Forbidden Promises

Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 11 I know it's been forever. I finished my exam and then fell into an energy coma and did not get anything done. Sorry if this chaper is kinda disappointing but I'm trying to find my flow again with this; I gave it my best shot. These two still make me go insane. As always if I messed up readers description please tell me. I am merely a self indulgend human who is prone to mistakes. Part 10 | COD Masterlist | (Part 12)

Simon’s pretty sure he’s beet red under his helmet. Now that he’s making his way through traffic with your arms wrapped around him the previous interaction is catching up to him and he can’t believe he had the audacity to touch you like that.

Then again, you hadn’t objected. Maybe you’d just been too polite to shove his hand off. But you had grabbed it, held it too, maybe that moment hadn’t been as one sided as he feared (who is he kidding, why would an angel like you willingly touch a sinner like him).

He tries to shake the thoughts off, just being thankful that he got those precious moments forever seared into his memory.

Suddenly your arms are gone from around him and he almost gets worried until he realizes that you merely spread them to the side, wriggling your fingers trying to feel the wind. Before he can stop himself one of his hands finds your thigh and he gently grabs onto you, making sure you’re still there. His heart is beating so loudly he can feel it echo through his body, surely you can feel it through the thick gloves and pants, drumming against your skin, spelling his devotion in Morse code.

The fact that you don’t seem bothered by it in the least tilts the picture he had of you in his mind sideways. You’re wary, shy and scared without your dog, but not uncomfortable with casual physical touch and he’s incredibly thankful for it.

Simon’s not sure since when he’s someone who wants to casually touch others (he doesn’t, he only wants to touch you, he wants you to touch him too, wants you to wrap your hands around his throat and make him yours) but he wants to touch you. Preferably all day, every day.

He can feel himself short-circuit when your arms wrap around him again and your hands slowly stroke up and down his chest and stomach. Hopefully you can’t feel the way his heart tries to squeeze its way through his ribs to fall into your perfect hands.

Once again his chest swells with a warm thick feeling and he wants to tear his ribs open, carve out his heart and make a home for you in its stead. He wants to chain you to him so he won’t have to spend another second without you (okay, fucking weirdo, he should really get a grip on his thoughts).

It’s the best ride of his life with you pressed close to him and every now and then spreading your arms. He can even pretend you’re wrapping your arms around him out of want and not necessity. Maybe he can remember the feeling the next time he wakes up alone from a nightmare.

He thinks of your mutt, who gets to wake up to you every morning. Simon would sleep in a dog bed too if it meant he could be close to you like that.

The ride is over far too soon when he parks a few streets away from the venue. Immediately he holds out his hand for you to get off and you take it, putting your other hand onto his shoulder to stabilize yourself while you get off with ease.

You take of the helmet and gear. Simon can’t help but appreciate the view of you stripping something off, even if it is only the outermost layer. Immediately he admonishes himself for the path his thoughts take but he really can’t help it when you wriggle out of the gear and hand it to him to put it back in the cases.

“Ready?”, he asks you and your excited grin is almost infectious. Now that you’re near the concert hall you’re all restless buzzing energy. Most of it excitement but he can sense an underlying nervousness too.

Simon is sure that Wraith could have calmed you down in seconds. For a moment he almost misses the mutt, if only for how comfortable he makes you. Then he shakes it off. He’s here and he’ll take better care of you than the mutt. He’ll show you that there’s nothing to fear with him at your side.

Slowly he places one of his hands on your shoulder and your body stills. His eyes zero in on the way it looks so fucking big against you and he swallows dryly. Your eyes find his and he tries to reassure you through his body language alone, squeezing your shoulder to ground you.

You take a few deep breaths and then your hand comes up, reaching for his. He nearly chokes on his own saliva when instead of brushing him off, you take his hand in yours and bring it down so you can comfortably hold it.

“So we don’t get separated.”, you say softly while slight pink dusts your cheeks.

Oh.

Simon is so utterly fucked.

It takes all his willpower to just gently squeeze your hand instead of sweeping you off your feet so he can kiss you breathless and slip his tongue between your perfect lips, taste if you’re as sweet as you look (oh god, he should stop fantasizing about kissing you or he’s going to lose his mind).

He nods, like a normal person and manages answer without stumbling over his words. “Of course.”

It’s a throwback to the way you strolled through the park, but this time you initiated the contact and Simon might be floating instead of walking.

As you approach the concert hall more and more people join your direction and your eyes widen as you take in the crowds. Now you’re looking around a lot, scanning those closest to you as if you expect danger any moment now. It reminds Simon of a little meerkat on the lookout and he probably should not find it as endearing as he does.

He takes a deep breath and when he exhales a bit of calmness settles over him. It’s almost like a mission, when he thinks about it. Get you safely into the building, let you enjoy yourself and safely get you back. Stuff like that he can handle. Stuff like that he’s done before. Stressful situations are where he –

You step closer to him, your other arm coming up as well and now you’re damn near hugging his arm. Simon almost stumbles over his own feet but he catches himself and looks at your overwhelmed expression.

He extracts his arm from your almost hug and instead puts it around you, effectively pulling you into his side. He holds his breath for a second, afraid that any unnecessary movement may spook you (breathing is unnecessary when it comes to your comfort).

Instead of pulling away you seem to slightly relax and he continues leading you into the hall. When you enter you crane your neck to look around and then your eyes settle on Simon.

“I’ve never been to an event this big!”, you shout over the deafening sound of thousands of people having their own private conversations.

“Get ready to have your mind blown. Been to one of their concerts before. They’re bloody brilliant, sweetheart.”, he shouts back and once again you giddily hop in place a bit. This time he gets to feel the movement against his side and he fights himself to not crush you against him in his intense need to hold you closer.

He looks around, satisfied that he managed to herd you to the front row directly before the stage. After all you deserve nothing but the best experience and any regret he could have had for the people behind him that might have a slightly obstructed view, dies the second you beam up at him.

“Thank you, Simon.” You nearly squeal and he knows his eyes crinkle with the way he smiles so wide.

“Welcome, sweetheart.”

His own excitement is growing, not just at your anticipation but because he can’t wait for the music to start. His gaze is embarrassingly soft as he looks down at you, next to him and he fights the need to place his hand on your hips and pull you closer.

At least he knows that the hall will get so crowded that more physical contact between you two is inevitable and Simon will soak that up like a sponge that’s been dry for years.

❥ KATSUKI BAKUGOU X FEM! READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.3k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: a/b/o dynamics (alpha Katsuki/omega reader), knotting, age-gap (Katsuki is in his grumpy 40s, you're in college), he calls you "kid", fucking in a pool, some mention of sex toys, degradation, creampie

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God, he’s too fucking old for this shit. Too god damn tired of the animal that kicks against his ribs whenever the slick smell of a willing cunt passes his nose. 

“ ‘m sorry,” you whisper, rolling your hips to suck his cock deeper in your drooling pussy. He grinds his molars at the too-tight feeling. 

“Fucking brat,” he hisses and clamps his hands to your doughy ass, jerking you up and down his cock. “Knew you were trouble. Fucking told you to stay away from me.” 

Katsuki knew he would end up fucking the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed college girl the day you moved in next door. He tried to stop it, he really did, showing you his teeth and growling any time the sweet stink of your omega scent greeted him. 

Yet he’s the one who couldn’t help himself. Humid summer air brought your pathetic smell right to him, had him peeking over the fence that separated his house from yours like a fucking perv.

The sight of you in your little pool, desperate to cool your too-hot skin, bikini bottoms floating next to you as you shoved a dildo into your aching hole was his breaking point. 

And now here you are, stuffed full of throbbing, thick alpha cock. Because you begged him, all fat tears and plump pouts as your heat clawed at your insides. 

He might be too old for this, but he’ll never get tired of how fucking stupid omegas get for dick. 

“The t-toys just weren’t…weren’t good enough.” 

You’re pinned between him and the pool wall, lips of your cunt dragging along his length over and over again as you try to find release. 

Copious amounts of slick gush from you, making his thrusting easier. Pearly strings of your cream float around the pool, lost to splash of him fucking into you. 

But even still, he’s so engorged with blood and hormones ready to knot that his fat cock struggles against your gummy walls. You hiss, not from pain, but from relief, so happy to be full that no amount of stretching will detract from your pleasure.

“You’re fucking pitiful.” 

Shame briefly shines in your blown-out eyes, a bit of humanity peeking through the haze of animal instincts. Shit. This is why he hates this, why he’s tried to avoid all the breeding nonsense. Omegas are so emotionally squishy. 

Not that he’s any better. One pout from you as you locked eyes with him across the yard made him jump a fucking fence and plunge his cock into your weeping hole at two in the afternoon. 

“Just can’t help it, can you, kid?” 

Red eyes trace over the body he’s been trying so hard not to imagine. The triangle fabric of your swimsuit is peeled away from your tits, your nipples puffy from how hard you were tugging on them before he got his hands on you. 

A little mhmmmm-mhmmmm sounds from lips pressed too tightly together, your head lolling back as you keep bucking against him with your eager, exposed pussy. 

You’re a mess, all swollen and gooey and desperate. 

“Such a dumb omega,” he groans and wraps his arms around your back, pressing your soft body all the way against his, “fucking yourself out in the open. Wanted me to find you? Wanted the old man next door to fuck you stupid.”

“N-no,” you lie so easily. “Too hot, was too hot and couldn’t get off and—”

“Bullshit. You started splashin’ around out here just praying I’d catch your scent.” 

“C-can’t help it, pr-promise. You just always smell so fucking good, alpha.”

Makes sense now why you always seem to be out on a walk when he gets home from work, and why you always seem to need something from him. He was a nice neighbor and gave you his number when you moved in all on your own, a little omega lost in a big college town. You would message him for help around your place at least once a week—changing light bulbs, fixing a leaky faucet, even opening a goddamn jar a few nights ago. 

He told you several times to stop bothering him, yet you never could catch the hint that fooling around with an alpha was going to get you bitten. 

Relentlessly he pounds his hips, the buoyancy of the water making it effortless to hold you and fuck in deep. His thighs barely feel any strain, his back muscles rolling like a true predator as he starts to use his arms to pull you up and down. 

Katsuki slides his fat cock until it’s barely in your pussy, mushroom tip caught by the suctioning ring of muscle inside of you. Then he bottoms out, balls connecting with your ass under the water with a muted thump. 

“God, fuck, that’s good, so good,” you’re fucking loud, “feel so fucking good in my pussy.” 

“Christ, you wanna let the whole neighborhood knowing I’m fucking you?”

​​The fuck-drunk little smile on your face tells him that maybe you do. 

And he thought he was the perv. 

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he whispers furiously, kissing you with so much force it makes your back arch in his strangle hold. 

A thick hand wraps around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just leaves it there possessively as his tongue forces its way between your lips. You unconsciously moan, your own tongue meeting his, but he presses it down, not wanting it in the way. You give in, letting him encircle your tongue with his own so he can taste you. He pulls back to suck your bottom lip into his mouth, teeth roughly dragging against it.

“Like feeling my cock spread you apart, hm? Maybe I’ll get you a dildo my size for next time you wanna put on a little show.” 

You purr and it makes him want to scratch you to pieces. 

The burning stretch of your omega cunt is bliss. The smell of sex and chlorine sting his nose, make him lose it a bit and press so hard inside of you that his cock nearly meets the resistance of your cervix. Not that you seem to mind it—your nails are sinking into his wet shoulders, holding on for dear life as he fucks you in the heat of a summer afternoon. 

When Katsuki shifts his hips down, heavy cock sliding out of your tight hole, you bare your teeth and growl at a man nearly double your age.  

“Easy, tiger,” he tuts and drops you in the warming water, “turn around and let me hit it from the back.”

He loves that your instincts are to obey.

You turn your back to him with an indignant little huff, bending over the edge of the pool and waiting. Katsuki locks his arms around your thighs, pushing up and letting the water do the work. Your legs float open easily, spreading wide as he spears his way back into your slutty hole. 

“Ever been knotted before, kid?”

Looking over your shoulder, you shake your head, hiccuping as he works his shaft in and out of you. 

“Please, please, ah, knot me. Wa-wanna know what it feels like.”

He’s toying with an ancient fire, he knows that. One fat knot from an alpha and you might be begging to move in with him, but it’s worth it. Your pussy feels too goddamn good and he’s too worked up not to plug you full. 

Katsuki works you into an absolute frenzy, waves of water splashing onto the edges of the pool as you mewl and focus on how effortlessly he fucks you. Your walls meld to him, each thrust hasty and claiming, scented sweat steaming from the heat of your body and the blistering of the sun. His dick curves just perfectly inside you, cockhead purposefully brushing against the most sensitive, spongy spots within your depths. 

“Surprised none of your stupid boyfriends knotted this tight cunt before.”

“Wouldn’t,” your fingers are gripping the edge of the pool for dear life, like you’re gonna drown any second, “wouldn’t let them.” 

“And you’re gonna let me? Just a slut for older men?” 

“Slut for you,” you correct him with a bounce of your ass against his pelvis, “love a big, strong alpha.” 

He rolls his eyes at the shameless flattery, yet still the ego inside him flares to life. 

“Young, stupid omegas always think they can get whatever they want,” he growls, all while keeping a rough pace inside your body, watching how the water parts for the two of you grinding into one another. 

You give him a knowing gaze over your shoulder, sultry and coy. 

You are getting exactly what you want. All you had to do was get his attention, pry at his most basic instincts and now here he is losing his mind over the tight squeeze of your omega cunt. 

Maybe you aren’t so stupid after all.

But he’ll fuck you stupid, he’s sure of that. 

“I’m too old for silly games, kid. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

He proves his point by pawing at your belly under the water, pressing in until you can both feel how deep he is in your guts. The realization makes you whine, pushing hard back against him. 

“You think I’m just some toy to use during your heat?” Katsuki tuts, licking at one of his canines. “Just wait until I knot this stupid cunt and you beg me to keep coming back.”

A symphony of sex is ringing in your backyard, sounds of primal grunts, shrill little screams, balls slapping against your ass, water gurgling and splashing.

Any animal nearby knows what’s happening, that nature is running its course and you’re both nothing but senseless bodies looking for the simplest relief.

Katsuki slides the hand on your stomach lower, pinching your aching clit before he starts swirling it under the pads of experienced fingers. You start thrashing, cunt sucking so tightly he’s sure you’re hurting with the need to cum. 

“Pleasepleaseplease oh god please!” 

You shatter and his pride nearly bursts with you. Your cunt clenches, so pleased to cum around a thick alpha cock. You babble absolute nonsense, beg for his knot and a string of thanks yous and pleases and alpha alpha alpha dripping from your mouth into the wake of the pool.

The way your pussy squeezes him tells him you’ve been looking for this orgasm for hours, walls so swollen and pulsing. You must’ve been fucking yourself with useless toys since morning and finally got desperate enough to make a scene and get him to fuck you the way you needed. 

“Poor thing,” he coos, watching your cream float to the surface of the water. 

You’re totally mindless now as he continues to fuck you, body sloshing in the pool as he manhandles you to take what he wants. 

“Don’t even know if you can handle a knot, kid. You’re too tight.” 

That stirs you, makes you flatten your hands against the edge of the pool and push back to meet his rhythm. Over and over, you keep up with him, so fucking fraught to finally feel an alpha swell in your guts.

“Please don’t stop, please. Need to feel it, been in heat for d-days.”

“Oh omega, have you been fucking yourself silly with all the wrong toys, hm? Been stuffing yourself all alone in your room? Should’ve, ah, just asked me to come fix it.”

“You told me to stop b-bothering you…” 

“You’ll annoy me when your sink’s leakin’ but not when your pussy is? So fucking stupid.”

Only he’s starting to go dumb at the wrap of your cunt around him. The beast in his belly is raging, alpha instincts boiling in the summer sun. 

“C’mon, slut, milk my cock,” he pants and slams into you, lost in the way the water reflects around your curves and how your thighs are locked around his waist. He swears your body listens, some reflexive instinct that has your pussy clamping around his shaft until he can feel the veins of his cock squishing into your walls. 

The orgasmic build starts rushing up his spine, inflating the base of his cock inch by inch. 

“Holy shit, fuck~” you whimper at the first stretch of his knot. “Kat–Katsuki, ‘m so fucking full!” 

Finally he bursts, knot bulging into your gumminess until you’re plugged with him. His cum spills into your tight channel, filling you whole. 

Your sweet, stupid omega brain can barely comprehend the stretch. Another orgasm wrecks your body, has you falling face first into the pool. Katsuki scrambles to grab you, hoist you up and into his arms as you gasp and crest and cum all over him again. 

He can’t help but chuckle, easily maneuvering his back to the pool’s edge. He lets you calm down in his hold, your head falling against his shoulder as you try to breathe. 

“Get what you wanted, brat?” 

Katsuki pats your bloated belly, making you squeal as he rubs the heel of his hand against his knot. 

You nod dumbly, eyes closing to focus on the feel of him. He smirks realizing you’ll never forget him, your first knot. Omegas really are so emotional. 

Yet he’s taunted by the stupid bikini bottoms still floating in the water, mocking just how easy it was for you to boil him down to his base instincts. 

He’s too old for this shit. Especially as you start grinding down against his knot, cooing, reminding him you’ll be fucking him until your heat decides it’s done with him. 

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

B

"Hold him close to your chest, or he'll jump out of your arms. Here—like this."

Blue gently cradles the rabbit, then carefully tucks him into Ari's arms, guiding his hands to scoop under Grim's fluffy rear. She can't help but find it amusing that the boy who had taken her riding on such a large animal yesterday looks so wary holding a harmless bunny. A giggle bubbles up, and she bites her lip to keep it in.

"He's so... squirmy."

Blue keeps her hand on Grim, reassuring both the rabbit and him. "He's just ready for his breakfast. Want to help me feed him?"

"Sure."

Blue leads Ari to the hutch where the other rabbits are. She explains her morning routine, showing him how to supply the rabbits with enough grass, leaves, and berries to keep them healthy and plump. Not long ago, she was explaining this to Twix—the very person she forgot to say good morning to in a rush to find Ari outside. This time around, she wonders if Ari is genuinely interested or just being polite. She finds herself stealing glances at his face, studying his expressions perhaps longer than she should. His almond-shaped eyes and dark pink lips catch her attention.

He's cute.

It's not the first time the thought has crossed her mind since these strangers appeared. Cute like the men in her magazines, though he's not quite a man. Not in the way Ghost is. But he's taller than her by a head and two years older, evident in the notch on his throat and the deeper timbre of his voice.

But it doesn't matter. They are only here for a few days.

Blue closes the hutch and rocks on the soles of her boots. "Well, that was probably boring, huh? We could, um, go hunting if you want. Or to the pond. It's fun to swim there. Or maybe—" She pauses, mentally sifting through the limited activities available, frustration creeping in as none of them seem particularly impressive.

"This wasn't boring. Now I know rabbits are just as friendly as horses." He smiles.

"They are... except when Grim gets mad. Then he can be a bit of a jerk. Like if you accidentally step on his tail."

"I'd be pretty pissed if someone stepped on my tail, too."

"You don't have a tail."

"It's just a joke."

"Oh..." she fidgets with a strand of hair. "Right."

"The pond sounds good. It is fucking hot." Ari blows out a breath and swipes at the back of his neck.

"I know. So hot. Hot as balls."

Ari raises an amused brow. "Yeah, uh, hot as balls. Are you allowed to go by yourself, or do we need to ask your dad?"

"I get to do what I want," she lies easily with a shrug. "Buuuuut, we can ask Twix to go with us."

As long as Twix is with her, she suspects she can get away with not asking Ghost, who luckily is hunting with his old captain. It's not that he seems distrusting with these people as he did those first few months with Twix. Rather—she isn't thrilled about him knowing every little thing she does. She's never had anything just to herself. 

Twix is sitting on the porch, looking rather deep in thought as she skins a squirrel. Her hair is long, curtaining her face. When Blue asks if she wants to go to the pond, she agrees easily, claiming she has been meaning to cut her hair anyway with the encroaching warmth of summer. Nereida joins, too. 

Even early, the air is sticky, and the pond is cool and inviting. Ari rips his shirt off and jumps in without even a second to waste. Blue usually swims in her underwear and shirt, but she hesitates with her thumb in the belt loops of her jeans. She didn't consider that he would see her in her underwear. 

A soft touch to her shoulder. It's Twix. "Want me to grab you shorts real quick?"

"Um... yes. Yes please."

She changes into the shorts behind a tree. There is an odd pit in her stomach when she gets in the water. She doesn't quite know what it is, but it's similar to how she feels when she's scared sometimes. Ghost always tells her fear is a useless thing. It doesn't keep you alive. So she ignores it, shoves it down deep, and swims over to Ari with a purposeful splash that even wets Twix, who sits at the edge sharpening her knife.

"Damn. That's gonna cost you."

A splash is given in return, and then they are playing. High noon bounces shimmering light off the water as she tries to keep up with him, but at one point he sneaks up on her and she ends up with a mouthful. Nereida spends her time picking at some bunches of rosemary and Twix cuts her hair. But Blue doesn't notice any of that too much. When the water stills and they pause to catch their breath, Ari climbs onto a rock and shakes out his wet hair. She is quick to find a perch beside him. Absentmindedly, she pinches the bottom of her wet shirt to keep it from sticking to her chest.

"It's nice to have some place to swim so close by. Back at our old camp, there was lake but it was a few miles away, so my mom rarely let me go."

"I'm sorry, you know. About your mom. Mine is dead, too."

He half-smiles. "Thanks. I don't think about it too much anymore. My uncle and I have always been close so it helped to have him there." He nudges her shoulder. "You're damn lucky to have such a cool dad, huh?"

"Ghost?"

"Yeah, that guy is a beast. My uncle says they called him Ghost because no one could ever see him coming before suddenly, they were dead." 

"Oh, yeah, he is super cool," she quickly agrees. "He has taught me a lot."

"Shit, really?"

Nibbling the inside of her cheek, she shrugs to feign indifference. "I know how to throw knives pretty well."

"I gotta see that." His smirk etches a light dimple into his cheek. Then, his eyes flash behind her. "So what's up with his girlfriend?"

"Huh?" A divot forms between her brows before she follows his gaze, landing on Twix, whose hair is now just past her shoulders. She is wetting it, running her fingers through the newly cut strands. "Oh—Twix. That is not his girlfriend. She is my friend."

"You mean they don't sleep together?"

"Like in the same bed?"

"That's usually where people fuck, yeah."

He seems ready to laugh. She frowns, head tilting as confusion hums in her chest. "You mean like sex?"

He nods. "You know what that is, right?"

"Yeah, of course. I know all about it."

"You know they're probably doing it, right?"

"Ghost and Twix? No—no," she forces a laugh. "I mean, sometimes I catch him staring at her all weird. But I don't think—I mean, they hardly like each other and she is my friend, really, not his. He used to make me stay away from her, even. But I mean, they do spend a lot of time together now. It's usually to practice fighting and defense. Not to have...sex."

"Don't they share a room?"

"Just right now, because you guys are here."

Ari chuckles. "You really think they aren't fucking in there? She's really pretty. There's no way they aren't."

Blue looks back at Twix. Blue's fingers curl into the soaked fabric of her top. Her eyes flick back to him. "She would've told me if they were."

"If you say so."

---

T

Your thumb throbs in rhythm with the steady pump of Kyle's arms. Despite pressing it into your palm to dull the pain, the ache persists. You had nicked it while sawing off your hair, and now the taste of blood lingers in your mouth. You were still lapping at the painful pulse when the three men arrived to the pond, carrying a neon orange inflatable raft. They want to test it out on the water before embarking on the 35-kilometer journey across the channel. 

It is the third day of their presence and you can honestly say you've grown more comfortable, given that Kyle has gone hunting with you a few times now. He is easy to talk to, along with Nereida. Price—however—doesn't seem intrigued by you, or maybe you are insignificant in comparison to the rest that is on his mind. That's fair. You don't all need to be friends.

They've been spending most of their time gathering food. Ghost has been helping Price hunt deer to skin and dry into jerky they can take with them. Nereida showed you a patch of wild strawberries she found yesterday, boiling them down into jams before canning them. By having food with them, they will save time from having to hunt along the way. In perfect conditions, it would be a straight path, and they could make it to the Swiss mountains within a month or two. But it won't be a straight path, and obstacles are bound to hinder them.

Kyle audibly growls and straightens, wiping at his percolated brow. "This chamber just isn't inflating."

"It must have a hole somewhere. Check the seams," Price says.

Ghost flips the half-filled raft over with ease, running his fingers along the PVC. "Here." He taps what must be a minuscule puncture because you can't see it from where you sit. 

They patch it up with the little adhesive they have. The unease is noticeable as Kyle keeps pumping in air; they only have enough to cover a few holes, if they come across more. Finally, the six-person raft is full and they toss it onto the pond. Just the sight gets you thinking of all the variables they have to think of on the open water: the weather, currents, temperature. You had a friend in high school who swam across it once. She didn't get even halfway but having to pulled out, vomiting, and near-hypothermia. Open seawater is different than a pool. Unpredictable and quick to change.

"It seems sturdy." Nereida winds an arm around her husband's waist, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Don't worry about it."

"As long as it stays sturdy."

"It will," she assures him.

The cut has crusted over by the time evening settles and you have to will yourself not to pick at it. You find yourself alone with the horse, watching the sun set behind the trees, as everyone else eats. 

"You probably don't like being tied up here, huh? You'd rather be running around." The coarse mane engrosses your fingers. Cherry bobs her head and a wet muzzle brushes your elbow. It tickles and you smile softly. "I wonder what will happen to you once they leave," you whisper. "Horses can't fit in a raft, huh?"

"No, they can't."

A hand presses into her neck beside yours, the person's arm extending over your shoulder. You crane your neck at Kyle but his eyes are on the animal, thoughtful, brows lowered. You wet your lips and step to the side to bring more space between your bodies. 

"Not hungry either?" you ask.

Finally he looks at you, lips quirked at the side. "Nah. I had a big lunch." He stops petting her and crosses his arms, chin tilting. "Ever ridden a horse before?"

"Once or twice. As a kid."

His eyes almost lean dark green in the cast of orange light, but it must be a mere illusion. "Care to go for a ride?"

His eyebrow rises expectantly. You glance back at the cabin and then at Cherry. "Why not?"

He instructs you how to get on. You grip the knob of the saddle and flex your core, hoisting yourself with more strength than you've had to use in a few days. Kyle sits behind you and grips the reins after untying her. The last time you were on a horse was for a friend's birthday party; you trekked through a ranch on a white pony. Cherry is much taller than that one was, or maybe you're not fond of being so high up. You thread your fingers through her mane.

It is a silent ride at first as you try to ignore the sting on your butt, unused to firm leather seat. He must notice your discomfort because he tells you to relax and lean back. You do, until your spine brushes against his chest. It helps a little.

Cherry trots calmly through the trees, towards the circle of stumps that marks the east. 

"Do you think she will be able to take care of herself?" you break the quiet. 

"I'm sure she will be fine. Smart girl, huh, Cherry?"

The sun has disappeared but it isn't quite dark yet. "Are you scared?"

A breathy chuckle emits from behind you. He must realize what you are referring to—scared for the journey. "Yeah, always. I mean—I'm scared about Ari. He's the last family I got, and as old as he thinks he is, he's still young and naive. I still have to make choices for him."

"I was terrified of losing Joseph," you admit, and swallow. "He was so young and fragile. It felt like...like trying to keep an egg from cracking when your hands are made of stone. But at least I never had to take him to another country."

"That was your nephew? Joseph?"

You nod. 

"Tell me about him."

You rack your brain. "Well, he was seven. And he..." You smile to yourself. "He was the pickiest eater in the world, even when we were all starving. I could not get him to eat meat unless I practically burned it. And he liked to look at bugs. I did, too, when I was young. I used to dig up worms when it rained to show him." He hums a gentle laugh behind you. You find yourself lost in the thought of it for a second. "Sometimes I...I think about how once I die, there will be no one left to remember those little things about him. Then, he will be completely gone, you know?"

You don't know why you're telling him this. You shake your head. "Sorry."

"Don't be. We gotta talk about shit like that or else we'll go crazy."

"I'm pretty sure I'm already crazy."

"Probably." A deer passes to the left and Cherry startles, but he is quick to soothe her with a flick of the reins and a stern—easy. She settles. "Are you scared?" he asks after a moment.

"Of what?"

"Of traveling so far."

"Well, I don't know if Ghost..." you trail off, absorbing the tone of his voice. You stiffen. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"I mean how we're all leaving in a month."

"Wait—stop." You grip his hand over the rein with more force than necessary, urging him to bring Cherry to a halt. You twist your spine and gape at him. "What are you talking about?"

He eyes you with a frown, and rubs his neck. "Shit. I thought he already told you."

"No, he didn't. Tell me," you demand.

He clears his throat. "He, uh, agreed to come this morning, but only if we take another month to prepare and shit. Get his daughter ready, sort things out."

You try not tremble in anger as his words sink in, clenching your hands as your breath picks up. "Take me back," you breathe out, brain racing. "I want to go back now."

The ride back is silent. You feel shaken. Your nail digs deep into the nick on your thumb unthinkingly until there is a smear of blood over your fingers. The others are getting ready for bed when the two of you return, moon bright. You bite your tongue until Ghost leaves to his room, then you follow him, closing the door as gently as you can behind you.

He is halfway through peeling off his socks and stuffing them in his boots when you approach. "What happened to being a man of your word?" 

He looks up, resting his palms on his parted knees, looking far too relaxed for your liking. 

When he doesn't respond, you add, "You were supposed to tell me. You said you fucking would."

Your voice is low but harsh.

He stands, a calm understanding washing through his eyes. "I was about to tell you."

You throw up your arms but try to stay quiet. "Bullshit. You're just saying that now. You've had all day to tell me."

"I was waiting for the right time."

"You think I can't handle it," you accuse, an ugly snarl on your face. "That I don't deserve to be apart of these conversations even after everything I have done for you, and for her. I saved her life! You get pissed at me for not telling you about stupid things, meanwhile you don't communicate something so important like we are leaving with them in a month to fucking Switzerland. Does Blue know? Or do you keep your own blood in the dark, too?"

He growls quietly and takes hold of your chin, tilting your gaze to his. His touch is firm but far from bruising. "I am not lying to you. I wanted to have a conversation right now, where it could just be us. And no—I haven't told her. How I explain this to my child is not your concern." There is a command in his voice that forces you to calm down some, but your breath is still warm through your nose. He moves his hand to gently thumb a strand of shortened hair off your forehead, staring at it for a second, before gripping your chin again. "There is nothing I think you cannot handle. Now, who told you about this?"

Blotches of red crawl over your cheeks. "It doesn't...it doesn't matter."

He is visibly unsatisfied. He taps his thumb against your chin. "Tell me."

"It was...Kyle," you concede in an exhale. "He assumed I already knew."

His eyes darken. "It wasn't his place to assume."

"He didn't mean to." You reach up to pry his hand off, and he relents, leaving your jaw feeling sore. You rub it. "Why a month?" You try to change the topic.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and looks away, jaw flexing. "She needs time. I want to prepare her for all possible outcomes. I still don't think she is ready, but that doesn't matter. There won't be another opportunity like this in the future. I have to make her ready." He sits down on the edge of the bed and sits his elbows on his thighs, collecting his thoughts before adding, "And the weather is a big factor. Just because we have means to get across the water doesn't mean it will happen safely. The current is most predictable in July and August. We will wait until then."

You mentally sort through everything he is saying, willing yourself not to linger on the fact that you are beyond scared. Scared to leave the place you have finally felt safe in. Scared to clearly be the odd one out again. A tag-along. Everyone else in this group has a loved one looking out for them. You have yourself. You don't know if you have Ghost, really—not when Blue is the one he loves. His allegiance can only go so far.

"Okay," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "A month, then. What about shelter? The nights will be our most vulnerable."

"We'll look for the safest places for the night. There'd be seven of us, so plenty of eyes to keep watch."

"And what if we run into a horde?"

"Well, we have plenty of ammo now for that." He flicks his eyes up to yours. "Thanks to you."

You nibble your cheek, palming your chest as if to calm your heart. 

"A month," he reminds you. "We will account for everything."

"Okay," you say again. There is a tinge of embarrassment over your outburst, but he doesn't seem fazed, as if you hadn't just barged in the room yelling at him. "Okay."

A click of his tongue. "Any more questions?"

"Not...not for now, I guess."

A few silent beats pass. The tension has left the room, leaving you with a wave of fatigue. Ghost must notice because he rises, gesturing to the bed. "Go on, then." 

The bed is yours again. Too exhausted to question it, you slip under the quilt, curling into a fetal position by the slanted ceiling. It's best to enjoy the warmth before you're back on the move. A week journeying through the woods was the worst you'd ever endured, barely surviving. Now, it'll be months, or however long it takes to reach the goddamn Swiss mountains.

The light flicks off. There is a groan in the mattress and heady warmth spills over you. Your eyes fly open. "What are you doing?"

"Getting some sleep."

You turn around to see him lying beside you, flat on his back, with his arms crossed behind his head. "Together?"

"Clearly neither of us fancies the floor."

You flush, feeling his firm thigh brush against yours. "Just... keep to your side."

"I'll be a gentleman, if you're worried."

"I'm not," you mumble. "How do you even sleep in that thing, by the way?"

"Like a baby."

"Don't you think it's weird that Kyle has seen you without it and I haven't?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Twix."

"And mental sanity doesn't suit you, Simon."

"Don't recall giving you permission to use that name."

"What, only your old captain gets to use it? How close were the two of you, exactly?"

Teasing him feels better than you're willing to admit.

He grunts. A pillow is thrashed against the side of your face. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," you bite into the pillow.

Your instinct is to flinch closer to the edge, though it is difficult given the small size of the bed and the unnatural size of him. Your knees float off the mattress. Still, his sprawled-out position leaves points of connection. Your back, his elbow. Your feet, his calf. Small touches that do a surprisingly good job at soothing the mess in your brain.

---

You awake. Warm and rested.

Safe.

Morning light streams in, turning the backs of your eyelids red. Your face nudges forward until your nose brushes against fabric—a shirt. Awareness settles in slowly. Your toes stretch and brush against another set of toes. You realize you’re curled close against someone.

He’s still on his back, his right arm draped across your waist, fingertips resting on your exposed hip. Your breath hitches, and you do your best not to flinch. Your face is nuzzled into his chest, close enough to discern ribs from muscle. His steady breathing and gentle rumbles indicate he’s still asleep. You’re ready to peel yourself away when you notice your leg is on top of his, practically trapping him.

Fuck.

You stay still, devising a plan to extricate yourself without him noticing the position you're in. Then, in one swift motion, you leap up, removing all contact, and breathe hard as if ripped from a nightmare.

His eyes open and he swears. "Jesus. What was that?"

"Just a dream," you lie. "Sorry for waking you."

You jump out of the bed and practically run out before he can say anything; before he can realize how odd it'd be for you to have a dream when you haven't had one since... since staying in his room.

You lock yourself in the bathroom and grip the counter, knuckles whitening in the attempt to erode the feel of his warmth that seems to linger. A lump is forced down your throat as you lean back against the wall and close your eyes for a moment. When they reopen, you look down and lift your shirt, only to find the indent of strong fingertips brandishing your plush hip. Jesus. Your stomach knots and unknots. 

"You didn't like that," you whisper to yourself. You brush your thumb over the marks, gently at first, then palming them hard as if to erase them. You drop your shirt and look at the mirror. "You did not like that."

Before someone can stumble upon you talking to yourself, you comb your fingers through tousled strands and slip out. It seems most others are awake. How could you and Ghost have slept so long? Usually, the two of you are up with the sun. 

"Hey. Morning," you greet when you spot Blue on the porch, belly down, as she plays checkers with Kyle's nephew. She glances over her shoulder. Something in her bright eyes seems...off, but you can't put your finger on it.

"Hi. Is Ghost up yet?"

"Hm? Oh, uh—not sure. I didn't check, really."

"Okay." She looks back at the game and says nothing else. You feel as though she saw right through you. Or maybe that boy has told her everything. Surely he knows about Ghost's plans? Kyle had to have told him. Maybe that is why Blue seems upset, but like he said, it isn't your place to say anything. 

You are itching for a hunt. 

It feels urgent, for some reason. Like you want to get out of here before Ghost can be up, too. You find Kyle and he suggests that the two of you take Cherry so you can get go further south where he claims there is a meadow to look for deer. It is difficult to ride with him behind you and a bow on your back, so he wears it for you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head.

"Awfully quiet this morning. Penny for your thoughts?"

"I talked to him," is what you give. "Last night."

"Ah. How'd that go?"

"It was fine. I mean, I am getting used to the idea."

"That's good. It'll be worth it, you know. Once we get there. Finally get to have a semblance of a normal life."

A normal life. You almost snort at the thought. 

The morning grows longer, and not even the haircut can save you from the sweat that gathers. You make it to the meadow after an hour of horseback that leaves your thighs bristling. He helps you down and ties Cherry to a tree. You wade through tall, bright grasses that sway in the humid breeze. It looks vaguely familiar, stirring something in your gut that has your boots frozen for a moment. 

Kyle looks back at you, noticing that you've stopped following. "Good?"

"I just—I think I've been here once before. When I was on my own. I came this way." Your eyes scan the surrounding trees, where the meadow feeds into the forest, and an a gnarly oak with distinctive branches catches your eye. "I definitely have been here. I slept in that tree."

You push into the meadow, shaking off the memory. Staying close to Kyle, you listen as he lightly shares memories from the military, careful not to startle any potential deer. He talks about his time in Afghanistan, mentioning that his brother was also there, but at a different base. Kyle didn't even know his brother had died until weeks later because he was out in the field.

"After Afghanistan is when I met Ghost the first time."

"Oh?"

He nods. "He was my lieutenant when I went to Russia. I was scared shitless of him at first. I mean, he had a bit of a reputation and I was only 22."

"He was good at what he did," you say.

"More than that. People said he was up to some shit outside of what he did, but that was just rumors."

You think you spot a streak of gold through the grass, but it is just a stalk of wild wheat. You look back at him. "What do you mean?"

"May have heard a thing or two about him killing a guy off-duty. Of course, unconfirmed, otherwise he wouldn't have been enlisted again."

He killed someone? Like actual murder? You're about to ask more, your mind flashing back to your face pressed against him an hour earlier. Then you spot a deer. Kyle sees it too and motions for you to stay quiet. Your boots are nearly silent as you draw an arrow, squinting to see clearer. There are three deer: an adult female and two fawns. You draw the string and aim for the adult, the easier target.

"I'll get the doe," you whisper.

"Gotcha."

The beady black eyes turn your way, and you hesitate for a moment. There's movement, a flash of grey, and the doe snaps her eyes in another direction. What is she looking at? Your brows furrow, arrow following her gaze, when the answer appears: a Grey launching toward the deer. The three deer run off, and you release the arrow, aiming for the Grey's head instead.

"Motherfucker. Ruined the kill," Kyle mutters.

You weave toward the corpse, surprised to see such a fast one alone, indicating a new infection. The stench is pungent, enveloping you in a thick cloud. You shudder. The Grey writhes, your arrow lodged in its neck instead of its brain. You draw another arrow and aim when a hand suddenly grips your shoulder.

"Twix," Kyle breathes in your ear.

"What?" 

You look away from the Grey and follow Kyle's gaze, your eyes widening in horror as you realize the terrible smell isn't from this single creature. It's hundreds. A dark, grey mist that unfurls through the trees. A growing chorus of agony as their tattered bodies collide—some limping, others hurtling forward in a grotesque dance, but all converging on the meadow.

Veil of Blood & Immortality

Summary: Laswell assigns you to Taskforce 141 cause you have a 'special' ability. Surrounded by vampires and cursed with the way your life is, the last thing you expected was to be attached to Simon Riley.

Masterlist

Deathless|Reader x Vampire|Simon

The hum of the plane's engines barely died down when your boots hit the tarmac. Night pressed heavy against the horizon, the air sharp with the bite of something charged. Something predatory. You adjusted the strap of the duffel slung over your shoulder, Laswell's last words still circling in your head:

"You're not there to make friends. You're there because you don't stay dead."

Taskforce 141. A name that echoed like a warning. Vampires, all of them. Some of the best - and worst - kind. 

And there you were, not one of them. 

Something... else.

They were already waiting when you approached the hangar. Four silhouettes standing against the dying light, the energy between them intense with something you couldn't quite name. Price was the first to step forward, expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat.

"Laswell said you'd be coming." His eyes darting over you - assessing; calculating. You nodded in acknowledgment, offering no more than necessary.

The one next to him grinned faintly. "Soap." He introduced himself, Scottish accent thick. He gave you a once-over, not unfriendly, but curious. "Didn't think Laswell would be sendin' anyone... alive."

The last one had his arms crossed, eyes narrowed, but mumbled a 'Gaz', and that was it.

And then there was him.

You felt it before you saw him; felt the way the air seemed to stretch thin and tight. He wore a skull face balaclava, dark hood drawn low, shadows clinging to him like it was natural. When his eyes met yours, they burned reddish-gold behind the mask. Not subtle. Not polite.

Ghost.

He didn't move; didn't speak. Just stood there, gaze locked on you like he could strip the skin from your bones with nothing more than a glance. It took effort not to shift under it. Your pulse kicked hard in your throat, a warning from the instincts you spent lifetimes learning to ignore. And yet...... you held his stare anyway. Something deep inside your chest tightened.

The silence dragged on what felt like forever.

"Ghost." Price said, voice slicing through whatever invisible thread was between you. He turned away without a word, his steps quiet, purposeful, and vanished into the darkness of the base like he had never been there at all.

Soap gave a low whistle, breaking the tension. "He's not usually that quiet."

You took an even breath, eyes lingering where he disappeared before turning back to the others. Quiet wasn't the word you'd use for him.

No.

It was something dangerous. Something that felt a little too familiar even if you've never experienced it at all. 

******************************************************

You didn't see Ghost again that night.

Not when Price walked you through the base layout, not when Soap cracked a few jokes in the hallway, and not when Gaz pointed out the secured armory like he expected you to ask for weapons you couldn't possibly handle. Ghost vanished into whatever shadowy corner he liked to haunt, and you told yourself you didn't care.

The rest of the base wasn't much better though. The moment word spread that a non-vampire had been stationed here, whispers started curling through the halls like smoke. You felt them trailing behind you wherever you went. The side glances, narrowed stares, and quiet scoffs . It was worse among the women. Vampires, sharp-featured and beautiful in that ageless, untouchable way, eyed you with piercing cold in their gazes. Curiosity edged with something more hostile. You weren't prey, but you weren't predator either. A thing outside the familiar food chain. 

A thing that didn't belong.

One woman brushed past you in the hallway.... deliberately close. Her voice was low enough no one would have caught it. "Careful, little thing. Strays don't last long here."

You didn't flinch; didn't bother looking back. It was a dance you did before.... in other lifetimes... in other wars. Being the anomaly in the middle of monsters. The trick was knowing when to keep your attitude hidden.

For now.

The barracks were..... interesting. Vampires huddled in their own cliques, soldiers lounging with the kind of lazy, dangerous ease that came from knowing they could kill you faster than you could blink. You kept moving - silent, observant, ignoring the sharp eyes and fake smiles.

Laswell hadn't brought you here to make friends.

She'd brought you here to bleed.

Later, in the dim light of your quarters, you sat on the edge of the bed, unzipping the duffel at your feet. The noise of activity outside the door faded, though you could still hear the occasional echo of laughter, the low murmur of voices too fast for human ears. Your fingers brushed over the worn fabric inside the bag before closing around the hilt of a small, silver-bladed knife. You turned it over once... twice.

No one really knew what you really were. They could stare, whisper, bare their fangs all they wanted. Let them. You'd been surviving monsters long before any of them.

And for the first time in your life...

You weren't planning on running.

******************************************************

The briefing room smelled faintly of gun oil and blood - common scents mingling under the fluorescent lights. You leaned back in your chair, the edge of the table cool under your fingertips, watching as Price paced at the front, laying out the mission details.

Eyes flickered toward you every few sentences. Some subtle, some not. 

"...Makarov's latest movement puts him just outside Verdansk." He continued, flipping through satellite images. "Recon intel shows he's pulling in rogue clans. Mercenary types. No allegiance except blood and coin."

Soap leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "And let me guess... he wants to expand. Again."

"Exactly." Price glanced toward you then. "Which is why Laswell's sent us a specialist." 

You felt every gaze settle on you. No one spoke, but the weight of expectation pressed deep. He didn't elaborate further..... he didn't need to. Your presence was the question mark hanging over everyone's heads.

But Soap was the first to break the silence, tossing a smirk. "So... specialist, huh? Mind tellin' us what exactly you're made of?"

The others shifted a bit, feigned disinterest that didn't fool you for a second. You tapped your fingers against the table a couple of times. "Something harder to kill than most." 

His grin widened, but Gaz just studied you, chiming in. "That's not hard when most of us don't stay dead."

Across the table, Ghost hadn't moved. He hadn't looked at you since the moment you walked in, his hood pulled low, mask covered as usual. But you could feel the heat of his stare even when he wasn't. Like a pressure at the back of your neck or the point of a blade pressed against your skin.

Price cleared his throat. "Details on that aren't important right now. What is important is that she's part of the team. Get used to it." He gave you one last look - a warning and a reassurance - before the briefing wrapped up. Conversation rose and fell as everyone filed out, but you stayed seated. 

And so did Ghost.

He lingered at the far end of the room, arms crossed, posture stiff. When you finally stood, his eyes tracked your movement, keen and unblinking. It was the first time you'd been this close since your arrival.

"Something on your mind?" You asked. His gaze didn't waver. He didn't even goddamn flinch. But his voice - his fucking voice - was captivating even with how jagged it sounded.

"Vampires hunt in packs." He simply stated. "Doesn't mean we trust the new wolf."

The implication wasn't subtle, and you fought the urge to furrow your brows. Instead, you held your eyes as you tried to keep your pulse steady.

"Good thing I've never needed a pack."

The aura shifted into that same feeling as before -  ancient, involuntary, itching at your awareness. He turned, leaving the room and walking down the hall. He didn't know what the fuck it was about you that had him on edge.

Couldn't put a name to it........ didn't want to.

It wasn't just the way you didn't flinch when others stared, or how your eyes remained calm.... even around him. It wasn't even the fact that Laswell vouched for you without offering answers.

It was something deeper...

The second you'd stepped onto the tarmac, it hit him like a punch to the gut. That scent. That pull. It clawed at his skin. Unfamiliar, but terrifyingly... familiar. He didn't believe in mates. Never let himself entertain the idea, never let himself feel that vulnerable. He knew vampires could bond. Knew what happened to the ones who did. Ferals, the lot of them. Possessive. Reckless. Weak.

And yet....

When you'd met his gaze across the table, steady and unafraid, it took everything in him not to bare his teeth. He needed space.... distance... control. Anything to stop whatever this thing inside him was from snapping loose.

******************************************************

Later, when the sun was long swallowed by night, you leaned against the railing overlooking the training grounds. Footsteps approached, before Soap sidled up next to you, arms resting casually on the rail.

"Ya know.. Laswell says you've got a specific skill set." He glanced over, curiosity flashing across his eyes. "Still can't wrap my head around it. Ya don't smell like prey, but you're not one of us."

You gave him a half-smile. "That's the point."

He chuckled. "Doesn't scare me, if that's what you're wonderin'."

"It should." You arched a brow. 

He barked out a laugh at the comment, shaking his head. But behind the easy grin, you could still feel the question hanging in the air.

What exactly were you?

Okay.... first chapter... intrigued?????

Like, comment, repost, give me feedback please :)

Again, only first chapter going up until I finish the other story!

Taglist: @jessicab1991 @maskedbyghost @nappingmoon @kittygonap @ohdrey89 @chaos-4baby @skeletonsucker

Houndtooth | ⇦ Chapter 9 / 10

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut

18+ mdni - cw: physical violence, references to SA - 7.2k words

𝐈𝐗. 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 / 𝐗. 𝐓𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

an: I combined chaps 9/10 as 9 was only 2k-ish words long. Want to get all the Ao3 chaps up here quickly :)

You smell that sour iron, metallic and hot, miasma oozing from the pool of blood on the floor before you. Or is it your own blood you can scent? Coating your teeth, sticky on your lips? 

It doesn’t ache, though, the split in your gums, nor the chip in your tooth. Roaring adrenaline still floods every nerve ending. Too many abhorrent sensations overwhelm you. Too many storming thoughts torment you. 

You can still see the sneering grin of that American commander, his cocksure laughter and cloying drawl that convinced you he thought he was charming you. And how quickly that smile sunk into a cruel satisfaction when you spat a hunk of acrid saliva onto his cheek. You had given him an excuse. Fuelled his retaliation. 

You can still feel the wrenching of your babydoll’s silk seams, cutting into your flesh as it was yanked from you. Can still hear the shrill zip of the satin being torn into shards. Still feel the shiver down your spine at your exposure, at the rapacious sneering of your tormentors.

Still feel the fingertips on your skin. Their dents in your flesh. Their intentions in their wake. 

Still feel the searing agony in your scalp. Your skin being separated from skull as you were hung by your hair, the sound of it crackling as its connecting tissues began to split. 

Still feel the knuckles on your cheekbone. Your tongue between your teeth. Can hear the ringing in your ears, the throbbing of your shaken brain.

You ruminate on the cold hard edges of that gun, the weight of its possibilities in your palms - the possibilities you had quickly forsaken, handing off your last resort to your only hope. You can still hear the thunder of that gunshot, the two times it had been unloaded into your worse aggressors by your reticent captor. Was he protecting you as a person or as a possession? 

You reminisce on the sickly sweet satisfaction that doused you as you watched, in awestruck, shock-ridden silence, your hunter hurling fist after hurling first into the smug head of your torturer. 

You can still see his face. The skin beneath the skull. It had inexplicably surprised you that he had a face at all, that he was a man and not some hideous beast. You had imagined him with fangs, you imagined those honey-brown eyes peered through a coat of slick fur, that his tongue was forked behind those pointed teeth. But now you know for certain that he is human, his face lingering behind your eyelids as plainly and brightly as it was first revealed to you. 

He had softer eyes than you had expected, than the slit in his mask exposed; they were weary and heavy, dark with both greasepaint and a potently resentful exhaustion. His nose was sturdy, thick at the bridge, perhaps once broken by a fist and healed slightly crooked. His lips were full and pale, marred by a pink scar from a split lip. And other scars littered his pale freckled skin, slices and welts, carving through a tawny shadow of overgrown stubble that coated his jaw, through thick but fair brows that permanently furrowed above his eyes. 

He may have been once a good looking man, in his youth, before whatever hatred he’s laden with began to seep through and stain him. You saw his face and thus suddenly a glimpse of his distant humanity, however cryptic and transient it may be. You saw his face and now fabricate a past, a reason - there must be a reason, that he has become such a laconic, violent creature. He must have been entirely human, once. 

You wonder if he thinks the same thing of you. That you’ve been just as stained by the pessimistic hatred that pumps through your thinning vessels, dark and coagulated. Made ugly by it. Made into a creature much the same, running on base instinct alone. Maybe that’s why he seems to hold such visceral disdain for you. Why his eyes are always so heavy with contempt when they stick to you for too long. 

But his unmasked expression was novel. As if the bitterness in his eyes gained a new, a different meaning in the context of the rest of his features. Told a different story, when you could see the curl of his vaguely concerned brows, the jutting of his angered jaw, sour and furious after beating the sadistic American cunt to near-death. 

No, instead, he looked… sorry. Sorry that you had to bear witness to his face, his behaviour, had to see him at all. Sorry that you seemed to draw hope from it. 

But you did, anyway. You hope that if he looks human, he might act human. That it was sympathy in his poignant glare and not pity. 

You know you’re concussed. You know the feeling well; the throbbing, the ache, the vertigo. So you fight the dragging urge to sleep, so heavy on your shoulders that you couldn’t bring yourself to stand even if you tried. You haven’t left your spot on the floor, back gritting against the cold wall, knees against your chest. The blood on the floor can’t reach you, here. 

You fear your nudity. You fear exposing yourself any further than you are already by moving from your cocoon. Might there be cameras in here? Who could unlock your door and step in to leer at you? You’re not foolish enough to forget that no amount of clothing deters a predator with his sights on you. But you know how they use your bareness as an excuse. 

So when shadows of boots peer through the crack under your cell door, and precede the heavy clatter of keys in the lock, you only tighten the knot your body is in. 

It’s your hunter. 

Riley, you remind yourself.

His mask is still on. He locks the door behind him, his back to you still. 

You take a short breath, bracing to speak - but you spot his arm full, with what you’re not yet sure, and bite your tongue. He turns finally, hesitantly, squinting eyes almost fighting their immediate focus on you.

Seems he bears gifts. In one vascular hand he holds an unbranded plastic water bottle, almost dwarfed in his straining grip, in the other a large chunk of black cloth. 

You tilt your head back to follow him apprehensively as he approaches you, as he wordlessly hands you the fabric item first. 

You mustn’t respond in time, because with a frustrated shake he jabs it at you. “Fuck’s sake, take it.” 

Snatching it from him petulantly, you unravel it to reveal a hooded sweatshirt. Thick, black, vastly too big for you. Which is likely on purpose, given he hasn’t brought you trousers to pair with it. Still, you find yourself grateful. Only reminded of the bitter cold in your cell when an alternative warmth is presented to you. 

You do your best to stay tucked-in as you pull it over your head; though you don’t doubt some amount of nipple slipped out from behind your knees, as you struggled to find the neckhole in the tent of black fleece. You grit your teeth, suppose he’s already seen it all. 

The hoodie smells of dust and tobacco, like it might have sat in storage for months without a wash since the last person wore it. Once you adjust it over yourself, long enough to cover everything, you feel the tight snarl in the pit of your stomach loosen, if only slightly. Concealed, finally.

“Thanks,” you mutter, as he then hands you the bottle of water. You take it with fury and tear off the royal blue cap, swilling it with sincere desperation, teeth clamping into the ridges of the screw top. The water is stale, tainted with the ghosts of ammonia and salt - but it could be toilet water, for all you care, you’d been completely unaware of your thirst until the first drop touched your tongue. 

He crosses his arms, again, the disgruntled mammoth, ever impatient with you. 

“You know what’s going to happen next, don’t you.” 

Whatever threat he may have been trying to convey was lost in his tone, hoarse and bizarrely sincere. A solemn reminder. 

“If I don’t spy for you?” 

He curtly nods. 

“You told me already,” you murmur, surprising yourself with the defeat in your voice. “You’ll kill me.” 

His chest swells with a laboured sigh, near a grunt. 

“If you’ve got a deathwish, you should’ve put that gun in your mouth and pulled the trigger,” he retorts, monotonous yet severe. “Because it’ll be a long time before you get the bullet you want.” 

You pull the sleeves of your hoodie over your wrists, tucking in your palms, a nervous habit. Your hands are cold. Fingers are blue. “What do you mean.” 

“You had a go of it already. You don’t need me to remind you.” 

Your stare drifts through him, blurred and dizzy. You still taste the blood.

Exhaustion trumps your better judgement, obfuscates your ability to consider your words too carefully. “Then why don’t you just shoot me. You keep saying you will. You haven’t yet.” 

“I don’t like wasting bullets,” he grouses, “and I don’t like being wrong.” 

“Wrong about what?” 

He seems to hesitate before he speaks. Breathes irefully, like you’re the one pestering him. “I was certain you’d be useful. And I convinced my boss to take you instead of assassinating you in your bathroom.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” you grumble. 

He chuffs. “You don’t want to die, Mia. You’d have fuckin’ shot yourself. And you didn’t.” 

He was right. 

You had only briefly considered it, in reality; imagined the cold tip of its mouth on your temple, imagined your fingertip caressing the stiff trigger. You considered the torment that might have lay ahead of you, the dogs that might salivate at the sight of you, might chase you, might catch you in their teeth. 

You even envisioned holding the gun outward, pointing it at your masked captor, tugging that trigger as many times as the weapon would allow you to. Firing holes through his thick, heaving body, watching how many it took to bring him down. 

But even as that pistol sat heavy in your hands, you couldn’t help but fantasise about the faint chance of  going home. A possibility that would be quashed no matter where you sent the bullet. 

You couldn’t help but daydream about walking down the cobbles of your hometown even though you had no great fondness for it, about sitting on a café chair in the morning sunlight on one of three days a year it didn’t rain, about wearing your old wellies and trudging through the grass, petting old ewes.

And you weren’t going to die for your fucking husband, nor his sadistic coconspirators. 

Spotting your silence, perhaps sniffing out your lapse in conviction, he once again makes his offer. “Like I said, quid pro quo,” he repeats, voice low and dry, you can hear his confidence in his chest. “You help me, I help you.” 

“How,” you spit. “How will you help me.” 

“You get the intel we need, and we’ll get you on a plane home. You’d have a clean slate. New name, new address. Mia Zakhaev will’ve never existed.”

You snort at that. She never did. 

“You’d be sending a corpse home,” you growl, feeling the terror creeping up the back of your throat. “If there’s one left. There probably won’t be once they find me out. And that’s only assuming your fucking men don’t get to me first.”  

“My men won’t touch you,” he says coarsely. “You’d have protections as an informant.”  

“Yeah? Well I don’t have many fucking protections from the men that you want me to spy on,” you bark, voice breaking, your sudden loudness makes you dizzy. Your sore eyes swell, their supply of tears seemingly replenished by the water he had provided you. 

“You wouldn’t-” he starts, but your tired, terrified anger lurches from your throat and viciously interrupts him. 

“You have - you have no idea what these animals do. What I’ve seen them do.”

You hear him spitefully suck his teeth. “I know exactly what they do.” 

Taking a moment to breathe, to gather yourself, your eyes finally shudder up to meet his. “Then you know I won’t last an hour with them.” 

“You wouldn’t be sent in alone,” he rumbles, taking an irate pause. “You’d have protection.” 

“Can’t say I feel any safer around your men,” you retort through a croak. 

“Not them,” he grits amidst a reluctant sigh. “Me.” 

Despite what Ghost believed to be an inborn skill in reading people, your expression continues to elude him. Is it disappointment in your glistening eyes? Terror? Or is it relief? Hope? 

You swiftly look at the floor again, perhaps at the pool of blood Ghost nonchalantly stands in. Not the first time he’d trail red footprints. Not even the first time within the walls of this very compound.

It must be confusing for you, having him condemn you and then help you. Harbouring a hatred for him almost as potent as your awareness that he’s your only option. But it won’t be as confusing for you, as it is for him. He felt sick and bitter as he handed you that sweatshirt, one he had quietly dug from an empty storage room, had carried to you in the dark so that he wouldn’t be seen doing you a favour. 

Earlier this very night he would have left you naked and bloody. He wouldn’t have intervened whatever creative technique Graves had to make a spy of you. Graves wouldn’t have needed to touch you at all - he would have done it himself. 

That’s how disgusted by you he was. When he knew you as a conniving, vapid sadist. As a warlord’s avaricious consort. As a slithery creature complicit in the suffering inflicted by your kind. 

But at every step, you seem to have confuted him. 

Perhaps you’re that good of a liar. A talented actress. You would have to have been quite the thespian, to fulfil the role of Victor Zakhaev’s loving wife. And Ghost can see your attempts to decipher him, to write a script based on your readings so that you might have him play the part that would serve you. 

It’s what he’d expect. From you, and from anybody. Honesty has been a rarity in his sordid life, something so elusive he struggles to believe that anyone truly has the capacity for it. Even himself. 

“If I do this,” you breathe, hesitating. You glare directly downward, sucking on your words as you fail to spill them out. “If I do it, and they catch me, will you - will you get me out?” 

He sucks in a wary gulp of air. “I can try.” 

Your glower shifts to him, dark and tired, peered up from under your stiff brows. “And if they don’t, when can I go home?” 

“Once you get the intel we need.” 

Quiet, reluctant, you seem to despair every word you release. “And you promise I can go home? I can just - disappear? Like none of this ever happened?” 

He nods stiffly. “Like I said. Clean slate.” 

You shiver. 

“Okay,” you murmur, “I’ll… I’ll do it.” 

~

The lieutenant had decided to let you sleep. 

He hadn’t said such a thing, of course, it wasn’t a favour that he had offered you. After you had obligated yourself to their scheme, he nodded curtly and left without another word. You weren’t sure, at the time, whether he had let you be out of some charitable sympathy. But, despite the effort, you hadn’t carefully deconstructed his actions nor his words, like you would have in a more alert, more conscious state. 

After every physical and psychological torment that had been inflicted on you in the ten hours since your abduction, your mind had atrophied into grey milk. Runny, formless, utterly incapable of amassing a single thought or sensible decision. And despite your wounds, visible and otherwise, you fell into a hollow, dreamless sleep the second your feeble body made its way to the deteriorated mattress. You lay as close to the wall as possible, facing it in the hopes you could cast away the savagery that stained the floor behind you. 

Your sleep had functioned more as a system failure than a recuperation, and so, as you wake up, you feel as though you had not slept at all. Despite being damp with sweat and panic, your skin pricks in the dry cold of your cell. You have no indication of how much time had passed, how long you had slept, what time it is - your cell has no windows, after all. The sun might have risen and set already, or it might still be the same unending night. With a painful, irrepressible yawn, grinding your bruised jawbone against your skull, you wonder if only a single hour had gone by in your slumber. 

There’s a throbbing in your head, radiating and sharp; the forceful ache thumps out from the swollen bruise on your temple and bounces off the back of your skull. You feel your heart racing behind your ribs, pathetic little beats, it seems as if it barely pumps your blood an inch at each twitch. Anxiety, you’re sure, instant panic at the reminder of your imprisonment once you open your eyes; but you know that fluttering as a different omen, one foretelling a self-inflicted sickness. 

You hadn’t taken an oxycontin since the evening of your abduction. Four hours before your hunter had broken into your home, sadistically assassinated each of your sentries, and stolen you from your sanctuary. Unable to know for sure how long it had been since then, you suppose at least twenty hours. Perhaps more, perhaps less. 

Your oxycodone, though not prescribed, is controlled-release, long-acting - which has spared you, at least, a quick descent into withdrawal immediately after your abduction. But its arrival is inevitable, however prolonged it may be. They must have something in the compound, you think, you pray. If they’re soldiers, like they say - there must be analgesics, maybe some codeine, or surely some vicodin. You could ask the Lieutenant, maybe, you are in pain, after all. Or you could ask, beg, the Captain, the one who pretends to be so caring and so noble - an injured, beaten woman, surely he would not stand to see you in such agony? 

But just as the flustered panic sets in, there’s a loud, pounding knock on your cell door. Thud, thud, thud. You jump, shooting upright from where you lay flat on your creaking bed, and before you are given the opportunity to speak or dispute, the door is unlocked and thrown open. Three men file in, you dread, three of them - soldiers, in grey and black. You spot the union jack patches on their bulky vests, and find yourself feeling some inkling of relief - not the Americans that had brutalised you - though you recognise none of them. 

They waste no time, organised and hasty, two of them march towards you and the other stands guard by the door. You squeak in terror, backing up to the wall on instinct - they offer no comfort, no patience as they take you by your arms and pull you uncaringly from the bed. You’re tossed and spun, hands tugged behind your back and cuffed with another cable tie as if you present any danger to them. 

“C’mon,” one grunts, the only word spoken to you. His tone just barely encouraging, like he is instructing lumbering livestock to file obediently through his gate. 

Hyperventilating, you try to look over your shoulder - before, once again, a black cotton bag is pulled over your head. Blinded and incapacitated, they are swift to twist you and yank you, dragging you by your arms; you stumble over bare feet and feel the stickiness of undried blood on your soles. 

“Where are you taking me,” you whimper, not expecting an answer but disputing all the same. They won’t hurt you now, right? You are doing what they wanted. You agreed to their terms. What more can they take from you? 

“A meeting,” one says stiffly, the one on your right. Your feet do their best to take steps as they cart you out of the cell, presumably down the maze of hallways. You hear the echoes of their boots in the labyrinthine cement tunnels. 

Your instinct is to ask, with who? But, you can guess, can’t you. If not the Lieutenant, then the Captain, who you suppose had orchestrated the scheme in the first place. Though you begrudge their needless brutality, you follow their physical instruction without further complaint. 

They’re not the American soldiers in black, you remind yourself - so surely, you pray, they aren’t taking you to the Commander for some form of comeuppance. His business with you was unfinished, you suspect, there is no way he is done with you. 

But your violent escorts come to a halt, and you hear them knock on a door right in front of you. There’s murmuring emanating from behind it, the dull thuds of boots approach before the sound of it opening.

A grunt, a sigh, you hear the ire in the man’s breath, whoever it is. “Right. Bring ‘er in.” 

The Scotsman. You don’t have much of a read on this one, you recall, besides the salivating, dog-like hunger that oozes from him. Though it is less potent, now, you suppose you must appear far less appealing in a dusty, poorly fitting sweatshirt, than in your priceless silk lingerie. 

You’re shoved unceremoniously into the room, almost tripping over your feet before a firm hand lands on your shoulder. Far from a gentlemanly gesture, he then pulls you by your bicep, pushing you downwards until your ass lands in a cold, seemingly plastic, chair. You hear the door shut behind you. 

Before you can speak, the sack is pulled roughly from your head, yanking a few of your hairs with it, and the stark brightness of the room forces you to squint. 

“Jesus,” the Scotsman scoffs, as he sees you, before going to sit in another chair. “Graves is a fucken’ animal.” 

As your eyes adjust to the light, your glare shoots around the room - there are four of them, around a table, you have been seated at the head. You recognise three, the Captain, the Scotsman, and unsurprisingly, the Lieutenant. The fourth, you guess, must be the sergeant - the one you had heard on the helicopter, but who you have not yet seen. He looks somewhat less jaded than the others, and disturbed by the sight of you. A grimace of shame dents in his brow when you meet his eye, and he turns his head to look at some paper on the table. 

There’s a window in the room, and while you had just earlier been wishing for one, you now scorn the daylight that glows from behind it. A reminder of the outside world, you feel it glaring in at you, taunting you with freedom. You wonder how many storeys high the building is. You can’t see any trees. The grey sky obfuscates the time of day - it could be morning, or afternoon, for all you can tell. 

“How the fuck is this gunna work if she looks like that?” The Scotsman gripes, gesturing at you with his thumb.

Leaning back cavalierly in his seat, with his arms crossed, Lieutenant Riley snorts spitefully. “Ask the Cap.” 

The Captain stands, then, at the other end of the table, he leans on his knuckles against the synthetic wooden surface. “D’ya sleep alright, Mia?” He asks suddenly, directly to you, as though casting silence on the others. 

There’s an itch under your left ear, it makes your eye twitch, and you cannot scratch it. Vexed, tired, you simply scowl. “No.” 

He seems to find humour in that, huffing as if quietly laughing. “Of course not,” he admits with a sigh, “you poor thing. I’m sorry about all of this, I truly am.” 

You spot the Lieutenant scowling at him, eyes lidded darkly, he radiates a fury that you can taste from where you sit. You decide not to answer, not yet, you wait in uncomfortable silence for the Captain to get to the point. 

“I was told you’ve considered helping us,” he says, a cautiousness in his throat. “S’that right?” 

You swallow. “I was told I could go home,” you answer quietly.

“And you will,” he nods sincerely, “if you do what we tell you to do. If you get us what we need.” 

“What do you need,” you ask, shuffling in your seat, doing your best to only subtly stretch your shoulders - they ache from where they are pulled behind your back, you feel your cold fingertips swell. 

He laughs, then, a self-deprecating chortle, as he sits himself back in his seat and tugs himself forward. “Ah, well - of course, that would be helpful to know, wouldn’t it?” 

His casual amusement unsettles you deeply, you glare at him in anxious anticipation. “It would,” you croak. 

“We’ve asked you about Makarov, haven’t we,” he explains. “I don’t think you were honest with me about how well you know him, eh? Not according to Riley, here. Sounds like you’ve had a few run-ins with him, have you?” 

You say nothing. 

“Well, love, he’s who we’re after - if you hadn’t guessed already. Your husband was, let’s say, one on a long list. We would like to apprehend him, definitely, but you see - he’s like a virus, this man. He has infected plenty of other men with his ideas. If we take him out, well, it’ll be hard for us to figure out who else his plans may have spread to. He wouldn’t be as lovely and cooperative as you have been.” 

You feel the knit form in your brow, viciously upset by his comment. Cooperative? As if you had a fucking choice in any of it. As if you could have defied them any more than you had already tried to. As if you’d be gifted the option of a swift execution if you failed to comply. 

“So,” he continues nonchalantly, “ideally, we’d like to get as much information from him as we can while he’s in his natural habitat, so to speak. We want to know what he is planning, and who else is involved, so we can intercept it this time.” 

This time. You find yourself stuck on that. How many other times have there been? What else have they done? What else had your husband helped commit? You suck deep a careful breath in the subsequent silence, he evidently waits for you to offer some input. 

“You think he would tell me anything?” You mutter doubtfully,  “that he’d tell me anything about this plan?” 

“Well, love,” he grunts, “for your sake, I hope he does.” 

“You won’t ask him directly,” the Scotsman suddenly speaks. You didn’t expect him to participate much in the scheming, he seems to you as thick as a plank. “That’d be a bit obvious.” 

“Couldn’t we bug the place?” The Sergeant asks, speaking up for the first time since you had entered the room. 

“They’ll have RF detectors,” Riley remarks bluntly, shaking his head. “At least.”

“So, you…” you hesitate, thinking aloud, “you want me to eavesdrop?”

“Assuming they talk about anything of value,” the Captain agrees. “But you’ll prompt them where necessary, won’t you?” 

“You know them, Mia,” the Scotsman interjects, again, and you begin to question your first assumption about his stupidity. “So, if you think there is a better way, a… safer way to get the intel we want, then say so. We want to help you, help us.” 

You stare at him, doubt on your tongue. You know, in the pit of you, that if your cover is blown, they will leave you to die - simply another failed scheme, and they will move on to the next one. But he is right, in that, of course, you want to find the safest way to fulfil their ploy and guarantee your freedom. Desperately. Your eyes flit between the four men before you, who shoot glances at each other before looking at you expectantly, as if you might have some suggestion. 

And in the silence it dawns on you quickly the fact that you will soon have to face them again. Have to be seen by, have to walk amongst, have to talk to the very men you had denied your fear of for as long as you had known them. Then, when you were a wife, they feigned respect, they kept their tasteful distance. Now, you’d be a widow, a ripe fruit hanging from a low branch. That in itself sends painful pricks down the nape of your neck, but the thought of having to question them about their clandestine crimes, even daring to speak to them - you know, with conviction, that it will be your death sentence. 

“I can’t ask him,” you utter, shaking your head twitchily. “There’s no- they will know, straight away, if I ask them anything about it. Even if I just - even if I express interest in what they are talking about, they will know. And if they don’t think I’m a rat, they will still think I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. As a wife - a widow. They’ll say it’s not my place.” 

“I’m sure it’s not abnormal for their wives to ask innocent questions,” The Captain shrugs, artificial support in his tone, as if he is providing you some reassurance. “They’ll be more receptive after a few drinks.” 

“Are you stupid?” You anxiously blurt, immediately regretting your sudden insult, but quietly relishing in the minor outburst of long-craved aggression. He simply looks surprised, almost amused, like he thinks it was cute. “You’ve been spying on these men for - for so long, and you don’t know anything about them, do you?” 

“That’s what we’ve got you for,” the Scotsman retorts.

“They won’t just give me a scolding, a slap on the wrist, if I displease them - if I disobey them - do you think they are forgiving?” You assert eagerly, angrily. “My friend Sasha, she raised her voice at her husband in front of the rest, and so he poured boiling water on her face. I went to her funeral two months ago. One of them beat his nineteen-year-old girlfriend to death for denting his car. They held Alena’s hand to a stove after she smacked her husband, they had to cut her hand off. She was lucky. And Vladimir-”

You stop yourself, stumbling on your tongue. You sweat with stress and hot terror as you remember each horror you had to witness or hear of, each of them long buried and desperately ignored so that you could bear to live in your bubble of fragile safety among the monsters that had enacted them.

“Vladimir what?” Riley queries rigidly. 

Glaring at him, you shift uneasily in your seat, your brow knots in worry as you struggle to let loose the words. “He’s the… he’s the worst of them.” 

“What’d he do?” 

“He-” you bite off with a groan, frustrated with your frightened inability to even describe what kind of a man, what kind of a beast, he is; you feel your heart shrivel at the thought of him. “He hurts, he kills, anyone. Anyone. If he wants, if he decides to.” 

They remain silent. Expectant. You involuntarily elaborate, as your sore eyes begin to well. 

“I - I saw him murder one of my maids, in my home. He was a guest, in my home, and he pulled her by the hair into the kitchen and slit her throat - and he never explained why, he just left her body there and went back to dinner. Nobody even asked him why… God forbid I asked him, or even showed that I was upset by it, he would’ve… he… I couldn’t ask. I couldn’t. I knew what, I knew what he’d do. Because, h-he - there’s nobody he won’t hurt. Even, last year, he tried to sleep with Vasiliev’s wife, and s-she rebuffed him - so he had her put in acid. He put her in acid. He put her in while she was awake and then left her in the barrel on her driveway.”

A disturbed quiet settles in the room, as you suck down a wet and quivering breath. You contort your shoulder to wipe the errant tears that had dribbled down your cheek. The four of them seem to take the moment to consider, a thick air of disgust and guilt seeps from each of them. The Scotsman rubs his eyebrow, the Sergeant holds his hands to his forehead, the Captain drums his knuckles against the table in disquieted thought. 

The Lieutenant, though, had not turned his eyes from you. He keeps his thick arms crossed, glower low and sharp through the hole in his mask. 

“Did he ever threaten you?” He asks severely, voice hoarse. Despite emphasising you, evidently asking about you specifically, no concern for you could be gleaned from his tone. If any concern, at all, merely a worry that such a thing might in some way affect his mission. You wonder if he had deduced from your terror that Vladimir might have turned his sights on you. Clever man. 

Worriedly biting your tongue, you sniff back the frightened tears that threaten their persistence. “Not explicitly,” you mumble. “But he - he would remind me of her. He’d remind me of what he did to her, if I didn’t do what he wanted.” 

“What did he want?” The Captain questions, leaning on his elbows, interlocking his fingers as though still plotting something unspoken. 

You scowl at him, red eyes laser in his direction. “If you’re asking whether he wanted to fuck me too, then no - he didn’t.” 

“No?” He queries gently, frowning in apparent doubt. 

“No,” you spit, tearful, “he didn’t. And he wouldn’t have tried. Victor was protective.” 

“I bet,” the Scotsman chuffs, and your lips curl in disgust. 

“So he didn’t hurt you, then, I take it?” Asks the Captain. 

Your eyes shoot briefly to Riley, the man still scowling behind his mask, he bounces his leg as though irritated. “Why does it matter,” you bite. 

“Because if he’s going to throw you in acid the second we send you back, then it won’t be a very successful mission, will it?” The Captain explains, condescension dripping from his tone. 

You shut your eyes for a short moment, frustration and fear thundering in your temples, you take the second to breathe deeply. “No, he didn’t hurt me.” 

“He must have liked you then.” 

You weakly shake your head. “He doesn’t like anyone who isn’t useful to him.” 

The Captain again drums the wooden surface with the tips of his fingers. “Well, you could make yourself useful to him,” he suggests wryly, “couldn’t you.” 

You grimace, sniff, glaring at him like he had smacked you. Another fucking use - such an apparently short list of uses you serve, and yet all of these dogs seem find you useful for one thing or another. You know what he is implying. 

“I just told you what he did to the last woman he thought might be useful.” You snap with sore venom. 

“Then what do you suggest, Mia,” the Scotsman asks bluntly. 

You inhale deeply, warily, staring at the centre of the table as you do your best to separate your terror from the reality of your situation. 

“I can eavesdrop,” you hesitantly insist, “they think I don’t speak Russian very well, so I can listen. I’m - I’m sure that they’ll have a lot to talk about after… after Victor’s death. But - they’re going to have questions. They’ll ask where I have been, where I was. Where his body is. They’ll ask about, about everything. I’ll n-need a story.” 

“Don’t you worry about that,” the Captain asserts, “we’ll sort one out.”  

You swallow, you wonder if they can see you shaking, now that your tentative future encroaches on you so violently. “How?” 

He seems to mull over his words before he replies, perhaps deciding whether you are even allowed to be privy to his plan.

“We’ll plant you back at your estate. Zakhaev, too. It’ll look like a botched assassination.” 

The tears threaten their swell, at his mention - at the thought of having to lay eyes on your husband’s cold body. You see his face erupting from the inside out, then, in an instant; you see the crater left by the bullet that tore through from the back of his skull, the pieces of brain and bone and meat that hung in strands from the hole, having turned black and dry in the hours since his murder. You wonder if they had left his corpse there, buckled over and dripping, still tied to that seat, festering under the fluorescent light. 

And you imagine having to step around the frigid bodies of your guards, the pools of blood that will stain every floor, of every room in your home - having to avoid getting it on your feet, and further staining the carpet with your footprints. Nausea churns in your fragile stomach, your skin shivers as you sip in quick and shallow breaths.

“Mia,” he grits, as though getting sick of your panic. 

He grounds you though, somehow, bitterly reminding you of your circumstances, of the deal you made, of the things you will need to do to go home. 

So you nod, hastily, once again using your shoulder to try and wipe off the stream of salty tears that dripped from your chin. “Okay,” you relent, shaking, “Okay. I can - there’s someone I can call to, to make it believable. But it… it’ll take time to clean out the house, for the, for the funeral, so-”

“We won’t have time for that,” Riley interjects, tone dull and irate. “Was he Orthodox? Is there a church? Cathedral? A place to hold it instead of the mansion?” 

Your husband was not a religious man. Not outwardly so, anyway. You suppose you can’t fathom committing the crimes that he had while still worshipping a supposedly benevolent God. 

“They wouldn’t - I don’t think they’d expect to hold the funeral at a church.” 

“Why’s that.” 

“When - when someone like Victor, someone important dies… it’s more of a business meeting, than a funeral. When his father was killed, they didn’t even have someone there to give a sermon.”  

The Lieutenant grunts in frustration, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. 

“I could have them come to the estate in Kastovia,” you suggest sheepishly, now so surreally disconnected from your situation that it has begun to feel to you like you’re discussing the plot to a film. 

He scoffs at that, Riley, with an air of spiteful disgust. “Another one?” 

“It was - it was a gift, from Victor. He’d send me there when h-he had business I wasn’t allowed to be home for,” you ponder, barely murmuring. “It would make sense for me to go there after, after everything.” 

“Fine.” He retorts flatly. “Kastovia it is.” 

“Right, then,” the Captain muses, evidently enthused, satisfied with how the strategy has so far unfolded. “The Lieutenant will act as one of your hired guards. He’ll keep a close eye on you. And he speaks plenty of Russian, don’t you Riley, so he’ll fit right on in.” 

“No, he-” you interject dryly, but insistently, “...his Russian is bad. If he talks, they’ll know.” 

The Scotsman snorts at that, chuckling and shooting a mocking glance in the Lieutenant’s direction. Riley falls briefly silent, and it leaves you fretting viciously - had you angered him? Will he take that out on you later? You’ll be stuck with him. Only him. Nobody to hold him accountable, and nowhere to run. 

“She’s right,” he instead dismisses, through a grumble, and you let out a small breath of relief. “They’ll pick up on my accent. She’s not even Russian, and she did.” 

The Captain grunts in irritation, rocking his head back with a sigh. “Then, Christ, make up a story about your tongue being cut out. Fuck’s sake. It doesn’t matter, they won’t ask about it. I’m sure you’ve gone through plenty of bodyguards in your day, eh, Mia?” 

You nod restlessly. 

“Good,” the Captain barks, smacking the table with a satisfied hand. “Perfect. Let’s get you ready to go then, eh?” 

You feel your chest close on your ribs, your blood floods to your feet and renders you sick and dizzy. “Now?” You croak, barely, staring vacantly in his direction. 

“Not backing out, are you, love?” He questions, the casual friendliness in his tone belying a clear threat, you can see it in his piercing stare. 

You shake your head desperately, hyperventilating, you swallow dry. “No, no I’m - I’m just, I don’t think I’m ready-”

“‘Course you are,” he encourages you, and you watch as the Scotsman stands, black sack in his fist, he steps uncaringly towards you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get you home. You just need to be brave, yeah?” 

You whimper, let loose a wet sob, as the sack is crudely tugged over your head, and you are plunged into the violent unknown once more. 

Ghost stays seated, leaning back deep in his chair, sourly thankful that Price had brought the ‘meeting’, as he called it, to a hasty end. He couldn’t stand to see the man feign charity and empathy for a moment longer, watching him leer at you while pretending to be a voice of comfort. Asking how you slept - who the fuck does he think he is? He was the one that had endorsed your beating, after all, he seemed to have no qualms about it then. The fucking hypocrite.  

He watches in resentful silence as Soap grabs you by your arms, his thick hands gripping you wrenchingly tight as he shuffles you through the door. He listens to you whine and cry quietly, to yourself, looks at your bruised and trembling legs as they stumble over each other on your way out of the room. In the lull, he rocks his head back in exasperated fury, glaring at the panelled ceiling and releasing a loud and hoarse sigh from this throat. 

“Not gonna lie,” Gaz grunts, reaching into the pocket of his trousers and plucking out a crumpled box of Richmond cigarettes, “I’m starting to feel bad for her.” 

Ghost scoffs. “Want a cookie, sergeant?” 

“Piss off,” comes Gaz’s quick retort, as he lights the cigarette he holds in the corner of his lips. “Just ‘cause you’re a sociopath doesn’t mean we all are.” 

“Remember what she is, yeah?” Price remarks dully, scooping up the folders and sat phone he had previously left spread across the table. 

“Yeah, yeah, Cap, she’s just a hooker,” Gaz mocked, groaning, “you’re not as chivalrous as you think you are, eh?” 

“God’s sake, Gaz,” Price grouses, lips twisting in a disapproving curl under his dense moustache. “Nothing to do with that. She’s a fuckin’ oligarch and she’s a terrorist. Don’t forget that.”

“Don’t you get the vibe she had nothing to do with any of it?” Gaz asks, cynicism in his tone. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ghost cuts in, flat and hostile. “She married a warlord. Whatever happens to her now is her own fault.” 

Gaz snorts, shooting a scornful glance at Ghost before turning to the Captain. “You really gonna let this guy take the mission alone with her?” He asks derisively. 

“Ghost has the right attitude,” Price dismisses. “You feel guilty, you get attached, the whole fuckin’ mission shits the bed.” 

“If you think she’s a terrorist, why’d you offer to send her back to England, eh?” Gaz interrogates, punctuating his doubt with a drag of his cigarette. 

Ghost looks down at his hands as they knot into a single fist, and Price releases an awkward huff; an indignant silence between them seems to answer Gaz’s question. 

“You’re not serious,” he spits, agog at the realisation, “are you fucking serious?” 

“She’s a war criminal, as far as we know,” Price says, close to a murmur. “It’d be a threat to national security.” 

“Jesus,” Gaz vents, rubbing his jaw with tense fingers. “You’re both sick.” 

Ghost involuntarily clenches his jaw, gritting teeth. He didn’t consider himself as lying when he told you that they could get you a passport and send you home. If you succeed, if you prove your loyalty - he is sure that would convince Price that you are worthy of rescue. 

Rescue, he curses at himself - as if you need rescue. As he said, he reminds himself, you made your bed and now you are lying in it. You’re so good at it, clever girl, at twisting their impressions of you, at wringing pity from them by fluttering your eyes and letting loose your sparkling tears. Your bruises must hurt, he’s sure, but they must only help you, now - you can brandish them and whimper like a beaten puppy, you can whine and beg for comfort and protection. 

He tells himself, demands himself, not to fall for it. You had already swindled him once, tricking him into bringing you water and clothes by sitting naked and shaking on the floor of your cell. You just looked so wounded, so defeated, so desperate… 

“You keep her hopes up, won’t you, Simon?” Price orders apathetically. 

Ghost nods silently, running his tongue along his teeth. 

“And if she gets herself caught - leave her with ‘em. Get yourself out of there, they’ll take care of her.” 

There’s a sordid silence as Ghost glowers jadedly out of the window, watching the dark clouds of an encroaching snowstorm roll closer across the low-lying sky. 

He huffs. “Yes sir.” 

Silence is better together IV

Chapter tags/warnings/ themes: AU!pirate hunter!Simon, fem!reader, mythological symbolism, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional whiplash, slight argument, bittersweet moments, Simon’s non-canon backstory, mentions of violence, mentions of 141, character death (Soap) grief, loss, trauma, flashbacks, survivor’s guilt, past abuse, soft!Simon, protective!Simon, tenderness & affection, confessions, pet names, fluff, slow burn is not slow buring anymore

Word count: 6,4k

A/N: Thank you so much for reading my story! I truly appreciate your support and for staying with me until the end of this series. And yes, I have to announce that this is the final part of Silence is better together. At first, this was supposed to be just a one-part thing, but I got carried away and ended up writing more. That’s why some scenes, especially the ending, might feel a bit rushed. I simply ran out of inspiration and didn’t want to drag this series to nowhere. Yet, I’m planning to write a few extra scenes that I didn’t get the chance to explore. Once again, thank you for being part of this journey.

Previous part

“When were you planning to tell me about this? If you were ever planning to do so. I feel like a fool,” you say, trying your hardest not to shout at him.

“I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to expose you to what I did or what happened in my past.”

“Expose me to what you did? Are you one of them? One of those who brought destruction to my village?”

“No. Don’t associate me with them. Never!” Simon exclaims, emphasizing each word.

“I don’t know what you did or who you truly are, but I was a fool to blindly trust you. At first, I wanted to take some time to assure myself that I could trust you, but then I allowed myself to believe you were different. You showed no signs that I should fear you. Yet, I am disappointed in myself. I regret meeting-”

“Don’t even think about saying that when you know damn well that is not true. It was my fault; I should have told you sooner.”

“No, it's mine. I should have pushed you to tell me more about your past when I met you, but I was so focused on other things…”

“You were focused on taking care of my arse. You made damn sure I kept breathing,” he completes your sentence, his voice low, mind filled with the moments you spent ensuring he stayed alive.

“Yes, I did that. I promised myself I would keep you alive. I couldn't bear the thought of letting you die, especially after witnessing my people die, powerless to stop it. I did not want to see another soul disappear too soon from this world. I did not want to lose someone again,” you continue the sentence in your mind.

“Listen, I need to make things right for the trouble I’ve caused you. I have a long story to share, and now feels like the right time to do it,” Simon says, his tone filled with remorse as he tries his best to redeem himself in your eyes. It’s not just about the two of you needing to cooperate to survive the colder season; it’s also about the strong connection you built together over the past few weeks - one he would be damned if he lost.

“Simon, if that’s your real name, you don’t owe me anything. I did everything expecting nothing in return. You don’t have to prove anything to me anymore. That’s enough,” you reply, your voice heavy with defeat.

“I never lied to you. I thought sheltering you from the harsh realities of the world outside was a good idea, but it wasn't. You need to understand the other side of the story.”

“What do you mean by that? Is there more to know?” you respond, your tone laced with a strange curiosity.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “This time, don’t omit any important details. I need to know the truth.”

"After everything you've been through, you deserve to hear the truth. It's time to confront what’s real."

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as memories from his past flood his mind. When he opens them, a hint of melancholy lingers, and hesitantly - with an unfamiliar emotion - he begins to share his history with you

Simon's story was devastating, full of tragedy, loss, and profound pain. He begins to paint a portrait of his childhood - a troubled one. His mind wanders back to his early years, a time marked by anxiety and fear, rather than the warmth of innocence, hope, and nurturing growth that many children his age experienced. His very being was molded by the tumultuous feelings of his past. Although he promised to share his full story, he felt the need to spare you the haunting memories of his violent father. He revealed only fragments of that turbulent time, driven by a desire to justify himself to you - to see him as he is, his true self.

Now, you understand why he struggles to express his emotions freely and articulate what he truly thinks. His complicated family situation formed him in this way; he lacked the privilege of growing up in an environment that nurtured this side of him. As a result, he often found himself isolated and quiet. Despite his mother's efforts to mend the harm caused by his heartless father's actions, the misery had already settled deep within his soul. His father's mistakes made him the man he is today. He vowed to himself never to become like his old man, and he has kept that promise to this day.

He believed that after his father left, his mother and brother's life would improve - he was wrong. When he joined the Privateer Unit, a group organized to hunt and capture the pirates that plagued the seas, he returned home for a short time, only to find his mother in debt and his brother struggling with addiction. His new mission was to help his family. After a long period of recovery, he had to come back to his work. Not long after he left, the Red Wave attacked his town, destroying it much like they had done to your village. However, at that time, they were just beginning their criminal path and were not as bloodthirsty as they would become when they destroyed your island. His family survived: his mother, brother, his brother’s wife, and his little nephew.

Yet, they were hurt, especially Tommy, his brother, who did his best to protect their family from these thieves. Their town was ravaged; they took everything they could carry. If his family had been lucky enough to escape this misery, it did not mean that the other families were also fortunate. Many people suffered at the hands of those cruel individuals. One of them was Henry, who faced a brutal death after trying to help his mother. Simon grew up with him; he was his only childhood friend. He remembered running away from home to escape his father's violence, wandering the streets for hours, even when it was cold or dark outside. Henry’s mother would often ask him to come inside to warm up. Hesitantly, he would want to decline, but the cold and his hungry stomach forced him to accept every time. They would pull out a chair at the table and welcome him with open arms, feeding him fresh food - even sweets afterward. Simon’s mother was an excellent cook, but he avoided sitting at the table with his family because his father always found a reason to raise his voice at him. He would quickly grab a piece of bread and leave, unable to bear the tension at the table. Henry’s father never raised his voice at his wife or son, and Simon felt a pang of jealousy at that. However, he pushed the feeling of envy to the back of his mind and pretended, if only for a moment, that this was his life.

He was grateful to Henry’s family for everything they had done for him. He felt an even deeper appreciation for Henry, who had been his only friend during a time when he felt all alone. Although he spent time with his brother, Tommy, he sometimes struggled to understand why their father seemed to favor him. This led him to distance himself from Tommy, even though he knew it wasn’t his brother's fault. He believed it was his own fault for being who he was. Over time, he learned to accept these feelings and focus on other aspects of his life. Deep within his soul, it still hurt, but he had grown accustomed to it by now.

He explains that he had decided to move his family to a place far from the ocean - somewhere safe and out of sight of the pirates. He wanted to prevent any future attacks. However, he knew he couldn't just wait and hope for the best; he had to take action. His mother was particularly stubborn, refusing to leave her home. It took a long time to convince her that it was for the best.

Since that moment, his life mission had been to hunt down those who wounded the most precious people he held close to his heart. He wanted to prevent their expansion into other areas as much as possible. His aim was to put an end to the suffering caused by their wicked actions, but doing all the work on his own proved to be a difficult task. Although he possessed ambition equal to ten men, he was also a man who acknowledged his limits.

He struggled to find allies he could rely on; most were only interested in fighting for money, not for the cause. This was understandable, yet the few men he had hired - initially eager for revenge - soon became clouded by their desire for more. They took the gold and goods stolen by the pirates, filling their own pockets instead of trying to give back to those who had suffered. While their desire for wealth was comprehensible, their greed was not. Now, they were no better than the pirates of the Red Wave.

Simon thought he would have to come back to the days of fighting alone, but fate had other plans. A man with an authoritative presence appeared out of nowhere, demanding that he join his team - he commanded, not asked. Simon was taken aback by such boldness, initially thinking the man was out of his mind. Yet, the man's speech was too good to ignore. In that moment, Simon found himself reevaluating his sanity as he made the decision to join the team, feeling trapped by circumstance. This is how he became part of Team 141, led by the rugged and determined Captain John Price, whose powerful moral compass guided their every move. Alongside him was Kyle Garrick, known as Gaz - a man with a sharp tongue and a fierce dedication, always ready for action. Then there was the unpredictable man that introduced himself as Soap, whose infectious humor, brilliant mind, and strong loyalty often caught Simon off guard. Within this new team, Simon discovered something he hadn’t felt in a long time: a sense of belonging.

Strangely, he felt at home in this team formed by three men who had once been nobody to him. It could be the sense of camaraderie he felt being with them, or perhaps it was the mutual reason they were fighting for. Maybe it was the feeling that he was an important piece of something greater; a piece that was undeniably needed. He felt seen and, oddly enough, understood by these men who did not know the full extent of his troubled past. They didn’t need to know his entire story to understand that somehow, they all shared the same cruel fate in life.

Soon, 141 became the first opponent of the Red Wave. No matter how hard the Red Wave tried to recruit the fiercest mercenaries, they consistently faced defeat. Battle after battle, they suffered significant losses in resources, personnel, and ships. The pirates were nearly brought to their end - until one day. On that day, 141 was struck by an unforeseen challenge: two or more pirate groups formed an alliance with the Red Wave. Historically, the Red Wave had operated alone, preferring to hire mercenaries rather than collaborate with other pirate factions. However, they had to set aside their pride and resort to drastic measures. Now, every pirate was in danger as 141's power grew with each passing year, and many began to forge alliances with them.

The upcoming battles grew increasingly brutal. Both sides fought with fervor, desperate to suppress their adversaries, and the struggle was palpable. For over six months, the conflict raged on, claiming countless lives and sending ships to the depths of the ocean. While vessels could be rebuilt, the profound loss of life weighed heavily on the hearts of those who remained. Just when Team 141 believed they were on the edge of victory, the unthinkable struck again. Fate seemed to laugh in their faces as they suffered the devastating loss of Johnny MacTavish - Soap. He was a man celebrated for his unwavering bravery, strategic mind, and bright personality. His absence left a void in the very spirit of the group as they faced an uncertain future.

The loss of his comrade, friend, and brother made Simon unpredictable. He felt a whirlwind of emotions: disbelief, shock, grief, guilt, and anger. Deep down, he knew it was a bad idea to join them. He was aware that he would grow attached to his teammates, who had become his second family. Now, he reminisces about the good times spent with Soap: laughter, silly jokes, and drunken ramblings about the past and future. Simon chuckles as he recalls moments during battles; always, one of them had to crack an idiotic joke to lighten the mood. They had a knack for telling jokes in the most unusual situations. But nowadays, he finds himself haunted by the horrible memories, particularly the moment Johnny passed away. He relives that instant every time he closes his eyes, vividly remembering the light that had once shone in Soap's eyes, now extinguished.

Simon confessed that he could no longer focus on their mission, constantly distracted by his racing thoughts. He felt like a coward for opting for the easy way out, yet he knew his poor mental state could compromise the entire team. This struggle ultimately led to his separation from 141.

“I always say the people you know can hurt you the most, either by betraying you or by losing them,” Simon explains, his gaze clouded as he looks at you.

You struggle to maintain eye contact; your mind is consumed by guilt. You feel ashamed for making assumptions about him when he had lived through similar experiences. You now understand his reactions, mannerisms, and the way he speaks - everything has a reason. He was hurt so deeply in the past that he still relies on these coping mechanisms to this day. He has gone through hell and has come back alive each time, but he carries the consequences of that suffering. He endured the separation from his family and chose to act as if he was dead to protect them from his enemies. He has had to live with the losses of so many people, including Johnny; especially him.

“I am so sorry, Simon. I shouldn't have made those accusations. I’m truly sorry -” you say, voice trembling and tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t cry, love. It was just a silly miscommunication that led to this,” he reassures you, gently extending his hand to wipe away your tears.

"You didn’t deserve to suffer all of this. You deserve more good things to happen to you, Simon," you say as you clasp his hand, the one that cradles your face.

He knows he doesn't deserve your compassion, he doesn't consider himself a good man, even though he knows that the cause he was fought for was a good one. He committed unspeakable acts in pursuit of what he called victory. The same hands that cradled your face in comfort during the night when you were distressed were the ones that had killed man after man. The hands that were stained with your tears were the same hands that, in the past, bore the blood of his enemies. Those gentle hands that had brought you so much peace and consolation belonged to a man who was not proud of his past actions, but felt he did what was necessary. At the same time, Simon believed he had somehow protected you indirectly by ensuring that none of those men would again come close to you. Yet, he knew that from the moment he met you, he had tainted your soul with his very presence. He recognized that it might sound selfish to think this way, yet, he felt an overwhelming sense of contentment because he had met you. For the first time in his life, he believed he could offer more to someone who cared so deeply for him, even when he struggled to see himself as worthy of your affection. For once, he felt truly alive, not merely existing or surviving a cruel fate. He wanted to live a life worth living, and you showed him what that could be. The way you showed him how to appreciate the little things: the feeling of the sun on his face, the cold morning breeze embracing his body, the smell of the ocean, the songs of the birds, the pleasant taste of warm tea on a cold day, the laughter at silly things, and so much more. Unbeknownst to him, he began to pick up on traits from your behavior. Often, he found himself gazing at certain things with sparkles in his eyes and a genuine smile on his lips. However, he couldn't help but notice that his heart was filled with warmth when his gaze was upon you. He once more pledged to shield you from all harm, vowing to himself that he will not let anything or anyone to hurt you again.

As you read his mind, your expression shifted from comfort to worry in an instant. A disturbing thought consumes your mind.

“What happened, love? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Simon says with a hint of his typical humor.

“What if they come back to seek revenge?” you voice your concern.

“That is not possible, dear. There's no need to worry about them anymore,” he reassures you.

“How can you be so sure? You said there were many more of them. What will happen then?”

“There's no need to worry; everything is going to be just fine. The people who followed me were the last survivors of the Red Wave. You can set aside those concerns. Trust me, we are safe.”

“How can you be so sure that there aren’t more of them?” you ask, panic rising in your voice.

“Because I took every measure that was necessary. I handled it all, and no one was left standing,” Simon changes his tone from soothing to serious. His mind drifts for a moment to the time after he left 141 and decided to work alone once again. He made sure to follow every ship that flew the Red Wave flag and sank them to the bottom of the ocean. Even though there were times when he failed miserably, he remained unstoppable. Soon, he became known as the Ghost of the Ocean. No one knew when he would appear, and when he did, he left no traces - just like a ghost.

“They are not returning, not now or ever. I am here to ensure that no one will ever harm you, love. Do you understand?” he continues.

“Yes, I understand now. I just panicked, sorry…” you confess with embarrassment in your voice.

“It’s going to be alright, darling. And it’s the time we admit we both need to rest after all this madness.”

“I have to confess, I could really use an entire day to recover after everything…” you say, a question haunting your mind. “Would it be alright if I lay next  to you tonight?” you ask, knowing that you need a moment of quietness, but most importantly, you need his presence.

“You don’t even have to ask. Let’s go now, dear,” Simon chuckles as he guides towards the bed.

You fall asleep reflecting on the events that just unfolded. Simon's vivid recollections of his experiences, thoughts, and emotions still linger in your mind, refusing to fade away. You try to approach his stories with caution, hesitant to accept everything he shared. It puzzles you why, despite his repeated demonstrations of loyalty and truthfulness, a wall of distrust still looms within you. You grapple with your own insecurities, determined to put an end to your doubts. Yet, your paranoia, like a restless spirit, continues to claw at the confines of the cage you have built to function normally. Deep within your soul, you feel a sharp sensation, like a knife twisting into a wound. It is the pain that accompanies the realization that he is telling the truth, and you don’t want to accept it. You struggle to believe that someone could suffer so profoundly throughout their entire life, especially during their childhood, and at the hands of the Red Wave. You also find it difficult to accept that someone had to choose violence and endure such brutality to stop the horrors inflicted by others. He had to embrace violence to put an end to someone else's. You must admit that you admire his burning devotion to eradicate the wrongdoings of others. His intention was to avenge those who can no longer fight for justice and to protect others from suffering the same fate that both he and you have endured. This is simply who he is; this dedication is deeply etched into the fabric of his being.

Simon was a man with a tumultuous past, marked by blood, tears, and agony, yet he treated you with such gentleness that it was hard to believe anyone could ever show you such kindness. He always made sure to make you feel seen and understood, even when he couldn’t provide any answers. He would look at you and nod, paying close attention to everything you had to say. As you revealed your past, he held your hand tightly, knowing how difficult it was for you to speak about that part of your history. He grasped your hand in consolation and support, recognizing that it was up to him to help keep you together as pieces of you began to crumble before his eyes. In moments like this, he was the sturdy marble column that held your unstable ruins in place. His rough, scarred hands seemed to find their way to the soft skin of your cheek, gently wiping away the tears that escaped from your eyes. In your most vulnerable moments, he was there - never asking for or demanding anything in return. He anchored you in the present, never letting go. He was the support you needed to keep you grounded and sane. Simon was the presence you needed badly in order to begin the healing process after experiencing that terrible incident. Curing a wound that has been open for a long time will be difficult, but you won’t be alone anymore. He is there for you, just as you are there for him. And in the morning when you wake, you will find him still next to you, just as he is now, sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes - he is real and alive.

As you gaze over his face one last time before drifting off to the land of dreams, a sharp sensation pierces your heart abruptly. You are struck by the shocking realization that you have developed strong feelings for Simon - feelings that go beyond friendship. It feels as if you have been profoundly hit by Cupid’s arrow. Instead of bleeding red, you bleed the golden hue of a summer sunset on a beautiful, warm day. Golden like honey being poured into a fresh cup of tea. Golden like the precious thread that ties your fates together. Golden like his eyes in the candlelight.

Despite your desire to wake up first and welcome him to a new day, Simon beat you at this game once again. He wakes from sleep with a warm feeling beside him. When he looks over to your side of the bed, he is surprised not to see your back as he usually does. Instead, you are facing him, nuzzling your face into his arm. One of your hands is entwined with his, while the other is lazily draped over his chest. As much as he would have liked to greet you this morning with a fresh cup of tea, as he often did, he lets you rest. He can’t deny that he enjoys your closeness; it is pleasurable to wake up beside a soft, warm presence on a cold morning like this. He is so accustomed to waking up in a cold, empty bed in various locations and under different circumstances that this intimate greeting feels unfamiliar to him. He forgot what it is like to live in a house and how to feel at home - somewhere where he is seen, wanted, and where he belongs.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, he turns his face to admire your sleeping form. You look so peaceful in your slumber, wrapped in an enchanting and mystical allure. He can’t comprehend how you can radiate such energy after enduring so many horrific experiences. You are not defined by your past traumas, nor is he, but those experiences can profoundly affect your present, shaping the aura you emit. Yet this isn’t you. You envelop yourself in a transcendent glow, as if you have broken free from the realm of the gods he has read about. Then, he remembers - the myth.

He recalls the legend that began to take shape after the Red Wave destroyed your village. The lighthouse, which had always shone to guide the navigation of ships at night and during foggy weather, stopped shining. Many sailors chose to avoid that area afterward to prevent accidents caused by the unlit path on the ocean. After that, people began to spread tales of how the land of your village was haunted by the spirits of those who had fallen, seeking revenge.

As time passed, people began using this tale to scare their misbehaving children. But that wasn't all - someone, a man, added fuel to the story by claiming there was a sole survivor from the village. This man was one of the few survivors of the Red Wave imprisonment. Nobody believed him; they thought he had gone crazy after spending so much time as a prisoner. Somehow, Simon overheard the man discussing the story with curious children. He recounted tales of a woman, also a prisoner, who had once lived in a beautiful village situated on the cliffs of Crescent Island. This woman, who sadly passed away, had spoken to him about a beautiful and strong girl who survived it all. Soon after, the children began to create enchanting songs about the lonely girl who lived at the very end of the world, weaving tales of her solitude and dreams into melodic verses. However, their parents forbade them from singing or even thinking about the tale any longer, as some children were determined to rescue her, while others remained saddened by the thought of her loneliness. With that, they all forgot about her - until he crossed paths with you. The story the man told turned out to be true.

Now, Simon looks at you, your face slightly obscured by your hair. He reaches out and gently tucks your hair behind your ear. You haven't woken up; you are still deep in your sleep. He slowly begins to caress your face with feather-like touches, thinking about how he would burn the world to protect you from all the harm that exists. Each touch is filled with a fierce promise; the soft movements of his hand against your skin serve as a reminder that he is always there for you. Each promise is sealed by an insistent desire to make you happy and ensure that you will never again know pain. He doesn't question this reaction towards you; he thinks it is natural, spontaneous in an unusual kind of way. He wants to protect those who need protection, but with you, it is different. He hadn't questioned himself until this moment - he finds himself smiling as he caresses your face. Is this normal? He feels a strange sensation in his chest, like his heart is hurting, but there is no pain at all. It is more of a phantom sensation than a physical one, but it is there. He feels this way when he looks at you or when you make eye contact with him - paying attention to him, listening to him, and being there for him.

He realizes he often feels this way around you, yet he never questions it. He begins to reminisce about the times when you made his heart tighten in his chest; it was as if you held his heart in a firm grasp and never let it go. You made him feel this way when you smiled at him, appreciated the little things he did, held his face before you drew his portrait, or simply looked at him with those mesmerizing eyes. His mind is in a constant battle trying to decipher his own emotions, yet it is clear - he has fallen for you.

Simon continues to absentmindedly touch your features, tracing the beautiful contours of your face with his fingertips. He is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice you are awake, gazing at him with a shy smile.

“Good morning, Simon,” you say with a drowsy voice.

He yanks his hand back from your face, pinching the spot between his eyebrows as if that might somehow hide the fact that he’s been caught off guard; embarrassment is visible across his features. “Morning, love. How did you sleep?” he asks in a hoarse tone. It’s a question that has become his signature line, one he utters first thing each morning, reflecting his deep care for your well-being.

“I slept well. How about you?” you respond, wanting to stretch your arms in the air but surprised to realize that your hands are tangled around Simon’s body. Slowly, you begin to untangle your arms from him, avoiding eye contact as much as possible, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“Surprisingly, very well,” he replies, gazing at you with amusement as you struggle to maintain your composure.

“Wonderful. May I have the honor of preparing you a cup of tea?” you ask with a silly grin, eager to distract yourself from the awkwardness of the moment. Fate seems to smile upon you as an affirmative hum escapes Simon’s throat.

You distract your mind for a short period as you prepare the tea, adding a few dried flowers and strongly scented leaves to infuse in the hot water. You start gathering ingredients for a freshly made breakfast, perfect for this cold weather. Behind you, Simon busies himself with putting firewood into the wood-burning stove. Your hands are moving, but your mind is still frozen in that morning moment - Simon’s warm body next to yours, your arms embracing him as you wake to the gentle caress of his hand on your face. If you could, you would stop time at that moment, never wanting it to end. It felt so addictive - in a good way. You never thought you would miss affection so much. It was so healing, a gentle reminder that you were not alone anymore. As you recall the feeling of his fingertips kissing the skin of your cheeks in a tender way, the newfound memory stirs in you a desire to cry - and you do. The weight of this feeling makes you silently sob, your body trembling slightly as you grip the edge of the table for support.

Simon quickly notices that something was wrong with you. “Dear, what is it? Are you hurt?”

You struggle to form a coherent response, but only shaky breaths escape your lips as you inhale deeply and exhale. Simon stands frozen beside you, unsure of what to do next, waiting for your reply. You wrestle with the decision of whether to tell him the truth, fearing his reaction. You don’t want him to see you as weak, especially since you already believe he perceives you as fragile and vulnerable. You don’t want him to feel responsible for your emotions, yet it seems he has taken that role upon himself. At the same time, you make a silent vow to be honest with him from now on, recognizing that he has already tried to be open with you. Taking another deep breath, you finally share the real reason behind your emotional state. You begin by expressing how long it has been since you felt the caring touch of another person - one that feels as if they are pouring their heart into that tender caress - warm, affectionate, and sincere.

“Oh, love…so that was the reason for your tears” he says in a sweet voice, while the worries wash away from his body.

“Yes, a silly motive, I know…” you look away, embarrassed.

“Listen, dear, it’s not a silly thing. What you’re feeling matters,” he says, placing his hands on your cheeks and wiping away the tears from your eyes with his thumbs. He gazes intensely into your red-stained eyes, his heart breaking at the sight of you like this. After that, he opens up his arms and says: “Come on, love.”

“I don’t -” you pause for a moment, but your concern fades in an instant as you throw yourself into his arms. One of his strong arms envelops your body while the other finds its way behind the back of your head, fingers softly tangling in your hair. His face nestles into your hair, breathing in your sweet, intoxicating scent. You hide your face in the crook of his neck, enjoying the mixed scents on his body: his natural one, the floral notes of your homemade soap, and a hint of tea. It’s an unusual combination, but it creates a comforting blend of essences, accompanied by the warmth radiating from him. One of your hands mimics his, tangled in his longer strands of hair at the back, while the other is tightly pressed against his back, your nails almost digging into his covered skin.

The harmonious entanglements of two souls intertwine, becoming one. The golden thread of fate weaves their destinies together - heart to heart, their beats synchronized. Two become one.

He is Simon Riley. Riley, his father’s name, weighs heavily on him, a burden of his father’s terrible wrongdoings. He is the Ghost of the Ocean - terrifying, vengeful, merciless. Once, he was a troubled, forgotten, suffering child. But for you, who is he? He is simply Simon - thoughtful, gentle, kind-hearted, wise, bright-minded, protective, amusing, loving - your Simon. If you had asked him whether he ever thought he would become like this, he would have laughed in your face. But things are different now. His stone walls have begun to crumble, piece by piece, since he met you. His ice-covered heart melted at the sight of your happy smile.

From a curious girl who picked and crafted beautiful pieces from seashells to offer as gifts to your loved ones, you evolved into the nameless mystical presence, one that survived the horrific attack of the Red Wave - a story told by survivors and sung about in children’s songs. But for him, who are you? You are selfless, soft-hearted, doting, sharp-witted, eloquent, loving - his darling. Since he came into your life, your broken soul began to fuse together, one shard at a time.

You had been praying for this moment to last forever, frozen in time, just the two of you. Yet, the realization that this can't happen to be true hit you as the boiling water shattered your unity. Quickly, Simon takes the pot from the stove, placing it on a spot so as not to get hurt by accident. He turns his body to face you, slowly closing the space between you.

“Better now, dear?” he asks with a light expression covering his features.

He is waiting for your response, which was slow to arrive. Your impulses get the best of you; you grasp his face, and soon, your lips are pressed together. A kiss that begins with you soon becomes guided by Simon, as you find yourself unsure of what to do next. What started as awkward pecks evolved into a more intense kiss, filled with passion, longing, and emotion. Hands caressing each other's faces, memorizing every contour with closed eyes, as if trying to preserve the moment in memory forever. From a gentle kiss, it transforms into a desperate one, consumed by the flames of the deep affection you held for each other. Each kiss, move, and touch was a declaration of love, marked by the promise of a happier and better future.

After a few moments, your lips finally part, both of you breathing heavily, your eyes shimmering with sparkles of hope and unspoken emotions. You cradle each other’s faces with such affection, looking into each other’s eyes and pleading for this to be true. It felt as if one wrong move could make everything vanish - your presence would become mist, evaporating into thin air. It was too good to be true, yet this was real and tangible. You could feel his facial muscles move under your touch - he was smiling, and so were you. Both of you let out a chuckle of disbelief, especially you, as you never thought you would be this bold.

“Yes… everything is better now,” you break the silence, still holding his face and running your thumbs over the smile lines etched into his skin. You crave to always see him this happy and, at the same time, want to be the reason he is.

“I can clearly see that. You are daring, love. I’ve got to say, I quite like it,” Simon responds with adoration in his voice, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face.

All it took was a moment of vulnerability, trust, and profound tenderness for you both to truly realize that your souls belong together, intricately intertwined forever - a bond secured by the unbreakable chain of fate. With him hugging you from behind, his arms wrapped around your waist and his face nestled in the crook of your neck as you stand on the veranda, enjoying a warm cup of tea and gazing at the beautiful view as the sun's rays break through the thick veil of clouds. You think: “Silence is better together.”

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Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

summary: on the rare occasion that sukuna takes his nephew out to the park, he notices another kid with blush pink hair— a baby to be exact. he tries not to stare too much, but it’s hard not to, it’s a rare hair color. it’s not until the baby’s mother takes her out of the swing set and back into her stroller when he realizes why you ghosted him almost 2 years ago.

genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

master list

part one | part two

Sukuna wasn’t very obsessed with the thought of having children, that desire (or lack of) continued to dwindle after his nephew turned 4 and is now all over the fucking place. He doesn’t mind watching him, but with each year it's becoming more difficult trying to get the kid to focus and listen to him. 

“Yuji.” The man barks out, beginning to scold the boy because he immediately starts running across the street the moment the crosswalk sign turned on for them. Didn’t matter if it was a private neighbourhood, he’d speed through the signs as much as anyone else. “I told you to hold my fucking hand– get over here.”

“Oops, sorry!” Yuji starts to skip back. It’s almost insulting how unworried he is when it comes to Sukuna and his temper, but he’s used to it by now. He reaches out to hold his uncle’s hand– even having the audacity to swing it back and forth. Sukuna just lets him because he ends up feeling bad whenever he yells at Yuji while he’s happy. 

He guesses the one thing that’s gotten easier when it comes to watching the little crackhead is that he can now finally take him to the park. He’s able to run all that unnecessary excess energy off, making mid-afternoon to dinner time easier because he just eats and naps until Jin comes to pick him up. 

Yuji’s especially excited today, they're going to a new park that’s just down the street from Sukuna’s new house. It was a nice neighbourhood too, Sukuna already knew the place was going to be like Disneyland for the kid. 

“Uncle! Look!” Yuji yells out. 

He’s been looking this entire fucking time, why are children like this? Yuji’s slightly better than most, immediately flipping under the monkey bars like a pro after receiving his Uncle’s nod of approval. 

“Good job, Yuj.” He says in return. Jin should really take him to a parkour gym one of these days… maybe get him checked for adhd too while he’s at it. 

He continues to watch the boy until he suddenly hears some baby’s laughter on the other side of the playground. It reminded him of when Yuji was a baby, always squealing over something, even if it was something as simple as ripping a piece of paper in half. It was cute. 

He tried to drown out the noise, but this kid was having the time of their life, so he eventually looked in the direction of where the laughter was coming from. He’s genuinely surprised when he sees a little baby girl with fluffy pink hair. It’s a rare hair color and outside of his family, he’s only seen less than a handful of people that naturally had it in his entire 27 years of life. 

She couldn’t be older than a year old. Her mother– or nanny, this neighborhood has a ton of them, is kneeling in front of her and gently pushing the swing back. Everytime she pushes the swing back, the laughter gets louder.

The lady eventually picks the baby up and smothers her with kisses… the same way you used to smother him with kisses, almost 2 years ago. 

And the moment you turn around and place her back in her stroller, it becomes very apparent as to why you completely ghosted him 1 year and 7 months ago. 

Yes he’s kept track, you were the best fuck of his life. He’s been chasing that high after you practically vanished off the face of the earth, you even changed your phone number. For all he knew, you were dead.

Sure, he complained about Yuji here and there, but it couldn’t be that bad to the point where you decide not to tell him anything and just raise a baby completely on your own.

Maybe you weren’t all on your own to begin with. That thought makes him continue to mentally spiral, he’s honestly ready to fuck everyone up at this point.

“You fucking bitch.” He murmurs to himself as you begin to walk off with the child that is without a fucking doubt his. He quickly grabs his phone and calls a close friend, one that’s a little too good at finding people's personal information. 

“Hey what’s u–”

He immediately cuts Uraume off and cuts straight to the chase. “I need you to find someone’s address for me.”

---

“How’s the party planning going?” Your mother asks, trying to keep the conversation going, in hopes of her granddaughter waking up before you inevitably end the conversation. 

“It’s alright,” you vaguely answer. “I don't know, I’m not too worried about it. I told the planner to just make it pink and cute… and to trust her gut so she doesn’t bother me too much.”

“Honey!” She scolds you. “It’s your daughter's first birthday for christ sake, can you sound a little more excited about it?”

“I am excited,” you hiss back. “It just makes me sad to think about how fast time went by, I don’t want her to grow up.”

“I was sad about it too when I was planning your first birthday, but I was still included in the process.”

“Well that’s you.” You giggle as you finish wiping the kitchen counter. “It’s not that big of a deal, there’s party planners for a reason.”

“You’re going to look back one day and regret it.” She says, you can hear her shuffling around in the background. 

“Maybe.” You mumble, thinking about other things you’ll probably regret more than not being included in the process of planning a party. 

Like not telling Sayomi’s dad about her. 

You always wonder what his reaction would be if he were to ever find out. It’d most likely be one filled with rage, you’re just not sure if it would be towards having to be responsible for a little human being or towards the missed time. 

Probably the former. He was as irresponsible as they come, but so were you– at least at that time anyways.

You both were too busy in your careers to settle down, it’s why you never put a label on things. With anyone else, you would’ve put your foot down— if they’d didn’t claim you, you were gone. 

Not with Sukuna, he made you weak.

He made it so hard for you to put your foot down that you never even considered asking the dreaded “so what are we?”

He gave you just about everything during those meetups— he was fun to talk to, made you feel wanted, even the aftercare he gave you was unmatched. 

He fucked you like he loved you— slowly dragging his cock out of you, as if he wanted you to think about what you were missing in those few moments. All just so he can shove himself back into you, as a reminder that everything you needed was right there, on top of you. 

He’s a fucking asshole, but knew how to play the role of a loving boyfriend in the hours you visited him. 

Keyword: in those hours. Outside of that, he was practically none existent. But you couldn’t blame him, he was an up and coming rugby star. He spent his days training or strategizing with his teammates for the next game, he spent half of his year traveling. He didn’t have time for anyone but himself.

Eventually, you started ditching a condom all together. You swore your birth control would do the job— it fucking didn’t, and a part of you still wants to sue that company. 

But you don’t, because it wouldn’t hold up in court due to the 1% chance it won’t work, or whatever that percentage is. Plus, you don’t want your daughter getting on your case over it one day if she did find out. 

It’s not her, it’s the principle.

It was your fault at the end of the day. You were just straight up reckless with the way you let him.. ahem— begged— him to come inside of you each time he was all up in your guts. He’d taunt you for being weak, driving his dick inside of you even faster and harder whenever you showed signs that you were close, then encourage you to cum right on his cock that’d split you open each and everytime time you met up with him. 

You were so scared at first, going back and forth on how you should tell him– if you should tell him. A big part of you wanted the baby and convinced yourself he’d make you get an abortion out of fear that you might just be after money, so you never did. 

Yeah, you gaslit yourself.

But everything turned out better than you thought it’d be. Your parents were willing to set you up in a gated community just because it was safer for you and your daughter to live there. They pay the rent while you pay for everything else. 

You now run your own business managing multiple businesses’ social media accounts. It’s quite lucrative, so you’re able to afford a nanny while working from home.

Your parents love Sayomi and don’t hold back showing it. They don’t know who her father is, you won’t tell them… but she oddly looks like a well known rugby player that's from the region. 

It's a suspicion they keep to themselves though, they like spending time with her and would rather not start an argument with you after asking who the father is. It didn’t end well last time, so they just avoid the topic now. 

You’re suddenly pulled out of your thoughts after someone rang your doorbell, must be your neighbor that you became friends with shortly after moving here. She’s the typical neighbour that shows up at your door asking for sugar or eggs comically enough. 

“Can I call you back, mom? Someone’s at the door.” You kindly interrupt her. 

“Actually, we can continue this later.” She sighs, you can hear her keys jiggling. “I’m leaving for a yoga class right now.”

“Okay. Have fun!”

“Thank you sweetheart. Give Yomi a kiss for me when she wakes up.”

“I will, bye.” The doorbell rings again right after you hang up, which slightly annoys you since they haven’t been waiting that long. It’s like they think a second ring is gonna have you running to the door. 

It rings a third time and you hold your tongue, yelling back is just going to wake up the baby. 

You finally open the door and an immediate chill runs down your spine as you look up at a very angry Sukuna. He as tall as ever, presence as imposing as ever, and for the first time it is you that his anger is directed towards.

His eyes momentarily drift down to your chest before speaking. “We need to ta–.”

Completely terrified as to how he even found you, let alone get past security to even enter this neighborhood, you immediately slam the door in his face.

And you should be terrified, he begins to laugh before raising his voice. “I see you haven’t changed one bit.” He says— hoping you can hear him, hoping your back's up against the wall and panicking right now. “I haven’t changed either, sweetheart. Better open up before I show you I’m still crazy as fuck if you piss me off.”

You’ve seen it before, multiple times, just not towards you. Each time you saw it, you’d always pray that you’d never find yourself on the receiving end of the man's wrath. 

“You need to leave before I call the cops. You can’t just go around threatening people like that.” You say, powering through the shakiness of your voice. 

“And you can’t just hide a child from their father either. I saw you two at the park, let me see her.” His voice is still calm, but becoming more firm. He knows you're bluffing. “I’m giving you 10 seconds to open this door before I give you a reason to call the cops.”

There’s nothing but silence from your end, it’s infuriating to him. Each second that passes, he feels like he’s slowly being removed from his own body, being replaced by something that thrives off rage. 

And for you, you kind of wanna die right now, but unfortunately you can’t because you have a daughter to take care of. The sound of his voice ends up being drowned out by your own thoughts, thinking about the possibilities of what would happen if you opened that door. 

But before you know it, you’re quickly pulled back to reality as he ends his countdown and begins to bang on your door incessantly. 

“Open the door— I’m not fuckin’ around, open the FUCKING DOOR.” He yells out your name, pounding at the door so hard you’re sure he’ll break it off its hinges. “I’m not fucking leaving until you open up and let me see her! You should be glad I came here instead of going straight to my lawyer you piece of SHIT– OPEN THE FUCK UP.”

As if it couldn't have gotten any worse, your daughter wakes up from the ruckus. Her cries will always be ten times worse than Sukuna’s knocking, you’re convinced from the way she is screaming from the top of her lungs as if someone were hurting her.

“Fine just.. shut up! Please!” You finally snap and nearly beg from the overstimulation of listening to your daughter crying and a grown man literally barking at the same time. You begrudgingly swing the door open and he’s met with a set of tired, glossy eyes and decides to settle down. “I just put her down and it takes forever doing it.” You lightly complain.

He says nothing in the response, slightly stunned at how quick your mood changed. Not like he has much of a choice though, you storm off before he gets the chance too– being left to shut the front door on his own and awkwardly wait at the foyer because he doesn’t know where the hell you went off to. 

The house is nice, almost as big as his. But it’s also too big for just the two of you, leaving him to wonder again if you had a partner or something. Not that he’s one to talk. He lives alone, but he has his family and girlfriend over often since he has the space to entertain guests.

Fuck— he just asked if she wanted to make things official last month. She’s not gonna be happy about this.

His thoughts are quickly pushed away though when he hears the sounds of footsteps, whimpering, and you gently shushing them. 

You and the baby finally come into view, both frowning at him for different reasons. He was too far away earlier to see, but aside from your eyes and death glare, the girl looks just like him. 

Sayomi’s staring at him with a look that screams “what the fuck is this stranger doing in my house”, all while gently sniffling because she is rightfully pissed about being woken up. 

You can’t help but notice how stiff he is while looking at his carbon copy and decide to be the first one to speak up, by formally introducing him to her. 

“This is Sayomi and she’ll be 10 months old in a week.” It’s cuter when you say it to other people, their reactions are usually squishing her cheeks and raving about how adorable she is. Sukuna looks more shell shocked than anything. “...Do you wanna hold her?”

“I mean… yeah, but not if she’s just gonna get mad at me and start crying.” He says, while Sayomi continues to stare him down. Well, at least he respects boundaries, that’s sort of a good sign. 

“Lucky for you, she stares at things she finds interesting. If she didn’t want you to hold her, she’d have a death grip on to me right now with her face tucked into the crook of my neck.” 

He has a quick flashback of how he used to do the same with you whenever he was tired, but quickly shakes it off. Now’s not the time to start yearning for you or your touch all over again, he literally just got over you. 

“You sure about that?” He says, slightly hurt from the way she’s side eyeing him. 

“Positive.” You hold back a sigh at his hesitance. He was acting like he was going to murder you just 5 minutes ago, now he looks like he’s scared of an innocent baby. “Just take her please, my arms are starting to hurt.”

It’s one of the things that comes with having a child with a rugby player, they’re chunky. But you can’t complain too much, she’s very huggable. 

You end up handing her to him before he gets another chance to protest, not bothering to instruct him on how to hold her because you know all about how he’d watch Yuji. Even with your child being in the 90th percentile, she still looks miniature when being held by him. 

“Look at you, cheeks are all wet from cryin’.” He murmurs, beginning to wipe them off. She sniffles again and lets out a deep sigh in response– you both know it's a good sign, she’s finally settling down after getting ripped out of her sleep. “M’sorry, I just wanted to meet you.”

You talk to her normally too, so she usually babbles back to people in response, which is what she does in response to his words. It’s ridiculous(ly) (cute), watching her slowly open up to him just minutes after losing her shit— something she gets from her father. Each time she babbles out some incoherent sentence, he acts like he knows what she’s saying and she smiles a little more each time. 

“Mama.” She suddenly turns to you and says, pointing her finger at him. It's her little way of asking who he is since you always tell her the names of things she points at.

“That’s Dada.” You say in response. “Can you say Dada?”

“…Ada.” She confidently says.

Close enough. 

You avoid Sukuna’s gaze, you can just feel how annoyed he is at this point. “Has she said Dada before?”

“Mhm, last week.” You say enthusiastically, playing with Sayomi’s hand after she grabbed onto your thumb.

“Must’ve been her tryna manifest me. Probably thinking, ‘let me meet my dad, you conniving bitch’ or something.” He says in the same smooth tone.

“Watch it.” If he weren’t holding her right now, you would’ve smacked him for calling you that. 

“Did I lie?” He argues with you in a playful tone, then turns his attention back to his daughter who’s completely unaware of anything for obvious reasons. “‘Cause last time I checked, your Mama hid you from me.”

“Don’t do this in front of her.” You warn him.

“Fine.” He lets it go, after getting one last jab in. “Any other words that I missed out on?” 

“She also knows how to say no.” 

He chuckles, “sounds like my kid.” 

“Unfortunately.” You say under your breath. It wipes the smirk off of his face but you don’t notice it since you start to walk away from him, he quickly follows with little Sayomi in his arms. 

“How did you find me? Actually, how did you even get past security?” You ask, leading him to the living room.

“I know someone. I also live in the northern part of the neighborhood.” He not-so-humbly brags. That’s the area where you need to go through three different gates just to get to a house. “Just moved there last week.” 

No wonder why you haven’t seen him at the private grocery store yet.

“Well that’s… good.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“I don’t know what else to say. I don’t even know what to think right now to completely tell you the truth.” You admit.

“Yeah? Imagine how I feel.” He scoffs, plopping down on the couch with the baby still in his arms. “Can she walk yet?”

“No, she’s able to pull herself up and stand for a couple seconds though.”

“Is that so?” He looks back at her, at this point her interest has moved on to something else— the little bunny plush on the other side of the couch that she’s pointing and humming at. 

You beat him to it and hand it to her before sitting down beside him, with a reasonable amount of space between you two. He’s taking this a lot better than you thought he would, probably because he wants to behave right now in front of her. 

“Why’d you do it?” He murmurs as he fiddles with the bunny’s ear while Sayomi continues to play with it. 

“Guess I was scared of your reaction,” you begin to pick at your cuticles— a bad habit that should’ve been dropped a long time ago. “Thought you’d make me get an abortion or something.”

“That wasn’t for you to decide.” He sighs, surprised that you thought that low of him. He wasn’t around a lot, but he was nice to you when he was. Not once did he ever raise his voice at you, never snapped at you. Even when he was ordering food delivery, he'd let you pick-- every single time. “It wasn’t for me to decide whether you wanted to keep her or not either.” 

“I know.” You sigh, leaning back out the couch and giving yourself a moment. “I was scared.” 

“You said that already.” He looks down at the kid then back up at you, unsure if he should just feel thankful that he’s here now or if he should just continue to be pissed. “That’ll never be a good enough answer for me.”

“For what it’s worth, it was something I’ve always regretted after giving birth to her.”

He only hums in response to that, trying his best to hold his tongue because it’s hard to believe. If you truly did regret it, you would’ve reached out to him. He’s convinced you would’ve gone the rest of your life without telling him. “Are you gonna let me be in her life now or am I gonna have to fight you over that too?”

“What does being in her life look like to you?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, taking the time to think it through. He works a lot, travels a lot, parties a lot. “We’re technically neighbors, so how about I just start coming over to see her for now. I’ll figure the rest out later.”

“We can do that.” You cautiously say. 

Hopefully he keeps it fair, he has the upper hand already by being the good guy for once.

a/n: soooo do we think sukuna's gonna be a good boy?

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Seeing Double - Chapter 4

Pairings - Simon “Ghost” Riley x MacTavish!Reader, Platonic! John “Soap” MacTavish x MacTavish Reader, Platonic! Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader

Summary - it was time to infiltrate, so why did you feel so nervous about something that was your talent

Warnings - flashbacks, mention of torture, blood, nausea, vomit, canon-typical violence, idk reader looking sexy for a mission?

Author’s Note - there is an allusion of rape but it will not happen, I will never write rape or sexual assault for any character. Anyways, part 4, enjoy!

Word Count - 5.1K

Masterlist - Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, pt.5

Your eyes shifted around the dark room. Squinting softly as you studied its walls. A feeling of uneasiness washed over you as you realized where you were. As you stood up to run, rope bids held your ankles and hands back. Your skin tearing as you tried to move.

As you peered down at yourself, bile began to rise in your throat. You were covered in your own blood from head to toe. You could feel the welts and the cuts as they dig into your skin. You were stripped down to your base level of undergarments. 

A man stood over you. His eyes were concealed by the shadows but his body wasn’t. He held something that you couldn’t see, but you heard his voice speak. 

“Solo te voy a preguntar una vez más, Cariña.” I’m only going to ask you one more time sweetheart. He paused to let your eyes meet his. “¿Por qué estás aquí?” Why are you here?

“¿Y si no respondo?” and if I do not answer? You shot back. Glaring at the sick man. 

“Entonces mis hombre te harán responder.” A slimy grin ran over his face “y no les importa tocar tu cara bonita.” then my men will make you respond, and they don’t mind touching your pretty face. 

“Ya te lo dije. Soy periodista y escribo sobre la mala calidad del aqua-” I already told you. I am a journalist here and I write about the poor water quality-

“Mentirosa!” Liar! The man cried as he slapped you. Your face stung but not as much as the rest of your body did so you could ignore it. 

“Es la verdad!” It’s the truth

“Tenemos fotos que sabes.” We have photos you know. The man spoke as he pulled out zoomed in photos of you. You with Los Vaqueros at the bar. You and Rudy together in your room as he- 

You couldn’t bare to look any longer. Bile rising in your throat, coming up to your mouth. 

“¿Cómo se sentiría tu precioso Rodolfo hm? ¿Seguiría queriéndote así? ¿Seguiría queriéndote después de que dejara que mis perros se salieran con tu cuerpo?” How would your precious Rodolfo feel hm? Would he still want you like this? Would he still want you after I let my dogs have their way with your body? He was so close you could smell the beer on his breath. 

“Vete a la chingada” Go fuck yourself. You said right as the vomit left your mouth. The vomit landing right on his face and all over his clothes. The man cried out as he grabbed his own face. Growls being heard around you. Even in your beat up state, a small smile creeped it’s way up. 

“Puta madre!” The man cursed out, suddenly grabbed a knife. “Agárrala” Grab her. Suddenly multiple hands were on your body. Holding you completely still as the knife suddenly came going for your eyes. 

You woke up with a shock as somebody banged on your door. Your jaw loosened as if you were ready to scream as you shot up. Slowly you touch your surroundings as you gather yourself. 

“Yeah?” You called out, slowly making your way to open the door. Ghost’s talk brooding figure looking down at you. Back straightening as you sniffled up your tears. 

“Alejandro says we have help arriving for the mission later. Johnny’s in the shower.” he grunted, you nodded. His lips quivered under his mask as if he wanted to say something but he didn’t. 

“Is that all?” you hummed. The man nodded, maintaining eye contact so as to not look at your body. Noticing how you quickly moved to cover it even though you were in minimal sleep attire. He turned and started walking down the hallway. Your meek voice shooting out, “Ghost?” you said softly. 

“Mm?” the man murmured back. 

“Thank you.” You said. Confusion wiped over his features but you couldn’t see that. He didn’t know what you were thanking him for but he nodded and then turned to walk off. 

Ghost could hear your laughter as you walked behind him with Soap. The three of you made your way to the conference room. He had noticed your distinct change of clothes. You now wore full tactical gear from combat boots, to black pants, and a black tee with a slight turtleneck to hide your claw marks. Ghost stopped just short of the conference room seeing Alejandro and Rudy outside, both of them looking unhappy. 

You walked out from behind Ghost and Johnny. Concern written on your features seeing the anger in Rudy and Alejandro.

“¿Qué pasó?” What’s wrong? You spoke. Before either men could respond a certain texan spoke up.

“Nice to see you again, Banshee.” Graves smirked, “glad to see you found your way back to Las Almas.” 

Ghost took immediate notice of how your body tensed up, it was a full body reaction hidden carefully by your clothes. The lieutenant recognized your body tense as the same one you had when they talked about coming here in the first place. Suddenly the mask slipped over your face again as you turned around, 

“Pleasure to see you again, Graves.” you smiled, taking his hand in a firm shake. The texan’s smirk only deepened as the group filed into the conference room to discuss the mission. You sat on the right side of the table, Rudy snagging a chair to your right and Johnny took one to your left. Alejandro was at the head of the table as Graves sat down and even leaned back in his chair. The texan awfully comfortable for all the tension heating up the room. 

“Tonight we are going to capture El Sin Nombre.” Alejandro spoke. You blinked processing it. “There is a meeting going on tonight where we may also be able to capture the rest of Hassan’s missiles.” 

“I thought we were here for Hassan?” You spoke up.

“El Sin Nombre will lead us to Hassan.” Rudy spoke knowingly.  

“Well Ghost will be playing look out as he is the most experienced sniper, Rudy will also be working on comms.” Alejandro continued and then took a deep breath before he spoke, “Chiqui, we need you to infiltrate with Soap and I”

You nodded, you could understand why it would look good if you came. Women had no problem coming and going from the narcos houses, you wouldn’t be questioned harshly. 

“Ale will be working as a guard, you and Soap will waltz right through the front gates. Soap is posing as a member of The Shadows here to give up Graves’ team since The Shadows have been thwarting Las Almas Cartel’s attempt to get the missiles out of the country. You will be posing as…” 

“Una prostituta?” a prostitute? You questioned, cutting off Rudy but he didn’t mind. A deep feeling settled over you, something you couldn’t quite pin. 

“Sí, we’ve already set up plans so they should be expecting you. They will also be expecting Soap. But we will be there every step of the way.” Alejandro said. 

A wave of nausea rushed over you, this is exactly how it worked last time and you slipped right through their fingers and straight into the hands of the cartel. You swallowed a big lump as you zoned out. Not needing to pay attention to what everyone else was doing as your role weighed heavy on you. Rudy’s knee barely knocked your own to bring you back into focus. 

“Las Almas Cartel has undergone new management so you shouldn’t be recognized.” Rudy whispered to you. The room fell silent as you stared at Graves. 

“So why are you here?” you stated, to everyone else it was a simple curiosity, but Rudy and Alejandro internally tensed at the venom you laced within your look at Graves. 

“Just here on behalf of representing the great states.” he smiled back, “now why are you here? Least I can see the colonel and his sergeant major can speak English just fine, without you.” 

If Rudy and Alejandro were lesser men, without military patience and control, they would have taken turns at tearing Graves apart. Instead, Rudy let his fists clench under the table and Alejandro let out a deep sigh.

“Yes they can, but also I’ve been assigned to the 141, they were sent here, and so I was tasked with joining.” you responded cooly as if you had just told Graves the weather. 

Alejandro dismissed everyone from the meeting with a nod. You were aware of how a certain lieutenant’s eyes studied you as you left. 

Ghost didn’t see you again until that night. Rudy, Graves, Alejandro, and the lieutenant all stood on the roof of the building talking as you and Johnny set up comms in the car. 

You slipped on your heels with a whine as the 4 inch death shoes were pushing your arch up. 

“What happened here two years ago?” Johnny said randomly as you worked to put in the wire on your ear. 

“Nothing Johnny.” you passed it off as you applied lip liner and some gloss. 

“Don’t bullshit me. I’m yer damn brother and yet you’re closer with Ale and Rudy than with me. For Christ's sake I see how you sleep. You claw at your neck and wake up in cold sweats. Something happened here and I have a right to know!” He said, his voice raising a little. You took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. He extended a hand towards you, his big eyes staring into yours, as he whispered, “Please.”

“I’ll tell you when this is over okay?” You smiled back, tears in your eyes. A knowing look passed between you both as you interlocked pinkies. He was right, you should have told him by now and you never understood why you hadn’t yet. 

“Clock’s ticking.” Ghost chimed in. The man stood next to Rudy as he set up his scope. The lieutenant was itching to ask Rodolfo about you but he just decided to fix his scope. 

“Showtime, Chiqui” Rudy’s voice came through the comms. Alejandro had already disappeared into the night and Graves had left to go scout. Simon grabs a pair of binoculars to look at the entrance. 

Soap was dressed from head to toe in shadow gear as he entered the building first. Suddenly he was grabbed by a man dressed in a cartel uniform with a mask. Soap got ready to fight when Alejandro’s voice whispered “Cálmate.” calm yourself. 

“¿Quién es este cabrón?” Who is this fucker? Came the gruff voice of a guard as Alejandro pushed Soap forward, into the cartel house. The Scotsman allowed himself to be pushed around by the colonel. 

“Está aquí para hablarle al Sin Nombre” He's here to speak to El Sin Nombre. Alejandro nodded and there was a tense moment as Soap was being watched by the cartel men. Until the sound of your heels hit the pavement. Ghost quickly found you within his binoculars and for a mere moment he forgot the circumstances of the occasion. The street lamps illuminating your curves as you walk with the confidence of Aphrodite.

Each step echoed as your four-inch black stilettos hit the ground, your tits bouncing a little with the power of each step. Your hair was styled down and jewelry sparkled in the light. You were dressed in a sleek black cowl-neck mini dress, one with a deep cut in the front, with a sparkling necklace. It was a beautiful lariat necklace with a diamond at the intersection of the y and a small knife dangled at the bottom of the chain. You pulled your hair to the side to show off the back of the dress, or the lack thereof. Your whole back was on display as the fabric barely wrapped around the back of your neck and the bottom barely covered your rear. The bottom of the dress rode up to the tops of your thighs as you gently pulled it down. You were covered in dangly jewelry so you clinked as you walked. You had on a thin layer of sultry make-up, including eyeliner and a deep colored lip gloss. You practically dripped with sex to every man in proximity, including Simon. 

The lieutenant, for the first time ever, regretted being so far from the scene. He also found himself wondering if you smelled just as intoxicating as the night before when he was near you.

“Quite the seductress she is, mm?” Rudy murmured to Ghost, as he noticed the lieutenant tense. He was trying to break the silence by the common thread between the two of you. Sure you and Rudy had a past but he could see that your future lies elsewhere, even if you ignored it so blatantly. 

“I can see why she specializes in infiltration and undercover ops.” Ghost murmured back, passing off the compliment, as you easily passed by the guards, whispering sweet nothings into their ear. You came to the rescue of Ale and Soap quickly. 

“This is her element, her natural habitat” Rudy responded, he had seen this bit before. 

“Hay una problema muchachos?” Is there a problem here, boys? You spoke, your tone sultry as you slowly looked up and down the guards. Your every word being replayed in the comms, including the way you purred to the men. Silence fell over the groups as you held the guards attention, saving your teammates but at the cost of yourself. 

“Solo hay problema si estás aquí por otra persona en lugar de por mí” There 's only a problem if you're here for someone else instead of me. The bodyguard said as he slid over to you, his hand sliding up your inner thigh, the man’s hand sliding dangerously close to your core. You swallowed the feeling of nausea. You smoothly took the man's hand and moved it to your rear instead as you purred to him. Rudy and Ghost watch the scene unfold through the windows.

“Estoy aquí por El Sin Nombre. Pero puedo ahorrarte un beso o dos” I'm here for El Sin Nombre. But I can spare you a kiss or two. You hummed, your hands moving up the man's chest, almost as if you were stroking his ego with your bare hands. Winking at the last bit. None of your english-speaking counterparts were able to tell what was being said, but considering the man wasn’t tense, they all considered you to be doing your job well. 

The man led you to the elevator, letting Alejandro and Soap follow. 

“Tendré que revisarte en busca de armas, por supuesto.” I'll have to check you for weapons, of course. The guard had a slimy tone as he spoke that even Soap and Ghost could pick up on. Rudy suddenly bristled at the words, but sighed in relief seeing you cooly respond without missing a beat.

“Adelante, guapo” Go ahead, handsome. You spread your legs slightly as the man’s hands traveled up and down, over every curve before stopping at your face. The man moving to kiss you as you politely moved to let him kiss your cheek as he kissed your own. 

Ghost felt his left hand tighten over the trigger as he watched the man’s hands trail over your body through his scope. The guard finally relinquished as he let the three of you enter the elevator alone, swiping his key card, giving you access to the second floor. The second the elevator closed you breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Are you armed?” Alejandro questioned. 

“Yeah, wearing two knives on a strap on my thigh” you said as you lifted your dress to adjust the strap where you had sneakily pushed it up earlier right before greeting the guard. 

Ghost had to take a deep breath as the image played in his mind, ‘Get your shit together, Simon’ he growled to himself. The poor man wondered where all these feelings came from. 

You entered the second floor confidently as you were met with the second lieutenant of the cartel and the sicario.

“Finalmente, llega la perra. Me ha estado doliendo la verga toda la noche.” Finally the bitch arrives. My cock has been aching all night. The man groans, adjusting himself, and wastes no time rushing over to you, roughly grabbing your wrist, his intentions clear. 

“Oh, cállate Diego y dale un poco de espacio a la pobre mujer. El hecho de que sea su trabajo no significa que se lo deba.” Oh shut up Diego and give the poor woman some space. Just because it is her job does not mean she owes you it. A voice suddenly spoke. You assumed it was Sicario until you noticed how feminine it was. That was when Valeria stepped forward.

“No mames.” No way. Rudy muttered. Alejandro stiffened but didn’t say a word. If Valeria recognized you, she did not show it in any manner. You never met the woman but Alejandro had mentioned her in passing at times. 

“Yo estoy aquí por El Sin Nombre, no por ti.” I am here for El Sin Nombre, not you. You spoke as you stepped out of his grasp. Valeria smiled as she looked at you.

“Entonces estarías aquí para mí, princesa” Then you would be here for me, princess. Valeria smirked as she stepped forward. Valeria looked at her lieutenant and smirked, a hand waving off to dismiss him, the man only leaving

“¿Tú eres El Sin Nombre?” You're El Sin Nombre? You clarified. The woman nodded. The two of you forgot about the men surrounding you as Alejandro cleared his throat.

“¿Y para qué está aquí?” and why is he here? Valeria pointed to Soap, her hand trailed up your back as her hands found your scars. She turned and finally recognized you. She froze for just for a moment but that was all you needed. That’s when all hell broke loose. You swiped out your right leg and brought the woman to her knees, your arms quickly pinning her wrists. 

“Ale, ahora!” Ale, now! You yelled as she thrashed. Alejandro quickly came to put the cloth against her face as her eyes frantically looked between the both of you. A knowing look of recognition glazed over her eyes right before her eyelids fluttered shut. The woman going limp in your arms. 

“We got her, let’s go.” Soap reported over the coms. Rudy quickly packed up his gear as Graves spoke over the radio. 

“Shadows are coming any minute now. I’m around the corner waiting. Get over to us, quickly!” 

Johnny slid you his spare gun as Diego quickly came out of his room at the commotion. So much for stealth you said as you quickly grabbed a knife from your garter and nailed it between the mans eyes, His body crumbling quickly as you walked over to collect your knife. Alejandro binded Valeria’s hands and feet and then threw her over your shoulder. 

“Que haces?” What are you doing? Alejandro barked as you bent over to rip off your heels. 

“My heels will give away our position.” You seethed back. 

“Too late for that.” Soap said as more guards came from the elevator. You and your brother quickly picking them off.  You all easily slipped out of the back way, your heels in your left and your gun in your right. The street lamps were dimmer at the back of the house but still laid a clear path through the city. 

You ignored how the ground began to pain your feet as you ran barefoot, the three of you ran in a line. You were at the front, Alejandro in the middle, Johnny in the back

A van suddenly drove in front of you and you held up a gun as the back doors flung open. Ghost suddenly grabs you as Rudy helps Alejandro. His strong arms around your waist disappearing just as quickly as they were there. You turned around just in time to help Johnny up as the doors slammed closed. You quickly found a spot beside Ghost, Johnny sitting on your other side. A soft silence took over the group. Small conversation between Rudy and Alejandro brought some relief. 

“Ye turn into Cinderella?” Soap smiled as he referred to your shoes. 

“Maybe.” You smiled back. You bent over again to put them back on, a quiet whine passed your lips as the arch of your foot was stretched out again.

Ghost was silent as he finally saw the outline of scars on your back. He didn’t say a word as he recognized the soft lines as previously healed lacerations from an object striking your skin. 

Johnny noticed them too but had a different reaction. A quick breath in was taken but he didn’t say a word as he exchanged a glance with his lieutenant. 

You leaned back and took a deep sigh as you moved your garter down and took out the two knives. Even as the van turned you still flipped one of the throwing knives between your fingers. Your brain still recounting the events as it played through your head. 

“Why’s Cinderella so bad at football?” Ghost murmured to you. You peered up at him, a curious look as you responded. 

“Beats me.” 

“She always runs away from the ball.” 

A quiet chuckle passed through your lips as you leaned back fully. A sleepy feeling overcoming your body as you let it take you, a little nap couldn’t hurt right? 

Ghost was tense for the rest of the ride as your head lay on his shoulder. He wasn’t going to move an inch even as the three men stared at you and him. You were completely relaxed as if you were in a queen bed and not resting your head on the massive boulder of muscle that Ghost called his right shoulder. The softness of your features juxtaposed your outfit and the demeanor it was supposed to give you.

While Johnny was shocked to see you sleeping on his lieutenant, he wasn’t going to complain. For once, you weren’t clawing at your skin or sweating like you had a fever. Even if you found comfort in a man who scared the shit out of everyone, maybe that was what you needed. To feel safe, guarded. 

The lurch of the van suddenly stopping woke you up. Your body whipped up and tensed again as you woke. Your hand gripping the gun like you were ready to snap. 

Everyone quietly walked into the safe house as a chair was set up to put Valeria on in the interrogation room. 

Graves was watching you like a hawk as Rudy handed you a change of clothes when you made your way to the bathroom. 

By the time you had gotten back the interrogation had started. 

“Alright. How do you know eachother?” Graves barked out as you stood by the door. You wouldn’t enter, not just yet. 

“Know is a strong word.” Came Alejandro’s response 

“Las palabras fuertes son importantes. Nuestra palabra es nuestro valor, ¿no?” Strong words are important. Our word is our worth, right?

“Vete a la verga, hija de puta. Que te voy a matar!” Go to hell, you son of a bitch. I’m going to kill you! Alejandro suddenly lunged and you saw Rudy and Soap grab him. Rudy slowly got him to calm down 

“Hola Chiqui.” Valeria's clipped response, ignoring the rage of her old comrade. The woman quickly noticing you even though you had changed out of your clothes, jewels, and taken off your makeup. 

“Hola Valeria, are you going to tell them how you know Ale or am I going to have to?” You said as you slowly approached her.

“Vamos, tell them.” Alejandro growled.

“I don’t take orders anymore. Even the dogs at Las Almas know not to bark at me.” Valeria quipped back before you slowly approached her. 

“Bueno, entonces, ¿podría decirles a mí? Me lo debes a mí, teniendo en cuenta a quién sirves ahora” Well then could you tell them, for me? You owe it to me considering who you serve now. You said as you met her gaze. A look passed between you, the woman knew exactly what you were referring to and sympathy passed over her gaze. 

“Sabes que yo no te hice” You know that I didn’t do that to you.

“Pero aún así dejas que sus perros te laman la palma de la mano” But yet you let his dogs lick your palm. You growled to her, your gaze was harsh on her. 

“Different squads, same unit. You were the wild ones, huh “los vaqueros”.” Valeria spoke to Graves and then she peered to you, “and you were there little translator hm?” A silence passed over the group as the woman continued.

“My squad was clean cut, seńoras y señores, everyone respected each other and nobody crossed any lines-” 

“Until the raid on the son of La Araña. ¿Te acuerdas?” Do you remember? Alejandro spoke, cutting off the woman abruptly. 

“Why’re you doin’ this?” Graves spoke, cutting off the interaction. 

“You tell me... you're the contractor, no? What you don't do, your competitors will.” Valeria spoke. Ghost’s deep voice cut through the conversation as he spoke. 

“You're a narco, harboring a terrorist…” 

“Terrorism is good for business. It's insurance.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Alejandro spit out, anger evident in his tone. 

“¿Puedes sacar la puta cabeza del culo por un segundo? Puta madre, Alejandro.” Can you get your fucking head out of your ass for a second? For fuck's sake, Alejandro. Valeria sneered, the room heating up just before Graves moved a hand over Valeria’s shoulder, calming her.

“As long as there is a war on terror, there will be no real war on drugs. To find your so-called terrorist, and your missiles, you need me. To prevent bloodshed.” Valeria said, her tone indicating exactly what she wanted. 

“No, I'm not doing this…” Alejandro growled. Alejandro picked up his weapon and started to leave, Rudy’s hand catching his arm to stop him. 

“Doesn't change anything.” Johnny said. Alejandro whipped around to your brother, his face seething anger.

“It changes everything! Fuck! Don't make a deal with her, it never ends well. Just ask your sister.” Alejandro said, his gaze shifting to you as he stormed out. Johnny froze before approaching you in front of Valeria. 

“Looks like it's your turn to tell the truth.” You spoke, ignoring the comment. 

“I want the missiles, I want the target, and I want Hassan. And you've got ten seconds or I'm gonna show you the difference between the military and me.” Graves spoke, looking down at the woman. 

“I don't know the targets. I'm a courier. I move things. I can tell you where to find the missiles. When you return, I'll tell you where Hassan is. In exchange, you will let me go. And get the fuck out of Las Almas. Se me largan ya- “ Now leave. 

Soap looks at Ghost and Rodolfo, before nodding at Graves. Everyone left the room and as the door closed you heard Graves spoke. 

“Deal. Until then... you're stayin' right here.” 

Johnny immediately grabbed you as you walked out.

“What the hell happened, huh?” Johnny said, following you as you walked towards the van. In a moment of anger, and possibly catharsis, you told him the truth. 

“Valeria made a deal with the narcos behind our backs. I was kidnapped and tortured for a week before Rudy and Alejandro found me and saved me. I was transferred back to the US the second I recovered, that’s all.” You said. All of the men froze as you said it. Johnny’s gaze softened as he let you go.

You entered the van with a sigh. Taking a moment to breathe deeply. Your hands coming up to hold your face as you felt hot tears pool in your eyes. You knew it would be hard telling him but you wished you had told him when you were calmer, not in the heat of the moment when tensions were high.

Ghost lit a cigarette outside as he pulled his mask up to his lips, deeply inhaling the tobacco. He knew it was hard for you here, he glanced at your file but that part was conveniently left out. Your file said you left on the reason of pure reassignment. He watched Johnny slowly enter the van.

“I dinnae know.” Johnny said as he slid beside you. 

“I know Johnny.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” 

“How the hell was I supposed to? Should I have just waltzed up and said Hey Johnny sorry I’ve been gone for two years but now I’m back after being tortured and nearly raped by a cartel in Mexico but I missed you!” You shot back.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

“I know you are.” 

“I’m here now.” Johnny spoke, his hand reached out to take one of yours. 

“Took ya long enough.” You shot back. The man chuckling as everyone else joined you in the vehicle.

You lost track of everything going on and before you knew it, you were in a car with Ghost, Johnny, and Alejandro driving back to base. The car in front of you, containing Graves and his shadows, stopped at the entrance of the base. The rain poured hard onto the car as you got an uneasy feeling. Everyone got out of the car. You stood next to Alejandro. Ghost and Johnny behind you

“What's this?” Alejandro barked out. The rain is coming down harder now. 

“This is the immediate future. Step away from the gate.” Graves said, the look he gave you made you uneasy. 

“What?” Johnny said, confusion surrounding your face. 

“You heard me.” Graves spoke again. 

“You're crazy, this is my base.” Alejandro said, the disbelief evident. 

It's not a base. This is a sizable covert facility and I admire it- So, I'm taking it. You boys have been relieved. Thank you for your service.” Graves said, the uneasy feeling quelling over as you realized what was happening.

“No, no, no, I don't take orders from you.” Alejandro growled.

“Didn't Valeria say that? Now that makes me wonder what else I don't know about your affiliation with a drug lord?” Graves spoke again, taunting the man. Alejandro stepped forward..

“What the fuck did you just say to me, pendejo…” Alejandro said, you came out from behind him, and put your hand on the Mexican’s chest, putting yourself in the middle to make space. 

“You're out of line, Graves.” came your voice, calm and easy. 

“Don't do that. Don't... do that. No one needs to get hurt here, sweetheart.” Graves responded to you. 

“Are you threatening us?” Ghost spoke up, feeling how nasty this was about to get. 

“Soldier, I don't make threats. I make guarantees. So let's not do this.” The texan spoke, looking across the group. 

“I’m calling Shepard.” Soap said, turning around and walking back to the car. 

“General Shepard sends his regards.” Graves spoke, a chill running down your spine, “He told me y’all wouldn’t take this well, especially you, sweetheart.” 

“He knows about this?” Ghost spoke up, gripping his gun as he turned sideways to Johnny. The Scotsman now looked worriedly at how close you were to the texan. 

“He's put me in command of this operation from here on out. So, y'all need to stand down. It's time to let the pros finish this.” Graves said, stepping forward.

“Graves you don’t have to do this.” You spoke out, pleading with your eyes.

“And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of a negotiation? It's not. I've got my orders and now you have yours.” He shot back. 

“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón? My men are inside!” Alejandro yelled. 

“I'm afraid not. Your men have been... detained.” Graves said, smirking. Just as Alejandro lunged forward, you pushed him out of the way. A shadow pushed you against the vehicle and you felt zip ties quickly enclosing your wrists. 

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You shouted, thrashing against the vehicle. Alejandro was slammed beside you, a soldier detained him as well. The sound of gunfire filling the night air. The last thing you heard was Johnny shouting your hand and Graves whispering as the world went black. 

“Too bad you couldn’t save them with your screams this time, Banshee.”

Author’s Note - uh-oh…

miss pretty

{single dad!katsuki bakugo x kindergarten teacher f!reader}

summary: katsuki bakugo has never liked mess and always made sure his son and his life reflected just that. with years worth of a sparkling clean and organized home, toys put away and not once scattered about, and a barking knack over any calls of disorder in his life— meeting you, his sons sweet and sugary kindergarten teacher who was the definition of pure and who was for some reason turning his fiery heart into complete goo— was altering his boring strict cycles of no messes around… and for the better.

warnings: cursing, FLUFFF GALORE MY GAWD??, no smut but a lil steamy something, slight angst, afab!reader, katsuki thinks you are an ANGEL, sunshine x grumpy trope, mentions of abandonment, WHOLESOME AFFF, use of y/n, all characters are aged up.

word count: 11.4k

authors note: THIS MAKES ME WANT TO BE A MOTHERRRRR omg this one is sickeningly sweet and i’ve gotten a few requests to do sunshine x grumpy with sir katsuki and i WAS ALLL OVERRR ITTT i hope i fulfilled!!! <333 THANK YOU THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR ALL OF YOU BEING SOOO SWEETT TO MEEE I LOVE YOUUUU MWAAAHHH :] <33333

katsuki bakugo hated messes.

“oi!” he grunted, his son’s little head turning to look at him as he munched on his gummy fruit snacks from the backseat. “you better not leave that wrapper in here. take it outside with you when i drop you off.”

“kaaayyy!” his son dragged out happily, completely unphased by his dads snappy personality as he contemplated on which color fruit gummy to eat next.

“and wash your hands too. ask your teacher.”

“mhm!” he chirped.

“and don’t be a brat. pay attention.”

“yup yup!”

and for the most part, his life reflected that almost entirely— raising his son to always clean up after himself and not make bombastic huge messes around the house, begrudgingly understanding that he’s a small growing human, that a little spill of apple juice or two is basically guaranteed… but he just hated mess, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t raise his son right to be a clean and organized man even at five years old— katsuki keeping everything in his life practically spotless.

that was of course, until he met you.

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @blu3-l0v3r @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire @dee-writes-anime @megumisluciouslashes @peachyaeger @yourstru1y4ever

Unspoken Bond one-shot | husband!sukuna x wife!reader

Summary: Sukuna gets into a motorcycle accident and forgets who you are.

Genre: modern au, 18+, established relationship, memory-loss, fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

Fic warnings: ooc, profanity, sexually suggestive language

a/n: tysm to @univocalbaby for the idea!!!!

It’s the eighth day Sukuna’s been in the hospital following his motorcycle accident. You were thankful he lived through it and only broke a leg, but he’s unfortunately suffering from short term memory loss according to the doctor. 

You haven’t been around him while he’s been awake yet. The only time he really was awake was when he briefly came to consciousness shortly after he arrived at the hospital. 

You aren’t 100% clear on what had happened because you were going through every single emotion when the doctor was telling you, but apparently he woke up confused and tried to fight everyone that was on staff that night.. which led to them sedating him.

Multiple times. 

Bless his heart, he probably deserved it given the fact that there’s been hospital security sitting outside the room 24/7 after that incident occurred. You only hoped the next time he woke up, he’d be a little calmer, more open to hearing out the nurses and doctors around him rather than trying to pummel them, again.

You’ve stayed by his side for the most part, only leaving the hospital room for an hour or two at a time to go shower or take a walk. You’ve also gone to his favorite bakery to grab his favorite donuts every morning in hopes that he’d wake up to something freshly made, although he has yet to do so. 

You’re starting to think they gave him a horse tranquilizer, and just by looking at your big brute of a husband, you completely understand.

Luckily, the staff had no problem taking the sweets off your hands at the end of each night, you’re sure it also softened them up towards him as well. 

Turns out the patient from hell on floor 27 has a sweet wife, so he can’t be that bad, right?

It’s currently 11:27 am and you decide to tidy up his room a bit. Some of the flowers that were first sent to him have begun to die, so you do away with those. You also try to clear up the counters and floor as much as you can. 

Sukuna was quite the clean freak, even though he’s never complained or gotten mad at you for random clutter around the house, you just decide to clean up because you know it’ll bring him some clarity when he eventually does wake up. 

Right when you finish, you hear a grouchy little ‘ahem’ from across the room and you can’t help but hold back laughter when you turn around to look at your husband who’s obviously been awake and watching you for quite some time now. 

You don’t know if you’re just happy to see him awake or if it’s from the way he’s glaring absolute daggers at you, unable to move because one of his leg’s in a cast and propped up in a sling that’s hanging from the ceiling. 

He clearly doesn’t remember who you are and you’re genuinely curious to see where it’ll go from here because he was a bit of an asshole when you first met him.

“You’re awake,” you offer him a smile as you walk up to him and you can tell Sukuna is trying so fucking hard to not stare at your chest, because you are a stranger to him at the moment.

“And who are you?” He huffs out, most likely offended that you didn’t notice he was awake until he made it known.

“Your wife,” you say– the moment you tell him that his eyes briefly scroll down because he really couldn’t help himself.

“Real cute, sweetheart,” he waves you off and looks out the window. “I don’t have one.” 

“Yes, you do.” You giggle at how quick he was to dismiss your claims. It reminded you a lot of how snippy he was with you before you started dating– when he tried to convince himself and others around him that he didn’t like you even though he did.

“No, I don’t,” he sounds so sure of himself as he crosses his arms and leans back to look at you, a little smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

You can tell he’s trying to flex his muscles in front of you– funny how the car accident wiped away his memory, but not his arrogance. 

But you can’t complain too much, you married this asshole. 

You also know him well enough to know the little smirk on his face could only lead to one thing, which is just ridiculous since he had just woken up. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” his voice was seducingly low as he began to basically undress you with his eyes. 

“Oh yeah?” You raised your brows. “What is it that I'm trying to do then?” You consider crossing your arms as well but you already know that would be the final straw to him zeroing in your cleavage. 

“You’re just another volunteer trying to fuck a patient,” he sneered and you nearly choke on air because he never fails to remind you how much of an idiot he can be sometimes. “Last time I checked, that’s against HIPAA.” 

“I don’t think you’ve ever checked HIPAA at all, because that would not be the case here,” you groaned, shaking your head. 

“And now you’re calling me stupid, you are never stepping foot in this hospital again.” He promises.

“I never called you that— what are you doing Kuna?” 

He reached for the red button next to his bed and pressed it while holding eye contact with you, menacingly. “Nurse! There’s a little volunteer girl in my room that’s sexually harassing me.” 

You stood there in absolute disbelief over how quick he was to snitch on you and it made you realize just how good you had it when he did remember he was married to you. 

“You’re quite bold, you know that?” He says, smiling as he rests his head on the palm of his hand. “If you had just been a little nicer after getting caught, I would’ve given you my number. You’re actually pretty fuckin’ hot.” He concludes.

“Yeah? You probably don’t even remember it,” you spat back and you’re pretty sure he didn't, judging by the way he scoffed at you and looked back out the window. 

He’s probably trying to remember it right now, but to no avail. 

“Mr. Ryomen? Is everything okay?” A nurse hurriedly rushed into the room shortly after he tattled on you. 

“That’s her,” he points his finger at you. “Take that box away from her and get her out of here.”  

“Mr. Ryomen!” The nurses hissed at him, remembering how he brutalized one of her colleagues when he first got here. “Do not speak about your wife like that, she has been worried sick since you got here!”

You completely stopped trying to explain yourself once she came to your defense, thank god you decided to give the staff the donuts rather than just throwing them away. Sukuna also quickly realized how badly he had fucked up because not only were you his hot wife, but now you were also mad at him. 

To his surprise, you ended up staying after the doctor explained everything that’s happened to him— which might as well be a punishment in itself since you barely spoke to him after that.

And it’s awkward seeing him trying to talk to you because he knows how much of an asshole he was being and he was honestly as nervous as he was when he was on his first date with you.

He did, however, “accidentally” drop the tv remote on the ground— making you grab it for him because he was looking at you with puppy-dog eyes, ultimately breaking the ice between you two because you felt bad for ignoring him.

You didn’t hand the remote back to him though and instead scooted your chair closer to his bed so you could lean your head against it. “Do you even like the show you’re watching right now?” 

“Not really,” he shyly admits before clearing his throat. “Will you put on something I like? Please?” 

“Of course,” you giggled and the sweetness in your voice made his chest flutter. 

“What’s in the box you brought?” He nodded towards the counter in the corner of the room.

“Your favorite donuts,” you gave him a smile, remembering how he had tried to have them confiscated from you before kicking you out of the room all together. “I’ll give you one if you can actually remember what your favorite flavor is.” 

“Not fucking fair,” he nearly lunged out of the hospital bed but was stopped by the cast on his leg. “Hand over the fucking box.”

“Nope. You never even apologized for trying to kick me out.”

“Fine, I’m sorry.” He says rather boyishly and glares at you for having the audacity to smile at his suffering. 

You thought it was funny, what a sick woman you were.

You get up from your seat to grab the box in the corner of the hospital room. Before you sat back down on the chair, he had already scooted over as much as possible and patted the side of the bed so you’d sit with him instead. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he murmurs to himself the moment you opened the box in front of him. 

“What? These are your favorite!” You remind him, even though he really wouldn’t know until he actually tried one. 

“Mine or yours?” He picks one up and looks at the pink, sprinkled donut with disgust. “You’re messing with me.” 

“Am not,” you rip a bite-sized piece off the donut and try to feed him, but he just stares at you– looking extremely skeptical. “C’mon just try it, I wouldn’t bring you anything you wouldn’t like.” 

He quickly gives in because he honestly can’t say no to you. 

And instead of admitting you were right and that he did like it, he instead asked you to feed him the rest because he remembered he was your husband and it was okay to ask you to do that. You were happy to do so of course, especially with him going back to his soft self. 

For a moment, he couldn’t believe how easy it was for you to just.. take care of him. 

Wiping the glaze from the side of his mouth, asking him how his stomach was feeling, rubbing his arm as he told you that he was feeling fine, you looking happy with the fact that he was feeling fine. 

He doesn’t remember much about his life right now, but there was something deep down that knew what he had with you was something he’s spent his life searching for. 

The fact that he just woke up one day to this was a shock to say at the least. 

“How long have we been married?” He felt bad for asking, but wanted to know more about you. 

“It’ll be 4 years 6 months from now. And we’ve been together for a total of 5 years.” you tell him and watch the wheels turn in his head. 

“Wait– we got married that soon?!” He was baffled as he asked you to clarify. 

“Yes we did,” you giggled at his reaction, it was how everyone else reacted. “You were the one who insisted. You got me this big rock too to make it even more convincing,” you remind him as you showed him the ring he proposed to you with. 

He took your hand and inspected the ring. He didn’t remember how much he spent on it and honestly didn’t ever want to know because it was fucking huge. 

“Your hands are soft,” he absent-mindedly mumbles to himself as he starts to rub your knuckles with his thumb. “Tell me more about us.” 

And you do, for the next 4 hours. 

30 minutes into the story telling, he got you to fully lay down with him on the hospital bed with your head on his chest, caressing your back because it honestly just felt natural for him to do so. 

And about an hour in, he’s fully comfortable with you– laughing at all the fucked up stories you had of him that a normal person really shouldn’t be laughing at. But he was anything but normal.

After the 4 hours, he starts to fucking flirt with you because that also came naturally to him. You tell him he’s disgusting and make fun of his broken leg. 

Your eyes then roll in the back of your head after he cheekily tells you that his leg was very much broken, “but this dick isn’t”. 

And his memory might be gone for now, but neither of you were worried in the slightest. The chemistry was always there. You say you’ve known each other for five years, but after just spending five hours with you, he feels as if he’s known you his whole life. 

Even if he were to never regain his memory again, you two weren’t going anywhere– your souls knew who they belonged to at the end of the day and that’s all that really mattered.

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