#but it really does feel like. 'oh. we inherited this from them. whether we realize it or not. we did.'

[hua-fei-hua]

reading livejournal posts basically explaining livejournal site history and culture in a manner understandable to outsiders has me vacillating between "damn these people are just like us for real" and "they offered WHAT on livejournal???????"

[mayohaha]

Dunmeshi Fic

Laios's Bride

Couple : Laios x Kabru, slight Fallyn x Marcille

Warning (???) : Bi-Kabru, Moron Laios, NSFW 🔞

Premise : After Laios becomes the King of Melini, everyone is starting to wonder if Laios would ever marry anyone, well... will he?

P.S : I write this for my own consumption... i just need this.

Yaad (in Delgal's body) been trying so hard to push Laios to have a Bride as he said "You should have an heir to proceed the succession!" Or so he said. Despite so, everyone (except Laios) knows it's because of Laios's curse that Yaad keeps asking him to have an heir. Despite so Marcille was unsure whether Laios's curse would be inherited by his heir. This has cause Kabru to fear over Laios as his right man.

Laios, on the other hand, has been wondering about who would be his bride. It doesn't seem possible to find one for him. He did have a lover back then, but his feelings towards the person isn't even that... passionate -nor romantic enough. He also thinks about who would ever fall for him. After the demon shows him his desire to be accepted, he realizes it would be almost impossible for him to find a lover knowing people hardly understand him.

On his bed, he's lying over while daydreaming about having a bride. He is trying to portray a beautiful red hair women, but it ended up reminding him of his mom. He tried harder to find someone else, he remembered the succubi form of Marcille -but instead of that, he was too focused on the monster looks instead...

"Ugh!!! It would be easier if I'm not a King! Kabru fits this role more!!!" Laios scream within his frustration.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Brother?"

"Oh Fallyn! Yes, come inside!" shout Laios.

Fallyn opened the door and looked at her brother, looking quite messy after he got frustrated.

"I heard you screaming from outside. Did something happen?"

"Oh... uh... I'll be alright, sorry to bother you."

Fallyn sat beside him and start to pat her brother head softly.

"Marcille told me that Yaad has been quite pushy about you having an heir. She said that you might get frustrated over it. Kabru also started to get worried that it might make more problems to Melini."

Laios's face becomes paler. It does frustrate him. However, it's not like he doesn't want to have a bride and an heir. His self-esteem says that he doesn't deserve any of that. Looking at this, his little sister hugged him tight.

"No need to think too much brother, you'll find someone to love, who loves you too someday."

Fallyn coughed a bit, then she proceeded with her speech.

"-I didn't know mine too at first, till I was being told by Chillchuck that Marcille is in love with me. I just realized that she loves me that much after listening to your journey. After she confessed her jealousy and her broken heart after I tried to consider Shuro's proposal, we ended up being together."

Fallyn flustered thinking over that memory. Laios's is truly happy knowing that his sister finds someone who loves her sincerely.

"It seems impossible for me, though. But maybe -maybe I'll find one like you do Fallyn. I'm so happy for you."

Both of them are smiling to one another.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Laios, are you there?"

BAAAAAAAAAMMMM

A male voice came from outside the door. He then smashed to get inside without even waiting for Laios to answer.

"O-oh sorry, I didn't know you're talking to Fallyn."

"Ah, it's fine, I'm preparing myself to sleep anyway." said Fallyn softly.

Fallyn kiss her brother's head.

"Well brother, take your time okay."

Laios nodded to Fallyn and waved to her as she went out.

The male who smashed the door is his right hand, Kabru, he looked somehow a bit... frustrated? But, mixed with some worries. He goes inside and grabs a seat next to Laios's bed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your talk with Fallyn -it's just I think we really need to talk."

"Ah yeah, it's alright... But, what bothers you Kabru?"

Kabru was messing his hair as Laios's asked that.

"Yaad's demand about your heir... do you have any idea on facing that?"

Laios shakes his head while looking sad. Kabru realized it's hard for him as well.

"Well, Marcille said that the chance that your heir would inherit your curse might be low as well. I don't think you need to think much about that haha!"

Laios's didn't bother Kabru's statement about that. His head seems to worry over something else instead.

"I don't even think someone would love me like that you know..."

His voice sounds desperate, but Kabru can't think about anyone either, not even Chillchuck's daughters, the orcs, nor any maiden would want to be Laios's bride if they know how Laios is. He is unable to see Laios's desperation being put on his face, though.

"Laios, you're the brave King who faced the demon and bring the glory to Melini! There must be someone who would love to be your bride!"

Laios suddenly stare Kabru with his dark eyes.

"Who? Who would it be? Not even you would love me like that."

"H-huh?!" Kabru flustered hearing Laios's words.

M-me?! Does he love me this whole time?! W-wait, did he chose me because he loves me? It doesn't make sense!!! Or is it?

Kabru tried to regain himself. Laios, on the other hand, looking down to his hand in front of him. Kabru then put his hand on top of Laios's.

"Do you think I would fit to be your bride?"

Laios was struck by that question. He didn't ever think about whether it's possible or not, but if it is, Kabru is the best bride he could ever asked. Someone who has the charm and being loved by Melini, also the best person who understands him. What a big win!

"OF COURSE!!! YOU'LL BE THE BEST BRIDE I COULD EVER ASKED!!!"

Laios impulsively made such answer.

Kabru struck off. He is beyond flustered. His whole face is red, thankfully his dark skin hides it, but he couldn't even think. How come someone like Laios managed to get this side of him? But, does Laios even love him?

He is regaining himself again, clearing his throat and start to talk again.

"Uh well... well then, say... can you even think to sleep with me?"

"Sleep with you? Well, sure! You can sleep here with me." Laios patting his bed.

Laios's face is like the golden haired dog looking moron and excited in the same time. Kabru still trying to hold his flustered. He then slide beside Laios, as Laios gave him a place to fit on his bed. It was a bit awkward for them at first, but Laios seems to fit in quite well. He's still smiling like a dog, and Kabru can't help to giggle.

Kabru embrace Laios's face, making him facing his. He get closer and put his nose on Laios's. He can feels Laios's breath. Then he whisper towards him.

"Can I kiss my King then?"

Laios flustered -can't think, he nodded and letting Kabru giving him a kiss.

It was tense, a bit cold... but then it changed. Tender, soft, and a glimpse of sweetness can be tasted. He grasps for some air, and dig in for more.

Kabru didn't let go either, he is eager. He took more, not letting Laios to take a break. Changing his position -he didn't let Laios to stop kissing him. He is now sitting on Laios lap, holding his head, craving more of his lips. All he can think about is how big Laios is, and how small he is. How muscular Laios is, and how thin he is. Yet, how Laios holding his back gently, scared to hurt him while he is eating Laios alive. It was so heaty, and none of them is stopping.

The kiss took much longer than Laios expected. He had never had this kind of burning sensation before. Kabru stopped and grasped for air as Laios gasped.

Laios eyes has become that puppy eyes. Asking to be loved, and not being let go. Kabru melts into his eyes.

It's not the first time he felt this way to him. Remembering the time when they met again after Laios fought the demon. His desperation that time when he feels that he has failed. That moment his eyes asking to be loved, the same like how his eyes look right now. Kabru just can't let go.

Laios tried to talk, but his word stuck on his mouth. Kabru came in again to peck his lips. Holding his head, then putting his head to Laios's.

"Say, how does it feel?"

Laios gulped.

"Hot..."

Kabru giggles after hearing what Laios said. Didn't realize that a hard bump touches his crotch.

"O-oh..."

"A-AH!" Laios screamed.

Kabru put his on his mouth, preventing him to make further noise.

"S-ssht... it's alright, I'll take care of it."

Laios jolted as Kabru changed their position. He asked Laios to sit on his bed edge, then opened his pants, and slid off his undies. Laios's lower head sprung off, and already quite hard. Laios kept jolting, but he tried hard not to make any noise.

Kabru started to slide his hand up and down while Laios whimpered. Laios got wet easily, since his pre-cum didn't take long. He is so erected that he hardly able to hold anything much longer.

Kabru took the opportunity to suck it and make it even more drenched. Laios tried as hard as he can not to cum on Kabru's face.

"S-stop it, I need to cum."

Kabru made the last suck deeply, then stopped as Laios quickly cummed while his body squirmed. He made quite a mess on Kabru's shirt.

"A-aahhh!! I don't mean to-"

Kabru just smiled. He licked a bit of it to tease him, and then he stood up. He took the napkin on the nearest table. Swiped the liquid from himself, and clean Laios's.

Laios just stand still while still squirming. Once it's done, Kabru throws the napkin away, and he slides into Laios's side to sleep with him.

"Am I good enough to be your bride Laios?"

Laios nodded so hard.

Kabru just giggles after watching him like that. He snuck into Laios's chest, and Laios adjust his hand to cuddle him.

"I can grow my love to you into such love."

He gazed into Laios's eyes.

"The kind of love your bride would love you."

Laios's face became so red. His eyes hardly focus on Kabru's. Kabru embraced his face one more time and gave him a short sweet kiss.

Laios pushed himself to say words.

"I-I would love you... as my lover."

Kabru smiled, listening to that. He started to close his eyes. Laios joins afterward and sleeps while cuddling his beloved one.

Well, it seems that an heir would be another problem, but for now, Laios is fulfilled with the bride he gets.

[tailsrevane]

[tv review] tng 7x10-12 (1993-94)

7x10 “inheritance”

hey remember two seasons ago when we gave data a weird mommy issues episode? oh, you do? shit, we were hoping you wouldn’t. c-rank

7x11 “parallels”

this is always one i look forward to. like, i love worf episodes and i love alternate timeline episodes and this is both.

i love the sort of “main” alternate timeline that worf ends up in for reasons that i’ll get back to later, but i also love the process of getting there like all of the little jumps in reality that worf keeps going through. they start small at first but are still unnerving, and eventually it gets to the point where it feels like reality is literally gaslighting worf and i just love the slow escalation to get to that point. it’s just a much different kind of episode than your garden variety alternate future episode or mirror universe episode or whatever. the variety is this episode’s real killer app.

but yeah i love that the somewhat stable, drastically different reality worf kind of settles in is the alternate future where the best of both worlds “mr. worf… fire” cliffhanger actually resolves with the borg cube destroyed at the cost of captain picard’s life, making riker’s promotion permanent. like, this is almost certainly the most interesting & significant “what if?” turning point in the show’s run, and getting to see the fully-realized captain riker who’s been doing it for three years since then just scratches a very specific narrative itch.

there’s also just so many wonderful little touches here like captain riker telling prime universe captain picard that it’s good to see him. it’s a great moment for jonathan frakes as an actor, and letting riker have that moment considering everything else going on around it is a great bit of writing.

having wesley crusher back as a lieutenant and tactical officer is an interesting touch, like it actually doesn’t feel like a super great fit for him at all? but it does actually follow from what he was working on in “the best of both worlds” so i guess ymmv as far as whether you think that makes sense for him or not. and obviously i love the fact that a permanent captain riker picked worf as his first officer, like i love their relationship so much even apart from being a shipper.

but yeah this is for sure one of the best episodes of the show, and after a pretty rocky season up until this point it’s nice to see that the show still has this in it. not that there aren’t a few more great episodes ahead, but this is the first really resoundingly good one of the season. s-rank

7x12 “the pegasus”

although this is functionally another “someone’s past comes back to bite them” sort of episode, and i do think there was way too much of that in this season, this is by far the best of the bunch. partially because it’s riker’s former commanding officer who shows up to make things awkward rather than a secret family member or whatever. in general, though, the whole thing is less soap opera-esque and more star trekky.

there’s also a ton of political and military posturing with the romulans, a well-written triangle of tension between riker, picard, and riker’s aforementioned former captain, and most importantly a resolution that hinges on riker acting with integrity despite personal cost, so in other words will riker being will riker. and that’s just always a good thing to use as the fulcrum of your episode. a-rank

[hansensgirl]

push it to the limit.

summary. | As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him.

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, watersports, obsessive behaviour, coercion, bribery, dark themes, drinking (champagne), hate fucking, unprotected sex, rough sex, public sex, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation, breeding kink, choking, allusions to anal, reader is really rude (so is Niki), *sexism/misogyny/paying for sex (see a/n), and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.4k

pairings. | Dark!Niki Lauda x Reader, James Hunt x Reader (it’s one-sided).

author’s note. | please enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. *he talks about paying you for sex as a way to degrade you, it’s brief and in german! it does not reflect anything about me or my blog. we are pro-sex work here! it’s just fiction.

“Look! There he is!” a small voice tells you, pointing somewhere with a great distance. You’re not sure how he manages to spot his favourite racer from so far. Among the sea of heads, your younger brother sits on your shoulders. You can feel him touching you down to your bones, and you try to ignore the pain just for him. “You sure? You said that five times before, y’know,” you denote, and you hear the six-year-old groan. “Yes, I’m sure! Look, he’s drinking that nasty stuff like always,” he adds, and you realize he’s talking about James’s signature champagne.

“It’s not nasty,” you mumble under your breath, remembering the way the pleasant liquid felt and tasted against your tongue. Sticky gold is what you’d describe it as, and you recall how it stained your skin. Shaky hands are bound to tremor even more under pressure, and your friend is an absolute clutz. It’s no wonder she made such a mess, as it is one of her best traits. But a particular pair of hands that seemed to have Midas’s touch cleaned you up, and you still to this day wish you were awake to thank them. You have many regrets, but that’s just a small one.

“Can we go closer to the fence? I want to try and talk to him,” your brother politely requests, and you let out a heavy sigh. Your mouth is pressed in a line, and you begin to shift your feet. You’ve got boots made of suede, a brown colour that always seems to go best with your all-black outfits. There’s a matching jacket on you as well, and it has fur on the cuffs and collar.

“What’s the marvel of watching it in person rather than watching it on television? Out here, we struggle so much, and you can barely even watch them properly. On the television, well, you see it all, and you can be as comfortable as you want,” you wonder out loud, and the child holds onto you tightly. He squeezes your head tightly, and the ribbon in your hair begins to fall in your face. It’s white silk, with a lovely hem to it. You save it for these races your sibling always wants to go to. Your other coloured ones are left for daily excursions, and sometimes a good party, too.

“Excuse me!” you loudly call out, and other women cast you nasty glares. You’ve seen those same looks one too many times, and you don’t pay any mind to them. If they truly care about their spots, they’d stand up and fight for them. But they’re just like babies with a piece of candy in their tiny fists. Maybe a jellybean, or perhaps even a pack of those oh so enjoyable Sour Patch Kids. “Why do you like only him?” you ask, raising both your eyebrows as you get closer to the fence. “I like James and Niki!” he exclaims loudly, and you loop your fingers between the holes of the fence.

“Niki? As in Niki Lauda? That arrogant, Austrian asshole?” you question in shock, not minding your foul language at all. “Yes! The guy that Dad hates. He’s cool, and he’s fast,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “Honestly? There’s nothing cool about him. He’s just… fast. James is the cool one,” you argue, and you can hear him groaning. “You like James Hunt because he looked at you that one time,” he snaps back in annoyance, and you sigh dreamily in remembrance. “Exactly! Now I need to look for Niki, I wanna say hi to him!” your brother exclaims, and your eyes scan the entrance area for Niki Lauda.

“Don’t just say hi to him; ask him for an autograph! We can sell it to one of his fans afterwards. They’re always dying for anything of his,” you propose, and your brother simply ignores the swindling ways that you’ve inherited from your grandfather since you were a kid. It’s the reason why you tend to find purses with deep pockets and smooth zippers that don’t pinch on the inner fabric. You reach into your bag, and you grab a marker that you’ve always got with you.

The crowd gets louder and louder, almost as if you’ve got headphones on your head and you want to turn down the volume, but you keep hitting the wrong button. A woman shrieks in your left ear, and a man whoops in the other. More bodies press against you, and with the marker in between two of your digits, you hope that you don’t return home with billions of bruises. On the big screen, recaps from the previous races are being played. It’s win after win, all on behalf of Niki Lauda and his incredible luck that doesn’t seem to have any end.

You’re finally able to make out what people are screaming; the curly-haired man’s name. “Niki! I love you!” they all shout, and you wonder if any of them like James. It seems like you haven’t found your people, and maybe just for today, you’re the odd one out. “Seems like you’re not the only one that has Niki amongst their favourites,” you grumble, and your brother lets out a giggle. A few moments later, he sits up far more proper on your shoulders. The hand with the marker in it grabs onto one of his legs, and you make sure he doesn’t fall down and ends up being the true loser of this race.

“Niki! I’m your biggest fan!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, using his full voice and then some. You look over to the entrance, and you spot the brooding Austrian wrapped in red walking out with a deep frown on his face. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but your brother doesn’t care about your deep annoyance towards his idol. Niki shoots a look over to where you’re both standing, and your brother waves his arms from side to side, trying to get the racer’s attention. Even if he doesn’t, you have a feeling that Niki will be more displeased than anything.

It only makes sense, as he always acts that way with his fans though they’re the only people who appreciate him.

His nose is upturned, and he tries to pinpoint your brother and his powerful screams. High-pitched yet so loud, it’s no wonder why his tantrums are the root for almost all household headaches. “He’s looking over here,” you tell him, and your brother nods. “Yeah, because of me! He’s going to come, and I’m going to meet him!” he squeals, somehow connecting none existent dots to fuel a form of hope that dwindles inside him. You can be mean, but you’re not cruel. So you won’t be a realist, and you’ll let the youth on your shoulders believe what he wants to think.

“And when you meet him, ask him to sign something,” you advise, not letting go of your chance to make a few hundred dollars. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s pondering whether or not he should do it. “Niki! I love you!” the woman next to you screams as if she’s using every bit of her energy to get him to notice her. Your head already starts to ache just a bit, and you wish you brought some form of a pain killer. Niki saunters over to the fence, and for some reason, you don’t feel proper behind the fence.

It’s the way he carries himself with the highest of heads, a sort of confidence dragging with his every step. He knows he can do anything right now, and everybody except you would love him for it. He could make an entire turn and not greet his fans, and they’ll laugh it off. You’ve witnessed his haughtiness, and there’s no doubt inside you that you’ll see it again. “Niki! Good luck on the race!” a person says, and the rest of the crowd laughs at them.

“Dude, he doesn’t need your luck,” someone next to them says before elbowing the poor fan’s ribs. You can hear them wince in pain before they start to scream at the racer once again. Niki raises his hands up to his chest, almost as if he’s surrendering to something. That bratty smirk of his is replaced by a cheerful smile, and while everyone adores it, you see right through the façade. “Hello, everyone!” he greets, and you already want to roll your eyes until they fall back into your skull.

Niki stands right in front of you, and you try to look somewhere other than his face. Your view darts wildly until you finally settle on looking at the exceptionally boring asphalt underneath your feet. The screaming quiets down, and you wonder if everything is okay. “Uhm, Mr. Niki Lauda? I love you! I’m such a big fan! I watch all of your races, and I try to go to them all! Can I have an autograph?” your brother gleefully expresses, and you snap your head up at his words.

Much to your dismay, you lock gazes with the man you hate most in this entire stadium. His eyes are rather dull, yet they’ve got a sort of darkness in them that makes you feel just a tad bit uneasy. Both begrudgingly and excitedly, you hand the marker to your brother, who, in turn, gives it to his idol. Niki takes it gratefully, and he raises his least dominant hand. The other fans try to reach for it, for him. But he ignores them, and he gives a high-five to your brother.

You can’t hear the sound of their palms meeting because the displeasure of the crowd drowns it all out. “What do you want me to write it on?” Niki questions, taking the cap off of the marker. “Uhm, my shirt?” he offers, stretching the red fabric towards the elder. You observe as the racer awkwardly signs his name on your brother’s clothing, and you know that your Mother is going to be more than angry. Your Father, on the other hand, will be filled with pride and excitement.

“Thank you so much!” the child squeals, and Niki simply waves his hand as if it was no big deal to him. But you know that deep down inside, he was probably a bit annoyed. “Do you want an autograph, Miss?” Niki asks, and you take note of how his demeanour has changed. His features are softer, and his eyes seem to be lit up. “Oh, uh, no, thank you. I’m waiting for James. I love him a lot,” you tell him, pushing your shoulders back in confidence. The people around you let out gasps, and they follow their sounds up with whispers that aren’t so hushed.

Niki’s face drops, and you give him your fakest smile. He stares at you, almost as if he wants to lash out and scream. Maybe even call you a name or two. “That’s alright,” he assures after a while, and you have the urge to say something snarky. He hands the marker back to your brother, who is too busy being in awe of his favourite racer to listen to you being on your worst behaviour. Niki walks off, but this time, his stride lacks his boldness. “He’s so cool!” your brother squeals, staring at the Sharpie. You sigh, knowing that you two will constantly butt heads over Niki.

“Well, I beg to disagree.”

“Niki! Is everything okay?” one of the mechanics asks, and the star nods his head mindlessly. Instead of pressing him for some sort of answer, he leaves Niki alone to mull all by himself. There is not one person who dares to talk to him before the race unless it has to do with the car or the competition itself. It’s out of pure fear because nobody likes to face the Austrian’s wrath. From screaming way too loudly to piercing, uncomfortable stares, he never knows how to properly communicate with others.

He gazes at you from just a few mere metres away. His eyes are like ice, and he hopes you can feel the coldness from where you are. He really fucking hopes you do. You’ve got that sultry look to you, and it’s not cast towards him. No, it isn’t at all, and it irks him all the way to his bones. You ogle James fucking Hunt. Of all the other inferior racers there, you choose to admire James, and Niki hates you both for that. At every single race, he’s seen you show up to, you never look at him.

You don’t acknowledge him at all. It doesn't just hurt his ego; it also breaks his heart. Your preference and love for the Englishman injure those butterflies inside Niki’s stomach, and yet they still continue to flutter. The funniest, most ironic part of everything is that the races you attend always end with Niki being the winner. Never James. But you still idolize him over the Austrian, and he’s tired of it.

“Make sure it goes fast, okay? Fast, but nothing should catch on fire or malfunction,” Niki tells his technicians, and they halt what they’re doing. “But, Sir-” one of them starts, and Niki closes his fist for them. “No,” he simply states before crossing his arms once again. Niki looks back over to you, and you’ve now got a smile on your face. He loves the sight, but he knows his adoration will turn sour in a few seconds once he follows your line of gaze. So he chooses not to, and he decides to use you as his motivation.

The racers all go to their cars, and they pull their helmets on. Some are dressed in black, some in white, and only two in red. James and Niki. Niki is surrounded by his team, and James has twice the number of people next to him. Along with mechanics are girls in short skirts with jackets similar to yours. Deep down, you wish you could switch places with one of them, but maybe it isn’t as good as it seems to be. Perhaps your spot behind the fence with your younger sibling is what’s meant for you.

Your neck is more than exhausted. Your shoulders have a unique pain to them, one that not even doctors can begin to describe. Your bones are in desperate need of a crack, and your muscles crave a lengthy stretch that’ll leave you shaking. Yet, you continue to stand there with no complaints ready to fly off your tongue. The whooping behind you is so loud, but you’ve gotten used to it. “C’mon, Niki! You can do it!” your brother cries out, clapping his hands in excitement.

Niki flashes a thumbs up, and he looks at you one last time. As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him. Perhaps this time, you’ll realize he’s the best racer there is. He takes a deep breath, and he reassures himself that he’ll win as always.

“I have a feeling Niki is going to win this one,” the lady next to you says, and her friends nod their heads in utter agreement. You want to ask why she thinks that, but you’ve already left a bad taste in the crowd’s mouth. “Do you think Niki will win?” you ask your brother, looking up at him as best as you can. “I think so, but maybe James will surprise us!” he predicts, and you nod your head. “I hope James wins,” you whisper under your breath. Your bottom lip falls victim to your teeth, and you gnaw on it out of stress.

You keep your sights on James, and occasionally, you glance at Niki. Perhaps it’s simply just morbid curiosity that’s eating at you because there’s no way you’d just casually look at a man you despise with all your heart. As all the racers go to their designated spots in their cars, excitement fills your stomach. But it’s mixed with fear, as anything can go wrong at these tracks, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You get lost in your thoughts, thinking about all possibilities.

Who will win? Who will get hurt? Who will get angry? Who will become sad? You ask yourself all these questions that don’t truly matter much to your life, and yet you still try to find an answer inside of you.

Suddenly, the sound of engines revving and then taking off fills your ears. Screams follow them up, and you realize that the race has started. You wait until every single car leaves your view before looking at the scoreboard. You can’t bear to watch them risk their lives while you stand not so comfortably yet safe behind a fence. “Oh my God! James is in the first place!” you squeal like a kid in a candy store, and your brother claps.

Some of the people around you cheer for James, and others for Niki. But you ignore them, and you simply focus on what the orangish-yellow neon lights say. Some names switch spots rapidly, perhaps too quickly for you to keep up with. But you stay trained on the upper two; I. HUN, II. LAU. The former stays on top for most of the race, and the latter switches with him every now and then. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” you nervously mumble, hoping that the Englishman stays on top.

“Seems like your favourite is going to win,” the known lady cleverly smirks, and you give her the side-eye. “Yes, because he’s good at what he does,” you confidently agree, hoping that you won’t have to eat your words in the next few minutes. She chuckles before shaking her head. “No wonder you don’t like Niki Lauda,” she expresses, shaking her head practically in some form of awe. “What are you talking about?” you annoyingly press, already growing tired of whatever conversation she’s trying to make.

“You’re both egotistical and full of yourselves. You do it because that’s who you are, and Niki does it for his own reasons, like pure enjoyment. It’s so obvious for you to dislike him because he’s a reflection of you, and you hate that,” she states, proud of herself for whatever reasons. “That’s dumb, and so are you. He does it because that’s who he is. I do it because I don’t like some people—such as yourself—and because I have plenty of reasons to be prideful. Not egotistical,” you snap, and she raises her hands as if she’s surrendering.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Your mood has turned absolutely irritable, and the bitterness has claimed you entirely. You realize that you haven’t checked the places since before speaking to the lady, and you get excited. Flicking your head up, you expect to have your preferred person’s name at the very top, but instead, you see the name of the one and only Niki Lauda. I. LAU, II. HUN. “No, no, no!” you panic, watching as James stays in second place. None of the names change places at all, and you find yourself to be absolutely crushed. “Yes, yes, yes!” the crowd cheers and your face has fallen in disappointment.

Niki’s name gets announced, and everyone is absolutely elated. Everyone apart from you. Your brother celebrates the win from his high spot, and everybody jumps for joy. You stay silent, and you try your hardest to not swallow your pride. Each driver gets out of their cars slowly, and they congratulate the Austrian with smiles on their faces. You stare at him callously before you notice that James is still grinning. Despite not winning entirely, he never actually lost. So there’s no reason for you to be so dull and gloomy.

He walks off with his posse of men and women, and you realize maybe it’s time for you to head home as well. “So, your favourite won,” you say to your brother, and he giggles. “Yep! And yours lost!” he jokes, and you let out a forced giggle. “Yeah, yeah,” you brush off, making your way through the energetic body of people you strongly dislike.

Niki is engulfed in overly suffocating hugs. Some hands shake him, and some even slap him on the back, not so lightly. He doesn’t know which pairs belong to which bodies, and yet he goes with them all anyway. “You did great, Niki!” one voice praises. “Yeah, great job, Niki!” another adds. He thanks everybody in one sentence, and he pulls away once they start to mingle amongst themselves. The fantastic win of his isn’t what’s on his mind. It’s the thing that’s been etched and burned into his brain for him to think about, even though it should be appreciated now.

No. You’re what’s on Niki’s mind, and he has no intention of letting you leave.

He looks over at the swarm of heads that may have drowned you, and he can’t find you there. Not one trace of you is left behind, and his blood boils. Do you truly hate him to the point where you can’t even stay back for a few more seconds? Niki swears in Austrian under his breath, and he frustratingly walks over to the crowd. Fingers that aren’t yours reach out for him, and he ignores them all. “Have any of you seen that woman with the little boy on her shoulders?” he angrily questions, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

His heart is still clamouring wildly in his chest, practically beating against him to be let out. “Uhm, she just left… She went that way! But I could easily replace her if you want…” a woman flirts, and Niki completely ignores her words after he gets what he wants. He leaves abruptly, and they are still yelling after him. “So eine verdammte Schlampe. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dir eine Lektion zu erteilen, du hast darum gebettelt, seit ich dich gesehen habe,” he grumbles, walking through the crowded entrance.

Niki emerges with perseverance and even more anger than before. He searches through the sea of racing enthusiasts, and he spots you being bent over. It’s a wildly lewd position for you to be in, and Niki finds himself feeling flushed and displeased at the way you let others leer at you. He should be the only one to see you that way, nobody else. The Austrian wants to storm his way to you, to grab you and drag you somewhere more private so that he can put you in your place, but he knows the current setting isn’t right.

“Uhm, Mr. Lauda? Would you like a drink in honour of your win? It’ll be on us!” a shy waitress offers, appearing out of nowhere. He jumps in fear, but he quickly calms down. “Well…” he ponders, even though he’s not a fan of drinking after a race. In a trice, the lightbulb in his brain goes off. It shines brightly, and a clever idea starts to nag him. “Do you, uh, mind doing me a favour? I’ll even pay you extra,” he quickly prompts, and the waitress smirks. “Sure!” she agrees, carefully balancing the glasses on her tray.

“I need you to take all these glasses—maybe add some more champagne and make sure they’re really full—to that person over there,” he instructs, pointing to where you are. He watches as you wave to your family, who drives off without you. “The one with the brown jacket?” she double checks, and he nods in assurance. “Yeah, that one. Take them to her, and tell her they’re from someone who adores her and her love for champagne quite a bit,” Niki directs while trying to hold in a villain-like laugh.

“Ok! Then I just leave?” she asks, tilting her head innocently. “Yes. And don’t mention my name or anything about me at all,” he adds quickly before placing a hundred-dollar bill on the tray. The waitress slips it into her pocket before walking to where you’re standing idly. Niki watches the innocent worker make her way towards you until he realizes he should hide away before she makes a mistake.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Hi, I have something for you,” a waitress tells you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- What? I never ordered anything, I think you have the wrong person,” you tell her, turning your back and facing elsewhere. “No! I have the right person. They said they’re someone who adores you and your love for champagne!” she gleefully clarifies, and only one person comes to mind. James. You let out an excited, eager gasp. One that can’t be rivalled by any of Niki’s fans from his win.

She hands you the two full glasses, and you can just tell that the golden liquid is of high quality. You get drunk quickly, perhaps a little too easily. But that’s never stopped you from enjoying yourself at all. “Thank you so much! Oh, and I’m sorry for being rude at first,” you softly whisper to her, and she simply waves you away. “No worries,” she reassures, and she walks off before you can finish your first glass.

Tilting your head back, you bring the first flute to your mouth and you down everything it has to offer in just a few gulps. The drink slides down your throat with such ease. It’s brut, and it has a sort of bitter yet sweet taste to it. Sighing, you smack your lips and take whatever is left of the first glass gratefully. You then switch the glasses around with shaky yet skillful hands. “Thank you, James, for being such a lovely guy,” you murmur to yourself, dragging out the last letters of each word.

The alcohol quickly settles inside you, and it starts to distort you as always. Blurry eyes and a hazy mind, you’ve turned into a drunken mess in a matter of a few seconds. You slowly sip on your second and last glass before your temptations grow tired of your sluggishness. You down the entire thing until there’s a small drop at the bottom that just won’t budge. You let out a tiny sound of amazement, and you find yourself wanting to have some more. You lick your lips, trying to search for a slight hint of the sort of melon flavour until it goes away.

“Uhm? Does anyone know where that waitress went?” you ask loudly, and those who hear you shake their heads ‘no.’ “Damn,” you frustratingly mutter, lightly stomping your foot against the concrete. You roll your head backwards, in both a stretch and a habit. Your mind feels heavy, but your bones and muscles are even more burdensome. You bring your skull back to its normal position, and you decide to go look for her. Stumbling clumsily, you walk back into the dreaded arena where everyone is still celebrating Niki Lauda’s victory.

Niki watches you amongst a crowd of fans who are trying to form some sort of discussion with him. They hound him with all kinds of questions, some about the race itself and some about the esteemed racer and his personal life. Like a hunter stalking his prey, his eyes stay trained on you until you disappear behind the red door that leads to rooms that only named people are allowed to go to. “So, what are you going to do now, Mr. Lauda? How are you going to celebrate?” one of them asks, with a sort of sultry tone to their voice that he fails to notice.

“I have plans with a friend of mine for tonight,” he briefly states before pushing through them and following you into the stadium. “Can I join?” another asks, and he simply ignores them as they call after Niki with even more curiosity. It’s not hard to spot someone in bright red overalls suddenly walking into somewhere he shouldn’t be, but it’s easy to pay no mind to him because he’s a champion and most people who see him aren’t.

“Where, where, where are you, kleine Maus?” he hauntingly calls out, and his voice echoes back. Niki can hear the sound of your shoes clicking against the ground, and he decides to follow it. He tries his hardest to calm his heart down, but it’s hard to both hold your breath and make sure you’re not nearing cardiac arrest. The racer quickens the paces of his feet, practically jogging towards you as you decide to turn around and forget about the champagne.

Your jacket slips off your shoulders as you whip your body around, and suddenly, you’re pushed against a wall. The brick is painted over with a sort of cream colour. You begin to panic as strong hands keep you from fighting your attacker. “Du bellst wohl nicht nur, kleine Maus,” he notes out loud, and you don’t understand a word of what he’s saying. The voice is familiar, though, except for the fact it’s a few octaves deeper than you last heard.

“Niki?” you question, halting your flailing fists and restless legs. “Yes, kleine Maus?” the man questions and your jaw drops in shock. “What the fuck?! Are you insane? Get off of me!” you scream loudly, and his hopes of getting you still begin to die like a flower in the wintertime. Niki grabs ahold of your wrists in his dominant hand, and he swiftly turns you around and stomps on your ankles. “Help!” you cry out, but his other hand presses your face against the wall.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” he orders in your ear, pushing your white ribbon out of your face. You listen to him, but you disobey his commands at the same time. Writhing around, you try to escape the claws that squeeze you tightly, and you fail miserably. “Cute. Now stop fighting me, or else I’ll hurt you so badly you wouldn’t be able to go to anyone for help,” he threatens, and you gulp thickly in fear. Your saliva tastes of alcohol still, and you regret ever coming to the race.

“Good girl. See? That wasn’t so hard. All you need to do is listen to me,” Niki instructs, talking down to you like you’re some child who doesn’t know any better. “Why?” you choke out through gritted teeth. Your cheekbones rub against the brick, and the pain is gruesome. “Because I need to put you in your place. Do you seriously think you can just mouth off to me like that? To disrespect me like that? To prefer that pathetic racer over me?” he asks, and you let out a whimper. Each of his words sinks into you like needles filled with anesthesia.

They numb your mind until you realize what’s really happening, but by then, it’s too late.

“Well, obviously, I prefer James over you! Look at you, you’re rude, and you’re a horrible, shitty person. Now get off of me!” you lash out, even though your body doesn’t move. Niki simply laughs like a maniac, and you find yourself wanting to take back your words. “Maybe I’m so rude because I like you. Like how little boys tease little girls when they have crushes. You do know what a crush is, right? Just making sure since you’re so cold-hearted. Bet you don’t know anything other than hatred,” he spits, and you’re pretty offended.

“I know what you’re talking about! I’ve had feelings for people, okay?” you bite back, and Niki becomes curious. “Really? Let me guess. James Hunt? Some old boyfriend of yours? A man at a party who cleaned you up because you don’t know how to take care of yourself?” the Austrian questions, and you don’t realize who he’s talking about until you look at his hands. They’re the same as those gracious ones, except they’re more rough and lack gentleness. “That was you?” you ask, and you’ve lost all fight in your body at the realization.

“Well, of course, kleine Maus. Someone had to watch your back, and that someone is me! Du bist nicht so klug, wie du dich selbst darstellst, ganz ehrlich. But that’s okay, it’ll be okay. It’ll be just alright now that I’m here to put you in your place,” he reassures you, and you don’t even have the energy to ask him what he means. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve learnt my lesson now, can you let me go? I won’t tell anyone, Sir, I promise!” you plea and your words start to blur into one another.

“I don’t think you’re sorry, kleine Maus. I need to do what’s necessary because I’m fucking tired of you and your bullshit,” Niki snaps, and you whimper from the harsh tone of his words. His change in behaviour gives you whiplash, and you realize that there’s no way out of whatever he has planned for you. “So careless, so mean, so ignorant… So clumsy. I guess you aren’t as independent or as strong as you claim to be,” he whispers, and he causes tears to sting your almost empty eyes. They hurt, and they carry such maliciousness to them that you can’t help but be terrified of Niki.

A hand comes up to the waist of your jeans. They flare out at the bottom, and well, they look pretty damn good on you. But maybe a little too good because they make Niki think wild thoughts. He expertly takes the buttons out of their holes, and he unzips your rusted zipper. “P- Please, Niki,” you beg one last time, but Niki ignores you. He pulls down your pants against your protests, and he lets them get tangled with your tired feet. Your bare ass is exposed to the cool air of the arena, and goosebumps begin to rise on your skin.

“Such a lovely ass, kleine Maus. Maybe I should fuck it instead of doing what I had planned. Would you like that?” Niki politely asks, and your eyes nearly fall out of your skull. “N- No, thank you, Niki,” you shakily reject, and he nods. “You see, unlike you, I’m not so mean. So I’ll spare you, but only this once,” he cheerfully tells you, acting as if you’re supposed to start jumping up and down at his words. The closest thing to gratitude he’ll ever get from you is silence.

Niki still has a tight grip on your hands, and with your legs now immobilized from the mess by your feet, you can’t do much to save yourself. He wraps his arm around your waist, and he grabs at the crotch of your panties with no care at all. The cotton bunches up, and his fingers graze lightly against your folds. You try to ignore his touch, but he does the opposite and forces you to focus on it. He’s frozen, and you’re waiting for his next malevolent move. You can hear his heavy breathing, and he angles his digits upwards so he can touch you even more.

You press a fist against the wall, and you try to brace yourself as best as you can. Unexpectedly, a fierce pain strikes you in your hips, and it hurts more than you can describe. His hand has left you, and you can feel the air breeze against your pussy. Your panties are on the floor, ripped into a shred of fabric that no longer has any good use other than reminding you of how you could’ve avoided this entire situation. “I’ll get you better ones, don’t worry,” he reassures you in a humorous manner, and you squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance.

Instead of having your hips jut out for easy access, he pushes your torso against the wall until there’s a pressure inside your stomach. Instead of pain, it’s a sort of tingling sensation that makes your eyes bulge out in shock. “Uhm...” you hesitate, and his ears perk up. “What is it?” he frustratingly asks you, and his harsh tone snivelling. “N- Nevermind,” you mumble, and you just try to take deep breaths. “Are you ever going to shut up?” Niki questions as his other hand skillfully unzips his red overalls.

He’s wearing a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt for the hot weather and occasional coolness. You keep quiet, not sure if you should answer him or not. Niki grumbles in another language that you don’t understand, and you realize that no matter what you do, you’ll always make him angry. Even your begging doesn’t bring you any fruits of labour. Only disappointment.

His shorts join the pile of clothing on the ground, many colours clashing that leave his eyes to be sore. Sunset pink panties, pale blue jeans, vibrant red overalls, and black shorts. It’s a fashionista’s worst nightmare. His hard cock is left in his boxers, and he’s just too impatient to fully undress. He throbs out of want and need, with a swollen tip that leaks with pre-cum. “I know this isn’t so… What’s the word you people use? ...Ah, romantic! I know this isn’t so romantic, but it’s not supposed to be. I’m the only one who’s supposed to enjoy this, not you. So I don’t care if you want to fake a smile or anything like that, all you need to do is not say anything,” he explains, and you nod your head.

“O- Okay, Niki,” you assure, and he lets out a groan that is followed by his tongue clicking against his pearly teeth. “Dumb whore,” he spits, and his hand wraps around your throat. You’re inebriated beyond belief, and you don’t realize he can crush your windpipe in a split second until he whispers in your ear. “Can’t do one thing right, can you?” he retorts. The grip he has on your wrists suddenly loosens up, but you’re too sluggish to fight him. And even if you try, you’ll end up a pathetic loser with even less honour than before.

The fat tip of his large cock presses against your mildly slick pussy. “You’re already wet for me, kleine Maus! Oh, such a whore. You say you don’t want this, yet your little cunt is telling me otherwise. Maybe you should use it to think instead of your empty brain. You’d end up in better places if you did so,” he advises, and you try to tune him out. But he’s like an alarm that just won’t stop until you do something, and yet, you’re helpless. “Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dich zu meiner Hure zu machen. Wie viel verlangen Sie? Einen Dollar? So oder so, du wirst von mir gefickt werden,” Niki snickers, and you have a feeling his words lack kindness.

But who the hell are you to worry about kindness?

Niki pushes his hips forward as his cock slowly sheathes itself inside of your tight pussy. The way you hug him makes him moan immediately, and he wonders if he’s the first you’ve ever had. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you’re so right, kleine Maus,” he groans, slowly bottoming out inside of you. You’re biting down on your wobbly bottom lip, trying your hardest to keep quiet and not let out any cries. The pain is searing. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever felt, and it ingrains itself into your mind until it’s all but an illusion. You’re practically about to be torn in half from his cock, and you’re at an impasse.

The racer curses as his balls rest against your ass, heavy and swollen. He’s deep inside you, filling you up until you’re bursting and you don’t know what to focus on; the pressure in your stomach that just seems to grow with each passing second, or the pain that leisurely turns into pleasure you’ll be addicted to? Everything is so much all at once. “Feel that, kleine Maus? Do you feel how deep inside you I am? Good, because you’ll have to get used to it,” he tells you, and you writhe around.

“So desperate already…” he whispers, watching as you can’t stand still at all. Niki’s hand leaves the base of his cock, as he thrusts his hips forward to elicit a reaction from you. He holds onto you tightly, and your body jerks from his movement. Your swollen stomach is pushed further against the wall, much to your dismay. You let out a gasp, and you try to close your legs as much as Niki will let you. He chuckles before he drags his cock backwards. His tip is the only thing inside you, and he suddenly begins to pump into you roughly. “Oh my God,” you whimper quietly, and your words are drowned out by the sound of skin against skin.

He thrusts up into you at a quick pace, one that your fingers or past lovers could never rival. It seems as though he’s fast when it comes to almost anything. “Die beste Muschi, die ich je hatte,” Niki whispers. Your pussy slickens up as he fucks you, coating him with your sticky wetness. The sight is something to behold, and his cock slips in and out of you with each thrust. “Make some pretty noises, kleine Maus. I want to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock,” he demands, and a loud moan moves past your lips without warning. It’s lewd and pornographic, yet it’s not as debauched as the sounds your wet pussy makes.

“Yeah, that’s more like it, hure,” Niki praises, and you mewl once his cock begins to touch that sweet spot of yours. It makes you go dizzy and hazy, and it also makes your legs weak. You involuntarily stop clenching your thighs together. Each thrust brings you against the wall, and you feel like you’re about to explode. Your pussy clenches down on Niki’s cock tightly, and his motions stutter. “Are you going to come already, my little slut?” he questions, slowing down his thrusts just to see you get frustrated. But the reaction you have is quite the opposite of what he wants, and he’s confused.

You let out a shaky breath that is filled with relief. You try to cross your legs together and push your ass backwards so that you’re far from the wall, even if it means that you’re closer to Niki. Your efforts don’t do much, and you want to wail in defeat. Niki observes you carefully before he shoves you back against the wall. You cry out before whispering a simple ‘please’ to him. He doesn’t realize what you’re talking about until he watches you place one of your hands on your stomach. You splay your fingers out delicately, and Niki chuckles.

The hold he has on your hips goes away, and he reaches for your hand. “Shh, it’s okay,” he reassures, and you furrow your eyebrows in both confusion and surprise. Niki pulls his cock out of you until you’re an empty, gaping mess. Suddenly, he presses down on your bladder until warmth trickles down your legs, soaking the fabric at your feet. A few tears leak from your eyes, and Niki watches as you burn up with embarrassment and shame. The pain and pressure in your abdomen go away as you finally alleviate yourself.

“Dreckig, dreckig, kleine Maus,” he degrades, and you don’t have it in you to be offended. The streams of liquid eventually come to an end, and you’re so ashamed. You press your face against the wall and wait for Niki’s next word. But he doesn’t say anything at all. Zip, zilch, nada. Instead, he pulls his hand away from your stomach and uses it to silently guide his cock back to your drooling, aching hole. “Couldn’t help yourself, I know. It’s okay, it’s not entirely your fault, liebling,” Niki tells you, even though he’s more patronizing than comforting.

“Es ist nicht deine Schuld, dass du nicht weißt, wie man etwas richtig macht. Keine Manieren, keine Höflichkeiten... Ich verstehe, dass du so bist, aber ich bin hier, um dich zu ändern. Ich bin hier, um dir beizubringen, dass du unter mir stehst und dass du nichts anderes tun solltest, als meine Hure zu sein und mich zu verehren,” he continues, and you’ve decided to give up entirely. You forehead rests on the white brick, and Niki begins to fuck you roughly once again.

He pounds against your sweet spot relentlessly, not one error in his rhythmic thrusts. “Poor little thing acts all tough until it comes down to it… And now look at you, you’re a complete mess with my cock stuffed inside this perfect pussy,” Niki grunts, leaning his body forward. His chest is right up against your back, and his chin rests on your sweaty shoulder. Your white ribbon is a tangled mess, the two ends of it twisting together and falling in your face. The silk material is no longer cooling, and the styling purpose of it has lost its touch.

The plunges of his cock are more deep than quick, and each shove of his hips sends you spiralling in pleasure. “F- Fuck,” you moan, seeing stars in your vision as your legs twitch from overwhelming gratification. “Yeah, you like that? You like the way my cock makes your pussy feel, kleine Maus?” he questions, and he further pushes his head down until his mentum digs into your skin. You wail loudly out of pain before nodding your head desperately. Niki squeezes the sides of your neck even more, but he also pushes down on your windpipe until you’re gasping for air.

You wheeze resoundingly, and the sound of you suffering for breath sends even more blood down to Niki’s pulsating cock. “Say it, tell me how much you love my cock and how much of a slut you are for me,” he demands, and you grasp at whatever’s left in your vocabulary. “I- I love your cock, Niki. I’m such a slut for you and your cock. You make me feel so good. I love your cock so much,” you pathetically mewl, and you can feel a form of tightening building up in you. Your lower abdomen burns up with searing flames, ones that trail all the way down to where you’re both connected.

You get wetter and wetter, more loud and desirous as your climax builds up. It’s like a staggering tower that reaches up to the sky and past the clouds; it has an end, but it keeps growing. “Are you going to come, kleine Maus? Are you going to come around my fat cock? I know you are. C’mon, do it,” Niki urges, and you moan his name loudly. “Do it, come on my cock right fucking now, or else I’ll make this worse for you,” he demands, and your back arches violently. You let out a gasp as your jaw goes slack. Red fills your vision, and you’re clamping down on his cock.

You moan his name loudly, and your juices coat his already sticky cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mewl, digging your nails into your skin as you struggle to keep quiet like he ordered you to do. Your pussy spasms wildly, and your clit throbs, desperate for a few fingers to rub it. Your legs shake just a little bit, and you find yourself meeting Niki at his every thrust, desperate to keep going. Your ass moves backwards, and his hips move forwards, and the Austrian fucks you through your orgasm. Your nerves have sparks flying from them, and every part of you is sensitive.

“You’re so pretty when you come, kleine Maus. You look just like a desperate whore,” Niki grunts, and he can feel himself inching closer to his own climax. It’s like the light at the end of a tunnel or the chequered flag that usually waits for him at the race track before he’s announced to be the winner. “I’m gonna come inside you, kleine Maus, even if you don’t want me to. I’m going to fill you up with my seed and make you all nice and round. That way, you’ll know who you belong to, and you won’t be whoring around for the James Hunt you love so much,” he whispers in your ear, and you rapidly shake your head.

No, no, no, no.

“Yes, yes, yes, kleine Maus, you’re going to take my seed because I said so. Now stop fighting me,” he moans in your ear, and his thrusts grow sloppy and lazy. Niki shallowly fucks into you, and his balls begin to tighten up. His chest rises and falls, and he can feel his high beginning to climb up to the sky. Up, up, up, and away. Niki moans out the little pet name he’s applied to you, and he entirely shoves his cock inside you until he can’t move anymore. Growling, he comes inside you without a care in the world.

The raging, red tip of his fat cock is so deep. White ropes of his seed shoot into your womb, filling you up until you’re an upset, messy cumdump. “This is all you’re good for, kleine Maus,” Niki whispers in your ear, reminding you of your so-called place that he believes you belong in. His cum drips down your inner walls and leaks past his cock, and your fluids mix with each other. Niki’s cock twitches inside of you, but he remains as hard as a rock.

“Can’t wait to see you with my baby, kleine Maus. And I can’t wait to see James’s face when he sees you with me. Er wird so schockiert sein, dass sein Gesichtsausdruck unbezahlbar sein wird,” Niki laughs wickedly, and you can’t imagine you’ll ever meet anyone as cruel or as twisted as he is. “Can you get off of me now? I want to go home, and I want to stay as far away from you as I can,” you snap in both annoyance and exhaustion. “Nu-uh,” he tuts in a disciplinary manner. “You’re not going anywhere, kleine Maus,” Niki tells you. He tilts his head up until his lips touch the skin of your ear.

“I still have to celebrate my win with you, and I’ll make sure to push you to the limit, kleine Maus.”

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

Today has been a mess so have a silly HC that I dug out of my notes.

Billy owns a pizza shop called King's Topping on the corner across from Steve inherited shop King's Subs. So obviously they are rival shops because of the names and their close proximity their deliveries are always getting mixed up. Billy could have changed the name of the pizza place when he bought it from the former owner but when he realized how often he'd be having to meet up with the pretty boy across the way he decided not to.

King's Toppings advertising slogans- 

Top Kings, all the toppings you crave

Only the best Tops in the busi

All the tops you could ever want 

King's Subs advertising slogans-

You tell us how to stuff our subs

Our subs were made to be stuffed

Our subs filled to the max for your pleasure

They are constantly fighting and using their stupid slogans and arguing whether toppings or the fillings are better. It is really just an excuse to get up in eachothers faces. Press close, chests bumping as they breathe the same air.

It all comes to a head after a few months.

"I'll fucking top you, see how you feel about your fillings then." It comes out a lot more sexual than Billy means it to. Sound more like a promise than a threat with then pressed nearly chest to chest. A promise he would definitely like to make.

"It's about fucking time I've been waiting for you to stuff me since we met."  Steve says right back with a wink. Billy flushes, cheeks hot only growing warmer when Steve just smirks at him and does not recant. 

Billy’s brain is like a scratched record, stuck on repeat unable to finish the song, trying to work past but unable to. "Wait what?" He asks dumbly, cannot have heard Steve right, right? 

Steve squinting his eyes annoyance lpable before he turns away taking Billy’s question for actual confusion and disinterest instead of the disbelief of finally getting what he wants that it is. "Oh forget it." Steve’s shoulders sag in disappointment as he starts walking alway. 

Billy’s brain finally reboots as he scrambles to follow, catching Steve by the shoulder before he can get too far away. "No, no wait!" Billy shouts too loud for this early in the morning, an early morning worker on the route in stops for half a second to glance at them before hurrying on their way. 

Steve turns, mouth curled down in a frown, one eyebrow raised and Billy hurries to save things before he gets tired of waiting. "I'll stuff you, I'll stuff you so good please!" Going straight to begging at the end. He has wanted this for so long, he really will beg if he needs to. 

"You're an idiot." Billy would find the words stinging if it was not for the smile splitting Steve's face as he reaches up, hands curling in his shirt pulling him closer. 

Billy’s own mouth splits tongue coming out licking over his lips and teeth as he moves even closer until there is hardly any space left between them "Yeah but I come with a satisfaction guarantee." He says with a wink and Steve laughs, head leaning forward until their foreheads are touching. Billy does not waste the opportunity to catch Steve’s smiling mouth.

[raineydays411]

Trauma really does bond

The umbrella academy x teen!reader

Summary: It’s time for you to meet your siblings. But what happen when your introductions don’t exactly go as planned?

You were trembling as you walked behind Pogo and Grace. Its ironic, you’ve waited your whole life for this moment. To finally meet your siblings and expand your family. A childish hope of your siblings one day returning to the mansion and accepting you with open arms. 

But now that you actually have a chance to meet them, you’re terrified. You realized that you have no idea how to talk to people. It’s different than when you talk to Pogo or your mother. These are complete strangers. No matter how many stories you’ve been told, how many times you read Vanyas book, you truly didn’t know these people. How were you meant to be a family? How are you supposed to-

“Y/n? Dear?” 

You’re snapped from your thoughts by your mother calling you.

“Yes, momma?”

“Momma? Pogo, who’s that?”

You turn, again surprised by an unfamiliar voice. There she was. Alison Hargreeves. She’s beautiful. 

Her hair is curly and blonde, with beautiful high cheekbones and glowing brown skin. Her as were kind even as she squinted at you skeptically in confusion.

“Alison, this is Y/n Hargreeves, or Number Eight. She’s your sister.”

Grace again gives you a light nudge, and you move in front of her. It was then that you realized that you are shorter than Alison, having to glance up to meet her eyes. 

“My sister?” She looks at you in disbelief, “How come we didn’t know? This wasn’t mentioned by the press or anything...” 

“Your father decided to keep our dear Y/n a secret.” Grace said wrapping her arm around you, “ She’s been our little secret for 17 years and 4 months.” 

“A secret? But why? I mean, what was the reason?”

“Your father, believed that the world wasn’t ready for a new superhero. Nor was Y/n ready to face the world.” Pogo said with a grim face, “ He had hoped though, that one day he would be able to take her out...but it seems that for now, Y/n shall remain inside.”

You frowned, holding back tears at the thought. You didn’t know that your father had wanted to let you out, nor that he wanted to be there when you were. But, what truly upset you, was that you had to stay in the mansion. Freedom was at the tip of your fingers and you didn’t even know it.

“Stay inside? You mean she’s never been outside?” Alison said horrified.

“Well she has been out in the courtyard and such, but Mr. Hargreeves prohibited her to leave the premises. Nor was she allowed to be in contact with the citizens”

“She’s been here all alone?” Alison asks sadly, “ With no one to talk to? No one her age?” 

“I’m afraid not” Pogo says sadly, looking at you.

You didn’t understand the big deal. Of course you were lonely, and wanted to explore the world, but you knew why you had to stay. You can just hear your fathers words.

“You have a duty Number Eight. A duty to your people and to me. It may not be ideal but sacrifices are hardly ideal.”

And everytime you thought about leaving, you’d remember his words and stay put. Besides you wouldn’t dare disobey your father.

Not after the last time.

“Well,” Alison says gently, leaning down to your eye level, “ Hello Y/n, I’m Alison Hargreeves, your big sister.”

Your eyes widened at her words as your heart filled with joy. For so many years  you imagined those words. You wondered how this whole thing would play out, how meeting your siblings might be. And to hear Alison so readily accept you, it brought tears to your eyes.

“Hello, Alison” You say beaming as you carefully step forward, “ I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, Momma says you live in California, what is it like?” 

Alison smiles at your question, your demeanor like a small child. It reminded her of Claire...

“It’s very nice, maybe when we have time I’ll be able to tell you all about it.” 

Your smile widens as you turn to your mother excitedly, she smiles back and says, “ That sounds wonderful dear, but you should go and change. You know the rules. You don’t want your father finding you in your night clothes, now would you?”

You furrow your brows,” Momma...”

“No buts now march” She says with a grin. You smile at Alison but see the worried look on her face. 

“So she did notice how weird momma acting” You think to yourself. You stay in a daze as you walk towards your room. Worrying about your mother, grieving your father, and thinking about how you’re finally meeting all your siblings. Then as you turn a corner into the hallway that leads to your room, you’re knocked to the ground as you bump into a wall of a body.

“Ow!” you squeal as you hit the ground, rubbing the back of your head and peering up at the person you bumped into.

“Uh..sorry Y/n” 

“Luther!” You shout, your pain overridden by the happiness you felt at seeing your brother, one that actually knows you exist.

He helps you up, which to him is like picking up a feather, and  before he knew it, your arms are wrapped around his midsection. Luther awkwardly pats your back, not really expecting to be hugged.

“It's great to see you Luther! I read all your mission reports, or rather the ones that Father let me read. I always wished you good night though! Pogo always caught me looking at the moon with that telescope, I hope you don’t mind that I used it. It's just that I missed you so-” Your happy ramblings cut off by a Luther clearing his throat.

“Ahem...right, um hey Y/n, I gotta go...check on something.” He says gently pushing you away, “It was nice seeing you though.”

And with that he walks away, leaving you in the hallway as you stare at his retreating form.

“oh...okay then! I’ll see...see you later.” You say, disheartened by his brief acknowledgement. You sigh, walking into your room. 

“I don’t know why I try...” You mumble to yourself. “ It’s not like he was ever happy to see me before.”

You go into your closet, trying to figure out what to wear. Usually, Grace picked out your outfits, ordered by your father, but she didn’t leave anything out for you today. So, you settled for a black turtleneck sweater, a black and white plaid skirt, black knee high socks with some mary janes. It wasn’t really your go to look, but you felt like it was appropriate given the circumstance. You let your hair loose, curls falling into your face as you let it out of the bun you quickly put it in. 

You go to walk out of the room when you’re stopped by a gleam. You see the necklace your father gave to you after the incident. You stare at it, debating on whether you should put it on or not. You sigh, deciding to wear it, it was his funeral after all. You put it on, the cold metal never truly seem to heat up, the pendant heavy on your chest. You never grew attached to it. It just served as a reminder that you’re stuck in the mansion. You can never leave. Not until he let you and now...

You shake your head. Trying not to get into your thoughts, that's when you heard it. Little scratching at your window. You turn to see Despereaux, the little mouse  you saved when you were younger. Ever since that day it was like you and him formed a bond.

You open the window excited to see your little friend.

“Hello Despereaux, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” You whisper as you let him climb on to your shoulder. “ you’ve missed quite a bit since I’ve last seen you. How about some cheese?”

You walk out of your room, Despereaux nestled on your shoulder. As you walk through the long hallways, you bump into another body.

“Ouch, again?” You whisper to yourself, rubbing your forehead.

“Hey watch it...teenage girl?” A male voice said in a perplexed tone. 

You look up to see a man in some rather tight clothes and kohl ringed eyes.

“Hello” You quietly mutter with a soft smile. “I’m Y/n”

“You are adorable.” The man says, “ Where has the old man been hiding you?” 

You blush looking down at your feet, you were never really complimented. Only by Grace.

“ Aww” The man squeals, squishing you to his body. He smelled like booze and sweat but the hug was nice, “ I have no idea who you are but I’m your uncle Klaus from now on.”

“You’re Klaus?” You say excitedly, “ I’m so glad to meet you!” 

You wrap your arms around him, feeling the outline of something hard and metal in the back of his pants. You ignored it though, happy to meet another one of your siblings.

“Ugh it’s so nice to be around someone who isn’t a total stick in the mud.” Klaus says letting go of you, “ Like Luther, all that rage in that big body” 

You giggle at his words and eccentric behavior. It was a stark contrast to the ridgid stoic behavior that you’re used to. Klaus’ grand gestures and silly nature was new to you.

“I’ve heard alot about you.” You say happily, “ Mama always tells me stories about how you used to steal  her shoes and skirts and Father said--”

“Father?” Klaus asked, “ You mean ol’ Reggie bought you too? Or are you like..his offspring? Eww! I don’t want to think about that, shut up Ben.”

Ben?

“Father adopted me, I was born with powers like you.” You clarify for him. 

“Huh, so he managed to create another trauma case before he croaked.” Klaus said in a light voice, “Well. I always wanted a little sister.”

You smile, glad that at least two of your siblings liked you. But what did he mean by trauma case.

“Anywho, I have some... inheritance I need to collect. I, will see you at the funeral, das Kind” 

And with a wiggle of his fingers he was off, gone as quick as when you met him. Leaving you yet again, alone. You shrug off his odd behavior when you heard two voices speaking. 

“ah no, not to my knowledge.”

“But..the spine is broken and there's notes in the margins.”

“ Yes, that would be the work of.. ah Y/n, there you are.”

You jump in surprise, although you should’ve know. You can never eavesdrop with Pogo around.

You walk down the stairs, slowly towards Pogo and.. Vanya!

Out of all the siblings, she’s the one you wanted to meet the most. She, like you was isolated in this mansion. You felt a connection to her as soon as you were able to pick up that book. Your heart raced as you made it to the final step, reaching the first flower and into the living room where Vanya and Pogo were talking. You can see that she is shocked, as all your other siblings were.

“Pogo, who is this?” 

“Go ahead dear, introduce yourself. Just like you practiced.”

You smile widely, “Hi I’m Y/n Hargreeves, I love your book. I’ve read it almost five times now.  You’re Vanya! I’ve been waiting to meet you! You look exactly like the picture on the back of the book! It really is a good book, I-”

“Y/n, take a breath. Let her get a word in.” Pogo chuckled, glad to see that you’re comfortable around Vanya. 

“Oh, right. I’m sorry, father did always say I..tend to talk to much” You say looking down at your shoes. You didn’t notice the frown on both Pogo and Vanyas face.

“You...you read my book?” Vanya asked, still trying to figure out who you are.

“Yes, multiple times. It...well, besides the stories Mama and Pogo told me, this was the only way I got to know all of you.”

“Why didn’t you just come find us?” 

“Oh well..I wasn’t really allowed outside”, you say glancing at Pogo, “ Father said the world and I weren’t ready for each other.”

“You mean, you’ve been alone...all these year?”

“No, not totally alone! I had Pogo, and Mama, and and father too. Plus there were the robots he built, although I did destroy them...and the books and and..”

“Y/n...that’s..that’s not..” Vanya stopped herself. She knew that this must be a sensitive subject for you. The way you listed everyone in your life was practiced. Like you’ve said it to yourself over and over again. And by the grim look on Pogos face, she can tell it wasn’t only you who was sensitive about this subject.

“Well, Y/n..perhaps you should go on in the kitchen and help your mother. Your siblings will be meeting here shortly, it would be nice if they had some snacks, don’t you agree?” Pogo says, forcing a smile at you.

“Oh! Okay” You beam, “ It was nice meeting you Vanya!” 

And with that you scurry off into the kitchen, leaving Vanya and Pogo behind in silence.

“She’s been alone for...” 

“For seventeen years. Yes”

“Pogo...”

“You know your father...once he made up his mind...there was little I can do.”

Vanya sighs and pats Pogo on the shoulder, “It’s good to see you Pogo.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You skip into the kitchen, seeing your mother humming at the sink. You walk up to her and notice that she’s cleaning the same plate over and over again.

“Hi momma!” you say suddenly

“Oh, hello dear. What are you doing in here?” Grace asks putting the plate in the drying rack.

Pogo said it would be nice to make snacks for my siblings” You ask, then feeling movement around your neck, “Oh and some cheese please.”

You forgot Despereaux was on your shoulder, its a wonder that no one has seen him yet.

“hmm snacks we can do.” Grace says with a smile. She goes to the fridge and pulls out some cheese.

“How about some cheese and crackers? Its simple.” she says, “ ans Despereaux here can have his fill as well”

You freeze, caught again by your mother, “ Thanks momma.” 

You both giggle, and side by side you work on cutting the cheese and presenting the crackers. You feel a sense of calm wash over you. You usually do when you’re around your mother. She makes you feel safe. 

“Ahem.” 

You both turn to see Diego in the kitchen doorway.

“Diego dear, you startled us.” Grace said with a smile, “ Come help, we’re making you kids some snacks.”

He barely spares a glance at you.

“Pogo wanted me to come tell you that the meetings starting.”

“Oh, well go on darling, run along and I’ll bring out the snacks later.”

And with that she kisses your forehead and waves you away. She turns back to the  sink and starts humming again. 

You glance back at Diego. He’s glaring at the wall and to be honest you’re surprised he even waited for you. You pick up Despereaux and put him on your shoulder again, and grab some grapes and cheese then stuff it in your skirt pocket. Then you walk up to Diego with a small smile. 

He glances at you and scoffs, then walks away. You have to jog to catch up to him.

“You uh, you walk pretty fast” You say huffing a bit. 

He doesn’t answer you, he just keeps walking in the same pace. You stay silent as well, the trip to the living room longer than you remember.

You finally make it, and you see all your siblings in the room, spread out. You take a seat next to Vanya. You smile at her and take a glance around the room. Luther is sat at the couch across from you and Vanya. Allison and Diego are sat on some chairs, and Klaus is at the bar. 

The six of you sit in an awkward silence until Luther clears his throat.

“ So I guess we should get this started.” He says standing up, “ So I figured we can have sort of a memorial service. At the courtyard at sundown, say a few words. At dad’s favorite spot.”

You nod along and hear Alison speak up, “ Dad had a favorite spot?”

“Yeh at the oak tree, we used to sit out there all the time. None of you did that?” Luther asks.

“Oh yeah, after training” you chime in, causing the adults to look at you. You heard Diego scoff again and saw Luther quickly furrow his brow then smooth out his face again.

“Will there be refreshments?” Klaus asks walking out from behind the bar, “ Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner.” 

He goes to take a seat next to you when Luther speaks up

“What? No, and put that out. You know dad didn’t allow smoking in here.”

You roll your eyes. If you had to choose one thing to hate about Luther, you’d choose his insistent need to always be on your Father's good side. He can be such a downer sometimes.

“Is that my skirt?”

You hadn’t even noticed Klaus in the skirt. If you had to be honest, it did really suit him. You let out a small laugh, hearing Klaus mention his “bits”.

“Listen up.”

Oh boy, you’ve heard this tone before. You really forgot how stern Luther could be.

“There’s still some important things that we need to discuss alright ?”

“Um Luther” you squeak out, “ what more is there to talk about? Its not like Father had many friends we can invite. And his only family is us...”

“Yeah. The kids right, what else is there to discuss?” Diego asks.

You turn to him in surprise, this is basically the first time he acknowledged you unprompted. You send him a smile that, as expected, he ignores.

Oh well, small steps.

“ The way he died.”

“ And here we go”

You scrunch your eyebrows, “the way he died?”

Klaus sits next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulder as Vanya speaks up,

“I don’t understand, I thought they said it was a heart attack...”

“A heart attack?” You ask, realizing that no one’s really did tell you how your father died..

You’re question gained a suspicious look from Luther and confusion from the rest.

“ Y/n...you didn’t know?” Alison asked gently.

“ no one told me...” You say quietly, feeling nervous from the sudden attention.

“Well, According or to the coroner it was.” Luther continues.

“Well wouldn’t they know?”

“Theoretically..”

“Theoretically??”

You don’t understand. You don’t understand why nobody told you how your father died. You don’t understand why everyone was acting weird. And you don’t understand why Luther was bringing this up.

You feel a hand on your forearm, breaking you from your thoughts. You turn your head to see Klaus.

“ you lost in space?” He whispers playfully, “ I would be too, having to listen to Detective Daddy issues over here.”

You let out a small chuckle and whisper back, “ well technically we all have daddy issues.”

This earned you a quiet laugh and a pat on the arm. Then Klaus went to drink whatever was in his cup. And you tuned in again.

“ i’m just saying at the very least something happened. ” Luther says looking around the room, “ The last time I talk to dad he sounded strange.”

“Oh quelle surprise!” Klaus gurgles through his drink.

The rest of the adult ignored him, only sparing him a quick glance.

“Strange how?” Alison asked, continuing the conversation.

“ he sounded on edge”, Luther said, “ told me to be careful who to trust.”

He then gave you pointed look. You looked back at him perplexed, not knowing why he looked at you that way.

“Luther,” Diego chimed in, “ he was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles. ”

You frown at that statement. Sure your father was old and sort of eccentric, but his mind was sharp.

But come to think of it he was acting really weird the week before he died. He started telling you more about your siblings, about your place in the world and how you were meant to help it. He spent more time with you more than he ever has your whole life. He was, in his own way, nicer to you. Nicer in training, nicer on your free time, nicer in general. He took you out to the old oak tree more often, and just sat there with you, no lectures, no tirades, he just sat in silence.

It was almost like... like he knew he was going to die. 



“I can’t just call dad in the afterlife and be like, “ hey dad can you stop playing tennis with Hitler really quick and take a quick call?’” Klaus says exasperatedly.

Oh right you forgot, he can talk to ghosts.

“ since when? that’s your thing.” Luther asks

“ i’m not in the right... Frame of mind!!” 

“ You’re high?” Alison asks

“Yeah!” Klaus laughs, “ Who wouldn’t be listening to this nonsense. Right kiddo?”

He nudged you gently look at you for confirmation.

Your eyes widen and before you can even answer Diego cut you off,

“ Don’t bring her in this, she probably isn’t even know what being high is.”

You most certainly do. You’re not a child.

“ Look, just sober up this is important!” Luther demands , then continues on, “ and then there’s the missing monocle.”

“Who gives a shit about the missing monocle?” Diego mutters.

“ Father is missing his monocle?” You ask, getting ignored again.

“Exactly, it’s worthless.” Luther states, “ so whoever took it it must’ve been personal.”

The group starts to actually pay attention to him

“ Someone close to him, someone with a grudge.” He determines.

Wait...he’s not implying..

“Where are you going with this?” Klaus asks

“Oh, isn’t obvious Klaus?” Diego taunts, “ He thinks one of us killed dad.”

Luther grunts, but doesn’t deny his accusation.

The room goes silent as everyone tries to come to terms with what was revealed.

“ Luther...” you start sadly, feeling hurt and betrayed.

“You do?” Klaus asks in disbelief

“How could you think that?” Vanya chimes in

“ is it really that far-fetched?” Luther defends himself, “ I mean, it’s not secret how much you all hate him.”

“Luther.” Alison says sternly

“ That’s not fair accusation, there’s no evidence or anything...” you say defending your siblings, “ Besides, no one came home until today. Trust me, I’d know.”

But that just turned him on you 

“ And where were you when he died?”

Your breath hitched, “ what?”

“ You’re the one who can heal people right? So where were you? Why didn’t you heal him?” He demands, “ Or did you let him die?”

“ Luther!” Alison shouts at him

You stay silent as you can’t think of anything to say. You already felt horrible about not being able to save your father. But yo hear it from Luther...

“I..” you start to say but get choked up. You feel the walls close up around you and the heavy gaze of these adults. You quickly stand up and run out of the room sniffing.

It was then that Luther realized what he just accused you of.

“Y/n wait..” he starts but you’re already gone by the time he spoke up. He turns to the rest of his siblings, facing their glares and betrayed looks.

“ Great job Luther.” Diego says sarcastically, “ Way to lead.”

And with that he walks out the room.

“That’s..that’s not what I’m saying”

“You’re crazy man. You’re crazy.” Klaus said getting up from his spot and grabbing his things. “Crazy”

“I..I wasn’t finished”

“ Okay, sorry I’m just gonna go get Y/n and have her help me murder mom.” Klaus sneers, “ You know, after I get her to stop crying, be right back.”

“That’s not what I was saying!” Luther says, “ I didn’t—“ he cuts himself off, seeing as everyone but Alison left.

Then she gets up to leave, but says this

“ That little girl has had it rough enough growing up here, she doesn’t need anymore from you.”

Then she walks out ignoring what Luther tries to say.

Leaving him all alone.

“That went well.”



[jackrrabbit]

Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.14

The Garden Hallway

01/02/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,974

Warnings: language, smut, smutty smut smut, talk of pregnancy, jealousy, spoiled lobster, alcoholic Brunnhilde, babies

A/N: First post of the new year! This was a fun one to write with lots of little tidbits that were enjoyable. Writing doubts aside, I hope you all enjoy this one! Sorry it took so long to get to you, but holidays, ya know? xoxo

“She’s beautiful, Thora. Just gorgeous.” You bounce the infant in your arms and she coos and goos.

Spittle runs down along the edge of her lips and Thora, the most gorgeous woman you have ever seen in your life, leans forward to gently dab away at the clear liquid.

Her very long ice blonde hair falls forward, half braided, the other half loose. She tosses it back then sighs and rips it back feeling frustrated.

“You could cut your hair, if it’s bothering you.” Ice blue eyes meet yours, slight shock at your observational skills painting her pale cheeks pink.

“Oh, no. I’m too fond of it, Your Majesty. I’ll grow used to it again. Having a little one to care for does make it a bit tedious to handle. But ‘tis no worry. I will just have to braid it more tightly and perhaps wear it atop my head to keep it tame.”

She’s all politeness, this Agardian beauty. The Goddess of it, if you’re honest, though you know that’s not true. To you, every Asgardian woman is the Goddess of beauty. They’re all so stunning in their own unique ways.

The same could be said for the women of your own species, but these Asgardians seem to glow.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, it’s really very normal for women of Earth to have very short hair in some cases. Especially when work or busy lives get in the way of maintaining it. I’m not sure how often women in the old Asgard used to-”

“It was not uncommon, though ‘twasn’t very common either. Most of us keep our hair long. I’m not sure my husband would love me as much if I did cut it.” She confesses, and you see a fleeting worry pass through her exquisite face and you can’t imagine how a woman this beautiful can doubt the hold she has on her husband when you’re only mortal and constantly worry about Thor’s love for you.

“Armod is a lucky man. I’m sure he knows that you’re more than your hair. But if it’s that important to you, I can try to find ways of keeping it out of your way? Some new hairstyles maybe?” You smile at her, hoping to offer comfort.

She relaxes, the little bundle in your arms wiggling just a bit as you lean forward to place your hand over hers.

“She really is so beautiful,” you say, hoping to redirect her attention to her perfect little girl.

Luta has deep olive skin, her hair the same stunning raven as Armod.

Thora’s entire being shifts. She gleams at her daughter, the clear apple of her eye.

“It won’t be long before you and His Majesty are blessed with a baby of your own. An heir to the throne? The celebration will be monumental.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you smile shyly, remembering almost every night since your honeymoon has been spent pinned either underneath Thor, or to the wall, or on the dresser, or his desk, or the tub, or even the floor in an attempt to get that heir to finally come.

Both of you want a baby so badly.

“We’ve been trying for almost two months,” You confess, a sadness in your voice incapable of hiding.

“Armod and I tried for nearly a year,” Thora nods, her own happiness sidelined to make way for understanding. “I believe that sometimes it just takes a while. My sister was able to conceive so quickly I began to think there was something wrong with me.”

She gives you a reassuring smile, almost like she can read your very thoughts.

“But it happened. It took time. It will happen for you as well, Your Majesty. We are all looking forward to an heir, but even if it takes a while, you’re still our Queen.” She assures you and her words do make you feel better.

Maybe you and Thor have just been trying too hard?

Oof, but there’s no way you can give up those touches.

“I guess I’ll just have to relax and take it one day at a time. Thank you for your encouragement. I’m seriously really jealous of you. She’s so lovely.” You offer her over, and Thora takes her eagerly.

The baby, Luta, whines a little but then settles as she’s held to her mother’s breast.

“She’s a peach, isn’t she?” Thora gloats, and she’s absolutely beaming.

The front door opens and there’s a startled pause by the tall dark Armod, long pitch braids swishing as he comes to a stop.

“Your Majesty?” The shock is clear, but he quickly bows and you get up, waving away his formality.

“No, please.” You smile, throwing out your hand for him to shake, “It’s so nice to see you, face to face and not from the backseat of a car.”

Armod laughs, taking hold of your hand gently and he quickly kisses the back of it.

The respect of the gesture is flattering.

“I was not expecting to see you here today, though I’m not going to lie, it’s an honor.”

“I promised I’d come,” you remind him. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’ve been so busy with the planning of the park and meeting with the Ambassadors to see what they want from us, and it’s just been so busy day after day.”

“Your Majesty,” Thora stands, shaking her head. “You have no obligation to explain yourself to us. We are at your service.”

You smile at her, reaching over to caress Luta’s little head then Thora’s shoulder, “I think it’s the other way around, but I’m grateful for your generosity.”

They both seem happy with you and as lovely as they are, you can’t spend all day here in their comfy little home.

Armod is paid really well and that’s reflected more in their belongings as opposed to the size of their house.

Very neat and high quality furniture and gadgets display their wealth though compared to the one you inherited and the one you married into, it’s just a fraction.

Armod and Thora's wealth lies in their love and family.

As they stand there, the ache in your chest begins to get unbearable so, you quickly tell them goodbye and you walk back up to the palace.

Armod's home is situated within the grounds of your New Asgardian dwelling. Smallish cottages that line the inner stone and vibranium wall are filled with staff who living close by makes it easier to work here.

If they lived outside of the palace walls, you'd have needed Armod's services to visit his own house. Luckily, in this way, you can visit some of your people without the need for fanfare.

You like not having to dress up.

As you slip into the garden and move for the large heavy door that Thor had shown you through two months prior to propose to you out here, you smile at the sight of the only person who hates it when you don't wear a dress, or at the very least a skirt.

This isn't of course because he wants to have you he all wrapped up in tight dresses and uncomfortable, but rather it makes certain activities just a little more difficult in rushed moments.

Thor's smile widens as he spots you, shutting the door behind you before you put your hands behind your back.

"There you are, I've been looking for you," Thor says.

He looks so good in dark jeans and a slightly loose tan t-shirt. The round neck gives just the slightest peek at his trapezius and you force yourself to keep your eyes on his beautiful face instead of the way his biceps strain against his sleeves.

Fuck he looks good.

"Looks like you've found me. What did you need?"

"Where were you?" He wonders, putting his own hands behind his back to copy your stance.

"Is it curiosity, suspicion, or control making you ask?"

"Interest. And because I missed you and if I have an hour free again, I'd like to spend it with you."

Damn him.

"Well, shoot," you scoff.

He quirks his head inquisitively and you smile wide at the sight of your puppy. How can he be so damn hot and cute at the same time?

"That was the perfect response. But, an hour?" Quick glance down at your watch reveals it's too early for lunch. "I thought we were meeting for lunch at eleven?"

Thor’s smile falters and he nods slowly, looking at your collarbone instead of your eyes.

"About that…"

"Oh, shit. What?"

"I'm leaving in about twenty minutes," Thor confesses, bringing his hands back to his front to fidget.

"Twenty minutes? But you said an hour!"

"And I spent forty minutes looking for you, cherub. That leaves me with twenty."

He closes the distance between you, tracing the length of your arms to your wrists and then pulls your hands out from behind your back.

"And leaving? Where are you going?"

The pout that overtakes you feels inevitable. You can't even attempt to hide it.

"The Warriors Three have reported in. Sif says that they are ready for inspection so I must go and see each outpost's condition before I can deem them proper watch towers to guard against the threat that Loki has foreseen.

"Heimdall says he is in agreement. Whatever it is that is coming, it's hiding itself from his sight which should be impossible. I must go, love. I'm sorry."

He really does sound and look apologetic too.

"And...I won't be home until possibly very late. Nearly morning I think," he tells you, voice low.

For two long moments the two of you stand there, minds whirring until they both reach the same realization.

It's Thor that voices it first and he nearly kills you with how much you want to swoon, "You know, this will be the first night since we've been engaged that I won't be sleeping beside you."

Your pout only grows more pronounced.

"Will you be lonely without me?"

All of the insecurities he's felt since marrying suddenly come pouring out of him in that one singular question and you can suddenly see all of the fear and strife he has been dealing with since he chose to marry you.

Like you, he's been wondering whether you're happy in your new married life. He's been worried about you in your role as Queen but worried for you, not whether you can do the job as you have been fretting.

You sigh, a heavy release of your own tension, "Oh, Thor…"

Hooking your hand behind his neck you pull him down until you can kiss him.

His response is ready, eager. Hands funding your hips as he pushes you back until you're shoved into the small space between one pillar and the wall it supports.

You're both very aware of the loss of activity this night will also bring, but maybe a rest is due.

Pulling back, you place your hands on his chest and give him a little push. He stops his kissing, licking his lips as he leans back to fix you with his star-eyed gaze.

"Maybe this is a good thing? We've been trying so hard to get pregnant for two months and my last test was negative. Maybe what we need is a break?"

Thor blinks, considering your words but then he shakes his head.

"Is that the only reason you've been laying with me night after night? To be with child?"

He almost sounds hurt by the idea and you hurry to reassure him.

"No! Of course not, Thor. I...being with you intimately is one of the best things about my adult life that I never knew I wanted or needed. It feel so good to be with you. Sometimes I can't believe that you want me.

"You're this perfect God, desired by millions. Billions even. And I'm-"

"Let me stop you there, cherub. If you are ever in any doubt as to how you affect me-mind, body, and soul-" He reaches down between your bodies, unbuttons his jeans and lowers his zipper.

"Thor!" You gasp quietly, peeking around at both ends of the long secluded hallway.

"No one will see us," he whispers, seductive and deep.

He's right though. Especially here where the pillar meets the wall, a tight corner where he's got you trapped. Right where you want to be.

He takes your hand and pushes his pants down a bit until he's exposed, erect, and throbbing.

As you wrap your fingers around him, he purrs and after another lick of his lips, he flies into a frenzy that you match with your own fervor.

It has to happen fast and before you know it he's inside, thrusting up into you as he holds your right leg up around his waist.

Neither of you have any words, only heavy breathing. A gasp. A grunt. Mewling moans that rise from your throat which he quickly silences with a finger pressed gently to your lips.

"Shh, my cherub," he urges.

Even if no one ever comes down here. The sound of the Queen making these noises would surely draw someone's attention.

"I'm coming…" you whimper, hands vices around the fabric of his shirt.

Thor groans again then mashes his lips against your own, thrusting faster and smoother. Like silk on skin he fills you up and as you grip his cock, twitching around him, he empties into you.

He coats you with his heat, caressing the curves of your body as he continues to kiss you with slow and deliberate passion.

"We aren't missing a day," he declares.

As the two of you recover, a voice from the far end of the hall interrupts.

"Thor, we must go if you're to be back by morning."

For a moment your heart leaps into your throat. Loki’s voice is knowing. He clearly gets what you two were doing.

You peek over Thor’s shoulder but don't see Loki anywhere. He's got the sense to give you two your privacy and stay out of sight.

"I'll be right there," Thor says, leaning in to kiss your lips slow. "Don't worry, he's discreet."

Thor helps you get dressed again, blocking your body from sight even though he knows no one is looking.

When you're both decent again, he takes your arm in his and leads you out into the main hall where Loki stands by the large doors pacing.

As he spots the two of you, he gives no indication that he heard or saw any of what happened down in the garden hallway.

"You two look...refreshed," Loki says pointedly.

"Brother, do not tease Her Majesty the Queen. She's already fretting."

Thor adjusts his arm to wrap around your shoulder and gives you a quick squeeze as you glare at Loki.

"Of course, you're right. I'm sorry, Y/N."

Loki gives you quick polite bow, then a mischievous smile curls his lips and you can see the trickster God peek through.

“I am a most avid supporter of my monarchs doing what they can to provide the kingdom with an heir, and if there is any way that I can help, I would be happy to lend my assistance.”

“Watch it, Loki,” Thor warns, only half heartedly but with the punch of genuine jealousy.

You haven’t really questioned lately whether you’re Thor’s because you are. No doubt in your mind. He has you wrapped around his finger. Hearing him assert that claim, the one on your heart and body--it drives shivers up your spine and you suddenly want him back home from his trip already.

“I only meant that I am glad to make excuses if you two wish to escape for a few hours a day,” Loki clarifies. “What did you think I meant?”

He’s teasing Thor, you can see it. That playful jabbing is routine and you’ve seen him do it before but you were never the tool for his poking at Thor.

“I’ll wait out front,” Loki takes his leave, shutting the large doors to the front hall with ease.

Without a word, Thor pulls you into his arms. He embraces you tightly, sighing heavily and you shut your eyes at the feel of his body wrapped around yours.

You can’t remember ever feeling so happy. So, safe? There’s something in the way it feels to have his large arms around you, a weight pressed to you but not down on you.

He’s not suffocating you or oppressing you. He’s supporting you, ducking down a little to get a better hold of you. He presses his nose against your hair and breathes in deeply.

It could just be a sigh, but if he’s anything like you, he might be trying to memorize your scent.

As your own nose is pressed into the crook of his neck, you let his own wash over you.

His unique smell brings to mind a dark cloudy sky, a field of soft overgrown grass swaying in an endless cool wind. The scent of freshly sodden earth. It’s rain and nature, with the briefest sting of ozone as the sky lights up with his immeasurably powerful lightning.

All of that runs in him and you can’t believe that you’re lucky enough to be here holding him close.

“I will be as quick as I can be,” he says, deep tone settling in your chest.

“I wish you were back already.”

You can hear him laugh, just a small huff of air before he kisses the side of your head.

“You will be so busy with the park and then so exhausted you will pass out before you even have time to miss me.”

“I miss you already, doof,” you sigh.

“Will you promise me something?” he asks, pushing you back to meet your eyes.

“Anything,” you promise.

“Will you stay in the palace for me? I-I know that you were supposed to go down to the park to walk the new pathways and tree markers but I would feel much better about leaving you if I know that you’ll be here, safe.”

“You said there was nothing about this threat to worry about?”

Suddenly, a fear begins to grow in your belly. It twists it in knots and makes you nervous. Like if your marriage and all of this confidence you’ve found in yourself as Queen of New Asgard has been snuffed out, you feel like the nobody who sat in her room writing stories of lives you would never live.

“There isn’t, cherub. Not that we can tell. But we don’t understand it. With Stark and Banner having had delays in coming to install their extra measures of security, I was hoping that this inspection could wait until they had finished whatever business it was that drew them to Wakanda, but Steve says he is not sure how long they will be there.

“And until they can come, I--I cannot stand the thought of something happening to you, that’s all.”

Thor hooks his hand behind your neck, caressing your cheek as he ducks his head and gives you a reassuring smile.

Inside you’re at war with yourself. On the one hand, if he’s this scared, this threat is more serious than any of them are making this out to be.

On the other hand, Thor is so convincing in his words. You can clearly see the worry he has for you, for your safety. The tight hand on your hip tells you that he does indeed have some fear, but his gaze tells you that his favor is for his peace of mind.

So, you nod.

“Yes,” you give in. “I’ll stay here. I can work on the plans from my room and I have a lot of studying to do about the Valkyrie anyway.”

“Thank you,” Thor physically relaxes, his shoulders falling as a teeny bit of weight comes off them. “I will be as quick as I can be and then I will be here with you again and we can resume trying for that baby.”

“Thor about that,” you begin, licking your lips and wondering if he’ll even understand where you’re coming from. “I think maybe-?”

“Thor, I’m really very sorry. Y/N, if we don’t leave now we might have to extend the inspections until the day after tomorrow. Volstagg has to leave the planet for a short visit with his kin and cannot miss his window to do so.”

Thor stands taller, disapproving of the interruption, but he knows better and he leans down to kiss you.

“Can we continue this conversation when I return?”

You kiss him back as he leans down for another and nod when he pulls away, “Of course, Thor. Go. Hurry back.”

He gives you one more kiss, this one lingering before he presses in on your lips a little harder as if it pains him to pull away, then marches out the door without another look back.

The heavy doors close with a loud clatter and you’re left in the empty hall feeling strangely out of place.

You take your time getting up to your room. The bed looks huge without Thor sitting on its edge, pulling his shoes on in the morning with a groan of complaint at having to leave you so early.

His mornings are always full of rolling back into bed to cuddle you for a few more minutes before he has to go.

This morning feels like ages ago and maybe it’s because this really is the first time the two of you have been separated since before your wedding, but you miss him so much already and it’s only been minutes.

There’s a rush of air from the balcony, so strong it pulls your attention, but the smell that entices you has you running for the open door.

Through the rippling flowing curtains you see Thor in full armor, gold and black, his right hand wrapped around his hammer.

He opens his left arm for you as you reach him, pulling you right up against his body as he meets your lips sweetly.

“Mmm,” he mumbles.

“Why are you here? You’re supposed to be gone!”

You gasp, hands pressed to his chest as your heart pounds hard.

“Just one more kiss,” he simpers. “This is truly much harder than I thought it would be.”

“It’s only a few hours,” you tease, but you’re so ecstatic that you weren’t the only one feeling that ache.

“Too many,” Thor sighs.

“Then kiss me, and go. The sooner you’re gone the sooner you’ll be back.”

He obeys, and kisses you only less sweetly and with the passion to leave you wanting more.

He leaves you in a second rush of air leaving the smell of coming rain in his wake.

“Well, that was dramatic.” A voice interrupts from within your room. “You’d think he was going off to war.”

Moving inside, you find Hilde strewn across the chaise at the end of your bed, crystal bottle sloshing with brown liquid in her hand.

“Give us a break, it’s been nearly two and a half months since we’ve been separated.”

“Two and a half months is but a split second in time for us,” Hilde explains.

Her words give you pause and then the ache in your heart is hard to keep from spilling onto your face.

Hilde notices and quickly sits back up, “Your Majesty, I didn’t meant-”

“It’s alright. Really. It’s okay.”

With a quick smile at her you move to sit at your desk and put your feeble mortality out of your mind.

It’s not something you like to think on, and you’ve been good at forgetting about not only the significant age difference between you and Thor but also how fast you’ll age in your marriage and Thor will pretty much look the same as he does now.

Pulling over the large binder with the park plans, you reach for your phone to dial up Edgar, New Asgard’s senior construction manager and explain to him that you won’t be making your appointment for that afternoon.

“Good morning, Edgar. Yes, I’m doing well, thanks. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I won’t be able to walk the park today. Yeah. Thor has gone with Loki to attend to some things and won’t be back until early in the morning and I’ve had to take over a few things here in the palace. I’m so sorry, I hope you can forgive me.”

Edgar is all politeness and eagerness to please you and Thor. Like the rest of his people, they look up to the God of Thunder and for some reason, they’ve accepted you into their hearts openly.

“We should reschedule. Let me know when you can walk the grounds with me and I’ll-” You stop and listen to him assure you that he’s available at your convenience. “I appreciate that. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and we can set something up for later this week. Thank you, Edgar. Okay, bye.”

“It’s really not necessary to call him and tell him all that, you know? Just tell him you want to reschedule and he’ll do what you want.”

“I know, but that feels weird to do. I can’t just order him around. What if he had something special to do later in the week and me moving the appointment affects that?”

You throw open the binder and the map of the planned park. Already you and Edgar have marked it all up with red scribbles where things would need to be changed. You’d wanted a man made lake in the center, but you’ll have to settle for a small pond in one of the corners until more land can be leveled for a lake.

Several of the trees you’d wanted are not available so you’ve had to get new ones there too.

Every bit of this park has been selected by you from the type of grass, the stones in the pathways, to the wildflowers planted in the flower beds.

The responsibility of giving your people a space that they can love and appreciate stresses you out from time to time though you’ve pretty much accepted the weight of your crown.

Without another word, you go to work and Hilde, who you assume is here to be your personal bodyguard while Thor is out, gets up and presses a small button hidden underneath a small steel panel the size of Thor’s large palm.

She moves back over to the small breakfast table where you and Thor enjoy your first meal of the day in private, and sits back to wait patiently. Her bottle with drink has been abandoned on the chaise, now empty.

As your mind begins to focus on your work, you register Hilde telling Estrid to send for food and drinks.

“And make sure they bring her Majesty’s favorite snacks so that she can eat while she works. I’m sure she’s been neglecting her meals all day,” Hilde knows.

Time passes without you realizing and you do appreciate the small munchies that are brought and placed on the edge of the desk.

You eat without thinking and soon the plate is empty, wrappers littering the top right corner of your workspace as well as the floor below.

“Shit, what time is it?” You crane your neck around to look for Hilde and find the room empty.

Pulling your phone close you click the screen on to see that it’s just before dinner and Hilde is probably waiting for you down in the dining room.

You don’t bother changing much of your clothes. You slip out of your jeans and shirt and quickly pull a simple cotton dress on.

It’s customary to dress up for dinner a bit but without Thor here, you put in minimal effort and the burnt orange cotton dress is relaxed enough to let you breathe but nice looking enough to be presentable.

You’re tying the sash around your waist to heighten your curves as you make your way down the two floors to the dining room and fixing the wrists of your long loose cinched sleeves when you reach the hallway and look up only to gasp as Hilde stops right in front of you looking frazzled.

“Hey, what-?”

“I need you to know that he didn’t know about this. If he did, he would have warned you-us. I also don’t think he thought he’d be out when they came.”

She’s so stressed that you reach out to grab hold of her arms and smile through your confusion.

“Hilde, what are you talking about? Who’s here?”

You receive your answer only too quickly, “Is that you, Cherub? Queen of New Asgard?”

The snark is brief but familiar and you don’t need further explanation to know who you’ll see behind Hilde.

She steps aside to reveal Tony Stark, moving towards you a few steps until he’s standing right in front of you.

He bows.

“Oh, shit, please don’t do that,” you gasp, embarrassed.

Tony smirks, “Gotta follow the rules, Your Majesty.”

“Please, Tony. Just my name is fine,” you plead. “Really, I can’t bear anything else.”

“Queen’s orders?” he teases.

You genuinely chuckle, rolling your eyes before finally noticing his extended hand. Taking it, he lifts it to his lips to give you a quick polite kiss, then gently drops it.

“Thor wasn’t expecting you for another few weeks. Wasn’t there a mission? It was going to take a while?”

“My fault,” Bruce’s voice interjects.

Tony steps aside and you smile as your eyes find Bruce. He walks towards you both with his head slightly ducked, his hands held together at his front as he moves towards you nervously, wringing them.

“I kind of Hulked out and might have single handedly taken out the guys patrolling the building we were trying to get into. And then broke in through a wall and started a fire. And then sat on the mainframe of their computer system and lost us all the data we were trying to steal in the first place which cut our mission short by a few weeks.”

Bruce extends his hand and you take it, all too happy to see him again.

You’re halfway to a laugh at the chaos he seems to have caused when you notice a small head of swaying hair behind him. As your chuckle is caught in your throat, you freeze mid handshake, heart stuttering as those pretty brown eyes that have plagued a few of your nightmares meet yours.

“Jane…” you quietly gasp.

“Remember what I said?” Hilde asks, moving to stand by you.

“Oh, um…” Tony points at Jane as Bruce releases your hand and moves aside to give you full view of the pretty brunette dressed in a semi-formal pantsuit complete with thick jacket to combat the Norwegian temperatures that press in on the warmth of any home after the sun sets.

Jane is quick to give you a much better curtsy than she did the first time and then hesitantly offers you her hand, “Hello again, Your Majesty.”

“Jane has something to show Thor and well, you. Where is he, by the way?” Tony asks, giving the hallway a complete turn to see if he can spot Thor hiding behind some chair or doorway.

“Just, my name, please,” you tell Jane, giving her your hand and fighting the urge to run and shove your face into a pillow to scream in order to focus on the stronger urge of finding out why your husband’s ex-lover came all the way to your home to see him. “Thor’s out. He and Loki have gone to meet with Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif to see how far along the outposts are.

“Does your visit have to do with the threat?” You turn back to Jane and slowly take your hand back.

“I’d really like to talk about it with both of you, if you don’t mind?” Jane explains.

“Listen,” Hilde begins, but you shake your head just a teeny bit and she stops and shuts her mouth.

“Okay, that’s fine. He won’t be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest, so join us for dinner?” With a gesture at the doors to your right, Estrid throws them open and inside is waiting a modest but still lavish feast compared to most dinners in common households. There are three main courses to choose from as well as plenty of sides to give the most picky eater options.

Even though there is plenty of food, they’re simple foods. Roast chicken, sandwiches, salad, soup, bread, rice, potatoes, and other vegetables. Lots of it, but plainly prepared.

Hilde had known you wouldn’t even really be tasting your food with Thor gone and now, you doubt you can find your appetite again to consume anything.

“Nice spread,” Tony admires, but he holds out his elbow for you and you take it.

He escorts you to your usual seat by Thor’s at the end, then pulls it out for you and as the others take to standing behind their own seats--Hilde across from you and the others wherever they’d like--they wait until you take yours before they even attempt to pull their own out.

As several younger looking men and women move in with pitches of ale and wine and water, you catch Estrid’s gaze as she whispers instructions to a much younger looking girl with very curly dark hair.

The young girl rushes off when Estrid sees you need her and gives her a small push and a quick word.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Estrid asks, stopping beside you and silencing the others as they had begun to dig in and chatter pleasantly.

“Have three rooms made up for our guests? Make sure they want for nothing while they’re here, alright? The best rooms for Thor’s close friends.”

“Yeah, I’ll take the suite,” Tony teases, and Estrid looks flustered for a moment before she realizes that he’s joking and then with a kind and surprised smile, she gives you a curtsy and then rushes off to do as she’s been asked.

“I’m sorry if the food isn’t more…” You can’t find the word to convey what you want to say, so you leave the sentence hanging there. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have had Cook prepare you something nicer.”

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Bruce assures you, lifting his fork laden with broccoli and chicken.

He nods and smiles, then shoves the forkful into his mouth.

“Yeah, this is good,” Tony nods, using your name which gives you a strange sense of acceptance.

It’s casual, the way he says it. It’s like he really has welcomed you into his circle after your visit with them during your honeymoon.

“We can’t all have lobster every night. Bruce is allergic.”

“What?” Bruce asks, slightly stunned. “Me? I’m not…”

“Aren’t you?” Tony asks.

“No,” Bruce shakes his head, flabbergasted.

“How come you didn’t want to eat those Lobsters on Fourth of July then?” Tony demands, dropping his hand so that his fork clinks against the side of his plate.

He’s starting to look upset.

“You bought the box off some guy standing at the mouth of the alley where we were catching arms smugglers!”

“What’s your point?” Tony demands.

As their banter flows, you keep a pleasant and appropriately amused smile trained on the pair of them but you have one eye fixed on Jane and carefully you take a few hurried looks at her. Admiring the way her hair falls softly against her shoulders and the way she eats with poise and why the hell did she have to come in person?

Hasn’t she ever heard of fucking e-mail?!

[antiloreolympus]

10 Anti LO Asks

1. ok but thats also i think i dont get? because without the series or character names, what of any of the promo images or banner or anything else give away it's supposed to be a greek mythology story? they just look like people with weird anatomy who are colored like highlighters. at the very least some iconography should be on them, but there's not? like even percy jackson stuff makes sure to give him a trident and have water flowing around him.

2. rachel made three times where persephone could have made the choice to be with hades willingly and didnt do it each time. first time she was drugged and put into his car, where he phsyically handles her unconscious body and puts her in his bed (ew). second is her working for him, which was hera forcing it. third was her going to the underworld not because she wanted to, but because she was hiding from the law/apollo and he found her. where exactly is her agency in all of this?

3. LO seems like the fast food of webtoons. because there's no room to speculate or theorize, you just read an episode and move on, the bright colors distract that it's a rushed and lazy product over something with high quality and effort, the characters are flat and boring, and the plot has no substance. it's meant to be consumed in a rapid binge, because if not you realize what low-effort and what little you're actually getting from it when you slow down and actually think about it.

4. i mean rachel does have some logic to her fancasting, the problem is it seems the only people of color are either demonized for being hypersexual (aphrodite, eros until he's with psyche) or are literally r//pists who are out to harm her white-fa casted persephone (apollo), so yeah, there is logic there, it's just pointing to rachel being (hopefully unintentionally) racist

5. It pisses me so much that I work over time  (using references and looking at paintings and reading history for ideas for interesting character motifs) so that any of the ancient greek characters I draw look cool and authentically greek, and yet fucking Rachel Smythe, who can't even be bothered to do more than 5 seconds of research to learn that not all ancient greek outfits were shitty, minimalist off white and eggshell, gets to be revered as an artistic revolutionary. It pisses me off so. Fucking. Much. Not just for me, but for everyone else like me who absolutely ADORES greek mythology and wants to draw accurate portrayals of these characters! To whoever is reading this, stop. Stop rn and go read Sleep and His Brother Death (a comic on webtoons), go play Hades (the video game), go read The Song of Achilles (a book by Madeline Miller). Those are beautiful pieces of fiction about Greek mythology that deserve your attention more then Rachel and her shitty pink highlighter self inserts.

And a sidenote, I know that this is kinda like a modern AU for the gods. I am aware. Does not change that fact that anytime any character is drawn in ancient greek fashion it's always the SAME. SHITTY. CHITON. Maybe with a.cape or a scarf, but for the most part? It's just the same stupid, off white chiton.

6. oh, i thought you guys were joking persephone is now stuck with red eyes. is that seriously what look we're stuck with now? does rachel know it looks really ugly?

7. i feel like the lineart less style actually hurts LO in a way. way too often you can look at a panel and it becomes really murky where something starts and ends, and it looks even worse on a phone screen, because on an even smaller screen the images look even more compressed, making it even harder to tell stuff apart. this wouldnt be as bad if the comic took back up its more high contrast look from the begging, but now it's all one flat shade and im not sure why.

8. im really confused over the marketing of LO, tbh. like the ads are all hxp focused, but the series name implies its not about them, but focusing on the 12 olympians, but then the synopsis is general mythology and at the very end randomly mentions its about persephone? but then you read it and nots sure whether its a teen romance, a comedy, a serious drama, and can't stay straight with its messaging and timeline? and persephone is not there for a chunk of time. like whats actually going on?? 😭

9. Chapter 173 is like 50% filler. It gives more questions that answers, and not just from the reporters. Like the reporter stuff was mostly filler, and the Persphone and Hades stuff was like yeah we know dont need to drag this on.

My questions are WHAT ARE THE RED EYES? Is it when she’s mad? Horny? Sad? Happy? I feel like the red eyes just show up whenever RS wants to draw them

Flying? I feel like Persphone has always been flying like it wasn’t a bug moment at all. She flew home when Minthe and Hades kissed. But apperently Demeter didn’t know? I guess I don’t remember her flying in the mortal realm but her flying didn’t seem like a big moment, none of the other characters seemed surprised by it.

“Answer mine first!” When i got to that line I reread some of it just to find where the question was. That line normally matters when you’ve already asked the question not if you haven’t gotten there yet. Like of course Demeter is gonna be worried and ask a million questions.

I know the pomegranate pin is gonna be important but I felt the focus on it was a little too much, like an excuse not to cover more this chapter. Because honestly it felt like 5 minutes of the plot was covered in this chapter. 

10. So uh, whats up with Hades weird ass comments... Like "Persephone you look beautiful and if someone says otherwise they can go play on the highway" ???

Because Persephone looking good during a murder trial is clearly the most important thing here.

Also, Perse's response to the reporter who asked her about her friendship with Hades. I mean, on one hand Persephone is right, her "friendship" (or whatever it is they have going on) is nobodies business but her own - but at the same time, its kinda also the underworld denizens right to know in the sense that their future leadership could be affected so they might want to know whats going on if their getting a new co-ruler / Queen that they will be subjects of. They probably will want to know who Persephone is, should she and Hades get married because it's very likely that when (cause lets be real its a 'when' not 'if' they get married) they do get married that Persephone will inherit half the title.

So, eh?

[honey-dewey]

Pepper Spray

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Reader

Word Count: 2,181

Warnings: None

The Statesman parking lot was the only thing you hated about your job. Mostly because it was dark as the night and terrifying even when you were clutching a weapon. Of course, when the time comes to use said weapon, you may or may not have accidentally used it on the wrong person. Oops.

 You loved your job. A well paying and not too hard job at the Statesman distillery and apparently, secrecy agent service. You mostly worked with the papers, filing and sorting and re-reading. It was hell on the feet and worse on the eyes, but you knew every inch of that building and all it’s goings on. It was truly an ideal job. 

However, the one and only thing you hated about your job was the parking lot. 

It was far away from the building, shrouded in darkness that the lights never touched. You’d put pepper spray on your keychain after a month of working at Statesman, and had hesitantly asked Ginger to make you a discreet weapon after you’d used your pepper spray once on a creep at a bar. She’d given you brass knuckles that you’d thankfully never had to use, but just knowing you could protect yourself was comfort enough. Even if you weren’t on Statesman property, the feeling of being protected was one you loved. 

Fridays were, of course, always hectic. Weekly mission reports were due on Friday, and between the fact checking and the grammar checks and the sorting away, you’d spent an hour extra at work. It wasn’t a bad thing though, as you got paid overtime and the bulk of the work was sorting away the new reports. However, your late night work antics meant that by the time you left the office, the parking lot was dead dark, and you clutched your pepper spray as you made your way to your car. 

Humming to yourself, just some annoying song one of your coworkers had been playing all day, you walked past the security booth leading into the parking lot. 

A noise behind you made you spin around, heart beating overly fast. The noise sounded distinctly like the security booth door opening. Your finger itched on the pepper spray trigger, getting ready. 

You continued towards your car, now on high alert. With the security Statesman had, you were fairly certain whoever was around wasn’t a huge threat to your safety, but you had to be certain. More than likely, it was just Tom, the security guard who usually sat in the booth. He left sometimes, to grab food or take a bathroom break. You took a breath, trying desperately to convince yourself it was just Tom. 

When you finally had your car in sight, you heard footsteps behind you, falling in line with yours. They were heavy, heavier than Tom’s, and they were regular, masked slightly by the sound of your own. Whoever was behind you was trying to hide their steps. Squaring your shoulders, heart beating loudly in your ears, you whirled around and immediately sprayed your pepper spray. There was no time to assess the threat, you just prayed your aim was true. 

It, thankfully, was. Your target, however, was not who you expected. 

“Whiskey?” 

Agent Whiskey, or Jack as he preferred around the office, was standing in front of you, his face and shirt bright orange as he attempted to process the fact that you’d just pepper sprayed him. 

“Oh my god!” You said, panicking as you realized what you’d just done. “I am so sorry!” 

Jack made a pained noise as the spray took its effect, and you immediately jumped into action. “C’mon,” you said, putting an arm around him. “I am so sorry,” you added again.

He didn’t respond. You sighed, slightly worried that this could be the end of your career. After all, you’d just pepper sprayed one of Statesman’s best agents. A mistake like that was pretty damn big. 

By the time you had him back in the building, Jack’s eyes were swollen shut and his face was soaking wet from the tears he was involuntarily crying. He couldn’t talk, so you simply busied yourself with setting him in a medical exam room and searching for what you needed. 

You’d gone through the paperwork on these rooms and their set up so many times that you knew every square inch of the space. And all the receipts for medical purchases went through you as well, meaning you also knew exactly what was stocked. 

Thankfully, Statesman had what you needed within reach, and it took you almost no time at all to find the nondescript bottle of saline solution and put it on the countertop. Along with that, you put on gloves, just to protect your hands. 

You carefully, while describing your actions so as not to send Jack into a panic, took his hat and jacket off and led him to the tiled corner of the room with the eye wash station. 

“I’m going to spray your face with this saline solution,” you said, uncapping the bottle. “It’s cold, but not super cold. It should help for when we flush the spray off your face with water.” As you explained, Jack shuffled on his feet, clearly eager to make the pain subside. 

“Three,” you said warningly, rolling the bottle back and forth in your hands, hoping you could warm the liquid a bit. 

“Two.” Jack tensed, although whether it was out of pain or anticipation, you had no idea. You could only hope it was anticipation. 

“One.” You sprayed the liquid all across Jack’s face, although it was more like splashing him with water from a cup. The saline solution dripped down his face and onto his shirt, mixing with the tears he’d shed. You put the bottle down, expertly guiding Jack over the eye wash station and turning it on. 

“Fifteen minutes,” you said, taking your gloves off and dumping them into the trash. “At least. After that, we’ll wait for your eyes to open and give you a rest period to let the burn subside, which could take a while, but should resolve itself in an hour or so.” 

Jack ended up needing a break around the eight minute mark, leaning back and taking multiple deep breaths, his eyes still shut and his throat still pretty much unusable. He rasped out a few words about his stained shirt, and you took the break in eye rinsing to help him take his shirt off and have him wash his hands. Once that was done, he went right back to the eye wash station to complete his time. 

Once Jack’s fifteen minutes were up, you helped him sit down and dry off, his eyes still swollen shut. Thankfully, his throat was starting to clear, and he was able to talk to you. 

“How in the hell?” He rasped. “I didn’t know you worked here in medical.” 

“I don’t.” You put the mostly empty saline bottle away, making a note on the whiteboard near the door that the room needed more. “I do the paperwork. I just happened to have to pull papers on an accident involving pepper spray today, and had to Google how to relieve the burn to fact check the papers. This room is familiar because I keep track of all the supplies and blueprints. Really, I just know a lot about everything that goes on in this building.” 

Jack took a breath. “Fuck.” 

You laughed. “Sure. Fuck.” 

Grabbing a few tissues, you carefully wiped away the residual tears and water off Jack’s face. His eyes blinked open, still red and swollen, but not too bad anymore. 

“Hey,” you said happily, glad to see his eyes open. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Like shit,” Jack muttered, raising a hand to rub his face, but you caught his wrist before he could. 

“Don’t rub,” you warned. “That’ll make it worse.” 

Jack nodded. “How long before the burn stops?” 

You shrugged, thinking back to the pepper spray paperwork. “An hour. But you probably won’t be fully recovered until tomorrow.” 

Sighing, Jack leaned back. “I guess we’re gonna be stuck here a while.” 

Eventually, you grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in cool water, laying it across Jack’s eyes. The swelling was, thankfully, going down, as was the redness. His eyes had finally stopped watering as well, meaning he was mostly able to see again. 

As Jack’s face got better, you two talked. Not about anything important, just simple things that could distract Jack. You learned he had a ranch, and he eagerly told you about his cow. 

“Her name is Bella,” he said, showing you a photo on his phone. You smiled. Bella was absolutely beautiful, with soft looking tan fur and big brown eyes. “She’s a highland cow, which is why she’s so fluffy.” 

“I didn’t know you had pets,” you said, sitting back and checking your watch. “Bella’s adorable.” 

Jack shrugged, putting his phone back into his pocket. “I inherited most of it from my brother,” he explained. “He died a while back, right as I joined Statesman. Mom always expected to get the ranch, but my brother said she didn’t have the heart for it. So he left it to me.” 

“Huh.” You stood, dusting yourself off. “Does your mother suck?” 

“Nah,” Jack responded. “She’s just not very motherly.” 

You laughed. “Well that explains it. We should probably get going, by the way. It’s getting late.” 

So you and Jack walked out to the parking lot, you silently fiddling with your keys. 

“Can I drive you home?” You blurted, watching Jack head off towards where the Bronco was parked. 

He stopped, turning back to you. “Pardon?” 

“I’m just worried your eyes aren’t up to scratch yet,” you elaborated, nervousness making you shuffle your feet. “And I’d feel better if I got to drive you home.” 

Jack shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.” 

As he got into your car, he looked around, impressed. “What kinda car is this?” 

“A mustang. Shelby Cobra to be specific.” 

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Is it a ‘67?” 

“Yep.” You busied yourself with backing out, the old mechanics of the car a familiar comfort to you. 

“Huh.” Jack leaned back. “Impressive.” 

You smiled, waving to Tom, who was in the security booth. “Thank you. It was my dad’s, but he gave it to me because I helped him repair it when I was young. Where’s your house?” 

Jack put his address into his phone, putting it on the dash and maxing the volume so you could hear the directions. 

“So why’d you pepper spray me?” He asked eventually, breaking the silence. 

You snorted. “Why were you sneaking up on me in the middle of the night?” 

“I had a question.” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, making a turn. “What question?” 

Jack fiddled with his jacket zipper, seemingly nervous. “Just wanted to ask about my paperwork. Ginge needed to know when my last eye exam was, and she told me to find you.” 

You laughed. “It couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” You asked. “Also, it was three years ago.” 

“How in the fuck?” 

“Champ needed your file yesterday so he could compare your sharpshooting record to one of the other agent’s scores,” you explained. “And on my way back down to the records room, I read it over. It’s a long walk and I needed some entertainment.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief, a small smile on his lips. “You are unbelievable.” 

You grinned, turning and pulling into Jack’s ranch. “I’m fairly certain being unbelievable is my job,” you pointed out, putting the car in park. 

As Jack opened the car door, you heard excited mooing and saw a dark figure racing over. 

“Bella!” Jack said eagerly, petting the cow the same way one would pet a dog. “Hey darlin’. How’s the ranch?” 

Bella mooed again, headbutting your car. 

You got out, coming around to scratch Bella’s ears. She butted into you too, sending you back a couple of steps. 

“Be nice,” Jack scolded playfully, shaking a finger at Bella. “This is a guest!” 

Bella mooed yet again and trotted off. 

“I’m sorry about her,” Jack said, turning to you. “She’s a people cow.” 

You merely shook your head, laughing. “It’s fine. By the way, is there any way I can make tonight up to you? I did kinda pepper spray you. Can I make that right somehow?” 

Jack chuckled, leaning on a fence post. “Come ‘round here again tomorrow at six. Wear something nice.” 

“Are you asking me out?” Of all the things you expected, this was not it. 

“Yeah,” Jack said. “What’d you say? Please keep in mind I was pepper sprayed an hour ago.” 

You snorted, getting back into your car and putting the window down. “It’s a date.” 

As you backed out of Jack’s ranch, he waved at you, and you waved back. 

Once you reached your own house, you fell onto your couch and eagerly texted Ginger, telling her about your upcoming date. Within seconds, she was calling you. 

“What?” You asked, giggling and heading into your kitchen for a glass of water. 

Ginger took a deep breath. “Did you just score a date with Jack goddamn Daniels?” 

“Yeah?” You said, leaning against your counter. “I mean, I kinda pepper sprayed him first, but yeah, I got a date!” 

There was a pause. And then, 

“I’m sorry, did you say you pepper sprayed him!?”

[e-milieeee]

christmas eve—adrienette

Summary: Christmas Eve with the Dupain-Chengs is even better than what Adrien imagined. 

Notes: A commission for @mlbforblm! 

Word count: 1.2k (a significant amount longer than it was supposed to be... whoops?) 

Adrien Agreste isn’t good with presents.

He supposes it runs in the family. After all, his father had gotten him ridiculously expensive pens three years in a row, a gift that took an embarrassingly little amount of thought even for his father—and he hadn’t even bothered to buy them himself. Then there was the one time he had initially thought his father had gotten him something worthwhile only to find out he had really done nothing at all—and stole the credit for Marinette’s gift.

So, yeah. Adrien’s been cursed with hereditary bad gift-buying genes, but he resolves that this time, it won’t be as bad.

He arrives at the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery five minutes before the arranged time, and in fear of appearing rude, he loiters outside in the cold, huffing out breathes of white air as he toes the ground and tries to stay warm. Then, six o’clock on the dot, he knocks on their front door.

The bakery is closed for Christmas Eve, but it doesn’t mean the interior looks less lively. In fact, the lights are brighter than usual, cheery and warm, and Adrien can almost feel the chill seeping from his bones just by looking at it.

Marinette opens the door for him. Her hair is tied up in a single ponytail instead of pigtails, and she’s dressed in a beige turtleneck paired with leggings and pink slippers.

The slippers, he’s now used to. The Dupain-Chengs didn’t have many things they were nitpicky about, but apparently wearing slippers around the house is one of them.

“Merry Christmas,” Marinette grins, leaning upwards to press a kiss against his cheek. “My parents are just finishing up dinner, so we can wait for a little while until everything is done cooking. I’m so glad you could make it.”

He smiles back. “Me too. Are you sure your parents don’t need help in the kitchen…?”

Marinette waves her hands. “I’m going to say they’re good on their own, especially because—” she raises her voice and turns to the kitchen, “THEY JUST KICKED ME OUT SAYING I WASN’T NEEDED.”

Sabine laughs in response. “Darling, just relax! Your father and I have it handled.”

Marinette sticks out her tongue at the kitchen, looking unfairly adorable, before turning back to Adrien. “Um, in case you want to stay over for tonight as well we have an extra futon that you can use. My parents wanted you to stay and open gifts, at least.”

Adrien perks up at the mention of gifts, remembering his own mission. He holds out his left hand, previously hidden behind his back, and extends the small gift bag to Marinette. “Merry Christmas. I wasn’t… well, I’m not the best at gifts, so I hope you like it.”

“It could be Plagg’s rotten cheese and I’d like it if it were from you,” she whispers.

“That’s absolutely uncalled for,” Plagg’s voice hisses as he pokes his head out of Adrien’s collar. “I wouldn’t share my cheese anyway, so…”

Marinette rolls her eyes at his kwami. She and Plagg have an interesting relationship, to say the least. “Tikki has a present for you as well, you little gremlin, but your behaviour determines whether or not you receive it.”

Plagg blows a raspberry at her before hiding back into Adrien’s collar, and he shoots Marinette a sheepish glance. “You can open your present now,” he tells her. “I want to see your reaction.”

As skeptical as he is about the gift, it’s the truth that he’s excited—after spending five hours at the mall as Chat Noir, he had taken a bit of pride in what he had gotten. Marinette takes the bag from his fingertips.

It’s dainty and pretty, decorated as the marketed Christmas special. “Even the bag looks expensive,” Marinette jokes weakly.

Adrien honestly has no clue how much it had all cost. He’d taken money out from the bank beforehand so it couldn’t be traced back to his identity and told Nathalie that he wanted to buy himself a watch. She’d barely questioned it.

Marinette tugs out the small box in the bag. She glances at Adrien with wide eyes. “Is this…”

“Open it,” he prompts, unable to stop the grin from sneaking onto his face.

She does so, peering at the necklace nestled inside. From where she’s standing and the downturned position of her face, Adrien can’t see her expression. But she doesn’t look up at him, only continues staring at the gift, and he’s hit with another wave of self-doubt. Had he really inherited his father’s bad taste for gifts?

“Um, Marinette? It’s okay if you don’t like it because honestly I didn’t really know what I was going for—”

She looks up at him. All the words stick to the back of his throat when he realizes her eyes watery.

Marinette’s crying. Had he made her cry? Was the gift that bad? Panic seeps into him like ice water in his veins.

“Uh,” Adrien manages out, though his brain is short-circuiting. “I’m—is it that bad? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m not great with presents and I can get you something else and—”

“No,” Marinette interrupts. “You idiot. This is… this is amazing. How did you even…”

Oh. Oh.

“You like it,” Adrien interprets correctly at last. “Oh.”

“Like it?” Marinette echoes incredulously. “Adrien, this is gorgeous and I don’t—I don’t even know what to say. I love it so much, seriously.” Gingerly, she lifts the necklace out of the box. On it dangles two charms: a neon green cat’s paw and a ladybug, both embedded with small gems that glitter an assortment of colours in the light—even the colours they are not. Adrien had gotten it customized at the most popular jewelry store he’d spotted at the mall. The girl working at the front had been skeptical (or maybe overwhelmed), but in the end she’d taken the offer. Adrien thinks dressing up in costume probably had something to do with it.

“Do you want to put it on…?” he asks, slightly hesitantly.

Marinette’s entire face light’s up. “Yes, please,” she grins, lifting the chain out to hand to him.

Carefully, Adrien brushes aside stray strands of hair. His fingers shake a little around the clasp, but after a few fumbles he manages to clip it together.

“There,” Adrien breathes, as Marinette turns around and lifts the charms on the tips of her fingers. Her mouth forms an O. “It’s so pretty. Did you… wait, did you get this customized?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Maybe.”

She leans up on her tiptoes and presses another kiss against the cheek. “Tell me it wasn’t that expensive.”

Adrien has no idea what constitutes as expensive, so he says, “Not really.”

Marinette sighs. “Alright. Please don’t feel obliged to get me big gifts. I didn’t—um, well, I didn’t get something nearly as intricate but I did make you something and I think—well, I hope—you’ll like it.”

He’s pretty sure his heart swells at that, but he keeps his cool. “I’m excited to see what you’ve got,” Adrien tells her, and Marinette takes his hand and tugs him towards the couches. “Like you said—you could’ve gotten me a slice of Plagg’s half-eaten camembert and I’d still be happy.”

“Shut up,” Plagg hisses from inside his shirt.

Marinette plops down on the couch with a laugh. “Thankfully, it’s a little better than that. But still, Adrien—nothing too fancy in the future, okay?”

“Marinette!” Sabine’s voice comes from the kitchen. “We’re almost finished, so set the table, please!”

Adrien glances at the kitchen, then leans in to whisper, “Is this a bad time to mention I bought your parents that new stove you said your mom wanted? It’s arriving via shipping tomorrow afternoon.”

Marinette lets out a noise of disbelief and mock exasperation in the back of her throat. “What are we going to do with you?” she asks. “C’mon, pretty boy, let’s go set the table and we’ll figure it out later.”

Notes: Here’s my fics masterlist! 

[petersasteria]

Sperm Donor - BFF!CEO!Tom Holland

Pairing: BFF!Tom x Reader (platonic), Pre-School Teacher!Haz x Reader

Requested? Nah.

This is inspired by a movie that I watched a month or so ago x

They're older in this one lmao

* * * *

Life is weird. It starts slow during your childhood and when you turn twenty, you get old really fast. Panic sets in and we all suddenly become aware that we haven't done anything significant or life-changing. That's the reason why people make weird and quick decisions like: dyeing their hair a crazy color or finally quitting the job they had since they were younger. Tom wasn't panicking, though. He felt like he's done everything and he's just relaxing while managing a company he inherited. You, on the other hand, were panicking. You're already twenty-seven and you haven't done the most basic shit in life.

You already traveled around, partied, made out with strangers, having one night stands and never seeing them again, dyed your hair, etc. But after your check up from the doctor, you realized that it was time for the next step; the more serious and mature part of life. Your best friend, Tom, was still stuck in the immature part of life and you didn't want that.

Both of you were really different. At this day and age, he still wanted to do all the things both of you did when you were eighteen. Meanwhile, you've been thinking about settling down. The only problem was, you weren't dating anyone. It was totally your choice to be single, but now you wanted that to change.

You invited Tom for lunch after your check up and he happily agreed. He hasn't seen you for a long time due to him being busy. He really missed you. You went straight to yours and Tom's favorite restaurant after the check up and ordered for the both of you while waiting for him. He was a little late, because he arrived when the food arrived.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, love." He leaned in a pressed a light kiss on your cheek before sitting across from you. He loosened his tie and smiled when he saw his favorite food. He glanced at you, "Thanks for ordering."

"No problem, Tom." You playfully rolled your eyes. You took a bite of your food and cleared your throat, "So, how've you been?"

Tom looked at you as he chewed his food and shrugged, "Busy as always, but I'll always make time for you, darling."

"What are your plans?" You asked.

"Plans? For what?" Tom furrowed his eyebrows. You took a sip of your drink and said, "You know, life plans. Are you planning on settling down soon or something? Are you going on dates?"

Tom scrunched his face and quickly shook his head, "Darling, you of all people should know that I don't go on dates. I prefer sleeping around with no strings attached."

"But surely you'd want to settle down, right? Like, get married and have kids?" You trailed off. Tom just looked at you and put down his utensils, "Alright, what's going on? What's with the questions?"

You pursed your lips and stayed quiet.

"Oh, you won't say anything? Then I won't stop staring at you." Tom challenged and Tom doesn't back down at any challenge. You just shrugged and ate your food. Tom gave you a sly smile and continued to eat his food too, his gaze not leaving you.

After a few minutes, you felt creeped out and groaned, "Fine! You win!"

Tom grinned in victory, "So tell me what's wrong."

"I want to settle down." You said sternly as you looked at Tom with a serious look on your face. Tom's jaw dropped in shock.

"Are you serious??" Tom asked.

You nodded.

He chuckled, "Y/N, darling, you're a teacher for kids and it surprisingly pays well, but aren't you sick of seeing kids everyday? Besides, if you settle down, I have no one to go to parties with!"

"But we're getting old, Tom!" You whined. "And kids are actually cute!"

"You despised kids when we were twenty." Tom pointed at you.

"That was seven years ago! People change, Tom." You sighed. "Why are you so against it, anyway?"

"Because you're my ride or die! You're basically my soulmate at this point." Tom said and you nodded.

"I don't see why that has to change."

"It will change, because you won't have time for me. Then when we finally hang out, you'll talk about your baby and shit." Tom frowned. "How can we attend that party in Prague next week, if you're settling down?"

"I mean, w-we can still go." You told him.

"How will you even settle down?? You're not dating anyone." Tom challenged again.

"Sperm donor." You told him boldly and he gasped. He was surprised, because he didn't exactly imagine you having babies that way. Heck, he didn't even imagine you having babies at all. He still thought that both of you wouldn't be settling down.

"Are you for real?" Tom whispered after a moment of silence.

"Yup." You breathed.

"Oh dear god, Y/N." Tom rubbed his face. "Are you out of your mind? Just get a boyfriend."

"No fucking way. I want kids now."

"Do you even have anyone in mind??"

"I originally thought it to be you-"

"No way! I hate kids." Tom glared.

"I know, that's why I changed my mind. I've decided that my sperm donor would be Harrison." You proudly claimed with a smile. Tom stared at you and laughed, "As in your colleague? Isn't that against rules or something?"

"There are no rules, Thomas." You rolled your eyes. "I'm doing this whether you like it or not."

Tom put his hands up in surrender, "I won't stop you. It's your body; your incredibly hot body. Are you sure you want to ruin that by having kids?"

"Tom." You glared.

"Alright, I'll stop. 'M sorry, darling." Tom snickered and continued to eat his food.

-

"Can you believe that she actually wants kids? It's so weird, Sam! You should've seen her." Tom said as he took a sip of his beer.

He was visiting Sam to confide in, because Sam was the first one to have a child. Sam looked at him and chuckled, "Kids aren't that bad."

"They're whiny and needy." Tom pouted.

"And so were you when you were a baby. All babies are like that." Sam said as he looked at his one year old son who was playing with building blocks on the living room floor.

"I don't like them. That's final." Tom huffed.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, "Are you saying you don't like your nephew?"

"Okay, he's different. He's family and-"

"Yeah and your future kids will be family too!" Sam laughed.

"I just don't want kids, okay?! Why does everyone pressure someone to have kids anyway? I'll just be your son's undeniably rich and handsome uncle who's super cool and spoils him." Tom said.

Sam laughed so hard at his claim. Tom frowned as he looked at Sam. He meant every word he said. Sam wiped away the tears in his eyes and calmed down, "I laughed, because you thought you were handsome. Everyone knows I'm arguably the best looking Holland."

Tom snickered, "Calm down, Sammy boy. You're not mum."

"Touche."

-

"Tom! I'm so glad you could make it!" You smiled when you saw him through the crowd. Tom smiled and kissed your cheek, "You know for someone who's trying to get pregnant, you're not boring at all."

You playfully slapped his arm and pointed at the paper bag he was holding, "What's that?"

"A gift for you." Tom handed it to you. "It's weird how you're having a pregnancy party thing when you're not pregnant; not yet, at least."

You took the paper bag and put it on the gift table, "Well, it's not wrong to celebrate."

"That's true and we both no I love alcohol." Tom smiled and grabbed a bottle of beer.

"I'm surprised you're not an alcoholic."

"Same here, darling."

A few moments later, Tom was already drunk and he saw Harrison. He decided it would be best to formally meet the father of your soon to be child.

"Hey mate." Tom greeted with a big grin. Harrison looked at him and nodded.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Tom asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harrison chuckled, "I do. It's just that I can't believe this is happening."

"How'd she get you to do it?" Tom asked. "I'm curious, because if I'm being honest with you, even if she flashes her boobs at me, I'd still say no."

"Well, she and I really like kids. Then she brought up the idea and I thought it was cool. She then asked me if I wanted to do it. In my head, I said no, but the more I thought about it, the more I started to agree."

"And you agreed? Just like that?" Tom asked in surprise.

Harrison nodded, "Yeah. We even talked about the visitation arrangement and stuff and that she'd live with me when she's on maternity leave so I could help her around and stuff."

"Holy shit. You guys are prepared." Tom chuckled. "I'm actually impressed. Why don't you start dating and be an official family?" Tom joked.

"I would be lying if I told you that I haven't thought about it before." Harrison confessed. "But I thought she was dating you and I backed off for a while until I dated someone."

"Dated? As in like you're not with this person anymore?" Tom asked. Harrison just nodded. "Then you're more than welcome to date, Y/N! As her bestest friend in the whole wide world, you have my permission." Tom slurred.

"My ex and I kinda just broke up a week ago and it's still fresh and I don't want Y/N to think that she'd be a rebound." Harrison looked down.

"Oh." Tom said. "Well, thanks for not dating her, I guess. At least she wouldn't feel that she was a rebound.

"Yeah." Harrison smiled a small smile.

"Well, I'll go to the restroom, yeah? I'll talk to you later. As her best friend, I feel like I should get to know you more." Tom hiccuped as he stumbled away to go to the restroom in your apartment.

Tom finally made it to the bathroom and did his business. He flushed the toilet and washed his hands with soap and water thrice. No one knew why, but he's been doing that ever since he was old enough to go to the bathroom on his own. It kind of annoyed you, because whenever he was at your place, the hand soap you just bought is already half empty (or half full, depending on how you look at it). You had to get him his own hand soap whenever he was in your place. You even put a label on it.

After he was done washing his hands thrice with soap and water, he saw a little container with Harrison's name on it. He chuckled when he realized it was Harrison's... you know.

"So, these are his best swimmers." Tom drunkenly chuckled to himself. He clumsily took the container and opened it. "Did he fill it up or something?" Tom curiously asked as he took a peek. Due to being really drunk, he was unable to stand still and because of that, the container fell in the sink and Harrison's 'best swimmers' went down the drain.

Tom's eyes widened in horror and he panicked, "Holy shit! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh my fucking god! Y/N's going to fucking kill me."

He paced back and forth in the bathroom until he came up with a plan. A stupid plan at that. He could've made up some shitty excuse that the container fell on its own, but he didn't. Instead, he cleaned the container and sighed to himself. He sat on the toilet and took out his phone to look at something to jerk off to. When he found something, he did his business.

-

Once Tom was done with everything (including his thing of washing his hands thrice), he finally exited the bathroom.

"Tom, there you are! I've been looking all over for you!" You smiled at him and dragged him to the living room. Everyone was gathered around and Tom started to feel like he was in a cult and you were the leader.

"Okay so, I'd like to say a few words." You started. "Thank you all so much for coming to this party! I appreciate all the gifts already. It's like a baby shower, but at the same time it isn't, y'know?"

Everyone chuckled except Tom. He was already kind of sober and he couldn't comprehend what just happened in the bathroom. You were saying something, but he couldn't understand it, because he wasn't focused. He finally snapped out of it when he heard Harrison's name.

"Thank you so much, Harrison. If it weren't for you, my dream wouldn't come true." You smiled as Harrison chuckled.

'Oh god. I'm so sorry, Harrison.' Tom thought.

"Lastly, I'd like to thank Tom." You looked at him with a bright smile. He couldn't help but return it. "Thank you for being supportive about this. You're the best. I love you." You added.

Tom chuckled nervously, "I love you too, darling. I want you to be happy and if having a baby makes you happy, then who am I to go against it?"

You grinned and pulled him in for a hug. Everyone around you clapped. Tom hugged back, but his thoughts were running wild.

'Oh my god. I'm so sorry, Y/N. I ruined it.' Tom thought.

The next day, he didn't go to work. He went back to Sam's place which was weird, because it was early in the morning. Sam was awake anyway, because he was cooking breakfast for his fiance and son.

As soon as Sam opened the door, Tom went straight in. "Um, sure. Come in and make yourself at home." Sam said sarcastically as he closed the door. He followed Tom to the kitchen and asked why he was there,

"I fucked up." Tom said.

"You always do, but what did you fuck up this time?" Sam asked as he fried the bacon.

"Y/N's pregnancy." Tom bit his lip.

"What do you mean by that?" Sam questioned as he glanced at his older brother for a second before turning back to the bacon.

"I, uh, fuck. Um, I don't know how to say it."

"Just spit it out, man!"

"I'm going to be the father of her baby." Tom spat.

Sam quickly turned off the stove and fully gave his attention to Tom, "What? How? Why? I thought that guy Harvey-"

"Harrison." Tom corrected.

"I thought that guy, Harrison, was the dad?" Sam asked in confusion and slight panic.

Tom groaned and rubbed his face and crossed his arms, "I may or may not have accidentally opened it and it fell in the sink and his sperm is most likely swimming through the pipes as we speak."

Sam's jaw dropped, "Holy fucking shit. Did you tell her?"

"Um, no? Was I supposed to?"

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT. Of fucking course you were supposed to tell her!" Sam gasped. "Sometimes I even wonder why you got the company."

Tom glared at him and Sam shrugged, "You need to tell Y/N or she'll murder you."

"She'll get mad." Tom whined.

"She'll get even more mad if she finds out after the baby comes out and it looks like you!!" Sam pointed out. "Harrison's fucking blonde, mate."

"How'd you know?" Tom asked.

"Y/N showed me his picture after you told me she was getting a sperm donor." Sam explained but shook his head. "Wait, we're getting off-track. She'll be fucking shocked and confused if the baby won't look like Harrison."

"Oh my god. I never thought of that!" Tom bit his nails in panic.

"You idiot!" Sam shrieked. He still couldn't believe it. The two brothers stood there in silence until Sam decided to break it.

"So, um, welcome to fatherhood?" Sam said but it ended up like a question. "You know, what if it doesn't work the first try?"

"That could happen?" Tom asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Sam nodded, "Yeah. It's normal. She could ask Harrison again if it doesn't work and then you're back to your bachelor life! For now, it's time for the waiting game."

"Alright. Let the waiting game begin." Tom sighed. It was selfish of him, but he really hoped it wouldn't work.

-

"Tom!" You smiled through the phone.

"What? I'm kinda busy at the moment." Tom said as he typed away on his laptop and put you on speaker. "You're on speaker. Just tell me the thing you have to tell me."

"I'm pregnant!" You squealed.

"Oh shit!" Tom said loudly and put his head in his hands. His life was officially over.

"Tom?" You said. Tom's eyes widened in realization that he said it out loud, "I meant- oh shit! It actually worked the first time! That's- that's cool! Because you know, sometimes it doesn't work... the first time."

He quickly put you off speaker and pressed the phone to his ear. "So, what's your next move?"

"I'm telling the dad, of course! He'd be so thrilled!" You swooned.

"Y-Yeah! T-That's... yeah, you go do that. I'm really happy for you! It's all working out." Tom said, hoping that he masked his nervousness well. Thankfully, you were too happy to notice and he was glad.

"How-How will you tell him?" Tom asked.

"I'll buy him a mug that says 'best dad in the world!' or something." You giggled. "Both of us have been wanting this."

"Well, why aren't you dating?" Tom questioned. "I mean, he seems like a great guy. I approve of him. He's better than all of your exes."

Tom really meant that. He liked Harrison for you. He thought that both of you would be a great pair. He'd be lying if he said he didn't have romantic feelings for you before, but he realized that it was just strong infatuation. Nothing else. What both of you have was simply platonic.

"He's not ready to date." You explained. "But that's okay, because I'll be having his gorgeous baby! AAAAHHHHH I'M PREGNANT!!!!" You excitedly screamed.

Tom had to put his phone away from his ear so that you wouldn't break his eardrums. He was really happy that you were happy, but he couldn't help but feel scared when you find out that the baby was his.

He put the phone to his ear and said, "Well, good luck on telling him." He smiled, because you finally got what you wanted.

"Thanks, Tommy. Love you!"

"Love you too!" He hung up and quickly texted Sam about the news. Sam replied and texted: "Oh shit lmao good luck, daddy-o!"

Tom sighed deeply at his brother's response before drowning himself in work.

-

The whole time during your pregnancy, Tom found himself constantly checking on you. Despite the fact that you're carrying his baby, he still didn't like the idea of kids. It was a personal reason and he didn't know why. He was confused.

He remembered the phone call he got from you when you found out the gender of the baby. You were so happy and every time he thought about it, he smiled.

"I'm having a boy." You said happily.

Tom looked at you in shock for a few seconds until his face broke into a smile, "That's great! Wow. A boy."

A son. You're carrying his son and he doesn't know how to feel about it. As your best friend, you kept sending him pictures of the ultrasounds and you told him everything you were feeling during the pregnancy.

Tom did everything to support you, but in a subtle way, of course. You still thought that Harrison was the father of your baby and Tom didn't want to outshine that. He knew that Harrison would be a better father than him, but Tom wanted to be a father to his son too. It was then that he realized he wasn't opposed to the idea of having babies. He was just scared of having them and not being a good father.

But now, he has a son on the way and his son was in his best friend's womb. The person he loved and cared about was carrying his son. He thought it was amazing and for once in his life, he was genuinely happy and excited.

As much as Tom wanted to stay in London and check up on you and the baby, he had to go to New York for business. He doesn't know how long he'll be gone, but he knew it'd be awhile. When he gets back, his son would probably be walking already.

You, Tom and Harrison were at the airport and you were bidding him goodbye. Tom hugged you tight, but not too much, because he didn't want to hurt you.

"I'll miss you!" You cried.

"I'll miss you too! In fact, I already miss you." Tom said, chuckling. He pulled away and wiped your tears away. "Don't cry or the baby will look ugly."

"That's not a thing. You're just saying that." You lightly chuckled.

"Yeah so that you wouldn't cry and it worked." Tom smiled. He turned to Harrison and pulled him in for a hug as well, "Take care of my best friend, yeah?"

Tom was kind of scared to leave you, but he trusted Harrison.

Harrison surprisingly hugged back and said, "I will. You can trust me, mate. I'll call you when I don't know what to do."

Tom chuckled and pulled away, "Feel free to call anytime, then."

Tom didn't have time to say anything else, because his flight was being called. You frowned and said goodbye to him one last time. He waved at both of you and left.

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑...

It's been five years since Tom left and you haven't seen him since. During those five years, you managed to do a lot of things. You gave birth, you started officially dating Harrison, you moved in with him, nailing motherhood, talking to Tom from time to time, etc.

Tom was doing well. He was really happy with all the photos you sent him. He would smile at the photos, but the fact that he was the father of your son was still at the back of his mind. It's been five years and he still hasn't told you. He didn't know what to do, so he called Sam. Only Sam knew his secret, anyway.

"Hey Sam!" Tom greeted with a smile through the screen. Sam smiled at him and waved back. Tom squinted and asked, "Is that Harry?"

"Yeah! Harry's back!" Sam grinned.

"Hey Tom! I missed you!" Harry shouted in glee. Harry has been traveling the world for photography and he decided it was time to go back and slow down, because he was already twenty-nine years old.

"I missed you too, man!" Tom grinned.

"So, Tom... why'd you call?" Sam asked as he fixed his hair and moved a bit so Harry could fit in the frame.

"First of all, I'm coming back home tomorrow." Tom said.

"That's great!"

"We could finally hang out again!"

"Yeah and that's not all." Tom gulped.

"What's up?" Sam asked.

"Um, I still haven't told Y/N." Tom bit his lip.

Sam's eyes widened, already knowing what he was talking about, "WHAT?? IT'S BEEN FIVE YEARS, THOMAS."

"Tell Y/N what? What'd I miss?" Harry asked in confusion.

Sam sighed, "Tom's the father of Y/N's baby and Y/N doesn't know that because she knows that the father this whole time was Harrison. I'm sure she's confused after the baby came out, because guess what, Harry!"

"What?"

"Harrison's fucking blonde! And I've seen her son... he fucking looks like you, Tom." Sam said and Tom winced because it was true. He saw the pictures after all.

"Oh my fucking god, Tom. Tell her." Harry said in shock. "If I were Y/N, I'd be pissed you didn't tell me before."

"Yeah, that's what I said five years ago." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Calm down, will you? I'll tell her when I get back. I'll tell both of them." Tom said, mentally preparing himself and his speech.

-

You and Harrison invited Tom for dinner when he got back and Tom was nervous. He hasn't seen both of year for five years and he just randomly tells you that you and him have a child together.

You opened the door and squealed when you saw him. You hugged him and let him in yours and Harrison lovely home. It was just right for raising a family and Tom mentally cringed when he remembered his speech that he prepared.

"I missed you, Tom!"

"I missed you too, darling." Tom smiled softly as he took a good look at you. "Oh my god. Please don't murder me, but are you pregnant, by any chance? You're glowing."

You giggled and nodded, "Surprise! I'm two months pregnant now and I'm engaged too. Harrison and I decided we wanted the little guy to have a sibling."

Tom nodded, "That's great!"

"Thank you!" You grinned as you led him to the dining area.

All three of you sat on the dining table and all three of you were happily eating. Or maybe just you and Harrison. Tom was just poking his food around.

"I have something to say." Tom finally said.

"Oh, okay." Harrison said.

"What's up?" You asked. "You look like you have a major problem."

"It's about your son." Tom said.

"Caiden? What about Caiden?" Harrison asked.

Tom took a deep breath and took a sip of water before clearing his throat. He looked at both of you, "Please don't be mad, but I've been keeping a secret from you for years now."

"What?" You were confused. Harrison was confused too.

"I'm Caiden's father." Tom said.

"What?" Harrison asked as he looked at you. You looked at Harrison and shrugged, "Thomas, what are you talking about?"

"That night. Your pregnancy shit party. My drunk self did something stupid and-"

"What did you do?" You asked. Tom couldn't read the look on your face.

"I took the container where Harrison's sperm was and I took a peek, because I was- I was curious if he filled the whole container up and-"

"Dude, that's fucking sick." Harrison looked at him in horror.

"I know, I know and I'm sorry!" Tom panicked. "And then I guess I couldn't stand straight because the container fell in the sink and Harrison's thing fell in the drain."

Harrison's jaw dropped and so did yours. Tom bit his lip and sighed before continuing, "And so I cleaned the container and- and I replaced his sperm with mine, thinking it would help."

All three of you sat in silence after that. It was some news. It wasn't good news and it wasn't bad news. It was just... news.

Harrison cleared his throat and said, "I thought Caiden didn't look like me, because of weird genetics or something science related. Because it happens, you know? I heard that there's a really really small percentage that a baby would look different from its parents. Like, being ginger or something like that. So I thought it was that, but now that you said it, it makes sense."

You didn't say anything, because it was hard to process and it was hard to think that he probably kept it for so long.

"Caiden even got your hand washing trait. He has his own hand soap in the bathroom too." Harrison added and pursed his lips.

"Wait. Really?" Tom asked.

Harrison nodded. He looked tensed and you didn't blame him. Harrison wiped his mouth with the table napkin and gave you both a tight-lipped smile, "I'll just, uh, I need- I need some air."

You nodded and Tom closed his eyes and let his head hang low. Harrison stood up from his seat and quickly left to go to the backyard. You looked at Tom and frowned, "I wish you could've told me that same night, y'know? Before I did anything."

"I know and I'm sorry. I'm really really sorry." Tom opened his eyes and looked at you. "You were just so happy and then you had that speech and- I didn't want to ruin that."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." Tom said sadly.

"You know, Harrison was upset because Caiden didn't have ANYTHING that resembled him. But he convinced himself that it was okay and it was this science shit that he mentioned. He probably feels like shit right now and I'll just clear my head, okay? I'll talk to you; we'll talk to you." You sighed as you stood up. Tom did the same. He didn't feel welcome. If he were being honest, it didn't feel right for him to sit there after he told you both.

"Thank you for telling us, Thomas. If you'll excuse me, my fiance needs me." You said softly and gave him a small smile before going to the backyard.

Tom looked down and escorted himself out of your house.

-

Harrison was obviously upset. The son he thought was his turned out to be someone else's. He felt really dumb, but he realized that Caiden didn't have to be related to him by blood for him to treat Caiden like his own son. He didn't see why that had to change. He loved Caiden with all his heart from the second he found out you were pregnant until now. Caiden was still the same Caiden he knew and loved. The only difference was, he wasn't the biological father after all. It was Tom.

Harrison knew you were kind of upset that Tom told you years later, but Harrison knew you didn't regret anything. Harrison didn't regret anything either. He loved taking care of you especially now that you're carrying HIS child this time. Both of you were very sure of that, because you two actually did it.

You still haven't spoken to Tom and Harrison kind of figured out that both of you were stubborn. So, he took it upon himself to reach out to Tom. He asked for Tom to meet up with him and Tom agreed. What Tom didn't know was that Harrison was bringing Caiden with him.

Harrison asked Tom to meet up with him at the park. He asked Tom if they could go for a morning run and Tom said yes. On the other hand, he told you that he was taking Caiden to the park for him to play with other kids. Of course, you agreed.

Tom wasn't there yet when Harrison arrived and he let Caiden join the other kids at the playground. Three minutes later, Tom arrived and asked, "Are we here so that you could punch me in the face or something? Because I think I deserve that."

Harrison smiled and shook his head, "No. My love for Caiden will never change whether I'm his biological father or not. And even if the world turns upside down, Caiden will still know me as his father."

Tom nodded, "I understand and I'm not trying to take him away from you if that's what you're thinking."

"That's good to know, because I don't know what I'd do without him." Harrison smiled and offered Tom to sit next to him. Tom sat down and waited for Harrison's next words.

"I just want to know what your plans are, because he's yours." Harrison said.

Tom shook his head, "Caiden's yours more than he's mine. I'm just a sperm donor if you think about it. But I do want to be part of his life. Maybe when he grows up, he'll understand. I want to help both of you in raising him and I want to thank you both for raising him well. He wouldn't be who he is without both of you and I appreciate that."

"I guess I just want him to acknowledge me as his dad too? Is that wrong? Because I can back off right now and pretend we didn't have this conversation." Tom added.

"No, it's not wrong. You have every right to say that, because you're his real dad." Harrison assured.

"But I can't take care of kids. Heck, I can't even take care of my own nephew before. I've always been the bachelor or the playboy or whatever everyone calls me and I've grown to like it? Like, I genuinely love it and wouldn't change anything else in the world. Caiden's just the cherry on top of it. I hope you don't mind, but uh, since he's kind of my son too..." Tom trailed off and Harrison nodded for him to continue.

"I fixed some papers and signed them. All I need are yours and Y/N's signatures... I want Caiden to inherit my company." Tom said. "No one else will have that but him and I'll teach him the ropes when he's of age and- it would be really nice to have an heir and Caiden's my only heir. I hope you understand."

"I do." Harrison said. "As much as I want Caiden to acknowledge you as his dad, I don't want him to forget about me and to start comparing." He chuckled.

"I won't do that to you or Y/N. I'll follow anything you guys say. So how will-"

"Daddy! Daddy! I found a snail near the slide!" a tiny voice called. Harrison glanced at Tom and grinned before looking at the child. Tom looked at where Harrison was looking at and his jaw dropped. Caiden was a spitting image of him and it warmed his heart.

"Caiden, buddy, I want you to meet uncle Tom." Harrison pulled the four year old to sit on his lap and ran his fingers through the child's hair.

Tom looked at him and smiled and he teared up a bit, "Hey buddy."

"Hi! I like your shirt." Caiden gave him a toothy grin. Tom looked down at his shirt before looking at Caiden, "You can have it when you're older."

Caiden's eyes widened and looked at Harrison who chuckled, "What'll you say, Caiden?"

"Thank you!" Caiden giggled. "I'll play again. Bye!" With that, Caiden got off from Harrison's lap and went back to play with his new friends.

Tom couldn't believe what just happened. Harrison said, "He knows we don't look alike, by the way. He doesn't seem to mind, though. But I know we should tell him as early as now that you're his real dad."

"I'm not opposed with that idea." Tom admitted. The two of them watched Caiden as they changed the topic and talked about life.

𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑...

You and Harrison finally told Caiden the truth. Tom was present, of course. He wanted to see how Caiden will react. Caiden didn't see anything bad about it, though. He loved it even more.

"So, uncle Tom is my real daddy?" Caiden asked one more time and all three of you nodded. Caiden grinned and said, "I have two daddies?"

"Well... yeah." You said with a shrug.

"That's cool!" Caiden giggled. He looked at Tom and pointed at Harrison as he did so, "I call my daddy already. What will I call you?"

"Anything you want." Tom said, not really bothered if he still calls him 'uncle Tom' or not.

"I'll call you papa." Caiden smiled and hugged him. Tom looked at you and Harrison in surprise and both of you just urged him to return the gesture because he wasn't sure.

Tom hugged back and it felt nice. He felt great. He then made a mental note to himself to hug his nieces and nephews.

From then on, all three of you agreed that Tom would have Caiden during Friday until Sunday and on some occasions when you and Harrison were busy. All three of you also agreed that there would be days when all four of you would go out to really bond.

You didn't really wish to have a family like this, but you did and if you were being honest, you wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world.

* * * *

this is the longest fic I've written here so far omg but i hope y'all liked it

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @abrielleholland​​​​ @poguesholland​​​ @superheroesaremytea​​  @marshxx​ @ella-whyte

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @marvelousell​​​ @justasmisunderstoodasloki​ @rubberducky-jrr​ @petersholland​ @osterfieldnholland​ @miraclesoflove

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 2:

“Say ‘please?’”

“Fuck off, Greenbriar.”

“Close enough.”

Previous

Read chapter 2 on AO3 or read below:

This is the shape of my nightmares:

My sister Taryn and I are thirteen years old, sick and miserable. We’ve just endured our first heats and stayed home from school for a week with doctor permission. Even now, we feel residual awfulness: headaches and sore muscles. Heats are painful when there’s no one to help you through them, and obviously we’re too young to mate. We sheltered in our rooms, and our adoptive father briefly hired an omega nurse to tend to our high temperatures and help us wrap up in blankets, so at least we felt safe and cocooned.

Everybody knows why we missed school, and they whisper about it behind our backs. Even before we presented, our designation was obvious. The rest of our class—the rest of the school—is alpha kids, and the ones in our year have all started growing out of their baby fat, shooting up like wheat stalks. Taryn and I are only barely taller than we were last year, our cheeks are still soft, and we are gaining weight in our hips and chests. Everything about this is awful. Nothing is fun.

We are outside for gym class. The alpha kids, growing into their bodies, have a lot of extra energy, so they need to spend time circling the track or tackling each other in games of capture the flag. Taryn and I will join them until we get tired, but if we show signs of flagging, we’re benched. Omegas aren’t as sturdy. Omegas break.

Today, the teacher is more generous. During our game of capture the flag, she simply mandates we play defense, guarding the precious flag, and abstain from running around with our classmates. It’s boring, but fine. We get to talk to each other while the alphas tussle among themselves upfield.

Except a few of them are “on defense” today too—the alpha elites, too lazy or too important for gym, who can slack off. As the only two omegas on school grounds who aren’t staff, Taryn and I are categorically beneath their notice, but we know every member of the clique by name: Locke, the son of a wealthy consultant who’s never home, always traveling; Nicasia, whose mom is a senator; Valerian—nobody knows what his family does so we all kind of assume it’s crime; Cardan, the youngest of six heirs to the most absurd family fortune this side of the Rockies.

Already, they are taller than us, stronger than us, looking unfairly sculpted in the autumn sun. Already I am aware of how we are different.

Then the wind blows past me, picking up my hair. And the scene changes.

The first thing I notice when Cardan unexpectedly strides toward me is that he smells amazing. He smells so incredible that I goggle at him for a second, baffled by how I somehow didn’t notice this about him before. I feel a clenching in my stomach and the urge to do something, although at the time I don’t know what. And then, while I am paralyzed by his scent, he gives me a hard shove for no reason, knocking me off-balance.

I land on my backside, an embarrassing but safe place to land, padded with muscle and fat. Our adoptive father always taught us that it’s better to land there than anywhere else, better to suffer a little humiliation than to crack your skull open or shatter your ankle or wrist. It still smarts, but at least the only thing bruised is my pride.

Then Valerian throws his head back and laughs. “That’s where she belongs,” he crows. “On her back, like a good little omega.”

Nicasia thinks that’s hilarious. Locke raises his eyebrows, blinking at us with large, tawny eyes. And Cardan, the instigator. Cardan just sneers.

That sneer has haunted me. I’ve seen it countless times since then. He starts holding his nose when he passes me in the hallway. Whenever I get complacent, he makes sure to whisper in my ear that I reek. He and his friends seem to find it more fun to bully the alphas smaller or weaker than them—omegas already know their place, after all—but that does not protect us when they’re bored, or when said alphas further down the food chain need to take out their own aggressions.

I think they thought it would break me.

They couldn’t know it would do the opposite.

---

“Jude?”

I open my eyes to a darkened room, and groan. I feel vaguely like I’ve been run over by a truck, then the truck stopped and someone picked me up and threw me in the back of it, and we proceeded to drive down a very bumpy road. In other words: like shit. My head throbs, and when I try to sit up, the world spins and I flop back over.

“What happened?” I mutter. Everything is greyish and blurry. Dim light seems to be filtering in from somewhere above my head and to the left, but there isn’t very much of it. I hold my hand up in front of my eyes and squint at it until I stop seeing double.

There’s a relieved sigh from somewhere past my hand. A male voice. “You’re okay.”

I make a second attempt at sitting up and am more successful this time. My shoulder scrapes against a wall to my right, so I lean into it. The light source I clocked before is a small window, longer than it is wide, set high up above me. And on the other side of the room, sitting across from me, sits the dark shape of a boy, or a man, or someone caught eternally in between those two things.

Cardan.

I blink at him. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, you too.” Cardan rubs his eye. He isn’t sneering now. In fact, he looks worse than I’ve ever seen him. His hair is messy—which is nothing new, people are doubtless running their hands through it all the time with how perpetually tousled it seems—but there are circles under his eyes and he looks pale. He’s also bleary-eyed and squinting a little. He doesn’t seem to have any visible injuries, though, although jury’s out on whether that’s good or bad. I’ve often thought he could stand to get pushed around a little more, instead of always being the one to do the pushing.

“I gave you the mattress,” he says, gesturing at what I’m sitting on. “There was only one.”

I look down. I’m indeed sitting on a mattress. There’s no linens, but someone has thrown a slightly scratchy blanket over the lower half of my body. I peer around, dread sinking in as I begin to grasp the severity of our situation. “Oh, fuck.”

“I think it’s ransom,” Cardan volunteers. “I mean, I really can’t think of anything else it would be.”

I hug my arms to my chest and say the thing drilled into every omega’s brain since they’re old enough to wander off from their parents. “What about sex slavery?”

“Yeah, there’s not a huge demand for alpha men on the black market. Although…” He looks down at himself and smirks a little. He’s built like a classical sculpture and he is well aware of this fact. “Can’t blame them if they decided to make an exception.”

It’s impossible to think he’s making a joke about this, not when it’s actually a thing that could happen to me, a possibility that my stepmother Oriana warned us of ever since she married Madoc and inherited his adopted twins. Sex slavers looking to snatch up omega girls became our bogeymen.

But the odds are that Cardan’s right: it’s probably ransom. I imagine people would do and have done worse to get their hands on a fraction of the late Eldred Greenbriar’s billions.

But I say, “Maybe someone finally got tired of you being annoying as shit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Feeling mouthy, are we?”

“Fuck off. This is your fault,” I accuse, wagging a finger at him. “You did this.”

Cardan blinks at me. “What, you think I kidnapped myself?”

“Not literally.” I slump back against the wall. “Although it seems like something you would do. You love attention.”

“Ah, yes. All of the attention I am getting from you in our cozy eight-by-ten cell. I’m just soaking it in.” He pantomimes splashing water on his face. “Great for the skin.”

“You’re in a playful mood.” But of course he’s feeling better than me. He would have needed a larger dose—of the chloroform? ether? they used on us to get us here—but he also would have bounced back quicker. Everything about alpha biology is kind of extra like that.

“I joke a lot when I’m nervous.” He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I am actually freaking the fuck out.”

“Oh, great.”

“I do have water, though. Thought that might interest you.”

I sit up a little straighter. “God, my head is killing me. Yes.”

“Say ‘please?’”

“Fuck off, Greenbriar.”

“Close enough.”

Instead of getting up, which I think for a moment he might, he rolls the half-empty bottle of water across the floor and over to me. It bumps against the edge of the mattress and I have to lean over to grab it, which nearly makes me hurl then and there. The water helps, though. It’s room temp, but even a mouthful makes me feel more like a person.

“It’s not drugged,” Cardan calls. “Surprised you didn’t ask in advance.”

I flip him off. After I’ve drained the last of the bottle, I let myself just breathe, counting backwards from ten in my head. There are many warring emotions vying to tip me over the edge of a panic attack, but I can’t let them. I have to get out of here.

Cardan flicks at a bit of dust on the floor. When I am on three, he interrupts my mindful breathing. “You realize that, technically, we have now swapped saliva?”

“Ew.” I throw the empty water bottle at him and am annoyed when he catches it effortlessly from the air. “Could you be, like, useful for once in your life?”

“Sure.” He leans forward and lowers his voice, like he’s afraid someone might overhear. “There are three of them. One’s a woman, I think the other two are men. The only one I’ve seen is tall and white and barely spoke a word to me. He dropped off the water when I was still groggy.”

That is useful. Dammit. I frown. “Designation?”

“Dunno. Couldn’t get a read on him. I think they might be using maskers for their scents.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I exhale. “Tall” doesn’t have to mean alpha—my sister Vivi, who’s shorter than me, is proof enough of that. But it doesn’t sound good. “Any idea where we are?”

“I don’t think we’ve left Long Island. I don’t know for sure, though. We could be in Jersey for all I know.”

“Right.” I sigh again and rub my temples. “Okay, so ransom. Ransom. You could technically pay the ransom yourself, right? You’re over eighteen—”

“I’m twenty.” When I blink at him, he clarifies, “Repeated sixth grade, remember? And I just had my birthday in July.”

How could I forget? My life wasn’t exactly blissful before he came along, but it definitely got worse when he got bumped down to my year. “Okay, you’re twenty, and your dad died last year. So you’ve got your own money now.”

Cardan raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Real considerate.”

Now is definitely not the time to quibble over manners, but I manage, “Sorry, I guess.”

“Don’t be. He was a dick.” I glare at him, but he ignores me, patting down the pockets of his skinny jeans. “Huh, you know, when they took my phone and my wallet, they must have also taken the special checkbook I keep on me just for hostage situations. Think they’d accept Venmo?”

“Very funny.”

“But the real issue here is that I can’t touch my trust until I turn twenty-one.”

I wish I could say that didn’t interest me, but it does. Sure, Madoc has money. He’s a ruthlessly efficient attorney with killer instincts, and, among other prominent clients, he’s represented Cardan’s dad and both of his older brothers at one point or another. But he’s not among the alpha ultra-rich. Private helicopter rich. Secluded island rich. And I’m nosy enough about how the point one percent of the one percent lives. Anyone would be. So I ask, “Why’s that?”

“Why did my dad do anything?” Cardan folds his hands behind his head. “To make my life difficult, I guess. It was probably to ensure I wouldn’t embarrass myself by buying and crashing seventeen Porsches in a row. Give that frontal lobe time to develop. He’s not here to say. Anyway, Balekin’s the trustee. Maybe there’s some clause about life-threatening emergencies.”

Balekin is Cardan’s oldest brother, but thinking about siblings makes me wonder, with a pang in my chest, about Taryn. What had she done when she and Locke couldn’t find me at the party? Had she panicked? Had she gotten home safe? I don’t want to think about Madoc because he’s probably freaking out in a big way, a side of him I have only seen once before, the last time someone threatened me. It’s more likely that he’ll tear the kidnappers limb from limb than give into anybody’s demands. I hope Balekin has a more level head, although given his reputation for throwing massive parties, I am not counting on it.

“Right,” I say. “So they’ll hit up Balekin for the money?”

“Dude, I don’t know. Honestly? He might have staged this himself to get at the trust, or more likely my stake in the corporation. In some ways, I think it’s better for my family if I disappear.”

It surprises me to hear him say that. “Wouldn’t—that would be a huge scandal, though?”

I don’t say what I think, which is Don’t they love you? But there’s a pretty big age gap between Cardan and his oldest siblings. They could be practically strangers for all I know.

Cardan just shrugs and looks gloomy.

“I don’t think they planned on getting me, too,” I say quietly. There’s only one mattress in the room. One bottle of water on hand for when Cardan woke up. And anyone who thinks they can extort “Mad Dog” Madoc is definitely biting off more than they can chew. But that curdles my stomach, because if Cardan hadn’t chased me down the beach, I probably would have woken up in my lavender canopied bed, safe. Probably with a killer headache from overstimulation, but safe. As safe as I can ever be.

“Yeah,” Cardan agrees, which doesn’t help me feel any better. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

I blow out a breath. “Well, Balekin better pay up in the next forty-eight hours, or we need to figure out how to get out of here. Otherwise we’re going to have problems.”

“We are?”

I swallow. I hate that I have to spell it out for him. But I keep my voice even, casual. “Unless you’ve got spare heat suppressants on you.”

Cardan looks dumbstruck. “Oh,” he says after a moment. “Shit, no. I must have left them in my other jeans with my hostage checkbook.”

I feel myself blush, which is ridiculous. Unregulated heat cycles, messy and inconvenient as they are, are nothing to be ashamed of, as everyone says. Just a quirk of biology. Just the way I am. There’s even a group of pretty radical omega activists out there fighting to destigmatize unregulated cycles, citing the damage that suppressants can wreak on the body. Except my designation is going to be pretty problematic if I’m locked in this room with Cardan for reasons other than societal stigma.

To be honest, it’s already a problem. The room is probably ten feet long, not long enough for us both to lie down across from each other without curling up to avoid touching. I am already hyper-aware of his presence, the nervous drumming of his long fingers, the terrible urge I have to run my fingers through his already messy curls. It’s just chemistry, but if it’s bad now, it’ll be about eighty times worse for both of us if I go into heat.

And if any of our captors are also alphas…

I shake myself all over. I can’t go down that road. I’ll never pull myself back. I’ll just curl up in a little ball and then it’ll be up to Cardan to save us, which, no thank you. “Yeah. So, one way or another we have to get out of here.”

Cardan goes pale. “Jude, I—”

“So we assume nobody’s coming,” I continue. “Use the next twenty-four hours to figure out as much as we can about the people who’ve taken us and where we’re being held, and the next twenty-four to escape. That’s the plan.”

“That’s a reasonable plan,” he says, vaguely startled.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. You were valedictorian, of course you have a plan. Just, uh, my mind went totally blank when you pointed out you’d—”

“We don’t have to talk about it, okay?” I snap. “I assume you want that just as much as I do.” Which is not at all.

The way he pales further tells me I’m not far from wrong. I mean, he’s always made it clear how much he’s hated my scent, the way I look, the fact that I get better grades than him. He hates pretty much everything about me, because I am an omega and he is an alpha, and that means he should be on top of the world and I should know my place.

I massage my temples, trying to clear my head. “No, we’re going to get out of here before that happens.”

For reasons I can’t pretend to understand, that seems to reassure Cardan. He nods and unfolds his arms, letting his head fall back against the wall. His eyes close. “Okay.”

I am surprised that he seems at all willing to trust me, but I suppose he is pretty low on options. That’s his mistake. Already I am thinking of what a relief it will be to leave him behind, even though I know that, morally speaking, I should be formulating an escape plan for the both of us. Besides, abandoning Cardan to his fate wouldn’t really solve any of my problems. But I wouldn’t have to face his sneer anymore, wouldn’t have to wonder what it would take to convince him I have earned my place when the answer is clearly “Nothing, ever.”

“I just have to figure out how,” I mutter under my breath.

Cardan cracks one dark eye open to look at me, but I ignore him, staring up at the little window. There has to be a way to crack this place open like a nut, and if there is, I’ll find it. There is no other option but this, no other way but out.

I refuse to believe otherwise.

Next

[woulddieforperrytheplatypus]

My mind was plagued with thoughts of the episode where the kids think Perry laid an egg and the comic where Perry saves a baby platypus from Doof, and that got me thinking: what if Perry was actually a dad to a baby platypus? One possibility is that Perry wouldn't want his child to become an agent at such a young age and would rather have his kid decide if they want to do it when they're older, but I believe that either way, the young platypus would inherit Perry's anthropomorphism.

oh my god I’ve never even thought about Dad!Perry before 🥺 I thought his relationship with the Flynn-Fletcher kids was wholesome but that has some real potential to become the superior relationship

obligatory “read more” to save everyone who doesn’t care how I feel about Dad!Perry

Okay first I gotta ask how we think this would happen. Is it the egg from Perry Lays An Egg that hatches, except it really is a baby platypus and Perry ends up taking it in because no one else can? Or is it Perry taking one of Doof’s platybabies home? Or is it trans!Perry laying his own egg? Or Perry has sex with another platypus (that’s such a weird thought lmao) and somehow he becomes the sole guardian of the egg? As the numero uno “Perry is an asexual demibiromantic platypus” stan, I kinda like the first or second one, but I also feel like the platybaby should be related to him? But at the same time Phineas and Ferb is all about how family don’t end in blood so maybe that’s not important?

Anyways onto Dad!Perry because holy shit I’m excited to explore this

I’m gonna start at the end of the ask by saying that I feel like anthropomorphism isn’t genetically inherited; I feel like it’s something that’s taught. It’s kinda a nature vs nurture type thing so I guess it’s more a psychological debate than anything, but if I had to channel my inner English teacher and draw evidence from “the text” (aka the show), I gotta bring up the koi from Attack of the 50 Foot Sister that were just kinda vibin in the neighbors’ pond at the beginning of the episode and then Monogram had to make them agents to avoid a lawsuit and by the end they were saving Perry’s ass? Which is relevant to literally nothing except that I think any baby animal Perry raises, regardless of whether or not they’re related to him by blood (or even by species), will probably turn the lil baby into an anthropomorphic lil platybaby just because of all the human and human-like influences

And now the elephant in the room (cue OWCA Files Agent E joke): how does OWCA react to the news? Which I guess is really a follow-up question to how OWCA finds out in the first place. I think we can all agree that Perry won’t want to tell them. It’s not like he sees the other agents as friends that he wants to invite to the baby shower. But Monogram would want to know if there’s a new player in the Flynn-Fletcher house not that he knows who lives there now; that’s Carl’s area of expertise. Would he have to tell them? Is there a protocol for that? Especially if it’s just an egg he picks up from The Tree™ in the backyard. That’s basically just getting a new pet, right? And sure, Monogram would want to know, but is Perry legally obligated to tell him is the question.

But Monogram has to find out one way or another, and given that Perry is the best of the best, Monogram is going to want his kid in the club. Perry would 100% say no, too, but I don’t know if it would be because he wants his son (yes it’s a boy platybaby no I don’t know why) to have his own say in his future; I think Perry would consider OWCA too dangerous for his son. I mean, we saw what happened when Phineas, Ferb, and Candace got mixed up in his job: they were almost eaten by a goozim and the tri-state area was almost taken over by an evil dictator. He would definitely want to keep his son out of that scene if he could. At least all the dangers at home are Phineas-and-Ferb-sponsored, and unlike OWCA, they would make sure he didn’t get hurt.

Buuuut Monogram is also a dumbass and doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, so he’d keep pushing. It has to be a well-known fact around OWCA that changing Agent P’s mind about anything is not an easy feat, so maybe when Monogram realized it was a lost cause, he’d try to go around Perry’s back? Maybe while Perry was at work, he’d head to the Flynn-Fletchers’ house (or send Carl again like Undercover Carl) to try to get the platybaby alone? He could explain what OWCA is and that he would make a perfect candidate. I doubt Perry would have told his son about OWCA in any detail yet other than the fact that he works there and that’s where he goes every day, so this would all be new and interesting. And then Perry either comes home when Monogram or Carl is talking to his son about OWCA or his son brings it up himself, and Perry is fuming because he made it very clear that he didn’t want OWCA anywhere near his family. 

And now I can’t help but wonder if that would cause bigger problems between him and OWCA? What if that’s his breaking point, and he just flat-out quits because if they can’t respect his very few boundaries, he doesn’t owe them anything? And assuming the platybaby didn’t come from Doof, maybe that’s how they meet? Somehow he finds out that the reason there’s a new agent working his case is that Perry’s out on “permanent paternity leave” or something, and word gets back to Perry somehow (maybe Pinky heard it through the grapevine and told him? idk) that Doof wants to meet him? And Perry’s kinda wary buuuuut at the same time, Doof isn’t his nemesis anymore. If you take OWCA out of the equation, aren’t they just friends? 

WAIT A SECOND

IMAGINE HOW NORM WOULD REACT TO SEEING A BABY PLATYPUS

LIKE

I DON’T KNOW WHY

BUT NORM WOULD ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS BABY PLATYPUS

and Doof would get kinda annoyed because “He came here so I could meet the baby, you know,” and usually that’s enough to convince Norm that he’s doing something wrong, but this time Norm is just like, “But I love him?” And Doof expects Perry to back him up and he probably should but at the same time, his son looks so happy with Norm? Without OWCA’s training, he still has that platypus aspect to his personality that comes from both his animal instinct and how the Flynn-Fletchers treat him, so he’s just kinda snuggled up in Norm’s lap and Norm is just petting him?

And this is probably after he’s shown some human-like features and Doof knows that he’s about as human as Perry, so he asks, “Does he like being pet?” and Perry nods because duh of course he does and Doof just kinda looks at him for a moment and he’s like, “Do you like to be pet?” and Perry just fuckin decks him because no he does not yes he does and Doof just nods like, “Okay, fair enough.”

AND THEN VANESSA WALKS IN???

and she had absolutely no idea this was happening she’s about to go drop her stuff off in her room for the weekend and Norm’s like, “Look at my new friend!” and Vanessa thinks it’s gonna be something stupid but she walks over and sees the baby platypus and she starts freaking out because holy shit Perry is that yours? and obviously she needs to know literally everything there is to know about him because this is her nephew now and she will not take no for an answer.

And I feel like OWCA really wouldn’t like this? I mean, Perry completely severed ties with them over this platybaby, and now he’s bringing his son over to DEI at least twice a week to see his former nemesis? And idk what they would do about it because I don’t think there’s an actual protocol for this, but Monogram is Very Sensitive™ and he won’t stand for this.

Also and I’m totally just spit-balling here but what if, because the platybaby is kinda also being raised by the Doofenshmirtzes (and the Flynn-Fletchers but idk if that would make much of a difference here bc he has to pretend to be a mindless pet around them like his dad), he gets the best of the human and animal experience all in one, without all the shit Perry had to deal with from OWCA? And what if that somehow leads him to be able to speak? I don’t quite know how that would work, mostly because I don’t really know what prevents Perry from speaking, but we already went into that back in May so I’m not gonna go there again lol

okay I’m pretty sure it’s been over two hours since I started working on this ask but I can’t help it because this is literally such a cute idea fjdshflakfa I don’t even know if I’d be content reading this like I feel like this is just something I want to write. I kinda want to see how Phineas and Ferb would treat him, and if they’d treat Perry any differently now that a) he’s a dad and b) there’s a new platypus for them to love. I also want to see how Candace would handle probably falling in love with the platybaby but still getting annoyed by Perry. I really want to see what Vanessa and Norm’s relationship with the platybaby would turn into. Idk so much about the Doof/platybaby relationship though; I feel like I’d be more interested in how this affects the Doof/Perry dynamic instead. Something about Doof makes me think he wouldn’t be as easily swayed by the platybaby as everyone else, but the fact that Perry would now be a dad just like him would probably make him unreasonably happy. And that’s not even touching upon how different life would be for Perry now that he has a son, and he would obviously adore the little guy with his entire being, but, like, he has a son? How is he supposed to deal with that?

also I really should’ve given the platybaby a name to make this more readable and it’s a little too late for that but I hereby decree that his new temporary name until such time as this fic gets written is Horatio (unless y’all wanna hit me up with your platybaby name ideas because I would love to see them?) so welcome to the Dwampyverse, Horatio :,)

[fuckit-hero-of-trains]

Sit by the fire until... Ch 1

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870150/chapters/62859553

Summary:

They inherited a lot of things from Sky.

From him, they inherited a sword, honed in flames painted with holy might and sharpened to a deadly, resplendent point. From him, they inherited a forest green tunic with such a storied and epic past that few would believe that it had started out as nothing more than happenstance; a school uniform of all things.

From him, the inherited a destiny and an eternal enemy to go right along with it.

They knew that. Understood that. Didn't blame him for it.

Funny, then, that they didn't connect the dots.

Because there was one more trait they all seemingly inherited from Sky, whether they realized it or not.

(or: 8 times a hero fell asleep somewhere weird +1 time a hero fell asleep exactly where he was supposed to)

Legend has seen a lot of dangerous things in his lifetime. He’s been on five adventures for Hylia’s sake. There are not a lot of things that can phase him anymore.

Another dank dungeon in need of exploration? Easy. Another monster whose weak point is inexplicably a giant eye that glows? Piece of cake. A realm of unfathomable darkness? Been there, done that, didn't even get any cool items from it.

But this… now this scares him.

“Nose goes,” Legend says flatly, flashing a finger up to touch the tip of his nose despite the fact that he is one of only two people standing in front of said insurmountable task.

“I’m not going in there,” Warriors hisses, not even trying to honor Legend’s ‘Nose Goes,’ his hands resting firmly on his hips, face incredulous as he stares down their target. “What do I look like? An idiot?”

“Oh, you don’t just look like one,” Legend assures him dryly, brows raised, smile bright and full and smarmy.

Warriors shoves him.

“If you think it’s so easy, why don't you just go in then?” the Captain spits.

But before Legend can get out another snarky response, the sound of movement , of creaking wood, sends both heroes stumbling away from the structure they had been standing next to, their hands flying up to shield their faces from harm as they wince away from what will no doubt be their end.

A beat passes between them, neither moving in fear of incurring a terrible wrath…

...

But after a second with no horrifying retribution, the two breathe a sigh of relief, eyeing up their foe.

The cucco coop.

They both shudder.

“Are you sure he’s in there?” Warriors whispers after another cautious moment of silence. “We could check the barn again.”

And as much as it would make Legend’s day to just check the barn again, he shakes his head.

“This is the only place we haven’t looked,” he reminds the scarf wearing hero with a scowl, “Besides, for some goddess forsaken reason, he happens to like these little menaces. If there was anywhere on this farm Sky would be, it's here.”

Warrior’s face screws up.

“Ugh, why can’t we just have dinner without him?”

“Because Time’s a stubborn old bastard with a parental streak the size of the moon,” Legend bites out. And then, with a bit less bitterness. “And because Malon wants to have family dinner or whatever.”

“She made cornbread,” Warriors laments with a small shake of his head, “I at least wanted to try a little before I kicked it.”

Legend smacks him on the arm.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic and you know it!” Warriors replies, voice jumping an octave. “Those things are vicious killers! Goddess only knows what we would have done in my era without Linkle taming them. Feathery bastards can change the tide of war in an instant!”

Legend rolls his eyes.  

“Okay, yeah,” the Veteran admits, “those things could pick a moblin clean faster than you could blink, but I’m not saying we have to fight them to the death. We just have to take a peek in the coop and see if Sky’s in there. If he is, great, we tell him dinner’s ready and get the hell out of dodge. If he isn’t, sweet, we get the hell out of dodge even faster and tell Time we couldn't find him.”

“Oh, well then, if it's so simple” Warriors replies, bowing deeply and gesturing to the coop with a flourishing arm, “After you.”

“No, no, no. You lost ‘Nose Goes’,” Legend reminds. “You have to do it.”

“You can’t call ‘Nose Goes’ with just two people!”

“I think you’ll find that I did. And you lost.”  Legend grins and mirrors Warrior’s bow and flourish. “So, after you.”

The Captain narrows his eyes.

“How about this?" the Pretty Boy bargains. "I open the door, and for fifty rupees, you look inside?”

Legend purses his lips, eyes flicking from Warriors to the coop. On the one hand, War did lose Nose Goes. There really should be no bargaining going on here. Legend has the moral high ground in this particular situation. Not to mention that it would absolutely make his day to see the pompous  captain get knocked down several pegs by a couple of birds.

And Legend really isn't looking to get his eyes pecked out today.

But on the other hand, depriving the Captain of even more of his hard earned cash is a pretty good incentive. Plus, he’ll need to squirrel some more rupees away back home if this whole ‘Ravio staying with him’ thing is gonna be a bit more permanent.

He’s got no idea how in the name of the Wind Fish Ravio even made it to his Hyrule let alone if the idiot can even get himself back to Lorule.

And Legend can’t have that rabbit hooded bastard selling his equipment just to put food on the table for however long he’s staying.

“Seventy-five and it's a deal,” Legend replies, holding a hand out for the Captain to shake on it.

A roll of eyes from Warriors but he takes Legend’s hand all the same, giving it a firm shake.

Sucker.

Legend only said he would look inside. Not get Sky if he saw him in there.

They take up their positions in front of the coop; War’s hand on the door handle, ready to pull it open while Legend situates himself around the corner, primed to take a quick peek inside and then retreat just as quickly.

“On three,” Warriors breathes.

“One.”

Warrior’s grip on the doorknob tightens, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly with the force of his grasp.

“Two.”

Legend feels his muscle tense, the cords of his neck straining as he readies himself for his dive, his newest in a line of near death experiences.

A breath in.

A breath out.

“Three!”

With a flick of the wrist and jolt of the arm, Warriors whips the door to the cucco coop wide open. In the same instant, Legend darts his top half around the corner of the coop, peeking into the dim depths of the pen and–!

And…

Huh.

Legend is not met with a flurry of feathers spelling his demise. Isn’t met with the death rattle of squakes nor clawed with an inch of his life in seconds nor immediately assaulted with an avalanche of pecks that could drill straight to the bone.

No.

Legend is met with none of the things he expects and is instead faced with one of the most miraculous sights he has ever beheld.

Because inside the coop, in the dim warmth of their little home, all of the hens sit politely on their nests, heads perked and turned toward the intruding light, but otherwise, unbothered by the hero standing in their doorway. Not a ruffled feather in sight nor any eyes gleaming with deadly, avian hatred.

Nope.

They are perfectly relaxed. Perfectly within their element and domain, not a care in the world. In fact, after a moment of staring at Legend with what the Veteran could only describe as royal indifference, the cuccos settle back down, heads tucking into downy white feathers or disappearing under wings.

“Well?” Warriors whispers from behind the door where he is taking shelter, “Is he in there?”

“Not sure,” Legend replies.

He takes a tentative step forward, eyes locked on the birds as he carefully places one boot within the threshold of the coop. No reaction. He leans weight onto that foot, flinching as the wood groans beneath his mass.

…

Still no reaction.

Welp, Legend thinks with no small amount of dryness. No excuse not to make sure Sky isn't in here.

“Give me a sec,” he breathes back to War, taking another, more confident step into the coop. “I'm going to check.”

“No, wait, Legend, they’re lulling you into a false sense of security! You can’t just–!”

The Veteran ignores Warrior’s hissed warnings, confidently going from the frying pan and into the fire.

Or from the barnyard to the cucco coop. Whatever.

Besides the sight of the oddly tame cuccos, Legend is immediately hit with a slight wave of heat as he enters the coop proper, the temperature inside that of a warm blanket against his face and body. He is also hit with the smell of hay, grassy and dry and warm.

A quick scan of the coop gives Legend no leads on Sky. No light green tunic, no dirty blond hair, no Master Sword, no white sailcloth. It does, however, tell him that Time may be missing a few hens, as four nests seem to be vacant.

He takes another quick sweep and is just about to label Sky a lost cause when something in the corner of the coop shifts and makes a soft huff, sending Legend’s heart into his throat and his arms up around his face, fearing that this, this will be the end of him. Five adventures down, Ganon killed three times by his hands, multiple kingdoms and  deities  saved due to his actions, and he's going to die to some fucking poultry.

But after a beat, a moment, a full minute of not moving and with Legend not being absolutely smote where he stands, the pink haired hero slowly but surely peaks out from behind his arms to see the cuccos still just sitting in their nests, now gazing at him with what he thinks is exasperation.

Which really shouldn't be possible, because, you know, they’re fucking birds. Their eyes really shouldn't be that expressive. And yet, as Legend uncurls from his wince completely, as his heart rate calms from the stutter step it had been running through, he can’t help feel the condescension in their beady little golden eyes.

Little pricks, he thinks a little viciously as he subtly flips one of them the bird– ironic, he knows– turning to investigate the noise that had nearly given him a heart attack a few seconds earlier. I hope Malon cooked one of you for dinner.

Sure that he's not about to be absolutely eviscerated, Legend follows the noise, a soft, rhythmic huffing, to one of the hay filled corners of the coop that had been obscured by the line of nests and...

And, really, he should have known.

Trust Hylia’s Chosen Hero to fall asleep in literally the most dangerous place known to Hylians.

Because there, in a soft pile of hay in the corner of Time’s cucco coop, is Sky, eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar as he takes in breaths, slow and deep and even and warm. His sailcloth is layed out beneath him, no doubt protecting him from the prickly hay as he naps peacefully, none the wiser that four cuccos have found him a suitable enough pseudo nest to be napping right along with him: one tucked under each arm, another resting on his slowly rising and falling chest, and the last finding a home in his soft, dirty blond hair.

Legend takes it all in. Takes in the way the birds churr in time with Sky’s soft snores, the way bits of hay have found their way into the Skyloftian's hair, the way the small sliver of light entering the coop from the open doorway illuminates the floating dust particles in shades of sunset gold, the way they swirl in little eddies with each of the Chosen Hero’s breaths.

It truly is a tableau of peace.

Too bad it’s dinner time.

“Alright, Lover Boy,” Legend huffs, reaching out to shake the Chosen Hero awake. “Up and at ‘em. Malon made dinner and–”

Before Legend’s hand can even make contact with Sky’s shoulder, a rising grumble shatters the relative peace of the coop.

All around him, the heads of all the cuccos snap up in tandem, pinning Legend in place with at least 20 pairs of molten gold eyes as the grumble– which he now realizes is the sound of the four hens sitting with Sky hissing at him– rises in volume and anger.

With slow and controlled movements, Legend pulls his hand back from where it had been moving toward the somehow still sleeping Sky and raises both palms up in surrender.

The eyes follow the motions of his hands with deadly precision but the cuccos make no move to strike.

So Legend does the most logical thing anyone would do in his situation:

He gives up without a fight, keeping his hands raised where the birds can see them while slowly backpedaling out of the coop.

Then, when he finally crosses the threshold back out of the coop, Legend takes the edge of the door into both his hands, and carefully, gently, closes the coop back up.

“So?” Warriors asks, hands on hips, staring at Legend's odd display “Was he in there?”

“Yep,” Legend replies flatly, popping the ‘p’ as tension bleeds out of his muscles.

A brief pause.

“And?” Warriors intones expectantly.

Legend turns to the other hero, clasps a firm hand on the Captain’s shoulder, and smiles.

“And good luck getting him out of there. You’re sure as hell gonna need it.”

And with that, the Veteran turns and strides back toward the farm house, ignoring the indignant sputterings of the scarf wearing hero all the way there.

Wind Fish, he hopes Time has something stronger than Lon Lon Milk.

‘Cuz after the number those demon birds just did on him? He's gonna need it.

And based on the screaming coming from behind him, he assumes Warriors is gonna need it too.

[haec-est-fides]

“What have you done?” : Why Riordan’s Handling of Triumvirate Holdings Sucks

I put my thoughts under a cut to make it easier to avoid spoilers and to save you all from a long post,,,like a really long post.

Basically, I think it was inevitable that Riordan fumble Triumvirate Holdings. He simply designed a villain network too powerful and too extensive to ever be handled properly by the heroes. He did try to address,,,some of it, but in the end I think he just made it worse.

I. Let’s talk about Triumvirate Holdings.

The way that Riordan established the origins of the Triumvirate and the extent of their power made it too big to handle from the beginning. The emperors have been around for centuries. It’s mentioned countless times how much property they own, how much money they have, and how many businesses are actually under their control. Rachel says it well in Hidden Oracle: “They make my dad’s company look like a kid’s lemonade stand.” Nero brings it up again in Tower of Nero: “What you don’t seem to realize, Apollo, is that you can’t destroy bank accounts with a bow and arrows. All my assets, all the power I’ve built up for centuries -- it’s all safe.” Think of what Caligula did to Piper and her dad, how deep that ran and how many people were involved. Think of how the Triumvirate funded both Luke and Octavian. All of this goes to show how deeply rooted Triumvirate Holdings is, especially -- unlike other villains -- in the mortal world.

This never really gets taken into account. For instance, Apollo does wonder if Meg will inherit Nero’s tower, but it seems as if she doesn’t, nor do any of the other imperials who go with her to Palm Springs. They live off of the Sibyl’s tarot card business, which strongly implies that they took nothing from the tower -- or the company -- at all.

Apollo also mentions Camp Half-Blood getting the weapons and Greek fire from Nero’s tower, but that is so poorly thought out that I want to scream. Nero had designed special holding tanks for the Greek fire, tanks that Rachel pointed out could be mistaken for a water-treatment facility. And we’re transferring it to a summer camp? Yikes.

Beyond the question of the material, there’s the question of personnel. Mortals, demigods / legacies, monsters, Germani, etc. were all involved with Triumvirate Holdings. I’ll address the Germani in a moment, but the sheer numbers involved make the fall of the company either impossible or devastating. It is conceivable that the mortals, business people and mercenaries alike, could move on and the Mist would do its work. Still, that’s thousands of people jobless. The unemployment rate just skyrocketed. Further, the monsters once under Triumvirate control are now presumably free to cause havoc as well.

Before moving on entirely, multiply all of that by three. Commodus and Caligula employed mortals and monsters as well, and who knows what happened to their material possessions. (Besides the fifty yachts in San Francisco Bay, ofc. Millions of dollars, minimum, at the bottom of the ocean.)

What I’m most concerned about, however, are the demigods / legacies, especially those raised by or who spent considerable time with the Triumvirate. An experience like that shapes people, and not for the better.

II. Let’s talk about the Imperial Households.

Starting with Nero’s household, I think it’s clear that Riordan brushed over the imperials to have his wholesome ending, which is entirely understandable. Even so, he creates such a conflicting view of them that his “they all moved to Aeithales and Healed” bit is so shallow. Apollo’s views in particular cause this problem.

Initially, the fact that the imperials are enemies puts them in this strange category where they’re minors and people (like Meg) but them being harmed or even killed,,,isn’t a bad thing? Chiron, directing new campers during the Greek attack on the tower, yells, “Try not to kill enemy demigods or mortals! Okay, well, from now on, then!” It’s given the weight of a throw-away line. Apollo later goes so far as to think, “I wondered where the other three missing adoptees had gone -- if they’d been captured or had fallen in battle to Camp Half-Blood. I tried not to feel any satisfaction at the thought, but it was difficult.” (Emphasis mine. Oh, and if anyone is interested, this is almost an exact parallel to what Apollo says in Tyrant’s Tomb about Octavian’s death.) I’m not saying that Apollo hasn’t really changed or that heroes have to value the lives of their enemies, but this isn’t the best foot to start on.

In Nero’s throne room, when Meg gets her imperial siblings under control, Apollo comments on how close they are to siding with Nero: “[Meg] reminded me of one of Hades’s dog trainers working with a pack of new hellhounds. ...any sign of weakness from her, any change in the temperature of the battle, and they might break ranks and slaughter everyone in sight.” Even after Nero’s death, the imperials break down. Raging, sobbing, catatonic -- whatever the case, not exactly the best candidates for a smooth adjustment to ordinary life.

Apollo and Meg briefly chat about how the household will need support to heal, but Apollo still notes, with some real hesitancy, “There were no guarantees. The imperial demigods had dealt with so much for so long, some of them might never be able to come back from the darkness.” A short while later, at Aeithales, Apollo observes that the imperials “seemed determined to garden, as if their sanity depended on it, which perhaps it did.” While Cassius, at the very least, seems to be adjusting well, who’s to say that the others are? They can’t garden forever. I just can’t picture this ending as well as Riordan leaves it.

All of that is bad enough, but we know that Nero’s “household” is larger than just the twelve demigods he adopted, and it’s likely that Commodus and Caligula had similar households. Remember Marcus, Meg’s escort in Dark Prophecy? Whether he was one of Nero’s twelve (and got replaced) or not, his existence is evidence that there are far more demigods / legacies involved than the series’ focus would make us think at first glance. We do see members of Commodus’ household in Dark Prophecy, in the stands of the stadium and in the battle against the Waystation -- “a few dozen” even. Interestingly, Caligula is the only triumvir who doesn’t seem to have a household at all, as they’re never mentioned aboard his yachts. That may be exactly as it seems, with him preferring not to have a household out of paranoia. However, I still think it’d be more reasonable to assume that he had some kind of household than to assume otherwise.

Nero’s household appears to have been the most imperial and the most like a family, but that doesn’t mean we can brush off the other households as a non-issue. Considering the lack on information on the subject, it’s entirely possible that the other two emperors did adopt kids. In any case, we can’t judge the loyalty of these unknown demigods / legacies, and they certainly seem to have fallen through the cracks. It’s doubtful that Nero’s children will be able to “heal” even with Meg’s help and a place totally removed from their old life. If the others don’t have any kind of support system? If they’re left to their own devices? That’s a recipe for disaster. They’re likely to cling to the system they know in whatever ways they can.

As a bit of a thought experiment to drive this home, consider: what would Octavian do if he were part of Triumvirate Holdings when the news arrived that the emperors were all dead? I think it’s clear than the answer is not “go live a normal life and pretend the Triumvirate never existed.” It would be naive to think that not a single person in the Triumvirate’s sphere is willing to step up and take over.

III. Let’s talk about the Germani.

Riordan actually explained this well, but then proceeded to fuck up.

I had questioned why the Germani -- ordinary legacies / humans -- could be turned to “monster” dust once resurrected and put in an emperor’s service. What kind of afterlife did that mean they had? Thankfully, Riordan touched on this! As @triumvirateds pointed out on my older post, the Germani -- like most ordinary monsters -- did come back in a day or two after being killed. This apparent immortality, we find, is tied to the Triumvirate’s power, symbolized by each emperor’s fasces. When the Germani were revived, however the Triumvirate accomplished that, they became removed from any usual afterlife until released from the Triumvirate’s service and made “regular people” again.

(This does raise some technical questions. Were each group of Germani tied to a specific emperor? Meaning that the troops on the West coast were “released” when Commodus’ and Caligula’s fasces were destroyed? I’m fairly certain that they still turned to dust during the final confrontation with New Rome. That would imply that their loyalty was tied to the Triumvirate as a whole, and their bond transferred to Nero’s fasces with the power of the other two emperors.)

However, I can’t believe Riordan decided that the Germani would simply be regular people after Nero’s death. Throughout the series, Apollo often remarks that the Germani are a threat because of their loyalty. Remember when the Germani were described as “sensitive about insults to the Imperial person” and nearly killed Apollo for looking at Nero wrong? Well, now Apollo says, “I supposed none of them loved the idea of staying loyal to the cause of a dead emperor.” I’m reminded of when, after Commodus and Caligula were defeated in New Rome, the army ran away and was never mentioned again. In both cases, the Germani are brushed off as disloyal / uncaring and no thought is given as to how they’re supposed to integrate into modern society.

“But wait,” you might argue, “They’re mercenaries. Many of them, like Luguselwa, probably don’t care about the emperors.” Sure. There’s definitely a long history of mercenary troops not being the most loyal, especially when there isn’t a clear leader. However, I have to bring up the fact that when Nero died (in actual history) the German guard was disbanded by one of the following emperors due to their perceived loyalty to Nero, even in death. (Also, because the guard was disbanded for their loyalty, which was a major insult, the entire tribe revolted.) That’s a bit of an oversimplification of ancient history, but with the constant reminders we have in the series about the Germani’s loyalty, this ending just seems like a cheap move by Riordan. He might as well have had them all turn to dust one last time with the dissolution of the Triumvirate’s power. Also, if you even entertain the possibility that someone could step forward to take control of Triumvirate Holdings, I feel that the Germani would serve whoever that was.

On the purely practical side of things, please try to imagine thousands of (possibly illiterate) barbarians adjusting to modern life with zero help. I’m not saying it’s impossible, considering the amount of time they’ve been around (and how they seem to legally exist, as evidenced by Luguselwa being Meg’s legal guardian), but it’s still a stretch of the imagination with how Riordan characterized them throughout the series.

TL;DR

To wrap it up, you just can’t make villainy this pervasive, throw out some guesses as to how things will work out fine, and pretend the world can just move on. Triumvirate Holdings isn’t a snake that dies when you cut its head off; it’s a hydra. The life that almost everyone involved in Triumvirate Holdings lived makes them who they are. Not everyone will end up like Meg, especially considering the sheer number of people impacted. I know that all of this isn’t really Riordan’s concern, that he couldn’t have covered even half of this if he wanted to, but gods does it bother me.