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minimomoe · 10 months ago

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How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (buti it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Song inspo: E.V.O.L- MARINA

Part I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. (completed!)

Rule no. 1: Don't show fear

It was a mistake. A comical, nonsensical, monumental mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. You didn’t mean to create a soul tie with a demon . All you did was read a torn up book from the library. Was it an occult book about spiritual practices in the Japanese Heian era? Yes… but it doesn’t warrant an eldritch horror being your life partner.

Actually, according to the demon, you didn’t create the soul tie, he has been waiting for you all his life. Cute, but it didn’t make the situation any better. Damn your natural inclination to catch the old and withered items thrown into the donation boxes of the library you worked at. It just pained your heart to see pages falling out of books, and the ominous leather bound grimoire was no exception.

Restoration was one of your favorite things to do. Knowledge is always worth saving, no matter how old it may be. Books were your life. You found yourself lost in them, enchanted, terrified, taught. You had no genre as your favorite. Everything was welcomed, nothing was off limits. You knew a little bit of every culture, every study, every block buster fantasy. If you could, you’d build a machine that would let you live inside of a book and experience the scene yourself.

Technically you could ask your all powerful demon to do that, but you didn’t want to deal with him right now.

You still weren’t all too sure on how it happened. First you were glueing the pages back to the spine of the book, running your fingers over the deckled edges when you opened a page that was stuck together. You carefully peeled it apart, a task that took ten minutes to do to avoid any additional tears, and opened up to a page that was different from the rest. The words were written in a rush, the strokes of the characters dragging much longer than it should. You only knew a tiny bit of Japanese (but much more of Latin, Russian, Yoruba, and French from having just an abundance of time on your hands), but this time you could make out some of the words.

You muttered the ones you knew for sure, used context clues for the ones that were beyond reading. It didn’t make a lick of sense to you. You closed the book with a clamp so that the glue would set and decided to come back to it tomorrow since it was closing time. There was no rush of wind, flash of lightning, or eerie sounds. Just you and the screech of a thousand cicadas as soon as you stepped outside to walk to your car. A normal Thursday night.

Until it wasn’t.

You shuffled around your house with a new arc from your favorite novelist in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and the largest frame of glasses known to man perched on your nose. Jazz music quietly spilled out from your hidden speakers, preventing the house from getting a little too quiet as you lived alone with your cat. It was a total boring cliche, you were well aware, but you were happy with your life. You had friends who you trusted, a great relationship with your parents, and just recently got out of a relationship with someone who you didn’t hate, you just grew apart. There was no chaotic, negative energy to feast on in your household and you liked it that way.

You thought you heard your cat clawing on the door when you were snuggled away in your bed. You flipped the covers over and went to let her in to snuggle with you.

“I’m so sorry, Cleo. I thought you were already in here with me,” you said, scooping her up from the floor. The ragdoll cat begrudgingly accepted your kisses of apology. You set her down on the bed, watching her find a good spot to curl up in and smiled. You went to reach for your wine glass you knew that you set on your nightstand, but there was nothing in the glass. You were sure that you didn’t finish it. You paced yourself well enough for it to last until at least chapter five, but there wasn’t a drop of alcohol left.

“The quality of sake has diminished over the years, I see.”

The voice came from all around the room but also deep in your chest. Cleo hissed, making a run for it out of your door, leaving you wildly spinning around for the intruder. You lunged for the heavy duty taser you kept in your nightstand, but when you turned around there was nobody there.

“What is that?”

The bone chilling voice spoke again. Was it one person or many, you couldn’t tell.

“I— I have a weapon!” You tried to steady your voice but it was hopeless. You were terrified. There was nobody there but you could feel a heavy presence in the room.

“You call that a weapon?” The voice laughed. “The only weapon my wife needs is me.”

The statement made you falter. “Wife? Who are you?”

You turned around once again and nearly jumped out of your skin. A man, or a close approximation of one, sat on your bed flicking through your book. It was impossible, but he had twice as many limbs on his top half than he should, and double the amount of eyes. They were bright and red when scanning through your novel. “What language is this?”

“F-french,” you whispered. You were dreaming. You had to be. That was the only way this could be happening. Still, dream or not, you had to protect yourself. You pressed your taser and watched the prongs leap out and touch his bare skin. He looked unbothered, merely looking down at his stomach where the taser landed and moved his arm to reveal a mouth on his abdomen. A tongue flopped out and licked the prongs, dragging it back to the mouth and the taser was slowly dragged out of your hands and into the mouth. You watched in horror as the hard plastic was crushed to pieces in front of your very eyes.

“Useless weapon,” he reiterated, this time looking directly at you. “Don’t insult me again.”

“Pl—please don’t hurt me.” There was nothing left to do but beg. You already punched yourself till blood was drawn. This was not a dream, you were looking at a real, evil monster who didn’t know French and ate high voltage tasers.

He rose from your bed. You crawled away as much as you could until you bumped into a wall and still you wanted to move through it. He stood before you, looking over your trembling frame and called out for you.

“Rise.”

You rose, unsure if you really had a choice in the matter. One of his many hands cupped the side of your face. A clawed thumb brushed away the tear that fell on your cheek.

“Why do you weep?”

“Um… well… I don’t really know who you are,” you said honestly. You were still pinned to the wall, unable to flee and he took up your entire frame of sight. He nodded, removing his hand from your face and raising it in the air. You thought he was going to strike you and you flinched. When you opened your eyes again he was multiple steps away from you, still raising his palm.

“Time has faded your memory of me. You are my wife, and I am your husband. The string of fate proves that we are mates.”

He stated it so matter of factly. You are my wife, and I am your husband. My wife, your husband. Mates. Forget dreaming, you have officially lost your mind.

“I don’t… remember agreeing to that,” you said carefully. The words “husband” and “wife” bounced in your head in a crazy echo. You slumped to the floor, your body suddenly very tired. A laugh bubbled up your throat and escaped your mouth. So much for your boring life.

“Do you not feel the connection? The string is tied from my last finger to yours.” You looked at your hand, not seeing any supposed string and shook your head.

He frowned. “You do not agree to it. It has been decided.” He crouched in front of you, inspecting your face earnestly. One side of his face was strange, not normal skin, instead inhuman, bumpy and shades darker.

“You look the same after all this time,” he murmured. “I will make you remember.”

“Let’s not do that,” you said quickly. “I don’t even know your name and I am not married. I’m a librarian and I have a cat. And I have never, ever met you before.”

“I am known as Sukuna, among other names,” he responded to one of your distresses. “What title is a librarian?”

This time you laughed. An deranged laugh, loud and unbecoming. Sukuna waited as impatiently as he could for you to be finished, but you kept on cackling. Once out of breath, you wiped the tears out of your eyes and leaned against the wall. It finally dawned on you how this happened. The drying grimoire that was locked up in the library was responsible for this strange turn of events.

“It’s not a title, at least, not in the way you’re thinking. It’s my job, one that I love very much. Was I ever a common worker before?”

Sukuna bristled at the thought. Even his tummy mouth frowned. “You were a queen. You wanted nothing because you had everything.”

“Interesting,” you mused. “I’m so not your girl.”

“I’m not interested in little girls.”

“Kudos to you. I think I’m going to sleep now. I’m clearly much more tired than I think I am.”

“We have things to discuss,” Sukuna protested, but you already slipped under the sheets. If I force myself to sleep he will go away, you thought.

Instead you felt the dip of the other side of your bed and flung your eyes open. Sukuna was in bed, with you, staring your down with his four eyes. He was much too close for your liking.

You looked at him wildly. “What are you doing?”

“Resting with you.”

“Get out of my bed!”

“Are you no longer tired?”

“I am tired. Extremely tired, but that doesn’t mean I want you on my bed! Stay on the floor or something!”

Sukuna rolled his eyes at you and turned on his back, his arms crossed in two sets on his chest.

“You were always particular with your sleeping habits. I see that hasn’t changed either.”

“Stop acting like you know me!”

Sukuna got off the bed to sit on the floor like you asked. The only problem is that you could feel his gaze prickling your skin, making it impossible to ignore him. You didn’t feel bad about kicking him out, he certainly didn’t have a pout on his face because of it, but something needed to be done.

“Face the door instead of me,” you mumbled.

His eyes twitched. “Commanding me like footmen,” he grumbled, yet he still turned away. You wondered if his obedience had something to do with the book. Sukuna had the aura of someone who doesn’t listen to anyone, yet he’s been more than understanding with you. Maybe you really were his wife. Maybe you were having a very elaborate and maladaptive daydream. You thought of “maybe’s” until the sun came up, still staring at the back of his pink, spiky hair.

Your alarm chirped for you to get ready for work. You groaned. You didn’t get a second of sleep. You were too afraid of being eaten by the demon you accidentally summoned. You reached out to shut off the ringing clock as quietly as you could, but Sukuna touched it first.

“How strange,” he said, turning the clock around in his hand. He brought it up to his ear, shook his head, tapped the glass. Then he crushed it. It was made of plastic, but the shards bent and broke to the floor left his hand unscratched. You gaped at the mess he made as he let the remains fall to the floor. “It was making a wretched sound.”

“Yeah…” you sighed. “It was pretty noisy.”

You had to find out how to get rid of him. Fast.

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

#minimoe #minimomoe #jjk #jjk fanfic #sukuna ryomen #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #x black reader #black fem reader #soulmates #true form sukuna #sukuna fluff #this is v silly #and tropey #tummy mouth may be sentient #red string of fate

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tulippanes · 7 months ago

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𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐆

hajime i. x f!reader

▼• ᴥ •▼ 𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦

. . ↷ He's an athletic trainer and she works at a doggie daycare. By coincidence, an escaped dog ran up and jumped on him while he was leaving his gym. Maybe it was fate, but he just so happened to have taken interest in her at first glance. While she's getting over a rough breakup, he wants to be the one to mend her heart. His mind is always wandering whenever he's around her though, and it's certainly not helping with anything.

╭ ܀ ✧ WARNINGS

language, suggestive content, kms/kys jokes, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, humor hopefully, mentions of emotional manipulation and cheating, a drop of angst, MAYBE 2nd hand embarrassment, horrible flirting, lots of cuteness tho, HAJIME IWAIZUMI.

╭ ܀ ✧ DYNAMICS

Blended SMAU, Strangers to friends to lovers, Hurt/Comfort but make it more comfort, Healing, Romance, Love at First Sight, Slight Slow Burn

status ➺ coming soon

taglist ➺ open

✼ PROFILES

dog whisperers | the 3 musketeers + gym rat

✼ NOTES

(🦴) means there's a written portion!

✼ PLAYLIST

here!

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒!

𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗜 — The Runaway

i. catch that dog! (🦴)

ii. it was just a coincidence. nothing more.

iii. hey. again. I guess? (🦴)

iv. thoughts of a stranger

v. catch that dog.. again! (🦴)

vi. introductions, finally (🦴)

vii. planning

viii. operation: get her number

ix. oh he's wimping out

x. operation maybe failed

xi. operation failed (🦴)

xii. plan b?

xiii. you can do it, hajime!

xiv. task failed successfully (🦴)

xv. the first message of a blooming friendship (or love)

𝗣𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗟𝗘 — The Know-It-All

xvi. suspicion

xvii. thoughts of the well-known (🦴)

TBA...

𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 – The Affectionate

TBA...

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

Can a dog say "I love you"?

a/n ok i'm js flowing w ideas mbmb LMFAOO this one was itching my brain I had to get it out plus I think it's a cute concept but I rlly need to stop tho b4 I over exert myself w all the series I have

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saintobio · 1 year ago

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LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ SECOND TIMELINE TO AS YOU LIKE IT ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate!

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes.

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?”

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?”

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince.

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?”

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?”

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

#series: lltv #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk royal au #slow updates bc sy is prio #i will not write this in archaic english anymore ITS HARD AF #but i had to put this out there so i can remind myself to write it *sobs*#might just write this on the side

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seongwars · 6 months ago

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strangers by nature | masterlist

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever.

Taglist Signup

chapter i ⋆ chapter ii ⋆ chapter iii ⋆ chapter iv ⋆ chapter v ⋆ chapter vi ⋆ chapter vii ⋆ chapter viii ⋆ chapter ix ⋆ chapter x ⋆ chapter xi ⋆ chapter xii

#song mingi #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #arranged marriage au #ateez #mingi x you #ateez fic #mingi angst #ateez angst #enemies to lovers #strangers to lovers #kpop masterlist

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vitaminseetarot · 2 months ago

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Pick a Flower: What Your Future Partner Wants You To Love About Yourself 🌸💟

UPDATED: So so sorry for posting pile 3's picture with pile 4! If you picked pile 4 I have now uploaded the correct picture for your reading to review. I apologize for the error!

Hey y'all, welcome to my next pick a card reading. I wanted to use this vintage card deck I found featuring native flowers of North America. We're going to look at what qualities your future partner wants you to recognize in yourself. (I meant to post this yesterday but got caught in a surprise Valentine's date and it was lovely!)

Please pick any one of the four cards above:

Pile 1. 5♥ - Spreading Phlox (phlox diffusa) Pile 2. Q♣ - Red Lily (lilium philadelphicum) Pile 3. 6♠ - Wild Rose (rosa acicularis) Pile 4. J♦ - Large-Leaved Lupine (lupinus polyphyllus)

Pile 1 - Spreading Phlox 🌸

King of Talismans (Pentacles), X Fate (Wheel of Fortune), 0 Seeker (Fool); Lenten Rose - Protection, Blessed, Trust, Eyes On Your Own Paper

Pile 1, your future partner wants you to see the side of you that is practical and reliable. This lover wants you to understand that although it may seem like a humble trait, it's nevertheless something they feel they've been missing in their lives. You are conscientious of how you spend and save, you're able to create a budget and set boundaries for yourself, even ones as simple as going to bed at a certain time each night. Your future partner will love how you're able to balance healthy routines with thrill seeking and fun. It may seem at first like they're just looking for an exciting fling or two, but deep down they're thinking in much longer terms though it may be difficult to admit. At least until they meet you and see how you're able to both keep to your necessary tasks in life while still enjoying the occasional adventure. You're definitely going to change how they see themselves and other people as a result. Your open mindedness will expand their perception on everything. Things they didn't think could be possible may suddenly call their attention like a pop-quiz they never studied for. You might actually intimidate them a little, not because you're scary, but because their feelings for you will suddenly drop on them like a timer and put them to the test. What's important is that your future partner will embrace these tests because they trust that you're the one for them. You keep yourself protected and they're gonna learn how to knock nicely instead of barging into your energy.

Your future partner sees you as a trustworthy companion, they value your ability to stay committed for the long haul while still containing the passion and excitement as if it had only just begun. I don't think the "honeymooning" rule applies here. They say we only experience those zesty feelings for someone for a limited time, as it naturally evolves to a more mature and level headed phase. I see here that your partner loves your continuing romantic zeal. Despite seeming down to earth on the outside, you have a spring like energy inside with the spreading phlox, said to be a flower that heralds spring. The King of Talismans is one of the highest court cards for the Pentacles, which represent the spring season. So this is like an energy you carry with you regardless of what's going on. Because of your multifaceted ability to be grounded and focused while also keeping your boundless youthful enthusiasm, they can more easily picture staying with you and ditching flightiness. Your gentle warmth will bring them out of their shell and in touch with their feelings. Being with you will be like a whole new change of season for them. A winter of emotion becomes a spring of empathy for their heart and mind.

Pile 2 - Red Lily 💖

7 of Talismans (Pentacles), VIII Strength, XXIII Magnum Opus; Zinnia - Absence, Mending, Nurture, Celebrate Your Wins

Oh my, pile 2. I think you need to take into account just how attractive it is to have a personality built around the virtues of patience and discipline. When others would quickly throw in the towel, you pick it back up almost like it's a reflex at this point. You're willing to do the long haul and put up with spending extra time when it comes to what matters in your life most. Deferred gratification is not a trait to be taken for granted as it shows a great deal of maturity. Many of the best things in life come after willing to put in the time and effort for it (not to excuse pesky bootstrap economics by any means). When it comes to things like parenthood, being dedicating to writing a book, or simply overcoming challenges, you're still able to push through because temptations have no sway over the ultimate vision. The Zinnia shows that you are able to do without for a period of time when it's necessary to compromise for the sake of your deepest wishes finally coming to fruition. You may be wanting to wait for the perfect partner even if the wait isn't wonderful because you know the outcome will be everything you imagined it to be and then more. I get the sense that the wait will be more than worth it as it will attract the kind of partner who cherishes and respects your dedication and foresight. They appreciate your ability to push through even if certain wins have come in various cycles. They know true progress is mindfully cultivated and doesn't happen overnight.

I about gasped and felt relieved when I saw the Magnum Opus card come out because the reading all made sense after. This is an additional Major Arcana card in this huge tarot deck and it's like the elevated form of the Magician. It is the magic made manifest; it is the final result of blood, sweat, tears, and love. Your partner knows you believe in the beauty of a masterpiece not just in its technical genius, but in the subtext of devotion between the creator and the created. The care and love put into something is part of what makes it beautiful to them. I think your future partner will see you as a good parent, someone who knows that raising a child or tending to a sick tree doesn't happen overnight. You can rescue a skittish animal and nurse it back into health because you see that the importance isn't in the rush, but in the amount of thoughtful care that is given and felt sincerely. They're looking for someone they can lean on in hard times, someone who doesn't shy away from responsibility, maybe as they grew up surrounded by people who did. You're like a safe refuge to them in an unpredictable world.

Pile 3 - Wild Rose 🌹

2 of Candles (Wands), 8 of Talismans (Pentacles), 7 of Candles; White Carnation - Devotion, Peace, Change, 11:11

Ooh, pile 3, am I sensing a potential power couple here? I'm seeing a combination of lover with colleague. Maybe your future partner is also a coworker or someone who runs a business with you? Seeing all these books, this could be a student or someone who is very involved in studies. Your future partner may want to make a lot of travel plans with you because they see your spunk beneath any stoic façade. This person is a go-getter and also sees that in you. It's like you amplify that drive within them, and in turn they bring out that drive in you if you aren't yet aware of it. I'm seeing pairs in both the Rose card you selected, the 2 of Wands, the 11:11 card, and even the 8 of Talismans which appear to make an 11 sign. It may seem like at times you'll be joined at the hip with them, but not in a cloistering or suffocating kind of way. You may find out in time that it feels great to work alongside somebody, to have a partner to help out with life and pursue greater things. Your partner is like a mirror to what you desire, which makes your pairing a formidable couple in the face of regular challenges that come with setting big goals. But they also respect your independence and tenacity, and have no intention on undermining that. It will just feel natural to be next to them when it used to be normal sitting alone.

Your partner loves that you are able to live by your own rules and values and refuse to budge for anyone, with the Wild Rose and White Carnation here. Despite your solitary nature, you can also adapt to circumstances as they arrive with tranquility. You do this through standing your ground and fighting for what you believe in. You fight for not just your lover, but your friends and family. This is giving me, "I'll leave you be if you leave me be, but if you mess with my loved ones then watch out because you're messing with me." And your future partner adores that quality in you of typically being so relaxed and even tempered until push comes to shove. It's finding the balance between being amenable and being assertive. These are traits you will bring out in each other. Your partner wants to be the warrior standing next to you ready to tackle anything that opposes you, all the while admiring your strong will and bravery. and empowering you every step of the way. If you have struggled to accomplish tasks, they will push with you and cheer you on at the same time, as they can both be of help and encourage you to find your own inner power. This partner will be with you through thick and thin as they know that the calm always comes after (not just before) the storm.

Pile 4 - Large-Leaved Lupine 💜

Princess (Page) of Talismans (Pentacles), Queen of Talismans, III Sacred Space (Empress); Pitcher Plant - Insight, Clean It Up, Worth, Sound-Resonance-Frequency

Pile 4, your partner is in loooove with your feminine side. Even if you see yourself as the burliest of brutes, they want you to see how lovely your feminine side is. Everyone will have a different interpretation, but with the Princess, Queen, and Empress, it's like they see all the different facets of femininity in you, so it would be fruitless to only limit yourself to one song. This energy has a healing effect on them, like how nitrogen-extracting lupines have been planted across Iceland to encourage the growth of other plant species. With the Princess of Talismans, I see your partner loves your diva side and wants to spoil you something. If you've ever felt pangs of guilt for expressing the glamorous side of you, I see that your partner will cherish those traits enough to allow you to express it again. Maybe you're not the type to doll up very much, but it doesn't necessarily take a pound of jewelry to impress them. Just putting on your finest clothes will have them turning their head thinking, "wow, pile 4 is just… different somehow." They could go to work or school one day and just see you after dressing up for an event, excited to talk to you.

This isn't just a partner who loves only beauty, mind you. With Pitcher Plant, your partner adores your deeper, more introspective mind. They love the sensuality of seeing you sway to your favorite music and they wonder what kind of world you go to when you peer into a complex painting at the museum. Your partner loves that you take care of your surroundings. Not just in the domestic sphere, but in many areas of life. At work, you tend to the little details so everything runs smoothly. You may petition and protest for the sake of the environment or your local community. You have a deeply caring aspect to you that your partner wants you to notice. Your partner deeply wants you to recognize your inherent worth, and see your caring nature as a superpower and not a burden. Sometimes the Empress is like the mom that tells us to clean up our rooms despite our objections. She's not always sugar sweet. Your partner sees how you're able to create important boundaries with others while still being generous and conscientious with your time and love. They love that you care for yourself as much as you do with any other, and they want you to embrace more indulgence whenever they see you work hard. So very likely they will be the love to take you out to that favorite concert or set up a gorgeous breakfast and bubble bath. Not just to thank you for hard work, but to genuinely take pleasure in seeing you be loved and happy.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2025, @VitaminseeTarot ™

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couch-potato28 · 28 days ago

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Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION VIII.

(a/n: dropping 3 eps cause i was gone for like half a month, so enjoy this holy trinity 🤌 thank you for your support 🫶)

Warning-none

wc: 1k

ALSO: tags @ttheggrimrreaper ✌️

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…69, Karasu Tabito.”

Smirking at his jersey number, you instinctively glanced around, wondering if anyone else had found it just as amusing. But as your eyes swept the room, it quickly became clear—everyone was far too anxious to notice such details unlike your brilliant self, of course.

Taking a closer look at the guy, you memorized his most prominent features, making a little note to yourself to find someone with an oddly specific hairstyle and a cute mole under his left eye.

Exiting the room, you followed the signs leading to Anri, who handed you some documents before sending you off to find your partner.

Imagine being Karasu Tabito’s manager, known as the assassin.

——————

Karasu Tabito, who moved on the field like he was flying, the ball looking like a feather on his foot. You, amazed by his movements, quietly stood near the benches until the whistle blew, indicating a break for the boys. Snapping back to reality, you jogged up to him with a warm smile across your lips, introducing yourself. Raising a brow, he did the same, his gaze sharp, yet curious.

“So, yer my new manager, huh?” he asked again, still unsure 'cause you looked too lovely to be assigned to him. Maybe Yukimiya was the lucky bastard?

“Yup. Somehow managed to get myself a nice player.” you cracked a smile, trying to break the awkwardness. He smirked at your response before initiating another conversation.

——————

•Karasu who clicks with you immediately. The conversations flow smoothly, and getting to know each other seems to be the easiest task for you yet. (he analyzed you waaay before you spoke to him)

•Fun fact, the first thing he requested from you was better hair wax saying the one in the facility makes his ends split. :)

•He also has the ability to remember the most trivial details that you have shared with him about yourself—something he gladly takes advantage of, either to tease the hell out of you or simply make you flustered by casually bringing them up.

•Extremely attentive, and always notices if you’re struggling. He’ll also offer help with paperwork if needed. Other times, he prefers to yap or test your patience by hiding your pens, reading aloud or giving unwanted comments.

•Karasu, who’s sometimes waaay too relaxed for his own good, yet he has never once made you scold him for anything important. He likes to arrive just on time for practice, only to complain about training all while flawlessly following the instructions, and if there’s any competition—be it big or small—he will make sure to be in the top 3.

•Also, petnames. Not the flirty ones, but something like “boss” or “shortie” that makes your eyes roll from the amount of time he uses them. He’s pretty clingy as well, following you around all day, and if anyone tries to disrespect you, they gotta deal with him first.

•Karasu is the king of reassurance. If he sees you comparing yourself to other managers, he will stop whatever he’s doing to give you a motivational speech. Rare moments of him being sentimental, where he makes you repeat over and over that ‘he wouldn’t be here without you’ or ‘don’t you dare switch to other players’.

•Has a lot of respect for you as well. The way you always put him first, making sure he’s alive and breathing. The fact that you can keep up with him is impressive too, and he’ll never admit it, but he’s been amused since day 1.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Karasu takes training more seriously—not that he never did—just that he’s now putting in more effort and energy than before. Pushes himself harder than ever, yet he still doesn’t let you work overtime.

•Has a habit of pushing your laptop closed or simply snatching your clipboard out from your hands, if he sees you staying up later than usual.

•He’s also more engaged in the analyzing, actually taking notes and listening to your opinions before asking questions and such.

•Karasu will never miss a chance to tell you “yer messy hair is funny” or pat you on the head when you’re angry saying “relax manager-san, i’m sorry ‘kay? forgive me please, ‘cause anger will stop yer growth at this rate”

•Tutoring him is like gambling—there’s a 50% chance of him actually paying attention and doing what you said, or he will lazily finish half of the exercises you give him before he passes out on the table. Weirdly good at guessing which nouns are feminine or masculine.

•Loves to listen to your voice thanks to his fetish, so don’t even try to give him a textbook to read. Won’t work unless you read it for him like it’s daycare, while he lays on his arm, looking up to you, admiring every inch of your face.

•Interviews with him are a pain in the ass. Loves to sarcastically answer questions making you groan in the background. Karasu also never fails to appreciate you at least once in every interview he does, talking about how hardworking and supportive you are.

•Working with him means throwing insults and arguing about who’s smarter, but physical touch isn’t rare. Karasu has a habit of casually throwing his arm on your shoulders during break, laying his head on top of yours for support, or making you piggy back him back to his room.

•He’s very proud of you and will fight with anyone who thinks their manager is better. He also knows your schedule by heart, favorite snacks already on your desk when it’s a long day with a small note that says

“oi, am I the player or your manager? get some sleep”

•Karasu, who is fiercely loyal to you—granting privileges such as bossing him around, make him worry about your health, and be able witness his rare waxless hair. Switching managers? Not a chance. You’re stuck with him for life.

“Yer the one and only person I’m capable to work with”

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x manager au #blue lock u20 #blue lock x you #bllk karasu #blue lock karasu #karasu tabito x reader #karasu tabito #karasu tabito x you #tabito karasu x reader #blue lock x y/n #pxg #mention of yukimiya

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book-daenerys · 5 months ago

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A list of Daenerys Targaryen's positive moments

i.e., scenes that highlight her kindness and/or compassion.

Ordered Jhogo and Quaro not to harm or kill Viserys (AGOT Dany III)

Begged Jorah not to tell Viserys he was being mocked by the Dothraki (AGOT Dany IV)

Pleaded with Khal Drogo (going so far as to use the "pillow tricks" Doreah taught her) to allow Viserys to rejoin them at the head of the column (AGOT Dany IV)

Asked Viserys not to call the Dothraki "savages" (AGOT Dany IV)

Prepared a meal and gifts (including fine clothing and a cloak) to Viserys to help him look more regal and earn the respect of the Dothraki (AGOT Dany IV)

Calmed Doreah with a touch and defended her from Viserys (AGOT Dany IV)

Asked Jorah to stop a drunk Viserys from provoking the Dothraki (AGOT Dany V)

Offered Viserys her dragon eggs and a seat beside her as long as he dropped the sword (AGOT Dany V)

Took on the task of translating Viserys's demands to Drogo to spare Jhiqui from harsh punishment (AGOT Dany V)

Purchased a fertility charm for Doreah and sought gifts for Irri and Jhiqui (AGOT Dany VI)

Found a stall selling sausages made with garlic and hot peppers and offered them to her handmaids and the men of her khas (AGOT Dany VI)

Took the Lhazareen women under her protection to shield them from sexual violence (AGOT Dany VII) (as George R. R. Martin puts it, "In the village of Lhazarene, Dany is appalled by the rape and slaughter that she’s seeing. […] Dany can’t enact the idea of “don’t take slaves”, but what she does there is saying “I’ll take the slaves. I’m the queen, all the slaves belong to me.” and in that way she can extend some protection over the women who were being raped.")

Ordered Qotho and others not to harm Mirri (AGOT Dany VII, AGOT Dany VIII)

Was determined to die for Drogo if necessary (AGOT Dany VIII)

Freed Drogo's slaves and offered them the choice to leave or join her khalasar as equals - "I see the faces of slaves. I free you. Take off your collars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. If you stay, it will be as brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. [...] To each of you I say, give me your hands and your hearts, and there will always be a place for you." (AGOT Dany X)

Resolved to be a source of strength for her people, suppressing her own fears and embracing her role as Drogo’s queen (ACOK Dany I)

Went without food and drink with the rest of her people while they crossed the Red Waste, refusing any special treatment for herself (ACOK Dany I)

Cared for Doreah as she succumbed to fever, providing her water, comfort, and support until she died, before allowing the khalasar to continue their journey (ACOK Dany I)

Ensured her people's basic needs for food and water were met in Vaes Tolorro (ACOK Dany I)

Tasked Rakharo and a group of men with pulling up the plaza in Vaes Tolorro to make the land fertile (ACOK Dany I)

Ordered Aggo to repair the gates of Vaes Tolorro to make sure she and her people were prepared for any potential threats (ACOK Dany I)

Tended Jorah's wound herself (ACOK Dany I)

Wanted to restore Jorah's home and honor (ACOK Dany I)

Wants to avoid destroying King's Landing, rule with compassion and create a beautiful, joyful kingdom where her people can thrive and welcome her as their queen (ACOK Dany II)

Acknowledged the need to train her growing dragons to avoid destruction (ACOK Dany III)

Diffused tension between Ser Jorah and Arstan by gently intervening and telling Jorah that no offense from Arstan's part was intended (ASOS Dany I)

Believes that "a queen must listen to all, the highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal", that "a queen should hear all sides before reaching a decision" and that "a queen must listen to her people" (ASOS Dany I, ASOS Dany II, ADWD Dany VI)

Is horrified and visibly shaken by the brutal training methods of the Unsullied, especially the requirement to kill infants (ASOS Dany II)

Invited Arstan to join her in her litter, concerned for his well-being in the intense heat (ASOS Dany II)

Apologized to Irri for Drogon biting her hand and gently kissed the spot where Drogon left his marks (ASOS Dany II)

Is willing to kill her enemies, but refuses to harm innocents (ASOS Dany II)

Believes that kings and queens are meant to protect the vulnerable and deliver justice (ASOS Dany III)

Freed Missandei, eight thousand Unsullied, all the slave boys in training and all the other slaves in Astapor (ASOS Dany III)

Killed the slavers of Astapor and spared all children under twelve (ASOS Dany III)

Abolished the practice of giving the Unsullied new slave names every day, allowing them to return to their birth names or choose new ones (ASOS Dany IV)

Allowed the Unsullied to choose their officers (ASOS Dany IV)

Allowed all the freedmen to join her, even though they were a burden and couldn't fight, out of a sense of moral obligation (ASOS Dany IV)

Attacked the Yunkish slavers when they least expected it at night to spare the former slaves from heavy casualties (and it works: only about a dozen were killed) (ASOS Dany IV)

Was merciful to the Yunkish slavers and left Yunkai untouched (ASOS Dany IV)

Freed the slaves of Yunkai (ASOS Dany IV)

Offered mercy to sellswords or slaves who pledged loyalty to her (ASOS Dany IV)

Decided to conquer Meereen to secure food for her people and prevent them from starving along the march (ASOS Dany V)

Sent for a healer to ensure Strong Belwas's wound was properly cared for before proceeding with her council (ASOS Dany V)

Refused to risk the lives of her Unsullied in an attack on Meereen's gates where the Meereenese could use boiling oil to kill them (ASOS Dany V)

Engaged with the freedmen, allowing them to touch her for encouragement, listening to their requests, and even stopping to speak with a pregnant woman seeking her blessing for her child’s name (ASOS Dany V)

Ended slavery in Meereen (ASOS Dany VI)

Promised to take Missandei home someday (ASOS Dany VI)

Crucified 163 slavers in response to the slavers' crucifixion of 163 slave children (ASOS Dany VI) (some would disagree that this was a positive moment, but I believe it was because, in this feudal setting, it's uncommon for monarchs or nobles to care about commoners, let alone take action against those who mistreat them, so it does showcase her compassion towards the slave children. Also, Dany's real mistake was not killing enough slavers to neutralize their power to retaliate)

Hung murderers, amputated the hands of looters, and castrated rapists (ASOS Dany VI)

Rejected the luxurious harpy throne in favor of a simple ebony bench (ASOS Dany VI)

Forbade men to sell their wives and children, ensuring no one is forced into slavery (ASOS Dany VI)

Forgave Ser Barristan and spared Jorah's life despite his betrayal (ASOS Dany VI)

Decided to stay in Meereen and rule as its queen to protect the freedmen and prevent the city from falling back into chaos or slavery (ASOS Dany VI)

Took it upon herself to wake up in the middle of the night and personally see the body of Stalwart Shield, the first of her soldiers murdered by the Sons of the Harpy (ADWD Dany I)

Honored Stalwart Shield by closing his eyes, giving him a proper burial, vowing that he wouldn't be forgotten and naming a company of freedmen after him (ADWD Dany I, ADWD Dany II)

Had the Unsullied walk in pairs at night, then eventually ordered them to stop patrolling the streets of Meereen to prevent further assassinations (ADWD Dany I, ADWD Dany II)

Rejected Skahaz's suggestion to punish noble families indiscriminately and instead increased the reward for information about the Sons of the Harpy to a thousand honors (ADWD Dany I)

Was merciful to Reznak despite her suspicion that he might be one of the betrayers Quaithe warned her about because she acknowledges the treacherous nature of prophecies (ADWD Dany I, ADWD Dany II)

Sent her small khalasar, led by her bloodriders, to free slaves in the hinterlands and secure crops for Meereen’s market (ADWD Dany I, ADWD Dany V)

Sent Daario to negotiate with Lhazar, leading to an alliance that brought food and trade to Meereen (ADWD Dany I, ADWD Dany V)

Wanted to win the Meereenese nobility to bring peace to the city (ADWD Dany I)

Agreed to wear the tokar to be accepted as Meereen's queen, despite her initial desire to ban it (ADWD Dany I)

Didn't force the Meereenese to adopt her language, instead learned theirs and spoke to them in their own tongue, while also allowing them to continue using their language freely (ADWD Dany as a whole)

Refused to grant the slaver Grazdan any compensation from the freed weavers and instead ordered him to give the freed weavers a new loom for forgetting the name of the old slave woman who taught them (ADWD Dany I)

Ensured fairness by alternating between summoning former masters and freedmen for their petitions (ADWD Dany I)

Spared the life of a noble boy who tried to attack her after she denied his request for justice due to her pardon for crimes during Meereen's sack (ADWD Dany I)

Made a point of personally listening to the petitioners instead of delegating the responsibility to her advisors (ADWD Dany as a whole)

Dismissed Reznak's suggestion to scourge those who come to her with complaints about her dragons, saying that "no man should ever fear to come to me" and thinking many of the claims must be genuine (ADWD Dany I)

Paid the claimants for their lost animals, but required them to swear an oath at the Temple of the Graces in the future to ensure the validity of their claims (ADWD Dany I)

Locked Rhaegal and Viserion after Drogon ate Hazzea (ADWD Dany II)

Rejected Skahaz's advice to execute Hazzea's father or to rip out his tongue (ADWD Dany II)

Chose to pay the blood price for the death of Hazzea, offering the father a compensation and memorial while asking him never to tell what happened to anyone (ADWD Dany II)

Comforted Missandei after her brother died by inviting her to share her bed, offering to send Missandei home to Naath and expressing her desire to keep her safe (ADWD Dany II)

Balanced the demands of the craftsmen's guilds with the needs of the freedmen, deciding to allow only guild members to claim titles of journeyman or master, while ensuring the guilds accept skilled freedmen into their ranks (ADWD Dany II)

Replanted olive trees (ADWD Dany III)

Vowed to be the calamity that transforms the slavers back into people (ADWD Dany III)

Proposed a trade deal with Xaro, offering Meereen's salt and wine (ADWD Dany III)

Ordered the construction of a ditch to bring water to the fields for planting beans (ADWD Dany III)

Rejected Xaro's comparison between slavery and rain and passionately defended her belief that no one wants to be owned (ADWD Dany III)

Spared Ghael's life even after he spat in her face (ADWD Dany III)

Hugged and kissed Mezzara, one of her young hostages, to thank her for bringing her morning meal (ADWD Dany III)

Assembled a diverse council that included both nobles and freedmen, ensuring the latter held important roles in both her administration and her army (ADWD Dany III)

Refused Xaro’s offer to leave Meereen in exchange for ships (ADWD Dany III)

Chose not to kill her child hostages even after the Sons of the Harpy continued to murder freedmen at night despite Skahaz's protests (ADWD Dany IV)

Said she "would sooner perish fighting than return my children to bondage" (ADWD Dany IV)

Thinks she owes it to the freedmen who perished (Stalwart Shield, Mossador, Rylona Rhee) to marry in order to end the slaughter in Meereen (ADWD Dany IV)

Agreed to marry Hizdahr if he gave her ninety days without killings in Meereen and eventually fulfilled her promise (ADWD Dany IV, ADWD Dany VII)

Believes that "a queen belongs not to herself, but to her people" and "the realm" (ADWD Dany IV, ADWD Dany V, ADWD Dany IX)

Rejected Daario's suggestion to kill all the Great Masters during a wedding (ADWD Dany IV)

Rejected Groleo's suggestion to use her dragons against the Yunkish (ADWD Dany V)

Supports agriculture in Meereen by planting beans, grapes and wheat (ADWD Dany V)

Forbade Skahaz from torturing Hizdahr after realizing that torture doesn't bring reliable results (ADWD Dany V)

Rejected Skahaz's suggestion to seize the kin of ruling families in Meereen, choosing instead to trust Hizdahr and hope for peace (ADWD Dany V)

Ordered food to be brought to the first Astapori refugees who came to Meereen (ADWD Dany V)

Refused Ben Plumm's advice to use her dragons in battle (ADWD Dany V)

Corrected Ben by emphasizing that the people she feels responsible for are not mere "bad apples," but human beings who are sick, hungry, and afraid, seeing them as her children (ADWD Dany V)

Set up a camp and sent food and medical care for the Astapori refugees sick and dying of the bloody flux (ADWD Dany V, ADWD Dany VI)

Insisted on personally delivering food to the Astapori refugees, despite the risks, to show solidarity with her people and understand their suffering firsthand - "I will not turn away from them. A queen must know the sufferings of her people" (ADWD Dany VI)

Knelt beside an old man and bathed him on her own initiative (ADWD Dany VI)

Shamed her followers into helping her prepare and burn the dead, organizing the effort and working alongside them (ADWD Dany VI)

Allowed Grey Worm and the Unsullied to bathe in the salt sea after their work, respecting their faith and privacy regarding the true name of their goddess. (ADWD Dany VI)

Believes that "a queen loves where she must, not where she will" (ADWD Dany VII)

Ordered Daario to treat Quentyn with courtesy (ADWD Dany VII)

Refused Quentyn’s marriage offer because she didn’t want to abandon her people (ADWD Dany VII)

Ended her affair with Daario after marrying Hizdahr (ADWD Dany VII)

Reassured Quentyn when he was scared of her dragons, expressing understanding rather than mocking him for his fear (ADWD Dany VIII)

Warned Quentyn to leave her court for his own safety (ADWD Dany VIII)

Insisted that the leftover food from the feast was given to the poor (ADWD Dany VIII)

Remembers the people she lost (Doreah, Quaro, Eroeh, Hazzea) in an attempt to accept the deaths in the fighting pits as a necessary price for peace and to avoid greater bloodshed (ADWD Dany VIII)

Ensured that a collapsed palanquin bearer was moved off the street and provided with food and water (ADWD Dany IX)

Forbade children to participate in the combats at Daznak's Pit (ADWD Dany IX)

Refused to allow thieves or debtors to be sentenced to fight in the pits, only murderers, rapists and slavers (ADWD Dany IX)

Ensured only free men who chose to fight would be allowed in the arena (ADWD Dany IX)

Stopped Hizdahr's plan to have dwarfs (unbeknownst to her, Tyrion and Penny) fight three lions in the pits (ADWD Dany IX)

Flew Drogon away from Meereen and prevented further harm to her people (ADWD Dany IX)

Bonus: On the ADWD cover for Brazil, I [Marc Simonetti] put Daenerys at the top of the stairs of the Meereenese pyramid. I had undoubtedly been, unconsciously, influenced by the series. And George [R. R. Martin] told me that Daenerys wants equality for everyone, she wants to be at the same level as her people, so I had her climb down to keep it consistent.

#daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #ik there are already quite a few metas and lists like this #but i felt the urge to create a new one after finishing my latest reread of her chapters

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scarluna · 4 months ago

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Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VIII

Chapters: 7 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Enjoy! Happy holidays! x | Cover PSD by queend3lrey on deviantart.

ACT VII.

I sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath me, a warm cup of chamomile tea cradled in my hands. The steam swirled lazily upward, its warmth brushing against my face, but it did little to deafen the icy unease settled deep in my chest. The living room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen, and the dim light of the lamp cast long shadows on the walls.

I tried to focus on the comfort of the moment—the familiar scent of tea, the way the soft blanket draped over my shoulders—but my thoughts were too loud. They dragged me back to earlier in the day, to the moment everything shifted.

I had come home tired, the weight of the day pressing heavily on my shoulders. Everything that had happened in the last two days has mentally drained me. First it was Tina's death, then Jungkook's captiveness by the police. My mind was a mess and I could barely function, let alone focus on my work daily tasks. All I wanted was to sink into my comfy bed with Hades by my side, maybe order takeout, and forget the world existed for a while.

But the moment I opened the door, my breath caught in my throat.

My apartment was wrecked.

Drawers had been yanked out and emptied onto the floor. Books and papers were strewn everywhere, cushions slashed open, their stuffing spilling out like entrails. Even my little plant by the window lay tipped over, its soil scattered across the hardwood floor.

My heart raced as I stepped inside, each careful footfall crunching against the debris of my once-safe haven. The smell of something sharp and chemical lingered in the air, making me feel nauseous.

And then it hit me. This wasn’t random. This wasn’t a burglary.

I had barely processed the thought when a new fear gripped me. “Hades?” My voice trembled as I called out. “Hades, where are you?”

The silence was deafening.

Frantically, I searched the apartment, stepping over shattered glass and overturned furniture. “Hades!” I shouted, my voice rising in panic. My chest tightened as I realized he wasn’t there. The mess suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in on me. I had watched enough scary movies to know that even the innocent animals were taken or worse, killed. I felt my blood bumping in my ears as my breath hitched. I squeezed my bag, looking around as if the world around me was squeezing. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I was on the verge of collapse when a knock at the door startled me.

I swung it open to find my neighbor, Mrs.Cordelia, the kind woman who lived two doors down, holding Hades in her arms. Relief washed over me like a wave as I saw his familiar face, his tail wagging furiously.

“I found him wandering in the hallway,” she said gently, handing him over. “He looked scared, poor thing. Are you alright? Your place…" her green eyes shifted over the mess behind me, her face immediately changed into one of concern, "Oh my, dear! It looks like someone broke in!” She exclaimed, then glanced at me. "Do you want to call the police?"

Clutching Hades to my chest, I began sobbing quietly. His small wet nose brushed over my cheek and warm licks licked off the tears that streamed down my face. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Thank you so much.” My voice was shaking as I held him. He was the most important to me and I'd be lost if something happened to Hades. I swallowed shakily, finally processing Mrs.Cordelia's question. "N-no need, ma'am. Uh, I will deal with the mess here." Partly, I was afraid of calling the police, they wouldn't do much and from what I could see, the bulglar did not left any tracks behind them. It'd be a lost cause.

She hesitated, her concern evident. “If you need help, or if you want me to stay for a bit, just let me know. You shouldn’t be alone after something like this.”

I managed a small, grateful smile. “I’ll be okay. Really, thank you again.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, I sank to the floor, holding Hades tightly. The familiar weight of him on my lap grounded me, but my mind was racing. Whoever had broken in was searching for something, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what.

Tina’s journal.

My eyes flicked to my bag whom I had just dropped on the ground seconds ago, this was where I had hidden it and it was still untouched thankfully. They hadn’t found it—yet. But I knew this was far from over. I realized the danger I was in, yet my pride refused to give up and seek help from the police.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. My apartment wasn’t safe anymore, and Hades wasn’t safe either. This wasn’t just a robbery—it was a message.

And I needed to figure out what came next.

The faint scent of lavender from the fabric softened the tension thrumming through my body, but my mind was still racing. Hades lay at my feet, his head resting on his paws as if he could sense I needed his calming presence.

The muffled sound of running water stopped, and a few moments later, Rya emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair tied up in a towel and an oversized hoodie falling just above her knees. She carried a casual ease, but I could see the worry etched in her features as she walked over and plopped down onto the couch beside me.

“You okay?” she asked, folding her legs underneath her and leaning her head against the couch’s backrest. “I mean, as okay as you can be after… everything?”

I exhaled slowly, trying to piece together an answer that didn’t feel like a lie. “I don’t know. It’s still sinking in, I guess.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “I can’t believe someone actually broke in. You must have been terrified.”

“Terrified doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I admitted, my voice shaky. “The apartment was a complete mess. And Hades—when I couldn’t find him, I thought…” I swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Rya reached out, placing a reassuring hand on my knee. “But he’s safe now, and so are you. That’s what matters.”

I gave her a small nod, though the tightness in my chest remained. “Thank you, Rya. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t picked up my call.”

Her lips quirked into a small, empathetic smile. “Of course, Y/N. What are friends for? You can stay here as long as you need.”

For the first time that night, I let out a small laugh, though it came out more like a sigh. “You sure you’re not going to regret having me and a very anxious dog invade your space?”

She grinned. “Are you kidding? Hades is the least of my worries. He’s adorable. You, on the other hand, might be a little high-maintenance.”

I rolled my eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I promise not to hog the couch or eat all your snacks.”

“Good, because I don’t share my ice cream,” she teased, then her tone grew serious. “But really, Y/N, do you have any idea who could’ve done this? Why someone would target you?”

I hesitated, my hands tightening around the edge of the blanket. “I… I think it’s because of the journal.”

Rya’s eyebrows shot up. “Tina’s journal? You think this has something to do with that?”

I nodded, my stomach twisting as I thought about it. “It has to be. Whoever broke in was looking for something specific. They didn’t even take my laptop or jewelry. They tore through the place like they were searching for something hidden.”

Her expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Y/N, if someone’s after that journal, it’s not safe for you to keep it. You need to tell someone—maybe the police or…”

“Or who, Rya?” I interjected, my voice rising. “It’s not like I can waltz into the station and hand it over without explaining where I got it. And that’ll lead to questions I don’t have answers to.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Okay, fair point. But you can’t just sit on this thing like it’s some kind of secret treasure. Whoever broke in isn’t going to stop because they didn’t find it the first time.”

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I know.”

Silence stretched between us, the weight of the situation pressing down like a heavy fog. Hades let out a small whine, breaking the tension as he nudged my leg with his nose.

Rya watched him for a moment, her expression softening. “We’ll figure this out, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Her words carried a warmth that made my throat tighten. “Thanks, Rya. I don’t think I’ve said it enough, but… I really appreciate you.”

She waved me off with a smile. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. I’d do the same thing for Hades.”

I laughed, the sound lighter this time, and for a moment, the weight of the world didn’t feel so suffocating.

But as the night deepened and Rya retreated to her bedroom, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Whoever had broken into my apartment wasn’t going to give up easily. And I needed to figure out what Tina’s journal was hiding—before it was too late.

The next morning came far too soon. My eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, and my body ached from tossing and turning all night. Every time I closed my eyes, the memory of my ransacked apartment replayed in vivid detail. The thought of someone invading my space left a lingering sense of unease that refused to dissipate.

Rya, ever the early riser, had already made us coffee by the time I emerged from the spare bedroom. She offered me a tired smile, her damp hair falling in waves around her shoulders.

“You look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” she said, handing me a mug.

“Because I didn’t,” I muttered, taking a sip and savoring the bitter warmth. “I kept thinking about what happened. And then I started worrying about it happening to you.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Please. I’m not the one carrying a target on my back right now. If they want to mess with me, they’ll regret it.” Her words were light, but I caught the edge of concern in her tone.

We left her apartment together, stepping into the chilly morning air. The ride to work was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. Every shadow, every person walking by, felt like a threat. By the time we arrived at the office, my nerves were stretched thin.

Hoseok greeted us with his usual sunny smile, but his expression quickly shifted to concern as he noticed my face.

“Whoa, what happened?” he asked, standing from his desk.

Rya stepped in, her voice quiet. “Someone broke into Y/N’s apartment last night. She stayed with me.”

Hoseok’s brows furrowed, and he glanced at me. “Are you okay? Did they take anything?”

I shook my head, sighing. “They weren’t there to steal. It was more like they were searching for something. They trashed the place, but nothing’s missing.”

His frown deepened. “You think it’s connected to Tina’s journal?” I frowned and turned around toward Rya. "You told him?!" Her face changed into one of shock and then regret, "Sorry, Y/N, I accidentally blurted it out to him last night on the phone." "You know that the more people know about this, the more in danger you all become." I snapped but regretted it, Rya was a good person with a kind heart, but I definitely was scared for Hoseok and her now.

Before we could say more, a voice chimed in from behind us.

“Someone broke in your apartment last night?”

I turned to see Yoongi leaning casually against the edge of his desk, his dark eyes sharp with something I couldn't recognize. Was it concern?Annoyance? I hadn’t even noticed him nearby.

“None of your business." I muttered, turning around to look at Hoseok who had his eyebrows raised. I heard footsteps behind me until I felt warmth all over my entire back. He was standing there, wasn't he? "This was the same night where I drove you back to your place, wasn't it?" he muttered in a flat tone. My heart raced, I could catch a scent off his cologne. "Stop asking me questions, this does not concern you." "The hell it fucking does." his voice became raspy and deep. Rya kept glancing at me and Yoongi who stood behind me. I didn't really want to turn around. Deep annoyed sigh escaped my lips as I turned around to face him finally. "No, it does not. Just. . . just be focused on getting our Boss out of jail, please?" He kept staring at me and didn't even reply to my plead. Yoongi's face remained blank, hands crossed against his chest. I could see his jaw locking tightly. "How about you do not tell me what to fucking do? I told you to be careful, didn't I? You will be staying at my place from now on. I can keep an eye on you and on that damn journal you got yourself involved with." "Yoongi," I spoke lowly, "I am NOT staying with you." He took a step forward, towered over me, his face was close to mine and I felt my cheeks heaten. "Oh yes you are. Staying with Rya puts her in danger too. I, on the other hand, know how to protect myself and protect you from this bullshit you got into. So don't even dare to fight with me right now." I exhaled sharply through my nose but then I remembered I was at the office, Hoseok and Rya were watching us with wide eyes, some people passing by also kept staring at us. My eyes closed for a moment as I tried to calm the rage bubbling deep inside of me, before I replied. "Fine." I spoke lowly, only to get him off my back. "I will stay with you. Happy?" I gritted my teeth and turned to glance at Hoseok and Rya. "Come on, let's grab coffee at the cafeteria." "S-sure," both of them grabbed my hands and dragged me down the hall as Yoongi stood there, staring at us until we disappeared around the corner. "Y/N, what the hell was that?" Rya asked hushedly. "What do you mean?" "There is a LOT sexual tension between you two." Hoseok added in with a smug smirk on his face. I scowled at him. "The fuck you are on about. He is an ass and he thinks that after he is a rich son of a conglomerate he gets to treat people like properties. I despise him." "Yet you agreed to stay with him?" Rya muttered, teasing me. "I only did that to get him off my back. He would be forgetting about it by the end of the day." I could hear them both giggle as we walked into the cafeteria. Did they not believe me? Gosh, those two annoyed the hell out of me sometimes.

The meeting room was filled with tension, the air thick with unspoken words. I sat at the long conference table, my hands resting on the surface, fingers drumming nervously against the polished wood. To my right was Rya, who seemed deep in thought, her eyes flickering between the others in the room. Across from me sat Hoseok, his usual carefree demeanor nowhere to be found, replaced by a cool, determined expression.

And then there was Gina—her eyes hard, and posture stiff. She was the one who had invited Hoseok to that masquerade ball, only to be turned down cold. I could almost feel her resentment lingering in the air, even though the others were too polite to address it directly.

The room fell silent as Yoongi walked into the conference room, his usual calm but imposing presence commanding attention. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“As you all know, Jungkook’s departure leaves us with a gap in leadership,” Yoongi began, his voice steady but with an edge of authority. “Until he returns, I will be taking over the company on a temporary basis. But more importantly, we need to address the immediate future of the team."

My heart skipped a beat. The room was tense, everyone waiting for what would come next.

Yoongi’s gaze shifted to Hoseok. “Hoseok," he said, his tone not giving anything away, "you will be stepping up as the new direct manager for the team.”

A gasp escaped Gina's lips, her eyes wide in shock. Rya shifted slightly, her gaze darting between Yoongi and Hoseok. I held my breath. Hoseok didn’t flinch, though. He nodded, his usual warmth replaced by a seriousness I wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“I understand,” Hoseok replied, his voice steady, though there was a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind—this wasn’t just about Tina’s death, it was about filling a role that many had doubted he could handle. The weight of responsibility suddenly seemed to settle over him, but there was no doubt he would rise to the challenge. Still, I knew he didn’t expect it to be this soon.

Gina crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "So, Hoseok, you’ll just… step into Tina’s shoes?" she asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered to her, his expression unreadable. "It's not a choice, Gina," he said quietly, "it's what's needed. And no need for worry, I have discussed this with Jungkook already."

There was a long pause. The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence almost unbearable. I wanted to speak, to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come. I knew what this meant for all of us—for Hoseok especially—but the uncertainty of the future weighed heavy on my chest.

“I’ll take it on,” Hoseok said after a moment, standing from his chair. His voice was firm now, as if the decision had been made in his heart, and he was ready to carry the burden.

I looked at him, trying to read his expression, but he was already focused on the task at hand. I couldn’t help but admire his resolve, even though I knew this would be a difficult road ahead. As the room buzzed with quiet murmurs and Yoongi began laying out the next steps, my thoughts drifted.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen next. The meeting continued with a few new clients joining in, Yoongi was oddly prepared and I couldn't help but wonder if Jungkook had given him all the information. My mind drifted to my Boss again. I could imagine him sitting in his cell, awaiting for a miracle to happen. My heart raced. There has to be something that proves his innocence. Anything. . .

Yoongi's voice brought me back to reality.

"You gonna keep sitting there, Y/N?" he muttered, his eyes boring into mine. I blinked a few times only to realize that the room was now empty. Yoongi and I were the only ones left. Fuck. Soft sigh escaped my lips as I rose up and collected my papers without paying much mind to him.

"Hey, talk to me." I heard his footsteps approaching and I froze. Slowly turning around, our eyes met. "You good?"

"Peachy. Move." I muttered, trying to pass by him, yet a grip on my arm stopped me. I swallowed thickly as I felt his fingers curl around my elbow.

"Can you tell me what the fuck is going on? Is it because I asked you to stay with me?" . "Why does everything have to be about you, Yoongi? The situation itself is disasterous," I shot at him, pulling my hand away. "I don't trust you, and I won't be staying with you. I don't feel comfortable being around you, every second I look at your face I want to look away and disappear," I blurted out, stepping toward him. In my rage, I didn't care that we were close.

"You are too dumb to even realize the situation," he spoke out.

"Fuck off." I spoke out, pushing him and walking out of the office. I was blushing and fuming at the same time. That idiot. He thought he was the Boss now and everyone would bow at his fucking feet. I reached my desk and slammed the papers I held on it before I sat down and buried my face in my hands, clearly frustrated.

The workday finally came to a close, the tension still lingering in the air. I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding my breath until I stepped out of the meeting room, the weight of the new responsibilities hanging over Hoseok, and over all of us, like a storm cloud that refused to dissipate. I was exhausted, but the day wasn’t over yet.

Rya and I walked back to her place in silence, the streets unusually quiet as we made our way through the city. The only sounds were our footsteps and the occasional hum of passing cars. I could feel the heaviness of what was to come—Tina’s funeral was tomorrow and the cruel reality of her death still hard to grasp.

Rya had been distant, her mind clearly elsewhere, but when we reached her apartment, she greeted me with the same quiet, welcoming smile she always had. I let myself in, and immediately, Hades came bounding toward me, his large, fluffy form jumping up to greet me. I couldn’t help but smile as I leaned down to scratch behind his ears, the simple act of petting him somehow grounding me in the chaos.

“We’ll get through tomorrow,” Rya said, her voice soft as she shut the door behind us. "It’s hard, I know. But it’s over now."

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I was agreeing with her or just trying to convince myself. Tina had been a complicated figure in my life, a bully and a tormentor, but now—now she was gone. And that meant something. What exactly? I wasn’t sure.

The conversation died as Rya and I settled into the couch. Rya made tea, and I pulled out Tina's worn journal I kept hidden in my bag. Tina's death was still too fresh, and I wasn’t sure how to process it yet.

Before I could open the journal, there was a knock at the door. It was gentle, but I could tell it was someone who had a reason to be there. I stood up slowly, my gaze flicking to Rya. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged. I slowly opened the door and my eyes met with Hoseok's.

“Thought you two could use some company,” he said, standing in the doorway with a hesitant smile. He was in his usual casual wear—jeans and a hoodie—though there was a solemnity in his eyes that wasn’t usually there. Hades barked, running over to him, and Hoseok knelt down to pet him, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Come on in,” Rya said, stepping aside. “You’re always welcome here.”

Hoseok nodded and stepped inside, taking a seat next to me on the couch. He seemed out of place, as if his mind was miles away, but his presence was comforting. The weight of the day seemed to lift a little with him there, and for a moment, I forgot about everything else.

We didn’t talk about the company or the changes Hoseok would face. Instead, we hung out like we always did. Rya made more tea, and we spent the next hour just talking—about life, about the things that made us laugh, about whatever came to mind. I caught myself smiling more than I had all day, my body relaxing as the warmth of the room filled me.

But then something caught Rya’s attention. She had been glancing out the window, her expression suddenly hardening as she stared into the night. I followed her gaze, and my heart skipped a beat.

Three men in black suits were standing just outside the building, pacing slowly around the entrance. They looked like they were waiting for something—or someone. I felt a chill run down my spine. There was something unnerving about their presence, their movements almost deliberate.

“What is it?” I asked quietly, already feeling the tension rising in my chest.

Rya didn’t answer immediately. She just kept watching them. Then, in a quiet voice, she muttered, “They don’t look good.”

I stood up, moving toward the window with her. The men weren’t doing anything threatening, but their presence felt off—like they were watching, waiting for something. The hair on the back of my neck stood on. I kept staring until one of the men glanced up and our eyes met. I took a few steps back. They looked like the damn mafia because I noticed that each one of them had tattoo on the back of their necks. "Should we call the police?" Hoseok asked. "I believe they are here to guard more than harm us." I muttered but I was unsure. "I am gonna go and ask them who sent them." Hoseok stood up and before me and Rya could protest, he was out of the room. We turned around and waited until we saw Hoseok approach the three men. They stood taller than him which was quite intimidating from up here. Hoseok's face changed into pure surprise as they conversed back with him. Five minutes passed and Hoseok finally headed back into the building. Me and Rya looked at each other, then at Hoseok who just walked in. "What happened. Who were those people?" I asked, approaching him slowly. "Yoongi sent them. They are here to guard." "What?" I muttered and turned around to stare back at their figures. Yoongi sent them? So he was indeed involved in the mafia. Now that I think about it, after our little bicker at the meeting room I didn't hear much from him nor he approached me after that. So this was his plan? To send his gorillas to watch over us? Rya and Hoseok stared at me as I was clearly deep lost in thoughts. "I guess Yoongi does have a heart after all," Hoseok commented before flopping back on the couch as Hades jumped in his lap. I turned around to give him a glance, then back at Rya who shrugged her shoulders and joined Hoseok. -

The rain was unrelenting, a steady rhythm against my umbrella that matched the dull ache in my chest. Everything felt muted, from the gray sky to the whispers of the wind through the trees. The priest’s voice carried over the gathering, solemn and heavy with meaning, but I couldn’t focus on the words. My mind wandered, my gaze fixed on the dark casket lowered into the ground. Tina’s family stood closest, their grief raw and exposed, a mirror to the ache none of us dared to show so openly.

I felt numb. Standing there, surrounded by my colleagues, I couldn't shake the surreal feeling that none of this was real. Tina was gone. She was really gone. The thought made my stomach churn, and my grip on the umbrella tightened. My mind drifted to the last time I’d seen her, how she tried to humiliate me in front of all those people, feeling so prideful of herself... Now, those moments were nothing but memories, fading with each passing second. I did not hold a grudge against her however, I had forgiven her already and was ready to move on with my next step in life. But the mere thought that death could take anyone, anytime made me question if I was actually living my life to the fullest.

The rain picked up, and a gust of wind threatened to flip my umbrella. I didn’t care. My thoughts were a storm of their own, louder than the priest’s speech, louder than the sobs around me. Why did it have to be her? Why did life have to be so cruel?

A presence nearby pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I felt it before I saw it—warm, steady, and familiar in a way that startled me. Turning my head slightly, my eyes fell on him. Yoongi.

He stood a step behind me, an umbrella of his own shielding him from the rain, his dark suit blending into the dreary backdrop. His expression was unreadable, but when our eyes met, he spared me the briefest glance. It wasn’t much—just a flicker of acknowledgment—but it felt like an anchor, grounding me when I was moments away from being swept away by my thoughts.

For a moment, I wanted to say something, but the words tangled in my throat. Instead, I turned back toward the priest, the weight of Yoongi’s presence beside me somehow comforting. I didn’t feel so alone anymore.

The funeral ended with the soft murmurs of condolences and the muffled shuffle of footsteps on wet ground. People began to disperse, their umbrellas bobbing away in the gray mist. I stood still for a moment, watching Tina’s family linger by the grave, their grief a tangible weight that pressed on everyone who passed. I felt a pang of guilt as I turned away—I couldn’t bear to stay any longer.

Hoseok and Rya were waiting for me by the cemetery gates, their faces pale and drawn.

“Are you coming with us now?” Rya asked softly, her voice hoarse from crying. She gave me a weak, hopeful smile, her hand resting lightly on my arm.

I hesitated. “I think I should stop by my apartment first,” I said, trying to sound steadier than I felt. “Grab some things before I come over. I won’t be long.”

Hoseok looked concerned, his brows knitting together. “Are you sure you want to go alone? We can come with you.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

They exchanged a glance but didn’t push further. “Alright,” Rya said gently. “Just... don’t take too long. We’ll wait for you.”

I nodded, thanking them before turning toward the parking lot. The rain had eased slightly, but the cold still clung to the air, making every step feel heavier. As I neared one of the parked cabs, I heard footsteps behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Yoongi approaching, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his expression calm but unreadable.

“Yoongi?” I asked, stopping in my tracks. “What are you doing?”

He stopped a few steps away, tilting his head slightly as if the answer was obvious. “You’re heading to your apartment, right?” he said. “I’ll drive you.”

I blinked at him. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he replied simply. “But I want to. And I’ll go in with you. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be there alone.”

There was something about his tone—firm yet unassuming—that made it hard to argue. A part of me wanted to refuse, to insist that I didn’t need anyone’s help, but the exhaustion weighing me down won out.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Thanks.”

He gave a small nod, motioning toward his car parked nearby. The drive to my apartment was quiet, the silence between us broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires splashing through puddles. I stared out the window, my mind swirling with a mix of emotions I couldn’t untangle. Yoongi didn’t press for conversation, and for that, I was grateful.

When we arrived, he parked by the curb and followed me up to my apartment. The air inside felt cold and stale, a sharp contrast to the warmth it used to hold. Everything was exactly as I’d left it, but it felt different now—lonelier.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I said, stepping inside and flicking on the lights. Yoongi lingered near the door, his sharp eyes scanning the space.

“Take your time,” he said, leaning against the wall, his presence calm and steady.

I moved through the apartment, grabbing the essentials—a change of clothes, my toothbrush, my charger. But as I packed, the weight of everything began to creep back in.

I stopped in the middle of the room, gripping the edge of the counter as my chest tightened. Yoongi must have noticed because, before I could process it, he was standing beside me, his voice soft but firm.

“You don’t have to hold it together all the time,” he said.

His words broke something in me, and I let out a shaky breath, the tears I’d been holding back spilling over. I expected him to say more or simply let me be by leaving the room, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed quiet, a solid presence beside me as I let the grief wash over me in waves.

The tears came fast, hot, and relentless, pouring out in a way I hadn’t let myself feel since it all happened. I tried to stifle the sobs, to keep it together, but the weight of everything—Tina’s empty desk, the funeral—broke through whatever fragile composure I had left. My shoulders shook as I leaned heavily on the counter, my hands gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

For a moment, Yoongi didn’t say anything. The silence between us stretched, filled only by the sound of my uneven breathing and the rain still drizzling outside. I wondered if he was regretting coming with me, if he was silently willing this moment to end. But then, I felt him move closer.

“I’m... not good at this,” he admitted, his voice low and hesitant, almost like he was speaking to himself. “But... you don’t have to do this alone.”

The words were simple, awkward even, but they struck something deep within me. I turned my head slightly, just enough to see him standing there, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his brows drawn together in concern. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with something softer, something almost unsure.

He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, his hand hovering near my shoulder as if he wasn’t sure whether to touch me or not. Eventually, he settled on a light, tentative pat, like he was testing the waters. It was almost laughable in its awkwardness, but somehow, it made me cry harder.

“Hey,” he said quickly, his voice rising just a little. “It’s okay. I mean, not okay—none of this is—but... you’re allowed to cry.” His hand stayed there, a steady, grounding weight on my shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

There was something so painfully honest about the way he spoke, like he was trying so hard to say the right thing even if he didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t polished or rehearsed, but it was real, and that was enough.

“I just—” My voice cracked as I tried to speak. “She was a shitty person, but she didn’t deserve this.”

“I know,” he said softly, his tone steady now. “None of this makes sense. And it’s not fair. But...” He paused, searching for the right words. “It already happened and we must move on. You have to take care of yourself and what you do. Of your own future....”

I nodded, my tears slowing but still spilling over. His hand left my shoulder briefly, and I thought maybe he was stepping back, giving me space. Instead, he grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter and handed it to me, holding it out like it was some kind of peace offering.

“Here,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re, uh... kind of a mess.”

Despite everything, I let out a choked laugh, taking the tissue and wiping at my face. “Thanks,” I muttered, my voice still shaky. “For stating the obvious.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

The heaviness in my chest hadn’t disappeared, but it didn’t feel quite as suffocating anymore. Yoongi didn’t fill the silence with empty platitudes or promises he couldn’t keep. He just stood there, awkward and quiet and real, and somehow, that was exactly what I needed.

As we stepped out of my apartment, the rain had lightened to a soft drizzle. Yoongi walked beside me, his pace measured, as if he wasn’t in a rush to leave. I wasn’t either, but I didn’t say anything. The lingering weight of my tears had left me feeling raw, but lighter somehow, as if letting it all out had taken a small part of the burden with it.

We got into his car, and I buckled my seatbelt, glancing at him as he started the engine. The drive to Rya’s place was quiet at first, the steady hum of the heater filling the space. My thoughts swirled, still caught in the strange, bittersweet moment we’d just shared, but something else tugged at the back of my mind.

I turned to look at him, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his face. “Yoongi,” I started, my voice breaking the silence.

“Hm?” he responded, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“The bodyguards.” My tone was even, but there was a pointed edge to it. “Why?”

For a second, his hands tightened on the wheel, a flicker of something crossing his face—surprise? Annoyance? It was hard to tell.

He shrugged, the motion nonchalant. “You figured that out, huh?”

“You’re not exactly subtle,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “They’ve been following me everywhere.”

“Good,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice calm but resolute. “That’s the point.”

I stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but he didn’t offer one. “Why?” I pressed. “Why did you send them? And don’t say it’s because you’re just being ‘nice.’”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk, but it faded quickly. “You didn’t agree to stay with me,” he said simply, glancing at me briefly before focusing back on the road. “I couldn’t just leave you to deal with everything alone. You’re... you’re too stubborn for your own good.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “So your solution was to have me followed?”

“It’s not following,” he corrected, his tone almost teasing. “It’s protecting. There’s a difference.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need bodyguards, Yoongi. I’m fine.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and the air grew heavier with the weight of the conversation. Finally, he sighed, his voice quieter this time. “You might think you’re fine, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need someone looking out for you. Especially now.”

There was something in his tone—something softer, almost vulnerable—that caught me off guard. I opened my mouth to argue, but the words got stuck. Instead, I turned to look out the window, the city lights blurring as we passed them.

“I don’t know whether to be mad at you or grateful,” I muttered.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and surprisingly comforting. “Why not both? Seems fair.”

Despite myself, I smiled a little, shaking my head. Typical Yoongi. Always doing things his way, even if it meant annoying me in the process.

The rest of the drive passed quietly, and when we pulled up to Rya’s apartment, he turned off the engine but didn’t make any move to get out immediately.

“Thanks,” I said softly, my hand resting on the door handle. “For the ride. And for... everything else.”

He gave me a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

I lingered for a moment before stepping out of the car, the rain now just a faint mist against my skin. As I walked toward the building, I glanced back briefly to see him watching me from the car, his face shadowed but his presence as steady as ever.

Rya’s apartment was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the dreary night outside. The smell of freshly brewed tea wafted through the air as I stepped inside, and the sight of Hoseok and Rya’s familiar faces brought a strange mix of comfort and unease. They greeted me with soft smiles, though their eyes still held traces of the sorrow that lingered from the funeral.

“Hey,” Rya said gently, pulling me into a hug. “I’m glad you’re back, but it took you a while.”

She was referring to me being late. The images of me crying and Yoongi trying to comfort be flooded my mind and a fait blush crept across my cheeks but I decided to not say anything else. "I had to figure out what to bring." I muttered a lame excuse.

Hoseok appeared behind her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. “You doing okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“As okay as I can be,” I admitted, forcing a faint smile.

“Well, you’re not alone,” he said, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat. “We’re here.”

The apartment felt cozy, with blankets draped over the couch and soft lighting from a few lamps scattered around the room. It was exactly the kind of space I needed—a temporary refuge from the chaos of my own life.

Rya ushered me into the kitchen, insisting I have some tea before settling in. I obliged, the warmth of the mug grounding me as we sat and talked about nothing in particular. Hoseok tried to lighten the mood with his usual humor, and while it didn’t completely lift the heaviness, it was enough to make me feel a little more human.

As the night wore on, the apartment grew quieter. Hoseok eventually left, giving me and Rya some space, and Rya retired to her room shortly after, leaving me alone with Hades in the living room. The small, neatly arranged space was calming, but my mind refused to quiet. I sat on the couch, staring at my bag where the journal was tucked away.

I told myself I wasn’t going to look at it tonight. I needed rest. But the pull of it was too strong, the questions it raised too loud to ignore. With a sigh, I reached into my bag and pulled it out, the leather cover worn and familiar under my fingers.

Flipping through the pages felt almost intrusive, even though I’d done it before. My eyes skimmed over the familiar handwriting, notes scrawled in a hurried script that hinted at Tina’s urgency. Names, places, fragments of thoughts—it was all there, a chaotic puzzle waiting to be solved.

And then, my breath hitched.

My eyes landed on a sentence, circled twice in a way that made it stand out among the cluttered text.

K told me everything will be okay. The deal would be closed and I don't need to worry, but why do I feel so uneasy as I roam at my apartment during the night? Almost as if someone's watching me.

I stared at it, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't figure out who that man with the letter K was. Soft sigh escaped my lips as I shook my head and closed the journal with a soft thud before putting it back in my bag and closing it securely. -

I was sitting at my desk, the office buzzing around me with the usual chatter and the clinking of keyboards, trying to focus on the emails piling up. The weight of Tina’s journal still hung heavily on my mind, especially after the discovery last night. The letter 'K” was like a puzzle piece lodged somewhere deep in my brain, but it didn’t fit. Not yet.

My phone buzzed on my desk, breaking my thoughts. I glanced down at the screen and saw my parents’ name flash across it.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. It had been a while since I’d heard from them, and though it was never a bad thing, it felt like I had too many loose ends of my own to deal with. Still, I swiped to answer.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.”

“Y/N!” my mother’s voice came through. “We heard about your colleague's passing. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Mom,” I said, trying to keep the exhaustion out of my voice. “Just... busy with work." There was a silence to the other side of the line, I could feel that my answer wasn't satisfactory for them nor did they believe me. "Sweetheart, are you sure you are okay?" I wasn't. Not really. My apartment was trashed, I am staying at a friend's place for the time being and I hold a journal that has a target on my back. No, I am not okay. But I wasn't going to tell them all of this. They'd flip and arrive with the first flight here and I did not want their appearance to complicate things and potentially put a target on their backs too.

“Yes, Mom. Just... work has it's toll on me." "Have you been taking care of yourself? Eating enough and sleeping enough?" I rolled my eyes, leaning back on my chair as I rubbed my temple. "Yes, Mom." "Good, good. So, how's Taehyung?"

"He is fine, we went out during the weekend and spent some quality time together” "Oh, that's lovely. You and him should visit us for the holidays!" "I am unsure, work here is a killer and I need to finish some project before New Year's Eve." I lied. "I am hoping you'd visit us, you know. It's been a year since we've seen you." I swallowed thickly. "Well, when I get the chance, I will visit." I heard rustling from the other side of the line, "Remember when you were a kid and Taehyung used to steal your dolly toy? It was hilarious, you'd throw whatever you find at him." I heard my dad chuckle and my mom did the same too. "Yeah, I remember." "You were such a feisty child back then, I swear. You also used to have trouble saying Taehyung’s name,” my dad continued. “So you’d always call him ‘Kim.’ You couldn’t quite say his full name, and I think you just got used to calling him that.”

I froze, the cup of coffee in my hand going still. "Wait, what?" "Silly girl, you don't remember it? Taehyung liked it so much that everyone started calling him Kim."

The memory hit me like a rush of cold water. Was he possibly the one Tina referred as K in her journal. I felt my breath hitch. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What if it was?!

I nodded absently, my mind racing. “Yeah. Mom, Dad, something came up, I’ll talk to you later, okay? Love you.”

Before they could say anything more, I hung up, my thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm. Kim. The letter "K." That name had been haunting me for days. The man behind the cryptic letter, the one who had been tied to Tina’s journal—the “K” who had promised everything would be okay...

My hands were shaking slightly as I grabbed Tina’s journal from my bag, flipping through the pages until I landed on the sentence I had found last night. My heart pounded as I read the words again, my eyes scanning the haunting sentence:

K told me everything will be okay. The deal would be closed and I don't need to worry, but why do I feel so uneasy as I roam at my apartment during the night? Almost as if someone's watching me.

Taehyung.

The unease that had crawled through Tina’s words—the feeling of being watched—was too similar to what I had experienced, too unsettling to ignore. Had Tina been trying to warn me? Was she afraid of him?

No, this couldn't be true. There was no way Taehyung would be involved with Tina's murder. He was a kind gracing soul, his eyes sparkled when he smiles and he has the brightest energy. I refused to believe this. Fuck. I was so frustrated that I wanted to cry. Jungkook was rotting at the police station and I felt my hands were tied. -

A week had passed since the call with my parents, and the chaos surrounding Tina's death had only escalated. The media was in full frenzy, throwing every possible theory into the spotlight. They were relentless, accusing Jungkook, linking his name to the case, and bombarding every source with questions. The headlines screamed: Jungkook: The Man Behind Tina's Murder? Did Jungkook Have a Motive? Tina’s Death: The Dark Truth Behind the Hidden Relationship. It felt like the world was spinning out of control, the noise growing louder, and my head throbbed from the constant barrage of speculation.

I couldn’t bring myself to buy into the media's narrative, though. I knew Jungkook, and something about it didn’t sit right. The accusations seemed premature, reckless even. Still, I couldn’t ignore the mounting pressure to find some kind of answer. I was still in heavy denial that Taehyung was the man with the letter K which Tina referred to in her journal. Speaking of Tae, he tried to contact me a few times in the past week but I either ignored his calls or picked up to tell him I was busy. I didn't wish to talk to him right now.

After days of sifting through Tina’s journal and chasing after dead ends, I felt more lost than ever. There was no concrete evidence, no undeniable proof to tie anyone to Tina’s death. I’d met with the police a few times but nothing was helping. They’d brushed off my theories—rightfully so, in hindsight—leaving me to wonder if I was grasping at straws. I was on the edge of giving up, frustrated, exhausted, and feeling hopeless.

It was late in the afternoon when a small white envelope appeared at my office. No return address. No name. Just a plain piece of paper that seemed ordinary, yet I couldn't shake the unease that washed over me. I hesitated for a moment before opening it, wondering who would send me something anonymously.

Inside was a single photograph. My breath caught in my throat when I saw it.

The picture was grainy, clearly taken from a distance. It showed Tina standing in front of her apartment building, the night she was murdered. The time stamped at the bottom of the image was just moments before her estimated time of death. She was talking to someone. The man was standing close to her, but his face was obscured by a black umbrella, as if to shield himself from the rain.

I squinted at the image, my heart beating faster. But then, my eyes narrowed at something else. A dark scar on the man’s wrist. His hand was gripping the umbrella, and the scar was visible just below his sleeve—large, jagged, and unmistakable. It stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his arm. Everything else was shrouded in shadow. His face, his body—everything but that scar and the way his hand gripped the umbrella.

I felt my hands tremble as I turned the photograph over, hoping for any sort of clue written on the back. But there was nothing. No note. No further explanation.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

This wasn’t just any man. This was someone Tina had been with right before her death, someone she clearly knew. But who? And why was his face hidden? Why was there only a scar on his wrist to identify him?

The dark scar—it was familiar, somehow. I racked my brain, my thoughts racing. Where had I seen something like that before?

The answer hit me suddenly, like a flicker of a memory I’d buried. The scar on his wrist... it was so similar to the one I had seen on someone else.

I stumbled back from my desk, gripping the edge as my head spun.

I couldn’t waste time second-guessing. I needed to find out who this man was, and fast. I needed to know if the scar was really the key to unlocking everything. Could it be a coincidence? Or was it part of something far more dangerous?

I shoved the picture into my bag, heart pounding in my chest, a new sense of urgency coursing through me. Time was running out. The mystery was growing darker, and I was one step closer to something much bigger than I could have imagined.

I had to keep going. There was no turning back now.

My heart raced as I clutched the photo tightly in my bag, the urgency driving me forward. I had to get to Taehyung’s law firm—he had to know something. The scar on the man’s wrist... I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the missing link, the connection that would tie everything together. I had no time to waste, not when the pieces were finally starting to fall into place.

I moved quickly through the city streets, the damp air clinging to my skin, the sounds of traffic and people filling the space around me. My mind was consumed with the photo, with the potential answers it held, but as I crossed the busy intersection, something felt off. My senses were heightened, like a tightrope walker balancing between instinct and logic.

I barely noticed the car speeding toward me until it was too late.

A sudden screech of tires, the blinding flash of headlights. My body tensed as I tried to step back, but it was too fast—too close. Everything happened in a blur. My heart skipped a beat. I felt the impact, the jolt of the car against my side, sending me crashing into the pavement.

Pain exploded through my body, sharp and overwhelming, but it was the darkness that came next that consumed me. A deep, suffocating blackness, pulling me in from all sides.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. The world around me disappeared, replaced by the weight of nothingness. My mind felt as though it had been ripped away from my body, trapped in a void that seemed endless.

I wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but there was nothing—just silence.

Everything faded away.

173 notes · View notes

just-aake · 5 months ago

Text

Everlasting Devotion - Part VIII

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Masterlist Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Warnings: light angst

Words: 4074

At a table in your library, your fingers glide across the worn page of Howard Stark’s journal. The entries detail his ambitious attempts to harness sorcery, each word penned with sharp, precise strokes.

There’s something striking in his handwriting—a tangible trace of the man himself, a stranger who might’ve been part of your life if circumstances had been different.

As you read, you can’t help but wonder about the person behind these words.

Would he have welcomed you into his world, inviting you to collaborate on these projects instead of leaving you alone in the shadow of constant disappointments and harsh judgments?

With a quiet sigh, you pull yourself from the wistful thoughts and back to the task, refocusing on the journal’s contents.

His latest endeavor—a complex project to encapsulate raw energy within a synthetic stone—was left unfinished, his last entry noting how close he’d come but ultimately failing to contain it.

Your gaze drifts to the attacker’s glove lying nearby, the once-bright stone in its center now faded to a dull sheen.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and with delicate care, you pry the stone free, lifting it toward the sunlight streaming through the library window.

Sunlight filters through its transparent surface, revealing imperfections–tiny cracks spidering through its structure.

As you study it intently, a sudden flash of memory grips you: a similar stone, glowing brightly in someone’s hand, its light intensifying as muffled words reach your ears.

Before you can grasp the context of the fragmented scene, a dull ache pierces your mind, forcing your eyes shut against the sharp sensation.

When you open them again, blinking slowly, silence fills the room. The vivid memory fades, slipping further from your grasp.

The familiar unease that follows these unpredictable flashes settles over you. Once again, the thought crosses your mind: perhaps it’s time to let Wanda explore your thoughts.

Maybe she could decipher the meaning behind these visions—or confirm if you were just going insane.

“Quite the collection you’ve got here,” a voice cuts through the quiet.

Startled, you almost drop the stone, quickly pocketing it as you spin around.

Tony stands at the door, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” you snap, shooting him a sharp glare.

Tony glances back at the door, feigning disbelief.

“I did knock,” he insists, grinning. “You didn’t hear me? Practically rattled the hinges.”

You suppress a sigh as he strolls through the room, inspecting the shelves like a restless child. At one point, he pulls a book down, flips through a few pages, then shudders dramatically as he snaps it shut.

“Please tell me you’ve got something more exciting in here than this.”

He waves the book at you with exaggerated disappointment.

Snatching it from his hands, you glare at him. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Tony gives a dismissive wave, meandering toward another shelf.

“We’re waiting on supplies,” he explains. “Besides, Vision’s distracted playing nice with your little sorcerer outside.”

“Playing nice?” you ask, raising a brow in surprise.

Tony gives a lazy nod.

“He’s always been interested in that sort of thing—his family had some traces of magic or something in their line. Not great at the whole socializing bit, though, so this behavior is slightly surprising.”

Tony claps his hands and strides past you.

“It’s good, though. He’s always been the more reserved one of his brothers. You know, that’s why I brought him with me in the first place, to give him more exposure to the—hello—what do we have here?”

You follow his gaze, spotting the journal still open on the table in the corner of your eyes, but Tony’s attention is focused on the armored glove.

Discreetly, you close Howard’s journal and slide it behind a stack of other books while Tony is engrossed in examining the glove with keen interest.

He suddenly picks it up, slipping it onto his hand with confidence.

“Careful, it’s damaged,” you warn, stepping forward. “We don’t know how it works.”

Tony smirks, waving off your concern as he fumbles with the glove’s mechanism.

“Relax, it’s just a tool for defense. Completely harmless.”

Just as he finishes, a quiet click sounds from the glove, and suddenly, a shard bursts from its mechanism, ricocheting off the wall.

You duck instinctively while Tony stumbles back, clearly unprepared for the recoil.

“Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mutters, brushing himself off.

You shoot him a glare, yanking the glove from his hand. “And how would you know?”

He gives you a smug grin. “Because I designed it.”

The words catch you off guard, your brows knitting in suspicion as you bring the glove closer to your body.

“You…designed this?”

He dusts off his sleeve with nonchalance, oblivious to your growing unease.

“Not this one exactly, but the specs are similar.”

The unease that’s been lingering since Natasha’s news flares up again. With a deep breath, you tap the glove’s surface, your gaze turning serious.

“This is from the Stark Kingdom though.”

Tony leans casually against a shelf, his relaxed stance at odds with the sudden sharpness in his gaze.

“And how would you know that?” he counters.

You choose your words carefully, unwilling to reveal too much.

“I have a source. A reliable one.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, intrigued, but you press on before he can respond.

“That would mean that you’re…” you hesitate, searching his face, as you struggle to face the possibility.

“You’re from Stark, right?” you finish with instead.

Tony scrutinizes you for a moment, then wags his finger as he heads for the door.

“Nope, that’s not what you wanted to ask,” he says, sidestepping your question.

You stiffen, caught off guard by his intuition.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you call, hurrying after him.

“It means you’re not being honest about what you want to know,” he replies over his shoulder, the words hitting a nerve.

You hear him continue, muttering in contemplation.

“This does explain why you’ve been so weird lately whenever I’m near.”

But before you can fire back, he’s already halfway down the hall toward the manor entrance.

You catch up to him just as he exits the manor.

Vision and Wanda stand at the entrance, deep in conversation, pausing as they notice the two of you approaching.

“Vision, I’m heading into town,” Tony announces breezily.

He moves to follow. “I’ll prepare the—”

“No need,” Tony interrupts smoothly, already reaching for the nearby carriage door. “I’ll just take this.”

Before he can open it fully, a flicker of red energy snaps the door shut.

Wanda steps forward with her arms crossed, her gaze unmistakably unimpressed.

“That’s not yours to take,” she says, her voice edged with warning.

Just as Tony groans in frustration, you arrive at her side, nodding to Wanda.

“It’s fine, Wanda. I’m going with him.” You fix Tony with a glare. “We still need to finish our conversation.”

Wanda’s brow arches, her gaze shifting between you and Tony.

“Alright, I can call for Pietro,” she says, moving to get the other twin.

“You two don't need to come along,” you reply quickly.

Wanda’s concern deepens on her face at your unusual response, so you add with a reassuring smile, “Really, it’s okay.”

“Any day now, ladies,” Tony quips with an exaggerated sigh, tapping his foot impatiently.

You shoot him a glare. “Has anyone ever told you you’re obnoxious?”

Tony grins, unbothered as ever, shrugging.

“You know, that does sound familiar,” he replies before stepping into the carriage.

Before you can follow, Wanda catches your arm, her expression a mix of worry and confusion.

“Is everything okay?” she asks softly, her tone laced with concern.

Her words make you pause, forcing you to confront the real reason behind your hesitation to let them overhear this conversation as well as let her into your mind.

It’s not just fear of what she might see—it’s the secret you’ve been keeping from her and her brother.

The truth about who you really are. The truth about your connection to the family responsible for their parents’ tragic deaths.

You’re not ready for them to know. You don’t know how you’d face them if they ever found out.

So, with a small, reassuring smile, you nod.

“Trust me, Wanda, I’ve got this.”

Then, leaning closer, you soften the moment with a teasing grin.

“Besides, it looks like you’re enjoying your time with Vision.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, though a faint blush colors her cheeks. She quickly regains her composure and removes her scarlet cloak, holding it out to you.

“Here, wear this. It’ll help keep unwanted attention off you in town,” she says, knowing well from Pietro’s stories how people have been reacting to you.

You accept it gratefully, wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing into the carriage. You settle across from Tony, crossing your arms as the carriage lurches forward.

Tony doesn’t even glance up, instead examining his hand with what seems like exaggerated nonchalance.

Patience thinning, you let out an annoyed huff.

“Well?”

Tony finally looks up, feigning surprise.

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I wasn’t listening.”

Grinding your teeth, you shoot him a glare.

However, he just raises a brow, daring you to push further.

Taking a steadying breath, you decide it’s time to cut to the chase, dropping any pretense of subtlety.

“Are you Tony Stark?”

For a moment, he stares at you, blank and unreadable. Then, he bursts into an exaggerated laugh, leaning back in his seat with a loud, mocking cackle.

The sudden reaction catches you completely off guard.

“You think I’m Tony Stark? The King of the Stark Kingdom?” he asks between bouts of laughter, his tone dripping with amusement. “Why? Because we share a name? Or because I happen to design a few gadgets from that region?”

You falter, your certainty beginning to waver under his ridicule. “I—it’s just—”

“Well, you’re right,” he cuts in abruptly, his tone now nonchalant, so casual it almost doesn’t register. He spreads his arms in mock grandeur and a slight bow.

“I am the one and only…Tony Stark.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence as the words sink in. The ease with which he admits it is almost more shocking than the revelation itself.

“Just like that?” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’d just…admit it?”

Tony grins, throwing his feet up onto the seat beside you and reclining with a maddening air of satisfaction.

“Why not? You’re sharp enough to figure it out. Besides, it won’t be a secret for much longer.”

You should be feeling shock, panic—something other than the rising annoyance simmering in your chest. Before you can stop yourself, you shove his leg off the seat, forcing him to sit properly.

“For a royal, you have no manners,” you snap.

Tony laughs, completely unfazed.

“Now you’re really starting to sound like someone I know,” he quips, his tone amused.

Your irritation deepens. The casual way he’s treating this entire situation grates on your nerves, especially with everything you’ve already had to deal with and now with the addition of this.

“Why are you here?” you demand.

“Why should I tell you?” he counters smoothly.

Crossing your arms, you glare at him. “Because you lied to me.”

“Wrong,” he corrects, wagging a finger at you. “I never lied. I just didn’t tell you everything. Big difference. Lying’s more of a Romanov specialty than mine.”

You bristle at his comment, immediately becoming defensive.

“You can’t say that—you don’t even know them.”

Tony’s playful demeanor fades slightly, his expression turning serious as his gaze locks with yours.

“I know what happened the last time my family trusted a Romanov.”

A heavy silence descends between you, the weight of his words filling the small carriage. You don’t miss the flicker of pain in his eyes as he turns to stare out the window, crossing his arms in what almost seems like a protective gesture.

“Everyone knows you can’t trust a Romanov or anyone from their kingdom,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

Your hands curl into fists as you glance down, frustration bubbling inside you.

“That’s hardly a fair judgment,” you whisper. “Not without giving people a chance.”

Tony glances at you, his expression unreadable. Then, leaning forward slightly, he meets your gaze with a challenge in his eyes.

“Then prove me wrong.”

Your head snaps up, his words catching you off guard. “What?”

He sits back, arms crossed again, and shrugs.

“I’m not supposed to be here yet. If you can keep my identity a secret until the time is right, I’ll reconsider what I said.”

You fall silent, his proposition hanging in the air between you. The thought of keeping another secret from Natasha bothers you, but the idea of Tony meeting her with his current distrust of her family is even worse.

Maybe, just maybe, you could change his mind before that moment arrives.

The rest of the ride passes in tense silence. You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice your surroundings until the carriage stops.

Following Tony out, you snap back to reality as you take in the shadowy streets, far from the safer areas of town.

Grabbing his sleeve, you tug him to a stop.

Tony releases an indignant sound of surprise as he’s pulled back before turning to you with a disapproving frown.

“Hey, easy, now that you know who I am, there’s no excuse for this kind of disrespect.”

Ignoring his reprimand, you lower your voice, hissing at him in disbelief.

“What are we doing here? This area is dangerous.”

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh, clearly unbothered by your concern.

“Trying to stay low-key in a foreign kingdom. Naturally, I’d go somewhere less…guarded,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Then he smirks, adding, “You can always wait in the carriage if you’re too scared without your little followers around to protect you.”

Glowering, you push him ahead and lower your hood to obscure your face. You follow as he strides confidently into the alley. He stops at a run-down tavern, the dimly lit entrance as unwelcoming as the rest of the area.

You hesitate, glancing warily at the door.

“Relax,” Tony says, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Head low, stay close, and try not to look terrified. These people can smell fear.”

You roll your eyes, releasing a sigh under your breath as you move to step inside. Just before you cross the threshold, the sound of barking draws your attention.

Glancing back, you spot two scruffy dogs, their muddy coats giving them a ragged appearance. They’re barking and leaping at a bird perched just out of their reach, the falcon screeching indignantly.

A strange sense of familiarity strikes you, but you shake it off. It’s a ridiculous thought.

Coincidence, nothing more.

Steeling yourself, you pull your hood tighter and slip into the tavern to follow Tony.

The atmosphere hits you immediately—a cacophony of rowdy chatter, clinking glasses, and the sharp, pungent tang of alcohol mixed with smoke.

The dim lighting casts shadows across the rough wooden beams, and the patrons barely glance your way as you weave through the tables, trailing Tony’s confident stride.

For a moment, you think you might make it through unnoticed.

That hope evaporates as a man steps into your path. His leering grin reveals yellowed teeth, and his eyes sweep over you with an unsettling feeling.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” he asks, his voice slurred and mocking.

You stand your ground, narrowing your eyes at him, refusing to dignify his question with a response.

Stepping to the side, you attempt to move past him, but he reacts quickly, his face twisting with anger as he reaches out to grab your arm.

Before his hand can get close, Tony’s grip suddenly clamps down on the man’s wrist, stopping him mid-motion.

“Easy there,” Tony says, his tone light but laced with warning. “We’re all here to relax, right? So why don’t you…take a deep breath and do just that.”

The man glares at Tony, weighing his options, but the steady, unflinching look Tony gives him is enough to make him pull back. The man stumbles off, muttering something about it not being worth the trouble.

Tony claps his hands in satisfaction and then turns to you with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows.

“You really know how to attract trouble. No wonder you always need someone around to save the day.”

You glare at him, your voice clipped.

“I can handle myself just fine.”

Tony hums mockingly as if considering your words, then shrugs. “If you say so.”

He turns and saunters toward a booth tucked into the corner of the tavern, his pace purposefully slower as if to ensure that you stay close.

The gesture irritates you further, but you follow anyway.

At the booth, a man sits nervously, his eyes darting around the room with visible discomfort.

Tony slides into the seat across from him, greeting him with the same condescension he’d just directed at you.

“Don’t look so scared, Happy. They can smell fear, you know.”

“I’m not scared,” the man retorts defensively, though his shifting gaze betrays him. “I just don’t like places like this.”

His eyes flick to you, observing you with curiosity. “Who’s she?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Tony waves a dismissive hand in front of your face.

“Not relevant right now,” he answers for you, earning him a sharp glare from you.

“Also, she knows who I am,” Tony adds with a smirk, “so you can talk freely.”

Happy shrugs, seemingly accustomed to Tony’s antics.

Tony leans forward, his tone shifting to one of eager anticipation.

"Well, did you bring it?"

Happy nods, pulling out a cloth-wrapped object from beside him and sliding it across the table. You watch as Tony unwraps it, revealing a glove strikingly similar to the one from your manor—but this one is sleeker, more refined in its design.

“Impressive, right?” Tony asks, shooting you a knowing look as if reading your thoughts. “Unlike yours, mine actually works a lot better.”

You roll your eyes but pause when you notice something.

“It’s missing the stone,” you point out.

Tony’s smirk falters, replaced by a puzzled expression.

“What stone?”

You hesitate, weighing your options, but ultimately decide he’s the best person to ask, considering he’s the son of the one who created the project.

Pulling the dull, cracked stone from your pocket, you hold it out.

“This was attached to the other glove,” you explain. “It glowed yellow with some sort of power before it was damaged.”

Tony takes the stone, his usual flippant demeanor fading as he studies it with uncharacteristic seriousness.

After a moment, Happy breaks the silence, pointing at the stone.

“That looks like something you worked on a few years ago,” he says. “Remember how many times it blew up in your lab?”

Tony glares at him, unamused at the reminder.

“We agreed never to speak of that.”

Turning back to you, Tony gives you a curious look.

“Where did you say you got this glove?”

“We were attacked,” you reply. “It was left behind when they escaped.”

Tony hums thoughtfully, then closes his hand around the stone.

“I’ll hold onto this for you,” he declares.

“Hey, that’s not yours!” you protest, reaching for it.

Tony easily keeps it out of reach. “It’s not yours, either.”

You scoff, incredulous at his childish behavior. For a moment, you wonder how someone like this could possibly share your blood.

Before the standoff can escalate, a hesitant cough breaks the tension.

“The lady did have it first, sir,” Happy interjects, earning a sharp, offended look from Tony.

With backup on your side, you cross your arms and level Tony with a pointed glare, holding your hand out expectantly.

Tony contemplates for a moment, eyes flickering between your hand and the stone in his before releasing an exaggerated sigh, dropping the stone into your hand and then slumping dramatically in his seat.

“Anything else, traitor?” he asks, shooting a glare at Happy.

Unbothered by his words, Happy nods and continues.

“Chancellor Potts wants to know when you’re planning to return. She’s…not thrilled about your sudden departure.”

Tony places a hand over his chest with mock sincerity.

“Aw, does she miss me?”

“It’s not that, sir,” Happy says flatly.

You cross your arms in disapproval, raising an eyebrow at Tony.

“Wait—you abandoned your kingdom to come here?”

“Abandoned is a strong word,” Tony retorts, wagging a finger at you. “With Pepper running things, my kingdom’s in good hands.”

He turns back to Happy.

“And no, I don’t have a timeline. It all depends on how long this takes.”

Happy rubs his temples, clearly exasperated.

“Well, I had to tell Jarvis to speed up his pace anyway, but it won’t matter if you’re still looking for—”

Tony cuts him off with a raised hand, then tosses a small pouch of coins in your direction.

“Do you think you can handle a trip to the bar without starting any trouble? I’m parched.”

You narrow your eyes, catching the not-so-subtle attempt to get rid of you. Still, with no further explanation forthcoming, you roll your eyes and head to the bar.

The barkeep nods as you approach. “What’ll it be?”

Leaning against the counter, you smile politely.

“Whatever you’d make for someone who’s testing your patience.”

The barkeep chuckles knowingly and sets to work.

As you wait, a commotion from the other side of the room draws your attention—cheers, laughter, and groans of disappointment. Peering past the crowd, you see coins being exchanged as two figures face off in a card game.

The burly man at the table glares at his opponent, his eyes narrowing.

“You should back out now before I bleed you dry, little lady.”

The masked figure across from him leans forward, her voice light and teasing.

“Aww, is the big man scared?”

Laughter erupts at her taunt, but you frown instead, the voice sounding suspiciously familiar. You push through the crowd to get a better look.

The dim light in the tavern doesn’t help much, but as you approach, your eyes narrow.

The masked figure’s darkened hair gives you pause—it’s black, not blonde like expected. Still, the way she moves, the self-assured tilt of her head, sends alarm bells of recognition in your mind.

The burly man, clearly agitated, gestures toward a dagger at the masked woman’s side.

“How about you throw that fancy knife into the pot and whatever your friend’s got strapped to her back?”

Your eyes shift to the figure standing protectively behind her, another masked woman. Her nervous fidgeting is unmistakable, as is the distinct bow strapped to her back—Clint’s signature design, one you’d recognize anywhere with how often Kate brings it with her everywhere.

Crossing your arms, you let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, already knowing whose idea this was.

The masked woman at the table leans forward, her voice dripping with confidence as she responds, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re playing against me, remember?”

There’s no mistaking her now. Yelena’s tone is as bold and unshakable as ever, mirroring her sister’s in every way.

She reaches for the dagger at her side, drawing it out to twirl it in the light. The hilt and blade gleam, the intricate craftsmanship unmistakable—it looks like the one you’d given Natasha not long ago.

You straighten when you realize it is the one you had gifted Natasha.

As Yelena seems to consider the man’s challenge, her smirk widening with the thrill of the wager, you feel your patience snap at the thought of risking something you designed personally for Natasha.

You move to step forward, intent on stopping her from making a reckless decision, but before you can take a step, a firm grip wraps around your arm, pulling you back into the crowd.

Irritation flares instantly. Tony’s earlier remarks about you needing protection flash through your mind, fueling your annoyance.

Without hesitation, you jab your elbow into the person’s side, twisting out of their grip.

Their hold loosens, and as their face tilts into view, your irritation shifts to surprise.

Bright green eyes meet yours, sharp and unmistakable even in the dim light.

“Natasha?” you whisper in a hiss, barely keeping your voice low.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

a/n: I’m so sorry for the long delay between the chapters for this series. This one is definitely trickier to write cause there is a lot more components to organize, but I’m starting to get back into it. Again, thank you for reading and for your patience!

Also, I’m going to attempt to be more interactive with you all since you take the time to leave such nice comments on my works, so whenever I have some spare time, you may see me popping around in the replies and responding.

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff, @mrsrushman, @inarayofmoonlight, @viosblog112, @inarayofmoonlight, @maximoff-jp, @natashasilverfox

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

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a-cross-the-universe · 21 days ago

Text

SHARP TONGUE

Nagumo Yoichi x f!reader | Part VIII: A Series Of Fortunate Events 🔮

Hana's birthday party was in full swing, the warm chatter of guests filling Sakamoto's shop as everyone enjoyed the festivities. You had decided it was time to move on from everything that happened with Nagumo. Being mad at him wouldn’t change the past or fix anything, so when he greeted you with a teasing remark about how long it took you to arrive, you responded with an eye roll and a sarcastic jab of your own.

when you finally made it to the snack table, reaching for the last takoyaki at the exact same time as someone else.

Your fingers brushed.

You looked up. Of course—it was Nagumo.

He raised a brow. “You sure you wanna start this war?”

You gave him a flat look. “You’re the one trying to steal the last one. Aren’t you supposed to be on a mission soon? Shouldn’t you be eating sad rations or something?”

Nagumo smirked. “And miss the thrill of battling you over street food? Never.”

You plucked the takoyaki without breaking eye contact. “Too slow”

“Oh, ouch,” he said, hand on his chest. “Using my tactics against me? Cold.”

You shrugged. “I learned from the best.”

“I’ve taught you nothing but kindness and class.”

You snorted so hard you nearly choked. “You? Classy?”

“Hey,” he pointed at you. “I’ve worn a tuxedo once this month. That’s at least medium-level sophistication.”

“Pretty sure drooling over food in a suit doesn’t count.”

“Oh?” He leaned a little closer. “You were staring pretty hard that night. Not at the food, either.”

“Yeah, I was trying to figure out how you got your tie so crooked.”

Nagumo opened his mouth, then closed it, then said, “It was an artistic choice.”

The two of you fell back into the banter that had once been normal. It was different now—lighter, lacking the bitterness that had tinged your exchanges before. Nagumo smirked as he slung an arm over your shoulder, only for you to shove him off playfully. The familiarity of it all made something settle in his chest.

From his spot on the couch, Shin tilted his head toward Lu and stage-whispered, “Wow, look at Nagumo. All smiles. He’s glowing.”

Lu raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The two exchanged a look—mischievous, conspiratorial—and without missing a beat, stood up in perfect sync and made their way over.

"Man, Nagumo, you look happier than usual. Almost like someone finally lifted that storm cloud you’ve been walking around with," Shin said, nudging him with his elbow.

"What are you talking about?" Nagumo asked, taking a sip of his drink, acting as if he didn’t know what they were getting at.

"Oh, you know," Lu added, grinning. "You were kinda mopey when she wasn’t talking to you. It was honestly painful to watch."

Nagumo scoffed. "Mopey? Please. I was just enjoying the peace and quiet."

Lu laughed. "Yeah, sure. And that’s why you kept lingering around Sakamoto’s shop whenever she was here? Or why you snapped at Naoko out of nowhere the other day?"

Nagumo waved a dismissive hand. "Coincidences."

"Right, right," Shin said, amused. "Just like how you’re suddenly in a much better mood now that she’s talking to you again?"

Nagumo narrowed his eyes at them. "You two have way too much time on your hands."

Lu smirked. "And you have no self-awareness."

You, oblivious to the conversation, had wandered off to talk with Aoi and Sakamoto. But Nagumo could still hear Lu and Shin muttering behind him.

"He totally missed what we were saying, huh?"

"Yeah, he’s dense as hell."

"Wanna bet how long it takes him to get it"

***

The mission briefing had been short and tense. You, Nagumo, and Naoko were tasked with infiltrating a high-value facility suspected to be a front for an underground weapons network. It was dangerous, complex, and not something the JAA assigned lightly.

Still, there wasn’t the same chill in the air when you and Nagumo stood near the armory, checking your gear. After Hana’s party, things had started to feel almost normal again. You were even bickering here and there—his favorite sport. And while you didn’t entirely trust him yet, you’d stopped flinching every time he opened his mouth.

“Try not to get yourself killed, okay?” Nagumo said casually, swinging his custom scythe over one shoulder with the same ease someone might toss a bag of chips.

“I’ll try not to trip on my own competence,” you shot back. “But hey, if I do, I’m sure you’ll tell everyone I wasn’t using my brain again.”

He glanced at you, smirking. “That was one time.”

“Three,” you corrected.

Naoko came up behind you both, clearly annoyed by your dynamic. “You two done flirting?”

“We’re just warming up,” Nagumo said, not even blinking.

You rolled your eyes, but the small laugh that escaped surprised even you.

---

The infiltration had gone smoothly—until it didn’t.

A silent alarm, a miscalculated detour, and suddenly the facility was in chaos. Somewhere along the path, a controlled detonation went off behind you, separating you and Nagumo from Naoko.

Your ears rang from the blast as you crouched behind a crumbling wall. “Well. That’s not good.”

Nagumo was beside you in a second, his scythe already gripped tightly in one hand, blade gleaming under the emergency lights. “You hit?”

“No,” you said, brushing debris off your jacket. “Just deaf and annoyed.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached out, tugging at your sleeve to check your arm. You pulled back.

“I said I’m fine.”

“I heard,” he said, looking you over anyway. “But I’m your superior, remember? I’m responsible for keeping you safe.”

You glared. “Is that what this is? Responsibility?”

“What else would it be?”

You scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe paranoia. Or the need to micromanage everyone so you don’t screw things up again.”

His gaze darkened. “Say what you’re actually thinking.”

You met his eyes. “I don’t trust you, Nagumo. Not completely. Not after what happened with Naoko. Because next time you decide to mess with me, it might not just ruin my day—it might get me killed.”

Silence fell, heavy and sudden.

Then Nagumo stepped forward, his tone low and sharp. “I would never put your life at risk. Not even for a second. You think I’m careless? I’m not. Especially not with you.”

You didn’t move. His words settled in your chest, confusing and grounding all at once.

He scanned your face, jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to your lips, lingering there, a flicker of hesitation flicking across his features before something hardened behind his gaze. “You got blood on your cheek,” he muttered.

You didn’t even flinch when his thumb brushed across your cheekbone, wiping away a smear of red. His touch lingered.

Then—without warning—his hand moved to your jaw, and he pulled you into a kiss.

It wasn’t tentative.

It was fire meeting fire—frustration and adrenaline colliding into something raw and undeniable. His lips crushed against yours, rough and heated, stealing the breath right from your lungs. The hand holding your face tightened slightly, pulling you closer like he’d finally stopped pretending he didn’t want to.

Your mind froze, but your body didn’t. You grabbed onto the front of his jacket, grounding yourself in the pressure, kissing him back with just as much force. You didn’t care that the walls were shaking. That your legs barely held steady. That you’d been angry just seconds ago.

All that mattered was the feel of his mouth on yours, how he tasted faintly of smoke and adrenaline, how he kissed you like he was afraid he’d never get another chance.

Then—footsteps.

Naoko’s voice echoed through the corridor. "Where the hell are you two?"

Nagumo pulled away, his breath warm against your lips. His hand lingered for half a second before he took a step back, his expression unreadable once more .“Naoko’s coming.”

You blinked, disoriented, lips still parted, heart slamming against your ribs.

He glanced away, reaching for his scythe with a tight jaw

Seconds later, Naoko appeared around the corner. Her eyes swept the both of you, then narrowed faintly. Something flickered in her expression—suspicion, maybe. But she didn’t say a word.

Neither did you.

Not yet.

***

You hadn’t talked about it.

Not on the way back from the mission, not during the debriefing, and definitely not at Sakamoto’s store later that night when everyone gathered to blow off steam. The kiss—the kiss—was like an elephant with a silencer, quietly looming, pretending it hadn’t shattered the weird balance you and Nagumo had carefully built back up.

And to make things worse? He was acting perfectly normal.

Too normal.

“Pass me the soy sauce,” Nagumo said casually, nudging you with his elbow at the low table.

You slid it over without looking at him. “You’ve got hands.”

He smiled around a mouthful of fried rice. “Yeah, but yours are prettier.”

You choked on your drink.

Across the table, Aoi stared at the two of you suspiciously.

Lu narrowed his eyes. “Something’s off.”

Shin pointed a chopstick at Nagumo. “You’re smiling.”

“I smile,” Nagumo said.

“Yeah, but this one’s... smugger,” Shin added. “Smells like secrets.”

“Would you all mind your own food?” you snapped, a little too fast.

Lu’s eyes widened. “Oh-ho. She’s snappy.”

Aoi squinted. “Wait a second. You two were on that last mission with Naoko, right? That weird explosion that knocked out comms?”

Shin leaned in, grinning. “Let me guess. Something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” you both said at the same time.

Dead silence.

You stood up abruptly. “I’m getting more dumplings.”

Nagumo followed. “I’ll help.”

You rounded on him once you were out of earshot. “What are you doing?”

Nagumo leaned against the fridge like he had all the time in the world. “Waiting for you to ask me on a date.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, you kissed me,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s kind of rude to leave a guy hanging after that.”

Your jaw dropped. “I kissed YOU?!”

“You definitely did,” he said smoothly. “I recall mutual participation. Highly engaged mutual participation.”

You grabbed a tray of dumplings and shoved it at his chest. “You're delusional.”

He held the tray with one hand, still grinning. “You sure? Because your lips said otherwise.”

You stared at him, heat crawling up your neck. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when it makes you this flustered,” he said with a wink.

You spun on your heel. “I’m going back before I throw a soy sauce bottle at you.”

“Romantic,” he called after you. “I’ll take it as a maybe.”

***

We've finally reached this point, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure how to mend the rift between Nagumo and the reader. But a good cliché seemed like a solid idea, so I went with it! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ I wrote half of this while working, so please let me know if you spot any mistakes. <(_ _)> I’ll update the links to the previous chapters tomorrow for those of you who are new to my story—just check out my blog! („• ᴗ •„) Also, I’m aiming to update the next chapter by Wednesday.

#nagumo yoichi #nagumo sakamoto days #sakamoto days #nagumo yoichi x reader

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cherryheairt · 8 months ago

Text

Dragon Dreamer pt. VIII

tags: @littleblackcatinwonderland @purple-1995 @fall-winter-heart97 @hueanhdang @beebeechaos @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @pedro-pascal-love @thelastemzy

Their morning routine continued when they woke like it was second nature. Cregan braided her hair carefully, Dusk and Morningstar took to curling up right next to each other (though Daenys could not understand why, the both of them had tended to avoid each other since they had met), and they packed up their belongings before they rode further toward the wall. Cregan estimated about nine more days left in their trip, eight if the weather favored them. Daenys had found that she was scarcely listening to his words, mind feeling like it was underwater. She continued through the day with little conversation and less focus, simply allowing Mylo to guide the way for them as he followed Red and Dusk.

Cregan stole glances at her throughout the day and hunted alone when he noticed her spacey, far away gaze had not shifted even once. He left her in the care of Dusk and Morningstar while he set his traps, returning to wait for them to take effect while he sat by Daenys. He was torn between talking her out of her state or leaving her in her thoughts. They had time, after all. Time that seemed to slip between his fingers the closer they got to the wall. Only another nine days before the Princess returned home to Dragonstone to report to the Queen. He was almost tempted to stall their journey, though it was a juvenile idea that he forced away quickly.

Daenys sat against the hard scales of Morningstar, listening to the loud purrs emanating from the beast. It vibrated against her back, almost soothing her to sleep. Cregan soon joined her in her reprieve, watching her fingers twist and pull away at the twig in her hands. Her eyes were staring at a point above her hands, simply fiddling with the stick as something to occupy her. She winced when a splinter stick itself into the pad of her thumb. Cursing slightly, she brought her thumb to her mouth to try and pry the thing out, stopped by a large hand bringing it next to her. Cregan studied her finger under the light of the sun, assessing where the splint lodged itself into her skin. He squeezed it out quickly, saying nothing as he did. Daenys only stared at his eyes while he focused on the trivial task. In the light, she noticed one was a darker shade than the other. More of a blue than the other, which was a perfectly slated grey. Had they always been like that, or was it a trick of the light and his lashes?

Cregan eventually left after she whispered her thanks, checking on his traps for their lunch and supper. Beside her leg, Dusk whined like a pup for attention. A few days ago, Cregan told her of how he used to be a silent companion, only barking for attention when he found whatever his owner sent him to search for. Daenys could hardly believe such a thing. The wolf was perhaps more vocal than Morningstar, always whining and chuffing for her attention and praise. She smiled as she stroked between his ears, pinky softly stroking from his muzzle to his forehead while he rumbled against her stomach. The actions reminded her much of a child, similar to Aegon or Viserys, who could not yet speak but found ways to ask for attention from those around him. They always succeeded, too, doted on by every member of the family greatly.

Daenys smiled slightly to herself, wondering how a babe of her own would act and look, perhaps as doted on and spoilt as her brothers, or independent and quiet. The thought left her mind quickly, watching Cregan stride back into the camp with a few rabbits hanging from a string. He attached them to Red's saddle, nodding for Daenys to come to one. Cregan lifted her by her hips onto Mylo, who shifted at the weight added. "Spotted some bear tracks around this area. We'll skip lunch and keep moving." He told her.

They walked slightly into the night, chill in the air increasing without fire's warmth or sunlight. She figured that Cregan wanted to get a few extra hours away from the bear, wherever it might be. She saw the tense look on his face beside her, knowing it was because of her. She wasn't afraid of a mere bear, not when Dusk and Morningstar could easily take one that wandered into their camp, but mayhaps he thought she would be keep awake at the thought of a grizzly beast crawling into her tent.

She found it easier and easier to sleep when Cregan accompanied her. For a reason she guessed not, though was grateful for. Her dreams were kept mild or stayed away entirely.

Cregan stopped the party at the mouth of a cave, preparing to sleep in it for the night. It was used often by those traveling to The Wall, so he deemed it safe after Dusk sniffed it out. Daenys was grateful for the cover. As they left Winterfell's expansive territory, they pressed onto the borders of house Liddle.

Neighbors to the Knotts, Daenys hoped they didn't run into any more Knott men. Though not all were exactly like Seamus, she still held a small grudge against them for allowing such a man to live.

Red and Mylo were kept at the entrance, covered only slightly by the rock and long used to the dragon who slumbered next to them. Dusk slept inside, with Cregan and Daenys. Her legs were kept well-warmed by his weight.

As the small fire burned inside, Cregan and Daenys peacefully dined. Hungry from the long day, they both ate twice as much as usual to compensate for their lost lunch.

Daenys glanced at the head on her lap, deep brown eyes staring pleadingly into her own. She sighed, slipping the wolf a cooked leg. Lazy pup, she thought affectionately.

"He'll become spoiled before we reach The Wall, Princess. Then I'll be expected to give him a peace of all my dinners back in Winterfell." Cregan spoke up, words scolding but tone playful.

"Hm. Perhaps I'll have to take him home with me. He'll be content to be spoiled at the hearths of Dragonstone." Daenys hummed pleasently.

He squinted at her. "And how might you accomplish that? Tie him to the saddle of your dragon?"

"Perhaps. If I must, I'll walk all the way to Rook Rest's harbor and catch a boat."

He laughed sweetly, "I'm not sure he'll take well to seafood."

"I think he'll learn to adapt. After all, all ladies must do the same when they are suddenly uprooted from their homes and put in their husband's. If they can adapt, Dusk can, too." She mused, chewing the lean meat after she spoke.

Cregan keenly eyed her, finishing up his own leg. "And you, my Lady?"

She hummed, meeting his eye with a lifted brow.

"Would you be content to adapt in such a way? You wouldn't be...resentful?" His tone sounded odd to her ears.

She looked into the fire, following each harsh movement it made as it flickered and lighted the cave. The heat reminded her of the feeling of her clothes being entirely engulfed by the flames of her dragon, burning for what felt like forever before leaving her skin when all the clothes had been burned to ash. She shivered.

"I cannot say. I think...marriage is inevitable for me. For any lady. I have come to terms with that since I was a babe, being taught how to be a wife by my septas." He nodded. "If I had an agreeable husband, who might allow me to visit my family occasionally and leaves me alone after I perform my marital duties occasionally, then I would be content with my life. If he were a cruel man, who isolated me in his hold, or perhaps laid a hand on me or my children, I would not know what to do."

She knew what she would do. Daenys mulled over that thought many a time in her solitude. She would not stand to live in a marriage like that, completely alone and unloved by everyone around her. At least, if she could visit her family, she would be okay.

Cregan gave her an incredulous look, exhaling heavily. "I sincerely hope you get to be the one allowed to choose your husband, my Lady. Too many do not get that fortune."

"I am, currently, allowed to do so." She informed him. "My mother told me that if I need to give an ornery Lord a reason to ally his house to her, then I should offer myself." She didn't mention that he was the only Lord she was visiting. The thought of saying such an embarrassing thing to him would surely kill her, if fire did not.

Oh, by the way, my Lord. My mother, our queen, has told me to offer myself to you for more soilders for her army.

She would rather any other humiliating punishment.

Cregan smiled sincerely, though he forced it to drop and put a sympathetic look on instead. "And have you?"

"Come across an ornery lord?"

"No. Offered your hand."

"I have not." She answered, feeling her ears grow warm.

He nodded, perhaps too quickly. For a moment, Daenys desperately wished to know his thoughts. About her, about the war, about every little thought that crossed his mind. It would make it so much easier to know him and his impenetrable wall. Why did he want to know her state of engagement? He hadn't asked for anything in exchange when she first arrived at Winterfell.

Cregan stood, offering her an arm to take. He lead her to the tent to get dressed in privacy while he put the fire out. She dressed quickly, not wanting him to wait any longer than he should have to. The thinner shift allowed for more chill to hit her, giving her gooseflesh up and down her limbs. She heard the shuffling of him changing, too, and ignored the vile thought of imagining what he might look like under his furs and leathers. How vulgar she was becoming, in the honest North.

Rhaenyra or Daemon might call her curious. Alicent would call her a woman of easy virtue like her mother. She had suspected she would eventually be such a lady, even when she was only a child. All bastards were born evil and promiscuous, the Queen said. Ever the faithful and righteous, the Hightower woman frowned upon all those who were lesser than.

She didn't know what she would label herself. Unladylike would suit for now. Cregan ambled into the tent, benching his head and shoulders to stand. Daenys gave him a curious glance. "Do you need anything before we sleep, Princess?" He murmured.

"I'm fine, thank you."

They both settled together, snug under the pelts and body heat from themselves and Dusk. Daenys waited until his breaths slowed and depended, sinply listening to his as she fell into a light slumber.

After a few hours, with no hope of sleeping completely, Daenys left the tent to tuck herself up to Morningstar's wing. If she couldn't find sleep, she might as well not disturb his with her tossing and turning. After a few minutes, her own peace was disturbed by a click of a tongue. "If you wished to be rid of me, you need only ask." Cregan jested lightheartedly, crouching under the wing.

Daenys flushed, embarrassed at being caught again. This time, however, it was for a much better reason than needing comfort from her mind. "I didn't want to bother you with my movements. Forgive me, Cregan."

"There's nothing to forgive. Can I stay with you?" He asked, hopefully. She nodded, shifting herself closer to the dragon's body to make more room for the bigger man. He was only illuminated by the star and moonlight, but his form was clear against it. Big, broad shoulders and a muscled back that was usually hidden beneath his grand attire. He lay next to her, face to face. Their breaths mingled together again, this time consciously, as they enjoyed one another's presence. She felt at ease, safe between him and her dragon.

"If you weren't a Lord, what would you want to be? Say you were born in a world where coin and titles do not matter." She asked quietly, mind too loud to stay silent. The question was meaningless and not serious. She simply wanted to hear him speak again.

Cregan grinned at the random question, thinking it over carefully. "Perhaps...a swordsmith."

"Swordsmith?" She furrowed a brow.

"Mm. I have always enjoyed the study of the sword. I think I should like to forge them, for myself and others. It is a respectable job." He nods to himself. Ah, he'd be honorable even without his titles and upbringing.

"What about you? If you were not born a princess."

She thought for a long moment. Daenys took the fabric of Cregan's night tunic in between her fingertips, absentmindedly finding something to occupy her hands. He let her, never moving his eyes from her dimly lit face while her own were locked on the threads of his black tunic.

"A sailor, I think."

"Because of your father?"

"Yes. He scarcely was able to bring me on trips, but when he did, it was better than anything. It was nice to not be a princess for weeks at a time. I would pretend we were naught but a humble fisher and his daughter."

"Hm. If I were a swordsmith and you a sailor, we would never cross paths." He brought up, ghostly touch gracing her loose hair. The touch nearly brought her to sleep, but she blinked the feeling away stubbornly.

"I don't think so. We met in this life, where I thought I would never see myself in the North. Perhaps we would meet in an unlikely event to the both of us. I might need a sword in my arduous journeys to fend off pirates." He chuckled.

"It does sound like a charming life. I must admit, I've never been swimming before."

"Not once?" She asked, agasp at his confession. She couldn't imagine such torture, being land-locked all her life.

He shook his head, amused. "The waters of the North are too cold to swim in. Though, I enjoy the hot springs of Winterfell when I have leisure time." He said.

"I wish I could show you. You are truly missing out." Daenys hummed sadly.

He soothed her hair, agreeing with her. "I should like that."

In her half-awake state, Daenys could not find the mind to keep her modesty as she should. She found warmth and solace in his arms, which welcomed her as she snuggled close to him, head buried into the bare crook of his neck. He moved the hand that was on her hair to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him and securing her. "Goodnight, Princess." he whispered, listening to her slow breathing.

🗡

"Daemon, you must allow me to fly to the North to retrieve Daenys." Jacaerys Velaryon, who had flown home immediately after treating with Jeyne Arryn and hearing the news of his dear brother's murder, pleaded with his step-father.

Daemon clenched his jaw, shaking his head firmly. "With Rhaenyra gone from Dragonstone, we need you here. Daenys will eventually reach The Wall and the raven that Winterfell sent there. We can not have one of our dragons sent out of Dragonstone. Syrax and Morningstar being gone is already known the the Greens." He spat out.

"I do not care! She deserves to know. By the time she returns, we might have already burned the funeral pure for Luke." He insisted, knowing how it would break Daenys' heart to miss her brother's funeral.

"I will ensure we wait for her." Daemon promised, resting his hand on Jace's shoulder. "Vermax is young, but a good deterant against the few dragons that Aegon has. If you take him, we will be left with an even number of dragons. What would stop them from flying here once you leave, to take us out while we are unguarded?"

Jace didn't bother answering, knowing he was right. Vhagar alone had mass even on Morningstar and Meleys. It would take multiple dragons to bring that ancient beast to the ground. He gritted his teeth. "I hate this. This standing around whilst mother and Daenys are out there—making moves."

Daemon nodded, agreeing with him. "It is our duty. We hold the council in Rhaenyra's absence, and await Daenys' success in the North. Perhaps the slow journey to The Wall will bring forth an agreeable amount of men Lord Stark."

"At Daenys' hand, I'll bet." Jacaerys grunted out. He wished he had been sent to the North instead of his genteel sister, who hated conversing with strangers (and men) more than anything. If she were forced to give her hand for footmen, Jace was sure she would suffer for the rest of her life.

"We sacrifice what we must, for family." Daemon told him, walking back to the Painted Table for a recount of their bannermen. Though secretly, he agreed. He wished he did not have to offer his daughter to a brute of the North, but they were the largest force at Rhaenyra's disposal and vital for the Crown to win.

🗡

Cregan trying to discreetly see if she's single and wanting a husband: 🧍‍♂️

Jace and Daemon thinking about how Daenys is suffering with some brutish, ugly, beast Northerner: 🤧

Daenys, in his arms as they speak: 🥱

this is the last chapter of their walk to the wall. the next will include the wall, and You Know What. sorry for the short chapter, I just wanted to wrap some more relationship building moments uo before she has to go to dragonstone. let me know what ideas you would like to see happen between cregan and daenys, i will write them into the story as little snipits of romance. my little codependent lovebirds are about to be torn apart temporarily </3

I feel like I shouldn't continue to add more moments where the action picks up, like Daenys getting into danger. She already almost died twice in a week, I feel like if I do more, it might seem repetitive and get old. Thanks for reading 🩷

#cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark x oc #hotd fanfic #dragondreamer #cregan stark

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 1 year ago

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Pt VIII good omens a spoiler-free trailer

*walks into church, ignoring the gasps of the congregation* *holds mic to a terrified gentleman's face*

Have you ever wondered, what if the flaming sword at the Garden of Eden was insufferably in love with the Serpent?

*doesn't wait for response, shoves mic in shaking lady's face*

What if I told you, your bible studies are incomplete, because they are missing the most important story of all?

*cut to me in front of a white screen, walking seductively toward camera in a suit*

Worry not, for your prayers have been answered. Presenting, Good Omens, a kind-of biblically accurate story by Sir Terry Pratchett and Tumblr's own @neil-gaiman, now a TV show and queerer than ever. All you AO3 slow-burn hoes, we see you. You asked for it, you got it. Childhood friends is so last millennium, we give you instead, six thousand years of mutual pining.

*hard cut to David Tennant, whom I have stuck to a chair with Elmer's glitter glue* *he struggles, in vain*

Starring David Tennant and his signature slutty walk as Crowley, now in a ginger Barbie edition that comes with demonic eyes, every hairstyle and gender you could ever dream of, and instant outfit changes. It really is a miracle!

*camera swivels to focus on Michael Sheen, who is bound in blankets and looking deeply concerned*

Starring Michael Sheen the fae shapeshifter as Aziraphale, the sweetest, most cherubic murderous bitchy angel you've ever seen. Special features include automatic heart-eyes the moment he is faced with Crowley, a charming disregard for casual massacre in the name of God, and the instant outfit changes. Watch him melt your heart before breaking it! Bonus tip: try giving him sushi!

*cut back to the white screen, I am now sitting uncomfortably close to the camera*

Follow Aziraphale and Crowley as they alternatively try to follow and thwart God's ineffable plan, managing to spectacularly fail at both tasks with a consistency that amazes as it befuddles. Featuring alcohol, a bookstore, and metaphorical and literal fire as things get a little... heated in the Bible fandom.

*crossfade to Soho, I walk along the street as the camera follows me*

If that isn't enough to convince you, presenting also, idiot lesbians giving an ancient demon love advice, sexy horsepersons of the apocalypse, an unofficial wedding combined with burning Nazis alive where the most important part is the handing over of a suitcase, and the sexiest MILF witch Agnes Nutter, a literal bombshell.

*cut to disturbing close up of Neil Gaiman's face* *he tries to step away, and is met with my camerapersons*

Watch Neil Gaiman give you hope and shatter it again repeatedly, in a show where the literal apocalypse is only the background to a forbidden idiots who are lovers-to-lovers who are idiots story that is older than Time itself. Armageddon takes a backseat as Crowley serves gender, and if you thought the Antichrist was adorable, wait till you see him in Good Omens, where his evil powers are directed towards being the cutest kid he can possibly be.

*cut back to white screen, I smile ominously while twirling a human bone*

Good Omens, at your nearest Amazon Prime, with free UST, fluff, Queen, and plenty of tears. Don't miss it!

*text rapidly rolls across screen*

[Imagery has been used for representative purposes. No David Tennant, Michael Sheen or Neil Gaiman was harmed in the process of creating this advertisement. Good Omens will have expected side-effects, including unprompted sobbing, a Pavlovian reaction to bandstands, nightingales, holy water and 'the final fifteen', heartache for the foreseeable future, and intense lust for Crowley's elusive gender. Asmi is not responsible for any consequences resulting from the advertised product. Some features have been excluded from the advertisement due to space and time constraints.]

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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TOWER OF BABEL (VII)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VIII

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 7.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, intense stalking & stalking behavior, talks of death/injury, toxic modeling standards/expectations, dark implications, symptoms & descriptions of dissociation, scar descriptions, etc. (Series 18+)

A/N: This is where some of the more serious/dark aspects come into the story involving Seraph's job and the pressures that are put on her. It's only implied in this chapter, but in the next, it'll be talked about more. Just to let you all know.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The day after your meeting, your gifted clothes came to the lobby of the penthouse.

You’d gone down with Nikto and picked up what you could, bags and bags of designer goods including purses, makeup, and jewelry. It was excessive—like Fedorov was trying to buy your silence; buy your affection so you’d cozy up into bed with him.

This job tried you every day, but that was a line you would never cross. Never.

Still, the items needed to be taken and packed for the trip regardless. Eyes would be on you from the moment this adventure from hell started until it ended in what hopefully was a peaceful fashion.

But you severely doubted it would be anything close to peaceful.

You take another gray dress and slip it into the garment cover, legs folded on the floor of your living room as you hum under your breath. Music wafts out from your record player, and you’re desperately trying to focus on the task at hand. Nikto reads from the couch.

“Have they called you yet?” You ask, not looking up as you slide the cover’s zipper, missing it once as your hand shakes unexpectedly.

The Russian responds with a slow and even, “Нет. No calls.”

You sigh, licking your lips.

No one had been telling you what was in that last gift at AMA—not even your mother. Aly had said it was probably nothing when she’d been briefly over to assist with the clothes, on a tight break in her schedule, but you weren’t too sure of that.

Pale eyes blink slowly, and a page turns. “No use thinking. Pack.”

“You make it sound like it’s that easy,” you huff, body leaning back and spine resting against your various rugs. The penthouse was warmer today, and you wear comfortable loungewear; shorts, and a dark baggy t-shirt. Your head shifts, arms out beside you. “How are you so calm about everything? My heart feels like it’s constantly going to break out of my chest.”

Your phone goes off on the coffee table, a short buzz that has to be either your mom or Alyona. Rubbing a palm into your right eye, you hear the bear grunt and close whatever he was reading, finding it pointless to try and focus if you continue to speak to him.

He stares for a moment, hidden face a mystery you long to solve. With a tap of his finger on his thigh, he explains.

“Training,” you blink, intrigued. Nikto seems to notice, tilting his head and looking down at you. “You are scared, Woman, yes?”

“Of course.” You had no trouble admitting it. “Anyone would be.”

“In military,” the air of the penthouse moves with the weight of his broken words, the rough bleed of vocals. You really did like his accent—it just added so much to his already intimidating form. Just a stack of bricks being constantly grated against one another. “We were taught how to become used to it—the adrenaline. Fear. In the end, it held little over many; failure was the only fear that never left.”

Your brows furrow, lips frowning. “You fear failure, Nikto?”

You expected a blunt refusal, quick words. But the man had been softening to you over the time you’d known him—if that was your own doing, or something more, you can’t quite tell anymore. Any talk on soulmates has feld you like a rabbit in a dark wood to shy away from the looming presence of something bigger; parties and scorned maniacs.

You still wonder if ignoring the gifts was the right thing to do. Would that make it worse? You think you’d read about that somewhere.

A trigger. But the stalker had already pushed one of those, hadn't he? What could he do that was worse than killing three men? Mutilating animals?

Nikto surprises you.

The man blinks, not looking away from your pleasing eyes—even now, your pupils were small with anxiety; he’d noticed how you adamantly avoided social media and the news, plastered with your pictures and the case. The window had never been opened fully since he’d been here, only a creak of natural light slipping from the crack of the half-risen blinds.

For a gruff beast of action, his eyes missed nothing.

“Yes,” he grumbles, blinking away for a moment before his attention returns. “But it is…lesser than what you feel. Незначительный. Minor.”

A small smile flickers your lips, skull to the ground even as it aches slightly.

“I like it when you speak to me—it helps,” you mumble honestly. It wasn’t flirting, not really.

The Russian looks slightly confused at your sentence, but that doesn’t stop his shoulders from minutely tightening. You chuckle, shifting your head to the ceiling where your little bits of painted glass hang.

“Nikto,” you point upwards. “That one—the bird. What color is it?”

This was a game you’d taken a fast liking to. You’d point and ask the color; Nikto would answer.

“Red,” is his monotone reply after a glance. Eyes from behind his mask shrouded in dark paint. You doubted the face grease could come off anymore, the chemicals already bone deep.

“I thought it was orange,” you sigh. “I still can’t tell the difference.”

“Obviously,” is the dryly amused response, with you glaring without venom and putting your hands to the ground to help push you back up.

“Hey,” you try to hide your teasing smirk. “I’m getting better at it—”

Your voice is strangled off as a sharp inhale, eyes blinking rapidly, and your vision blurs in a moment of ricocheting pain flaring in the base of your skull. Snapping one hand to the back of your head, you strangle down a small scream, reducing it to a whimper of utter agony.

Neck bending forward, your mouth fills with saliva as your spine pulls in, yet you can’t even focus on that. You feel like if you even have a single thought, your brain will explode out of the back of your head.

Nikto startles, eyes widening, but he doesn’t waste time on shock. Feet already rush over at the slighted change in the air, a hand grasping the base of your neck tightly, attention snapping into place. Your breath puffs as your frantically moving face tenses and eyelids twitch. Your nerves were on fire.

The Russian watches, confusion and a certain unease striking him through his pounding heart. What had happened? One second you were speaking and the next your body was so steel-like it shook harder than he’d ever seen it.

“Seraph,” he barks, face close to your head, looking at the spot you grasp at with your visible knuckles, the sound of your gasping pants leaving his throat echoing with reverberations of unease.

Nikto pulls at the skin of your wrist, peeling your hand back before you draw blood, trying to assess what to do. He only sees it then.

It’s a rabid-looking thing, the scar. With your hair as such, your fingers stuck in the knots, they’re pulled back just perfectly to see it. Pale blue eyes stare unabashedly, struck dumb for a moment in their concerned sheen.

It spans from the base of your skull upward, a jagged bulge of healed tissue and fissures—the shade of skin is different there, hyperpigmentation just as Nikto had. Halfway up the back, the rough line breaks into two places, creating a ‘Y’ with the one nearest to the right stopping sooner than the other.

But it was deep. Deadly-like. An indent lives at the middle point.

For someone so in tune with the ways of the body, Nikto was horrified and fascinated at the very implication; how had you…survived this? Your entire skull might have been broken open from the force of whatever had happened, judging by the strength needed to achieve such brutality. Was this the injury that you’d been speaking about?

An overwhelming emotion takes him by the lungs.

Your body had scars just like his did.

Form curling even farther forward, your legs pull into you, and Nikto finds that at the moment, none of that even matters.

“Seraph,” he orders again, equally as urgent but noticed less sharp. His thumb curls your wrist to trap itself at your pounding pulse; running as if being chased by whatever nightmares he hears you whine from in your sleep.

You swallow down your bile with a clicking of your throat and a small cough, eyes stinging.

“Burns,” your lips whisper, lids closing firmly. “God, my head burns.”

It’s a brief thought—a small moment of slip-second thinking that had saved his life many times.

A chilled palm spreads itself over the back of your head, directly over the broken fracture of flesh, without an utterance of a word. The effects aren’t immediate; you don’t just calm down and stop panicking. But it helps. Like a light in the dark, it helps.

After a minute, the chill seeps into your bones. It goes deeper and deeper, the large grip of Nikto’s fingers stuck into your hair perhaps a little harder than they needed to be, but you weren’t about to complain at the pressure. After two minutes, your panting slows to a small ragged wheeze—feeling like a sick duck as your beady eyes finally open. You see the unblinking pale orbs directly to your right almost immediately after the abyssal dots go back to wherever it was they came from.

He doesn’t speak; you didn’t expect him to. Nikto was arrogant, prideful, but he never spoke unless he knew he had something he needed to say. A blunt hound who never hesitated to bark, but only when he could see something was up in the tree.

When you’ve seemed to calm down, the hand on your wrist leaves with a brush of rough gloves to the skin, making you shiver. You notice the hastily tossed material of the matching product, belonging to the other limb, near your knee.

Cold fingers. Cold hands. A corpse would be jealous, but you’d never felt so thankful.

Nikto studies your face rapidly, and your raspy voice levels out a meek, “Sorry.”

Barely visible brows furrow tightly, almost disgusted. You perhaps misinterpreted that expression the wrong way, because just as you’re about to rush into a wild explanation as to why, how, and every excuse you can give, you’re once more taken off guard today.

Bulky arms circle your waist and under your vibrating knees.

With a sluggish reaction, you blink rapidly as you’re settled against the hard Kevlar of his chest—kept firm in his grip. Your legs hang, hand stabilizing yourself on Nikto’s pec.

“What did I say?” He asks heavily, looking down at you as your shock bleeds away to focus on how to calm your heart. “Seraph?” Nikto prompts, his fingers digging into your clothes.

You try to think, stuttering, “You don’t like it when I apologize.”

“So do not,” the Russian grunts, clenching his jaw out of sight. His words are low, and he rolls his shoulders. “That is the end of it.”

He sets you down on the couch, sinking into the multiple plush pillows. You feel weak—limp. Not looking into the man’s eyes, you curl your hands around your waist, leaning back and being careful to not hit your head on the back.

Nikto watches with hidden concern.

“Explain,” he utters, not moving an inch from in front of you. It’s a minute or so before you can find the words. All the Russian does in that time is shift his arms over his chest—fix the stance of his feet. You can feel his eyes like a knife, but you can’t feel how his brain is on high alert; vigilant to any pain that may be hidden from him.

“Happens sometimes,” you whisper, one vibrating hand coming up to lightly run over the back of your skull. You trace the scar softly, feeling the pulse underneath. “It’s just… sensitive.”

Nikto’s eyes narrow.

After a pause, where it’s obvious you feel some sort of embarrassment judging by your avoiding gaze, the great beast sighs long. A slow blink makes his dark lashes up and down.

He hated how he despised that look on your face.

Moving, Nikto sits beside you, leaning back with a grunt and extending an arm behind you on the hardwood of the couch’s frame.

“Tell me. I want to know.” You side-eye him, knees pulled up to your chest. It has a distance to it, your focus. Everything feels like it’s underwater.

“It’s not a good story,” you force a broken huff, smiling wobbly. Numb eyes don’t waver over the lines of your face.

“No,” Nikto bluntly says. “I did not expect it to be. Nonetheless…” he trails. “I am asking if you are willing to answer.”

It wasn’t like you were against saying what had transpired, but there was a lot of history there—so much. The event had happened when you were young, so many years had passed to a point where the mental pain of it had dimmed to all except the consequences. The aftermath.

This was a give and a take; you consider yourself a fair person.

“How did you lose part of your finger?” You turn it around, licking your lips and staring at his neck. The man’s body stills at the question.

Nikto slowly loosens a grumbled scoff. But it isn’t a feral thing. Perhaps he was even impressed that you had the forethought to gain something of his story when you’d already told so much of yours.

He reminds himself once more, not dumb.

“Very well,” Nikto’s head tilts like a wolf, his knee hitting the place where your feet hang over the edge of the cushion. He looks you up and down as his finger taps the wood behind your head. “Second year with PMC. Operation in far-off country—we do not care to remember which anymore.” You listen, heart calming with every scrape of vocal cords. Nikto explains slowly, thinking over every word carefully as his vision trails to rest at your nose. “Hostile hiding under floorboards.” The Russian rolls his shoulders. “I was reaching down to grab at the hatch; it confused me because it was partially open.”

Your body lightly turns his way, the side of your skull meeting the hard build off the inside of his forearm. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, getting everything under control again one second at a time. As if a book, you turn the pages of Nikto, painting a picture of his tale, oblivious to the way his eyes are stuck on your face. His arm stays completely still for you.

He longs to look at that scar again, and he can’t understand why.

“...Large knife came up through the wood. Cut it off and damaged the others near it. It is numb most days. Barely can tell I still have finger. Very inopportune, but all was not lost.”

“What wasn’t lost?” You hum, sighing, and open your eyes again. The Russian’s gaze darts away.

“I killed him,” he says numb-like, a vicious smirk in his voice. “In the end, it was only us who could tell the story, yes?”

“Does it hurt?” You change the subject back to his scars, liking how his forearm acted as your pillow. You could feel his tendons as they pulled.

“Sometimes,” Nikto shrugs at your quiet question, thighs over the couch cushions. “Like all the others. Natural.”

He doesn’t need to ask if yours do.

You dwell on what he insinuates about his body—the scars you already thought he’d have; why he wears that mask.

“I fell,” you share, not letting a long silence linger. Nikto’s feet shuffle on the floor, but otherwise, like a waiting cat, he was completely beholden to your soft voice. “Far. Cracked my head open on a rock.”

There’s so much more to it—but this is the version you always tell everyone. It’s less…complicated. Gets you less looks of pity, even if you’re not sure Nikto is the type to do that.

The large man hums, nodding. He wants to know more; he’d have to look into it further on his own. “You are lucky to be alive after an injury like that.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, lips twisting. “Lucky.”

Your skull pulses.

“But, anyways,” you wave a hand, locking gazes. “Thank you.”

Nikto’s knees crack as he stands, moving away; his heat leaves. Hands situating themselves at the collar of his vest, the Russian’s throat rolls with a noise of acceptance.

“It is my job. Do you require anything?”

“I think I’m okay,” you admit, feet delicately moving to the rug on the floor. It’s back to packing, pushing this to the back of your mind just as you do the remembrance of his fingers tight in your hair; tight at your wrist. Nikto’s hard voice in your ear, saying your angelic title.

Your throat clears itself, blinking, as you stand.

The man takes it as lightheadedness, one foot moving closer. Your hand raises, and he stops. A small chuckle moves out of your mouth, side-eyeing him with a crinkle to your lids.

“I’m okay, Nikto. Trust me, please.”

He sighs, fingers twitching. But he doesn’t grumble any blunt vitriol, he just watches. Always watching.

Your spirits are lightened by his presence.

Brushing down your t-shirt, you close your eyes and shove away the memories, tiny tingles of pain still present as they go up and down your spine.

“Now, we have to get to work,” you brush past the episode, used to them. “It would be helpful if you lent a hand, Big Guy.”

Your joke leads to a huff, fingers taking back their book from the table—all in Russian script, so you didn’t know what it was—and a roll of eyes.

“That is not my problem. Your clothes, your parties.”

“The parties you’re going to have to go with me too,” you smirk, eyes glimmering as you grasp your phone, flipping it over to turn it on and look at the text you’d received. “I hope you like suits.”

Pale eyes widen before a growled Russian sentence wafts over the music from the recorder. You laugh, already knowing the contents of curses and refusals. He was so much like a child sometimes it takes you aback. A brute, utterly refusing what was in front of him and owning a short fuse.

“Oh, calm down,” you blink, signing into your phone. “I’m good at finding clothes as long as you tell me colors and shades. You’re in the best hands in the business, Nikto.”

“Do not say it like that,” he barks, eyes narrowed and his body moving forward to pass you, most likely to go back to your bookshelf and return the book, seeing as he’d get nowhere with it now. “I do not want your hands, Whelp.”

“You’re saying that now,” you tease, pointing with your free finger. “Everyone says that before they have a taste of—”

“Quiet.”

You laugh, spine lightly bending forward, and Nikto’s back turned to you to where you can’t see his face soften at the sound. His body unconsciously loosens, orbs gaining a distance that has nothing to do with his condition. Your existence is a curse to him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

It’s only after you’re able to calm down, the Russian putting his book away with a large hand, when you finally look down at the text you’d gotten.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

‘I sent you a gift and you didn’t even open it?’

Your face freezes mid-smile.

‘I’m giving you everything you wanted—you didn’t open the letter I gave you in the grocery store, either, did you? I waited for hours for you to show up! Hours for you! I’ve waited YEARS to be near you! I love you more than anything in my life and you’re ignoring me? How can you do that when I’ve risked so much? Please, Seraph, I love you but you’re breaking my heart—I’m trying so hard to be kind to you. Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Это любовь с первого взгляда! Я не могу жить без тебя!

I’m trying to forgive you, my Сладкая, I promise. I’ll always forgive you, but let me show you how much you mean to me.’

Images pop through, scent quickly as your glee stiffly drops like glass to the floor. You’d never felt yourself go so still as when you’re halfway through the block of text and you see yourself at the grocery store, alone, and Nikto’s shadow disappearing around the aisle. More—so much more. You in AMA...in…in the photoshoot wearing nothing but the lingerie, skin on full display.

Your eyes flood with tears, jaw open.

He had been in that fucking room. He’d been there when your manager had brought in the dead birds—he, he had…

He’d been right there.

You can’t speak, you’re only looking down at the continuing barrage of photos.

Outside of the Consulate building, walking down the street, talking with Aly on a girls outing from months ago. Your phone vibrates with every one, quivering hands already moving but now more so. Like a rabbit being hunted down. It shows an escalation—the more you see the closer this freak was getting in each, slowly slinking with vile intentions until the last.

An image of the direct back of your head, a hand reaching, and almost touching, exactly where your scar lives.

You’re going to vomit.

The entire device is snatched by gloved fingers.

Nikto glares in confusion, ears twitching at every buzz of your phone. “What is wrong with—”

The man is suddenly more wound up than a dog under a noose.

Rushing past, you only reach the kitchen trash can two seconds before your bile rocketed from your mouth, heaving what little you’d managed to eat of Nikto’s cooking into the bottom with a tight sob.

Nikto’s hand holds the thing—reading, looking, with dead eyes. Dead eyes that gradually become enraged with a certain type of anger that breeds in silence. The skim, a ruthless finger tapping the screen and dragging the conversation back to the top before he stares. He stares and stares and stares at the pictures. At you.

The way you live your life, oblivious to the threat right behind you. Stalking closer.

Nikto can’t remember a time he’s felt so angry at an enemy before. Not just an enemy, no, an animal. This wasn’t like the rules of war, this was for pleasure; for a selfish need. He knew how to keep himself separate—had to for his sanity—but this was something no one could not get wrathful at. Even him.

He hears you wretch, vomiting into the trash just below the island where he’d made the both of you lunch, the choke of your sobbing breaths. The sounds make his hands tighten over the phone, to smash it to pieces like a toddler with a block castle.

And then the device buzzes one more time as Nikto silently finishes reading the first text you’d been sent.

‘Don’t worry about the bodyguard, Seraph, I can take care of him, too. We can finally be together, just like it’s supposed to be.’

Nikto is hitting the call button before his brain catches up to his finger.

Slotting it to his covered ear, he breathes like an afflicted hound, eye buggy and chest rattling with air. Panting echoed from behind his mask, the hot breath moving back to warm his slashed and burned flesh.

It picks up on the second ring, but nothing is said. No words from the other end.

In the corner of his eye, Nikto sees you hyperventilating. The former soldier speaks entirely in Russian, slipping back into his native tongue as easily as he slips into violence—it is nothing more than a slide of sandpaper.

“I am going to watch the life bleed from your eyes,” he grinds out. “And then I’m going to make your corpse wish it had been set on fire instead.”

Nikto hangs up, tossing the phone to the coffee table and making a mental note to get Yaromir and Galina to trace the number. Stomping over to you, your body was away from the trash now, hand to your mouth.

“I’m okay,” you say hurriedly, tears tracking your cheeks. “I’m okay.”

“You are not,” Nikto wishes he could go to the shooting range—wishes he could spar and slam someone down to a wrestling mat. He needs flesh under his fingertips.

The Russian’s chest is wide and rising with the pulse of untamed lungs. The bulge of his pecs stuttered over their course and the old scars he carries itch under the barrier of his gear.

Growling, the man clenches his eyes shut, shaking his head to the side firmly.

But there was something about the implication of you being threatened that made Nikto need to feel the weight of his service weapon in his grip. To feel the recoil of a bullet being sent into someone. A nameless figure; a silent phone call.

Nikto scoffs, rolling his neck and shoulders.

Thinking like this was making him reckless.

“I guess I should have told you about the letters, then,” you taste bile on your tongue, images swirling in your head—paranoia was firm. Suddenly, every memory was tainted. You gag on your saliva, coughing.

Nikto doesn’t respond to the self-deprecating comment.

Once more today, hands move to touch you, pulling at the space under your arms and lifting. Blinking, you’re moving around when your feet are flat on the ground—hands going to rest on the edge of the counter behind you.

Nikto’s hands stay stuck at the meat of your limbs, great head tilted. Eyes lock on the tear tracks spreading down your skin, and he pauses.

A thumb slowly pushes at them, spreading the liquid along your flesh as your blurry vision stays at his neck. With a shuddering inhale at the unneeded attention, your head lightly sags forward—connecting with Nikto’s chest.

He tenses, looking down at you from the corner of his eye.

After a minute, his nose releases an unheard sigh, and his arms lower to his sides.

Nikto lets you rest there as long as you need.

—

You’re in the bath tonight, and Nikto listens to the water sloshing as he pushes the envelopes around from inside the lockbox.

It was safe to say you hadn’t gone back to packing.

That woman, Alyona, was here—she’d made a big fuss about the texts before she’d taken you with her and led you into the bathroom to clean yourself up. You were both in there now—talking. Nikto wasn’t going to act like he wasn’t eavesdropping; he didn’t care if your friend or you knew it. It was mostly about the parties, the talk, and the Russian could understand that Alyona was trying to occupy your mind.

His mission was more important.

You’d passed him the box and watched as Nikto had retrieved the letter from your coat pocket. The former soldier had already called the investigators and promptly told them to arrest Sergi, or they would have him to deal with—there hadn’t been time to respond before he’d hung up and smashed his phone to the nightstand of your rented room. The resounding echo had made both parties in the bathroom go silent for a minute before hesitantly starting back up.

And now, there was the scratchy English script of a stalker in his hands. He felt disgusting even touching them; he was glad he’d put his gloves back on. A permanent sneer was stuck to his hidden face like a curse, eyes narrowed.

Standing, the man trades weight from his thighs as he reads the letter that had been stuck in your jacket.

‘My Сладкая,

This is the one-hundredth letter I’ve written to you, though you haven’t been sent all of them yet. I’m still waiting for you to notice me, and I’ve grown disquieted by your response to the way I disposed of your three guards. Was that not what you wanted every time you looked at me?’

Nikto’s hand comes up to rub at the fabric over his neck, digging until he feels the bulge of his scar against his fingertips.

‘I thought you would be thankful, but now you have that man following you everywhere. He took your doves from you—the doves that were supposed to make up for the misunderstanding about the dead men. You looked beautiful with the red fire moving over your face that day, you know? It caught every curve and the softness of your skin perfectly. Here—I even took a picture for you to enjoy as I thoroughly have. I hope it brings you the pleasure it brought me to run my lips over your holy image.”

Fingers crumble the side of the letter, creasing it. Not once do they delve into the envelope to look for that picture. If he had the choice, Nikto would rip this entire thing into little bits.

‘I think it’s time that we meet—alone, Сладкая. I’ll be waiting tonight at the café for you, so we can run away together. And start this life together. I think it’s time. Yes. I will ravage you with all of the beautiful things in life; jewelry, dresses, makeup, my body. It is mine, isn’t it? You? You’ve told me with your eyes, so why are you still ignoring me? You look at me every day. I look back—you love me! I know you do! Why are you still being such a—’

It falls off into nothing but rabid script; illegible even to Nikto’s best abilities. The letter is saturated with something—spots of the paper pulling in on itself with droplets off…

Nikto stills, disgust and insult moving in his gut. There wasn’t any DNA on the box, but they certainly had some here.

Dropping the letter into the lockbox on the nightstand, the man takes the top and rams it shut with a rattle of the nesting dolls on the upper shelf. Nikto removes his gloves and tosses them into the garbage bin.

Stalking to the bathroom door, he moves on instinct. Ever the animal.

Knuckles rasp to the wood. Conversations halt once more.

“Seraph,” he eases, accent tight. “You are well?”

A bead of silence, the moving of water.

“Yes, Nikto,” your voice is still shaky, but it comes out from under the door.

Nikto stares at his feet, blinking. With a grunt, his feet shift and he forces out, “Good. You will call if you need us.”

It wasn’t a question.

Moving back, he nods to himself firmly, shaking out his right hand—he can’t seem to stop being on edge. Every creak, every shadow of your decorations moving, made his eyes dart to them, honing in as if behind the scope of a rifle.

Nikto brought his hands to the side of his skull, pushing in. You were messing with his head, he tells himself again. The moments of dissociation were becoming more frequent as of late, and he could feel it in the back of his mind even now. A glaze over his brain that made everything feel like it was worlds away from him—it was sharp and sure of itself. Words jumbled, ‘I’s came out as ‘We’s, things were lapsed from his brain; important things. Moments of confusion—aggression. Leaving you behind in a grocery store at the flip of a coin. Snapping at you in real anger when you were just curious.

He can’t do that. He can’t lose his grip.

From inside the bathroom, your eyes stay locked on the door, your head resting on the wall behind you as your skin soaks in the claw-footed tub.

“I don’t know if this is good for me, Aly,” you confess lowly, eyes shifting back to the wall ahead of you, a little black and white ceramic fish on a shelf. Candles let off the scent of linen and pine.

Alyona sits on the stool a few feet away, watching your face worriedly.

“Солнышко,” she starts slowly, “we both know it isn’t. It’s going to pass—I can’t hope for more than that.”

It’s like a repeating record—It’ll be okay, just keep strong, push through.

It wasn’t Aly’s fault; she’s involved in this too.

“Is Nikifor worried about you?” The woman’s head perks, her lips twitching as the orbs inside of her head soften.

“Seraph, you don’t have to change the subject—”

“Truly,” you move a hand up from the water and rub at your face. “Really, Aly, I need a distraction. Please, just…talk. You know I love to hear about the two of you.”

She sighs, looking to the wall. After a moment, she chuckles, head tilting down. “Yes, he’s worried. He worries about you as well. You have a home with us, little Солнышко—I want you to know that, yes?” Alyona brings a hand to your cheek, pinching in good nature.

You shuffle away in mock annoyance, lips twitching.

“...I know, Aly.”

“Good,” she huffs. “I would not be a good friend if you didn’t. At least that brute is taking care of you, it seems.”

“He’s a good cook,” you ease out. “You should try it sometime.”

Gray eyes blink at you, shocked. “He got you to eat a meal?”

“You’re saying it like I never do,” you chuckle, eyebrows pulling in as the dimmed overhead light shines down on your avoidance of the problem at hand.

“No, it’s not that,” Aly’s eyes rove with unseen emotion, her concerned heart gaining a smidge of affection for the man outside of the door, whose shadowed feet can still be seen pacing. “I am…glad, Seraph. Food is always the way to someone’s senses, eh?”

Your lips twitch, but the weight on your chest remains. A tense pause grabs the both of you.

“I wish you were coming with,” you have to admit on a stiff tongue. “Ever since I first got here, you’ve been with me for all of it—the parties especially.” Your open mouth stutters. “Aly, I don’t think I can do it again by myself. All of those people; what some of them expect from me, it…it’s just…” Getting choked up, you move a hand to your mouth, covering it. From behind the flesh, you mutter, “I can’t do it again, it’s just the same as staying here, as a matter of fact, I think staying would be better.”

“You need to think rationally,” Aly shakes her head, getting closer to take your hand in both of hers. She squeezes, her top shiny in the light as it moves. “Nothing is worse than staying in this city. The man outside the door agrees. It is the safest option for you, even if,” Alyona closes her eyes, looking away as she opens them. She never finishes her sentence.

“I don’t want to,” you fight a whimper. “Aly, we tried so hard to get out of them sending us like meat.”

But there’s nothing that the woman can do to you when you say it like that, and even her expression gets far away. Alyona’s eyes blink fast, getting glossy before they avoid your eyes for the rest of the night.

“I’m sorry, My Seraph. I’m so, so, sorry.”

And that’s all that can be said.

When night comes, you don’t think you sleep at all, and by Nikto’s pacing of his room, the occasional pause to peek his head through your doorway, neither does he.

—

The time to leave came far quicker than you could anticipate as the days blended. Chelyabinsk was nearly a three-hour drive if you went the fastest route, and in the time before it, you and Nikto hadn’t spoken much about the letters. They’d been taken by the investigators the next day, along with your phone, for testing and tracking. While you’d been given a new device, it was a tiny thing that died more times than not; you had three contacts—Alyona, Nikto, and your mom.

You’d been assigned a driver by AMA for the trip, and thus, the all-black vehicle had arrived in the small hours of the morning as you had finished a hurried call to your matriarch.

“I’ll be back soon, Mom,” you’d explained. “Business. I’ll keep me busy.”

She had said it was a good idea like everyone else. Aly and you were the only ones to know the truth. Dread was a fishhook in your throat, but the fear of staying here was just as prominent. Those pictures haunted your mind.

“Nikto,” you ask, grabbing one of your suitcases on the street with a grunt. “Can you…?” The item is taken and easily lifted into the trunk. “Thank you,” your voice breathes out a sigh into the early morning air.

You hadn’t been to Chelyabinsk in a long time. Your brain knew that it would be most of the same—you needed to be careful of who you spoke to and how you did it. While regular crime was only moderate, corruption and bribery was your main problem when entering the place. You were on Allurement’s payroll, would your CEO’s influence be enough to stop anyone from trying anything with you?

If you stuck to where you were told to go, you should be fine.

Along with yourself and Nikto, photographers and media know-hows would be tagging along; makeup artists and stylists. A team of people who mostly refuse to look at you at all, only a few familiar faces among them.

But, thankfully, only you and your guard would be in this car.

“You can get in,” Nikto comments, blinking at you in the dark street, the lights of the car and the penthouse behind you all you have to differentiate between shades of black and gray. Your eyes had been constantly narrowed so you could try and see better. “I will load the rest.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” you smile sheepishly, “I’d like to stay out until we leave. I get fidgety when I’m in the car for too long.”

His shoulders shrug, taking another of your bags from the ground. “Very well. You will eat on the way there, then.”

Your eyes blink, attention pulled back from the shadow of a man walking across the street, raising hair on your arms.

“What was that?” You tilt your head.

Nikto huffs. “Eat. On the way there.” He raises a brow. “You need breakfast.”

“Oh,” you at your neck slightly. “Sure, yeah. But what about you? Do you want me to turn around or something so I won’t see your face?”

“No need. We ate as you dressed. Packed the remaining for you.” You’re brushed past, the purse around your shoulder connecting with Nikto’s thigh as his boots clop over the concrete.

Your lips twitch, expression still worried but the tease sneaking out instinctually. “I need to start calling you Mother Bear, Nikto.”

“It will be the last thing you do, Whelp,” he grumbles, eyes looking over his shoulder as he packs the last suitcase away. Amusement is like liquid stone inside of them.

So the trip ensued.

You entertained yourself by staring out of the window as the cityscape rolled back, already missing the sanctity of your penthouse as you fiddled with a small stuffed bird in your grip.

“I spy…” you mumble twenty minutes in, trying to be normal again. “Something tall and gray—”

“Tree,” Nikto grunts, trying to read one of the books he packed.

“No,” you say, defensively. “It was,” your mouth opens and closes, scouring the passing scene but finding nothing. “Fine, yes, it was a tree.”

“I spy something blue.”

“That’s not even funny.”

“I believe it was funny. Perhaps you do not have a good sense of humor, Woman.”

You glare, throwing your stuffed bird directly at his forehead and watching it bounce off. Nikto doesn’t even look away from the words on his page, flipping to the next with a deep chuckle in his neck.

Rolling your eyes, you groan and slouch into your seat.

You had to say, though, that as the city disappeared, so did your anxieties. It felt good to be near dense croppings of trees again—only an open and uncrowded highway and Nikto beside you. His pale eyes would watch you every so often, and you would do the same, studying each other as time passed and a gradual silence fell.

“Can I use you as a pillow?” You ask with only an hour left on the trip.

Nikto’s halfway through his book, and up until now, you’d kept to yourself, lost in thought.

“I am not comfortable,” he utters, leg shifting. He glances, but his numb eyes don’t do much until they move back to where they were prior. “And my Kevlar is hard. It will aggravate your head.”

You had to wonder how fast he caught onto that fact about you. A smile grows on your face, and you shift to grab your jacket, folding it and tossing the item onto Nikto’s thigh. His head darts down right as you move to rest there, body sideways and legs folded against the door.

“I like it when you worry—it’s cute,” you stifle a yawn, ignoring his digging eyes. “Wake me before we get there?”

Your ears don’t wait for an answer, your fatigue from missing an entire night of sleep catching up where Nikto’s never would. He watched you rest for the remainder of the ride, hand hovering over your shoulder until it slowly slipped down to rest on it with a grumble of exasperated Russian under his breath. But the man had noticed the bags under your eyes—unable to be hidden by makeup. He found it in himself to let you sleep, even if the infection of your warmth made his head go loose; how your slackened face looked peaceful.

The knowledge of what you’d just experienced was still with him, even as he linked his feelings together as pointless. This was a waiting game, and everyone else seemed to have time except for you.

He didn’t like it. There was a nagging in the back of his gut—instinctual understanding as a hired gun who’d gone through many deployments. This was bigger; something was going to happen soon. A tipping point.

Nikto had a feeling you felt it too, as your head nuzzled his thigh in your sleep, shoving yourself into your jacket as tiny grunts moved from your lips; eyebrows furrowing.

Bad dream, the Russian clocked immediately, his book long placed at his side and his one elbow against the window frame.

Pale blue eyes watched for a moment, looking at your deep red blouse and the long back skirt that lightly cascaded over the side of the seats. His hand at your shoulder—hard and immobile, twitches as it tries to keep you steady, feeling the muscle under your flesh writhe.

Only when you can’t seem to calm down does he do anything at all.

Nikto can easily stamp an expression of annoyance on his face, of bored numbness, but instead, a sliver of something that could be considered softness bleeds from behind his eyes; something that even if he were to look into a mirror, he couldn’t name himself.

A finger brushes up your neck, scarred and broken, most of a finger missing and the nearest ones fuzzy with nerve damage. It hovers, steady, before his hand moves to massage along the base of your scar. It’s an awkward angle, no mistake. After all, he was practically grabbing the side of your neck to reach, but it was all he could offer short of waking you.

When he couldn’t sleep, he’d do the same to himself; it helped, he thought, feeling skin on skin—a caress that eases aches. Call it pathetic, but the sensations he was feeling doing the same to you were nothing short of trance-inducing. To understand the pulse of your heart—your breath returns to a slow puff; brows settling back down at only his circling thumb.

A bit of that infectious pride trickles into his eyes; smug.

Nikto grunts, and leans back into his chair, continuing his work to settle you, and smirks softly under his mask.

Only roughly half an hour to go, and then it was back to guard duty. But perhaps he could close his eyes and rest as well.

You made for quite the distraction.

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