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vampsywrites · 9 months

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III — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, A LOT of romantic tension

Word Count: 4.5k | AO3 LINK

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In the early morning light, you took Neteyam to a secluded spot in the village, away from prying eyes. Aside from being Tsahìk, your expertise in climbing with ropes and harnesses was also well-known, and you had taken it upon yourself to teach him the ropes — quite literally.

As you began the lesson, your arms gently guided him, demonstrating the proper way to tie and secure the rope over his waist and thighs.

"Tuck this into here," you instructed, your voice soothing yet firm. "This must be tight to ensure safety. Watch."

Neteyam looked on, watching intently but his attention was elsewhere.

Instead of fully absorbing your instructions. his eyes remained fixated on every detail of your unique appearance. From the slope of your flat nose, the curve of your lips, and the thickness of your eyelashes that accentuated your big, milky eyes. Along with this was his strange fascination with your frosty blue skin, ample and adorned with delicate ivory specks.

"Are you listening?" you check.

"Yes," he affirmed but this was far from the truth.

In Neteyam's defense, he was listening, just not in the way you might have wanted. From the moment you met, you had been a woman of few words — reserved, and enigmatic. However, now, as you took on the role of his karyu, his teacher, Neteyam saw an opportunity to experience a different, more personal side of you. And so, he wanted to etch the sound of your voice into his memory, to savor every word that left your lips.

Your voice had a lilt that captivated him — calm yet firm, with a low and husky undertone that was enhanced by your distinct Iuva'rian accent. Every now and then, your words would subtly slip, and your village dialect would shine through, adding an intriguing layer of depth to your teaching.

The sound of you clearing your throat snapped him out of his deep thoughts, and the Omatikayan blinked blearily, shaking his head for a few seconds to refocus his attention. Dismissing his momentary distraction, you reached out and handed him the end of the rope.

"Attach the end of the rope to this tree," you instructed, pointing to a massive pine nearby. Neteyam moved to tie a secure anchor around the trunk, ensuring it would hold firm. You then took the other end of the rope and demonstrated how to loop it through his harness, which was fashioned from sturdy leather. To your relief, Neteyam paid proper attention this time and followed your instructions to the best of his ability.

"This harness will distribute your weight. Allowing you to use your hands and legs more freely," you explained, patting the leather. "It is your lifeline."

Stepping back, your eyes ran up and down his body, assessing everything. You noticed how he hadn't secured his harness properly, the rope left uncomfortably loose. With a huff of disapproval, you settled in front of him, your focused gaze fixed on his mistake. Your hands, soft yet purposeful, moved with practiced ease as you adjusted the harness, ensuring it was secure and would hold his weight properly.

As your fingers brushed against his lower abdomen and thighs, a surge of static energy seemed to pass between you, and a shiver ran up Neteyam's spine from the unexpected sensation. The closeness between you, the shared proximity, made his heart race, and he found himself mesmerized by every move you made.

Tilting your head up, you caught his gaze, and a lopsided frown appeared on your lips.

"You are looking at me with those eyes again," you chided.

"What eyes?" he murmured, still dazed and lost in his admiration of you.

"You must stop staring at me," you responded with a hint of a snarl, trying to bring his focus back to the lesson.

"Can't I stare at my future mate?" he grinned smugly, tail swinging by his feet languidly.

In response, you hissed and gave him a light slap on the side of his head. "Focus. Your form is bad. Fix it."

With an amused expression, Neteyam firmly gripped the side of the rock wall and adjusted his posture, heart set on impressing you and proving his worth.

"No," you tutted, stepping back to demonstrate the proper posture. You inhaled deeply, showcasing how to engage the core muscles and tighten the abdomen.

"Stronger," you instructed, tapping at your tensed stomach to emphasize the point.

He tried to emulate your actions, sucking in air and adjusting his form, but the task proved more arduous than he anticipated. Frustration flickered across your face, and Neteyam couldn't help but feel a pang of dissatisfaction, his ego taking a hit.

Again, you moved towards him, now pressing your front against his back. As your arms encircled him, a wave of searing heat surged through his body, leaving him breathless. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as your breath brushed against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

Your hands, warm and gentle, traced the contours of his bare, muscled skin as you adjusted his arms and sides. The intimate touch sent his mind into a whirlwind of emotions, and he struggled to focus on anything other than the intoxicating proximity between you.

Finally, once his form was proper, you stepped away to view his posture, still unaware of the effect your touch had on him.

"Good," you hummed with approval. "Keep that form as we climb."

As you prepared him to start ascending, you placed a calming hand atop his chest, noticing how his heart pounded rapidly beneath your touch. Unaware of the true reason for his flustered state, you peered up at him, thinking he might be having second thoughts about the climb.

"You are scared?" you questioned, the slightest hint of concern in your voice.

"'M not scared," his words came out in a mumble as he tried to hide the truth. "Why would I be scared?"

Huffing softly, you made one last adjustment to his form, your hands gently pressing at his hard abdomen and slapping at any awkward limb placement, an effort to help him overcome whatever uncertainties he might be facing.

"Listen. As you climb, I'll stay below to control the rope. If you slip or lose your grip, I'll hold the rope tight to catch you," your small hands brushed up his jawline, turning his head to face you. "Trust me as I trust you."

"Got it," Neteyam nodded and began his climb. He moved upward, his hands trembling as he gripped the coarse surface of the rock, his fingers struggling to find solid handholds. Each time he tried to place his foot on a protruding edge, it slipped, sending small pebbles cascading down the cliff face.

He took a moment to assess the rock in front of him, his eyes scanning for the best path upward. After a few deep breaths to steady himself, he made a decision and reached out, testing a small crevice with his fingertips. It seemed secure enough, so he cautiously shifted his weight and pulled himself upward.

"Ngh!" Neteyam grunted, his biceps straining as he lifted himself higher up the rock wall. Despite his efforts, his initial progress was still awkward and uncoordinated. He swung his legs around, searching for footholds, but it seemed like every attempt led to more frustration. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his face burned with both exertion and embarrassment as he struggled to find his rhythm.

He had thought it would be easy, considering how he climbed trees all the time back home, but the mountains presented a whole new challenge. They lacked branches or sturdy trunks to cling onto; instead, they were rough, wide, and open, demanding an entirely different set of skills.

"You are like a baby! You think too much!" you scolded, picking up on his indecision and observing the rigid strain in his back muscles. "Find the holdings in the rock!"

"I am trying," Neteyam replied, voice tinged with frustration. The rough terrain scratched at his skin, his arms strained as he struggled to find the right grip, and the weight of each step felt heavier with every passing moment. "It is not as easy as you say it is!"

"Look for the natural holds, the cracks, and the crevices," you advised, drawing from your own experiences scaling these heights. "Use your instincts, and trust your body. The mountain will guide you."

Neteyam nodded, but his struggles persisted, and it was evident that he was stiff, overthinking each and every step. If he continued on like this, the risk of a fall was high.

"Mawey. Take a moment to rest," you urged firmly. He obliged and halted his movements.

With the climb momentarily paused, Neteyam caught his breath and tilted his head back to take in the breathtaking view before him. The sight punched a gasp out from his chest—the vast fields stretching out like a painted canvas, the lush forests below, carpeting the landscape in vibrant greens, and the riders gracefully soaring on their ikrans high above.

The soft caress of the gentle breeze kissed his cheeks, carrying along leaves and the scents of flora that adorned the mountain's slopes. As the wind brushed through his hair, Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the peace and tranquility that settled over him.

"Try again, Neteyam," you shouted up at him. "Let the rock guide you. Slow your pace and take your time; it's not a race."

Taking a deep breath, Neteyam attempted to ease his pace, allowing himself a moment to study the wall of stone before him. He faintly began to recognize the patterns and natural holds, the crevices, and folds that could be used to his advantage.

With newfound focus, he started to move more freely, trusting his instincts and allowing his body to flow with the terrain. His motions became less rigid, and he started to use the momentum of his body to propel himself upward, one confident movement at a time.

"That's it," you encouraged, an impressed smile gracing your face. "You are learning to climb. Let the mountain become an extension of yourself."

As Neteyam climbed higher, he discovered a sense of connection with the ancient stone, almost as if he and it were in sync. The initial clumsiness gave way to a familiarity he hadn't known he possessed. The wind played with his hair, and the distant calls of the mountain banshees echoed through the slopes above. Time seemed to slow as he focused solely on the present moment, the climb becoming an intimate conversation between him and the mountains.

Overlooking the village, you and Neteyam now stood at the high plateau, the world spread out below you like a vast canvas. The mountains had always been your personal sanctuary, a place where you found peace and strength, a respite away from the stress of your responsibilities. So, seeing Neteyam experience this awe-inspiring view for the first time brought a smile to your face.

You moved to sit by him, taking his hands in yours, and carefully tending to the scratches on his arms with a salve you always carried. The soothing ointment provided a gentle touch to his roughened skin, and he looked at you with a mix of gratitude and affection.

"It is rare for someone to pick things up so quickly. You are a very fast learner," you say, breaking the silence to praise him. "You also do not give up easily. You have a strong heart."

"Thank you," Neteyam replied, pride evident in his voice as he preened from your heartfelt compliments, a fanged grin stretching across his cheeks.

He then turned his attention back towards the view, his eyes sparkling with wonder and captivation as he beheld the breathtaking beauty spread out before him.

"It is like nothing I've ever seen," Neteyam marveled, his voice thick with an accent native to the forests. "Back home the sky is usually hidden by tall trees. You'd have to climb up one if you want a glimpse."

Pausing your ministrations, you leaned toward him. "Tell me more," you urged, genuinely curious. "What is it like in the forest?"

A spark ignited in Neteyam's eyes as he delved into a passionate account of his experiences in his home village. He spoke with animated enthusiasm, painting vivid pictures of the lush greenery that adorned the landscape, each vibrant flora seemingly glowing with its own bioluminescent brilliance. The rivers and cascading waterfalls he described were a source of life, teeming with an abundance of fresh fish.

With every word, he brought to life the swift direhorses, their graceful forms racing across the terrain, and the fearsome thanators, lean and agile stalking through the night. Mixed in with that joy, there was a longing in his voice, a yearning to experience it once more.

"Do you miss it?" you asked, cutting him off gently, your keen perception sensing the ache in his heart.

"Yes," he sighed wistfully, the weight of nostalgia evident in his chest. "I really do."

You offered a comforting presence, placing a hand over his shoulder in a gesture of solace. The two of you then moved to lay on the soft grass, resting side by side in the embrace of nature. A companionable silence settled between you, hearts connected over the memories of home and the beauty of the world you both cherished.

In the midst of this peaceful moment, a question that had lingered in your mind resurfaced.

"Neteyam?" you called out, turning on your side. His ears flicked in curiosity as he looked towards you, brows raised.

"The banshee you rode a few days ago... Was she yours?" you murmured softly.

"Yes," Neteyam confirmed, a fond smile touching his lips. "Do you want to meet her?"

You nodded eagerly, and he stood up, offering you a hand. You took it, his battle-hardened palm was rough against your skin but his touch had a comforting warmth to it. With a gentle tug, he effortlessly lifted you off the ground, dragging you toward the edge of the peak.

Emitting a powerful cry, Neteyam called for his ikran, the sound echoing through the air. Moments later, the sky came alive with the powerful flapping of wings, and she arrived with a resonating squawk. Her mighty form hovered before you, and you were left breathless by the sight of her robust wings enveloped in the light.

As she landed gracefully before you, you couldn't help but be in awe of her presence. Her eyes, filled with intelligence and a hint of curiosity, locked onto yours, and it felt as though she could see into your very soul.

Neteyam approached his ikran with a calm and composed demeanor making tsaheylu.

"This is Seze," he introduced you to her. "I have been flying with her ever since I was thirteen."

Your excitement was palpable as you gazed upon the majestic banshee before you. Your hand reached out cautiously, not wanting to startle her, as you gently stroked her strong chest and neck. The sensation of her thick, supple skin beneath your fingers sent a thrill through your entire being.

"She is beautiful," you cooed, tail swishing behind you in joy.

"Yes. Very beautiful." Neteyam's response was soft, and though he agreed with your sentiment, it was clear that his focus wasn't on Seze. Instead, his gaze was fixed on you, and you could feel the intensity of his stare as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your being. There was something in the way he looked at you, a certain depth of emotion that couldn't be easily put into words.

A warm and shy smile graced your lips as you turned away from Neteyam, now facing back toward the vast expanse of the open sky.

"I too will show you mine," you declared. With a sharp whistle, you called for your ikran to join the encounter.

In response to your call, your spirit sister appeared in all her glory, gliding gracefully through the air before landing near you with an air of elegance. Beaming, you watched as her wings fluttered in excitement. It had been long since you last met up with her. Your duties as Tsahìk had kept you busy for a long, long while.

"This is Ayvit. She is my spirit sister," you proudly gestured to her. Reaching for your kuru, you gently made tsaheylu, cooing affectionately at your sweet girl.

"It is nice to meet her," Neteyam said warmly as he moved to run a hand up your ikran's snout. Ayvit let out a soft chirp as if acknowledging Neteyam and his banshee, and you couldn't help but smile at the interaction between them.

"I think she likes me," he remarked, observing the gentle way Ayvit tilted her head in his direction.

"Yes, you are very likable," you replied, timidly averting your gaze to the ground.

"I am?" Neteyam grinned, his expression filled with a mix of amusement and charm. It was evident that his confidence had grown during your time together, and that paired with your newfound ease around his presence further deepened your growing relationship.

With a shake of your head, you gently nudged at his head in a playful manner. Then, turning around, you reached into Ayvit's saddle, retrieving a riding visor from the compartment. As you lifted it up, it became evident that this visor was unlike anything Neteyam was accustomed to seeing back home.

Your riding visor had an exotic design, native to your clan. It was rounder and adorned with vibrant colors and shimmering gems, a striking contrast to the simpler styles he was used to. The woven headpiece was crafted in a soft lilac hue, complementing your skin's natural blue tone.

After slipping off your headpiece that denoted your status as Tsahìk, you placed the visor atop your head, securing it around your ears. The moment seemed to mark a shift, as you felt a sense of liberation wash over you as if you were shedding the formalities to reveal a more unburdened and personal side of yourself to Neteyam.

With practiced ease, you moved towards Ayvit, a rush of anticipation surging through your veins. You climbed onto the saddle, feeling the smooth, cool leather beneath your fingertips. Quickly, you secured yourself, making sure the bindings were tight and fastened well.

"Come," you grinned at Neteyam, tail coiling as a glint of thrill danced in your eyes. "Let's ride!"

With a whoop of exhilaration, you urged Ayvit forward, and with a powerful thrust of her wings, she propelled herself off the mountain peak. Neteyam laughed as he swiftly mounted Seze and joined you in flight.

As you and Neteyam soared through the vast open skies, the wind tousled at your hair and caressed your cheeks, carrying the scents of the wild. The beating of Ayvit's powerful wings resonated in perfect rhythm with Seze's.

Peals of laughter slipped from your lips, blending with the rush of air around you. Gazing at Neteyam, you couldn't help but be captivated by the joy etched on his face. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and a radiant, handsome smile adorned his features.

Together, you explored the breathtaking landscapes from above, the lush forests, the winding rivers, and the towering mountains painted in hues of orange and pink by the setting sun. Ayvit and Seze seemed to revel in the thrill of the flight, each spread of their wings carrying you higher and further, as if they, too, were caught up in the strengthening of your bond.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the hues of warm sunset in the sky washed away, now bathed in the tranquil colors of twilight. With Ayvit and Seze now keeping a steady pace, you and Neteyam glided side by side, enjoying the serene, dreamlike ambiance of the atmosphere.

"We have to return soon," you called out to Neteyam. The warrior looked to you in confusion.

Guiding Ayvit to fly closer to his side, you reminded him, "I promised your brothers and sisters I would teach them how to make a healing salve. They must be waiting."

Neteyam merely hummed in response, his gaze lingering on you with a tender smile.

"Let them wait," he spoke softly. "I want to spend more time with you."

His words stirred a delightful flutter in your chest, and you couldn't help but feel a smile creep onto your face. With a subtle click of your tongue, you urged Ayvit to turn slightly, now flying a bit farther from him.

Shifting your gaze, you couldn't help but steal secret glances at Neteyam's figure, utterly mesmerized as he skillfully guided Seze through the night sky.

Eywa... Had he always been this handsome?

His thick, braided hair, the color of dark ink, cascaded down his broad shoulders, catching the moonlight as it whipped through the crisp air. His strong, sharp jaw and cheek exuded a rugged masculinity that contrasted beautifully with the gentleness in his eyes. Those eyes, the color of rich gold and flecked with hues of deep burgundy were windows to a soul that carried the weight of the world.

Neteyam was both beautiful and mighty.

And he was to be yours.

Late at night, your healing hut exuded a soothing atmosphere, filled with the soft glow of torchlight and the gentle radiance of bioluminescent plants which cast a gentle, ethereal glow that bathed the room in cool colors.

Tuktirey, with her wide, curious eyes, wandered around the room in awe. She was captivated by the sight of the glowing medicinal flora adorning the walls, and her small hands reached out to explore the many trinkets that adorned your hut. With childlike wonder, she immersed herself in the enchanting environment, discovering new wonders at every turn.

Meanwhile, you and the older Sully kids gathered around a table. Guiding them step-by-step, you taught them the art of crafting a simple healing salve, constantly emphasizing its importance for treating mild injuries.

"This is called ngamut," you patiently explained, the unfamiliar dialect causing some confusion among them as they struggled to pronounce the word.

"Gamut?" Neteyam attempted, his accent thick, making an earnest effort to mimic the foreign syllables.

Shaking your head, you repeated it once more, enunciating it more clearly, "Ngamut."

"Agamut?" Neteyam toyed with you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

In response, you huffed and affectionately flicked the side of his head.

"Ngamuutt," you emphasized, drawing out the word to help him get the pronunciation right.

"Ngamuutt," he repeated, his smile growing wider, knowing he finally got it correct. With a nod of approval, you resumed stirring the paste, your skilled hands expertly mixing the ingredients.

“You two are already acting like a mated couple,” Lo'ak teased, lazily holding his bowl of paste in one hand. The medicine in the bowl, if you could even call it that, was a sad mess of lazily torn leaves and clumsily poured syrup, hardly resembling a proper healing salve.

"Leave them be," Kiri rolled her eyes, taking the monstrosity of a paste away from Lo'ak and attempting to salvage it. "I think it's good that they are getting along well."

"We really do," Neteyam agrees, his expression soft as he peered at you. He holds your stare for a moment before turning to his siblings.

"But I have to tell you—she is a very harsh teacher. It's either her way or die," he grins.

You couldn't help but smirk at his remark. "I told you I wasn't going to baby you," you retorted, playfully flicking a bit of the messy paste towards him.

Neteyam laughed, the sound like music to your ears. "I know, I know," he replied, his grin never fading. "But I have to admit, your teaching methods are effective."

"I am aware," you replied with a smug look before swiftly snapping back into your stern demeanor. "But this flattery will get you nowhere. Come now, let me see your paste."

As you leaned over to inspect the paste Neteyam had made, he unexpectedly turned his face toward you. The sudden movement caused his lips to brush against yours, and you both froze. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Both your eyes met—milky blues locking with golden browns—as you both silently drank in each other's features.

Faintly, you could feel Neteyam's hand brushing gently against your sides, and a shiver ran up your spine from the touch of his calloused fingers against your skin. The connection between you felt electric, a tingling sensation spreading through your body.

The daze was broken as Kiri cleared her throat, interrupting the moment. Both of you snapped out of your trance, but the lingering tension between you and him remained palpable, shimmering just beneath the surface. A touch of bashfulness colored your expressions, cheeks flushed from the shared vulnerability of that brief, intimate encounter.

Lo'ak's smug expression didn't help, fangs poking out from his lips in a teasing grin. You shot him a half-hearted glare, hoping to deter any further teasing, but it only seemed to fuel him.

"Well," he chimed, "looks like you two had quite the moment there."

"Lo'ak, your paste is going to end up poisoning someone," you snapped, trying to deflect the attention from the romantic moment. "Fix it."

Lo'ak's mouth dropped in shock, an offended expression washing over him as he began to protest. Ignoring his complaints, you quickly regained your composure and shifted your focus back to the lesson at hand.

"Neteyam, your paste is watery," you pointed out. "Add more leaves and stir it slowly to thicken it up."

The warrior nodded, still looking a little flustered as he busied himself with the medication, trying his best to focus and ignore the lingering warmth from the almost kiss.

Throughout the lesson, glances were exchanged, small smiles were shared, and the air seemed thick with your unspoken feelings. Kiri and Lo'ak could clearly notice the change, sharing knowing looks between themselves. Despite this, they chose to respect the unspoken bond forming between you and Neteyam, allowing you both the space to navigate this new territory.

As the night wore on, you finally deemed them capable enough, and the lesson was complete. The Sullys began to gather their things, expressing gratitude for your teaching and slowly making their way out of the hut. Neteyam, however, stayed back for a moment, his intense stare lingering on you.

Before he left, he took a step closer, and with a tender touch, ran a hand up your cheek, his rough fingers gentle against your skin. The touch of him against you sent a pulse of warmth through your body, and you leaned into the warrior's touch, savoring the tender moment.

"I'll see you tomorrow, syulang," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of affection and anticipation.

"Tomorrow," you replied softly, caressing the back of his hand, feeling the steady beat of his heart pulsating through his veins.

As the Sully kids bid their final farewells and left your hut, you pressed your back against the woven door, trying to steady your racing heart. The soft glow of torchlight and bioluminescent plants bathed the room, mirroring the gentle pink glow that now enveloped your very being.

"I see him," you draw in a sharp breath, a hand clasping over your chest.

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some romance is finally blooming ! it would be so bad if something happened to our couple, huh? also guys, i can't thank you enough for the comments! there are a lot of them from both my ao3 and tumblr so i get overwhelmed and don't know what to reply but just know that i appreciate it all so much! xoxoxo

TAGLIST: @rainbowsockmonkeys @milktealvrr @strawberri-blonde @dark-mark @v4mp1rr3 @xylianasblog @piceous21 @celi-xxmoon @corpsebridenightamare @ducks118 @ok-boke @bluealiensimp @tyongluvs @theyoungeagle @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @nerdfacesposts @isnt-itstrange @smile-skxawng @eywas-heir @mochiivqi @wavesarchive @aurora-starwars @simpforramenboy@crazy4books1 @jamie-poopoo

If you can't see your blog, that means I could tag you! :(

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roosterr · 9 months

Text

white flag ✹ ch 6

note: hoo boy, this one's a doozy. didn't mean to project so hard with this one, but fuck it we ball ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 5.3k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: you reach a breaking point with simon, and he finally realises what he needs to do to fix things.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, some light violence, ghost finally getting his shit together, arguing, kitchen floor romance, fluff

ao3

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simon didn't see you at home. in fact, he found out from soap that you went straight to the pub with him and the others. you didn't even drop your car off, which meant you weren't going to get drunk, you were going to avoid him.

it stung – a feeling he’s become quite familiar with lately. but you wanted him to leave you alone, to give you space, and seeing as he had no idea what else to do, he would oblige.

he sits at the kitchen table, across from the chair that's become yours through some unspoken agreement. a random book is in his hands – an attempt to keep himself occupied, but he's been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes and he hasn't absorbed a single word. you are the only thing on his mind, no matter how hard he concentrates on what's in front of him.

slamming his book shut with a frustrated grunt, he gives in to the fact that he's not going to be able to do anything meaningful until you get home. perhaps trying to talk now that you'd be alone would work out better than his previous attempts.

he intends to go straight up to his room when he leaves the kitchen, but for some reason simon finds himself standing outside the door to your room, peering into the darkness through the gap where you'd left it ajar.

he shouldn't go in, he knows that. from the start he'd promised himself to give you complete privacy – he hadn't even set foot in the living room since you'd moved in, apart from the times he brought you hot chocolate and put you to bed. it was the least he could do, offer you a space to call your own, since you really didn’t have much else.

but simon missed you; he missed being near you, the scent of your shampoo and the laundry detergent you use, just basking in your presence. he wouldn't touch anything, he rationalised, he just wanted to be surrounded by something that was you.

it’s dark, but he doesn't even bother to turn the light on, the hall light through the door illuminates the room enough for him to see where he's going. the armchair on the far side of the room is unoccupied, so he collapses there with a deep exhale.

the solitude must be driving him insane, because when he closes his eyes he can almost convince himself that you’re there with him, sitting across from him with one of his books in your hands. the disappointment that washes over him when he opens his eyes to be alone again isn’t rational, but knowing that still doesn’t dull the ache.

on the mantle, he notices something definitely not left there by him; first, he spots the flowers he gave you, a little wilted and slightly squashed, sitting in a vase that was here when he moved in. he feels a fleeting sense of relief at that, he wouldn't have been surprised if you'd thrown them straight in the bin.

but more interestingly, there's a photo frame, something simon owns exactly zero of, so it must be something of yours. he stands up, his curiosity getting the better of him, and takes the frame gently in his hand. tilting it into the light so the photo is visible, he feels a faint smile tugging at his lips at the sight of a younger you surrounded by your previous team.

you’re grinning widely, making bunny ears behind one of your teammates crouched in front of you, while someone behind does the same to you. as his eyes follow their arm to their face, poking out just above your head, he feels a sharp frown pull at his brows.

it’s anderson.

simon blinks a few times, in the hopes the he was simply imagining things – that his hatred for the man and lack of a good night's sleep was causing him to see things, but no matter how many times he looked away and back again, anderson’s face refused to change.

the urge to smash the photo builds up like steadily boiling water the longer he stares at it, so he places it back on the mantle before it gets too strong. why was he just now finding out you used to work with anderson? it explained why he was so overly familiar with you. was that why you liked him more? you had to be close with him – closer than simon was with you.

were you… involved with him?

the very thought makes his heart sink like a stone. his head feels light as he stumbles back out of your room, the acidic taste of bile rising in his throat.

not a moment after the door clicks shut, simon feels his phone buzz in his pocket, pushing his spiralling train of thought to the back of his mind. he pulls it out, the screen lit up with johnny's name on the caller id, but he doesn't want to answer it.

he lets it ring until the missed call notification appears instead. expecting that to be it, simon moves to shove his phone back in his pocket, but it buzzes again before he can get there.

it's a text this time – more of them coming through before he's had time to read the first. with a tired exhale, he opens the messages from johnny.

you coming pub? 20:23 pm

you should 20:23 pm

sting is here ;) 20:24 pm

no. 20:25 pm

why notttttttt 20:25 pm

cmon just get down here 20:25 pm

seriously i think you should come we need you 20:26

fine. 20:28 pm

let's fucking go 20:28 pm

better run tho be quick 20:28 pm

simon breathes a sigh of exasperation, but grabs his jacket off the hook. he doesn't even bother to change his balaclava for a more socially acceptable mask. whatever johnny's reasoning was for getting him to come to the pub, he was secretly grateful for the excuse to go out and see you – whether he would actually get to talk to you or simply watch you from the sidelines.

✹✹✹

slipping in quietly through the side entrance, simon is relieved to find the pub not nearly as rowdy as it is normally. it seems to be only the one-four-one and their associate unit mixed in with the locals, rather than being packed with soldiers like usual.

immediately he spots price, taking up a booth in the far corner, who raises a hand in greeting to him but otherwise stays put. the gesture draws johnny and gaz's attention to him, both of whom give him enthusiastic waves of their own.

he doesn't see you with them, which prompts him to scour the rest of the pub as he trudges over to his comrades. it doesn't take him long to find you over by the bar, though when he spots anderson unnecessarily close to you, he feels like his heart might just stop.

now that he knows you and him have history, simon feels a pit of hopelessness in his chest that he knows won't ever go away as long as he has to see you be happy with someone else.

it should be me, he thinks, a bitter downturn to his lips under his mask.

"why am i here?" he grumbles when he finally makes it to the booth, choosing to stay standing at the end of the table rather than sitting down with them.

"because you need'ta sort out this thing between you and sting." johnny replies, pushing himself up to stand next to simon and giving his shoulder a firm pat.

simon rolls his eyes to hide the way soap’s words make him flinch. "i've tried. they won't listen to me." he mumbles. he sees price shake his head in a show of disappointment, which only makes him feel even worse about the whole situation. aside from you, the captain’s been the hardest on him for the way he fucked things up, and while the sergeants clearly think he's an idiot, they've done their best to support him.

"then make them listen!" gaz exclaims, "explain yourself, tell them you'd do anything for them," he gestures one hand to where you’re standing at the bar, "tell them you love them!"

"i don't–" he begins to protest as he follows gaz’s hand, but the words die on his tongue when his eyes land on you; the dim lighting of the pub illuminates the way you smile so pleasantly, simon’s heart skips a beat. turning away from you before he becomes too entranced, he shoots gaz a light glare. "keep your voice down…"

"just tell them, l.t." gaz has an easy, knowing smile on his face when he meets simon’s eyes. looking between him and johnny, who wears a similar expression, he lets out a tired sigh.

"you’re a pain in my arse, both of you." he grumbles, massaging the creases in his forehead over the fabric of his mask.

"you're gonna do it, right?" soap grins from behind his pint, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that has simon groaning, but nodding nonetheless. "good lad, i knew you had it in ya!" soap claps him on the back once more before taking his seat again.

before any of them can bother him further, the sound of raised voices reaches their ears from the bar. not loud enough to hear what they're saying, but enough to know that there's a problem.

he's not sure what he's expecting when he turns around; but seeing you pushing a very drunk anderson’s arm off your shoulder with a scowl on your face, simon finds himself stalking over to you before he can even think about it.

"c'mon, we're good together, we have history!" anderson's words are slurred, leaving no mystery as to just how drunk he is. he leans further into your personal space, and simon watches your face scrunch up as you lean away, placing your hand on anderson’s chest to keep him at bay. "you're not seriously into that freak, are you? with that creepy fuckin' mask?"

that makes simon pause. he wanted to rip anderson away from you – of course he did – but he also wanted to hear your response, whether you would denounce him or not.

"oi!" you exclaim, an incredulous tone to your voice. "he is not a freak, don't be so rude!"

the way you defend him makes his heart swell. you also didn't deny what anderson said, and though he knows it's arrogant of him, simon still holds out hope that you don't truly hate him.

with the tiniest smirk under his mask, simon closes the distance, coming to stand at your side between you and anderson.

"sting." he addresses you, meeting your eyes and completely ignoring the annoyed mumbling from the idiot on his other side. "you alright?"

the look you give him is one of surprise and relief, but you don't get to say a single word before anderson is pushing simon's shoulder so they're facing each other.

"lieu‐lieutenant ghost, fancy seein' you here," anderson is clearly annoyed at his intrusion, poking a finger into his chest that gets slapped away just as quickly. "come to show everyone how big 'n tough you are, eh?"

"andy, stop it." you hiss, pushing him back again and stepping between him and simon.

anderson scoffs at you. "why should i? we're not at work, he can't do anything, he's just some random loser." he glares up at simon, a pitiful attempt at intimidation he knows he wouldn't dream of trying if he was sober.

"give it a rest, sergeant." simon grumbles, rolling his eyes at the way anderson puffs his chest out and stands up straighter.

"y'know, sting was right, you're a huge fuckin' arsehole," anderson spits, ignoring the way you try to keep him away when he steps around you be face to face with simon again. "can't blame 'em for not wantin' to put up with you anymore."

simon flinches ever so slightly at that, but thankfully anderson is too drunk to notice.

"that's enough." he growls, his nails digging painfully into his palms.

"no, no! what th'fuck is your problem, man?" anderson shouts, shoving simon's chest – which doesn't move him, but pisses him off anyway. "you think you're so much better than me, but you hide your ugly mug behind that fuckin' mask like a pussy!" his raised voice draws the attention of the other patrons, and an uneasy silence falls over the room as the background chatter halts.

"just fuckin' shut up," simon rolls his eyes again, shifting his gaze over to you and jerking his head in a gesture for you to move. "c'mon."

"and don't even get me started on sting!" anderson continues, pointing a swaying finger in your face which gets slapped away the same as before. "you're so obsessed with them, it's creepy as shit, everyone knows it!"

"i'm not–"

"they must be a fuckin' freak n'all, to be into you, you're both fucked in the head–"

"watch your fuckin' mouth." simon spits, taking the front of anderson's shirt roughly in his fist. he could insult simon until his last breath, but to drag your name into this ignited the flame of real anger in his chest.

"ghost, let's just go." you grasp his wrist, the one holding anderson, and perhaps if simon could focus on anything other than the smug little bastard he's moments away from punching, he might’ve felt the warmth that your touch brought him.

"–that's why they have go to the bloody psy-psychiatrist all the time, they're fuckin' mental–" the moment the words left anderson’s mouth, simon feels every sliver of restraint he had immediately leave his body; the only sound he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears as his face twists in rage.

"shut the fuck up." he seethes, rearing his free arm back to throw possibly the most satisfying hit of his life; but before he can land it, his arm is immobilised he’s being yanked away from the sergeant.

suddenly price is in his face with a more than disapproving frown, walking him backwards with a firm hand on his shoulder. "get a hold of yourself!" he yells, commanding and abrasive.

simon grunts and pulls price's hand off of him, leaning around the captain just in time to see you deliver a fierce slap to anderson’s face that resonates in the quiet of the room.

anderson’s head whips to the side with the blow, the shell-shocked expression displaying the clear bruise forming on his cheek and his ego. simon had to admit, the sight of that prick with a bright red handprint on his cheek was incredibly gratifying.

"don't fucking talk about me like that." you spit at him, the most intense glare he's ever seen on you creasing your features. simon notices the way it softens when your eyes meet his, as johnny pushes you away from anderson – who's still reeling from the hit, but nobody bothers to take care of him.

he can't take his eyes off of you. it's like the rest of the world has just faded away and you're the only other person left, because right now, you're the only person that matters.

its drizzling by the time you drag him out by the arm. the damp air has a somewhat sobering effect on him as he allows you to pull him along with you.

"i could’ve handled that." you mutter angrily over your shoulder. you're taking him in the direction of the car park, the orange glow of the lamp posts casting shadows on your irritated expression that he finds himself admiring like fine art.

"i'd do it again." simon replies, still having never once taken his eyes off of your form. when you let go of his arm, having arrived at your car, he immediately feels the absence of your touch. he watches you walk around to the driver's side, meeting his eyes over the car and pausing in your tracks.

you hold his gaze for a moment, before looking down and shaking your head.

"just get in the fucking car." you mutter, opening the driver’s side door and disappearing from his sight. he follows suit without question, the car shifting under his weight as he settles into the passenger seat.

you pull out of the car park without another word, your face hard as you pointedly ignore his eyes on you. the silence between is thick, without even the white noise of the radio to break it.

in some way, simon’s glad you chose him over anderson, that you're driving him home rather than taking the side of that idiot. but, then again, he remembers the history the two of you must have, and he feels mildly guilty for potentially breaking up a long-term friendship of yours. not too guilty, though; the guy was a certified dickhead.

when the tension becomes too much, he decides to ask the only question that's been circling his mind like a vulture since he laid eyes on your photo.

"you know him." simon mutters. it's more of a statement than a question, really. "i saw the picture."

he sees your eyes narrow, his own still locked on your profile as you face the road. "you went through my stuff?" you reply, a small frown pulling at your brows.

"no, i just saw the picture." for a moment, he’s afraid he’d unintentionally started another argument, but his words only evoke a deeply exhausted sigh from you.

"he's just one of my old teammates." you reply, the sadness in your voice tugging at simon’s heartstrings. "i thought he was my friend, but obviously i'm not a very good judge of character, am i?"

perhaps that was a dig aimed at simon too, but he can only really focus on how disappointed you sound.

"it’s not your fault. he’s just a twat." he attempts to reassure you, to hopefully make you feel better, but he can't tell how successful it was.

"i know that now, i just–" you huff, cutting yourself off as you pull up outside home. you shut off the engine, massaging your temples with the same frown still on your face. he's tempted to say something more, but no words come to him.

"nevermind, i don't even wanna think about it." you sigh, quickly getting out of the car and slamming the door behind you. he follows behind, the lights of your car flashing as you lock it, illuminating the way your shoulders are slumped as you disappear into the house.

simon figures you'll want time to cool off after what happened, perhaps a cold cloth for your hand that's undoubtedly stinging after such a powerful hit. the memory is enough to make him smile lightly, a feeling of pride blooming in his chest for you.

he creeps upstairs on autopilot, his gaze lingering on the closed door to your room as he passes by.

it's still quite early in the night, so he's not surprised when he hears your door open and shut again downstairs – you going to sit in the kitchen, he assumes.

he wanted to talk with you alone, without the threat of anderson interrupting him again – and now is as good a time as any.

you're sitting at the kitchen table with your laptop open on some real estate site when he shuffles into the room. he stands in the doorway, watching as you continue sifting through nearby flat listings without looking over to him.

neither of you speak. you're not willing to break the silence first, and neither is he.

for a moment, simon just stands there, staring at you. he can see you watching him from the corner of your eye from where he shifting uncomfortably by the door. he half expects you to tell him to piss off, but to his surprise, you stay quiet. taking your silence as a sign that you aren’t, in fact, revolted by his presence, he inches closer and closer to you until he's standing directly next to where you're sitting.

still, neither of you say a word.

a minute or two passes with him looming over you, watching as you scroll through page after page of available flats, a shadowy figure in your peripheral.

eventually you find a reasonably priced listing, and when you click it, only then does ghost speak up.

"you don't need to leave." he says, cringing under his mask at the sound of his voice. he hopes you don’t pick up on how pathetic he sounds. "you already have a house."

"what? what are you talking about?" your eyes remain locked on your screen as you reply, voice flat and disinterested.

simon releases a shaky sigh, his nerve quickly faltering the longer you continue to ignore him. there's a brief pause as you inspect the words on your screen, before simon brings his hand up behind your laptop and firmly closes it. with an annoyed huff you finally look at him, piercing him with a narrow glare.

"you live here." he murmurs, staring intently back at you, fighting with himself to keep his expression neutral, to stay strong.

with me. the unspoken words hang heavy in the air.

"i can't stay here, there's only one bed for christ's sake." you grumble, brow furrowed as you pinch the bridge of your nose. "my back can't handle sleeping on that sofa forever."

"then sleep in my bed." there’s no hesitation in his words; he would gladly sleep on the lumpy sofa-bed if it meant you would be more comfortable – if it meant you would stay. the sound of your chair scraping the floor echoes in the stillness of the kitchen as you stand up, to be closer to eye level with him.

"oh what, and leave you on the sofa? in your own home?" you scoff, shaking your head as you step around him.

"well, yeah. you– i…" he reaches a hand out to touch you, stopping himself just above your elbow before he pulls back. the gesture stops you in your tracks, drawing your gaze back to his eyes. "don't leave." he murmurs, just above a whisper.

your mouth opens to respond, but his words catch you completely off guard. your eyes flit down, and he knows you can see the way his hands tremble at his side. he felt so… vulnerable, a word he never expected to apply to him, of all people, but you had that effect on him.

"just stay…" he whispers, a desperate plea as he squeezes his eyes shut to block out everything except you and him. "please…"

another tension filled silence stretches between you. he opens his eyes again, blinking as he meets your gaze. there's a profound sadness there, dragging your features downwards in a frown that sinks his stomach.

your sigh breaks the silence.

"i can't keep doing this, ghost." you mumble, dipping your head and rubbing your eyes.

"...what?"

"this! one minute you're nice to me, then you're a complete dickhead, and then you're back to being nice again." you exclaim, waving your hands around in frustration to amplify your point. "it’s exhausting."

"that's not– i'm not doing it on purpose." he frowns, the internal panic that arguing with you causes rising to the surface.

"this is what i mean! you're just making excuses!" your voice has a desperation to it that strikes him like an arrow through the heart. you turn sharply away from him, focusing your gaze somewhere on the wall.

"then just tell me what you want, for fucks sake!" he pleads, shuffling to stay in front of you and try to coax your eyes back to him. "whatever it is, i'll do it!"

"tell you what i want?" you laugh wryly, looking back to him with an expression he can only describe as offended. "i want you to apologise to me! i want you to say you're fucking sorry, and i don't want to have to wring it out of you!"

your words ring in his ears, bouncing off the walls and back at him like an echo chamber.

"you have never apologised to me! not even once! after all the shit you've put me through, i have never heard the words 'i'm sorry' out of your mouth!" you scowl at him, your eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall as your voice breaks. "thats all i've ever wanted from you!"

simon can't shake off the stunned feeling your words impart upon him; all this time, had he really never apologised? he'd just assumed that you knew he was sorry, without ever having actually said it.

the answer was practically smacking him in the face the entire time, and he still somehow managed to completely miss it. no wonder you were fed up with him – no wonder everyone kept looking at him like he was an idiot.

he's never felt more like a fucking moron than he does in this moment.

he's broken out of his haze by the movement of you sitting back down in your chair, lowering your head into your shaky hands and taking an equally unstable breath.

"you say you don't know what to do– you keep saying you regret what happened, but you never tell me why!" you briefly lift your head to cry out at him, and he just about sees the wetness on your cheeks before it's hidden behind your fingers again.

he takes one large stride to be standing in front of you again. "i was trying to help! havin' any kind of phobia will get you killed in this line of work. i was trying to help you because…" he speaks with a similarly desperate tone, his hands floating uselessly in the space between you. "be–because i care about you."

"well you could've fooled me." you sniffle, lowering your hands slightly, your gaze staying locked to the floor. "why didn't you just say that to begin with? why bother with the tough guy act?"

"it's not that simple…" he mutters, frozen in place, afraid that one wrong move would send you bolting like a cornered animal.

"why?" you cry, tilting your head up to catch his eyes with your own reddened ones, "what are you so afraid of?!"

simons heart beats out of his chest, the rhythm so aggressive he was sure he'd go into cardiac arrest.

"i'm in love with you!" he blurts, the tremor in his hands increasingly obvious as he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. "...that's what i'm afraid of." his voice is little more than a whisper now, the silence following his declaration only serving to hurt his heart further.

when he peeks back down at you, there's a look of pure shock on your face. your mouth is agape, your eyes flickering between both of his, and simon feels as though you're staring straight into the abyss of his soul.

"and i am sorry, i'm so fuckin' sorry, for everything– all the shit i gave you when you first started, for never givin' you a chance, for screamin’ at you," he continues, his own voice subtly cracking, "i– i'm so… in love with you, and it fucking terrifies me..."

he wanted to touch you, so badly, and with the sheer amount of raw emotion racing through his veins, he can't find it in himself to resist the urge.

simon sinks to his knees in front of you, his fingers grasping your wrists in a featherlight touch and pulling them away from your face with a gentleness he wasn't sure he possessed.

"i– i could've lost you. you could've died and then i'd have to live without you, and i can't do that…" for the first time in a long time, simon feels the sting of tears in his eyes as he caresses the pulse on your wrists with his thumbs, "i'm sorry…"

"simon…" the way you utter him name sends his heart fluttering like a caged bird in his chest. you'd never called him anything other than ghost or lieutenant before now; he never thought he could enjoy hearing simply his name this much.

"i'm so fuckin' sorry, i'll never treat you like that again, i swear." his voice is weak. he presses his forehead to your fingertips to hide the anguish in his eyes. "i'm sorry, i love you, just… just let me down easy, yeah?"

there's another pause, yours and simon's ragged breaths the only sound disturbing the silence.

"why would i let you down?” you whisper from above him. the words send a jolt of shock through him, the implication halting his breathing for a moment as he processes what you mean.

"don’t say that…" he mutters, squeezing your wrists ever so slightly tighter, not quite ready to let go of you yet.

"i'm in love with you, too."

his head snaps up to meet your eyes. "no, you– " he sputters, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth despite the mask still hiding his terrified expression "you can't… you deserve so much better…"

"i don't care what you think i deserve," you wear a tiny smile as you pull his hand away, your tender hold on his wrist mirroring his own on yours.

"i’m– i’m not good for you." he feels the tears building up again, blurring his vision.

"shouldn’t that be for me to decide?"

simon can hardly believe what's happening, when you bring your other hand up to his cheek, caressing his face through the fabric. he still doesn't let go of your wrist.

"i don't… you– i can't–" his tongue can't seem to form the words as he gazes up into your eyes, the kindness and warmth there overwhelming his senses. "i can't be what you want."

"you already are what i want." you sink to the floor as well, lifting your other hand to cup his face with a blinding smile. "i love you, simon."

for a moment, all he can do is revel in the warmth that bleeds through the fabric of his mask from your hands, pushing his face more into your touch like an affectionate cat.

a desperate noise escapes the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut. "...say it again?" he whispers the plea.

he feels your lips on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes snap back open at the sensation. "i love you, simon. more than anything." you murmur, shuffling closer when you kneel between his legs and pressing your forehead to his.

simon thinks he could die happy in this moment. to think, all the pain of the last couple of weeks – the last year, really – had all amounted to this, and can't help but think about what and idiot he'd been up until this point; to have waited this long to feel your touch, it was almost unthinkable.

he sighs, his breathing still evening out. "i'm so sorry…" he whispers. he goes to snake one arm around your waist, but hesitates just before touching you. as of sensing his dilemma, you give him a pleasant hum, wordlessly giving him permission to place his hand firmly on your back. he brings you that much closer with it, the feeling of holding someone a novelty to him.

"i'll forgive you, on two conditions." you reply. simon can sense the smile in your voice even with his eyes closed.

"anything."

"one, we talk to each other from now on, properly." you begin, and simon nods as adequately as he can with your forehead still against his. "second, you have to go on a date with me– to atone."

at that he opens his eyes, pulling back slightly and looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "not sure that counts as a punishment, love."

you chuckle, meeting his sceptical gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "it is, because you're cooking."

he chuckles, deep and rumbling in his chest, and drops his forehead gently back to yours, allowing his eyes to flutter closed again.

he'd cook for you for the rest of his life if you asked, if it meant he could stay like this, with you.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona ,

@alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @ameliaamareeee , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @ryze1113 , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm , @tzutology (p2 in separated reblog)

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #roosterr writes

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reiderwriter · 7 months

Text

Let Me Love You, Baby

Chapter 7 of That's What You Get Prev Chap // Next Chap

Warnings: Oral (M and F receiving), nipple play, handcuffing, BDSM themes, dom! Spencer, sub! Reader, breeding kink, creampie, handcuffing, a variety of PinV sex positions, multiple orgasms, squirting mention, mentions of different types of orgasms involving penetrative sex and anal sex. 18+ MINORS DNI Summary: Your memories of your wedding night come back. Not all of them, just the interesting ones.

A/N: If you're enjoying this series please PLEASE let me know in the comments! I've really been loving the theories about who the other witness is and I've changed my mind like three times on who it is eventually going to be BUT I've made up my mind now and I think it's going to be a great reveal lmao. This chapter has been on my mind since I started the series and I'm so happy you can all finally read it, but it is also A Lot of sex because every time I had a thought, I wrote it down and then didn't self-edit lmao. You can find my masterlist here, the series masterlist in the link above, and if you enjoy my smut, think about checking out my kinktober masterlist or my AO3 account for daily spicy content next month! <3

You stumbled, drunk, into the room, not sure in the haze if it was yours or his. The card had passed between you in many hushed giggles through the hall as you eagerly pulled each other forward. Falling onto the bed, you let out a contented sigh as Spencer fell next to you, face first into the sheets with a small laugh.

“I can’t believe we did that!” You grinned, meeting his eyes as he turned his head towards you. “We’re married!”

“We are.” He smiles, and you can’t help but let your eyes fall to his lips, swollen and pink from your earlier enjoyment of one another. You start to laugh, not fully understanding why, but thinking it probably had a lot to do with the alcohol you’d consumed. Bringing a hand up to his face, you let a finger run over the corner of his mouth, wiping away a tiny splash of red you’d deposited earlier.

“Your lips are swollen.”

“Whose fault is that?” He leans in and catches your lips again in his and you squeal at the sudden contact, excited to feel him against you again. He’s soft and gentle at first, but as you gasp underneath him your breaths get shorter, stopping just shy of moans as you let your hands trail up and down his body. But the edge of the bed is uncomfortable, so you push him off, following his lips still as he pushes himself further up, straddling his waist as you let yourself melt into him.

“How did this happen again?” You ask, memory already feeling a little fuzzy, as you think back on the stressful few weeks you’ve had and how much better this feels. How nice it is to have someone underneath you, pressed against you, holding you.

“Is that important right now?” He asks, lips seeking yours again as you turn your head just as he tries to connect, giggling at his pout.

“You know, I always thought getting married would be this whole huge thing. Hundreds of guests, 18 months of stress while planning, you never really know on the day if the man you’re attempting to lock down is actually going to be on the other end of that aisle or if he’s bolted somewhere.” His lips are carving a path down your throat as you talk, memorizing the peaks and falls of every inch of your skin, committing you to memory like a prayer.

“A man would have to be absolutely stupid to leave you at the alter, Y/N.” He says those words that prick your heart so easily, worming his way in, without even breaking his lips away from their spot on your collarbone.

“Then if he didn’t leave, he’d be too drunk to perform on the wedding night, and so the entire day would end up just being a bust anyway.” He smiles into his final kiss, letting it linger against your skin as he pulls away and looks into your eyes.

“How drunk are you, Spencer?” Your voice falls to a hush as you shift your weight in his lap, opening your legs just a smidge wider, shifting forward so more of you is falling over his clothed member, pressing up against him as close as possible.

“You’re talking too much,” he growled out, and, grabbing you by the neck, pulled you into another heated kiss. This one isn’t giggles and soft sighs, it’s a clash of teeth and tongue and desperation, and you suddenly have the answer to your question as you feel him stiffen beneath you. Grinding down into him, you let him take control of your actions, letting him tell you when you can come up for air.

When he finally pulls away from you, you stay connected through a line of saliva stretching from your lolling tongue to his mouth. He breaks it with his thumb, forcing the digit into your mouth as you suck your shared mess from him.

“Definitely not too drunk.”

You couldn’t help yourself then, as you pulled his thumb from your mouth and shifted your body down the bed until your face was parallel to his crotch, beginning to palm him in his trousers.

“If we’re married,” you say, popping the button on his pants open. “We should probably get to know each other's… preferences early on. Stop any future arguments from occurring, right?” You looked up at him through hooded eyes, plastering the most sinful smile you could muster on your face. He stayed quiet, but you felt him twitch underneath your hand, and decided that was response enough.

“You can bite me and scratch me if you want. I like it. Pull my hair, spank me, choke me until I’m begging to cum. I like all of it. You’re in control now, Spencer. You can do whatever you want with me, so long as it ends with your cum down my throat or stuffed inside me.” Finishing your speech, confidence fueled by alcohol and the buzz of your wedding vows, you slip his cock from its cloth prison and take it directly into your mouth.

It’s thicker than you expected, and you just sit with the tip of it in your mouth for a second, trying to find a comfortable position. When you finally do, you push slowly down on it, letting your tongue tease and trace a path down. You don’t make it to the base before you’re pulling off, reaching what you expect to be your max about halfway down. You set a rhythm for yourself, hands pumping the rest of him as you coax the cum from him.

He gives you three minutes of fun before he decides that you need a little help reaching your full potential. Fisting a hand into your hair, and cradling the back of your neck in his other, he stills your motions before pushing you further down his cock, bypassing your gag reflex as your throat battles against the position he’s put you in, your nose tickled against his soft curls.

“Okay, let’s talk preferences. I’d prefer it if you ask permission before you touch something, whether that be me or yourself. I’d prefer if you used a safe word if this all gets a bit much for you. And I’d prefer you to relax that little throat of yours so I can fuck a load of my seed down it baby, okay?” He pulls you up by the hair and you nod, rasping out a yes as you gasp for air.

“Safeword is profile, tap twice if you need air.” And with that, he’s fucking your face again, pushing and pulling you by your hair as your mouth leaks spit. This was going to be a moment you’d never forget, the taste of his precum at the back of your throat, burning its way down.

Shrugging off his pants completely, he keeps at his movements, your head still working over him like you’re simply a fleshlight for his personal use. He grunts and twitches into you, signaling his impending release, and you try to ready yourself for the sting of the liquid hitting the back of your throat. He cums hot and fast, and you swallow around him, but there’s so much, it spills out of your mouth quickly, dripping down your chin and neck.

“Good girl. You listen to instructions well.” He pulls you up to his lap again as he begins undressing you, not bothering to wipe his cum from your mouth.

In a matter of seconds, he has you completely bare for him. Pulling your legs further up, he lets your torso fall back into the bed before shimmying himself down, coming face-to-face with your core.

“You remember the rules?” He asks, and you nod, answering his question.

“No touching, safe word is profile. Is that it?”

“One more thing. You’re not allowed to cum until I say so, okay?” You let out a moan of discontent then, but he shuts you up with a light slap to your face, coming up to press a kiss to your lips before traveling south again.

“Relax for me, baby,” he says as he spreads your legs and stretches out his tongue to finally come in contact with your needy core. His tongue is skilled, and you almost immediately break one of his rules as you arch off the bed, trying your best not to suffocate him between your thighs as you search for ways to heighten this pleasure.

He wastes no time being gentle, just fully eating you out like it was his job to make you cum on his face. His tongue stretched from your clit to your hole, flattening out and writhing in equal amounts as your pleasure built to a frenzy. Your hands gripped into the sheets and you clung to the single thought that maybe a punishment from your new husband wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Your hands drift to his hair, gripping tightly as you begin bucking into his mouth, completely lost in your base desires. He quickly grips your hands and pins them to the bed again though, pulling away just before you even think about climaxing against his face.

“Spencer,” you beg, your moans sounding like the sobs of a spoiled child.

“You broke a rule, princess. I can’t just let you get away with that.” You moan at the loss of contact, your voice whinier than you'd ever heard it.

He left the bed entirely then, and you lifted your head up to follow his path to the drawers by the side of the bed. Opening it, he picked up the wedding license you'd discarded on the floor, placing it nearly inside and slowly pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Your standard FBI set, not something light, flimsy, and cushioned with fluff, these were hard and cold against your skin as he returned to the bed.

"Wait, S-Spencer…. Really?" You panicked as he pulled one arm over your head placing it parallel with the headboard, trapped between the slats. He tightened the cuff around your hand, leaving one free as he started kissing down your arm, down to your shoulder and into the hollow of your neck.

"Yes, really. Now since you want to use that other hand so badly, why don't you use it to get yourself off." You swallowed the spit in your mouth, and nodded at him, before doing just as he asked, picking up where his hands had gotten off.

He shifted to sitting just by your side, lifting your body half on top of him, your back pressed up against his chest as he watched over your shoulder as your hand-worked you into a frenzy. Bringing both of his hands around your body, he started playing with your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, pulling and fondling your breasts as your breathing became more labored.

"There are seven different female orgasms, you know. The clitoral orgasm, the G-spot orgasm, the blended orgasm, the anal orgasm, the A-spot orgasm, a purely psychological orgasm, and," he leaned down closer to your ear to finish his sentence. "The nipple orgasm." You struggled against the handcuff as you felt the tightness build in your chest, but he grabbed and held your other hand close to him as he pushed up on top of you again.

"How many do you think you'll get tonight, Y/N?" He asked, lowering his head back to your chest as you bucked your hips wildly, trying to feel him in between your legs.

He pushed down your hips and kept his attention on your chest, your brain going fuzzy with the contact as the orgasm that had been imminent kept growing until you couldn't stop it from rushing over you, chumming with his attention solely on your chest.

"You didn't answer my question?" He brought his head up, frowning slightly as you blinked your eyes open and focused on his shape above you.

"Did you read some kind of sex book, Spencer? Jesus Christ that was…" You couldn't say anything else and he chuckled from above you.

"I didn't read one, I've read multiple, and it's less reading and more committing to absolute memory." He swooped back down to your lips. "Answer the question, how many do you think you'll get tonight?"

"Two?" You ask vaguely, immediately opening your mouth back up to keep rambling. "But Spencer I've never really had more than one with another person and I'm not sure if I even can-"

"You can. You will. You promised to listen to me, remember?" You flushed at his words, choosing simply to just nod for him instead of trusting your tongue to spit out the right words.

"Good girl," he says, wrapping your legs around him, and running his cock through your folds, holding it there as he teased you.

"I don't have to use a condom, right? You want me to drop my load directly into you, right? We're married now, so I can just fuck my seed into you, hmm?" You moaned out, begging for him to just push into you, to keep his promises and pleasure you again and again.

"Hands in the sheets baby, come on, no touching remember?" You did as you were told, and with another kiss to your lips, tongues locking in your battle, he thrust his entire length into you in one movement.

A scream of pleasure ripped out of you, just as quick and fast as you were sure you ripped the sheets of the bed, your sharp nails digging in for dear life as you struggled against the desire to hold him against you.

"That's it, princess. That's it." He starts thrusting, snapping his hips up, and slowly pulling himself out again. For a moment, it was like you weren't breathing at all, his body feeding you everything you needed to sustain yourself. Lungs burning, you gulped in large breaths of him. His tongue swallowed each and every complaint, as he shared in your pleasure.

He wasn't afraid to be vocal, like some men you'd been with in the past, and the sounds of his pleasure echoed out louder than your own. He was moaning in your ear, telling you how beautiful you looked on him as he pounded into you relentlessly. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he slapped into you again and again.

His hand came up to your face as he grew closer to his climax, pushing his fingers back into your mouth as he turned your face further against the pillow. Your spit dribbled out of your mouth as you moaned around his fingers, pussy clenching on his dick as you felt your embarrassment rise.

"So pretty and messy," he mumbled, hips keeping his pace up.

"Did you make sure to swallow all of my cum earlier baby? Because if there was any of it left on my cock, I'm fucking it into you. Going to drop another load next to it so you can feel me knock you up."

Unlike your first orgasm, you don't feel this one coming, you just know that he's hitting a spot so deep that it's never been reached before and saying the exact words that are pulling it closer to you, and then you're ecstasy has you squirting around his dick.

"That's right. There you go, baby, lay nice and calm there, I need to keep going."

You were overstimulated, already feeling your desire burn a path through you again. He pulled out though, but made it clear that his intention was just to switch the positions of your bodies.

Making sure not to twist your locked-up arm uncomfortably, he laid on the bed and pulled your fucked out body on top of him. You shivered at his touch and he pulled you further into his embrace warming you up.

Your chest was pressed against his back, your head rolled back on his shoulder as he gently coaxed your legs apart one more time.

"That's it, baby, you're listening so well. Just push your legs apart for me, okay?" You did as he asked, and he pressed your legs further up and apart, grabbing into the flesh of your thighs as he aligned his dick with your aching pussy and pressed into you one more time.

The new angle had you moaning around you, as he encouraged you to start lifting your hips up and down, as he trusted up into you, your eyes rolling back into your head as he hit an electric point inside of you. He grabbed your hand to steady you as you moved to a seated position, letting your heels dig into the bed as you began riding him.

You were so tired that it didn't last long though, your hips stuttering awkwardly.

"It's okay, Y/N, I'll do the rest, you just stay right there." From his place underneath you, he kept your thighs from above him as he thrust into you just as quickly as before, somehow maintaining his stamina despite the edging, the alcohol, and the energy you'd already exerted.

Just as you were really about to lose your mind, he pulled out again, escaping from beneath you and gently laying you back on the bed.

"One more position, princess, and then we can rest. You've been so good for me, you can do this, right? Can let me drop all of my cum inside you?" You nodded another sleepy yes, eyes somewhere between closed and open. There was no strength left in your body to stiffen up as he began moving your now malleable body into position, but that doesn't mean you didn't let out a moan at the way he'd stretched you out.

Pushing your legs apart again, he's settled between them, but instead of letting them wrap around him, he'd kept hold of them, pushing your knees up still until they were on either side of your chest. He kissed away complaints and approvals that didn't come and slowly pushed into you again.

He was evidently close, by the way he was drawing this out now. His fingers found your clit as his cock slowly worked in and out of you, the snap of his hips completely controlled and even in tempo.

"Just keep doing that, Spence, oh my god," you begged, words suddenly returning to you. His fingers on your clit increased in pressure, but his pace otherwise didn't change, and you soon felt that third orgasm ripple through you, finally leaving you with no more to give.

Your last fall from grace had him following you swiftly after, his lips finding yours as he crashed back down on top of you, hips stuttering as he drank you in like wine.

The rest was a blur, really, sleep having claimed you so swiftly that you barely remember the words he had definitely whispered to you as soon as he caught his breath again.

"I love you. It's always been you."

Other than a vague recollection of him rearranging your legs so you wouldn't struggle to walk the next day, and the sensation of a cold, damp cloth on your skin, nothing besides remained.

–X–

It's unfortunate, really, that the memory came to you when you did, his lips on yours heating you up in a way that made you absolutely want to relive every experience he had given you. But paralyzed with shock, you'd had only one recon to choose a reaction, and out of fight, flight, fawn, or freeze, you'd gone for slam the door in his fucking face.

Not your finest moment.

Which is why after two minutes of listening to his confusion on the other side of the hall, your brain kicked back into gear and you started weighing your options.

It would be wrong to open the apartment doors and pull him back in, right? It would certainly be wrong to pull him in and demand a re-do of the first time you'd forgotten. Would he even want to redo doing it with you? And what did he mean when he said "I love you."

It was those words more specifically that scared you. You'd both been absolutely intoxicated when you'd fallen into the wedding chapel together and still remarkably unstable afterward presumably. There was a high likelihood that he hadn't known what he was saying, and taking a risk on a friendship for half a memory and wishful thinking wasn't a great calculation.

But gripping the door handle, you realized your body had made the decision for you, completely overwhelmed by the need to see him again.

When you opened the door, no one was there. Your phone pinged with a text as you looked around disappointedly, not finding him anywhere. Looking down at your phone, you cursed your own stupidity as you read his message.

"Sorry. I won't do that again."

You typed out explanations and deleted them over and over for what seemed like an hour, guilt eating you up.

Eventually, you threw your phone down in resignation, and, grabbing your groceries, started frantically planning your next steps.

Step one: wallow in your own misery.

Step two: crack open the single bottle of red wine in your pantry.

Step three: beg for heavenly guidance.

After the wine was opened, you picked up the phone again and shot off a quick emergency message to Penelope.

"Pen, need help, may have just ruined EVERYTHING with Reid because I remembered our wedding night mid-kiss - long story. Mine, now? Xx"

You couldn't stand to look at your phone after that, putting it on silent and assuming the single time it flashed was confirmation that Penelope was on her way. After half an hour, you sprang from your seat at the sound of the door, making your way back to the scene of your most recent number one embarrassing memory.

Only opening the door to Emily Prentiss, you were sure you'd just dethroned yourself.

"You're going to have to start from the beginning or explain to me that that message had multiple typing errors, because just when did you and Reid get married, and why is it suddenly over now?"

--X--

��️ Pt 1 @w-windy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @daddy-dotcom @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @ferrjulie @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @jamiemuscatosslut @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @dysphoricsanity @ghostheartbeat @casss2111 @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @academiacoffeelover @softservepunk @andiebeaword @r-3dlips @wakaladjarin @ratbastardchild @mcira

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#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut #maturereiding

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soap-ify · 4 months

Text

nsfw below , mdni.

YOU'RE AN ANGEL, I'M A DOG | simon 'ghost' riley x reader.

03 — i'm sorry i'm the one you love.

chapter summary — a visit to simon's place after finding out that he's sick was definitely not the best idea.

tags / cw — some fluff, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, suicidal thoughts, major self deprecating thoughts, heavy themes, simon's past, simon fucks up royally, reader has anxiety, simon can't communicate for his life, some nsfw. [3.1k words]

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Simon’s immunity to being sick was one of those traits about himself he was the most proud of.

But oh well, maybe he wasn’t completely immune.

Queasy stomach, constricted nose, trembling muscles — Simon would rather die, ironically enough. He hated this feeling, made him feel like an imposter in his own body, wanting to crawl out of this mess that left him nauseous.

He couldn’t even remember how he had gotten sick. Maybe it was the horribly cold weather in the place the taskforce had pinpointed one of the targets at. Or maybe it was the drunk woman who was all over him in the bar they went to after the mission was over. God, that woman.

An uneasy pit formed in his stomach as he thought about that night, that woman pinned beneath him as he—

Fuck it. He didn’t want to think about the details. All he knew that he kept on thinking about you while he was fucking her, and it only made him want to rip his skin off even more. You. You were probably waiting for him at your home, wondering if he was safe. Alive even.

The mission had gotten extended due to some issues, and he was just so fucking frustrated and tired. That woman was just… there, flirting with him so shamelessly, and he was too exhausted to stop her, thinking that she might somehow fill the void in his chest, or even give some temporary solace to how lonely and isolated he felt despite being around everyone else.

He was so wrong. Every thrust into that woman felt like being restrained, as if hands were gripping onto his throat tight, mocking at his incapability of coming to proper solutions to his damn problems. He felt trapped, chains tying him as he dissociated more and more.

That woman was sickeningly satisfied that night, and Simon just felt more and more ill, confused and lost amidst the overwhelming storm that raged inside his head. Was he guilty? He wasn’t even dating you. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t fucked anyone else since meeting you, other than this. You made him forget others.

No, it wasn’t guilt. Well, it was but there was something more too.

It was just that Simon became more and more self aware of how noxious he had become to himself. His own doom.

Anyways, it was probably the cold weather that made him sick.

Now back in his shitty apartment after five weeks, all he cared about was getting some damn medicines and sleeping it off, and trying not to think about you.

Which was hard, too hard. You had somehow built your own corner in his head, started living there too. Permanently? Probably. He knew he should tell you that he’s back, but again, does he really ever tell you anything?

A cough escaped him and he groaned in annoyance, the urge to just suffocate himself with his pillow really strong.

Kyle was an angel, really.

“The mission was so exhausting. Problems here and there.” He groaned, tipping his head back while lounging on your couch, opening up the small box of chocolates he had bought for you. “Try it, mate. Got it at the airport.” He grinned, tossing you one piece of wrapped chocolate. You undid it and tossed it in your mouth, immediately feeling the sweet ball of chocolate melting at your tongue, a happy noise escaping your throat.

“Holy shit.” You gasped in awe, earning a knowing chuckle from Kyle.

You were sitting with your legs crossed, constantly shifting and fidgeting, your sock-clad feet somewhat restless as you tried to resist the urge to ask about Simon.

Though it seemed that your mouth worked faster than your brain.

“How’s Simon?” You asked, voice a bit strained and you suddenly regretted every single thing in your life.

Kyle was a bit surprised that you were asking about his gloomy Lieutenant out of everyone else, though he didn’t question it, not an ounce of suspicion on his face. “Sick.” A snort left him before he could hold it back, a hand coming to cover his mouth as he snickered. “He was so mad ‘bout it. You should’ve seen him.”

Sick? Truth be told, you had never considered the possibility of Simon getting sick. The concept just seemed so… foreign? Maybe you had just always thought of him as something else. That creepy balaclava never helped.

A sudden overwhelming wave of worry churned in your stomach, your fingernails digging into your palm while you swallowed the lump in your throat, your brain desperately trying to hold onto the scattered rush of thoughts and form a plan somehow. You weren’t even that mad at him for ghosting you or not indicating anything about his return. He was sick.

“That sucks…” You awkwardly replied, biting your inner cheek.

As soon as Kyle was gone, you grabbed your jacket and keys, leaving your apartment too with only one place in mind.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Simon’s voice was sickeningly hoarse, and he didn’t look any better — pale hair all messy and the dark circles around his eyes a bit more prominent, a black surgical mask covering his mouth while he coughed a bit. You don’t think you’d ever properly seen his hair before fully except a few strands. You liked it.

He looked at you standing at the front door of his apartment, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours that were full of concern, a plastic bag in your hands that seemingly contained some vegetables, some meds and other food. Shit, I should have tidied up my place, his brain screamed at him.

“Kyle told me you were sick. I got worried.” You mumbled sheepishly.

Of course it was Kyle. Simon tried hard to not click his tongue and nodded reluctantly, stepping aside so you could get in.

“You shouldn’t be standing and walking around, Si…” You frowned, quickly putting the plastic bag on the kitchen counter. Before he could even protest, you were already gently pushing onto his chest, trying to make him move until he sighed and sniffled, letting you push him into his bedroom.

“You don’t have to, love.” He grumbled weakly and proceeded to lay on his bed, watching you pull his blanket over him, disappearing out of the room for a moment before coming back with a bowl of cold water and a towel, gently beginning to dab the wet towel on his burning forehead.

Simon felt… weird. A part of him felt embarrassed for letting someone else take care of him, someone as sweet and kind as you, someone who genuinely cared. He was used to being the one always watching out for others, making sure his teammates were safe and sound.

And the other part of him felt so nice — the part that had just been trapped in there ever since he dug himself out of that damn grave years ago, the stench of the rotting corpse still vivid in his head. The real Simon. You were making that part of him feel loved even if you weren’t aware of it.

He doesn’t remember when was the last time he felt so comforted. And it terrified him, this feeling of warmth that was spreading in his chest, a feeling he had somewhat started loathing at some point in the past few years.

But he wanted it more, wanted it like a starved dog wandering in a street, wanted it like a man needing water. And he was scared that this need of his would terrify you — that you’ll catch him ravenous and berserk, devouring your love, or even you, in such a manner that will make you shriek and leave him forever. Leave him after learning who he truly was. Disturbed. An Outcast. An unwanted dog.

Not a man, never a man.

A cough rumbled from his throat, and you left the wet towel resting on his forehead, your hand reaching down to rub his chest through his shirt in circular motions. “I’ll make some soup for you.” You mumbled softly, the urge to press a soft kiss in between his brows strong. But you couldn’t do it. He would probably hate it anyway.

You pulled away and looked at him one more time before leaving his bedroom, ready to make some warm soup for him with the groceries you bought for him.

This allowed him to close his eyes for a few minutes, trying to cancel out the loud buzzing in his head. Though that wasn’t a good option too, really, but there was nothing else he could do. Sleep never came to him anyways.

First it was just darkness, the only sounds in the bedroom being of his slightly heavy breathing, soft sniffles leaving him. Then it came slowly, images flashing in his head. Brutal and unforgiving. Blood, bodies, knives, guns, shouts, his family, Tommy, Beth, everyone. A meat hook, a scar, more scars, Roba, his father.

His father.

“Soup’s ready!”

His eyes snapped open as soon as he heard your melodic voice from the kitchen, soft footsteps drawing closer to the bedroom. Sweat had formed on the back of his neck as he panted heavily, clearing his throat. Clear your damn head.

“Here you go.” You walked into the bedroom, a warm bowl of soup in your hands as you gently placed it on the nightstand beside him.

Simon sat up on the bed and gave you a silent nod of gratitude, grabbing the bowl of soup, fiddling with the spoon, eyes elsewhere. He couldn’t meet your eyes, feeling too vulnerable and naked.

You shifted on your feet, a small smile moving up on your lips once he finally took a taste of the soup, happy to not see any sign of disgust on his features. You knew he wasn’t going to show that he liked the soup anyways. These were the little things you took note of, the subtle relaxation in his brows and the content sigh that escaped his mouth.

Minutes passed by and you managed to sit on a chair nearby his bed, silence lingering in the room while your eyes looked around, taking in just how bleak everything was. White walls, grey sheets, a severe lack of pictures or literally anything on the wall.

The only thing you could find was the little picture of him and the rest of the taskforce hung on the wall. It was sweet. The four guys were on a beach — Johnny having a beaming grin on his lips while Kyle had an annoyed one, trying to get the other’s hand off his ticklish sides. John had a cute big smile that highlighted his cheeks and the scrunch of his nose, like a quokka. And then there was Simon, face covered by the balaclava, classic. Though he didn’t appear to be brooding or anything, no. Instead, his eyes held a relieved and satisfied look. Transient happiness. The skin of his exposed torso was all flushed, and you could barely hold in a smile.

“Do you burn?” You asked, trying to hide the subtle amusement in your voice.

“No, I tan.” His hoarse voice replied, taking another sip of the soup, sounding so damn serious despite the lie. Typical Simon.

Silence soon filled the room once again, though it didn’t really feel comforting as it usually was between you too, sometimes. It seemed tense and thick, your right leg bouncing up and down restlessly. Restless for what? You wanted to do something, but you didn’t know what that something was. Everything just felt so odd today, so distant. Even with the little banter here and there, something seemed wrong.

“Um…” You finally managed to croak out, clearing your throat before looking at him. “There’s a new ice cream parlor that just opened around the street recently, and people seem to like it quite well. Would you like to go there sometime?” You asked with the little courage you had gathered in the past few minutes. Basically asking him out on a date, playing with the fire. But maybe it would help cheer him up, right?

He was silent for a while, and you momentarily thought that he didn’t hear you before he finally spoke, voice devoid of any emotion.

“No.”

Silence. Somehow more agonising than before. Heat spread through your cheeks and ears, an uncomfortable heat that made you feel too ashamed and humiliated, too weak and shocked. No. There were no signs of hesitation in his voice, and your mouth began working faster than your brain, anxiety simmering beneath the surface.

“O-Of course not now… When you’re not sick.”

“Still a no.”

You swallow the heavy lump in your throat, your heartbeat accelerating while your fingernails begin digging into your palm, breathing becoming all the more shallow. Were you annoying him? Please don’t speak, don’t make him more angry. Don’t say anything else, don’t breathe, don’t—

“Why are you being like this?”

Your strained question finally made Simon look at you, his stare too callous. The heat was unbearable, and you almost struggled to breath, trying your best to maintain eye contact with him, feeling the itchy sensation spreading through your skin. Inhale, exhale, inh—

“You don’t ever shut up, do you?” He threw a question back at you, though it was rhetorical and just cruel. Too cruel. Were you really talking too much? Your mouth quickly shut at that, breath catching in your throat, confusion and uncertainty screaming through every little action of yours.

Your heart felt too heavy, begging to run out of your chest, leave you abandoned or just simply run for its life, find some sort of freedom and solace. Your throat tightened up, restricting you from saying anything. But Simon would like it, yeah?

Simon saw it, the consequences of his words written bright and clear on your face, your shy smiles and little jokes being replaced by… that, horror and hurt etched on your pretty face. If he could somehow reach for the knife stuffed beneath his bed in front of you, he would and do something about this fucking mess that he had become.

Those words came out of his mouth in the spur of the moment — the headache and congested nose, the sick feeling in his chest and then your genuine care — everything was too overwhelming. Why are you even wasting your time over someone as damaged as me?

He hated it, hated how the more overwhelmed he’d get, the more he’d snap and say shit he never meant. He didn't know how he’d become like this, maybe because of the shouts he always heard when he was still a rookie, maybe how everyone prioritized strength and anger so much to be seen in the battleground, to be strong and good at your work. The military really did train him into a violent dog, didn’t it?

Or maybe he was one ever since he came out of his mother’s womb.

But Simon wasn’t going to show the vulnerability seeping into his being. Not yet, probably not ever.

You couldn’t meet Simon’s stare any longer, your eyes looking up at the ceiling, tears already prickling at the edges of her eyes, and it stung.

“I just want to sleep. I don’t need you here.” He spoke in a way that came out more as a cold hiss while he clenched his jaw behind his surgical mask, and it made your resolve even weaker, fighting back your tears and trying not to flinch once slammed the empty bowl on the nightstand, proceeding to lay back down on the bed and pull the covers all over him.

He doesn’t need you here.

You sniffled softly and nodded to no one in particular, walking over to his bed and gently patting his shoulder through the blanket. “Get well soon, Simon… I left the meds on the kitchen counter.” You spoke, unable to hide the way your voice cracked.

And just like that, you walked out of his apartment, pretending to ignore the ache in your heart.

Pretending to have not noticed the random tiny bottle of perfume laying on the couch. The perfume clearly did not belonging to him.

You didn’t like walking through the streets. There were always too many people around, making your clutch the ends of your sleeves tight and quicken your steps up.

But today, all you could see were the happy couples, smiling and holding hands. Young, old, married, dating. It was so sweet that it made you want to cry and plead for some love too, something that would make you forget about the cracks forming in your heart and the loneliness creeping behind you like a ghost. Literally.

You had come to the conclusion that there was probably something wrong with you that just made you so… So unlovable? Was it how anxious you were? How talkative you’d get? How you’d just speak without thinking?

Why can’t Simon and you be one of the couples holding hands right now? Walking through the streets and giggling at some awful jokes he’d make, spending time together, being in love.

As soon as you reached your home, you collapsed on your bed and let the tears finally fall down your cheeks, a silent pained sob escaping your lips. It hurt, it hurt so bad. You hated it, you went over there to check up on Simon, not anger him.

You hated him, he was so mean to you. But you loved him too. Loved him like the ocean loved the moon, always staring at it in awe, wanting to get closer but never reaching it.

You hated that fucking perfume you spotted in his apartment. Probably belonging to some other woman. Did Simon call her ‘love’ too? You know there was no point in feeling so mad when the agreement was clearly ‘no strings attached’ — no catching feelings. But you somehow always managed to fail at this kind of stuff.

You choked on your sobs and curled up on your bed, too exhausted and tired, hands reaching out to grab the stuffed toy you had and clutching it tight against your chest, breathing heavily, wanting it to somehow ease the storm brewing within you, every sound coming out of you more painful than before.

“I just wanna sleep…” You whimpered to yourself, closing your eyes while the tears uncomfortably slid down the bridge of your nose in this position. Simon’s words.

Sleep and just get lost in a world where you’d be happier, in a world where you weren’t struggling with everything.

Sleep and somehow disappear.

notes — the demons really won with this one.

#simon and reader really can't have anything good #my peak evil moment #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #call of duty #yaaiad : masterlist #rurufic

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lostfracturess · 3 months

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【 ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ 】 ch. 07

x pairing professor!gojo x med student f!reader (medical au)

x summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

x wc 12.2 k

x warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other.

Then again.

No use.

No position was comfortable anymore. How long have you been at it?

"Everything okay?"

You looked over to Satoru, nodding slightly. "I'm fine, just a bit stiff."

"We're almost done." Satoru seemed entirely at ease, his hands moving with his familiar precision and confidence as he navigated through the brain in front of him.

It's almost criminal how good he was at masking his withdrawal.

"Can you hold on a little longer?"

"Yeah, I'm good." You forced yourself to push past the discomfort, ignoring the growing ache in your limbs. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other again. The sterile brightness of the operating room harsh against your tired eyes.

You mirrored his movements, every action synchronized seamlessly with his. As you retracted the tissue to reveal the implantation site, Satoru's sharp eyes caught something unexpected.

"Hold on a second," he interjected. "Come closer."

You leaned in, your focus shifting to where he was pointing his instrument. Amidst the intricate web of nerve fibers, a distinct cluster caught your attention, its arrangement defying the textbook descriptions you were used to seeing.

"This is an excellent example of neuroplasticity," Satoru explained. "See how the brain has restructured these pathways? It's adapting, compensating for lost functions. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it really is."

"That's something you won't find in books. Real-life experience is the best teacher."

"Thank you for showing me, Dr. Gojo."

Satoru turned to meet your gaze, his smile noticeable even under his mask. "It's my pleasure to teach you, first-year."

As Satoru carefully adjusted the microelectrodes to align with the neural pathways, you kept the surgical field clear, suctioning away any obstructions and adjusting the lighting to ensure Satoru had an unobstructed view of the implantation site.

"Speaking of teaching," Satoru began without looking away from his work. "What's the significance of the basal lamina in epithelial tissue organization?"

Caught off guard, you blinked. "What?"

"Was my question unclear, or are you pondering your answer?"

Oh my god. Not this again.

"It provides structural support and filtration, separating the epithelium from underlying connective tissue," you replied, focusing on assisting him while recalling your histology lectures.

"Correct. How about the roles of astrocytes and microglia in the CNS?" he continued, not missing a beat as he made another precise adjustment to the neuroimplant.

"Astrocytes support and protect neuronal cells; microglia act as immune cells within the CNS."

Satoru's smile grew slightly. "And the process and significance of axonal myelination in the CNS?"

"Oligodendrocytes wrap axons to form the myelin sheath, speeding up nerve impulse transmission," you explained as you handed him the next tool he needed.

"Excellent," Satoru acknowledged. "I wonder why you did so badly in your histology exam."

"Huh?"

Satoru turned to meet your gaze. "Your histology results. I've seen them. You didn't do well."

"That's because someone has been taking up all my study time," you said in a low tone. "Besides, stop snooping around my exam scores."

"Ah, so it's my fault, is it? Here I was, thinking I was quite the teacher."

"That's a bit of a stretch, considering you're the main reason I'm was behind the whole semester."

Satoru's grin widened. "But it helped with your anatomy exam, didn't it? And your pharmacology results were among the best."

You raised an eyebrow. "That had little to do with you."

"Anyway, shall we test the neuro connection now?" he suggested, flashing you a playful smile as he concluded the surgery.

As you both began the preliminary checks to ensure the equipment was ready for testing, the operating room door swung open. The anesthetist, a woman in her thirties with striking black hair and a prominent scar crossing her face over her nose, re-entered the OR and resumed her position.

"You know, as the anesthetist, I'd think your place is here, inside the OR, not out," Satoru commented.

The anesthetist waved it off with a dismissive gesture. "With a surgeon like you at the helm, Dr. Gojo, my worries are few and far between," she quipped. "Besides, I knew you had everything well in hand."

What is her mission here?

Your eyes wandered over to Satoru who seemed unfazed by her playful tone.

"Let's start with the diagnostic checks to confirm the implant's responsiveness. Pay close attention to the readings; we're looking for any signs of synaptic activity that align with our projections," Satoru said to you.

You monitored the screens closely, watching for the telltale signs. Satoru, too, kept a keen eye on the data streaming in, his expression tense. After a few moments, the first signs of success appeared. Relief washed over you.

"Looks like we're in business." Satoru's eyes meet yours, his lips curling into a smile. "Let's close the patient up."

"Would you like to do the honors?" Satoru asked, a slight nod towards the suture materials prepared on the tray beside him.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"Then come here," he said, adjusting the overhead light for you. You moved into Satoru's position as he stepped back. Satoru hovered close, his eyes never leaving your hands as they began their work.

"You can use a bit more tension." His hand briefly covered yours, guiding the needle with the precise pressure needed. "The skin has a few scars from past surgeries. If you stitch scar tissue too loosely, you compromise the incision's integrity."

His hands were a comforting presence, guiding but not controlling, allowing you to feel the right amount of tension necessary. "That's it, nice and steady. You're doing great." He stepped back to let you finish independently.

The room fell into a concentrated silence. The process was methodical, each movement deliberate, as you worked to close the incision, layer by layer, ensuring the integrity of the closure.

"Good girl," Satoru whispered as you secured the final stitch. "Didn't expect anything less form you. The patient is going to be thankful for such a neat closure."

You glanced back at him. "Thank you Dr. Gojo."

"Always my pleasure."

After the surgery, you both scrubbed up in the washing room, the warm water cascading over your hands.

"Our first successful surgery," Satoru mused, his gaze meeting yours. "Looks like this summer's going to be a breeze."

"It will sure be an interesting summer with that anesthetist."

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't get it? The anesthetist was practically throwing herself at you earlier."

"Really?"

"Yeah, seriously. She wasn't very subtle."

He grinned. "What, are you jealous?"

Just as you were about to respond, the door to the washing room opened, and the anesthetist walked in. "Dr. Gojo," she began. "That was an impressive surgery. It's always a pleasure to work with such a skilled surgeon."

Wow. Thank you.

She talked like you weren't even there.

Satoru offered a polite smile. "Thank you. But It was a team effort."

Undeterred, the anesthetist stepped closer, her intention clear. "I was wondering if you'd like to grab dinner sometime? To discuss more about your work, maybe?"

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of running water. You stole a glance at Satoru, who appeared momentarily paralyzed. You cleared your throat, reminding him that the anesthetist was waiting for his answer.

"I'm sorry, but I'm with someone," Satoru finally managed to say.

Huh?

The soap bar slipped from your grip at his words. It crashed into the sink with a sound that felt disproportionately loud in the tense silence that followed.

Satoru turned towards you. "You okay?"

"Yeah." You hastily reached for the soap again, your movements a bit too quick, a bit too shaky.

The anesthetist's expression faltered, a brief flash of embarrassment crossing her features before she quickly composed herself. "Of course, sorry. I should have seen that," she said, her gaze flickering between you and Satoru.

Oh fuck.

"Seen what?" Satoru asked.

"That you're dating. I just thought it'd be rather unusual for a professor and a student, but I'm not—," she stumbled over her words. Her exit strategy crumbled as gracefully as your grasp on the soap bar, which slipped from your fingers once more, causing another loud thud as it hit the sink.

"I should go now," the anesthetist hastened to add. She left the room in a rush, leaving you and Satoru alone once again. You felt as if all blood had drained from your face.

"Are you good?" Satoru asked again, his gaze piercing as if silently questioning your ability to perform surgery when you couldn't even hold a damn bar of soap in your hands.

"Yeah, I'm good." You quickly tried to shake off the lingering awkwardness. "You should probably clear that up."

"She's actually from another hospital. She's just here for today's surgery."

"Still, Satoru."

"Alright, alright, I'll clear things up with her. You have my word."

The hospital was a breeding ground for gossip. The last thing either of you needed was speculative gossip. Yet, Satoru seemed to find an odd sense of appeal in the idea.

"Actually, part of me thinks it wouldn't be so bad to let the rumor spread," he mused, running a towel over his hands. "It would certainly be easier than all this sneaking around."

"Are you out of your mind?"

He laughed. "Perhaps a bit." His eyes sparkled with mischief as they met yours. "But imagine it—no more tiptoeing around, no more fear of getting caught."

Before you could react, Satoru leaned in. His hands slipped around your waist to pull you closer. You pushed against him, a feeble attempt to keep some distance.

"You know, we're not in a relationship, Satoru."

"What, you're banning me to the friend zone?"

"It's not like you've ever left it."

"Harsh. That cuts deep."

You rolled your eyes. "Sure."

With a soft sigh, he released you, stepping back. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you."

─── ·✧· ───

Without further explanation, he led you through the quiet halls of the hospital to his office. The moment you entered Satoru's office, you were welcomed by the rhythmic pattering of rain against the windows. The office was dimly lit, the only light coming from the stormy sky outside.

Satoru shrugged off his coat and collapsed onto the couch, a deep sigh escaping him. For a moment, he lay still, his eyes fixed on his phone as he navigated through it.

You joined him on the couch. "What's this?" you asked as he handed you his phone.

"Just watch."

You pressed play on the video.

It showed the young patient from the first surgery, now equipped with his biometric arm you both had painstakingly worked for. The patient was in a training room, demonstrating an impressive range of motion and dexterity with the new limb. His movements were fluid and controlled. Almost perfect.

You couldn't help but smile.

Satoru's voice could be heard in the background, praising the patient's progress. The patient's face lit up with a broad smile as he looked into the camera.

The video ended.

"He was here yesterday for a checkup," Satoru said, running a hand over his face and through his hair. "This is your doing. You made this happen."

"It took all of us to get this done."

"No. You led the surgery. It was your doing. And now, he has a chance at a new life. All thanks to you. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"What?" You handed the phone back to him.

"Knowing that we can actually change things," Satoru mused as he flipped the phone idly in his hand, replaying the video. "Make a real difference in someone's life."

"It does." Your smile turned bittersweet as you observed him closely. "You look tired, Satoru."

Satoru glanced at you, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. He rubbed his slightly bloodshot eyes. "Do I?"

"Yeah. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look 'fine.'" You gently pushed the damp hair away from his forehead. His reaction was immediate; his hand captured yours, drawing it down to caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch, a sigh escaping him as he closed his eyes.

"You should really consider just taking some clonidine."

He exhaled deeply. "You really not stopping with that."

"Because you keep being stupid," you replied, pulling away to stand. "Where do you have it?"

"In my bag."

You crossed the room to where his bag lay, rummaging through its contents until you found the medication. Holding the clonidine in hand, you turned back to face him. Satoru had shifted to a sitting position, his gaze fixed on you.

Holding out the medication, you met his gaze, urging him silently to take it. But Satoru hesitated, a slight pout on his lips. "I can't."

"Why not?" Frustration edged into your voice. "Satoru, it's for your own good."

"It's not that simple."

"It is. You're making it complicated."

A tense silence filled the space between you, the rain's steady patter against the windows underscoring the moment. "I... I just can't take it like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't stand the taste."

He really got some nerves.

"Don't make me force you to take it."

Satoru's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "You couldn't make me swallow it if you tried."

"You think so?" you countered, your patience thinning.

Deciding on a more direct approach, you moved closer and sat down on his lap, straddling him. His eyes widened as you did so. He let himself fall back against the couch, his hands instinctively settling on your hips.

You reached for one of the pills, your movements deliberate under Satoru's watchful gaze. "What are you about to do?"

Holding the pill between your fingers, you met his gaze squarely. "I'm making sure you take this." You placed the pill on your tongue, savoring its bitter taste.

His breath caught in his throat as your lips met his. Still, his tongue eagerly met yours.

He swallowed the pill without a second thought.

That's it, isn't it?

You should withdraw.

Withdraw your lips from his soft and tender lips.

God, his lips were soft against yours. Just like you remember. How you missed it.

Ah fuck it.

His lips moved against yours. His kisses became more urgent, more possessive, as he hungrily devoured your lips. In that instant, nothing else existed except the two of you. With a sudden tug, Satoru pulled you closer until there was hardly any space left between your bodies.

"I thought we had an agreement?" Satoru gasped between kisses.

"Did we?" you said, throwing your own principles overboard.

They didn't stick around very long, did they?

I'm not judging you, reader. It's Satoru Gojo after all.

We would all bend the rules for him, wouldn't we?

His lips twitched into a wicked smile. His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, working their way up your back. Drawing closer, your body melded seamlessly with his.

You shifted slightly, arching your spine to grind against him, causing a low moan to escape his chest. In return, his touch grew urgent, fingers pressing into your flesh as if seeking comfort in your warmth. He kissed the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the strands, urging him onward. His lips moved down, leaving a trail of fire wherever they went. Then, with a tantalizing flicker, his tongue traced the curve of your neck, turning your core molten.

The world outside faded, the only sound the pouring rain outside and the whisper of fabric against skin—until the abrupt light from his phone broke the spell, its screen illuminating the dim room.

"Ignore it," he murmured against your lips.

Ignoring the insistent vibration of his phone, Satoru deepened his kiss. You could feel his longing pulsing through him, matching your own. As if in response to the sound of the phone, his touch became bolder and more intense, leaving heat wherever he touched you.

Yet, the persistent buzzing of the phone became impossible to ignore. You turned your head slightly to see who was calling him for the third time in a row.

"Don't," Satoru whispered, cupping your chin to bring your focus back to him. "Focus only on me." His lips sought yours once more.

But you couldn't help it when his phone rang a fourth time. You cracked open one eye and glanced at the screen. "Satoru, wait," you pulled away from his lips. "It's Director Yaga."

Groaning in frustration, he reluctantly released his grip on you.

"Hello?" he answered.

Satoru's brow furrowed as he listened, his occasional nods doing little to reveal the nature of the conversation. Finally, Satoru hung up.

He looked at you, his expression grave. The sudden shift in his demeanor sent a chill through you, the air around you suddenly felt colder.

"Yaga wants to see us. In his office. As soon as possible."

"What? Why?"

"Didn't say anything."

"What did he say then?"

"Only mentioned it's urgent and that we both appear." He dropped his head back onto the back of the couch. "God, Yaga is such a cockblock."

You leaned back slightly, worry creasing your brow. "It's probably because of that student you punched. He must know something."

"He doesn't know anything."

"What if that student presses charges? What if rumors already spead? What if he wants to fire you?" The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

Satoru cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Whatever it is, I'll handle it."

"How can you be so sure? What will we even say?"

"Trust me, I'll do the talking. Just stay quiet, okay?"

"Okay," you whispered, trying to push aside your concerns as you took a deep breath to steady your nerves.

The storm outside suddenly seemed much louder than before.

─── ·✧· ───

The clock was ticking.

It was the only sound in the tense silence.

Director Yaga sat behind his desk, his expression inscrutable, yet the sharpness in his gaze suggested a brewing storm. He watched the two of you for what seemed like an eternity.

He then leaned forward. His hands clasped on the desk. His gaze bored into Satoru with an intensity that made even the famous neurosurgeon shift uncomfortably.

"Director Yaga—" Satoru started, but then Yaga spoke himself.

"Why the hell did you punch that student in the face, Gojo?"

"Because he drugged one of my students." Satoru said. "I found out that he slipped something into her drink during the faculty party two weeks ago."

"And you thought the appropriate response was to physically assault the student?"

"I couldn't let it go, sir. What he did was dangerous. She could have been seriously harmed."

Yaga leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Dr. Gojo, your method leaves much to be desired. We can't have our staff resorting to violence every time they're upset."

Satoru's jaw tightened. "I understand, sir. It was a lapse in judgment. But considering the circumstances—"

"Circumstances?" Yaga interrupted, his tone rising. "This is a university, not a back alley. We have protocols for dealing with misconduct. You know this."

"I do, sir. And I apologize for overstepping. But with all due respect, those protocols might not have protected her in time."

"And you think a punch was the immediate solution?"

"It was what I felt necessary at the moment."

Yaga's gaze hardened again. "Dr. Gojo, your 'momentary feelings' are becoming a liability. This isn't the first time your actions have caused complications. Your skills as a surgeon are beyond question, but your impulse control is, frankly, concerning."

"I understand the gravity of my actions, sir," Satoru said. "And I am prepared to face the consequences."

You needed to say something.

Do something.

You opened your mouth but Satoru raised his hand slightly from his lap so that only you could see it. He didn't want you to say anything.

Yaga studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "I'll deal with the student's misconduct appropriately. As for you, Dr. Gojo, there will be consequences. I expect better from you in the future. Much better."

Satoru nodded. "Thank you, sir. It won't happen again."

Yaga's gaze then shifted to you. "You're spending a lot of time with Dr. Gojo, right?"

Your eyes briefly flicked to Satoru. "Yes, sir. We're working closely on the neuroprosthetics project."

"And how do you find working with Dr. Gojo?"

You hesitated for a second. You could feel Satoru's gaze on you. "It's been an incredible learning experience," you said. "Dr. Gojo is a brilliant surgeon, and working with him has offered me insights and opportunities I wouldn't have had otherwise."

"Indeed," Yaga mused, leaning back in his chair. "It's good to see such teamwork among our staff. But remember, the university and the hospital are a small world. Rumors spread quickly."

Your blood ran cold.

The warning was clear.

"You can leave now," Yaga said, his tone indicating that the remainder of the discussion was meant for Satoru alone.

"Thank you, sir." You stood, casting one last glance at Satoru, who remained seated. Satoru caught your look, offering a subtle nod.

You found yourself pacing the corridor outside, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours. Every scenario imaginable played out in your mind, each more disconcerting than the last.

Finally, the door opened, and Satoru emerged — a practiced smile on his face. Yet, the tightness around his eyes betrayed him.

"Everything's fine," he said.

"Is it really?"

"Honestly, it's nothing to worry about. Yaga just wanted to go over a few things. You know how it is."

"Satoru, if something's wrong—"

"Really, it's nothing. Just the usual Yaga being overcautious. We're fine."

The use of "we" didn't escape your notice.

You knew Satoru well enough by now to recognize when he was shielding you — or perhaps himself — from worry. Yet, his insistence on handling matters alone, on bearing the brunt of any fallout without burdening you, was both admirable and, at times, maddeningly frustrating.

You studied him for a moment, searching his face for any sign of what truly happened behind closed doors. It was then that he stepped closer, closing the distance between you.

"Come on, don't make that face." His hands came up to cradle your face. "Everything's fine."

"You don't have to protect me from everything, you know that, right?"

"Still, you can't stop me from trying." He released you from his hold and turned. "Come on, let's grab something to eat. I'm starving."

─── ·✧· ───

The early morning sun bathed the hospital grounds in a soft, orange light, heralding the start of another beautiful summer day. A gentle breeze, carrying with it the scent of freshly mown grass, whispered through the trees.

As you made your way toward the hospital, your eyes found Geto and Satoru. They were seated on a bench under the expansive branches of an oak tree, bathed in the speckled sunlight that danced through the leaves, casting patterns of light and shadow around them.

Drawing closer, Satoru caught sight of you, his face lighting up with a smile.

"There she is," Geto greeted you, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. He exhaled a stream of smoke, the wisps dancing lazily in the morning light.

Satoru shifted to make room for you on the bench. "Ready for today?"

You took a seat beside him. "As ready as I can be," you said. "How about you?"

Satoru presented his hand in front of you, somewhat still. "See? No tremors today. All's well."

"I'm glad," you replied, though your eyes couldn't help but trace the faint bruises and scratches that still marred his otherwise flawless pale skin — remnants of the confrontation with that student. As your gaze shifted back to his, he offered you a wink, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Geto broke the sudden stillness. "So, heading into surgery number four today?"

"Yeah, your fourth one, eight more to go," you confirmed. "What do you have lined up for today, Geto?"

With a knowing smirk, Geto exhaled another stream of smoke. "An aneurysm clipping."

Intrigued, you leaned in slightly, your eyes brightening. "What really?"

Catching your reaction, Satoru teased, "Thinking of ditching me for Geto's surgery?"

You rolled your eyes. "Never, but you have to admit, nothing compares to the thrill of an aneurysm."

Satoru settled back, a shiver passing through him. "You know, you're kind of scary sometimes."

Geto let out a low laugh as he stood, crushing his cigarette underfoot. "Well then, I should get ready for my 'thrilling' surgery. Good luck with your procedure today."

Before Geto could stride away, Satoru's voice halted him. "Hey, Suguru, try not to scare your team away this time. We're running out of interns who don't break into a cold sweat at the mention of your name."

Geto turned. "Oh, please, Satoru. Interns come to me to recover from the trauma of working with you."

Leaning back on the bench, Satoru draped his arm across the back, subtly encircling you. "Scaring them is a necessary part of their training. Builds character. After me, they're ready for anything."

"You mean after they recover from the trauma," Geto said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

"You should be thanking me. Makes you look like the good guy for a change."

"That's your plan? Making me look good?" Geto raised an eyebrow. "Well, try not to traumatize them too much, will you?"

"No promises," Satoru replied. "But I'll consider it, just for you."

Geto waved a dismissive hand. "Just make sure you don't scare away this one." He gestured towards you. "She's a keeper."

As Geto disappeared into the hospital, Satoru turned to you, the smile still lingering on his face. "See what I have to put up with? It's a tough job, but someone's got to keep him in check."

"Seems like you both do a good job of keeping each other grounded."

"Yeah, we do. Couldn't ask for a better friend, even if he is a bit of a menace."

You observed him for a second. "How are you really feeling today?"

Satoru hesitated for a moment before extending his hand towards you. It was a subtle, but his hand was trembling, the fine tremors betraying his withdrawal. "See? Steady as ever," he joked, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just need a bit of caffeine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, but," he edged closer, "you know, you could always help steady them."

You stood up and began to walk towards the hospital. "In your dreams, Satoru."

"Oh, so we're playing by the rules now?"

"The rules bend to my will. They're mine, after all."

"Wait," he interjected. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you."

You stopped, turning to face him. "What is it?"

"Next week, I've been invited to give a guest lecture at another university about our neuroprosthetics research. I was hoping you'd join me for the presentation. Would you be interested in co-presenting?"

"Me? Co-present with you?"

"I can't think of anyone better to share the stage with."

"But what about Geto? It's as much his project. Shouldn't he be the one to present with you?"

He shrugged. "But I’d rather have you with me. Besides, he won’t be mad at me for choosing you.”

"I don't know if I'm the right person for that, Satoru."

He leaned forward. "You won't be up there alone. I'll be with you every step of the way. Haven't we always worked best as a team?"

You watched him for a second, considering.

"There's more," he added. "The university, it's a bit far away. We'd have to stay overnight."

"And let me guess, you need someone to look after you?"

Without missing a beat, Satoru's grin widened. "You know, with my problems and all, I could use someone to keep me in line."

"Are you seriously using your addiction to guilt-trip me into this?"

"Absolutely. But seriously, I need you there. Not just for me, but for this. For us."

"You're impossible." You let out a sigh, defeated yet somehow exhilarated. "Alright, Satoru. I'll go with you."

"That's all I wanted to hear," Satoru beamed, his eyes softening. "Now, let's go open some skulls."

─── ·✧· ───

The morning air held a cool bite.

When the door creaked open, Satoru stood there, looking like someone who had just rolled out of bed. His hair stood in every direction, his eyes blinking against the daylight, and his clothes — a rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants — spoke volumes of his unpreparedness.

"Uh, good morning?" His greeting came out more as a question as he took in the sight of you, fully dressed and ready, suitcase and all. "You want to move in? Not that I would complain."

"You seriously forgot?"

"Forgot what?"

"We're supposed to head to the university today. Our meeting with the director is at noon. The lecture, Satoru. Remember?"

"That was today?" he murmured, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Yes."

"Fuck." Satoru stepped aside and let you enter his apartment. "Give me ten minutes. Fifteen, tops."

You stepped inside, setting your suitcase down by the door. The apartment was quiet, save for the distant sounds of the city outside and Satoru's hurried movements from room to room. "Be right back," he said and disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of running water soon filled the space.

Left to your own devices, you began to pace the living area of his apartment. "So, what's the plan? Did you even prepare the lecture?" you called out, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the sound of the shower.

From the bathroom, Satoru's laughter echoed. "I'm always prepared, as you can see."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." You meandered around the room, straightening out a stack of papers here, realigning books there — a small attempt to bring order to Satoru's organized chaos. "You really haven't prepared, have you?"

"Ah, you know me too well," he called back. "Didn't you prepare something?"

"Of course, I did."

After a few minutes, the water turned off, and the apartment fell into a brief silence before Satoru reappeared. His hair was wet and slicked back, giving him a more put-together appearance, despite the fact he was only in his underwear. Droplets of water glistened on his skin, trailing down his chest and abs. Your gaze shamelessly lingered.

"I knew I could count on you," he teased, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sometimes I wonder how you even managed to become a professor."

"Do you really hold such a low opinion of me? The lecture's all set on my laptop. We'll go over it during the drive," he reassured, before striding towards his bedroom.

You followed him, leaning against the doorframe. "And here I was, worried you'd forgotten about the professional part of being a professor."

He laughed, pulling on a pair of trousers and beginning to button up a shirt. "Never doubt my commitment to teaching. My methods may be unconventional, but the results speak for themselves."

He then began throwing random cloths on his bed to pack. His shirt, only half-tucked, fluttered with each brisk movement.

You stepped into the room to offer some semblance of help — or at least moral support. Making yourself comfortable on the bed beside the pile of cloths, you observed his somewhat arbitrary decision-making process, each choice seemingly dictated by a 'that'll do' attitude.

"Shall I help pick out a tie that will adequately convey 'accountable professor,' or have we already moved beyond such formalities?"

Satoru shot you a look. "Haha, very funny," he retorted. "I'll have you know, I perform excellently under pressure."

Adjusting his shirt, he secured his belt with a metallic click. "Besides," he continued, now fully dressed and giving off an air of readiness, "I was counting on your impeccable sense of organization to make sure we didn't forget anything important."

You arched an eyebrow. "So, I'm your security plan? Here I thought I was the co-presenter."

He paused, his gaze intensifying as he crossed the room in two strides. Climbing onto the bed, his presence loomed over you, his nearness overwhelming.

"You're much more than that," he said, his voice softer this time. "You're everything."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the early morning light casting long shadows that danced around you both. Without another word, Satoru leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. It was a fleeting touch, yet it sparked a longing that begged for more.

He didn't wait long to deepen the kiss, pressing his lips even harder against yours. Your lips locked together as if starved for each other's embrace. Savoring every moment, they explored each other deeply. Before parting, Satoru's teeth nipped at your lower lip.

Parting, Satoru's eyes shimmered in the morning light, his fingertip delicately tracing the line of your cheekbone. "Now, let's make sure we're not late because of my supposed unpreparedness."

─── ·✧· ───

The drive to the other university unfolded under a sky so clear and blue it seemed almost surreal. it was an eight-hour drive, maybe more. You may have slept half the way.

The closer you got to the coast, the more the air changed, imbued with a freshness that hinted at the vast expanse of water nearby. When you finally arrived at the university, the salty tang of the ocean breeze greeted you, wafting through the warm air. You stepped out of the car, stretching your legs and taking a deep breath.

Satoru led the way across the campus with a stride that suggested familiarity. The university itself was an impressive collection of modern and classical architecture, its buildings bathed in the golden light of the sun.

You followed Satoru closely as you navigated through the lively campus. Students and faculty alike went about their day. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, casting playful shadows on the paths that crisscrossed the grounds.

"I have a feeling this isn't your first time here," you said.

Satoru glanced over at you, a smile playing on his lips. "Ah, the director here is an old friend of mine."

"So, this is a bit of a reunion for you two, then?"

"In a way, yes." The sun accentuated the subtle lines of amusement around his eyes. "But to be honest, he's always been a pain in my ass. We've been challenging each other since our university days. Always trying to outdo one another, whether in academics, research, or... well, less scholarly things."

What's that supposed to mean?

Satoru didn't hesitate as he approached the director's office. He raised his hand and knocked firmly on the door, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. You stood by his side, a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Come in," called a voice from inside.

As Satoru pushed the door open, you both entered.

The director was a man in his thirties, the same age as Satoru, you guessed. His hair was loosely combed back, and his hair had a light pink blush that you found rather unusual. What caught your eye, however, were the geometric line tattoos adorning his arms, revealed by his rolled-up sleeves.

The director rose from his chair upon your entrance. The familiarity between him and Satoru was immediate. "Toru, it's been ages!" he exclaimed.

Toru?

That casual nickname threw you for a moment.

The two of them embraced each other in a firm hug that seemed almost painful to an outsider. "Sukuna, you haven't changed a bit."

Turning his focus to you, Sukuna's sharp eyes found you. "And you must be the talented co-presenter I've heard so much about," he said, his voice carrying a smooth confidence that bordered on arrogance. "How was the drive over? I hope Toru here didn't bore you too much with his old university stories."

Stop calling him Toru, for fuck's sake.

Before you could muster a response, Sukuna took your hand in his, bending slightly to press a kiss to the back of it — a gesture that felt oddly out of place and left you feeling momentarily disoriented. "Please, call me Sukuna," he insisted, his grin wide.

I'm going to call you an asshole if you don't let go of my hand right now.

Sukuna stepped back and leaned against his desk. "So, Toru," he began, "are you still trying to save the world one brain at a time?"

"Someone's got to do it, especially when others are too busy terrorizing the next generation of doctors," he retorted.

Sukuna laughed. "Ah, but you know, adversity breeds excellence. Or so I keep telling them. I remember times, where you did the same."

Satoru chuckled. "You know me, always up for a challenge."

"That's for sure" Sukuna scoffed, he then adressed you. "You know that your professor always trying to beat me at... Well, anything, really."

"That's because you set the bar so low," Satoru shot back.

"Me? Low? I just see one person in this room leading a whole university."

Satoru leaned back in his chair. "That's just because I hate paperwork. I can't believe they even suggested you for this job after you barely making it to morning rounds for years."

Sukuna laughed, leaning forward. "Ah yes, but who was it that set the record for the most successful procedures in a single semester? Remind me, Toru."

Satoru's smirk grew wider. "Must have been the same person who had to repeat almost every exam."

Sukuna waved dismissively. "Details, details. But what happened? You became so tame."

"Grow older, you know. Wiser. Would suit you as well."

Sukuna chraked a smile and turned to you again. "Ah, so it's your influence, then?" You winced. "Impressive. I've never seen anyone manage to keep Toru on a leash before."

What is wrong with this guy.

Satoru's reaction was immediate, his eyes narrowing just a touch. "Don't go there Sukuna. We're here for a lecture you asked for, not for you to come at my student."

Sukuna raised his hands in a mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I give in. It seems you've finally met your match."

Sukuna pushed away from his desk and walked around it. "I'm looking forward to your lecture. The students and faculty are in for a treat. But now I have to go, I have a meeting in 10 minutes. But, maybe we can catch up later, reminisce about the good old days."

"Sounds like a plan," Satoru said, rising from his seat.

"I'll call you." Sukuna collected some papers and his bag, nodding to both of you before leaving the office.

"I didn't expect you two to be so close," you commented as you both made your way down the sunlit hallway. "You seem like a different person around him."

Satoru raised an eyebrow. "Different, how?"

"It's just... It's like you're returning to your university self."

He pondered your words for a moment. "Sukuna was a close friend of mine during my university days. We went through a lot together. But somewhere along the way, our paths parted. He climbed the academic ladder, and I... well, I found my calling in neurosurgery."

"It must be nice to catch up after all these years."

Satoru nodded. "It is. We've both changed in many ways, but some things remain the same."

As you both made your way out of the university and to the car, the afternoon sun made the door handles almost too hot to touch. "So what are we gonna do now?" you asked as Satoru opened the passenger door for you.

"I know a place."

─── ·✧· ───

"Feels like holiday here," you observed, taking a sip of your ice-cold drink.

"That's why I brought you here," Satoru replied with an easy smile.

Seated at a cozy corner of a beachside bar, you and Satoru found a spot in the shade. The bar was open-air, offering an unobstructed view of the expansive beach and the calm sea beyond. Around you, the soft chatter of other guests and the gentle sound of the waves in the background.

With cold drinks in hand, you both relaxed into the comfortable silence, taking in the sight of the azure waters and the feel of the light sea breeze.

Curiosity eventually got the better of you. "So, how did you and Sukuna meet?"

Satoru leaning back, glancing at you over his sunglasses. "You're really asking a lot about him."

"Just curious."

"Sukuna and I did our undergraduate together, and eventually we both decided to do an exchange semester here," he explained, his gaze drifting towards the horizon. "This place, this university, it holds a lot of memories."

You watched him, waiting for him to continue.

"Sukuna was always the more... adventurous one, I guess. Always pushing the limits, dragging me along for the ride."

"Sounds like you had quite the time."

Satoru laughed. "Guess you can say that. Sukuna had this knack for finding trouble, and somehow, I always ended up being his wingman."

As a silence fell between you, you found yourself biting your lower lip, a sense of unease growing within you.

After a moment, Satoru broke the quiet. "What's on your mind, love?"

Taken aback, you paused. "It's nothing, really."

Satoru's expression softened. "I can see that something's bothering you." As he spoke, he reached across the table, his hand finding yours. His fingers wrapped around your hand, offering a comforting warmth as his thumb began to softly caress your skin.

"Just a bit surprising to see this side of you. It's so different."

He exhaled softly and turned his attention back to the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a seamless blend of colors, his hand still holding yours across the table. "Because I was different then. But Sukuna's idea of adventure was often too close to the edge for my liking. Still, I let myself get swept along." His eyes met yours again. "But not anymore."

You offered a faint smile in response.

The calm moment was abruptly shattered when Satoru's other hand unexpectedly twitched, causing his drink to slip from his grip. The glass hit the sand below with a loud thud.

You jumped at the sudden sound. "Are you okay?"

He looked down at his hand, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "Seems so." He flexed his fingers as if to reassure himself. "Hm, that's new." His attempt at nonchalance did little to mask the undercurrent of concern in his voice.

Satoru turned his attention back to you. "Really, I'm fine," he reiterated, seeing the worry that hadn't quite left your eyes.

"How much clonidine did you take today?"

"I haven't taken any. Thought I'd try a day without." Satoru read the concern on your face, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Don't give me that face."

"What face?"

"That worried face. I'd rather see you smile."

"I wouldn't be so worried if you could just take your damn medicine."

Satoru suddenly rose from his seat, closing the distance between you two. His hands found the arms of your chair. He leaned in, his voice a low, coaxing whisper. "Then perhaps you'd be willing to administer it more... personally?"

"Satoru, we're not alone here," you reminded him, though the intensity of his gaze made the rest of the world seem momentarily distant.

He grinned. "Does it matter? No one here knows us."

"Still—"

Your protest was barely audible before he interjected, "I know something better." Before you could process his words, or even respond, you found yourself lifted effortlessly, the world tilting as Satoru slung you over his shoulder in one fluid motion.

"What? What are you doing?"

He strode towards the water's edge, the sand beneath his feet giving way to the firmer, wet surface as the waves lapped gently at the shore.

"Put me down, Satoru!"

"Why so fierce, sweetheart?" His voice was teasing, laced with amusement.

Suspicion flickered in your eyes as you sensed his intentions, the vast, open sea just steps away. "Satoru, don't you dare—"

It was too late for warnings. With a mischievous grin, Satoru charged, plunging both of you into the shallow embrace of the ocean waves. The water was surprisingly warm, enveloping you both as you made a splash, your clothes instantly soaking up the sea.

You were underwater for a second, before you broke the surface. Satoru shook his head, water droplets flying from his hair, which now clung to his forehead and temples in dark, damp strands.

You pushed away, swimming a few strokes back to put some space between you. "You're insane!" you exclaimed as you splashed water in his direction.

Satoru shielded himself with his hands, still laughing. "You have to admit, it's refreshing!" he retorted, dodging your playful splashes with ease. The sunlight, now a rich golden, bathed the water around you, each splash shimmering like liquid gold in the dying light.

"Come here," he said as he swam over to you, pulling you close to him in the water. The water lifted you both, gently swaying you in its embrace as you floated together, suspended between sea and sky.

His hand reached up to cradle your face. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he held you close. His eyes, reflecting the sky's ever-changing hues, held yours. You held your breath, momentarily lost in his gaze.

"Promise me this," he said, "as soon as I'm clean, we drop the act. No more hiding, no games. I want you, only you, and I want us to be official. I want you to be mine."

As he spoke, there was an honesty in his crystal blue eyes you hadn't seen before, a vulnerability he rarely showed. He was not the confident surgeon you knew, not the serious professor. He was just Satoru, raw and sincere, laying his heart bare before you — laying his love bare before you.

In that moment, with the waves gently crashing around you and the last rays of the sun setting the sky aflame, you knew there was no turning back. You were his, completely and irrevocably, and nothing could change that.

"I've always been yours," you whispered.

It was a promise, a plea, a surrender, a confession all at once. Because you felt like surrendering — surrendering to him — but it was easy — surrendering to him was easy. Because every moment you weren't in his embrace was lost. Empty. Meaningless.

Because in the end, nothing else mattered but him.

And he smiled.

His chest emptied of a breath he must have held for a long time.

And then, as naturally as the tide finds the shore, his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft, unhurried, as if time itself had slowed to savor the moment between you. Every worry, every fear melted away, replaced by the conviction that you were exactly where you were meant to be. It was a promise. It was home.

For in his kiss, you had found your home.

And he found his.

Your mouths part ever so slightly as you breathe out. The salty taste of the sea lingered on your lips. Satoru smiled at you, his forehead gently resting against yours. Then, with an intensity that spoke volumes, his lips found yours once more.

This kiss was different from any before, making you feel alive in a way that nothing else ever could. Beneath the water's surface, he pulled you even closer, his touch electric against your skin. You responded in kind, wrapping your legs around his hips as he held you both above the water's edge.

With the waves softly cradling you, you floated weightlessly, your bodies intertwined like seaweed in the gentle currents. And in that fleeting moment, you knew one thing for sure:

This man would either be your forever or your ultimate downfall.

─── ·✧· ───

As you entered the hotel lobby, the air conditioning hit you like a wave. The hotel staff cast sidelong glances your way, noticing the faint trail of saltwater you inadvertently left behind on the polished floor.

Your hotel rooms were conveniently located next to each other. The saltwater had left its mark, clinging to your skin and hair. After a refreshing shower, you were just in the process of drying your hair when a knock came at your door.

You opened it to find Satoru leaning casually against the doorframe. He had changed into a fresh set of clothes, his hair still slightly damp from his own shower, giving him a carefree, almost boyish appearance.

"Hey, how about a game of pool?" he suggested with an easy smile. "Sukuna challenged us and I thought it might be fun."

You blinked. "I've never actually played before," you said as you dried your hair with a towel.

Satoru's smile widened. "Perfect, then I'll have the pleasure of teaching you. It'll be fun, I promise."

"But wouldn't it be a bit... weird? I mean, with me being a student and you both being professors..."

Satoru shrugged. "It's just a game of pool. Besides, we're not at the university now, and Sukuna's not one to care about formalities. Trust me, it'll be fine."

You watched him for a moment, pondering.

"I really want you to come," he insisted, leaning in a bit closer.

"Okay," you said. "Let me just get dressed."

Satoru's grin widened. He pushed off from the doorframe. "Great! I'll wait for you outside."

Soon enough you found yourself leaning over a green baize-covered billiard table.

In the dimly lit ambiance of the hotel's bar, the sound of clinking glasses and muffled conversations created a backdrop to the night's unfolding scene. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint hint of cigar smoke.

The weight of the cue in your hands felt foreign. Your focus narrowed to the white cue ball that awaited your command.

Satoru moved closer, his body brushing against yours as he positioned himself to guide your shot. "Just lean over the table a bit more," he said, his voice low and close to your ear. He placed one hand on your back to guide you down. "Yeah, like that."

"Now hold the cue like this." His hands gently cupped yours, adjusting your grip. His fingers intertwined with yours. The warmth of his hands seeped through your skin, sending a subtle shiver down your spine. "And aim just there," he continued, pointing to a spot on the cue ball.

In the background, Sukuna leaned against a nearby wall across from you, observing the scene. His eyes sparkled with an amused interest, clearly entertained by the exchange. Every now and then, his gaze would meet yours, a silent challenge, or perhaps a tease, lurking within their depths.

"Focus on where you want the ball to go," Satoru whispered, his breath ghosting over the nape of your neck as he spoke. With a deep breath, you attempted to steady your nerves, to push aside the awareness of Satoru's proximity and the curious gaze of Sukuna.

You pulled back the cue, your eyes locked on the target, and with a push, sent the cue ball rolling across the table. The crack of the balls colliding echoed through the room. A stripe sank into a corner pocket.

"Well done." Satoru stepped back to allow you space to straighten up, yet his hand remained on the small of your back. "See, you're a natural."

"Don't let him fool you. He's just happy to have found someone who'll listen to him ramble about angles and force," Sukuna's voice cut in.

Satoru laughed. "Maybe, but it seems to be working."

Sukuna pushed off the wall. "Watch and learn, kids." He set aside his glass of liquor and made his way over to the table.

Beside you, Satoru pulled you close, his arm casually wrapped around your shoulders.

It felt oddly normal.

Oddly normal — the way his arm was around you, the way you shared a laugh with an old friend of his, the way the world's expectations drifted into insignificance.

It was easy, in those moments, to forget the roles you each played in the outside world. Here, you were just two people, enjoying the company of each other.

The cue slid smoothly between Sukuna's fingers as he took aim. The shot was clean, the ball rolling into the pocket with a satisfying thud. "That's how it's done," he declared, turning to face you and Satoru, a broad grin on his face.

"Not bad, Sukuna. But you're not the only one with skills here," Satoru quipped. He drew you closer for a fleeting kiss on your temple before pushing away to snatch the cue from Sukuna's grip.

It all felt oddly normal.

As the game wound down and it was once again your turn at the table. You focused on lining up your shot, the cue stick feeling more familiar in your hands now. Satoru stepped back to give you space, joining Sukuna at the side of the billiard table.

"Didn't think you'd ever fuck a student," Sukuna said, in a not so low tone.

"Shut it Sukuna. She can hear you."

Yeah. You could hear him.

"You're not even denying it?" Sukuna pressed.

You could feel their eyes on you as you took your shot, the balls clattering against each other but not quite finding their way into the pockets.

"We're both adults," Satoru replied.

"Is that why you let her do surgery with you?" Sukuna insinuated with a smirk. "Is she that good in bed?"

You hated him.

He knew you could hear him.

He was deliberately provoking you.

"You should stop drinking, Sukuna." Satoru put a hand on Sukuna's shoulder. He then moved closer to you. "Don't take him seriously," he said, gently taking the cue from your hands to take his turn. "He doesn't know when to stop."

Oh really?

You turned to meet Sukuna's gaze. He leaned back casually against the edge of the table. His gaze fixed on you as he took a sip from his drink. The casual flick of his wrist and the confident tilt of his head suggested a man used to getting his way.

"So, Sukuna," you started. "Why have you stepped back from surgery? Couldn't keep up, or were you just not cut out for it?"

Satoru's eyebrows shot up, a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his face. Sukuna paused, his drink halfway to his mouth. A low chuckle escaped him.

"Didn't know you had such a sharp tongue," Sukuna remarked, his grin broad and unfazed. "For your information, Satoru and I were pretty much equal."

"Yet, here you are, no longer in the operating room. Couldn't handle the competition?"

Sukuna leaned forward, placing his drink on the table with deliberate slowness. "Competition?" he echoed, a trace of amusement in his voice. "Let me correct that for you. I was the one setting the pace. Satoru here was always two steps behind, trying to catch up."

Satoru scoffed. "If by 'setting the pace' you mean rushing into things without thinking them through, then sure, you were the leader."

"Ah, but where's the fun without a little risk?" Sukuna said.

You tilted your head. "And not missing the risk? Or did the thrill get too much for you?"

"The thrill, dear, never gets too much for me. It's just that I found a bigger game to play. One where the stakes are higher, and the victories, more satisfying. Running a university, shaping the future of medicine — that's where the real power lies."

You stepped closer to him. "So, this is all about power for you? Need to compensate for shortcomings elsewhere?" Without breaking eye contact, you picked up Sukuna's drink, taking a measured sip. "Or could it be that you seek power as a convenient escape from the harsh truth of your own irrelevance in the field of medical research?"

Sukuna's eyes traced over your form, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, I see why you like her, Toru."

"Only just realizing that now?" Satoru quipped with a smirk.

Sukuna retrieved the glass from your grasp, his fingers brushing against yours, and took a sip himself. "I'm quite intrigued to hear that lecture of yours."

"Make sure to listen well, you might learn a thing or two. After all, neurosurgery evolves rapidly, and you've been out of the game for quite some time."

Satoru approached you. "Don't tear him apart completely, sweetheart."

"Don't worry, Toru. I can handle a bit of attitude," Sukuna shot back with a grin.

As the evening progressed, the alcohol flowed freely, mostly from Sukuna's glass but Satoru didn't shy away either. You found yourself the only sober one left, Sukuna's teasing escalating in equal measure with his alcohol intake.

Sukuna draped an arm around your shoulder, the scent of alcohol clear as he spoke. "This man here used to be the life of every party," he pointed with his finger to Satoru, "there wasn't a dare he wouldn't take or a line he wouldn't cross. Isn't that right, Toru?"

"Those were different times," Satoru, who had been lining up his shot, paused, offering a tight-lipped smile. "We were just kids doing stupid things."

"But they're unforgettable," Sukuna persisted. "Especially that one night you decided to break the university record for the most girls fucked in a single night. How many was it again?"

The air thickened with tension, Sukuna's provocations cutting deeper with each word.

Why was he doing this?

It felt like Sukuna was intentionally trying to provoke you.

"Maybe we should get back to the game, Sukuna. Your shot," Satoru said.

But Sukuna was relentless. "Oh, but the best parts are yet to come. Like your experimental phase. How many substances did you try to 'expand your mind'? Always on the lookout for the next high, weren't you?"

Wait.

Sukuna knew too?

Why hadn't Satoru mentioned any of this to you?

You felt sick—a tight knot forming in your stomach. You glanced at Satoru, noting the tension in his jaw.

"Sukuna, that's enough," Satoru's voice held a warning edge.

"What? I'm just reminiscing about the good old days," Sukuna said, his tone falsely innocent. "Unless... there are parts of your past you're not so proud of?"

You felt a chill run down your spine.

The way Sukuna wielded these stories like weapons, the ease with which he stripped bare Satoru's vulnerabilities, was nothing short of cruel.

You watched the scene unfold before your eyes. Witnessing. Unable to say anything. Perhaps a part of you wanted to hear it. Hear what Satoru had done in his past. Hear every dirty secret of the man you had fallen for, as you looked into his beautiful blue eyes.

You could see the strain in Satoru's posture, the effort it took for him to maintain his composure. It was clear that Sukuna's words had struck a nerve, peeling back layers of Satoru's past he had hoped to keep hidden.

Satoru set his pool cue down with more force than necessary. "Sukuna, what are you trying to do here? We all have things in our past we'd rather leave there. I'm no exception. But I've moved on. I suggest you do the same."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Oh, come on, Toru. It's not like you to shy away from who you are. Or has this precious student of yours made you forget who you really are?" His grip on your shoulder tightened, the pressure suffocating.

You felt awful. Every point of contact with Sukuna felt awful. Dirty.

You unwound from Sukuna's hold. "It's late, I'll go to my room."

As you started to walk away, Satoru's hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. "Please, wait. Don't leave."

"Satoru, I can't just stand here while he taunts you for his own amusement, and you shouldn't either. Come with me."

"He's just messing around. It's been ages since we've been together."

"Don't you see? He's a bad influence, Satoru. It's time to call it a night, for both of us."

Satoru sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sukuna's an old friend. Our history is complicated, but he's not all bad."

"Are you really that blind?" you questioned, freeing yourself from his grip. "Satoru, you should get some rest. We have a lecture tomorrow." With that, you turned and left the bar, leaving Satoru and Sukuna alone in the bar.

You had enough for the night.

─── ·✧· ───

You couldn't sleep.

You tossed and turned in your bed over and over, but sleep eluded you.

The hotel's corridors remained quiet. You didn't hear any sign of Satoru's return.

The digital clock on your bedside table had just flickered to 2:47 AM when you heard soft knocking on your door. Barefoot, you crossed the room, the carpet cool under your feet. You were wearing only a loose shirt and underwear as you opened the door.

Satoru stood before you, a hand bracing against the doorframe. His hair was disheveled, clothes rumpled. The hallway light cast deep shadows over his face, accentuating the tiredness in his eyes and the unusual pallor of his skin.

Your heart tightened at the sight.

"Satoru, what's—"

"I... I need to be with you," he barely whispered, the strain evident in his voice.

You reached out, your fingers lightly caressing his face, pushing back the damp strands of hair from his forehead. "What happened, Satoru? Did you—"

"No," he cut in hastily, straightening a bit to meet your gaze more directly. "I didn't take anything. It's just—," he paused, his brows furrowed as he glanced away, "I wanted to so damn hard. I needed it so damn hard, to feel...better."

"Come inside," you said, stepping aside to let him into your room, closing the door with a quiet click behind him.

He moved hesitantly, as though unsure of his welcome. But you urged him inward. He walked into your hotel room, where he sat down onto the bed, his head in his hands.

"It's bad," he admitted after a moment, his voice muffled. "I thought I could manage it, but..."

You approached him, drawing him into an embrace where his head rested against your stomach, your fingers gently combing through his hair. "Talk to me. What happened?"

"Sukuna knows how to push all the wrong buttons." A bitter laugh escaped him. "I should have known better. It just brought everything back. The urge, the need—it's clawing at me."

"But you didn't give in," you said. "That's what matters."

"Does it? Because right now, it feels like I'm losing my mind."

"You're not losing your mind."

His gaze lifted to meet yours, there was a raw vulnerability in his eyes that stole the air from your lungs. It was fear — fear of addiction, fear of a possible relapse and, perhaps most of all, fear of losing you. "I'm sorry, I should have left with you. I shouldn't have let you go. I should have punched Sukuna in the face for what he said to you."

"It's okay. Sukuna is part of your past, it's not easy to cut ties with someone who's been important in your life. I get it. But still, you're stupid."

"Don't be so understanding. Hate me at least a little bit."

Yeah, you were angry with him, angry that he didn't see that Sukuna was an asshole, that he deliberately tried to rile him you and Satoru up for his own sick amusement.

But how could you be angry with him now?

Not when he was so vulnerable.

Not when you could feel the slight trembling in his body.

Not when you could literally feel his craving to get high.

But he didn't. He resisted. Because he promised you to.

Satoru let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping. "I don't want to drag you into this mess. You deserve so much more than someone who can't even get his act together."

"But that's not for you to decide," you said. "I'm here, Satoru, because I want to be. Because I care about you. Through struggles and all."

"Even after what Sukuna said about me?"

"Are you asking me if I find you being a whore in your university days worse than you being an addict?" You arched an eyebrow. "Satoru, if I were easily deterred, I would have left the first time I found you high. I think we're past the point where anything about you could scare me away."

Satoru's laughter held a touch of bitterness as he rested his head against your stomach again. His hands trailed up your back, fingers tracing delicate patterns along your spine, sending shivers coursing through your body. "I don't deserve you."

"You're right, you really don't."

In one swift motion, he lifted your shirt, his warm breath cascading over your bare skin. His lips followed suit, planting tender kisses along the base of your ribcage, gradually traversing across your stomach. Each gentle touch elicited a soft sigh from you.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, every word a caress against your skin. "Every inch of you is perfect."

You gazed down at him. "Satoru, what—"

His tongue darted out to lick and kiss the contours of your waist, each movement deliberate and unhurried. Each brush of his lips sent a wave of yearning through you, forcing your body to arch towards him, each touch a silent plea for more.

"I know I'm being selfish," he whispered, his hands finding their place on your hips, drawing you closer to him. "But fuck, I need you now."

He wanted to stop, dear reader. He really did.

He felt awful. But he couldn't. Simply couldn't.

He needed you.

Needed you like air.

Needed you like drugs.

And you obliged.

Without hesitation, you gently pushed him back and straddled him. His arms enveloped you, pulling you close as you leaned in to capture his lips.

His lips tasted like alcohol — they tasted like him.

His lips moved slowly and deliberately at first, tracing the contours of yours as if mapping out every curve. Then, his kiss became more urgent, more demanding. Tongue danced with tongue, awakening a hunger that neither of you could ignore.

"Are you sure about this?" he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin.

"Yes," you responded equally breathlessly.

He released your lips, trailing tender kisses down the side of your neck. His hands wandered under your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your waist and back.

He kissed down to the base of your neck, where your collarbones met. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as though committing your scent to memory. Then he traced the delicate line of your bone structure with his tongue, making you shiver.

You closed your eyes and let out a soft moan, surrendering entirely to him.

You began to grind against him, savoring the rough texture of his pants against your bare skin. Your fingers entwined in his hair as you leaned further into him, feeling his arousal pressing against you. You wanted him inside you, needed him to claim you completely.

He tilted his head back, strained moans escaping his throat—fuck, he was so hot when he moaned. You could feel his muscles tense, his breath hitching with every subtle shift of your hips. You felt him growing harder, his arousal swelling against your core.

He plunged forward once more, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss right on the hollow of her throat. The suddenness of the move left you breathless. You clutched his shoulders tightly, trying to ground yourself in the rising tide of longing.

Slowly, he worked his way back up your neck, each kiss more intense than the last. By the time his lips returned to yours, you were panting heavily, your mind spinning with need.

"God, I want you so badly right now," he muttered hoarsely, his eyes fixed on your parted lips.

"Then fuck me already," you replied boldly, your heart pounding in your ears.

He grinned wickedly.

Without breaking stride, he let himself fall onto the bed behind him and dragged you with him. He pushed you up onto him. His hands roamed over your thighs as he guided you to sit on his face.

Satoru wasted no time. He pushed your underwear aside with one hand, the other hand held you in place, fingers digging into your waist. Then his tongue darted forth to claim you, teasing you, causing you to gasp aloud.

Savoring your initial reaction, he continued to tease you, licking your clit with expert precision. His tongue plunged deep into your core, tracing circles around your clit before flickering rapidly across its tip.

He slid one finger inside you, curling it upward to press directly against the inner wall of you. As he continued to thrust into you, you moaned, feeling your walls tighten around him in response. "You taste so good, I can't get enough of you," he purred, adding another finger as you cried out.

He began to move his fingers in a steady rhythm, driving himself deeper and harder into your core. Your legs began to tremble, overwhelmed by the sensation of his fingers stroking your insides as his tongue continued to lick and suck your sensitive clit.

"Yes, right there...oh God!" You cried out as he hit all the right spots. Somehow that man seemed to perfectly understand precisely what you needed to push you beyond the point of mere pleasure and into the realm of wild, unbridled ecstasy.

"Come for me, beautiful," he urged, his warm breath against your skin drawing another moan from you. "Give yourself up to me completely."

Between his fingers and his talented tongue, you quickly approached a fever pitch. You cried out his name as the tension finally broke. Satoru pushed his fingers deeper into you than ever before, enjoying the way your walls contracted around him as you rode out your orgasm.

Breathless, you tried to regain your composure as Satoru continued to lazily lick your clit, making your legs twitch. "You get so fucking tight when you come," he said, then meticulously licked you all up and placed a final kiss on your clit.

You let yourself fall to the side of him. He rolled over to be on top of you in an instant. He wiped his mouth with the flat of his hand before his lips found yours again. The taste of you still lingered on his lips as Satoru deepened the kiss.

His hand reached up and gripped the side of your throat tightly, adding just enough pressure to make you moan into the kiss. Your hands began to move restlessly across his chest, clutching his shirt and pulling him closer.

You couldn't help but notice the way his shirt hugged his broad shoulders, the way his hair fell in soft strands around his face. Then you reached out and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the hard muscles of his torso underneath.

"God, you drive me wild," he rasped, reaching out to stroke the inside of your parted thighs. "The sight of you alone makes me insane." His lips brushed against your neck, trailing kisses along the length of you throat.

Your hands slid down, fingers deftly working at the buckles of his belt. "Take me, Satoru. Don't hold back. Use me however you need me," you whispered as you impatiently tugged at the leather strap.

"Don't say that." Satoru's eyes darkened as he watched you work at his belt, his fingers trembling slightly. When the belt finally came loose, you pushed at his pants, urging them downward until they pooled around his knees.

"Why?" you breathed, your gaze locked with his.

"Because I can't hold back if you say things like that."

"I don't want you to hold back. I want to feel every inch of you inside me, Satoru. Now. Please." With that, you leaned in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, your body craving his heat and his touch.

At your words, Satoru felt a primal surge course through his veins. You offered yourself to him willingly, with no reservations whatsoever. It was an invitation he couldn't refuse — one that left him reeling with desire. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, leaving only his bare skin exposed.

Satoru grabbed you by the waist and rolled you over, pulling your underwear down.

You gasped as his hands slid down your back, caressing the smooth skin of your back before he lifted you just enough to be at perfect angle to him. You moaned softly, pressing against him as he positioned himself behind you.

He paused for a second, savoring the sight of you before him, the one who had captured his heart and soul in such a short time. It still didn't seem real — that someone like you would choose to be with someone like him.

You gasped as he started to push inside you, stretching you slowly but surely with each inch. As he sank deeper into you, he knew that he would do everything in his power to make you happy, to protect you, to love you.

But right now he only wanted to fuck you like you deserved it.

He grabbed onto your waist, pulling you back against him so he could delve even further into your depths. You moaned as he began to thrust into you, deep and hard, filling you completely. Each time he pulled out almost completely, before he slammed into you again and again.

Your head fell forward, your hair cascading down your face. Each time Satoru pushed deeper into you, low moans escaped his parted lips, his head thrown back. "You feel so good...so right..."

You closed your eyes, your fingers digging into the crisp white sheets below you as Satoru moved behind you. Your senses were on fire, every nerve ending ablaze with the intensity of his touch as you felt Satoru's fingers digging deeply into your skin, leaving bruises that would linger long after tonight was over.

Satoru's hands then moved up your chest underneath your shirt, pulling you close and up against his muscular frame. You're back against his chest as he continued to thrust deeper and deeper into you. His other hand found your throat, grabbing it tightly as you arched into him. His breath hot against your neck as he moaned into your ear.

He quickened his pace, each thrust more fervent than the last. It was almost too much. Sill, you craved more — needed more. "Please, Satoru. Make me yours."

He obeyed, slamming into you with renewed force, pushing you harder and faster toward your orgasm. Every inch of your being focused solely on the sensation of his thick shaft filling you, making you feel alive in a way you never thought possible.

As Satoru continued to move inside you, you felt his hand reach up, parting your lips. Your heart skipped a beat as he slid two fingers into your mouth, pushing them deep inside. You gasped slightly, the sensation electric as he thrust his fingers into your mouth.

You moaned loudly, your head falling back as you surrendered completely to his will. In that moment, nothing else existed outside of the two of you. You didn't care if anyone would hear you. All that mattered was the overwhelming rush that pulsed through you, threatening to consume you whole.

With a sudden force, Satoru withdrew his fingers and pushed you forward, forcing you down on all fours. He wrapped his hand in your hair and yanked your head back sharply, causing you to cry out.

Without hesitation or mercy, he drove himself inside you, pain and pleasure melded seamlessly together. His hips pumped fiercely, pounding into you with an intensity that took your breath away. He gripped your hair even tighter, pushing you further and further towards the edge.

Your walls clenched tightly around him, desperate for release. And when you finally reached your peak, your cries blended seamlessly with his own moans. Satoru's body convulsed with the intensity of his climax as he released inside you. You could feel his muscles contract with each pulse of his ejaculation.

As you both tried to regain your composure and your breathing steadied, Satoru leaned in close, his warm breath caressing your skin. "How do I even deserve you," he whispered huskily.

You turned your head to meet his gaze. "Are you feeling better now?" you asked, the words slipping awkwardly from your lips as you felt a trail of fluid running down your inner thigh.

He leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss on your back before pulling out of you, wincing slightly as he did so. Satoru then collapsed next to you, one arm flung over his forehead, the other behind his head.

Despite his heavy breathing and the slight furrow in his brows, a tender smile graced his features, the dimples on his cheeks deepening. "Yeah," he exhaled with a long sigh. "I feel fucking great."

Turning on his side to face you, his features were illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the window. He tenderly brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, tracing its path down to your cheekbone, he caressed your skin with utmost tenderness.

"Do you want to know what I thought when I first saw you?"

"What?"

"I thought, this woman knows her way around a challenging aneurysm like no one I've ever seen.'" His hand lingered on your cheek, the warmth of his touch caressing your skin. "It was... captivating to say the least. And beyond that, you were absolutely breathtaking."

"Captivating or arrogant to challenge you like that?"

He chuckled. "A bit arrogant, perhaps." His smile broadened. "Yet, I remember thinking, this woman is going to be the end of me.'"

"You're just saying that because you're flooded with oxytocin right now."

"No, it's the truth." He leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, a moment so full of emotion it seemed to pause time. "You are everything I've ever wanted," he whispered, affirming his words with another kiss.

"And I'm definitely going to talk to Sukuna tomorrow," he added.

"You don't have to. I'm a big girl, Satoru. I can defend myself."

"Yeah, I've seen that," he laughed.

Glancing at the clock, you sighed. "We should try to catch some sleep. We've got that lecture in like five hours."

"Sleep sounds good." Satoru shifted and pulled you closer into his embrace. You nestled into his arms, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. The warmth of his body enveloped you, soothing the lingering tension of the night.

As you drifted into a peaceful slumber, wrapped in each other's embrace, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

─── ·✧· ───

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

x a/n: to be honest, i don't really like this chapter myself, but i've been editing forever, so i'll just post it now and hope i can make up for it in the next one. kinda afraid that satoru comes off like an asshole in this chapter, but he's just having a bad withdrawal day D: he'll protect our dear reader again in the next chapter, as he should! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11

#gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x you

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oakbuggy · 5 months

Text

Liar, Liar chapter 1

Recom!Neteyam x female OC

Summary : Tala of the Tawkami gets captured by a familiar face and to both of their misfortune, they are trapped together due to circumstance. They are extremely vexed by this and each other and also very horny.

Warnings: Minors DNI, non-con+dub-con, explicit smut, dirty talk, authority, power struggle, mentions+depictions of blood, minor violence, character death, marking, biting, scenting

!! Each chapter will have images throughout the chapter, only the AO3 will have the NSFW-uncensored versions. Please keep this in mind as you read !!

Chapter 1 (NSFW) ~5.2k words

AO3 Link Here!

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Tala grimaced every time a bullet was fired, noisily ripping through the greenery no matter where it was aimed.

She stayed huddled in a thicket, eyes darting through the leaves and flowers and rain.

Everything had gone so wrong so quickly. They were supposed to be the scouting party, that’s it, it wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. But the tawtute sterile and foul scents proved otherwise.

The sudden downpour helped to mask all individual Navi scents, but it also made it harder to know where anyone was. Seeing a cluster of roots with just enough space for her smaller body to fit, Tala slid into the safety of the crevice, disturbing only blades of grass.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

And she was glad her years of alchemy training didn’t fail her because through the blood, ash, and mist, she smelled a much less offensive sterile scent. The rain was dampening it, but the odor of tawtute fabric stuck to their skin. Just her luck to have a dream walker hovering so close to her, but better her than another. She was technically a warrior, as all alchemists of the Tawkami went through the same rites of passage, but she honestly barely qualified as a fighter. Tala would’ve wildly preferred being someone’s pretty mate and just experiment all day for new recipes and poultices.

Tala stayed absolutely still, her green eyes glued to the entrance of the roots. She looked down at her hands, her entire body folded into the smallest ball she could be, frowning a bit at the scars and scuffles. She could imagine her friend scolding her for paying attention to such things when she was being actively pursued-

A gun’s barrel burst through the entrance of the roots and shot through her hair.

Tala screamed and thrashed, kicking the gun out of the way she forced her body outside of the root’s crevice. She reached into her satchel on her hip and flung coarse powder into the assailant’s face. The rain solidified on the soldier’s face and she scrambled away through the jungle.

The RDA soldier coughed and hissed behind her, empty-handed save for one of the pink flowers that were decorated throughout Tala’s hair. He crushed it and gave chase, abandoning the gun. He didn’t need it.

Tala jumped through all manner of branches and foliage. If she had time to think, Tala would be praying to Eywa now to save her, air burning her lungs.

The dream walker was insufferably graceful, talented at keeping his eyes on her. Tala dared a look back and gasped. She didn’t realize until too late that her foot stepped on only air beyond the edge of a steep glade.

“N-Netey-OOf!” The soldier fully pounced on Tala, which only sent them toppling. Large hands clawed into her sides as the two of them rolled down, slowly coming to a painful stop of groans and blooming bruises on their heads and limbs. Immediately the soldier got to his feet while his target was violently backing away, clawing through the grass. It couldn’t be him, he’s been dead for years now. It was a trick of the light, the rain entered her eye, she was being delusional, desperate.

As if a cruel trick of Eywa’s, Tala found herself back in the start, she had burrowed into a large and hollow tree trunk and was again trapped inside it. From the darkness outside, a hand burst through the entrance and clawed at her hair, impartial as to whether it wanted to pull her out or claw its way inside.

She was slapping, thrashing, the soldier’s large gloved hands were searching for her neck through her thick, loose curls. Her nails caught on the soldier’s green military headband, ripping it off to reveal a large, star-shaped scar on the left side of his forehead. He snarled but now so close, Tala froze.

Sunlillies and tree bark. A nostalgic smell.

She stopped, letting the soldier squeeze her neck, as her wide green eyes blinked upwards, staring at his face.

“Neteyam? Is it really…?” Tala started to whisper, she felt around at his hands. Four fingers, not a dream walker. She kept trembling eyes on his face, it looked so much like him. Even the way his forehead wrinkled when his brow raised in perplexity, now a large scar resting right above it. Yellow eyes met green and all the terror-induced adrenaline Tala had pumping through her was now going straight to her heart.

The soldier had also long stopped, stunned. Stunned by her scent, of spiced honey and rose, scents that he attributed to the environment than to her. The hammering pain he felt in his skull, from his scar, had dissipated drastically. He realized who he was holding.

“Tala.” His voice was low, uncharacteristically unsure.

She wanted to open her mouth and ask all the right questions, the smartest ones, but her mouth stayed silent. The soldier slowly loosened his grip. She looked at the name tag on his uniform. ’T. Sully’.

He allowed some minute bit of space between them, their breaths warming each other up from the cold of the constant rainfall. Tala eyed his scar, blackened and old.

“You’ve been poisoned.” Her throat was dry and her heart was pounding. As if simply saying something was enough, the RDA soldier lunged back into her, his face in her hair and arms encompassing her. She made a strangled, distressed noise.

“N-Neteyam! What are you-“

“Shut up.” It felt like a shadow covered her body, snuffing Eywa’s light on her. The voice, low, husked into the shell of her ears. Cold. It was very cold. The usual comfort she’d feel hearing his voice was missing.

When Tala tried to pull back, Neteyam’s hands tightened painfully around her body, squeezing her impossibly closer. His head hasn’t felt this at peace since he ‘awoke’. The headache was mercifully lessened each time he breathed in the Tawkami girl’s scent. Months felt like decades of torture, something for him to shoulder with each waking moment. Everything hurt his head, it was constant and numbing but somehow, with her…

A whine cried out of her throat, her breath felt constricted. Tala tried to scramble her fingers around the sleeves of his black shirt, clawing at the fabric and trying to push him away but to no avail. His tactical harnesses, both on his chest and around his legs, dug into her skin painfully.

“Let go of me.” Tala weakly hissed into his hair even though her arms, though tense, felt so weak. Brittle.

Neteyam hissed.

“Just stay still. Don’t you understand how easy it is for me to kill you?”

Tala stilled, confused. She was used to being admonished, by many people, yet she’s never known the Omaticayan to waste time for a kill. She noticed though the shallow pressure of his broad chest against hers, the lowest and quietest inhale.

He was smelling her.

This na’vi may no longer be Neteyam, a shadow that shared his name, but still, something stirred in Tala when she realized this. Stupid feelings she thought were buried and dead.

“Killing me by smelling me then, are you?” She mumbled, taking the gamble. No matter how overpoweringly soothing her scent was, Neteyam felt irritation rise at her words. That’s right, she’s always been sort of a pain to talk to… They’ve met twice before and both times left him feeling embarrassment and indignation. For what exactly, he couldn’t recall.

Still, his tail swished irritably now. He sat up to see her face to catch a glimpse of those green eyes that constantly taunted whoever had their attention.

Great mother, he wished he didn’t remember her so the thought that she’d only gotten prettier wouldn’t enter his head.

“Don’t push me, Tawkami. How haven’t you changed at all?” He snarled, venom dripping from his maw. Tala frowned and sunk her claws into his uncovered bicep, earning a small hiss. His hands curled again around the column of her neck, lightly squeezing.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she started seeing spots in her vision. Somehow, the universe both gave her a gift and a curse. Eywa returned his body to her, but not his mind. No more gentle hands, no kind eyes, no bashful expressions, or the comfort of his silhouette. She felt so entirely bitter to have hoped at all.

“Maybe I’ve not changed at all…” Tala felt like the headband in her hand was suddenly too heavy, she didn’t want it.

“But you’ve changed too much.” She finished, her stare was acidic.

“I died. And now I’m back and I’m forced to bear the consequences of it.” His voice was stern but quiet. Tala’s brows furrowed. Then her eyes went back to his large scar. From her studies, it truly looked poisoned, festering, and painful but the skin on top was healed. She was confused, na’vi were not the type to hide scars.

Tala reached around and placed his headband slowly back around his forehead. Delicate fingertips felt like burns along his skin and Neteyam was ready to crack her neck at any sign of force.

“The poison?”

No response. She scowled.

“Poison’s made you a bore too?” Tala let out a loud gag when his large thumbs momentarily dug into her throat.

“Still so foolish and mouthy.” The soldier growled. ‘Poisoned’ was a strange way to call his ever-present migraine, but seemed close enough. Unfortunately, the cure to that headache was another one in the form of an incredibly annoying woman. His patience was thinning.

“But you still find me so pretty, don’t you? Otherwise, what’s taking so long, hmm?” Her tone and smile were sickly sweet, just the way he always hated it.

The consequences were immediate, Neteyam nearly buried Tala into the ground, knocking whatever little breath she had left. He forced her legs around him in the struggle and went for her neck to suck and bite. She yelped when rough fingers clenched at her hair and pulled her closer to him.

Her words incensed him and now he knew that Eywa cursed him, why did this loathsome woman have to smell so good, and have to smile so lovely and be so soft?

“You’ve always been so fucking-“

She could feel Neteyam’s tongue and fangs scrape over her neck. Her strangled yelps stopped when Neteyam roughly pushed the stiff tent of his pants against her thigh.

“Annoying, so fucking full of yourself-“

She saw only a flash of golden eyes glaring at her before she felt lips crash onto hers. Fangs clashed against each other and Neteyam stuck his tongue into her mouth. Tala was mortified when she could immediately feel a heat pool in her belly. The musk of his arousal was so dizzying even through the thick camo fabric.

She wanted to say she struggled heroically but in shame, Tala’s will crumbled quickly. The kiss was just so bruising, so angry, she stopped struggling to focus on twisting his tongue and stealing his air.

Neteyam didn’t break the kiss as he ripped the gloves off his calloused hands, now feeling desperate to lose himself in her smell and her softness. He groped at her waist and squeezed the roundness of her hips, now her smell was intoxicating, tinged with her desire. He moaned at the contact, practically rutting his clothed cock against her. Tala could feel slick gather underneath her tewng, she knew for sure a wet spot was already leaking through it.

His hand stilled and Tala could finally look at him, tense. Neteyam seemed only to revel in it, his pupils enlarging further, brows furrowed, he looked near enraged. With him or with her, Tala figured it was probably both.

“What are you doing, Neteyam?” She rasped, conflicted and now hot and bothered. Her only answer was him sucking her clavicle hard, hands now groping at her tits wantonly.

Sense returned to Tala’s head and she started kicking at him, kicking around his much larger, muscular waist.

“Get away-oh!” She screeched when suddenly he was picking her up, making her back bend uncomfortably around the roof of the hollow tree, she was practically sitting on his shoulders now. His head was between her thighs and the wet muscle of his tongue was digging through her tewng, getting her wetter and wetter. She smelled divine here and he licked a long strip over the thin cloth, he could feel her heat on his tongue.

Unable to keep her balance she gripped the back of his head, his neck, the slope of his back, just anything so she wouldn’t topple over. Squeezing her thighs around his face only seemed to goad him on further.

“Neteyam!” Tala said, choking on her drool as the heat of her core rose exponentially with Neteyam’s sudden worshipping.

“I’m going to taste you. Don’t stop me.”

The announcement makes her cunt clench around nothing and she stills. Her face is on fire, she is so conflicted by the way he was squeezing her ass and how completely and uncomfortably drenched her cunt was- Neteyam pushed the tight fabric of her tewng to the side and started lapping at her pussy lips.

“Ooohh, oh, fuck!” She moaned, feeling just so filthy. His rough and wet tongue pressed against her hole, licked long strips against it and he dug for deeper, more of her juices. The more those juices dripped down his face, the more he lapped it up hungrily. He was just fucking gone, nothing hurt anymore and only extreme pleasure was left in his wake. His ego preened as he listened to her muffled whimpers like a favored song, she was not so annoying when his tongue was deep in her cunt like this. He thinks he prefers her like this, hanging onto him desperately, legs wide for him.

Neteyam felt like he could cum from just the sound of her desperate whines alone.

“Net-Nete…” She whispered his name harshly but could barely form it. The coil of heat in her belly was tightening oh so much, and when Neteyam’s nose burrowed further onto her clit, her eyes glazed over in pure ecstasy.

He sucked at her clit and groaned at the sweetness that exploded on his tongue. In his mind, it was his private feast and the satisfaction he got from making this irritable woman melt in his hands was simply an appetizer.

Her eyes rolled back, the spring snapped and she closed her legs impossibly tight around his face as she came so hard she saw white. Her body stiffened, even her tail squeezed tightly around Neteyam’s bicep, and after agonizingly long seconds, her body went limp.

To her vague surprise, he was still completely supporting her despite her relaxing her whole weight over him.

To the extreme surprise of her nerves, he was still swallowing all her excess liquids, now sucking over her reddened and puffy cunt for just a bit more savory sweetness.

“N-nete- I-came…” She said in broken mewls and weakly pawed at his back, eyes starting to water from the overstimulation. He, of course, didn’t stop, he didn’t even hear her. “It’s too much, stop…” She said a bit louder and dug her nails deeper into his back, but still Neteyam didn’t budge.

He basked in massaging her twitching, sticky cunt, the way it pulsated around his tongue, and flinched at every light scrape of his teeth. He only wished he had enough space to soak his fingers in her until she was hiccuping and the pads of his fingers were pruney.

Tala felt another orgasm crash through her and this time she wailed, body staying limp, hair cascading over her and over Neteyam’s back. Her cunt was now hurting and she was struggling to keep conscious.

She blinked at the distance, seeing the flash of yellow plastic. The Compass. She had pressed random buttons in the struggle, trying to get the dog tags or his uniform name as she knew the device could record nature, likenesses. Tala continued trying to blink away tears but before she knew it, her eyes clamped shut and everything went dark to the constantly stinging and tingling texture of Neteyam’s tongue.

It was maybe 20 minutes before the RDA na’vi noticed her noises were considerably muted and her body felt boneless. He swallowed the rest of his fill, he had practically licked her clean before he let her body completely relax on the jungle floor.

He stared down at her figure and took another deep breath, his migraines truly were gone.

She had said that he was poisoned. Neteyam clicked his tongue as he readjusted her coverings and hoisted her over his shoulder.

To the detriment of both of them, she seemed to be the only cure he had for now.

–

When Tala came to, it was as violent as she had never hoped it to be.

She screamed, static coursing through her entire body and when an RDA soldier shut it off, her whole body felt numb. She could barely see the bright white linoleum floor as two combat boots came into view.

A large hand forcefully tilted her head up and she grimaced.

“Well, outta all the biters you could’ve brought back, you chose a pretty one.” The dream walker said, his face was aged and his hair was cut extremely short. He had a square jaw and aged features, along with thick eyebrows. He let Tala’s face fall carelessly as he stood back up straight.

“That better not be the only reason you chose her, Corporal Tom.” His voice was hard. Tala was vaguely aware of her body being strapped vertically onto a table and only able to move around her neck, though she barely had the energy to lift it anyway.

“No, sir, Colonel Quaritch, sir.” It was Neteyam. Voice cold and unfeeling, just like how he had first talked to her. No sunlight, no warmth. “She is of the Tawkami clan and has knowledge of all of Pandora’s natural resources as an alchemist and healer. She will be of use in identifying plants still undiscovered.”

Quaritch simply stared hard at Neteyam, or, Corporal Tom, and grumbled quietly. The Phoenix II reconditioning program had worked almost miraculously well, but the older soldier still had his suspicions. He was somewhat aware of the change he himself was facing since the Skirmish at the Three Brothers years ago, so he had to keep a close eye on the former Sully boy.

It’s been a fast year since his reawakening, and to Quaritch’s knowledge, he was pretty sure the kid spent his ruts alone and barely interacted with those outside of the Recombinant Squad if even them. The… experience left him angry, which was great on the battlefield. Not for making sure his head was all there even in downtime though.

The colonel kneeled low to look at Tala’s face clearly, her head still hanging. Easy on the eyes at least, would it be so bad for him to have his own little fucktoy? It wasn’t regulated, but some prisoners became favored partners of the Recoms or other reawakened Na’vi, if at least to help with their monthly biological needs.

“I know you can understand me doll face, most of the Tawkami does by now.” He started with a cold hostility in his tone. Tala kept silent, trying to steel herself. She didn’t want to die, but she’d welcome any return to Eywa with open arms before helping these demons.

“To make everything crystal clear, I’m going to say this once. You make a peep of trouble, we shoot you. You fuck up, we shoot you. We’re not animals mind you, you play by our rules and you can live a reasonable life of use to us. Just don’t give us a reason to kill, and we won’t, sweetheart.” His seethe ended in a cruelly humored smile and Tala was feeling her blood run cold looking at him.

Quaritch rolled his eyes emphatically when she stayed silent.

“Gonna need to hear that you understand, doll face.” He rumbled and she pursed her lips. She nodded.

“…yes. I do.” Tala said, English heavily accented but understandable all the same. Quaritch stood to his full height, carelessly letting go of her face.

He turned to Neteyam with a scowl.

“Well, you got your fucktoy, Corporal Tom. Enjoy it.” He meanly snarled, getting close to Neteyam. The younger didn’t flinch, both of them staring intensely into the other’s glowing eyes. Maintaining eye contact, Quaritch waved his hand and another blast of shock scorched Tala’s body, making her scream in pain. Tala balled her hands and felt tears burn down her face as pain shocked through every bone in her spine.

Quaritch searched Neteyam’s face for any ounce of care, even the faintest inclination to help her. The colonel didn’t want any emotional bullshit conflict, he had his own to deal with.

Not even a flicker towards her figure, despite her screams getting shriller. Quaritch sent the operator a glance and finally, Tala was given a break from the torture. Her whole body sunk, the restraints digging into her skin, though she couldn’t feel it. Tala breathed hard, her body still twitching from the pain. It felt like her eyes and ears were bleeding, she wanted to vomit.

The older soldier smiled lightheartedly.

“Just a little welcome present,” Quaritch said, then passed by the younger and clapped his shoulder. “Look alive, soldier. Get her ready and cuffed. I’ll ask the eggheads which lab needs a hand. Don’t take too long.

When he left the room, Neteyam nodded his head at the operator to also make his exit.

Now they were alone. His footsteps towards her were silent, she only knew he was so close because his shoes came into view.

Tala twisted her head to at least be able to peer up at his face. She was aching thoroughly, but the soreness of her crotch especially made her sport quite a mirthful smile.

“Did you like the taste enough to keep me?”

Neteyam scowled then smirked.

“Almost as much as you liked creaming on my tongue.” He taunted back and his smirk grew as he saw Tala’s pretty smile get wiped off her face instantly.

A surprisingly soft grip supported her chin, and she raised her head to meet his eyes. While he still wore the harness and cargo pants, he was no longer wearing his tactical vest. She could clearly see the broadness of his shoulders, how sculpted and wide his chest was under the tight black shirt. Eywa really picked favorites.

Neteyam’s nose twitched, as it usually did with irritation.

“Be thankful I didn’t kill you. At least now you can be of use.” His voice had a sharper edge that made Tala glare at him. The stale light of fluorescent bulbs didn’t seem to suit either of them.

“Of use? Like you are to the vrrteps(demons), kavukte(traitor)?” Tala hissed, green eyes flashing with indignation. She wanted to bite his fingers off. Neteyam’s jaw tensed.

“What are you planning, Neteyam? What do you want?” She pushed, her voice much more hoarse than she thought it would be.

“I’m saving this planet by ending the Na’vi people’s resistance, Tawkami. They are being manipulated by Eywa, it’s not their fault, but they refuse to listen. Eywa keeps the People from growing, and she is the reason they suffer now. The humans will save us.” Neteyam said with such finality and clarity that it unsettled her, like lines practiced over and over again.

“Eywa keeps the balance, Neteyam, the vrrteps are selfish, they take and take. You know this, I know you do.” Her voice was pleading now, nerves heightened. She wanted desperately for him to listen to her and see reason.

“Then even this is part of Eywa’s plan, no? To let the sky people take and take. It was the sky people that saved me, not Her.” He said with a growl.

Tala couldn’t bear to listen anymore and ripped her face away from his grip, squeezing her eyes shut.

Wretched words, cruel thoughts that didn’t sound truly like his.

“The vrrteps did not save you, Neteyam. They were the ones that killed you! Lo’ak-.” Four fingers clamped her mouth shut and the amber pool of his eyes seared into hers.

“I remember everything. And my life was over far before Lo’ak’s stupidity got me shot.” He seethed, pupils in threatening and aggressive slits. Tala scowled, ears pinned to the side of her head.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jake. He ended my life long before that battle. Then replaced me before my body even turned cold, and now I live every single day in torture!” His words suddenly erupted in anger, violently surfacing above. Resentment emanated from every word and his hurt was suffocating. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get through to him, she was not the person he needed now. He needed Kiri or Tuk, he needed his family.

Tala was suddenly reminded of how small a part of his life she really embodied. At most a week’s worth of memories, years stretched in between. Barely any history.

She wanted to entertain that maybe it was her good looks and charming personality that made her memorable, but Tala wasn’t completely dumb. Neteyam had always been surrounded by attractive, talented navi, better yet, members of his own clan he could court.

Those infuriatingly beautiful eyes, making her think unnecessary things right then. Because that time was over, and these feelings didn’t matter. They never have.

“So your life is over, and now you’re ‘Corporal Tom’. Why does the Corporal want me?” Tala wondered out loud, biding for time as she scanned the room. White, eye-achingly so, metallic, plastic, unnatural, sterile, cold.

His waw tensed as he didn’t answer.

“Honestly, it’s looking like you’re obsessed with me.” Tala said with an entirely syrupy sweet and contemptuous smile. A fire started growing in her mind.

He lived every day in pain. And the scar looked blackened; poisoned and now hidden. Navi don’t hide scars. And suddenly he’s smelling her and eating her out as if she was his ambrosia.

Tala crinkled her eyes and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Oh, does being around me help with the hurt, poor sky demon warrior?”

When Tala saw his tail swishing in angry large strokes, she knew her answer, unable to contain how pleased she was now. It was laughable, for both of them, truly! She went through her mental alchemy compendium, considering what and how effected him. Relief through her scent, then arousal? Or minor dosage of comfort through scent then a substantial through oral consumption?

Tala sighed internally, this would have been a wonderful opportunity to experiment with the effects of this mind poison if it wasn’t for all the guns and threats and torture.

Neteyam suddenly and wordlessly stripped off her floral top.

“Neteyam!” She screeched, though his eyes just wandered along her chest, tits soft and dotted with dark pink nipples. Tala flinched violently away when large fingers pinched at her flesh, but still they continued to play and bruise the sensitive buds without care. Tala strangled a mewl in her throat, mortified. He had stayed too silent all this time, she should have known something was boiling in him.

And indeed there was, he hated her insolence and her overactive brain, how she pieced things together so damningly quickly.

“Nothing will get you to shut up, will it.” Neteyam mused out loud, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger. He pinched it hard and Tala yelped.

“Remind yourself that you have no power here, Tawkami. At most, you’re a stress toy.” He said in a deceptively simplistic manner. As if to make the point stick he stuck thick gloved fingers in her mouth, pushing teeth and tongue. Neteyam stared, daring her to bite him. She didn’t.

“Smart toy, good toy.” He mumbled then, eyes narrowing in self-satisfaction. Tala’s face went hot but she kept compliant.

“Stay good, and I won’t break that thin neck.” Neteyam said, pushing his fingers in her mouth deeper. She gagged and Neteyam felt a familiar throbbing in his pants.

He stopped and then leaned over her like a predator, almost growling.

“I can smell how bad you want me. If you’re good, I’ll fuck the brat out of you until you’ve had your fill.”

Tala closed her eyes, just so completely humiliated yet so aroused, it made her fume. Neteyam smiled smugly when he saw her expression. He liked seeing her when she was too frustrated to do anything else but let her face turn red.

Tala grumbled something under her breath. His ears caught something about him being a horny psychotic asshole. So he proved her point.

“AH!” Sharp fangs sunk into the crook of her neck. He was-he was biting her, marking her! Neteyam was nearly crushing her small shoulders still as he bit down, blood beading and staining her skin.

“Great Mother, what is wrong with you?!” Tala was screaming, now jerking her body this way and that. She didn’t care that it made it more painful, she didn’t care that flecks of her blood were landing on his face and the rest of her body.

But neither did he, he let his fangs stay sunk into her skin, he seemed to be enjoying her struggling, the fucking asshole-

When Neteyam finally stood up, there were thin dribbles of saliva and blood running down his chin and he wiped it off with the heel of his glove carelessly.

Tala was breathing hard, confused and so horribly aroused, she didn’t even want to know how much of a mess she looked then. Her skin was on fire, she was barely aware of the tears running down her cheeks, tears of anger.

Her green eyes shined brighter in her shock, pink lips parted in terrible confusion. Her hair was a mess, braids no longer neat and curls in her face, sticking to her cheeks with her tears. And now the side of her neck, bitten into and punctured, like a pearl necklace of blood.

Neteyam thought it was the prettiest he’d ever seen her. And by Eywa his head felt the most relieved it’s been by far.

“A horny, psychotic asshole, right?” He said smugly, daring any more rebellion from her in his tone and she glared viciously at him. Neteyam merely kept his head raised and roughly pulled up her top.

He turned away and left once the doors slid open, whispering something to the tawtute waiting outside. He didn’t take any look back, he didn’t need to.

Tala felt hostility bubble in her gut, marking was for mates, not whatever the hell this was. Not from whatever he was!

The scientist walked in and pulled out a needle, making her ears pin to the back of her head. The injection went in so quickly, Tala could only remember those yellow eyes, searing into her.

It made her want to gag.

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corazondebeskar-reads · 12 days

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of rage and ruin - chapter two

of rage and ruin series

chapter two

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: you come face to face with the beast.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, allusions to/threats of torture, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised,

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

They were careful never to touch you. The exam you’d been given when they first brought you here was done with thick rubber gloves, and no one has touched you since.

But there are plenty of ways to teach you compliance without touching you.

Before they moved you, you didn’t see a soul for two days. No one delivered or removed the cloth strips, food, or water. No one woke you up with a loud buzzer or dragged you outside to hose you down.

No one hurt you.

The first few hours, you sit and do nothing as usual. You don’t really notice.

After that, though, you start to wait. This deviation, this anomaly, was far more terrifying than the wretched routine. And with no meals, you’re bereft of a way to count the passing of time. There’s no sunlight down here, after all.

To your deep relief, the lights still go off at night. Until you’re lying awake in the dark and realize they’re probably on a timer. So maybe all your captors are dead. Made a stupid mistake and got their asses handed to them by FEDRA.

Which would be nice, but also, you’d still fucking die. Because you’re trapped in this godforsaken grimy ass basement, and somewhere on the other side of it is the only other resident you know of. Him.

So either you starve to death, or he eats you. Or both.

You spend the next day hoping to see Cheryl’s smug bitch face.

When someone finally comes for you, it’s not Cheryl. It’s not Jim, either, but that’s not a surprise. He doesn’t like you, doesn’t like whatever Cheryl’s doing with you.

Not because he has any objections to the captivity or abuse. No, Jim’s been clear—you’re a waste of resources.

Anyway, it’s fucking Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber who show up. They’re not real twins (you’re not even sure they’re brothers), but they’re a damn good argument for nurture over nature. Spending the apocalypse together has them moving in tandem, grunting and jerking their heads to one another in a language all their own. They’re built like oxen and about as polite.

You don’t fight anymore, but they still tie you and drag you around. You haven’t so much as argued in weeks. You’ve heard that everyone breaks from torture eventually. You waved your flag from the start.

You’re not made for this.

They tie you up without touching your skin; hands layered in gloves just in case. They leave a length of rope from your wrists to pull you by, leaving the rope around your feet as it was. You had earned that six inches of slack, just enough to stand and walk to the makeshift toilet instead of crawling, after a solid week of good behavior.

When you figure it out, though, you try to run. Every electric screaming nerve in your body says to go. Go where? Who fucking knows. Anywhere. Away. Run.

The room they’ve brought to you is saturated in oaky musk, and you only need a glimpse of the little cage within before you’re jerking backward.

They must have gotten used to your compliance because the rope flies from Tweedle Dumb’s grasp. The three of you stand still for a moment, all shocked by the turn of events.

You turn to run, but it’s too late already. One of them swept your fucking legs like this was an action movie, and bound as you are, that’s the end of the fight. You crash and earn yourself some new bruises, and they drag you into the room by the rope between your feet.

One of them—you’ve forgotten who had which nickname in all the hubbub—snaps out a baton.

“Get in the fuckin’ cage, or I’ll break your ankles.”

It’s a strong argument that you have no desire to see if he’ll follow through on. Already hurt and humiliated, you crawl into the cage.

They lock it behind you and leave without another word. The lights go out with a buzz, casting everything you hadn’t taken in yet in total darkness.

When the lights come back on, you wish they hadn’t.

At first, you don’t even realize they’ve flickered to life, because what they’ve revealed isn’t real.

It’s a big, brown Rorschach blob. It’s an oil spill. It’s moving, in a jerky, fluid way that should be impossible. The limbs have pointed bony joints, and you can only describe the way they crawl as spidery, though they’re thick and bulky.

Jim is standing on the other side of the gate, holding onto a thick chain that rattles and creaks dangerously as the beast strains against the thick metal band around its neck. He looks bored, but he usually does.

Cheryl, however. The way her lips are curled, eyes wide and bright… this must be him.

“Don’t you know what happens to the others? The alphas?” she had teased the night of all the howling. She had laughed at the traitorously dumbfounded look on your face.

You do now.

A long pink tongue has unfurled from his massive jaw, flopped over far too many teeth, and dripping thick saliva onto the floor. The… fur, for lack of a better word, around his muzzle is matted with something dark that you can’t look at anymore.

Jim yanks him by the chain, and the creature lets himself be pulled to the door, barely holding still while the padlock and chain are removed from his collar and the cuffs from his paws.

He’s at the end of your cage before you realize he’s moved, and you scream, scrambling back as much as you can into the corner. The spaces between the bars are thin enough for just his… good god, are those fingers? They certainly aren’t canine toes. They’re tipped in thick, long claws packed with soil and detritus.

“Hey,” Jim barks, and the beast side-eyes him. “Remember what I fuckin’ told you. You break or eat her? That’s it. I’m not getting you another one.”

Eat? Eat?

Oh god.

Your stomach swoops and falls, abdomen clenching and drawing attention to your too-full bladder, unlocking a new fear that you’re going to piss yourself if he comes closer.

He does. You don’t. But just barely.

That long, dark snout pushes against the cage, as if it could nudge through to reach you, pink tongue lapping against the air. The oak musk is so strong now that it lines your throat and makes you gag.

You choke back a retch-turned-sob and he rumbles, a strange vibration that rattles the bars where he’s pressed against them. He rises, stretching up up up on his hind legs until he towers over your little cube, enveloping you in his shadow, and you can’t help it. You start to cry.

He can’t reach you, not when you’re tucked back in the corner of your cage. But he can smell you, and he can smell the rich iron soaking into the ropes around your wrists. It’s not yet visible, but the skin squishing through the edges is red and rough.

He whines, pushing his muzzle against the bars, long tongue flopping out like he can reach.

The sharp battery acid edge of your fear spikes, and he growls. Stupid girl. Stupid fucking omega. He’s trying to help you, and you’re—you’re—

You’re starting to cry again.

He can’t make human words like this, can’t enunciate or even really remember them. He tries to reach you through the bars again, snarling when they burn against his knuckles. Even the distended bony fingers of his full form can’t reach you there, not even with the tip of his claw.

You’re shaking now, body twitching and jittering beyond your control. Everything inside you is screaming white-hot and dissolving; vomit tickles the base of your throat, and you just can’t stop crying. It hurts; it’s ripping your throat and lungs to shreds. It’s a violent, tumultuous thing, and you can’t stop the wounded keening of your cries.

He’s pacing in front of your cage now, the beast, on four mangled limbs too long to be canine and too warped to be human. His huffs startle you, long snout returning, again and again, tongue darting out for a taste.

A little drop of blood slides down your hand from where the rope’s edge cuts into the bottom of your palm.

He freezes, nostrils flaring. You freeze, barely breathing.

He looks right at you and then tips his head back to howl, the sound like icy water through your veins.

You can’t help yourself. You scream, broken as your voice is from all the tears.

Between the cacophony, Jim stomps into the corridor and slams his hand on the wall. “Shut the fuck up, both of you!”

“Help me,” you yell.

I’m trying, the wolf howls.

“Please, please help me,” you gasp, sobs reaching new highs alongside your panic.

“If you don’t quiet the fuck down, I’ll open up your goddamn cage and let him eat you,” Jim snaps. “I said you were going to be more trouble than you’re worth, and I was fuckin’ right.”

The beast snarls, snapping his sharp teeth at the air.

Jim regards him with a sneer. “And you! Giving her a heart attack counts as breakin’ her.”

The words don’t make sense, but you don’t really hear them, anyway. “Please, I want to go home, please, please,” you whisper.

But no one’s listening.

The Wolf is listening.

He prowls back and forth on all fours, which really, isn’t any more or less terrifying than when he rises up on his haunches. Neither image capitulates to your need to make it make sense. There is no sense, no logic, no reality that can hold him.

The wolf, for really, that’s what he is, isn’t he? God, you don’t want to say it. Unbidden, a memory works loose in your brain, slipping out of the crates of nonsense stored away in favor of survival, and rattles around.

I know what you are. But you won’t say it.

Did you bring this upon yourself for reading trashy supernatural romance novels? Did you watch Underworld too many times? Did the shot actually put you in a coma, and you’re living in some kind of nightmare?

The wolf is watching you. There are no whites in his eyes, just pools of gasoline on muddy puddles.

You close your eyes and pretend you can’t hear the way his claws click against the tile.

While Laura had fed them stew, she told them about the trials.

They had been the first. The first taken, before volunteers were called. Before they knew they’d need secure places to hold them, they had been gathered for observation in an old YMCA, packed in racketball courts so the doctors could stand outside the large wall of glass and watch them all at once.

They stood outside that glass and watched them change, in one way or another. The ones who turned, as she called it, went first. The ones who would become test group alpha. More than half of the overall subjects, who became suddenly, violently ill.

They left them all in there with the rest, waiting, watching them cry out, watching them vomit and sweat and break impossible fevers. Temporal thermometers reading 105, 106, before they’d succumb to unconsciousness.

If they woke, they were… inhuman. Something more. Something hungry.

A lot of the first round of test data was lost when the subjects were eaten. But some were lost to the turn. Test group beta, Laura’s brother among them, didn’t survive the fever.

Laura’s husband turned but didn’t lose himself to the beast. Something in him stayed present, alert enough to protect his wife from the others. Or rather, something in her kept him that way. Something that had turned in her too, albeit without the violence, into something more than she’d ever been before.

“They drove us out of the QZ,” she said, picking idly at a gouge in the table’s surface. “To shoot us where they could burn all the bodies and forget.”

“And what happened?” Tommy asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“We ate them.”

They come back for him that night but he’s not waiting for them. He’s sat with his big, furry back to you, close enough to the cage that you could pet him. The thought crosses your mind in a moment of delirium. You could stick your fingers through the little bars and feel the coarse hickory hair. You know, if you were clinically insane.

You’re not about to offer him a little snack.

He’d given up on reaching you a few hours ago, content to sit there unmoving once your tears dried up. It’s only slightly less terrifying.

But when they take him out, you only get to sit with the relief for a moment. Minutes pass in the dark and silent room, but you regret letting your guard down when footsteps echo through the cavernous halls beyond.

The Idiot Twins are back, and they’re not taking chances with you this time. Oh, no. When they unlock the cage, you’re faced with the barrel of a handgun that doesn’t leave your temple as they pull you out by your bound hands.

They don’t bother to stand you up or give you a chance to move on your own, just dragging you out of the room and across the hall. You’re sprawled on your stomach across the frigid floor of the new room, with the door slamming shut behind you without so much as a word.

The rusted pipes on the wall in the beast’s room make more sense now, once you take in your shadowy surroundings. This room has the same shitty tan tile over every inch, but the walls are lined with blue (or what used to be blue) lockers. Not a single one is intact, whether rusted or dented or doorless, but they’re unmistakably lockers.

There are two lines of seamless benches, though half are rotted to oblivion. But it’ll be a better bed than the floor.

This is practically paradise. There’s a tray by the door that you don’t see for a while, but when you do, you almost cry again. Might have, if you hadn’t spent the day in tears.

It’s just broth and water, long gone lukewarm and dusty, but you set upon it like a vampire upon a vein. Wait, no, you really don’t want to think about that right now. But it’s not your fault you’ve got monsters on the brain.

Your reprieve is not long. The sun rises.

The beast returns.

Oh, and he’s pissed that you’re gone, based on the fucking racket that brings you back to the waking world.

“Oh, did you think you’d been good enough lately for a treat?” Cheryl taunts him.

The steel doors between you aren’t enough to hide the sounds of his fury.

“You’ll have her back when you’ve earned her,” she tells him amidst the cacophony of snarling and gnashing.

It’s ten days before they return you to the cage. Ten days of poking around the abandoned lockers and finding nothing. Ten days of broth delivered at dawn and dusk. Ten days of your back no longer appreciating the bench to stretch out on.

Ten days of listening to the nonstop scratching and growling and whining from across the hall. And worse. Oh, much worse. Wet squicks and splatters and harsh groans. You’re not sure if he’s eating or masturbating or what, but it sends shivers through your whole body each time.

It also sends the weird, sticky slick pooling between your thighs, but you ignore that. It’s been happening since the shot, one of the weirder side effects, but it’s gotten downright fucking annoying since you got here.

You try not to think about it.

It’s not long after they drag you back to the little cage that they drag him into his. For that’s what this room really is, you know that, even if it doesn’t make you feel better about being in there with him. He’s trapped, too, but you’re the one in danger.

They haven’t untied your wrists since the first time, which have blistered and bled and scabbed until the ropes rubbed the scabs raw and started the whole thing all over.

He smells it before he sees it, any interest in the slippery sweetness on your thighs gone when he tastes the blood in the air.

Hurt, he whines, though you can’t understand. Help.

You don’t cry this time, don’t split the sour tang with salt, but the fear and pain and exhaustion are enough to center him. If he tries, if he could just focus…

And there it goes. You watch, mouth agape and eyes blown wide, as he shifts in front of you for the first time. He backs away while it happens until he’s on the other side of the room and sits his very bare ass on his bed.

You watch the way his bones jerk and his body shakes and cracks and huffs out sharp, agonized grunts until he’s just a man. Just a man, nothing more. Just a beast masquerading. Worse than a wolf in sheep’s clothing, you think, because you know he’s the wolf, but right now?

He’s just a pathetic, broken human. Bruised and bloodied, though his marks are rapidly fading as the healing takes over, but his face is edged in nothing but pain and sorrow.

“M’not gonna hurt ya,” was the first thing he croaked out.

You startle, rattling the cage a little, which makes you wince.

But he stays on the other side of the room. He’s sitting on his mattress, legs bent up and crossed, as if he had anything left to hide. As if you hadn’t seen too much already.

He tries not to think about it, but jesus. It’s a fucking struggle. As he takes you in this way, unclouded by the hazy moon, it still punches him back. Your smell.

Joel’s never really liked tart things. Too much of a secret sweet tooth, of a deep yearning for the char and depth of anything fresh from the grill.

But even now, even nearly fully man , he’s salivating at your green apple tang. Of uncovering the sweet ‘n sour burst of you on his tongue. Of letting his sharp teeth fall sharper through the tough act you fail to wear right, too bruised and soft underneath.

To feel the way you’d give beneath him. The way you’d spill down his chin. No. He has to get a fuckin’ handle on himself. He can’t even look at you, not now that he knows you can smell the salt of his own slick where his swollen cock sits sobbing, neglected and furious.

“I’m not,” he protests against your silence.

He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

But he doesn’t stay himself for long. Not after he thinks instead, suddenly, of autumn. Of the sweet smell of the orchard. Of taking Tommy’s truck up up up into the places where seasons meant something.

The roads sprawled like veins and they followed them with no end just to see the way the trees curled overhead, branches reaching and burning with dying leaves—a sight so devastating that Joel considered leaving Texas behind for somewhere he could start to take this beauty for granted.

Chasing the colors led them first to a field of corn, blustering amber in the setting sun. They had returned the next day, fresh from the motel with burnt coffee and warm flannels, parting with precious dollars for the privilege of picking pumpkins and apples and a little corn husk doll.

He’d have paid every cent ten times over to see Sarah smile like that again.

This is where the man breaks and bows out. Where the wolf at its weakest is still stronger than Joel. He gives in, gives into the grief, gives into the wolf, and shifts back. He stays curled up on his bed, though, and doesn’t look at you.

He doesn’t speak to you again for a month.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller #werewolf!joel miller #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse #fic: of rage and ruin #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic

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b33zlebubz · 4 months

Text

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER THREE - some faces are friendlier than others.

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

PREV CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

Fluorescent lights, you've come to realize, might be the lowest layer of hell. Lower than high school and broken noses and every other unpleasant thing you've experienced thus far in your short life.

The low buzz and flicker of the sterile fixtures above your head seemed to follow you everywhere; almost mocking you. They were there years ago in the hospital as you held bloodied newspapers up to your disfigured nose, watching the nurses talk to your social worker about what to do with you—then again at your first time working a full nightshift at the gas station down the street. They were there at every adoption party growing up as you stood in the corner, awkwardly shuffling your feet as you—begrudgingly—introduced yourself to every adult that approached you. Every school you attended, every clinic, hospital, and residency had them; lights sent from hell to assault your eyes specifically.

Even now, as you shoot upright in the spare dorm-like room Price supplied you with, the fixtures are above your head. The only difference is that this time, they’re off. Your brain swims, your breathing tight and fleeting as you grasp the fabric of your sweater in attempts to calm your raging heart. When that doesn’t work, you throw the covers off and stumble for the door. Cold, bare feet hitting the linoleum as shaky hands fumble through the dark for the bathroom doorknob. When you finally get inside, you retch into the sink.

Everything between arriving at your house two days ago and ending up here is a blur.

You don’t leave your room much after the talk with Price—fully content to just sleep the days and nights away until the nightmares took hold. You only wake up whenever Price knocks on your door and coasts you out to show you around.

You don't know what to think about him---not yet---but you're pretty sure he's safe. He's painfully British; with thick facial hair framing his face and the faint smell of cigar smoke lingering on his fatigues when you open the door. Unlike the others you've seen hanging around, always looking very official in pristine business-casual wear or covered head to toe in gear, he has a worn hat that never leaves his head.

He shows you the basics, introducing you to his colleagues around the building and making conversation as you walk.

The bathroom is down the hall, dining facility is downstairs, medical wing on the first floor, the common areas, Laswell’s office, and Price’s office…you can’t say you were able to pay much attention.

Not when that huge, skull-masked Lieutenant is in the same room as you for some of it.

It's then that you learn his name.

"Ghost?" You question, raising an eyebrow. You watch the man in question—looking utterly out of place as he slides over to sit with a few others at a table nearby. He's dressed casually in a black jacket and dark tactical pants; but the balaclava and mask still remain.

Price places a hand on your shoulder.

"Ghost, Soap…" he nods towards the Scot you recognize from the day before. He looks a bit more approachable than his masked counterpart, at least—poking fun at the Lieutenant next to him. There's a thick bandage around his forearm where you bit him yesterday.

Then, Price gestures to the only one you haven't met yet. "...And Gaz.”

The man is already looking at you when you meet his gaze, but he quickly glances away again, distracted by Soap who claps a hand to his shoulder. Whatever he says must be funny, because Gaz laughs and shakes his head, distracted.

"Weird names," you remark, and that earns a chuckle from the captain.

"Callsigns," he replies. "Nicknames, basically. Stick around long enough you might earn one yourself…but let's hope not."

You nod. Your hand comes up to once again brush at the cold dog tags around your neck. "Right. Yeah, let's hope not."

"You'll be spending a lotta time with 'em for now, probably," Price says, tugging at the brim of his hat as he continues walking, briefly catching your gaze. "So, I suggest you get used to 'em."

A knot of dread forms in your stomach at his statement. You glance behind you as you walk—eyes locked on the skull mask. Again, your head reels with the memory of yesterday. Gunshots. Yelling. Blood on your sneakers.

Blood, blood, blood.

You swallow heavily, "Even Ghost?"

You're sure your unease isn't lost on Price from the way he looks at you. He places a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, giving it a couple pats as he guides you along with an affirmative nod.

“Yes,” he says. "Even Ghost."

The thought makes your mind uneasy. You swear your heart hasn’t stopped jackrabbiting in your chest since you left your house. It feels like you should be running, fighting, escaping—something—but instead you find yourself barely leaving your bed. Your hands itch for your phone to distract yourself but, alas, the only thing Price left you with is your blood-splattered sneakers which sit in the corner. For good reason, you suppose.

You spend hours staring at the light fixtures above your head in the spare bunk, thinking about everything in your life that's led you up to this point; your father's lies, endless adoption papers, letters, and bright fluorescent lights. Everything and nothing all at once. When you finally get to sleep, that's when you find yourself jolting awake at night and stumbling to the bathroom.

When the gagging finally calms, you stand there. Clammy hands grip the edges of the sink as you breathe—in and out—and swallow back the bitter bile that sticks to your throat. In your panic, you never even bothered to turn on the lights, and your eyes shine as you make eye contact with your reflection in the dark, dingy mirror. Light spills in from the hallway behind you, casting a halo of light on your frazzled hair.

Ugh. You look awful; your bruised eye swollen and irritated again from tossing and turning. The skin on your arms and face is still rubbed raw from viciously scrubbing the blood off in the shower days ago, and you still didn't feel clean. Dried tears streak your face from crying in your sleep. The thought alone of someone seeing you like this is enough for you to steal yourself. You take a shaky breath in before letting it out, and you switch on the sink to wash your vomit down the drain. While you’re at it, numb hands cup the freezing running water before splashing some onto your face, and you stare at yourself for a little while—acquainting yourself with the reality that yes. This is happening. Your father faked his death before dying again and now there’s people after you; the man with the scar on his face, you assume, and maybe others. No, you don’t know the code that Price mentioned and no—you don’t know what’s going on.

You swallow again.

It is what it is.

The dog tags glint against the low light as you turn the faucet off.

Your breathing settled and your heart rate calmed, you're left with a shakiness that comes with the lack of adrenaline. You lean against the sink for a moment, basking in the silence as the last of your nightmare fades. You're so lost in thought that the sound of shuffling and low voices in the hallway are almost, almost lost on you.

"It was supposed to be a quiet mission for a reason."

Price's voice can be heard, muffled, down the hall—and you freeze slightly.

"Yeah, well…you can thank the Shadows for that one." Another, deeper, British accent replies. One that makes the hairs on your neck prickle. "'Mission was to extract the kid. That's it. If Johnny didn't shoot first, Graves would've. And we both know how that would've ended."

Price sighs tiredly in response, their voices growing closer as they turn the corner. You can almost picture him running a hand down his face as he does, the other on his hip. Then, their footsteps stop a little ways down the hall.

"'Suppose you're right," he says. "Just…try not to scare 'em too bad. You know Sparky would want—"

"Yeah…I know," Ghost grunts back, interrupting. "No promises."

A moment passes.

There's an unspoken goodbye before you hear footsteps fading off again, signaling one of them has left. You take a breath and wipe your face before stepping out into the hallway. You feel his gaze flicker to you as you cross the threshold and pretend not to notice him. Shaky hands fumble with the doorknob.

It feels eerily similar to the first time you both met. When he effortlessly killed two men, splattered the blood on you, and then turned around so nonchalantly and asked—

"You good?"

You freeze up. Finally, you turn to look at him.

He's not wearing the mask. Not the skull one, at least, and it works to ease your nerves a little. The fact that you can see an eyebrow rise at you through a balaclava helps you remember that he is—somehow—human. A human with a plastic water bottle, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter in his hand with no gun in sight.

You wipe your face again. Your throat is tight as you speak, as if you've forgotten how to do it altogether, "peachy."

He huffs a breath at your sarcasm, but he doesn't press further.

"Good," he says. "'Cause it looks like you've seen a ghost."

You scoff, "you're not funny."

He shifts and tosses you the water bottle in his hand. You flinch and just barely manage to catch it by the cap. Then, confused by the gesture, you look back up at him.

"Keep your head up, kid," he says, the subtle softness of his tone not lost on you—although it seems completely foreign. "'Cause, with the way things are lookin', it'll get worse before it gets better."

It's strange and cryptic. Your heart lodges in your throat from the strange advice as you lower your brow at him. "What does?"

"The blood."

You let out a shaky breath, looking away. "That's hardly comforting."

A moment passes where he just looks at you. You're unsure what he sees; other than a pathetic, disheveled teenager who just finished dry heaving into a public bathroom sink over a stupid nightmare. You feel uncomfortable—like he's reading your thoughts, or maybe he's just amused that you're scared of him. You’re unsure.

"Maybe not," he shrugs and finally looks away, unlocking his door. "But it's the truth."

You swallow down your unease as you look down at the water bottle.

A part of you knows he’s right. Whatever your father got himself tangled up in—it involved you now. You were being chased and if there was anything you knew about how these stories went; someone was going to end up dead. Sulking wasn’t going to get you answers, and it certainly wasn’t going to help you going forwards. You had no idea how the people in the movies, comics, video games, and TV shows always seemed so put-together. How they—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and your father—managed to sleep at night with what they did. What they saw.

"Does it get easier?" You ask, for some reason. Your voice is quiet. Strained.

Ghost seems caught off guard by the question, because he hesitates in his doorway—a gloved hand resting on the doorknob. He doesn’t look at you, not really, and you don’t look at him. You can hear the rain tapping against the window at the end of the hall and the sound of thunder rumbling across the sky above. You figure he can read minds, because he seems to completely understand what you’re asking without needing to explain much.

“If you’ve seen enough,” he finally speaks. “Yes ... you do get used to it.”

A moment passes before he shifts and looks at you again.

“But try not to," he adds. "Your old man didn’t die just for you to get screwed up like the rest of us.”

And, with that, he steps into his quarters and shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the sterile hallway. Fluorescent lights flicker above your head.

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai @karurururu @pertinentpostmortem @kaoyamamegami @hayleybarnesx @nostalgialeech

#kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #call of duty reader insert #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader

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petite-phthora · 3 months

Text

Please don't shake the cat

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 13]

<< Prev | Next >>

Part 1

Ao3

---

Private chat nicknames:

RedHood = Jason

Danny = Danny

---

Private chat

RedHood: *picture*

RedHood: this yours???

---

Seeing the picture of Ellie clamped onto Red Hood’s arm Danny lets out a sigh while rubbing his forehead. He takes a few seconds to look at the picture while deciding on how to reply.

---

Private chat

Danny: you don’t happen to be in Mexico right now by any chance, do you?

RedHood: No.

RedHood: I was out patrolling when I was suddenly bitten by her.

RedHood: Thought it might have been a criminal or stray cat or something like that at first.

RedHood: I was not expecting a feral teenager, but I can’t say this is the first time it’s happened.

Danny: damn, she was supposed to be in Mexico 😕😥

Danny: I guess this is what she was trying to tell me with that cryptic message she sent me huh

Danny: and the stray cat analogy isn’t too far off to be perfectly honest 🤔

RedHood: So you know her?

RedHood: Can you help me get her off? I’ve tried prying but she’s got some sick ass jaw strength.

RedHood: Which would have been pretty cool any other time, but it’s currently not really working in my favor.

Danny: I’m so sorry about her 😓 😓

Danny: we’ve been trying to teach her to ask for consent first

Danny: but it’s still a work in progress 😅

Danny: of course I'll help you get her off!! 😊🙃

RedHood: Great! You’re at your apartment, right?

RedHood: I’ll be there in two shakes.

Danny: please don’t shake the cat 😰

Danny: she’ll get grumpy and might latch on even tighter

Danny: I’ll come to you instead 🙃

Danny: you said you were patrolling, so crime alley, right? 🤔🤔

RedHood: Well, yes, but I doubt you’ll be able to get up where I am right now.

RedHood: Let me at least come down to the ground first and I’ll tell you how to get here.

RedHood: Danny?

---

Jason looks down at his unread messages with a slight frown. He puts his phone away and looks back at the teenager on his arm.

He gives his arm a small shake, causing her to growl at him which immediately makes him stop.

Right… No shaking the cat.

Jason lets out a weary sigh before looking down over the edge of the building to the ground below. He’s trying to think of the best way to get down with only one functional arm when a voice breaks him out of his reverie.

“Hey, Hood. I’m here!”

He turns around, slightly alarmed that there’s a second person who managed to sneak up on him tonight.

Damn, he’s getting rusty

Though from anyone whom he had been expecting to see, he had not been expecting to see the guy he messaged a minute ago standing behind him on the roof.

“How did you get here so quickly? And for that matter, how did you even get up here?” Jason asks confused.

“Oh, I flew” is Danny’s casual response, which gives Jason more questions than have been answered. But before he can decide whether he should bother asking for clarification Danny already moves on to the next topic.

“Anyway, let’s see what we can do about this,” he says, approaching Jason’s arm and the girl that’s hanging off of it.

“Good luck,” Jason says, holding out his arm a little better and watching bemused as Danny and the teen have a stare-down.

“Ellie, what did we say about biting others?”

The teen, Ellie, narrows her eyes and growls at him. Danny just crosses his arms and gives her an unimpressed stare.

“Nah-ah, you have to let him go. We ask before we bite someone. It’s called consent. Don’t make me get Jazz to give you another lecture”

It’s clear to Jason that Danny’s attempt at talking to her isn’t working when the teen proceeds to glance at Jason calculatingly before giving Danny a challenging look and biting down harder.

Apparently, it’s clear to Danny as well, as the next thing he does is let out a put-upon sigh before declaring “Well, I gave you a chance. Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way”

Danny then grabs a hold of her and tries pulling her off of him.

What is his life? Jason thinks as he’s standing there while Danny tries to physically pull the teenage girl, who decided his arm looked like a nice snack, off of him.

Though luckily for him, it seems to work as not a few seconds later Danny has pulled her off of his arm and is now holding the teenage girl with a bloody mouth up by her armpits.

Danny sets her down with a sigh but before he can speak up, the teen crosses her arms and levels Jason with a sharp look that makes him straighten up.

“Thou winneth this round, Red-Helmed Knight of the Night. Though thou should be prepareth, as the upcoming trials will be even more toilsome” Ellie declares while pointing at him, uncaring of the blood on her face.

“And I,” She points a finger back at herself for emphasis, ”Sir Ellie of the Infinite Realms, will—” she gets cut off when a fly enters her mouth.

Danny moves to help her but she holds up a hand to stop him, using her other hand to thump on her chest a few times.

She spits the dislodged fly out onto the floor and glares at it.

“Curse you! Foiling my monologuing once again!” she yells after the fly as it flies off.

Right…

Jason turns to Danny.

“So is she your sister?” he asks curiously. And totally not trying to fish for more information about Danny and his family.

Instead of Danny answering the question though, Ellie cuts him off.

“I’m his love child with the mayor of our town.”

Danny gives her a disgusted look.

“Ellie—”

She looks back at Danny with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Yeah, definitely siblings.

“I love my dads!” she says proudly, her eyes still on Danny.

Danny gives her a deadpan look in response before it changes to a more mischievous one.

“Oh, I’m sure Vlad would love to hear all about how you reclaimed him as a father figure—”

“Oh Ancients, no. Don’t even joke about that” She fake gags at him before turning back to Jason.

“Can I change my answer? I’m his bodyguard” She says, pointing her thumb at Danny.

That makes both Danny and Jason raise an eyebrow at her, though Jason’s can’t be seen through the helmet. They speak up at the same time.

“A bodyguard, huh?”

“No, you’re not, that’s Frighty”

Danny’s statement makes Jason pause and turn to look at him.

He’s got a bodyguard?

Ellie shakes her head happily.

“Nope! I took over the position. My knightly title isn’t just for show, y’know? I earned it fair and square!”

“When did this even happen? And why was I not told?” Danny asks, bewilderment covering his face.

Jason stays silent as he tries to make sense of the conversation.

“About…” Ellie takes a moment to think about it “3 months ago? I think it was when you were dealing with some time chores. And I thought it’d be a nice surprise, so… Surprise!” she exclaims, doing some jazz hands at the end of the sentence.

“What did you even do?”

“I snuck up on him and threw a Fenton Wii remote at his head which knocked him out cold. It counted as a win so I earned the position by right of conquest and gained my knighthood” She says with a shrug.

“Huh… think that would’ve worked for Pariah Dark as well? Would’ve made things so much easier…”

Ellie gives another careless shrug as Danny lets out a small reminiscent sigh. Meanwhile, Jason stands awkwardly to the side.

“Well, either way, I’m proud of you. Do you have a video?”

“Tucker filmed it for me, yeah”

“Nice”

They high-five with grins on their faces. At this point, Jason lets out a small cough which has the Fenton siblings turn around startled and proceed to then give him identical sheepish smiles.

They really look like they could be twins…

“Ah, sorry Red Hood. And again, I’m sorry for Ellie.” Danny says, rubbing the back of his neck with a small blush on his face.

“I’ll take her back home. And uhh… see you next time?”

Jason gives him a smile from under his helmet.

“Sure, if you’re still up for that next date?” Jason trails off with some hope.

His words make Danny’s blush darken.

“Ah uh, yeah! Yeah, of course! The next date! Uhmm, I’ll text you! Or you can text me. That’s fine too!”

Next to him, Ellie rolls her eyes and makes some fake gagging motions. She then grabs Danny by his arm and starts dragging him away.

“Come on, Loverboy. You can and your paramour can flirt later. When I’m not there… and after he’s passed my trials” she says, muttering the latter part low enough that Jason can’t hear. But, judging by the way Danny’s head snaps back to her and how his brows furrow, he did hear.

Just as Jason goes to reply, giving them a thank you and a goodbye of his own, perhaps even an offering to help them get down from the roof, he picks up on movement behind him.

Quickly turning around has him regretting not leaving the rooftop earlier, as he watches the Bats (and birds) land.

Fuck.

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard @why-must-i-be-like-this @griffinthing @i23432i @imsotiredfanficlovertm

#dp x dc #dp x dc fic #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #dead on main ship #jason realising danny has fangs + pointy ears + has a way to fly + is pretty cold: :0 vampire!#at this rate jason's gonna think he's the bella swan in this story #gonna be living out his main character in a supernatural ya romance novel dreams #the supernatural part for this 'dream' is new but ehh he doesn't mind #big thansk to sami_the_simple on ao3 for the please don't shake the cat line lol #they said something like that in a comment and i loved it #anyway hopefully i'll be able to update some more soon #but in the meantime i hope you enjoy this chapter :)

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vampsywrites · 9 months

Text

V — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Fighting, Mentions of blood, Mentions of Injuries, Graphic Violence and Wounds, Suggestive, It gets steamy at the end!

Word Count: 11k | AO3 LINK

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT (soon) >

Weaving the thread under a loop, Neteyam meticulously fastened the neckpiece off and then carefully cut the excess string with his blade. As he held it up to the light, giving it an experimental stretch, the embedded crystals and gems sparkled and glinted beneath the warm honeyed glow of the rising sun, creating a mesmerizing dance of colors.

"Do you think she will like it?" Neteyam asked for what seemed like the hundredth time, his fingers still fiddling around with his work, and his eyes micro-analyzing every stitch and bead.

With a groan, Lo'ak ran a hand down his face.

Exasperated, he turned to Neteyam. "How many times are you going to ask me that? Did you not hear my answer last time? It looks fine."

Ignoring his brother, Neteyam stayed focused on the neckpiece.

"What if she doesn't appreciate Omatikayan weaving?" Neteyam bit his lip, a rugged hand nervously tugging at his braids. "I should have asked her opinion on it… What if these gems aren't the right color for her?"

"Bro, calm down," Lo'ak said, shaking his head. He reached over to gently grab the woven necklace away from Neteyam's fiddling hands, holding it up to examine the intricate detailing more closely.

Neteyam had dedicated the past three months to creating this special gift, pouring his heart and soul into every thread and gemstone. The pattern he had chosen was one only the most skilled weavers of their clan attempted, and Neteyam had executed it flawlessly.

There was not a single sign of a mistake, and the weaving flowed seamlessly, like a river meandering through a pristine forest. The beads adorned the piece like shimmering stars against the sky, their brilliance accentuated by Neteyam's careful polishing. Even to Lo'ak's untrained eye, he could recognize the skill and effort poured into the creation.

"Golden boy and his perfect weaving," Lo'ak whistled, smirking when Neteyam grumbled under his breath from the nickname.

Carefully, he handed the woven neckpiece back to his older brother. "Don't worry. She'll love it."

"Love what?"

As the silhouette of their father loomed over the hut, Neteyam glanced up, surprised by the unexpected visit. Jake stepped into the hut, parting the curtains to the side, and the warm light from the rising sun spilled into the room, casting a comforting glow over their faces.

"Father," Neteyam greeted with respect, setting aside the neckpiece.

"Neteyam," Jake replied warmly, his gaze holding a touch of concern that he didn't bother to conceal.

It was the morning before Neteyam was set to make the trek toward the peak with the other young members of the clan.

Their purpose was clear: to prove their worth and earn their place as adults within the community. However, amidst the group, all eyes were particularly fixed on Neteyam. His journey carried an added weight – the burden of proving himself even more than his peers.

Observing the exchange, Lo'ak locked eyes with Jake, nodding in understanding. He knew what was coming – another heart-to-heart talk between father and son. It seemed like these talks were becoming more frequent lately, and Lo'ak found it tiresome to witness Neteyam's constant overthinking about his upcoming crowning ceremony.

It felt like just yesterday they were dumbass kids climbing trees and exploring the vibrant forest together. Now, with the looming responsibilities of adulthood and leadership, everything felt different.

"Lo'ak, why don't you give us a moment?" Jake suggested, giving his youngest son a knowing smile.

"Finally. Some peace," Lo'ak mumbled to himself, wandering away from the hut to give Neteyam and their father some privacy.

Inside the hut, Neteyam and Jake settled into an intimate silence. The curtains were shut tight but dim light filtered through the gaps in the woven walls, casting soft shadows on their faces, creating a serene atmosphere that encouraged open conversation.

"Things have been hard as of late, huh?" Jake began, his voice gentle and understanding. "Ikinimaya is in a few hours… How are you feeling about the climb?"

Neteyam shrugged, trying to put on a brave front. "Not much," he replied with a smile. "I think I'm more focused on what happens after."

Jake's nod was thoughtful, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the burden that came with leadership. He was no stranger to the weight of such a role, having borne it himself as Eywa's chosen one.

After the ceremony, if Neteyam were to complete the ascent, his crowning ceremony as chief would soon occur. Unlike the Omatikaya, where they usually held separate ceremonies for these milestones, the Iuva'ri followed a different tradition, crowning their chiefs on the same day of their coming of age.

It was a big change for Neteyam, but Jake had confidence in his son's ability to adapt and lead.

"I was just like you back then," Jake grinned, nudging Neteyam. "It's a big moment in your life, and the responsibilities that come with it can be overwhelming. But you've got this. You've grown into a strong and thoughtful man."

Neteyam smiled gratefully at his father's words. "Thanks, Dad," he said softly, feeling a sense of reassurance and comfort wash over him.

As Jake's eyes fell on the necklace in Neteyam's hand, his face softened, and a warm smile tugged at his lips. "Is that for her?" he asked, pointing to the beautifully woven piece.

Neteyam nodded nervously, his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and uncertainty as he held out the carefully crafted gift.

"Yes. I made it," he replied, his voice carrying the timbre of pride mingled with a touch of vulnerability. "What do you think?"

Jake's weathered hands accepted the necklace from his son's outstretched hand, cradling it delicately in his palm. His fingers traced the intricate patterns, each movement a touch of appreciation for the meticulous work that had gone into it.

As the beads slid under his skin, memories of his own courting days resurfaced, painting his thoughts with the vibrant hues of nostalgia. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing for the time when he had first encountered Neytiri, their connection as profound and tender as the bond that was now flourishing between Neteyam and his own future mate.

"This is beautiful work," Jake remarked, genuinely impressed by the piece. "She'll love it."

The tension in Neteyam's shoulders eased at his father's genuine praise, a tide of relief sweeping through him.

"I'm glad you think so," he admitted. "I really want this to be special for her."

Jake's expression softened.

"Go on then," he encouraged. He leaned over to hand the necklace back to Neteyam. "She must be waiting for you, boy."

With a grateful smile, Neteyam pocketed the necklace and stood up.

He stepped out onto the balcony, the cool early morning air brushing against his skin. There, he found Lo'ak waiting for him, leaning against the side of the hut.

"What did Dad say?" Lo'ak asked, trying to act nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed his genuine interest. It was clear he was evesdropping but Neteyam decided against bringing it up.

"He thinks she'll love it," Neteyam answered, a hint of relief and satisfaction coloring his words.

Lo'ak rolled his eyes playfully, though a glint of affection was unmistakable in his expression. "Well, then you better not keep her waiting."

Neteyam chuckled, grateful for his support. "I won't. Thanks, baby brother."

With that, Neteyam began his journey to your hut, his heart alternating between racing with anticipation and fluttering with nerves.

The familiar sounds of the mountain village greeted him as he stepped outside—the rustling leaves carried by the breeze, hushed conversations from nearby huts, and the distant chirps of the valley's creatures. It was a soothing symphony that accompanied his walk.

Following a rocky path, he caught sight of the warmth spilling from the oil lamps within your hut. The soft light painted inviting shadows on the walls, offering a sense of comfort.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Neteyam breathed deeply, letting the crisp air anchor him before he entered the hut.

And there you were, seated beside a small stove fire. The joy that lit up your eyes upon seeing him immediately melted away some of his apprehension.

You sat gracefully on a cushion woven from palm threads, encircled by bowls of luminescent paint, each brimming with vibrant hues.

"Ma'Teteyam," you greeted with a soft smile, setting aside the bowl of paint in your hands. "I had hoped you would come soon."

He approached you with a hum, feeling a delightful warmth spread through his chest at the sight of you.

"I wouldn't keep you waiting," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady despite the emotions swirling within him.

As you gestured for him to come closer, Neteyam sat down in front of you, feeling the space between you diminish as you scooted over. You dipped your fingers into one of the polished wooden bowls, and with a tender grace, you began painting delicate patterns on his skin.

Neteyam watched your every move, his breath hitching as your fingertips traced over his flexed muscles. It felt as though he was not just preparing for a ceremony but for a new chapter in his life.

The Na'vi closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to savor the warmth of your touch as you worked on him. The feeling of your fingers on his skin was both intimate and comforting, a silent reassurance that you were by his side, supporting him every step of the way.

His thoughts were momentarily interrupted by your soft voice, breaking the silence that enveloped the hut.

"You have put so much effort to prepare for this day," you said, your eyes locked on his face, "it is an honor to be a part of it."

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with sincerity. "I couldn't imagine sharing this moment with anyone else but you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The painting continued, each stroke of your fingers bringing you closer together, both physically and emotionally. Neteyam found himself mesmerized by your focus, the way you seemed to pour your heart and soul into every delicate detail.

Finally, you finished, and Neteyam admired the beautiful patterns adorning his skin. Your eyes locked again, and the moment hung in the air, heavy with emotion and anticipation. The crackling of the fire and the dancing shadows around you seemed to amplify the intimacy of this shared experience.

As the warmth of the stove fire illuminated your faces, Neteyam leaned in slowly. The world around you seemed to fade away as your lips met in a tender and passionate kiss.

As you parted, Neteyam whispered, "Nga yawne lu oer."

A wide smile spread across your face, and you replied, "Nga yawne lu oer.

Humming, Neteyam's arms wrapped around you, holding you close. With you in his embrace, he felt complete, and the weight of his future responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by a deep sense of purpose and belonging.

The soft crackling of the fire filled the hut with a warm and comforting ambiance, lulling both of you into a comfortable silence. As the flames danced, casting flickering shadows on the woven walls, Neteyam's eyes never left yours, captivated by the tenderness not normally seen in them.

Your fingers traced gentle patterns on his painted cheek, and the affection in your smile made his heart jump with joy.

"I have something for you," you whispered, beginning to draw away from him.

Neteyam reluctantly released his embrace, but his hand lingered on your waist. You chuckled playfully, gently slapping his forearms, urging him to let go.

"I will not be far," you assured him, your eyes locking onto his with affection.

Reluctantly, Neteyam let you go, allowing you the space to retrieve your surprise. You moved towards the cabinets, and he watched with curiosity, wondering what you had in store for him. When you emerged with a fur coat and an axe in hand, his eyebrows raised in intrigue.

"These will help you with your ascent later," you explained.

With a swift movement, you draped the soft fur coat over Neteyam's shoulders, and he immediately felt the warmth of the fabric enveloping him.

The axe you handed him was a well-crafted tool, sturdy and reliable. Its wooden handle fit perfectly in his grip, and the weight was balanced. The crystal blade on it was a striking sight, capturing the firelight and reflecting it back in dazzling purple hues.

"Thank you," he smiled gratefully, his heart brimming with appreciation for your thoughtful gifts. He couldn't help but lean in to press another tender kiss on your forehead.

Nodding at him, you both stood up, your hands guiding him out of the hut. The soft light of the rising sun bathed the mountain village in a gentle glow as you walked together.

"Come," you smile. "The people are waiting."

When a person prepares to become one with your people, experiencing their rebirth, the clan initiates a ceremony. The warriors, adorned with vibrant paint, assemble before the Tsahìk as she prepares them for the ascent.

This final trial, the crucible determining their standing among the Iuva'ri, was a journey. A journey deep into the enigmatic Clouded Peak, a desolate expanse shrouded in snow with perils lurking in every corner.

Victory in this ascent signifies your second birth. Following this achievement, the clan engages in a celebration featuring dance, feasting, and storytelling—a tapestry that weaves bonds. These bonds intertwine them with the people.

This unity is then dedicated to Eywa. It is in that sacred space where a lifelong position among the people is earned, an indelible bond forged forever.

"Tìng mikyun ayoe rutxe nawma ma sa'nok."

As Tsahìk, you stand tall, hosting the sacred coming of age ceremony — The Ascent.

Before you, a line of tall, rugged young men and women stand. Each one carries their own axes and spears, protection for the challenges that lie ahead. Heavy coats rest upon their shoulders, ready to protect them from the biting winds of the ascent.

The presence of Eywa, the Great Mother, is strong and felt in every aspect of the ceremony, infusing the spirits of the young warriors with her guidance. Above, the sky hangs dark and heavy, the wind's mournful song echoing through the trees, creating an aura of solemnity. Illuminating the scene are tall torches lodged in the dirt, casting their flickering glow upon the sacred space.

Just behind you stand the families of the participants, emotions ranging from pride to worry visible as they bear witness to this pivotal moment.

With a solemn grace, you bestow your blessings upon each warrior, marking their foreheads with your painted hand, chanting sacred words as you invoke the great mother's protection and guidance.

"May the Great Mother be with you," you utter. A female warrior before you nods in acknowledgment, her face adorned with a respectful smile.

Moving through the line, you came to Tserat, his face shadowed by conflicting emotions. Unfazed by his glower, you placed your hand upon his chest, offering the same sacred blessing as you did for the others.

"May the Great Mother be with you," you repeated, watching carefully as the red paint stained on his chest. Tserat's head tilted slightly in a small nod, acknowledging the gesture, but his guarded expression remained.

Then, it was Neteyam's turn. As you approached him, your previously stern expression transformed into a genuine, warm smile. The fur coat you had lovingly bestowed upon him was draped over his broad shoulders making his figure appear larger and more imposing. The axe, with its striking purple blade, hung at his side.

As you bestowed your blessing upon him, his hand gently brushed against yours in a fleeting touch, a wordless reassurance passing between you.

"May the Great Mother be with you," you repeated once more. The smile you offered held layers of affection and respect. Neteyam nodded as he felt the warmth of your touch seeping into his very being, strengthening him for the path ahead.

"And to you," he replied, his voice soft.

With the blessings bestowed upon all the warriors, you stepped back and your mother took over. As they followed after her command, the warriors set forth into the mountain, spirits aflame with determination.

Neteyam turned back to you, his eyes locking onto yours once more. Then, with a final nod, he turned away to join the others, his figure blending into the shadows cast by the towering trees. As the last traces of the young warriors disappeared from view, you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon your shoulders.

The village around you was filled with hushed voices and a sense of anticipation, knowing that the destiny of the clan was now in the hands of the brave souls who set forth into the unknown.

"Hold strong, brothers and sisters!"

The peaks of the snowy mountains were a world unto themselves. As the young warriors ascended, they found themselves in a landscape that commanded and tested their physical and mental resilience.

The air, thin and brittle, clawed at their lungs with every inhale, as if the very atmosphere was challenging their presence. The winds, like invisible daggers, sliced through their heavy coats, piercing to the core with their frosty bite. The gusts carried echoes of warnings whispered by the mountains themselves.

The snowy terrain, draped in a pristine white cloak, was a deceptive tapestry of danger. Icy patches lay in ambush, waiting to send even the most seasoned warriors sliding down the steep slopes. The snow, once a soft and powdery expanse, became a battleground as it clung to their legs like quicksand, each step an arduous struggle against the weight of the drifts.

Throughout the ascent, towering rock formations rose like sentinels, casting eerie silhouettes against the darkening sky. Above them, dark and ominous clouds loomed, casting a shadow over the landscape. Visibility was limited, with the peaks shrouded in a thick veil of mist and fog, making it challenging to navigate and discern the safest path.

The ascent was grueling, and Neteyam found himself exerting every ounce of strength to overcome the challenges of the harsh terrain. He trudged forward, his breath visible in the frigid air, while the weight of his heavy coat provided some respite from the biting cold.

Despite the difficulties, Neteyam proved himself to be a skilled and determined climber. He navigated the icy slopes with skill, making steady progress as he ascended higher and higher.

However, even the most skilled climbers could falter in the face of such challenging terrain. It happened in the blink of an eye — a misstep, a patch of ice, and Neteyam's balance was compromised. His foothold gave way, and he found himself sliding down the slope, the cold snow and sharp ice clawing at his skin.

In the midst of his unexpected descent, a frustrated curse escaped his lips. "Fuck."

Tserat, never one to miss an opportunity to taunt him, couldn't help but let out a chuckle at Neteyam's misfortune.

"Forest boy!" Tserat's grin was wide, his amusement evident. "Careful or else you meet Eywa first before you reach the top!"

His comment was met with the amused laughter of some of the other warriors. Shaking his head with a smirk, Tserat turned to the rest of the group, speaking in the Iuvarian dialect, "Did you see that skxawng? He has two left feet."

Neteyam's pride stung, but he quickly composed himself. He shrugged off the snow clinging to his coat, his grip firm on his axe. With a grunt, he steadied himself, using the axe as an anchor to regain his foothold on the treacherous slope.

Finally, Neteyam found his balance and stood straight again. His shadowed eyes met Tserat's with an intensity as if he was silently daring Tserat to push him any further.

Tserat snorted dismissively at the unspoken challenge, opting to avoid further provocation. He turned his attention ahead, recommencing his climb in a brooding silence.

Then, in an abrupt upheaval of the tranquil surroundings, the ear-splitting roar of a formidable beast tore through the air. It emerged from the shadows, its massive form nearly matching the trees that lined the mountain slope, and its powerful muscles rippled beneath its thick, coarse fur.

"It's a Nix'feli!" one of the warriors roared out.

The beast's eyes were a piercing shade of amber, burning with an intense primal fury. Its fur, as white as the snow around it, was mottled with dark patterns, reminiscent of ancient tribal markings. Razor-sharp claws, capable of rending through flesh and bone, extended menacingly from its massive paws. A long, sinuous tail swished through the air, leaving deep impressions in the snow with each movement.

The warriors roared out battle cries as they tightened their grips on their weapons, readying themselves. Each one sought a strategic position, spreading out to encircle the formidable creature. However, unlike the other warriors whose moonlit skin offered them some natural camouflage against the snowy backdrop, Neteyam's dark indigo skin stood out vividly, drawing the beast's attention to him.

With a fearsome roar, the feline launched itself at Neteyam, claws extended, aiming directly at him. The world around him blurred as his instincts took over, and with a graceful leap, he evaded the deadly strike. The beast's claws scraped the air where he had stood just moments before, and the force of its attack sent snow flying in all directions.

"Wiya!" Snarling, Tserat managed to loop a thick rope around the feline's neck, anchoring himself in the snow as he strained to halt the beast's ferocious advance.

Several feet away, Neteyam landed with a heavy thud, scraping against the rocks, but swiftly regained his footing. The axe you had gifted him remained firmly in his hand, but he knew he needed a weapon better suited for this confrontation. With a quick decision, he released his grip on the axe and reached for his bow slung over his shoulders. He felt its reassuring weight in his hand as he notched an arrow and focused his gaze on the beast.

With measured intent, he released the arrow, it's trajectory a deadly precision. The arrow found its mark, embedding itself in the beast's eye, igniting a resonant roar of torment that resounded throughout the mountains.

"Another!" Tserat's grip on the rope grew ironclad, utilizing every ounce of his strength to restrain the writhing feline.

"Hold him steady!" Neteyam hissed, preparing for a second shot.

With another swift release, he unleashed another arrow into the frigid air. The arrow struck deep into the beast's flesh, piercing the creature's lungs.

With a final roar, the Nix'feli succumbed to the wounds it had sustained, collapsing onto the pristine snow. Its once-white coat was now marred by streaks of crimson, a contrast that painted the snowy canvas in vivid shades of red.

The young warriors erupted into cheers, hailing Neteyam's clean kill. They hyped him up with enthusiastic shouts and claps on his back, celebrating the triumph over the formidable feline.

Amidst the cheering, Neteyam's gaze locked with Tserat's once more. The Na'vi was rubbing his rope burned palms, blue skin bruising into a deep purple. Tserat stayed silent for a while, his pride momentarily giving way to a begrudging acknowledgment of Neteyam's abilities.

"Finish him off," Tserat ordered, throwing his rope back into his satchel.

Neteyam nodded in understanding, his heart still pounding with the adrenaline of the encounter. He trudged towards the beast, his blade gripped firmly in his hand. He then knelt beside the fallen creature, whispering words of prayer and gratitude for the life that had been taken.

With a final act of mercy, Neteyam raised his blade and delivered a swift, precise strike to the beast's heart. As the blade pierced through, ending the creature's suffering, a sense of peace seemed to settle upon the snowy mountainside. The once-ferocious feline let out one last exhale, and its fierce amber eyes softened in the moment of passing.

Suddenly, a hand reached out, and Neteyam looked up to see Tserat standing beside him.

"Get up," Tserat murmured gruffly, his voice carrying a strange blend of annoyance and something deeper beneath the surface. "We still have to complete the ascent."

Neteyam nodded and quickly rose to his feet, not at all surprised by the mix of emotions that Tserat's demeanor reflected. He stooped to retrieve his discarded axe, giving it a quick shake to dislodge the clinging snow.

As Neteyam continued his ascent, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The triumph over the beast had been a demonstration of his skills, but it had also brought into focus the responsibilities he was about to embrace. The mantle of leadership was within his grasp, and he couldn't afford to falter.

Hours seemed to pass as they climbed higher, each step bringing them closer to their destination. The world around them became a blend of white and gray, the sky merging with the snowy landscape as they ascended into the clouds.

Finally, as the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden hue across the icy expanse, they reached the peak. A sense of awe and accomplishment washed over them as they gazed out at the breathtaking beauty before them.

Tserat's demeanor softened, his gaze capturing the ethereal view. With a slight nod, he turned to Neteyam, and in his eyes, a begrudging respect simmered.

"You did well, golden boy," Tserat admitted, his voice carrying a surprising sincerity as he crossed his arms.

Neteyam's smile radiated a sense of fulfillment. "You held your own too," he replied, a shared understanding bridging the gap between them, if only for a fleeting moment.

Once the weary but triumphant warriors returned to the village, families surged forward to welcome back their sons and daughters, now transformed into full-fledged adults of the clan. Amidst this sea of emotions, Neteyam found himself engulfed in the warm embrace of his family. Their pride and love encircled him, forming a cocoon of unwavering support.

However, he couldn't resist the pull to find you, the one who had been his pillar of support throughout his journey.

Amidst the collective embrace of the village, your figure stood tall. Your eyes, adorned with a glint of pride and affection, were fixed upon him.

A triumphant grin stretched on his lips as he closed the gap between you, his bright golden eyes locking onto yours.

"Sweet girl," his words brushed against your skin in a tender whisper as gentle kiss was planted on your forehead. The touch of his lips sent warmth spreading through your cheeks, and you reciprocated the gesture by pressing a peck to his cheek, the coolness of his skin still clinging from the snowy heights they had scaled.

"You did it, my mighty warrior," your voice held a note of sincere admiration, your hand reaching up to graze the rugged terrain of his jawline. He leaned into your touch, savoring the intimate connection between you amidst the surrounding crowd.

As the celebratory atmosphere gradually settled, your mother, called for all to gather. Neteyam was led to the forefront, his broad shoulders clasped by the palms of her wrinkled hands as she presented him to the entire clan.

"Neteyam Te Sulli Tsyey’ite, son of Toruk Makto, has completed the ascent! He has proven himself in our ways and is now fit to hold the position of Olo'eyktan!"

The announcement was met with thunderous applause and pride from the entire clan. But as Ìumayi's eyes swept over the crowd, they locked onto a particular pair. She caught sight of Tserat, who stood tall and proud among the assembled warriors.

Their gazes lingered for a moment before Ìumayi looked away, making it clear that the challenge for the throne had been expected. She gracefully slipped the fur coat off of Neteyam's shoulders and held it up for all to see.

"I now offer a chance at the throne! If anyone wishes to challenge him, step up!"

For a moment, the air seemed tense, silence falling over the crowd. Then, without a word, the people parted, and a figure stepped forward. It was no surprise to see Tserat stepping into the circle, signature scowl etched into his face.

Ìumayi nodded solemnly, acknowledging the challenge, and Tserat removed his coat, brandishing his blade with confidence. Neteyam, too, unsheathed his weapon.

"Tserat Te Ser'oa Aketo'itan has challenged Neteyam Te Sulli Tsyey’ite for the throne!" Ìumayi announced, her voice carrying authority as she gestured for the crowd to form a bigger circle around the two warriors.

Both Neteyam and Tserat locked eyes, their gazes dark and intense as they approached each other. Neteyam's expression was a portrait of unwavering composure, his eyes never straying from the piercing milky depths of Tserat's gaze. There was a quiet confidence about him.

On the other side, Tserat's lips curved into a grim frown.

His emotions were a storm—respect, undoubtedly, for the great warrior that Neteyam was. But beneath that, an undercurrent of uncertainty swirled like a glint of moonlight caught on the surface of a turbulent sea.

The recent display of Neteyam's strength had commanded his respect, but leadership was a different realm, a realm where hunting prowess, while significant, was just one facet of the mosaic of qualities required. Whether the forest dweller's completion of Ikinimaya made him fit enough to lead their people, was a question that churned in Tserat's mind like a tempest.

The challenge had been thrown, the time for words had faded—only actions remained to define their outcome.

Ìumayi raised her hand, and with a firm voice, she declared, "Begin!"

With a fierce battle cry, Tserat charged at Neteyam, his movements fluid and controlled. He swung his blade in a deadly arc, aiming for Neteyam's midsection. But the Omatikayan was agile and skilled, effortlessly sidestepping the attack.

As Tserat's blade sailed past, Neteyam countered with a swift jab of his own, aimed at Tserat's exposed side.

The sound of metal clashing echoed through the gathering as Tserat managed to block Neteyam's blow just in time. The crowd gasped, watching the intensity of the duel unfold before their eyes.

The clash of their weapons resonated like a symphony of steel meeting steel, each strike executed with unwavering precision and met with a fierce parry.

In the midst of this battle, Tserat's calculated maneuvers began to yield results. With a swift and precise strike, his blade found its mark on Neteyam's side, the sharp point penetrating deep into azure skin.

A searing pain tore through Neteyam's body, eliciting a wince that he fought to suppress. Rivulets of blood flowed down his side, staining the grass beneath him. Tserat's triumphant laughter filled the air as he twisted the knife, eliciting a hiss of pain through Neteyam's gritted teeth.

A knee to Neteyam's abdomen sent him stumbling, his foot catching on an uneven rock. The world seemed to warp and waver as he slid to the ground, the impact jarring his senses and amplifying the pain radiating from his wounded side. Dazed and disoriented for a heartbeat, Neteyam fought to regain his footing, his chest heaving with the effort.

"Get up!" Tserat hissed.

Jaw clenched tight, Neteyam summoned every last ounce of strength, his fingers curling around Tserat's blade. A grimace of pain etched onto his features as he yanked the weapon free from his own flesh.

"Come at me," Neteyam snarled, swiftly getting back to his feet. The blade spun in his free hand before he tossed it. It skittered across the ground and out of the circle, which now left Tserat disarmed.

Unfazed, Tserat moved to tackle him once more, bringing them crashing to the ground with a resounding thud that echoed through the expanse of the circle. The impact jarred both warriors, their bodies absorbing the shock as they grappled on the ground.

Amidst the struggle, Tserat seized the opportunity to deliver a series of powerful blows to Neteyam's face. Each strike landed with force, leaving Neteyam momentarily disoriented.

"Neteyam!" Your voice rang out, an anguished cry of worry cutting through the air as your tail lashed anxiously by your feet. You were poised to rush in, to throw yourself into the fray and intervene in his defense. But before you could act upon your instinct, your mother's firm grip on your arm halted your movements.

A mixture of shock and frustration crossed your features, your eyes widening in protest as you hissed at her.

"Mother—" you protested urgently, your voice edged with a mixture of fear and anger. "This is not a battle anymore! Tserat is turning it into an execution!"

"Let them be," she commanded, her tone unyielding as she met your gaze with a steady and unwavering stare. "This is our way. You cannot intervene."

A low, anguished whimper escaped your lips, a mixture of helplessness and frustration welling up inside you.

Tserat's triumphant sneer was a bitter sight to behold as he seized Neteyam's kuru, lifting him effortlessly from the ground. A kick sent Neteyam's own blade skittering away, leaving him defenseless and exposed to the mercy of his opponent.

The scene was agonizing, a twisting knot of emotions in the pit of your stomach.

"Where is your Olo'eyktan now?" Tserat's jeer echoed in the air, the words heavy with contempt. "This is no chief! Just a misplaced boy! Not fit to lead!"

Yet, Neteyam refused to give up so quickly. He kicked at Tserat's shins, causing the man to fall with a shout of surprise. With Tserat momentarily off balance, Neteyam seized the opportunity, his muscles coiling with determination. He locked Tserat in a chokehold, the strain evident in the tight set of his jaw and the flex of his arms as he pressed his forearm against Tserat's windpipe, causing the man to wheeze and struggle.

The battle raged on, their grunts and cries mixing with the roars of the crowd. The cheers and shouts seemed distant as Neteyam focused solely on the man on top of him. He could already feel Tserat's resistance waning.

“Yield,” Neteyam hissed, the veins on his arms bulging as his muscles strained with the effort, grip unyielding. "You are a mighty warrior! The people need you! Your people need you!"

Tserat hesitated, his breaths shallow and labored. The weight of his choices bore down on him, and in that moment, he saw the truth in Neteyam's words.

Slowly, Tserat's resistance wavered, his strength slipping through his fingers like sand. With a feeble tap against Neteyam's arm, he signaled his surrender, submitting to the man.

The cheers of the crowd echoed around them, celebrating their new leader, their new Olo'eyktan. As celebration filled the air, Ìumayi stepped forward to separate the two warriors, signaling the end of the intense duel.

With a low whine, Neteyam managed to get back on his feet, his body still tense with the pain from the wound in his side. He grimaced, feeling the warmth of his own blood seeping through his fingers as he held onto the injured area.

Drawing in heavy breaths, he directed his gaze downward, locking eyes with Tserat for a fleeting moment. Amidst the lingering animosity that had once defined their relationship, a flicker of understanding seemed to pass between them. It was a silent, unspoken acknowledgment of the strength they had both exhibited in this grueling battle.

"You fought well," Neteyam murmured. He extended his hand, a gesture of goodwill meant to bridge the divide between them.

"I know," Tserat scoffed, his pride not entirely diminished by the outcome. His hand slapped Neteyam's aside dismissively, his emotions still raw from the defeat. With a final glance back, he turned away, retreating into the crowd, his head bowed low in an attempt to save face.

Before Neteyam could take a step toward Tserat, a strong yet gentle grip on his side halted him. You were at his side in an instant, your gaze filled with concern as you carefully assessed his injuries. Your hands probed cautiously at the wound on his side, your touch gentle yet deliberate.

The sight before you made your heart clench — a deep gash on his side, his face marred by bruises and smeared with blood. His rugged appearance was in stark contrast to the tender expression in his eyes as he looked down at you.

All of a sudden, the adrenaline that had fueled the battle was now beginning to wane, replaced by the harsh reality of pain. Neteyam's groan cut through the air, his body doubling over in response to the searing ache that pulsed from his injuries.

"Oh, yawne," you murmured softly, your voice laced with concern and care. You moved closer, wrapping an arm around his waist to support him. Your touch was soothing, a balm for the pain he endured. "Come, let us go to our hut."

"Syulang," Neteyam murmured, his brow furrowing as he glanced at you with a touch of worry. His tongue darted out to swipe at the blood on his cut lip, his focus shifting between you and the path ahead. His voice held a note of uncertainty. "But what about the crowning ceremony? Your mother emphasized its importance. A lot."

Your mother and Neteyam's parents approached at that moment. Ìumayi acknowledged his comment with a nod, affirming the tradition.

"Yes. The crowning ceremony must proceed immediately after the ascent," she acknowledged, her gaze dropping to the visible injuries on Neteyam's form. "He will bear his wounds for the time being."

"My son cannot—" Neytiri began, intending to express her concern for his injured form, but you quickly interjected, not willing to let the ceremony take precedence over his well-being.

"I will not let him go through with the ceremony while he is bleeding out," you hissed, your determination clear in your voice and stance. Ears pinned back in frustration, you held your ground. "The traditions will have to be set aside. My mate comes first."

Neytiri regarded you with a surprised look, her gaze lingering on you in newfound admiration. She soon broke into a warm smile, her approval evident. In contrast, your mother seemed on the brink of an argument.

"It is his duty. The people are waiting," she hissed, gesturing to the crowd behind her.

You looked back, noticing that the people had already begun to disperse, making their way to the ceremony site in anticipation of witnessing the ascension of their new Olo'eyktan. And yet, your focus remained unswerving, your thoughts centered solely on Neteyam's well-being.

The idea of him undergoing the ascension ceremony while in his current state was unthinkable to you, and you were resolute in your determination to prioritize him above all else.

"This is a matter for the Tsahìk," you asserted, tail whipping by your feet in anger. "I will not have you ask me of this!"

With a final huff, you turned, guiding Neteyam gently back towards your healing hut.

The elderly woman let out an exasperated hiss, her fingers gripping at her own hair in a mixture of disbelief and frustration. "Great Mother, that girl wants to drive me to an early grave."

Frustration evident in her demeanor, your mother marched away. In the midst of this back-and-forth, both Jake and Neytiri observed closely, trusting your instincts and expertise as you led their son toward your hut.

"Eywa has chosen well for Neteyam," Neytiri spoke up, breaking the silence and drawing the attention of her family. With a playful grin, she gestured towards you. "I like her. She is a feisty one."

As you entered the seclusion of your hut, a sense of tranquility settled over you both. You gently helped Neteyam settle onto a soft fur-covered mat, supporting his back against a pile of cushions. His golden eyes locked onto yours, filled with gratitude and affection for your unwavering care.

"It's better you rest, yawne," you said, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. "The ceremony can wait. Your well-being is my priority right now."

Neteyam nodded, his hand reaching out to grasp yours, intertwining your fingers. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the battle and the strain of the day's events. "I don't know what I would do without you."

You simply smile and begin to tend to his wound, applying cooling salves and bandages, your gentle touch easing his pain.

The soothing motions of your touch have a profound effect on Neteyam. As the pain begins to lighten, he feels himself drifting into a drowsy state, his body and mind succumbing to much-needed rest. The tension and adrenaline from the battle slowly melt away, replaced by a sense of peace in your presence.

His eyes flutter closed as he leans into your care, finding solace in the knowledge that you are there, looking after him. With each soft touch, he feels the weight of the day's events dissipate, and the warm embrace of your love envelops him like a protective cocoon.

The sounds of the outside world fade away, leaving only the quiet hush of the healing hut. The scent of medicinal herbs and the familiar earthy aroma of the forest soothe his senses and he falls into a deep sleep.

Time seemed to pass in a dream-like haze, and as Neteyam finally awoke, he felt renewed and invigorated. The pain from his wound had significantly subsided, thanks to your skilled touch.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet, the moment for the crowning ceremony had arrived. The air was filled with anticipation and excitement as the Na'vi people gathered at the heart of their sacred spirit tree, where the presence of Eywa was strongest. The rhythmic beat of the drums echoed in harmony with the chants of the crowd.

Neteyam, now adorned in ceremonial attire, walked down the path toward the center of the gathering, the cheers of the people and the resonating drums echoing the rhythm of his heart.

He wore a tunic crafted from soft, supple leather, dyed in earthy tones that blended harmoniously with the surrounding forest. Draped across his chest and shoulders was a fur garment, a poignant reminder of his triumph over the fearsome Nix'feli he had vanquished during his rite of passage. Along its edges, two imposing fangs from the vanquished creature were displayed

As he reached the center of the gathering, where you and Ìumayi awaited, Neteyam knelt before you both, a gesture of respect and reverence for his beloved and his mother. Your eyes gleamed with love and admiration as you gently clasped a necklace over his collarbone, a cherished heirloom that had been passed down through generations of leaders.

Ìumayi, her previous ire now gone, regarded him with a warm and proud smile. Stepping forward gracefully, she lifted her headpiece from her forehead and carefully positioned it upon his head. It was a poignant symbol of the legacy she was entrusting to him, signifying the passing down of her mantle as Olo'eyktan.

"My son," she spoke with a voice of wisdom and love, "You are one of us now. You are to lead the people now."

Neteyam met her gaze, his expression one of deep gratitude and determination. He bowed his head in acknowledgment, accepting the mantle of leadership with humility and determination. As Ìumayi turned back to the crowd, her voice carried through the beats of the drums and the chants of the Na'vi, resonating with authority and pride.

"Come! Let us celebrate!" she declared, her smile infectious, and the gathered Na'vi erupted into joyous cheers, their voices united in celebration of their new chief and the hope for a bright and harmonious future under his leadership.

The celebration was in full swing, with the Na'vi people dancing around the campfire, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony with the rhythmic beats of the music that filled the air. Laughter and joy echoed through the night, as stories of bravery and triumph were shared among the warriors. Neteyam, still adorned in his ceremonial attire, found himself at the center of attention.

"The Nix'feli was like nothing I've seen before," Neteyam recounts as he gestures to the bow slung over his shoulder. "But in the end, it was struck down. AlI from two arrows."

The warriors gathered around him, whistling and poking at the bow in admiration, grinning proudly at their new chief. But amidst the festivities, murmurs spread through the group as Tserat approached, carrying a drink in hand. His gaze was dark, and the tension between him and Neteyam was palpable.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Tserat challenged Neteyam to drink. The crowd looked on eagerly, curious to see how their new chief would respond. Neteyam accepted the challenge and took a hearty swig from the cup, eliciting cheers from the gathered warriors.

Tserat, never one to back down from a challenge, also took a swig from the woven cup, the firelight casting a flickering glow on his face as he did so.

As the night wore on, their conversation took an unexpected turn, veering into a somewhat playful banter between Tserat and Neteyam.

"You know," Tserat slurred, his speech slightly affected by the drinks, "I was almost certain your stubbornness would have gotten you killed during the first trial." He raised his cup to his lips for another gulp, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Neteyam, his senses already dulled by the effect of the potent brew, swayed slightly on the log he was perched upon, managing to maintain his balance only with considerable effort. His response came out in a slurred drawl, eliciting laughter from the men who had gathered around.

"I don't give up easily," he mumbled, a playful smile curving his lips.

In the midst of the good-natured conversation, Neteyam's alcohol-fogged mind seemed to pause, a serious thought managing to cut through the haze. "I have a question," he murmured, his ears twitching as he leaned in slightly.

Tserat leaned forward on the log they shared, the wood creaking softly beneath his weight. His pale eyes bore into Neteyam's expectant ones. "Ask away."

Neteyam took a deep breath, the fogginess in his mind clearing momentarily as he focused.

"In the rite, you ran a knife through my flesh," he spoke in a hushed tone, his words carrying a somber weight. "I, in turn, humiliated you in front of the clan. I took your place. And yet, looking at your eyes now… there's no hatred. Why? Why don't you hate me?"

Tserat's initial response was almost dismissive. He scoffed, tossing his woven cup to the ground, the liquid within spilling onto the dirt.

"Tsk! I did hate you," Tserat admitted, going into a tirade. "I hated you when you entered my village and demanded uturu. I hated you when you took away my position. I felt the sting of rejection, so I acted on those emotions of hatred and look where it led."

Tserat gestured towards the bandages on Neteyam's side, a low laugh rumbling in his chest.

"That is payback," he smirked.

Neteyam, however, wasn't satisfied with this answer. His brows furrowed in confusion as he shook his head. "No, I understand those feelings well. What I mean is—during the battle ritual. When I told you to yield, you did so, and at the end, there was a different look in your eyes."

Tserat's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Yes," he finally responded after a long pause, his fingers drumming on the log's surface.

"And after the battle?" Neteyam pressed, his curiosity unyielding.

Tserat's nostrils flared slightly, his expression caught between annoyance and contemplation.

Wiya... This man. "No. I did not hate you then. I had just thought I was content to have lost to an equal," he replied, a trace of begrudging respect in his tone.

"Content to lose to an equal?" Neteyam repeated, his voice tinged with amusement. "Why me? How did you know I was an equal?"

Tserat laughed heartily, throwing his head back. He then leaned forward to grab a wrap of meat, fangs biting down on it’s leaf covering. "I know you," he said between bites, his demeanor oddly introspective.

Neteyam, still perplexed, shook his head slightly. "There is much you don't know about me. We've barely exchanged words."

“Ah. Words do not reveal much,” Tserat scoffs, leaning back as he pointed two fingers at his milky eyes.

“It’s all in the eyes. They never lie. I saw it in your gaze… One similar to mine," he mused, his fingers reaching out to clasp around Neteyam's shoulder, his gaze unflinching. "I saw you, brother."

A genuine smile tugged at Neteyam's lips, and he reciprocated the gesture by patting Tserat's back. "And I see you.”

Tserat leaned back with a smirk, scarfing down his wrap of meat.

"It's a pity," the man continued, a wistful undertone in his voice. "I could have been a remarkable Olo'eyktan."

Amused by the sentiment, Neteyam chuckled softly, his gaze momentarily distant as he imagined the alternative path that they might have walked. The atmosphere lightened, and Tserat seized the opportunity to grab another drink, the fleeting melancholy replaced by the camaraderie of their exchange.

Noticing the absence of Tsahìk, Tserat's curiosity was stirred. He leaned closer to Neteyam, his shoulders nudging his companion with a teasing grin.

"Where is your mate?" he prodded, his tone playfully taunting. "Leaving her all alone on the day of your ceremony? If I were you, we would be deep in Vitraya Ramunong right now!" he chuckled, earning hollers and laughter from the men around them.

"Do not talk about her like that," Neteyam hissed, shoving at Tserat's shoulder, his protective instincts flaring up.

Undeterred by Neteyam's reaction, Tserat merely raised his brows.

"So, what's the story?" he inquired, his grin unrelenting. "Why aren’t you stuck to her side like a fwampop today?”

A sigh slipped past Neteyam's lips, his gaze momentarily distant as he considered the complexities of the situation. "My sisters have taken her away," he eventually revealed.

Tserat's intrigue was far from satisfied. His brows remained raised, his curiosity persistent. "Why?" he pressed, the question hanging in the air, fueled by genuine interest.

Neteyam's shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug, his expression taking on a somewhat guarded quality. He took a sip of his drink, its bittersweet taste momentarily distracting him.

"Omatikayan matters," he replied, the words an attempt to deflect further probing.

In front of the warmth of the Sully's hut, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as Kiri and Tuk prepared you for the upcoming meeting with Neteyam. Kiri's hands were deftly braiding your hair into a classic Omatikayan style, and you couldn't help but pick at one of the braids out of curiosity.

"Interesting," you murmured, examining the beads she threaded into the braid. "Is this how your people did it back home?"

"Yes," Kiri beamed, her hands deftly working on another braid. "It's a classic hairstyle worn by Tsahìk back home. You look stunning with this style."

Her smile turned mischievous as she leaned in to whisper in your ear, dishevelled inky hair falling over her shoulders. "Neteyam will love it."

A bashful smile crept onto your face, and you couldn't help but hide your reddening cheeks with your palm. Kiri's teasing only added to your excitement for the upcoming celebration.

Just then, Tuk barged in with a bunch of woven tops in her arms. You examined the clothes with curiosity, noting how different they were from your usual attire. The tops were loose-fitting and incorporated more elements of the forest, in perfect harmony with the forest people's culture.

Kiri gasped as she noticed one of the tops in Tuk's hands. "Tuk!" she hissed, holding up a dainty lilac top. "This isn't mine! It's mother's!"

Tuk simply sighed, not too concerned about the mix-up. The young girl yanked the top out of her sister's hands and held the it up to your chest, almost as if she were envisioning how it would look on you.

"But she looks so good in it!" Tuk whined, pouting her lips.

You chuckled and gently took the lilac top away from her grabby hands. "It is pretty, but I am not too sure your mother would appreciate if I wore her clothes without permission," you said as you began to fold the woven top back up.

"I would not mind," Neytiri's voice suddenly filled the tent, and you all went quiet, turning to greet the woman.

"Neytiri," you spoke, pressing your fingers to your forehead and stretching it out in a gesture of respect. "I see you."

Neytiri nodded in acknowledgment and gently ushered Kiri away, taking her position in front of you. Her hands delicately held the woven top as she assessed it's appearance. The shift in atmosphere was palpable, and you couldn't help but sense an undercurrent of unspoken thoughts between you two.

The garment in Neytiri's hands, a woven top made of delicate lilac tendrils, was glittered with the shimmer of intricately woven gems. The weaving was intricate, elegant, and er... it left little to the imagination.

Neytiri's eyes appraised the woven creation, her fingers brushing over the patterns as if tracing memories. Her thoughts were a mystery, her feelings hidden beneath a veil of composure. These months of silent interactions had cast shadows of uncertainty, and you couldn't help but wonder how she truly felt about you marrying her son.

"This will look beautiful on you," Neytiri smiled warmly, seemingly approving of your choice. "Come and put it on. I wore this on my mating ceremony too."

With Kiri’s help, Neytiri slipped the woven top onto you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of honor wearing something with such personal significance to her.

"Beautiful," Neytiri affirmed, her smile radiant as she looked at you, her gaze holding a newfound warmth.

You returned the smile, feeling grateful for her acceptance. "Thank you."

Neytiri merely hummed as her focus shifted to your hair. With each twist and weave, she transformed your locks into an intricate masterpiece, her fingers moving with a practiced rhythm.

As she braided, her attention was drawn to a nearby pile of vibrant flowers. With an sense of which blossoms would harmonize best with your appearance, she delicately plucked a few yellow ones from the pile, their vibrant petals woven into your tresses.

“There,” she whispered, brushing her fingers through your braids. The subtle sound of beads brushing against each other accompanied the delicate sweep of her fingers. “You are ready.”

"Come on! I thought you could climb faster than this!" you playfully teased Neteyam, your laughter carrying through the night air as you both ascended the side of the hill. The moon hung overhead like a silver lantern, casting a soft glow on your surroundings. It was a clear night, the stars scattered across the sky like precious jewels.

Your fingers brushed against the rough texture of the rock as you found footholds, your muscles working in sync as you effortlessly moved upward. Neteyam was close behind, his own movements fluid and sure.

The air was cool against your skin, carrying the scent of the earth and the distant sounds of the ongoing crowning celebration. One that both of you had slipped away from in favor of some solitude.

You reached the top first and hauled yourself up, feeling the rush of accomplishment. But before you could fully revel in your victory, Neteyam, with his impressive agility, soared over the peak and hauled himself over. Running after you, he tugged at your tail, using it to pull you into his strong arms.

"Neteyam!" you laughed, the surprise of his actions quickly turning into delight as he showered you with kisses along your neck and cheek. In that moment of affection, you couldn't resist turning your head to capture his lips in a short, sweet kiss.

Neteyam smiled against your lips, the love in his actions unmistakable. With a tender touch, he then tucked his hands under your knees and shoulders, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. The muscles of his arms flexed, the strength in his embrace a reassurance of his protection of you.

"Where to?" Neteyam's voice was a soft murmur, his eyes locked onto yours as he waited for your instruction. You pointed toward a rocky path ahead, leading the way with a silent gesture.

Following your direction, Neteyam carried you along the path. It led you to a cave at the peak, a hidden gem adorned with the soft glow of radiant plants and flowers. The bioluminescent flora painted the space with an otherworldly light, casting a gentle, colorful illumination that danced across your skin. The air was tinged with the sweet fragrance of the herbs.

As Neteyam carried you into the cave, the glow intensified. The walls seemed to breathe with life, the colors shifting and changing in a mesmerizing display. The space felt like a sanctuary, a haven of beauty and tranquility that mirrored the depth of your connection.

“What is this place?” he questioned, wide eyes looking around in awe.

You snuggled against him, feeling a sense of belonging in his embrace.

"It is Vitraya Ramunong," you whispered, your voice filled with reverence. "The Tree of Souls."

Oh.

Neteyam's dark gaze shifted to you, his tongue running along his bottom lip. The intentions of you taking him here were crystal clear. Faintly, you could feel his nails digging deep into your skin and you bit back a smile.

As Neteyam walked further into the cave, he gently set you down to your feet. You started to walk away, but his firm grip on your hips stopped you, pulling you back against his strong front.

"Don't run away from me now," he murmured, his breath caressing your neck, sending delightful shivers down your spine. He turned you around with a tender touch, and his hand traced up the curve of your jaw, guiding your gaze to meet his intense, loving eyes.

And then, your lips met in a soft, sweet kiss. You could feel the depth of his emotions in the way his lips moved against yours, as if each kiss conveyed a thousand unspoken words.

As Neteyam pulled away slightly, his thumb lingered over your bottom lip, leaving you yearning for more of his affectionate touch. His other hand glided over your chest and now wrapped around your throat, but not with any intention of harm. It was a gentle gesture, one that made you feel cherished and protected. His thumb caressed the skin of your neck, golden gaze pouring over the stripes that lay there, admiring every inch of you.

"I have something for you," he finally murmured. He released his hold on you and reached into his pocket, retrieving the necklace he had crafted for you.

"Oh…Ma'Neteyam," you gasped, taking in every detail of the stunning gift.

Earthy brown tones formed the base, woven with intricate patterns and beads that told a story of his cultural roots—the Omatikayan style so unmistakably his. Yet, there was more to this gift than just his own heritage. Interspersed within the intricate weave were glimmers of polished crystal, a delicate incorporation of your own roots, a seamless merging of your two worlds.

As he clasped the necklace around your neck, his touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for a moment as he secured the knots. Tears welled up in your eyes. You could feel the beads and twine, cool against your skin, its weight a comforting reminder of his presence and affection.

“I hope it’s enough,” he murmured, his voice tinged with vulnerability as his hand traced the contours of the necklace, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “I… I don’t really know—”

With a soft click of your tongue, you silenced his self-doubt, your fingertips tenderly pressing against his lips. A gentle affirmation without words.

“It is enough," you reassured him. The corners of your lips lifted slightly, a soft smile that radiated your appreciation for his gesture. "It is more than enough."

Neteyam's own smile was a reflection of the relief that washed over him. He cupped your cheeks in his large, calloused hands, his touch both tender and possessive.

The warmth of his palms against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, a delicious contrast of roughness and gentleness. Gently, he tilted your head up, exposing your neck to his hungry eyes. Neteyam drank in the sight of the necklace—his necklace sat prettily across your skin, tongue curling around the point of a fang.

You, in turn, stared back up at him, emotions layed bare. As you fluttered your eyes, your thick lashes batted against your plump, flushed cheeks. The curve of the beads in your hair caught the ambient light of the cave, each bead gleaming like a star in the night sky. His eyes traced the path of those beads, capturing the radiance they added to your appearance.

And as his gaze drifted down to the attire Neytiri had allowed you to wear, his eyes recognized the intricate details of Omatikayan weaving that adorned your form. The woven tendrils of the top cascaded gently around your chest, its lilac hues blending harmoniously with the natural tinge of your skin. The top itself was a work of art, its design thoughtfully crafted to highlight your figure in the most flattering way.

Eywa. You drove him mad.

Unable to hold himself any longer, Neteyam guided the both of you down until you were kneeling in front of each other, the soft glow of the flora casting dancing shadows on your entwined figures. He pulled you into his lap, the heat of his body pressing against you, sending a shiver of excitement down your spine.

As he pulled you in closer, the texture of his inky braids brushed along your bare collarbones, accompanied by the warm sensation of his large palms resting against your flushed skin. His tail curled over your thigh, its gentle glide against your soft flesh forming a loose, comforting embrace that brought a rush of intimacy between you.

You couldn't help but stiffen slightly as you suddenly felt the tail trail up your thigh and wrap itself around your hips, flicking against the band of your loincloth. With shaky inhale, you returned your gaze to Neteyam's.

"Tsaheylu," he whispered, the word a delicate breath that carried a promise meant only for you, a secret shared in the quiet of that sacred space. His eyes held a mixture of hope and vulnerability as he waited for your response.

Speechless, you froze up in surprise, lips drawing flat, Neteyam's expression briefly twisted with a pang of dread, as if he feared you would reject him.

“Please, baby,” he begged, his voice a soft plea that held a world of longing.

With a deliberate slowness, his arm extended behind him, retrieving his kuru from where it rested. His fingers curled around the base, and the muscles in his bicep tensed with the weight of anticipation.

The purple tendrils of the kuru glowed with a soft luminescence, their ethereal light casting enchanting reflections against the cave's walls.

Your own fingers moved in response, mimicking his gesture, finding the familiar texture of your kuru. With a gentle pull, you brought the braid over your shoulder, its presence a reassuring weight against your hand.

The tendrils of both seemed to come alive, a dance of ephemeral energy unfolding before your eyes. They swayed like the intertwined branches of the sacred tree. Then, as if drawn together by a force, the tendrils began to weave, intertwining in a mesmerizing display of unity.

As the tendrils merged and embraced, an extraordinary rush of emotion surged through you both. It was as if a floodgate had opened, allowing a tide of feelings to wash over your senses. Electric energy pulsed through your bodies, as if the very essence of your beings was reaching out to connect, to become entwined.

"Fuck," Neteyam grit his teeth, burying his head into your chest. Shaking, your hands flew up to his bare back, palms pressed against the hard muscle and nails scratching at the surface of his skin.

In this shared moment, your heartbeats resonated as one, a rhythm of unity that pulsed through your chests. Breaths synchronized, you felt a deep bond. The barrage of emotions you both felt was overwhelming yet exhilarating, like a river of sensations flowing between you.

“Syulang…” With a shaky gasp, Neteyam leaned up and met your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, his lips pressing against yours as if he had been waiting to taste you his entire life. He explored your mouth with his tongue, memorizing every curve and crevice, before gently sucking on your lower lip. You couldn't help but gasp in response, caught by the intensity of the moment.

Everything between you was heightened—the passion, the desire, the longing. Every touch, every glance, every shared heartbeat carried a weight that spoke of the depth of your feelings. The cave around you seemed to pulse with your shared energy as if you felt Eywa herself acknowledge the bond you had formed.

As you parted from the kiss, your eyes locked once more with Neteyam's, and you could see the raw desire and emotion swirling in his gaze. He appeared almost feral, his pupils wide with overwhelming passion, not missing a single twitch or movement in the intimate exchange between you both.

Unable to resist the pull, he pressed against you, causing you to fall back onto the cave floor, beads clicking as your hair spilled all around you. Crawling on top of you, Neteyam’s lips immediately chased yours once more in a primal hunger.

Lost in each other's touch, the world around you faded away, leaving only the echoing sounds of your breaths and the beating of your hearts, united as one in the sacred bond of Tsaheylu.

Amidst the lively celebration of Neteyam’s crowning ceremony, the music and laughter continued to weave a vibrant tapestry of joy. Jake and Neytiri found themselves seated together, basking in the warm ambiance of the party. The flickering flames from the central bonfire added to the enchantment of the night, casting a soft glow on their faces.

‘We are mated before Eywa, Ma’Neteyam’ your voice echoes in his mind. ‘I am with you forever now.’

Nearly a year had passed since they made the difficult decision to leave their clan. The abandonment of their home had left a wound which still carried a weight that was far from forgotten. The wound left behind by that loss was raw and gaping, still in the process of healing. However, here at Iuva’ri, they had been granted a fresh start. It was a place where they could breathe, live, and forge new connections without the constant shadow of war looming over them.

In the midst of the joy, a sudden hush fell over the crowd as Tuk rushed into the gathering, her tears glistening on her cheeks. Both Jake and Neytiri were quick to notice her distress, and they exchanged concerned glances before rushing to her side.

"Tuk?" Jake's voice held genuine worry as he gently wiped away her tears. "What's wrong, babygirl?"

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT (soon) >

Between gasps, Tuk managed to speak through her tears, "It's Kiri!"

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teehee congrats on the new husband pookies<33 Neytiri is our mother now

If you can't see your blog, that means I could tag you! :(Also, if any new people want to be tagged - please send me an ask in my inbox or reblog instead! Bc the sea of comments are too much across all the posts :,)

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roosterr · 9 months

Text

white flag ✹ ch 4

note: i had to rewrite this chapter TWICE. im sick of it so pls enjoy. also forgot to mention on here that I have been away this week on a little holiday. didn't stop me writing tho lol.

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 2.3k

no use of y/n

readers callsign is 'stingray'

summary: while you're gone on a mission, ghost has time to ponder your relationship, and comes to a long awaited realisation

warnings: ghost's pov, mentions of blood and injury, lil bit of angst

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

ghost never knew how to feel about you.

at first, he really did hate you; you were the bright-eyed new recruit with seemingly endless optimism, he simply couldn't help but be annoyed by you. honestly, he half expected you to tap out a week into the job. you were just so… normal, he found it hard to believe you were cut out for this line of work.

of course, he trusted price's decision to hire you, and deep down ghost knew he wouldn't have recruited you if he didn't think you could handle it, but he looked down on you anyway. it didn't matter how good price thought you were, you'd have to earn ghost's respect.

it was infuriating, the way you fit so easily into the dynamic of the team. they all liked you right off the bat, even the captain, who was notoriously hard to impress. he observed you from afar, watching how you easily broke down their walls and fell into place next to them like it was nothing.

if he was honest with himself, he might have even called it jealousy. it seemed that everything was so natural to you; everything that he struggled with, you did with such ease you made it look like child's play. he especially hated the way you could just be a person. you didn't lock up every time someone spoke to you, you didn't need to sit with a visual on every available exit, and you didn't need to analyse every person you met in the fear that the second you turn your back they'll stab you in it.

you pissed him off, but what was worse than anything else about you, is that ghost had to fight with himself not to like you too.

it was the first time he got sent on an assignment with you that he began to understand why everyone seemed to get along with you so well. the ruthless efficiency with which you did your job was almost shocking to see. he couldn't have predicted how well the two of you worked together; like a well oiled machine, by the end of the mission he didn't even need to communicate verbally, you could just tell what his next move would be.

he finally understood why price fought so hard to get you on the one-four-one – and he finally found it in himself to respect you.

but that didn't change the way he felt about you beyond the field. you were soft, too kind, and too optimistic, you weren't hardened by the job like him. so he went out of his way to be tougher on you than he was with the others, and he rationalised it by telling himself he was helping you; that without a little toughening up, this world would break you, and for some reason, he couldn't stand the thought of that.

when you started to resent him back, it made his stomach feel heavy in a way he'd never felt before. it was new, and uncomfortable, and it scared him. he wasn't sure when he first noticed it, but it only got worse when he came to the realisation that you didn't care for him like you did for gaz and soap.

you could joke around so easily with them, but you go quiet when he enters the room. you never meet his eyes, and make sure to never be physical with him. when he addresses you over comms, you answer with a quick 'yes sir' and that's the end of it. ghost would never admit it, but the distance between you hurt – even if it was by design.

as he lay awake that night, he thought about what it would be like if you treated him the same way you treated the others. he couldn't stop the tiny smile that pulled at his lips as he imagined laughing with you, sitting next to you, touching you.

he imagined you, taking his calloused hand into your own, so gentle and kind like you always were, and the way his pulse skyrocketed scared him into staying up the rest of the night.

after that, the way he saw you changed. where he used to think you were soft – and therefore weak – instead he saw the way you chose to be kind. when once your constant jokes with the others was an inability to take things seriously, now it was your specialty way to keep up morale, and ghost actually found himself chuckling at a few of your quips.

it was like his entire perspective had shifted, everything about you that used to annoy him gradually became something he appreciated about you.

it took him a while, but he finally came to the conclusion that he… liked you.

but it was bittersweet, because he already knew you didn't want him, and he doubted you ever would. you'd never see him in the same light, he'd ruined his chances before he even knew he wanted one.

maybe it was for the best, though. you deserved better, someone who would treat you right, someone normal. he already knew you didn't want him, and he could never blame you for that. people like you don't fall in love with people like him, that's just the way it is.

so he resigns himself to burying the feelings he harbours for you. you never had to find out, if you did you'd surely be disgusted by someone like him being interested in you. he couldn't handle rejection like that, not from you.

when price told him he'd have to take you in when your house burned down, he was fucking terrified. it shook him to his core, how much he liked the idea of the two of you living under the same roof. he did his best to avoid you, leave you in peace like he assumed you wanted; but you – wonderful, kind you – wouldn't just leave him to his misery.

you were being nice to him, and he couldn't figure out why. he assumed it was because he was doing you a favour by letting you stay with him; he couldn't even trick himself into believing that you might be doing it because you liked him.

every night, he'd go back to that fantasy of existing with you, by your side instead of at arm's length. you were so close, just a single door separating you, his hands started sweating every time he passed by the living room.

he knew he was a goner the morning you woke up before him. he'd scarcely ever seen you in a casual setting, but walking into the kitchen and being greeted by you sitting at the table, the domesticity of it all hit him like a bullet to the chest.

it was exactly what he wanted, and it scared the shit out of him, so he panicked. he needed to stay away from you, for your own good, so he did what the ghost does best.

he ran away.

he didn't even consider what you'd think, he just had to get away, before he said something he'd end up regretting.

when you came through the door, soaking wet, and laid into him – which he knew he deserved – he immediately regretted leaving you behind. seeing you cry, knowing it was because of him, it made him feel sick. he knew he never wanted you to feel that heartache again, especially if it was because of him.

he'd give anything to start again with you, go back to the beginning and do it all right this time, but the only thing he could do was try and make up for what he'd put you through.

the hot chocolate was a peace offering; he knew you loved it – he even knew about the stash you had of it hidden in price's office, away from the other soldiers. he half expected you to just tell him to piss off, but when you accepted it, he felt his heart soar.

it ignited a spark of hope within him. more than anything, he just wanted you to like him, it didn't matter if you never saw him the way he wanted you to.

he intended on waking you up the next evening, before he left for the pub, but when he saw how peaceful you looked while you slept, he couldn't bring himself to disturb you.

you stayed with gaz and soap most of the night, and he spent the night watching you from the bar and dimly lit corners, assuring himself that you were okay. when it came time to drag you home with him, he had never been so nervous. taking care of people was the exact opposite of his strong suit, especially when they started crying at him.

he almost couldn't believe his ears when you said you liked him.

he'd dragged you home with an arm wrapped around your waist, his head feeling light as a feather. by all accounts, he should've been annoyed at having to look after you in your inebriated state, but he found himself smiling under his mask the whole way home – even when you almost threw up on him.

when you rested your head on his shoulder on the bathroom floor, he might've actually short-circuited. all thoughts except for you evacuated his mind, and a wonderfully warm feeling blossomed in his chest that made his stomach flutter like never before.

he came so close to spilling his guts to you, but then he remembered that you were drunk, and you most likely wouldn't remember it if he did. so he resigned himself to tucking you into bed with an uncharacteristically gentle touch.

the next day, sitting on that park bench with you, laughing with you like he'd wanted to for so long – it was everything to him. it sent his pulse through the roof, it was complicated, and it was so pleasantly warm.

the logical part of him knew that this would only end painfully for him, but found himself willing to risk that if it meant more of these moments with you.

but of course, he'd fucked it all up at the first opportunity. he'd screamed in your face and he had yet to even apologise for it – for any of it. he felt immeasurably guilty, but he was so scared he couldn't even force himself to be around you.

even price had yelled at him for how he'd treated you. you were traumatised, you had a very real phobia as a result of the house fire, and he felt like a fucking fool for not noticing. he swore to himself he'd make it up to you, he'd grovel at your feet for the rest of his life if he had to, and if you never forgave him he still wouldn't blame you.

he regretted it – of course he did. he let his fear consume him; the fear of you getting hurt, of losing you, and not being able to do anything to save you.

almost as soon as the words had passed his lips, he realised what he was doing, he heard himself. the anger in his voice, the fearful look in your eyes as they glistened with tears, it was everything he didn't want to be.

he felt just like his–

no. he refused to even entertain that thought. he'd never be… that. you deserved so, so much better than the broken husk of man that he was. no matter what he did, he would never deserve you; and it was selfish, but he still hoped that you could somehow forgive him.

it's only been a few days since you left on that assignment for laswell, but he's found that being alone in his house didn't bring him the same comfort it used to. the silence never bothered him before, in fact he greatly preferred it, but now it just felt empty. like there was something missing, leaving a hole in the space it used to occupy.

deep down, the rational part of simon knows that it's you, of course it is, but you wanted nothing to do with him right now. he knew he had to fix things, he would never get over the hollow feeling in his chest if he didn't. that's why he was currently standing at the edge of the runway in the middle of the night, watching the ramp of the helo lower to reveal you, gaz, and the captain.

you looked shattered, like you hadn't slept for days – which was probably true – and he was suddenly overcome with the urge to gather you into his arms and not let go. he wondered if the remnants of dried blood that were visible on your hands and face were yours.

he felt his heart rate pick up as you made your way closer to him, his icy stare softening when he sees how you drag your feet across the tarmac.

when you were close enough, he reached his hand out to grasp your arm, opening his mouth to speak, but he never makes contact.

you sidestep him, and he feels his heart break in his chest. any words he was planning on saying die on his tongue as he turns to watch you slip through the doors without a hint of acknowledgement to him.

price gives him a rough pat on the shoulder as he and gaz pass by. "fix it, simon." he murmurs, before disappearing through the doors as well, leaving him alone outside the building.

he will fix it – he'd do whatever it takes because simon doesn't just need you, he's come to the alarming conclusion that he loves you – he just has no idea how.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @ghostslittlegf , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna ,

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if your name is crossed out, i can't tag you for whatever reason, sorry! ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

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rookie98writes · 9 months

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Is That Understood?

Part of the ANBU Series Prev → Next

Relationship: Hatake Kakashi x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Warnings: smut, dubcon, power imbalance, power abuse, degradation, rough sex, rough oral sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie, praise kink, cum eating, multiple orgasms, POV reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: After your first mission with Team Ro, you think you did well. Your captain has another opinion.

AO3 Link

Even by ANBU standards, this mission was a lot.

Your team had already been out here more than twice the expected two-week timeframe, trapped in a game of cat-and-mouse with your target and his protection detail. A few wrong turns and misunderstood tracks had set the team back over a day. The elements themselves seemed to be against you; the harsh winds and stinging rain of the miserable region ruining a good portion of the team’s supplies and morale.

When you finally caught up to your target, the enemy outnumbered you nearly three to one. But like so many before them, they made the mistake of underestimating your captain.

Kakashi Hatake had been a member of the ANBU for nearly a decade—a feat that was practically unheard of. You heard that he’d joined at a young age at the request of the Fourth Hokage, and had been named Captain in practically no time. It was easy to see why. Kakashi was an excellent captain and expert strategist, and he had a reputation far and wide for his ruthlessness toward his enemies. Just a few hours ago, when your team found the target, the enemy had recognized your captain and referred to him as Cold-blooded Kakashi.

You considered that moniker as you smoothed out your bedroll for another night on the rough forest floor, wondering how accurate it really was. It was true that Kakashi wasn't a big talker, but that was the case with most of the shinobi in the ANBU. Still, he was a strange combination of protective and standoffish, known to take on the burden of a fight and insist his subordinates keep their distance. Whether it was for your own safety or just so you would stay out of his way, you supposed you should be grateful regardless.

Honestly, it was thanks to Kakashi’s quick thinking that the whole team emerged from this fight not only victorious but with minor injuries. You had just enough medical supplies to treat the wounds of your two teammates while your captain scoured the perimeter of the crude camp where you would spend the last night outside the village. It would be a long trek back tomorrow, but within less than 24 hours, you would be home for the first time in over a month.

You were just lying down when Kakashi returned. “Status?”

“They’ll still need to be checked out at the hospital when we get home,” you answered, “but they’ll be fine for the rest of the trip.”

“Good. I'll have them take first watch. You rest and recover your chakra. I'll wake you when it’s your shift.”

“Yes Captain.”

He disappeared as quickly as he'd shown up. As you laid down, you felt a sense of unease rise in your stomach at your captain’s tone. You were hoping he would offer you some kind of encouragement or praise after the long mission and your ability to heal your teammates with only the tools at hand. But maybe he was still angry with you for the vulnerable position you'd been in earlier.

In a foolish attempt to prove yourself, you’d rushed in despite Kakashi’s warning to stay back. An enemy's katana had nearly cut right through your neck, and you’d have been toast if not for Kakashi blocking the weapon and suffering a deep wound on the shoulder. A wound he hadn't even let you examine, never mind heal. His hard stare when you thanked him for saving you kept you from saying much more.

You had been so excited to serve on team Ro, hoping that working with Kakashi would earn you more recognition within the ANBU. At this point, it seemed more likely that you’d be demoted.

Oh well, you sighed and closed your eyes, feeling your waning adrenaline rush finally give way to exhaustion. We still have the journey home tomorrow. I'll make sure I make a good impression.

⁂

“Y/N.”

Your eyes shot open, heart racing as you tried to prepare for danger. When your vision adjusted to the minimal light, you saw Kakashi crouched beside you; his porcelain mask discarded, his arms crossed and his face stern.

“Right, my shift…” you muttered, lifting yourself up on one elbow.

Kakashi stopped you with his hand on your shoulder, his grip as strong as iron. “No. Not yet.”

“Then what—”

“There’s something I need you to do.”

Your palms started to sweat under his sharp gaze. He clearly expected you to understand, but you were lost. If it wasn't time for you to go on guard, what did he want?

The blood on his shoulder caught your eye, flooding you with both relief and embarrassment. You should have taken care of his injury before going to sleep, regardless of your low chakra, and regardless of his insistence that you left it alone. It was your job as the team’s medic to heal your teammates, and leaving your captain with a gash like that was unforgivable.

Channeling your healing chakra to gather in your hands, you started to sit upright, thinking he wanted you to get right to work. But to your mounting confusion, he only held you back with more force.

“No, Y/N,” he barked, his eyebrow angled sharply over his dark eye. “Did I tell you to do that?”

“Uh, no, but—”

“You do know that I wouldn't even have that wound if you were better at following directions, right?” he chastised you. “Your insubordination is a detriment to the entire team. Next time it could be fatal.”

Much as you’d been expecting a lecture, your face reddened with embarrassment at his admonition. Silence was easier to handle than this.

“I can't let your behavior continue,” he announced. “We’re going to work on your obedience.”

“Obedience?” you echoed.

“In the field, a squad captain has absolute authority, and squad members are expected to follow without question. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Show me.” Abruptly, he put his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to stand at his full height, looming over you. “Sit up on your knees.”

“Wh…what?”

“Don't you know an order when you hear one?” he snapped. “On. Your. Knees.”

You quickly got into position, keeping your eyes on his face to be ready for his next instruction. But this position was beyond distracting. You’d been harboring a crush on the genius captain for a while, and this suggestive placement was making your heart race.

Get a grip, you shouted in your mind, fighting the urge to rub your thighs together. But your mind went blank as his hands went to the fastening of his pants.

His gloved hands moved quickly; one hand flicking open the button as the other reached inside. You felt your brain stutter as he pulled out his cock; pale and thick with veins running from the blunt tip down to the base. The tip was shiny with a small drop of precum beading at the slit. You knew your eyes were as wide as saucers, but you couldn't look away, watching as his hand wrapped around the length and he started stroking himself.

“Now open your mouth. And stick out your tongue.”

You were so mesmerized, you barely registered his low voice. “H-huh?”

“How stupid can you be?” he snarled. “You're supposed to be showing me that you can follow directions. Don't tell me this is the best you can do?”

His harsh tone finally got through to you. You looked up at his face, your clit throbbing at how closely his onyx eye watched you. With that image, the order wasn't even necessary. Your jaw dropped open of its own accord, mouth watering as your tongue pushed out beyond your lower lip.

If it weren't for that mask on the lower half of his face, you were sure you’d be staring at a wide grin.

“That’s better.”

Kakashi took a small step forward, bringing his body close enough that he could rest his cockhead on your pink tongue. He let out a quiet, gravelly moan and pumped himself faster, rubbing the smooth skin of his tip over your tongue.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, the expletive making your core clench around nothing. The taste of his salty skin and precum caused you to drool. You stuck out your tongue a little more and bobbed your head forward, ready to wrap your lips around his shaft, but he buried his free hand in your hair and held you back by your roots.

“Don't act without instruction from your commander,” he barked, twisting your hair around his fingers to maneuver you and force eye contact. “Greedy slut, you want my cock that badly?”

You nodded as best you could, the tip of your tongue gliding back and forth over the ridge of his cockhead.

“I want you to show me that you can be a good girl and follow directions,” he said. “Then I’ll let you suck it.”

Kakashi loosened his grip on your hair and released himself, letting the stiff appendage bob freely in front of your face. “First, kiss the tip.”

It took every ounce of your willpower to resist taking as much of him in your mouth as you could handle. But as badly as you wanted him, you wanted his approval more.

You puckered your lips and kissed him, letting your lips roll over his skin to engulf half of his head. You held still for a few seconds before releasing him with an audible smooch, then looked up at him with wide eyes for your next instruction.

“Again.”

He had you repeat the kiss twice before changing gears, directing you to kiss down the underside of his cock, then lick him from balls from tip.

“Fuck, that tongue,” he groaned, letting his eye roll and his head fall back. “Hmmm, I think I finally found what you’re good for.”

You blushed, embarrassed by how wet his comments were making you. Lust clouded your brain and everything else melted away. He sounded so beautiful, you wanted to listen to him and look at him forever. You didn’t even notice how distracted you’d gotten from your task until Kakashi spoke.

“Don't stop,” he ordered, his hand on the back of your skull pulling your face into his crotch. “Not now, when you’re finally doing something right.”

You went back to work with twice the enthusiasm, worshiping Kakashi’s dick with your lips and tongue—kissing, tasting, and licking every inch and working him up until he was twitching against your cheek at the lightest kitten lick. Suddenly, he held you back with a quiet whimper, his body rigid. You looked up at him, seeing his eyes screwed shut and his jaw set tight. His cock was red and shiny, precum leaking from the engorged head.

He peeled his eye open and pinched the base of his dick, abruptly slapping it down on your right cheek. When he pulled away, a thick glob of precum stuck to your skin and trailed back to his cock.

“Dirty whore,” he exhaled. “You’re just desperate for me, aren't you?”

Kakashi pressed his thumb into the puddle on your face, smearing his fluids down across your skin until his thumb rested on your lower lip. “Eat it.”

You eagerly took his thumb into your mouth and sucked, your cheeks hollowing as you ran your tongue all over his rough skin.

“You’re such a filthy cumslut. I bet you want me to cum right in your mouth.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed around him, nodding and blinking up at him.

With another curse uttered under his breath, Kakashi tugged you back and moved his free hand to grip his cock. He tilted your head to look up at him, then slapped his dick back into your face.

“If you suck it well enough, maybe I will.”

Your body shivered, so eager for him that you couldn't even think straight. Your lust had you paralyzed. It was almost like you needed to take the time to really memorize this moment; unable to process that your most shameful fantasies were actually coming true.

“Aww, are you waiting for an order?” he condescendingly asked, tilting his head to the side. “Looks like you can be taught after all.”

He dragged your head back, putting just enough room between you for his cock to point at you like a predator, locked on its prey. “Alright,” he sneered. “Suck my cock, you little whore.”

Finally.

You opened your mouth wide and guided him in with your tongue. Kakashi hissed and used his grip on your hair to pull you in closer, forcing more and more of his length into your mouth. You whined around him as his tip already prodded at the back of your throat, teasing your gag reflex while you still had inches to go.

“Fucking shit—” he hissed, pinching his eye closed. “That feels so fucking good.”

His other hand joined the first in your hair, giving him complete control as he started thrusting against your mouth. You swallowed around him, tightening the muscles of your throat as he tugged you back and forth like a doll. Saliva bubbled in the corners of your mouth, drooling down your chin.

“Messy little cocksleeve.”

Kakashi grabbed your face with both hands, manipulating you back and forth as he roughly fucked your mouth. Curses flew from his covered mouth, muffled by his mask but still reaching your ears. He slowed his pace and looked down at you, still with that patronizing gleam in his eye.

“Show me your tits.”

You pulled the hem of your shirt up, bundling it and your lightweight bra under your chin. Without the support of your clothes, your breasts swung freely, enthralling your typically-aloof captain.

“Look at you. You’re such a slut for me.”

He moved one of his hands from your head down to your breast, bending his back to reach lower and experimentally pinch your hardened nipple. The movement forced his cock further down your throat, making you choke. But it felt so good, you couldn’t help but arch your back to give him easier access, earning you a haughty chuckle. His callused fingers toyed with your nipple until you were nearly shaking. Then he moved to the other, sharply smacking your breast before pinching your nipple tightly.

You wanted him to touch every part of you; to use those fingers over every inch of your skin. As your tongue lapped at the underside of his cock, you couldn't help but rock your hips in search of just a little relief, praying you would find out what those fingers would feel like inside of you.

Kakashi stopped playing with your breasts, opting instead to regain his complete control over your head. With both hands molded to the back of your skull, he pulled you further forward, not even letting you take a breath to prepare.

“Come on, Y/N. Take the whole thing.”

Tears stung the corners of your eyes as he forced you just that last centimeter closer, suffocating you with his cock down your throat and your nose in his hair.

“Stay right there,” he exhaled, sounding like the personified version of lust. “Learn your place.”

Looking directly into his eye, you hummed your assent—a muffled song to the tune of Yes, Captain. You could see his chest rise and fall as he steadied his breathing. His eye roamed all over you, taking in the lewd scene with a smirk.

“Do you like being my fuck toy?”

Another hum. Yes, Captain.

“You like serving me? Warming my cock in your throat?”

Yes, Captain.

“Wanna give me that slutty cunt?”

YES, CA—

He abruptly pulled himself out of your mouth, leaving you gasping for breath; choking on your built-up saliva and his gooey precum. The tears were fresh in your eyes as you did your best to recover, only thinking of how to be ready for his next instruction.

With a nod his head, he gestured to your bedroll. “Take off your pants and get on all fours.”

Your fingers were clumsy as they worked at your clothes, wanting to follow his order as quickly and efficiently as possible. His pants dropped to the ground and he kicked them off, impatience nearly visible under his skin. As you positioned yourself on the bedroll, you regretted that you wouldn’t be able to look at him anymore. But when he knelt behind you—the heat of him pressed against your inner thigh—regret was the last thing on your mind.

With one of his hands gripping your thigh to hold you still, Kakashi ran the index finger of his other hand along your dripping folds.

“Pretty…”

The compliment was barely a whisper, probably not meant for your ears at all. But that one single word made you preen like a schoolgirl. You arched your back to present for him further, and you were sure you heard him chuckle.

“Get ready,” he exhaled, removing his finger and replacing it with the head of his cock. “Gonna fuck you like the whore you are.”

Kakashi snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you and stretching you wider and fuller with that one thrust than you’d ever felt before.

“AHH—”

His free hand flew up to cover your mouth, cutting off the sound. You whimpered as his body weight pushed down on you, his mouth right by your ear. “Quiet, Y/N,” he whispered, “or the others will hear you.”

You nodded, biting your tongue as Kakashi pulled his hips back just to pound into you again. He kept his hand over your mouth and you could smell your wetness that was still sticky on his fingers.

“Or maybe you want that,” Kakashi challenged you in a hushed tone, beginning to fuck you in earnest. “You want them to know your captain is balls deep in your wet little cunt?”

The idea made you shiver as you pictured what you must look like right now; messy hair, tear-stained cheeks, mouth covered by Kakashi’s gloved hand. Eyes rolling back in your head, lids fluttering with every one of his deep thrusts.

“No, no you'll be quiet for me,” he smirked. “You understand how important it is to follow your captain’s orders now, don't you?”

Your fingers dug into the ground below you, threatening to tear through the material of your bedroll. Horrifically lewd sounds continued to try and work their way past his hand. You weren’t trying to test him, but you couldn’t fight it; not when his formidable dick was dragging so perfectly along all your most sensitive spots.

You tried your best to be silent, but you hardly saw the point between the sounds of your pussy squelching with his thrusts, his hips smacking into your ass, his breathing short and broken in your ear.

“Mmmm you’ll do whatever your captain tells you, won't you? So eager to please me; it’s pathetic.”

You threw your hips back into him, meeting his thrusts with messy, slippery contact. Your hot arousal was coating your inner thighs, your body prepared with a seemingly endless supply to allow your captain to fuck you for as long as he wanted.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he panted, his hips stuttering. “That's right, you're doing so well now, taking my whole cock every single time. That's my good girl. I knew you could follow orders.”

Those praises uttered in his low, thunderous voice had you trembling. You couldn’t believe how quickly he’d gotten you so close to finishing, but the pressure below your navel was so high that you were whimpering into his hand.

“If you cum on my cock, you’re mine,” he grunted. “Only mine. Is that understood?”

“Nmhmm!” You shook your head as your walls fluttered around him, suddenly clutching down and holding him in place as your body convulsed. If not for his hand over your mouth, you were sure you would have screamed out his name paired with every curse you knew, and maybe a few new ones because there simply weren’t enough to carry you through this incredible pleasure.

“Fuck!” Kakashi whined. “Fuck that feels so good.” He released your mouth just as you were coming down from your orgasm, only to reach between your legs and fiercely rub your clit. “Do it again,” he growled. “Cum again. Right now.”

Your body complied automatically. Euphoria again sparked through your body and a guttural sob tore its way out of your mouth. You hadn’t completely recovered, yet here you were: inner muscles squeezing down on his cock which continued to bully past your defenses, despite your sensitivity.

“Ohhh you’re gonna help your captain cum now, aren't you Y/N?” His fingers gripped your hips and yanked you back and forth desperately, “G-good—fuuucking girl.”

Kakashi slammed your ass into his hips, the tip of his cock bruising your insides in a frenzy before flooding you with hot, sticky cum. He kept your ass flush against him, his cock reaching further into your body than you thought possible. You tightened around him as he dumped every bit of his pent-up seed in your submissive cunt, unwilling to lose even a drop.

You felt him twitch with his last efforts to empty himself. A mixture of sweat and cum covered the backs of your legs, sticking the two of you together. You heard his heavy breathing in your ear, the weight of his chest on your back nearly causing you to crumble.

In one motion, he leaned away and pulled out of you, leaving you a shaking, trembling mess. You couldn’t even catch yourself when your arm gave out and sent you dropping to the ground, legs sprawled out flat behind you.

You heard Kakashi moving around behind you: the swishing of his clothes as he got dressed and the sound of his footsteps.

“So, um…clean yourself up,” he stammered. “Then, uh, take the northern perimeter. For the…for patrol.”

You were sure he had left long before you had the strength to smile and sigh, “Yes…Captain.”

⁂

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…

You hurried down the hall to the Hokage’s office, heart pounding with every step. When your fellow ANBU shinobi gave you the message that Lord Third was summoning you right away, you felt your stomach drop. Did one of your teammates know what happened in the woods? Kakashi hadn't said a word to you the entire trip back. How much trouble were you in?

What’s the punishment for getting fucked by your captain, anyways?

Another ANBU met you at the door and announced your arrival to the Sandaime, who called for you to enter. You forced your legs not to shake as you stepped into the office.

Lord Hiruzen sat behind his desk, with Kakashi standing beside him. Kakashi wore his porcelain mask over his face, and he stood as still as a statue while the Hokage spoke.

“I’ve reviewed the team’s report on your last mission,” he began. “It turned out to be quite the challenge, wouldn’t you say?”

Which part, the assassination, or the fucking?

“Our team faced a number of challenges,” you agreed, “but we were able to eliminate the target and complete the mission.”

“Yes, a job well done.” The Hokage nodded with a smile. “According to your captain's evaluation, I would like to formally assign you to team Ro, permanently.”

Against your better judgment, you looked at Kakashi. He remained stoic as ever, and you would have given anything to see his face.

“Really?”

“According to this report, you did a wonderful job tending to your team,” Lord Third continued. “Team Ro has been short a member for a while now, and I think you will be the perfect fit.”

“T-thank you, Lord Hokage.”

“Now, both of you go home and get some well-deserved rest. I’m sure I’ll have another assignment for the team soon enough.”

“Yes sir.”

Sufficiently dismissed, you turned and walked out of the office, Kakashi’s nearly silent footsteps behind you.

“Congratulations,” Kakashi stoically offered as you neared the end of the hall.

You waited until you were sure you were out of earshot before you stopped dead in your tracks, turning and blocking Kakashi’s path with your body. You reached out and lifted the hound mask from his face, then leaned closer, enjoying the surprise behind his eye and the flush of his cheeks.

“All thanks to you, Captain.”

► masterlist

#the man the myth the menace #kakashi x reader smut #anbu kakashi #tw dubcon #tw power imbalance #kakashi smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi x you smut #anbu kakashi smut #hatake kakashi x reader #kakashi imagine #rookie98writes #rookie wrote

594 notes · View notes

soap-ify · 4 months

Text

nsfw below , mdni.

YOU'RE AN ANGEL, I'M A DOG | simon 'ghost' riley x reader.

02 — you believe me like a god, i destroy you like i am.

chapter summary — after chaos broke out during your work, simon attempts to comfort you in his own way.

tags / cw — angst, reader almost has a panic attack, reactions from bad anxiety, reader is yelled at, verbal assault, violence (simon beats someone up), tending to wounds i don't know how that thing works, just reader and simon being awkward, simon is very self aware, smut 18+, outercourse, grinding through clothes, p in v. [3.8k words]

☆ reader written with afab anatomy but gender neutral terms.

masterlist | ao3 | prev | next

If you had the choice to disappear into the void, you would.

The cafe was quite crowded, which was a good thing for the place but not so welcoming for you. The customers kept on rushing in, rambling out orders while you hastily gave them their stuff while trying your best to not mess anything up. You knew the others were working just as much as you, and you didn’t want to seem selfish by thinking that you were having it the worst out there.

Though your brain truly was horribly overwhelmed with the amount of faces in this small cafe. The heat made your head throb, causing you to rub your hands over your face and take a few deep breaths, afraid that you’d break down in front of everyone, feeling your palms getting clammy. It was so hard to keep your voice controlled and polite while talking to the others, making sure that it didn’t crack.

You despised busy days.

Simon was sitting alone at the far edge seat inside the cafe, a cup of bitter black coffee on the table while his brown eyes blankly stared at you, observing your struggles that you seemingly masked quite well in front of others, but well, not for him.

The rest of the taskforce wasn’t here today since it wasn’t a weekend, and normally Simon himself would have never willingly come over at a crowded place like this. But he was feeling too restless in his apartment. Maybe he just needed fresh air. His mind kept on making dumb excuses, even though he was fully aware that he just wished to see you.

Plus it was always somewhat comforting knowing that he would keep you safe.

You were aware of him, aware of his eyes on you and words couldn’t describe how grateful you were. It was as if his familiar presence was the only thing keeping you sane during this shift, knowing that once this was over, you could talk to him if he’d let you.

You had just given the person standing in the front of the queue their coffee, watching them leave before the other person came at the front — some guy who was probably around your age, looking at you with a wolfish grin plastered on his lips that sent uncomfortable shivers down your spine.

“What would you like, sir?” You asked politely, fumbling with the fabric of your apron behind the counter, thankfully hidden from everyone’s sight. Inhale, exhale.

“A large cup of espresso, sugar.” That man replied, the pet name causing you to internally grimace. Fucking disgusting.

You silently nodded and went back to go over to the coffee machine, only to find out that one of the ingredients had run out. Today truly was your unlucky day.

A wave of panic shot over you as you walked over to the counter once more, facing that man. “I-I am sorry, sir… It seems like the espresso can’t be made due to the shortage of some stuff…” You were unable to hold in the little stammer in your words this time, your breath hitching at the way some anger began making its way over to that man’s face, his mood taking a huge swing. Volatile.

It scared, no, terrified you to see someone angry over something you said. It reminded you of your own parents, reminded you of things you no longer had wished to recall at this point.

“Fuck you mean shortage? What kind of cafe is this?!” The man snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at you, his seething rage causing you to freeze on your spot. Fuck, everyone was looking. You hated this — hated the way you flinched at his loud voice, hated the way everyone was staring at you, silence taking over the cafe before soft murmurs could be heard here and there. Gossiping about this.

As if this was just a joke to them, as if all of this was normal.

“I-I understand your anger, sir… But—” Your words were cut off by his impatient slam on the counter. Your eyes widened and everything for a second seemed too silent, too unbearable. Don’t panic, don’t panic…

“You useless slag. Why don’t you just quit this job and—”

“Fucking get off her, you bastard.” A large hand grabbed the strange man’s collar and shoved him out of your sight, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Simon. You had almost forgotten that he was here too. Another wave of humiliation and helplessness hit you as you just stood there, feeling like a weak idiot.

You didn’t even have to speak, not that you were going to, before Simon pulled the man back up on his feet. “You. Come with me.” He growled and dragged the man out of the cafe, leaving behind an unsettling thick layer of silence caused by the commotion. Over a fucking coffee.

Everyone saw it. Everyone saw you getting yelled at. Everyone saw you being fucking useless.

You soon realised that tears had begun blurring your vision, causing you to hastily undo your apron and scurry off into the staff room.

Simon had that horrendous man thrown into an eerily quiet alley with no one in sight except them both.

“Who do you think you’re messing with?” He growled under his breath, fingers curled up into fists, knuckles a bit bruised and bleeding after having repeatedly punched the man on his face, resulting in a broken nose and some broken teeth. Honestly deserved worse.

Simon didn’t know why he was so angry. He just hated seeing you already on the edge before this man just came in and messed everything up. How dare he yell at you? Scumbag. Simon wanted to spit at him and throw him in the bin like the fucking garbage he was, but he knew that someone could always walk by even in an isolated alley like this and he definitely didn’t want unnecessary attention.

Adrenaline was coursing through Simon’s veins and he could hear the blood rushing into his ears. He looked scary above the man, brown eyes wide and deadly. The fact that his face was covered in that balaclava made him look all the more inhuman.

Thank goodness you weren’t here to witness this.

In Simon’s mind, this was who he really was. Roughened up and turned into this rageful mess after years of brutal training and even worse missions. Trained like a fucking dog. Maybe that was what he was. A dog. Not a human, just a pathetic dirty thing who only knew the worst, who only knew the wrongs.

He was his own poison, killing himself on his own.

With one last kick on the stomach, Simon left the man to weep alone in the alley. He didn’t have to deal with someone like that anymore, all he could think was of you and how you probably were feeling right now.

Your manager had luckily let you end your shift early today, albeit still having scolded you for creating such a ruckus inside the cafe. For ruining a nice busy day. It made your throat tighten, making you feel as if everyone was blaming you for this. Maybe it really was your fault.

You silently stood outside the cafe, staring down at your hands that were clasped together, your fingers visibly trembling. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to clear the fog in your head. Your moment of silence was broken by the familiar sound of soft footsteps nearing you.

Yes, you had memorised his footsteps. You knew everyone’s, actually. And his were your favourite — oddly soft and quiet, juxtaposing to what you initially expected from someone of his size. He was probably very skilled in sneaking up behind the people.

Simon silently stood besides you, not uttering a word. For a whole minute, it was just silence between you, your eyes nervously darting around before landing on his hands that were uncharacteristically not covered in his usual gloves that he wore all the time except for when you both were all alone.

And that’s when you noticed it, his bleeding knuckles.

“Simon…” You breathed out in panic, voice laced with concern as your eyes repeatedly shot back and forth between his face and his hands. What the fuck happened?

“Didn’t want my gloves getting dirty.” He mused gruffly, his eyes slowly looked down at you, causing you to knit your brows even more.

“He’s not gonna bother you again, love. No one is.” He finally mumbled after a few seconds, one hand of his reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. He really wasn’t bothered by the mild cuts on his knuckles. In fact, he really didn’t care. He wasn’t even thinking of bandaging it.

“Let’s go to my place.” You urged him, lips a bit pouty while worry was etched over your face.

He couldn’t help but find you adorable.

Once you both reached your apartment, you were quick to push him onto the couch and hastily grab a first aid kit, scurrying over to sit beside him on the couch.

“Show me your hands.” You mumbled softly, causing him to reluctantly let your gentle hands hold his callused, larger hands. What a contrast. He felt guilty for making you hold such a dirty, damaged thing.

You were quick to clean up his hands, carefully touching the cuts with the cotton pads. You didn’t even want to imagine what Simon was capable of. Your eyes scanned his hands carefully, admiring every scar on his skin.

You never really thought much of it. Sure you knew that he was in the military, always doing some sort of highly dangerous work. But you never really saw that side of his — scary one. So it was fairly easy to forget his real strength until moments like these came to remind you. Though you never really disliked him for it.

You don’t think you could ever dislike him. He was just… everything.

Ever since you both have come to your place, all you could think about was how he stood up for you. You didn’t like pity, but the fact that someone cared, especially if that someone was Simon, made you feel all the more warmer aside.

He did care for you, right? Were you too fond of him? Too in awe of him?

You dabbed some antiseptic on the cuts before applying some cute panda bandaids on his knuckles. He stared at them questionably, brows furrowed though an amused scoff soon escaped his lips behind the mask. “You don’t own normal bandaids?”

“These are normal!” You grumbled, blood rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Just kiddin’... They are cute like you.”

You got up to put the kit away and wash your hands before coming back to sit besides him, pulling your knees to your chest, silence filling the room up once more.

Simon could see how you were still shaken up, the frown etched on your face accentuating the storm of thoughts raging inside your head. It made his heart ache, though he didn’t move a muscle at all, silently staring at you from the corner of his.

He didn’t know how to comfort you at all.

All he knew was how to handle guns and beat up people. All he knew was how to ignite a sense of terror within people.

Simon didn’t want to think of himself as a monster, the word alone making him think of no one other than his father. He wasn’t that man, he wasn’t.

He sighed behind his balaclava after a while and shuffled a bit closer to you on the couch, his arm brushing against yours.

Your body tensed up for a second, and he was just about to back away once he sensed it before you eventually relaxed and leaned into him, a trembling sigh escaping your lips. He was warm, and you couldn’t help but think of him as a blanket that was shielding you from the world. A protector. Though he really wasn’t that, right? What even was he to you?

You didn’t want to think of that right now, not when your brain was already so exhausted after everything that happened today, the little bit of confidence you had already shattered.

Simon’s hand slowly snaked behind your back, drawing lazy discreet circles on your waist through the fabric of your shirt. You could make out some of them — a circle, then a star, then some random incomprehensible shape that he probably just made up on the spot and then a star again. This act of his made you smile a bit, your eyes fluttering up to look at him, only to find him looking back at you.

You had caught him staring at you multiple times before, but this moment felt so different — more cozy and intimate. It made your heart skip a beat, your brain feeling all foggy due to the sudden wave of happiness shooting within you.

Simon probably noticed the change in the air too since his hand was quick to pull back and settle on his lap, fingers drumming on his thigh, pretending as if nothing happened. It left you confused, disappointed even, but more so at yourself then at him. Why were you making every little interaction with him such a big deal? He didn’t like you the way you liked him.

Simon was silent for a while, multiple thoughts going on within his head. His large hand slowly drifted towards you once more, this time towards your thigh, fingers absent-mindedly caressing you. Well, he could comfort you in the way he knew of.

Your body was quick to react to his touch, your breath hitching while you were simultaneously a bit embarrassed of how you were so used to his touch, used to the way his caresses would make you squirm. You could already pick up on his intention behind this, to somehow get your mind off whatever happened in your job today.

“C’mere, love…”

His callused hands pulled you onto his lips with ease, holding onto your hips, your face facing his, eyes meeting. You swear you could feel the world slowing down every time your eyes would meet his, his stare alone coaxing you to lean into him, your head nuzzling into the crook of his neck while your fingers curled up into the fabric of the large grey hoodie he was wearing.

“I’ll take care of you. I promise.” His gruff voice came out as a whisper, making your heart swell yet ache at the same time. Yes, please take care of me, these words repeated over and over in your head while you sheepishly nodded against his neck.

His hands were quick to work, not letting you do a single thing, lifting your hips up gently as he slid down your pants, carefully removing them all the way down, letting it drop to the ground. Your hands reached down in attempted to undo his pants, though he just lightly smacked your hands away and shook his head, huffing softly as he unbuckled the belt and unzipped his pants on his own, tugging them alongside his boxers just a bit so his cock was free from the restraints, already semi-hard.

Your mouth watered at the familiar sight that always made you all heated up and blustered, blood rushing to your cheeks while your eyes stared down at his cock, admiring the veins that adorned it. It was just perfect — girthy and uncut.

“Simon…” A meek whine left your lips while your eyes literally pleaded him to do something, anything to just somehow make your mind empty, to let you forget about everything, to let you pretend that everything was fine. Pretend that you were with him.

His cock twitched at the noise you made, one hand of his tight gripping your hip in position while his other hand gently grabbed the base of his cock, beginning to rub the head against your clothed cunt, watching the way a wet patch was forming on your panties.

“D-Don’t tease me like this!” You grumbled, nibbling on your bottom lip as you felt the swollen head of his now hardened up cock bumping against your clothed clit, making your hips bucking towards him, desperate for more.

“Don’t nibble your lip like that, love. You’re gonna bruise it.” He breathed out, his eyes falling onto your lips that looked so kissable, making him clench his jaw behind that balaclava of his. No, he couldn’t kiss you.

He continued to play with you like this, rubbing and smearing his precum on your panties, continuing to grind against your clothed cunt, ruining this pair of panties. You mentally noted that you should buy some new ones this weekend.

It wasn’t until a few moments later that you started to feel the familiar tight knots building in your abdomen, a soft whimper leaving your lips while your fingers tightened around the fabric of his hoodie, desperately grinding back against his clock. “P-Please, please, Si… So close, pl—”

He stopped, gently pushing you slightly backwards on his lap so his cock was no longer touching you. A frustrated sob left your lips as you glared at him in confusion, eyes all glossy and he couldn’t help but grin behind his mask, noticing how adorable you looked like this. He already knew that he had successfully distracted you from your thoughts. He knew this wasn’t the ideal way. Hell, he should have actually cuddled with you and shared some comforting words. But fuck, he can’t. He shouldn’t. He is already being selfish enough with this whole thing you two have going on, and he definitely doesn’t want to risk progressing into something more.

He was a fucking asshole, he knew it. He knew of how he didn’t deserve you, and you definitely didn’t deserve a broken, fucked up in the head man like him. You deserved better.

But you two were already so far into this, weren’t you?

“Ssh, don’t worry. Gonna make you cum properly.” He assured you, gently pulling you into him once more, his fingers pushing your panties aside and giving your throbbing clit a few sweet rubs before positioning the head of his twitching cock in front of your entrance, looking at you while you were looking down at the spot your bodies were about to be connected at, literally swooning.

“Please…” You pleaded, feeling his cock gently smear your slick all over your folds before beginning to gently push into your tightness, a quiet grunt leaving his lips at the way you clenched around you, still struggling to fully get used to the way his girth would stretch you out. Your head fell onto his shoulder, panting softly as you tried to relax, feeling him slide into you slowly, inch by inch until he was fully snug inside your tight cunt, the cloth of your panties gently grazing against the side of his shaft.

“Takin’ me so well, aren’t ya? Always do. That pretty cunt of yours is so perfect.” He praised hoarsely into your ears, his affectionate words driving you over the edge, feeling him begin to lazily fuck his cock in and out of your fluttering cunt, hitting the spongy spots inside you with ease, as if having them all memorised within his head. Shaky moans would leave your lips at the blissful feeling, eyes rolling back into your head once you felt the head of his cock slam against your cervix, him making sure that it wasn’t painful at all. His hand massaged your hip gently, fondling the flesh and gently guiding you to grind against him while his other hand slid in between your connected bodies, caressing the moist skin of your thigh before moving in between to lightly rub your clit, feeling you clenching around him tightly.

You felt fuzzy, leaning into him fully to let his warmth relax you, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against you while your eyes fluttered shut, head fully nuzzled into his neck. You felt the knots building up again, even stronger this time, leaving you with no time to warn him before your orgasm washed over you hard, your walls spasming around him while a muffled moan left your lips, his fingers rubbing your clit just heightening up your sensitivity. He breathed heavily, his eyes filled with adoration at the way you cummed around his cock, his shaft having a white ring around him, filling his heart with a sickeningly proud feeling at the realisation that only he was capable of making you cum so hard, of making you get rid of all those thoughts.

His own orgasm flooded within him soon after, balls tightening up as he pulled his cock out of your cunt and gave it a few pumps, spraying the thick strings of his cum all over your sweaty, trembling thighs.

Both of you were breathing heavily, tingles spreading through your skin that made you smile at how full of pleasure you felt right now, all floaty as you fully collapsed onto him, clinging onto his tight while his sticky cock rested against your inner thigh, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your lower back.

“Si… Thank you so much…” You sleepily babbled, your breathing getting calmer.

He wished that he could show you the stupid smile that was spread on his face right now.

“I am goin’ to go for deployment after two days.”

He randomly announced that night, causing you to freeze and look away from the movie you both were watching and towards him, eyes all wide. What the fuck? And here you were being happy that he had decided to stay with you tonight, having agreed to spend some time with you.

You were making it all up, all this happiness and whatever feelings and signals you thought you were getting from him. Deployment. God, you hated that word and the way it filled you with dread, the way it always left you all anxious during the weeks he’d be away, fighting god knows who, literally a mistake away from walking on a bridge from life to death.

“How long…?” You quietly asked, trying not to seem so fazed by his sudden words, fingers fiddling with your shirt while your eyes looked away.

“Dunno… I believe it won’t be longer than two weeks. Don’t worry, love.” He mumbled after a while, subtle warmth lingering in his voice as his hand reached to gently caress the back of your head, causing you to sigh softly and lean into him, frowning a bit.

“Okay… Stay safe, Si.”

You trust him. Of course you do.

Liar. Fucking liar. It had been three weeks, three weeks without any contact from him, or any news from him. He wasn’t on this mission with Kyle as far as you knew, so there was no point in asking him.

Was Simon safe? Was he wounded? Did he get captured? Did he get tired of you? Is he finally getting rid of you? Is he… abandoning you?

You tried to shake these thoughts off your mind, trying to remember that his job was a hard one. Still, you stupidly kept grabbing your phone, desperate for any notification or noise.

Only to be met with silence.

notes : thank you so much for the support on the previous chapter :( !! i feel truly grateful. also... feeling evil i love fucking stuff up for simon.

#simon. let's go to therapy together.#simon is struggling #like actually #my projection on reader is crazy on this one #yaaiad : masterlist #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #call of duty #rurufic

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kingtomura · 1 month

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Vitality | 2

Summary: You were always told heroes and villains had no place in your home. Not when there’s an increase in crime, not when there’s monsters on the loose in Hosu and certainly not when the man in your home raises a hand to you. All it takes is one impulsive decision to change your life forever. content: shigaraki tomura x female reader, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, reader has a quirk, graphic depictions of violence, past abuse, past sa, angst, pstd, eventual smut, found family LoV, mdni wc: 3.2k | prev | chapter 3 | m. list | read on ao3

There are tunnels under the bar. They wind and they twist and they are very easy to get lost in.

That’s the point, Shigaraki tells you when you ask about the arrangement the next day. It had been a struggle to keep up with Kurogiri as he led you to your new living quarters for the first time – now you were able to get away with asking him to teleport you there instead.

But you agree.

They should be confusing so no one can easily find where you sleep.

But not only are they confusing, they are dark, dusty and kind of spooky. Like an ancient vampire's lair or something silly like that. The rooms however, are not so creepy. They are oddly normal and have everything you need.

Your room contains a desk, bed and empty shelves — ready and waiting to be filled with books.

The sheets were neatly made and there was a small rug near your bed. You assume it's to break up the bland look of the concrete, but it's fine. For some reason it feels safer than what you've had before.

A bed, desk and a door with a lock. Yeah, much safer.

There isn’t much time to dwell on the interior design of your new room because a knock at your door shakes you from your thoughts.

It’s a little late at night for a visitor, but you push past the feeling, spouting a firm come in and waiting on the guest to make themselves known.

You have to will your face to stay neutral as Tomura Shigaraki walks into your room, absently closing the door behind him. He’s wearing the hand-mask, but you can still make out the carmine red of his eyes in the dim lighting of your room.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he starts, voice sounding anything but apologetic, “but there are a few things I need to know.”

You watch as he stands by the door, hands in his pockets as he goes on, wasting no time questioning you. And you should answer him, especially if you are going to be staying here with them, but your mind cannot process whatever it is he’s saying.

Everything around you seemed to come to a stop as your eyes and focus pinpointed on the closed door behind him. The feeling of being shut in with another person, another man, makes your throat feel dry and your hands shake.

Shigaraki is watching, waiting for an answer but you’re frozen — stuck as the walls suffocate your words.

He tilts his head, another question ready to be fired off, maybe to ask about your lack of response, but you beat him to it.

“Could you… open the door? Please.”

It catches him off guard, but his eyes never leave yours. “Why?”

There is no bite to the question, no malice. Just curious.

“I just don’t like when doors are closed.” You shrug, refusing to meet his gaze. Desperate to keep some of your diffidence inside, “makes me feel claustrophobic.”

Shigaraki hums, answer seemingly good enough for him as he turns back to open your door, wide enough that you feel comfortable, but still enough to give you privacy. You feel like you can breathe again.

“Like I was saying,” he picks up again, not missing a beat and pulling out your desk chair to take a seat. “I need a little more information. You say that you stumbled upon Giran, but how? What were you doing before?”

There’s an odd feeling in your chest. One of solid dread that weighed more than a thousand pounds. It made your eyes water and your chest tight, but you willed it all away. You would not break down here in front of a man you knew next to nothing about.

You clench your fists and meet his eyes, there was a decision to be made right now. If this place were to house you then you must do what you could to be honest. Not completely, but enough.

“I… hurt someone. And I ran away before anyone could find me.”

“And who was the unlucky fellow?” His words are light and dripping with a sarcasm that made you feel like you were walking on eggshells.

“It was,” you stall, pondering if giving him the information would backfire. You decide that it is not something you should hide. There was no erasing the past. “My father.”

There’s a chill that passes through your body as the words leave your lips. The sticky sweet falsehood of the name makes you nauseous. That man is not your father, but it is all you know him as — and who were you to challenge that? Even without his presence.

Tomura says nothing for a while, drowning the room in a still quiet so thick you almost think he hadn’t heard you.

“Is he dead?” He asks, raspy voice finally breaking through the quiet.

“What?” You ask, confusion lining your features.

“Did you kill him?”

You shake your head, and it feels like you're in the moment again — shattering glass, splash of blood and then silence. The memory of him laying out on the living room floor, blood beginning to pool under his head sends a shiver down your spine.

“I don't know.” And it's the truth, he could very well be dead, “and I couldn’t risk sticking around to find out. But I didn't mean to–”

“Can you defend yourself?” Shigaraki doesn't miss a beat, unphased by the possibility of you murdering your father and undeterred by your obvious incoming breakdown.

You look to the floor, eyes focused on the rug below your bed, its curving patterns and the difference of its color against the gray cement floor. “Why?”

“If he’s not dead, if he looks for you — are you able to fight if it comes down to it?”

You can’t. You know that you can’t. You’ve never been able to hold your own against him and it eats you alive every night. So, reluctantly, you shake your head. “No.”

Tomura watches you, it feels like he’s analyzing you with every passing second. He hums, taking your answer in and standing up. “Alright.”

“That’s it?” You question, thinking there would be more to his questions. You may have killed someone and he doesn’t seem to care. Just who was this guy?

Shigaraki turns back to you, feet stopping just before your door, “Oh, yeah. We’ll get you a phone in the morning. Business only. Also, there’s a meeting tomorrow around three. Try not to be late, I hate when people are tardy.”

You can only nod, watching as he turns away from you and leaves the room. Silence falls in his absence, a thick and loaded tension as you are left with your thoughts.

The idea of your father still being out there, alive and waiting for you makes you feel restless. Your mind races as you curl up under the sheets that were newly yours and pray sleep finds you sooner rather than later.

—-----------

The meeting is uneventful.

It was a basic introduction, while discussing the plans and next moves for the League of Villains.

All of it feels surreal. One day you’re home wondering if the hell you lived was all your life had in store for you, and the next day you’re free.

As free as one can be with a group of villains.

You notice a few things in your first week amongst this new group you’ve joined.

The first being that the league can be noisy.

It’s all you can think about as you take your place on a vacant barstool in front of the counter.

“Would you like something to drink?” Kurogiri wastes no time, glass already prepped and ready, with two cubes of ice waiting.

You shake your head, politely declining, “No, thank you. Alcohol’s not really my thing.”

“Understood.” The man responds, shadows flaring around his figure like whips, “we also have nonalcoholic drinks.”

You give him a short sure and he pours you a glass of fizzy, clear soda.

Shigaraki is a few seats down, nursing a glass of whiskey and reading the obituaries of a newspaper — easily ignoring the commotion behind you both.

It’s hard to tune out the noise, but you try. You’ve been caught up in your thoughts all day, in the idea of your future. There is no guarantee you will be safe amongst villains, but there is nowhere else for you to go. And then there is your father.

What really came of him? You’ve searched on the new phone Shigaraki gave you, but there are no news articles and no public meetings. If you really did kill him, if you really are free — just what does that mean for you?

“Bullshit!”

You turn back to the group playing a game of cards. Spinner is losing against Mr. Compress for what he claims is the third time in a row.

“C’mon Spinner, it's the rules! No, he’s cheating!” Twice and his two-toned persona calls out. The noise in the room was beginning to rise, bringing your anxiety with it. You can’t focus in here, but you don’t really know your way back to your room.

Someone slams their hand onto the table and the sound makes you jolt, spilling a bit of your drink onto the table.

You curse under your breath, grabbing a few napkins and cleaning the area. It’s a decent distraction and with it you try to calm your breathing down. Maybe getting lost in the depths of the hideout wouldn’t be so bad. At least no one would notice your absence.

But someone would.

“Hey, now,” Shigaraki starts, not taking his eyes off the newspaper in front of him. “Are you trying to give our location away? Lower your voices.”

And just like that, the tension in the room dissipates — taking your brain fog with it.

Your shoulders relax and the group is now being subjected to Mr. Compress and his never-ending magic tricks.

By the time night fell you were more than ready to retire to your room.

“Kurogiri,” you start, hoping to keep your voice low enough to not draw attention. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you help me to my room again? The tunnels have still got me beat.”

To your surprise, Shigaraki raises a hand to stop Kurogiri's response. “Ah, Kurogiri, she’ll never learn if you just do it for her every time. Let me.” He offers, tone a little too flippant for something that should be an inconvenience. It feels like a trap.

You go to refuse, tell him you really don't need the help and you could probably find your own way, but he stops you — one hand held up and waving you off. You swear you could see the hint of a smile underneath the mask.

“Don’t worry about it. We want you to feel welcomed here in the league.” He goes to stand and you follow, knowing it’s best to go along with it and not against.

The walk is quiet and the tunnels are long.

It's dark and decrepit while the cold air makes goosebumps spread across your skin like wildfire.

Although, you could probably owe some of your unease to your unlikely walking partner.

You did a little bit of research on your new phone that was given to you. A little deep dive on your new leader, Tomura Shigaraki, and just who he is. For starters, he is a villain who has one of the most destructive quirks you’ve ever seen.

Decay.

Tomura Shigaraki is a man with many dreams, those of which supposedly align with another villain — Hero Killer Stain. You don’t know how much of that is true, but you do know that he is dangerous, volatile and not afraid to kill to carry out his dreams.

It's odd how fate brought you together. All you’ve known is to heal others while he seems to be a professional in death and destruction. Polar opposites.

In your research you came across an article of the USJ incident, how the Symbol of Peace had been targeted. Shigaraki was the mastermind behind it all.

It’s almost impressive how he seems to have captivated the attention of the public.

And now the very same Shigaraki is walking you to your room, insisting it is to make sure you don't get lost. Apparently that’s what a good leader would do.

But there is no such thing as a free lunch.

“You know,” he starts, interrupting your trail of thoughts, the never ending loop coming to a halt at his words. “There's something about you that's really gotten under my skin.”

Your breath hitches and you wait for him to elaborate. The quiet stretches thin between you both as your steps echo along the tunnels.

“What’s your purpose here?”

It catches you off guard. “What?”

“Everyone in the league has a goal that they are fighting towards. The goals are like power-ups. I can't figure out yours.”

He’s got you. You don't have a goal, unless he counts survival. But they’re all just trying to survive aren't they?

“We’re all fighting for something or another. Money, freedom, revenge. Those are all important things that will drive you the extra mile in a pinch.” He keeps his tone leveled, innocuous. But you knew better. This is to gauge your resolve and you weren't sure what would come of you if you failed this test.

“What are you getting at Shigaraki?” You can't help the way your eyes narrow, waiting and watching as he brings a hand to the mask on his face.

“I’m only asking to help you out. You can’t just go with the motions forever, you know.”

This guy thinks he’s so smart, like he’s got you all figured out. It’s irritating. “I’m not!”

Your eyes are glued to him as you both come to a stop. Your hands tremble as you watch him remove the hand from his face. The abrupt action makes you falter and you absently wonder if he’s shown anyone else in the league his face.

Even in the dim lighting of the tunnels you could still see Shigaraki’s red gaze.

His eyes consumed you so much that you had to take a step back. And he followed — close, but far enough away.

“You are. You did what you had to do back then, but what will you do when you’re forced to make a choice like that again?”

The chill air of the tunnels do nothing to calm the heat you feel in your body. The fear and anxiety within your mind manifesting before you in its form of trembling fingers and labored breaths.

What would you do if you needed to choose again?

This situation could be over just as much as it could still be lingering. Watching and waiting for you. What would you do then?

You hate how his tone makes you sweat.

You hate the way his words make sense.

“An animal backed into a corner has no choice but to fight.” He continues, and you stare — taking in his features in the low light. His skin is pale and there’s something about the scars on his face that make you want to reach out. To see if you could heal them.

To see if he would let you.

You don’t. All you can do is stand before him, dumbfounded and speechless as he tells you the reality you face.

“There will come a time when your ideals are challenged. What lengths are you willing to go to maintain that freedom? How hard would you strike at those who want to keep you down and dirty like a dog?” Shigaraki tilts his head, hint of a smile gracing his features but it is not one of joy.

“This is your life. You are the one in control. Not me, not your father — you. I don't expect you to have all the answers now, but never regret making a choice that granted you freedom.” The words make you swallow, how someone could see right through you so easily… It felt absurd. “And don’t underestimate the lengths you should go to maintain that.”

Shigaraki looks at you for a moment — as if to make sure you’ve taken his words in and then turns away. The silence was thick as he continued his route down the hallway. You drag your feet along to follow, unable to find the words to respond.

You're both arriving in the hall where your room awaits and you bite back a sigh of relief. This trip feels like it took years.

You both pause in front of the door, staring each other down. It's like you're on another planet completely.

“Goodnight.” He whispers, voice low as if there were others around to wake.

Shigaraki places the hand back on his face and brushes by your side, his steps echoing in the vacancy of the tunnel as his words reverberate in your mind.

Tomura Shigaraki is right about one thing.

You would do anything to keep your freedom.

—------------------

The following days within the league have been mellow.

As the resident healer you come across all kinds of injuries and scratches that don’t take much effort to heal. It gets you into a routine of some kind.

Toga, with her minor cuts and bruises, to Spinner who had a massive gash in his arm from lack of practice with his katana. It’s all simple and easy.

Your current patient, however, is not simple and easy.

Dabi is someone you have had little to no interaction with, the man choosing to spend his time elsewhere and makes his stance with the league known.

He couldn’t care less for any of it.

Far too focused on his own goals and motives, Dabi tended to be out and about on his own business.

Your hands tremble as they hover over his bloody arm. Apparently there was a fight and one of the guys caught Dabi off guard. He only managed to cut his arm before being incinerated.

The heat of his quirk lingers before your hand as you focus your energy into restoring his arm. It was hot and you could only imagine the waves of his flames.

He says nothing as you work, opting for a comfortable silence in the air of your room. The door is cracked allowing more light of the hallway to bleed into the space. His body is not one that you could ever fully heal.

The burns were permanent, and with his constant quirk use you don’t think he would stay healed if you tried.

Your eyes trail up his arm and you notice the glint of the silver staples along his body. Then up towards the silver lining his face. You can't imagine how painful something like that must feel.

Your eyes trail further up until you meet the cerulean blue of his. The sudden contact makes you instantly dart your gaze to the floor and the realization of being caught staring leaves you feeling unsettled. You’re not sure how long he’s been watching you, but it makes your stomach turn.

Shigaraki has no use for harming you, but you didn’t know Dabi.

You finish healing him and he stands, boots loud against the cement as he makes his way to the door.

He pauses, opting to give you one last look. “You should really work on that.”

You know he’s not talking about your abilities. Your demeanor could use a lot of work.

You can’t help but agree.

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