been barely an hour ago.

"He's very greedy." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but looked up at Simon as he let out a humoured exhale.

"Most babies are." He said, remembering how needy his own little brother was when it came to feeding, whining and screaming until everyone in the house had woken up.

Silence fell upon the room, the only conceivable sound in the house being the sound of Tommy drinking and the soft jingle of the crib mobile whenever a soft gust of wind came through the parted window.

For the first time in the hour Simon had been back in your life, you felt calm. Your heartbeat had come down to a normal rate, your body had stopped jolting and shaking every now and then, and there was a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched your son cling to the bottle in your hands.

Even Simon's presence had stopped putting you on edge, since now he was just silently gazing down at his son, who's eyes were fixed back on his father's, almost like they were both having a staring contest, and it was unclear who was about to win.

Tommy normally bursted into tears when he was near a stranger, too many new scents and sounds around him since he was used to the calmer and soother environment that was his nursery, so apart from the short strolls you'd take down the streets, he barely went out with you, and when he did, he didn't get to met many new people. You remember how embarrassed you'd been when one of your neighbours had come by to help with fixing a light and Tommy had started bawling at the mere sight of the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway.

So it was a bittersweet surprise when you realised he must've taken an instinctual liking to his father, despite not properly having the brain capacity to regard him as such, and although you'd have plenty of time to go over that later, for now, you were relieved that he hadn't turned to wailing as loud as he could and bursting all three of your eardrums (although if Simon did work in what he said he did, you were sure he'd be used to loud noises by now).

"How d'you pay for all this?"

"What?" You said, the calm expression that had graced your face quickly forming back into the pissed one he'd gotten so used to seeing in the past hour, the innocent yet aggravating question instantly spoiling your mood. "What do you fu- what do you mean?"

"The furniture, the clothes, the nappies." He nodded towards every single thing he listed, only adding onto your annoyance even more. "Where d'you work?"

You snapped your head down to Tommy in order to avoid his damaging questions, meeting the cute scene of your son fast asleep, probably having passed out after such a long staring contest with his dad and finally having a full belly. You ignored the weight of your impending answer as you placed him down carefully back into his crib, letting his chubby cling onto your fingers for a bit before slowly wrenching his grip off, turning back around to his father.

"I don't work. Not anymore." You kept your voice hushed, picking up the empty baby bottle along with a bag of dirty nappies, standing next to the doorway until he got the memo to walk out before you. "Got fired from the bar cause I was too distracted and I messed a lot of things up…. Had to use my savings to pay for everything during my pregnancy."

He watched you walk around the kitchen and put everything away like it was routine, like it was some sort of art that you'd perfected, while thinking over the information he'd just received from you.

He felt horrible. The mere thought of you, pregnant and alone with no job able to support you, working on the crib and nursery on your own was enough to tear his cold heart in two. And he didn't even want to think about how much money you had left, which by the sight of the very expensive-looking cot and all the toys that laid strewn across the bedroom floor, wasn't much.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto one of the walls and thought about the next words that were going to leave his mouth, the next words that would either end up with you both growing closer together or you continuing to push him away.

"Let me help you."

You stopped dead in your tracks while rearranging one of the cupboards, turning around with a look of disbelief painted on your face, beyond bewildered at what he was even starting to proffer.

"Help me?"

Simon had more money than he knew what to do with. Albeit, a small part of it was sent to his brother and his family at the end of every few months, he was still left with a huge amount of money he didn't really know what to spend it on apart from on the bottles of alcohol that littered the floor of his apartment.

But now that he'd learned about his own family, seen the state your flat was in despite you trying to save face by decorating it as much as you could, about as much information as you had given out about your financial situation, he finally knew what to do with all that money that was left over.

"Help you. Financially. Tommy's my son too." Simon raised a gloved hand up as he watched your mouth open, immediately shutting you up like a teacher would a student. "As much as you want to deny it, s'true. And I'm going to help you." His finger landed on the small island counter, accentuating his point with every word he spoke. "Whether you like it or not."

Now, you'd be bellow stupid to even refuse an offer like this (even though he'd made it quite clear it wasn't an offer, more like an insistence), especially since your bank account was quickly reaching negative numbers with every day that passed, not a lot of jobs being open to a new mother who'd either have to take her baby everywhere or leave between shifts to take care of him (and a nanny was of course out of the question, with what money would you pay them?); and pushing aside your still initial distrust towards him, you couldn't say no to him. Both, because he wouldn't let you and because you needed the help, as much as you didn't want to admit it.

Very deep down, you wanted to say no, to push him out of the flat like you should've done when he had first taken a step inside, that he'd had his chance with both Tommy and you and that his bloody stupid excuses weren't going to work… but god, would you have been a moron to even consider letting those words leave your mouth.

You closed the cabinet shut, turning around to face him properly despite the absolute nerves that were coursing through your body, looking out the window across from you instead of at the imposing figure of the man standing before you.

"Simon, I… Look, just…." You tried changing subject, grasping at straws in order to keep yourself from falling to your knees and thanking him for helping you, to break down again like you'd done within the first quarter hour of seeing him again. "...thank you."

He didn't reply, only nodding in response as he turned away from you, letting you stare at his back as he cocked his head to a side to subtly look into Tommy's room, your small baby boy still fast asleep with his clingy hands holding onto one of the many toys you'd placed in there for him to stay entertained with.

"It's, uhm… it's getting quite late." You pointed out as you looked back out the window, rain pattering against your window as another one of England's classic showers hit your city, your arms wrapping around your torso and running your hands up and down the exposed skin. "How about we just… call it a day and talk about it tomorrow?"

Simon grunted, shrugging his shoulders like he really didn't care, but before you had chance to comment on it, he spoke over his shoulder, his head tilted in a way that the shadows curved around the balaclava covering up his face, his blue eyes slightly brighter than when he'd first shown up.

"I've got some stuff to attend to tomorrow." He muttered, nodding towards the duffle bag that he'd brought out with him when you'd both left the nursery, indicating that he wasn't fully finished with work. "It'll be a while 'till I'm able to just sit down with you."

God, you hated how much fear that single sentence struck in you. Like almost the thought of him leaving for more than a day after finally showing up and explaining everything to you was enough to raise up the anxiety that wrapped around your chest and travelled across every single nerve in your system.

So fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself before looking over at the sofa, the new one you'd bough and arranged yourself a few months into your pregnancy, when you were barely showing and could still handle physical work like that; remembering how much the salesman had insisted on that the pullout was the best option for when you had guests over, it was moderately comfy and big enough to fit up to two people.

And Simon kind of… He kind of counted for two people, right? With that bloody stature of his and his darned accentuated muscles you'd been so in awe of that fateful night.

"You can just take the sofa for tonight. Then we can talk in the morning before you leave." Your mouth acted faster than your brain did, but this time, you didn't really feel embarrassed or disappointed in yourself, I mean, it was the logical solution to this sort of problem. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted to be in his son's life, so if that was true, you'd have to get used to him being around you, invading the safe space you'd worked so hard to create for you and your son, as much as it tore your body and mind apart thanks to your mixed feelings about him.

"You sure?" He pushed himself off the doorframe which he'd been leaning on, getting back to his full height so he could tower over you, glancing at the tiny sofa. "You think I'll fit?"

"It pulls out." Unlike you. "You'll fit."

Once again, it seemed that he couldn't even get the words out to thank you, nodding in response before turning back to look at his sleeping son in the nursery's background. You pushed past him to get to the cupboard that sat in the corner, rummaging through it for some relatively clean and warm blankets, keeping an ear out just in case decided to walk a bit too close to Tommy, still a bit on edge when it came to him spending time around your son.

"D'you have a balcony I can use?" He cut through the silence, dangling a packet of cigarettes in front of your face to make his advances clear.

Although you weren't a chronic smoker yourself, you had indulged in a cig once in a while, and you knew that it sometimes did help soothe your anxiety or stress, and by the looks of how Simon was fidgeting in his spot and his fingers were clearly itching towards the lighter in his pocket, it was quite clear he was in need of one.

"I don't. Use the window furthest from Tommy's room." You pointed out of the room towards the window you'd been staring out of before. You watched him stroll out, opening up the window and letting in a gust of cold wind in the process, making you speed up your work so you could close the door faster and Tommy wouldn't get a chill.

"You can't smoke around Tommy, you know that, right? If you're really going to be in his life, I'm going to need you to quit while you're here." You commented as you placed down the blankets onto an armchair before moving onto the sofa bed itself, removing some of the cushions before resuming.

"'lright." He muttered between a few inhales of the smoke, his voice much clearer now that he'd pulled his mask up to his nose, letting you gaze upon the beard that had grown over his lower face, something that hadn't been there before. But you assumed that a year-long mission wouldn't really allow you to take time to shave. "Jus' really needed this."

"I get it." You grunted as you grabbed onto the flimsy handle at the bottom and pulled out the second part of the sofa's mattress, almost landing on your behind if it weren't for one of Simon's hands on the small of your back, helping you regain your balance before he went back to taking puffs of his cigarette next to the window.

Soon enough, Simon's cigarette burnt down to a stub, flicking it out the window and down onto the concrete below, turning back around to where you were finishing up what would be his bed tonight, tucking in some of the ends of the sheets and stuffing pillows into covers.

"Here." He spoke, his voice back to being muffled as he pulled the mask back down, taking the pillow from your hands and pushing it into the cover without any effort.

"Pillows might be a bit stiff. These are really old." You didn't even bother thanking him, taking the pillows and fluffing them up to the best of your ability, before propping them up on the armrest. "Do you want to, uhm." You gestured towards the black smudged paint around his eyes. "Clean up?"

"It's fine. I've slept worse."

He started to pull off his jacket, his shirt going with it for a moment and exposing his midriff and happy trail, immediately snapping your head away from the sight.

That's how Simon ended lying on the pretty well made sofa, shoes and jacket discarded next to him with a thin blanket draped over his tired body, balaclava still resting over his face despite being plunged in the darkness that was broken whenever a car passed by outside or by the soft glow of his son's fluorescent stars that decorated his ceiling.

Simon was aware of how long he'd gone without having a good night's sleep, that he should at least try to catch a few minutes of sleep at best, but he couldn't find the energy to even close his eyes. He knew that after such a long and exciting mission his body had to come down from it slowly, taking a few days of getting used to the sudden serenity that enveloped him before he could fully relax and find some sleep.

And so he lied there, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and listening to the snores that came from his son's room and the shuffling and incoherent murmurs that came from yours, the constant affirmation that you both were fine enough of a substitute for the sleep he was missing.

And he was… content like that, for a while. Listening to the both of you sleep and tapping his fingers against his chest in an attempt to ground himself and to shove away any unwanted thoughts that would forcibly make their way into his already broken mind.

Until one of the cars outside backfired, a sound Simon had gotten used to after driving all those barely working cars they'd find in the way during missions, producing a sound that echoed throughout the living room, making Simon instinctively flinch, his fingers gripping down on the blanket hard enough to rip it, not having expected to hear a sound so akin to a bomb or a grenade while he was lying down calmly near his newfound family.

Fuck, he was pathetic. It was horrible how such an innocent sound made his instincts go haywire, his skin prickle with goosebumps and his heart skip a beat.

But clearly, as Tommy's cries rang out through the flat, he hadn't been the only one to be disturbed.

"Fuck." The blanket pooled down onto the floor next to his discarded clothes, pushing himself off the sofa and passing by your bedroom, where you were still presumably sleeping, your body wriggling beneath the covers as your brain attempted to keep you asleep.

You'd mentioned that Tommy had gone down easily this time, so it was relatively early for yourself to go to bed, and he'd heard you mutter to yourself as you climbed into bed that you were going to enjoy your rest, so staying on the sofa and waiting for you to wake up, was not going to happen, especially after all the trouble he'd gone through with convincing you to let him in Tommy's life.

This was part of being a father, a parent, waking up at ungodly hours of the night to take care of your fussing baby.

He carefully made his way towards Tommy's crib, removing his gloves in order to not scare him with an unknown touch, although he doubted that his calloused fingers would be any better substitute.

"S'alright." He murmured, a finger softly prodding at his chubby belly in order to catch his attention, the boy's wails only getting louder as he caught sight of his father's skulled balaclava. "Oh, fu- Look, hey, look at me."

Without any hesitation, Simon ripped off his mask, his hair getting messed up in the process but he couldn't care less, only focused on getting his son to recognise him as a human man and not the goddamn grim reaper who'd come for him.

Tommy sniffled as he toned down the fussing, blue eyes darting all over his father's face as if committing it to memory, chubby fingers leaning down to grab at the one Simon had woken him up with, and much like he did with any other thing he found lying around, shoved it right in his mouth, drooling around it.

A breathless chuckle escaped Simon's mouth as he watched him roll and fuss around his finger, resting his other arm on the crib and lying his head against it, transfixed with the sight of his small son.

A few tears were still running down his chubby cheeks, but he seemed to have calmed down now, Simon's finger acting like some sort of replacement for the pacifier that laid abandoned next to him.

"C'mon. Stop cryin'." He grumbled, pulling his finger out of his grasp and placing his large hands beneath Tommy's small body, carefully picking him up (making sure to support his little head like he'd seen you do) and propping him up in the crook of his arm, letting him squirm around for a bit until he found the perfect position. "You're a wriggly one aren't you?"

As expected, he didn't get any response apart from the thousand yard stare his son looked up at him with, similar to the one he occasionally gave Johnny to watch him freak out. Now that he did look at him closely, he could pinpoint how many features he'd inherited from his father's side, his shaggy hair, his blue eyes, his slightly crooked nose, even the chubby rolls and fingers he remembered seeing in his little brother.

"That's a boy." Tommy's eyes started to droop with every second he spent lying in his father's arms, his tears drying out and coos leaving his mouth instead of the agonising cries. "Feelin' better?"

He blindly walked over to the small chair he'd spotted in the corner of the room when he'd first walked in, grunting like his grandfather did as he sat down, careful to not squish or drop Tommy in the process, his hands tightening around him as the chair slightly reclined, the chair's feature catching him off guard and instantly activating the instinct to protect the small human in his arms that depended on him.

But Tommy didn't even flinch, giggling at the warmth that enveloped him and snuggling further into the blanket and his father's arms in the process, eyes still fixed on the dark paint that adorned his father's.

Finally, after their second staring match of the night, Tommy's eyelids finally closed, losing the battle and falling prey to sleep, something Simon silently wished he could too. Resting him in one arm, he pulled his balaclava back down, feeling a bit too exposed now that the need to have it off had ceased. He leaned his head back on the rest and stared up at the dim glowing stars, focusing on the steady breaths that racked his son's tiny body and the faint feeling of his heartbeat against his arm.

He could… he could really get used to this.

Having such a small thing in his arms, something he was responsible for, something he was supposed to love and care for, a purpose to continue the dangerous life he'd thrusted himself in. He was a father now. And although he knew barely nothing about being one, he'd learn. He hoped it wasn't a one time thing and that Tommy had truly taken a liking to him, that he was going to be able to take at least a bit off the load that you carried by helping in whatever way he could, whether it was bonding with his on or simply financially if that's all you wished of him.

He was a bit too lost in his thoughts as he reclined further in the plush chair, pressing Tommy to his chest so he was half lying on him, half still resting in his arms, a pretty comfortable position for the both of them.

"-mon."

"Simon!"

The blond was jolted awake by a pair of hands shaking him, his immediate instinct being to search around for the baby he remembered falling asleep with, blurry vision darting around to find him cooing and gurgling in your arms, hands latched onto your sleep shirt.

He turned to look out the window while cracking his neck, disoriented and confused about what time it was, the subtle sun rays that shone through the clouds and into the nursery telling him enough.

Had he fallen asleep? Like, actually slept for over an hour without waking up or any disturbances?

"'m sorry." His voice was deeper after a good night's rest, you noted as he rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palm in an attempt to clear the blurriness, choosing to ignore the click of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "Time?"

"'bout eight." You said, bouncing Tommy in your arms as you nodded towards the clock that hung up above him, eyes darting back down to see him hunched over, hands beneath his balaclava rubbing away the sleep in his eyes and no doubt spreading the face paint everywhere. "Tommy needs to have breakfast so I just assumed you'd want to be woken up as well. But, you're, uhm, welcome to sleep longer, I guess."

"No, I'm fine. I have to get up." Within a second, he was at his feet, Tommy staring up at him in awe as if he were gazing upon a giant, one of his chubby hands leaving your shirt to try and grab onto his, but Simon had left before he could even make first contact.

"You stayed here to talk, remember?" You said snappily at him as you followed, watching him pick up all his stuff. "We should talk."

His shoulders deflated mid tying his boot, a solemn nod in response like even talking to you was a chore, and after the night you'd had the day before, any little irritating thing like that was going to be enough to set you off.

"I want to be a part of Tommy's life. I've made that clear."

"I know. And that's… fine. But we're going to need boundaries."

He sighed, turning around with his other boot dangling from his hand, leaning his side on the wall opposite what had been supposed to be his bed for the night (the horror you'd felt when you saw him gone and your son's door open was unmeasurable), and nodding once again, eyes looking down at you expectantly.

Oh. Right. You were the one speaking.

"Well, for starters… if you really can't tell me more about your job than you already have, I want you to at least keep me updated whenever you leave for work. I.. I don't want any more surprises."

I don't want to feel the way I felt during that year again.

"Alright."

You nodded, pulling Tommy closer as he became enamoured with the necklace that dangled from your neck, trying his mighty best to pull the charm in his mouth as you talked. "And, if you stay over, you take the couch. And not taking Tommy out without me. Until… further notice." You feared you were being a bit too strict with him, but simply reminding yourself that this was in fact, basically a stranger who just happened to father your child, and you'd have to take preventive measures until you were sure that you could leave Tommy alone with him.

Simon ignored the slight pain that stabbed at his heart when you said that, but… it was understandable. You'd been with Tommy longer than him, hell, you'd carried him for a whole 9 months, you had a stronger bond with your son than he had. For both of your safety and his, he'd go along with anything you'd say.

After agreeing with a simple nod and finishing tying up his shoes, he walked up to you both, fingers brushing against your clavicle as he pulled your necklace out of Tommy's mouth, blue eyes fixated on yours. "Send me your bank details later. I'll deposit some money for you both. As much as you need."

He hesitated a few moments before pulling his fingers away, instead running them down Tommy's nose bridge before pulling away, pulling a giggle out of him.

"O-okay."

He nodded, leaning down to zip up his duffle bag before strapping it over his shoulder, jacket in his other arm since it was relatively warm outside for a morning in Manchester. "Text me if y'need anything. I'll answer this time… I promise."

You winced, the subject of his disappearance still a touchy matter despite everything you'd both discussed the night before, but by the way he hesitated before speaking, the way he was awkwardly standing in the main corridor, he was either very obviously lying or telling the truth.

You hoped it was the latter.

"...okay. Goodbye, Simon."

The moment the door opened, the doorbell rang out, making you and Tommy flinch at the loud sound and Simon grumble at being the main victim of the ringer.

Your neighbour was standing there, finger on the bell, furrowed eyebrows glaring up at the intimidating man.

"Good morning?" You poked your head around Simon's large frame, Tommy hiding his face in the crook of your neck as if able to sense the confrontation about to happen. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, no. Sorry, just. I think I speak for everyone in this building that we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that baby o'yours quiet once in a while. Barely gotten any sleep these days 'cause of his bloody crying." He frowned, glaring down at the baby in question, as if he was truly to blame for something he was barely able to control. Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, having remembered that you'd already expected this last night when Tommy had burst into tears the first time, and then the second time when you were asleep.

"Right, I'm s-"

"Babies cry." Ghost interrupted, glare fixed on the man in front of you both, hand tightening around the doorframe much like when he'd been trying to convince you to let him in. "Y'can't really help it."

"Well you can shut him up-"

"And we did. Wondering if I'm going to need to do the same to you." He said gruffly, almost puffing his chest out of pride when he saw the man's colour drain from his face. It was a bit of a shitty rebuttal, in hindsight, but when it came from the beast of a man that he was, it was enough to make a grown man like the one in front of him piss his pants. "'m I?"

"N-no, sir."

"Sorted." He watched the neighbour scurry off back into his apartment like a bug of sorts, turning back to you with an amused glint in his normally inexpressive eyes. "Bother you often?"

"Yeah." You said breathlessly, actually impressed with how quickly he'd been able to get rid of him, like your own personal pest exterminator. "Thank you."

"He won't anymore." He stepped out into the hall, sparing you and your son one last glance before awkwardly lifting his hand up in an attempt to say goodbye, Tommy immediately trying to reach over to him with a plump hand, fingers flexing as if trying to use the force to pull his dad back.

"He'll be back, duck, don't worry… he's not leaving."

Ghost pressed the button to the elevator, willing himself enough strength to not turn around immediately at the sounds of his soon cooing and whining at him, the soft words you spoke plunging a spear into his cold heart.

He'd be back. He promised.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @warrior-of-justice @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker (if your name is in italics it means I couldn't tag you!)

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x female reader #cod mwii #call of duty #ghost x you #ghost fanfiction #ghost x fem!reader #ghost fic #cod mwii x reader #cw pregnancy #— ménage

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soulofapatrick · 7 months

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Rebuilding - Derek Hale x female reader

Summary: You show Derek the rebuilt Hale House you did for him

Words: 1.8k

warnings: none really; heavy making out

Notes: I can make a smutty part two

Y/N’s POV

The old Hale House had stood as a haunting reminder of the past, a testament to the tragedy and loss the family had endured. But now, it has been transformed into something new, something hopeful. With the combined effort of the pack and my Dad, it had become a symbol of rebirth and unity, a mansion that has welcomed every member with open arms and spare rooms for new pack members.

As I stand in front of the restored mansion, I can’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Derek, who had once lived here in its glory days, deserves to see what I’ve done to the place. He’s been through so much, and I wanted this surprise to be a new beginning for him… for us hopefully.

The anticipation in the air is palpable, and I can’t help but fidget with the key in my hand as I wait for Derek. The old Hale House, bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, seems to hold its breath in eager anticipation of his arrival. And then, I hear it - the familiar purr of Derek’s car engine. It’s a sound that I’ve come to associate with his arrival, and my heart quickens in response. The car pulls down the long, winding driveway, and I keep staring at the house, my hands shaking a little as I fiddle with the keys.

Suddenly, there he is. Derek appears beside me, his tall, brooding frame casting a shadow on the gravel driveway. He looks rugged and handsome as ever, with that alluring air of mystery that has always drawn me to him. His dark brows are furrowed in curiosity and confusion, his eyes scanning the mansion before us as if he’s trying to work out where we are. It makes my heart drop as he doesn’t recognise it despite me trying to keep it as near as I can to the original Hale house.

But then, something remarkable happens. As his eyes roam over the mansion’s exterior, his brows furrow even deeper, and then there’s a hint of disbelief in his expression. It’s as if the familiarity of the place has begun to dawn on him, piece by piece. The realisation hits him like a tidal wave. His kaleidoscope eyes widen, and a gasps escapes his pretty and plump lips, “Is… is this….?” His voice trembles with emotion, and for a moment, he can’t seem to find the words.

I hold out the keys for him and he looks between the house and the keys and then back at the house, “I can’t… I… can you…” His voice falters, and it’s clear that he’s fighting back tears, the enormity of the moment almost too much to bear. Without a word, I’m nodding and reaching for his trembling hands. Our fingers interlace, and with a gentle squeeze, I lead him towards the grand entrance.

Derek’s eyes remain locked onto the mansion, his disbelief and wonder still etched across his features. But he doesn’t need to say anything more for me to understand the whirlwind of emotions storming within him.

I turn the key in the lock, my own fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. The door swings open, revealing the lovingly restored interior. The warm, golden light spills into the entryway, painting a new chapter on the old canvas of the Hale House. The grand entrance is now invitingly open, Derek taking a step forwards. His presence is so close to me that his chest is practically pressed against my back. The feel of him so near is electrifying, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

“Welcome home Derek.” I say, my voice a soft, heartfelt whisper, as we cross the threshold together.

The atmosphere inside is a mixture of nostalgia and fresh beginnings. The original features of the Hale House have been preserved, the hardwood floors polished, the walls adorned with artworks from the pack. The spaciousness of the rooms has been maintained, yet there’s a sense of cozy warmth that wasn’t there before.

Derek’s gaze dances the space, a mixture of awe and sentimentality reflected in his expressive eyes. He appreciates the care and attention that went into preserving the essence of the house he called home.

Then, he grabs my hands again with a gentle yet firm grip, leading me through the echoing halls as the pack gave us the house for Derek to see alone. It’s a touch that sends a rush of warmth through me, the electricity of his touch palatable. We move through the house, our footsteps echoing, and Derek’s strides confident, as if he’s revisiting his own memories.

As we ender the kitchen, Derek stops in his tracks. A soft, almost reverent sound escapes him, and his eyes widen again as he takes in the layout. It’s practically identical to the original Hale House kitchen, meticulously restored to match his recollections with the help of creepy uncle Peter.

His grip on my hand tightens, and he turns to me, his expression filled with amazement, “This… it’s just like I remember it.” He says, his vice soft and filed with wonder, “You’ve brought it all back to life.”

I can’t help but smile at his reaction. The kitchen holds countless memories for him, both happy and bittersweet, and seeing it so faithfully restored means the world to him. "We wanted it to feel like home," I reply, my voice equally hushed, knowing how much this place means to him. Derek’s thumb brushes over the back of my hand, his touch conveying the depth of his gratitude. It’s a silent exchange of emotions, the unspoken understanding between us.

And then, something changes in the air. Derek turns to me, his kaleidoscope eyes now shining with warmth and something else, something that sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. His gaze flits down my lips, and in response, I can’t help but wet them with my tongue, suddenly feeling acutely aware of their dryness. It draws a small sound from Derek’s throat, low and almost involuntary, a testament to the magnetic pull between us. He leans in, closing the distance between our lips with a purposeful intent. Our mouths meet in a soft, longing kiss, a silent declaration of the emotions that have simmered between us for so long.

His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a deliberate tenderness. I can feel the gentle, rhythmic movement of his mouth, each touch setting my heart racing. There’s a hint of urgency in his kiss, a desire that has been simmering just beneath the surface. Derek’s hands finding their way to my waist, holding e close as if he never wants to let me go. The touch of his fingertips against my skin sends shivers down my spine, and I press my body closer to his, wanting to feel every inch of him.

My own hands move to rest on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath my touch. They gradually work their way up, entwining in his shirt, wanting to pull him closer still. The connection between us deepens with every passing second, a silent confirmation of the emotions we’ve held back fr so long.

Derek’s hands, which had been gently holding my waist, suddenly tighten their grip and before I can react, he’s lifting me up with a powerful yet careful motion. My legs instinctively wrap around this waist as he sets me on the edge of the kitchen island, never once breaking the kiss.

Our lips remain locked in a heated embrace, a heated embrace, a testament to the fiery passion that's been ignited between us. Derek's tongue brushes over my lips, seeking entrance, and without hesitation, I part them, with a small, embracing sound escaping my lips which he swallows, tongue slipping past my lips. It's a dance of desire, a clash of longing, and a melding of two souls that have been drawn together by an irresistible force. Our mouths move with a shared urgency, each kiss deeper and more consuming than the last.

As our tongues explore and intertwine, Derek’s grip on my hips tightens, pulling me closer until I’m arched on the edge of the kitchen island. The sensation of his body pressed against mine is electrifying, sending heat down south where I’m pressed against his growing problem. It has my thighs tightening around him, hips jerking a little and drawing sounds from both of us.

Finally our lips part, but only slightly, our foreheads resting against each other as we catch our breath. Derek’s voice is a husky whisper, filled with raw desire, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He confesses, his words heavy with yearning, “ I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”

My heart flutters at his admission, and I look into his kaleidoscope eyes, my own filled with the same longing, “Der…” I breathe, “I’ve felt the same way. I’ve wanted this as much as you have.”

His lips find mine again, and the kiss that follows is fierce and fervent, a passionate culmination of our unspoken desires. It's a promise, a declaration, and a celebration of the love that has finally been acknowledged.

But then, Derek's lips trail down from mine to my neck, and his kisses ignite a trail of fire across my skin. I gasp as his mouth leaves a mark, a fervent, possessive hickey, and another one right beside it. Each one is a silent proclamation of his desire, a mark of his longing for me. As Derek's kisses continue to trail down my neck, I gasp and my fingers clutch at his shoulders. The sensation is almost too much to bear, the heat of his mouth leaving a trail of fire across my skin, marked by possessive hickeys.

“Y/N,” He murmurs breathlessly voice heavy with desire, “If we don’t stop, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He pulls away slightly, his eyes dark and smouldering now and he lets out a low and sensual chuckle when an embarrassing moan escapes me.

“Maybe…” I have to clear my throat, “Maybe we should check out your room.” My heart is racing as I say it, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and desire, eager to hear his response but also somewhat ready for the rejection.

Instead, he groans, head falling to my shoulder before he growls out, “Don’t… don’t say things like that baby girl.” I stay silent, knowing there’s more and he kissing my collarbone sweetly before murmuring, “But, I think it’s a very, very good idea.”

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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makoodles · 1 year

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tìtunu | tsu'tey (part 3 | nsfw)

pairing: tsu'tey x human fem reader

word count: 12k words (oops)

warnings: alien courting rituals, misunderstandings, oral sex (fem receiving), size difference, p in v sex (get some, big boy!)

summary: Perhaps the Sky People had injured him beyond repair when they had hurt him and pushed him from their enormous metal bird.

That is the only reason he can think of to explain why the one person who has captured his thoughts so wholly is you, the little human demon that is constantly lurking around the Omaticaya camp.

(in which Tsu'tey doesn't consider the cultural differences when it comes to human x navi courting, but is very determined anyway)

read it on ao3

aaaaand i actually got the third part finished early, so i figured i'd just upload it! please peep the rating change (we're officially getting porn in this chapter lmao x).

also! i totally forgot that na'vi also need breathing masks in human spaces, so lets just pretend that their limit for human atmosphere's is WAY higher alright

part one | part two | part three (nsfw) | part four (nsfw) masterlist

You have no idea what’s going on with Tsu’tey, and it’s driving you crazy.

In the beginning, it was crystal clear what he thought of you. Your presence around the village was met with the same curled lips, narrow-eyes, and disdainful scowls that Tsu’tey reserved for all the humans occupying his home planet. You don’t take it personally; you’re only an interloper on Pandora, after all, and you have to work to gain his respect.

You’re not afraid to admit that you have a big fat crush on him. Who wouldn’t?

He’s one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen, alien or not. His face is just so pretty, with such big golden eyes and proud features. His wide, toned shoulders and slim narrow waist send your thoughts scattering to the wind when you’re around him. You’ve tried everything to try and capture his attention. You try makeup, you try wearing one of your silly little sundresses (one of the few luxuries you had brought to Pandora), you try flirty jokes. None of it seems to work.

You’re not sure when the dynamic between you really starts to change, but you certainly notice when it does. His stares began to turn less hostile, although no less intense, and some of his sharp edges had begun to soften. He doesn’t snap as often anymore, he doesn’t insult you all that much (nicknames notwithstanding), and he allows you to follow along beside him some days as he carries out his duties in the village. He remains as stoic and inexpressive as ever in your presence, but it’s thrilling for you that he doesn’t simply send you away when you try to spend time with him.

But the real catalyst seems to be the night he had tried to feed you with food cooked from the village’s own cook fire, and you had so rudely vomited it right back up. It was one of the most mortifying moments of your whole life, and you’re certain that he’ll never forgive you for it.

He ignores you for days afterwards, retreating into the village and refusing to come and see you even when you try to seek him out. It’s humiliating, but the cold shoulder doesn’t last for too long. However, what comes after that is even more confusing.

The man runs so hot and cold that dealing with him feels like suffering from constant whiplash. One minute he’s ignoring you, the next he’s seeking you out in the forest and sending away the other scientists just so he can make you watch him fish. Then he’s bringing you little gifts and you start to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s actually picked up on your crush on him.

Is it insane to wonder if perhaps he might actually return your interest? You’re desperate enough that you’d accept any sort of interest from him, even if it was just morbid curiosity. It probably doesn’t bode well for your self-respect, but you think that you’d be quite content to be the subject of his experimentation, if that’s what he wanted.

The necklace is what makes you really start to wonder what the fuck is going on.

It’s beautiful, Na’vi in make and design, and it fits you so perfectly that it’s like it’s been made especially for you. You fall in love with it the moment he presents it to you, unable to believe that something so lovely has been crafted with you in mind.

And then, after having been gifted with the jewelry, he lets you touch him more intimately than you’ve touched anyone since you came to Pandora. You can hardly believe your luck – he’s usually so harsh, so firm and unrelenting, that you thought he would crush you like a bug underfoot if you ever dared to touch him so familiarly. But he lets you, encourages you even.

You think you may have blacked out a little from the sheer thrill of touching his velvety blue skin, the firm definition of his pectorals, his narrow waist, and his soft, whip-like tail.

But you must have gone too far, because he had whipped away from you like you were diseased. He had practically fled from you, throwing some lame excuse about seeing you tomorrow as he ran.

It’s humiliating. If you had any sense, you would keep to yourself for a few days after you had groped him so boldly.

And yet, you find yourself wandering the forest just outside the Na’vi settlement the following day.

You’re close enough to the village that Tsu’tey could find you if he wanted, but you also have enough distance to preserve some of your dignity – you really don’t want him to think you’re stalking him. If anyone happens upon you, you can say that you’re gathering samples to study. That’s your job as a xenobotanist here, after all.

As you wander the area close to the village, you catch a glimpse of a group of bladder polyps that poke out of the dirt in regular intervals. Utterly captivated, you sink to your knees for a better look.

They look just like blue rocks, but you know that the Na’vi use them as a food source both for them and for their animals. They’re glowing a much brighter colour than the usual dull blue that you’ve reported on the little glowing plants before, and their bioluminescence is pulsing in slow, soothing intervals.

You are, after all, a professional, and your scientific curiosity outweighs your desire to wander until you ‘accidentally’ stumble across the large, handsome warrior you had become so enamoured with. You shuffle onto your belly, personal mission abandoned, and begin watching the behaviour of the plant life in wide-eyed awe.

Luckily you bring your field kit with you everywhere, and it’s with poorly disguised eagerness that you dig it out from where it’s clipped to the belt on your utility trousers. It’s difficult to get as close a look at the polyps as you’d like thanks to the damned breathing mask, but you’re still able to press your face right up to it as you begin tracing out a rudimentary field sketch.

You’ve never seen the bioluminescence act quite like this, pulsing in a regular sort of rhythm like rolling waves, and you jot down as many notes as you can in a messy, excitable scrawl. After just observing the soft pulsing phosphorescence for a little while, you manoeuvre yourself onto your belly and wrestle your tablet out of your rucksack. Laying flat like this isn’t the most ideal position for you to be in from a security standpoint, but it’s the only way that you can get the angle you want for the video that you want to take.

There’s no telling how long you had been laying there, watching the little plants pulsate with soft light. You think you might fall into some sort of daze, because you lose track of time as you fall into the familiar, comforting routine of documenting the flora’s behaviour. But your peace doesn’t last forever.

You’re not sure what it is that pulls your focus away from your work. It’s not like there’s any sudden noise or real change in your surroundings to catch your attention, but you feel the sudden and unavoidable weight of someone’s gaze resting on your back, and you yank your head up to try and find it, blinking.

For a moment, you wonder if you had imagined it. But then a figure moves in the trees to your left, and your heart lurches as your brain finally processes the appearance of the large, semi-camouflaged form of the Na’vi watching you.

“Tsu’tey!” You blurt, staring up at him with wide, startled eyes.

He’s looking down at you with an odd sort of look on his face, his head tilted to the side as he watches you. He doesn’t look all too impressed to see you laying out on the ground on your belly.

“What are you doing down there, Säsrätx?” He asks, one of his ears twitching.

Säsrätx. It’s one of his many nicknames for you – it means annoyance. It lacks the bite that it used to have. Now, he sounds almost fond. Or maybe that’s just your hopeless optimism hearing things.

When you don’t immediately explain, he frowns. “You will get yourself killed, alone in the forest like this.”

That rankles a little. You’re aware that you don’t look like much now, considering that you’re just over half his height and covered in mud from laying on the ground, but you’re capable of handling yourself. You’ve been working with Pandoran flora for nearly two years now, after all.

You frown, a little offended. “I’m studying the plants.”

When you point at the bladder polyps at your feet, he follows your finger and his expression turns a little scathing. He doesn’t appear very impressed with your work.

“That is rawp.” He says, eyeing the mud stains down your front. “It grows from animal waste.”

You freeze. “What?”

Mortification settles like a thick cloud over you. This is just fucking typical. First you vomit in front of him, then you grope him and make him uncomfortable, and now you show up in front of him covered in shit. This is just perfect.

“Oh god,” You whisper, pulling at your standard-issue tank top as your body grows hot and prickly with embarrassment.

You want to sink into the ground, to hide yourself from his intense golden eyes, but that humiliation wars with professional curiosity and the thrill of learning something new.

“So it uses manure as a direct food source?” Your fingers twitch towards your journal so you can record the information. “That’s rare, even for a halophyte! And it’s edible, right?”

Tsu’tey’s expression flickers for a second, before falling into scowling disapproval. “Vrrtep, stand up out of the dirt.”

You hardly hear him, too busy peering at the roots of the polyps. “What are the root systems like?”

Before you can get properly absorbed in your observations, two large hands enclose around your upper arms and you yelp loudly as you’re tugged to your feet. He is easily twice your size, and the casual display of strength sends a thrill of excitement rushing through you and leaves you breathless as you’re set on your feet.

You stare at him like a total moron now that you’re standing in front of him again. God, he’s so tall, so strong and pretty, and his little white luminescent freckles are glowing in the shade of the forest.

“You are dirty.” He mutters, reaching out tug at your soiled top.

Your toes curl in your shoes. “Um- yeah. Sorry.”

His eyes fall on your neck, still adorned with the choker-like necklace he had given you only the day before. His expression flickers, and his hand drifts from your top to your jewellery, tracing over the woven plant fibres.

Your breath catches as you watch him right back, captivated by the strong curves of his face and the sweet little glowing dots all over him. You lean forward without conscious thought, relishing the feeling of his huge hand tracing around your throat and chest.

But just as you’re beginning to get excited, he hastily removes his hand.

“Come with me.” He says, his voice low and calm and rumbly. “I will show you my hut, and clean you up.”

Your heart leaps, and you nod immediately. God, how could you refuse him that? He’s inviting you back to his house so he can clean you up. You can only pray that he’s giving you the signals that you think he is, and that you’re not reading too much into things.

Unlike the last few times you’ve followed Tsu’tey around the forest, padding along behind him as he bizarrely keeps his back entirely and firmly turned to you, this time he reaches out and takes a hold of your arm. He keeps his grip firm but light, not enough to hurt but enough to guide you firmly and keep you by his side.

As you stagger along at his side, your brain gets stuck on the heat of his very large hand on your arm. He’s so strong and so much bigger than you, and you feel supremely stupid for the way that you’re blushing. You absolutely hate yourself for the places that your thoughts are currently jumping to.

You’re so busy eyeing the way his very long fingers curl around your arm that you don’t look where you’re going, and end up tripping over one of the large roots that stick out of the ground. If not for his hold on you, you likely would have fallen on your face.

He says something in Na’vi that sounds like a curse, and then grabs at your other arm with his free hand before you hit the ground. Using both hands, he hauls you up with an ease that makes your stomach quiver.

“You are like blind talioang, crashing around and making noise like a fool,” He says. Though his words are harsh, his tone sounds almost amused. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” You stay, sounding distinctly strangled. “I’m good.”

He hums in acknowledgement, and doesn’t pull his hands away from you. His thumb strokes over your upper arm in a movement that seems absent-minded, but sends your hopes soaring. That’s an incredibly familiar gesture, right? That can’t just be platonic, surely?

You have to snap back into yourself, trying to regain some sense. You’re hot and sweaty and frazzled from the jungle air, and he’s just found you laying in animal shit. He is definitely not looking at you with any sexy undertones right now, as much as you’d like him to be. The kindness of his gesture in bringing you back to clean you up should be enough for you.

Tsu’tey’s tree hut is, as it happens, located in one of the enormous trees just at the edge of the village. The Omaticaya have built their temporary settlement around the Well of Souls, their houses located high up in the foliage and branches of the forest above them. It is impressive engineering and craftsmanship, and you stare up at the wooden structures with awe as you approach.

However, a problem reveals itself to you as you get close to the tree where Tsu’tey’s home has been built.

“How do we get up to it?” You ask, tilting your head all the way to stare up at the canopy of trees over your head.

At the question, Tsu’tey goes still. In fact he seems to freeze entirely, his muscles tensing and his back going ram-rod straight. The reaction is a little unnerving – you wonder if the question was offensive somehow.

“I-” He begins, and then breaks off. His brow is furrowed, and he looks from you to his hut overhead with a look of dawning frustration mixed with an odd sense of horror. “I had not considered this.”

“Considered what?”

“How you would get up.” His ears twitch as he glares up at the tree as though it’s personally offended him. His head snaps back to you, his tail lashing around his ankles. “I will fix this.”

“Oh,” You blink, surprised by his consideration. There’s no real reason he should be that concerned about you being able to get you to his house, but you find yourself smiling at his kindness all the same. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It is not worry,” He says firmly, bending down so that he is looking you straight in the eye. His expression is solemn and intense. “It is a promise. I will fix this.”

“Okay.” You say. It sounds as though you’ve just been punched in the stomach. God, does he even know how he sounds right now?

He’s so damn intense, but you decide to take a chance. You swallow thickly, and make a suggestion that you pray isn’t going to get you punched.

“I could, um…” You begin haltingly, “You could probably lift me up, right? You’re pretty big, and strong, and-” He turns to look at you, his expression as carefully neutral as ever, and you falter. “Or- you know what, that’s a terrible idea, never mi-”

You don’t even get to finish. Tsu’tey steps forward and reaches for you, and in a movement that sends your head spinning he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. You let out a startled squeal and grab at his shoulders, clutching at his neck as he steps forward and begins to haul himself up the tree.

You had meant that he could carry you piggy-back-style, not in a fireman’s carry, but you can’t find it within yourself to complain. You’re a little preoccupied with the flexing muscles in his back and the bulge of his biceps, and when one of his large hands wraps around your upper thigh under your ass to keep you steady you damn near jolt right out of his arms..

By the time he reaches the upper branches where his hut has been built, you feel as though you’re about to squirm right out of your skin. His hand is so big and warm and rough, and though he’s just trying to make sure that you don’t fall off his shoulder to your death, you can’t help but imagine his hands on you in other, more intimate situations.

By the time he reaches the upper branches where his hut is and sets you back down on your feet, you feel as though you’re about to lose your mind. You’ve never necessarily had a size kink before, but right now you feel as though you’re going insane.

You half-stagger as you attempt to keep your balance now that you’re standing, and Tsu’tey places his hand at the base of your spine to steady you. You flush with embarrassed heat, and look up at his face – he looks as implacably indifferent as ever, which makes you wonder if you’re imagining the tension between the two of you.

“Come,” He murmurs, reaching for your hand so he can tug you into the enclosed space of his hut. “I have something for you.”

You perk up at that, excited. “Another gift?”

Finally, his expression shifts to something other than neutral calm. He looks pleased, a little smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Yes.” He says simply.

You beam, delighted. The Na’vi as a people seem to have a culture that revolves around gift-giving. You can’t count the amount of little flowers and cute rocks that you’ve been given from the Na’vi children that run around, and you happily save everything you receive. But the gifts from Tsu’tey are so thoughtful, and mean so much more than any of the other little trinkets you receive from the children.

When you step into the woven reed-like lean-to, you pause. The inside of Tsu’tey’s home is nothing like what you had expected. The Na’vi are usually fans of wide-open spaces and open skies, and their homes are usually open-plan and sparse inside due to all their spare time being spent outdoors. But Tsu’tey’s home is cosy, the floors and walls cushioned with spongey leaves and woven mats.

From the ceiling, bioluminescent flowers and plantlife hang in bunches like tiny little fairy lights, and your mouth drops open admiringly as you step in and gaze around. There are gaps in the woven walls, allowing for an airy atmosphere and a beautiful view of the forest and the village below. The whole place is beautiful.

You turn back to Tsu’tey, and you’re startled to find that he’s already watching you. He’s barely even blinking, watching every expression on your face with near-frightening intensity. It looks as though he’s waiting on you to say something, and you realise that you should be polite and compliment his home.

“It’s so beautiful here,” You say earnestly, offering him a smile. “Wow. You must have spent forever decorating! It’s incredible.”

Tsu’tey relaxes, tension leaking out of his shoulders so obviously that it’s almost comical. His tail is raised and his ears are high and alert – not for the first time, you wish you were able to interpret Na’vi body language.

“You like it.” He says quietly. He sounds pleased, which makes you flustered in return – it’s terribly flattering that your opinion matters so much to him.

“Oh, I love it!” You’re probably hamming it up a little at this point, but sue you. You’re all alone with a huge sexy blue alien that has been touching you in a potentially suggestive manner, and you’ve already humiliated yourself several times in front of him. You don’t think you can be blamed for trying to redeem yourself a little here.

Tsu’tey’s ears twitch again, and his expression seems to lighten a little. He still looks pretty serious and scowly, but his eyes are softer now.

His home is only made up of one room, and most of the space is taken up by what looks almost like a bed, but it’s not like the usual hammock-type pieces that the Omaticaya usually sleep in. This piece is made from plant fibres, just like most things that the tribe uses, and it looks almost like a makeshift mattress. It’s huge, bigger than even a big guy like Tsu’tey would need, and it looks impossibly soft. You stare at it curiously. Why would Tsu’tey use something like that? He’s always struck you as somewhat of a traditionalist.

Tsu’tey is still watching you, so you tear your eyes away from the bed and smile bashfully at him.

“Um.. could I get cleaned up?” You ask. You’re beginning to get seriously self-conscious in your soiled clothes – even through your exo-mask you can smell the animal waste.

He hums. “Demanding thing.”

It doesn’t sound like a complaint – if anything, his mouth is twitching. He turns and makes his way towards the bed structure, leaving you flustered and embarrassed. There’s something laying on the bed; you only notice it when he pulls it carefully up into his hands and turns around to present it to you.

At first, you think it is tendrils from one of the purple plants you’ve seen in the forest. But then you look closer and realise that the tendrils are beaded, and the full thing begins to take shape. He’s offering you clothes. Na’vi clothes.

It would be rude not to take them, so you accept them and peer closer at the fabric. It is very pretty, a soft lilac colour, but you can’t imagine how on earth it’s meant to go on you. There don’t appear to be any straps. The loincloth is simpler, more similar to Tsu’tey’s, but you feel yourself growing warm just at the thought of changing into this in front of the big man in front of you.

He’s still watching you closely, looking for any reaction, and you really don’t want to disappoint him. For some reason, you feel that it’s incredibly important to react correctly right now.

“Thank you.” You say politely, before fidgeting a little. “Um..”

You wait a moment, before realising that he’s not going to turn around. Why would he? The Na’vi do not share the same sense of self-consciousness about their bodies or nudity that humans have, and no doubt he would be confused if you asked him to look away.

You clear your throat, and push your inhibitions aside. He’s not going to care – to him, it’s just a strange alien body in front of him.

You start with your cargos. Wriggling your way out of them, you leave them on the floor as you slip into the loincloth material. You leave your panties on for comfort and a little added security. To your surprise, the loincloth fits perfectly.

Next comes your soiled tank top, and you pull that overhead and drop it to the floor with the trousers. You hesitate a moment before unclipping your bra and adding that to the pile too, but that’s as far as you get on your own.

You look back to Tsu’tey a little nervously. He’s still watching you, though he has stepped back and sunk down to sit on his hunkers near the bed. Even hunkering like that, he’s as tall as you. It feels like being watched by a large predator, and you feel blood rush to your head as you raise your arms nervously to cover your breasts.

“Could you help me put this on?” You whisper. It’s loud in the thick atmosphere that lays between you, and for the first time you notice the way his hands are gripping his thighs.

He doesn’t answer verbally. Instead he beckons you over, and you step mincingly closer before handing the chest covering back to him.

“There are no straps.” You laugh a little breathlessly, fighting to sound casual. “I can’t figure it out.”

Tsu’tey’s big hands are beginning to feel familiar to you, and you can’t figure out whether you want to relax into him or tense from the electrifying touch. You hold your breath as he reaches out and begins to fix the tendrils over your breasts and around your neck.

His touch feels positively searing. You have to keep fighting to remind yourself that this is non-sexual for him – he’s just doing you a favour by helping you out with the clothes. You don’t want to be an absolute freak by making it weird.

If it weren’t for the fact that Tsu’tey’s large hands keep brushing your tits, you might be a little bit more interested in the way the tendrils that make up the top adhere to your skin. As it is, all you can do is stare at him like a total moron. He is so close like this, allowing you to gaze at his face and take in all the details you’ve never noticed before.

“There.” He says quietly, and his breath ghosts over your skin. “That is better.”

The garments hardly offer you any coverage at all, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks as he drops his gaze down the length of your body to examine how it fits you.

You clear your throat and step back before you do something terribly stupid like lean forward to kiss him. You’re terribly flustered, and you have no idea what to do with your hands. The worst part is that no matter how embarrassed you get, Tsu’tey remains completely calm and unflappable with his cool expression.

You’re hyper-aware of the fact that you had literally been rolling in shit, so you move to your utility trousers and begin rooting around in some of the enormous pockets. It’s embarrassing that you’re so aware of how you smell, but you dig out the small bottle of body spray you’ve been carrying around everywhere with you. It’s sweet vanilla scented, and it’s probably a pretty pathetic attempt to make yourself appear more attractive to him, but you’re really grasping at straws here. You spritz it quickly on your neck before turning back to him. The sweet smell makes you feel a little more confident, and you face him with a little smile.

“It’s very pretty,” You say, stroking over the velvety soft material of the loincloth around your waist.

Tsu’tey looks smug, but only for a moment. Then his expression turns confused, and his nose wrinkles.

“What is that?” He asks.

“What?”

He leans forward, and you stare up at him with big, hopeful eyes as he comes close to you. “You smell… strange.”

You blink. “Oh. Sorry, I just- I sprayed perfume.” Your smile turns hopeful. “Do you like it?”

His eyes are so big and so golden, it feels as though you could just fall right into them and get lost forever. God, you’re down so bad.

“No.” His nose wrinkles. “I do not like it.”

“Oh.” You say again. Your stomach sinks a little – you’re beginning to feel like a total idiot. You can’t even get it off now that you’ve sprayed it on yourself. Fuck, it’s like all you can do is continuously sabotage yourself.

Tsu’tey takes a single step back, and for a wild moment you panic thinking that you now smell so repulsive to him that he’s attempting to escape. As it turns out though, he’s only stepping back so that he can take a look at you in the thin top and tiny loincloth. You’re practically nude – the top is little more than a decorative nipple cover, and the loincloth seems to have been fashioned for someone your size from half a regular loincloth. You probably look ridiculous, and you feel mortifyingly exposed under his intense gaze.

“Do I look like a Na’vi?” You joke in an attempt to cover your awkwardness. You even hold your arms out like you’re showing off your new outfit, despite how naked you feel.

“No, ma’yawntutsyìp.” Tsu’tey says with a snort, fixing one last strand of your top before withdrawing his hand. “You are too odd-looking for that.”

Oh.

You are unfamiliar with the word he’s just called you, but the second half of what he’s said has your stomach plummeting to your feet.

You feel your smile freeze on your face. “Oh! Right!”

Oh shit, you’ve never felt like such a fucking idiot before in your life. How stupid of you. Why would you even ask that, what were you expecting him to say in response?

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing at you. He must have noticed your change in demeanour, but judging by his big eyes and the flick of his ears he can’t figure out why your mood has changed.

You feel like an idiot, so you just force a smile. It probably just looks like a grimace, so you hurriedly clear your throat.

“Thank you very much for the clothes.” You say. “And for showing me your home. Um. It’s all very lovely and very kind of you. But I should go now.”

Tsu’tey has been listening to you carefully, but his brow collapses into a frown when you finish speaking.

“I did not mean to-” He begins, and his voice has taken on an odd sort of tone of contrition. For some reason that’s even more mortifying than everything else, and you rush to cut him off.

“It’s fine!” You say quickly. “No worries, really! I just- I should be getting back.”

Tsu’tey hesitates, his gaze dropping from your face to the necklace around your throat, before clenching his jaw and nodding.

“Very well.” He says, a little stiffly. “I will take you back.”

The new science outpost is pretty janky in comparison to the state of the art technology that had made up Hell’s Gate, but it’s home all the same and the other scientists there watch your comings and goings with the tired exasperation of a vaguely disapproving auntie or uncle. It’s difficult to find any real privacy, so they end up aware of your interests whether you want them to be or not. That just so happens to include any embarrassing crushes.

The outpost itself is just one long prefabricated building, sectioned inside with steel walls into laboratories and workspaces, and a large open area for living. In an attempt to achieve some level of personal privacy, most people have erected makeshift curtain walls and hung them from the ceiling to section their bunks off from the rest of the space.

You spend the next several days hiding out in your own little curtained off bed bunk, trying to smother your mortification under your pillows. The other scientists exchange knowing glances (it’s not as though your crush on Tsu’tey was a secret), but mercifully they’ve decided to leave you alone. You spend days wallowing in self-pity as you attempt to stitch together the scraps of your dignity. You only emerge from your curtained off little living area to get food or use the bathroom and shower before scurrying back into the safety of your private area. You can’t escape the feeling that the other inhabitants of the science outpost find your embarrassment terribly funny.

It’s difficult not to feel discouraged. You’ve been trying so hard to drop hints and send out tentative feelers in an attempt to determine how receptive Tsu’tey may be to your feelings, yet you find yourself at a total loss.

You had really thought he was interested when he started giving you all those little gifts and bringing you foraging and fishing with him, and you had been certain that he meant something by giving you the pretty necklace that you now never took off, but now you’re just not sure. You’ve embarrassed yourself so many times in front of him, and he thinks you’re weird looking, so why would one of the most handsome, brave, and skilled warriors in the clan be in any way interested in a Sky Person like you?

And yet he’s gotten so touchy recently! You groan into your pillow – you have to wonder if perhaps you’re reading too much into things just because you want him to be interested in you.

On the fourth day of your self-imposed exile in your bed, you hear your name called by one of the older botanists who’s working out in the main laboratory. You elect to pretend you didn’t hear her. You hope that perhaps she’ll give up if you don’t answer immediately.

It doesn’t work. In fact, she simply calls your name again, louder this time. Oddly, she sounds a little bit more frantic this time, too.

“What?” You shout back, voice muffled by your pillow.

“Come here! He says he won’t leave until-”

The scientist’s voice is cut off by a louder, deeper, familiar voice.

You shoot up in bed, nearly knocking the laptop playing comfortingly old human films right onto the floor. That sounds like- but there’s no way-

“Wait!” Comes another scientist’s frantic voice. It sounds like Norm. “You can’t just-!”

The curtain that sections your own makeshift space from the rest of the living area is pulled back with such force that the whole wire fixing it to the ceiling snaps and it all goes tumbling to the floor. Standing there (although standing may not be entirely accurate considering he is hunched over almost comically in order to fit inside the space) is Tsu’tey.

You nearly scream. You’re just laying around in your unmade, messy bed in nothing but an enormous t-shirt and an old pair of underwear, your hair is a mess, and you’re pretty sure there’s crumbs all over the mattress. This is most certainly not the sexy, attractive image you would like him to have of you.

“What the fuck-!” You start to yell, panicked.

Norm is standing just behind Tsu’tey, glancing from you to the huge Na’vi man with an expression that suggests he would like nothing more than to disappear. Without his Avatar’s body, he looks hopelessly tiny next to Tsu’tey.

“Will I- should I go and get Jake-?” He asks uncertainly, darting a look in your direction.

“No.” Tsu’tey snaps with such force that Norm looks as though he’s about to get bowled over. “No Jakesully.”

“Got it.” Norm squeaks.

Tsu’tey turns to you again, his expression collapsed into a visibly frustrated scowl. “You will talk to me.”

You swallow thickly. You’re pretty sure he’s furious with you, but damn. He looks so good like this, all scowly and strong and pretty. The cramped interior of the science outpost makes him look even bigger, and your eyes are stupidly drawn to the contours of his chest and abs.

“Got it.” You echo Norm, though even more pathetically.

Norm wavers where he’s standing. “Right. You’ve got this sorted, then?”

“Uh.” You say, a little hesitantly. “Yeah. I got this.”

Tsu’tey turns his scowl on Norm, and it intensifies tenfold. “Leave.”

Norm doesn’t wait to be told twice. He practically scampers away, and after he disappears from sight you can hear the heavy, pressurized door to the living area whoosh shut. In the ensuing silence, you can hear him yelling at everyone to get out. You realise he’s clearing everyone out of the outpost; your stomach gives a nervous sort of tremble at the thought.

Tsu’tey steps forward, still looming over despite the way he’s hunching, and you scramble to get out of bed and straighten out your oversized t-shirt.

“I- I’m sorry, it’s a mess in here-” You blabber. Ridiculously, you find yourself attempting to make your bed.

“Sit.” Tsu’tey intones, and your legs practically buckle beneath you without conscious thought as you take a seat on the edge of your mattress.

You thought that Tsu’tey would be even angrier once he was alone with you, but the opposite appears to be true. He has relaxed slightly, and his expression has shifted a little further towards confused frustration. He comes to a stop just in front of your bed, settling into a crouch at your feet. Even crouching, he is taller than you, and you swallow thickly as you stare back at him.

“You are difficult," he begins with a frown. “And confusing. I do not mind this – it pleases me, on some level. I do not mind that you are demanding. I am capable of pleasing my mate, and I will show you this. But you must tell me what exactly to do to please you. I am not used to Sky People.”

That absolutely blindsides you, and you let out a strange wheezing gasp of disbelief. Mate? Please you? What the fuck is going on? What is he talking about?

He continues before you can demand an explanation. “You have not returned to the village in many days. Have I upset you?”

“I-” you choke, grasping onto one part of what he’s said and disregarding the parts that you’re having trouble understanding. “Difficult? Confusing? I’ve been- I’ve practically been making a fool of myself trying to get your attention!”

His expression changes. “My attention?”

“I’ve been-” Ridiculously, your voice wobbles. “God, this is all just so embarrassing. All I wanted to do was spend time with you. I wanted you to like me. I’ve been trying to make myself look pretty with make-up, I've been trying to wear my nice clothes, but none of it has worked! You hate my perfume, you think I look gross-”

“No!” He jolts forward so rapidly that you startle, shuffling closer to the bed so that he’s eye-level with you.

You take a breath, watching him carefully as he reaches out to lay his hand on the necklace that sits above your collarbones.

“I do not think this.” His voice is rough and low, his eyes fervent as he watches you like he’s begging you to listen to him. “I swear, I do not.”

“You-” Oh fuck, now you’re snivelling like an absolute loser. “You think I’m weird-looking, you said so-”

“No.” Tsu’tey responds. His voice has turned strained and a little frenetic, and he reaches out to grasp your jaw in his enormous hand so he can turn your face to look at him directly. “You are- I think you are lovely. Yuey, ma’yawntutsyìp.”

His hand nearly encompasses your whole face, and you lean into him reflexively as you blink the tears from your eyes. God, you don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s ridiculous, and you’re terrified that Tsu’tey will think you’re a total idiot.

When a single tear overflows and streaks down your cheek, Tsu’tey jolts forward yet again as he places one knee on the bed and climbs up. He’s huge, almost twice your height and width, and yet he’s so gentle as he cups your face and wipes desperately at the tear track. The two of you are pressed close together in the tiny space of your bed, and the proximity makes your breath catch in your chest.

“Ma’muntxatu,” He murmurs, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. He translates, “My mate. I am meant to care for you. Why would you hide yourself from me instead of telling me you were feeling this way?”

Your brain just about grinds to a full halt. This is the second time he’s mentioned the word mate – what the fuck is going on? You stare up at him, almost afraid to ask what he’s talking about in case you ruin the moment.

“I-” You gape at him, bewildered.

“I understand the Sky People have different customs,” Tsu’tey says seriously; his expression suggests he doesn’t regard these customs very highly. “But here, mates share their burdens.”

“Mates.” You repeat with a gasp, head spinning. Is that what’s happening here?

He hums, and his soft, velvety nose nuzzles at your temple. Despite his size, he handles you with such care that you feel like something delicate to be treasured.

“I do think that you are unusual looking,” He murmurs, his voice so low that it rumbles right into your chest. “But I also find you attractive. You think I would have put effort into courting someone I did not desire?”

Courting. Slowly, all of your interactions over the last few weeks begin to reframe themselves in your head. The little gifts, the hunting, the walks, the increasingly bold touches. The necklace. You had thought that he might perhaps be nudging you to show subtle interest – you had never considered there may be something deeper, such as an alien courting ritual.

And yet, it’s not the mate part that your mind has gotten stuck on. “You desire me?”

He groans, and the sound rumbles through your chest and down into your stomach. “Of course.”

When his hand comes to settle on your necklace again, you swear you nearly combust. He’s done this several times since he had gifted the piece of jewellery to you, but this time the connotations of the touch steal your breath away. His hand is so big that it overlaps the necklace and frames your throat, and you stare up at him with your lips softly parted.

You realise that this is the first time you’ve been in front of Tsu’tey without your exo-pack. He can breathe your air for far longer than you can breathe his, and now your bare faces are almost touching.

You give into the desire that’s been hounding you for months now, and lean forward to boldly press a kiss to his mouth.

For a split second, you wonder with a thread of panic if you were being too hasty. Were you moving too quickly? Perhaps he didn’t actually want to kiss you-

Your thoughts are cut short, because it’s almost like Tsu’tey was just waiting for you to make the first move.

He surges into you, his huge hands engulfing your face as he kisses insistently at your lips, nipping lightly at you and humming and purring against your mouth. It’s frantic, passionate, overwhelming, and your eyes practically roll back in your head as you allow him to kiss you stupid.

When one of his big hands drops from your face to your thigh and wraps around the soft flesh there, you let out an embarrassing sort of breathy whimper against his mouth. It feels like the culmination of all your hopes and desperate dreams over the past few months, and you can hardly believe he’s actually kissing and touching you like this. It almost feels like a wild dream.

He pulls back at the sound, and looks at you. He pauses. His ears flick and his pupils flare wide, and in that moment you wonder exactly how much of his body language has flown over your head due to the simple fact that it is alien to you.

His long blue fingers tangle in the thin, worn material of your old oversized shirt. His voice is gruff and gravely when he says, “I do not like this. Where is the tewng I gave you? I want to see you wearing it again.”

“You don’t like my shirt?” You ask, dazed.

“I do not,” He bends his head and nips at the hinge of your jaw, causing you to jerk into him. “You look better in the clothes of the People.”

You laugh breathlessly. “I can- I can take it off.”

“Yes,” He mutters, his ears twitching. “I would like that.”

A thrill runs through you at that. He’s so big and pretty and sexy and he’s sitting in front of you telling you that he desires you – it’s enough to send your head spinning into the atmosphere. You don’t think you’ve ever moved to strip so quickly in your life, and you toss your ugly old shirt to the floor.

A little tremor seems to run through Tsu’tey as he watches you, now laid bare before him in nothing but an old pair of cotton panties. His eyes are burning into you, all molten gold and heat. You’ve never had a partner watch you so attentively, curiously, and appreciatively before.

“Ma’muntxatu,” He whispers. His voice is still low and gravelly, but his tone is cautious. “What comes next is mating, fully. If you are not ready-”

“I’m ready.” You gasp stupidly. God, you don’t think you’ve ever been so ready for anything in your life. You’ve been dreaming for months about being given a chance with him, and you’d literally rather die than waste this opportunity.

Tsu’tey has always been pretty difficult to read. His facial expressions tend to be pretty limited to scowls and smug smirks, but even now you can spot the brightening of his eyes. His smile has an excited edge to it, and the luminescent freckle-like dots that cover his face seem to glow brighter in the dim alcove of your bunk.

His palm is big and rough and warm when it comes up to settle over your exposed breasts, and you arch your back to try and push further into his hands. Tsu’tey is tall. Taller than any other partner you ever had before, and that alone does things to you. He dwarfs you as he leans over you, and when he climbs fully onto the bed with you the springs creak ominously. His mass hunches over you, and makes you feel tiny as his head drops down to nuzzle at your bare belly.

You make a strangled little sound, your thoughts whiting out at the idea of his huge hands touching you properly. God, you’re so wet and so stupid.

He rumbles again, deep in his chest. “I can smell you, ma’yawne. You smell so sweet.”

His fingers hook into the hem of your underwear. For a moment he seems to get distracted by the soft cotton fabric, pulling at it curiously, before he gets impatient and starts tugging at them earnestly. There’s an ominous ripping sound, and you feel the cheap stitching give way until his strong hands.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe, staring up at him with wide eyes. He’s just torn your fucking panties right off you.

He buries his face into the juncture of your shoulder and lays a hot, biting kiss on your throat, leaving you hot and shuddering beneath him. His lips travel to the sensitive flesh just beneath your jaw just as one of his hands enclose around the soft flesh of your upper thigh.

“You are very soft,” He breathes, his nose tracing a path down your neck to your sternum, right between your breasts. “Softer than anything I’ve ever felt. You are so- I do not know the word. You are… less firm, than Na’vi women.”

You gasp a laugh as his fingers brush your nipples. “Squishy, is the word I think you’re looking for.”

When his palm lays over your breast, the dry roughness of his hand covers almost from your navel to your collarbones. Your whole body clenches at the thought of even one of his big fingers inside you. You can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed at the pathetic little noise that’s escaped you, because the sound brings a smug little grin to his face.

“Squishy.” He repeats, and he sounds approving. His trailing hands leave tingles in their wake, and it’s so overwhelming that you don’t know whether to push into them or shy away.

“Touch me,” You whisper, thighs splaying open as his wide frame settles between your legs. “Please-”

You don’t need to plead; he moves to do as you ask immediately, his hand sliding down to cup your sex between your legs. You’ve only just started to relax into the mattress, delighted with the contact, when he pulls back and pushes himself down further.

To your bewilderment, he lays one of his hands on the inside of your knees and pushes it to the side. You move to sit up, exposed and mortified, but his grip on your legs keep you pinned in place. His head ducks down, and he squints at your pussy.

“What are you doing!” You yelp, mortified.

“I wanted to see if you looked the same as a Na’vi down there-” He cuts himself off when you slap at his head, pulling back with an offended frown as he catches your swinging hands. “Why are you hitting me?”

“Stop looking at me like that!” You hissed, hot from a shameful sort of arousal. “It’s embarrassing!”

Tsu’tey’s grin turns wolfish, and you just have time to take a breath before he leans in and murmurs, “I plan to do more than look, little demon.”

His long thumb rubs soothing, maddening circles around your clit and making your hips jump to try and increase his pace. The rhythm is nice, but it’s not nearly enough.

“Can you-” You start, brow furrowing as you reach for him. Your hands settle on his shoulders, and you pull ineffectually at him. “Please, I want to touch you too-”

He presses a kiss to your lower belly, and you feel the scrape of his teeth against your naked belly. He’s grinning.

“I knew you were a demanding little thing.” He whispers against your stomach, before biting at your hip bone and making your hips jump again. “Be patient.”

“Okay.” You choke out stupidly, struggling to keep yourself still.

The next kiss Tsu’tey gives you is directly between your legs, right where you’re growing wet. It's such a surprise that you choke a cough, hips jolting towards him without conscious thought. The beads in his braids trail over your bare skin, tickling you.

Tsu’tey just sends you a tiny lopsided smirk, as though he knows exactly how desperate you are right now. A single dimple appears in his cheek, before it disappears from sight as he buries his entire face between your legs.

Your entire body jerks in surprise. His tongue is hot and wet and so much bigger than any human tongue you’ve ever experienced. The texture is a little rougher too, and as he licks at you it feels like liquid fire erupts through your nerves. Your hips twitch and chase after his touch, but he keeps you in place with a single big hand spread across your belly.

"Oh my god," You gasp, tilting your head back into the mattress. "Oh fuck-"

You can feel the bastard's smile pressed up against your core, but only for a moment before he licks all up the length of your pussy. You’ve never felt anything like this before — it's red-hot molten pleasure, and he’s so big that it feels like the whole world starts and ends with his mouth and his tongue.

When he pulls back, only an inch or so, you nearly cry out in protest.

“Hush,” He murmurs, turning his head so that his lips brush against your inner thigh.

"Tsu’tey," You gasp, bare chest heaving. "Please-"

You hardly even know what you’re asking for, but you bury your fingers in his neat braids and hold on tight. He seems to take your grip on his hair as encouragement, because he makes a rumbly sound in your throat and sucks at your clit hard.

You let out a little scream, startled and overwhelmed by how unbelievably good that feels. Your back arches right off the bed as you push into Tsu’tey’s mouth; you don't even have time to worry that you might be too insistent, because his hands only hold your thighs spread with ease. He even takes both of her legs and tucks them over his shoulders — whether it's to give himself a better angle to lick at you at or whether it's to allow you to hump against his face easier isn't clear, but you appreciate it all the same.

Distantly you’re aware that Tsu’tey’s own hips are moving against the mattress, and you let out another soft moan at the realisation that he’s rutting against your bed as he licks into you. His rough, wet tongue rasps against your clit in a way that is so damn overwhelming that you feel like you’re melting, a thin layer of sweat glittering on your skin as you writhe against his face.

When one of Tsu’tey’s big fingers begin to press into you, you let out a truly pathetic sort of moan. Even a single one of his fingers offers a stretch that has you squeezing your eyes and rocking into him eagerly. His mouth is so hot and eager and big that it feels as though he’s trying to swallow you whole even as his single finger cautiously stretches you wide.

"Tsu’tey," You manage to say, your voice high and wavering. "I want- I want you to.."

He lets out a soft noise against you, then pulls back to look at you with wide, shining eyes. He licks his mouth like a cat with cream, and blinks innocently.

"What do you want, ma’yawne?" He asks, his voice rough. Though his mouth has pulled back, his fingers continue kneading insistently at your pussy.

"I want-" You say, then choke a gasp as a second finger begins to push into you, your legs squeezing tight around his hand. "Just- I just want you to-"

Tsu’tey bends his head and curls his tongue against you again, focusing on your clit. "Just what? You must tell me how to please you-"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake!" You curse, slapping at his shoulders as impatience wars with pleasure in your lower belly. "Have sex with me, dickhead!"

His expression goes slack momentarily with surprise, before he laughs breathlessly.

“Yes,” He whispers, his teeth bared in a feral sort of smile. “I can do this.”

He sits up then, towering over you as he reaches down to remove his tewng in one smooth movement. You get distracted by his sleek muscles and slim waist, and you reach out automatically to stroke a hand over his warm velvety skin. He shudders slightly under your fingers, and reaches eagerly to pull you right up off the bed and into his arms as he settles back against the mattress with you atop him.

God, the size difference between you sets your head spinning; you end up straddling his thighs, your legs splayed out on either side of his narrow hips as he keeps your naked body pressed tight against his. You’re so wet and needy still that all you can do is rock desperately against him – the length of his cock is pressing against your thigh, hot and hard, and you squeeze your eyes shut tight as you realise just how big he is. Fuck, is he even going to fit?

Apparently, Tsu’tey is thinking the same thing.

“You are small,” He murmurs as he noses at your sweat-slick temple. “I do not want to hurt you.”

A lightbulb moment strikes, and you push gently at his shoulders as you say, “I- hang on, I have-”

He lets you go, albeit reluctantly. When you scramble off the bed, naked as the day you were born, and scurry over to one of the other bed bunks, Tsu’tey reclines back on your mattress and watches you with a heavy, heated gaze. His gaze on you feels like a weight, and you grow flustered as you start pulling out drawers in the dresser you’re searching.

“What are you doing?” He demands – out of the corner of your eye, you can see the way his tail swishes impatiently. He’s so confident in his own nudity that it makes you blush.

“This is Steiner’s bunk, and I know that he has- aha!” You cry out in triumph as you pull out the little bottle of lube you knew he had squirrelled away.

Tsu’tey just blinks blankly at it, clearly not comprehending why exactly you’re so pleased. Despite his confusion, his mouth twitches as you bound back to the bed and leap up to join him.

You crack the lube open. Admittedly you’re a little too eager, and the gooey liquid leaks all over your hands, but no matter. Judging by the sheer size of the weapon between Tsu’tey’s legs, you’ll need every last drop of that lube. Tsu’tey himself is eyeing the lube mistrustfully, though he doesn’t pull away from you when you reach for him.

“What is it-” He starts to ask, before baring his sharp teeth in a hiss when your slick hand closes around his cock. His hips buck against you so violently that it startles a breathless laugh out of your mouth.

“It’s lube,” You breathe, enraptured by the sight of your own hands stroking his cock. It’s almost comically large in your grip, the same rich blue colour as the rest of him but for the tip which is flushed a pretty pale lilac colour. “It’ll help.”

It doesn’t seem like Tsu’tey is in the headspace to argue, because he just lets out a cut-off little groan before tilting his head back. Encouraged by his reactions, you reach one slick hand down between your legs and begin to stretch yourself out. Truthfully, there’s not all that much work to do. Tsu’tey had already begun stretching you on his own fingers, and you’re so aroused that you open up easily. Besides, you’re a little impatient; Tsu’tey is letting out breathy little pants and bitten-off growls, and you don’t want to wait anymore.

“Okay,” You breathe, pushing yourself up on his body and swinging your legs around his trim hips. “Okay, okay, let’s go-”

“Easy,” He says quietly. Despite his very obvious signs of arousal, his voice is soothing enough to have you going lax against him. “We will go slow.”

Slow definitely isn’t what you want right now, but he’s right. Judging by the size of his cock where it’s pressing insistently between your legs, slow is the only way you’re going to be successful here.

For a split second, you start to doubt yourself. But then Tsu’tey’s big, four-fingered hands come to settle on your hips, wrapping almost the whole way around you, and your doubt disappears as your stomach clenches in excitement.

As soon as the head of his cock presses against your folds, you take a breath and hold it. You had wondered if the amount of lube you had used was overkill, but as soon as you begin to bear down you realise that nope, you definitely needed that lube.

Tsu’tey swears, deep and rough as he throws his head back against your bed. The tendons in his neck are straining, but he manages to hold perfectly still as you sit astride him and lower yourself slowly but steadily down his cock.

“Fuck,” You wheeze, grabbing at his broad shoulders for balance. The stretch is intense, almost all-consuming. Your mind has gone blank, thoughts narrowed down to nothing but the size of him as the slow, inexorable stretch of it has your breath catching in your throat.

“Easy,” Tsu’tey says again, but this time he sounds distinctly strained. His self-restraint is admirable – you can see from his clenched jaw, the sweat on his brow, and his shallow breaths that he wants so desperately to move, but he keeps himself entirely still as you attempt to adjust to him.

You’re taking deep, careful breaths. It feels like you’re about to crack, but when you glance down you find that he’s not even halfway in. The stretch is starting to sting, but you’ve been stretched well and the excess of lube is helping to dull it – it’s nothing you can’t breathe through.

Tsu’tey’s fingers flex around your waist, and he lets out a quiet groan as he edges his hips forward, rocking his cock another inch inside of you. When he finally bottoms out inside you, the sweet ache of the stretch has you leaning forward and burying your face into his defined pectorals and groaning into his chest.

“Are you-” He starts, before breaking off with a stifled groan. His hands flex around your waist again, a little rougher than before but not hard enough to hurt, before he starts again. “Are you alright?”

You don’t answer immediately. Truthfully, you’re trying to catch your breath. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. The ache is fading, and you find your hips humping back against him subconsciously..

“Yes,” You moan, face still buried in his chest. “Yes, I’m so good.”

Tsu’tey laughs, a breathless little chuckle, and you think it might just be the loveliest sound you’ve ever heard. Encouraged by his reaction, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock.

Even as you’re riding him though, you can't help but look down to admire the view — the expanse of his torso stretches long and lean beneath you, musculature tensing as you roll and undulate on top of him. His eyes are bright and glassy with arousal as he watches you move, his gaze flicking rapidly over you as though he can't decide what part he wants to watch the most.

Eventually his eyes settle on your face, and he moans softly as you plant your hands on his chest for balance and begin to move faster. The muscles in his thighs ripple as he strains his hips forward to meet yours, though he’s still fighting to keep himself contained. You pay no mind to the way he tries to meet your thrusts, focusing on grinding desperately against him, trying to get his cock to hit just right.

He’s watching you with such fierce interest that it’s overwhelming, and you lean forward to kiss him again. It’s still so surreal that you can kiss him, that this is something he wants to do with you.

When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, and the liquid heat that shoots up your spine every time you sink down on him has your breath catching in your chest.

Your breathing is beginning to become interspersed with gasping moans as you feel your stomach tightening, the muscles in your legs beginning to clench up. You’re minutes away from getting a cramp in your thighs, but the pressure building in your belly is almost overwhelming. You’re so close, you don't think anything could convince you to stop now.

“I-” You gasp, and your words come out on a whimper. “I’m going to- please, please, please-”

You had been close before, when Tsu’tey had his head buried between your legs with his mouth suctioned to your cunt, but now you swear your vision whites out every time hips grind up into you.

“Yes, ma’yawne,” Tsu’tey grunts, watching your face eagerly, “Go ahead. I have you, I see you.”

When one of his hands creeps between your legs so that he can tease at your clit, you shudder hard. The pressure in your belly begins to tighten into a knot, and the pleasure begins to crest over you.

There’s a soft pressure around your waist, and you realise that his tail has come to wrap around your belly as your orgasm hits you for real. Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open as you clutch at Tsu’tey’s beaded hair, rocking against him desperately as you shake apart in his arms. Your legs quake so dramatically that you can barely keep moving, and you let out a choked sob as the orgasm rips through you.

You’re still gasping and shivering from the aftershocks when Tsu’tey shoves himself up. His arms wrap tight around your back as he spins, keeping your hips locked together as he switches your positions so that you’re the one on your back beneath him.

“I have to- May I-” He starts, stuttering uncharacteristically. His hips are twitching as though he can’t quite control them, and his eyes are a little glassy as he pants over you.

He looks half-feral, desperate and sweaty and trying so hard to keep himself under control. It’s impossibly sexy, and you nod wildly.

“Yes!” You gasp eagerly. “Yes, you can keep going-”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. One of his hands snakes under your back and curls around your waist to pull you up against him as he begins to set an even, cautious pace. With the other arm, he's balanced himself on his forearm beside your head for leverage as he drives into you, beginning to pick up speed. He’s still being careful not to hurt you even as he begins to lose himself in pleasure. He looks totally blissed out, his eyes a little unfocused as he lets out soft breathy pants.

Tsu’tey grunts, his arms pushing your legs up and to the side, and then suddenly he’s fucking into you for real. All you can do is gasp against him as the breath is driven straight out of your lungs by his desperate humping. Despite the size of him, he fucks you with an ease that is startling – your legs lock around his slim hips as he rocks into you, clutching at him as he quite literally fucks you into your mattress. You find yourself shoved up the bed by his thrusts until you have to throw your arms up to grab the headboard in order to prevent yourself from being driven right into it.

It’s beginning to get overwhelming, your orgasm making you over-sensitive and shivery, but you breathe through it – you want to give him this, and you desperately want to feel him come in you. With shaking hands, you cup his face carefully as he rolls his hips against you, his chest pressed to yours. His eyes flicker open and dart to yours, golden and heated as he pants; it’s so intimate that it nearly steals your breath away entirely.

You’re not sure what drives your next move – truthfully, you think it’s an action borne entirely from instinct.

With one hand cupping his jaw, your other arm snakes around his shoulders and trails through the braids that are beginning to loosen from the upstyle he had them pulled back. Your fingers tentatively brush against the braid that protects his neural queue – thinking back to the day you had been exploring his body so carefully, you take a chance and tug lightly at the queue.

Tsu’tey’s reaction is almost instantaneous. A moan is punched out of him, and his eyes roll back in his head. His hand flexes and fists into the sheets by your head, his hips stutter and falter as his brow pinches, and then you feel him coming inside of you.

“Oh.” He chokes, his head dropping down to rest between your breasts as his hips roll unevenly, riding out his pleasure in the cradle of your legs. He rocks into you until it grows to be too much for him, and he goes still with his face buried in your tits.

“Fuck.” Is all you can manage to say in reply, closing your eyes and breathing heavily.

A beat passes, the two of you breathing heavily, before Tsu’tey raises his head to regard you carefully. “Are you okay, ma’yawne?”

Your pussy is feeling achy from being stretched so wide, and you’re definitely going to have trouble walking tomorrow. Your hips ache and your muscles burn, and you lay flopped on the bed like a ragdoll. You’ve never felt so happy in your life.

“Yes,” You whisper to him, a grin beginning to stretch wildly across your face. “I’m amazing, actually.”

Tsu’tey returns your smile, sharp teeth revealed as his full lips peel back in a pleased, feral grin.

Now that he’s stopping fucking into you, the silence that falls over the room makes you realise just how damn loud your mattress springs were. It’s a wonder that the weight of Tsu’tey alone hasn’t brought your whole bed crashing down to the ground.

Tsu’tey must notice the same thing, because he makes a dissatisfied sound as he pulls out of you and moves to settle down beside you. In one smooth move, he pulls you right up against his chest as he lounges back against the pillows as though he belongs there.

“I do not like your kelku,” He mutters, nosing into your sweaty temple before brushing his lips against your skin in a kiss. “It is not suited to you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, allowing your head to drop against his chest heavily as his long, strong fingers begin stroking soothingly over your bare back.

“No?” You ask, closing your eyes as you laze comfortably against the length of his large, nude body. There’s something impossibly comforting about being all wrapped up in the body of someone twice your size that is so dedicated to treating you as though you’re built from spun sugar. You feel like you’re something precious, someone worthy of being protected.

He hums, tracing delicate little shapes in between your shoulderblades. It’s amazing that such big hands could be so gentle, especially considering just how thoroughly he’s fucked you.

“My kelku is better.” He says decisively, his nose wrinkling in a sneer as he peers up at the snapped wire hanging from the ceiling where he tore your privacy curtain down. “You will be more comfortable there.”

Dear god, was he asking you to move in with him? You raise your head from his chest just so you can blink at him, bewildered. He’s watching you expectantly, ears twitching; he clearly expects a response.

“It’ll be a pain to bring my oxygen reserves for my exo-packs over.” You say, the only thing you can think of.

He makes a face, as though he thinks that is a silly concern. “If you need it, we will bring it.”

As simple as that. You bite back a smile. Well, damn. Why the fuck not? You don’t think you could refuse him anything even if you wanted to, especially when his ears twitch as he awaits your verdict.

“Alright,” You whisper, lips curving. “Your bed definitely looked more comfortable.”

Tsu’tey grins, his eyes bright and fervent as he wraps one arm around your back and hauls you up so that you’re laying flat over the length of his body, your chest pressed to his. He’s so tall that his legs are hanging off the edge of your bed, his feet pressed flat against the floor.

It’s difficult to kiss considering you’re both smiling into each other’s mouths, but it’s also one of the sweetest and most rewarding kisses you’ve ever experienced.

“Ma’yawntutsyìp.” He murmurs into your mouth, one of his large thumbs brushes your jawline tenderly.

He’s called you that before; right before calling you odd-looking that day that you had gotten so upset and discouraged by what you thought had been unrequited interest. You had assumed it meant something similar to the little nicknames he always used, säsrätx or vrrtep, annoyance and demon.

“What does that mean?” You ask as he kisses you one last time before allowing you to bury your head sleepily in the crook of his neck.

“Precious one,” He translates, and you can feel his sharp smile against the top of your head. The warm weight of his hand comes to settle over the woven necklace around your neck, just like all those times before; this time, you feel the significance of the gesture. “It suits you, my small one.”

#tsu'tey x reader #tsu'tey #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #na'vi x reader #na'vi x human #alien x human #terato #avatar 2009

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riptozier · 7 months

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@spider-self || CONT.

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ✘ . *. ⋆ HE RECOGNIZED THAT THE DEMAND WAS VERY DIRECT, very forward , and very specific. a lot of people he'd been with before weren't too fond of him saying such things , and part of him worried that the man would react the same way. but given his propensity for approaching what richie had to say , the things he did with an air of curiosity instead of judgment , he felt COMFORTABLE asking for sex the way he had. being a deeply repressed forty-year-old who had lived most of his life without any comfortable memories , let alone any memories at all , of his childhood , being able to engage with others in this way , something he had missed out on in the primal years of doing such things he felt drawn to. it could be potentially unsafe to constantly indulge in your sympathies , he remembered his mother telling him , or at least that was how he remembered it. but he barely had before. he didn't think there was any time to waste , now that he was the age he was.

there was a familiar sensation of PLEASURE that managed to worm its way through richie's whole body with every little touch the other gave him. it was like little fires were being lit everywhere across the breadth of his skin , his initial reaction sharp but morphing into one of unabashed bliss as the sensation continued. as he began to peel his sweater off of his top , he became increasingly aware of the needy , throbbing sensation between his legs. it only grew more achingly prevalent as his jeans fell to the floor , the bulge STRAINING against his boxers springing free as he rid himself of them.

this vulnerability , being naked in front of another person , wasn't something he was used to. but god , did it give him a sense of ecstasy showing himself off to a person who had given him a command suggesting he himself was in need of seeing richie in such a state. he leaned back on the mattress , a needy WHIMPER slipping past his lips as he spread his legs for the other. ❝ touch me ... please ... i need to feel your hands all over me , as you fuck me. ❞

#( i cannot help myself pLEASE-- )#spiderself #「 ✘ 」 » IN CHARACTER. ⋮ ━━ ˗ˏˋ THIS MEETING OF THE LOSERS CLUB HAS OFFICIALLY BEGUN! ˎˊ˗#「 ✘ 」 » CHAPTER TWO. ⋮ ━━ ˗ˏˋ I KNOW YOUR SECRET. ˎˊ˗#「 ✘ 」 » NSFWISH. ⋮ ━━ ˗ˏˋ THE POISON THAT I WANT. ˎˊ˗

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soaps-mohawk · 4 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Summary: You're struggling a bit in your adjustment to your new life, and you're finding some of them are easier to get along with than others. Luckily you're not in it alone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I'm so just overwhelmed with the attention this fic has gotten, but not in a bad way I promise! I'm just surprised is all. Thank you everyone that has read and reblogged and commented. I love all of you and so, since I have no self control, here is Chapter 2. Lots more world building and dialogue in this part, but I promise good stuff is coming.

Also I promise Soap will get his time soon. He's just the hardest for me to write, and you'll see why in this chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“She was lying.”

Price doesn’t bother looking up as a dark figure leans against the wall next to him. He stares out at the empty space between the barracks and the mess hall, not much traffic between the buildings during this time of day.

“About how she got to the institute.”

“Or at least not telling the whole truth.” Price says, turning to look at Simon. “Something tells me she’d talk if we asked.”

“She’s soft.” Simon says, letting his gaze drift off into the distance.

“She’s a civilian.” Price counters. “The CIA did a little training, but she’ll need some work. We can’t leave her completely defenseless...”

Simon turns to face him again. “There’s something else.”

Price pushes himself off the wall, heading back inside. Simon follows, the two of them making their way down the hall to his office. “There’s hundreds of American military bases across the world, thousands of regiments they could have chosen from, and yet, they sent her to us.”

Simon closes the door behind him as Price sinks into his desk chair. “You think it was deliberate?”

Price pulls open one of the drawers, pulling out the file Kate had given him. “Laswell said the CIA has had eyes on her for years.” He slides it across his desk to Simon. “There’s a lot of why's in this situation, and a lot of how’s. Like, if what she’s saying is true, how did a Staff Sergeant get his daughter into FIOT practically overnight?”

Simon glances up at him over the top of the file. “You think there’s something else going on with this Initiative.”

Price nods. “I do. I think there’s more than one experiment being run, and we’re the guinea pigs.”

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you run a comb through your damp hair. You look tired, the dark circles that have plagued your face for the last few weeks looking even darker now. It’s been a long day, so long it’s hard to believe it’s only been a matter of hours since you boarded the helicopter in London.

Your new pack had made themselves scarce after dinner, leaving you to your own devices. You had been left alone after lunch too, and you had spent that time laying in bed, resting after the overwhelming scenting.

You’d played back the last few hours in your mind. Leaving London in the helicopter, meeting your new Pack Alpha, Laswell leaving, meeting your new pack, the scenting. You had plenty to think about, to stress over, and you had been surprised when the knock came at your door for dinner. You were equally surprised to see Gaz and Soap waiting for you.

You’d been sandwiched between them again as you walked to the mess. It was busier for dinner, and the eyes weren’t quite so quick to look away with the alphas missing. You know they have to be curious, with an omega on base following around two members of a SpecOps team, smelling like them. You know what they were probably thinking of you, what they were thinking your presence means.

You’ve begun to understand Price’s rules a bit more.

Price and Ghost had joined you as Soap said they would, coming in late from whatever they had been busy doing. You had been seated next to Soap, Ghost taking his other side while Price sat next to Gaz. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how close Soap and Ghost sat, and you remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes when Soap had approached to scent you. How his defensive stare had turned icy, threatening even, when he’d gotten close to you as if you were capable of hurting Soap. It had been a silent warning. If you tried anything, you’d have him to contend with.

Ghost is territorial, more so than most alphas. You had seen it just a bit in Price, but only because you had been watching for it. Ghost was silent in his claim, but his gaze spoke of his territorialism. As you sat at the table with them, you slowly felt the stares lessen, the curious alphas and betas around you slowly turning away from your table until you were left in peace. You knew it was all thanks to a well-pointed glare from the second alpha at the table.

They’d escorted you back to the barracks before disappearing again, leaving you alone. You’d opted for a shower to try and clear your head, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs but your mind was racing too much to really get any rest. You haven’t been told what their normal schedules entail or even what they look like, but you expect an early morning tomorrow. Since Price had said at least one of them needed to escort you around base, that likely meant you were going to be constrained to their schedules.

You know even when they’re not away, their days are probably full of training and briefings, much like yours had been for three months. They’re probably up early, earlier than you’d like to be, and then they go non-stop all day.

You wonder if they ever get a break.

Maybe this is a break for them.

You sit on the edge of the bed after you finish your routine, eyeing the pillows and blankets stacked at the end. They’re military issue, not as soft or as plush as you might have preferred. This is your new normal, though. Comfort isn’t exactly going to be a high priority.

Tears prick your eyes as you run your hand over the comforter. You know it’s the exhaustion, the stress of the day beginning to weigh on you. You’re worn out, and that’s causing a slip in the tight reins you keep on your mood. Omegas and alphas were both prone to being moody, and those who were unrestrained could lose control quickly. Alphas were quick to anger, while omegas could get depressed very easily. Exhaustion drives both to being grumpy, though alphas will descend into irritability and anger, while omegas will get whiny and weepy.

You hate it, how easily you can be driven to cry. How easily you can lose control. It makes you feel weak and helpless, but that’s partially by design. It was supposed to be your pack’s job to fix that, to give you that support and take care of you.

Except you don’t know your pack.

What would they do if you approached them like this, all teary and needy? Would instinct take over and snap them into their roles? Or would they give you an awkward pat on the back and leave you to take care of yourself? Gaz would help you, you think. He had slipped into that role so easily during the scenting. Your fingers twitch on the bedspread, your mind telling you to seek him out, track him down, even if it’s only to catch a whiff of his scent again.

Your phone screen lights up where it’s sitting on the nightstand, drawing your attention from the door. Kate had given you the phone just this morning before you left the hotel. It had her number on it, as well as your pack’s. You’d half expected to find messages already from them when you’d turned it on, but there had been none. They had kept that boundary of meeting in person first.

You pick up the phone, checking the message. It’s from Price.

Breakfast is at 0700. I’ll take you to see the Omega Specialist after.

Seven o’clock. It’s not terribly early. You’d eaten around the same time at the institute. You’ll get to meet the Omega Specialist as well tomorrow. You’ve met plenty of them in your time as an omega, but something about the idea of having someone there who knows, who understands is comforting to you.

You send a reply in acknowledgement for tomorrow’s plan before setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. There’s an uneasy feeling under your skin, a tickling in the back of your mind that you can’t seem to relax. Your eyes are drawn to the desk where the shirts still sit, and before you know it you’re moving to the desk, letting your fingers trail over each one.

You grab Price’s shirt, taking it back to your bed. You curl up with your back facing the door, holding the shirt against your chest, letting the scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey fill your nose. Silent tears slide down your cheeks, your face pressing into the pillow to muffle your sobs.

As you try to muffle your tears, you miss the sound of boots pausing in front of your door, the person on the other side standing there for a moment before continuing down the hall.

You let out a groan as your alarm pulls you from sleep. You had drifted in and out for a few hours before finally managing to get a couple precious hours of sleep. You’d woken when the others got up. You knew they were trying to be quiet but you had heard them shuffling around, talking quietly amongst each other. You’re normally a fairly deep sleeper, but in a new place you always struggle.

A new place surrounded by almost complete strangers.

You turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. They’re burning a bit, the exhaustion still weighing heavy on your shoulders. You pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to try and make yourself at least look more alive than you feel. The last thing you need is them getting worried about you. That’s attention you’re not sure you want right now.

You blink sleepily at your closet, trying to decide what to wear. Were you allowed to wear anything? You didn’t have much besides the basics, since the only thing you had been allowed to wear at the institute was its uniform and the clothes they provided. Then when you were with the CIA, they had provided clothes for you to wear as well. The things you have now had been bought by Kate before you left D.C.

Everyone on base wore similar variants of the same uniform. You’re not military, though, so you don’t think those rules apply to you. No one had said anything about your state of dress yesterday. You opt for comfort, knowing you’d likely find out soon if you were going to be forced to dress differently too.

You’re tying your shoes when the knock sounds on your door. You had heard the others moving around, footsteps in the hallway, opening and closing doors, quiet voices talking and Soap laughing at something. You know it’s one of them, yet the nervous tickle at the back of your head is back.

Soap is leaning casually against your doorframe when you open the door. His face lights up in a smile as he sees you. “Morning, bonny. Sleep alright?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Tossed and turned for a while.”

“We didne keep ye up did we?” He asks, his smile faltering just a bit.

You shake your head. “No, I never sleep well the first few nights in a new place.”

“Well, our beds are always open if ye need something more comfortable.” He winks at you playfully.

Your face warms at his words, the double meaning not lost on you. You were right, Soap was going to be the one to push your boundaries the most.

Gaz elbows him in the ribs as he passes. “She’s been here a day, mate, don’t go scaring her off now.” He leans on the other side of your doorframe, giving you a smile. “Morning.”

“Morning.” You say, your face still warm from Soap’s teasing.

“You hungry?” Gaz asks.

You nod. You do feel hungry this morning, likely a side effect from your emotional night last night. You step out of your room, the two betas stepping back to give you space as you close the door behind you. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to his door, his eyes watching with the typical cautious disinterest that seemed to be his default setting.

Gaz and Soap sandwich you between them again, close enough their arms brush yours as you walk. It was almost as if they could sense your inner turmoil, the neediness still tugging at the back of your mind. If Ghost hadn’t been trailing the three of you, you might have been tempted to give in and grip their sleeves, or slip your hands into theirs. How would Ghost respond to such a bold move? The mental image of your body flying through the air as he punted you into next week almost makes you laugh.

Price is already seated at a table frowning at his phone over a cup of coffee. Gaz and Soap load up your tray for you, something you’re getting used to rather quickly. It was expected from the alphas, or at least Price, to coddle you a bit, but it seemed the betas were more than happy to get in on it as well.

The thought makes something flutter in your chest.

You’re seated between Gaz and Price again once you reach the table, Price greeting you with a tired smile. “Morning. Sleep alright?”

“Not really.” You say honestly. “New place and all. I’ll settle in eventually.”

“Maybe the Omega Specialist can give you some ideas to help.” He glances at his watch before looking at you as you spoon a heaping spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Take your time. We have until 8.”

You listen to the conversation at the table as you eat, Gaz and Soap talking about a football game that’s on tonight. You feel eyes on you, your skin prickling a bit. You glance up, half expecting Ghost to be glowering at you again, but his gaze is focused on his eggs. You cast a quick glance around the mess, turning slightly to look behind you.

Three tables over, you find the gaze of some soldier focused on you. You haven’t paid much attention to anyone else on the base, but then again you haven’t had much time or reason to yet. You can’t read the expression on his face as he stares at you, but you feel a shiver run down your spine as your eyes meet his.

He stares at you for a few seconds before his gaze moves slightly past you, quickly dropping back to his plate. You turn around, finding Ghost staring just past your head. His eyes are narrowed, his scent coming off stronger than it had been. You can practically see his hackles raised, the warning clear in the air. You feel the urge to curl in on yourself, the threatening aura radiating from him makes you want to cower.

It doesn't go unnoticed by those at the table either.

“Easy, Ghost.” Price says calmly, Gaz turning to follow his line of sight.

“Bloody wanker.” Ghost grumbles before rising from the table.

You turn back around, but the soldier that had been staring at you is gone.

You nervously pick at your sweatshirt sleeves as you sit in the plastic chair next to Price. You’re still on edge a bit from what happened at breakfast. It wasn’t so much being stared at that bothered you. After now three meals in the mess, you’ve almost come to expect it. It’s Ghost’s reaction that has your mind still reeling.

“I’ve always hated the medical center.” Price says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the wall. “It smells too sterile. Makes my nose burn. Reminds me of too many close calls.”

His words jar you a bit. You hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his job. He’s used to getting shot at, to getting into fights, running head first into danger that would send most running the other way. You wonder how many times he’s been the one with the close call, and how many others he’s had to watch have their own.

You wonder how many times he’s had to make that trip to tell someone’s family.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the door across from you opens. Price pushes himself to his feet, and you follow as a kind looking woman steps out. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. You don’t have anything against male Omega Specialists, but you were already surrounded by men. Sure you have Kate, but she’s half a world away.

She’s tall, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite being a doctor she’s dressed casually, no white coat or gloves to be seen. Her eyes are light green and crease in the corners when she smiles.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Keller.” She introduces herself, shaking Price’s hand.

American. You think, silently breathing another sigh of relief. Kate really had pulled some strings with this one.

“Captain John Price.” He says.

You introduce yourself when she turns to you, shaking your hand. Her voice is soft and gentle, the scent of beta coming off her in waves.

“Come on in,” She says, leading you into the office. “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Her office isn’t what you expected either. Instead of the harsh fluorescents, the lighting is softer, warmer. There’s paintings and posters all over the walls, along with several plants. There’s a desk covered in books and paperwork in one corner and a bookshelf with several books packed into it in the other. There’s a couch on one wall, and a couple plush looking chairs on the other.

You move to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. It envelops you in softness, and you feel as if you might sink into it and never be able to get out. After a day of hard plastic and stiff blankets, it nearly makes you weep.

Price takes the chair next to you, Dr. Keller sitting on the couch across from you. The office smells good, a light, neutral scent in the air aside from the pure almondy scent of beta.

“Alright,” She says, holding a tablet and a stack of files in her lap. “I always like to start by introducing myself and telling you a bit about me, then we’ll get into the important stuff.”

She jumps into telling you about herself. Where she grew up: California. Where she studied: UC Berkeley. What institute she did her residency at: West Coast Training Academy. Where she worked last before Kate called her in: some poor inner city institute in LA.

“Now, on to the more important stuff.” She says, turning on the tablet. “I got your medical records yesterday. You’re quite the healthy girl.”

“Yes ma'am. I have good genes. That’s what my mom used to say.” You respond.

Dr. Keller smiles. “Hardly even been sick. Your heats are all normal, too, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You say. “Except for a three month stretch two years ago.”

“Yes, the heat sickness epidemic that hit America.” She says.

You nod. “FIOT locked down completely and everyone was supposed to quarantine, but I heard a rumor that it was one of the beta food workers. She snuck out to see her alpha boyfriend and brought it in with her. We only think it was her because she disappeared not long after the first omega got sick.”

Dr. Keller hums. “I know not everyone was so willing to take it seriously. You made a full recovery, though. No lasting side effects, I’m sure thanks to the state of the art medical facilities that FIOT keeps.”

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky it was just a mild case.”

“That is lucky.” She flips through something on the tablet. “Your lab results all look phenomenal. I like to do checkups monthly, just to ensure everything is working as it should. I know the CIA gave you quite the cocktail of vaccines while you were with them.” She turns her gaze to Price. “Captain Price, I’ve sent in a request for your team’s vaccination records as well. I’m sure you’ve had everything under the sun, but I’d like to ensure there’s no risk of any accidental exposures.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Price says. “If RAMC gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll get them for you myself.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She says. “One last bit in this part and then we can move on. I see FIOT issued an implant before you left, as is standard practice.”

You nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You’ve had more than enough time for it to take effect so we won’t have to worry about any accidental slip ups during your next heat.”

Your cheeks warm at her words a bit. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that inevitable side of things.

“And your next heat is roughly six weeks away.” She says, looking at the calendar. “Don't be surprised if it comes a little earlier now that you’re being exposed to alphas again.”

Your stomach twists nervously at that thought. It was common for heats to be triggered early after exposure to alphas, especially after such a prolonged period without exposure to them. It wasn’t likely to start tomorrow, but you knew it could jump a week or two due to the natural pheromones alphas put off, and the instinctual call for the alpha/omega bond.

“You’re planning for the claiming to take place during the heat?” Dr. Keller asks.

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Price says.

“That is the most natural time for it.” Dr. Keller says. “Of course, it is always up to omega preference in the end.”

You don’t miss the way her eyes dart to you for a second.

“Now that that’s over with,” She says, putting the tablet to the side. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do this next part with just the two of us.”

A beat of silence passes before you realize she’s asking you. Her eyes are on you, and so are Price’s. She’s asking you. She’s asking you what you want.

“I-I guess...yeah.” You stutter over your words, not quite sure how to answer. Is there a wrong answer? Would Price be upset if you said yes? Would Dr. Keller be upset if you said no? Your eyes turn to Price, trying to gauge his reaction.

“It’s up to you.” He says softly. “We’re here for you.”

You sit up a little straighter at his words, nodding your head. “Y-Yes. That’s okay.”

Price pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll be right outside.”

The air inside the room seems to lighten as he leaves, Dr. Keller reclining back on the couch as the door clicks shut. She pulls out a stack of papers and a pen before she looks at you. Your palms are sweating, and you’re starting to think you’d like the chair to swallow you whole.

“This next part can feel a bit personal, but I just want you to know that everything you say in here is as confidential as you’d like it to be. Captain Price is right. I am an Omega Specialist, I’m here for you. I’m not just a doctor, I’m here to help you in all aspects of being an omega. I know FIOT teaches a lot, mainly obedience and compliance. I want to make it clear that you can be honest with me.” She holds up the stack of papers. “No one is going to see these papers but me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” She smiles. “You can call me Dr. Keller, or Doc. You could even call me an evil bitch if you want, it won’t phase me any.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face.

“I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you. They’re a sort of tracker to measure how well you’re settling in and bonding with your new pack. I’d like to meet once a week until your next heat just to see how well you’re settling in. After that we can meet as often as you’d like. Sound good?”

You nod in approval. It sounds like a lot, but you also know you’re going to have a lot of downtime, even with your pack on base.

“Alright, let’s get started. How are you settling in? I know it’s barely been a day, but I want to know how you feel here.”

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. How do you feel here? How do you feel after being pulled from the institute and taken to a training facility where you found out you’d be moving halfway across the world to be a military pack’s omega.

This wasn’t what you had expected when you reached the age where you became an available omega. Most omegas at FIOT came from rich, powerful, important families and your purpose there was to be groomed into the perfect omega to return right back to that world.

You thought you would be chosen quickly. You had expected it. With your scores and your high ratings and your status, you were what most alphas dreamed of. Yet, the years had passed and though there was some interest, nothing had ever come of it. You weren’t alone in it. There were others like you, those who excelled at being an omega, but then seemed to stall in the selection once they came of age.

Of course, now that you look back on it, you can’t help but think it might have been done on purpose. The Omega Initiative was new, you had been told during your first briefing explaining why you were taken to a remote building somewhere outside of D.C. and greeted not by your new pack, but swathes of CIA agents. Military packs were nothing new, but they wanted to utilize the naturally formed packs and make them stronger and more stable by adding in omegas.

Only highly skilled omegas were considered for the program, but of course you had no say in whether you were going to partake or not. They chose the omegas and they decided where you would end up.

It wasn’t that dissimilar from being chosen from an Institute. At FIOT there was a screening process packs had to go through to be determined eligible to have access to omega files. Then the pack would have to send a neutral emissary, usually a beta, to meet the omegas in person and choose on behalf of the alpha. Most institutes don’t have that strenuous of a process, and some don’t have a process at all. In some, alphas themselves could walk in and choose an omega without even so much as a background check.

Omegas never got a say. As soon as you were handed over to an institute, the ability to choose was taken from you. Whoever your caretakers were as a pup signed over their rights to you and the institute became your legal guardian. They dictated your life up until you joined a new pack.

You had hoped it would be someone rich. If nothing else, you’d get to live a cushy life and you’d never have to worry about anything. When they told you what was really going to happen to you, you had almost cried. You did cry, late at night curled up in your bunk after hours of training and briefings.

Kate picked you for this pack specifically because she knew them and she knew you could handle them and their world.

Maybe if you had been worse at being an omega, things would have been better for you.

Or maybe they would have been worse.

“It’s...different.” You finally say, picking at your sleeves again. “But in a lot of ways, it’s similar to The Institute. It always takes me time to settle somewhere new.”

“Me too.” Dr. Keller says, writing some things down. “And with the time change, it’s just so much harder. I feel like I should be in bed right now, but it’s 8 AM. Have you started nesting?”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even feel the urge to.”

“That’s fine.” She says, writing something else down. “In truth, I’d be more concerned if you were.”

Your eyebrows raise a bit. “Why?”

“During an adjustment period for an omega, especially in a new pack, there can be something that happens called false instincts. The sudden urge to nest, a drive to bond with pack members too soon, false heats. It’s usually brought on by a sudden change in environment, like when omegas are taken from a place where they’ve spent sometimes years with no exposure to alphas and are suddenly thrown into a space with a lot of alphas. It’s more common in larger packs where you have alphas, betas, and other omegas.”

“Could it happen in smaller packs?” You ask.

“It’s possible, though rare. It can cause some serious issues down the line when those instincts are actually supposed to begin to show up, like adjustment sickness. I’d say if you’re starting to feel the urge to nest or bond before the first week is up, then come talk to me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

She smiles, turning the page. “How far have you gotten with the bonding process?”

“Just the scenting yesterday.” You answer.

“And how did that go?”

You pick at the loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Fine. It was...overwhelming.”

“They can be.” Dr. Keller says. “The new members of your pack, how are you getting along with them?”

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug. “I like Soap and Gaz. Price, he’s...he’s nice, and Ghost...” You trail off, not sure how to answer. If she’d asked before breakfast you might have said he doesn't like you. He doesn’t want you to be part of his pack, but after what happened at breakfast...

You can’t be sure he did it for you. He could have thought that soldier was staring at Soap or Gaz or even Price. He could have thought the soldier was staring at him and was annoyed with it. He had scared off the stares at every meal you’d eaten together, but how often did they get stared at? You couldn’t know if that was a daily occurrence and he was just growing sick of it.

He could be annoyed with you because you’re drawing in the stares.

“I don’t know what to think about him yet.” You answer.

She writes something else down, going through a few more questions with you. How is your appetite? How are you sleeping? Are you taking care of your needs? Do you have any concerns?

Before you know it the hour has passed and you’re walking out the door into the fluorescent, sterile hallway of the medical center.

“Remember, you have my number. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Dr. Keller says as you part ways.

You walk with Price out of the medical center, glad to be out in the fresh air. It’s not particularly warm, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, but it’s better than the medical center.

“What do you think?” Price asks as you follow him back to the barracks.

“I think it went well.” You say, mind still reeling from an eventful morning. You’re beginning to feel your restless night.

“Do you like Dr. Keller?” He asks, probing a bit.

You nod. “Yes, sir. She’s nice.”

“Good.” He says, opening the door to the barracks for you. “I have to leave to oversee training for the next few hours.” He glances at his watch. “One of us will come get you for lunch.”

You nod. Of course you’d find yourself alone again between meals. You’re beginning to notice a pattern. “Yes, sir.”

His hand is warm as it settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You’re surprised by the touch, as small as it is. Were they too fighting the urge to get close to you, like you had this morning?

You can still feel the warmth of his hand even after it’s disappeared and he’s gone. You head for the rec room, deciding to avoid the constricting feeling of being shut in your room for the time being.

The TV is on when you enter, but the room is empty, playing some morning talk show. You move to the bookshelf against the wall, letting your eyes scan the titles. There's a surprising lack of military-based books shoved into the packed shelf. Of course there's a handful of old manuals and handbooks, nothing that you're particularly concerned about needing to read. You let out a sigh, standing on your toes to reach a Brandon Sanderson novel.

You look around the room but the remote for the TV seems to be missing, and it’s too high on the wall for you to reach the power button, so you leave it on, curling up on one corner of the couch as you begin to read.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when something moves in your peripheral. The sun has come out briefly, shining in through the windows. You look up from the book, suddenly feeling very small under Ghost’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he stares down at you, a thousand things flashing through your mind. Are you in his spot? Is this his book? Had he come to the rec room hoping to be alone and here you are infringing in his space?

“Come on.” He says, his voice rougher than it had been this morning. “Lunch.”

He’s already turned and heading out the door as you scramble up, leaving the book on the coffee table as you hurry to catch up to him. His steps are quick and wide, and you find yourself having to almost speedwalk to keep up with him.

Your thoughts are jumbled as you follow him out of the barracks and off towards the mess. Why would they send him to get you? Was he the only one available? Yesterday they had time before lunch to return to the barracks, or had that only been because of you? Or were they perhaps hoping this might offer a chance for the two of you to bond a bit?

Or were they entirely blind to Ghost’s disinterest in your existence?

Perhaps they were used to it. After so long together, perhaps they just thought it was normal. If you were brave enough to bring it up, would you get a “oh that’s just how he is” in response?

You can’t see the others as you enter the mess, Ghost leading you to the line. He stands behind you like a hulking shadow, his scent covered by the smell of gunpowder and sweat. You fill your own tray for the first time, grabbing things that look appetizing. You’ll have to get used to it eventually, even though the others insisted on doing it for the time being. When they’re not here, you’ll have to do it yourself.

Ghost leads you to an empty table, and you opt to sit across from him. You begin to eat, taking big bites to avoid the need for conversation, not that you really thought Ghost would strike up a conversation with you. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously, glancing over the entrances time and time again, waiting for the others to arrive.

“Stop twitching. They’re on their way.”

The words cut straight through you and you snap your head around to face Ghost. He’s got his mask pulled up to his nose, your eyes immediately drawn to the exposed pale skin. There’s light stubble on his chin. You remember how that had felt on your own skin when he’d scented you. He’s blonde, you think, or at least has light hair judging by the color of the stubble. There’s a scar on his chin, almost hidden by the stubble.

Your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught in your nervous fretting. Of course, you should have known he would take notice. There’s not a lot they don’t notice, you think. Though, when your survival depends on noticing even the smallest detail of anything or anyone...

You jump as a tray is set down next to yours, your eyes snapping up to see Gaz with a smile on his face. You turn back to look at Ghost, his mask pulled back down but you see a slight shake to his shoulders for a second.

Was he...laughing at you?

Your attention is drawn from him as Gaz takes a seat next to you, sitting close enough his arm is almost brushing yours. Price and Soap taking their usual spots as well. You’re beginning to pick up on the patterns that existed around them, and their own patterns. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to fit yourself into their lives. You knew from the start they weren’t going to change to fit you into their lives. They couldn’t. You were going to have to find a way to fit into their lives.

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, abnormally quiet as he watches you warily. He walks you to your door, leaning on the doorframe as you step inside.

“You alright?” He asks, big brown eyes shining with worry as he looks you over.

“Yeah.” You nod, shifting on your feet. “Just tired. I think I might take a nap.”

He nods, and you’re sure he doesn't quite believe you, but he doesn’t press any. “Alright. Happy napping.”

You close the door as he leaves, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch. Between the probing questions from Dr. Keller and the few minutes you had spent alone with Ghost you feel exhausted. It was good to know you weren’t entirely broken in your lack of nesting instincts, and perhaps your turmoil with belonging in this place wasn’t quite as abnormal as you thought.

What to do about Ghost.

He’s said more words to you today than he did in the entirety of the previous day. In fact, you think today might be the first time he’s spoken to you at all. You know he doesn’t approve of you, and you’d go so far as to say he doesn’t like you. You can imagine he fought the hardest against you being added to the pack. They were fine without you. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

You’re an outsider. A civilian. A risk.

An unneeded disruption to their lives.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, staring at the dark screen. You know Ghost might never accept you. He won’t want to claim you, he won’t mate you, but...perhaps you might just get him to tolerate you.

You unlock your phone, sending a quick text to Kate.

“Can you get a book for me?”

You regret your decision momentarily as you step into the rec room. Gaz and Soap are lounged on the couch, beer bottles open on the coffee table. The TV is playing ads, their attention on each other. You almost feel as if you’re infringing upon a private moment as they laugh, half tempted to race back to your room and hide until your hunger draws you out or someone breaks down the door to get to you.

“Hey!” Gaz’s face lights up when he sees you, Soap turning to look at you.

“Hey, bonny!” His face lights up with a smile.

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, shifting nervously on your feet.

“Not at all.” Gaz says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. “You want a beer?”

You shake your head. “No thank you. Never could get past the taste.”

Soap throws his head back as he laughs, slapping Gaz’s shoulder. “I keep tellin’ ye!”

“Yet you keep drinking it!” Gaz attempts to defend himself.

“Cause it’s th’ only thing we got!” Soap argues, leaning around Gaz to stare at you. “So, ye a football fan, bonny?”

“Well, I watched the World Cup a couple times as a kid.” You say. “My household was more of an American football and baseball household. Two of my older brothers played soccer, though they never were very serious about it. Mostly just did it to fulfill my dad’s physical activity extracurricular requirement.”

“What did you do to fulfill that requirement?” Gaz asks as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Softball. I was...not good at it.” You laugh. “I could catch and throw, but I don’t think I hit the ball a single time I was at bat.”

Both of them chuckle, turning back to the TV as the ad ends. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a proper football fan yet.” Gaz says.

You watch the game with them, and it doesn’t take you long to realize they’re rooting for opposing teams. They explain things to you here and there in between yelling at the TV and each other. Despite how loud they are, you find yourself relaxing further and further, the tension from the last two days easing away, even as the two betas yell at each other over a soccer game.

Gaz tenses for a second as he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, noticing you’ve fallen asleep, your head drooping onto his shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile as he gently nudges Soap.

“Wha?” Soap asks, turning to look at him.

He jerks his head to the side, leaning back just slightly so Soap can see. A grin breaks out on the younger man’s face and he pulls out his phone. “Aww, look a’ that. Think we should wake ‘er and get ‘er tae bed?”

“Nah.” Gaz says. “Let her sleep for now. She probably needs it.”

You sleep soundly through overtime, Gaz not moving until the post game is over, letting you sleep as long as possible. He knows you have to be tired, after the last few days and the time difference. You looked tired today, with dark circles and droopy eyes. He hates to wake you, but he knows you can’t sleep on the couch.

He nudges you gently, trying to rouse you. “Hey.” He nudges you again, your head finally lifting off his shoulder.

You blink sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. You make a quiet sound in protest of being awake, eyes drooping closed again.

“Come on, love.” He says, keeping you upright. “It’s time for bed.”

You cover your yawn with your hand, blinking at him sleepily. “Bed?” You murmur sleepily, Gaz smiling softly at how adorable you are in this state.

“Yeah, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” He pushes himself to stand, hands on your arms to pull you up.

You make another sound in protest, nearly falling against his chest when he gets you on your feet. He wraps an arm around you, letting you lean on him as he guides you back to bed, Soap cleaning up the mess they had made.

You’re more awake once you get to your door, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “‘S fun.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Should do that more often.”

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He says. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Night, love.”

He waits until your door is closed before heading back down the hallway towards the rec room, a small smile on his face.

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#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha beta omega dynamics

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dragon-kazansky · 9 days

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Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

The Viscount is set on finding a wife this season, and you are trying again for your second season. While Anthony is dealing with trials between Edwina and Kate Sharma, you are dealing with trials of your own. Benedict Bridgerton is ever present in your life, but your pursuit to find a husband must come first. Society is ever so exhausting.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season Two

Chapter Eighteen - New beginnings

A new season has begun. You had watched many families return to the city over the last few days. London has been alive with people, and it was thrilling to see.

You and your mother had stayed in the city all year round. There was no point in going to the country on the account that you had no country house to return to anymore. Having failed to wed last year, your uncle, who had been supporting you and your mother, had pulled back. He saw you as a failure, and you have decided to take that in stride, for this was a new season and a new opportunity to find a husband.

Of course, there was one family in particular you were most excited to see return to London. Your dear friends in the Bridgerton house.

They had arrived already, but you had yet to go and see them. Daphne was going to be the last to arrive. She had told you in one of her letters, so you were going to wait for her to arrive before seeing them. You intend to see them after Eloise's debut.

Eloise Bridgerton is a feisty soul. A young woman who knows her own worth and will not settle for less. You adore her. Perhaps this year you could spend some more time to her, that would certainly be fun.

Your letters with the Bridgerton's were all you had for company since last summer. You had missed them dearly. There was on in particular you missed most, not that you would ever tell him that.

Benedict Bridgerton.

For a little while after the Bridgerton's returned to Aubrey Hall, you had dreamt about Benedict. It had been a very confusing time indeed. You would wake up suddenly feeling rather... hot and bothered. Sometimes, you swore you could hear his voice, but you knee you were dreaming.

You didn't know why you dreamt of him. Eventually, you managed to stop. The mkre time that passed, the less he haunted your dreams, and you could sleep peacefully.

Yes, a confusing time indeed.

You were dressed for the debut ceremony. Violet was hoping you would attend with them, but you stated you would simply meet them inside. You were sure she would be disappointed by this, but you needed more time to prepare yourself to see them again. To see him again...

You and your mother stood together inside. Your arm was looped around hers. The queen was already present, waiting. She was looking for another diamond.

Daphne's match with Simon Bassett last year shook the ton. They had been a perfect match, and you were sure it would not be easy to make such another spectacular pair. However, you knew the queen, and she would not accept anything less than perfect.

The door opens, and people start to trickle in. It isn't long before you see the Bridgerton's enter. The moment Benedict steps into the room, his eyes find yours, and he smiles. That cute crooked little smile.

You smile back at him.

There is no time to catch up and chat while in the presence of the queen, so he will simply have to wait until later to talk to you. Daphne comes up to the other side of you and smiles, greeting you with a quiet "Hello."

One by one, the young ladies making the debut come before the Queen. Each one looks as beautiful as the last. Then Eloise makes her entrance.

She stands frozen in fear as everyone looks at her. You feel sorry for her. You know she doesn't want any of this. You think she's about to move when someone comes up to the queen and whispers something to her. You watch curiously as the queen then stands up.

It seems Lady Whistledown is to the rescue.

She's back. The ton's favourite gossip column. Just like that it's all over. Eloise flees and Violet chases after her daughter.

You look at Daphne who looks disappointed.

You follow everyone out as they leave. Benedict tries to come up beside you, but there's too many people trying to exit for him to talk to you properly.

You stand outside and look at the gossip column your mother managed to get her hands on. Lady Whistledown is, in fact, back for another season.

Dearest gentle reader.

Did you miss me?

It's going to be another eventful season.

It wasn't until back at the Bridgerton house that you and Benedict managed to actually talk to oen another. Between Eloise and Violet falling out a little after the disaster of the debut, and being whisked away by Daphne to join her in her carriage, neither you or Benedict had a moment to talk.

He was eager to speak with you again. You were standing by the window conversing with Francesca, whom you seemed eager to chat with. His sister was a little different from her siblings. Quieter, gentler, more reserved. Yet, you were making her most comfortable. Benedict was glad she had a friend to talk to.

However, he still wanted your attention. He walks over to you both and greets his sister first. Francesca gets the idea and excuses herself. You chuckle softly and look up at Benedict.

"Impatient?"

"Slightly. I've been waiting all day to talk to you."

"All day?" You chuckle. "It's been merely a couple hours."

"Alright. All year." He grins.

"Goodness. You've waited all year? How did you cope?" You tease him.

"Misreably."

You both chuckle softly with each other, and then it goes quiet between you. You take a moment to look at him. He's hard a haircut since you've last seen him. He looks more refined. A gentleman.

You don't think you've changed much.

"You didn't come to Aubrey Hall upon, may I state, all our invites."

You glance away awkwardly. "No."

"Why didn't you come up?" He asks softly. He had missed you dearly, but when you never showed up to the country house, or declined very invite, his heart sunk a little lower each time.

"I've been busy here."

"Busy?"

"With my lessons," you clarify.

"What lessons?"

You sigh softly. "I've been working hard all off-season to make myself... well, more desirable. More perfect."

Benedict was caught off guard by your words. He had never heard something mkre ridiculous than that. "How can you be more perfect when you've already achieved that status?"

Now it was your turn to be caught off guard.

"That's nonsense. You can't possibly have anything to approve. You're already wonderful," he tells you.

"Benedict... Mother and I have no support... my uncle, who was looking after us beforehand, had deserted us. Because I did not manage to get a proposal last season, he has seen me as a failure, and therefore, mother and I must stay in the city with what funds we have. I cannot fail again."

Benedict's expression fell as you spoke. "You have no suspport? What happens when the money runs out?"

"I don't know..."

Benedict was concerned about this news. When Violet walked in, Benedict called over his mother. She approaches with a smile, though you know she has just returned from talking with Eloise, which is certainly n easy feat right now.

Benedict tells his mother what you told him. Violet seems shocked.

"Anthony!"

Before you know it, the eldest brother is approaching. You almost wish you had kept your mouth shut. Violet tells Anthony what Benedict had told her.

Anthony looks furious. "How dare he?"

"It's my own fault," you say.

"No. Not at all, dear." Violet takes your hands in hers. "He is a foolish man to have such expectations of you in a single year."

"Daphne did it..."

"Daphne is a different story," Violet tells you softly. "I have an idea. Anthony, will you be so grateful to take her under your wing and support her this season?"

You shake your head at him, but Anthony is already nodding. "It will be my pleasure. I can put together some funds for your dowry. You shall be in good hands."

"Anthony... I can't accept that!" You look at him with both awe and shock.

"Of course you can." He smiles at you.

Benedict looks at you. "We can help you."

You look at all three of them and feel yourself becoming a little emotional. Did they care about you so much they would go this far to look after you?

"Are you sure?" You ask.

Each of them nod and smile.

"You have no idea how much that would mean to me." You look at Anthony. "Thank you so much."

"You need not thank me. It is the least I can do," he tells you.

"Still, this means a lot. Mother won't have to worry anymore. Really, thank you."

Violet reaches for your hands and takes both your hands in hers. She smiles warmly at you, the way a mother would smile at her child. She is like mother to you. One who spent some time last season trying to push you toward her sons. You have to laugh.

"Stick by me, dear. I shall look after you."

You smile and give her hands a gentle squeeze. "I'd be lost without you."

Benedict watches the two of you interact. He loves how you've sort of inserted yourself into his family. You fit right in. You'd make a fine Bridgerton.

"Now I have three people to pair up," Violet says proudly.

"Three?" You ask. You knew Eloise was one. Yourself makes two.

"Eloise, you, and Anthony!"

You look at Anthony with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "You? You're looking for a wife this year? Here I was thinking you would remain a bachelor until at least all your family had married first." You giggle.

Anthony rolls his eyes as Violet laughs softly at your teasing. Benedict chuckled, too, not even pretending not to find it funny.

"Yes, very amusing."

"You haven't even heard his conditions for a wife yet," Benedict says, nudging your arm lightly.

"Oh? Do tell."

Anthony lifts his head up proudly, hands behind his back, looking like the Viscount he is. "She must be someone I will not fall in love with. Pretty, sensible, suitable hips for child bearing, and at least half a brain."

You state at him in disbelief. "Anthony."

"What?"

"You better not say that out loud lest you insult every woman in the vicinity. Goodness, how do you expect to find a wife like that? You should marry someone you'll cherish for the rest of your lives. Someone who will make every day worth living for. Someone who compliments you in all the best ways and challenges you to keep you on your toes."

Violet and Benedict both look at you in awe.

Anthony doesn't seem affected by your little speech. "That rules you out as a candidate then?"

"Absolutely."

Anthony nods and walks away. You feel slightly bad, but you couldn't stand there and pretend his words didn't bother you.

"Worry not. You've only dented his ego, my brother will be quite fine," Benedict assures you.

"Good... I just don't see what the issue is with falling in love?"

Violet nods softly. "Anthony is stubborn, but if there is one thing I am certain of, all my children will marry for love."

You smile at her. "And me?"

"Of course you!" She smiles brightly.

You feel so much better after hearing that. Without the stress of having to marry because money was involved, you could now take your time to find someone to connect with. Someone to fill in love with.

You were ready.

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#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #female reader #season two #dragon writes

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thelargefrye · 5 months

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THE YULE DRAGON … holiday one - shot ( 17+ )

pairing : poly!dragon!ateez x witch!f!reader

genre : dragon au, fantasy au, holiday au, fluff, angst

word count : 4.3k

warnings : language, mentions of dragon hunters, talks about death, light injury but nothing major, one death threat

suffer tag : @sanjoongie and for anon who asked about any new chapters

note : very excited to write this, so let me know what you think! also here is a link to what y/n's dress at the yule gala looks like!

the winter month draws near and the clan prepares to celebrate the yule dragon festival for the first time in years. knowing this is wooyoung's first one with an actually clan, you want to make sure everything is perfect.

when you woke up in the morning, you noticed how snow had slowly begun to fall and lay on the ground. you also couldn't help but notice how the dragons around you seemed to have been in good moods. smiles on their faces as they walked around and some even greeted you with warm smiles.

when you arrived at the nursery, the hatchlings all immediately greeted you. most of them run up and tackle you to the ground.

"miss y/n! miss y/n! did you see the snow?" one hatchling, jiyu, asked and you couldn't help but laugh as you nodded and pushed some hair out of her face.

"yes, i did. very beautiful isn't it?"

"not as beautiful as you, miss y/n!" another hatchling, minjae, said. the other hatchlings couldn't help but agree with minjae and you couldn't help but laugh at them all.

"prince mingi said that we will be able to celebrate the yule dragon festival this year!"

"the yule dragon festival?" you remember wooyoung telling you about the holiday years ago when you first met. you can't help but feel excited knowing he's going to enjoy a real one this year.

"yeah! it's been years since the clan last held one," seeun says and that quickly catches your attention. years? you thought the holiday was a yearly thing?

"alright, little ones, let's go ahead and get ready for the day," mingi comes in and ushers the hatchlings away from you in order to gather them in a line so they could eat.

you push your curiosity down for later as you go over to help mingi with the hatchlings. you watch the hatchlings with a warm fondness as they eat and talk to each other, and the rest of the day goes by in flash with you and mingi taking care of the young dragons.

"miss y/n, have you ever experienced a yule dragon festival before?" one of the hatchlings asked as they were laying down for a nap. the question of one hatchling seemed to have caught the attention of a few others around you two.

"not a proper one with a true clan, but me and wooyoung used to do a small celebration before we came to the clan," you said as you remembered your time with wooyoung back in your cottage. you can feel your cheeks heat up as you remember the first time you both celebrated the yule dragon together.

"do witches have any special holidays?" another hatchling, siyu, asked.

"we do but they're not like the yule dragon one. we focus more on what we are thankful for and mourning those that have left us," you explain.

"that sounds sad."

"sometimes it is sad, but then you have to remember that even those that left this world are still with us in spirit. watching over and guiding us on the right path of destiny," you say.

"but miss y/n, you don't have to be sad anymore because you have all of us!" one hatchling said with the others immediately agreeing and you couldn't help but smile at all of them.

"okay, okay, everyone," mingi says as he comes in and immediately calming all the hatchlings down. "its time to rest, not get excited."

"but prince mingi," minjae says looking towards the tall prince, "don't you agree that miss y/n doesn't have to be sad anymore, since she has all of us now?"

"of course," mingi says as he bends down to pet minjae's head, "but miss y/n still has a right to miss those that she lost. we all do. now come on, everyone, time to rest!"

you can't help but smile at how some of the hatchlings groan at mingi's words, but nonetheless all lay down in their little nooks. you and mingi go through and make sure each hatchling is comfortable before you leave the nesting room.

you watch as mingi closes the door behind him before he's offering his arm to you. you take his arm with a smile as he escorts the two of you back to the main palace wing.

"i meant what i said though," mingi begins and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, "that you have a right to be sad about those you lost, but also know that hatchlings are right as well and that you have all of us now. the hatchlings, me, wooyoung, yeosang, the others, and even the clan. you have all of us."

"thank you, prince mingi," you say, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek and he smiles at you before quickly pressing his own kiss to your lips. "also," you speak up after you two continue to walk, "what did the little ones mean when they said its been years since you all had a yule dragon festival?"

"well... we haven't had one since hongjoong's parents and brother were killed. hongjoong didn't want to have a large one with the whole clan, so this is the first time in five years that we have celebrated it as such," mingi explains and you nod your head in understanding.

"what caused him to suddenly change his mind?"

"well you and wooyoung of course," you wanted to laugh at mingi's answer. more like just wooyoung, you think. you decide to remain silent as mingi guides you through the palace.

"this will be wooyoung's first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you note as you notice many dragons setting up and decorating the palace corridors with festive decorations. you can't help but feel excited knowing that wooyoung will be able to experience the real thing after so many years of not having it with an actual clan.

your mind goes back to when you and wooyoung would celebrate together back at the cottage. both of you dressing up, decorating the cottage, and spending the entire night together. wooyoung taught you the dances that he learned. even when you weren't celebrating the dragon holiday, you would find wooyoung and yourself dancing and just enjoying each other's company.

"hey, mingi?" you caught the dragon's attention and he turns towards you as you continue to speak, "is there... a way i can help set up the festival?"

"oh! umm, i think so. seonghwa is usually in charge of things like this, but i volunteered to help him this time, so..."

"do you need help?" you ask, feeling an excitement bubble up in your stomach.

"of course you can help," mingi says, a wide smile on his face and you mirror his smile, beaming up at him. the two of you share a quick hug, mingi lets out a small laugh at your excitement, almost not expecting it.

"thank you," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you are separating yourself from him. you notice the blush that covers his cheeks and ears and you have to stop yourself from pouncing on the tall dragon from how cute he is.

as the next week goes by, you spend your time helping the dragons in the clan to decorate for the yule dragon holiday. at first some of the dragons were reluctant at accepting your help, but slowly and eventually they allowed for you to help with the decorations. sure they didn't trust you with the important stuff, but that was okay.

you only wanted to make sure everything was perfect for wooyoung, he needed to have the best yule dragon after everything he has done for you. you also wanted to make sure the clan had a good one as well, but wooyoung took priority in your heart.

"wow, look at these decorations, darling," yeosang's voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look down from your spot on the wooden ladder to see your lover looking up at you with a smile. you finish hanging the silver garland before climbing down the ladder and yeosang is quick to press a loving kiss to your lips.

"thank you, me and the hatchlings made them," you say, feeling rather proud from how all the decorations have been turning out. many of the other clan dragons complimenting you on your hard work.

"you've been working so hard, a lot of the clan members are grateful for your help," he says as the two of you begin walking out of the grand hall, where the yule gala will be held tomorrow night. other dragons are busy around you all finishing up last minute details, with most of them stopping to bow at yeosang before scurrying away to finish their task.

"i have something for you, princess," he says once the two of you are out of the grand hall and you give him a confused look which only makes him smile. "it’s custom for everyone to wear special outfits, rather a little too fancy if you ask me, but people really enjoy it," he begins as the two of you continue to walk down the hall.

"and i bet you completely forgot to make sure you are prepared for the gala," yeosang teases and you felt yourself get flustered at his words. "but don't worry because you wonderful mate has taken care of you," he says as you both stop in front of your chamber doors. "i hired a seamstress to make you a dress and thankfully she managed to finish it in time."

"wait, yeosang– you... you didn't, you shouldn't have."

"but i did, and i wanted to. my darling, you have done so much, let me give you this," he says, cupping your cheeks before leaning over and kissing you. you feel yourself melt into the kiss as you press yourself closer to your lover, arms wrapping around his waist. the two of you only separate when you're out of breath and yeosang presses one last kiss to your lips before he's pulling away and opening the door to your bedroom.

when you stepped inside, you were completely shocked at the dress that rested on the mannequin in the center of your room. you had honestly never seen a dress more beautiful in your life and you felt yourself tear up because of it. you felt like you didn't deserve a dress as gorgeous as this.

"it's beautiful, yeosang."

"you look absolutely beautiful, my fire," seonghwa says when he sees you walk into the grand hall.

the gala had been going on for several minutes, hongjoong lighting the ceremonial flame that burned in the center of the clan. you were amazed at the flame and its rather unique color, and mingi explained that this flame could only be lit by the leader of a clan and that it in order to celebrate the first dragon.

you honestly couldn't look away from the flame, almost like it was meant to entrance you.

"thank you, prince seonghwa," you said, bowing slightly to the eldest dragon prince. seonghwa could only smile as he took your hand into his before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

"make sure you enjoy yourself," he says, not yet letting go of your hand. "i want a dance before the night is over."

"of course, your highness," you say, a small smirk taking over your lips before seonghwa is nodding and making his leave. he does unfortunately have other people to see and talk to.

your eyes scan around the grand hall, looking for the head of familiar red hair and you feel your heart skip a beat when you finally find him. wooyoung looked absolutely handsome in his outfit and you were glad to see that he matched the other princes. it made your heart flutter knowing that wooyoung was being accepted by the clan.

you made your way over to your first lover, your feet picking up speed when you two made eye contact. you felt like it had been forever since you last seen wooyoung – however it had only been a few hours. you had been so caught up in making sure the festival and gala were perfect for him that you had completely forgot to pay the red-headed dragon attention.

so you immediately wrapped wooyoung in a tight hug once you were close enough. wooyoung was quick to return the hug, holding you close to him as he inhaled your scent before pressing a kiss to your neck.

"my y/n, you look so beautiful," he says as he twirls you around, the white-silver fabric that was decorated with beautiful shimmering stars and moons. wooyoung had seen the dress, yeosang having shown him before you and he knew you would look beautiful in it. but of course, seeing you actually in it he was blown away by your appearance.

"are you having a good time, woo?" you ask, heart beating rapidly waiting for his answer.

"of course i am," he says with a smile, "mingi mentioned how you helped out with this whole thing. any reason why?"

"you, of course," you say, both your hands linking with his. "this is your first yule dragon with an actual clan in a long time. i wanted to make sure it was perfect."

"oh love," he says, gently pulling the two of you off to the side, "you didn't need to do that. it would have perfect no matter what because i'm celebrating it with you. back at the cottage... i saw the two of us as our own little clan. and the yeosang joined," wooyoung says and you can't help but laugh at his last comment. despite mating and bonding with yeosang, wooyoung still couldn't get over the other dragon coming in basically setting up camp in your little cottage.

"you love yeosang, don't try to fool yourself," you tease and wooyoung grumbles a little bit before rolling his eyes.

"whatever."

you were about to say something when the sound of a familiar tune filled the grand hall. you turned to see a lot of the people gathering at the center and began dancing. you noticed mingi pulling yunho behind him to the dance floor with many of the other dragons cheering for the two tall princes. following them, you see yeosang and san dancing and you were a little surprised at seeing the blonde guard dancing and smiling as him and yeosang looked at one another.

"wow, who knew san could smile," wooyoung says and you crack a smile before turning to your lover.

"shall we join them as well?" you ask and wooyoung nods before he's pulling you towards the dance floor and you two quickly fall into a rhythm of the dance. the music easily guided you as you and wooyoung danced, you felt your whole attention center in on your lover and it felt like it was just the two of you.

you got flashbacks to when you and wooyoung would dance in your cottage. how back then it really was just the two of you and no one else, but now you were surrounded by people that even if they all didn't welcome you, they welcomed wooyoung. and even if you didn't feel welcomed at first, you have mingi, yeosang, the hatchlings.

seeing wooyoung smile and laugh and enjoy himself made you feel like you were on cloud nine. even if he wouldn't say it out loud, you knew wooyoung enjoyed being a part of the clan.

you felt the music guide you and your thoughts, as the music began to slow down you found yourself and wooyoung also slowing down. wooyoung pulling you close to him, his arm coming to wrap around your waist to hold you close to him.

"i have you had your ceremony?" wooyoung suddenly asks, snapping you out of your happy daze. you knew immediately what he was talking about.

"not yet, i was waiting till after the gala was over," you say, feeling a lump form in your throat at knowing what you would have to do later.

just like dragons, witches also had their own traditions and such. not as public as the yule dragon, but more intimate to each witch. celebrating those that you left you in this world. wooyoung has been with you during this ceremony like you have been with him for his. you don't know how many nights you have fallen asleep, crying in wooyoung's arms because of all the witches that have died.

"do you want me there with you?" he asks, and it takes you a moment to think about it.

"no, i'll do it alone this time."

"are you sure?" you nod your head, you didn't want to ruin wooyoung's good time here with your own traditions and ceremonies.

when the music changed once again, you pressed a kiss to wooyoung before stepping away, telling him you needed some fresh air.

"let me come with you," he says as he starts to trail after you, but you stop him.

"it’s okay," you say, hand out to stop him, "i'll be right back."

you don't give wooyoung a chance to say anything as you're turning and making your way to one of the many garden doors that lead out into the courtyard.

once the cold air hit your skin, you let out a sigh as you made your way over to one of the stone benches that overlooked most of the courtyard and even down further into the clan. the yule flame burned brightly a short distance away and you couldn't help but walk over to it. the flame reminded you of the flame that you would light for the umbra ceremony.

the flame burned brightly and you almost felt like a moth from how you were being drawn to it.

which is how you found yourself in front of it. the noises from the grand hall behind you is like static as you look at the flame, letting it consume you. you got flashbacks to when you would set up a room of candles for the witches that you lost, the flame from those candles burning brightly into your mind.

"why are you out here," the cold voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn to look at hongjoong with wide eyes. the prince looks at you with a stern expression, his cold eyes burning into your body.

"i was just... just getting some air," you tell him, refusing to fully make eye contact with him.

hongjoong lets out a 'tsk' sound before he's coming to stand next to you, looking up at the flame. you're surprised by how close hongjoong, this is probably the closest he has ever gotten to you without trying to kill you.

"mingi told me how you helped decorate for the festival," he said out of nowhere after the two of you stood in silence. "i guess witches can be good for something," he adds and you feel yourself deflate at his harsh words.

"i did it for wooyoung," you said wanting to make it clear that you were only doing it for your first love and no one else. "this is his first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you add.

"and i'm sure witches are the reason why he had gone for so long without experiencing one with a clan," he says back.

"perhaps," you say as you clench your fist together tightly, "but wooyoung is here now with a clan," you turn your head to look at hongjoong, taking in his form once more. his lavish outfit and vibrant blue hair standing out against the dark night. he was the epitome of what a leader of a dragon clan should be in the fact that he always had that air of authority around him. everyone respected him and if they didn't respect him then they feared him.

you, unfortunately, feared him more than you respected him. the dragon oracles say that you two are mates like you are with the rest of the princes, but you knew hongjoong refused to acknowledge you as his mate. you were a witch, the thing that killed his parents and brother and forced him to take the role of leader too soon. you wondered if you and hongjoong would ever get along.

you notice how the flame reflects against hongjoong's skin and then something hits you.

"please excuse me, prince hongjoong," you say suddenly before you are rushing past him. hongjoong doesn't say anything and you don't know if he watches you leave as you are too caught up in rushing back into the palace.

you run to your room, feeling out of breath as you enter your chambers you share with wooyoung before going over to the large trunk that rested at the foot of the bed. you quickly dig through the trunk and pull out a set of candles. all three a beautiful rose color and it reminds you greatly of your mother.

"what are these for mother?" you asked, looking up at your mother as she handed you the three candles. they were different from the ones you were use to lightly for the umbra ceremony and you wondered why she was giving them to you.

"these are special candles, y/n, i made them myself so you can use them when you need them the most," she explains, her voice seeming ever cryptic.

"when i need them the most?" you echo and she nods, a tight-lipped smile painting her features.

"they are for the one who will need to say goodbye the most."

you gripped the candles tightly as you raced back to the courtyard and was surprised to still see hongjoong standing there. somewhere deep inside wants you to believe he waited for you, but you know that's impossible.

"prince hongjoong," you say as you approach him. "i want to thank you for letting wooyoung into your home. i know that... you despise me and my people, you lost your parents and brother after all. and i know you probably don't care but i want to share something with you."

hongjoong turns to look at you, his face void of emotion as he watches you set the three candles down between the two of you. you crouch down, kneeling front of the candles as hongjoong stands towering above you.

"the umbra witches have their own ceremony, we light candles in order to remember those that have left us and this world. we do this as a way to remind us that while they have left this world physically, they are still here with us spiritually," you pause in order to take a deep breath, licking your lips before continuing.

"my mother made me these candles when she was still alive. she told me that they were for someone who needed to say goodbye, and... i think she made them for you."

"what the hell are you talking about?" hongjoong asks, voice full of surprise and anger. "i don't need any of you stupid umbra witch shit," he adds and you notice his fist clenches with his rage.

"please," you beg, voice straining as you plead with the prince, "take the candles, it will bring you peace, prince hongjoong."

you feel a sudden shock as you are grabbed by the collar of your dress. you're pulled up from your kneeling position, face dangerously close to an enraged hongjoong as he bares his teeth at you. in the moment you are reminded that you are at the mercy of a clan full of dragons whether you liked it or not.

"i will never," he jaw clenched tightly as he speaks, "ever, forgive your damned people for what they did to my family. my people. so don't think so damned candles will change that. you will never be my mate and just know that if it wasn't for yeosang and mingi that i would have burned you at a stake a long fucking time ago."

hongjoong waste no time in throwing you to the ground, your hands skidding across the stone pathway harshly and you flinch at the sudden burn of skin. you turn to see hongjoong's eye burning, like he will kill you if you say anything else to him.

you then watch him destroy two of the candles, his foot coming down harshly on them and you feel like a part of you is being ripped apart as you watch him. he's about to do the same to the last one, but you move and grab the last candle. the last one your mother made.

then without thinking you stand up and run away from the prince. you clearly made a mistake in thinking that you could get hongjoong to open up just a little bit. you felt tears begin to form in your eyes as you ran, clutching the candle close to your chest as you collapsed in the one of the many decorated halls.

you looked down at the candle once more, the image of your mother's smile flashing inside your mind as you caressed it. you knew this candle was for hongjoong. he was the one who needed to say goodbye to those he lost, but it was obvious that now wasn't the time.

"y/n!" the sudden call of your name makes you snap your head up to see yeosang rushing towards you. face full of concern and he drops down to the floor next to you. "y/n, what's wrong, why are you crying?" he brushes the tears away and you open your mouth to say something before a sob escapes instead.

you throw yourself into his arms and he arms them around you protectively. you hold your mother's candle close to you as you allow yourself to cry in yeosang's arms. yeosang doesn't say anything, only letting you cry as a comforting hand runs over your hair.

"it's okay, y/n, i'm here," he says softly, holding you closer to him. "whatever made you sad, don't think about it anymore, okay? cause i'm here to protect you."

and so the night comes to an end as you spend the rest of it in yeosang's arms, allowing him to hold you closely as you mourn for the loss of your mother and the hate hongjoong bares for you.

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esouliie · 3 months

Text

AN ANGEL FLUNG OUT OF SPACE

(natasha romanoff x fem! reader)

– synopsis | falling in love with your childhood bestfriend might have been one of the best yet scariest things to happen to you. but what happened in the summer of ‘97? what happened to your darling natalia?

– warnings | little fluff & a lot of angst, kind of au (no avengers), child abuse, mentions of: attempted suicide, self harm, body mutilation, burn marks, severe malnourishment (18+)

– notes | this was supposed to be a oneshot but, as usual, i spiralled out of control and now it has two chapters… potentially three? merci, mon alice, for the header @wandasgf ♡

[ word count: 4.4k ] Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

JULY 1992

The sun had begun to set and yet the warmth of the day still lingered. The glow of the street lamps cast an amber hue on the pavement, outlining the familiar houses that lined the quiet street. The air was filled with the scent of summer, a blend of fresh grass and the distant fragrance of blooming flowers. In one of the houses on the street, a family gathered in their backyard for a summer evening barbecue. The smell of sizzling burgers and sweet barbecue sauce wafted through the air, and the faint laughter of children chasing each other echoed, while the adults lounged and swapped stories.

Meanwhile, across the field, two girls were beneath the sprawling branches of a willow tree. A patchwork quilt, covering a section of flattened grass, held a tea set long forgotten as they had rounded the thick trunk, the littlest one already perched on the wooden swing.

“Push me higher, Natty!” You exclaimed, voice full of glee. You were only a small girl with wild hair and a toothy grin, but your spirit was boundless.

Natalia smiled brightly, her own eyes sparkling with joy at her friend's excitement. “You’re already so high you could see the Empire State Building.” She teased, her laughter blending with the sound of chirping crickets amongst the long grass in the distance.

“I know!” The wind whipped against your face, and you couldn’t help but let out a joyous laugh.

Inseparable since Natalia moved in next door, your friendship blossomed under the protective branches of the willow tree across the street, where a swing hung proudly in the breeze. Its gentle leaves whispered secrets that only the two of you could hear, dreams of the future etched upon its bark, as unadulterated laughter rang true with its sway.

She whistled as your head swung back, the carefree spirit of the summer evening enveloping her in its warm embrace. And as she gazed up at the tree’s opening, she found twinkling stars above and the imaginary distant silhouette of the Empire State Building visible on the horizon. She couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the vastness of the world she had yet to see.

"Whoa, this is amazing." You shouted, feeling your stomach drop with each swoop. "Let’s swing all the way to the moon!"

“Maybe not the moon,” She pushed harder, her hands gripping the thick plank of wood beneath you, “But let’s try for the stars."

You shouted with as much euphemism as your little body could handle as the swing reached its peak. Weightless under its motion, you were suspended between the sky and the ground.

An angel flung out of space.

"I can almost touch the stars!"

She smiled. Despite her hands being rubbed red raw from rope burn, she was happy. She was always happy to be with you. While she had her younger sister, Yelena, whom she cared for deeply, it wasn't the same as having you. A friendship of her own creation. She yearned for the summer days when she could run around like a child with you.

“That’s good, that means you’re almost home, little star.” She shouted, her accent slipping out ever so subtly.

Carefully, your hand stretched toward the night sky – a poor attempt to touch the boiling balls of gas above.

You both were happy.

It’s sad what became of you both.

All too soon, reality intruded once more. The distant sound of a heavy door opening cut through the air, a gentle reminder that all good things must come to an end. With a final push, Nat stepped back and held onto the plank, commanding it to a halt. She knew what was coming.

At first, you didn’t notice her disappear around the wide trunk. But the gentle clink of pottery against one another told you enough as you followed in her footsteps.

“Natalia,” You whined, hands on your waist at the sight of the older girl cleaning up. “No, it’s your turn to swing.”

A whistle pierced the air, its familiar shrill sound gaining both of your attention. The sound of home time. “Natalia, come. Time to go.” Her mother’s voice carried just as loud, urging the redhead to leave playtime behind.

She turned to you, her expression softening as she looked down at your smaller frame. With a mixture of reluctance and understanding, she pulled you into a tight embrace, the warmth of her arms wrapped around you, the gentle press of her lips against your forehead lingered for a moment before she released you and ran off into the gathering dusk.

Alone now, you watched as the field fell silent, the only sound being of the insects hidden in the dark. The swing on the other side croaked gently in response to the light breeze and the redhead’s swift departure. For a moment, you considered sitting on it, perhaps pushing yourself back and forth on the points of your feet. Instead, you find yourself standing there: the absence of your best friend ever so palpable, a void that sunk deep into your bones.

Without Natalia by your side, the swing held little allure, and you decided to make your way back home. With your large basket in hand, you reached your own doorstep and paused, casting one last glance towards the girl’s house. The lights were on inside, casting a warm glow against the darkness outside.

You almost missed it, but a glimpse of red hair appeared out the window, followed by a hand waving at you. As soon as you waved back, she was gone. Window shut. Curtains drawn.

You went to bed with a cheesy grin plastered on your face.

You’ll see her again tomorrow.

AUGUST 1997

“Natalia, stop fighting me on this. You look like a popsicle.” You laughed and shoved the girl playfully from where you were sitting against the willow tree.

“It's cool.” She defended, as her hand tugged at her blue-dyed ends.

The years had rolled by, but the memories of that swing under the willow tree lingered on in your heart. As the seasons changed, so did your life. You made new friends, explored different interests, and navigated the tumultuous journey of adolescence. Being older than you, Natalia was already in high school, but she didn’t go to any in the district, as she was home-schooled and sometimes had to leave for a while. She never really told you why.

Even so, your bond deepened and an unspoken connection developed between you both. Under the tree's comforting shade, you discovered a warmth in your heart that went beyond friendship. Those lazy summer afternoons spent laughing, dreaming, and sharing secrets created a bond that you wanted to explore further.

You’d never felt like this before for anyone.

Only Natalia.

Life as a pre-teen was so confusing.

You snorted, “Yeah, okay, you leave for a month and come back with half of your hair a different colour.”

But it wasn't just the hair colour that captivated you. It was the way she carried herself - a wisdom wise beyond her years. She was the same goofy redhead of course - her eyes sparkled with mischief when she laughed at you, her hand held the same warmth in yours as you walked together. But there was something else lurking beneath, a sadness more notable than her usual melancholy. You noticed the slight furrow in her brow, the way her fingers tapped nervously against each other.

Something was weighing on her mind, something significant. So, you asked, “What’s wrong?”

She let out such a soft sigh that you almost missed it.

“I’m leaving.”

Dread washed over you, and a knot formed in your stomach. "Again?"

She had just returned the other day. Your mind raced with questions and uncertainty and the tears already clustered your lash line. You, a child with no need to mask her emotions, no need to hide her soul, unlike Natalia, who always seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, her laughter always accompanied by a subtle sadness, as if she were trying to conceal her true feelings behind a façade of cheerfulness. But today, as she sat you down with a gentle tug, her eyes betraying a mixture of resolve and sorrow, you sensed that she could no longer hide what she'd been keeping inside.

"It's for good this time," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the ground as if unable to meet your eyes. "My parents want to go back to Russia. They don’t like it here.”

Though unspoken, you sensed the weight of what she meant. They don't like you. It stung, a silent acknowledgement of the barriers you've fallen blind to. The odd glances from her mother, the subtle disapproval from her younger sister—all pieces of a puzzle you've tried to ignore.

Her admission hung heavy in the air, the reality of separation sinking in with each passing moment. She drew closer, her delicate fingers brushing away the tears that cascaded down your cheeks. You lifted your gaze to meet hers, noticing the weariness etched into her features, the telltale signs of tears already shed hours before.

“I’ll miss you.” She whispered, forehead flushed against yours, before leaning down to kiss the corner of your lips. An almost kiss. One of many shared underneath the cover of the willow tree.

You tasted saltiness and noticed the fresh tears that had now sprung from her eyes.

“I'll miss you too. Forever.”

The next morning, you stood outside her house, as the sun cast long shadows over their lawn. It was your last full day together so you arrived bright and early, not wanting to waste any time. You reached out to knock on the door, but your hand hovered, hesitant. The house remained still, as if holding its breath, waiting for something that would never come. You glanced around, searching for any sign of life, but the windows stared back at you blankly, revealing nothing but darkness within.

“Natty?”

Nothing.

A sinking feeling gnawed at your stomach as you realized they must've left in the night, slipping away like shadows fleeing from the dawn. The same way they joined this neighbourhood.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from the empty house, feeling as if a piece of your soul had been torn away with their departure. The world already seemed colder, lonelier, devoid of her warmth and laughter that once filled it.

In the days that followed, you found yourself drawn to the tree – yours and Natalia’s safe haven. You sat there, surrounded by memories, as the rope swayed in the wind - empty and forlorn. Though still magical, the willow tree could no longer shield you from the loneliness that settled in your heart, as the summer months stretched on endlessly, a blur of empty hours filled with longing and regret.

That night, you slept with a permanent frown, a puddle of tears staining your pillow.

You won’t see her again tomorrow.

APRIL 2001

From afar, she looked different. Almost unrecognisable.

Eighteen years old and she was here: barely an adult yet taller and slimmer, with a cascade of auburn curls framing her face that replaced the short blue hair you remembered. The years had engraved themselves onto her, carving the once-round face into a pointed visage that spoke of both experience and loss.

Just as beautiful as you remembered.

You sat on the swing under the tree with a book in hand, lost in its pages until light danced between the branches and a flicker of movement caught your attention. Glancing up, you froze as you saw her across the street.

Natalia?

Your heart quickened its pace, memories flooding back in a torrent. But this woman was different. She’d changed. She’d grown.

She noticed you too, her gaze locking onto yours for a moment. There's a flicker of recognition, a spark of something in those eyes. For a heartbeat, it feels like time hasn't passed, like you're still the same two little girls taking on the world together. But then, just as quickly as the connection formed, she averted her gaze, choosing instead to continue on her journey. She walked with purpose, footsteps marching in a steady rhythm that both connected and distanced her from you. She couldn’t get caught up with you. She had a job to do.

Realising she was going to walk away, you pushed yourself off the swing, a mix of hope and nerves swirling inside you as you discarded the book somewhere in the grass.

None of that mattered. Natalia was here. She was back.

“Hey, wait!” You shouted, practically running after her. You reached out to grab her wrist, but she jerked away, shoving you back a few steps with surprising force.

Up close, the difference was unquestionable.

The once soft and kind Natalia had evolved into a hardened version of herself, sharpened by strong fists. Her eyes once filled with innocence, now harbour shadows of pain and resilience. She exuded an aura of toughness, and a guarded silence had replaced the laughter that used to be a melody in her voice.

“Natalia? What are you doing here?” You inquired, tentatively closing the gap between you both. You watched as she winced at her name falling from your lips.

And yet, this time, she didn’t evade your touch. Her hand trembled slightly as it met yours, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. In that fleeting silence, you took in the toll life has taken on her. Her arms bear the marks of countless scars, remnants of battles fought in shadows, and bruises of varying hues.

“What happened to your arms?” Your voice is gentle, a soft inquiry borne out of concern.

But, the sudden confrontation had her retreating into herself, defences rising once more like impenetrable walls. You mustn’t know. She could never do that to you. “Let go.” She demanded sharply, her tone cutting through the air like a knife.

Caught off guard, you hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, but that’s long enough for her to decide to rip her hand out of yours, sharp and abrupt.

“Are you okay?” Your voice was barely a whisper as you watched her practically flee, disappearing around the corner of the street.

You don’t follow her.

OCTOBER 2012

Funny how throughout life, fate seemed to play a game with you, pulling Natalia in and out of your orbit like a cosmic dance.

At twenty-seven, you found yourself entrenched in the fast-paced world of trauma nursing. After the arduous journey through medical school, you packed your bags and set your sights on the East Coast. New York City welcomed you with open arms, its vibrant chaos becoming the backdrop to your new life. From your boss’s office window, the silhouette of the Empire State Building stood tall, a symbol of strength amidst the chaos below.

You thrived in this environment, relishing in the opportunity to connect with and assist people in their most vulnerable moments. The adrenaline rush of the emergency room, the delicate balance between life and death—it fuelled you in ways nothing else could. Not since that summer night. Not since you tried to touch the stars.

Today, however, the hospital was enveloped in an air of secrecy and quiet urgency. Paramedics had rushed in with a new patient a few hours ago, shrouded in mystery as they were rushed straight into surgery. Usually, you're first on-site with incoming patients but you had been busy working your rounds to be able to assist, and there were enough on the trauma team – with the security clearance - to handle such a situation.

Stopping by the bedside of your oldest patient, Mrs. Dinton, you smiled sweetly. “Hey, Mrs Dinton. How are we today?”

"Ah, there you are, dearie," she said, her voice crackling with age. "I was just telling Nurse Molly here about the delightful hospital pudding they serve on Wednesdays. It's simply divine, don't you think?"

You chuckled softly, waving a hello to your colleague. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a fan, Mrs. Dinton. But I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it."

She laughed, a sound like tinkling bells. "Oh, well, means more for me then."

Before you could continue the conversation – could reprimand the elderly woman about how she needs to watch her sugar intake - Dr. Cho appeared at your side, her expression serious. "Excuse me, ladies. But, Nurse Y/N, is needed elsewhere." She says kindly but with a hint of urgency, no room for questioning. You and Dr. Cho were great friends, having graduated med school together and now working at the same hospital.

“What is it, Helen?” You asked, following her footsteps out the ward, navigating the labyrinthine hallways of the hospital.

“I’ve been assigned postoperative care for the Jane Doe and I want you with me...” Your heart dropped at the mention of the mystery woman.

All day, the hushed tones and covert glances exchanged among your colleagues hinted at the gravity of the situation. Their whispers that followed you through the hospital corridors spoke of a failed suicide attempt. While the hospital had sadly seen its share of such cases, this one was different – a Jane Doe, requiring an unusual degree of privacy.

“…while I don’t know any more than you about what happened, I trust you the most to help me with her. So I got you clearance. Go grab us a pair of gloves, I’ll meet you inside.” Helen finished with a nod before entering the private wing.

You donned your own pair of latex and made your way back to the private wing, the click of your shoes echoing down the corridor. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and concern. The weight of the unknown pressed upon you as you approached the room where the troubled soul awaited treatment. Few years being a trauma nurse, you had seen it all… but not a Jane Doe. Never a Jane Doe.

Upon entering, you found Helen already studying the patient's chart. The subdued lighting in the room cast a sombre mood, and the machines hummed softly in the background. The Jane Doe was laid on the hospital bed, head secured in a neck brace and a tube down her throat, a silent testament to the ordeal she had endured.

“Thanks,” Helen whispered, making her way over to retrieve her gloves. "I've gone through everything in the notes. The attempt was pretty severe."

You nodded, taking in the gravity of the situation. The silence was broken only by the soft beeping of the monitors as you both began your work. Each movement was deliberate, and each procedure executed with precision and empathy. You adjusted the IV drip, checked the vital signs, and made sure everything was in order.

Sometime later, Helen had left, her pager going off as her presence was needed with another incoming patient. The room seemed to hold its breath, but it was only you. The machine to your right, making sure the woman was still breathing.

You read over her notes once more.

“Female, 5’7…” You ramble aimlessly to no one as you find yourself unable to voice the rest.

The laceration on her neck caught your attention. The wound stretched across her delicate skin, a jagged seam where the surgeons' skilled hands had meticulously stitched the deep gash closed. The edges of the cut were puckered slightly, evidence of the trauma dealt with by the knife paramedics found next to her unconscious body. Judging by the shape, it seemed like she plunged rather than sliced, the offending weapon, then, pulled out instead of left inside. She was quite malnourished, her cheeks hollowed out, collarbone visible as the gown drowned her thin figure. She lacked a sufficient amount of muscle. You wondered how someone could go unnoticed without eating for several days. It was as if she had become a ghost, fading away in plain sight.

The woman looked ill - eyes sunken with abnormally pale skin. Drifting down her body, you noticed her legs. A horrified gasp threatened to leave your lips. Raised red lines covered the expanse of her legs, some scabbed up, some clear burn marks that had turned into blisters. Her arms were just as bad, marred with a history of wounds that ran from her wrists to her shoulders.

Behind all the equipment, her face was almost unrecognisable. Her hair was what stood out the most, the auburn curls matted with blood. A sense of familiarity washed over you, the red striking your curiosity.

You couldn't tear your gaze away as you watched her stir. Unsure if she was waking or simply moving unconsciously, you remained still, not wanting to startle her. But then her face contorted with pain, and her lashes began to flutter open.

The sheets rustled as she tried to turn, her discomfort evident from the way she struggled against the tubes and wires tethering her to the medical machinery. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her, lying there in such a vulnerable state. No identity. No family to be there for her.

"Stay still, please.” You whispered softly, stepping closer to her bedside. “You're in the hospital. You’re safe."

Her eyes, clouded with pain and confusion, met yours for a fleeting moment before flickering away. She seemed to be trying to process where she was and what had happened.

“Paramedics found you unconscious and rushed you in.” You explained gently, hoping to offer some semblance of clarity amidst the chaos of her thoughts. “You had a wound to the neck. We’ve managed to close it, so don’t move around too much. Otherwise, you might open the stitches.”

Her gaze drifted back to you, and for a moment there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. It was fleeting, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You saw as she went to speak, only to find pain and a heavy weight against her tongue. “Careful. You shouldn’t try to speak yet. We’re not sure how much damage has been done to your vocal cords.”

As if she didn’t hear you, she continued fidgeting, fighting against the intrusion in her mouth, panic overriding.

“Hey, listen to me,” you coaxed, voice soft but firm, your hand reaching out to settle over hers, the glove long forgotten. “I need you to calm down, please. You’re going to be okay. You just need to rest your voice.”

Her eyes darted to you, wide with fear and frustration, and you squeezed her hand gently, offering what little comfort you could.

“It’s going to be alright, just take slow breaths. Focus on that.” You started to breathe deeply, deliberately, hoping she'd follow your lead. Inhale... exhale... in a steady rhythm, like waves lapping against the shore

As you continued to focus on stabilising her breathing, your eyes inadvertently met hers, and in that moment, you were drawn into the depths of those vibrant green orbs. They held a world of pain, swirling like a tempestuous storm beneath the surface. Yet, amidst the turmoil, there's a glimmer of familiarity that tugged at the corners of your memory.

There’s something about her you can’t make sense of.

Why does she look so familiar? Who is she?

“Do I know you?” You almost asked, but then suddenly, the door to the waiting room clicked open, and Helen strode in, her expression wavering as she noticed the woman awake. “She’s awake already?!” Shock and bewilderment visible on her face.

She advanced, quickly spewing off questions in your direction, as her eyes narrowed in on the woman, assessing her condition with a quick, practised glance.

"She's awake, a little panicked about being in a hospital, but also a bit disoriented," you explained, voice calm despite the urgency of the situation. "Vitals are stable for now.”

With that, you stepped away, dropping her hand you had forgotten you were still holding, as Helen went to introduce herself. Your lunch break was coming up and before you could turn to leave the room, Helen stopped you. "Thank you for staying with her," she said softly, "There was a car accident. Two little girls rushed in for surgery. They needed me."

You nodded in understanding. You couldn’t fault her. Every day seemed to bring a new challenge, a new story, and today was no different. This Jane Doe was no different.

Before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, she interrupted, “Anyways, I’m here now and pager is off,” she drew your attention to the device in her pocket, “Boss’s order... now go take your lunch break.”

With a small smile, you left the room, the door softly closing behind you. Walking down the hallways, your mind buzzed with curiosity about the woman. Her face – those eyes - nagged at the edges of your memory, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Where do I know you from, Jane Doe?

#my fics! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader

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