#Russian Allure

[beautiescutieshoties2]

💕Valentina Grishko💕 IG valentivitell

[loudlystrangemagazine]

Bang Bang. You're dead

[wayneontheroad]

Salad with Russian Beets

[silvermittt]

Russian Beet Salad

[seafarersdream]

The Draconic | 18+ (Modern AU Aegon Targaryen x Y/N)

When you’re in London, The Draconic is the place to be. It’s only the hottest club in town, where the drinks are as fiery as the dragons they’re named after, owned by Aegon Targaryen, the self-proclaimed nightlife king. Enter Y/N, Helaena’s best friend, who somehow finds herself tagging along, knowing Helaena’s outings usually end with a story worth telling (or hiding).

TW // Explicit sexual content, profanities, rough sex, mild BDSM elements, substance use (alcohol), smoking.

The Draconic exudes an air of mystery and exclusivity, with its grand entrance flanked by imposing dragon sculptures and the soft glow of green and gold lights illuminating the facade.

Inside, sultry Bossa Nova music drifts through the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The main lounge is a spectacle of emerald and gold hues, with plush velvet seating and marble floors adorned with dragon motifs. Crystal chandeliers cast a shimmering light over the scene, creating an almost otherworldly ambiance.

At the center of the revelry, basking in the attention, stands Aegon Targaryen. He is every bit the king of this lavish domain, exuding confidence and charm as he mingles with the elite guests. His presence is magnetic, drawing eyes and whispers as he moves through the room, a glass of the finest bourbon in hand.

Y/N stood at the entrance of The Draconic, her eyes wide with awe as she took in the grandeur of the club. “Fuck me, this place is something else, Hel,” she muttered, her voice dripping with astonishment.

Helaena, with a cheeky grin, looped her arm through Y/N’s. “Told you, love. My brother couldn’t do subtle if it slapped him in the face.”

Y/N grinned. “Just promise me we won't end up in the tabloids... again.”

Helaena laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, darling, wherever Aegon goes, the cameras follow. It's like he's got his own bloody paparazzi fan club.”

Y/N snorted. “And it doesn’t help that your brother goes through London socialites faster than toilet paper in a public loo.”

Helaena rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Last week, he was dating some heiress named Daphne. This week, it’s a Russian model called Tatiana. Next week, who knows? Perhaps the prime minister’s daughter.”

They made their way inside, the sultry Bossa Nova music wrapping around them like a velvet cloak. The air was perfumed with the scent of expensive cologne and the subtle, smoky undertone of fine cigars. As they passed through the grand foyer, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the dragon sculptures and the exquisite marble flooring.

“No phones allowed, remember,” Helaena reminded her, handing over their devices to the stern-looking security guard.

They entered the main lounge, and Y/N felt as if she'd stepped into another world. Patrons lounged on emerald green velvet seats, their conversations low and conspiratorial. The bar, a stunning creation of green onyx and gold, was the centerpiece of the room, with bartenders expertly mixing drinks for the elite clientele.

“There he is,” Helaena said, nudging Y/N. “Aegon.”

At the heart of the room, Aegon Targaryen commanded the space. His silver hair was slicked back, and his suit was tailored to perfection. He exuded an effortless charm, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as he entertained his guests. The golden dragon pin on his lapel caught the light, a symbol of his dominion over this lavish playground.

“Come now, let's go say hi,” Helaena urged, dragging Y/N through the throng of people.

As they approached, Aegon’s eyes flicked towards them, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. “Sister! And this must be…?” he inquired, his voice smooth and welcoming, yet laced with a hint of something darker.

Y/N steeled herself, trying to exude confidence. “Y/N,” she introduced herself, noting that up close, Aegon was even more striking—his silver hair and lilac eyes giving him an almost ethereal allure.

“Ah, so this is the Y/N I’ve heard so much about,” Aegon said with a chuckle, his eyes lingering on her.

Helaena shot him a playful but warning glare. “Stop flirting with my best friend, Aegon. Go find another prey,” she quipped, though there was an edge to her tone that suggested she meant it.

Aegon chuckled lowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was merely admiring,” he said, his voice dripping with insincere innocence.

Helaena stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed Y/N's arm, dragging her toward the bar. “Come on, let’s get you something to drink.”

She ordered two Dragon Blood cocktails, which arrived looking unnervingly realistic, the deep red liquid swirling ominously in the glass.

Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into the back of her head. She took a sip of her drink, trying to ignore the unease. But she had a pretty good guess as to who was responsible for the intense gaze.

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Y/N and Helaena were well into their cups, each clutching a glass of Dark Sister cocktail. The liquid inside was an enchanting, a sinister shade of dark red almost purple, flecked with silver specks that swirled hypnotically. The taste was a heady mix of pomegranate and absinthe, with a smoky undertone that left a tantalizing burn in its wake.

Surrounded by a veritable graveyard of empty glasses—was this their eighth drink? Eleventh? They’d lost count hours ago—the two friends were deep in a rambling conversation about Helaena’s eccentric family.

“I mean, can you believe it?” Helaena slurred, her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow. “Mum's dating Rhaenyra.”

Y/N nearly choked. “Rhaenyra? As in, your half-sister Rhaenyra? The one who also has kids with your uncle Daemon?”

Helaena giggled, nodding vigorously. “Tell me about it. Every time I turn around, there's another plot twist. Yes, that one! So now, technically, my mum is dating my half-sister. It’s like our family tree is a vine, just tangling and looping all over the place.”

Y/N burst into laughter, almost spilling her drink. “That’s bloody brilliant. Do they make you call her mum or sis?”

Helaena cackled, nearly tipping off her stool. “Oh, gods, it’s even worse. Mum’s taken to calling her Nyra in that sickeningly sweet voice. And don't get me started on the kids—Joffrey, my little nephew, is fucking confused on how to address Alicent, bless him.”

Y/N was in stitches, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t even—imagine the Christmas dinners!”

Helaena grinned, raising her glass. “Here’s to family. Because who needs enemies when you’ve got relatives like mine?”

They clinked their glasses, the liquid inside shimmering under the club's lights. Y/N leaned in conspiratorially. “So, what’s the deal with Aemond? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

Helaena chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, Aemond. He’s gone completely off the grid. Last I heard, he was up north in Stromness. When I spoke to him, he was convinced he’d found evidence of a kraken. Sent me a photo of some squiggly line in the water and everything.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he a marine biologist or something?”

Helaena nodded, her grin widening. “Yeah, that’s the one. But he’s got this bizarre obsession with mythical creatures.”

Y/N laughed, this time spilling almost half of her drink. “Does he have a little notebook for his ‘discoveries’ too?”

Helaena snorted. “Oh, he’s got notebooks, alright. Filled with sketches of ‘sightings’ and elaborate plans to capture a sea serpent. We’re talking full-on mad scientist vibes.”

Y/N could hardly contain her amusement. “I can just picture him, all serious, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of a mythical beast. Does he ever actually do any real marine biology work?”

Helaena took another sip of her drink. “He does, but only when he’s not busy chasing legends. Last Christmas, he gave us all ‘Unseelie Repellent Spray.’ It was just water in a fancy bottle, but he was dead serious about it.”

Y/N shook her head in amusement. “Your family is a goldmine of entertainment, Hel. I don’t know how you keep up with it.”

Helaena shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. “It’s either laugh or cry, and I’d much rather laugh.

Suddenly, Helaena felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Oscar Tully standing there, his red, curly hair as wild as ever. His boyish face was littered with freckles, and he wore his signature lopsided grin.

“Oscar!” Helaena exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

“Hel!” Oscar replied, matching her enthusiasm.

The breakup had been mutual, and they’d managed to stay on good terms. They launched into small talk, catching up on life since they last saw each other.

“So, how’s the trout farm going?” Helaena asked.

Oscar rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Swimmingly, thanks for asking. Someone’s got to keep the world supplied.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement.

Oscar turned to her with a grin. “Mind if I steal Hel away for a bit? I promise to return her in one piece.”

Y/N waved her hand dramatically. “Oh, by all means, take her.”

He offered his arm to Helaena with a playful bow. “Milady?”

Helaena rolled her eyes but took his arm. As Y/N watched them blend into the crowd, she decided she’d had enough alcohol for one night. She could bet everything she had that Helaena would come back as drunk as George IV.

Standing up, she stumbled a bit and decided to find a quieter place to collect her thoughts. She remembered spotting some private booths earlier, each with high-backed, gold-trimmed seats and curtains that could be drawn for privacy. Each booth had a unique dragon nameplate.

She randomly picked one marked “Sunfyre,” thinking it would be empty.

To her shock, inside she found Aegon reclined luxuriously on the plush seat, his suit jacket discarded and shirt unbuttoned. The stunning brunette was on her knees between his legs, her head bobbing rhythmically as she performed the act with evident expertise. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and Aegon’s hand was entangled in her locks, guiding her movements with a mixture of roughness and intensity.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in the scene, her breath catching in her throat. The woman’s lips glistened as they slid up and down Aegon’s cock, her hands working in tandem to heighten his pleasure. The air was thick with the sounds of their illicit encounter—the soft, wet noises of the brunette’s efforts and Aegon’s low, guttural groans of satisfaction.

His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the booth, lost in the sensations. His grip on the brunette’s hair tightened as he pulled her closer, his hips thrusting slightly in response. But then, as if sensing the intrusion, he opened his eyes and locked onto Y/N’s stunned gaze.

For a moment, neither moved. Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, unable to tear her eyes away from the intimate scene. Aegon’s expression shifted from pleasure to surprise.

Before he could say anything, Y/N snapped out of her stupor, spinning on her heel and practically fleeing from the booth. Her mind raced, the vivid image of Aegon seared into her memory. She needed a drink—something strong—to process what she had just witnessed. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for where it was heading.

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Y/N ordered two of the strongest cocktails served at the bar. The bartender, with a knowing smile, brought her a pair of Death by Flames. She downed the first in one go, feeling the intense heat and smoky flavors hit her like a fiery wave, but realized nothing could erase the image of Aegon from her mind.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered, cursing at herself. “Why do I always have the shittiest luck in the entire country?”

Cursing under her breath, she berated herself and her rotten luck. With frustration bubbling up, she decided to make a beeline for the loo, hoping that a splash of cold water might help clear her head.

Y/N stumbled into the bathroom, taking in the dragon-shaped faucets and sinks made of green marble. Gold accents and dragon motifs were everywhere, maintaining the club’s theme. Soft, ambient lighting in shades of green and gold created a warm, inviting atmosphere, with hidden LED strips along the walls and floor adding subtle highlights that enhanced the overall ambiance without overpowering the space.

She splashed her face repeatedly with water, each splash accompanied by a string of colorful profanities. “Bloody hell, piss off, for fuck's sake!”

She glanced at her reflection, seeing the crazed look and blown pupils. “Great, now I look like I’m the one who just gave someone else a fucking blowjob,” she groaned.

She fumbled with her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, hoping to calm her frayed nerves. As she lit up and took a deep drag, she caught her reflection again and decided it was time for a monologue, just to vent her frustration.

“Alright, Y/N, let’s have a little chat. What the actual fuck were you thinking? Did you honestly believe you’d find a quiet spot in a place called The Draconic? Clearly, you’ve lost the plot.”

She took another drag, pacing back and forth. “Oh, sure, let’s follow Helaena. What could possibly go wrong? Well, let me tell you, everything. First, you walk in on Aegon, the living embodiment of a Greek god getting a blow job from a woman who probably just stepped out of a lingerie commercial. And you? You're standing here, looking like you've just crawled out of a bloody coal mine. Fabulous.”

She paused, flicking ash into the sink. “Why, oh why, did I think coming to this club was a good idea? I’ve got Helaena’s ex chatting her up, and me, well, I’m left with the delightful mental image of Aegon’s magnificent cock. Just brilliant. What’s next? Is the bloody Kraken going to pop out of the toilet?”

Taking one last drag of her cigarette, she flicked it into the dragon-shaped ashtray with a flourish. “Right, Y/N. Time to pull yourself together, go back out there, and pretend you didn’t just have the most insane moment of your life. Maybe I’ll even find Helaena and we can laugh about this... in about ten years.”

With that, she took a deep breath, splashed her face one last time for good measure, and steeled herself.

It seemed the gods were laughing at her existence because Aegon is leaning casually against the wall outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips and that infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

“Why’d you leave, love? I was about to ask you to join,” he said cheekily.

“Fuck off, Aegon,” she muttered quietly, trying to sidestep him and avoid further embarrassment.

But Aegon moved to block her only path back to the main area. He stood there effectively cornering her.

“Come on, don't be like that,” Aegon teased, leaning closer. “It was just a bit of fun.”

Y/N glared at him, her nerves fraying even more. “Your idea of fun is a bloody nightmare for everyone else.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Oh, you wound me, beautiful. Can’t a man enjoy a bit of company in peace?”

Y/N sighed, looking at him with exasperation. “Look, I didn’t mean to walk in on you. It was pure accident.”

Aegon shrugged it off nonchalantly. “No need for apologies. But did you at least enjoy the show?”

Y/N’s cheeks reddened, her breaths coming raggedly. “I’ve seen better,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

Aegon looked at her, unimpressed, clearly not believing her. He took the cigarette from his lips and held it to her mouth so she could take a drag. She hesitated but then took a deep pull, the smoke burning her throat, but the distraction was welcome.

“So, where’s Helaena?” he asked, taking the cigarette back.

“She was whisked away by Oscar and hasn’t been seen since,” Y/N explained, still trying to compose herself.

Aegon raised an eyebrow. “Oscar, huh? Well, that explains a lot. Guess it’s just you and me then.”

Y/N sighed, feeling the massive amount of alcohol she had consumed catching up to her. Her head was starting to pound. “Can I have some water?” she asked, her voice a bit shaky.

Aegon’s smirk softened slightly, and he nodded. “Of course, love.” He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her gently toward his private office.

The office was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a sanctuary of dark leather and polished wood. Aegon motioned for her to sit on a leather sofa as he poured a glass of water from a crystal decanter.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the glass. “Drink up.”

Y/N took the glass gratefully, drinking deeply, the cool water soothing her parched throat and clearing her head slightly. She glanced around the office, noting the various dragon-themed decorations.

“Thanks,” she said, setting the empty glass down on a nearby table.

Aegon leaned against his desk, watching her with amusement and. “Feeling better?”

“A bit,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “This night has been... a lot.”

Aegon chuckled. “Welcome to The Draconic. It’s never boring, that’s for sure.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, despite everything. “You can say that again.”

Aegon’s grin widened. “Believe it or not, this is one of the tamer nights.”

Trying to be smooth, Y/N asked, “So, where’s your… friend or companion or whatever?”

Aegon shrugged nonchalantly. “Don’t know, don’t care,” he said, his grin turning slightly wicked.

Y/N bit her lip, trying hard to hide the growing wetness between her thighs as she watched him. There was something undeniably magnetic about Aegon, and despite her better judgment, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

“Must be nice, having that kind of freedom,” she said, her voice a bit huskier than intended.

Aegon’s eyes darkened slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. “It has its perks,” he replied, his voice low.

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, the tension between them thickening. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Well, thanks for the water. I should probably get back to Helaena.”

Aegon pushed himself off the desk and stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Sure you don’t want to stick around a bit longer? I can be very entertaining.” he said, his voice dripping with suggestion. “Besides, Helaena is probably also occupied.”

He began to circle around her like a serpent, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N shivered, feeling the intensity of his gaze and the heat of his proximity. The room seemed to close in around them.

Y/N breathed out quietly, her voice shaking. “I’m Helaena’s friend,” she said, more to convince herself than anyone else. “I shouldn’t be doing anything with her brother.”

Aegon put a hand under her chin, his finger tracing her lips as he whispered, “She doesn’t have to know.”

Y/N moved forward, their lips now almost touching. She could feel his breath, warm and intoxicating, mingling with hers. Her fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair, feeling the softness against her skin.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, the words more for her own reassurance.

“As you say, love,” Aegon whispered back, his voice a seductive purr.

In an instant, they clashed into each other, their lips meeting in a rough, demanding kiss that felt like they were devouring each other. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in a moment of dangerous excitement. Their hands moved frantically, tugging at each other’s clothes with a desperate urgency. Y/N felt Aegon’s hands at her back, unzipping her dress, while she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, their mouths never breaking contact.

“Oh, God, Aegon,” she gasped between kisses, feeling his hands on her skin, the heat of his touch igniting something deep within her.

“Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.

The kiss deepened, becoming almost primal, as if they were trying to consume each other completely. Y/N’s dress fell to the floor, and she felt the cool air against her skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating between them. Aegon’s shirt joined her dress on the ground, followed by his belt and trousers. Her hands roamed over his bare chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath, as his fingers traced the curves of her body.

“Fuck,” Aegon muttered, his lips trailing down her neck, “you’re fit.”

Y/N gasped as his mouth moved lower, his hands gripping her hips with a possessive hunger. He kissed a path down her body, his breath hot against her skin. She shivered, feeling the intense pull of desire.

“Stop,” she managed to say, though her protest was weak. “You’re leaving marks.”

“Good,” Aegon murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. “I want everyone to know you’re mine tonight.”

Y/N shuddered as his mouth found her clit, his tongue teasing and sucking with expert precision. Her hands tangled in his hair, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Aegon was relentless, his hunger evident in every movement.

“You arrogant bastard,” she gasped, her body betraying her as pleasure surged through her.

Aegon chuckled, the sound vibrating against her most sensitive spot. “So wet, darling, all for me, huh?” he taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

His fingers joined the assault, thrusting inside her with a rhythm that had her seeing stars. Aegon was a god at this, his fingers curling just right while his tongue continued its relentless teasing. Y/N’s mewls turned into desperate cries, her body trembling under his assault.

“Mmm, you like that, don’t you?” he murmured against her clit, his tone a mix of degradation and praise. “Such a good girl, taking everything I give you.”

Her body arched, her hips moving instinctively to meet his fingers, the intensity of his touch driving her wild. “Aegon, please,” she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper.

“Begging already?” he smirked, increasing the pressure of his fingers. “Look at you, falling apart just for me.”

Y/N’s vision blurred, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She was so close, the sensations overwhelming her. His mouth never let up, his tongue a constant source of exquisite torture.

“Come on, love,” he urged, his voice husky with desire. “Let go for me.”

With a final, intense suck and a twist of his fingers, Y/N’s world shattered. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she squirted hard, her juices soaking Aegon’s hand and mouth.

“Shit, love,” Aegon groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he watched her. “That’s fucking hot.”

He didn’t stop, drawing out her orgasm with gentle licks and caresses. Y/N’s body trembled, her mind barely able to process the overwhelming pleasure.

As the waves of her climax slowly subsided, she collapsed back, breathless and spent. Aegon moved up, his lips brushing against hers in a possessive kiss.

“I could watch you come like that all night.”

Y/N could only nod weakly, her body still trembling, as she tried to catch her breath.

Aegon began pumping his cock, his hand moving in smooth, practiced strokes. Pre-cum was already leaking from the tip, his veins throbbing with need. He sat down and guided her to straddle him. As she settled on top of him, Y/N noticed a strategically placed mirror, reflecting their entwined bodies clearly.

Aegon’s eyes darkened with a primal hunger. “Ride me, love,” he commanded, his voice low and rough.

Y/N positioned herself over him, her hands on his shoulders for balance, and slowly lowered herself onto his throbbing cock. The sensation was intense, both of them groaning as he filled her completely. She began to move, bouncing expertly, the squelching sounds echoing in the room.

“Fuck, you ride like a slut,” Aegon taunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. “So wet and desperate for me.”

Her eyes caught the mirror again, watching as she rode him with wild abandon. The sight was incredibly arousing. Aegon’s fingers wrapped around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp.

“You like that, don’t you?” he taunted, his grip tightening slightly. “You like being fucked like this.”

Y/N’s moans were half-choked, her eyes rolling back as the pressure on her throat intensified the pleasure. “Yes,” she gasped out, her voice strained. “I love it.”

Aegon’s eyes were locked on where their bodies met, watching as her cream formed a white ring at the base of his cock. “Look at that,” he said as he tuts at her. “You’re making such a mess, love.”

Y/N’s body responded to his words, her movements becoming more frantic. She was riding him hard, her nails digging into his backs, leaving marks of her own.

Aegon groaned, his grip tightening as he felt her walls clench around him. “That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just like that.”

“Aegon, I’m so close,” she moaned, her body trembling with the impending climax.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he commanded, his voice full of raw desire. “I want to feel you.”

With a final, desperate bounce, Y/N’s body convulsed, her orgasm ripping through her with such force that she squirted again, much to Aegon’s delight. He watched with a mixture of pride and lust as she trembled above him. His own release followed closely, exploding inside her and painting her insides with his cum.

The room reeked of sex, the intense scent of their passion filling the air. Aegon held her close, their bodies still entwined, his hands moving gently over her back as he rubbed her hair, soothing the aftermath. They stayed like that for a moment, their breaths mingling, gradually slowing down.

Y/N’s pussy was overstimulated, every slight movement sending tremors through her body. She trembled uncontrollably, her muscles twitching with the aftershocks of their intense lovemaking.

Aegon held her close, his voice a soothing whisper in her ear. “You did so well for me, darling,” he murmured, his tone filled with both admiration and tenderness.

He shifted slightly, still inside her, causing her to gasp as another wave of sensation coursed through her. “Fuck, love,” he continued, his breath hot against her ear. “How am I supposed to not crave your cunt after this?”

Y/N could only manage a weak smile, her body still recovering from the overwhelming pleasure. She leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his arms.

Aegon’s fingers continued to trace soothing patterns on her skin, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Absolutely fucking amazing.”

They shared a tender kiss, a huge contrast to what had just transpired. Aegon’s lips were soft and gentle, offering a moment of intimacy that grounded them both.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, standing up carefully. He retrieved a warm, clean towel and returned to her side, gently cleaning the insides of her thighs. Y/N watched him fondly, her heart warming at the unexpected tenderness.

“What a gentleman,” she teased, her voice light with amusement.

Aegon winked at her. “Don’t tell anyone.”

After cleaning her up, he poured her a glass of cold water. “Drink up,” he said, handing it to her. “You need to stay hydrated.”

Y/N took the glass, sipping gratefully, still watching him with a smile. He then grabbed a spare shirt from a nearby drawer and slipped it over her head, his fingers lingering as he admired how it looked on her. The shirt was oversized, hanging loosely on her frame, but Aegon seemed to like it that way.

“Acting like a doting boyfriend now, are we?” Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Aegon smirked, adjusting the shirt on her shoulders. “I knew this shirt would look fantastic on you, and I was right.”

“Oh? Well, in that case, I might as well keep it then.”

Aegon chuckled. “You’ll have to earn it, love.”

She grinned, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Consider it a down payment.”

Aegon laughed, pulling her closer. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Y/N laughed along with him, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the afterglow of their encounter. “I’ll take my chances.”

Aegon grinned, leaning in to kiss her again. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Y/N kissed him deeply, their lips melding with a renewed passion. His hands found their way to her arse, gripping it firmly as he pulled her closer.

But then the door flew open, and Helaena stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh great, I’m forever traumatized,” she exclaimed, a scandalized gasp escaping her lips.

The evidence of their encounter was plain as day. The whole room reeked of sex, and there were suspicious liquid remains on the floor.

“Really? In my brother’s office?” Helaena berated, her hands on her hips.

Y/N’s face turned crimson, and she tried to hide her face in Aegon’s shoulder, mortified. Aegon, however, was laughing shamelessly.

“Oh, come on, Hel,” Aegon said. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Helaena’s eyes narrowed as she glared at both of them. “Dramatic? The room smells like a brothel, and I just walked in on my brother groping my best friend!”

“You do have impeccable timing,” Aegon managed to say between laughs.

Y/N peeked out from behind Aegon, still embarrassed. “I… I can explain?”

Helaena rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, please don’t. I think the evidence speaks for itself.”

Aegon grinned, pulling Y/N closer. “Come on, Hel. You know you love us.”

Helaena shook her head, unable to suppress a smile despite her mock indignation. “You two are disgusting. Just… clean up after yourselves, will you?”

Y/N nodded vigorously, still trying to hide her face. “We will, promise.”

As Helaena left, muttering about needing eye bleach, Aegon and Y/N burst into laughter. Y/N shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I’m keeping this shirt after all.”

“Damn right you are,” Aegon said with a smile. He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. “So, when are you free?”

Y/N blinked, confused. “Free for what?”

Aegon rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m taking you out on a date, woman.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “A date? After all this?”

Aegon grinned, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Course, You’ve already seen the worst of me. Now please let me try to impress you properly.”

Y/N pretended to ponder this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, let me think about it. I mean, you did just make a mess of the place, and you have a habit of getting caught in compromising positions...”

Aegon chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. “Oh, come on. You know you want to. Besides, how many people can say they had their first date after walking in on said person mid-blowjob?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Alright, you’ve got a point there.”

She gave him a mock-serious look. “Okay, 5 PM next Friday, Targaryen. Don’t be late.”

Aegon pumps his fist in celebration. “I’ll be there on the dot, love. You just wait.”

“You know,” she said, looking up at him, “this has to be the strangest way I’ve ever agreed to a date.”

Aegon grinned. “Well, I’m nothing if not memorable.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. “That you are.”

She took a deep breath and reluctantly stepped back from him. “I should go find Helaena and do some damage control before she decides to disown both of us.”

Aegon laughed, nodding. “Good idea. She’ll get over it… eventually.”

“Don’t be late,” she said with a playful smirk.

Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dare.”

With one last smile, Y/N turned and headed for the door.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

ICARUS (XI)

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

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Angst, threats, exploitation, described stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, explosions, blood, implied harm/injury, death, plot progression, dirty talk, smut/NSFW, dry humping, semi-public intimacy, light dom/sub dynamics, Nikto likes to be given pet-names because I said so, implied previous breath play/cunnilingus/ p-in-v sex/rough sex/finishing inside, clothed stimulation, etc. (Series 18+)

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

“I’m not going to let you do all of it,” you grumble, rubbing at your thigh with your right hand. 

“Walk to me,” Nikto’s dark brow raises from below his mask, pale eyes darting you up and down. “Without your knees shaking.”

Your face flares up, and you bite back a sarcastic comment as the driver of the car walks past, sending a glance to where the Russian packs the back of the vehicle with your bags. Nikto huffs a chuckle as another settles into the trunk, flattening it with his gloved hands.

“Rude,” you mutter, glaring lightly. “You’re getting bold with your words, Nikto.”

“Surely we have failed somewhere,” your guard grunts, trying to scrutinize his talent of fucking you senseless last night. “You are still upright instead of collapsed to the floor. Did I not find that spot inside of your drooling cunt that made you say you would not be able to walk—”

“Okay!” You loudly, raising your hands, breathless in reaction. Your entire body is seemingly being rolled on a spit as waves of fire lick at your neck, and you have to force words out from the dryness of your throat. “I’m going to sit in the car—you have fun packing with your dirty mouth, you brute.”

Nikto hums arrogantly, and the smirk is plainly heard by your ears as they ring in embarrassment. “You did not complain about this mouth hours prior. Nor the tongue, Птичка.”

“Holy hell,” you push a hand into your face, grimacing. Brief shadowed flashes of a half-masked face sitting in the clutch of your legs leave you stuttering wildly. “Nikto!” 

Taking a large breath before opening the dark door, you hear that loud hyena bark of a laugh in return, before you slip inside and firmly slam the barrier closed. 

“Oh my God,” your response bounces off the windows, but the infectious smile grows steadily over your flesh until it needs to be hidden by your hand, tiny chuckles making your eyes crinkle. 

Shaking your head, you settle back and grasp the seat belt, clicking the metal together as the straps pull across your chest securely. 

You were going back to Yekaterinburg, but the realization was…less than concerning. There was a sort of liberation in your blood now—something to be proud of even if it was such a small thing. 

Your eyes glance behind to the rear window, seeing the great form of Nikto continuing to pack the trunk in your absence, back in his regular gear with the suit in the hands of the stylists. You can’t say you didn’t miss it, but having him return to some semblance of normalcy was calming to you. Home was the destination, first and foremost: back to your trinkets and your treasures, fabric, and soft rugs. 

You’d stood up to AMA and the jobs they’d assigned to you. No more parties, you’d told Iakov, who you still hadn’t seen a glimpse of since last night. No calls either. He’d never gotten back to you, but you were sure a hellstorm was brewing above your head.

Lips pull slightly, but the thought is pushed to the back of your mind as just a result of hurt pride. He’d survive. 

But you weren’t too sure if you would.

“Home,” you sigh, bringing back your smile forcefully. Even with all the added challenges being back in Yekaterinburg would cause, you can’t help the thrill of your heart at the thought of familiar streets and faces. Your mom wanted to talk, and AMA was getting on you about showing up to the building for a meeting, both to-dos were competing like fighting cats. 

You still couldn’t tell which was worse. 

The trunk behind you is audibly closed with a heavy hand, the metal of the vehicle moving up and down as Nikto stands back to the sidewalk and rolls his wrist—walking to the door before slipping inside next to you. Cushions dipping, you glance over and tilt your head as Nikto’s knee hits yours, the Russian readjusting his thighs before he grumbles under his breath and glances to the window. 

“All set?” You ask, putting your hands into your lap as your foot hits the small crossbody bag on the floor. It holds a few simple items to help pass the travel time—your book, laptop, phone, and a few scrap papers for random notes or doodles.

Nikto nods, glancing over to you. “Make sure you do not forget anything.”

You huff. “I’m good. Trust me, it helps to pack light.”

You’re given a slow blink, the man’s eyelids narrowing. He hums. 

“You have brought six bags,” Nikto utters gruffly, hearing his frown on the air. 

“And you were very gentlemanly loading all of them,” you grin, sending over your amusement-tight skin as the blank mask offers only numb attention. “Very sweet on me, Big Guy.” 

Nikto makes an annoyed sound under his breath, rolling his eyes partially. “You would not survive a deployment. Too attached to your items.”

You laugh. “Sue me for buying things I’d like to keep. C’mon,” your attention moves as Nikto gives a sharp order to the driver to leave, which he does with a glance backward and a sneer at your guard. “You’re meaning to tell me you don’t have anything you want to have near you a lot—something important?”

The bear-like man pauses as he settles back into his seat, the vehicle starting up. He takes a breath, and you see the Kevlar of his chest piece rise and fall. Nikto grunts, seeming to realize he’s staring at you as he pulls his eyes to the glass of the window quickly. 

“A handful.” 

You sigh before it ends in a soft huff. “Any specifics?” Your interest is obvious.

“None we wish to tell about.” He glances, and seeing your teasing stare, he shifts, scoffs under his breath with no real anger, and shrugs his large shoulders before coming up with a simple answer. “My notebook, then.” Nikto’s eyelids lower, thinking back to the item in the back of his consciousness and the importance it holds. You’d only seen it once, he knows—back when he had written you a grocery list for your penthouse. Hell, if only you could take a glance at the contents now. 

Nikto clears his throat, continuing in a deeper tone. “Rag to clean my weapons.”

It’s a small chuckle he gets from you. “Makes sense. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them dirty before.”

A steady silence falls before the Russian feels the need to speak again, and in his mind, he replays every word that you’d said to him throughout these fast-paced and eye-opening days. Being near you now was slightly different in a way he couldn’t have anticipated. 

Taking in the hues and colors of the city as it goes by swiftly, he frowns and spares you a side-eye as you dig around your bag—seeing your fingers slip out a book and lay it next to you before you flatten out the fabric of your pants. Nikto’s eyes softened gradually, but no one would ever notice unless they knew how to read him as perfectly as a midnight storm: trying to pinpoint where the thunder came from. He clears his throat and blinks, raising a hand to itch at his neck, pushing and pulling at the cover of canvas until his senses level out once more.

He enjoyed last night. Immensely. 

In his head, it’s all he can say about it without deeming himself a malleable fool. Some kind-coated idiot who hadn’t seen the betrayal that such a care can bring. Allowing himself to get emotionally involved is a death sentence, and Nikto was always pushing himself to be the perfect image of order. But with you, it was different, or, at least, that was what he told himself. The reminder of your sweat-heavy scent was firm in the back of his nose. 

The Russian’s body angles itself, and in a sure movement of his hand, his arm slips across your abdomen and steals the book at your side. 

Your attention darts up, your nice shirt pressed right up to your flesh as Nikto’s sturdy arm slides along it like a snake. You mutely watch him, your ribs being rubbed as all at once the man’s roaming grip leaves. Blinking, your heart beats a bit quicker as Nikto brings your book in front of him, tilting his head down to it as you watch. 

It was imperative that you remind yourself that having sex with the man didn’t make him yours. 

As you watch Nikto’s hidden fingers lightly brush the cover, your eyes follow the way he maneuvers the front to take a glance at the spine, seeing as the dust jacket is gone. 

“Crime and Punishment?” The Russian blinks as the car takes a right, slipping along the streets as the houses and buildings start to get more of a distance between them. Nikto looks over at you. “Fyodor Dostoevsky.” He pauses, keeping the book to himself as if trying to understand. 

“Aly recommended it,” your face goes heated at the newfound attention on you. “She read it in University.”

“It is good book,” Nikto hums. “Though, I found Notes From Underground more of an interest to me.”

“I’ll have to add it to the list,” you smile softly. “I’ve seen you read a lot when there’s time—do you like it as much as cooking, Nikto?” 

That seems to make him think, watching the Russian’s eyebrows pull in minute wonder. You wished you could understand what blue looked like…you were sure his eyes were beautiful. Especially when he was actively attempting to keep the conversation going. 

“We have not thought about it much,” he grumbles, flipping your book open to where you had placed a small strip of fabric as a bookmark—Nikto picks the thing up as he speaks. “Both are calming. Good distractions.” He looks at you. “I would not give rank, though there is a time and place for them.”

“Fair,” you breathe, shrugging. You lightly lean into his shoulder, and you hear Nikto grunt as his attention stays like a cat. “But I do have to say I think your cooking might be higher on my personal scale.”

A soft puff of air sneaks out of the mask and Nikto shifts his head down as you elbow the rough material of his gear playfully.

“Добро.” His tone is low, grating as every little ache from last night seems to flare in your muscles. “I…enjoy cooking for you.”

You stare at one another for a moment, getting lost in the intimacy of an open gaze, before you blink quickly and move back, chuckling as your body burns. Like a bird, if you had feathers, they would be puffed up by now. 

Nikto watches your fingers fidget in your lap as he twitches his digits against the cover of your book, setting it on his thigh as he spares a look at the driver. The man’s eyes are visible in the mirror, and when they lock, those dark brown orbs dart away as if on fire; blond hair cut close to his scalp. 

The ex-soldier watches the back of his head for a few moments, thinking. 

Hell, he would be lying by saying that he wasn’t on edge ten times more than he was before. Anyone glancing at you could be the person he’s after—it was maddening to the point of making him obsess over your safety to the tiniest degree. 

And yet, there had been no further texted images: no messages or dead birds. No bombs. 

Just that one.

‘I know what you did.’

Yes, Nikto thinks, sighing under his breath, you do know. But do you know what we did in that bedroom last night? Why don’t you come and punish me for it? Hm? 

“Pathetic,” the Russian whispers to himself, fingering the paper below him until he can peek at the next page to see where you were in the story. 

You turn your head from the window, watching gray trees finally begin making a permanent appearance. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Nikto mutters, attention-catching on that point he’d made to himself. Last night. He backtracks, lowering his voice until it’s only you who can hear—side glaring at the driver like a skittish mutt. “You are...” Pale eyes dig, pulling into a narrowed form as if your mind was the same as the book he holds open. Something to be read. “Adequate?”

Your brows pull in. “Why are we whispering?” You ask, keeping the same tone regardless as you lean closer again; both nearly nose to nose.

Nikto glares, but you can’t see his face beginning to slowly change shade. 

“We are asking if you are fit for the long ride.”

He sees your eyes blink slowly. “I’m fine…Why wouldn’t I be?” 

The Russian stays silent, openly staring without any discernible emotion in his eyes. You hear him take a breath, glancing once more at the driver, before leaning in further. He huffs sharply. 

“Are you alright after what we did—” A kiss is placed on Nikto’s hidden cheek as your laughs echo in his ear. 

You lean backward a bit, amusement leaking from you. Sparking eyes meet the ex-soldiers, frozen and taken aback with unmoving eyes. 

“I’m just joking, I know what you’re asking me,” you tilt your head, smiling as Nikto’s orbs dip to stare as a swirl of emotions moves in his gut. He swallows, unable to look away. “I’m fine,” you mutter, feelings softening to a bashfulness. “Nothing to worry about…I don’t break easily.” 

“Hm,” Nikto’s form returns to where it was previously, and you can tell he’s blushing, even if you can’t see his face or name the shade he would be. Yet, he’s still as blunt as ever as the smirk comes back into his voice. “...Are we sure, Птичка?”

“Bastard,” you huff, motioning with a hand as the Russian almost purrs at the dirty banter. Your finger points to him as you unclick your seatbelt, shifting so you can put your head into his lap similar to how you had on the drive here. Looking up, smug eyes stare down—your finger in his face making him want to grab at it as a dog does fresh meat. He still remembers how your skin tastes; he’s not too far gone to admit he doesn't like how he’s addicted to it. 

“You’re getting confident now.”

“We were always confident,” he grates through his accent. “You’ve given us something to battle your need to annoy me with.” 

“I like to call it teasing,” you smirk and Nikto’s leather gloves grasp at your neck carefully, making you pause as your eyes widen. Instinctually, you open the skin more to him, head tilting back and legs shifting over the seats to break open before you stop yourself with a small gasp.  

Those sand-paper laughs make your thighs close in on themselves as you glare weakly, face lighting up with pure embarrassment as Nikto’s fingers squeeze. You’re ashamed at the pulse of your core. A dog in heat.

There’s a face in your ear.

“One good fuck has you trained, hm?” 

“I’ve had better,” you try to hiss, one eye going to the oblivious driver. A second hand moves your book to the floor before it grabs at your thigh, going to pry it open with fat fingers. You strangle a gasp, biting at your lips as you squeak at the sensitivity. “Nikto,” you breathe in warning.

A palm cups your core, and you strangle the limb as the heel is rubbed against your clothed clit. He finds it with no trouble at all: already having you memorized.

You hear Niktto’s heavy breaths—his pulsing grip at your neck as you fight a whimper and your eyes flutter. Your pelvis starts grinding downward in broken stutters, and the Russian leaves his hand there, body completely hanging over you as he stares at the back of the driver's head, wanting to lick the flesh beside your ear, and for the first time, damning his mask. 

“Have you, yes?” Nikto wonders, words so steady no one would imagine what was taking place. “Hm. Maybe we will have to leave you alone next time, Little Bird. Get you to find someone else who gets you to scream like I have. Do you remember it?” 

Your panties are soaked, and the fluids leak out onto your pants as you continue to rut into Nikto’s gloved palm, back arching over the bulk of his thigh to push your body over his lap, getting a better angle as your guard follows. You listen, and Nikto’s getting harder by how your spine runs its vertebrae over his clothed dick. He jerks once or twice up into it, not above fucking you in front of someone else if this escalates any further. As long as you keep your eyes on him when you cum. 

He likes hearing the small noise you make as your orgasm hits.

Nikto breathes, finishing his sentence as you get yourself off to his palm like a good little charge, “How you pleaded for my cum inside of you, Seraph?”

Your cunt flutters, wildly sensitive from last night enough to a point where every grind of your hips felt like Nikto’s cock was still bullying its way in and out of you. 

“You cried, yes? As we were bouncing you up and down? How many rounds did that pretty cunt take as you took me so well? Four? Пять? Шесть? Oh, Птичка.” Nikto glances down at your work, smirking as his scars pull tight at the image of the slick over his glove. You were drenched—he almost felt bad. Almost. 

“No, we know better than to play with my meal.” He burrows his face into your neck, beginning to let his hand move up and down as your thighs shake, he knows that feeling—that little tell of yours. “No one makes that pussy as wet as I do.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes rolling back and your throat tight with the fight between rabid moans and curses. Have to be quiet.

Your flinching eyes worriedly darted to the driver, who still hasn’t looked back at the two of you at all. If anything, the idea of getting caught…well, your hand sneaks down to Nikto’s wrist, pushing him even closer as his smooth chuckles mar your eardrums. 

You whine under your breath as you force his palm into you, angling it just right against your clit before your eyes start to roll back in broken increments—lighting making your back arch and toes curl. There are tiny squeaks from the leather seats, but nothing else. 

“Good,” Nikto pants, rubbing his erection into your back. “Tell us we are right.”

“You’re right,” you hurriedly whisper to him. “So wet for you, Baby.”

His eyes spark, and he ruts a bit harder, making you stifle a squeak. “Say it again,” he orders, eyes glinting inside of his sockets.

“Baby,” you wince, legs trying to suck in his fingers as your thighs close and rub into them harder. “Nikto, Baby,” your teeth mark your lips heavily.

His shaky breath in your ear accompanies you as your eyes roll back and your spine arches, and, part of a sharp noise exits your mouth as your orgasm hits you, before the hand at your neck sloppily places itself over your drooling lips. 

Layers of electricity playing through your weeping cunt, you fight for breath out of your nose as your eyes glaze over, head partially hanging off of Nikto to the seat below as your legs slowly stop their thrusts. 

A minute or two passes before your guard leans back, taking his hands off of you and grunting in masochistic pleasure as the ache of his untreated erection still grinds itself into your back slowly—almost torture in the way it keeps him aroused and unable to soften. 

Nikto’s grip finds your stomach after he can feel his dick leaking out into his underwear, making a cold mess against his flesh. In a hidden idea, he pushes his hand down into you so he has a better angle to thrust against a firm surface, letting his head connect with the back of the seat as he fucks up into you with his flexing thighs and clenched jaw. 

Your eyes pull open to watch him, your mouth half open as your study of his panting chest falls to how you can nearly feel the way his cock drags. He doesn't care at all about anything else about how it feels to get off against you—it’s not as good as finishing inside of your cunt, but he can imagine the warm walls well enough as he begins to make cut-of groans in his chest. Using you like a doll, your wide gaze stays stuck on the sight like glue. 

“I am going to fuck you in your bed,” Nikto sighs, only telling himself as he’s still violently aware of the audience he keeps. “Use that penthouse as an excuse to lay you out on every surface. Yes, fuck you good. Keep you and your soft body pleased with every drag of my cock.” 

Yet, he’s less concerned with the driver’s eyes now that you’ve cum in his hand—his sex appetite is strong, just as his regular one is; embarrassment is a myth to him regarding it. How many times had he resorted to locking himself in a bathroom when he was in the military, just to jerk off while watching in the mirror as thick ropes of cum splattered his chest? How many sneaked sessions in his barracks until his eyes would roll back, and he had to grind into a pillow with the cold stains of previous loads making him moan?

As long as he could see your eyes looking into him, he could bust just by a touch at his crotch.

Nikto strangles a low groan, shudders violently, and then his thighs stop—sag, and he pants, going limp against the seat. The spurts of his orgasm leaves wet patches in his pants, and he can imagine it pooling, instead, out of your pussy as it should be.

The both of you lay in the sopping remnants of your insatiable lust, leaking out to one another, and only think about what you both can have once you’re back in Yekaterinburg and alone.

Maybe there won’t be a meeting with AMA or my mom, you think as Nikto rubs a thumb down your cheek—letting your eyes slip shut softly as your nostrils flare with every breath. He hums in satisfaction, petting your thigh as he massages your inner leg.

Maybe we’ll fuck so much we’ll end up forgetting our names instead. 

Hell, it didn’t sound like a bad idea at all.

—

Halfway through Nikto’s audible reading of Crime and Punishment—in which he sometimes lapsed into Russian rambles in the middle of a sentence—you shift against the seat and mutter out a question. 

“So, he’s going to try to get away with murder?”

Nikto pauses in his speaking, looking over from the page as his mask shines into the light. It’s a little past noon if you had to guess. “Да.” Nikto’s brows furrow. “We are four chapters in—have you just noticed?”

“You’ve been speaking in Russian for the last fifteen minutes.”

Nikto curses under his breath, glaring at you incredulously after he closes the book with a single hand. “Why did you not say?”

You smile slowly. “It sounded nice?” 

The man sighs out loud, bringing up a hand to push into the plate at his nose in a funny display of exasperation. A laugh makes its way out of your mouth, and you shake your head. 

“It’s alright—I don’t mind. I just like listening to your voice.” 

“Hm,” Nikto looks at you, huffing, but you can tell he takes it to heart by the way his shoulders sag a small bit. “You are strange, Woman.” 

“As I’ve been told,” you breathe, chuckling. “You’ll re-read it to me later?”

The Russian’s head tilts to the side. “In русский or English?” 

Your eyes glint, your smirk rising, and you let the question sit in the air until Nikto’s eyes pull in understanding the longer you stare at him. 

He hums deep in his breast, gaze molten heat.

“Русский, then. Да, I will not complain if you enjoy it, Птичка.”

You call out breathily as you stare into his eyes, “Thank you, Baby.”

Nikto’s spine goes rigid, and before you can snort you slap a hand to your mouth and level your head to the window, body shaking with muffled laughter.

“Нелепый,” the man growls out, pushing at the fabric of his crotch and shifting his abdomen as your loud snort slips out. “You are much too confident in your abilities now—”

The car begins to shake and the driver curses out loud.

Immediately, all teasing is cut like a blade as Nikto’s eyes slash forward: slitted. 

Both of your attention is locked onto the driver as he snaps in Russian, banging a hand to the wheel as your body pauses. 

“Nikto?” You ask the question under your breath.

Your guard slips forward in his seat, grasping the back of the driver’s seat and growling out a low question in his native tongue. He only looks over his shoulder to you after a long and heated discussion. 

“He says the vehicle is not acting correctly.”

“Not acting correctly?” Your face pulls, form getting more rigid as the car veers off the main road to the side, grumbling like an animal as the hood shakes. “Why? How? It was working just fine yesterday.”

“I do not know,” Nikto utters, eyes narrowing. He glances at you, tension growing in his spine. “Keep near us. Do not leave my sight.”

“Right,” you nod, ears twitching as the driver parks the car and gets out in a huff, barking expletives and waving his hands. A sliver of nervousness slips into your blood.

Nikto has a bad feeling. 

The hair on the back of his neck stands up as he pops the door open, hearing his boots hit the asphalt as he breathes out. Standing to his full height, he keeps the fuming driver in the corner of his pale vision, holding the barrier open for you and keeping you from the mostly vacant road as a car passes quickly. 

“Slowly,” Nikto mutters, grabbing at your arm to make sure your lack of coordination didn’t send you to an early death. 

You give him a small smile, and he stares for longer than he should before the Russian blinks, holding you away from open traffic—his body keeps itself nearest to the road as you both move to the hood. 

“That can’t be good,” you murmur with a raised brow as the driver smacks the vehicle, waving his hand in front of his face as a thin tendril of dark smoke mists through the air like a grim cloud. 

“No,” Nikto stares, his fingers sliding along the fabric of your shirt—curling just at the small of your back. “It can not.” His unimpressed voice carries over the area as another car passes.

You stare lightly after, knowing it’s the second vehicle that belongs to AMA just by the make and model; especially by the license plate. It carries a number of personnel—most likely Iakov, your stylists, and a photographer or two. The car sees that you’re stopped, slows, and also pulls off the road a large distance ahead. 

“At least we’ll have another ride if this can’t be fixed,” you comment as you and your guard join the driver, Nikto grunting in Russian with an order to stop denting the car’s frame. A sigh slips your lips and you stretch carefully—raising your arms above your head and hearing your bones cracking. “Won’t be stranded,” you end in a strained voice before you sigh in relief and relax.

As Nikto and the driver descend into clipped words, your phone rings from inside the vehicle. Blinking, your body is quick to shuffle the way back and snatch the thing out, retreating to the grass to the right of the scene and a small way away—it’s still easy to see how Nikto keeps an eye on you, however. 

With his comment yesterday about a new picture from the stalker, you weren’t keen on being away from him either. The thought makes your skin crawl, but you know you’re better off never seeing whatever the contents had been…you’d already seen enough of that freak’s ‘pictures’ to last a lifetime. 

Answering the call, you push the phone to your ear. “Seraph,” you say, half-facing the road and half to the tree line. Your drive back home had barely started—already you’d run into trouble? These last few months were continually stacking on top of one another for the top ten worst moments in your life. 

Galina’s voice pushes through. 

“Where are you currently?”

Your face loosens, brows twisting. “Driving back to Yekaterinburg now, we just ran into some car trouble,” you pause, seeing Nikto going to open the hood but being stopped by the driver, who seems to think he can do it himself without any help at all. “...Is there something going on?”

Nikto only breaks away in attention to look over to you every so often, his fingers twitching and shoulders wound up under all that gear. 

Why is he so tense? You have to ask yourself in curiosity before your guard’s head snaps to where others from the second car spill out, beginning walking to you three—coming to help like little trees down the line of asphalt.

Running your free hand over the back of your skull, as always, Nikto’s nervousness makes you tense; especially when he shifts his hand to brush his beretta like that. That dark void of a mask is permanently stuck giving you half of a glare, and you can perfectly imagine his jaw clenching.

But everybody here was trustworthy, weren’t they? 

Iavov’s shorter stature makes its way forward quicker than the others, calling out words that you can’t hear. He holds something in his hands, and it glints in the light.

Galina spares no chance to breathe between rapid clipped sentences. 

“Sergi has had to be released from custody—Yaromir and I have little concern he was involved in anything that resulted in harm to another. We can not keep him.” You had expected that; it wasn’t surprising. “But he mentioned something that I believe you should know before you return.”

“What is it?” Your voice is low, concerned as Iakov and the rest raise their words. Nikto barks at them in Russian to stay where they are as his eyes glint dangerously for no discernible reason. The driver shifts his fingers away from the hood as you begin shuffling closer as well, spine straight with tension. 

The air was alive with a cord ready to snap.

“He mentioned something about knowing a man who works at Allurement in an off comment when he didn’t realize he was being recorded.”

Your feet speed up to the car almost instinctively. 

“Who?”

“We were unable to push for a name. Sergi got far too nervous and shut down on us; there was little left to do. But there’s another thing.”

Heart pattering, you call to Nikto stiffly, seeing him only hold a hand out to tell you to not come any closer. You frown, disregarding the concern, and are now about five feet away from the car and eager to figure out what’s wrong with it so you can leave—you feel eyes on you, and in a paranoid moment, your vision darts to the approaching group of six. Closer now.

“Seraph,” Nikto grinds out. “Stay there. There is something that we do not like about—”

Galina’s continued explanation interrupts your Russian just as the driver gets the hood finally open with a loud call of victory. You blink, your fingers over the phone gripping the device like a woman strangling a knife while facing a home intruder. 

“Sergi was spotted disposing of multiple cameras by way of selling them off to anyone who would take them all over the city. We’re trying to track down the buyers, but we don’t believe the cameras were his to begin with. He’s hiding evidence for someone.”

There’s a bright spark that makes your eyes flinch shut like you’d been staring into the sun. Head snapping to the side, you cover your face with a heavy hiss as you halt in your tracks, stepping back as Nikto’s loud voice carries. 

“Seraph!” You startle, legs dragging across the ground. “Get down! Немедленно!”

“—There is reason to believe that Sergi has a close connection and a willingness to protect whoever is behind these events. Perhaps even the evidence from the explosion at the bakery was tampered with—”

The car bursts into an inferno just as Nikto’s body connects with yours.

Meeting the ground hard, the man rolls along with you as the air is snatched from your lungs and skin whipped by fire—the sound of screeching metal so loud that the resounding ringing in your ears is immediate as debris whizzes past your head.

In the exit of all air from your lungs, your phone is lost as you gasp sharply.

There’s a sting of pain across your face—in your arm as well as Nikto drapes himself over you with a firm bark of a gut-twisting curse, gripping and dragging you until you’re stapled to his chest.

Far above, the screaming and the sizzle of flesh all melt together into the image of a gray sun. Smoke wafts away on a slow breeze, and the body of a panting man above you is voided until null even as hands pull you from him to stare down at you—at the crimson blood that he can see in such vivid detail.

There’s only the sensation of him calling your name frantically before it all gets sucked into oblivion around pale, horribly panicked eyes.

TAGS:

@anna-banana27, @random-thot-generator, @midwesternwitchery, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @halfmoth-halfman, @alpineswinter, @blingblong55, @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, @kra-rino4ka, @caramlizedtomatoes, @strawberymilk,@frazie99, @homicidal-slvt, @develised, @crispyhusband, @cathnoneofyourbusiness, @ghostslittlegf, @generalcloudtraveler, @azsteris, @rvjaa, @creminemisinthehizzyforshizzboy, @comsyki

[mindmelter]

A Body Stealer Tale: Tourists

Nikolay was a muscular and tall man; he was doing his night jogging when he passed by a gay couple; they looked like tourists.

He noticed the two men ogling him, but he was used to guys ogling his muscles, so he didn't pay much attention and just continued jogging.

"Freeze." Nikolay heard one of the men say behind him. For some reason, he did, and for some weirder reason, his vision got blurred and his mind became foggy.

He felt like his brain was hit by a strong blow leaving him disoriented.

"I have to wear this hunk! Take a photo of us babe." Nikolay heard one of them say, he then saw the short, bald guy approach him and cup his sweaty biceps, "His arms are massive, babe. Flex for us, you dumb hunk." The guy ordered, and Nikolay did. While he stood there flexing, Nikolay couldn't form a single straight thought, but he still could feel something was wrong. He felt the bald man's hands grabbing his thick biceps while the other man was taking pictures of them.

"Done," The man with the camera said.

The bald man then turned to look at Nikolay and smirked at him, "You're so hot, thank you for building such a hot body," He said, putting a hand inside Nikolay's pants and cupping his cock and balls, "Soon everything will be mine, say it, you dumb hunk."

"Soon everything will be yours, I'm a dumb hunk." Nikolay said, his voice deep and robotic.

"Where are you going to put him babe? Do you want to bring him to our hotel?" The other man asked.

"No, I can't wait that much, I need to wear him right now."

"There's an alley right here, you could do it there. I will stay here watching the entrance."

"Thank you babe." The bald man then turned to Nikolay, who was still double flexing, motionless like a mannequin. "Follow me to the alley, these biceps are gonna be mine."

"Follow you to the alley... these biceps are gonna be yours," Nikolay repeated mindlessly, following the strange man to the dark alley.

Standing at the entrance of the alley, the man's boyfriend scrolled through the photos he'd just taken of his boyfriend with the muscular stranger. Two years had passed since they first found each other, and every moment had been an exploration, an adventure. This trip to Russia was no different—a celebration of their anniversary and their shared desire to wear men. His boyfriend had always been drawn to the rugged allure of Russian men, and tonight was the fulfillment of that long-held fantasy.

He was used to his boyfriend wanting to wear every hot man they came across, and he loved him for it. He could hear grunts and moans coming from the alley—the grunts belonging to the muscular man, and the moans to his boyfriend

He couldn't help but smile. This was their way to love each other; there was no other way for two body stealers to show love.

He smiled when he saw the hot hunk walk out of the alley with a sexy grin. "So? How do I look?" The man asked, giving him a double flex.

"You look fantastic, babe," He responded in awe; he stepped closer and gave him a passionate kiss. He pulled back and caressed his boyfriend's new face. "We should get back to our hotel, I can't wait to test out your new Russian body in bed."

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Christmas Morning (2)

Wanda X Natasha X Reader

Summary: Once the three of you eventually manage to get out of bed, it's time to open the presents, a small, velvety box with your name written on it waiting to be opened. 

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings/Tags: Pure Fluff, No smut. 

A/N: This is the second part to 'Christmas Morning'

Soft laughter filled the beautifully decorated living room as you all sat on the sofa together, your head resting against Natasha's shoulder as you watched Wanda go first to open all of her presents, a shy smile playing on her lips at the amount of them, your fingers playing with Natasha's absentmindedly.

"You shouldn't have gotten me so much..." She trails off, biting her lip as her gaze flickers over the abundance of wrapped up gifts, the Christmas themed wrapping being admired by the witch as she picks up her first present, her enticing green turning towards you both, smile still shy.

"Why? You deserve everything and more Malyshka," Natasha murmurs softly towards Wanda, creating a warmth to bubble in the witch's chest as she sits on the seat closer to the tree, her fingers itching to reveal the gift, a childish excitement brewing in her.

Once she met your loving gazes once more, she smiled at you a little more confidently now, her fingers delicately tearing away the strips of paper to discover what her gift was, a giggle leaving her lips at the gag gift that was in the box, the corner of your lips tugging up at the angelic noise.

"Really?" She chuckled out, her hands carefully pulling out the three stuffed toys that were in the box, her head shaking at most likely your antics as she revealed the three figures to you, Natasha's grin widening.

The redhead's gaze turned to your humoured one at the sight of the three of you in merchandise form, your avenger's title making it easy for you to find a funny gift like that to start the day off, your eyes drifting away from the alluring emerald to look over the soft figures once again, another laugh leaving you.

"They were just so cute, I couldn't resist," you reason, the witch looking at them with a soft, tender look, placing them down carefully on the sofa next to her and propping them up, a gentle expression taking over your face as you could tell she secretly loved them, the smile on her lips etched onto her face.

Wanda continued to unwrap her presents that yourself and the spy had bought from her, her smile growing wider and wider at each thoughtful gift, her red tendrils surrounding the wrapping paper that had made its way to the floor, gently floating them over to the rubbish bag you had gone to retrieve as you asked for her to wait before opening the last present from you and the spy.

Your gaze met Natasha's as you cuddled back into her side, her strong arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer, sensing your nerves as you waited for the witch to stop trying to figure out what her last gift was, the Russian's fingers tracing random patterns against your curves as watched the witch with you.

"Relax Krasotka, she'll love it," the Russian whispers at your ear, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple to ease your nerves, her fingers interlocking with yours, knowing how you loved to trace over the smooth skin of her digits and caress her knuckles.

Both of you observed as Wanda eagerly pulled away the wrapping paper, a child-like innocence taking over her as she smiles widely in excitement, her green that were overflowing with curiosity softening, her gaze flickering to you after realising what the present was.

"I love it," Wanda whispers, honesty lacing her tone as her gaze is drawn back to the photo album of the three of you, various pictures making her heart melt as she flicks through the pages. One of her favourites is of one Natasha took of the three of you sprawled out on the same sofa somehow, your body squished in between theirs as the film played on in the background, your face clearly indicating how tired you were as you slept in the awkward position, the witch looking at you with nothing but love in her eyes. Another one of her favourites was a recent photo that you had taken of the witch and spy in the kitchen, Natasha's hands holding onto Wanda's hips as they swayed to the soft Christmas music that played, unaware of you snapping the intimate photo of them both gazing longingly at each other.

After carefully placing down the present, she swiftly made her way to the two of you to steal a chaste kiss, expressing her gratitude and appreciation for all the gifts you had gotten her, the three of you unable to stop smiling as Wanda took Natasha's place, the redhead going up to open her presents now.

You let Wanda decide to sit in between your legs, your arms snaking around her middle as you propped your head up on her shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before letting your gaze wander to Natasha who found her section of presents, her heart unable to deal with the amount of joy bubbling inside her. She never knew she could feel so loved as you both gazed at her softly, her smile growing a little wider at the sheer happiness swirling within her and enveloping her heart.

"Wait, open the card last," you intervene when she picks the small envelope up first, her brow raising at you curiously before she obliges in your request, placing down the white envelope on the side out of harms way before moving onto another gift, her mind focussing on the way you share a look with Wanda, assuming there was something special in the card.

Once Natasha had gotten through her other gifts, her favourite so far being the personalised knife set, she let her fingers slide over the soft material of the envelope, her gaze moving back to you two and the smile playing on your lips.

"Should I be scared?" The Russian teases, a smirk playing on her lips as you merely chuckle, shaking your head playfully at her while Wanda leans further into your embrace, her nose scrunching up in that adorable way.

"Just open it Dorogaya," Wanda huffs out in a laugh, the spy then opening the envelope to reveal an old polaroid.

"Is that..." Natasha trails off, various emotions swirling in her eyes as tears build there, her eyes raking over the vintage photo of a beautiful woman holding a baby with a wide smile on its face, her head snapping up to the two of you who have tender smiles on your face.

"Yes," Wanda whispers, not wanting to disrupt the moment as Natasha looks at the polaroid of her and her unknown mother, her heart squeezing in her chest at the amount of effort the two of you must have put in to find a photo of the woman Natasha longed to meet and know about. The redhead flips the image over to see words scribbled in Russian, her fingers trembling as she translates them in her mind.

Moya malenkaya devochka (My little girl), Natalia Alianova Romanova.

Ever so gently, Natasha places down the picture and rushes over to you two to pull you in for an embrace, Wanda moving carefully so that all three of you could hold one another, the spy sniffing a little at the overwhelming feelings flooding through her, your lips meeting her temple as you pull her into your lap, Wanda pressing another to her cheek.

"Merry Christmas Nat," you whisper to her, her lips instantly meeting yours intimately, her mouth parting to say sometime to you as she pulls back but refraining from doing so, not wanting to spoil what was to come.

"I love you both so much," she murmurs whilst kissing Wanda, the witch smiling knowingly at the passionate undertone to her words, the witch stealing the spy from your lap and letting her sit next to her, motioning for you to go up and grab your own presents.

Whilst Wanda was subtly comforting the spy, her lips at the shell of her ear whispering soft words, you moved to the tree, pulling out the array of boxes the two of them had gotten you. Like a child, you simply went for the biggest box first, eager to know what the present was as your fingers tugged and pulled hastily the wrapping paper off, Natasha chuckling under her breath as your tongue peeked out of your mouth, your face drawn up into concentration as didn't know if it was fragile or not, scared to break the gift.

A genuine laughter surrounded the room as you found out that it was indeed another gag gift, the smile playing on your lips eliciting one from the other two women as you pulled out the Christmas jumper with the two of them on it, your hands sliding over the soft fabric to reach the shoulders to hold it up properly, allowing yourself to get a proper view of it.

"This is perfect," you chuckle out, eyes drifting across the different patterns that adorned the jumper as well as the two Avengers on the front of it, another laugh escaping you when you read the writing engraved onto it. "Have a Wanda-ful Christmas," your tone humorous as you peeked from behind the jumper to see Wanda rolling her eyes at your amusement, Natasha laughing with you as she kissed the brunette's temple, smirking a little at the gift she found.

After you had admired the sweatshirt for long enough, you moved onto your next present, and the next and the next until you had unwrapped everything you had, a pile of thoughtful gifts surrounding you as you smiled at the two women, starting to move towards them for another hug when Natasha spoke, stopping you in your tracks.

"You've missed a present Krasotka," the spy says, an indecipherable tone lacing her words as you tilt your head in curiosity, looking back towards the tree and crouching a little, noticing a small, elegantly wrapped box hidden near the back of the tree. You chuckled at their teasing comments as you bent down to reach the gift, your smile tugging up at the corner of your lips at the amount of effort they put into getting you all of these presents, your heart melting in your chest at their enamoured gazes.

"You didn't need to get me this much, you both spoil me," you say with a gentle tone, eyes noticing how Natasha takes a hold on Wanda's hand delicately once again, their eyes meeting for a knowing look before returning to your figure stood by the tree, the two of them taking in the sight, wishing it engrave it in their memories.

"We'll always spoil you Detka," Wanda murmurs, watching as your fingers take a slower approach to unwrapping this present, curiosity and interest swirling in your eyes as you peel back the paper, revealing a small, velvety box, your eyes meeting theirs, a swarm of butterflies taking over your entire body, heart beating wildly in your chest as you admired the delicate box.

Almost timidly, you carefully opened the lid of the box, a gasp leaving you at the breath-taking sight of the ring. A diamond was placed in the middle of it, gold tendrils wrapping angelically around the jewel, the radiant item causing the pounding of your heart to reach your ears as you took in what this meant, your gaze flicking to the engraving of 'Krasotka' and 'Detka' inscribed on the inner part of the ring before reaching the writing written on the roof of the box.

There were two lines of writing, your eyes noting how the first one was in Russian and the second Sokovian, your fingers trembling as you held the box, eyes meeting the two sets of alluring green trained on you, observing your reaction carefully as you tried to guess what the words meant, too scared to jump to conclusions.

"What..." Your word was barely above a whisper, scared to speak too loud and disrupt the tranquil atmosphere, Wanda and Natasha both smiling at you softly.

"The vyidesh saa nas zamuzh?" Natasha says whilst Wanda says the same thing in Sokovian, tears building in your eyes from happiness as your smile widens, warmth and affection filling your chest as you can't stop your gaze from flickering between the ring and the two of them.

"Will you marry us?" Wanda translates, confirming your assumptions, your smile breaking into a wide grin before you rush to crash into their arms, love enveloping the three of you entirely.

"Yes," you say with no hesitation, their arms wrapping securely around you, your body sinking into the hug as you were left speechless at the amount of overwhelming emotions swirling inside you. Their pleasant perfumes invaded your nose at how close you were, their soft arms encasing you against them firmly, your lips blindly searching for one of theirs as you poured everything into the kiss, hands coming up to cup their cheek to deepen the kiss, your mouth then moving onto the other immediately, their hands at your waist squeezing with the intention as if to tell you that they meant the words, your mind unable to process the sheer joy inside you.

"Yes?" Natasha asked, unable to wipe the smile of her face as her chest was filled with love and warmth, her lips pressing over yours once more, unable to stop herself as Wanda pressed another one to your cheek, you being able to feel how the witch's lips were pulled into a wide smile, her nose scrunching up in that adorable manner.

"Yes, a million times yes," you sigh out, nuzzling into their comforting embraces, not sure on what to do about the overwhelming feelings fluttering inside you, the only thing you were sure on being your love for them.

The three of you watched in awe as Wanda slipped the ring out of the box, encouraging you to offer your hand out for her, the ring perfectly sliding onto your finger as you wiped away the stray tear of happiness that spilt down your cheek, a soft, breathy chuckle leaving you as you snuggled back into their soothing arms.

"Love isn't a strong enough word to describe how I feel about you both," you murmur softly, your head pressed against Natasha's shoulder as Wanda's arm glides up and down your back, her head resting on top of yours as she kisses Natasha softly, both of their hearts melting at your confession, Natasha's fingers caressing the back of your head, playing delicately with your hair.

"There isn't a word powerful enough that truly expresses the love we share," Wanda whispers, the three of you manoeuvring sightly to make it easier to cuddle, the three of you simply wanting to relish in the intimacy of the moment as your limbs tangled together, lips pressing ever so gently against one another, expressing your love silently as you sink into each other, the world around you melting away. You were left with only the lingering touches of tenderness and care as you longed to remember this moment forever, the love swirling inside you undeniable and all-consuming as you realised this was where you truly belonged.

You only ever needed each other. 

[etherealily]

𝟡 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕤 // Nate Jacobs.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Darker. SFW, but discretion advised.

Part 1 : Whiplash

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 5 : Eighteen

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You should be grateful.

════════════════════ ⋆♠️⋆ ════════════════════

He wasn't supposed to text you. He was supposed to take the beating you'd given him for being a prick, like a man, and shut the fuck up about it.

But here you were, midnight, staring at the chat that had started it all.

'yo, u up?'

You rolled your eyes, going back to your scrolling.

'I hate seenzoners.'

You liked his message.

'That's so much worse.'

'The fuck do u want?'

Nate Jacobs sent a voice message.

You could have just ignored it. You could just block him. You could just… stop. But the allure was far too much. The urge of finding out what he wanted was too strong.

"Guess where I am."

He could've just texted that. No need for a voice message, but he was Nate Jacobs.

"I don't know, the psych ward?"

"You wanna know? You'll have to drive and follow my instructions, though. You trust me enough for that?"

Ha. No fucking chance. "No, I'm good, thanks."

"Oh, so you'll text me, but won't see me in person?"

His voice was oddly sultry, as if he'd either just woken up or hadn't slept for days. Most likely the second one.

"Bingo. Go to sleep, Jacobs."

And then he sent you a picture of him from the bleachers of your school's football stadium - how the fuck did he get in?

"C'mon, don't you want to see what our school looks like at night?"

Uh, yes. But with him? No.

"It's 12:05, ASSHOLE. No fucking way."

"This is the scene where you cave and meet me and we have a cute little nighttime school montage where we sit and talk about life."

You listened to that message a good four times before you stopped laughing.

"This is the scene where I block you."

"I will come over if you don't come to the school. Uh, y'know, if you want your parents to think you're fooling around with the QB."

"I will literally shoot you if you come within fifty feet of my house."

"Come. I'll make it worth your while."

Was it possible to hear smirks?

"I'm not coming, Nate."

No way he was actually at the high school. It was probably an insanely good edit.

"You will be."

The FUCK was that supposed to mean? Not like he could force you to show up.

"Wanna bet?"

"Sure. Fifty bucks says you show up to the high school tonight."

"Not blowing fifty bucks on anything, even if I do win."

"What's it going to take for you to come? Look, I-I know it's been weird, and I might've scared you, but that's… that wasn't my intention, I swear."

Yeah, his intention was just to show you what his blood looked like. You liked his message once more, rolling your eyes.

"Dude, seriously, I swear, I'm not like, a serial killer or anything. You can bring pepper spray, a taser, whatever, if it makes you feel better. I'm just- okay, fuck, you're right. Dumb idea, trying to convince you like this."

Wait, okay, good. That was good. He was getting the message.

Another voice message.

"I forgot who I was talking to. You leave me no choice."

"What?" No.

And then, you received a video. He was teetering off the edge of the top-most row of bleachers. With a gun at his head.

"Come on, Y/N, this is getting really sad, that the only way I can grab your attention is by almost killing myself."

"I don't care. Do whatever. Not falling for it this time."

═════════════════════ ⋆♠️⋆ ═══════════════════

"FUCK!", you yelled, as you found yourself running frantically through the school football field for the second time in two weeks.

You'd actually kept your word for a while, pushing out every Nate-related thought for a good night's sleep - you didn't fall for it.

Until McKay called and informed you that Nate wasn't picking up his phone - and that his last message was something along the lines of : 'Call Y/N if you don't hear from me in the next couple of minutes'.

He was deranged. Playing Russian Roulette with his own life was absolutely deranged.

"You actually showed."

GOOD, he was still alive, meaning you could kill him.

You didn't speak. That would simply complicate things, because then you'd have to look at him.

"Plus, you didn't flinch when you saw me. Think that's a win for me in the trust department."

You stood there, glaring at him as he jumped down from the bleachers, even doing that dangerously, as if he was a cat with nine lives, or he was playing a video game and would just respawn.

"You know, you could say something."

He wasn't getting impatient, though, like his tone was trying to portray. No, he was getting more amused. He liked this. He liked the fact that he got you to come to a basically abandoned-for-the-holidays-high school at midnight. He reveled in it.

"Like hey, Nate, thanks for convincing me to actually live a little for a change instead of staying cooped up in my house.", he suggested.

You punched him.

Yeah. You kept running across that field till you were close enough and you punched him right then and there.

You full-on punched him, shoved him back, slapped him, clawed at him. "Stop FUCKING doing this to me! STOP! You can't FUCKING do this to me!", you screamed, hitting him repeatedly on his chest.

He took every beating, and the fact that it seemed he was trying not to laugh just egged you on even more to actually kill him, make his nose bleed, make his head fall clean off his egotistical body.

Eventually, though, it seemed even Nate Jacobs had his limit. He grappled against your hands as he held them between both your chests, clenching his jaw. He wouldn't risk saying anything, seeing as your eyes were already burning with tears.

"You…", you cried out as he shifted his grip on your hands to only one hand, wrapping the other around you. "…Can't keep…"

"Shh, shh, I know.", he muttered as he rested his chin on your head. "Shh, I had to."

"No, you didn't."

He kissed your head, then your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, and stopped for a moment, hovering over your lips but not touching them, as though he was more scared than you were. "You know I did."

You wondered if he could taste the tears, whether he relished it. Knowing what little you did of him, he might have.

"I would've come."

"No, you wouldn't have. Shh." He was right, but there had to be some other way.

"You know what, sweetheart?"

It was sickening how he could do this to you and then use words of endearment against you.

"You should actually be grateful."

And that's when you noticed that he was actually gripping onto your hair, tightening it when your face didn't show any contortion due to pain (only contortion due to unbridled rage and the urge to stab him with your car keys).

"I usually hurt people to get what I want. With you, I'm hurting myself."

You fought the urge to say 'so fucking what?'

"You're not bleeding, baby, that's what you don't get. You're untouched, and safe, and not bleeding. Me, however?"

What was his point? That he was being a gentleman by scaring you half to death instead of having a normal adult conversation?

"I'm bleeding. I'm hurt. I'm in pain. But I'm still holding you."

He said it with exaggerated magnanimity, like he was doing you a favour, or something, like all your problems, trauma, worries, stress, had just disappeared because he was holding you in his 'big strong arms'.

"Then stop!"

"Neither of us wants me to stop holding you."

"I do."

He grinned, knowingly, with a subtle shake of his head. "No, you don't."

"Let me go."

"No."

"Let me go, Nate."

"Fine. Because you called me Nate and not Jacobs.", he nodded, letting go of you and throwing up his arms. "Don't hit me again."

"Was McKay in on this?"

He frowned momentarily, before realization swept over his face. "Shit. Yeah, no, he wasn't. I should text him, huh?"

Oh, now he was asking if he should be a courteous human being?

You watched him loathingly, as he typed out what you guessed was a half-assed apology.

'Sorry, McKay, I'm good, man. Chicks, y'know?' or some absolutely fucked up shit like that, to be sure.

"Done. Now, will you stop being so square and enjoy the fact that you're here at school at midnight?"

"What?" Enjoy?

"I'll bet this is your first time out at midnight period, let alone your first time out at midnight somewhere you're not legally supposed to be."

"Why am I here?"

The condescending look he gave you set your teeth on edge. 'Oh, poor, naive girl. Of course she doesn't even know why she's here. This is why I told her to stay in my grasp. She never listens.'

FUCKING ASSHOLE.

"You're my good luck charm. My good luck charm, but I heard you're fucking Shane. You can't be doing that."

The softness in his movements, the gentleness, it had either completely stopped, or entirely overshadowed the fact that he had put you through yet another nerve-wracking event that would raise your blood pressure.

Shane who, Shane who, Shane- oh. Shane.

Not so much fucking as went on one date with, but it was better for everyone if Nate thought you had already gone that far.

"Why not?"

"He's a punk."

"You're one to talk."

"Look, he plays defense. What if you're just, like, intensely fortunate? Can't have him sneak in a quickie before the game and then he's lucky."

It's like he wanted you to punch him again.

"He's on your team. You'll win anyway."

He shrugged, as though he could see where you were coming from, but was about to respectfully absolutely ruin your argument.

"I like to win."

"Not a team player, are you?"

"Never claimed to be."

══════════════════════ ⋆♠️⋆ ═══════════════════

He was so clearly getting frustrated with your lack of response - the initial dopamine and thrill of being a disgusting element of surprise by shooting/not-shooting himself in the head gone.

But what could you say?

You'd already ghosted Shane after the date had tanked, so technically there was no reason for you to still be here. The chances of a 'lucky quickie' were virtually zero.

And so, you just stood there, the two of you, with inexplicable rage pooling within.

Your senses were heightened, your emotions wilder than the crazed look in your eyes as he stood there, looking down at you like an adult looking down at their childhood toy. As if you were the naivest, most precious, pathetically adorable thing he owned, reminding him of a simpler time.

At this point, even a rabbit's foot had been treated with more respect than you.

And you hated every moment of it because it was thrusted upon you, just like the silence of the eerie, void-like field you two were in.

"Why are you like this, Y/N?", he groaned, with the nerve to sound tired.

You? Why were you like this? What about him?

"You're… so cold." His hands flexed as if they were about to move from your hair to your throat. "Just… let loose, please. You're the reason I'm winning, I'd at least like to get to know you!"

"Oh, so this is like, an interview? Is she good enough to be associated with me? You think you're hot shit? Dude, I- you gotta realize how fucked up all of this is."

You were practically pleading. Acknowledge your absurdity, Nate Jacobs, please.

"Hey, whoa, look, you chose to associate yourself with me. Not my problem, ok?", he spat back, clearly happy with the return of banter.

"I didn't choose any of this!"

"You requested to follow me after I followed you. You chose not to block me after I followed you."

"You're putting this all on me?"

That's what normal people do ; they follow people back! He was grasping at straws, but it still seemed as though he had an iron grip on them.

"There wouldn't have been a first time if you didn't care so goddamn much." Like he was mocking you. You almost screamed. You almost hit him. He was so nonchalant.

But that… rang true. However, the humanitarian in you was adamant that there was absolutely no one cold enough to shrug off a video of someone slicing so effortlessly into their palm and exposing their blood so unabashedly.

Well, except Nate Jacobs himself.

"But, y'know what, Y/N?", he said, clearing his throat, matter-of-factly. "That's all in the past. Because now, now, we're going to sort out this arrangement between us and everything will go back to normal."

Normal? Normal as in, both of you go back to being strangers? Unlikely.

"Arrangement?"

"How this thing is going to go. Before every game, you fist-bump me. You don't touch any other players whatsoever, Blackhawk or otherwise."

Great, he was policing who you could fist-bump now.

"I- you brought me here at midnight for this?"

"Uh, no, I brought you here at midnight for fun.", he replied, scoffing. "But since you wanted to be all violent and physical, I thought we should stick to business."

Did he mean to be this insufferable? Was it a bit? There was no way an actual human being could act like this, yes? There was no way anyone could think that this was a justifiable response to a genuine question. Right?

At this point, you didn't know anymore.

Nate Jacobs had officially stumped you.

"If I say okay, can I leave?"

"No, you cannot leave, but you definitely can go sit over there and think about your little attitude before I bring out the tequila."

He burst out laughing at your annoyed face, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulder in an oddly possessive display of 'familiarity'.

"Relax. Loosen up, like I said, and you'll be fine.", he snorted, and that was your only indication that he did not, in fact, actually wish to put you into time-out.

The insane man with a gun had a sense of humour, apparently.

"You brought tequila?"

"I told you, the whole point of tonight was fun and getting to know the reason I'm winning better. So, sit."

You sat, still glaring up at him. You must have looked absolutely fucking cute or something, because he pouted at you before reaching into a duffle bag you hadn't noticed before and whipping out two bottles of straight tequila.

"Body shots?"

"Jacobs…"

"I'm joking, I'm joking. You'll come around soon, though. They all do."

Great. That's brilliant. You'd been reduced from a stranger, to a bitch, to a joke, to now a stereotype. This was just spectacular.

"Why me?"

That question seemed to genuinely catch him off-guard.

Good. Now he knows what this past week with him has been like.

"Hm?'

"Why me? Why am I the good luck charm?"

"I don't know."

"You could just be a really good player. You don't know, you haven't gone a single game without it, so you assume you're winning because of it."

"The third game was the one you weren't there for. You must remember hearing about it, though? Most embarrassing game for East Highland, I swear. 34-nil? That was shameful. That's why I decided, fourth game onwards, I wouldn't have to risk it because I got you."

Shit. That actually made sense.

"Okay, now you tell me.", he began, slightly turning the bottle in his hand around and examining the contents, curiously. "Shane Crestin? Seriously?"

"What?"

He scoff-snickered, taking an impressively large gulp before answering. "Y/N, the guy's a tool."

Look who's talking.

"He asked me out after the game."

"So, he knows you're my good luck charm.", he said, quietly, like a king trying to figure out where his men's loyalties lay.

Did Julius Caesar have a girl who he gaslit in order to get her to watch him in battle because of superstition? If so, she'd have been the first to stab him.

"Of course he knows, you made a huge spectacle of it that first time."

"Oh, yeah. But still, what a bastard. Trying to steal my lucky girl and her luck like that."

You needed to do a lobotomy on this man, seriously.

It wasn't even like you could ask him what the hell that meant because that would just bring him immense amounts of joy.

"You're not drinking. Why?", he inquired, opening the second bottle and forcing it to your lips.

You frowned as you held onto it. "I don't drink."

"Oh, bullshit. Come on, drink, don't be a nerd."

"I said no, okay?"

"Wait, do you not want to drink around me?"

He was really going above and beyond to break the 'dumb jock' stereotype, wasn't he?

"I can't believe it.", he continued, leaning back on the bleachers as he watched your face. "After all this, you don't trust me."

After all this, he said, as if he had spent his entire life working solely for your benefit. Like a tired mentor.

"I mean, dude, this is like… such a bitch move, you know that? I'm just trying to be nice."

"I don't know what you want me to do, Nate."

"Uh, trust me? Thought we were cool now, Y/N. You think I'm going to get you blackout drunk then have my way with you? Rape you? Are you scared to be around me? At midnight? In a quiet, empty football stadium where no one would think to look for you?", he questioned, still holding your gaze as he lifted his bottle to his mouth.

The elaboration of that statement unnerved you.

"I don't think you're going to rape me, I'm just-"

"Just scared of the possibility?"

"Don't take it personal, but-"

"There's no other way to take it. You're all but accusing me of assault. I thought you were different."

Was that meant to make you melt? 'Oh, no, I'm just like everyone else in that I don't want to end up in a ditch somewhere, the horror!'

"Maybe I'm not.", you shrugged.

"But you came. Tonight. No one else would have. So maybe you're a judgmental bitch like everyone else, but you've at least got your stupidly huge heart going for you."

If you strained your ears, that almost sounded like a compliment.

"Uh, thanks?"

"Drink, Y/N. Please."

Oh, fuck it. You needed that goddamn tequila to shoot through you with a vengeance.

"There we go.", he mumbled, watching you. "Dude, look at you."

"Hm?"

"You're finally badass."

His eyes lit up as he saw your finger enter the scene. He chuckled for a moment. "I'm being serious. I mean, you've beaten me up, what, three times so far - once in front of the entire school - and now you're doing underage shots with me at night at school, which is like, two illegal things at the same time."

See, that's where the difference between the two of you lay.

He thought that was being a badass.

You thought that was being a dumbass.

══════════════════════ ⋆♠️⋆ ═══════════════════

"…So yeah. That's why I joined football, basically. Made me feel, like, stronger and more in control, I guess."

This asshole had just told the most human story, and now you had to see him as a person. The cunt.

You watched as he stood in the middle of the field, aiming and shooting at the banners that were strewn up all around the field.

God, he was so fucking terrifying.

How does he play Russian Roulette to bait you into coming one minute and then reload and shoot at banners like a child with his first Nerf the next?

"Control. Yeah, that tracks."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You want everything to go your way. You get pissed when other people do things of their own will."

"Can't argue with that.", he shrugged, as he turned his back to you and shot another banner, impressively shooting right in the centre of the 'O' in a 'GO BLACKHAWKS!' sign. "You know how to shoot?"

"No."

"You should learn."

"I'll get right on that.", you scoffed, as you observed your tequila bottle intensely, ignoring him coming back to rest his feet on the bleachers from your peripheral vision.

"Open your mouth."

"What?"

"Humour me."

"I've humoured you enough tonight."

"Please? Pretty please?"

You rolled your eyes, but opened your mouth. You had no idea what you expected, but it sure as hell was not him stuffing the barrel of his gun in there. You suddenly felt the tequila evaporating from your bloodstream as he slapped your hands away after you tried taking it out, like anyone would. Shit, it hurt. FUCK.

"Just relax.", he whispered, so soothingly that he might as well have been talking you through a panic attack. "There's nothing to be scared of."

Besides the hot gun you've got basically lodged up my throat.

Suddenly, the amount of danger you really were in began to materialize in your head. He was right. It was midnight. It was spring break. It was at high school. No one would think to look for you there.

"Are you scared?"

Oh, God. He was one of those freaks who got off on these things.

You nodded, not really knowing what else to do.

"You think I'll shoot you?"

You shook your head.

"Kill you?"

You shook your head.

"Then why are you scared?"

Honestly, it was the fact that he wasn't going to do either of those things, and decided to shove a gun down your throat simply for shits and giggles.

"You need more tequila."

WHAT?

You frowned, but nodded. Anything to get the gun out of your mouth.

He poured it straight from the bottle into your mouth, watching with sick satisfaction as you swallowed, and you realized that he was psychotically drunk.

"How's that? I do it all the time, y'know? Hot metal plus cold tequila equals the best fucking night ever."

Um, ew. No. But that would be super unwise to say.

"You shove a gun down your throat then take a shot?"

"One of my more dangerous drinking games, yes. God, dude, look at you. Like, you're so fucking uptight, loosen THE FUCK up!"

You were unsure how much 'looser' you could get - you were already going along with his 'dangerous drinking game'.

"I am!"

"Not enough. Not even close. You need more."

"We're all out.", you said, (thankfully) pointing at the empty duffle bag next to him.

"Oh.", he sighed, slumping down next to you and using the duffle bag as a pillow. "Just- I don't get it. What is it about you?"

"That makes you get suicidal?"

He snorted, softly. "That makes me so mad?"

"You're mad?"

"Not like angry-mad. I mean like… crazy-mad. Like I go mad around you."

Five-year-olds could explain things better than him, but, to his credit, he was shitfaced.

"Really? Thought you were born that way."

"I mean, last week? When I kissed you? I don't do that shit. But it was the only way to shut you up. I-ugh. It's you, Y/N. Just fucking up my brain, one game at a time."

"Oh, oh, so you being a psychopath is because I didn't show up to one game?"

"When you're constantly worried about someone needing to be there, you do crazy things. Like cut yourself. I would have done it, too, seriously."

"I know. That's why I came."

"So, we weren't entirely strangers, huh? You knew me a little, at least?"

"Uh, no, we were definitely strangers."

"Now? What are we now?"

"Uh… friends?" You didn't mean that. You wouldn't be his friend if it killed you.

"No, I think I'd know it if we were friends." Phew.

"So, you tell me."

"What? No, you've been in charge this whole time, you tell me."

He just said you'd been in charge.

One offhanded, sweeping statement, and he'd shifted all the blame on you as easy as pie.

How did he do that?

It was obvious what he was referring to: the fact that none of these interactions would have happened if you just hadn't given a shit in the first place.

The fact that every single move of his had been linked to you, in whatever this weird everybody (except you) ante, sketchy poker game he was playing was supposed to be.

And it unnerved you.

Because in some twisted way, it was true.

"Acquaintances."

"But we've kissed.", he reminded, diligently and unwantedly. "Acquaintances - and classmates, before you suggest that - don't just kiss."

"Dude, then what do you want to be?"

Shit. That was what he'd wanted all along. For you to ask in exasperation, to give you his interpretation.

"You know, just… an average relationship between a man and his good luck charm." He inched closer, his hand loosening its grip on the railing as if it was going to do something, but there was no more tequila to reach out for.

There was only you.

And reach, he did.

First, his hands were on your cheek, like they had been a half hour ago. Then, suddenly, they were in your hair, and his tongue was trying to coax your words out of you directly from the source.

And you just let it happen.

If anyone knew why you let it happen, you'd have loved to start a suggestion box.

But you had a funny feeling that the only person who knew why was Nate Jacobs himself.

Fat chance he'd tell you.

[v3nusxsky]

Hey, do you write for wandanat? If not that's totally fine but if you do I was wondering if maybe I could request one?

Maybe where Wanda and nat are already together and one night at an avengers party they spot reader and Wanda falls for them and so convinces Natasha to seduce and take reader home with them?

Hopefully with smut, and maybe with daddy nat and soft mommy Wanda?

Love your work soooo much, feel no pressure to write this❤️

One of a Kind 18+

*Authors note~ a) I wrote this exhausted so mistakes are mine sorry y’all. B) I know you guys are all excited for different things so I was struggling to choose what I should post, shamefully having an anxiety attack over not choosing the right fic. So to save the day my lovely girlfriend choose wandnat for tonight*

To requester, I'm sorry I took some artistic liberties here but I honestly couldn't help but write them as g!p I hope that's okay!!!

Trigger warnings~threesome smut seduction daddy and mommy kink g!p Wanda Nat fingering r receiving praise and degrading kinks choking semi public sex??

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

Wanda and Tasha really didn't want to come to this party. No. But as per normal Tony wanted to throw a party and showed off his wealth and success. Wanda opting for a stunning emerald dress and Nat going for a form fitting suit. Wanda hid her cock so well that Nat often found herself being jealous. But she couldn't deny that her girlfriend is absolutely stunning in everything and nothing.

You'd been invited by Fury as a way to introduce you to the Avengers. You'd be set to join the team soon, but no one but Fury or Tony knew. Nat spotted you first, a simple Maroon skirt tucked into a beautiful black pencil skirt. Your legs on full display and a few buttons undone to give a tasteful view of your cleavage to the public. Alone at the bar is how the story starts, a rather cliche but important fact. That was where under an agreement between her and her wife Natasha swooped in on you.

You'd be lying if you said she wasn't sexy and very alluring but you still don't quite understand why she's here wasting time trying to get you in her bed. No one ever does that. It made you skeptical of her advances and actively ignoring the way her voice alone caused your cunt to become slick. The way her voice deepened as her eyes drank you in almost got you. Almost. But your past caught you first, you ended up lashing out at the woman.

"No one's ever really shown an interest in me. I'm not the prettiest or the smartest or the funniest girl around, I'm just average." You almost whispered but the woman could hear the sadness dripping through every word. "So this cruel joke of yours. Just stop it! Because I know no one would ever want me especially when they look like you do. So just stop" your voice broke on the last few words before you fled the scene. Really how could she do this to you? You thought she was a nice person, but to suggest this and not mean it was obviously going to hurt. After all who in their right mind would want an inexperienced virgin when they can have anyone in the whole world?

"Hey, you're beautiful, and I'd gladly take you home for my wife and me to enjoy for the night, you just have to trust we want you in the way we say" she murmured to you a gentle handed rubbing at your back in an attempt to soothe the confusing outburst. Yet both women were no strangers to being used and abused by other people. "You mean it?" You were really speaking more to yourself but when she replied with a Russian pet name that slipped off her tongue, you were a goner, "детка, we've been watching you all evening, no one in this room has caught our interest because we've been focused on you."

A simple nod had Nat leading you to the table to introduce you to her wife. By no surprise, her wife was just as beautiful as the red head. You immediately felt like you were unworthy of their attention. "I um should say I've never, um" you stumbled over your own admission but you could see you had both women's attention. "It's okay детка we will take this slow and at your pace, we truly want to get to know you дорогой" she whispered to you over the loud noise of the party. The other woman who you learned was the Scarlett Witch offered you to come sit closer to the women as you all conversed over small things really, but you were now completely at ease with them, exactly how they wanted you.

Your head warm and fuzzy, you felt an electric pulse of a slender hand trailing your thighs. It appeared you were more sensitive with the alcohol but soon enough you were spreading your legs for the brunette woman with a little help from her magic. From there you exposed your panty covered core to her curious fingers. The woman seemingly unaffected by her actions and holding a conversation with her wife about how much of an asset you'd be to the team. You almost got away with it, almost, but a little whimper escaped you as she accidentally bumped your aching clit.

"Wans" Nat warned, "you best not be playing with the хорошенькая шлюха without me" she growled the last two words. Truly how rude of you both not to wait for her, especially after her work to bring you to them. "I'm sorry Natty, I just couldn't wait anymore" the woman replied and removed her fingers from your core causing you to release a very disappointed whine. "сейчас, котенок, о тебе хорошо позаботятся" Nat purred before gracing you with a kiss to your neck before taking your hand to lead you away from the party, knowing that her wife will follow behind you.

As soon as you rounded the corner the Russian woman immediately slammed your back against the wall and attached her lips to yours with ease. The need was pouring into the kiss as the brunette woman watched in jealousy. She wanted to be the one kissing you, dragging all the pretty nosies she possibly could, but then again watching her wife touch you was doing unspeakable things to her nether region. "Tashsa" Wanda whimpered feeling the tent begin to show through her dress. "Come котенок, mommy is getting impatient and daddy can't wait to ruin your pretty untouched pussy" Natasha purred leading you to the bedroom once again. Only this time she never got side tracked.

Perhaps you'd had too much, but from there it's hazy, how did you end up absolutely bare for two of the most wanted and famous women in the world? And most importantly why the hell did they have throbbing cocks just desperate for you to take them. The women wanted to do this right, they showered you in love and praises. The made sure to touch and caress every inch of skin they could. And only when your ready did they introduce you to more. "котенок, sort out mommy's problem you caused" Nat demanded, encouraging you to bring your head to her shaft, with another quick check in and some guidance you were now choking on her cock as she forced it down your throat. "Oh fuck natty, this throat is perfect, fuck a good cock whore for me oh!"

With a few strokes to own dick she enjoyed the show, you are a fast learner by the looks of it and she was now struggling to contain herself and refrain from doing all the filthy things she desired to you. Wands sensing her wife's impatience slipped from your throat allowing you to breath as Natasha guided you into a new position. With you now on your hands and knees you were able to suck off wanda and give Nat access to your untouched cunt.

She took it slow, letting you adjust to her size, Wanda telepathically sharing the image of you with teary eyes, choking on her cock as you let Nat deflower you. But soon enough you began to rock backwards in a need for something, yet you didn't know what. "Oh there she is, our flight little girl, a dirty slut for us to use. Oh you've made mommy feel so good котенок she's ready to treat you for all your work, you'd love that huh? Mommy to fill your petty throat with cum?" Nat teased keeping her thrusts slow, "and fuck you're so fucking tight котенок, if mommy doesn't hurry up daddy will paint your pretty pussy white instead."

At the pure threat, Wanda was thrown over the edge into her own pools of bliss, breath heaving as all she could do is mewl yours and her wife's name. You greedily sucked every last drop from her shaft, surprising both women with the fact it was your first time. Only when she was sure she'd finished cumming did she slip from your front and encourage you to slip onto your back so Natasha could see your face. The new position only seemed to encourage the red head, especially with Wanda dropping her head to your breast and skilfully sucking and licking the hardened peaks. She even managed to roughly tweak her wife's right bud causing you both to cry out together.

The gasp you let out when Nat brought one hand from the bed to your throat was something both women wanted on a loop, experimenting with a bit of pressure they discovered a kink for you. "Oh Natty she liked your hand as her necklace. Oh darling is your head all fuzzy?" A broken confirmation left you as Natasha picked up an almost animalistic pace of pounding into you. And when your cries became to loud Wanda guided you to her breast, allowing you to suckle and nip her sensitive skin and effectively soothe you at the same time.

When Natasha came in long spurts of sticky white cum you honestly had no thoughts other than both the women. You lost count of how many times you'd been forced over the edge and just how long you'd been here, but now you didn't care. What a first experience to have. Oh but you weren't done, they immediately started to clean up and look after you, offering food water and cuddles. You wanted to talk, what could this mean? You'd slept with married women? Was it a fling? You hoped not. And Wanda heard all those thoughts and settled you into bed between the women with promises of talking about everything when your brain wasn't still in sub space. You'd be needing a clear mind to decide if you would join the relationship as a third party. But for now, you all slept.

Word count ~ 1839

[beautiescutieshoties2]

💕Valentina Grishko💕. IG valentivitell

[bitten-fruit]

Houndtooth | Chapter 1 ⇨

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut

You're a diamond in the rough, the prized possession of your Russian oligarch husband. You cover your eyes and ears about where his money comes from, but you know it involves blood.

Until you're abducted, imprisoned, and interrogated by an assassin in a skull mask. Forced to cooperate or face the mouth of an uncaring gun - you turn to espionage under duress from SAS operatives, motivated by the faint possibility of being given the chance to finally go home.

Ghost hates you. He hates the beast you rile in him. He hates that he craves you.

18+ mdni - cw: below the cut - 2.2k words

Hello loves, a brief intermission from me (quick I promise) - I thought it would be fun to cross-post my Ao3 fic Houndtooth on tumblr. It is still in progress!

Needless to say, this fic comes with some major content warnings: implied SA (not by Ghost), drug addiction, waterboarding, and heavy physical violence.

Reader insert goes by her alias, Mia, a name she invented to protect herself in her previous profession.

𝐈. 𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐫

​If I cannot be feared, I must be loved.

There’s something special about you. 

Something sickly. 

Your body, your lips, your eyes. Bait like dripping entrails in a loose twine net; dragging bloody along the wooded, overgrown path of your life, and luring ravenous carnivores to your trail around every bend. 

It’s something you’ve grown accustomed to, expectant of – that lecherous scrutiny, from any man you have ever met, or ever might. Used to the huffing snouts that suck in the vapour of your beguiling skin, tonguing it like they might ever get to take a bite. 

Offering mouthfuls of yourself is the only way you have been able to keep them at bay. Appeasing when necessary. Rebuffing only when you can be certain that your extermination will not be the consequence. 

Sometimes they gnaw at you anyway. Sometimes their canines sink rapaciously into your soft flesh, popping through your skin like it’s the velvety hide of a peach. They drink the sweet pink syrup until you’re bled dry, careful to spit out the cyanide core once they've finished. 

Until that poisonous pit, coated in the stringy viscera that those teeth had missed, was all that was left of you. 

So, when your husband found you, dressed as the hound-bait character you played along the redlight strip, you were allured by the promise that he might plant you again. Maybe, with his exorbitant riches and clandestine occupation, he might water you and fertilise your soil, he might let your pit sprout into a sapling. Maybe, your branches might blossom again. 

When he expatriated you to Russia, his snow-blown motherland, you imagined yourself a Tsarina; jejunely clinging to his arm like you might fly away with him, carried to an undefiled paradise as though he were your archangel and you his rapture. 

That was the last time you loved him. 

One step off that jet, the first leap with your exuberant paw; there was no paradise, no utopia waiting for you. Landing hard on icy cement, your husband was quick to stifle your lament. Offered you oxycodone like pebbles of dogfood in the palm of his hand, swearing you an unending supply – his remuneration for your services, whose nature you were not yet privy to. 

But those opioids were your wage. 

They were your shackles, too. 

Even if you managed to outrun your paralysing addiction to them, it didn’t take you long to be tackled and smothered by your intemperate dependence on your husband himself. 

On his status, on his money, on his reputation. 

Without, you would have been long used and discarded, tossed hollow and floppy like freshly flayed doeskin; exsanguinated by the very men he colludes with, the very creatures that slither into your home, that sit at your table and speak puzzles in their Cyrillic tongues. 

The very beasts who your husband endeavours to entertain and indulge with your presence at his side – a glittering trophy, or a ripe fruit, juicy and plump. He holds you in greedy hands and brandishes the shine of your skin, he polishes you with a firm palm on your ass, he boasts his possession of you with a hot tongue on your cheek. 

The prize they can never win, that’s what you are. The meal they can never devour. Only his teeth have the privilege of gorging on your supple flesh. 

With your English passport long stolen from you, you are left with no option but to be grateful for that fact – that your husband does not whore you out to his compatriots, does not sell your body for some other man to graze on or to pick at, like you used to do yourself. 

That is one of the few reprieves he offers you. 

Protection. 

Maybe, if you had never met him, you would have eventually crawled out of the chasm that your previous life had sunk to. If you had never met him, you might have found a way to break free from your dependence on those poppies. If you had never met him, you might have found worth for yourself beyond the coins hungry men would offer you in exchange for a taste of you. 

But any hope you may have had in those days is a distant, futile memory. A bittersweet daydream you sometimes venture to. 

Frozen in your sordid reality, you’ve no option but to indulge him. 

To oblige him, whatever he wants from you, you play the role he carved out just for you to fill. You massage his neck after a long day. You listen to his broken English as he does his best to explain what had happened at work, in as little detail as possible, in an effort to shield you from the truth of his profession. You swallow his cock when he asks you to. You pretend to let him satiate you all the same, a professional actor you are – you sing those moans for him, when he licks you, when he fucks you, when he pledges to impregnate you. 

He doesn’t know you’ve got a copper coil in your womb. You tell him there’s something wrong with his come, he doesn’t believe you. He sends you a doctor, and with his money, you pay them to lie. 

That’s the other perquisite, one you can’t belittle. 

His money. 

His mountains, mountains, mountains of money. 

None of it tangible, no real cash, no paper stacks tucked away in places any brave burglars might be able to find it. All of it digital, little numbers, binary code hidden behind so many layers of encryption it’s a wonder it can be counted at all. 

But there’s never a need to count it. All you know is that it is unending. 

He lets you spend it how you like, and there’s no amount of expenditure that could ever put a dent in his wealth large enough for him to notice. 

Still, the prince, he imprisons you in his castle. You can throw invisible money at whatever your bored and inebriated heart might desire, any priceless art, any extortionate car, any lavish designer shoes – and it means nothing. It fills no void. There’s nobody to show it off to. 

It appeased you, at first, after your stint of homelessness, then your weeks living in a dim red brothel, until he found you. When he offered you such a nauseating amount of money as payment for your salacious dance, that you felt your knees buckle beneath you at the sight of it. When he took you shopping and bought new lingerie to decorate you with, when he carted you giddy to his private jet. 

All too good to be true. 

And it was. 

Too late now, anyway. This is the hand you’ve been dealt; you play your cards as best you can. Close to your chest. Who knows when you’ll fold. 

You lean over the marble vanity, the harsh, downward lighting of the gaudy ensuite carves out the divots and lumps of your face that are typically imperceptible. 

You used to think you were beautiful. That’s what everyone told you. 

But watching your husband’s cold semen trickle down your décolletage, saturating and staining the invaluable lace and silk chiffon of your rosy babydoll, drying flaky on your skin – you can only see lipstick on a pig. An ugly little creature, destined for the slaughter. Your belly waiting to be made into crackling, your ass into bacon. It won’t be long now. 

You sense that you are beginning to overstay your welcome. What had once been pliancy had now turned stiff and sharp. Any sweetness you once felt for the man who swept you off your feet has since coagulated into bitter milk, too lumpy to swallow, so instead, you spit. 

The contempt inside your husband has been bubbling, fermenting. You can see it, and feel it, and taste it. He made it known to you especially tonight, fucking you with the brutality of a rabid animal, clutching and clawing, tugging and throwing, biting and beating. Painting you with his come to humiliate you, to degrade you, to remind you what you are, and always will be. He got some of it in your eye. 

There’s a bruise on your collarbone. It’s not the first he’s given you. It won’t be the last. 

You wipe away the crusting fluid with an opulent towel, dampened with warm water; lush white cotton turning creamy and black as it cleans away the come and mascara. You use it to dab clean your negligee. It’s your favourite one.  

Clink.

Your ears perk. 

Clash. 

Frozen on your feet, your head darts to face the door to the ensuite - heavy and ornate, it sits ajar. Last you checked, your husband was asleep, snoring like a fucking engine. The silence that follows the peculiar noise is what unsettles you most. 

Maybe it was him reaching for the pills on his nightstand, or readjusting the eiderdown duvet he sleeps under. But you’d expect a grunt, at least, some huffs of complaint as he was forced to do something for himself for once. 

Instead, quiet. 

You know that your husband keeps guns around the estate. Both figuratively, in the forms of armed and well-paid sentries that roam the grounds and stand guard by the doors. And, literally. A pistol in the kitchen, a shotgun in his cupboard, an assault rifle under the coffee table. 

And, you remember, a Beretta under the sink. 

With quivering and cautious fingers, you reach for the brass handle of the drawer. 

“Милый?” Sweetie?

You utter it softly, hesitantly, sweetly. He once told you your accent sounds native when you pamper him with pet names. English is your first language, Russian now your second. He doesn’t know how much of it you can understand. More than he believes. 

But there is no answer from him. Not a word, nor a groan, nor a snore. 

“Все ли в порядке?” Is everything alright?

Your careful fingertips dive into the drawer, momentarily peeking down to find the black metal. A pant of relief jumps from your throat when your fingers find it, that cold handle; you take it in the palm of your hand, it moulds to your grip like it was made for you. 

He showed you once how to load it. 

You remember. 

You clutch the slide with a harsh grip, tugging it back, click-snap. 

The safety is off. You’re not that stupid. 

“Дорогой?” Sweetheart?

Calls turn to pleas. 

You know vaguely the line of work in which your husband is a kingpin. You know it most likely involves bloodshed. 

And, so, you guess it involves fucking people over. That it incites vengeance. That it creates martyrs. 

Normally, the guards help you sleep, their thudding boots and murmuring chatter keeping the retribution at bay. 

Why is it so quiet? 

Thud.

Creak.

Now you resent yourself for calling for him. You’ve made your position obvious. You’ve handed yourself on a platter. 

Perhaps you can sneak to the hallway. 

Or, perhaps you can simply check to see if it’s your husband, skulking around your bedroom and choosing to silently ignore you out of spite. 

So on your bare toes, you glide along the glossy tiled floor, pit pat, pit pat. Feline fingers clutch the edge of the door. You gently draw it open, ever so slowly, the golden hinges moaning quietly at their awakening. 

You hold your weapon by your side. You keep your finger off the trigger. God knows what you’d do if you shot your husband by accident. You might be better off just turning the gun on yourself, in that case, rather than be left to the dogs. You know what their teeth would do to you. 

The bedroom is dark. 

The silvery glow of the moon is the only source of light, bar the dim orange now emerging from the open ensuite door. Your kittenish shadow stretches out before you onto the velvety carpeted floor, your shape carved out even through the sheer fabric of your negligée. 

“Не двигайся, черт возьми.” Don’t fucking move.

Your breath lodges in your throat, wedged in your trachea like you had swallowed a jagged rock. 

Not your husband. 

No, that voice is far too deep, too grumbling, too threatening. 

So who? 

“Кто ты, черт возьми?” Who the fuck are you?

You hiss it, a growl, though only the kind a snarling little chihuahua might spit out when touched by an overbearing hand. 

Hidden from the moonlight, the figure prowls through the shadow. Towering, imperious, that silhouette renders you frigid - you swallow as much oxygen as your stiff diaphragm will allow you. Not much. 

Four red beads of light stretch in a line where his eyes should be, reminiscent of a hunting spider; high enough off the ground that it might be crawling up the walls, hanging from its silk, ready to ensnare you. No, that’s just how tall the beast is as it stalks you. 

The glint of the moon reflects off the glistening barrel of his gun. Gun feels like an understatement. It’s immense, black. Machine more fitting. Pointed at you. Coaxing. Warning. He gives it a shake. 

“Брось этот крошечный пистолет, шлюха.” Drop that little gun of yours, slut.

The more he talks, the more you doubt. His accent is weak. Not a Russian. 

“Чего ты хочешь, мудак? Деньги?” What do you want, asshole? Money?

He scoffs. Arrogant. Scornful. 

“I don’t want your fuckin’ blood money, you evil little bitch.” 

English. 

Explains the accent. 

But, you’re left with more questions. One, what the fuck? 

“Drop the gun. Or I might get your blood on that pretty dress.” 

You hesitate. He pounces. 

“Сейчас!” Now!

Next chapter ⇨

[constantinerkives]

PAIRING: Yoo Jimin x Fem Reader _________________ WARNING: Mafia AU, gang AU, organized crime, dark Karina, age gap: Karina is in her early thirties while you are in your mid-twenties. Separation of parents, power struggle, corruption, home invasion, blackmail, E2L, TENSION, I made Karina half-Russian so-*gunshot*, but please, let me know what you think of half-Russian Karina - it's for research purposes, usage of Russian endearment, betrayal (not from Karina), Karina is slightly obsessed with OC, OC is reckless but dangerous, suggestive at the end. _________________ SYNOPSIS:

I hate you," You breathe into her mouth, your thoughts are muddled by nothing but her. Her scent, her abysmal eyes, her beautiful black hair, her devastatingly gorgeous face - all of her.

"I hate you so much that I can't think of anything else but you."

Karina chuckles and softly pecks the skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as her hands caress your body.

"If that's the case," She rasps against your skin, and you softly gasp as she squeezes your hips.

"Then give me one night to convince you otherwise, my love."

_________________ WORDCOUNT: 10, 214 _________________

A/N: Sorry for making you all wait this long, my exams were in the last week of May and due to the uncooperative weather - were moved to the second week of June.

Thank you for waiting. Enjoy reading!

And also because:

You asked, I shall deliver

Russian-translated words are here.

Dynasties are a succession of people from the same family who play a prominent role in business, politics, or another field.

And like all dynasties - they fall. Either by sickness or by each others' hands. 

In your family's case, however. It's the latter. 

Greed and ambition can make a man overlook crucial things, such as researching land in Tuscany before seizing its valuables and burning the farm. And as for the valuables in that mansion, most of them were sold, some were kept, and the rest were disregarded. For months, your family made a fortune out of it. 

It was only when masked, tall men broke into your family's vacation home, killed all the guards, and forced you to kneel beneath the barrels of their guns. 

Your watch from the back of your parents as your assailants part to make way for a woman, her face covered by the shadows, but you see her eyes. Black and devoid of warmth. 

"Who are you?" Demanded your father, "And how dare you attack my family in my home?"

Silence permeates the air. The woman spoke: "Hae Jinwon," Her voice was alluring yet sharp. There was a noticeable rough accent in her tone. "Capomandamento of the Haewon Clan." She mused. "Who the fuck are you?" Your brother spat beside you. The woman moves her gaze from your father to your older brother, Hae Jinyoung. "It was you, who led your father's men to my property in Tuscany, am I correct?"

"Yeah?" He challenged, "And what about it?"

"Ublijudok," She sneers and points the gun at him. 

Your eyes widened as your parents spat out cries of panic while Jinyoung visibly pales at the sight of the latter's gun. "Fools," She jeers as she redirects her aim and pulls the trigger. Your ears ring at the sound of her bullet wheezing past you and hitting one of your mother's vases, shattering it; pieces of ceramic fall on the floorboards. Your skin prickles at the sound as the woman points her gun at your father. 

"Do all of you have any idea how many enemies came into my home at this hour and threatened my family?" She snarled and walked forward, allowing you to see her face - beautiful and twisted with wrath and contempt. She wore an all-black attire, an overcoat, a turtleneck, trousers, and boots. Your eyes trailed to her gloved hand where she was holding a gun. "For months, we were hunted like animals." She grimaced, "And when they had their fill, they left us to rot. But I refused my family to succumb to that state and found the fuckers behind it."

She circles your family like a lioness examining her prey before killing it. 

"It's insulting," She scoffs, "To have everything I built destroyed by a minor family and reaped our benefits." She stops behind your father and digs the muzzle against the back of his skull. "I should kill all of you right here, right now." The perpetrator growls and applies pressure against the trigger.

Your ears couldn't register the cacophony of your family's panicked cries. Only you remained silent, watching with wide eyes as they struggled against their bindings while they plead for their lives. And she cackled - the perpetrator cackled. "That's right," She mused sickly, "Beg for it - your lives until no one understands what you all are saying." She moves in front of Jinyoung and crouches to meet his gaze.

"You're the oldest, right?"

His lips quivered. The woman was losing her patience and glowers at him. "Answer me, svin'ja." 

Jinyoung gulped, "Yes," 

"Then that means you'll take over once your father is out of commission, yes?"

"Yes?" He answers tentatively. 

The latter hums, "Do you know who I am, Hae Jinyoung?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The woman clicked her tongue, "Answer me immediately, boy." She pointed the gun at you, and you flinched. "Or else your sister's brain will be riddled with bullets." 

"No!" He exclaimed, "No, I don't have a fucking clue who the fuck you are-"

She hits him with the butt of her gun, silencing him as your father exclaims. "Jinyoung!" He roared, "You bitch-"

"We're done here," She declared, and her men vacated the house one by one - except for her. "Why spare us?" Your mother questions. The woman didn't say anything at first as she moved her gaze toward you and answered:

"Because it'll be too easy. You took away my family's foundation - so I shall take away yours." A cold smile settles on her lips, "And finally, we're even. What's the fun of ending it quickly when you can leave them alive so they can suffer for it?" 

None of you made a sound, and she took it for her cue to leave. 

She didn't return after that. 

But true to her word, your family did suffer for it. 

Enemies came left and right. They robbed your family of its treasures, stole opportunities from the Haewon Clan, and even turned your people away from you. It got to the point that your parents separated. Your father kept your brother. He was the heir: while your mother took you. You never saw your father or your brother ever since. You thought that you'd turned over a new leaf, forgetting that humiliation that left you seething with anger and resentment for your father's stupid choices and for allowing his greed to put you and your mother into that position. 

But no, it remained. 

Evidence of that showed when your grandfather - your father's side of the family visited you at your university when you were nineteen. 

"Excuse me," You blinked at the older man, "You want me to go where?"

"Come back to us, Y/N." Your grandfather coaxed. You scoffed at him, "And do what?" You demanded, "Is my older brother not good enough to lead this god-forsaken family?"

A wry smile graced his thin lips, "Yes," 

You paused, "What?"

A sigh left his lips, "After returning from Italy to fix the mistakes my son and your brother made. I've concluded that neither is fit to lead the Haewon Clan." 

You knew where this conversation was going. Yo arched a brow, "And you think I can?"

"An old man can hope." Another scoff of disbelief leaves your lips. "Take your hopes with you and leave, grandfather." You sneered, "My mother and I want none of them." Without another word, you walk past the latter with a dark expression. 

"Don't you want to settle the score?" He called out. You stopped. 

"Don't you want to get even with the family who did this?" He added, and you ground your jaw so hard that you thought it was going to break. You balled your hand into fists and peered over your shoulder, "What makes you think I'd be interested?"

You didn't move as he made his way to you, "Your eyes say it all, granddaughter. I don't have to explain it, do I?"

You turn to him. Your expression was unreadable, but your eyes burned with vindication. 

"Under two conditions."

His eyes light up. "And what's that?"

"Allow me to finish college, and in the meantime - teach me what I need to know." He furrowed his brows, "Wouldn't that distract you from your studies?"

"I'll manage it," You snapped, and he nodded. "Alright, what's the other one?"

"I won't take your name." You tell him firmly, "I refuse to be associated with the name: Haewon. Instead, I'll take my mother's last name, Han." 

"Very well," He gives in, "Y/N Han." 

And for years, you rebuilt what your family had lost: money, security, fame. While you repair your foundation, you bid your time into researching the family that destroyed you and retaliated. It was small at first until you began stealing their clients, information - all of it. One by one, you stole from them. 

It's only a matter of time before the new capomandamento takes matters into her own hands and captures you for your deeds against her family. 

Upon further research, the family you're holding a vendetta against is a Russian-Korean family named the Zakharov Clan.

And their two children - Ilina and Karina Zakharov.

Ilina, the woman who broke into your home, died three years ago after one of their men turned against her in an attempt to start a coup by shooting a bullet to her head. But he was swiftly killed by her sister - Karina, earning her Ilina's status and authority as the new capomandamento of the Zakharov Family a week after her sister's burial in Moscow.

Karina is fifth-generation old money. Her family is a mix of Russian kingmakers that made a fortune importing illegal goods during The Great Depression in 1929 and later established a globe-spanning empire in organized crime. A family long since retreated from public view, but their dominance endures to this day.

"The only gap we have in that family is that we don't know anything about the Zakharov's new capo." Your consigliere admits with a sigh, "No photos, records of any kind. Just the name."

You put the dossier down and locked eyes with the latter, "That's good enough for me, Kazuha. Send out the invitations."

She looked apprehensive, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," You tell her with finality. "I've made my move. I will await hers."

Kazuha didn't say anything as she took the dossier, "Before I forget, someone sent you a package." You arched a brow, "A package? What sort?" She shook her head sideways, "I didn't open it."

A hum reverberates from your throat, "Where is it now?"

"I sent it to your room, and before you can ask, it didn't have a return address. I suggest that I open it while you watch." You guffaw, "And I thought you were just a consigliere, not my guard."

"You are my employer and my friend, Y/N." She insists, "And I've made a promise-"

"To my mother, I know." You finish for her as you stand up. She follows your example as you gesture a hand toward your door. "Lead the way, Miss Nakamura."

"It's a dress," You mused as you stood beside her, your eyes lingering on the top cover. "From Givenchy. Is it from Jaehyun?"

The younger woman furrows her brows, "That man can't pick a dress for you to save a life, Y/N." She closes it, "Perhaps he asked a stylist to pick it for you." You hum and gently take the box from her and open it to see the dress. It was a black one-shoulder draped dress in crepe with a fluid skirt and a long slit in the front. "There's also a jewelry set," Your consigliere mused. Your eyes moved to the jewelry box nestled within.

"Jaehyun must've paid extra for these," You remarked as you carefully put the dress down and opened the jewelry box. It contained a necklace with golden-finish metal links and a bracelet in golden-finish metal with Swarovski crystals.

"Return this to him." You put the dress and accessories inside the box and turned away from the gift.

"I already have a dress in mind for next week's gathering." You tell the younger woman as you walk past her.

The first time you met her, she played you at your game. 

Music plays through the speakers, accompanied by cheerful yells and self-indulging conversations as you watch all of these play beneath you from the elevated interior balcony of the venue with a glass of champagne in your hand and your consigliere standing to your left, her eyes sharply examining the attendees of the event. For tonight's event, you wore a black deconstructed cape cocktail dress featuring slashes, lapel detailing, and two flap pockets on the sides, finished with a single-button fastening and heels. 

While Kazuha wore a navy blue monogram shirt dress and boots. 

She leans close and whispers through the blaring music, "How would you know if she's here?"

You take a swig before replying: "People talk big about themselves in events like these, Kazuha. One of them is bound to slip." 

The younger woman blinks at you, "You don't know?"

You flash her a grin before descending the stairs. Kazuha follows your figure with disbelief etched in her graceful features. "Y/N, this is dangerous-"

"Jaehyun!" You call out as you see a familiar towering figure donning a two-piece suit and black hair conversing with a group of benefactors. The man turns to you and grins, "Y/N," He then looks at his audience and excuses himself before coming to you with open arms, his double-breasted blazer wrinkled. "My - you look delectable!" 

Once you're at arm's reach, he takes your hand and kisses the back of your palm. "To what do I owe the pleasure of having your attention tonight?" He queries as soon as you retract your hand. "How are the acquisitions for the farmland in Tuscany?"

Jeong Jaehyun, a family friend and your business partner since your return, is your man when it comes to international profits and investments. He was also the one who helped Kazuha in finding information about the Zakharov Clan, albeit it had gaps. 

"The owners are still deciding on it, Y/N." He says as he walks beside you with Kazuha trailing behind, "But I guarantee they'll sign the papers." 

"Good," You peer over your shoulder. "Leaves us, Kazuha. You have the luxury of mingling with our guests." The younger woman doesn't protest and bows before leaving. 

You crane your neck to study your attendees. Jaehyun follows your gaze and chuckles. "Looking for Miss Zakharov?"

"I don't even know who I'm supposed to look at," You comment, and Jaehyun frowns, "You're endangering yourself, my friend." 

"It's a long shot," A grin graces your lips, "But worth a try." Before he can reply, you cut him off. "By the way, that dress you sent me a week ago was nice." His frown deepen as you continue, "It's a shame that I already have a dress for tonight's event." 

He stops, and so did you. "Y/N, what are you talking about?"

You mirror his frown, "You didn't send me a dress?" 

Your business partner grasps your arm. "Y/N, I stopped sending you dresses the moment you said my taste for women's clothing was questionable." Your face blanks at the revelation, "So you're not the one who sent me a dress from Givenchy?"

"No," He hisses, "It wasn't me-"

"Jaehyun!" Another voice interjects. You both snap your heads toward a younger gentleman, and he flushes. "What is it, Mark?" 

"Mingyu wants to talk to you." 

"Alright," Jaehyun sighs before looking at you. "Be careful, Y/N. We'll talk later." 

"We will," You tell him, and you steel your composure. 

"Now go." The man obeys as the music changes to a livelier beat - on cue, your guests gather to dance with a partner next to them. You watch with a slight smile gracing your lips as you take another swig of your glass before placing it atop a random countertop. 

You felt a presence beside you, and with careful eyes, you regard the stranger - a woman with tall stature and pale skin. She wore a black wrap-over top with a plunging neckline, allowing you to see her carved collarbones and pale skin, flared tuxedo pants, a buckle-thin belt, and leather zipped boots. Her hair is black and luscious, cascading down to her waist with her slender fingers securing the stem of her champagne glass. 

"You didn't wear the dress I sent for you." She tells you with a distinct accent - Slavic. 

You arch a brow; she sent you the dress? 

"And who might you be?" You are bemused, and the woman finally looks at you. 

Beautiful is an understatement. The woman standing beside you couldn't be older than thirty-three, small-shaped face, a v-shaped jaw, a sharp upturned nose, red lips, and abysmal, obsidian-hued eyes. Beautiful, but there's something amiss. 

A smile made its way to her lips as she timely placed her half-finished drink atop the tray of the waiter and gestured an open palm toward your direction. 

"How about I answer that with a dance?" 

A wry smile made its way to your lips. "What makes you think I'd want to dance with you?"

The latter smirks, "You'll regret it if you don't." You frown at her response. 

She turns to you, allowing you to see her perfect proportions. Her attire compliments her lean figure as she places a hand atop her right breast and bows. She lifts her head to look at you expectantly. "So what will it be?" She holds out her hand toward you. 

You narrow your gaze at her, "I'm in no position to refuse, am I?" 

The woman grins, "Da," 

Without another word, you take her hand, and she swiftly sweeps you off your feet as she leads the dance. Her left grasps your hips while the other intertwines with your right. Your left-hand hooks onto her broad shoulder. 

"Your photos don't do you justice, dorogoj," She tells you with a smile, "You look prettier in person." 

"Who are you?" 

The enigmatic stranger doesn't reply and gracefully spins you, pressing her front against your back, eliciting a sharp gasp from you as she traps you against her body. "Y/N Han, formerly known as a Hae, daughter of Hae Jinwon." 

"That information is given." You tell her as you turn around, returning to your first position. "Who. Are. You." 

Her lips curl upwards, "Do you know 'The Red Shoes,' written by Christian Andersen?"

"And what does that have to do with who you are?" You retorted, patience waning as she coaxed your body to turn. "Oh, pretty girl." She purred, "It has something to do with your relationship with me." 

Your brows furrow, "What do you mean?"

Instead of directly answering that question, she replies with a different narrative:

"The little girl wore her red shoes everywhere she went, even to a God-fearing church. Once you wear those shoes, your feet start dancing on their own. And you can never stop dancing or take off those shoes. But even so, the little girl never gave up on those shoes. In the end, the executioner had to cut off her feet." 

Her expression changes to a cold, harsh one as she continues: "But those two feet that got cut off continue to dance in those red shoes." 

A blood-curdling smile curls on the woman's lips as you stop dancing. Her hand snakes around your hips, flushing you against her while the other cups your cheek. You stood frozen still as you try to comprehend what she just said. 

"You see, dovol'no devushka," She sneers as she caresses your cheek. "You stole from my family - it was small at first, but I began to notice it." You ground your jaw as the atmosphere becomes heavy and foreboding. "I see that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." 

You sneer at her, and your hands finally move by digging your blunt nails against her shoulder - her pupils dilated with twisted excitement as you lean close, finally smelling her scent; top notes of mulberry and black peony followed by middle notes of jasmine and tuberose with hints of black musk and vetiver base notes. 

The scent suits her; sultry, dark, and alluring. 

"Karina Zakharov," You rasped, and she grins, "Pravil'no," 

Before you can react, she effortlessly manipulates your body to a dip, just as violins soar higher. Your nails shamelessly claw her attire, and the woman visibly lights up with twisted delight as the shadows mask her face. 

"Your obsession with finding me has come to fruition, Y/N." Karina husks as she lifts you back up, "You wanted my attention - fine." She leans close - and you let her. Her cold breath fans the left outer shell of your ear, and you muffle a gasp. 

"I shall share your fixation. I'll hold you captive beneath me while I take what you most treasure on this earth." 

She growls as she tightens her hold around you. 

Karina's other hand goes up to the back of your neck, reaching to your roots and purchasing a handful of your hair, and pulls it back. You muffle a groan as you glare at her while she looks down on you condescendingly with contempt. 

 "Oh," Her chest rumbles as she chuckles, "Don't look at me like that, moya ljubov. You brought this upon yourself." She leans close, lips almost touching yours as she speaks in full Russian:

"Ty pozhnaesh' to, chto seesh." Karina jeers, "You reap what you sow." 

And before you know it, you feel something pierce the side of your neck. You look at her, appalled as the dancers surround you and Zakharov's capomandamento. Your body feels heavy, and your eyelids heavier. You stagger in her grip, "What did you..." You trailed off as your speech slurs. You peer over her shoulder and spot Kazuha and Jaehyun marching toward you with alarmed expressions, your guards following behind them. 

Karina chuckles as she brushes a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Your obsession is noble and beautiful, Y/N.”

“What did you do to me,” You stammer as you feel your grip on consciousness slipping. 

“And I’ve finally found my red shoes.” 

With that, your body shuts down. 

The sound of metal scraping the floor jerks you awake, your fight or flight response activates, and blood rushes all over your body - forcing you into consciousness. 

Pain follows second. 

A groan leaves your lips as your head throbs and your legs feel sore. Your arms were bound behind your back, clasped together by chains that rattle with every move. Flashes of last night's events replay in your memory like a broken record - your face burns at the memory. But rather than throwing a tantrum in your new-found cell, you held your breath before exhaling slowly and examining your surroundings. 

Your senses heightened. 

Cement walls surround you, four walls devoid of warmth. The lighting is poor, only consisting of a bulb hanging over your head. The atmosphere is damp and cold. You look down at your dress; no doubt it was wrinkled and tattered by the people who dragged you here. You move your head upwards and spot a CCTV camera focused on you. 

You hear a set of footfalls approaching from behind. Questions flooded your thoughts - how could you have missed that? This god-forsaken place is dark. You should have heard a sound - anything. 

"You're awake," Your skin prickles at the familiar accent. Your expression darkens as Karina approaches you from the shadows. Her features are poised and relaxed in contrast to yours. 

"How long have I been unconscious?" 

A wry smile graces her lips, "Seven hours - I was beginning to think I overdosed you, dorogoj."

You sit on the back of your legs and shamelessly run your eyes down her body. Unlike her attire last night: Karina's wearing a white, buttoned-dow shirt, black tapered pants, and loafers. 

"Eyes up here, velikolepnyy." She mused, "Otherwise people might get the wrong idea of our dynamic." 

A scoff leaves your lips. "I'm not interested." 

She lets out a dark chuckle as she stalks toward you, the glint in her eyes changing to a menacing gleam as she bends and grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at her - the distance between your faces is only inches apart, and the atmosphere thickens. You held your breath at her proximity as her eyes trailed your features, from your eyes down to your lips. 

"I could tempt you," She rasps against your lips, and a wolfish grin creeps on her lips. "But I don't fraternize with thieves." 

You mirror her grin, although mockingly. "Oh?"

"$10,000,00.00 Y/N." She bemused, and her eyes shapen with contempt. "That's a large sum of our income." She tightens her grip on your jaw, but Karina doesn't dig her nails against your skin. 

"If that's the case, then I'm sorry." You jeer as you dig your nails against your palms. 

There's a pregnant pause, and silence permeates the air so heavily that you were tempted to break it, but she beats you to it.

"Don't be," Her tone changes, and those black, abysmal eyes swim with twisted mirth. "If anything - I'm impressed." The older woman lets go of your jaw and turns around. You use this opportunity to stretch your jaw and clamp it shut when she turns to you and folds her hands behind her back. 

"Does that mean you're letting me off the hook, Zakharov?"

She guffaws and grabs you by the collar, startling you as she bares her teeth. Your chains rattle at her sudden action. 

"Nyet," 

"I'm assuming that's a no," You hiss as she violently lets you go. "You're correct," She fixes her shirt. Before you can choose your words wisely, you blurt out:

"Are you going to kill me for it, then?"

She stares at you, her expression unreadable, before replying in a monotonous tone: "No, but my sister would." She inclines her head to the side, "But I am not Ilina." She leans down. "I am worse, Y/N." Karina chortles, "Why did you have to come back to this kind of life?" She steps back.

"You had your chance to live an ordinary life, dorogoj. You chose this, and now you deal with me." 

There's something in her eyes that unnerved you. 

"What are you going to do?" You inquired, but your voice sounded distant. 

She didn't answer and turned around, "Behave yourself, Y/N. My capo bastone will send you your food. Don't do anything stupid if you want your family to stay alive." 

Your face burned at her statement. "Don't you dare-"

"I've told you, pretty girl." She sneers, "You made your move, and I will make mine. You are in no position to threaten me."

Your blood boils as she continues: "Especially when you're the one who is in chains." 

Then she walks away from you. You dig your nails against your palms so hard you thought they'd bleed in an attempt to soothe your urge to bash someone's head in anger.

"Don't you dare touch them," You whisper as she leaves you in the dark. 

Winter Kim is Karina's capo bastone, the underboss. Short-haired, pale, and brunette - socially inept too, given that Winter's impervious to conversations, only saying yes, no, or I can neither confirm nor deny that. 

She's the one bringing you food and water for the past four days. 

But you refuse to eat what's being handed to you, even if they loosen your binds so you can eat better. That did nothing. You'd rather starve than be poisoned by your captor. 

One day, Winter and a couple of guards enter your holding cell. She stands in front of you while her guards release you from your binds. "What's going on?" You question as they grab you by the arms and force you to stand up, your legs wobbling from sitting and kneeling for the past few days. 

"Don't do anything stupid," She replies, "We're taking you to her." 

"That's probably the longest sentence I've heard from you." You jeer. The brunette ignores it and gestures a hand toward the shadows. "Take her out." 

They obeyed and escorted you outside. The brightness hurts your eyes, and your ears buzz with the sound of nature as they drag you out of your detainment. You look over your shoulder to see the structure of your 'dungeon,' it is a modest-sized house with no second floor.

A few paces later and they take you to an elaborate garden surrounded by gardeners trimming bushes and wiping statues. 

In the center seats a figure eating her food with gusto. Your eyes narrow, and you ball your hands to distract your hunger as the figure looks up. "Ah, there she is," Karina puts down her utensils, wipes her mouth with a napkin, and gestured a hand at a vacant seat across from her. "Be seated, Y/N." 

The men drag you to the seat, but you stop them with a glare. 

"I can do sit by myself - let me go." They look at her for permission, and she permits it with a nod. The guards let go of your arm. You can feel Winter's gaze following your movements as you sit across the older, raven-haired beauty. 

The latter gestures a hand towards your plate: "Reverse sear steak," She tells you as you look down at your food. You ground your jaw as your nose catches the whiff of the dish - your stomach growls. "I had my finest chef cook it for you." 

You look at her dead in the eye, "I'm not hungry," 

A scoff leaves her lips as the older woman crosses her arms. "That's a lie, dorogoj. You haven't eaten." 

Her statement elicits an arched brow from you, "Aw - you're worried." 

Karina's lips curl upwards, "I don't have any use of you if you're dead, Y/N." Her gaze sharpens, "Eat," 

"And how do I know the meals you have been sending me aren't poisoned?" You countered. She blinks at you, bemused. "Poison is a coward's weapon, Y/N." 

You incline your head to the side, "I need a guarantee, Zakharov, not assurance." The latter hums and uses her fork, wipe it with a napkin, stabs one of your steak cuts, and brings it to her mouth. Her eyes never left yours as she caught the meat between her teeth and ate it.

"See?" She spreads her arms, "Now will you eat?"

Without saying a word, you take your utensils and eat under her watchful eye. "A meal like this instigates negotiation." You put down your fork, "What do you want, Zakharov?"

Karina chuckles, "You're quick. I like that." 

A wry smile decorates your lips, "We don't become heads of our families' business for nothing." 

"I agree," She knots her fingers together. "Leave us," 

The gardeners and her guards obey, except Winter. Karina looks over your shoulder. You assume that's where Winter is - behind you. 

"That includes you, Winter Kim." 

You didn't look back, but you heard receding footfalls. "Now that we're alone. I need you to act civil with me." 

You cock your brow upwards, "What makes you think I'm interested in being civil with you?"

A chuckle reverberates from her chest, and her hawk-like eyes study your face before speaking: "Because your stunt in stealing my fortune and assets earned us both enemies." 

You frowned, "We earn new enemies every day, Karina. What's new about that?" A vicious smile graces her lips as if she knew a terrible secret. Your skin prickles and your gut churns uncomfortably as she drops her voice an octave lower. 

"I heard that your grandfather is withdrawing his support after I abducted you, dorogoj. And he's cutting ties with you and stole almost all of your assets-"

"That's ridiculous-"

"Oh," She scoffs, "It's true, and I have the evidence to prove it, Y/N." On cue, she takes out a ledger and opens it. "These are your grandfather's offshore accounts. See the amount? It doubled." 

"Impossible," You clench your hands into fists, "My grandfather would never-"

"But he did," She jeers and shuts the ledger close. "And now, he's leaving you with me. Truth be told he is smart for a man going senile, taking your assets assuming that I've killed you, and leaving the Han clan out in the open for everyone to target."

You scowl at her, "My men-"

"Has already defected, dorogoj." She finishes for you, "Even your consigliere and your money man - Jaehyun, was it?"

Your chest heaved as you try to calm your nerves, "Where did it all go wrong? You might ask?" She grins dubiously, "It all started when you planned that event, Y/N." Karina guffaws, "I'm appalled that your grandfather would sell you out. He must've thought that he'd lose like last time." 

She returns her focus to your shaking figure, eyes wide and lips formed to a thin line, dark and unreadable. 

"Now, don't be sad. Y/N." She cooes, "You have me."

You didn't reply, and her phone rang. The latter takes it while never taking her eyes off you. You sit there and blocked out your surroundings as you feel the heavy weight of your actions taking a toll on your focus as Karina ends the call. 

"You know," She sighs and puts her phone on top of the table. "You should count yourself lucky that I've decided to kidnap you. Your warehouses were ransacked by your old enemies-"

"Shut up," You tell her with a shaky breath, "Shut up." 

Her face shifts to a faux show of sympathy and concern. "I'm merely telling the truth, Y/N."

"What do you want from me?"

Karina plays with her steak knife. "Your cooperation." 

"And if I don't want to cooperate?"

"Oh darling," She purrs, "You are in no position to refuse - this concerns you, after all." Your tongue pokes your inner left cheek, "Give me time to-"

"No," The older woman cuts you off, "It's either you agree or rot while I clean our fifth." There's a dangerous edge to her voice. You give her a dirty look while she shoots you with a challenging glare. "So, what will it be, dorogoj?"

"Fine," You say through gritted teeth. 

Karina purrs in satisfaction. "Clever girl, you got promoted from prisoner - to my guest. You will have one of my guestrooms. The rules still apply: do anything stupid, and I will deal with you. Do you understand this, Y/N?" 

You felt like a child underneath her gaze, your eyes burned with silent wrath as you answer with a curt:

"Yes," 

"Yes - what, pretty girl?"

"Yes," You hiss, "Karina Zakharov." 

"Very good," On cue Karina's guards and Winter return to the garden. She stands up. You follow her example, unblinking as her guards seize you by the arms. You recoil at their touch as if they burned you. 

"Be gentle," She instructs them, "She is now my guest." 

They acknowledge her command with a bow before carrying on with what they are bid to do. 

"I'll cooperate," You tell her, "Under one condition, a simple condition." 

Karina clicks her tongue, "Let's hear it, then." 

"That you'll protect my mother." The latter pauses, "Very well, your mother will be under my care." She turns to look at the short-haired brunette. "Winter, escort her to her new room. The rest of you, return to your stations." 

You allow the second in command to lead you to your new room. 

Karina's manor is of neoclassical design. Neat and spacious. You follow Winter through the labyrinthine halls until she stops before an intricately carved white double door with guards standing on both sides. 

"This will be your room," She tells you blankly while one of the guards opens the door to reveal a spacious, clean room. "If you need anything, just call for the guards." 

Without saying anything, you enter the room and study your surroundings. The door closes behind you - the room contains your typical setting for a bedroom. But still, you inspect the place making sure that there are no hidden cameras. 

There was none. 

You sink into your knees and let out a shaky breath to calm your nerves. Your body feels numb and lightweight as you try to think clearly, but your mind is riddled - racing with thoughts more than your brain can take. 

And you pass out.

For the next 72 hours, you observed the guards standing on the opposite side of your room. 

They change shifts, and the time lag is five minutes due to the long halls of Karina's manor. 

Darkness has befallen, the white halls dimmed to the color of the wall lamps, and your guards just left their posts. 

Five minutes

Your head peeked through your doors, eyeing both halls before slipping out, careful to avoid Karina's men. Your heart hammers against your ribs, and you can feel your pulse pounding against your head as you maneuver silently. 

While sneaking out, your eyes caught a huge family portrait hanging near the marble staircase. 

It's also been taken recently due to you spotting a familiar face. Karina was seated next to her older sister. The youngest Zakharov wore a black, sleeveless high-neck dress. Her hair was styled to a fishtail bun with her bangs resting on the sides of her face, while Ilina wore a black cut-out midi dress, and her hair was styled to a half ponytail.

You move your gaze to the parents you hailed them. 

Karina took her mother's features, while Ilina had their father's. But both sisters exude power and grace, a beautiful, powerful family. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Her voice cuts through the silence, and you swiftly turn to her with wide eyes. 

There she stood from behind. Karina Zakharov is wearing a black buttoned-down shirt, straight-cut jeans, and sandals. Her hair was let down. 

"It's a decent photo," You stiffly tell her, "No," She scoffs, "Don't I look great in that photo?"

You roll your eyes in reply while she chuckles and stands beside you. Your posture bristles and stiffens as she folds her hands behind her back. 

"It was the last photo we've taken before one of her men shot her." She tells you, "I'm sure you're relieved to hear that, am I right, dorogoj?" 

The air suddenly becomes heavy and stifling as you feel her move her line of sight toward your unwilling figure. You avert your gaze elsewhere. You don't know how to respond to that. You held your breath as you try to think of a reply but you blurt out:

"My condolences," You say to her monotonously.

She tears away her gaze from you, looks at the picture, and hums a tune that holds no consequence. "I don't need your condolences; she died a long time ago." 

Silence hangs between you before she speaks again, "And relax, Y/N." You shift your gaze to her with furrowed brows. "You're free to roam my halls so long as you stay out of our private rooms." A smirk coils on her lips, "And don't do-"

"Anything stupid," You finish for her through gritted teeth, "If that's the case, may I go to the garden?"

The older woman regards you for a moment before nodding. "I'll take you there." 

You arched a brow. Karina catches on. "As you can see, Y/N, I'm the only one present in this room - and if I call my men or Winter I'd have to waste my breath and call for them." She pauses, "I think it's perfect that I'll take you there just in case you decide to run away." Her smirk returns, "But if you did, I'll be the one to capture you - I like to give chase." 

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, "Shut up and take me to the garden." 

She guffaws, "Follow me, dorogoj." 

What's with the Russian words? You didn't ask her and followed the raven-haired capo. "By the way," She adds, "My clothes look good on you." 

Your eyes subtly widen as you look down at your borrowed clothing. "Your clothes?!" That came out as a squeak. The older woman shoots you a wolfish grin before leading the way. 

"It's either that or you walk around my property naked, pretty girl." She teases, and you hold every fiber of your body not to hit her head. "No wonder why they felt big on me." You cringe as your footsteps echo through the dimly lit halls. It didn't take a minute for you to spot a familiar short-haired girl coming toward the two of you. 

"Winter," Karina acknowledges while the younger woman bows her head, "We received Giselle's report on the import at Port Elizabeth, New York."

Giselle? As in Uchinaga Giselle? The New York mobster?

"Very well, did you send a copy to my consigliere?"

The shorter woman nods, "Yeji has it. She's heading on her way as we speak." There's a pause. You feel out of place in their conversation and avert your gaze elsewhere. "If that's the case, then you'll entertain our guest here." You snap your head to the two. Winter pursed her lips before bowing her head, "Of course. Where shall I take her?"

"To my garden," She answers before looking at you with a small, distant smile. "Be a good girl, and don't give Winter a hard time, yeah?"

Without saying another word, Karina turns to the opposite hallway while Winter leads the way to the garden. You follow the brunette, but you look over your shoulder, your eyes locked on the disappearing figure of Karina. True to her word, Winter took you to the garden. You sigh as you revel in the cold breeze lightly nipping your skin and the ivory glow of the moon. A refreshing sight from the usual four walls of your room. 

A wry smile creeps on your lips at the realization. Despite being moved to a much more hospitable accommodation-

"A golden prison is still a prison." You tell yourself while Winter stands behind you. Her sharp gaze never leaves your figure as you bask in the beautiful glow of the moonlight. 

Meters away from the second floor of the manor, there stood Karina on her balcony with her slender, well-manicured fingers holding the stem of her wine glass. Despite Yeji discussing the keys of Giselle's report, Karina's eyes were glued to your figure, before disappearing inside her study. 

"Y/N," Winter regards as you get out of your room. 

"What are you doing here?" You inquire the younger woman unkindly as you walk past her. The younger woman follows you, "And why are you following me around?"

"Haven't you heard?" You feel Winter's gaze move to your striding figure. "Miss Zakharov has assigned me as your guard." You stop in your tracks to look at her, "She assigned you to be my what?"

"Your guard," She tells you. 

You open your mouth but you shut it close and continue to walk. "Where are you going this time, Miss Han? To the gardens again?"

Turns out, you are being held captive in Italy. The northern Italian province of Lombardy is home to Milan and other fashion hubs.

"Where else?" You grumble, "But I'm getting tired of it. Can't a prisoner have something to entertain herself?"

Winter balks, "You're no prisoner." 

"A golden cage is still a cage, Winter." You bemused. This is the first time the short-haired brunette initiated a conversation with you. 

"Do books interest you?" You scoff at her, "What? I can't use the TV?"

"We don't have that," She tells you honestly, and you gawk at her. "What kind of founding family has all the money and resources in the world but has no TV?"

The latter coughs, "Karina is too busy with her work to watch." 

"You make it sound as though I am a lazy capo." You snark before the realization dawns on you. You're not a capo anymore. "Anyways," You quickly regain your composure, "She has a library?"

"Yes, follow me." Without waiting, she turns around, leaving you to follow her.

After minutes of wandering through the halls, she stops before two tall doors and gestures a hand. "Inside, Miss Han." 

You regard her for a moment before pushing the door open. Karina Zakharov's library is spacious and shelves rich with books. How could she possess such a magnitude of books? 

As if sensing your question, Winter speaks up: "This library was the congressman of Italy's gift for her." 

"I see," You mutter as you brush the pads of your fingers against the spines of the books. Winter watches you closely as you turn to the bookshelf and grab two books, one of Slavic folktale and the other a Russian-to-English dictionary.

Winter regards your choice of books, "I'll be outside if you need anything." 

You didn't answer and instead take a seat on the nearest couch before burying your head in between the pages, getting lost in a paradise of words to pass the time. You hear the door close. 

"You didn't eat the fruits I sent you." An amused voice cuts through the silence, forcing you to tear your eyes from the page and then look up at the owner of the voice.

Karina stood a few meters away from your seated figure with her arms crossed against her chest. Her tall figure leans against one of the bookshelves as her eyes watch you. 

Your eyes fall to a tray of cut fruits beside you. One of her men, or Winter must've placed it beside you, you just didn't notice.

"Ah," Is all you can say while the older woman chuckles and strides toward you, and gracefully picks up an apple. You watch her with intent, she holds your gaze as she takes a bite, and hunger suddenly pangs against your stomach, but your lips traverse to her lips as she licks them clean. You clear your throat softly and avert your gaze, you didn't see the smirk playing on her lips. 

"What are you doing, Zakharov?"

"Just showing you that it's not poisoned, dorogoj." 

Your face flushes at the pet name. You bared your teeth as you snap your gaze toward her. "You do realize that you've been calling me 'darling', right?"

Karina laughs, and your gut churns. "Ah, old habits." 

"You call your prisoners that?"

A teasing smile plays on her lips, and you want to smack it out of her. "No, just you." Your cheeks change to a shade of light pink, and you once again look away from the half-Russian capo. 

She moves her line of sight to your books, "I see that you've taken an interest in my language and culture. That's adorable." 

"Shut up," You snap at her, "I'm reading." 

The latter curls her lips upward, "That one's boring, dovol'no devushka." There she is again. The capo of the Zakharov family takes a book near her and approaches you and hands you the book. "Read this instead." 

You give her a sideward glance. "What I read is hardly any of your business, Zakharov." She scoffs at your snark, "Just read this, printsessa." 

"Don't you have your responsibilities to take care of?" You retort, and Karina rolls her eyes. Her Slavic tongue dominates her English accent. "I have my consigliere stepping in. I gave instructions - they will execute." She waves the book at you, "Now read." 

"Fine," You huff as put the book down and snatch the book from her hand. "What is it about, anyway?"

"Why don't you read and find out, dorogoj?"

You scowl at her before opening the first page. "And by the way," You sigh and look at the older woman. "What?"

"The Uchinagas are hosting an event." 

"Okay, and?"

"Your grandfather will be there," Your eyes sharpened as she continues, "And so will your father and older brother." 

You thread your words carefully. "And what does this have to do with me?" 

A sly smirk graces her plump lips, "This is your opportunity to get even." A pause, "You're coming with me to New York as my plus one." 

Your brow raises, "Is that your way of asking me on a date?"

The raven-haired beauty chuckles, "No, I'm not asking you, Y/N. I'm taking you." You gawk at her as she walks away. "Our flight's in three days. Prepare your valuables." You scoff. You don't have any as you scheme through the pages while Karina peers over her shoulder and exits the room. 

While browsing the pages, your eyes stumble at a sketch. It was a side view of a woman, no older than twenty-five holding a flute champagne, the dress looks familiar, as if you wore it during-

Your eyes subtly widen as you study the details of the sketch - it was you. The night before you were captured. 

"What the," You mutter as you snap your head towards the direction where Karina left with your hand gripping the sketch tightly with thoughts racing in your head, and one stands out:

Why would she sketch you?

For the next four days, you observed Karina Zakharov - especially when she interacts with you. 

Whenever you throw a jab or a snark at her, she smirks and continues the conversation as if you didn't irritate her. It made the acids in your stomach boil. 

You tested her patience, and she merely chuckled or smirked. She'd walk beside you with a small smile creeping on her lips as if she didn't abduct you. It irked you. Because why would she have time to check on you when Winter or one of her guards can do that?

You are merely a capo left with nothing - if it was any capo, they won't even give you a second glance, but why does she-

Why would she give her time to go to you? 

Why

Why 

Why?

You have nothing to offer, you have nothing left in your name - you are her prisoner. You were just given the privilege of roaming free and reading whatever's in her library. 

What is she getting at? What was she trying to accomplish?

What does she want from you?

"Ah, and who is this fine woman you're with, Karina?" You broke from your reverie as a smooth baritone voice fills your ears. You turn to the gentleman wearing a black suit. His hair is styled to a perm. He's handsome, almond-shaped eyes, light brown-hued eyes, an upturned hose, and slightly thin lips. Classical music plays faintly in the speakers, accompanied by the clinking of champagne glasses as the underworld's elite gather to attend the Uchinagas' event - it's to celebrate a successful partnership with the Sicilians. 

"Taehyung," Karina regards the gentleman as her hands land on the small area of your back. You held a gasp. Despite the fabric acting as a barrier between your skin and her fingertips, you can feel her cold touch - and it sends shivers throughout your body. "This is my date, Y/N Han." 

"Han?" He muses as he looks at you while you regard him with a bow. "My, you're gorgeous!" You reply with a chuckle as Karina looks at you with a well-practiced smile, "Says you, Mr. Kim. You look dashing." 

The man shifts his weight to his other foot. "An interesting pair, you two. Have you come to good terms?"

Karina responds this time, "Yes, we've decided that a pointless grudge is a waste of energy and time." You cocked a brow as she continues: "So we've agreed to a truce." 

Taehyung hums, "I'll drink to that, have a nice night." 

Once he's out of earshot you turn to look at the older woman who hasn't removed her hand from your back but you chose to ignore it. 

"Was that a personal attack?" 

She snorts, "A - what?"

"Nevermind," You roll your eyes at her as you look around to spot the thieving trio that stole from you. You can feel Karina's gaze and decide to tease her: "Take a photo, it might last longer." 

She scoffs, "Why would I do that when I can draw you with perfect accuracy?"

You glance at her, face unreadable. "Yes, no doubt." 

She cocked a brow, "Oh - I don't like that tone." 

You hid a smirk and grasped her arm, "Let's divide and conquer -or you know what? Leave me to my devices. I'll hunt those three down."

"Alone?" She muses, "I doubt it." 

"You wound me, Zakharov." You mocked, "How could you doubt my skills with a knife?" Where's the lie? There's a knife strapped to your thigh - concealed by the dress Karina bought for you, and it is easily accessible via the long slit of your dress. 

Her face was unreadable, but you could see the turmoil in her eyes. It made your eye twitch with irritation. 

Don't look at me that way. I am capable just as you are. 

"Very well," She concedes, "Winter is around to help you if you can't do it." 

You scowl at her. Since when did she care? 

"Alright," You answer harshly, "Do enjoy the party." 

Without waiting for a reply, you walk away from her. 

You weave through the crowd like black smoke, your eyes sharp and senses heightened as the event continues. And just when you thought you'd never seen another familiar face, Kazuha shows up. Your eyes widen as you come face to face with the former consigliere of the Han Clan. Kazuha mirrors your shock and her hand covers her mouth. 

"Zuha?" You squeak, "Y/N," The younger woman gasps as she grasps both your arms, "How did you-" She sputters, "Oh my god, Y/N I am so sorry, enemies flanked us left and right we had to escape, I'm sorry-"

"Kazuha," You tell her gently, "I understand. You don't have to apologize." 

"But-"

"It's fine," You sternly reassured her. "You're better off alive than trying to defend what was left of our business." A bittersweet smile graces your lips, "You look gorgeous tonight. Did you get a new job as someone else's consigliere?"

"Yes," She answers shakily, "As Giselle's consigliere. How did you escape her? Karina - I mean." Before you can explain, you see Kazuha's eyes visibly sharpening, and her resplendent countenance twists to a scowl. 

"Karina," She growls as a figure approaches you from behind. Your skin tingles at the familiar touch; the older woman's hand drapes around your waist as she regards Kazuha with a polite smile. "Miss Nakamura," She greets, "A pleasure to meet you tonight." 

She eyes her hand around your waist, "I wish I could say the same, Miss Zakharov." Karina's lips curl upward as your former consigliere continues: 

"What is she doing being this close to you, Y/N?"

"Relax," Karina jeers, "She's with me as my date."

The younger woman's eyes slightly widen as she looks at you, "Is this true?"

Karina cuts you off, "Yes, it's true - even if you wring it out of Y/N, she'll agree with me." Kazuha glares at her while Karina's beautiful features twist to a challenging look while her hand pulls you closer to her. Your gut churns and goosebumps arise - her touch has you in a trance, tantalizing and blissful. 

"Easy ladies," You hissed as you quickly removed Karina's hand from your waist. She looks at you, aghast, but says nothing. "I'll explain everything if we meet again, but for now, I need to find my grandfather and his son and grandson." 

"I saw your grandfather in one of the private booths on the second floor." 

Excitement drums in your veins, and you thank the consigliere before she begrudgingly leaves you and the youngest Zakharov. You move away from Karina, eyes set on your goal now that Kazuha informed you about your grandfather's whereabouts as you make your way to the marble stairs, your hand is itching to grasp the dagger while weaving through the guests, no longer caring if your brushing or bumping past them. 

"Now," You grumble as your eyes study the closed rooms. "Where are you?"

"I don't think charging there with a dagger is intelligent, Y/N." Your face contorts to a scowl at the familiar voice. You snap your head toward her, "This does not concern you, Zakharov." You snark at her with toxicity lacing your voice. "This is between me and my grandfather. Stay out of it." Her face remains calm, and it irked you - so you turn away from her, only for Karina to seize you by the wrist and pull you towards her. Karina Zakharov's face was only inches from yours as her cold breath fanned against your dainty countenance. 

"And I'm telling you, Y/N, it's dangerous for you to go there alone." 

You bared your teeth at her, "Why do you care?"

She doesn't answer, and your patience thinned. "Let. Me. Go, Zakharov." 

The latter ignores this and tightens her grip around your wrist, keeping you in place. You curse at her and snap your head towards the private booths, one opens, revealing a familiar figure that scorned you. Your other hand twitches, you can throw the knife from here. It is thin after all. He's open, and so is your window of opportunity before he surrounds himself with potential collateral damage. 

"Karina," You warned without looking back at her, "Let me go." 

"What's the use of killing him now," The raven-haired beauty coaxes. "When you can let him live to suffer for it, Y/N?"

You grit your teeth. Those words are familiar to you. "I don't fucking care," You hissed. 

"Let me go, Karina Zakharov." You turn to her almost pleadingly, and Karina's face glows with resolve. 

"No, Y/N." She tells you, her voice a whisper. "I won't." 

And your window of opportunity closes. 

You've lost your chance, and you look at your grandfather helplessly, but it quickly dissipates as wrath seeps into your body faster than poison. And without thinking, you swiftly turn to the woman and harshly remove your wrist from her pale hand and use the side of your arm to press it against her throat, startling her, but you don't allow her to think as you quickly push her inside a vacant lounging room and shut it by swiftly pushing the older woman against the door and grab your knife, pressing it against her throat. 

Karina's eyes widen with macabre delight and doesn't make a move. Those black abysmal eyes of hers gleam with curiosity...and something else that you couldn't decipher. 

No, that isn't the reaction you want from her. She was supposed to look threatened, not curious. She is supposed to beg for you to keep the knife away from her face - to beg for her life. 

But she doesn't, and it makes your blood boil and your gut twinges uncomfortably. You ground your jaw so hard you thought your teeth would break. 

"I hate you," You spat at her while your eyes burned, "I hate you so fucking much." 

A cruel, soft smile graces her lips as she reaches out a hand and wipes-

Your tears?

You gape at her, surprised at the tender gesture as she cups your face. Her skin feels warm against your tear-stained cheek. 

"I hate you," You tell her again but this time, your voice sounds distant and meek. 

Distracted, the older woman hastily, but retains her grace as she pins you against the door and disarms the knife from your hands, and pins your wrist on both sides as she flushes her body against yours. 

You let out a shaky breath while Karina's eyes are glazed and hooded, her breath ragged as she leans her face closer to yours. Her scent invades your sense of smell, intoxicating you. She leans close to the outer shell of your right ear. Karina drops her voice an octave lower. 

"Say it to me again," Her Russian accent is hot and rough against the skin of your face. 

"What?" You breathe against her as you try to pry her hands off your wrist but to no avail. 

"That you hate me, dorogoj." Her voice hoarse, "Say it to me again, moya ljubov'."

"I hate you," You say, but the words come out like a caress. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what you feel. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you-"

And she cuts you off with a searing kiss, catching you off guard. The older woman tilts her head to deepen it, and it didn't take a while for you to respond by matching her fervor that her lipstick smudges against yours. 

She pulls away with a batted breath. Her eyes are dark and ravaging as her grip on your wrist loosens, and you shake it away from her grasp, only to grab her by the lapels of her suit and pull her for another one. She kisses you harder. 

Karina's right-hand grasps you by the back of your head while the other rests against the small area of your back, her nails dig against your skin, eliciting a gasp from you, and she uses her opportunity by slipping her tongue, swallowing you whole before pulling away. 

"I hate you," You breathe into her mouth, your thoughts are muddled by nothing but her. Her scent, her abysmal eyes, her beautiful black hair, her devastatingly gorgeous face - all of her. 

"I hate you so much that I can't think of anything else but you." 

Karina chuckles and softly pecks the skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as her hands caress your body. 

"If that's the case," She rasps against your skin, and you softly gasp as she squeezes your hips. 

"Then give me one night to convince you otherwise, my love." 

Fin.

[decayedgloria]

losing myself in your forever

ft. Childe

There is a secret that you keep from your lover, but there may be more than just your identity that lies hidden between you and him

Tags: Childe x afab!reader, adeptus!reader, morning sex, smut only in the beginning, fluff, somewhat canon compliant, cursing, nsfw, platonic!zhongli, fwb (ish?), use of russian/chinese nicknames, pwp, praising, may make a part 2, this is much more plot than I am used to, mdni, nsfw under cut.

Word Count: ~2.6k, not proofread

The early morning rays shined softly into the bedroom you laid in, snugly tucked into the arms of your lover. You lazily traced his freckled forearm as you hummed, contentedly listening to his shallow heartbeat as he slept. 

This scene was not unfamiliar to you. After a night of lustful entanglement, you always wake up in Childe’s arms, your limbs tangled with his as you recount your liaison with a hazy grin. More often than not you always awoke before him, which gave you ample time to take in the sight before you.

Waiting for your lover to rise was one of the few things you came to enjoy after the first few times you were in bed together, watching his battle-worn chest rise and fall with each breath as his peaceful face rested. His face was not usually so, it was filled with mirth and bloodlust during the day, but in these rare moments of tranquility, they were a world away.

As you kept humming, you felt him stir under you, finally waking up. You gave Childe a small smile when his eyes opened, revealing the prettiest blue hues- something you’ve always attributed to uncut noctilucous jade.

“Good morning my love.” You place a chaste kiss on his lips, which he returned in slow earnest. Grinning, he brings a hand to cup your face as he does, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Morning, kotichek.” His voice was still low and raspy from the night before, sending delightful shivers through your veins. Hearing him speak in his mother tongue certainly didn’t help, either. Your eyes bore into his as you kiss him once more moving to sit up on his lap, earning a chuckle from him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you sound so alluring when you say that?” You cheekily press your chest against his, teasing him just a little. Your hips were angled in a way that hovered your cunt just above his already-hard member, and you bore your eyes into his own half-lidded ones.

“Only you.” And your chest swelled with pride, just a little, at his words. Whether or not it was true, you didn’t care. As your lips touched Childe’s once again, all you knew was that in this moment he was yours. 

Never in your thousand years of living have you had someone like this. Someone to hold you so tenderly as he slipped into you, soft groans emanating from his chest. His hands were firmly on your hips, rocking you gently as you continued to kiss him, albeit sloppily. Your hands tangled themselves in his ginger hair, pulling him closer to you as he devoured you.

Being an adeptus was usually a lonely experience. Living in solitary in Jueyun Karst had given you no experience with humans and human emotions whatsoever. While you weren’t completely alone, sometimes you craved interaction with someone who wasn’t an adeptus as well. Which brought you to Liyue Harbor months ago, against the will of Cloud Retainer and your brother, you still went to the city to search for anyone, really, who was willing to be your friend.

Who knew such a cute Snezhnayan boy eating at the same food kiosk as you could be so much more than that?

Your pace became faster and more erratic as you both felt your orgasms come closer. Now you were practically bouncing on his cock, moaning his name as his hands traveled across your body, pinching and squeezing every crevice.

“You make me feel so good, kotichek…” He groaned, pressing his head into your shoulders. “Pussy’s so good only for me, right?” Unconsciously pulling him closer to you, you grind your hips deeper into his as you continued your pace, a light sheen of sweat beginning to form over your body as you do so.

“Yes, yes- only for you! Ah- your cock feels so good inside me…!” You whined deliciously. Childe grinned hazily at the sight of you, taking in how you writhed against him in pleasure. His hands made their way to your breasts as he gently kneaded them, rolling with your nipples in between his thumb and index finger.

It only took a few more thrusts for you to reach your high. You threw your head back, almost screaming, while your cunt squeezed his cock- causing him to cum inside you. Panting, you keep your position on top of him, slumping in his arms as he catches your breathless form easily.

Childe plants a kiss on your shoulder blade, holding you in his arms tenderly as your body recovers. “Did you enjoy it?” He always asked you that question, even if he already knew the answer. From your shaky legs to your puffy lips, he could already tell; but Childe preferred when you told him directly.

“I always enjoy my time with you, tián xīn.” The name, which used to be unfamiliar to you, came easily across your tongue now that you’re in front of him. You suddenly sighed, rolling over to the other side of the bed to let him get up and ready for the day.

“You aren’t gonna get ready?” He asked as he swiped his scattered clothes off the floor, getting ready to take a shower. “Not busy today?” 

“Mm… it’s not like I can walk anyways, so no. Not busy.” You shook your head, a light chuckle escaping your lips. Childe laughed in response, something that never failed to make your stomach do flips.

“You did ask for it, kotichek. I’m just simply here to deliver.” Your thighs were starting to sore and burn, though it was nothing compared to the wounds you’d been dealt during battle. Not that Childe would ever know about those, or about the fact that you weren’t human at all. 

It’s for the better, you reasoned with yourself. Had he known, you doubted that he’d stay with an adeptus like you. Immortal, forever living while he would most likely die in battle or due to age. It saddened you, just a little, that it was the reality you had to face sooner or later, but just for a little bit, you can keep this charade going.

You were lost in your thoughts when Childe waved his hand in front of your face, causing you to blink. You hadn’t realized you were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you completely missed him finishing his shower, and now bidding you goodbye.

“Thought I lost you for a sec.” He cheekily grinned, giving you a kiss on your forehead. “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing… it’s nothing.” If he noticed how quiet your voice was, he didn’t show it. Instead, he kissed you again, this time on the lips. “I’m going to see my brother today, I think. I might visit him at work.” You gave him a reassuring smile, “Be safe, tián xīn.”

His expression dipped a little as you said that. Unbeknownst to him, you knew he was a Fatui harbinger. However, they can’t all be bad, right? Certainly not him, who showers you with warm kisses and the sweetest affections when you’re together. Childe said so himself that he would die before ever thinking about hurting you, so what’s there to be afraid of?

“I’ll try, kotichek.” He gave you one last kiss before exiting the room, closing the door behind him gently. You sighed once more, sitting on the edge of the bed to dangle your feet while your thoughts rant rampant and your chest tightened with every breath.

Perhaps consulting your brother would give you a solution.

-

When you stepped into the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to ask for your brother, Hu Tao all but gawked at you from behind the counter.

“Mr. Zhongli? You’re his sister?” You had never met the young girl before, so it wasn’t surprising for her to look at you with such… curious eyes. Her gaze made you feel like you were laid out on an examination table, being investigated for some sort of anomaly. You shook off the feeling as you returned her smile politely.

“Yes. I was wondering if he’s in right now?” The girl shook her head, pointing a solemn finger to the double doors.

“Aiya, he’s out on personal business right now. I think he said he was in Liuli Pavillion?” Hu Tao brought her hand to her chin, thinking. “That’s probably where you can find him. But, aside from that, would you be interested in pre-ordering a coffin for your funeral?” You look at her quizzically, seeing as her expression was bright and mischievous despite talking about your death.

“Ah, no thank you. That won’t come for a long time.” You smile nervously, getting ready to leave the parlor.

“Never say never! After all, our archon just died, so really it could be any of us next!” You shook your head.  Was this really how they advertised? It was a bit crass; you wondered if they had any customers at all at this rate. 

Making your way into the restaurant, you find that your brother’s meeting hasn’t started yet, giving you some time to chat with him. As you walked in, your brother was sipping his tea, opening his eyes to look at you.

“Gēge, how are you?” You greeted the man politely, “I hope you aren’t too busy yet.”

“What a wonderful surprise, mèi mei. Please have a seat, my meeting won’t begin for a few minutes.” His reassuring smile calmed you a little as you pulled out a chair, sitting on it before letting out a relaxed breath.

“What’s been troubling you now, little rascal?” You perked up at the nickname, the tips of your ears turning pink. Was your expression really that obvious? Zhongli only chuckled at your reaction, looking at you expectantly.

“I- Well, uh…” You weren’t sure how to begin your question, or even if you should ask it at all. Nervousness coursed through your body under his watchful gaze, eyes flitting around the room as you try to steady yourself.

“In all my years of knowing you, you have never been this shy. Tell me, what’s gotten to you this time mèi mei?” Now he was concerned, shifting towards you eagerly as you take a deep breath.

“Well… I’ve taken a mortal lover…” Your voice became quiet, red suddenly blossoming on your face as you look down in shyness and partial shame. It was a bit embarrassing to admit to Zhongli that fact but considering the rest of the adepti and their feelings towards humans, you hoped that he was at least understanding of your situation.

“And I don’t know if I should continue it or not. Y’know, since I’m not exactly mortal and all… Basically, how do I tell them?” 

“Hmm…” Zhongli thought for a moment. You couldn’t make anything of the expression on his face, but you hoped he wasn’t disappointed or angry. It wasn’t likely, but when it came to you, he was awfully protective; you were his precious sister, blood or not.

“What’s their temperament? You cannot know how they will react if you do not know their personality well enough,” He concluded, “Do they at least treat you well enough?” That sentence was laced with a dangerously low tone, his golden eyes suddenly darkening at the thought of someone hurting you.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, gēge- he’s wonderful.” A small smile graced your features as you thought about Childe. “He’s thoughtful, considerate, he’s a lot of fun. He’s also quite handsome, I’d say.” Zhongli relaxed a little, yet again sipping his tea as he listened to you ramble on about your lover. 

He would be lying if he said you weren’t cute at this moment, who would have thought that his rambunctious, troublemaker sister would have found someone who she cherished in that way? The thought warmed his heart. Perhaps a meeting with this individual was in order.

“...and he always gets me the foods I love from Xinyue Kiosk.” You hadn’t noticed you were rambling until Zhongli cleared his throat, snapping you out of your small tirade. Sheepishly, you silence yourself rather quickly, listening to what your brother had to say.

“If he is such a good man, with a good temperament, and loves you so, then you have nothing to fear mèi mei. Humans are simple creatures, after all.” He gave you a small smile, which comforted you just a little. His response managed to convince you of telling Childe, and you decided that the next time you would see him would be the time to do so.

“I am curious about this mortal. Do you wish to introduce me to him someday?” 

“Yes, of course. I’m also curious if he’d meet your expectations, gēge.” You let out a giggle, thinking about the meeting already. Childe wouldn’t know that Zhongli was an adeptus, much less Rex Lapis, so you were confident that he wouldn’t be intimidated away. Though, you had to be sure that your brother wouldn’t pull any fast ones on him…

Suddenly, the door to the restaurant opened, and you could hear footsteps of multiple people walking in. Probably your brother’s guests. You stood up from your chair, as did Zhongli, as you both got ready to bid each other goodbye.

Your brother pulled you into a warm embrace, which you returned. “Make sure to inform me of your decision, mèi mei. Until next time-”

“Hey.”

You break away from the embrace hastily, not wanting to embarrass your brother in front of his guests. As you whirl around, you prepare yourself to bow apologetically to them, until you caught a glimpse of who they were.

There he stood. Childe, looking just as surprised as you were as his eyes darted between you and your brother suspiciously. Behind him were two others, a blonde outlander wearing foreign clothes, and a floating child. It felt like an eternity that you both stood there in shock, only being able to look at each other until Zhongli cleared his throat once again.

“Welcome. Pleasure to see you again, Childe.” He greets them, casting a side glance at your agape expression. “Please, let’s have a seat. My sister was just about to leave so we can start discussing our pressing matters.” 

When you said you wanted Zhongli and Childe to meet, you didn’t mean as soon as possible. No, not like this. Not during a business meeting- wait. Him being here… that meant Zhongli already knew Childe. Ah, you weren’t sure if that made the situation easier to handle or not.

“Yes. I was leaving, sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll take my leave now.” The words practically fly out of your mouth as you rush past Childe and his party, missing his hurt gaze following you as you did so. He wanted so badly to follow you and ask you what you were doing here, were you really Rex Lapis’s sister? Who were you, exactly?

Zhongli noticed everything. From the way you tensed up when Childe entered the room, and how you seemed to avoid him when leaving. You were never one to do that, you always took the time to chat even a little. And Childe… the look on his face when he saw you indicated something to Zhongli that there was something going on between the both of you. How his gloved hand twitched to the direction you left in, almost instinctively, and how his eyes followed you across the room.

The adeptus closed his eyes for a brief moment, the twitch in his eyebrows so subtle that it almost seemed like it didn’t happen. Under the guise of pleasantries, his golden eyes stared right into the harbinger’s soul, almost wanting to claw through him as he talked apprehensively.

Of all the people in Liyue, why must it be the fucking eleventh harbinger?

i am exhausted. this fic was born out of three restless nights. i need sleep.

Anyways sorry that this isn't like a simple one shot :/// i had a jam going and i needed to write it out. i think there will be a part 2 tho, like very likely, but it'll be much more angsty bc i need to practice writing angst lol

expect a sundress szn for some other characters in the future, working on one rn

[elrielffs]

This is just a loose theorizing by me about Gwyn's role in the future books and how this ties to Azriel and an Elriel story.

It's not meant to be anti-Gwyn. I actually really like Gwyn as a character but it does incorporate Lightsinger Gwyn and for some, this is anti-rhetoric.

This is just me kicking things around in my noggin' and nothing concrete but just loose attachments.

Under the cut cause it's kinda long.

I was thinking about some of the details we've been given in story and some meta things from SJM's pinterest. I don't really subscribe to the pinterest as end all be all but I do think some things are very interesting on it.

I do think SJM is pulling from various fairytales and myths, particularly Blodeuwedd, Koschei the Deathless and other Russian folktales, and The Little Mermaid. We know SJM takes inspiration from fairy tales.

First we have Blodeuwedd which SJM saved titling Elain. The story of Blodeuwedd is that she was made to be the perfect wife of Lleu Llaw Gyffes but rejects him and falls in love with another, Gronw Pebr.

In the Koschei and the Deathless, we have Ivan Tsarevich who has 3 sisters that marry 3 winged wizards. Ivan saves Marya Morevna, a warrior princess, from Koschei and marries her.

I think the first two speaks for themselves on how they relate to ACOTAR so I won't delve to much into it but you can see how it relates to the story that is playing out.

Last is The Little Mermaid. We all know this story because of Disney and also it's probably one of the more well known fairy tales' but the broad strokes of the ORIGINAL telling is: The Little Mermaid falls in love with the human prince, makes a deal with the Sea Witch for her fins to be turned into legs to be with him on land, the prince falls in love with someone else, and the Mermaid is tasked by the Sea Witch with killing the prince to get her fins back but she can't do it because she loves the prince too much and instead turns into bubbles/foam/becomes an air spirit.

How does this relate to Gwyn?

Gwyn has been described many a time with ocean/water like imagery and has been stated to have nymph heritage. Her eyes are constantly described as the sunlit sea and she even says the quote," I am the rock on which the surf crashes."

We are also told about Lightsingers in the same book that Gwyn is introduced: They are ethereal beings who will lure their prey to them, appearing as friendly faces. Only when their prey were in their arms would their true faces emerge.

This shares many similarities to Sirens: creatures that live in or by the ocean, that lure victims to them with an alluring voice. Sirens have also become synonymous with mermaids, merging into one creature with siren and mermaid being used interchangeably to describe the one being.

Gwyn has show these same characteristics in story. Gwyn is shown to be a singer and have a beautiful voice and to also glow when she sings.

When Nesta hears Gwyn sing she describes it thus:

Drawing any listener in.

Nesta also says this about Gwyn upon first meeting her:

Gwyn also tells Nesta at one point that Nesta wouldn't like the "real" her.

I won't go too in depth to the Lightsinger theory because there are plenty of other posts floating around breaking it down better than me but suffice to say that there is a correlation between Gwyn's voice/singing=some type of power. This easily translates into Lightsinger/mermaid/siren imagery and theory.

Now this next part is just me spit balling and is more fast and loose and how this could tie into an Elriel story:

We don't know too much about Koschei in story except that he's a Death God and older brother to Stryga and the Bone Carver, beings who traveled from another world to Prythian (Daglan/Asteri?) and a powerful wizard that cursed Vassa.

At one point he tells Azriel he has "been preparing for you". What could this mean? Why has he been preparing for Azriel?

Why would Koschei, who is a powerful wizard, bargain with the Acheron's father, a human nobody? Is it because he is Elain's father?

Rhysand speculates that there's a possibility that the priestess have been infiltrated. We saw with Ianthe that not all priestess's harbor good intentions and in ACOWAR that the library can be broken into.

It has been highly speculated that Merrill, a priestess in the Library, is up to something. Is she in line with Koschei?

Who works under Merrill? Gwyn.

We know from HOFAS that the cauldron is corrupted by the Asteri/Daglan, a fact speculated by Azriel himself in the bonus chapter.

Is possible that Koschei as a Daglan/Asteri had a hand in corrupting the cauldron to mix up Elain's mates? Is that how Koschei "prepared" for Azriel?

And what about Gwyn working under Merrill? Gwyn could be manipulated and unknowingly assisting Koschei/Merrill or she could be working for them for some kind of favor--returning her sister Catrin to life?

Also, the fact that Gwyn and Catrin are twins can be used for shenanigan's. What if Gwyn is actually Catrin? (This is purely speculative on my part by the fact that they were made twins rather than just sisters.)

It's also mentioned that Catrin had webbed fingers. I love this little detail and wish Gwyn had them too but is there a reason she doesn't? Could this be to distinguish Catrin and Gwyn at a later date besides hair color?

Could Merrill/Koschei know about Gwyn's Lightsinger heritage and be using her as way to lure Azriel away from Elain?

What is one of the gifts Elain gets Azriel? Ear plugs.

We know it as a gag gift but we also know that Elain has visions--we don't know how fragmented or how fully she receives them but is is possible that she saw something that inspired her to give Azriel the ear plugs?

Is this to upset the balance of the 6 pointed star mentioned in HOFAS?

Could Gwyn, unknowingly or knowingly be working for Koschei to infiltrate the IC via Nesta and the training, lure Azriel away from Elain? Could Gwyn fall in love (this part is not needed, it can be just business on Gwyn's end) with Azriel but realize thru her connections with the Valkyries and training and Azriel that she can't go thru with it?

Let me reiterate, I don't think Gwyn is evil. I think she could be manipulated, coerced, or promised something she can't refuse to help or go along with Koschei/Merrill. She might not even know it's Koschei she is helping or that she is even in fact assisting. She could be manipulated into using her unknown Lightersinger powers.

Gwyn (the Mermaid) is promised/manipulated into using her Lightsinger powers by Koschei/Merrill (Sea Witch) to lure Azriel (the prince) away from Elain (the woman the prince loves) but the end she can't go thru with it either because she realizes it's wrong, realizes she's being manipulated or because she can't do that to Azriel.

I know there is more that can be conjected but this is already quite long and I didn't even delve into the Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty parallels.

I realize this could have been posted before and nothing new but I just wanted to put my thoughts out there and hear some more of my fellow Elriels!

[str4ngr]

EYES ON YOU [ SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY ]

cw: suggestive, sexual tension, strangers to lovers, not beta read, might be military inaccuracies because i'm not in the military, alcohol consumption, medic! fem!reader. this is part two of a series. part one. notes: sorry for such a long wait, i just went through the academic trenches. words: 1,222.

It was expected that the friendly crowd would welcome you, but drinking at the local pub in uniform was not something you anticipated.

Luckily, you had the chance to change out of your… not so clean scrubs into another set of a simple grey. 

Sighing as you sat beside Soap, or as the mesmerizingly gruff voice called him, Johnny, at the end of the cushion booth. You smiled at the rest of Taskforce 141, happily introducing yourself once more. Conversation was easy with an easy crowd, they were all friendly, even more so when they learned you were a personal recommendation by their Mrs. Kate Laswell. 

“Looks like someone stole my seat, aye?” 

Low, almost inaudible, Ghost murmured as he slipped into the seat beside Gas, or Kyle, though not as fondly called by that alluring voice. You smile, laughing in soft tones as Gaz nudged his new neighbor's arm. Of course, he meant no harm, anyone could tell, but the unassuming way your eyes fluttered away from his made it seem like something else.

To be honest, it probably was. 4 shots, a margarita, and taking sips out of Soap’s, which he ordered in humor after he chugged too much of something else, Pornstar martini, you genuinely couldn’t let left from right. 

But you could tell his eyes from theirs.

All night, every second, every time you turned, away or to, he was watching, like a predator on the hunt, he stalked your every move. Arms crossed his broad chest, shifting only for a moment to sneak a sip from his old-fashioned as he carefully lifted the bare minimum of his mask. It was almost impossible to look away, no matter how trained the others were to shift their eyes, sober or not, you couldn’t help but stare at the pale skin beneath. 

Then suddenly, his eyes met yours. It felt like white-hot lightening, the way you couldn’t look away, even as his hand dropped to settle his glass back onto the table, his mask following the same direction, even when the others laughed drunkenly as they cut your paycheck in half. 

He didn’t look away and you couldn’t.

You felt your cheeks burn, your eyes snapping back to the salted rim of your glass as you mindlessly laugh along with the running chatter. They burned holes into the side of your head, you felt as they traced every feature, every curve, dip, whatever else was on your face. It made you tremble, made you hold your cup a little tighter. But it wasn’t out of fear, it was a notion you weren't quick to resist. 

If anything, you leaned into it.

You let your fingers tap across the glass between your palms, debating how to go about this. The man, that after a couple, two, (2), interactions, you had become completely enthralled by, was eating you alive with his eyes. 

Trying not to make your intoxication too evident, you purr, leaning onto your elbows on the wooden table, 

“Y’know… Soap’s right, we should play a game.” 

Maybe you should’ve been a salesman with how easily they took your offer, ignoring that they, too, were drunk and easily impressionable. They laugh, especially the Russian one who was, far too often, accidentally funny.

Soap cheers, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he nods his head, pointing at the rest of them babbling about his ingenious idea. In his drunken state, his hand slips down to your waist. He swayed, holding you close, teasingly grinning,

“Aye, Ghost, yer’ looking a lil’ jealous?”

The way he twitched, his gloved hands tightened around his whisky, gorgeously intimidating eyes narrowing, piercing into the blue eyes beside you. Used to his tactics, Soap, pokes a bit more, squeezing your waist, while you nervously chewed on your lip, comfortable in Soap’s arm, but melting under Ghost’s eyes. 

Your eyes drift away under the pressure when Ghost’s eyes move from Soap to you, a stern utterance of, “Johnny,” before they shift. Focusing on his drink, you eye the cherry settled atop the block of ice in his glass. 

Johnny continues raving about some random form of a drinking game that would surely have you all taking far too many shots and dying of high blood alcohol content. You nodded at each word that followed his mouth, your eyes following the shape of the maraschino cherry.

Then he moved it.

Grabbing the small, artificially red stem, thick, gloved fingers carefully grab the tip, pulling it away from its place above the ice. He rests his elbow on the wooden table, his dark eyes scrutinizing the plump, round cherry dangling from his fingertips. 

”You want it?” 

You blink, eyes fluttering up to his hesitantly, met with an intense gaze that made you want to look away, but so mesmerizing you couldn’t. You didn’t reply, not sure of your own answer, No, I want you.

“The doctor mute?” He muttered at your silence, gravelly voice barely making it through the buzz of the surrounding people. His bulky figure let out a sigh, watching the way your lips parted in surprise. Straightening out, still a little woozy, your eyes blinked, 

“I- yes, I’d like it.”

He gives a skeptical look, analyzing the slow movements of your hand as you reach out for his. Your fingers wrap around around the lower portion of the stem, knuckles knocking against his as you hold the sticky stem. Ghost lets go just as you take hold, the moment your hand grazes his cold gloves barely a second for any of the detail to be even mildly valuable. 

But It felt like minutes, the way you stared into his eyes and he stared back as a damn cherry exchanged your hands with an exotic kind of excitement. Your hand retracted quickly, his hand lingered,, his elbow still digging into the table. 

It was just you two, eyes on each other as the conversation beside you spun into an unintelligible droning,

“Well?” 

Low and sharp, he asked, eyes trailing down to your lips for, who knows what time within the night. You blinked a couple times, now was your chance. God, you were fucking desperate. 

Keeping your eyes on him, you bring the crimson fruit to your lips. He never looked away, his eyes not on yours, but watching the way your lips took in the juicy flesh between your teeth, your lips closing around the stem to pop it off. 

You see him shut his eyes, desperate to hear the gruff voice as his eyes snap away, a hand coming to cover his mouth.

"Doc! We should play musical chairs!"

Your eyes snap to Soap, stammering in surprise, lucky to have alcohol as an excuse when your face begins to heat up, 

"Yea- what?" 

You scoff in confusion, still trying to shove away the fluttering in your stomach. "We-... We can't do that in public, Sargent." The others laugh as Soap continues to ramble about the available space in the common area at the base. You couldn't help but grin, your foggy mind slowly clearing its yearning.

Only he didn't laugh. It's been consistent with a spectrum of people that said he had a cold demeanor. But this was different, this was distraction, and two blue eyes saw right through his balaclava. 

⚬ ☠︎︎ ⚬

I feel like their drunk-ness was a little ooc but for the plot. giggling and kicking my feet i hope this counts as slow burn bc i really like reading slow burn and this is my first series. also, will probably make a masterlist bc i wanna be organized. taglist: @141trash, @thriving-n-jiving, @agorophobicreader, @murder-hobo

EYES THAT HOLD SECRETS

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