This is inspired by @itsabouttimex2’s ship ratings post! She’s done one for Sun Wukong and Macaque so I figured why not throw my hat into the ring?
Peachtea
Name rating: A solid 7/10. It’s cute, simple, and gives a warm cozy feeling— which is fitting for 90% of the content for this ship. I take points off for the tea part— there’s this trend with Tang ships that seems to have lasted from 2022-2023 where they for some reason had tea in it? Why? Tang has nothing to do with tea, he’s never even mentioned it onscreen. Tangypeaches is MUCH better but it’s not as widely used, so.
Canon rating: 7/10. They have some cute moments mostly in season 2-3, and like… come on. Tang draws him and the Monkey King in a heart. He’s dedicated his life to studying the Journey to the West it seems. He passed his interest onto MK. This man is down bad. Points were taken off because Tang and Sun Wukong rarely have any meaningful interactions past season 3, where everyone gets shuffled into tropey boxes for the writers to rely on pre existing dynamics rather than write new ones. It’s not all bad (Wukong calling Tang Jangles my beloved) but season 4-5 really undercuts any cute potential dynamics there are.
Fanon rating: 5/10. Look. 90% of Peachtea content is just Tripsun in a trenchcoat. Tang being treated the same as Tang Sanzang by being his reincarnation, au’s where Tang is Sanzang, au’s where Sun Wukong had been in love with Tripitaka, etc. there’s some good stuff floating around, but it’s frustrating if you like Tang to see him get conflated and outright replaced with some other guy who barely has any screentime. Tang is shown to be insecure over being Tripitaka’s reincarnation, and you really think he’d be okay with Sun Wukong only liking him because Tang is his former master’s reincarnation?
Personal enjoyment: 9/10. I leave one point off just because I try to save room for extremes, but I love these two a lot! Honestly I’m one of the few who don’t ship Peachtea and Tripsun, and fewer who is fascinated by these two in rough settings! The fluff is adorable, but I’m fascinated by these two when they’re making each other worse, going through hell to be together, staying by each other’s side in the face of adversary, etc. I tend to like ships because they’re such interesting dynamics, especially when put in interesting situations. Plus… they’re little mischievous bastards. They can be bitchy old men TOGETHER. As a treat. And after all the slander and strays Sun Wukong catches in this show, he can have a truly dedicated simp. As a treat.
Freenoodles
Name rating: 11/10. Look. I may not be a Freenoodles person, but I must admit that whoever came up with this name cooked. Genuinely iconic. This name is perfect. Whoever made this cooked at such a magnitude that only Pigsy can surpass it. Short, catchy, and fits their character and also their dynamic wonderfully.
Canon rating: 8/10. Pretty cute! It's very obvious the writers and animators view them as a couple, so how they appear on screen reflects it. They're always next to each other, hanging off each other, touching or holding the other. They genuinely love and respect each other and have a believable history. They raised a kid together. Romantic or platonic there is great chemistry. I will admit- sometimes they're a little flat. Because they're 100% healthy, that means all they can really be used for is fluffy, any angst comes from a third party. While it's a healthy dynamic, it doesn't make for the best stories, similar to how the reason most relationships in any show are 'unhealthy' by our irl standards is because it wouldn't be a good story otherwise. Plus, the writers prioritize their dynamic over literally anything else their characters could do, so they end up feeling flat and removed from the crew because time they could’ve spent with other characters is instead just used for shipping fuel and reusing the same dynamic— Freenoodles has barely changed at all from season 1 to season 5. Oh, sure, Pigsy has had minor character development and Tang has powers now, but how does that affect their relationship? We can only speculate.
Fanon rating: 5/10. The stuff for Freenoodles is generally very good and sweet and largely faithful to their characters. points are just taken off because of how inescapable it is. It's similar to Shadowpeach- though it honestly may even be worse! You want to explore Pigsy or Tang outside of each other? Lol. Lmao, even. These two are paired up in every fanart. If they're not the focus they're being romantic in the background. And same goes for fics! Oh, and none of it is tagged, of course not! Because it's totally canon guys, just pair them up in the background of every fic. It's not like people care about them outside of being the token old gay couple, right?
Personal enjoyment: -9/10. I can read fics and look at art of them without caring, but overall I just. Don't like it. It's not even against the ship itself- it's just so damn pervasive and inescapable that it's hell trying to find things for Tang outside of his assigned husband. They're cute, but given that I personally don't really go with the fandom flow, they've become a source of annoyance.
Inkypages
Name rating: 9/10. Pretty solid! While Macaque's thing is more shadows instead of ink, given Tang's whole vibe it fits together pretty well to give us a short, catchy, and summative name.
Canon rating: 2/10. Macaque is generally unpleasant to Tang, what with throwing him around, forcing him to do something he doesn't want to do, and insulting him to his face. There is potential here, even if it's just conflict between these two in an incredibly unhealthy relationship. Ships that are only conflict can be fun! But given that Macaque has shown zero remorse but we're supposed to act like he did, that brings the rating down. It would be much more interesting if these two openly disliked each other, leaving room for them to grow fond of each other or get worse.
Fanon rating: 5/10. Most of it is pretty cute oneshot style stuff. The art of them is always pleasant to look at, and they can work in the occasional fic. And the art of Macaque actually being manipulative towards Tang while liking him? Delicious. However there is plenty of content out there with these two that just demonizes Wukong for literally no reason, not to mention a lot of people just sort of forget about what Macaque did instead of acknowledging it and moving past it.
Personal enjoyment: 7/10. It used to be higher, back when I liked Macaque more, but these two are still dear to me a little. The short sweet things with them are cute, though I personally am starved for material with these two being in a more unhealthy relationship. Macaque is canonically obsessive, cruel, and manipulative. There's something there to be used with those traits! Put Tang through the horrors! Put Macaque through the horrors! I promise it will be fun writing this monkey as a bastard while also in a relationship.
Jasminetea
Name rating: 8/10. Again, Tang having tea for his ship name makes little sense, but it works much better here. I can see him and Sandy sharing a cup of tea while on the latter's boat, and it's very on brand for Sandy, even if it leaves Tang a little lacking.
Canon rating: 4/10. Sandy clearly cares about Tang, but it's not much different with how he loves the rest of the gang. Sandy is very underdeveloped, leaving most of his relationships feeling shallow. He and Tang knew each other back in the day, but for some reason they don't act like it. They're basically strangers, with no allusions to the bond they might've once shared as young adults.
Fanon rating: 2/10. It barely exists. There's some gems of art here and there, but otherwise there's not much.
Personal enjoyment: 7/10. Very adorable! I love delving into the potential past they've shared, how these two would've been when they were younger. Was Tang as fragile then as he is now? How did a more violent and less restrained Sandy deal with that? And then reuniting in canon can be explored through so many different avenues. Even exploring one of Sandy's relationships can give him some sorely needed depth.
Plus, imagining these two in modern day in mundane sweet situations is a genuine treat. Tang relaxing on Sandy’s boat, claiming the cat’s favorite couch for himself, Sandy patiently listening to Tang’s tall tales and grand stories, Tang finding therapy and self help books for him… Plus, if these two got in a relationship, Tang would never waste time waking again. He’s sitting on Sandy’s shoulders for the rest of time, and Sandy would let him. (There’s also something that could be done with Sandy’s overindulgent nature. Does he do that because he’s worried setting any boundaries or encouraging his loved ones to get better might drive them off? Might make him a ‘monster’ again? So many possibilities…)
Ghostlyscholar
Name rating: 10/10. The ghost fits the Mayor’s aesthetic very well, and the scholar is a great choice for Tang’s part of the ship name. This is used interchangeably with Ghostscholar, but they’re basically the same.
Canon rating: 1/10. Tang canonically thinks of the Mayor as creepy, and is one of the few characters to comment on his unsettlingness. There was definitely a missed opportunity to have the characters react to the Mayor of their city working with the Lady Bone Demon, but the characters… never really react. They don’t even see the Mayor until the special. That one point is there because of the collar grab. Tang really did grab this man by the collar and get in his face. Old man was ready to throw down with the man who hurt his friends.
Fanon rating: 2/10. It barely exists! What little art there is of them is really good, and they barely exist in fanfiction outside of short oneshot requests. I’m very picky about how the Mayor is written— he’s not solely insane, but sometimes people make him too… normal and nice. That man is clinically insane and he’s loving it.
Personal enjoyment: 10/10. I love these two. They live in my head rent free. The Mayor is already a unique character, but pairing him with Tang opens up for hilarity and angst. Tang growing used to his quirks and oddities, writing them all off because Tang is comfortable, and he likes the Mayor. And then that illusion of comfort and domesticity is shattered in season 3. I really love the idea of Tang recontextualizing his relationship with the Mayor after season 3, every memory now tainted with the knowledge of what exactly the Mayor has been capable of. Tang got used to seeing him as his odd, slightly unhinged, but doting lover. Seeing how cold and vicious the Mayor can actually be is a very fun idea.
And the fact that the Mayor is willing to harm Tang and loves him is not separate— they coexist. The Mayor loves Tang, but he will never prioritize him above the Lady Bone Demon. He sees Tang as his— in the same way you would think of your heart or liver as yours. And, similar to his heart, the Mayor is fully ready and willing to offer up Tang the moment LBD asks. Possessiveness and obsession mixed with a willingness to harm? Oh yeah, I love the potential dynamic. Not to mention the Mayor’s potential manipulativeness, keeping Tang away from his friends and to himself. The casual insidousness of it all, to the point that Tang doesn’t notice or think anything is even wrong. He doesn’t want to go to work, and the rest of the house is always so cold, and it seems to get colder whenever Tang brings up going back to his own apartment. Nothing can be done besides going back to their shared bed and curling up under the blankets.
Plus the fact that the Mayor… can’t really be redeemed. He is insane and crazy entirely of his own volition. He can’t be redeemed because he doesn’t want to be. He’s happy how he is. The best Tang is going to get is the Mayor being an asshole black cat, who’s only less dangerous because he’s following someone who is less likely to ask him to commit acts of violence, not because he’s suddenly less capable of it. Even in scenarios where they have never been together before season 3, the idea of Tang getting pestered and stalked by an asshole street cat is very funny and very ripe for possibilities of all kinds.
Also, come on— if Tang and the Mayor got married prior to season 3, that would make the Mayor MK’s stepdad. And you know that they both hate it. Poor MK, it’s bad luck that one of the worst villains you can deal with can also pull the “I fucked your dad” card.
Memorypages
Name rating: 6/10. It’s a bit harder to rank this one because… I’m the one who made their ship name. I may be a bit biased. I think this works well enough, with Tang’s scholar vibe and Azure’s access to the Scroll of Memory. It fits them pretty well, enough to work as a ship name.
Canon rating: 1/10. Azure tells Peng to not kill Tang but that’s about it. Tang never shows any opinion on Azure outside of mentioning his threat level or convincing Yellowtusk to stand down, and Azure’s kinda busy the whole season to really think about anyone beyond his sworn brothers, Sun Wukong, and MK. They’re not openly hostile or enemies but they’re certainly not friendly.
Fanon rating: 2/10. There is one (1) fanart for these two that is adorable but that’s it. There are a few fics but most of them are smut, which is totally fine but it’s not all that makes a ship. I have gotten a few mutuals into the ship, resulting in some more art, but most of it lives on in my private DM’s so I won’t count it here.
Personal enjoyment: 10/10. Yeah so I love these two a lot. There’s something to be said about Azure’s blind devotion and Tang’s low (almost self destructive) self-esteem. These two, pre or post season 4, are open to tons of interpretations. A post season 4 AU where Azure lives can be very interesting, where he and Tang grow closer. There’s also the hilarity of Azure being a former Sun Wukong simp and Tang being a current(?) Sun Wukong simp. Birds of a feather flock together /j
The way theirs flaws can interact is also something to consider. Tang is lazy, insecure, and longs for affirmation. Azure is obsessive, devoted, and far far too indulgent and makes excuses for the people he cares about. These flaws can work together to make eachother worse— and better yet, Azure’s flaws can have a more outward negative impact on Tang, with his stifling love. Tang isn’t the same as Wukong— there is definitely room for some accidental infantilization and condescension on Azure’s part. Also… look, tiny weak human and large lion man. Tang can be short tempered and bitchy while Azure holds a bit more patience and is gentler. It’s funny and charming.
Of course, these two growing and working on their flaws together to create a genuinely very sweet and loving relationship is also nice. Tang can be mature— he just often chooses not to be. Their naps must be great, and I can see Tang getting some interesting facts and knowledge out of Azure. (And similar to Jasminetea, Tang is never going to walk if he can help it. He’s laying his head on his boyfriend’s warm mane, golden like the sun, and riding on his shoulders. Azure would enable it.)
Goldenscholars
Name rating: 9/10. Again, I named these two, but I think this works really well! Yellowtusk’s tusks are close to a golden shade, and Tang’s powers are a very bright gold. They’re both intelligent people and well-read, capable of talking for hours on end uninterrupted.
Canon rating: 5/10. Tang does glare at Yellowtusk when the latter is taken away (for some reason, despite the fact that Macaque gets a pass from Tang) but these two have a genuinely civil and honest conversation, as civil as it can be in the midst of a battle. Tang protects Yellowtusk from the scroll pieces Azure throws around, and manages to help convince him to help the Monkie Crew. Plus, characters acknowledging when another did something bad! There’s potential there!
Fanon rating: 1/10. There’s nothing there babes. There is one fanart and that is it. This fandom is full of fake old man yaoi lovers.
Personal enjoyment: 8/10. These two are sweet! Yellowtusk is a bit underdeveloped compared to some of his brothers, but he’s a very good character as is. I can see Tang visiting Yellowtusk in prison to talk to him, keep him company while he’s shut away by the very institution he tried to overthrow and reform. Tang barely reaches up above Yellowtusk’s waist, and Yellowtusk can hold this man in the palm of his hand. Him and the husband he has to hold when they bathe.
It is genuinely tragic that by the end of season 4, Yellowtusk is completely alone. His brothers are all either dead or have moved on. It’s just him. Let him have the gang’s dilf, you know, as a treat. In all seriousness these two would actually work well together. Yellowtusk seems to carry some amount of respect for Tang, and Tang is capable of being civil and reaching out to Yellowtusk. These two would talk with eachother until the oceans ran dry, with Tang spinning tall tales and Yellowtusk telling them. They would have a great time keeping eachother company, growing closer over tea and studies. Their similarities make their contrasts greater as well: Tang is vibrant and sassy, blunt to the point of rude. Yellowtusk is more tactful and calm, but no less emotional or intense. Let these two old men wind down next to eachother and fall asleep together. They’ve earned it.
SnakeEyes
Name rating: 7/10. Yeah so I named these two (are you noticing a pattern yet) but I think it works well, even if it is a bit on the nose. Xiangliu is a snake and the eyes part is a reference to Tang’s glasses, as well as being a reference to a roll you can get on a dice.
Canon rating: 0/10. Xiangliu slams Tang into a wall and then convinces his son figure that it’s cool for him to die for the sake of the world as long as he wants to. Tang outright says “let’s fight this guy”.
Fanon rating: 0/10. Yeah so you know how most of these other ships, despite the lack of content, still have at least one piece? Yeah I made these two out of nothing. Everything that exists for them was made by me or exists because I got a mutual into the ship.
Personal enjoyment: 20/10. Ughhhhhhhh. These two man. They’re ridiculous but I love writing for them so so so much. What’s funny is that while Xiangliu is an unknown creature hailing from a world beyond, powerful and mysterious, Tang is just… a guy. He’s some dude. Sure he happens to be the reincarnation of Golden Cicada, but he’s relatively normal.
“I want to crawl under your skin and never leave, to be one with you so that we may never be separated or apart…”
“Um. Haha that’s cool. Do you wanna makeout instead.”
These two are surprisingly similar in the vein that they just… do what they want. Xiangliu is far louder and destructive about his desires, but Tang really is living by vibes 90% of the time. It’s a nice thought— Xiangliu able to slow down and appreciate life without being caged at the same time. Briefly pulled from his distaste and numbness to the world around him and just enjoying something small. Something largely meaningless. But something valuable nonetheless, if he wants it to be. Tang finds value and desire in smaller things, perhaps meaningless things. But he’s very earnest about what he wants, and for all his complaining and sass he’s a genuinely kind man at heart.
I think they’d work well together in softer moments— Tang’s relatively calm when not in a life or death situation, and I think his serenity and sloth would actually do well for Xiangliu, who literally stutters whenever he gets nervous or unsure. It can be inferred that he’s not used to being listened to and is rushing to get the words out, now that nobody can interrupt or insult him. Tang would love to hear him talk, hear him speak of ancient stories and millennia old gossip.
And of course, the wonderful tragedy of “I love you. But I will not stay in a cage for anyone, even for you.” And “I love you. But I will not forsake everything I have and everything I could be just so I can stay with you.”
(And Tang being in a constant loop of reincarnation… something something What if you were an ever constant cycle of death and rebirth and I was dedicated to destroying the world’s cycle of death and rebirth that I’ve grown so tired of. What if I was dedicated to ending cycles in the name of a futile hope for freedom and your very existence was a cycle, and we were in love?)
Also, to end on a blunt note, Xiangliu can be a bastard. He’s sneaky and mischievous. Him and Tang interacting, with their bitchiness and bastard tendencies colliding, would be very entertaining. They’re either on a similar wavelength or completely off.
Summary: You are a deep-cover G.I. Joe operative who spent eighteen months inside Cobra seducing Storm-Shadow, the Arashikage assassin. The mission ends in handcuffs, interrogation rooms, and a final reckoning that neither of you can walk away from unchanged.
word count: 8000+
Paring: Storm-Shadow x Reader
warnings: Angst, Mentions of Sex, Blood
A/N : Hello Friends! I had this idea for a betrayal fic for a while and I finally got around to writing it! I hope you like it!
Masterlist
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
The rain fell in sheets, thick and relentless, turning the derelict warehouse on the industrial edge of Tokyo into a cavern of echoing drips and shifting shadows. Corroded steel beams groaned overhead, and the air smelled of rust, wet concrete, and the faint ozone of distant lightning. You stood motionless in the center of the open floor, your black tactical gear blending with the gloom, heartbeat steady from years of training. Eighteen months of living as a Cobra operative—feeding them just enough real intel to stay alive, climbing ranks, smiling at Destro’s cold calculations, laughing at Baroness’s barbed jokes—had all led to this single night.
You had planted the false lead yourself: an encrypted Cobra channel message claiming the Cobra Agent the woman Storm Shadow had come to call his own, had been snatched by a G.I. Joe strike team during a botched arms deal. You knew he would come. Tommy Arashikage did not leave his people behind, least of all the one he had let past every wall he had ever built.
A faint scrape of boot leather on wet metal—barely audible over the rain—told you he was here. You didn’t move. From the catwalk above, he descended like smoke, white gi stained gray with city grime, twin katanas crossed on his back, hood low over eyes that could cut steel. He landed twenty feet away, scanning the darkness with the predator’s calm that had earned him the name Storm Shadow.
Then he saw you.
Relief flashed across his face so raw it almost hurt to witness. The tension in his shoulders melted; the swords stayed sheathed. He crossed the distance in three silent strides, rain dripping from his hood onto your upturned face.
“My Love,” he breathed, voice low and rough with fear he would never admit to anyone else. His gloved hands rose—slow, careful, as though you were made of porcelain—and cupped your cheeks. “Tell me you are unharmed. I received the transmission—Joe forces, extraction team—God, I thought—”
You let him touch you. Let him search your eyes for the woman he had fallen in love with. Let the moment stretch just long enough for the trap to spring.
Your face remained unreadable. Training. Muscle memory. The mask you had worn for months.
In one fluid motion you twisted inside his guard, palm striking the nerve cluster at his wrist while your other hand swept his legs. He hit the concrete hard, the wet slap echoing like a gunshot. Before he could roll, you had both katanas out of their saya and your knee planted between his shoulder blades. Cold steel handcuffs—Joe-issue, reinforced titanium—snapped around his wrists.
His body went rigid beneath you.
Confusion. Then betrayal. Then something far worse—something that looked like the death of hope.
“Y/N,” he whispered, the name he had only ever used in private now a curse.
The warehouse doors exploded inward. Floodlights sliced through the rain. Duke’s voice cracked over the comms: “Go, go, go!” Thirty Joes in full tactical poured in, rifles up, boots splashing. Roadblock and Lady Jaye flanked the entry, Cover Girl on overwatch. Duke himself strode straight to you, rain streaming off his helmet.
“Outstanding work, Agent,” he said, clapping a gloved hand on your shoulder. “You just bagged the Arashikage’s deadliest ghost. Cobra’s going to feel this one for years.”
Storm Shadow—Tommy—didn’t struggle as they hauled him up. He only looked back at you once as they dragged him toward the waiting armored transport. Rain mixed with the blood from a split lip you hadn’t meant to give him. His dark eyes locked on yours across the chaos, and in them you saw every stolen moment, every whispered promise, every night he had let the mask fall. Then the doors slammed shut and he was gone.
You stood in the downpour, chest hollow, wondering how long it would take for the ache to kill you.
The memory hit you like a blade between the ribs while the transport rumbled away.
Months earlier. Cobra’s underground training complex beneath the Yokohama docks. You had been “recruited” through a carefully forged dossier—ex-special forces, disillusioned with G.I. Joe bureaucracy, looking for a cause that paid better and asked fewer questions. They bought it. Barely.
Your first assignment: shadow the Arashikage for a high-value extraction in the Shinjuku underworld. You expected a cold machine. You met a man who moved like poetry written in violence.
He had tested you immediately. In a rain-slicked alley behind a shuttered ramen shop, two Yakuza enforcers tried to jump the deal. Tommy dispatched them in four heartbeats—silent, efficient, beautiful. You covered his six without being told. When the last man dropped, he turned, mask half-lowered, one eyebrow arched.
“You do not flinch,” he observed, voice like smoke over gravel. “Most new operatives do.”
You shrugged, wiping blood from your cheek. “I’ve seen worse. I’ve done worse.”
He studied you a long moment. Then, almost reluctantly, he offered the smallest nod. “Names are liabilities. But tonight you may call me Tommy.”
That was the first crack in the armor.
Over the next weeks the cracks widened. Late-night strategy sessions in dimly lit safehouses. Shared sake in hidden izakayas where no Cobra insignia showed. He began teaching you Arashikage forms—kata that had never been shared outside the clan. You let him see pieces of the “real” you: fabricated childhood trauma, a fake dead brother, rage at the Joes for abandoning allies. Lies wrapped so tightly around truth that even you sometimes forgot which was which.
Week after week the fracture widened. He taught you the Arashikage breathing forms in a moonlit rooftop garden above Shinjuku, his hands guiding yours through the slow, lethal movements. Every correction was gentle; every praise was quiet and earned. You felt the mission slipping away each time his fingers lingered on your wrist a second longer than necessary. You started waking up reaching for a body that wasn’t supposed to be there. The handler’s voice in your earpiece during check-ins began to sound like static compared to the low rumble of Tommy saying your name like it was the only prayer he still believed in. You were falling. God help you, you were falling so hard the drop felt like flying.
Tokyo alleys became your sanctuary. One night after a brutal raid on a Joe supply cache, adrenaline still singing in your veins, he pulled you into the shadow of a neon-lit pachinko parlor. Rain hissed on the pavement. His hood was back, black hair damp against his forehead, scar across his left cheek gleaming silver.
“You are dangerous,” he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. “To Cobra. To me.”
Then he kissed you—slow, deliberate, as though committing the taste to memory. You kissed him back because the mission demanded it. You kissed him back because the ache in your chest demanded it too.
The first time you made love was three months later in a penthouse overlooking the bay—neutral territory, paid for in untraceable Cobra gold. A summer thunderstorm raged outside, lightning strobing through floor-to-ceiling windows. The room smelled of rain and sandalwood incense he had lit himself.
He had removed the mask completely for the first time. You saw the man, not the legend: the faint lines at the corners of his eyes from years of squinting into rifle scopes, the small tattoo of the Arashikage tattoo on his arm, the way his hands trembled—just once—when he reached for you.
You stood barefoot on cool tatami, rain lashing the glass. He crossed the room like a shadow given form, fingers tracing the zipper of your tactical jacket as though it were sacred.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your throat, voice raw. “And I will.”
You didn’t.
Clothes fell away in a slow dance of fabric and lightning. His skin was warm, scarred, alive. He laid you down on the wide bed as thunder rolled overhead, every movement reverent. When he entered you, it was with a single, shuddering breath that sounded like a prayer. You arched into him, nails digging into the muscle of his back, and for the first time in eighteen months you forgot the mission entirely. There was only the storm outside and the storm inside—his mouth on yours, his hips rolling in a rhythm as ancient as the clan he came from, your name—your real name—falling from his lips like a confession.
Afterward he held you while the rain slowed to a whisper, fingers tracing idle patterns on your spine.
“I have killed for less than the trust I have given you tonight,” he said quietly. “Do not make me regret it.”
You kissed the scar on his chest and lied beautifully. “Never.”
The memory dissolved as the transport doors opened at the secure G.I. Joe black site—an anonymous government building on the outskirts of the city, all concrete and steel and one-way glass. They marched him straight to interrogation room seven. You watched from the observation chamber, arms crossed tight over your chest, Duke beside you.
Tommy sat handcuffed to the table, white gi torn at the shoulder, blood drying on his temple. He stared directly at the mirror. Straight at you. Even though the glass was opaque from his side, he knew. His eyes—dark, ancient, unblinking—burned through the barrier like twin katanas.
He refused to speak to anyone else. Not Duke. Not the psych evaluator. Not the Cobra defector they brought in for leverage. For six straight hours he sat in silence until the interrogators were ready to tear their hair out.
Finally Duke sighed. “He wants you. Only you. Your call, Agent.”
You walked into the room alone. The door hissed shut behind you. The air was cold, sterile, smelling of disinfectant and old fear. Tommy lifted his head. The betrayal carved into his face was deeper than any scar the Arashikage had ever given him.
You leaned forward, keeping your posture textbook—shoulders square, eyes flat, the perfect interrogator. The red light on the wall camera blinked steadily; you knew Duke was on the other side of the glass watching. “Let’s make this quick, Arashikage. Cobra’s new weapons cache in the old subway tunnels beneath Roppongi—give me the access codes and the guard rotation. You do that and things get easier for you.”
He didn’t even blink at the question. His dark gaze stayed locked on yours like the glass between you didn’t exist. “You still wear the same perfume,” he said softly, voice carrying that same smoky gravel it always had in private. “I would know it in my sleep. Did you wear it tonight so I would remember what your skin smelled like when you lied in my arms?”
Your jaw tightened. You could feel Duke’s stare burning through the mirror. “Focus. The cache. Codes. Now.”
A ghost of a smile—bitter, devastated—touched his mouth. “You used to trace the scars on my chest with your tongue after we made love. You told me it felt like home. Was that in the mission brief too, Agent? Or did you improvise the part where you whispered you’d never leave me?”
Heat crawled up your neck. You forced it down, voice clipped and professional. “Cobra’s next strike on the Pacific fleet—Baroness’s timetable. Talk or we move to enhanced measures.”
He leaned as far forward as the cuffs allowed, voice dropping to the intimate register that used to melt you in Tokyo alleys. “I still taste you when I close my eyes. The way you said my name—like it was the only word that mattered. You’re sitting there pretending none of it happened while I’m chained to this table, and all I want to know is whether you were ever afraid I would love you too much to let you go.”
You stepped closer to the table, the sound of your boots loud enough to echo. “This is not a therapy session. You are an enemy combatant. Give me the fleet timetable or—”
“Or what?” he interrupted, eyes glistening but steady. “You’ll leave again? You already did. You left the moment you put these cuffs on me and handed me over to the joes. I just want the truth before they lock me away forever. Did you love me even for one second, or was every moan, every ‘I’m yours’ just excellent acting?”
Your throat closed. Behind the glass you knew they were recording every syllable. You swallowed hard, kept your face blank, and repeated the only safe words you had left: “The cache codes. That’s all I’m asking for.”
He sat back slowly, the chains rattling. The heartbreak on his face was so raw it hurt to look at, but his voice never wavered. “Then I have nothing to say to anyone but the woman I fell in love with. Until she admits she fell too, Cobra can burn for all I care.”
You stepped away from the table, your voice level. “It was a mission, Tommy. Deep cover. Get close to the Arashikage asset. End Cobra’s most dangerous operative. None of it was real.”
The words landed like bullets. You watched the impact travel across his features—jaw tightening, eyes narrowing, then the slow, terrible realization that every kiss, every night, every “I love you” had been spoken by a ghost.
You were good at lying. Years of training. Micro-expressions locked down. Heart rate steady. He searched your face the way a drowning man searches for shore and found nothing.
Before you turned to leave, he asked the question you had been dreading.
“Did you feel anything?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Anything at all. Ever.”
You turned your head, stared at the wall. “No.”
The single word hung in the air like smoke after an explosion. You walked out without looking back.
That night the debrief dragged on for hours—after-action reports, psychological eval, commendations from General Hawk himself. You hadn’t slept in thirty-one hours. Your body felt like lead wrapped in barbed wire. When they finally released you, you stumbled down the dimly lit corridor to the temporary bunk room assigned to field agents: a ten-by-ten concrete box with a narrow cot, a locker, and a single fluorescent bulb.
You closed the door, leaned against it, and began shrugging out of your jacket. The fabric stuck to your skin with dried sweat and rain.
A presence.
You felt it before you heard it—the shift of air, the faint scent of steel and rain and the sandalwood he always carried. You spun.
Storm Shadow stood three feet away in the shadows beside the locker, sword already drawn, the edge resting feather-light against the side of your throat. How he had escaped maximum-security restraints, bypassed every camera and guard, and reached this room in under two hours was impossible. But he was Arashikage. Impossible was what they did.
You froze. “How did you—”
He ignored the question. His voice was low, dangerous, and trembling at the edges.
“Was it all a lie?”
You didn’t answer.
“Was it all a lie?” he repeated, stepping closer. The sword never wavered. “Did you lie when you said you loved me?”
“Yes,” you forced out. The word tasted like ash.
The mask—literal and figurative—slipped. His breath heaved. He moved until the blade kissed your skin and his chest nearly brushed yours.
“Liar.”
“I don’t love you,” you said, voice steady even as your pulse hammered.
“Liar!” he yelled this time. You flinched despite yourself.
His free hand rose, trembling, and brushed a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. He was so close now you could see the faint tremor in his lower lip, the way his eyes glistened with something far more dangerous than rage.
“Tell me you love me,” he ordered, soft as a prayer.
“I don’t.”
The tears came faster. You couldn’t stop them.
“Tell me,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours, sword still at your throat. “Tell me you love me, and I will walk away forever if that is what you truly want. But say it and mean it.”
The dam broke.
“I love you,” you choked out, voice shattering. “God help me, Tommy, I love you. I fell in love with you somewhere between the first alley kiss and the night the thunder rolled over the bay. Every moment was real. Every touch. Every promise. I tried—I tried so hard not to—but I love you.”
For one heartbeat the world stopped.
Then he laughed—bitter, broken, the sound of a heart that had just been carved open and shown the wound. “I know,” he said simply.
The sword clattered to the floor. His hands seized your face with desperate gentleness, thumbs wiping at your tears, and he kissed you like a man drowning. It tasted of rain and blood and goodbye. His lips moved against yours with the same reverence as that first night in the penthouse, but now there was an edge of finality, of possession and loss braided together so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
When he pulled back, his eyes were wet.
“This isn’t over,” he whispered against your mouth. “I will find you again. And when the storm comes for you next time, it will be on my terms. Not Cobra’s. Not Joe’s. Mine.”
He released you. Turned. The door opened and closed without a sound.
He was gone.
You stood alone in the small room, sword lying at your feet like a broken promise. You could have hit the panic button. Could have screamed for security. Could have ended the greatest threat to G.I. Joe right then.
Instead you sank onto the cot, buried your face in your hands, and cried until there were no tears left—only the hollow echo of thunder in your chest and the knowledge that somewhere out in the night, the man you loved was already planning his revenge.
