#its nobodies business anyway i was just excited... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

st7rnioioss · 1 year ago

Text

✧˚ · . train ride

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

warning: dom!matt, fem!reader, (light?) degrading, unprotected sex (guys don't do this, make sure to wrap it up🙏), idk bro, ur begging for him to stop.

word count: 2k (? i think)

DONT LIKE DONT READ

you and matt are on a train ride, but he teases u and fucks you in the public bathroom thing (idk wtf the toilets r called)

made this in school LMFAO anyways, hope you guys like it.

(btw, would any of u listen to it if i made a playlist to my posts? just a few songs that i think would be suitable to the fic?)

You and your boyfriend Matt were on the train. You had to travel for about 4 hours, so you were excited to spend some time with him, just you two alone, since you both often got busy.

“Matt, I’m bored,” you whispered to him. “Hm,” he replied, one hand on your thigh, the other holding his phone. You turned to look at him, his focus on the phone in his hand.

“Seriously?” you asked, rolling your eyes at him, turning to look out the window instead. He noticed and turned his phone off.

Matt wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. “Sorry, baby,” he whispered into your neck. Your hand went up to play with his hair, tilting your head backward to kiss his cheek.

“It’s fine. I just want to spend time with you,” you smiled at Matt. He pulled away, leaning back in his seat. He reached his hand out to hold yours, smiling back at you.

Matt knew exactly what he could do to "spend time" with you.

You turned from the window, reaching down in your bag to grab your book.

After reading for a bit, you felt Matt’s hand sneak from resting on your thigh, slowly making its way to your inner thigh. You looked up at him, whispering. “I’m trying to read, sir. Do you mind?” a playful smile on your lips. He acted as if he was thinking about your question, one of his eyebrows raised, followed by a stern “no”. You rolled your eyes at him, focusing back on your book.

༊*·˚

It didn’t take Matt 10 minutes to linger his fingers under your skirt, closer to your core slowly. You started to shift in your seat, repeatedly trying to cover yourself by coughing. You kept sending Matt looks, trying to make him stop. But of course, Matt had other plans. His index and middle finger made their way closer until he made contact with your clit through the fabric of your panties. His eyes were glued to your face, smirking himself, waiting for any sort of reaction from you.

You inhaled sharply, trying not to make any noticeable movements since there were other people on the train, which Matt didn’t seem to care about.

“Matt-” you warned him, his two fingers adding slight pressure against your clit. His only response was a quiet snicker. You tried your best to grab his wrist to get his hand off you, but he resisted.

Matt’s other hand went to your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Let’s go to the bathroom,” he whispered. His whisper alone sent shivers down your spine. You looked at him for a moment, fed up with how he always got what he wanted.

You rolled your eyes at him, smiling because you deep down knew you also wanted to.

Matt grabbed your hand, and the both of you walked through the different wagons until you reached the toilet.

Luckily, there was no one in there, and nobody had noticed the two of you walking into the same toilet. Matt quickly locked the door behind you, his hands reaching for your cheeks. Your hands held onto his elbows as Matt kissed you roughly, not the sweet kiss he had given you earlier this morning.

His hands slowly went down your sides, gripping your hips to pull you closer. His sudden movement made you whimper quietly into his mouth, which only made Matt more eager.

“Take these off,” he demanded, his words still sweet, referring to your skirt and panties. You unzipped your skirt, slowly making its way down your thighs until it hit the floor. You did the same with your panties, your shirt still on. Meanwhile, Matt had positioned himself on the closed toilet seat, his erection clearly showing itself through his jeans.

“Now, sit on my lap,” he said, reaching his arms out for you to pull you closer to him. You positioned yourself on his lap, not able to hide the smile on your face. Matt’s hands rested on your thighs, massaging them.

“My pretty, pretty girl,” he whispered, now kissing you just below your ear. He knew that was your soft spot. You let out an exhale in response, trying your best to tease him by not moaning or whimpering at all. He must have noticed, because his hands reached further up your thighs, kissing your rougher, making sure to leave small purple spots that would surely turn darker sooner. This time, you couldn’t resist. You whimpered quietly, biting your lip to not be too loud.

“C’mon, let me hear you, baby,” Matt murmured, his thumb reaching for your bottom lip, pulling it down gently. His action made you audibly whimper this time.

“That’s it,” he smirked, kissing your neck again. Your hands rested on his shoulders, one of them grabbing his hair to pull it gently, you, still a whimpering a mess. You tried your best to best to find any sort of friction on your clit, his bulge beneath you not being enough.

Matt noticed, pulling away from the kiss, and tucking your hair behind your ear. You opened your eyes, looking down at him. He reached for his belt. You got up from him, making him able to pull his pants and boxers down.

You looked at his dick for a moment before stepping closer to him. He helped you position yourself back onto his lap, both your hands resting on his shoulder for support. Matt looked up at you when you had sat yourself down, his eyes gazing into yours.

“Just take it slow,” he whispered, as you lowered yourself onto his dick, stretching you out. Your grip tightened as you sunk deeper, needing to catch your breath a few times. Matt calmed you down by massaging small circles on your hip.

As the pain turned into pleasure, you finally lowered yourself as much as you could. The both of you let out groans and whimpers. “Fuck. You feel so good,” Matt groaned into your ear.

He gripped your hips tighter, helping you lower and raise you off of him repeatedly. Your whimpers turned into moans, trying your best not to be too loud.

You started riding Matt more eagerly as his dick hit your sweet spot repeatedly.

“Someone's eager, huh?” Matt teased with a sly smirk on his lips. You couldn’t even respond to what he said, thinking of anything to say.

“You’re so cute when you try to think. That’s good baby. You don’t need to think, you just need to do as I say. Isn’t that right?” he said, the smirk being almost audible in his voice. You nodded, the whimpering taking over once again. He thrusted up into you which made you moan louder.

“Be quiet. You don’t want anyone to hear us, do you?” you shook your head. Your eyes were shut, one hand on his shoulder, the other one on the wall, fighting for support. Your mouth was wide agape, panting for air as his cock thrust into your pussy.

Matt’s grip was on your waist, rocking you back and forth as you sunk deeper onto him. His head fell back, groaning as he tightened his grip.

“Matt-” you gasped. “I’m gonna cum,” you panted, opening your eyes to look at him. He hesitated for a second. “Let go, baby,” he groaned, his one hand reaching for your clit.

It didn’t take long for you to release all over him, throwing your head back. He reached for your mouth, covering it.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, looking into your eyes. You slowly got off him, your legs feeling like jelly.

“Oh fuck-” you said, your hand reaching the wall for support. Matt chuckled at the sight. You went to grab your skirt and panties, but Matt cut you off.

“We’re not done here,” he said, standing up as well. You looked confused at him. “But Matt-” you said, snickering, pulling on your panties.

“Don’t make me rip those off you. Take them off,” he said, his voice stern. Again, you couldn’t believe you always made him get whatever he wanted, so you obeyed at took them off again.

“Now that’s better,” he said. “I want your hands on the counter of the sink. Bend over for me, baby,” he whispered into my ear, kissing your cheek,”

You gulped, unsure about what was about to go down. The counter was cold against your hot skin, making you shiver a bit.

Matt looked at you, his hands gliding from your hips up your waist, down to grab your ass.

“Now, be quiet, okay?” he groaned, lining his dick up at your entrance which made you whine.

Matt slowly pushed his cock into you. You bit your lower lip, squeezing your eyes shut, trying not to make any loud noises.

“You take me so well,” he said, cutting himself off with a groan as he pushed himself deeper into your slick pussy. The pain started spreading slowly. You let out a whine of pain, trying to close your legs to make it harder for Matt to enter you.

“Keep your fucking legs open. I’ll make it fit,” he said demanding. You quivered, opening them again slowly. He pushed his full length into you, making you gasp for air.

Matt started thrusting in and out for you, quickly making your legs shake slightly.

“Matt- oh my god-” you moaned, your grip tightening on the counter. The pain suddenly turned into pleasure, and your breaths got heavier.

“That’s right. Oh fuck- You're not gonna be able to walk straight for days when I'm done with you,” he whimpered, his thrusts getting deeper.

“Matt- fuck, you’re too deep. Please stop,” you moaned louder, your legs shaking more.

“Poor baby can barely take it, huh?” he teased, only thrusting harder into you.

You moaned again, your hips starting to slam into the counter in front of you.

“Matt- I’m close,” you whined, your head falling forward, squeezing your eyes shut. Without any warning, you came again.

“Holy fuck,” he moaned, still pumping into you.

“Please- please stop,” you whimpered, begging for it.

“Take it,” he said, his hand leaving your hips, moving to your lower abandonment.

“You feel that baby? You feel my cock deep in your tight pussy?” he smirked, cutting himself off with a groan again, scrunching his nose.

You didn’t even moan audibly anymore. Your mouth was wide open, a bit of drool in the corner of your mouth.

“Matt, I can’t take it anymore,” you whimpered, biting your lip. His thrusts got sloppier, and you could tell he was close as well.

Again, you came with no warning. Your legs were trembling at this point, and you weren’t even sure you could stand up straight anymore.

“Oh fuck-” he said, the cum dripping down your inner thighs. The sight only could make him burst in less than eight seconds.

“Matt,” you begged for him to stop, still a moaning mess.

“Say my name again,” he groaned as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it.

“Matt, please,” you moaned, knowing he was close.

“That’s it,” he moaned, his name still leaving your lips repeatedly. You could feel his cock starting to twitch,

“I’m gonna burst,” he whimpered, his hips bucking up into you.

And he did. His warm cum filled you up as his head fell back, making him whimper.

“Fuck. You feel so fucking good,” he moaned again, letting go of your hair, pulling out of you with a "pop".

༊*·˚

You were both sitting down at your seats again, staring into the air, still trying to grasp what had just happened. You fixed your hair, occasionally sending small looks to Matt. He smiled, the type of cheesy smile.

You leaned in, whispering into his ear. “You look so good. Post-sex messed up hair, I like it,” you giggled, ruffling your hand into his hair, messing it up.

“Shut up. You’re gonna make me hard again,"

(i just noticed i fucking FORGOT to add the part where he fingers you🤣🤣😘 okay bye, imagine he fingers u when u sit on his lap)

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #nick sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfic #sturniolo triplets smut

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 28 days ago

Note

interaction with mama or papa leech (or both) please!

yuu was walking down the hallway along with jade and floyd, exchanging stories of recent happenings before it was interrupted by the sound of someone calling out to them.

"jade! floyd!"

by the looks of the twins' excited expressions and the occasion of family day, they connected the dots that it must be their parents and swiftly hid behind one of the brothers before the person came into view, trying to remove their own presence. although jade had clarified that they had a normal family business, they can't help but get nervous and perhaps a bit frightened, especially with how the leech's definition of "normal" is quite... questionable. maybe if they're lucky, they can make a run for it before they start to take notice...

(i hope i did this right!)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

“Mother and father.”

“Mom!! Pops!!”

You hesitantly peered out from behind the twins. Two lanky figures towered over you, as imposing as skyscrapers.

Mr. Leech was stone-faced, skin slightly grooved like a rock carved by the crashing waves, teal hair streaked with black slicked back with gel. His eyes were like beacons of light searching in the night--sharp, discerning. He wore a smart pinstriped suit, polished shoes, and gloves, reminding you of an older Jade.

Mrs. Leech's lithe form was wrapped in an off-the-shoulder sun dress, the slit of it riding halfway up her thigh, skirt spilling into a waterfall of gathered tulle. A string of creamy pearls--simple, understated--drapes across her collar. Her wide brim hat shaded her face, but you could still admire how she had expertly painted her lips and eyes, how her hair fell in a loose wave over one shoulder. She was like Floyd, mixing an impeccable fashion sense with a slight hint of danger.

When Mrs. Leech spotted her sons, she charged at them at a speed that was shocking for a woman in high heels. She threw her arms around Jade and Floyd, pulling them in for a tight hug.

"My babies!! I've missed you so much, darlings," she gushed. "How are classes? How are clubs? You must tell me everything...!"

“It’s wonderful to see you as well. We have much to catch up on.”

“Ehehehe~ Mom? you’re squeezin’ me so hard! Watch out, cuz I’ll get’cha back!!”

Mr. Leech cleared his throat. "Pardon the interruption, but..." His eyes cut to you—no longer concealed by the twins—and you froze, pinned in place by his stern gaze. “It seems we have a stranger in our midst. Jade and Floyd's... friendly acquaintance, I presume."

Mrs. Leech released her children. “Just a moment, dear!!”

The giantess appeared before you, her shadow larger than life. You managed a single shaky step backwards before her claw-like nails dug into you.

“Ah, mom went right to work,” Floyd said in a singsong.

“Do stay still,” Jade advised you. “It will make the process go by much more quickly.”

J-Just what is going to happen to me?!

Mrs. Leech’s hands ran the length of your body and its crevices. She never lingered in one spot. Pat, pat, pat, then onto the next area.

A full body pat-down?!

“All clear,” Mrs. Leech called to her husband.

“Excellent. That is a relief." Mr. Leech adjusted his tie and offered a wane smile. "Excuse us. We're in the habit of running through a series of safety protocols before receiving guests. Unfortunately, it's terribly inefficient to carry out in a public setting." He paused. "... How do you feel about signing nondisclosure agreements?"

"N-Nondisclosure agreements?!"

"Honey, you're going to terrify the poor thing," Mrs. Leech tutted--but she was giggling faintly as though she had just heard a witty joke. "Don't worry. My husband can be a very gentle man."

D-Don't that imply he also has the capacity to be very ungentle?!

"E-Erm..." You worriedly glanced at the twins, who were smirking (but, you had noticed, not actually intervening).

"What does your family do, anyway?" you once asked Jade.

He had taped a finger to his lips and mysteriously answered, "They simply run an independent business that dabbles in a bit of everything. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you."

"Some help here, guys?" you whimpered.

"Sorry, not much we can do," Floyd responded with a (very unhelpful) shrug. "Dad's got his stuffy processes. No one can get in the way of those."

"I-I'm not going to be roped into making as blood pact, am I?!"

"Blood pact? My, what an active imagination you have." Jade chuckled. "I believe I have informed you before that our family business is nothing out of the ordinary."

"Frankly, I'm not sure I believe you anymore!"

"Oh my~ Did you hear that, dear?" Mrs. Leech grabbed her husband by the arm. "It sounds as though Jade and Floyd's friend doesn't trust us."

"Indeed." He was smiling, but it did not fully reach his eyes. "It would be a shame if we allowed them to walk away with the wrong impression of our happy little family."

"Fufufu... We'll have to correct that, won't we?"

#disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #Floyd Leech #Reader #Jade Leech #Tweels #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #NRC Family Day #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios

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mediumgayitalian · 7 months ago

Text

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

Nico’s hands still on the stubborn pillowcase. “To…my cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Um.” He resumes, sliding slowly away from Will’s wide round eyes, stuffing the puffy square of feathers into its fabric prison. The ghost of geese past are not happy with him. He is their prince. They will submit. “Yeah? You could all those other times, too.”

“Yeah, but I want to come over.”

“Yes,” Nico agrees, wondering if this is perhaps one of those moments Kayla warned him about. Has it reached day five of Will not sleeping? He doesn’t think so. He was napping when Nico came into the infirmary this morning to help with the tidying he promised to do. At least he was drooling enough that Nico hopes he was sleeping. “You mentioned.”

“So I can?”

“Yes, Will.”

Maybe it’s just an American thing. Nico has been noticing some Moments lately. He’s not sure if all teenagers have unanimously decided on some code they’d like to speak in during the few months he was busy defeating his great grandmother, or if maybe he’s finally stuck around long enough to notice, but nobody says what they mean, nowadays.

(He has gathered, thus far, that ‘on fleek’ is a synonym for ‘aflame’, although ‘yeet’ continues to evade him. Perhaps because Cecil and Lou appear to have indulged in the sick delight of replacing their every word with the term with the sole purpose to Confuse. Or perhaps, as Will has so indicated, they have each endured one concussion to many and are beyond any hope.)

“Sick!” That one Nico knows, at least. “I’ll come by after my morning shift? Connor got cursed by the Hypnos, Hecate, and Aphrodite cabins this morning so I have to do brain surgery before he forgets how to feel genuine human connection again, but I’ll be done by noon. Probably. I mean, Connor has a thick skull, genuinely I mean, which is why his lobotomy has been delayed so many times, but so long as I —”

It has been under Nico’s notice lately that Will eyes, genuinely, sparkle. He has read the cliche time and time again and rolled his eyes almost every time: diamonds sparkle. Water sparkles. Snow sparkles. Eyes reflect, and sometimes glow with reflection. They do not sparkle. To claim a set of eyes are sparkling is to profess to the world and all capable of registering your words that you are a brainless idiot who cannot dredge up from the depths of your mind, the most barren and bereft back corners, a single unique or clever comparison; a minutely original way to describe excitement or animation.

And yet.

Will is indeed very animated, and very excited about very many things, and it shows on his face; in the wideness of his grins, the springing mass of his curls, the stilted and flailing gilt of his languid limbs. It also shows, perhaps most obviously, in his genuinely magnificent eyes — Nico has seen the Logan Sapphire. He has touched the precious thing with reverent hands, stared in awe as it thrust out the light shine upon it like the golden ichor of Ouranous swirling with the sweet saltwater to birth Love Incarnate. He knows glittering, he knows gleaming, shimmering and shining and twinkling.

Will’s eyes sparkle, like the very tip of a mountaintop, like the crackling ends of a flame, like dewdrops on spider silk. It is transfixing. It is alluring.

“—ico. Nico! Hello-o?”

It is also a trap.

“Sounds great,” Nico says loudly, voice like cold soda over vanilla ice cream. He clears his throat, twice, to no avail. His vision begins to blur as the heat pouring off of his face warps the air. “Um. See you then?”

Will nods, or at least Nico hopes he does. His curls bounce, anyway. They are hard to miss. They remind Nico tangentially of how laughter sounds, unimpeded by shame; how the shimmering satin of a ribbon would curl and bend under the smooth slide of the scissor’s blade.

(His father’s circuit of jesters often included poets playwrights. They also doubled as Nico’s babysitters. Surely no lasting consequences, that.)

“Yes!” He flashes a smile, then, and it becomes imperative to note that his eyes squint at the force of it, and his slightly-too-big teeth brush his bottom lip, and he has, in fact, on each cheek, a dimple.

Now, Will is often and even frequently called Apollo Junior by just about every living soul in camp, up to and including Immortal Camp Director And Horse, Chiron; and uproariously once even Mr D, God of Wine. Allegedly, as taunted by Kayla, even by Will’s own mother. The golden hair and unfortunate habit of winking and legs for days do most definitely create an image.

Nico, however, contrarian he be, must deny: he has seen Apollo. Apollo is beautiful and golden and charming, but Will is not quite his spitting image. Will, more aptly, is the son of the Sun. He glows; the glare of his smile leaves impressions behind in the cells one’s eyes, the glide of his limbs is almost dragging, languid. To look at him is to commit yourself to blinding. To seek so desperately the solace of the light as to ignore the unsettling sting of the burn.

“I can’t wait!”

As a blissful cloud moving in front of the solar system’s brightest star saves your eyes the eternal fate of darkness, Will’s duty so saves Nico from an eternity of shadow. He returns, humming softly and horribly, to his work, sifting through folders and updating patient files, and Nico exhales the breath setting foundations in his lungs, slumping forward in fervent relief. A melancholic reprieve from the summer rays, if only for a moment.

He waves goodbye, or at least he hopes that he does, rushing out the infirmary doors and tripping down the rickety porch steps.

“Hurrying somewhere, Nicholas Claus?” drawls Mr. D, throwing darts a perilously balanced apple atop the horns of a satyr bleating in morse code.

“That was not even an attempt,” responds Nico, and hurries away before he can be dolphinized. Dolphinified? Made into a bottle-nosed beast. (Why bottle? Of all comparisons to make, who decided bottles were the utmost separate object to which the snout of the slippery beasts should be named? Oh, wait, drunk people. Bottles. Okay. Mystery solved.)

He manages, in his heroic retreat across the common, not to destroy entire swathes of grass and plants, a feat for which the Muses could perhaps write epics about. Truly he is capable of the utmost restraint and self-control. He does raise several full sized wolf skeletons, but they seem primarily preoccupied with hunting down the the Stolls, so a win-win as far as Nico is concerned. Probably not for Connor, who is apparently cursed or concussed, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he has managed thus far with his startling amount of daily braincell loss so by statistic and happenstance he is bound to survive another incident.

“There has to be away to shut myself off,” Nico says, out loud to himself, proceeding the slam of his cabin door and the heavy breathing upon it. He turns to his altar. “You mentioned an off button, Father. I don’t suppose it has been successfully implemented.”

No answer comes forth. He indulges in a brief moment of self pity, wherein the Nico who lives in his brain clears his throat, digs around the messy confines of his mind to find an imaginary black hoodie, slips it on, digs around again for a dagger, and stabs himself, choking and twitching pitifully. Real Nico then walks with great purpose to the exact geological centre of the stone cabin.

“Okay,” he says again. He nods, once, narrowing his eyes in determination. The Nico in his brain opens one curious eyelid. (Does Will do psychiatric assessments?) “Okay, this is. Hm.”

It is not the first time they have been alone together, after all.

In the weeks following Gaea’s defeat and Will Solace’s nonstop, irritating persistence, Nico has been thrust in his proximity an incredible number of times. From his three day stay, during which he was simply so unconscious for so long his father was concerned enough to manifest onto the mortal plane and poke at his soul until he responded, to his unofficial indoctrination (ha) as a nurse, to camp clean-up efforts, to cabin renovation, to general life — they have become friends. Coworkers, at least. Together they make the camp a little more bearable for everyone in it, including Nico. It is rewarding work. It is illuminating work; Will is a good teacher, and he is funny, and he is good company (and he happens to have very long legs that he does not bother to cover up very often and Nico has eyes that do what they please). They have been in Nico’s cabin together several times over the last few weeks.

Never before has Will come over without some kind of stated purpose.

At least, not and absence he has made so obvious. True, the renovations took longer than expected, and the paint on the east wall is smudged from where Nico shoved Will, shrieking, off the stepstool, and they have perhaps, on occasion, used Nico’s illegal Wii when they were meant to be helping Annabeth make plans for Capture the Flag, but —

But.

Intent.

Is important.

It has been made abundantly clear to Nico over the summer that he has friends upon which he can rely. Reyna has made a point to Iris Message him at whatever Roman tryhard time she believes he should be awake, prompting an attempted murderous shadow travel that left him unconcious in Missouri and at the unfortunate end of many people’s shouting. And Will’s friends, who can perhaps at this point be called his friends also, have created a game entitled “How Many Grapes Can We Flick At Nico During Lunch Before He Goes Ballistic And Sends Us To Purgatory For A Little While” (four), which they are inclined and inspired to play every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Piper enjoys dragging him around to do Things. Jason is just around constantly. (Does he sleep? Nico should check on that properly.)

He had a point, somewhere. He’s sure he did.

It was maybe the impending anxiety attack, helpfully informs Brain Nico.

“Ah,” regular Nico replies, then grapples around for his least favourite pillow, slams it into his face, and screams at the top of his lungs for several minutes.

Brain Nico decides once again that commentary is the way.

I think we are an all powerful demigod of something, he muses. Dirt, maybe? Bad vibes? I can’t quite remember.

“The dead?” inquires regular Nico.

Do you think those years isolated in the Labyrinth perhaps situated us firmly on the shores of mentally unwell? responds he, blissfully unhelpful.

“I think that was Tartarus, actually,” says regular Nico, and promptly banishes his brain self to the deepest recesses of his mind, among memories of the taste of liquid fire and Calculus.

With the remaining, functioning (well.) part of his brain, he places both palms on the cool floor and attempts to focus.

Juicy Fruit It gets right to ya Juicy salt Hmmm Juicy Fruit, The taste the taste that’s —

For the love of all holy things, Nico begs his brain. It doesn’t work, but what ever really goes right in his life, so he pushes past the increasingly louder replays of eighties commercial jingles and maps out the ground below the cabin floor, pushes through the layers of underground.

Ah. Perfect.

He pulls up the very aptly placed skeleton of a cat, letting it scratch and sniff about his cabin before cautiously approaching him.

“You will be sure to tell it to me straight,” Nico says solemnly, holding out his hand. The cat bobs its nasal cavities in and out of Nico’s fingers and, apparently deciding him to be worthy of its attention, rams its skull against his knuckles. Nico snorts, running a fingernail along its cranial sutures and grinning as its purring echoes in his mind. “You seem very wise.”

The cat’s caudal vertebrae rattle in indignation, miffed at the mere idea that it could be anything other than wise. Nico is honestly quite impressed by its ability to glare without actual eyeballs, eyelids, or thought power.

“I am going to name you after my sister and pray that’s not weird,” Nico says. “I mean, I don’t think she would mind. You’re pretty cool, actually, and Hazel’s cool, kind of, so. Win win.”

Hazel the Cat seems unbothered by her christening, curling up in Nico’s lap. He runs his hand from cranial base to coccyx, finger dipping and bumping along the ridges of her spines, and settles against the cool floor, attempting to breathe evenly.

“It’s just.” He swallows. It takes a try or two, to work around the massive stone borrowed in his throat, and Hazel the Cat nips playfully at his fingers until his lungs settle again. “Before we had something to do, you know? We’d be cutting bandages, and he’d be all, hey, did you know bandages are mentioned in one of the first ever medical manuscripts and definitely predate it by many hundreds of years, and I would say I did, actually, I talked to the guy who made that clay tablet, and his eyes would get all wide and he’d be like no way, tell me everything, and then I would just talk forever.” Nico huffs. “We had something to talk about, you understand. Something to do.”

Nico tries to imagine what Hazel his Sister would say. Probably something along the lines of you are an impossible person, which is code for I have about as much luck as you do in this century, pal, the best I’ve got is hope for the best and remember adults no longer smack you for standing wrong. Which. Fair.

Hazel the Cat just purrs in his head again. It’s as encouraging as anything, he supposes.

“Am I supposed to have…conversation starters? He likes twizzlers and intentionally bad poetry. Maybe I could do something with that?”

Hazel the Cat shrugs at him.

“It’s not even — okay, it’s not just that, though. What is — how close is close enough in a casual setting? Or too close? How am I meant to greet him? Am I supposed to offer something? Make something? What do I do if there’s a lull in conversation? Or if it’s all lulls? Oh, gods, how much silence is socially appropriate —”

Hazel the Cat twists in his hold, meeting his eyes as if to say well I don’t think you’ll be struggling with that last one.

“Shush,” he tells her, but his mouth is twitching. “I’m just — I don’t want him to finally realize I’m weird. Or boring, gods. He’s such a hyper person, you know? He never stops. And I am supposed to entertain him! I think!”

This time he can actually hear his sister’s voice, in the back of his mind — you’re such a dummy. Ringed with fondness from the many times she’s said it to him, shoulders nudged carefully together, head knocked gently against his. You are weird and boring. Most people are.

“Ugh,” he sighs, tipping his head back until it rests against the mattress. “Friendship is hard work.”

Hazel the Cat swishes her tail, rattling the discs of bone like a rattlesnake. It’s a surprisingly soothing sound, like rain pinging softly against his window, or the flutter of the poplar trees outside of his father’s palace. Unconsciously he matches his breathing to it, slowing until it’s even, gentle, deep. His eyes, without any direction from his brain, drift until they blanket his hazy eyes, heavy as stone..

“S’not that serious,” he murmurs to himself, soothed under the weight of his feline friend. “S’just Will, I guess.” A beat. He smiles, slightly, a small, curling thing, mimicking the coiled heat in his belly. “It’s just Will.”

———

part two

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gilverrwrites · 8 months ago

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Won't Stop Me Worryin'

2022!Penguin/Reader, ≈500 words

AN: This is a request for the below prompt. Its pretty much all soft fluffy Oz, but I'm thinking of doing a part 2 where Oz actually makes good on his word. A fuck around and find out fic.

Prompt: “anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as looks at you the wrong way- you come get me, and i’ll set them straight. understand?” with 2022 Oz? (Established relationship) Rating: Mature

CWs: No real warnings I can think of. Gives of a very sugar-baby dynamic, very mild arguing, protective Ozzie. Petnames: Baby, Doll. GN!Reader.

Please remember: You are loved, today, tomorrow, and forever.

“What do you need to earn money for? I got you, anything you need. All you gotta do is ask.”

When you’d told Oz that you wanted to go back to working at 44 Below, he’d loathed the idea. It was one thing to let you mingle with his criminal business associates, they were dangerous, but he was close by, and could keep you safe. It was another thing to leave you alone with the sycophantic drabble who visited the club. But this wasn’t about him, or what he could do for you. You loved him regardless. No, this was about you, about not feeling dependant on someone. You’d never make enough to pay all your bills anyway, this was just a surface thing, something to keep you feeling like your own person. Plus, it gave you something to do besides sitting pretty on his arm.

Again, it wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy spending time with him, but oftentimes you’d get bored of lounging around, listening to Falcone and his men drone on about… well, things you didn’t care to hear. Besides; “What if I want to get you something? It’s not a gift if I’m using your money, right?”

“Oh baby, you don’t gotta get me nothin’. You’re gift enough for me already.” It had taken a while for him to come around to it, but eventually, you’d convinced him. The winning argument being that you were gonna find a job anyway, better it be somewhere he could keep a close eye on you.

On your first night back, he’d accompanied you to the dressing room. Nobody minded him being there. He didn’t have a wandering eye, because only had eyes for you, and nobody was gonna begrudge the boss from going where he pleased.

“Anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as looks at you the wrong way- you come get me, and I’ll set them straight. Understand?” His thick fingers brush against the back of your neck as he clasps a gifted necklace closed. His skin is warm and sends a soothing fuzziness to your brain. You nod in response to his statement but that’s not enough. “Come on doll, use your words for me here.”

“Yes, Ozzie.” You turn to cup his frowning face in your hands. Determined to see his smile; you plant a quick chaste kiss to his lips, then another to his nose, and each cheek, over and over peppering his rough skin with light kisses until he lets out a hearty chuckle. As soon as you hear it, you lean back to get a good look at his reluctantly cheery expression. “I promise you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I know, I know. But that won’t stop me.” Both of you silently watch a group of dancers pass by as they head out to the floor. You can’t help the apprehensive smile that spreads across your face, both nervous and excited to be joining them. Oz smiles at you, soft but sceptical as he inclines his head to the door. Tentative acceptance. “Go on then, knock ‘em dead.”

Request Info || Prompts || DC Masterlist || Ko-Fi

#oswald cobblepot #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot imagine #the penguin #the penguin x reader #the penguin imagine #gilverrwrites #if you made it this far thank you so much for reading #oz cobb x reader #oz cobb/reader #oz cobb

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marlynnofmany · 10 months ago

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Accidental Training

The animal cargo of the day was large and honking, but it seemed well-mannered enough. Picture a sea lion with tiny scales instead of fur, dark gray on top and speckled pale underneath. Bobbing its head in curiosity at the cargo bay and the people in it. The squid-shaped clients maneuvering the cage into place didn’t rate a second look, but they were probably familiar and boring.

Captain Sunlight, with her lemon-yellow scales and dignified lizardperson demeanor, got a lot of attention. She ignored the honks as she finished business with the clients.

Then I stepped up to see what kind of creature I’d be in charge of for this trip, and it exploded in excitement like a 500-pound puppy, dancing in place on its flippers and honking up a storm.

One of the clients said, “It does that sometimes. Have a good flight,” then waved a tentacle and left.

Captain Sunlight squinted at the cage like she would have liked to cover her earholes but wanted to put on a strong front. Instead she looked up at me and said, “Good thing this is a short journey. It seems to like you, though.”

“I see that,” I said, waggling my fingers at it, which just made it honk louder. “Did they tell us a name for it?”

She consulted the information on her tablet while the excitable creature continued to hop around. “Looks like his name is Freckles.”

“That’s adorable,” I said. “Hi, Freckles! Are you a good boy? Yes? Are you so excited that you could break a weaker travel cage than this? Yes you are!” I pressed my hands to my knees in classic talking-to-puppy fashion, which did nothing for the noise levels in the room.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Captain Sunlight told me. “The hover setting for the cage is turned off; it’s clamped in place; the food and supplies are here; we’ll take off shortly.”

“Got it,” I said with a wave as she left. There was a chance that Freckles would calm down if I left too, but he seemed equally likely to make lonely wails if left alone, and anyways this was the reason I’d been hired in the first place. Nobody else on the courier ship knew the first thing about animals. “All right, Freckles, are you ready to travel through space? Is that new for you? You look like you’re in good shape. Let’s aim for no medical emergencies on this trip.”

Freckles honked once, which I took for a yes. He bobbed up and down like a dog inviting another to play.

I copied the move, and he did it again. I lifted one foot, and he did the same, honking happily.

“Good boy! I’ll bet you make your people proud by holding still for tooth-brushing, don’t you? Lemme see your teeth. Ahhh.” I opened my mouth as an example.

With a similar noise, the clever animal copied the motion. His teeth looked clean enough, with none discolored or missing, and he even stuck his tongue out for a good look when prompted. I found a nearly-empty container of treats among the supplies, and rewarded him for good behavior.

“Good job. What else should we check? Can you show me your flipper? And turn like this? Very good. And like that?”

He could and did, visibly happy with the praise and treats. He was a little calmer now that there was something specific to do.

The engines started up with a quiet rumble, which caused him a moment of anxiety, but he was happily distracted when I started echoing his honks back at him.

If this had been an inanimate cargo, I would have left the cargo bay already, but I had nothing more important to do. My job today was to keep an eye on this guy. So I prompted him to do more beneficial tricks, then when the treats ran out, I decided the container made a fine toy.

“Hey look, a hat,” I told him as I put the lid on my head. The container was a mostly-round thing that twisted apart into two equal halves. That meant Freckles got a hat too. And he was so happy about it when I stuck it between the bars.

Only one coworker walked past the door while I was entertaining the cargo: Mur the Strongarm, who looked much like the people who’d brought Freckles onboard. Mur paused, saying nothing. Freckles ignored him, dancing from side to side while wearing his jaunty new hat.

I held my own pose, one foot in the air, arms spread. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” Mur said. “Nothing at all.” He continued on his way.

“You’re welcome to join us!” I called after him.

“No thanks. I’m good.”

The short trip was pretty fun. Freckles was particularly taken by the discovery that his honks echoed when the container covered his snout. He could even balance it on his flipper like a hand, taking it on and off to test the difference in sounds. When I did the same and then gave him another treat from a fresh container, he pranced in place and slapped his flippers together.

As it turned out, he was good at repeating patterns too. We did some clapping games of the sort that human toddlers love, then I found a ball among the supplies and we were all set for the rest of the trip. It was even the squishy kind that glorped between the bars instead of bouncing off, which was perfect. We played an entertaining game of catch until the engine noises changed into landing sounds.

I was honestly surprised the trip was over. The captain came back in to meet the clients who were here for pickup, and I made sure to pack away everything into the supplies. Freckles made a sad honk when I took the container back, but I gave him one last treat, and that made up for it.

These two clients looked much like the last, though one was carrying a bag from the shopping trip they’d done on the way here. They were also more talkative than the other ones.

“…Had to stop by the battery shop for three different kinds of chargers, then the feed store for more of the special diet that our oldest animal takes, and there was so much traffic!” The one typing information into the payment screen didn’t stop for breath, waving several tentacles as she talked.

“I’m just glad there was a mask attachment of the right size in stock,” said the one with the bag. “Getting Freckles his air vitamins is going to be hard enough as it is.” He pulled something from the bag: a long tube with a concave shape at one end. “What do you think, Freckles? Can this be easy for once?”

Freckles honked, which could have meant anything.

I looked at the mask. “What does he usually do when you have to give him air vitamins?”

The Strongarm sighed like a deflating balloon. “He just doesn’t want it anywhere near his face. He seems to think it’s a game to avoid it, which is fun for him but incredibly tiresome for everyone else.”

“Have you tried making it a different game?” I asked, starting to smile.

“Like what?”

“Can I see that for a moment?” When he passed it over, I got the container of treats and rattled it for Freckles’ attention, then took a position in front of the cage. I held the mask in front of my own face. “Hey Freckles. Honk honk.”

He of course honked happily and shoved his nose through the bars, eager for his turn. I settled it against his snout — perfect fit — and he honked away. I pulled the mask back and gave him a treat, then turned to beam at the clients.

“What! He’s never done that!” said the one.

“How did you train him to do that?” demanded the other.

“Honestly, I wasn’t trying to,” I admitted. “But he’s very smart. He seems to like copying motions, and he’s definitely food-motivated.”

“Oh yes, those are the good treats,” said the client with the bag. “The new kind that my cousin’s book club host recommended.”

I handed back the mask. “Then you might keep these in reserve for important things, like rewarding him for taking his air vitamins. Though given how much he’s enjoying the new game, you might not even need to.”

The clients were overjoyed. They thanked me, thanked Captain Sunlight, and showered Freckles with praise as they unclamped the cage and started up its hover function. We helped them down the ramp, then they waved off any further assistance on the way to a flatbed skimmer with a loading arm. The guy with the bag of shopping struggled just a bit managing all the supplies too, but neither Captain Sunlight nor I were about to insult a Strongarm by suggesting they needed help carrying something. So we just waved our goodbyes and made sure they got everything loaded onto the skimmer before we closed the cargo bay door.

“Bye, Freckles!” I called as it closed. I heard one last honk, which I decided sounded excited about the skimmer ride to come.

“Well,” said Captain Sunlight. “That was fortunate. Good job.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think they’ll all enjoy the vitamin process more now, especially Freckles.”

We walked through the empty cargo bay to the hall, where Paint met us, with confusion on her scaly orange face and a jar lid in her hands.

“Mur said to give this to you?” she said, holding it out to me.

I laughed. “Mur thinks he’s very funny.” I dutifully set it on my head. “Yes, the height of fashion. But I think it would look better on him. You can tell him I said so.”

“Okay,” Paint said, taking the lid back. “Why?”

Captain Sunlight huffed a laugh and headed off to the cockpit while I began the explanation of how I’d spent the recent flight.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#simple one this time #sometimes the job is just Dealing With Animals #and all that that may entail #my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs

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totothewolff · 7 months ago

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Season of Love (8/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

< Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

The Color of Truth is Blue Arc Chapter 8: Safety car needed

Trigger warning: Child trauma, abuse.

Belgium

And to think Toto felt guilty enough about hiding from you his decision to get back with Susie and try to make things work with her, giving himself the hardest time for it while you had been married this whole time!

The two of you are truly made for each other since none of you have morals.

He wants to grab the helmet on the clear glass coffee table inside his remote office before him and smash it against it, but he contains himself.

Instead, he stands up to pour himself a drink that's almost pure alcohol and just a bit of ice, frantically prancing around the room.

This GP is "hometown" for you guys.

Mathew's assistant has zero problems fitting it into his busy schedule, so he can assist in your name.

It's not that you do much for the team, anyway. You are more like a figure to lift the morale and PR the team and its sponsors around.

Mat looks excited to be at the paddock. He loves the attention he is getting. He remained as far from it as possible for obvious reasons, but now it seems like an excellent time to join in the fun.

Mainly because he feels like it, and when he likes something, he has it.

Now that the real boss is in town, people need to get used to his presence and his long list of shenanigans.

Get a grip!

The weekend at Spa starts with the now-usual FIA meeting. On this occasion, everyone is on time.

The group is gathered in the final rows of chairs in another world's saddest meeting room. As always, they are messing around while they wait for the meeting to begin.

—This carpeting looks out of a 70's Vegas casino —Seb mentions, looking around his feet.

—It's giving "cheap motel," —Charles adds.

—It's giving "crime scene" —Samanta joins in.

Toto and Fred enter the room, beverages in hand, gossiping.

Woaff! Lewis notices that Toto looks rough. His hair is messy, and big dark circles are under his eyes. Also, he seems reddish on the cheeks. Is he drinking at work?! Lewis recognizes that kind of blush on him.

—It's giving "once someone died in here" —Checo jokes as he pictures a silhouette drawn with chalk while staring at the floor.

—It's giving "I think I saw this place in Law & Order" —Millie says.

—How many hours of L&O have you seen? —Mick changes the topic, knowing Millie is a fan.

—More than needed —she admits.

—So you weren't joking when you said, "I go and put Law & Order on any device before a race as my race ritual"? —George looks at her, eyes widening and holding a giggle.

Sam interrupts as Millie is about to answer: —Elvis has arrived.

All their heads turn to the door as Matthew swags in.

—Armani ani ani ani —Millie sings Megan The Stallion style. —He looks so stylish in that suit! Hot!

—He is your boss, dude! —Oscar says and looks at her, chin up.

—And married to my wife! Who's also your boss. So more respect, please —Lando adds.

—Does that make you her father? —Sebastian jokes, pointing at the blonde.

—Are you Millie's dad?! —Lewis joins in, acting shocked.

—Dad?! —Millie turns in his chair to face Lando, wide eyes and arms reaching for a hug.

—You all stupid —Sam laughs, enjoying the exchange.

Mathew being the annoying ass he is, goes straight to her and drops in the chair next to Sam, placing his arm around her shoulders. —Amelia, hi! —Mat addresses her with a big-ass smile and stunning blue eyes staring at her.

—AMELIA?!! —everyone but Millie lets out in shock.

—How lovely to see you! —Sam greets him with a "fuck you!" gaze but answers with the sweetest voice.

—Yes, that's her middle name, you didn't know?! —Mat asks the group, pretending to be shocked, knowing she hates that name.

Then, the FIA deputy enters and asks Mathew to join him upfront since they are addressing the whole Lenkov situation and the new safety on paddock protocols with the drivers for the first time.

—Well, now that everything is clear, I will leave the microphone to Mr. De Vos to introduce himself...

—Yes, take off your shirt and tell us —Lando jokes in a low voice, next to Millie, discreetly bumping her and laughing low.

Those fuckers.

Everyone looks bored as Fred goes forever after grabbing the mic to discuss the car skidding due to fluids and oil spills on the pitlane.

—No, you guys. I like this topic! I identify with it since I'm also fluid —Millie adds, all confident and open.

—Genderfluid? —Seb smiles big at her, eyes sparkling at her gutsy statement.

—I love the gender fluids —Lando jokes, with a cheeky innuendo as usual.

—I wouldn't mind some gender fluids instead of this, mate —Dani adds.

—I would have the gender fluids, please! —Mick jokes, pretending to raise his hand.

—I'm feeling my gender-fluids right now —Millie colorfully adds while looking at Mathew.

—What fluids is he talking about?! —George asks, serious, not recalling watching spots or brushes on the pitlane, unable to hear Fred accurately and utterly unaware of the jokes around.

—The genders —Seb and Millie answer simultaneously before bursting out laughing, watching a perplexed George.

Everyone in the room turns their heads to them.

—Oh shit!

As soon as the doctors inform you that you can leave the hospital, your team moves you to the Manor, where Mathew insists you take a break and rest before putting a foot back on the paddock, much to your complaints.

He lets you know he will handle it while you are gone, and not enough "I'm fine!" on your part makes him change his mind.

Nothing good will come out of this with him there, you know that!

The press is desperate to get an interview out of Mathew, and the photographers already love him, a cloud of lens following him around.

With those looks, impeccable suit, and swag, who wouldn't want to snap his picture?

But his security has him covered.

A new and hot Sky Sports reporter approaches him, and he lets her slide in, with a microphone in hand and a cameraman following her.

Mathew gives her an exclusive interview, instantly switching to his most charming, funny, and sweet persona. He shines under the lens, showing his big, bright smile with gorgeous teeth.

Mat reaches the reporter's ear when the interview finishes and the cameraman lowers the lens. —Tower Suite 1898 The Post, 7:00 p.m., don't be late. I'm fucking you in dark lingerie and ankle-strap black high heels.

She nods, all blushing, knees shaking at his invitation.

Okay, Toto can't resist it anymore. He promised he wouldn't do it, but he can't. It's driving him nuts.

He opens his iPad and smashes the keywords on the Google search bar, typing "Mathew De Vos."

A ton of links and information show up.

"Cambridge Faculty of Law Board Member, Masters in Corporate Law, PhD. in Law, former ONU ambassador, former Interpol Associate"

Toto closes those taps after reading them and moves to the next more frivolous ones.

"#4 on World's Richest Men, #2 Billionaires Under 30, #2 GQ's Stylish CEOs"

In all his status, Mathew appears married, and in most of his interviews, he always mentions his wife, you, which hurts him.

Okay, but what does Matthew do right now? Why buying an F1 team? There's nothing linking him or you to the sport. Could it be just for a hobby?

"Current investor and CEO of Little Heroes Global: Safeguarding Minors Around the Globe."

Okay, there's still no connection. Maybe it was just a good business deal?

Toto keeps reading and then moves to trashier, gossipy sites.

Le Soir

Brussels, 2004.

Tragedy strikes De Vos family as helicopter crash kills parents, leaving 16-year-old son heir.

A devastating helicopter crash in the rolling hills of Belgium has claimed the lives of Victor and Lina De Vos, leaving their 16-year-old son, Mathew, the sole heir to their vast family fortune.

According to eyewitnesses, the De Vos family was on a routine flight from their estate in Wallonia to Brussels when the helicopter suddenly lost control and crashed in a nearby field. The accident occurred at approximately 10:45 a.m., with rescue teams arriving on the scene within minutes.

"It was a scene of utter devastation," said Alfred Van der Meer, a local farmer who witnessed the crash. "I saw the helicopter go down and then... grey clouds."

Victor De Vos, a wealthy businessman and billionaire, was 45 years old at the time of his death. His wife, Lina, was 42.

The couple was known for their philanthropic efforts and various charitable organizations throughout Belgium.

Mathew De Vos, 16 years old at the time of the accident, is now the heir to his father's business empire and the family's Manor. The exact value of the estate is unknown, but insiders close to the family suggest that it could be worth hundreds of millions.

"We are still trying to come to terms with this tragedy," said Michel Droveb, his godfather, a family friend, and business associate. "But we are all relieved that Mathew is safe and will be able to carry on his parents' legacy."

As news of the tragedy spread, tributes poured in from around the world. "The De Vos family was a shining example of generosity and kindness," said King Leopold II of Belgium. "Their loss is a great blow to our nation."

Funeral services are scheduled for next week at the St. Michael's Cathedral in Antwerp.

In the meantime, Mathew De Vos has been taken under the wing of his family's trusted advisors and is expected to continue his parents' business endeavors.

As he begins his journey as one of the world's youngest billionaires, Mathew De Vos has vowed to honor his parents' memory by using his wealth to make a positive impact on the world.

"We will continue to give back to our community and support those in need," he said in a statement. "My parents would want nothing less."

The exact cause of the crash is still under investigation.

Toto finishes reading the old entry on the news site, a bit pale and shocked. That may explain some of Mathew's attitude.

He locks his iPad after indulging himself too much and thinks it's enough. Toto has more important things to do.

As soon as you are allowed to leave the bed, you go visit Mat's mom since you miss her very much. You walk there barefoot, feeling the cold wood and stone floors of the Manor all the way to the next wing.

She is peacefully lying in bed. The massive room is full of bright natural light, and a fresh and stunning bouquet of her favorite flowers is placed on the nightstand next to her, filling the room with a delicious scent.

You want to tell her all about your new life and the people you have met, and as you share everything about Toto with her, you get emotional and overwhelmed.

So when Mathew arrives there after searching for you, he finds you crying while holding her limp hand.

He comes closer and sits at the border of his mother's ICU hospital bed, placing himself between it and the armchair where you are sitting at.

The room remains quiet, just the sounds of the life support pieces of equipment keeping his elderly mom alive, in a coma, but still.

He tenderly kisses her mother's temple before facing you, leaning his body in to wipe the tears sliding down your cheeks.

—Tell me what's hurting you to fix it? —compassion and care fill his eyes.

—This has no fix. Damage is done —you stare down at your hands before adding: —But going out to dinner can help me feel better.

He nods. —I know the place.

Sam joins you for breakfast at the Manor the following morning, where you tell her every detail about the plan, now being able to, and how it went.

—Then Pascal played one for the team again! —she says before grabbing a portion of her pancakes.

—I'm worried about him. I hope he is safe and well. —you express with deep concern, much to Mathew's dislike.

—Oh, he is. He let me know days ago —Mat says in the most nonchalant, neutral voice while picking his fruits.

—What?! Why didn't you tell me?! I've been worrying all these past days! —now you sound exasperated at him.

A "here we go!" face sets on Sam.

—You needed to rest! No further point! —Mat continues, still not caring, as if nothing was wrong.

—Stop telling me what I need! —you raise your voice at him, now you are mad!

He looks up and stares at you with an icy look but doesn't reply; he continues having breakfast as if nothing is happening.

One day, you will lose it with Mathew's controlling and psycho moves.

You regain your composure and add: —This can't keep happening! I need to know the things that involve me right at the moment!

—Understood —it's all he says.

—And what about Lenkov? Any whereabouts? —Sam says, pushing topics, used to witnessing you fight.

You text Seb to let him know you are at the Manor now.

—I'm glad! But where's that?! Do you own a manor? It doesn't sound much like your style! Ah, and thanks for answering back!

—Sorry for the delay in replies! I was resting. Shit! I forgot you don't know about it. Let me ask Mat if you can pop by. He is very particular about who is allowed here.

—No worries! I can ask him myself. I'm watching him right here.

Seb puts his phone inside his red tracksuit pocket, scooters down the pitlane to Mat beside Michael, and chats casually with the men in German before asking him the question.

—Wait, Seb!

Seb doesn't read your text. Seb takes Mathew entirely by surprise.

Mathew allows him to visit you, sensing Vettel is kind and has some guts to reach him.

When you return to the Manor, feeling tipsy after drinking a lot in that sports bar where you watched the race in secret.

Your heart sank every time Toto appeared on screen, looking as handsome as ever but without acting playful in front of the camera.

Sebastian is already in the old drawing room, waiting for you and chatting with Mat in a friendly way, which is rare. Damn, time flew by!

—And there she is! Hello, drunk! —Seb greets you as soon as you enter the room.

Mathew sends you a cold look, which you defiantly ignore.

—Bee guy! —you reach Seb and give him a warm hug. —Podium, heh!

—I know! Third place! Not that bad for this old man?! Tell Millie to leave me to win sometime, one win this season, pretty please! —Seb smiles big at you.

—No way, Jose! I'm sorry for making you wait with this one! —you point to Mat with your thumb.

—Alcohol produces brain damage, and you need cold water and food! I see you two at the dining table.

Mat exits the room, annoyed; he hates alcohol, cigars, drugs, sugar, and everything that's unhealthy for the body.

—Does he always swags all moody like that? —Seb asks, following him with his eyes, raising his eyebrows.

—Oh yeah —you let out a giggle.

You love Vettel.

—And those are your parents, right? —Seb asks, observing the massive regal oil painting of a family of three hanging on the wall by the exquisite wooden crafted stairs before sensing the atmosphere changing.

He got offered a tour of the Manor.

—Yes —Mat answers solemnly, you two standing near Seb while he leans to peek. All alcohol is out of your system by this point.

—Do the eyes follow you around as you walk past? —Vettel jokes in the most Sebastian way possible.

A smile forms on Mathew's lips. —It sometimes shakes too. You know when father disapprovals! —he pats Seb a bit too hard on the back.

—It's a bit too much, isn't it? —you join in. Shruging your nose, looking at the old painting.

—Yeah —both men agree, letting out in unison.

—You were such a cute kid. What happened?! —Seb teases Mat.

—Life, life happened to me —he answers, more honest than joking, oblivious to Seb, clear to you.

Why is Mat acting open and friendly with him?

—Ta-dah! This is my room! —you invite Seb to hang out in a more private space, taking him to the last spot of the tour.

Mathew had already left to the wing of the Manor that is his. He always hides in there; sometimes, you even forget he exists or that you were supposed to live with him.

—So this is where you grew up? —Seb is curious and naturally funny, so he is already playfully peeking into your drawers, looking at the Polaroids on the wall, and checking the decor. —Oh wow, baby Sam!

He points to a picture where "kid Sam" and a younger Alexi, Mat, and you appear.

—Yeah, that's about when I arrived here, and no, I didn't grow up here —you shake your head several times. —I wish!

Now, Seb is confused. Mat just told him you two lived together "since you were kids." —Then, where?

—Here, take a sit —you invite him to hang on the sofa in front of the big stony fireplace as it lights the huge room. The night is fully set, and the air in the countryside is cold. —Bare along...

This story is not a happy one.

You will never forget that big old mansion in the woods where you grew up. Your oldest memories start there at age four.

You had no idea who your mom was; you had never met her, only your nanny, who cared for you and your baby sister, a cute five-month-old girl, a chubby, healthy baby with pink cheeks.

You loved holding her; she always wrapped her fingers around your thumb and tried to get your long, shiny hair into her mouth, which made you giggle.

You let her play with your teddy bear; she is the only one allowed to grab "bon-bon."

You love wrapping big bowties around its plushie neck, and your papa occasionally gifts you colorful and shiny ribbons.

Every day, you take lessons with a rigorous and cruel governess who teaches you manners and scolds you when you do things wrong, calling you an animal and a brute whenever she loses her patience with you.

You don't like how she treats you, but you don't notice anything wrong with it. It feels ordinary to you.

The following day, your nanny wakes you up early and tells you they have important guests coming over, and you must look pretty to welcome them.

She combs your hair roughly and, in a rush, pulls it into a tight bun as instructed while you are on your feet on top of the makeup chair.

She puts you into a puffy chiffon dress and starts applying you makeup, which you love. You like all those things: hairstyles, dresses, makeup, nails, glitter, and sparks.

When you see yourself in the mirror, you look like a doll that belongs on a shelf as you stick your tongue out and make silly faces at your reflection.

She then takes you downstairs to your favorite room of the large house. The playroom is colorful and has many toys to play with; it's a shame you always play alone.

You go inside and grab a couple of plushies and a plastic tea set when you notice several stern and tall men watching you.

You feel a little bit shy under their stares; among them is a man who looks intensely at you.

He is a tall, silver-haired, muscular man with captivating eyes and a dangerous smirk that could charm the devil himself.

Standing next to him are gunmen and two large menacing dogs guarding him.

Another group of gentlemen join him before they all enter your dad's office, a forbidden ground for you.

After a while, everyone exits the house's entrance door and leaves, but the silver-haired man stays longer.

You have seen him before; he is your daddy's boss.

Sometimes, they have meetings, and whenever he is at the house, they get you all cute-looking and rushed downstairs.

He always asks for you and handles you expensive gifts every visit.

You get distracted by him bringing you cake; all you want is a slice. The merengue looks delicious and smells like vanilla.

Your dad and the man come closer to you. He greets you brusquely, caressing your cheek.

Now that you are near him, you look terrified at the two scary Dobermans monitoring your every move.

—They don't bite unless I command them to —He looks at the muscular animals. —So be a nice girl —he jokes with you.

You reach closer to your dad's leg, trying to hide behind it, but he neither pats nor reassures you.

—Status on her training? —the silver-haired man asks.

—She is about to start it, sir.

—When it gets done, send her to me —he instructs with an authoritarian voice but nonchalant.

He brushes his hand on your hair before he heads out of the big, beautiful wooden entrance door.

As the days go by, you start to spend more and more time studying with your governess.

That cruel woman seems to be under such stress of quickly teaching you many things, so she behaves even more viciously.

Your German, French, and English lessons feel too much for your little brain. No six-year-old should feel this pressure on herself; all you want to do is play.

You get moody and start to cry, not being able to take it more; you are tired!

Suddenly, you feel a painful sting on your cheek; your dad slapped you hard for whining. —Stop crying, behave! —He commands you.

And you do so.

You are in the staff's kitchen, sitting on a high barstool, legs swinging in the air, while the cook prepares the meal.

You ask her to make you a sandwich, but she tells you you are no longer allowed bread or carbs.

That kitchen leads outdoors to the massive gardens by a backdoor; it's a vast property.

Another prominent building sits right across the field, in the distance, behind some bushes and trees.

You are not allowed out, and you are not allowed to go near there.

But you are a curious and strong-willed girl, after all.

You peek through the window and see two little boys and girls walking from room to room inside the other property. You want to go and play with them, as you are always among grown-ups.

The cook follows your gaze and rushes you out of the kitchen and back to the living area.

It's late at night, and you wake up to the sound of your stomach growling.

The house is so quiet, as everyone is sleeping, and it's the perfect moment for you to sneak to get ice cream.

You risk going to the kitchen after your curfew because you feel hungry from the small portions they have given you lately.

For some reason, they have been measuring and weighing you daily.

You navigate the large house's hallways, avoiding making a sound. Your steps softly creak on the wooden floors unnoticed, which is why you are barefoot, which is also not allowed.

You finally make it to the kitchen and, on your tiptoes, take the big bucket of ice cream out of the freezer and to the countertop.

You are short for your age, which makes you look younger and even more adorable. You are such a cute, tiny girl.

You hop on the stool and eat the chocolate ice cream straight from the bucket with a big spoon, licking it; chocolate goes all over your collar and lips.

If the governess saw you doing this, she would lock you in the closet. She had done it before and made you spend an entire night there for disobedience.

You cried hard for your dad. That place was cold and dark, but he never showed up.

You catch movement with the corners of your eyes outside the large window into the garden's bushes, the same window from which you peeked out earlier.

A small shadow moves quickly, and you get a bit scared, but curiosity makes you reach closer to the window's glass, your nose almost touching it. It feels cold, it must be freezing outside.

You catch a small girl hiding in the bushes and dropping to the dirt quickly as she notices you.

The door to the outside is just steps away. What if you go help her? She looks distressed and must be cold!

You know you are not allowed to, yet you go.

You expect the door to be locked, but you open it easily.

You hear a soft beep as you set foot outside on the deck. Then the alarm goes off, and the motion detection lights turn on; they are so strong they blind you.

You watch the little girl run to the forest as fast as she can. You try to go after her when you feel a firm grip pulling you from the hair and throwing you back into the kitchen.

You hit the floor hard, sliding in.

You see a pair of black combat boots about to kick you in the stomach when your dad's voice screams very loud.

—Don't get her scratch! She's valuable! —the man immediately stops mid-kick with a yes, sir.

You watch the other guards drag violently the little girl back inside the other building.

You barely hear her indistinct screams in the distance. As you lose sight of her, you think she is begging for her mother, and then the door gets violently slammed close in front of you and locked down this time.

You don't understand what is happening but remember feeling freaked out that day.

You then recall how scared you used to feel every single day back in those times.

They leave you for two days inside that dark closet with no food and no water as punishment.

The following month, the governess tells you she has finished her job with you but informs you that your training is set to start.

You don't get what she means by "training."

Then, she leaves the study room and returns with a boy about two years older than you.

You quickly get happy to see someone close to your age and not another adult. You have been raised among them.

The boy looks rigid and lost in the eye as he approaches you.

When he is standing before you, he pulls you closer and kisses you on the mouth. You giggle at the sensation. It feels funny!

But you see nothing wrong with this, you like the contact since you have never been held like that.

These lessons last for several weeks. They get weirder and more touch-y each time.

When winter arrives, it starts to snow outside. You are cozy sleeping in bed, hugging your teddy plushie under your warm blanket.

The fireplace creeks and heats the room when you hear heavy footsteps outside your bedroom door before it opens.

A big, bulky guy picks you up from the bed, still wrapped in the blanket, waking you up. He carries you down the hallway, heading with you down the stairs.

There, you see your dad, for the last time, on your way to the SUV with tinted black windows parked right outside the front door.

It turns out that man wasn't your father, nor was this your actual home.

You remember feeling increasingly nervous as the car gets further away from the property. All you think about is Bon-bon and the baby.

You cry.

You are sent to the Serbian ring, where your price is high for obvious reasons. You overhear the man who takes you there sound delighted at how high your bid went.

You don't understand a thing.

Two days later, they fly you to a high-end hotel bungalow in Bali, where an older man expects you.

They make him read some papers with terms and things he is suggested not to do to you since this type of man doesn't like the phrase "not allowed to," and he agrees.

The chaperone then closes the room door behind you, leaving you alone with him.

You don't know what to do next, so you watch him remove his tie and shoes as he points you to the bed.

As an obedient and collected girl, you get in there.

This man paid in advance for an entire year of your services and exclusivity, which is an enormous amount of money.

They make you meet with him always in different countries and locations until he gets bored of your body and moves to the next younger new girl.

After that, they return you to the market, and you visit the ring again, this time in Turkey.

You were supposed to live in several security houses when you weren't traveling around the globe to meet your owners, which never happened to you.

They rotate them constantly, and cameras and microphones are everywhere, so the other girls and boys cannot interact.

It doesn't matter much anyway.

With time, you learn that the more money you make them, the better things go for you.

Soon, you discover you are one of the privileged ones since Lenkov, the silver-haired man from childhood, is infatuated with you and asks for you whenever he wants you.

He is a scum.

—If you weren't so good for my business, I do have you living here with me full time like one of my dolls —the fit older man tells you while inhaling coke from the tits of a busty teenager.

While another underage girl like you sits in his lap wearing a tiny bikini, five of them are in there fighting for his attention and petting him all around at his open-floor mansion by the sea in Punta Cana, where he currently lives. You are the youngest one in there.

Lenkov has many places and doesn't stay in one longer, and the girls he likes for his sick enjoyment only get to follow him all around.

It's a better type of prison to be at; you get to learn, and it's way better than getting bid off in the rings.

At least with him, you know what to expect.

Lenkov hosts one of his infamous parties as a goodbye to Punta Cana, which is full of powerful and corrupt guests.

Drugs, alcohol, and a bunch of underage girls and boys are there at their disposition and for everyone's enjoyment, all if they pay, of course!

Bricks of money and bags full of rolls are on several surfaces.

After your previous owner passed away in a very sketchy way, you are pretty sure he got himself poisoned.

Lenkov ordered that they broght you so he can enjoy your body during the weekend and for your attendance at the party since a couple of Arab princes and some Serbian moguls will be there, and he wants you to work your way with them.

A very stoic, tall, and older man in an expensive suit sits, legs crossed, in the expensive armchair next to Lenkov.

He looks you up from afar, his eyes traveling every inch of your skin.

You know how to read a room by this point in your life. So you get closer and slowly twirl for him.

—She —he turns to tell the silver-haired man, looking at you, and Lenkov nods, allowing it.

There he was, your new owner.

God, you hated that word. You weren't a thing to be own; you were a person, even if they didn't treat you like one.

When your chaperone opens the door to a massive suite in Dubai, you are surprised to be greeted by a tall, gorgeous, muscular man with piercing blue eyes, dark, wavy hair, and great skin.

He is big and athletic. You would find him extremely attractive if he wasn't this sick person.

After being with many 50-plus-year-olds, a 33-year-old feels young enough for you. Even if he is not, you are only 14 by this point.

Well, you have been told you are.

Since you don't own a passport or credentials, you don't know exactly who you are, how old you are, where you come from, or anything about yourself.

He agrees to the terms presented to him, and then, as usual, you are left alone with him.

Either they go all over you immediately, asking you to take your clothes off in an instant or foreplay a bit before demanding you to go straight to the bed.

But none of the listed happens this time.

He returns to his laptop, where he seems busy working. Of course, he didn't forget about you. He was totally ignoring you.

It's always tricky with these guys! They are often arrogant, violent, controlling, or power-obsessed and challenging to read or act around.

But, unfortunately for you, you have enough experience dealing with all those types.

So you take off your dress, revealing your tiniest lingerie, and against your will, as usual, approach him, showing off your body.

You get into his lap, placing yourself on his crotch.

You don't want problems, and you know what happens to girls who get a "bad review" to say it like that.

He stops reading what's on his screen, getting distracted by you, then turns to grab his jacket and offers it to you. —No need for any of that —he tells you.

And you put his coat on.

It looks so big on you, covering your whole body. You move to sit on the sofa near him.

Dead silence.

He couldn't care less about you.

—Sir, I'm all okay? Is there a way I can pleasure you? If I'm doing something wrong, please let me make it up to you —you freak out as you notice the time of your session is running out; you don't want trouble.

—I didn't hire you —he says, still typing and looking busy. That takes you off guard. He looks straight at you with those fierce blue eyes, frowning.

—Pardon?

—My sick father gave you to me as a "forgive me" present —he lets out with disdain. —I don't get how he is okay with this stuff. I'm not too fond of paid girls or STDS. I'm not into the young ones.

—I'm very clean, I get tested all the ti-

—So, how does this shit work? —he interrupts you, not caring about what you are saying. —I read on paper that a titanium package was paid. Even the name sounds absurd!

You look at him collected, avoiding saying a dumb thing, being extremely careful with each word.

—It means I'm exclusive to your enjoyment, and you have me ten sessions before acquiring the package again if I please you, that I promise I-

—I see —he again interrupts your rehearsed speech.

You hear soft knocks in code on the door. It means Fran, your chaperone, of course you know that isn't his real name, is waiting for you.

You get your dress back on, and he walks you to the door.

Before reaching it, he suddenly pushes you into a rough and intense kiss, messing your hair and fucking your lipstick, biting open your lip, and, in a powerful movement, tearing your dress a little bit, taking you by surprise.

Fran opens the door at your lack of response and quickly apologizes, witnessing some of the action. —I didn't mean to interrupt, sir.

—No worries, I'm done with her —he says deadpan, pushing you out with a big slap in the ass.

This goes on for the subsequent sessions.

He doesn't touch you more than what is required to pretend you two did the thing. He is clever at keeping appearances.

—So, as long as I have you under my power, I can take my time to have our "sessions," right?

—Yes, sir, but not that much.

—Good, that gains us little time.

He asks you one night while looking out of the panoramic windows, sipping his coñac.

Damn, he is muscular and hot.

—Feel free to use the suite amenities. You are not allowed out of the room, correct?

—Oh no, I'm not —you confirm quickly, not wanting to get in serious trouble. Guards parol you, so there's no way you could get out even if you tried.

He renews his package with you without touching or disrespecting you in any way.

Every time you meet him, you expect him to ask you to return the favor. Your life experiences have made you wary and distrustful.

But he doesn't.

—Yes?! —he looks your way. You have been staring at him for five minutes. He is not the most tender-speaking person.

—I'm sorry, I wasn't, I-

—It's alright, you can talk.

—No worries, you seem busy.

—Go straight to the point or remain shut up —he dislikes wasting time.

—Why are you doing this? —you venture to ask. —I'm not trying to sound ungrateful. I'm more than thankful to you, sir.

—Don't call me sir; it makes me feel dirty —he drops himself on the sofa beside you, giving himself time off from work, stretching. —I get what you are going through. I'm in a prison of my own, too.

You remain quiet a little bit, pensive to open your mouth, knowing you can trust no bitch, but this feels different. So you trust your gut. —What do you mean?

—My father got my family, me included... —he stands to pour himself another glass of coñac and offers you one. You aren't allowed to drink unless they offer you, so you accept it. —...dragged into his illicit business, sadly, we have no way out now.

—I think I met him once from afar. No disrespect, but he seems harsh.

—You can disrespect him all you want. I hate my father; he is a scumbag, he got my brother locked up and murdered in jail, and my mother is also dead, thanks to him. So now it's just us.

Silence.

—Are you in any danger? —you ask, honestly concerned.

—Worried about your situation?

—No si- shit! —you quickly correct yourself. —Sorry, what do I call you?

—Pascal, that's my real name, by the way. As you can see, I don't care much, and yes! I'm always in danger, not imminent, but still, it's a dangerous game I'm playing.

—You are kind to me, that's why I asked. I don't know my real name, so I have no name you can call me.

—I can think of a couple of ones —he makes an innuendo, and by your shocked expression, he quickly adds. —I'm joking! I'm kidding!

You laugh for the first time in God knows how long.

Knocks come on the door.

That goes on until Lenkov becomes possessive of you and warns him that this is the last time Pascal is allowed to acquire your package, and he won't steal you away from him.

—I'm not planning to do so, Lenkov, it's just that pussy is so good, and I don't know how to quit it —he lies.

Lenkov smiles at him with an "I get it" expression before asking him for an obscene amount of money.

Pascal agrees to it, but only if he is allowed to have you for more time, for an entire year.

—A million, and it's a deal.

—But if she stays with me in London...

—She will be not allowed out of the apartment, I will place snipers, and if you try to trick me, I will slight her throat in front of you and then yours. A million and a half, and it's done.

Pascal pays for it.

He welcomes you to your new home with a glass of champagne.

—To the birthday girl.

—What?!

—Today is your birthday. According to your birth certificate, here, it's your gift.

—Is this real?! —tears fill your eyes. He nods, and then Pascal looks taken aback when you give him the warmest hug he has ever received.

He doesn't know what to do until he relaxes and hugs you back.

—I could sleep with you right now! —you say, and you quickly add by the shocked expression he gives you. —I'm joking! I'm kidding. Ah! I'm one year older than I thought! But how did you get this?!

—I have something to confess to you, and it's the reason why I moved you here with me —he sounds serious and looks stern; he hesitates before continuing.

You start thinking about the worst possible outcome. Here comes the part that goes bad for you.

—A few months ago, I made contact with Interpol.

—Oh, please, I'm, look, I, I rather not —you mumble and start to panic, fearing for your life.

—I see. I may die after this —Pascal lets out.

—You what?! —you panic.

—It doesn't matter. Yeah, it's better you stay out of it.

—If it threatens your life, then I'm in! —you sound so assured that he looks shocked.

—Why would you...? —he starts asking.

You jump in. —Risk my life for yours? Anyday! You are the only good thing that has ever happened to me —Pascal looks at you with an expression you cannot read.

—This guy I got in contact with has been pursuing Lenkov for some time and plotting his downfall.

—This guy?! Wasn't the Interpol?!

—Well, yes, he used to work for them...

—Oh god, how are you sure he is not setting you up and wh- —you panic again.

He calms you down and quickly explains. —He is the most annoying guy ever, but it's legit. He started his own organization and has the best of the best working for him, and that's why he moved the Lenkov case with him and left Interpol to work it on his own; it's personal to him.

—Have you met with him?

—Just on the phone, many, many times.

—I don't like this.

—I promise you he is legit and has resources. He was the one who got me your birth certificate. All he is asking from us in return is to act as a witness in case all goes well and we get Lenkov on trial.

—And what's in this for you? I'm sorry for judging you, but my life has taught me some lessons. You aren't in this just because you want my freedom, right?

—To whistleblow my father and expose his business with Lenkov, and make them both rot in prison.

—You are going to get us murdered!

Pascal starts worrying about you bailing out, judging your fear and panic.

He is getting ready to start working you out when you suddenly calm down.

—But what do I have to lose? This is no life, and if I can help to protect you, other girls, and boys and gain my freedom along the way, I will.

Lenkov sends people to check on you two occasionally without previous notice, trying to catch in any weird move and have an excuse to move you back with him.

It comes to his attention that according to the people he sends there, they never seem to interrupt you in sexual activities, enraging him.

You are cozy on the couch watching TV when Pascal's deep voice grabs your attention.

—Listen, whenever someone from my "dad's business," aka my job, comes here, or we aren't alone, no matter if it's the help service, I need you to play along and pretend we are in a sexual relationship. We need to keep appearances and have the word spread.

—Why? —you start feeling concerned. —Did something happen?

—Don't stress about it —he dismisses it. —Just so you know.

—Y/N, you are right. You are not being paranoid —you have been feeling observed by people looking from the building across for some days now. —Probably Lenkov moved some people to one of the apartments in front. They are watching us now.

Pascal pretends to enjoy a drink while looking out of the floor-to-ceiling windows to the skyscraper in front of yours.

—Moving out is no option for us —you add, feeling nauseous. Months have passed since you started living peacefully with Pascal at this place you now call home.

—We need to engage more, then —he sounds grim.

—If we close the curtains but keep the lights on, maybe we could dry hump for them. Silhouettes may work.

—Have the men you have been with ever cared enough to close the curtains?

—No. I get it. It's going to look staged. They won't go away till they make sure.

He lets an exasperated sigh and smashes his glass on the floor.

You instinctively jump. —Listen, I have done it before, we could... —you go all red.

—No.

After several days of noticing him consumed by the situation's stress, you cross the distance between you and gift him your first kiss.

Obviously, it's not your first physical kiss, but the first one that feels real.

You kiss him all the way to the bedroom.

Where Pascal makes love to you in a missionary position, all flesh in full display and bodies moving in rhythm for them to witness.

After you cowgirl him, he takes you in doggy style till you cum from pleasure for the first time ever while moaning his name.

You completely forget that you were doing it for the men watching you at a distance, secretly shooting photos without you noticing before they have them printed and delivered to Lenkov.

There is a slight shift after that night.

The interactions between you two become more tender; there are more accidental touches and sweet looks, along with some cuddling, but nothing sexual ever happens again after the Lenkov people leave you alone.

Not even a kiss.

Three months later, as you grow impatient every day since you know your year agreement is near its end, Pascal informs you that this guy wants to implement the plan.

Next week, a massive raid on the Lenkov rabbit holes, properties, and security homes will occur. People are going to get arrested and youngsters rescued. You are on the list.

The difference with you is that you will immediately be moved to Belgium to the Little Heroes Global headquarters to testify and for them to prepare you for court.

It's a Wednesday morning, the first time you talk to this guy on the phone.

He sounds young, but his tone is too solemn. He informs you that Pascal was the critical piece he needed to deploy his long, elaborate plan; he and his team have spent years trying to get Lenkov.

Now that you have all the knowledge and information he needs to take him down, it is all good to go.

It's the first of many calls you two exchange, and you eventually become incredibly familiar with his voice.

The day that "Operation Lina" arrives, you are so nervous.

Everything is going according to the plan.

But then, as a lot of commotion happens outside your apartment door, Pascal bolts to his feet and places you behind his body, protecting you.

A SWAT team bursts in, knocking the door down. Pascal looks at you, confused at the violence, but you see him smile for the first time in all the time you have met him.

—That's the sound of your freedom —he addresses you, briefly resting his temple on yours. You want so desperately to kiss his lips.

Then the SWAT team moves quick on their feet, guns up to approach you, or that you think so.

Unexpectedly, they pinned Pascal in a violent move against the floor. He hits his head hard in the process.

—What are you doing!? —you start screaming and kicking as they push you out of the way. You go insane as they keep dragging him away from you. —LEAVE HIM YOU FUCKERS! You are hurting him! This wasn't part of the plan!

They yank him down the apartment entrance hallway, and you fight your way to follow along, demanding to know where they are taking him, screaming and kicking.

—PASCAL! —You are desperately calling for him at the top of your lungs.

When you feel a hand softly rub you on your shoulder, you turn around, expecting the worst, to see Lenkov standing there, so you violently remove the hand from you and, with all your force, push the guy against the hallway wall.

—Easy! Easy! —that familiar voice tells you. —He is going to be okay, I will make sure —a kid slightly older than you is standing before you, his beautiful blue eyes are set on you.

—Are you!? —you let out in barely a whisper. You can't believe your eyes; he can't be that young!

—Yes —he starts fixing himself. —You are strong. Mathew De Vos —he offers you his hand.

—Why the fuck are you betraying him like that?! —you start immediately fighting with him, which, funny enough, becomes a habit for you two.

—I'm not! Listen, in one of the raids inside of one of Lenkov's drawers at his office desk, there were photos of you and Pascal, you know, explicitly engaging in some illegal acts.

—But that's not! He didn't ra-! I consent to it, AND it was just because Lenvok people were watching us ove-

—I believe you. I'm not happy to lose one of my biggest witnesses, but it's still a crime. Due to cooperation, we can offer him a good deal, so Pascal will be alright, I promise you.

—How do I know I can trust you?!

—I'm here, as I promised I will. Let's go. The quicker we get this done, the faster you will win back your freedom!

Days later, Mat informs you he moved his influences to get a particular trial for Pascal and that he ended up with just domestic arrest in Budapest, ankle monitor and all.

But that you won't be able to see him, probably ever again. You are only allowed to talk to him on the phone.

Lenkov corrupts his way out of the situation. To both your fury, you have never seen a man so furious as Mathew that day; you almost felt like running away from him as soon as possible, but this unexpected outcome forces you into a witness protection program.

Mathew offers you a place to stay until things get sorted out, a stay that will last for years to come.

—The obvious aside, duh, why did Mathew want to take Lenkov down? —Seb asks, his voice husky.

It's cold and late at night, around 5 a.m., and by this point of the story, you are already wrapped around Seb's arms, sharing the soft blanket on the couch as he plays nervously with your golden bracelet.

Seb has remained empathic and supportive, listening to your life story.

—Mat got scarred by that same man. Victor, Mat's father, was just solidifying "Heroes Global" after building it to protect minors, legally advise victims and their families, and help intelligence agencies dismantle traffic rings when he was the first person to discover the real business behind Lenkov's legal facades—you explain. Seb's eyebrows go to the roof, and his eyes look sad.

—As Mat was dealing with becoming an orphan, his team found out the helicopter crash that killed his parents, well, his dad mostly, wasn't an accident. Mathew's mom has been in a coma for years with no hope of recovering, but she is still with us, thank God.

—Are you a believer?

—Yes. God sent Mat to me. He means the world to me, Seb. He really does, even with all that implies. It's the only family I have. Even in our worst moments, I have never not loved him. He gave me a chance and a better life than I had ever imagined.

—It's good to know —Mat's voice takes you both by surprise, making you un-cuddle and turn to him. He walks inside the room before standing before you, hands inside his soft pajama bottoms, shirtless.

—Where did those abs come from, ancient Greece? —Seb can't help but peek as he jokes. He looks good.

As soon as I found out Lenkov did it and what he really was, I took the basis of Heroes Global and founded Little Heroes Global, working with Interpol. Did you know, Sebastian Vettel, that this girl right here is the foundation's vice president? he asks in the voice of a quiz host while pointing at you.

—I begged Mat to let me stay and work with them as soon as I was freed, I wanted to help others, but I was an illegal here in Belgium, with no papers and in need of a citizen permit and a passport.

—Also under age —Matt adds. So, I wasn't able to marry her to fix all of that thing at once, but as soon as we could, we did, I stayed true to my word of taking care of her.

—It wasn't a romantic or traditional wedding —you explain.

—Just transactional, sign here, sign this, sign there —Mat adds.

—Do you ever?

—Yes —you both answer at the same time.

Dead silence.

—But you two need to go to bed, to sleep, I mean. On another occasion, Y/N may tell you all about us; I prefer my version, though. Feel free to stay over Vettel. Just respect my roof —he winks before leaving, implying to be discreet with sex if there is to be.

Sebastian goes all red. To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

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number-one-fan-of-heavy · 21 days ago

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Misha, I think you need to hear me–or I guess see me, aha!– before I can speak to you myself tomorrow morning. It is dark and I am tired so I went to lay with you after you went to sleep. You smell so bad !! The alcohol smells so bad. Hoo, I am so tired! I was so busy working that I didn't.... see you.

I am sorry, Misha.

I must admit, the doubt hurts me. It is not the first time you suggested I only like you because of what you provide me physically and its not true. I know you are not saying it to be mean, and I understand now that you are expressing what you believe to be true because of how little you value yourself, but I wish I could tell you I love you a million times over if only you would understand how I meant it. I want you to know that I will remind you every time you need it. I am beyond lying to you. Please, just talk to me.

I have been with you for so long, Lieber, and the truth is that I still do not understand how or why is it I feel in its entirety... but I do. So truly, viscerally, I do. I get so caught up in everything that I don't think about anything but work. I am sorry. But when I put the pen down, I am always thinking of you. Not sex, just you. What I will say to you next... what we will do next... sleeping. I can never wait to fall asleep next to you.

I don't realise it, but I never do anything without you. Nothing really anyway. I spend so much time alone, in my laboratory, but when I am outside, I am with you. I am always with you, here, in town, in battle. I want to be with you. I want to hold your hand and I want to kiss you and I want to brag. I always look for you, anywhere. The team is always home or... somewhere, and I know they're fine. I know you're fine, too, but I only seek you. I am relieved when I see you. I am excited when you hint at sex. I think it makes us closer, because I trust you, Misha. But I would never fuck again if that was what decided our relationship. I wouldn't dare.

Your body is unlike any I have ever seen before, I love it. I love you. We fit impossibly well together. I have belonged with you since the day we met and your hand first met my shoulder. You are a marvelous, stupendous, amazing, unforgettable specimen. But you are also mein Ehemann. It may have been different when we were only dating, but now you are my husband before you are my patient. Science means nothing to me when you are standing in front of it.

Und, Misha, even though I prioritise your company, you do so much. Everybody can tell you this. I do not... I DO NOT understand how anybody else couldn't. I do not get why it is not all that your family talks about. Everybody loves you, Misha. You are so fierce und wonderful and gorgeous and amazing and I wish I could make you stop forgetting that, but the medicine is... not exact... and I guess I am not so good on the neurological front. ... as much as it pains me to say this.... I am not going to change you, Misha. Not with an operation. Medicine is godly, but I did not fall in love with a perfect man. I do not want one. Maybe it is easier for you, but it would be miserable for me, if you did not feel the way you do. So big. Big emotions. I am selfish, Misha.

You are so strong and will always be so needed, Misha, because everybody that we know will always want you. You were here first, you are the head of every legal image we have. You are the loudest voice on the battlefield and the best decision-maker we have. You are our protector, just as well as you were everybody else's. I could not be here without you. We lose the most whenever you are on contract. Nobody else matters. My strong, skillful Mikhail.

You give me more than I ever thought I could have.

Breakfast all the time, good dinners, outings, deeper friendships with teammates that would be superficial if it wasn't for you showing me how to be more of a person. You have provided me love and shown my birds that you can be trusted. They love you. And if they love you, so do I. I am... not good at this. I wish I was good at this. I wish you knew, Mikhail, that you are everything. I wish you trusted our marriage now like how you did when we married. I want you to listen when I renew my vows.

I love you so much more than I think I am able to. I am so in love with you that I would cheat death maybe eight times over just to be by your side. I love you when you laugh, and when you are bloody, and when you are sad, and when you growl, and when you are too tired to get out of bed in the morning, and when you are so bold, and when you are tying me up, and when you exist. You are a part of me that I need like water.

I would love you, Misha, if all that was left of you was your big heart.

Ich werde dich ewig lieben.

Please trust me. Nobody deserves to change us.

Gute Nacht, mein Liebling.

#tf2 #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #red oktoberfest #the doctor is in

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paingoes · 5 months ago

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Destroyer - Birthday I

(Masterlist)

you guys have NO idea how excited i am to get to this section. this is a two-parter. enjoy :D

(Content: discussions of captivity, slavery, imperialism, illness, and colonialism. alcohol. some very slight dubcon.)

===================

He’d come back to Thales. They’d warned him it was tempting fate, but lightning never strikes the same place twice. And it was about time they did something with the castle. In winter, the frost shone delicately against the outer walls. It reflected the starlight out across the lawn, its colors glistening as if made of moonstone.

It was Paris’s birthday. They would celebrate here. There was enough notice given to the staff for them to restore the castle to a fraction of its former glory, then almost enough time to manage the actual preparations. Nobody could say that he did not understand showmanship. The inside of Castle Thales was ethereal and ancient. All the ghosts were out tonight.

He didn’t get anything out of it, not really. He smoked alone in the garden, the icy remnants of the summer flowers crushed down by his boots. He watched the procession of guests through the doors without much enthusiasm. He had no use for them socially, no interest in business tonight. He was already ready for it to be over.

He tossed the cigarette butt out onto the frozen grass, turning to go back inside.

“Paris!” Her voice carried across the field. She almost knocked him over, arms flying around his neck. He stumbled before he caught her.

“I’m so sorry, I meant to see you sooner,” Her head was fully in his chest, pressing up against the wound, “I saw the footage. Paris, I couldn’t believe it.”

She laughed a little as she withdrew, “Why would you ever have the party here?”

Paris smiled at her, some of the sullenness melting away. Her hair was done in tight curls, but her dress was modern and hung loosely off her body. It made her look more boyish than usual. The diamonds on her face reflected the light shining off the castle.

“Going for symmetry,” Paris’s eyes glanced out to the treeline, a sliver of fearful expectancy still obvious in his voice. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course I came,” Lorelai said softly. He had smelled faintly of antiseptic.

He offered her the last cigarette in the pack.

“You just got a new lung! Why do you even have that!” She protested, reaching for it anyway. He lit it up for her. Her lipstick stained the filter.

===================

Delta was exhausted. He’d been given too much to heal from lately. Sierra had spent all afternoon with him, getting more and more frustrated as she found more bruises. His shade was so specific, it took hours to cover up properly. She’d been on the verge of tears before she even got around to working on the others. It was too large a festival for one day. Delta felt for her, but the stress didn’t make her particularly nice to be around. He blinked some of the paint out of his eyes, still feeling the sting of the brushes.

A thick chain connected his collar to the base of the throne. He was very familiar with this specific position. The court had not so long ago belonged to the Emperor. In most ways, it still did. He’d been made to kneel here ever since he had first been acquired. In his memories, the throne had been larger. The space felt too small for him now.

He straightened up, noticing his own slouching. Little jolts ran through his body, one of the best ways he had to wake himself up. These things tended to run long. He raised his head up slightly to look out at the ballroom. It really did look beautiful tonight, but there was something uncanny about it. Something in how the light played. He’d lost track of Paris a while ago, which would’ve been fine, had he not been so anxious about his return. He found himself subconsciously scanning the room for any signs. This time, he caught one.

Paris was hanging by the southern entrance to the hall. A girl - Lorelai? - was standing close to him. Delta recognized the soft copper of her hair, but couldn’t see her face from her position. She turned around suddenly. He jumped a little, realizing she was looking straight at him. He could read Paris’s body language well enough to know they were arguing. Delta quickly bowed his head back down. He wanted nothing to do with it.

He didn’t look back up again until he heard her footsteps approaching – and even then, he tried to avoid it. She was wearing the same boots she had on the first time they met.

“What about you?” She said, leaning down, “Do you wanna dance?”

The diamonds of her face were so striking. They lit up like a kaleidoscope – almost too hard to see past. Paris was standing a few paces behind her, glaring daggers. Delta froze.

She whipped her head around, catching Paris’s sour expression. “Knock it off.”

He laughed. It wasn’t kind. She whirled on him entirely, the ends of her dress spinning behind her. Her fists were clenched. He said something low, through grit teeth. Delta couldn’t make it out, nor could he make out her response. It went on like that for a few turns before Paris threw his hands up.

“You know what? Fine,” He marched over to Delta, grabbing the collar harshly. He flinched. Paris released the lock, letting the chain clatter to the floor.

“Fuck both of you.”

Paris stormed out. Lorelai put her hands to her head, clutching her own hair in frustration.

“God, he’s such a baby sometimes.” She groaned.

She turned to look at Delta again. He was visibly grimacing, staring out in the direction Paris had left. He rubbed at his neck absently, a bit sore from where the chain had been yanked.

Lorelai extended her hand, “You can hang out with me if you want. Forget him.”

Delta eyed her warily. Her expression was warm — not mocking, as he feared she meant to be. It wasn’t a good idea. Yet he knew on some level the damage was already done. He had nothing better to do with his night. He gingerly took her hand. It was much softer than he had expected.

===================

Delta walked behind her with the quiet resignation of someone who was dragged everywhere, all the time. He didn’t have a problem with shadowing her, but it made him a little nervous to navigate the crowd this way. Seeming to sense this, she pushed out through a side door, into a more deserted corridor. The castle was labyrinthine to the two of them.

“It’s eerie that they decorated every room. Aren’t these supposed to be off-limits?” Lorelai mused, “I can’t tell what the theme is. Time?”

Delta was silent. She released his hand, tilting her head at him.

“You don’t like parties, I bet.”

“No, miss.” He blushed a little, rolling his shoulder back. She frowned.

“Want to get some air?”

“Yes, miss.”

She led him out onto the third floor balcony, which was also supposed to be off-limits. There were chairs up there, but she sat up on the stone railing. Delta lingered in the doorway. The stars were tinted with purple. The twin moons of Thales hung in different quadrants of the sky.

“You know, my folks didn’t want me to come to this,” Lorelai smiled a little, “Not after last time. You were there, weren’t you?”

Delta hesitated, “…For the assassination?”

She nodded. “What was it like?”

Again, he paused. He wasn’t used to open-ended questions. They made him a bit suspicious. He tried to feel out if a trap had been laid.

“Abrupt,” he said finally, “It only took a second. Miss.”

She felt her own chest, her manicured hands making small circles in her sternum.

“I can’t imagine. I really can’t.” She shook her head. “I could never go military, I’m too scared of pain. I used to cry like a baby whenever I had to get a shot.”

Delta’s bruises were invisible beneath the makeup. No question had been posed to him. He didn’t speak.

===================

He couldn’t deal with whiskey again. The smell alone made him nauseous, spurred the migraine forth for as long as he was around it. Lorelai accepted this condition gracefully. She had disappeared at the bar for a little while, re-emerging with two pink glasses.

“Try it, it tastes like juice,” She looked at him with huge eyes, pushing it into his hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered. She looped her arm in his, slipping back out from the crowded hall. The cold night wind bit into them as soon as the side door opened.

Delta could feel it coming on, but he couldn’t stop it. He loosened up too much when he was drunk. He forgot everything he was trying to safeguard. But Lorelai was so nice. He didn’t feel afraid to talk, the way he had been all the time recently. She giggled when she noticed she was getting real answers out of him. It wasn’t mean.

“My mom said if I take a year off, I’ll never go back. They keep threatening to cut me off and I don’t have the heart to tell them I really don’t care. I never wanted their money. I mean, I was glad to have it when I did, but I’m an adult now. I have dreams! I don’t wanna be their baby anymore.” She bumped into him, spilling a bit of her drink, “So what do you do?”

“Murders and executions, mostly.”

“Oh. Right.” She seemed embarrassed to have asked. “Come look at this.”

She trotted over to the steel fence surrounding the castle grounds. Delta strolled along a few steps behind her.

“You’ve been here before?” His voice was so soft, the wind almost carried it away.

“Few times. Not recently. I hope they’re still here,” She jogged the last steps to the flowerbed, then did a running slide onto her knees into the dirt.

“Ah! Cold!” She cried out, “Don’t do that!”

He hadn’t planned to. He bent down beside her to examine the bed. It was a little frosted over, but there were still white flowers visible this late in the season. Lorelai cupped one between her hands like she wanted to pick it, then stopped herself.

“Noella-nas. It’s a good story. You heard it?”

“No, miss.”

“During the settling of Swanni in the late medieval period, all of King Cataline’s court came down with this mysterious pox. It came for his wife and children first, then spread throughout the court. Eventually all of the pilgrims had contracted it. They called it Whicap. It would start inside their bones and eat its way out. It took off their arms and legs one at a time. King Cataline was sure they all would be killed if the plague carried on. So he went out into the wilderness to speak with the native people. They had seen Whicap before. They showed him the place where Noella-nas grows. He cut it out of the ground and brought it back to his court alchemist. The petals of Noella-nas were the cure for their illness. That’s how the pilgrims at Swanni survived their first decade. That’s why their children still live there today.”

She plucked a single petal off and rolled it between her fingers.

“They’re extinct in the wild. The forests they grew in were leveled and turned into farmland. Thales keeps growing them as a heritage project. Nobody really gets Whicap anymore, anyway.”

Her dress was dirty. Her knees had been scraped up and the soil of the courtyard was sticking in the wound. She popped the petal into her mouth, letting it melt there. It tasted like marshmallow root.

“Is it alright if I ask where you’re from?” She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were bleary.

“I was born in captivity. I’m not from anywhere,” He answered. Despite the cold weather, he was strangely warm. Lorelai put her hand to her mouth, tracing her own lips as if to self-soothe.

“Oh. I thought you might be from one of the outer colonies. I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve met who were born outside Empire. It’s so scary. It’s too big. Did you just say you were born in captivity?”

He was starting to understand Paris better. He now knew what it was like to be physically incapable of shutting up.

“Yeah. Or I was surrendered to the Institute while I was still really young. I don’t have any memories of ever living outside of it.” He paused. “It’s probably easier that way. We would sometimes get kids who’d been surrendered at age seven or so. They never lasted long. They just couldn’t adjust to it.”

Lorelai fully covered her face now. “I don’t know how you can forgive us. I don’t know how anyone ever could.”

The air around them sparked. Delta, embarrassed, tried desperately to ground himself. Little arcs of electricity were coming off of him in a way he couldn’t control. Lorelai kept her face buried in her hands and would not get up until Delta asked her to come back where it was warm.

===================

They went into the basement. Delta had asked nicely. He got the strange sense he might never have another chance to see it. The door was locked, but the lock was not strong. It wasn’t the same one they’d had when Delta was kept there. Lorelai kicked like a mule. It burst open.

Delta got a little woozy at the sight of the stairs. They were ivory and covered by a finely woven rug. Its wine red shade had faded mostly to brown. The two of them descended.

The floor came into view first. It was warm marble tiling, inlaid with gold. It spread out in their vision as they neared the bottom. It spread — and there was very little else.

“Oh,” Delta realized, “They got rid of it.”

The expensive and well-insulated material that had made up the walls of his room were torn down. All that was left were the support structures. Thin beams of rebar descended from the ceiling and down into the tile. They marked out the perimeter where the room had once ended. Standing alone, they looked a lot like the bars of a cage.

Lorelai slipped in between them. The light sound of her boots clicking on the tile suddenly changed as it came into contact with the old floor. It was well insulated, meant for grounding. Her steps sounded heavier. They made a dull echo throughout the room.

She spun around, running her fingers along the bars.

“It’s so small,” she said.

“I was younger when they built it,” Delta said weakly. He didn’t know why he was defending them. He didn’t even want to get close. He glanced around again. The outer walls of the basement were decorated with simple paintings and tapestries. Besides that, there was nothing else down there.

“I think they took the rest of my stuff,” he concluded, a small note of bitterness creeping into his voice. When he’d first gotten aboard the Thorn, Simon had packed him two suitcases. One was all clothes. The other was mostly books. Everything else he’d owned had been lost for a long time. Some small part of him hoped he might find it here.

Maybe it was for the best though. Had the room still been intact, he doubted he could’ve brought himself to enter it. Just the idea of it made him nauseous.

Lorelai slipped out from between the bars. She leaned her hip against the one of them and hooked her arm around another as if to steady herself. The rust of the rebar stained her skin. She didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s…really scary,” she says slowly, “I’m sorry.”

Delta brushes a strand of hair from his face.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Lorelai continued, “Do you want to go back up?”

He nods.

===================

“I mean, I guess I’m sorry it’s still happening,” she said.

“What?” Delta asked. They were on the balcony again. She’d gotten them more drinks. It was starting to be an unwise amount. She sipped at her mojito pensively. The silly straw did nothing to alleviate her grief.

“With you. I’m sorry you have to live like this.” Lorelai braced herself against the stone railing, looking straight down into the garden.

Delta didn’t answer.

“I like Paris, you know. He’s my friend. But he’s a lot sometimes. I don’t know.” She paused:

“...Is he good to you?”

She turned her head slightly to see if his expression changed. He was gazing out into the surrounding woods. The top of the ship was just barely visible over the treetops. The question hung in the air. Delta rubbed at his neck.

“I don’t think he wants to be this way.” He said finally. “He just…gets himself so worked up.”

She nodded like she understood. The sky was clouding up; her cup was empty again. When she moved to stand, her gait was wobbly. The glass toppled over. Delta caught her before she could fall too.

“Are you okay, miss?” Delta asked, a muted note of concern in his voice. He was used to the drunken two-step by now. At least with her, it didn’t hold the threat of sudden violence.

“I’m tired,” she murmured, “I’m…really tired.”

Delta led her back down the stairs to the ballroom. He flagged down her friends, who seemed to recognize the danger. They gathered to come collect her. Before he could pass her off, she leaned over and quickly pecked him on the cheek.

Delta blushed as her friends led her away. The party was over, anyway. She cast a last glance over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable.

He traced the skin where she had kissed him. It had been right on top of the bruise.

~~~

Tags: @catnykit @indigoviolet311 @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire @micechomper

#whump #whump community #whump scenario #living weapon whumpee #whump prompt #living weapon #captivity #dubcon #delta is okay w it but its still kind of a grey area w him ykwim #delta #paris #lorelai #alcohol #also this is probably obvious but i want to say it anyway. it’s impossible for lorelai or delta to be objective abt paris #they both have love goggles for him to different extents

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muddyorbsblr · 2 years ago

Text

why him?

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @fictive-sl0th

Summary: An invitation to a Thanksgiving family reunion was sent addressed to you and Loki, and you're not exactly all that excited to face everyone after over a decade of no contact.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Audrey and her grade-A parenting…and she's got friends this time; family drama; hints of Loki's insecurity over his brother if you squint; language (get over it, Rogers) [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship

The air was unreasonably thick as the car drove through the streets of your old neighborhood, the layout hauntingly familiar to you and growing increasingly stifling as you passed each picturesque home. Every single one of those houses looked like they didn't age a day, the paint jobs pristinely done to ensure they looked as good as when its owners moved in over a decade and a half ago.

The lawns were a uniform obnoxious radiant green, a blatant show of affluence that yes, you were in a neighborhood that could afford to allocate obscene amounts of water to maintain the lush green hue of a patch of land that nobody could walk on. All for the sake of display.

"My love, I rarely ever say these words to anyone besides myself, but you must calm yourself." The feel of a large hand taking yours and fingers lacing through yours brought you out of your trance, not realizing that you'd been incessantly shaking your leg until Loki placed his free hand on top of it to stop you. "We can still turn around and head home instead. We need not face these people if even the thought of seeing them again has you shaking this way."

"I just don't get it," you murmured, relaxing your posture to let the god maneuver you and place you onto his lap, resting your head on his shoulder. You could practically feel your nerves melting away as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the backs of his fingers stroking along your spine making you lean into him all the more. "Why now? After all this time?"

"Perhaps they wish to show you off," he grunted, sighing when he felt you tense up again after his words. "I don't wish to think ill of the very people that brought you into this world as I owe them a great debt for that alone, but if they had made the monumental mistake of ceasing to be a part of your life for so long, then my mind cannot help but think of ulterior motives on their part."

"Maybe they need me to win a pissing contest," you added, rolling your eyes. "But if that's the case then why didn't they reach out when I got into the Avengers Program? When Tony announced me as a new member of the team? How come after years of my mother voicing how disappointed she's been in me straying from the family business, suddenly we're--Holy fuck I know what it is." His light squeeze at your side prompted you to continue. "It's you."

"I'm afraid you've lost me there, darling. How is it--"

"Think about it," you kept going. "What happened days before we got the invitation? And just the fact that they addressed the invitation to both of us. Not just me and telling me that I can bring my boyfriend. The invitation said Y/N and Loki. They're not out to brag about me to their pretentious fuckwits at the country club. They're out to brag about you."

"Y/N that's absurd--"

"It's makes complete sense and you know it," you insisted. "We went public just a few days before we got that invitation--" He cut you off with a pointed look, challenging your spin on the situation. "Okay fine, people took photos of us out on a date and before theories got out of hand I tweeted 'Yeah we're dating. Deal with it.' and gave Pepper a migraine, same difference. Anyway, that happens, and suddenly they want me at Thanksgiving? That's not a coincidence, sweetie."

He pressed his forehead to yours, letting out a long sigh as he wrapped his arms tighter around you. "Say the word and we can call off this charade. I will speak with Stark and tell him we truly do not need these people as stakeholders if it comes at the cost of your peace."

Your heart swelled at his offer, knowing full well that he was more than ready to put an end to this shitstorm before it even began. But you also knew that a guilt would always eat away at you if you didn't so much as try. You owed Tony a great deal, after all, especially considering that he didn't even hold it against you when you outright refused to participate in that skirmish back in Germany and also proceeded to refer to all the parties that took part in it "a bunch of babies incapable of just talking it out instead".

"I have to at least try," you muttered, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. "At the very least it'd be nice to see my little sister again. Scare her fiancé within an inch of his sanity if he even thinks of hurting her."

"If you're sure, darling. But if at any point you wish to leave, let me know. We'll be home in seconds. Leave Stark's transportation behind. Surely Hogan will be able to find his way back to the compound."

"I heard that," a voice broke through the speakers on your side of the divider. "Look if you two have to make the dramatic exit a heads up would be nice is all I'm saying. Don't wanna have to spend a second longer in here than we have to, you know?"

"Happy I get you, but I'm sure you know by now that if we're gonna be texting you about a dramatic exit, by the time you read it, we'll already be back in our apartment." His groan over the speakers was all the agreement you needed. "Just--if anyone in that house asks you any questions, say it's classified information under Tony's orders or some shit. I don't want anyone in there knowing a goddamn thing. Nosy pretentious asshats." You grumbled the last part under your breath, earning a chuckle from the god still cradling you in his arms.

"Well I hope your poker face is ready, Y/N," Happy spoke up again. "Because we're about three houses away and a woman that looks like an older Botox'd to the high heavens and bleach blonde version of you is waiting by the mailbox."

"I'm assuming the woman he's describing is your mother?"

You nodded, refusing to lift your head from Loki's shoulder as if it would somehow prolong -- maybe even prevent -- the inevitable. "Fucking Audrey."

"Should I be especially cautious around anyone?"

You scoffed at the question. "Everyone. Just as a rule of thumb, if any of my aunts corner you and ask you about sleeping habits or stamina, call me. If anyone touches you anywhere that only I should be touching and not in front of a live audience unless we're feeling especially risqué, shout and I'll beat them up and make a scene so crazy it'll make Wade proud."

"I don't think you should pride yourself on your ability to incur that Wilson's pride, darling," he cautioned you with a soft chuckle. "But I will make sure to take your words to heart." You let out a whiny whimper as he eased you off his lap and seated you beside him, feeling the car coming to a stop. "Shall we?"

You placed your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as he exited the car before helping you out as well. When you saw the obviously newly bleached blonde middle aged woman approaching you, you could feel Loki's thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand the moment you began to tense up. "Mother," you spoke up, smiling through gritted teeth. "Thank you for extending the invitation. Let me introduce you to Loki, we work together and we…also live together. He's my boyfriend."

Every nerve in your body tensed itself for a fight the second she gave him a head-to-toe look, her eyes so visibly dismissive and judgmental. "It was your father that extended the invitation. Come on, we shouldn't keep him waiting." And then she turned around and walked back toward the house, completely ignoring the god's outstretched hand to shake.

"What in the actual fuck?" you muttered, both of you giving each other a look before following Audrey into your childhood home.

The second the door opened you saw a familiar dark-haired ball of energy running toward you for a hug. "Y/N holy fuck you actually came!" your sister Stella squealed, the impact of her embrace making you let go of your boyfriend's hand. "I fucking missed you so much!"

"It's great to see you too, sis," you chuckled, returning her embrace as you took a look around the house that barely resembled your home from years past. "Any idea why they sent the invite, though? I mean I don't wanna sound like a right bitch but--"

"The short version is that Dad saw a video of you on a mission last year and he started missing you. When you went viral a few weeks ago after those photos of you and your boyfriend went around, he decided it's been too long since he's seen you and he wanted to meet you. And Loki. He just wants to meet the guy who made you smile the way you do in the pictures. You seem really happy with him."

You beamed at her words. "I really am, Stell. Actually I was wondering if you and your fiancé would be up to it, we could all meet up next time you're in the city." If it was possible, her smile got even wider at your offer. "I never wanted to be the first to show weakness since Audrey would fucking jump in glee at that but…I really fucking missed you, too, моя маленькая сестра."

The wonder that entered her eyes tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you so much of how she looked before you'd left home all those years ago. Back when she was still smack dab in the middle of high school. "What was that you just said?"

"My little sister." She let out a childlike giggle as she wrapped her arms around you again. "Nat's been teaching me mainly so we can talk shit. The only ones who can tell what we're talking about are Loki, his brother, and Bucky."

"Ohh if you knew how fucking thirsty everyone's been on the family group chat over literally everyone you just mentioned. Oop--you should probably go save your mans from some of them because our aunts? Well, let's just say they got handsy over my Nate, and he's nowhere near as built as your--"

"Say less," you muttered, walking toward the aunts in question. There were three of them standing in front of your boyfriend, the closest being Brenda who was basically the slutty wine mom version of Audrey, and she was about to reach out and place an overly manicured hand complete with long coffin acrylic nails on Loki's arm.

You put a stop to her wine-aided show of interest in people that weren't hers inches before acrylic met cotton, your hand catching her wrist in a thinly-veiled death grip and earning you an incredulous head-to-toe look from her. "Why, little horsey, what's gotten into--"

"Touch him, and it will be the last time you have hands, Brenda," you seethed, placing enough pressure against the joint of her thumb to let her know you weren't kidding. "I might be one of the non-enhanced members of my team, but that doesn't mean I can't break your hand like a fucking toothpick. And since you can't seem to remember anything you were taught as a child, let me just refresh your decaying memory. Touch that which belongs to someone else and lose a fucking limb."

She struggled to free her hand from your grip for a few moments before you made a show of "graciously" letting go, the three women stumbling away from you and the raven-haired Asgardian, a look of caution in their eyes as they made their way back to the kitchen. "Can I steal that line from you, little bunny?"

You turned towards the source of the new voice, a smile stretching across your face as you met eyes with you father. The only other friendly face you'd seen so far besides Stella since stepping foot in this house. This time around you were the one running for a hug, nearly sending him stumbling back from the impact. "I'll even teach you where to apply pressure."

"Horse? Bunny?" You broke the embrace to turn back towards Loki. "Any particular reason why your familial nicknames are based on animals?"

"When my permanent teeth were coming in, my front teeth looked a little too big for my face, so…" You trapped your bottom lip under your front teeth and wiggled your nose like a bunny, making him chuckle as you stepped back into his embrace before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Horse is because I had an overbite and despite growing into it, Brenda always fucking neighed whenever I stepped into the room."

"Darling, that's horrid."

"That's Brenda for you," your dad retorted, holding out a hand toward the god. "I'm Thatcher. I apologize for Y/N's mother. And her sisters. And my sisters."

The tension that had knots forming all over you began to relax by the slightest as you slipped out of Loki's hold, leaving him to talk with your father in relative peace compared to how you began your re-entry into this chapter of your life that felt too full of ghosts you thought you'd exorcised a long time ago.

"The last time I saw her this happy she was a little girl twirling around in a yellow princess dress getting ready for Halloween trick or treating around the neighborhood. Do you--have that? Back in…?"

"Asgard?" Loki finished for your father. "We do not. In truth Y/N was the one that kept me apprised of all the traditions mortals have in this realm. And the sweets that children tend to hoard during that time of year. We still have some from this year's festivities in our apartment left over from when she handed them out to the children."

"Is that how you and her became a thing?"

The god let out a mix between a chuckle and a sharp exhale as the memories of the early days of your relationship came back to him. "No. Those days we were simply friends. I'd only started truly courting her earlier this year. It was my brother that tipped us both off that we were as you mortals would say…dancing around each other? Truly I'd been taken with her the moment we met, I just never dared think she would return the sentiment. Since then I'd barely ever left her side." He looked to you, speaking with your sister once more as you both walked down the hall toward the kitchen, heart pounding in his chest as his mind was bombarded with the thought of perhaps living in a home similar to this with you one day, perhaps starting a family of your own. "You raised a remarkable woman, you should be very proud of her."

"I have been. I've always been. Honestly the only reason I haven't reached out to her sooner is I knew she wouldn't want to see most of the people in this house since they're the ones that practically drove her out all those years ago. But getting hit with the realization that my little girl was building a future that I wasn't going to be a part of felt so wrong to me. I only wanted for us to reconnect but the second Audrey and the rest of the family heard I was planning to reach out they took over. Invited themselves. Turned it into this entire thing."

"Apologies but I don't quite follow. She talked as if she knew that this would be a full family affair. Braced herself for it, even."

"That's only because she knows her mother painfully well, always sticking her business in places it didn't belong," he grumbled. "I don't know if she told you, but her mother and I have been separated since years before she even left the house. Our families have just been so tangled up with one another that I can't seem to escape as cleanly as my daughter did. Really I only planned for this to have been a simple meal shared with maybe Stella and her fiancé. I should have met with her instead, fuck I really clowned with this whole thing."

"Something that Y/N told me throughout my acclimation into this realm was…we learn as we go." Your father snapped his gaze towards you the moment Loki said the words. "She said you taught her that."

Thatcher straightened his stance and faced the god once more. "Do you love my daughter?"

He didn't hesitate to give his answer. "More than anything."

A lump formed in Loki's throat as your father reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring box that seemed generations old, set in a black leather and gold detailing. "The second I saw those pictures of the two of you, I recognized that look in your eyes. It's the same one I saw in Nate when he looked at Stella. When you're ready, and more importantly when she's ready, all I want is to be able to walk my baby down the aisle. But until then, keep this somewhere safe."

With a wave of his hand, Loki made the box disappear in a flash of green, keeping it in the safest place he could. "I'm sure she would love to have you walk her--"

"Are you fucking kidding me, Audrey??" The sound of your voice going shrill had him ready to march over to you. "So not only did you have the fucking audacity to invite yourself to this, bring your air-headed sisters along with you, and disrespect me and my boyfriend within sixty seconds of getting out the fucking car, but now you think you're in a position to pass your judgment and tell everyone how you think I 'picked the wrong Asgardian'."

A chill spread throughout Loki's body at your words. Despite the knowledge that yes, Thor was in fact the one that practically pushed you two to finally admit to your feelings towards one another, there would always be a deep-seated fear in him that you would wake up one day and choose differently. As so many before did in their youth.

"I'm just saying, little horsey, that if I was given the choice between two brothers, I would have picked the one that could make me a queen of a whole planet. Not the alien equivalent of an ex-con," your mother sneered at you, making his skin bristle at the sight of your rage visibly beginning to build. "Then again I shouldn't be surprised. You always did make it so difficult for us to tell any of our friends about you. Turning your back on the family business, specializing in a field that could do nothing for the image of my family, and now we can't even tell anyone you're dating a prince because all they're gonna see is the guy on YouTube back in Stuttgart that told everyone to--"

"Audrey, you finish that sentence I'm gonna make you fucking kneel," you seethed, shoulders squaring as you took a step toward them. "You haven't had a single good thing to say about me since I got first runner up in that stupid pageant you dragged me into when I was three. I turned my back on the family business because I refused to participate in a cycle of helping raise a new generation of girls that would turn out to be as brainless and shallow as you lot. I specialized in technological advancements in sustainable energy so I could actually do some good in the world and it got me an internship in Stark Industries that led to my training at SHIELD that led me into the Avengers program.

"And I don't give a single flying fuck if you can't brag to your friends at the country club about who I share a home with! Tell them whatever the fuck you want, but the long and short of it is this: I am dating a god. And a King." You lowered your voice as a smirk tugged at the side of your mouth, picking up a book that had been placed on top of the counter and waving it in their direction. "And these big boy blue-skinned ice aliens you're thirsting over in your horny wine moms book club?" You tossed the book back on the countertop with a resounding smack. "I'm dating that, too."

Your sister's jaw dropped to the ground as her gaze flickered between the scene in front of her and towards the front door where Loki still stood watching along with your father. "You go, sis," he heard her mutter before she cleared her throat. "If it helps, she's unimpressed with Nate being a neurosurgeon, too."

Somehow that sentiment caused you to chuckle, your stance a touch more relaxed now. "You know for such unimpressive women, you seem to have impossible standards for what you think is impressive to you. And the funniest thing is that somehow you all got it into your heads that the blonde himbo I call one of my best friends, that got banished to Earth for trying to destroy an entire realm because he was always a little too excited to wage war 'in his youth'…The same blonde himbo that had to grab and shake my shoulders to knock some sense into me because apparently my not so subtle crush on his brother was reciprocated and we were being idiots friendzoning ourselves? That Thor? Somehow you think you know better than I do and that he's somehow the better option? Fucking. Laughable.

"When I choose who I give my heart to, Audrey, that's it. I don't do the stupid thing and look around and see if there's greener pastures somewhere because I was raised better than that. By someone with more character in his pinky toenail than you have in your entire body, you bumbling idiot. Fact is there is no better option and there will never be a better option. Not for me. Thor doesn't even begin to compete. He's just the matchmaker. And if you can't even suck up your ego for five seconds and show me a modicum of respect then I don't need to tolerate your pretentious ass for one more minute."

As you walked out of the kitchen, marching your way back to him, Loki could see a fierce protectiveness in your eyes that he only ever saw out in the field. He'd come to terms that he would never see you donning that look over himself because out there he was better equipped and more than willing to be the one protecting you. He had to admit, however, that seeing it now had his heart doing somersaults in his chest.

I'm going to marry this woman, he thought to himself, a smile stretching across his face once you'd reached him and stepped into his outstretched arm, your own hand sliding across his lower back as you both settled into a familiar embrace.

"Sorry to rain down on this whole thing, Dad. I know you tried." You and your father gave each other mirroring shrugs. "Maybe you could--go to New York next time? Bring Stella with you? Y'know…just because I never wanna see those sad sacks of silicone and bleach ever again doesn't mean I wanna live the rest of my life without you two."

"I'll reach out next time I find myself in your neck of the woods, little bunny. Might be sooner than you think."

Your hold on him tightened the slightest bit as if to draw his attention back to you. It was adorable that you thought it ever left. "Let's go home." The way your tone audibly softened as soon as you turned to face him had the god unable to hold back from pressing a kiss to the top of your head before turning toward the door.

"Home?" a new voice perked up, making you both turn and face the dark-blond haired man who stepped in next to your sister. "I take it Audrey fucked up that fast, huh?" He set the grocery bags in his hands down, wiping his hands on his trouser legs before extending one towards you. "I'm Nate."

"The neurosurgeon, right?" you answered, taking his hand in what Loki knew was a handshake a touch firmer than necessary. "You know I work with someone who used to be a neurosurgeon, too. And…" The god stifled a chuckle as your grip tightened and tilted his hand to a point of discomfort. "If you ever even think about hurting my little sister, I will make what Stephen Strange went through look like a walk in the fucking park."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the Midgardian healer squeaked, letting out a breath of relief when you relinquished your hold on his hand. "Sorry you have to leave so early. Would've loved the opportunity to get to know the woman Stella can never seem to stop talking about. She's an entire fangirl whenever she sees you on the news."

"Shut up I am not!" Your sister faced you with a slightly sheepish look not too dissimilar from a look he occasionally saw from you. "Okay maybe I am a little bit. I mean I can't help it! My sister's a superhero!"

The sentiment had you nearly mirroring her jovial tone as you stepped out of his hold to pull her into an embrace. "I love you, too, sis. Come see me if you're ever in New York, okay?" When you pulled away from one another, you held her shoulders as you imparted one final piece of advice to both her and her intended. "You don't have to tolerate her behavior. Neither of you do. Today or--any other day of your lives."

It was just before dark when you and Loki got back to the Avengers Compound, already bracing yourself for what Tony was about to say once you stepped through the threshold. You knew you fucked up any chance of a new stakeholder for the Avengers the second you walked out of that house hand in hand with Loki, but you couldn't bring yourself to tolerate Audrey and her vapid posse a second longer.

Nobody got to pass judgment on you and your choices like that, especially when the choice they were so dismissively passing their judgment on was the love of your life. You should have broken their hands the second they started talking about how they thought you fumbled so badly for not choosing Thor.

"Thanks for not leaving Happy in hoity toity upper middle class Suburbia, you two," Stark hollered seconds after you stepped through the compound's main entrance.

"Tony I'm sorry--"

"For what?" he cut you off. "While you two were on the road your dad called me, said he wanted to invest in the Avengers Program, even offered his consulting company to be in our roster of resources. On one condition."

"And that would be?"

"Regular visits. At least once a quarter, he said. With you as the official liaison. Said he doesn't wanna miss any more of your life if he can help it."

A grin threatened to split your face, your heart warming at the knowledge that when your father said 'might be sooner than you think', he truly meant it. You no longer had to "all or nothing" your embargo on your family. "I think that can be arranged."

A/N: If you got that book reference, let's be best friends. And that name drop.

I'm so glad to knock another request off the 500-follower list! And this was honestly so much fun to write because I got to create a larger family dynamic that wasn't all bad for Reader but also showed that a few bad elements can really just throw off the whole vibe that that in itself is a good enough reason to walk away. (aka fuck u Audrey)

And also writing scenes where Reader tells Audrey off will never not be cathartic for me 😂🫡

Thank you so much for sending the request in, Camille! I hope you love the story as much as I loved creating it 💖💛

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