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copinghex · 2 months

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The noose | T.S

Summary: Tommy's wife returned home after the failure of his plan got the whole family arrested. The way they deal with her trauma ends up sending her to a worse place.

The feeling of the noose around her neck still haunted her. At that moment, all she thought about was her family, Rose was a daddy's girl, she would be fine eventually, but what about Violet? What about Tommy? What about her brother and mother? What about Finn?

What about Polly? The woman was side by side with her, tears ran down her face as she muttered a prayer and there was nothing Y/N could do, except hoping that her in-laws on the cells aside met a better ending.

With a deep breath, she revisited the past, the smell of Grace's hair as she held the spy from behind, the sound of the train coming and the bitter taste on her tongue, reminding her Tommy that could be dead by then, that if she let Grace go, she’d certainly reach for the gun a few steps away. Her only choices were to kill or die.

Then, the saving yell came, a desperate guard who didn't truly care for the Shelbys' life and was only complying with the king's order of setting the family free.

As they met again in the hallway of jail, no words were said. Polly cried in Michael's arms while Arthur and John hugged each other. Y/N stood there, speechless, waiting for someone to cross the door and hold her too, but no one did.

Somehow, she knew they also blamed her, because she should've talked Tommy out of the russians' business, because she should've given a warning before their arrest. She wished she had then, if she only hadn't choked on her own fear, perhaps their forgiveness would come easily.

On the way out, a driver waited for her, Y/N scoffed at the realization Tommy was too ashamed to face her. She wondered if he still blamed the stupid cursed sapphire for all their misery.

Finally, she was home again, Rose and Violet ran to their mother's arms, crying about how much they missed her. Tommy watched the scene from afar with too many words stuck in his throat, if he was able to kneel and apologize, it still wouldn't erase the guilt he felt.

After Y/N promised she'd never leave again, the children left her alone and she had to encounter her husband. However, while he had too much to say, she had nothing.

The truth was that Tommy always had too much to say, he was a clever, eloquent man, no one ever struggled in maintaining a conversation with him because his views of life were beyond intriguing. The war had taken away his will to speak, but his mind was still a powerforce capable of generating the most fascinating speeches.

On the other hand, Y/N carried herself silently, preferring to show than tell. Every time Tommy spoke about politics, science, religion or even boring mundane tasks, she paid close attention, not bothering to hide the adoration in her eyes. She believed displaying genuine interest was more flattering than attempting to engage in the conversation.

Standing at the entry of the house, they remained silent and silently the days went by. No talks about what happened, no apologies, no touches or significant looks. Everything went back to normal as they ignored the elephant in the room.

That lasted until a particularly warm night, the children were in bed, all the windows were open and many watch dogs guarded the garden. The summer was coming and Y/N decided to welcome it by getting a new style, joining the new fashion of haircuts above the shoulders, as if a new external could cease the mess in her head.

That night no comments were made about her sudden change, everyone sensed the tense atmosphere including herself, who was in desperate need of relaxing, then the idea popped in her head, she needed a long, warm bath.

Heading to the bathroom, she denied the maids' offers of help, aware that she regenerated better alone. She filled the bathtub with cold water and enough soap to make bubbles.

The sudden temperature change sent a shiver down her spine, the blood running on her veins matched summer and took a while to cool up. Resting her head on the tub's edge, Y/N closed her eyes trying to focus on the delicious smell of lavender soap.

However, her heart beated fast and her chest held a tight feeling, as if someone was stepping on her, crashing her ribs and making it hard to breathe.

Her jaw clenched as she ran hands through her recently cut hair, the strange feeling persisted and her blood traveled to her face, heating up her cheeks.

Ignoring the situation, she took deep, slow breaths and rationalized the symptoms. She had an awful couple of months, her body must've been too warm when she got into the cold water. That was all, it would pass.

In the frustrated attempt to calm down, Y/N conjured happy memories. The night her and Tommy celebrated the first legal betting license. Their first honeymoon night and how delighted she was to be officially his wife. When they moved in and inaugurated the house by spending the night together in the bathtub.

Everything with the same Tommy she hadn't spoken to in weeks, the same Tommy she had killed for, the same one to send her to the noose.

The rope squeezed her braid and neck together, Polly's silent prayer was all to be heard, but God wouldn't save them, what would happen next? Was it all done? Would she wake up somewhere else? Was the sapphire really cursed? What now? She wasn't dead but she couldn't breathe,

She couldn't breathe…

She couldn't breathe…!

Y/N opened her eyes, noticing her cheeks wet with tears, gasping for air, her shaky hands grabbed the bathtub's edge in a quick impulse to stand up. Water drops trickled from her naked body making a mess on the bathroom's door, the dogs were barking outside and her sight was getting dark.

Clumsily, she managed to reach for her robe, covering herself with the soft piece of clothing. The tears still came out as her legs got weak, holding onto the walls, she supposed she bumped on something because maids were knocking on the door, "Is everything alright, Mrs. Shelby?"

Y/N recognized Frances' voice, unable to answer, she shrunk her legs and pressed her lips together.

"I think we should call Mr. Shelby," another maid suggested.

Despite feeling weak, her feet moved rhythmically, quick with the energy the rest of her body was lacking. In a matter of seconds, Tommy called for her.

"Y/N, are you alright in there?" the worry in his tone was clear, "Y/N, I need an answer even if you don't want to talk to me!"

Gulping, she brushed off her wet cheeks and sobbed, "Tommy?"

"Y/N, are you alright?"

"...no,"

Everything got silent, the fear was slipping away as she heard the door unlocking. The extra keys, every single door in the house had extra keys. Tired and confused, she remained still.

Tommy rushed to her, it was his turn to panic, he kneeled to her level looking for injuries. Not finding any, he worried even more.

"What the fuck happened?" he sat her up, "What happened, love?"

Ashamed, she stared at the floor, a knot formed on her throat with the urge of crying again, "I don't know- I-"

She sobbed, shrugging off. He immediately pulled her to his chest, not caring if her wet hair would ruin his shirt, "No, no, it's alright, eh? You're alright, I got you now,"

Words were unnecessary for Tommy to acknowledge he was the root of her suffering. He knew how badly he fucked up and seeing his wife like that was the worst punishment ever. Worse than his family's hatred, worse than the possibility of her leaving him, worse than himself being hanged.

Together at bathroom's floor, they grieved her near death. Not all the money, cars or jewels they had could fix the damage, perhaps not even time could, a scar would remain forever regardless of her forgiving him or not.

Feeling her snuggled into him, Tommy muttered, "We need to talk,"

Fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt, she quietly answered, "I think we do."

#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #reader insert

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intuitive-revelations · 4 months

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The near future in the Doctor Who universe sure gets dire doesn't it? Especially if Mad Jack / Roger ap Gwilliam is still part of history.

I thought I'd have a bit of fun listing things out, combining as many sources as possible. Turns out he fits in shockingly well with what we know. There's a lot missing here or cut out, and for obvious reasons it's very UK / Europe focused, but nonetheless:

[ID: Scene from The Christmas Invasion showing Harriet Jones on BBC News. The news ticker reads "PM HEALTH SCARE", "Unfit for duty?", and references a "SECRET GOVERNMENT MOLE" and a quote: "BLOOD ON [HER HANDS]".]

2006-2021 (obviously the past now, but still noting for the resulting temporal and political butterfly effect) - In the original timeline, Harriet Jones remains Prime Minister for 3 consecutive terms, presumably 15 years assuming no snap election was called, referred to as a 'golden age' [World War Three]. The Tenth Doctor deliberately changes history to cause her deposal [The Christmas Invasion], leading to numerous disastrous terms in the meantime, including those of Harold Saxon [The Sound of Drums et al.], Brian Green (who tried to appease the 456) [Children of Earth], Boris Johnson (an auton host of the Nestene Consciousness) [Rose (novelisation)], and Jo Patterson (responsible for deploying cloned Dalek defence drones in the UK's streets) [Revolution of the Daleks].

[ID: Scene from Revolution of the Daleks. A 'defence drone' Dalek is used to support anti-riot police in a test, dispersing protestors with mock tear gas.]

2010s-2030s - The European Union gradually integrates further, eventually becoming the European Zone / Eurozone, a global superpower which competes with the USA through the 21st century. The UK eventually forms part of the bloc [Trading Futures].

It's likely that Harriet Jones's deposal led to this and related events being delayed or erased, with Brexit (driven by, among others, one of Jones's successors in the new timeline) reducing european unity. Most notably, Ramón Salamander's rise to power occurs now not in the 2010s [The Enemy of the World], but in the 2030s [Doctor Who and the Enemy of the World]. There are other events that are seemingly delayed by ~20 years by changes to the timeline, including future events like the dictatorship of Mariah Learman [The Time of the Daleks, Trading Futures], and yet also possibly past events like the death of Queen Elizabeth II [Battlefield, The Longest Night et al.], which may suggest something else (eg. the Time War) may be responsible.

~2030 - During a time of rising global tensions [73 Yards], Ramón Salamander convinces a group of scientists in an underground shelter endurance experiment that nuclear war has broken out on the surface. They are convinced to generate artificial "natural" disasters to fight back against the enemy. Between this and ongoing climate change, several global food sources collapse as a result, including Canada and Ukraine's corn and flour production [The Enemy of the World].

2031 - Tensions culminate in the "Great Russian War". Despite posturing, not a single nuclear weapon is fired, at least by NATO [73 Yards]. This may be later considered World War III [Trading Futures].

~2032-2035 - Following the war, tensions rise again, now between the Eurozone and the USA [Trading Futures], possibly in reaction to actions (or lack thereof?) taken by NATO during the war [73 Yards]. Both send separate peacekeeping forces to conflict in North Africa. Meanwhile, Italy is engaged in civil war [Trading Futures].

[ID: Scene from The Enemy of the World, showing Ramón Salamander.]

Over the decade, Ramón Salamander rises in power in the World Zone Authority, using his patented "Sun Store" satellite technology to aid the growth of crops by controlling sunlight over agricultural regions. In the background, he murders and blackmails officials to place loyalists into powerful positions, with the goal of ruling over the World Zone Authority as a dictator. Salamander's treachery is later discovered and he disappears [The Enemy of the World].

2037 - 2042 - Several militia declare wars of Independence from the USA. Notably, Phoenix, Arizona is destroyed in a terrorist attack. While the country largely persists after the conflicts, some territories seem to successfully secede - with, for example, a Montana Republic seemingly being in existence in 2054 [Alien Bodies].

2038 - The World Zones Accord is signed. This is later considered to have reduced the United Nations to a 'joke' compared with the World Zone Authority [Alien Bodies]. Given the extensive power it gives to the WZA, this was likely originally part of Salamander's plan, but due to his disappearance he is not around to reap the rewards [The Enemy of the World].

2039 - A group of Mexican astronauts studying minerals on the Moon go missing [Kill the Moon].

~2030s - 2040s - The Earth begins to experience major climate change effects, including "appalling storm conditions" which harm agriculture [The Waters of Mars]. The ice caps melt and flood much of the Earth [K9] with nations like the Netherlands ending up entirely flooded [St Anthony's Fire]. Some regions experience corrosive acid rain [Cat's Cradle: War Head, Strange Loops]. One summer sees Britain experience a 22 week drought. At this time, the Eurozone closes its borders to millions of North African and Baltic Sea refugees [Hothouse]. This time period may be known as the "Oil Apocalypse" [The Waters of Mars].

[ID: Scene from K9 Episode 13: Aeolian. Big Ben stands in the middle of a colossal storm of wind and rain.]

With Earth's ecosystems collapsing [Davros], humanity begin to realise it's facing extinction [The Waters of Mars]. An artificial cooling agent is spread in the atmosphere to semi-successfully combat the effects, but leads to dramatic side-effects, including freezing some areas of the globe. This is known as the "Great Cataclysm" [K9].

2041 - A three-human team, including Adelaide Brooke, lands on Mars for the first time [The Waters of Mars]. However, with this accomplishment, and increasing turbulence on Earth, Humanity gradually loses interest in space exploration [Kill the Moon].

Before 2045 - Around this time, the UK falls into a dictatorship ruled by the "Director", head of a military council that has allegedly (secretly?) controlled the government since 2028 [Britain Protests]. It is possible that this Director was previously the "Minister of War" for previous governments [Before the Flood].

2045 - The World Zones Authority evolves into a World Government, with Nikita Bandranaik being elected President. The UK is not part of the organisation [This is 2065].

2046-2050s - The Director is overthrown [Down with the Director] and the rest of the government "collapses in shame" [73 Yards]. Some of the revolutionaries celebrate now being "masters of [their] own country" [Down with the Director]. Despite the hopes of the World Government for international integration, this nationalistic streak continues.

[ID: Scene from 73 Yards. Roger ap Gwilliam, with an Albion Party ribbon on his chest declares victory on BBC News, live from Kennington High in London. Headline reads "LANDSLIDE VICTORY FOR ALBION PARTY: Majority of 92 predicted. Roger ap Gwilliam declared Prime Minister."]

Roger ap Gwilliam is elected Prime Minister, with the far-right nationalistic Albion Party gaining a majority of 92 MPs [73 Yards]. While his government does take the step to officially join the World Government senate [Down with the Director], he seeks greater independence from other nations. One of his first actions is to expand the UK's nuclear arsenal, purchasing missiles from Pakistan and withdrawing from NATO. In his term, the world is brought to the brink of nuclear war [73 Yards], likely in the pre-2050s "Euro Wars" [The Time of the Daleks].

In this time, the "Department", a (private?) multinational security organisation is born, based primarily in the UK. They gain broad powers, which they use to control populations with propaganda and use of "CCPC"s: robotic law enforcement notorious for their surveillance and brutality. Despite its recent revolution, the country is rendered practically a police state [K9].

[ID: Scene from K9 Episode 1: Regeneration. CCPCs, hulking police robots, march down a dark alley.]

2049 - The Moon starts to dramatically gain mass, causing massive tides on the Earth, flooding entire cities. In a last ditch at survival, humanity plans to try and destroy the Moon using an array of nuclear bombs. Despite the people of Earth being offered the vote on what to do by turning off their lights, it appears the decision is made on a national level, with lights going off grid-by-grid. Nonetheless, the Moon is allowed to hatch, leaving behind a new less massive egg "moon" with minimal further destruction [Kill the Moon].

[ID: Scene from Kill the Moon. The Moon hatches in the background, as the TARDIS stands by the sea.]

Humanity's interest in space exploration returns [Kill the Moon], starting a new space race. Among these projects, Australia begins constucting a space elevator, Spain a project called "SpaceLink", while Germany and Russia each begin a series of new Moon missions. The Philippines are rumoured to be planning their own landing on Mars [The Waters of Mars].

~2050 - The UK Government (ap Gwilliam's?) is couped once more, by General Mariah Learman. With the King's permission, elections are suspended for at least a couple years, with her ruling over a "benevolent dictatorship". She is later abducted and forcibly mutated by the Daleks [The Time of the Daleks]. Despite the previous description, her promotion of Shakespeare in schools is remembered as the only good thing about her rule [Trading Futures]. (Note: As mentioned prior, it's likely that Learman's rule may have been delayed as Salamander's was. This is suggested by the mention of her in Trading Futures, set seemingly ~2030s or earlier, despite The Time of the Daleks taking place around the 2050s.)

~2050s - The Gravitron is built on the new Moon. This is used to artificially control the tides and weather [The Moonbase]. It likely also is intended to study and monitor the new Moon for future changes [Kill the Moon].

[ID: Scene from The Moonbase, giving an external shot of the base.]

2058 - 2059 - Bowie Base One is established: humanity's first colony on another planet and an international collaboration between the UK, USA, Russia, Germany, Turkey, South Korea, Lithuania, Australia, and Pakistan. One year later, it is mysteriously destroyed in a deliberately triggered nuclear explosion. In the original timeline, there were no survivors. However, after the interference of the Time Lord Victorious, the true story is eventually told on Earth. Regardless "a veil of darkness" sweeps over the planet over the next few years. [The Waters of Mars], as international tensions heat up once more... [Total Eclipse of the Heart].

[ID: Scene from The Waters of Mars, showing an internet news website. Various articles appear focused on the Bowie Base One incident, including "SURVIVORS STORY - BROOKE SAVED EARTH", "THE MYTHICAL DOCTOR", "BROOKE'S HEROIC ACTIONS SAVE EARTH", and "HOW THE COUPLE ESCAPED MARS". The feature image shows the two survivors: Yuri Kerenski and Mia Bennett.]

2060s - The "Great War" breaks out on Earth, involving every country on Earth. This is likely World War IV. Details are vague, but it ultimately ends in a ceasefire, when it's realised the conflict is risking Earth's habitability [Total Eclipse of the Heart].

#Doctor Who #DW Spoilers #Doctor Who Spoilers #73 Yards #DW Theory #Canon-Welding #Long Post

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prettyboypistol · 7 months

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merc Valentine headcanons if you're up for it?

TF2 VALENTINES HEADCANONS!

no art for this post because I've posted 3 times todayyyy

Scout

ridiculously corny and a tryhard- you're getting the whole shebang with him! Flowers, dinner(?), a teddy bear!

gets really frustrated/anxious when things don't go exactly as planned

you thought his planned pick up lines were cheesy? just wait til you put him on the spot. You could probably quote them all from specific books of pick up lines.

Soldier

He'd make an honest effort to try and romance you- but nothing would really turn out as you would expect traditionally. With your luck, the date will be fighting a pack of bears for more of his honey stash!

In the end though, you can tell through Jane's actions that he loved you with all his heart. Even if the romance was a bust, he's still going to be your ride or die forever!

The day would end with you two covered in various ratios of blood and honey staring at the setting sun. So I guess that's a win?

Pyro

Doesn't really have a concept of Valentine's Day, but once explained to them, they are so on board with pampering you the entire day!

Of course, the way to make their day is to just relax by a bonfire and snuggle up next to a radio.

They give you one of your shirts back as a gift- only to see that they embroidered little rings of fire around the cuffs! (who let them touch needles????)

Engineer

definitely a lot more relaxed about valentines than most of the other more "passionate" mercs, but he's still earnestly sweet nonetheless.

His gift to you is a little music box he made and a rose he welded together out of sheet metal.

Dell probably had your gifts done ahead of time then subsequently forgot what day it was (you had to remind him of the dinner date that you two planned earlier that week)

Heavy

Mikhail lust loves kissing and loving on you, he will play coy about valentine's day until the evening, where he spoils you senseless.

Dinner and drinks get shared over a movie and cuddles. Nothing feels better than your big teddybear of a boyfriend and the smell of mulled wine as you laugh at some stupid movie you two are barely paying attention to.

Once you fall asleep in his arms he murmurs poetry to you in Russian, all of them written just for you.

Demoman

He... well, honestly, he kinda blows it.

He remembered the special day, but he's really just lackluster. Valentine's day is just another day to him and he thinks he doesn't need a specific day. When he realizes that you are hurt, he overhauls it in the next few days. He shows off the multimillions that he actually does make and pampers you rotten.

Apologies and kisses and wonderful dinners aside, Tavish holds you close and murmurs just about how much he loves you.

Medic

He trained his doves to do little tricks just for youuuuu awww

Remember that shitty ex you had? Yeah, that's their heart. Mhm. Yep. Go ahead. Stab it. :) (Gift giving, act of service, quality time)

Puts a record on and dances you around the medical room with little kisses and flirtatious lines of how cute you look when you're flustered and trying not to step on his feet.

Spy

Romance KING! The fright of commitment is still there and paralyzing at times, but he powered through it for you! After all, you see him at his worst every day and to see him, he is slightly more comfortable to be honest with you.

Roses and a bottle of wine are in your room, along with a card signed by "Your handsome rogue"

You two go to dinner and then to his smoking room to really relax, those parfaits were perfectly handmade just for you two.

Sniper

He invites you out to camp with you and hunt, but he really liked showing off his survival skills in front of you. You ever had gator?

Mick loves cooking in front of you and really putting on a show. It feels like the one time he can really accept praise is when you look in awe.

Everything is done for you whenever you try to do something. Making coffee? "Nah love, I'll get it." Your back hurt? "Lay down, chickadee, I'll give you a massage."

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ncis-nerd · 5 months

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A Misson Gone Wrong

grey november au

You were holed up in Natasha's room, basically your room by now. The Russian welcomed you with open arms. She knew of your nightmares and sleeping problems so she was careful not to wake you when she came back from late night missions.

Though this did not always work due to your being a light sleeper and the moment her body hit the mattress your eyes opened. "Natty?" you'd mumble sleepily, pressing your hands into fists against your eye. Natasha hated when you did this, as she didn't want you to harm your vision.

"Shh, t's okay. M' here sweet girl, go back to sleep." She'd hum, pressing a kiss against your forehead and soothing you back to sleep. The older woman loved when you called her Natty. A nickname you only called her in your softest hours, when it was just you and her. She picked up on this the next day when you guys were in a meeting.

"Natasha" you'd address her. She'd look at you with a raised eyebrow. A little hurt but she understood you were just trying to maintain professionalism. The woman obviously teased you about it afterwards. In the kitchen, when you were getting one of your granola bars. One of very few things that you ate, due to texture issues you couldn't stomach certain foods.

Natasha obviously noticed this after finding multiple snack wrappers in the trash. She would dismiss it for right now. A conversation for another time. You sat on the counter, your legs swinging off the side. Unintentionally kicking the cabinets below you. Natasha stood between your legs, holding your cheek in her palm.

"Natasha, huh?" The older woman hummed, looking at you munching on your snack. Stray crumbles fell off the side of your mouth. She smiled softly at this. You met her gaze with a pout falling upon your face. Your whole demeanor shifted, you fell silent. She took this as a sign of you not wanting to talk in such a public place. She dropped it for right now.

----☆---------☆-------☆------☆---------☆----

You were back in the red-head's room. She had gone away on a mission but before she did, she told you that you were welcome to stay in her room to work or whatever.

You sat on her bed, your computer on your lap. Softly, you hummed to the beat of Hamilton as you looked over the notes from the last meeting. You had a bad habit of overworking yourself. Unfortunately for you, this was a habit you had not grown out of. You soon realized after doozing off in Natasha's bed, with your laptop still on.

A door squeaked, the attempted closing of it quietly failed. As you arose out of bed and began to rub your eyes. What time was it? Why was Natasha home so soon? The Russian did not address you, you sat up and tried to locate her in the room. However, due to her deathly quiet flootsteps you failed to.

You heard water running in the spy's bathroom. You knocked on the door, sensing that something was up. Why wouldn't Natasha at the very least say hi? She always welcomed you with a kiss on the forehead. "natty, it's me. is everything okay?" you asked sleepily. a soft yawn escaped your lips.

"just go back to bed detka, i've got some work to do before i can join you." Natasha spoke, her voice sounded cold. No emotion in it. This scared you. But there was nothing you could do so you let her know that you were here if she wanted to talk.

Not wanting to go back to sleep, before seeing if the woman was okay, you went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate for the two of you, nearly burning yourself in the progress. When you returned, the Russian was still in the bathroom. You set her cup down on the nightstand and opened your computer. You continued to work on the document from before you fell asleep. A few hours pass, your eye lids feel heavily and you are fighting off sleep when the older woman finally opens the door.

Her eyes blood-shot red, as if she had bene crying. Immediately you rose to go comfort the Russian. Your arms open and ready to hold her. She accepts your embrace, your arms wrap around her, though you are shorter than the woman, you make up for it in your hugs.

You just stand there in silence. Natasha buried her head into the crook of your neck, holding you close. You had never seen her like this and it made you concerned. So vulnerable and hurt.

taglist: @ssa-shaylam@madamevirgo

part 2

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unholyhelbig · 5 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/unholyhelbig/748001277238181888/ive-reread-the-entirety-of-oversight-again-and

i’ve done this as well. i think u should 😌😏😉☺️🥰

Title: Rose Colored Glasses [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader gets word that Natasha is hurt and rushes home to assess the situation.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): injury to nose & foot, slight blood, and shrimp

[a/n: Did someone request more oversight? Because I've got you covered. This is pure fluff, sorry for the lack of angst! It's short, and sweet, and not proof read because I don't have time :( ]

Check out the full Oversight universe

A quiet house was never a good sign. Growing up in the foster care system teeming with other wards of the state had taught you that. Often, you were three or four to a room. There were bunk beds with sheets slotted against the ceiling or stuffed under the mattress above your own, just for some type of barrier. It was an illusion of privacy, most of the time. Because houses like that were never quiet.

When you’d moved in across from Darcy after your 18th birthday, things weren’t quiet. Above you was a Latin-American couple that would wait until just past midnight to turn on a slow, rhythmic song and dance. Their steps were soft, and calculated. They carved out time for one another every single night between shifts. Just for the two of them. You often let the thumping base lull you to sleep.

The city was just outside your window. In the summer, you could prop it open with a brick and let the sounds of cars become a backdrop. There were sirens, and when the fire hydrant on the corner was loosened, the world welcomed a cold blast of water, sprinkling into the street. That was the opposite of quiet. That made your chest feel light, and warm.

After marrying Natasha Romanoff, you settled into the loudness of her home. Your home. Veronica was constantly running around the twists and turns of the bottom floor, Clint or Kate or Darcy galloping after her with a big smile on their face. They slowed themselves to make sure they didn’t break anything, but they wanted her to win, too.

Yelena often came with the muffled sounds of Russian techno bands coming from the headphones around her neck. It was a staple to find her in the kitchen with her head down, slicing into an apple from the backyard with precision unknown. Natasha would tug the headphones off to get her attention, or to send her into annoyance.

The night that Natasha got hurt was stifled with the sound of rain. It had soaked you to the bone, dripping onto the linoleum floor and then the carpet as you ascended the stairs two at a time. You’d been at the docks later than usual, the storm that had plagued the side of the harbor was relentless and delayed shipments.

The captain of the shipping boat your family had utilized for decades wanted to discuss something over whatever crap coffee you could beat out of the machine in your office. He spoke with a thick southern drawl, his mustache was encrusted with salt and sand. You had shed your coat and tried to warm yourself up by hugging your mug to your chest. Nothing seemed to work.

While you weren’t opposed to giving the man a raise, you were not the final say. Natasha was, and you figured he could use the company more than anything. The captain flicked through books that were on the shelf, taking two or three for his next journey out to sea. It was like clockwork with him, and you indulged his need for quiet companionship each time.

When your phone rang, you never looked at the caller ID. Those who were privileged enough to get your number knew to talk without any of the pleasantries that they were used to. Clint’s voice came through the receiver in a smooth, hushed tone that made you believe he wasn’t supposed to be calling you in the first place.

“Look, y/n, there’s been an… incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

He was meant to escort her to one of the many cocktail parties that Carlos LaMuerto was throwing at his mansion that bordered the same body of water that you resided on now. They were lovely get-togethers that you often attended with your wife. This, however, was the fourth one this month and your stomach was turning at the idea of another cocktail shrimp and lamb pate.

Clint had offered, seeing the desperation in your eyes. And while Natasha was reluctant, she ultimately agreed. No news of a bust had reached you yet, nor had a gun blazing argument. While the Captain licked his dry lips and scanned the books in front of him, you continued in hushed tones.

“Nat’s hurt. It’s not a big deal, you can finish up your business. She’s just being stubborn is all.”

An escaped sigh “I’ll be there.”

No shit, she was being stubborn. Your wife was bull-headed and wouldn’t admit to the smallest defeat. It eased your nerves slightly, and only slightly, that Clint said it wasn’t a big deal. No gunshot to the back, or knife to the throat. It wasn’t good enough, however.

Natasha would be upset that you tracked mud into the house and left your boots sloshing by the door. You were panting by the time you reached the double doors that led to your bedroom. They were, of course, blocked by Clint and Kate. Yelena was leaning lazily against the railing that was parallel. She regarded you with an uninterested stare.

“You did not have to come here.” She said, “We’ve got it handled.”

“She kicked all of you out, didn’t she?”

“What? She certainly did not!”

Yelena’s voice pitched with her lie. Kate’s cheeks turned an off-shade of pink and Clint just rthe hallway, that was a good sign. Still, neither of the two moved to let you into your own room.

“If you’re not going to get out of the way, can you at least tell me what happened?”

There was a muffled reply from behind the door. With the way that the voice flitted, you knew that she was trapped on the bed. Otherwise, she would have leveled you with a glare right here and now. The words were simple “Do it, you die.”

“Oh, come on,” You whispered harshly, turning your attention to Kate instead. She was the easiest to break. “Katie, what is the harm in letting me through? I’m going to catch my death if I stay in these clothes.”

“Catch your death?” Clint scoffed “What are you? A poet from the 1800’s?”

“I’m about to be breaking your fingers if you don’t-“

“You can’t even break wind,”

The two of your voices combined as you kept at it. You didn’t’ miss the wary look that Kate shot Yelena. One way or another, you’d get into your room. You refused to be banished to the couch again, especially in wet clothes. If you had to threaten ruining the rugs with your muddy footprints, so be it.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” You held up both of your hands, silencing the chaos of the corridor. “Nat, you are my wife, you’re hurt. Whether you like it or not, I’m coming in. Does anyone have any objections?”

Kate went to raise her hand, but Yelena yanked it back down and shook her head no. You tore into Clint with a look that could drop him dead. He relented and stepped away from the door. While you had a moment of peace, you walked into the dark of the room. She’d turned out the lights, save for the half-moon that showed a pale pattern against the carpet.

When you reached for the light switch on the wall, Natasha let out a noise that was similar to a wounded animal. You halted, your actions and made out her form on the bed. She was folded in on herself, her silhouette rigid.

“Baby,” you cooed, closing the distance between you and the bed. She grunted again, this time in pain. She attempted to turn away from you. You lowered yourself onto the sliver of bed, approaching the situation softly. “Can I turn on a light?”

“No, I’m hideous.”

You chuckled softly “I highly doubt that, my love. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Natasha had never liked being vulnerable around you. It had taken a full weekend of you nursing her back to her feet after the incident on the pier for her to let herself cry. You held her for hours, her nose pressed against the small of your neck. She’d gripped onto you, as if you’d leave. But you never would.

Eventually, you saw her shadow nod. Before she could change her mind, you flicked on the lamp on the side table. It didn’t’ have a far reach, but the light was less harsh on the both of you. It was impossible not to notice the blood that had dried against Natasha’s nose, a split right down the middle.

You’d seen her with broken bones before, bruises that wrapped around her midsection. You’d put ace bandage around her ribs after drawing her a bath. This was nothing to be ashamed about. In fact, she often saw them as battle scars that would heal in a pink gash.

Her foot was wrapped up with a bag of peas and one of frozen carrots that Clint, or even Yelena had situated. There was bruising around her ankle, it looked painful and you internally winced at the coloring. She groaned into the small of her elbow.

“I want to die”

“Natty, it’s okay. This is nothing a cozy weekend inside can’t fix.”

She said something that was quiet and muffled by her arm. You didn’t understand her one bit, but she squeezed a single tear from her eye that you wiped away dutifully before it could reach the silk of sheets.

“What was that, baby?” You asked gently.

She threw both of her hands down and glared at the ceiling. Her fingers eventually found yours, squeezing your palm in reflex. Her words came out in a quick breath, “I tripped over a carpet at the stupid dinner party and hit my face on the catering table.”

You were effectively silenced. That was very un-Natasha. But lately, you and Clint had been pestering her about her eyesight, especially at night. It wasn’t something she wanted to hear. In fact, each time you brought up the idea of glasses, she would effectively silence you with a glare, or even a kick to the shin under the kitchen table if you had company.

You bit the inside of your cheek and ran your thumb over her hand. She clutched your hand tighter. Now was certainly not the time to laugh, and while you fought back the initial giggle, you were more concerned about your wife.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I bet you got right back up.” You said, pressing your palm against her cheek. “None of those fancy party types would dare question your influence on this city.”

“Shrimp went flying everywhere.” Natasha pouted.

“Everyone was tired of shrimp anyway, even the shrimp.”

She grasped at the collar of your jacket and pulled you closer to her, pressing her lips against your own. They were warm, the warmest thing that you’ve felt since getting caught in the passing storm. You were careful not to lean on her ribs, breathing in the rosewater scent of her.

Natasha pressed her forehead against yours, running a hand up your spine. She grimaced. “You’re all wet.”

“Well now I am,” You smirked against her jawline, leaving a little nip in your wake. “You need to get glasses.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re getting the sheets all damp, and you smell like fish.”

“I smell like fish?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to the exposed part of her neck. You felt Natasha laugh too, using her hands to cover her face from the blush that was blooming against her cheeks. “We’re talking about me?”

She laughed harder, attempting to shove you off but you let your body go slack against her, not using your arms to hold yourself up anymore. “Yes! Go shower!”

“Mm, but you’re so warm.”

“You’re not going to be warm if I make you sleep on the couch.”

You gasped dramatically, pulling your head off her stomach and meeting her dark green stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. After the day I’ve had, I refuse to sleep next to my wife when she smells like a marina.”

Even while she said it, her voice was gentle, her fingers working over your scalp to brush the wet hair from your eyes. You pulled yourself up to give her another peck on the lips, careful to avoid the split nose and busted ankle.

“Fine, but only because you need more aspirin.”

She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t believe I let you through my defenses.”

“Uh-huh. Get some rest. I’m going to go talk to your defenses about getting you an appointment with an optometrist.”

You turned to move towards the bathroom, already craving the warmth of a shower and some clean pajamas. Two steps from the doorway and you felt a plush throw pillow hit you directly on the back of the head. Natasha had amazing aim, always had, and always would.

You bent down and picked up the gold upholstered pillow, giving her a faux glare. “You’re not getting this back.”

“Oh, come on, baby.” She stuck out her lower lip “I have to prop up my foot.”

“You should have thought of that before you launched it at my head.”

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russicnroses · 2 months

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Below is the second half of CHAPTER TWO of the second volume (58-127 pages) which consists of 69 pages.

PAGES: 58-59-60

Saya walks through the snow-covered streets of Petrograd, dressed in riding clothes, a sealskin coat, and a matching hat. She carries a sword concealed in her riding trousers. Today, she intends to revisit the city center, specifically the places where she first encountered the chiropteran and fought after the ball, despite knowing the Red Shield members have already investigated these areas. Unable to stay still once the blizzard stopped, she leaves the mansion.

Saya heads to the alley where she first encountered the chiropteran, recalling a piece of cloth she found near her sword earlier. Puzzled by it, she puts it back in her pocket, planning to ask Tanya about it later. Reaching the deserted and snow-covered alley, she finds no clues and shivers slightly, remembering her first encounter with the chiropteran.

Deciding to visit another location, Saya heads toward the canal and the Church of Blood, recalling the Red Shield mansion where she was attacked. She emerges onto a bustling main street filled with people enjoying the break from the blizzard. Overwhelmed by the sight of women in luxurious fur coats, she almost steps into the road, narrowly avoiding a passing carriage. Seeing an elderly man being picked up by the carriage, Saya suddenly feels tense. As memories return, she recalls that the man had watched her the day she fell into the canal and struggled to the shore, recognizing him despite her hazy memory from that time.

PAGES: 61-62-63

Saya realizes that the old man she saw might be the same person she remembers from before. She suddenly turns and runs after the carriage carrying the old man, startling the women nearby. The carriage enters the square in front of the palace and then goes around to the back of the Winter Palace. There, the old man and two men get off the carriage at an entrance facing the canal, which is more secluded and elaborate. Hiding in the shadows, Saya recalls that Felix and Dimitri mentioned that the Winter Palace is usually unoccupied, except for the Grey Cardinal, who is known for his striking silver hair and cold, beautiful eyes. She wonders if the old man has business with the Grey Cardinal.

Saya reflects on the frequent visitors bringing bribes to the Grey Cardinal and questions why the old man was by the canal at that hour. While she is lost in thought, one of the men who got off with the old man approaches her and asks what she is doing there. Caught off guard, Saya struggles to respond. The other man, noticing the disturbance, also approaches. Saya hastily makes up an excuse about getting lost and begins to back away, but her heel gets caught on the brick pavement.

As Saya braces herself to avoid falling, the sword she had tucked in her belt slips and falls. The men, seeing the large sword, draw their guns and point them at her, not giving her a chance to explain. At the moment they prepare to fire, Saya quickly drops to the ground and sweeps the legs out from one man, causing her coat to flare out. She then uses the sheathed sword to knock away the gun from the other man's hand and kicks it further away. Seeing the first man getting up, Saya jumps to the lower path along the canal, narrowly avoiding bullets fired at her.

PAGES: 64-65-66

Saya continues to run without stopping. Not wanting to hurt anyone. In a room of the Winter Palace, a young girl lay face down on a chaise lounge, lazily swinging her legs. The room’s master, Grigori, watched her without reprimand from his desk. The girl complained of boredom and buried her face in a cushion. Grigori, showing an unusual gentle expression, reassured her that their "work" would soon be finished, reminding her that Yuri had just said the same. The girl, looking up with one eye, mentioned she had been waiting for her toy. On the floor lay a bisque doll, its head cruelly torn off, suggesting the girl’s dissatisfaction. Grigori explained that they had been interrupted, but they would get what they wanted eventually.

The girl complained that Grigori seemed to be having all the fun, attending balls. Grigori clarified that he went to assess their "toys." She demanded to be allowed to play too, her innocent yet sharp gaze even momentarily daunting Grigori. He knelt at her feet, promising to prepare something to relieve her boredom. The girl’s face lit up, and she clung to his neck with a childlike innocence. Grigori warned against rushing things and summoned a young man who had been waiting silently by the door. Grigori gave the young man brief instructions, and he left the room. As his footsteps faded, the girl whispered seductively into Grigori's ear, asking if she could eat "that" yet. Grigori, chuckling, replied that it was still useful. The girl, losing interest, playfully bit Grigori’s earlobe.

Saya, meanwhile, caught a carriage at the outskirts of the city and returned to the mansion. As the sound of the carriage faded, she ran up the porch steps and reached for the door, which opened from the inside. Haji greeted her, showing a brief look of relief before smiling gently as usual, welcoming her back.

PAGES: 67, 68, 69

Haji, respecting Saya's wishes, allowed her to handle things on her own, only providing minimal assistance. Saya removed her coat and handed her sword to Haji, then found a piece of cloth in her pocket. Haji explained it had been wrapped around her sword hilt while she was unconscious, so he kept it. Saya couldn't recall where it came from but put it away, focusing instead on an old man who entered the Winter Palace with heavy guards, wondering what they were doing there. She asked Haji if anyone had returned, and he nodded, indicating that Kirill had come back.

Saya expressed a desire to visit the Winter Palace, but Kirill told her it was not easily accessible without a reason, like a ball. Despite their battles with the chiropterans, life went on as usual in Russia, with nobles indulging in luxury. Kirill had many invitations but none from the court, as the Emperor and Empress disliked social events. Saya felt uneasy but didn't want to trouble Kirill further. As she pondered, a carriage arrived, and the door to the next room opened. Valery appeared, followed by Maxim, who smiled at Saya. It had been a while since they met due to Maxim handling post-incident matters at the old house. Kirill, Rodion, and Eduardo greeted Maxim as well. Saya found it heartwarming that they cared about each other.

Maxim handed an envelope to Kirill, explaining it had arrived at the other house. Kirill accepted it, noting that it seemed fate favored Saya. He informed Saya that, after several years, a ball would be held at the Winter Palace. As Tanya tightened Saya's corset, Saya had a complex expression, contemplating the situation.

PAGES: 70,71,72

Saya learns that a grand ball is to be held at the Winter Palace for the first time in years, at the request of the imperial princess. Despite the dire war situation, frequent demonstrations, and energy shortages, the ball is still planned. Although Saya is excited about the event, she is also aware that Chiropterans have infiltrated the country. Nya reassures Saya by patting her waist, despite the difficult circumstances. Tanya, while fetching a dress, expresses her delight at the prospect of the ball, reminiscing about past events and assuring Saya that she will look just as beautiful. Tanya loves seeing people dressed up and happy, regardless of the reason for the ball.

Saya smiles wryly, recognizing that gatherings of people are also gatherings of information, which is necessary for Maxim's work. She has to attend the ball. Tanya gives her a dress, which Saya dons without realizing it has an even more revealing neckline than the previous one. The champagne blue satin dress emphasizes her bust with white lace motifs and is designed to cling to her body. The skirt is decorated with pearls and looks like flowers, with layered white tulle petticoats peeking out. Tanya examines Saya with pride, and Saya reluctantly accepts, noticing the dress is even more revealing at the back.

After Tanya leaves to fetch accessories, Saya slumps over the dresser, feeling an occasional overwhelming sleepiness, which she quickly overcomes. She knows the cause is her longing for blood, making her restless. Just before she is consumed by this hunger, a voice echoes in her mind calling her a "monster." Saya denies it. As the doorknob turns, she hastily sits up, not wanting Tanya to see her tired. She turns with a smile, expecting Tanya, but it is Haji standing there. He hands her a box of pearl and sapphire accessories that Tanya had instructed him to bring. While Saya struggles to find words, Haji approaches the dresser.

PAGES: 73,74,76

Saya is trying to fasten a delicate necklace by herself but struggles with the clasp. Haji, noticing her difficulty, gently takes over and helps her. Saya feels awkward because it's been a long time since they were alone together, which adds to her discomfort.

As Haji fastens the necklace, Saya is acutely aware of his movements and feels unsettled by his touch. Once the necklace is in place, Haji comments on how beautiful she looks, which makes Saya smile. Suddenly, Haji bends down and kisses the nape of her neck, causing Saya to stiffen in surprise. This reminds her of Joel, who used to kiss her neck affectionately during special occasions when she was dressed up.

Haji's actions seem to be an imitation of Joel's gentle gestures. Saya awkwardly smiles at Haji in the mirror, but instead of smiling back, Haji looks down sadly. He then kisses her again, this time on the base of her shoulder blade, with more intensity. After the kiss, Haji’s eyes show a mix of sadness and regret. Noticing Saya watching him through the mirror, Haji quickly regains his composure, apologizes, and leaves the room, leaving Saya feeling bewildered and lost.

PAGES: 77,78,79

From his room, Haji watches as the carriage carrying Maxim and Saya leaves the mansion. He begins playing his cello, recalling the day his fate became intertwined with Saya’s. It was Joel’s birthday, and Saya had taken Haji to a corner of the estate, despite a party starting soon. Suspicious, Haji followed her to a cliff where a newly-bloomed red lily was growing. Saya proudly suggested giving the flower to Joel as a birthday present. Haji, having noticed Saya’s frequent walks around the estate, realized she had been searching for this specific flower.

Praising her find, Haji noticed Saya preparing to descend the cliff to pick the lily. Alarmed, he stopped her, but Saya insisted they needed to hurry to retrieve the flower before the party. The lily was halfway down the cliff, which was difficult to reach. Haji suggested they bring Joel to see the flower later, believing it would still make him happy. Joel had always valued Saya, despite knowing little about her mysterious condition that prevented her from aging. Haji reflected on Joel's care for Saya and his reluctance to entrust her to others, even fetching Haji personally from the Romani group to ensure she had a trustworthy companion. Concerned for her safety, Haji’s words were genuine, but Saya pouted and looked at him with frustration.

Compared to when they first met, Saya had become more receptive to Haji’s opinions, though she remained stubborn once she set her mind on something. Lowering her eyes briefly, Saya expressed that she had nothing else to give Joel. Haji wanted to assure her that Joel would be happy just knowing she cared, but he refrained from saying so. Saya wasn’t allowed to leave the estate, known as the “Zoo,” and had limited interactions outside of Haji and Joel. She felt compelled to do something special for Joel, unaware of the danger involved in descending the cliff.

Realizing Saya wouldn’t back down, Haji reluctantly agreed to retrieve the lily himself. Saya’s face lit up, making it impossible for him to refuse. Carefully, Haji climbed down the cliff, using skills he had learned as a child. The cliff was steeper and more unstable than it appeared. He thought about how dangerous it was for Saya to have attempted this in her dress and resolved to ensure her safety.

PAGES: 80, 81, 82

Haji lets out a bitter laugh and tries to reach the red lily Saya is pointing at from atop the cliff. He warns her to step back as she leans dangerously close to the edge, but she dismisses his concern. Before she can finish her sentence, the soil beneath her feet crumbles, and she begins to fall. Haji manages to catch her, but the ledge they cling to collapses, sending them both plummeting to the ground below.

Saya calls out to Haji, who is relieved to hear her voice despite his injuries. He struggles to move, his vision blurred and his body unresponsive. Realizing he is bleeding heavily, Saya panics. Remembering that losing too much blood can lead to death, she frantically searches Haji's coat and finds a knife. She cuts her own palm and tries to feed her blood to Haji, begging him to drink.

When Haji does not respond, Saya desperately sucks her own blood into her mouth and transfers it to him through a kiss. Haji unconsciously drinks the blood, feeling a strange connection to Saya's urgent desire for him to survive. When Haji awakens, he realizes that Saya's blood has healed his wounds and changed his body. They rush back to the mansion, only to find it engulfed in flames, and a girl who looks exactly like Saya standing nearby.

PAGES: 83,84,85

Haji, while playing the cello with his eyes closed, feels a jolt as a string snaps, causing a thin cut on his hand that quickly heals. Since receiving Saya's blood, he, too, has become immortal, with any wounds eventually disappearing. Saya was initially sad when she realized this, biting her lip and holding back tears and words. Haji also remained silent, understanding her regret for giving him her blood. She felt guilty for unknowingly binding him with her blood. Haji remembers Saya saying she doesn't want to take any more of his time, which makes him smile bitterly, knowing she doesn't understand his feelings.

Haji sighs and looks at the moon. The palace square is bustling with carriages and cars. The Alexander Memorial Column, topped with a golden angel holding a cross, stands at the center, with the goddess of victory statue overlooking from the General Staff Building's roof. The carriages and cars form a long line extending to Nevsky Avenue. The lamps lit by the coachmen create a galaxy-like scene in the night sky. After days of blizzards, the extravagantly dressed people's excitement adds to the city's anticipation. Saya is also part of this excitement but is momentarily startled by a woman wearing a flamboyant hair ornament.

Maxim offers his arm to Saya, who accepts it with a gloved hand. They enter the Winter Palace, greeted by the grand Ambassador’s Staircase, made entirely of white marble with intricate gold decorations and archangels supporting columns. The landing's floor is a black-and-white checkerboard with a red carpet, creating a magnificent scene. Saya is awestruck by the high ceiling depicting Mount Olympus with Greek gods. She realizes the true meaning of dazzling beauty, finding it incomparable to other splendid places she thought were grand. At the goddess statue, the stairs split into two, with guests ascending either side, their dresses brushing and mingling. The sound of rustling fabric and murmured conversations echoes, making Saya feel dizzy. They pass through several rooms and enter St. George’s Hall, named after its marble columns facing the throne at the front.

PAGES: 86,87,88

The scene is set in a grand, opulent room with golden columns and decorations, highlighting a throne adorned with crimson wallpaper and tapestries. Emperor Nicholas II sits on the throne, and beside him stands the Empress, dressed in elaborate court attire and wearing a long veil. Saya notices Cardinal Gregory, who helped her during a previous masquerade ball, standing nearby with his usual cold expression. Despite his somber black cassock, he stands out with his long silver hair. The Empress seems comfortable with him, indicating his high status.

Saya hears her name called by Felix, who asks her opinion of the Winter Palace. Saya finds it luxurious and overwhelming. Felix enjoys the crowd, waving to a young lady, and shows no concern for his partner. Saya inquires about Lord Dmitri, learning that he left due to urgent matters at the front lines. Felix notes Dmitri's bad luck in missing the ball but is ready to enjoy it in his stead.

Felix comments on the unexpected but welcome nature of the ball and notes the absence of someone from a previous encounter, referring to Haji. This makes Saya uneasy, recalling a kiss from Haji. Maxim asks Felix why he regrets Haji's absence, but Felix does not answer directly, instead giving Saya a knowing look before addressing Maxim.

PAGES: 89,90,91

Felix playfully remarks that Saya seems unusually competitive when Haji is around, which he finds amusing. This comment surprises Maxim, who denies it, but Felix insists. Just then, Empress Alexandra and Grigori begin waltzing in the center of the floor, causing a stir among the guests. Older men, possibly military officers, criticize Grigori for dancing with the Empress, ignoring the Emperor and the current state of affairs. Some women, however, watch Grigori with fascination.

The Empress, captivated by Grigori, behaves in a manner unbecoming of her status. Even the Emperor does not intervene, merely observing. Saya thinks to herself that the rumors of the Gray Cardinal's control over the court seem true. As people begin dancing, Felix returns to his partner, leaving Saya to wonder if anything strange happened in the city while she was asleep. She notices Maxim watching Felix leave with a frustrated expression. When she calls his name, he apologizes and suggests they dance, his expression returning to normal.

Saya hesitates, recalling her previous discomfort dancing in front of a crowd and wanting to inquire about the old man and any unusual events in the city. Despite her reluctance, Maxim insists they dance, complimenting her previous performance. Saya, embarrassed, explains that Haji helped her last time, and Maxim teases her about being afraid without her chevalier. Saya denies it, but her voice reveals her unease. They notice people around them watching, and Maxim laughs softly.

PAGES: 92,93,94

Saya, with pouting lips and looking up, glares at Maxim, who is still lightly laughing. Apologizing for his teasing, Maxim suddenly becomes serious, placing a hand on his chest and elegantly bowing as he asks Saya for another dance. Wearing a white officer school uniform adorned with gold, Maxim's formal request leaves Saya with no room to decline. She curtsies and extends her hand, which Maxim takes firmly, guiding her to the dance floor. Maxim's graceful demeanor, despite his youth, attracts attention, with some women openly gazing at him. Saya, feeling like a background figure, notices that most eyes are on Maxim, except for one set of eyes she feels is watching her intently.

Saya tries to dismiss the feeling of being watched, thinking it's just due to the crowded room and Maxim's presence. However, the feeling persists throughout the dance. Maxim notices her discomfort and suggests taking a break. Although Saya insists she’s fine, Maxim leads her to a sofa at the room's corner, where he apologizes for pushing her too hard and goes to fetch a drink.

As Saya leans back and takes a deep breath, the music and conversations continue around her. She still feels out of place in the ballroom atmosphere and notices an unsettling feeling, like someone is watching her. Despite trying to convince herself it's just her imagination, the sensation of being observed doesn't leave. Determined not to rely on others, Saya slaps her cheeks to shake off the feeling. The couple nearby looks at her, startled, prompting Saya to leave the spot in discomfort.

PAGES: 95,96,97

Saya continues to feel uneasy, and Maxim hasn't returned yet. She tries to dismiss her discomfort, thinking it will go away if she steps outside. Quietly, she leaves the grand hall. The corridor she enters is quiet and filled with art pieces, suits of armor, and weapons, giving it the feel of a small museum. The walls and floors are richly decorated, making the place seem eerie and empty. The long corridor stretches into darkness, seemingly endless. Just as Saya considers going further in, she's suddenly hugged from behind.

Startled, Saya hears a child's voice calling her "big sister." She quickly turns around to see a small boy standing there, shocked by her sharp reaction. The boy, clinging to the hem of her dress, realizes his mistake, saying, "You're not big sister?" The boy, with fluffy blond hair and wearing a white military uniform, blushes and apologizes, explaining he was playing hide-and-seek with his sister. The boy resembles a miniature emperor, and Saya guesses he might be the crown prince.

The boy, Alexei, hesitates before confirming his identity as the crown prince. Saya smiles at his adorable demeanor, remembering he has hemophilia. Concerned, she asks if it's safe for him to be playing around, warning of the risk of injury. Alexei responds sadly, saying everyone tells him the same thing, even though he believes he's careful enough. He mentions that only his sister and Grigori understand him. Grigori, the boy's guardian, is likely dancing with the empress in the grand hall. Saya feels the boy's isolation and contemplates if it's right to leave him alone. Noticing her concern, Alexei pleads with her not to tell his mother, as he fears being sent back to bed despite finally having some fun.

PAGES: 98, 99, 100

Alexei doesn't want to return to his boring room, so Saya offers to join him in searching for his big sister. Alexei is thrilled and insists that she hide while he looks for her. Saya hesitates, unsure about running around the palace like children. Instead, she suggests they search together, which Alexei eagerly agrees to. He is excited, revealing that he hasn't spoken much with anyone else besides his sister and Grigori. As they prepare to search, Saya grabs his small hand, and Alexei blushes with joy.

Saya and Alexei start looking for his sister, who usually hides in a spot where Alexei can easily find her. They head towards the corridor Saya had previously hesitated in. As they walk through the palace, Alexei confidently leads the way through luxurious rooms, showing his royal status. They finally reach a quiet part of the palace, descending a secluded staircase into a large, lush greenhouse.

In the greenhouse, they see a beautiful moonlit scene through the high ceiling. Tall banana plants, palm trees, ferns, and various climbing plants create a vibrant environment. Looking down, they spot the Neva River’s surface. Alexei proudly explains that this special place was created just for him and his sister. Despite his calls, his sister does not respond, which seems unusual. As Alexei murmurs in disappointment, Saya notices several puppies emerging from the ferns, recognizing them as Chinese Crested Dogs from a previous tea party. Alexei tells Saya that Grigori gave him the puppies.

PAGES: 101,102,103

Saya and Alexei continue their conversation about the Chinese Crested Dogs. A hairless puppy, different from the others, catches Saya's attention. Alexei explains that all the puppies, both the hairy Powderpuffs and the hairless ones, are from the same parent dog. He leads Saya and the dogs to an ancient-style gazebo and sits with the hairless puppy on his lap, while the other dogs play at his feet. Alexei mentions that the hairless puppy is always born with others that have thick fur to protect it. He remembers they need to find his sister quickly as she might be bored alone.

Saya, charmed by Alexei's affection for his sister, comments on it. Alexei blushes and shares more about his close relationship with his sister Anastasia, who is just a bit older than Saya and always plays with him. He admires her spirited nature, even though their mother sometimes scolds her for being too capricious. Anastasia had even arranged the ball that day through Gregory just so she could play hide-and-seek with Alexei when he got bored.

Saya realizes it has been a long time since she left the ballroom, and Maxim might be looking for her. She suggests returning as the Empress might be worried. However, Alexei insists on finding his sister first, saying his mother will be fine with Gregory. He refuses Saya's offer to accompany him, showing a youthful stubbornness. Reluctantly, Saya agrees but holds back from cautioning him further. As Alexei turns to leave, he hesitates and seems to want to say something to Saya.

PAGES: 104,105,106

Alexei, the young boy, speaks to Saya, requesting her to tell anyone who speaks ill of his sisters that they are wonderful and noble princesses enduring hardships because of him. Despite his anxiety and wounds, Alexei is determined to shoulder the burden of the country. Saya reassures him by promising to do so, which makes Alexei happy. Saya then reflects on the necessity to defeat the chiropterans that have infiltrated the country.

Alexei finds his sister, Anastasia, among a cluster of white orchids. She is wearing a pure white court dress with gold embroidery, which accentuates her blue eyes. A black panther, submissive to her, lies quietly behind her. Alexei, unafraid, runs to her and questions her about her whereabouts. Anastasia merely smiles and lets him rest on her lap, making Alexei forget all other trivial matters. They are compared to the angel statues adorning the Winter Palace as Alexei begins to talk earnestly.

Alexei shares that he spoke with a lady who helped him look for Anastasia and mentioned a dog story Anastasia had told him. It's his first time talking to a stranger. Anastasia, enjoying the conversation, remarks that ordinary individuals are mere prototypes sacrificed for creating precious ones, calling them foolish and adorable. As Alexei listens to her, he becomes drowsy from the sweet scent of orchids and falls into a deep sleep, feeling his sister's gaze upon him.

PAGES: 107,108,109

Alexei recalls mistaking someone for his sister at first, despite noticing later that they had no resemblance and wore different colored dresses. Anastasia, stroking Alexei's hair, ponders why he thought that. As Alexei falls asleep, Anastasia sings a continuation of a song she had previously sung to him. The song reflects on searching for something elusive and a door that is always closed.

Anastasia reflects on the limitations of someone raised by humans, who likely can't even imagine that they can take on different forms. She then notices a young maid at the entrance of the greenhouse, searching for Alexei. The maid, recognizing Anastasia, instinctively steps back, sensing both beauty and a hint of fear. Anastasia smiles and comments on being hungry if she gets angry.

Meanwhile, in the morning, a crowd gathers by the canal. Saya, observing the crowd from an alleyway, sees a body on the canal's bank. The body is of a young woman, pale and resembling a wax figure. Maxim, a member of Saya's group, confirms that the body appears to have been attacked by a Chiropteran, a creature known to drain blood. Kirill notes that there were no unusual occurrences in the city the previous night, apart from a ball at the Winter Palace.

PAGES: 110,111,112

As Rodion mutters, Edouard, who had been silent, speaks up, questioning why this incident in Petrograd was so sloppy if there were supposed to be collaborators. Everyone falls silent, including Saya, who can't figure out if there really are collaborators. The crowd starts to disperse as the police begin to move the body. Unable to bear the silence, Rodion bursts out, suggesting they all split up to gather information from the previous night. He immediately starts running, with Saya instinctively trying to follow, but Haji stops her, saying running around recklessly is pointless. Saya remembers there was no sign of the old man at the ball the previous night, and they hadn't obtained any significant information, yet this incident still occurred.

Saya, driven by a strong desire to pursue the chiropterans, is more emotional, while Haji remains calm. Maxim decides their assigned areas. Meanwhile, Rodion, who had run off recklessly, stops and realizes he hadn't consulted anyone. He mutters to himself that he never sticks to assigned areas anyway and felt uncomfortable staying in that place. He had wanted to leave quickly because Saya's troubled face was painful to see. Remembering the morning when they moved to the new mansion and saw Saya crying, Rodion recalls never having seen someone cry so close before. That morning, he had only been thinking about the chiropterans, not Saya's feelings.

Rodion is surprised that Saya cried. He finds her a mysterious creature, full of killing intent when fighting chiropterans, yet talking about charms and everyday happiness. Despite being a weapon, she is busy crying, laughing, and eating. He had been overwhelmed by her fighting with her red eyes shining brightly and blurted out, "What are you?" Reflecting on this makes him feel restless. To release his energy, Rodion jumps onto a wall and looks back at the scene through the alley gaps, noticing the crowd has mostly dispersed. He spots a shadowy figure on a bridge over the canal, who quickly gets into a car. Recognizing the figure as the gray cardinal, he wonders why he is there. Although the cardinal is actually just a priest, it's not strange for him to be walking around the city.

PAGES: 113,114,115

Rodion sees Grigori, a gray cardinal, stopping his car to observe a scene, which he finds suspicious given Grigori’s shady reputation. Recalling that Saya seemed wary of Grigori during the masquerade ball, Rodion decides to follow him. Using his intuition, Rodion tracks Grigori to a building on the outskirts of town, which turns out to be a hospital for wounded soldiers. Thinking Grigori might just be visiting, Rodion is ready to leave, but his curiosity keeps him observing.

Rodion notes that wealthy women, enamored with Grigori, volunteer as nurses at these hospitals. Despite his suspicions, Rodion sees this as a positive aspect of Grigori. As Grigori heads to a chapel within the hospital grounds, Rodion, feeling deflated, decides to continue observing. The chapel is guarded, which seems excessive for a hospital. Sneaking into a small adjacent room filled with books and documents, Rodion finds a short hallway leading to the chapel.

Moving cautiously, Rodion overhears Grigori discussing their experiments. Grigori mentions that their chiropterans (bat-like creatures) have proven somewhat usable in recent tests. An older man's voice agrees but mentions their instability. Grigori dismisses this, saying they aren't chosen like him. The conversation reveals that despite collecting sufficient data, they need to relocate their facility due to rising suspicions about missing soldiers. Grigori coldly remarks on the absurdity of those who sent soldiers to their deaths now questioning their fate.

PAGES: 116, 117, 118

Grigori chuckled with contempt, discussing the importance of acquiring a particular individual he had recently confirmed. If they could secure "her," the experiment would progress significantly, and preparations could be made to abandon the country. Grigori also mentioned that a certain person's boredom had reached its limit, leading to a secretive meal and the disposal of a corpse in the canal. Despite his cold, mocking tone, Grigori noted that information could be manipulated, which might speed up their plans. Rodion, listening in, realized that Grigori was likely involved in creating chiropterans, sending a chill down his spine.

Grigori's control over the Empress would make manipulating information easy. Rodion deduced that Grigori's men must have handled the bodies of the chiropterans from the masquerade night. Rodion quickly decided to return, his thoughts focused on the mention of "her" in the conversation. He was particularly concerned if "her" referred to Saya, and wondered how Grigori’s group had identified her. Just as he was about to leave, a new question struck him. As he reached for the door handle, he heard a creak behind him.

Saya sat on her bed in the dark, unable to sleep. Despite searching the city all day, she found no new information about the chiropterans. When she returned, she was shocked to find that Rodion had been brought in, gravely injured. Eduardo’s report of Rodion’s condition—unconscious with severe bleeding from a large wound—was almost too much to bear. Saya was troubled by the sight of his pale face and bandages stained with blood, realizing he had been attacked by a chiropteran. Rodion had somehow managed to get close to the mansion before collapsing, and Saya reflected on his previous encounters and the connection they had shared.

PAGES: 119,120,121

Saya recalls the promise she made and feels heavy-hearted because Rodion, whom she was closest to, returned injured. This frustration causes her to bite her lip. Despite the recent chiropterans seemingly targeting her, she wishes they would attack again so she can ensure they don't escape next time. Staring into the darkness, Saya feels as though she might vomit blood and wonders why they aren't targeting her anymore. Since arriving in Russia, she has been uneasy and unable to get closer to her target despite encountering chiropterans twice. She feels like she’s being slowly tormented. To distract herself, she decides to move around the house and heads towards the entrance hall.

Saya hears the sound of a piano coming from a room and finds Maxim playing a vigorous piece on a grand piano. The piece is familiar to her, possibly named "Revolution." The moonlight from the tall window behind Maxim casts a blue light in the room, reflecting off the snow outside. Though she cannot see Maxim’s expression clearly, his intense playing seems unlike his usual calm demeanor. She remains silent, unable to speak. Suddenly, Maxim stops playing and hits the keys with his fist, producing a harsh dissonance. This unexpected behavior prompts Saya to open the door further and call out to him.

Maxim looks up in surprise at Saya’s intrusion, and she notices tears in his eyes even in the moonlight. This vulnerable, almost boyish side of him shocks her. Saya realizes that his usual calmness is merely a facade he maintains for the Red Shield. She reaches out to him, sensing his fragility, but Maxim brushes her hand away. His uncharacteristic reaction fills Saya with astonishment and a deep sorrow. She tightens her grip on her sword and apologizes for not being able to defeat the chiropterans, feeling her words are powerless. Maxim, confused and unable to suppress his emotions, covers his face and shakes his head, leaving Saya helplessly standing by.

PAGES: 122,124,125

Saya, wandering aimlessly, noticed something shiny at Maxim's feet. It was a silver pocket watch. When she picked it up, she saw that the cover had opened, revealing a photo of a boy inside. The photo was quite blurry, but she could make out the name "Ilya" written in the corner. Hearing Saya's murmur, Maxim abruptly looked up, causing Saya to stiffen. Maxim then turned away and sighed, apologizing for his agitation. Saya apologized for looking at the watch and asked if the photo was of a friend. Maxim’s expression hardened briefly before he quietly explained that Ilya was a comrade from his generation, who had passed away.

Saya recalled that Maxim was the only member of his generation, while the others were of the same age. She asked if other members of his age were stationed in other countries. Maxim responded that Ilya was dead and that he was nowhere. His cold and dark expression left Saya at a loss for words. Maxim then apologized for being unsettled by Rodion’s situation and apologized for showing his vulnerable side. Saya, moved by his sadness, reassured him that grieving for a comrade wasn’t unseemly. Maxim seemed surprised by her strong words, and Saya felt embarrassed, struggling to continue.

Saya went back to her room and returned with a gift for Maxim—a decorated Easter egg. She explained that the bird pattern symbolized the realization of wishes and that it was a token of gratitude. Maxim was surprised by the sudden gift. Saya, feeling embarrassed, admitted that Tanya made the egg and that her own attempt was very poorly done. Maxim, with a small smile, teased that receiving the egg might prevent Saya’s wish from coming true. Saya replied that her wish was something she needed to fulfill herself. Maxim murmured that Saya was strong, though the moonlight made it difficult for Saya to see his subtle expression. Saya, closing her eyes with a wry smile, said she aspired to be strong.

PAGES: 126, 127

Saya reflects on her failure to seize opportunities, including not being able to save Rodion. She feels frustrated by her inability to achieve anything. She asserts her determination to defeat the chiropterans and eventually DIVA, despite the hardships. Maxim’s reaction is marked by a cold beauty, showing a different side of him.

He questions the harshness of their situation but Saya insists that giving up is not an option, regardless of whether gods exist. Her mature words momentarily surprise Maxim. Embarrassed by her earnestness, Saya blushes. Maxim, standing behind the piano with the moonlight casting his shadow, silently regards the Easter egg she gave him.

Maxim eventually murmurs, “...I see,” and gently cradles the egg in his hand. His downcast expression reflects his youth and vulnerability as he thanks Saya for the gift.

#bloodplus: russian rose #blood+ russian rose #bloodplus #blood+#rr volume 2

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

CAKE FOR A DEAD MAN (I)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER II

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Angst, problems with food & image, mentions of stalking, unwanted gifts, death, violence, gore, blood, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Color, as most would say, is one of the best aspects of sight. It allows such a myriad of emotions to be expressed—even felt. Red reminds us of passion; navy for elegance and a certain mystique. Not only seen but processed on such a deeper level. Refractions of light that explode into the retina, rod and cone cells that send signals to the brain to help detect that phenomenon like a gift of evolution.

But when you can’t see any of that—color—who’s to explain what the red of the roses actually looks like above a deep shade of gray? That navy blue looks even darker, too. Closer to black. Light purple becomes the same hue as the curtains your mother hangs on the windows, but you can’t tell if that’s really purple or not. How can it be anything other than slate? People tell you it is…at least, those who’ve already met their partners. Their soulmates.

But there’s little hope for you on that front, really.

You wave to the photographer, calling out a broken Russian goodbye as he smiles warmly at you, nodding his head in your direction before watching you walk out of the studio room’s doors. A large gaggle of other finely-clad women surrounds you on the way to the changing rooms.

Even with three-and-a-half years of living in this northern country, your mastery of the native language starts and ends with simple pleasantries.

The modeling agency was packed today and you still had so much to do. You stuff down your internal list of scheduled fittings, meetings, and more booked photoshoots that extend into the chilled evening of Yekaterinburg, Russia. There was just so little time.

Gray hallways and white overhead lights meet your eyes between blinks, potted plants boring and drab. If you could see the shades in between the leaves you’d know you would find them beautiful, but like this…well, they’re just sad.

You shake your head and shuffle to the back of the group, throwing tiny smiles to the kind, and stunning, women who you’ve had little real conversation with. One kisses you on the cheek and pats your shoulder, and you laugh brightly before pulling to the rear, face heating.

“The bastard is finally dead!” The familiar voice causes you to freeze with one heeled foot in the air—fingers picking at the strap of your silk dress absentmindedly before it, too, stills. They were always forcing you into silk with feathered accent pieces of intricate detail. Like a bird, or, Seraph, more precisely.

Blinking in surprise, you turn around just in time to lock onto the drained shades that make up Alyona Arkadyevna Solovyova before she grips your shoulders harshly.

Her collarbone-length hair swishes heavily, but it’s not as violent as the smile on her sharp face.

“Finally, little Солнышко! This is perfect news. The bastard is dead!” Alyona’s English is very good, and of course, it would be—when she was younger she dreamed of being an English teacher. That was before she realized she was just about the most attractive woman of her generation. The harsh Russian accent still bleeds through.

You laugh and grip her long, pale, arms; seeing her in a blouse and pencil skirt as you tilt your head, asking, “Christ, Alyona, give me a warning next time. If I rip anything I’m in deep shit.”

“Gah,” Your friend waves a hand and releases you, tiny eyes creasing, “forget about that—did you not hear me the first time? My father, Seraph, listen to me! He is finally dead! It happened just this morning but I only got word ten minutes ago.” She laughs, throwing her hands up, and you hide your amused exasperation, limbs tired but it won’t stop you from appreciating your friend’s enthusiasm. Alyona squeals, “A train hit him!”

You cringe internally, face pulling taunt. “Oh,” your chest sputters as you clear your throat, “that’s, uh, that’s…great?”

“Of course it is!” Hands capture your cheeks, squishing as you worry about the state of your makeup. Alyona speaks brightly, “We need to celebrate, Солнышко. Come.”

Before you can protest she’s dragging you away from the other women and the direction of the changing rooms, all had stopped and were listening intently from behind; nosey. Everyone in the Allurement Modeling Agency building, AMA for short, just had that way about them—your business was their business and vice versa.

And Alyona had no problem airing out her grievances with her estranged father to the choir. She lived for drama.

“Aly,” You huff a soft breath at her and her bobbing hair. She said it was blonde and you had no other option but to believe her. Not yellow-blonde, she had specified. Ice-blonde. “I can’t go out in company property. Plus, I have a photoshoot for Chanel in under an hour. The photographer needs me to be ready.”

But it seems your concerns fall on deaf ears and you can’t help but chuckle and grin at your friend's lack of care about work. She herself was a model, but the entire company halted when she said it should.

You were truly surprised they hadn’t fired her yet.

“And I’m sure Chanel has an absolutely hideous dress for you, my Seraph.” Ashen eyes turn back to stare at you, and once she realizes you wouldn’t fight her, her grip releases. “Some Медовик will do you good before the vultures close in, yes? Let us hope they don’t shackle you to those damning lace lingerie sets over cake.”

Your head tilts with a short sigh, and you walk beside the woman in your clacking heels. The sound of the authentic honey cake seemed to itself to coat your insides with a lust for it—dripping layers of plush gray sponge with pale cream. Your mouth waters.

“I’m only eating half a piece.” You settle slowly, though you hate your own words as your stomach rolls with hunger. Some time outside will do you good, anyway. Perhaps you’ll learn to photosynthesize like a plant. “I still have to be able to fit into those fabric contraptions, you know.”

Alyona squeals and loops her arm in yours easily, bright teeth in a grin like a cat. Ever one to run into objects and lacking a general ability to walk in a straight line, the support from Alyona was much appreciated. Her help with lending an arm went far, especially for you.

Your heart warms with soft care.

“I’ll take it! We can split one.” When you both make it to the front of the building, having grabbed your jackets and purses on the way there, you come to three familiar faces while chatting with Alyona about both of your upcoming bookings.

“I was under the impression you had the day filled,” Petya speaks, heavy accent like stone. The clean-shaven man in his late thirties was built and wearing a dark suit, the tallest out of the other two—Aleksandr and Yefim—who both wear similar outfits. They were resting in the front seating area of AMA as they’d been doing for weeks already, waiting for you to come and go like escorts.

Well, bodyguards, to be more precise. Yours.

You smile politely to them while Yefim sends one back with his boyish charm and dimples. “On break. We’re off to get some Medovik down the street. I can pay for you if you’d want a piece.”

“Of course, the three will have to tag along, hm?” Alyona huffs, staring blandly as you both slow to a stop near the large white entrance, colored as if it was Heaven’s gates. Your friend had said coloring around this building was rare. Whites and grays. Green chairs, apparently. “I’m just ecstatic.”

Petya didn’t like you, and, you assumed, Aleksandr didn’t either. With the ladder, his sharp face was always too blank to tell; body tight and unwelcoming with weasel-like eyes. Petya was simpler, blatantly more outward with his distaste.

“Not a smart idea. This isn’t a game to play, девушка.” Alyona’s face tightens, and you swiftly placate her with a squeeze to her bicep. You level Petya with a tilt of your head and a calm look.

“What harm could a bite to eat do? It won’t cost you your life.” You chuckle smoothly. “Let me get you all something—it’s nearly noon, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

“I could eat,” Yefim eases in, hands resting in his pockets as he stares at you. His accent was calmer than the others, and his face softer. Out of all of them, you liked him best.

Your eyes rest on Yefim with a thankful expression. He smirks and nods. Aleksandr, as always, says nothing beyond a small scoff and a look around the room with shifting feet.

When the tallest of the group does nothing to push back his sneer and heavy glare, you hum under your breath as you expect the words before they rush from his sharp mouth.

“I will have to speak to your mother about this.” The accent makes him sound so stiff—like a statue. A man built up of gravel and snow; concrete in his veins instead of blood.

“Oh, yes,” Alyona mutters, “the Consul herself.”

Your nose moves in a sigh, but you ease the situation with a simple, “Do whatever you need to, Petya. I know it’s your job and I’m thankful regardless, but we’ll be back in less than an hour. It’s no big deal.” You pause, plastering on an innocent look. “We’re hungry.”

For whatever reason you always envisioned Petya with dark eyes—blacks more deep than the clothes they put Alyona in to off-set your given whites when you two are fitted together. But the man’s eyes were so painfully light it made you not want to stare into them.

Petya grunts and continues to glare, working his jaw. After a moment he lets off a large huff and shakes his head in disapproval.

“Half-an-hour. No more.”

Alyona manhandles you out the door quickly, growling, “I do not know how you can stand this, Seraph. Bullshit, all of it.”

“It’s only until everything goes back to normal,” you reason, hearing three sets of footsteps behind you as the guards follow into the chilled air of Yekaterinburg. There was no reason to take a car, everything was within walking distance of one another in this dense city populated by over one million people. “My mother’s worried is all. I’m not going to make their lives harder while they’re only doing what they’re told to do.”

Light eyes dart to your face, your friend’s hand guiding you along the concrete with a dim concern. “I do not like all of this, Солнышко. It’s been months…Are the gifts still coming?”

Your expression tightens, lips going stiff. Alyona notices and changes the subject for now.

“Ah, but what am I doing—I’m ruining the celebration! Come, come, we will talk about my engagement to Nikifor while we eat.”

Nikifor, her soulmate. The one who brought her color and music with his performance at a nightclub two years ago; the only thing standing in the way of their marriage was Alyona’s strict father. Something about the man wanting someone with higher standing than a musician for his famous daughter.

“How is he?” You ask, blinking away the thought of finally being able to see color for the first time and how that must feel. A piece of you would always be envious of that.

Alyona must have blushed because she always tilts her nose lower when she does. You smile and chuckle under your breath.

“Wonderful,” is all she offers, but the giddy grin on her lips is knowledge enough.

You both make it to the small bakery at the end of the long street, heels clicking and cheeks chilled. People had turned to look at you, gaping at the two models still in their expensive clothes and attempting to take pictures on their phones. All were strong-armed by the three men close behind you who bark things in Russian.

Alyona opens the door of the bakery for you and you accidentally knock your shoulder into the frame, giving a sheepish smile before carefully walking to your regular corner table. Your tall friend goes to order while you take your seat with a sigh, Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim all shuffling in and sending glances to you; looking over the interior with sharp and calculating eyes.

It’s like they think the sky’s going to fall, you surmise, twitching your lips their way. They’ve been here before with me, do they still not trust it?

Back when things had been less serious they’d allowed you to go where you wished with them—parks, for walks, stores—now it was only work and home. As if you didn’t already feel so trapped.

“You boys can pick what you want,” you call to them softly. “My treat.”

“On the job,” is all Petya grunts before he takes his normal seat at the table closest to the door; everything in his bright sight. Your hand lightly tightens on the table, but you keep your expression placid.

You’d tried to get him to lighten up, Aleksandr too, but the two weren’t as open to you as Yefim. There was a blatant distrust of Westerners here, even if you had given up your citizenship to move where your mother works in the Consulate building of this very city.

While she was still employed by the American government, that didn’t stand in any sense with you. But on top of you being a famous model, your mother was well-known, regardless, and that ultimately fell back on you.

Yefim’s gray eyes flickered to a case of Bird Milk Cake with a hidden longing as he grasped the back of his chair and slid into it—floorboards creaking loudly. You notice and chuckle under your breath, cheeks heating at the sight as the man’s gaze moves to you and blinks in surprise. He quickly averts his gaze and clears his throat, fixing the collar of his dress shirt.

You’d buy him a piece before you left; maybe kiss his cheek just to see him go all blurry-eyed. He certainly was adorable.

“The baker’s boy is staring again,” Alyona’s voice snaps into your head, and you peer at your friend’s face, startled.

“What?” You ask as a plate is set in the middle of the table holding a single piece of Medovik. Your mouth fills with saliva, fingers immediately moving like a starved dog to grab a fork and cut into the layers; you shovel it into your mouth before you hiss to pace yourself.

You chew slowly, swallow, and give Alyona a confused look.

She slides you an unimpressed frown. “The boy. At the front.”

“He’s probably gaping at you,” you take another bite, rubbing at your cheek with your free hand as people walking by the front window peek in with wide eyes; your men glare and move their chairs as the ground squeaks again.

Your friend scoffs and mutters in Russian, shaking her head. Her hand waves quickly, barking, “Look!”

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you look over and dab your face with a napkin before you get locked into a staring match with the dark eyes of the man up-front.

He wears an apron, head a mess of curls, and his upper arms stained with flour. You blink and pause, wondering if…perhaps…A pause, a sickly hope in your chest…but nothing happens and the contact is broken when he ducks his head before looking at the counter.

Gritting your teeth, you focus back on your cake and shove aside the sinking feeling in your chest.

Idiot, you criticize yourself. Now why would you think that would work?

“Nothing, then?” Alyona clicks her tongue and takes up her own fork. “Do not fret, we will find him eventually, Seraph.”

“It’s not like I would know.” The air goes a temperature warmer—bodies stilling.

While soulmate colorblindness was simply the reality of life, diagnosed colorblindness was still a curse that couldn’t be solved. If you ever saw your soulmate…you wouldn’t even know it.

All because of that stupid accident.

You act unbothered by the shift in the conversation and sigh. “You said you wanted to talk about your engagement,” your words remind the woman and she sets off into a tangent about the dress and the location after a moment of quiet concern. A church, she explained, the big one down the road where they’ll be a few days after the civil ceremony and the outer city venue.

Alyona is only twenty, but you know that it’s incredibly common here to get married this early. Listening, you offer input here and there, but as it always does, the topic falls back to you as you eat the slice of cake dedicated to a dead man.

Your knife-driven problem.

The gifts.

Already, you begin feeling uncomfortable.

“Aly,” you try to grumble, resisting the urge to eat the entire piece of Медовик as you put your utensil down. Your hand jerks over the table and you glare down at it in annoyance, ignoring the tensed nerves. “It’s not important—”

“How many more pieces of jewelry has he sent, hm? Letters?” The woman shivers and rubs at her arms. “It is horrendous behavior. Total fuck-up. And the fact that no one has caught him? Gah!”

Your spine straightens itself, eyes sliding to the people gawking outside the window and seeing the multiple faces, shuffling bodies that pile next to each other like sardines in a can.

“I just don’t want to think about it, okay?” You shake your head, turning away as a pit forms in your gut; realizing the fragility of your psyche when you think about the fact that anyone outside could be the source of your problem. The stalker. “If it’s just the gifts I can deal with them—the letters I never even read. If I ignore it they’ll stop eventually. All of this can be one big bad dream.”

Your hand continues to shake on the table, not exactly in your realm of control just as the inability to walk in a straight line is. It was no wonder why they never let you do runway shows, you think sarcastically. You’d be stuck in a photographer’s room for the rest of your career.

Alyona pushes a strand of her hair out of her face.

“Seraph…you know it does not work like that.” Of course you did, but asking for help was never your strong suit. And your mother had already given you three well-trained bodyguards to escort you to and from work—that was more than enough protection.

When you think of the expensive parcels that had been dropped at AMA’s front desk you had to restrain the honey cake coming back up your gullet. All of them had been expensive; pieces you could afford on a model's pension but still wildly elegant to even touch much less own in multitude. Gold bracelets inlay with black opal and sapphire, necklaces with Tanzanite, and rings of ruby, your mother had told you this when you had brought them to her off of only seeing washed-out tones on your part.

You never showed anyone the letters; they lived in a lockbox under the bed in your apartment. Concerningly, lately the ‘presents’ had been losing the plot. Random bits of glass and shiny items—a slow deterioration but somehow even more scary.

Even the older women at the front desk were softening the usual sneers they wore when you walked in every day, no longer chiding you in Russian they know you can’t understand. The way they seemed pitiful rubbed you the wrong way.

You pull your jacket closer to you and rub a hand slowly along your thigh in a soothing gesture. Aly pulls her brows in.

“I want to help you, little Солнышко, but I don’t think this is something I can fix with my womanly charms.” Your lips release a snort, tiny chuckles hitting the air.

Alyona joins you before silence once again lapses.

“...Do you feel alright?” Your friend asks honestly. Worry was plain on her face.

You smile, but your lungs tighten in your chest while your heart acts like a dancer and lightly skips beats. “By next month,” your hand shakes over your thigh, “all of this will be in the past. No one could keep this up forever. I just have to…wait it out. It’s only the gifts, I can live with that—jewelry isn’t hurting anybody except his wallet.”

The woman narrows her eyes at you and frowns, but it’s not long before she goes back to her half of the Медовик and takes a bite with a moan of enjoyment. You rarely lied, so you supposed she had no trouble believing you.

If only you could fraud yourself like that.

“Quite a wealthy bastard, though, no?” Alyona slyly pokes fun and you blink quickly.

“Aly!”

“I am just saying!”

You press your hand to your lips to hide your loud laugh, Yefim looking over with a certain airiness to his expression before Aleksandr jerks his shoulder to face him back forward. The two glare at each other as Petya stares violently at the front door—daring those outside to try and come in and ask for a picture.

While you hadn’t come back to this bakery in a while, the three men always seemed to pick the exact same table; the one with the perfect view of everything going on near the door. While it was a small distance away, it allowed for quick action in any direction.

You blink away as the wooden boards under the bodyguards’ table creak again, loud enough to cause Alyona to frown in that direction. Petya sends an annoyed look down and scowls.

“How do you know he’s not just stealing them,” you bring back the conversation, smirking. “You know? Maybe he’s a,” your voice lowers an octave in fake secrecy and Aly’s eyes roll, amused, “jewel thief.”

“God above,” the woman huffs. “That would be the twist.”

The both of you joked and picked fun, but that half an hour went past quickly, and soon it was time to get back to the agency so you could change again. The photographer couldn’t take pictures of air and play it off as you with a smile and a nervous stutter.

As you stand you stare long at the cases of baked goods, licking the remnants of cream off your lips

“We can buy another, Seraph,” Aly suggests, fixing her coat. You shake your head immediately.

“No, no, I’ve already had enough sugar. I had two muffins for breakfast. Chocolate.” Your face pulls into a cringe at the words. “Cheat day.”

Alyona’s lips go tighter, but she says nothing as her hair is puffed out of her face. She out of everyone knows how demanding modeling can be—your entire life is dictated by two things: calories, and appointments.

You turn to Yefim with his wavy hair and his soft, dimpled, smile; casual eyes. Not your soulmate, based on his lack of reaction the first time you had met, but in that time you’d grown a tiny crush on the man, admittingly. He was kind and treated you with respect. Capable and reliable—how could you ask for more than that?

“Yefim?” Your voice calls out, a smile on your lips. The man looks over and blinks in surprise. He clears his throat, stuttering as he shifts in his seat. The wood tilts slightly under him and he steadies himself on the edge of the table.

“Да, Ma’am?”

Restraining a giggle, you cock your head as Alyona snorts.

“Do you want a slice of Bird Milk Cake?” Petya slides you a blank look and Aleksandr taps his fingers to the table. You poke fun, “For when you’re on break, of course.”

Yefim’s eyes sparkle in their colorless state, a handsome smile taking his lips back along his face. He makes a move to stand up, floorboards squealing loudly as weight is lessened.

“I would be in your debt—”

The world explodes into a slate-gray blaze of heat and hellfire.

Your body is thrown back before you can even begin to understand that you’re in danger, panic completely bypassed for a total blank sensation of confusion. Spine slapping into the glass of the window, your form is hurled by a vast boom out of the bakery entirely before it slams to the concrete multiple feet away.

You slide, rolling in a mess of limbs and ripped silk. For a good moment, you have no idea what just transpired, confusedly lifting your head from the ground and blinking below you as everything rings. Your hand grips the side of your head, the thick liquid seeping in between your fingers as you peel it back and look with shaky vision.

Blackened blood is coated along your palm, slipping along your wrist as you tilt your hand up in horrified uncertainty.

Everything comes back in a millisecond of screaming and running feet; like a switch being flipped. You snap your head back to what remains of the bakery as blood slides down your temple.

“A-Alyona?!” Heels sliding, you stand but stumble back down just as quickly, hands slapping against the ground as you raggedly cough more, chest burning from the force at which you’d been thrown.

What the hell had just happened? An explosion?

There was little left of the bakery beside the front door, smoke billowing out of the broken windows as gray flames spark with the familiar sound of burning material—a sharp burn is taken into your nostrils.

Dragging an arm forward, you grasp something warm and wet in an attempt to get up again. You look to the side and immediately scream at what you see.

Yefim’s upper body was completely fine besides the burns and the lack of his hair, the peeling flesh…it was the absence of the entire lower body that struck you with waves of horror. You slam a hand to your lips and wail, slipping back on kicking legs as tears well in your tear ducts.

Guts were leaking over the concrete, and the dark, gaping, wound spread a fast puddle out around the sputtering that made his chest look like it was moving. Eyes flutter, lashes flapping quickly.

He looked confused, and that was perhaps the worst part of it.

Yefim died only half a man, his entrails pooling out of his ribcage, only twenty seconds after you’d asked him if he wanted a piece of cake. Your fingers hide the loud sobs as you stare into this blank expression, hand shaking so bad that it hits your nose.

“I…I,” you stutter, shapes and flashes rushing back and forth at the sides of your vision. Pressure holds at your left shoulder.

“Seraph!” The sentence falls off into feminine Russian cursing and screaming, a grip shaking you back and forth, urging you to listen.

There are wails and the roar of cars, but you don’t have to be given a speech to know the truth about the toll as the fire burns hotter and the blood runs faster. Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim are dead. They had been sitting on top of something that had triggered when Yefim had released weight from it.

The creaky floorboards.

“Seraph!” Alyona tries again, grabbing you under the shoulders and dragging you away from the corpse as bystanders’ phones flash with pictures being taken. There’s just so much screaming. “Seraph, please, we need to move! The fire is spreading!”

They had been sitting right on top of it. But…but they always sat there…they…they were always…

In the corner of your eye, a dark phantom looms across the street as the first sirens of the police cars race down the road; a burning silhouette of black mist and ashen smoke.

As the bakery burns and the corpse of Yefim grows cold, it slips away into the forming crowd.

TAGS:

@anna-banana27, @random-thot-generator, @midwesternwitchery, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @halfmoth-halfman, @alpineswinter, @blingblong55, @kra-rino4ka, @cryingnotcrying, @lxne20, @not-eclipse, @theecoffeebean, @phoenixhalliwell, @h3ll-guttz, @tiinkerbell, @genjilvr, @azush4rp, @escapefromrealitysm, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @finnigansxz, @cowboybaby2, @delaynew, @doggydale, @zapphir, @littlemisstrouble, @xxtmoe, @grizzersmamma, @andreas-river, @blogdddxx, @jade-jax, @emthegrace, @lovebugmsyd, @makariaspresence, @noisyprofessorhoundsalad-blog, @scythebot, @blueoorchid, @caramlizedtomatos, @strawberymilk,@frazie99, @homicidal-slvt, @develised, @crispyhusband, @cathnoneofyourbusiness, @ghostslittlegf, @generalcloudtraveler, @azsteris, @rvjaa, @creminemisinthehizzyforshizzboy, @comsyki

#cod nikto #nikto #nikto x reader #mwii nikto #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #x female reader #call of duty mw2 #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #ravishing allure

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askinkiskarma · 9 months

Text

say you'll remember me

➳ young!coriolanus snow x f!reader

➳ warnings: angst, mentions of lucy gray, some violent imagery, no happy ending, allusions to smut, snow should be a warning by himself honestly

➳ wc: >1000 words

➳ a/n: i'm back from the dead after ?? months ?? because much to my dismay, i have fallen prey to movie coriolanus snow's charms (tom blyth the man that you are). i need that man biblically. no i have not read the books, please don't come for me, i don't care how unhinged he is, in the movies he's pookie and i love him and i could change him i KNOW it. anyway please enjoy x

He's so tall and handsome as hell He's so bad, but he does it so well I can see the end as it begins My one condition is

Coriolanus Snow was a hard man. Barely a man, when you really stopped to think about it, but it didn’t look like it right now, as he was sitting in the empty auditorium of the university he just left behind, with the stature and poise of a titan… or a god. His time in district 12 changed him. It brought out a side to him very few people knew him capable of, least of all his beautiful, gentle cousin, Tigris. The boy you once knew, golden curly locks of hair inundating the space on his face his azure irises usually lit up, wit and ambition so clearly displayed in them, the boy who, despite it all, despite all that stood against him, still had the remnants of a gentle heart in an environment that thrived on beating such a needless thing out of you… that boy seemed gone, killed by the person who stood tall in front of you, who desperately fought to let bygones be bygones.

Coriolanus Snow was a hard man. He had to be, to get to where he wanted, to become who he knew he was always destined to be. He had to be, to forget - the war, the famine, the hurt and pain, the loss of love, the loss of hope, the loss of innocence. His blood-red coat was still and unmoving, the fabric as rigid as the persona he skilfully embodied, even as the wind blew past him and circled the room you were carefully eyeing, noticing every detail of it, of him, as you tried your hardest to gauge a mood, or hear a thought, through the unwieldy silence that met you like a careful, long-lost friend.

“So curious, aren’t we, little bird?”

It shouldn’t have, not when he was the one whose back was turned to you, whose head lost in rumination, but his words, soft and whimsical, took you by surprise. As it always happened, your heart jumped in your chest in quiet anticipation, yearning to catch a glimpse of the one only you were fortunate enough to see.

“Is it less intimidating… now that you’re done?”

He turned then, his bright eyes finding yours immediately, drawn like a moth to a flame, and he smirked knowingly, the facade slipping away little by little, chipping like the paint on old walls. It’s funny. Out of the pair of you, you’ve always thought that was you. The moth. Forever risking your life and wings, for the beauty of it all, for the fire that you knew would either consume you or breathe new life in you. It was always a gamble, being in his presence, a game of Russian roulette you were addicted to, because how could you not be? How could you not… when he approaches you, slowly and methodically, his eyes never leaving yours, hungry and needy, speaking all the words he refused to say out loud, allowing you to see it - the glimpses of the boy. The boy you loved, the boy who survived somewhere inside of him, begging to be let out in the presence of someone who wouldn’t hurt the frail, withering existence that still clung to life the best way it knew how.

“Who says it was ever intimidating, huh?”

Your smile was enough to thaw the ice, enough for his hand, cold and calloused, warm and calming, to find your face, his thumb caressing the supple skin of your jaw, tracing the soft lips he dreamt about in whispered nights and wildest dreams. He tasted like roses and desire, and he kissed you like you were the breath he’s been denied his whole life. It was easy to forget in those moments, who he was, who you were, all that stood against you, the ghost of the girl he was trying so hard to banish from his mind.

“Let’s go for a walk, just you and me.”

Long walks in the city that was still reeling after the war you could barely remember felt intimate and almost like for your eyes and ears only, for only your bodies to feel and touch, for only your minds to wonder about and wander through. Through them, you knew Coriolanus - his many strengths and few weaknesses, his outright dreams and closeted desires, the depths of his soul he felt reluctantly comfortable to bare to you… and in turn, he knew you, more and more each day, as he found breath in the drowning sea that was once Lucy Grey and was levitated to better and never-seen before heights, away from the pain that haunted him every moment of his life.

“I think I loved her.” He tells you one night, his fingers massaging your back, tracing patterns onto it only he could understand, patterns you could spend the rest of your life trying to decipher.

“I think you loved her, too.” You sigh, happy that his walls, tall and reinforced in layers of heavy, indestructible brick, were slowly chipping at the seams for you, but sad at the ghost that tormented his every breathing moment, and, as a result, yours, too.

“I think I love you.” His voice was dark, serious, plagued with a twinge of uncertainty and fear, for the feelings he wanted to bury but couldn’t, that he wanted to hide from you and from himself, but decided against. It was short and simple, the confession, barely a few words whispered in the dead of night, while his glistening body was trembling softly under your touch and under the weight of the confession. It was short and simple, but it was enough to knock the breath of your lungs and any semblance of thought from your mind.

“You wouldn’t… leave, right? You won’t leave.”

You smile in his chest, and it almost hurts, the need to feel him, closer still, to touch your lips to his and pour it all into a kiss and watch him do the same.

“Never.”

In these moments, he wasn’t Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panem, the heir to the Plinth fortune. In these moments, he was your Corio, and you were his little bird. When you are done, the disjointed song of the city coming to life falls upon deaf ears as you hold each other, reluctant to let go and face the harsh realities of the world that surrounded you and seeped into every aspect of your being, no matter how unwelcome. You hoped you could stay like this forever, safe in his arms, in the arms that welcomed you, in the arms that held onto you and thus, onto the inherent goodness born into him that he was forever struggling to subjugate, that you hoped he never would.

But… Coriolanus Snow was a hard man. And when he inevitably left you one fateful night, you tried to forget the tears that stained his pillow, the last remnants of the boy who gave his dying breath in his soul, that cried and screamed for the life he could have had, a life that was taken from him, a life that the world and the man whose presence still inundated the now lonely, deserted room, conspired to end. And as you lay on the empty bed, your own tears mixing with his own as they drenched the fabric you knew you’ll never see again, you couldn’t help but wonder if the man he would become would remember you, and all you shared, or if to him, much like the boy you loved, you were already dead.

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams

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mactavsh · 2 years

Text

Right Behind You

Synopsis: Ghost tried to keep his distance from the youngest member of the 141, it did not work.

Relationships: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Gender Neutral Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of blood/injuries

Note: this was my first request and I am so excited it may have run away from me, please enjoy!

Masterlist

Task Force 141 is an unstoppable force. The team effectively works as one unit squashing any threat in its path. Sergeant Y/n L/n is the youngest member of the task force. You rose quickly through the ranks landing yourself on Price's radar. It had been a few years since Price added you to the team and you had quickly become the heart of the group.

The task force had been sent to the Urals, a Russian mountain range, to infiltrate a base Laswell had located nestled within the forest there. In the hunt for General Shephard, Laswell had been sending you to any and all Shadow Company bases she could get the coordinates of.

You sat on a stack of crates in the old warehouse the team was currently calling their base. The sun had just set, and the sound of distant insects echoed through the broken windows. Price, Gaz, and Soap have huddled around a small table a few feet away. The trio was meticulously going over mission details and you absent-mindedly listened.

Ghost stood next to you arms crossed and leaning on the crates, the height of your perch meant you could see the top of his head. The way the top of his mask was stitched piqued your curiosity.

"How did you sew this?" You leaned over poking at the careful stitching that curved over the top of his head.

"With needle and thread." Ghost spoke matter-of-factly.

You scoffed at the lieutenant. "No seriously, did you sew it while you were wearing it? It's so snug."

"Sergeant you paying attention?" Price raised his voice so you could hear him.

"Aye, I've been here the whole time."

"Not you, Soap." Price responded in an exasperated tone as Gaz snorted.

Ghost looked over at you, his eyes squinting a moment before he silently left to join the others.

"Aw, come on!" You jumped off the crates and followed behind him. Approaching the table you squeezed yourself in between Ghost and Soap. Price stared at you with a thinly veiled look of disappointment as he waited to continue his briefing. Soap ruffled your hair as soon as you were close enough and you to tried to swat his hands away.

The captain pinched the bridge of his nose and then continued. “Listen up. Alpha team; Myself, Soap, and Gaz, will clear the first floor.” He spoke as he pointed at a set of blueprints spread on the table. The first floor of the building was substantial, many rooms were scattered along the perimeter with larger rooms situated in the middle. He then shifted the paper to the next page showing a much smaller second floor. “Bravo team; Ghost and Y/n, will climb up here and enter through the balcony then clear the second floor. The officer's quarters are supposed to be these rooms so, look for anything useful. Remember, this is Shadow Company, they are highly trained idiots so watch each other’s six. From what Laswell can tell, they're still on Shepard's payroll. Any questions?”

The question was met with a chorus of No Sirs and Price nodded. “Check your gear we move out in an hour.” The Captain spoke before stepping away.

Ghost moved silently to a corner of the room where his vest was, you quickly on his heels. He grabbed his vest off the floor and swiftly buckled himself in. The weight of the garment like an old friend.

“You never answered me.” You spoke as you stood next to him.

The lieutenant simply grunted in response. He put his hands on your shoulders and then gently turned you around. Meticulously he checked over the gear packed on your vest before patting your shoulder twice signaling you were good to go.

“Kid,” He sighed. “why the hell would I sew it while I was wearing it?”

“Dunno,” You shrugged looking up at the large man.

He gave an exasperated sigh again, something you heard often from him. As much as he pretended to be annoyed at your presence he had grown to enjoy your company. As did the whole team. You were by far the most lighthearted of the group, followed closely by Soap, and the team found solace in the levity you brought after hard missions.

The two of you fell into light conversation as you waited. Eventually, Soap and Gaz joined in and the conversation quickly devolved.

“You did what?” Gaz looks at you incredulously after you finished telling a story from your childhood.

“Wanted to be like Batman.”

Soap laughed. “So you tackled a kid who stole your fruit snacks.”

“I don’t see the problem, MacTavish.” You smirked as you responded.

“Got what they deserved sounds like.” Ghost spoke with a vague tone of pride lacing his response.

“Aye, sure did.” Soap's laugh echoed through the room once more.

“Time to go.” The captain's voice halted all other conversations. You all fell into step behind the captain as he led the way outside and toward the jeep. Pilling into the vehicle you all began readying yourselves. Silence filled the vehicle as Price drove, stopping just a mile away from the location he parked within the woodline. From there you trekked through the dark forest, the only sound heard was the whistling of the wind as the group expertly traversed the terrain.

The building eventually came into view through the trees and if you hadn't known better you would have assumed it was abandoned. There were no exterior floodlights, the only light emitting from the building came from a few windows littered along the exterior.

Soap raised his sniper rifle and peered through the scope. “No guards on the roof. The people I can see through the windows seem to be minding their business.”

“Good, won’t see our approach.” Price spoke adjusting his grip on his rifle. “This is where we break off. Bravo team, we will radio when we breach that's your cue.”

“Copy. Let’s party big guy.” You spoke as you broke off from the group, following right behind Ghost as he lead the way toward your breach point. The two of you quickly approached the side of the building, sticking close to the wall to stay in the shadows. Ghost expertly threw a rope up and anchored it for you both to climb up as soon as Price gave the go-ahead.

As you waited your eyes settled on the sky. The stars peppered the darkness and you could vaguely make out the misty outline of the milky way. If the area wasn’t about to become a hot zone, it would have been a beautiful spot to set up camp.

“Breaching.” Gaz’s voice over your earpiece brought you back to the present.

“Copy.” Ghost responded to Gaz before he knelt next to you, putting his hands together so he could give you a boost. You stepped your boot into his offered hands and deftly jumped as he pushed. You grabbed the rope up high and climbed the rest of the distance quickly maneuvering yourself back into the shadows once you were topside.

Ghost was on the balcony seconds later, gun at the ready. He nodded toward you as he moved to open the balcony door. The only light filtering in the room was from the single overhead light. Slowly he moved deeper into the room scanning each side for anyone. When he was satisfied that the room was clear he turned to you, pointing toward a desk situated against the wall. “Check the drawers.”

“On it.” You dropped your rifle to your side and moved to sit on the large leather chair that was situated behind the desk in question. Your eyes quickly searched the loose papers for keywords: Shepherd, Laswell, 141, your codenames, anything that could be remotely useful. You grabbed a few pages and folded them before tucking them away into your vest.

You moved out from behind the desk and toward the door. Raising your weapon to the ready position you settled behind Ghost. He moved his hand onto the door knob while you set a hand on his shoulder to signal you were ready to move.

He slowly opened the door peeking to each side before stepping into the hallway. You followed right behind him. There were two other doors, one on the left and one on the right. Ghost held a hand up to signal to the right and you acknowledged, falling into step behind him as he pushed forward.

The smell of cigarette smoke gently wafted out from under the door. As you both prepared yourself to meet resistance, you placed your hand on the door nob. Meeting his eyes he nodded, signaling you to open the door. Quickly you pushed it open as he breached firing off three silenced shots before you even entered. The men who once occupied the room now lay in pools of their own blood. Silently you shut the door before taking in the room around you.

Moonlight filtered in from the windows on the far wall casting an eerie glow to the room. A small lamp on the desk illuminated the computer one of the now-deceased officers had been using. You thanked your lucky stars that your ambush worked - the officer didn't have time to lock the device. Your fingers quickly pressed the keys as you scoured every file. Smiling to yourself you pulled a thumb drive from your vest and plugged it in.

“This thing's a damn gold mine.”

“Just be quick about it, still have one room to clear.” Ghost’s voice was as low as he positioned himself by the door.

A few minutes passed before the screen signaled it was done with the file transfer. You pulled the thumb drive and stashed it in your vest alongside the papers you had previously found.

“All set.” You stood moving to resume your position behind Ghost.

You both moved back into the hallway and toward the final room. The sound of gunfire began echoing up the stairwell that connected the two floors and a pit of worry settled in your stomach. Just then, Price’s voice crackled over your earpieces. "Bravo team, we're meeting heavy fire. What's your status?"

“Almost clear up here.” Ghost responded to the captain.

Movement caught your eye from the stairwell just as Ghost was passing by it. Time slowed as you saw an enemy soldier come into view and raise their gun toward Ghost. On instinct, you lunged forward pushing him out of the way as the soldier fired. Hot searing pain rippled along your back as you fell onto Ghost.

The lieutenant quickly regained his footing, spinning around to fire one shot into the stairwell negating the threat. He grabbed you gently pushing you back into the first room you had come in through.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Ghost’s voice contained a mixture of anger and worry. He gently turned you so he could see the wound. The bullet had grazed your back along your shoulderblade, he grabbed some gauze from his med bag and set it on top of the wound tucking it into the straps of your vest to keep it in place. He squeezed your other shoulder in a silent apology as you winced from the pressure. Turning you back around he spoke more sternly. “You could have been killed.”

Under his intense gaze, you felt so small. Ghost was the type of man to put everyone's well-being before his own, you knew that you had scared him though he would never outwardly say so. “I’m sorry, but I was not going to let you get killed.”

Ghost shook his head. “Don’t do that again. I’m supposed to protect you, kid.”

“No guarantees big guy. Someone has to look out for you too.” You look up at him with a mischievous grin.

The large man sighed, he knew arguing with you would be futile. “You good to keep going?”

“Affirmative.”

Ghost stared at you for a moment, the expression in his eyes something you couldn't quite read. “Stay behind me.” He spoke simply before he raised his weapon and motioned for you to follow.

The final room was luckily empty and you found a few more documents that might be useful. With the second floor clear, you and Ghost moved to join the others.

“Alpha team, the second floor is clear we’re coming to you.” You spoke into the radio as you and Ghost descended the stairs.

“Copy, about time you joined the party.” Soap’s voice sounded tired as he responded but still carried his signature teasing.

You made quick work of any soldiers you passed while moving to rejoin the team. Once the team was whole again, the base was clear not long after. You gathered any more intel you could find then the team exited and began their trek back to the jeep. Their makeshift base was a welcome sight, once inside everyone looked for a hopefully semi-comfortable position to get some sleep while Ghost offered to take first watch.

You had fallen asleep on Soap’s shoulder, the sergeant was still awake working in his journal but careful not to move too much. Ghost's eyes settled on you, the innocent look on your face only served to solidify his protective nature toward you. He would never admit it, but something changed within Ghost that day. Death had always been something on his radar but seeing it creep up onto yours filled him with worry. He made a new promise to himself that day - he would sacrifice his life for yours.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #mactavsh #simon ghost riley x reader (platonic)

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rookthorne · 2 years

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬

Blood was thicker than water, but no bond was stronger than the one you shared with two of the fiercest and most savage protectors that stalked the earth, and when someone dared threaten what was theirs? Even the devil himself couldn’t save them.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ➣ Bodyguard!CW!Bucky Barnes x Model!F!Reader x Bodyguard!Winter Soldier

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ➣ 5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ➣ Fluff, angst, whump, swearing, panic attacks, gun violence, hostage situations (insults are used towards reader), tending to wounds, polyamorous and secret / forbidden relationship ➣ Protective!Bucky and Protective!Winter Soldier is an understatement, they also speak a lot of Russian

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ➣ I had the thought of why not have two Bucky's... and yeah, I ran with it. ➣ A very special thank you goes to @sgt-seabass for her help in looking for ways I could oomph this up, and thanks to her, a certain scene made an appearance!

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ➣ Deadwood by Really Slow Motion ➣ Seven Nation Army (The Glitch Mob Remix) by The White Stripes, The Glitch Mob ➣ Sweet Dreams (Slowed / Reverbed by siasme) by Eurythmics, Annie Lennox, Dave Stewart

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ➣ @the-slumberparty's Week 3 Creator's Challenge — Masterlist ➣ @allcapsbingo ჻჻჻ 𝗕𝟱 — Model AU ჻჻჻ 𝗜𝟰 — "Not without you!" ჻჻჻ 𝗡𝟯 — Free Space — Bodyguard AU ჻჻჻ 𝗚𝟮 — Times Square ჻჻჻ 𝗢𝟭 — Vulnerability — Masterlist

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐚 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐤𝐨𝐯 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The big show had finally arrived–after weeks and months of preparation, you were about to take your place centre stage on the catwalk for something you could have only dreamed of doing.

Having been raised in a family not sore for funds, you knew what it was like living in the lap of luxury; people waiting on hand and foot to serve you, extravagant and lavish shopping trips that would make any ordinary person’s eyes water at the total. It wasn’t necessarily a hindrance to your outlook on life — but you woke up to just how lucky you were.

You were walking down the streets of New York with your bodyguards at your father’s insistence, and you came across a family dressed in ragged clothing and begging on the sidewalk. It was like the veil had been lifted and you could see clearly for the first time, not through the rose glasses you had worn since you were a child.

It was at that very spot you had ordered one of your bodyguards to stand with the family while you ran to the closest store to buy the family some dignity, much to the faux annoyance of the bodyguard that followed close behind you.

“I think that’ll be enough,” he said, smiling when you carried an arm full of food products and toiletries to the counter. “They will appreciate it but I can’t have you buying the whole damn store, they won’t know what to do with it all.” You pouted at him and he chuckled, taking the bags of goods and offering his arm for you to take.

You could have sworn that since that moment, your two brooding followers looked at you with an unfathomable softness - a feat that you were sure was impossible from the smaller of the two, but nonetheless, it was there. Just like it was there now, the two of them stood in your dressing room with you while you got ready with an infinite number of stylists bustling around. Their reflections gave away that they were watching like wolves in wait, their teeth only baring when someone burst through the door unexpectedly.

“You two have to calm down,” you started, swivelling in your chair to face them, ignoring the way that the wardrobe crew grumbled. “You’ll have a heart attack otherwise.”

Bucky laughed, his broad shoulders shaking in apparent mirth before they abruptly stopped, his face falling deadpan. “Not a chance.”

The guard next to him, James, stared at you, his face in shadow so you only just made out the slight eyebrow raise. He might have said something, though it was lost behind the black mask he wore.

“C’mon, guys,” you whined. Nerves were making you fidget and you continued to ignore the scowling of the nail tech. “Humour me, I’m already nervous enough.”

If the room were not crowded with staff, you would have been wrapped in Bucky’s arms with soothing words, while James stood to the side and offered you a soft smile that brightened his eyes, his hand taking hold of yours.

But you weren’t alone, you were amongst people that would have no qualms about throwing you to the wolves — the head of the pack being your father, who would downright turn into a monster if he found out the arrangement you had with his two best men.

The secret had to be kept at all cost.

“You will do fine.”

You looked at James and smiled. Out of the two, James struggled the most with displaying any kind of care or outward softness — entirely opposite to his partner. Though he had his moments when he managed to soothe you in his own way. “Thank you, Jamie,” you whispered, and he nodded once, his curtain of dark hair shifting with the sudden movement.

“They won’t know what hit ‘em,” Bucky said, smiling widely and dare you say it, proudly.

“Ten minutes!” A voice called from behind the closed door, and you sighed heavily.

The makeup team did their final touches and cleared away swiftly under the piercing gaze of James, while Bucky watched the stylists move in and adjust your clothes. It was all so much - even after all the rehearsals it still felt like you were walking out there like a fawn, too weak and stumbly on heels that were too big with predators nipping at your heels. The wolves that protected you felt too far away.

“Hey, hey,” a muffled voice said, a blurred face hovered in your sight and you blinked. It was Bucky, and his voice was so low only you would hear him. “You with me, doll? ‘M here, c’mon. Deep breath for me.”

You startled and gasped sharply, the sudden expansion of your lungs making you cough.

“Are you done?” Bucky asked the room at large, his gaze focused on the styling team who nodded quickly. “Get out.”

Shoes scrambled over the linoleum floor and James’ heavy boot falls followed before a slam of the door echoed. “They’re gone,” James said simply, walking back over to stand next to Bucky. “You will do so well, kisa,” he whispered, kneeling down so he could look up at you. His hands were cold when he grabbed yours, but you squeezed them back while taking a deep breath. “And we’re so proud of you, our girl, hmm?”

Bucky’s hand rested on your shoulder as James spoke and he squeezed.

“Yeah,” you breathed, trying your hardest to stem the tide of tears so your makeup wouldn’t be ruined. “Yeah I-I will, I want you to be proud-”

“We always are, sweetheart,” Bucky interrupted. He kissed your forehead softly while James placed a hand on your thigh. “Always proud of our girl, aren’t we, James?”

“Navsegda i vechnost',” James replied.

Bucky snorted and ruffled James’ hair, who let out an indignant huff. “Such a sap.”

A loud knock at the door made the two men turn around quickly, and it opened wide enough for Tracey, your favourite assistant, to peek her head through. Bucky and James relaxed at the sight of her, and you met her eye. “You’re up next, love,” she said before looking between your wolves. “Hey James, Bucky.”

“Thanks, Tracey, I’ll be out there in a second.” Tracey nodded and shut the door softly. You stood and brushed down your outfit, sighing softly.

“You look stunning, doll,” Bucky whispered, cupping your cheek.

James nodded and his eyes brightened above the mask. “Krasivaya, moy kisa.”

You smiled widely at their attention and you started walking forward. In an instant, the soft and comforting aura was dropped, replaced by one that billowed like smoke of fierce protectiveness while they flanked you. Staff gave you a wide berth and you were relieved; you needed the space.

Bodies were flocking to and fro from the stage and amongst them, you spied Tracey standing by the stairs, clipboard in hand and a calm smile on her face amongst the chaos. “Hey,” you greeted, coming to a stop just before her. “All ready to go now, when am I on?”

Tracey glanced down at the clipboard and hummed. “Erica and Sophie need to do their thing, and then it’s you.” She glanced back up and pointedly stared at Bucky and James, who, naturally, didn’t flinch. “You boys can wait just here,” she said, pointing towards the steps. “Mind you don’t get in the way of everyone else.”

You heard James scoff and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” Bucky said, saluting.

“Thank you.”

James and Bucky didn’t leave your side, however. They stuck like glue to you until it was your turn to make your way onto the catwalk, and always the gentlemen, they held your hands on the way up. “Can’t have you falling down. Now, go get ‘em,” Bucky said, beaming.

The stage was bright, the cameras blinding with their constant flashes. A calm settled over you and the catwalk became an extension of your being — it was time to work. People and camera men clamoured at the base of the raised platform as you strutted to the end, and you ignored them, your eyes focused on a point at the far wall.

You imagined Bucky and James waiting for you at the end at the stairs to keep your breathing even, your expression blank and calm. It worked a charm, until a loud shout rang out over the chaos.

There was a man beside you suddenly, waving a Glock and a manic glint in his eye. “There ain’t enough fuckin’ money to save you, bitch!” Cold dread flooded your stomach and then his hand grabbed your bicep hard, the grip bruising.

“Let me-”

“Let the girl go!” Bucky. He was standing on the catwalk, gun drawn, and face carved from stone. “You let her go, and I won’t shoot to kill.”

People were screaming behind you, and you winced, your vision blurring from the tears that burned your waterline. You didn’t want to die. The sudden cold bite of metal hit your temple and you whimpered — the gunman had you in his grip and he wasn’t going to let go, he wasn’t going to release you back to your wolves.

The predatory glint in Bucky’s eyes told you all you needed to know; this was it. He wasn’t looking at you and the silent tears that fell unbidden down your cheeks, he was watching the gunman with such lethal vitriol it was a wonder he didn’t drop dead on the spot.

“I said, let her go, and I won’t shoot to kill.” Bucky’s voice was low, a deep growl from the belly of the wolf. “You don’t want a third eye, do you?”

“Not until her bastard father-” You began to squirm, desperate to get away and back to Bucky and James, even though you couldn’t see the latter. “Stand still, bitch!”

You froze, and so did the world around you. The muzzle of his Glock pushed into your temple again with such force it made you grit your teeth. People were still screaming around you and there was shouting, pleas for safety and to lower weapons.

Where the fuck was James? You sobbed and looked around frantically, there was no sign of him, but Bucky had changed his stance; shoulders straight and legs spread, it was as though he was preparing to pounce.

“Get her father on the phone and maybe I won’t fuck her face up too badly,” the gunman yelled, pulling you close against his chest and wrapping the hand he had around your arm around your throat instead. “She can have an open casket, isn’t that what you want?”

He squeezed and you choked, staring wide-eyed at Bucky. Scrabbling against the man’s arms was doing nothing, but you kept trying — I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die — you begged, a continuous chant.

Bucky’s lip curled in a snarl, and he glanced at you, eyes not softening, before staring back at the gunman. A chill flew down your spine at the absolute fury in his eyes. “I warned you.”

A quiet whoosh sounded far away, the grip on your throat lessened, and a wet splatter echoed right next to your ear, followed by the loud thump of a body hitting the floor.

“DOWN!” A pair of hands grabbed both of your arms and pulled you forward into a hard, broad chest. Screams from the people echoed around you and more gunshots cracked the air.

“Oh my-” You gasped, staring down at the body that once held you like a bargaining chip. It was surreal. The person holding you ran, and you watched in shock as a pair of legs clad in tactical gear appeared beside you — James.

“Dvigat'sya!”

“What-”

“Fucking move, you bastard!” A voice ordered above you over the screaming of the gathered spectators and you realised it was Bucky — Bucky was holding you to his chest in a kind of side hold while he pushed through the crowd, gun in hand.

Someone managed amongst the fray to rush Bucky from the side and you screamed — he had a knife- “No, you fucking don’t!” Bucky roared, the hand with the gun somehow whipped up in time to roundhouse the man in the head, the crack of his skull loud enough to be heard over the chaos around you.

“Hold on, doll, you’re safe,” Bucky continued, his voice sharper than a knife in your ear. Fear spread like wildfire through your entire body and you seized up, the instinct to freeze setting in before you could comprehend his assurance. “Fuck, James, prikroy menya!”

“Idti!”

Arms swept under your knees and behind your shoulders, and you were resting against Bucky’s chest — eyes still wide with fear and confusion. People were running and scattering in their haste to get away, and gunshots still filled the air. You could see James behind Bucky with his Skorpion drawn, the muzzle flashing with each shot he took.

There was no way to make sense of what had happened — you were just on the catwalk, doing your job, your passion, and now you were in Bucky’s arms while James slaughtered the remaining gunmen with no care for taking them alive. A switch had been flicked between the two of them, and you were helplessly struck dumb with the absurdity of it all.

The night air was cold against your already goosebump stricken skin and you gasped, flinching instinctively and curling closer into Bucky’s chest. “I got you, sweetheart, hang on,” Bucky rushed. He was looking around with narrowed eyes, looking for something, when they widened. “James! There, go!” He jerked his head towards what he was searching for but James stood stock still, gun trained on the entrance of the venue.

“Go, take her and get out of here!”

Bucky growled, a snarl on his lips and you whimpered. “I will not leave you the fuck behind, get your ass in the car and drive!”

“Ty, blyad', idiot, ya skazal tebe poyti, i vot ty prosto-”

Hearing them fight was worse than a knife to the guts, and you whined, reaching a hand out to James. “Please, I-”

“You heard her,” Bucky yelled over his shoulder while he stalked to what you saw was a car, the black SUV they had driven you here in. “Popast' v chertovu mashinu.”

The cold night air vanished when Bucky placed you on the back seat. “Bucky, what happened, I-I don’t-” You tried, but you were silenced when he sat next to you and pulled you close so your head could rest on his shoulder.

“You were targeted,” Bucky explained hastily. The sound of the driver’s door slamming shut made you flinch, and the car rumbled to life. “I fucking knew something wasn’t right-”

Tires squealed against the pavement and the car jerked forward, pushing you harder against Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry- Hang on,” James said loudly, and the car swerved around a corner. “Bezopasnyy dom, Bucky?”

“Da, tikhiy,” Bucky replied. “Vy videli, kto yeshche eto bylo?”

James and Bucky were still talking, but their voices were becoming muffled, and you started to breathe heavily — the tides of panic were starting to pull you under. You were attacked? Targeted? The concept would be laughable if you were in a fit state of mind, who would want to attack you, it was fucking absurd.

“Sweetheart, stay with me,” Bucky whispered and you sobbed. His hand grabbed yours and placed it over his chest against the tactical shirt. “Breathe with me, in and out.” The steady beat of Bucky’s heart grounded you and you tried pulling in a lungful of air, but it caught on a sob. “I know, I know, sweetheart, you’re alright,” he soothed, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Bol'she vragov yeye ottsa, bez somneniya,” James said, his voice still loud and you opened your eyes, not realising you had closed them. Bucky growled low in his throat at James’ statement.

“Prosto voz'mi nas tuda i bystro,” Bucky then said, his voice low and his grip tightening. “Doll, look where we are.”

You looked up from his shoulder and gasped softly. The bright lights of Times Square shone in the night and into the back seat of the car. Bucky loosened his grip slightly so you could turn and watch the lights fly by; it was no secret that you loved the the area, both James and Bucky had accompanied you on every impromptu trip, and seeing it at such a desperately fearful moment instilled a calm unlike any other — it flowed and ebbed through the panic and loosened the vice around your chest, and the warmth of Bucky’s presence only made it easier to breathe.

“Are you okay, kisa?” James asked from the front, glancing at you in the rear mirror when you met his gaze.

Nodding slowly, you glanced back out the window. Bucky pulled you close again and you followed, not willing to be far from him for long at all. “We need to do another impromptu shopping trip,” Bucky offered, his voice quiet. The sigh from behind James’ mask was almost inaudible. “What, you love seeing her light up just as much as I do, punk.”

“You are not wrong,” James replied, and the car was cloaked in darkness again, the lights of Times Square long gone.

The inside of the car was silent for a little while, filled with the occasional slight sniffle from you, and the hum of the car engine. It was broken when James turned the wheel and hissed quietly. “James?” Bucky asked, sitting ramrod straight.

“It’s nothing-” James tried, but Bucky was having none of it. The concern rolled from him in waves and you began to grow worried, too.

“Like hell it’s nothing, you idiot,” Bucky said, his voice sharp with worry. “Can you drive?” James nodded, though Bucky didn’t relax. “When we get there, I’ll sweep the place and you stay with her.”

A stormy look pinched James’ brow and his eyes darkened, and if he wasn’t wearing his mask, you knew you would have seen him scowling and gritting his teeth in frustration — he didn’t take well to being ordered around. “James,” you said softly, and he looked at you briefly in the mirror before focusing on the road again. “Please let Bucky look at the wound when we get- Where are we going?”

“Safe house,” Bucky answered.

You nodded. “Let Bucky look at you when we get there, please, for me.” It seemed to take all the effort in him, but you watched James’ shoulders sag as he nodded once.

Half an hour later, the car pulled into a home nestled deep amongst trees, the long driveway passing in a heartbeat. Bucky shifted on the seat and kissed you on the forehead. “You wait with James,” he said, then he looked towards the front. “Give me the Skorpion.”

James’ hand reached back with his favourite weapon and Bucky took it, pulling out the clip and replacing it with a fully loaded magazine. The car came to a stop, and Bucky jumped out immediately, focus entirely honed on the unassuming house.

“Come, kisa,” James said, opening the door. You followed and gasped at the cold air of the night. James’ door shut quietly and he beckoned you over. “C’mere.”

Warmth enveloped you when James pulled you close, and you shuffled closer so you were plastered to his front, soaking in the offered act of comfort like it was your last. “I was so scared,” you mumbled, tearing up again.

“I know, kisa,” James rasped. His voice was muffled by the mask and you pulled away slightly, reaching up and around to the back of his head. It came away with a click and James sighed. “Thank you.”

“I know you like wearing it, but I want to see my James now,” you whispered. James smiled and one of his hands held the back of your neck, and pulled you closer.

Footsteps sounded from the front of the house. “It’s clear. Get inside, come on.” With Bucky’s command, you grabbed James’ arm and walked forward, wincing in sympathy whenever he grimaced. “Where did you get hit?”

“My side, I think it just grazed-”

Bucky scowled. “Doll, take him straight to the bathroom, it’s the first door on the left in the hallway.” You nodded and started walking when Bucky stalked towards what looked to be the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “You better do as you’re fucking told, punk.”

You would have rolled your eyes as James’ heavy sigh had you been in a joking mood. Exhaustion settled heavy in your mind, weighing down your body with the realisation of what had just happened.

“Stay with us, kisa,” James breathed, watching you as he entered the surprisingly large bathroom. “Don’t get stuck in that pretty head of yours.”

“Sorry-” You tried, but you were cut off by James’ lips on yours. It was a soft kiss, sweet and giving, and it had you almost weak in the knees.

James pulled away first and shook his head slightly. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” he ordered gently, holding your face between his hands. “I will not have it.”

“Stop pulling moves on our girl and sit your ass down,” Bucky said suddenly, appearing in the doorway, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips. “Go on.”

With a huff, James sat on the bench in the shower, moving to take off the tactical gear when you rushed forward. “No, no, let me,” you said, fingers already moving to undo the buckles. James looked up at you with wide eyes, your urgency rendering him speechless.

Metal clinked behind you and you figured Bucky was preparing the med kit, but you didn’t rush, every move seemed to irritate James’ wound and like hell you would cause him more pain.

A few moments later, James sat on the bench shirtless with the wound in his side on full display. It was a bullet wound, though thankfully it was only a graze; like all three of you had hoped. “Alright,” Bucky said, sitting next to James and facing him with a grimace. “This will sting.”

“Hang on,” you said. The two of them watched you curiously as you darted out the room, coming back with a small stool from the kitchen you had passed by just a few moments ago. You placed it in front of James and sat down. “Come here, baby,” you whispered, and James immediately obeyed, his eyes clouded with unshed tears. Bucky watched sadly while James got comfortable, your hand on the back of his neck and your fingers in his hair so you could scratch his scalp, while the other rested against his shoulder. One of his hands rested on your knee, the other on your thigh, and he squeezed whenever a sharp breath of pain left him.

You had learnt through trial and error — mostly error — that James wouldn’t let his guard down around anyone bar the two of you, and while he was hurting… it was even harder for him to maintain that facade.

“Okay, go ahead,” you whispered, looking at Bucky who nodded once, and got to work patching the wound.

“You did well today, doll,” Bucky began, the needle in his fingers moving with precision. “Even though it all went to shit.” A subtle shift against your neck told you James was nodding his agreement.

“What happened?” You asked, still maintaining the soothing motion of scratching James’ scalp. “I was out there and all of a sudden it just… blew up. I didn’t know what the hell was happening.”

There was a pause and you watched Bucky’s expression remain carefully neutral. “I honestly don’t know who the fuck it was that attacked you tonight,” Bucky said. “You know your father isn’t exactly a saint-”

You knew that for a fact. He was a dirty CEO, probably worse, and it was why you decided to split from his ‘ideal daughter’ and pave your own way. No way did you want to be involved in dirty money.

“-And we,” Bucky gestured to James and then himself, “believe someone wanted revenge for something that he’s done, one way or another. It’s the only thing that makes sense right now, anyway.”

Silence fell while you considered his words. And then, you sighed heavily at the sudden weight of the world on your shoulders. “Well, fuck.”

Bucky snorted and continued to bandage James’ side. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Wait- How did- Who killed the man that had me-”

“James did,” Bucky answered, not meeting your eyes.

You gaped at Bucky and your hand tightened in James’ hair. “How? That was not a typical gunshot wound.”

“There has always been a case in your dressing room with one of James’ snipers,” Bucky went on to explain, eyes still trained on the wound. James was stiff in your hold, bracing himself. “The case and gun only unlock slash operate when it is his fingerprints. When you went up the stairs he doubled back and assembled it, and then hid in the rafters to watch you and the crowd. I knew he was going to take the shot,” he gestured to his ear. “Thanks to that device.”

“You what?” You asked, astonished. “There has been a sniper rifle in my fucking dressing room this entire time? How did I never see it?”

“I am good at hiding,” James whispered against your neck. “You never saw it because I was the one that hid it, the staff didn’t know.”

“What the fuck.” A quiet laugh left both James and Bucky at your surprise.

“You know we’re nothing if not thorough, doll.”

A few moments had passed when Bucky finally shifted in his seat and placed the unused supplies back in the med kit before running a hand up and down James’ back. “It’s done, you did good.”

“Thank you,” James said quietly, his voice slightly muffled by your neck. He placed a soft kiss there and then sat up, wincing from the pain.

You smiled sadly and stood from the stool.

“Wait, wait,” Bucky called, hand raised. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine, I think it’ll only bruise a little bit,” you assured, looking between the both of them who were staring up at you. “James stopped him just in time.”

They both looked displeased but you walked out of the bathroom. It felt like you were just going through the motions, operating on autopilot as you took the stool back into the kitchen. It was all too much. Your father, the attack, the realisation that no matter how hard you tried, the trail of sin would follow you and endanger you; maybe even for the rest of your life.

“Sweetheart?” The voice was soft and you turned to see Bucky hovering behind you, a slight frown that was the final nail in the coffin. “Oh, babydoll,” Bucky breathed, rushing forward and throwing the med kit onto the counter when you shuddered, a heart wrenching sob wracking your chest. “C’mere, I’m here.”

The sudden embrace broke the floodgates and you wailed - overwhelmed and so, so afraid. Bucky held you against his chest in a crushing grip, willing it to ground and soothe you, when James poked his head out from the bathroom. They must have shared a silent look because you felt James against your back, his bulk just as warm and comforting as Bucky’s.

“We’ve got you, kisa,” James whispered while Bucky began to rock you gently side to side. “You’re safe.”

A moment later, Bucky shifted you slightly in his arms, and James let go. You whined at the loss of contact but Bucky hushed you. “Let’s get into bed, you need your rest, and so does this punk.”

James huffed and led the way towards a closed door.

“Please lay with me, I don’t want to be alone,” you whispered, clutching Bucky’s shirt. “Please.”

“Of course we’re gonna stay, sweetheart,” Bucky offered, walking you to the bed and placing you on the edge. “We wanna hold you.”

James made a hum of agreement and moved onto the bed, kneeling behind you. “Arms up.” You did so and James pulled your shirt off, his touch lingering on your skin. Bucky made short work of your shoes, socks, and pants with minimal help from you. The weight behind you shifted and the sound of more buckles unfastening made your skin warm.

“No, not tonight,” Bucky said, reading your mind. “Just wanna hold you.”

You nodded and then James’ hand pulled you back so your back was flush with his chest. Thinking of his wound, you opened your mouth to protest when his hand rested against your stomach and he tucked his chin into the crook of your neck. “It’s fine, don’t you worry. Just relax for us.”

The bed bounced when Bucky sidled up to your front. You looked up at him, feeling safe and content while between them. “Well, hey there, sugar,” Bucky purred, smirking cheekily. “You come here often?”

You giggled and James made a quiet noise of protest. “No funny business.”

“Bite me,” Bucky retorted, looking affronted.

“I am tempted-”

“Boys,” you interrupted. Bucky stared at you and you could just feel James’ annoyance. They were so petty. “Cuddle me.” Instantly, James’ arms tightened around your middle and Bucky slung his leg over your thigh, moving so close you could rest your forehead against the juncture of his throat and you rested a hand against his chest, right over his heart.

“Didn’t have to tell us twice, sweetheart,” Bucky said, the rumble of his voice against your palm soothing.

The three of you laid in silence until a wave of exhaustion suddenly hit you, a wide yawn leaving you before you could stifle it. “Go to sleep, kisa,” James whispered, and Bucky kissed your forehead. “We’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Sleep pulled you under before you could reply, and you missed the way James and Bucky looked at you; so tenderly and with a fierce protectiveness, unmeasured and untamed. They would protect you, no matter the cost.

navsegda i vechnost' = forever and eternity krasivaya, moy kisa = beautiful, my kitten dvigat'sya! = move! prikroy menya! = cover me! idti! = go! ty, blyad', idiot, ya skazal tebe poyti, i vot ty prosto- = you fucking idiot, I told you to go and there you are- popast' v chertovu mashinu = get in the damn car bezopasnyy dom = safe house da, tikhiy = yes, the quiet one. vy videli, kto yeshche eto bylo? = did you see who else it was? bol'she vragov yeye ottsa, bez somneniya = more of her father's enemies, no doubt prosto voz'mi nas tuda i bystro. = just get us there, and fast.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

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