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frostedroyaltea · 2 years ago

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Summer Days

The summer sun beat down on the back of Piotr’s neck and he wiped the gathering sweat away with the back of his hand. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and glared down at the inventory sheet he was holding.

He had no idea why Anatoly and Vladimir decided they all needed to do inventory on a day like this. Especially stuffed in stuffy closets and warehouses that had no conditioning what’s so ever. Vladimir still refused to let them open the windows. Yes, opening and closing them was a pain, especially in the warehouse they were currently in. but it would be worth it, Piotr had argued to Vladimir who stubbornly refused to give in.

Piotr silently cursed his and Sergei’s big headedness as he signed he name at the bottom of the sheet when he finally got to the last item. Maybe he could convince Anatoly to make Vladimir see reason when he got there to make sure everything was running smoothly.

He left the stuffy closet, accidentally shutting it too hard and slamming it. He ignored Vladimir’s “hey!” that came from the air conditioned office and stalked over to the rows and rows of shelves that were on his next sheet. He wished Aslan was here. Then they could complain about their boss together.

He wiped his forehead again then rubbed his face with one hand, sighing. The heat seemed stuck in his lungs and the dust in the air coated his mouth and throat, practically choking him. Piotr glared down at the paper. The words were starting to blur together and he squinted to make sense of them.

He rubbed his eyes with one hand to try to clear them. He dropped the papers to the ground to put a hand on the shelves to steady himself, suddenly feeling weak and nauseous. His ears were ringing, he couldn’t hear anything, and had no way to know if someone noticed.

He opened his mouth today something, call for help, but nothing came out. His vision when black and he dropped.

Piotr woke to several blurry faces above him and his head, embarrassingly, in someone’s lap. He blinked and his vision cleared. “Hey, hey,” Anatoly said. Piotr blinked. He wasn’t sure how long Anatoly had been here, how long he had been unconscious for. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” It took him a second to realize he was trembling.

“What happened?” Piotr managed to ask.

“You passed out,” Anatoly said. “I saw you when I was walking in.” He took a cloth someone, Dmitri, handed to him and put it on Piotr’s forehead. “You were only out for a few seconds luckily.” He combed a hand through Piotr’s hair and Piotr leaned until the touch before he remembered where he was. “Vladimir called an ambulance,” Anatoly said, annoyance edging his voice. “He and Sergei are trying to figure out what they’re going to tell them.”

The paramedics, thankfully, did not ask any questions about the contents of the warehouse. That, however, did not mean they wouldn’t report them so Vladimir and Sergei said they’d be “taking care of it.” Anatoly told them not to hurt them.

Piotr ended up not going to the hospital. The paramedics, thankfully, didn’t press him to. They just said to call or have someone drive him if he felt he needed to go.

Anatoly finally allowed him to sit up when they left him and then insisted on helping him to the office. Once there he laid down on the couch they had for when Vladimir and Sergei worked long hours and nights. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. It was still too hot.

#anatoly ranskahov #vladimir ranskahov #sergei #aslan #dmitri #piotr #veles taxi #daredevil #passing out #fainting #heat exhaustion #dmitry #also on ao3 #fanfic

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angelaiswriting · 6 years ago

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Unexpected | Piotr (Daredevil) x reader

[original picture found on: i don’t remember, probably Google haha + he can choke me anytime with that hand]

✏️ Pairing: Piotr Bykov (finally getting to use his made-up surname) x fem!reader

✏️ Requested by Anonymous: Please write about Piotr letting of steam by choking the reader during sex after he got into a fight with someone 😍😭😍💕💕💕

✏️ Requested by Anonymous: Oml did I love Piotr and ur writing smmm, couple you please do a Piotr smut where he chokes you for the first time and is shocked by how much you’re into it ❤️❤️❤️❤️

✏️ A/N: okay so, you fed me with my own kink, so thank you haha I still wanted to apologize, though, because I feel like this didn’t turn out as I wanted to... I kept on having a block that I couldn’t overcome, so it’s not as smutty as my usual smuts... Claudia ( @idhrenniel ) still enjoyed, though, so hopefully, you will, too!

✏️ Warnings: 18+ ONLY!!! (smut, even if lighter compared to my standards + choking kink, oral f/r) + shitty title

✏️ Word-count: 2,061

REQUESTS ARE OPEN IF YOU WANT ME TO WRITE FOR YOU 💛

Piotr rarely has bad days at work. There are slow days, boring days, uneventful days, but never bad days. Yet, the morning is yet to come to its end and he’s already fought with Sergei and Viktor. He truly doesn’t want to see what the rest of his shift will bring along. And even if he wanted to think about what the near future has in store for him before he goes back home, he truly wouldn’t be able to.

The only thing he can focus on is the punishing movement of his hips against the curve of Y/N’s ass as he takes her from behind. It must have been some higher entity that sent her to him right that morning because as of right now, with her bent over the trunk of his cab with her walls clamping down on him so tight, he feels like he’s grounding himself again.

Anger slowly leaves his system with each thrust into her eager pussy and with each kiss or swipe of the tongue on her neck as he bends down above her. It’s relaxing and it empties his mind and…

And he doesn’t know how his hand ends up wrapping itself around the base of her throat and it’s as much of a surprise for her as it is for him: she moans, so long and so low that shivers creep down his spine and at the same time that she goes limp in his arms, she comes unexpectedly.

He’s still thinking about that when he goes back home that night. Everything’s alright with Seriozha and Vitya now and Piotr feels lighter than he felt that morning before leaving his bed – and while he’s always in for a good fistfight here and then, he never likes it when he fights against his friends. They’re like family and any minor argument with them has an unsettling feeling to sink down in his stomach.

But as he drives, his friends are not what’s occupying his mind. His gaze keeps on falling down onto his right hand, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. He tries to distract himself with the chill air brushing along his left hand and arm, perched outside the driver’s window, but all he can feel under his fingertips is the skin of Y/N’s neck – and her racing pulse as she inches closer to her orgasm with the speed of a freight train.

He’s still hard – he has been for a while now. He has never hit a girl, not even once, he’s not that kind of man, despite what his criminal record might suggest. But the memory of her falling apart under his hand as he gently pulled her up until her back was pressed against his chest and the feeling of her coming hard around him…

Fuck.

He holds onto the steering wheel with his left hand as he shifts gear with his right and he has to – he has to – fix the crotch of his pants because the constriction is becoming uncomfortable. And it’s a growing feeling: it slowly creeps up on him the closer he gets to Y/N’s apartment and the closer he is, the quicker his breathing becomes.

It’s an unknown feeling. It’s good and overwhelming at the same time, and all playfulness leaves him the moment he parks the car. He stiffs up against his seat and he has to focus on the parked car in front of his to calm his breathing and his racing thoughts.

He doesn’t… He doesn’t even know how he feels at the thought of choking her – and obviously, it’s not a ‘choking to death’ kind of thing, but rather a ‘choking to get you wetter and make you come harder’ idea. It’s a kink he’s never thought he had, but faced with the reality of things, he doesn’t feel half as bad as he thought he would at the idea of doing that with her.

Most of the times he’s playful during sex: he makes her laugh and cracks jokes in the middle of the deed, and only on rare occasions, when he’s too tired to fuck in any position other than lying on his side with her back against his chest, he’s a little more serious. His hand has never moved to press down on her throat before, though, but…

It somehow feels good – to know she trusts him enough not to snap her neck and not to hurt her, despite knowing who he truly is. It makes pride bubble up inside him, puffing out his chest, and slowly, a grin stretches across his lips.

Y/N bent over the seatback of the couch with her panties down to her ankles is one of Piotr’s favorite views. And her soft and gasped moans as he sucks on her clit from his kneeling position between her legs are his favorite music.

His tongue licks a stripe down her folds before he pushes two fingers inside her and there it is – that choked gasp he loves so much. Goosebumps wash over his skin when she lets out that sound and he groans against her. She tries to clamp her legs shut because he knows that’s the sound of her being so close to stumbling over the edge.

And that’s also the moment he pulls away, kisses the back of her bare thighs, playfully slaps her buttcheeks and stands up.

But there’s something in the way his hands glide up from her hips to her ribcage and cover her breasts, something different than his usual touch. They both know it, they both feel it, but neither of them knows what it is.

“So…” Piotr clears his voice as he bends forward and presses her harder into the cushioned seatback of the couch. He’s still fully dressed but this doesn’t stop him from also being harder than he thought he’d be, and as he presses his erection against her from inside his jeans, he nuzzles better between her legs. “Someone likes to be choked.”

She trembles at his words, shivers against his chest as she tries to grind against him from the position she’s in. It’s not easy, not with her weak legs, still trembling from when his tongue and mouth were on her. She doesn’t answer, but rather simply turns her head to the side to look at him from the corner of her eye and she’s not able to stop the blush from creeping up under her skin.

Her skin is boiling, they both know it, and while he grins, she wants to crawl away.

Still, she doesn’t answer. Be it because she’s embarrassed or because of the unexpected revelation, she doesn’t know. She keeps her mouth closed and only lets out a chuckle when Piotr takes a step back to allow her to stand up straight and turn to face him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The tone of her voice is playful, the look in her eyes, though, isn’t. It’s set and clouded at the same time and Piotr knows what she wants him to do.

“We should put theory to test.”

They’re too similar, the two of them. And so, when he reaches out and wraps his hand around her throat, he’s not surprised to see her pupils dilate in the dimmed lights of the living room and neither is she to feel her heartbeat quicken up.

He takes a step forward, closes the short distance between their bodies until they’re pressed up against each other. His lips skim over her flushed cheek, her burning skin a welcoming feeling against him, and then they glide down to her neck following the line of her jaw.

He thinks he feels her heartbeat pulse against his lips, on her pulse point, and he grins. “Because I like it.” His voice is hoarse against her skin, almost sore, as he lets his free hand caress down her abdomen until he presses his middle finger against her clit. “I like how weak in bones you get with my hand on your throat.”

Her breasts pushing against his chest when she arches her back slightly make him smirk and when he looks up at her, he almost loses it. Eyes closed, lips parted, head thrown back – he wants to fucking ruin her then and there. There’s never a moment where he doesn’t want that and he knows it – and worse than that, Sergei knows it and never misses a chance to make fun of him.

So, he smirks and stares at his fingers as he slowly flexes them around her neck. It’s not enough to hurt her, for he’d never do something like that, but it’s enough to let her know that he knows and is willing to give it to her.

“Say you want it.”

The soft brushing of his lips against her ear makes her shiver – and moan. A trembling whine slips past her lips and he feels her swallow hard underneath his hand.

“What do you think, genius?” Y/N opens her eyes, then, and one of her hands wraps around his wrist, the other reaching the hand he has between her legs. “You always think with your dick, but not now?”

Piotr chuckles at that and lets her go. He loves that of them, he loves her remarks, the ones that make him laugh, even during sex – or foreplay. He falls harder for her each time and each time he thinks he’d never want anything else. It’s a comfortable comfort and he loves that smart mouth of hers, loves the things she says or does with it.

When the weight of his hand leaves her throat then, she whimpers softly and when he takes a step back, she takes one forward. It’s always like that between them: it’s like a dance and they’re not willing to leave the dance floor, yet; and so, they keep on chasing each other, hands always busy, always hungry for the other’s skin.

This is the reason why she reaches him when he calls her and the reason why her hands are quick and messy as she fumbles with her clothes. It’s one of those nights where they can’t take it slow, and they have to be quick – quick touches and quick kisses and quick thrusts, and everything is bruising in the most perfect of ways.

He helps her – he always does, for they’re just as hungry for each other. He throws his shirt to the ground just as she unbuckles his belt and pushes his jeans down his legs.

She smiles up at him then and she chuckles when she sees the angry-red head of his erection. There are equal parts of amusement and hunger in her eyes, in the way she licks up his thigh, in the way she smiles. He’s not that different and that’s the reason why he grabs her by her arms and pulls her to her feet.

“So dirty-minded,” she chuckles against his lips before letting him kiss her.

“You like it.”

“I do.”

He follows her with a smirk on his face when she leads him around the couch before plopping down on it. Her tits jiggle with her every movement and he can’t but reach out to grope them as she lays down on her back.

“We need to make this quick.” He breathes hard against her skin when he positions himself between her legs and his cock brushes against her wet folds. He could stay there forever, bask in her warmth and in her embrace. Not even Vladimir’s shitty temper could drag him to work if he truly caved into his fantasies.

“You’re so kinky,” she laughs, hands brushing up his sides and stopping on his shoulder blades as she kisses his lips. “Can never last long when you’re in this mood.”

He chuckles, but he’s also quick at cutting off her laughter: he grabs his dick at the base and snaps his hips forward, thrusting into her. The sensations force him to screw his eyes shut, but he doesn’t miss her gasp, nor her fingers pressing into the skin of his back as she arches off the couch.

“Let’s see how fast you come with my hand around your throat,” he hums in her ear.

Anons, I really hope this lived up to your expectations even if there’s no actual sex! Gah, I truly don’t know what got into me, shitty thyroid aside, but I’m struggling so much with writing these days...

Sorry for the long-ish wait! Hopefully, it was worth it...

+ I might actually write all the smutty steamy kinky sexy thing following this part one day, though, once I’m back to normal bc I like this kink and I have friends that like it too, so... stay tuned, I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️ we are so weird, we need help

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask. Same goes for ‘Bratva’)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @mblaqgi

Bratva (people not on the lists but that might still be interested - more like, me digging a grave of shame for myself as I tag people haha): @sweetvengeancee@theranskahovs @brobachev @kind-wolf (pls don’t be cooking haha I’m always sorry to interrupt you when you are indeed cooking) @kellydixon01

I’m just gonna hit ‘post’ now bc otherwise I know I never will, bye

#piotr daredevil #piotr daredevil x reader #piotr daredevil imagine #piotr daredevil fanfic #piotr daredevil fanfiction #angelaiswriting #piotr bykov daredevil

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magickhajiit · 4 years ago

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Veles Taxi- Chapter 2

Finally Finished! 😁 I’ve tagged the people who liked the first chapter, hope that’s alright. 🧡

First chapter here

4 hours prior  

The clock’s hand continues ticking. Each movement signalling that the time until midnight is getting shorter. Nicolai’s sat in the weapons room, near enough to the door to listen to the Italians converse in a nearby room but further enough away to avoid the notice and resulting repercussion of anyone spotting him.  

A few sentences are legible from what little Italian he's managed to pick up over the last year. Something about Russian fools and a base deep in the Kitchen reaches his ears before a hand rests on his shoulder, its sharp fingers embedding what’s sure to be darkened prints by morning. With his eager concentration dispersed and a rope of anxiety coiling around his lungs, Nicolai glances up already knowing who he's about to face. He's met with Vittorio, one of the hired thugs in the mafia, who holds a malignant smile akin to a cat coming across a frightened mouse.

“Boss wants you", the words are jeering and his feral grin seems to stretch wider, still failing to reach his eyes. 

Nicolai nods numbly whilst getting up, tightening his hands into fists to suppress the mild tremors running through them. ‘The Boss’, Mateo Ferrero, leader of the New York branch of the Italian mafia, alternated between his nefarious businesses and frequenting high society parties each weekend, a man who was also a known murderer. He’d never served time or even been questioned, after all, who’s insane enough to go after a man who commands half the city? No one still breathing. People like Nicolai weren’t taken to ‘The Boss’ without good reason and he isn’t able to fool himself into believing anything positive was going to come out of this visit. Or even if he is going to come out alive. 

Thoughts whirl around his head as he’s led through a myriad of rooms and it feels like mere seconds pass before Vittorio half shoves him into the office. Nicolai has rarely seen Mateo close up, the first time was right after his mother had passed away and the Italian mafia had only just taken him. A year later Nick still remembers the overwhelming fear that had pulsed through him that day, like a stone of anxiety had crashed down leaving him struggling for breath. At first glance, Mateo had hardly seemed intimidating, with an infectious smile and a booming laugh Nicolai almost saw him as a friend in the unfamiliar circumstances. But that was before he saw the full force of his anger. Before he heard how his laugh turned as sharp as a knife or noticed the flecks of crusted blood ingrained in his rings, juxtaposing against the shiny silver. 

The same man sits there now. A few of his lackeys surround the desk, so deep in discussion, they give Nicolai the lack of attention reserved for a particularly inconsequential fly on the wall. Half wondering if he'd manage to sneak out without anyone's awareness, he shifts further forward hoping at least one of the men will acknowledge his existence.  

One did. The leader of the mafia in fact. The easy smile Nicolai receives imitates genuine welcoming except there’s a wicked edge to it, giving it the sharpness of a thin blade. His heartbeat begins to echo throughout his skull, as it thumps against his ribs in a frantic rhythm, a desperate bird fighting to be rid of its cage. 

"You're going with Amato’s group today," states Mateo  

His voice brings attention towards him, a yearn to protest the assignment is overshadowed by the sudden dryness of his tongue at the unwanted notice. With the heavyweight on his chest only broadening, Nick can only manage a timid nod in acknowledgment, fighting the urge to swallow down a breath that his restricting lungs will refuse to take. 

Mateo continues, “Amato will expect you in ten. You're leaving in half-hour, give or take.” The action of shuffling a variety of files and assignment reports left on his desk usually works well as a nonverbal dismissal, making sure his subordinates know how little value they have to him. Yet Nick stands in a mixture of bravery and stupidity.  

"Where am I going?"  

Mateo glances up, the slight clench of his jaw emphasizing clear irritation etched upon his face "Amato will fill in the details.” 

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Guns, rifles, ammo, bullets proof vests, all things Nick’s seen in the mafia. Even helped load boxes of them into unmarked, windowless vans on the odd occasion. But it’s different to be this close to them. To feel the steady weight of guns as he passes them out or the cold touch of bullets in his palm, or feel Amato jostle him slightly as he helps him put on a vest. His hands brushing away Nicolai’s shaking fingers and fastening each strap himself, trapping Nicolai in an envelope of thick material, each piece perfectly designed for a man at war. 

War. That’s exactly where they’re taking him. Like a lamb to slaughter, weak and defenceless. Each time he attempts to asks, to find out something that might hint to his fate, the response is similar either ignoring him or speaking in rapid Italian over his head, the words too fast to be distinguishable to his ears. So, he stops asking and carries on with the chore he’s been given. 

Mateo was true to his word. Half an hour after Nick arrives, the men get into the vans. Nick’s led by Amato towards the leading vehicle, opening up the passenger door for him, the firm grasp on his bicep is the only thing keeping his body up. His actions aren’t out of the kindness of his heart. Nothing is ever unplanned or unexpected with the Italian mob, Mateo plans out every second of every working day for his men. So, if Nick is being taken on an assignment it’s because they need him. As the vans pull away from the warehouses and the hum of the engine is the only sound Nick has for the company, he can’t help wonder his purpose here; where the anxious, orphaned Russian boy could possibly be useful to the grand plan of a mob leader.  

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They drive for half an hour, with Amato occasionally muttering a few Italian words into the van’s wireless or moving the wheel to avoid one of the numerous potholes littering the roads, before they near the end of the Italian’s domain. Nicolai recognizes where they’re heading, the streets he was told to avoid even before the Mafia. Amato disregards the apprehensive glance thrown his way, instead hitting his indicator light before swiftly turning left, straight into the Russians' territory.   

The apartments and shops of the Italians’ region had still possessed a warm sense of comfort, a fading memory of safety. So, there’s a sense of abnormality that comes with seeing the new area. Nothing drastically changes in design, it’s the same pattern of flashing shop lights, graffitied walls, and stacked apartments that give off the feeling of him seeing a mirror image of his home. 

‘’Where are we going?” The quiet question that slips through Nicolai's lips has been repeated multiply times in the last hour, never receiving a solid answer. This final attempt at gaining information could be blamed on the growing suspicion he has about their destination, as the group continues deeper into Russian territory. 

“There’s a Russian base in the Kitchen” the words seem deafening as they break the stretching silence of the journey. “It’s got the equipment, information on their latest transactions, and enough men that breaking in and... dealing with them will send a clear enough message to Ranskahovs.” Nicolai almost misses his previous ignorance as the plan’s revealed. “You’ll be sent in first, take them by surprise", the rest of the sentence goes unheard as that settles in.  

‘You’ll be sent in first’ the words rattle around his skull. But he’s not really there to take them by surprise. No, he’s there to distract them, to be used as shark bait, to gather the predators before the others attack and shark bait rarely has a happy ending.

They pull into a nearby warehouse soon after Nicolai has that realization. Amato is one of the first men to get out, before moving to the passenger side. Nicolai allows himself to be pulled out of the van, the shock of the surely fatal nature of his assignment has made him docile to Amato’s orders. They run over the plan again, all of the men careful not to explicitly state, at least in English, that it's most likely a death sentence for Nicolai. 

The plan starts off well. Amato leads him outside the warehouse, both of them momentarily lit up by the flickering glow of the fire exit, before the metal door slams, leaving them in the dark alleyway, enclosed between the overlooking buildings. There’s a fire escape nearby, attached to the grime ridden wall, reaching the top of the parallel building. A slight jab from behind is all the encouragement Nicolai needs to begin the climb, his mind torn between anxiety about his final destination and the mobster ascending right behind him.

Shaking hands reach out, gripping the rungs above him, each rising movement bringing him closer to the roof. There seemed to be something different about the world from the moment his feet step off the ladders and meet the floor like there’s a detailed perspective to everything around him. An intensity to the world, the biting coolness he feels as he reaches the top, the walls no longer containing the fierce wind that wraps itself around him like a tightened cloak.

The perspective doesn't last long though, it’s broken by the creak of the roof’s door. Amato holds it wide open whilst sparing a moment to shoot Nicolai an expectant look. This is the moment they part ways. Amato will head back down to the neighbouring warehouse to prepare his men, whilst Nicolai will creep unobtrusively towards the side door several floors below. Hanging in the air is the unspoken understanding between them that this isn't the real plan. 

Nicolai forced himself to take a step forward and another and once again. He passes the door’s threshold and his stride falters for a moment; an uneasy glance earns a closed door, a quiet click of the lock confirms he’s been sealed in, with the only option of continuing his journey downwards.

He manages to descend a few floors without being seen, some of the Italians would have called it beginner's luck; just enough of it to lull him into a false sense of security, to give him the optimistic view he’d make it without being spotted. The thin layer of optimism is shattered in only a moment, it splinters into pieces like glass when the pressure increases an ounce too much. An inked hand grips Nicolai’s shoulder with enough force to spin him around to face his captor. In a different situation, Nicolai would think the man little different from himself, few years between them mixed with the meagre number of scars and tattoos, marks that criminals wear like badges of honour, hints at the man also being new to the life of corruption and lawlessness.

But circumstances don't allow that thought, they grant him little rational thoughts in those moments, an animalistic urge to survive is the only thing fuelling his actions as he swiftly slides his shoulder downwards and breaks the secure hold the man has. There's something instinctual about Nicolai’s next actions, in the way his body manages to spin around and propel forward, his feet stumbling for a few steps before instinct kicks in and they fall into a quick rhythm: left, right, left, right. Shouting from the man behind him causes another spike of fear and adrenaline to course through his body, encouraging him to sprint faster. Moving around the sharp corner, with the Russian mobster trailing by only a few meters, a sliver of panic interjects its way into the numb haze of his mind. His chances of survival ever decreasing, still Nicolai carries on managing to gain more distance between himself and his pursuer, whilst trying and failing to control his growing concern that the man’s voice has drawn the attention of the rest of the building’s occupants.

Nicolai has just spun left onto the third corridor when he sees it, a door half ajar leading into a small storage cupboard. There isn’t a second’s hesitation before he slides into the room, careful to push the door to a close. Its mere seconds after the door meets the frame that the man turns around the corner, he takes a few steps forward before he pauses, arm bracing against the wall as he regains his breath, almost appearing to be waiting. The reason behind the delay is revealed as Nicolai hears two more men walking towards them, their words inaudible. Their whispered conversation becomes clearer as they round the corner. Even with such a small chance of survival he can’t help feel a spark of comfort on hearing their words in his native tongue, a language he’s rarely heard spoken since his mother’s passing. His contentment is brief, it’s drowned out by a flood of panic as he tunes into the conversation. Unsurprisingly they remark on his absence but it’s their mention of a fight that sends dread crashing down upon him, a fight? A multitude of scenarios begin running through his head. Have the Italians survived, if not then he’s alone in a rival mafia’s base, otherwise he’ll continue working for Mateo until they decide once again that he has more use as cannon fodder.

Whilst Nicolai was contemplating his fate the men have moved further along the corridor their words no longer managing to reach his ears. Their footsteps have faded away by the time Nicolai works up the nerve to move again. His journey through the corridors couldn't be more different now, his pace painfully slow like he's walking on ice testing each step before he dares to moves. This is partnered with the action of tilting his head in fierce concentration whilst pausing to listen to footsteps. This paranoia is repeated on each subsequent floor, his journey only once being interrupted as he’s forced to hide when a Russian mobster walks past, their pace brisk in comparison. This continues until he reaches the door, making peace with the fact the plan hasn't worked. He walks towards it, planning on returning to base despite the knowledge there'll be repercussions. Not that this is deserved but Mateo finding humour in the fact the diversion has failed seems unlikely.

Still a gasp of relief passes his lips when the door closes behind him and he can take a moment to glance around without the threat of death hovering above him. As he looks around the glare from a nearby street light illuminates the adjoining road allowing the outline of a man standing on the edge of the alleyway to be seen, his face scarcely lit up by the glow emitted from his phone. Even in the dark Nicolai can still see the police badge, like a beacon, a ray of light reflecting from it. Nervously Nicolai moves forward hoping to ask for help or a phone call or just some way to escape even if the only people he has left are the people that sent him there in the first place.

Later on, he’ll blame the mixture of relief and left-over adrenaline for what happens next, the officer’s arm struck out grabbing Nicolai and pinning him to the wall. Only a few more memories register in his mind after that; Russian words out of the officer’s lips, the sound of men running towards them and a sharp burst of pain in the back of his skull before darkness takes over.

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I think it’s clear but just in case it’s not Nicolai is meant to be the character from the first chapter.

Thank you for waiting so long for the next chapter, hopefully the next one will be out sooner. Feel free to mention if you notice any mistakes or if the writing isn’t clear at points. 🧡

@angelaiswriting @uwuttaja @kind-wolf @not-uh-author @starsandsunlight @kellydixon01 @frostedroyaltea @stjimmie @brobachev

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