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— THE THIRST "STARE, DON'T TOUCH"

pairing: kaldur'ahm x reader

THE AFTERTASTE SERIES, FIRST CHAPTER Manta handpicks you as his son's lieutenant. between Kaldur'ahm and you, a common interest grows and is instantly ignored.

tags: no use of y/n, 2nd person pov, lack of capitalization, fem!reader, moral ambiguity, reader is inspired by Medea, unresolved s*xual tension, touch-starved Kaldur'ahm, kinda forced proximity, loyalty k*nk low-key, canon-compliant mostly, warnings: heavy Young Justice season two spoilers, morally grey protagonist (past murder), mentions of past death (mother), brief non-s*xual nudity word count: 4.7k notes: oh how i love that man. ik this is probably gonna get like 11 notes but honestly idc, Kaldur deserves sm more fics

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the perpetual movement of the waves always makes you remember everything. water memory or, more likely, the familiarity of it all.

it helps remembering your mother’s last, frantic breaths, bubbles fading into the dark abysses you lived in. it helps remembering the way you left to live as a homeless teen in a coastal town, hiding your gills and avoiding the beach at all costs.

the sea itself remembers how you shamefully came back to serve your mother’s protector, because it was all you knew. you couldn’t have cared less about his motives, unless maybe had it been coral destruction. you just wanted to have a place to belong to.

it -the sea- remembers your first murder, the arsons, the hurt you’ve caused on purpose, just to earn your place in the slightest.

everything brought you here, to this moment. the sea brought you to him. you didn’t feel a particular connection to the ocean but you liked to believe in destiny. helped you get through shit.

you broke the water surface without a sound. you’d always been stealthy. a monument to grace, restraint. so good at making yourself invisible. so, so good at being forgotten.

not quite like a ghost or some sea creature. more like a shadow, trying hard not to be a bother, and succeeding.

as you emerged from the dark waters, two figures stood there, noticeable only thanks to the faint glow of the moonlight. you would wait, then would be acknowledged, you would take your place, easy peazy.

but then again, he was some kind of child soldier, with the instincts of a marine. he moved his father to the side, and he charged. you dropped, took a step back, and grabbed your halberd. you extended it, not to kill but to strike his calf, which you missed. you didn’t get the chance to prepare for another strike of his, because Black Manta then moved forward, one heavy step being enough to stop the both of you. you lowered your halberd. his son did not lower his water blades, but his expression tempered. very, very slightly. it was mistrust instead of threat assessment now.

oh, joy.

“Kaldur.” he turned his back to you, a hand on his son’s shoulder, “she is Idiya’s daughter.”

Kaldur’ahm looked up at his father in confusion. for someone who had never lived in Black Manta’s circle, he probably didn’t know much about whom had lived before he came. but her, he definitely knew about. his father’s lieutenant. the fiercest, most loyal soldier that ever existed in Black Manta’s ranks. the most phenomenal ghost to ever overcome, for Manta’s respect for her was too great. you owed your survival to her ghost. that’s probably what Kaldur saw first, you thought.

because you saw yourself through his eyes, right away. a problem.

only then did the red gaze of the helmet swing your way

“this is my son. you know.”

a few days earlier, you were in a dark echoing chamber. you had pledged allegiance, no, you had sworn to dedicate your life, to someone you were to meet later on. it was an abstract oath then. now, it seemed pretty clear that this was an oath Kaldur’ahm never accepted, one that he had never heard of.

you bowed your head, curtly, shortly, maintaining that bland face you’ve learned to keep over the last few years. “I have taken the liberty of hand-picking your lieutenant. right hand woman, if you will.” Black Manta’s voice didn’t leave much room for debate. he added, “she has to prove herself worthy, because, and you’ll understand I’m sure, blood proves very little loyalty.”

the hypocrisy wasn’t lost on you. it was even so vast you almost let your eyes roll.

you didn’t have any reason to be here. standing in front of Manta and his son. you could have -should have- gone away, escaped, and honestly, at the time they wouldn’t have found the care to chase after you.

maybe it was all you’d known -living by Manta’s rules.

maybe then, meeting Kaldur and having someone with whom making the journey to Manta’s trusted circle was the best thing you could get. and as you looked at him, for real this time, his conflicted gaze, the set of his jaw, yeah, maybe it wasn’t so bad.

he didn’t like you, didn’t hate you. you felt how much of a bother you were to him, despite his false kindness about it.

oh, well.

you told yourself he was a loner. the kind that didn’t like having someone next to them as they climbed the ladder. but you were here now, anyway.

though your exchanges were tense at first, you two had something in common that helped the mutual acceptation, and it was efficiency. no irrelevant talk between the two of you or during a fight, no unnecessary risks taken during missions, and though stealth wasn’t your favorite thing, you were good at it -great, even. he even taught you some things.

you were more vocal than he was, with a tendency to ask for clarifications, whether it was about his behaviour, odd at some times, the tone he had employed to give you orders, or said orders, when these seemed weird to you. he didn’t always like the questions, but they were, indeed, necessary at first. and you quickly caught on his strategic thoughts process. it was no telepathy, but once again, it was efficient. that’s all you were, really.

and today, like most of your shared days had been recently, is a boring day. you don’t lead a squad, you don’t have chores, so you two are just bored and pretending to have something useful to do by recounting the previous missions’ mistakes and thinking of ways to avoid making those again.

a knock on your door, you open, and without an ounce of surprise, you see his face. he does seem tired, more than usual, it’s more weary than out of a lack of sleep. “hi,” you breathe, and step aside to let him in. he takes you in, his eyes flutter close, his nostrils and gills flare, and he steps in.

he’s kind of a weirdo.

“let’s begin,” he announces, sitting at the end of your bed. it’s a habit, you always sit against the metallic headboard, and he faces you.

for half an hour, you exchange about a mission carried out two days ago. you voice your concerns, how he still looks out for his team members, when he really doesn’t need that anymore. he tells you how your covering of his left flank was perfect, yet unnecessary, and could’ve put you in danger.

there’s something soft in his voice as he says it, his eyebrows knitted together in a way you aren’t sure he’s aware of. it’s cute. it makes you feel cared for, too. looked after, maybe.

but as always, you run out of topics before the sun had risen. you two aren’t allowed in most parts of the ship, and Kaldur had never even thought about risking himself to unnecessary silly escapades in those metal hallways.

“where is your father at, again?” you ask, not even bothering to fake innocence. you two are playing hearts -the deck of cards you bought on a mission five weeks ago is already worn out. “on a meeting with the Light, I believe.”

you frown. “at 7 o’clock?”

he shrugs. you don’t push further.

an hour later, after two defeats on your side, he sits on the floor, staring at the wall, watching your hands work as you play solitary. “how is it going with the Light’s approval of you?” you ask to break the silence, and he squints, unable to tell if you really mean to make small talk, or if you’re fishing for informations. you can’t tell either.

but watching him so doubtful, you add, “Kaldur’ahm, you really should stop trying to second-guess me constantly. at some point, you’ll have no choice but to trust me.” something in his throat blocks, saliva or air -you can’t tell. you turn your attention back to your cards.

“sure. well, about the Light… i still need to prove myself to my father, I doubt I’m close to getting their approval.” you frown, putting the final card to the hearts deck. “but we’ve done so much.”

his jaw tightens. “i know. it is… frustrating, to say the least.”

you almost tell him his betrayal of the Team should be enough, but you know you can’t afford to wander into such territory for now. so you just nod and put the cards back in their packaging, to get up and look at him expectantly. “i was thinking we could go for a swim.”

you never go anywhere without him. it’s part of the “loyal lieutenant” package. it also meant if you wanted to wander, you had to hope he wanted to have a walk as well.

he gets up and eyes you up and down. “mh. let’s go.”

you wonder when he’ll let any kind of guard down around you. he already does, occasionally, but the slight relaxation of his shoulders when you stand behind him being the most trustful he’s ever been of you.

that’s not enough, not for you, who had put much trust in him after three months spent together. you decide it’s maybe time to withdraw some of that trust. to put your own guard up. you look up at him as the thought crosses your mind. he looks back, cold at first, then a polite smile breaks on his face.

your trust is just fine were it is.

once in the airlock, you both dress up, helmets on, grabbing a much more efficient weapon than your helberd. it may be your armament of choice, it isn’t one that’s easy to handle, especially underwater -hence your specialization in missions taking place on the surface world.

brows furrowed, both of you, from overthinking, both of you, you swim towards the coral barrier, one that hosts many different kind of fishes, not that you care, but he does. you like the plants, so you don’t mind.

though he could take you to a location you despise, you wouldn’t mind either, so your judgement might be a little biased.

usually, you two talk, mimicking normalcy as best as you could, but he’s out of it today. and it’s not even 9 a.m. so inevitably, after an intense staring contest with a fish, Kaldur announces he has to go. of course he has. and once again -he asks you to cover for him. not to rat him out.

“Lieutenant, I know it puts you in a sensitive position…” he trails off, voice dropping lower, taking a step forward. his hands trail from your wrist to your elbows. you don’t look up. “...but I need to make sure I have your word before I go. It is important, and I wouldn’t do any of it if I thought you’d be endangered, so.. trust me, please,” he implores. you almost scoff, but you can’t.

loyalty is your key word. you are, indeed, more loyal to him than you are to his father, so you still don’t look up, but nod in the direction opposite to the ship, and whisper to him that he can go. that you’ll cover.

once his figure is no longer visible in the ocean, you swim back to the ship, alone, throwing the borrowed dagger on the ground in irritation once you’re back to the locker room. you’re not angry at him, you couldn’t possibly be, but his secrets are annoying.

these furtive escapades have been happening ever since he got under Black Manta’s guard, and every time you’ve covered for him, long enough so he’d have time to come back in the ship and act as if nothing happened. you didn’t mind. figured it was either real and much-needed alone time, or a secret liaison. worse: he could be meeting with Manta and get information unbeknownst to you, making you the fall guy. but you don’t push it, don’t overstep, and wait for him to share said secret.

you’ve been nothing but faithful. for three months, you’ve got his back, saved his ass, and advocated for him. you’re not tired of this, you could never be. you’re far from ‘on the verge of telling his father’, but close to ‘irritated as fuck’. he’s already so secretive, not that you mind, but if secrets meetings are to be added, you’re not sure you could do it -handle the resentment, for that matter.

and when he comes back, around 11.30 (you’d been keeping watch), you ignore him as he asks how your morning went. his brows furrow but he doesn’t push further.

you do follow him around the whole day though.

that’s as far as the arguments have always gone. he never argued, and your role was to call him out, more or less kindly. but you were compliant. your patience barely ran thin. you did enjoy when those pretty eyes looked like those of a sappy kitten as he implored for you not to tell anyone. he knew you wouldn’t tell. at some point, you began to suspect he just kept begging for the thrill of it.

that’s not far from the truth. as deep in denial as he was, he loved seeing you succumb to whatever charm he was using.

the sacrifices for a greater good started the moment you agreed to keep his secrets, and only grew more important. it was more about helping him prove himself and social-climb as his lieutenant after that. you were already seen as an extension of him, in the eyes of Manta’s troops, so why not use it to your advantage?

therefore you missed on the first chance you’d ever gotten to truly prove yourself in a more active way (because apparently murder didn’t count), just to watch Kaldur as a blinking red dot on a radar while he was doing the hardest part.

but he did come back, assessing his father’s reaction, until said father removed his helmet and proudly congratulated his son. everybody knows he’s not “off the hook”, he still has some loyalty to prove, some point to make, but it’s looking good for him -and you couldn’t help but be relieved. proud, even.

as he reported the events, including his encounter with Nightwing, he put a hand on your shoulder, earning a tensed spine.

if it were just a hand on your shoulder, you wouldn’t have minded, wouldn’t have cared, actually. but it was at the base of your neck, right below your gills, brushing his thumb in the nape of your neck, a gesture his father couldn’t see, but that left you questioning.

eventually, Black Manta left to contact the League, leaving Kaldur and you alone in his office. it took you a hot fifteen seconds to look up at him. he lets go of your neck, not without a tap on your shoulder, “sparring session at 1900.”

you wanted to tell him the military hour didn’t make him look smart or serious. it was laughable.

you didn’t utter a word. you nodded.

the “sparring session” or training, whatsoever, wasn’t usually much enjoyable. he’d evaluate your close-quarters combat, teaching you Atlantean things he got to learn from queen Mera, such as spells or arts, the integration of your halberd in confined spaces, blah, blah, blah.

his water bearers weren’t charged with the usual electricity. it was only water, and every time it hit you, it was just that. a wet spot on your training gear. you should’ve remembered that, when he ‘killed’ Artemis. you didn’t. and right now, you were too focused on his hand pressing against your ribcage with his right waterbender against your belly.

you’ve overseen a lot of things, when it came to him. blinded by love, or on purpose. it became so recurrent that it felt like second nature.

‘no more digressions,’ you scolded yourself mentally, and pushed him back, mid-explanation. you aimed with your halberd and he did too, striking for weak points. halfway through the fight, he stilled. “you should stop holding back.”

you let your arm go limp, your weapon falling onto the ground on accident. your heads fall down to look at it in silence, before you look up and cross your arms over your chest. “my goal isn’t to hurt you but to learn from you safely.”

“safely?” he repeats, dumbfounded. you wince. “okay, not really.”

he raises his brows. your gaze hardens.

you two stare. you blink, once, and he says, “i won.” you try to frown but the smug smile tugging at his lips is too adorable to ignore. “won what?”

“the stare contest,” he says matter-of-factly. you huff, “what are you, twelve?” but your own lips are too busy fighting back a smile to actually sound condescending.

over the weeks, you grow weirdly complicit. you’d die rather than admitting it, because it was a silent agreement. once voiced, it’d be over and you would both have to take a step back in this relationship. you weren’t friends, it was less than that.

yet it was more than mutual respect or whatever relationship a lieutenant and her officer were supposed to have.

he held you when you’d escaped a near death experience. you’d reach for his wrist to check his pulse during stakeouts. it was utterly ridiculous, but so reassuring. you had each other, and most things outside of your weird friendship mattered, but at some point, he was what mattered the most.

it sat on the fence, dangerously leaning on the ‘something more’ side everytime a little too much skin was shown. you never considered yourself lustful. he most certainly thought of himself as virtuous -until he inadvertently opened your bedroom as you were changing, your arm covering your chest, your wet suit half pulled up on your body.

in his opinion, it is worse than if he had effectively seen your bare skin. the image is on replay in his head, his mind filling in the blanks, imagining a hundred ways of what your body would look like.

he finally understands why a lady showing her ankles in the 19th century was considered arousing when you sprain yours and he’s the one who applies pain relief cream, massaging your tendon, kneeling before you.

he also has a weird pull to the nape of your neck. for any occasion, whether it is to reassure you, praise you, comfort you or make you stand down when you get too carried away, his fingers always found that spot between your gills, a sensitive spot not because of arousal but because it was usually hidden under a helmet, protected.

he never makes you feel vulnerable. he’d always been so steady.

maybe that’s why you lean against his touch so easily, albeit guarded. because he’s someone you could rely on. because when he touches you, it feels purposeful, it is deliberate, and those moments may be rare and impulsive, the both of you are constantly looking forward to them happening.

it lasts a few weeks before it becomes undeniable.

waiting for Kaldur’ahm near the corals the boat had destroyed when landing on the seabed, you are tending to the marine flora absentmindedly, mind quiet for once.

you don’t notice him returning, his figure a blurry dark shadow far away, getting nearer and nearer until the red details of his metal suit clashed too much with the ocean for your peripheral vision to ignore him; only then do you look up. you hold back a sigh and/or a smile.

his lips part, the words dying somewhere between his throat and the tip of his tongue; you watch him walk towards you.

from where you stand, the sun hits your face and hair the right way. you look divine –in a way that he just couldn’t ignore. you observe him, eyes plunged into his, until he stands two feet away.

“...safe … way back?” is all he hears. he clears his throat and nods, while his gaze never wavers away from yours, as if dissociating. “what was that escapade about?” you inquire, as it seemed to be the right moment to extract informations from him. he takes another step forward, gaze flickering to the corals you’re trying to salvage.

“solo mission,” he lies, “for Father,” badly. you know he can do better than that. you point to the ship, with your thumb, which is sitting quietly forty feet away from you. “heading back?” his lips part once mroe. you tilt your head, eyebrows raised in anticipation. “i’ll… wait for you.”

“to be honest, I am ready to head back,” you try, so he looks at the ship. “i shall join you there then, i will stay here in the meantime,” he affirms, voice leaving very little room for your (unusual) retorts. he wasn’t making any sense, and on top of that, ever since he got here, he’d been looking at you like a starved man, eyes detailing every trait of your face, skin flushed. “as you wish,” you tell him, counting to five before you turn around, just in case he’d change his mind.

he doesn’t move; he can’t possibly entertain that idea. the water feels thick around him as he watches you go, every movement you make to swim away from him physically paining him. his hand comes up, fingers clutching at his chest, right over his heart. oh, he wants you so bad, and that thought alone overwhelmed him.

that is messy. he was a mess. allowing a woman, no matter how pretty, to conflict in his mind with a lifetime of discipline and discretion. the forced proximity is a cruel joke and it deepens his guilt, for you, for his friends, for the League, but for you most importantly. he is ashamed. how can he just want you so bad, at the wrong moment, wrong place, and how can he allow your loyalty to lie with him while his is miles away?

he has forbidden himself to touch you. he was a madman now -looking like he has been hit with sex pollen when really, it is the thought of coming back to you that had unravelled him so bad. and yet he still has to push you away. he doesn’t ‘give in’, he can’t possibly entertain that idea.

he has never allowed himself much, in how whole life. he prohibited any unnecessary physical contact between the two of you; but selfishly, he allows for his cravings for you to remain, buried deep, entertaining the idea of trailing kisses up your back, to map your body with his hands, and most importantly to hold you close. he wants you. so, so bad.

for a wild, desperate moment, breathing heavy with the burden of his needs, he fantasises of Hawkman and Hawkgirl, a love so destined it defies death, circling through the ages to reunite. maybe it was like that. maybe it was an Atalantean version of that storyline. his affection is something independent of him, for sure. it must be.

but Kaldur’ahm isn’t a man of myths; he was a man of facts. he’s no immortal lover, he is just a soldier.

so he tells himself it is loneliness, or hormones, pathetic excuses (can hormones still be blamed for a grown man’s urges?) that he holds onto as a choked sound escapes him underwater. his gills flare, the water feeling suddenly like it isn’t enough. maybe he needs fresh air. most likely -he needs for this mess to solve itself. more likely even -he needs air from your lungs. he needs to breathe you in to feel like his respiratory systems work properly.

he doesn’t have any solutions in mind, just an overwhelming feeling of wronging people he cares about no matter the outcome of any choice he’ll make starting from now on. if he restraints himself, it’s only fair he gets to indulge in the absolution in your eyes when you look up at him, unknowing that he was a fraud.

and how unfair, that the enemy’s side turned out to be not full of spineless motherfuckers, but to have you amongst its troops, with your intellect and complex mind, how unfair that you walked these halls and not Poseidonis’s. yet the most painful part was that he knew, with certainty, that he is going to let himself bleed that way until it ends. he will ache voluntarily, and carry these wants until the end of this mission, and then he’ll let it go. he has to, he can’t figure out another way.

only when he wraps his mind around that fact is he able to get up from the sand and head towards those damn hallways, single-drop tears invisible in the water as they formed in the corner of his eyes. with that mindset, the persuasion of becoming no better than a monster, he steps inside the ship.

you greet him when he steps inside Manta’s poorly decorated office, who had gotten ahold of you when you were leaning against a wall, trying hard to find composure after a few tears, so the rest of the crew wouldn’t see those.

because it’s gotten hard, trying not to ask any questions. knowing he had a whole life going on on the side, no matter what kind, and you couldn’t be part of it. because as soon as you had stepped foot on the ship, you had wanted to swim back out there and order him to tell you everything, because no matter what the truth is, you know you’re able to handle it. you want him whole, in a pure and lustful way, and it burns, it aches, and fuck it if you don’t know he feels the same.

he puts a hand, once again, in the back of your neck, because Manta is asking about absences and unnecessary outings. you can’t focus on the explanations your officer in command is nicely putting together. you want the warmth of his palm not on your neck but cradling your cheek; to trace the line of his jaw, to feel the tension there melt under your touch. you wanted to kiss him until neither of you could remember the excuses you both had made to keep one away from the other.

but you could be, too, a monument to restraint. you bottle up like no one else can. you hide your feelings better than Kaldur’ahm did. and you two were talented, with hiding and bottling up and being unassuming and suffering in silence.

before you knew it, you have exited the office, an uncomfortable warmth coiling low in your stomach.

“i’m unwell,” you announced. “i’ll be resting, do not-” you cut yourself off with a sigh, weary. “please, do not wake me up, i will meet you at 7 in the morning. tomorrow.” he hesitates.

then tilts his head and puts a hand on your forehead. “we did go near preschoolers last time. maybe you’ve caught a cold-” your hand reaches to place itself on his wrist, lwoering it. “not, it’s not a cold. i’ll handle it myself, thanks for your concern -i’ll see you. tomorrow.” his fingers curl, like he didn’t want to stop holding on.

but he drops it, both his hand and the topic, and gives a curt nod, which you reciprocate before leaving, back straight and shoulders squared. he doesn’t watch you go, instead fixates on a fingernail on the ground.

he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep this up. you don’t either.

taglist | @saintblk @fanficwritersworld @matildavol6 @chibitronxoxo @hikari-michiko @jayteacups @izzyloveslobsters @g1oba1_s1ore

notes | i might post part 3 before part 2 ngl i suck at writing sm*t

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