#s/i: ebony chase

[lovinggreeniehours]

okay back in the day i was really really keen on my older ebony design having almost all white hair by then but. but. now he just reminds me of harumi 😭

[muzansfangs]

Hiii! I hope ur still accepting requests. Recently, an idea has stuck in my head. What about taking bath with Aizen and his s/o? I hope you will accept it!

Cleanse my soul.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to Shinji Hirako, Kisuke Urahara, Kensei Muguruma, Rojuro Otoribashi, Lisa Yadomaru, Hiyori Sarugaki;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, cock-warming, vaginal sex, creampie, fear play, smoking, clit-edging, jealousy, nudity, Lieutenant Aizen, morally grey reader, mention to attempted murder, violence, gore, blood, talks about the future, betrayal, trust issues, turn back the pendolum arc, established relationship;

Plot: He was back, knocking on your door in the dead of the night. His Lieutenant badge had been damaged, the gleam in his chestnut eyes telling you he had succeeded in accomplishing his plan. He always seeked your company, after long days of work and unspeakable crimes committed to chase his dream of becoming a God. You were the only thing he would have never given up to on his climb to the Heaven.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Reading by the window to distract yourself, you had watched in agitation the way your Captain had left the barracks to investigate on the sudden disappearence of Kensei Muguruma and and some members of his squad. Your stomach churned, apprehension leaving space to the mournful feeling of being forced to accept a brutal reality no one else in your Division was prepared for: at the end of the night, you were either going to say goodbye to Hirako Shinji, your Captain, or to Sosuke Aizen, his Lieutenant, your boyfriend.

No one else knew what was really happening, besides you, Kaname Tosen and Gin Ichimaru, the young prodigy Sosuke seemed to be so enthusiastic about. The secrets you harbored behind your soft smile, when you conversed with your friends, as if you had not just witnessed to some poor inhabitants of the Rukongai vanishing before you wary eyes, when you lied for him, when you cradled his face in your hands and reassured him everything was going to be okay, when he silently pleaded you to cleanse his soul by fucking you up against a wall and telling you the world was soon going to acclaim you their queen, were slowly consuming you up from the inside like acid sizzling the delicate walls of your stomach.

Despite that, you had chosen him above anything and anyone else. You were the priest absolving him from the sins he kept on staining his soul with for the sake of his ideals. The real question was: who cleansed your soul?

You often queried whether his efforts to keep your hands clean were actually successful. You were not innocent. You were guilty as well. You had just betrayed the Soul Society and your friends. Your idle tongue was as sharp as Sosuke’s blade. You wondered how many of your friends had already fallen by your boyfriend’s hand. A massacre was taking place outside and there you were, safe in your dorm and hoping Kisuke Urahara was not going to disrupt your lover’s plans.

Someone knocking on your door made you flinch, back straightening as a ramrod as you settled your book down on the ebony desk, careful not to make a sound. What if Sosuke had failed? Maybe he had sold you off too, after being arrested. The mere thought of your beloved boyfriend throwing you to the wolves made chills run down your spine and your mouth turn to chalk. Would Sosuke really do such a thing to you? You wondered, once again, if he loved you as much as you did.

You mentally rebuked yourself for assuming the worst. Sosuke loved you. Why were you doubting his feelings for you? Probably, you were just projecting onto your relationship the ominous feelings, swallowing you in a whirlwind of fear and anxiety, that you experienced when you watched him work cold-heartedly, sacrificing souls, to the chilling phenomen known as Hollowfication.

Your hand reached for your zanpakuto, your bare feet sliding onto the wooden floor without making a sound, just like he had taught you throughout the years you had spent together. You took a sharp intake of breath, tightening your grip on the hilt of your katana until your knuckles turned white. The visitor was masterly suppressing their reiatsu, making it impossible to detect their presence and identify who they were. You knew what you had to do, in case Sosuke’s failed and the guards went after you. Killing comrades, however, was entirely different from massacring Hollows. You were a shinigami, not an assassin. If the person knocking on your door was not your boyfriend, your blade was going to drip viscous, crimson blood of a shinigami.

Hiding your katana behind your back, you slided the door open, ready to become a full-fledged traitress. The lean frame occupying the threshold made you discard the blade onto the floor instinctively, the sound of the weapon clattering against the parquet echoing in the silent night, as your hands clutched the fabric of Sosuke’s shihakushō and pulled him inside. He had come back safe and sound.

It only meant one thing: the Fifth Division had lost its Captain.

You relished the bittersweet taste of happiness achieved through betrayal, when you smashed your lips onto his, hand scrambling to your side to slide the door shut. Yet, you had learnt to be selfish, you had grown familiar with the sensation of enjoying moments of peace and unbridled excitement, when other people were in pain. Sosuke held you close to his chest, his hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed you back with equal fervor. His hair were disheveled, the badge indicating his status of Lieutenant was gone, the black fabric of his uniform torn in some parts, dirt dusted his clothes and visage.

“Are you hurt?” you dared murmuring against his lips, ignoring the way he was already trying to disrobe you.

“Unscathed. — he shortly informed you — But I could use a bath” he added, mouth voraciously assaulting the crook of your neck, whilst you were attempting to make a small conversation to know details about his victory.

However, right now, when you were in his arms and his teeth were nipping at your tender flesh, Sosuke did not seem to give a iota about further explanations. He had won. He had promised to come back to you and there he was, pushing you towards the bathroom, heedless of the corners biting onto your sides as he forced you to stumble backwards to reach the destination he had chosen for you two to spend the rest of the night at.

You winced pathetically against his lips, the chilly, wintry air blowing through the small, wide-open window of your bathroom leaving goosebumps on your now naked shoulderblades. The rustle of your clothes landing onto the floorboard accompanied you to the edge of the bath, as he finally let go of you and began to undress himself before your glossy, dreamy eyes.

No matter how many times you had traced the outlines of his abs with your lips, or fingertips, every single time his body was bared for you to contemplate you lost any cognitive capacity of thinking straight. Sosuke had always got you in a chokehold from the day you first met at the Academy.

He was that kind of man who outfoxed everyone around him, the sweet-natured guy with glasses no one would have ever accused of committing bloodcurdling felonies. Sosuke Aizen was far from being an ordinary man, some stranger easy to forget about. He had captivated you effortlessly in the palms of his hands, like a clueless butterfly delicately landing on the fruity, multicolored petals of a carnivorous plant only to be devoured to the bone. You had become one with him.

You realized you had been fantasizing about him again only when his hand reached for you chin, forcing you to crane up your neck and meet his gaze. His glasses were gone, his beautiful chestnut brown eyes boring into yours in anticipation as he brushed his thumb over your cheek “Focus on me” he commanded, his words no longer sugar-coated, the typical honeyed tone slipping out of his mouth when he talked to you absent.

His ravenous side strived to take over, evidently. He desired you like a helpless shipwrecked person hoped to find water in a deserted island, adrift amidst the salty water of the Ocean.

Seldomly you had recognized the diabolic gleam in his eyes outside the safe walls of your dorms. His lust, his thirst for power, his greed and ambitions were never showcased in his ever so kind eyes, the same pretty eyes bewitching you right now. Sosuke was the incarnation of the infamous wolf in sheep’s clothing. He had people bamboozled, unable to see him as nothing less than a noble, proficient and polite man minding his business and even reprimanding his Captain for the sake of his Division.

A man with leardship, but uncapable of doing any harm.

Perhaps, it was because you knew him so intimately that his demons had grown familiar with yours that you often asked yourself if you were a mere pawn in his hands, a pretty diamond pin to wear in order to fool people about his real intentions. You hesitated, a small frown creasing your forehead as you watched Sosuke impassibly stare at you in confusion.

“Tell me something, Sosuke. — you started, miraculously modulating your voice in a firm but soft tone — Are you going to abandon me, once the world will be in your hands?”.

His eyes clouded over for a moment, your stomach churning in apprehension. What if you had ruined it all? You impudent mouth, your lips quivering in fright, your heart pumping fast in your chest had revealed you were scared of losing him, or to be fair, of him.

Sosuke’s jaw clenched, his other hand gripping your hip to push you back towards the cool edge of the tub, the still warm water sparkling under the moonlight dimly enlightening the room “When the world will be nothing but a possession of mine, I will give it to you” he stated, making your stomach somersault.

Regrets for having even asked him such a silly question gnawed at your stomach, guilty conscience weighing on your shoulders like a heavy read. You blinked a few times in a row, watching as your boyfriend sidestepped you to climb into the tub. The sound of the water splashing onto the floor, overflowing from the edge, filled the air. Sosuke leaned his back against the bath, arms comfortably positioned on each side of it, penetrative gaze commanding you to join him.

Resisting was impossible. Entering the water, you snuggled into his chest, your back adhering to his firm abs as your neck reclined. Your hair tickled his chin, his jawline, his eyes closing to finally relax. He would have never admitted it, but you could tell he was exhausted. Even Kings needed to slack off, to ignore their duties and enjoy the small moments of bliss their life granted them.

“I need you to believe in me” he spoke out then, velvet voice playing the chords of your heart, as you swallowed thickly.

“I believe in you”.

“Then don’t doubt my love for you. Never” he asked of you tiredly, his arms now leisurely encircling your waist to bring your body closer to his, skin to skin, his mouth gliding down the curve of your neck.

You hummed, thighs parting, when his hand slipped further down your body, disappearing underneath the translucent water “I’m sorry. But this is all so scary, Sosuke. I was afraid—”.

“Afraid of what? That you mattered less than glory and honorifics?”.

You squeezed your eyes shut, his deft fingers parting your dewy folds as if they were a syrupy fig for him to feast on, the scene reminding you of a depraved bucolic lyric about a Greek, Attic shepherd corrupting a modest nymph by a river. A blasphemy you were condoning sheepishly.

The moans you let out were not the answers he was trying to coax you to pronounce “Answer me” he pressed.

“N-No!” you stammered, hips rocking as he plunged a finger into your tight hole, causing him to pull it out and gently pinching on your clit. While the action obviously did not hurt you, it sent waves of electricity running through your body. You jolted onto your seat, toes curling as you lolled your head back onto his shoulder.

Sosuke’s teeth nibbled onto your earlobe, before he hushed you “Hush, love. Can you just recall what I have taught you? Provide me a good argumentation and I won’t prolong this torture further” he whispered, his brown eyes shifting to a small cabinet at his right, making his blood boil in his veins.

Why did you still keep such an object in your house?

Were you maybe going behind his back? Were you actually siding with that frowsy scientist he had taken care of nearly an hour ago? Kisuke Urahara would have not been a problem anymore, whatever was the reason behind your injudicious decision of discarding that water-pipe in such a place for his eyes to see. A small test of your loyalty would have sufficed to prove how deeply you cared for him, to understand whether your devotion was pure and solely on him, or not.

Hazy, you clasped your hand over your mouth to muffle out another whimper threatening to erupt from your throat. Rationality left your body, when he touched you. How were you supposed to force your brain to properly function, when Sosuke was flicking your throbbing clitoris torturously between his thumb and index? Despite that, you knew damn well the only solution to your problem was doing exactly what he had said.

Tears prickling in your expressive eyes, you pushed your knees together, only for Sosuke to chide you and run his fingers through your drenched hair. His nails scraped your scalp ever so lightly, but it was enough to stop your futile struggle.

“You have such a pretty mouth, darling. Let me hear your voice, hm?” he mumbled, one of his arms sliding around your abdomen and pulling you flush against him while the other pinched your clitoris again.

You squealed out in overstimulation, your body too sensitive to endure more of this edging. It was his usual wicked game of power and self-control. Sosuke was in command, yet he made sure you always had your chance to make his ministrations cease. All you had to do was playing your part, like a pretty ballerina moving under his instructions. A false step and you sprained your ankle.

You huffed, cheeks heating up in embarrassment and shame for your total lack of backbone, when it came done to him “A Goddess shall never be afraid” you blurted out, sinking further into the water as a satisfied hum resonated from behind you.

True to his words, he stopped playing with your pearl, fingers merely delving into your pussy instead. Scissoring them gently into your warm cavern, Sosuke pressed his lips against your nape, eyes darkening in lust and a something shady you had failed to see due to your position.

“That’s right. You’re the future wife of a God. No matter how powerful and cruel a divinity is… — he started, one of his hand reaching out to grasp that water-pipe irking him to no end — A man is nothing without his woman” he finished, inspecting the smoking device between his fingers.

His words had left you breathless, your inner walls squeezing his fingers as you writhed in his arms. Your moans echoed in your small dorm, probably the shinigamis in the backyard had heard you too, but you did not care, nor did him. They knew better than coming after the Lieutenant’s girlfriend.

The respect he had gained through the years surpassed even the one your comrades had for the late Shinji Hirako.

Your eyelids had shut, relishing into the way he fingered you so deliciously, and your mouth was hanging open to release those shamelessly high-pitched cries of pleasure he loved so much. The hard wood of the pipe resting against your bottom lip, though, made your eyes snap open again.

Dread washed over you, as Sosuke’s fingers tangled your hair, yanking them back harshly “You still keep his gifts. Smoke for me then. Smoke to celebrate his incoming downfall, darling” he crooned, your blood running cold in your veins as he gripped your wrist and directed your hand up to make you grab the object yourself.

Yout shaky hands did wrap around it, teary eyes meeting his cold ones “S-Sosuke, I am sorry! I just forgot to throw it away, I promise” you apologized profusely, watching how he softly smiled at you and prompted you to raise your hips enough for him to impale you onto his cock.

“I know you did. — he cooed, the bulbous head of his shaft stretching your aching hole, as you languidly looked at him and whimpered as he buried himself deep into your welcoming core — I suggest you to smoke in his honor one last time, darling. Cry for his departure” he whispered, mouth leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck.

And you mourned Kisuke’s fate. Oh, you did it so convincingly, for after cock-warming your beloved boyfriend for a while he then began to thrust into you in hard, punishing thrusts making you sob tears of pleasure. You hiccuped, blurry vision, smoke filling your lungs, as you exaled through your nostrils.

Body sore, heat overflowing with Sosuke’s hot seed, you collapsed against chest. His arms held you close to him, as he watched the device sink into the now murky water, forgotten forever like the destiny of all those Captains and Lieutenants who had been unlucky to cross his path.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Uhm, I feel too ashamed to say anything about this. If it is not toxic, it’s not Sosuke to me. Ah, my first red flag crush… Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I adored writing it!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @onyxino @velaenaa @villainsrtasty @stygianoir @noirfan12 @bucciaratizippers @linkwho1 @0wh1te0 @bakugosgirl01 @persuasivus because I think you might enjoy it💫

[adelheidvonschicksal]

JJK crew with Fem Reader that visits their S/O’s home for the first time and meets their S/O’s cute puppy or kitten! If you choose puppy, could you please make it a Golden Retriever? If not, then a kitten’s small meows could pierce your heart!

Yuuji + Puppy

Itadori adores animals especially dogs. He’d always pet the neighbor’s dog to and from school before coming to Jujutsu Tech. He wanted a dog himself; but between his granddad’s bad-temperedness and their financial situation, it was out of the question.

When you finally tell him you have a puppy, he absolutely can’t wait to see it. He also figures you won’t be mean like Megumi either and get mad at him for petting the puppy for a few minutes…or an hour.

Watching him coo over the pup and play fetch, it’s almost like having equally excitable puppies. It takes a gentle reminder to get him serious about the real reason you’re here to visit, which is to meet your parents.

He immediately straightens up but ends up cracking for one more pet. How can he resist when those big brown eyes are watching him and his bright golden tail is thumping happily against the floor.

Megumi + Kitten

Megumi constantly repeats to you how he isn’t really a cat person despite being a fan of animals in general and despite you teasing him about how he apparently “behaves like a cat”. Nonetheless, you reassure him that your cat will definitely be his type.

He listens as you go on about your sweet fluffball of a kitten. You tell him you’ve been taking care of her since you found her as a fresh baby almost four weeks ago. She’s a pure white powder puff with big blue eyes and the most adorable meow that will melt his grumpy heart. Megumi doubts it but not for long when he finally meets your kitten.

She’s too precious, old enough to get around on her own and hold her tail up but still young enough to waddle everywhere, tiny legs hindered by a warm water balloon of a belly, causing her to occasionally take tiny stumbles toward him as she meowed for human attention and pets.

Megumi doesn’t think he’s ever met a cat this friendly, or one that fits and cradles so perfectly in his open hands. You’re trying your hardest to resist the urge to tease him as he offers to help you feed the kitten her bottle.

What you can’t resist is sending a picture in the group chat of Megumi and you kitten snuggled up asleep on the couch together with the caption: ebony and ivory.

 Gojo + Puppy

This man gets so excited around animals. Like Itadori, he wasn’t really allowed to have many pets growing up aside from some koi fish in the pond at the estate, which while pretty could get boring.

At first, your puppy doesn’t really like him. A tall, loud guy like him easily sends the puppy into a barking frenzy between angry and terrified. You’re sure Gojo was offended the first time the puppy rejected him, a huffy pout on his face as the dog avoided him.

He becomes a bit more playful once he accepts that the puppy probably won’t warm up to him, always teasing the pup whenever he snaps tiny teeth at him. “Oho, you think you can take on the strongest?” he remarks and goes in for the pet.

Sometimes you wonder if Gojo might actually dislike the puppy when the two get into competition for your attention, but he shrugs it off. “At least I don’t have to worry about you living alone,” he reassures you with a trademark laugh. “Hell, he’s almost as tough as Megumi’s dogs, you should let me take him out in the field.”

After that, you come to realize that Satoru might actually enjoy getting chased around by your puppy, and it isn’t long until you accept that this is how they seem to bond especially as your puppy gets older and starts to become more familiar with Satoru to the point that you think in a strange way that he likes the man more than you.

It especially becomes clear when Satoru spends the night and your big dog – no longer a puppy – decides to sleep in bed right at his feet, making you pout.

When he sticks his tongue out at you and calls you jealous, you decide that his shoulder looks really slap-able.   

Choso + Kitten

Choso is staring at your kitty with the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen on the man. You hold the sweet little gray and white tabby closer to his face, a smile a mile wide as you introduce your family member, expecting for him to return your excitement. Instead he asks, “What is it?”

“It’s a kitten,” you tell him, and he scrunches his face at the little feline with deeper interest.

It dawns on you that this may be the first time he’s ever seen one of the creatures, and you decide that he needs a crash course on pets. You quickly explain to him about cats and why people like animal companions in general. However, it isn’t until your cat reaches out, places the first little paw on Choso’s cheek, and mewls that it really sinks in to him. Smiling approvingly at the action, he takes the kitten from you.

He sits on the couch with your pet, scratching behind her ears and gently squishing her cute little pink paw pads while you head to the kitchen to make drinks. Just when you’re almost done, you hear a call of your name from the other room. You quickly come back to check on the two and notice him looking worried and plain STRESSED, like he did something wrong.

“She made a noise at me,” he explains.

“What kind of noise?”

You step closer and carefully pat the kitten’s head. She immediately stretches out and starts to vibrate and grumble with content.

“That noise.”

Chuckling, you explain. “She’s purring. It means she likes you a lot!”

“I see,” he says, relaxing with your explanation. His smile returns as he gently returns to stroking the kitten’s head with an affection you’ve only seen saved for yourself and his brother. “Purring would be too much for me to do but I like you a lot too.”

[silverlullabies]

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?”

[sgiandubh]

@outlanderskin :"For those who have doubts: just research a little about Caitríona's dating history. See how she treated Dave and James and how she talked about them in interviews. See how she wrote about the Irish boyfriend she had in Paris in that article. Compare all of this to the impersonal way she treats or talks about Tony. Bingo🙃"

Good point 👌

Dear Good Point Anon,

You know, it's really serendipitous, as I have just finished a weeklong deep dive in very, very old press articles on (or at least mentioning) S and C, who clearly had a life before OL, thinking it would be nice to put some of my archive work skills to good service.

I think @outlanderskin was referring to C's New York Times article I reviewed and analyzed last summer, but I just found way better: a very long report in the Irish Independent's Sunday issue of July 11, 2004, focused on the next generation of Irish supermodels. Of which there could be only one, at that time: C, who dominates Roxanne Parker's 'Through Thick and Thin".

I am sorry, there is no link available to my knowledge, so we'll have to work with these very poor xerox scans:

I took the liberty of generously using my dreaded highlighter and, for the people who need to translate this post with Google, I am now taking my time to type what I find damn interesting in this almost twenty-year old article:

'If Ireland ever has a hope of having its own supermodel, then Caitriona Balfe is it. Sitting in the Pink Pony Café on Ludlow Street in New York, Caitriona swirls a wad of bread into her carrot and coriander soup while informing me that her musician boyfriend just brought her a breakfast-in-bed of cream eclairs and coffee a little over an hour ago. But that doesn't stop Caitriona from finishing her lunch and chasing it with a large cocoa-dusted cappuccino. Ebony-tressed and ivory-skinned, Caitriona clip-clops down the cobbled street after we leave the cafe, heading towards her apartment in Chinatown with Dave Mailone (sic!), the boyfriend, in tow.'

This reads, in 2024, like an interview with a more benevolent C clone from a totally different planet, indeed. A young, carefree, in love and hysterically funny C, who apparently had no problem heavily dishing out happy tidbits of her private life to her home country's press. A C also very much reminiscing anyone with a brain of the 2013-2018 bantering C, as this quote shows:

Again, you'll have to indulge me retyping it, Anon (tedious, I know - but helpful). She is remembering her real breakthrough, in November 2002, at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, in New York:

That was the most I've ever been paid for a show. I've got 18,000 euros for one day's work! They made me get a spray tan before the show, and I was still the whitest and the least well-endowed girl in the entire show! So what did she have to wear on the big day? `Not a whole lot! I think I described my outfit on the day as something Wilma Flintstone would wear on her honeymoon night. There wasn't a whole lot to it and it had bits of fur hanging off it.'

And, for good measure, we even have a (admittedly, awful) picture with the season's fiancé, with whom things did not end well:

I know, it looks like a Pravda pic, circa 1957 and I am honestly sorry. But it's still very clear. And, which is more important, very eloquent.

Anon and reader, you draw your own conclusions on this. I know where I stand. The only guy C has similar pics taken with and released in the press or on social media is the peasant some love to bash every single day in here. Their problem, not mine.

Yes, of course Mordor will yell and hiss. Of course they will throw rotten tomatoes at the blunt knife and scream THIS IS OLD. But hey, do you have any better than this poor (but oh, so endearingly authentic) picture or than any given S&C pic before the fucking EFH and IFH, when she gradually started to turn into today's Reclusive, Restrained and Rarefied Greta Garbo wannabe?

Oh, and please: don't give me the 'he's shy' or the paperwork crap again. Her public persona has drastically changed, and not for the better. It's plain to see and there are reasons for this.

Who's to blame? This question is so wrong, in so many ways.

The question should be 'what's to blame?'

I'll stop here, Anon and I hope it was somewhat useful. Thank you for dropping by.

[maria-from-ga]

Raven, the Empathetic Sorceress Part 2

In Part 1, I mention how TT03 Raven is an empath like in NTT living off & struggling to control her emotions. Now, I wanted to talk about other powers from NTT Raven also has in the show.

Here's Part 3 that covers TT03's Raven healing, conventional uses of empathy, and her use of magic

(Sources in Pink)

Soul Self, Her Greatest Weapon

In my opinion, there is where the biggest misconception arise.

Like in NTT, Raven's primary "weapon" in battle in Teen Titans (e.g. those dark circles of energy like in the picture above) wasn't magic, but her soul-self.

(1st image: DC Comics Presents #26- Raven 1st appearance and she uses her soul-self to battle the enemy and 2nd image: Teen Titans 4x07 "The Prophecy"- Raven utilize her full soul-self to defeat a Trigon-powered Slade who was threatening her friends)

Raven in TT03 just primarily used pieces of her soul-self. She states explicitly in the 1st season finale she uses pieces of her soul to utilize her powers, thus that her soul is also the basis of her powers

(Teen Titans 1x13: "Car Trouble" - Raven explains that her soul is the basis of powers to Cyborg. As an aside, "I become a part of it & it becomes a part of me" is a beautiful detail of her soul-self powers in the show that I wish to see incorporated in the comics. In TT03, Raven develops this connection w/ all living things she encounters when she uses her soul, an extension of herself)

In Raven's first appearance (as shown in the image from DC Comics Presents #26 above), Raven's soul-self is called an ebony aura, like the black projections she employs in TT03.

Raven's soul-self is because her soul-self & its powers comes from her demon dad, Trigon, and is thus of dark energy.

(Image- New Teen Titans (1980) #29- Raven is tricked by Phobia to see Wally, who she loved and he loved her, as Trigon so she attacks and almost kills Wally with the full strength of her soul-self. Wally describes her soul-self as cold & death. GIF- Teen Titans 1x06 "Nevermore"- Dr. Light pushes Raven too far and Raven unleashes her soul-self & almost kills him. Light shivers because she is so cold and describes her soul-self as near-total darkness)

To be fair, I get this misconception because NTT Raven uses her whole soul-self, not pieces of it.

However, TT03 Raven also uses her full soul-self. It just usually require more focus/power from her.

(Teen Titans 3x05- Haunted - Raven access more of her powers by uttering Azarath Metrion Zinthos to use her whole soul-self to find Robin)

There are several other instances in Teen Titans where Raven uses her whole soul-self:

(Teen Titans 1x01- Final Exam - Raven uses her whole soul-self to teleport Jinx to the top of Titans tower to the final confrontation. Jinx shivers from being in the soul-self because she experienced the cold, dark aura of Raven's soul)

Collection of other instances (non-exhaustive):

(1st Row: 1) Teen Titans 4x03 "Birthmark" - Using her soul-self to escape Slade chasing her. 2) Teen Titans 4x07 "The Prophecy"- Using Her Soul-Self to travel to Azarath, which is in another dimension. 2nd Row: 3) Teen Titans 4x07 "The Prophecy" - Confronted Slade about what he wanted to get him to stop attacking her friends. 4) Teen Titans 2x01 "How Long Is Forever" - Teleports to the final battle against Warp. 3rd Row: 5) Teen Titans 2x05 "Fear Itself" - Absorbs the manifestation of her fears back into her soul-self and regain of her soul-self. 6) Teen Titans 4x03 "Birthmark"- Slade taunts her to release her full soul-self to bring about the prophecy)

It's more rare in the NTT & TT03, but Raven's astral form, her soul-self, can also take the shape of her body

(1st image: NTT (1980) #8- Raven's astral form resembles her body as her soul is desperately trying to reconnect to her body; 2nd image: Teen Titans 4x11 "The End Part 1"- Raven mediates to use her astral human form to end the fight against Plasmus 3rd image: Teen Titans 5x12 "Titans Together" - Raven uses her astral human form to escape the dimension trap Psimon tried to put her in)

Raven's Soul-Self in both the show & comics is like a Swiss Army Knife:

Beyond the general utility of getting her out of tricky situations:

(NTT #8- Raven uses her soul-self to escape from Green Lantern's cage)

(Teen Titans 2x05 "Fear Itself" - Use her soul-self to escape from the elastic tapes of Control Freak)

1. Soul Self can also capture people within itself:

Either to save:

(1st image: NTT (1980) #21- Raven uses her soul-self to save an unconscious Starfire after an bomb exploded. 2nd image: NTT (1980) #17- Raven uses her soul-self to save Cyborg from Francis Kane going out of control.)

("The End Part 1"- In the fight against Plasmus, Plasmus hits Robin and Raven envelops Robin in her soul-self to save Robin from a deadly fall)

Or to harm (as NTT Wally & TT03 Dr. Light can certainly attest):

(Image: NTT (1980) #21 - Raven uses her soul-self to envelope and incapacitate criminals who planted bombs in a baseball stadium; GIF: The Prophecy - Raven uses the full extent of her soul-self to seriously attack and harm a Trigon-empowered Slade after he tried to kill her fellow Titans)

2. Cover Great Physical Distances Fairly Quickly:

(Image: NTT (1980) #9 - After her fellow Titans were taken over by the Puppeteer, Raven uses her soul-self to quickly cover from NYC to Blue Valley, Nebraska to get Wally's (Kid Flash) help; 1st GIF: Teen Titans 3x01 "Deception" - After defeating Brother Blood at H.I.V.E. Academy, Robin asks Raven to help the Titans quickly escape the crumbling school and travel back home. Raven does so by enveloping the Titans in her soul-self; 2nd GIF: "Birthmark" - To herself and Robin to escape Deathstroke, Raven uses her soul-self to travel far away from Slade)

3. A Defense & Shield Against Enemy Attacks

(Image: NTT (1980) #17 - As Francis Kane, a friend of the Titans, is taken over by Dr. Polaris and starts to manipulate and throw around heavy metal objects. Raven uses her soul-self as a shield to absorb the heavy metal objects so they don't hurt innocents. GIF: Teen Titans 3x08 "Wavelength"- Raven uses her soul-self energy to shield attacks from H.I.V.E soldiers)

4. And of course: Telekinesis

(Image: NTT (1980) #8 - Raven uses her soul-self to carry away bombs from a school before they kill a bunch of students and teachers. GIF: Teen Titans 1x02 "Divide and Conquer"- Raven uses her soul-self to carry a bunch of metal canisters to attack Plasmus)

Aside: Energy Projections

In NTT, it was more rare but Raven did employ energy projections from her soul self

(Tales of Teen Titans #46 - Raven, enraged, lose controls and Trigon takes over, so she releases energy projections that incapacitates and nearly kills HIVE soldiers and Aqualad)

In the comics, this was usually occur when Raven was close to losing control to Trigon, so it can be rare to see from Raven. But in TT03, again tied to Raven being able to use pieces of her soul-self, she has more control over her soul energy and can release these energy projections more frequently.

(Teen Titans 5x07 "Hide and Seek" - Raven releasing her energy projections of her soul-self to blast Monsieur Mallah away from the kids she is watching over)

Therefore Raven's soul-self act very similarly in TT03 and NTT comic, just that TT03 Raven has more control and creativity in some of its utilizations, including:

Teleportation

Raven's primary mode of transportation in NTT was teleportation (don't tell her you call it that though lol)

(1st image: NTT (1980) #14 - Raven teleporting to the epicenter of an earthquake that Brotherhood of Evil arriving there faster than Wally West; 2nd image: NTT (1980) #28 - Raven explaining to Wally that she doesn't teleport but travel between dimensions* and that Beast Boy is being overdramatic so she is not teleporting to him**)

However, most people remember Raven flying in TT03, not teleporting:

( "Hide and Seek" - Raven flying around a monastery to find the kids she was watching over after she realized Mallah had found out where the kids were hiding)

Pure speculation, but I wouldn't be surprised if TT03 made flying Raven's most common mode of transportation similar to 1940s Fleischer Superman cartoons did so for Superman*** - flying's easier to animate

But this doesn't mean Raven never teleported in TT03, she actually did teleport quite frequently:

Be it in a form of a raven closer to the comics:

(1st GIF: "Fear Itself"? - Full disclosure I didn't make this gif so I am not sure of the exact episode it came from, but I believe it is from "Fear Itself" where Raven was teleporting across the tower to see where Cyborg was taken to after he was kidnapped; 2nd GIF: "Calling All Titans"- Raven uses her soul-self to travel to the dimension where Herald, an Honorary Titan, resides and tries to find him)

Or more frequently in simpler forms like circles (again likely again due being easier to animate) :

(1st GIF: a) 1st scene is Teen Titans 3x03 "Betrothed"- Raven teleports using circular forms of her soul energy to investigate why Blackfire is forcing Starfire to get marry and hides when Blackfire approaches. b) 2nd scene is Teen Titans 3x04 "Crash" - Raven teleports in a circle to stop Gizmo from leaving to force him to help Cyborg . 3rd scene is Teen Titans 3x09 "The Beast Within" - Raven teleports away in an oval shape of her soul energy to escape Adonis who is pinning her down and being creepy. 2nd GIF: a) 1st scene is Wavelength- Raven teleports in a circle to leave her room after Aqualad trips the tower's alarm. b) 2nd scene is Teen Titans 5x12 "Titans Together" - Raven teleports into Brotherhood of Evil's secret lair with the kids she was watching c) 3rd scene is Divide and Conquer- Raven closes the prison doors and teleports through the prison door to tell the prisoners that they aren't escaping)

As as aside, in TT03, there was no smoke with the teleportation like the comics but again I wouldn't be surprised if it was again just a decision to make animation easier.

As mentioned in the NTT #21 image above with she attacks the bombers, Raven's Soul Self is powerful, deadly, yet ill-defined, so there's potential for a lot of creativity with her soul-self powers.

Now of course, TT03 Raven doesn't use her soul-self exactly as NTT Raven. Aside from being able to use pieces of her soul, a prominent example is how Raven doesn't use her soul-self to knock people out unconscious in the show as often as NTT Raven did (but TT03 Raven has utilized her soul-self that way)****. TT03 Raven also has much greater control & creativity over telekinesis and soul energy projections than NTT Raven did.

But it's clear that TT03 Raven's soul-self is clearly modeled after, and very similar to, NTT Raven's soul-self while using the inherent creativity in power utilization her soul-self possesses.

Raven is the most powerful Titan and the one with the most diverse skill set, so there's still one more part about her TT03 powers lmao. And honestly it might be my favorite part because it is about Raven was also a healer like in NTT, her empathy in TT03 & how she was the most understanding Titan because of that empathy, and the misconception about her TT03 magic, which is in line w/ NTT. But I ran over the image limit again lol, so here's Part 3!

Asterisks:

*Raven's teleportation really being inter-dimensional travel is what she was referring to in Tales of the New Teen Titans #2 image in Part 1 where Young Raven spent time learning the secrets of inter-dimensional travel

**NTT Raven being rude about Beast Boy might be surprising, NTT Raven can be a bit of grouch (sounds like someone we know lol? Maybe I will do a post about how the personality of TT03 Raven is a modernization of NTT Raven)

***Trivia: Fleischer Superman cartoons canonized flying for Superman, who before the cartoons couldn't fly, only "able to leap tall buildings in a single bound!"

****in Part 3

[klance-headcanons-official]

Klance headcannons hehhehe

lance likes to watch sports but keith doesnt like to, but he still cuddles up next to him while lance is watching. they also share a bag of potato chips when they watch together.

lance plays sports and keith comes to every game. when keith watches he gets REALLY invested. Keith yells at the other players and referees (which lance finds adorable).

Lance and keith love to bake together. lance is really bad at baking and keith is relatively good. Every time lance inevitably fucks the baking up keith pulls him in for a kiss.

my new headcannon is that keith and lance both loooove hamilton. i imagine they both love singing it together. it is their go-to song while doing chores.

keith and lance have a tv in their room (across from their bed). So when they are going to bed they can watch a movie together or something, idk.

most of the time when keith and lance goes on dates they have picnics at the same place where they first met, first kissed and got married.

keith and lance have one of those bff necklaces that are a heart that u can put together. each piece has the others name. they always wear it under whatever they are wearing no matter what.

lance loves bringing keith flowers. keith always puts them in his hair (only because lance likes when he does that), short but sweet😃

lance and keith have a golden retriever named: Sunshine. sunshine is adorable 4 year old doggo.

keith and lance always do halloween together. keith likes wearing monster costumes or horror movie costumes. keith loves chocolate bars and. lance doesnt love a certain candy and comes home with things like lollipops to sour gummies

keith and lance both love going on those public playgrounds at parks. they especially love slides and flying foxes. they own a ball-pit and a trampoline because they love playgrounds that much. lance made the decision to buy the trampoline and ball-pit and is usually the one to say "LOOK ITS A PLAYGROUND! keith plssss can we go on it? pls pls pls pls?????"

every sunday keith and lance have a day called 'Lets Do Shit Day'. they basically have a road-trip and stop and random places along the way. i will be incorporating this into my schedule.

keith would like ebony black and lance would like maya blue.

Lance wears perfume, specifically very flowery type smells. keith likes the smells of his perfume. lance alternates between 4 bottles.

lance and keith both have tumblr.

the 'voltron crew' has a dnd campaign together. each of them plays a character that has completed different traits to their own.

Lance loooves wearing disney shirts. especially disney princesses shirts that are like two sizes to small.

Lance has very cute coffee mugs

Lance and keith def play two player videoganes together. they always end in yelling stuff like "YOU WERE MEANT TELL BE THERE" or "I GAVE IT TO YOU WHERE IS IT?" but it always ends in kissy kissy.

keith listens true true crime podcasts and documentaries on the tv in their bedroom. but lance HATES true crime. so whenever keith puts it on lance runs out if the room, screaming"NOOOOOO" and then keith has to chase after him.

lance loooves sandals and crocks, they are his life!!! on the other hand keith likes dark high top converses!

c o l l e c t i v e h e a d c a n o n s

[namelessscenarios]

The Pond

Warnings: none

A/n: I have the kids name in this just to make it a little easier to keep track of them bolded Him/He means the s/o of the story

The sun is warm against my back as I lay out by the pond, listening to the fronts and birds. The 3 youngest yell and play on the near by play set while the two oldest boys fish off the small dock. I open my eyes when I feel someone tap my shoulder. I look up to see Him holding out some sunscreen.

“Could you help me with my back?”

I smile and nod, moving to sit up I take the sunscreen from him. He lays down on the towel he laid out next to mine and I start to massage the sunscreen into his back and shoulders. He lets out a sort of sigh and I lean down and kiss his shoulder gently. I look up when I hear squealing laughter, to see the twins running over.

“Can we have snacks soon?”

I glance down at my phone and see how late in the day it is.

“How about daddy and I go make some lunch and we can have a picnic?”

They shout excitedly and run back to the play set. I stand ip and slip the white sundress over my swimsuit before turning and helping Him up. We make our way into the house to make lunch, we can see the twins chasing after Atlas from the kitchen window. I feel Him run his hands across my back, He turns me around and presses me gently against the counter. I smile at him and lean up to kiss him, but just as the kiss starts to get more heated the girls burst into the kitchen.

“Why does mommy get to sit on the table but we can’t?”

I burst out laughing but ignore the that question, not knowing how to explain it to them. I hop off the counter carefully.

“What do you need girls?”

“Can we help with lunch?”

I glance out the window to see the older boys teaching Atlas how to fish.

“Of course you can help’”

I hand Ivory a blanket and give Ebony a small plate of cookies. I smile as they run back out to the pond, finding a spot near the boys to set up the picnic. I grab the plate with all the sandwiches and He grabs the paper plates and napkins and we head back out towards where the girls are now chasing each other around the blanket.

We both set down our things and sit down on the blanket, He wraps his arm around me and I curl into His side. The nice quiet moment doesn’t last long, the boys come rushing over excitedly as the girls scream at them. I’m confused on why there screaming until I see Atlas is holding a little blue gill.

“Mom! Mom! Look! I caught a super big fish!”

The fish is no bigger than my hand but I would never ruin the moment for him.

“Oh my, you did such a good job my love. Did you catch it all on your own?”

He nods happily as he poses for the picture his father is taking of him.

“Why don’t you and your brothers have your dad show you how to release the fish safely.”

Atlas smiles and tugs his father’s hand, He looks back at me and smiles, I smile back and laugh out on the blanket until I feel a small weight climb on top of me.

“Mommy?”

“Yes bunny?”

“Can we have some lemonade?”

I nod and pour a little into a cup for each of them. As I sip from my own, Ebony stands and puts her hands on her hips.

“I want to push them in.”

I grin at her

“I’ll get daddy you girls get your brothers.”

They giggle as we sneak up behind them. The girls get to their brothers first, pushing in Anthony and Sylis first then they both push in Atlas. I try to get Him in but he knew I was coming and doesn’t budge. He wraps his arms around me and picks me up to throw me in, I kick and yell while laughing but he still holds on. He pulls me back a little before trying to throw me in but at the last second I grab His wrist pulling Him in with me.

When I come up to the surface the kids are laughing and playing in the shallow water. He finally surfaces, coughing a little and starts laughing, so I splash water at Him.

“Now I have to change you jerk!”

He glances down.

“I don’t see a problem with what you have on now.”

I look down at the now see through white sundress I have on and splash him again.

“You’re so lucky I had a swimsuit on underneath this!”

“You mean unlucky.”

I stick my tongue out at him and make my way to dry land.

“Anthony? I need to change are you ok watching the kids?”

He gives me a thumbs up and I make my way into the house. I shut the door to my room behind me and pull the wet sundress over my head and scan the small closet for something to wear. When I bend over a little I hear a soft whistle before I feel His hands on my waist. I slap his hands away gently.

“No way mister, I’ve got things to do.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

I try to think of something but I really don’t have anything to do today.

“Exactly.”

He wraps his arms around my waist again and pulls me to him, the only thing between us is our swimsuits. He kisses my jaw and neck softly.

“The kids…”

He shushes me and continues to kiss down my neck. He slips the strap of my swimsuit down my shoulder as He starts kissing down to my chest. Just as his hands start to roam towards the clasp of my top there’s a knock on the door and I quickly pull away and slip on the light blue sundress hung up near by. I turn and glare at Him but start laughing when He gives me an innocent shrug and smile.

I shake my head and open the door to see Ebony holding a snake, smiling proudly up at me.

“Ebony! Not in the house!”

I try to sound upset but I’m laughing at how she’s petting it like a puppy.

“If you don’t bring it back outside Mouse is going to eat it.”

At the sound of his name our 6 month old kangle puppy comes bounding down the hall sniffling at Ebony’s hands. Soon after I hear the pitter patter of little paws as Bear, our three year old corgi, follows after Mouse. Ebony giggles as mouse sniffs at her face and hands, finally finding the snake and just like I said he tries to bite it.

“Mouse no!”

Ebony quickly pulls her hand back and runs outside, both dogs not far behind. I make my way out to the kitchen and watch as both girls now run with the dogs around the yard. I feel his arms wrap around my waist again, and I lean back against him as we watch our kids.

“We did good.”

“Obviously, they’re my kids so we knew they were going to be perfect.”

I laugh and lean further into him and enjoying our moment watching the life we made for ourselves.

[cosmefuianito666]

【 “Duet” 】 (HenchDevil)

"Where was Henchman?"

That was the question she had been asking herself for more than half an hour, also the time she had been looking for him.

This was not like him.

Henchman always responded to his call, regardless of its relevance, how far away it was or how long it took. His sense of duty and loyalty still surprised him, that's why this twist out of the ordinary worried him a bit.

While he was inspecting one of the tunnels, he came across two imps.

─── You! ─── he exclaimed, pointing to one. The indicated imp froze in fear while the other, noticing that it was the Devil himself, flew away in a hurry.

Once the Devil's shadow loomed over him, the little one came to his senses, establishing a practiced military salute.

─── S-sir! T-how can I help you? ─── asked the imp, sweaty and shaky. The Devil looked annoyed, and every imp who has been in hell long enough knows that he should never cross the path of the aforementioned when he was in a bad mood.

─── Take me to Henchman, NOW ─── he demanded. His dark fur igniting on fire.

─── Y-yes, sir!

And with that, they were off.

They passed through several caverns and tunnels before the destination became clear.

The imp was taking him to the imp canteen.

The place was a somewhat small and distant, the cavern colour of dark amethyst, had been redecorated to look more like a surface bar or diner. They had a stage carved into the rock and covered with ebony wood; on the ceiling, winged imps held searchlights.

The Devil had no idea why the imp was leading him there.

Before he could bellow his bewilderment, a pleasant noise came seemingly out of nowhere.

─── Do you hear that? ─── The Devil asked, earning a strange look from the imp. Frustrated, he took the little being by the arm and dragged him along, using his sense of hearing to lead him towards the source of said music.

Then came the clarity.

Music, not noise.

Music. Jazz...

─── What is that music? ─── he inquired breathlessly, fascinated by the way the melody made his hair stand on end and his insides tingle.

It was a trumpet. A trumpeter.

─── Don't you know? ─── asked the smiling imp, with a hint of amusement in his voice. Confusing him even more.

However, there was no time to take out his anger on this bold imp. The search for Henchman, leaving her forgotten somewhere else.

What kind of musician would be behind this?

He was intrigued, he wagged his tail side to side with excitement, pushing him to run the entire last stretch, forcing the imp to chase him.

If he was sure of anything, it was that he would discover the owner of that sweet melody. It sounded so familiar, so far away, so…comforting.

And, when he arrived, he was surprised at what he found.

There on the stage, accompanied by two other imps playing the piano and cymbals, was the lost purple demon.

There was Henchman... playing that lovely trumpet solo!

The Devil's gaze lit up.

The white light from the searchlight washed over him like moonlight washes over a lake. His eyes were closed in a soft wrinkle from concentration, his eyebrows were slightly curved, in indescribable emotions. Gloved hands seemed to work magic with the ease with which they slid across the buttons. His cheeks inflated and deflated with each new batch of sounds he emitted, blushing at times, making him look even more beautiful if he could.

The Devil's face suddenly goes up in flames.

It was so... beautiful.

The scene was so beautiful, until...

─── Henchman! ─── The little imp called breathlessly, the one who had been accompanying the Devil, finally arriving on the scene. ─── The boss ───gasp─── is looking for you! And... ─── He slumped over.

Henchman's eyes widened at that instant, the many imps that filled the place turned in the direction of the uproar; the peaceful atmosphere of union and camaraderie that he had, broke into a fragmented mixture of terror and surprise.

The deathly silence drew an annoyed expression on the Devil's face.

Henchman looked at a nearby clock, realizing that the time had passed. He had disappointed the Devil. Hastily he relinquished the trumpet to the pianist imp and scrambled down the stage, falling.

The Devil didn't need to look twice to know that the purple demon would follow him from now on.

─── I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry; I'm really sorry, boss! ─── Henchman apologized over and over again, chasing, while trying to match, the hasty pace that his boss was taking.

Since they found themselves, they had done nothing more than wander fasty through to the same circuit of caverns over and over again.

Silence, such flat, indescribable silence, the kind that seemed to bode ill.

Henchman wasn't usually the clueless type with schedules, however tonight he had completely lost track of time. It started with one imp asking him to play a song he liked too, and then another joined the first, even paying him to play another song, and the second was joined by a third and…and…

Who was he kidding?

Henchman covered his face in sorrow.

It had been so long since he had the luxury of playing to an audience, that he had forgotten the beauty of sharing music with the world...

He was selfish. His boss had needed him and hadn't been there for him.

And, now, they were most likely on their way to his place of punishment...

...Meanwhile, the Devil couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened before.

The way his body reacted to the music was a sign he didn't get to see, to recognize that sprightly trumpet melody once he made it clear it was his duty, and he didn't reciprocate.

How could he allow himself to forget him?

In his defense, it had been too long since he had last heard Henchman play his instrument. So much so that he had almost forgotten that he could do it better than anyone he knew.

─── We arrived. ─── the Devil yelled, with a neutral voice, but dismayed inside.

Henchman opened the door for him to go in first. He often, could read the Devil's thoughts and feelings with just one look. Except this time his analysis turned up nothing, not even a pale idea. Only contributing to the fear keep growing.

─── Close the door. ─── exclamed.

Henchman couldn't do more than force himself to comply and swallow trough is parched throat.

Once sealed again, the room plunged into gloom. His eyes could barely register the silhouette of the Devil, standing in the center of the huge room.

─── Henchman, Henchman, Henchman...

The imp couldn't help but grab his tail and wrap its wings around itself. He didn't like the darkness, the uncertainty; not know. He had already disappointed his boss on previous occasions, he knew it, but since then, he knew that the worst of all was the ignorance of what the punishment would be instead of the punishment itself.

─── Do you know? I hardly remember the last time you let me down. ───he commented, laughing weakly.

Oh craps...

─── Tonight, you managed to refresh my memory.

─── Boss, I told him I'm sor-!

─── Shhh! I won't accept your apology this time. However, ───in the ceiling there was a sound, and then, a searchlight illuminated the Devil.───I'm willing to leave it in the past if you'll grant me anything.

Henchman looked at him confused, making The Devil smile with a hint of evil.

The purple demon approached cautiously.

─── And that... what would it be? ─── he asked.

─── Well, a duet! ─── he exclaimed excitedly.───What else could it be? ─── He feigned innocence, fluttering his eyelashes.

The classic click of the trident echoed through the room; two bright purple clouds gave way to two instruments.

In the hands of the Devil, a violin carved from a dark maple; And his own? a brass trumpet.

Little lights around him showed him the nature of the location.

This was the stage, and not just any stage, it was THE stage of the infernal amphitheater. Place where all the imps were summoned in the name of the culture and, more importantly, where the Devil was the only one allowed to act.

His jaw dropped.

The Devil smiled at him.

─── Did the cat get your tongue? ─── he commented playfully, leaving his position closely followed by the ghostly glow of the searchlight.

─── N-no. ─── The purple demon responded awkwardly, looking nervously at the instrument. ─── I was surprised. It is just that...

─── What surprises you? ─── he arched a thin brow, curious.

"I'm surprised you're not upset"

"I'm surprised you remember it"

"I'm surprised you want another duet"

“I am surprised for...”

───...I'm surprised you want a duet. ───Henchman muttered.

─── Hey! Henchman, since I heard you, I have those notes going around in my mind. ─── him confessed expressively.

─── I don't just want you to play along with me, Henchman. I want ───a snap and a light to bathe it.───to razzel dazzle me.

Henchman felt a chill run down his spine.

─── And?... What do you say? ─── The Devil wagged his tail curiously, looking haughtily at him without blinking.

─── Deal!

And here it was...!

With my throat drier than a desert and my hands drenched in sweat than ever. He could feel the Devil's intense gaze on him, expectant.

He licked his lips and blew.

The first note broke, earning her a blush and an unwanted reaction from the Devil.

He could do it.

He played a short but clean tune.

The Devil smiled and imitated the melody with his violin.

This time he played a more complicated, more daring composition.

The Devil seconded him with precision and agility.

And so he began.

Every time he finished his humble offering to the Devil, his eyes couldn't help but open and look at him. He discovered that he had been missing something in his life.

The image of the Devil playing his violin was burned on fire in his mind and yet, every time he presented himself with the opportunity he couldn't help but drink of that sight anew.

...How could he not do it?

The way his entire body swayed to the violin's song just as trees sway in the wind, with the intensity of waves breaking on a cliff.

His arm was like a monument, like a mighty column of onyx that, atop it, was crowned by the fleeting work of his fingers on the strings. The way he guided the violin bow was as natural as the air that filled and emptied his chest with each breath he took.

He had always thought that violin bows were similar to a sword in appearance. That and, although not all but some violinists, seemed to struggle to play precise notes rather than let the music flow through them.

Now he was seeing something completely different.

He was seeing something delicate, something... majestic.

The beat of a bird's wings languished and the glow of a sunrise paled in comparison of him to what he had seen.

He was worthy of worship.

And his face...

Oh, God, how could he even begin to describe that beautiful face?

His face was like a work of art.

That face, which pitifully often betrayed annoyance and arrogance, was now solemn; placid, as if he were immersed in the deepest and most beautiful of dreams.

There were so many emotions, so many feelings in him. He could tell it, he could feel it on his own skin whether from his position as a musician or a right-hand man: El Diablo had a unique way of playing. She could see it in every line of his lip twitching, in the way his brows furrowed and his thin brows flexed. Micro expressions swarmed under that almost calm face...

It was as if his entire being was compressed at this moment. As if, in each note, his soul told the story of him one more time...

Henchman could barely contain himself.

This new facet of the Devil was sowing so many heartbeats and butterflies in his stomach that it was hard for him to breathe, he felt as if he was going to faint...

Until, finally, the duet ended.

Henchman couldn't help but sigh in relief, taking the opportunity to regain all the air he had lost.

The Devil sighed through his nose. He widened his eyes, embedding the rubies into the purple demon before smiling.

───Not bad, Henchman.

─── the Devil whispered.

───Not bad...

─── Are you serious, boss?! ───The aforementioned he couldn't help but wag his tail and flap his wings in joy.

─── Don't let it go to your head. ─── he warned.

─── Too late! ─── he replied happily before beginning to fly and spin, playing a festive tune on his trumpet.

The Devil couldn't contain a soft laugh at his enthusiasm.

───You still have it… ─── he muttered himself in a confession, making the violin disappear. Regret seeped out instantly, making him cover his mouth as if he had said the sanctify prayer.

Talking about the past was not allowed...

───...You still have it too, boss.

─── Henchman responded timidly, holding out the summoned trumpet.

The Devil was pleasantly surprised once more on the same night. When he turned around, he gave her a warm smile before accepting the instrument and making it disappear as well. Once everything was ready, he took the handle of the door, ready to leave. More, before leaving, he added:

─── I hope to see you tomorrow, Henchman.

The closing door echoed in the huge, acoustic room.

His heart was pounding as if he was going to jump out of his chest...

[ao3feed-petermj]

The Stones That Control The Universe

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/26OtwrY by Cherry_Light, Kara (Cherry_Light) "I'm sorry, this is a what?" Leo asks. "Run that by me again?" "It makes sense." They all stare at Trubel, who was the only one who wasn't remotely freaked out. "I mean, we've all had weird things happen ever since we got here   Ochaco included." "I know it's a lot." Peter admits, continuing with, "but I've seen them before   with Thanos." "Thanos?" Ochaco asks. "Is he some sort of villain where you come from?" "Putting it mildly, yes." Peter sighs. "No one else is at least a bit concerned right now?!" Leo demands, making them all stare   at him, this time. He sighs, "nevermind." ~~~~~~~ This is also on Wattpad, under the same name as this! Words: 964, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Grimm (TV), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Leo Valdez, Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson), Percy Jackson, Frank Zhang, Hazel Levesque, Piper McLean, Jason Grace, Peter Parker, Michelle Jones (Marvel), Ned Leeds, Shuri (Marvel), Thanos (Marvel), Ebony Maw, Theresa Rubel, Nick Burkhardt, Monroe (Grimm), Rosalee Calvert, Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shouto, Uraraka Ochako, Iida Tenya, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Shuri, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Ebony Maw & Thanos, Nick Burkhardt & Theresa Rubel, Todoroki Shouto & Leo Valdez, Asui Tsuyu & Iida Tenya & Percy Jackson & Midoriya Izuku & Todoroki Shouto & Uraraka Ochako, Ashido Mina & Bakugou Katsuki & Percy Jackson & Kaminari Denki & Kirishima Eijirou & Sero Hanta, Jason Grace/Piper McLean/Leo Valdez Additional Tags: Infinity Stones | Infinity Gems (Marvel), The stones choose their owners, Magic, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Soul Bond, Stone Bond, The Stones Grant Powers, Multiple Crossovers, Wesen Character(s), One of My Favorites, Characters Are Pro Heroes (My Hero Academia), Teenage Trubel, My First AO3 Post read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/26OtwrY

[thanksforthedinosaur]

october 2023

rosie tucker - hellraiser

somoh - anything

sydney sprague - nobody knows anything

silvie - the zoo

sawyer - support group

brye - nothing!

hannah jadagu - lose

slow pulp - mud

katy kirby - cubic zirconia

tilly louise - own worst critic

stevie bill - hahaha

etta marcus - nosebleed

sundial - grass is greener

charli adams - cry over everything

evangeline - camera shop

speedy ortiz - emergency & me

sarah crean - solitaire in apt. 7

isabel dumaa - quarter life crisis

kate teague - actor

corook - alien

vagabon - anti-fuck

helena deland - spring bug

rachel sermanni - big desire

madilyn mei - slippers

sun june - mixed bag

mitski - i don't like my mind

soccer mommy - losing my religion

lighthearted - from here on out

sea lemon - vaporized

kitba - tell me what i am

allegra krieger - terribly free

salem ilese - ketchup

kate davis - yoyo

june henry - baby teeth

sushi soucy - missing hell

field medic - you deserve attention

sufjan stevens - will anybody ever love me?

pollyanna - the cold

olive klug - faking it

into it. over it. - can i buy a v_wel?

thank you, i'm sorry - parking lots

subsonic eye - tender

lacuna - red thread

brand new legs - bloom

del paxton - chart reader

runaway brother - my friends

sincere engineer - landline

boys life - worn thin

flooding - monolith girl

chase petra - reliable narrator

proper. - earn

jeff rosenstock - future is dumb

blink-182 - more than you know

hawthorne heights - we were never lost

towa bird - wild heart

fazerdaze - bigger

nightosphere - two heads

virga - portal

computerwife - lexapro

lies - knife

cafuné - unchained memory

adoy - avenue

lany - alonica

allie - ambient playlist

boyish - split up

s. carey - new meaning

sonny zero - dew

a beacon school - alone

cherry glazerr - shattered

tanny ng - my, my, my

leebada - sleep

fieh - full time (part time allthetime)

berryblue - selfish

tiffi - bored

dounia - coolest girl in california

olivia rodrigo - all-american bitch

juliana chahayed - strawberry town

devon again - deep

easha - manic pixie dream girl

may-a - lola

charlie houston - all night

eliza mclamb - glitter

luna aura - blind

jessica andrea - sage

gatlin - paris

sad alex - jupiter

yeule - cyber meat

lolo zouaï - vvvip

mothica - sirens (feat. sophie powers)

ūla - scandal

madison beer - sweet relief

kim petras - problématique

slayyyter - girl like me

ebony loren - tongue tied

dacey - getaway (feat. kimmortal)

cleo sol - self

living legends - lettermen

meltycanon - out of body

phora - stay beside me

doja cat - balut

astrus* - throwaway tantrum

take van - bad behavior

fifi zhang - so beautiful so lonely

tomcbumpz - c u never

layzi - idk

troye sivan - got me started

pinkpantheress - mosquito

meltycanon - ghost in the shell

tinashe - tightrope

alex sloane - nuclear

[lovinggreeniehours]

thinking about ebony chase. like what a guy. my very first fullblown s/i. that i made in 6th grade. the amount of rewrites he's had to go through is so bonkers to think about because despite that, i never actually changed the core concepts of him. the entire process of him, really. you can tell by his name alone i was in my baby cringe era where i smushed together Rare, Unique names that sounded cool. he has black and white hair. he is a ninja that wears a shiny silver gi. he used to be involved in a convoluted love triangle between his childhood best friends. they were all 9 at the time i think. his powers make him give tremendous pain to everyone he touches, and his other power gives him the ability to perform miracles. because why not. everyone thought he was part of the big prophecy, and turns out he was a fluke of the universe and he was never meant to be there, and in doing so, he created a repeat prophecy simply because his existence angered fate. his boyfriend is the grandson of god. he is transgender. he has a toxic situationship with his boyfriend's canon love interest in an au. i made up ALL of this in 6th fucking grade. what the fuck

[freddie-77-ao3]

hmmm

it specifically said 4 different medias so i tried to be varied 😭

malcolm pace (toa),

drew tanaka (hoo),

kon-el (young just-us, don't SPEAK to me about him in the tv show) (i like the show but),

bart allen (yj show, young just-us, and 90's impulse comics)

annabeth chase (chb-verse)

@ashthenerdtheythem @irishskeptic

and thanks @ebony-reine-vibes for the tag

favorite character game✨

choose 4 of your favourite characters from 4 pieces of media as options and let your tumblr pals decide which one most suits your vibe, then tag 4 people.

thank you @malchai baby for the tag <3

np tag: @c0mbatchameleon @a-pine-cone @theheartofthestar @prongsfish <3

[beneathashadytree]

May I get Avdol from JJBA with smut prompt 30 ? Reader is AFAB

NEEDY LITTLE THING - MUHAMMAD AVDOL X READER

Warnings : nsfw, implied degradation and humiliation kink (not explicitly stated though), hair-pulling, both Avdol and the reader are implied to be switches, reader is AFAB!

Genre : smut

Word count : 0.5K words

Prompt : "Such a needy little thing, aren't you?"

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Avdol couldn't help but chuckle, a rich honeyed sound from his chest that didn't halt with the stuttering of his hips. Something about the way she pushed back against him, silently (not too silently though, if her whines and half-muttered pleas counted) begging for his cock to drive deeper into her was somehow endearing to him.

Never did he intend to mock her, but whenever her walls clenched around him and her dripping pussy practically sucked him back in with every thrust, he had to hold back laughing at just how pliant her body was in his hold; how desperate she was for him that it was almost pathetic.

Seeing her turn to him, a pout on her lips as her hazy eyes filled with tears, Avdol almost cooed at her. She even went as far as clamoring with her hands to bring him closer by his ass, pushing his cock against that spot inside her that had her gasping and him twitching as her walls fluttered around him.

"Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" he leaned forward, the new angle allowing him to slam deeper and deeper into her, until he couldn't tell where he ended and she began---but from the way she cried out profanties, he could tell that she definitely liked this new pace.

"'S only because 's you," she mumbled, gasping as a particularly hard thrust sent her back arching back into his chest, "F-fuck, just like that! More!"

Avdol's long ebony locs fell forward on her shoulders as he gently kissed her jawline, a shocking difference from the way he slammed into her with reckless abandon and how his hand tugged her hair back, his own breath hitching in his throat, because fuck, did she feel so good around him, and she just looked so breathtaking like that with her eyes glazed over and her mouth hanging open with cries of his name that they now shared, and he can't get enough of her when she felt so soft in his hands but had him so hard it almost hurt to chase his pleasure---

"Shit," he groaned, jerking forward as she clenched down on his cock, watching almost obsessively as her slick ran down the backs of her thighs, the sound of their skin rippling and slapping quickly becoming addictive. He knew damn well he wouldn't last long when her pussy had such a vice-like grip on him that he was barely even able to pull halfway out after every thrust, entranced by how their joint arousal had formed a wet ring at the base of his cock.

How could he blame her for being so needy, when he was probably even more infatuated and desperate for more when it came to her?

Taglist: @mrsgiovanna @blondeboyfriend

[inkykeiji]

Hear me out, dabi teaching you how to touch yourself. 👌

omfg anon please he’d fuckin live for this shit!!!

❅ cw: 18+, kinda dubcon/manipulation, dabi’s a lil mean

❅ words: 1.9k

You’ve been living with the league for a few months now—Toga had found you somewhere, on the streets cowered in some dirty back alley or something, he’s not really sure, he can’t remember—and Dabi’s been having a hard time keeping his hands to himself ever since.

He’s always finding excuses to touch you, dragging heated fingertips down your arm, always slightly hotter than normal body temperature, or placing a large hand on the small of your back as he guides you from one room to another, a blazing handprint searing through the thin material of your shirt.  

Can you really blame him, though? He can’t help it; it isn’t his fault you’re so fucking cute.

And he’s always got those sapphire eyes on you, too, couldn’t pull them from you even if he wanted to, gaze instinctively drawn to you every time you’re in the same room as him, an addict desperately chasing his next fix.

He definitely would have fucked you already, he’s absolutely sure of it, if Toga wasn’t attached to your hip 24/7. As a result, he knows he has to make the most of every minute alone he gets with you, and when you come trudging down the stairs in the middle of the night with you lips set in a deep pout, looking absolutely exhausted—pretty eyes sunken into your skull and hair mussed up in a way that almost looks artful on you—well.

It makes him want to fucking ruin you.

You’ve been on edge recently, and he’s 90% sure he knows why. Your rooms are right next to each other; it isn’t like he can’t hear those soft little noises you make in the middle of the night, breathy little whimpers that eventually morph into soft whines, Dabi listening the entire time as your pleasure quickly fades into frustration.

He pities you; the poor thing, she doesn’t even know how to get herself off properly. It’s definitely beginning to take a toll on you, he thinks, as you drop down on the couch next to him, slumping a little, eyebrows permanently knitted and eyes glaring at the TV.

Honestly, it would be a disservice to you if he didn’t help you.

“What’s a’matter with you?” he asks, glancing over at you, eyes indifferent, just the right amount of curiosity sown into his voice.

Your body stiffens for a moment, completely frozen next to him, before it relaxes again, a little huff of annoyance leaving your lips.

“Nothing,” you mumble, picking at your cuticles, pout still etched into your face.

“It’s not nothing, and we both know it,” he sighs, schooling his expression into one that mimics concern, just a hint sprinkled over his usual apathetic look, careful not to overdo it on the way his forehead wrinkles just a little, like he’s genuinely worried about you.

Head quirking to the side in question, your eyes narrow slightly, brow furrowing.

“You’re having trouble getting yourself off, aren’t you?”

“What?” You choke on the word, sputtering and coughing as you vigorously shake your head, desperately trying to wheeze out the word no, to deny it, and he chuckles, comforting you, tells you it’s nothing to be embarrassed of, promises you it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and—

“I can help, y’know,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders, like he’s offering you an extra pen and not an orgasm.

But those four words force a sharp intake of breath through your nose, eyes widening as you stare at him, your heart beginning to race while warmth settles deep in the pit of your stomach, already beginning to coil.

And he knows, knows the smirk curling on his lips doesn’t go well with his mask of casual concern, but he can’t help it, not when the softest, neediest little whine slips from your lips, pupils blown and eyes glazed as you stare at him with pure unadulterated want.

He’s almost got you.

“Whaddya say?” he asks quietly, almost tenderly, upper body turning towards you as nimble fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hmm?”

“I-I—I don’t—I’m not—”

“Let me help,” he urges. “Let me make you feel good,”

And it’s so gentle, so sincere, his body marginally leaning towards yours, enticing, that your head’s nodding before you’ve given it permission to, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you suck on it unsurely, gazing at him through your lashes.

You end up between his spread legs, on the floor, his large hands holding your thighs wide open as he stares at your reflections in the mirror propped up against his wall, dark azure eyes slowly sliding down your body as you try in vain to bury your head in his neck, face burning with embarrassment.

He got this mirror specifically for this occasion, he tells you, thought it’d be the best way to teach you, he says.

A soft, pitiful whimper escapes your lips, soaking into the skin of his neck as you nuzzle against him. He had been…anticipating this?

“Don’t hide,” he chastises softly with a click of his tongue, voice vibrating against your back and breaking through your thoughts. “How are you supposed to learn if you aren’t watching? Look at how pretty this pussy is,”

Your entire body jolts as the rough pad of his index finger skims over your clit, two fingers almost caressing your slit, down and then back up again, pulling his hand back slightly to admire the way your slick gleams on his fingers in the dim light of his bedroom.

“Already so wet for me, huh?” he breathes, lips tickling the shell of your ear. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself, hmm? Do you think about my fingers? My cock?”

Oh, it’s so embarrassing, your entire body flushing at his naughty, invasive questions, and they send another intense rush of warmth to your core, bitter shame settling on your tongue.

“Answer me,” he commands, voice firm but quiet, giving your clit a superficial slap that has a loud cry spilling from your throat.

“Yes!” you squeak, word muffled by his skin. “Y-Yes,”

“Yes what?”

Please don’t make me say it, you want to whine, tears of humiliation flooding your eyes. Another slap lands against your clit, harder this time, making your back arch against him.

“Yes, yes, I-I think of you when I touch myself,” you whimper, whole body trembling, eyes shut tightly to keep the tears stinging your eyes from leaking out, wishing his mocking coo in response didn’t make your stomach swoop the way it does.

Praises fall from his lips as his calloused fingers rub small, quick circles into the sensitive bud, interspersed with your sweet, breathy little moans, telling you how good you are, such a good little girl for him, how he fucking knew it, fucking knew that you were thinking of him every night while you desperately stuff your little cunt full of your fingers, the words whispered into your hair as you smush your face against his neck.

“C’mon baby, look at yourself. You’re so beautiful,” his words taper off into a hoarse, quiet whine as his fingers run along your slit again.

You peak out from your safe spot against him, unable to help the gasp that escapes your throat as your eyes connect with your reflections. Hooded eyes find yours, practically glowing, breath hot against your cheek, his chin hooked over your shoulder.

He looks like a fucking god like this, smoldering gaze burning a hole right through to your very soul, ebony hair tousled just right, voice just a hint deeper than normal, husky and guttural.

Watch me, he instructs, your eyes immediately snapping to the apex of your thighs reflected in the mirror, practically mesmerized as he sinks a finger into your fluttering little hole, a soft whine breaking in your chest.

“Shh,” he hushes you. “Watch me,”

Pumping his finger a few times, he works your cunt open enough for him to comfortably insert a second, your head falling back against his shoulder at the pleasant stretch. A chuckle vibrates in his chest, fingers thrusting twice before he curls them, laughing fully as your body jolts.

“Mm, think I found something,” he mutters in your ear, curling his fingers again and smirking when your emit a sharp, involuntary cry. “Yep, definitely found something,”

“Oh God,” you breathe, hips rolling a little to meet his fingers mid-thrust as he works up a steady rhythm.

“Feel good?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod fervently, the back of your head resting against his collarbone, lips parted slightly, eyes slipping shut. “So good,”

“Perfect. Now, do it yourself,”

Your eyes snap open as he removes his hand completely, whimpers of protest falling from your lips as you shake your head, cute, pathetic little ‘no!’s catching in your throat. Sapphire, dark and shimmering, stares at you expectantly through the mirror, Dabi raising an eyebrow when you don’t immediately start moving.

But it’s awkward and you’re clumsy, heat seeping into your cheeks as you fumble a little, stiff movements a stark contrast to his effortless fluidity.

He tries in vain to guide you, delegates what to do and exactly how to do it, but your wrist is beginning to ache, your fingers beginning to cramp, sick of unintentionally edging yourself.

“I can’t,” you wail loudly, frustrated tears blurring your vision. “I can’t, I can’t, not like you do, Dabi, please, t-touch me,”

“Aw, don’t be a greedy little brat,” but he’s chuckling as his fingers snake down your body.

It’s cute, he tells you, voice laced with condescension, that you can’t do anything for yourself, slapping your hand away and pushing two of his fingers into your dripping little pussy again, a pathetic little moan of relief spilling from your lips, body melting back into his.

“Can you at least play with your clit for me, baby?” His tone is almost patronizing, like he’s unsure if you’ll even be able to manage such a simple task, and you whimper out his name, nodding eagerly as your fingers find the swollen bud.

He sounds unaffected, for the most part, and you’d probably think he was, if it weren’t for his cock, hot and hard and throbbing through his flannel PJ pants and pressed flush against your back. He’s rutting against you just a tiny bit, hips rocking against you in minuscule motions as his gaze focuses on his fingers.

“Open your eyes, angel, and watch my hand, yeah? I won’t always be around to make you cum, you know,”  

You do know that, you do.

But it’s hard. It’s hard to watch him, to concentrate on his actions, to even keep your eyes fully open and in focus when they’re continuously rolling back in your head, broken whimpers and high pitched whines leaking uncontrollably from your throat, climbing in volume with each harsh thrust of his fingers, with each swipe over your clit of yours.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he praises, voice strained ever so slightly. “Be a good girl, make a nice mess all over my fingers,”

And so you do, pathetically desperate to be good for him, gushing on his fingers only a few seconds later as your pussy clenches, mewling out his name like a mantra.

“What’re you gonna do next time, when you need to cum and I’m not around?” he asks, after your breathing has begun to calm.

“Doesn’t matter,” you reply simply, eyes still closed, body gone boneless against him. “I’ll never be able to do it as good as you can anyway, so why bother?”

[freddie-77-ao3]

YAY!! Thanks for the tag, @ebony-reine-vibes!

For your solangelo song: 💯. gonna be honest, haven't listened to this song before (i have very specific music tastes okay?) but "for once you let go, of your fear, and your ghosts" ? perfect, gives me a GREAT idea for a pre solangelo post three days in the infirmary oneshot.

For your malconnor song: i've never heard this song before in my life but it's a vibe. i think that this definitely could fit malconnor-- more likely to be connor's view (malcolm's in love too but definitely more pessimistic even when everything's going well)

now.... for a couple of my own:

it's gonna be hard to just pick a couple so. this might get a bit out of hand.

summertime by my chemical romance reminds me of annabeth, thalia, and luke. if you want it to be ship, thalia/luke. which i don't ship but. it would fit. also reminds me of solangelo a bit.

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W also by my chemical romance makes me think of clarisse/chris/silena/beckendorf. i could do an in depth analysis if anyone wants but also it would be SAD so.

moving away from MCR, (even though Gerard Way is PART of MCR), Brother by Gerard Way reminds me of Thalia and Percy (as a friendship)

Oh Glory by Panic at the Disco makes me think of Clarisse. I was going to say Drew originally, but definitely makes me think of Clarisse at this point-- if not the whole clarisse/chris/silena/beckendorf relationship. Mostly Clarisse, Chris, and Silena but.

I've got a dark alley and a bad idea that says you should shut your mouth (summer song) by fall out boy is malconnor to me. pre relationship so like. maybe height of titan war? between BOTL and BOM.

Jamie All Over by Mayday Parade is tratie maybe?

President Perfect is Jason Grace core i don't make the rules

Anklebiters by paramore is what Piper could have been if rick riordan could write female characters without misogyny

Little Lion Man (mumford and sons) is sally and percy

so is class of 2013 by mitski.

bodys by car seat headrest makes me think of lee/luke

so does there is a light and it never goes out by the smiths

Achilles Come Down is the Clarisse and Percy friendship after BOM

A Trophy Father's Trophy Son is Lee. With Apollo, obviously, and his mum but also maybe luke a little bit (even if that's not what the song's about)

Sps by Hot Mulligan is Drew Tanaka

Don't Go by Bring Me The Horizon is also malconnor. not gonna make much sense if you don't know my versions of the characters though

Sweater Weather is honestly percabeth

also Break Me Out by the rescues has been in my notes as a cecil/ellis song for literally years

bubblegum bitch by marina is drew tanaka (most of the electra heart album is)

Arms Tonite by mother mother is LITERALLY ruegard

Brother's Song by Brand New is camp half blood during sea of monsters-BOTL (prior to actual battle)

Friends by Ed Sheeran is also malconnor i'm sorry

Time Machine by state champs is the michael and clarisse friendship

heroes by emmy curie is SUCH an Annabeth Chase song. like. post hell annabeth talking to 12 year old annabeth

hero of war by rise against is clarisse after battle of manhattan. just. so disillusioned. she wanted to be like her dad as a kid and then she WENT to war and she's horrified. she killed people. demigods. she-- her dad was proud of her for murder. that's gonna be her legacy. she's horrified.

Daylily by movements is Malconnor-- connor speaking to malcolm

no point pretending by noahfinnce is malcolm

anyway i could go on but i feel like this is.... definitely too much already considering i gave up on the analysis too. yall can ask for explanations though.

✨️TAG GAME TIME✨️

a song you associate with a book character or ship (name the character/ship please and thank you)

reminds me of cardan. no I will not elaborate you either get it or you dont.

npt: @ant-thebooknerd @agirlwiththoughtsandnegativity @bookish-phile @cookieswithforksandknifes @cromulentreader @fantasyfangirling4ever @graaaaaayy @highladyofterrasen7 @his-littlefox @jesyverse @kazbrekkerbitespeopleandsodoi @motherfeyre-archeron @mrswarnerxo @starlightbooklove @sweetvillainjude @thenightmareinyourcloset @thejudeduarte @veswe @viivdle @booklover2389 @annamatix