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empresskylo · 2 years ago

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ghost seemed to despise you, making a mission you have to do together much tenser than it ever had to be...

a/n: i feel like this isn't great but i had fun writing it. idk.

cw: none i guess

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k

masterlist

The cold wind blew through your hair making you tighten your coat around your torso. You rolled your eyes as you walked silently beside Ghost. Of course, he wasn’t talking to you. But he was being more quiet than usual.

You were new and had managed to get him to speak to you the first few weeks, basic training, and small banter as you talked to the task force on the comms. You thought he even liked you at that point. The way he would gaze at you gave you goosebumps.

Then suddenly, Ghost began to ignore you. You knew you were not skilled physically. You weren’t really ‘one of the guys’. You were their tech nerd who had been trained to work in intensive situations. You felt like a black sheep among wolves.

Maybe that’s why Ghost didn’t like you very much. You were just extra weight. You couldn’t always protect yourself the way the others could. You often put the men at risk when they would shield you from danger you couldn’t fight off yourself.

Soap had to remind you that you were crucial to the team. You were the only one with engineering abilities—and pretty impressive ones at that. But still, it seemed like Ghost was repulsed by you and your helplessness. He made sure you weren’t on his team during missions. He’d look the other way when you’d catch his eye in the halls. He’d yell at you when you fell behind. He’d glare at you while you trained. He’d contest your appearance on more dangerous missions. It was tiring watching him act normal—whatever that means—around everyone else.

You muttered a few things to Ghost, trying to get him to talk, awkwardly fumbling your words. As usual, he didn’t acknowledge you.

“Well, this is fun. I just love talking to myself,” you groaned as you matched Ghost’s strides. It was just his luck that this mission required Ghost’s stealth and strength, and your tech skills. He would have put up a fight, but he knew you were the only one with the right skills for the job and he wasn’t about to compromise an important mission just to avoid you.

Ghost side-eyed you, huffing in response to your whines. “You always this whiney?”

“Actually, I can get a lot worse.”

“For God’s sake,” he muttered.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “…Sir,” you added in at the end, remembering just who you were grumbling unpleasantries to.

Ghost’s fist clenched, his breath deepening. “Wasn’t my bloody idea to take you on this mission with me. Trust me, I would have much preferred you stayed back.”

You shook your head. You were over it. “I’m not that bad, you know.” You peered up at him. He kept his head forward, scanning his surroundings as he walked. “The other guys like me.” You felt like a child as you kicked the dirt as you walked. You weren’t the type of person who needed everyone to like them, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt you to see Ghost joking and being friendly with the others. Why did he hate you so damn much?

You walked the rest of the way in silence.

Night approached and you weren’t even close to where you were supposed to be—likely your fault for slowing Ghost down. “Can’t we just stop and rest a bit?”

“We got to get this mission done already,” he breathed, the way you were dragging him behind was giving him a headache.

“Yes, I know. But it’s not really a time-sensitive mission…” you pleaded annoyingly.

“I want to get back to base,” he said sternly, his head snapping in your direction to solidify his words.

You followed behind him as he weaved through an abandoned building, his gun raised and ready.

“I can’t really be that insufferable, right? I mean you like Soap just fine, and he’s loads more annoying than me,” you mumbled, speaking of Soap affectionately, but wanting to get your point across.

He grunted in response—if you could call that a response.

You took in a sharp breath before speaking, waving your arms as you did even though he couldn’t see you as you stalked in his shadow. “I know you don’t like me. You’ve made that blatantly clear. I just thought this would be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other better. I don’t know, maybe not ‘get to know each other’, that sounds lame. I just… I just thought you’d like me if I was able to prove myself—“ You slammed into Ghost as he faced you, gun resting by his side.

“What?! Why did we stop?” You asked in a panic. Your eyes immediately started searching the perimeter, trying to locate a threat.

“I don’t hate you,” Ghost said through gritted teeth, his accent heavy.

Your brows furrowed as you looked up at him. He was actually listening to your rambling.

You suddenly felt embarrassed under his gaze, regretting every stupid word you just said. You must have sounded so pathetic, complaining that your superior doesn’t crack jokes or tell you how good you’re doing, like any of that is important. His eyes were burning holes through you. “Oh…” was all you could muster. His eyes shied away from you finally, deciding not to say more than he already did.

He turned and began moving again. You felt your cheeks warm as you tried to shake off what just happened and followed Ghost.

You felt your eyes growing heavy, occasionally blinking for too long, seeing black, and feeling like you were about to nod off before startling yourself back awake with wide eyes.

“God, damn it,” Ghost huffed as he looked at you over his shoulder.

You shook your head trying to wake yourself up. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I’m awake.” You pushed the hair out of your eyes and tried your best to keep them open.

You could see Ghost contemplating something under his mask. He may have had most of his face covered at all times, but his eyes were full of expressions.

“Alright. We’ll rest a bit here. I’ll keep watch.”

You felt a sigh of relief knowing you could finally close your eyes for a minute, not caring enough to question him. You sank against the cool metal wall behind you. “You’re not gonna sleep?”

Ghost adjusted his stance. “Someone’s gotta keep watch. Now hurry up and sleep before I change my fuckin’ mind.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You were out as soon as you closed your eyes.

You stirred, your body moved up and down waking you. You slowly pried your eyes open, wondering how long you had been out. That’s when you realized why you were moving. You were curled up against Ghost’s chest, his arm wrapped around your waist.

Your eyes widened as you rested against him. His breathing deep.

You tilted your head to look up at him and he was already staring down at you. Before you could speak, Ghost answered your question. “You were shiverin’.” He said matter-of-factly as if that was a perfectly good explanation as to why the Lieutenant had you pressed up against him. Especially knowing how much you seemed to bother him, why would he care if you were a bit cold?

You pushed yourself off of him and sat up in an attempt to be at eye level with him. You were partially straddling his thigh as you stared him down, trying not to succumb to his dominating glare in an attempt to overpower you.

“I was… Shivering?” You raised a brow, clearly not buying Ghost’s explanation. Ghost continued to stare at you. “What? Were you attempting to kill me in my sleep and then I woke up and ruined your plan?”

You pushed up off of him in annoyance and you felt his large hands grip your waist. He yanked you back so you were sitting on his thigh. Your eyes were wide with shock. Shit. Did I just piss off the lieutenant? You thought.

Ghost's voice was husky as he spoke, his throat strained from being awake for 42 hours and not getting much water. “I don’t fuckin’ hate you. And I wouldn’t plot to murder one of my men,” he growled.

You raised your hands in defeat. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry,” your voice became meek as you remained under Ghost’s grip, his fingers likely leaving bruises. You thought about pointing out the fact that he had said ‘men’ and not women, so technically he wouldn’t be lying if he still plotted to kill you. But you knew he was not in a joking mood—not that he ever was with you. He could see the way you were completely missing what Ghost was trying to say.

“Jesus, you’re as bad as Soap,” he mumbled.

You gave him a questioning glance. “And by that, you mean…”

Ghost glared at you from under his mask. You could feel your ears warm. After what felt like hours, he pushed you away and stood up in a huff. “Let’s go,” he commanded. His voice was stern and you knew if you made a joke or argued, he’d likely knock you on your ass. He was grumpier than usual.

You followed behind him solemnly, kicking at the ground as you walked like a bratty child.

You still were exhausted, your eyes red. You had slept maybe 30 minutes before you woke up in Ghost’s arms. The memory made you shiver.

Ghost growled, clearly as annoyed as any one man could be. He squatted in front of you and you looked at him dumbfounded.

“Wha-“

“Get on.”

You laughed, but Ghost stayed squatted. Your face went stoic. “Wait. You can’t be serious.”

“I want nothing more than to go to sleep and forget this whole fuckin’ mission, but you sleepwalking will make it take twice as long for me to get what I want. So get the fuck on.”

You gulped. This was next-level embarrassment. Not only did the men have to protect you, but now your lieutenant had to literally carry you.

Your face was burning hot as you timidly reached out and jumped on Ghost’s back. All his tactical gear made your position against him sort of uncomfortable, but you didn’t dare complain.

Ghost stood, his arms hooking under your thighs and began walking.

You both were silent the whole rest of the way, your arms wrapped around him as he carried you. Every once in a while he had to adjust your position back up and your heart would beat just a bit faster as his fingers slid along your thigh.

It felt like it took forever to make it back to base, you couldn’t imagine how long it would have taken if you both had to walk at your own pace. You were thankful at least that Ghost decided to carry you and not leave you behind to find your own way back.

Ghost had departed from you once you made it inside and you hadn’t seen him since. You stretched, sitting on your bed and staring at the clock. 1:34 am

You grumbled as you stood up and began down the hall in your slippers, not exactly very happy that your sleep schedule was messed up. You had slept for a good 17 hours once you crashed, but that meant you were now wide awake at 1 in the morning. Ghost was probably fast asleep by now and not rolling around in bed like you were. You rolled your eyes at the thought. Only you’d be able to mess up sleeping, you imagined Ghost mocking in his thick accent. Why did the thought give you butterflies?

You walked past the gym to go outside and get some fresh air when you saw a single light on in the corner of the gym. You rubbed your eyes, stopping and focusing through the window. It was Ghost.

You pushed open the door and spoke softly. “Lt.?”

Ghost grunted as he set the weights he was lifting down and turned to face you. It was dark but you could see that his mask was pushed up so he could down his water bottle and you felt your ears warm.

“What?” He asked exasperated.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” You asked quietly as if people were sleeping in the gym. But your voice was likely so low because you knew you were just going to irritate him by asking. Maybe if you spoke softly, it wouldn’t sound as jarring to him.

He walked closer to you, grabbing a towel to your left to wipe his sweat away. You could make out the stubble that painted his jaw now that he was only two feet away. “I’m fine,” he grunted.

Most of Ghost’s eye paint had washed away from sweat and you could see the dark circles. “When was the last time you slept?”

Ghost groaned and it made you take a step back from him. His hand pulled his mask back down and he walked back to his weights, ready to start lifting again. The man was going to work himself to death.

You walked over to him with a bit more confidence. “Lt., you really need to rest. You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep—“

He spun around, glaring at you. “You know why I can’t fuckin’ sleep?”

You felt small under his intense stare. You shook your head.

“Oblivious, you are,” he grumbled, putting his weights away.

“You want to talk about it?” You finally asked, unsure of what else to say. Maybe this would be a good time for him to confide in you?

Before you knew what was happening, Ghost had you pinned against the wall, his breathing deep, your own heart racing in your chest. This isn’t what you expected.

“It’s because of you,” he growled.

“Me?” You said in a soft whimper. Was he truly this upset because you weren’t like the others? You got flustered and fumbled with a gun in your hands. You weren’t as skilled in battle as they were. You were just the tech guru.

“You,” he grunted. “You’ve fuckin’ clouded my thoughts. You keep makin’ me distracted.”

Fuck, so your clumsiness was distracting him. “I’m sorry, I—“

“I can’t stop thinkin’ bout your warm body pressed against mine.” His voice was darker than earlier, but much quieter now. His strong arms straddled each side of your head, his eyes piercing you. You mentally jumped at his words.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, always irritated with how clueless you seemed to be. Weren’t you supposed to be insanely smart? Couldn’t you feel his eyes on you wherever you walked in a room? Couldn’t you see the way he purposefully avoided you since you were too much of a distraction to him because of how effortlessly breathtaking you always looked? Or because he was focusing so hard on making sure you were okay that he’d lose track of what he was doing? Couldn’t you see the way his fist tightened when you said you thought he hated you or when your honey-laced voice called him sir?

Ghost pushed his mask back up to his nose and bent into your face, your eyes widening. “You’ve consumed my every goddamn thought,” he mumbled before connecting his lips with yours. You froze at first, completely caught off guard. Ghost… Liked you? Really, liked you?

Ghost was about to pull away but then you started to kiss him back. You couldn’t help yourself.

He pushed himself closer to you, his hands dropping from the wall to rest on your hips. He pulled back and loomed over you, your flustered face making him feel weak again. “Hard to sleep when I can’t stop thinkin’ bout how your warm body felt so nice against me. Knowin’ I shouldn’t be thinkin’ bout you like that.”

It all made sense now. You finally understood why he seemed to hate you. You began laughing. Of course, someone like Ghost would act like that when he had a little crush. This whole time you were so worried he would always despise you when that was never even the case to begin with.

Ghost watched you until you stopped giggling, your face going serious in return. “Even though I’m awful at everything I do?”

Ghost’s arms were back next to your head making you jump. “You’re not. You’re great at exactly what we need you to be great at. It’s the reason you’re part of the task force.” You looked unconvinced and Ghost dragged a hand over his mask in annoyance. “Yeah, so you’re terrible with a fuckin’ gun. Why would I care about that?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I figured the lieutenant would hate anyone who wasn’t useful in the way he was…”

“You think so lowly of me?”

“No! I only meant… I mean, I figured you admired strength and deadly skills more than…”

He mumbled your name heavily and you got chills. “I don’t fuckin’ care about any of that. You can do shit that I wouldn’t even know where to begin. If anything, it drives me crazy knowing you always need protection.” You took in a sharp breath, your palms flat against the wall behind you, worried he was about to explain why having to protect you all time drove him mad with rage, but what he said instead made you blush. “Makin’ me act… Possessive.” He sighed like he was talking to himself, explaining exactly why he couldn’t be attracted to you. “I can’t be actin’ like that.”

Your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest that you almost couldn’t hear what he was saying to you. “Why?” You whispered. You could see Ghost’s jaw tighten under his mask. He stayed silent, not answering your question.

Ghost’s eyes followed your hand as you reached up to his chin making him flinch. In embarrassment, you began to pull your hand away, but Ghost caught your wrist in his and moved your hand to lay against the side of his jaw. “Jus’ not used to touch, s’all.”

“But you like it? Touch, I mean.” You asked softly, your fingers caressing the cheek of the scariest man you knew. If anything, the way he was towering over you, trapping you between his arms, made him scarier. And yet…

“Mhm,” he hummed almost inaudibly as if he wasn’t used to being vulnerable and was struggling to admit it.

Ghost wasn’t sure what to do next. Your voice surprised him when you asked him a question he didn’t think you’d ask. “Will you kiss me again?” Your eyes fluttered up at him.

His eyes danced between yours. “Want me to?” A brow raised beneath his mask, his pupils blown.

You nodded. Ghost’s hand was on yours again, pulling it away from his face and pushing it against the wall behind you. His palm engulfed your hand entirely. He leaned down, hovering over your lips, brushing them slowly against yours. You whined before he finally kissed you again, this time rougher than before.

When was the last time Ghost kissed someone else? He couldn’t remember. So then why was he acting so bold? Like this was a normal thing for him to do? It was likely the intense lack of sleep that was making him act drunk.

Ghost moved and cupped your face as he kissed you. Your small hands gripped his shirt and tugged him closer to you, making Ghost chuckle against your lips. “Needy, aren’t we, love?”

You were falling in love with the way he spoke to you. So much gentler than earlier. In a voice you never heard him speak before.

He pulled away, his lips hovering over yours, his eyes flickering across your face. “You really should sleep,” you whispered, the dark circles under his eyes perfectly visible to you now.

“Yeah? It’s rather cold in my room,” he muttered, his eyes studying your own. Your hands stayed twisted in his shirt, “Need me to keep you warm, Lt.?” You couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. Granted, they were barely over a whisper. Normally Ghost could think properly, it was one of the many things he was known for, and he knew that this was a bad idea, but coming up on 50 hours without sleep was making him loopy.

He grinned and grabbed you, pulling you up and over his shoulder.

You yelped, “Ghost!” He smirked as he walked back to his room, tossing you on his bed. It was the same size as your bed: a twin. How on earth did this man fit in such a tiny bed? It was cruel. And how were the two of you going to fit?

“I don’t think we both can—“

“Would you stop whining for once and just lay beside me?” His voice was groggy and stern. You blushed in the dark, almost entranced by the way you irritated him. Except now you knew he liked it.

Ghost climbed into the bed beside you, his room pitch black. He grabbed your waist and pulled you against him, startling you at his boldness. He had to hold you basically on top of him so you could both fit, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Within minutes he was asleep, his soft snoring rumbling through his chest. You smiled, resting against him. His arms tightened around you. You knew this was going to be a… situation in the morning. This was going to be awkward and would fill Ghost with regret and embarrassment, but right now, your eyes felt so heavy. And even if you wanted to leave, you weren’t sure you could escape Ghost’s grip.

#ghost #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #fluff #angst #ghost angst #cod mw2

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charliemwrites · 10 months ago

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Uhhh this is sort of to get me back in the swing of writing since some people may have noticed I haven’t done much this week. It’s… it’s been a week, but that’s fine, those happen.

Anyway, concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.

(There will be a part 2 because this got longer than expected.)

Content: Verbal Threats, Dirty Talk, Objectification, Dub-Con, Name-calling. Please stay safe! 💕

You thought you were done with this.

Got out by making the best of a bad situation. Honorable discharge following an injury after your last base was infiltrated. “Data analysts” (hackers) can’t have unpredictable hand spasms in the middle of time-sensitive decryptions. So, you got out.

And now you’re all but being dragged back.

You don’t recognize the two stone-faced men flanking you, but you recognize the woman they sit you in front of.

“Laswell.”

She doesn’t look older, but she looks more tired. Like she hasn’t slept since she informed you of your discharge.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says without smiling. It’s good to see you; it’s not good that you’re seeing her. “I wish it was… I wish this wasn’t the situation.”

You arch your eyebrows. Have never known her to speak without measuring the exact dimensions of her words first. She always slides them into spaces perfectly designed for them, builds towers and forts out of syllables.

There’s a treacherous unintentional volume to the word “this” that prickles across your neurons.

“And what’s ‘this’ exactly?” you ask.

“A recently recovered asset,” she explains. You expect a dossier of some kind to be set in front of you. She links her fingers together on top of her desk and looks you in the eye. “He’s asking for you.”

You blink. Never was any good at staring contests with anything but a screen.

“And who,” you speak slowly, poking at the edges of whatever she’s hedging around, “is he?”

A pause, heavy enough to slowly start pressing the air from your lungs.

“Do you remember John MacTavish?” she asks.

You frown, rifling through mental files.

John MacTavish of Task Force 141. Soap. You remember liking him, even though he made a shy, anti-social part of you uneasy. He had a starting problem, and a smiling problem. Or maybe you were the one with the problem - with the way he would often stare and sometimes smile.

You taught him how to find files out in the field. How to take from the enemy and corrupt entire systems. He was good at it. A digital pyromaniac. Used to hand-deliver drives and disks to you, sometimes still bloody and bruised from getting them.

You heard through the gossip vine that he was MIA (or maybe went AWOL?) at some point. Was shipped out to your final assignment soon after.

“Is he the… asset?” you ask.

Her eyes do this funny flicker thing then, and the corner of her mouth tenses. You press your thumb into your palm as your fingers twitch.

“He’s asking for you,” she explains, “and he has information we need.”

Between the lines: we need you to get the information from him. The error code flashing in your mind demands to know why.

“Why?” you wonder.

Maybe you’ve been out too long; forgot that “why” is blasphemy to the government. The answer will always be “because we said so.”

You already miss being out.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she answers and stands.

—

Laswell takes the lead, the same blank-faced guards bring up the rear. This doesn’t feel like you’ve been volun-told to do them a favor. It feels like you’ve been sentenced without a trial.

You’re led down silent, nondescript halls, through heavy gray doors, and into shiny metal elevators. Everything needs a keycard you’ve not been given. The quiet gets heavier, meaner the deeper you go.

There’s the vague sense that you’re underground when Laswell finally stops at a heavily guarded door. She pauses, steals a glance at you that starts a high-pitched alarm in your head.

“He’s different now,” she says finally, “I’m sorry in advance.”

A guard unlatches the door. She nods you ahead to enter first. You hesitate, don’t like the change in light beyond. Behind you, one of the guards shifts. Don’t like that either.

On tingling legs, you slink through the cracked door. It shuts with a gavel’s finality behind you. Alone.

The room you’ve been tricked into barely deserves the word. It’s more a tiny patch of sequestered floor, little bigger than an office cubicle. Clean linoleum and unmarked walls. In the corner, a camera blinks.

But in front of you are bars; a wall of them. A door interrupting the grid-pattern. Beyond, it’s pitch black. You almost make the mistake of stepping forward.

“Stay there,” Laswell’s voice commands. Staticky. An intercom.

From the shadows, a growl. Low, rough. Just this side of human. You plaster yourself to the door you came through, hair standing on end.

The lights come on. It’s only because you’ve frozen that you don’t scream, all of it trapped up in a constricted throat.

The man in front of you is not Soap. It’s not even John MacTavish. It’s a very convincing beast wearing his face. Sort of.

More scars than you remember. A thicker beard too. His signature Mohawk is just a suggestion in the dark brown mess of his hair - like he’s been running his hands through it and ripping out any tangles along the way.

He’s not moving now though. Not except the deep heave of his broad chest. Could be a statue save for that. He’s staring; his eyes are bluer than you remember. Bluer and blanker. Nothing in them except a flicker of something vicious, something covetous. Something that’s peering out from this man.

“We brought her, just like you asked.” Laswell’s voice again, wary and expectant.

Soap doesn’t respond. He inhales deep, gaze still locked with yours. It’s loud, purposeful. Your stomach twists.

“Just as sweet as I remember.” His voice is gravel on ice, resonates in his barrel chest. Fills up the room like a rockslide. You curl your fingers against the door behind you. “You remember me, bonnie?”

It takes your brain a second to realize he’s talking to you. As if he could be speaking to anyone else. Your shadow maybe; she’s always been braver than you.

His eyes twitch, narrowing ever so slightly. His patience winding down, tick, tick, tick.

You jerk your head in a nod. His eyes burn.

“Good.” He cracks his neck. It feels entirely inorganic that he can move just that part of his body. “Would have to punish you if you didn’t.”

You swallow, dig up your voice from the crevice it slunk into.

“Laswell.” Your voice is too high, too nervous. Soap bares his teeth, slams his fist against the all-too-bendable barrier between you two. It shocks you, frightens you. How he could be so still and then so alive all at once.

“John, we brought her. That was the deal.”

You feel sick with something unspoken as he shakes his head.

“No, the deal was you give her to me. Do you see my fuckin’ hands on ‘er? My teeth?”

“The information first.”

You feel sick with rage. Like you’re going to throw up with the disgust that poisons your blood. Your legs nearly give out as you slide to the ground, pressing a hand over your mouth, filling with saliva. Stomach rolling.

Force yourself to breathe through your nose. Would work better if you could close your eyes but prey instinct won’t let you, survival too strong to dare look away from the predator now pacing at the bars. He’s agitated, devolving quickly into anger. You’d tell Laswell to stop pissing him off if that didn’t mean tossing you to him. More than she has, anyway.

“We will take her back if you don’t deliver your end of the deal.”

Like you’re some reward to be given and taken at someone else’s will. An incentive for good behavior.

The military used to make you feel like a dog - sit, stay, bark on command. But you’d take that over being the training treat any day.

Soap snarls. He sounds feral. Spits out a set of numbers, eyes pinned to you. When he’s done, he crouches down. Knees against the wall of bars.

“S’alright, little bird. C’mere and I’ll make it all better,” he coos, beckoning you with two fingers.

You press your lips together against a whimper. His expression twitches. You suck in a breath—

“We’ll need to verify those coordinates first,” Laswell says.

The noise that rips out of Soap makes you shake. You didn’t know people could make sounds like that; like something with teeth and claws and blood matted in its fur. He stands, huge and terrifying.

He curses and threatens (awful, cruel) but Laswell doesn’t respond again. You doubt she’s even listening. And you just stay still and quiet, hoping to avoid his attention altogether, pancaked to the wall.

As is the pattern today, your reasonable hope is eventually dashed. Can almost feel the exact moment Soap’s attention refocuses on you. Like a the click of switch.

And he’s down again, crooning at you so sweetly. Like you didn’t just watch him come within a breath of destroying his cell.

“You know it’s not fair, don’t you,” he murmurs. “You know that I’m owed you. C’mere.”

“I’m not a thing,” you snip, still too high. Almost petulant if not for the frightened crack in the middle. He flashes teeth.

“‘Course you are, hen,” he says, almost laughing. You realize with a jolt that you’ve amused him. “You’re my sweet, pretty thing with the sweet, pretty cunt that I’m gonna fuck and breed.”

Your voice slithers back into the abyss, snatched away by the smoke and shadow promises in his own.

“And you know that’s what you’re for, don’ you?” he continues, voice dripping lower and lower. “You know that you’re mine.”

You shake your head, want to explain that you didn’t have a choice. Government goons have been shuffling you about from place to place, only the illusion of free will, like horse blinders. Keeping you docile and complacent.

You don’t think Soap cares about things like logic or personhood right now though. Or at all.

“Come. Here.”

Hard metal between you, and every atom in your body screams not to comply. So you don’t.

When you shake your head, he snarls and slams his fist into the barrier again. You squeak this time, can’t help it, and try to become one with the wall.

He rages for a few minutes. Demands you, your compliance. At some point you just have to draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head against them. If he could get through, he would have by now. Let his anger become a terrifying background noise, a soundtrack for fear.

It’s when he goes quiet again that the fear returns. Your head snaps up. He’s staring again, still. Just like before. His arms are crossed - biceps huge, straining. There’s a sizable bulge pressed against the bars. Obscene.

“Best get your rest now, little girl,” he rumbles. Even and deceptively calm. “Because when that door opens, I’m not gonna be nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Stop it.”

A puff of air. You can’t tell if it’s amused or annoyed. “Say it while you can, ‘cause it won’t make a difference later.”

You shudder through your next inhale, heart pounding. Try to wrestle yourself under control, convince yourself that Laswell won’t actually give you up to him. Not when she’s already gotten what she wanted from him.

A sound breaks you from your frantic meditation, slick and wet. You look up without thinking. Soap is fucking viciously into his fist, eyes trained on you. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, dripping with precum, shiny and needy.

“Regret being a little bitch now?” he growls. “Now that you see what’s going in that prissy little cunt?”

You clench and cramp at the very thought. He’s massive, not just long but thick. You wouldn’t be shocked if your fingers didn’t touch wrapped around him — not that you should be considering those logistics. It’ll just freak you out more.

“Can smell your wet pussy from here, hen. Bet I’ll knock you up on the first try.” He squeezes almost cruelly, knuckles banging against the bars as his hips jerk.

You press your thighs together, trying not to think about it. Not to think about all that bulk pinning you down and using you. Big, rough hands and sharp, mean teeth while he—

“Stop,” you grit out, to yourself this time.

His breath shudders, a rough noise dragging up his throat. You twitch back as cum splatters the floor, coats the metal in milky drops. You stare at the mess, mortified.

“Well?” he rasps and your eyes snap back to his. “Going to lick it up like the bitch you are?”

You swallow and curl up tighter. He takes that for the denial it is.

“S’alright,” he says, “you’ll get a taste soon enough.”

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #asset soap #asset John soap MacTavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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wraithdance · 3 months ago

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Damn I'm still getting notifications on this so I guess I'll elaborate on it for funsies lol

Content warning: AFAB!Reader, terrible british-isms, Reader is a firefighter and idk shit about that life lol, very NY/American coded, explicit language. Shorty getting tossed around like a hot n ready in the next part I just love to set the scene a lil lmao

Part one: The Firefighter

Your mother had always told you two things: 1) not to write a check that your ass can’t cash and 2) A hard head made for a soft ass. Unfortunately for you, you never listen.

You were on the downward slope of a 48 hour shift and feeling every bit of it. Your captain had taken no mercy on the splitting headache you were nursing and designated you to crowd control on the northern sector of the McCallen theater. The heat of the flames enveloping the old building didn’t help with the already stifling heat wave. Sweat slides down your neck in uncomfortable pools that soak the under clothes beneath your turnout gear.

While in the middle of reassuring an elderly woman whose granddaughter was in the building you’d caught sight of a large form attempting to cross the barrier from the corner of your eye. You’d whipped your head around so fast you’d damn near given yourself whiplash.

“Hey, get back behind the line!”

Your words die in your throat when you come face to face with the fucking grim reaper. He’s broad and dressed in layers of black from head to toe. His eyes, or what you can see of them from behind the eye black, bore into you from beneath his balaclava.

What the fuck?

There's a moment where your throat closes up and your muscles lock despite your body screaming at you to run the other way. It’s not until he seems to dismiss you and turns like he’s going to continue on his merry way, that you gain back your senses.

“Hey I said get back behind the line are you crazy?!” You bark, grabbing the sleeve of his jumper.

Who the hell wears a sweatshirt in the middle of June?

“This is an active fire! ”

He looks at your offending hand and makes a sound you can only describe as a snort.

“Ya’ can bloody see that.”

This motherfu-

“Good job jackass,” You say between grit teeth “I’m glad you can see the fire, funny enough you can also see it from behind. the. damn. LINE!”

The grim reaper twitches and if it's possible he looks bigger as he turns his full body towards you.

You’re too hopped on adrenaline to give a shit about his posturing. You’d worked with sweaty macho guys for six years at the station and had been around servicemen your whole life. There wasn’t a pissing contest around that you would ever back down from. So, you puff out your own chest and meet him head on.

“Sir, I’m not going to ask you again, get behind the barrier.”

“Or wot.” you think you might actually catch a murder charge.

“You get behind the line like I asked you to, big boy, or I’ll toss your ass over it myself” You hiss. The big fuck just narrows his eyes in consideration. You’re preparing to make good on your threat, when another voice cuts in.

“Riley, What's the problem here?”

Great two of them.

The second man is not as broad as the weirdo in black, but still just as barrelled chested. He maneuvers around the barrier like it's just a concept and not a physical deterrent. You have to roll your eyes at his boonie hat and the outdated beard. He had the same fashion sense as your grandpa.

He stops beside the reaper's right side and crosses his stocky arms over his chest, his beard twitching as he takes in your stance. There's something in his blue eyes that you might call appreciation, if it didn’t make you feel like you were on a serving platter.

You really didn't have time for this shit!

“Like I told your friend here, I need you both behind the line, you're getting in the way of my job and I’m tired of repeating myself.”

It might have been a childish thing to do but you can’t help yourself when you make rude shoo-ing motions with your hands.

The newcomers' eyes tighten inauspiciously. An imperceptible look passes between the two mountains that you can’t read. It makes you shudder which only stands to piss you off further.

It’s not the first time you’ve had some hyper masculine fuck question your authority while on a rescue. Hell, it's come to be expected at this point and you’d joined an online support group for firefighters who experienced the same for being non-cis white dudes.

The issue is whatever energy these monsters disguised as men are emitting, is disorienting. Normally you would have asked for back up after the second time your request was ignored. Yet your radio still sits at your shoulder and your hands are shaking beneath your thick gloves.

After a beat the man with the boonie hat speaks, identifying himself as the leader of the two.

“Listen love, we’re SAS, we can help with the rescue if you just point us in a direction.”

Your eyes are rolling before he even finishes, you knew it. Macho men.

“That’s nice and I’m auditioning for the Wiz! We have everything under control gentlemen but thank you for the offer!”

Maybe it’s the migraine or the lack of sleep, but you can’t help but to dig the knife in deeper just a little bit. You’re smiling with your teeth and speaking in a baby voice before you can think twice about it.

“Why don’t you big strong men sign up for the next station tour and I’ll give you a nice badge and a sucker!” You clap your hands in mock excitement, before flattening your tone and expression “So that way, when you wanna play firemen, you can do it without jeopardizing the professionals! Fuck you very much, get off of my scene.”

Looking back it was probably the thing that doomed you, but you’d been too caught up in the moment to see it that way. Your radio had rattled off with the sound of your captain calling you in for an assist.

You hadn’t thought to really sus out the reaction of the men you’d bitched out. Had been all too happy to give up your position dealing with them to a wet behind the ears rookie.

After getting the fire under control and surviving the end of your shift you’d gone home and face planted on the couch. After chugging down your weight in electrolytes and ramen, you joined the server for the firefighter’s support group.

You’d been soothed by the jokes your online support system cracked when you retold the clusterfuck of a day. Before logging off for the night you get a friend request from some random account with a string of numbers and a skull icon. You snort but look through the profile. Scoffing when you see that it was made in the last hour.

Fucking bot accounts. You’d have to ask the mods to check out their spam filters next time they were on.

Ugh, you needed a bath.

Preview of next part:

“Open your mouth.”

Your eyes widen and you struggle against the tight grip around your chin. His warm hands only tighten, causing your lips to pucker. A husky laugh sounds from behind your shoulder and you can feel the brush of cotton against your ear.

“C’mon pretty girl, open up, captain just wants to give you a sucker.”

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niki-phoria · 3 months ago

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月光绽放在 midnight / 心跳漂浮起来

pairing: kamo choso x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 709

notes: i am a long haired choso enthusiast i make no apologies, not proofread !! pls forgive any mistakes, inspo from this prompt list by @me-writes-prompts, title from wayv - after midnight

midnight. the moon shines brightly in the sky, casting a silver glow on the world below. the night is quiet; the silence is only occasionally broken by faint chirps from crickets and tree leaves bustling in the breeze.

“it’s late,” KAMO CHOSO says as he quietly steps into the light. moonlight shines in through the window, just barely enough to illuminate the tiles of your kitchen floor. “why are you still awake?”

you spare him a brief glance over your shoulder, softly smiling at him in acknowledgement. his curse mark is barely visible in the darkness. it looks like little more than a shadow that stretches across his cheeks. choso’s hair cascades down his back in waves, ending just before his shoulders.

“i couldn’t sleep,” you reply. turning your attention back to your window, your gaze studies the glints of stars that litter the sky above. “i thought some stargazing would help.”

“stargazing?” he repeats. choso’s footsteps echo throughout your kitchen as he wanders over to stand beside you. his tan robes hang loosely from his frame, missing the usual purple gi wrapped around his torso. stray strands of ink black hair frame his sharp features, free from their usual high buns.

you nod. “i think it’s relaxing - looking at the moon.”

choso quietly hums in acknowledgement. his attention shifts, following your gaze to look up at the sky above. the stars are just barely visible in the sky. they twinkle in the darkness. from so far away, the moon is little more than a small, glowing light.

“have you ever been in love?” you ask. your voice is quiet, cautious about disturbing the tranquility of the moment.

“what do you mean?” choso shifts, turning to face you. he’s standing next to you now; his body is so close that you can feel his knuckles ghost against your own when he reaches up to brush his bangs out of his face.

“you know, romantically,” you shrug. you turn to face him, studying his features in the dim light.

choso pauses, contemplating your question. his fingers find the hem of his robes, toying with the fabric. “i’m not sure. i’ve only ever loved my brothers,” he replies after a brief moment of silence. “have you?”

“it’s been a long time,” you chuckle sheepishly, almost a little embarrassed. “but i thought i was. i wanted it to be love, anyway.”

he nods. choso’s attention momentarily returns to the moon. it shines brightly in the sky, drowning out the light of the stars around it. “what did it feel like? to be in love?”

“it’s…” you pause, searching through your head for the right words. “it’s like unconditional trust. feeling safe with someone, no matter where you are. being with someone and knowing that somehow everything will be okay, as long as you’re both together.”

a comfortable silence falls over the room once again. choso fidgets with the hem of his robes, absentmindedly rolling the thin fabric between his fingers. he mulls over your words in his head.

curses are the antithesis of humans. they’re born from negative emotions, like fear and anger. it was unheard of for a curse and a human to interact without bloodshed; choso’s own existence was still heavily contested by sorcerers.

he was used to being met with cruelty and scorn, even when he helped exercise curses himself. but you were different. you were always kind. you greeted him with a soft smile and ensured that his technique was healing his wounds. you held his calloused, bloody hands in your own when you stood against the higher-ups. you made him feel safe - like everything was going to be okay.

choso turns to face you. the stars seem to reflect in his dark eyes; you can almost trace the various constellations in the sky looking back at you. blood rushes to his face, tinting his curse mark a deep shade of red. his ears burn from the heat spreading across his cheeks.

“y/n,” he murmurs. choso reaches up, hesitantly resting a hand against your face. his thumb strokes against your cheek. his touch is slow and careful. the intimacy of the moment sends butterflies swarming throughout your stomach. “i think i might be in love with you.”

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vaxmpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho @dog55teeth

if you liked this fic, please comment, reblog, or leave feedback !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

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whenlifeisscaryanddepressing · 6 days ago

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A message to my American brothers and sisters whose candidate lost this election:

Firstly, I am neither American nor did I vote for your election so do take what I say with a grain of salt.

I’m writing to you guys because I know how you feel. I’ve been there.

During the 2020 Presidential election of the Philippines, I too supported a movement. Not a candidate—a movement. A female presidential candidate who raised hope, became a champion for marginalized communities whose only goal was to create opportunities to shift my country away from the vitriol that came from a previous president who strong armed my country into a bloody war on drugs that saw the death of thousands of poor people.

And like you, I lost.

With the spread of misinformation and lies, my country elected the son of a dictator who proved himself to be the ineffective, incompetent and dishonest leader we all secretly hoped he wouldn’t be.

Our hopes dimmed.

Tears were shed.

Resentment flowered in us like a storm.

It was difficult to swallow the results of an election that had so much at stake. You see, like your President-elect, our current President spent millions of pesos contesting a fair election that saw him losing out to the vice presidential position during the previous election.

Through bullying and intimidation, he sought to undermine a fair election that took him out of power.

And like your current President-elect, he still managed to win at the end.

It would have been easier to accept the results had it not been for the mocking of 31 million Filipinos who voted our current president into office.

We all heard them tell us, “You’re crying over an election? You need better things to worry about.”

I want you to know that it’s okay to cry.

Your frustrations and disappointment are valid.

It is rare to find a candidate you’re able to place so much hope in and to have that hope dashed away is a bitter pill that is difficult to swallow.

I know, you’re probably tired of hearing it.

“Turn the other cheek.”

“Accept it and move on.”

“It is what it is.”

“There’s nothing more to do.”

It’s okay. I’m tired of it too.

I know you’re probably scared and angry and so, so, so tired. Two years after our election and I am still all of these things.

I still think about the what if, the what could have beens. I think a lot about how better off we would have been if the right person won.

I want you to know that it’s okay. It’s okay to mourn those things.

You did your part. You voted and you campaigned and you fought hard. Sometimes, we just lose.

If there’s any advice I can impart, it’s that I hope you take your frustration, your sadness, you exhaustion, your anger, and turn it into righteous fury.

Take that fury and do something with it.

Because the movement cannot stop here. The moment we stop fighting, they win.

To lose hope means victory for the other side.

I get it. It’s easier to get mad at the people who voted for him. It’s even easier to spew the same vitriolic hate towards them when they start complaining about how things don’t change and how your country is worse off but theirs is the vote that put a wannabe-dictator in power.

Don’t do it.

Because that divide is precisely why they keep winning. It’s the same divide they sowed into my country and we are still struggling to fight that division everyday.

Losing this election is a step backwards but losing hope would be another step back.

Even to this day, my presidential candidate continues to inspire hope for change in my country.

I know yours will too.

It’s not the end.

I need you to remember to breathe.

Breathe in the hope you desperately fought for;

breathe through the hurt of the loss;

and breathe out the fear they so badly want you to feel.

The road is long and it’s scary.

But there’s about 50 or so million other people on that road with you. You might not be the majority but even David was small when he killed Goliath.

Cause if you voted for Kamala Harris, you already know you have the courage and righteous fury to fight for change and you cannot give up now that you’re so close.

You lost the battle but it’s not the end of the war.

So tonight, grieve. Cry. Hug your friends and family who are right there with you. Be sad and mourn the loss of what could have been.

Because tomorrow, when you wake, you will continue fighting for change.

Because no one else will.

#election 2024 #us elections #kamala harris #kamala 2024 #vote harris walz #harris walz 2024 #tim walz #vote democrat #vote blue #blue

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myownwholewildworld · 2 months ago

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acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

“I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

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atlasofthestaars · 1 year ago

Text

[MX X READER] New Era - Chapter .003

first part | previous part | next part

NOTE: First off, thank you ALL so much for the support! I sincerely love every one of your comments so far, and feel grateful you all enjoy the story! The comments are lowkey pushing me to write this all, so again tysm for the support!

Hopefully this chapter showcases how I’ll try to implement extra scenes within the story! Because after this chapter we will divulge for a bit storywise to get bonding moments between the kharacters and the reader! I’m doing this due to the months time skip, and thought it’d be a good time to develop some of the relationships before the Outworld arc!

Sorry for how Lin Kuei heavy the interactions have been, but we’ll soon get the champion squad as the focus soon, so I did want to implement some of this groundwork first. That doesn’t mean the Lin Kuei are totally gone soon, especially since I also need to give Smoke his share of time together, but they will be used less often after this chapter so we can bond with the others.

ALSO, for those reading this on tumblr, please reply to the poll here whether you do want Shang Tsung as a love interest! It will affect my planning somewhat so I would like to gauge interest! AO3 fans, leave a comment on your thoughts !

ALSO ALSO! If you want a character included as a love interest that is NOT part of the initial roster mentioned in part one, please send in messages/leave comments mentioning it so I can see what you all want! It’s not a guarantee, but it is helpful to get input on those types of things.

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO HELPED RECRUIT NEW ALLIES

“Only you and Kuai Liang for this mission?”

You eyed the blue clad and yellow clad assassins curiously as you walked into the room where the Lin Kuei trio typically sat when they were awaiting for Liu Kang. You pursed your lips as you walked right up in front of the two brothers, your gaze switching between them before they settled on Bi-Han. You crossed your arms as you watch Bi-Han’s gaze narrow.

“That should be more than enough.” Sub Zero replied gruffly, keeping his gaze on yours. It felt like a staring contest was always happening between you two. While most times you would entertain it, you instead searched his face. It was hard to tell whether Bi-Han was irritated, or if it was his grumpy face that he always wore, but from the years you knew him, you picked up on the tells.

This time, it was simply his natural face.

“I’m not saying it’s not enough, I’m just surprised.” You replied smoothly as you moved your gaze from Bi-Han’s face to the arm you had patched up yesterday. You sighed as you pulled out the medical kit you had tucked away on your person. “I would have thought that the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei would know how to regularly change his bandages.” You chided as you knelt beside where he was sitting.

“I know how to change my bandages, fool.” Sub Zero scoffed, but as usual let you come close to inspect the wound you had dressed. You let the insult go, you knew at this point any insults towards you were rarely meaningful. If he really hated you, he would have not even let you dress his wounds in the first place.

It was odd, before he used to be diligent about changing his own bandages. But nowadays it felt like he expected you to change it for him.

Maybe it was because you started to patch him up for him instead of letting the cryomancer do it himself. It had bugged you, how often he left wounds unattended. Never had they turned into infections, but it irritated you to no end. So one day, you just began to do it for him, despite his initial protests.

Now it was like a routine between you two. It didn’t happen often, since Bi-Han had become more proficient in avoiding injuries, but it happened enough that it felt like a routine.

You gently removed the bloodied bandages from around his right bicep. You hummed as you noted how it was healing. Carefully, you brushed your fingers over the wound to see it had begun to scab over. You noted the odd way he seemed to tense at this, and sent him a small glance.

“Relax, I’m not going to stab you.” You teased, a small chuckle leaving your lips as you returned your gaze back to the wound. Even though you weren’t looking at him, you felt Bi-Han’s gaze burn into you. Maybe being the pyromancer would have fit him better with how searing his gaze was like.

“As if you would get the chance.” He grumbled as he relaxed. You rolled your eyes as you carefully reapplied the bandages over the wound. Proud of yourself, you grinned as you pat the bandages on his bicep.

“Done.” You declared as you stood back up. You saw Bi-Han sigh as he reluctantly nodded in acknowledgement. You turned your gaze towards the younger brother, sending Kuai Liang a soft smile.

Strange, why did Bi-Han seem a bit irritated at your smile?

“Do you need any wounds of yours patched up while I’m at it?” You inquired as you walked over to stand in front of Scorpion. Returning your soft smile with one of his own, Kuai Liang shook his head, holding up a dismissive hand. His eyes sent an almost apologetic look towards you, as if apologizing for his brother.

“While appreciative, it is not necessary. I was not cut during the examination.” Kuai Liang reassured you with a small nod. You returned the nod, glad to hear the news. Still, your eyes roamed his body to see if he had any bruises that were beginning to bloom.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” Your smile grew to a grin as you recalled the events of last night. The exam still buzzed in your head, and you could easily replay it in your head over and over. “Good performance, by the way. I didn’t get to tell you that yesterday.”

“I was simply doing the job as required.” Kuai Liang humbly said, though you could see a hint of what you interpreted as bashfulness within his expression. You laughed. The Lin Kuei trio, so different, yet all people you held close to your heart. They were the ones you considered to be your friends, and you only hoped they returned the sentiment.

“Come, Lord Liu Kang is ready for the both of you.” You beckoned them to follow, and almost in sync they stood up and followed your lead. It was quiet for a few moments as the three of you walked through the Fire Temple. You felt like a leader of a pack, with Kuai Liang on your left and Bi-Han on your right. You briefly wondered if this is how Liu Kang often felt. “Were you both informed of what our mission is, and where we are going?”

“From what I recall, we are going to California to recruit an actor and a swordsman to see if they will join Lord Liu Kang’s cause.” Scorpion piped up, and you nodded, pleased at how accurate his memory was.

“It is unnecessary for all three of us to have to go.” Bi-Han commented. Despite his words seeming rough, you could sense he was only speaking his mind and not trying to insult Liu Kang…even if he could definitely word it better.

“It is probably for the best for all of us to go, just in case.” The younger brother interjected, sending his older brother a glance. “Lord Liu Kang has his own reasons.”

The conversation ground to a halt, and you felt the temperature drop around you three by a few degrees.

You ignored it as you three arrived at the door of the room where Liu Kang was waiting. Best not to linger on that.

You all had a mission to get to, after all.

So this was California.

You marveled at how different the city around you was. The buildings were so different. Everything was different. You took in the atmosphere as you basked in the small amount of time you all had to stand around before you had to go.

Even though the area you teleported too was on the quieter side, the area around you was so much busier than it was anywhere you’ve recently been. So many lights, noises…it was so foreign. You were so in awe you even let Bi-Han scoff at your amazement without glaring at him.

“Is it possible for you to confirm the location?” Liu Kang inquired, after calling your name. You blinked as you stepped forward to look towards the fire god. You nodded, pointing to a large fancy home up ahead.

“That one, correct, Lord Liu Kang?” You asked, eying the place. You watched as the fire god nodded approvingly. Jumping and leaping into the air, your form turned smoothly into that one a crow and you flew close to the house.

You always enjoyed being a bird, feeling the wind in your feathers and the feeling of freedom it granted. Circling the house, you spotted how a wall was completely open, and you soared down towards that area, landing just behind the wall beside the pool. You noted the large floating plastic animals in the pool.

Interesting.

“Step one is selling this place.” A woman spoke. Curious, you tilted your head to peek barely in, seeing who you presumed to be Johnny Cage and a woman. Your head pulsed with the all too familiar headache as you peered at the man who paced inside the house.

Your mind granted you a vision of a similar looking Johnny Cage, so you knew you were in the right place.

Who was the woman though? You peered at her, vaguely listening in on the argument between the duo. You didn’t even bother to hide yourself all too well behind the wall at this rate, they were too deep in their conflict.

When you gazed at her, no sense of headache arose in your mind. You continued to eavesdrop, learning about the unfortunate circumstances befalling Johnny Cage and who you presumed was his wife with the conversation they were having. You nodded as the words they said confirmed your suspicions.

Cris…Wasn’t his wife supposed to be Sonya Blade?

Your head seemed to pound upon remembering that, and you winced. Sonya Blade…Sonya Blade… If only you had more time to interpret and unravel these memories when convenient, and not when you were on a mission!

Taking a mental note, you told yourself to write this down in your journal within the Fire Temple as soon as you got back.

Either way, you figured out that in this life, Johnny Cage was with a different woman.

You watched with a sense of pity as Cris walked out on Johnny…or John Carlton as you just learned. Although the man seemed distraught, you were surprised to see that he didn’t chase over his wife. You observed as he continued to drink, berating himself.

You felt guilty intruding on such a private moment.

Your guilt vanished as you watched a swordsman enter the house, dressed in a suit. Carefully, you backed up behind the wall, but you were sure he probably wouldn’t have even seen you. Even without the pulsing of your mind, you knew who this man was due to Liu Kang: Kenshi Takahashi. You watched the beginnings of their confrontation before backing up.

That’s all you needed to know.

With a quick flap of your wings, you got back into the air and flew back to the trio who were waiting right where you had left them. Landing on the ground, you stood up as you transformed back and no trace of the crow you had been was left.

“It’s the right location.” You began as you rolled your shoulders back, trying to bend your body back into shape. “Johnny Cage is confronting Kenshi Takahashi over a sword named Sento.” You informed Liu Kang, bowing as you told the fire god of what you had seen.

“As expected.” Liu Kang said before nodding, a smile on his face. You took that as praise as you stepped around to take your spot again at his right side. “Come, the confrontation will be over soon.” With a nod from the others, you all strode down the hill over to Johnny Cage’s house.

Without hesitation, Liu Kang rang the doorbell as the four of you arrived in front of the front door. You looked around, noting how the house looked from the front instead of the back. It was much, much different than what you had been used to in the Fire Temple.

Instinctively, you straightened your posture as you heard the door open. You stared forward at the perplexed face of Johnny Cage, holding back the amusement you wanted to let out. You had to look professional. Both of the Lin Kuei brothers stood behind you and Liu Kang.

“What in the actual fu-”

“Good evening, Johnny Cage.” Liu Kang cut him off, his arms uncrossing as he bowed and introduced himself. Johnny recoiled at the action, looking confused as ever. “I am Liu Kang, protector of Earthrealm.” The fire god introduced himself, wasting no time. He gestured to the inside of the house. “May we enter?”

“Uh…” Johnny leaned over, peering at all of you suspiciously. “Nothing’s being shot here tonight. You sure you’re in the right place?” Johnny inquired, looking at all of you as if you were all crazy.

“Yes.” Liu Kang answered seriously, nodding. “We come here on a matter of grave importance. We must speak to you and your guest.”

“What?” Johnny seemed shocked at the mention of Kenshi, before squinting at the group in suspicion once more. He leaned close, dropping his voice to be closer to a whisper. “How do you know about him?”

“Because I am the God of Fire.” Liu Kang responded, his voice holding an authoritative tone. Despite this, Johnny seemed to brush it off. You raised your eyebrows, surprised to see how quickly the man fell into denial.

“Cris, you vixen. Nicely done.” You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling a pang of guilt in your chest. He thought his wife set him up for an odd prank. You looked away until he spoke up again. “Sure.” Johnny said, drawing out the word in such a way to make it obvious he didn’t believe a word of what Liu Kang had said. “Come on in.” And with that, he opened the door to welcome you all in. “Glowing eyes are a nice touch.”

You all entered the house, and you noted how it looked from this angle. Your eyes fell on the swordsman who was now tied to a chair next to the pool, and you were slightly surprised to see he had lost. You followed Liu Kang swiftly as you approached the tied up man.

“Kenshi Takahashi.” Liu Kang addressed the man. He stopped in front of Kenshi and crossed his arms in a disapproving way. “A tragic figure with a noble cause. Your actions this evening do you no credit.” Liu Kang even threw in a disapproving shake of his head.

“Who are these people?” Kenshi inquired, just as perplexed. You focused your eyes on the swordsman as the tiny voice in your head questioned how the man in front of you had his eyesight. It seemed that way, at least.

Past life. Right.

“You tell me, they’re your scene partners.” Johnny Cage answered back with a shrug, looking towards Liu Kang for an explanation.

“I also know of your struggles, Johnny Cage.” Liu Kang spoke, turning his gaze to Johnny Cage. You nodded subconsciously, having witnessed the struggles Johnny had through the argument he had with Cris. “I am here to offer you both a path forward.”

“Dun. Dun. Dunnnn.” Johnny retorted dramatically, his carefree attitude shining through. He still didn’t believe the situation, and for a brief moment you recalled how this felt all too familiar. The actor let out a laugh, looking around. “C’mon guys. Let’s call this. Cris was a doll to set this up, but…” He shrugged as he scoffed. “As pranks go this one’s…eh…a bit obvious.”

“This is no prank.” Liu Kang warned Johnny. He looked at you and spoke your name before gesturing towards Kenshi. “If you please.” You nodded as you strode over to Kenshi’s chair and knelt behind him. You observed the rope. Normally, you would transform your hand into claws to free the man, but you did not want to risk hurting Kenshi, especially with how thick this rope was, it was better to untie it.

You set to work untying it. You struggled, noting how strong and tight the knots were. Did Johnny Cage have experience in typing people up? You grimaced as you continued to try and untie the rope. You were so concentrated on the task in front of you, Johnny’s words didn’t register in your head.

It wasn’t until he laid a hand on you until you noticed he had been talking to you.

Eyes wide open, you paused as you looked up in shock, your mind reeling as you tried to piece together whatever Johnny had been saying. His grip was strong, but it didn’t hurt. You were just confused at what he had been saying.

You had no time to do so as you watched Bi-Han shoulder tackle Johnny off of you before sending him flying with a heavy kick.

“Bi-Han!?” You exclaimed, surprised at the sudden action from the cryomancer. You were stunned as you watched Johnny groan as he had a glass fixture drop on him. The grandmaster did not turn around to look at you, but you watched as Kuai Liang stride up, sending you a concerned look before looking towards his brother.

You were surprised that Kuai Liang did not tell him off. For a moment, the two brothers sent each other an unreadable look as they got into a fighting stance against the now angry Johnny Cage. You paused in your actions to watch the fight happen, confused at how it escalated so much.

It had been an honest mistake on Johnny Cage’s part.

Somehow, the actor knocked down the brothers.

“I hope you’re insured, because you’re paying for my Hichuli.” Johnny huffed as he stared at the Lin Kuei duo who got up from the ground. You stood up, trying to speak up, but were cut off by Bi-Han’s outrage.

“Imbecile! You have no idea with whom you are dealing!” Bi-Han pointed towards Johnny Cage, seeming ready to go again and fight. You shook your head as you strode over to make Sub Zero calm down.

“Bi-Han-”

“ENOUGH!”

You jolted as you side stepped to avoid the burst of flames that emerged from Liu Kang. Loud beeping occurred for a second, and you winced at the noise. You sighed as you continued your walk over to Bi-Han, standing right next to him.

“Uh…” Johnny said, his eyes wide in disbelief as he had shielded away from the flame. “That’s no special effect.” He continued, and the look on his face told you that he was finally piecing things together.

“Indeed, Johnny Cage.” You could not see Liu Kang’s face right now, but the tone he held said enough about the frustrated look he was sending the actor. The god of fire inhaled and turned to you three. You held the god’s gaze as he examined you before looking towards Scorpion. “Kuai Liang?” He inquired, gesturing towards Kenshi.

You watched as the younger brother walked away to finish the job of freeing Kenshi. As Liu Kang spoke to Johnny and Kenshi, you sent a perplexed and slightly angry glare at Bi-Han. Why had he been so aggressive?

Yet, despite your glare, you didn’t think you were actually angry. Just mostly…confused.

Bi-Han, despite his knack for wanting staring contests with you, seemed very keen on ignoring your glare this time. You sighed as you looked away and focused on the conversation with Liu Kang.

“All will be explained, Johnny Cage.” Liu Kang told Johnny Cage as Kenshi was untied and he got to stand up. “For now, what is important is that you both have been chosen to join its champions.” He said, now referring to both Johnny and Kenshi.

“Why him?” Johnny pointed at Kenshi in confusion. “Or me, for that matter?” He asked, turning to look at Liu Kang with a perplexed look.

“Because I have faith that you will rise to the challenge.” Liu Kang explains to the actor. “And because your service will change the arcs of your lives.” Liu Kang looked at the three of you and dismissed you all, allowing you to wait outside while he discussed the finer details with the two. Almost immediately, Bi-Han walked off, leaving you in the dust.

“I would advise to not take offense to his attitude.” Kuai Liang said as he stepped up to stand beside you. You sighed as you crossed your arms, looking towards the entrance. You shook your head as you looked towards the younger brother.

“I’m not offended.” You clarified as you searched Kuai Liang’s expression. “Just…confused why he would do that.” You also had confusion on why Kuai Liang would also help him take down the actor, but you would chalk that up to the brotherly bond the two had…even if it felt like it was waning nowadays.

Memories of two brothers, one corrupted and inky like a shadow, and the other an icy grandmaster flashed in your mind.

You closed your eyes as you tried to push out those memories. It’s been years since you’ve first had them about the Lin Kuei since you’ve met them so long ago, but when you worried over the two, you were always reminded,

Damn these memories.

“I see.” Scorpion said, and although his words seemed final you could sense the hesitant tone in his voice. It was strange, but you assumed it was due to Scorpion’s manners. He was never one to make unnecessary comments. You turned to look at Liu Kang, to try and focus in on the fire god’s words to get your mind off of things.

Still, you felt the gaze of Kuai Liang burn into you.

Thankfully, the protector of Earthrealm quickly wrapped things up with the new recruits. He turned around, and there was a faint look of surprise to see that both you and Scorpion remained inside the manor. Regardless, he nodded and smiled at the two of you before exiting with the both of you in tow.

Outside, Bi-Han had been waiting, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His eyes were focused on the ground, and a furrow in his brow. He seemed deep in thought, but his demeanor quickly shifted as he heard the three of you approach. The cyromancer straightened up and came to attention, nodding.

“Excellent work, you three…even if there were some hiccups.” Liu Kang commended as you all followed him to the hill where he had initially teleported you three from. Liu Kang did not look towards Sub Zero, but you all knew who he had been referring to.

The walk back to the hill was silent. That wasn’t unusual, but the uneasy tension between the group certainly was. You held back a sigh as you continued to walk beside Liu Kang, trying to pretend like the source of the tension wasn’t you and Bi-Han.

You disliked this.

“You are all dismissed, thank you for your services.” Liu Kang thanked the three of you as you arrived back in the Fire Temple. Teleporting was always quick, and you were thankful for it. You nodded as you began to walk off. You needed to walk to clear your head.

It wasn’t long after you set off that you heard your name be called. Surprised, you turned around and stood still. You blinked as you watched Kuai Liang jog over to you, nodding as he came to a stop in front of you.

“Would you mind if I accompanied you?” The pyromancer inquired, and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. While it was not uncommon that you had been on walks with the assassins before, it was odd to have it occur after a mission.

“Are you not going with Bi-Han back to the clan?” You inquired, crossing your arms as you shifted your weight to one leg. You scanned Kuai Liang’s face, searching for any sort of answer. He shook his head, and you were genuinely surprised.

“I asked brother if I were allowed to stay for a bit. He was fine with it.” Scorpion answered, and you hummed. Odd, but Kuai Liang was anything but a liar. You nodded, shrugging.

“Alright, I don’t see why not.” You said, curious why he had wanted to stay. Was it just to talk to you? That felt a little ridiculous, but you didn’t know what else it could be. A slight expression of relief settled on the assassin’s face as he moved to your side.

“Thank you.” He said, and you waved off the words. You didn’t see why he’d be thanking you for something so simple.

“Don’t mention it.” You said, and then the two of you walked off. You tried to not think about the odd scenario, but it ended up haunting you as you walked. You lasted about five minutes before you let out a sigh and turned to face Kuai Liang, arms crossing. “Okay, I’ll say it. Why are you here exactly? I’m not ungrateful for your presence, it’s just that I can tell that you came here for a reason.”

“You are perceptive as usual.” Scorpion praised, and you both accepted the compliment, but also wanted him to get to the point already. “I just wanted to see if you were feeling alright. I could sense you were upset with brother and…”

“While appreciated, you do not need to make up for your brother’s actions.” You said quickly, wanting to stop Kuai Liang from going on. You sighed, sending him a weary, but grateful smile. “Look, I know you are close with Bi-Han, but I don’t want our conversations to revolve around him. We’ve known each other for years, I consider you a friend, and I want to be able to talk to you, Kuai Liang, not Bi-Han’s brother.”

For the first time in perhaps forever, you saw a look of surprise on Kuai Liang’s face. With a moment of hesitation, he nodded. He put on a small smile, seeming genuinely grateful for your words.

“Alright, then let me, Kuai Liang, accompany you on this walk.”

“Good, I’m glad.” You grinned at him as you both set off on your walk. You walked on, feeling more relaxed and relieved now. Words were exchanged here and there, but with Kuai Liang, you didn’t really need words. The two of you could bask in a comforting silence together.

Still, the memories from earlier still flew around in your mind like an annoying fly. Sensing this, you noticed Kuai Liang’s concerned look.

“I’m fine.” You lied, a worried feeling filling your mind as you looked at the man who often haunted your memories. Your heart squeezed as you looked back ahead. As much as you wanted to confide in anyone, someone about your memories, you couldn’t. Or rather, you didn’t.

No one needs the burden of the memories that plague you. Of the knowledge of other “lives” they had lived, especially since you did not even know whether these visions were even memories themselves. You just assumed it, seeing as they all seemed to follow a life you once lived.

Even though you spent time pondering these visions with Liu Kang, you only did so in the most desperate times now. The fire god had no idea just how many more memories you had unlocked that he was unaware of. That whole dilemma leaves a guilty imprint on your soul.

Still, the honest and welcoming dark eyes of Kuai Liang was tempting. For a moment, you opened your mouth, wanting to confess how worried you were over the trio of brothers. How you knew of a world where they all were torn apart by death and corruption.

Of how he was the only one alive of the three of them by what you could remember.

You couldn’t though. That knowledge wasn’t fair. Plus, there was no way to explain anything well. You’d just seem like a hallucinating amnesiac, and you didn’t need one of your friends thinking of you that way.

“I’m just thinking about how Johnny and Kenshi will fare during training.” You continued to lie. Despite the momentary guilt, your mind did turn to the new topic with open arms. Ah, right, you were going to be in charge of their training. Or at least, somewhat. You still haven’t discussed that whole ordeal with Liu Kang yet.

You really had to get on that.

“I have a feeling the swordsman will be competent.” Kuai Liang mused, his head tilting to the side as he spoke aloud. “The actor, I fear, will be a challenge.” The yellow clad assassin confided in you, and you let out a small chuckle. “I have faith in you that you will be able to instruct them, regardless of the difficulty.”

“How is it that even when you’re insulting someone, you make it sound somewhat eloquent?” You inquired, grinning at the man. Though he did not have a grin that stretched from ear to ear, you could see the subtle smile on his lips. He seemed pleased with himself, and it was a sight you were blessed to see. “Thanks, still, I’m honored to have you think so highly of me.”

“There is no reason to think so, the high regard I have within you is rightfully earned.” Scorpion replied. You looked away, letting out another laugh, though this one was more bashful. Did this man know how he sounded? You couldn’t tell.

“Okay, okay, stop flattering me before I suspect that you want something from me.” You said, managing to find the words to respond to him after the high compliment he gave you, deciding to play off the warm feeling you got from all this as lighthearted. You felt outdone, not knowing how to make him feel the same way he made you feel after his praise.

“I hope you know I am serious about the praise I give you, but I shall relent.” Scorpion said, the serious tone he seemed to always have was prominent in his tone. You swallowed as you nodded. You knew. Kuai Liang was never one to play around, especially with the feelings of those close to him.

You wished he did though, just for this one moment, so you could pretend that the words he told you didn’t affect you as much as they did.

“You are too kind, Kuai Liang.” You murmur as you find yourself back at the Fire Temple. The walk had gone faster than expected. You supposed that’s what good company does. You watched as the Lin Kuei assassin stopped at the entrance, and for a moment you found yourself slightly saddened at this.

“I am only saying the truth.” He replied. For a moment, you saw him tense, as if considering something. Instead, he nodded as he stared at you with an expression you couldn’t quite understand. You opened your mouth, considering asking him what he was thinking, but thought better of it.

You weren’t certain if you could handle the answer.

“Goodnight, Kuai Liang.”

“Goodnight.” You smiled at the quaint way he spoke your name, and waved him off. You watched him walk off before turning around and walking to the area where you would usually watch the sunrise.

The moon hung high in the sky now, basking you in the moonlight. Your eyes closed as you took in everything that happened recently. Your fingers tapped along the wooden railing, tracing along the grain. The cool breeze passed you by. You had a lot to think about.

part four

427 notes · View notes

lqveharrington · 1 year ago

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Love-Hate | H.B.

summary: you’re love-hate relationship with Hobie Brown himself <3

pairing: Hobie Brown x fem!Spidey!reader

warnings: kinda suggestive !! making out, fluff if you squint, cursing, gwen and miles being in an awkward situation, lmk if i forgot any !!

wc: 1.5k+

a/n: it’s so hard to write for hobie’s accent oml !!

————

You had a love-hate relationship with Hobie.

Literally.

One second you’ll be annoyed at him for taking all the snacks you announced you wanted to have and the next, you’ll be making out in the break room, knocking things over. It was a never-ending cycle that confused everyone who witnessed an interaction. Even during missions Miguel sent out, the bickering wouldn’t end and in return, the make-outs wouldn’t end.

You never labeled the relationship as anything and Hobie hated labels, so it was a win-win situation. There would be some moments where you were just friendly with each other, but the arguments that would soon blow up in your faces will always end whatever chance others would deem as a healthy relationship.

Sometimes, your closest friends at HQ were nothing but added more reasons to your disputes with each other. The typical starter to a fight would be one stealing the others' belongings without them knowing. Yet, neither of you could ever give proof until an hour later when the item would appear back in its rightful place where it was last left.

Gwen being the cause of those fights.

Just like today, but worse.

You were pissed. And it wasn’t even Hobie’s fault for once. Still, he decided today would be the day to be the most aggravating person in the world.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, love?” He draped an arm around your shoulders, feigning false hurt when you pushed him off. “Nice to know you have some sort of emotion.”

“Hobie, go away.” You glare in his direction, finding a smirk displayed on his face. Not giving him the satisfaction of blowing up just yet, you answer his previous question. “Miguel is being a huge dick. I fought the stupid anomaly off and got blamed for not calling it in. What does he want me to do? Risk the entire universe, my universe to be more precise, just to call in a stupid anomaly? I would rather be stranded on a deserted island than risk that! I hate him so much, I have no idea why I joined this stupid society!”

You enter one of the more secluded areas you claimed as your own place, scanning for the walkman your dad gave you before he… Well, you all know the canon event by now.

“Where the fuck is it?” You let out a frustrated groan, opening the drawers and slamming them shut once you realized someone had taken it. “Did you take it?”

“What?”

“Did you take the walkman?” You stare up at him, glare still prominent. “I left it here.”

“Why would I take the walkman?” Hobie blatantly replied, hands in the pockets of his vest as he leaned against one of the walls, his guitar placed right beside him.

“Because you steal all of my shit, Hobie!” You rub your forehead, earning a raised brow from the male. “You know what? Fine, it’s fine. Everything is fine. I just need to relax. Then maybe you’ll give back the Walkman.”

“I don’t have the bloody Walkman.” He walked up to you, mere inches away. “And if I did, I would ‘ave gave it to ya’ as it seems you’re in a bit of a pissy mood.”

“Bite me.” You roll your eyes at his words, shifting closer to his frame. “You always take my things! No matter what time of day it is, where we are, it always goes missing! And you clearly don’t understand the value of this particular item!”

You looked up at him as you breathed heavily from the small outburst.

“I didn’t take anything.” Hobie met your eyes and leaned the smallest bit.

“Liar.” You reply with a voice laced with pure hate.

If anyone had walked in for the first few seconds, they would’ve thought it was a staring contest. But the sudden energy that emitted from the both of you completely took over, now hoping no one walked in.

Your hands pulled on his vest as he held your face with one hand and your waist with the other, his lips meeting you with such force and passion. As swiftly as it happened, you were able to sync up your movements, allowing Hobie to push you on the couch.

“I fucking hate you.” You separate from him, catching your breath.

“Feelings mutual, love.” He kissed your jaw and moved down to your neck, leaving small pecks and sucking on the more sensitive parts. You let out a small moan at the action, tugging on his vest and wanting to feel his lips back on your own.

“You’re so fucking needy.”

“Shut up.” You close the gap between you two, the coolness of his lip ring sending a miniature shiver down your spine.

He slotted one of his legs between both of yours, eliciting a whimper you tried to hold back. Something that Hobie didn’t fail to hear. He shifted his leg with the smallest amount of force causing you to gasp, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth. He swallowed all your noises, immediately feeling the need to get closer than you already were.

Hobie pulled away from you, the line of spit connecting the two of you splitting as you groaned from the physical detachment.

“Bee, what the fuck!” Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes still full of desire for the Brit in front of you.

“Y’know how much I hate your Spidey suit.” He squeezed your waist, watching you squirm underneath him. “It makes everything so impossible.”

You huff, “Don’t blame me for something you started.”

“I didn’t take your walkman.” He spoke in a lower tone, eyes darkening. “How many times will I have to say that for you to get that in your pretty likkle mind?”

“Fuck you.”

“You fucking wish.” Hobie went to attack your neck once more, this time gaining a much louder moan. Your own eyes widen at the noise.

He groaned into your neck, “Holy shit, love.”

— —

“Miles, you’ve discovered every inch of this place! What more do you need to discover?” Gwen walked backward, watching her friend’s eyes light up as he spotted a hallway he’s never been in. “What?”

“What’s over there?”

Gwen looked over to where he was pointing, immediate regret taking over. I knew I should’ve gone another way. She thought.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it. Let’s go to the break room and bother more cool Spider-men!”

Miles raised a brow at her sudden energy to leave the area. “What? Are you hiding something there?”

“Me? I won’t ever hide something in this stupid place.” She crossed her arms, standing her ground. “Let’s leave.”

“Nope.” He popped his p, already walking to the new area. “I wanna look to see what’s over there.”

“It’s boring! It is so boring over there.” Gwen followed, hoping that you weren’t there.

“If it’s boring, why do you want us to leave this place so bad?”

“Just… Because.” She stuck her tongue out. “Just come on, nothing good is over—“

“Fuck!”

The distant sound made Miles concerned, thinking someone was hurt in the area. He started to make his way down the hallway, Gwen trying to stop him before he saw something he wished he didn’t.

“Gwen. If something bad happens down there and we could’ve prevented it, it’ll be on you.” He poked her arm, web shooters ready just in case. “We’ll just check, okay?”

The blonde bit her lip and nodded. Instead of getting her web-shooters ready to shoot at whatever the cause is, she got ready to web his eyes closed and her own hands to cover hers.

Miles burst into the room flicking the lights on, screaming to scare off whatever it was.

You and Hobie, on the other hand, jumped at the noise, Hobie throwing a pillow at the culprit.

“MILES?!” You shout, hiding yourself under Hobie, silently cursing. “GWEN?!”

“OH, MY EYES!” Miles turns around, Gwen in return webbing them shut a little too late. “OW, MY EYES!”

“Oops, sorry, Miles.” She pats his shoulder, not making eye contact with the older pair. “Hey, Hobie… Hey—”

“As much as I love a group reunion, get the fuck out.” Hobie dropped his head on your shoulder, muttering out words that weren’t too nice. Gwen quickly turned around and left without struggle, Miles still struggling with the web stuck on his face. The blonde whispered an apology to the boy, grabbing his arm and leading him out of the room.

“Sorry— OW! Gwen!” Miles leaves the room with a yelp.

Hobie rolls his eyes at the pair, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “So?”

You stare back, “What?”

“You called me Bee.” He gave a smug look. “You like me.”

“I do not!”

“Whatever you say.”

You smack his arm, adjusting the way you lay on the couch. “You still took my walkman.”

“Gwendy literally left it on the counter over there,” Hobie smirks in your direction. “Either your spidey senses aren’t working or you love me.”

“Love? No. Absolutely not.”

“The look of messy everything on you is a style then, yeah?” He clicks his tongue, taking in your disheveled look.

“I hate you.”

“Hate you too.” He gave you one last kiss, which believe it or not, left a small smile on your lips.

————

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berk-brain-rot · 8 months ago

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So Berk posted a video of some poems that never made it into Lazarus Rises and I wanted to talk about my favorite one.

It's this, it's this one.

If you're just here to read the poem, fair, it's amazing and stands on it's own, honestly click the link and read the rest of them, because they're all so good!

If you're here as a fellow-feral-unhinged-raccoon and want to read my honestly unneeded analysis, it's below the cut.

Oh my god. Are you kidding me?? This was a poem that didn't pass the cut??? And it's this good?????? (Once again I feel justified in telling literally every person who spends five minutes in conversation with me about how good of a poet Berk is)

Honestly though, this is one of my favorites of the poems in that video, because it's so short, it's so simply written, and this says so much that I feel like I could write an entire essay on each of the lines themselves and their meanings (I honestly might anyways but I'm not gonna subject you guys to those rambles)

"Life loves Death"

In the same way you can't help but love an impossible task you just want to give up but that at this point is the only company you truly remember and the only thing you know how to work towards.

"Life loves Death"

In the same way we can't help but try and find meaning in beauty in the thing that truly only takes from us, because if there isn't meaning and beauty in our pain, then why the fuck do we have it?

"Life loves Death"

As something we can't take seriously. As something we truly don't understand the risks of until it's too late. As something that for some of us, we rush forward to with joy and open arms because we think it'll feel like the warm embrace of the sun but instead all we are met with is the cold cold ocean.

"Life loves Death"

As a burden, a burden that some claim is a gift. A burden enforced upon us poor poor sinners by a god in punishment. Am I talking about Apollo or Jesus? Both, neither of them, I don't believe in either, but I mean no one believed Cassandra either.

"Life loves Death"

As a needed tool, as a part of every flower we decide to put in a vase, as every dye we put in paint, as every food we are forced to consume and as the tool that at the end of the days ends up changing us.

Also something something, gods punishing poor sinners for wanting to enjoy life something something an apple and a weaving contest being the show of ultimate pride something something I don't have religious trauma you do

Like do you get it???? Do you see how insane this is??? How much information they've packed into six lines???

And I'm not even gonna go over the way Life and Death are capitalized and personified, you all already know how I feel about how impressive it is they do that, but regardless, this poem is amazing and you can pry it out of my coffin-bloodied-cold-dead hands.

As always, the source is always more interesting than anything I have to say, so if you haven't yet, go read Lazarus Rises(amongst other things) and follow them on their Tumblr @icaruspendragon because they write so many cool things beyond just their published book.

#lazarus rises (amongst other things)#lazarus rises amongst other things #berk #berklie novak-stolz #poetry analysis #brain rot #poetry #analysis

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papil0nglegs · 2 months ago

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WHERES THE BEACH? 🍹

Tf2 x Snooki!Reader

A/n: I’ve lost my mind 😛 anyways after this ima take a small break from writing cuz yeah, promise I’ll be back whorezz don’t miss me too much guys 😔

Warnings: Drinking, Reader is said to be short, sensual friendships

They’re all so worried for you, you’re so little and yet so wreckless

No one knows how you got recruited, you’re 4ft, an alcoholic, and a total drama queen. wtf did you do to get ms Pauling to get you here??

“Soo, why do you wanna be here toots?”

“Well I heard that you get dirty rich here and you also get to hook up with dirty rich muscular guys soo why not?”

You sleep with at least one of the mercs, doesn’t matter who, just has to be one

Demoman challenged you to a drinking contest and you somehow beat him. DEMOMAN

Yk demoman, the guy whose body rejects any non-alcoholic drinks. That demoman now fears you.

“Vat happened to you guys??”

“You need to kill that bloody girl, she not human. That’s a monster”

“I haven’t even started motherffuker!” *slurring voice

Spy is very much not fond of you. You’re the exact opposite of each other, he avoids you in every way

And you notice this, so of course you have to go out of your way to annoy him!! Of course you do it in the most Snooki ways, leaving ur thongs in his smoke room LMAO

He’s so disgusted by you, but you don’t care lol

You and scout are like this 🤞🏽 actual besties, you guys just have such matching energy

Literally you guys

Sometimes your relationship does get pretty handsy, chilling in the jacuzzi together both in your undergarments. Nothing sexual, just chilling 😪

Heavy is the one who puts up with your bullshit the most, he’s the one who carries you to bed and tries to sober you up before battle

He’d be the one to hear you cry about the stupidest shit ever when you’re drunk, he lived surrounded by girls so he knows how to handle it

“I hate men so much heavy, my boyfriend hic cheated on mee ”

“Ok well let’s just put bottle down and sleep it off”

“Oh my god fine”

Sniper will never admit it but he’s totally into girls like you, trashy girly girls who are a little bitchy and has weird fashion choices.

Imagine him doing his sniping thing and you randomly scream in his ear

“….”

“HI SNIPER”

“Bloody hell! You scared the piss out of me..”

“You sure? You seem to have enough out of you cuz of the jars..”

Zont even get them started on the beach incident.

Once you go darting off it’s nothing but panicking from there

“Donner wetter WHERE IS SHE GOING?”

“WHERES THE BEACH?”

“SCOUT-”

“ALREADY ON IT”

They got so scared omfg, somehow scout wasn’t able to catch up to you? You were drunk + you were wearing slippers + you kept falling every 5 steps??

“Y/N!!”

“I JUST WANNA GO TO THE BEACH 😣”

They have to carry you out, Ms Pauling is NOT gonna spend another dollar on bailing you mfs out

#idk #x reader #tf2 x reader #team fortress 2 #scout x reader #spy x reader #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #medic x reader #Jersey shore #Snooki #snooki jersey shore #where’s the beach #sniper x reader

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 10 months ago

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youtube

Roger Stone has contested Mediaite’s reporting this week regarding comments he made on tape floating the assassination of two members of Congress.

“I never spoke about assassinating anyone,” Stone wrote in an X post Thursday. “Fake Mediaite can’t produce the recording they claim to have.” In another post he wrote that Mediaite “has produced NO audio of me threatening 2 Dem Congressmen. Where is it? Post it !”

Mediaite is now publishing an excerpt of the audio, which was recorded in person at Caffe Europa, a public restaurant in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, weeks before the 2020 election. It has been lightly edited in order to protect our source, who requested anonymity out of fear of repercussions from Stone, whom they believe to be dangerous.

“Roger spent election day and the months prior calling for acts of violence,” the source told Mediaite.

The conversation, which can be heard above, was between Stone and his associate Sal Greco, who at the time served as both an NYPD officer and security for the longtime political operative and confidant to Donald Trump. During the discussion, Stone speaks with Greco about assassinating two prominent House Democrats, Jerry Nadler and Eric Swalwell.

“It’s time to do it,” Stone told Greco. “Let’s go find Swalwell. It’s time to do it. Then we’ll see how brave the rest of them are. It’s time to do it. It’s either Swalwell or Nadler has to die before the election. They need to get the message. Let’s go find Swalwell and get this over with. I’m just not putting up with this shit anymore.”

The source previously told Mediaite that they believed Stone was not joking around. “It was definitely concerning that he was constantly planning violence with an NYPD officer and other militia groups,” the source said.

In addition to his posts on X, Stone previously denied making the comments in a statement to Mediaite. “Total nonsense,” he said. “I’ve never said anything of the kind more AI manipulation. You asked me to respond to audios that you don’t let me hear and you don’t identify a source for. Absurd.”

Greco did not deny the claims, writing in a text to Mediaite, “I don’t think your reader is interested in ancient political fodder.”

Mediaite’s source dismissed Stone’s claims the audio was fake. The source pointed to Stone’s past comments apparently calling for violence that were caught on video by a documentary crew which he later claimed were “deep fakes.”

“Any attempts to claim this was AI or recently created would be false,” the source said. “Roger spent election day and the months prior calling for acts of violence, which can be seen on video in the film A Storm Foretold.”

The 2023 documentary followed Stone as he participated in the “Stop The Steal” movement that erupted after Trump’s loss in the 2020 election. The movement reached its bloody apogee when a horde of Trump supporters stormed the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021 to protest the certification of the election. Some of the film’s footage was provided to the House committee that investigated the Jan. 6 attack. In one harrowing clip, Stone said, “Fuck the voting, let’s get right to the violence. Shoot to kill.”

Stone claimed the videos were “deep fakes.”

Both Swalwell and Nadler serve on the House Judiciary Committee and have their own histories with Stone, who was convicted of federal crimes in Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s Russia investigation. His sentence was commuted by then-President Trump days before he was set to report to prison.

A few months before the Caffe Europa audio was recorded, Nadler announced the Judiciary Committee would be investigating why Stone’s sentence was commuted by Trump.

Greco, who was with Stone during the Jan. 6 riot, was eventually fired by the NYPD over his association with the infamous political operative. An NYPD spokesperson confirmed to Mediaite that Greco was terminated in August 2022.

Last week, Mediaite reported on another recording in which Stone told Greco to “abduct” and “punish” Aaron Zelinsky, the prosecutor who led the case against him as part of the Mueller probe.

#us politics #news #mediaite #roger stone #threats of violence #rep. Jerry Nadler #rep. Eric Swalwell #Sal Greco #YouTube #videos #a storm foretold #x #2024

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moonlit-imagines · 8 months ago

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warnings:

a/n:

requested by anonymous

You and Harry stood close together, watched from all corners of the room as you awkwardly danced at the Yule Ball. Harry being one of the contestants of the Triwizard Tournament (which was an inaccurate title give there were four this year, maybe if you considered it the three schools instead it made sense. But nothing was really making sense at this point), made you and him the center of attention. Although it wasn’t helping that your brother, Draco, was staring daggers at Harry. And then you saw him march over. “Oh, dear. Please don’t encourage him.” You whispered to Harry.

“Potter!” Draco shouted, making you hot in the face out of embarrassment more than anger. “How dare you take my sibling to this ridiculous outing just to get back at me! You are disgraceful and my father will be hearing about this,” Draco turned to you, “and as for you, fraternizing with such scum. Mother would be heartbroken.” He said through gratef teeth.

“That’s enough, Draco.” Harry stood in between you, grabbing your hand and staring him down. “Say what you will, but y/n and I came here together because we wanted to, not for any vendettas you may have made up in your small little mind.” Draco’s face turned a bright shade of red and scrunched up in an ugly fashion. “Now, if you’ll leave us to enjoy the rest of our evening, that would be preferable.”

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @summersimmerus // @the-did-i-ask // @azazel-nyx // @randomfandomimagine // @scarthefangirl // @locke-writes // @sweetjedi // @beth-gallagher22 // @bad4amficideas // @xoxobabydolls // @ruvaakke // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @you-bloody-shank // @elenavampire21 // @pheonixfire777 //

#harry potter imagine #harry potter #harry potter x reader #malfoy!reader #draco malfoy x reader #wizarding world #wizarding world imagine #harry potter x malfoy!reader

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g-xix · 2 days ago

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☁️Guess the Age | Sharky

Summary: That greenscreen suit had Sharky playing up on shoot and completely derailing the video to simply flirt with you, his brain chemistry honestly altered by seeing your body complemented so beautifully in such an ugly green <3

Notes: normally i hate writing fics based off of vids but this one based on THIS VIDEO was sm fun! ik the beta squad fandom is so dead atm but please boys, band together n appreciate this one 😓✊

The green screen suit wasn't the most comfortable, to say the least. As you walked in, you felt as though you were almost walking diagonally with each step, the suit so tight around your hips that you didn't even have full mobility, having to waddle (it felt) on-stage. Even so, the Beta Squad boys didn't fail to notice your shape in the figure-hugging suit.

"Bloody hell," Chunkz was the first to call it out, and you couldn't help but giggle as you watched him wipe his eyes as though he were seeing things.

Kenny of course found Chunkz's reaction hilarious, bursting into his iconic laughs whilst Niko had simply moved onto the next person - AJ trying to do the same - and Sharky not even attempting, his jaw slackened with wide eyes of shock and simultaneous allure.

Luckily, each person had a name tag on so that you could at least tell who was who on the judging panel - after all - your friend had told you before coming on that if the one called 'Neeko' (her pronunciation of the name different from the name scribbled onto his card) tried to fist bump you, it was going to be a set up. Avoid at all costs.

That being said, as your eyes scanned the line up, they definitely lingered on one person.

Seemingly effortless, leaning back in his chair with his arm around the one to the side, tongue tracing his teeth with his lips parted just a fraction to show off those pearly whites - black durag and dark beard which sculpted that undeniably gorgeous face...

It was definitely too early to have a crush on 'Sharky', but you didn't fail to notice how pretty he was. The way Sharky's eyes seemed to trace down your body made you feel as though he was reciprocating this realisation.

As the introduction drew to a close, two boys were called up to re-order the lineup based on age: Kenny and Niko. They clambered up onto the stage, hand set on Niko's chin, Kenny's hands on hips, the duo scanning each and every one of you.

"You" Kenny moved to examine you. "You look relatively..."

"Good?" You finished his sentence, not wanting to hear how else he could end that sentence. Kenny laughed with the rest of the boys as he realised he'd been droning on, hand covering his face in embarrassment.

"Sure, yeah, that," Kenny agreed hastily with a grin, trying to move over the obvious flusterment at the comment. "I feel like you're somewhere around..." Kenny took a step back to look at the line and gesture towards the younger end, between two other contestants. "Here - not the youngest, but far from old."

"So sweet," Came your not-sarcastic-but-somewhat-so response, the boys at the table laughing slightly as Kenny courteously took your hand to lead you down the line to where he stationed you.

And despite the fact you'd been moved, and Kenny and Niko had moved onto the next contestant to judge, you could still feel a pair of eyes watching you.

Looking up from the floor, you made eye contact across the room. Sharky. Looking right back up at you. Obviously, he couldn't see where your eyes faced as the greensuit obscured your face - though he could see your green-covered head move up, and face the same general direction as he sat, relative to you.

His eyes were dark - like - black hole type dark. The type of dark that sucked you in and had you drowning in the colourless abyss, only highlighted by a coffee coloured tint around the outermost circumference of his irises.

Raising a hand slowly, maintaining eye contact with you - he held his hand besides his head - elbow resting against the table and fingers outstretched, palm facing you.

And he wiggled his fingers.

Like a little salute or wave - just seeing whether you were actually looking. Whether he had your attention and you were interested by him - craving to see whether you would show an ounce of interest in him to balance the tonne of fascination he held for you.

So raising your own hand slightly - bending your wrist upwards at your waist so that your palm faced him, without attracting the attention of any of the other cast and set members, you wiggled your fingers, waving subtly back at the attractive man. Sharky was like a kid in a candy shop as you responded, those dark eyes filling with excitement and enthusiasm as he saw you respond; no longer just a prop for the sake of the video - non-verbally agreeing to entertain and interact with Sharky away from the video purpose. He was thrilled, and sat up straight within his chair at the realisation.

Confidence overcoming the enthused noiret, he pulled his fingers together and pressed them against his lips, holding your gaze as he blew a kiss out towards you which you hadn't expected - a heat rushing to your cheeks at the action and making you feel glad that the suit you wore covered your darkening cheeks as your body responded to Sharky's flirting, your arms folded behind your back and hands clasping together - gripping each other tightly with awe - the voice inside your head quietly screaming, cheering and panicking in the background of your conscience.

"Are you paying flipping attention?"

Sharky's flirting was interrupted as Chunkz had turned around to observe the boy with a weary look.

"Yeah, to someone." Sharky lost eye contact to look back to you with a wink, your cheeks only darkening more, fingers shaking slightly though you masked your physical symptoms of nerves as you pressed a hand to your chest to show how flattered you were.

"What the hell is Sharky doing?" Niko questioned with surprise, laughing despite the shock as he turned to look between yourself and Sharky - your stance with all your weight resting on one foot, turning slightly on one leg on the spot whilst Sharky stared up at you - taking his lower lip between his teeth just a bit too sensually for you to cope, being up on a stage and recorded for millions to see.

And so you looked away.

The next round was announced soon enough however, and the video progressed onto the next segment. "FOR ROUND TWO, COULD YOU PLEASE STATE YOUR NAME AND WHAT YOU DO."

You stepped up, giving your name to the panel, and adding your role as: "A dance coach". The boys sat at the table let out ooohs, and Sharky's lips curled into a smirk, pen resting across those lips as he took it withing his mouth for a moment.

"Gotta be somewhat young to have an active job like that." Niko reasoned with the boys on their chairs, his suggestion met with hums of agreement.

"But not too young y'know - you have to have experience and to have learnt how to do those dances in the first place." Chunkz countered, and was met with another hum of agreement.

"What type of dance do you do?" Sharky looked up at you and asked. "Just out of interest."

"I do multiple." You answered. "A lot of contemporary and hip-hop just personally - but I teach more trad like jazz, ballroom, tango..."

"How'd you get into dance?"

"I started with traditional Bharatnatyam - I'm from Tamil Nadu originally, so I started with that traditional dance style."

Chunkz's interest peaked as you mentioned Indian heritage, readying to get into an avid conversation about Bollywood and different songs... Though AJ had to cut the round short so that Chunkz didn't overexcite and spend the next half hour discussing with you. Not before Sharky got to pry more into your dance experience, however.

"What's that dance style like?"

"Well, it involves a lot of muscle control - especially around the core - and it actually helped me then get into belly dancing more-"

Sharky let out a noise that made everyone pause in shock. You were cut off and stunned as the man you'd found yourself with peaked interest towards... growl?? Some strange mix of circling his head and emitting a purr-growl hybrid that shocked now only you, but all the other boys on the panel, too.

"Right, chill out, that's e-NOUGH-" AJ was the one to stand up and call off that round.

The next round was personal questions, and each question which you received seem to elude more and more at Sharky. At least Niko was one of the only boys with his head in the game, as he started with what was at least somewhat of a normal question.

"What phone do you have?" Niko asked, and you sighed already knowing you'd disappoint.

"I have a galaxy - m30s model."

The boys hissed from their seats.

"I can change her, guys." Sharky mumbled to the rest of the panel boys, though you heard it and laughed. Sharky looked up with a hint of an alarmed expression - pointing at you with a grin and saying - "You weren't meant to hear that-" before following up with "ontomyquestionthough - what's your number?"

You and the boys burst out laughing at that, knowing it was a joke though still feeling your fingers trembling with nerves because - oh my fuck - he was very, very into you. And it wasn't even secret any more. That man was unashamedly thirsting, and you were scared, knowing that you get flustered all too easily, which wouldn't be helped by the fact that you actually liked this guy that was making you feel all flustered.

Then Kenny's question.

"Okay, this could tell a lot about your age..." He looked up from his notepad. "What is your type."

You rolled your eyes, though no-one saw.

"I'm a connection over looks person." You gave quite a concise answer before expanding further. "Only physical thing I care about is a man that's taller than me and is relatively physically fit... Other than that though, I care more about whether they're sweet, likeable, and we get on well, really."

"Have you found that person yet?" Kenny pressed with a grin as he asked.

You shook your head in response. Kenny leaned behind Chunkz's back and pat Sharky on the back as a show of support. You rolled your eyes again.

"Just another quick one," Chunkz nonchalantly referenced before his question which was once again, Sharky-oriented. "Are you old enough to date a 28 year old?"

You dead stared at the man for a few seconds. "Yes." Your response was met with cheers from the panel and you couldn't help the laugh that escaped your lips, even when you wanted to be annoyed about the fact that not a single one of these questions really gave a good idea of your age.

And finally, it was Sharky's turn to ask his question.

"So, you said you were a dance coach... Can I dance with you?"

You looked at the man in his seat. Smirk gone, sweet smile and wide, hopeful eyes. He looked disgustingly cute - like a cherub with the innocent expression that was almost impossible to refuse. Sighing and looking down, you gave a nod and offered a hand to get him up into the stage.

And dear God was he 10x more attractive when he was stood opposite you.

Six foot two. At least. He towered over you, your height making you eye-level with his chest and forcing you to look up at the man that had such an attractive face - dark eyes already something you'd ogled at, but ten times more alluring when they were barely a foot away from your own, his lips soft and balmed, perfectly even on both sides and two toned with the upper one slightly darker.

Sharky was obviously awkwardly stood there. Looking down at the bright green orb that was your head for long enough for it to feel slightly uncanny...

But you couldn't help yourself from not doing anything. Because in that time where you just stilly looking up at him, you were admiring his face. From the darkness around his sleepy eyes that only made him even more attractive, to the facial hair that framed those pretty lips.

"Sorry-uhm-what dance did you say you do again?" Sharky paused your moment to admire by breaking the silence. You heard a couple of the boys on the panel quietly giggle as you were quite obviously broken from your trance, body un-locking as you came back to conscience.

"Right, uhm, we can do a slow sort of waltz-that's quite simple-it's just box stepping..."

You took Sharky's right hand within yours and held it out in front of your bodies. Sharky instinctively put his other hand around your waist - the large hand sitting on the curve above your hips and encompassing the space, pulling your body closer to his.

You could feel his body brush against yours, and although for the waltz, Sharky should've had his hand higher and on your back... You didn't have it in you to move his hand, as you guiltily indulged within the feeling of his perfectly sized hand against your body, the feeling of it making a blush rise to your cheeks. It's fine, you told yourself; you were a contemporary dancer, and letting Sharky rest his hand on your waist was technically just a modern twist on the classic Waltz you'd learned.

"Okay, so it's step back-left-forwards, and then right-" Your words were met with Sharky following the instructions, pivoting with you and following the box steps, his hand on your waist surprisingly leading you and working well with your movements as he danced with you.

The close proximity between your bodies allowed something to infiltrate your suit - a scent passing through the green second-skin and through to your nostrils, where pine and mint interwove and had you leaning in closer to Sharky to chase that scent and smell more of it. Because holy fuck it was absolutely delicious. You wanted to spray your entire apartment with that scent and then crawl inside the bottle of perfume - or cologne - whatever it was.

Sharky shocked you as he pulled away and raised his arm above you, spinning you around and making you laugh as you turned around, one of Sharky's arms detaching and pulling you into his body before dipping slightly - letting you lean into his arm as he leaned you back, his face ever so close to yours, his exhale fanning gently over your green suit.

And you only realised that you'd blocked out the noise of the other boys, when you heard them clap and let out whistles once the two of you paused in that position, indicating an end.

"Did you learn anything about her age from that?" Chunkz asked once Sharky returned down to the panel after having danced with you on the stage.

Sharky looked at the man with a dazed expression, as though his brain chemistry had been altered and his mental formations still hadn't quite recovered since. "I think she's the one," was all that he could get out.

It was fair to say that after the final rearrangement, you were scared to unmask in front of the audience. You knew you'd become a key character in this line up. There was chemistry between you and Sharky, and he'd fallen for who you were with the mask on.

Hand clutching the back of your suit, you could feel your heartbeat in your throat. Fearing. Because all that attraction and everything Sharky liked about you could dissipate within seconds, if Sharky didn't like the face behind the green suit. Worst of all, if he said anything about that to your face. It'd break you.

"Now, Mrs Sharkmarke, could you please de-mask."

You could've thrown up from the nerves that sent goosebumps crawling down every limb of your body as you pulled the suit down from your head to neck.

The bright lights were blinding for a moment - suit resting at your neck as you fluffed your curls out, having been flattened in the suit. Unscrunching your face and accustoming yourself to the bright lights and looking down at the panel below...

You didn't notice any of the boys other than Sharky.

And his jaw was slackened, his hand slowly coming up to press to his mouth.

He looked... shocked?

You felt your heart sinking. Sinking, sinking, sinking - because his expression was truly unreadable as a positive or negative response, and you felt the need to brace. Just in case it turned out that Sharky felt the latter, as though he didn't like you at all.

"You're actually gorgeous..."

You could've collapsed from the way that your braced body felt relief shoot through and unclench every tightened muscle, before a lightness spread through your head - affirmation making dopamine flood through your system and your lips curl into a smile as you looked down to the man at the panel who still had his mouth covered with a hand - though now you could see the smile beneath his fingers.

Awhhs fell from the lips of every other person on the panel, and Chunkz pat the man's back with a smile on his face.

"You wanna exchange Instagrams or numbers or something?" Kenny pressed with a grin, looking between the two of you.

And as soon as you raised your brows and gave the smallest of nods to say yeah, i could do that - Sharky was onto his feet and getting back up onto the raised platform to thrust his phone into your hand with an empty contact so that you could fill out your details.

And Sharky didn't finish creating the contact until he had taken a picture of you with your hand next to your face - his fingers interlocked with yours, showing you two holding your hands together whilst you sported the widest grin - using that photo as a contact photo.

Before Sharky handed you your phone back after having made a contact for himself in your phone, you watched as he opened up your Google calendar and scanned your week to see... That you were available Friday at 8pm.

He handed back your phone after a second, and you noticed that scheduled at 8 o'clock the next Friday was "Date with cute Beta Squad guy (we're going Wagamama's.)"

And leaving that shoot, when you crossed paths with Sharky once de-microphoned and removed from the green-suit prison, you looked up at him with a smile and "See you Friday," having him smile as he returned the "See you then, gorgeous," making you leave the shoot with a blush all over your face and giggle escaping your lips as you made it back to your car and realised your phone was ringing.

Your best friend had called you - the one who had warned you just last night about how you shouldn't accept a fist bump from Neeko.

"HOW WAS IT?!" Her excited voice called out from the phone speaker as you placed your phone in the control panel and let out a squeal.

"Oh my GOD, DO I HAVE A STORY ABOUT HOW IT WENT."

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

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p.s. Customise which Oneshots YOU want to be tagged in by submitting your preferences on THIS GOOGLE FORM + join the taglist!!!

SHARKY TAGLISTTTTT:

@clarkeysbog, @mekselinaurr, @springholland, @xxkatxgracexx, @certainsaturn

@daniiixoxo, @mekselinaurr, @blackbat2020, @ajshabsxxwife, @bisexualmess4eva

@dollxkill, @eviebow, @kennysimp101, @martini4lyfe, , @zandrax

@lilyyxoii, @notalloutofusernames, @pinkpomelo, @wh4theduck

@scassty1202, @nikoomilanaswife, @thankunextx, @un1ver53

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