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mullermilkshake · 2 days ago

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The rose garden - Chapter 3

I will be uploading the whole thing here, it's just going take a little time, but if you want to read more right now, there's more on my AO3 <3

Summary - You are just an author wanting to put your writing out there and carry on with your life, but when two people end up murdered, things you write about seem to be more real than just pure fiction.

Pairing - Yandere!Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader / Detective!Satoru Gojo x Fem!reader (Sort of one sided)

Word count - 3.9k

Tags (master list for the entire fic, will add TW for significant tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! PLEASE READ THE TAGS!!!,NSFW,SMUT,NO USE OF Y/N,Yandere!Getou Suguru, graphic depictions of violence, major character death,Porn With Plot,Porn with Feelings,Established Relationship,PleasureDom,Codependency,Murder,Torture,Conspiracy,Cunnilingus,Orgasm Control,Multiple Orgasms,Minor Original Character(s),psychiatry,Medication,Power Imbalance,Vaginal Fingering,Disembowelment,Manipulation,Gaslighting,Rimming, Praise Kink,Grinding,mentions of blowjobs,Dry Humping,thigh riding,Dark,Autopsy,Aftercare,Hunting,Guns,Perceived infidelity,Body Horror,Smoking,Vaginal Sex,Misogyny,Public Stimulation,One sided sexual tension,Invasion of Privacy,Strangulation,Reader-Insert,Serious Satoru Gojo,Orgasm Edging,Obsession,Accidental Voyeurism,Angst,Questions of masculinity, stabbing, shooting

One case after another.

Satoru Gojo just needs a little sleep.

Tags for chapter - Detective!Gojo, Smoking, Grahphic depictions of gore and murder, body horror, Shoko my bby, Ino my bby, Crime scene, Serious Gojo

“Gojo…”

“Wake up man…”

“Jesus christ- Wake up!”

Satoru Gojo shot up from his desk and banged his head on the overhanging desk lamp. “Fuck!”

Takuma Ino perched himself on his desk as Satoru rubbed the stale sleep from his eyes. “You slept here again? You should really go home and shower. It’s kind of sad.”

Satoru groaned and did his best to sit up straight and stretch as best as he could. “Yeah, I had to finalise the details of this case I just closed. I figured it was just easier to sleep here so I could speak with Nanami and go home early.”

He’d worked tirelessly over the last week, all he wanted was a little bit of paid time off and he was sure Nanami would give it to him.

Ino adjusted his position and looked away from him, his hand rested over his tack vest. “Yeah… About that.”

“Give me some good news, man. I’m too tired for this shit in the morning.” He slumped his head back on top of his folded arms.

The overhead light was too bright, the stagnant office air far too stuffy and Ino’s voice a pitch too loud. Satoru hadn’t had a solid night's sleep in two weeks and now there was something else?

“I came to wake you because there’s something Nanami asked me to ask you to go see.”

“So instead of coming to get me himself, he sends his lackey to do it for him?” Kento Nanami would be the death of him if he sent him on any more errands before a hot shower.

“It’s important. An odd homicide… you’re favourite.” He sang that last part.

And odd cases were his favourite. There was a reason Satoru’s record of arrests was perfect. Because he could see parts of a crime scene that no one else could. Sort of like a sixth sense.

He tried to ignore Ino and fall back asleep. “Not today.”

“C’mon, Nanami gave the all clear for me to come with you. We never get to partner up anymore. I heard it's particularly gruesome too. That’s like a candy shop for you.”

Satoru didn’t move.

“Let’s go!” He was shaking him now. Idiot. “We have to go before the regular beats leave their dirty paws all over the crime scene. C’mon!”

“Fine.” Satoru got up and narrowly avoided his head on the lamp again. “Fine. One scene and I’m off to bed, I just want a few hours that aren’t sitting up at my desk.”

He needed to buy a fancy new chair for his office and not that god awful sofa. Harder than rocks and smaller than a cardboard box. But first he needed his own office.

Shit. What he would have done for his own office not to get bothered by Ino day in, day out.

“Awesome, just like old times eh?”

Way back, when Satoru belonged to part of a specialist unit. Now he was somewhat of a rogue. He performed better on his own, that way no one could slow him down and he wouldn’t need to watch out for others. It was better that way in his specialist field that he stayed on his own.

“Yeah.” But he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it from time to time. “Anything we should know goin’ in?”

Ino kept his pace and shook his head with a quick withdrawal. “Nothing. Shoko said it would be better if we saw it when we got there.”

Wasn’t she the one for puzzles this early in the morning? “Where is it?”

They made it to the elevator and took it all the way down to the ground floor. “Some place over the other side of town, up near the lanes.”

“That narrows it down.” Satoru rifled through the pockets of his jacket and pulled out his cigarettes and put one to his lips.

He hated the taste, the horrid smell it left lingering on his clothes, but it was the only thing that seemed to help clear his mind. His mind could read a crime scene thoroughly from top to bottom in minutes. His clear mind could do it easily in under a minute. Less if he really wanted to show off.

“She requested you by name if that is anything to go by.”

Satoru and Shoko had not been in the same room for the better part of a year, she had pursued a career in forensic pathology, and one would think they would have crossed paths more being in their respective fields. Most of the time she was already gone when Satoru got there.

Life just went on and things got in the way. Part of him looked forward to seeing an old friend. The other half was intrigued by the fact she would still be there waiting for him.

Gruesome. What an interesting word. “Did Shoko say that it was gruesome? Or did Nanami?”

“Shoko did.”

That meant something entirely in comparison to Nanami. If the forensic pathologist was using a descriptor such as that for the scene, then it would have been more than just bloody. Satoru went into the scene with a mind to prepare for something worse than the town had seen for some time.

And of course, he was right on it.

A large house off of the lanes, big and obvious enough that the occupant wanted to hide in the trees totally oblivious to the house with more money than they knew what to do with, stuck out like a sore thumb against the greenery.

A house with a dead body inside.

“Holy shit.” Ino’s mouth dropped.

Satoru was already reading the place as he stepped in and saw what Shoko was talking about.

No mud tracks.

Dust lines are non existent

She’s still fully clothed.

“I need everybody out for the time being.” Satoru pulled out a pair of gloves from the little pack in his jacket pocket.

Shoko was right over by the body taking photographs, the flash filling up the entire corner of the far east wall. Everybody, besides two people slowly filtered out of the room, slower than Satoru would have liked, trudging and dragging their feet past him with looks full of ruffled feathers and annoyance.

“Always need to command a room, right Gojo?” Shoko had her back to him. She held the camera out to one of the other men and they promptly left with it in hand.

“You know me. I prefer being one of the only guys in the room.”

“A big headed one at that.” It was like they had picked up where they left off.

“Maybe. But you did call for me . It kinda gives me the right to have a big head, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, something I’m starting to regret.”

The body was an odd one, and it continued growing in that oddity the closer Satoru got to it. But, it truly was gruesome.

Shoko finally faced him, leaning against the wall in ther white overalls and mask, a tilted head in amusement. “So… What do you think?”

“Well, whoever it was, was already inside, they didn’t break in. This was for control, not for sexual gratification and they cleaned up afterwards. You’ll need ultraviolet light to look for evidence, but I doubt you’ll find anything.”

“Cleaned up?” Ino came up alongside him and knelt down. “There’s no signs of wiped blood smears and I don’t smell any cleaning products.”

“There’s no dust lines. It would have taken time to clean up, but they cleaned up all of the surfaces too so it stopped the dust in the room from being disturbed. Dust can gather very quickly, especially in a room with so much stuff in it.”

The room was packed out with carpets, ornate sofa throws and pillows, the entire place was a dust factory, yet there wasn’t any signs of dust anywhere, except from the slither of sunlight poking through the closed curtain.

The killer used the large open floor length windows to funnel the smell and pungent chemicals out to nullify that theory. Quite clever.

“What about her?” Shoko nodded to the body.

The body was posed, like a doll, sat up along the chaise lounge in a seductive pose to inhibit a reaction from officers that this was for sexual gratification. But it was not.

There was no bruising about the neck, eyes or mouth meaning she didn’t die from asphyxiation, but rather the large gaping hole in her chest. Even an idiot would have been able to figure that one out.

It was the fact that her body was still entirely dressed.

This had been thought through far more than most scenes Satoru had stepped foot into. The most riveting part being her eyes were missing and stuffed full of organic matter. Like leaves? Grass clippings?

So was her mouth, like they were put there to keep her quiet. Upon further inspection, Satoru noticed no bruising or creasing on the matter which could indicate that it was all put there after she died.

Though there were blood drips down her cheeks when her eyes were removed, the killer made a conscious choice not to clean them up like the rest of her body, which by now, looked spotless.

“Who the hell does something like this? Shoko, do we know who lives at this address?” Ino got back up and approached her, pulling out his little notebook.

Satoru didn’t need a notebook. His mind was his notebook.

“Yeah, It’s-” Satoru faded them out and concentrated.

This was a well integrated woman. Popular. Well received. By the awards nearest to the kitchen, she was an accomplished author. Dark fiction going by the scripture on the bottom, the many lined photographs hanging on the walls and over various surfaces containing mostly dogs and friends.

Well received but not fully accepted going by the document stuck to the refrigerator with the wine bottle magnet. A messy divorce? Or a business deal? He wasn’t sure.

It was clear there was a party last night based off of the overflowing trash can full of red wine bottles and soft cheeses left out on the counter top.

Satoru looked further, still remaining by the body but observing everywhere else but the body. Confetti under the sofa and parts clung to the longer fibres on the shag carpet.

“Any news of the party last night? Were there any complaints; has anyone started to contact those who were here?”

“A party? Uh,” Ino rifled through a booklet Shoko had given him. “There was a party the night before, around thirty people came… they were celebrating something… uh.. They came from somewhere, but we’re still actively getting information.”

The night before? “Good. Have them question everyone and send the minutes of each call to my desk.” Satoru stood up and moved away from the body.

There was not one hint of bleach or cleaner in the wood, not even the fabrics. Satoru smelt everything. Unless, she was brought here after death, but it could not have been far.

“Has anyone checked the surrounding area for blood splatter?”

Shoko nodded. “They got nothing, even the cadaver dog turned up empty.”

That didn’t sound right. “Time of death?”

“I put it around midnight the night before, to two o’clock yesterday morning.”

A two hour time window.

How did no one see if there was a party

Satoru doubted whoever was still here either with the barrage of police vehicles at the bottom of the hill lighting the whole driveway like a christmas tree.

“Someone local maybe. If they didn’t kill her and bring her here, how the hell did he not get caught by the others?”

Ino shrugged his shoulders and wandered into the kitchen, pulling away the document papers in his gloved hand. “Maybe they were drunk, thought she was asleep or something. What makes you think he did it where there were people present?”

No. No, that wasn’t right. “Whoever this was, had to sit and hold her like this until rigour mortis set in so the body held its shape.”

Shoko seemed to agree. “Rigour mortis is precise enough. If she died at midnight at the earliest, whoever killed her would have needed to sit there with her for at least six hours, then clean the entire place, leave no smell and get out without being caught by anyone who came knocking the next day. But by now, rigour mortis would have softened her up.”

But there was still no smell which led Satoru to believe that there might have been some sort of embalming solution inside her.

“Oh that’s right.” It seemed Ino was on the same page too. “Rigour mortis disappears twenty four hours after death. So maybe the time of death is wrong and she was killed last night. So when she softens up, we’ll know when she died definitively and piece together the timeline…”

“The estimated time of death isn’t wrong. Whoever did this had plenty of time to get everything cleaned. They mustn’t have been disturbed.”

If the killer did all that, then Satoru needed to find out when everyone left the house, but as of right now, “Everyone who attended this party is a suspect. We need information on all of them.”

“Sounds good; see I missed this… us guys all together again solving crimes.”

Satoru leaned against the wall and thought hard. What even was the motive? There was always a motive, always a reason despite the most depraved crimes.

Ino took himself off to the next room as his phone rang. It was probably Nanami giving him some other boring job to do, though Satoru would class this as an interesting day. Well worth the lack of sleep.

His head was still clear. The most important part.

“So how you been holding up, Shoko-”

“Uh, Gojo?” Ino popped his head round the corner.

“God you can really read the room, idiot.” Shoko climbed to her feet and adjusted her overalls.

“What is it?”

“There’s another case, you should really take this.”

Good grief. Now Nanami was dropping stuff on Satoru’s lap as well? “I’m good, thanks.”

“It’s a hit and run.”

“That’s not my area.” Satoru waved him off, his tiredness setting in. “Tell Nanami to get someone else to study tyre tracks and skid marks.”

“You’re gonna want to take this. Shoko you too… It’s just down the road aways, we could walk there actually.”

Jesus christ. “One more,” Satoru raised his voice so he knew Nanami could hear him over the phone line. “Then I’m taking paid time off or you’ll run my ass into the ground!”

“Uh… Yes sir; yes- yes I’ll tell him…. Gojo, he wants a report on his desk after this too, then he said you can negotiate paid time off. A-and he said stop sleeping in your office, you know how he feels about overtime.”

That was laughable. “My whole life is overtime, man. Let’s get this over with then.”

By the time they had reached the next crime scene, Satoru had smoked two more cigarettes. Shoko swiped the smoke wisps away and upturned her lip. “God those are so strong, why do you smoke those?”

“You smoke too, or have you tried giving up again?” Ten months went by quickly.

“I do, but those aren’t menthol, why don’t you smoke menthol?”

Satoru shrugged with no care and stubbed the end out on the floor. “I don’t like the taste of these ones, let alone that minty crap.”

“Guys? Doesn't this look similar to someone we know?”

Satoru looked near the side of the road along the lane where a body was. An outdoor crime scene yielded different results to those indoors. The environment could wash things away, indirectly hide evidence and just be a bastard to work with, even with Satoru’s eyes on the case.

A crime scene was never a two dimensional affair. There were the walls and ceilings to work with, but outside with the elements, it was genuinely more case by case.

This body. This defied all two dimensional logic. “I wonder how our friend got all the way up in that tree there.”

It was as though he was hovering with his head all caved in like that, the only way really from this distance Satoru knew who he was looking at, was by the way his genitals blew about in the breeze through the trees, his broad frame held up by nature.

The tree was embracing the body, sort of placed like a crucifixion, but it wasn’t what stumped him that drew him closer, that he didn't even study the heavily leaf ladened floor at his feet.

Red roses, stuffed into his mouth and his side where a large portion of his waist should have been, where observing now, was in a pile on the floor along with his intestines like a long dodgy balloon string.

“Yummy…” Shoko’s humour was ever present. “Better get the camera out.”

This bared a striking resemblance to the woman in that house not half a mile away. Now, Satoru could not say at all if they were linked, not definitively until the forensics came back, and there was more readily available information to him.

Hang on… “Why was this called in as a hit and run?”

“They found blood splatters off on the road and linked it here.”

So the man was hit by a car, then dragged all the way through the woods and strung up like a decorative christmas turkey. Two in one murder, or a planned calculated move.

Curious.

Calculated. Or maybe it was last minute and rushed? No, not rushed for the time it would have taken to put him up there.

“There could be two killers?” Ino sat on the same page, flicking through his little notebook and turned to Satoru with a small subtle glint in his eye.

“Go on.”

“If the rigour mortis is anything to go by, then whoever did the lady in the house would have time. It could be the same person a day apart, but I’m thinking there's two people, because, how else would someone get that guy up there, he’s easily… what, two hundred pounds, two fifty soaking wet is my guess.”

Maybe Satoru had actually rubbed off on him all this time. “What if this guy was done after the woman on the same morning? It’s still tight. If there was a party not half a mile that way, then he’d have to avoid the cars coming down the lane. So If I was going to kill two people at the same time, I'd do it in the early morning when most people are asleep.”

Shoko disagreed. “I’m certain that this guy was done last night. Much later after that woman.”

As soon as they found out the time when the autopsies were finished, then it would spell things much clearer.

“I’ll put a rush on the call backs or something to get a basic timeframe.” Ino then rushed off to speak with another officer along with the big old smile on his face.

“What do you make of this, Shoko?” Satoru’s arms were folded, bored now that the initial shock had worn off.

“It reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on it.” Her little tool kit was out, dusting the man's toes for prints. “I’ll remember after the autopsies I think.”

“How so?”

It was like she was stuck for words. “I’m not sure. Back at the house, she sort of looked like a doll. That’s the only way I could describe it, her skin was way too smooth for how her decomposition record is.”

“A doll?” His eyes wandered up to the body above him. He sure didn’t look like a doll, but the roses were a nice touch.

“Yeah, like I’ve read it somewhere, in an article or something.” Carefully folding the clear plastic over itself, she tucked it into her little belt and pulled out a pair of long needle nose tweezers.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” It was time he left back to the station for that report.

“One last thing before you go…” She yanked her glove off, rummaged through a pocket of her overalls and presented Satoru with a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke menthol for goodness sake, it might save your life. And get some sleep, you look like shit.”

And here he thought it was going to be work related. “Thanks for being such a considerate friend, Shoko. Don’t be a stranger now. Let’s go out for dinner sometime after all this blows over, I get the feeling we’re goin’ to see a lot of each other.”

“You’re buying though.”

“Don’t I always?” He grinned at her and left after she turned her head back towards her work.

Ino was already waiting at the car for him and upon leaving and reaching the station, Satoru came to the conclusion that it was two different people. He just wasn’t sure whether they were linked and knew each other.

Or there was a possibility, albeit rare and exceptional, that there were two separate and completely unlinked murderers in the immediate area who knew nothing about the other.

The latter didn’t seem too likely.

Still, he wouldn’t jump to conclusions until the facts were all put in front of him. And just like that, some of them were. A sheet of paper with the minutes of one of the phone calls made to the attendees from the party that night.

“Seems like she was definitely popular.” It took the interviewee ten whole minutes to calm down before continuing the phone call after learning of the woman’s death.

“Yeah, well liked and everything. Apparently she attended an event that night. An author’s ball thing- I dunno. And they all left after to go to hers.”

“An event…” Satoru studied the words in front of him.

[All of us came from that event to celebrate the nominees and those who won awards… Oh my god. Oh my god.]

[Did everyone who was invited go?]

[Well… Some people weren’t invited. But I don’t know if they came anyway, we all got really drunk, we were celebrating. Oh god… I don’t even know where she went off too most of the time, we were all having such a good time. Oh my god! (Sobbing.) This is horrible…]

“So she wasn’t sure who came then?” It sounded utterly simple what the next move was. “Ino, get me a full roster of everyone who attended that event, staff, cooks, valet and an entire guest list… Also see if there’s anywhere nearby that might have security cameras we can check for that hit and run and try to identify him.”

“Sure thing.”

Someone in that list would be one of the two people they were looking for, in a rare circumstance, the only person they were looking for. And that footage, if it existed, was paramount, even if it was just a few minute little pixels in the corner, anything was better than nothing.

And when Satoru picked up a scent that made his intuition go haywire, he wouldn’t stop until he caught whatever was giving it off.

Because Satoru couldn’t leave well enough alone and strove to deliver justice to keep his record perfect. No one was going to escape him.

Though he hoped he could escape the station without giving that stupid report to Nanami.

He didn’t bet on it though.

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DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

The side characters and advanced plot is my own work. A gift for @vampir-queen and original idea for this fic is their own.

Also Please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #inoreader #shoko ieiri #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo #jjk gojo #detective gojo #jujutsu gojo #jjk satoru #satoru

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nightingale-ghost-writer · 3 days ago

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Maybe [Soap x Fem!OC]

Summary: Soap finds a kindred spirit during a trying time

Author’s Notes: This is a little of a long intro, feel free to skip it! I’ve been reading fanfiction for years, and I’ve started dozens of fics. This is the first one I’ve ever finished. (11.8K words!!!) It started off with me wanting Soap to get some medical care for his unaddressed injuries after Alone, and just exploded from there. I wanted to really highlight the bond he and Ghost formed, and then I wanted to give him love (because he deserves it!). I know it’s a bit sparse on the Price and Gaz side of things, but I feel like their bonds with Soap are sort of assumed going into this game. This game, to me, is about Soap learning that sometimes the right thing to do isn’t always so obvious, and Ghost learning to work with a team, thanks to Soap. I loved this campaign dearly, so I have a lot of dialogue carried over from scenes I really wanted to set. That being said, I changed some stuff to better incorporate my OC, Daniela. Writing reader-insert fics is a skill I just do not possess. If you’re reading, I hope you enjoy it!

And to my dear @uselsshuman, who is the furthest thing from useless, thank you so much for your encouragement to write this. Your writing and support really inspired me to get this done. This one’s for you. ❤

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence, suggestive content

Soap tucked himself behind a door, braced his back against the wall, and did his level best to breathe as silently as possible. He could hear the Shadows’ footsteps and radio chatter nearby.

He pulled back the hammer on the desert eagle he’d found in the café safe and held his breath. He didn’t want to get into a gunfight, not here. Not with them. He had decent cover, but his arm throbbed where a bullet was lodged, his ribs stung where his plates had kept him from another, his whole body ached from his jumps and falls in the city, and he was almost certain he’d damaged something in his left hip the day before.

That particular injury came from running along cliff faces to escape the cartel, which was bad enough. Adding the Shadows to that? That was terrible.

As the footsteps faded, Soap let out a slow, low breath and slumped to the ground. He let his eyes drift shut, just for a moment, taking stock of his ability to get across the plaza to the church. To Ghost. As if he knew that he was being thought about, Ghost’s voice crackled through the comms.

“Soap?“ he asked softly.

“Ghost,” whispered Soap.

“You alright?”

Soap opened his eyes and took a deep breath, peeked around the door, and answered “Think I found a way through, LT.”

“Shadows are everywhere. I’ll hold ‘em off until we RV in front of the church and secure a vehicle for exfil.”

“Roger that.” Soap crept up through the shop, taking care to stay low and move quietly.

“Give ‘em hell, Johnny. We’re almost there,” rumbled Ghost. After a moment’s pause, he added “Listen, I picked up an ally. Should help us get out of here a little easier. You’ve just got to us and we’ll get to a vehicle.”

Soap’s eyes narrowed. Ally? In Mexico? Only two people came to mind, and they were both “detained”.

“Is it Price?” he asked after a moment’s thought.

“No, one of Alejandro's Vaqueros. Wasn’t on base when Graves moved in. Showed up, realized something was wrong. We found each other killing Shadows, decided to team up.”

Soap chanced raising his head to peer out of the shop window. Seeing no Shadows, he moved for the door. “And you trust ‘im?”

“Enough, at least for now.”

“Copy that, LT. I’m on my way.”

He wiggled the door handle, but of course, nothing could be so easy. It was locked. So he pulled out the last of his makeshift pry tools, braced it in the door jamb, and pulled.

Lots of things happened all at once, then.

The door swung open. Soap yelled “Fuck!” while the Shadow said “what the- GET DOWN!��, and hit Soap with the butt of his rifle. The Shadow called his position, Soap heard “kill him!”, and then the Shadow dropped to the ground. Soap scrambled back, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye and groaning. His vision swam and his ears rang and he couldn’t get his bearings. Two more Shadows, running for the building, dropped to the sharp report of silenced sniper fire.

“Holy hell. Ghost, was that you?” Soap asked.

“Who else?” snapped Ghost’s rough voice. “Now go!”

He scrambled to his feet. And ran.

He ran as fast as his bruised body would let him, ducking behind cars and spraying with an SMG he’d picked up. He heard gunfire coming from ahead of him and cursed, grabbing for his radio.

“Ghost, how copy?”

“Johnny, got company in the church and they are not here for forgiveness. Get to the steps, we’ll be there!”

In the last few meters, Soap saw Ghost come careening out of the church doors, followed closely by a much smaller figure dressed all in black. They both turned to shoot at their followers as Soap and Ghost called out to each other. Ghost vaulted over the wrought iron fence, followed by their ally, and the three ran back the way Soap had come.

“We need a vehicle. On me!” Ghost barked. “Stay sharp. They know we’re here and they know it’s us. They’ll send more.”

Minutes that felt like hours later, after a brief firefight, the three piled into a pickup, panting and on high alert.

“Alright, Johnny! You made it.”

“We made it, LT.”

After ramming two Shadows with their stolen pickup, and nearly losing Ghost to another, they peeled off down an alley. Soap sagged against the seat, closing his eyes again. His heart and head were pounding.

“How’s that arm, Johnny?” asked Ghost.

Soap raised his head. “I’ll live,” he answered. He shivered violently, once, and Ghost cast a concerned glance in his direction.

“You sure it’s not infected?”

“Of course I’m not sure,” snapped Soap. Softening his voice, he added “But I think it’s just the cold. Between the tunnels and the rain, LT? Feels like I’m back home.”

Ghost nodded slowly. For a long moment, the two just basked in each others’ presence, grateful to have made it back together. Then, Ghost said “Daniela, would you take a look at the Sergeant’s arm? Can’t have him dying on us.”

Soap’s head snapped around to lock eyes with the ally he’d forgotten. Later, he’d remember this moment as an indication of his quickly deteriorating state. In the moment, though, he couldn’t wrap his head around anything but the woman in front of him.

Sometime between their getting into the truck and down the street, the black balaclava and hood had come off. The woman staring back at him had light olive skin and a mass of shiny black curls plastered to her head by rain. A thin, jagged, silvery scar ran from her cheekbone to her jaw, and her full lips were pursed in a barely-there smile. Soap thought he saw scarred flesh at the collar of her jacket. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. They were the bluest blue he’d ever seen- dark like the ocean, clear like the sky on a cloudless night, and as sharp as glass. Familiar, somehow.

He hadn’t necessarily had expectations of how this ally would look, but this was as far from expectation as possible. He had pictured a man, but even the fact that she was a woman wasn’t most shocking of all. It was her beauty.

He flinched when her hand landed lightly on his right shoulder, pulling gently.

“No, we can’t,” she said. Her voice was soft, musical, lightly accented. The lilt of just those three words had Soap’s head spinning for, at least he thought, completely different reasons than it had been spinning earlier. He adjusted his body so that rather than leaning with his left arm over the seat, his right arm hung over. The woman looked straight to the wound, gently prodding the flesh around the bullet wound, and Soap bit his tongue to keep from hissing in pain.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

Soap tried to be nonchalant. He shrugged and said “Not so much.”

Ghost snorted. Soap didn’t blame him. The words sounded strained even to his own ears. And based on the older man’s jokes about not watching the cartel’s videos of his death “more than once”, this seemed like just the kind of thing he might find amusing. The thought made Soap smirk. The woman rolled her eyes, setting them on his again.

“What’s your name, hen?”

“I am Daniela. You are Soap, yes?” Soap nodded. Daniela nodded as well, focusing back on his arm. “Your Ghost, he told you that I am with Los Vaqueros?”

Soap and Ghost exchanged a look at “your Ghost”. Now Soap really was smirking, and he imagined that Ghost was grimacing under his mask.

“Aye, that he did,” he replied. He watched as Daniela unzipped her tactical vest and tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of her shirt. She began winding it around his bicep, grimacing slightly at the wheeze of pain he couldn’t hold back.

“Well we have a safehouse. We’ll get there, stock up, get you patched up a little better, and come up with a plan.” After carefully tying a knot in the makeshift bandage, she raised her eyes to Soap’s again. “It’s the best I can do right now.”

“I appreciate it,” he replied. He held her gaze for a moment before turning to face Ghost. “Alright, Ghost?”

Ghost glanced at him again. Even behind the mask, Soap could see his expression soften. “Alright, Johnny. You did well back there.” Soap grinned, and could tell by the crinkling around his eyes that Ghost was grinning, too.

“All thanks to you, LT.”

The rest of the ride was filled with soft chatter about Alejandro, Los Vaqueros, Graves, and the safehouse… and Soap trying, and failing, not to feel Daniela’s burning stare on the back of his neck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Soap thought he was done for when Ghost shouted for him not to move. His feet had just touched the safehouse floor and Ghost was perched in the window. Before Soap even had time to react, a throwing knife flew past his head, embedding itself in the column just a meter away. Then he recognized Rodolfo’s voice.

“Quién está ahí?”

“Rodolfo!”

Rodolfo rounded the corner. “Soap, Ghost! You’re alive!” Soap could see the moment Daniela mounted the window. Rodolfo’s face crumbled, his whole body seeming to sag with relief. “Daniela!”

“Rodolfo!” She leapt from the windowsill, surging forward to wrap her arms around Rodolfo’s waist. His own arms came around her shoulders and the two rocked back and forth, holding each other, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that Soap had no hope of understanding. Rodolfo kissed the side of Daniela’s head, holding her to him tightly. Soap looked away. His eyes met Ghost’s and the two shared a slight shrug.

While Rodolfo and Daniela chattered away, Ghost stepped toward Soap.

“Daniela should be able to fix up that arm,” he said. “She’s not a formally trained medic, but she has lots of field training and experience. She told me she’s been patching up Los Vaqueros for years.”

“Aye. How’d you say you found her? Fighting Shadows?”

Ghost looked her way, nodding. “Just a few minutes before I got you on comms, I heard a scuffle. Thought it might be you, so I went in to assist. Lo and behold, I find that one slicing up a Shadow. ‘Nother pair showed up, though, and one got her in a choke-hold. Would’ve carried her off to who knows where if I hadn’t shown up.”

Soap nodded slowly. He didn’t need any more explanation. He knew the implications of what Ghost was saying and it made his blood boil.

Ghost shrugged. “She trusted me enough since I’d just saved her life, and I trusted her enough since she was fighting them and didn’t raise her gun at me. Plus, I think she’s as dedicated to the cause as Alejandro and Rodolfo.”

“Why’s that?” asked Soap. But before Ghost could answer, Rodolfo cut in.

“Where were you guys?”

“On the run,” answered Ghost.

“I was on the run,” corrected Soap. “Ghost waited for me.”

Rodolfo nodded. “Of course, no?”

Dread sank in Soap’s stomach. “No-” he began. But Ghost cut him off.

“Yes,” he said firmly, locking eyes with Soap again. “We’re a team. All of us.”

That stunned Soap into silence. He’d known they’d bonded trying to escape Las Almas with their lives, but for all of his teasing about Ghost taking a shine to him, he hadn’t actually believed that Ghost would say the same thing.

He was touched.

Maybe even more touched by the fact that the legendary lone-wolf Ghost considered him part of his team. It was likely the highest compliment he would ever get from him.

So while Rodolfo and Ghost started in on their plan to get into the prison, Soap settled down against the safehouse wall with an MRE from Alejandro’s supplies. The adrenaline shot he’d managed to get his hands on in Las Almas was waning, and he could feel every sore muscle, the bullet in his arm, and his likely sprained hip sharply. He tried to tune in to the conversation, but his attention was immediately lost when Daniela approached him with a med kit.

She grinned a bit wryly at him. “Mind if I take a better look at that arm?” Soap nodded and braced himself to stand, but Daniela jumped forward, holding out a hand. “No, don’t get up,” she said. Soap settled back to the ground as she crouched by him, reaching for her makeshift bandage from earlier.

Soap studied her as she worked. Her hair had dried and now sat at least a few centimeters higher on her head, tight ringlets falling to her shoulders. Her eyebrows furrowed just a bit as she carefully removed the bloodied fabric. Her movements were calculated, washing the wound and looking at it closely.

“How did you join Los Vaqueros?” Soap asked. For a moment, Daniela didn’t acknowledge him. Then she raised her gaze to his.

Instead of answering his question, she said “I need to get the bullet out. It’s going to hurt. Think you can handle it?”

Soap nodded once, sharply. Her gaze softened. “I don’t have any painkillers. This isn’t going to be some… little pain. It’s going to hurt a lot.”

Soap cocked a wry grin back at her. “Just so long as my screaming doesn’t bother you,” he teased. A wicked spark lit in her eyes at that.

“It won’t bother me. Maybe I’d like to hear you scream.”

Soap’s jaw dropped. It was exactly the type of thing he’d say, but having it said to him was dumbfounding. Who was this woman?

Her smile only grew as she watched him try to compose himself. He was grateful when her gaze dropped back to the task at hand, sterilizing a pair of forceps. He was sure his face was flaming red.

“Los Vaqueros saved my life when I was sixteen,” she said softly. “My village leader refused the cartel’s demands, so El Sin Nombre set to burning the village down. I was one of three survivors.” That explained Ghost’s certainty of her dedication.

She moved to his right side, between his leg and outstretched arm, and gripped his bicep below the bullet wound.

“My whole family died that day.”

She set the forceps at the wound’s entry. Soap took a deep breath.

“I have burns all over my body from our house burning down.” That explained the scarring at her neck.

Soap lurched forward, gasping, when she dug the forceps in. The pain was so blinding that he nearly missed Daniela cursing softly in Spanish before sitting on his right leg, leaning her body against his to keep him from moving. Nearly missed. But didn’t.

“Lo ciento,” she whispered, sparing him a concerned glance. He grit his teeth and leaned his head back against the wall, chest heaving as he took deep breaths through his nose.

“I’m sorry,” he gritted out. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”

Daniela shrugged. “Alejandro pulled me out of that fire,” she continued. Her tone was light, but seemed forced. Soap wasn’t sure whether it was her attempt to calm him or to pretend her story didn’t bother her.

He felt the moment that the forceps grasped the bullet. Took a deep breath. Steeled himself. Nothing prepared him for the feeling. He’d been shot before, multiple times. Bullet removal wasn’t a walk in the park, but he hadn’t realized just how much the painkillers mattered.

Soap was not proud of the whimper he let out when Daniela yanked the bullet out in one clean motion. She dropped the forceps onto a medical tray and lightly patted his cheek before inspecting the wound closely, muttering about infection and pointedly not meeting his gaze. She poured antiseptic over the wound and reached for a bottle of pills.

“Here, take these. Antibiotics,” she said. After watching Soap swallow the pills, she picked a needle and thread up out of the med kit and continued. “Rodolfo threw a wet blanket over me. They put ointment on my burns and fed me. They offered me a home. They taught me to fight. They’ve been my family ever since.”

Soap felt a pang of kinship at her words. He flinched slightly when the needle pierced his skin, but the pain died to a dull burn as Daniela kept stitching.

“Now that, I do understand,” he said.

“You have no family?”

“No. Just the 141.”

After a few more strokes, she tied off the thread and laid a hand on his chest.

“They are my brothers. We must get Alejandro back.”

Soap reached up to cover her hand, belatedly hoping she wouldn’t be able to feel his heart pounding when she met his gaze. “We will, hermana.”

The smile she gave him was small, but her eyes were warm. It lasted for a brief moment before she arched an eyebrow.

“Hermana?” She leaned forward until her mouth brushed Soap’s ear and he was sure that she could feel his heartbeat stutter. “I certainly hope not.”

With that, she picked up her medical kit and sauntered away, leaving Soap to stare after her in shock.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Getting into the prison compound was easy enough.

“Trash bin on your right, time to take out the trash.”

“Shut up, Soap, fucking hell.”

A giggle from Daniela.

“Shoot him.”

“No, got something else in mind.”

“Fucking beautiful, sir!”

Impressed mumbling from Rodolfo.

“Cut and paste him, Ghost.”

Soap and Ghost’s banter amused Daniela to no end, even though Soap was sure he’d never been so anxious in his life. Having Ghost’s life almost solely in his hands was a responsibility he never wanted to feel again. But working with Rodolfo again helped to ease his mind.

Nearly being killed by Alejandro was less than ideal, but made worth it to watch him reunite with Rodolfo and Daniela.

“Alejandro! Al- it’s me, hermano!”

“Coronel, relájese somos nosotros!”

“Soap, Rudy, Ghost! Daniela!”

“Didn’t think we’d leave you, did ya?”

“What took you so long, pendejos?”

Getting out wasn’t quite as easy.

“Exfil vehicles are set. Ghost planted charges to help us get out.”

“With Johnny’s help.”

“Eh, I can’t call Soap ‘Johnny’.”

“Don’t. Only Ghost can pull that off.”

“Aww, really? Only your Ghost? What about me?”

“Yes, Johnny, what about Daniela?”

“Can it, LT.”

But between Los Vaqueros and the 141, they made it. Soap couldn’t put into words how much relief he felt upon seeing Gaz and hearing the old man’s voice. After being hoisted to the top, he and Daniela ended up shoulder to shoulder, her covering him while he detonated the Shadows vehicles.

“Have you been with the 141 long?” she shouted over the sounds of gunfire.

“The 141 hasn’t been around all that long,” he shouted back. “But yeah, I’ve been with ‘em since the start.” He raised his rifle, picking off three snipers with three shots.

Daniela raised an impressed eyebrow. “I can see why!”

Soap grinned wide, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he raised the detonator. “Would you be impressed if I told you I rigged the explosives for these things, too?”

Daniela returned his grin full force. “I would be.”

Soap’s grin only widened before he pressed the button, eyes locked with Daniela’s. He lowered his voice and said “Ka-freaking-boom, baby.” She’d giggled when he said it earlier, and as the APC exploded, she let out another delighted squeal.

“Handsome and clever? This is a good combination, Johnny,” she said. Soap was grateful that shooting was such second nature to him because in that moment, all coherent thoughts ceased to exist. When he managed to look back to Daniela, she was smiling slyly. She picked off a sniper from across the yard and Soap shook his head. Witty, intelligent, beautiful, and a good shot.

When the door to their right crashed open, Soap threw himself in front of Daniela to cover her as they each shot one of the men inside. Ghost barked at Soap about weapons, and he came back to the wall with a grenade launcher. He released several grenades before the last of Alejandro’s men mounted the wall top, and then made sure that Daniela went down the other side before him.

When he stumbled getting to their transport out, he chalked it up to battle fatigue, which he told both Ghost and Daniela when they asked whether he was okay. Neither looked convinced, but neither questioned him. They did sit on either side of him for the ride back to the safehouse, though.

Daniela leaned close to him. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Never better,” he lied. His whole body throbbed in varying levels of discomfort and pain. At least his head had stopped throbbing. Daniela leveled her gaze at him, and he returned a wide grin. She rolled her eyes and dropped it. Instead, she said “Thank you for covering me. You didn’t have to do that.”

Soap’s grin softened. “I know,” he said.

Back at the safe house, lively music played softly in the garage as Los Vaqueros cleaned weapons, loaded vehicles, and fed themselves. Soap felt slightly out of place, like he and the rest of the 141 were walking into someone’s home. Everyone either had something to say or shook hands with Daniela and Rodolfo as they passed, and they both smiled warmly at their friends.

Soap and Ghost made their way to an unoccupied pair of cots in the corner, observing their newfound comrades. Price had disappeared with Alejandro to formulate a plan, ordering the two to sleep. But exhausted as he was, Soap wasn’t sure he’d be able to.

He couldn’t get comfortable. No matter which way he turned, something ached or stung. He tried relaxing his muscles. He tried breathing deeply. He tried counting sheep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the fire and the blood from the streets of Las Almas. He could hear the screaming and the pleading and the gunfire. He tried covering his eyes, and his ears. Eventually, he rolled to his side, facing Ghost. He was startled to meet the Lieutenant’s eyes.

“Simon?” Soap asked softly.

“Johnny,” said Ghost, equally as softly.

Soap chewed his lip. “Do you ever forget?”

Ghost held his stare, unflinching. “No. You don’t.” Soap hadn’t realized before, but Ghost’s eyes were bloodshot. He looked tired. He’d learned quickly that he slept infrequently, and for short periods of time. It made a lot more sense, now. Ghost rolled over, huffing out a soft breath. “But eventually, you’ll learn to sleep anyway.”

Soap stared at his back, wondering if he would. Wondering if Ghost ever had. He didn’t know how long he stared at his teammate, but it felt like hours later that someone sat gently on the end of his cot. He flew up, grabbing for the bowie knife he kept in his tactical vest.

Daniela raised her hands, offering a tired smile. “Mind if I take a look at that arm?”

“Sure.” Soap swung his legs off of the cot, resting his hands on the edge. Daniela turned toward him, reaching out and carefully pulling off the dressing she’d applied that early morning.

“How does it feel? Any sharp pains or itching? Any dizziness, fever?” As soon as she said fever, Soap realized he’d been sweating more than usual. He’d absolutely been feeling dizzy since that harrowing night on the run, but it seemed to have died down throughout the day. And now that he actually paid attention long enough, it was quite itchy.

“No,” he lied. Once again, those ocean eyes seemed to pierce his very soul, challenging him. She knew. But she didn’t say anything, simply reached into the med kit for the same bottle of antibiotics and handed him two. Soap took them gratefully. The team couldn’t afford to be without him, and Ghost would surely order him to stay back if he thought the Sergeant was at all compromised.

Again, she washed the wound with antiseptic, then applied a fresh coat of salve before covering it with a fresh bandage.

“Why are you awake, anyway?” she asked suddenly. Soap’s head snapped up, eyes flying to hers. She looked nearly as exhausted as Ghost, all bloodshot eyes and frazzled hair and sagging shoulders. Still gorgeous.

Soap shrugged uncomfortably. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

She shrugged back, offering a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep either. It makes sense, though. You’ve been through a lot the last few days.” The last few days? When Soap cocked an eyebrow at her, she fidgeted a bit. “I, uh… I was there in the cartel house. When Valeria interrogated you.”

Several things clicked into place for Soap very suddenly. Alejandro had taken him to the elevator once he got into the cartel house, and another guard had escorted him out and down to the basement. Small, with ocean-blue eyes. Then at the oil rig, Alejandro had sent one man with Soap and Graves to the ship. Dani.

“You’re strong for your size,” said Soap in awe. Daniela had shoved him repeatedly through the hallway, even tapping the side of his face with the butt of her gun when he had begun to look over his shoulder.

She smiled wryly. “Sorry about that. We had to make it real, and we couldn’t risk any more comms than we had.”

“No, no, it’s okay. You did good,” said Soap. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Daniela shifted again. “I don’t do so well the night before big missions. I usually bunk next to Alelandro or Rodolfo, but they’re both… occupied. So, I came over here instead. To you.”

Soap’s heart melted. He was so drawn to this woman, and to know that she felt even a fraction of that bond made his heart swell with gratitude. “You can bunk with us,” he said quickly. Then, glancing around, he realized that there didn’t seem to be any available cots. “Take my cot. I can sleep in a chair.”

Daniela’s face had washed with relief when he spoke, but some tension returned as she looked down at her hands. “Don’t be silly,” she mumbled. “I’m not putting you out of your cot after the week you’ve had.”

“Well then, you’ll just have to share it with me,” teased Soap. He held his breath when Daniela’s head snapped up. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to say anything so bold, but he’d taken it and run with it. “There’s plenty of space for both of us.”

“If I sleep on top of you, maybe,” snorted Daniela. Soap wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Daniela giggled.

Soap softened his voice, speaking more seriously. “I really don’t mind sharing.”

She contemplated for a moment, sighed, and then rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just don’t complain if I crush you.”

Now it was Soap’s turn to snort. He lay down carefully, his back to Ghost’s cot, and raised his right arm. Daniela lay down beside him, turning onto her side and tucking herself under his chin. A perfect fit. Soap gently let his arm come down over her waist, laying his hand on the cot rail.

“This okay?” he whispered. She nodded. Soap nodded, too. His heart was pounding. He hadn’t been close to someone like this in… well, a long time.

The 141 was his whole life. There was always work to be done, and without a family to go home to, there was no real reason to take leave. On the rare occasion he did, he just ended up in his home town in Scotland. He’d flirt, constantly, but he seldom brought anyone home. He longed for something deeper, and sex alone could never fill that void. Plus, no one wanted to commit to someone who could be gone for months at a time.

But this? To be close to someone? This was filling the void just fine. Soap had to fight the urge to pull her further back against him as her breathing evened out, her body naturally leaning more on his own. As he dozed, he was proud of himself for staying still. He drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming empty dreams and feeling her shift against him.

As he finally woke up the next morning, he felt his hip aching fiercely. He started to shift to take some pressure off of it, and froze. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw Daniela’s wild hair. He groggily remembered that they’d shared a cot the night before. All of his pride at his self-control dissolved instantly when he realized that his arm was around her waist, holding her tightly to his chest. She must have turned over in her sleep, because her leg was thrown over his hip, pulling their bodies flush together.

He could already feel a problem, and this was not the time or place. He had to get out of this cot without waking her up. He shifted back, then froze as Daniela’s hand ran up to the back of his head to tangle her fingers in his mohawk. Her eyelids fluttered, her fingers pulled lightly at his hair, and her leg tightened around his hips. Soap’s eyes fluttered shut as he swallowed a groan. Fuck. When he opened his eyes again, she was smiling at him sleepily.

“That’s the best sleep I’ve gotten in months,” she whispered. Soap nodded, desperately trying to get his body under control before she woke up any more. To his dismay, she nuzzled closer to him, nose rubbing under his jaw and hips shifting back and forth for a moment. Her eyes snapped open, eyebrows arching. “Feels like you slept pretty well, too, eh big boy?” Hells bells, this woman. Soap barely suppressed a full body shudder as she beamed at him.

“I didn’t, I’m not, I-” he stuttered. But Daniela placed her fingers over his lips, silencing him. Her eyes were full of mirth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she teased. Then she languidly stretched, pressing against him as much as humanly possible before climbing out of the cot and sashaying away, tossing a wicked grin over her shoulder at him. Soap turned to Ghost’s cot, which was blessedly empty, and then pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, still fighting for his body to cooperate. Hells fucking bells.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Alejandro called his men, all sound stopped. The place became a real base in that moment. Los Vaqueros and the 141 gathered around a makeshift operations table, listening intently as Price spoke.

“This is a fight against our own. We are not 141 and Los Vaqueros on this. We’re a team. Ghost team.”

Soap’s eyebrows shot up when the Captain dumped out a bucket of masks, then his eyes snapped up to Ghost. Ghost was staring at him, and Soap was almost certain he was steeling himself. Their silent conversation lasted only a moment before Ghost reached up, pulling off his mask, pausing before reaching for one from the table. Price reached a hand up to his shoulder.

“Good to see you again, Simon,” he said.

Soap carefully schooled his features in an attempt to soothe Ghost’s nerves, but he felt a distinct surge of pride in being one of the few to be allowed to know the Lieutenant. As the older man adjusted the mask over his face, the two shared another weighted look. Soap quirked up one corner of his mouth, shaking his head. Quite the opposite, indeed.

Alejandro laid out the plan to get into the Los Vaqueros facility. “We’ll infiltrate the base with two Ghost teams. Team one is Captain Price, Gaz, me, and one pilot. Team two is Ghost, Soap, Rudy, Dani, and Los Vaqueros.”

Ghost and Soap looked to each other and nodded. Then Soap turned to Daniela, raising an eyebrow. He mouthed “Dani?”

She smirked, mouthing back “Johnny?”

Soap grinned. He looked to Ghost, who was shaking his head. But his eyes were crinkled with mirth.

“While Gaz and me locate and secure Valeria, Ghost team 2 will find Graves… and kill him.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ghost team 2 fought their way through the base to the HQ building, then fought their way through that. Soap and Ghost moved together like they’d fought together for years, and Daniela and Rodolfo effortlessly slotted themselves into their dynamic. Between the three of them, no Shadows made it more than a few steps into the open.

Watching Price’s helo go down had Soap’s stomach sinking. “Steamin’ hell!” Soap shouted. He and Ghost shared a heavy look while Daniela and Rodolfo cursed softly. Rodolfo quickly recovered, clambering up the wall with Soap’s help. Daniela followed after, lightly stepping into Soap’s linked hands before joining Rodolfo in straddling the wall. The two of them pulled Soap up quickly, who turned to Ghost.

“Ghost, you comin’?” he asked.

“No. Price and the pilot need help. You three finish this.”

Soap’s head whipped back and forth between Ghost and the other side of the wall until he saw something that made his stomach drop even more. “Look!” he shouted.

“That’s not ours!” shouted Rodolfo.

“Holy shite. Graves brought a fuckin’ tank!” growled Soap, dropping to the ground. He glanced at Rodolfo and Daniela. “You ready for this?”

“Hell yeah!” answered Rodolfo. Daniela nodded curtly. Soap motioned for the three to split up.

“Looks like the hunters are getting hunted now, huh?” came Graves’ sneering voice. “Ain’t that a kick in the ass?”

“Can’t wait to bake this bastard,” grumbled Soap. He, Daniela, and Rodolfo had run into different buildings. Rodolfo tried to call out C4 stashes, Daniela threw grenades as she could, and Soap gestured for both of them to stay down and inside. Then he ran for his life.

“You and your mexicano friends fucked with the wrong hombre, MacTavish!” yelled Graves.

“Come on out and let’s talk about it,” quipped Soap. Daniela snorted, and despite the severity of the situation, Soap found himself smiling.

Graves seemed altogether less pleased. “You think this is a fucking game out here? You wanna play war? Let’s play some fucking war, chicos! One of you dipshits needs to die last. Who’s it gonna be?”

“Go fuck yourself, Graves.” Soap threw a brick of C4 straight into the tank’s path, silently congratulating himself when it blew.

“You got a healthy disrespect for authority, Soap. I like that about you!”

“You’re Shepherd’s lap dog. You get paid to break the rules.”

“There’s only two rules here, boys. Walk away… or win. Guess which one I choose?” Soap vaulted through a window. It wasn’t high, but the landing still made his hip throb in protest. He grunted softly. “Shoulda gone home when you had the chance, Soap- you and that asshole with the mask, hiding behind that uniform.”

Soap’s temper instantly flared. “You wore that uniform,” he ground out. He was crouched by another C4 stash, trying to judge Graves’ location.

“That uniform was a limitation!” shouted Graves. “I shed that skin!”

“Like a fuckin’ snake,” Soap hissed.

“Like a fuckin’ soldier, son.”

“You had to make your own little army ‘cause you couldn’t hack it in the real one.” This time, Soap managed to stick the side of the tank with C4 as it passed. He ran, detonated, and silently cheered again when he heard the second explosion.

Soap managed to tune out most of the rest of what Graves said, until he turned his attention to Rodolfo. His Spanish wasn’t great, but he picked up the general idea that Graves was saying the 141 were no friends to Los Vaqueros.

“Oye, pendejo!” Daniela’s voice suddenly cut through the radio. Most of what she said was lost to Soap, but she sounded furious. He picked out the words “friends”, “assholes like you”, “good people”, and “brothers”, and “death”. Hermanos hasta la muerte.

Graves must have understood more than Soap, because his driving became erratic and he shouted back to Daniela in what Soap did recognize as poorly pronounced Spanish.

Her distraction gave him enough time to sneak up behind the tank and lay one last brick of C4 between the tank’s body and tread. But just as he started to back off, the gun began to swing in his direction. Soap braced himself to run, and then froze.

“Graves!” Daniela shouted. She had leapt up to stand in the window of the building directly ahead of Soap. As the tank's gun swung back in her direction, Soap scrambled to his feet, racing forward.

“Pinche tu madre,” she sneered.

Soap could hear the tank’s gun spinning up.

“No!” He shouted. Daniela’s head snapped in his direction. Her face fell when they locked stares, eyes flashing with anxiety. She took half a step toward him, but Soap launched himself through the window. In one smooth motion, he wrapped his arm around Daniela’s waist, yanked her against himself, and pulled them to the ground. He landed hard on his shoulder as he heard the tank fire and rolled her under him as fast as he could, tucking his head against hers and shielding them both with his arms. The building crumbled under the impact, sheetrock and dust raining down on them. Several chunks of sheetrock landed across Soap’s back. That’ll be a few new bruises.

As it began to settle, Soap raised his head just enough to look down at Daniela. They were nose to nose when she opened her eyes, hands coming up to run over his covered head.

“Y’alright?” Soap whispered. She nodded frantically.

“You?” He nodded. As he shifted his shoulders, bits of rubble fell off and cracked against the ground. He winced.

He looked up and around. Graves’ tank was rotating, looking for them. He glanced to the stairs, then looked back down at Daniela.

“Hold onto me,” he whispered. Daniela cocked an eyebrow, but wrapped her arms around his neck. Soap grabbed one of her legs behind the knee, wrapping it around his waist, and she smirked before wrapping her other leg around his back as well. As serious as the situation was, their position wasn’t lost on Soap. Twice in one day? He swallowed hard. C’mon, MacTavish.

As quickly as he dared, he crawled for the stairwell. He could see Graves’ tank through the doorway on the opposite wall, facing away. In the last meter, he leapt to his feet and ran up several steps, stopping midway to lean against the wall. Daniela slid down his body, resting her hands on his chest. Soap shivered. They were both panting slightly. Her eyes shone as she looked up at him.

“Gracías, guapo,” she said softly. Then her hand snapped up to her earpiece. She started down for a moment, then looked back up at Soap. “Rodolfo moved to Los Vaqueros private channel. He says there should be an RPG downstairs,” she said.

Soap nodded, clicking through channels until he could hear Rudy’s voice. “I’ll get it,” he said.

Daniela grabbed his arm as he moved, stopping him in his tracks. “Be careful,” she said. He nodded, clasping her arm.

“I will.”

He crept down the stairs, peeking around the wall to where he’d last seen Graves’ tank. It wasn’t there. Staying low, he rounded the corner, eyes searching frantically for the RPG.

“Check under the counter, hermano,” whispered Rodolfo. When Soap glanced up, he could barely see the other man peeking around a doorframe across the yard. He crept to the bar counter, slid open the door as quietly as possible, and grabbed the RPG inside.

“Siiick,” said Soap, raising the RPG to his shoulder. With his back to the wall, he slowly made his way to an opening, searching for Graves. Not seeing him, he stayed. And breathed. And waited.

He could hear the thing driving around outside, searching for him or the others. He just hoped they were well hidden.

His radio crackled. “He’s heading your way, Soap,” said Daniela quietly.

“Rog’,” he replied. “Stay down.”

Carefully, he crouched and turned, ready to fire as soon as the tank came into view. He didn’t have to wait long. With a deep breath, he stood, pulled the trigger, and dove behind the cabinet again. The explosion from the tank seemed to rock the very ground. He realized that he’d never detonated the last brick of C4. Double trouble, then.

Slowly, Soap stood and leaned around the corner. Graves’ tank was a ball of fire, smoke and flames billowing into the sky. He heard Daniela step down the stairs, then felt her small hand on his shoulder blade. Rudy peeked around the corner of a doorway, looking around before stepping outside. Soap and Daniela did the same, cautiously walking forward.

“You did it, Soap,” said Rodolfo softly.

“You two and me, hermano,” said Soap.

“Brought a gun to a tank fight.”

Soap chuckled, smiling under his mask. “Yeah we did!” He reached for his radio, clicking back to the main channel. “Soap to Ghost- I’m with Rudy. Graves is KIA. How’s Price?”“Angry. Lost a good cigar in the crash. Pilot’s okay, too. Out.”

Rodolfo relayed the message to Alejandro. They all took a moment to breathe. And then they moved out to meet Ghost Team 1.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Soap’s head was spinning. They had all known Valeria was a wildcard, but he didn’t think any of them had expected her to drop the bomb of information that a missile was in Chicago. Not even Alejandro. Price handed her off to Los Vaqueros almost immediately, the threat in his voice clear. Soap wasn’t surprised, and he didn’t expect to ever see her alive again.

He was surprised when he had to lift Daniela up and out of the container after she lunged for Valeria. He dragged her out kicking and screaming in Spanish, all curses and threats. Rudy followed them out first, trying to calm her down, but there was nothing for it. The other woman was single-handedly responsible for the deaths of all of her family and friends. Soap couldn’t fault her rage.

Gaz came out next, raising his eyebrows at Soap in a silent question. Soap nodded, affirming that he was alright. Daniela had stopped thrashing, but her chest still rose and fell quickly against his arms. He’d had to lean back against the wall, lifting her feet off the ground to keep her from beelining to the container. Now she stood, back against his chest, hands gripping his tactical harness where it crossed his thighs.

“I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling,” Gaz began softly. He paced slowly back and forth in front of them. “But I do know that she’s not worth throwing your life away.”

“She stole my life!” hissed Daniela. “She took my family. She took everything from me! And now she’s doing it all again! More people will lose their lives, lose their families, if she isn’t stopped!”

“But she gave you a purpose,” said Gaz firmly. He’d stopped pacing, staring directly at Daniela now. “You’ll never let that happen to anyone ever again. We are going to stop her. And I know it’s not the same thing, but she gave you a family, too. Hell, she gave you two families. You, Alejandro, Rodolfo? Los Vaqueros? You’ll always have a family with the 141, now.”

Soap squeezed her just a bit tighter at that, his own silent affirmation. After a moment, Daniela’s hands released his harness and lay flat against his legs. She seemed to sag back against him. Her voice shook slightly when she spoke.

“Gracias, hermano.”

Gaz simply nodded before returning to the container. For several minutes, Soap and Daniela said nothing. Then, very softly, she said “You can let me go.”

“Aye? You won’t kick me in the shins and run off to kill her anyway?”

Daniela snorted at that. “No.” With one final squeeze, Soap let her go. As he did, Alejandro came storming out of the container, followed closely by Rodolfo. He moved straight for Daniela, gripping her shoulders.

“We’re going to be hunted men, Dani,” he said. “I’m not letting her get away with this. Rodolfo and I will handle her, and we’ll handle the cartel. But you…” He looked up at Soap, then back at Daniela. He pointed to Soap with one finger. “You need to go with them. I don’t want you to be a part of this.”

“Alejandro, no, soy-”

“No,” he growled. He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, and Soap realized when he looked at Daniela again that he was tearing up. He lowered his head to her level, staring at her intently. “What did I tell you the night we found you?”

Rodolfo had turned his head away, shoulders stiff. Soap couldn’t see her face, but he could hear in her voice that Daniela was tearing up, too. “You told me you would always protect me,” she whimpered.

Alejandro shook her gently. “This is me protecting you, hermana.” He pointed to Soap. “That man will protect you with his life. You told me so yourself. Rodolfo told me.” He glanced back to Soap, who nodded, stunned. “And I can see it when I look at him, and the way he looks at you. You have to go with them. You have to get that missile, and you have to stay out of Mexico until this dies down. And then you know we’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

Rodolfo turned, reaching out a hand to hold Daniela’s. “This has always been our fight, mijá,” he whispered. “It doesn’t have to be yours. And I know you chose it, but this time… just let us do this for you. Sabes que te amamos.”

Price and Gaz had come out of the container again, Price holding Valeria. They both nodded to Soap, who nodded to Daniela when she looked over to him. Her gaze dropped, and then she looked back to her men.

“Yo sé que tú,” she whispered.

Alejandro moved to Soap while Rodolfo hugged Daniela.

“Go. You have work to do,” he said. Then he pulled Soap closer, and softly said “Take care of her.”“You know I will,” whispered Soap. He backed toward their plane. “Keep fighting the good fight, hermano!” he called.“To the bitter end, my brother!” said Alejandro.

“Good luck, amigos,” said Rodolfo.

Price shoved Valeria into the backseat of Alejandro and Rodolfo’s vehicle while Soap, Ghost, and Daniela moved to board the aircraft Gaz had already started up.

“Ghost!” called Alejandro. Ghost turned back, cocking his head slightly. “No te pierdas, hermano!”

Whatever Ghost said back, Soap didn’t understand. But Daniela smiled, blowing a kiss with two fingers that Alejandro caught out of midair and held to his heart. Then they turned, boarded the plane, and were away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Soap had long since abandoned his fear of heights. Walking down a 60-story building didn’t make him nervous, but the hostage situation did. Ghost’s calm helped him keep his cool, though, and soon enough, Daniela was getting hostages out of the building while Soap and Price moved on Hassan. They cleared entire floors of the building in record times.

“And that’s why they call him Soap,” mumbled Ghost. Daniela’s answering giggle warmed Soap’s heart. Upon hearing this, Ghost added “Did you know he’s the youngest one of us? Got in with the SAS at sixteen.”

“Sixteen? Soap, you get more and more impressive the more I learn about you!”

Soap’s face flamed.

Despite the hostages, the mission was going smoothly. Too smoothly. Then, Laswell announced that Hassan had the controls. Ghost confirmed visual on floor 46, and back out they went.

“Soap, we find those controls, it’s up to you to disarm that missile.”

“Copy that… done it once before.”

The RPG could have ruined the whole plan, but Soap and Price were both lucky that it missed them. They moved into the building as quickly as possible, clearing yet another room in record time with Ghost’s sniper support.

When Gaz called that they had the target cornered, Soap and Price raced in his direction. Then came Laswell saying that the missile was launching. Everyone was speaking at once.

“No, no, no!” screamed Price.

“Fecking hell,” growled Soap.

“Watcher, where’s the target?” yelled Price.

“Unknown, we’re working on it.”

“Copy. We’re going for Hassan. This way Sergeant!” he yelled to Soap. Then, “Gaz, where’s Hassan?”

Price and Soap were rounding the corner when Gaz answered. “End of the hall! Hassan’s holed up behind those doors.”

Price’s response was furious. “Let’s clear this out and bag him, then.”

When they got the snake cam under the door, the whole thing went to shit.

The door blew. Soap and Price flew back and Gaz collapsed like a bag of rocks. Soap’s ears were ringing, he was bleeding, and he could hardly breathe. Only Gaz’s quick recovery saved his life. He was dragged into cover before Price took a bullet and Gaz went back for him, too.

Everything after was a blur. One moment, Soap was leaping down a falling elevator shaft. The next, he was running from the man he stole the laptop from. Then hiding. Then detonating the missile with Laswell’s help. Then, running for his life, again.

“Nicely done, Johnny. Now for the hard part,” said Ghost.

“That was the fuckin’ hard part, LT.”

“Let’s find out. You need to stay alive, take out the guards, and kill Hassan.”

Soap looked around frantically. “I just need a weapon,” he said.

“Make one,” Ghost replied. He sounded so nonchalant. It made Soap huff out a laugh.

“Aye. Like old times, huh LT?”

Ghost’s voice was fond when he said “Seems like yesterday.”

Soap replied with equal fondness. “It was yesterday.”

He hid. He ran. With Ghost’s help, he fashioned some makeshift weapons. Then he ran headlong into Hassan. Before he could react, his world went dark.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Soap came to, he was being dragged by his foot. At first, he wasn’t sure where he was. Then he recognized the office he’d been chasing Hassan through.

Hassan. It was Hassan dragging him along.

Sluggishly, his mind went through his team. Ghost. Overwatch. Price. Holed up trying to recover. Gaz. Unknown. Daniela.

Daniela.

Alejandro had sent her with him and he didn’t even know where she was, whether she was safe. His heart twinged painfully. He didn’t have time to think, though. Hassan was yelling about fire and thinking they could stop him. Soap couldn’t focus on it.

Ghost.

“Ghost,” he whispered into his throat mic.

“Soap!”

“Watch… the window,” he managed.

Something exploded.

Hassan dragged him to his feet. Still going on about invading, not attacking.

He thrust Soap in front of him, pushing him toward the window. Soap desperately tried to keep his footing.

“Soap,” said Ghost. Soap vaguely recognized panic in his voice. “Soap, I see him, but I can’t-”

“Take the shot, LT,” mumbled Soap.

“What was that? What are you saying?” Hassan had him by his vest now, shaking him violently.

“Soap, I can’t get a clear-”

“Take. The shot.” Soap’s jaw was clenched. It took all of his power to hold onto Hassan’s wrists enough not to fall back. Hassan was still pushing forward, shouting, and Soap was fighting a losing battle. Hassan was going to push him out of the window.

And he couldn’t stop it.

“I’m sorry,” said Ghost.

Then, just as Soap’s heels touched the ledge, searing pain shot through his chest. He lurched forward with the impact, falling into Hassan.

Hassan’s eyes were wide. Soap thought he saw blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His rattled brain couldn’t make sense of it as they both fell to the ground.

“Johnny, MOVE!” roared Ghost. With the last of his energy, Soap shoved as hard as he could, rolling off of Hassan’s body. Another piercing shot rang out and Hassan’s head cracked backward against the ground.

Soap blinked at Hassan’s body. Ghost was shouting for him through his earpiece. Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place.

“You shot me,” he said dumbly to Ghost.

“Oh thank God,” muttered Ghost. He could hear Daniela shrieking in the background, too.

“You saved me,” he said. The whole room seemed colorful and soft. Spinning. Like a carousel.

Soap smiled, head lolling down.

He could vaguely hear Ghost and Daniela and Gaz yelling, but he was too tired to listen. Just a wee nap. That’s all I need.

Footsteps pounded nearby. With great effort, Soap turned his head. It didn’t hold where he wanted it to, just flopped onto the ground on the other side. He watched a small black pair of boots race across the floor toward him.

“No no no no, hijo de puta. Por favor, Dios, no.” Suddenly, Soap’s head and shoulders were being lifted. Then he was dragged back against something soft. He looked up. Daniela was running her hands over his head, his chest, clawing at his tactical vest. “Por favor, Dios, no,” she repeated. Her voice shook as badly as her hands and tears streamed down her face.

“Hey,” Soap said. He grinned up at her. “Whassa matter? Why’re you crying?”

He reached a hand up to her, wiping her cheek with his thumb. He couldn’t keep it raised and it flopped back to his side.

“John Soap MacTavish, you’d better not die on me,” she muttered. She had gotten his vest loose and was pulling his shirt up roughly.

“Hey, bonnie, at least buy me dinner first,” he slurred. He chuckled. It was silly. It was all so silly. He could hear Ghost yelling faintly, but he wasn’t sure why. Daniela was leaning heavily on his chest, and he wasn’t sure about that either.

Suddenly, he felt as though he’d been sat out in snow for a good few hours. “Hey, are you cold?” he asked Daniela.

“Hey,” Daniela said sharply. She gripped his chin between her fingers. “Look at me.”

Clarity hit Soap like a ton of bricks. He’d been shot. He was bleeding. Cold from shock. That’s why Daniela was crying and Ghost was yelling. He’d been knocked out. Likely had a concussion. He looked up at her solemnly, grabbing her wrist with his hand. Don’t die on me, she’d said. He was dying.

They’d talked quite a bit over their few days together. Talked about their hopes and dreams, and how those fit into their dangerous lives. Talked about their dedication to their teams, their values, their futures. Talked about growing up, their families, how they’d gotten there.

She’d asked him if he’d ever been in love.

He’d said he hadn’t. But he wasn’t so sure that was true, any more.

When he’d asked her, she’d said “maybe” with a sly smile his direction, all twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks.

He blinked, hard. He wanted to know what that meant.

“What did you mean… when you said maybe?” he panted out.

For a moment, Daniela just blinked at him. Then her eyes softened, tears slipping down her cheeks as she understood his question. “I meant I might be,” she whispered. “I’m not quite sure yet. You’ll have to give me some time to figure it out.”

Soap hummed, eyes drifting shut. “I’m pretty sure,” he breathed. Daniela gasped, but he reached up to touch her cheek before she could say anything. “You,” he began, voice a whisper. “You are the most… the most beautiful, intelligent, amazing woman that… that I’ve ever-”

Daniela didn’t let him finish. Her lips were on his before he knew it. He was kissing her before even registering that she’d leaned down. Her lips were soft, just like he’d imagined. She tasted like strawberries and mint and salt. Tears. She kissed him desperately, and he kissed her desperately back. His hand slid back to tangle in her curls. So unbelievably soft. He could hardly move his head, but she tilted her own to deepen the kiss. She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips and he moaned, low in his chest. He weakly tried to pull her closer. No point hiding it now. Besides, if he was going to die, what better way to go? More footsteps pounded in the door. He could vaguely make out Gaz and Price’s voices.

And then, above them all, nearly a full octave up in his panic, Ghost. “Johnny!”

Daniela’s teeth lightly grazed his lip. Soap sighed, then everything went black.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Soap woke to a gentle beeping. His head and mouth felt like they were stuffed with cotton. His body felt like one big bruise, but with shards of glass sprinkled throughout it. He couldn’t open his eyes. There was light pressure against his right hip.

He breathed deeply. Ouch.

Slowly, his eyes cracked open. The room was dark, but moonlight streamed in through a window out of the corner of his eye. He could see that the ceiling was bright white.

“Johnny?”

Slowly, he turned his head toward the familiar voice. As he did, Ghost rose to his feet from his chair, taking two quick steps to the bedside.

Soap opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Ghost scrambled to pour a cup of water, then gently helped Soap lift his head to drink. As he did, Soap realized what the pressure on his hip was. Daniela.

Her head lay at the junction of his torso and legs, black curls shining in the moonlight. The bags under her eyes were nearly as dark as Ghost’s grease paint. Her right hand gripped his thigh, and her left hand held his. She didn’t stir.

Soap swallowed several times. “What happened?” he finally asked.

Ghost’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Do you want the short or long story?” he asked. His voice sounded exhausted.

“How about the short one, for now?”

“I shot you,” said Ghost. For a moment, Soap thought he wouldn’t elaborate. Then, Ghost looked up to meet his eyes. “I shot you, Johnny. Because you told me to. Because you’re the best of us, and you’re clever.”

Soap nodded, eyes drifting shut, not processing Ghost’s words.

“You’re lucky I’m such a good shot,” Ghost added, grumbling.

Soap chuckled softly, wincing as he did. “That I am,” he said. “Hassan?”

“I shot him, too. Twice, actually.”

“Through me the first time, eh LT?”

Ghost looked unamused. But when Soap grinned at him, his eyes softened. “That’s right, Johnny.”

“Perfect shot, LT.”“You called it, Sargeant.”

“The best of us, huh LT?”

“Can it, Sergeant.”

For a moment, the two shared a companionable silence. Then, Ghost spoke so softly that Soap thought he may have imagined it. “I almost didn’t take it.”

“The shot? Why not?”

“There was no shot. He had you directly in front of him, and he would have thrown you out that window before I had time to move.”

“You still got him, LT. I’ll call that a win.”“We got him, Johnny.”

“I’m starting to think you really have taken a shine to me, Simon.”

Ghost hung his head before looking back up. “Maybe I have.” He turned, picking up his chair, and sat it right by the bed as quietly as he could. “That one has, for sure.” He nodded to Daniela.

Soap looked down at her. “How long have you both been here?”

“Since you got here,” Ghost mumbled. Soap’s head snapped back to him.

“And when was that?”

Ghost shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Four days, give or take.” Soap stared at him. Finally, he threw up his hands. “You, Sergeant, should have died.”

He lifted one gloved hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “You have a field-treated gunshot wound to your right arm, which was in fact infected. Thank your lucky stars that Daniela saw through your idiocy.” That explained a lot of little things he’d missed. Like a passenger in a getaway vehicle. “A bruised bone in your hip. Three cracked ribs. A grade four concussion. Multiple hairline fractures in your legs. And a shredded left pec from a 50 caliber bullet. Might I add that last one only missed your heart by centimeters?”

Soap snorted. “Well, that explains a lot about how I feel. Hell, how I’ve been feeling.”

Ghost just shook his head. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Thought we lost ya. Again.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, LT.”

“Good,” grumbled Ghost. He looked toward Daniela. “I had to pry her off of you,” he said softly.

Soap looked down at her again. She looked younger than before, peaceful in her slumber. But he could see the exhaustion plainly on her face. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” murmured Ghost. “Could hardly get her across the hall to shower.”

Soap let his eyes drift shut, exhaustion washing over him all over again. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Amsterdam. Laswell has friends here. We’re in a private hospital.”

“Price? And Gaz?”

“They’re trying to find a lead on Shepherd.”

Soap nodded sleepily, relieved that their squad was still intact. “She kissed me,” he murmured.

“Doctors say she saved your life with that.”

Soap hummed, cracking one eye open to peer at Ghost. He shrugged.

“Something about the adrenaline helping to push off the shock.”

Soap hummed again, letting his eyes slide shut.

“Sleep, Johnny.”

He did.

When he woke again, sunlight was streaming through the window. He shifted slightly, and felt Daniela spring up when he did.

When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him anxiously.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Soap murmured.

Tears sprang instantly to her eyes. She squeezed his thigh, standing and reaching her hand up to cup his face.

“Oh, Johnny,” she whispered.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he said. He reached up a hand to hold hers against his cheek. “I’m right here.”

She shifted a leg up onto the bed, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m right here,” he whispered again. “Ghost said you saved my life.”

She made a strangled sound, half laugh and half sob. “I couldn’t let you go like that.”

Soap shifted his hand to her face, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well,” he said. “If you remember, I was a bit out of my mind.” He tilted her chin up gently, whispering “Care to give me another taste of those lifesaving powers of yours?”

Daniela lunged forward, sealing her lips to his. Soap eyes slid shut as he grinned, pulling her closer. Her mouth opened against his, and he ran his tongue against hers. When she whimpered into his mouth, the primal need to have her close overcame him. He leaned up as far as he could, cursing the sling on his left shoulder, chasing her mouth. His hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her against him. She straddled him carefully, elbows coming to rest above his shoulders.

Her whole body shuddered when his hand came to rest on her hip.

His eyes snapped open. “I’m sorry-”

“No,” she cut him off, panting. She reached one hand up, threading her fingers through his mohawk. “There’s no reason.” Soap groaned when her nails lightly scratched his scalp.

“Woman, the things I would do to you if I wasn’t stuck in this bed…”

She shuddered again before she leaned down and kissed the place that his jaw and neck met. His whole body involuntarily arched off the bed, hand moving from her hip to the small of her back to pull her against him. She gasped at the contact. However light she was, her weight on his hip hurt. But he was too far gone to care. He leaned up again, gently sucking her lip between his as she sighed into his mouth.

His mind was clouded with the desire for intimacy with her. He wanted all of her. First in their single shared night, and now in their kiss, Soap saw waking up to her every morning, cooking together, trips to the stormy Scottish coast and the sunny Caribbean. He’d been drawn to her from the moment he saw her, and he knew from the way she looked at him that she’d been drawn to him just as much. He’d tried so hard to remain professional. To keep distance. To be a gentleman. To pretend he hadn’t fallen in love with her the moment he heard her speak.

Then she’d slept in his cot and he’d had to know what it was like to have her in his arms. Having tasted her once, there was no going back to professional and distant. Having tasted her twice? She owned him. There was no pretending, now.

His train of thought was interrupted by a sharp cough from the doorway. Daniela sprang up, scrambling off the bed with one hand covering her mouth. Soap’s head whipped toward the door. Ghost was there, finding something very interesting to look at in the ceiling, along with a pretty nurse who was smiling widely.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better, Sergeant,” she quipped. Soap grinned wryly first at her, then at Daniela. “My name’s Cat, I’m a friend of Kate’s. Mind if I take a look at you?”

Soap nodded, Daniela sat herself in the corner, and Ghost continued to pay close attention to the ceiling and walls. Soap narrowed his eyes, watching the Lieutenant closely.

Cat turned to Daniela and Ghost. “Would you two-”

“They can stay,” Soap cut her off. Cat turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. He smiled. “Nothing they haven’t seen already.” When she helped him sit up and lift his gown off, Soap got his first real look at the damage. At Los Vaqueros safe house, and then later at their base, he’d been too rushed and too tired to really look at himself.

Purple bruises so dark they nearly looked black covered his ribs. Just above his boxers, he could see more bruising on his hip that was nearly green now. Scrapes and cuts covered his knees, his arms, his sides. The bullet wound in his right arm was healing nicely, but the skin around it was still pink and tender. He was grateful that his chest was wrapped tightly so he couldn’t see the damage from Ghost’s sniper.

Soap looked away.

“So Cat,” he asked. “How did you meet Laswell?”

“Oh, she and I met probably fifteen years ago. She was still on the field, back then. I was still in training, working in a field hospital. I patched her and John up after a rough mission. I guess she decided she liked me, because as soon as I graduated, she snapped me right up.” She turned to Ghost, who had finally looked her way, and smiled. “Good thing, too. I’ve fixed this one up more times than I can count, and Kate tells me he won’t let anyone else touch him.”

Ghost looked away again so quickly that he missed Soap’s gleeful expression. “Oh, is that so?” teased Soap. Ghost shot him a warning glare. Something to ask about later.

“I trust her,” muttered Ghost.

Cat beamed at him. She looked back to Soap, smiling conspiratorially. “Quite the compliment, eh?”

“That it is,” he answered smugly. Ghost held his stare, unamused. Soap looked back toward Daniela, eyes softening. She smiled back at him, looking tired but content. Cat was wrapping up her check, talking about physical therapy and taking it easy. Soap couldn’t wait to have a moment with Daniela again.

“Alright, well I’ll be back tonight to check in with you again. Simon, would you walk me out?” Soap’s eyes shot back to Ghost at that, but Ghost refused to meet his gaze. Definitely something to ask about later.

When Cat and Ghost had gone, Daniela came back to Soap’s side, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. She gently took his left hand, careful not to lift it or otherwise disturb the bandages.

“Take all the time you need,” Soap said softly. Daniela lifted her eyes from their joined hands, cocking her head. He held her gaze. “You said I’d have to give you some time to figure it out. Take all the time you need.” Now it was Soap’s turn to look down at their hands. He grinned, lopsided. “I’ll be here.”

Daniela reached out, lifting his chin with her fingertips. Her dark eyes watered slightly around the edges. “I’m pretty sure,” she whispered.

“Oh, now that sounds familiar,” chuckled Soap. He leaned toward her, eyes flitting down to her lips. “C’mere, you.”

Their first kiss had been desperate. Their second quickly turned heated. This one was soft, slow, gentle. Exploratory and sweet. Soap stroked her cheek, looking up at her from under hooded eyes. “Tell me you feel it, too,” he whispered.

Daniela nodded, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. “I feel it.”

“Yeah? Not just ‘maybe’?”

Daniela smiled wide, smacking his shoulder lightly. Soap laughed, loud and full, and immediately regretted it. Wincing, he smiled back at her.

He was anxious to hear from Price and Gaz, and nervous about what would happen when Alejandro and Rodolfo called Daniela back. They’d have to go after Shepherd, and she might have to go back to Mexico. Maybe nothing would ever truly have a chance to start with them. Maybe they’d die. But maybe not. Maybe everything would be alright.

#nightingale writes #call of duty #cod #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #cod mw2022 #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap #john soap mactavish x oc #john soap mactavish x fem! oc #soap x oc #soap x fem! oc #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #repost from my alt account

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the-fiction-witch · 3 days ago

Text

May I?

Media - The Maze Runner Series Characters - Newt Couples - Newt X Reader Rating - 18 + ABUSE/ abusive parents/ fingering/ nudity/ bj/ eating out/ breast play/ nipple play/ pinv/ full sex/ raw sex/ Word Count - 4944

Newt lay snuggly in the warm, soft sheets of the base. His arm draped half off his top bunk, enjoying the real bed after so very long. But a noise stirred him slightly, a clattering of metal and a scrape of plastic wheels. He didn't think much of it, maybe someone was just shifting in bed or a nurse moving people around outside the door.

But the sound got louder and louder until even if his eyes were closed he saw light flood the room. He just pretended to be asleep keeping his eyes closed and listening.

There were heavy footsteps, and mutterings he couldn't make out at first so he listened closer,

"They're out. All of them."

"Good. Makes this easier."

"Shall we get moving?"

"Go on, just make sure not to bruise him up. Don't want the other's noticing too much."

He felt hands reach out and grab for him in the darkness, making him flip out and yell protesting against these men.

"Get him out. Now." Janson ordered,

A hand clamped over Newt's mouth silencing him and keeping him still as a blue needle was shot into his neck. The moment the liquid was gone he began to feel dizzy and drowsy his eyes fluttering closed. The men tossed his body down onto the stretcher and buckled him into restraints.

Newt tried desperately to fight against them but he had no energy to do so and the last thing he remembered before slipping beyond consciousness.

Was a large white room with blue screens, and a man all in white looming over him.

"I'd say you won't remember a thing, but that's not strictly true. You'll remember everything."

Newt woke in a brightly lit room. When his eyes cleared, he saw he wasn't alone. Across the table from him was Janson. But Newt felt strange to see him. He was still frightened, still hesitant, still suspicious, but now he felt he had a hundred more reasons why. The more he looked him over, the more memories returned to him, and one made itself known so strongly in his mind that he had to speak it.

"D-Dad?"

"Hello, Newt." Janson smiled,

"Wha- what's going on?"

"Your memories will return, it takes time. A few days to remember everything."

"Wh- why am I here?"

"We need to have a little chat,"

"About what?"

"I sent you into the maze with a purpose. Do you remember?"

"…No," He shook his head,

"I sent you there, to keep them there. Use your skills to build the glade, keep them alive, and keep them all safe and sound in the glade."

"I was?"

"You were. and you failed." Janson said, "I'm not angry. Just… disappointed in all the work we put in."

"I- I'm sorry I didn't know I-"

"Perhaps keeping your mind with theirs was part of the issue. You couldn't retain your purpose after the wipe. But no matter, you won't be making that mistake again."

"I won't?"

"No. We've restored your memories, and we're giving you this." Janson said sliding across a small communicator and tracker, small enough to fit inside his ear, "And giving you a new job."

"Which is?"

"Keep them here," Janson ordered,

"What?"

"Keep them in the facility, and if they do happen to escape and try and run off god knows where. Remind them what Wicked has given them. Remind them to come home."

"Why would I do that? There my friends. And they don't have any reason to trust you."

"No, but they trust you." Janson said, "And you trust me… don't you?"

"I-..Yes."

"Good, do your job and I promise you and your friends will be safe."

Newt wandered back to the dormitory still fiddling with the communicator and how strange it felt in his ear.

"Where the hell have you been!" Minho snapped as he got back,

"Ohh I had to go see a doctor." Newt lies,

"Are you alright Newt?" Y/n asked as she came closer,

"Nothing to worry about, I just had a bit of a tummy ache that's all." He shrugged to everyone,

"So long as you're okay." she smiled,

"Good your back," Thomas nodded, "Cause we're getting out of here."

Immediately he heard his communicator hiss on, meaning his father and others were listening, "Wh-What?"

Thomas revealed the pass he had stolen, "We need to find out what's on the other side of that door. If no one leaves we need to know. and we need to get out of here." Thomas explained, "There hiding something! These people are not who they say they are."

"Keep them out of that room." Janson's voice echoed through his ear making him flinch slightly,

"No!" Newt spoke up,

"What?" Y/n asked,

"No, you don't know that." Newt tried to reason with him, "All we do know. They helped rescue us from wicked. They gave us food, new clothes, a proper bed."

Thomas began, "I know but-"

"Some of us haven't had that in a long time." Newt told him, "Some of us… a lot longer than others."

"Good. Good work." Janson told him before the hiss fizzled out,

But Aris burst through their vent and ushered thomas away anyway,

"Maybe you guys are right, maybe I'm just being paranoid. But I need to know." Thomas nodded before he scampered away.

Newt sat waiting for thomas to return already feeling a little strange for guilt-tripping his friends. Y/n soon came and sat down beside him, He didn't pay her much attention, he barely ever did. She'd been in the glade as long as he had and didn't really think much about her as she kept to herself mostly.

"Newt? Are you feeling okay?"

"Humm ohh yeah I'm fine."

"How's your stomach?"

"Wh- Oh! Yeah, yeah feels better now they gave me some medicine."

"Good, I'm happy you're feeling better then." she smiled,

Before he could say another word Thomas and Aris returned bursting through the vent in a mass of shouting and panic,

"We have to go! We have to go now!"

Immediately he heard the hiss and flinched again,

"Newt? You alright?" Y/n asked having noticed him do it this time,

"Yeah… yeah just uhh just my ear being weird again." Newt brushed her off, "What's going on? What did you see?"

"We have to go. We have to go!" Thomas yelled again trying to tie a blanket around the door,

"Thomas will you just stop and talk to us!"

"It's wicked!" He yelled and everyone silenced, "It's wicked. It's still wicked. It's always been wicked. We have to get out of here! Now!"

Newt tried to think of something, anything he could say to make them stay as everyone made their way into the vent to escape.

"Let them go. Stay with them. we'll track you just stay close and we'll turn them around once they calm down." Janson ordered,

"Okay…" Newt agreed,

"Newt come on, Aren't you coming?" Y/n asked,

"Yeah! Yes, I'm coming." Newt nodded following her into the vent.

Finally, after the madness of the escape, they had a moment of respite inside an abandoned mall. And finally, thomas explained what he saw. The tales of bodies, blue liquid, faces behind glass. It all resonated with all of them. Even Newt as more and more of his memories were returning to him many of which he didn't want to see again.

"Okay…" Newt nodded, "So what's your plan?"

"I… well…" Thomas began,

"You do have a plan right?" Newt asked,

Thomas had no answer,

"Well we followed you out here thomas and now you're saying you have no idea where we're going or what we're doing?!"

"Good… Very good," Janson whispered in his ear,

"Well… Janson… he said something about people in the mountains some kinda resistance or …amry." Aris explained,

"If that's true… they can help us," Thomas added,

"The right arm is a myth. Ghosts and nothing more." Janson whispered,

"…People? In the mountains? Mountain people? That's your plan!" Newt asked,

"What other choice do we have? We gather supplies and head out first light." Thomas explained,

They walked the dry, dusty sand for days wrapped up and bundled with supplies any chance Newt got he tried to reason with thomas and let him see his madness, but he never listened. Any chance he got to lead them in circles he did making it easier to be found or get them lost.

They stopped for the night by some half-buried cars and built a fire for the night. Still grieving the loss of Winston.

"I thought we were supposed to be immune," Minho said,

"Not all of us." Teresa sighed as she reclined to Newt's side,

Newt had begun to notice how close to him Teresa had seemed to stick, she had been pushing thomas to go back just far less subtle than Newt was. He wondered if he had convinced her… or if she too had an unknown agenda.

"If Winston got infected… we should assume so can the rest of us," Newt told them,

discussions continued about what they could do to keep themselves safe and Y/n came and sat down beside Newt to make her bed for the night.

"You mind?"

"No, go on Y/n." he smiled at her,

"Thanks," she smiled, "…Newt?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"Course,"

"…I kinda miss the glade."

"You do?"

"Umm… it wasn't always nice but… it was home you know."

"Yeah, we did really make it out home didn't we." he smiled, "I miss it too… Just the little things like where the sun used to hit the Glade at that perfect moment right before it slipped beneath the walls. The taste of Frypan's stew. I never thought I'd miss that stuff so much"

Y/n laughed, "It seems a far cry now… I'd sell all jackets for a taste of bacon now."

He laughed too, "Yeah, I would too… would… would you want to go back?"

"…No." She answered, "I miss it. But we can't go back. Only ever forward. I know we'll find something as nice… someday." she smiled leaning her head briefly on Newt's shoulder,

He gasped a little and felt butterflies in his stomach, he looked down at her and… he realized he'd never really looked at her. Well of course he had! But… never LOOKED at her. He just saw her, as the girl of the group their grubby little girl who never much involved herself with them. He'd never really thought about her as… a girl. Just another glader. But now as she sat in the said her head rested on his shoulder, looking down at her big Y/e/C eyes and Y/H/C plaited hair dusted with sand.

"You're really cute-" He said before he even had time to stop the words coming out his mouth,

Y/n laughed, "Thanks Newt." she smiled, "You're cute too."

Newt blushed unlike anything he ever had before, he felt happy and giddy, like he wanted to hear her call him that forever. "get some rest Nat. I'll look after you,"

"Thanks, newt." She nodded,

The further they got from Wicked the more nervous Newt became, constantly getting ordered and barked into his ear to convince his friends to turn back. Or reveal their cover in some stupid way. When thomas went off on his own he tried to take charge but Minho took the lead and kept them going and Newt for whatever reason just couldn't get through to Minho. And neither could Teresa. They made sure to get where thomas would go and luckily found him again. Teresa worked more intensely making sure Thomas began to fear and hesitate after all both had already built.

But for now, he was resting.

Newt wandered the house unable to rest himself, he hadn't seen Y/n for a few hours and he was getting worried about her.

But he soon found her, down in the party dancing.

"Y/n? What are you doing down-" He began trying to usher her away but she gave him a drink,

"Dancing." she giggled,

The drink made his head fuzzy and his mind a little cloudy,

"Dance with me Newt." She cooed,

"Ih uhh… Okay…" he nodded taking her hands,

The music seemed to vibrate the floor and their bodies, their dancing growing closer and closer, the hissing in his ear didn't seem to bother him, not when he was looking at Y/n. As the drink clouded his mind more and more, his memories became clearer.

The life he once had before all this happened, the kind of father Janson was. He was cruel, abusive, belittling Newt for every little thing.

He then began to think of his time in the glade, all his friends, Y/n… he just came up one day and they all accepted him, without trial or hurt they all became his family.

He wondered… after this was done, and he brought his friends back to his father… what sort of life they would have. God knows what Janson would do to thomas, to Minho, to Fry and … what he would do to Y/n. Would he suffer the same fate as his friends? His father seemed to have no quells with tossing him in the maze with them, who's to say he wouldn't suffer with them too? And even if he didn't… could he live with himself if he watched his friends suffer? Would he even be safe with Janson if he did keep his word?

He thought of a life with Janson, locked away in some bunker. Watching his friends suffer. To live his life under his father's backhand.

But… then… He imagined a green place, where flowers and food grow, a little wood house by a river, and Y/n… In a cotton dress with a swollen belly. He imagined children running around and laughing.

Newt… so badly wanted this life.

This life with her.

But he knew, with his father's control… it would never be true.

"Newt?" Y/n asked waking him out of his dreams,

"Yeah?"

"I missed you,"

"I missed you too," He cooed pulling her a little closer as they danced, "Y/n…"

"Yeah?"

"I- I really like you."

"I like you too." she giggled her eyes fluttering to his lips,

He smiled and glanced down at her's too,

And without really thinking he closed the gap and kissed her.

Newt sat by the sea at Right Arms camp, doing his best to block out the stupid communicator's hiss. Y/n sat beside him her head on his shoulder.

But she yawned,

"Ooohh big yawn. You sleepy?"

"Mhm." she nodded,

"Go on, get some rest." he cooed kissing her head,

"I will, You should too." She told him,

"I'll be alright a while longer,"

"Where are you even sleeping anyway?"

"The boys found a little hammock for me in their tent."

"Ohh… seems crowded."

"No more crowded than the homestead ever was." he laughed,

"I guess…" she nodded, "Well I always have some space in my tent… if you wanted?"

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"No, it's okay. I don't wanna be a bother."

"Alright. If you're sure." She nodded, "Goodnight Newt."

"Goodnight Nat." he cooed back,

The two shared a kiss before she headed off to her tent.

Newt sat there for a while longer, pondering to himself. He felt so dirty for all he had done. And he couldn't help this stupid dream of a life he and Y/n could have without Wicked. Without Janson. And in that moment he knew what he wanted. The life he wanted. He pulled the comunicator from his ear hearing it beep and whir at the removal. He stood and walked to the water and without a single hesitation, he tossed it as hard as he could out and into the water. The waves quickly swallowed it up and Newt stood for the first time since the maze… in complete silence. He sighed feeling so free and happy with it gone. Without his father whispering in his ear… he asked himself… what he even wanted to do now. And he knew what he wanted to do next.

He marched with purpose through the camp to Y/n's tent where he found her already laid in her makeshift bed.

"Hey,"

"Hey…" She yawned,

"You mind?" he smiled coming closer to her bed,

She giggled and smiled, "No, come on."

Newt happily tossed his jacket, kicked off his cargo trousers and climbed into the bed with her wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. "Y/n?"

"Yes, Newt?"

"… I love you," he whispered against her lips,

"Awww I love you too." She cooed,

Their kisses grew deeper and deeper the longer they went on, turning from innocent sweet kisses to longer and more passionate makeouts, their bodies pressed together tightly.

Slowly her hands began to wander stroking his chest and arms, his own slid up her back and hips a few times before in a bolder move as they swirled their tongues together his hands moved down from her hips to cup her backside. His hands and fingers dug into the flesh below her shorts and forced a groan from his lips, in return, Y/n began to tug at his shirt. So Newt pulled back from, her lips to toss it over his head quickly returning to the kiss letting her hands roam his chest whilst he gave her backside a good squeeze. He could feel his cock getting harder in his boxers and in a surge of confidence again he pushed his hips against her's making sure she felt it.

Y/n Gasped and slightly giggled, pulling Newt on top of her as she lay on her back.

He of course did so kneeling above her his hands trailing up her sides to cup her breasts squeezing them through her shirt and groaning as they bounce without her bra. He pulled back to kiss down her neck leaving a trail of hickeys as he went.

"Please…. please can I-" He asked tugging at her shirt,

"You can." Y/n nodded helping him,

Once she was revealed newt moaned and kissed all over her breasts squeezing and rubbing as he did. He rubbed her nipples as they got hard before he licked and suckled at one of them.

Y/n playfully squealed and giggled pushing him back, "May I?"

"Yes…" he gasped,

so she pulled off his boxers revealing his hard cock,

he hissed at his reveal to the cold air and kicked off his boxers for her,

Y/n without hesitation sat up on her knees and peppered his shaft with kisses and licks.

"Ughhh Y/n!" He moaned throwing his head back and trying hard not to buck his hips into her mouth,

She wrapped her lips around him and began to suck which pulled so many moans and groans from him.

Newt's mind was lost to the sensation of her mouth mentally screaming at himself for not telling her he liked her earlier! Imagining so many lonely glade nights he could have gotten this feeling. But he pushed her back against the bed and smirked,

"May I?"

"You may." she nodded,

So he tugged off her little shorts revealing her wet folds to him, "fuck…" he gasped before he dove down grabbing her thighs to part them and burrowing himself against her, kissing, licking and sucking her flavours.

Y/n moaned loudly and arched her back her hand coming and wrapping in his hair,

But Newt was so lost in pleasuring her he didn't care, adoring her taste and moans far more than he ever thought he would. He moved his hand up to slip two fingers inside her which made her scream for his every moment. So he made sure to keep going, sucking, licking and thrusting his fingers desperate to make her feel as good as she made him feel.

Y/n soon stopped him pushing him back pulling him into a hot kiss, and rubbing her hips on his. "Shall we?"

"Hell yeah." he agreed, He stroked himself a couple of times making sure he was rock hard and ready before he gently and slowly lined himself up and slipped in,

Y/n gasped and squirmed a little as he got deeper and deeper inside her before letting out a long breath as he was fully inside. "OOoh Newt…" she blushed,

"Uhgh Y/n… god you feel so good." he groaned back barely able to stop his hips from moving just from the feel of her,

"So do you." She cooed, guiding his hips to help him get started,

He began slow and tender following her guidance but he soon didn't need it finding his pace and her limits very quickly.

Grunting, groaning and moaning as they each felt wave after wave of pleasure together. Each gets lost in the sensation and the other.

Newt moved his hand on her clit rubbing it softly in time with his now fast thrusts which made Y/n scream and moan below him.

He knew she was close and so did she pulling him into heavy kisses full of lust as she began begging him to keep going,

"Please… don't stop- don't slow keep goin-" She begged before her orgasm hit her sending her toppling over the edge of pleasure clenching around Newt's shaft and squealing his name,

The feeling itself was enough for him too, moaning her name against her neck and then a string of grunts and moans as he felt the pleasure wash from his head to his toes making his fingers grip her body tight as he sent his semen deep inside of her,

"Holy… god… damn… fuck." he groaned collapsing down beside her,

"Hell yeah," She agreed, "Love you." she cooed nuzzling up to his chest as they gasped and calmed down from their sweaty highs."

"Love you too." He gasped wrapping his arms around her and kissing her head,

Newt yawned feeling VERY tired from last night, but also with a joyful glow that couldn't be compared to anything else. He'd spent the whole time at the Right arm camp just snuggled with his beloved girlfriend. Much to the annoyance of the tents nearby. But he didn't care! He was free! He was in love! The whole world seemed bright and wonderful again.

He ventured out of the tent, after a good half hour of kissing and convincing, to go and grab some food for them.

But as he did, he spotted Teresa up on the rocks. He got a little worried so decided to head up there.

"Teresa? You Okay?" He asked,

"Newt… He got so worried." She gasped,

"Who?"

"Janson," she whispered,

"Wha- you- you know-"

She pushed back her hair and revealed her own communicator,

"All this time… you were-"

She nodded, "What happened? Why did you take it out? He got so worried you'd done something awful."

"No. No. I don't want any part of this. And you can tell him that too. I don't want this. I don't want anything to do with this." he told her, "Just leave me alone-"

As he went to leave she grabbed his arm, "It's too late for that. You and I. We're going home."

"What did you do?"

The sounds echoed through camp the bergs approaching,

"They promised we'd be safe. You and Me." She cooed trying to lean in and kiss him but he pushed her away and bolted down into camp, finding Y/n.

"We need to leave."

"What's going on!"

"We need to go! Now!" He told her to pack up as much as they could carry and they ran out hand in hand but it was too late.

The berg landed and men flooded camp stunning everyone in sight, They tried to run and get away but they were soon captured and tossed on the ground with the rest of the gladers.

And soon enough another Berg landed, and out walked Janson.

"Good evening. A pleasure to see you all again. Lost a few here and there but No harm done really."

"Let us go!" Thomas demanded,

"Ohh no, you're far too valuable for that. We even had insurance on you all. But you've had your run out. Let's get on back now."

"Insurance? What are you talking about!" Minho yelled,

Newt's blood ran cold, he squeezed Y/n's arm tightly knowing what was about to happen.

Janson stepped closer and smirked down at him, "Hello kiddo."

"Fuck you." Newt snapped back only for Janson to slap him across the face,

"Newt!" Y/n gasped trying to comfort him,

"You had a rat. trying to convince you to turn back." Teresa smiled as she stood with Janson,

"Newt…" Y/n pleaded,

"He was trying to make you come back, and letting us track him the whole time," Janson explained,

The boys gasped and began to argue even if Newt couldn't speak, at first they didn't believe it but it all made too much sense.

"He called them here. to take you all home." Teresa lied,

Y/n looked at him so utterly heartbroken, "Newt… please… it's not true?"

He couldn't answer her tears in his eyes, "I… I was." he admitted, "But! I promise I stopped! I didn't bring them here! I promise you I didn't, I gave up becuase I knew it was wrong, Please believe me Nat Please! You know I love you I'd never lie to you."

"You bastard!" Minho went to attack him managing one punch,

Before a full riot kicked off as the right arm attacked the wicked men,

Newt thought on the side of his friends even if they didn't want him there, doing everything he could to prove to them he was on their side.

But it wasn't enough when the men got hold of him. They wouldn't fight to get him back.

"Noo! Nooo please!" Newt begged them, pleading with them but they didn't. He was dragged away back to the Berg with Janson and Teresa.

Minho being the last to fall and be carted inside, "Y/n Please!" Newt begged her as he watched her tear-stained heartbroken face as the berg closed behind them.

Newt sat in a cold and harsh cell. Every day the men would come and drag him off for tests and experiments. Like he was nothing more than a rat in a cage. But… some days Janson would come. And those were the days he hated the most. Janson would belittle him, beat him, and do everything he did when Newt was a child. Without mercy or remoce. He called it punishment, for disobeying his orders. Janson told him he would hunt Y/n down and the only time he'd ever see her again was when her body was tossed in with him to die together. Such a promise always made him cry. He didn't want anything to happen to Y/n… he's hurt her enough.

Newt was convinced this was his end, that this was the room he'd die in.

He'd begun to grow numb from the torture but whenever he did it just became worse.

He hoped his friends would save him.

But he prayed for death.

One night he heard the cell unlock, and he begged it wasn't his father.

But when he looked up, he saw Thomas. Fry. Minho. All stood before him.

"No… no… I'm imagining you." he cried,

"You're not. Even if maybe you should be." Minho snapped,

"We know what you did Newt." Thomas began, "…But we know why you did it."

"And no matter what you did. You're still our friend." Fry told him,

"You- You forgive me?"

"Not by a long shot." Minho sighed, "But… we can't leave you here."

Thomas came to work at removing Newt's restraints. "Y/n found the files. Explained everything that happened. It was a shit situation and … we know you didn't have a choice. You're still our friend and we understand… why you did what you did."

"Thank you." Newt cried, "But you should leave me. Let me suffer for what I did."

"Can't do that man." Fry told him as they got him loose, "We can't leave you behind. Not minho. Not you. Not anyone." He explained, "Besides… you got work to do."

"I- I do-"

"Y/n… is gonna need a word with you when you get back." Thomas chuckled,

Newt woke feeling groggy and tired. The medics had done the best they could to fix Newt up even if there were many scars on his body and his mind that would take a good time to heal if they ever would. He'd barely been conscious since their return but he always heard Y/n's voice. As she watched over him.

He peeled open his eyes and glanced around the ship's infirmary as he had for the last few days, his body aware of the waves and movement even if it wasn't visible.

"Hey." Y/n smiled holding his hand,

"Hey… Y/n- I - I'm so sorry-"

"Shhhh." She cooed, "It's okay, I uhh hacked wicked's files while out where gone. Found out the whole story. I understand what happened now and I know why you did it. I forgive you."

"Don't." he told her, "Do not forgive me for this."

"I will. Even if you don't want me to. I forgive you. and I will be here every day until you forgive yourself. You had no choice, you were scared, and you fought your own father for your friends. You're a good man newt." She told him, "No matter what the intentions first were."

"….Thank you," he broke down into tears pulling her into his arms,

"It's okay, I just want you to feel better."

"I feel better now I have you." He smiled, "I love you Y/n… so so much!"

"I love you too." She smiled, "…Did the boys tell you?"

"They… said you had news for me? What is it?"

Y/n smiled and kissed his chuckles before she moved his hand to the rounded bump below her shirt.

"Y-what?!"

"You're gonna be a daddy." She cooed,

He began to cry tears of utter joy even more so than before, getting choked up and wailing with joy as he stroked her bump.

"A baby… our baby… We're… we get a baby. I'm a daddy!" he cried, "I love you so so so much!" He yelled kissing her and her bump a hundred times, "I promise you little one, I am going to keep you safe. I will never hurt you, never make you scared. I will be the best dad in the world. I promise." He told her bump,

"I know you will newt." Y/n smiled as they shared a tender kiss.

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signfromeywa · 2 days ago

Text

AUNGIA TA EYWA (A SIGN FROM EYWA)

Chapter 07: Back in the enclosure

Description:

Anastasia Novak is a behavioural scientist tasked with socializing a captive Na'vi on behalf of the RDA. The longer she works with the Na'vi and the closer she gets to him, the more she has to rethink everything she thought she knew and redefine her morals and values. Can she just carry on like this, or will she follow her heart?

Content: Rating +18, Avatar fanfiction, human x Na'vi ship, Na'vi captured

Characters: Human OCs: Anastasia Novak, Steven Turner, Patra// Na'vi OCs: Ean'tu,

Word Count: 3439

⊹˚₊‧─────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

❗️English is not my native language! I apologize very much if it reads a bit bumpy here and there.

I’m a German author and this is the first time I’ve tried to translate a story I’m working on into English and upload it. I still hope you enjoy it.❗

The airlock opened and Ana stepped into his old enclosure with Ean'tu by the hand. After a few more weeks, the cultivation of the new plants had finally been completed and Ean'tu was able to move back into the old enclosure. Ana had been eagerly waiting for this, it gave them more privacy but also more space and comfort for the Na'vi. Thanks to the great trust Ean'tu already had in Ana, they were once again able to move on foot. There had been no need to sedate him or use other heavy measures. He trusted her and had walked calmly by her side back to his enclosure. It was always a big risk, Ana was aware of that. He could try to escape at any time, which she would even understand. The desire for freedom certainly burned deep in his heart and Ana felt the same way. This thought was also growing in her mind. The Na'vi could not stay here forever. That wasn't right.

Turner called over the radio: "Novak, everything okay so far?"

"Yes, we arrived safely at the enclosure, you can give the all-clear." Ana replied and Ean'tu looked at her. By now his English wasn't bad at all, she could hardly believe how incredibly quickly he was learning. Communicating with him had become so much easier but also more intimate.

"Was that the other minder of mine?" he asked quietly, still with a strong accent despite his good English.

"Yes, that was Turner, he wanted to know if everything had worked out." Ana looked up at Ean'tu, he hadn't been able to hear the radio because she had a small headset in her ear.

"I'm sure he just wanted to know if I'd done something to you." He still didn't trust Turner and obviously didn't like him. So far, he had also refused any contact with Turner.

"No, he knows you won't hurt me, he's on our side, even if it's hard to believe." Ana stroked Ean'tu's hand and then led the way. "Look, they really did grow the plants in question."

Ana tried to lighten the mood a little. She knew they were still in a prison, but they had to make the best of it. Ean'tu walked past Ana, over to the plants and stroked the leaves. She could see a slight smile on his face, which then gave way to a dull, sad look. Did he remember his home? Should Ana perhaps ask or was that inappropriate and would only open old wounds?

To her surprise, Ean'tu herself began to tell the story, "Sa'nu and I used to go out a lot to collect these leaves. She was a good teacher, she taught me how to weave."

"Your mom?" Ana came over to him and also touched a leaf. He nodded sadly. "Where's your mom now?"

"I hope with Eywa..." it was almost a whisper from Ean'tu, his words sounded sad and heavy. Ana didn't know what exactly they meant, but she thought it had a similar meaning to when people wished their loved ones were in heaven. She would not realize how serious the words really were until much later.

Ean'tu seemed to be grieving. Ana would have liked to know so much more about his childhood, but she didn't dare ask. It just didn't seem to be the right moment. The Na'vi closed his beautiful eyes for a moment and seemed to pause. Then he took a deep breath and turned to face her again.

"I can show you how we weave ribbons." he struggled to smile to hide his sadness.

"I'd love to learn from you." Ana was excited by the idea. So far, Ean'tu had only learned from her and she had felt bad about imposing her culture on him. It was only appropriate that she also learned to understand the Na'vi and their way of life.

Ean'tu nodded. "Okay, I'll look for some nice leaves later so we can start tomorrow. Today I would like to ask you for something."

Ana listened with interest. "Yes?"

"My hair is soft and beautiful again thanks to you, I wonder if you can put it back together for me?" he took his hair and held it together in a half-up hairstyle.

"Yes, I can do that if you like. Tell me how you want it, I'll help you." Ana was proud and honored. It was the first time Ean'tu had actively asked her for help. "I have to get out of the enclosure in a minute, we've got a delivery. I'm sure I'll find everything I need there."

These were the things Ana had asked for. They included all sorts of things. From fabrics and materials to clothing. She didn't know what the Na'vi normally wore, so she had asked her secret contact. They gave her a rough description and Ana had to choose things based on this rough information. She hoped he wouldn't hate the things she had chosen.

"Okay, I'll wait for you at the tree." He smiled at her again, with that warm, friendly smile. Every time he did, her heart leapt for joy. He touched her on the head, almost as if he wanted to stroke her cheek, which was unfortunately not possible thanks to the mask. Instead, he stroked her neck and turned away to go to the tree. His only place of retreat.

Ana breathed a heavy sigh and tried to ignore the longing tugging at her heart. It was wrong, she kept telling herself so as not to lose her reason. Then she too made her way through the airlock to accept the delivery she had ordered.

When she arrived at the top of her department, Turner was already waiting for her among a pile of delivery boxes. He had a digital clipboard in his hand and seemed to be checking that everything was there.

When Ana came into the room, he looked up from his work. "Out of the enclosure so soon?"

"I want to get some things out of the boxes, I hope everything I asked for is there." Ana walked over to the boxes, put her hands on her hips and looked at the mountain of boxes. With a bit of bad luck, it would be a while before she found what she was looking for.

" Have you seen, the plants have settled in well in the enclosure, they look great."

"Yes, Sky has already had a closer look at them too. They were very satisfactory. The responsible staff have done a good job." Ana took the first box, opened it and looked through the contents. "You could take the other boxes from the pile and put them in a row."

Turner nodded and set to work. She was grateful for his help, the boxes looked heavy. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"I requested hair accessories for Sky and some clothes." Ana stuck her head up to her shoulders in one of the boxes and rummaged around.

"I'll help you find it." Turner also opened one and rummaged through the contents.

After what felt like a while and three boxes later, Ana emerged triumphantly. "I've got it!" she pulled the hair ornament out of the box and held it up solemnly. Then she turned to Turner? "So, have you had any luck yet?"

He also straightened up, but shook his head. "No, not yet. I'll try the last box." He opened it and began to search. "I have to say Novak, that's a lot of stuff I don't know what you want to do with."

Ana grinned and came over to Turner. "I won't be able to do anything with it either, but I'm sure Sky knows exactly how to process all the materials. Otherwise, he and I will figure it out together."

Turner paused. "I think that's what you were looking for. At least that's my guess."

He pulled out a pair of pants, they were made of light beige fabric and were very breathable. On Ean'tu they would fit loosely, comfortably and give him enough leg room.

"Yes, exactly, then the other parts should be in there too." she leaned over to the box and picked out the second part of the set. It was also a loose fabric that was wrapped around the chest and fastened at the neck. "I hope he likes it, definitely better than the old leather rag he's wearing now." Ana stroked the fabric.

Turner nodded in agreement. "I think he'll be pleased, at least you've put some thought into it and I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"Good, then I won't keep him waiting any longer. Take a break, you've done a lot of work. The break will do you good." She smiled gratefully at Turner. Ana knew that he organized and worked a lot for Ana and Ean'tu. Without him, she wouldn't know how she could manage it all, he was a good ally.

Turner looked at her hesitantly for a moment. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" he still seemed slightly worried.

"Yes, you can trust Sky. Just like I do." Ana assured him.

He sighed. "All right, but be careful. I'll be in the canteen."

Ana nodded and grabbed all her things and her laptop, then went back into the enclosure. She had put the clothes and hair accessories in a smaller cardboard box to make them easier to transport.

Packed full, she arrived at the tree in the enclosure, where Ean'tu had said Ana would find him. Before she had walked the last few meters, however, someone grabbed the box. Ana looked up and saw Ean'tu standing behind her. She hadn't even heard him approach her. He was always so gentle and quiet.

"I'll take something for you." he said kindly and smiled.

"That's sweet, thank you." Together they walked to the large trunk of the tree and set the things down. Ana sat down on a raised root while Ean'tu looked curiously into the box.

"What did you bring?"

"Clothes." Ana answered him and he looked at her questioningly. "For you, I think it's time you get rid of that old leather rag and get something new."

Ana pointed to the old loincloth Ean'tu was wearing. It seemed to be made of leather, was very old and looked torn. It must have been long at some point, but now it didn't even go down to his knees. The shred of leather just about did the job.

"That's thoughtful of you, what did you bring me?" Ean'tu squatted down in front of the box and was very curious.

"Go ahead and take it out. It's yours anyway..." Ana squatted down in front of it and watched as the Na'vi carefully took out the fabric. First the pants. "I don't know if you like it, it's certainly not the same as what you wore back then." Ana sounded uncertain.

Ean'tu noticed this. "Let me put it on right now." He smiled at her happily. "Wait here."

He stood up and disappeared behind the tree. It was so wide that he could easily hide behind it to change his clothes. When he had his pants on, he came out. "There's a hole missing for my tail." He turned around to show the problem. The waistband of the pants was still below his tail and he held the pants tight.

Ana took a pair of scissors out of the box and approached him. "I'm cutting a hole, please don't move."

The Na'vi was nervous about having a sharp object so close to his tail, so to be on the safe side he held on to it as well.

Ana quickly made a small cut, "Try it now and if it's too small, carefully tear the fabric a little."

Ean'tu nodded and put his tail through the new hole, it fit well and he was finally able to pull his pants up properly.

"Sorry, I didn't know exactly where the hole needed to be, so I didn't include that, now at least we have it just right." she smiled at him. "So... what do you think?"

The Nave squatted a few times with the pants. The pants were very loose and airy and followed his every movement without any problems. "The fabric is very soft and I can move around easily. I like it a lot."

Ana was relieved. She had been worried that it might come across as insulting if she simply brought him human clothing instead of his traditional clothes, but he seemed to take it positively. He went to the box and pulled out the fluffy top. "What's this?"

"Oh you don't have to wear it if you don't like it, but you wear it sort of like this." Ana indicated how to wear it on herself.

"That's unusual for us, but I'll try it on." With Ana's guidance, he skillfully wrapped the top and tied it around his neck.

Ana smiled at him a little more dreamily than planned. "It looks really good on you, you look very pretty in it."

Ean'tu looked down at himself and stroked the soft fabric. "It's definitely something different." Then he looked at Ana. "Thank you for thinking of me." he returned her gentle smile.

They both blushed and Ana sheepishly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's the least I can do for you."

Ean'tu came to her and knelt in front of her to look into her eyes. "I know you feel guilty about what the sky people are doing to me... but you're not like them."

Ana held her breath and returned his gaze. He had seen through her. In fact, she felt terribly guilty that Ean'tu was trapped here. It wasn't right, but she felt so powerless.

She pressed her lips together in dismay and smiled wanly. "That's sweet of you to say... but I work for those monsters..."

Ean'tu did not take his eyes off her. His reddish eyes were still on her, with all gentleness in his gaze. "Ana..."

The way he pronounced her name, only he had that certain sound with his accent. It made a pleasant warmth rise in her.

"If it wasn't for you, I might have already given up all hope. Eywa... my home... everything is so far away and out of my reach. But your big heart has given me hope again. I will not give up." He then said and touched her chest again, where her heart was.

Ean'tu was such a good soul. Ana didn't deserve that and yet she was happy about his words. She was glad that he hadn't given up yet, even though the situation was so hopeless.

"Would you like to... do my hair? I'd be delighted." He smiled at her encouragingly.

Ana felt ridiculous for moping around like this, even though he was the prisoner here. So she finally shook off the gray clouds that were clouding her mind. "But of course. Sit down, I've brought a few things especially for this."

Ean'tu sat down expectantly and happily. Ana took all the things out of the box that she would need to fix Ean'tu's hair.

He patiently held still, using his hands to gently instruct her where he wanted the half-open plait and what he would like to have braided. Ana did her best. His hair was a little rougher than hers, if only because it was curly and therefore much harder to tame. But after a few attempts and some back and forth, she had the hairstyle done. Finally, she fetched two more things. One was a tablet, from which she used the inside camera so that Ean'tu could look at herself.

"What do you think? Did it turn out right?" Ana watched as the Na'vi looked at himself in the tablet.

He turned his head from right to left and looked very satisfied. "Yes, it's perfect, thank you very much." he breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently it was a great relief to have his hair out of his face in a proper hairstyle. Before he could stand up, Ana held him by the shoulder.

"Wait, I have something else for you, close your eyes for a moment." She had hidden something behind her back.

Surprised, Ean'tu remained seated and closed his eyes. His tail twitched back and forth excitedly. Ana approached him and pulled out a small pearl necklace for his hair. It had a drop-shaped pearl in the middle, which was meant to lie in the middle of his forehead. It was a hair ornament she had made herself. When the secret contact told her that Na'vi liked to wear homemade jewelry, the idea came to her.

When she had attached the pearl necklace to his hairstyle and the pearl was perfectly centered on his forehead, she allowed him to open his eyes. "You can look now."

He opened his eyes and looked at himself in the tablet. His mouth was slightly open and he looked enthusiastically at the pearls on his forehead. "Pearls..." he said, amazed and delighted at the same time. "How beautiful." He touched them carefully.

"Do you like it? I made it myself." Ana came to his side and looked at his reflection in the tray with him.

" If I like it?" he turned to her, "Of course! I love it!" he beamed happily at Ana's face, which now made her beam with delight too.

"I'm glad, I wasn't so sure it was the right thing. I'm glad I could make you happy." She was just about to turn away to put away the rest of the utensils she had used for Ean'tu's hair when he held her by the wrist and turned her to face him again. Then he took her in his arms. He wrapped both his arms tightly around her and snuggled up to Ana.

Ana was a little taken by surprise at first, but then she also put her arms around him as best she could and pressed herself into the embrace.

"Thank you..." Ean'tu murmured into the hug and Ana's heart began to beat excitedly again. A hot blush rose to her cheeks. She had never been this close to the Na'vi in all this time, but it felt great. He was warm and his skin was soft. Even though he was so much bigger and stronger than her, his embrace was cautious, though not lacking in intimacy. Their bodies snuggled together seamlessly.

She felt the Na'vi breathe a sigh of relief beneath her hug. As if it was exactly what he had been longing for. Ana allowed the hug for as long as he needed it, because apparently he really needed it. She wanted to give him the closeness he had apparently missed so much.

Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, he released Ana from the hug. "..." he wanted to say something but seemed to swallow it.

He still had his hands on her hips. Ana stroked his cheek lovingly. "What is it Ean'tu, tell me."

He lifted his eyes and looked at her, slightly embarrassed but also a little sad. "I was just thinking... it would be nice... if we could do this more often."

As soon as he said it, a blush crept onto his cheeks. Ana was also surprised by what he had said and her heart reacted strongly to it. Why did she react so strongly to Ean'tu? Why couldn't she turn off this feeling in her heart? What they were doing here was no longer professional. It no longer had anything to do with her work, but she couldn't escape it either. She was spellbound by the Na'vi.

She lowered her eyelids sheepishly, "If that's what you want."

Ean'tu reached for her hand and gently stroked her fingers. "Is that what you want? I don't want you to be uncomfortable... because... I'm not human."

Now Ana suddenly looked him in the eye. "That's not it! I don't care if you're human or Na'vi!" She put her hand on his chest and could feel his strong heart beating. "What matters is what's here Ean'tu. I like who you are."

Moved by her statement, he bit his lower lip and suppressed tears, she could see it in his eyes. He was very emotional. How could she have ever believed he was aggressive? He was probably the exact opposite.

"I see you, Ana." he said softly, his voice quivering slightly, as emotional as he was at the moment.

Now Ana felt a heavy emotional sigh, which she suppressed. There was no way she was going to come close to tears now. She had to pull herself together. But her heart was heavy and the longing pulled at her more and more. Almost whispering, she answered him, "I see you too, Ean'tu..."

Tag list: @twisteduniverse5 @yukilaaw @mooniequeen @anemonelovesfiction @talialobi @gimmebones715 (If you want to get added, comment it under the post)

#avatar 2009 #na'vi #avatar the way of water #na'vi oc #avatar pandora #avatar oc #james cameron avatar #writers on tumblr #fan story #na'vi fanfic #fanfiction #na'vi x human #avatar fanfiction #signfromeywa #signfromeywa fanfiction

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callsign-rogueone · 2 days ago

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the love letter

sawyer henrick x healer!reader (peach!) words: 1.7k 🏷: no book spoilers, no warnings, set in iron flame, the 4th chapter in sawyer and peach's story, more of james being creepy but he doesn't make an appearance this time, nolon is still out of office, two points extra credit if you find a reference to another gf in here somewhere, both of these kids are still in denial and will be for another... three? chapters, first chapter of 2025 lezgeddit

Two more shelves of supplies to inventory, and then you’ll be done for the day. You pull yourself up from the floor, wincing at the ache in your knees from squatting in front of an under-the-sink cabinet. “Almost done,” you sigh.

“I’ll finish up,” Sarah says, nodding toward the door. “You go see loverboy.”

“He’s a friend,” you correct, hoping she can’t see the warmth in your cheeks.

“Mmm,” she hums, clearly not buying it. “A very good friend, then. He’s here almost every day.”

She’s right. Like clockwork, Sawyer is waiting for you at eleven twenty eight. Always just a little bit early, but never ever late. You suppose riders have to be even more punctual than healers.

“Thank you,” you say, giving her a rushed half-hug before you head out to the main room of the infirmary.

He’s always sitting at one of the study tables, and always stands up as soon as he sees you.

You don’t wait for him to ask. “I got a hundred percent on my foraging assignment,” you say by way of greeting.

He smiles. “See? I told you not to worry about it, miss future Head Healer.”

“You’re not letting that go anytime soon, are you?”

“Nope.”

You roll your eyes at him playfully, but there’s no denying that his belief in you feels good, even if it’s exaggerated — there’s a tiny bit of truth in every joke.

“Could you thank him again for me?” you ask softly.

“Of course,” he says warmly. “And I brought you something, to celebrate.”

“It’s not another knife, is it?” you ask with a nervous laugh.

“I promise it’s not a knife.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a piece of cloth, then folds back the edges, revealing something that glitters in the afternoon sunlight — a delicate metal chain with a tiny flower pendant at the end of it. He lays it in your palm, pocketing the cloth.

“Oh, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”

“I didn’t. I made it myself.”

Your smile fades near immediately. “You made this?”

He looks a little crestfallen. “Yeah, why?”

“I love it,” you reassure him quietly, still gazing at it, “but I don’t want you to be in pain. Especially not for me.”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

You look up at him. “Doesn’t it hurt? Using your signet?”

He looks concerned, his eyebrows furrowing. “Of course not. It felt a little weird and tingly at first, but it never hurts.”

“But the Colonel always looks so uncomfortable, and the other mender… fixing a broken bone nearly brought her to tears,” you tell him, looking back at the tiny metal flower that you hold in your palm. You wouldn’t want to wear it if it had caused him pain to make it — but then if you don’t wear it, the pain would have been wasted. Which is worse?

“Hey,” he nudges, his hands settling on your forearms. “I promise you, it didn’t hurt me at all to make this, or to adjust that dagger for you. It’s easy, like shaping clay. Easier than that, really. I don’t have to sculpt all the details, I just picture them and they appear.”

You crack a smile. “I was wondering why you stole a single flower from my basket the other day.”

He blushes. “Sorry. I needed a reference — I wanted to make it accurate.”

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “Thank you. Can you help me put it on?” You know you could do it yourself, but some part of you wants him to be the one to close the clasp, to lay his claim to you.

He takes it back from you, roughened fingers brushing against yours. “Turn around,” he prods.

You move your hair out of the way, letting him drape the thin chain around your neck. It’s just long enough for the tiny flower to sit exactly above your heart. The metal is pleasantly warm against your skin, seeming to glow under his touch as he clasps it, his fingertips brushing against the sides of your neck.

He wants to kiss the soft skin there, to wrap his arms around your waist and press his chest to your back, to nudge his nose against the side of your throat and just breathe you in, because you smell absolutely intoxicating — sugary, fruity perfume and a hint of whatever herbs you’d been working with this morning. He settles for a gentle, fleeting touch to your shoulders, smoothing out the sleeves of your shirt before he shoves his hands back into his pockets.

“Thank you, Sy,” you say quietly, turning to face him again. There’s a soft pink blush across his cheeks, his lips curved into a shy smile. It’s adorable. You’d definitely kiss him right now if this weren’t all an act. It would be so easy to step forward and rise onto your tiptoes and just… Nope. Boundaries. He’s just doing you a favor, as a friend. Don’t make it weird.

He isn’t saying anything, so you attempt to cut the tension by changing the subject. “You’re pretty good at this pretend boyfriend thing, you know. Bringing me gifts, slipping that love letter under my door…”

His head tilts to the side in confusion. It's unbearably cute. “What letter?”

You give him a sly smile. “I know it was totally over the top and super cheesy, but you don’t have to pretend. It was kinda cute.”

His gaze hardens. “What letter, peach,” he repeats, with an edge to his voice that you’ve only heard a few times — it’s not a question, but an order for you to tell him what the hell is going on.

Your heart drops. “It really wasn’t from you?”

He shakes his head no.

It all starts to add up. You haven’t seen Sawyer’s handwriting in years, but now that you think about it, it didn’t look anything like what you’d seen this morning, and there isn’t any trace of amusement on his face as he looks at you — he’s telling the truth. It wasn’t him. It was James.

All those sweetened words now feel like taunts, the promises like threats. Maybe they are. Maybe you’re right to be scared of him.

“Do you have it with you?” he asks gently.

“No, it’s… it’s on my desk.”

He picks up your bag, shouldering it and gesturing toward the door, as if to say lead the way. You make the trip silently, taking him down hallways that have become familiar to him in the last few weeks. He’s memorized the turns by now; a left past the infirmary, up two flights of stairs, another left, third door on the right. Room 322.

You unlock it with an actual key — something he’s still not used to — and shrug off the healer’s robe as soon as you walk in the door, tossing it over the back of your chair.

He’s walked you to your door a few times, but he’s never been inside. He realizes that the way everything in the riders' rooms is black, the healers’ are powder blue; the sheets and drapes, and the woven rug between your desk and the bed. He steps back, not wanting to dirty it with his boots.

It’s just as sparsely furnished as the riders’ rooms, but you’ve added a few things to make it less austere. The stuffed bunny you’d carried around as a child and taken meticulous care of sits on your pillow, there’s a neat row of tiny nail polish bottles on the desk — and a small piece of paper there among your books.

You hand it to him, chewing your lip. “I just thought you were being overdramatic about it to be funny, but…” You watch his eyes flick back and forth as he reads through it, and you make a second, sickening realization. “I don’t know how he figured out which room is mine,” you whisper. “All of my healer friends think he’s crazy, so they definitely wouldn’t tell him. And you’re the only other person who knows, besides the leadership.”

He looks up from the paper, his jaw clenching.

“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this,” you whisper, holding back tears. “Hey,” he soothes, dropping the anger completely. “Don’t apologize. None of this was your fault.”

“Maybe it was,” you say softly. “Maybe I was too nice to him, did something to make him think I liked him…”

“Whether or not you were nice to him, he should have taken no for an answer the first time,” he says firmly.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I told him about you, because I thought that would finally get him to stop, but I think that might have made it worse. I don’t want him to go after you.”

“I’ll be fine. Nobody else is allowed into the rider’s quadrant, and even if we crossed paths, I could totally take him in a fight,” he says with a half-smile — it doesn’t make you feel any better. “C’mere.”

You step forward without hesitation, letting him gather you into his arms and resting your head on his shoulder. The leather of his jacket is cold against your cheek.

“I promised you we would get you through this, and I’m not going to quit. Is Nolon here today? Or the head healer?”

You shake your head. “No. I never know when they’ll be around. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Then tomorrow, you and I will talk to them about what’s going on, and see what he can do about it. I’ll meet you in the infirmary, like always. Bring the letter with you.”

“Okay,” you sniff, worrying the little flower back and forth between your fingers nervously. “Thank you, Sy.”

He reaches up to cradle your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “Of course, sweet girl. You know I’d do anything for you.”

You nod silently, leaning into his palm. He lingers there a moment, until you hear the muffled chime of the tower bells. “You should go,” you say quietly. “I don’t want you to be late.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he soothes. “Are you going to be okay for the night?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

He gives you one last little squeeze before he pulls away. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You hum in response, silent as you watch him leave.

Tomorrow. You just have to make it to tomorrow.

#sawyer and peach #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #mine #sawyer henrick #girlfriendverse

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backseatsoldier · 1 hour ago

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"Broken", Not Stupid - 13

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization; selling children to a cult; unpleasant childhood... memory?; sliced finger (no detailed description); talk of 'locked up' omegas in heat

Author's Note: WOW... over 1k words in this part LOL enjoy uwu <3

Feeling content with my finds, that Simon insisted I won't be paying him back for, we three settle at a small eatery for some late lunch.

"13, stop pouting. You have no reason to pay me back."

"You just bought me an entire wardrobe and further nesting supplies," I frown at him. "Why would I not want to pay you back?"

"Because I'm meant to be your alpha," he says firmly then takes a sip of water. "This is part of taking care of you, my omega."

The omega in my mind jumps for joy at the idea of 'being taken care of', but my frown turns to a glare. Johnny shifts uncomfortably at the table and clears his throat.

"May I... offer a potential compromise?" Johnny says a bit nervoulsy.

Simon looks at him, almost glaring, and I turn to him with a curious expression.

"Ah, don't look at me like that, Si! The woman's clearly the independent type! Give her a chance to repay you, but," he turns to me, "not financially. Sounds weird, I know, but let me finish," he adds in a rush, holding up his hands. "In order to do this, though, 13 would need to either be mated to Simon or wear something that symbolizes Simon. Would you... are you prepared to be mated yet, or would you rather wear something that visibly marks you as Simon's... intended?"

As soon as Johnny says the word 'mated' I glare at him too. What the hell is he on about? I barely know Simon! I agreed to this to get to the bottom of whatever Salvation is up to! And, for fuck's sake, I've never even-

"Now, lass, I can see the rage igniting in you and I want to specify that both are meant as safety precautions. To keep you safe to repay this debt you seem to believe you're in. It could be either, or. Whatever is most comfortable for you and Si." Johnny pauses, glancing at Simon before continuing. "Have 13 get a job, go to school, something to occupy her time - especially for when we're off on missions - so she's not sitting an constantly feeling like she could be doing something, anything to say 'thank you' for what you did for her today.

"I will say, I agree with Si," Johnny says to me again, with a soft smile. "This is just part of what it means to be an alpha with an omega. Especially when they first arrive in our lives. He's doing these things because this is part of... whatever agreement you two have going. But if it would help you rest easier, find something that will keep you busy and feeling indenpendent."

With that, Johnny shrugs and gestures to Simon and I. The two of us turn to each other. It's... not a terrible idea, really. Feeling like I'm doing something to contribute would help me with this, I'm sure. At this point it's a matter of what I would do, what safety precautions we'd take, and if Simon is comfortable with this.

He doesn't look overly pleased, though.

"I already feel like I own you a lot for you getting me out of there, Simon," I say softly. "Let me contribute in some way, let me find something to keep me busy. Especially while we're solidifying whatever goals or plans we have regarding our situation. |Please."

Simon's expression softens as I speak and he lets out a small sigh by time I finish speaking.

"Alright," he agrees quietly. "I don't like that you feel you owe me any kind of debt, but alright. If it'll help you feel better and less stressed, then yes."

The smile that lights up my face has Johnny chuckling and Simon turning away for a moment. Our food is delivered shortly after and we eat while enjoying lighter conversation for the meal. Johnny asks me about my hobbies and Simon seems to just absorb the information, just listening to us.

By time Simon and I get back to his car I feel like I need a nap.

"Tired?" Simon asks quietly once the car's in motion. I nod as my eyes fall closed. "I can take the long way home. Take a nap."

I don't respond in anyway besides doing exactly as he says.

"She's just got an infinite imagination, Ricky," she says softly.

She's terrified.

"She's insane, Opal! Look at her! She's talking to thin air!" He shouts and gestures wildly in my direction. "She's worse than you."

Maybe... maybe I am crazy? But...

"I'm talking to-"

"13?" Simon's gentle voice pulls me from the dream. "13, we're home."

My eyes open but I don't move otherwise.

"Alright?"

"I... don't know? Had a weird dream. Haven't had a dream in a long time to begin with but..." I trail off and sit up to look up at the bay window in the living room.

Selene is seated there, staring directly at me. When our eyes meet, she blinks slowly before jumping to the floor.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head quickly and make my way out of the car. I'm not even sure if that was truly a dream.

Or a memory from my childhood. If it was... how am I supposed to explain to Simon what I possibly remembered? How would he take it? Would he call me crazy too?

It's best to keep it to myself.

After we get everything in from the car, I begin removing tags from clothing so I can wash them. Selene circles my ankles, making sure to move if I shift in any direction, as I work. Simon shows me how to use the washer and, when it's time, the dryer.

"Did they put you through school in Salvation? You said you were 13 when..." he trails off, not meeting my eyes as we settle in the kitchen so he can start dinner.

"In a way. I don't think I have a diploma or anything like that, though."

He nods, accepting my answer, and we both fall into thoughtful silence.

"What... are we going to do about..." I trail off, unsure how to ask my question. "My heat. I know I'm due for one soon, but I haven't had one outside of Salvation's carefully constructed precautions in a long time. I had a few before being sent off to them, but..."

I begin fidgeting with the shirt he gave me for the day, avoiding looking at him from my seat on the counter near him.

"I suppose I should first ask what the hell our plan is," I laugh nervously. "Are we actually going to exist as alpha and omega, mated? Or will you just have me wear something that marks me as yours until we can decide what to-"

"13," Simon says calmly, cutting me off as he chops up some vegtable. "If you're not ready to talk about this, don't."

"But I'm due for a heat sooner as opposed to later and we need to figure out where I'll be locked up-"

The blade he's using stutters and slips over his fingers of the hand holding the vegtable still.

"Fuck!" he shouts and pulls his hand away from the food immediately.

"Are you ok?" I call after him as he darts down the hall to, I assume, his room then his bathroom.

All I hear in response is various curses and the sound of running water. Then, as I make my way down the hall to his room, I hear him moving things around.

"Simon?" I say softly, slowly stepping into his room.

He still doesn't respond, but I find him digging through a first aid kit one handed.

"Let me," I insist and start looking for supplies to clean up the cut and bandage it. "Now let me see."

Quietly, though he looks absolutely livid, he offers me his hand. I get to work, making sure stitches aren't necessary - thankfully, they aren't.

"What do you mean 'locked up'?" he asks through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on my hands disinfecting the cut on his knuckle.

"We're always put in special rooms meant to dampen smells and sounds," I explain quietly. "They called it heat containment. For our safety and others'. They'd send employees in, dressed so we couldn't recognize or smell them, to check on us and sedate us if necessary."

Simon's had begins to shake as I prepare the bandage but he stays quiet. Once the bandage is on and secure, he tucks the index finger of his uninjured hand under my chin to tilt my head up.

"I'm going to finish making us dinner," he says in a calmer voice than I expected. "You're going to curl up with Selene on the couch and watch tv while you wait. Tonight, you'll spend every second resting. Tomorrow, I'll make us a nice breakfast and we're going to have some visitors. All three of my closest friends, Johnny included. It'll be hard, and I apologize for that, but I need you to tell all four of us everything you can about what happened in Salvation's facilities. Alright?"

I nod slowly, frowning and confused.

"Alright, go get on the couch. I'm sure Selene will join you once you're settled. Want any of your blankets or pillows?"

My eyes drift to a throw blanket at the end of his bed for a moment, but I shake my head.

"I'll grab it and bring it once I clean up the mess in here," he assures me, seemingly having noticed where I looked.

Without another word, he gently with shaking hands, ushers me from the room.

What just happened?

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat @peanutismynickname @jeanzoriley-cod

#backseat soldier #rhi_writing_adventures #BNS #call of duty #cod #original character #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x oc #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley x oc #cod omegaverse #omegaverse #don't drink the kool aid #it was actually flavoraide but that's not the point

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evecolourshock · 3 days ago

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Fic again...

Beck takes a deep breath, turns on his heel, and walks deeper into the outpost. ::I need a moment.:: He pings Tron, tagging it with reassurance, and then forwards the same message to Able without the tags. Bit flashes through its different modes, silent for once, and follows him.

He gets far enough away he can't hear them any more before whirling and punching a wall.

Curse all of this whole millicycle.

Beck squares his shoulders, shakes his aching hand, and lets himself sit down so he can process.

First and easiest issue to process : Tron.

Beck understands, intellectually, Tron owes him no explanations. They haven't been friends all that long, and Tron has been denied basic privacy for far longer than Beck's been online. He's allowed his secrets, even if he's unwilling to believe Beck won't pry if told to back off. Especially when it comes to things that hurt.

Because oh does this one hurt Tron. In all the time Beck's known him, this is the first time Tron has lifted, when grief-guilt has faded away to relief-joy for the briefest of moments-

And Able's cold, indifferent greeting had cut deep. To Beck's dismay, Tron had shuttered, visibly raised all those walls Beck has spent cycles carefully coaxing down, and responded not quite in kind. Hurt kept from his voice, but still visible in those ever-expressive eyes.

Tron hadn't wanted to tell Beck he knew Able, because Tron was still reeling from whatever had happened involving Able and didn't want more pain.

Beck can understand that. He takes a breath, and lets it go. Tron may not have been blameless in whatever it was that split him and Able, but Beck doesn't know that situation and doesn't want to get involved, and the current situation is not Tron's fault. Under ordinary circumstances, Beck doesn't need to know Tron's relationship woes, and there's no reason to reopen old wounds.

So, second issue to process : Able.

Beck's not going to lie, he thinks he hates Able a little right now. Can he not see how much he's hurt Tron from his greeting alone? Even after Tron had rallied, had tried to weakly joke about Able taking care of Bit - Tron's Bit, no wonder Beck hasn't seen another like it - and Able had snapped back with intent to hurt, using Beck as a weapon against Tron.

Beck growls out a whine, snatches Bit out of the air so he can cuddle it. Able doesn't get to judge Tron for what ultimately are Beck's choices. Beck could walk away, he just doesn't want to.

And Tron has been looking after Beck. Rather well, at that - Beck would be derezzed several times over if it wasn't for Tron, and with Tron he's allowed to grieve and be hurt and angry without being chided for it. Tron tries to keep him safe, teaches him things to ensure that, offers advice and support and distractions (however clumsily) whenever Beck needs them most. He-

Beck has a sinking suspicion Bit wasn't the only thing Tron lost when he and Able split.

Able's antique lightcycle is an Encom model, and an old one at that. About the right compile date to be Tron's - it's older than Able is. How much easier would it be for Tron to use it - how much less strain would it put on his already exhausted systems?

And what of that pretty suit in Able's office, sized for a lady-frame and so intricate yet familiar, buzzing with a weak echo of the energy thrumming through Tron on his good millicycles? A memorial case Tron's cut off from - a friend, or closer, perhaps? How much does it burn him, to only be able to see what's left of her when he's somewhere he's knowingly barred from entering?

Beck looks at his own hands, too imprecise for detailed Mechanic work despite his best efforts and yet so skilled with a disc or staff or hand-to-hand spar. His reflection in the far wall wavers - Tron's jaw, Tron's shoulders, Tron's build to his frame. "Bit, I need the truthful answer, even if it hurts." Beck whispers to the docile little creature nestled in his lap - he's always been its favourite. "Did Able take me too?"

Bit rocks on its points, thinking. Beck waits patiently for it to process cycles upon cycles of memories to find the answer. And then:

yes.

Bit is soft, quiet, drifting up to nuzzle Beck's face and attempt to comfort away the tears that slip from his eyes.

"Does he know?" A beat. "Tron, I mean."

no.

Beck whines louder, hunching in. At least now he knows why the Garage doesn't feel like home. "Was Able ever going to tell me? Or Tron?"

...no.

Bit sounds apologetic. Beck didn't know bits could emote. Or maybe it's just this bit, Tron's Bit, a stranger even among its own kind.

"Not your fault." Beck scritches Bit's facets. "Not your fault at all." He breathes a sigh, huddled in a corridor somewhere between familiar and safe.

Beck... Beck needs safe right now.

And safe does not mean Able.

Safe is strong hands picking him up off the floor, gruff yet gentle corrections to a dodge Beck feels like he should already know. Safe is a mess of reports and a theory board in between, plans mapped out with pilfered red string and teasing each other for their knowingly outlandish deductions. Safe is a surveillance array and stories of what it sees, information gleaned from invisible eyes even now keeping watch over everyone they can.

Safe is a blanket fort with a healing chamber built into one side, protecting each other from the horrors of the world in a makeshift castle of dreams.

Beck creeps past the fluffy black curtain-door, locking the actual door behind himself and Bit. He curls up in a nest of pillows, wrapped around the base of the healing chamber. Bit snuggles into his chest.

Later, Beck will wake to Tron coming in to the darkened room, and hug his Creator tightly until he can muster the words needed to explain what he's found out.

Later, Beck will send in his resignation from the Garage, and then spend the next several millicycles convincing Mara and Zed that irreconcilable differences does not include them and has a lot more to do with him finding out he's not actually a Mechanic.

Later, Beck will use every iota of stealth he's learned to steal first a lightcycle, and then a very pretty Gridsuit, presenting them to Tron with a quiet chirp.

But later is not now, and Beck cuddles Bit close and cries into the pillows Tron lovingly gathered for him until he falls asleep.

*Beck rescues Able and brings him to the lair*

Able: Tron.

Tron: Able.

Beck: YOU TWO KNEW EACH OTHER THE WHOLE TIME?!

Able’s bit: YES

Tron: You’d better be taking good care of my bit.

Able: Oh, like you’re taking care of Beck?

Beck: That’s YOUR bit?!?!

Tron: He took it in the divorce.

Beck: THE FUCKING WHAT

#beck is a child of divorce and does not take this well #poor baby b #make grim use eir ao3 more challenge #tronfic #tronblr

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mars-ipan · 7 months ago

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it's pride month of course i'm going to push my transfem komaeda agenda

#martzipan #nagito komaeda #for those wondering what i hc her pronouns to be: he/she/fae/it. it's a boygirl situation #(btw i do not think she'd change her name. still nagito komaeda just with roughly 50% more girl in there)#ANYWAYS i like. NEVER draw her just Being A Girl bc i think it'd take him YEARRRSS postgame to figure it out #but like. komaeda is transfem. to me <3 #would estrogen have saved her? no. but it would have made things a bit easier #ANYWAYS TRANSFEM MAEDA TRUTHERS WHERE WE AT. I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE #i bet. it would love summer dresses and kitten heels. and SUNHATS OMG #this image in particular is a little trans joy. we all know it. wearing an outfit that makes your gender happy for the first time and going #!!!!! <333 !!!!!#bc it is a really really nice feeling. that i think she deserves to feel #i imagine she'd be nervous at first. especially in a dress. but those nerves would be accompanied by that giddiness #ANYWAYS transfem maeda the truth thank you and goodnight

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caramellles · 4 months ago

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"as time passed, we gradually began to feel that the worst was over. we still had to heal our physical and mental wounds, but we really started to come back to life."

#don’t even know where to start!👀#(1) i finally upgraded keith's hairstyle a bit since his hair should have grown enough by now #and i really like it!!! i could not find anything suitable for a long time #(2) i really love the dynamic between keith and ida #they are like in eternal conflict but still they can always rely on each other #i don't know how good i am at showing this in my posts but that’s how it is😅#(3) the proposal!!! i’m just very happy for my babies!#unfortunately this whole situation is not the last test on their way (is it spoiler?)#but now they're just happy ❤️‍🩹#(4) after this accident ernest had a scar on his face which we saw on him when he first appeared on my blog 👀#(5) the next post will end the series of hospital posts and i am very happy about this #all this uncertainty weighed on me even though i knew how the situation would end #i can’t say that it will be easier for me to go on but at least i’ll be able to say goodbye to the hospital (and you too)#i think i’ve written too much here hehe #it just seemed inappropriate for me to share my thoughts under previous posts😅#the sims 4 #ts4 simblr #ts4 story #the sims 4 story #along the oasis extra #keith ian stonsberg #devin barkley #ida iris stonsberg #ernest lawson #nina lawson

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aphelea · 1 month ago

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somehow i feel like reading this book as someone who is very very far from being a keefe fan made it easier

#unraveled spoilers #i didn't expect to care about this book at all tbh #and there were many times in this book in which i felt keefe was making the absolute worst decision/having the most nonsense thoughts #but that somehow made him more likeable to me?#idk we see him usually through sophie's pov where she's usually pretty positive about whatever he says/does (even when she shouldn't be)#and i think that's what irked me the most before. this idea that we're supposed to love keefe bc he's way more perfect than fitz #idk i think keefe is a super unreliable narrator and i don't necessarily blame shannon for there being a lot of fitz negativity #i say this as a fitz fan. keefe has a very messed up perspective on a lot of things rn and unraveled made that pretty clear #however. it does make me stand by my thinking that chapter 42 came too early #even if sophie had reached a calm point of sorts in her emotional journey keefe was still deep in whatever he's going through #anyway i know i tend to have a very optimistic view of new keeper books #but this is the first book for a while that i genuinely don't think the intention is to kick sophie and fitz's relationship while it's down #it's simply that alvar and keefe are just...not big fans of him rn? although i do think alvar went a bit hard on the fitz hating #anyway to connect this back to my og post. not liking keefe made it way easier to me to like the book bc i just treated it like a book-#-where i'm supposed to think the protagonist is super fucking wrong #ok long tags over. damn that was a lot

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knockyasocksoff2022 · 2 days ago

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Ideal No. 15

(7,119 words)

(A/N: Is this the longest chapter yet? LMAO, eat up! I had it mostly done before now, so IDK why it took me so long, if I didn't procrastinate, the total writing time was like three days, maybe. Plot bunnies are bitches, I guess. The moral of the story is: yell at me more in the comments! Only one or two more chapters to go!)

Thanks once again to @fyodorsushankaaa for all the encouragement!

He looks like a scared puppy, readying to bolt. I have to act fast.

It's impulsive, I know, but I'm not sure what else I can do, so I grab his bloodied hand. He flinches, hard, but I don't let go. I can't, too scared he'll slip away again.

"Dazai, you're hurt." Well, that much is obvious. I mentally scold myself. "What happened?"

He probably won't tell me if it's self-inflicted or not, but I need to know what sort of injury it is at least. The blood is spreading in a pattern that suggests a wound less controlled than razor lines. And Dazai doesn't cut himself, as far as I know. He kills himself with neglect.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then again, then once more. Then he jolts up, trying to twist away. He makes a sound of pain so startling that surprise makes me let go when it should be my instinct to grip him tighter.

Without the support of my arms, he tumbles out of the booth. I rush to help him.

"I'm okay. I'm just a bit out of it because of the weather change, is all." His voice is raspy. He isn't even trying to fool me anymore. I won't complain. His admitting that something at all is wrong is a start.

I'll just do what I always do. Go along with it.

"If you were under the weather you should have let someone know."

"'M fine."

Suppressing a sigh, I try a different tactic. "It only causes everyone more trouble if you wait until you can't stand."

His wince makes me regret the words, but I have to say something to make him see sense.

"I-I'm sorry."

What does he have to be sorry for? I don't have time for that at the moment. He needs medical attention, but knowing him he won't let me bring him anywhere near a hospital. "I hardly care about that now. Come on, I'm going to take you back to the office. Yosano-sensei will treat you."

"No!"

He's hyperventilating, the first sign of a panic attack. Okay. I have to calm him down. What would calm him down?

Jokes!

"Dazai, your bandages are yellow. I will not allow you to let your writing hand rot off simply because you don't want to do paperwork. How am I to get you to do work, then?"

It doesn't work. Or, well, it does, but not the way I intended. He stops hyperventilating but then lapses into silence. "Sorry." He wilts.

We both sit awkwardly on the floor for a moment considering the situation. He has been eating more, lunch at least, but I can tell I'll still be able to lift him, easily. It scares me a bit, but I'm grateful for it now. It is easier to focus on his alarmingly skinny stature than the fact that he is, practically, in my lap.

His quiet voice comes from beside me, "T-the food . . ."

I don't want to ask him to speak up, but he's so quiet and his words are so slurred that I really am having trouble hearing him.

"I'm sorry?"

"The food, we shouldn't waste."

I want to shake him. That's what you care about? But I'm afraid he'll break.

"Of course, let me, uh, just."

He tries to leap away, I think, from my lap, but he just ends up rolling to the side a bit, his hand twisting further.

I hurry to the counter, give our order number, and inform her of the mess we made.

"Yes, it's almost done. Don't worry about the tea. It happens a lot. We'll be happy to pack your food in takeaway boxes for you, sir. But, may I ask why you're leaving so soon? Your order was marked as dine-in, was that incorrect? Was your experience not okay?"

The woman is so sweet, but what do I tell her? No, you're restaurant is lovely my colleague is just a bit suicidal. "Oh, it was fine, ma'am. . . . My partner is just feeling a bit under the weather."

She coos, glancing worriedly behind me, probably at Dazai, who must still be lying on the floor. "Oh my, I see. The noodles should help then. I hope he feels better soon. You two boys take care."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Dazai is indeed still on the floor. I look at him for a moment. There's no way he'll be able to stand long enough to get to the car. Given his state, what would be the most efficient and most dignified way (for both of us) to pick him up?

After looking at his tender hand hanging limply, I go with the cradle carry.

(A/N: The cradle carry is more commonly known as the Bridal or Princess carry, lmao)

"I'm going to pick you up, is that alright?"

He blinks, taking a moment to comprehend the words. He must be more ill than I thought. But, to my relief, he nods.

He's warm in my arms. Not like the warmth of a lover, but feverish warmth.

"Keep these steady, Dazai," I say just to break the silence.

He nods, not objecting to my using him as a shelf for the noodles. In fact, he crunches them as if they're far more important than tea-house takeaway.

The walk to the car feels long and short at the same time. Dazai isn't heavy, not at all, but I'm so worried I'll drop him.

As I lay him across the backseat, he grabs my arm. "No . . . Yosano."

"Dazai, you need a doctor."

He doesn't seem to get it.

"Please."

It's his eyes that get me. They're wide and round with innocence and fear, like a child's, like a stray cat's. He reminds me so much of Yozo that I can't possibly ignore his request. It would feel like abuse.

"Okay. I'll take you to my house, but you're getting first aid either way. I'm not going to watch whatever injury you have fester. Understand?"

The drive takes a bit longer because I'm so careful not to go too fast or hit the brakes too hard. I even avoid steep downhills, given that he wears no safety belt.

He sits up as soon as I park, indicating that he was not asleep as I'd hoped. I shouldn't let my disappointment show. I don't need him apologising for I don't know what, again. So while I fix my face, I carry the noodles in.

Of course, Yozoz makes her escape as I open the door. It made me a bit sad to see her go, but then I knew she'd have to leave eventually, and with the noodles in my hands I was in no position to stop her.

They fit nicely in my mostly empty fridge. I haven't had much time to shop due to my extended hours. This is not ideal at all.

I'm also lacking in bandages. I have plenty for Dazai's wound, but I have no doubt that the ones he wears like a bodysuit need changing and I don't have enough. I never thought he'd be here, at my residence. Oh . . . what am I doing? I'll need to order groceries.

Mourning Yozo's absence, but with new determination, I step outside.

To my surprise, the cat hasn't gone far. She paws at my car door, jumping up to the window. The relief I feel is more than should be warranted, considering she's a feral cat, but I feel it anyway.

"Move, Yozo. I need to open the door."

I don't expect her to, but she obeys. Trotting curiously to the left.

Dazai is even more out of it than before. He's like a child when they somehow make themselves heavier, only it's hardly his fault. Yozo watches me curiously as I carefully handle my colleague. She trails my steps, fascinated by the newcomer.

Once inside, I lay dazai on the counter and wash my hands at the sink. I have to swat soapy water at Yozo to prevent her from licking Dazai's wounded hand. She yowls in response. It's interesting how she acts with him as if he's a fellow cat in danger, not a human. Or maybe she thinks she's human too.

I want to start with the first aid right away, better while he's out of it, but his bandages are the one part of his body he keeps off-limits and I would never cross such a personal boundary.

I'll have to wake him, but I can wait a bit longer.

This is where preparedness comes in handy. I have an ear thermometer I bought but have never used. I take it out now, rubbing it with an alcohol swab and sticking it in Dazai's ear. He twitches but makes no move to stop me.

The device beeps, flashing a yellow 39 C. Not Ideal, but not life-threatening.

Hmm, another dilemma. Medication will help his fever and pain, but he hasn't eaten yet. There's no way anything is making it to his stomach right now, so medication will have to wait.

"Dazai, wake up."

" . . . 'nikida?"

"Yes. How do you feel."

He just shakes his head.

"You're running a mid-grade fever, so that's probably why you feel so poorly. Now, I need to take your bandages off to get to your hand-" He shakes his head before I finish, I can feel him trembling. I'm not sure how much of it is chills and how much is fear at the prospect of revealing what's underneath that he keeps so carefully hidden. "Please, Dazai, your wound is infected. It needs treatment. I won't go above the elbow, I promise. I swear on my Ideals."

He stops trembling, stilling completely, as stiff as a board.

"It's okay?"

An almost imperceptible nod.

There's disposable plastic on the counter, my sleeves are rolled, my hands are washed and protected by latex gloves, and I have everything I could possibly need save for surgical tools, and yet, I don't feel ready. But when am I ready for Dazai Osamu? Since when does it matter if I am or not? I just have to do it.

The bandages are wrapped so tight his hand must be purple underneath. I take the miniature scissors from the kit and begin cutting. The bandages come loose, but I have to peel them away from each other.

"Fuck me." I try not to swear, but the deeper I go, the tighter they're stuck with blood, plasma, and other bodily fluids that result from the inner layers of skin being exposed to the outside world. The bottom most bandages are closer to brown than white.

"M' trying."

"What?" What did he just say? He didn't mean- surely not . . .

"Said m' trying to fuck you, kun-i-ki-da~" His voice is strained with pain and slurred with fever.

Wh- Oh. He's delirious. Of course. As much as the returns of his clownery relive me, this is NOT what I had in mind.

"I'd do it so well, Kuni-kun."

Suddenly I feel as if I'm the one with the fever, the what creeping into my face, hands sweaty.

"Please, go to sleep, Dazai. You're not well."

"That's what the lady at the cafe said too."

"I'm sure."

I focus all my energy on tuning him out. Thankfully there's no smell, which means the infection isn't too bad. I sigh.

On the last layer, I hesitate. The bandages are still opaque enough that I can't see the skin underneath.

Dazai's other hand raises up in a sloppy thumbs up, then falls back down. He's exhausted, but I'm glad for his approval, and that he seems to be back to his silly persona.

I took a formal first aid course in High School, so the rest of the process will be easy, the most tedious part is cleaning until the water runs clear instead of red.

The skin is blistered, if he does have any self-harm scars, I can't see them. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Some of the blisters have burst but the skin is still pink, not charred or brown. This looks to be a superficial 2nd-degree burn. Thankfully these can be treated at home.

Because this isn't exactly a fresh wound it isn't bleeding and I don't need to cool the burn, since it's at least a day old, which is good because it means I can treat it with less delay.

Given that the wound was covered, I suspect that the infection came mainly from not cooling the wound properly or allowing it to breathe, and the lack of antibiotic ointment, and choking his circulation did no favours. Scolding him would do nothing.

Once the wound is clean, I apply antibiotic cream and begin dressing it. Dazai doesn't flinch, he must be out.

I lean down, examining my work. I almost wish I hadn't done it. A cool bath would've helped his fever and the sweating, but now I don't want to wet the dressing, and he'd never allow anyone to see what's underneath his bandages. (Even if I thought I could handle him naked. As unprofessional as that sounds, I know my limitations.) With all the weeping, perhaps I should change it anyway. I have doubt that he'll do it himself even if he's capable.

I bin my gloves and the plastic sheet and wash my hands perhaps a little harder than necessary.

His fever isn't sustainable either, but I'll let him sleep for now, just to recover from the shock of it all.

Still, he can't sleep on my counter. I lift him as carefully as possible, he doesn't stir. I tell myself not to worry as I set him down on the sofa.

Yozoz climbs my leg, jumping onto Dazai's limp form.

"Off!" I whisper, but she doesn't move.

I have a spare bedroom, but I'm not putting him there until he's had a bath and some fresh clothes. I'll do that as soon as I can.

His face isn't relaxed as he sleeps, he frowns, his nose and eyebrows scrunched, still, I can't deny that he's handsome. And cute with Yozoz lying protectively on his chest, letting him use her to elevate his hand.

He twitches and shifts uncomfortably. He'll need pain medication soon, which means he'll need to eat.

Instead of staring at him, I need to order groceries . . . And I need to call in.

How do I even explain this? Better yet, how do I explain this without betraying Dazai's trust and alerting Yosano-sensei to the fact that he's injured?

I mean, do I even need to? He cuts work all the time . . . or he used to. Yeah, I'd better call.

I swear for the second time today and dial the president directly.

"Fukuzawa-sensei, this is Kunikida."

"Yes, Kunikida, what do you need?"

"Nothing. I was just calling to inform you that Dazai and I are on a private case and we won't be back for a couple of days. You can cut the time from my pay if you like. But I just wanted you to know that nothing is wrong, no one needs to come looking for us."

"Ah, I see. Did you pick up this case during lunch? Will you be reachable in the case of an emergency?"

I look at Dazai. I can't leave him, not like this. "Yes . . . and no."

"Are you out of the city?"

"No."

"Alright. Seeing as your paperwork is complete. I will bother you no longer. But please do call again if you two plan to be on the case for more than a week."

"Of course, sir."

He hangs up. I rest in relief for a moment. Now that that's cleared up there's the matter of my almost empty refrigerator.

Dazai wakes at the sound of the groceries being delivered.

"Huh? Kunikida?"

"I ordered groceries."

I don't think he understands me very well, but I'll only be going to the door, so I don't worry.

Yozoz hisses at the delivery man. I nudge her back, and she gives one final look of utter disapproval before retreating. I tip the man and take the bags inside.

When I come back Dazai has gotten into a halfway upright position, using his uninjured hand to pet Yozo.

"Be careful." The warning is a habit at this point.

"When did Kunikida-kun get a cat?"

I don't let his use of the third person worry me, it wasn't uncommon for him a few months ago."Recently. She was a stray."

"My, how charitable!"

I have to remind myself not to be relieved. He's only acting this way because of the fever.

"Helping the less fortunate when I can is in my Ideals. And right now, that includes you, Dazai."

He gasps theatrically, "Me?"

"Yes, you. You have a fever. You need to take medication. It'll help with the pain as well, but you need to eat first. Now come on."

"My, who knew the prime minister of meeting procedure land would make such a good doctor, and handsome too~"

I can't deal with this right now, him saying all these things. They say fevers make you honest, but he's clearly spouting, pardon me, utter bullshit. "Yes, first aid training is quite useful."

He frowns at my lack of reaction.

I set the groceries on the counter, and go to help him.

"Ahh, I'm so weak Kunikida-kun! I couldn't possibly move! Carry me!"

Ugh. Now that he's more alert, carrying him feels less like a medical necessity and more awkward, without the adrenaline from seeing him so hurt, but I'd take this over him sobbing on the floor any day.

I must admit I've had daydreams about having him in my arms before, but never like this.

He won't be able to handle chopsticks, so it'll have to be broth. I can make a simple one in under thirty minutes. As soon as I finish stocking the refrigerator and cupboards, I turn to find Dazai sitting at the counter. His newly dressed hand is splayed out on the countertop. He lifts it, flexing his finger. He makes no sound, but I've known him long enough to see that he's in pain.

He abhors pain. It doesn't make sense. This must not have been part of a suicide attempt. He'd never do something as painful as burning or boiling alive, so how did it happen?

I don't look at him, not wanting to invade at the moment. Instead, I focus on readying the ingredients for the broth, falling into the rhythm of chopping vegetables.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" I ask, still not looking. If it were anyone else I wouldn't count on a coherent answer, and I don't with Dazai, not really. He would never admit the extent of his pain, but I know he's aware, at least. This man is a cockroach. He's come to work with temperatures like this and higher before and none of us noticed until he passed out dramatically on the sofa.

"It's fine."

"It is" not "I am". A clear lie.

He's as stubborn as an ox, more stubborn than I myself can be at times. I have no choice but to go along. I place the vegetables in the pan with the stock and set the temperature. "Good. You have to eat before you take medication. The broth should be done soon."

He goes silent for a moment, then, "Mmm, Kunikida is so kind, getting all worked up over nothing." His words are soft, a gentle smile, almost . . . reassuring. His voice sends a wave of warmth down my spine.

Still, the sudden return of his demureness is a bit surprising.

"This is not nothing."

"Well you could have simply taken me to hospital, it wasn't necessary to bring me all the way to your home. I'm sure I've caused quite a hassle. I'm not sure how I can repay you for all of this."

"You mentioned before that you dislike hospitals, so I thought-"

"It hardly matters. There was no need for you to trouble yourself, I feel guilty now."

"Don't, you're my partner, it was no trouble at all." The words feel forbidden. It's immature, but my feelings make calling him my partner feel more meaningful than it should. He's so observant, can he see my guilt? Hear my heartbeat?

"That's impossible. I wish I hadn't troubled you at all." He looks down as he says it, picking the his new bandages. He sounds genuine, bitter and upset. Like many of today's events, it doesn't make sense. After all he's done to pester me so far, how can he feel so guilty for this? Or is it something else? Is this for all he's done in the past? That would be ridiculous, but somehow I believe it. Nothing he ever did was that horrible, it's all forgiven now.

"Dazai . . ." I don't know what I should say, what I could say. He doesn't look up anyway.

"I won't trouble you anymore, Kunikida-san." It sounds so . . . final.

"Dazai, it wasn't-"

He's standing before I can stop him. I want to reach out to him, to stop him, but I know I shouldn't touch him much more, I doubt his aversion to contact has changed. Even with all his external polish and warmth, all those smiles, something frozen still resides within him, I know it. At times, I can feel its cold, like a gust of shivering wind, sudden, shocking . . . then gone.

And yet I find myself moving ever closer. Something deep in my gut knows I can't let him leave. I feel that if I do I may never see him again.

He sways, and sways and sways, and then . . . tips.

This time, though, I'm here to catch him. Again, he's too warm in my arms.

"Dazai, stop! You're in no condition to go anywhere. Please, sit, . . . stay. At least until you take medication. Then you can go as you please. But as your partner, it would be an abdication of my duties to allow anything to happen to you." There's that word again. Partner.

He whispers so softly, that I swear I mishear him, but it's quiet enough that I'm sure I don't. "Partner." Then he looks up. "Abdication, such a big word." The words are thoughtful, yet careless. He looks dazed. "Of course, you're just doing your job. Fine, but at least let me pay you."

Is he out of his damn mind? "P-pay me, what, you-?!" No. I can't lose my cool now. This isn't an office shenanigan. But then again . . . perhaps my scolding will be as grounding to him as his clownery is to me (am I the delirious one?)

"This is a favour, you will do no such thing. Now, stop talking nonsense!" I can't make myself call him an idiot, he still looks too fragile for that.

It seems to work, to my relief, he backs down. "Sorry." I don't like the bashful tone, but if it means he'll let me care for him without fighting, I'll take what I can get.

We sit, once again, in silence.

I'm relieved when the broth is done, busying myself with readying the bowl and placing it in front of him.

When I set it down, he looks at me for a long moment, then says a quiet "Thank you." and takes the spoon.

His hand shakes a little.

Right. I was so distracted by his attitude that I forgot a spoon might still be hard for him. What to do? For once, I don't know, there is nothing in my Ideals that tells me how to deal with an injured, delirious, Dazai Osamu in my kitchen.

"W-would you like some help?"

He looks up with wide eyes. Neither of us says anything.

A moment passes, and I can't bear to wait, so I take the spoon from his shaky hand.

He opens his mouth wordlessly and closes it the same.

We repeat the process, still silent, working like a machine, efficient. Both of us, I'm sure, are trying to distance ourselves from the reality of what we are doing. Before I know it the bowl is down to the dregs of vegetables.

Dazai nods once. "Your soup is very delicious, Kunikida-san."

"Thank you." The phrase is brief, almost curt, but I don't know how else to respond. My brain won't form words appropriate for this situation. I turn away, typing the last drops of broth into the plastic bowl the vet sent home for Yozo.

She laps eagerly, while I prepare the correct dosage of medication.

Dazai takes it without a hint of disgust, handing the cup back to me, then pushes himself up. It's too fast and he wobbles. I reach out but then retract my hands. He's not my charge, he's a grown man. He's fine. And he dislikes being touched.

I can't stand to see him go. Who knew I could be so selfish?

"Dazai, wait."

He halts but doesn't turn. His shoulders are tense. I shouldn't keep him longer.

"Just wait a bit. I will call you a taxi cab once the medication takes effect. Just for an hour, rest . . . please."

He turns so slowly I'm worried he's dizzy again, but he seems perfectly steady when he faces me. Then again, he seemed fine until he collapsed in the tea house.

"Alright. Where would you like me to sit?"

Anywhere.

"Wherever you feel most comfortable."

He nods, clearly uncomfortable again. Guilt makes my chest ache, I should let him go. He's made it this far. I'm sure he can handle himself.

"The sofa will be more than fine."

"Okay," I have to leave, I should. I have no business hovering like we're anything more than colleagues. "I'll be in the kitchen, cleaning, if you need anything at all."

"Don't worry. I won't."

I can't make myself stay away.

So here I sit, mere inches away from Dazai. He fell asleep almost as soon as he sat down, despite his insurance on feeling fine.

His breathing is even, but I can see him shivering against the fever. I leave him for a moment, just to get him a blanket.

When I put it over him he still for a moment, then rolls over, still fully asleep and pulls it tight around himself. The trembling stops, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He'll be alright.

But I won't.

Watching him like this feels wrong, a guilty pleasure. This was never meant for me to see. I feel like a pervert, even though watching him like this brings no sexual pleasure, only a warmth in my chest.

I can only stare as his chest rises and falls. His hair fans out over my pillows making them look like they don't belong here, no, not that. They, and he look like they belong, but under his head, they look like something novel even when I've had them for years.

After many hours of fitful tossing and turning, he really stirs. And I've done nothing but watch him this whole time. How much working time have I lost? And why does it not seem to matter at all?

I don't think he meant to sleep so long. It's dark out now, and he'll surely need more medication if he even wishes to attempt a full night's sleep.

I jump up when he twitches, hurrying away, lest he think my intentions are anything other than platonic.

"Kunikida?" He calls out.

"Yes, Dazai," I answer, strolling in like I didn't just bolt from the room. How many times have I lied in the past day?

"Thank you very much for letting me stay, and for the food, both here and at the tea house. You can keep my noodles. I'll catch a cab now."

He's up, standing on shaky legs before I can stop him.

"What?" The words fall out, clumsy and desperate. I hope he doesn't hear it.

He looks at me, appropriately confused. "Did I leave something, Kunikida-kun?"

My saving grace. The one thing I actually did besides watching him sleep."Your coat, it's in the dryer. There was some blood on the cuff, so I washed it." The perfectly reasonable explanation feels awkward.

"Oh, thank you again." He sounds so grateful it makes me uncomfortable.

"Please, don't thank me. You aren't troubling me. Your coat should be done in just a few minutes." I want him to stay longer, "Would you mind if I checked your bandages until then, I heard you tossing in your sleep." A small lie.

"I'm yours."

We both freeze.

"I-I'm sorry?" I sound like I'm choking.

His cheeks reddened, embarrassed that I made something out of that, no doubt. Especially when I've probably said similar things in reference to our partnership.

"I simply meant that you are the expert and are free to do what you want, er, need to."

"Ah, yes."

What do I do now?

Neither of us moves for a moment, like when you get stuck trying to pass someone in a door or corridor and do an awkward little dance. I don't want him to pass me. I don't want him to go.

Then he moves, walking to the counter, and placing his arm on it. I follow him, busying myself with readying the plastic sheeting.

He's in the same position when I come back, but lifts his arm and allows me to put the small section of sheeting under it.

I examine the bandages. I was right. As much as this is to keep him here, they do need changing. The wound is still weeping a lot.

"I'll need to clean and change it again," I tell him, but I think he may have guessed based on the way he eyes his arm.

The experience is completely different now that he's coherent. But he doesn't fight me on the removal of the bandages, I watch his face, his beautiful face, and on cue, he gives his silent permission.

He doesn't flinch as I unwrap it, eyes scanning the wound analytically.

He leans in, so close that I would barely have to lean down to kiss him. I'd never, of course, I could never. But the thought is very much there.

"I have seen far worse, usually I was the cause." He explains.

Right, the mafia.

Here, in this house, I could forget. But, I realise suddenly, that it doesn't matter at all, not when it comes to him.

The process goes so much more quickly this time. I hate that I wish it didn't, but before I know it, my hands are on autopilot, and he's in fresh bandages . . . and ready to go.

Where's he going to go? Surely not the agency dormitories? He doesn't want anyone to know he's injured. Or will he just hole up inside? Or does he have somewhere else? A street corner? I shiver at the thought.

He needs another dosage of medications since it's been so long. He must be in pain, but if he's driving, he should wait to take it until he gets back. I still don't trust him with a whole bottle. But I can send him with enough to get him through the night until tomorrow morning when I see him again. I'd best pick him up and take him here in the morning. Someone might see me and know I lied if I stay too long, and his dormitory isn't exactly sterile. (Maybe he's cleaned it? I've only seen it in glimpses.)

"You should take another dose of medication in about an hour. I'll send you home with a pill, you can pick up another one tomorrow when I change your bandages. It helps with the pain as well. Actually, I should take your temperature before you go. If you're still feverish, I'll drive you."

He nods, then cocks his head. "Come here? I appreciate it, but won't we be at the agency?"

Right, he doesn't know.

I told the President that we'd be out for a couple of days, just because I'd be in charge of caring for the wound since Dazai refused to go to a hospital or Yosano, but maybe that's changed now that he's not feverish.

"I was under the impression that you wanted the injury hidden. You told me you didn't want to go to the hospital or to Yosano, so I told the President that we were out on a case. He won't expect us back." It feels shameful and stupid as I say it now, but I press on. He needs to know. "I was actually wondering where you were going. You can't exactly go to the dorms, and I'd prefer to change your bandages here where I have my supplies . . . Or, of course, I could tell him we finish early if you would rather!"

He's just standing there, frozen. I can't read him.

After a while he says quietly, "You lied to the president?" The words are shocking. Of course, they are, I'm the last person one would expect to do that, I know.

"You seemed highly uncomfortable at the thought of anyone knowing so I . . . I just did."

He looks down. Even without a fever, I can see he still feels that way. "No, no, I won't make you lie further. I'll find a place to stay. An old mafia safe house should do just fine."

"Oh, Dazai, I didn't mean to-"

"You've done so much. I am fine now. I don't need luxury, just a quiet place to sleep." He looks pale.

He's not fine.

And I'm still not ready for him to leave, not ready to be alone with my thoughts.

He sits like a dutiful patient while I fetch his freshly dry coat. I'm not so deceitful as to wet it again.

He takes it, standing up once again.

"Let's do this again sometime, eh, Kunikida-kun?" The statement carries just a trace of his previous humour. His eyes are far away, the deep brown irises glassy.

Just as he reaches the door, I remember. I didn't take his temperature! Or give him the pills! I grab his wrist. He whirls around, startled, looking again like a caught animal. I wish he wouldn't, but I have to admit, what I'm doing is quite creepy.

"Wait. I need to make sure your temperature is down before you go. I don't want someone kidnapping you, eh?" The joke, like most of mine, falls flat.

Something sparks in his eyes . . . and then they go cold.

"Kunikida-san, I understand that you're just doing your job . . . but last I checked it's not your job to stop me from killing myself. Don't pretend to care so much, I am not your poor little charity case!"

Killing- who said anything about suicide? Is he planning to- Now? After he's done all this? Well, now there's no way I can let him go!

It looks like he's also realised his mistake. His eyes are stuck between wide open and narrowed to slits, it's odd. I take advantage of it.

"Dazai, please. I just wish to help."

He says nothing, to my relief, no sour words about my ideals, or my having a saviour complex. (I don't. I'm just ever so foolishly in love.)

I'm afraid that if I step away to get the thermometer, he'll run, so instead, I step forward, placing my hand under his fringe. The contact sends a spark through me, and it occurs to me that I've never really touched him before, a brush of the hand, maybe, and of course carrying him, but never this. He's still warm. Of course, he is. In my haste, I overlooked something important.

I learnt very quickly of Dazai Osamu's inhuman metabolism. It's how he processes all the junk food and alcohol so quickly. The medication must have worn off at least an hour ago. Has he been in pain all this time?

Oh, damn me!

"Dazai, I'm so sorry."

He doesn't look like he's heard me. He sways again . . . and then he's in my arms.

He weighs almost nothing against me, but I can't worry about that now.

"You know, Kunikida-kun?" he mumbles into my chest, "I think I'm still a bit tired from the medication. Maybe I will stay."

"Why did you not tell me?" But the question is more for myself. I know why.

I'm a task-oriented person. I need goals or I'll fall apart, I know this. So I make a list.

Check his temperature.

Make him eat something (somehow).

Give medication.

Attempt a cool bath.

Fresh clothes.

Sleep.

He's completely out. I can feel his breathing, slow and shallow.

Taking his temperature is easy, getting him medicated won't be. I ought to try a cool bath first before he can protest. It will help the most before the medication kicks in. I hate to cross his boundaries like that . . . then again, he seemed to give me permission when he agreed to stay.

Fortunately, I don't have to decide. He wakes when I move him, his breathing shifting into quick gasps. I want to tell him he's okay, but what use would that have?

"I'm going to give you a cool bath. You can keep your undershirt and pants on, but I need to get your temperature down, alright?"

He nods.

Thankfully, this bathroom was designed with two people in mind, so there's plenty of room for him on the counter. He mutters something that includes my name and the words "undress me". I think he's trying to be cheeky, but it falls flatter than any of my jokes ever have.

Getting into the bathtub is easy. He weighs much less than he should. I prop him up, but with the way he flops to the side, like a fish, I can't possibly leave him. He'll drown.

What to do, what to do? I can stay with him a bit, but I need to make more broth so he can take more pills. I'll think about it.

"Hey, you're just going to soak in here for a bit, so your body can cool down. May I wash your hair?" He's sweaty, so I may as well.

He nods, so I do.

The process is like nothing I've ever done. He "hmms" softly and I can feel him slipping into sleep under my touch. I thought that seeing him undressed (or in this case in just his pants) would be hard for me, but it isn't. All I can feel is concern, not pity, I don't see him as below me or anything, he remains my equal and as handsome as ever, but right now he just needs to be taken care of. He is not riddled with scars as I'd thought, but there is one, a large gash along his chest and other various small ones. It's hard to see them, though. In reality, the scars are perfectly visible, but when I look at him I don't see them, just those warm brown eyes.

The bath is working, and he feels much less hot than before. He's more alert as well. If he just stays in a bit longer he might return to a normal temperature, at least temporarily which would help until I can get medication in him, but I still have to cook . . .

"Okay. Here's a towel, you have to get out now."

He shakes his head, confused as if just having woken up. Did he really go to sleep just like that? He used to complain of insomnia. How ill is he?

"Don't wanna." His tone isn't clownish, but tired, so very tired.

"Dazai, I can't- you're not in a complete state of mind, you could hurt yourself."

"What if you could make sure I didn't?"

What's he got up his sleeves now? I make my scepticism clear on my face. "Perhaps, what do you have in mind?"

"I could sing to you . . . like in that movie with the little girl who's really an adult."

"What?" I'm not even going to ask.

"Like this" He hums a note, then another. I don't recognise the melody, but it's pretty.

"Fine. But If you stop, I will come right back in here, so don't try anything."

"Got it, Kunikida-san."

True to his word, he keeps humming as I start in the kitchen. The song is very nice. I'll have to ask him what it is when he feels better.

The broth, a slightly different recipe, to keep things interesting, finishes quickly. All that's left is for it to cool to an edible temperature, and to get Dazai into some clothes.

I'm only 8 centimetres taller than Dazai, so my clothes should fit him well enough. I pull out a pyjama set from the back of my drawer, it was a gag gift from Katai when I went to university, with a little nightcap and all. I leave the cap and take the folded set into the bathroom.

He looks so soft in the matching top and bottom that I can do nothing but stare. He sneezes, snapping me out of the trace. Right, his hair is still a bit wet. The last thing he needs is a cold.

He manages to stand, albeit with most of his weight on me, and follows me to the kitchen.

"Why are you doing this?" He asks as I set down the spoon. I helped him again. He didn't ask me to, even as a joke, and I wasn't sure he would if I didn't just- so I just did it . . . It would appear that, in some way, somehow I'm in this even deeper than I thought.

What can I say? Oh, I could say so much. What can I say that would be professionally acceptable?

"It's my job." AH, if there was an award for shit answers.

He sighs, "AH, right, duty-bound Kunikida-kun. Poor thing." The words are teasing, but I know him better than that.

He makes himself at home in the spare bedroom, out practically as soon as his head hits the pillow. When was the last time he slept in a real bed?

What do I do now? It's not that late, so I can't go to bed, but I can't go back to work, and there's now ay I'd let myself leave. I can't think of anything, so, as always, I stay.

He looks so peaceful, his breathing even, face relaxed. I gave him twice the normal dosage of medication.

Despite his apparent calm I can't help thinking that he should be in my bed. I want to hold him, to keep him warm and safe. I want him to know someone needs him, someone wants him. At first, I wasn't sure this new him even needed that anymore, but his behaviour today . . . I want to wake up and see his smile, a real one. I want to be the reason for it. I want to give him so, so many reasons to smile. And when he can't smile, I want to be there for him.

Looking at him like this, a sudden courage fills me. The courage to put pen to paper. I pull out my notebook and start writing, looking up every so often at Dazai's sleeping face, just to amke sure I phrase this thing I'm feeling right (if there's any way to physically capture it. I'd try even if I knew for sure there wasn't).

When I'm finally pleased, I close the book. It's dark out now. I must have been writing for much longer than I thought. Well, I guess I should get to sleep.

IDEALS [kunikidazai]

(A/N: I've been palying around with ship names for these two and came up with Ideal Human because together these two make one perfectly functioning person. Kind of like how Tachizaki is Midwinter Snow because if their abilities)

SUMMARY:

Dazai Osamu is the farthest possible thing from the ideal woman Kunikida Doppo has written so much about in his notebook.

And yet . . . Kunikida is hoplessly in love with him anyway. Kunikida doesn't belive he has a chance with his coworker, I mean, have you seen the way he flirts with women? Straight as the rulers Kunikida used to use in his maths class.

Dazai meanwhile is also inlove with uptight but still charming coworker. But how can Dazai ever come close to the woman Kunikida has in mind?

Will these two damn idiots figure their shit out or not? God, I hope they do, for all our sanity!

(Summary sponsered by Edogawa Ranpo)

Categories: angst, fluff, getting together

Warnings: N/A

Thank you to @wildroseroguefor inspiring me to write Kunikidazai for the first time. Rose has lots of Kunikida content on her blog, check it out.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #kunikidazai #kunidazai #Ideal Human #No Longer Ideal #knkdz #kunikidazai fic #kunikidazai fanfiction #kunikidazai fanfic #kunikidazai angst #kunidazai fanfic #kunikidazai fluff #kunidazai fic #kunidazai fanfiction #kunidazai fluff #kunidazai angst

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