The Mask I Live With - Pt 13

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…

❥ 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

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

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. 

tw. reader has implied daddy issues lol I can’t help myself, Nobara Yuji and megs are in grade school tgth, not proofread bc I’m too lazy right now lol. I had fun writing this.

Megumi stares into the glass bowl of the gumball machine in the window of the corner store as he waits for his dad to finish picking out the parts for his broken down car. His eyes are trained on a blue gumball stuck beneath the turning blades at the bottom of the machine. But when he reaches into his pocket for a quarter, he only finds the wrapper of the lollipop he ate earlier.

The sound of footsteps catch Megumi’s attention, and he looks to the side to see a woman standing in front of the gumball machine next to him.

She looks inside of it for a moment before reaching into her pocket as he just did. Only she actually pulls out a shiny quarter and pops it into the machine’s slot.

“Aren’t you too old for that?” Megumi asks in a small voice.

The woman turns her head and looks down at him. “Are you the gumball police?” She asks with sincerity Megumi is only used to hearing from teachers at school.

He shakes his head, strands of inky black hair falling over his face softly. The woman’s sincere face cracks with a soft smile before she reaches into her pocket again. She pulls out another shiny quarter and holds it out in front of Megumi as an offering.

“Go ahead, I’m not gonna bite,” she says, sensing the little boy’s hesitation.

Nobara told Megumi about this during recess while they sat on the swing set with Yuji: “don’t take candy from strangers,” she said, waggling her finger to get her point across.

Megumi takes the quarter from the woman’s fingers swiftly before putting it into the slot of the machine in front of him. He’s not getting the candy from her, he thinks, only the vehicle to get the candy.

When he twists the metal knob of the machine the blue gumball trapped in the bottom falls down with a clink. He reaches in and grabs it with his tiny fingers.

“Where’s your mom, kid?” The woman asks, now leaning against the window of the store.

Megumi chews his gumball and looks up at her with an oddly stoic face. “Dead,” he mutters, words slightly muffed.

The woman’s eyes widen slightly for a moment before she clears her throat awkwardly. “Dad?” She asks hesitantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He’s getting a new tire for Betty,” the little boy says, slowly blinking his green eyes like a cat.

“Betty?” The woman echoes.

“Daddy named the car that. He says it’s a long story from before I was born.”

She nods softly, blowing a big red bubble with her gum. “Dads are weird like that,” she says.

“How do you know?” Megumi asks, cocking his head to the side like a befuddled puppy.

“Because I had one…for a while,” the woman shrugs. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes trained on the cars passing by outside.

“A while?”

She looks down at him, huffing with amusement softly. “You’re nosy, huh?” She says. “Yeah, I had my dad for a while.”

“Did he die?”

The woman looks at him silently for a moment. “No.”

“Did you lose him?”

Megumi stares up at the strange woman, his jaw slightly sore from the rubbery gum.

“Something like that,” she finally says.

The little boy opens his mouth to say something, but a gruff voice interrupts him. “Brat,” the voice bellows, “time to go.”

The woman looks up from Megumi’s small face, only to be greeted with a larger, more scared, version. A man with short stubble and muscles that look too toned to be real, stands behind him.

“You bothering this woman?” The man asks his son, eyes raking over the woman in front of them.

“No,” Megumi says, looking over his shoulder, “she gave me a quarter.”

The dad smirks. “Bribing my kid?” He asks the woman.

“Yeah,” she snorts, “bribing a little kid with a quarter is my go to.”

Both of them look at each other silently for a moment, but Megumi can clearly sense the unsaid words between them. He’s seen people stare at each other like they are in the Disney movies Nobara makes Yuji and him watch.

“Toji,” the man says, his scared lip quirking up.

“Y/n,” the woman says back. “I was just making sure the kid wasn’t alone.”

Megumi looks up at his dad, gauging his reaction. He’s never seen his dad look at someone like this.

“Say thanks to the pretty woman, Megumi,” Toji says, still looking at y/n.

“Thank you,” Megumi mutters. He still wants to ask the question his dad stopped him from asking, but with the way he’s looking at her, he feels like this won’t be the last time he sees you.

Forbidden Promises

Chapter 7 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Reader lowkey cries again, Misunderstandings resolved!! Finally!! Sukuna does kiss reader but consent is kind of implied. More drama ensues!! No Hana :(

Wc: 2.4k

Sukuna had always prided himself on being somewhat of a good actor, or at the very least masking his emotions better than anyone else. From a young age he learned the hard way that his emotions were to be suppressed, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything but anger and frustration. 

He can still remember his mothers disgusted face when Sukuna had taken barely a week to conform to the new rules set on him, distaste weighing heavy in her mouth as she pushed him away from her embrace.

“Don’t ever try that with me, Ryoumen. You will regret it.”

Her indifferent tone hit him like a bucket of cold water. The man couldn’t remember what happened next, Jin rushing in and comforting his younger twin as Sukuna held back tears.

That’s why he finds himself plastering a business smile on his face, masking the shock with a charming smile as he extended one arm out to Aoi, the other coming to wrap around your waist and pulling you closer,

“Ah it is good to meet you too…?”

He paused, letting Aoi introduce herself, shaking Sukuna’s hand with enthusiasm.

You quickly interjected before Aoi could go any further than her name and occupation, wrapping an arm around Sukuna’s and making up some excuse to pull him away from the sea of onlookers,

“I didn’t know you were going around telling other people I was your husband?”

Though Sukuna sounded offended, he was nothing but relieved. His eyes trailed down to the chain on your neck, a simple golden ring glinting in the morning sunlight. It felt like a heavy weight had been pulled off his chest. His arm dropped from your shoulder to the small of your back, resting comfortably like it did years ago. 

“That’s not- I haven’t been telling anyone you are my husband, it’s a simple misunderstanding,”

Sukuna hummed, high on the euphoria of the thought that you had no husband to be paying any actual attention to the words stumbling from your mouth. 

“Whatever you say wife,”

He smirked, feeling far too happy for himself as he turned his head to look at you, eyes gleaming in happiness. 

“That’s not the point- oh god you’re just so!”

That fond feeling rose up in Sukuna’s chest as he watched you fuss over the situation, freeing yourself from his grasp as you walked up the sidewalk faster. 

Sukuna merely took longer strides to catch up with you, eating the distance up in a few seconds as his hand wrapped around your elbow, tugging you away from the curb and claiming the space you left.

The action made you flush, highschool feelings returning all at once at the sweet gesture. So many people asked you what you saw in Sukuna, some even straight up asked you if you were being held hostage. They just didn’t know about your Sukuna, they didn’t know about how sickeningly sweet he treated you. 

He’s not even on social media, neither does he even know about the pathway rule but it’s ingrained in him to look after you, to make sure you were the most comfortable at any place. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to let go of him after all these years. 

“Where did you even find out that I have a husband?”

Sukuna turned his head to look at you, almost pouting as his eyebrows furrowed together opening his mouth just as you opened the door to the bakery. 

“Let’s talk inside your house,”

He mumbled under his breath, making you pause as you sighed, flipping the sign on the glass doors of the bakery to display closed.

Sukuna sat quietly at your dining table, no longer awkwardly trying to fit himself in the cramped space, instead just staring at the tiny piece of furniture like it had personally insulted him. 

You whipped a few more pancakes, making sure to reduce the sugar content just like how the CEO liked it, placing a few berries on top along with a cup of black coffee. You were surprised he didn’t blow up on you without his daily fix- then again you suppose you wouldn’t know a lot of things about him, not after all this time.

Sukuna eyed the pancakes with a hungry look, scarfing them down as you watched him amused, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips,

“Is Uraume not cooking for you anymore?”

Sukuna glared at you, gulping down mouthfuls of the scalding coffee as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, 

“Nah they’re working at some fuckass restaurant, just been a while since I had your food,”

Sukuna continued eating his pancakes without a care in the world, like him saying that sentence didn’t have a million thoughts swirling in your head,

He missed me.. 

You thought to yourself, looking down at the cup of coffee in your own hands, twirling the cup so the liquid was sloshing around inside the ceramic. 

“Where did you get the information that I had a husband?”

You peeked through your lashes watching Sukuna finish the pancakes and the rest of the coffee. He looked like he was struggling to get the words out, licking over his lower lip and pressing his thumb to his temple as he was left in deep thought. 

Under his lip was the light pink stain of a strawberry and you instinctively reached over to wipe at with your thumb, eyes widening as Sukuna’s own shocked gaze met yours, 

“Oh uhm- Hana- she gets messy- so I,”

You pulled your hands back, immediately going to explain with a flustered expression while Sukuna started barking out in laughter. You glared at him with a pout, sitting back in your seat white your arms crossed under your chest,

Sukuna stopped laughing, wiping away imaginary tears as he took another napkin, wiping his mouth with it as he grinned at you. He then crumbled up the tissue in his hand, looking out at the balcony that was a few steps away from the dining room with a complicated expression.

“I guess you deserve to know what really happened back then,”

When Sukuna finally came home after five long weeks of not seeing you, he made a beeline for your room, then your shared bedroom, then the kitchen, then the specialized baking room he had built for you, then the living rooms followed by all the washrooms and guest bedrooms.

His heart was thumping irregularly in his heart, body drenched in cold sweat when he sent a thousand missed calls only to  find your phone abandoned  on the dining room table.

His head chanted your name like a mantra, like it would suddenly make you appear in front of him. A few days passed by where he didn’t really move from the house, praying to the gods out there that you were safe and would come back home. 

Uraume stayed over with him for a few weeks, cleaning up after his messes and cooking for him. They got to work immediately, slowly removing the traces of you that were left behind, pacing them all into a box and storing it in the attic lest Sukuna find them and go on a witch hunt. 

Sukuna had already established himself in the company- he had a few more fuckers to send to the afterlife and he could finally stop these month long trips away from you. He had officially been recognized as the CEO by all the board members, a velvet box tucked into his pocket when he came home, just for the ring to be discarded in one of his bedside drawers. 

He waited for a grueling three months before he decided enough was enough and hired people to go look for you. What he got in return was photos of you with an obvious baby bump, a man helping you walk with a hand on your back, smiling at each other like you were a lovesick couple. His ring was glinting in the light, both of you disappearing into the bakery as the man held open the door for you. 

Sukuna felt his heart stop, dread crawling up every blood vessel, scalding and freezing him at the same time. He crumpled the photo in his hand, frozen in place as he felt his head go blank. 

Uraume watched him with a careful eye, ripping the photo from his hand and frowning at the sight, 

“Sukuna-” 

The CEO held up a hand, chair screeching as he got up from his office chair, effectively silencing Uraume as they pocketed the photo.

“Get a new place for me. I will move in by tonight,”

You were silent when Sukuna finished his story, red eyes glancing at you every now and then at you as you picked at your nails,

“I was never married, I- there's been no one, not after you..”

Sukuna nodded, eerily quiet as he scratched at a sticker on the dining table, trying to scrape it off with his nail. 

“The man you saw, I think you mean my cousin. He’s married, three kids and all- Hana plays with them,”

You finally looked up, meeting Sukuna’s gaze as you continued, voice feeling far too raw and much too exposed. You took a deep breath, calming yourself 

“I would never-,”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you scowled at the mere thought, 

“I would never cheat on you- Ryo you meant far too much for me to even think of that-,”

Sukuna cut you off, voice unnaturally cold as he spoke, you wondered how long it had been since you heard that tone directed to you,

“Why didn’t you reach out,”

You took another long breath, looking down at your hands and then the worn out house.

“I was hoping you’d have moved on. I don't know- I hoped you would have found someone better, not someone like me. It was obvious that your board didn’t approve of me and I just-” I felt like you were holding yourself back for me, you were doing things you didn’t have to- just for me and that scared me. I never thought I’d have become the coward in our relationship. I just craved when we didn’t have to think so much just to be together. I was scared you wouldn’t want Hana even though I did. Maybe I was trying to fill in the hole you left when you went on those week-long missions, I was scared- I was just so scared Ryo. 

You wondered why the words you wanted to say didn’t come out, stuck in your throat like it was held down by cement, weighing heavy on your chest. The hurt of those unspoken phrases was far more than you thought them to be. The words swirled in your head, your mouth pulled to a thin line as you stopped talking, 

“I got rid of them all.” 

Sukuna finally spoke, getting up from his chair and pulling his seat closer to you, 

“Huh?”

Your voice squeaked out and Sukuna had a crazed grin on his face, cradling your face with his hand, thumb brushing over your cheekbones, 

“Every fucker that didn’t approve of you- thats why I left for so long,” You felt like time had stopped again, it was just you both again and it was like you were in his college dorm room again, cleaning up the cuts he got from punching a guy who was talking behind your back. 

“I promised I’d protect you, didn’t I?”

Sukuna leaned in closer, pressing his forehead against yours as his breath fanned against your face. You leaned into his hand unconsciously, biting your lip as tears streamed down your face. 

“Ryo I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, I just didn’t realize what I had done and by the time it was too late and I didn’t have the courage to face you-”

Sukuna shushed you, pressing his lips to yours in one go. He tasted like pancaked and salty tears and nostalgia all at once. He pulled away staring into your eyes as he wiped away your tears, 

“Stop crying you baby,”

Sukuna teased, pulling you closer by your shoulders and enveloping you in a hug. 

Sukuna and You stayed like that for a while, hugging each other till Sukunas back started to ache and he pulled you into his lap, resting head on your shoulder as he mumbled reassurances into your ear. 

“So why are you going around telling people you have a husband?” 

You stilled in Sukunas arms, pausing for a second before you continued. 

“Didn’t want people prying into Hana’s life and teasing her. She already gets into so much trouble for fighting with the boys in her class. Honestly I don’t know how she even learned how to fight,”

Sukuna chuckles, his laughter settling deep into your bones as you let yourself enjoy the timbre of his voice, 

“That’s my girl.” 

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you got up from his lap and looking at the time, 

“Don’t you have work?”

You asked raising a brow at the carefree man, 

“Nah I’m letting the Gojo handle it for now heh, took a week off too” 

You smiled, Sukuna was having far too much fun relaxing around in your home. You started your way up the stairs, glancing back to see Sukuna on his heels trailing after you like a big tiger. 

“Well I’m going to get to work then,” 

Sukuna caught up with you on the top of the stairs, twisting you around to face him as his hands rested comfortably on your hips, rubbing smooth circles. 

“We’re not done talking though are we?” 

You stopped, averting your gaze as you avoided speaking on the topic. Sukunas hand came to rest above your collarbones, twisting the ring on your chain and tugging it off you, 

“When are you going to tell the kid?”

You sighed, pulling Sukunas hands away from you, he looked dejected for a second, immediately masking his emotions as he took a step forward, bending his neck to look at you  properly, hands fisting at his sides, 

“Are you trying to run away again pet?” 

You shook your head, words dancing around in your mouth as you bit your tongue, hands resting on Sukunas arms as you tried to comfort him, 

“With Hana, we should take things slow, she’s never asked me about her dad. She's kind of perceptive- never been one to pry about the stuff I didn’t like,” 

Sukunas jaw ticked and he glared at the floor, pulling away from you this time. 

“What- what about us,”

He called out your name when you didn't respond, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he stared at you longingly, 

“Sukuna-” 

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Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @poopooindamouf @sadrna @domainofmarie e @sukubusss @nousija @pjofics @katsukiseyebrows @the-reas0n-is-y0u @krispywhisperswhispers @pillkits @rier @needsleep3000 @tangsakura @raquel12 @not-aya @melancholycries @desprrssooo-espresssooooo @tojisbabymommasblog @thebumbqueen @melancholycries @totallygyomeiswife @kiyotosbae21 1 @bwlol7 @ratedrrrr @ihrtbin @kunascutie

A/n: Issues are getting resolved but are they really. I want to build up the tension between Sukuna and Reader a bit more but a kiss was much overdue. MORE DRAMA!!!!

Hi! I couldn’t find anything on your pinned regarding if you take requests, so feel free to ignore this is you don’t.

I’ve been feeling kind of bummed lately about the lack of love towards us mid-size girlies in fanfics in general. Its hard to feel wanted sometimes if you’re not thin enough or curvy enough. Would mind writing a fic with any member of the CoD 141 that just appreciates their mid-size girl? Thank you 💞

simon riley with midsize!reader (I'm so sorry this took so long, but I love this request)

simon riley loves a girl with a bit of weight on her. he'd never understand how you could be so insecure about how your body looked (if you were), especially when you just looked so perfect to him.

your body was a perfect balance in his eyes, plush thighs and tummy that he could bury his face in after he arrived home to you.

when you first asked him to leave the room so you could change, he just gave you a blank stare. he just loved to stare at you (he has a staring problem).

you just look so delectable, he could just eat you up (he does).

but aren't your thighs too big? no, better to crush his head when he's lapping at your sopping pussy.

but aren't you not curvy enough? who needs curves anyways? his eyes are glued to your ass or tits regardless

but your tummy isn't flat? who wants a flat stomach anyways? you have organs, lovie, and he'll gladly rearrange them.

but you're not thin enough? he doesn't care, it just means you're well taken care of, and that's all he wants. more to love, anyways darling.

he can still throw you around without breaking a sweat, toss you over his shoulder with a sharp slap to your ass.

he'll happily fuck you in front of the tall mirror in your bedroom, his chest pressed against your back as he hovers over you. his breath kissing your ear, his voice breathy and deep as he mumbles praises.

his hand is laced through your hair, forcing your eyes to the mirror, his other hand around your neck, fingers creeping up to hold your jaw. red marks and bruises forming all along your neck, trailing down your skin with no pattern. chest bitten and glistening from saliva around your perky buds.

he'd fuck you slow, every praise about your body, your appearance punctuated with a sharp thrust of his cock buried in your weeping pussy. the soft slap of his hips against your ass, your skin rippling from impact, reddening.

come on, lovie, you don't get to come until you're saying positive things. you want to come, don't you?

The Mask I Live With - Simon POV Of Crash

tw: injury; gunfire

Had a few people want to know what was Simon thinking during this time of the wreckage, and I loved the requests for it. This is that chapter, so I hope you all enjoy :)

Every sound felt amplified around them—every footstep, every time someone shifted in their gear, every breath through a comms mic.

They moved fast and low along the ridge, cutting a narrow path between boulders and dry brush. Each of them moved with routined precision... but Simon's mind was anywhere but here. The tension in his shoulders hadn't let up since they got off the helo. He felt like it was the countdown to something wrong. He couldn't figure out what, but his instincts were screaming that it was coming. 

Then of course.... it came.

"Danny?!" Your voice tore through the comms, loud and panicked.

He froze, breath catching in his throat.

"Shit—HOLD ON!"

His head snapped up, heart pounding in his chest before he saw it..... the dark silhouette of the helo in the barely lit sky jerking violently, trailing smoke as it spiraled in the distance. From where they were, it looked like it had been yanked straight out of the air. A streak of fire ignited the tail, followed by a sharp burst of orange as something exploded mid-flight.

"Tango-1 we're hit! We're going down! We—"

Static.

Silence.

"No." Simon whispered under his breath, legs already moving before he registered it. He broke formation, sprinting toward the edge of the slope to get a better view.

"Ghost!" Price's voice barked over the channel. 

But he didn't stop. He couldn't... not when he just heard you scream; not when the helo was falling out of the sky like that. There were rules. Protocol. Orders. But none of that meant anything right now.

He'd felt fear before..... anger....... but this? This was different.

This was you.

You...... who started to mean more than you should've to him. And now you were somewhere in that wreckage. Possibly—

He didn't even want to even think of the word as he felt the bile creep up in his stomach.

Soap caught up first, breathing hard. "We gotta move as a unit, mate. Price is calling for evac—"

"Then you fall back." Simon growled, not breaking his stride.

"Ghost—"

"I said go." His voice was firm, but damn near on the edge of breaking. He was already halfway down the slope, rifle tight in his grip.

"Hold up." Price's voice cut in again, louder now. "Simon—."

"I heard 'em go down." He snapped back, the words like rocks in his throat. "Not leavin' 'em out there."

It was silence in his headset for a moment before Price answered. "...Copy that... You, Soap, and Gaz take a couple Marines. Go to the crash. I'll finish with the rest and link up after."

No questions. No arguments. Just trust.

He didn't waste time replying as he pushed harder, boots digging into the mud as he continued down the hill. The fumes in the sky was getting thicker, rising fast. His lungs and eyes burned, but he didn't care.

He had to get to you.

But they didn't get far before shit hit the fan and plunged into chaos. Gunfire ripped through the trees ahead—short, controlled bursts. Shadows emerged from the rocks, moving in a hurry.

"Contact front!" Gaz called, already ducking for cover.

A bullet pinged off a nearby boulder, sending shards of stone into Simon's path. He dove behind a large rock, pulled his rifle up, and fired back.

"Ambush!" Soap shouted.

"Shit! We gotta get out of here!" One of the Marines shouted as they returned fire.

They had to get through this. They had to. There were at least seven of them, maybe more as Simon counted quickly between shooting again. Well-armed. Positioned high. Prepared for anyone chasing the crash site.

"Hold the line!" Soap yelled, but he barely heard him. His blood roared in his ears, muscles tense in his jaw, as he picked targets and dropped them fast. 

The last target went down with a clean shot from Gaz, his rifle cracking through the silence as the final body crumpled ahead of them. Smog from the gunfight still lingered in the air, mixing with the black plume rising steadily on the horizon.

"Clear!" One of the Marines called out, panting as he reloaded.

"Clear." Soap echoed, stepping out from behind the rocks. His face slick with sweat, jaw tight.

Simon didn't wait for anything else... he was already pushing forward again. Muscles coiled and burning as he pushed down the slope like a man possessed.

"We need to move—now!" He snapped over his shoulder.

They continued their way toward the crash, watching the smoke get thicker and thicker. A column rose faster, lit beneath by the dying flickers of fire still clinging to the downed helo. It was wrecked beyond recognition, from what they could see. Flames burned at the edges of the split blades, looking like something out of a movie. The tail rotor was gone. Debris scattered in a jagged line along the rocks and dirt.

"Go, go!" Soap shouted, waving the Marines forward.

Simon bolted toward the front of the helo, heart slamming in his chest. Every step brought him closer—too close—to the image that haunted him ever ever since he heard you yelled. He reached the shattered cockpit window first and peered inside, throat tightening instantly.

You were still there. Slumped in your seat, fumes curling around you, face almost relaxed under streaks of ash and blood, harness was still locked; unmoving. Danny was next to you, body limp, as blood smeared along his temple and neck, but his chest barely moved.

Simon shouted, already grabbing the edge of the door. "Got 'em!" Gaz and Soap rushed to the other side, a couple Marines just behind them. "Help me get it open!" He grunted to soldiers before bracing his foot and yanking.

The cockpit door groaned against warped metal, but it immediately gave way after a few heavy pulls. The second the panel swung wide, he climbed into the wreckage, smoke and heat washing over him.

His eyes locked on you.

"C'mon...." he thought. "Open y'eyes. Show me you're still in there."

You were barely breathing. Face slack, head tilted at a painful angle, blood dried at your temple and jaw... but you did. Your eyes fluttered opened slowly as you looked at him in a slight daze.

"You came for me?" You asked, voice weak but still giving him a smile.

He almost replied back with a smart comment.... he really wanted to. But he couldn't think straight. Not with you in the condition you were. 

"Course I did." Was all that came from him. 

He reached for your harness, fingers fumbling only slightly as he unclipped each strap as you let chuckled, but winced, making him still briefly. He could hear Danny lightly groaning as he was being pulled from the helo, but his focus was strictly on getting you out as fast as he could. 

He reached for you, his hand bracing against your shoulder and the other beneath your legs. But as soon as he went to pick you up, you screamed loudly in his ear. 

"Leg's fucked." He stopped, his stomach churning but his grip tightening even more around you.

Part of the dash had collapsed onto you, pinning your left leg in place. Blood soaked through your uniform, and he could tell it was either broken or crushed. 

"Just—" You gritted through your teeth. "Just do it. We need to get out of here." 

His jaw flexed. He didn't want to put you in more pain... but he knew you all needed to get out before more enemies came. He took a deep breath, bracing himself again and lifted you into arms. He could hear the slight whimper in your throat as you tried to stay quiet, and it tore something inside of him—hearing you in pain.

"You're alrigh'. I got ya." He muttered, not even realizing he was saying it before he carried you away from the wreckage. 

Behind him, Soap shouted that extraction was arriving, and wash of relief came over him. He got you out like he said he would.

When everyone climbed into the helo, he felt your head droop back as you slipped out of consciousness and his heart clenched. He laid you down on the bench, eyes never leaving yours until one of the medics told him to back up. He sat down on the opposite side next to Soap, knee bouncing as he felt his pulse quicken so fast he thought he'd have a fucking panic attack. 

"Stay with me." He called out to you. 

Your eyes opened slightly, glancing at him before shutting them again and going limp.

"Stay with me, sweetheart" He repeated in his mind.

Hope you all really liked this cause I loved writing this POV of him.

Like, comment, repost, give feedback :)

Pt. 1; Pt. 2; Pt. 3; Pt. 4; Pt. 5; Pt. 6; Pt. 7; Pt. 8; Pt. 9; Pt. 10

Masterlist

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part nineteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k 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.

The cool paste feels tingly on your skin as you rub it against your bruised stomach, wincing. Christ. Maybe Ghost was right to think he might break you. Beneath the mottled patchwork, another kind of pain stirs— your muscles are growing. Firm and tight. The only soft parts of you left are your breasts and your ass. Gently applying the paste to a nasty purple one on your left cheek, you curiously pinch the sore flesh between your fingers. Scratch that. Even your ass is firming up. 

Arnica has healing properties. Yesterday, you found a patch of it with Blue and created a salve with some water. You already applied some last night before bed. Whether or not it’s helping probably doesn't mean much when new ones are about to be added; still, the placebo effect brings some comfort.

You're still massaging your backside when the bathroom door groans beneath a heavy fist. 

"Hurry up. Grab your bow."

“Shit.” You startle, almost dropping the salve. "Uh, coming.”

Chucking on a clean shirt and your old pair of jeans, you pad out of the bathroom, ignoring the cry of your joints. Ghost is outside waiting for you. Wait— bow? Confusion delivers an uptick to your pulse; you never bring your bow to train.

“What’s going on?”

"The air," he replies in a flat tone.

The stale smell offers enough explanation. You cringe. "Should we split up?"

He shakes his head and nods towards the direction the gentle breeze is rolling in. "No need. It's coming from this way."

In the violet wash of morning, you trail beside him over tall grasses and scattered groundhog burrows as the air leads the way, luring you opposite the clearing where you train. There haven't been any Greys since the one you burned together. For the past few weeks, you'd almost forgotten about their existence— a pleasant naivety for once. 

Neither of you bothers with much small talk. He asks if you're sore, probably noticing how stiff you are, and you answer honestly. That's it.

You keep your attention strictly on the wood bow molded into your palm and the slight rustling of leaves all around you, scanning for signs of anything astray. You don't look at Ghost, even when you feel his eyes flicker to the side of your head. Staring at him for even a second longer than necessary rouses something in your gut that was once easy to label as fear; now you don't know what to call it.

He is wearing thicker clothes today, the intimidating vest stocked with ammo glued to his chest. You'd gotten used to his more casual wardrobe of gym shorts and hoodies. They make him look... softer, almost. A little less like a death omen. Though, you sincerely doubt there are any soft parts of Ghost left under all that gear, given the rigid planes you felt beneath your hands when you—

"There."

You snap your gaze in the direction Ghost is pointing at.

At first, you don't see anything.

Then, squinting, you make out a red color far too metallic to naturally sprout among the conifers. 

An arrow is urgently slotted on the bowstring as the two of you head towards it, your brows tightly knitted. You've been this way a few times and never saw a— is that a red car?— before. Closing in, your suspicions are confirmed when a stroke of sunlight bounces off the metal bumper. The patchy sedan is tucked within a bush, tail-end sticking out, with half-flat tires resting on corroded rims. Shadows of movement dance behind the tinted windows, too disjointed to be natural.

"What the fuck?" you mutter under your breath, boots scuffing over a long-faded gravel pathway that is now shrouded in weeds. The car must've been following it before winding up in the bush— the occupants no longer human enough to drive.

"They... they must have just turned while they were driving," you think aloud. "When did this even get here?"

"Maybe during the night," Ghost mutters.

He paces forward and swings open the passenger door. A string of moans is released as a Grey lurches within the confinements of the seatbelt, but he quickly silences it with a bullet to the forehead, causing it to flop sideways out of the car. Maybe just a day ago, it was a young man. His hair is fully intact and he's wearing a blue shirt with the Chelsea Football Club logo on the back.

"I wonder why they were driving this way to begin with," you say quietly, stomach rolling.

In the driver's seat is the slumped-over corpse of an older man, having died from so many bite wounds before the infection could take hold. The early stages of decomposition smell almost worse than the infection and you have to breathe through your mouth as you head for the back door. 

"There's another here I think."

You're ready to shoot and put whoever it once was out of their misery when you pry open the door, but the sight of a small body wriggling around makes you freeze. Curled up against the faded leather is an infected boy, no older than eight or nine. His eyes are all white except for the outer rim where a few vessels are still filled with red blood. Your fingertips dig fiercely into the frame of the door as you stare down at him; his soft brown hair, his small hands, his Minecraft shirt. He whimpers and tries to claw at you, mouth hung open in mindless hunger.

The feeling that washes over you is hot and cold at the same time. It's not the first or last time you've seen an infected child, so you don't know why the sight traps you for a few heartbeats.

A voice emerges beside you. "It's not a kid anymore."

You almost forgot Ghost was there. Your teeth clench. "Yeah, I know."

You feel his eyes burning into you. Your fingers tighten and untighten around the arrow's stem as you aim. 

"Hone it, Twix— the anger."

The tension in your jaw releases at the same time as your arrow snaps forward, cutting through the boy's skull and driving his limp body down to the car floor.

“You good?”

You forcefully swallow and look away, giving Ghost a short nod. "Guess that's all of them."

He slowly nods in agreement, studying you, but all he says is, "For now."

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“Seen stranger things over the years,” he says. “It seems like they were headed somewhere, maybe needed a new place to settle, and one of them got bit. Infected the others.”

You nod, thinking it over. “What about the car?"

"No fuel left, so it's pretty useless." Rifle still in his grip, he moves around to the hood and props it open. "Might have some parts I can use, though."

While he scavenges for gears that aren't rusted beyond functionality, you take a look at their belongings. There is an empty bottle of whiskey in the cupholder. In the boy's lap is a stuffed tiger that you assume was once white, but now it's a worn of grey. You carefully shift his corpse and take it.

"I have a friend who might be able to care of this for you."

In the trunk, at least, you find some tripwire. 

Dragging the two adult bodies back to the trench for burning is your 'strength' training for the day. Since they haven't decomposed much yet, they're heavy; you go back and forth, taking one at a time. Ghost carries the small one over his shoulder. After the flames snuff out the smell of rot, he relieves you, claiming he has other shit to take care of—more traps to set with the newfound tripwire.

"Hey. Would you like this?" you ask Blue when she's up, handing her the tiger. 

"I'm kinda too old for dolls, Twix." She must see the expression on your face because she shakes her head and disappears into her room for a minute before coming out with a teddy bear. "My mom gave me this one when I was a baby and it just sits on my bed by itself, but now it can have a friend."

You smile and nod. "Yeah, okay."

The day is spent playing board games with her. When she notices how sore you are, she offers an exclusive massage from Grim, who hops over your back and legs as you relax face-down on the couch. However, even with the honorary treatment, the aching lingers. 

"Auntie, I'm over here!"

In a violet-tinted field, you search for the voice.

It's barren and hazy, with no hard edges or places for a little boy to hide; so why is it so hard to find him? You call his name. You wander around, aimless, until you catch a familiar whiff of baked cinnamon and fresh laundry. This way. He's this way. You start running fervently. When a small hand tugs at yours, you whip around and try to grab him, but the soft touch dissolves through your fingers like ash. 

When you wake up, there's a hand on your back and blood on your tongue, evidence that you'd bitten through it during your sleep. The taste is quickly replaced with bile as you launch up, grabbing the sleeve of someone's shirt.

"Oh no, you don't."

The hand moves to your hair, wrapping it around in a fistful before forcing your head to tilt down. A bucket is tucked beneath your chin. You vomit into it, the cool metal rim hissing against your fingertips. Again and again. When it's all out, your throat feels like sandpaper. 

"Done?"

The dark room surrounds you; the perfect place to hide what you know must be a ghastly look on your face. Awareness creeps in, and you're not thrilled by the fact that you've thrown up in front of him twice now. Without looking up at the white skull you know is there, you nod.

Wordlessly, he takes out a cigarette and lighter. You hear a deep inhale. See the dull glow of the flame. Then, he passes it to you and leaves.

"You look like shit today."

You can't even be offended, fully aware of the purple painted beneath your eyes. One look at you quirks his brow up in that annoying mannerism of his.

You offer a tight-lipped simper, mumbling. "At least I can always count on you for brutal honesty."

"Good trait to look for in an ally." He throws the gauze at you and you begin wrapping up. "I don't suppose it has anything to do with the fact you nearly ruined another shirt of mine last night."

You tie off the gauze and glance up. "Look, I'm s—" you stop yourself, "I mean, I'm not sorry, because you wanted my box open so now it's open. You already knew the potential consequences."

"Try opening it without emptying your stomach next time."

You flash him a look. "I think I miss when you pretended I didn't exist."

"And I miss getting a full night of sleep."

"Can we just get started? I'm ready."

Ghost keeps his eyes on you as he motions a fisted hand. "As you wish."

When the familiar dance begins, and adrenaline ripples up your spine, you realize that you missed this yesterday. The rest felt good, but this— the thrill of seeing Ghost start to get as worked up as you, the sweat stains on his shirt matching your own... it is something you itch for these days. 

You get a few hits in that have your ego swelling. But then— the rough night catches up with you after half an hour of wordless sparring. Your breathing grows labored, while his is barely winded.

"Tired yet?" he asks.

"No," you say, but he calls you out immediately.

"You're a terrible liar," he reminds you. A few more swings have your lungs burning as you dodge until one finally catches up with you, and whatever healing your homemade salve has done is erased by a fresh layer of pain. 

As you clutch your side, he changes the subject. "Are you going to tell me what it was about then?"

"What what was about?"

"Whatever was making you whimper in your sleep."

Your face twists. "I wasn't 'whimpering'."

"Fine, then. Crying," he corrects plainly.

You sigh through your nose, averting your gaze only for a moment, then focusing back on him before he can strike you again. His words hang in the air, ignored, as you jab an elbow toward his ribs. He grabs you by the knob of it and pulls you unnecessarily close to his chest. When you try to wriggle free by placing a hand on his chest, he fists your hair, which has slipped out of a bun into a haphazard ponytail, and tugs hard enough to force your eyes up to his.

His gaze is demanding but his voice is light— a mere breath over your forehead. "Tell me why someone who has seen plenty of infected kids by now seemed so bothered by the one she saw yesterday. He reminded you of someone, didn't he?"

The mention of it makes you snap. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Trying to act like you know anything about me."

"I know enough. You are easy to read."

So that feeling you get when he looks at you isn't just in your head; he truly can see through. Your nails dig into your palm. "There's no need to read me. We're not friends. We're just... allies, or whatever."

"Or whatever," he repeats thoughtfully, tasting the words. "You talk like a teenager."

"Compared to you I might as well be," you retort.

"Jesus." He chuffs out an exhale, eyes flickering down for a moment before returning up to yours, narrowing. "Let's not change the subject here." 

"Fine. Take this stupid Halloween mask off," you lift the hand on his chest up to the hem of his balaclava, feeling how weighted the fabric is with sweat. "And I will tell you all about it."

His jaw flexes before he gently guides your hand away. "Tempting offer, but I'll pass."

You refuse to acknowledge the tinge of embarrassment at his dismissal and inch back as far as the hand on your hair will allow. The close proximity, or harsh sun, is making it hard to breathe. "Well, it's not fair for you to ask me shit about my life when you don't even let me see your face."

"I never claimed to be fair." 

"I promise I won't vomit no matter how ugly you are. I've seen worse things out here."

His hand tightens. "I think I miss when you were scared of me. Less mouthy back then."

"Well, I'm not anymore."

"No?" He flips you around so your back is against him, one hand settling on the toned curve of your hip. His voice lowers to your ear. "Maybe I need to fix that."

An unwelcomed shiver courses through you. He lets go. A wristbone nudges against your spine, shoving you forward. Irritation simmers in your veins when his remark finally registers, and you whirl around, readying your stance. 

"If you even think about threatening me after I explicitly asked you not to, then I would suggest sleeping with a knife tonight."

"Who's threatening who, Twix?" He gives a low chuckle. "Relax. I'm sure I could handle you in my sleep, anyway."

He's egging you on; you know it. And yet, you stubbornly take the bait. His knee— the right one. That's where you got him last time that made him falter. Maybe an old injury. But when you swing a boot at it, he expects your attempt, knocking you away by the ankle. 

"Ah. Eager to get me beneath you again?"

Pink sears your cheeks as you wipe a trickle of sweat from your forehead. "I'm eager to humble you for once."

"Might need to keep your dinner down to do that."

You grit your teeth. So maybe he did allow it last time. The realization darts your eyes to his wide stance, searching for an idea. Without second-guessing yourself, you kick at the other knee. He must find your second attempt amusing because he easily predicts it, but before he can catch your leg, you snap it back and drop yourself to the ground.

The brief distraction allows the second of time needed to fit yourself between his legs. You're slim enough to push through, kicking at the inside of both knees once you're on the other side. His legs buckle, and you reach up to pull his arm, finishing the job.

Once he's down, you scramble to get on top, not caring if your boot kicks his face in the process. You grab both of his wrists and bring them above his head, but it's impossible to wrap your fingers all the way around them. Instead, you lace them through his fingers, breathing hard in his face as your breasts meld against the solid heat of him.

"Did you allow that?" 

His voice is rougher than you've ever heard it. "No."

Your lips furl. "Good."

A dark gleam passes through his dilated pupils that makes your head fuzzy. You let go of his hands. Immediately, they gravitate to your hips again, thumbs fiercely pressing into the sliver of skin exposed from where your shirt rides up. You don't move even an inch, frozen in place as you stare down at where he grips you against him. That feeling in your gut deepens and spreads. It is hard to pinpoint—so insane and foreign yet familiar at the same time—but one thing is certain: it begins and ends where his rough skin touches yours.

Before you can figure anything else out, a scream shatters the air, and Ghost rips you off of him in one swift movement. 

remedies and reasons | ch. 05

pairing — professor geto x law student reader

summary — this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken.

word count — 12.4 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, age difference (10 years), doctor-patient relationship, angst, smoking, alcohol use, mature themes, and depictions of illness. reader discretion is advised.

previously — watching the woman he loves fall apart over satoru yet again, suguru retreated to the garden to escape. but he wasn't alone for long. you found him there, offering distraction until comfort turned to something more. he knows it's wrong, that his heart is still tangled up in someone else's mess. but sometimes being alone hurts more than making mistakes.

author's note — hi everyone ! so excited to share this new chapter with you all ! i’m already sorry if the chapter is a bit confusing bc of the two main female characters with the crossover. also there’s quite a bit happening in this one. anyway, i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it (even though that party scene nearly broke me lol). let's dive in <3

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I'm fucked.

I'm so completely fucked.

My head was a mess when I kissed her—reason just gone. It was all want, need, hunger. I knew it was a terrible idea—she was my patient, practically still a student compared to me. And here, at the Zenins' party of all places, with her and Satoru just down the stairs. It was wrong and stupid on so many levels.

But God, the way she felt pressed against me, all soft curves and warm skin, the little gasps and sighs she made as I tasted her mouth, the way she clung to me like she was afraid of falling—it all conspired to destroy my better judgment.

I knew it was wrong. A voice in my head screamed that this was a so fucking wrong. I was using her, wasn't I? Trying to drown the constant ache of seeing Satoru with his girlfriend. Using another pretty face to numb the fact that I'd never have the one I actually wanted. It wasn't fair to her. She deserved better than this—a quick fuck in some rich kid's guest room. Better than a guy still hung up on his best friend's girl.

But fuck it. I wanted her. Badly. And if I was screwing up as a doctor, then at least I'd give her this. Even if come morning, I'd hate myself for it. And she'd probably hate my guts too. I didn't care. Not in that moment. Not when she was moving closer, kissing me harder, making those soft sounds that twisted something inside. She was doing that to me, something I didn't understand, something that made all the reasons why this was wrong so fucking irrelevant.

I vaguely remembered her leading me through the crowd of drunk students, dragging me in from the garden. Her hand in mine. Then stairs, a doorknob, stumbling into some empty bedroom. I shoved her against the wall, kicking the door shut behind us.

She pulled my shirt over my head, her eyes never leaving mine, and before I could even blink, I was back on her, backing her against the wall again, kissing down the curve of her neck. I knew I should end this. That I was taking advantage. But when her fingers went to my belt, undoing the buckle, I groaned helplessly into her mouth.

"Tell me to stop." My voice was hoarse as I trailed kisses lower, my hands gripping her hips hard, holding her against me. "This is fucked up. Tell me."

"Don't stop." Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. "I want this. I want you."

God. This woman. I took her mouth again, a hard, bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperation. She met me with the same urgency, arching into me as I cupped her breast through her shirt. She gasped, her body tensing for a split second before melting into my touch, the soft moan that escaped her lips against mine a spark that ignited a fire in my blood. I couldn't wait to taste her, to feel her skin against mine—it was driving me insane.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't stop."

I knew I'd hate myself in the morning. Knew she'd probably regret this, resent my lack of control. The honorable thing to do would be to walk away. Now. Before it went any further.

But honor was long gone. 

"What are you doing to me?" I turned her around, her back pressed against the door. My hands found her waist, pulling her close. My cock was already so fucking painfully hard against her. But not yet. I needed to take my time, even though every fucking cell in my body screamed at me to just have her.

I grabbed her hair, gently at first, then tightening my grip as I tilted her head back, exposing her neck to my lips. Her breath hitched, and she pressed even closer against me, her body trembling slightly. "Suguru," she moaned, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. Hearing her moan my name like that, like it was something sweet, something precious, instead of the desperate cry of a woman being taken by a broken man—it was shattering my resolve, making it almost impossible to stop. 

"You're making me lose my mind, you know that?" I whispered against her skin.

Her hands reached back, fingers digging into my thighs, pulling me even closer, as if she could meld our bodies together. I let one hand slide from her waist, tracing down her hip, over the curve of her ass, feeling the rough fabric of her clothes under my palm. I wanted to tear them off, to feel nothing between us, but the anticipation, the torture of fabric between us, was driving me nuts in the best way.

My hand left her hair, now trailing up her front to her chest, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. I squeezed gently, my thumb brushing over her nipple, feeling it harden under the fabric. Her breath hitched, a moan escaping her lips. I pressed my hips forward, letting her feel just how much she affected me, my cock straining against my pants.

"Suguru, please," she begged, and I couldn't help but smile against her skin. Please never stop saying my name. I loved hearing her like this. But I wasn't done playing yet.

I turned her around, her back now against the door, her eyes hazy. "Not yet," I breathed out, my lips hovering just above hers, teasing both of us with the promise of a kiss.

I grabbed her thighs, lifted her up and carried her to the bed. I followed her down, her hands already at my zipper, pulling it open as I settled between her legs. Seeing her now beneath me, her eyes half-closed, her breath quickening, I knew I should stop. That this was wrong. There it was, the voice of reason, a small, insistent whisper in the back of my mind. But when she pressed her hips against mine, a small, involuntary sound escaping her lips, I lost all sense of reason.

I pushed her shirt up over her bra, pushing the fabric to the side to reveal more of her skin, the moonlight painting her in shades of silver and shadow. "You'll regret this tomorrow." Admittedly, the protest sounded weak, even to me, as I lowered my head, my mouth latching onto her hardened nipple.

She moaned, her head falling back against the mattress. "I won't," she whispered, her voice surprisingly steady despite her ragged breathing. "I won't regret this." Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer against her.

"You sure?" I murmured against her skin, my tongue circling her nipple, her chest pressing into my face as she arched into me. My fingers traced the undercurve of her breast, then moved downwards, teasing along the waistband of her jeans. "This is insane. We can't—"

"If you tell me this is crazy one more time," she interrupted, her voice firm, "I might actually start to believe you don't want this."

Not want this? Stupid girl. If she only knew how much I wanted to rip her clothes off, spread her legs wide, and bury my face between them, fucking her with my tongue until she was begging me to stop, before I’d tie her up and fuck her brains out. But I didn’t say any of this, of course. 

Instead, I said, "You know I do. God, you have no idea how bad." My hand tightened on her hip, not sure if I wanted to pull her closer or push her away. "But we can't. We shouldn't." The reasonable voice, once more.

"Says who?" Her hand slipped lower, brushing against my cock through my slacks, causing me to suck in a breath. "I'm not your patient here, Suguru. And you're not my doctor."

I caught her wrist, stilling her hand. "You're not thinking straight. We've both been drinking. You'll hate me in the morning."

"I'm not a child." She held my gaze. "I know what I want. I know my own mind."

Something shifted in me at her words. She saw the change in my expression, the flicker of doubt, and seized the opportunity to roll us over. Her legs straddled my hips, and for a second I was genuinely surprised at how easily she'd managed to reverse our positions, given our size difference.

"And right now," she said, her eyes locking with mine, "I want you to fuck me."

God help me, but this woman will be the death of me. She leaned down, her lips finding mine, and I slid my tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss immediately. Oh fuck all of this. I wanted to fuck her just as badly.

I sat up and pulled her closer into my lap. "Then tell me how you want it," I murmured against her neck, my lips trailing down to her collarbone, then lower, pushing her shirt up and tossing the stupid fabric over her head into a corner, my mouth finding her chest again. She arched her back, offering herself to me, her skin burning.

Her hands threaded through my hair, urging me closer. "More." And I obeyed, increasing the pressure, my tongue circling her nipple, teasing it with my teeth until she squirmed in my lap. "Do you like this?" Though I already knew the answer.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes half-closed. "Fuck. Yes." Her head fell back, her hips beginning to move against mine, and I could feel myself getting even harder, if that was even possible, my cock already slick with precum. "Suguru." Her voice was so adorably needy, so fucking captivating. "Hurry up with the stupid foreplay."

Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. What's the hurry? I pressed myself harder against her, the fabric of our clothes doing little to dull the sensation. My hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, forcing her to feel every inch of my length against her. It was torturous, but I loved how her breath hitched with each thrust.

I could have done this for hours—maybe we were—just watching her moan and squirm in my lap like she couldn’t help herself, her cheeks turning rosy and her eyes glassy. But then she whimpered my name again, a small, desperate sound that made me think I’d cum right in my pants. I couldn’t wait anymore. 

With one arm around her waist, I spun us around, landing her on her back on the bed. I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, my gaze locked on hers. "Do you trust me?"

She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. "Yes."

I shifted back onto my knees, releasing her wrists just long enough to thread my belt through the loops and secure it to the bedpost above her head. She watched me, her chest rising and falling quickly. I leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. "Tell me if you don't like something," I murmured against her mouth.

She nodded again, her eyes fluttering closed. I trailed kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, lower to the soft skin of her chest, down her stomach until I reached the waistband of her jeans and pushed them down, taking her underwear with them.

I kissed her inner thighs, feeling her tense and then melt beneath my touch. Her hands tightened against the belt, her breath hitching as I kissed lower, until I was fully seated between her thighs and my mouth was on her. I dragged my tongue slowly from her clit down to her entrance, the flat of my tongue pressing firmly against her. As I reached her entrance, I circled it, my tongue probing gently at first, then with more insistence, loving how she squirmed in response. I pushed inside just a bit, tasting her deeper, my tongue curling upwards to find that spot that made her breath catch in her throat. I could have stayed like this forever, watching the small, involuntary twitches of her legs when I found a spot she liked, studying her, learning the language of her body, knowing her in a way that no one else ever could.

She moaned as I slipped two fingers inside, feeling her clench slightly around me. I paused, licking up her clit, teasing her, stroking her tight with my free hand until I felt her relax, and I pushed deeper, curling inward and stayed there, applying gentle pressure.

She was unexpectedly sensitive, more so than I was used to, and I could feel her slickness increasing with every flick of my tongue, so I moved more firmly against her, could feel her shudder and clench around my fingers. God. I could get used to this kind of responsiveness.

She let loose a series of curses above me as I fucked her with my fingers, pushing deep and slow while my tongue worked on her clit. I was just about to increase my pace when I felt her clench around my fingers, her moans filling the room, wrists straining against the belt and her thighs clamping around my head. Her voice was strained, and I realized she'd cum. 

Already? After maybe two minutes. I was just getting started.

I eased my fingers slowly from her trembling form, my tongue still working on her, drawing out her orgasm until her moans turned into soft whimpers that I could really get used to. My mouth then moved over her inner thighs, feeling the slight tremble of her muscles under my lips, tasting the saltiness of her skin.

I looked up at her. She was silent, looking up at the ceiling and breathing heavily. "Are you good?" I asked, suddenly unsure. It was a stupid question, maybe, but I needed to hear it anyway. Was she already regretting it? Did she hate me now?

But then she said, "Fuck, why was that so good?" and immediately smacked her hand over her mouth, her face turning an impossible shade of red. "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?" 

I nearly laughed, but let out a heavy exhale instead. "That good?" I asked, knowing how smug that must have sounded, and the look on her face as she looked at me then told me she thought so too.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked, her voice a little shy, her gaze flickering away from mine. You can tell me anything you want, pretty, I thought. "I’d never… come before," she said, her gaze returning to mine, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "I mean, with someone else. And now I'm making this weird, aren't I? I'm totally making this weird."

Never? What? How? She was so responsive, so perfect. How could no one have—? I blinked at her, trying to process what she’d just said, the thought nagging at me. She turned even more red, her eyes darting away again. "Don’t make such a face," she whispered.

I pushed up to her, cupping her face in my hand, my thumbs brushing against her soft cheeks. "God, you're fucking perfect," I said against her lips before I kissed her, my tongue pushing past her lips to find hers. And all I could think about in this moment was how desperately I wanted to make her cum again and again, until she was so sensitive, so overstimulated, that even the slightest touch would send her over the edge with nothing but my name on her lips.

Again, I did not say that. I was a doctor, at least I should represent some sort of normalcy, right? Instead, I said, "Then let me make you come again." And I really, really wanted to.

"What? Again?" 

I released her from the belt, pulled her close by the waist, her back now pressed against my chest, lifting one of her legs up so that I could reach between them. My fingers found her clit, teasing it before I slowly pushed one finger inside her, watching her slowly arch her back further and further against me as I thrust deeper.

"You’re doing so good for me," I whispered into her ear. I added a second finger, my movements slow and gentle, savoring the way she gasped. "You take me so well.” I began to move my fingers, in and out, feeling her wetness coat my fingers, making each slide smoother.

"So your past boyfriends didn’t do it for you?" I said. "Couldn’t make you come?"

"What?"

"Why did you never come with them?" I curled my fingers slightly, searching for that spot that would make her gasp. When I found it, her body jolted, a louder moan breaking from her, her head falling back against my shoulder.

"We can’t have this conversation while you fuck me," she said, her voice strained.

"Why not?" I loved how easily she flustered, how responsive she was to my touch. "You want me to stop?" I slowly withdrew my fingers, just a little.

"No," she gasped. "Don’t stop, please don’t stop." 

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

I introduced a third finger, stretching her further, preparing her for later. I knew this would feel different, more intense, but I moved with the same slow motion, making sure she could accommodate the added fullness. Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open as a few curses fell from her lips, her hands reaching back to grip my head, her nails digging into my scalp. And I loved how she enjoyed herself, loved seeing her like this—her cheeks flushed, her eyes glossy, hips beginning to move against my fingers. It was like watching art come to life.

My mind already raced with all the ways I wanted to make her cum, in ways her past stupid loser lovers could never dream of. Wanted to show her everything she’d been missing, every sensation she’d been denied, to make her forget any other touch but mine. I thought about bending her over, fucking her from behind, or having her ride me, tying her up with ropes, teasing her with toys, with my mouth, with my cock until she was begging for release. I wanted to explore every position, every angle, to find those spots that would make her scream, to show her the depth of what she could experience with me.

"You like that?" I asked.

She nodded. "Like you don’t know that." Fair enough.

"Touch yourself." Her hand moved tentatively at first, sliding down her body. I leaned in, my lips finding her neck, kissing, then sucking gently, marking her.

I could feel her pulse quickening under my lips. "You're so hot when you touch yourself," I whispered against her skin. And it really was. My cock practically begging to replace my finger.

Her legs clamped together, trapping my hand, her muscles contracting around my fingers as she came. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she gasped out, her voice breaking. I slowed my movements, my lips stayed on her neck, my kisses turning all soft. Her hand that had been on herself now gripped my arm, holding onto me as if for dear life. Slowly, her legs relaxed, the tension in her body ebbing away, replaced by a soft trembling as she came down. 

"You good?"

She let out a small, shaky breath. "Yeah, but I… I don't think I can walk anymore."

"Good thing you don't have to." I pulled her close and towered over her, my lips finding hers again. She tasted like sex and something sweeter, something uniquely her, and I couldn't get enough. My hand found her hair, tangling in the strands, holding her head gently as I deepened the kiss, losing myself in the feel of her against me, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her lips. For a moment, it was just us, the rest of the world fading away until—

Someone was shouting her name in the distance. And just like that the spell broke and the reality of our situation, the recklessness of it all, came crashing back in, a tidal wave of what the fucks and oh shits. We were still at the party. With Satoru. And her friends. And my colleagues. And—

Fuck.

"Is that Megumi?" She sat up, her eyes wide, a flicker of panic replacing the haze that had been there moments before as she heard the voice again. "Oh God, that is Megumi—one of my friends."

"You should find them," I said. "They're probably searching for you."

"No." She shook her head, a strand of hair falling across her face. "It’s okay."

"Go," I urged, tucking the strand behind her ear. "They're worried about you."

Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with her shirt, the fabric still wrinkled from where it had landed on the floor. "Shit," she muttered, hopping on one foot as she wrestled with her shoe. Her hair was still mussed from my hands, and I watched as she tried to smooth it down and failed miserably. I had to physically restrain myself from getting up to help her, knowing exactly where that would lead.

Finally dressed—more or less—she turned to me. She bit her lip and hesitated for a moment. "'Uhm... see you," she said in that adorably awkward way of hers. And then she was gone.

I fell back against the pillows with a groan, surrounded by sheets that still smelled like her. "Fuck," I muttered to the empty room, though whether it was about my current painful state of erection or the countless ethical lines we'd just crossed, I wasn't entirely sure. 

Probably both.

From somewhere in the house, I could hear the party still going strong, could practically picture her trying to act casual, slipping back in with her friends like she hadn't just… Jesus. I needed a cigarette. A cold shower. And maybe a drink.

But first something else needed attention, I thought, glancing down at my very large, very insistent problem. My pants were definitely… tenting. Right. Priorities.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

After I took care of the problem, I headed downstairs, still hazy with lust and still slightly hard despite cumming twice to empty myself. I needed to leave. Needed to go home, clear my head, figure out what the hell I was doing here, what I was doing with her. I was way too old for this shit. But before I could make my escape, a familiar voice cut through my thoughts.

"Suguru! There you are!"

I turned to find Kento weaving through the crush of bodies. He was with some other university colleagues, clearly having a good time and taking full advantage of the free alcohol. I eyed him. He hadn't exactly been keen on coming here with Satoru and me. Satoru had basically dragged him here.

I wondered what Satoru had on Kento but they wouldn’t tell me. I should really let it go, but I can’t get my head around it. Before I could ask, Kento pressed a beer into my hand and asked, "Where'd you disappear to?" 

I shrugged. 

Fucked a patient of mine. No big deal. Had a great time, thanks for asking, even though I needed to finish the job myself. Also, I'm a fucking idiot and should probably give up my medical license.

"Look at them," Hoshino—one of my fellow colleagues—laughed and gestured to a group of students who were… doing something. I wasn't sure if I was too drunk to figure it out or if my brain just refused to comprehend that these were actually my students. Either way, Hoshino added, "Future doctors of Japan, everyone." 

As I watched them, I was kind of worried. But then again were Satoru and I any better?

"They should be studying," Kento chimed in. "Finals are coming up."

"Oh come on," another colleague, taking a sip of his beer. "We were just as bad. Remember that time—"

He cut off abruptly as movement caught our attention. The crowd parted like water, and there they were—Satoru and his girlfriend.

Strange how suddenly breathing can become hard, when it was so easy only a second ago. How it cuts into your lungs, like trying to breathe through a wet cloth until you wish you could just stop.

She was soaked through, shivering, wearing nothing but her underwear, water dripping from her hair and running down her shoulders, leaving dark trails on the already sticky floor. The thin fabric clung to her skin, revealing the lines of her body in brutal detail. She looked vulnerable. Exposed. Like prey. 

Other eyes were on them too as they walked past without acknowledging any of us, I could feel it. Whispers rippled through the crowd, heads turning, gazes lingering, devouring. It was a spectacle, a train wreck unfolding in slow motion, and everyone was watching. 

And I was watching too. My world narrowed down to just them, to just her, and the cold, sickening dread that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

But then my gaze dropped to her waist, and the air left my lungs completely. Dark marks on her skin, violent purple, disappearing beneath the edge of her lace. Burn marks. A wave of nausea rolled in my stomach.

When did that happen? Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't he tell me? Why did they never fucking tell me anything? Is she okay? Why is she undressed? What the fuck is going on here?

The crowd swallowed them up again, leaving only an awful fucking lot of unanswered questions in their wake. My mind raced through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Had she fallen? Been pushed? Had someone—?

I felt sick.

I felt so sick I thought I could vomit right there on the floor.

"He's got some nerve," Kento muttered, his voice sounding distant, like it was coming from the other side of a long tunnel, even though he stood right next to me. "Walking around with her like that in public. Lucky everyone's too drunk to remember this tomorrow."

I turned to look at him, my gaze unfocused, trying to make sense of his words. "What do you mean?"

"Come on. Everyone at the faculty knows." He threw his head back to empty his beer. "Not exactly subtle, are they?" He scoffed, crushing the empty can in his fist. "Satoru really thinks he can get away with anything. But I guess rules don't apply when your family name's on the building."

His words hung in the air, disconnected, meaningless. Like sounds without context. I stared at him, my brain struggling to process the meaning, to connect the dots. Some part of me had known this, had suspected it. Yaga knew. I'd guessed Kento knew too. But hearing it confirmed, spoken aloud, was like a punch to the gut. Fuck. Some delusional part of me had wished they didn't.

I’d wanted to believe it was still a secret, something I could control, something I could… hide. For them. And I wondered, with a fresh wave of nausea churning in my stomach, what was more worrisome—the bruises on her waist or the fact that the whole faculty knew Satoru was sleeping with one of his students? 

The whispers, the gossip, the judgment. It would cling to her, not him. I can't let that happen to her. Not her.

Yet, I felt paralyzed, my limbs heavy, unresponsive. I needed to do something. Right? But instead, I stood frozen in place, my gaze fixed on the spot where they’d disappeared into the crowd.

Kento turned to me, continuing as if I’d still been listening, his words a distant drone. "And who's gonna have to deal with the university board when shit hits the fan? I'm getting real tired of cleaning up his messes."

University board? What? 

My mind snagged on the phrase. Since when was Kento involved in this? Since when did he know? What did he mean, the university board? A thousand questions crowded my thoughts, each one a new thread in the tangled mess of this situation. Why was there so much I didn't know? Why was everyone else in on this secret except me?

I couldn't take any more of this night. The music suddenly too loud, the laughter too sharp. But I couldn't leave, not yet. Not without knowing attorney was okay.

I pushed through the crowd, scanning faces. Each flash of her haircolor made my stomach clench, each glimpse of her height made me stop, my breath catching. But she was gone.

Then blue lights flashed through the windows, painting everything in harsh stripes. Someone shouted "Cops!" and the party was chaos. Bodies pushed past me as students scattered, drinks abandoned, music cut off.

The chaos at the entrance of the house escalated faster than I could track. A punch thrown—a cop's arm flashing, then the sickening  crack of bone on flesh. Then all hell broke loose.

Students surged forward. Bodies collided. One of them charged, tackling an officer like a rugby player. "Everyone back!" a cop's voice boomed, but it only made things worse. Glass shattered. Handcuffs clicked amidst the shouts and curses.

Then I heard it—a scream that sliced through the chaos, unlike the panicked shouts around me. Someone is hurt. I shoved through the throng, shouldering past fleeing students and aggressive officers alike.

And then I saw her. My… her. On the floor, surrounded by a small group. Satoru was there, kneeling beside her. And his girlfriend, checking her pupils, talking to Satoru, who seemed frozen in place. 

She was seizing.

My mind struggled to process what I was seeing, the image burning itself into my memory. Her. Like this. It was like watching a nightmare unfold, a scene of horror playing out in vivid detail. My limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if they were no longer connected to my brain. I wanted to move, to rush to her side, but I was rooted to the spot. The world around me seemed to fade, the noise of the party becoming muffled, the flashing lights blurring into a chaotic mess.

But then, something clicked. A strange detachment, a clinical distance. It was like a switch flipping in my brain, the emotional circuits shutting down, the logical ones taking over. Emotions muted. Urgency heightened. Flight or fight. Doctor mode. A familiar state.

I crouched down beside her, my movements automatic, my mind already running through the checklist of necessary actions. I cradled her head, supporting her neck. My thumb gently stroked her cheek. I leaned down, my voice low and calm, meant only for her ears. "I'm here. Everything's going to be alright."

I heard Satoru on his phone, the word "ambulance" cutting through the noise. Too long, I thought, my mind racing. Too fucking slow.

"The ambulance is taking too long," I said. Without another thought, I carefully lifted her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. She was limp, unresponsive. I stood, my legs surprisingly steady, and pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring the shouts, the flashing lights, the chaos around me. I had to get her out of here, to get her to a hospital. I had to fix this.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

I never hated hospitals before.

No. That's not quite right. To hate something, you have to care about it first. Hospitals were always just there—sterile spaces where we did our work, saved lives when we could, lost them when we couldn't. A means to an end. Nothing more. 

But now, sitting beside her hospital bed, the monitor's rhythmic beeping felt like torture. Each sound a spike driven into my skull, too loud, echoing through the otherwise silent room. Beep. Beep. Beep. Again. And again. Mechanical and cold.

I hated it. The sound, the hospital, the antiseptic smell, the stuffy air, the way my clothes clung to my skin, the way my skin felt too tight around my muscles. Beep. Beep. Beep. Again. Again. Again. I wanted to rip the damn machine off the wall, tear out its wires, and force the damn room into fucking silence.

I hated being here. Hated the reason why. Hated that my last memory of her before this was the taste of her skin, her ragged breaths in my ear, the way she'd arched against me. 

I didn't regret it. Couldn't. Not a single, fucking second. Because it had felt right in a way I couldn't explain, couldn't rationalize. It had been so long since I'd felt anything like that. It should have felt wrong. Should have tasted of guilt and mould. Instead, it felt like coming up for air after drowning for so long.

But I shoved the thought down, hard. I couldn't let myself think about what that meant. About how different it felt from the constant pain in my chest whenever I saw her—Satoru's girlfriend, my student, the woman I'd loved from afar for months. 

That pain I knew. It was a comfortable scar. A clean, familiar cut I felt in my chest every time I saw her smile at him. But this was something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something I wasn't sure I had any right to feel. You're not supposed to feel this way about two people. It's not right. It's not fair to anyone, and a betrayal of everything I thought I knew.

But I don’t know how to move on—from her, from the pain, the constant reminder of what I couldn't have. It was manageable. Acceptable, even. Because I loved her, didn't I? Hadn't I always? And wasn't this quiet, persistent pain the price I paid for that love? 

I think my world changed—the moment I saw the burns on her skin at the party. Neither of them had told me. Not about the fire that had gutted her apartment, not about her injuries, not about her moving in with Satoru. I was always on the outside, looking in.

For so long, I'd deluded myself into thinking I was part of their world. But in reality, I was merely a silent observer in a world that wasn't mine. And now I was an assistant in the morgue, witnessing the autopsy of a relationship that had never truly lived.

Beep. Beep. Beep. It got louder. I stood, moving toward it. My hand closed around the power cable and—

The door opened behind me, and she stood there—the woman I'd loved for so long—still do, i think—with two paper cups of what was probably terrible hospital coffee in her hands. Her hair hung limp and dull, but she'd changed clothes, I noticed. Clearly Satoru's. Always Satoru.

"Suguru?" Her voice was small, uncertain, as she pressed one cup against her waist with her elbow to keep it there and closed the door behind her. "What are you doing?"

Yeah. What was I doing? I wasn't even sure anymore. 

Wordlessly, I sank back into my chair. I couldn't look at her. I didn't hate her—she had no fault in any of this. Right? But still, this strange anger burned in my chest. She handed me one of the cups, and I muttered a low thank you. We sat in silence, watching the shallow rise and fall of attorney's chest in the hospital bed between us.

She looked peaceful. Almost too peaceful. Her hair lay tangled on the pillow, a few stray strands brushing against her cheek. She was beautiful, even like this, even in the sterile, unforgiving light of the hospital room. The curve of her lashes against her cheekbone, the gentle slope of her nose—it was the same face I'd held in my hands, kissed, touched. 

It shouldn’t have been so unnerving to see her simply sleeping. Logically, I knew she was okay. The monitors confirmed it. But the image of her collapsing, the memory of her seizing, was a brand seared into my brain. Every breath she took, every slight shift in her position, sent anxiety crashing through me. She was so still, so vulnerable. Too still. It was a constant, silent question hanging in the air. Was she really alright? Or did I overlook something?

Needing something else to focus on, I asked her where Satoru was. Talking to the doctors, she said. I said he was using. No need to sugarcoat it. "That's not fair," she retorted. Fair? What's fair? I almost laughed. Nothing about this was fair. She asked me if I thought it was Satoru's fault. I stayed silent.

"Don't you think that he's killing himself over this?" she asked then. 

And for one horrifying second, I thought, yeah? And? Why should I care? She must have seen it in my face because she didn't wait for an answer.

"You act like it was his fault. That's not fair. He couldn't have prevented this."

"I really don't want to talk about it right now," I said dismissively.

"Do you think I'm the one to blame?" she asked then.

I looked at her, sitting in this chair that was too big for her, wearing clothes that were too big for a woman, in this hospital that was too big for a student. And for a second, I thought this was all too big for her. She should have stayed a student, stayed out of this. Should never have gotten tangled up in any of this. Not with Satoru. Not with me.

"I think you two cause trouble wherever you go," I said in a bitter tone, and I wanted to take it back as soon as it left my lips, but somehow I also wanted her to hear it. Wanted her to hurt a little. Wanted her to feel even a fraction of what it was like to be on the outside looking in. Just for a moment, I wanted to be part of their world—even if my only role was to cause pain. 

Ugly and violent, the words stood between us. They were a betrayal, a deliberate act of cruelty, and the sight of her flinching, the way her eyes momentarily flickered with hurt, twisted something inside me. It should have given me some twisted satisfaction, some sense of… I don’t know… justice? But it didn't. It just made me feel sick.

She looked so small, so vulnerable, it physically hurt to see her like this. It hurt to see her at all. It hurt to know that I was still so drawn to her, that I was still so conflicted. It hurt to know that I was capable of such cruelty, such coldness, even to her. I never wanted to talk to her like that, to be so dismissive, so distant. When all I really wanted was to be close to her. But the words had clawed their way out anyway.

I couldn't bear to meet her eyes anymore, couldn't face the hurt I’d caused. Like a coward, I muttered something about needing a cigarette and fled the room.

One cigarette became two, then three, then four, until the pack was empty and my lungs burned, but the need in my mouth remained. I saw her friends in the cafeteria, looking exhausted. I told them to go home. They hesitated, then nodded. When I returned, Satoru was there with his girlfriend. The sight of them together twisted something sharp and ugly inside me. I told them to go too. That it's late. That I'll stay.

They left without argument, which somehow made it worse. As they stepped into the hallway, I asked, almost desperate for justification, what they'd found in Naoya's room anyway. Was it worth all of this? Was it worth what she had a seizure? I needed something to make sense of it all, to make it worth it.

When she told me, my stomach lurched. We looked at each other in silence for a long moment, and the shame hit me then, a cold, clammy wave and I wondered, what happened to me. How could I have wanted to make her feel guilty, to see her hurt, even for a moment, when she was carrying this?

"I'm sorry," I said, the words hollow, inadequate for my cruelty towards her.

"It's been a long day," she said. "Don't worry about it." And then she was gone. And I was left alone with the weight of what I'd done, the weight of what she'd told me, and the sickening realization of just how much I didn't know.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

The next few hours were a numb, empty void.

Dawn crept across the horizon, painting the sky in shades of grey and pale pink. I opened the window, letting in the frigid morning air. Hoping it would scour away the unease that had settled deep in my bones.

Birds chirped in the early dawn chill, though soon they would fall silent as winter tightened its grip. You could feel it already—in the bite of the breeze, in the crunch of fallen leaves beneath the feet of early risers walking through the hospital courtyard below.

Nurses came and went, asking if I needed anything. I brushed them all off. I called in sick, canceling my shift. I couldn't leave her side, not for a second. Only for cigarettes. I needed them still.

At some point, exhaustion finally claimed me. After hours of watching her, I drifted into a fitful sleep, only to be jolted awake by a voice. I blinked against the harsh lights, my eyes stinging. It took a moment for the sterile reality to snap into focus—the white walls, the scuffed linoleum, the snaking tubes and wires. The hospital. Her hospital room.

She stirred, a small groan escaping her lips as she shifted against the thin pillows. I straightened, my neck protesting the sudden movement after hours slumped in the hard chair by her bedside. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused at first as she took in the room, the IV line snaking from her arm, the monitors beeping steadily.

"Hey." Relief washed over me as I saw her stir, a wave so intense it almost made me lightheaded. She tried to sit up, and I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, easing her back against the pillows. "Easy."

She blinked up at me. "Where...what happened?"

"You had a seizure at the party," I explained. "We brought you here. You've been out for a while." My fingers brushed her chin, a light, almost hesitant touch that seemed to startle her slightly. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and I wondered if she regretted what had happened between us as I reached for my penlight. "Follow the light with your eyes," I instructed, checking her pupillary response. "Any dizziness? Nausea?"

She shook her head, wincing at the movement. I checked her pulse, the steady throb beneath my fingertips reassuring. Her skin was warm but not feverish. It was such a relief to see her like this, to know she was okay. She was okay. I exhaled heavily.

"What time is it?" She glanced toward the window where pale light filtered through the blinds.

"Early," I replied, deliberately vague. "You should rest."

She suddenly seized my wrist, turning it to see my watch face. "Fuck!" She flung back the sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. I barely managed to catch her as her knees buckled, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other caught her elbow. 

"What are you doing?"

"I have to get to court!"

I stared at her in disbelief. "What?" 

"Mr. Higurama's waiting for me. We have a hearing at ten." She spoke as if this was perfectly reasonable, even as she swayed in my arms. Her face was tilted up to mine, her hands gripping my shirt, fingers curling into the fabric.

"You're not going anywhere." She tried to push away from me, to prove she could stand on her own, but her legs trembled with the effort. I tightened my hold, pulling her closer to keep her upright.

"No, you don't understand. I'm fine," she insisted, though her fingers only gripped my shirt tighter. "This case is important. I can't miss it, I need to—" She struggled for words, frustration clear in her voice. "I don't have time for this right now."

"You had a seizure," I said. "The only place you're going is back to bed."

"This isn't my first seizure, Suguru. I know my limits."

"And as your doctor, I know better." 

"Wow, are you really pulling the doctor card now?"

"Yes. And right now, you need to listen to me." Even as I said it, I felt my resolve wavering. God, she was stubborn. And that look in her eyes, something fierce but also something softer, something that made my chest ache—it was making it damn near impossible to think straight.

"Then come with me. You can monitor me the whole time. If anything feels wrong, I'll leave immediately." Her thumb brushed against my chest, probably unconsciously, but the touch startled me slightly. Or maybe it wasn't unconscious at all. Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing. "With a doctor by my side, what could go wrong?"

"Everything. Everything could go wrong."

I closed my eyes, wondering when exactly I'd lost the ability to say no to her. When I opened them again, she was still watching me, triumph already dancing in her eyes. Her smile widened and we both knew she'd won.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

I wondered why this court meeting meant so much to her. I'd never seen anyone get dressed quite that fast. Either this was a major case, or Higurama was stricter than I'd realized. If it was the latter, he and I would need to have a word.

Anyway, the next few minutes passed in a blur. While I handled paperwork and convinced a skeptical nurse to process her discharge, she disappeared into the bathroom with a bundle of clothes. I'd given her one of my spare dress shirts from my office—a pale blue one that had been hanging there for emergencies.

When she emerged, I almost forgot how to breathe. She was still tucking the shirt into her jeans, the fabric bunching slightly at her waist in a way that was oddly endearing. The sleeves were rolled to her elbows, giving her a slightly retro look that shouldn't have worked as well as it did. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She glanced at the mirror, fighting with those stubborn strands before turning to me. "What do you think? Can I go to court like this?"

I managed a nod, not trusting my voice. It was strange—this feeling of uncertainty, this fear of saying the wrong thing, that my voice might betray more than I wanted it to. She looked beautiful.

We ran through the hospital corridors, her hand in mine as I guided her through the maze of hallways. Every few steps, I checked her for signs of dizziness or fatigue, but she seemed steady, her steps surprisingly sure. The morning sunlight caught her face as we burst through the entrance, highlighting the escaping strands of hair and making her look even more beautiful.

We made a quick stop at her law firm. I waited in the car, ready to drive off the moment she returned. At the courthouse, she jumped out of the passenger seat. "I'll go ahead, I need to run," she said, clutching a stack of folders to her chest. "Room 34, second floor." And then she was gone.

Barely catching my breath after parking, I entered the courthouse to find the room. It wasn't as easy as it sounded. I thought hospitals were mazes, but this was worse. After a few wrong turns, I found it. The proceedings hadn't started yet. I quietly slipped into one of the long wooden pews, sitting next to an elderly woman who nodded at me, holding a notebook. Court staff, perhaps. A man in a dark blue pinstripe suit with gray hair sat a few rows ahead, and a woman next to him spoke quietly on her phone.

The room was large, with grand windows illuminating the dark wood paneling the walls and floor. And then I saw her. She stood beside Higurama at a desk—the plaintiff's table, I assumed. She leaned in, whispering something into his ear, her hand shielding her mouth.

What the hell am I doing? I wondered, watching her. Rushing through traffic with a patient who should be in bed, all because she'd looked at me with those eyes and asked. Because somewhere along the line, I'd lost the ability to refuse her anything. Not yesterday, when she pulled me close, not when she kissed me, and not this morning. When had that changed? I hadn't even noticed it happening.

Then she must have sensed my gaze because she glanced back over her shoulder. She gave a small wave, and I exhaled slowly as our eyes met. She smiled—a genuine smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling. She was okay. Everything was okay. I had to remind myself of that.

Then Higurama noticed me. He turned slightly, his gaze landing on me, and a chill ran down my spine. I'd definitely be hearing about this later.

I couldn't follow the hearing. Something about a trade dispute and unauthorized money transfers or whatever. I spaced out halfway through Higurama's opening statement. He was good, I could tell, but his voice was annoyingly monotonous when you heard it for twenty minutes straight. It was like being back in anatomy lecture. Hours spent staring at diagrams of the circulatory system, the professor's voice a droning hum that inevitably put me to sleep. I could almost feel Satoru's foot connecting with my shin, the sharp nudge that always jolted me awake just before I slumped over onto the desk.

I nearly dozed off until she spoke. It wasn't much—she was an assistant, after all—but she sprang from her chair when the opposing counsel said something, interjecting with a sharp rebuttal. Her hands planted firmly on the desk, she tilted her head, flicking a few stray strands of hair from her face as she addressed the other attorney. God, those strands. I wished I could reach over and tuck them back for her, anything to stop them from being so damn distracting.

She looked different—in this courtroom. Professional. In Control. She might not have chosen this path with her whole heart, but seeing her here, I couldn't help thinking she looked damn good like this. And I wouldn't want to be on the defendant's dock while she stood at the plaintiff's table. Though perhaps I already was.

The sun was still low in the sky when the hearing adjourned. People rose and began to file out. Higurama and she spoke for a few minutes beside their table. He looked pleased—even laughed for a split second. I couldn't remember ever hearing him laugh before. Hadn't even been sure he was capable of that.

Then she walked towards me, where I still sat in the gallery. "How did it go?" I asked, but the way her smile was all bright and sun had already given me my answer.

"Did you hear that?" She clutched the folders closer to her chest. "When Mr. Higurama brought up the transfer records? They're done. There's no way they can defend that misappropriation now."

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I felt my lips curve into a smile. "To be honest, I have no idea what any of that was about."

"What?" She stared at me, her eyes widening. "How could you not follow? It was so interesting! The way they tried to claim ignorance of the regulatory requirements, but then Mr. Higurama pulled out those internal memos—" She stopped, seeing my blank expression. "You're a doctor. You do complex procedures. How can legal proceedings be too complicated for you?"

I probably should've been offended, but that stubborn strand of hair fell across her face again. "Brain surgery is much simpler," I deadpanned. "Cut here, snip there, try not to kill anyone. Much easier than whatever financial magic you were discussing."

"Financial magic?" She tried to look offended but couldn't quite hide her smile. "This 'magic' just won us the case—" She broke off as I reached out and tucked the stubborn stray strand behind her ear. 

"Sorry," I murmured. "I've been wanting to do that the entire hearing."

Her eyebrows quirked at my words, and I immediately second-guessed how that must have sounded. Smooth, Suguru, I thought. Real smooth. Idiot. But then Higurama was beside us, his briefcase tucked under his arm and his gaze fixed on us. I quickly withdrew my hand from her face.

"Geto," he said, his tone stern, one eyebrow subtly raised. "You're the last person I expected to see in the gallery today. I usually find you on the defendant's side of things."

"Just checking on a patient," I said, knowing he didn't believe me for a second.

"You seem to be developing a habit of going above and beyond for your patients," Higurama said dryly. "Especially lately."

"I take my responsibilities seriously."

"Clearly." His eyes flicked between us before settling back on me. "Though I recently increased my hourly rate for ethics violations, just so you're aware." The message couldn't have been clearer, and in his mind, he was probably already considering sending me to yet another mandatory seminar on professional boundaries.

"Just standard patient care," I offered.

He frowned but let it go. He reached out and gave her a brief, almost paternal pat on the shoulder, like a teacher praising a student's homework. "Good work." Then he walked past us.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

An hour later, we sat at a sidewalk café, the late morning sun warming our faces. She'd ordered some frappuccino that was more whipped cream than coffee, topped with caramel and chocolate swirls. My simple black americano looked bland in comparison and I should probably warn her about diabetes if this was her regular, but then again I'm no better as I bring the first cigarette of the day to my lips.

She’d burrowed into my jacket, the sleeves falling past her fingertips as she cradled her future diabetes. The collar of my shirt peeked out from beneath, now untucked and softened by the chill breeze that announced autumn's surrender to winter.

We settled into a comfortable silence, faces turned towards the sun, watching the Friday morning rush of people hurrying to wherever people hurry to on Friday mornings. I wondered if she felt it too, this fragile, almost surreal sense of normalcy after the chaos.

"This is nice," she murmured, her eyes closed against the sunlight. A soft smile played on her lips as she basked in the warmth. 

I hummed in agreement and exhaled a plume of smoke.

"Must feel like this in Italy every day," she said, still smiling.

"Italy?" I asked, opening my eyes and turning my head to look at her.

"Yeah. Coffee, sun… you know."

"Why Italy?"

She shrugged. "Why not? Must be nice there. Warm. Relaxing." She paused, her smile widening slightly. "I want to visit sometime."

"Italy," I repeated, the word feeling foreign on my tongue, like a word from a language I'd once known but now only vaguely remembered. "Sounds nice." I wasn't sure if I could picture myself there. Anywhere, really, that wasn't here, in this mess.

"When was the last time you were abroad?"

I was silent for a moment, trying to remember. Abroad? Had I even been? Then I remembered something. A flash of a brightly lit bar, the clinking of glasses. It had been where? Macau, maybe? Some conference Satoru had insisted we attend that had turned into a drunken escapade. That was the last time I'd left the country. Not for myself, not for vacation, but for him. For Satoru.

"Exactly," she said, after I had been silent for too long.

"The job's stressful," I said to justify my my lack of—well, life.

"Is it? Or do you just not take days off?"

"It's… complicated."

She didn't push it, though. She just looked at me for a moment, her expression unreadable, before turning her gaze back towards the sky. I watched her then, her profile sharp and delicate against the bright morning light. A small, almost imperceptible frown creased her brow as she squinted against the glare. Then my gaze dropped.

"Stop it," she said, her eyes still closed.

"What?"

"You're judging my frappuccino. I can feel it."

"I would never," I lied, though my gaze lingered on the Everest of whipped cream between her hands. "Though I'm not entirely convinced that is coffee."

She cracked one eye open. "Says the man drinking bitter bean water."

"Mine can at least be called coffee."

She huffed, a small puff of air that ruffled a stray strand of hair, then returned to her sunbathing. I found myself smiling despite myself, despite everything else we probably needed to talk about. We sat like that for a while, letting the sun warm our faces, watching the world drift by. A mother wrestling with a stroller. A businessman shouting into his phone. Two students sharing earbuds. My coffee grew cold, but I didn't mind.

She took another sip of her sugary whatever, got a smear of whipped cream on her nose, and wiped it away with the back of her hand.

"You scared me last night," I said after a while. "When you collapsed."

She lowered her drink, fingers tightening around the plastic cup. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Just..." I struggled to find the right words. "I've seen a lot of seizures, but when it's someone you—" I caught myself. "When it's someone you know, it's different."

"It hasn't happened in months," she said softly. "I thought I was doing better."

"You are. But stress, lack of sleep, alcohol—"

"I know, I know. Doctor mode again?" She tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"No," I said. "Just... worried."

She met my gaze then, her eyes searching mine, and something shifted in her expression. A flicker of something I couldn't quite read. "You stayed with me all night, didn’t you?"

I nodded, my throat suddenly tight.

I'd barely closed my eyes. Every creak of the hospital bed, every change in the monitor's rhythm, sent my heart racing. It was like being back in residency, the constant fear of a code, of that flat line, of having to jump into action, knowing the next few minutes could mean the difference between life and death. But she was just sleeping. Just sleeping. Not teetering on the edge. Yet, my brain refused to distinguish between the two.

I'd replayed the party in my head countless times, searching for something I'd missed, some way I could have prevented it. Was it the stress? The alcohol? Or was there something else? Was it Satoru's fault? Something to do with her medication? Or was it her fault? Causing so much chaos? The questions had chased each other in endless circles all night with no clear answers.

She looked away, her gaze dropping to the melting whipped cream in her cup. "Thank you," she murmured, the word barely audible above the street noise.

"You don't need to thank me. Just watch out for yourself, okay?" I couldn't help shifting into doctor mode. "You know how dangerous seizures can be, especially when you're alone. The risk of head trauma—"

"No," she cut me off. "No doctor today, okay? I had a seizure, which means I get to make a wish. That's the rule."

I blinked at her, momentarily thrown. "Are you using your seizure to manipulate me?"

"Is it working?"

I leaned back in my chair, tilting my face to the sun, deciding I was too tired to fight this battle, and didn't really want to anyway. "Absolutely." She laughed, a light, genuine sound that drew a smile from me as well.

"About last night..." she began, and I immediately met her gaze, a sudden tension tightening my chest. But then my phone vibrated on the table between us. I glanced at the screen. Satoru's name. I flipped the phone face down.

"Don't you want to answer that?"

"It's nothing important," I dismissed, leaning back again.

"You sure?" We both waited until the ringing stopped.

"What were you saying?" I asked, just as my phone began to ring again. "For fuck's sake," I muttered, reaching out and declining the call. Exhaling heavily, I leaned back once more and reached for my cigarette pack. I could feel her watching me, the weight of her gaze heavy on me.

"You don't blame him for what happened to me, right?"

The question caught me mid-inhale, making me cough. "What?"

"Gojo," she said. "You don't think it's his fault, right?"

I took a long drag, buying time to choose my words. "No, it's not his fault. Seizures can happen even with perfect medication. I know that."

"But you're angry with him."

"That's complicated."

"Because of her?"

I stared at my cigarette, watching the ash lengthen. "Because of a lot of things."

"Like what?"

I took another drag, exhaling slowly. I didn't answer.

"Don't be angry with him." She pulled my jacket tighter around herself. "Or with her. What happened last night wasn't anyone's fault."

"I'm not angry."

"You are." She leaned forward. "Last night was the most fun I've had in—I can't even remember how long. For once, I wasn't thinking about law school or my internship or all the ways I'm failing to be who I really want to be. I was just... me." I watched her face as she spoke, her expression earnest and open. "And yes, I had a seizure. But that's not Gojo's fault, or yours, or hers, or mine. Sometimes things just happen. There's no one to blame."

She picked at the label on her empty cup, her voice softening. "You know... my mom used to call my school every time we had a field trip. She'd list all the things that could trigger a seizure—physical activity, excitement, stress. Eventually, the teachers just stopped including me." She smiled, but there was hurt behind it. "I'd watch my classmates go off to sports days, museum visits while I sat in the library, 'for my own safety.' Mom meant well, but..."

"But she was suffocating you," I finished quietly.

"Yeah." She sighed. "Everything became about managing risk. Don't do sports, don't go to sleepovers, don't get too excited." She shrugged, a small, weary gesture. "When I got to university, I promised myself I wouldn't live like that anymore. Scared of my own body, always waiting for the next seizure."

"Is that why you came to the party?"

"Partly." She met my gaze. "But mostly because, for the first time in a long time, I felt… free. Like I could just be myself. Not someone's patient or someone's responsibility."

"And yes," she continued, a small smile returning to her lips. "I had a stupid seizure. But I also had an amazing night. I danced. I laughed. I…" A faint blush touched her cheeks. "I did things my mother would probably have a heart attack over. And I don't regret a single thing."

Relief flooded through me at her words. I'd been carrying the weight of guilt since morning—for letting things go so far, for taking advantage of the moment, for not being stronger. For crossing a line I knew I shouldn't have crossed. For betraying… well, for betraying a lot of things, including my own sense of what was right. I'd been so afraid of what she would think, of the disgust or hurt I expected to see in her eyes if she knew how conflicted I was, how fucked up my feelings were. I'd been bracing for her to hate me. To see me as the predator I felt like.

But here she was, telling me she didn't regret it. Maybe I hadn't ruined everything.

Still, a nagging voice reminded me of all the reasons this was stupid. I was her doctor, technically. She was young, still figuring out her path. And I… I was a mess. And, worst of all, I was still caught up on someone else. Someone I couldn't have. Someone I probably shouldn't even want. But watching her now, face tilted to the sun, wearing my clothes and talking about breaking free—it was getting harder to remember why I was supposed to resist this. Why I was supposed to resist her.

The memory of her body against mine, of her whispered "don't think" in that garden, made my chest tight. Not from guilt, but of something other, something I hadn't allowed myself to feel in—God, how long had it been? I couldn't even remember. It was a tightness of longing, I think. Her skin against mine, the soft curve of her waist beneath my hands, the way she’d leaned into me, trusting me. It had felt so right. So incredibly, undeniably right. Like finding a missing piece of myself I hadn't even known was gone, a key that unlocked a door I hadn't realized was bolted shut.  

She'd been right—sometimes thinking too much was its own kind of prison. But wasn't sleeping with her, knowing what I felt for Satoru’s girlfriend, a different kind of prison? One I was building for myself? One that would trap her too?

My phone buzzed again. We both ignored it.

"When was the last time you just let yourself be happy about something," she asked, her gaze steady on mine, "without worrying about everyone else?"

The question hit harder than I expected, and suddenly I felt an almost overwhelming need to answer the phone. "Sorry," I mumbled, reaching for it. "I should check this." She gave me a long look, probably knowing that I was only dodging the question. 

Satoru's voice, rough and strained, crackled through the phone as he told me he’d just coughed up blood.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

Satoru's restless shifting on the hospital bed was driving me mad. Shift left, shift right. Legs crossed, uncrossed, spread wide, drawn narrow. He tugged at his sleeve, then worried a loose thread, before fussing with his collar. If I didn't hold his X-ray scans in my hand that basically read that he's was dying I would have lost it.

I was back at the hospital far sooner than I wanted. We'd run every possible test—blood work, chest X-rays, CT scans, anything that might tell us what we already knew. I'd slipped the new lab tech a few ten thousand yen notes to keep Satoru's name off the official records as I handed over the test tubes and told him to hurry. He was new to the hospital, fresh out of some training program, but he certainly knew how to bargain.

Later, when he shuffled into my office with the results, another few ten thousand yen changed hands. Insurance to keep his mouth shut. The way his eyebrows shot up from behind his greasy bangs told me this wasn’t his first unusual request. Just the most lucrative.

The reports spread across my desk confirmed what I'd already saw in Satoru. His skin the color of curdled milk, almost translucent, the blue of his veins more visible than usual, eyes slightly bloodshot and shadowed, and faint bruises bloomed on his arms and legs—likely from fragile capillaries.

If he weren't dying, I’d have been angry with him. God, I wanted to be angry. Wanted to shout at him, ask why he'd let it get this far. How many times had I warned him? How many conversations about getting help, about fighting his addiction? This will kill you. I'd told him again and again and again. And now, it was. 

He seemed almost surprised, like a child who'd never grasped the concept of consequences. But he knew. He had to. He's a doctor, for God's sake. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, yet he ignored every warning, every plea, until it was almost too late, or at least, fucking difficult to reverse.

I'd been warning him since his first stay in rehab. But nothing ever worked. Not when I begged him to try rehab, and he lasted a mere two weeks. And not after the thing with Sukuna, when he sought help on his own. That time, he managed three weeks and two days before checking himself out again.

We never truly talked about it afterward, and now I wonder if that was the initial mistake. It was during our second year of residency. Satoru changed after that. He became... better. The best, even. He surpassed me, surpassed all the other residents in our year. Hell, he was even better than some of the attending physicians. But he also became harder, more demanding.

He never said it outright, but his actions did. He would never be helpless in an OR again, never not know what to do. So he became meticulous, painstakingly precise, almost obsessive in everything he did. Younger colleagues were ruthlessly criticized for mistakes under his watch. He demanded perfection, needed it. It made him the best surgeon in the hospital, but at what cost?

His drug use became regular around then, no more experimenting. Again, he never said it outright, but I knew. The way his mood swings lessened, replaced by a consistent, artificial steadiness. I could only assume.

Sukuna left Tokyo after that, heading to the coast where the sun shines. We stayed. I probably would have followed Satoru anywhere if he'd decided to leave, but we stayed. But even staying in the same city, we began drifting apart. Satoru eclipsed me. Surged ahead, tackling more complex surgeries, receiving invitations from other hospitals, climbing the career ladder faster than I could blink.

I was okay with that. He is my friend, after all. I should be happy. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right, that he was running from something. He was stable, of a sort, if you could call being a high-functioning addict stable. Never made mistakes anymore. Not in surgery, not when Yaga offered us teaching positions at the university after residency, not in research. He was, one could say, perfect.

"How bad is it?" Satoru asked, and I struggled to find the words. 

How bad? How could I tell my best friend since high school that "bad" didn't even begin to describe it? It was more like the end. Like there was no way to fix this. Like it was too late. And I wondered, why did it have to end like this? Would any of this have happened if I hadn't—if she hadn't entered our lives, his life? 

He loved her. I knew that. And God, I loved her too. But I also hated her sometimes. For what she’d done to him. When she entered the picture, it was as if Satoru had been violently thrown off course. His use changed again, different meds this time, stronger ones, more of them. He spiraled downwards, relentlessly, until we arrived at this point—Satoru on the brink of death, and me having to tell him. How the fuck do you tell your best friend something like this?

"Suguru."

Suddenly, I snapped back to reality. I must have drifted off for a few seconds, because he was looking at me like I was a ghost. Funny. Considering he was the one closer to death.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

When I finally got home after what felt like an eternity in the hospital, I was exhausted in a way I'd never been before. Years of university and residency a fucking joke in comparison. I let my shoes and jacket fall where they may and collapsed onto the sofa.

I lay there for a few minutes, maybe hours, not moving an inch. I knew I needed to eat something, take a shower, needed desperately to sleep. God, I could have slept for thirty hours straight. Satoru had pushed me to my fucking limit, his self-destructive ass seemingly determined to drive me insane. Rescheduling treatments until the last minute, treating his lab work like some kind of sick game.

I groaned, rolling onto my back so I stared at the ceiling. My head throbbed. I rubbed my temples with my fingers and closed my eyes. Then I remembered what she’d said to me, "When was the last time you just let yourself be happy about something without worrying about everyone else?"

And as I lay there, I couldn't remember. Everything blurred together these days—the constant worry for Satoru, for his girlfirend, the mess with Naoya, the endless pressure, the suffocating weight of responsibility for everyone and everything. I cared about them both, deeply, desperately, but they were tearing me apart. 

And I realized, finally, that I couldn't keep banging my head against the same brick wall, trying to fix what was broken, trying to control the uncontrollable. I was stretched too thin, frayed to the breaking point. I needed… something. Something to give. Something to take. Something to change. But what?

I reached for my phone and texted her.

[2:17 PM] Me: Everything okay? Did you eat yet?

I stared at the screen, waiting for an answer. It was stupid, I know. She had a private life, of course. But a frantic, almost irrational urge gripped me. If she didn't respond within the next five minutes, something must be wrong. I'd drive to her dorm, the same dorm I'd dropped her off at after the courthouse earlier that day.

I waited. 2:18 PM. Then 2:20 PM. My mind raced, conjuring worst-case scenarios. Is she okay? Did something happen? I shouldn't have let her go. I should have stayed with her. She had a fucking seizure, what was I thinking, bringing her to court, letting her work like that? I was halfway out of the sofa, reaching for my keys, when her reply finally arrived.

[2:21 PM] Attorney: I'm fine, doc. No need to worry. I ate plenty. How are you?

Relief washed over me, so intense it was almost dizzying. But the stupid, irrational urge to drive to her, to see her with my own eyes, still lingered.

[2:21 PM] Me: Exhausted but okay.

[2:21 PM] Attorney: Tell that to the girl with the seizure.

I nearly laughed. I really shouldn't laugh at that.

[2:22 PM] Me: Are you free next friday?

Three little dots appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. She was thinking. Then, finally, an answer.

[2:24 PM] Attorney: Yeah, I am. What do you want to do?

[2:24 PM] Me: You wanted to see Italy, right?

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<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — OMGGGG you don’t know how HAPPY i am that that stupid fucking party scene is finally over and dead for good. i was so excited to write this crossover, but it was a nightmare to write and i will never do that again byeee. anyway, thank you so much for reading and for all your patience with the slower updates lately.

i've been struggling a bit with the story recently, but i'm actually quite happy with how this chapter came together. idk if i’m allowed to say that. & we've finally reached that point where suguru gets his act together and realizes he needs to move on to be happy again. though of course, while he starts finding his happiness, the other couple's situation is about to spiral even more downhill bc someone must always suffer in my writing.

also, sorry if having two "she/her" characters without names was confusing ! i tried using descriptors like "attorney" and "his girlfriend" to differentiate them, but i know it probably feels a bit off. if anything wasn't clear, message me and i'll try to edit for better clarity. for those interested in more background on the reader personas, you can check that out here.

& yes i know the timeline with days is completely messed up now. this is what happens when you don't plan ahead but we're all just gonna collectively ignore that it makes no sense okay thank you.

also made a tandem reading guide to help keep track of the parallel storylines. hope that makes it easier to follow along. you can find it here.

thank you all so much for reading and for your support ! your comments and messages always make my day. can't wait to hear your reactions. next chapter will be quite cute and maybe a bit steamy too. as always, love chatting with you all about the story & have a wonderful weekend <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

tags — @panteramarron @starlightanyaaa @myahfig4 @wiserion

@depressedemosantaclaus @nanamis-baker @paolarox01 @shoruio @rosso-seta

@bnha-free-writing @gojoswaterbottle @sugurbo @sadmonke @ihearttoru

@momoewn @plixy @yokosandesu @nakariabnrb @fairygardenprincesss

@lymsfm @mylovelessnightmare @wiseearthquakebeliever @sujiroses

@gojossugarcandy @cosmotoic @syubseokie

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak through the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

grass stains

simon "ghost" riley

cw: smut/pwp, rugby au, friends-to-lovers, rugby player!simon, breeding kink, pregnancy, wife!reader, cowgirl position, size kink

this bunny runs on reblogs, tags & comments!

simon was a superstar. you had always known that, ever since you were both teens. you remembered him as the intimidating boy with shaggy blond hair who hated talking. but, that was fine. you'd talk for both of them!

now in your twenties, he was still broad and intimidating. now with two fake teeth due to rugby and a sleeve of tattoos. he was one of the best rugby players in england, if not the entire island. people knew simon "ghost" riley fairly well. when you went to games, you often heard the chanting of his name. regardless he was your husband and you loved him more than the flowers in your front garden loved the sun.

"you know mister riley." you said as you scrubbed at the front of his jersey with an old toothbrush. the suds from the cleaner got deeper into the fabric of the jersey, "i don't know how you get grass stains that are so tough! i'm pretty sure if i cleaned soap's or gaz's jerseys they wouldn't have so much trouble."

simon was at the stove nearby, checking on the boiling potatos for the cottage pie he was making the both of you for dinner. he looked over to you by the small dining table, "i'll talk to the team, love."

you raised your eyebrows at him, "and why exactly am i washing this? you have two hands."

he tilted his head towards the boiling potatoes on the stove. he replied, "someone's gotta make cottage pie."

you stuck your tongue out at him, but he pretended to catch it like a kiss then pressed it to his chest. you did have to admit, simon was a better cook than you and the cottage pie was amazing. so in exchange you'd battle the stains on his kit.

the jersey got cleaned eventually and was hung up in the kitchen to dry overnight. and after dinner and clean up (which simon did as a thank you for you working so hard on the kit). simon led you to the bedroom and you got out of the oversized t-shirt and the patterned sleeping shorts you wore.

you got into your husband's lap and he held you close to him as you kissed him gently. you hand touched the side of his face tenderly as you felt his erection against your back.

"my beautiful wife." he said softly against your lips before he went in for another kiss. he felt you then hold onto the front of the grey t-shirt he wore.

"my darling husband. i love you so much."

"not as much as i love you. i try to look from you in the stands even when i know you're home. you're my good luck charm, love. that's why i ask you wash my jersey. so i have a little piece of you while i play."

"you know i'm always cheering you on, simon." you kissed his nose. it had been broken so many times that it was angled weird. but, you loved it, just as you loved every part of him, "and if any other player tries to say anything bad about you, i'll kick their asses."

he chuckled, "like my bullies in secondary school. i remember when you hit that one guy so hard he basically begged me for forgiveness." he cupped the back of your head and looked into your eyes.

you poked his broad chest and said, "yeah, and i'll kick their asses again if i had to."

simon cupped your behind before he leaned in close once more and said, "well then, why don't i show my missuses some tlc for bein' so good to me." he got you onto the bed and helped you out of the rest of your clothes, until you naked for him.

you were both naked on the bed together, simon's strong arms around you as he laid there next to you. he took in the sight of every curve of your body. his beautiful wife.

he remembered when you dyed your hair in secondary school or when you went through your 'punk' phase right before uni. he remembered when you stole two beers from your parents' fridge and you two got a little drunk only to kiss for the first time.

he lucked out with a wife like you. the prettiest bird he had ever seen.

his lips found your neck as you two cuddled together naked. you moaned and held onto those wide shoulders. you went to almost every game he had ever played in. you even packed up your little life to be with him in liverpool.

soon he took you gently and got onto his back. placing you onto his waist. you smiled down at him and rubbed your sweet pussy up against his erect cock. you giggled, "someone wants it."

"love, if i could never have it again. i would die. you're the only one i want." he chuckled as he massaged the fat of your hips. he tensed up when you seated yourself onto his cock.

you let out a soft moan as you got yourself settled. you planted both hands on his board chest for leverage as you moved your hips up and down. he was just so much bigger than you, you remember him before the growth spurt. you were taller than him for a brief while before he shot up well past six feet.

and then came all the muscle, then he had very few bullies after that. but, you'd still give them a piece of your mind. to you, simon was still the scrawny blond with the uniform hat was a tad too big for him. not the mountain of a professional rugby player he was now.

"mmm, si." you said as you rolled your hips against him. you felt the pleasure course through you as you moved up and down on his cock.

you felt the warmth of intimacy in your gut as you moved up and down on his cock. he held you and watched your moved against him. your hands looked so small on his big chest. you were just so perfect for him. being able to take all of him perfectly.

he gave gentle thrusts to match yours, he could feel the heat climb his neck and into his cheeks. "i want you to have my babies, love." he said softly, "i wanna be on the field and see ya in the stands carrying my big baby." he groaned as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. eventually his hands found your breasts and he groped them as you moved together, "i want a whole house of 'em." he chuckled.

you held him by the face for a moment and looked into his eyes, those darling browns looked back at you, "how about we start with one first there, my love."

he than wrapped his strong arms around your middle and thrusted up into you. you two met each other's pace as he whined, "i just want you so badly, love. you'd be such a good mama to my kids."

you kissed him on the lips as you laid against him. chest to chest as you two moved together. you felt the exhilaration of pleasure in your gut.

he kept those arms around you as he bumped up into you, his lips wet your cheeks as he heavily panted against you. you felt so good against him. he groaned, "pretty wife. my beautiful pretty wife." he was rambling at that point.

you pulled him into a searing kiss, his lips were chapped against yours. you tasted like the sweet lipgloss you always wore, that made his cock twitch inside of you.

"my beautiful husband." you said when you broke the kiss, "with all those scars and tattoos, you're perfect for me. you've become a wonderful man."

his heart fluttered a little. he was so painfully in love with you.

you soon both climaxed within moments of one another, with you first followed by him. he held onto your soft hips tightly as he pushed his cock as far as it would go. he shuddered and gasped, while you let out a string of sweet little moans. you slowed down your pace as you felt the high of pleasure. you held onto your lover's chest and panted heavily before you got the strength to get off of him and laid down beside him. you felt him wipe the sweat off your forehead and give the skin a kiss.

"you're so beautiful." he said, "my missuses."

"of course, simon." you snuggled up closer to him. basking in his warmth, "because i established myself at your number one fan in tenth year, so.... of course no one else is going to take that."

"and who else will get my grass stains out." he chuckled as he kissed your nose.

"exactly!" you said as you looped your arm around his waist and remained close, "no one else is taking my title, dammit!" you said jokingly, you knew you were more than just his wife. he saw you grow up just as much as you saw him grow up. you were a pair for a lifetime.

-

at the beginning of the following season, you found yourself in the same spot scrubbing at the jersey to get all the stains out. occasionally you stopped scrubbing and held it up to inspect it.

you had your daughter in april, little rose riley. even at four months old, she had already shown an interest in rugby. simon even went as far as to make her a onesie with his number and name on it.

currently while you were washing his jersey, he was across the table from you, holding onto your daughter. the little girl was nice and asleep in her father's bulky arms. he could kill someone with them, but yet held his little girl so delicately.

"ya know mister riley." you said as you examined the jersey once more, "i think these stains have gotten harder to clean since last season. it's like they designed this jersey to piss me off."

simon chuckled, "i'll talk to the team next time. tell them to make my wife's life much easier."

you looked at him, "and why exactly am i washing it, again?" you raised your eyebrows at him.

he tilted his head down to your daughter, "someone's gotta hold rosie."

you made a face before you said, "you're lucky i love you. but, if i can't get these grass stains out i'm going to manager price's office tomorrow and talk to him."

"you mean yell?" simon quipped.

"don't make me dump this in the flower garden and have you wash it." you warned with a finger pointed in his direction.

simon shifted his hold on your daughter and said to rosie, "can you believe mama?" he made a face before he looked at you and smiled a bit, "i love you."

you put the jersey down on the table and reached over to touch his tattooed arm, "i love you too, mister grass stains." <3