#False Stability | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

incognit0slut · 4 days ago

Text

A little death

Softcore In which you provoke his jealousy, and he learns a lot more about himself.

Category: Smut (18+) Word count: 8.3k…. yeah Content: Jealous spencer, bratty reader, dom!spencer, fingering, edging, overstimulation, squirting again (do NOT look at me i am just a girl), and voyeurism if you squint bc someone overhears them a/n: don't you just looove it when they match each other's freak

Spencer doesn’t get jealous.

Jealousy, he believes, requires a certain level of entitlement. He’s never really had that. Never let himself believe he owed anyone’s affection, let alone their attention when his romantic history is threadbare at best, sparse enough that he could count past relationships on one hand and still have fingers left untouched.

Even calling them relationships feels generous. Fleeting moment of interest sounds more accurate, a handful of clumsy encounters that never made it past the shallow end of connection. False starts, quiet exits. Nothing solid or lasting. Certainly nothing that ever made him feel like he had the right to be possessive — not since he learned, in the cruelest of ways, that love and loss could be spoken in the same breath.

So no, he doesn’t get jealous. He’s never been presumptuous enough to think that someone could be his to lose in the first place.

Yet what he feels right now is something uncomfortably close to it.

It’s inconvenient, very uncharacteristic of him. And when he catches himself spiraling over things that defy reason, he attempts to pin it down with logic. The empirical part of his brain would call this a reaction to perceived threats to his social attachments. A primal response encoded in his DNA for survival and mate retention, which is nothing more than an evolutionary glitch. A relic of human competition.

A defense mechanism.

A biochemical reaction.

But knowing the terminology doesn’t stop the twist in his stomach as he watches the pretty curve of your smile settle on that overgrown boy scout of a man.

And you’re not even his.

Not in any official capacity. Not in any way that grants him the right to feel this way. Still, there’s something aggravating in the notion of another man soaking in your attention.

"I'm serious," a confidently smooth voice declares.

His gaze flicks to the side, just enough to catch Detective Palmer standing a little too close beside you. The same man who had spent the past two weeks slipping in offhand flattery towards your way whenever the opportunity came.

Unprofessional would be a strong adjective to describe what’s happening in this tight space when there’s technically nothing wrong with a little friendly praise. But Spencer has seen enough human interaction — has studied enough human behavior — to know the difference between a compliment offered in good faith and one laced with ulterior motives.

Motives that aren’t as pure as they appear. Surely, you see it. You must see it. He refuses to believe that someone as sharp as you is oblivious to the way Palmer’s shoulder barely brushes yours under the guise of casual proximity. But then you tilt your head and let out the loveliest laugh. A sound Spencer has never been on the receiving end of.

And his vision starts to blur.

“No, you’re not,” you chide. Teasingly, he notes. A hand on your hip, the other clutching a file. You’re currently in the middle of clearing out the desk everyone has been using for the past couple of days.

“I am,” Palmer counters. “Think about it. Steady hours, less travel. You wouldn’t have to worry about flying all over the country.”

“I don’t mind the travel.”

“But wouldn’t it be nice to have some stability?”

“Stability?”

“And a place where your work doesn’t get buried under a mountain of paperwork.” He cocks an eyebrow. “You’d be able to focus on what you do best without all that bureaucratic red tape.”

“Well, I happen to like politics,” you say, slipping a another document onto your growing pile.

“No one likes politics,” the man scoffs lightly. “People tolerate it, and I don’t take you for the kind of person who enjoys tolerating things.”

The prickling sensation burns behind his eyelids now. Spencer can’t decide whether it’s from his contacts settling uncomfortably out of place, or if he’s forgotten to blink while listening to this nonsense. It gets even worse when you shift your weight, subtly pushing your hip against the edge of the table.

He can’t tell if the curve of your mouth is leaning toward a smirk or a frown. “I’m actually more patient than I look.”

Palmer clearly sense an opening. “Patience is one thing, tolerating missed chances is another. Especially when a better opportunity presents itself.”

You narrow your eyes. “So what you’re saying is I should quit my job and settle down in a quiet little town where, oh I don’t know, you’ll take all the credit for my work?”

Even your sarcasm seems to delight the man. “Not at all,” he grins widely. “I’m saying I’d make sure you get all the credit you deserve.”

The stack of papers in his grip slaps against the table with a deliberate thud. Two sets of eyes snap toward him. One pair burning a pointed hole into his skull, and the other narrowing in awareness that someone else is very much listening to the conversation.

Spencer keeps his head down.

“We should discuss this somewhere else,” Palmer proposes, eyeing him once more before shifting his attention back to you. “Tonight. Over dinner.”

His reflex betrays him. His head lifts before he can stop it, eyes finally landing on the man he’s been stubbornly avoiding.

And he immediately wishes he hadn’t. Because Palmer is… pretty decent to look at. Polished. Light, neatly trimmed hair, sharp cheekbones, and a confident set to his jaw that speaks of someone who’s never had to work too hard to hold attention.

He also seems young. Not inexperienced, exactly, but young enough that the difference is painfully noticeable. Young in a way Spencer can’t help but acknowledge, with the easy confidence of someone closer to your age than his own. Closer to the kind of man he imagines people expect you to be with that it would be easy to find you together in one of those chic little restaurants this town probably prides itself on.

But you’re awfully quiet, and he wonders if even half of his existence resides in your mind right now. He finds himself waiting for your answer too, against his better judgment, as he sweeps up stray papers and photographs scattered along the surface.

“Unless… you have someone waiting for you back home?”

His fingers press into the worn edges of the papers and skirts around the table. A quiet shift in orbit as he walks just within the edges of your periphery.

Your gravity pulls him without permission, an invisible thread compelling him into alignment. A cautious step left, another hesitant drift to the right. By the time his shadow spills gently across your shoulders, he isn't sure you’ll acknowledge his presence — or if you’ll pretend not to feel anything at all.

“So, do you?”

You clear your throat, then offer Palmer a shrug.

“No, I don’t.”

He quickly falls off your orbit.

“Perfect,” Palmer chimes, extremely pleased with your answer. “I’ll pick you up at Seven.”

Spencer crosses the short distance toward the door as your eyes follow the taut muscles of his back.

“Sure. Seven it is.”

He stalks out of the room without a word.

Time is supposed to be constant. Linear. A dependable, predictable stream moving forward at exactly the same pace. But it starts to feel uneven after he left the precinct. Minutes stretch themselves thin while seconds snap by in disorienting bursts, turning the hours into something unbearably long and frustratingly fast.

At five fifteen, Spencer steps into his hotel room and heads straight for a cold shower, hoping the water might wash away the tension clinging to his skin. It doesn’t.

At five forty-seven, JJ calls him about the team heading to the local bar for one last night out before flying home tomorrow. He politely declines.

At six twenty-two, he opens War and Peace he had stuffed into his bag for the trip, but the words slip past his focus.

At six thirty-eight, he gives up entirely, his feet pulling him into restless loops across the carpeted floor.

By six five zero hour, he’s already knocking on your hotel room.

It takes exactly forty-two seconds before the latch clicks and the door swings open — then he forgets how to speak.

You’re standing there in a blouse and slacks he’d seen you wear earlier this week. Nothing is out of the ordinary, yet somehow the familiarity feels different. A few buttons at your neckline remain undone. Your hair is styled differently, and though he doesn’t fully grasp the concept of makeup, he notices how your lips are a shade warmer.

There’s no question in his mind that your beauty has always captivated him, but then his eyes catch on the delicate stretch of skin along your cleavage, and suddenly his mouth turns sour.

A deep scowl knots between his brows. “You’re really going?”

Your chin lifts up at the judgement in his voice. “Excuse me?”

“With Palmer. You’re actually planning to go?”

Silence, then you square your shoulders.

“Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?”

He does. In fact, he has at least half a dozen reasons that are all perfectly logical and justified, but there isn’t a way to voice them without sounding like a jealous fool. So he settles for the simplest objection he can manage.

“You barely know him.”

You’re clearly not impressed by his argument. “He seems nice.”

“You think he’s nice when he’s trying to sell you the idea of staying here?”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t mind hearing what he has to offer.”

He can't decide which is worse. The thought of you entertaining another man or that you might actually be considering something bigger than that. A different job. A different city. A whole different life, one that unfolds without him in it. There is no mistaking the tension carving itself across his face.

“Why are you doing this?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Why do you care?”

His breath pulls in sharply through his nose.

A fairly good question, and he can’t think of an answer. At least not one that wouldn't cross a line you've both silently agreed not to cross. He knows the rules with you — he helped make them. Casual. Unattached. Simple in theory, but infinitely complicated in practice. You don’t owe him the space you take up in his thoughts.

If anything, he’s the one who owes you. For letting things be what they are even when it doesn’t always make any sense. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment when he started taking everything for granted, or when he stopped wondering if you’d stay and started assuming you would.

He realizes how precarious that assumption is. The notion carries his feet forward until he looms over you, close enough to feel the gentle warmth rising from your skin. Close enough to remind him it’s been nearly a month since he’s spent any real time in your proximity. A month defined by long, relentless cases and a tension that hasn’t faded since the night he confronted you for stepping too close to danger.

A danger he thinks hasn’t exactly passed. Not entirely, because the risk isn’t concealed in some reckless threat. It’s in this room.

In the careful distance between your bodies.

In the doubt that lingers between unspoken truths.

In the quiet hesitation of his next breath.

“Because it’s late,” he decides to answer, “and you don’t really know this town.”

A flimsy excuse. One so weak that even he feels embarrassed the second it leaves his mouth.

Your lips twitches. “I think I’ll manage.”

“You don’t know what he’s expecting.”

You fail to hold your disbelief with a tiny scoff. "And you do?"

He knows nothing for certain, only what he suspects when he lets his thoughts stray too far. What he does know is that he’s never been good at expressing his feelings without making it sound accusatory or desperate. And with aggravating clarity, he realizes he’s already toeing that line. The thin line he crosses meekly as he makes the decision to close the door before he can think better of it.

An audible click echoes in the room.

He sees a myriad of emotions travel through your pinched expression. There’s a slight tightening around your eyes, a faint crease forming between your brows. Still, he closes the silver of space between you, drawn by a need he can’t quite articulate and tries to quell your confusion. Skims a wide palm over your arm with more weak excuses on his tongue.

“He’s not good for you.”

Neither is he.

“He doesn't deserve you.”

Neither does he.

It’s irony in its purest form, laid bare unapologetically in its cruelty. He knows he doesn’t have the right to say this. That if he was any better than any other man, any less selfish, he’d be the one stepping aside. Although he’d argue that logic has never done much to stop him when it comes to you.

And you look as conflicted. Stiff fingers curl around air only to release it right afterwards. Stop is all it would take for him to put back the distance. He’d call it a night and walk back to his room even if it left him wondering what he could have done differently.

But the tension in your stance unravels in quiet increments, each taut line of muscle easing under the rough pads of calloused fingers. Though your body relents before your mouth does. That much is clear. Stubborn is the tilt of your chin, the way your lips part to let out words that contradict the softness he feels beneath his hand.

“It's dinner,” you assert. “I can handle myself.”

Your voice comes out softer than expected, and he would pull back if you weren’t leaning toward him a fraction closer. So he hums agreeably in a way that isn’t agreement at all and trails his hand upward, unhurriedly in its journey, until it brushes the base of your throat.

Warm breath fans over his face when he thumbs over your pulse. “I mean it.”

"Mhm.”

He can tell there's very little resolve left in you. Your eyes are hooded, depriving his lips of the attention they were given. The last shred of defiance that kept you upright is gone.

“You do realize you have no right to act like this,” you manage, aiming for composed but landing somewhere closer to breathless. He treats it like permission to flush his body against yours.

“I know.”

"You can’t just… walk in here and go all alpha male on me or whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

The term feels absurd the moment it leaves your mouth.

“I’m aware,” he slowly replies, tries to soften his tone.

“You also need to let go of this ridiculous idea that you get to make any decision for me.”

He acknowledges that too, of course. Although it hardly feels like a decision when your body’s already answering for you, leaning closer despite your stubborn protests. His thumb drags along the side of your neck, right over the place where your pulse kicks the hardest.

“Should I leave then?”

He will if you ask him to, without a doubt.

He’ll question his own sanity if it comes to that.

But after painstakingly long seconds, after watching the resolve slowly dim from your dainty eyes, you gradually shake your head — to his utmost delight.

He selfishly grabs your jaw and kisses you.

There’s no time for pleasantries. No time for careful touches when every nerve in his body has been screaming your name.

His lips part like he’s been holding his breath for too long, slotting his tongue against yours while hindering your movements with fingers holding your cheek, which is unnecessary because you give in without hesitation. Wholeheartedly, like you always do. Surrendering to the rhetorical desperation of a taste you haven’t had in a month.

He tastes like smoldering tension. He tastes of a man fighting a feeling he can't seem to agree with, even as every stolen breath betrays him.

The very breath you drink — humid air thick with shared saliva. Wet in every sense. Glossed on every inch. Your mouth, your teeth, your chin. Spreading a different kind of wetness between your thighs the moment his other hand trails along the waistband of your pants.

He dips his fingers inside, bypassing layers of fabric until your mouth falls open in shock at how suddenly deep those long fingers delve between your folds.

He presses his middle finger inside you.

“Fuck,” you hiss, nipping at his lower lip, and he chastises you by inserting a second finger.

You’re not even that wet. Damp, preferably. Enough to let him in, not enough to mask the awkward stretch. Although that hardly registers when he’s too aware of the tender patch of nerves he knows will have you drenching his fingers in seconds.

You melt against his chest instantly, and it’s very much embarrassing to admit how quickly you always fold for him. One moment you're fighting off his petty arguments and the next thing, your hips undulate to chase friction, grinding down into the curl of his hand with no shame at all. Your pride barely has time to protest before it’s drowned out by the wet squelch of his fingers working you open.

You're being absolutely ravaged. He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can reach, while his fingertips press into your walls as deeply as your pants allow. The confinement barely seems to matter — it’s enough to make your knees buckle, worse when he picks up the pace. Faster than usual, more urgent than his usual rhythm when he asks for sex. He normally takes his time upfront, teases, tempts.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he’s ragged. Focused.

You notice it in the tension of his forearms, the way they flex with each thrust of his hand, how he moves with a kind of voracity that could be mistaken for hate if you didn’t know him better.

But hate is too strong of an emotion to ever explain the scorching jealousy radiating from him.

"Don’t—"

He curls his fingers upward.

"Go—"

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"Don't want you to see him."

Your legs shake, the bones melted beneath your skin as he reduces you to this pliant mess. You don't know what to say to that — you're not even sure it's something you could put into words without making a complete fool out of yourself. So instead you shift, just enough to rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm.

Because that's what he wants anyway. It’s what he’s offering, in the only language he knows. Touch, control, denial. And you’ll take it as long as it distracts you from having to respond to his admission.

But it’s then that he stops moving his fingers, leaving your walls to clamp around them as they fall still.

“Stay.”

You ball your fist in his shirt. “Your hand is inside my pants in the middle of a goddamn hotel room. I’m not going anywhere.”

You can practically feel the tension roll off his shoulders in waves, but then he pulls his fingers out, and a wounded sound slips past your lips before you can stop it.

“Spencer…”

“Come on, let’s move to the bed.”

You’re grateful he’s holding you up, because your legs feel one good shudder away from crumbling. Every step is clumsy and floaty, like your body’s lagging half a second behind your mind, as if sensation is still catching up to motion.

You don’t even remember your clothes hitting the floor, only that his hands were everywhere. Your shirt comes off. Then your pants. The cold air bites your thighs, cool against the heat of your skin. By the time he sinks onto the bed and tucks you between his legs, you’re stripped completely bare.

The soft cotton of his shirt clings to the sweat rising on your back, and you squirm when a certain hard pressure brushes your ass. This isn’t the position you expected to be in, slotted between his thighs while being the only one lacking any fabric at all. But you don’t complain. You melt into the way his large hands slip between your arms to cup the soft weight of your breasts. Your body goes slack as he rolls stiff nipples between the rough pads of his fingers and the smooth press of his thumbs.

You’re nothing short of liquid when his lips brush your ear and tells you to open your legs, a command you follow as easily as breathing. By the time his hand travels between the supple skin of your thighs, you’re already pool of aching heat.

Every nerve in your body seems to funnel down to that one point. Your clit swells shamelessly beneath his fingertips, and the sheer sensitivity makes your head spin. You feel it pulsing, and keeping quiet becomes less of an option when he starts to wet the rest of your sex, dragging his fingers through every swollen ridge.

You shudder when a finger prods your hole.

But he does nothing with it. Just stays there motionless, making you keenly aware of how empty you still are.

Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, glossy lips finding the side of his neck, tongue dragging along the skin just to feel the way his throat bobs beneath you. Your way of pleading. A signal he usually listens to. Only this time he leaves your cunt untouched, choosing instead to let his fingers tap lightly on your clit. He saviors the stiffness under the pads of his fingers, how the more he skims them over it, the harder it gets.

You feel quite the opposite.

The scrape of his stubble burns against your mouth, but it’s nothing compared to the spark of frustration curling tight in your belly.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

He is. Even he can admit to that—though he’d rather bite his tongue than call it what it is.

“Define purpose.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t play semantics with me. Is this about him?”

He hates how easily you read him.

Hates more that you’re not wrong.

“Thought we were already past that,” you observe.

He doesn’t say anything, but the tension rippling beneath your lips speaks volumes. You suck the exposed flesh on his neck where his little mole resides.

“What—” you huff, words trembling as starts to l stroke your puffy little clit, “did you finally decide I needed reminding? Is that what you’re doing?”

Is that what this is? He didn’t have an exact definition in mind when he started this. No plan, no clear intent, just the magnetic pull that always exists between the two of you. He was going to touch you the way he always does when he can’t help himself.

But then the coil in his chest tightens again. The image of you with that smug excuse of a man still clung to him like smoke — too much smile handed to someone who didn’t earn it. Which is why his touch became measured, his rhythm a shy satisfaction that isn’t enough to break you open, but close enough to remind you where your body fits best.

His focus leaves your clit and shifts behind you, hooks your legs over his to lock them securely in place with his calves. The slight flare of your pupils doesn’t go unnoticed before he cocks his head.

“What if I am?”

Your smile reminds him of a match just before it lights. “Are you punishing me right now?”

The flame in your eyes sears low, and he’s not sure he should play with fire.

Punishment wouldn’t be the right word for it anyway. There’s no retribution in what he feels. No malice, no need to correct. Hurting you is the last thing he wants to do. But you’ve placed the match right in his hand, and if you ask him to strike it, he doubts he’ll be able to stop the burn. It’ll be consuming, a wildfire racing through every carefully drawn boundary to smoldering ashes scattered between your bodies.

He’ll scorch every inch of you with the excuse you gave him until there’s nothing left but smoke and the heat of his name in your mouth.

“Is that what you want?”

You wiggle under the weight of his hand. “You know I’ll take whatever you give me.”

True enough, but what he wants to hear the need blooming along every frayed nerve in your body when you can’t seem to stop yourself from grinding your hips as he trails down your inner thigh.

“Be more specific,” he presses. “Tell me what exactly.”

You huff and try to reach for his lips. “Want you to make me cum, old man.”

A gentle slap falls onto your clit.

“Without the attitude.”

He swallows your gasp as you jolt at the shallow sting. “Fuck—okay,” you mutter, trying to keep a shred of control even as your knees inch further apart. “Will you make me cum?”

“Where are your manners?” He hums, and drags a long finger along your clit with infuriating patience. “I think you can do better than that.”

You groan and let yourself sink further against his chest. “You’re seriously gonna edge me over politeness?”

He doesn’t give you an answer. Just draws another excruciatingly slow circle over your sensitive nub so light it leaves your breath faltering. He counts the seconds in your sighs, measures the quiver of your hips, then meets your increasingly desperate gaze with eyes that fall short of the jeer in your voice, because while your body pleads, he knows you have something sharp tucked up your sleeve to use against him.

And while he’s weak to the way you’ve always twisted him, he’s even weaker to the things you do without trying. The act you play so effortlessly. That faint, practiced whine you let slip just before you wet your lips and bat your pretty lashes.

“Please, Spencer?” You whimper. “Will you please make me cum?”

The sarcasm drips so thick he could wring it from your tongue. He wonders if he should drink every last drop and savor the sweetness that coats your words, but the sudden shrill of your phone cuts through the air, its screen lighting up on the far edge of the bed.

You both glance toward it simultaneously as he presses his mouth to your ear. “Are you expecting someone?”

The laugh you let out is incredulous. “I was until you decided to barge in here and lock me in place.”

His eyes drag over the length of your body tucked between his legs, knees conveniently hooked on each of his thighs. He watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest, how your pulse flutters beneath his palm resting across your collarbones. He’s holding every trembling muscle of you still as his other hand swirls over your aching clit, yet his mind seethes with the memory of why he had decided to knock on your door in the first place.

It’s that flicker of spite that has him reaching for your phone, and sure enough, the word Detective glares at him across the screen followed by that grating name — those syllables that shouldn’t hold weight but dig like splinters all the same.

“He’s probably waiting for me in the lobby,” you jest, and jealousy, he realizes, is something he’s entirely capable of feeling. Even though he’d suspected it all night, no amount of logic can dull the ache that comes with the confirmation.

It isn’t just a primal response encoded in his DNA for mate retention that drives his actions.

It’s far more complex than a mere defense mechanism, woven with threads of genuine emotions that goes beyond the physical.

And biochemistry can’t explain the visceral satisfaction he feels when your body softens the moment he finally buries two fingers deep to the knuckle.

It doesn't account for the way you shudder around him, for the helpless roll of your hips that tells him he's exactly where you want him to be. He observes the tension in your jaw falter, the way your breath catch in a rhythm he now knows as well as his own. But even that doesn’t fully settle the unfamiliar thing gnawing inside him. So he clutches your phone and presses the device into your open palm, even as his other hand remains buried between your damp thighs.

“You should answer it,” he says, voice deceptively calm. “Tell him you won’t be coming down.”

“What?” you heave. “I can’t answer right now.”

“Sure you can, it’s the polite thing to do. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

You laugh under your breath and shake your head. “You’re insane.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not with words. He hooks his middle and ring finger against that unbearably soft spot along your walls, and a choked sound punches out of you before you can stifle it while the insistent buzz of your phone continues to mock you.

“Go on, answer it.”

“He’s—I—” you stammer, trying to summon some coherent protest but your thoughts are hopelessly scattered, all mush and molten heat. A free hand reaches back to clutch at his thigh. “I don’t—fuck, stop doing that. I can’t think straight.”

“Do you really want me to stop?”

The lull that follows is cruel. His fingers slow to a near crawl, and the absence of intensity makes the growing ache so much worse. You roll your hips once, twice, trying to urge him without giving him the satisfaction of words, but he stays painfully still as the ringtone on your phone keeps hissing, then it stops. A brief silence. And just as your heart starts to settle, it begins again, that repetitive chime clawing at your nerves.

You grit your teeth, shame burning under your skin as your shoulders slump.

The word scrapes along the roof of your mouth before you can stop them.

“…no.”

“Answer the call,” he insists, lips pressed on the side of your flushed face. “The sooner you do, the sooner I’ll let you finish.”

You glare at the phone in your hand before lifting the device to your ear, and the moment the line opens, his fingers resume their rhythm. Perfectly timed with the soft “Hello?” on the other end.

You inhale a sharp breath.

“Detective... Palmer?”

Your brows screw in a wince at how your voice pitched higher than intended.

“Yeah, hey, I’m calling to make sure we’re still on for dinner tonight. I’m in the lobby.”

You clench your jaw, swallowing a moan so hard it burns your throat. “I’m sorry,” you breathe out, “I—I got held up.”

“Held up?” Palmer’s voice tightens with worry. “Are you with someone? Everything alright?”

Spencer’s lips skim softly beneath your ear, warm breath ghosting over your pulse just before he plunges his fingers deep enough to send your eyes scattering upward. Your vision blurs, the dimly lit room tilting dangerously around you. You don’t even realize you haven’t responded until he nips gently at your neck with an amused smile tattooed on your skin.

“You might want to answer him.”

You blink hard.

“I—yes. I mean no—I mean…” you gasp, arching sharply as the heel of his hand rolls against your clit in tandem with his fingers. “Everything’s fine. I just… I don’t think I can make it tonight.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching thin as you struggle to breathe evenly.

“You sure?” Palmer asks. It’s hard not to miss the sudden edge of suspicion in his tone, carefully tucked behind forced concern. “You sound a little off.”

You don’t even have the energy to care how obvious you’re being. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away, pressing your forehead into the scratch of unshaven jaw to regain some semblance of dignity. You'd have been embarrassed if you had the capacity for it anymore, but all shame had been bled from you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this pathetic, strung out on the edge of pleasure with someone’s fingers buried deep inside you while another man’s voice lingers in your ear. Your pride, what little of it remains, is dangling by a thread. And pride is the one thing you always thought you could keep intact around Spencer. He’s a smart man, observant. But soft in all the places that made you believe you could stay one step ahead.

Apparently you’d underestimated him. Gravely. You forgot that the same man who knows the weight of every word you’ve ever spoken also knows the weight of your silence, and you’re humiliated by how easily he can reduce you to this pliant mess. Even more humiliated by how badly you want him to keep going while your name abruptly echoes in your headspace.

Spoken by someone else entirely.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

There’s nothing but weakness sitting in your throat. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.”

Another beat of silence. Then you feel the pointed brush of his nose along your shoulder before gentle teeth latch onto your skin.

“You should get some rest then,” Palmer continues to press, the same way Spencer’s fingers keeps digging into that soft patch of flesh inside. “I’ll check in on you in the morning.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you still flying back tomorrow?”

“…yeah.”

“How about breakfast—”

The relentless pressure of gruff fingers buried in your cunt sends your heels kicking against the mattress.

“I-I’m sorry, Detective, but I really need to go. It was nice working with you.”

You barely manage to hear his reply before your phone slips from your grip, landing between the sheets with a muted thud. In the back of your fucked-out little brain, you figure the call must have ended by now — surely he would have cut it off. But the timer keeps increasing. The quiet count of seconds continue to tick away unbeknownst to you.

But not to Spencer. He’s keenly aware of the numbers climbing on the screen.

00:50

00:51

00:52

By the 01:00 mark, he’s already made up his mind.

And he’s not proud of it — as to every touch he’s given you tonight. He’ll call this as instinct, or maybe inevitability, anything but what it truly is: selfish.

Selfish in the way he rams his fingers back and forth inside you, the heel of his palm grinding over your clit with unrelenting force. Selfish in the pace he sets himself with. Selfish in how he reads your body like it’s his to interpret, all written in a language only he claims fluency in.

The curve of your spine bows as you lean back helplessly, mouth parted in a perfect, silent “O”. Your eyes are glassy and fixed on the dull ceiling above, as if it might offer some kind of reprieve from the flood of pleasure he’s practically dragging out of you.

And somehow he’s managed to drag you right to the brink without letting you topple over the edge.

You don’t know whether you want to cry or come. Your hips jerk to chase more pressure, more friction, more anything, as your lips part in a desperate sound that’s slurred and barely audible to his ears.

“What was that?”

“Wanna cum,” you gasp around humid breath. “Please.”

He peers at your phone still laying innocently on the bed, the call blinking at 01:24. “A bit louder.”

You choke on a whimper, and for the first time since you’ve tangled your limbs with him for the past few months, your pride isn’t enough to hold you together.

“Please,” you beg, sounding a little pathetic. “S-Spencer—please, need to cum.”

He makes a satisfied sound of his own the moment he feels you leak around his fingers. “Look at that,” he mutters, watching the slick sheen of your arousal coating even to his wrist. “You’re making a mess.”

“Fuck—yes yes, right there.” Your hips buck shamelessly into his hand. “Don’t stop, don’t stop. Please…”

He can’t even if he wanted to. You’re chanting his name over and over again like it’s the only word you know, a mantra that sends ripples of heat low and thick in his gut. His cock throbs painfully against his zipper, but he pushes his own desperate need to the back of his mind, focusing entirely on his fingers plunging in and out of your poor swollen hole until he feels you clench helplessly around him.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this helpless. The sharp edge of your smart mouth is gone, melted away under the rhythm he’s carved into your body. There’s a flicker of something like pity in his chest, because even if he doesn’t feel like the best version of himself right now, he still doesn’t want to push you too far beyond your limits.

So he starts to pull his fingers from your soaked, fluttering cunt.

Or at least he tries. Because the second he begins to slip away, you grip his forearm with surprising strength, pushing him firmly back between your spread thighs.

God forbid he stops now.

He pulls his legs apart just to drag yours along for better leverage, and focuses on the wet hood of your clit. Three fingers stroke in fast motions, the delicate skin folding and bunching while you weakly claw around his wrist. He wonders if you’re still conscious of the noises you’re making, or if the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes have blurred away any sense of awareness. He wipes them off with a slow drag of his lips and savors the way your clit tense even more under the pressure of his hand, the stiff kink of nerves coiling tighter to its limit.

It only takes a few more flicks until your second orgasm tumbles right through you. Wrecks you out completely — back arching, thighs clamping around his wrist in a futile attempt to slow him down. He probably should, you’re already an overstimulated mess of body fluid. Arousal coating your thighs, drool catching at your mouth, sweat beading along your hairline.

Purges of sensation seeps through every corner of your pore, but now he wonders how far he can wring you dry. His stubble scratches your already blotchy cheek, “One more, give me one more.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing.

“Spence—” You croak, slightly pulling back to speak. “I-I can’t—Stop.”

“You can,” he hums, and presses a soft peck to your jaw. “I know you can.”

You slowly shake your head.

But Spencer has been in this position too many times that he understands the precise way your body folds when it’s too much. The lack of safe word you both agreed on tells him you’re still greedy for more despite how far gone you look.

“Red?” He asks, doubling his effort on your clit.

You blink through heavy lids, and he presses his mouth to your the shell of your ear.

“Come on, answer me,” he urges. “I’ll stop if you say the word.”

Your nails clutch at his skin. The press of your eyelashes clamping shut accompanies another quiet sob, followed by a firmer shake of your head.

Your answer isn’t clear enough, he tries to question you again.

“Red?”

The frantic rhythm of your heartbeat kisses your chest, and slowly, very weakly, you guide him back to your hole with a wet sigh.

He can’t stop himself from letting out a torn sound that rumbles in his throat. A noise that feels like it extends from a place so deep it feels unfamiliar. You shouldn’t have this much power over him. Shouldn’t be able to tear down every carefully built barrier and unravel him to his very bones with nothing more than the tremble of your thighs and his name clinging onto your lips. Lips that would normally spit fire are incredibly soft as he chases them with his own.

They’re still burning, nonetheless.

It sears through him the moment your mouths connect, a slow spreading heat that starts in his marrow and flows outward like molten lava, sliding down his arms until it lingers at his fingertips where you’re unduly scorching in his palm.

You feel it too, don’t you? It’s impossible not to with the way his hand glides in harsh motions between your legs, building a friction that’s equal parts brutal and addictive. So addictive that you find yourself chasing a numb, blissful escape in the ceaseless waves of sensations that threaten to wash away every coherent thought.

Your toes curl.

Your stomach tightens.

Speckles of liquid spatters across the sheets the more he drags his fingers through your dripping, swollen cunt, its squelching sound rising above the fight of your labored breathing.

He greedily swallows each gasp in his mouth, tastes your pleasure in every pant.

“Oh fuck! Fuckfuckfuck—”

A sudden rush spills over his hand. Soaks the sheets beneath you in dark patches and streams down the inside of his wrist, seeping hot into the thighs of his pants where your legs are still slung over him. He couldn’t care less about the fabric sticking to his skin, or the growing discomfort of wet clothes when it’s nothing compared to the discomfort written your pinched brows. He’d actually think you were slipping into another dimension from the way your features crumple if it weren’t for the ghost of a smile curling lazily at your mouth.

He slightly leans back and studies your profile. You’re clearly out of it, but there’s no mistaking the ecstasy etched into every line of your pretty face. A little strange, given everything he’s done to you. Even more out of place is the slurred compliment you offer after a long, dreamy sigh.

“You’re getting too good at that,” you mumble, cheek softly pressed to the ridge of his shoulder blade.

Your voice is uncharacteristically sweet, but he can’t let it stroke his ego when he catches the black screen of your phone lying forgotten on the bed. A quiet unblinking thing, and guilt starts to curl in the space where pride tried to form, souring any sense of satisfaction before it ever fully sinks.

He absently runs a hand along your inner thigh and swallows the lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

It earns him a puzzled frown.

You try to blink the drowsiness from your eyes, unsure if you heard him right or if your mind is still swimming too deep to trust the shape of words. But the tight pull of muscle beneath your cheek gives him away, which deepens your confusion because an apology doesn’t seem to belong here. Nor does it fit easily with the usual rhythm of wandering hands and biting retorts that define your interactions.

“Where is this coming from?” You ask.

He hesitates, his hand resting loosely on your thigh, then lets out a long exhale. “I’m not sure when the line cut off.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a high chance he heard… most of it, or enough to know that you’re not alone.”

It’s your turn to play semantics with him. “Define high chance.”

“Somewhere between eighty and ninety percent.”

That’s an oddly specific high range. It’s precise enough to make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on.

Your eyes touches his, so close now you can see the enlarged pupils eating at the brown irises. You might think what you’re doing is profiling, but you know it’s more about noticing the little details you’ve come to memorize over time. The subtle shift in his jawline, the tension at the corners of his lips. The patterns are familiar they make his thoughts almost transparent.

And somehow you can read his mind, though you need to confirm if what you’re sensing is mutual, if the unspoken words you’re catching are the same ones circling behind his glossy eyes.

“Were you aware the call kept going the whole time?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and the pause alone feels like an answer on its own. Your brows rise sharply.

“So it was intentional.”

“No. Yes.” He looks away. “Maybe?”

You don’t say anything at first, save for the slow breath you draw in through your nose.

You try to vivisect your own mind while he sits uncharacteristically still, attempting to determine why the possibility of him leaving the line connected doesn’t disturb you as much as it probably should. Why, despite the implications, part of you isn’t shocked.

The answer eludes you, buried perhaps deeper than you care to dig. You’d already tasted the bite of his jealousy long before he stepped foot into your room tonight. Felt it in the taut set of his shoulders whenever Palmer so much as looked at you when the three of you shared space. Even after he’d folded you into his arms and wrung a quake of orgasms from your body, you could still sense it humming under his skin.

But the extent to which this jealousy has driven him to is what baffles you. It’s as startling as the faint thrill fluttering traitorously through your heart.

You huff out a short, disbelieving laugh. “All because he asked me out to dinner?”

It sounds ridiculous when you put it that way.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably, guides your legs together until your knees touches and rakes his tongue over his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

Two apologies in one night — a record, as far as he’s concerned.

Yet it feels like he’s only skimming the surface of what you deserve.

The intricacy of your relationship has always defied easy definitions, but even in the mess of it, he’s never stopped respecting you. While he often questions your judgment or disputes the way your opinions cut so differently from his, you’re nothing less of smart, and perhaps this is where your clever mind finally puts a stop to this nonsense. Drawing a line he’s long since blurred.

He wouldn’t even blame you. He’d decide the same outcome if he were in your shoes. After all, he knows he’s too much of a burden, too wired for disaster to offer you anything but chaos. And no matter how tempting chaos can be, it never leads to anything good.

Goodness, as he’s come to accept, is far from his reality.

Tonight only serves as another proof of how right his presumption is.

The dampness from his wet slacks slides across even wetter sheets as he moves, a clammy sensation that replicates the sweat beading along his palms. His arms loosen from where they’d caged you in, falling away with a hesitant drag until he finally touches your gaze. Your eyes are already honed in on him, but there’s no trace of animosity in those sharp depths. No shards malice. He doesn’t even discern any hint of anger. Your face is soft, head tipped the slightest degree, but it’s the faint curl of your lips — the barest hint of a smile — that truly undoes him.

Along with the trace of fingers placed over his heart. He’s sure you can feel its wild rhythm beating through the thin fabric.

“Thought jealousy wouldn’t look good on you,” you slowly declaim, thumb idly tracing little circles around a button. “I’m starting to believe it does.”

His throat scrapes like sandpaper.

He doesn’t know what to make of that. Your fingers worry a stray thread over the seam of his shirt like you’re stitching together all the wrong parts of him as if it makes them right. It’s disorienting, and he can’t decide whether your soft words and even softer touch align with the conclusion already forming in his mind. A conclusion so unlikely that it twists every time he tries to pin it down.

Because if you truly accepted his jealousy, it would mean his worst impulses weren’t entirely unwelcome. It would also validate the possessive instinct he’s buried to claim you as his. And that, in turn, would feed the dangerous notion that he’s entitled to you in ways he has no right to be.

But you’re still smiling, and he’s just a man. A man whose logical brain stands no chance against the delicate curve of your mouth.

The right course of action would be prying the truth between those softly spoken words. Wisdom dictates caution, but fear grips him more fiercely than the cold hand of reason ever could. Terrified that one wrong placed question might send you retreating behind walls he’s only managed to breach, and that dread pins his tongue to the roof of his mouth, holds him in silence as he rides the comfort of your satiation like it grants him the access to stay.

Again, he’s selfish.

Yet it’s a ruinous habit — one that slips over him as easily as breath. Too easy to indulge when you’re letting him with no objection.

You don’t even flinch when he gathers you onto his lap.

Not a single word of protest when his lips touches your hair.

"She sought death on a queen-sized bed." A Little Death—The Neighbourhood

#lou writes #♾️#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid smut

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getvalentined · 2 years ago

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An open letter to @staff

I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.

The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.

Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.

This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.

This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.

Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.

You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.

Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.

This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.

You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.

The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.

You can do so much better than this.

Response to the Update

Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.

I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.

Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.

People read it that way because that is what you said.

*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:

136,635 votes breaks down thusly:

An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)

Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)

This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)

#tumblr dot com #tumblr staff

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astrocafecoffee · 6 months ago

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Part of fortune in natal chart 💫

❤️ FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY , ENJOY ❤️

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💖 MASTERLIST

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♥️ POF in 1st house/Aries :

- Part of Fortune in the 1st House can give you a subtle magnetism that draws opportunities to you, sometimes without conscious effort. Your energy, charisma, or physical presence can create circumstances where good things simply fall into your lap as you move through the world. This can apply to both personal and professional opportunities, and it's more about the vibe you project than any specific action you take.Since the 1st House deals with your physical presence and the way you move through the world, luck can come to you in bursts, often out of nowhere. These shifts might not always come gradually but could be more of a life-changing event type of energy, bringing sudden success or visibility. Also, you could find that your natural flair for speaking, teaching, or entertaining brings both pleasure and rewards. This can include attracting positive attention or gaining recognition without trying too hard. While the Part of Fortune in the 1st House brings charisma and opportunities, it can sometimes inflate the ego or create a false sense of invincibility. You may feel that things will always work out, or that your charm and presence will be enough to win you over in all situations. This overconfidence can lead to overestimating your abilities or neglecting other important factors in decision-making, which could cause setbacks if not kept in check. With the Part of Fortune here, you may find that major periods of personal transformation,like a change in your appearance, identity, or outlook on life bring sudden bursts of good luck or fortune. This could be moving to a new location, changing careers, or embracing a completely different lifestyle, and each reinvention could feel like a fresh start filled with new possibilities.

♥️ POF in 2nd house/ Taurus :

-The 2nd House governs financial matters, but with the Part of Fortune here, luck may come through developing self-sufficiency rather than relying on others. your most prosperous times happen when you are working independently or generating your own income, often through practical, steady methods. Resource management and the ability to make the most of what you have can bring you good fortune. While others may struggle with managing finances or accumulating wealth, you might find that you have a natural talent for budgeting, saving, or making the most out of limited resources.you may gain financial stability through physical possessions like real estate or art, or by developing a marketable skill or craft that holds value. The more you invest in your personal abilities, the more you are likely to be rewarded.The Part of Fortune here can sometimes bring unexpected financial gains, especially when you least expect them. These might not always come in the form of a large sum of money, but rather as opportunities that lead to long-term wealth or growth. You might receive a bonus, a inheritance, or even gifts that unexpectedly improve your financial situation.People with this placement often experience good fortune when they detach their self-worth from material possessions and learn that true value lies within. You may experience setbacks or delays if you focus too much on material accumulation, and fortune tends to favor those who find balance between their inner and outer worlds.

♥️ POF in 3rd house/ Gemini :

-The 3rd House is all about how you express your thoughts and ideas, and with the Part of Fortune here, you may find that verbal expression or the ability to communicate effectively can bring you good fortune. Whether it’s through writing, speaking, or teaching, the way you convey your ideas is a direct channel to success. Your words may have an impact on those around you which automatically opens doors and creates opportunities that wouldn’t otherwise arise.You may also be lucky in how easily you grasp new concepts and ideas.you attract opportunities when you step out of your usual environment, whether it’s business travel, a spontaneous trip, or even frequent travel within your local area. Even seemingly insignificant movements can bring important insights or new connections that impact your life positively.your fortune is strongly tied to your ability to tell stories or express yourself through the written word. Whether you’re a blogger, author, journalist, or someone who enjoys personal journaling, there may be luck and success tied to the act of sharing your thoughts and ideas with others.Try tosatisfy your intellectual curiosity and pursue a range of topics or subjects that spark your interest. This can lead you to uncover new opportunities in unexpected places.Teaching or sharing your knowledge is another area where you may find luck. Whether it’s formal education, mentoring, or casual instruction, you might experience good fortune when you help others learn.

♥️ POF in 4th house/cancer :

-People with this placement often find that their greatest source of luck comes from a nurturing home environment. This doesn’t necessarily mean you must come from an affluent background, but rather that having a safe, supportive, and stable home provides a foundation for all other areas of your life to flourish. If you have a strong emotional connection to your home, fortune may flow more freely into your life when you prioritize the comfort and harmony of your living space.Luck could come through inheritances, family business, or ancestral traditions that offer unexpected opportunities or stability. Even if your family doesn’t have monetary wealth, there may be wisdom, support, or connections that you inherit and that bring good fortune. Understanding and honoring your ancestral legacy can help unlock deeper layers of fortune.People with this placement might find that owning or working with property brings good fortune, especially if it’s connected to their roots. Whether it’s investing in property, owning a family home, or returning to your roots (a hometown or country), there’s a potential for prosperity through real estate or land that is deeply connected to your personal history.you may find luck in more introverted, quiet, or private pursuits. Activities that occur behind the scenes, away from the public eye, can bring the greatest rewards. This could involve working from home, engaging in introspection, writing, or pursuing hobbies that allow you to nurture your soul and emotional life. Part of Fortune here might find success or luck in careers or activities related to emotional healing, psychotherapy, or working with others to resolve family trauma or emotional wounds. You might experience challenges or karmic patterns related to family dynamics, but working through these lessons, whether it's about independence, healing, or family unity ,will ultimately bring you greater prosperity.

♥️ POF in 5th house/leo:

-One of the most significant manifestations of the Part of Fortune in the 5th House is that creativity and self-expression are powerful conduits for good fortune. You might find that your artistic talents whether in writing, painting, music, or performance are directly tied to your luck. The more freely you express yourself in a creative way, the more likely you are to attract opportunities, recognition, and successyou may find that you are more fortunate when you bring fun and spontaneity into your life. This placement often rewards joyful interaction, so the more you let go and have fun in relationships, the more likely you are to attract positive energy and serendipitous events.The 5th House governs children and parenthood, so the Part of Fortune here suggests that having children or being involved with them can bring significant blessings and good fortune. perhaps you have children who bring unexpected joy and opportunities. Alternatively, if you're not a parent, your involvement with children, such as through teaching, mentoring, or charitable work, could be a source of good fortune and personal growth.good fortune can come when you are free to express yourself authentically and creatively, without restraint or inhibition. The more you align with your true self, whether through your personal style, artistic endeavors, or hobbies, the more likely you are to encounter opportunities. Good luck.

♥️ POF in 6th house/Virgo :

- People with this placement often find that they experience good fortune when they are helping or contributing to others well-being, whether through their work, volunteering, or personal relationships. The more selflessly you give, especially in service-oriented roles, the more you may find that opportunities and rewards come your way.good fortune comes when you take care of your health or when you focus on wellness and preventive care. People with this placement often find luck in health-related fields, whether it’s by working in healthcare or simply through adopting a healthy lifestyle. By taking care of your physical body and being mindful of your well-being, you may experience more energy, vitality, and prosperity in other areas of life.Some people with this placement may find good fortune in careers related to holistic healing, natural remedies, or other alternative therapies. Energy work, herbalism, and even mental health counseling may offer paths to both personal fulfillment and external success.you may find that you create opportunities for yourself when you focus on making other people’s lives better. Teaching others how to improve their health, habits, or work efficiency can attract recognition and personal rewards.This placement may also suggest that your work environment plays a crucial role in attracting fortune. You could experience luck through a positive and supportive work atmosphere, where you are able to collaborate well with colleagues and contribute meaningfully to the team.

♥️ POF in 7th house/libra :

-Individuals with this placement often find that they are most successful when they work with others. You not a lone wolf, instead, teamwork and collaboration bring you the most fulfillment. Whether in business or personal life, their fortune is often linked to the people you partner with. This could be in the form of a supportive spouse, a helpful business partner, or even a mentor who helps you achieve your goals.You may find that you naturally gravitate toward individuals who help you grow, succeed, or feel fulfilled. It’s as if the universe aligns you with those who bring out your best qualities and help you thrive, whether in personal relationships or professional networks.If the Part of Fortune is here, it might mean that you have a natural ability to mediate or bring people together in a harmonious way. Your fortune could come from playing the role of a peacemaker, whether in personal relationships, family dynamics, or business negotiations. This ability to create balance and find common ground with others can often bring you opportunities and success.You may find that you are lucky or successful when it comes to contracts, agreements, or any legal matters. This could include things like signing beneficial deals, receiving unexpected support in legal matters, or finding success in professions that deal with law, negotiation, or partnership-building.

♥️ POF in 8th house /scorpio:

- 8th house is all about transformation,the kind that comes through major life changes, endings, and new beginnings. People with the Part of Fortune here may find that they get the most luck when they go through personal growth, or even when they face intense life changes. You might notice that whenever you go through a deep, sometimes difficult transformation,whether it’s emotionally, financially, or spiritually,that’s when things really start to fall into place for you. Your fortune could be tied to your ability to rise from the ashes and transform yourself into something new.You may find that your good fortune comes when you tap into your intuition or explore things that are usually kept behind closed doors, like psychology, astrology, or deep research. Trusting your gut can lead you to lucky breaks that others might miss.you have a natural ability to see the hidden motivations of others or a talent for working in fields that require deep psychological insight such as therapy, counseling, or investigative work. Your emotional intelligence and ability to understand what others are really thinking or feeling can bring a lot of opportunity your way.Also, you may find that successful relationships with powerful people, or those who have resources or influence, can bring you a lot of luck. This could be a mentor, a business partner, or someone who can help you level up. Being in the right place at the right time, with the right person, can really push you toward success.With the Part of Fortune here, you could find that your fortune is somehow connected to previous lifetimes or past experiences you’ve had with other people,whether they’re family, close friends, or significant others. You might not even realize it, but these deep, transformative relationships are helping to shape your path to success and bring you good fortune.also, you are lucky when it comes to things like inheritances and shared finances.

♥️ POF in 9th house/Sagittarius :

-your luck often comes when you step outside your familiar surroundings. Travel, whether it’s across the world or just going somewhere new and unfamiliar, can bring you good fortune. It’s like the universe rewards you when you go on a journey, whether it’s a physical one or a journey of the mind. You might notice that new opportunities or positive changes come when you explore new cultures, meet new people, or discover new places.The 9th house is also the house of higher education,philosophy, higher learning, and wisdom. People with this placement often find that their fortune comes through learning or gaining deeper knowledge. Maybe you’re someone who’s drawn to going to school, taking advanced courses, or learning something new that challenges your worldview. your luck can come from people who help you see the bigger picture, who introduce you to new ideas or philosophies, or who inspire you to grow and stretch beyond your limits. you might find that your good luck comes when you write, teach, or share your wisdom with others—whether that’s through books, blogs, lectures, or podcasts. You might have a natural gift for communicating ideas that can reach a wide audience, and when you express what you know, it brings rewards and recognition.meditation, spiritual practices, or even just exploring new philosophical ideas can open doors for you. You might notice that the more you connect to something bigger than yourself whether it’s through a spiritual practice, philosophy, or worldview the more your life feels blessed or abundant.

♥️ POF in 10th house/Capricorn:

-If your Part of Fortune is in the 10th house, it’s likely that your good fortune will come when you connect with important people or influential figures in your career or public life. Networking, socializing, or even forming partnerships with powerful or high-profile individuals might bring unexpected opportunities your way. The more you engage with the public sphere, the more you will find avenues that lead to good fortune.people with the Part of Fortune in this house often find that their success and fortune grow steadily over time. This isn’t a quick-win placement, it’s about building a solid foundation and working toward something that will pay off in the long run. You could find that your fortune comes through slow, consistent progress in your career or long-term projects that eventually bring significant rewards.The 10th house can also relate to the idea of becoming a master or innovator in your field. The Part of Fortune here suggests that you could find good luck by pushing the boundaries and creating something new or unique in your career. Whether you’re inventing something, leading a groundbreaking project, or simply honing your skills until you become the best in your profession, your fortune may come when you break new ground or achieve mastery in your area of expertise.for some people, the Part of Fortune in this house may suggest that they inherit their fortune, success, or opportunities through family connections or ancestral ties(10th house also relates to your father). This might not be as obvious, but you could find that your family’s history, social standing, or connections play a significant role in the opportunities that come your way.While building a good reputation is important, if you’re too concerned with your public persona, it could take away from the authentic pursuit of your goals. Don’t let your ambition for success or recognition cause you to neglect the inner work needed for real achievement. All the best.

♥️ POF in 11th house/Aquarius:

-The 11th house is all about community, but it's not just any community,it’s about being part of a group that has a shared vision or goal. This could be a professional network, a spiritual group, a political movement, or even a hobby group where everyone works toward a common cause. With the Part of Fortune here, you might find that your best opportunities arise when you connect with people who are as passionate about something as you are, and together you create something impactful and rewarding. you may find that your fortune comes from being involved working in tech, or contributing to innovative ideas. Whether it’s through social media, technology startups, or digital communities, your good fortune may lie in embracing the future and connecting with new, forward-thinking industries or trends.you may find that your good fortune grows when others see your efforts and appreciate your role in making the world a better place. Your recognition may not always be immediate, but over time, it brings rewards and fulfillment.People with the Part of Fortune in the 11th house often find that their luck comes from friendships with people who are different, who might be unconventional, progressive, or ahead of their time. These friendships bring growth, ideas, and opportunities that wouldn’t have come through other relationships. You may find that the people you meet along your journey,especially those who have unique or innovative perspectives,play a big role in bringing good fortune into your life.But,You might sometimes be so focused on the bigger picture that you lose sight of practical steps or details. It’s important to balance your dreams with action and grounded decision-making to ensure your fortune comes in a sustainable way.

♥️ POF in 12th house/Pisces:

-The 12th house is the house of hidden emotions, fears, and sometimes even past life karma. With the Part of Fortune here, you may find that your luck increases as you work through deep emotional wounds or subconscious patterns.Sometimes your biggest breakthroughs come from dealing with what is hidden beneath the surface.People with the Part of Fortune in the 12th house often have an affinity for the unseen or intangible. Whether it’s working with things like intuition, dreams, or art, your fortune tends to come when you engage with things that can’t be touched or easily explained. You might find success in creative pursuits, in fields like psychology or spiritual counseling, or in any profession where you’re working with ideas or energies that are not immediately obvious to the outside world.You may find that you thrive when you work behind the scenes or in more isolated roles. With the Part of Fortune here, one key to unlocking your good fortune is to confront and release self-sabotaging patterns or beliefs that may be deeply ingrained in your subconscious. This could be a process of undoing limiting beliefs from your past, or even past-life karmic patterns that might be influencing your current life. Once you confront these hidden blocks, you open the door to greater prosperity.The 12th house is about retreat, but it’s important to remember that you also need connections to the outside world. Spending too much time in isolation can lead to feelings of loneliness or disconnection, which might block the flow of your good fortune. Balancing time alone with meaningful social interactions is key to making the most of this placement.

Thanks for reading 💫

- PIKO 💖

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cyberclouddream · 8 months ago

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Types of Betrayals and the 12th House

Sun in the 12th House

self-betrayal, neglecting personal identity in favor of others

putting on a false persona to fit in

unacknowledged talents, not pursuing creative passions due to fear of judgment

abandoning leadership roles due to self-doubt

being overlooked for achievements or efforts

partners undermining self-worth or ambitions

hidden competitors, friends or colleagues sabotaging success

feeling unsupported by family in personal ambitions

public shaming or criticism

Moon in the 12th House

friends or family hiding true feelings or secrets

self-neglect, like ignoring emotional needs

trust issues

subconscious sabotaging

disillusioned by family or nurturing figures

inconsistent emotional support

manipulative partners

isolation or feeling emotionally abandoned by loved ones

mood swings

Mercury in the 12th House

miscommunication, or through lies or misrepresentation

stolen ideas

gossip or harmful rumors

hidden agendas

self-censorship

sharing secrets with those who shouldn’t know

receiving poor advice from trusted sources

signing contracts without full disclosure, deceptive agreements

Venus in the 12th House

infidelity or secret affairs

one-sided love or emotional neglect

partners misuse financial resources

hidden jealousy

feeling reduced to an object of desire rather than valued

love scams

being ostracized by a social group

artistic suppression

lack of appreciation

Mars in the 12th House

passive-aggressiveness or indirect hostility from close relations

friends not supporting you in times of need, maybe they compete instead of supporting

repressed anger

health neglect

hidden animosity from acquaintances

fighting battles or challenges alone

misguided aggression, like lashing out at those who haven’t wronged you

holding grudges that lead to isolation

colleagues sabotage your projects or ambitions

Jupiter in the 12th House

overindulgence that harms well-being

isolation from knowledge

overconfidence

judgmental attitudes

secret limitations that hinder success

misplaced faith

ignoring significant truths due to complacency

philosophical conflicts, betrayals through differing values

betrayals from mentors or spiritual leaders

Saturn in the 12th House

unspoken fears that lead to isolation

humiliation due to one’s past

burdens from unsaid expectations from others

others limiting your self-expression

others questioning your authority or competency behind your back

sacrificing personal goals for the sake of others

friends or family compromising your public image

secret resentment or holding onto grudges

Uranus in the 12th House

sudden ending in relationships without warning

disruption of stability, like sudden changes in life leading to chaos

deceitful friendships, not as supportive as they appear

neglecting personal freedom

feeling misunderstood due to eccentricities or uniqueness

no support when you rebel against conformity

fear of change

betrayal through unorthodox relationship dynamics

Neptune in the 12th House

illusions of trust

hidden addictions or unhealthy habits

living in denial regarding relationships

victim mentality

losing faith in spiritual beliefs or mentors due betrayal or doubt

confusion about personal limits leading to exploitation

escapism

others using emotional manipulation

Pluto in the 12th House

through power struggles and hidden manipulation

fear of transformation

disguised motivations

obsession with loss

emotional scars

hidden control issues, like others may exert unseen control over your personal choices

powerlessness, feeling victimized in situations that call for action

fear of intimacy

self-destructive patterns

Rahu/North Node in the 12th House

believing that you’re more than you are, illusions of grandeur

hidden envy from others or yourself

secret addictions

escapism

victim mentality

destructive fantasies

evasion of responsibility

friends using deceit to gain favor or control

disregarding boundaries, yours or others

Ketu/South Node in the 12th House

unconscious withdrawal from personal connections

past conflicts surfacing unexpectedly

denial of reality

fear of intimacy

confusion about identity

holding onto toxic relationships

overlooking self-care

friends who are secretly resentful or envious

feeling disconnected from spiritual communities

Black Moon Lilith in the 12th House

suppressed desires

fear of rejection

undermined feminine energy, like not valuing your power or intuition

using guilt to control or influence other

not confronting truths about yourself

obsession with control

allowing past experiences to dictate current behavior

secretive relationships

Chiron in the 12th House

seeking help from those unqualified or deceptive guides

not seeking help due to pride or shame

being exposed to harm due to not showing true self

fear of abandonment

wounds from isolation or solitude during challenging times

behaviors that prevent healing

not recognizing the source of emotional pain

#astrology #astrology observations #astro notes #astro community #astro observations #astrology signs #astronotes #jupiter in the 12th house #saturn in the 12th house #mercury in the 12th house #venus in the 12th house #sun in the 12th house #moon in the 12th house #mars in the 12th house #12th house

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beloveds-embrace · 3 months ago

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🕸️ anon

ok but omegaveese au…being placed with graves and shadow company after brass rolls out an initiative that requires omegas to be fully integrated into pack life (not just on paper to get by the red tape), everything seems fine but there’s always an undercurrent of false niceties and lack of trust and connection with anyone, tensions rising because no one is successful in trying to have a breakthrough with you, being thrown out with barely any warning, the ink on the paperwork still drying, brass scrambling to fix the fuck up and preventing the potential shitstorm that would occur if people hear about an omega in the ranks without a pack attached, (all of this, however, happens at the expense of your emotional, physical, and mental well-being) getting filtered from pack to pack with nothing lasting long enough to stick, filtering from place to place, having no stability or solid ground beneath your feet, and as much an those around you try, it’s just not enough to even start to put yourself back together, and everything just feels wrong, withering away under the scrutiny and stares, doing your job because you’d be damned to let all the years go to waste and it’s the only thing keeping you sane, and still every other aspect of you is just shy of shattering under the stress. being put with a pack that has to work in proximity to the 141, the boys just observing how shit everyone treats you, how they don’t care enough to see this hollow thing you’ve become. they don’t understand how anyone can watch you waste away, prominent bruising showing during sparring practice, never taking food from the mess, not initiating or accepting much physical contact with anyone, spending time holed up in nigh impossible places to get away from everything even after grueling mission, in their eyes that just won’t do, and they’ll do anything to make you see how worth it you are

This is sooo good omfg?? Bless you 🕸️ anon you are a godsend 😩😩💕

They noticed you immediately.

Not because you demanded attention- no, you did the opposite. You wove through the world like smoke, curling into the cracks, slipping beneath notice, existing on the fringes of your so-called pack without ever being part of it.

But they had sharp eyes. And what they saw made something cold settle in their bones.

At first glance, you were exactly what the brass wanted- an Omega fully integrated into a pack. You wore their insignia, stood in formation, obeyed orders with the quiet efficiency of someone who had long since stopped expecting praise. But beneath the surface, nothing was right.

Because packs were supposed to be loud. Not specifically in sound, but in presence. In the way they hovered, protected, scent-marked, ensured their Omega never felt alone. Yet there you were- untouched, unscented, unclaimed. A specter in your own unit, barely acknowledged unless duty required it.

Ghost noticed first; he was trained to see the details others missed, a sniper even off-field: the way your movements were a fraction too slow after a hard hit, how your bruises lingered longer than they should, how no one ever came to your side to check in, to scent-mark, to ensure you healed. The way you picked yourself up every time, shoulders squared, face blank, moving forward as if pain was just another part of your uniform. As if it was something you’d long since grown to accept.

Soap noticed next.

It was the mess hall that gave you away. Not once did you take a tray. Not once did you join your packmates at a table, and not once did they bother checking on you. Instead, you lingered at the edges, offering nods in place of conversation, taking a seat only when necessary. And when you thought no one was looking? You left, empty-handed, disappearing before anyone could call attention to it.

Not like anyone in your supposed pack would have called attention to it, even if they’d seen it.

Gaz noticed in the downtime next.

You never relaxed, even after grueling missions. The others settled into easy camaraderie, laughing, scent-marking, reinforcing bonds that had been built over time. But you? You vanished, slipping away like an afterthought, retreating to places no Omega should have to seek out for comfort- storage rooms, dark corners, anywhere that allowed you to fold in on yourself, away from the world.

He hated how no one even put a sliver of attempt to pull you close.

Price, thus, saw everything.

He saw the way your scent never settled- how it wavered, thin and diluted, as if your body refused to attach itself to a place that was never home. He saw the careful neutrality in your expression, the polite, distant way you spoke to your packmates, as if keeping them at arm’s length was the only thing keeping you safe.

It doesn’t take long to dig up the truth.

Brass fucked up.

This was supposed to be a new era. One where Omegas weren’t just names on a roster, weren’t just passed around for paperwork’s sake. They were supposed to be integrated, bonded, wanted. But no one had accounted for what happened when it didn’t work.

What happened when an Omega never fit; when a pack saw them as an obligation rather than a need.

When the brass, in their infinite wisdom, decided to solve the problem by shuffling you around like spare parts. Filtered from unit to unit, never long enough to settle, never given the chance to belong.

And worst of all? You’d adapted.

Not by fighting, not by demanding more. But by shrinking, folding in on yourself until you were nothing but the quiet echo of what an Omega in a safe, happy pack was supposed to be.

Just there.

The pack that surrounded you now- they didn’t even see it. Didn’t even try to see it. Didn’t see the way you moved like something brittle, your frame wiry with stress, dark circles permanent beneath your eyes. Didn’t notice how you flinched away from casual touches, how you never leaned into their space, never initiated anything that would suggest you trusted them.

And the worst part?

They didn’t care enough to fix it.

They let you waste away in silence, let you wither under scrutiny, let you fight battles alone that no one was meant to fight.

But they saw you.

They saw the way your fingers trembled during sparring when you thought no one was looking. They saw the way you curled into yourself at night, scent so faint it barely registered, as if your body had long since given up trying to find something familiar. They saw the bruises you never spoke about, the exhaustion you never complained about, the way you never asked for anything.

And in their eyes, that just wouldn’t do; you weren’t meant to be hollow, nor were you meant to be discarded.

You were meant to be held.

So if no one else was going to fix this- if no one else was going to remind you of what it meant to be wanted- then they damn well would.

Before the mission with your current pack was nearing an end, Brass receives a request from John to have you transferred to them.

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black-rose-writings · 10 months ago

Text

Also, the contrast against the royal family's servants who wear white with gold accents.

The Grand Palace is gaudy, in colors that need to be constantly maintained to keep their shine, staff included.

The Little Palace is more earthly, more natural - the walls paneled in carved wood or painted with natural motifs, ceilings painted to resemble the night sky, and even the more gaudy parts have a rough finish to them.

The Grand Palace servants are meant to blend in with the perfect white furniture, with the unnatural and fake, but forcibly maintained spotless image.

The Little Palace staff are meant to blend in with the shadows.

LB put so much visual and other symbolism into the books and then did jack shit with it (and the show shat on it all).

Remember oprichniki- the Darkling's ignored otkazat'sya guard?

They're wearing charcoal corecloth uniforms.

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 3

Why is that interesting?

A beauty, isn't she?

Wiki describes the colour as "dark grayish blue". Wanna make it even more simple? What is grey?

Variations of gray or grey include achromatic grayscale shades, which lie exactly between white and black, and nearby colors with low colorfulness.

So charcoal is basically a light black with a bit of (Summoners') blue. (I'm not sure how intentional was that, but it's rather poetic, isn't it?)

The Darkling gave the normies constantly tailing him slightly lighter shade of his own colour on coats made of one of Grisha's treasured inventions.

And that's not all. You know, who else got the same (likely minus the corecloth part)?

The Little Palace staff!

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 5

Ordinary maids and cooks and grooms, all the little people he's not supposed to see wear a colour a few shades from his own in the world that's carefully colour-coded.

#Grishaverse #she milked shadows(/darkness)=evil for all it was worth #and left the rest of the obvious symbolism alone #like the eclipse #the eclipse is dangerous because the lack of visible light makes your brain/eyes for protect itself properly against the sun #the we fear the darkness because we fear the unknown #but sunlight can lul you into a false sense of security while the danger hides in plain sight #how the one who controls shadows wishes to live a life in the sun #and the one who controls sunlight longs to hide in the shadows #Shadows as a shelter as safety and stability #and sunlight that burns and reveals - for better or worse - necessary but fickle and uncontrollable #that an endless day would kill everything as surely as an endless night #how you need sunlight to grow and change but you can't do so without rest without a safe place to grow from #how the one meant to be that shelter longs for change and growth #and the one meant to be the growth and change fears it #how everyone has a shadow but there is only one sun and it's impersonal and indifferent #how the circumstances of your birth and youth shape you as a person #but it's ultimately your choice what you do with those gifts #and which lessons you take to heart #there's so many paths to take it #and LB went with the most boring one

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sergeantbuckybarnes · 8 days ago

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what it is and what should never be // bob reynolds

Summary: A mission goes sideways, and you end up in a coma. The team works against the clock to save you, but… do you really want to be saved?

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: reader is an ex-widow, mentions of abandonment, mentions of past trauma and bob's past addictions, mentions of death, slight violence (bob lost his temper and attacks walker), angst, friends to lovers, few fluff moments, thunderbolts* are family, happy ending!!

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @ladybirdbeewrites for proofreading this!

Although I got the djinn lore from Supernatural, I bent it a bit so it would fit better with the story.

I used google translate for the Russian parts, so I'm sorry if it's not perfect.

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

“The east wing is clear.” John Walker’s voice rang through the earpiece as you walked along the concrete hallways.

“North wing is clear, too. I’ll check the west side.”

You had carefully examined the floor plan; in theory, the warehouse should be deserted. However, experience taught you that anything could happen. Every corner may hide something or someone, so you always had to be on alert.

The flashlight in your hand dimly illuminated the path as you cautiously made your way through the corridor until you reached a sturdy metal door. The first thing you noticed was that the lock had been forced, which was a terrible indicator.

Your pulse increased, but you did not hesitate. Carefully, you pushed open the door, which creaked slightly as it opened, and stepped into the darkness. The air was dense and smelt like dampness and old wood. You used the beam of your flashlight to look for any movement or suspicious presence.

In the silence, you heard a faint noise and then noticed a moving shadow in the far corner. You paused, keeping your gun poised and your finger on the trigger.

“I think someone's here.” You spoke as quietly as you possibly could through the comms, in case whoever was here couldn't hear you, but loud enough for John to hear.

A violent crash broke the silence again, followed by a resounding crash of crates falling, echoing off the walls and sending shivers down your spine. The jolt caused you to instinctively take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. The flashlight flickered for a moment, emitting intermittent flashes of light.

When the light stabilized again, your gaze was drawn to a little figure running rapidly amid the crates… a small, scared rat.

You let out a laugh as the tension dissipated and an exhale of relief escaped your lips. With one hand on your chest, still feeling your pounding heart, you brought the other to your earpiece. “False alarm, it was just a—”

Before you could finish your sentence, something violently shoved you against the wall, causing the gun and flashlight to fall to the floor, out of your reach. Your eyes widened when you felt something pressing against your chest. You fought to free yourself, but your attempts were futile.

Amidst the darkness, hypnotic blue-glowing eyes seemed to pierce your psyche. Your legs began to quiver, as if they were made of jelly, unable to support themselves. Then a hand as cold as ice was placed against your forehead, and you felt the air collapsing in your lungs, making breathing difficult.

Your ear picked up John's voice through the earpiece, clear yet frantic. “What's happening?! Are you okay? Y/N! Answer me!”

And then your body collapsed to the floor, and everything went black.

Sunlight peeked through the windows, and the golden threads of the early morning hit your face. You grumbled and attempted to roll over to continue sleeping, avoiding the light of day.

But something was stopping you.

With resignation, you slowly opened your eyes and, still drowsy, realized the reason you couldn't move— a warm, muscular arm wrapped around your waist with a firm yet gentle grip. You shifted your gaze slightly and saw a head of brown hair, strands over the pillow, partially covering his face.

Did you go out last night and end up in some stranger’s bed?

That wasn't like you.

You gripped the stranger's arm and carefully pulled him away from your body. The man let out a muffled grunt and shifted in the bed, trying to find a new position that felt comfortable. After a few seconds, he stopped moving and his body relaxed again. You let out a deep sigh and slowly sat up in bed, but then a wave of dizziness hit, making your head spin.

Despite the persistent headache, you became more aware of the details surrounding the room.

And that's when panic began to invade you.

This wasn’t your bedroom.

You weren’t at the Watchtower. Or any of its rooms.

Where were you?

The more you tried to remember how you got there, the worse the pain in your brain got.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, searching for a path to the bathroom. Each movement was slow, trying not to make a sound that would wake up the man still lying in the bed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and everything seemed in order; your reflection showed a familiar image, albeit with your eyes a little hazy due to the headache. You opened the medication cabinet, desperate for some Tylenol to relieve this persistent and unexpected migraine.

“Babe?”

Babe?

That voice… What did it sound so familiar?

You closed the medication cabinet door, and in the mirror's reflection, you saw him.

“Bob?” you asked, your voice filled with bewilderment.

He was standing there in a basic white t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants that hung loosely over his hips, highlighting his V-line.

But something was off.

He didn’t resemble the Bob you knew. His hair was a little longer, and a faint stubble shaded his jaw. His shoulders weren’t hunched, and there was an air about him – and an undeniable confidence, that you had only seen on rare occasions, mostly when Sentry took control.

“Do you feel alright?” he asked as he approached you.

“I’m sorry, I’m slightly confused right now.”

‘Slight confused’ was an understatement. You had no fucking clue what was happening.

He chuckled softly. “Told you you were drinking too much last night.”

What?

“Here.” He handed you a glass of water and a pill of Tylenol from the bottle you had been holding just a few seconds before. “It will help make you feel better.”

Confusion overtook you, and for a moment, you wondered if it was all part of some kind of dream or if you were losing your mind.

“You said that I drank too much last night?”

He tilted his head as he gazed at you. “You really don’t remember?”

He reached for his toothbrush and squeezed a generous line of toothpaste on it, and began brushing his teeth.

“This must be your worst hangover. Topping that time when you ended up singing loudly at the top of your lungs in the middle of the street.”

You pursed your lips. “I don’t sing.”

He rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth. “Oh, but you did. Yelena had you recorded on video.”

That sounded like something she would do.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me and take it a bit easier, but for now, what about some banana pancakes?”

You huffed. “I don’t want banana pancakes, Bob.”

“Okay, now you’ve got me worried. Are you feeling nauseous?” His hands cupped your jaw gently while he examined your features.

“What? No, I–”

You paused, motionless for a moment. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze fell on Bob’s hand, where a gold wedding band sat snugly on his finger. Then your eyes turned to your left hand, where the sparkling diamond on your left finger shone softly in the bathroom light.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Oh my god,” you blurted out, your voice more frenzied than you’d intended. “Are we married?”

Did you get so drunk last night that you ended up marrying Bob, like in those cliché movies?

He didn’t appear concerned about the whole ordeal; on the contrary, your words made him burst laughing.

You didn’t understand why he was so chill about everything.

“Why aren’t you panicking?”

“Trust me. I already did,” he remarked with a chuckle as he exited the bathroom. You followed him, your mind racing. “On our wedding day, three years ago.”

You blinked, trying to process what he just said.

Three years ago?

He walked into the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living room. It was a large space, with modern yet modest furnishings. It felt cozy, like a home.

“Those cocktails struck you hard, huh? You really forget we’re married?” he asked as he beat some eggs, and you could sense his tone was playful. He must have assumed you were messing with him. “So much for ‘I could never forget you, babe.’”

“I don’t sound like that,” you said, mildly annoyed at his attempt at mimicking your voice.

Your gaze scanned the living room more intently, as if you were about to find an answer to what was going on. It was then that you noticed one of the framed pictures on the shelf. You approached and cautiously held the frame in your hands.

You nearly stopped breathing, your chest hitching.

Two people smiling at the camera. Their happiness was palpable, and it was not simply because they were smiling or because it was their wedding day. It was something deeper.

You couldn't recall a time in your life when you'd felt this happy. And you knew Bob well enough to know that he had probably not felt it either. You felt a twinge in your heart again, but this time for a completely different reason.

You placed the photo back on the shelf, and your eyes fell on the framed photo right next to it.

You, Bob, Yelena, and Kate.

From the background, it looked like a restaurant, and from the partially visible slice of cake with candles, you assumed you were celebrating a birthday.

Another thing that was off.

Kate Bishop wasn't even that present in your lives. If you remembered correctly, you had only met her once or twice since moving to New York.

And then there was a third framed picture.

The camera had captured a woman, surrounded by children, about five or six years old, give or take. The bottom part of the frame had a gold plaque engraved with the words: ‘The best teacher in the world.’

What was going on here?

The aroma of freshly prepared pancakes drew your attention from the photos to Bob at the kitchen island. He had two plates ready, each topped with maple syrup and blueberries.

Your stomach grumbled.

“Oh, I thought you said you didn't want my banana pancakes?” he said, moving the plate out of your grasp with a sly smile on his face.

You rolled your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“You wounded me, baby… But a kiss might heal me, and I’ll let you enjoy this delicious breakfast,” he said, while taking a bite from his plate.

Although you had never voiced it aloud or confessed it to anyone in particular, you found Bob really cute. He was sweet, caring, considerate, and kinda awkward, which only made him even more attractive in your eyes.

He was very different from other men you had met before – in a good way. Maybe that was the reason you were so drawn to him.

You usually would pull yourself out from missions to stay back at the Watchtower with him. At the beginning he would apologize for you having to babysit him, and you would tell him that he didn’t need a babysitter and that you enjoyed his company.

You weren’t sure if he truly believed you, but you liked being around him. It would probably be an odd thing to say, considering everything he had been through and what he was dealing with, but he brought calmness to you.

Then you started to spend more time together – going out around the city, reading, training… And at some point your feelings for him gradually evolved from friendship to something deeper.

“Well, I’m waiting.” He was leaning on the counter, studying you with a smile.

You stood on your tiptoes, one hand around the back of his neck and the other placed against his chest, before pulling him down toward you and meeting his lips.

Bob instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, while the other hand cupped your jaw. Your hand on the back of his neck moved higher, and you let your fingers get lost in his brunette curls. His lips were soft and warm, and everything you’d always imagined.

You dived in with the intention of it being a small, chaste kiss. But the instant your mouth collided with his, it felt like you could never get enough of him.

When you felt like your lungs were giving out, you pulled back, foreheads pressed together while trying to regain your breath. Your gaze met his blue-eyed one, and you bit your bottom lip when you noticed his flushed cheeks.

“Sorry,” you muttered a bit sheepishly. You certainly gave him more than he anticipated.

“Oh, no, no… That was–” He took a long breath. “Wow.”

You smiled at his reaction. “So, did I earn those pancakes?”

“What the hell happened?” Bucky was fuming, running his fingers through his hair while he went in circles around the room. “You go on a recon mission and come back with Y/N in a coma?”

“I told you what happened,” John said, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, yeah. A tall man with tattooed skin that emitted blue light. That explains everything.”

“It’s not like we haven’t seen worse,” Ava commented.

“We definitely haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“Did you at least kill that motherfucker?”

John remained silent for a second while the others watched him expectantly. “No.”

“Why the hell not? Did you let him escape?”

“I did shoot him, like twenty times… everywhere. And that thing did not even flinch.”

“Great,” Bucky sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. “So what, another O.X.E subject?”

You were lying in one of the beds in the medical wing, connected to a monitor that measured the frequency of your heartbeat.

Yelena sat at your bedside, holding your hand in hers while looking at you. She hadn’t moved or said anything since John Walker stepped out of the elevator with your unconscious body in his arms, after the recon mission you were assigned to went sideways.

“What happened to Y/N?”

Bob was in his room, reading the new book you had bought him at the bookstore you two went to every Thursday, without fail. It had become a weekly routine that Bob looked forward to.

You had assured him the mission was simple and wouldn't take long, so you could go when you got back. You had promised him, and he had taken you at your word.

Although he wouldn't admit it if asked, he had been constantly staring at the clock, as if staring at the hands would make time pass faster. The Watchtower was still under construction, and its walls were not entirely strengthened, so it was easy to hear the others' voices. He could tell from their frantic tones that the mission had not gone as planned.

They all looked at him, like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Uh, she… she got hurt in the mission, but she’ll be alright.” Ava tried to dismiss it, but the unsureness and dread in her voice gave her away.

Bob knew they were lying to him, but decided not to comment on it. Instead, his glance darted toward your unconscious form on the bed, a flicker of something crossing his face before shifting back to Walker. “Where were you?”

John tilted his head, watching him with narrowed eyes. “What?”

Bob took a few deliberate steps forward, his motions were measured. “You went together to that mission. Why weren’t you with her?”

“We split up to cover more ground. The warehouse was supposed to be empty!” John exclaimed angrily, tired of everyone blaming him for what had happened.

“You should’ve known better.” Something was starting to shift in Bob’s demeanor. The first indicator was the tone of his voice. The second, the faint flickers of gold in his eyes. “And you were supposed to protect her… I would have protected her.”

John huffed, and without realizing the emotions that were building up inside Bob, he lit the fuse. “Respectfully Bob, fuck off.”

And that was it.

He launched at him, slamming him against the wall so hard that a small crack appeared. His hands were around his neck, squeezing it tightly, cutting off his breath. John's eyes widened in panic as he struggled against the grip, his fingers clawing at Bob's wrists.

Bucky, Ava, and Alexei reacted almost immediately, attempting to push him back, even though they knew it would be in vain.

“Bob, hey, let him go. It wasn’t his fault,” Ava shouted, her voice shaking with panic.

“It was his fault. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt.”

“We know you care about her, we do too… We’re going to help her, but this isn’t the solution.”

Ava’s words didn’t cause him to quiver; it was when Yelena placed a hand on his bicep that something slightly shifted.

“She wouldn’t want this.” Her voice came out quietly. “Remember what she taught you during training.”

Something clicked inside him.

You had spent hours with Bob in the training room, helping him control his powers, guiding him through every step.

You were always patient, never pressuring or rushing him.

There had been times when he almost lost control – like right now. And you were always there to ground him.

You believed in him.

You believed he could do better.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Inhale and exhale. He repeated the sequence several times until the tension in his muscles slowly dissipated.

Finally, he unwrapped his hand from John's neck, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Ava and Bucky quickly rushed over, helping him to his feet and guiding him to one of the nearby beds in the medical wing.

Alexei placed a hand on Bob’s shoulder, and he turned to the Soviet super soldier, who looked at him sympathetically. “It’s alright, kid. No one is at fault here.”

Four days.

That’s how long it had been since you returned from the mission unconscious and the incident in the medical wing.

Things had only worsened.

Bob hadn't left the room since then; the emotions of what had happened to you, along with his attack on Walker, had overwhelmed him.

However, when sleeplessness seized him at night, he would leave the room, making sure not to be seen, and go check on you. He would sit in the chair Yelena occupied in the mornings, hold your hand, and beg you not to leave him.

Someone had once told him that people in a coma could hear and feel what was going on around them, and he hoped it was true.

John had not left his room either. Partially to avoid running into Bob, and partially because he was tired of the accusatory looks the rest of the team was giving him, blaming him for what had happened.

And you.

It appeared that the coma you were in was more complex than the team and Dr. Ashford had initially anticipated. Because yesterday, she had to deliver the most unpleasant news in the medical field: you were dying.

She was unable to explain the cause. But the evidence was there, in the samples she took every day, in how your skin grew paler and paler, and how your heartbeat grew slower and slower.

Something was destroying you from within.

And they didn't know how to stop it.

“A genie?”

“A djinn,” Bucky corrected, emphasizing the term.

Bucky had told Sam about your situation, hoping that his friend would have some insight, after all, he had dealt with his fair share of strange things before. Unfortunately, Sam didn’t have an answer either. But he promised he and Joaquín would dig into it.

What they found, however, was not what Bucky would have expected at all.

“According to the lore Joaquín found, they are rare cave-dwelling hermits that have the power to produce powerful hallucinations inside the minds of humans,” Bucky explained. “Most people don’t believe they actually exist, but according to Walker’s description of the thing that attacked Y/N, it’s our best guess.”

“That doesn’t explain why she’s in a coma, or why she’s dying.”

“Here comes the tricky part. When it touched her, it poisoned her. The lore also states that djinns usually feed from their victims.” He halted as he noticed the horrified expression on Ava’s face. “Which is probably what would happen if Walker weren’t there to bring Y/N home.”

“Wait. Did Wilson and Torres explain why Walker couldn’t kill it? Is it immortal or something?”

“Apparently, it can only be killed in a very specific way. There were so many debacles that they couldn’t confirm which was the real one.”

“What are the hallucinations about?”

Everyone turned their attention toward Yelena. She had barely said anything these past few days, and she had barely left your side either. The dark circles under her eyes were a clear indicator of exhaustion from a lack of sleep. They knew how bad it was affecting her – the probability of losing you.

You and Yelena go way back.

Back when you were just two scared children in the Red Room.

Back when Yelena got back from the blip, only to learn that Natasha was gone, and Alexei was MIA.

You were there for her through everything. Not because you had to. Not because you felt obligated to, just because she gave you your life back.

You were there because you wanted to. Because you chose to.

You were her safe place — where she could be real and vulnerable, without being judged or pitied.

You were her sister.

“Oh, yeah, that. Contemporary lore depicts them as genies —”

“AHA! Genies! What have I said? I love those blue-skinned floating wish-maker tricksters.”

“Alexei, shut up, please!” Yelena said exasperatedly, her voice sounding tired.

“As I was saying, they’re depicted as genies able to read a person’s mind to learn what their heart desires the most,” he explained, repeating the information he had been taught. “But they don’t truly grant wishes. It’s just a ruse to inflict their poison. You believe you’ve gotten what you wanted, then your physical body dies in the real world.”

“But she must know she’s trapped in a… I don’t know, a fantasy reality?”

“Difficult to know for sure. Djinns are powerful enough to convince their victims that they are actually living in the reality they implanted.”

“So that’s it? She stays in that made up world while that fucker’s poison kills her here?”

Bucky paused. Doubting if he should say it or not. Not wanting to give her false hope. But Yelena caught on his hesitation, her eyes narrowing slightly as she questioned what he was holding back.

“Barnes, spit it out.”

Bucky sighed. “There may be a thing, but I cannot assure it would work,” he said, “Joaquín found this thing called African dream roots. Apparently, if you take them and go to sleep, you can enter people's dreams and interact with them.”

“Not the craziest thing we’ve heard so far,” Ava commented.

“I’ll do it,” Yelena said, without hesitation.

“Yelena –”

“I’m not giving up on her, Dad… I’ve already lost one sister; I am not losing her too.”

She could not bear it.

Not again.

Yelena opened her eyes, slightly dizzy. She was struggling to adapt to her environment. Her gaze scoured the cozy living room; there was no trace of you anywhere, and for a brief moment, she thought those herbs Bucky had given her had been ineffective.

But there was something off about the atmosphere, which Yelena could sense in her bones.

Unlike the rooms of shame where The Void had trapped them, this felt more manufactured, yet safe at the same time, as if these four walls painted in earth tones protected you from the outside world.

“Yelena?”

She turned when she heard your voice.

You stood in the doorway, your head tilted slightly, a puzzled expression on your face.

Yelena regarded you for a few seconds without saying anything. You didn't seem scared or in danger. You were... normal.

That was what struck her the hardest.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you realized that she had no intention of saying anything.

“What am I doing here?” She repeated your question in amazement after a few seconds, when she appeared to have sprung out of her trance. “I came to rescue you.”

“Rescue me? From what?”

“The genie!” she exclaimed.

“The what?” you asked, perplexed.

“You were attacked during a mission. You’re dreaming, this isn’t real.” She got straight to the point, explaining the situation as simply as possible.

“It’s real enough to me.”

Your words jolted Yelena back. She blinked a few times. “Y-you… You know?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Of course, I know. Look around, Lena.”

“Then why haven’t you freed yourself? Bucky said —”

You interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. “Because I don’t want to.”

Yelena looked at you, not expecting that response.

“All the pain, the suffering, all that we have lost…” You walked toward the kitchen island and took a seat on one of the stools. “I’m tired of carrying that weight on my shoulders every day.”

“What your heart desires the most,” she mumbled under her breath, quiet and barely audible yet clear enough for you to hear.

“What?”

“What’s so special about this place, Y/N? What do you have here that you cannot have in the real world?”

“My parents are alive, they actually love me, and never abandoned me.” Your voice cracked a bit, and Yelena could notice the unshed tears building in your eyes.

“Oh, pchelka.”

She knew that was a difficult subject for you. When you told her that you wanted to dig into your past and find out how you were taken, she knew deep in her gut that whatever you found wouldn’t be good. Nevertheless, she still supported you in your decision.

She helped you gather all the information you needed, and then she held you in her arms when you discovered that you had not been kidnapped — your parents abandoned you, they actually sold you to those Sovietic scumbags.

“There’s no pain in here, Lena,” you said. “No pressure to save the world, or for the world to like us. No Valentina. No Avengers. Just living a normal life.”

“The picket white fence, is it what you wished for?” she asked. Curiously, you’ve never talked about this before – how you imagined your lives if your circumstances were different.

Her eyes caught a glimpse of your hand, more specifically, of the shiny stone. “You’re married?” she exclaimed, a bit too loudly, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You didn’t answer her. You just looked at the shelf where the photos were, and she followed your gaze.

“Bob?” There was surprise in her tone. “You like Bob?” She directed her glance back toward you.

“What’s wrong with liking Bob?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly assured, “It’s just that… I don’t know, you never said anything.”

You shrugged, a slight smile on your lips. “It's not like we’re very good at communicating how we feel.” Your gaze returned to her, and a hint of vulnerability crept into your words. "But, yeah, I like Bob. More than just a friend, I guess.”

“Well, you’re going to be thrilled then, ‘cause he likes you too. The real one,” she stated, emphasizing the word ‘real’.

Maybe it was wrong. Yelena knew this wasn’t her confession to make. But desperate times needed desperate measures. Besides, if Bob was one of the reasons you wanted to stay here, he could also be the reason for you to leave, since you could have him anyway.

You rose swiftly from the stool. "You don't need to lie to trick me. I told you that I'm not leaving."

“I’m not lying,” she said, offended that you expected her to lie to you about something like that. “He attacked Walker ‘cause he blames him for what happened to you. He hasn’t left his room for days… Except at night, when he sneaks out to see you in the medical wing. The thing is, he cares profoundly about you, and we are really concerned about him and what’s going on in his mind.”

Yelena paused for a moment, considering whether to voice her next words. She knew she might regret them later, but she couldn’t ignore the ache she was feeling in her chest. “Yesli ty ostanesh'sya zdes', ty egoistichnaya suka.”

Her words struck you hard. She’d never been so crass with you before, and part of you couldn’t believe she’d aimed those words at you. “Excuse me?”

“You’re dying out there, dammit! Dr. Ashford doesn’t think you’ll make it to the weekend. The team is in disarray—Walker is feeling guilty, and Bob is doing even worse than when we met him. Bucky, Ava, and Alexei are on autopilot, not stopping searching for a way to help you… And me? Do you even care about me? You think your choices don’t have an impact on the lives of others?” she outburst, tears overflowing in her eyes due to the intensity of her emotions. “I know our lives aren’t perfect, and we haven’t always had it easy, but we have each other. And that is real… Is that not enough for you?”

“I get it, trust me, I do. All this —” She waved her hands, signaling your surroundings “— Having what you wish for the most, it’s enticing, and it’s unfair that it isn’t real, but you’re not alone, and you still can be happy. You want Bob? He is waiting for you. You want a family? You’ve got us. You got me… Family doesn't end in blood, but it doesn't start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad, all of it. They got your back even when it hurts. That’s family.”

She approached you, her hands cradling your face as she brushed away the tears that had silently fallen from your eyes. “I love you. Pozhaluysta, sestrichka, vernis' domoy.”

You let out a sob, followed by another, and so on. You wrapped your arms around Yelena, clutching her tightly as if she would vanish at any minute. Your face pressed into her shoulder, tears streaming down your cheeks. With a broken voice, you kept whispering your apologies, while she held your shivering body.

Waking up from a coma is a strange sensation, something you've never experienced before. The closest thing you could equate it to is the Red Dust breaking the mental grasp on your brain, and yet, they are two completely different things.

You rubbed your eyes with the side of your hand, your vision slowly adjusting to the light and your surroundings.

The first thing you heard were sighs of relief, followed by Alexei's strong arms wrapping around you in a hug, squeezing you against his chest. “My pchelka! You are back. Oh, we were so worried.”

Bucky and Ava stood at the foot of your bed, watching the scene, their expression showing relief but unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, guys,” you murmured, your voice a little hoarse. “I got a little caught up in all that… fantasy reality.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Bucky said, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but you knew it was. How worried they had been these days, thinking they wouldn’t be able to save you. “Could have happened to any of us.”

“Important thing is, you’re back,” Ava added, offering you a reassuring smile.

You rolled onto your side, your gaze settling on Yelena, who was already awake, her eyes fluttering open from whatever she drank to enter your dream. As your eyes wandered around the room, you realized that Bob and John were nowhere to be seen.

As if she could read your mind, Ava chimed in, “They’re in their rooms.”

You started getting out of bed, detaching yourself from the heart monitor and removing the IV from your arm, but Yelena swiftly stopped you. “Woah, where do you think you’re going, miss?”

“I have to—”

“What you have to do is wait for Dr. Ashford to examine you.”

“I’m fine, I feel fine.” You looked at her, pleading, “There’s something I need to do first.”

Yelena glanced at you, and you could see the internal conflict in her eyes. For a second, you thought she was going to fight you on this one, but she merely sighed and let go of her grip on your shoulders, giving you the go-ahead.

You walked down the halls with a specific direction in mind, and when you arrived, you paused in the middle of the hall to stare at the door.You had a fleeting moment of hesitation, but you shrugged it aside and knocked softly on the door.

Not a sound could be heard behind the door. Perhaps he wasn’t there. Perhaps he was refusing to recognize the knocking. Then you heard feet shuffling on the floor, and the creak of the door hinges as they opened.

“And now what?” His voice was rough and tired at the same time. The frown he was sporting on his face completely vanished when he saw you, replaced with a startled expression. “Y/N?”

You observed the red markings on his neck, and your gut twisted as you remembered the talk with Yelena.

“I woke up,” you said meekly, awkwardly moving your hands. “They figured it out… Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you.”

John furrowed his eyebrows, looking at you confusedly.

“Yelena told me what could have happened if you didn’t get me away from that thing, so thank you for not abandoning me there… Also, don’t crucify yourself, alright? What happened, it wasn’t your fault,” you reassured him. “There was no way we could have known.”

An awkward silence fell over both of you. John continued to stare at you without saying anything, and you stood on the threshold of his door, fumbling with your hands, unsure what else to do.

You knew John Walker wasn't good with words, but this wasn't exactly the reaction you were expecting.

After a few more seconds, and unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, you turned on your heels to leave.

As you were about to turn the corner, he called out your name. You stopped and turned around, and he said, “I’m glad you’re back.”

You offered him a smile in response, and you made your way to the other side of the tower.

Again, you found yourself in front of a closed door.

But this one was different.

You could feel your palms sweating and your heart thumping against your ribs.

You'd been in Bob's room numerous times before, so why did it feel different now?

The truth was, you were scared. Scared of being face to face with him—with the real Bob—after the short experience you'd had in the Fantasy Universe.

You knew things were different here. Bob wasn’t yours, and you didn’t even know for sure if he harbored any feelings for you. You just had Yelena’s word for it, and while you knew your sister would never lie to you, how could she even know how Bob felt in the first place?

When he opened the door, his reaction was nearly identical to Walker’s – stunned, eyes wide open in surprise. The sight of you standing on the threshold of his bedroom door caught him completely off guard; he plainly did not expect to see you there.

He probably didn’t even know the team had a plan to reach out to you. Yelena mentioned he wasn’t coping well with the circumstances, so it made sense if they hadn’t told him, in case things didn’t go well.

Your heart plummeted when you looked at him. Tiredness was etched onto his features, his eyes were heavy and swollen due to exhaustion. He was more hunched than usual, shoulders slumped by the weight of the past four days.

“This is your fault,” you thought, “He thought you were dying, you idiot. How do you expect him to look?”

“Hey,” you said weakly.

“You– You’re here,” he murmured, puzzled. He rubbed his hands over his face repeatedly to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him and that his lack of sleep wasn’t causing him to become delirious.

“I am.”

Without a warning or a second thought, he threw his arms around you, engulfing you in his embrace, drawing you close to his chest, allowing his emotions to sweep him away.

You were here.

You were fine.

You were alive.

He tightened his grip on you, relishing in the comfort you always provided to him.

“I thought I had lost you.” His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, muffled against your head, but enough for you to hear.

“You’re never going to lose me.”

He drew back slightly, his eyes studying you carefully to ensure you were in perfect condition. “How do you feel? Has Dr. Ashford checked on you? How did you wake up?”

“Bob, I’m fine,” you said calmly, lifting your hands from his side to rest on his shoulders, bringing an end to his rambling. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Bob shook his head. “No, no, that – that it wasn’t your fault. Walker shouldn’t have —”

“It wasn’t Walker's fault, either.”

Something more serious took over Bob’s gaze. “Yes, it was. We’re a team, and he was your partner in that mission —”

“We were covering more ground separately, and I got ambushed, and I couldn’t react in time. Shit happens all the time during missions; it’s part of the job.”

He still looked unsure. He knew you could defend yourself, of course. You were a very skilled fighter, he had seen it firsthand. Still, the fact that you got hurt and that you had been on the verge of death until just a few hours ago, was something he couldn’t shake off his mind… and his heart.

He grabbed your hand and drew you to his bed, where you both sat on the edge.

“What happened?” he asked, “You didn’t wake up, and Bucky, he… uh, he said you got —” he stumbled over his words, trying to find the right way to say it. “That it was a genie that attacked you?”

You explained what happened in the warehouse the best way you could, based on what you recalled, which wasn't much. You were still confused about it, and you didn’t know all the details regarding this genie situation.

You could wrap your mind around the Red Room, HYDRA, OXE, and even Thanos. But the concept of a tattoo-covered humanoid entity with the ability to read minds and apparently grant wishes while putting you in a coma-state… that was a lot to take in.

“What did you dream about?” Bob asked curiously, “I mean… What was your dream life?”

You swallowed. Although you had a close friendship with Bob, and you had told him things about your past, the same way that he had told you things about his,this particular topic had only been discussed with Yelena.

“You know I grew up in the Red Room, right?” you asked, and he nodded. He remembered the first time you made skin contact while in the vault, and he unintentionally sent you to one of your shame rooms. “Well, there were girls from all parts of the world; some of them were orphans, some of them were kidnapped and taken away from their families… A few years back, I was going through a hard time and I was feeling this –” You paused, unsure whether to voice the word on the tip of your tongue.

Bob noticed your hesitation, and he surmised what you meant to say. “Void?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah, I wanted to know more about my past. I thought I needed to… to move forward, I guess. Yelena advised me it was a terrible idea and that certain things are better left unknown, but I didn’t listen. So, I started digging and I found my biological mother. I was ecstatic, a bit nervous, but for a moment something inside me felt complete, y’know?”

Bob's gaze met yours, and while what you were saying to him sounded nice, your expression and tone of voice spoke a very different message. “It didn’t go well, didn’t it?”

You averted your eyes and shook your head. “She was surprised to see me, that much obvious. But the first thing that came out her mouth was, ‘Oh, you’re still alive.’” Your voice cracked a bit, and you took a long breath, attempting to maintain your composure. “It didn’t take a genius to figure out that I was not kidnapped.”

Bob took in your words and what they meant, “She – Did she… She handed you over to those people?”

“Yeah.” It was quiet and barely audible, but enough for Bob, who immediately wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward his chest, in an attempt to offer you comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his face pressed against your head. “She didn’t deserve you.”

“I didn’t think that her loving me was something I craved so much. Not until I woke up in that place and I found that we were actually a happy family – me, her, and my dad. I didn’t know you could miss something you never had.”

Bob paused for a second, taking in your words, then tentatively said, “Maybe that thing… What did you say its name was? Maybe it was all a ruse, to mess with you.”

“I don’t know. Apparently it can read your mind, to see what someone wishes for the most, so they gave it to them,” you said. “Besides, there were other things… Other things that I also want.”

“What were they?”

“A normal life. No Avengers, not fighting for my life every day… Nothing of this.”

“You mean the team?” he asked, swallowing the lump in his throat before proceeding with his next question. “I wasn’t – The team wasn’t part of your life?” He corrected himself quickly, but you picked up on it.

“Well, Yelena was part of it,” you admitted. You didn’t get the chance to meet that version of her, but you remembered the picture in your living room. “And… you were there too.”

You could feel his body going stiff.

“I was?” He sought for confirmation, almost unable to believe it. In Bob’s mind, the idea that he was part of your dream life seemed too good to be true.

You hummed in response.

Then you decided to be brave and dropped the ball, bracing yourself for the worst. “We were married.”

Bob's arms that had been wrapped around you fell limp at his side, and you immediately missed the warmth and comfort. Something ached in your chest, and you could feel his piercing gaze on you, but you didn’t dare to look at him, so you kept your eyes on your hands.

“We – we were… married?” he stuttered, the ‘married’ part getting slightly stuck in his throat.

You just nodded, and hummed again.

“Is that… That’s what you want?” The incredulity in his voice was obvious. “That’s your dream life?”

When you ask someone about how they imagine their dream life – a life they will most likely never have – they would mention amazing things, good things; most of the time unrealistic things. You told him that you dreamt about your parents being part of your life, loving you; and he could relate to that part. Living a life where he wasn’t a burden and wasn’t constantly reminded of how he always made things worse sounded nice.

But him being part of your dream life?

He didn’t understand it.

Out of all the things you can wish and dream for, you wanted him?

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You could have had anything,” he said, stating the obvious.

“I know.”

“And you… You wished for me?”

“Maybe I just want you.”

You finally lifted your gaze to meet his. You could feel the war going on behind his dark blue eyes.

“Was he any different from me?” he asked.

“The ‘you’ from my dream?”

He nodded.

You tilted your head, as if you were deep in thought. Then a small smile spread across your face. “Nah, you were still yourself. Same Bob who stole my heart.”

A flush crept up his neck; he couldn't recall the last time his heart pounded so fiercely against his ribcage.

You reached out your hand, softly grazing his cheek. His eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation, and a low gasp escaped his lips. For a moment, the warmth of your palm appeared to soothe the turmoil in his head.

“You’re already everything I ever dreamt of, why would I change anything?”

Bob opened his eyes, his gaze piercing into yours, looking for any sign that this was all just a joke or that you were just playing with him. But he knew you better than that, and your eyes reflected genuine care and affection.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, and he started to lean in, slowly. He could feel your breath hitting him in the face. His lips finally brushed against yours in a timid, delicate kiss, still feeling a bit unsure. Then you scooted your body closer to his, your thighs bumping, and one of your hands slipping into the back of his neck and his brunette curls. His hair was shorter here, but still silky.

His mouth was still addictive, his taste leaving you craving more of him.

This kiss was so much better than the ones you’d shared in the dream world, because this one was real.

“Wait, now that I think about it…”

He pulled back slightly, a slightly worried expression etched on his face.

“Have you thought about letting your stubble grow a bit?”

He blinked, surprise clouding his features. “Stubble?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile on your face. “Just a thought,” you said as your fingertips traced his jaw. “Would make you look extra hot.”

His cheeks heated, turning red as your compliment washed over him.

“I can do that.”

…

Hours later, you were lying in bed. The sky had turned black, and the city lights cast shadows across the walls of the dimly lit room.

Your head was resting on Bob's chest, and the steady rise and fall of his chest brought you a sense of calm. His body emanated a welcoming warmth, and you relished in it. One of his hands was entangled in your hair, fingers playing with the strands, while one of your hands was intertwined with his free hand, fingers laced together.

“Can you tell me more about the dream?” he asked a bit hesitantly.

“There isn’t much to tell,” you said, sincerely. “I was a teacher. There was this picture of me and my students in our living room.”

“Is that the path you would have taken?” he asked softly, “If you had had a choice.”

“I don’t know. I never really thought about it. I think –” you paused for a second, trying to find the right words for what you want to express. “I think my subconscious chose that because I didn’t have the easiest childhood… No one protected me, so a part of me felt the need to protect other kids from going through what I did,” you explained. “I’m not sure if that makes sense.”

“It does,” he said sincerely, dropping his hand from your hair to squeeze your shoulder in reassurance.

“Oh, and we lived in Florida,” you added.

“Out of all the places you could have chosen for us to live, you chose Florida?”

“Stop belittling my dream life,” you said, clutching his side in mock offense. Then, your eyes shifted, playfulness aside, your gaze rose to meet his. “Would you like to go back someday?”

“To Sarasota Springs?” he asked, and you nodded. “Not really. There’s nothing left for me there anymore… Everything I want is here.”

Your heart did somersaults, his eyes shone, and a blissful smile spread across your face. You adjusted your body slightly so you could reach his mouth to press a quick kiss on his lips, but Bob had other intentions, and he grasped your jaw, keeping you in place and deepening the kiss, not wanting to let you go just yet.

You could get used to this.

“I'm glad you dug yourself out. Most people wouldn't have had the strength, they would've just stayed,” he said when you parted lips.

If he had been in your situation, he knows he would have stayed; he would not have had the strength to let you go. A dream world in which you were his wife, and lived a normal life, free of the burden of his past addictions or his childhood trauma was indeed a dream life.

“I would have… I mean, I wanted to…” you admitted, knowing how easily you fell for everything. “But Yelena helped me realize something. Maybe this life isn’t perfect, and it might be difficult at times, but we’re not alone, and there are still things worth living for.”

#robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #bob reynolds #robert reynolds x you #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds imagine #robert reynolds imagine #bob reynolds oneshot #bob reynolds fic #marvel #sentry #void #thunderbolts*#lewis pullman

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plutosunshine · 2 months ago

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PLUTO: your personal power

How to find your personal transformative power? Of course, we should look at the Pluto. Pluto is the place where the power of transformation starts. The house it resides in can show us how we can open up our strengths and let them transform our lives. I will look into the Pluto in the houses to answer that question. Of course, there are others placements that show power and strength but I would like to dive deep into the Pluto world. After all, the name of my blog is Plutosunshine!

Also, for those reading this post I offer to dig deep into your Pluto placement (and how it connects with the chart) to know what your personal power is — just 15 dollars. Don’t miss that opportunity!

Pluto in the 1st house

Having Pluto in the 1st house means you're someone who's meant to transform — again and again. You're not here to stay the same or follow the status quo. There's a deep intensity to you, something people can feel even if you don't say much. You've probably noticed that people are drawn to you, or maybe even a little intimidated, and you might not always understand why. That's Pluto — it gives off a powerful, magnetic energy.

To tap into your transformative power, start by really embracing change, even when it feels uncomfortable or chaotic. Life will probably push you through a lot of big shifts — but each one is meant to strip away what's false and bring you closer to your most authentic self. You grow stronger every time you let go of what no longer fits.

Another key part of your power is learning to accept your shadow side — those parts of you that feel too intense, emotional, or misunderstood. The more you own those parts instead of hiding them, the more powerful and grounded you become. Your depth is a gift, not a weakness.

You're also here to be unapologetically real. You don't need to shrink yourself to make others feel at ease. When you walk into a room fully being yourself, people feel your presence. That's part of your impact — you shift the energy just by being there.

Because you're wired to go deep, you're also someone who can heal. When you've worked through your own stuff, you naturally become a guide for others, whether you realize it or not. Your story, your intensity, your ability to rise again — all of that inspires people around you.

Pluto in the 2nd house

Pluto in the 2nd house is all about deep transformation around money, self-worth, values, and control — especially when it comes to your relationship with security and stability.

You’re not the type who just wants to "make money" in a surface-level way. You want to own your power, and for you, money, resources, and possessions can feel like a way to have control over your life. But here’s the thing — Pluto brings transformation through loss and rebirth. So throughout life, you might experience times where you lose something important (money, a job, stability), only to rebuild from the ground up and come back even stronger.

This placement teaches you that real power doesn’t come from what you have — it comes from who you are without it. Once you figure that out, you become unstoppable. You learn how to generate your own value, your own security, and build wealth in a way that feels deeply empowering and aligned with your soul.

There’s also this deep drive to get to the truth of things. You’re not into fluff. You want to know what’s real, what lasts, and what holds value — whether that’s in relationships, finances, or your own self-worth. You might have a talent for seeing through superficial success and knowing what’s truly valuable underneath.

And yeah, there can be some control issues here too — either clinging too tightly to money and material stuff out of fear, or swinging the other way and rejecting it completely. Finding balance is key. You’re meant to learn how to hold power without letting it control you.

At your best, you can become someone who transforms not only your own financial reality but also helps others do the same. You could be amazing at healing people’s money mindset, uncovering hidden talents, or building something valuable from scratch.

Pluto in the 3rd house

Pluto in the 3rd house? That’s deep, powerful stuff when it comes to your mind, communication, and how you process and share information.

You don’t do small talk. You crave real conversations — the kind that cut through the surface and get to the heart of things. When you speak, there’s often a weight to your words. You might not say much unless it matters, but when you do speak? People listen. There's something magnetic in how you express yourself.

Your mind works like an x-ray machine — you see through the noise, the lies, the distractions. You’re probably very observant, possibly quiet at times, but you're always picking up on what's not being said. It’s like you’re tuned into the hidden motives or the emotional undercurrents in conversations.

This placement also points to a strong potential for mental transformation throughout your life. Maybe early on, you dealt with environments that felt intense, controlling, or even toxic — especially related to siblings, school, or how you were allowed to express yourself. But over time, you learn to reclaim your voice and your mind. And once you do? You become incredibly persuasive, powerful, and insightful.

There can also be this compulsive curiosity — like you need to figure out how things work, especially people’s minds or deeper truths. You’d probably be amazing at research, psychology, writing, even occult studies. Anything that lets you dive deep and expose what’s hidden.

But be mindful of how you use your words — because with Pluto here, your voice can be healing or destructive. You have the power to influence people’s thinking, to help them see things in a totally new way. So learning how to wield that power with intention and care is a big part of your journey.

Also — don’t be afraid to let go of old mental patterns. Pluto in the 3rd can hold on to ideas, thoughts, or inner narratives for too long. Transformation happens when you’re willing to challenge what you think you know and open up to deeper truths.

Pluto in the 4th house

Pluto in the 4th house hits deep — this one goes straight to the core of who you are beneath the surface. It’s about your emotional foundation, your family roots, your home life, and your inner world. And with Pluto here, none of that is light or simple.

You probably grew up in an environment that felt intense, secretive, or even emotionally heavy. Maybe there were power dynamics in the family, unspoken rules, or a feeling like you had to protect yourself or stay on high alert. Whatever the story is, your childhood likely shaped you in a big way — and not always in ways you could fully understand at the time.

This placement gives you emotional depth and inner strength that most people can’t even begin to comprehend. You feel things intensely, but you might not always show it on the outside. You’ve learned to guard your inner world, to protect your vulnerabilities. You might keep your true self hidden unless you really trust someone — and even then, it can take time.

One of your biggest transformations in life comes through healing your relationship with your past — your family, your upbringing, and your emotional wounds. You’re meant to dive into all of that, not avoid it. The more you face what’s buried, the more you reclaim your personal power.

You’re also someone who needs a home that feels like a sanctuary. A place where you can go deep, retreat, and fully be yourself. You're not into surface-level comfort — you want a space with soul. And once you’ve done the inner work, you might even be the kind of person who helps others heal emotionally or create a safe space for transformation.

Sometimes Pluto in the 4th brings up themes around control or fear of losing stability — like trying to control your environment or relationships just to feel safe. But real strength comes when you learn to trust yourself emotionally and let go of needing everything to be under your control.

Bottom line: You’re here to transform from the inside out. To face the shadows of the past, rise above them, and build a foundation that’s emotionally solid and truly yours.

Pluto in the 5th house

Pluto in the 5th house brings intensity, passion, and deep transformation to all things related to self-expression, creativity, romance, and even how you experience joy.

This placement gives you a powerful desire to create — not just in the artistic sense, but to put your whole soul into something and watch it come to life. Whether it’s art, writing, music, performance, business, or even how you love someone — you don’t do anything halfway. When you express yourself, it’s raw, real, and magnetic. People can feel that you're not just creating for fun — you're creating from your core.

Romance and love affairs? Yeah... those don’t stay light either. You go all in. Love for you is intense, consuming, and often transformative. You might attract partners who challenge you, awaken you, or force you to confront parts of yourself you didn’t even know were there. There can be power struggles or deep emotional entanglements, but they’re never boring — these relationships are meant to change you.

There’s also this undercurrent of craving significance. Not in an ego way, but in a “I need what I do and who I love to matter” kind of way. Casual doesn’t cut it. You want to feel alive, seen, and fully self-expressed. At the same time, you might fear losing control — over your creativity, your heart, or your sense of self — so you might hold back or keep certain passions hidden until you feel safe.

At your highest expression, you become someone who channels their creativity and passion in a way that moves others. You don’t just entertain or express — you transform through your art, your love, and your joy.

Pluto in the 6th house

Pluto in the 6th house is deep transformation through the day-to-day grind — work, routines, health, service, and how you manage your responsibilities. Sounds practical, right? But Pluto doesn’t do shallow, even in the 6th. This placement means you’re here to evolve through the details of life.

You don’t just “go to work” or “take care of your health” — you feel a powerful, almost obsessive pull to do things well, to be in control of your environment, your workflow, and your body. You might be super focused on productivity, efficiency, or constantly improving yourself. And yeah, there can be perfectionist vibes here — because deep down, you may feel like control equals safety.

At some point in life, though, Pluto will challenge that mindset. There might be times when you burn out, get sick, or feel like your entire daily structure has to be torn down and rebuilt from scratch. That’s Pluto pushing you to transform how you handle stress, self-discipline, and your physical well-being.

You may also attract intense work situations — environments where power dynamics, manipulation, or control issues come into play. But that’s not random. These experiences help you learn how to stand in your own power without getting caught in toxic patterns.

Health-wise, this placement often calls for deep healing, not just physically, but emotionally and energetically. Your body can hold onto stress or emotional baggage, so it's important to pay attention to the root of any imbalances, not just the symptoms. You might even be drawn to alternative or transformative healing methods — like detoxing, shadow work, or energy healing — anything that helps cleanse from the inside out.

You have the potential to be a powerful healer, organizer, or problem-solver — especially once you’ve done the inner work. People may come to you because they sense you don’t just “fix” things — you transform them.

Pluto in the 7th house

Pluto in the 7th house? Oof — this is a powerful one when it comes to relationships. You're not here for light, casual connections. You're here to dive deep, to merge, and to transform through the people you’re closest to.

The 7th house rules partnerships — romantic, business, close one-on-one connections — and with Pluto sitting there, those relationships are often intense, magnetic, and sometimes... a little messy. Power struggles, obsession, deep attraction, and control issues can all show up at some point in your life. But it’s not to punish you — it’s to teach you how to find your own power within relationships, not through them.

You might attract partners who are intense, mysterious, or controlling — or you could be the one holding the reins. Either way, your relationships aren’t surface-level. They shake you, challenge you, and force you to grow. You may even go through major relationship breakdowns that feel like emotional death and rebirth experiences. But with every one, you come out stronger and more self-aware.

There’s also a theme here around learning to balance power — not giving yours away to please others, but also not trying to dominate or fix them. Pluto in the 7th is about finding equal, transformative partnerships — ones where both people grow, evolve, and bring out the deeper layers of each other’s truth.

You're someone who can’t fake connection. You crave realness, loyalty, soul-bonded intensity. When you're in a relationship that feels safe and aligned, you become incredibly loyal, protective, and powerful as a partner. You might even help others face their shadows or break their own patterns — just by being in their life.

If you haven’t already, you'll likely go through at least one life-altering relationship that shifts everything you thought you knew about love and partnership. And that relationship (even if it doesn’t last) will unlock a whole new level of personal power.

Pluto in the 8th house

Pluto in the 8th house is straight-up next-level deep — like, soul-level transformation kind of deep. This is Pluto in its home, so if you have this placement, you’re basically carrying intense, raw, psychic energy that most people can’t even begin to understand. You’re not here to live on the surface — you’re here to die and be reborn, over and over, emotionally, spiritually, and psychologically.

This placement gives you a natural connection to the hidden, the taboo, the unseen. You’re drawn to topics most people shy away from: death, rebirth, sex, trauma, power, energy, mysticism, the subconscious. You might have a fascination with psychology, occult stuff, healing, or even money that comes from others (like inheritances, shared resources, investments, etc.).

Emotionally, you feel things with intensity — but you don’t always show it. You’re probably very private, maybe even secretive, because you don’t trust easily. You know how messy people can be under the mask, and you’re not about to hand your soul over unless someone’s earned it. And when you do open up? It’s deep, consuming, life-changing love. No in-between.

With Pluto here, life will likely push you into situations where you’re forced to let go — of control, of attachments, of the idea that you can protect yourself from pain. It may come through relationships, loss, betrayal, or deep emotional experiences that shake you. But through those experiences, you unlock your true power — the kind that comes from facing the dark and surviving it.

There may also be a natural ability to help others through their own transformations. You could be a guide, a healer, a counselor — or just someone whose presence alone makes people confront their shadows and grow. You're not afraid of darkness — you work with it.

If you're not consciously working with this energy, it can come out sideways — jealousy, emotional control, fear of betrayal, or power struggles. But once you own it? You become a force. Like a phoenix that rises from the ashes every damn time.

Pluto in the 9th house

Pluto in the 9th house? Now that’s the placement of a truth-seeker, a belief-breaker, and someone who’s here to completely transform their worldview over the course of their life.

You’re not interested in surface-level knowledge or blindly following what you’ve been taught. You want to dig deep, uncover hidden truths, and challenge the systems — religion, philosophy, culture, education — anything that tells you “this is how it is.” Your mind is built to go beyond that. You want to know — not just believe — and that desire can lead you to explore some seriously deep or even taboo topics.

There’s often a powerful transformation that happens through travel, higher education, or spiritual awakening. It might start with questioning what you were raised to believe. Maybe you were taught one version of the truth growing up — and at some point, it just didn’t fit anymore. So you broke away, maybe even dramatically, and went on your own journey to find what’s real for you.

People with Pluto in the 9th are often drawn to the occult, metaphysics, esoteric studies, psychology, philosophy, or anything that challenges traditional thinking. You might have the soul of a philosopher, teacher, mystic, or rebel scholar — someone who doesn’t just accept ideas but dissects them, transforms them, and helps others do the same.

You also have this intensity when it comes to your personal truth. Once you believe in something, you believe it with everything in you. But part of your growth is learning that beliefs can evolve — that clinging too hard to one “truth” can become its own kind of prison.

You could be a powerful teacher or guide, especially when it comes to helping others see beyond their limits. Your words, your perspective, your insight? It can change people’s lives. But first, you’ve gotta go through your own journey of death and rebirth — mentally, spiritually, even culturally.

Pluto in the 10th house

Now that’s a powerhouse placement. You’re here to transform the world through your presence, your ambition, and the legacy you leave behind. There’s something magnetic about the way you move in the world — even if you’re not loud about it, people feel your intensity.

The 10th house is about career, reputation, public image, and authority — and Pluto brings transformation, control, and raw power to all of it. You’re not just here to “have a job.” You’re here to own your path, to rise to the top of whatever field you’re in, and to make an impact. Even if it takes time, you’re wired to build something lasting, and you won’t stop until you do.

That said, it’s rarely a straight shot to success. With Pluto here, you might go through some serious ups and downs with your career or public identity. There could be major shifts — like climbing the ladder, crashing hard, and rising from the ashes even stronger. You learn through these experiences how to let go of old versions of yourself and step into something more powerful each time.

You might also experience intense dynamics with authority figures — bosses, parents, institutions — where control and power play a huge role. Maybe you resist being controlled, or maybe you’ve had to wrestle with your own need to be the one in control. Either way, you're here to redefine what power looks like — for yourself and others.

People might project their expectations or fears onto you because you have a commanding energy. Whether you realize it or not, others see you as someone who’s meant for big things. That can be intimidating, but it’s also your edge. Once you stop trying to blend in and start owning that you're a natural leader or influencer, things shift.

You’re here to lead by transforming systems, not just following them. That could mean building a business, changing an industry, or becoming the kind of authority figure you wish you'd had. Legacy matters to you — not in a flashy way, but in a deep, lasting way. You want your work to mean something.

Pluto in the 11th house

Pluto in the 11th house is next-level transformation through your connections with the collective — friendships, communities, social movements, and your long-term vision for the future. This is the placement of someone who’s here to shake up the status quo and change the system from the inside out.

You’re not here to just “fit in.” You’re here to find your soul tribe — people who are deep, real, and ready to evolve with you. Superficial social scenes? Nah, that’s not your vibe. You crave connections that have meaning, purpose, and maybe even a little intensity. In fact, your friendships might go through some heavy shifts over time — people coming and going, betrayals, loyalty tests, or just straight-up energetic mismatches that force you to level up.

And the people you do keep around? They can be powerful allies. You’re someone who can attract influential or deeply transformative individuals into your life — and your presence can do the same for them. You help others grow just by being real and pushing them to look deeper at themselves and the world.

This placement also gives you a serious obsession (in a good way) with your vision for the future. You want to create change — whether it’s through activism, innovation, spiritual work, art, or just breaking old systems that don’t serve people anymore. There’s a revolutionary vibe to you, like you’re lowkey always scanning society for what needs to die so something better can be built in its place.

Sometimes you might feel like an outsider, especially if your ideas are too "much" for the people around you. But that's part of your journey — learning to stand strong in your truth and finding or building communities that get it.

There can also be control themes around groups or social dynamics. Maybe you want to lead or resist being led. Maybe you’re drawn to secret or exclusive groups. Or maybe you've felt used or overlooked in social circles. But the key is learning how to hold power with others, not over them.

Bottom line: you're here to redefine what community and collaboration look like — and your influence can ripple out way further than you think.

Pluto in the 12th house

Pluto in the 12th house is some of the most powerful, mysterious, and spiritually transformative energy you can have in a birth chart. This is deep, behind-the-scenes Pluto — the kind that works in the unconscious, the soul, the hidden realms most people avoid or don’t even realize exist. If you have this placement, you’re not just on a life journey… you’re on a soul mission.

With Pluto here, you’re naturally tuned in to the invisible — dreams, symbols, energy, vibes, emotions that have no words. You might pick up on other people’s moods without trying, or feel things that others can’t explain. It’s not always easy — because you're basically carrying the emotional weight of not just yourself, but often of others or even collective pain.

There’s often a strong pull toward mysticism, spirituality, psychology, or healing. You may have had early life experiences that were deeply emotional, confusing, or that forced you inward — maybe trauma, isolation, or feeling misunderstood. But this inner world you were pushed into? It’s where your power lives. You're here to transform through surrender, trust, and the kind of healing that doesn’t happen on the surface.

This placement can sometimes make you feel like there’s something hidden within you — like a power you’re not fully sure how to access. But the more you explore your subconscious, your dreams, or your spiritual path, the more that power starts to reveal itself.

There can be periods of emotional intensity, shadow work, or even a sense of self-sabotage that you have to confront. You might find that things you’ve repressed or avoided emotionally come up in powerful waves — but facing them head-on is where your transformation happens.

You may also have a natural gift for healing, especially through spiritual or energetic means. You could be a powerful guide for others — even if it's quiet, behind-the-scenes, or unspoken. People might come to you without knowing why, drawn to your energy, your calm depth, your ability to hold space for things most people can’t.

Pluto in the 12th is like a cosmic detox — you're here to release what isn't yours, to rise through the shadows, and to awaken others by doing your own inner work.

#astrology #astro #natal chart #astro observations #birth chart #astro notes #astrology posts #zodiac #Pluto #Pluto in the houses

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s7my · 3 months ago

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WHAT PLUTO SAYS ABOUT YOUR FEARS

pluto in the 1st house

you probably grew up feeling like you had to be “on guard” all the time. even if you didn’t show it on the outside, deep down, you didn’t feel safe being fully open. maybe you had to grow up fast, or you went through stuff that made you feel like you couldn’t trust people easily–like being judged, controlled, or constantly misunderstood. because of that, you developed a strong outer shell. people might say you seem intense, guarded, or like there’s something powerful about you, even if you’re quiet. you might not try to be intimidating, but others can sense that you've been through a lot. your fear is usually about being exposed or vulnerable–like if people really saw the real you, they might use it against you, so you keep control of how you’re seen. you might have this deep need to protect your image or your energy. sometimes you try to stay ahead by reading people before they can read you, or by keeping people at a distance emotionally. but what you really want is to feel safe just existing as you are, without having to constantly defend yourself. healing comes when you realize that you don’t have to always be in survival mode. not everyone is out to control or challenge you. the more you soften that fear of being powerless, the more confident and magnetic you naturally become.

pluto in the 2nd house

your fear is rooted in not feeling secure, whether that’s about money, self-worth, or just feeling safe in the world. you might’ve grown up in a home where resources were unstable, or where love and approval felt conditional, like you had to earn your value. maybe you were taught that having control over things (money, routines, your stuff, even people) was the only way to feel safe. now, that fear shows up in how you handle security. you might feel like no matter how much you have, it’s never enough. or you might cling to people or things that give you a false sense of control, because deep down there’s this fear that it could all disappear at any moment. sometimes this leads to overworking, hoarding, or obsessing over your image and self-worth. other times, it can show up as the opposite–sabotaging your stability or avoiding responsibility because you feel deep shame around it. at its core, this placement is about learning that your value isn’t tied to what you own, how much you earn, or how much you prove. healing means letting go of the fear that you’re “not enough” without external proof. the more you work on trusting your own worth, the less you’ll feel like you need to control everything to feel safe.

pluto in the 3rd house

your fear tends to revolve around being misunderstood, silenced, or dismissed. growing up, you might’ve felt like you couldn’t fully express yourself without being judged, shut down, or ignored. maybe your thoughts weren’t taken seriously, or you were in an environment where communication was manipulative, secretive, or just emotionally unsafe. even if your household seemed normal on the surface, there could’ve been power struggles–people not saying what they really meant, passive-aggressiveness, or using words to control. this can make you super sensitive to tone, language, and unspoken meanings now. you may fear speaking up, or over-explain yourself to avoid being misunderstood. on the flip side, some with this placement go the other way, like dominating conversations or always needing the last word to avoid feeling powerless. underneath it all is a deep fear of losing your voice, or of not being smart, valid, or heard. you likely think deeply, notice what others miss, and have an intense inner dialogue, but you don’t always feel safe sharing it. healing comes when you learn that you don’t need to convince anyone to hear you. your voice matters, even if it’s quiet. you don’t need to intellectualize everything to protect yourself. sometimes, just speaking honestly is powerful enough.

pluto in the 4th house

this one hits deep. your fear is rooted in the emotional foundations of your life–your home, your past, your sense of safety. maybe you grew up in an intense or unpredictable home environment, even if no one knew from the outside. there might’ve been emotional control, secrets, power dynamics, or just a heavy atmosphere that made you feel like you had to hide your true self to survive. sometimes this looks like having to emotionally parent your caregivers, or growing up around people who avoided emotions or exploded with them. you might carry a deep fear of being vulnerable, abandoned, or emotionally exposed. even now, you might struggle to let people into your private world. your walls are high, not because you don’t care, but because you care so much and don’t want to be hurt again. there’s often a strong connection to family wounds, ancestral trauma, or emotional patterns that feel hard to escape. you may fear turning into the people who hurt you, or losing your identity in your roots. healing is about creating a new definition of home and safety; one that’s yours, not inherited. when you face the shadows in your emotional past instead of avoiding them, you unlock real emotional strength and depth. you become someone who builds safe emotional spaces, not just survives them.

pluto in the 5th house

you may carry a deep fear around being seen, not just noticed, but fully witnessed in your creativity, your joy, your love, and your self-expression. growing up, you might’ve learned that showing off too much, being “too much” or taking up space emotionally or artistically got you criticized, punished, or ignored. maybe your authentic self, your playfulness, your ideas, your crushes, your sense of humor was mocked, dismissed, or tightly controlled. or, on the other side, maybe you were pushed into the spotlight, expected to perform or impress, and your worth became tied to attention or praise. either way, something about being freely expressive didn’t feel emotionally safe. now, you might hide your passions or second-guess your creative instincts. you could be scared of rejection when it comes to romance, feeling like love is a power game or that opening up means giving someone control. sometimes, this shows up as being overly intense about love, needing validation from romantic partners, or having trouble with vulnerability in dating. you might also fear losing control when you’re “just having fun” like fun isn’t something you fully trust. deep down, you crave authentic joy and recognition, but only when it feels safe. healing comes when you realize you don’t need to dim your light to stay safe. reclaiming your right to enjoy, create, and love without guilt is a big part of your journey.

pluto in the 6th house

your fear is tied to control–specifically, control over your body, your routines, your responsibilities, and how useful or “good enough” you feel. this often comes from a childhood where perfection, discipline, or constant productivity was tied to love or safety. maybe you grew up around high standards, unspoken expectations, or caregivers who only noticed when you messed up, not when you were doing fine. some people with this placement experienced illness in themselves or others at a young age, which made them hyper-aware of health, stress, or routines. you may have internalized the idea that your worth depends on how hard you work, how helpful you are, or how “in control” your day-to-day life looks. this creates a pressure cooker inside you–one where any loss of routine, messiness, or inefficiency can trigger deep anxiety or shame. some people with this placement push themselves to exhaustion, while others avoid structure entirely out of fear they’ll never meet their own impossible standards. you might also fear being dependent or weak, and feel like you have to handle everything alone. beneath it all is the fear of being powerless in your own life. healing comes when you stop measuring your worth by output. you learn that rest isn’t laziness, asking for help isn’t weakness, and being imperfect doesn’t mean being unworthy.

pluto in the 7th house

your deepest fears revolve around relationships, but not just the fear of losing someone. it’s the fear of losing yourself in someone else. growing up, you may have experienced relationships that felt intense, manipulative, or full of emotional power games. maybe you had a parent who blurred the line between care and control. or you might’ve seen someone in your home give too much of themselves to keep the peace, teaching you early on that love can cost you your identity. now, you might attract partners who feel magnetic but draining, or you find yourself playing out push-pull dynamics without fully knowing why. it’s like part of you craves deep connection, but another part is always on edge scanning for betrayal, control, or signs that you’re being consumed. you may become hyper-aware of your partner’s moods and needs, molding yourself to avoid conflict or abandonment. or you might go the other way, keeping people at a distance to protect yourself. either way, the fear is losing power in love. underneath that is a wound around trust: not just trusting others, but trusting that you won’t disappear in love. healing means learning that you can be close to someone without being controlled by them–and that you don’t have to shrink or shapeshift to be chosen.

pluto in the 8th house

you carry heavy emotional intensity, even if most people would never guess. your fear is rooted in emotional vulnerability and what it really means to let someone in. you might’ve experienced a childhood where emotional safety was unpredictable or deeply painful. things like betrayal, abandonment, secrets, or even death might’ve shaped your worldview early on. maybe you were forced to grow up fast, or had to deal with situations that made you feel emotionally exposed with no one to protect you. as a result, you learned to guard your feelings like a vault. you’re drawn to emotional and psychological depth, truths that most people avoid, but you also fear the chaos those truths can bring. intimacy can feel like a battlefield: you want connection, but you’re also scanning for any sign that it’s dangerous to trust. this can make you prone to emotional extremes, silent power struggles, or a need to control situations so you’re not the one being blindsided. you might keep parts of yourself hidden, or test people to see if they’re safe. you also might deal with issues around shared resources, trust, or dependency–feeling like giving up control in any form is a risk you’re not sure you can take. healing happens when you stop fearing your own emotional depth and realize that vulnerability isn’t the same thing as weakness or danger.

pluto in the 9th house

your fear hides in your beliefs. what you’ve been taught, what you’ve seen, and what you’ve convinced yourself has to be true in order to feel safe. growing up, you may have been exposed to a belief system, culture, religion, or worldview that felt intense, all-consuming, or even oppressive. maybe a parent or authority figure pushed their ideals so hard that it didn’t leave space for your own thoughts. or maybe you were forced to question everything early–witnessing hypocrisy, judgment, or loss that made you feel like the world doesn’t make sense unless you find the truth yourself. now, your mind is hungry for depth, but also wary. you might fear being “wrong” in how you see the world, so you go deep, almost obsessively, into trying to find the truth, sometimes to the point of rejecting anything that sounds too easy, light, or unexamined. you can come across intense in conversations about beliefs, justice, or morality because underneath it all, you’re afraid that blind faith, or letting go of control over how you make meaning could lead you straight into betrayal or disillusionment. you might fear losing your identity in someone else’s worldview or getting trapped in a way of life that doesn’t feel true to you. your healing comes when you realize you don’t have to control every answer or debunk everything to protect yourself. it’s okay to believe, to explore, and to let your perspective evolve without fearing it’s all or nothing.

pluto in the 10th house

your fear is tied to how the world sees you, and whether you’ll ever live up to what’s expected of you. this often starts with a childhood where you were pressured to perform, succeed, or “be somebody.” maybe you had a parent who had high expectations, was emotionally distant, or only gave approval when you achieved something. or maybe you felt like you had to grow up fast and earn your worth through responsibility. as a result, you developed a deep connection between identity and success, but also a fear of failure that runs way deeper than just embarrassment. it can feel like if you don’t “make it” you’re nothing. this can lead to perfectionism, overworking, or feeling like no matter how much you do, it’s not enough. on the flip side, some with this placement swing the other way–avoiding ambition or fearing visibility altogether, because being seen also means being judged or exposed. you might be hyper-aware of authority figures or feel like you're always being watched, measured, or compared. even if you appear strong, driven, or put-together, you might feel like an imposter underneath it all. the healing is in learning that you’re not just valuable for what you produce or how others see you. your path isn’t about being perfect; it’s about finding power in authenticity, not performance.

pluto in the 11th house

your fear lives in your relationship with groups, community, and belonging. growing up, you may have experienced betrayal, exclusion, or control within friendships or social circles. maybe you were the outcast, the weird one, or the person who never quite felt like they fit in, so you learned to either detach emotionally from groups or try to control how people see you to avoid rejection. there could have been a moment in childhood where you realized people aren’t always loyal, or that fitting in sometimes means giving up parts of yourself. because of that, you might carry a hidden fear of being misunderstood, cast out, or used. this can lead you to be either fiercely independent or overly guarded in social settings. even when you’re part of something bigger, you might feel like you’re always on the outside looking in. some people with this placement become overly idealistic about community, putting groups or causes on a pedestal, then get crushed when people don’t live up to those ideals. others become ultra-private or even mistrusting, afraid of giving anyone too much power. your deepest fear might be that no space truly exists where you can be fully seen and safe at the same time. healing starts when you find or build communities that aren’t based on control or image–just shared truth and mutual respect.

pluto in the 12th house

your fear is invisible, even to you. it hides in your subconscious: old wounds, emotional baggage, and fears you can’t always name. early in life, you might’ve been around emotionally intense or unstable environments but never had the tools to make sense of it. maybe you were told to “just be okay” when things weren’t, or you picked up on emotional undercurrents no one talked about. this often creates a feeling that there’s something dark or heavy living inside you, but you don’t know where it came from. you might fear being consumed by your own emotions, or that if you really let yourself feel everything, it would overwhelm you. so you push it down, escape into fantasy, hide in distractions, or become the one who’s always calm, even when you’re breaking inside. some people with this placement fear being “too much” or “not enough” without knowing why. it’s a deep internal fear of losing control, of breaking down, of being seen when you’re vulnerable. others may struggle with trust in themselves or in the universe–always waiting for the other shoe to drop. your healing comes when you stop running from your inner world and start listening to it. therapy, dreams, solitude, spirituality, these can all help you process what’s been buried and understand that your sensitivity is not a weakness, it’s a portal to deep strength.

thanks for reading <3 @s7my

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snoopyhq · 3 months ago

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Can I request smut headcanons where his gn s/o worships Jayce, Viktor, Steb, Vander, Silco, and Ekko's bodies please?

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ the altar is my hips, even if it's a false god

type: misc. arcane characters x gn reader

summary: different body worship with different arcane men

warning: explicit content, mentions of restraints (silk), guided masturbation, mirror play (i think?? idk the name. uh, involves mirrors. viktor's part), implied sex positions, etc. i don't think i can write full blown smut, mainly because i'm not practiced, so i'll try to make it as romantic as i can with extra zealous passion

minors dni, thank you !!!

word count: 1555

a/n: false god is objectively a banger and is one of lover's most underrated tracks.

dividers used made by @/diviniyae

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ JAYCE

he's getting tied to the bedposts

no rope, no handcuffs, no nylon

red silk ribbons adorn his wrists and ankles, contrasting the warm brown of his skin like a trail of your freshly applied lipstick

which is now making its way down the column of his throat

he needs the stability and reassurance

you're restraining his limbs, not to hinder his movement, or as a play on his autonomy, but to hold him down so you could hold him close to you and dote on him like he deserves

he's completely shameless his breathy whimpers and gasps

which is great! it's exactly what you want

you want him to feel safe enough to express himself with you, especially during such an intimate setting

he's the most beautiful canvas in the world, and you're going to turn him into your next masterpiece

he's a marked up mess by the end. lovebites litter his inner thighs and upper body, and god forbid you's skimp out on his neck

each one is a physical reminder of the message you want him to carry with him everyday

i love you, jayce talis. don't you ever forget that

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VIKTOR

mirror, mirror on the wall. who's the fairest of them all?

it's viktor

this man would be living off work if he could. he doesn't take the time necessary to just spoil himself, so you're taking matters into your own hands

quite literally

after weeks of contradicting schedules, you both have a couple nights completely free

the floor length mirror had its cloth taken off and now stands opposite your shared bed, gleaming faintly in the dim light

you'd taken off his clothes too, slowly, murmuring praises about each newly revealed part of his body

viktor isn't one to blush, but your words always make a softie out of him

you sit behind him, your legs on either side of his as you two look at your reflections. he wants to look away, but your encouragement keeps him from shying away from the revelation of his naked form

your hands find his, and as the jazz music continues its sensual crescendo, you trail them down down down, letting the tips of his fingers ghost over his skin in a featherlight caress

you're kissing his neck and telling him just how great he's doing and how gorgeous he is, and how much he deserves to see himself from your point of view (i love you chappell roan)

his head is thrown back. his soft brown locks are on your shoulders, shifting slightly with his labored breaths as he finally takes the time to love his body the way you always have, with your steady hands over his, guiding his motions and coaxing him to climax

you see now, viktor? can you see just how beautiful you are to me?

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ STEB

i'm sitting here cycling through a myriad of options for him

my first thought was hot springs, but then hmm. gross lowkey. i am a hot springs enjoyer, leave the scenic nature place alone! i berated myself

and then i moved on to a luxury bath

but then i remembered outdoor jacuzzis are a thing, and baths inside in like a house or apartment kind of became boring compared to this

so picture this: outdoor jacuzzi, secluded in the shade of your guys' garden

the giant trees sway in the wind and the sunlight filter through the leaves to create dapples that dance on both your slick skin, your hands on either side of his face as you two move in sync to the slow lapping of the water

he isn't a vocal one, but he has his tells

the way his breath hitches, the half closed eyes, the fluttering his gills when you add extra emphasis on the next roll of your hips

this man's an enforcer (unfortunate)

the stress of work often carries over to other aspects of his life, but he's been trained to remain stoic in the face of adversary

these stolen moments of intimacy are the few times he truly relaxes. be gentle and patient with him, and you'll have him beyond whipped

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VANDER

the only vanderbilt i know is vander built like the man of mine and sza's dreams

more surface area = more space to love on. btw

being a single dad most of his life is stressful, even more so when you combine it with the leadership needed to keep the lanes in order

the worship you bring him is akin to one for a wine god

you're both getting blacked out wasted

it sounds irresponsible, but hear me out

a space where he doesn't have to be the responsible, upstanding adult in the room, where he can just go buck wild and release his inhibitions? that would fuck so hard, ok

especially having you as his drinking/party buddy

the amount of dirty dancing you'd be getting into with the drinking games available would make a sailor blush

the bedroom is empty, and the commodities of the bar have found their way to this little haven

pour out a cup for this much needed reprieve

maybe upon him too while your clever tongue provides the drunken declarations of love

the only vanderbilt i know is vander built like a fucking snorlax

more surface area = more space to love on. btw

being a single dad most of his life is stressful, even more so when you combine it with the leadership needed to keep the lanes in order

the worship you bring him is akin to one for a wine god

you're both getting blacked out wasted

it sounds irresponsible, but hear me out

a space where he doesn't have to be the responsible, upstanding adult in the room, where he can just go buck wild and release his inhibitions? that would fuck so hard, ok

especially having you as his drinking/party buddy

the amount of dirty dancing you'd be getting into with the drinking games available would make a sailor blush

the bedroom is empty, and the commodities of the bar have found their way to this little haven

pour out a cup for this much needed reprieve

maybe upon him too while your clever tongue provides the drunken declarations of love

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ SILCO

it's a game of tug-of-war

silco is a drug lord and basically rules the underground. he's not relinquishing power without a fight

crafty wit? physical passion? maybe even a game of chess. you choose

the game changes every time, which he finds refreshing and mentally stimulating

it eventually gets to a point where you're finally given the reins

your neck is covered in hickeys and there are scratches down your back by the time it gets there, but they're routine by then

you didn't leave him unharmed either

you may both be panting from the adrenaline and exhilaration, but the true reward comes from the deprivation of senses you love so much

the blindfold goes over, and silco's yours for however long you want to go tonight

you worship him the same way a feral animal would

it's pure instinct and desperation and hurts so good

the consequences can be felt in full later

when you've had enough of your fun, you finally remove the blindfold and let him see the wreck he's made of you, and you of him

make sure to remind him with extra kisses to the left one that he's the apple of your eye, no matter how rotten

aftercare. duh.

he's gotten his hands on the finest creams and bath oils, so you get cleaned and patched up in luxury. rivals a piltovan spa, really

the settle down from such ferocity to something so tame is the perfect balance for your stormy relationship

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ EKKO

worshipping ekko is an event that takes place over the course of the entire day

you've planned it down to the letter

similar to vander, he's in charge of so much and takes care of so many people, so you wanted to be the one pampering him for once

breakfast is brought to him in bed, and the watching the sunrise is a relaxing start to the day

here comes a medley of dates

a walk down his favorite street and hitting the shopping district

you insist he get himself something from at least three different stores

then treating him to lunch before heading off on your hoverboards as you guys race through the sky

back home, you'd put together a skincare basket to do together. the whole routine of exfoliate, moisturize, and then the face masks

you talk about the exciting day you just had, fingers intertwined the whole time until it's time to take the masks-and clothes-off

he doesn't let himself relax often, but around you?

completely gone

you make slow, leisurely love, taking every second as a chance to appreciate him, his body, his voice and that brilliant mind of his

everything about him really

as for aftercare, you'd go to the kitchen, and cook a simple meal to enjoy together before falling asleep right in the living room, too tired to trek back to the bedroom

he's the little spoon tonight

you left no room for argument, wanting to be the one to cradle him close to you and make him feel just as safe and protected as he makes you everyday

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rottencherrypie · 6 months ago

Text

R-18+; Another (Thorin x Reader)

Summary - The dwarven king is determined to make his seed take again.

Warnings - Smut, language, afab!reader, fem!reader, fingering (reader receiving), mention of a womb, female genitalia (reader), bodily fluids, implied previous smut, dom/sub undertones, slight dom!Thorin, "good girl" is used, heavily implied previous pregnancy, breeding kink, overstimulation, implied following sex.

Pronouns & POV - None, third-person

Word Count - 700+ (a short one)

A/N - Another one from the suggestion box on my Instagram! (I am trying to polish up the form a bit, and get through the current suggestions before I post it on here too!) "would love a thorin blurb with fingering. maybe breeding kink too." — (anonymous) I hope this lives up to what you envisioned, sweet one! The only descriptions used for the reader are that their lips are swollen from kissing, their ass is round, and their skin is referred to as "delicate". (I had no idea what to put as the header, so I did a pomegranate and flowers because they are associated with fertility?) Pure smut below the cut!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

The bitter mountain air nipped at your exposed, quivering flesh as the sounds of your exhausted mewls danced throughout the air. A stream of drool cascaded out of the corner of your kiss-swollen lips, dripping down your chin and staining the silken sheets beneath you. Though, the sheets had seen far more within the past hour, stained with the essence of your pleasure and the spilt seed of the dwarven king.

"Shh, shh," The sudden heat of his breath against the exposed flesh of your arse made a shiver roam down your spine, furthering the quivering of your exhausted legs as his rough, calloused hands began to caress the roundness of your buttocks softly. "you must relax if it is to take." The king cooed as the thickness of his fingers delved into your exhausted, sensitive hole.

A fullness that made your nails dig into the smooth fabric beneath you, piercing into the silken sheets and nearly tearing it from the seams as the hot, stickiness of the dwarf's cum was pushed deeper into your aching walls.

"Thorin..." His name left your lips in an exhausted mewl, the corners of your eyes staining with tears. The weight of your chest sunk further into the mattress, further pressing your arse into the air as his thick fingers continued to push inside of you—curling up against your most sensitive spot, forcing another strained sound of pleasure from your soft lips. "...too much...can't...gonna..." A string of nonsensical words fell from your lips, a mixture of a desperate plea for the dwarf to give you a moment of recovery and a cry to continue as that familiar tingle began to spread throughout the pit of your stomach.

"Shh, shh," The dwarven king softly hushed you, yet his fingers continued to move within. The pace at which his hand moved was slow yet calculated—lulling you into a false sense of stability before his fingers spread apart, stretching your inner walls for a moment before quickly snapping back together. "just one more. I know you can give me another." He cooed. His tone dripped with false affection, knowing all too well he was pushing you to your limits—but he didn't care. What the king wanted, the king got—and he wanted you to cum again, just how he wanted you round with another child.

"Be a good girl for me and let it happen." He continued, as did the motions of his fingers inside you. They ranged in variation: one moment curling against your spongy spot, while the next, they scissored against your quivering walls. There was no rhyme or reason for the lack of pattern—he just wanted to watch you squirm. And squirm you did as he suddenly pressed his thick, calloused thumb against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

It tingled, nearly burnt, as the weight of his thumb pressed against your clit—tracing slow circles upon it as your hips mindlessly bucked into his palm. If you were to raise your head from the plushness of the bed and look back at the dwarf, you would see how a smug grin curved upon his thin lips as your wet walls clenched around his fingers—your cunt's desperate plea for release.

Within a matter of breaths, the sound of your muffled cries of pleasure filled the air. The essence of your pleasure gushed out of your aching cunt, coating the king's hand and forearm with its wetness.

"That's it." The king would coo, pressing a kiss upon the middle of your back as his free hand slid to the front of your lower abdomen. Resting right above where a babe would soon grow, keeping you steady as he pushed the remnants of his seed deeper within your walls—as if he was attempting to shove it up to your womb. "It will surely take." His words vibrated against your back as he pressed another kiss upon your skin; the harshness of his beard rubbing against your delicate flesh sent another tingle throughout your body.

"And if it does not?" You managed to question, your mind still in a daze from the endless hours you had spent being pumped full to the brim with the king's seed. Inner walls sore and likely bruised, sheets stained with the few droplets that spilt out from your warmth. "And if it does not," The king began, raising his head from your back—his beard grazing against your skin as the bed groaned at the shifting weight. "then we have all spring to make it take."

It was not a suggestion; it was a promise.

#thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x y/n #thorin oakenshield x fem!reader #thorin x reader #thorin x y/n #thorin x fem!reader #thorin x reader smut #thorin x fem!reader smut #thorin oakenshield x reader smut #thorin oakenshield x fem!reader smut #thorin smut #thorin oakenshield smut #the hobbit smut #x reader smut #x fem!reader smut #smut

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cherry-leclerc · 1 year ago

Text

million dollar man ☆ toto wolff

genre: age gap, porn with plot, angst, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature, mentions of homicide, bits of humor, child neglection, divorced!toto

word count: 16.5k

Toto Wolff, self-made billionaire, is on cloud nine; he has all he’s ever wanted. A beautiful wife, family, a great team. But when that starts slipping from his fingers, he desperately tries to keep hold of what is not his anymore. As a possible solution to cure his blues, Lewis kindly invites him to a place he runs off to when times get tough; to relieve some stress. But he just never expected a cosplaying angel, dancing around a metal pole, to be his salvation. And also, his cruelest life lesson.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+…dry humping/ thigh riding, sexual tension, penetrative sex, oral sex (m!receiving f!receiving), size kink, breeding kink, praise, foreplay, riding

inspired by million dollar man, lana del rey , yayo, lana del rey !

STOP AND READ:

Typically, we keep it light here: occasional minor angst fics, but light, nonetheless. That will not be the case this time around. Because of that, I firmly believe that it is necessary to give a few warnings. There will be mentions of drug-use and homicide and if that is not something you are comfortable with then that is totally okay! I have more options for you to read over at my masterlist! This is purely fictional. With that, this story is based and inspired by Million Dollar Man and Yayo by Lana Del Rey (*run*)—what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending.

cherry here!…toto is like—a special appearance, here in this blog. probably won’t write for him all the time, but hey! we love him!originally this was going to be named yayo but have since changed my mind to million dollar man. IT WILL MAKE SENSE AND I’M SORRY, ANONS. please don’t hate the villain in me. consider yourself warned.

There was no room for love when it came to the world of motorsport. Toto’s first marriage was a transparent reminder, given its falling out. The Austrian didn’t seem to care, almost; Mercedes was at their prime, but by then, when Susie came along, he felt a gist of hope. She must’ve known the sacrifices that would be made—the expectations.

And yet, he sat there, signing the divorce papers once again. What had he done wrong this time? He had given her everything she could have ever wanted—spent time he didn’t even have—with her.

Neither of us were happy anymore, she would whisper apologetically, eyes trained downwards. But I’ll always love you, Toto. You must remember that.

Suddenly, he was fifty-two and with no true purpose in life other than to stabilize his broken team. If it wasn’t false accusations from other team principals, then it was trouble with the hydraulics, and if it wasn’t that, then it was losing his World Champion. Mercedes was already dwindling down to a mess, but with Lewis leaving—it felt like he was losing his mind.

“You understand where I’m coming from, right, Toto?”

Looking up at Lewis and Penni, his manager, the Austrian sighs, forcing a tired smile. No. He didn’t understand—did not want to understand. But he had no right to prevent the Brit from expanding one final time before retirement. I just feel like I need to do this for myself, but thank you for the infinite support. Mercedes will always be home to me.

Promises. Fuck them, they meant nothing at the end of the day, so why bother?

“Do what you need to do. I’ll always be here for you; no matter what.”

It was a bittersweet feeling to have. On one hand, the brunette felt optimistic. Maybe this was a chance to start over, perhaps offer up the golden seat to Carlos or Kimi. They had proven themselves in their own way and maybe that could bring better opportunities towards the team.

On the other, he felt like this was it. Maybe it was time to move on, retire with a sorrowful smile and live out the rest of his years. He could try fixing things with Susie. The thing was, he just re-signed as team principal, so none of that would work out even if he wanted to.

Running a large hand through his brown hair, he groans and takes a sip of whiskey. Wincing at the taste, he jumps up in alert from his seat when there’s a knock on the glass door. May I? He nods.

Entering with an easy smile, Lewis raises his dark brows in a teasing manner. “Drinking ain’t gonna help, I promise you that.”

The brown eyed man grins. “You have something else in mind, cause if so, I’d like to hear it.”

The Brit hums, tilts his head to the side. Lewis had been with Toto for as long as he can remember; he was there when Toto and Susie met, and long after when they tied the knot. He swore they were happy, and that may have been once true, but he also knows sometimes even that can’t be enough. So, when news came out to their inner circle that the two were getting divorced, he felt sorry for him. He knows what it feels like to have it all, to suddenly go to sleep alone every night. But there was always one place that always helped— even people like him.

“You up for Vegas?”

He should have said no. He was too old for any of this nonsense. Too mature. Only, one thing led to another, and before he knew it, he was entering one of the top-tier stripclubs in all of Las Vegas. He knows that while there is nothing wrong with the profession, he can’t help but feel sinisterly dirty. He blames it on the fact that Lewis was beaming right besides him. Maybe if he hadn’t once been his boss, then the feeling would be different.

“Oh, c’mon. Ease up. No one will even know that you were in here.”

It’s true. While the club was a part of the infamous Vegas strip, it was also exclusively exclusive. No one could get in if there was no form of proving to be millionaires, and even that was ridiculously low. NDA’s would be signed as if it were something normal. Made him wonder what kind of things occurred between these four walls.

Toto chuckles deeply, dark eyes roaming the entire room, loud music blaring. “How did you even know this place exists?”

Lewis winks, lousy arm waving at the bouncers. “You know how everyone thinks Formula One drivers are players and are up to no good?”

“Yeah?”

He smirks. “Well…they’re fucking right.”

After a couple of drinks, a few new friends—who would make great potential business partners—and a bit of gambling, the fifty-two year old found himself having a decent time. The atmosphere was a tad bit suffocating, but one time won’t kill him. He deserved it.

“Oh, oh, you might want to take a seat,” Lewis chants excitedly. “People get pissed if you block their view.”

Abruptly, the stage lights up. It was a bit alarming, the sudden speed these men took to claim their seats, trampling over each other to get front row. Carefully, he crouches down onto the couch of giddy men. This wasn’t a normal setting; girls were caged behind glass as if to protect them from these males and their slithering actions. A red head professionally swings around the steel pole, black skirt flowing, adding to the illusion men love to taste.

Whoops and hollers echo the red room as the Brit nudges Toto’s broad shoulder with a wicked grin. “Good, no? She’s my favorite.”

The Austrian scrunches his nose, half joking, half not. “Is this why you were always dozing off during our meetings?”

“Exactly why.”

It was an impressive art, he’ll give credit where credits due, and his eyes were bulging out of his head, but that’s about it. When he stood up to go and order a new drink, a string of boos were thrown at him. Even Lewis shook his head with disapproval. Man, you’re missing the show! He sends a sly grin. “I’m tough to win over, but they’re great, don’t get me wrong.”

The bartender shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s what they all say. Until they lay eyes… on her.”

“On who?” He’s quickly hushed as soon as the room changes gears. The once red club enhances into a soft yellow glow, the fast paced music slows down to an angelic piano intro.

A round of applause for everyone’s favorite girl—Peaches!

If the fifty-two year old ever thought he’s heard it all; loud cheers from fans, loud cheers for the other dancers; then he must have been mistaken, and awfully foolish. His ears ring with the sudden howls from everyone in the room. Turning around, he’s found with a girl, standing with golden angel wings. A shiny reflection colors her hair as she delicately bows, shy smile sewn onto her pouty lips. White dress wrapped around her figure as if it was tailored for her, and only her.

Yayo.

The way she pranced inside the glass box like a butterfly makes the men grow wild as they pant feverishly. She’s barely doing anything—hasn't even done half as much as what the other girls had done—and somehow, all eyes are drawn on her like a sticky potion. Toto’s heartbeat gets stuck in his throat as he tries his best to swallow it down. Sad eyes flicker throughout the club as she spins, dress fluttering like a flower in the summer breeze.

You’re someone desirable in all senses, and it appears as if you know it as well.

Let me put on a show for you, daddy.

Dropping down to your knees, you crawl towards the glass as you draw your soft brows together, as if pleading to be let out. Hot breath paints the glass before you press a kiss.

Then, you’re looking at him, and it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he’s ever done. His heart speeds up as you tie your shiny legs along the pole, sensually spinning as you throw your head back. Like a signal, water sprinkles inside the box as it lubricates you down, dark mascara trickling your features.

Arms toss your hair back before sharing a quick wave as you step out, red lights turning back on. And just like that, Toto is left empty and alone once again.

“That shit was insane,” the Brits voice shakes him away from your spell as he flops down on the stool right next to him. “She must be new because I for sure wouldn’t have forgotten a pretty face like hers. What’d you think?”

Toto blinks. “She might be my favorite.”

Thank you, Ro, you say as you sign on the bottom x, waving him off as he tilts his head in agreement. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be outside, like always.

Even after all this time, you still got trepidatious. There came times where the connection was completely off, that you just wanted to bolt away, screaming like a baby. But you needed this job to survive, plus, it paid a pretty penny.

“Where do you want me?”

Once you spot the massive businessman, manspreading on the couch that he made out to look like a toy, you gulp. You had caught a glimpse of him already, basically performed for him, but you didn’t think he was the one who called for you.

He’s strikingly handsome in a way you couldn’t quite comprehend. Dark, untamed hair covers his face. Long nose catches your attention as you squirm. His hands are practically the size of your face and you could only imagine what his thick fingers must feel like. Curiously, your eyes dwindle down to his lap as you picture what rests between his legs.

“Oh, right. Um…”

You grin. “First time?”

He winces. “It was a friend's idea.”

“Hmph. Heard that one before.” Inching closer, you pour a glass of water. “Here. It’ll help.”

His hand swallows you whole as you gape down at the difference. Electricity zaps you as you flinch and he catches on. Bringing the cup towards his pink lips, he closes his eyes, lashes fanning his tan skin. Being taken care of by a beautiful, young lady, made him cringe in all kinds of ways. He felt like a child, then like an old man. To be fair, he sort of was.

“I’m not here for…you know.” You quirk a neat brow. You don’t want to fuck me? Your question has him choking on the ice as he raises his hand up. “N-no, I just th—”

“I’m afraid you’re just wasting my time, and time is money. Have a good day, Mr. Wolff.”

Gaining his composure, Toto storms over to you, grabbing your hand. “I’ll still pay you. Triple what you make, but please don’t go.”

Your cheeks are dusted light pink when you turn around, wings brushing against him. If you’re lucky, you reach his toned chest, but the height difference was scary. Enticing. You almost wish he would fuck you like a pornstar.

“You know what a girl wants to hear. I’m in.”

Turns out, he just wanted a companion. Someone who wouldn’t pity him. Didn’t hurt that you were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, either. Narrowing your eyes, you click your tongue. “She said that?”

He sighs. “Maybe I was changing.”

“Perhaps, but that’s what a marriage is for. You change, sure, but you change together. Things can’t possibly stay that same, that’s just stupid.” Tucking your legs beneath your butt, you continue. “And what? Your number one driver decides to leave out of the blue? Even after it was mutually decided that he would stick around at least until 2026?”

That was something no one knew, but who were you going to tell? Toto grimaces. “It sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“It fucking sucks.”

The Austrian chuckles deeply at your outburst. You blush at the cunning sound. “You’re a terrific listener. I’m glad you stuck around to talk.”

“I’m glad I did, too.” You play with the hem of your dress. “You’re a kind man, Toto. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

He slips away that night with a tranquility he hasn’t felt in quite a while. On the way back to Monaco, he wonders if you were some kind of guardian that he had to meet in order to move on from his bittersweet feelings. Because it sure did feel like it since he felt he now knew what it is that he had to do in the upcoming season. All thanks to you.

“…Toto….Hello?” Bono smacks his hand against the table and the Austrian flinches. They were in the talks of what position he would stay in now that Lewis was departing from his life-long engineer. “Do you want me to continue or?”

The brunette clears his throat, awkwardly. “We have a few weeks of break before the new season begins, correct?”

“Correct.”

He stands up to his full height. “Then let’s talk later. Enjoy your break, Bono. See you soon.” Then he’s walking out the sliding doors, with a dumbfounded engineer piercing his eyes at his large back.

Elizabeth, Toto’s rough voice speaks to his personal assistant. Clear my schedule for the next few weeks. Oh, and also; get me the first flight out to Las Vegas.

Cursing at the dusty wind, you huddle your way into your beat up car, fingers sliding your Dior glasses down the bridge of your nose. They were a gift from a recent client, and you never shamed them away. Taking a sip of your sparkling water, you sigh in relief at the refreshing taste. Screw Nevada for being annoyingly hot.

Tap tap.

Squinting your eyes at your window, you only catch a glimpse of a man’s clothed crotch as you yelp. Swinging the door open, you take out your pepper spray. “Go away creep, I will use this if necessary!”

"Warten! Warten!"

“Huh?”

“I said wait,” a thick accent clarifies. You bite back a smile. “Hello.”

Bringing your hands up to your hips, you giggle. “Hello, Mr. Wolff. Back for more?”

He can try and pretend that he was better than crawling back to you, even if all you both did was have a meaningful conversation, but he doesn’t have time for lies.

“I just wanted to thank you.” Your lips separate, slowly. “For everything. You helped me figure out lots of things.”

“Oh, wow… I, umm… You’re welcome?”

Intaking your soft aura, he closes his right eye due to the bright sun. “Can I take you out for coffee?”

You didn’t go out for coffee at a local cafe, but rather at his mansion he just blew his money on without batting an eye. Inhaling the yummy scent, you swoon. “This smells amazing.”

He smiles. “It’s from Germany.”

“Authentic. How’d you get it?”

“Don’t underestimate power.” Your eyes grow wide at his cold tone and the Austrian laughs. “Relax. I’m from Germany. It’s my favorite, so I always carry one with me. Call me old-fashioned.”

“Let’s just leave it at old.”

He flashes a devious grin, lines tracing his face. “Ha-ha. But seriously, thank you for helping me out of my little…crisis.” Midlife crisis, you correct him as he glares. You snicker.

“I’m glad I was able to help.”

“Can I ask you something?” Sure, you cheer as you sip on the hot drink. He fixes his glasses. “How did you end up working at Machiavellian Nights?” Your stomach drops. “You don’t have to answer.”

“No.” He nods. “I’ll tell you, because oddly enough, I trust you.” Okay, he whispers. “Are you close to your parents?”

“What?” Are you? He nods again. You smile sadly.

“That’s lovely, Toto. Appreciate that.” You release a shaky breath. “My father passed away when I was fifteen and my mother pretends to not know me.”

He gulps and you continue. “It was not always like that, though. We had a close relationship. She would braid my hair every night before bed. I would curl hers before every date. She was an amazing woman. One I could admire.”

“What happened?”

You lower your head, lips wobbling. Letting out a wet laugh, you brush a hand up against your nose. “Men are deceiving. Men are shit. Men are a complete waste of time and— I miss who my mom used to be.”

Handing you a napkin, you silently thank him. “She met him when I was only seventeen. It was fine at first; I was so happy for her. I would be moving out for college eventually, so I felt relieved that she had someone to rely on. Connor was great.”

The fifty-two year old is momentarily lost. Nothing sounds as bad as it seems, but he refrains from telling you so. “Then she got pregnant. Oh, Toto, I was so excited. A baby sister. Could you imagine? I bought everything my first job could afford. Onesies, blankies, pampers, I bought it all. And I never once expected anything in return.”

“That’s where things began to change. Connor swore I was trying to win my mom over and leave Rosie with nothing. Kicked me out before I even had a chance to defend myself. I thought —okay, I’ll just talk to her and explain that it was never my intention to do any of that. But she wouldn’t listen. She gave birth six months ago.”

“And you ended up...” You hum, bringing the mug up to your lips.

“It was either that or fast food. Salary is shit in that industry. And the customers aren’t bad. I could say yes or no at any given time.”

The brunette fiddled with his watch. “So, you could have turned me away?” Laughing, you nod. He fakes a smug look. “And why didn’t you?”

Tapping a lazy finger onto your chin, you close your eyes before fluttering them open. “I had a feeling you had shit locked away. Just like me.”

He bids you farewell, claiming he was glad to have met you, even with such circumstances. The way he hugs you goodbye makes the pit of your stomach fuel with fire as you brush away the urge to climb onto him and kiss his pain away, even if he promises to not feel any.

Take care of yourself, you beg, head resting beneath his heart. His breath hitches. You need to look after yourself, above all. Oh. And good luck with the new season.

He wonders why such a pretty plea makes his heart break. Perhaps it was because even though your life was at rock bottom, you still looked out for others. Or maybe it was him, but he couldn’t pinpoint it at all. He wouldn’t try either because as stated before, he was leaving for good. He could make room to visit you the next time he was here for the Las Vegas GP. Even then, he wouldn’t risk you like that.

But like a kid at a candy shop, he finds himself signing the NDA once again. Welcome back, Mr. Wolff. The usual? “That sounds great, thank you.” Taking a seat, he watches the vivid room, hoping to spot you. Set after set, he’s torn when you don’t show up. Others seem to notice you missing as they violently spit slurs of; Bring out the pretty one!

“Would you be kind enough to treat me to a sweet drink? Paloma’s are my favorite.”

Your sultry voice salutes him like a perfect hug as he looks down to where you bite down onto the inside of your cheek. Your eyes crinkle as you beam up at him. “You’re here…”

“I always am.”

He cringes, desperation humbling him as you take a seat. “Your act…you didn’t go on and I just thought you were out sick or something?” Leaning over to take a sip of his dark drink, loopy eyes train on him before sighing.

“Ugh, I wish. I’m on my period. I asked for the night off, but I’m still up to no good. Make a little bit of money, eh.” He clenches his jaw. “What are you doing here anyways, Toto? Oh shit—Mr. Wolff.” Smiling warmly at the bartender, you hug your red lips around the glass.

“I wanted to see you.”

Choking on the fruity drink, you clutch onto his thigh. He stiffens, but still pats your exposed back. You wore a silky red dress, just like the rest of the girls strutting through the busy club, but somehow, it looked better on you. Enhancing your soft features, tugging against your curves like an envelope. Perky tits begging to be licked— sucked on.

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know.” You frown. “I have no idea, but you’ve lingered on my mind from the moment I saw you, dancing sadly. Why was that?”

You purse your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He huffs. “Think a little bit harder, then.” His firm tone makes you sit up straight, drawing circles on his lap, as a tactic to not pull your strong gaze away. You don’t even notice his hard cock pushing up against the denim.

“I had just received a restraining order against Rosie.” He deflates. “I’ve never even met my newborn sister and they got a fucking restraining order.” You scoff. “Unbelievable.”

Toto was lucky enough to be a part of his kids' lives, but simply picturing the idea of Stephanie or Susie getting a restraining order against him, crushed him. Seeing you so upset about it makes him want to track down your mother and Connor and yell at them for how they’ve treated you. But then he would probably find himself with a similar piece of paper.

“Just when I think they’ve done it all, there always seems to be more.” You laugh, taking another sip of your cold drink. “They’re getting clever.”

“How are you so okay with any of this?”

You narrow your eyes, offended by his question. “You think I am? Toto, I feel like the odd one out. My own mother makes me feel like a culprit for simply wanting to give my baby sister a pair of shoes.” The brunette furrows his brows. You giggle. “I got Rosie a pair of ballet shoes. They’re the cutest thing you’ll ever see.”

His lips quirk upwards. “So, you’ve tried to meet her?” You shake your head, hair whiplashing. I called my mom, brought up the idea. I guess she didn’t like it because next thing I knew, hello, restraining order. It’s sick. “They don’t deserve you.”

Your mouth stays agape as you blink back at him, doe eyes ringing him in. “I’m done trying. I get tired too, y’know?” Edging closer to your seat, you cup your hands against his ear, getting a whiff of his musky, expensive scent. You almost let out a moan. “You have kids, right? Were they cute when they were babies?”

He nods, enthusiastically. “They’re heaven sent.” Your eyes twinkle, and he feels bad for a split second. “Want to see?” He dangles his phone towards you as you beam. Do you mind? “Not at all. As a father, you must know, I like to brag about them.” Rolling your eyes, you swipe through his gallery as you coo.

“Oh my goodness! She looks just like you,” you point out when you spot a blond girl. He grins. That’s Rosa. Flickering your eyes up to him, you gasp. “Rosie.”

“Huh? Similar…that’s funny.”

Your grin widens. “Oh, handsome. Just like his father.” Benedict, he informs you as he blushes at the comment. Swiping once more, you tilt your head. “Very cute—like insanely adorable—but he doesn’t resemble you at all.” He laughs, throwing his head back.

“That’s my youngest, Jack. He looks just like his mother.” He retrieves the phone from you before handing it back. Squinting, you analyze the older blond. “Identical. It’s almost as if you didn’t partake in the game, Mr. Wolff.”

“Oh, trust me, I did.”

Burning up, you rip your gaze away from the device, trying to erase your filthy thoughts. Especially of him and his ex-wife. “She seems nice. Beautiful, too.” He hums, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“I can tell you have a soft spot for kids.”

“I don’t want to scare you off, but it’s an obsession. I can’t wait to be a mommy.” He swallows a groan at your innocent wish. “I would try to be the best; I just know I would.”

The Austrian rubs his arm. “It’s getting late. Are you still going to be around?”

You yawn. “I think I’m out of here, too.”

“Can I take you home?”

The sexual tension is as thick as thieves. It suffocates you whole as you stare out the window of his Mercedes Benz. His digits taps against the leather wheel, legs barely fitting from how massive he is. Head almost touching the roof of his car. I swear I’ll go back to school, God, but please help me keep the last bits of my dignity.

“How tall are you?” Come again? You gulp. “What’s your height? Curious, that’s all.”

His head rolls back, Adam’s Apple jumping up and down. “Meters or in feet?” You bite down on your tongue. Smart-ass.

“Feet, if it’s okay with you,” you reply sarcastically. He clicks his tongue in amusement.

“6’5.”

“Oh my God.” You smile sheepishly when he frowns. “You’re huge.”

“They normally say that after I have sex with them, but thank you.”

Heat rushes to your cheekbones and the tip of your ears. “You know what I meant.”

“Oh, of course, my mistake.” Pulling into your small driveway, he blinks slowly. “You live here?”

“Yes, don’t drool over it, please,” you growl at his rude tone. His brown eyes spin towards you when you hurriedly grab your things. He grabs the back of your dress quickly and you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s lovely, but I just thought…you said you made good money?”

High heels crunch against small pebbles as you scowl at the fifty-two year old. “I want to go back to Uni and I’m saving up, is that so wrong?” He’s embarrassed now, fixated on the empty passenger seat. You scoff. “Glad we agree. Good night, dickhead.”

Toto lets out a quiet laugh. Your eye twitches at the sound. Marching over to his window, you click your fingers as he rolls it down. This is funny to you? “Not at all. You acting like a child is.”

“I am not acting like a child—”

“Oh, you’re not? Fuck. Again, my mistake.” Grinding your molars, you glare at the brunette. He aims for a soft smile. “I wasn’t making fun of your living arrangements, please, do you really think that low of me?” You look away, wiggling your neat brows. “Come and live with me.”

“Excuse me?”

He climbs out of the car, making you stumble back. “In the meantime, while I’m here, which is not for long. When I leave, you can keep the house.”

You grow light headed from his delirious offer. “Are you asking me to have sex with you in return for a new home?” His jaw drops.

“No, I’m being a good friend. You’re a sweet girl who has dealt with some shitty people and I want to help. Please, accept.” His voice is soft but somehow demanding. As if he already knows you’re going to agree.

Inching closer, you poke his chest. He raises his arms. “Are you real?” Super real, he states, rolling his chocolate eyes. What do you say?

“But my things—”

“I’ll send for them.”

“My downpayment—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Cool!” you cheer. “Let me just go grab my boyfriend.” His smile falls. Letting out an evil laugh, you clutch onto your stomach. “Ha! You should have seen your face.”

He pinches your forearm and you yelp in surprise. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Too late,” you yodel as you skip around, back into the black Mercedes. “You’re going to regret it anyways.”

We still have to talk about the preparations required for the unveiling of the W15. Please tell me you haven’t forgotten?

Massaging his temples, Toto grimaces. “I haven't, but also, we don’t have to. It’s all ready to go; George and Lewis just need to show up.”

Elizabeth gasps. “And you.”

“Elizabeth, that was implied.” The assistant hums sheepishly as she continues talking his ear off. He groans. “I’ll be there, don’t worry. You’re doing a great job, keep it up. And please, enjoy your break. You’re going to wish you had when the season starts.”

“Of course. Take care, Toto.”

Once they hang up, he picks up on reading through articles about everything and anything people have been saying about Lewis’ new contract with Ferrari. He was happy for his driver, but it still stung.

“You look tired.”

Chocolate eyes direct over to you where you stand with an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties. At least he hopes. “Oh, y’know. Catching up on work. Can’t be gone for too long, if not things get out of control.”

Rolling your eyes sarcastically, you slide your way closer to him. “Can I see?”

“See what?”

Squinting at the screen, your eyes glimmer brightly. “I love all things gossip. It’s my guilty pleasure.” Taking a seat on his thick lap, your delicate fingers start playing with the keypad. He grunts, placing both hands behind his head as his jaw ticks. “Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton: The Unstoppable Duo.” You giggle. “He’s cute. Take it back, they both are.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “You’re evil.”

Tossing your hair over your shoulder, you shrug. It looks so soft, he’s itching to run his fingers through it. “I see why you’re upset about this whole—‘I want Lewis! No, I want Lewis!—thing.” His smile falters. “It’s brutal.”

Hauling you off of his lap, he places you on the chair next to him, hoping you wouldn’t notice his hard print. “Is it?”

“Mhmm,” you chirp, chin propped onto your knees. “You must not mind people talking about you.”

“I do mind. I mind a lot.”

Perplexed, you take in his exhausted state. You never wanted to be famous, and seeing him live like this made you realize you had made the right choice. With slight hesitance, you brush his hair back; he sighs in relief. “It’s good to take breaks in between. That way you don’t have a stroke, old man.” His eyes fly open.

“Just because you’re younger, that doesn't mean I’m about to drop dead, sweetheart.” You squirm, forcing his orbs back closed as he squirms at the clumsy action.

“Wanna feel something nice?”

Toto’s mind wanders to a steamy place once you leap off your chair. His chest heaves up and down from nervousness, hearing your soft steps. Straddling him, you press a soft kiss onto his cheek. Relax, Toto. He nods, grips onto the sides of the wooden chair, knuckles turning ghost white. Digging your hands into his broad shoulder, you begin to massage him at a steady pace. He moans. “How are you so good at this?” Your lips curl.

“I like to think I was a masseuse in my past life, now shhh.”

The brunette’s main focus was between two things; actually letting loose and enjoying the much needed massage and the urge to slide your panties to the side and fuck you senselessly. Both were pretty good ideas in his book.

“Stop grunting,” you whisper in the nook of his ear as he shudders. You bite down on your pouty lip, leaning all the way back, and his hands instinctively reach out to catch you. His brown eyes flutter open as he admires the way you tower over him, even as you lay back, but also the way your fingers push adamantly against the knots in his shoulders. He growls animalistically. “What did I say, Mr. Wolff?”

Cold stare. “What am I supposed to do, then?”

Grabbing his large hands, you place them over your hips, an inviting smile dancing across your pink lips. Squeeze if you have to. He almost comes inside his pants as you lick your lips once more before continuing your actions. And it almost seems like you want to get a rise out of him. To make him groan, moan, grunt, cry out— for you.

Purposefully, you dig your knuckles extra hard before pinching down with your nails. He hisses, grasping your sides hard as he throws his head back, floppy hair hitting the chair. You force a whimper away as you feverishly grind against his crotch. That kind of hurt, Toto.

“Fuck…I’m sorry,” he spills out as he starts a massage of his own. You smirk, repeating the same painful actions, pushing him to do the same as before. This was no longer a peaceful massage, you both knew that. It really hurts, you whine as you place a small hand against his chest, hips moving feverishly against his rough pants. The burning sensation makes you let out a pathetic wail as you rest your head against his shoulder. “A-are you okay?”

Then, you press your forehead against his; lustful gaze challenging him while tears cover up your pretty eyes, making them shimmer even more than before. “Never been better.” With one last rub against his slacks, you’re climaxing as you plow your red nails onto him.

Gasping for air, you return to tracing soft circles against his wide shoulders as he’s left dazed and confused. His cock still hurts from how hard he is, but you don’t seem to notice. Or you ignore it. It doesn't matter, because you’re already jumping off him, lips bruised from how hard you had bit down.

“I thought your hands would hurt a lot less, Toto. You ought to be nice to me.”

Then, you’re skipping away, back into your room like a shy rabbit.

After the encounter in the dining room, you pranced around as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had. Toto’s mind was probably playing tricks on him because there was no way you could act so nonchalant, hallowing your lips around the cherry popsicle. Is it red? You stick your salivating tongue towards him.

“That’s a dumb question.”

You frown. “Grump.” A beat. “Can I take the Mercedes on a spin?”

“No.”

The frown grows deeper. “Why not? I swear I won’t scratch it. In fact, I won’t let anything happen.”

“Tempting, but still no.”

“Fine,” you grumble, munching down on the icy treat. He smiles, fingers typing against his computer. Can I ride you? His digits freeze midair as he flickers his brown eyes over at you. Holding the car keys directly to your face, you hum playfully. Yeah. Why not, Peaches? Just take care of me! “Of course, my sweet Benz. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You are worse than my four year old.” He inhales sharply, rolling up his sleeves as he tries to ease his crazy heartbeat with water. You giggle.

“He said yes.”

“The car talks now?”

You blush. “That’s what I’m sayinggg…”

Analyzing the strand of hair that hits your chin, he folds his hands. “How did you choose Peaches as your stage name?”

You swallow the last piece of your popsicle. “It’s not an interesting story. I have a co-worker who goes by Foxy because she once fucked a fucking grandpa in the woods and he died of a heart attack once he saw a fox. Pretty cool, huh?”

His jaw drops. “You’re crazy.” Shrugging, you kick your legs up on the armrest. He swallows. “But I still want to know. No matter how boring it may seem. I can guarantee you I won’t think the same, pessimist.”

Gingerly squinting your round eyes, your lips for a thin line. “When I was younger, my mom would bring me a peach everyday after work. That way, when she would pick me up from school, she would have it ready. The sweetest ones were during summer, of course, but the ones out of season were still pretty good. Up to this day, I still don’t know how she got her hands on those.” He nods. “Simple as that.”

“I think it’s sweet.” His long legs stretch out to kick your chair away. You squeal. “Makes you seem a tiny bit human.”

“Hey!”

He smirks. “Way better than Foxy. That story is just a murder case waiting to be taken to trial.”

“She did receive a handsome inheritance,” you whistle and his eyes grow wide. You snicker. “I’m kidding.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Do you enjoy your job? Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?” You shake your head.

“Wait, let me rephrase. I do enjoy pole dancing. So many outsiders assume we’re sluts, but it’s not like that. It’s an art, whether you believe it or not.” I agree. You grin. “I have fun, but no, I don’t want to do this forever. I want to be an elementary school teacher.”

“Really?”

You wince. “Seems inappropriate, I know, but I think I could be really good at it. I would cut them slices of sweet peaches any chance I get. I’ll even figure out where to buy some more once the season ends.” Scooting closer to the table, you flick your wooden stick onto his lap. He aims for a deadpan expression. “And I just want to make it clear that I do not sleep around. But when I do, it’s because I want to. I have needs too, Toto.”

The fifty-two year old grinds his teeth together. “I’m sure you do.”

Wobbling against the shiny tiles, you gasp before a warm hand saves you. You let out a breath of relief, turning to see Toto shaking his head in disapproval.

“This is why you should leave to work on time. Now you’re just a mess.” Glaring at him, you fix your rollers as you walk out onto the private driveway. You were excluded from the rest of society, but part of you liked that. “How are you even going to get there?”

Spinning around, you almost crash into his chest before you regain your composure, close proximity making you struggle to find the words. “Toto, I never told you this, but…I can fly.”

“I’m being serious.”

You shrug. “I’m going to take the bus. Go back to your precious emails.” As soon as you twiddle your finger, he scoffs.

“I would take you—”

“But you’re busy— it’s fine.”

“Can you stop talking?” Beady eyes narrow up at him as he continues. “But I can’t because I’m drowning with work…You can take the Mercedes.” Your eyes light up.

“Are you fucking with me?”

He wishes he was fucking you, but no. “You better treat it like your own.” You click your tongue. See, you shouldn’t have said that because now my alter ego just grew. He points accusingly and you scrunch your nose. I promise. Handing you his keys, he watches carefully as you pull away, blowing him a kiss.

A few hours pass by before he feels the need to check up on you. He tries texting first. Busy night? Nothing. He tries calling. Nothing. He starts thinking you might've crashed on your way there, so he hurries out the door.

Paying the taxi driver, he marches past the doors as he is handed a piece of paper. He smiles back politely. “Don’t you guys think we’re past this?” The men take a quick glance at each other before nodding. Have a lovely night, Mr. Wolff.

Loud music makes the brunette wince, face twisting uncomfortably. Brown eyes study the club as he tries to decipher where you could possibly be. Maybe you didn’t make it and he was right after all. Jogging over to the bartender, Toto pants. “Peaches? Have you seen her?”

The young man points to the glass box, where you start your set. He sighs in relief as he takes a seat, rolling up his sleeves as he admires. Everyone cheers as you smile erotically. The Austrian can’t help but be one of them too.

Spotting him, you freeze. You narrow your eyes for a split second before you snap out of it, continuing your desirable movements. The music ends and just like that, you’re done. Hollering echoes the room when you brush past by.

“What are you doing here?”

A cheesy grin plays out. “I came to see you.” Weren’t you busy with work? He shakes his head. “Well, yes actually, but I thought you were dead in a ditch when you didn’t reply to my message or answer any of my calls.”

“Why could that be? Oh. Maybe because I’m working,” you hiss. “Listen, if you’re here as a client— fine. But if you’re here as Toto— leave.”

He narrows his eyes sharply and your breath hitches. “It’s Mr. Wolff, darling.”

You purse your lips. “Very well, Mr. Wolff.” Strutting away, you make sure you sway your hips. The brunette groans, falling back against his chair.

The night flies by as usual, until they book you. “Mr. Straforx, sitting in the back booth,” Ro informs you as you suck on your bottom lip, listening attentively. “Interested?”

“Very.”

“Actually, I am too.”

The rich accent makes your stomach flip as you muster up a stern glare. Toto’s lips form a firm line as he stands as tall as a sequoia. Fuming, you shake your head, perfectly done hair slapping your face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wolff, but I already agreed to somebody else. But rest assured, if I have time left, then I will get to you.”

“Is money the issue here?”

Your jaw ticks, temples grinding together harshly. “You think that’s all I care about?”

He shrugs. “I could lie and say no, but who am I kidding? We all care about money.”

Flustered, you scoot closer to Ro, who stands amused with the entire interaction. “Ro, tell Mr. Straforx that I’ll be there in a minute, and make sure to apologize on my behalf.” The older man nods, tipping his head towards the Austrian as he strolls away. “What are you trying to do, Toto?”

His lips flip to a teasing smile. “Mr. Wolff.”

“Oh, don’t you dare pull that card on me.” Your face pinches up. “This is an important client, I can’t say no.”

“How much do you want in order for you to come with me instead of him?” Your berry lips separate. “Name a price. I’m a self-made billionaire, sweetheart—a couple of millions are nothing to me.”

“I could never ask for you to do that,” you whisper, timidly fiddling with your necklace. “Deal with it. You’re not my boyfriend.”

His nose flares at the cruel reminder. “I never claimed to be. I’m a client.” Pause. “Two million.”

You gasp. “Are you insane?”

“You’re right, that’s childsplay. How about five?” When you still don’t say anything, he grins devilishly as he places a large hand on the lower part of your back. “Ro! Yeah, tell Me. Straforx that she’s coming with me. I’ll give you a bonus, don’t worry.” Your friend nodded happily. Press the button if you need anything.

You roll your eyes, sourly. “Thank you, Ro. Thank you so much.” Pushing you into the private room, you yelp. “Let go of me!”

The brunette scoffs. “Calm down, I was barely even touching you.”

Shivering, you focus your attention on the luxurious drinking options. Half of these were probably worth what you make in a year, but the rich fed off of that. The brown eyed man hums. “Is that something you’re interested in?” You quirk a brow. A drink? He shakes his head. “Do you want me to touch you?”

You blink up at him swiftly, rubbing your thighs together. “You’re reading into it. I don’t.” Digging his large hands into his pockets, he clicks his tongue. Okay. Then ask me to leave. We can pretend none of this ever happened. A sad whine bubbles up your throat as you fear that he might actually walk out if you even dared to imply. “Just don’t be a jerk.”

A threatening chuckles booms past his lips as he serves himself a drink you can’t even pronounce. He takes a slow sip before he raises his glass up towards you. “You’re getting to me a bit more than I’d like to admit. I mean, you must know that, right?” Demented, you play with your dress.

Tonight, you were cosplaying a wide-eyed devil. There was nothing threatening about your appearance, not if you didn’t count your crimson red lips. Plump, round, tempting. Your black gartner drives him to complete insanity as you bite down on your bottom lip, nervously. Your red dress is too short for his liking, but only because others get to enjoy the sight of your heavenly legs. The ones he was drooling over to nuzzle his face in between. Then your horns tussle your hair messily as you pant. He hasn’t even touched you and you were already dripping.

“That’s not true, Mr. Wolff.” The grin widens..

“You can call me Toto when we’re alone, sweetheart.” You shiver, lowering your gaze. No, you were right. It has to stay professional in this setting. The brunette rolls his tongue before squinting his eyes at you, fine lines forming. The sight alone makes you melt. “You should have thought about that before you came all over my thigh.”

Shocked at his vulgar words, you bat your eyes, flustered by the reminder. You had done that. But you had the upper hand that day and that was long gone as he towered over you. Inching closer, he drops down to his knees, him still appearing taller even with the action. You squirm.

“You were not playing fair that day. How come you only got to finish, and I didn’t?” You were hurting me, you cry out like a child as he scoffs at your weak attempt. Tugging you closer to him by your smooth legs, he droops them over his wide shoulders. Oh God. Turning his head to the side, he presses warm kisses. Your skin burns with every single one. “You know that’s not true.” Then, he’s hiking your tiny dress up.

Toto is hit with instant lust as he spots the wet patch of arousal. You whine, legs shutting around him. Do something—anything—but please, touch me. The corner of his lips lift up as he bites onto your red undergarment, pulling it down. Oh, you sigh at the intimate vision. Once you’re on full display, he groans. Your pussy glistens back at him, begging to be stretched out. “You’re…”

Humming, you place your soft palm against his cheek. “Toto…”

Like a starved man, he dives in, lips sucking on your clit as you fly forward, eyes screwed shut. He eats you out as if this was his true calling in life, the way he pinches your hips when you rock yourself against his face. He’s enjoying every second, every drop, as you find pleasure with the way his tongue swirls inside of you, finding new places you didn't know existed. The brunette nips quickly as you gasp, then he strikes his tongue. Warm sensation settles inside of your stomach. T-toto, holy fuck, oh my God.

You can feel the way he grins against your pussy as he continues his handy work. Slurping your juices, his dark eyes find yours as you pant, light sweat fanning your face. His large hand presses your dress down, further adding to the friction as your tummy is pushed down as well. Wailing, you writher an embarrassing amount that would normally have you pouring out apologies if it weren’t for his strong gaze.

“Taste so sweet,” he chants, kitten licks taking place. Your head rolls back against the couch, hand clutching onto his hair as he grunts. “Open your eyes for me, schatzi.” But you’re too busy trying to make this moment last, ignoring his command. Pressing his nose against your small hole, you squeal and look down. A coy expression takes over as he pulls away and rubs his fingers against your puffy clit.

“You s-so fucking good at this,” you pant, chest rises up and down, horns sliding down a bit before he extends his long arm, pushing it back. Your chest tightens. “I know what you’re going to do…Go easy, please.”

Taunting circles edge you further as he bites the squishy part of his cheek. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to try and make your fingers fit.”

Your words come out menacing as you scrunch your eyebrows together, a worried look clear to the Austrian. Kissing the inside of your thigh, he nods. “You’re an extremely smart girl.” Another kiss. “I’ll go slow. You won’t even feel any discomfort, just pleasure.”

“Wait!”

Panic strikes his face as you disconnect his left hand from your breast. Bringing his hand up, you inspect the wedding band. Why are you still wearing this? He groans. “Publicity. No one knows yet. They won’t know for a while, so I can’t take it off until then.” You hum, then slide his ring finger into your mouth. You can taste yourself, long digits immediately hitting the back of your throat as you gag. “What are you—”

Then he feels it. Your soft tongue and the way it lubricated the steel before you gently bit down and started pulling his hand back. His cock grows more pained from how hard he’s become. With a pop you smile, eyes crinkling as you show off the metal. “Better.”

“You’re…” I know, you seductively whisper as you return his hand to where it laid. Is that not what you like about me? The man practically growls as he slams two thick fingers inside of you. Your body jolts as you cry out. So good, Toto. His cock twitches at you ragged praises. His fingers barely even fit inside your tiny hole, but it sure as hell reaches your g-spot. White splotches burn your eyes as you dig your nails onto the side of his thick neck.

“Just like that. Oh, Toto.” He adds a third finger, and you hiss at the burning sensation. “That’s too much! Fuck.” He makes up for it, drawing figure 8’s between your velvety walls as you open up to him. Your legs start to slip down his shoulders as he spits. Keep them in place. You whimper, but obey, nonetheless.

The pad of his fingers continue assaulting your sweet spot, curling at a perfect angle. Your moans grow louder. Chocolate eyes flicker up to face your fucked up state. “Close?” You nod, vigorously. A warm strip teases your slippery lips. “Good. You’re doing so good, Peaches.”

Your hips buck suddenly as you suffocate him with your body, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Picking up on your candy nectar, he groans like a madman, greedy tongue swiping to lick every last drop. Shuddering at the feeling, you push his head away from in between your legs and grab him by the collar. For a second, he thinks you might kiss him, but when you don’t he realizes he’s disappointed. Instead, you plant a kiss on his cheek, hot breaths wrapping around his skin.

“Guess that makes us even, Mr. Wolff.”

“And then I rode a pony! I begged mama to let me get on a horse instead, but I just got a good scolding. But you would’ve let me, right papa?” Toto theatrically grins at Jack.

“Don’t tell her, but yes. I would have let you because you're a big boy now, aren't you?” The four year old nods, blond hair covering his eyes as he brushes it away with powdered hands from his donut. I miss you. When are you coming back?

Pressure tugs at the Austrians chest as he sighs. Jack was too young—he wouldn’t understand that he and Susie would no longer be living together. It was a mutual decision to tell him when the time was right, but it still killed him to lie to his son. Especially when he beams back with bright eyes. Toto winces. “Soon.” A pin drops. “Have you eaten your vegetables for the day?” Jack sprints away.

A soft laugh is heard from the other side of the screen as Susie comes to view. “He has not, by the way. Hi, Toto.” The brunette waves. “Are you actually busy with work or are you trying to forget about all your fatherly duties?”

“Is it that obvious?”

The blond chuckles. “Whatever it is, it’s great that you’ve taken time to yourself. Just don’t take too long.” Signing off, the fifty-two year old is left staring at his own reflection.

“He’s cuter than the pictures.” Toto flinches with surprise. Standing in a summer dress, you lick your lollipop. “His voice is super squeaky; it’s adorable.”

“Do you need something?”

His question may seem rude, but it’s not meant to come off as so. His voice is filled with genuine concern as he furrows his brows. You shake your head. “I’m bored, that's all.”

The brunette scoffs. “And by all means, you came to bother me.” A giggle dances out of you as you brush your hair back. Your sweet scent reaches him, even though you stand far enough away to make a run for the hills. “But I do have time. What do you have in mind?”

“I want to talk to my mom.” Your words shock him but he listens attentively, watching you as you sit on top of the table, legs swinging with rigidness. “I want to try and fix things.” He frowns. But you’ve done nothing wrong. You shift in an uncomfortable manner. “Well…”

“What did you do?”

“Remember how I got a restraining order, but I’ve never stepped close to Rosie?” He nods. You nibble on your thumb. “I s-sort of lied.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve met her, kind of…” You pout, hazed expression carving out through your doll features. “But I can explain.”

He sighs. “Please do.”

Your cheeks flush. “A few weeks before I met you, Connor called me. And I picked up. He told me he was willing to let me meet my sister, but only if I let him borrow fifty grand. To be honest, I don’t care if I never get my money back— I just wanted to be able to recognize Rosie’s face. Of course I said yes.” The Austrian listens carefully, loopy eyes dedicated to you. “I bought her ballet shoes, the one’s I told you about.”

“She was perfect. She giggled like the most angelic thing and her eyes crinkled in a way that made me love her instantly. I asked why Connor needed the money and if they were in trouble, but he only ignored me. Then he tried to kiss me.”

“He what?”

A timid smile plays out. “It’s okay, he does that sometimes, but I’m always able to push him off because most of the time he’s drunk out of his mind. I don’t normally care, but he had Rosie… What if because of some stupid mistake he put her in danger? I gave Rosie her gift and paid an Uber to take them back home.”

“My mom found out about the meet-up and marched right to my work. Don’t ask me how she got in. She yelled at me with such anger that I almost wanted to cry. She said I wanted to steal both Rosie and Connor from her. I promised that wasn’t true, but she didn’t care. Then I got my restraining order.”

The brunette’s words get stuck as he gapes at you. Clearing his throat, he drums his fingers against the table. “You should have told me the truth,” he begins. Hurt slashes your face—you thought he would understand. He offers a friendly smile. “But still…you’ve done nothing wrong.” A beat. “I can help you. Well, my lawyers can.”

Tears form inside your jello eyes. “Are you serious?”

He nods. “Your sister can’t grow up in a household that doesn’t want her, but keeps her just to twist the knife. Connor will pay for what he’s done to you.” Leaping off the table, you cross your arms. No. You can’t bring that up. He sends a sharp glare. “What he did was wrong, can’t you see?” Your bottom lip wobbles. She’s going to hate me even more. Tenderly, he sighs as he strolls over, cupping your face. “She shouldn’t, but if she does, at least you’ll be free from him. Has he only tried to kiss you?”

Closing your eyes, you release a wet breath. “He’s touched me a couple of times.” The Austrains eyes darken. Pushing his hands down, you quickly take a step back. “But by then I was due to move out, so it doesn’t really matter!”

“It matters a little,” he growls. “None of this is normal.” You flinch at his strong tone. “Sweetheart, tell me one thing; what would you do if God forbid, he did the same thing to Rosie?”

You gasp. “I would murder him.”

“So, you agree that we have to do something about this?” Hesitantly, you nod. “I’ll reach out to my attorney as soon as possible. I promise you that all of this will get taken care of.” Muscular arms drape over your shoulders as he hugs you. Bewildered, you blink as you stiffen. “You don’t hug much?”

“Nope.”

He booms with laughter, chest vibrating as you smile at the feeling. Everything about this feels right, so then why does that scare you?

He vows to be back as soon as he’s done with the car reveal. I don’t care, you reply as you pop a mint into your mouth, getting ready for work.

You’re going to miss me, watch.

And damn him, the fucker was right—you did. A part of you wishes he would rush past the doors, yapping about he thought you were dead and didn’t ask for permission to take the Benz. But he was across the world, smiling wide at media duties as you watched behind a tiny screen. It’s good that he’s taking time to see Jack, too.

“Why are you sighing so sad?” Roxy asks, fixing her combat boots. “Not getting any clients? Though I doubt it. They love you.”

You let out a forced laugh. “I’m not sad—tired.”

The red head furrows her brows suspiciously before hugging you. Your arms dangle lazily as you scrunch your nose. She giggles. “Does this have to do with Mr. Toto Wolff? He’s hot—crazy hot.” She untangles herself from you. “He must be the devil himself.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah,” she cheers happily. “But also, you’re totally in love.” Your stomach drops. No, I am not. Roxy rolls her eyes. “You’re a good liar, but you’re not that good. I’ve noticed the way you look at him. Like you want to eat him alive as you kiss him until your lips snap.”

You wince at the image. “You have a way with words…”

She beams, thin brows raising up. “I’ve also noticed that you haven’t gone into the private room since he walked in through those doors. So what, you’re just going to keep pretending?”

“You’re such a creep!” you squeal, delicate hand slapping her thigh. She squeals lightheartedly. You’re missing out on a shit ton of money. We’re talking dough. And yet you don't bat an eye because you don’t want anyone but him. Did I nail it?

You pinch your fingers together as you huff. “You’re crazy. Crazy. There is no way I could be in lo—” Hey! The ringing sound makes your blood run cold as you fear to turn around. Look at me. Foxy stares back at you with anxious eyes. Do you know her? Looking down onto your lap, you nod. “That’s my mother.”

“Oh shit.”

A dry hand yanks you by the arm as she spins you around. “I’m talking to you. Why won’t you look at me?”

You flinch. “I’m working, you can’t be doing this—”

“I don’t give two shits if you’re working or not, if I say we need to talk, then we need to talk.” Ro shakes his head, distressed as he apologizes. I’m so sorry, Peaches. She said she was your mom and I…I didn't know what to do. You smile back softly.

“Don’t worry. Can you get me a room?”

As soon as your mother enters the dark area, she whistles. “Fancy, but really? Bending over for any man willing to pay you a couple cents? That’s disgusting.”

Your cheeks burn up as you fight back tears. “What do you want? Is Rosie okay?” Panic rushes through your veins as you grab her by the shoulders, shaking her violently. She’s so thin, you think you might break her. “Is she okay, I said?”

“She’s fine,” she yawns. “So…this is what you’re up to? It always…catches me by surprise. Not really.”

“I had no choice,” you whisper meekly. “You gave me no choice.”

The older woman smirks. “Don’t you dare blame me. No one makes you do anything— this was your decision.”

You let out a tired sigh. “Just tell me what you want…”

Her eye twitches, as if she remembers why she was so angry to begin with. “I got your complaint; you’re suing me for being a bad mother and Connor for…assaulting you? Do you realize how stupid that sounds?”

“I’m not lying—”

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?” you yell back, acid sliding down your cheeks. “I would never make up such a thing. He assaulted me countless times as you never did a single thing.”

“I never saw anything.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You walked in on it! You called me a slut! I was seventeen for fuck sakes. But no—you blamed me for sleeping with your husband instead.” You take a good look at her; dark undereyes, frail figure, needles imprints everywhere. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to think about Rosie—”

“Rosie, Rosie, Rosie—I could not care any less about her! She just bugs with all her crying. It’s exhausting.”

“She’s just a baby.” Grabbing her hands, you soften your gaze. “If you don’t want her, fine, let me raise her…I swear I can do it.”

Your mother perks up. “You would do that?” Yes. Of course I would, you respond instantly. You’ll never hear about us ever again. Her thin hand cradles your cheek warmly, and for a moment, you let yourself lean against it. Then she pulls away and strikes you harshly, causing you to stumble back. “Why would I ever please you like that?”

Bring your hand up to your stinging flesh, you sob. “I-I…what?”

“Here’s what you’re going to do; you're going to drop the charges against me and Connor.”

“No.”

She clicks her tongue. “Are you sure?”

Rising up with shaky legs, you keep a firm face even though it begs to howl in pain. “I said no. You’re not going to hand her over willingly, okay…Then I’m taking you to court.”

“Like hell you aren’t.” Tugging your arm, she presses her face insanely close to yours. You wince at the smell of intoxication; you can’t even tell what kind. “I will fucking kill you, do you hear me?”

You let out a wet laugh, ripping your arm away from her tight grip. “I don’t care. I don’t care anymore, but I am saving my sister from you two—no matter what.” Her nostrils flare as she heaves. You let out a sad whimper. “When did you become so inhuman? You used to be kind, beautiful, ha—”

“Heartbreak does that to a person,” she simply states before walking out, leaving you to yourself as you finally come crashing down.

He didn’t expect for there to be a racket, but the house felt awfully quiet. He knows you weren't at work—he had checked. He thought maybe you could have been out with friends, so he sighs before resting on the couch. He sits there for an hour or so before heading upstairs to take a shower.

As soon as he enters the bedroom, he finds you covered with thick blankets as you cry. Alarmed, he rushed to your side of the bed. Oh my God, you shriek at the anonymous person before squirting. “When did you get here?”

“That doesn’t matter—what’s wrong?”

You hope brushing your tears away would stop him from asking questions. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

A pinched up expression maps out. Your chin forms a peach seed as you let out a weak sob and stand on the bed, making you the same height as him, throwing your arms around his neck. He’s stunned, but snaps out of it as he hugs you back, calloused fingers playing with your soft hair. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom visited me at work. She said some nasty things, but that doesn’t matter to me, what does is that she won’t let me adopt Rosie,” you muffle against his neck, salty tears wetting his collared shirt. “She’d rather raise her out of spite. She’s not made for this, she's malicious.”

“What else did she say?”

You pause, sniffling before pulling back with a reindeer nose. “That’s it.”

The Austrian lowered his gaze with subtle threat. “No, tell me everything she told you.”

“I swear that’s all.”

His brown eyes scan your face, but you remain still, only shaky breaths being released. He clenches his jaw. “Where does she live?” Your face drops. Why do you want to know? “Where does she live?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Stop being so stubborn and let yourself be helped—”

“I don’t need your help anymore, Toto!” You purse your lips, trembling hands brushing your hair back. Anger rushes over him as he inspects the purple bruise.

“Who did this to you?”

Sitting back down on the bed, your nose twitches. “I’m moving out.”

“Who fucking did this to you?” His voice is lethal. Thank you for trying to fix things, but I’m sure I can do it myself from now on. “What you don’t seem to understand is that you don’t have to. It was your mother, correct?” Forlorn, you agree with your silence. “What have they done to you?” he whispers, pain lacing his raw voice.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” you whisper, salty tears sliding down. “I’m going to kill your image—they’re going to hate you because of me.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” the brunette ricochets back. “All I care about is that you’re okay. That you find the happiness you deserve to have.”

Grimacing, you sniffle, shaking your head. “I’m starting to think that doesn’t exist. Or at least I’m so unlucky that I won’t get a piece,” you joke. “The closest thing I’ve felt to that is when I met you.” His heart melts as he stares back, adoringly. “You’ve helped me in so many ways, Toto. Thank you for that.”

“But—”

“I know.” Rising up on the fluffy bed, you tower over him a bit, pressing kisses on his temples, cheeks, nose, neck. “You’re the only man who's ever made me feel something real. I can’t explain it, but I hope it makes sense.”

He gulps. “It does. You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve made me feel the exact same way from the moment you stepped into my life.” He closes the gap between you two as you stumble back against the mattress, but his large hands prevent you from getting away. “You’re not perfect—you’re flawed. You don’t have your life together—but you’re trying to. You’re not the tough girl you make yourself out to be—but that’s because you feel the need to build up walls to protect yourself from others.” Your stomach churns with every word he speaks. “And somehow…you have me wrapped around your finger.”

It happens so quickly, the way he presses his lips against yours. He can taste the saltiness but doesn’t dare to pull away. Like an animal, you move your mouth against his, whimpers flowing to his ears like symphonies. Toto knows why you never made the first move; you were scared to admit your feelings. But he was too.

Almost as if you read his mind, you run your fingers against his scalp as he breathes out, against your open mouth. “You won’t do the same, right Toto?”

“What, sweetheart?”

Gloomy eyes reflect against his own. “Leave?”

“Unless you ask me to, then no.” He pecks your temple. “I can’t even imagine living without you anymore.”

That’s all it takes as you jump on him, silky legs wrapping around his torso like a piece of ribbon. He grunts loudly when you bite down on his bottom lip before letting go. “God, Toto, you’re—” As soon as he sucks on your throat, your sentence dies. Writhing against him, you try pushing him off as he chuckles, then he sets you down against the white sheets.

Immediately, you crawl back to the edge of the bed to where he still stands. Frisky hands tremble as you aim for his belt. Such a pretty girl, he thinks as you slip it off. You don’t have to do this. “I owe you, remember?” Then eager hands push his pants down, along with his boxers.

You knew he would be big, but that was an understatement. Toto was huge. Being 6’5 should have been a warning itself, but still. Drooling over his cock, you lick your lips, doe eyes fixating back to him. “I might not be able to take it all in my mouth,” you sheepishly state, red faced. The fifty-two year old has probably had a much better encounter; you were just making a fool out of yourself. Running his thumb against your cheekbone, the corners of his lips fly up.

“I’ll walk you through it.”

Humming, you delicately wrap your hand around his length. Even just feeling it makes the heat in your belly grow. He clenches his jaw. Jerking him off, you wrap your lips around the pink tip. The Austrian releases a dirty groan, hips bucking as you smile around him. Pulling back, you stare up expecting the next step. Start off how you normally would.

Pouty lips welcome him down your throat as you whine, the vibrations sending him into an orbit. When your palm slithers to what you can’t reach, he tsks. “You haven’t even tried.” Soft brows pinch together as if to say; Probably because I know I can’t either way. His nostrils flare. “Relax your jaw.”

Doing as you’re told, you gag as you squeeze your eyes shut and curl your toes. Your back arches, ass flying up as you struggle. A large hand reaches out to smack it. Yelping, you ease your mouth, thick member sliding down furthermore than you could have even imagined. There you go.

Swallowing around him, you bob your head at a steady pace, reliving the steps, too scared to mess up. The Austrian throws his head back, sharp jaw in clear display as he pants. “Just like t-that, fuck. You’re doing so…shit.” While he’s enjoying himself, tears burst out as you clench your eyes, lashes becoming darker. The feeling is definitely getting him off, but he wanted to make things easier for you.

Brushing your untamed hair back, he traces the bridge of your nose. Your orbs remain closed, and he finds himself missing them. “Breathe through your nose.” Ragged breaths fly out as your fingers dig against his thighs. He hisses. But gradually, it gets better. Glossy eyes stare up at him, lips stretch around his cock as you continue your filthy movements.

As if to prove yourself to him, you deepthroat him even more as his head rolls back, floppy hair following along. Soft fingers brush against his legs as he shudders, face twisted with pleasure. Pulling away, you swirl your wet lips against his tip, feeding off of his precum before forcing yourself back down.

Thick ropes of cum slide down your throat as you moan loudly. The brunette grunts, shaky breaths flying past his lips. With a teasing pop, you kneel up as you open wide. He moans at the sight of his release swimming inside your sinister mouth, then you swallow. Even though your throat is extremely sore, you still beam at him.

“Where have you been all my life?.” Climbing over you, he lays you flat, slipping your dress off. He’s stunned to find out you’re completely naked. Cherry red feathers on your cheeks. “Are you sure you didn’t know I was going to be back?”

Your lips curl. “No idea.”

He wraps his mouth against your bud as you whimper, hand massaging his head as he repeats his actions to the other. You could definitely fall asleep to this. When you open your eyes, you’re impressed to find out he’s completely stripped down, toned body exposed. The sight makes you grow excited, nervous.

“Are you on birth control?”

You curse softly. “I’m not. Crap.” Disappointed, you’re expecting him to climb off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he let out a raw chuckle. “I t-told you I don’t fuck men on the regular—”

“I don’t need the reminder,” he grunts. His brown eyes soften. “What’s your wish in life?”

Confusion paints your face. “To have you?”

“Cute.” Flustered, you focus on his contracting abs. Foaming at the mouth, you try to picture rubbing your core against them. “The other one,” he demands.

“Oh…” No. He can’t possibly mean… Your heart stops beating. “To be a mom.”

“There it is.”

Briskly, he pushes into you as you wince in pain. I know, I know, he coos. But it’s better this way. It won’t feel so bad in a few minutes. Crying against his humid chest, your jaw hangs open. “It really hurts, Toto. Oh…it burns.” Hot tears reestablish themselves inside your orbs. “You’re too big.”

“Breath, sweetheart, breath.” His voice calms you down as your mewls lessen. “See?” You hum. “I’m going to move, alright?”

“O-okay,” you respond, dizzy. The feeling returns—less painful—but returns, nonetheless. Panic expands through your chest as you begin to think he might split you in half. His cock was just so thick and veiny. But it felt delicious between your velvety walls. “Fuck, baby,” you pant.

“I knew you could do it.” A warm peck lingers on your shoulder. “You feel so tight, schatz. So warm.” He sighs in relief as your tiny cunt compresses against his length, easing the pain from being as hard as a rock. Worse. Strong arms pick your legs up over his bare shoulders, making him travel deeper.

“Toto, Toto, Toto—”

Eyes entertained against your slippery hole, he raises his brows. Yeah, baby? Getting a hold of his hand, you bring it over your stomach. His jaw clenches. “I can feel you.” Writhing in ecstasy, you toss your head to the side, small whines echoing between the vaporized walls. Pouding into you at a faster pace, he growls, bite marks being left behind on your legs. You hiss, clamping your eyes even harder, which makes you clench around his cock even more.

“Do that again,” he begs. “Do it—” You oblige, attention set on how he moans feverishly, hands adding pressure to your legs. For sure his imprints would be left behind. Taking advantage of the little power you have, you untangle yourself, greedily climbing onto his thick lap.

“Looking good, Mr. Wolff.”

He looked more than good—he looked eternal. The way his chest heaves, his soft pants, sweaty hair framing his handsome face, dark eyes praising you as if you were Athena herself. A confession finds into your brain as you halt. Beads of sweat cover his long nose as he appears concerned by the sudden break. Is everything okay? Rubbing your eyes as if you just had the worst nightmare, you blink hastily.

Roxy couldn't have been right—she never was. Except, she is this time. It's as if a warm glow towers over him, your chest feels awfully vacant, but you’re not scared because you know your heart has found its home in the palm of his hand. You laugh in amusement as you touch his face all over. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “What’s so funny?”

“I love you, Toto Wolff.”

A lump forms inside his throat as he tilts his head. “You do?”

You shrug sheepishly. “I do.” Kissing his lips, you sigh with content. “I love you, I love you, I love you; I adore you.” He can hear the clock ticking as he stares back with his lips slightly parted. “You don’t have to feel the same, you dont have to say it back—I don’t care, but I can’t keep living a life of regret…”

“I love you, too.” Cartoon eyes blink back at him as he chuckles. “Do you believe me?”

“Uh…” Your lips stretch out. “Yes.”

Shifting on top of the Austrian, you make sure to slip him back inside as you moan in unison. Riding someone has never felt so addicting. Gasping at the raw feeling, you dig your nails onto his shoulders. When you look down at him, you are pleased to find him struggling to catch his breath. His fingers pinch your hips harshly as you bounce harder and faster, as if he would regret his words and leave you. “So big.” You drool, hair flourishing around you. “Stretching me out so good, Mr. Wolff.” He growls at you captivating words. “Making it so easy to ride you, huh? Cock brushing against the perfect sp—oh my God.”

Your face twists up with pleasure when the tip of his cock brushes against the mushy part that makes you almost black out. Movements slow down but it’s not long before he lifts you up and slamming you back down. “Toto!” you squeal, flimsy arms reaching out to balance yourself on his wide shoulders. Everytime he hauls you up and you look back at him, he represents like a giant. Your eyes roll back, mouth hanging wide open. “I-I’m close-e-e.”

“Me too,” he grunts. Like a devilicious man on a mission, he slaps your face carefully, forcing you to connect your glossy orbs with his loopy ones. “Gonna let me cum inside? Carry my baby, just like you’ve always wanted?”

“Yes,” you chant. “Yes—all of it—yes.” Cradling his cheek against your sweaty palm, you smile. “Cum inside of me, Wolff.”

With one final push, you both release loud moans, a strong wave of orgasms crashing violently against one another. Huffing, he makes a ponytail with your messy hair before letting go. “You think it worked?” You giggle.

“We’ll have to wait and see.” Leaning towards him, you kiss him gingerly. His mind grows blurry with how meaningful you make it seem. I’m yours—my heart is all yours—but please don’t break it, it seems to tell him as his enormous hands squish you closer to him, as if that were possible.

“I know of a few ways we can make sure.”

Though you had mutually admitted your feelings to one another, there still didn’t appear to be a proper label to it all. Time was slipping, he would soon have no other choice but to leave and face all his responsibilities.

But you can come back with me, he would desperately bring up as he fucked you against the wall. Tits would be bouncing at a hasty speed as you look back with your mouth in an O. I want you to. You won’t ever have to worry about anything, I promise. You can go back to Uni. You’ll get custody over Rosie, and Jack will be over the moon. We could have a family of our own, just you and I, Peaches. Huh? How does that sound, baby?

It sounded perfect; like a dream. You could taste it already. Early morning calls that you wouldn’t mind because he’d be laying down next to you. Quiet time as you jot down notes and he stresses over the next big decision for the team. And at the end, you would be glad you made the choice to choose him. Just like he chose you.

With shaky hands, you brush his messy hair back as he dotes on your bambi eyes. The way they glimmered extra bright that night; like starlight. The brunette’s face would soften up when you trace his nose, the curve of pink lips, his lines. Everything about him was breathtakingly dominant.

You’d be a fool to deny.

So, you accept.

If Toto were to be told that he had died and ascended to heaven; he wouldn’t second guess the possibility. Because being with you felt exactly like that. Every passing second only adds to the amount of love he bottles up for you. It would overflow and he’d be okay; bring out the next. Oh, that one’s full, too? Okay, next.

All of it made sense. You matched perfectly in sync with him like a cozy glove and he wouldn’t have it any other way. There’d be whispers from others, but he doesn’t care. He’d deal with just about anything for you.

“You’re leaving so soon.” A click. “Have you thought about quitting?”

He can see you grow as stiff as a tree. Your back faces him, but he can still spot your reflection. Of course you looked absolutely lovely, but there was something different about…God. He doesn’t even know what to call it.

“I’m not quitting.”

The Austrians' lips form a thin line; shoes clicking against the floor even more. A boom of lighting fills the room as you flinch. He smiles slowly. “Right—not yet, at least. Not until you move to Monaco.”

More heavy silence. “Sure.”

Now he’s worried. Strolling closer to you, he brushes his warm hand against your shoulder, kissing your exposed skin. “What is it?”

His heart stops when he notices you blinking back tears; bloodshot eyes tracing his tall figure. His first assumption is the most obvious; your mother and Connor. They had probably done something, said something, and now they’ve got you—

“I’m taking the car. See you later.”

He blinks. The cold demeanor was something unusual on your behalf, but leaving without a goodbye kiss was alarming. Toto tries to suppress his feelings with a bottle of scotch, but nothing seems to work. He has to see you.

Gathering his wallet and house keys, he strides out the door before he spots his laptop wide open. As soon as he returned, he would have to answer endless emails, but for now, that wasn’t his priority. Inching closer, he reaches down to slap it shut when his pulse runs cold.

We should think about Jack.

He’s too young to understand anything of what’s going on, Suse.

Let’s just try one last time. I swear I’ll change.

I love you.

He knew instantly; you had read the messages. He had sent them, there's no doubt, but that was so long ago. The date was right there; all before he met you. Before opening up to you. But he doubts you spared enough time to spot the tiny detail. You saw his texts and that’s all; the rest was blocked.

Toto’s palms get sweaty, ears burning red, and heart racing faster than a fucking F1 car. How must you feel? You had made him promise that he wouldn’t hurt you and now this? The confusion was completely explainable, but he had to get to you fast.

It’s as if he owns the place, marching fiercely past the open doors that swing once they spot the Austrian. NDA’s were rather foolish when it comes to him now because he just held that much power. That much respect. But he can’t think of why something feels off. You were hurt, and he felt awful, but no…there’s something else. As if there were an actual wolf lurking deep in the woods; ready to pounce. The hair in the back of his neck stands up, goosebumps forming, and eyes flickering all over the rich club, hoping to find you.

“Hey,” he pants when he spots the familiar redhead. Foxy lives up to her name because her laser glare has him scared for his life. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance before strutting away, a row of men following. The Austrian pushes past them all, pleading just like any other, but for a completely different reason. “Have you seen, Peaches?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Where is she?”

“Around.”

The dancer beams at the group of businessmen who relax against their seat, hunting down without shame. They wore wedding bands, but who cared, right? Toto’s large hand grasps her wrist, tugging her away as she gasps, causing a commotion. He doesn’t care, he just has to find you.

Brown eyes glimmer threateningly but also soft because they’re both aware he needs her, for she only knows where to find you. “Listen, I know she told you what happened, but it was all some misunderstanding! The messages..they were sent to my ex-wife a long time ago. Before any of this, I swear…you have to believe me.”

Foxy narrows her thin brows, digging a sharp nail against his toned chest. “No, you listen—Peaches is one of the sweetest girls I have ever met; she's my other half, so when you hurt her…” A beat. “That’s it. She doesn’t forgive.”

His shoulders drop like an avalanche. “B-but it was a...you don’t mean that.”

The redhead struts away, long legs prancing like a vixen. “Believe me; don’t believe me—I don’t care. Just leave her alone.”

But he can’t do that anymore, he's in too deep. No matter how many times Foxy cursed him to leave, he just wouldn't. He would explain. Even if it were that last thing he did. All's fair after that.

“Mr. Wolff?” A red drink is extended out towards him kindly, to which he shakes his head with a forced smile. If you can even call it that. He’s sure he looks awful, dressed in all black, but it perfectly represented him for who he is and how he was feeling. It’s almost as if he were ready to show up to a funeral.

As time ticks at a snail's pace, he grows more nauseous. There’d be a moment where you see him and he doesn’t know how you would react. Fuck—he doesn’t know how he would, either. To some it may be embarrassing to weep in front of a group of worldly men, but if you looked at him a certain way where he knew it was over? He’d be the first, and without hesitation or shame.

He’s come to recognize your set as fast as a racing strategy. The stage would light up a soft yellow; swallow the room like the early sun. The piano keys would start off slow, taunting, and almost sinister—Yayo. And of course, you’d prance around like a broken angel, wings brushing your hair like his long fingers would.

But this is strange.

He’s too busy analyzing the colorful club when the lights burn black, only the glass box raining a bright red. He doesn’t even recognize it’s you.

The intro isn’t the notorious piano lullabies, but rather scratchy violins. Million Dollar Man slithers across the crowded room like a venomous snake, waiting to strike anyone who doesn’t lay their attention on them.

And this time, you’re no angel, you’re no devil. You’re both. It’s confusing and alarming, but also beautiful and breathtaking. While your dress is cotton white, your makeup is dark and tempting, lips dark red. Your knee socks are tied with a simple ribbon, making men drool like some type of fuckery. You look miserably broken. If anyone were to guess, then they’d say that you’re high off drugs, but that’s not the case. You're high off heartbreak.

And the simple necklace you wear, with his marriage ring attached to it, is a pelluid indication. Even if it was new level petty.

Toto is in such a trance that he doesn’t even feel when a group of hands push him to sit down, eager to have a clear view of their own. They all secretly envy the Austrian when they notice that he had landed himself the best seat in the house without even trying.

So, was it fate to be sitting here, in front of you? Was it fate to have met, then hurt you without the means? The music is almost terrifying, along with your black wings and white halo. All of this is utterly puzzling; was he supposed to be into this, or fear it? Was he supposed to feel his heartbeat in the pit of his stomach, drumming against his ribcage, or was he supposed to be at ease? But most important; would you spare him this time to apologize, or would you kick him out of your life? The last notion scared him the most as he sat like a tired soldier, brown eyes blinking to where you start to seductively twirl.

I don’t know how you convince them and get them. Shiny legs drag behind your delicate figure as your eyes roam the room, sighing with every lustful stare. This is purely pathetic, it didn’t make you feel the way you intended for it to do, but shit. All you wanted to do was flee the state and never look back. But there were too many things tying you back; Foxy, Ro, Rosie…A stinging sensation begins to form behind your orbs and you fiercely blink them away, refusing for the thought of Toto to be what brings you down.

But in a moment like this, what were you supposed to think about? Toto was many things; devilishly, cunningly handsome, tempting, brilliant, intoxicating; but he was also a fucking no-good, professional heartbreaker, a screwed up man who roamed earth without a sense of direction, who truly never deserved to fall in love again, especially with someone was tainted and loyal as you—

But the eyes don't lie. He’s become known by you; someone in your favorite book whom you look for in every page, despite it all. His orbs remind you of your favorite kind of dark chocolate, swirly and dreamy; enough to make you swoon, but they’re filled with more than just that. They’re desperate, as if ready to run endless miles if that's what it took for you to speak to him. They’re loopy, blazing nervously when you spot him, brows knitted with concern.

And he deserves it…you think.

Still, that doesn’t stop your stomach from churning, causing you to panic at the thought of spilling your lunch in front of everyone eyeing the glass box you're hidden behind; it could only ever do so much. Everyone can see your usually tantalizing persona fly out the window, a frail—shattered—girl taking your place.

He’s tricked you. He made you let your guard down, let him in, and then ramshackled you whole; and he hadn’t been nice about it either. How could you have ever thought he would choose you over someone who actually held his kid for nine months? You had seen the messages that sunny morning; birds chirped, flowers bloomed. He had been busy doing God knows what, and when his bright laptop dinged, you couldn’t help but peek. As you once told him; you loved gossip.

Jack is asking if you remember where he last left his stuffed bear? You know, the one with the white spots?

Susie. You had heard a lot about her—you’ve read, a lot, too— she was someone to admire. Helped create a path of perseverance for young girls; it was astonishing. The thought of Jack made you smile, then the bear, then her. Which is why you aimlessly scrolled once, playfully, and then you came to a rude halt.

If someone were to grovel that way for you, you would helplessly fall for it. Fuck, he pratically begged for a second chance. Heat weaved through your body, anger rising, and then falling cruelly with a sense of undeniable ache. You had cried; sobbed. Then you got ready for work.

When he had asked what was wrong, you wanted to stab him with the nearby knife, and the thought scared you half to death. You could tell he was deeply wounded by the cold shoulder, but why the fuck should you care?

Here—in Machiavellian Nights—trapped behind a transparent case, with disgusting men eyefucking you, you realize; there’s no place to run. An attraction is what you are; tourists are what they all represent. Toto’s massive figure swallowed his seat whole, long legs spread open naturally. And you hate it how handsome he looks, dark clouds painting his usually happy eyes. His chest dances up and down, wrestling to catch a breath. The hollers make him flinch in the slightest, grimacing.

The Austrian is apologizing, cryptically. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry. His lips aren't moving, but you can hear his pleads as the music continues.

C’mon! Dance, someone demands from afar, rough hand smacking the glass. Gasping, you purse your lips, continuing. Ignorance is horrible; especially coming from you. The idea of going on without you feel like a nightmare—torture. He tries standing up, and he doesn’t really know what his game plan is exactly in order to get to you, but heads turn and harsh arms force him back down.

It isn’t that hard, boy. To like you, or love you. It was as if you got yanked back into what is truly your reality. You can’t have good things in life. Your father hadn’t died—he had abandoned you. Your mother did too. And Toto…

Toto Wolff was just the same.

You’re glad no one can hear you choking back on tears, you wouldn't dare to fall. But emotions were running high, your throat felt raw, your eyes stung, knees felt wobbly, and it was too much. But aside from your hurt, an eerie feeling hugged your chest, forcing your rib cage to poke you as a warning. You allow yourself to look back up, rapidly scanning the unlit room. Everything was blurry—which didn’t help—but what was it?

You’re no longer focused; your legs sway, your gartner slides down, your nose is starting to get runny, and it was all a mess. Connecting your gaze back to his, you narrow them down like deathly blades. This is all your fault, they scream at him, enraged. If you hadn’t walked into my life, then I wouldn’t be this way.

You’re screwed up and brilliant.

“You fucking ruined me!” Running towards the glass, you violently slap and punch, over and over until you no longer feel any pain. Red bruises form rather quickly and everyone begins to murmur.

Look like a million dollar man.

“I hate you, Toto Wolff!” Muffled whimpers flow like a waterfall as everyone turns to face the fifty-two year old who sits with a hurt expression.

“I can explain,” he pleads, instantly rising up to his scary height and rushing over to where you’re caged. His large hand pathetically grasps it, fingerprints painting the shiny protection between you and him. “Sweetheart…”

So why is my heart broke?

“I’ll regret you for the rest of my—”

Chaos ensues; the volcano erupts. It’s suffocating, the way everyone tramples over one another, scattering like lab rats. The yells of terror make his blood run ice cold, swiftly turning around to face the open room. Foxy lets out a scream filled with agony as she crawls over to the stage. Acid slides down her face, makeup running. The other dancers run to hide where the bartender stands with his mouth wide open, orbs flickering with urgency. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he has to get you out of here.

“Open it!” Foxy cries, hands hitting the clear box so forcefully that her nails begin to chip, light gore beginning to slide down. “Open the fucking stage right now!” She lets out a string of pleas, but no one is listening—they can’t even try to with all the loud noise. The alarms go off and that’s what snaps him out of his spot of confusion and what makes her cry and fall back against her arms.

The glass isn’t shattered like in the movies, all over the floor, no. There’s just a singular hole, scratches circling around it—and spikes of blood coloring the crystal clear mirror.

Even with eyes closed, face sticky with tears, and blood spurting out of your mouth and chest, pooling around your angelic body, you were still beautiful. The ring lays flat atop your unbeating heart, shining one last time against the cherry lights. You were gone as soon as the bullet hit, but Toto was the last person you had seen. And you wish you had time to tell him you never meant any of it. You could never hate him; you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

“I…no. No. No.” Fists punch urgently, cuts finding a place in his pale skin. “Open it!” More pounds. “Let her out! Why is no one letting her out?” Trepidation sleeks over him as he stops his actions, taking a second to look at you. Your dark wings had somehow turned darker, your white dress is now drowned in crimson red, your halo is no longer on your head, and your lively skin is now ghostly pale, almost gray. “Peaches…” His voice quivers so much, he almost doesn't realize it's coming from him. “Get up, sweetheart—come on, just stand.”

His chest tightens when you go unresponding. “T-think about Rosie! She loves you; she needs you. I need you,” he declares, voice cracking. “The text messages are a mishap! I only love you, Peaches, that’s all! I swear I do, I swear it’s you…”

He dreads to turn around and face what was now his life. The music cuts, but the frightful screams continue. Toto blinks back the stingy feeling as he flickers up to make eye contact with who’s responsible for ripping you away from him.

You share the same eyes, but hers are sullen now. Her hair looks as if it could have once been glossy, but is now as dry as the desert. Her lips are nastily chapped, but an uncanny curl slips through as she ticks anxiously when Ro and the rest of the guards hold her without an ounce of remorse, cuffing skinny, needled wrists.

Your mother looks down at the gun, at her daughter, then at Toto. An unhinged stare strikes her impentent face.

“I brought her into this world…I can also take her out.”

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