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so-long-soldier-writes · 1 year ago

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The Agreement

kai parker x reader | requested by @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie back when i asked for fluffy prompts bc i was having a hard month

summary: helping kai adjust to a normal life has its ups and downs, but he, of course, always wins in the end.

tags: domesticity, adjusting to normal life, lots of comfort & cuddling, gemini coven lore, minor indirect mention of abortion where kai's being a dick, but he's mostly soft in this fic, bartender!kai, mentions of alcohol, minor bar fight, minor mention of assault, accidental murder, protective!kai, protective!damon, bonnie is kinda mean in this one, damon secretly wants to be friends with kai, angst & fluff ish

word count: ~9.9k

a/n: this is so cheesy and somewhat choppy but bare with me 😅

You, Damon, and Bonnie have made a deal. Neither will kill Kai, as long as you can help the witch settle into a new life in Mystic Falls. Those are the terms made, and boy, are they hard to get.

“You can’t fix him, Y/N. He’s beyond fucked up,” Bonnie scoffs, “and I don’t want to be partly responsible if I were to make some crazy deal with you that goes wrong.”

“I just want him to try and have a normal life, Bon. He spent twenty years in an abusive household and another twenty years in isolation. He has no idea what normalcy is.”

“By the sound of that, he’s too far gone for you to even try.”

“Just give me a chance to work with him!”

“I don’t even like you being with him! He’s going to hurt you, and I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I haven’t given him a reason to hurt me, Bon.”

“He doesn’t need a reason. He just does things.”

“Well, in that case, I’ve given him a reason not to hurt me. I’m the only one willing to try and help him adjust.”

“Y/N-”

“I see the point you’re making, Y/N,” Damon interrupts his best friend, “but are you really going to put all this work in for him? Seriously?”

“Yes! I don’t get why you guys are so against this. I’m helping you out; I’m giving you one less person to worry about that could raise hell in this town.”

“He already has-”

“Bonnie, please.”

“It would be easier to just kill him.”

“Bonnie!”

“Look at him! He’s plotting right now! No one is quiet for that long unless they’re plotting something.”

You sigh and turn to follow her gaze. Kai is sitting on a barstool, in the room of the boarding house that’s surrounded by windows, watching snow fall.

“He’s just observing!”

“Sure he is.”

“And he’s probably trying to tune out this conversation, too. I’d be, if people were talking about me, and two of them wanted to kill me.”

Bonnie gives you a hard glare.

“Four months,” Damon says suddenly.

“What?”

“You have four months to get him settled.”

“Don’t give me a deadline. It took you longer than four months to stop killing people when you got back to town. And the only reason you did is because Elena finally fell for you. But then every time she dumps you, you kill people again.”

“Thanks for the summary.”

“My point is, I might need longer than four months. I can start with the killing stuff first, teach him he can’t do that, but getting him on his feet might be some work.”

“Easy. Pull the chair out, he’ll figure it out.”

“Damon-”

“I know what you meant. Fine. Six months max. If he’s still (A) killing people, (B) in my house every time I come down for a cup of coffee, or (C) a complete and utter basket-case, by that time, then he’s,” Damon makes the gesture of a throat being slit, “done. No more killing, no more kidnapping, no more terrorizing. Got it?”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes at his insistent face. “Got it.”

“In return, I, nor Bonnie, will kill him unless you take longer or he goes off the rails.”

“You guys do you know you can’t kill him, right? If he dies, so does Jo, so does Liv. Alaric will never speak to you ever again.”

Damon hesitates, but Bonnie already seemed to have an answer to that prepared. “Don’t think I won’t toss him back into 1994, or make a new prison world entirely, if I need to.”

“Bonnie-”

“But if you think you have him under control, you don’t need to worry about that now, do you?”

You sigh, then look over to Kai. He’s still turned towards the window, but you don’t doubt he’s listening. “No, I don’t.” You straighten your posture. “And you won’t need to worry about him, either.”

“Alright, Ms. Confident,” Damon mocks, “guess we have a deal. You have six months to get that weasel somehow adjusted to real life, and we won’t kill him, or throw him in a prison world.”

“Nor will you antagonize him for fun, Damon, which I know you like to do.”

“I do not-”

“Mason Lockwood. John Gilbert. T-”

“Alright! Fine. Bonnie and I will stay out of your way while you work on your little project.”

“I’m going to prove to you he can be good. Just mind your own business while I do it.”

“Fine.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

Two minutes later, you gather Kai and hurry out the door.

“Did you hear all that?”

“Yeah. I’m on thin fucking ice.”

“Mhm.” You then grab his arm before he can slip on real ice right outside the boarding house.

The pair gave you a rather strict set of rules to follow, and Kai’s surprised you didn’t give up on him just hearing the terms. He makes sure to thank you on your way to the Grill, where you’re headed for coffee. He hopes he sounds genuine, but still tends to struggle with that stuff sometimes. You, being the loving person you are, give him a smile and a kiss to the cheek in return. You then walk hand-in-hand to the restaurant, where you plan to carefully explain a few places you’ll help him start.

Two coffees and a lava cake later, you catch his attention.

“So, this is a bad example.”

“What do you mean?” He looks up at you, chocolate syrup dripping from the side of his lip.

You reach out to wipe it off, then lick it off your own finger. Kai then wipes off the rest with his napkin, the little that you missed. He smiles at your lack of hesitancy to reach out to him.

“It’s like, five o’clock-ish, and our dinner shouldn’t be dessert-”

“This is your influence. I fed myself properly when I was locked up.”

“Oh really?” You ask with a sarcastic tone.

“Yeah, actually, I did. And in fact, the first time I met you, you were in this very same seat, with Caroline, eating a lava cake.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Fine.”

He smirks at his win.

“So you cook. You need somewhere to do it.”

“Like?”

“An apartment, maybe?”

“I can just move in with you.”

You bite your lip. You love Kai, but you’ve only been dating for three months. Of course, he’s spent days and slept over before, but it might be too early for the ‘moving in together’ stage. “You could,” you start, “or we could find you an apartment close-by. So you can get a little bit of autonomy, figure things out for yourself. Have a place to get away, if you need.”

“I don’t think I’d need to get away from you,” he chuckles.

“I certainly hope you won’t, but, I don’t know, I think it’ll be good for you to have your own place. Just for a little while.”

“Do you not want to live with me?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying! I’d love to, but it might be just a little too early for that. And I really think you’d benefit from having your own space. I’ll help pay rent for the first few months. Well, unless you want to go to college? Live in a dorm?”

“At Whitmore?”

“Anywhere.”

“But you live here.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not in college.”

“No.” You’re not sure where he’s taking this.

“I don’t want to be away from you. I don’t even want to live away from you.”

“You live away from me now.”

“That’s different. At least in the boarding house, there’s people.”

“People who have no qualms about killing you, Kai. What’s this actually about?”

“I don’t want to be alone!” He finally admits. A few people look over from the shout, but you wave them off. “I was alone for eighteen years, I can’t take it anymore!”

“Kai, there are other people in apartments, too.”

“But not in the same room! They’re all in locked doors. I’ve seen plenty of shows. Besides, what if the time away makes you not want to be with me anymore?”

“What?!” You ask, genuinely surprised.

“You’re the only person that cares about me. What if space apart makes you not?”

“Baby, that’s not going to happen. I’m not going to stop loving you just because you move into an apartment.” You lower your voice, recognizing your conversation has an audience of three old men. “We’re apart now,” you repeat, “and I still love you. A couple minutes apart, even less time than our distance now, isn’t going to change that.”

“I still don’t want to be alone, Y/N.”

“Tell you what… we’ll find you one in the same building that I’m in, maybe even the same floor. We’ll be two minutes apart at most. You can come find me at any time; I’ll give you a key.” You reach out to take his hand. “When we’re dating for longer, we can talk about moving in together, but for now, I really want you to try living on your own. Please? We have to prove to Damon and Bon that you can, or you know what they’ll do. Do it for me, so I can keep you safe, okay?”

Kai bites his lip. “Okay. Same floor.”

“I think the woman across the hall is moving out anyway.”

He nods.

“Besides, I don’t want you too far from me, either.” You wink. “Who else is going to cook for me?”

He smiles at your first comment, but at the second, pushes your hand playfully. “See, you admit I can cook.”

“Never said you couldn’t!” You pause. “So that’s a definite ‘no’ on the college thing?”

He nods. “First of all, you wouldn’t be there. Second, I don’t care for the college experience that’s so hyped up in movies. Third, I’ve read thousands of books while being locked up. If I wanted to study one thing really intently, I either already have, or I would’ve.”

“Okay then.” Obviously, his mind is made up. “Sounds good.”

You both eat a few more bites of the cake, then he crinkles his nose. “I know you’re gonna say it sooner or later, so I might as well ask now… are you gonna make me get a job?”

The cynical look on his face makes you want to laugh, but you manage to hold it in. “Yep.”

“Crap.”

“It doesn’t have to be something crazy. Hell, you could work here. Be a bartender or something.”

“Do I have to work with people?”

“I thought you just said you want to be around people?”

“Not stupid people, though. Y’know, like the what-you-call-Karen types that would make me want to wring their neck.”

You chuckle. “Baby, that’s a type of person difficult to avoid. Any job is gonna have its fair share of annoying people. Unless you deliver mail, or something.”

“What’s that require?”

“Valid driver’s license.”

“I have one of those.”

“Valid?”

“Made it myself, but it got me through airport security.”

You sigh. “Can you drive?”

“Yes. Taught myself.”

“Would you pass a test?”

“I don’t know. But I drove BonBon from Mystic Falls to Portland without killing her.”

“Lower your voice when you say stuff like that!” You warn again, waving off a man.

Kai seems to ignore you. “Though half of that trip, we did fly…”

“You flew a plane?”

“Had eighteen years to learn!”

“Okay. Let’s get off this topic. You spend so much time in this grill, it might be a good place to start. As long as you show up, do your best, and don’t,” you lower your own voice, “spike people’s drinks for fun-”

“I would never!” He fakes offense.

“-I think you’d be good.”

The boy takes a sip of his coffee. “Fine. Just for you, I’ll try it.”

“Great! I’ll talk to Matt.”

“Ugh.”

“And don’t mention that you killed the manager, because they never found out who did that.”

“Noted.”

“And he’s besties with the Sheriff.”

“Great. You don’t want me to work here for an extra set of eyes on me, do you?”

“No, ‘course not. You’re my sole responsibility, I don’t want Matt involved at all. I just think you’d be a good bartender.”

“Okay.”

“And you like it here, so you might be more comfortable here.”

“What are the odds you could work here, too?”

“I have a job.”

“You could quit it and work here.”

“Kai…”

“Fine. Talk to Matt.”

“Okay.” You stand up to find the other boy. “Stay here.” You kiss his head as you pass him, then head to the bar.

Kai stares into his coffee while you wait by the bar. He likes the Grill, but doesn’t know about working in it. The customers around him are often annoying, and he doubts his ability to remain patient with them. Still, you made a deal to keep him safe, and if his two little prison world friends are going to uphold their end, the two of you have to keep yours. He sighs, then turns to find you. You’ve caught hold of Matt, but as you seem to explain the situation, he rolls his eyes. Kai bites his lip. He has to make this work, for you, even if he doubts his own ability to fit into the world.

As you turn to look at him, he looks away abruptly. A minute later, you return to your seat.

“How’d it go?”

“He’s gonna give you a chance… on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“If I’ll work here, too.”

The boy’s eyes light up. “Really? I thought you said I should do it myself.”

“Well then scratch that. It’ll be more fun together anyway.”

Kai smiles before growing serious again. “So apartment, job… anything else to cover?”

You’re quiet for a moment. There’s a lot more to cover, but you’ve just tackled two of the biggest factors when it comes to normalcy, and you don’t want to overload the poor boy. So instead of bringing anything else up, you shrug. “We can tackle it later. For now, let’s finish this cake.”

Grateful, he nods. He knows, not only from Bonnie and Damon, that there’s a lot more expected of him than just housing and working. He’s lucky he has someone that understands that. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you reply back.

*****

For the next couple nights, Kai stays with you until you can secure a room for him in your apartment complex. Turns out Ms. Mary White had moved out just recently - wanted to find a complex with fewer stairs - and Kai would be able to move in by the end of the week.

Of course, that process doesn’t come without its own issues. A key piece of information required for renting an apartment is proof of one’s identity. When Kai is asked to present his, he stares blankly at your landlord.

“Uh, I think my father has it in the attic of my childhood home.”

“Well can you call him?”

“He probably burned it,” Kai mutters.

Your landlord’s eyes quickly widen at the same time yours do. Your boyfriend’s blunt honesty is quite fatal for the situation; your landlord does not need to know about his abusive childhood, nor the crimes Kai had committed over twenty years ago. One Google search could quite possibly open a whole can of worms you aren’t ready to contain.

In the following two seconds after that, you dial Caroline’s number.

Luckily, the vampire comes to your aid. She compels the man into forgetting both the conversation, and his need for any proof of identity. She seals his spot in the apartment, and simultaneously, in his new life.

As Caroline then helps the two of you settle in, Kai catches her attention.

“Why did you help me?”

The blonde faces him. “Well… for one, Y/N cares about you. If she sees good in you, and the ability to change, to be better, then I trust her. Two, I do owe you for helping my mom. She’s healing, slowly, ever since you siphoned the vampire’s blood out of her system, and I never fully thanked you for that. And third… I know someone like you. Someone who came to Mystic Falls, and wrecked absolute havoc, but for some reason, he had a soft spot for me. I was used in all of the plans they would make to distract or ‘neutralize’ him, and with time, it worked. He got better. He’s an ally now. A friend, even.”

“So Y/N is like you, and he’s kinda like me. You see that happening? You can see me getting better?”

“Klaus did.”

Kai swallows. It means a lot to hear someone other than Y/N have faith in him. “Thank you.”

“All I’m saying is prove them wrong. Damon’s an ass sometimes. And remember, he was the villain too, a while back.”

“I heard some stories from them back in the prison world.”

“Well they probably didn’t even cover half the stuff he did. Trust me, Damon has no room to judge.”

Kai nods.

“Text me if you guys need help with anything else. Kai, good luck. Treat Y/N well.” With a smile, she’s gone.

“Klaus,” Kai repeats.

“You’re not half as bad as Klaus,” you inform him, “killing-wise, I mean. That thing is a thousand years old and has killed probably five times more people than his age.”

“She said he got better.”

“He did. Still kills, obviously, but he is a friend to us now.”

He nods again, processing the information without replying.

You spend the rest of the evening settling him in with the little stuff he has. Most of his belongings are clothes, and whatever else is either from 1994 or stolen somewhere along the way. You have some extra furniture in your apartment, and earlier that day, bought him a comforter. It’s enough to live, and he seems fine with it. Besides, you both know he’ll be in your apartment most of the time, anyway.

*****

A couple days after that, you start your new jobs at The Grill. You’re only part time, considering you’re already a dedicated employee elsewhere, and Matt’s fine with that as long as you “watch him” at least most of the time. The boy is clearly not excited about the reformed serial killer joining his work team, but at the same time, Matt’s not one to turn down anyone looking for a fresh start.

At first, he keeps Kai in the back, away from people. A smart move while he still adjusts. He’s mostly tasked with filling drink orders and cleaning up, and only after he’s been working in the restaurant environment for a week is he actually allowed to hand people their orders. So far, he’s incident-free, but you can tell Matt is just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

His heart almost stops the day he sees Damon enter on a day he has Kai serving drinks.

Matt rushes to the back, trying to find you to take over before the vampire can saunter over to the bar.

“Bourbon. Neat.” Damon says to no one in particular.

Kai swallows hard at the sound of the man’s voice, but then stands up to pour him the drink. As he passes the glass to him, Damon’s attention turns from the distant game of billiards to the unidentified bartender.

“Oh.” He blinks in surprise. “It’s you.”

“Yep, I am working here now.” Kai enunciates every word, still in disbelief that he does.

“Gotta say I’m shocked. Had any urges to kill anyone yet?”

“No, it’s been mostly tame. There was one lady the other day who was so drunk, she fell out of her chair, but that was more amusing than anything else.”

Damon snorts. Part of him wishes he could have witnessed that, but he’ll be damned if he admits that to Kai. “And her inconsiderate ways didn’t have you tempted to toss a glass at her head? Maybe you are improving.”

Kai bites his tongue. He knows Damon’s just trying to get under his skin, and the bar is too busy for him to react. Besides, one wrong move and the vampire will call off their deal.

Luckily, a heartbeat later, you pop around the corner from the kitchen.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Your little pet served a drink.” He takes a sip. “Ten points to Slytherin for getting my order correct.”

“Be nice, Damon. I’ve never seen you attempt to get a job.”

“Why would I need a job? I’m a vampire, if you haven’t forgotten. I don’t need money, and I don’t need to buy food-”

“Because you just eat people? Right. And you do buy food, let me remind you, and drinks, on a daily basis, which requires money. But since your nephew - whom you killed - was rich, you don’t need to work for anything. So no, you don’t need a job, but if you were born into a less rich family, you’d certainly need to, to support your hobbies.”

“Touché.”

You shrug. “I’m just sayin’.”

Damon glares at you, sips the rest down in one gulp, then spins the glass back to Kai. “Refill.”

Knowing you’ve won, you give your boyfriend a kiss to the cheek as he pours another glass. You’re halfway back to the kitchen when Damon clears his throat,

“I could report you for PDA.”

“Try me.”

He doesn’t.

That night, you praise your boyfriend for keeping his cool under the unexpected presence of Damon. Truth be told, you hadn’t even considered the man’s frequency at the restaurant when you spoke out for Kai to work there; you only thought about where he’d be most comfortable. Kai admitted he started pushing buttons, but your interference diffused the situation immediately. You give him a kiss, then snuggle into his chest, legs over his as you sit in his lap. Kai grabs you before you can get too comfortable, turning your cuddling into a make-out session. Unlike his shift at the bar earlier, things escalate pretty quickly.

*****

Weeks pass of coaxing Kai into a normal life. He’s doing well despite the cards handed to him, and you’re sure to tell him how proud you are each night. There have been a few instances where he’s yelled at customers who’ve yelled at him, and then he had to muster up an apology to them. On two occasions, you’ve traded places with him, seeing either Damon or a crowd of college kids approaching the bar. But though he’s had a few mistakes, he’s received compliments, too.

One woman, a regular, and very picky about her cocktails, told him she’s impressed with his ability, especially given his age, and that he makes some of the best drinks she’s had. She always leaves a good tip, and has made sure to tell the manager what she said to him.

Kai only gave a dimpled smile and a polite, “thank you,” and decided not to tell her he’s actually in his forties, and had nothing better to do for eighteen years than craft cocktails.

“See,” you then said to him, “I knew you’d be a good bartender. I didn’t even know you could make cocktails.”

“I couldn’t tell if she was hitting on me by the end of the night,” is all he replies.

You scrunch your eyebrows, but then widen your eyes at the fifty percent tip. “Yeah, maybe just a little.”

*****

As much progress as he’s made, he’s not done yet. Kai’s had about three months of getting on his feet, and now he has to address a big issue that both of you have been avoiding. On a calm night neither of you had work, you decide it’s now or never to bring it up.

So, laying across his lap again, you fiddle with the ring on his finger as a show you’re half-watching runs in the background. Tension builds in your shoulders as you try to form a good question. Within minutes, he can tell something’s up with you.

“What?”

“I have something to say, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Spill.”

“So… You’ve fought hard against the fate chosen for you by your father. He didn’t think you were capable of leading the coven, so he cast you out. Made you feel like you were less of a person; of a witch, because of the way you were born.”

“Point?”

“Against all odds, you came out on top. You broke down the barriers, literally and physically, and became the leader. Now,” you pause, “you gotta lead.”

Kai swallows as if he hadn’t anticipated this aspect of his choices. That, or he never expected to get this far, and therefore, never thought about any way he’d do it. “I am,” he finally says.

“How?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“You’re telling me your father never had any specific duties he’d have to perform as leader? No responsibilities? No expectations? Nothing?”

“He had to find a wife and have a set of twins.”

“Kai-”

“I know what you mean,” he sighs. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to lead a coven! What the hell do they do? Do I have to feed them? Give them water?”

“They’re not plants, Kai. Th-”

“I know!” He pauses the TV, but luckily doesn’t try to get off the couch. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that myself. I saw my dad do some of it; he’d go to meetings, and set the standards, and was there to congratulate every stupid baby ever born-”

“Kai,” you warn.

“Sorry. I just… they hate me. How am I supposed to lead them when they hate me, and frankly, I hate them, too.”

“You’re just gonna have to do your best. Don’t do exactly what your father did, but use his leadership as a guideline - whether that's what to do or what to not do, that’s your choice. Try to co-exist with them, and follow whatever rules are absolutely required.”

He bites his cheek. “Will you help me?”

“Of course.” You kiss the side of his face he’s biting to make him let go. “I told you before, I’m always gonna be here for you. If that includes helping you make decisions in regards to your crazy coven, then so be it.”

*****

You’ve never seen anyone from his coven aside from his immediate family, so seeing more of the group that you’d ever anticipated was terrifying, to say the least. The whole plane trip across the country, you’re both having trouble sitting still. As he consumes mini pretzels at an abnormal rate, your tapping foot is probably peeving the passengers around you. Still, he tries his best to prepare you for what den of lions you’re about to face.

“So… meetings are usually just comprised of “elders” and their wives, plus anybody else deemed important enough to attend, or anyone who has something important to share. The elders are the decision makers, and now that includes my dad - elderly, and a past leader.” You snort at his choice of word, but then remember Kai’s actual age and realize the man probably is elderly. “So he’ll certainly be there. Jakob’s had it out for me since day one. I’m assuming he’s still alive, and he’ll be filled with piss and vinegar to see me in person. Leon’s fine. He carries the siphon gene and hasn’t had children because of it. His great uncle is rotting in a prison world somewhere, and I only know that from reading the journals from when I was in ‘94. Patrice is… unimportant,” he says, not knowing what else to say about her.

“Jeez… is anyone in your family actually pleasant?”

“My Aunt Maisie.”

“Oh, so one person.”

He nods. “She’s where Jo got ‘Laughlin’ from. You’d think if she was trying to hide from me, she wouldn’t pick the one name I’d immediately recognize.” He doesn’t say anything else on the matter, but there’s clearly more to it. You don’t push. His childhood isn’t something he wants to relive, and going to this meeting is doing exactly that. Instead, you change the topic.

“So I got us a hotel for the night, and a flight back the next morning. Partly because I know you don’t want to be here, and to be honest, I don’t want to be here, either. And, partly, because when you took off yesterday to prepare for this stupid thing, Matt texted and said Jenny missed your cocktails.”

The comment makes him smile. Even though the grill regular definitely flirts with him most nights, he’s come to enjoy her presence.

“Though I told him you’d need tomorrow night off, too, because this is going to be mentally draining, on top of the plane trip that crosses several time zones. And maybe Saturday, also.”

“Thank you,” he says genuinely, relieved that you understand him in such a way. He leans over to kiss you five seconds before the plane hits turbulence.

*****

On top of the four elders Kai mentioned, his father included, six others were also in attendance. Three were present when he was a kid, though Kai deemed them of lesser importance - they’d rarely speak, and usually only vote - and three had been elected sometime post-1994. He knows them from biannual gatherings and special occasions, but had never really spoken to them. And that reason is, of course, because he was rarely allowed out of his room for those occasions.

When he first enters the room and meets their eyes, small chatter fades to complete silence. Breaths are held as they look the boy up and down. They stare at him, then at you, and a little at your clasped hands. One-by-one, they address him, all by his full name, making his eyes twitch.

Joshua is the last of the elders to greet the new leader, being the most recent to join the council. He looks down disapprovingly before finally spitting a welcome.

“Where’s A-” Joshua turns on his heels and walks away before Kai can ask the question.

His sister then stands before him. “Aunt Maisie passed away in ‘99.”

Kai’s throat dries. “Why are you here?”

“I’m carrying the next set of twins, of course I’d be here.”

You squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. He bites back a reply, but you can feel the anger coursing through his body.

Nothing important happens in the actual meeting. Jakob, as Kai predicted, shouts most of the time at no one in particular. Everyone knows he’s mad at Joshua, though, and you later learn that he originally wanted to kill the siphon boy at a mere eight years old. This time, Kai squeezes your hand to calm you.

A couple minutes is spent talking about the future of the coven. Patrice points out that although Jo is pregnant, her husband isn’t the leader. Something in her tone hints that the leader’s girlfriend should be the one to be pregnant and to bear the next set, but she’s instantly overridden by everyone shushing her about not wanting to continue the siphon, nor Kai in particular’s, direct bloodline.

In summary, you and Kai flew all the way to Portland just to be annoyed for three hours. That night, you cuddled him on the hotel bed, massaging your hands through his hair. He put up a strong, confident front to prove his ability to lead, but melted the moment you coaxed him into your arms in the privacy of the room. He’s quiet for a long time, and you’re the one that finally breaks the silence.

“I’m proud of you.”

His shoulders relax but tone hardens. “Why?” He wants to believe you, but doubts himself so much that he can’t yet.

“Because you stood up to them by coming here. You’re making an effort to prove your worth to them. Not like you should have to do that, but they’re a bunch of assholes who think you do. But regardless of that, too, it took a lot of strength to face the people who’ve done nothing but cause you pain. You handled both Jo’s and Jakob’s hostility well.”

He exhales, racing mind beginning to ease. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course. Thank you for braving this step and showing them you’re more than capable to lead.”

“They’ll never think I am.”

“That doesn’t matter. They have no say in it; you’re already doing it.”

“For twenty-two years. Until whatever is germinating in my sister’s womb pops out.”

You bite your cheek to keep from laughing. His back rests against your chest, though, and there’s no way he didn’t feel at least a chuckle. “Well then that means we have twenty-two years to figure out something else instead.”

“Pennyroyal tea?”

“No!” You say quickly, unsure if he’s joking or not. “I mean more like, I don’t know, whatever that one woman was saying.”

It takes him a moment, but then his eyes narrow. “You want to have twins?”

“Better me than Jo to have the set that will eventually take over. Even if I’m a couple years behind, they’ll have to accept the current leader’s set over his sister’s, right?”

Kai shrugs, having no idea. It sounds true, given what was hinted before the elder was shushed, but he doesn’t know. Regardless of the answer, he sighs. “You wouldn’t want that kind of tie to my coven.”

“I’m dating you, I kinda already have it.”

“Yeah, but that level of ‘in it’ is something you can’t get out of.”

“I’d do it for you.”

He swears his heart stops. You would marry into his coven and produce a set of in-line twins just for him. Kai is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you’re dating him, not to mention you’d suffer a coven meeting for him, but to also go that far… just because you love him? He can’t process it.

He wonders… maybe, he misheard you. “Did you say-” When he turns to face you, he realizes you’ve fallen asleep. Your hands remain to hold him, though you’re no longer playing with his hair. He watches your breathing for a moment, still bewildered. At some point, though, his racing mind and tired eyes drive him to exhaustion, and he finally falls asleep in your arms.

*****

Joshua’s presence at your terminal prevented you from never mentioning the conversation, as you were already late to catch your plane. The salt and pepper haired man had a few last, weak words for his son, as he tried to thank him for attending the meeting, but still shame him for winning the merge at the same time. When he made a spiral hand gesture in search of the right thing to say for the fifth time, you snapped your fingers to speed up the process, and finally then did he spit out something half-meaningful. You got on your plane with two minutes to spare and had, for the time being, completely forgotten about your earlier talk.

*****

You’re nearing the fifth month mark in your agreement with Damon and Bonnie, but to be honest, you aren’t worried about it one bit. They have no reason to punish Kai; he’s done nothing but make good progress since the deal was made.

That is, until one night at The Mystic Grill goes horribly wrong.

*****

A rather impatient series of knocks has you opening the door with your eyes rolling.

“What now?” You swing it open, expecting the pizza man. The last time, the man was so terrified of the neighbor’s dog that was barking, he was quick to hand it over and leave, forgetting his tip in the process. “I promise, the dog isn’t getting out. He’s just-”

Instead, Damon stands on the other side. “What dog? I’m not-”

“No.” You try to close it, but he stops it with his foot.

“Wait, Y/N.”

“What do you want?”

“Can’t just check up on a friend?”

“I still have time to work with Kai. And for your information, he’s doing great. We don’t need your commentary.”

“I’m just curious.” He tries to look past your shoulder into the room. “Where is the little weasel?” Unfortunately, he spots him on the couch and offers a wave.

“He has his own place down the hall, we’re just having dinner together. Got a problem with it?”

“Kai Parker has his own apartment? Wow!”

“Shut up, Damon. And why are you really here?”

“Jo told Alaric, who told me, that Kai’s been going to coven meetings lately.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Just seeing if it’s true! So what made him go?”

“He’s the leader; he’s taking up the responsibility. Like a leader does.”

He scoffs. “No influence from you?”

“Of course I’m helping him, but I’m not making decisions for him.”

“Really? This apartment, a job at the grill, being there for his family, that’s not you telling him what to do?”

“If didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t. I don’t know if you know him, but Kai doesn’t do anything unless he wants to. Sure I’m guiding him, but he has the ultimate say in all of these decisions.”

“Yeah, except if he doesn’t follow the rules, we’re gonna kill him.”

“If you can catch him,” you challenge, “because if Kai decides he doesn’t want this life, I’m prepared to run with him.” You watch Damon’s face before continuing. “But the thing is - he does. He does want to fit in, and he does want his life to have meaning, and he doesn’t want to waste it. Contrary to what you all think, he’s really trying to start something here.” Damon stares at you. “So I’d appreciate it if you’d butt out and go away.”

The man clicks his tongue, but then ultimately leaves. “See you later, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you mutter, joining him on the couch.

“You didn’t mention the guy at the bar.”

“Didn’t seem relevant. Damon makes mistakes, too.”

“What if he finds out?”

“I won’t let him hurt you. You’ve been making such good progress; you’ve been a downright angel most of the time. One bar fight in my defense isn’t going to erase all that.”

“Y/N, I killed him. He’s going to send me back to a prison world. I can’t go back there.”

You take his shoulders gently and pull him down into your lap. “He’s not going to hurt you, Kai. I promise. Rest your little head, okay?”

He nods. “And you’re sure you’ll leave with me if it comes to that?”

After the incident, he had a meltdown, fearing for his life, and almost preparing for Bonnie to burst through the door and send him away. You promised that if she were to come for him, you’d abandon this life and run with him, even if that dissolves the terms of your agreement with the pair. You had then admitted, too, that if Kai decides he doesn’t adapt well to domestic life, even without the incident that had occurred, you’re prepared to leave with him. Damon knowing that little contingency plan probably wasn’t the best, but you doubt the man believes you anyway.

“Of course. I promise.” You assure him.

*****

At nearly midnight, one week later, you hear a banging across the hall. After a moment, you poke your head out and see Damon at your door.

“The fuck do you want?”

“I thought this was your door?”

“I’m with Kai.”

“Ooh, in his apartment?”

“Did you think I was lying?”

He shrugs. “A little.”

“What do you want, Damon?”

He comes up to you with a piece of paper in his hand. He reads, “obituary of forty-two year old Patrick Johnson. Died in a bar fight last week. Split his head against the countertop. No arrests have been made,” he looks up, “happened at the grill.”

“So?”

“Sound familiar?”

“No arrests have been made.”

“Well I didn’t do it. Stefan didn’t do it. It could’ve only been Enzo, or your little “reformed” sociopath in there, and I think we both know who’s to blame.” You roll your eyes. “It’s easier to just tell the truth, sweetheart.”

“So what if it was? What are you gonna do? You’re not invited in; you can’t touch him.”

“Just tell me what happened, Y/N.” He makes a push against the boundary, but it doesn’t budge. “Look, Bonnie hasn’t seen this yet. Just tell me, and I can make it go away.”

“Why would you do that?”

“The goodness of my heart?” You snort. “Come on, Y/N.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I can go show this to her then,” he points his thumb in the other direction, “because I can promise you who she’ll point the first finger at, and considering Enzo’s been so busy sticking his nose in my brother’s business lately, odds aren’t in your favor.”

You hesitate. “Fine.”

Kai watches from the couch with bated breath. Damon gives him a little wave as he notices him. “Hello, Malachai.” You glare at the man, who then half-apologizes. “Sorry. Explain.”

“There was a fight one night when we weren't working. Matt wasn’t working either. Kai had nothing to do with starting the fight, but unfortunately, we were sitting right in the middle of it. We got up to leave, but then some man grabbed me and reached down my shirt, and Kai lost his cool.”

“Details, please.”

“He pushed him into the bar but the man kept fighting back. He spit in Kai’s face and made attempts to pull at his clothes. All the while, yelling all this shit about what he wanted to do to me, screaming profanities. Made comments about other women, too, but when he specified that he had been watching me all night and was waiting for Kai to leave, Kai pushed his head down into the countertop. He still fought. After a couple of blows to the counter, we heard a crack. It wasn’t his fault, Damon, don’t hurt him, please.”

The man stares for a moment, then at Kai. “Y’know… I’m surprised you even made it this far. I had no faith in you.”

“Damon-”

“But, I have to say, I’m impressed by your progress. Y/N here wants you to be better, and clearly you love her enough to be better for her.”

“He’s doing it for himself, too, Damon. All he’s ever wanted is to be accepted, and-”

“Save the speech. I admire the progress you’ve made, and I’d honestly hate for all of Y/N’s hard work to go to waste. Now, Bonnie hasn’t seen this yet, and you’ve toned down your menacing almost one hundred percent, and I can agree that this incident isn’t your fault. So, if you promise not to repeat it, and don’t ever speak a word of this to Bonnie-”

“She doesn’t even talk to me anymore.”

“-we don’t have to let her know it happened. I’ll go Liz, clear your name from it. She can put the blame on someone else or claim it was an accident. Just tell me that you won’t let this happen again.”

Now you’re the one staring at Damon, wide-eyed with surprise. “I-I promise.”

Kai nods, agreeing. “I didn’t mean to get in a fight, and I certainly didn’t mean to kill him. I just couldn’t let it go and he wouldn’t stop.”

“I’d do the same if it were Elena. Hell, I’d do it for Y/N, too. What’s one less douchebag in this world?”

The boy half-smiles. “Hey, Damon?”

“What?”

“If Bonnie does find out, or if she has a suspicion, what do we do?”

He shrugs. “Tell her what you told me. He wouldn’t stop. It was an accident. You were protecting Y/N.” Damon looks at you. “I know you two used to be close, so even if she’s mad about it, she’ll understand. I won’t let her do anything in terms of the agreement, I’ll, as Elijah always says,” he says with a smirk, “keep my word. And hey, you might even win brownie points for defending her.”

“Thank you.”

“Just don’t let it happen again. Next time someone starts shit, call me to compel them away, or call Liz.”

“Okay,” you reply.

“Speaking of compulsion,” he adds, “how’d you get this apartment?”

You’re quiet for a moment, then admit, “Caroline helped.” He laughs. “Don’t tell Bonnie.”

Damon puts his hands up as if to surrender. “Not a peep.”

“She said I remind her of someone named Klaus,” Kai offers.

“Ah. Yes! Baby Klaus.”

You shake your head, offended. “Not at all!”

“I’m kidding!”

“You’re a jerk.”

“All kidding, sourpuss. Alright, off to Liz.”

“Thank you again.”

“Hm. Be good.”

The death was ruled an accident the next day.

*****

Six months on the dot, Damon summons you and Bonnie back to the boarding house to rule if Kai can stay, or if Bonnie can boot him back to a prison world. The boy is nervous, despite you promising him he has nothing to fear. If anything, she should be the one anxious, upset she can’t go through with her little plan to trap him again.

The two of you show up right on time, and to your surprise, Elena’s the one to open the door.

“Hi,” she smiles. You two haven’t seen much of each other lately. Bonnie’s been adamant about her friends avoiding both you and The Grill, and many of their nights have been spent at the Scull Bar instead.

“Hi,” you greet her back. Kai gives her a smile, too, but nervousness twitches at the tip of his lips.

“I’ve been seeing the other Parker so much, it’s refreshing to see a different one,” she references Liv and her salty-ass attitude. “Hey, Damon’s said you make a mean cocktail. Put it to the test?”

Damon’s been keeping a secret eye on Kai and reporting everything back to his girlfriend. She wants to believe he’s changed, Caroline, too, and asks the question as a small way to test it. When he gives her a more confident smile and steps inside the house, she takes it as a good sign.

You follow them inside.

“Y/N!” Damon welcomes, arms open wide. He pulls you into an unexpected hug, but then whispers in your ear, “careful, she’s bitter.” The hug suddenly makes sense, and you thank him for the warning before hugging back. “And where’s the little weasel?”

“In the kitchen with Elena. She wanted a cocktail.”

“Ah. I may have told her he’s built up a little fanbase at The Grill. Jenny the Drunk is no longer his biggest tipper.”

“So I’ve heard. All the milfs want my man.”

“Well, he is closer in age to them than you.”

“Shut up.”

“Y/N,” Bonnie’s voice interrupts your banter. She smiles at you from afar, eyes clouded with mixed emotions.

“Hi,” you reply with a similar tone. Not cold, but not exactly warm, either. “How’ve you been?”

“Okay. Been studying a lot. Been helping Jo with… I’ve been busy.”

You nod. “She’s close.”

“Yeah. You know?”

“She stopped coming to meetings.”

“Meetings…?”

“Coven meetings. They’re in Portland, so we have to fly, and she’d always be there, too.”

“You’ve been going to coven meetings?”

“Kai’s the leader, he kinda has to.”

She gulps, as if not expecting him to be so productive in the six month time span. Before she can say anything else, though, Caroline comes out of nowhere with a bright yellow cocktail and a bendy straw.

“Mhm! You have to try these, they’re so good! Who’d think Kai could make such a good tropical drink? I wouldn’t until thirty seconds ago.”

You laugh. “Where’d the bendy straw come from?”

She shrugs. “Found them in the cupboard, probably Damon’s secret stash. Bonnie, you want to try?”

“No.”

“Okay.” She retreats back to the kitchen, promising she’ll bring you one.

“Did he learn that skill at The Grill? Matt taught him?”

“He learned in the prison world. They only had to train him on the more modern drinks.” She doesn’t answer. “He’s really been trying. Not only trying, but doing really well.”

“What about-”

“Guys, come in here! Damon’s summoning you,” Caroline calls.

You share one more glance and then follow her voice to the kitchen.

“Decision-making time,” Damon announces, fighting with his tongue to find his straw.

“Preferably before we get drunk,” his girlfriend agrees.

Bonnie looks less than thrilled. “This agreement was made between Y/N, Damon, and I, and only the three of us will actually be making the decision.”

Her slight attitude makes the room silent.

Caroline’s the first to speak up. “That’s fair, I guess.”

“Thank you, Caroline.” The girl looks back down at her drink. She made input to keep the peace, not to argue on the behalf of one side or the other. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“You mentioned Kai’s been going to Gemini meetings. Anything else he’s done?”

“Yeah, well, we started with the apartment, then the job. Felt like The Grill would be a good place since he was a regular, and that he’d be comfortable there. With time, I helped him ease into his coven role, and we go to Portland monthly for meetings. Nothing important ever really happens, they all just argue.”

“You mentioned you’ve seen Jo. She’s around eight months now. That hasn’t been a problem?”

“She wasn’t at the last meeting. Her father said he nor Rick wanted her flying. And no, it hasn’t been a problem.”

“He’s not worried about the next set of twins taking over in twenty years?”

“We’ve discussed it, but no, it’s not a problem.”

“What do you mean ‘discussed it’?”

“That’s actually none of your business, Bonnie. The only people who should be concerned with that are those in the Gemini coven, and considering you’re not, you don’t have the right to ask. And, actually, Jo got pregnant and engaged without even consulting her coven, too, so frankly, that business only belongs to Kai and I.” She blinks, not used to being told off so directly. “We’re not concerned about Jo, nor the twins. Besides, that’s over twenty years away, and not worth worrying over right now.”

“Fine. So he’s adapting well?”

“Yes.”

“Bonnie,” Damon starts, “I know we were skeptical, but I think they’ve proven us wrong-”

“One more thing.” You gulp, knowing exactly where she’s headed. “A couple months ago, I read an article where a local bar fight turned deadly. The man’s death was ruled an accident. Do you know anything about that?”

“That was-”

“And don’t you dare lie to me because we both know-”

“I wasn’t going to lie,” you snap back. “If you’d let me talk, I could explain.”

“Oh, so you do know about it? I want to hear it from him,” she nods to Kai.

Kai’s nervously chewing his lip. When you give him a gentle tilt of your head, he begins to explain. “Okay, yes, that was me. I was defending Y/N. I-”

“We told you no more killing people. The deal’s-”

“Let him explain, Bonnie,” the vampire interrupts.

“You’re defending him?!”

“Just hear him out first.”

Kai looks to Damon, then back at the girl. “The guy got physical with Y/N. He was yelling all this profane shit about her and grabbed at her shirt. When I got in the middle of them, he started hitting at me, and spitting. Every time I tried to shake him off, he’d come back for more. It was a complete accident; I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“So you did kill him.”

“Did you not hear me? I said it was an accident; he was trying to get to Y/N. I wasn’t going to let him touch her.”

“Think about it, Bonnie. If you were there, you would’ve given him a magical headache, and if his brain burst, oh well! The only difference is that Kai didn’t use magic. If anything, it’s better that he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still confused. Why are you defending him? And why do you seem to know about this?!”

“I did know about it, okay? And I’m sorry for not telling you, but this is why. He was defending Y/N and I can’t blame him for that. C’mon, Bon. You’ve always been worried about her getting hurt, but he keeps her safe. It’s crazy, even for me to admit, but he does.”

“So you’re okay with him staying? You’re serious?”

“Look, he hasn’t been bothering us. Hasn’t been bothering Jo. This is the only person he’s killed and it was in Y/N’s defense. He makes great cocktails. Let’s just put this whole thing behind us.”

“Bonnie, I’ve missed your friendship these last couple months, and if you give Kai a chance, you’ll see he’s really put in a lot of effort into building a life here.”

She glares at the both of you, then back at him. She even looks to her friends for support. They shrug. “Fine.” She holds up a finger, “but if he falls back into old ways, he’s gone.”

“Thank you, Bon.”

Kai offers his thanks as well, and a second later, you jump at the feeling of his lips on the back of your neck. He apologizes for startling you, but then wraps his arms around your waist. Bonnie watches, both at how unafraid you are of him, and how in love he is with you. She fights the urge to smile, wanting to keep up her cold exterior for a little longer.

After some time, plans are made to get together for real. There’s a lot of work to be done in rekindling your friendship, but you’re on the path to getting there. As for her negative feelings about Kai, she’s just going to have to see his change for herself.

*****

That night, you’re curled in bed together when something suddenly harbors in his mind. He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he wants to bring it up; if you even remember it happening, but then curiosity begins to fester in him.

“Can we talk about something, Y/N?”

“What’s that?”

“I was reminded earlier, when you were talking about Jo to Bonnie… in the hotel room after the first meeting, did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“What you said about, like, having twins? That you’d do it for me?”

You backtrack your mind several months to that conversation. It happened a little like this one - you holding him, him being a little weary about the day’s events. Ah. “Yes.”

He perks up. “Yes, you remember it, or yes, you meant it?”

“Both. I do remember that conversation. And yes, I would give you a set of twins if you wanted to keep your bloodline in the leadership.”

“Why?”

“Why?” You repeat his question, glancing at him to see if he’s serious. His face is riddled with confusion - definitely serious. “Because I love you. And they might have doubts about you, but I have faith in your ability to lead, and I believe you’d be a good father, too.”

Now he crinkles his nose. “Why?”

“Well the man who raised you barely did at all. He isolated you, and hurt you, and treated you like crap just because you were born differently. And despite that, and despite a few bumps along the way, you’ve proven you’re capable of deep, gentle love. You prove it to me daily, and you’ve proven patience at your job and with Bonnie, and understanding. You’ve managed to survive despite the circumstances you’ve been given, and all those things are traits I know you would teach a child, because you’d do everything to prevent raising them like your father raised you; to make sure they grow up in a loving environment, like one you should’ve been given. And, you’d teach them how to survive in this coven, because unfortunately, as leader, you’re still tied to them, but you would teach them how to remain strong. And even if we ever happen to have twins and they’d need to merge, you’d still make sure their lives are meaningful before it.”

Kai’s quiet for a while. “If we did that, I wouldn’t want it just for the benefit of the coven. It would be out of my love for you, and if we have a desire to have kids. Not like Jo, where it was an accident, but not like my father, who only needed a leader.”

You kiss his head. “I agree.”

“So you would be okay with that? If we did, at some point?”

“Of course. When the time comes for that, we can talk about it more, but yes.”

“Good, because I’m not ready now.” He relaxes, but then stiffens again. “But wait, Jo… if we’re trying to beat her to this, don’t we need to do it now?”

You choose your next words carefully, unsure if they even hold any meaning. “Well… if I’m understanding it correctly, the leader’s twins would be next in line, regardless if there’s another set in the family. So even if Jo’s are, say, nine or ten, if we have a set, wouldn’t they be next in line?”

“But they don’t want to continue my line because of the siphon gene.”

“Yes, but you’re still the leader, so maybe we can argue that when the time comes. Besides, we can’t do anything about it now. She’s eight months and I’m, obviously, not even in the same playing field.” You rub his arm comfortingly, or at least, hoping it’ll bring him comfort in light of your next few words. “Maybe… okay. First off, I don’t think Jo wants to participate in the merge with her future kids. She’s already tried to escape this family once, I doubt she wants her kids brought back in it. So maybe if we have a set, she’ll just let them take over.”

“But she might merge them just to prevent my line from continuing in leadership.”

“Or, she might welcome kids raised by you and I to lead instead, if we can prove to her we can raise good kids,” you half-joke. He nods. “Because as much animosity as she has towards you, I really don’t think she wants her kids following in coven tradition. Even so, if she does merge hers, we can just follow right up with ours and take it back.” Kai lets out a small chuckle. “But even if hers do take the leadership, I don’t think they’ll try to hurt you. By then, you’ll be settled in, and we’re already far away from your father. Jo trusts me, I think, and we can continue to make peace with her. We’ll be okay. You’ll be safe, I promise. As long as you’re with me-”

“-I’m safe.”

“Exactly.” You kiss him. “And if by somehow there’s a huge falling out and the coven does get violent again,” you shrug, “we’ll just become vampires.”

At first he laughs, but then grows serious as the words hit him. “You’d really do that with me? Transition and live forever just to keep them from killing me?”

“Mhm. I would live a thousand lives as long as I have you with me in all of them.”

#kai parker x reader #malachai parker x reader #kai parker oneshot #tvd fanfiction #tagging this was so hard

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silverlullabies · 3 months ago

Text

B E L L I C O S E

Summary: Captain John Price has faced countless enemies in his career, but none like you. A mercenary with a reputation, you infiltrate his unit under the guise of cooperation, but your true motive is far more sinister. Using charm and manipulation to pull their strings, Price finds himself caught in a game he can’t control or predict.

Pairing: Mercenary!Reader x Captain Price, vague mentions of Soap x Reader, Gaz x Reader, and Ghost x Reader

Word Count: 16k+

Tags/Triggers: Smut(18+), gaslighting, blood, murder, afab reader, psychological manipulation, guns, knives, death, violence (it’s based off a game about soldiers shooting bad guys, come on), oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, human trafficking, dubious consent, alcohol, really dark content, morally gray reader who’s probably a sociopath, enemies to lovers if you squint

AN: two things, one: I didn’t set out to write this as a morally gray reader. The story kind of got away from me while I was writing it. My bad. And two, I describe the reader as petite compared to the 141 but at its a reverse trope of the petite tiny girl so at least give me the benefit of the doubt and make it past the briefing scene before you give up on it because of the trope. The reader is based off an actual OC of mine in a book I’m writing. I just love Peepaw Price, okay.

BELLICOSE: adjective. demonstrating aggression and willingness to fight.

Alarm bells rang in Price’s head as he watched you, gliding through the shadows of his office like a panther hunting prey. He had known from the start that bringing you onto the team was a mistake. Bloodied teeth and hands stained with grit, fingers curling around blades and triggers with lethal precision.

In a room full of predators like the 141, you were still the apex.

But Laswell had insisted, and Price—ever loyal to her judgment—had conceded, like always.

It wouldn’t happen again.

***

It always started the same way: someone screwed up, and the stakes escalated. Regular operators couldn’t handle the fallout, so they called in the 141—need dirty hands wading through a cesspool of problems? They’re your men.

“You need her on this one,” Laswell had said, sliding your dossier across the sleek ebony wood table that probably cost more than one of his paychecks.

Price didn’t need to read it. Everyone knew The Mercenary. Every soldier worth his salt had heard your name whispered in the dark corridors of conflict.

Deadly. Beautiful. Like a vengeful goddess slinking through the battlefield, your reputation was legend even among special operators who had long since abandoned the idea of there being a god out there. You’d accomplished more in your career than most units combined would in a lifetime.

Price didn’t need to feel the weight of your file to understand. If you’d followed the conventional path, you’d probably be a five-star general by now—his commanding officer. But you had chosen a different way.

Government-contracted, available to the highest bidder, loyal to no flag but the one that paid your exorbitant fee.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a twinge of resentment he swallowed down. No luxury of choice for him, no hefty paycheck to chase. Just duty, the same beast inside him that clawed for rest while the storm outside only worsened. But duty called again, and so did you.

Laswell was right, though—Price’s men were good, the best, but this mission was something else. Human traffickers using victims as pawns, running weapons across borders into war-torn lands. Human luggage in a nightmare spun by bureaucratic oversight, one that allowed dangerous enemies to arm themselves.

Price couldn’t see any of his men fitting the part for what needed to be done. He wasn’t about to send Ghost, Gaz, or Soap into the field in a dress and heels.

“When does she get here?” Price growled, his gut tightening at the idea of relying on a mercenary. His instincts screamed danger. There was no loyalty from someone like you, only a paycheck. And if the money ran dry? You’d vanish, leaving them to pick up the pieces. A major risk.

“She’s already here,” Laswell replied, and Price closed his eyes, the weight of inevitability settling on his shoulders.

Of course you were.

***

You’re even more stunning than the stories claimed. Soft curves, sultry lines, more tantalizing than even the darkest fantasy hidden in the back of his mind—everything about you is crafted to disarm. Wide, calculating eyes and full lips that hint at wicked intent. Even under the harsh, shitty fluorescent lighting of the briefing room, you manage to look ethereal, otherworldly. The glow makes your skin seem almost too perfect, casting shadows that sharpen your edges in a way that commands attention.

Price feels his breath catch in his throat when he sees you in person for the first time—a reaction he despises in himself. He’s a hardened soldier, decades of battles etched into his soul. Yet here you are, making him feel like some green recruit with a schoolboy crush.

Your poise betrays years of experience. Relaxed, almost bored, you drape yourself across the briefing table like a cat lounging in a sunbeam. It’s unsettling, the way you’re completely at ease despite being surrounded by some of the deadliest men in the world. The 141, all seasoned killers, men who’ve faced horrors most can’t imagine; and yet you make them look like the ones on edge. Amateurs. Wet behind the ears recruits.

The way you sit, tipping your chair back on two legs, snapping your gum, it’s borderline disrespectful. You’re surrounded by battle-hardened operators, yet you act as if you’re in your living room. It’s a brazen, almost reckless display of control. You know they’re watching you, torn between admiration and frustration. Some of them shoot heated glances, others glare, but the reaction is the same. You’re already under their skin.

Your eyes lock onto Price’s, and that dangerous, knowing smirk curls your lips. It’s predatory. Calculated. You know the effect you’re having on the room, on him. It’s a game, and you’re winning before it’s even begun. Your confidence is unnerving. It’s clear you’ve been in rooms like this before, with men just like these, and you’ve always come out on top.

Price has seen your type before. Or at least, he thought he had. But as you shift, languid and lethal, he realizes he’s never encountered anyone quite like you. There’s something almost intoxicating about the way you move, the way you radiate power, sex, and control.

The dossier warned him about your preferred methods. Psychological warfare, it said, and you excelled at it beyond anything any military had ever seen. But now, watching you in action, he understands the depth of that statement. You aren’t just skilled: you’re a force of nature, effortlessly bending men to your will with nothing more than a glance or a smirk.

Price clenches his jaw, reminding himself to stay sharp. You may be beautiful, but you’re dangerous, and in this room full of predators, you’re the alpha.

The tension in the room is palpable as you continue lounging, still flashing that confident, almost taunting smirk. A few of the men exchange looks, clearly wrestling with disbelief. They’ve heard the stories, just like Price, but seeing you now, looking more like a runway model than a deadly mercenary; it’s hard for them to reconcile the myth with the woman before them. The weight of your reputation hovers in the air, but no one speaks it aloud.

Surely the stories were exaggerated, Price thought as he watched you, the quiet figure lounging amidst the behemoths of the 141. You were small—tiny, even—compared to the hulking men surrounding you. They were all sinew and muscle, hardened by the scars of war, skin puckered with keloids and edged with experience. Every inch of them screamed violence, battle-honed warriors ready to strike. And then there was you, standing in the center of it all, soft and petite, as if you’d somehow wandered into the wrong place.

Price struggled to reconcile the image before him with the legend he had heard. The Mercenary—the Mercenary—who had single-handedly taken out entire terrorist cells, dismantled cartels, and assassinated warlords, all while slipping in and out of hostile territories like a ghost. You had pulled off the impossible: extracting hostages from fortified strongholds, escaping death traps set by men who underestimated you, and—on one memorable occasion that seemed too far-fetched to believe—boarding a hijacked plane already 35,000 feet in the air with no safety net to catch you if you missed.

But standing there, you looked almost delicate. Fragile, even. As if a papercut would have you turning lachrymose hues to the men, the skin of your small hands unmarred by the callouses that should have come with years of holding a gun steady. How could someone like you, slight and lithe, with a frame that looked like it belonged in a ballroom, not a battlefield, be the same mercenary who had left trails of bodies in your wake?

It was unsettling. Disarming.

Price’s eyes flicked to the men around you. They were cautious too, thrown off by the contradiction you presented. They’d heard the same stories. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and all his other men—they were all sizing you up, waiting for a sign, something that would confirm or deny the rumors that had reached their ears. But you gave nothing away.

It was easy for the stories to seem exaggerated, to dismiss you as anything other than the quiet, almost too-pretty woman standing before them. But Price had a sinking feeling that those stories, the ones that seemed too wild to be true, might not even scratch the surface of what you were capable of.

And that made you the most dangerous one in the room.

Finally, one of the newer recruits, eyes flickering with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, breaks the silence. His voice cuts through the thick atmosphere like a knife. Impatient, he is. Price needs to drill that out of him before it gets him killed one day, or worse.

“Is this really her? The legendary Mercenary?” he asks, doubt threading through his tone. His eyes narrow, darting over your form as if searching for some obvious flaw, something that proves you aren’t the deadly operative you’re supposed to be. “She doesn’t exactly look the part.”

A low murmur passes between the men, and Price watches carefully, gauging your reaction. They’re on edge, these hardened soldiers, unsure of whether they should be impressed or insulted by the idea that you, this beautiful, relaxed woman, are supposedly their ace in the hole.

You don’t miss a beat. Slowly, with deliberate grace, you let your chair drop back onto all four legs and lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. The shift in your posture is subtle but powerful. The room stills as you survey the faces around you, that lazy, confident grin never leaving your lips. Then you speak, your voice low and smooth, dripping with a dangerous sort of amusement.

“I don’t look the part?” you repeat, eyes sparkling with mischief as you stretch languidly, the movement sending a ripple of distraction through the room. “Go on, sweetheart, tell me, what exactly do you think your enemies are looking for on the battlefield?”

The recruit hesitates, blinking, before he stammers, eyebrows furrowing as if expecting your words to be a trick question, “Uh… Well… people who look like us. Like soldiers.”

You give him a pitying smile, as if you’re explaining something simple to a child. “Exactly. They’re looking for people like you. Trained men, geared up, muscled, armed to the teeth. Big, scary soldiers who they can see coming from a mile away.” Your voice drops, growing almost intimate as you lean forward, eyes hooded. “They aren’t looking for someone like me.”

The room goes quiet again, everyone hanging on your words as you continue, your tone soft but laced with steel. “By the time they even think to check for someone like me? I’m already in their camp, already bleeding them dry, and they don’t even realize it until it’s too late.”

The recruit swallows, his skepticism fading as the weight of your words sinks in. Your beauty, your relaxed demeanor—it isn’t a weakness. It’s a weapon. A weapon that none of them had ever been taught to anticipate. You sit back in your chair, the smirk widening into something almost predatory, letting the silence stretch before you speak again.

“They see you coming. Hell, they’re expecting you. And sure, you’re tough. You’re strong. You know how to fight. But when you look like me, no one expects the knife in the back. No one expects the bullet between their eyes. They underestimate me.” You pause, the smirk twisting into something darker. “And it always costs them everything.”

There’s a shift in the room now. The men exchange uncertain glances, realizing that their assumptions about you have been dangerously naive. Price watches you closely, his gut tightening. You’ve won the room over, made your point loud and clear without so much as breaking a sweat. It’s unsettling, the way you wield words as skillfully as a blade.

Psychological warfare was your preferred weapon, the dossier highlighted.

And maybe that was your greatest weapon. You were the perfect trap—innocuous on the outside, unassuming. But underneath? Underneath was the lethal precision of someone who had mastered the art of deception, who had turned their own appearance into a weapon as sharp as any blade.

Price felt a knot of unease settle in his gut. You didn’t need muscles or brute force. You had something far more dangerous: the element of surprise. You wanted them to underestimate you. Hell, maybe you enjoyed it.

That realization hit him like a cold blade pressed to his throat, and Price shuddered involuntarily. It wasn’t fear, not exactly; not the kind of fear that came from facing an enemy in combat, but something deeper, more primal. The kind of instinct that had kept men alive for centuries. His spine stiffened as the sensation crept down to his core, urging him to adjust, to move, to make sure he always had his eyes on you.

He shifted his position, subtly but deliberately, ensuring that no matter where you moved in the room, he would never have his back to you. It wasn’t conscious, not at first—just an overwhelming sense that he needed to see you, track you, keep you within his line of sight at all times. It was survival instinct at its most raw.

He didn’t trust you. Couldn’t. Not after everything he’d heard. The stories. The way you could turn on a dime, shifting from ally to predator without a second’s warning. And though he knew you were here for the same reason he was—for now, at least—Price couldn’t shake the feeling that the real threat wasn’t the mission. It was you.

The worst part was that you never made it obvious. There was no overt menace, no clear sign of danger. Just the way you moved, fluid and graceful, like a shadow slipping through the cracks of light. It was too easy to picture you with a blade at his throat or a bullet between his eyes, and the thought unsettled him more than it should. You were a mercenary, after all—this was your game.

No, Price realized, he could never afford to look away from you. Not now. Not ever.

You turn your attention back to the recruit, and your voice softens again, the edge in your tone melting away like honey. “So yes, darling, I’m the one they call when things get ugly. Because no one expects the woman to be the monster.”

You let the words hang in the air, the weight of your reputation finally settling in as the men come to terms with what it means to have you on their side. There’s a reason Laswell insisted on bringing you in. A reason Price didn’t protest harder, despite the warning bells ringing in his head.

You’re a weapon. The deadliest kind. One they’re just beginning to understand.

***

The mission began in uneasy silence, the familiar thrum of the helicopter blades cutting through the tension in the air. Ghost sat across from Price, arms folded, eyes hidden behind his skull mask, but even without seeing his expression, Price could sense the discomfort. Soap and Gaz weren’t much better, both of them fidgeting in their seats, exchanging glances but saying nothing— unusual for the two normally loud Sergeants. The air was thick, charged with an unspoken anxiety, malaise.

You sat with them, but apart—physically and emotionally. While the men carried their weapons, tactical vests, and hardened expressions, you wore something completely out of place. Scandalous even, but necessary for the situation. A slinky dress, cut high up the thigh and plunging just low enough to leave nearly nothing to the imagination. Black, tight, and dangerous—like you. Every inch of it was designed to distract, to draw eyes away from the weapon concealed underneath the allure.

Price shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The idea of sending you in dressed like that—to mingle with human traffickers in their filthy, blood-soaked underworld—didn’t sit right with him. You wore no protection, no physical weapon. But he knew it was necessary. None of them could do what you could, slipping between shadows, playing the part so convincingly it was terrifying. You’d be in the belly of the beast, surrounded by men who bought and sold human lives.

As the helicopter roared towards the drop zone, you were the calmest one there, completely unfazed by the mission ahead. You sat with your legs crossed, leaning back against the hull as if this were a casual night out rather than a covert infiltration into the heart of a trafficking ring. You didn’t even glance at the weapons the others carried—why would you? Your body itself was the weapon, sharpened and deadly, while the dress was just a distraction even to the men on the heli.

Price looked out the window, eyes narrowed as he ran through the mission briefing in his head. The traffickers operated out of an exclusive club, hidden behind layers of corruption and bribes. The “Red Room,” they called it—a place where those with enough money could buy anything, anyone. And that’s where you’d be slipping in.

The plan was simple in theory, though nothing ever went as planned. You’d go in first, the rest of the team scattered throughout the perimeter, waiting for your signal. Once you had eyes on the targets—the ringleaders behind the trafficking operation—you’d take them down. Silent, quick, surgical. The rest of the team would follow, sweeping in to clean up the mess.

Price hated it. Despised it. The reliance on a mercenary, the need for you to infiltrate like this—it gnawed at him, leaving him with a deep sense of helplessness as he waited outside while you ventured straight into the lion’s den.

Call him old-fashioned, but the thought of sending a woman into a place built to break women, to degrade them into nothing more than objects, turned his stomach. His skin crawled with the weight of the decision he’d made, the reluctant agreement he’d given when assigning you this task, knowing what it would subject you to, despite your hardened reputation.

The helicopter jerked slightly as they neared the landing zone, the tension in the cabin tightening as they prepared for what came next.

The men checked their gear, but Price couldn’t help but steal a glance at you. You were adjusting the straps of your heels, unbothered by the shift in the helicopter. You caught him looking, and for a brief moment, you smirked—one of those dangerous, knowing smiles that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Relax, Captain,” you purred, voice low and dripping with amusement. “I’ve done this a hundred times. It’s not me you need to worry about.”

Price grunted in response, but the knot of unease in his gut didn’t loosen. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like you. But there was no denying your skill. You were their only shot at infiltrating and escaping without igniting a full-scale war that would spill into the impoverished neighborhoods surrounding The Red Room, putting the locals at risk.

The helicopter landed with a slight jolt, and you stood with the fluidity of a predator. As the doors opened, the cool night air flooded in, mixing with the heavy, pungent smells of the city—garbage, pollution, and the faint stench of decay clinging to its urban foundation coupled with the sting of hot metal from the helicopter.

You were already moving, stepping out into the shadows without a backward glance. Graceful. Tantalizing. A fucking problem if the heat pooling in his lower abdomen was anything to go by.

The Red Room was waiting for you, and with it, the men who thought they could play gods with human lives.

Inside the club, the air hung heavy with a haze of smoke and luxury, the heady mix of costly cologne, sweat, and spilt liquor clinging to every breath. Lights pulsed in time with the music, casting flickering shadows across velvet booths and marble floors. You moved like a wisp through the sea of bodies, effortlessly weaving past gilded figures lost in indulgence, your sharp eyes sweeping over each face, every shadowed corner, alert for the slightest hint of danger.

No one paid you any mind. Just another beautiful woman in a sea of beauty, here to be admired, objectified, discarded.

Your eyes never left the traffickers. They were predators in tailored suits, laughing behind the safety of closed doors, basking in their perceived invincibility. They had no idea that the real predator had already infiltrated their den. A viper in a den of wolves.

Among them, you spotted a target—a bloated, balding man, a thick cigar dangling from his lips as he smirked, a young girl, stiff with terror and silently pleading anyone with her eyes for help, held under his heavy fat arm like an accessory while he dragged her beyond double doors. In an instant, you melted into the shadows, slipping away from the glittering chaos of the club like a whisper carried on the wind, following them.

The Red Room was hidden down a dim corridor, guarded by two burly men. You approached them with a practiced, sultry smile; an expression crafted to exploit the foolishness and vanity of men like these. It worked, as it always did. One of them barely glanced at you before stepping aside, holding the door open without hesitation.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The decadent luxury of the club gave way to something colder, darker. The air in the hallway felt sterile and oppressive, thick with the stench of fear and cruelty. Tears and sex. Depravity and desolation.

As you walked, the soft click of your heels against the marble floor echoed through the space, a haunting reminder of the danger lurking just beneath the surface. Outside, the guards remained blissfully unaware of the storm about to break.

***

Outside, Price and his men lay in wait, a silent sentinel group surveying the entrance. They were a hawk-eyed presence, alert to every detail as they observed the ebb and flow of clubgoers; oblivious revelers lost in the rhythm of the night, unaware of the horrors festering behind the liquor-drenched walls of the establishment. Among them were the human traffickers, predators moving with calculated ease through the crowd, fully aware of the darkness that lurked within.

As the hours dragged on, tension grew palpable in the air. His men shifted restlessly, eyes darting towards the entrance, where your absence weighed heavy. The recruits fidgeted first, their anxiety contagious; soon, even the seasoned veterans succumbed to the unease.

You should have signaled by now.

An uncomfortable weight settled in Price’s gut, worry sinking like a stone, as doubt slithered into his mind. Had his trust in you been misplaced? Were your stories mere fabrications? Was he leading a lamb to slaughter, destined to storm the building only to find your lifeless shell left among the remnants of your fight, chewed up and spat out among the cum-stained shackles of other victims?

Just as he began to consider which of his men he would send in to check on you, the comms crackled to life, your voice sultry and cursory. “Bravo-Six, this is Bravo-Two, how copy?”

Price jolted, relief singing through his veins, the tension in his chest easing. “Solid, Bravo-Two. What's your sitrep?”

“Come see. Back door through the alley. Watch your footing. Follow the hallway on your left to a row of offices. Third door on your right.” And then silence enveloped the channel once more, your voice replaced by the eerie quiet that had plagued it for hours now.

Price exchanged a quick glance with Ghost, the closest man to him, before signaling for the team to move. The meaning behind your warning echoed in his mind, leaving him to wonder what you meant about needing to watch his footing.

He wouldn’t have to wonder for long.

As they entered the back door, the scene before him was grotesque. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, torn and mutilated as if an unstoppable force had swept through them like a violent storm. The human traffickers, buyers, and sellers were dead, their lifeless forms littered with stab wounds and bullet holes, blood pooling around them in dark, congealed puddles, mixing with shards of glass and spilled liquor.

In the shadowy corners of The Red Room, only the victims remained alive—caged like wounded animals, trembling and whimpering, their bodies splattered with the blood of their tormentors.

Price signaled to some of his men to break off and attend to the victims while instructing others to clear the club beyond a set of double doors. The pounding music masked the carnage that lay inside, a stark contrast to the horror they had just uncovered. The rest followed him down a lavishly decorated hallway into a series of opulent offices, where he found you standing amidst the chaos—three dead men scattered around you.

The fourth man knelt on the floor, blood oozing from a gash in his cheek, hands bound behind his back. His eyes wide in terror as he stared at you, as if confronted by a demon, his mind no doubt racing through a rapid reassessment of his life choices as you forced him to come face to face with his mortality.

“Saved you one,” you drawled in lieu of a greeting as you caught sight of the Captain, your hair and skin slick with the tacky blood of others, but not yours.

“You were supposed to call for us, not take on all the traffickers by yourself,” Price snapped, his frustration palpable. You blinked at him, as if the notion of needing assistance was a foreign concept, a radical idea that the 141’s involvement should have been more than a fleeting afterthought.

With an unapologetic shrug, you met his gaze, defiance radiating from you. “Easier this way.”

Unrepentant. Disrespectful.

He hated you. Fucking Mercenaries.

A slow, almost predatory grin curled at your lipstick stained lips, as though you could read Price’s mind and took pleasure in the thought that he despised you. Yet, you didn’t acknowledge it—not now. Still, there was a glint in your eyes, something that made Price’s jaw tighten. He knew you’d throw it in his face later. Call it instinct.

Instead, you turned to the bound man, giving his blood-soaked cheek a condescending pat, like one might to a dog. Blood sprayed across his already stained collar as your manicured fingers dug into his swollen skin. “Meet Vasily Mikhailovich. Human trafficker. Arms dealer. Limited intelligence. Smallest dick you’ve ever seen—”

Vasily snarled in rage, and despite his restraints, he lunged at you. Before Price or his men could react with anything more than raising their weapons, there was a sharp crack. Vasily collapsed at your feet, screaming in agony, his clavicle jutting grotesquely through taut skin. Price hadn’t even seen you move until you were casually resuming your stance, as though nothing had happened.

“That wasn’t very smart of you,” you mused, staring down at the whimpering man, nudging him with the tip of your heel until he rolled over. “It’s rude to try and hit ladies, Mikhailovich.”

A string of curses, half in English, half in Russian, spilled from his lips, but you only smiled, your amusement growing with each word.

You let him continue for a few seconds before you crouched down beside Vasily, your movements fluid and deliberate and his words seemed to die in his throat. You placed your fingers along his jawline, tutting slightly, shushing him.

Price saw it then, the way you wielded your allure like a well-honed tool. With a subtle arch in your back, your posture softened, the dim light of the office casting just the right shadows to highlight your beauty. Your lips curved into a sultry smile, eyes hooded, inviting him— and the rest of the men in the room by extension— to fall into your gaze.

“Shhh,” you whispered, and the air seemed to thicken as you reached out and traced the tip of your blood-slicked finger along his jawline and lower lip, feather light and lingering, like a lover’s touch. His breath hitched, a mix of pain and primal fear contorting his face, but his eyes, those bloodshot, desperate eyes, were hooked on yours.

“Good boy,” you murmured, voice a little sweeter this time, as if rewarding him for his compliance.

“You know, Vasily,” you purred, your voice like velvet, smooth and sinuous, wrapping around the room and dragging everyone into its grasp, “this could go one of two ways. You can keep fighting, keep snarling like the wild dog you are, or…” You leaned in closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear, your words a delicate whisper. “You can tell me everything I need to know. And I’ll make sure the pain stops.”

Vasily’s breathing grew ragged, his mind fraying at the edges, caught between the unbearable throbbing of his broken bone and the soft cadence of your voice. The way you spoke was a lullaby wrapped in threat, every syllable pulling him further into your orbit. Your touch, your voice, your closeness, all of it was like a drug, a disorienting effect that left him feeling both weak and intensely present all at once.

Behind you, Price’s men shifted, eyes flickering between you and the scene unfolding. Even Price, seasoned and hardened as he was, found himself unwillingly mesmerized by the subtle sway of your voice and the deliberate elegance of your movements. Your presence wove through the room like an intoxicating perfume, something that clung to the air, seeming to lull every threat into submission.

Like a manipulative deadly trap.

You moved your hand lower, tracing the lines of Vasily’s arm, lingering just above his restraints, fingers feather-light, the promise of relief so close yet maddeningly distant. His eyes fluttered, and for a second, the defiance in him flickered, like a candle in a storm.

“You’ll be a good boy, won’t you, Vasily?” The words dripped like honey, your lips curling into a smile that was equal parts deadly and intoxicating. Your words echoed through their minds, a seductive whisper that wrapped around their thoughts, making it difficult to focus on anything else. “I know you want to. It’s so much easier to obey. So much easier to make the pain stop.”

He swallowed hard, his tongue darting nervously across his cracked lips. “I—I don’t know anything,” he stammered, his voice hoarse, but there was less conviction now. Your presence was overwhelming, dominating. He wasn’t even speaking to a human anymore; you were something else entirely. Something that demanded submission. He felt powerless, helpless in your clutches, unable to pull away even if he wanted to.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through him. “Don’t lie, Vasily.” You ran your fingers through his greasy hair, tugging lightly, enough to elicit a groan from him. His eyes half-closed as you tugged harder, the sharp pain mingling with the soft lilt of your voice in a way that confused him, that made his head spin. “I know you know. You wouldn’t be where you are if you didn’t. Now tell me…”

You let the sentence hang, trailing your free hand down his neck, your nails grazing his skin lightly, drawing a shudder from him. The whole room seemed to hang on your words, even Price’s men— even Soap, Gaz, and Ghost, seemed caught in your snare, their breaths shallow, as if they too were waiting for something to break.

Your lips brushed dangerously close to Vasily’s ear, tone warm, gentle, enough to make him doubt whether you were a threat at all, or if maybe, just maybe, you were on his side. He gasped, and his resistance snapped. “All right, all right!” His voice was strained, desperate. “It’s—it’s the shipments. The next one’s coming in two days. Weapons. Girls. They— they’re moving them through the docks. I swear. That’s all I know. Just—fuck.”

You smiled again, softer this time, a false kindness that made Vasily’s heart skip, and released your grip on his hair, smoothing it back into place with an almost tender touch. “There you go,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over the corner of his mouth. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The relief on his face was palpable, as if he had been released from some invisible chokehold and in that instant the spell you’d weaved over the entire room like strands of spun sugar shattered leaving Price feeling like he’d been dunked into an icy lake.

Vasily’s entire body sagged, his muscles slackening under your gaze as you rose gracefully to your feet, giving a languid stretch and turned to Price, eyes gleaming with that same magnetic energy.

“All yours, Captain,” you said, your voice a little too sweet, a little too dangerous. “Unless, of course, you’re still doubting me?”

Price’s jaw tightened, the image of the bodies you dropped in the corridor outside of the office flashing through his mind, his eyes flickering on Vasily and the tent in his pants, the embarrassed flush of his cheeks. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction, the boost to your ego, but his eyes betrayed him. He didn’t doubt you. Not anymore. None of them would.

***

Two days later, the docks loom before them, sprawling across the coastline like a forgotten graveyard of steel and rust. Shipping containers stacked high like tombstones, warehouses slouched in the distance, and cranes poised like skeletons against the darkening sky. The sea churns in the background, a slate gray mass flecked with whitecaps as the eastern wind howls through the gaps between the structures. The smell of saltwater and oil hangs in the air, thick and acrid, clinging to everything like a stain that won’t wash off. Overhead, the cries of gulls are swallowed by the low hum of machinery, the industrial heartbeat of a place where shadowy deals are brokered in the dark. The perfect setting for the kind of bloodstained business you’re about to tear apart.

Tonight, there’s no need for seductive disguises or glittering gowns. You’re clad in tactical gear that fits like a second skin, tight Kevlar pants hugging your form, combat boots laced tight, and a custom tactical vest that clings to your curves in a way that draws more than a few glances from the others. No helmet, though—when Soap questions your lack of NVGs, his brow furrowed in confusion, you merely smirk at him, your voice dropping to a playful coo as if he’s a child asking about monsters under the bed. “Don’t worry, love. I see plenty in the dark.”

Unlike last time, you’re not going in alone. You move with them, part of the team, though it quickly becomes clear that you’re still in a league of your own. As the raid begins, Price watches you weave through the shadows, faster and deadlier than anyone else. The operation moves like clockwork, the team dispersing to take their positions, rifles poised, eyes sharp. But while the others move like soldiers, precise and tactical, you move like a predator, instinct guiding you as much as training.

The first targets fall almost too easily. You glide up behind one of the guards, your knife flashing like silver lightning in the moonlight, and in an instant, the man crumples to the ground, his throat slit before he even knows what hit him. Silent. Efficient. Deadly. Price catches a glimpse of you through the scope of his rifle, watching as you drag the body into the shadows, your movements quick and fluid, and he’s reminded of the reports he read—brutal, vicious, without mercy.

But words on paper pale in comparison to the reality before him. As the firefight breaks out, gunfire erupts around the docks, chaos exploding in every direction, and you’re in the thick of it, tearing through enemies with a terrifying grace. You’re not just fighting; you’re dismantling them, piece by bloody piece. One man lunges at you with a knife, and in a heartbeat, you twist his wrist with a bone-snapping crack, slam him against a shipping container, and bury your blade in his chest without a second thought. Another opens fire, but before he can get a second shot off, you’re already on him, disarming him with a brutal kick to the jaw that leaves him sprawling on the ground. You don’t hesitate to finish him off, a single bullet to the skull, your movements cold and unrelenting.

Price orders his men to push forward, but his gaze keeps flicking back to you. He’s seen black ops soldiers in action before—seen Spetsnaz cut through enemies with machine-like precision—but you’re something else. There’s a ferocity in the way you fight, a raw, unbridled violence that has nothing to do with rules or regulations. It’s personal. Every move, every strike, feels like it carries a deeper purpose, as if the blood on your hands is a long-overdue justice you’ve been waiting to exact.

Soap lets out a low whistle over comms, his voice thick with awe. “Screaming Jesus, she’s a one-woman army.”

Price doesn’t respond, his jaw set tight as he watches you tear through another wave of enemies. The reports weren’t just accurate—they were restrained. You’re more than what they described, more than what even he expected. And as the last of the traffickers are mopped up, bodies littering the docks like broken marionettes, Price realizes there’s no one alive tonight who’ll walk away with a different opinion.

Not of The Mercenary. Not of the storm she unleashed.

It’s not long before the docks finally fall silent, what with you tearing through the traffickers like a hot knife through butter like you did. The echoes of gunfire faded into the night as Price surveyed the aftermath—bodies strewn across the grimy concrete, the remnants of a trafficking ring laid to waste. His team moved like shadows, finishing up the sweep, checking corners, and clearing out the last stragglers. Everything was by the book, clean and efficient, the kind of op that Price had seen a hundred times before.

But there was something different this time, and it wasn’t just the bloodied bodies left behind. It was you.

You stood near the water’s edge, wiping blood from your knife with a rag, the same calm expression on your face as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. As if you hadn’t torn through armed men like they were made of paper, leaving only devastation in your wake. You didn’t even glance at the bodies or the carnage around you. To you, this was routine, just another mission. Another paycheck.

Price’s eyes narrowed as he watched you. This was the part where you’d usually disappear—head out for your next contract, vanish into the night like the ghost you were. It’s what mercenaries did. They moved from job to job, no loyalty, no ties, just the endless chase of money and violence. He expected you to do the same now, your work here done.

But as his team packed up, ready to head back to base, you didn’t move.

Price signaled for the team to regroup, his orders coming out in short, clipped bursts over the comms. His focus was on his men, but his thoughts were on you. You weren’t leaving. Why weren’t you leaving?

You boarded the transport with them, sitting in the back, quiet, composed. Pupils blown wide as if you were excited instead of bone tired like the rest of them.

Soap, sitting across from you, gave you a raised brow, clearly curious, but he kept his distance. No one spoke. Not even you, which was… odd. Too odd.

Price kept glancing your way during the ride back, suspicion gnawing at him. What was your game? There was no reason for you to stay. No reason for you to be here, surrounded by military personnel, under their scrutiny. Yet you were sitting there, casual as ever, your gear still drenched in blood, as if this was where you belonged.

When the transport rolled into the base, Price caught Ghost’s eye, the unspoken tension crackling between them. His second-in-command seemed as wary as he was, but neither voiced their concerns just yet. They couldn’t. Not without proof. Not without something more than a gut feeling.

As they disembarked, Price expected you to peel off, maybe hitch a ride to the nearest city. But you followed them into the heart of the base, your steps unhurried, your presence unnervingly calm. You weren’t rushing to leave. You were settling in. Like you intended to stay.

***

A few days had passed since the raid at the docks, and everything seemed to settle back into the usual rhythm at the base. On the surface, anyway. Price was back to his routine, briefing the team, debriefing them, overseeing the cleanup from the mission. The trafficking ring had been dismantled, their operations left in ruin, and the victims had been taken care of. Everything should’ve been straightforward.

But it wasn’t.

His instincts told him otherwise. Something was off.

You were still here.

Price had expected you to vanish the moment the job was done. That’s what mercenaries did—complete the contract, collect the payout, and disappear without a second thought. No attachments, no lingering. But it had been days, and you hadn’t left. You wandered the base, moved through the halls like you belonged here, like you had no intention of leaving.

Every time he spotted you, that same unease crept up his spine. You wore the same calm, composed expression, no sign of hurry or purpose. You engaged with his men like you were another soldier of his making passing comments and bantering, the occasional smirk that tugging at your lips when Soap or Gaz tried to strike up casual conversation. And while the others seemed to accept your presence without question, Price couldn’t shake the feeling that something darker lurked beneath your cool exterior.

It was late one night when he spotted you standing near the armory, inspecting some gear. No one else was around. The quiet of the base hummed in the background, punctuated only by the low buzz of security lights. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching you. You didn’t notice him—or at least, you didn’t make it obvious that you had.

He could still hear the rumors from the mission. Ghost, Soap, Gaz—they all talked about the way you’d torn through the enemy like a storm, leaving bodies broken and bloodied in your wake. Brutal. Vicious. No mercy. The reports hadn’t done you justice. And yet, here you were, walking through their base like the aftermath of that massacre hadn’t left a mark on you.

Price had seen enough soldiers go through hell and come out the other side broken or hardened, scarred in ways that never truly healed. But you? There was nothing but cold precision in your every movement, as if all the violence and death you caused was just another day at work. That was what bothered him the most—how utterly unfazed you were. How dangerous that made you.

As you turned, spotting him in the doorway, that small, knowing smile curled across your lips. Like you knew exactly what he was thinking. It was the same smile you’d given after the mission, when you’d cleaned off your knife without so much as a glance at the carnage you’d left behind.

“Price,” you greeted, your tone light, casual, as if the two of you were old acquaintances.

He grunted in return, stepping into the room, crossing his arms. “Still here, I see.”

Your smile deepened, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “Didn’t know I had a deadline.”

“You don’t,” Price replied, though his voice was tight, clipped. “But most mercs don’t stick around after the job’s done.”

Price narrowed his eyes, watching the way you shrugged off his question with a casual, almost too-relaxed air. “I like the company,” you said, your voice smooth, unbothered, like someone who had nothing to hide. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

For someone in your line of work, you were too comfortable. Too at ease, lingering here long after the job was done. No mercenary sticks around just because they “like the company.” It didn’t add up.

He stared at you for a moment longer, your calm demeanor suddenly grating on him. And that’s when it clicked—the way you never seemed rushed to leave, the way your eyes tracked every movement in a room, like you were always assessing, calculating. This wasn’t about the company. It wasn’t even about the mission anymore.

Price could feel it in his gut, that same gnawing feeling that told him you were here for more than just the mission. You had a second objective, something that kept you close to them, waiting, watching.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let something worse than any enemy into their midst. A rot, festering beneath the surface, quiet and patient. You were no ordinary mercenary. You were a plague, spreading through their ranks, waiting for the right moment to turn gangrenous and poison them all from within.

His jaw clenched as he met your gaze, refusing to let the unease show in his eyes. “What’s your real game here?”

For a long moment, you said nothing, just watched him with that same maddening composure. Slowly, your head tilted, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but it never touched your eyes.

“Curiosity, Captain. I’m simply curious.”

“Curious about what?” His voice was low, a deep rumble like distant thunder on the verge of a storm.

Instead of answering, you gave him that smile—a smile he knew all too well. He’d seen it before, on the faces of sociopaths who thrived on control. Lips pulled tight over teeth, but no warmth, no humanity behind the gaze.

A chill slid down his spine, and his fingers itched toward his gun. But he held steady, knowing that drawing it wouldn’t intimidate you. If anything, he had the unsettling suspicion it might amuse you instead.

***

Weeks passed, and you didn’t leave.

Price watched you like a hawk, waiting for the moment you’d pack up, chase down another contract, disappear like the mercenary you were. But you stayed. You drifted through their base like a shadow, always there but never fully integrated, always just on the periphery.

Every move you made was calculated, deliberate, and though no one said it outright, the entire team felt it. You were a presence; unsettling, magnetic, impossible to ignore. Like a lit candle you should keep an eye on less it be forgotten and burn your house down as a result.

Price had never felt this level of constant tension before. Not on long deployments, not during high-stakes missions. It wasn’t the enemy outside that kept him awake at night; it was you. The way you seemed to move through their ranks without ever fully being a part of them.

He stayed on edge, hyper-vigilant, like a coiled spring, knowing something was going to snap, but unsure of when or how. His senses were stretched thin, his patience even thinner.

It was like having a wolf among sheep, and worse, the sheep were growing comfortable with it.

One night, as Price sat alone in his office, eyes burning from lack of sleep, his head buzzing when there was a quiet knock on the door. It was Gaz, looking more awkward than usual.

“Sir, I thought you should know… Soap’s been, uh… spending time with her.” He didn’t say your name, but he didn’t have to. There was only one “her” that could cause this kind of unease.

Price’s stomach dropped. “Define ‘spending time,’ Sergeant.”

Gaz shifted uncomfortably. “They, uh… hooked up. Last night.”

Price’s hand clenched into a fist, knuckles going white against the desk. He didn’t want to believe it, but he could see the truth in Gaz’s eyes. The warning signs had been there. Soap had always been the bold one, reckless even, and you—well, you thrived on that. Price should’ve seen this coming.

His mind raced. Soap, of all people, had fallen into your web. He could only imagine how you’d spun it, lured him in with that seductive charm you wielded like a weapon. And now? Now one of his own was compromised, and he could feel the situation spiraling out of his control.

Price dismissed Gaz with a terse nod, and the second the door closed, he slammed his fist down on the desk.

This wasn’t just about Soap being reckless or stupid. It was about you. Staying on base for weeks without any clear reason, keeping everyone on edge. And now, with Soap tangled up in whatever game you were playing, it was like watching a slow poison seep into the unit.

He stood up, jaw clenched as he paced the room, trying to think. He couldn’t let this go on. He couldn’t afford to be patient anymore. Whatever your endgame was, you had already begun to rot away at the heart of his team.

***

Price didn’t sleep that night. He paced his office, mind racing, piecing together every moment from the past few weeks. Every time he’d caught your eye lingering on him, every smile that felt more like a test than a gesture of goodwill. Now, with Soap wrapped up in your web, it was clear that this wasn’t just his paranoia. You had an agenda, and he had let you into their midst.

The next morning, Price called a meeting. The men gathered in the briefing room, and he could feel the shift in the air as soon as you entered. All eyes gravitated toward you. You moved like you always did—fluid, confident, unbothered. Soap sat across the table, his gaze drifting to you more than it should, and Price’s jaw tightened.

He began to speak, his voice sharp as a knife. “We’re moving out tonight. Intel says there’s a shipment coming in—drugs, arms, the usual. We’re going to shut it down.” The plan wasn’t anything new—standard sweep and seizure. But it was the underlying tension in the room that couldn’t be ignored. Price’s words were meant to shift the focus, to drag his team back to where they needed to be. But as he spoke, he caught you watching him, your expression unreadable, a flicker of amusement in your eyes that sent a chill down his spine.

Once the briefing ended, the men dispersed, except for Soap, who lingered by you, grinning like he was in on some private joke. Price stared at him for a moment longer than necessary before heading out, fighting the rising frustration in his gut.

Later on after finishing up the mission, Price sat in his office, the faint hum of activity echoing through the hallways. His door cracked open slightly, letting in the soft shuffle of footsteps, the sound unmistakable.

“Captain.”

Your voice, low and almost playful, cut through the silence like a blade. He didn’t turn to look at you. He couldn’t trust himself to keep his composure.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” you continued, stepping further into the room. He could hear the soft click of the door shutting behind you. “Everything alright?”

Price clenched his jaw. “I was just focused on the mission.”

“That so?” You circled around to stand in front of his desk, leaning against it casually, too casually for his liking. Your presence was overwhelming, filling the small space like a thick fog. “You don’t seem like the type to get distracted, Captain.”

“And you seem like the type that enjoys creating distractions.” He finally met your gaze, and the way you smiled in response sent a shiver of unease down his spine. You were toying with him, and worse, you knew he knew it.

“Why are you still here?” Price asked, his voice low, controlled.

Your smile widened slightly. “I told you before—curiosity.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “You don’t stay in one place this long for curiosity.”

You didn’t flinch at his tone, didn’t seem fazed at all. Instead, you leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing as you regarded him like a predator assessing prey. “I’ve spent time in many places. Ask around—check with units in Marawi, Mogadishu, Kandahar… even Berlin. I always seem to stick around longer than planned, don’t I?” You laughed lightly, shaking your head like it was an amusing coincidence. “But then again, maybe they never saw it either. Maybe you’re the only one smart enough to see the bigger picture.”

Price’s pulse quickened. Every location you listed, every unit you mentioned, could easily be verified. You knew that. But it was the way you laid it out—so casually, like you weren’t even concerned—that made him falter. Like you wanted him to check, knowing full well what he’d find. Hadn’t you been acting the same way there too? Charming your way through, making yourself indispensable, all the while threading yourself deeper into their fabric until it was too late to unravel you?

“You can ask, Captain,” you purred, leaning in just a little closer, the air between you suffocating with tension. “But you won’t find anything out of the ordinary. Because, if you start seeing ghosts in every corner… well, maybe the problem isn’t me…”

You trailed off meaningfully and Price didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was racing, every instinct screaming at him that something was very, very wrong. You had stayed too long, ingratiated yourself too easily, and now Soap was involved. And even though he wanted to believe it was just a lapse in judgment on Soap’s part, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all part of a larger plan. And yet…

“You know,” you said softly, almost thoughtfully, “trust is such a delicate thing. Once it’s broken, it’s hard to repair. You start questioning everything. Everyone.”

The way you said it made Price’s skin crawl. You were baiting him, pushing him to the edge, and he was dangerously close to snapping.

“What the hell are you playing at?” he demanded, standing up, fists clenched.

You didn’t back down. If anything, you seemed to enjoy the tension, your smile sharpening into something more predatory. “Nothing at all, Captain. Just… enjoying my time. Having fun.”

Price took a step closer, his voice a low growl. “This isn’t a game.”

You tilted your head slightly, the smile never leaving your face. “I never said it was, Captain. I’m afraid you’re reading too far into things. Seeing shadows where there isn’t any.”

Price’s heart pounded in his chest as he stood there, caught in a web of uncertainty and suspicion. He didn’t trust you. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could trust his own men anymore, not after what happened with Soap.

But as much as he wanted to get you off his base, to throw you out and wash his hands of this whole mess, he couldn’t. Not yet. Because something told him that whatever you were really after, it wasn’t just Soap. And until he knew for sure what your endgame was, he had no choice but to keep you close—and pray that he hadn’t just let a fox into the henhouse.

As you turned to leave, Price couldn’t help but feel like he’d just lost a battle he hadn’t even realized he was fighting. “Sweet dreams, Captain. Good night.”

***

Price hung up the phone, staring at the receiver as if it could offer answers to the storm raging in his mind. Eight months. You’d lingered for eight whole months after your contract ended in Berlin, weaving yourself into the fabric of another unit’s daily routine, and just like the Colonel had said, you left without a trace of anything suspicious. No incidents. No trouble. Just gone, as suddenly as you had come.

But the Colonel’s words echoed in his mind: “I thought the same like you, Captain, Ja. I had my eyes on her the whole time, thought something was happening… but nothing ever came of it. She is slippery, that one, but not a drop of blut was out of place when she went away.”

Price exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, fingers massaging his temples. Eight months. He should’ve been reassured, should’ve felt some relief hearing that someone else, someone just as seasoned, had gone through the same ordeal. But instead, it gnawed at him, deepening the pit of uncertainty growing in his gut. If nothing happened then… why did every nerve in his body scream at him now?

He’d been in the field for decades, lived through hells most men wouldn’t survive, and his instincts had kept him alive through it all. But now? Now he was doubting himself. Questioning his own judgment, wondering if the years had worn him down, made him paranoid. Had it all finally caught up to him? Maybe the pressure, the decades of battle scars, were finally showing. Yet, every fiber of his being still rebelled against the idea of ignoring what was so blatantly wrong.

No, he thought. My instincts are never wrong. He had learned to trust that gut feeling, the one that separated him from the men who didn’t make it.

The door creaked open, and Ghost stepped in, interrupting the maelstrom of thoughts swirling in Price’s head. He stood there, imposing as always, but there was something different in his expression. Price sat up straighter, bracing himself.

“Sir,” Ghost started, his voice steady but with an edge of uncertainty, unusual for the Lieutenant.

“What is it?” Price asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“The mercenary,” Ghost clarified, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She took part in a training drill today with some of the recruits.”

Price blinked. That wasn’t unusual in itself. You’d been weaving in and out of different areas for weeks now, always showing up in unexpected places, like you were trying to familiarize yourself with every inch of the base. But the tension in Ghost’s stance told Price there was more to the story.

“What happened?” Price asked, already feeling a creeping dread in the back of his mind.

“One of the recruits made a mistake. Big one,” Ghost continued. “Nearly cost him his life. Got caught up in a malfunction on the rappel during the high-altitude training drill.”

Price’s heart skipped a beat. “And?”

“She saved him,” Ghost said simply. “Reacted faster than anyone else. Snapped the rope, pulled him out before he hit the deck.”

Price was silent for a moment, digesting the information. “She saved him?”

Ghost nodded. “Yeah. Kid would’ve been dead if not for her. She didn’t just follow protocol. She handled it like she’d done it a hundred times before.”

Price leaned back in his chair again, his mind whirling. You’d saved a recruit’s life, a move that should have earned you praise. But all he could feel was a deepening sense of confusion. You were smart—too smart, maybe. Every move you made, every little gesture, seemed calculated. Even this.

“Did she say anything afterward?” Price asked, narrowing his eyes at Ghost.

“Not much,” Ghost replied. “Just told him to ‘pay better attention next time.’ Then walked off like nothing happened.”

Price nodded, though the pit in his stomach widened. You were integrating yourself even more, and not just through casual conversation or staying on base. Now, you were actively participating in training, putting yourself in situations where people’s lives depended on you. Perfectly timed, Price thought. You knew how to make yourself indispensable, a hero even. It was the perfect strategy—who would suspect someone who just saved a recruit’s life?

But it only added to Price’s unease. You weren’t just hanging around. You were embedding yourself deeper into their operations, gaining trust in subtle, almost insidious ways. The other soldiers would start seeing you as one of them now, and that was exactly what Price had been afraid of. You were smart, calculated, and every move you made had a purpose.

Ghost noticed Price’s silence, his usual unreadable expression giving way to a flicker of concern. “You think she’s up to something?”

“I don’t know,” Price admitted, his voice rough. “But I’m damn sure we’ve let something in. And if we don’t figure it out soon, it’s going to spread.” He glanced at Ghost, knowing he needed his team more than ever. “Keep an eye on her. And make sure the others do too. If she’s playing us… I don’t want her to slip through our fingers.”

Ghost gave a curt nod before turning to leave, but Price didn’t feel any better. The pieces were moving, the game had started, and you had somehow made yourself both player and wildcard. And if Price wasn’t careful, you were going to turn everything on its head.

***

Unfortunately for the growing alarm bells ringing— screaming— in the back of his head, Price couldn’t deny the shift that had taken place after you saved Private Merrick’s life. The act, as timely as it was heroic, had made you a near instant legend on base. Where there had once been wariness, there was now admiration. Distrust had given way to camaraderie. The mercenary who’d sparked suspicion had, overnight, become one of them.

The recruits, green and eager to prove themselves, were especially captivated. They hung on every word you said, their wide-eyed awe palpable as you walked among them, offering tips, pointers, and more often than not, a sly smile that sent them stumbling over themselves. Soap, naturally, had been quick to follow. Gaz too, now. Wherever you went, they seemed to hover nearby, as if drawn in by some invisible thread you were masterfully tugging.

They weren’t the only ones. The seasoned soldiers, men hardened by battle, found themselves drawn in as well, their initial skepticism melting into begrudging respect. You were seen everywhere now: the gym, the shooting range, combat drills, simulations. You seamlessly inserted yourself into every facet of their routine, giving advice, correcting form, all with a confidence and casual ease that was impossible to ignore.

They ate it up: your presence, your guidance, the way you seemed to understand every nuance of warfare as if you’d written the manual yourself. And through it all, that same playful amusement never left your expression, like you were indulging them in some elaborate game only you truly understood.

For most, that was enough. The charm, the beauty, the undeniable skill, all of it combined into a perfect storm that left the men blind to the subtle machinations beneath the surface. But not Price. And not Ghost.

No, for Price, the growing crowd of admirers only deepened the unease gnawing at him. You were too good at this. Too adept at weaving yourself into the fabric of their base, ingratiating yourself with the men until even the most seasoned soldiers saw you as one of them. It should have been reassuring, knowing that so many eyes were on you, watching your every move. But it wasn’t.

Because Price knew that the more you were seen, the more you were in control. And control, he realized, was exactly what you wanted.

He’d watched you long enough now to know there was no accident in the way you operated. Every interaction, every gesture, was carefully measured, designed to draw people closer while keeping them just far enough from the truth. They saw the hero who saved lives, the expert who could outshoot and outfight most of them. They didn’t see the subtle manipulation, the way you orchestrated their perception of you with all the grace of a master conductor.

Price watched it unfold daily, helpless to stop it, and it unnerved him. You were a serpent in their midst, coiled and waiting, though for what, he wasn’t sure.

It was that uncertainty, the sense that there was more beneath the surface, that had him on edge. He tried to shake it off, to tell himself he was overthinking, that his paranoia was getting the best of him. But his instincts, the same instincts that had kept him alive for decades, refused to quiet.

And then there was Ghost. Silent, observant Ghost, who had taken to watching you with the same wariness that Price felt but couldn’t yet name. The two of them were the last holdouts, the only ones still resisting the pull of your charm. But for how long?

One evening, as Price sat in his office, the weight of sleepless nights and gnawing doubts pressing heavily on him, he heard the now-familiar sound of footsteps approaching his door. He didn’t need to look up to know it was you. There was something distinctive about the way you moved—too smooth, too deliberate.

“Captain,” your voice purred, cutting through the stillness of the room. Slid through the air, low and laced with amusement.

He didn’t bother to respond immediately, keeping his eyes on his paperwork (though his focus had long since abandoned him), hoping you’d take the hint. But of course, you didn’t. You never did. You weren’t one for leaving things alone.

You closed the door behind you and stepped further into the room, the space seeming to shrink around your presence. Thick and suffocating, creeping in the room like smoke. The sweetest perfume. “You’ve been keeping to yourself,” you observed, your tone light, playful, as if you were speaking to an old friend. Teasing. This was all a game to you. He knew it was. He knew you enjoyed every second of it.

“I’m busy,” Price muttered, not looking up from the papers scattered across his desk. Jaw tight. Molar aching. He could feel you watching him. Dissecting him with those sharp, calculating eyes. The room felt smaller with you in it.

“Busy with what? Watching me?” The challenge was evident in your voice, a hint of amusement curling the edges of your words. You took slow, deliberate steps towards his desk. Through the shadows. A panther hunting prey.

Bringing you here was a mistake but Laswell had insisted, and Price— ever loyal to her judgment— had conceded, like always.

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and Price’s grip on the pen tightened. It took everything in him not to snap, not to lash out in a way that you’d only twist into some game. He could feel his pulse quicken, an involuntary reaction to the control you wielded so effortlessly.

“Why are you still here?” he finally asked, his voice low and controlled. Brittle. Like rust flaking off metal.

“I’ve told you,” you began, leaning forward just enough to invade his space. You smiled, that maddening smile, like you knew exactly what you were doing. “I’m curious.” Tone dripping with false innocence.

Price isn’t a religious man but even he knows mythology all around the world say the same thing sometimes: a monster that takes on the shape of beautiful women to lure men in and bleed them dry. Siren. Succubus. Lamia. Jorogumo. Nymphs. You.

Price didn’t buy it. Couldn’t buy it. “Curiosity doesn’t make you stay this long.”

You smiled, that same infuriating, empty smile you always gave. “You really think I’m up to something, don’t you?”

He met your gaze, and for the briefest moment, he saw something flicker in your eyes. Amusement. Triumph. You know, he thought. You know exactly what you’re doing, and you’re enjoying it. The way you were looking at him— it wasn’t innocent at all.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Price asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your eyes glinted with something darker and the air felt heavier. “What do you mean?”

“You linger. Stick around bases after your contracts end. Like in Berlin,” Price pressed, his voice low but firm. “Eight months. That’s what they said. And nothing happened, right?”

Your smile widened, eyes flashing with a dangerous light. “Is that what’s bothering you, Captain? That nothing happened?”

Price’s heart pounded in his chest. You were pushing him. Toying with him, manipulating every word to plant more doubt, more confusion.

“You can call them, you know,” you said, leaning even closer. “Berlin. Warsaw. Cairo. Ask around. I’ve stayed on bases longer than I should have, but nothing ever happens. It’s just you, Captain. Just your paranoia.”

He stared at you, struggling to keep his composure, but you’d seen it. That flicker of doubt. That split second of hesitation. And you pounced on it.

“You’re getting tired, aren’t you?” you whispered. “Decades of service. Constant vigilance. Maybe it’s wearing you down. Maybe you’re imagining things.”

Price clenched his fists, feeling the tension coil in his muscles. He was tired, but his instincts had always been his guide. Yet you were so effortlessly making him doubt them.

“Or,” you continued, voice low and dripping with venomous sweetness, “maybe you’re right. Maybe I am up to something. But if that’s the case… what are you going to do about it?”

Price’s blood ran cold. You were challenging him, daring him to act, to confront you. And all the while, you wore that same damn smile, the one that made him feel like he was the one losing control.

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming as you stepped around the desk, slowly closing the distance between him and you. “You really do think I’m up to something, don’t you?”

Price leaned back slightly, his breath shallow, but he stayed rooted to his chair. You were close now, too close. The faint scent of your perfume mixed with the metallic tang of his anxiety.

Without a word, you reached out, your fingers grazing lightly over his shoulder. Price stiffened, the warmth of your touch sending a shock through his system. You leaned in, your breath brushing against his neck, and whispered, “You look tired, Captain.”

He wanted to move, to shake you off, but his body betrayed him. The exhaustion weighed down his limbs, and before he could stop you, your hands were kneading gently into the knots in his shoulders.

“Carrying the weight of the world, aren’t you?” you cooed softly, fingers working into the tension, the pressure just enough to make him falter. “Must be exhausting. No wonder you’re starting to see things… imagining things.”

Price gritted his teeth, fighting against the wave of fatigue that was crashing over him, but your touch was so… disarming. Slowly, without realizing it, he found himself relaxing under your hands, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. You felt it too—the way his resistance was crumbling, brick by brick.

“That’s it, Captain,” you murmured, your voice laced with false concern as your hands worked lower, pressing into the tight muscles of his back. “You’ve been doing this for so long. Decades of service. Always on edge. Always watching. Don’t you ever just… let go?”

Price’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he forced them open again, fighting to keep control, but the words wouldn’t come. You’d stepped even closer now, leaning against his desk, nearly perched in his lap, your breath warm against his ear.

“I can help, you know,” you whispered, your lips so close they brushed against his skin. “Take some of that weight off your shoulders.”

Price swallowed hard, the tension in the air palpable. He knew what you were doing, knew this was just another layer of your manipulation, but his body wasn’t responding the way he wanted it to. His arms felt heavy, his breathing shallow. Your hands, now on his neck, massaged with an expert’s precision, coaxing him into compliance.

“I’ve been around, Captain,” you continued, your voice soft, hypnotic. “Berlin. Cairo. So many places where they thought like you—always suspicious, always looking for something that wasn’t there. And do you know what happened?”

You leaned in closer, your lips grazing the edge of his jaw, your breath sending shivers down his spine.

“Nothing.”

The word hung in the air, and Price’s head swam, caught between the fog of exhaustion and the insidiousness of your touch.

“I’m not the problem, Captain,” you whispered, your hand tracing down his chest, fingers curling ever so slightly against the fabric of his shirt. “You are. You’ve been at this too long. You don’t know when to stop. When to trust.”

Price clenched his fists at his sides, willing his body to move, to push you away, but he was trapped between his own fatigue and the intoxicating effect of your presence.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you murmured, voice almost tender now. “I’m here because I think you’re special. Smart. Worthy of my attention. But you need to let go. Just a little. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting yourself.”

Your words wove their way into his mind, insidious and slow, planting seeds of doubt. His instincts, the ones that had kept him alive for so long, screamed at him to resist, to see through the haze you were creating. But his body was weak. His mind clouded. And you were so close, so warm, so soft.

Before he could speak, your fingers slid up to his jaw, gently turning his face to meet yours. The way you looked at him—predatory, with a flicker of something darker—made his breath hitch.

And in that moment, he realized just how far he’d fallen. How deep into your web he’d been pulled.

***

The feel of your skin beneath his fingers is rapturous. It’s been too long since he’s touched a woman like this. Years. Decades, maybe. Not since he was a recruit. Maybe not even then.

Your skin is so warm it sears him, like his fingertips are burning against molten caramel, soft and yielding. He bites along the curve of your inner thigh, and the sensation explodes in his mind, melting away whatever resistance he once had.

Electricity hums through him, short-circuiting the alarm bells that had been screaming in the back of his head for weeks. Blessed silence fills the space where doubt and suspicion had lived ever since he saw your dossier. He doesn’t understand you; he’s not sure anyone truly does— but this… this he understands.

Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, your pants are gone, discarded in the blur of heated moments. His head spins like he’s been drinking the strongest liquor, intoxicated, consumed by the heat between you. He’s drowning, but for the first time in weeks, he’s at peace with it.

How did he get here? You’d walked into his office barely twenty minutes ago, and now…

Now.

His fingers hook around the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with a roughness that makes him groan. The sight of you, glistening, dripping… it’s almost too much.

“Fuck,” the word rumbles from his throat, thick and heavy, like a storm rolling in on a sweltering summer night. His body feels like it’s been set on fire, his blood ignited, burning like the tips of his cigars.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers teasing along your slick folds. The sensation beneath his touch is almost overwhelming— sticky, wet, and so incredibly wanting.

“Fuck,” he murmurs again, the word dragging from his lips as his mouth waters. He can’t stop himself, not anymore. He leans forward, driven by instinct, by a deep seated need to taste you, to devour you.

The taste of your cunt floods his senses, richer than any wine, sweeter than any ambrosia. It’s forbidden, like a taste of something divine, and as his eyes roll back, he’s lost in you.

His hands grip tighter, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as if anchoring himself to the moment. The world tilts, his mind spinning as he presses his mouth deeper, dragging his tongue through your wetness. The heat of you, the taste—it’s all-consuming.

The low hum of his growl vibrates against your core, sending a ripple through you that makes you shudder. Every fiber of his being is alive, sparking, like he’s teetering on the edge of something cataclysmic. His control, usually so ironclad, is slipping with every pulse of your body beneath his.

You moan, soft but sharp, and it ignites something primal in him. He grips harder, pulling you closer, deeper into his mouth, losing himself in the taste of you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him on, and he obliges without thought, driven by a need that eclipses every other instinct.

His mind is quiet. Blissfully, achingly quiet. No questions, no doubts. Just this—your warmth, your scent, your taste. His world narrows to this moment, this singular point of contact where you meet him, where everything else fades away.

He groans again, the sound muffled against you, and it vibrates through his chest like thunder. Every flick of his tongue feels like fire, every second stretching out into something timeless, endless. He’s lost, drowning, and he’s never felt so damn content in the suffocating pull of it all.

Price doesn’t remember how it started, doesn’t remember why it even began. All he knows now is that he’s here, with you, and the rest of the world is a distant blur, a forgotten consequence of this moment.

His mouth works against your cunt, slow but deliberate, every motion designed to unravel you further. Your gasps, your shudders—they fuel him.

His hands grip tighter, anchoring you in place, holding you still against his mouth. He’s seen your strength, knows how easily you could fight him off if you wanted. But you’re yielding beneath him, pliant in his grasp. Submissive in a way that twists something primal inside him.

He holds you firm, his mouth relentless, dragging you closer to the edge with every flick of his tongue. His lips press against your clit, a reverent kiss, sucking gently but with purpose, driving you mad with sensation.

“Price—oh, God,” you gasp, your voice ragged, hands clutching his hair, tugging, pulling. But you don’t push him away. You pull him closer, pushing yourself deeper into his mouth as he coaxes you to the brink.

Your body trembles, thighs shaking, and he knows you’re close. He can feel it in the way your muscles tighten, hear it in the way your breath hitches. And then you’re coming undone, keening above him as your orgasm crashes over you.

Price watches, captivated, as you fall apart. It’s a revelation, the sight of you trembling, unraveling beneath his touch, the taste of you flooding his senses. He drinks it in, savoring every drop, letting it fill him, consume him. There’s something intoxicating in it, a sweetness that lingers, turning his thoughts to static.

He pulls back when he’s had his fill, sitting up, licking his lips as though he’s just finished a feast. The sight of you, dazed, eyes half-lidded, makes something feral stir in his chest.

You slither into his lap, and despite the warning bells starting back up in the back of his mind—viper, viper, viper—he lets you. He can’t resist, not when you fit so perfectly against him, not when your warmth seeps into his skin like a drug.

His belt clinks as his pants fall open, and you smirk, that maddening, teasing smirk, the one that makes him want to either kiss you or strangle you. “That looks painful.”

His cock is painfully hard, the tip flushed, leaking, staining his boxers. Veins bulge along the length, and he’s never felt so desperate, so needy. “Because of you,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

Your smile widens, something wicked and knowing behind it, like you’re a siren luring him deeper into your trap. (Siren. Succubus. Lamia. Jorogumo. Nymphs. You.) “Want me to take care of it, Captain?”

You roll your hips, your slick folds sliding over him, making him jerk up involuntarily. His breath catches, and he nods, unable to form words, his need too great. “Please,” he rasps.

You coo softly, mocking him with your sweetness, teasing him with your control. But then you line yourself up, sinking down slowly, torturously, and he can’t stop the groan that rumbles from his chest.

His head falls back, body arching as the heat of you envelops him, tight and wet and perfect. It feels like coming home, and for a moment, he doesn’t care about the alarms in his head, doesn’t care about the danger you represent. He just needs this—needs you.

You’re not human—maybe you never were. A demon wrapped in the skin of an angel, something sweet and deadly. Sugar and spice for the righteous, poison for the wicked. Karma, incarnate. It’s no wonder Price can’t figure you out, can’t unravel the threads that make you. You’re his punishment, his purgatory, for all the blood on his hands. His salvation, his reward for all the lives he’s saved.

Not quite heaven, not quite hell.

But a taste of both.

He groans as you take him deeper, his mind slipping, thoughts unraveling with every inch of you that sinks down. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, desperate to ground himself, but the way you move—slow, deliberate—makes him feel like he’s losing a part of himself with each second.

The tight, wet heat of you is everything he didn’t know he craved. It’s too much, yet not enough. His vision blurs as you rock against him, your body molding to his, every roll of your hips a deliberate push closer to the edge. You’re in control, and he’s too far gone to even pretend otherwise.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice strained. He can’t hold on much longer, can’t stop the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter inside him. “You—”

You smirk, that wicked smile playing on your lips as you lean forward, your breath ghosting over his ear. “What’s wrong, Captain? Can’t handle a little pressure?”

Your voice, soft and sweet, twists something inside him, tightening the knot of pleasure and frustration until it’s unbearable. He’s never felt this out of control, never let anyone take the reins like this. But with you, it’s different. You’ve slithered into his mind, into his body, like a drug, and now he’s addicted.

“I can handle you,” he growls, hands flexing against your skin. But even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie. You’ve got him, mind and body, and you know it.

You hum softly, running a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, making him groan again. “We’ll see about that, Captain.”

The way you say it, so sure of yourself, so calm, sends a shiver down his spine. You’re toying with him, just like you’ve been doing since you arrived. But now, he’s not sure if he cares. Not when you feel this good.

And that’s the danger, isn’t it? The way you make him want to let go, to stop thinking, to stop questioning. The way you turn his paranoia into a dull hum, background noise compared to the pleasure of you wrapped around him.

You lean in closer, lips brushing against his jaw, your breath warm against his skin. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll take good care of you.”

His breath stutters, fingers tightening on your hips as you start to move again, slow and deliberate, dragging out every second, every sensation, until he feels like he’s going to lose his mind.

The tension inside of him is unbearable, the coil of pleasure so tight it’s threatening to snap. Your hips roll against his, slow, deliberate. Each movement sends shockwaves of sensation through him. His breath is ragged, his control unraveling by the second, catching in his throat at the pressure inside of him builds.

Every part of him is on fire, and he’s teetering on the edge, so close, too close.

“God— fuck,” he groans. Half bitten off words is all he can manage, a guttural rasp as his head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut. You grind down harder, nails dragging across his chest, drawing out the sound again, like you’re pulling his soul from his body.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Captain?” Your voice is a soft purr, a taunting whisper against his ear.

He can’t answer, can’t even think beyond the need to chase his release. Every nerve in his body is lit up and burning with desire. All he knows is that he’s teetering on the brink, and you’re the one holding him there, savoring every second before you let him fall.

Then, with a flick of your hips and a roll of your body, he’s gone. Exploding into pleasure so intense it leaves him gasping, his grip on you tightening as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s lost in the sensation of it, his mind blank, his senses overwhelmed by the feel of you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. His orgasm crashes over him like a wave, drowning him in sensations, and for a long moment, everything fades— every thought, every suspicion, every doubt. There’s only you.

You watch him fall apart beneath you, a satisfied smile curving your lips as you ride out his release before stilling in his lap.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing, the feeling of you still wrapped around him, tight and warm, your body molded to his like you were made for him. His head is spinning, mind foggy, but for the first time in weeks, he feels calm. The constant hum of paranoia, the nagging suspicion, all of it fades into the background, drowned out by the euphora still coursing through him.

His body relaxes beneath yours, muscles going slack as exhaustion takes over after weeks and weeks of very little sleep, and when you finally slip off his lap, he barely registers the loss. His mind, dulled and heavy, floats in the remnants of pleasure. Aware only enough to adjust his softened cock back in his pants with trembling fingers, before his hand falls to the side.

He feels your lips against his temple, something sweet and chaste and not at all like you, humming in his ear with that sultry purr of yours. “Sweet dreams. Goodbye Captain.”

He hums in a reply, too far gone in his post orgasm exhaustion to form words. His mind, dulled and heavy, floats in the remnants of pleasure, blissfully unaware.

He hears you slip out quietly, leaving him slumped over his desk in the dim light of his office, door closing softly behind you. For a moment, the world is silent, and Price drifts into sleep, still half dressed, lost in the afterglow.

***

The next morning, Price wakes up to the harsh sunlight filtering through his blinds, the dull ache of his body reminding him of last night’s encounter. He stretches, feeling the tension in his muscles, and his mind starts to replay fragments of the night before. But as he blinks awake, something feels… off.

Something stirs in his chest. A sinking feeling, like a weight dropping in his gut. He sits up, rubbing a hand over his face, the disquiet creeping in around the edges of his consciousness.

Price frowns, pushing the chair back and standing, a strange sense of urgency crawling under his skin. He grabs his jacket, heads for the door, and steps out into the hallway, his footsteps heavy with the weight of something unnamed.

The hallway feels different this morning—quieter. There’s a strange hush over the base, a weight pressing down on everyone that Price can feel deep in his bones. His instincts scream at him that something’s wrong. He moves briskly, trying to shake off the gnawing sense of unease as he makes his way through the building. The recruits he passes look subdued, heads down, expressions uncharacteristically grim. Even Soap, who’s usually animated in the mornings, sits off to the side in the mess hall, arms crossed over his chest, a deep frown etched into his face.

Price’s gut tightens.

He slows his pace as he approaches, his eyes narrowing at Soap’s slouched posture and the way the men seem more reserved, more… off. Something’s happened. The air feels heavier.

“Soap,” Price calls out, voice gravelly, but not quite as sharp as usual. He’s already beginning to piece things together, though he doesn’t like where the thoughts are leading.

Soap glances up, and for a moment, the younger man looks like he’s on the verge of saying something, something biting, maybe, or sarcastic, but instead, he just shakes his head, lips pressed tight in a line. “She’s gone, Cap.”

Price blinks, his chest tightening as the words register. Gone? His mind scrambles to process it, but there’s a distinct lack of clarity. He swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm as he approaches Soap’s table, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “Gone?” he asks slowly, though he already knows the answer. “What do you mean, gone?”

“She left early this morning. Ghost saw her off. Said she was chasing another contract,” Soap mutters, the disappointment clear in his tone. He doesn’t look at Price, just keeps staring at his half-eaten tray of food like he’s trying to make sense of something himself.

Price’s blood runs cold. Left. Another contract.

The events of the night before crash over him like a wave, the warmth of your skin against his, your whispered words, the way you’d coiled around him like a serpent, squeezing, suffocating. Goodbye, Captain.

Not goodnight—goodbye.

His heart stutters. You’re gone. And he let you slip away, not realizing that you were never planning to stay. That sinking feeling from earlier becomes a weight in his chest, pulling him down, down into the realization that he’s been played. He let his guard down, let himself get pulled into your orbit, and now… now it’s too late.

Price spins on his heel, already searching for Ghost. He finds him not far off, standing by the exit like a statue, arms crossed, eyes hidden beneath his mask.

“Ghost.” Price’s voice is hard, commanding. “Tell me what happened.”

Ghost gives him a brief look, unreadable as always beneath the mask, but something about his posture tells Price that he’s aware of how bad this looks. “She left around 0500,” Ghost says, voice flat. “Said she had another contract lined up. No fanfare. Just… left.”

No fanfare. Just like that. Price feels the bottom of his stomach drop.

He should’ve known. You’d been toying with him, leading him down a path he should’ve seen coming from miles away. You’d gotten into his head, played him like a fiddle, and now you were gone.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s lost whatever game you were playing, and the worst part is, he doesn’t even know what the stakes were. He doesn’t know why you played the game, only that you won. You took what you wanted from him, left him reeling, and now… now he’s standing here, empty-handed, with nothing to show for it but this gnawing sense of failure.

Ghost shifts his weight slightly, glancing at Price as if waiting for a response. But what is there to say? The infamous Captain Price had been outplayed, and there’s nothing he can do to fix it now.

“Dammit,” Price mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He feels the weight of exhaustion settle over him, heavier than before. He wants to be angry, to shout, to curse your name for what you’ve done. But all he can feel is that deep, gnawing sense of loss, like he’s let something vital slip through his fingers.

The base feels emptier without you.

***

Seven months later, the world had moved on, but Price hadn’t.

He tried to bury it; your games, the night you left, the way you’d gotten into his head and twisted everything around him. But the ghost of your presence lingered, always just beneath the surface. He told himself it didn’t matter, that they’d never cross paths again, that you were just a fleeting memory in a long line of battles fought and lost.

Until today.

The mission had been straightforward, at least on paper. 141 had been tasked with securing a high-value target in a remote compound somewhere in the Balkans, a dangerous op that left little room for error. They’d expected resistance, expected threats from the usual suspects— mercs, rival PMCs, all of the scum that rise to the surface during geopolitica conflict. But what they hadn’t expected was you, leaning against the wall with that infuriating, knowing smirk. Casual, like you’d been expecting them. Like this was all some elaborate setup for a reunion you’d orchestrated.

“Well, well, well.” Your voice cut through the silence, playful and dripping with amusement. “This is awkward, isn’t it?”

Price’s blood ran cold. His grip on his rifle tightened, every muscle in his body tensing at the sight of you. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were flanking him, their expressions unreadable, but Price could feel the tension rolling off them in waves. No one said a word.

You tilted your head, watching them like a cat watches a cornered mouse. “This is starting to feel like one of those Facebook posts,” you mused, laughter lacing your tone. “You know the ones—‘What would you do if you ended up in a room with everyone you’ve ever had sex with?’” Your eyes slid lazily over them, glinting with amusement as you watch their reactions. Soap stiffens, turning a shade darker. Gaz shifts awkwardly. Ghost remains as still as ever, but everyone can see the tension vibrating through him. (Price knew about Soap, but he feels dread crawl up his spine when he realizes Gaz and Ghost fell for you’re games too) “Guess we’re about to find out.”

“Shut up,” Price growled, voice low, dangerous. But you just laughed, pushing off the wall and sauntering forward, not an ounce of fear in your eyes.

“Temper, temper, Captain,” you tutted, waving a finger at him. “You’re not still upset about our little game, are you? I told you goodbye, didn’t I?”

Price’s hands flexed around his weapon, his mind racing as he struggled to stay composed. He wanted answers—he needed answers. And this time, he wasn’t going to let you slip away without giving them.

“You played us,” he said, voice tight, barely controlled. “You got inside our heads. Why?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smile that was all teeth. “Why?” you echoed, feigning innocence. “Because I was bored, Captain. You lot were supposed to be the best, the infamous 141. Special operators, men who could match me, maybe even outsmart me.” You paused, eyes gleaming with amusement as you scanned the group. “But you didn’t, did you? Not a single one of you. Men are all the same, no matter how many wars they’ve fought.”

“Bored?” Soap’s voice cracked through the tension, sharp and disbelieving. “You messed with us because you were bored?”

You shrugged, unapologetic. “What else was I supposed to do? I’m the smartest person in the room, in any room. I’m not just saying that to brag. I was tested and my IQ’s through the roof. I’m a WAIS-certified genius with an Mensa membership. A prodigy if you will.” You tap the side of your head with the muzzle of your gun, flashing them a knowing grin. “You have to understand, that gets tedious after a while. I need something stimulating. You lot, you were supposed to be different. I thought you might actually pose a challenge.”

Price’s stomach churned at your words, bile rising in his throat. He didn’t want to believe it—that it had all been some sick game, that you’d toyed with them, used them, used him just to stave off your boredom.

“Turns out,” you continued, sighing dramatically, “you’re just like everyone else. Predictable. Boring. Disappointing. Men get angry, men get frustrated, men think with their cocks more than their brains, and they don’t stop to think. I even warned you in my dossier, didn’t I? ‘Psychological warfare’s my preferred method’, and yet none of you caught on. So really, you’ve only got yourselves to blame.”

Price’s vision tunneled, his pulse pounding in his ears. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and for the first time in months, he felt the overwhelming need to wipe that smug look off your face.

“You’re a piece of work,” Ghost muttered, voice low and rough. He hadn’t moved from his position, but Price could feel the weight of his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

You flashed Ghost a grin, unaffected. “I warned you, didn’t I? If you couldn’t see it coming, that’s on you.”

“You think this is some kind of joke?” Price’s voice was dangerously low, fury barely contained. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, couldn’t believe how easily you were dismissing everything that had happened.

But you weren’t phased, not in the slightest. You took a step closer, your eyes glittering with amusement. “I think it’s hilarious, Captain. You were all so certain you could figure me out, so sure that you’d stay one step ahead. But I was always ahead, from the very start.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and Price’s fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to lash out, to scream at you, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. You’d already won, and you both knew it. The game was over, and all that was left was the bitter taste of defeat.

Soap growls, taking a step forward, but Price raises a hand to stop him. His mind races. Every interaction, every word, every glance you’d shared over those months— it had all been apart of your game. And now, standing here, knowing you’d gotten what you’d wanted from them, Price feels the bitter weight of defeat settling in once more.

“What now?” he asks, his voice low, almost resigned.

You tilt your head, considering the question for a moment. “Now? Now we play a different game. I’ve been hired to stop you and the 141, so—“ the gun in your hand cocks and you smirk, that same maddening smirk that drove him insane. He tenses, the lead in his stomach drops.

“Ready for round two, Captain?”

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price #captain price #ghost #ghost x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #Gaz #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz x reader #simon ghost riley

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lumireis · 5 months ago

Text

"Nobles are the bad but nobles from the empire are worse. And they crammed me in a house with a whole bunch of them... *sigh* It's the worst. Hey, do you think you could ask Seteth to let me swap houses? He won't let me talk about it anymore."

The eldest child of Count Ahlgren, whose territory borders the Kingdom of Faerghus and is a vassal of Arundel. After the death of her mother as a child, Sieglinde took up permanent mourning. She blames the political scheming of the Adrestian Empire for her mother's death and has a strong dislike for most of her fellow Adrestians.

More info under the cut!!

Academy phase -

Sieglinde is a crestless noble enrolled by her father into the Officers Academy to get rid of her. She's put into the Black Eagle's house, much to her dismay. Her attitude to her housemates is aggressive and standoffish, with very few exceptions. During her entire time at the monastery she petitioned to be transferred to the Blue Lions house with no success. Her requests were little more than a flurry of insults and demands.

Along with her standard uniform, Sieglinde dons a mourning veil that she refuses to take off. She can often be encountered praying for forgiveness, though will not tell Byleth what she's asking forgiveness for.

If Byleth is in charge of the Blue Lions house, Sieglinde can be recruited immediately.

War phase -

During the five year timeskip and following Edelgard's war campaign Sieglinde escapes from the empire and into Faerghus. Finally being where she wants to be allows to experience some happiness though she never abandons her mourning blacks. During her time wandering as a mercenary she encounters Gilbert and joins up with him.

Her fate can vary depending on which path Byleth has taken. If on the Azure Moon route, Sieglinde will be an ally regardless of whether or not she was recruited during the academy phase.

If unrecruited during Crimson Flower or Verdant Wind the player will find out she was assassinated by Hubert for her treason against the empire. Though if recruited during Crimson Flower route Sieglinde is miserable. She's devastated to be back in the empire after trying so long to escape and certain that Hubert or someone loyal to Edelgard is going to kill her. She's glad to at least spend time with Byleth before that happens, however.

If she fails to get an A support epilogue or an S support with Byleth after Crimson Flower, she will end up dying. It's unclear if it was Hubert, her father, or someone from Faerghus wanting revenge for her helping Edelgard.

Background -

Sieglinde is a daughter born from political marriage between a noblewoman from Faerghus and a nobleman from Adrestia. Following shortly on the coattails of the Tragedy of Duscur, Count Ahlgren received an order from Arundel to kill her wife to loosen to the hold that Faerghus had in their territory. All too happy to do so but afraid of the consequences if he were to be caught he slowly poisoned her over time through her tea, that he had his daughter bring to her.

By the time that Sieglinde's mother had died, the story was that she had accidentally put honey in her mother's tea, triggering an allergic reaction but she knew better. Wracked by guilt that she had been complicit in the death of her own mother, Sieglinde grew to hate the empire for murdering her mother and using her to do it.

Supports -

Dimitri - C support: Dimitri is training when he's approached by Sieglinde who has a question. She asks him about Fhirdiad and what he thinks of it. He explains everything he loves about it and she grows wistful, wishing to see it for herself. Dimitri recalls that her mother is from Fhirdiad and asks if she had ever taken her when she was younger. She says no and that her mother was trapped in the empire until her death and could never see her home again. Dimitri is surprised but offers to show her around if she visits in the future. Sieglinde says she would like that, before departing.

B support: Dimitri is training once again when Sieglinde approaches him. She asks Dimitri if he believes in spirits or ghosts which causes him to pause before asking for clarification. She tells him that wants to know if there's a chance that if she offers prayers or "something else" to her mother if she would receive it. They go back and forth, toeing around what they would do to appease their late loved ones before Sieglinde is satisfied and swears that she will offer something her mother would love to see when she's able to visit Fhirdiad. The implication is her father's head.

A support: This time it's Dimitri who approaches Sieglinde while she trains. Dimitri asks if she was able to finally give her mother the present she'd hoped to. She replies that she's still working on that but the war is bringing her closer to her goal. She goes silent for a moment before asking if Dimitri can really hear the voices of all the people he's lost screaming at him, which he confirms. Sieglinde apologizes for how cruel it sounds but she can't help but envy him. She can't remember the sound of her mother's voice anymore and would give anything to be able to hear it, even if it was hateful words for not avenging her and atoning.

The two share a quiet moment, thinking on the horrors they've seen and vile things they've done glad that there's at least one person as wretched and understands.

Yuri - C support: A new member of Yuri's gang mistakes Sieglinde's room for Yuri's and leaves a letter there. The support begins with Sieglinde approaching Yuri to return it and him asking if she opened it. She didn't and says that she doesn't want to be wrapped up in whatever he has going on. A clever choice since it was from his mother and if she had read it he would have had no choice but to kill her. Sieglinde grows quiet at the mention of his mother and leaves but not before urging him to write back as soon as he can and be "a good son."

Yuri comments how odd she is and remarks that she had a wild look in her eye for a moment.

B support: Yuri has been trying to find information on Sieglinde's mother but keeps coming up to dead ends. He's in the middle of rising frustration when Sieglinde walks up and asks him what he's grumbling about. Yuri dodges the question and thanks her for bringing him the letter as his mother needed a little extra money for her treatment. Sieglinde once again starts acting odd at the mention of his mother and worse since finding out she's ill. Before Yuri can say anything about it, she forces him to take her entire satchel of gold and orders him to give it to his mother before leaving.

A support: Yuri approaches Sieglinde while she's praying for forgiveness and tells her that he's figured out her secret. Sieglinde doesn't respond until Yuri expresses his sympathies at her being used in such a cruel way which finally gets her to stop praying and face him. She asks who he had to torture to get that information but he informs her that for a bit of gold, an old maid is willing to give up all kinds of secrets. Sieglinde expresses a deep desire to be forgiven by her mother wouldn't dare ask for it from her so she begs Sothis instead.

Yuri asks if she hates him for being as scheming as her father but Sieglinde denies it saying that for all the backstabbing Yuri does, she trusts him enough that if he wanted her gone he would give her the grace to look her in the eyes as he does it. Yuri remarks that he doesn't see him removing her from the board any time soon.

Hubert -C support: The two of them are locked in a stare-down with neither speaking. Hubert breaks it by calling her disrespect towards Lady Edelgard treasonous which Sieglinde responds to by saying it can't be treason if she was never loyal to her. The two snipe each other back and forth with thinly veiled threats and trying to gauge how much of a danger the other is. Eventually getting fed up, she urges him to return to his master's feet like a good dog before storming off. While alone Hubert comments that there's no way that attitude can be tamed out of her.

B support: Sieglinde calls out Hubert for following her for days and feeling sick that his eyes are on her. Hubert laments that if he had an ounce of loyalty to her homeland she could be a great asset for the future plans of the country. She gags at the idea and says she would rather die than be a part of the "Cult of Edie" which Hubert ominously says can be arranged. She points at him and says that's exactly what she can't stand about Adrestians before warning him that if he follows her again he'll get acquainted with her hammer.

A support: Hubert and Sieglinde can't reach support level A, even during the Crimson Flower path.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe3h oc #fe #oc #yuri leclerc #dunno how many fe3h fans are still around but I wanna share my beautiful gal sieg

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graciereadshannigram · 10 months ago

Text

hey fam, welcome to the March roundup of the best hannigram fics i've read this past month! i read close to 60 fics total, and these were the cream of the crop.

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

(Inaugural roundup can be found here)

anyway, in no particular order, let's go!

Title: Bones of My Bones (& Flesh of My Flesh) by everyday_forever Word Count: 15,759 Summary: When Will & Hannibal reunite in Italy at last, Will doesn't fear becoming Hannibal. He knows he already is Hannibal. However, Will feels as if he's a derivative of Hannibal, made in Hannibal's image, from Hannibal's own raw material. He doesn't feel like he's Hannibal's natural equal. Will thinks the only way he can forgive Hannibal is by claiming a piece of Hannibal in return, and choosing to make it a part of himself. He has to eat him. And Hannibal is all to happy to let him.

As far as I'm concerned, this IS canon. Truly some of the best canon-compliant characterizations of them that I've read. This is absolutely what would have happened if Will hadn't tried to kill Hannibal after leaving the Uffizi Gallery. It was perfect. And so them. And obviously, mutual cannibalism. *chefs kiss*

Title: Do you feel the hunger, does it howl inside? by merrythoughts and ReallyMissCoffee Word Count: 261,929 Summary: It's been weeks since the Fall. Since Will had leaned against him, the wild scent of blood thick and cloying on the air, and had taken them from the top of the cliffs. And for every second of every day since, Hannibal has been calmly dealing with the fallout of his decision that night: Life over death. Will had intended them to die, had allowed himself a moment of weakness, of desperation. Perhaps the last act of an exhausted soul. Yet Hannibal had denied him.

I am being dead serious when I say that this fic changed my brain chemistry and managed to do something that several years of therapy had not. I wanted this to go on forever (there IS a sequel!) and did my very best to savor it instead of plowing through the entire thing in a single day. Check the author notes if you're unfamiliar with these two writers–the format took me a couple chapters to get used to, but clearly it wasn't a big deal for me.

Title: Sensational by bigfootghostdick Word Count: 39,607 Summary: Franklyn’s obsession with Hannibal Lecter truly knows no bounds. His obsession only grows worse after being fired as Dr.Lecter’s patient. Feeling slighted by Hannibal's rejection, Franklyn follows him home one evening only to stumble upon something that he never expected to see. Who’s that dark-haired man locking lips with Hannibal right outside his front door? Overcome with jealousy, Franklyn decides to seek revenge on his tenth psychiatrist. How? By selling the photos he took of them to Freddie Lounds.

Listen. I love a good jealous!Franklyn, especially when Hanni and Will firmly put him in his place. Sue me.

Title: The Stress-Sex Connection by shotgun_sinner Word Count: 48,090 Summary: When Will gets out of the BSHCI, he resumes therapy with Hannibal Lecter. His stress levels are through the roof, and Hannibal makes an offer that Will doesn't turn down. Hannibal assumes he's going to take Will to bed and make love to a fragile man, shy and delicate. Will enjoys taking Hannibal to bed, and proving him wrong. OR the story where Hannibal is shocked to find out that Will is a profiler in the streets, but a demon in the sheets.

I was sold on the last line of the summary, "Will is a profiler in the streets, but a demon in the sheets" because it actually got a good cackle out of me, and then who would have guessed! Essentially porn with feelings, but I loved.

Title: hold me, kiss me, rip out my tongue by multifandom_fanfic_writer Word Count: 18,005 Summary: Will notices things. He notices a lot of things, can’t turn it off. Some of these things are about Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He watches Hannibal watching him eat. He watches the touch on his elbow lingering, possessive. He watches Hannibal's eyes darken when Will pulls his hair and fucks his throat hard.

Okay, so I'm realizing that a lot of my five star fics this month were pretty smutty, but I make no apologies. That being said, I did find the characterizations of both Will and Hannibal to be very compelling, and it had the added bonus of Will getting to rub it in Alana's face that Hannibal chose him not her.

Title: Ligare by InfiniteCrisis Word Count: 8,280 Summary: Will's never gone down on a man before and is feeling nervous about it. His solution: tie Hannibal up first. Hannibal has no complaints.

Initially shied away from this one because Will essentially drugs Hannibal to knock him out and fuck him for the first time, but I PROMISE Hannibal knew exactly what Will was doing and allowed it. However, if that isn't your thing, this won't be for you.

THAT BEING SAID, my honest reaction after this was, "fuck fuck fuck, dom!Will might be my new favorite." Bonus points for it being the first in a series, and the rest is equally good!

Title: Oboedire, Implorare, Vovere by InfiniteCrisis Word Count: 18,715 Summary: At the end of Ligare, Hannibal said Will should "test" his willingness to submit to him. Will takes him up on that, and the results are more than either of them expected.

As I said, the rest of the series was SO GOOD. This was basically off the charts hot.

Title: To the Devil His Due (His Due is You) by everyday_forever Word Count: 26,3319 Summary: Will Graham is in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, courtesy of one Hannibal Lecter. And Will wants payback. He threatens Hannibal with a reckoning. And then Will has a terrible and wonderful idea- he opts to get back at Hannibal and make him jealous by pursuing a sexual relationship with Dr. Frederick Chilton. Feeling emboldened, Chilton sends the audio recordings of him and Will together to Hannibal to boast of the new development in Will's 'therapy.' Hannibal knows at once Will is the mastermind behind it all. Hannibal is most displeased with his manipulative albeit cunning boy. Chaos ensues. Will continues to manipulate both Chilton and Hannibal in order to make Hannibal jealous. Will has entered into a dance with the Devil after poking Hannibal's beast and Hannibal is eager to teach Will a lesson and remind him who he belongs to...

HEAR ME OUT. Prior to this fic, I had never considered Will/Chilton. Ever. Let alone reading a fic where most of the on paper smut is ChilWill. And yet here we are. Hannibal was just so present through it all, given that Will was only screwing Chilton to get at Hannibal (although, I liked that there was some genuine affection between Chilton and Will, it wasn't completely callous), and it just all combined to be an excellent fic. Sue me.

Title: Trope: Fake Date (Hannigram AU) by TigerPrawn Word Count: 4,207 Summary: Will's possible promotion is relying on his superiors thinking better of him. One way to do that is to take his omega to the upcoming cocktail party. Only problem is, he doesn't have one, having to rely on one sent by an agency. He wasn't quite expecting Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

Fluffy first meeting AU, nothing more nothing less. I just love seeing them happy!! (sometimes, lmao)

And that's a wrap on this month! See ya next time!!!

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everydayyoulovemeless · 1 year ago

Note

…arcade nsfw alphabet please

Arcade NSFW Alphabet

➼ Word Count » 1.1k ➼ Warnings » Bondage, Semi-Public Sex, MDNI ➼ Genre » Romantic, NSFW

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Arcade likes to service others, so when you're both done, he'll help clean you off before wrapping you in his Follower's coat and sitting beside you. This is probably his favorite part of the entire thing. It makes him happy to know he has someone to confide in or to simply be beside. It's comforting, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your hands. He feels himself getting flustered anytime your fingers run along his shoulders or tangle themselves in his hair. When it comes to himself, though, he doesn't really have a favorite part. It's just whatever you seem to like most about him.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He doesn't care where either of you cum. Just talk to him beforehand, and he'll be down to do whatever. Just don't do it on his clothes. He can't think of many situations where that would be a problem, but just in case, he'd love it if you didn't do that.

D - Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wouldn't mind fucking in public at all. Now, it'd have to be in a considerably safe and non-irradiated area (the followers' camp), but besides that, he wouldn't mind.

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

It's been a while since the last guy he's been with, so he knows what to expect but is a bit rusty when it comes down to it.

F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I see him being in the bottom/submissive positions for missionary and doggy style a lot. He's fine with whatever, but those are his two go-to's.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He likes to be snarky and tease you, saying something like, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" But he's one of the most easily flustered people when you get him in a position like this. It's not hard to keep him quiet.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His hair is short and a lot more gray in color. He keeps himself very well groomed as his physical health is something he deems to be important. Especially considering the fact he's a doctor.

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Arcade only ever gets embarrassed when you plan something romantic for him. He'll still shoot quips your way, but it'll be with a slight stutter. It's not often something this nice happens to him, so he feels awkward whenever you plan something romantic for him.

J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't jerk himself off that often. If he's particularly stressed, he might, but there are better, more sanitary ways to let off steam.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Semi-Public Sex, Bondage, Submission, Overstimulation, Anal (kinda self-explanatory, but I felt like I should add it).

L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere with a bed.

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You could help someone out and he'd be turned on. He finds it hot when he can see himself being with someone for the rest of his life, so when he sees you make a kind gesture solely of your own volition, he can't help but flirt with you a bit and see where you'd take it. You're dreadfully interesting to him and, as long as you're being authentic, he'll be a mess of a man.

N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Dirty talk. Bro would rather kill himself than talk dirty to you. The quickest way he gets turned off is when he tries to say something hot. It just makes him cringe. Please don't ask him to do that.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving. He likes being able to... help people out. And what better way to do that than this?

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He prefers a more sensual pace. As smart as he is, he can't help but be a bit sappy at times, and he thinks these parts are just a lot more romantic. Although, you wouldn't have to try hard to convince him to try something more rough.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn't really have an opinion. Not his favorite, but he wouldn't say no.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Kinda? He's willing to try out a lot as long as there's no risk of permanent harm. Run it by him, talk it out. He's down for a lot more than some might think.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He likes being overstimulated, so as many as you think there should be. Tie him down and make him cum as many times as you want. He's fully at your disposal.

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No, he prefers the more natural way. Toys kinda freak him out, and he wouldn't ever trust a sex toy from Freeside. Or Vegas for that matter. Too many health risks that could occur.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A lot. Arcade loves teasing. Just remember he's a sub. Tug his hair a bit and he'll lose all control.

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's like the middle ground of loud. If you're doing it in public you'll have to put your hand over his mouth, but if you got a room it shouldn't be a problem.

W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

If the two of you talked about it beforehand, he wouldn't mind trying aphrodisiacs with you.

X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's pretty average, like 5 inches.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Average. He likes to build up to sex rather than do it every other night. And he's in his mid-30s.

Z -Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He likes lying beside you and just talking with you before he falls asleep. This kinda ties back to the aftercare headcannon. He just likes being around you in these moments.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #arcade gannon #arcade gannon fnv #arcade fnv #arcade gannon x courier #arcade gannon headcanons #arcade gannon x courier six #arcade gannon x courier 6 #arcade x courier 6 #arcade x courier six #arcade x reader #arcade x courier #nsft alphabet

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 11 months ago

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I think your analysis of the current BRF situation is SPOT ON.

However, as a Brit, I would like to add one further caveat. Whether the Sussexes become working royals is not down to the Sussexes, Charles, the Palace or anyone. It is down to the British public. The ENTIRE job of the British royal family is to bring a sprinkle of royal fairy dust and magic to an event or cause in a neutral, apolitical way that everyone can support. Be it the Duke of Gloucester popping into a local school initiative which is subsequently then reported in the local paper, or a glittering State banquet with many royals and tiaras garnering international headlines, that is what they do. In addition, a very few royals (currently William and Catherine, Charles and Camilla) have enough star power and magic (some combination of their titles and personal charisma - William has enough of both that he can bring people together on a global basis) that they can bring people together and CREATE events and initiatives (Earthshot, the Prince's Trust, the Early Years work, Queen Camilla's Lit Fest etc. etc.) but still it is the event, cause or initiative that is the important thing. Harry used to be in the latter camp, with his involvement and name being vital to creating things like Invictus or Sentebale but he has now thrown most of that goodwill away. Meghan has NEVER understood that she was supposed to be casting a spotlight on others, instead of making things all about her own celebrity (as is happening now with Invictus). Together they have created a Sussex brand that is so damaged and polarising that, rightly or wrongly, they would only bring negative publicity to whatever cause or event they were sent to support and people wouldn't want them there. The royal job only works if most people involved agree that royal attendance is a plus. These two have pissed off at least 75% of the British public. There is no way they can do the job, even if H&M, Charles, William and the Govt wanted them to, until their support is round 40-50% at least. That's why these polls happen. Yes, maybe they could embark on a long term rehabilitation process as has happened with Camilla and to a lesser extent the Edinburghs, but as you rightly point out, they a) don't have the patience b) would hate doing all the boring, small, bread & butter events that would entail c) are not getting any younger or more glamorous d) are being rapidly overtaken by the immense star power of the Wales kids. In fifteen years who would you rather attends your event? Bald Uncle Harry and his ageing sex kitten wife? Or young, beautiful Charlotte, Princess Royal?

Yep. It's the one thing universally understood: people in positions of power are only there by popular support. Doesn't matter whether it's soft power (eg celebrities, royal families, influencers, athletes) or hard power (eg governments, corporations, media).

There are also two ways to get popular support: by public consent (eg votes, likes, follower counts) or by leadership force (eg invasion, coups, control).

It looks like Harry and Meghan understand this, but they actually don't. They see Charles and William blocking their ascent to power via consent of the public, which leaves them no choice but to force their way to the top. It's is exactly what they've done: they're controlling press and media coverage (tell-alls about the horrors of the royal family while making sure there's only positive coverage of them), they've established a rival court, and they're securing allies (WME, Tyler Perry, Jamaica, veterans). All the signs are there: the Sussexes are launching a hostile takeover of the royal family. But where they keep fucking up is by not accounting for the British public.

They think if they just get rid of Charles and William, the public will love them. That's why all previous attempts of hostile takeovers (Oprah, Netflix, Spare) have failed; they don't realize that the British public is completely separate from the royal family.

Which is ironic because that's literally the lesson from Diana - the British public will support the people they like irrespective of what the royal family/monarchy tells them to do.

#ask #brf

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konigbabe · 2 years ago

Text

NSFW alphabet with Keegan P. Russ

Pairing: Keegan Russ x fem!reader

Word count: 3.5k

Tags/Warnings: smut/nsfw; canon compliant; explicit language; praise kink; mirror sex; rough sex; p-in-v sex; canon spoilers; light dom/sub undertones; light BDSM; oral sex; aftercare; teasing; sex toys

A/N: This is essentially my own interpretation of what Keegan Russ' NSFW alphabet would look like. | source |

masterlist • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Aftercare and Keegan go hand in hand; he’s very gentle with you—with the scares of war, roughness of the battlefield, all he craves when around you is just to be present, enjoying the quiet moments you share following the post-orgasmic bliss, his hands caressing your arms, the skin of your hips, the curve of your spine; a content sigh leaving his kiss-bruised lips still glistening with your juices as he rests his head on top of yours. His heartbeat strong and steady, allowing your heart to sync with his and calm down.

Keegan’s also someone who always has a glass of water by his bed for multiple purposes—not only to give it to you to cool your heated body after he’s done absolutely savaging you but to calm down his racing heartbeat from the nightmares he still dreams about, especially after everything that happened with the Walker brothers…

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your thighs; he’s absolutely addicted to the feel of them on his palms, around his hips with your heels digging into his lower back. Keegan would always swallow your moans, inhaling you in as he grounds himself deeper into you. Harder. One of his hands would rest comfortably on the apex of your thigh, drawing tantalizing circles on your flesh—feeling the muscles underneath tremble as he hits that sweet spot deep inside you, the one that makes you say his name as a prayer, as a plea. A mantra for more.

For you, it’s his eyes; he’s quiet, reserved. Reticent…but his eyes, they speak volumes. It took you some time to understand his silent language. It started off innocent enough—he’d give you a look on a mission, telling you to follow him, to stay behind him, to stay safe. Then as you grew closer, as you conquered the walls around him, you’d see the commanding aura surrounding him. He likes control; he’d let you taciturnly know—his eyes would tell you everything Keegan demanded; to be a good girl for him, to open your legs wider, get on your knees, hands over your head; he wouldn’t have to say a word yet you’d always know and more than happily obliged his desires. His gaze would hold you captive, and you could tell he was savoring the moment and the pleasure he was getting out of it as much as you were.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

Keegan’s a slight clean freak; it comes from his line of work and spills over to the sex as well. Rarely he’d allow himself to cum on your body—even though he always dreams about you, drenched in his own juices, on your knees for him, his seed spilling from your open mouth, piercing eyes drowning in the view of you so compliant. Swallowing him. Savoring the taste of him, sweet and subsaline.

But there’s nothing like cumming inside you. The tight clench of your walls, urging him to finally let go. Your moans symphony to his ears, eyes locked with yours—pupils dilated, the darkness taking over the ocean blue of his irises—hips grounding into you, claiming you for his own. The way you feel wrapped around him, drawing him in with an irresistible force….yeah, there’s no better feeling than the way your body reacts to his seed inside.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There was one time when you got taken hostage by the Federation soldiers; Keegan still vividly remembers the way he felt, how worried he was, slipping occasionally, focus faltering as he and the rest of the team breached the compound in hopes to find you—well and alive. He wasn’t very keen on the feeling; he did care about you and always will but never would he thought that your kidnapping would mess his head that much.

He’ll never admit it but it was the moment he found you. Killed the guard, Logan and Hesh behind him as he bashed the door open and saw you—sitting on a chair, legs spread and each ankle tied up to a separate chair leg, a rope securing your stomach to the back post with your arms tied behind your back; you were well and alive, Keegan thanked the God, but it was the way that compromising position pushed up your chest, your prominent curves on display…and he liked the view—for a split second before realizing the reality of the whole situation but yes…seeing you all tied up and gagged ignited a spark of arousal within him that he knew he'd explore later on, when both of you were alone.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Keegan knows exactly what he's doing. He's never been into flings or one-night stands, preferring to explore his own desires and pleasure with steady partners. That stableness has allowed him to build upon his knowledge and now he's ready to share his expertise with you. His touch is confident, each caress igniting a fire in you that starts as a gentle flicker and builds to a roaring blaze with his lips tantalizing yours, exploring and teasing as you writhe underneath him, on top of him, completely at his mercy.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying…)

He likes you underneath him, facing him; and not only in bed. Let it be against the wall, ankles on top of his shoulders, legs against your chest as he sinks deep inside your sensitive walls, the position allowing you to feel the spongy head of his cock kissing your cervix. He likes to watch you, to truly see the bliss on your face, to feel you clench around him, to see you fold so easily in his grasp.

There are also days where he lets you on top—hands squeezing your thighs, fingertips caressing the curve of your ass as you stay on all fours over his lying form, one arm supporting your weight next to his head, the other delicately tracing the contours of his chest, the hard edges of his torso while you sink lazily on his cock, deliberately and leisurely bathing in the bliss of been filled by the man underneath you, eliciting soft moans and groans from him with your nails scratching his breastplate, running over the jagged skin there…

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Keegan doesn’t joke around; not outside the bedroom or inside. He’s more of a sarcastic type of person with those he cares about—but when it comes to pleasure and passion, he’s all about the business. There might be a moment or two where he says something laced with satire, where he teases you, tantalizing you and it’s no secret that you do live for those moments—to see him so relaxed, so endorsed in the intimacy of the two of you that he just lets go of everything.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Keegan has always been an unconventional man, and that extends to his grooming habits. He rarely finds the time to devote to meticulous styling, instead preferring to focus his energy elsewhere. But one area he does make sure to attend to is his facial hair. He knows how uncomfortable it can be to wear a mask over the stubble, let alone a full beard, so he takes time to make sure it's well taken care of.

That doesn’t necessarily translate to other areas of his body—he has a nice, thicker happy trail; one that you just love letting your fingertips trail along, even when you’re just lying on his chest, in your shared bed, snuggled together and about to fall asleep. It calms you, a perfect lullaby.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Keegan’s someone who always enjoys the close intimate moments between you two—even if not confirming it verbally, his body language betrays him every time. He’s gentle and loving, worshipping your body with slow and sensuous movements. Kissing and nipping at your skin, at the flesh of your shoulder, extending the gentle assault onto your neck as he slides into you, filling you to the brim; caressing your skin, murmuring sweet nothings and telling you how beautiful you are, how well you’re taking him…

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s a grown man with needs, especially when he was still alone, he’d get it over with pretty quickly; finding the whole act to be his own way of relaxation and release of all the built-up tension he'd been holding inside, not really something he’d indulge in. Nowadays, Keegan doesn’t have these needs that often.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Keegan definitely is way filthier and kinkier than most people have him for;

There’s the praise kink; Keegan’s not someone who talks that much during sex. He can do dirty talk and fuck he does that good—but when he opens his mouth, in those sacred moments, he always makes sure to let you know how good you are, how pretty you look and sound. Also, the sound of your moans, calling out his name and babbling about how good he makes you feel gives him an incomparable rush of pleasure.

He’s certainly fond of fucking you in front of mirrors (as explored in lose composure); having you bend over a drawer, rutting into you with his eyes staring you down in the mirror, gaze fixated on the way your eyes focus on the way his cock sinks into your walls, coated in your juices, glistening and so red and angry as he pounds you into complete submission.

There is a whole side of Keegan to explore and you are adamant about finding out more about his little secrets...

L = Location (Favourite places to do the deed)

Keegan is fine with anywhere you’re game to do it. Of course he prefers the bedroom; it used to be standard for him before ODIN fell—ever since the Federation war and ever since you, he changed his tactics a little, twisted them to your own desires; because when on a mission, there’s no guarantee you’ll return to the comfort of your own bed so when the two of you feel the need to fuck each other’s brains out and are all for it, he really doesn’t mind having you against some old rusty wall in a questionable basement with the rest of the team somewhere in the same building.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You. Everything about you; everything you do. But especially when you’re in your game—he’s seen you shoot a guard with his own rifle and it was you, shamelessly showing off before his eyes that turned him on that time. He’ll watch you with passionate admiration and then lead you somewhere private to show you just how much he admires you. The thought that someone so gorgeous and strong-headed as you chose to be with him feels more than appetizing.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Keegan will never agree to degradation or anything to do with weaponry inside the bedroom; he’s rough, can be very demanding and fierce sometimes (but always tentative to your needs)—pushing your head into the pillows, fingers gripping your hair harshly as he grounds himself inside you, one hand guiding your hips to meet him halfway as you feel the moans getting caught in the soft material of the mattress; he’d growl into your ear to just take it. He lives for when you leave marks on his skin, crescent bruises from your nails digging too deep into his muscles, sometimes even drawing blood, bite marks on his shoulder from trying to keep quiet as he pounds into you right next door to Merrick….but he’ll never be okay with making you bleed.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Keegan never says no to a blowjob; he rather relishes in it when you go down on your knees for him, but his real passion lies in giving you the pleasure his mouth and fingers can bring you. Your taste, smell, the way you react—it’s something that shifts him into a state of euphoria. For him, it’s an opportunity to show you just how devoted he can be; it’s also oddly comforting for him, with your legs squeezing his head, locking him in place, he’s content at that time with his own pleasure just secondary to yours…

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

More than rough and fast, Keegan likes to take his time. He’ll take every minute he has with you and draw them out, make you come twice before he even lets you get your hands on him. And even then, when you beg him to finally be inside you, he’ll deliberately take it slow. Tantalizing you, punishing you as if you’ve been bad even when that isn’t the truth. It frustrates you, the way he sets a slow, sensual pace and barely pulls out of you, preferring to stay deep inside and rock against you and feel every slight tensing and releasing of your inner muscles. He’ll take advantage of every second you have together.

However, there are days when you both want nothing more than tear each other apart; those days end with him ravishing you wherever you are, taking you against the wall without bothering to take off anything, not even his gloves and mask. And sometimes it’s you who does that to him—goading him into fucking you hard and deep; or you’ll push him down on the ground (or on a chair) and just ride him, use him (until he comes, sometimes too fast because you drive him fucking insane with your wild demeanor).

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Keegan, as mentioned before, prefers to take his sweet time with you. However, if the options are quickie or nothing, you know he’ll never decline that offer. Sometimes it’s when you feel too needy in the morning as he’s about to leave; you’ll wrap your venomous fingers around his wrist, still naked in his sheets with him fully dressed, mask in his hand, just reaching for his gun on the night table when you stop him—ask him to stay a little longer. Initially, he’d decline so you’d turn to begging, pleading and when that fails (that man is strongwilled sometimes, stubborn even), you just tug at his wrist with all your strength, making him lose stability and fall right on top of you, make him give into you, even if he was already meant to be sitting in the briefing room (but let’s be honest; he’s much happier buried inside your soft slick walls, hearing you moan his name rather than sitting on a chair surrounded by the rest of Ghosts).

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Keegan’s line between experimenting and taking risks is pretty thin; he’s keen on experimentation—even before the fall of ODIN, he lived by the “try everything once” phase and is still game when it comes to your love life. It’s your suggestions that mostly reveal his hidden desires. He wasn’t someone who experimented often but with you and how open you are to try new things; it allows him to find himself as well (and make him fucking fall in love with you even more, not that he might admit it to you anytime soon though).

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He’s someone who may not be able to last more than one, maybe two rounds (especially with how physically tiring his job can get) but this man knows how to make it count. He’ll be tantalizingly slow, leisured thrusts, sometimes just staying seating inside, shifting and grounding his hips without pulling out—drawing multiple orgasms out of you until you’re so spend that even your moans became barely audible, throat painfully dry, muscles relaxed to the point it feels like someone injected you with epidural, yet he won’t stop, drowning in the bliss your body gives him.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

For himself? No.

To use on you? Maybe—it’s kind of an apocalypse after all and people have other things on minds than trying to get their hands on sex toys. But he might have brought you something he found on one of the regular raids; it took some serious deep cleaning to make sure everything was sterile and safe for use. After that? This man is unstoppable with it; after he reaches his own climax, he’s all game to continue working your body to another blissful release with that toy.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Keegan is undoubtedly a teaser; slowly picking up on the ways to tease you based on the way you tease him (an eye for an eye). You have a knack for knowing exactly how to make him ache: eating fruit in front of him and lick each sweet drop of juice off your fingers; your body brushing against his as you lean in close when you’re in public; you give him glances through your lashes because you know that a certain type of look makes him go hard.

He slowly picks up on what makes you do the same. The first time he put his hand on you in public (and not on a mission) with casual ease, you nearly jumped out of your skin; talking to your superior with the Ghosts around you, his hand resting on the lower of your back, the curve on top of your ass because he knew no one was able to see it, his fingers drew circles on the material of your shirt, making you stumble over your words, drawing looks from the Walkers and Merrick, all way too oblivious to the way Keegan’s fingers slipped into your jeans, just knuckle deep but still touching the naked flesh of your lower back.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s a moaner; quiet but full of emotion, keeping it contained within himself so that only are able to hear him. Keegan’s not one to be loud which isn’t really surprising, yet he’s vocal in other ways—gentle grunts, suppressed groans and muffled moans. The more he loses the ability to express himself with words, and as his pleasure intensifies, his moans become more impassioned and fervent, until he's completely overwhelmed with pleasure and can only express himself with a deafening cry of bliss.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Keegan can’t stop thinking about that time he found you bound as a hostage. He doesn’t really want to bring it up because it was after all a traumatizing moment for you; yet his imagination runs wild with the fantasy of seeing you laid out before him, helpless and vulnerable, blindfolded and restrained; laying bare on his bed— not able to move as he devours you like a man-starved beast. The thought of your hands bound above your head, unable to move, only fuels his hunger for you further. He can't help but imagine just how exquisite it would feel to be able to fuck into you in such a vulnerable state.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Keegan’s more on the girth side rather than length; still, he’s big enough to make you feel the stretch when he slides into you. Tantalizingly thick, he always leaves you craving more, filling you up completely, sending waves of electricity through you with each roll of his hips.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His desire for you is as high as yours, if not higher. Keegan’s someone who not only is more than capable of fucking you before going to sleep but waking up and be ready to do it all over again. His sex drive is a combination of biology and psychology; one part of him completely succumbs to his desire whenever you’re around (or just on his mind) and the other is worry—he worries that this, what you to have going on, is not permanent given the nature of your lives. This fear of his only serves to strengthen his passion, and make him even more eager to please you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

In accordance with the previous statements, he mostly takes his time; he likes to watch you drift into that blissful slumber, so spent and tired to not even bother to dress up. It lets him savor the moments between you even more. Keegan will sometimes put his shirt on you while you’re already fast asleep—he’ll move slowly and with precision so he won’t wake you up, caressing your body with his fingertips as he slips his shirt over you, taking in the sight of your bare skin against the used fabric. He loves to linger, taking in your beauty and the tranquillity of the night, before finally letting himself drift off in peaceful repose.

#keegan russ #keegan russ smut #smut #moni writes #keegan russ x reader #codghosts #keegan cod #cod keegan russ #cod #call of duty keegan #call of duty ghosts #ghosts #cod keegan smut

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mbakuetshurisprincess · 2 years ago

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Love for Duty’s Sake Part 5

AN: Hello loves! Wow when I tell y’all I was FIGHTING in the editing room with this fic because I couldn’t tell if I should split this in half or not. I ended up just keeping it as one because I felt bad for ignoring democracy (sorry lyric) and posting Anything But Love P2 before I posted this one. A couple of fun facts about this fic because I literally have nowhere else to put them lmfao. In the convo with Griot, the reason Y/N’s argument works on him is because it follows a valid rule within arguments/logic called Hypothetical Syllogism. Basically, If A leads to B and B leads to C then you can correctly assume that A should also lead to C. Google it if you’re interested! Also, in writing Shuri’s interactions (esp the “in my wife's name” parts) it's like very heavily inspired by the way Dracula talks about Lisa Tepes in the Castlevania show!!

Holy fuck don’t know how I could ever forget this. As always, any of my fake dating stuff is dedicated to the lovely @pinkwright. This is my writer bae y’all have no idea, L4DS and ABL posts are always made with them in mind.

Summary: As the only daughter of Genelia, there were things you just had to do, and marrying the Queen of Wakanda was one of those things.

Pairing: Shuri x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cussing, violence, brief mentions of bad relationships with parents that’s it I think.

Word count: 6,213 (you see why I was thinking about splitting it up now??)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Masterlist. Taglist.

Suggested listening: Glock Six (Bonus) - 6LACK

“No need to state the obvi', I be close to your heart I know you looking for real love I got my hand on my Glock, posted on the block I might just let off a shot, at anyone tryin' to kill her”

The feeling of your body sliding off of your wife and onto the hospital pillow below you was the first hint that something was off. You knew Shuri didn’t mean to be so rough with you, even if you hadn’t been injured. She just hopped off of the bed quicker than her mind could remember that you were laying back on her. Only when you grimaced slightly did Shuri think enough to look back at you.

“Ndicela uxolo sthandwa sam (I’m sorry my love).” She muttered to you softly, scanning your body just long enough to ensure that you weren’t really hurt before turning her attention to Aneka. “When was this posted?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

Shuri took a deep inhale, rereading the post. “How did she even know about the shooting to post?”

The question was impossible for Aneka to answer, knowing something like that wasn’t necessarily in her job description. You, however? You were used to political moves like this. “She knows because the shooting happened in her city Shuri.”

“What?” Shuri turned to face you.

“I’m just saying, if something goes down in the Golden City, you’re made aware right? The same thing goes for DC. Especially on a day like today, foreign powers come into town. I’m sure she was all over it.” As you spoke, wheels started turning in your head, the scenario surrounding the events of your shooting. Everything was almost too perfect like it had been orchestrated.

“Listen to what you just said Y/N, I’m notified when something happens in the Golden City, not you. So why would she be the one posting about this instead of the President?” Shuri’s tone was harsher than you would have liked, posing the question to you as if you were a child misunderstanding basic math.

You sat up in your bed. “Because President Carter isn’t leading the show, Mallory is.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I know it’s true.” You folded your arms across your chest, starting to get annoyed at Shuri’s refusal to see what was clearly right in front of her. “Do you not trust me?”

The question was loaded and the Queen’s response came instinctually, “The question is not if I trust you, we are married of course I trust you. But you make it increasingly harder to trust you when you put forth ideas like that.” Shuri mimicked your position, crossing her arms over herself.

Her response stung and the look on your face made Shuri regret saying it immediately. “I did not mean-”

You cut Shuri off, not wanting to hear what she had to say. “Nope. You said it. What do I know anyway? Not like I come from a family of politicians who would make this exact same move given the chance.” You turned your attention from where Shuri and Aneka stood back to the tv, effectively disengaging from the conversation.

Warning signals were going off in Shuri’s head and she knew she fucked up. Taking one more look at the screen she made her way back over to your bed. Kneeling next to you and taking your hand in hers. “I am sorry, sthandwa sam. (my love) I didn't mean to brush off your idea like that. Your attention still faced forward but the Queen could feel the race in your heart rate when her thumb traced over the lines of your knuckles.

The silent treatment you were giving Shuri was frustrating her, if she had just slowed down as Okoye said, she would've thought about what she was saying before she said it. “I promise I will make it up to you-”

The buzz of Shuri’s kimoyo beads pulled her attention away from you and her apology.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

It was a message from Okoye letting her know that they had all made it back safely to Wakanda and that Liam Drockers was in the lower-level interrogation rooms. Aneka must’ve gotten a similar message from Ayo because when she made eye contact with Shuri, she gave her a knowing nod as she left the room.

“I will make this up to you… when I am free again.” The end of the sentence tumbled slowly out of Shuri’s mouth, knowing it was going to garner a reaction from you.

“What?” Instead of your voice sounding angry like the Queen had expected, it almost sounded more hurt or scared. This new tone pulled at Shuri’s heartstrings. “You’re leaving?”

While yes, you were literally just ignoring Shuri ten seconds ago, you hadn’t expected her to just up and leave like that. Especially given how physically close you two had spent the last hour, part of you had grown attached to her in a way you never imagined possible. Addicted to the safe feeling that only seemed to come when you were in her arms.

“I have some council business I have to take care of.” Her rubbing of your hands still hadn’t stopped, tracing every detail of your knuckles.

You looked at her now, teeth biting at your bottom lip. “What do you have that’s so important?”

“Just some time-sensitive stuff I need to handle. It should be quick, I don’t imagine it will be long.” Her eyes were averted, so you had no read on what possible clues they could be conveying. Something about this bothered you, normally she was so demanding of your eye contact and now she wasn’t even looking up. But you knew Shuri, whatever this was she wasn’t going to give up easily. You needed something to garner her attention first before you asked her what you needed to know.

“I think I’m gonna call home.” Shuri’s eyes instantly flashed up to yours.

“Really?”

“I think so, I don’t want my family worrying about me, you know? I don’t want them thinking I’m dead or anything. Now that Mallory has so kindly let the world know about this.”

Shuri hummed in response, debating asking the question at the forefront of her mind. “I thought- I mean, I didn’t know you had a way of contacting them.”

This made you feel a little bit guilty since you had made it seem like you’d given Genelia up for good. “It's a direct line to my father's advisor, only for emergency purposes.” Your eyes flickered around her face. “I’ve never used it, I didn’t think I’d have to.”

Shuri felt assured in hearing this, the slight worry that had slipped into her mind about you secretly planning to leave her dissipated. “Oh, okay.” She savored these last few minutes of her hand tracing yours, knowing that soon those same hands who held yours so delicately would be used in the complete opposite manner.

“Shuri?” The way you called her name was soft, the same way you had in the restaurant before all of this had happened. It made her feel warm inside, lowering her guard just as you intended.

Her response once again was just a hum, her eyes studying every detail of your face the way her hands did yours.

“You wouldn’t lie to me right?” Your question caught her off guard but her rubbing never stopped.

“Kakade hayi, sithandwa sam. (Of course, not my love)” Her eyes conveyed no sign of lying so you continued.

“So it’s really council business that's so pressing you have to take care of it right now? Not anything to do with me?” You asked the question confidently, not taking your eyes off Shuri, searching for a tell. Anyone else would have missed it but you didn’t, the brief second when Shuri’s movements faltered. When her hand stopped rubbing yours.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

She stood up now, letting go of your hand. Being at eye level with you was too much right now, it felt too connected given the fact that she was literally lying to your face. “Yes, it’s council business like I told you before. Very time sensitive.” Before you could respond she spoke again. “Aneka!”

The Dora appeared in the door frame with lightning speed, “Yes, ngangamsha (your majesty)?”

“Guard Y/N’s side of the ward while I deal with this business, make sure no harm comes to her.” Shuri’s words were confident and her arms now crossed her chest signifying her demeanor change.

“Shuri, I don't need a babysitter, I’m fine.” You protested. “Plus Aneka has yet to see Ayo, let them see each other.”

“I am fine, my Queen. Thank you for your kindness but ensuring your safety is more important.” Aneka responded quickly, earning a nod of agreement from Shuri.

Your wife looked down at her kimoyo beads. “I’ll be back in an hour, mfazi (wife).” Placing a kiss on your forehead, she looked down at you one more time before she left. “No trouble while I’m gone?”

“I’ll try my hardest.” You replied as she walked out of the room, Aneka behind her taking her spot guarding your room.

This left you alone with your thoughts and while a million things were running around your mind there were two prominent thoughts. One being, your wife was lying to you.

You couldn't be a hundred percent sure about exactly what she was lying about but you knew it had something to do with you. While you wanted to snoop around and try and figure it out, the second of the thoughts found its way to the forefront of your mind. Having to call you family.

Looking around you found your physical phone, the one that Shuri still referred to as ‘primitive technology’. Scrolling until you found the contact you didn’t think you’d ever have to press. Saying a prayer you pressed call and hoped for the best.

The line rang only one time before the person picked up. “This isn’t some sick joke, you’re really calling me?”

“Marcos, I told you I’d only call you in an emergency. I wouldn't play a joke like this.”

You could hear him recite a prayer on the other end of the line. “Everyones worried sick about you Y/N, I mean your parents think you’re…” His voice trailed off and it made your heart hurt thinking about the stress this whole situation inadvertently caused your family.

“I know, I know, that’s why I called. Can you just tell them that I’m alright? It’s nothing to worry about and I’ll be fine?”

Marcos contemplated your words, “Y/N, your father will kill me if he finds out I spoke to you without giving him the opportunity.”

The sound of movement from the other end of the line had you concerned. “Marcos wait, you know I don’t want to speak to them.” It was a useless plea and you knew it. As much as Marcos cared about you like you were his own daughter and wished to protect you as such. At the end of the day, he worked for your father.

“I’m sorry mon papillon (my butterfly)” The term of endearment did little to quell the feeling of betrayal as Marcos moved to give the phone to your father.

“Whoever it is Marcos, tell them they will need to call later, I am grieving my daughter.”

“It is about Y/N, sir.”

Your father looked between his advisor and the phone before picking it up.

“Yes?” This was the first time you had heard your father's voice in years. It had become too painful to go back and watch old home videos from before Yara’s death so part of you wondered if you’d forgotten what he sounded like. But as soon as his deep voice bellowed through the phone, you remembered.

“Dad? It’s me.” You were scared to speak the words at first, questioning how he would react.

“Y/N, is that you? Oh my god! Josiah, get your mother from the chapel, our baby is alive!” The outcry from your father made your heart hurt, had he been that concerned?

“Dad-” You tried to speak but his rambling cut you off.

“When we saw the news honey we were so worried about you, I thought you had died. But you didn’t! God brought you back!”

“Dad-”

“He’s bringing you back home to us!” He ended his rejoicing when you finally spoke up.

“Babba! What are you talking about?” Your pain medication must have been making you delirious and mishear things.

“What do you mean Y/N, this is a sign! You were almost taken from Genelia, from us. We need to come together and give thanks that you’re still with us.” Your father's words were confusing you, why was he saying that you were taken from them as if they weren't the same ones to send you away?

“I’m not coming home Dad, I was just calling to let everyone know I was okay-”

“Nonsense!” Your mother spoke now, you weren't aware when she arrived in the room. “You must come home, we miss you. This was a wake-up call, don’t you think?”

You paused now and took a deep breath. What they were asking was encroaching on a boundary you had set the day you left Genelia. To never come back. “I just, I don’t think it’s a good idea guys.”

It was now your parent's turn to pause while they thought about what they could say to change your mind. But it wasn’t them that spoke, instead it was a different voice. One that clearly held the tonal characteristics of a man but was still slightly squeaky signifying they hadn’t fully finished maturing.

“So you’re just never gonna come back? Is that it then?” If it wasn’t for your father's words earlier you wouldn’t have even been able to guess who it was. But of course, it was your little shadow who spoke up now. Josiah.

“Siah-”

“No, you don’t get to call me that anymore. My sister, who loved me and didn’t just get up and abandon her family for a fancy new life in France, called me that. I don’t know who you are.”

Josiah’s words cut through you like the sharpest blade known to man, cutting deeper than any slick comment from Shuri. Is that really what he thought happened? That you left your family behind to go chase your dreams in a foreign country?

You didn’t care about your parents, quite frankly fuck them. Any emotional ties you felt towards them had long left you, so saying no to them while it was hard; it didn’t hurt. Saying no to Josiah though? Hearing the disappointment in his voice? He didn’t deserve this. To be caught in the crosshairs of the relationship between you and your parents.

“Fine!”

“Fine?” Your mother and father's voice asked in unison.

“Fine, I will come back to Genelia to visit.”

“Tomorrow?” Josiah’s voice questioned.

“Tomorrow? Siah I just got shot.” You tried to reason with your brother, and while you didn’t feel any of the effects of the shooting at this exact moment you still didn’t know if traveling so soon would be wise. Plus you still needed to explain this all to Shuri.

“You’re married to the smartest woman in the world and live in the most technologically advanced country. I’m sure they can figure something out.” Josiah left no room for argument in his sentence.

“Fine Siah, I will come to Genelia for a few days, flying in tomorrow. Happy?” You didn’t even understand why you were agreeing to this.

“Not in the slightest, I have no idea who you are anymore. I did that for Mom and Dad.”

That hurt more than Josiah knew. You tried to tell yourself that he didn’t mean it, but something in you couldn't believe it.

“Okay well, I’ve got to go. I’ll um talk to Marcos about arrival times and everything.” You needed this phone call done, the gravity of what you had just agreed to started to weigh on you.

“Parfait! We can’t wait to see you soon Y/N. We love you!” You could hear the smile in your father's voice and felt guilt not only that you didn’t feel the same happiness but that you couldn’t reciprocate his “I love you” truthfully.

“Yeah I um, I’ll see you guys soon.” With that you ended the call, throwing your head back against the pillow.

As you sat in silence you digested what had just happened.

1. You called Marcos, just to let him know that you were alive.

2. You ended up on a phone call with your parents, speaking to them for the first time in years.

3. After declining to come to Genelia, you were guilt-tripped into returning by your little brother. Not because he wanted to see you but because he knew his parents wanted to.

All of this made your head reel and you longed for the peace and comfort that your wife provided. But she wasn’t here with you, her wife who had just been shot. Instead, she was dealing with council business.

“Griot.”

“Ah your majesty, I am glad you are in good health again. What can I do for you?”

You paused wondering if Griot was even able to give you this information. “Where is Shuri right now?”

“Shuri has programmed me to not disclose her location to anyone unless it is an emergency, I am sorry your majesty.”

Of course Shuri had done so, always wanting to keep tabs on everyone but not thinking anyone else needed to keep them on her. You wanted to give up before an idea popped into your head. “Griot, Shuri programmed me into your system as a Queen, correct?”

“Yes your majesty, she has programmed you with the same clearance as she has.”

Jackpot.

“And Shuri has access to her location status I would assume?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Great, so she has access to her location status, and I have the same clearance level as her/ You can give me her location.” Your reasoning was solid, creating a logical path that the AI could follow.

“Yes, your majesty, that does appear to be correct. One moment please.”Success. “Queen Shuri is in the basement, interrogation room one.”

“Interrogation room one?” You asked Griot again, you didn’t even know the palace had a single interrogation room, let alone multiple.

“Yes, the Queen has been in that room since she left you in the hospital wing.”

So she had been lying to you.

“Thank you, Griot, that will be all.”

There was no doubt in your mind that this had something to do with your shooting and that Shuri thought she was doing good by you by keeping you away from all of it. Trying to shield you from more pain. But that wasn’t what you asked for, it was what she decided you needed.

You touched your abdomen, trying to gauge your pain level. As Josiah had said, you were in the most technologically advanced country so truly your recovery wouldn’t take more than a few days. Right now, you felt good enough to hobble out of bed and make it out of your room.

Shuri wanted to lie to you? Fine. But you were going to go down to the basement to figure out exactly what she was up to.

You made it no more than five feet out of your room before a body in front of you haltered your progress.

“What are you doing out of bed ngangamsha (your majesty)? You should be resting.” Aneka’s concerned look surprised you. While you knew it was her job to protect you, you saw a twinge of genuine concern in her eyes.

“She lied to me Aneka.” You took a step to the side and then forward so she was no longer in your path. The dull twinge of pain let you know that this might be more difficult than your first few steps had made it appear, nonetheless you were going to make the journey.

“Intoni? (What?)”

“Shuri lied to me. She told me she had council business to take care of, but she didn’t. She’s downstairs in the basement right now. So I’m going down there to see what could be so important that she felt the need to lie to me.” You continued your walk towards the elevator pleasantly surprised that Aneka didn’t appear to try and stop you.

You took a few more steps before suddenly something pressed against the back of both of your knees, causing you to lose your balance. Falling back right into… a chair? Aneka stood above you, her hands on the handle of the wheelchair that she had just gently gotten you into. “I am not condoning you doing this, however, I know I can not stop you.”

You nodded, grateful to hear that.

“But,” Of course there was something. “I will not let you rip your stitches hobbling down there.”

A smile passed across your face and a similar one came to Ankea’s.

“Plus, I can talk to you while we make our way down there. I should fill you in, it is for the best.” Aneka pushed you forward as she began to explain just who was awaiting you in the basement.

While you two made your way down, Shuri, Ayo, Okoye, and your assailant were deep into their interrogation session.

To Shuri’s credit, she tried to be diplomatic about the whole situation. When she first walked into the room and saw Liam Drockers sitting down with Ayo and Okoye on either side of him, she imagined what her brother would say to her.

“Patience sisi.” He would say. “Regardless of what he has done, he is deserving of a fair questioning, the same as you and me.”

And she tried to take T’Challa’s advice, asking Liam simple questions at first.

“Are you an employee of Judas’s Ice Cream shop?”

No response.

“Are you working for the United States government?”

No response.

“Were you aware the person you shot was the Queen of Wakanda, Y/N Y/L/N Udaku?”

A small smile creeped up on Liam’s face after she finished speaking, but still, he said nothing. This infuriated her and she was about ready to cast this whole morally right thing to the side and get the information she needed through more direct means.

But then her mother's voice came into her head. “Do not let him remove you from yourself intomba (daughter).”

The Queen calmed herself, “I asked you a question. Were you aware the person you shot was Y/N Y/L/N Udaku, the Queen of Wakanda?”

While Liam's eyes had largely remained on the floor he pulled them up to her now, showing off the bored look they held. “I didn’t miss, did I?”

Shuri’s heartbeat increased, so he knew what he was doing. This was a planned attack on her wife? He knew who she was and still chose to take the shot?

“You still thinkin’ bout showin this fool mercy?” No. That was the one voice she didn’t want to listen to.

Okoye saw the look and Shuri’s eyes and when their gaze finally met, a wave of concern washed over her. She was losing Shuri to this.

Okoye’s suggestion for a break is what brought them outside, Shuri pacing up and down the hallway trying to decide how to move forward.

“Is it really that hard of a decision little cuz?”

“Shut up.” She spoke out loud. Ayo looked over to Okoye wondering if they should step in but Okoye shook her head, hoping that whoever Shuri was speaking to would provide the young girl some clarity.

“I’m just saying what you’re really thinking here. I mean he shot ya wife, you really cool with letting that slide?”

“I am not ‘letting it slide’, I’m going about it the diplomatic way N’Jadaka. Something I know you know nothing about.”

Erik laughed at that “Aww shit little panther got some bite to her huh? But you’re right I don’t know shit about the diplomatic way, what I do know however is how to get results, quickly. It’s cool though, give this mother fucker the time and respect he didn’t give to your wife. I’m sure that’s smart.”

His last comment drew Shuri over the edge. Done with the conversation and confident in her decision, she made her way back over to the door where Ayo and Okoye awaited her. She knew the decision she had come to was harsh but the only thing on her mind was ensuring your safety and getting to the bottom of this.

“If you do not want to stay for the next part of the interrogation, I am not ordering either of you too. This is the time now to back out of this, without any blood on your hands.” She thought for a moment about how literal her figure of speech was about to become. “Ngokunzulu (Seriously).”

Okoye looked Shuri up and down. It was in moments like these that she no longer saw the young girl she had watched grow up over the past ten years. The youthful glow had faded over and now left Shuri with a hard exterior that seemed to be ever-present. “Are you sure this is what you want to do ikumkani wam (my queen)?” Okoye offered this out to Shuri now, one shot to think clearly about her decision.

“A hundred percent.” Was Shuri’s simple reply.

That’s how they ended up here, Ayo holding Liam’s cuffed arms behind his back while Shuri issued blow after blow to his abdomen, turning him effectively into a human punching bag.

“You done with the games now Liam?” A punch landed on his stomach. “Are you ready to say something and give me the information I need to know?”

The whole ordeal hurt Okoye to watch but she understood why Shuri had shifted to such drastic means, it was only out of necessity.

Liam gathered his breath as Shuri removed the jacket she’d been wearing, leaving her in a compression shirt. “No words Liam, really?” She cracked her knuckles and delivered two more blows, one after the other. “That’s okay I’m sure soon enough you will.”

He shifted in Ayo’s arms for a few seconds for spitting the blood that had pooled in his mouth down at Shuris feet, giving her a defiant stare.

A smirk rose to Shuri’s face as she looked at the few drops of blood that had gotten on her sneakers. “You know Liam, I had been holding back in the name of my wife. I’ll tell you a secret since, quite frankly, the likelihood of you making it out of Wakanda to repeat this is slim to none. I don’t know much about my wife, we do not have the most conventional marriage so the real things I can say I know about her are few and far in between. But what I do know about my lovely Y/N, she hates violence and views it as the very last play in the book. Convinced me not to kill a spider once just because she said it wasn’t necessary.”

Shuri smiled at the silly memory of you cussing her out at home when she tried to kill a spider instead of releasing it outside.

“So, in her name, I haven't been using any of my enhanced strength. This,” She points to the purple bruises that had started to form on the skin of his stomach. “It's all me. But, since you want to be disrespectful and spit blood on my shoes, we’re giving all that up.” Quicker than anyone in the room could have seen, Shuri put her hands up and delivered a devastatingly strong blow to his stomach. Providing enough force that even Ayo had to take a step back to steady herself and absorb some of the shock of the blow.

You watched in horror from the other side of the glass in the interrogation room as Liam doubled over in pain, gasping for air. Aneka and yourself had been in the room just long enough to watch him spit blood on your wife's shoes.

“Now, we’re going to try this again.” Shuri started with the same line of questions from before. “Are you working for the United States government?”

Once Liam pulled himself together, he gave the Queen no answer, just continuing his stare of contempt.

Shuri chuckled, “Again then? Okay.” She let out another punch, Ayo being more prepared this time held Liam’s body tight.

“She’s gonna kill him Aneka.” You spoke quietly from the wheelchair as you watched the whole ordeal take place. “We can’t let her kill him, that’s not her.”

Aneka nodded, “But there is nothing we can do right now my Queen. Ayo and Okoye are in there with her, they will not let it go too far.”

“I need to get in there.” Shuri wasn’t going to listen to Ayo or Okoye, you didn’t even know if she was going to listen to you. But as far as you were concerned this had already gone far enough. You started moving your wheelchair towards the door but Aneka stopped you.

“Your majesty I cannot let you in there, bringing you down here was a breach of protocol enough. To have you in there would just be a blatant disregard for the Queen’s wishes.” Aneka declared.

Both of your attention was brought back to Shuri and Liam when she hit him in the same spot again, leading him to cough up more blood.

“You go in there and bring my wife out to me or I go in there and bring her out myself. Two choices, you pick.” You folded your arms like a child, waiting for Aneka’s response.

She looked into the interrogation room and back to you. “Bast you two are perfect for each other. Stubborn just alike.”

With that she left you, walking out and knocking before entering the other room.

“ikumkani wam,” She interjected, pulling Shuri’s attention from the man and onto the Dora.

“What is it Aneka, I am busy.” Shuri looked at her impatiently.

“uY/n ulapha kwaye angathanda ukuthetha nawe (Y/N is here and would like to talk to you).” Aneka switched to their mother tongue so Liam couldn’t understand what they were saying.

Shuri’s face faltered for a second. You were here? How long had you been watching? How much had you seen? “I am in the middle of an inter-”

The sound of you banging on the wall to indicate you didn’t care what she was doing cut Shuri off. She looked at Liam before speaking to Ayo and Okoye. “Put him down, I will be back shortly.” In a second Shuri was out of the room and opening the door to the other side of the interrogation room, meeting your icy gaze.

“What are you doing out of bed sithandwa sam (my love)?” Shuri’s concern was real, raking her eyes over your body.

“You lied to me.” You weren't wasting time tip-toeing around the subject,

“I was protecting you.” Shuri’s justification came quickly, as she took a step closer to you. The light illuminated her face better now and you were able to see the small spots of blood that had splattered on her face.

Against your better judgment, you called her closer to you “Come here.” She obliged kneeling so you two were at eye level, mimicking the position you two had been in this morning. You reached to hold her face in your hand, wiping the small dots of blood away with your thumb. “You lied to me,” You said again looking into her eyes.

“I was trying to-” Shuri tried again to explain this to you but you cut her off with a gentle tap to her lips with your free hand.

“I know you were trying to protect me Shuri, but I am your wife. You can’t lie to me.” The look in your eyes conveyed the seriousness of your comments.

The excuses started to form in Shuri’s mouth but she stopped them. “I- I know and I’m sorry. I should have told you what I was doing.” She let her head rest in your hand and averted her eyes down, fiddling with the material from your hospital gown.

“Yes, you should have.” While your words were harsh, the tone and way you caressed her face let her know you weren't really mad with her.

“Let me make this right umfazi (wife).” Shuri declared sitting up so she looked you in the eyes once again. “The man, his name is Liam Drockers he-”

“I already know Shuri.” You smiled at your wife who looked at you cluelessly. “Aneka filled me in on our way down here, I know everything. I want to speak with him.”

Shuri pulled out of your grasp now, appalled you would even ask something like that. “Absolutely not Y/N, there is no logical reason to risk your life by putting you in there with him.”

“First there is no risk to my life, not only is he handcuffed but Ayo and Okoye will be in there with us. Second Shuri, you owe me. This has everything to do with me and you tried to keep it from me, I deserve at least one chance to speak with him. Alone.” You were confident in your rebuttal, Shuri tried to find a counterargument for every point you made but she couldn't.

“Five minutes with Okoye, Ayo, and Aneka inside with you.” Shuri brought her demands to the table and you thought about it for a second. Was she seriously that worried for your safety that she thought you needed three Dora’s in there with you and a restrained and beaten man?

“Deal.”

With that Shuri wheeled you out of the viewing area and to the interrogation room. Aneka held the door open and your wife pushed you through the entryway, stopping at the frame per your request.

“Oh yeah and pack a bag, we’re going to Genelia tomorrow.” You shut the door leaving your very confused wife on the other side. You two were going where?

In front of you sat a very bruised Liam Drockers, Ayo, and Okoye on his sides You always found it so funny how no matter how big or bad someone seemed, at the end of the day they were made of flesh and bones just like you.

Wheeling up to the table you sat and stared at your attacker for a moment. Trying to search for something you were never going to find, a reason or justification.

“Alright, Liam I’m going to make this very easy for you.” You interlaced your fingers and let them sit on the table, this is where you shined. “In the other room, my wife is waiting with bated breath for me to tell her it's okay to come in here and continue to beat the living shit out of you. Now me personally, as you heard before, I’m not a fan of violence. I think it's an unnecessary evil of the world, something we really can function without.” You paused letting out a chuckle. “Not that I think that you believe the same,” You gestured down to your stomach. “You clearly favor my wife when it comes to that way of thinking.”

Liam's eyes moved all over you, attempting to size you up as a threat.

“So, now that you know that much about me, let me tell you how this is going to work. Either A. we can make this super simple, you answer every question I have and agree to the plan we have in place. Or, I call my wife back in here and she beats you to a pulp.”

A wheezing breath came from your attacker and you couldn’t help but notice how weak he looked now, the beating from Shuri having done a good chunk of damage. “I’m not sayin shit, I know my rights.”

You smiled at this, leaning closer to him. “Your rights? You think your rights will protect you here?” The look on Liam’s face changed for a split second, his facade slipping. “You’re in the basement interrogation room of the most technologically advanced country in the world because you shot one of their Queens. You were flown in on a top-secret jet, there's no record of you ever even being in Wakanda. Nobody knows you’re here.”

“That’s- that’s not true.” Liam stammered out. “There are people out there who know who I am, who are looking for me.”

This got the heartiest laugh from you yet. “Mallory? Really? You think she’d save you?” The idea he was pushing was almost comical. “You were a gun for hire, you served your purpose and now there's nothing left for you to do, you were disposable from the beginning. Do you seriously believe she’d risk a national incident to save one measly hit man?”

The truthfulness of your words hit Liam like a ton of bricks, there was no getting out of this.

“So,” You began. “I’ll ask the question my wife has been trying to ask. What the fuck was your mission and who do you report to.”

Liam shifted in his chair, looking around the room as he assessed his situation. “It all started with Mallory.”

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