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novaursa · 6 months ago

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Echoes of a Promise

- Summary: When Prince Daemon Targaryen challenged Ser Gwayne Hightower during the tourney, that King Viserys I orginazed for birth of his heir, it was not just to humiliate and spite Otto. It was because of you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower (with one-sided Daemon Targaryen)

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister or Rhaenyra and is bonded with dragon Silverwing. These events take place years before Skyfall. For more parts and to read this in a chronological order check my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Or you can consider it to be part just for itself.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 614

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The air is filled with the excitement and anticipation of the tournament, with the roar of the crowd echoing across the field. The day is bright, though the tension in the air hangs like a storm waiting to break. You sit in the royal box, your back straight as you watch the events unfold below. Beside you, your sister Rhaenyra leans forward, her gold and silver hair catching the sunlight, while Alicent, ever composed, keeps a more demure posture. Despite the noise around you, there's an undercurrent of unease, an undercurrent you can feel but cannot name.

You try to focus on the jousts, but your mind keeps drifting. Today is supposed to be a day of celebration, yet you cannot shake the feeling that something is amiss. It could be the knowledge that your mother, Queen Aemma, is in labor, or perhaps it's the weight of expectation that seems to press down on you from all sides. The youngest princess, soon to be the sister to an heir, the girl bonded to Silverwing, you feel the eyes of the realm upon you.

Your gaze shifts to Ser Gwayne Hightower, who sits on his horse at the end of the lists, resplendent in his armor. You can feel his eyes on you, and when you glance at him, he offers a small, shy smile. There's something earnest about him, something that makes your heart flutter just slightly. You return his smile, feeling a warmth spread through you despite the cool breeze.

Rhaenyra notices your exchange and leans closer, a teasing smile on her lips. "Ser Gwayne seems quite taken with you, sister."

You give her a playful nudge. "He is a noble knight. It would be unbecoming of him not to show favor to his princess."

Alicent, always the voice of reason, adds softly, "But it is clear my brother’s favor is more than just courtly manners. Perhaps you should acknowledge it."

You cast another glance at Gwayne, who has returned his attention to the field, but not before stealing one more look your way. There is a sincerity in his eyes that you find difficult to ignore. Your heart is conflicted, though you try to push the thoughts aside. After all, you are a princess of the realm, and such things are never simple.

But before you can ponder further, the crowd erupts into cheers and gasps. The herald's voice rings out, announcing the next joust. "Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, against Prince Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince."

The shift in atmosphere is palpable. You feel it immediately, the tension growing thick and heavy, like the humidity before a storm. Your heart skips a beat as you see Daemon enter the lists, his presence commanding, his dark violet eyes scanning the crowd before landing on you. He doesn't smile, but the look he gives you is intense, a mixture of challenge and something else you can't quite place.

"He’s chosen Ser Gwayne," Alicent whispers, her voice laced with concern for her brother.

"To spite Lord Otto, no doubt," Rhaenyra mutters, her brows furrowing.

But you know better. Daemon's choice is not just to slight his old nemesis, the Hand of the King. No, this is a message, one meant for you. Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize the implications. Daemon is many things—unpredictable, dangerous, and bold. He has never hidden his affection for you, though it is often veiled in the guise of familial care. But there’s always been more, something unspoken between you two, something that now rears its head in the most public of arenas.

As the joust begins, you watch with bated breath. The crowd roars as the two knights charge at each other, lances poised to strike. The clash is fierce, the sound of splintering wood echoing across the field. Gwayne holds his own against Daemon, and for a moment, you dare to hope. But Daemon is a seasoned warrior, and his determination today is fueled by more than just a desire to win.

They go for another round, and this time, Daemon’s lance strikes true. It shatters against Gwayne’s shield, the force of the blow unseating him. Gwayne crashes to the ground, the breath knocked out of him, and the crowd gasps. You instinctively rise from your seat, hands clutching the railing in front of you.

"Y/N," Rhaenyra says softly, reaching out to calm you, but you barely hear her.

Your eyes are locked on Gwayne as he struggles to rise, his pride wounded as much as his body. Daemon circles him like a predator, his horse prancing, as if waiting to see if Gwayne will stand again. When Gwayne finally manages to get to his feet, Daemon removes his helmet, letting his silver hair spill out, and then he dismounts.

He strides over to Gwayne, and the two exchange words you cannot hear from this distance. But you see the way Daemon’s eyes flick up to the royal box, to you, and then back to Gwayne. Whatever he says is enough to make Gwayne’s expression harden, though he does not retaliate. Gwayne simply bows his head slightly, acknowledging the defeat, and then steps back.

Daemon, satisfied, returns to his horse, but not before casting you another look. This time, there’s a smirk on his lips, one that makes your blood boil. He knows exactly what he’s done, and the worst part is that you do too. He’s made his statement, loud and clear, in front of all the lords and ladies of the realm. Daemon Targaryen does not intend to step aside, and anyone who seeks to win your favor will have to contend with him first.

As Daemon rides off, victorious, your eyes drift back to Gwayne. He stands tall, despite the defeat, and when he finally looks up at you, there is no shame in his expression. Only determination, and something else—hope, perhaps? A promise that he will not give up so easily.

You sink back into your seat, your heart a tangle of emotions. Rhaenyra gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, and Alicent offers you a small, understanding smile. But your mind is elsewhere, torn between the earnest affection of a young knight and the dangerous allure of a rogue prince.

As the dust settles from the tilt between Daemon and Gwayne, Otto Hightower watches with a deepening frown, his knuckles whitening as he grips the armrest of his chair. He had seen the intent in Daemon's eyes from the moment he chose Gwayne as his opponent. The tilt had been more than just a joust—it was a pointed act, an attempt to not only humiliate Otto but to endanger his son and, by extension, challenge Otto's influence in the court. Otto's gaze shifts from the field back to the royal box where you sit, and he notices the anxiety in your eyes as you watch Gwayne stand tall despite his defeat.

Otto's concern is not only for his son's welfare but also for the implications of Daemon's reckless actions. He can see how the prince's antics could destabilize everything he has worked for, and that thought is enough to push him into action. With a composed but determined stride, Otto makes his way to King Viserys, who sits at the center of the royal box, his expression a mixture of concern and detachment as he watches the aftermath of the joust.

"Your Grace," Otto begins, bowing slightly before taking his place at Viserys' side. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency in his tone. "I cannot help but express my concern over Prince Daemon’s conduct. Choosing my son as his opponent was not merely a matter of sport—it was a deliberate act of provocation."

Viserys sighs, his gaze still fixed on the field. "Daemon is... spirited," he replies, attempting to sound nonchalant, though there's a hint of weariness in his voice. "You know how he is, Otto. He has always had a flair for the dramatic."

"Spirited?" Otto repeats, unable to keep the sharpness out of his voice. "Your Grace, this was not mere dramatics. This was a calculated attempt to undermine the order of things. My son’s life was endangered, not out of competition, but out of spite."

Viserys finally turns to look at Otto, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You see threats where there are none, Lord Hightower. Daemon is my brother; he would not harm a fellow knight without reason. Gwayne is skilled, and I am sure Daemon respected that."

Otto suppresses a sigh, knowing that Viserys is, as always, reluctant to see the worst in his brother. "Your Grace, the prince's intentions were clear. He seeks to disrupt, to sow discord, and he has taken a particular interest in your youngest daughter, as you well know."

Viserys' expression hardens at the mention of you, but before he can respond, Otto seizes the opportunity to press his point. "I have proposed a match before, between Y/N and my son, Gwayne. He is a noble knight, honorable and devoted to the realm, and most importantly, he cares deeply for your daughter. Such a match would not only strengthen ties between our houses but also protect the princess from the whims of Prince Daemon."

Viserys shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not pleased with the direction of the conversation. "I am aware of your proposal, Otto, but I do not see the need to rush into any such arrangement. Y/N is still young, and I would not have her feel pressured into a marriage, especially one so clearly driven by political concerns.

"Your Grace," Otto insists, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone, "this is not just about politics. It is about ensuring the stability of your realm, the safety of your daughter. Daemon is unpredictable, and his interest in Y/N is far from innocent. A match with Gwayne would provide her with the protection of an honorable man, a knight who would be devoted to her above all else."

Viserys' face tightens with frustration. "Daemon is my brother, Otto. He may be reckless, but he is no danger to Y/N. And as for Gwayne, I have no doubt of his virtues, but I will not be pushed into making decisions about my daughter's future based on fear and speculation."

Otto opens his mouth to argue further, but at that moment, a servant approaches the king, bowing deeply before leaning in to speak quietly into his ear. Whatever the servant says causes Viserys' expression to change instantly, the frustration and weariness replaced by a deep concern, and something close to dread.

"Your Grace," the servant says, just loud enough for Otto to catch the words, "I bring word from the Maester. The Queen's labor... it is not progressing well. The Maester has requested your presence."

Viserys pales, his attention immediately drawn away from the tournament and all other matters. The color drains from his face as the weight of the situation dawns on him. He rises from his seat, barely acknowledging Otto’s presence now.

"Excuse me, Otto," Viserys says, his voice strained, "I must attend to the Queen."

Otto watches as Viserys departs, a feeling of unease settling over him. The king’s concerns about Aemma are legitimate, of course, but Otto cannot help but feel that the danger Daemon represents is just as pressing. Yet, with Viserys now preoccupied, there is little more Otto can do at this moment. He watches the king hurry away, his thoughts a storm of worry and calculation.

As he returns his gaze to the field, where the tournament continues with all its noise and pageantry, Otto’s mind races. He knows that Daemon’s influence over his brother and his growing interest in you are threats that cannot be ignored. And while Viserys may not see the urgency, Otto knows that he must find a way to protect both his son and the realm. But for now, with the shadow of the Queen’s labor hanging over them all, any further plans will have to wait.

Otto Hightower may be forced to wait, but he will not forget.

The gardens are quiet, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon. The air is cool, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers, yet you find no comfort in their fragrance. Your heart is heavy, weighed down by grief that seems too vast to bear. The funeral had been a somber affair, the pyres of your mother and brother burning brightly against the darkening sky, and now, even the flames have died, leaving only ashes and silence.

You wander through the gardens, seeking solitude, though the emptiness only magnifies your sorrow. The night is still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze, and your thoughts are consumed by the images of your mother, Queen Aemma, and your brother, Baelon, who had lived but a single day. The grief presses down on you, almost suffocating in its intensity. You find yourself sinking onto a stone bench beneath a large, ancient tree, its branches reaching out like arms meant to offer comfort, but even nature seems distant tonight.

You barely notice the sound of footsteps on the gravel path until they draw close. When you finally look up, you see Gwayne Hightower approaching, his expression one of deep concern and sorrow. His presence, though unexpected, stirs something within you—an odd mixture of relief and anxiety. He slows as he nears, his armor glinting softly in the moonlight, but there’s nothing imposing about him now. His eyes, warm and kind, are fixed on you, offering a silent question.

With a quiet nod, you dismiss the Kingsguard who stands at a respectful distance, signaling that you wish for privacy. The knight bows and steps away, leaving you alone with Gwayne in the tranquil, shadowed gardens.

"Princess," Gwayne says softly as he reaches you, his voice gentle, laced with the same sorrow that you feel. "I hoped to find you… I thought you might need someone."

You look up at him, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, and for a moment, you struggle to find your voice. When you finally speak, your words are choked with emotion. "They’re gone, Gwayne. My mother… my brother…"

He kneels beside you, taking your hands in his. His touch is warm, grounding you in the here and now, even as your heart aches with the loss. "I am so sorry, Y/N," he murmurs, his thumbs gently brushing over your knuckles. "I cannot imagine the pain you’re feeling, but know that you do not have to bear it alone."

You blink, a tear escaping to trace down your cheek. "But I am alone, Gwayne. Everyone I love… they keep leaving me." Your voice breaks, and you lower your head, unable to hold back the tears any longer.

Gwayne’s hands tighten around yours, firm but tender, and he shifts to sit beside you on the bench. "You are not alone, not truly. I am here, Y/N. I will always be here for you, if you’ll let me."

There’s something in his voice, a quiet determination that draws your gaze back to him. You see the sincerity in his eyes, the deep, unwavering care he holds for you, and in that moment, a small part of your grief seems to lift, if only slightly. The loneliness that had seemed so overwhelming before begins to recede, replaced by a warmth that spreads through you, a connection that you hadn’t realized you needed so desperately.

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you, holding you close. The silence between you is no longer heavy with sorrow but filled with something softer, more comforting. After a moment, Gwayne speaks again, his voice low and earnest. "I promise you, Y/N, I will do everything in my power to make sure you are never alone. One day, I will marry you, and I will protect you, cherish you, for as long as I live."

His words catch you off guard, and you pull back slightly to look at him. "Marry me?" you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper. There’s a vulnerability in your tone, a hope you hadn’t dared to acknowledge until now.

"Yes," Gwayne says, his gaze never wavering. "I’ve cared for you for so long, and I know in my heart that you are the one I wish to spend my life with. I want to be by your side, to give you the happiness and security you deserve. I swear it."

Something inside you shifts, the despair you’ve been drowning in easing as you absorb the depth of his feelings. Without thinking, you reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. "You are too kind, Gwayne," you murmur, your voice trembling. "I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you."

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the moment. "You deserve everything, Y/N," he says softly, opening his eyes to meet yours once more. "And I want to be the one to give it to you."

The sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, it’s all too much. You close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that is tentative at first, testing the waters of this new intimacy. Gwayne responds immediately, his kiss gentle but insistent, as if he’s been waiting for this moment for as long as he can remember.

The kiss deepens, the grief and sorrow you’ve been carrying melding into a need for comfort, for connection. Gwayne’s hands move to your waist, pulling you closer as the heat between you grows. The world outside of this moment seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other.

He pulls back slightly, his breath ragged, his eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice hushed, as if he fears breaking the spell between you.

In response, you nod, your heart racing. "Yes," you whisper, the word barely audible, but full of the longing and need that has been building within you. "I need you, Gwayne. Please."

With a tenderness that takes your breath away, Gwayne begins to undress you, his hands careful and reverent as if you are something precious, something to be cherished. You mirror his actions, your fingers working to remove his armor, his tunic, until there is nothing between you but the cool night air.

When he finally moves over you, his touch is gentle, mindful of your inexperience. There’s a brief moment of hesitation, of adjustment, as your bodies join, but the discomfort quickly gives way to something deeper, more profound. Gwayne pauses, his forehead resting against yours as he waits for you to relax, to adjust to the newness of this intimacy.

"Are you alright?" he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nod, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you pull him closer. "Yes, Gwayne… don’t stop," you murmur, your breath hitching as pleasure begins to build, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity.

He kisses you again, and as your bodies find a rhythm, the world narrows down to the sensation of his touch, the warmth of his skin against yours, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. The urgency between you grows, the need to escape the pain of the world in the solace of each other’s arms, until it all culminates in a rush of pleasure that leaves you both breathless.

In the aftermath, as you lie together in the cool grass, Gwayne holds you close, his hand gently stroking your hair. "I will marry you, Y/N," he whispers, his voice filled with a quiet, unshakable determination. "I swear it, on my honor as a knight. We will be together, always."

You smile softly against his chest, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat, by the warmth of his promise. "I believe you," you whisper back, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion finally begins to claim you.

But as the night deepens, as sleep takes hold, the cruel hand of fate begins to weave its own tapestry. Despite the promises made beneath the stars, despite the love you share in this stolen moment, you do not know that the future holds other plans, plans that will tear you from this place, from this man who has given you his heart.

For this promise of marriage, of a future together, will never come to be.

The days following the funeral passed in a haze of mourning, with the weight of loss still hanging heavily over the Red Keep. The atmosphere was somber, with everyone moving about with a quiet reverence, as though the very stones of the castle themselves had absorbed the grief of its inhabitants. Yet, amidst this solemnity, a tension was brewing, one that threatened to shatter the fragile peace.

Daemon Targaryen, ever restless and unpredictable, had spent those days watching, biding his time. He had seen the way Gwayne Hightower had looked at you during the funeral, the way his presence seemed to linger near yours. And while most would dismiss it as nothing more than the attentions of a knight to his princess, Daemon knew better. He could see through the thin veil of propriety to the emotions simmering just beneath the surface.

When he finally confronted Gwayne, it was in one of the shadowed courtyards of the Red Keep, a place where the light of day barely reached and where secrets were often exchanged in hushed tones. Gwayne was alone, having just finished sparring in the yard, his armor still gleaming with the sweat of exertion. He was unprepared for the sight of Daemon emerging from the shadows, a sly smile playing on his lips.

"Ser Gwayne," Daemon called out, his voice deceptively casual. "You seem to have made yourself quite at home here in King's Landing. But then again, Hightowers always know how to make themselves comfortable, don’t they?"

Gwayne stiffened at the sound of Daemon’s voice, his hand instinctively moving to rest on the hilt of his sword. He turned to face the prince, his expression wary but resolute. "Prince Daemon," he greeted, his tone respectful but with an edge. "What brings you to this part of the Keep?"

Daemon strolled closer, his every movement calculated, as if he were a cat toying with a mouse. "I couldn’t help but notice your... persistent presence near my niece. After our last encounter at the lists, I thought you would have taken the hint to back off. But it seems Otto's son is either very brave or very foolish."

Gwayne’s jaw tightened, but he did not back down. "My intentions towards Princess Y/N are honorable, Prince Daemon. My feelings for her are genuine, and they have nothing to do with my father’s ambitions."

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, the amusement in them fading to something colder, more dangerous. "Is that so? I find it hard to believe that anything a Hightower does is not meticulously planned. You expect me to believe that your affections are purely coincidental, that they have nothing to do with your father’s desire to bind your house to the blood of dragons?"

Gwayne took a step forward, his hand still on his sword, but he made no move to draw it. "My feelings for the princess are my own, born out of respect and admiration, not out of any scheme. I care for her deeply, and I would never use her as a pawn in some political game."

"Respect and admiration," Daemon repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "How noble of you, Ser Gwayne. But tell me, what will you do when Viserys refuses to allow this match? When he sees your father’s hand behind it and denies your request? What then, noble knight?"

Gwayne’s resolve did not falter, though he could feel the weight of Daemon’s words pressing down on him. "If the king denies me, then so be it. But know this, Daemon—my feelings for Y/N will not change. I will still care for her, still protect her, with or without a marriage."

Daemon’s lips curled into a smirk, though his eyes were anything but amused. "You speak of protection, but what you fail to understand, Ser Gwayne, is that she doesn’t need protection from me. It is your interference that could bring her harm. Viserys may be blind to many things, but he is not blind to his brother’s intentions. You think you’re the better man, the safer choice, but you’re just as much a threat as any other suitor."

Gwayne’s grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles white, but he held his ground. "I would never harm her. And I will not be frightened away by your threats or your insinuations, Prince Daemon. If you truly care for her as you claim, you would understand that what matters most is her happiness. If I can give her that, then I will fight for it."

Daemon’s smile vanished, replaced by a hard, calculating look. "You think you can win against me, Ser Gwayne? You think your noble heart and chivalrous intentions will protect you from the realities of the court? You may have convinced yourself that your love is pure, but love in this world is rarely enough. Blood, power, and the will to seize it—that is what drives the fate of men."

The tension between them crackled in the air, a palpable thing that seemed to thrum with the promise of violence. Gwayne stared Daemon down, unflinching, his voice steady as he replied, "I may not have your power or your blood, Daemon, but I have something you don’t—a heart that beats for her, not for ambition. And that is something you will never understand."

For a moment, they stood in silence, two forces at an impasse, each unwilling to yield. Then, with a flicker of something akin to grudging respect in his eyes, Daemon broke the stare, stepping back. He let out a low, dark chuckle.

"Perhaps you’re right, Gwayne," he said, his tone lighter but still laced with danger. "Perhaps I don’t understand. But mark my words—the day will come when you’ll see that love alone is not enough. And when that day comes, I’ll be there, watching as your noble heart shatters."

With that, Daemon turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked away, leaving Gwayne standing in the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. Gwayne’s hand slowly relaxed from his sword, but the tension remained, coiled tight in his muscles, in his mind.

He watched Daemon disappear into the darkness, his thoughts racing. Daemon’s words had been like barbs, digging into him, and though he had stood his ground, the doubts had been planted. Gwayne knew that his path would not be easy, that the forces arrayed against him were formidable. But his resolve had not wavered. If anything, the confrontation had only strengthened his determination.

As Gwayne turned to leave the courtyard, his thoughts returned to you—to the promise he had made, to the love he felt for you that had nothing to do with his father’s ambitions or the politics of the realm. No matter what Daemon or anyone else said, he would not give up. He would fight for you, for your happiness, no matter the cost.

But as he walked away, the words Daemon had left him with echoed in his mind, a dark omen that he could not shake. The day will come when you’ll see that love alone is not enough. Yet still, he would fight. Because for you, he would endure anything.

#house of the dragon #viserys targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #daemon targaryen #silverwing #game of thrones #gwayne x y/n #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #ser gwayne

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gomzdrawfr · 11 days ago

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Rules: without naming them, post a gif of ten of your favorite films, then tag ten people to do the same

thank you for the tag nekros!!

no pressure tags! (and hello :3)

@karlachismylife @ghostmoon1 @bloodytalefeathers @laswells-ashtray @forestshadow-wolf @beescrafting @panchulien @thechaoticcheese @watusingpaputok @syoddeye

Rules: without naming them, post a gif of ten of your favorite films, then tag ten people to do the same

I was tagged by @shyravenns , thank you so much !!!

Tagging (but no pressure as always) : @on-a-lucky-tide @a-driftamongopenstars @adhdoomed @lialucis @jgvfhl @gomzdrawfr

@hexxedghost @cod-thoughts @crowbarrd

#a much needed distraction from my study session #i uh i dont watch a lot of films....so some of these are old....#movies in order!#pirates of the caribbean: at world's end #Godzilla: King of the Monsters (that gif is showing Mothra)#WHICH IS MY FAV AAAAAAA I LOVE GODZILLA SHOWS SM #Hachi: A Dog's Tale 2009 #please do not watch this if you cant handle animal death this one broke me in so many ways and im not even a dog person! but it's so good #lord of the rings: the fellowship of the ring #I freaking love Nazguls grahhhh my fav evil shadowy darkness lads #Top Gun: Maverick #pretty self-explanatory with that one....plus.....there's Tom Cruise in it....the beach scene mmf...ALSO lady gaga with the end credit song #Kingsman: The Secret Service #The man from U.N.C.L.E.#the man from UNCLE IS SO GOOD christ almighty i wanna watch that again #kinda imagine priceghostraven dynamic from that show hrhrhrhrhhtgthr #Skyfall #daniel craig....yeah....can you guys tell i like spy movies...#sherlock holmes yep yep i mean yall prob alr know im in love with this show so #The Imitation Game #again with ben cucumber how could i not...but actually i like watching historical drama movies!#AND YES i really wanna watch oppenheimer i just havent got the time yet...I GOOGLED AND WDYM ITS A 2023 MOVIE...I THOUGHT IT WAS LAST YEAR?#oooomaigawd time's slipping #anywayssssss #tag game

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simp-ly-writes · 2 months ago

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My Love Mine All Mine

─────── · · Skyfall (pt.2)

Pairing: Alexander "Jackal" Duggan x Fem!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Alex had stayed in your apartment, he stayed in your heart, in your mind and took over every aspect of your life. So much so that you feel empty at his lack of presence after weeks... but is the "Jackal" every truly gone?

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, depictions of blood, gore, guns, and violence, usage of pet-names (ex. love, sweetheart, etc) swearing, fluff, HEAVY angst, hurt/comfort, dark romance, mentions of stalking , threats, and obsession.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 3,226 | PART ONE

─ · · A/N: This gets... kinda dark... hope you all enjoy lol

─────── · ·

You new that the Alexander you grew up with, played with, fought with (and bullied), was not the same man that was currently waiting for you in your bed. But you could see glimpses every time you touched and saw him smile.

Sighing and pressing your forehead against the wet tiled wall, you let the shower head rain down on the scalp, soothing your on-coming headache. You watched as the blood dripped off your hands, the stains on your tiles removed and sanitized before you shut off the water and stepped out onto them.

Patting yourself dry, you took a look through your smoky mirror and looked down to see parts of what looked to be prosthetics in your trashcan... what the fuck kinda job has Alex gotten himself into... and did I even wanna know? You thought to yourself before putting on your pyjamas and throwing your scrup's into the washing machine as your haired dried.

Checking the clock in your kitchen, it was nearing 4:00 AM as you groaned and started to pick at your salad before a voice was calling from the bedroom... it was like work never left you as your few minutes of sitting had you now rushing to the bedside.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, flinging the covers off and searching for any changes, you pick up his chin, inspecting his eyes and feeling around his head before shaking your head as he smiles, "It's been 10 minutes."

"Oh fuck off, Alex. I'm eating. You're a grown man, just wait," you lecture him, throwing the covers back on and shutting off the light. You feel his stare as you leave, stomping back and reheating the kettle again. You watch as it bubbles as you stretch out your back and shoulders. Tonight is going to be a LONG night....

Getting into bed beside Alex felt like deja vu from the sleepovers you could have at his house in order to escape your family... it felt natural how his arm snuck about your head and the way that your fingers intertwined with one another.

"Do you love me?" Alex asks, catching you off-guard. You contemplate your answer, your head not sharing what your heart speaks, "yes." He sighs out contently, "I love you too."

You listened to his breaths even out as you laid there awake... waiting for what you did not know but you stared at that rifle in your hallway, discarded in favour of... you. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, capturing its cold essence that had you shivering underneath the blankets. "Go to sleep, love," a groggy tone called out from behind you, a kiss being planted to your shoulder that has you forcing yourself to relax. Who am I laying beside?

─────── · ·

When you have woken to the sunlight coming through your sheer blinds and a record being played in your living room, you were rising in a moment, forgetting to place your slippers on as you padded your way down the hallway and towards the kitchen where an Alex was cooking eggs and pouring out coffee.

"Morning, sleepy," He teased, picking up a mug and giving to you. You warmed your hand, closing your eyes to feel the smoke upon your face before bending to look around your old friend, the dishes were done... "Thank you, A. You didn't have to do those, I mean you are injured," you say, giving him a pat on the arm before gently shoving him away to finish the cooking.

─────── · ·

By the time your done and turning back around, the sniper rifle is disassembled all across your dining table as you place plates around its pieces. Looking at the various compartments as Alex cleans them, you take a seat across from the man, watching quietly as you sip your drink and cross your legs.

"You'll need to take another dose of pain relievers with your meal in the next half hour," you say as he only nods, continuing his... work. "Alex," you call out softly, this time he looks at you, eyes waiting as they dip towards your lips and up again.

"Yes, love?"

"I...hm, why come to me now?" You ask, foot tapping underneath the table, anxious for a proper answer. You watch his nose wiggle slightly as he stares at you, "don't lie to me, Duggan."

"I wasn't planning on it," he tries to gaslight you. "Bullshit," you call out, "I know you, Alex. If you like that fact or not. And I know when and how you lie no matter what fucked up shit you put yourself through to end up like this at my doorstop. So I'll ask you again, why. are. you. here?" you ask more coldly this time, eyes sharp and cutting through the masks he tries.

He sighs, setting down the muzzle in his lap, "I knew that you could... help. I have been keeping tabs on you, making sure your safe-"

"And why wouldn't I be?" you say with a glare, "I know the profession I choose has its faults, but what are you not telling me, Alexander?"

"I just need to know it for my own sanity. I need to know where you are, who you're seeing, what you're doing day by day," He says- you start feeling sick, that coffee rising up in your throat- burning. "My work... it does not work out for people who know any part of me and I know that you know the most... and I know that I don't have it in my to remove you so I must watch instead."

"Remove me?" you raise your voice slightly, standing, chair screeching against the wooden floors, well there goes my security deposit... Alex continues, disregarding your statement.

"But thats not your question, what is it I do? Well I am a contractor. I take a job, whatever it takes, and provide my services in exchange for cash." You slowly blink, walking further and further away as he looks more comfortable and confident in his seat- as if he has you right where he wants you.

"And that involves, a gun and being shot at?" you counter, hands shaking as that little boy running around your mind blends in with your darkest of thoughts. You can feel his blood dripping down your arms again, feel his kiss on your neck.

"Yes," and with such a simple word it can have you falling over and coughing, gripping your shirt. Alex stands, walking over and crouching, rubbing your back. For a minute you accept the soft touch before shoving him away.

"You could ruin my career, fucking everything I've worked for if you're seen with me! You kill people for money!" your mind swirls with all the news articles and announcements that play in the lobby. You grip your head, everything I worked for, gone. You look up with dead eyes mirroring his own cold and calculated ones. "Yes. I kill people for money. But I also protect. That's why you are going to help me and make sure I'm not seen," Alex tells you, hands gripping the knees you bring up to your chest. You nod watching as he smiles, "thank you, love." You now hated that word.

"Now, where's those meds?" He helps you to stand, following behind you and moving into the bathroom, deja vu again... as he sits on the bathtub, throwing his head back with a glass of water before you check his stitches and clean up the minor cuts across his hands.

He watches are yours tremor still, he holds them, bringing them to his face as silent tears stream down your cheeks. He shushes you, pulling you closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "Everything's going to be fine, just let me do everything and you, take care of me."

─────── · ·

Your morals were out to kill you, was all you could think while running around your usual shift as you treated the never-ending wave of patients and their problems. Your eyes burned from your unrestful sleep, your heart hammered in your ears and you stumbled into the break room and crashed against the table. You should have not taken that call-in...

You took an oath to helping the people, to helping the public and providing care and assistance. But that oath was coming after you as you entered back into your apartment as Alex was holding a plank with his shirt off. "You know what I'm going to say," you begin, slamming the door closed and kicking your boots off.

Alex doesn't even look your way, just staring at an imaginary dot, his form unwavering. You scoff yet your eyes still check his side, wincing at the bead of sweat that nears your work, infection! screaming in your ear as you head towards the shower. "Can I join you?" Alex is drying the sweat off his chest, smiling down at you. "No."

─────── · ·

As time would go on and until Alexander was fully healed. You had made zero progress on understanding any more details to his work as he somehow knew everything about you, ordering in your favourite take out, knowing just how you liked the bed made and just the right ways to hold you after work.

You felt pathetic in his touch, you knew what those hands did, what they were coated in as he played with your hair and kissed your temple with a smile. You hated the way you started to relax into his embrace and how a small part of you looked forward to his company at the dining table but that was just it... company, that you desired...

So the hurt you felt for loosing yourself combined with the lingering loss of his presence as you had not seen Alex in weeks. The last moment you shared together cuddling in bed before a kiss was planted to your forehead and he was gone, not a trace of himself left in your apartment.

Taking a day off at work, you decided to treat your own loneliness as you put on your eye-liner and flattened your dress against your form with a sigh, breathing in your perfume. All you needed to do was forget it ever happened, pretend it was all in your imagination...

You had lived without Alex for nearly three decades... the rest of your life could be a walk in the park if the guy you were meeting up with tonight clicked. James Ferdinand Vanderbilt, He was an art auctioneer and philanthropist, charming you with his smile and words when attending one of your hospitals charity auctions.

He was well-off, could support you and a future family. He was estranged form his family, building a name for himself and his own business and had multiple college educations. Locking the door behind yourself and calling for a cab, you looked out the window, skies were clear with a light wind, the long daylight hours offering its light as kissing of warmth against your face as you closed your eyes. Whatever happens tonight happens...

─────── · ·

Arriving to the venue, James was already waiting outside for you as he placed a kiss to each of your cheeks. You smiled, holding his arm as you both walked into the restaurant and got lead upstairs to a private table. "Thank you for organizing this, James," you say sitting down as he pushes you towards the table before taking off his jacket and letting it hang off the back of his chair.

He pulls his sleeves up to his forearms as you view the tattoos on display, a symbol of a snake in a circle sparks a memory you can't seem to remember as you smile at one another. "It is really no worries, I wanted us to have privacy and you some peace. I know how hard your profession works." you nod and smile before turning your head down to the menu, James orders you both a bottle of wine to start as you make small talk.

Sharing favourite vacations, movies, and things you like to do in your spare time. You find James to be a bookworm and surprisingly, an ex-military officer as he points to his tattoo. "I thought I had seen that symbol before," you extend your hand, hovering over the ink as he chuckles. "Got family or friends in there now?"

You pause for a second, your smile wavering as he takes your hand, eyes soft, "you don't have to answer that, sorry that was rude of me. I have a few... friends deployed right now is all. Its hard, I know," he says as you nod again, not finding the right words before he thankfully moves conversation on. Yet a little birdie keeps pecking at your head, telling you that something is not quite right as the meal progresses.

You take a look out the window, squirting through the sunbeams glare. "Everything alright there, love," your head snaps over at the last word before you settle your features. "Sorry, thats what my... ex used to call me."

"I am really making a fool out of myself tonight, I do apologize-"

"No! Its me, I'm sorry about this all. My minds just elsewhere with work and-"

"Its mutual then?" He offers with a hand as you grab it and laugh softly, "yes, mutual fault." You both continue to dessert as you try bites off of each others plates. You have been enjoying yourself, watching as Jame's eyes have not left your face the entire time, your cheeks warm from the booze in your system.

"I don't want tonight to end," James starts to say as he picks of the bill and offers you his coat. You shrug it over your shoulders, bringing to stand, "who's saying it-" but before you can finish your sentence you hear a scream, ears ringing as glass shatters, and then your realize that scream is coming from yourself as James lies head down on the table, a bullet through the side of his head.

You rush over to his side, looking over the scene and feeling around his head. His blood is bleeding all over your hands, covering your dress and skin... he's not going to make it, as you scream from an ambulance to be called. he's not going to make it, you feel his last breath against your arm.

You cry, shaking, confused, scared. You turn to look outside the window yet can't see anything. A voice screams out to you, everyone is running outside the restaurant. You rip your dress and run, nearly falling down the stairs, knocking your head against a wall before kicking off your heels and making a dash for the back exit

Your vision is blurry as you run through the narrow space and off onto the street. Cars are swerving, trying to get out of the way as blaring lights come crashing onto the scene. You look like an absolute mess, you can feel the blood staining and hardening against your skin, forming gloves that you cant remove as you scratch at them and sob.

You fall to your knees at the corner of the road, you shake your read, James, James, James, you say on repeat before being picked up. You thrash, scream as a voice calls out to you in an even tone, "Hey, love. Shhh, it's alright, its over now. We can go home, the job is over. Thank you for being so good, thank you, my love," they speak into your ear as they dash with you in their arms, an officer points you both in the direction to medical staff.

You feel him nod and as soon as their head tips back to the crowd, you are being turned in the opposite direction. You feel overwhelmingly tired as you grip their shoulders, feeling a suit underneath your fingers tips. "James?" you call out only to hear a scoff, "Alex." the voice tells you off that has your mind jumpstarting.

"Put me, the fuck, down, Alexander Duggan." he hisses, "shut up, don't say anything."

"I'll fucking scream your name out for everyone to hear!" you threaten, being carried into another alleyway you recognize to be behind your apartment building.

"I would love that on any other occasion, love. But not when I'm trying to remove myself from a scene," Alex retorts. Entering through the shipments door and taking the cleaners elevator before setting you down on your feet, keeping an arm around your waist as you place your spinning head against his shoulder with a groan. He unlocks your apartment, you can't be bothered to know how he got a key and bolts the door behind you both before carrying you to the tub.

The Irony, you shake your head, looking down at your hands before Alex grips your chin, forcing you to look upwards. "No," he commands you, "don't look," he says before kneeling before you and helping to wash off what remains on your arms. You silently cry as he shushes you. "You're alright now, all safe. I could not believe it was you with my target. I swore that if I had known, I-I would have waited-"

"waited," you whisper. "yes, waited, love."

"Don't call me that," you spit out.

"But it is what you represent to me," Alex explains, now wipeing down your face and examining where the glass shards cut you. A part of him looks physically pained seeing you wounded. "Are you hurt?" you ask, mind on auto-pilot with the question.

"Not physically," he explains before grabbing your medical kit. "I can do it myself-"

"No. Let me do this... please," please? You think to yourself, as you watch his cold eyes stare and dress your face and hands. His touch on you if feather-light as if worried of damaging you anymore, like he hand't damaged you before. "okay," you whisper, feeling him kiss your forehead, "thank you." You shiver.

─────── · ·

You lay there in bed, staring up at the ceiling fan, unmoving, unfeeling. You hear Alex speaking to someone over the phone followed by a dozens zeros and a "...job well done." You stare, not even looking as Alexander walks back into the room in new clothes, a bouquet of flowers by your beside as he crawls into be beside you.

You feel numb... had already called in to work telling them you were taking an extended leave and left it like that... the news would be covering the "developments" of your story but you would be the only one in the world force with this truth that came into the form of kisses down your neck and curly hair tickling your cheek.

The truth whispers into your ear like a vow as you tilt your head towards the window and look outwards to the world, "Let the sky fall, when it crumbles, we will stand tall, face it all together." Yet his words contrast the melody playing through your apartment from the stereo in the living room.

You close your eyes, becoming enveloped by the darkness as their arms surround you...

"'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love mine, mine, mine Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love, mine, all mine Nothing in the world is mine for free But my love, mine, all mine, all mine.."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I have another Jackal fic coming out soon! (thank you for the ask ;) )

232 notes · View notes

theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

Text

NO TIME TO DIE | OP81

an: okay so no one actually asked for this but i was listening to the song and it made me want to continue the skyfall series, this is set a few months after skyfall, enjoy!

wc: 4.5k

The sound of waves rolling in against the shore had become part of the rhythm of their days. It was peaceful here, tucked away on the coast of a quiet Mediterranean town. The sun-drenched pier stretched into the turquoise water, where Oscar worked hauling crates and helping local fishermen. It was nothing like the life they’d once known—missions, danger, codes whispered through secure lines. Here, they were just two people trying to blend into the ordinary world.

She wiped her hands on her apron, glancing out through the bar’s open window to catch a glimpse of Oscar by the docks. He was laughing with one of the fishermen, his tanned skin gleaming under the late afternoon sun. He looked happy. They both did. But a part of her could never fully relax. Even after months in hiding, there was always that nagging thought that someone, somewhere, was still watching.

The bar wasn’t busy today. A few tourists sat in the shaded corners, sipping drinks as they chatted over maps and travel guides. She moved behind the counter, mixing another round of cocktails for a group at the far end of the bar. The usual routine.

That’s when she saw him.

At first, it was just a glimpse—a man in a pale blue linen suit, sitting alone at the corner table. He hadn’t been there when she’d last looked. Something about the sharpness in his posture, the calm, predatory stillness, sent a wave of unease through her. She couldn’t place why until he tilted his head to accept the drink she was serving to him, and their eyes met.

Her stomach dropped.

It was Zak. Oscar’s old boss.

Her hands froze on the cocktail shaker, and she almost dropped it. The world narrowed around her as she fought to keep her expression neutral, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. He didn’t seem to recognise her. Not yet. But she knew it was only a matter of time. Her mind raced. Why was he here? Had he found them? Or was this just a coincidence, some cruel twist of fate?

For a second, she considered ducking out the back door, running to Oscar, and telling him to pack whatever they could and leave—again. But she couldn’t draw attention to herself. Not here, not now.

Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile and set the drink on his table.

“Your whiskey, sir,” she said, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her throat.

His eyes flicked up to hers, cool and calculating. He gave a nod of thanks, his gaze lingering a moment longer than she liked. Too long.

Her hands were trembling as she turned back toward the bar. She needed to get to Oscar—before it was too late.

Her heart raced as she stepped back behind the bar, her hands still shaking from the brief encounter. She could feel his eyes on her, watching, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew exactly who she was. She had to move—now.

With a quick glance at the handful of customers, she slipped into the small kitchen behind the bar. The second she was out of sight, she ripped off her apron and tossed it onto a counter. Panic surged through her as she moved to the back door, hands fumbling with the latch. Every second counted. She had to get to Oscar before they were trapped here. Before it was too late.

She pushed the door open—only for it to slam back shut in her face.

She stumbled backward, startled, and that’s when she saw him. Leaning against the doorframe, casual as ever, stood Lando.

“Not so fast, sweetheart.”

His voice was low, smooth, but laced with that same dark edge she remembered too well. His sniper instincts, the way he moved—silent and lethal. She hadn’t seen him since that night a mission months ago, she never forgot his face. Or how dangerous he was.

Her heart pounded as she took a step back, her hand instinctively moving to her side—only to realise she wasn’t armed. She had been in hiding too long, letting her guard down, forgetting what it was like to be hunted. And Lando, it seemed, hadn’t forgotten at all.

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he stepped forward. "Oscar around? I’m guessing that Zak would love to have a chat with him, too.”

“Go to hell, Lando,” she spat, dropping into a defensive stance. Rusty or not, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Lando lunged at her, fast and brutal. She dodged to the side, just barely avoiding the punch aimed at her face, but his movements were sharper than she remembered. He swung again, and this time his fist grazed her ribs, knocking the wind out of her. Pain shot through her side, but she didn’t let it slow her down.

She pivoted, using the cramped space to her advantage, grabbing a heavy frying pan off the nearby counter and swinging it at his head. He ducked just in time, but the clang of metal echoed through the kitchen. She swung again, this time catching him in the shoulder.

Lando grunted, staggering back, but he recovered quickly, grabbing her wrist and twisting it painfully. The pan clattered to the floor as she gasped in pain, but she used his moment of distraction to drive her knee up into his gut.

He cursed, doubling over, and she spun behind him, slamming his head into the edge of the counter with all her strength.

Lando collapsed to the ground, dazed but not out. She stood over him, breathing hard, her hands shaking. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Grabbing her apron from the floor, she wiped the blood from her lip and then shoved open the door, her mind racing. She had to get to Oscar before they both ended up dead.

She burst out of the kitchen door, the bright sunlight momentarily blinding her as she sprinted down the narrow path toward the pier. The salty breeze whipped through her hair, but the peacefulness of the day only sharpened the terror clawing at her chest. Her lungs burned, but she didn’t slow down.

"Oscar!" she screamed, her voice carrying over the gentle sound of the waves crashing against the pier. She could see him now, down by the boats, hauling crates with the other workers. He turned at the sound of her voice, his brow furrowing in confusion when he saw her running toward him.

The moment their eyes met, the panic in her face must have said it all. His expression shifted, his body tensing as he dropped the crate mid-lift.

Without a word, he pushed past the others, sprinting to meet her.

“Lando,” she panted as he reached her, “Zak. They’re here.”

Oscar’s face paled, his jaw clenching tight as he muttered a quick, “Fuck.”

There was no time for questions, no time to think. His hand found hers, squeezing it tightly for just a second before they both turned, running back up the pier, away from the watching eyes of the tourists and locals. Behind them, the distant sound of seagulls and lapping waves seemed to fade, replaced by the pounding of their footsteps as they raced through the narrow streets.

They sprinted through the winding streets, the cottage coming into view, small and peaceful under the shade of the olive trees. But peace was an illusion now, shattered by the presence of the ghosts from their past.

Oscar’s grip on her hand tightened as they raced up the steps to the front door. He pushed it open with a sense of urgency, the weight of danger hanging thick in the air. They stepped inside, breathing hard, and froze.

But someone was already there.

Sitting casually at the kitchen table, as if he’d been waiting for them the whole time, was her old manager. Toto. His sharp eyes gleamed with that familiar coldness, and a slow, knowing smile curled on his lips.

“You never struck me as the type to go rogue,” he said, his voice calm, almost amused.

Her blood ran cold. Oscar’s body tensed beside her, every muscle coiled, ready for action. She instinctively shifted her weight, preparing to move—but Toto raised a hand.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned, his gaze locking on hers. “Remember who trained you.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. He was right. She had spent years under his guidance, learning the tricks, the strategies, the ways to take someone down before they even saw you coming. But now, that knowledge was turned against her.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, but that was all it took.

Before she could react, she felt the sudden pressure of an arm wrapping around her throat from behind. Her instincts kicked in, but it was too late—one of her old teammates, Lewis or maybe George had her in a tight headlock, his grip ironclad.

Beside her, Oscar struggled, too, another agent pinning him from behind. She twisted, trying to fight back, but the scent of chloroform hit her nose, sharp and suffocating. Her vision blurred as she gasped for breath, her mind screaming to break free.

“Shh,” Toto said, standing slowly from the table, his voice soft, almost condescending. “I warned you.”

The last thing she saw before darkness closed in was Oscar’s eyes, wide with fury and fear, as the world slipped away.

When she woke, the first thing she felt was the cold. The floor beneath her was hard, unforgiving, and the air carried a damp chill that made her skin prickle. Her eyelids were heavy, her mind groggy, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d gotten there.

Then it hit her.

The chloroform. The ambush. Toto.

She gasped, blinking against the darkness, her breath shaky as she struggled to sit up. Her head throbbed, her body sluggish, but she forced herself to move. The room around her was dim, lit only by the faintest light coming from a single bulb swinging from the ceiling. The walls were bare, metallic, industrial—no windows, no clear way out.

“Oscar?” she rasped, her voice hoarse.

There was a groan from her left. She turned, heart pounding, to see him stirring on the floor, just as groggy as she was. His eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused, but when they met hers, the same fear and confusion she felt reflected in his gaze.

“Where…?” Oscar muttered, struggling to sit up.

She crawled over to him, her hands trembling as she reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek in the dark. He leaned into her touch, relief washing over both of them in that brief moment. They were alive. For now.

But this wasn’t over.

“We need to get out of here,” she whispered, her voice low but urgent, her eyes scanning the dark room for any sign of an exit.

Before Oscar could respond, a crackling sound echoed through the room—a voice over an intercom, distorted but chillingly familiar.

“Don’t try it.”

Her heart lurched, recognizing that voice immediately.

“Good morning, love birds,” Toto’ voice continued, calm and almost cheerful. “You should be glad I got to you before Zak did. He would’ve killed you both, without hesitation.”

She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Toto. The man who had trained her, the one who had made her into the operative she was. There had been a time when she’d trusted him with her life. Now, his voice made her blood run cold.

Oscar’s eyes snapped up, his hand moving to grip hers tightly. They were both wide awake now, adrenaline cutting through the haze of the drugs.

“I imagine you’re confused,” Toto went on, the sound of his voice bouncing off the cold, metal walls. “I would be, too. But don’t worry. All will be explained in time.”

She clenched her jaw, trying to steady her breathing, but anger simmered beneath her fear. Toto had always been a master manipulator, calm and collected even in the worst situations. He was doing it again now, playing with them, using his control over the situation to twist the knife deeper.

She exchanged a glance with Oscar. They needed to find a way out, fast, before Toto revealed whatever game he was playing.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Toto added, as if he’d forgotten. “There’s no use trying to escape. You’re not going anywhere.”

The intercom crackled, then fell silent, leaving them in the oppressive quiet of the dark room once more.

The room seemed to close in around them after Toto' voice faded. Every creak of the walls, every subtle hum of electricity, felt like a reminder that they were being watched. Oscar, now fully alert, squeezed her hand before shakily rising to his feet, wincing at the stiffness in his body.

“We have to move,” he whispered, his eyes darting around the dark room. “See if there’s a way out.”

She nodded, standing beside him as they quickly scanned the perimeter. The room was small, about the size of a storage unit, with no visible doors except the one they must have been brought in through. The walls were cold and metallic, and every surface was bare. No windows. No obvious cameras—but they knew Toto was watching.

Oscar moved to the door, running his hands along the edges, searching for weaknesses. She knelt beside him, checking the lower corner for any seams, anything they could pry open. Her heart pounded in her chest, knowing that Toto wouldn’t make this easy. He’d trained them to escape any trap, and now he’d set the perfect one.

After a few moments, Oscar cursed under his breath. “It’s reinforced,” he muttered, his voice low and tense. “We’re locked in.”

She bit her lip, fighting the rising sense of hopelessness that threatened to overtake her. Of course they were. This wasn’t just some warehouse—they were in a controlled environment. Toto had planned this.

“We can’t just sit here,” she whispered. “There has to be something he overlooked.”

Oscar turned to her, his eyes fierce despite the tension in his face. “We have to play along. For now. Buy time, make him think we’re falling in line, but the second we get an opening—”

The intercom crackled again, interrupting him. They both froze, staring up at the small speaker nestled in the ceiling’s corner.

“I see you’ve already started looking for a way out,” Toto’ voice echoed through the room, laced with amusement. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from my star pupil. But I’ll save you the trouble—there’s no escape from here.”

She gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to scream back at him. Oscar’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. Toto was playing with them, and they both knew it.

“You have questions, I’m sure,” Toto continued, his tone turning conversational, like he wasn’t holding them hostage. “Why now? Why like this? Well, the truth is… Zak’s become reckless. You’ve both become liabilities. I intervened to protect you, believe it or not.”

She exchanged a glance with Oscar, a flicker of confusion and anger passing between them. Toto had always been calculated, but this sounded personal. She didn’t know whether to believe him or to take this as part of some larger game.

Toto paused, as if giving them time to absorb his words. “You might not understand yet, but I saved your lives today. There’s a bigger plan at play here. One that you—especially you, schatz—can still be a part of. If you cooperate.”

Her stomach twisted. Toto had never let go of control, never failed to pull strings behind the scenes. Even now, after everything, he was trying to manipulate her. And worst of all, part of her knew he might be telling the truth—that Zak would’ve killed them without a second thought. But trusting Toto meant walking right into whatever trap he was laying for them.

Oscar shook his head, his voice low but firm. “We can’t trust him.”

“I know,” she whispered back, her eyes locked on the intercom. “But we need to figure out what he wants.”

The room fell silent again, but the weight of Toto’ presence lingered like a shadow over them. She scanned the space again, her mind racing, trying to think of something—anything—they could use to their advantage. There had to be a weak spot somewhere.

“We wait,” Oscar murmured, his voice tense. “Act like we’re playing along until we find a way out.”

She nodded, though the knot in her stomach only tightened. How long could they pretend? And how much of the truth was Toto actually telling them?

For now, all they had was time. And they both knew, in the world of espionage, time was rarely on their side.

The door opened with a loud clang, jarring them both from their tense silence. Two large guards stepped into the room, their faces unreadable, and gestured for Oscar and her to stand. They exchanged a quick glance, knowing that resistance would only make things worse for now. The guards led them down a long, dimly lit hallway, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cold concrete walls.

At the end of the hall, a steel door slid open, revealing an interrogation room. The space was stark, lit by a single bulb hanging above a metal table with three chairs. In one of them sat Toto, waiting.

He didn’t look up as they were shoved inside and seated across from him, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. The guards exited without a word, the door clanging shut behind them. The sound of the lock clicking into place seemed to vibrate through the room, sealing them in.

For a long moment, the silence stretched between them. Toto watched them, his sharp gaze flicking between Oscar and her, studying them with the cold, calculated look of a man who knew exactly how to dismantle their defences.

“I’ll make this simple,” Toto finally said, his voice measured. “I have questions, and you’re going to answer them.”

She stared back at him, her pulse quickening, but forced her face to remain blank. The tension in the room was palpable, thickening with every passing second. Oscar, sitting beside her, was equally silent, his jaw clenched tight. They had both been trained for this—how to hold out, how to deflect. They weren’t about to give Toto anything, especially not after he’d taken them captive.

Toto raised an eyebrow at their silence, clearly unimpressed. “We can do this the hard way, if you’d prefer.”

Still, neither of them spoke.

His gaze settled on her, a flicker of frustration passing over his features. “What happened after the club?”

She clenched her fists beneath the table, her body tense. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. Whatever he was fishing for, they wouldn’t give it to him—not without answers of their own.

Oscar leaned forward, his voice low and steady. “We’re not saying anything until you start talking, Toto. Why are we here? Why the hell are you playing this game?”

Toto leaned back in his chair, a small, amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You really think you’re in a position to make demands?”

She exchanged a quick glance with Oscar before narrowing her eyes at Toto. “You kidnapped us, drugged us, and now you’re sitting here asking questions like we’re supposed to trust you? We’re not giving you a damn thing.”

For a moment, Toto simply watched her, his smile fading. His expression grew colder, more dangerous. He tapped his fingers on the table once more before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the surface.

“You’re not grasping the situation, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping into a more serious tone. “You see, Zak wants both of you dead. Especially you.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the weight of his words. Oscar stiffened beside her, but she held her ground, her eyes locked on Toto. She had expected as much—knew how dangerous Zak was—but hearing it said out loud made it all the more real.

Toto’ gaze hardened as he continued. “He wants you gone because you seduced his best agent.”

Her stomach twisted at the accusation, but she didn’t flinch. This wasn’t just about their failed missions—this was personal for Zak. She had compromised Oscar, the agent he prized above all others, and now they were both paying the price.

“That’s why you’re here,” Toto went on, his voice uncomfortably calm. “He’s sent a kill order for both of you. I intervened, yes, but Zak’s patience is wearing thin. He’s not going to stop until you're both buried.”

Her mind raced, but she kept her expression neutral. She could feel Oscar’s tension beside her, his anger barely contained, but she knew they had to stay focused. This was a power play, and Toto had all the cards—for now.

Toto leaned closer, his eyes piercing into hers. “I can protect you from him. But you need to give me something in return. I need to know what you were doing after the club. Where you went. What you know.”

Oscar scoffed, finally breaking his silence. “So that’s it? You ‘save’ us, and now you’re holding us hostage? You’re no better than Zak.”

Toto’ lips curled into a cold smile. “I’m a lot better than Zak. Because unlike him, I don’t want you dead. But I need your cooperation.”

The room fell into silence again, heavy with unspoken tension. She knew they were trapped. Whatever deal Toto was offering, it was built on shifting sand. They couldn’t trust him, but Zak’s wrath was even more certain. They had been running for months, and now, they were backed into a corner.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she weighed their options. Toto was playing a game of survival, and right now, they were pawns.

“We need to be careful,” she whispered to Oscar, barely loud enough for Toto to hear.

She met Toto’ gaze again, her voice steady as she spoke. “You want to know what happened after the club? Fine. But first, we need guarantees. We want out of this. Away from Zak. Away from all of it.”

Toto’ eyes gleamed with interest. “I can make that happen. But only if you cooperate.”

Oscar looked at her, doubt flickering in his eyes, but she gave him a small nod. They had no choice for now. They would play along. But in the back of her mind, she was already planning—already thinking of a way to turn the tables.

Toto’ smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes. “You’re going to help me with one last mission. Complete it, and I’ll give you what you want: a clean slate. No Zak. No more running.”

Oscar tensed beside her, his jaw clenched, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral. They had no choice but to agree—for now.

“Fine,” she said, her voice cold. “What’s the mission?”

Toto leaned back in his chair, looking far too satisfied. “You’ll be retrieving something important. A prototype from Zak’s latest black ops project. It’s highly classified, heavily guarded. I need operatives who can get in and out without a trace.”

She didn’t believe for a second that Toto was telling them the full story, but they couldn’t refuse. Not with Zak’s kill order hanging over their heads.

“And if we do this,” Oscar said, his voice tight, “you let us go?”

Toto nodded. “You have my word.”

She met Oscar’s eyes, seeing the same doubt reflected back at her, but they were out of options. For now, they would play along. But she was already planning—already searching for any way to turn this situation to their advantage.

It was less than a day before they were sent.

The mission took them to a heavily guarded compound on the outskirts of a nondescript industrial city. They moved through the shadows like they had so many times before, the years of training and fieldwork kicking in instinctively. But this time, the stakes felt different—heavier.

The compound was crawling with guards, just as Toto had promised. As they worked their way inside, disabling security and avoiding detection, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Toto had been too smug, too confident. There was something he wasn’t telling them.

And then they reached the lab.

The prototype they were sent to retrieve sat in a reinforced glass case at the centre of the room. It looked unassuming—a small, sleek device about the size of a palm. But she knew better than to trust appearances. This was dangerous, cutting-edge tech, something that Zak had been developing in secret.

“We got it,” Oscar murmured, reaching for the case.

Before she could respond, the lights flickered. Her heart leaped into her throat as the security system whirred to life, alarms blaring. The doors slammed shut, locking them inside.

“What the hell?” Oscar hissed, spinning around to scan the room.

And then, through the dim light, she saw him.

Lando.

He stepped out of the shadows, a smirk playing on his lips, his sniper rifle slung casually over his shoulder. Her blood ran cold. This wasn’t just a retrieval mission—this was a trap.

“Lando,” she growled, her body tensing, ready for a fight. “If you’re here to kill me, you better get in line.”

But Lando didn’t move toward her. Instead, his eyes flicked to Oscar, and something unsettling passed over his face—a look of cold determination.

“No,” Lando said softly, “I’m not here to kill you. At least, not yet.”

In one swift motion, he pulled a small syringe from his jacket pocket and lunged toward Oscar. She reacted instinctively, moving to block him, but Lando was faster. He sidestepped her, grabbing Oscar by the arm and plunging the needle into his neck.

“Oscar!” she screamed, but it was too late.

Oscar staggered back, his hand flying to his neck, eyes wide with shock. His body seized for a moment, his face contorting in pain. And then, just as suddenly, he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

“What did you do to him?” she yelled, rushing to Oscar’s side. She shook him, her heart racing, but he didn’t respond. His breathing was shallow, his face pale.

Lando stood over them, his expression unreadable. “It’s not what you think. He’s not dead.”

“Then what the hell did you inject him with?” she demanded, her voice shaking with anger and fear.

Lando’s eyes darkened. “Something Zak’s been working on for a while. It’s a neural reboot. Wipes out memories, reprograms the mind for control.”

Her blood ran cold. “You turned him into a weapon.”

“Not me,” Lando corrected, his voice calm. “Zak. I’m just the messenger.”

She knelt beside Oscar, her mind racing. The man she loved—the man who had fought so hard to break free from this world—was now being dragged back in, turned into a puppet by Zak.

“How do I undo it?” she demanded, her voice shaking with fury. “How do I get him back?”

Lando’s smirk faded, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something almost like regret in his eyes. “You can’t.”

She stood up, fists clenched, rage boiling over inside her. “I swear to God, if you don’t—”

Before she could finish, the doors to the lab burst open, armed guards flooding the room. Lando stepped back, disappearing into the chaos, leaving her standing there, helpless as they swarmed around her and Oscar’s unconscious form.

part two...

178 notes · View notes

suhtorus · 5 months ago

Text

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐skyfall. geto suguru

part one. sunrise (her)

⥅ word c. 4,411

⥅ warnings. fem!reader, non sorcerer au (suguru is a grad student), established relationship (suguru and reader live together), mentions of drinking and smoking, domestic fluff, unreliable narrator

𝄢♭bloom ‐ the paper kites / not about angels ‐ birdy / beautiful baby ‐ elizabeth

Before meeting Suguru, you never understood the hype behind sunsets. People often label them as 'majestic' and take endless pictures of the same orange sky when it should be general knowledge that the real beauty resides within the quiet mornings, the world stirring awake and the sky tinting itself in soft hues of blue and pink like a Monet painting. No sunset could ever compare to the crisp and refreshing air that comes with the break of dawn.

So, if someone were to ask you, you’d pick sunrises in a heartbeat.

Perhaps what makes sunrises better is that you get to see him and his dark hair —that puts the night sky itself to shame— as soon as you wake up, walking down the street with his characteristic hunched over frame as he kicks the rocks standing in his way. He hasn't seen you (which is rare, he's always trying to catch your attention as soon as he rounds the corner of your street), sitting by the open window just two floors above him. But when he finally does, purple eyes stare blankly at you.

"Who–" You watch him squint his eyes, stopping abruptly, and your grin only grows. It takes him two ragged breaths and a gasp to finally address you by your name, "what are you doing up there?"

You wave at him as you lean over the windowsill. He can't be serious, you think to yourself, "I live here, Suguru."

He seems tired, rubbing at his eyes before rushing to the building’s entrance and disappearing from your sight. It wouldn't be a surprise if he had a rough night, suddenly making you feel bad for not making sure you had a warm cup of coffee to welcome him back.

The apartment door opens and Suguru's silhouette slips through, his keys hitting loudly the porcelain bowl by the entrance. You don't even have to think twice, standing up from your spot by the window and meeting him halfway in what has to be the tightest hug you have ever gotten from him.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

He's nuzzling his face against your neck, breathing in the fresh scent of your body wash and leaving a kiss on your skin. His hold on you is so tight yet comforting, just as the silence of the world at six in the morning.

“I know,” your fingers thread through his hair, realizing it's longer than you remembered, “would you like to sleep now or have breakfast first?”

“Cuddles.”

You roll your eyes and tug the hairs at the nape of his head softly, “That wasn’t an option.”

Still in his arms, he guides you towards the bed placed at the corner of the apartment, and once you're under the covers, it's you who now hides your face in his neck.

“Why are you still up?” he asks with his lips against the crown of your hair.

For a moment, you choose to focus on his warm breath caressing your skin. If you tell him you were waiting for him, it's very likely that you’ll end up being scolded.

Shrugging, you nuzzle closer to his chest, seeking more of his warmth, “couldn’t sleep without you.”

“Is your insomnia back?”

“Think so,” you mumble, “but I got to greet you back, so I don't mind.”

It's silent for a while, the only sounds coming from your breaths and the noise of cars driving down the street. The world is slowly waking up, clouds that resemble cotton candy floating in the sky and a light, chill breeze coming through the open window.

“Sugu, you should sleep.”

“I will,” he breathes out, his hold on you tightening for a moment, “now that I have you in my arms.”

“Oh my god, that was so cheesy!”

His chest reverberates with his laugh, lips tugging upwards as he sweeps his tongue across his teeth in a cheeky way. There's no way your heart can watch and not melt as he does that.

“You never complained before," he tries to defend himself, his smirk coming back as he leans closer to whisper in your ear, "and I know you love it.”

You look up at him, eyes gleaming under the sunlight, and you swear you haven't felt this happy in weeks, “I love you.”

A mix of emotions seems to swirl in his eyes, staring back at yours weirdly. It's hard to pinpoint what's going through his mind, but you can tell that whatever it is, it's troubling him.

“I love you so much more.”

—

It's almost eight pm, and Suguru hasn't woken up.

“Sugu,” you whisper, leaning closer to his face as you search for a sign of consciousness, “you’ll be late.”

“Babe, c’mon… five more minutes?” he groans, voice throaty and laced with sleep.

“We've been sleeping all day!”

His arms circle your waist, pulling you on top of him, “s’all your fault, I was dreaming of you,” he mumbles with his eyes still closed.

“How is that my fault?” you bite back, but when you don't hear a reply from him, you lift your head and rest your chin on his chest.

He fell asleep again.

Removing yourself from his hold, you crawl on top of him until you're so close that your lips brush against his.

“You'll be late for work,” you start littering kisses all over his jaw and watch as his brows furrow slightly, “I shouldn’t have let you nap after we had lunch.”

Still half asleep, he cups your face between his hands and pulls you down for a kiss. It's lazy and a bit clumsy, you blame it on the fact that he just woke up. But after getting a taste of him, you're tempted to ask him to stay.

With his hands still at the sides of your face, he pulls your mouths apart and gazes lovingly at your face, brushing a few strands of hair away from it. Suguru's eyes always make your knees falter, and your heart tremble, especially when they focus on yours.

“How did you sleep?” he asks before squinting his eyes at you, “wait– did you even sleep?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did. No need to start nagging at me.”

He yawns, stretching his arms above his head while you climb off of him, “I need to shower.”

“Yeah, you stink,” you fake a gag only to squeal a second later when he pinches your sides.

Finally, he gets on his feet, and you watch your boyfriend get closer to you. Sometimes you forget how imposing his presence can be, his height and large frame suddenly making you feel small under his stare.

“Shower with me,” he rasps out in your ear, hands grabbing you by your hips as he begins to nip at your neck.

“O-Oh?” with a raised eyebrow and warm cheeks, you nod bashfully and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, “lead the way.”

The sound of your giggles fills the small apartment as he carries you bridal style towards the bathroom, his own laugh joining yours.

—

“Don’t forget your wallet!”

He's running late, just as you predicted.

With his hair still damp from the shower, he runs from one side to the other collecting his stuff, “what would I do without you?”

Shaking your head, you watch as he finally makes his way to the door and picks up his coat.

“Work hard! I'll be waiting for you.”

Suguru stops abruptly, his hand already on the doorknob as he grimaces, “I should probably tell you not to, but… ugh fuck it, I’ll be selfish.”

He leans forward to kiss you, his free hand holding you by the back of your neck as the other remains on the door knob. Unfortunately, the kiss ends as quickly as it began.

In your daze, you barely have a chance to smile back at him as he waves goodbye.

“See you at sunrise!”

“Again? ”

You grimace when Suguru’s loud voice disrupts the peaceful morning. It’s still pretty early, the streets empty and void of other souls besides nature blooming around you, waking up to another spring morning.

But besides the white cat climbing down the roof and the trail of ants on the wall, it’s just you and him.

Your heart warms up in familiar delight, and you wonder if there will ever be a day in which your chest won’t feel like expanding and shrinking at the same time just at the sight of his handsome smile. A small fit of giggles escapes you as you shake your head disapprovingly, a finger placed on your lips signaling him to be quiet.

“Again.”

Blowing him a kiss from your spot, you snicker as you watch his grin widen, his long legs moving faster towards the building. Good thing he seems as eager as you are, you’ve always hated how long it takes him to reach the front door of your apartment.

As soon as he gets inside, he comes face to face with you and immediately goes for your lips, both mouths meeting in a soft kiss as you stand at the door.

Your surroundings seem to blur around you, his scent invading your mind and his touch melting your skin. The emotions stirring in you are so strong that almost have you in tears. It’s becoming too much, and yet you refuse to part from his lips, knowing that it would only make room for the emptiness again.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, eyelashes fluttering as you slowly open your eyes and gaze at him, his tender gaze already fixed on you.

“I smell food,” he murmurs against your lips, pecking your nose afterward, “waffles?”

Humming, you bury your face in his chest, allowing his warmth to envelop you, “you probably haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

His hand rubs circles on your back as he chuckles. You really don’t want to let go of him, but the food’s growing cold. So, against your will, you squirm away from his grasp and start dragging him by his hand.

The kitchen is just a few steps away, a small white table sitting in the center with a fake succulent on it, and two plates full of freshly cooked food. It took you a quick trip to the grocery store since there only seemed to be pizza leftovers in the fridge (quite unusual of him, you’re actually planning on asking him about it later).

“What do you think?”

His eyebrows raise slightly and his mouth parts in quiet awe, his purple irises shining with hues of amber thanks to the sunlight filtering through the window. Those same eyes suddenly switch from the food to your face, and your knees falter, there’s a glee in them that you haven’t seen in a long time, and it fills your insides with butterflies until they threaten to spill out of your mouth.

“I fucking love you. You know that, right?” he says after cupping your face in his hands, his gaze unwavering and refusing to look away from you.

The laugh that bubbles in your chest only makes his grin widen, raw adoration and happiness emanating from the both of you. You leave a light peck of affection on his jaw and then push him toward his seat.

“You’re gonna love me even more once you taste it.”

“Impossible.”

The dumb smile refuses to leave your lips, your cheeks hurting and muscles cramping, but that’s Suguru’s effect on you: his mere presence is enough to make you smile in a love struck daze.

He groans after taking the first bite, “this,” he says after swallowing, pointing at the half-eaten waffle with his fork, “tastes heavenly. I missed your cooking so much, baby.”

Taking the compliment with a bashful smile, you choose to focus on your food and begin to eat as well.

“I noticed you’re walking to work now. Did something happen to your car?” you ask trying to start some small talk and at the same time, it was one of the many questions you have sitting at the back of your mind.

“I'm trying this new thing called being eco-friendly.”

A loud gasp leaves your throat, “You’re such a hypocrite! If you cared about that, you wouldn’t ask for straws at restaurants!”

“Hey,” he points a finger at you, “that’s for the turtles, not the planet.”

“Huh? Even worse?!”

The amusement in his features only enhances his attractive looks, even if it’s so early in the morning and right after having a night shift, he always manages to remind you what a handsome man he is. You huff and pout involuntarily, it truly isn’t fair.

“Relax, I use the metal straws you gave me,” he reaches out across the table to pinch your cheek, “I'm not that evil.”

Still with a slight pout on your lips, you stand up and go to the fridge in order to fill your drinks.

“Could you pass me a Red Bull?” he calls from behind you, and you frown.

“Suguru, it’s seven in the morning.”

He hums, “Yeah, and I don’t want to fall asleep during my 9 am lecture.”

“Then drink cold water,” you offer, closing the door of the fridge after fetching the jar of juice for you and filling his glass with water, “you’ll get an arrhythmia one of these days.”

You see him sigh once he sees you return with no sight of a Red Bull in your hands, but you aren’t backing down. With a pointed look, you silently stand your ground until he seems to give up.

“Fine, no energy drinks.”

You nod, relieved that he’s finally listening to you. God, when did he become that stubborn?

He takes a sip of his water, a tiny smirk stretching his lips around the rim of the glass as he stares at you, “I’ll just buy a coffee on my way to class, then.”

“Suguru!”

“What?”

—

Watching Suguru sleep has always comforted you. A dreamy sigh leaves your lips as you observe the way his dark eyelashes rest above his cheekbones, hiding those beautiful eyes you fell in love with just a few years ago.

It hasn’t been long since you woke up, the room dark and barely illuminated by the setting sun. The shadows of the trees dance all over the walls as they sway thanks to the wind, a low whistle coming from the windows as the wind picks on its strength and clashes against the glass.

You don’t think it can get any more peaceful than that.

In a matter of minutes, the sky begins to turn darker, which means he has to be up soon so he can make it to work on time. Moving closer to his side, you peck his cheek and whisper a soft ‘hi’ once you feel his arm drape over your waist.

“Hello, pretty girl,” his voice is hoarse and heavy with sleep, a lazy smirk gracing his lips. That is until he notices the pendant hanging from your neck, “where did you find that?”

Your hand automatically wraps around it, smiling to yourself as you look down to examine it, “Oh! It was in your drawer. So weird because I thought I had it with me.”

“You must’ve left it.”

His tone turns dry, which makes you look up from your chest and notice the distant look in his eyes, immediately confusing you. Weird, he seemed fine just seconds ago?

“Do you remember when you gave it to me?” you shuffle closer, wanting to keep at bay whatever thoughts he’s having since it’s clear they aren’t pleasant, “honestly, I still had my doubts about you… back then, I mean.”

“Why?” His lips turn into the cutest pout you’ve ever seen, and it almost makes you lose your train of thought.

How is he so cute? You think to yourself. Even after three years since you met, all it takes is a smile from him, and you’re putty in his hands.

“I never thought you’d like me back, and I was waiting for someone to tell me it was a bet or a dream.”

And it had truly felt like one. As silly as it sounded, it all seemed too good to be true, which meant you were bound to have your doubts. The good morning texts, walking to class together, and spending hours in his dorm studying for your exams; Suguru behaved like a true gentleman, through and through.

Falling in love with him has to be the easiest thing you've ever done. He captured your heart in a matter of weeks, and a year later, on your first anniversary, clasped a necklace around your neck—giving you a piece of him to carry with you.

He caresses your cheek lovingly, bringing you back from the lovely memories before speaking, “I know I was a broke college student, but I wasn't that broke to make our relationship a bet.”

You quickly stand up to pick up a pillow and throw it at him, laughing as he scrunches up his face before he receives the hit.

“Asshole.”

Suguru laughs and watches you walk away once he removes the pillow from his head, answering back with that sweet voice of his, “sweetheart.”

“We should do something special,” you say as you turn your head over your shoulder to look at him, the last rays of sun hitting your body and casting an ethereal glow around you, “our anniversary is coming up.”

He seems to be in a daze for a second, his stare fixed on you and an emotion you had yet to see from him brimming from his eyes.

“Yeah, we should.”

“Alright,” Suguru looks so funny with his hands on his hips while standing in the middle of the empty street, “as much as I love coming home to you waiting for me, you need to get some sleep.”

You dismiss his comment with a wave of your hand, focusing instead on the hues of blue shining behind him.

“Whatever.”

Less than two minutes later, he’s finally in your arms, his embrace tight as he rocks your bodies softly to the tune of your morning playlist.

“If I'm asleep, I can't give you your good morning kiss, y’know?”

He’s getting tired of your excuses, and it’s so easy to tell by the way he no longer fights you. However, that doesn't stop him from punishing you for it.

Your vision turns upside down as he throws you over his shoulder and carries you to bed, blatantly ignoring your complaints.

“I think it’s time I tell you the story of a woman that refused to sleep at night,” he settles you under the covers, his arm resting under your neck while the other pinches your cheek, “so the devil himself came to visit her.”

“Suguru…” you trail off, a sense of dread quickly creeping over you, “don’t.”

Ignoring you, he continues, “she liked to sit by the window–”

“Noooo, stop! I'll sleep, I promise!”

“Don’t be rude and stop interrupting me,” he squishes your cheeks together and stares at you with fake anger, “also, I don't believe you anymore.”

There's nothing else for you to do but pout, knowing he's going to use your fear of ghosts to his advantage.

“As I was saying, she sat by the window until one night a group of people stopped by. They gave her a box and told her to keep it, and that they’d come back for it the next day.”

By now, you have your face tucked against his arm, hiding half of it, while the blanket covers your ears.

“However, in the morning, she opened the box and found a dead cat,” he doesn’t even need a dramatic pause to have you gasping in surprise, a cold chill running all over your body, “a priest told her that the dead were trying to curse her since she was disrupting their time to roam the living world, so he advised her to get a living cat in the box and return it.”

Where does Suguru get all his crazy stories? You have no idea. But this one took the ball out of the park.

His face is still serious as he finishes the story, “they showed up that night, three in the morning sharp, and asked for the box. She returned it with the cat inside, and luckily they left her alone.” his tone quickly switches to a chirpy one and smiles, “that’s why you should sleep at night!”

“Suguru, you’re so mean,” you whine, “what if they show up? You know I like staying up at night!

“Not my problem.”

A slap to his shoulder with your hand comes as an immediate response.

“Ow! Who’s being mean now?” he rubs the spot you hit, but he’s so close to losing it, his eyes crinkling as he tries not to laugh.

“You asked for it,” you reply in a low mumble, and he finally gives in to the hilariousness of the situation.

“C’mere, baby. Let’s sleep,” he sees your cheeks squished against the pillow and pinches them, cooing at you at the same time, “so cute.”

Like a spell, you feel your eyelids become heavy, and you find yourself wrapped in his arms, his scent lulling you to a state of calmness.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

—

Suguru's hoodie sits on the bed as he gets ready for another shift. You’ve been watching him get ready for the past ten minutes, and you don't think you'll ever get tired of it.

“How’s 'toru?” you ask, not remembering when was the last time you saw your boyfriend’s best friend. Just like him, he also worked the night shifts at the bar while balancing his last year in grad school, “I don’t think I've seen him around.”

Satoru practically lived in your apartment, loving how you always spoil him and side with him. To this day, Suguru says he regrets introducing him to you.

He leans down to your level and whispers, “you know how he gets during finals,” his fingers grasp a few strands of your hair to play with and doesn't say anything else.

“Well, tell him to come visit, so he can rest a bit. Also, he promised to watch a romcom every Saturday with me.”

This finally gets his attention, his eyebrows raising in interest, “why can’t you watch it with me?”

“You said you didn’t want to,” you shrug, “too cheesy for your liking or some shit like that.”

Suguru stands up to his full height again and grabs his hoodie, almost ready to go to the bar, “I'll bring popcorn when I get back, how’s that sound?”

You follow him to the door, watching as he slips his shoes on before turning around to face you, “are you sure? I know it's not the kind of genre you usually like to watch.”

“I won't let a movie stop me from spending time with my girlfriend,” he smiles and kisses your lips with a long and noisy peck that makes your heart happy, “and we are playing Mario Kart after.”

“But I suck at Mario Kart!”

“Exactly.”

—

It’s almost time for Suguru to come home and since the last few days have felt like the honeymoon phase when you moved in together, you decide you should spoil him with warm tea and a few of his favorite pastries.

As you make sure to turn off the stove and place the kettle safely on top of it, you hear the familiar jiggle of keys at the door. He steps in with his shoulders slumped and his eyes red, a very unusual sight that, truthfully, scares you a bit.

You walk up to him with the intent of helping him get rid of his clothes, to comfort him, but a particular smell catches your attention.

“You smoked,” it wasn’t a question.

He grimaces in return, “I'll go brush my teeth.”

You follow him to the bathroom, observing him splash water on his face before picking up his toothbrush.

“Rough night?”

He looks at you through the mirror and stares at your reflection for what feels like an eternity, but then he just shrugs, places his toothbrush back next to yours, and exits the bathroom.

“You could say so.”

“Can you believe you’re almost done with your master's? You're graduating this semester, right?”

As soon as you see him nod, you beam and clap your hands together.

“We should celebrate! Is the bottle of white wine still in the fridge?” but with a shake of his head, you have your answer, “then let’s go to the store, my treat! I'll get you your favorite beers too.”

“Isn’t it too early?” he takes a look at his watch and indeed it is early, barely past seven in the morning, “and I don't drink.”

Your smile falters a bit, confused at his last statement, “since when?”

“A few months ago,” he kisses the top of your head before pouring the boiling water in a cup.

You drop the subject and choose to focus on something else, excited to see his new future approaching, “what's the plan, then? Moving to a bigger place?”

His smile turns into a sad one and shakes his head, “I want us to stay here.”

It feels like someone just threw a bucket of cold water at you, your senses sharper than ever and your mind free of the fog that clouded it. It's unsettling how it's all laced with a hint of dread, no longer being able to smile until you make sure he faces your reality.

“You can’t.”

The answer is immediate, his body turning rigid and the defensiveness radiating off of him almost palpable.

“Why not?” he retaliates, his tone harsh and cold, “we’ve been living here since we graduated, you like this place.”

So that was the reason? A fond smile settles on your lips, and a bittersweet feeling takes over you. Pushing his cup aside, you move closer to him, your hands cupping his cheeks and making him look at you.

Like a switch, Suguru’s eyes fill with tears, glistening like the prettiest amethyst, even though the sight breaks your heart. You have never seen him so broken, your own heart aching at the sight of your boyfriend on the verge of breaking down in your arms.

But you can’t drag this on and keep fooling yourselves.

“It's time to let go, Suguru.”

End of part one.

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