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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

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Black Widow

Toto Wolff x black widow!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton and George Russell are convinced you’re trying to kill their team principal, and, to be fair, you do have a trail of seven dead extremely wealthy husbands behind you … but it’s not what they think, you promise

The soft beep of medical equipment provides a rhythmic backdrop as you sit beside the ornate mahogany bed, your manicured fingers intertwined with those of your latest husband, Reginald Worthington III.

At 89 years old, Reggie, as you affectionately call him, is by far your oldest conquest yet. His wrinkled face, now gaunt from months of illness, still manages a weak smile as he gazes at you.

“My darling,” Reggie wheezes, his voice barely above a whisper, “I hope you know how much joy you’ve brought to these final months of mine.”

You lean in, your silky hair cascading over your shoulder as you press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Reggie. The pleasure has been all mine.”

It’s not entirely a lie. While you don’t love Reggie — or any of your previous husbands, for that matter — you’ve grown fond of the old codger. He’s certainly been the most amusing of your elderly spouses.

Reggie’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a ghost of the rakish playboy he must have been in his youth. “Now, now, my dear. We both know this has been a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I do hope I’ve provided some entertainment along the way.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve been a delight, darling. Truly.”

As if on cue, Reggie is seized by a coughing fit. You quickly grab a glass of water from the bedside table, helping him take small sips until the spasms subside. When he catches his breath, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you. About the will.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face carefully neutral. “Reggie, please. We don’t need to discuss such morbid topics.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. We both know why you’re here, and it’s not to admire the wallpaper. Now listen, because this is important.”

You lean in closer, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Reggie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “In addition to the usual — the houses, the cars, the offshore accounts — I’m leaving you my stake in the Mercedes Formula 1 team.”

Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. “The racing team? Reggie, I had no idea you were involved with-”

He cuts you off with a wheezy laugh. “Oh, my dear. There’s so much you don’t know about me. Did you think I made my fortune selling denture cream?”

You can’t help but smile. “Well, I did wonder about all those trophies in your study.”

“Remnants of a misspent youth,” Reggie says with a wistful sigh. “But this, this is my crowning achievement. A 33% stake in one of the most successful F1 teams in history.”

Your mind reels at the implications. This is far beyond anything you’d anticipated when you’d set your sights on Reginald Worthington III.

“Reggie, I ... I don’t know what to say.”

He pats your hand affectionately. “You don’t have to say anything, my dear. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it. I’ve always admired your ambition. It reminds me of myself at your age.”

You lean back in your chair, studying the old man before you. In that moment, you feel a surge of genuine affection for him.

“I promise, Reggie. I’ll make you proud.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, tell me about the others. I want to know how I measure up to my predecessors.”

You laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Are you sure? It’s quite a list.”

Reggie’s eyes sparkle with interest. “My dear, I’m on my deathbed. Regale me with tales of your conquests.”

With a theatrical sigh, you begin. “Well, if you insist. Let’s see ... first, there was Harold.”

“Ah, the virgin husband,” Reggie interrupts with a knowing nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “And how did you know that?”

He winks. “I have my sources. Go on.”

“Right. Well, Harold was a sweet man. A bit naive, perhaps, but genuinely kind. He left me his tech startup. It wasn’t worth much at the time, but I sold it for a tidy sum a year later.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “Smart move. Who was next?”

“After Harold came George. He was ... intense. A retired army general with a penchant for war stories and expensive scotch. Left me his collection of rare military memorabilia.”

“Fascinating,” Reggie murmurs. “And the others?”

You tick them off on your fingers. “Let’s see ... there was Joaquin, the passionate Spanish chef. He left me his Michelin-starred restaurants. Then came Dmitri, the Russian oligarch. That was ... an experience.”

Reggie chuckles. “I bet it was. What did he leave you?”

“A series of shell companies and a rather gaudy yacht. I sold the yacht, kept the companies.” You pause, lost in thought for a moment. “After Dmitri was William, the British lord. Lovely man, terrible teeth. Left me his crumbling estate and title.”

“So you’re technically a lady now?” Reggie asks, amused.

You nod. “Lady Y/N, at your service. Though I don’t use the title much. It tends to raise questions.”

“Understandable. And the last one before me?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Ah, that was Hiroshi. Japanese tech mogul. Brilliant mind, but so lonely. I think I was the first real companionship he’d had in years.”

Reggie studies you carefully. “You were fond of him.”

You nod, a bit surprised by the lump in your throat. “I was. He ... he understood me, I think. More than the others.”

There’s a moment of silence as Reggie processes this information. Finally, he speaks. “And what did Hiroshi leave you?”

You smile wryly. “His AI research company. It’s been ... interesting, to say the least.”

Reggie nods slowly. “Quite a collection you’ve amassed, my dear. But tell me, what drives you? Surely it’s not just the money.”

You’re taken aback by the question. No one has ever asked you that before. You take a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I suppose ... it’s the challenge of it all. The thrill of reinventing myself with each new husband, of navigating these complex worlds they inhabit. And yes, the wealth is nice, but it’s more about what I can do with it.”

Reggie leans forward, intrigued. “And what is it you want to do?”

You pause, realizing you’ve never really articulated this to anyone before. “I want to make a difference. Real, lasting change. These men, they’ve all built empires in their own ways, but they’ve been limited by their own mortality. I don’t have those limitations yet. I can take what they’ve given me and create something ... more.”

Reggie’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah, now I see why I was drawn to you. You’re not just a pretty face or a clever mind. You’re a visionary.”

You feel a flush of pride at his words. “I try to be. Each husband has taught me something new, given me tools I never had before. Harold showed me the potential of technology. George taught me strategy. Joaquin, the importance of passion in one’s work. Dmitri, how to navigate the murky waters of international business. William gave me a glimpse into old-world power structures. And Hiroshi ... well, he opened my eyes to the future.”

Reggie nods slowly. “And what have I taught you, I wonder?”

You smile softly. “Patience, Reggie. The long game. And the value of a good sense of humor in the face of adversity.”

He chuckles weakly. “Well, I’m glad I could contribute something to your education. Now, about this F1 team ...”

You lean in, eager to hear more. “Yes?”

“It’s more than just a racing team, you know. It’s a pinnacle of engineering, a testament to human ingenuity and the constant push for improvement. I think you’ll find it fits quite well with your ambitions.”

You nod slowly, mind already racing with possibilities. “I can see that. The technology, the global platform, the prestige ...”

Reggie grins. “Exactly. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find husband number eight in the paddock.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, Reggie. Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”

He winks. “Someone has to. Now, promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re surprised to find you mean it.

“When you’re accepting that championship trophy — because I know you will — wear something fabulous. Give those stuffy old men in the paddock something to talk about.”

You can’t help but grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to shake things up a bit.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “That’s my girl. Now, I think I need to rest for a bit. But don’t go far. I want to hear all about your plans for world domination when I wake up.”

As you watch Reggie drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Sadness at the impending loss of this charming old rogue, excitement at the unexpected opportunity he’s given you, and a renewed sense of purpose.

You glance at your reflection in the ornate mirror across the room. Lady Y/N Y/L/N, soon-to-be racing magnate. It has a nice ring to it.

As you settle back into your chair, you begin to plan your next moves. The motorsport world won’t know what hit it.

***

The sleek boardroom of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team headquarters buzzes with hushed conversation. Around the polished mahogany table, team executives and board members huddle in small groups, their voices low and urgent.

Toto catches snippets of conversation as he reviews his notes for the meeting.

“Did you hear? She’s actually coming today,” whispers Bradley, the team’s financial officer.

Sarah, head of marketing, leans in. “I can’t believe Reginald left her his stake. What was he thinking?”

“Probably wasn’t thinking with his head, if you know what I mean,” chuckles Thomas, the technical director.

Toto clears his throat, silencing the gossip. “Let’s keep things professional, shall we? We have important matters to discuss today.”

As if on cue, the boardroom door swings open. The room falls into an immediate, almost eerie silence as you stride in, turning heads with every click of your Manolo Blahnik heels against the polished floor.

Toto finds himself holding his breath, caught off guard by your presence. He’s seen photos, of course, but they didn’t do you justice. Your tailored Armani suit exudes power and confidence, while your eyes scan the room with a shrewd intelligence that sends a shiver down his spine.

You take your seat at the far end of the table, directly opposite Toto. “Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not late.”

Your voice, smooth as silk with a hint of amusement, breaks the spell. The room erupts into a flurry of awkward greetings and nervous coughs.

Toto clears his throat again, trying to regain control of the situation. “Not at all. We were just about to begin. Welcome, Lady Worthington. We’re honored to have you join us today.”

You smile, a dazzling display that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Please, call me Y/N. We’re all colleagues here, after all.”

Toto nods, fighting to keep his composure. “Of course, Y/N. Shall we begin with the agenda?”

As the meeting progresses, Toto finds himself increasingly distracted. He’s used to being the most commanding presence in any room, but your arrival has shifted the dynamic entirely. Every time you speak, offering insights or asking pointed questions, the rest of the board seems to hold its breath.

“I’ve been reviewing our sustainability initiatives,” you say during a lull in the conversation. “While I applaud our efforts so far, I believe we could be doing more. Formula 1 has an unique platform to drive innovation in green technologies. We should be leading the charge, not just following along.”

Bradley shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “With all due respect, Lady- I mean, Y/N, implementing new sustainability measures could be quite costly. We need to consider the bottom line.”

You lean forward, fixing Bradley with an intense gaze. “And what about the cost of falling behind? Of being seen as out of touch with the concerns of younger fans? Sometimes, you have to spend money to make money.”

Toto finds himself nodding in agreement before he even realizes it. “Y/N raises an excellent point. Perhaps we should form a task force to explore more aggressive sustainability options.”

You flash him a grateful smile, and Toto feels his heart skip a beat. He quickly looks down at his notes, trying to regain his composure.

As the meeting continues, you consistently challenge the status quo, pushing for bolder strategies and innovative approaches. Toto watches in fascination as you deftly navigate the complex dynamics of the board, alternating between charm and steel as the situation demands.

During a discussion about driver development, you interject again. “I’ve been looking into our junior driver program, and I think we’re missing opportunities. We’re too focused on traditional racing backgrounds. What about sim racers? Or scouting karters from developing countries? We could be tapping into a whole new pool of talent.”

Sarah, the marketing head, perks up at this. “That’s ... actually a brilliant idea. It could really broaden our appeal, especially in emerging markets.”

You nod appreciatively. “Exactly. And imagine the stories we could tell. The sim racer who became an F1 champion or the kid from a small village who rose to the top of motorsport. That’s the kind of narrative that builds brand loyalty and inspires the next generation of fans.”

Toto finds himself leaning forward, completely engrossed. “I love this direction. Y/N, would you be willing to work with Sarah to develop a proposal for expanding our driver search?”

“Of course,” you reply with a smile that makes Toto’s pulse quicken. “I’d be delighted.”

As the meeting winds down, Toto realizes that the entire dynamic of the board has shifted. The initial wariness towards you has given way to a mixture of respect and curiosity. Even those who seemed most skeptical at the start are now hanging on your every word.

“Well,” Toto says, glancing at his watch, “I think that concludes our agenda for today. Unless anyone has any other matters to discuss?”

The room is silent for a moment before you speak up. “Actually, if I may, I’d like to address the elephant in the room.”

A tense hush falls over the gathering. Toto holds his breath, unsure of what’s coming next.

You stand, your posture relaxed but commanding. “I’m aware of the rumors and speculation surrounding my ... personal life. I want to assure all of you that my presence here is purely professional. I’m not here to cause drama or upheaval. I’m here because I believe in the potential of this team and this sport. I hope that over time, you’ll come to judge me based on my contributions, not on gossip or hearsay.”

The sincerity in your voice is palpable, and Toto can see the effect it has on the room. Shoulders relax, expressions soften. There’s a collective exhale, as if a weight has been lifted.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Toto says, standing as well. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we look forward to working with you and seeing what fresh perspectives you can bring to the team.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. As the meeting officially adjourns, people begin to gather their things and file out of the room. Toto notices that several board members linger, clearly hoping to have a word with you. He feels an unexpected twinge of jealousy.

Before he can second-guess himself, Toto makes his way around the table to where you’re chatting with Sarah about the junior driver program idea.

“Excuse me,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “Y/N, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

You turn to him with a smile that makes his heart race. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, acutely aware of the curious glances from the remaining board members. “I was impressed by your insights today. I think there’s a lot we could discuss further about the future direction of the team. Would you perhaps be interested in continuing this conversation over dinner?”

A hush falls over the remaining occupants of the room. Toto can practically feel the weight of their stares, but he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement playing across your features. “Dinner? My, my, Toto. Aren’t you afraid of me? I do have quite the reputation, you know.”

There’s a challenge in your voice, but also a hint of vulnerability that catches Toto off guard. He realizes that beneath your confident exterior, you’re testing him, gauging his true intentions.

Toto meets your gaze steadily, his voice low but firm. “I don’t put much stock in rumors. I prefer to form my own opinions based on what I see and experience. And what I’ve seen today is a brilliant, passionate individual who could be a tremendous asset to this team. That’s the person I’m interested in getting to know better.”

The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response. You study Toto for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spreads across your face.

“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to have dinner with you. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

Toto feels a rush of relief and excitement. “Eight o’clock sounds perfect. I know just the place.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Toto can’t help but feel like he’s standing on the precipice of something monumental. He’s built his career on calculated risks, on seeing potential where others see danger. Looking at you, he knows that this might be the biggest gamble of his life.

But as you turn to give him one last smile before exiting the boardroom, Toto is certain of one thing: it’s a risk he’s more than willing to take.

***

The Monaco Grand Prix paddock buzzes with excitement, a hive of activity as teams prepare for the most glamorous race on the Formula 1 calendar. Lewis Hamilton and George Russell huddle in a quiet corner of the Mercedes garage, their voices low and urgent.

“I’m telling you, mate, something’s not right,” George insists, his eyes darting around to ensure they’re not overheard. “Have you seen the way Toto’s been acting lately? It’s like he’s under some kind of spell.”

Lewis nods grimly, his usual pre-race focus replaced by concern. “I know what you mean. Ever since she came into the picture, it’s like he’s a different person. Always distracted, making decisions that don’t quite add up.”

“Exactly!” George exclaims, then quickly lowers his voice again. “And have you noticed how she’s always around now? At every meeting, every strategy session. It’s like she’s trying to learn all our secrets.”

Lewis furrows his brow, deep in thought. “You don’t think ... I mean, surely she wouldn’t actually try to ...”

“Kill him?” George finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, mate. But look at her track record. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marrying her. And now she’s got her claws into Toto.”

As if summoned by their conversation, you appear at the entrance of the garage, Toto at your side. The team principal’s hand rests comfortably on the small of your back as he leads you through the bustling workspace.

Lewis and George fall silent, watching intently as you make your way towards them. Your designer sundress and oversized sunglasses scream understated elegance, but to the two drivers, you might as well be wearing a black widow’s web.

“Good morning,” Toto calls out cheerfully. “Ready for qualifying?”

Lewis forces a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “Morning, Toto. Yeah, we were just discussing strategy.”

You step forward, flashing a dazzling smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I’m still learning all the intricacies of race weekends.”

George clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not at all. We were just finishing up.”

Toto beams, looking from you to his drivers with pride. “Isn’t it wonderful having Y/N here? She’s already brought so many fresh ideas to the team. I don’t know how we managed without her.”

You laugh, a sound that sends chills down Lewis and George’s spines. “Oh, darling, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure these boys were doing just fine before I came along.”

As you speak, your hand reaches up to smooth Toto’s collar, a gesture that seems innocent enough but makes both drivers tense.

Lewis clears his throat. “Actually, Toto, could we have a quick word? About the, uh, tire strategy?”

Toto looks surprised but nods. “Of course. Y/N, would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all,” you reply smoothly. “I’ll just go chat with the mechanics. I’m fascinated by all this technology.”

As you saunter away, Lewis and George exchange a meaningful glance. This is their chance.

“Toto,” Lewis begins, choosing his words carefully. “We’re a bit concerned. About you, actually.”

Toto’s brow furrows in confusion. “Concerned? What do you mean?”

George jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just that ... well, things have been different since you started seeing her. And given her history ...”

“Her history?” Toto repeats, his voice taking on an edge. “What exactly are you implying?”

Lewis takes a deep breath. “Toto, we care about you. And we can’t help but notice that Y/N’s previous partners have all met with ... unfortunate ends.”

For a moment, Toto just stares at them, his expression unreadable. Then, to their surprise, he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, boys,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But I assure you, it’s misplaced. Y/N has been nothing but a positive influence on both me and the team.”

George persists, his voice urgent. “But Toto, you have to admit, the pattern is alarming. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marriage. And now she’s here, learning all about our team, our strategies ...”

Toto’s amusement fades, replaced by a stern look. “That’s enough. I understand you’re worried, but I won’t have you spreading baseless rumors. Y/N is here because she’s a part-owner of this team and because I invited her. End of discussion.”

As Toto walks away, Lewis and George share a look of dismay.

“He’s in too deep,” Lewis mutters. “We need to do something.”

George nods grimly. “We can’t let her hurt him. Or the team. We need a plan.”

Throughout the day, as qualifying unfolds, Lewis and George find themselves constantly distracted. Every time they catch a glimpse of you in the garage or on the pit wall, their imaginations run wild.

During a brief break between sessions, they overhear a snippet of conversation between you and one of the engineers.

“So, if something were to go wrong with the car during the race,” you’re saying, “what would be the most catastrophic point of failure?”

The engineer launches into a detailed explanation of various mechanical vulnerabilities, unaware of the horrified looks on the drivers’ faces.

“She’s gathering intel,” George whispers to Lewis. “Probably planning some sort of accident for Toto.”

Lewis nods, his jaw set with determination. “We need to warn him again. Make him see reason.”

But their attempts to get Toto alone prove futile. You seem to be constantly by his side, your hand on his arm, whispering in his ear. To an outsider, it might look like the actions of a loving girlfriend, but to Lewis and George, every gesture seems calculated and sinister.

As the day wears on, their paranoia grows. They start seeing threats everywhere. When you hand Toto a bottle of water, they’re convinced it’s poisoned. When you suggest he take a look at something in the back of the garage, they’re sure you’re luring him away to do him harm.

Finally, as the sun begins to set over the Monaco harbor, they decide they can’t wait any longer. They need to confront you directly.

They find you alone in the hospitality area, reviewing some papers. As they approach, you look up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Lewis, George,” you greet them warmly. “Excellent qualifying today. You must be pleased.”

Lewis takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Cut the act. We know what you’re up to.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in your eyes. “I’m not sure I understand. What exactly am I up to?”

George steps forward, his voice low and intense. “We know about your husbands. All seven of them. And we’re not going to let you add Toto to that list.”

For a moment, you just stare at them, your face unreadable. Then, to their surprise, you burst out laughing.

“Oh,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’m here to kill Toto?”

Lewis and George exchange confused glances, thrown off by your reaction.

You lean in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me tell you a little secret. Those men? They were all terminally ill when I married them. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple. They got to spend their last months with a young, beautiful wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play involved.”

The drivers stare at you, speechless. You continue, your tone becoming more serious.

“As for Toto, well, that’s different. For the first time in my life, I’ve found someone I genuinely care for. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just what I can offer. I’m not here to hurt him or the team. I’m here because I want to be part of something meaningful.”

Lewis and George exchange uncertain glances, their convictions shaken.

“But ... all the questions about the car, the team strategies ...” George begins.

You roll your eyes, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’m a part-owner of this team now, remember? Of course I’m trying to learn everything I can. How else can I contribute?”

As the truth of your words sinks in, Lewis and George begin to feel a creeping sense of embarrassment. They’ve let their imaginations and preconceptions run wild, seeing threats where there were none.

“I ... we ...” Lewis stammers, struggling to find the right words.

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “It’s alright. I understand. My reputation precedes me, and you were just looking out for Toto. I can respect that.”

George rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “We may have gotten a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

You smile, and this time it reaches your eyes. “Apology accepted. Now, what do you say we put this behind us and focus on winning tomorrow’s race?”

As if on cue, Toto appears, looking between the three of you with curiosity. “Everything alright here?”

You stand, moving to his side and slipping your arm through his. “Everything’s perfect, darling. In fact, I think Lewis and George were just about to share some ideas they had for the race strategy. Weren’t you, boys?”

Lewis and George nod, grateful for the out you’ve given them. As they launch into a discussion about tire management and overtaking opportunities, they can’t help but marvel at how wrong they’ve been.

Watching you interact with Toto, they see not a black widow spinning her web, but a woman genuinely in love, bringing out the best in their team principal. They realize that sometimes, people can surprise you. And sometimes, the most unexpected additions to a team can be the most valuable.

***

The soft glow of chandeliers bathes the exclusive Monégasque restaurant in warm light, casting elegant shadows across the faces of Monaco’s elite. Grigori Volkov, a grizzled veteran of the Russian underworld, sips his vodka, his weathered face a mask of careful neutrality as he surveys the room.

His eyes narrow as they land on a familiar figure across the crowded dining area. It can’t be, he thinks, leaning forward for a better look. But there’s no mistaking that face, those eyes that have haunted his dreams and nightmares for years.

You.

Grigori watches as you laugh, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a tall, distinguished-looking man. He recognizes him vaguely. But what catches Grigori off guard is the easy intimacy between you, the matching wedding bands glinting in the low light.

For a moment, Grigori considers slipping out unnoticed. But curiosity gets the better of him. He signals the waiter, ordering another round of drinks to be sent to your table.

As the waiter approaches with the drinks, Grigori sees your posture stiffen slightly, your eyes scanning the room until they lock onto his. He raises his glass in a small salute, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You lean in, whispering something to Toto. The man looks surprised but nods, and together you make your way towards Grigori’s table.

“Grigori,” you greet him, your voice a mix of warmth and wariness. “It’s been a long time.”

Grigori stands, bowing slightly. “Indeed it has, my dear. You’re looking well. And who might this be?”

Toto extends his hand, his grip firm. “Toto Wolff. And you are?”

“An old friend of your wife’s,” Grigori replies smoothly, noting the flicker of surprise in Toto’s eyes at the word ’wife’. “Grigori Volkov. I knew Y/N back in her Russian days.”

You gesture to the empty chairs. “May we join you?”

Grigori nods, waving expansively. “Please, be my guests.”

As you settle in, Grigori can’t help but study Toto more closely. He’s younger than expected, vital and alert. Not at all what he’d imagined for your latest conquest.

“So, Toto,” Grigori begins, his accent thick with amusement, “how long have you and our dear Y/N been married?”

Toto smiles, his hand finding yours on the table. “Just over two years now. Best decision I ever made.”

Grigori’s eyebrows shoot up. “Two years? My, my. That’s quite impressive.”

You shoot him a warning look, but Toto just looks confused. “I’m not sure I follow. Why is that impressive?”

Grigori chuckles, taking a long sip of his vodka. “Oh, forgive me. I just meant that Y/N here has always been something of a ... how do you say ... free spirit? Never one to be tied down for long.”

You interject quickly, “People change, Grigori. I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Grigori nods, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Indeed they do. And what of your ... other interests? The ones you inherited from dear Dmitri?”

Toto’s brow furrows. “Dmitri? I’m afraid I don’t know much about Y/N’s ex-husbands.”

“Ex-husbands?” Grigori repeats, feigning surprise. “Oh, but Dmitri was special, wasn’t he? After all, not every day one inherits a slice of the Bratva.”

The color drains from Toto’s face as he turns to you. “The Bratva? As in, the Russian mob?”

You sigh, shooting Grigori a glare that could freeze vodka. “It’s complicated, darling. And very much in the past.”

Grigori leans back, thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding before him. “Oh, come now, Y/N. Surely your husband deserves to know the truth? About your colorful past, your string of deceased husbands, your unexpected rise to power in certain ... shall we say, unofficial circles?”

Toto looks between you and Grigori, his expression a mix of confusion and growing concern. “Y/N, what is he talking about?”

You take a deep breath, squeezing Toto’s hand. “Toto, there are parts of my past I haven’t told you about. Not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I wanted to leave that life behind.”

Grigori interjects, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Oh, but my dear, can one ever truly leave such a life behind? Especially when one has risen to such ... prominent positions?”

Toto’s eyes narrow as he looks at Grigori. “And what exactly is your role in all this?”

Grigori smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “Let’s just say I’m an old associate of Dmitri’s. And by extension, of Y/N’s. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you still among the living, Mr. Wolff. Our dear Y/N has quite a reputation, you know.”

You slam your hand on the table, your voice low and dangerous. “Enough, Grigori. That’s not who I am anymore.”

Grigori holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, of course. I meant no offense. I’m merely ... surprised. After all, your previous husbands weren’t quite so fortunate. Or so young and vigorous.”

Toto’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting between you and Grigori. “I think it’s time we left.”

As you stand to leave, Grigori calls out, “Oh, but we’ve only just begun to catch up. There’s so much your husband doesn’t know, Y/N. About the power you wield, the empire you inherited. Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth about the woman he married?”

You turn back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more dangerous. “The truth, Grigori, is that I left that life behind. I found something real, something worth living for. And if you or anyone else tries to drag me back into that world, you’ll regret it.”

Grigori leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that a threat, my dear?”

You smile, cold and sharp. “Consider it a friendly warning. From one old friend to another.”

As you and Toto walk away, Grigori can’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine. He’d forgotten, in the years since you’d left Russia, just how formidable you could be.

He watches as you and Toto have an intense, whispered conversation by the exit. To his surprise, instead of storming out, Toto nods, takes your hand, and leads you back to Grigori’s table.

“Mr. Volkov,” Toto says, his voice steady and controlled, “I think it’s time we had an honest conversation. About Y/N’s past, about your ... association, and about how we move forward from here.”

Grigori raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Well, well. It seems you’ve found yourself a man with a spine, Y/N. Very well, let’s talk.”

As the three of you settle back into your seats, Grigori can’t help but feel a grudging respect for Toto. Most men would have run for the hills by now, but here he is, ready to face the truth head-on.

“So,” Grigori begins, pouring fresh vodka for all of you, “where shall we start? With Dmitri? With the Bratva? Or perhaps with the mysterious deaths of Y/N’s previous husbands?”

Toto takes a sip of vodka, his eyes never leaving Grigori’s. “Let’s start with the truth. All of it.”

You sigh, your hand finding Toto’s under the table. “Alright. Dmitri was my fifth husband. He was a high-ranking member of the Bratva, and when he died, I inherited his position and his connections.”

Grigori nods approvingly. “She’s being modest. Y/N didn’t just inherit Dmitri’s position — she expanded it. Forged new alliances, eliminated rivals. She became a force to be reckoned with in our world.”

Toto looks at you, his expression unreadable. “And the other husbands?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “They were all older men, all terminally ill. It was a business arrangement. They got to spend their last months with a young wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play, I swear.”

Grigori chuckles. “Oh, come now. There were rumors, whispers of poison, of accidents arranged just so ...”

You whirl on him, your eyes flashing. “Rumors started by people like you. People who couldn’t believe a woman could gain power without resorting to murder.”

Toto squeezes your hand, his voice gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

You turn back to him, your expression softening. “Because I wanted to leave it all behind. When I met you, I saw a chance at a real life, a real relationship. I didn’t want my past to taint that.”

Grigori watches this exchange with growing fascination. He’s never seen you like this — vulnerable, open, genuinely in love. It’s... unsettling.

“And now?” He asks, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “What becomes of your empire, Y/N? Your power? Your connections?”

You straighten, your voice firm. “I’ve been systematically dismantling it all. Using the resources to fund legitimate businesses, charitable foundations. I’m out. For good.”

Grigori leans back, genuinely surprised. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really walking away from it all.”

Toto speaks up, his voice steady. “We’re building something new together. Something honest, something we can be proud of.”

Grigori studies them both for a long moment, then throws back the last of his vodka. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve actually done it. You’ve found a way out.”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “I have. And I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word. Y/N Wolff is retired. Permanently.”

Grigori stands, straightening his jacket. “Consider it done, my dear. But know this — there will always be those who remember who you were, what you were capable of. Be careful.”

As he turns to leave, Toto calls out, “Mr. Volkov?”

Grigori pauses, looking back. “Yes?”

Toto’s voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath the surface. “If anyone from Y/N’s past tries to cause trouble for us, they’ll have to deal with me. And I assure you, I can be just as formidable as my wife when necessary.”

Grigori studies Toto for a moment, then breaks into a broad grin. “I believe you, Mr. Wolff. I really do. Take care of her, won’t you? She’s one of a kind.”

As Grigori walks away, he can’t help but shake his head in amazement. You, the Black Widow of the Bratva, settled down and in love. Will wonders never cease?

He glances back one last time to see you and Toto deep in conversation, your hands intertwined on the table. There’s an openness to your expression that he’s never seen before, a vulnerability that speaks volumes.

For the first time in years, Grigori feels a twinge of envy. Not for your power or your wealth, but for the genuine connection you seem to have found. As he steps out into the cool Monaco night, he wonders if perhaps it’s time for him to consider a change of his own.

After all, if the infamous Y/N can find redemption and true love, maybe there’s hope for an old dog like him yet.

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auspicioustidings · 4 months ago

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You are an escape specialist and understand the lengths the military will go to in order to protect their best assets more than anyone else. That's why you've been rotting in some off grid gulag for 3 years now, long enough that the torture is just to pass the time for the guards now because they know you're not saying shit.

Why are you here? Easy. Intelligence identified this was the most likely place their darling 141 unit would wind up if they were ever captured. You're here as a contingency if that happens. You are sure there are others in prisons and dungeons and mansions dotted over the globe whose sole purpose is as a "just incase" measure for a team that doesn't know you exist.

The day they drag in a man with a mohawk and a nasty looking hole in the head kicking and screaming? Oh you've never been so fucking excited in your life. Time to get the fuck out of here and spend the ridiculous amount of money that has been accumulating in offshore accounts for you since you agreed to this job.

If only the idiot would do as he is bloody well told.

#mhairidrabbles #discovering that Soap actually hates being given orders thank you very much #and he doesn't trust anyone who isn't his team #great just great this will be the most annoying fucking fetch and deliver quest known to man #but you can keep yourself going by every ao often closing your eyes and imagining drinking a cocktail served by your cabana boy on a beach

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Kickstarting “The Bezzle” audiobook, sequel to Red Team Blues

I'm heading to Berlin! On January 29, I'll be delivering Transmediale's Marshall McLuhan Lecture, and on January 30, I'll be at Otherland Books (tickets are limited! They'll have exclusive early access to the English edition of The Bezzle and the German edition of Red Team Blues!).

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to last year's Red Team Blues, featuring Marty Hench, a hard-charging, two-fisted forensic accountant who spent 40 years in Silicon Valley, busting every finance scam hatched by tech bros' feverish imaginations:

http://thebezzle.org

Marty Hench is a great character to write. His career in high-tech scambusting starts in the early 1980s with the first PCs and stretches all the way to the cryptocurrency era, the most target-rich environment for scamhunting tech has ever seen. Hench is the Zelig of tech scams, and I'm having so much fun using him to probe the seamy underbelly of the tech economy.

Enter The Bezzle, which will be published by Tor Books and Head of Zeus on Feb 20: this adventure finds Marty in the company of Scott Warms, one of the many bright technologists whose great startup was bought and destroyed by Yahoo! (yes, they really used that asinine exclamation mark). Scott is shackled to the Punctuation Factory by golden handcuffs, and he's determined to get fired without cause, so he can collect his shares and move onto the next thing.

That's how Scott and Marty find themselves on Catalina island, the redoubt of the Wrigley family, where bison roam the hills, yachts bob in the habor and fast food is banned. Scott invites Marty on a series of luxury vacations on Catalina, which end abruptly when they discover – and implode – a hamburger-related Ponzi scheme run by a real-estate millionaire who is destroying the personal finances of the Island's working-class townies out of sheer sadism.

Scott's victory is bittersweet: sure, he blew up the Ponzi scheme, but he's also made powerful enemies – the kinds of enemies who can pull strings with the notoriously corrupt LA County Sheriff's Deputies who are the only law on Catalina, and after taking a pair of felony plea deals, Scott gets the message and never visits Catalina Island again.

That could have been the end of it, but California's three-strikes law – since rescinded – means that when Scott picks up one more felony conviction for some drugs discovered during a traffic stop, he's facing life in prison.

That's where The Bezzle really gets into gear.

At its core, The Bezzle is a novel about the "shitty technology adoption curve": the idea that our worst technological schemes are sanded smooth on the bodies of prisoners, mental patients, kids and refugees before they work their way up the privilege gradient and are inflicted on all of us:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

America's prisons are vicious, brutal places, and technology has only made them worse. When Scott's prison swaps out in-person visits, the prison library, and phone calls for a "free" tablet that offers all these services as janky apps that cost ten times more than they would on the outside, the cruelty finds a business model.

Working inside and outside the prison Marty Hench and Scott Warms figure out the full nature of the scam that the captive audience of prisoners are involuntary beta-testers for, and they discover a sprawling web of real-estate fraud, tech scams, and offshore finance that is extracting fortunes from the hides of America's prisoners and their families. The criminals who run that kind of enterprise aren't shy about fighting for what they've got, and they're more than happy to cut some of LA County's notorious deputy gangs in for a cut in exchange for providing some kinetic support for the project.

The Bezzle is exactly the kind of book I was hoping I'd get to write when I kicked off the Hench series – one that decodes the scam economy, from music royalties to prison videoconferencing, real estate investment trusts to Big Four accounting firm bogus audits. It's both a fast-moving, two-fisted crime novel and a masterclass on how the rich and powerful get away with both literal and figurative murder.

It's getting a big push from both my publishers and I'll be touring western Canada and the US with it. The early reviews are spectacular. But despite all of this, I had to make my own audiobook for it, which I'm pre-selling on Kickstarter:

http://thebezzle.org

Why? Because Audible – Amazon's monopoly gatekeeper to the audiobook world, with more than 90% of the market – refuses to carry my work.

Audible uses Digital Rights Management to lock every audiobook they sell to their platform. Legally, only an Audible-authorized app can decrypt and play the audiobooks they sell you. Distributing a tool that removes Audible DRM is a felony under Section 1201 of the 1998 DMCA.

That means that if you break up with Audible – delete your Audible apps – you will lose your entire audiobook library. And the fact that you're Audible's hostage makes the writers you love into their hostages, too. Writers understand that if they leave the Audible platform, their audience will have to choose between following them, or losing all their audiobooks.

That's how Audible gets away with abusing its performers and writers, up to and including the $100m Audiblegate wage-theft scandal:

https://www.audiblegate.com/

Audible can steal $100m from its writers…and the writers still continue to sell on the platform, because leaving will cost them their audience.

This is canonical enshittification: lock in users, then screw suppliers. Lots of companies abuse DRM to do this, but none can hold a candle to Amazon, who understand that the DMCA is a copyright law that protects corporations at the expense of creators.

Under DMCA 1201 commercial distribution of a "circumvention device" carries a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. That means that if I write a book, pay to have it recorded, and then sell it to you through Audible, I am criminally prohibited from giving you the tool to take it from Audible to another platform. Even though I hold the copyright to that work, I would face a harsher sentence than you would if you simply pirated the audiobook from some darknet site. Not only that: if you shoplifted the audiobook in CD form, you'd get a lighter sentence than I, the copyright holder, would receive for giving you a tool to unlock it from Amazon's platform! Hell, if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CD, you'd get off lighter than I would. This is a scam straight out of a Marty Hench novel.

This is batshit. I won't allow it. My books are licensed on the condition that they must not be sold with DRM. Which means that Audible won't sell my books, which means that my publishers are thoroughly disinterested in paying thousands of dollars to produce audiobooks of my titles. A book that isn't sold in the one store than accounts for 90% of all sales is unlikely to do well.

That's where you come in. Since 2020, I've used Kickstarter to pre-sell five of my audiobooks (I wrote nine books during lockdown!). All told, I've raised over $750,000 (gross! but still!) on these crowdfunders. More than 20,000 backers have pitched in! The last two of these books – The Internet Con and The Lost Cause – were national bestsellers.

This isn't just a way for me to pay off a lot of bills and put away something for retirement – it's proof that readers care about supporting writers and don't want to be locked in by a giant monopolist that depends on its drivers pissing in bottles to make quota.

It's a powerful message about the desire for something better than Amazon. It's part of the current that is driving the FTC to haul Amazon into court for being a monopolist, and also part of the inspiration for other authors to try treating Amazon as damage and routing around it, with spectacular results:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/dragonsteel/surprise-four-secret-novels-by-brandon-sanderson

And I'm doing it again. Last December, I went into Skyboat Media's studios where Gabrielle De Cuir directed @wilwheaton, who reprised his role as Marty Hench for the audiobook of The Bezzle. It came out amazing:

https://archive.org/details/bezzle-sample

Now I'm pre-selling this audiobook, as well as the ebook and hardcover for The Bezzle. I'm also offering bundles with the ebook and audiobook for Red Team Blues (naturally these are all DRM-free). You can get your books signed and personalized and shipped anywhere in the world, courtesy of Book Soup, and I've partnered with Libro.fm to deliver DRM-free audiobooks with an app for people who don't want to mess around with sideloading.

I've also got some spendy options for high rollers. There's three chances to name a character in the next Hench novel (Picks and Shovels, Feb 2025). There's also five chances to commission a Hench short story about your favorite tech scam, and get credited when the story is published.

The Kickstarter runs for the next three weeks, which should give me time to get the hardcopy books signed and shipped to arrive around the on-sale date. What's more, I've finally worked out all the post-Brexit kinks with shipping my UK publisher's books to EU backers. I'm working with Otherland Books to fulfill those EU orders, and it looks like I'm going to be able to sign a giant stack of those when I'm in Berlin later this month to give the annual Marshall McLuhan lecture at the Canadian embassy:

https://transmediale.de/en/2024/event/mcluhan-2024

Red Team Blues and its sequels are some of the most fun – and informative – work I've done in my quarter-century career. I love how they blend technical explanations of the scam economy with high-intensity technothrillers. That's the the same mix as my bestselling YA series Little Brother series – but these are firmly adult novels.

The Bezzle came out great. I hope you'll give it a try – and that you'll come out to see me in late February when I hit the road with the book! Here's that Kickstarter link again:

http://thebezzle.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/10/the-bezzle/#marty-hench

#pluralistic #kickstarter #audible #the bezzle #bezzles #prison tech #disciplinary technology #crowdfunding #wilw #wil wheaton #audiobooks #publishing #science fiction #marty hench #martin hench #red team blues #shitty technology adoption curve #reits

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i-cant-sing · 2 years ago

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What are your thoughts on the yandere haikyuu teams x their manager?

Boring. I need some spice in it. How about-

Yandere Daichi as a cop and his darling is a civilian and now he's so obsessed with her that he murders her husband, frames him as a criminal and will literally stop at nothing to get darling in his arms because again... who will suspect good old, everybody's best bud COP Daichi to be able to do heinous crimes???

Yandere Sugawara as a psychiatrist because come on- he gives major "master manipulator" vibes and now he's obsessed with his darling patient and will continue to do malpractice and gaslight her and prescribe her all the wrong meds until she loses it and he gets to admit it her under his "special care" and now he can play with her mind all day long🤍

Yandere Oikawa is now a pro volleyball athlete and he just saw Ushijima's little sis, the same one he used to bully and even rejected (and ofc, HUMILIATED) when she confessed to him back in highschool. But now Oikawa's obsessed with her and also still hates his nemesis Ushijima, so what's better than killing two birds with one stone??? And Oikawa still has a very devoted fanclub, only now it's larger and more powerful than ever so now he uses them and his socials to peer pressure you into dating him and eventually, marrying him because he ain't getting any younger honey and he needs some cute babies out of you ASAP.

Yandere Kuroo who is the smart IT tech guy at your office but in reality, he has his own cyber security company that he uses to spy on you, controls your entire life through your socials and don't even get me started on your online banking shit. If its any consolation, he's very rich so... yeah. He may not look like a million bucks, but he does have them. In several offshore accounts.

Yandere Kita who somehow ended up as a mafia leader, probably inherited it as family business and he has like severe OCD so he wants everything done to perfection or so help you, you will 1000% end up 6 feet under. Mafia Kita who has this vision of you being the perfect wife, solely based om the one time you offered him your handkerchiefs because he had a nosebleed from stressing too much and now Kita thinks you're an absolute angel and he wont let you destroy that fantasy of his. Seriously. He will pick out your outfits, tell you how to act and all, punish you if he must, but he does love you.

Yandere Ushijima who is a farmer and has decided that the reader whose car broke down and came to his door asking for help, will now be his wife and be a countryside mom to many kids (u can't say no, okay? He wants a big family) and animals! But hey, he's a very caring husband and will massage your feet, give you baths and feed you his homegrown veggies and meals daily once you are round with his babies🥺

Yandere Bokuto who is now a popular politician and he needs an obedient wife to keep up appearances and play the "family man" image up. So he decides to threaten reader who had a one night stand with him, and Bokuto somehow has very intimate images and videos of you and he uses them to get you to marry him. And now he controls every aspect of your life and tells you to do exactly as he says, and he abuses this privilege more as he gets more powerful and you could only imagine the horrors he would inflict on you if he does actually win elections, but you can't run away because again- he has eyes and contacts everywhere.

#yandere daichi #yandere daichi sawamura #yandere bokuto #yandere ushijima x reader #yandere ushijima wakatoshi #yandere ushijima #yandere kuroo #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere kita #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyu x reader #yandere sugawara

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hireanydomain · 6 days ago

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Improve your cash flow! Hire accounts receivable experts in India to manage invoicing and collections efficiently.

Visit: https://hireinanydomain.com/hire-accounts-receivable-experts/

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yanderedrabbles · 9 days ago

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I’m curious how sugar daddy would handle bankruptcy and all his cash floating away? 💸💸💸

Would he no longer be able to successfully chain y/n down now that he has no penthouse? ❌🏠

Or does sugar daddy have good investments and offshore bank accounts so his life style will never be affected? 🏦💴💶💷

He might not be the best at budgeting, but you know for a fact he's got at least one team of investment bankers working full time to keep his assets safe. He's worked hard for his cash and he'd be a fool to let it slip away.

He's also careful to never tie his business and personal assets too closely together. So even in the unlikely event business doesn't do well, he still gets to keep all his stuff.

Sorry babe, there's just no escaping him. He's got the kind of cash that lasts generations and it ain't disappearing anytime soon.

#Your emoji use got me giggling ngl

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letternotekisses · 3 months ago

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Being the personal assistant to Akande Ogundimu had its perks.

Perks such as the unlimited spending limit on the card he got just for you. You use it mainly for work expenses but he’s all too happy to encourage you to spend a little bit more for yourself, as a treat for being so well behaved and keeping on top of your tasks. Whatever you spend barely puts a dent in his pocket, and he’s happy to flaunt the notion whenever you try to refuse him in a flustered manner.

That’s on top of your pay too, which is plenty enough to keep you living comfortably on its own. Akande ensures to pay the pretty little thing who brings him his documents and schedules his meetings well - he takes good care of his toys.

In regards of professionalism, it’s non existent. As he finds ways to gift you expensive items or take you on celebratory dinners for reasons that aren’t really that exciting. The line between boss and subordinate is a little blurred, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind all too much.

You’re also in a tight-knit team - unorthodox - but charming nonetheless. Akande finds a rich satisfaction in watching each of his subordinates vie for your attention whilst you try to complete your work, whether it be Mauga’s straightforward approach or Sombra depositing thousands into your bank from an offshore account.

At the end of the day, he is the one that has your legs slung over his shoulders, your stockings - which he bought - torn to shreds under the promise that he’d buy you a new pair. He’s the one pinning you to the glossy wood of his desk, the ornate carving digging into your lower back as he busies himself between your plush thighs, gorging himself on you until you’re whiny and overstimulated, trying to push his head away.

Akande may consider sharing you with his agents someday, but for now he’s happy to keep his assistant all to himself<3

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nxzz-skz · 18 days ago

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Bound by contract (a bangchan x reader series)

Chapter 6

ᯓ★arranged marriage between nonidol!bangchan and fem!reader

ᯓ★ warnings: none rlly

ᯓ★ note: send an ask or comment to be added to my taglist!

chapter 5 - masterlist - chapter 7

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Three weeks later, you found yourself sitting across from Minho in a private lounge. He didn't know you were coming. Chan had made sure of it.

"Y/N," he greeted, looking amused as he sipped his whiskey. "To what do i owe the pleasure?"

You smiled sweetly, acting innocent, though your heart pounded in your chest. "I thought it was time we had a little chat."

His eyes flickered with a hint of curiosity. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Oh? And what's on your mind, sister-in-law?"

You kept your face neutral, kept your tone light. "Loyalty," you said. "Your, specifically."

His grin faltered just a little. He tilted his head. "Loyalty's a fickle thing. It shifts depending on who holds the power."

"That's true," you admitted, leaning forward so that only a sliver of space separated the two of you. "But here's the thing about power, Minho." You lowered your voice, almost whispering. "it doesn't belong to you."

For the first time, his eyes darkened. The smile dropped completely.

"Be careful, Y/N," he warned, "You're playing a very dangerous game."

You leaned back in your chair, eyes never leaving his, slight smirk forming on your face. "Then you should be the one afraid, Minho. Because I only play to win."

He stared at you for a moment longer, his grasp tightening around hi glass. Then, without another word, he stood up and walked out.

The second he was gone, your phone buzzed. One new message.

Chan: You did good.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Things worsened quickly after that.

Minho was more careful now, but he didn’t back off. If anything, his moves became bolder. Chan caught wind of a fake transfer request that nearly drained one of the company’s foreign accounts. Minho’s signature was on it, but it wasn’t enough proof to take him down.

That’s when you got involved.

Felix was surprisingly useful. With his help, you gained access to the company’s internal messaging system. Every encrypted message Minho thought was private was no longer private.

“You don’t know how deep this goes, Y/N,” Felix had warned. “This isn’t just about business. If you get caught, he won’t go easy on you.”

You didn’t care. If Minho wanted to play dirty, so would you.

And one night, you found it. The smoking bomb. A message from Minho to an offshore client about the “file” he’d stolen. It wasn’t just company intel — it was financial leverage.

“Got him,” you muttered, staring at the message on your laptop. Your heart raced with adrenaline.

You called Chan immediately.

“It’s over,” you said, breathless.

On the other end of the line, Chan let out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“You did it, Y/N,” he said softly. “We did it.”

And for the first time, you felt like a real team.

But something about the quiet in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

Something’s coming.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

ᯓ★ Reblogs appreciated!

ᯓ★ taglist:

ᯓ★ perm taglist: @cafffeineconnoisseur @skzbiasot8 @candyquokka @idiotmaterial @backseat-serenade-dizzyhurricane

#stray kids #skz #lee know #bang chan

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cherrycola27 · 2 years ago

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Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Specific Chapter Warnings: Violence against women, torture

...........................................

Chapter 15: The Great War

You groaned as consciousness slowly made its way back into your body. Everything hurt. Your head was pounding, your mouth was dry, and your body felt stiff. "Ugh," you sighed as you tried to sit up from the wooden floor.

You slowly blinked to take in your surroundings. You shot up as the memories came back to you. You tried to stand but were quickly pulled back down thanks to a set of handcuffs that were attached to the floor beside you.

"Well, look who's finally awake, and just in time." Someone said. You snapped your head in the direction of the voice. "You." You sneered as Preston Baxter strolled into the room. "I should have known you were behind this!" You growled at him.

"Of course I'm the one behind it. I'm the only person who's life you ruined, aren't I? Or are there others?" Preston asks as he tilts his head to the side.

You flare your nostrils and tug on the cuffs.

"Now, now, don't hurt yourself." Preston chuckled.

"How are you out of prison?" You demand. "A good lawyer and a temporary insanity plea." He states before grabbing a chair and walking over to sit in front of you. You slide away, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me how I did it?" He says.

"How you did what?" You spit at him.

"How I kidnapped you silly." He exclaims.

"Okay, I'll bite. How'd you do it?" You ask him. You've seen enough action movies to know that if you get the bag guy talking, they might slip up and tell their plan.

"Well, first off, I had my baby brother Alex hack the White House so he could get himself a job on the security team. He forged all the documents and changed his last name to not raise red flags. After a few months, he was put on your detail. I waited for the right time until we had an opportunity. Once we had it, we took it." Preston tells you gleefully.

"You've been in prison. How were you able to plan all this?" You ask him

"You see, that's the thing about prison. It gives you plenty of time to plot your revenge. I spent two and a half years perfecting this plan, and you're not going to ruin it for me this time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ransom call to make." He claps his hands.

"Ransom call?" You question him. "Yes, while kidnapping you is a great revenge arc for me, extorting your husband for money—it just sweetens the pot," Preston says before getting up.

"The president doesn't negotiate with terrorists, foreign or domestic." You spit at him.

Preston, let's out a breath. "In normal cases, he wouldn't. But he's already proven that when it comes to you, he doesn't think rationally." He tells you before Alex brings him a phone that looks like a brick. He taps his foot before the call connects.

"Hello, am I speaking to the president? Wonderful. Well, Mr. President, I'm not going to mince words. We both know that I have your wife, and if you ever want to see her alive again, I'm going to need one hundred million dollars wired to an offshore account. I just sent the information to Mr. Rodriguez's email." Preston says into the phone. There is a pause before he sighs and brings the phone closer to you. He clicks a button before holding it in front of your face.

"They want proof of life. Gone on. Let them know you're alive. But don't try anything stuipd." He urges you before placing the phone on speaker.

"Bradley. Bradley, Dearest. I'm alive. I'm okay." You assure him.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to get you. I promise everything is going to be okay." Bradley tells you.

You shoot your eyes up at Preston. It crosses your mind that Bradley might not know who took you, so you do the exact thing that you knew Preston wouldn't want you to do.

"Preston Baxter and Alex are the ones who took me!" You shout into the phone. Rage flashes across Preston's face. You continue to yell as he takes the phone away. "Don't give them a dime, Bradley! Don't give them—" a harsh slap across your face sends you tumbling to the floor.

"Didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid you bitch?" He sneers as he crouches down next to you on the floor.

He grabs you by your hair and pulls your eyes up to meet his. "I hope you know just how much I'm going to enjoy making your life hell." He tells you.

"Fuck you." You growl before spitting in his face. He roughly drops you, and your forehead makes contact with the wood floor. You curl up, protecting your midsection before he gives a swift kick to your ribs and exits the room.

After a few minutes, you find enough strength to sit up. You drag yourself until you're leaning against the wall. A few tears prick your eyes, but you will them away. You won't let them see you break. You place a hand on your stomach and stroke it. You weren't sure how you were going to make it out of here alive, but for the sake of the child growing inside you, you knew you'd have too.

.................

It had been six days since you had been taken. News of your kidnapping had hit the mainstream media, and tips from all over the globe were coming in. Bradley made sure each one of them had been followed up, but nothing had come from any of them.

He sat at his desk with a now cold cup of black coffee, a copy of the Times, a stale muffin, and more cigarette butts than he cared to count. Dark rings framed his eyes, and his five o'clock shadow had morphed into a three a.m. blackout.

"Jesus, Rooster, you look like shit." Jake said as he came into the Oval Office to check on him.

"Well, Hangman, please forgive me for not looking front page ready while my pregnant wife has been missing for almost a week." Bradley snapped back.

Bradley saw the hurt face across Jake's face. "I'm—I'm sorry. I can't eat, I can't sleep, and we are no closer to finding her than we were a week ago. I'm going crazy Jake. Every tip we get gives me some hope, and then when it doesn't pan out, I'm back to rock bottom again. The only helpful information came from that couple who saw the abandoned car at that rest area. They said the SUV that was leaving was headed south. Do you know how many places are sound of D.C.? And what if they aren't even in the country anymore? It was hours after she went missing before the first call came through. And the ransom call wasn't until the next day. She could be anywhere in the world right now!" Bradley sighs before sinking back down in his chair.

"How the fuck did we not know that Preston Baxter was released? How did we end up hiring his brother for her security team?" He sighs.

"I did some digging, and apparently, his little brother is a genius. Graduated from MIT, ran a software company, but ended up getting mixed in with the wrong crowd and did two years from hacking a bank in the Midwest. IT found a hole in the White House firewall. They think he hacked a server and forged his information to get him a job here." Jake tells Bradley.

"I feel like this is my fault. No, I know this is my fault. If I had never run for president, none of this would have happened." Bradley sighs as he rakes his hands through his hair.

"You can't blame yourself for this Rooster. If you hadn't had done this, you never would have met Wise-woman. You never would have married her or made a kid with her. He'll, I wouldn't have met the love of my life either. It's not your fault. Y/N is smart. She left those notes for us. She told us who took her. She's going to be okay. She's strong. She's a survivor. She's a Bradshaw for crying out loud. Now, you might want to shower and fix your face. Yout in-laws and Mav and Penny just got here." Jake said as he patted Bradley on the shoulder before leaving.

Bradley did what Jake said. He took a shower, cleaned up his face a bit, and put on fresh clothes.

He wanted to shoot himself in the foot when he came face to face with your mother. He could tell that her tearful words and sullen expression were more of an act than anything. He'd tried to get in contact with them the day he found out you were gone, but they were in Greece and had finally decided to join in the search now that it was getting national attention. Your father seemed genuinely concerned, even offering to to man the tip room phone lines if that would be helpful.

Maverick and Penny tried their best to comfort Bradley. That evening after they had come to the White House, Bradley pulled Maverick and Penny into the Oval Office to tell them you were pregnant. He swore them to secrecy. It was on a need to know basis, and your parents were not in that loop.

Later that evening, Maverick made a few phone calls and called in a few favors. There wasn't much the Navy could do, but if Bradley needed them, Pete Mitchell would make damn sure the entire Dagger Squad would be ready for him.

...............

It's nine days after your kidnapping that Preston reveals the true reason why he has taken you. You're woken from a fitful sleep by the sound of a table and chair being slammed on the floor in front of you.

"Rise and shine sleepy head." Preston calls as he pulls you to your feet and plants you in the chair. Alex brings a laptop and places it in front of you before opening it.

"What do you want me to do with this?" You gripe.

"I want you to use that fancy security clearance you have to log in and get us into the encrypted server. Once we are in, my dear brother is going to steal something more valuable to us than you." He tells you.

"Nuke codes. It's always nuke codes." You breathe out. "Why would you need those?" You ask him.

"Let's just say that before I was in prison, I made some deals with some shady people. I borrowed a hefty sum of money, amongst other things, and promised to pay them back in nuclear codes once I was chief of staff. However, you came along and wreck those plans. Now that they know I'm out of prison, they are demanding I pay up. So, get me those codes." He demands.

"Can't your brother get them?" You ask him. "Unfortunately, the security is too good. Alex can't hack it, he's tried." Preston informs you.

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but when you become First Lady, you don't get top secret clearance. My information doesn't work anymore." You cross your arms.

Preston slaps you hard enough to knock you out of the chair. He grabs your and jerks you up. His fingers dig into your arm.

"You wanna do this the hard way, fine, will try again tomorrow." He says before twisting your arm and leaving.

After two days of him not giving you any food, you realize that Preston is going to try and starve the information out of you. He tried beating it out of you, but the bruises on your face and arms are proof he didn't get anything. When the third day comes, you're almost ready to break. Not for you, but for your child.

When the door to your room unlocks, you expect him to come in again for another round, but instead, it's Alex, and he's carrying a bag.

You scamper to the far side of the room, trying to put as much space as you can between the two of you.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." Alex says as he holds his hands out like he his trying not to spook a wild animal.

"I brought you something to eat." He tells you as he brings the bag over and sets it next to you before walking away and sitting down on the floor across from you.

It's not a five-star meal, but you gladly tear open the pack of beef jerky and chips he brought you before gluping down some of the water that's also in the bag.

"Preston is out checking in with his parole officer and running some errands in the city. I went to the little gas station a few miles away to get this for you." Alex tells you.

"I know it isn't good for pregnant women to get dehydrated or starve." He says. You pause mid chew and look up at him with wide eyes.

"How—" you can't finish the question.

"I saw you leaving the clinc that day. And you got sick the first couple of days here. Don't worry. I'm not going to tell Preston. He's already done enough to you." Alex shakes his head.

"Why are you helping him?" You ask him. "I'm the reason he owes so many people money. A few years ago, I was trying to prove to some buddies of mine how good of a hacker I was. I stole money from the wrong people. Pres, he—he kept them from killing me. I owe him." Alex shrugs. You can see in his eyes that he never intended for it to go this far.

"I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this." Alex tells you before getting up and leaving the room.

Your eyes drop back to the plastic bag in front of you. There is a sleeve of powdered donuts and some peanut butter cups inside and another bottle of water. You grab the candy, and that's when you notice it. A small slip of white paper. You grab it and realize it is a receipt from the store. You quickly read over it and smile. There, printed in tiny black letters is the name of a town and a state. You know where you are. Now, you just have to figure out how to let Bradley know.

Two days later, Preston brings the computer set up back again. Only this time, when you refuse to do anything, he pulls a gun from his waistband.

"Recognize this?" He asks you as he cocks his head to the side. Of course you recognized it. It was the same one he'd tried to kill you with once before.

"Type in your information, or I shoot you." He states coldly.

"You and I both know you are going to do that." You tell him with a smirk. "And why wouldn't I?" He sneers.

"You're not going to kill me because you need me. You can't get the codes or the money without me. You've been sending Bradley dated proof of life videos every two days. If those stop, what makes you think he won't track you down and blow you and this shithole off the face of the earth?" You state. "Me being alive is the only barging chip you have. You may be dumb Preston, but I don't think you're stupid." You say.

"Shut your mouth before I blow your brains out." He threatens you.

"Just make sure you don't miss this time." You laugh as he cracks the handle of it across your face.

"Type. Now." He demands. And for the first time, you give in. But you purposefully type your password wrong. You know that after five incorrect log-in attempts, your account will be locked, and cyber security will be notified. You are praying that they look at the attempted passwords. Each one you type in is a bit of information about where you are. After the fifth attempt, the screen goes black.

"See. I told you. My credentials don't work anymore." You smirk as you point to the screen.

Preston shoves you out of the chair and screams. "You fucking bitch. You did this on purpose!"

"No, I didn't! I don't have access anymore!" You defend yourself before his fist makes contact with your face.

"Fine. If I can't get the codes from you, I'll just have to get them from your husband. Maybe a good old-fashioned torture video will be just this thing to motivate him." He says before storming out of the room.

..................

"Mr. President!" Dante yells as he bursts into the Oval Office. Bradley shoots up and looks at him. He can tell Dante has news.

"Sir, we think we know where she is." Dante breaths out. Bradley sucks in a breath as he waits for him to explain.

"It appears she tried to log on to the White House server, but used the wrong password five times and locked her account. IT looked at each incorrect attempt to see what was going on because they knew the activity was suspicious. Each one is a clue about where she thinks she is. Look." Dante says as he hands a paper to Bradley. He reads it. "North Carolina, RidgewoodFalls, House, GasStation, Help." He says.

"We looked into the town and found out that a few months ago, an old farm in Ridgewood Falls was bought in cash by someone named Peter Brandon. We think that might be the alias Preston is using. We are currently working to get a rescue team together. The only issue is that the farm is near the town. We have to be careful going in without alerting him." Dante says.

Bradley agrees before dismissing Dante. He leaves his office and makes his way to the bedroom. He sits on the bed and grabs the framed photo of the two of you from your summer in San Diego. He touches your face and twists his wedding ring. "I'm coming for you, Sweetheart."

Two days after finding out where you are, almost seventeen days after you were taken, the White House receives a video of what they think is proof of life. Instead, they are met with the sight of you tied to a chair and gagged while Preston breaks three of your fingers and punches your face until its bruised and bloody. It ends with demands for nuclear launch codes in addition to the ransom money.

Bradley's blood boils as he watches the events unfold. He throws the coffee he is drinking across the room, and the mug shatters into a million pieces before he screams in anger.

He demands that the Navy SEAL team that Dante and others were organizing be sent in immediatly to extract you. Dante informs him that it isn't so simple.

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHAT IT TAKES! If you won't have the SEAL team go in and extract her then you'll leave me no choice but to fly Air Force One to North Carolina so I can get her myself!" Bradley screams before slamming his hands on the table.

"Sir. I understand your frustration. But we haven't been able to arrange air coverage and support for them. We need jets and pilots and don't have them yet.

"You need jets and pilots? Well, why didn't you say so. Bring me, Rear Admiral Mitchell. Now." Bradley says as people scramble out of the room.

"Mav," Bradley begins as he enters the room. "Is Phoenix sit the commander of the Bush carrier?" He asks.

"She is." Maverick answers. "How fast do you think we can get the Dagger Squad to Norfolk? They are the only people I trust for this mission I'm about to send them on." Bradley says.

"I made some calls. They were stationed there last week. Just in case." Maverick tells him.

"Thank you, Mav." Bradley says before calling for Dante.

"Dante, I need a secure line set up now. I need you to get me in touch with Captain Natasha Trace on the U.S.S. Bush in Virginia. You need a team of pilots. I'll get you the best damn team in the entire world." Bradley says.

"Sir, with all do respect, how do you know that they are the best?" Dante asks him.

"Because they aren't just any old team of fighter pilots, Dante. They are my team."

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