Dog With No Teeth // Chapter Two

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- MDNI- NSFW- a little light angst hitting here now, it's still decently light hearted, an INTENSE sex scene, we are back at the hospital for most of this chap! Warnings- light violence, there is also some insinuation over overuse of prescription meds, smacking (during sex), rough sex, oral sex (m and f receiving) teasing, prone bone, creampie. Reader, 26, Dr. Gojo 34- Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Word Count- this chap- 12k (longest by farrr)

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

♡ Reblogs and comments appreciated, LONG chap to make up for taking so long ♡

=͟͟͞♡ Part Four =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist

Part Five

Maki is snickering into her hand, while you palm your forehead, watching Satoru Gojo, your… boyfriend/lover!?- knock your ex down like he is nothing. Satoru is straddling Mahito, laughing maniacally, pulling back and punching his face with a resounding thwack.

“Oooh! We need snacks, Yuta bring em baby.” Yuta eagerly yanks the chips and dip, they both start munching as you glare at them. “What?”

“My money is on Dr. Gojo.” Yuta says.

“Well duh, no bets here!”

“You guys…”

Toge watches with a small smile, coming to stand next to you now, hands in his pockets. “Are you betting too?”

“No.” He says simply, and Maki and Yuta are munching on the chips, as Satoru is punching Mahito again, who is rolling over and grimacing in pain.

“He wants ‘em both beat up.” Yuta says, Toge lets out a little laugh, surprising you, but it’s hard to focus on your chaotic ass roomies when Mahito is getting the breaks beat off him by your very tall, very strong boyfriend. You’d be lying if you didn’t get this flutter in your tummy from it, from how good he looks, the pure manliness of him.

“You’re simping so hard.” Maki teases.

“Shush!”

“Who the fuck are you… ah shit… fuck…” Mahito pulls out from under Satoru now, getting on top of him for just a minute, and you go to yank him off now, surprising him and making Satoru laugh, knuckles sprinkled with blood.

“Mahito what the fuck are you doing? You’re going to need a doctor if you don’t stop now.” You shove at him, he glares, grabbing your wrist.

“If you’d just talk to me, and stop running like you always do.”

“Ah-ah. Off her now.” Satoru goes to walk up, but you hold your hand up, shaking your head.

“We broke up, what more do you need?” He sighs, putting back on these big sad gray eyes, trying to step closer to you, but you step back.

“Sweetheart we just need to talk is all, I don’t want to give up on us, even if you clearly have a… mistake you’ve made.”

“Mistake!? We’ve been done for months! And he’s not a mistake.”

“He is, you just don’t know better. Just give me a moment and I’ll leave you alone forever-”

“Gaslighter.” Toge grumbles, Satoru, Maki and Yuta all laugh, your living room is pure chaos, now Satoru is eating snacks while shirtless and messy, you notice, shaking your head at the people surrounding you.

“Satoru is my boyfriend now, and it’s none of your business. We are done. Talking alone won’t change it.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” He whispers, leaning close, making you tense in disgust.

Fuck you had bad taste didn’t you?

“I am not doing anything to you, you’re the one coming here and punching my boyfriend, uninvited, crashing our party. I need you to leave.”

“Please just…” He grabs your shoulders, the entire room tenses, you wonder if he realizes everyone in here will beat the shit out of him. “Walk me to my car then, and give me just a minute.”

“No way.” Gojo says.

“No fucking way.” Maki says now.

“Fine.”

“What!?” Your friends all shout, even Toge, and you sigh.

“I’ll walk him out and we can get back to Friendsgiving. Okay?” You shake off his touch, walking next to him out of the door, Satoru pauses you, hand on your back.

“You sure?” He murmurs.

“Yes, I’ll be back in a minute.” You kiss his cheek, before stepping out into the evening, seeing your ex coughing just a bit, holding his ribs, you can’t help but feel a little satisfaction. “Listen…”

“No, you listen. I’m willing to forgive all your mistakes, take you back.” You blink at his audacity, while he caresses your cheek, your fingers itch to smack his hand off. “I love you enough to forgive you.”

“Mahito you never loved me, you only love yourself.”

“How can you say that? After all I did, after I stayed with you during all that schooling, during all that interning?”

“You didn’t support me, you just whined and were needy. Don’t even get me started on the rumors of you fucking around too.”

“I never-”

“Enough.” You cut him off again, shaking your head. “I have moved on, I admit I didn’t pay enough attention, but y’know med school is a bitch, and I was exhausted. I needed someone to just… be with me. Not demanding this, or that. I can’t deal with that anymore. Just let it go.”

“You’re such a cold bitch.” You glare then, smacking him right in the face, he glares right back, raising his hand to his cheek, stepping closer.

“Are you serious? No, I’m not cold, and you will not call me a bitch ever again. Literally, I’m done, you’re making a mutual breakup hell.”

“How can you leave me if you loved me?” 

“I… don’t think I did.” You start to let it sink in, what you felt the entire relationship wasn’t like one minute with Satoru, even the moment you met him, not that you can call it love yet, it’s too soon and scary.

But those feelings? Blow anything you’ve had out of the water.

“As I said you’re cold, and a-”

“If you call me a bitch one more time, I will dislocate your jaw and relocate it. You got me?” You ask with a pretty smile, and he steps back, going to his car door now and opening it.

“We’re not done with this conversation.”

“Yes we are.”

He speeds off, peeling tires, you roll your eyes, shaking when you step back into the house, Satoru has one of Yuuta’s shirts on now, it’s clinging to his muscles, way too small on his broad chest. They all look at you, Satoru holds up a glass of wine and you take it gratefully, while he pulls you against his side.

“You okay baby?” You nod, sipping the wine and sighing.

“Are you okay? He hit you.”

“Psh, that? Nah he didn’t do shit.” He taps his abdomen, when the stove starts beeping from the kitchen, you gasp when you see smoke, running over to it now, opening it and seeing the smoking turkey.

“Is it savable? Should I perform CPR?” Maki says worriedly, once the smoke clears however you have an only slightly darkened turkey, turning and grinning at them.

“It’s fine! A little well done.” You’re fanning it, and Satoru’s snorting in laughter.

“Your house is chaotic.” He says then.

Your heart hammers in your chest. Is it too much? He already doesn’t want commitment, and now you have baggage and-

“Love it.” Satoru puts his arms around Yuta and Maki's shoulders now. “I’m cutting the bird, daddy’s home you know.”

“Daddy’s home!?” Maki demands, snorting.

“Gojo I’m not calling you daddy.” He wiggles his brows, letting them go and then grabbing oven mits, helping you pull the turkey up and out, then leaning close after he shuts the oven door.

“Bet you will next time I get you alone.”

*****

Two days later

Friendsgiving turned out fun, but it’s back to work now, you’re getting changed into your scrubs, when your bra gets caught on your sweater. “Shit… Toge, could you help out?”

He’s the only one in there with you that you’re comfy with, but he turns bright red, just staring at your back. He then runs off, slamming his locker, leaving your upper half folded into the sweater, you curse internally, you’re already having a shitty morning. You found a zit on your face, you are a little hungover from too much wine, and you barely got sleep last night.

And now, you’re late, and Gojo hates when one of you is late, for someone so relaxed and late himself to shit, he seems to have no tolerance for it from his interns. You hastily keep trying to get out of your sweater until your arms are trapped, and you hear your name being called out, then a burst of laughter.

“Intern, ya need help?” Comes Satoru's amused voice, you glare into your sweater.

“Oh just do it!” He comes to you, quickly unlatching your bra, you free yourself, hair a mess, exhaling and looking at him, expecting amusement, but he's staring at your exposed breasts, eyes dilated. “Not gonna make fun of me?”

He gulps now, helping get the soft threads from the hooks of your bra strap. “Too pretty.”

You feel the heat on your cheeks from his praise. “Oh?”

“Oh. Turn around.” He clears his throat, you turn and he helps re snap your bra on, fingertips trailing down between your shoulder blades, making you tremble, when Dr. Nanami walks in suddenly, you step away, but Gojo’s fingertips stay.

“Satoru, seriously?” Nanami says. Satoru clears his throat now, looking at you when you turn, throwing the scrub top over your chest.

“Was helping her, she was… stuck.”

“That's what we're calling it?”

“I really was stuck, Doctor Nanami.” He shakes his head and sighs.

“Be more cautious.” He goes to his locker now, taking his jacket and shirt off, when you see him you're enamored for just a moment, earning Satoru standing in front of you.

“Are you checking him out!?”

“What!? No! I swear. No?” Nanami smiles just a bit, you swear you see him smirk, though you’re not sure if it’s your imagination.

“You'll make me jealous.” Satoru pouts and you giggle, looking around before giving him a little kiss.

“I love your body. He's just built like a whole action star, it threw me off. It's ridiculous how jacked he is.” You whisper, Satoru scoffs.

“I heard all of that, you know. You two calm down, get to work.” Nanami says, all dressed now and serious.

“Yes sir!” You both salute him, darting out now.

“You think he's hot!” Satoru huffs.

“Satoru really? Are you getting jealous?” He glares now, stomping away. “Really now?”

“You get to do charts, missy.” Satoru orders minutes later, as Maki and Yuta try to keep their laughter in, handing you stacks of them.

“What, I swear you're so immature!”

“Am not. Your turn for charts. Maki, wanna scrub in?” Maki grins.

“Sorry he's mad at you, but hell yeah.” You glare at the both of them, setting the charts down on the table with a sigh.

“Oh whatever. Go on then.” Satoru leans down over you as you plop down in the seat, breath tickling your ear, lips just a tease.

“You're my girlfriend and my intern.” You pause again, it makes you way too happy when he says it, damn near giddy. “Check him out with your mouth wide open again and I'll never let you out of paperwork.”

“My mouth was not open!” He just smirks and everyone runs off to their assignments.

Sleeping with your boss has the opposite of perks.

*****

Your hands are aching from paperwork, you’re stretching them as Satoru enters the elevator now, still glaring at you, you both are silent as the doors shut. You gently brush the backs of your fingers against his, thinking he’s so mad still he may pull away, but he brushes his back, looking down at you then with those eyes of his, the ones that ruin you.

“Satoru, I was just teasing, I think… well I think you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, okay?” You say softly, he grins then, big wolfy grin.

“Knew it.”

“Oh god.” You roll your eyes, pulling your hand away, he turns and presses you against the wall now, making your breath catch. Your hands slid up his white lab coat, as his lips were just a breath away.

“I was jealous. I only want you looking at me.” He kisses you softly, a brush of his lips now.

“For someone who doesn’t ever want anything serious, you’re very serious about this.” He blinks, pulling back now, and you curse under your breath. “Sorry, I’ve been holding shit in I think.”

“About the no marriage thing? I thought you understood.” He eases back, you sigh, looking down at your shoes then.

“I understand just fine, but it’s nowhere near how I feel about relationships.”

“Are you so old fashioned?” He teases, you shrug, nodding.

“Yeah, I guess. Like I could maybe go without the paper, but I want to live with the person I end up in love with, I want kids.”

He blinks in confusion. “As a doctor?”

“Yes, as a doctor. I want a family of my own, I don’t really have one.” You break off a bit as it’s quiet now. “None of those things have to happen now, but they are things I will want in the future. I absolutely love being with you, but I don’t know if I can sacrifice that.” He blinks once more, opening his mouth and then closing it.

“Are you saying we’re done already?” He whispers, you shake your head then, a hand on his shoulder.

“Not at all. It’s just I don’t know what the future would be for us. I’m overthinking it, I know we’ve only hooked up and had like a couple dates. But…”

“I just can’t change overnight.” He says, breaking you now.

“I know. I don’t expect you to, but I had to get it out there, it’s been eating at me is all. For now, take it one day at a time?” He nods, leaning down and cupping your face, and you feel far too much.

“I respect what you want. Can you respect what I want?”

You nod, and he exhales again, kissing you, as the elevator dings, you both separate just in time, walking side by side, his kiss radiating off your lips. “I am sorry I threw that on you…” You murmur.

“Nah, it’s fine, intern.” He smiles just a bit. “How about another date, you need to make it up to me.”

“I can do that if you take me off chart duty.” He snorts, nodding then. “All right, date where?”

“Do you get motion sickness?” You giggle at the question, curiously shaking your head. “Alright then meet me after your shift.”

“Sounds good, Doctor Gojo.” You ache to kiss him then, you feel awful for having spilled all of that out, but he’s giving you a bright smile, so you hope everything will work itself out.

“Sutures now.”

“Really?” You glare, and he sticks his tongue out. Clearly he’s not done punishing you for the day.

You’re later sitting and stitching up a patient’s shoulder, when Maki walks in, all excited and waving her arms, breathless and excited. “Bitch we decannulated a fucking heart.”

“Oh go on, rub it in.” Yuta grumbles, the patient watches you all with amusement, you smile apologetically.

“Intern things.” You explain, when Toge comes in, glaring at you suddenly. “What are you so mad about?”

He says nothing, sitting down in a seat, as do Yuta and Maki, nibbling on snacks, the shift is finally almost done for the day. “You decannulate a heart and I was stuck on baby duty with Dr. Shoko.”

“Dr. Shoko is awesome though.” You counter, Yuta sighs.

“Sure, but I want to decannulate hearts. Who did you work under, Maki?”

“Dr. Gojo. Thanks for pissing him off babes.” She winks at you, the patient giggles now as you finish up.

“Have you angered your boyfriend?” They ask, you gasp, and Yuta and Maki snicker, but Toge still is glaring. “Or… is he your boyfriend?”

“Toge? No he’s my best friend, or he was. He’s mad at me.”

“Clearly.” The patient agrees, Toge stands then, glaring at you once more, walking right out, Maki and Yuta make an ‘oooh’ sound.

“What’s wrong this time?” You demand, and Yuta sighs, nibbling on his cookie and leaning back.

“You’re with Gojo, it’s got him upset. Plus I heard you got naked right in front of Toge this morning.”

“Whatever, I got stuck in my sweater and he ran. We all get naked, you know, it’s a locker room.” You’re using the antiseptic carefully, bandaging the patient up now. “How are you feeling?”

“The morphine is great.” You three snort in laughter now. “How’d you piss both your boyfriends off?”

“Oh god.” You lean back in your spin chair, yanking off your latex gloves and tossing them in the waste bin then. “I angered the one boyfriend by saying Dr. Nanami was hot.”

“You wanna bang the entire hospital.” Maki earns you throwing a paper cup in her direction. “What? It’s true.”

“Says you. Oh… they’re together, too.” You whisper to the patient, earning both of them blushing.

“No wonder Toge’s mad at you, you’re annoying.” Yuta sticks his tongue out now, and you smirk, wiggling your brows.

“Oh am I? Thought you all loved me!?”

“We do sometimes.” Yuta grins at you.

“Keep pissing him off please.” Maki says, standing and winking.

“Keep pissing who off?” Comes Doctor Gojo’s voice now, as he waltzes right into the room, and the patient gasps.

“Oh, no wonder, I’d date him too.” Gojo snorts, covering his face for a moment, as you’re a blushing mess now.

“Right? I’m the most handsome doctor, hmm?” He grins at the patient, who has to fan themselves then.

“Oh yes.”

“See? Maybe if you agreed you could have decannulated a heart.” Gojo says, and you sigh, standing up now.

“No date.”

“What!?”

You walk right past him, and soon Gojo has chased you down, you glare at him before shutting yourself in one of the bunk rooms, Satoru sneaks right in though, devious smirk still on his handsome face when he presses you against the door. Your breath catches, being alone with him always sets you on fire, the way his big hands slip under your scrub top.

Your body reacts when his hands press into your waist, sliding up the curve of it, thumbs under the swells of your breasts in your lacy bra. Your own hands glide up his chest, resting where his heart is thudding steadily, you see the glint in his pretty eyes, how they’re lidded, lashes casting shadows on his face in the dark little room.

“My intern is kind of a brat.” Gojo’s voice is husky, you giggle then, shaking your head. “Oh no? She’s been really bratty all day.”

“Maybe you should cheer her up a bit?” You tease, he moans softly, kissing you, tongues entwining as his hand slips down your tummy, it trembles when his fingers go under the waistband of your scrubs.

“Cheer you up, like this? Fuck…” He moans when he finds you, soaking wet against your panties, you whine out softly, covering your mouth then, when he rolls his finger in a little circle.

Gojo could say he did not want to date or even do anything but fuck, and you fear your body would go along with it. You’re crying out when you kiss him again, when he bends down and angles his arm just so, rubbing your clit side to side, pinching it with two long fingers. You’re rubbing him over his scrub pants then, feeling him thicken under your touch, he gasps against your neck.

“Fuck you’re so wet, baby. All for me, hmm?” You nod eagerly, as he nips your neck with sharp teeth. “Say it.”

“All f-for you-” Both of your pagers go off then, you curse, overheated, as does he, adjusting himself with a wince. “Dammit.”

“I know.” He cups your face with one hand gently, brushing back your hair gently, sending shivers down your spine at how good you feel when he looks at you. “Tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kisses you once more, then you both walk out, as an ambulance is waiting out front, carrying a woman on a stretcher, you both run out then together, Gojo starts asking questions as you get a look at her, covered in blood.

“Car accident?” He says, and the EMT nods.

“There is glass everywhere.” He takes his hand off where he’s applied pressure on her chest, you take over, placing your hand where there is blood gushing out, she smiles up at you as if she’s fine.

“You’re pretty.” She says, you smile softly then, as does Satoru.

“She is, isn’t she?” He says with a wink, as you all start walking her into the hospital and through the halls.

“You’re pretty too. Pretty doctors.” She muses with a giggle, you realize she’s so clearly in shock then.

“Right, we have all kinds of pretty doctors here.” You whisper, and now as you get into a room, Satoru starts ordering everyone, from the nurse’s assistant, to the nurses. They start hooking her up to an IV and oxygen, your hand is still pressed firmly against the wound, which is bleeding under your touch.

“Can you tell us your name, love?” Satoru asks, while everyone starts flitting around her, and Satoru is checking her stomach, seeing the wounds on her skin, but he maintains his calm and sweet demeanor, amazing you and everyone that ever watches him.

“Yes, my name is Michelle, pretty Doctor.” He smirks, you smile at her, while she finally looks down at where your hand is pressed.

“Call me Doctor Gojo. Alright Michelle?” 

“Doctor Gojo. And your name?” She repeats it, sighing then. “And you’re keeping me from bleeding out? You’re an angel.”

“She’s no angel.” Gojo teases, she laughs a bit then winces. “I know I’m hilarious but you’re not allowed to laugh, that’s an order.”

“Got it.” She takes a breath as Gojo gently takes your hand off her stomach.

“It stopped bleeding, that’s perfect. Good job intern.”

“I just put pressure, that’s all. Should I wrap her and get her to CT?”

“Perfect. After that give me the results so we can see our next step. Also, Miwa can you pump our lovely patient full of the good stuff?” He asks, earning Michelle’s grin when Miwa hits the button.

“Oh I’m in love with you Doctor.”

“Everyone is.” You roll your eyes and smile as he comes over to you then, leaning close to your ear. “We may be late for our date.”

“We can always rain check you know.” He peeks at his watch, humming to himself then.

“It’ll be too late for what I want to do when we finish, so let’s try tomorrow. Alright get to it, intern.”

You take Michelle to get a CT scan, and soon you’re in Doctor Gojo’s office, you’re so fatigued you can feel the day starting to creep on you, yawning as you hand him scan, he hangs it up on the board, turning on the light. You both stand over it, you feel a little dizzy, barely having eaten all day, like you’ll fall on your feet, but you push through.

 “Can I ask you something, intern?” Satoru’s voice makes you focus.

“Sure Doctor Gojo.”

“You want kids when you’re going on a seventeen hour shift?” He raises a thin white brow, you feel heat creeping up your cheeks at the question.

“I don’t want to stay doing trauma, Doctor Gojo.” Your admission has him confused, clearly.

“No?” He crosses his arms, looking at you curiously.

“No, I ideally would enjoy working for a cardiovascular office, but of course I have a lot to learn and go before I can do that.”

“So you’ll leave me when your internship ends?”

“I didn’t say all that. I think that if I had a family I’d need a more manageable schedule is all. But, why ask? I understand you won’t, and we are far, far from getting to anywhere like that anyway.”

“Did your ex want ‘em? Kids.”

“Yuck.” He snorts then. “Sure he did, but thank god I didn’t go there with him, what I felt for him…”

“Go on.”

“Satoru, we should focus.”

“What you felt for him?”

“It’s nothing like what I feel for you.” He exhales, eyes locking on yours, drifting to your lips. “Not even a tiny bit of what I feel, which is fucking scary.”

“It is scary, isn’t it? But you’re brave hmm?” His voice is like a caress that washes over you, as he steps so close to you, filling your nostrils with his expensive cologne, your body thrumming with want for him.

“I try to be.” Your voice is just a breath, really.

“I think you’re perfect for the trauma ward, I can’t convince you but I think you’d be bored doing anything else. And maybe I’ll convince you that you don’t want a little brat whining.” You glare at him, the spell he’s cast over.

“Satoru, you're the worst.” He’s chuckling now.

“I’ll make you work under Shoko all goddamn month, nothing but whiny babies slobbering all over your scrubs.”

“I love babies, so go for it.” He rolls his pretty blue eyes, shaking his head and pointing to her scan then.

“Sure you do. Alright, now take a look brat.”

“Brat!? You’re the brat here.” You lean forward, evaluating the scan, seeing her tummy then. “No internal bleeding whatsoever.”

“Mmhmm, she got lucky, what else do you see?”

“Aside from the nasty gash she had, just blunt abdominal trauma, of course her face also needs stitches in several areas from the airbag going off. Her spleen is a little swollen though?”

“So the best course of action?”

“Laparotomy.”

“Good girl.” You melt, and he knows it, leaning down and tapping your nose. “Wanna scrub in?”

“Is this our date!? Yes!” He pops a kiss on your nose now, the tension of your earlier conversations fading now.

Soon you’re scrubbing in with Satoru, masks on, he’s got his surgical glasses propped up on his nose as he starts drying his hands with you. “You know what we’re doing here, right?”

“Yes, I will follow your orders Daddy Gojo.” You wink and he snorts in laughter, leaning close to you for a moment.

“You make fun of that but just wait.”

“Mmhmm.”

You follow him into the O.R. which is freezing cold, goosebumps prick along your arms, the lights overhead glaring brightly, Michelle is already out. There are heat packs on her legs and arms when you start prepping her, Gojo’s hand is on your back when you are ready, giving you a gentle push forward, you blink in surprise then, looking at him.

“I’ll guide you through this one.” He murmurs, your heart thuds in your chest, as the surgical nurse starts handing you tools, you’re shaking internally but on the outside you are completely steady, so ready to show him what you can do.

The beeps of the monitors are a steady rhythm as you both work side by side, he is cutting into her skin with a scalpel, the smell of the disinfectant and antiseptic fill the room, but it mixes with Satoru’s scent. Gojo’s voice is calm, guiding you through the process, and you focus intently, not wanting to make a single mistake. This wasn’t a cadaver, it was a person.

Every movement is precise and careful, as you exhale into your mask, pressing down and separating the layer of fat over the spleen. “Perfect, you’re doing great.” He assures you, making the tension in your shoulders ease.

“Thank you Doctor.” Satoru begins to take over his incision, as you pack around it, watching his movements like a hawk, then you notice it, a faint little glimmer in several places on her spleen.

You look up at Gojo, and his eyes are narrowed, he’s frowning now. He leans in closer, looking at the area you’re working on.

“You’ve found something, haven’t you intern?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You whisper, and he takes the scalpel from your hand, making a small cut, and you see it, a tiny piece of glass embedded in the muscle. “A few pieces of glass, they don’t appear to be very big though.”

“Good catch intern. We’ll have to remove it carefully, we don’t want to cause more damage. So I think on this part you should watch me work my magic, hmm?” The nurses in the room sigh in adoration, you smile behind your mask at his overt confidence, but you love it actually.

“Yes of course, I’d love to watch.” You hand him the tools, watching as he works with the precision of a master sculptor, his hands work with effortless grace as he is carefully removing the shards of glass without causing any further harm. “You’re so precise.”

“You have to be, but it comes with practice. There.” The shards of glass make a little tink sound as he puts them in the metal dish.

The surgery continues, and you assist where you can, his hands guiding yours, showing you the right amount of pressure, the right angle to hold the tools. You’re lost in the rhythm of it, the focus so intense it’s almost meditative, it’s so comfortable working side by side with him, you try to absorb everything he’s showing you, hoping it all sinks into your brain.

You can’t even imagine being as good as he is, when he’s stitching her up, the sutures were absolutely perfect, but he gestures for you to come over when he’s stitching her skin. “Now, put those sutures to work, intern.” He teases, standing behind you.

“Is that why you had me on suture duty?” You whisper, taking the needle and thread, gently pulling.

“Nah, I was totally punishing you.” His words in your ear make you heat up, you shake it off, focusing, and as the time ticks by, the surgery is a success, you’re both exhausted but exhilarated. You step back, letting the nurses clean up, and Gojo turns to you, pulling down his mask.

“You did good, Intern.” He says, his voice tired but proud, and you feel a warm glow spread through your chest at his praise.

“Thank you Doctor Gojo.”

It’s only about an hour later than your shift, but your friends have already gone home, as you and Satoru get changed in the locker room. It’s so comfortable with him, everything, surgery, the quiet in the mornings and afternoons, it makes you wonder at the ease it is to just be with him.

He surprises you when you’re taking off your scrub top, his big hands grabbing at your waist, pressing kisses on the nape of your neck. “You know, if you want kids so bad, we could pretend that I’m knocking you up.”

The filthy thoughts he’s putting in your brain wreck you, you shove them down as best as you can. “You’re the worst, Hojo.”

He snorts, as you turn, his fingers caressing up and down your waist, you nervously peek around. “No baby I’m the best.”

You’re aching for him, for his fingers caressing your skin, wanting him so much you can’t stand it. All the memories of the other night fill you, remembering his lips, his touch. His…

“We shouldn’t.”

“Mmm, I know.” He kisses you then, mouth pressing against yours, your lips part in a gasp as his tongue overtakes your mouth, swirling with yours, as he presses your back against the locker. “Could fill you up with so much cum though, huh?”

“Shh.” You’re melting in his arms, as he’s slipping his hands down your hips, your back, gripping your ass over your jeans, your nipples press through your lacy bra against his hard chest, your hands entwining in his silky white locks. You feel your tummy clenching with desire when he pulls you against him.

“Come to my place for a bit.” He eases back as you both hear footsteps, Suguru walks in looking exhausted, smirking at the two of you then.

“The star intern, hmm? How’d the car accident surgery go?” He asks, heading to his locker and easing off his coat, Satoru covers your face then, you giggle.

“Stop it!”

“No I don’t need you ogling him, brat.” Suguru’s chuckle fills the room, you yank down his hand and Satoru’s face is directly in front of yours.

“Am I that attractive that you’re worried about me?” Suguru asks, you turn and slip your sweater on then.

“Sure are baby boy.” Satoru blows Suguru kisses.

“Ugh, you sure you wanna date this guy?” Suguru asks, you turn and find he’s already slipped on a sweatshirt and jeans.

“Of course she does, I’m amazing.” Satoru says, you finish getting your things together as Suguru, you and Satoru leave the hospital, all completely wiped.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow, lovebirds.” He says with a yawn, leaving Satoru and you by your giant old SUV.

“Why do you drive this ancient thing?” You glare at him.

“It’s my baby.”

“It’s hideous.”

“Well, I’m not coming over.”

He presses you against the car door, hands on either side of you. “Yeah you are, I’ll even let you stay the night.”

“You let girls stay the night? Isn’t that too much for a Hojo?” Satoru sighs, easing back just a bit as you take a breath.

“I liked cuddling with you, alright?” Your heart beats fast inside your chest at his soft confession. “You can wear one of my big shirts.”

“It’s sounding better and better… maybe.”

“I’ll make cocoa.”

“Sold. Follow you there?” With another kiss you’re back in your car, nerves hitting as you think of seeing his home, it’s not very far as you drive in the evening, right behind Satoru’s fancy little sports car.

When you pull up it’s about as beautiful as you imagined it would be, if not exceeding your expectations, the house is gorgeous and huge, but nothing as ostentatious as his parents mansion. It was a little more simple and modern, you step out of the car into the chilled air that’s rapidly cooling, making you shiver just a bit when he hops out of his car.

“It’s beautiful here.” You murmur, walking up to the porch now, Satoru unlocks the doors, ushering you in, you don’t know what you expect it to look like inside, but it’s so warm and inviting, the cream colored walls and polished wooden floors. The living room has a giant modern couch and a wall of windows showing the city skyline, black curtains pulled back just so.

“My humble abode.” You both take off your shoes then.

“Humble!? Nothing about you is humble.”

“Sure I am. I like your place too, you know.”

“Mine looks so trash now.”

“Nah, your place is just very lived in.” Your eyes dart around, it’s stupidly clean, aside from papers scattered across the dining room table, his kitchen is huge and has the newest stainless steel appliances, making your old oven and fridge look like shit honestly. But, it’s gorgeous, just like Doctor Gojo.

You eye a large black piano, a baby grand then, you have one of those collecting dust in the attic, it was your dad’s and it hurts too much to look at. But you remember playing next to him as he taught you, you remember loving it so much until he was gone, you wonder if you remember it, how to tap on the keys like you used to.

You realize you’re in a deep memory when his hands on your shoulders jolt you. “Like the piano or something?” He asks, you look away then, and he sees a glimmer in your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Just memories, sorry.” You brush your eyes, irritated at the emotions, looking away now.

“Why say sorry? What memories?”

“Just… I used to enjoy the piano. Do you play?” You ask, trying to keep your voice bright.

“A little, but it’s more for the aesthetic. Do you still play?”

“It’s been so long but, I was pretty good at it.” Your fingers run over the keys delicately.

“Would you play for me? I’ll make us that cocoa.” You feel your nerves as you nod, sitting down now.

“Let’s see if I remember anything.” The piano is well cared for, and the keys are smooth under your fingers as you start playing, the melody to a song you’ve had stuck in your head from a long time ago.

Satoru hears the melody then, and he watches you, enamored as he sees the way your fingers dance across the keys. You are clearly being modest because your level of experience seems ridiculous. Your brows go together in concentration, the soft lights overhead dancing across your pretty face, casting little shadows on your delicate features.

Fuck you’re pretty.

Your words earlier hurt him, to think he could lose you before he has even had a chance with you, somehow Satoru already misses you when he’s not in your presence, and it makes him ache. He knows he hurt you when he told you how he is, and that you could likely have anyone, just look at you, beautiful, smart, funny. Talented not just as an intern, but so much more.

He doesn’t know if he’s expressed just how much he cares, just how much he feels so quickly. You are smiling up at him, a little nervous he can tell, he should be making the cocoa but he’s frozen in place, as you don’t even look at the keys, fingers drifting across effortlessly. He’s seen your steady hands at work today, but now they glide perfectly, like you’re made to play.

You slow down then, finishing the melody, one he’s never heard, but it feels sweet and nostalgic somehow to him, it feels a bit like being with you. It was so easy to hold you in his arms, to watch that cute nose scrunch up when he taps it, it was easy to work with you. So easy it scares the fuck out of him.

But when he was inside of you? 

God that made it to where all he can think about is sinking inside your heat again, of burying his face between your thighs, lapping your juices up, and fuck there was so much, you get so wet for him. He’s never felt anything like his cock inside your perfect pussy, like your lips against his, there was nothing like when he’d cum inside you.

But you do want different things, and Satoru couldn’t give you that, could he? He couldn’t give you a ring and a wedding, and he’d never wanted kids. He’d want you to himself, he’d want you two to do anything and everything, and he wants these things insanely fast, a pace that terrifies him.

He gets jealous when men look at you already, and they all do, the beautiful intern with the sweet smile, even Nanami and Suguru had mentioned how pretty and sweet you were in passing. He had been angry before he even got with you, before he even felt you, before he even kissed you, even that day you had walked in for the first time.

He’d tried to ask you out, he honestly thought he’d love to fuck you, he didn’t date really, but you not were just hard to get, you intrigued him, your mind and how it works, the way you feel so passionately. You’re a little insane, you break the rules, you are competitive as fuck, he started admiring that all so much, along with your scent, your looks, your energy.

Satoru has it bad for you, in fact in his almost thirty four years he has never felt like this, he can’t think of anything but you. All the girls he’d messed with previously he’s had to firmly turn down, because just your kisses alone are better than anything they can do for him. You are something else, driving him to think of more, to question more, in the hospital and out of it.

But could you really handle all of him, the parts he has never shown anyone, aside from his best friends, the depression he hides behind jokes and smiles, the vices he has. Things he’d never share in a million fucking years with any woman, but he wants to share them with you, he wants you to know him, but when you really do, on top of your differences?

You’d probably leave him.

“You’re insanely good. How long has it been?” He asks then, your cheeks turn this cute shade, you’re biting your lower lip, hands falling off the keys nervously.

“Years, I guess the muscle memory is still there. Um… I played with my dad.” Satoru sits next to you on the bench then, his eyes on you are so intense it’s like he’s peering into your soul, you blush and look back down, continuing to play, feeling the emotions flow through your fingertips.

“Did he teach you?” Satoru asks softly.

“Yeah, he did. But I don’t think anyone was as good as him, he was a professional for sure. Now it’s gathering dust.” Satoru brushes a lock of your hair behind your ear as you finish and he’s quiet for a moment.

“That was beautiful, how you play.” He says, so softly you almost don’t hear it, but his words warm you up inside, making your heart flutter.

“Thank you, Satoru. Thank you.” You feel emotions hitting when he leans down, kissing you on the piano bench, so soft and sweet, not the hungry passionate kisses that you two have shared. It’s so gentle it breaks your heart, you pull back then, blinking tears back. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh on you, about your opinions. I respect them, I promise I don’t want to change you.”

He gulps then, thumb brushing over your lower lip. “I don’t want to change you either, I want to know you, know all of you.” His hands slip down to your waist now, pressing you against his side as he hugs you, resting his chin on your head. “Every bit, what makes you tick.”

“I want to know you.” You kiss up his throat now, earning a quiet little moan, pecking a trail up his sharp jaw, all the way to his ear. “I want to know what makes you tick, what makes you crazy.”

“You make me fucking crazy.” He lays you down then, right on the piano bench, kissing down your throat, your back arches, his hands slipping up your sweater. “You turn me on by suturing a spleen somehow.”

You giggle, breathless, he hovers over you, soft white hair falling just so, you brush it back as his swirling blue storms drink you in. “You’d turn me on more if I got to see you decannulate a heart.”

Satoru smirks, shaking his head. “You were a bad girl, maybe that will teach you, hmm?”

“Maybe it will. Maybe I need more lessons-ah!” Satoru snatches you up then, your legs are around his narrow hips, arms wrapping his neck, his hands gripping your ass over denim as he carries you through his stunning house, directly into his bedroom, spotless aside from rumpled sheets, he lays you down then, you hastily pull your top off, as he works your jeans.

He’s wiggling them down off your hips, leaving you in your bra and panties, you yank off his shirt, revealing his chiseled frame, the one that makes your pussy clench around nothing. Just looking at his hard body, when he’s down to just his black boxers, laying over you and yanking you by your hips, his hands press into your pelvis as his lips kiss down your tummy.

Satoru’s lapping at the lacy fabric covering your cunt now, tongue slathering the thin material, as he looks up at you, so sexy you can’t really explain, you can’t explain what it’s like to have Satoru Gojo between your thighs. He’s open mouth kissing you through your fabric, teasing you, as your wetness drools down, making your panties sticky and dewy.

“Please, Satoru…” He is looking up at you under his snowy lashes, lips turning up at one corner, toying with your panties now, a finger just barely brushing, your hips jerk, soaking him from a touch.

“Please what, baby?” Satoru asks, feigning innocence.

“Please take them off.” Your voice is hoarse, he kisses back up your tummy, now lavishing your nipples over the lace, your fingers grip his strong shoulders, head falling back in pleasure. “Take that off too.”

“So slutty for me, aren’t you? Desperate, whiny, almost pathetic for me, but not quite enough.” His words fuck you mentally then, you’re sputtering, trying to think of a damn thing to say when he’s biting your nipples over the lace.

“Please! Off, please, please off.” Soft cries echo in his quiet room, Satoru smirks then, leaning on one arm over you, the other rubbing your clit over your panties in little circles. “Satoru t-take em off.”

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” He cooes, smacking your pussy then, you yelp at it, making you ache, you go to slide them off and he grabs your wrists with one big hand.

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good Satoru. Please.” You look up at him, tears of frustration in your eyes, he moans then, kissing you, slowly unsnapping your bra, tossing it on the floor, staring at your pretty titties hungrily.

“Look at you, fuck.” You’re pulling at him desperately, tugging him closer, until he’s got a thigh between yours, and you’re grinding your cunt on him. “So desperate you’ll hump my thigh?”

“Shh.” Is all you manage, cheeks flushed as you rub up and down, he’s kissing you, chuckling like the cocky asshole he is. “Need you, please.”

He pauses then at your words, leaning up and looking down at you, his expression going feral then, pupils shrunk to pinpoints. “Need me?”

“Need you now.” He groans, finally taking your panties off, but he rips the delicate fabric, shocking you as he reduces it to scraps.

You would complain about the expensive underwear, but he’s bent his head down between your thighs, diving his tongue deep into your tight little hole, spreading your lips wide as he drinks you. His hot wet muscle is fucking your walls, which convulse around it, his nose bumping your engorged clit, you’re jerking, hips rising up, his hands bruising your hips.

“Oh my God, oh my- ah!” Satoru moans against you, watching your every move, each way your body moves, pulling back and slipping two long fingers in you, crooking up just so. “F-fuck!”

“Your anatomy, it’s so perfect, so easy for me.” He whispers, lapping the tip of his tongue against your clit while his fingers curl, your juices flowing down his fingers, loud and sloppy in the room. “That’s it, you’re close aren’t you?”

You nod weakly, Satoru looks at you then, and you’re lost in him, how can he look at you that intensely, like you’re the only one he’s ever looked at. Your nails press into his shoulders when he works you so well, with his tongue, with his fingers, pressing you over and over the edge until you're falling.

You see white hot stars burst behind your eyes as your orgasm wrecks you, to the point you’re drooling while Satoru’s sucking and humming on your clit, body coated in a thin sheen of sweat when he leans up, kissing your tummy. You’re literally jerking as he exhales over your skin, sobbing out at how good every inch of you feels, he’s trailing fingertips up between your breasts, to your nipples.

“T-Toru…” You’re breathless when he’s leaning over you, hand under your chin, gripping it tightly.

“Toru?” His voice is soft, as he kisses your lower lip, teeth indentations from you biting it. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“You’re messing my head up, don’t say things like that.” Your voice is hoarse and weak, he frowns then just a bit, eyes assessing your every feature.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean. Let me call you beautiful.” You blink back emotions when you try to gather yourself, he kisses your lips, taking you over now, you taste your honeyed arousal all over his plump lips. “You are.”

“Bet you say it to all the girls.” You tease softly, he shakes his head, leaning back up and tracing your face with his thumb.

“No, I use terms like hot, or pretty, or cute. Beautiful applies to my very annoying little intern in my bed.” You melt fully for him, dragging him down, sighing at how good he feels as you arch your hips.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

“There, was it so hard?”

“It is pretty hard.” You reach down, stroking his length then, he sucks in a breath, pink tingeing his cheeks when you slide down his boxers over his firm ass, hands gripping it as you grin. “You have a bubble butt, Toru.”

“A what now?” He glares, but it doesn’t last long, not when you’re stroking his length from the base to the tip, rolling his pearly precum along the slit, sliding it up to your mouth, kitten licking it. “Fuck.”

At that he’s got your thigh up high, filling you with his cock in one stroke, you scream out, the last two times you all had played, you stayed moderately quiet, but you were all alone, and your cries are echoing in the room as he thrusts his cock in deeper. In just a couple thrusts, he’s shoved all his inches in you, and fuck there are so many, you’re pulsing around his length, whimpering.

“Fucking feel her, gripping me s’tight…” He’s huffing, pulling back, shoving his cock to the hilt, tip smashing your cervix, you’re convulsing around him, cunt drooling all the way down until it’s pooling down your ass, down to the blankets. “Hear your slutty pussy huh?”

“Mmhmm!” Your brain is fucked right along with your body while he pumps his cock inside you, stretching you so deliciously, skin burning now, you’re clinging to him when he flips you suddenly, taking your breath away.

He pulls your hips up, smacking your ass, you gasp at the sensation, when he’s inching back inside you. “Look at you, gonna leave handprints all over your pretty little ass.”

“Please.” Is all you manage, he moans, smacking each cheek again, you’ve never done anything like this, but you’re cumming when he shoves in fully, rolling his hips just so, his drooly tip pressing on your cervix. Your eyes roll back as he smacks your ass again, the stinging making you wetter.

“That’s it, feel you tryna milk me.” Satoru is so fucked out right with you, viewing your ass covered in his hand prints now, he takes your hand, putting one behind your back, gripping your delicate wrist. “This okay?”

“Y-yes, god yes.” You’re moaning into the pillows when he shoves both of  your arms behind your back, big hand holding them, fucking into you harder, each movement making your ass jiggle. “Ah!”

Satoru groans, feeling you pulsate around him, you’ve never been fucked so good, even the first time by him he was just a little easy on you, you almost think you can’t take it but you’re arching your ass back for more. You earn his satisfied groan as he slams into you over and over, grip on your wrists binding you to him, the feeling of him taking you over so addictive.

“Know how crazy y-you drive me, in those little s-scrubs?” He’s stuttering, his rhythm faltering as he lets your hands go, gripping your hips instead, thumbs pressing into the dimples at your back. Your fingers are gripping the satin black sheets of his bed, whining pathetically, shaking your head. “No, ya don’t know, hmm?”

He yanks you up by your hair now, the pull painful but just making your pussy so wet, Satoru in two times has somehow figured out your entire body, things you have never tried or would ever think. You’re cumming on his cock when he’s bending over you, chest against your back, dripping sweat as he works you so good, cock wrecking every sweet spot you have.

“Drive me fucking insane.” His voice is in your ear now, he’s completely bent over you, back bowed, using the hair by the nape of your neck to turn your head toward him, and how he looks at you then?

You’re so fucked.

You desperately kiss him when he slows inside of you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm squeezing him relentlessly. You whine into his mouth, he drinks them up, pulling back and then pressing you down on your tummy, prone over you. You’ve never done it like this, the intimacy overtakes you, his fingers entwining with one of your hands as his other braces himself on the bed.

“I’ve w-wanted you since… I first saw you.” You’re blinking back tears, hiccuping when his tip drags on that spongy spot in your gooey walls.

“Wh-what?” You whisper, confusion addling your fucked out brain, he moans then, kissing you deeply, drool falling down between your lips as your body tenses, feeling him thicken in you now.

“Since I saw you, I didn't know you’d feel this good, gripping me like that.” You’re whimpering, mumbling, mouth wide open in a slutty O, as Satoru fucks you so slow, hand wrapped around your throat under your chin, thumb pressing on your pulse point, feeling it flutter. “You’re never fucking anyone else.”

“Y-you’re stupid.” You grumble, earning his chuckle, his white grin and insane blue eyes, taking on some psychotic look he seems to get when he’s close, you can hardly stand to look, eyes fluttering shut.

“Stupid, huh? You know you won’t ever… fuck feel you… ever…” He’s burying his head against the crook of your neck now, squeezing your throat as he starts slamming into you so deep, you feel him in your tummy, feel him everywhere. “Ever be with anyone.”

How can he talk like that?

How can he say shit like that?

You know he doesn’t mean it.

“D-don’t fuck up my head, please. C-can’t handle it. Hurts too much.” He pauses then, his movements halted.

“Open your eyes.” You do as he commands, it’s so easy to follow his every word. “It’ll only be me inside you, got it?”

“Why?”

“Why?” He laughs then, shaking his head, hips jerking just so, thrusting his cock to the hilt as one arm wraps around you, dragging you down his length. “I want you to myself, all to myself.”

You want to say yes, but you pause, lips parting as you struggle to keep eye contact. “M’not gonna f-fuck anyone else.”

“Just me.”

“Just you.” You whisper, and he moans now, moving again, you see the veins of his forearms bulging as he presses against the bed, fucking you once more.

“Gonna fill you up s’good, gonna drip me at work tomorrow.”

“You’re c-crazy- mnh! Cumming!” You’re gasping, head falling back against his strong chest as his tip presses your cervix, then you shatter, feeling his hot gooey cum coating your walls, filling you so much he’s pulsing. You’re both whimpering then, mumbling, kissing each other sloppy.

“F-fuck, perfect pussy, takin’ me so well.” He’s pushing his cum further and further inside you, cock coated in your slick and his white ropes, which are getting pushed out by your muscles as you’re riding out your climax. “Oh my god…”

“Oh my god…” You both say at the same time, he exhales then, breath tickling the nape of your neck, pecking kisses along your shoulder blades.

It’s perfect, too perfect.

And you know it then, what you don’t want to be true.

You’re falling in love with him.

With Doctor Gojo, with Doctor Hojo, with Satoru. Your boss, your mentor, your very new boyfriend you’ve slept with twice. There’s no other explanation for the way his kisses make tears fall from your eyes then, for the way your heart clutches in your chest, as you think to yourself…

This will hurt you.

“Are you okay baby? Too rough? You’re tiny down there… Did I get carried away?” Satoru leaned up, easing out of you and turning you then, concern written all over his beautiful features.

And he’s caring?

He’s perfect aside from…

What future could you have, getting kicked out after a couple nights here and there, no engagement or wedding ever, just a situationship and a perpetual girlfriend? You never wanted that to be your future, but right now you can’t even focus on it, you’re too sucked into his gravity, into the way he’s looking at you, holding you like you’re so precious.

 “No it was perfect, I’m sorry.” You take several breaths, and he watches your face, the tears trailing down your cheeks, clenching his heart.

“Don’t apologize, what is it?” You shake your head, he can tell you’re holding in something, his mind is still reeling from you, from how good you feel, from how beautiful you look, from the intensity of being inside of you. His hands trail down the nip of your waist, the jut of your hips carefully.

“I feel too much too fast.” Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, he doesn’t wanna drag you down when you’re so bright and perfect. But to know you feel things like he does, like he has since he first met you?

“What’s wrong with feeling things, intern?” He asks carefully, you sniffle then, while he brushes tears from the apple of your cheek.

“Scary how much I do. It’s overwhelming. I swear I’m not such a crybaby.” He brushed his hand against your cheek again, feeling the softness of your skin under his touch, wondering what goes on in that brain of yours.

“You think I’m not feeling things?” He asks, and you sigh, shaking your head then and burying your face against his chest. “You don’t know me yet, though, what if you don’t like what you find out?” He asks, so vulnerable then it breaks your heart, you lean up on an elbow, cupping his face.

“I want to know you, good or bad. Don’t hold back with me.” His jaw tenses under your delicate touch, you watch him gulp, opening his lips then closing them. “One thing at a time, though.”

“One thing at a time.” He kisses across your forehead gently. “Want a shower, pretty?”

“Yes please. You also owe me cocoa.” He stands up off the bed up then, picking you up in his arms bridal style, you giggle, clinging to him.

“Hot shower then hot cocoa.” He carries you into his bathroom, which is even more lavish than you can imagine, it’s huge with an insane tile and glass shower, bigger than your entire bathroom and then some.

“Holy shit.” You murmur, he sits you down then, heading over to start the hot water, which starts steaming in the bathroom, smiling at you and cupping your face with both hands, pressing you into the sink just a bit as he kisses you again.

“I’ll get towels.” You smile, turning and looking in the mirror, seeing your bright eyes and flushed cheeks, the marks on your throat and chest from Satoru’s fingers and teeth, your lips swollen from his kisses. Your eyes catch all of the orange prescription bottles decorating the sink, then.

It’s not your place to care what he takes, but your eyes dart on multiple anxiety medications, with pretty high doses. Xanax, you narrow your eyes just a bit, it’s 2 mg bars three times a day, next to them are Klonopin, 1 mg two times a day, two benzos you have never seen mixed. He has several other things, Ambien to sleep, 12.5mg at night, and Aderrall, 20 mg twice a day.

It’s a whole fucking cocktail, you don’t even know how he functions and with so much energy, he should be some drooling zombie with this. You touch them tentatively, there’s Zoloft as well, though of course that is something you’re on, but the mix of everything is too much. It’s as if he has something to wake up, to keep himself blissful all day, then something to sleep.

He walks back in with two fluffy towels, you back up, smiling up at him, he brings you against him, naked bodies pressed against each other, kissing you over and over, his lips devouring yours. You have never even seen Satoru have dilated eyes, you think then, did he not take these? Were they just… there?

It’s not your business, right?

“Ready for a shower? I’ll wash your hair and everything. I bet I have way better shampoo than you.” He teases with a big grin.

Satoru Gojo, the happiest dude you’ve ever met, needs a million medications to be that way. What darkness lies behind his blinding grin? You want to know him, all of him, all the facets that compose of him, of the man that you’ve fallen for so quickly, head over fucking heels.

Satoru knows you saw it, but you smile sweetly at him, not mentioning anything, not immediately judging him or saying something. You just lean up on your tiptoes, kissing him softly, he wraps his arms around your bare body, which feels perfect in his embrace, better than any drug could ever make him feel.

There’s not one time of the day or night he’s not on something to function, to alleviate the way his brain runs constantly, to try to keep it calm while also making it run. His own cocktail of perfection, he’s found it, and he knows you saw it, he can feel what you’re holding back, maybe you’re too enamored, as he is.

You’re both under the hot spray when he’s running his hands in your damp hair, lathering it up, it feels too good with you, he wonders how long until he fucks up, how long until you decide you could do better. He’s wanted you since before he officially met you, since he chose you to be his intern based off of stats and scores alone, so curious who this brilliant girl was.

Brilliant, beautiful, sweet.

He didn’t expect to feel this much, for the first time ever. Having had the arranged marriage so young with Utahime, he never got to feel, to be. And when he was done, Satoru has since slept with hundreds of women, easily, mind numbing sex with girls he couldn’t remember their damn name, but nothing has ever come close to how you feel wrapped around him.

You’re addictive, aren’t you? But you don’t seem to know, when you turn and slip your hands up his body, eyes drinking every bit of him in slowly, he gasps when you get on your knees, thinking he must be in some ambien wet dream of you. Your blunt nails press against his slick thighs, as your eyes look up at him and break him, your tongue lapping at his tip.

“Fuck…” He moans, as you look up at him, sucking him deeper into your throat, watching his every reaction, how his muscles flex and tense under your touch, feeling his cock hit your throat, then he shocks you, picking you up right against the tile of the shower wall. “Need you again, baby.”

“I need you again.” You whisper, gasping when he sinks inside of you, and that night you never get hot cocoa, you two can’t stop fucking each other, licking each other, devouring each other. It’s heady and insane.

Satoru is addictive, you’re sure he knows this too.

*****

The next day

“Rough night, babes?” Maki asks, as you wince, lifting off your shirt and throwing on your scrub top. “Holy fuck, hickies!”

“Shush!” You cover her mouth with your hand, she’s laughing against it, lifting your top back up.

“Damn, is he a vampire or some shit?”

“He thinks so.”

“So that’s why you weren’t home last night.” She says, as Toge walks in, glaring at you again. You sigh, walking up to him, sitting on the bench, holding your hand to tug him to sit next to you.

“Toge, I need you to be my friend, stop being so mad at me?” You say softly, he sighs then, looking at you with violet eyes.

“Serious?” He asks, you blink then.

“Serious about Gojo?” He nods. “Yes, I think I am, but it’s only as serious as he’ll get.”

“Not good enough.” Toge says, standing then and leaving, you cover your face and grimace, as Maki sits next to you, hand on your back.

“He just wants what’s best for you. The whole no marriage thing? Kind of opposite of your old fashioned ass. Plus… do we know how serious he is?”

You look at her then. “Thought you wanted me to go for it?”

“I do, but getting head over heels so fast, you worry me. You… babe you have a shit track record with men. Not just Mahito, remember Naoya?”

“Oh fuck don’t remind me. But Gojo is nothing like them.” She hums to herself a bit.

“True, he’s nothing like those two, but you suck at picking men, so be careful is all. I’m not saying get with Toge, I know you’re just friends, but he has a point.” Your mind goes to what you saw that night, what you don’t know just yet. “I’m not trying to kill your buzz, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I love you.” You hug her tightly, when Satoru walks in, Toge and Yuta behind him, he smirks as he takes in your exhausted state, but Satoru looks fresh and bright, like you both hadn’t fucked all night.

“Morning, interns. Come on now, hop to it.” You yawn as you all line up behind him in the halls, he looks at you with a sadistic ass grin. “You tired, intern? Did you get no sleep?”

You just glare at him, Maki is snickering, Yuta is rolling his eyes, Toge is glaring at Satoru. “No sleep unfortunately, but I’ll go get lots of coffee.”

“That works. Maki, Yuta, you’re on Pit duty. Toge, you’re scrubbing in with me for surgery today.” Toge brightens up then. “And you, missy, you’re getting coffee, stat.”

“On it.” You walk by him, Satoru leans close against your ear, his hand just barely brushing your arm.

“Don’t slack on me intern, I won’t take it easy on you in bed or at work.” You scowl now, earning his laughter as you turn away, flicking him off before darting to the cafeteria.

Your pussy is throbbing, your body is sore like you worked out or something, arms like gelatin, and your eyes are trying to close on you. How the fuck even with Adderral can Satoru be that energetic? You try to not let Maki and Toge’s words get you, but you’re distracted when you’re getting coffee, and Suguru is there, saying your name and smiling at you.

“Rough night?” He asks.

“Do I look that bad!?” You peek at one of the windows to gauge your reflection.

“You’re still lovely, but your eye bags are rivalling Shoko’s.”

“Ugh but she can pull them off! Yes, a long night.”

“Uh huh.” You look at him then, as you both walk and sip on your hot cups of coffee.

“You’re Satoru’s best friend, right?”

“I am. He’s annoying as shit though.” You snort at that, he grabs two muffins, handing you one then. “You should eat after a fuck marathon.”

“Oh gosh, Suguru really!” You nibble the muffin though, chewing thoughtfully as you both walk out of the cafeteria and towards the elevators, he presses the buttons, leaving you both alone then. “How is he so energetic?”

Suguru frowns then, looking at his cup, his dark brows lowering over his eyes. “Satoru’s always been pretty annoyingly perky.”

“Yeah, I guess, but he got no sleep.”

“If you’re asking me something personal about him, he’s my best friend and I won’t share things like that. You’ll find out more in time if you’re serious.” You nod, biting your lip, eyes catching his dark violet ones.

“I get it, I don’t mean to pry. There’s a lot we have to learn, but… I already feel so much for him.”

Suguru smiles softly then. “That’s good, because he’s been borderline obsessed since you got here.”

“What!? No way. He’s a Hojo.”

Suguru chuckles once more, the sound warm and inviting, you just feel so comfortable with him all the time. He’s very much like Satoru in that way. “He is indeed a ‘Hojo’. But I’m glad maybe he’ll get someone good for him. He needs that.”

“Hmm. Mysterious, Suguru.”

“I have to keep a certain allure.” Suguru and you both step out now, he tilts his head to you. “So you know, wicked hickey your makeup isn’t covering.”

“Oh god!” He’s left you now with that information, you quickly shove your hair over your neck, as you see Satoru now, who jacks the rest of your muffin and chews on it.

“Tastes yummy.” He says, looking down at your body then.

“I have a hickey that’s not covered all the way!” You whisper.

“Multiple.”

“How are you so perky, hmm?” He blinks a bit then, tilting his head.

“I feel like you kind of know that answer, yeah?” You shake your head. “No clue at all?”

“Suguru says you’re annoyingly perky and hyper.”

“Hmm.”

You don’t want to ruin this, to burst this bubble of happiness, when you just don’t know anything yet, so you try to stop thinking of it, as he walks you further and further across the hospital.

“So, remember what I said yesterday?”

“Are you serious?” You ask later, as you’re standing next to the maternity ward, and Satoru places his hands on your shoulders.

“Give me a week with babies, tell me how you feel.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Mmm, well I really like you.” He tilts your chin up as Shoko comes, smiling at you.

“Ready to learn more than you will with this idiot?” She asks.

“Excuse me!?”

“Ready.” You agree, sticking your tongue out at Satoru.

“You’re both mean, mean women.” Before he leaves he captures your hand in his, kissing you so quick in the nearly empty hall.

“I’ll love it.” You assure him, a challenging look in your eyes.

“We’ll see. You should get sleep tonight by the way, your dark circles-”

“Fuck you, Satoru.” You can practically feel his stupid smirk and blue eyes burning a hole through your back.

“Pissed him off huh? He’s so petty. I hope you’ll love this though.” Shoko says later on, you smile at her.

“No I will love it, I’m eager to learn.”

The maternity ward, huh? You are eager to learn from her, you know she is the best in her field, and something else you want to figure out?

The mystery that is Dr. Gojo.Just who was the man you’re falling for?

A/N- this is OBVIOUSLY heavily inspired by Grey's lol! There is def some angst going on in the future, as hard as reader is falling Satoru and her have some INSANE differences, along with the overall exhaustion of being doctors and some issues they'll both have. I hope you enjoyed the long chap, sorry this one took a few weeks! can't wait to hear what you all think!

If you'd like to be added to the taglist please lmk

Taglist:

@lost-resonance @lostfracturess @unfortunately-tia @allofffmypeaches @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @antisocialinlw @meg3mis @miizuzu @nanasukii28 @zoeyflower @wstaley2 @bunheadusa @blue-musingss @ameliariddle @labelt-san @moncher-ire @jkslaugh97 @shadeowz @gojo1228 @nanasukii28 @jaeminaur @httpstoyosi @angel1of-death @seeing-stars-alt @bol0-de-morang0 @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @trishiepo0 @inthedarkshadows000 @gina239 @san-it-is-i-guess @pelicanpizza @gojo1228 @ducky1232 @inthedarkshadows000 @eclecticmentalitypersona @burguhndy @levislug @addehehe @sluttyofgojo @msniks @ambiguouslady42

defiance | king!sukuna x concubine!reader master list

chapter sixteen: dream's over

summary: a psychic shares her vision with the king, saying that his soulmate would replace all 5 of his concubines one day. he had her banned from the premises for that absurd prediction. it wasn't until months later when he started believing the old bitch, after one cute yet disobedient servant started working at the shrine.

genre: female reader, heian era au but incredibly historically inaccurate, 18+, grumpy x sunshine, fluff, smut, so much crack, angst, mutual pining, might be seen as dubcon but she wants him lol, pregnancy, no he wont have two sets of arms, and no he wont have two dicks, srry srry srry

fic warnings: profanity, explicit smut, ooc, mentions of grooming, graphic depictions of violence, suicide, more will be added as story progresses

word count: 4.4k

notes: i really haven't update in a month and?? how time FLIES. anyways, i hope you sexies enjoy this chapter. we get some more domestic sukuna and more info on these frequent meetings he's been having ((:

Sukuna has decided to throw a small festival as a way to celebrate your pregnancy now that you are 7 months along. 

You’re not really sure what he means by small, and you honestly don’t believe him because he only throws festivals strictly for the purpose of receiving gifts and blessings. Knowing this was meant for you and your unborn child, you doubt it’ll be anything but small, he probably only told you that so there’d be no pushback on your end. 

But no pushback at all, you’re on the same boat as him when it comes to gifts and blessings for the baby. The more the merrier.

The festival’s a couple weeks away but preparations have already started around a week ago since the servants needed to start drying and pickling all sorts of different foods. 

As for you, you were in the dressing room of your shared chambers with Sukuna, waiting for the tailor to arrive. 

Renovations had finally finished and you both were able to move back in. At first you insisted that the expansion wasn’t that necessary but you can appreciate it now. 

There was now a courtyard, some extra rooms, an expansion on the greenhouse, along with the koi pond and sandbox in the back that Sukuna tries hard not to act too excited about. 

It was more of a small compound now within the estate, providing extra privacy which brought you ease— you’ve been waking up with feelings of dread over nothing in particular lately.

It wasn’t anything alarming since there really wasn’t anything to be worried about, but the feeling still put you on edge. 

“I didn’t pay that old hag to take her fucking time to get here,” the king groans, pulling you out of your thoughts and making you click your tongue at his impatience. 

“What time is she supposed to be here?” You ask, even though you already knew the answer. 

“11.” He scoffs.

“It’s 10:52,” you let him know, making his eyes roll into the back of his head because he believes hired help should always be 30 minutes early. “Patience is a virtue, Kuna.” 

“I practically own that woman, I don’t need patience,” He quickly retorts. You can’t help but laugh when he gets all pouty like this, knowing he’ll go back to his quiet, serious self once the woman and her assistant arrive. 

“And who are you to talk, hm?” He adds. “You had a servant crying and throwing up for not bringing you your lunch on time last week.” He said, pointing his finger at you.

He smirked at the thought of what you could’ve possibly said to the girl since it was still a mystery.

You and the servant refuse to say what atrocities came out of your mouth that day, which makes him even more curious because it couldn’t have been anything worse than the things you have said to him throughout your pregnancy. 

But with the way you’re glaring at him for bringing it up again, it was probably something 100 times worse than what he’s ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that again,” you nearly scolded him.

“I’ll let it go,” he leaned back and said. “If you allow me to complain about that bitch who is now two minutes late. I fucking told you, she doesn’t need people being patient with her. What she needs is for you to repeat whatever the fuck you said to that servant so she can start crying and throwing up too—“

“The tailor is here, My Lady!” Hayami yelled out from the front of the house, cutting Sukuna off mid-rant because the whole entire house could hear him, and so would the tailor had he kept going. 

“Okay let her in!” You yell back and the father of your child genuinely looks wounded from how powerless he’s become against you and your ladies in waiting. 

“So you all are just going to interrupt me like that?” He whispers but keeps his argumentative tone. 

“Yes,” you break it to him. “Now sit down and don’t mention anything about her being late.” 

The tailor warmly greets you both when she comes into the room, congratulating you both over the shrine's newest addition. 

You both thank her and Sukuna surprisingly starts up small talk with the woman. 

Your thoughts on how oddly respectful he was being quickly came to a halt when “the journey here must’ve been pretty taxing, huh?” came out of his fucking mouth. The poor tailor didn’t know he was just having a mini tantrum because you had hurt his feelings not too long ago.

You pinched the low of his back the moment he said that, causing his smile to grow even wider because it fucking hurt— which scared the woman since the king experiencing any other emotion aside from homicidal rage was quite literally unheard of.

Seriously, she doesn’t know how you get along with him. She’s honestly suspicious of you too.

Maybe the rumors were true and you were a witch. 

But she doesn’t care, it’s none of her business and Sukuna’s paying her a rather generous amount for today. It’s safe to say that she’d gladly serve you even if you just so happened to be satan reincarnated with just how much money she was making today.

The fitting was.. interesting— for all three of you. 

The woman wasn’t expecting you both to act so domestic around each other. 

As for you and Sukuna, you just couldn’t get on the same page as this woman. You’re pretty sure she thinks you’re someone who got pregnant the night you lost your virginity with the outfits she’s suggesting for you and you can tell the king’s going to pop a vein because of it. 

“She’s pregnant, not a nun, stop trying to fucking dress her like one,” Sukuna grumbles with his head in his hands after the third fitting.

You don’t snap at him this time and you’re actually grateful for his attitude because you didn’t have the heart to say anything to the woman. 

“Right, my king,” she immediately stiffens up. “I apologize.” 

After a few more outfits you were able to finally decide on which one you liked. It was still modest compared to some of the things you’ve worn around the shrine before, it was something acceptable for both you and Sukuna. 

Once the tailor finally leaves after 3 grueling hours, Sukuna slams the doors shut without even saying goodbye, leaving the two of you alone again.

“Pinching me in front of her, really?” He clicked his tongue. You honestly forgot you even did that, but you’re not surprised he hasn’t let it go.

“She did not see that, she probably just thought my hand was on your back,” you say, not taking him too seriously.

“You still broke skin.” 

“Doubt it. Turn around and let me see,” you nearly demand. 

“And now you’re ordering me to turn around like I’m some brood whore for the night,” he retorts and you burst out laughing from how dramatic he’s being. 

“Oh you think this is funny?!” He nearly starts laughing with you as he cups his hands around your jaw. 

“I think it’s hilarious my king,” you say back.

“I remember every time you disrespect me, you know?” His question is more of a statement, a rather threatening one. 

“Do you now?” You ask, rubbing your thumbs over his hands, entertaining his antics. 

“I do,” he promises. “I bottle them up and throw them in the part of my brain that’ll magically unlock once that’s brats out of you.” 

“I’m sure you do, my love.” You reach out to cup his check with one hand. “Let’s hope you follow through with these statements given the fact I haven’t gotten this side of you in a very long time.” 

“Oh you’ll get it all.” His entire demeanor lights up as he continues to eye you up and down like you’re some kind of prey. 

And to think you would’ve crumbled under his gaze at one point, now you’re nearly making him promise to fuck you up once the time comes. 

He’s created a monster and is quite pleased with that. 

He pulls you into his embrace and starts whispering some more lewd things in your ear, just because it makes you giggle more than anything and he loves to see it. 

And also because there’s a part of him that thinks the baby will hear it if he doesn’t whisper. 

But he keeps that theory to himself because he knows you’ll make fun of him for it and you make fun of him enough. 

“Sorry to interrupt bu—“ Hayami comes to the door knocking, unaware of the little moment you two are having. 

“You women do NOT get enough days off, do you?!” He snaps, nearly throwing his head back.

“We do not, my king,” Hayami chirps, keeping her cheerful tone because she’s not really that scared of him anymore. “Kaori is here to visit you,” she turns her attention to you and says. 

Sukuna lets out a long sigh into the crook of your neck and mutters something along the lines of wanting to get rid of her already. 

You pat his back because all he wanted to do was to get some extra time with you before he goes off and does whatever he does. 

Unfortunately, you still aren’t 100% sure what  exactly he does, you just know there’s a lot of paperwork and random yelling involved.

“Can you lead her to the sun room and let her know I'll meet her there shortly?” You ask, trying to somewhat meet the man holding on to you halfway. 

“Of course, I’ll get some tea and snacks prepared as well.” Hayami says before making her way back to the entrance of the house. 

It takes some time getting Sukuna off your back, but you eventually get him to put one foot in front of the other towards his office.. the office that was literally just upstairs. 

He drags his feet to get there of course, wishing you’d tell Kaori to fuck off so you could hang out with him instead while he signs off on different bills and contracts and whatnot. 

But you promised you’ll come back right after and he’s holding you to that, even though there’s not much of a consequence if you don’t.

You let out a little sigh once you hear the door to his office fully shut and can’t help but laugh to yourself. The longer you’re with him, the more clingy he gets. 

The king’s a smart man and you’re sure he is aware of how clingy he is, he just doesn’t care how he acts around you anymore. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you apologize to Kaori, who’s been waiting for over 20 minutes now since she’s sat down. 

Had you not held such a high position in the estate, she would’ve ripped your head off by now for the disrespect— preoccupied with the king or not. 

But you’d never know that.

“It’s no worries at all!” She assures you before squeezing your hands. “I’m sure it’s a lot dealing with King Sukuna’s.. moods.” 

“Yeah,” you exhaled as you said it. 

You and your ladies in waiting have resorted to placing any and all sorts of blame on Sukuna and his infamous temper, even though he never gets mad at you and is surprisingly respectful to your attendants. 

It’s just more believable for others to hear that he’s having a meltdown, rather than something as simple as him refusing to get out of bed with you because you were extra warm on a cold morning. 

“Thank you for being so understanding,” you try to say with a straight face. “What can I help you with?” 

“Nothing at all,” she perks up. “I just wanted to bring some goodies for you,” she smiles and opens a box full of mini cakes and candies. “I’m sure the baby would love these!” 

“Oh no, I’m so sorry— I’m not allowed to eat these,” you reveal and she tries her hardest not to raise a brow at you.

Sukuna forbade you from eating anything that wasn’t made by Hayami, Miya, or Akari. It’s honestly the one rule that you’re completely on board with, given the long history of queens, consorts, and concubines experiencing attempted poisonings in the past. 

“That’s a little harsh of him, don’t you think?” The concubine nearly pouts at your decline. 

“Not really. I feel bad having to decline of course, but if following that rule brings him some peace of mind then I don’t mind.” You say. 

“I’m sure he appreciates all the sacrifices you make for him,” her lips thin after the words leave her mouth. 

“I’d hope so,” you say sympathetically, you really do feel bad for turning her down. “Ladies! Would you like some cakes?” You turn around and call out.

“Of course!” Miya pokes her head into the green room. “These look yummy Lady Kaori, did you make these yourself?” 

“Yes, but with the help of my attendants of course,” she gestures to the two women who have come with her today. 

“We can’t wait to try them! I’ll go ahead and take these to the back to share with the girls, thank you again!” Miya says as she offers her one last smile before leaving. 

“I’m glad someone was able to take them, you must’ve worked hard making them,” you say as you both get up from the table. 

“Oh it was nothing,” she brushes you off. “I’m just glad someone’s able to eat them!” She forces out a laugh and you try to laugh with her. 

But it’s uncomfortable because she is clearly offended, even though they’re Sukuna’s rules, not yours. 

“I’ll get going, let me know if you need anything.” She says before turning on her heel to leave your chambers. 

“Thank you, I will.” 

Once she and her attendants finally leave, you head to the back to find the girls, who are most likely hanging out in the kitchen. 

Which they were, the three of them were just hanging around and talking. 

“How were the cakes?” You ask as you lean against the counter. 

“No clue,” Akari says.

“If she does ask, tell her they were great,” Hayami follows, giving you a little wink.

“Wait, did you throw them away?” 

“Duh.” Hayami says. “Miya just took them so you wouldn’t be in an uncomfortable situation. If you’re banned from eating outside food, then we’re definitely not going to be eating food that’s gifted to you either. We don’t want to get poisoned.” 

“You really think Kaori would try to poison me?” You ask, genuinely concerned. 

“Not sure, but we’re not trusting anyone right now.” Miya adds to the conversation. 

“Fair enough,” you let it go. “Just burn them, or bury them— something. I don’t want any servants peeking through the trash and seeing that. It’s been peaceful around here and I'd like to keep it that way.” 

—-

“You’re starting the hearings early today,” you offer the king a faint smile, as he frantically moves back and forth around the room– trying to get himself ready for the shitshow that’ll become of his day. 

“Kuna,” you impatiently snap your fingers while trying to get the man’s attention.

“Hm? Oh– yeah,” he stops for a second and just nods.

“Were you even listening to me?” You cross your arms, nearly squinting at him because he’s failing miserably at whatever he’s hiding right now.

“No, I’m sorry– what were you saying sweetheart?” 

“The hearings,” you nearly grit your teeth. “Awfully early for them, no?”

“No-” he shakes his head. “No hearings today,” he corrects you and it honestly pains him to do so. He’d much rather have a hearing today. 

“Then what are you in such a rush for? The sun’s barely out. And why won’t you look at me?” You begin to raise your voice at him and it doesn’t even register in his head that you’re frustrated with his lack of communication this morning.

He swiftly puts on his haori and walks up to you, his hands now cupping your cheeks as he just stares at you for a moment. 

He’s worried, you can see it in his eyes– distant but nearly pleading for help and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this defeated before. 

“Promise you won’t freak out?” He asks. 

“I won’t. What’s going on?” You nearly plead, knowing nothing good was going to come out of what he was going to say.

One hour later—

“And he’s how old?” Sukuna nearly chokes out as he demands Uraume for clarification. 

The rooms filled with all of the district's shoguns, their advisors, and all high ranking generals— all equally as stunned as Sukuna himself.

Today was their third meeting since Uraume started spying on the west border, with this recent mission uncovering even more details on what they've been planning for a while now.

“Seven, my king.” 

The rooms quiet for a moment after that, except for a quiet “no fucking way” that came from one of the younger generals. Speaking out of turn like that is a punishable offense, except nobody really gives a shit right now, he said what everyone else was thinking.

The western region, or rather the Zen’in clan, hasn’t gone against the peace treaty in years— hundreds of years actually. 

The fact that they’re planning on breaking it now is a surprise in itself, not to mention the absolute trump card they’re using as leverage, in the form of a literal child. 

“General Toji, you grew up under that clan, care to share more about them?” The king basically calls the man out as all the attendees turned their attention to the high ranked general.

“..Yeah,” he husks out. “I’m pretty sure the seven year old’s my son,” he admits rather regrettably, also carrying a stunned look on his face.

“Of course that’s your fucking spawn,” Sukuna groans to himself, causing everyone in his vicinity, especially Toji, to tense up. 

His unseriousness served as a reminder that he was capable of murder without thinking twice about it, father to be or not. 

It left Toji to wonder if he should’ve just kept his mouth shut about that one little fact, but they’d find out soon enough if they did more research on the boy. He never exactly tried to hide the fact that Megumi was his anyway, the courtesan he got pregnant just opted to sell the boy back to the clan and he let it be since he thought the boy would be taken care of if they were willing to pay as much as they did for him.

“How did the boy end up there?” Sukuna asked while rubbing his eye, clearly irritated that this is now a fact. 

“Got a courtesan pregnant, she said she wanted to terminate the pregnancy so I gave her money for that. By the time I found out she got money from me and the clan for selling the boy to them, it was already too late.” Toji's knuckles were nearly white as he explained everything as briefly as possible. 

He knew his family was cruel, he just never thought they’d convince a child to sacrifice their life in a war, let alone his own flesh and blood. 

He’s angry, he’s hurt— he’s also one of the most respected generals in the region, so he reminded himself to get it the fuck together in front of the psychopath that was unfortunately crowned as king at 19 and has done a terrifyingly great job at ruling the region through fear. 

There was no room for weakness or mistakes in the presence of Sukuna, so man up.

“I understand that this might be a conflict of interest, but I have no intentions of betraying the region or the crown,” Toji says, feeling the need to remind the clans and the king. “I left them for a reason, and it was lo-”

“No need to state those reasons,” Sukuna cuts him off, unsure if the general was about to tell a sob story to sound convincing or not. He honestly didn’t care either way. “You need to tell me everything you know about the ten shadows technique.”

—

The meeting lasted around 9 hours, give or take. Today is one of those days where he seriously wonders why massacring entire villages is looked down upon, when acts like that have the power to prevent situations like this. 

Sukuna is usually the last one to leave, alongside Uraume and Mariko, it’s actually one of the very few formalities he really sticks to in the world of nobility, but not today. 

He held on tightly to the last of his composure as he b-lined it to the exit, trying his hardest not to look like he’s storming out of the room, even though he probably did end up looking like he was. 

By now everyone knew one of his concubines was pregnant and that he’s been less.. violent lately because of it. 

Many of the attendees have actually found themselves empathizing with the young king, especially after watching his face drop at the realization that yeah, the Zenin’s are planning an attack. They all knew the threat of war mercilessly ripped him out of the daydream he was in, forcing him back into the dreadful reality that he called his life. 

Several ground shaking explosions followed not too long after he stormed out of the room and off to god knows wherever he went off to. 

Some even heard the faint noise of yelling and cursing off in the direction he went in, his threats to no one in particular echoing off the trees and mountains, making their way back to whoever had a good pair of ears on them. 

The world feels like it’s slowly closing in on him and he’s convinced he might just completely lose his mind before midnight— throwing away the very thorough plan he and all the other generals just spent hours curating. 

Instead, opting to charge that clan alone, head on. 

But he can’t and he knows it, which makes it all the more infuriating because for once in his life he’s facing an actual threat. 

The threat being that final shikigami Toji’s hidden demon child has the power to conjure up. 

If he fucks up, this might just actually be the end of the line for him, he doesn’t like the thought of that— hence why he blows up yet another hill. 

The shockwaves made it to the shrine about 2.5 seconds after that. 

He takes a look at the view in front of him and realizes he’s completely flattened acres of land. Maybe once this is all over, he could have the shrine extended. 

If there’s even anyone left.

If you asked him how he truly felt about it all, the news broke him. 

He truly felt like something from above came down and clipped multiple different wires in his brain.

This wasn’t the typical anger where he considers rounding up prisoners and hunting them down like animals to blow off some steam, and it ends there. 

This was the type of anger where he wanted to drop to his knees and scream at god for doing this shit to him, again– a war, at quite possibly the worst fucking time ever. 

And he did, he doesn’t care if people can hear him at the moment. 

All he wanted was to enjoy these last couple months with you, and welcome his child in the peaceful-enough nation he created. 

But no, now the nation will be baptized in blood, win or lose.

Not to mention the fact that you were at your most vulnerable right now, you can’t even fully get dressed by yourself anymore without some sort of assistance. Now you were really a target and he can’t be in two places at once.

He already knows that he’ll look back at this years from now, whether it’s an immediate win or one that’s drawn out, and he will fucking seethe. 

It’s time ripped away from his grasp, he could have more kids, enjoy the pregnancies and newborn stages with them but he’ll feel nothing but rage when he looks at this one, knowing this one got fucked with. 

This is the type of resentment that will forever marinate in his heart and he’s not sure if death to that god forsaken clan will ever be enough for him. 

Maybe it’s a good thing, some extra fuel to really brutalize those people. 

Many will say watching him in battle years ago was terrifying, and they may think he’s somehow mellowed out by now. 

No. He’s learned to redirect it, compartmentalize it. There is now strategy to that power.

And just like always, he remembers the role he plays in this world and what’s required of him, since most people just aren’t capable of the things he was born to do.

His existence is a curse within itself and he knows most people wished he’d never been born, rightfully so. 

But those same people should really thank him one day, because this entire region would’ve been annihilated by now without him.

He was made for this.

So he takes one last deep breath, loosens his fist, and starts to make his way back to you, because that’s all he really can do right now.

Bracing himself, knowing you probably sat there all day hoping he’d come back with good news, yet you most likely heard the commotion he created and realized he’d be coming back with anything but that.

And when he did return, you both just looked at each other and knew. 

Barely any words were exchanged between the two of you. The meeting ruined his appetite for the night so he skipped dinner. He tried to get you to eat but you weren’t hungry either and he didn’t push it because he was too tired to try to argue with you.

He stayed up that night while you eventually fell asleep in his arms. For the first time in the last 7 months, he sort of wished you weren’t carrying his child. 

It was for the most selfish reason too, he just missed laying on top of you, resting his head on your chest while listening to your shallow breaths— it was the one thing that put him to sleep. 

And with how uncertain the future was looking right now, a part of him began to mourn that feeling because he truly doesn’t know when he’d be able to feel moments of peace like that again.

notes: so sorry for the news! hope u enjoyed the read! <3 pls leave a like, comment, and subscribe for more videos

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Silence is better together IV

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

Word count: 6,4k

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

Previous part

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Unfortunately, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist: @bunny7567

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THE THINGS HE DOESN'T KNOW

➛ back to main masterlist: click here

pairing: katsuki bakugo x female reader

synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

meet y/n l/n: click here

background info: click here

tropes: friends to lovers, childhood best friends, slow burn, pining, unrequited love?, angst, jealousy as a catalyst, love triangle?

warning: swearing.

Story starting now, grab your 🍿 and take a seat

chapter 01 — a silent confession.

chapter 02 — now, why would I do that?

chapter 03 — why must it hurt so bad?

chapter 04 — desperate much?

chapter 05 — maybe he'll make me feel better.

chapter 06 — frosty’s?

chapter 07 — pinkie promise?

chapter 08 — she always has to be a bother.

chapter 09 — when the truth comes out.

chapter 010 — the things he does know.

epilogue 011 — coming soon...

a/n: sooo this was my first series, and wow, is it that good? Probably not. Posting times and consistency was terrible. Was low-key randomly thought up and then posted, yikes. This was honestly a trial run for what I want and what I don't within a story. Hopefully, the next one will be better peace out.

© 2025 shibuyablonde — All rights reserved. Don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

SINFUL WATCHERS | 05

pairing: s. geto x f!reader // w.c 2.3k

synopsis: Geto Suguru, moulded by the hefty hands of the Lord himself, and his brazen suggestion for him and distant friend/classmate L/n Y/n (Satan's favourite poem and existence opposed by heaven's residents) to anonymously post a video of their lewd entanglement on twitter proves to be more hazardous than one would think. Who knew one viral video could overturn God's plan?

warnings: 18+, heavy smut, modern!uni/alternative!AU, forbidden romance (?), fwb, angst, uploading of NSFW content by characters (basically Twitter p0rn stars), blasphemy, religious imagery/symbolism

series m // chapter 04 // chapter 06

BETWEEN HER FINGERS nuzzled the material of her bedsheets. Y/n gripped the blanket and clenched her hands into fists of frustration before releasing and returning her hand to the state it was previously in.

Memorable hard stares from the judgmental spirits crowded above pierced her physically stark flesh and left fresh wounds yet to close as they viewed her body engulfed with carmine hand prints, little to no segments of pure flesh peeking through. 

Because of the continuous dreadful way of living she collapsed into, her corrupted soul had offered the last remains of purity within her away.

Their indistinct mutters and terror-stricken expressions flooded the grandiose Heaven rumoured to have infinite streams of dulcet milk and elegant wine alongside bountiful bulks of precious gold.

Undoubtedly, infinite benefits that couldn't be redeemed upon God's temporary property was proof earth's temptations were a diversion from the abundance of rewards reserved in the afterlife – yet Y/n was the first to dare a request to be destined for hell, her care for even trying to attain a home beside the omnipotent leader non-existent.  

All of those prominent markings mentally engraved upon her skin belonged to none other than Mr Geto Suguru – her accomplice dragged down alongside her into the open mouths of reapers prepared to annihilate any ounce of innocence discovered.

Geto's oak hues, which swarmed his perpetual pupils, propelled eccentric shots of pleasure to spread like wildfire around her figure whenever she was present within his radius. Furthermore, having him captured within her chaotic whirlwind of unholy lust and craving for insincere love had both of them questioning their sanity afterwards.

Warily glossing over her phone in arm's reach, Y/n bit her plush lips – only to snatch her gaze away forcefully. However, no matter how many times she attempted to distract her filthy mind, lewd thoughts filled the crevices of her teasing brain.

Her half-hearted attempts to avoid the itch bothering her heart flunked; it's' nagging successfully compelled her to call him during the late evening, albeit begrudgingly, and offer him an exclusive invitation to her flat. 

Before her final decision and silencing her pride yelling she didn't reach out first, recollections of Geto's and herself heated her skin: his lingering touches left no velvet flesh untouched, his tricky tongue abandoned slick, silvery swirls between the valley of her breasts – if daytime, the wet trail would be resplendent beneath the syrupy rays of lustre. 

Most importantly, though, Geto never refused to be at her service and vice versa. 

Y/n timidly groaned, envisioning him between her parted thighs. Her joints weakened when briefly remembering the past luxuries of witnessing his eyebrows furrow whilst battling through her compressing interior or hearing his subtle groans in the crook of her neck. 

Thus, Y/n clawed at her phone and punched in his number – although her short-lived impulsiveness made her momentarily question her decision to submit to the fraction of sensuality that had consumed her body and state of mind. 

"L/n?" A hazy voice asked.

The woman simply hummed, biting the tip of her thumb by resting it atop her bottom lip. 

"Hey," she softly greeted.

For a few seconds, suspense clogged the air, but she forced a sigh and swept away a couple of her strands that shadowed her features.

"Geto," she paused, "just come over.". 

With no follow-up questions, Geto ended the short-lived call, his response confirming that he would be arriving shortly.

***

The candescent sphere had long transpired and swapped with its' selenic counterpart. The newcomer prepared for an observation of a night-long conversation between two figures consisting of tangled tongues, crescent marks stamped into clammy skin, and bruises fuelled by intimate moves. 

Geto stared at his lap for a few moments. He wasn't oblivious to the scenario soon to occur, considering he was the one who ignited the flickering flame this time around.

Receiving Y/n's abrupt phone call had him tidy himself up a bit, freeing his locks from it's messy bun and adjusting his causal apparel. and pace around his organised bedroom for a few minutes, although he wasn't startled by her tendency to take matters into her own hands.

At that moment, he released his imagination from the shackles that had been locked upon his mind for the past few nights after being bullied by her presence. The hallucination of their bodies moulding into one entire sexual thirst to then twist undone perked his interests exceedingly high and was a sublime but inimitable form of artwork. 

It wasn't long until he found himself sat within his car stationed outside her complex. 

From time to time, tilting his head to the side gifted him a moonlit visage of her bruised lips slurping around his length, as if she was sucking on an ice pop on a warm summer's day at the park – an ethereal sight of her mouth stuffed to the brim with his needy cock was an endangering sight yet was eternally engrained in his mind.

Geto ground his jaw and ran his fingers through his messy tresses. 

After questioning himself on what exactly he was waiting for, Geto swung open his car door with ease. It was near the dead of night, and he was ambling to the front of her apartment with a ghost of a smile wavering across his tight-lipped frown.

He was buzzed in instantaneously and proceeded to hike up the complex's stairs. Upon reaching Y/n's front door, his opportunity to politely knock was disregarded as the door was prematurely agape, revealing the lady infamous for setting his composed demeanour ablaze.

"You called?" He announced for some reason with slight caution and eyed her lack of clothing, even though a woman wearing nothing but an oversized shirt was nothing out of the ordinary. 

"Yeah, come in." she attempted an admirable smile, which felt too forced on her part.

The male's head jerked upwards and faintly goggled at the physical contact of her fingers nestled between his after closing the door behind him and slipping off his sneakers near the mat familiar with the shape of his feet. 

It had been long, a few months apart being far too long in his opinion. He wasn't usually timid, but the time apart had his dominance hesitate.

"Would you like a drink or anything?" She asked, refusing to delve directly into the nucleus of his eyes, possessing intense tides of contemplation as she desired to savour every second later on. Hastiness was in neither of their interests.

With a shake of his head, she tugged him behind her needy form into the disclosed realm of her bedroom, where mercurial languages of pleasure were expressed with no consequence. 

A rich waft of incense with accords of sweet almond and Indian rose oil caressed his eyelids, the compelling scent naturally drew him to re-familiarise himself with his surroundings, the theme of her entire home aesthetically minimalistic: her luxurious bed to the right of her spacious room was pillowed with two additional ones of dark grey, nicely contradicting her almost-white and cool toned walls. 

On the opposite side, her neat vanity (paired with a chic cotton-linen swivelling chair integrated with a curved back and armrest) displayed luxury perfumes strategically arranged, her headphones alongside other desk necessities with an expansive mirror mounted above whilst a glass case occupied a corner, presenting her recent fixations and prized possessions.

"I know it's kind of late," Y/n began and took a step back out of instinct as his height towered over her smaller frame, causing her to peer up at him through the wisps of her silk lashes.

On the other hand, Geto lowered his impassive face to hers and brushed his thumb across her naturally pouted bottom lip when her lips parted to resume her speech. 

"But you know why you're here," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck as the old impulsiveness to do so returned. 

Plus, Y/n wasn't one to shy away from her wants; and right now, it involved the man in front of her. 

"I do, but did you seriously think I wouldn't come?" He queried, and before answering, she took hold of his index finger, towing it across her collarbone, prepared to be littered with his harsh bites sooner than later.

Y/n wanted to overlook his query but failed, "Possibly.". Though Geto may have enjoyed the teasing during their last encounters, Y/n had remained slightly hesitant.

"That internship sucked out a lot of my holiday," he murmured and brushed his fingers over the jut of her hipbone before carving a soft swirl upon the targeted flesh. 

"And I know it was the same for you so I hope you won't hold it against me pretty lady. I wanted to call you but...".

She softly sighed as an indication she wasn't attempting to place blame upon him; knowing she remained present in his mind offered comfort. Building a portfolio to improve a CV was tough, but Y/n was pleased they understood each other's positions and reasons. 

"You don't need to explain; it was the same for me. So long you've come back to me...".

"I wouldn't not.". 

Her palms smoothed the cotton of his shirt, hooking her index beneath the hem to plant a peck between the gap of his collarbones. 

"The old birds downstairs are out for a few days, so you're allowed to make me scream as much as you want tonight," she informed him before licking under the row of her pearly teeth, slightly tiptoeing to have a better insight into his already bewitched sight. "Or I can make you fall apart. I think either is fine. Don't you think so too, Sugu?".

Geto gently bit the gummy surface of his inner cheek in response to her titillating suggestions and the shortening of his name – somebody utilising the sobriquet of 'Sugu' was nothing remarkable; however, under these specific circumstances and it being Y/m who spoke the label, differed entirely to his interactions with other humans.   

He swore he noticed his caged heart restart from the immediate overdrive of spiralling pressure after the outburst of confidence she always displayed when behind locked doors.

"Enduring both doesn't sound too bad to me," he hotly replied, steadily tugging at her top, which revealed a thin strap.

He almost paled and gulped harshly when she shrugged away the fabric completely that greeted the floor of their makeshift paradise. Decorating her beautiful breasts, which had a tendency to be squished against his chest, was a sapphire bra – its cups were semi-transparent due to the mesh whilst being embroidered with a satin trim of deeper blue and minuscule embellishments of glimmering thread sewn as dainty flowers. 

Maybe it was due to the various versions of blue available that reminded him of the tradable sentiment the sky of heavily populated Tokyo faced, or the transparent liquid curved in swashing waves that covered a majority of Earth's circumference, or the multitude of synonyms the adjective 'blue' offered; truthfully Geto couldn't pinpoint an exact reason nor answer as to why the cobalt garment beautifying his classmate's breasts hardened his cock stuffed beneath the restraint of his cotton bottoms.

Geto appreciated Y/n not dolling herself up to the nines, highlighting her abrupt and raw need for him. The simple set of lingerie consisting of a bra and panties satisfied him despite the lack of a garter squeezing her thighs and the centre piece clasped around her waist it also came with. Yet, he would happily accept the incomplete ensemble for tonight due to his interpretation of her clothing choice, or lack thereof, should he say. 

The proximity between the pair dwindled, their minty breaths celebrating the reception of two mouths resuming a paused unity. The sole aim for satisfaction substituted their relationship from civil accomplices to libidinous miscreants.

"This piece always gets to you," she sighed in accomplishment when he traced basic shapes onto the small of her back once his lean arms snuck around her waist. A sweet murmur of his name joined the collection lingering in the air from their last meeting months ago. 

"How could it not? It drives me wild when I imagine you in colours that don't even exist." Geto's sophisticated mouth shamelessly admitted through tasteful literature and not meaning the apparent blue, but other shades only visible to him. 

His infatuation with specific garments complimenting her gleaming skin hadn't diverted his attention from her once blanche wings tarnished with maliciousness. Yet, every moment involved with the woman tattooed with every one of his poetic commentaries increased his credence in perfection.

Salacity trickled into her bloodstream and partied amongst her body's necessities before fogging her mind, which led her to spare an inappropriate invitation for Geto, and him only, to access her however he pleased. 

Painfully close to having his lips on hers, Y/n whispered, "Geto," followed by a grand demand which furthered the uncomfortableness of his confined bulge and its prominent outline. "Just kiss me already.".

In response, his sight was doused in momentary darkness, her brazen request for their mouths to engage the cause as her body rapidly comprehended the sensuality in her command – their kiss rendered the beginning of no end to repressed lust. 

Geto's lips, which he unconsciously puckered whenever amidst weighty thought, served an inviting embrace when captured by her honeyed mouth; a chaotic spillage of her quiet whimpers, an addictive yet sweet liquidation melded into the dehydrated grasps of his taste buds.

Y/n's figure tensed upon feeling the tips of his fingers now ghost above her clothed nipples, their mouths parting before he nudged her temple with his nose and sought approval. 

His voice proceeded to be low and raspy, and his eyes were half-lidded as his gaze soaked in the embodiment of excellence before him. "Can we do something new tonight, sweetheart?". 

The pet name wasn't new to Y/n; however, she was pleased when the label pecked her ears. A nurturing flutter swarmed within her chest, a touch so familiar and warming stimulated the eruption of a scorching blaze. 

"So long as we make up for some of the time lost, I'm up for whatever you want.".

a/n: thank you for all the sudden love and support, please don't be shy and interact with me! I also have other fics in the making, masterlists will be dropped soon

tags: @ikaiower @d3stin7 @iweirdthingsblog @dandelionskyes @nsfwinami @cookiemonsterboss @kasellan @anonymous-3846 @violetflowersstuff @tlostwizardinhsong @ddelly @babybluegirl99 @lillianadreams @kazuuhali @dizzzymango @iluvmusicxoxo @diamxndwht-blog @x0lunaaaa @s3niz3ro @nightingale1989 @shorty-jordie @adequate-binch @cockslayer420 @shikiyoshiro @satsattoru @ash-ate @naeiss

Lowkeyartist!Sukuna & reader expecting their 2nd child?? 😇

lowkeyartist!sukuna who wouldn’t tell everyone about the new addition to his family just yet, he’d just let them speculate.

He has a daughter now, 2 years younger than his son. Your son was a carbon copy of sukuna, similar face and same hair colour, so ofc his princess came out looking like her mom - and he has no complaints at that.

I feel like when you’re pregnant and during postpartum, Sukuna won’t post at all. He would kick back from mainstream and his account, declining any offers given to him and any artists that would want to use his samples. He did the same for when you first got pregnant, but because of how high his numbers in following has gotten he’s taking a bigger step and not interacting with anything at all until he is content with how his family is growing.

It’s not particularly a reveal, but a slight teaser if you will when everyone starts to know that his family has gained a new member.

His new video, after almost 2 years of being absent, is him and his guitar in his room. You’re not in the video, but people don’t suspect about it anymore because they just assume you’re with his son. His piece is soft and mellowed down than his usual, but people guess because of the new foot print on his guitar base. Yours and your son’s hand print have been on that guitar for a while, so everyone knows that guitar through and through, so it’s no surprise everyone starts congratulating him on his new baby when they see her little pink footprint on it too.

The only insight he gives to the public about his baby girl is a short story post.

ryomensukuna: It’s a girl, she looks just like her mama. Her mother had a good birth. She’s a healthy 8 month baby who’s getting as big as her brother by the way her mother spoils her. Thank you for the support - RS

Standing outside your apartment, Simon tightened his grip around the wooden toy train, the corners of the box digging slightly into his palm. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest—a sensation far too foreign for someone who’d faced down worse odds than this. He was used to calculating risks, taking them head-on, but this? This wasn’t a battlefield; it was something infinitely more terrifying. He was meeting his daughter.

He cast a glance at the train in his hand, a sturdy, well-crafted toy he and Johnny had spent hours picking out earlier that day. The shopkeeper’s amused expression still lingered in his mind—two grown men scrutinizing toy trains as though the fate of the world rested on their choice. You hadn’t been specific, just a train, no frills, nothing cartoonish. And so Simon had chosen the simplest one, figuring it was better to err on the side of practicality.

Beside him, Johnny leaned casually against the wall, spinning a plastic-cased mermaid Barbie in his hands. The vibrant teal-and-pink packaging clashed starkly with the air of seriousness Simon carried.

Simon scowled, his gaze darting to the doll. “I told you, no dolls. She said no dolls.” His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, though it carried more nervous energy than actual anger.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned the Barbie over in his hands. “What kid doesn’t like a Barbie? Eh? You’re overthinking this, big man.” His Scottish accent lent an irreverent edge to his words. “Besides, it’s just a backup. If she doesn’t like the train—which, let’s face it, is a bloody long shot—I’ve got something she’s bound to love.”

Simon shot him a sharp look. “It’s not about the toy,” he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s about… makin’ an impression. Proper one.”

Johnny’s smirk softened, his usual teasing tone giving way to something closer to sincerity. “And you think that’s all ridin’ on a train? C’mon, mate, it’s you she’s meeting, not just some toy. Kids aren’t daft—they know when someone’s tryin’.” He tilted his head toward the toy in Simon’s hand. “But, for what it’s worth, that train’s not bad. Proper classic. No gimmicks.”

Simon grunted in response, his attention flicking back to the apartment door. It was a quiet, unassuming building, but the pressure of what lay beyond that door was immense. You were in there with her—Adira. His daughter. The thought still felt surreal, even after the days he’d spent turning it over in his mind. He’d seen her before, from a distance, but that was different. This was too personal in a way he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.

“I should’ve brought the others,” Simon muttered under his breath, more to himself than Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes twinkled with humor. “Aye, because showin’ up with the whole bloody team wouldn’t be overwhelming at all, eh? ‘Here’s yer dad, and here’s his army of uncles.’ Real subtle.”

Simon huffed a dry laugh despite himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. Johnny always had a knack for cutting through his nerves, even when Simon wasn’t in the mood for it.

The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door snapped Simon’s attention back to the moment. His pulse quickened as the lock turned, and the door creaked open to reveal you standing there, a mixture of caution and curiosity etched into your expression. You didn’t say anything right away, your gaze darting between Simon, Johnny, and the toys in their hands.

“Hi,” Simon managed, his voice quieter than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the train. “Uh… thought I’d bring somethin’ she might like.”

You glanced at the train, then at Johnny’s Barbie, raising an eyebrow. “I see Johnny didn’t listen,” you comment dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone.

Johnny grinned, unbothered. “Insurance, lass. Always good to have a backup plan.”

Stepping aside, you gestured for them to come in. “Well, let’s see how this goes. She’s in the living room.”

Simon felt the air grow heavier as he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to something he’d been equal parts dreading and hoping for. The sound of quiet giggles and the rustle of toys came from the living room, and he stopped short in the hallway, his hand tightening instinctively around the train.

“You okay?” you asked curiously, your question laced with something he couldn’t quite place—concern? Reassurance?

He nodded stiffly, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was convincing. “Yeah,” he said, masking his unease. This wasn’t the time to let emotions run wild, not when his daughter was just a few steps away. He needed to reel everything, keep composed.. “Just… takin’ a moment.”

Johnny clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unfaltering. “You’ve got this, mate. And if all else fails—” he held up the Barbie with a dramatic flourish—“I’ve got you covered.”

Simon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Thanks for that,” he muttered dryly.

He took a grounding breath, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks—Adira, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a miniature train set spread out before her. Her dark hair fell in delicate curls around her face, and her eyes, so startlingly like his own, lit up with delight as she guided a tiny train along the tracks.

The world seemed to narrow, every noise fading into the background except for the sound of her soft laughter. This was his daughter, and for the first time, he wasn’t just watching from afar—he was here.

Adira looked up, her curious gaze locking onto him. Simon’s heart leapt into his throat as she tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Before he could speak, Johnny stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face as he crouched beside her.

"Hey, bonnie lass," Johnny greeted, bringing in  warmth and cheerfulness. He held out the mermaid Barbie, its plastic casing shimmering in the soft light. “Look what I got for ye.”

Adira blinked at him, her small head tilting to the side in the same assessing way she’d done with Simon. Then, in a voice as sweet as it was blunt, she said, “Ugee.”

Simon held back a laugh, but Johnny froze, his grin faltering. Did she just call me ugly again? he thought, momentarily stunned before recovering with a sheepish laugh.

“Oh, come on, lass. That’s no way to treat yer Uncle Johnny,” he teased, though his pride was clearly bruised. He pushed the doll a little closer, his voice softening. “It’s for you. Look—she’s got a shiny tail and everything.”

Adira’s expression shifted, her curiosity piqued as she finally reached for the doll. Johnny’s face lit up with relief, and he turned to you and Simon with a victorious smirk. “Told ya,” he mouthed, his tone smug.

Simon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while you merely crossed your arms, waiting for what you knew was coming.

The sound of plastic ripping shattered Johnny’s moment of triumph. His head whipped around just in time to see Adira pull the doll free from its packaging with surprising efficiency. She studied it for a moment, her tiny fingers gripping the head and the body. And then—pop—the doll’s head came clean off.

Johnny’s jaw dropped as he watched Adira inspect the decapitated doll with silent satisfaction. She set the head down beside her, then held up the now-headless body, apparently contemplating her next move.

Simon let out a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as Johnny gawked at the scene, his earlier smugness entirely gone. “Well,” Simon drawled, unable to hide his dry humor. “Guess she wasn’t a fan after all.”

Johnny turned back to you and Simon, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal. “What… what kind of kid just does that?!” he demanded, gesturing wildly at the scene behind him.

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I warned you about the dolls.”

Johnny shook his head, still reeling as he muttered under his breath, “She’s Sid from Toy Story incarnate, I swear.”

Adira, seemingly unbothered by the fuss, returned her focus to her trains, contentedly adding the doll’s head to a makeshift pile of "cargo." Johnny looked ready to protest further, but Simon stepped forward, crouching to her level and holding out the wooden train.

“Hi,” he spoke softly, his voice steady despite the lingering laughter in his chest. “I brought you somethin’. Thought you might like it.”

Adira didn’t respond right away, her eyes bouncing between him and the toy. Then, slowly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the train before taking it from his hands. Unlike the Barbie, she carefully opened the box, her movements deliberate and methodical. She removed the wooden train gently, inspecting it for a moment. Without a word, she added it to the tracks, her attention already back on her play as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Simon stayed crouched, watching her intently. A flicker of relief crossed his face at her acceptance of the gift. The room, heavy with unspoken tension just moments before, now felt lighter, though Simon could feel the enormity of the moment pressing against his chest.

You appeared at his side, crouching slightly to meet his eye, a small grin on your lips. “That’s a good sign,” you murmured, keeping your voice low. “She doesn’t usually let people touch her trains.”

Simon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His gaze flickered back to Adira, watching as she carefully positioned the new train car alongside the others, her focus unwavering. It wasn’t much—just a small gesture—but it felt monumental. A start.

“She’s got good taste,” Simon adds, a touch of pride in his tongue as he nodded toward the tracks. “Knows quality when she sees it.”

You chuckled, the sound easing the edges of Simon’s nerves. “It’s not just that,” you replied, your eyes lightening as you watched Adira. “Trains are her world. If she’s letting you into it, even a little…” You trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

Simon nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions he wasn’t used to confronting. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her brow as she pushed the train forward, creating a soft click-clack noise against the wooden tracks. He thought of all the moments he’d missed, all the firsts that had come and gone without him. But now, sitting there on the floor of your apartment, watching his little girl play, he felt something unfamiliar: hope.

“It’s a start,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for now, that was enough.

Johnny hung back near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tender scene unfold. Simon, a man he’d always seen as unshakable and stoic, was crouched beside Adira, his usually guarded expression diminished by a rare, genuine grin. Johnny didn’t dare interrupt—this wasn’t his moment. He was just a spectator, standing on the sidelines as a long-standing divide finally began to close.

The warmth in the room tugged at Johnny’s own heart, and though he wasn’t one for sentimentality, the sight was too good to pass up. Without a word, he slipped his phone from his pocket, angling it just right to snap a quick picture. Simon’s grin, lopsided and proud, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, his large frame almost comically dwarfed by the tiny train set and the little girl at its center.

Satisfied with the shot, Johnny smirked to himself as he typed out a caption: “Big man, small trains. Heart officially melted. ” He hit send, the photo shooting off to the group chat where the lads were bound to have a field day with it.

Moments later, his phone buzzed with a flurry of responses:

Roach: “Never thought I’d see Ghost look so human.”

Gaz: “He’s got the ‘Dad Look’ down already. Almost feel bad making fun of him.”

Price: “I don’t. Send more pics.”

Stifling a snicker, Johnny shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Simon, who was completely absorbed in Adira’s world, watching as she pushed the new train along the tracks with the utmost concentration. The sheer joy and focus on her face seemed to draw Simon further into her orbit, as if nothing else existed but the tiny, clacking train set.

Johnny shook his head fondly. Big, scary Ghost, he thought, brought to his knees by a wee lass and a wooden train. It was a sight he’d never forget.

Johnny slipped out of the apartment with a quiet click of the door, leaving the two of you in a silence that felt both comfortable and weighty. His absence left the air clearer, yet filled with the unspoken. As Adira remained engrossed in her trains, her murmurs creating a gentle rhythm in the background, you found your mind racing with a single, unrelenting question:

What now?

Giving her toys was one thing. Simon showing up, physically present, was a start. But the path ahead of you wasn’t so simple. Building a connection took more than gifts and fleeting moments. Adira was too young to truly grasp the gravity of this shift in her world. Telling her outright that Simon was her father didn’t feel right—not now. That conversation would be better left for a day when she could fully understand it.

You rose from your position near him, brushing off your knees as you took a real long look at her. There it was, in her little mannerisms, her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed just slightly as she concentrated—it was him. So much of him. And the way Simon’s gaze relaxed as he watched her? You could see it, plain as day. He wanted to be there for her.

And you wanted her to be happy.

The realization hit you with clarity: the best way to make this transition smooth was to let Simon find his place naturally. He couldn’t make up for all the firsts he’d missed, but there was still time for so many more moments.

“So…” you began, your voice quiet but heavy, the word hanging between you like an unspoken question. You turned to face Simon, watching him carefully as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad frame surprisingly small in this intimate space. He was still holding that wooden train, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth surface like it was something sacred.

Simon looked up at you, his eyes catching yours, and he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed, but there was something else—something vulnerable yet determined. "So," he echoed, his voice unshakable, though you could hear the undertone of apprehension, a slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his calm façade. He wanted to be open, to show you he was ready for whatever was coming next, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

You crossed your arms, not out of defiance but out of the need to ground yourself. It was a physical gesture, a way to hold yourself steady in the face of everything that had led to this moment. “This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, the words a simple statement, but they carried meaning.

“I didn’t expect it to be,” Simon replied, his voice firm, the same way it would sound in the midst of a mission, when the stakes were high. The seriousness in his tone wasn’t lost on you. But there was more than just the soldier in him now—there was a father. "But I’m here. I want to try. For her." His eyes darted to Adira, his gaze lingering on her as she lined up her train set with careful precision. It was a look filled with fierce, almost protective determination, and it tugged at your chest.

“For her,” you agreed, your heart swelling with the truth of it. “She deserves that. But it’s not just about showing up with toys. It’s about showing up for her. Being there when she needs you, even if it’s hard. Even if she pushes you away at first.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as you spoke, and you saw the muscles in his neck flex, as though he was fighting against something—maybe the grandness of what this all meant, maybe his own doubts. “I can do that,” he said after a pause, his voice low but resolute. “I will.”

“You’ll have to.” Your tone tender, but you still held that edge of playful taunting. It was your way of testing the waters, of gauging if he was truly prepared for what this would take. “She’s stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from.”

Simon huffed a quiet laugh, and a faint smirk forming on his mouth. For a brief moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to weaken, just a little. “Aye, can’t imagine,” he replied, the humor easing some of the tension in the room.

There was a pause, the room settling into a calm that hadn’t been there before. You watched as Simon glanced back at Adira, his eyes lingering on her as she placed another train down, her little brow furrowed in concentration. The sight was almost too much for him—this was his flesh and blood, sitting right there in front of him, in this quiet, domestic world he hadn’t been a part of.

“First things first—likes and dislikes.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, but you didn’t wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel and slipped into the kitchen, the quiet tension that had settled between you both diminishing. Simon, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Adira, was still absorbing the weight of everything unfolding. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the next room, the brief silence stretching between the two of you.

When you returned, you were holding a file—nothing flashy, just a plain folder. You approached him and handed it over, watching as he hesitated, the weight of the paper in his hands heavier than it appeared.

The sight inside that greeted him threw him off guard—pages upon pages of meticulously written details. At first glance, it looked like a detailed report, every section filled with information about Adira’s daily routine, preferences, and even the smallest of habits. Her favorite snacks, the way she liked her sandwiches cut in triangles. Each page was packed with specifics: her reactions to certain foods, her favorite colors, how she responded to certain sounds and even what she liked to do on rainy days—took him completely off guard.

Simon blinked at it, flipping through the pages as if trying to find a sense of grounding in the flood of information. It was overwhelming, but what struck him the most was how thorough it was—how much you had put into it. Everything about her, everything you alone learned over the years, all laid out for him to see.

The file was thick, packed with details. The more he flipped through, the more surprised he became. Notes jotted in neat handwriting with labeled sections.There wasn’t just filled with cold, clinical notes. It also contained moments of tenderness, small anecdotes about how Adira reacted to certain situations or things that made her smile. You had carefully noted the songs she liked to sing along with, how she would curl up on the couch when she was feeling down, the exact way she liked her bedtime story read.

Simon looked up at you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. “What is all this?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with surprise.

You offered him a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. “Before you think I’m crazy or paranoid,” you began, raising your hands slightly in defense, “I work at the daycare around the corner, and Adira comes with me. It’s policy to keep these records—just in case. You know, since some kids have allergies, or there are specific things we need to be aware of.”

He nodded, still flipping through the file, as if seeing this list of Adira’s little quirks and habits for the first time made her seem more real. More like a child who had to be cared for, understood, and loved in ways that went far beyond simply showing up with a toy.

“I didn’t know you’d been keeping track of all of this,” A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you’d been doing so much.”

You shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s nothing. Just making sure she’s okay.” There was an edge of vulnerability to your words, as if you were downplaying the emotional weight of it all.

Simon’s fingers lingered on the pages, his gaze skimming the words as if trying to understand the depth of the commitment you had for Adira. It wasn’t just about her well-being, it was about every little thing that made her, her.

“You really do know everything about her, don’t you?” he said, his voice tinged with awe.

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It wasn’t about control or being overprotective—it was about ensuring that every part of Adira’s world was in order, even when you weren’t looking.

“I know what she likes, what she dislikes. I know how she reacts when she’s tired or overstimulated. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. It’s not about keeping tabs, it’s about making sure she feels safe. Especially with everything changing right now.”

Simon absorbed your words quietly, the weight of the file heavy in his hands. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. You had been doing this alone for so long—carrying the weight of all these little details, managing the complexity of motherhood without the support he should’ve been offering.

“She’s lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve done more than I can even imagine.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The simplicity of his words caught you off guard, making you feel a bit exposed. “It’s just what you do for them,” you replied, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. “You do what you can to make sure they’re okay.”

Simon closed the file slowly, processing what it meant. He felt a surge of something—guilt, maybe, or a quiet ache—as he realized just how much he’d missed. He’d been absent for so many of the small, seemingly insignificant moments that made up Adira’s life. And now, looking at the file, he could feel the weight of his absence more than ever.

“I want to know it all,” Simon said quietly, his voice full of resolve. “Every little thing. I don’t care how small it seems. I want to learn everything about her.”

Your heart skipped at his words, and for the first time, you felt a sense of stability knowing he’d be around to lift some of the hardship off your shoulders. For once, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.

“Good,” Your voice filled with quiet approval. “Because it’s going to take time. And you’ll need to be patient.”

“I can do that,” he replied, his jaw set with determination. “I’m not going anywhere.”

By 6 AM sharp, there he was—a solid, familiar figure standing at your door with his sleeves rolled up and a faint, hesitant smile. He never asked if you needed help; he simply showed up, ready to lend a hand. Simon didn’t just want to be in your life—he wanted to belong in it. Every visit to your apartment wasn’t just about showing up; it was about figuring out how to bridge the gap between her world and his. You had been Adira's anchor, her everything. Simon understood that, respected it, but he was intent on creating his own place in her little universe—one small gesture at a time.

At first, his kitchen skills left a lot to be desired. You insisted you could handle breakfast on your own, but Simon waved you off, determined to prove himself. Adira sat in her highchair, small fingers clutching a slice of strawberry as she watched her father with wide, curious eyes. He wrestled with the stovetop like it was an enemy combatant, flipping pancakes that somehow always ended up sticking or splattering in every direction. A particularly ambitious flip sent batter flying, splattering across his shirt and the counter.

Adira paused mid-chew, her sharp little eyes zeroing in on the mess. "Messy man," she mumbled around the strawberry, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with childish amusement.

Simon froze, mid-swipe with a paper towel, and glanced at her, eyebrows shooting up. “What’d you call me?”

"Messy man," she repeated, a little more confidently this time, giggling as she pointed at the batter streaked across his chest.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Simon groaned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’ll remember that,” he muttered, though there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

Despite the mishaps, he never gave up. Day by day, the kitchen disasters became fewer. He learned that Adira liked her pancakes shaped like stars if you had the time and that a dollop of whipped cream on top made her clap her hands with delight. He discovered she preferred her strawberries sliced thin, not chunky, and that she hated the crusts on toast but loved when it was cut into neat little triangles.

More importantly, while you were around, Adira began to interact with him in ways you hadn’t expected. She would babble at him as he cooked, her little hands waving animatedly as though she was offering advice. He listened as if she were telling him the most important secrets in the world, nodding solemnly and responding in his deep, rumbling voice.

One morning, as he handed her a plate with her favorite star-shaped pancakes, she looked up at him with a toothy smile, “Thank you, messy man.”

Simon froze, his grip tightening on the plate for just a second before he crouched down to her level. “You’re welcome, love,” The endearing nickname left his lips with ease, carrying an edge of something raw and tender.

You stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a lump in your throat. This wasn’t just about breakfast. It was about Simon trying—every single day—to show her that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was clumsy and imperfect, but it was real. And you couldn’t help but feel the faint stirrings of something like hope, watching the way Adira’s small world seemed to expand to make room for him.

After some time of this new, unspoken pattern settling in—one that felt like a quiet, gradual understanding—Adira seemed to begin warming up to Simon. It wasn’t as deep or instantaneous as it had been with you, but it was enough. Enough for her to sit at the table, nibbling on the pancakes he’d made. Enough to sit near him and listen to his voice without the immediate urge to run to you. And, perhaps most telling, enough for her to offer him a strawberry one morning before daycare.

Still, there were unspoken boundaries. She wouldn’t let him touch her trains, a sacred realm of hers he dared not trespass. And after a while of him being nearby, she’d often wander back to you, clutching at your leg or climbing into your lap, needing the reassurance of your proximity. 

You saw it in Simon’s eyes sometimes, the flicker of hurt that he quickly masked, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. But it did. You could tell. Adira was studying him from the safety of her bubble, keeping her distance as if trying to figure him out. You couldn’t blame her. Adira had lived her life with you as the constant; Simon was a new element in her world, one she wasn’t sure how to integrate yet.

But you couldn’t help but wonder: Did she need just a little nudge? A chance to have a moment with him—just the two of them—without you hovering nearby to catch her if she fell?

That opportunity came one morning when the daycare announced they would be closing down the toddler classrooms for renovations. Since Adira’s classroom was off-limits, she couldn’t come with you, leaving a gap in her schedule for at least a day or two. It was the perfect chance for Simon to step in and watch her alone, just the two of them.

That morning, Simon arrived as usual, but the atmosphere was different. You were already dressed for work, and Adira sat on the couch, her little frame wrapped in her favorite onesie—a fuzzy lavender number with tiny clouds on the sleeves. Her attention was fixed on the cartoon playing on the screen, her pillow hugged tightly to her chest.

You had considered this moment for a while, weighing the risks and the benefits. You knew how much it would mean to Simon if Adira let him in just a little bit more. But it was still a leap. You couldn’t help but feel the protective instinct rising in you, a sharp edge of caution in your chest. If anything went wrong, if Adira seemed uncomfortable or the situation felt off, you’d be home in a heartbeat. It was your job to protect her, to put her needs above all else—even Simon’s. As much as he was trying, as much as he cared, she was still your child, and her safety and happiness mattered most.

Simon raised an eyebrow as he noticed your state of dress and Adira’s lounging figure. “So, it’s just me and her today?”

You nodded, grabbing your keys. “her classroom is closed for renovations. Figured this would be a good chance for you two to spend some time together.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead Simon seemed to take everything in stride, breathing in deeply, knowing his moment was now.

You couldn’t help but study him for a moment longer, as if reading him for any sign that he was second-guessing himself. But then he smiled at you, it was genuine—reassuring. You had to trust him. You had to let him try.

Walking over to Adira, you knelt beside her, smoothing her hair as you spoke. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna hang out with Simon today, okay? I’ll be back soon.” 

Adira’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a tiny pout. “You go?”

“Just for a little while,” you reassured her. “Simon’s going to stay with you, and you’ll have lots of fun. Won’t you?”

Adira looked up at you with those wide, dark eyes, not fully understanding the implications, but offering you a small, shy nod. She then returned her attention to the TV, her little fingers absentmindedly squeezing the fabric of her pillow.

“She’s had her bath, so no worries there,” you swiftly explained, slipping into your role as her mother. “She’s in her onesie because it’s raining today, and for some reason, she loves wearing it on rainy days—I don't understand it but as long as she's happy. There’s food in the fridge, but after a couple of hours, I’d suggest cutting the TV off. Let her color, read, or maybe play with her trains. It gives her eyes a break from the screen. Oh, and rainy days mean pizza. Her favorite place is ‘Mario’s,’ and the number’s on the fridge. She’ll ask for the stuffed crust and extra cheese, light on the sauce.”

Simon absorbed the instructions like a soldier receiving a mission briefing, nodding along as you spoke. His eyes flicked to Adira, who was now idly kicking her feet as she watched the TV, and then back to you. “Got it. Anything else?”

You hesitated for a moment, then let it subside. “Just… be patient with her. She’s still figuring this out. You’re doing great, Simon.”

His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”

You gave him one last glance, scanning for any signs of hesitation or doubt, but his steady demeanor gave you confidence. With a final goodbye to Adira, who waved absently, you headed for the door. With that, you left, the door clicking shut behind you. Your chest felt tight, your every nerve on edge as you walked to work. This was Simon’s test, sure, but it was yours too—trusting someone else with the most precious thing in your life. Only time would tell how it would go.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the quiet apartment. Adira stayed exactly where she was, her little form cocooned on the couch, eyes glued to the animated animals bouncing across the TV screen. Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the moment. This was it. His chance.

He crossed the room and sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and uncertain. Adira didn’t so much as glance his way, her focus unwavering as the characters on the screen launched into a cheerful song.

Simon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the air like an awkward ripple. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and unsure, "you like it when it rains?"

Adira finally looked up at him, her big, curious eyes meeting his. She blinked a couple of times, processing his question, before giving a small, shy nod.

"Yeah?" he pressed, a soft smile creeping onto his face. "What’s your favorite thing about it? The sound? Jumping in puddles?"

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her pillow closer as if using it as a shield. Simon waited, giving her time, not wanting to push. Then, as if finding the courage, she mumbled, “The sound.”

“The sound, huh? Me too,” he said, leaning back a bit to ease the tension. “Kinda peaceful, isn’t it? Makes everything... quiet.”

Adira nodded again, this time a little more confidently. Her tiny fingers started to drum on the pillow in her lap, the rhythm mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops. Simon caught it and grinned.

“You know,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I used to watch the rain all the time when I was little. Sometimes I’d sit by the window for hours, just listening. My mum always said I’d get stuck there.”

Adira tilted her head at him, her curiosity evident now. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and a little unsure, as though she wasn’t entirely ready to start talking freely.

Simon chuckled, scratching his chin. “Dunno. Maybe I thought if I stayed there long enough, I’d see something special, like... I dunno, maybe the rain would make magic happen.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the word magic, and Simon felt a small victory bloom in his chest.

“Magic?” she echoed, her tone a mix of skepticism and interest.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, leaning in just a little, like he was about to share a secret. “The kind that only shows up when you’re really, really patient. You gotta look close, though.”

Adira’s gaze darted back to the TV for a moment before returning to him, her guard lowering inch by inch. She hugged her pillow tighter but didn’t turn away.

“Maybe,” she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “maybe I’ll see magic too.”

Simon’s chest tightened, a warmth spreading there that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, he wasn’t just a stranger in her world; he was someone she was starting to let in.

“Maybe you will,” he said softly, leaning back into the couch. He let the quiet fill the space again, content to sit beside her, waiting for the rain—or the magic—to come.

After a few minutes, Adira reached over to the side table where her sippy cup rested. She grabbed it, then paused, her hand hovering. Slowly, she stretched it out toward him. “Drink?” she offered, her voice small but steady.

Simon blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasn’t much—just a sippy cup of watered-down juice—but it felt monumental. “Thanks, but that’s yours,” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She pulled it back and took a sip herself, nodding like she’d made a grand decision.

Simon chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small step, a tiny opening, and Simon took it as the win it was.

The hours slipped by quietly, the sound of the TV buzzing in the background, and before Simon knew it, the three-hour mark had passed. He glanced at the clock, then at the screen, and with a deep breath, he reached over and clicked the power button.

Adira's eyes widened in shock, her little fingers frozen mid-air as she pointed at the now-black screen. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and mild frustration. "I wanna watch..." Her words trailed off, her pout deepening as she looked back at him, like she couldn’t quite understand why he’d taken it away.

Simon bit his lip, fighting a chuckle. "You’ve been watchin' for a while now, kiddo," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Time to do somethin’ else, yeah?"

Adira stared at him for a long moment, her little brow furrowed as she processed what he’d said. She didn’t seem convinced at first, her gaze darting back to the black screen as if willing it to come back to life. When it didn’t, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lower lip poking out in a full pout.

“I don’t wanna,” she muttered, voice small but firm. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the decision, but Simon had a feeling it was more about the principle of the matter than the TV itself.

“C’mon now,” Simon said softly, trying to soften the blow. “We can do somethin’ fun. How ‘bout we build somethin' together? Or read a book?”

Her little frown deepened, and Simon almost felt bad for turning the TV off. But this was the first time he’d gotten a moment alone with her, and he knew it was important to break the habit, to show her there were other things to do in the world besides the screen.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the quiet living room. Then, with a small sigh, she uncrossed her arms and stood up, shuffling toward the toy box with little steps, only to find nothing that interested her.

"Books?" she asked, her voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the smallest bit of curiosity.

Simon smiled, feeling a wave of relief. “Books it is,” he said, standing up to join her. “I bet we can find somethin’ that’ll be just as fun as that TV show.”

Adira didn’t answer, but the way she grabbed a book off the shelf made Simon’s heart flutter with a tiny spark of victory. 

Adira returned to Simon’s side, holding a colorful book with a soft, focused expression on her face. The cover was bright, featuring two foxes—one with a bushy tail and the other a smaller, more timid-looking one. The title, No Matter What, was written in bold letters above them. She climbed up beside him and, without a word, placed the book in his lap, her small hands brushing gently against it as if offering him a treasure.

Simon looked down at the book, caught off guard by her quiet gesture. He glanced at her for a moment, meeting her eyes. She looked at him with a silent kind of expectation, waiting.

Slowly, he picked up the book, holding it carefully as if it were something precious. “What’s this?” he asked softly, though it was clear he already had an inkling.

“Foxes,” Adira replied simply, her voice soft but firm. “Mama read it. It’s ‘bout love.”

Simon’s heart tugged at the mention of you. He could imagine the way you’d read to her, the soothing cadence of your voice, the way Adira had probably snuggled up beside you during the bedtime ritual. But there was something in Adira’s face now, something that felt like an invitation—a little piece of trust she was offering him, too.

“Well, alright then,” Simon said, his voice soft as he began to flip open the book. Adira sat close beside him, her tiny hands still on the cover, watching his every move with an intense focus. She didn’t rush him. The silence between them felt comforting.

He began to read aloud, slowly at first, as if still gauging her reaction. “No matter what, the foxes knew that they would always be together, through the rain or the snow, through the darkest nights and the brightest days.”

Adira shifted beside him, her little legs crossing as she settled into his side. Her small hand reached for the page as he turned it, her fingers brushing over the illustrations. She didn’t interrupt, just quietly absorbed the words.

As Simon read on, his voice grew more confident, and the warmth of the moment started to settle between them. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they had bridged a gap, one word at a time, one page at a time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something to build on.

Adira’s gaze remained fixed on the book, but her body had relaxed against Simon’s, the way a child does when they feel safe. As the last pages of the book came into view, she snuggled closer, her head resting against his shoulder.

When Simon finished reading, he let the book fall softly onto his lap. He looked down at her, her eyes half-closed, but still aware and trusting. She looked up at him again, her tiny voice soft as she spoke. “Foxes love each other... no matter what.”

Simon’s heart thudded in his chest, the simplicity of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant yet, but in that moment, it was enough to see her so close, so willing to share something so personal. A bond had begun to form—fragile, yes, but it was there.

“Yeah,” Simon said, his voice barely above a whisper, “no matter what.”

With the last of the kids sent off and the staff beginning to clean up, you closed up shop, ready to call it a day. But just as you were locking up, a loud clap of thunder rattled the building, causing you to jump in shock. Your heart raced for a moment, the suddenness of it making you freeze in place.

“Jesus, if Adira was here, she’d lose it,” you muttered to yourself, trying to laugh off the shock. But then, your words hit you like a ton of bricks.

If Adira was here.

A chill ran through you as it dawned on you just how careless you’d been. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had completely forgotten to tell Simon about her fear of thunderstorms. She hated them. Hated the loud crashes of thunder, the flashes of lightning. You’d seen her curl up in a ball, her hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror when the storms hit.

The sound of the storm outside was only getting louder, the thunder now booming and crackling as it came closer. You could imagine Adira, sitting there with Simon, eyes wide and full of fear, clutching whatever comfort she could find, and Simon… God, Simon probably didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t have any idea how to handle it.

Without thinking twice, you dropped everything—your bag, your jacket, anything that wasn’t crucial to getting home. You shot a quick look toward the staff, offering a hasty explanation and apology. Then, without another word, you bolted through the doors, past the remaining parents who were still talking in the lobby, and into the rain.

The rain beat down on you as you sprinted through the streets, the cold droplets stinging your skin as the thunder rumbled overhead. You couldn’t focus on anything but getting home. Adira needs me. Adira needs me.The mantra repeated in your head with each pounding step. Your feet splashed through puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet pavement and the growing tension in your chest.

It felt like forever as you raced through the downpour, but at last, you reached the building, heart hammering in your chest. You fumbled with your keys, every second feeling like an eternity as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Hurry, you told yourself, voice shaky as you turned the key and shoved the door open.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The air felt thick, and as you stepped inside, your eyes instantly darted to the living room.  

On the couch, Simon was sitting with Adira curled up in his side, wrapped tightly in her favorite blanket. Her little body was nestled against his, her small form practically hidden in the folds of the soft fabric. On the coffee table in front of them were the remnants of their quiet afternoon—plastic plates with pizza stains, her sippy cup placed haphazardly next to the mess. Around them, the stack of books you always read to her was scattered across the table: I Love You to the Moon and Back, The Koala Who Could, What Color is a Kiss?—books that had been a staple in your bedtime routine for as long as you could remember.

The sight of them—Adira calm, safe, resting against Simon—caught you off guard. You’d expected panic, chaos, something more… uncertain. But instead, the two of them looked peaceful. Simon’s hand was gently resting on her back, his other arm loosely around her as she drifted in and out of sleep, her head nestled against his chest. She was calm. And that... that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

You hadn’t expected Simon to be so… natural with her. He’d stepped up in a way you didn’t think was possible, at least not this soon. Maybe you had underestimated him. Maybe—no, you knew—you had underestimated this. 

Simon, with Adira, was something real.

Hi so, this took a while, wanted to make this really long for yall. For me as im writing this, it's 5 AM! I've been working on this since 1 PM yesterday. Long Fics are not my strongpoint, I had so much trouble with this because I'm a perfectionist and my tiny brain often repeats words ALOT. I'm working on it and the best way to improve is to keep writing.

As things currently go, I may write shorter things for this family, I want to develop Adira and Simon's relationship more just not with super long stuff like this. I'd also would love to answer any questions or talk about headcanons anyone has about them. Feel free to send asks!

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and by the time this goes up I'm sure I'll still be asleep!

P.S can someone tell me if I do tags wrong, like ive noticed sometimes when I tag it doesn't have the little underline so I keep thinking it doesn't go through </3

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Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Three

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, dubcon showering, dubcon nudity, power imbalance, sexual tension, brief description of canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4.4k

You and Ghost shower together. He answers your questions. The reality of your situations comes to light.

Chapter Two // Chapter Four

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

Carapace nest. Gator teeth. Swamp water.

Survival. Survival. Survival.

“You should shower. Enjoy the hot water.” Ghost grasps the bottom of your chin, tilting your face upward. You’re unable to look away. “Promise I won’t look.”

Empty words. Nothing more than a tree hollowed-out by rot.

You slap Ghost’s hand away, uncaring if the action will draw his anger. The brute doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

“Don’t touch me,” you growl, forcing yourself to hold eye contact with him.

With a soft snort of amusement, Ghost’s head tilts slightly, gaze assessing. You won’t be the first to blink—the first to look away. Glancing down is a show of submission, and you refuse to bow out and make yourself appear weak. It hurts though. A deep pain like a drill to your skull.

Rolling his shoulders, Ghost retreats a step.

It’s a small thing, and you should feel victorious. Yet it’s more like permission, as if he’s allowing this behavior by the grace of his sincerity. The urge to break eye contact flares hotter—bites deeper—and Ghost’s refusal to drop his gaze only makes it that much harder.

Backward step after backward step. A languid sway until he reaches the chair. He slowly eases down into it, sighing loudly, stretching his legs until he’s spread out and comfortable. Relaxed and unhurried, Ghost begins to remove his gloves, absently tossing them onto the floor, revealing tattooed knuckles. Flexing his fingers, Ghost forms a fist, and then relaxes the tendons, repeating the process a few times.

Leaning forward, Ghost starts to unlace his boots. There is no hurry to it. The fact that he’s completely comfortable grates at your patience. He slips off one boot and moves to the other. He reaches for his weapons next, removing his pistol and knives.

“Enjoying the show, love?” he asks dryly.

You roll your eyes and remain mute.

This power dynamic is frustrating, and you’re sick of him pushing your buttons, forcing you into corners. Only moments ago, Ghost was telling you to strip down and shower, to give him something to watch.

No. You’re not playing this game.

If he’s so goddamn adamant about you dipping under the hot water, then so fucking be it. If he wants you to shower—you’ll fucking shower. He wants to see you naked and dripping wet? Fucking fine.

You’ll put on a goddamn show.

Bending forward, you reach for your boots, unlacing then kicking them to the side. Ghost notices, his gaze drifting upward yet he remains silent, his movements staying steady and unhurried. It’s when you wrench your jacket off and start lifting your shirt that Ghost begins to slow. The dirty, blood-drenched shirt crackles as you pull it up and over your head. You drop it onto the floor without giving it a second glance.

Ghost has his hands on his belt, but it’s almost like he’s not moving at all. His gaze lingers on you, and though you pretend not to notice, his chest heaves slightly. Reaching behind your back, you pop the clips on your bra. The flimsy material slides away. Behind the skull mask, Ghost’s eyes grow wide.

You don’t allow yourself space to linger on what you’re doing or if this is a radically poor decision. As the bra hits the ground, you’re already undoing the front of your pants, shoving them down along with your underwear, revealing everything.

You unfurl slowly. Full frontal and bold.

Ghost is motionless. All you can see are his eyes as they dart around, taking in your nakedness. You retain that eye contact, daring him to say anything, to give himself a good look since he wanted it so badly.

Those brown eyes of his roam up, connecting with your gaze. He stills. Coughs. Clears his throat. Glances away.

Fucking men.

You extend your arms out slightly like you’re presenting yourself for his inspection. “Are you?” you counter before placing your hands on your hips.

Ghost keeps his gaze averted, unspeaking.

With victory singing beneath your skin, you turn right, striding toward the shower. The promise of hot water is tantalizing. Not that you don’t have hot water where you’re from, but it’s not automatic. It’s not available with a simple turn of a handle. That’s a luxury from before, and it shouldn’t exist. Yet it apparently exists here.

The promise of a hot shower nearly overtakes whatever adrenaline-fueled nonsense that drove you to strip down in front of Ghost. Now, you’re naked and vulnerable and trapped in a room with him. There is no place for you to flee to. No chance for escape. No privacy.

With your back to the room, you place your hand on the knob below the showerhead. It gives easily under your palm. There’s a rattle—a clanking coming from behind the wall—then water shoots out.

You gasp, stepping back.

It’s ice fucking cold.

The bastard lied. He lied.

Your nipples harden, and your skin pebbles. Instinct kicks in, and you cross your arms over your chest, covering your breasts in a protective gesture.

But just as you’re about to turn away from the icy spray—to curse the skull-faced fucker out—the chill dulls into a lukewarm ache.

You pause. Wait.

The water is warming. It’s actually warming.

“Oh my God,” you sigh as the water heats further. “Oh God.”

Cupping your hands under the spray, the water pools in your palms. You bring it up to your face, eyelids closing as you splash it over your skin. A little giggle escapes you, your smile so wide it hurts your cheeks. Standing directly under the water, you allow it to run all over you, warming you everywhere until you’re almost bouncing on your toes.

Opening your eyes, your gaze scans the wall, and the small nook nestled there. You lean in, and read the labels. There’s shampoo, a bar of soap, and—you blink, shaking your head as if your eyes deceive you. Reaching out, you snag the second bottle and turn it.

It’s conditioner. Fucking conditioner.

Absurd. Ridiculous. How do they even have this?

Back home, shampoo and soap are handmade. Flowers are dried and added to give scent, but that’s only ever for part of the year. They’re usually unscented. Conditioner is unheard of, and if someone needs to give their tresses a lift, they might use a few drops of oil warmed in the palm and applied to wet hair.

Placing the bottle back, you reach for the soap.

A large, muscled arm covered in tattoos appears to the left of you. It extends forward, palm resting firm and flat against the wall. You stare at it, surprised, but it’s fleeting. A solid body bumps into you from behind, forcing you forward. The hot water no longer rains down on you but on the man directly behind you. The very naked, very large man.

His other arm appears to your right, that hand also pressing flat against the wall. You’re caged in. Trapped.

Ghost groans with contentment as the water rushes over him. “Told you there was hot water,” he sighs. He shifts, and you feel all of him, including a hardening appendage that pokes you in the hip.

Seriously? This asshole couldn’t wait?

Glancing over your shoulder, you give Ghost a scowl, only for your stomach to flip upon seeing him. Beneath the skull mask, you weren’t sure what you’d find. Not like you thought about it in any decent capacity. Curious, sure, but also cautious.

What you weren’t expecting was someone attractive. Handsome. Not in the traditional sense, but in the ruggedness of his features. Strong but also scarred.

Goddamn it. Fucking shit.

You should feel nothing for him. He’s taken you hostage, intending to take you somewhere for…processing. Whatever the fuck that means.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you ask with as much venom as you can muster.

“Showering,” he replies with a sigh. Ghost runs his hand over his face and then his head, slicking back his blondish-brown hair. The eye black is smudged now, running away in little rivers down his face.

“That’s obvious,” you retort. “But you couldn’t wait until I was done?”

Ghost shrugs. “Hot water is limited.”

“Oh.” You snort. “How fucking convenient.”

With a slow roll of his neck, Ghost lifts his head and stares directly at you. “I’ve been out in the bloody wilderness for over a month. Same unit. Same blokes. Breathing the same air. Spending all goddamn day together. Forgive me for wanting to enjoy a simple comfort.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “Is that why your dick keeps stabbing me in the side?”

Ghost chuckles and runs his hand over his mouth. “Just told you I’ve seen the same ugly mugs for over a month.”

“And?” you counter. “That’s an excuse?”

He leans in, lowering his voice. “It’s a natural fucking reaction when I haven’t seen a naked woman in over a month.” You try to move away from him, and only end up bumping into the shower wall. “What would you like me to do about it?”

“Great question.” You shrug. “You could stick it elsewhere.” Ghost’s eyebrows rise with a hint of a devilish smirk. “I mean—”

“I can think of a few places,” murmurs Ghost.

“Fucking—shut up. Just don’t let it…poke me.”

“Fucking hell,” he chuckles. “Hand me the soap.”

“No.”

Ghost reaches for it. You slap his hand away.

“Oh, love,” he chides. “If you want my friend to stop poking you, being adorably stubborn isn’t going to help things.”

“You’re a disgusting pig.”

“Then hand me the soap. I clearly need it.”

You do not give Ghost the soap. “If you’re going to force this,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “Then at least answer some questions.”

Ghost nods like that’s a reasonable request. “And what do I get for answering your questions?” he asks, straightening slightly.

“Soap,” you deadpan.

“No,” he laughs. “I want a scrub down.”

“You want—” You pause, startled, and then quickly cover. “You want what?”

“Suds me up. Scrub me down. I’ll answer your questions.”

You shake your head. “No. Absolutely not. Ask for anything else.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Ghost grins, and you know you’ve messed up. “All right, love. Fine.” He pushes off from the wall, the water falling between your bodies. “Now that the mask is off, you want to try that kiss again?”

You scoff. “I’d rather not touch you at all.”

“Kiss,” says Ghost. “Or a scrub down. You pick.”

“Neither.”

“Those are the two options.”

“And I hate them both.”

“Then I don’t answer your questions.”

You lick your lips, looking away from Ghost’s piercing gaze. Stalling. You’re stalling. You don’t want to choose either option, but he’s offering to answer all your questions. Regardless of what’s transpired, Ghost hasn’t lied to you or been dishonest. Flirty and forward? Yes. Pushing your boundaries just to rile you up? Absolutely.

The kiss would be quick. One and done.

“Fine,” you reply after a few moments of deliberation. “I choose kiss.”

Ghost smirks. “You want to kiss me?”

“Didn’t say want,” you correct.

The smirk lingers, and you suddenly doubt your choice.

“Too late,” he says with a brief shake of his head.

“Too—too late?” you exclaim. “What do you mean too late?”

Ghost shrugs. “I want both now.”

“Oh,” you laugh, blowing raspberries. “Go fuck yourself.”

“My hands no fun,” he muses. “But I’ve made it work the last month or so.”

“Fuck this,” you mutter, turning around.

Ghost’s hand if on the front of your throat in an instant, forcing you back around to face him. “What’s you decision?”

Your heart thunders in your chest. Ghost’s hold is firm but not breath-stealing. This is a show of dominance—a clear signal that he’s the one in charge.

“Is there one?” you ask, even though you fear you already know the answer.

Ghost remains quiet, but his hand on your throat loosens, lingering for a few seconds before dropping away.

The last thing you want to do is give this man any room. And if you agree, what else might he ask for? There’s still the whole night ahead of you, and a singular bed that you’ll be forced to share with him. What can you do in a situation like this?

“I’ll scrub you down,” you murmur. “But I won’t kiss you.”

Ghost nods. He reaches past you, retrieving the bar of soap. He offers it. “Ask me your questions.”

You take it from him, and Ghost straightens to his full height, looking down at you with a neutral expression.

Between your palms, you rub the bar of soap until it lathers. Reaching out with one hand, you pause just before you make contact with his chest.

“Ask me a question,” murmurs Ghost.

He speaks so gently to you that a hint of flustered nervousness arises. You lick your lips, exhaling deeply to absolve the tension. There’s so much you want to ask. Question after question pops into your head, but you’re unsure of which to grab on to.

Clearing your throat, you close the distance, your soapy hand splaying wide over his right pectoral.

The beginning. Perhaps you should start there.

“Why were you after those men?” you ask, moving your hand in a circle.

“They’re terrorists,” he replies blandly.

You rinse your hand. Start lathering again. “That’s all I get?”

Ghost cocks an eyebrow. “You want specifics?”

“Yes.”

Ghost’s gaze briefly flickers away from you. There’s a moment of hesitation, like he’s unsure of what to say next.

“Those men were part of a larger group. A group that likes to paint themselves as revolutionaries. Resistance fighters.”

You move up to his shoulder, scrubbing there before descending down his tattooed arm. “It’s common to paint an opposing group as the enemy.”

“This is different.”

“How so?”

“They want to live differently, and that’s perfectly fucking peachy. But they go out of their way to try and free others through violence.”

You shrug, scrubbing at his forearm. “Doesn’t sound much different from how you treated me.”

Ghost grasps your wrist, stilling your hand. You glance up at him, finding that his demeanor has completely changed. There’s a look of sheer desperation and anger on his face, but it doesn’t feel geared at you.

“If those men had taken you hostage, they’d have taken their turns. And if you were somehow alive after that, they’d take you to wherever they call home, and keep going until you died or became pregnant.” You go to yank your arm away but Ghost holds firm. “They’re evil, disgusting monsters.”

A little wave of fear rises, swirling to seize your stomach, turning it into a tumultuous storm. “And what you’re doing to me now is kinder?”

Ghost doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch under that question. “We were hunting this group down because they kidnapped a few of our littles. Do you know how they returned them to us?”

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“They strapped bombs under their clothes before reuniting them with their mothers.”

“Stop.”

“You asked for specifics,” he replies. “I’m sure you can figure out what happened next.”

The corners of your eyes sting, tears threatening to spill over. All you can think about are Ben’s two little girls and the children you read to during story time. Imagining any of them disappearing like that, only to be reunited in such a gruesome way brings misery to the forefront.

Ghost’s grip on you eases. You withdraw your hand, vigorously rubbing the soap until the bubbles overflow and drip toward the floor.

“They deserved worse than an executioner’s bullet,” murmurs Ghost, his voice firm yet full of grief.

Placing the soap back on the ledge, you gently lift his hand, scrubbing the suds between and over his fingers. His words linger, hanging in the air until you have to ask.

“Were any of them yours?” you ask, voice a near whisper.

Ghost gives a quick shake of his head.

“I’m sorry,” you reply, turning his hand over to reveal his palm. “That’s terrible.” You make slow circles with your thumb. “What will happen to the three you brought back?”

“They’re probably wishing we killed them,” he replies. You nod, swallowing, reaching for the soap again. “Anything else you want to ask me?”

“The emblem on your uniform.”

“What of it?”

You start on his other arm. “What does it mean?”

“The flag of England?” he asks, perplexed.

“No,” you smile, shaking your head. “The other one. With the olive branches. It’s familiar but I can’t place it.”

“It’s the emblem of the United Nations.”

You glance up, hands stilling against Ghost’s muscled arm. “The United Nations,” you exhale, a disbelieving laugh falling on the end of it. “But they don’t exist anymore.” You sound desperate. A bit insane. “Nothing exists anymore.”

Ghost’s gaze narrows. “What do you remember?”

“I remember when we withdrew from NATO. How eastern Europe started to collapse first.” You take a moment, lathering up the soap again. “I remember how country after country declared war. The rationing. The constant threat of a nuclear attack.” You shake your head, scrubbing at Ghost’s skin to distract yourself. “Endless fucking war. And for what?”

“I fought in that war,” says Ghost.

“Good for you,” you mutter, scrubbing harder.

“You’re upset.”

“How observant.”

You keep going, and Ghost takes your wrist again. This time, he’s gentle, stepping closer to you, the water rinsing away some of the residual soap from his skin.

“Ask me something else,” he softly urges.

“How does the United Nations still exist?” you continue. “What’s happened since the collapse?”

Ghost’s expression is grim, and you want to scream.

Did Zac know? Did they know and not say anything? You believed the world to be nothing more than desolation, poisoned from nuclear fallout and disease. Is it all a lie? Or is the destruction not as widespread and extensive as you were led to believe?

“I think you should ask me something else,” Ghost urges again.

The water is starting to cool, and you haven’t even washed your hair.

“I think I’m done,” you mutter, returning the soap to the nook in the wall. You reach for the shampoo, but Ghost grabs it first.

“Allow me,” he says, squirting some into his hands.

You reluctantly turn around, giving him your back. You stay still, and then his fingers slide over your scalp, gently scrubbing. It’s refreshing—relaxing. You sigh, shoulders lowering as the tension leaves your body. Ghost massages the shampoo in, lathering it up.

The two of you fall into silence.

Ghost rinses the shampoo from your hair, and then does his own as you run conditioner through your strands. It’s a quiet back and forth, the two of you moving in and out the water to rinse and repeat.

He reaches for the knob, but you block his forward momentum.

“The water is growing cold,” he says.

“I know,” you murmur. “But you still have black around your eyes.” You gesture at your own face, indicating where there are still smudges on his.

Ghost starts to rub at his face. You step up to him, reaching out to grasp his hands and pull them away from his face.

“Allow me,” you insist, adding a bit of soap to your hand.

With one finger, you swirl it around the suds in your palm. Bringing it up to Ghost’s face, you lightly rub at the faded smudges.

“Have any more questions for me?” asks Ghost. You nibble on your bottom lip. Nod. “Go on then. Ask away.”

Using the tip of your nail, you lightly scratch at a few flecks of black. “What’s the mandate?” Ghost grimaces, and you inwardly flinch. “Is it something bad?” you ask tentatively.

“No. Just—” Ghost sighs. “When someone is found outside the designated safe zones, it’s mandated that we bring them back for processing.”

“That’s what your captain said. That you’re to take me for processing. But I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s reintegration.”

A deep dread forms in your stomach, turning it to lead.

“To what?”

“Society.”

You drop your hand from Ghost’s face. “But I have a home. People that love me. That are waiting for me. I don’t need to reintegrate into anything.”

Even as you say it, you know there is no negotiating. There is pity on Ghost’s face, and you hate it because he knows he’s ripping you from your life, upending everything for some arbitrary rule.

“I won’t go,” and this time your voice is firm. Steadfast.

Ghost turns the knob, shutting off the water. The air rushes in, cooling your skin where the water touches.

“I can’t take you back.”

“You can,” you insist. “You absolutely can.”

“I can’t,” emphasizes Ghost. “In the morning, we’re going home. To the nearest safe zone.”

“No,” you gasp. “I won’t go. I refuse.”

Ghost takes a step forward. Instinct has you stepping back, but it only pushes you up against the wall. “You said you’d behave. That you wouldn’t cause problems.”

“Refusing to take me home isn’t winning you any favors.”

“You’re already on base,” growls Ghost. “There is no going back.”

You smack his chest. “You bastard. You selfish fucking bastard.”

“Don’t,” he warns.

You smack him again. Harder. “Do you get some kind of bonus for bringing me back? An award?” When Ghost doesn’t reply, you form a fist, beating it against his chest. “Or is it something worse?”

Ghost takes a step back but you move forward, raising both fists. You’re ready to swing. Ready to fight.

“Don’t,” he repeats, but you’re seething.

Anger is like a lustful tide, swallowing you down into its depths. “Tell me, Lieutenant Riley. What do you get for bringing me back?” You shove at him, but he hardly moves. “Is it me?” you laugh. “Am I your war prize?”

“Final warning,” he growls, but you ignore him.

“Will they make me your whore?”

The question is a taunt. Airless. Empty. It’s a push. A verbal shove. And it sends Ghost over the edge.

Ghost surges forward, a wall of brute strength and muscle. You stumble backward, only to be shoved up against the wall. His arms rest on either side of your head, his own head bent down, making the space feel small.

“Listen to me,” he says, trying to keep his tone calm and even.

A small voice inside your head tells you to comply, to hear him out. But there is another voice—this one louder and more insistent. It tells you to cause trouble, to put up a fuss.

“Fuck off,” you reply sharply.

Water drips off the tip of Ghost’s nose. It falls onto your breast, rolling toward your nipple. His gaze follows it, and you promptly strike him across the face. The crack is loud. It echoes against the tile wall.

Ghost mouth drops open, skin reddening where you hit him.

Shit. Oh, shit.

With a growl, Ghost pushes off from the wall, lifting you into his arms without effort. You scramble for purchase, surprised by the sudden movement. He takes three steps and then tosses you onto the bed. You bounce as you hit, one arm shooting out to steady yourself, fingers pressing against the wall as you wobble.

You’re fuming now. Raging.

“Going to have your way with me now?” you mock. “Is that part of the mandate?”

Ghost ignores you. Turning away, he heads back to the shower. He grabs two towels off the rack.

“Let me make it easy for you,” you continue, not backing down. You lean back onto your elbows, chest pushed out, legs extended and bent at the knee in front of you. As Ghost steps around the dividing wall, you spread your thighs, revealing your pussy to him. “You can slide right in. I won’t make a fuss.”

Ghost stills, staring down at your naked body. Your chest heaves, nipples hard and erect. It roams over you, and then he’s staring you down, clearly unamused by this outburst.

“You think I’d take advantage like that?” he asks.

“You joined me in the shower,” you counter. “Doesn’t give me much faith.”

Instead of replying, Ghost throws a towel at you. “Cover yourself,” he mutters, turning away, using the other towel to start drying off.

You hold the towel against your chest. Drawing your legs up, you close them, using the towel to cover the little it can. Ghost is still naked, and he appears in no rush to cover himself. You watch him, observing every movement, expecting him to circle back.

But he doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t even look in your direction. Even when he discards the towel, standing bare in the middle of the room, Ghost continues to ignore your existence.

He strides over, and your cheeks flame as his cock bounces with every step. You look away, staring at the wall as he takes a knee beside the bed. Grunting, Ghost tugs on something beneath the bed. You turn your head just enough to watch.

Ghost tugs again, and out comes a trunk.

He pops the tabs, opening the lid. The first thing he removes is a pair of clean boxer briefs. Ghost stands up, and you have to pretend you’re staring at the ceiling and not what’s swinging between his legs as he puts them on.

He goes down on his knees again, shifting through whatever is inside. As you start to lean forward, curiosity getting the better of you, you’re met with fabric to the face.

“Put this on,” mutters Ghost as he shuts the trunk.

You hold out a shirt, something far too large to fit you properly. Slowly, you tug it over your head, wiggling it down until it comes to mid-thigh. Ghost snags the towel off the bed, taking yours and his back to the dividing wall. He hands them over the side.

“Be honest with me, Lieutenant Riley.” Ghost doesn’t acknowledge you. “Please.”

This time, he turns, and you have no idea what he might be thinking. His features are passive. Neutral. You want to dig around, crack him open, figure out the inner workings of his mind. You’re angry, but you’re lost.

A sparrow in a dark forest.

“This mandate. Bringing me back to a…safe zone. When I come out of processing, am I yours? Do I belong to you?” He stares, and a sinking feeling emerges. You need answers. You desperately need them. “Please,” you say, voice cracking.

He takes a step toward you.

Another.

He comes to a stop at the edge of the bed, staring down at you. Fingertips brush against your bare arm. A shiver runs through you.

“No,” he answers. “You don’t belong to me.”

It’s out there. Hanging.

But is it the truth?

“Scoot over,” he murmurs. “Sleep is calling my name.”

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Dog with No Teeth // Chapter One

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, threatening language, death of a minor character

Word Count: 4.6k

On a scavenging run, two unknown groups arrive unannounced. Through the gunfire, you’re separated, cornered, captured. A skull-faced Lieutenant makes a decision, changing your life forever.

Chapter Two

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

Eden is a home.

It is a person. A place. A community

It is the scent of old musty books, and the quiet peace before the rising dawn.

You work by candlelight in the silent hours, an open book resting on the table in front of you. Wearing gloves to protect it, you carefully turn the page, gaze scanning the faded lettering. Most of it is legible, and with some time and care, you’ll be able to replicate it on new paper with fresh ink.

Preservation.

Not of your mortal life and those that live in your community, but the preservation of humanity, culture, and human history. Five years since the world fell apart, and yet you remain, carrying on with purpose, restoring books, transcribing those that are close to falling apart, and keeping records of the years that came before.

It is enjoyable, fulfilling work but you serve a greater need to your community. Here, within your sanctuary of several hundred people, you provide them entertainment and education. The children come to you for picture books and story time, and the adults visit when they need an escape.

You are but one piece of a large whole.

“What are you doing here so early?”

You glance up, smiling at your assistant. “Could ask the same,” you laugh, pushing back from the table. Standing, you remove your gloves and set them next to the book.

Sam, your archiving assistant yawns. “Thought I’d get here early since you’re going out today with Zac and his group.” They rub at their eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the gate already?”

“Shit,” you mutter, checking the mechanical clock hanging on the wall. Sam is right. You should be at the gate right now. “Double shit,” you groan.

Sam laughs and reaches for their own gloves. “I’ll handle this.” Putting them on, Sam settles into your chair. “We doing a refurb on this?”

“No,” you say, running around the room, grabbing your jacket and backpack. “Some of the pages are too faded. Binding is also bust.”

“Transcribe then,” murmurs Sam, gently closing the book to inspect the integrity of the cover. “Where are you going again?”

“Zac mentioned a small town they scoped out. No activity.” You walk over to Sam, yanking your jacket on. “He said there’s a library.”

Sam’s head pops up. “Seriously?”

You nod excitedly. “Said the place was locked up tight. Windows still intact.”

“Untouched?” asks Sam, eyebrows rising in surprise. You nod. Sam whistles lowly. “What a fucking find.”

“I know!” you exclaim. “Could really use some encyclopedias.”

“And dictionaries,” adds Sam longingly.

Tugging on the front of your jacket and then smoothing the front, you zip it up. “Zac said I can bring back as much as I want.”

“Did he really?” Sam shakes their head and opens the front cover of the book. “That man is sweet on you.”

“Which is why I take advantage,” you giggle.

Sam bursts out laughing. “Go. They’ll leave you behind.”

With a grin on your face and a hop to your step, you wave at Sam before heading out the side door and into the early morning. The sun is just starting to rise. Most people are still asleep or starting their day. You walk by the communal buildings where the earliest risers are preparing breakfast. You sigh when you get a whiff of what they’re cooking, wishing you could snag a meal before departing.

As you approach the gate, Zac raises his hand in greeting.

“Have I held everyone up?” you ask tentatively, glancing around.

“Not at all. Still loading up a few things. Your timing is perfect.” Zac smiles, and though you find him pleasant, nothing stirs within you. There is no lust or even romantic interest.

You observe the line of cars queued at the gate. Usually there are only one or two, but there are at least ten vehicles here including the salvaged U-Haul. “Taking a whole convoy?”

“We’re going to need it.”

“For a small town?”

Zac chuckles. “I’m dropping you off at the library. Ben will come with you.”

“I get a security detail?” you ask excitedly and Zac nods. “Fancy.”

Zac scratches at his neck, gaze roaming over the convoy. “There’s a car assembly plant a few miles outside the town. Gonna strip what we can. If things go well, we’ll come back.”

“No activity then?”

“None,” confirms Zac. “We’ve had a scouting team out there for the last two months. Not a soul has passed through.”

“That’s fortunate,” you murmur.

While your community has been largely untouched and unbothered by the outside world, there are still so many unknowns. There have been stragglers that have shown up, and while several have been accepted in and integrated, there are many more that have been turned away or shot on sight. Sometimes you think it cruel, but there are all sorts of horrors in the world now.

Ben walks around the front of the nearest car, and beams in your direction. “Hear I’m looking after you today,” he says, going in for a hug.

You accept it easily. Ben is the comedian of the community, always having a kind word and funny joke.

“And helping me haul books,” you add.

Ben winks in your direction and then turns to Zac. “We’re ready.”

Zac nods. “Load up!” he shouts.

Everyone around you heads to their designated vehicle. Engines roar and car doors slam. You follow Ben, hopping into a dusty Jeep Wrangler.

It’s several hours of open road and clear weather.

You and Ben pass the time by singing songs and playing car games. It’s a good distraction until Zac comes on over the radio and tells Ben their exit is coming up. The rest of the convoy drives on as Ben cuts away to take an exit ramp. A few more minutes and he’s coming to a stop just on the edge of town, parking the Jeep amongst a cluster of trees. The vehicle is completely hidden.

“Ready?” he asks, sliding the keys into his pocket.

“Backpack? Check. Gun? Check. Foldable wagon? Check.”

Ben blows raspberries. “Can’t forget the foldable wagon.”

You playfully smack him on the arm. “You want to haul all those books back yourself.”

“No thank you,” he mutters.

The walk is pleasant, but overall silent. Ben carries an M4AI. The arsenal back home is massive, and whenever there are trips outside the compound, the military-grade weapons come out. He keeps his head on a swivel, but other than the occasional animal sounds and the rustling of leaves, all is quiet.

“Here it is,” sighs Ben, extending one arm toward a stand-alone building at the corner of an intersection.

The library isn’t overly big. If anything, it’s what you’d expect from a small town.

“Now I know you’re excited,” he begins, slightly leaning in your direction. “But you stay close. We’re entering from the back.”

All you can do is nod eagerly, words escaping you. It’s been almost six years since you’ve been inside a library. This is a treat. It takes an insane amount of self-control to not skip all the way to the back of the building.

While the front of the building faces the intersection, behind the library is a small parking lot and two dumpsters. Ben does a slow sweep of the lot as the two of you walk toward the employee entrance. Satisfied that nothing and no one is around, Ben lowers his gun. Removing his backpack, he sets it on the ground, and rummages around inside before withdrawing lockpicks.

Adrenaline surges within you.

A few wiggles.

And then—

Click.

Grinning like an idiot, Ben slips the lockpicks into his backpack and puts it on. Grabbing his gun, he presses himself to the brick wall. Slowly, Ben opens the door with the tip of the rifle. It gives under his touch easily, the hinges even silent as the door swings inwards.

“Draw your weapon,” whispers Ben. “We need to do a sweep first.” As you reach for your Glock, Ben shakes his head. “And leave the damn wagon.”

Leaning the foldable wagon against the wall, you remove your gun from its holster. Ben enters and you follow, shifting your body to watch for anything coming up behind you. It’s a slow sweep. Starting along the wall, the two of you walk the perimeter, checking the back offices, and then finally the center-most area.

Ben comes to a stop near a collection of dusty chairs. Lowering his gun, he sighs with relief. “It’s clear.” He turns in your direction. “I’ll be keeping a lookout at the door. If anything happens, you come directly to me.”

“Got it,” you say with a mock salute.

Ben rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “And don’t drag those books along because I know you will. Leave them.”

You stare him down but Ben doesn’t budge, matching your stare with one of his own. “I mean it. If someone or something comes barreling through the front doors, you fucking run to me. Understood?”

“Sure. Got it. Understood.”

Ben checks his watch. “We have a few hours before we’re expected back at the meet point. Take your time.” He starts to walk away, and then abruptly pivots. “Wife packed a few sandwiches. Promise I’ll share.”

You snort and wave him off. “Bring me my wagon, Ben.”

“On it,” he calls over his shoulder.

As his footfalls recede, you linger in the quiet, dusty library, taking in the significance of the moment. Six years since you’ve stood inside an actual library. Five years since the world fell apart but a year before, third places were quickly disappearing. No one could spend money when wages were low and all the government’s resources were going toward the war effort. Libraries and free spaces shuttered first, losing all their funding.

This place is precious. Special. A rare opportunity.

Of all the books in your community’s collection, they’ve all come to you by the way of others, collected on routine trips and scavenging missions like today. Since stepping inside the walls you now call home, this is the first time you’ve left it. All the stories you receive of the outside world come from the mouths of those who witness it firsthand.

Like a jubilant child, you want to run around—to touch everything. The tips of your fingers buzz with an incessant itch. But you don’t dare remove anything from the shelves. Resisting is almost physically painful as you float through the aisles, taking it all in. To remove a book off the shelf, to open it up, the smell it and feel it would be paradise.

But you know better. You do.

Disturbing them without the right tools and care might cause damage or undo exposure. What you can do is look, to read the spines, and consider your options. Once you know what you want, you’ll drag your little wagon behind you and go about taking the books you want off the shelves.

Ben does leave you alone, and you’re left to wander.

Each step is light but purposeful as you move about the space. You think of everyone back home, of their likes and dislikes, of their needs and wants. More picture books would be helpful as well as some young adult novels. Some of the women have been asking for romance and few of the older folks would like some historical nonfiction.

“Where are you?” you mutter, digging around in your jacket pockets.

Crumpled paper brushes against your fingers. Withdrawing it, you smooth it out as best you can. Using the little light available to read your scribbled penmanship, you pull the wagon behind you, mentally reordering your notes by priority.

Sam wants dictionaries, and you need to grab a set of encyclopedias. Finding the “Reference” section, you survey all your options. Dictionaries and an encyclopedia set are a must, but you also consider the selections of atlases and then the thesaurus collection. The school could really use those resources, and your wagon is large enough to accommodate a few last-minute additions.

Kneeling, you admire the different editions of encyclopedias. Some appear a little worn but otherwise fine. Even though this place hasn’t had power or temperature control in five years, the place was sealed and untouched until you and Ben. It’s likely that everything inside is fine, and all you and Sam will need to do is a rebinding.

You’re completely absorbed, so focused on the tomes in front of you, that the whisper of your name has you spinning around and reaching for your gun.

Ben has his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. A snarky remark sizzles on your tongue. Ben brings a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence. Whatever you were going to say dissolves, leaving behind an acrid aftertaste.

Slowly, you swivel your head from side to side but see nothing.

Ben shifts closer, leans in, a glint of fear in his eyes.

“There are people outside,” he whispers.

That’s when you hear it. Distantly, you hear a car door slam, and a muffled shout. The marrow in your bones becomes ice. There are people. There shouldn’t be people.

You swallow, mouth becoming dry. “How many?”

Ben shrugs. “Not sure. But there’s two groups.”

“Two—” You shake your head slightly as that’ll clear your racing thoughts. “What do you mean two groups?”

Ben’s mouth turns downward. It’s an I’m sorry but even that is loaded.

We’re not getting out of this.

There’s a distant hoot of laughter, and then the breaking of glass as if someone’s thrown a beer bottle. It’s still far enough away that you cling to that one comfort. But if they stick around, they might come sniffing. If that happens, you and Ben will be cornered.

Ben nods his head in the direction of the front of the library. Staying low, the two of creep toward the front of the building. There are two sets of double doors. The first set open up into the library and the secondary set of doors lead directly outside. Sandwiched between them is a small atrium. Above the doors are massive windows that bring in natural light.

Out front in the intersection are several beaten up trucks. From what you can see, it’s all men, at least a dozen or two in total. They look haggard. Mean.

“Is that them?” you ask softly.

Ben doesn’t look back at you as he answers. “Just the one. These guys came in loud.” Ben shifts slightly to glance over his shoulder at you. “Surprised you didn’t hear them.”

“Lost in my books.” Ben snorts, and returns his attention to the glass doors. “What about the second group?” you ask tentatively. “Our people?”

Ben eases back a bit. He sits down on the floor, checking over his rifle. “No. Not sure who they are.” He licks his lips, gaze focused on the gun. “They’re all in black. Militarized by the look of them. Organized.”

Two groups. Two different groups.

Ben removes the clip and checks the cartridge. “Only noticed them when one of these guys went around back.” He gestures toward the men directly outside the front doors. “Fucker came out of nowhere and knifed him. Dragged his body away too.”

“Who are they?”

Ben shrugs and rummages in his backpack for a new clip. “No fucking idea. The ones out front might be marauders or slavers or—”

He pauses, gaze growing distant.

“Or what, Ben?” you prompt.

He doesn’t answer, only readies the rifle. “All I know is we need to go.”

All this work, all this effort, suddenly gone.

Your shoulders sag as the reality of the situation sets in. “I have to leave the books. Don’t I?”

“Afraid so,” replies Ben. But he smiles, and though he’s trying, you see the strain. “Next time I’ll make sure to bring you and Sam some books.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he affirms. “Let’s go.”

At the back door, you withdraw your Glock, posting up beside Ben. He cracks it open. Pauses. Opens it a little wider. He carefully sticks a small hand mirror out the opening. He turns it left then right then back again.

“Clear” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He exits slowly, and then gestures with his hand. You step outside, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust to the light. Ben starts to cross the parking lot, heading for the exit furthest from the intersection.

The voices of the men are louder out here. A tiny bubble of panic blooms. Then simmers. Then boils.

There is no one around. No one. And yet—

A loud crack splits the air. The wall next to Ben explodes, tiny fragments of debris bursting outward. Ben stumbles backward. He grabs for you. And tugs.

You’re yanked to the side, and then spun around.

Time seems to slow, and yet everything occurs so quickly you don’t entirely comprehend what’s happened until Ben shoves the two of you behind a nearby dumpster.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe. “Ben. We—”

Horror floods your lungs.

Blood.

Everything. Dripping from tiny holes in Ben’s body.

“Oh my god. Ben.”

You reach for him, but there are so many impact points. Too many.

“Go,” he gasps. “Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

As the words leave your mouth, a barrage of bullets bite into the wall directly over your head.

“Here,” he rasps, handing you the keys to the Jeep. “Leave me and fucking run. I’ll distract them.”

Shouting breaks out nearby followed by what seems like a never-ending deluge of gunfire.

Your eyes burn. “You promised me books.”

He smiles, and there’s more red than white. “You know I always deliver on my promises.”

With a groan that’s more a cry of pain, Ben stands and reloads with a new clip.

“Go,” he whispers just as he steps out from around the dumpster, gun firing.

You turn. Take off. Gunfire follows.

It comes from everywhere, but you don’t falter, don’t pause to check your surroundings. You’re not a raging bull or an agile cheetah. You are pure frenzy, pure panic, like a rabbit running from fox teeth.

“Fucking grab her!” someone yells. “Grab her!”

You don’t know if it’s the marauders or the men all in black, but there is little reason to consider who.

Survival is paramount. Survival is eternal.

In a world like this, survival is lifeblood.

It is everything.

With lungs burning and muscles screaming, you aim for the houses, knowing you can lose them if you scuttle through the overgrown backyards.

The blow comes out of nowhere.

You witness a brief taste of freedom.

And then it’s yanked right from under you.

A body barrels into you, knocking you sideways. The ground comes up fast. You throw up your arms to protect your head and face. It cushions but protects little else. You hit hard.

“Come here,” growls a male voice. Hands are on you. Grabbing. Twisting. “Let me get a good look at you.”

You kick out. Throw your fists in all directions.

“Stop your fussing.”

A quick blow to the face and you’re circling, everything becoming temporarily blurry as the person atop you brings your vision skyward.

 “Look at you,” he laughs.

It’s one of the marauders. He smiles down at you, teeth brown and grey from decay.

“Pretty thing. Gonna look cute choking on my—”

His nefarious smile drops as the rest of him stiffens. You freeze, staring up in shock as you try to figure out what’s happened. It’s a slow unfolding. A trickle. Blood begins to pool in his mouth and then it drip drip drips onto your face.

With a soft cry, you wiggle out from under him as he tips over, falling into the grass. Scrambling backward, you start to push up onto your knees, muscles poised to keep moving.

“Don’t move.” A gun barrel presses into the back of your head. It’s still warm. “Get up.”

A pair of black boots come into view. Your gaze slowly ascends. Black boots give way to black pants to a black bullet proof vest to a black balaclava. The only part of him you can see are his eyes.

Someone grabs the back of your neck. It’s a harsh hold, and you’re yanked to your feet. You twist your neck and find another man, this one almost identical to the one in front of you. This is the other group Ben spotted, the ones tracking the marauders.

The one holding your neck squeezes and the other reaches for you. “Fucking move and I’ll shoot you.”

You remain perfectly still—perfectly silent as he pats you down. The knife in your boot is confiscated along with your Glock. When they snatch the Jeep keys, you instinctually reach to take them back.

“Told you not to fucking move.”

The man slaps your hand down and you feel the muzzle return to your head.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

He stares you down for a long moment. It gives you an opportunity to observe him, and his companion. They both wear identical all-black tactical even down to the patches attached to their biceps. The bottom one you recognize. Both American flags. The one above it is eerily similar but you can’t entirely place it. It’s an azimuthal projection of the earth but a top view from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches.

The stranger’s gaze shifts to just above you. He jerks his head, and then you’re shoved forward without warning. With each of them holding an arm, you’re half-dragged back to the intersection the marauders were at.

While their rusty trucks are still there, they aren’t alone. Four armored trucks are parked in a semi-circle around the marauders’ cars. More men in all-black tactical gear prowl the area. Of the first group to arrive, those that aren’t dead have been zip tied and lined up in a row on their stomachs, faces pressed into the asphalt.

When one of them moves, they’re kicked until they fall back into compliance.

“Found this one out by the houses,” says the man holding onto your left arm.

Soldiers. They have to be. This isn’t some ragtag group. They wear uniforms, all of which are perfectly maintained. Even the armored trucks are in decent condition.

A small trio of them standing nearby turn.

The centermost soldier speaks. “A woman?” His surprise is clear. And like the two men who hold you, this man too has an American flag.

He nods toward the group of facedown marauders. “These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.”

Breeders.

You almost snarl, bite back with an insult. But you keep your mouth shut. Their intentions are unclear, and you’re without a weapon. Entirely powerless.

Survival. Always survival.

He takes a few steps forward, approaching you, gaze assessing. Behind the balaclava, he gives you a once over. “Looks healthy,” he observers. Without warning, he grabs your face. You jerk back, and he clucks his tongue. “Stop moving.”

Turning your face to the left and then to the right, the middle of his brow creases. “Open your mouth.”

You glower, and don’t comply.

He grabs your nose, shutting off your air. You gasp, mouth opening.

“Has all her teeth,” he announces, dropping his hand. “Can’t be one of theirs.”

“We need to show the Lieutenant,” says the soldier to your right.

The man before you stares, and keeps staring. “Do we?”

You don’t like the implication.

“What’s this?”

A deep, masculine voice cuts through the air. It is accented. British. Every head turns, and the soldiers straighten, shoulders back and heads held high.

The man holding your left arm speaks up. “Found her running toward the houses, Lieutenant.”

All the soldiers wear plain black balaclavas. Simple. Straightforward. But the man who steps into view has a skull face stitched into his. A fucking skull.

Instead of an American flag, it’s a Union Jack.

His brown eyes behind the mask narrow. “They don’t bring their women out.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are their numbers that low?”

“With how we’ve been picking them off I wouldn’t be surprised.”

They bicker back and forth, arguing about you but not actually talking to you.

“I’m not with them,” you say, and they all go silent.

Skull Face glowers. “You’re not?”

“I was running from them.” You glance between the soldiers who shot the man. “They’ll tell you. They’re the ones that shot him.”

Skull Face appears unmoved. “Doesn’t mean you’re not with them.”

You laugh, and it sounds a bit hysterical. “Why would I be fucking running if I were with them? Wouldn’t I be shooting back at you?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “If you were with them, you’d be bloody running from them. Not shooting at us.”

“She has to be with them. There’s no one else here.” The man who speaks up this time is directly to Skull Face’s right. The accent is different. Scottish.

“I came with one other. Those men shot at us.”

Ben. Oh. Sweet Ben.

“And where are they?” asks Skull Face.

You swallow, knowing the truth. “Behind the library. Parking lot. Near the dumpster.”

Skull Face locks gazes with another solider and nods. Two men break off, heading in that direction. He returns his attention to you. “Who are these men?”

“What?” you ask, perplexed.

“These men.” He points to the facedown marauders. “Who are they?”

These men are strangers to you. “Slavers?” When no one confirms or denies, you guess again. “Cannibals?”

“She’s playing dumb,” mutters the Scots.

“Hush, Soap,” mutters Skull Face.  “Who are they? What name do they go by? It’s an easy question. Everyone knows it.”

You shake your head. “I—I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Skull Face leans in, lowering his voice. “If you don’t answer truthfully, you and I can have an extended chat in the back of one of these trucks.”

“She had these.” The Jeep keys are tossed, and he catches them without looking. “And this.” The Glock is presented.

Soap takes the Glock. He turns it over. “They don’t give their women weapons, Ghost.”

So, Skull Face is named Ghost. Fitting.

“No,” he agrees. “Makes it easier for them to fight back.”

The very idea sobers you.

“Who are they?” you ask, feeling safe enough to do so.

Ghost glances up from the car keys. “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

“Lieutenant!” The two men that left for the library return. Jogging forward, they speak in low voices.

Ben is not with them. Ben is—

Ghost nods and steps back. “We’re taking her with us.” The two men holding onto your arms let go and Ghost immediately grabs hold of your shoulder, pulling you forward.

“Pick three of these bastards at random,” he announces, gesturing toward the facedown men. “Put them in Delta truck. Shoot the rest.”

Ghost’s hand at your shoulder slides up, grasping the back of your neck. He leans in close—so close you can pick out the little flecks of gold in his brown irises.

“You’re riding with me.”

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-four —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. a/n: ily

England passes in beautiful shades of green, the last time you'll see it, so you soak it in. Rolling hills streak the landscape like scars. In the distance, you glimpse faded architecture, imagining people living and working there. An ivy-covered university appears, and you picture yourself dozing off in a lecture. These little fantasies entertain you for the next two hours, but Blue isn't distracted by the same game. When you look at her arm, you notice pink scratches just below where the friendship bracelet hugs her wrist, made by her nails mindlessly.

You tear your eyes from the window and nudge your shoulder against hers. "Hey. What do you call a cow with no legs?"

Her lips twitch at the broken silence and she lifts her azure eyes to yours, a bead of sunlight catching in them. "What?"

"Ground beef."

Those eyes roll. "That's stupid."

Nereida smiles from the other side of her. "Oh, I've got one. What did the ocean say to the beach?"

Blue sighs. "Ghost said that one before. Nothing—it just 'waved'."

A recoil passes over Nereid's kind eyes. "I apologize. That's the only one I know."

Quiet air fills the space again, and when you notice Blue's nails dig back into her wrist, you gently lace your fingers through hers and pull her hand to your lap, allowing her to scratch your thigh, instead. 

When an old theme park erects from the grass, Blue's interest piques. "Woah. What is that?"

"None of it works anymore," Ghost mutters, one hand on the wheel.

"It looks cool, though. I have to pee, anyway. Can we stop here?"

"I could use a little stretch for my legs," Nereida adds.

The pitstop is brief enough to allow Blue the chance to curiously look through the decrepit bumper cars, carousel, and even a small rollercoaster that still has the car sitting mid-track. She grabs Ari's hand to show him, but he doesn't seem as intrigued given the pale look on his face. He ends up rushing to a bush and keeling over.

"The back gets a bit bumpy," Kyle says when he notices your expression. "He'll be fine."

"I'll switch with him for the rest of the way."

"You don't have to."

"It's fine. He can probably entertain Blue better than I can."

Everyone uses the small break to eat a little lunch. You already had some of the beans Ghost packed, so you feel uncertain whether you should eat anymore of his food. You haven't even discussed sharing. Rather, you ration the jerky you made and save the rest. 

It is a small meal, so you eat it slowly to trick your stomach into feeling full. Just before getting back to the truck, you spot a tree by the entrance to Kettering Kastle. Hickory. Paul told you once they make for great arrows, a softer hardwood. Pliable yet strong. This excites you. Your sheath is only half-full, so you grab your serrated knife and cut a few midsized branches to take with you.

Sitting in the truck bed is far from pleasant. The tail wind makes it hard to breathe, and you have to grab the side of the truck to keep yourself from flying out. Kyle notices your struggle and seems amused, but reaches an arm over in offering. You hold onto him and it does some to keep you stable. 

The motorway passes through Kettering, which is a smaller city. The smell is retched, though the only Greys you spot don't take notice to you, trapped between buildings and toppled telephone poles. You make out a sign that reads A14 and figure it is headed to Cambridge. If you continue this pace, you'll reach the coastline by sundown.

Of course, things don't work out that way. The road becomes more obstructed with abandoned vehicles. Ghost has to weave through them like a maze, wasting time and fuel. The sun crawls higher in the sky. Finally, there are a few kilometers of straight road. Speed ticks up only to come to an abrupt halt when he reaches an underpass. You let go of Kyle and stand up to see what has caused the stop—a semi truck completely blocks the way through it.

"Jesus," you mutter.

Consecutive slams of the fronts doors indicate Price and Ghost are checking it out. Kyle hops out with them. After a few minutes, he returns and explains with a sigh, "We'll have to backtrack and find a side street that will lead to another motorway ramp."

"That's going to eat time. The sun will set soon."

He offers his arm again as Ghost begins reversing. "I know. It's fine, we'll just get to the water tomorrow. No rush, yeah?"

It adds an extra hour and a half. The sky turns a remarkable orange that would've had you gawking if not for your irritation of having to stop again. Ghost pulls over just before it gets too dark to set up the tents in a small market town called Haverhill. There's hardly anything here except fields of bright, yellow flowers and little shops with slanted CLOSED signs. It is actually pleasant and well-preserved, until you catch the distinguishable shape of a corpse hanging from one of the telephone poles, a black trash bag over its head.

"Don't look at it."

"Nothing I haven't seen before," you dismiss under your breath. 

A more forested patch of land at the edge of the town is where you make camp for the night.

They eat canned goods and you finish your last pieces of jerky. This means you'll have to find more food for yourself tomorrow, or ask Ghost for some. The thought makes you anxious. The last thing you want is to seem like an extra burden. Dead weight that they'd be better off leaving behind. But he also didn't comment when you ate the beans. The uncertainty of where you stand means you need to make yourself useful.

The men need rest, so you offer to keep watch.

Prices dismisses you. "You don't have to, Twix. The three of us can take turns."

"No, really. I'll keep watch and you guys can all get more sleep. I've just been sitting in a car all day, anyway."

He gives in, visibly fatigued after being up over twenty-four hours.

Ghost and Price sleep first.

That leaves you sitting with Kyle when the stars begin to flicker like bright, little heartbeats against the black night.

You pull out your smoother knife—the one you found back at that base—to carve the sticks you found, careful of your bandaged thumb. 

Kyle lays his rifle across his lap. "First time I am seeing you smile today and it's while carving sticks." 

"Arrows," you correct, holding one up and tapping your index lightly against the sharpened point. "And it's good wood. Hickory."

"You're an easy woman to please," he teases.

"My tastes have changed over the years."

"Really? I can't imagine you as one of those people who cared too much about nice things."

You flash him a raised brow. "Are you saying I was cheap?"

He nudges your knee. "Not what I'm saying. You just seem like someone who would prefer a little movie date over a fancy dinner."

"I liked sushi. Is that fancy?"

He hums. "There were some good cheap sushi spots in London—hole in the wall type places. When there was some kid doing their homework at one of the booths, that's when you knew it'd be good shit."

"You're making me hungry."

"Well, you should've eaten more." He looks at you knowingly. "You're scared to ask anyone for food, aren't you?"

Are you really that easy to read? You place the half-finish arrow across your knees and look at the ground, brushing your fingers absentmindedly through the soft grass. "I just—I am aware of my place here."

"Your place?"

Your hands tightens the grass into a fistful. "I am at the bottom."

"The bottom," he repeats slowly, and his voice lowers. "You really think that?"

You rip the grass and sprinkle it over your boot, glancing up at him. His eyes have darkened, or maybe they are simply mirroring the sky. "I am not complaining. I understand that everyone here has others who they would prefer to keep alive over me, that's all. I just don't want to stick out anymore than I already do."

He reels in your words. "You're forgetting that everyone here has their own perspective, their own wants. It is not as simple as you're making it seem." In a change of topic, he reaches for the arrow on your lap. "Here—let me help."

You hand him the knife and he begins carving expertly as a few minutes of silence ensue. You are lost in your thoughts, keeping your eyes on the surroundings, when he suddenly stops in his handiwork, holding up the knife. You watch him study the leather handle carefully, shake his head to himself, then look at you.

"Where did you get this?"

"Huh? Oh—I found it. At a military base actually."

Your answer seems to strike him, and he releases a disbelieving exhale. "The one near Manchester?"

You nod. 

"It was my brother's."

What?

Reading your expression, he shows you the handle and rubs his thumb over a small etching at the bottom that you can barely make out in the moonlight: PG.

"Patrick Garrick," he explains in a murmur, and your chest tightens. "I didn't even notice it at first. It's been years since I had it. The last time...the last time was when shit happened, and I lent it to a friend of mine at the base."

"Who?"

"Soap," he says, a memory taking over his expression as he rubs his jaw. "He was the other member of our spec ops unit."

"You... Someone mentioned him before. Ghost—he asked you guys about him when you arrived. You don't know what happened to him, right?"

Kyles nods. "He stayed back at the base to keep helping even when Price and I jumped ship. That was the Scottish in him—stubborn as hell. Soap was just his codename, of course. Like mine was Gaz." He looks up at you with a faint dimple. "And yours is Twix, huh?"

"I guess." You press your tongue to your teeth and grab the knife, frowning at it as you try to recall exactly where you grabbed it from. "What was his real name, then?"

"John MacTavish."

"I think—I think your friend is dead. I'm sorry." You gaze at him. "I remember now. I found it in one of the rooms, and there was a skeleton with that name. He... he had it quick, though."

The expression on his typically warm eyes turns unreadable and his shoulders stiffen in the slightest. You wonder if you should have bothered sharing this, but then he shrugs it off with a sigh. "It's okay. Figured as much. Many people have died. He's just another name to the list."

Instinct draws your hand to his shoulder, and the muscles softens beneath your touch. "I'm still sorry."

His eyes find yours. 

He smiles solemnly.

Then, somewhere in it all, he leans over and closes the gap. The sudden, foreign feel of lips pressed against your own stuns you. His lips move gently, cold and soft against yours, and only when he threads a hand through your hair to pull you closer do you fully register what he is doing. Your eyes fly open and you break away, leaping to your feet.

"Why did you—what was that?"

He stands up with you. "It felt right in the moment."

He tries to touch your shoulder but you flinch away. "I'm sorry. I just—I was just trying to comfort you."

"I misread the moment." His eyes are clouded. "So you didn't want it?"

Did you? Your mind feels fuzzy. "I don't know. I need to...I want to be alone right now."

You grab your knife and sticks, rushing around the tents to find solace by the truck, needing to process what just happened. As you move, you bump into a hard chest—Ghost. Somehow you failed to hear the jagged teeth of the tent's zipper. Avoiding his gaze, you try to slip past, but he grips your elbow, holding you in place.

"What is it?"

The lie wedges out of your lips. "Nothing. I just—thought I saw something so I am going to sit over there and keep an eye out."

The difference in height leads to his stare burning into your scalp. "What did you see?" 

"I don't know. Something. Maybe just an animal."

His hold doesn't soften. Stoicism forces itself on your face as you press your lips into a line.

You're easy to ready.

He finally lets go. "I'll take over now. You can sleep."

You find yourself nodding soundlessly, internally glad to be relieved of this duty. 

Sleep offers peace of mind, at least until morning. 

Dawn breaks over the small town in a quiet clatter of spoons against cans and the shuffling of bags being packed up. The dream you wake up from was one of an old life—the last kiss you experienced. But it fizzles quickly from the recesses of your brain the moment your lids shutter open. 

Both you and Kyle seem keen on acting as though nothing happened. More than anything, you are confused. You try to search inside that box of yours for how you feel, but all you find is fear. You've barely been able to keep up with the fear. You busy yourself with helping get everything back in the truck, fitting the supplies like a jigsaw puzzle. You have nothing to eat. A day or two without food is doable until you can properly hunt for something—

"Here."

It is Nereida who catches you by the truck before leaving. She practically shoves a can of tuna into your hands and you look up at her in hesitant gratitude.

"We're all sharing food," she says. "That is how it should be."

"Thank you. Really, this is—"

"Don't thank me. There is plenty for everyone."

For now, your mind chides, but you swallow the thought while scarfing down the meal you pretend is London's finest sushi. 

Once everyone is ready, you head to the back of the truck, expecting an awkward encounter with Kyle, only to find Ghost sitting there beside the kayak, hands relaxed behind his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Needed a break from driving."

You glance at the front to see that Price is behind the wheel, and Kyle is in the passenger side. In a way, you're relieved. You breathe through your nose and hoist yourself up. The bumpy ride is quiet at first. His body takes up space so that each pothole nudges your shoulder or knee against his. The morning ages. You swear you can see there coast at one point, but it must be your imagination, because the passing sign reads Halstead. 

"You really need to work on lying better."

The brash accent registers low against the hum of the engine, and his eyes are closed when you look over. He is leaned back, one leg straight and one bent, seeming to enjoy the seat more than you are. 

"Fine. I'm bad at lying."

"Care to share the truth, then?"

He needn't elaborate for you to know what he is referring to. "I was...I was upset because I found out my knife—the one I took from the base—belonged to Kyle's brother."

His brow ticks.

You continue, "But he actually gave it to Soap, and I—I found his dog tag on a skeleton. John MacTavish. You were friends with him, weren't you?"

His eyes open, but they are too murky to decipher from just his profile. His jaw flexes. "I wasn't a man with friends, Twix."

"You know what I mean."

There is a pause, and then, "He was a sergeant under my command. A good man. Grating, at times. But good."

"Well, I'm sorry he didn't make it. If you of all people say he was a good guy, then he really must've been."

He hums in agreement. Thoughtful. Then—two gloved fingers touch your jaw, turning your eyes to his. "You are still lying, and still bad at it."

You wet your lips. "I wasn't—"

"Help!"

Ghost drops your chin and grabs the gun from his waist.

Your eyes flash around at the sound of a second plea. There is a man at the side of the road, leg draped in bloodied bandages, but there isn't a chance for you to register more of him when the truck takes a sudden, sharp left down a side street and you brace yourself by grabbing the edge with both arms. The small city-scape whirls by in a blur. Ghost swears under his breath, scanning the area as he bends on one knee and keeps the gun secure in his grip. Confused, you grab his arm.

"That man was injured."

His voice is harsh and alert. "He has fucking friends somewhere here. He was just trying to—"

A shattering sound. An audible pop. You're thrown against the truck bed even harder this time as it skids across the street, nearly slamming into a flipped-over car. Ghost covers you, the weight of him keeping you from flying out. The truck swerves to a halt. Everything is black until his weight lifts. He barks an order, jumps out, and pulls you with him.

Pressed against the side of the truck, the world becomes consumed by loud sounds and the distinct smell of gunpowder. Ghost rips open the passenger door and urgently pulls Blue, Ari, and Nereida out, ordering them to keep low. From the other side, you hear Price and Kyle shouting, followed by another series of gunshots.