#“is a luxury i thought I'd have with you for life”

[louisliamforever]

No seriously that reddit post of Louis' tweets and comments asking Liam to call him have me so upset.

[bi-writes]

an eye for an eye | knight!ghost x f!reader

your husband bends to your will. men must learn from difficult lessons how far that bending goes.

type: a continuation of a hand for a hand, but can be read stand-alone (11.6k), AO3

cw: 1600s au, dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, graphic depictions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, simon "i'd do anything for my wife no matter the devasting consequences" riley (18+)

Your husband has an insatiable appetite. Such a big man he is; he towers over you, so much so that you must tip your head back always to look up at him. You had to make many arrangements in your house to accommodate his hunger–a pantry stocked full of eggs and less fabric for your skirts.

Your house isn’t like others. Neither you nor Ghost have ever lived in luxury. When he showed you your home for the first time, you had shaken your head–you didn’t believe that such a large place was supposed to be yours, and even now, sometimes you feel like a stranger, out of place when the maids ask you what you want for supper or where you’d like to take your afternoon tea. You don’t like the fuss, the asking, the women that curtsy when you come near, concentrated over the creases in your skirts or the loose thread of your sleeve or the wispy hairs that fall out of your braids. You are told all the time that you must behave like a duchess, that you must poise yourself with your new title and your new money, and you must do the things that duchesses do–but no one says the same to your husband.

He is still allowed to sleep in the barracks. Lick the blood off his gauntlets. Polish his sword in the dirt. He’s still allowed to be everything that you cannot be anymore, he still lives the life he had before.

He still kills; and he is still very, very good at it.

Your queen told you in a letter that the king is very pleased. Ever since your union, Ghost has been quite the conqueror. Bloodthirsty and very determined, your husband has been taking his men across the water. He is not any less impressive off land. Not even the pirates have tried to negotiate; they bend the knee or taste the salt water. You breathe shakily when you read your queen’s letters—her praise for your husband’s conquests, how blessed your family will be and how valuable you are to the crown, how grateful she is that Ghost is no longer a fiend in court but rather a little more polite and a little quieter.

All for your sake. Ghost’s name is now your own, and he refuses to embarrass you now that you have it.

You won’t lie; the bodies that Ghost has stacked since you’ve been wed do not scare you. He’s doing it for you. He has never said it out loud, never told you so, but you know it. He wants to show you what kind man that he is, what kind of soldier—you know he’s trying to prove himself worthy. If he killed a thousand men to have you, how many will he slaughter to keep you?

He sends you letters of his own. Not many, but he does send letters, and while Ghost seems to be ineloquent and entirely too brutish, he has quite the voice when he writes.

To my wife,

The sun falls quicker here. I’d like to come home. Tell me of your day, and I will tell you of mine. There were a fleet of ships that came to meet us at dawn. When we sank three, they begged for us to spare the rest.

I have you to think about now. So I burned them.

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

He signs his real name in his letters. Your eyes skim over most of it–you don’t even blink when he tells you what he does to them. Sometimes he writes in great detail about the screams of a hundred souls, the way burning flesh smells, the taste of dirt in a new place when you know it is finally yours. He doesn’t like having secrets. He tells you all his thoughts, even if they might scare you, because you are his wife, and he has discovered quite quickly that you have been cut from the same cloth.

Even when he is home, and he tells you these things all over again, he can’t help the way his cock hardens when you merely blink and ask him if he has added any scars to his collection.

Ravenous, naughty little duchess, and you are all his. He knows he picked well–he knows, he knows he wasn’t wrong when he saw you across the throne room hiding behind his queen, he knows now that he was right about what he saw in your eyes.

You do hate when he’s away. You’re not used to the maids helping you dress, and you secretly abhor the help. That is why when you hear the shuffle of your house early in the morning, your heart thuds in your chest knowing he’s home.

The staff get antsy when Simon is around. He is very good at keeping an estate for someone that has never had to or ever been taught to, but he leaves the responsibilities with you and only you every time he goes. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, and every time he comes back, he makes you sit on one big thigh as he teaches you something new that you need to remember for when he goes away. He demands much of those he employs, and they are eager to please him. Whether it is because they respect him or are afraid of him, you aren’t sure.

Perhaps it’s both.

You sit up as the bedroom door opens. You smile, big and wide and sleepy as he steps into the room. He shuts the door with his boot, slipping his hood off, and you sigh as he grips the clasp of his mask and unhooks it. He tosses it onto the floor, bare-faced, and as he makes his way towards the bed, he sheds the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked.

You cannot stop yourself from the shaky breath you take. He is all muscle and fat, strong and entirely too scary, but it’s hard to focus on what he really is when he stands before you like this. He has fat thighs, big shoulders, carved muscle of intense labor around his middle and along his biceps. He has large hands with calloused palms and split knuckles, and your eyes meet his own as he comes closer. He’s so gorgeous, even with a face like that. He has a long scar that stretches from one brow to his lower jaw, another that cuts his nose and splits his lip, but those eyes are dark and lovely, and you can’t help the warmth that comes over you when he catches you staring at him, closer, right to his cock that hangs heavy between his legs.

Just as he begins to lower himself onto the bed, you hold out a hand, giggling.

“Simon, if you think you are getting into this bed without a proper bath, you’re mistaken!” You laugh, and he raises a brow.

“Mmm…” He smacks his lips together. “Tha’ right, my lady?” He clicks his tongue. “This is my bed. ’s oll mine. Every blanket…every pillow…” He grips your ankle from under the covers and yanks you towards him. “And every part of you.”

You giggle again, shaking your head, “Please, Simon!” You push him away with your toes. “They only changed the sheets yesterday. You’ll dirty them…” You flutter your lashes. “Will you bathe if I join you?”

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

You hold out your hand for him, and he takes it gently. You watch as he brings your knuckles towards his mouth, and you bite back a smile when he decides to kiss each one, slow. He tugs finally, pulling you up, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he hoists you up into his arms. You would worry about your weight normally, but Simon holds you so easily, barely even a grunt as he wraps your legs around his middle. You don’t waste another second, cupping his cheeks in your hands and kissing him softly.

It’s never just a kiss with Simon. He slides one of his hands up your back, into your hair, and you whine as he tips your head back just enough to slip his tongue into your mouth. Simon doesn’t just kiss, he consumes. What he did to get back to you, the things he endured, the places he has seen and the bodies he has buried and burned and scattered across the places he now calls country, it’s always to get back to this place.

To you.

“How’s my boy?” He asks when you pull away. He carries you to another room, to where the tub sits, and he rings a bell by the door to call the maids in. You snatch a robe off a hook and cover him with it as he sits with you, but all he does is put a few fingers under your chin and make you look at him again. “Oi. Asked ya question, luv.”

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

“I…”  You wait until the maids have gone to fetch hot water to tell him. “I bled while you were gone. I…”  You smooth your hands over the robe, distracting yourself. “I’m…I’m sorry, Simon.”

You close your eyes as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours, and you shake a little as he lets out a warm breath against your lips. He moves a warm hand over your soft stomach, cupping you there, and you lean your head back a little at the tender touch.

“It will happen,” he says finally, and your mouth opens to respond, but he sticks his thumb between your lips to shut you up. He doesn’t want to hear you blame yourself. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his, for not being here with you, for not be able to take care of you. You give in, suckling on the salt of him, and he grits his teeth as he watches you. “I know. Seen it in m’dreams.”

Simon has dreams. Lots of dreams, but he tells you that they are not dreams, they are glimpses into something that has already happened. When you asked if he was some kind of seer, the kind that the king used to have at parties, Simon doesn’t laugh.

He says the dreams are why he knows he won’t die. Why he is never afraid, because he knows somewhere behind his eyes what’s to come even if he didn’t see the entire painting of it. It is why he knew he would marry you; it is why he paid you so much attention, why he knew he would win his battles, why he always knows whose blood it is in his mouth because he has tasted their death before and relishes in the knowing of it all, in the certainty.

It’s never I think, it is always I know, and Simon is nothing if he is not the most honest man that you know.

So if he says you will have his babe, it is as good as truth. As green as the grass grows beneath his feet, as blue as his sky, and as red as the blood that is caked underneath his nails.

When the tub is filled with water, you let Simon sink into it first. You kneel beside it, picking up a glass of oil, pouring it into your palms before sinking your hands into his hair. It’s gotten longer since he left, in need of a cut, but you smile when he leans his head back into your shoulder. You can feel his content as he relaxes into you, and you admire his physique as you use the warm water and scrub the mud and grime off of him.

“I missed you, husband,” you whisper, and he only lets you massage his hair for a few more moments before he grips you by the wrist and tugs you forward, right into the bath. “Simon!” you laugh, “my night dress—oh!—it’s ruined!”

“Too far away,” he mutters, practically ripping the silk off of you as he tosses it besides the bath. “Mmm…” He cups your breasts with two big hands, smoothing his thumbs over your nipples, and you whine a little as he pulls at them just enough to make them stiffen. “Y’should be naked when I come home,” he says lowly. “I’ll soil y’r bloody gown next time, m’lady.”

You giggle, and he smiles. A real smile. As real as he’ll ever give anyone, maybe the only one that anyone has ever even seen. He has never shown his face in court, and while it angers the women and irks the men, you revel in the fact that all of this is only for you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You kiss him softly. The water sloshes, warm and inviting, and sometimes you forget your life used to be anything but joy. A year ago, you would not believe that you would be here, titled, wealthy, in a stone room lit by candles bathing with a blood hungry ghost.

A year ago, you trembled whenever he looked at you. You cowered when you heard his footsteps. What a stupid little girl you had been. What a fool. She had no idea what she could have, the kinds of things she could hold in her hand.

Real power wasn’t being able to command a room with your words. Real power was being able to say anything and have it be believed as truth. Real power was making someone look in one direction and have them see what you see, even if what you see isn’t real.

He lays you down in your bed afterward and eats. Your wet hair soaks the sheets, but you can’t seem to be really bothered as he fits your legs over his shoulders and bends you at the waist, his mouth suctioned to your clit as he eats you slowly. One of his hands is spread out over your tummy, the other you can hear making a squelch as he fists his own cock. It’s slow and methodical, and he slides his tongue between your folds firm, catching what dribbles from you on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it and leans in for more.

He has eaten you in nearly every room in your house. Frightened the cooks tossing you onto the dining table, given a servant a scare as he ducked under your skirts in the library, had the gardeners fleeing as he dropped you onto the grass near the lake and disappeared with a frenzy to eat your cunt during sunrise. It’s maddening, the kind of need that Simon requires, but it’s hard to refuse when you feel so warm and bubbly and happy after he’s finished. A pampered princess you are, never lifting a finger, only awake long enough when he’s home to eat until you’re full and cum until you fall asleep again.

Maybe that’s why you’re not pregnant yet. Simon likes to be here, between your thighs, mouth fixed on your wet pussy until he’s practically exhausted himself with a sore jaw and lax tongue.

He kisses you sloppy after. Licking into your mouth, practically spitting onto your tongue, wanting you to taste—tastes so good, luvvie, don’t ya see, yeah?—wanting you to know why he’s so eager to be on his knees all the time.

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

“’s not what I really want,” is all you whimper, and he nods, because he knows, he always knows.

“I know, luv. I know wot ya really need.”

“I must be broken,” you sob, cradling his face in your hands, and he shakes his head.

“Not broken,” Simon assures you. He speaks so surely that it’s hard not to believe him. “It wasn’t time.”

“You can’t see the future, Simon! You don’t know!” You cry, and he snarls a little, shaking his head again.

“You listen t’me,” he growls. You shake a little as he grabs your face with one hand, fixing your jaw under his grip as he holds onto you firmly. “Wot I say goes. Y’r my wife, so listen t’me, and listen t’me good. Y’r not broken. Not time. Say it back t’me.”

Your lip trembles, and he rattles your head a little.

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

“It’s not time,” you whisper, and he plants a fat kiss onto your tear-soaked lips.

“Just need my cock, luv,” he murmurs. “Tha’s oll. Just need me t’fuck it outta ya.”

You nod, pressing your face to his, and he tuts, reaching down and spreading your legs wide to accommodate him between them as he lays over you.

“’s oll y’need,” he repeats, and you nod again.

You have to take another bath in the same morning; and this time, you weren’t able to walk there.

You like when Simon is home because it’s quiet. The only one that dotes on you here is Simon. The maids do not dress you or do your hair or moisturize your skin. It’s always Simon.

You smile at him in the mirror as you sit at your vanity. He has a brush in one hand, and he’s using it delicately to detangle your hair how you like. His hands are practiced and gentle, and when he finishes, he leans over you as he starts to part your hair to braid it. He did not have sisters, but his mother had him always do her hair after she lost the use of her hands with age. You don’t know where his mother is, but you assume she is not here anymore, because he never invites you to meet her.

He oils your skin. He slips the robe off of you, revealing your damp skin from the bath, and he slathers oil in his hands before using it to soften your skin. He takes his time, smoothing those big hands over your shoulders, down your back, along your arms. You tilt your head back when he warms your breasts, squeezing and fondling your tits. He murmurs in your ear the entire time, and he has to fuck you with his fingers to quiet you when he stops because just his hands on your tits has you wet all over again.

He dresses you, too. Helps you slip into your undergarments, fastens the cage for your skirts over your hips. He ties them skillfully, and after he layers your skirts over the farthingale, he gets you into your corset. It’s intimate as he does this. Even with your wide skirt, he comes closer, over your shoulder, and he tugs at the laces at your back, pulling it tight with firm grunts. You sigh when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hand skimming over your breasts as they sit nice and perky between stiff fabric and whalebone.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, unnerving…the way ya look…”

You close your eyes, “S-Simon, please…I’m already dressed…”

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

But when he has to leave again, you nearly come with him. You fasten his armor for him, help him slip each piece of leather on and click every piece of metal into place. You tie his cloak and slip his mask on, and you try and duck your head when you flip his hood up, but he catches you, tilting your chin up.

He huffs when he sees your face. Tears sliding down your cheeks, lips wet with them, eyes all glassy and red. He draws you up onto your toes, pressing his mouth to yours through the mask, and you hold onto him tightly, digging your nails into his chest armor and threatening to not let go.

“I want to go.“

“No.”

“Simon, let me go,” You gasp, begging, gripping his hood in firm fists and not caring that his armor is cutting into your front. “Let me go with you, I can’t do this anymore, I want to go, I can do it.”

You aren’t sure if Simon underestimates you. You think it’s more that he does not want you to see him in a place where he is most true. Where he wears the least of a disguise. He does not know he wears it the least with you, and that you have already seen his blood and how it curdles under his skin. You like it that way. You like him angry…and mean…and terrible. You like him when his sword is dirty and his armor needs polishing and his mind thinks of nothing else besides war. He should know this by now. He should know that you see him and see what he is even more than his king, more than his men.

He couldn’t scare you, even if he tried.

“War is not where women go,” Simon snaps. His tone is harsh, even for you, and you stiffen when he grips you by the jaw and rattles your head a little. “Especially not one like you, my love. War would eat ya, eat ya fuckin’ whole. Look at ya…” He huffs, deep, sliding that gloved hand down your throat to slip it beneath the neckline of your dress and fondle your breast with a firm grip. “Beautiful. Meant for my lips…for these dresses…meant to be held in my hands, not bleed from stray arrows, because tha’ is surely the least of wot they would do t’ya if they knew ya were my wife. Now ya will wipe these tears, ‘n see me off, and then ya will come back inside like a good girl, ‘n you will wait for me here until I come back.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and you scowl up at him. Not indifference, but frustration, and Simon doesn’t think it suits you.

“I’m sick of waiting for you, Simon,” you spit. “It’s all I ever do, wait. Wait for you to come back, alive or dead, I never know. And don’t say you do this for country, that is a lie.” You shove him backwards, but he barely budges when your hands touch his chest, a rigid wall that does not give. “You do it because you like it. You’re a bloodthirsty dog, and all you do is bend to our king’s will.”

A lie, but you tell it anyways, because you want something, and he will not give it to you.

“That is my duty.”

“Your duty is to me,” you snap. “Kings come and go, but I will not.” Simon stills. He glares down at you from behind his mask, and perhaps this might terrify his men, but that you are not. You are his wife, and you are protected by that title alone. The only man to ever lay a hand on you would not live to see another second, himself included. “Now you will let me join you, or so help me God, Simon, I will not be here when you return.”

You do not expect the full-bellied laugh that leaves him. His armor shakes with him, and you grind your teeth, narrowing your eyes. He uses his thumb to force his mask up, and then he cups the back of your head and draws you in for a sloppy kiss. You resist at first, but when he feeds you his tongue, you melt. You kiss him back, letting him draw you closer, and you sigh as he tangles his fingers into your hair and cradles you with those big hands.

There is nothing more to say. Simon neither confirms nor denies, but you taste it in his mouth, his devotion. Not wrong, not right, but just so–he has many responsibilities, but you are the only one that will remain the same. One day, his king will die, and he will serve another, but the space you have made beside him will never change. Even when you die, because he knows you will go before him, there will never be someone else to fill it. You and you only, the woman he found and made his, the one he demanded lest he kill his own country for it, it will always be you. Soft and sweet, you are, but the Lord knew Simon could only have one woman, and he made it be you; the one spitfire enough to defy her own king because she trusted his love enough for it.

Would you commit treason to save his life? Would you watch a king die if it meant your beloved lived? 

Would he?

He thinks about what you have said when he takes his fleet across the water. He runs his tongue over his teeth behind his mask, breathing deep when he thinks about your proclamations of duty. Of change. Of what remains when other things move, of the kind of life that waits for him when he comes and goes with a king’s order. He thinks about how easily he is taken away from you, and he knows there is truth in what you feel. It is not really Simon that sacrifices, it is what he leaves behind, and that is you.

It’s never angered him before. He had accepted the fact, as early as your wedding day, that he would leave and come back, then leave again. It has always been the way of his life, come desire or not, so it bothers him that of all the things that surprised him in his life, it would be missing someone that shocked him the most.

Missing his wife. Missing the serene perfection of one woman, and the perfect place between her soft thighs. Every day that he finds himself between them is the best day of his life, he reckons, so now he feels bitter about staring at a freezing ocean amongst his men because he will go weeks without her.

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

It comes in a letter from a messenger on horseback. They have been stationed in a foreign land for weeks now, watching slowly as the stone walls of a castle at their front crumples day after day from the stones filled with powder that ignite what is wood and break what is rock. The letter is sealed with wax, with the motif of a snake. It is given directly to Simon, whose name is scribbled in the letter, and when he reads it, he tastes ichor and smoke.

So the great phantom has come to seal my fate. I am not in the business of letting what is mine be taken. Even if you have brought your all, it won’t be taken from me.

I heard you have a beautiful new wife. I heard you paid for her in blood.

I shall do the same. I will hang your sword above our marriage bed.

Ghost is not someone that bends to the threats from foe he cannot look in the eye. Words are so empty. It is nothing like when he stands just a few meters apart from them, eyes fixed against one another, as they decide whether today they want to live or they want to die. The letter means nothing, but he’s surprised by the heat that bubbles under his ribs at the mention of his bride. He meant it when he said you were not meant for war, and that meant in this regard, too–nobody was allowed to talk about you, not like this, not ever.

When his king orders him home, Ghost crumples the note and tosses it into embers. He watches it burn, and then he orders his men to set to flame the ground around the stone walls.

So men like him can be goaded, it seems. His resolve is not as strong as he thought.

The weeks make you anxious. All you do is sit and collect dues and tell the maids which dress you want to wear and which you do not. It is peaceful and boring, and you wish Simon was here to make your days more exciting, but he is not.

His letters are the only things that keep you occupied, truly. He writes to you about war and loneliness, and you write to him about the mundane of domesticity and the ache he leaves behind. Sometimes, his letters come folded with pressed flowers he finds along the way, and you start to collect them, putting them away in small boxes or using them as bookmarks as you go through Simon’s library.

He has many books. His most loved books are those of war, of history, and you smooth your fingers over the pages he has dogeared and find comfort in reading the same words that he once did. You learn, as well. While in your studies as a girl, they made you learn arithmetic and the flowery bits of history and art, here in Simon’s house, you learn of strategy and weaponry and military tactic. Sometimes you disagree, and you write about these disagreements to Simon, and he writes back, pleased with your observations. He told you once that if you were a man, he would want you in that tent with him, beside him, deciding on which formations to take and when to strike. You responded saying that you could be that for him anyway. What did your sex have anything to do with whether you were right or wrong?

Simon agreed.

But I would never invite you here, dear wife. You have to understand that.

When your queen asks for your audience for dinner, you oblige easily; finally, you have something to do rather than add up numbers or sign a document on Simon’s behalf or read another fucking book.

You don’t want to wear all the costume your maids insist on, but you appease them after they repeatedly explain to you what your title means. With a drawn face, you let them tie your corset and layer your skirts, and you watch in the mirror as they braid your hair and drape large, obnoxious jewels over you. You grimace at the tiara they fit into your hair, and your elderly handmaid pinches your cheeks and tells you to put on a fair countenance, Your Grace, lest you make the Duke look ungrateful.

You bite your tongue from snapping at her. She should know that Simon would say nothing about your countenance; all he would do is fix whatever was bothering you until you smiled again.

You arrive early enough to have tea. Your queen is so excited to see you; she gushes when you meet her in the throne room, pulling you up from your curtsy so she can hug you tight, squealing. When you try to address her with a curt “Your Majesty,” she shakes her head, pressing her hands to your cheeks and giggling, “No need for formalities now. Call me Victoria.”

You hide your displeasure with a small smile. Now that you are no longer her lady-in-waiting, she allows you her name. Is it because she sees you more as equals, or because now you’re allowed to be somewhat of friends?

You must be some kind of friend. She sizes you up like you are one. She wears England’s colors this afternoon. A fire red dress adorned with gold accents, a dragon pin holding her shawl. She wears magnificent red and gold jewelry, but she’s looking at your dress, and you can see the slight twitch of her eye. You are wearing French lace, and she doesn’t like it. Or maybe she doesn’t like the color, the accents of navy blue and silver that you wear.

The skull motif that is woven into your tiara and printed on your coat and sewn into your dress. Does it insult her? That all your life, you wore nothing but browns and beiges and grays, were invisible to her, and now you represent your house, visit her as your guest, and bear an honorable name?

You were no one when you served her. Just a girl, no close family, no friends, just a distant uncle who gave you to the crown that hoped you could be of service. That was to be your duty for all your life–to serve the king’s wife until she wanted you no more or until she was gone. To cater to her every need and every wish, no matter the time of day or night.

Now you sit across her, more noble. Refined. Wearing a dress she despises, perhaps because she likes it more than her own.

Over tea, she gossips about the other ladies she has visit. You’ve heard this before, but you’ve never been included in the conversation. She talks to you, and she wants to hear your opinion, and you find yourself uneasy as you try to think of what to say. She is your queen, and you want her to like you. When you worked for her, you earned her favor by always warming up her jewels before she put them on, by making sure she had her tea ready in the morning at her bedside, by always holding the fan she so loved for when she inevitably had a hot flash. Now, as her friend, you weren’t exactly sure what to do. You suck in a soft breath and look at her, and then you purse your lips.

You think it best to agree with her. To be on her side. You might not be her direct servant any longer, but you still must fall under her favor. A queen’s favor can be just as powerful, especially if she occasionally has the ear of her husband.

“Well, that’s not very kind of her,” you say finally, and she laughs.

“No! She’s such a prude. I think her husband doesn’t sleep in her bed enough, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you. You giggle at that. “Speaking of husbands–” She pops another cake in her mouth. “How is yours?”

You reach up and tug at your necklace a bit, smiling nervously.

“Oh, uh…” You clear your throat, “He’s doing very well. I hear his latest campaign is quite the success. His majesty is very smart, heading for the east that way, I’m sure they will be victorious soon enough.”

Victoria smiles at the thought of her husband. His intelligence. She always used to talk to you about how many hours he worked, how she hated when he was away, how she wished he was home more so he could give her a son because she was so, so lonely.

“Wise words from the duchess, aye, my love?”

You jump a bit at the low voice from behind, and when you turn, you gasp, immediately standing and falling into a delicate curtsy. John Price waves his hand, coming further into the room, shaking his head.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. “Please, sit. You’re here as my guest.”

You stand and lift your head, trying to relax. You take a seat, smiling nervously, and Victoria smiles giddily at her husband. When he bends to kiss her cheek, she fawns, reaching for his hand and squeezing it before taking another piece of tart and eating it. John hums before motioning for one of the staff to fill your cup again with tea. He eyes you curiously, taking in your appearance. You sit up at that, performatively brushing off over the skull pattern on your corset. John runs his tongue over his teeth, smoothing a big palm down his wife’s long coils of hair.

“Since you’re here, I’d like a word, if that’s alright,” John says to you. His tone carries a little more authority now, and Victoria sighs, whining a little.

“John, please, she’s my friend. Can’t it wait–”

“That wasn’t a question, Victoria,” John bites. Her face falls a little. She swallows and tucks her hands into her lap. You’re reminded as you look at the slight wobble of her lip that there is no one truly above John Price, not even her. You keep your face neutral, but if you were invisible, you’d pity her.

What a shame her husband sees her as less than. How embarrassing. Your Simon would never. Your Simon waits until you finish speaking before speaking himself. Your husband kneels to take off your shoes, your husband tears your skirts to get a taste of you, your husband used his teeth to sever a man’s throat just to have your hand.

What did John Price do to get his wife? Who did John Price kill to have her hand? How many bruises did he earn around his knees on their wedding night from eating her out? As many as Simon, whose knees were black and blue by morning?

No, you suppose not. How unfortunate. How pathetic.

Victoria picks up her skirt and stands, pasting a big smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and you can see the way her hands shake a little as she scurries off. She scowls as soon as she turns away from John, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll go check on dinner,” she says, but it is soft and unenthusiastic.

When she goes, the room falls quiet. At the nod of John’s head, the staff leave, and you keep still in your seat as John sits across from you, picking up one of the cakes in front of him and breaking off a piece to busy himself. He keeps his eyes on his task of cutting up the cake in small pieces, focused on his hands and how they work. You watch him carefully, steeling yourself.

You anticipate a conversation between man and woman, not a king and his lesser.

“Simon’s been away for some time. I bet that’s difficult for you.”

You straighten your posture, realizing what this conversation will be. By his tone, John seems to think you a bored, stupid housewife, perhaps. Uneducated. A woman, no thoughts in her head. You let your face relax, and you fold your hands in your lap. Maybe now is the time John should learn who you are and who you are not.

What you have become and what you no longer are.

“I do just fine, Your Majesty,” you say finally. You pick up a spoon and drop a cube of sugar into your tea, and you stir, picking it up to take a long sip. John is curious by your content. You have a quick tongue. “I could say the same to you, couldn’t I?”

John laughs. He narrows his eyes a bit at your clever response, taking a large bite of the cake and running a cloth over his beard. His eyes sparkle a little.

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

“You know I gave Simon orders. And you know he didn’t listen to me.”

You purse your lips, but he sees the shine in your eyes. The lack of surprise. His face twitches a bit, and you shake your head. You blink slow, and it irks him to see you so calm. He is your king, and Simon answers to him, and you are his wife, so you must answer, too.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I could have your husband’s head cut off for treason for that, you’re aware, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head to the side. What an odd thing for John to say. What an odd thing for John to contemplate, since it would never come to pass. “Don’t be daft, my king. You wouldn’t want to do that.”

John slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cups rattle with his frustration, but you do not even flinch. You blink, stone-faced, and it makes his nostrils flare. He recognizes that glare, he knows it well. He has seen it before, stared it down many times in rooms just like this. Only now, he is not fighting for land, he fights for control of the one man that he has always been able to rely on. Simon has followed him into battles outnumbered by a thousand men, and only now he ignores an order? Only now he chooses something different?

“Now, let’s be civil, Your Majesty,” you say softly. You smile at him, leaning your head in your hand. “Is there something that you need from me? I have a feeling you might have encouraged this dinner just so you could see me in passing, so why don’t you just ask me what you wanted to ask me?”

John lets out a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. He leans towards you, and you admire how blue his eyes are. John is quite a handsome king, but he does not captivate you. It has been a long time since John has tasted blood, and he lacks the edge that you crave dearly.

“I need him back here, is what I need,” John murmurs.

“My king, I couldn’t get him back here any more than you could, even if I wanted to.”

“Now who’s being daft?”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. John is not a stupid man. He created a beast of a man, and he is trying not to poke it too hard. You shift, brushing down your skirts, and you let out a low breath.

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

“Why does he ignore your order to come back?” You ask again. “I can’t think of a lot of reasons why he would stay. So why did he ignore you?”

John clicks his tongue, smoothing a few of his fingers over his beard. He averts his eyes, looking out the tall windows, frowning a little at the grim weather. The weather is always grim here, but it irks him at the moment, makes him scowl a little harder.

“I was…informed that there was some sort of letter,” John explains. “Some threat.”

“I don’t follow. He gets lots of threats. And terrible letters.”

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

You close your eyes at that, shaking your head. Simon would never be so foolish as to be baited by baseless threats. He barely bats an eye when someone even in front of him draws his sword. He is so comforted by his ability to win, by his dreams and his visions that have not yet happened.

“That’s absurd,” you breathe. “Simon wouldn’t…”

John chuckles, but there is no humor there. “Wouldn’t he?”

“I still don’t understand what you expect me to do,” you roll your eyes, looking away. “Simon is…he’s not…he doesn’t listen. It’s why he’s good at this, isn’t it? He doesn’t really take orders, he’s…I…”

John has never complained before about the way Simon chooses to lead. Oftentimes, it is an order ignored that has made it so that he delivered another crown at John’s feet. Simon asks for forgiveness, not permission, and John has barely batted at eye at it. He sees Simon as some kind of distant son, but this refusal bothers him so?

John leans forward. “You need to understand something here, Simon is a rabid dog,” he spits. “And sometimes I let him off his lead, but this isn’t like anything I’ve had to deal with. I need you to call him back here.” He scoots closer. “England needs you to call him back here. To me.”

You narrow your eyes a little. England needs you to call him back? What kind of sick sense of patriotism is he trying to instill in you? John is stupider than he looks, to think a woman like you would show loyalty to country. You are loyal to your husband, and nothing else, because what has king and country ever really done for a woman like you except for dispose of you?

You wear Simon’s colors, not John’s, and you will wear them to your deathbed.

“If I do this for you, my king, then you owe me,” you whisper. He laughs again, no humor, and he picks up a goblet and fills it to the brim with wine. He drinks half before slamming it down onto the table, spilling it over his hand.

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

“Quite right, Your Majesty,” you agree, picking up your napkin and dropping it onto the table. You stand, giving him a polite curtsy. “But I am not doing this as your subject.”

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

“You put your entire right to the throne on the back of one man,” you say softly. You are not accusing him, you’re reminding him of a truth. “Simon is why…he’s why your counsel still listens to you. He’s why your people are free from famine, why…why your taxes get paid on time, why your kingdom is still standing, no thanks to your father who wasted this place’s fortune on women and liquor.” You shake your head. “You have an eye for conquest, Your Majesty, but you lack the execution of any plan you conjure.”

You are not wrong, and John knows this, and it’s why he hasn’t spoken up yet or interrupted you. The man before, his own father, was a drunkard who spent all their money. He drank himself into the grave, and the only reason John stands before you now is because of Simon. A man who he fought beside, who he commanded, who once John’s duty became reality took up the mantle and finished what his father never could.

John would be in the next history book you read because of Simon, and it’s Simon’s name that will never be written. They do not bestow legacy to men who serve other men.

“Where…Where did you learn to speak to men this way?” John scoffs. “I am your king.”

You must have hit a soft spot. John is defensive now, and men only deflect and insult when they are cornered with the truth. They don’t like being held in front of a mirror.

“You are king because my husband made it so,” you correct him gently. “And Simon is a loyal dog, and that is good for your sake, because if he had any desire for your seat, it would be his.” You come closer, your heels sounding, and John glares down at you; but you glare right back because you are protected by your name and what you can do with it. John knows this, and it angers him, but he seems to have difficulty facing the truths of his own making. “But he is not your dog anymore. He’s mine.”

Your pen on paper is aggressive. You can tell because the splotches of ink are deep, bleeding black sinking into white as you put angry word to parchment. Not even a fortnight later, you are playing cards with Victoria, and you see Simon’s silhouette standing in the doorway, hood shadowing his masked face as he observes. When you look over your shoulder where John sits, and you meet his eyes, he looks away from you with a grim understanding.

Simon answers your call. Always.

At dinner, John is in better spirits. He drinks with a big smile, eats more than one plate, and he picks Victoria up by the waist to make her dance with him when he asks for the music to be played louder. Simon sits, fidgety, gloved hands moving in and out of fists as he watches you cut into your food and eat it with a blank face. He huffs beside you, his armor stiffening as he sits up straight, and you let your fork clatter onto your plate as you turn to glare at him.

“You were thinking with your cock, Simon,” you spit. “That is how men like you get killed.”

“You ‘ave no idea how men like me get killed because there are no men like me,” Simon growls. You roll your eyes, standing, and he grips your wrist angrily, tugging you close until you fall into his lap. You sigh, shaking your head, putting your hands on his broad shoulders and making him look at you.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But I’m not wrong. It is how you’ll lose. You know better than that, Simon. To fight someone because they taunted you in a letter, it’s playing the fool.” You cup his cheeks, keeping his eyes on yours. “You don’t need me to tell you that, and yet here we are.”

He breathes slow, closing his eyes for just a moment. He thinks he came for this, just a little. For clarity. Reason. It comes from you in waves, and it’s comforting to hear. It is something he knew, and yet it only makes sense now that you have said it.

“I know,” Simon mutters. “I know. Y’r right. I’m sorry, luv.”

You ask him to apologize when he undresses you. You ask him to apologize again when he sinks into a hot bath with you. You ask him a third time when he is in your bed, a heavy weight between your thighs as he licks and sucks at the soft skin of your tummy. He begs, lowly, let me ‘ave it, and you will, but he has to say he’s sorry again.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes, sucking on your inner thigh, and you close your thighs around his head, forcing his mouth against your cunt.

“Again, Simon,” you whisper. “I wanna hear it again.”

“‘m sorry,” he slides a rough tongue between your folds, breathing shakily when he tastes the oil that he smoothed over your skin only moments ago. You taste so good, you smell so lovely, coming off of you like fumes blinding his senses so that nothing else but you makes any sense at all. When you open your eyes, you think about where you are, and you nearly come thinking about what you have wrapped around your finger.

Not even your king tells your husband what to do. Not even your king commands his men, they won’t listen, he’s not who they turn to when things go belly-up, it’s your husband, and your husband answers to you.

You weren’t sure about it until today. Seeing him when you asked him to come, it flooded you with something that hurt. You could tell from even so far away that Simon was salivating under that mask. You knew the only thing separating his mouth from your cunt were the other people around him (and they were not privy to seeing you naked).

It is such a thing to observe. John needed a lead on Simon when he was his dog. You need no such mechanism. Simon never strays, not with you. He sits proper when you ask, and he speaks when spoken to. He tears at unwanted flesh, and he comes when you call.

John cannot give him all that he desires. Perhaps he thought what Simon truly wanted was fame and fortune. Legacy. But like most things men do, John does not observe. He takes in only what is right in front of him, and he makes assumptions. Simon is not like other men. Fame and fortune do not matter. He does not care about legacy. What matters to Simon is what he can hold in his hands. The ground under his feet. The steel in his hand. The woman underneath him, spreading her legs, inviting him in.

You love Simon. You love Simon more than anything in the entire world, but it would be a lie to say that you are not at some advantage here. Simon is all-consuming. He is the pinnacle of duty and honor and everything that a man is supposed to be, but Simon is also weak. There is something that he wanted more than anything in the world, and now that he has it, he will do anything to keep it, and that makes him vulnerable. Subject to all kinds of new things. Revenge. Retaliation. Pain.

Manipulation.

Maybe you should feel bad about it. Maybe you should feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel anything like it when there’s a big bear of a man between your thighs slobbering on your pussy like dessert. It’s hard to feel anything but bliss when he’s tracing the letters of his name into your cunt and making you see stars and fucking you into the silk sheets like it’s the last time he’ll ever have you.

It is men who govern your world, and if this is how you must move in it, then so be it. You will not feel bad. You will not be sorry for doing what anyone else would do. John thought he could keep his hand there, muzzle his mutt, but you like him this way, and you’re certain John doesn’t fuck the way you do.

He’s mine.

It isn’t John that commands an army, it’s you; or maybe your cunt, but that belongs to you, too, so it is you, isn’t it? You’re the one that lets him inside, that whispers in his ear, that tells him things you know he wants to hear to make things move in your favor, so it’s you, right?

Not John. Not Victoria. Not their counsel. You. They have stepped on you your entire life. They have made you small and inferior and sad for all of your existence, and they gave you something feral knowing it could eat you alive, and now you are the hand that feeds, and they are forgetting that if they bite too hard, you have something that will surely bite harder.

A collar would suit him, you think. He would look so pretty. He already is, the terrible beast, prettiest thing you’ve ever seen (the necklace your drape over him does just fine, a pendant with his motif that you hope reminds him of you). You don’t care if people would say his face is quite ugly. It is, very much so, but you never see him this way. Whenever that mask falls, your stomach flips. He takes your breath away. His intensity, his raw form of love, the look on his face–there is nothing else in the entire world that will love you the way he loves you.

“You came back for me?” You ask. You have a leg tangled between his, and his fingers are between your thighs, a shadow of a smirk on his face as he feels the mixture of your cum and his. He grunts a little, and you tilt your head to look up at him, your chin on his chest.

“‘f course,” Simon mutters, and you kiss his chest gently, keeping your eyes on his.

“But not for John.”

He turns his head, looking down at you more intently, and he scoffs. You know it’s true, but you want to hear it, anyways. You want to hear Simon admit, unknowingly, that you are the tether.

“John is afraid, and I don’t listen to ‘im when he’s afraid. Makes bad choices.”

It’s almost adorable that this is what Simon tells himself. That he comes back for his own sake, and not for yours, even though they are one and the same, intertwined and inseparable.

“Simon,” you say softly, and he sighs, his eyes closing briefly when you kiss him gently. “You have to listen to your king when he asks you to come back. Making a…rash decision about war strategy is one thing, but…” You cup his cheek gently. “Make things easier for me, husband. If he asks you to come back, you come back.”

This time, at least. Just this time.

Simon snarls a bit, but you swallow it when you kiss him. You maneuver yourself over him, straddling his hips, and he grunts as you sink down on him. He swells hard again very quickly, releasing a deep breath as you give a slow roll of your hips.

“Make things easy for me, my love,” you whisper, and he leans his head back, putting two big hands on your ass and moving you with ease. “Appease your king, yes? For me?”

“Can’t say no when y’r pussy squeezes me like tha’, sweet’eart,” Simon groans, and you giggle, planting your hands on his chest and starting to move a little faster. You lean your head back, your mouth falling open, and you gasp when you sink down completely, your ass touching his thick thighs as you tighten around him. “Fuckin’ Christ–”

“I hate when you go,” you whine, digging your nails into his chest. He hisses, planting his feet on the bed, and he fucks up into you with a renewed fervor. “Hate when you’re not here, Simon, I-I miss you, miss this–”

“Nghh…fuck, I know,” Simon pants. “Can feel it. Feel you.” You squeal when he grips you by the waist and turns you over. He makes it seem so easy, tossing your weight underneath him, and your arms circle around his neck as you draw him closer, hanging onto him. “Y’r so fuckin’ pretty…”

“Simon–”

He kisses to devour. His jaw hinges wide to kiss you sloppy, breathing in the moans that you can’t contain. Simon always fucks so well, stretching your thighs as wide as they will accommodate so he can make room for the goliath of himself that he is. He suffocates, in a good way, and his cock never fails to stretch you for all that you are worth. Simon holds your jaw in place as he grinds into you, relishing in the wet smack of his hips against yours. The fat of you satisfies him. It makes him growl with delight when he grabs onto wide hips, your fat arse, the body that you hold that tells him you are fed and warm and content. It draws his grin wider, and it makes him drool thinking about having you again and again and again, until you beg him for reprieve and his heir sits in your womb.

Simon fucks for sport. He wants to see how stupid he can make you. He wants to know how long you’ll cry for, how fat he can make your tears. He wants to know how loud you will cry, how many times he can make you cum before you’re incoherent, he wants to know the extent to which he can use you that you will still be awake enough to say his name just one more time. Simon is not satisfied until he pushes your limits.

It is what a Riley does. They endure, and they eat, and they consume, and they take pleasure in the all-encompassing indulgement of things they have never been allowed to have. You are a woman, so he knows this will come easy for you. So often, he knows, women are not allowed to indulge at all, so he wants you to. He wants you to cry and moan and eat, and he wants you to do it bearing his name so that no one will ever tell you no.

Simon says no to kings, and they placate, or they die. His wife will be offered the same respect, and he’ll stand behind her with a sword to make it law. When you bear his children, he will expect the same of them–to give their mother utter devotion, lest they answer to his hand. There is no one above you, not God, not country, and certainly not blood. They will know what their father did to have you, and they will spill the same amount of blood to keep it that way. They will do it for you, and then they will do it for their own lovers, and if they don’t have the same sentiments, that love is not true, and Simon will not give his blessing.

Everything else is trivial. He knows this, understands it, because history repeats itself. It is cyclical, and you are right. Kings come and go. Sons die to other sons, fathers make bad decisions, and crowns are passed to bastards and back again, until lineage is merely spectacle and power changes hands often enough to lose generational merit. There is one thing that remains, and it is what you do while you are on earth, while you are standing on the ground you were born on. Even faiths change; when men find it suitable, they change the rules, and then you worship a different God, so Simon sees no point in staying loyal to any of it.

Instead, he is true to what he knows. To what he can see and what he can feel. With John, he remembers being a young man, fighting alongside him. He follows John, to an extent, because he knows what it is like to share blood with him on a muddy hill and take an arrow for him.

With you, time stands still. He saw you in a room, and he had to have you, and he brought nations to ruin to make certain no one would bat an eye when he asked for your hand. He saw you in a dream, too–he saw you laying in his bed of furs, wearing nothing but a tiara of his making, wet between the thighs because that is how it’s meant to be. He recognized you when he saw you that first time, and he doesn’t know how, but saying no to you, really saying no, will change that vision, and he couldn’t bear that.

Your voice echoes. You’re moaning, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. The hair around his cock rubs your clit too many times, and when you come around him, you’re a shaking, withering thing, back bowed and nipples pebbled. Your toes curl as you cry from the starry-eyed, hot pleasure, but he keeps moving, chasing something in the distance that he can taste, so close.

Yes, Simon ignored his king. Yes, Simon did not ignore you. Yes, Simon admits, he came when you called, and he doesn’t feel bad about it, he doesn’t care how it seems. He would do it again if he had the chance. John could give him the same answer as you in every timeline, but he will only move if the command comes from you, and yes, Simon knows it makes him a liability, but crowns come with costs, and this is the one John must pay.

Simon will fight any of John’s enemies, but he won’t fight fate. He won’t fight what has already been seen, and he won’t fight what he already knows will happen.

With Simon’s cock in your mouth, you can make him deliver on promises. Sucking on the girth of him, you can make him an honest man. Taking inside of your mouth what you can swallow, you can make Simon do your bidding, and it is a hard lesson that John learns.

“Do this for me,” you slobber against the underside of his cock, and Simon relents.

“Make me happy,” you say, swirling your fingers against your puffy pussy, and Simon kneels with an open mouth.

“Just this once,” you whisper with his cum on your tongue, and Simon seals his choice with his hands on your tits and the taste of himself in his mouth.

When you make eyes with John across the low lights of the throne room, he can’t help the way he admires you. You stand beside Simon, looking the essence of nobility and reverence in another intricate silver and blue dress. The train of your skirt glitters with delicate jewels hand sewn into the fabric, and the headpiece you wear adorns a skull insignia. Your corset has been tied just right, thanks to Simon’s hand, and your own fingers are clasped between his. Your corset and jewels are of exquisite detail–one of the newest designs from Paris, structured and elegant and accentuating every curve of soft skin.

You glow in the room. His wife must be wearing a dress just as expensive, probably more, and yet his eyes (and everyone else’s) cannot help but follow you. Your own eyes won’t leave Simon; you flutter your lashes whenever he looks down at you, big smile on your face, and even when there are people curtsying and bowing to you and giving Simon their gratitude between bites of cake and glugs of wine, your attention never really strays. 

John feels inadequate in his own fortress; suddenly, red and gold sicken him, and England tastes sour in his mouth.

In a few generations, John’s house will likely fall. He will make heirs that will fail him, he knows this. In a few centuries, his family will not sit in the same place, but a Riley will remain right where they are supposed to be. Banners of blue and silver will always fly. If Simon does not make sure of that, then you will.

It’s what happens when you force women like you to their knees. When they grow up invisible, always in the shadows, forgotten and sold to the next man who will pay a higher price, it’s what you learned to do. It’s all you’ve ever known, to make the best out of something terrible.

Simon is the same, in that sense. You understand him in a way his king will never be able to. Simon has nothing, and neither do you, and Simon was stepped on and berated and tortured to the point of no return. It is why blood does not scare him and why death doesn’t come knocking. Time will be the only thing capable of killing him, and everyone that stands up to him learns that when they eat his blade.

In the quiet of the evening, Simon undresses you. He sits behind you on the bed, fingers pinching the bows at your back and unraveling them. He traces your corset, thumb circling over the skull pattern of the belt around the small of your waist, and he tastes something warm in his mouth at the sight of it. You look so beautiful–more beautiful than he’s ever seen you maybe, decorated in his colors and wearing his motif and sitting so pretty.

“You wanna know something…funny?” You ask quietly. Simon finds the ties of your skirts and starts to undo them. He grunts in reply; he might sound standoffish, but you know he’s listening. “John…John made it…he makes it seem like you don’t really listen to him. He implied that…in the face of adversity, you might only listen to me.” You put your hands on the front of your corset to keep it from falling. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wot’s so funny?”

You swallow, looking down. Your hands fidget, and you take a closer look at the ring you wear, the delicate gold band he gave you not so long ago.

“I…”

“Mmm…might be right, innit?” Simon snickers after a moment. You feel him stand, and you look over your shoulder as he peels his mask off and grins down at you. He tilts his head to the side, and you smile back at him a little. “Do anythin’ for ya. Disobeying a king…” Simon cackles, tearing your corset off, tossing it onto the floor as he walks you backwards. “Ignoring one…” He shrugs, “Oll in a day, love.”

“He can hang you for it,” you whisper. “Cut off your head. Cut off mine.”

Simon lays you back on the bed, spreading you out, climbing over you. You blink up at him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

He would have seen it in a dream. It would have come to him in a reflection in a pool of blood on the battlefield. It would have come to him, the voices in his head, he would have heard them amongst screaming, or perhaps in the void that he finds his mind in when he’s between your plush thighs.

You can’t help the smile that graces your face when Simon kisses the curve where your jaw meets your neck. It is fun, you suppose. Fun to control the tides that set the courses of history. It is fun and almost unbelievable that a king bends to the will of one man’s wife just because it solidifies his name.

You wrap your hand around the twine that dangles from Simon’s neck. It twirls around your fingers, easy, solid. Simon’s eyes are dark, and they are yours, and when you smile, so does he, because this is where you are meant to be, forever and always.

“What if I want more?” You ask. Simon hums, low from within his chest, and you run your tongue over your teeth. “Did you see that in your dreams, Simon? Hmm? Do you know what I’m asking for? What it is that I really want?”

Simon smiles. A dark one, with teeth, and you know he hears it. What more means for a duke and his duchess. What more means when you have all the money you could ever want, all the land you could ever need.

What more means when you have climbed your way to the top and still desire more. More, more, more. There are not many steps left to climb. There are not many places left to take, not much more of the world that can really be yours, but Simon looks ravenous, and Simon looks hungry, and if you fuck him now, you’ll have him right where you want him.

When you tug on what hangs around his neck, Simon bends. Simon follows.

[mellowwillowy]

𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲

Yan! Lawyer Husband x GN Spouse Reader

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

CW: mafia related stuffs (ALL FOR READER...), disturbing ideations. NSFW

You were the subject of envy for everyone, the spouse of the infamous lawyer, Yulian de Alpheus, who possessed wealth, reputation, intelligence, and undying loyalty to you. To people, you were the beautiful dove living in the gilded cage he had given you, luxuries that fulfilled anyone's needs and wishes.

𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆?

To him, the one who was truly locked in the cage was him. He was and would forever be locked in the gilded cage, forever drowned in his adoration toward you. If he had to live in a world where you did not exist, he would not hesitate to shoot himself to death and find you again.

--

"Dear, how about we go on a vacation this month?"

His words had you choked on your food. He immediately stood up and pat your back, a handkerchief that you embroidered for him handed to you as he handed you a glass of water, "Apology, did my question catch you off guard dear?"

You shook your head while you regained your composure, "It's just that I was surprised, you had been busy these days so how could you spare me your time for a silly vacation?"

Yulian chuckled as he patted your head, "True, and I plan to work even harder to finish all the mess they had shoved me to work on, I'm sure I could finish it right in time before our estimated vacation."

You frowned to yourself, your husband had always been a hard-working man. It was no surprise judging by the amount of assets he could own at such a fairly young age. While some of it was thanked to his father, you knew those would not remain had he not worked hard to keep and grow.

"Dear, I don't want you to over-exert yourself with this case just for a vacation. If you were worried about me then please pay no mind, I am content with everything but you stressing yourself."

Yulian sat back and started slicing the meat on his plate, "Dear, I did not marry you just to have you live in this house as a prisoner," the way he sliced things was of good etiquette but you knew. You knew how he always looks at the things he sliced as a subject of... low-life. "I want my beloved to live in happiness, a life where you get to have and own anything you want without a single worry," It's almost as though he wished he could use more force with the knife, "A life where you do not wish to end," Yulian used his fork to pick the sliced meat up to your lip, "A life where you wish you could live in for eternity."

You thought to yourself for a moment, drowning in thought before smiling at him, "Yes, a vacation this month sounds nice." You opened your mouth and ate the piece.

--

"What were you even thinking about to the point you tangle yourself into this mess?" Yulian furrowed his eyebrow, in his office was the leader of a renowned mafia group in the underground world and Yulian sat on the leathered chair with his hand wiping his white gun.

The ringleader's subordinates were clearly displeased with the way Yulian easily belittled the case and him but they knew better than to cause a mess.

"So? What do you need this time?"

Yulian stored the gun back in its respective place, locking the shelf with the key before handing the ringleader's subordinate a folder of files.

"I'll need you to fabricate everything I handed you. I've given you options of people for you to use as a scapegoat as well."

The ringleader took the folder and started reading the files in it, scanning the words that were typed on it.

"And I expect you to finish it all by this week. I'll be taking a vacation for myself by the end of the month so I'll finish the case in a few trials. I'd like you to find a way around the judge and jury as well. The more the better, understood?"

Yulian was an infamous lawyer. A lawyer who would validate any way to make his client proclaimed 'Not Guilty'. As much as he hated having to drag his name around the underground world, he had no choice but to work together with them. Why?

"Fine, I'll inform you everything this weekend." The ringleader left the room with his subordinates following behind him meekly. The moment they had walked out of his building and entered the car, one of them posed a question.

"Why did you let that shrimp belittle you, boss? It's not like he is the only lawyer we could have our hand with."

The ringleader did not look at his subordinate as he was still analyzing the content of the files. Even so, he was still attentive enough to answer them back, "Well, if you know exactly how strong my influence is, why do you think I allow him to boss over my men?"

The man gulped as his hand held the steering wheel tightly. Why would a measly bug be able to hold power over his boss?

"... He somehow got his hands into our mud. In simpler terms, he blackmailed me."

His right-hand man sighed, "Yulian is nothing but a coward, Kaspar. A coward."

What difference did it make to him? The fact that the two of them blackmailed people to survive while the ideations were biased to each side was nothing but hypocrisy.

"And yet he is the coward that dared to step into the underground world just to protect his spouse..." Kaspar winced at the word 'spouse', "he did all of that just for the love of his life. Is that supposed to be considered foolish or not...?"

The men fell silent until one of them proposed a question, "Then why not use his spouse against him?"

--

The basement that you did not know even existed. You knew there was a bunker down your house but you were never aware of the existence of the basement.

You were asleep so technically you couldn't have heard anything. No, the room was made to be soundproof, no one could hear what was going on in the room.

But you heard it anyway. You heard it faintly, the sounds of people screaming. It wasn't clear, almost below a whisper but it kept you awake. You looked to your side and found your husband absent from the bed again.

"Is he working again?"

You stood up and slipped your feet into the slippers before walking out of your shared bedroom. The hall was lit up by the warm white lights, the light that always comforts you no matter what. You walked toward his office which was located on the first floor, giving the grand door a knock before entering it.

"Dear?"

No one was inside the room. The room was laced with the smell of coffee, the only thing that he probably could love aside from you. You walked to his desk and read some of the files on it. The words on the paper were beyond your comprehension so you stopped reading it, glancing at the cup of coffee, you feel the cup with your hand. It's cold and full. Weird.

You took a look around his office, bookshelves on the side while a framed portrait of you and him hung on the other side.

He must have really loved this portrait, refusing to change it with a new one.

"Dear?"

You jumped at his voice, where did he come out from?

"Dear, where did you come from?"

"Ah, I was in the washroom. What brings you here? Did something wake you up?" Yulian asked you as he approached you while drying his hand with his handkerchief.

You took a closer look at it, it's not the same handkerchief you gave him. Weird. He had always been insistent on only using the handkerchief you embroidered for him.

"Dear?"

"Ah," you snapped out of your thought, "it's just that... I felt lonely. How long are you going to stay up again tonight dear?"

Yulian thought to himself as his eye shot toward the corner of the room, "Please, don't wait for me. I won't be finishing my work in any time so I hope you would use those time to retreat yourself to bed." Yulian pat your cheek before giving your cheek a peck, his emerald eyes had always drowned you in a ripple of the lovesick sea.

His hand snaked its way to your waist as he led you back to your shared bedroom, opening the door for you and urging you to lay on the comfortable white bed. He placed the blanket on top of you before sitting next to you, humming a lullaby while easing you down.

"My little Lily of the Valley is a curious soul hm? Your husband told you to sleep and you naughtily sneaked out of your room..." He playfully reprimanded you while you tried to drift yourself back to sleep. Hearing him teasing you like this was weird, but at least in a good way. What boosted his confidence?

"Someone like you should not wander around in the mercy of nighttime, even if it was in our own house," his hand caressed your hair while his eyes stared into your half-lidded ones, "my lily-of-the-valley should not wander around in the darkness anymore..."

Did you hear him right? Come to think of it, what woke you up earlier?

"Good night, my love."

--

"Good night, bastard."

A thud and the man who was tied to the chair plopped down, lifeless. The other men could only tremble in horror as they waited for their turn. Perhaps death would be the only slightest bit of virtue that he could offer, a mercy at his hands that was covered in bloodstains.

Just as he approached the other men, the alarm rang. Someone had entered his office. Yulian turned on the screen to the camera and saw you walking toward his desk, observing everything that was scattered on it.

He was glad that he didn't put anything 'suspicious' on it even if you wouldn't understand it. He didn't want to risk it.

Yulian went to the sink and washed his hands before motioning for someone to come out from the darkness. The members of the mafia walked out and waited for his order.

"Ah right, relay this message to your boss. Not only do these bastards will have to face the consequences of trying to touch my beloved, you guys too, will have to face it."

The men shuddered in fear as they thought of what he could do to them. The greatest mercy they could have would be that their boss would be the one who punished them and not the lawyer himself.

"Remember," Yulian walked toward them, hand taking out the handkerchief you embroidered for him, "I work for Kaspar so that this kind of thing won't happen. If this happens again, I'd personally make you guys crawl through the tunnels of prison for eternity."

His emerald orbs almost lit up into a burning fire as his jaw tightened in anger. He made his way toward the door before taking a look at the handkerchief.

He shouldn't use it for something so filthy.

He slid it back into his pocket and used another plain handkerchief instead.

--

"In short, he is the man who would not hesitate to kill his own children, his own blood and flesh, or his family just to save and love his beloved Lily of the Valley."

Kaspar sighed as he read the report. The scapegoats that he offered were his men who were on duty to protect his spouse.

"He is the man who had lived for eternity just to find and love his beloved again and again."

-- log end

Afternotes:

I didn't expect the fic to be this short (says the one who got lazy mid-way and cut half of the story...) anyway, I thought to myself, rather than let this rot in the draft, wouldn't it be better to post it even if it was only half completed without any proofread yet?

I'm really happy my first LIfE Project event features my favorite son, Yulian first! The next one might be Eleanor!

Complete Posts

[miley1442111]

safe- a.hotchner

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

you and aaron have jack (obvi) and a daughter, ellie. :) (1.4k + words)

summary: you become an unsubs target

pairing: husband/dad aaron hotchner x wife/mother reader

warnings: general cm minds topics, knives, stitches, head wounds, trauma talk of harm coming to the team, the reader is harmed, etc.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

There you stood, your own blood as well as another's blood all over your body. 

What happened? 

You were just leaving work, you were going to pick up Jack and Ellie on your way home. It was taco night, you three would cook together tonight, though since Aaron was on a case a few states over, you would be the only ones doing it. So, how did that exact same unsub get to you?

You sat in the ambulance, stitches going into your skin, but you weren’t even flinching, you didn’t even feel it. You knew Jack and Ellie were expecting you, so was Jessica. 

“Can I make a phone call?” You whispered to the paramedic. She nodded her head, sympathy on her face. “Thank you.”

You pulled out your phone as she finished the stitches in your head, moving onto the ones in your arms. 

“Hey Jess,” You sighed into the phone. 

“Hey, is everything alright?” she asked. “Do you want me to take Jack and Ellie for the night?” 

You could honestly cry at her generosity. “Yes please, thank you so much Jess.”

“No problem,” she smiled, worried from the other line. “Are you hurt?” she whispered. 

“I’ll be ok, someone just… yeah,’ you sighed. “Tell Jack and Ellie I love them, yeah?”

“Always.”

You hung up. The paramedic finished up and the officer who had been sitting with you for the past few minutes escorted you to a squad car and brought you to the station, informing you that the FBI were on their way. The FBI, really? Surely it wasn’t Aaron, right?

God, you missed Aaron. You’d never wanted to see him more in your life. Just to know he was ok, that he was there. 

Such luxuries could not be afforded at that current moment. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aaron sat beside David on the plane, exhaustion pulling at his eyes as Spencer read out the latest attack. 

“Oh, apparently there was one survivor,” Spencer said. “That might be his next target.”

“We should look into them, what’s the name?” David asked as Aaron yawned. 

“Y/n Y/l/n, she has a son, daughter, and husband,” Spencer said, and Aaron was wide-awake again. 

“Pardon?” He asked, hoping he’d heard wrong. 

“Y/n Y/l/n. She was beaten pretty badly and had a head wound and a stab to the arm, she’s at the station now. SHe agreed to a cognitive interview. She’s a professor of nuclear physics at a university nearby-” Spencer reads off. 

“She has more pHds than boy genius, 5 and counting,” Penelope interrupts him from the screen. 

“Well, she is older than me,” he stressed, attempting to keep some of his pride. 

“By what, 4 years?” Emily snorted, the rest of the team laughed, but Aaron was frozen. 

A head wound? You got stabbed? He felt faint. Immediately, he reached into his pocket to grab his phone, trying to call you. 

You didn’t pick up.

He tried again as the team stared at him in bewilderment. What was he doing?

No answer again.

“Sir-”

“I want a profile before we leave this plane,” he ordered and the team all stared at him. “Is that too much for you?” He asked snarkily. They all shook their heads and began breaking off into groups to work. Aaron stayed seated, a million thoughts running through his head at once. Was Jack ok? Was Ellie ok? How much blood did you lose? Was the unsub already on his way to you again? Were you a target because of him?

“Hotch I think we have something,” Morgan stated after 30 minutes. “The unsub is targeting women with the same description as the survivor. I'd say he’s a college student who is jealous of her husband. He’s formed a parasocial relationship and obsession with her and his delusions have led him to hurt those closest to her. It makes sense she’s beautiful, described as being extremely kind and caring about her students, she’s ridiculously intelligent, and apparently she and her husband are madly in love with each other. What’s her husband’s name Pen?” Derek asked, looking at the computer. 

“Aaron Hotchner,” she said, a gasp following her words. Aaron looked up, meeting the eyes of the team as they stared back, shocked. 

He could deal with them later. 

“Send police to Jessica's house,” he ordered before he got up to go to the back of the plane for a moment of peace. He took out his phone, dialling Jessica’s number.

“Hey, is Y/n ok?” She asked. “I have Jack and Ellie right now, are you with her?”

“Not yet, I’ve sent police to your house, just as extra protection, ok?”

“Alright Aaron. Take care of her when you see her, she seemed pretty shaken.”

“Course,” he gritted out and hung up. This was going to be difficult. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat in an office, a cop’s jacket strung over your shaking shoulders. You were still covered in blood, you still saw the horrible image of one of your students being killed in front of you.

Where was Aaron? 

 “Can I go and clean up?” You sniffled, asking the sheriff who was sitting at his desk beside you. 

“Course sweetheart,” she smiled softly. “There’s a bathroom down the hall, if you want a shower there’s one in the training centre.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling smaller than you ever had. You were told to be careful with your stitches and that you’d be brought into the hospital in the morning once all of the stuff with the station was over. You walked down the hall to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, staring at your bloodstained face and clothes. The tears started falling, going down the drain with a red-tinge. 

You grabbed some tissue, wet it, and started scrubbing your face. The ache of your body was nothing to the turmoil in your head. Was it your fault one of your students was killed? Was Jack ok? Was Ellie ok? Was Aaron ok? 

You didn’t even notice him coming behind you until he took the tissue out of your hand. He discarded it, damped the towel from his go-bag in his hand, lightly washing your face. Tears fell freely as he did so, but he wiped them away, a comforting hand on your lower back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your clean cheek. He continued his gentle cleaning, bringing it down to your neck.

“I’m sorry too.” 

He smiled softly. “You don’t have to apologise for anything.”

“Neither do you, but we do it anyway.”

His emotions became too much all of a sudden, the feeling of nearly losing you becoming unthinkable. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered.  

“I love you too.”

After Aaron sufficiently cleaned as much of the blood off of you as he could, he took your blood-stained shirt off and replaced it with one of his extra dress shirts. Walking outside the bathroom, you felt eyes on the both of you. You recognised some of the team from stories and photos Aaron had shown you. They stared as Aaron wrapped you into his side and walked you back into the sheriff’s office. 

“I want the kids,” you admitted. “I know we shouldn’t but I’m so worried that they're not ok,” you cried into his bicep as he sat beside you. 

“I’ll send one of the team to grab them and Jess,” he nodded.

“Please don’t leave,” you whimpered, holding onto him for dear life. You needed him. 

“Of course not, honey,” he soothed. He signalled for Derek to come in. He walked in, careful of your feelings. “Will you go to Jessica’s house and pick up Jessica, Jack, and Ellie?”

“Of course sir, but… who’s Ellie?” he whispered the last part. 

“My daughter,” Aaron said and Derek went wide-eyed.

“I’ll be right back with them,” he promised. 

��----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Darling, do you feel up to telling me about it? Or even just something?" he whispered against your skin.

"I know who did it," you whispered back. You felt such guilt. You knew the unsub, he was one of your students Andrew. Andrew was obsessed with you, with your life, but you just took it as a student being interested in your life to get out of work. You didn't pay enough care to the way his interest dampened when you spoke about Aaron and when you talked about your anniversaries or dates.

"Honey-"

"His name's Andrew. He's in my chemical sciences class."

Aaron was silent for a moment. "Alright. I'll send officers his way."

"I'm so stupid, I didn't even realise-" you started but Aaron shushed you with a gentle kiss.

"Don't talk about my wife like that," he joked. You chuckled softly and he felt a sense of great accomplishment.

"I'm so glad you're here," you sighed into his neck.

"I'm so glad I'm here too."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You're married?" Derek asked.

"Yes," Aaron admitted as he ran a hand through your hair as you lay on his lap asleep, Ellie and Jack playing by the sheriff's desk.

`'And you have another child," Penelope said, shock apparent in her voice and facial expression.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Spencer asked.

"I wanted to keep her safe," Aaron smiled. "I also just assumed you'd figure it out. Clearly you're not all as good as you think you are," he chuckled.

The team collectively rolled their eyes, but still smiled. Aaron was happy, you were safe, another unsub was awaiting jail, and they could almost feel the love radiating off of Aaron.

All was well.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :)

[strawberrystepmom]

ready to eat

pairing: Yami Sukehiro x F!Noble Reader

word count: 4.9k

contents: NSFW - minors and ageless blogs dni, I will hard block you. Takes place in canon universe, there is a slight age/experience difference insinuated between the pairing but reader is at least 25, reader has named magical ability (movement magic), so much banter, oral sex (f receiving and finishing and it's sexy)

cw: mentions of marriage and misogyny, virginity (reader is a virgin)

notes: brain rot has proven to be fatal so here you are. this is open ended and i would not consider it a oneshot bc i'd love to write more about these two. hope you enjoy! thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3, divider by @cafekitsune

you can find more about these two here, here, here and here 🖤

Nighttime is your time, a lesson you taught yourself independent of your instructors many years ago. 

Movement magic allows you the luxury of blending in with your scenery, rushing unseen toward a capital district that is on the opposite end of where your family has made their name. Nobody here would recognize you even if you were less discreet, cloak gathered around your face and obscuring any unidentifiable features, and the freedom is indescribable; better than every sunny day or freshly made tea dessert. 

You are free to be yourself. Unmarried, unattached, unimportant, it doesn’t matter. You stumble into the usual inn you make your domain until the sun rises, ready to watch the way people you have little in common with live. If anyone knew you’d get reprimanded, probably rightfully, though you have never quite understood the scandal that lies in being a well informed woman. Your mother was a gossip and isn’t that another way to become informed? 

It’s society's acceptable way, anyway.

You slink into the corner table, away from the crowd gathered nearer the bar, and slip your hood off of your face. No glances of recognition from anyone else, too engrossed in their own drinks and their own conversations, and you sink down against the back of the chair you’re sitting in. It’s nice to be anonymous, you decided months ago when you began doing this. You aren’t certain you want to continue being so inconspicuous when you remind yourself why you’ve been doing this to begin with - to gain even the slightest bit of the life experience that continues to elude you. To love and laugh and feel joy that you’ve been told only comes with marriage, something you are too apprehensive about committing to. 

It’s why you come namelessly into a district that does not belong to you or your kind. You hope that someone will find you interesting, a beaten path off their life’s track. Someone to laugh with or tell stories to. It’s all you’ve ever really wanted, a romantic to your core despite the decidedly unromantic life you lead. Caretaking, getting earfuls from your father about being a responsibility that the family no longer wants to have when taking your age and failed proposals into consideration. So lost in your own thoughts, you barely notice when a man slides into the chair next to you, glancing down at your hands and then at your face.

“You need to stop wearing whatever is making you smell like that.”

The interruption to your quiet evening makes you jump, no longer dissociating and now in the present. You recognize the man sitting next to you, a captain of a Magic Knights squad. Their faces are plastered all over the capital and you’re shocked that he stumbled into such a low brow establishment though getting a look at him up close convinces you that he may not be in the entirely wrong spot.

“Captain Sukehiro,” you offer politely, formal as ever. “I regret having to request clarification from a man as esteemed as yourself but what do you mean?”

The captain snorts, shaking his head in response to you as though your manners are piteous instead of a courtesy that should be extended to all. 

“Don’t call me that, Yami is fine.” He sniffs, stuffing a cigarette between his lips. “I’m talking about the shit you’re wearing that is filling every corner of this place. People don’t wear things that make them smell like bakeries around here.” 

Scrunching your nose, you lift your wrist to your nose for a sniff. He’s referencing the perfume you spritzed on after bathing and the way it sticks to you, the smell wafting around the table with every move you make. It hasn’t caught any eyes yet, thankfully, but he can see how this will end if you don’t correct your mistake now. 

“What are you doing around here anyway? I figured women of your, uh, breed or whatever stuck to their own districts.” 

Bristling slightly at his insinuation that you find yourself too good to hang out here, you square your shoulders and clear your throat. A low chuckle rumbles in Yami while he lights his cigarette, raising his brows and eagerly awaiting whatever argument you are clearly cooking up in that little head of yours. 

“I’ll have you know that I enjoy exploring parts of the city that I rarely see. I am out here thanks to my own curiosity.” Your eyes shift from Yami toward the rest of the tavern, a small smile on your face watching the patrons laugh amongst themselves. “I think it’s really wonderful that people are happy no matter how they were born into this world and I’m thankful to be able to experience this side of life too.”

The captain could spend all night laughing at your naivety if you’d let him but he doesn’t wanna let you dig any deeper of a hole than you’re already finding yourself in. You’re clearly a fully grown woman, even the doll-like roundness of your eyes and cheeks can’t convince him you’re under 25 judging from the way you carry yourself. You aren’t the first noble girl he has ever seen sneak off in an attempt to find herself yet it strikes him as hilarious you clearly believe it.

“So you aren’t like the other nobles? You see people as people?” The brusque individual takes a long drink from the mug in his hand, Adam’s apple bobbing while he swallows, your eyes fixed on the sheer size of his neck and throat. “What do you want? A prize?”

Even the enticing muscles of his body (how can one person have so many muscles bulging off of them anyway?) cannot distract enough to forget that he’s insulting you. You place your hands in your lap and fiddle with the edge of the cloak that covers the simple nightgown you are wearing, covering it enough that no one is suspicious about why you’re wearing nightclothes in the first place. 

“No, I’m simply telling you what I’m doing here because you asked.”

Sipping from his mug, the man glances you up and down. He swallows and squares his shoulders.

“Okay? That still doesn’t tell me what you’re actually doing here, you’re only talking about feelings and shit.” Another sip and he places his ale down. “So what are you doing here? Isn’t it a little late for your type to be out with the rest of us?”

He considers you for a moment. Not bad looking. Pretty, even. Not plain in the way some overly manicured noble women can come across and you clearly aren’t using magic to enhance anything about you or else he’d notice. He’s a pro at sniffing out transformation magic in women having seen so many who have taught themselves to dabble in the arts to subtly tweak their appearances. You sigh and he finds it impressively naive to do so, your shoulders pinching in while you exhale sharply out of your nose. 

“I’m looking for someone to help me.” Now this is interesting. He raises a brow, glancing you up and down. You lean toward him, creating a veil of intimacy in a crowded tavern, elbows resting on the table rudely. “I, um, I fear I’ll be woefully unprepared for my marriage bed once the time arrives and I want to avoid embarrassment. I’m already too old to be considered marriageable to most and my heart could not take physical rejection from my husband as well.”

“You’re a virgin and feel weird about it and now you’re makin’ it my problem.”

Gasping, your eyes widen and you shake your head rapidly. Yami smirks when he senses how quickly your heart is pounding beneath those layers of fabrics most in this place could only ever dream of seeing much less feel against their skin, curious enough that he won’t just tell you to get lost at this point. 

“Please do not repeat my predicament so loudly, Captain Sukehiro.” You whisper hiss, fighting the urge to kick him beneath the table as you do the rest of your fathers’ unruly issue you are the eldest of. “It’s not something I’m terribly proud of.”

The captain scoffs, humming to himself and adjusting his posture so that he’s leaning toward you instead of on the back of his chair, cigarette dangling from his fingers. You’ve captured his attention, at least for now, and he’ll give you all of it that you can handle. Pursing his lips, he glances around the bar for a split second before focusing on you, gray eyes locked on your pouting mouth.

“Then why is it your situation in the first place? Thought you nobles were too proud for your own good.” He flicks the lighter in his pocket. “And don’t call me that. Yami is fine.”

You should find it very rude that you are being asked so many questions and being made to suit so many demands made by a lesser born to begin with but the curiosity feels like deeply personalized attention, causing you to bloom in response. Hunched shoulders stretch out, the graceful posture you’ve spent what would amount to months of your life if you stretched the hours out perfecting appearing. No one at home is this curious about you outside of when you will no longer be around to tend the younger children your father continues to spawn and it feels different to be the center of a man’s attention. 

Not a weak, defanged little noble whose only function is to act as an additional limb for his father. A man with rough hands and battle scars and overgrown hair down his neck. 

“I haven’t felt a spark with any of the men I’ve been introduced to. They’re lovely individuals with proud lineage but it has always felt so…” you search around the room, lifting your hand to your mouth to idly nip at the cuticle around your thumbnail. “Forced. I don’t want to be with them and they do not want to be with me. Four men and none of them made me feel like I could spend the rest of my life with them.”

Once again, Yami chuckles at your predicament. Your cheeks heat in response, ears tingling and burning as that familiar feeling of being mocked encourages you to retreat inward. The awareness that you do not have to put up with this kind of treatment from a man beneath your station 

“Sounds like you’re hard to impress, kid.” A plume of smoke is blown over your head, the cigarette he was holding now dangling from his lips while he examines you with narrowed eyes. “Little darling won’t settle for less than a fairytale.”

Retreating further into yourself, you move your hands from your lap to fold your arms over your chest.

“I’m no child, obviously.” 

Your retort is as petulant as your posture and the man smirks, the corner of his mouth jumping, tenting his fingers in front of him and leaning toward you. Despite himself, he likes you. Your willingness to shit here and just shoot the shit with him has impressed him but not enough to let you off easy. 

“You’re here beggin’ for attention like one so I dunno about all that.”

Scoffing, you shift in your chair but make no effort to get up. You won’t be picked off by him that easily. 

“You know nothing about me, sir.” You raise your brows and shift your head to emphasize your point, arms still folded. A grown woman behaving like a little brat shouldn’t draw a man like this in yet he considers himself intrigued, stamping out the nearly depleted butt of his cigarette on the edge table in front of him. 

“Can’t argue with that. Keep talking.” 

He leans back in his chair and sizes you up, boots stacked on top of each other where his ankles are crossed and his long legs are extended out in front of him. It’s one thing to be keeping him here against his will because you won’t stop talking, it’s another when he is a willing audience. Your mouth runs dry and you gradually unfold your arms, placing them above your knee so you can subtly rid your clammy palms of the prickling sweat across them.

“I want to experience the things that a husband and wife are to experience together though I do not have anyone to enjoy them with.” Even the way nobles describe sex is stuffy and uncomfortable, Yami realizes, brows raising slightly. He lets you continue speaking before butting in, letting his arms dangle from the sides of the chair. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to believe it will change my luck but I won’t change my mind. I have to know how to…perform.”

Perform is such an interesting choice of word. All of the sex the captain has ever had has been far less of a performance and more of a two person dance, locked in repetitive motions and tangled up as one form. He isn’t much for the sappy, intimate shit you’re clearly insinuating you’d like though he feels like he could help you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he starts, leaning back toward you and closing the distance to once again grant you some semblance of privacy. “I can show you how a man should treat a woman but I can’t promise you it’s how a husband will treat his wife, you understand?”

Your eyes widen and you nod once, picking up on his meaning immediately. Impressed by your sharp wit he smiles although it’s nearly as unfriendly as the ones exchanged at court and only slightly less smug. Leaning in toward him, your brows knit together, and you bunch your skirt up in your fists.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for, you know…” you trail off, frowning slightly. He pretends like he doesn’t understand what you mean, shaking his head and staring vacantly at your mouth. “I don’t know if I’m ready for you to take me.”

Another snort from him and your face heats like a wildfire. The two of you remained locked in this strange posture, whispering but not quite, discussing the terms of whatever is occurring here. Blood rushes from your face to your chest to your stomach, a familiar tense feeling between your legs making you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“The only one who would be doing any taking in that scenario is me and you don’t have to worry about that tonight.” He tips his mug and finishes off the last droplets of his ale, sliding the empty vessel across the table top where it stops just short of you. 

“What if we never see each other again after tonight?” That sappy shit he was right to assume you wanted has surfaced earlier than he expected. He shrugs flippantly, arching a brow. “Then we never see each other tonight but at least you can say you know how it feels when a man takes care of you.”

Inhaling loudly, you weigh your options. 

You can always get up and go home, turn tail and run to where you will always be viewed as something akin to a decorative sconce on the wall instead of a human being. Your opinion matters not, you’re a glorified caretaker for your younger siblings, some of who are your fathers rightful heirs thanks to the boyhood the Gods so mercifully granted them. You can retreat and continue wasting away waiting for a man who thrills you enough that you can ever see him as someone deserving of being your equal. 

Or, you can consider Yami’s offer. He’s rough around the edges and speaks with no formality or regard and you like it. At least you think you do. He doesn’t care who you are any more than the others around you do yet he makes you feel the most seen anyone ever has. He’s interested in your words, your ideas, and even your pleasure - a realization that makes the knot in your stomach tighten further.

“Okay.” You concede. “I think that I’d like that.”

The man rises from his seat, smirking, tossing some coins down on the table in front of him for the drink. 

“I know you will,” he finishes, words dripping with honesty but not arrogance. 

He begins to head toward the stairs that will lead the two of you upstairs and your breath catches when he looks over his shoulder and raises his brows, signaling with a wave that you should follow him. You toss a few more coins on the table in front of you, uncertain of how much a room in an establishment like this would cost to begin with, and rush to follow him with your cloak pulled tightly against your body.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

This room is nothing like your quarters at home where everything around you gleams in gold and marble and silk. It may be decidedly less impressive though it’s twice as cozy if you’re honest. 

The bed is barely large enough for two and there’s a well loved desk pushed against the wall, magical light flickering from the wall. Shutting the door unceremoniously, you swallow and feel the captain at your back, a large palm covering the entirety of the space between your shoulder blades. You don’t recall him seeming so imposing downstairs, glancing upward to meet his eyes. He can tell you are inexperienced solely by how skittish you’ve become beneath his fingertips, an intriguing shift from who you were sitting opposite him.

Boldly asking a man to pleasure you has told him everything about the person you are beneath the skirts and the trappings of society. If he waits long enough he knows that hungry girl will once again show her face to him and while he isn’t particularly patient, he believes it would be worth his while to wait. 

“Go sit on the edge of the bed.” He instructs right above your ear and gently shoves you toward where he’s commanded you be. 

You follow directions and sit, legs dangling off of the edge, unfastening your cloak and letting it rest on the bed. The knot in your belly remains tight, keeping you on edge with all of your movements while your walls throb weakly, arousal and curiosity bearing down on you with similar weight. Sukehiro towers over you, slowly unfastening his belt and cloak, leaving the leather goods and his katana on the desk. 

“I’m going to lick your pussy. Do you know what that means?”

Cheeks warming, once again surprised by his lack of decency, you nod once. You have read about this particular act more than once and have also heard about it secondhand from some of the married women you call friends although their reviews have been mixed. Books have always made it seem far more interesting, an exchange in the same way a kiss is between a man and the paradise between a woman’s legs. 

“Good, at least I won’t have to explain all the technicalities.” He approaches you slowly and squats down, now face level with your middle. You glance down at him and wonder if you should touch him, if he’d like it, if he’d want you to. “Lift your hips.” The next command gives you reprieve from overthinking and you do as asked, raising them enough that he can pull your nightgown from beneath your thighs, spreading them to fit between.

“If you don’t like something, speak up.” He glances up at you, holding your nightgown halfway over his face. “If you do like something, speak up and I’ll keep goin’.”

The linen of your nightgown stretches and tents in the shape of Yami’s head and shoulders when he pulls it over himself, too big to be fully covered by the fabric. His back is curled into a C shape and the muscles ripple while he positions you, hands that you can feel but cannot see gripping the outside of your soft thighs to keep you from deciding at the last minute you are feeling shy. 

It’s too late for you to fall back on the shy act now, your panties dangling off of one of your ankles. Even if you attempted, you know the man currently fixated on spreading you open with his fingers would surface from beneath your skirt and laugh at you. Your heart simply could not take the open derision and ridicule, already feeling overextended thanks to this evening’s excitement.

“Alright, you’re about to feel something different,” he warns kindly, puffs of his breath fanning out against the slickened skin of your labia. The low rumble of his voice sends another rush of wetness seeping out of your cunt, excitement mixing with terror while you await the pleasure you were promised. 

Your hips shift impatiently on the edge of the dingy inn bed, legs on either side of his still dressed torso. His tank top is untucked from his pants and he no longer wears his belt, discarding the unnecessary while remaining firmly in control of the situation. There isn’t much that makes his mouth water but the sight of warm and just for him pussy is doing just that, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

His thumbs massage the outside of your thighs, keeping you as relaxed as possible, and he leans in to kiss the temptation he can no longer deny himself. A simple smack, loud enough that you can both hear it, yet the moan that escapes you is positively sinful. High pitched and breathy and immediately obscured, clapping your palm over your mouth to keep yourself quiet. 

“Nope,” he simply responds from beneath your nightgown, hand reaching up to remove yours from over your mouth. “What’d I tell you? Half’a the fun is hearing how much you like it.”

One of the thumbs that was rubbing circles into your thigh now does the same on the back of your hand, calloused digit occasionally catching over the surface of your smooth skin. It’s no shock that your hands are soft like your body and your hair and your eyes, it’s what your life was meant to be like the minute you assumed the role of it.  Soft and easy, no roughness to throw you off track.

Yami chuckles and lets his tongue feel you this time, dragging the wet muscle through your folds, rewarded with another of those breathy moans. You do not rush to cover this one, tilting your head backward and letting your eyes flutter shut to focus on the sensation of another lick. He takes his time to get to know you slowly, brushing the flat of it over your hole and dragging the arousal he receives as a reward upward toward your clit.

He doesn’t release his skills on your sensitive bud so quickly but a simple brush of the side of his tongue against it is enough to make you squeal, shoulders rounding in momentarily. Repeating the motion, you squeal again and arch your back, thrusting your hips forward into his face and dragging every bit of you he can see across his mouth.

“W-what are you doing to me, Yami?” You ask breathlessly, elbows propping you up on the bed and keeping you grounded. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Your head swims with unfamiliar pressure, sparking a line from your brain to between your legs, all connected and you fight the urge to slump back onto the bed, too curious about the way that the light linen covering the man between your legs shrouds him. 

“Eating, obviously,” he mumbles against your body, tongue lapping against your clit. Your body reacts to each touch, thighs tensing on either side of his face, hips slowly bucking in pursuit of the feeling again and again. Your back arches and your moans are staccato babbles, elbows finally failing to hold you up when he gives your clit full attention.. “Oh my, wh–,” your back arches off of the bed before you can finish your thought, another rough lick to your throbbing clit followed by the warmth of his mouth while he sucks it between his lips, flicking the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. 

There is no denying that you may be prissy and perfectly pampered but he was clearly correct in his assumption about you being more than meets the eye. The way your body responds naturally to his ministrations, hips grinding and toes curling and lips keening, tells him every little secret you’re too demure to spill. You want to have sex for enjoyment, to chase your own pleasure and have your own fun. 

He’ll never fault someone for that although he believes he can get you to admit it’s the truth. Maybe not tonight but eventually he’ll convince you to drop the “good wife” act. If he weren’t enjoying himself so much he’d grumble about considering a future where the two of you will meet up for this again, too lost in his own enjoyment of your pretty noises to realize how unreasonable this was to begin with.

“Please keep going,” you beg, a tearless sob thickening your voice. 

Yami doesn’t look up, well aware of what he is capable of, but he keeps his hand over yours and continues rubbing gentle circles into it. You flip your hand and face your palm upward, loosely tangling your fingers with his, your hips now dragging across his lips wildly. It’s messy and you are dripping like a peak season fruit, drenching his chin and sending little droplets down onto his tank top and chest. Moans increase in pitch when his tongue dips inside of you, lapping at your sweetness and drinking it down with satisfied grunts, though he can tell you’re close solely by how you ride his face alone.

You lack the words to describe how you feel, not that you are a stranger to self pleasure, but it’s different when someone else is showing you the maximum of how you can feel. Every inch of you buzzes with a pleasant awareness, nerve endings sparking like celebratory fireworks, and you lift yourself up with your elbows to glance down at the man making you feel more than you ever thought possible, your nightgown no longer around his head. You were so lost you didn’t even realize he shifted to holding your nightgown up above your belly button with the hand you aren’t keeping occupied, those astute eyes appreciatively watching your chest heave and face twist.

“Yami, I think,” you start and he chuckles, sucking your clit between his lips again, sending you over the edge and effectively making sure you know how exactly it feels when someone else makes you cum. 

Dots of light spark in the corners of your vision and you slump down onto the bed, too spent from the strength of your orgasm to remain upright. The perpetrator of your current state untangles your fingers from his wordlessly and he rises to standing, leaning over your exhausted body and propping himself up with his forearm.

“Good as you thought it would be?” 

Giggling, you nod. It’s all you can think to do, truly left wordless and thoughtless, grateful that what you read on the pages of the books you hide amongst your more chaste picks were somewhat accurate to how the experience feels. There has been no insinuation that he expects reciprocation so you don’t bring it up, quietly glancing up at him and noticing that the distance between your face and his decreases every few seconds.

“Now taste.” 

He closes the little distance left, tongue pressing against the seam of your lips. You grant him entrance and whimper when your mouth fills with the taste of his tongue, a mixture of acrid tobacco and ale and something you could only recognize as yourself. 

“Pretty good, right?” All you can do is nod dumbly, still splayed awkwardly across the bed. Should you leave? Should you stay? Is that pesky reciprocation going to come into the conversation now? Yami glances down at you with something you’d almost mistake for warmth in his cool irises, rolling onto his back beside you and folding his arms over his chest. “Are you going to head home now or what?” 

You shake your head, letting your flipped up skirt rest against your belly, the air of the room cooling your heated skin. “No but I’m not going to expect you to stay if you have other business to attend to. I will stay the night and leave before sunrise.”

It’s what’s polite. You did pay for an entire night, after all, and your raising will not allow you to be rude. Pushy and precocious at times but never outright disrespectful. The man next to you sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, turning his face to look at you. 

Maybe you are as pretty as he originally thought. It could be all the blood rushing from his head to his dick, a problem he is attempting to solve mentally by envisioning anything but the satisfying contractions of your cunt while it cums for him, but you glow even in this low light. 

“Only thing I have to do is go downstairs and drink and then I’ll just end up running my mouth and losing money.” 

You giggle at his honesty, turning your face to look at him. The gruffness only adds to his aura, as unrefined as a man can be, yet you really do like it. Even if the two of you sit here in silence for the rest of the night, there’s much you feel you can learn by simply gazing at him, a quiet battle of wills unfolding between the two of you like the mist that fills the city on a summer morning. 

Permeating, inescapable, potentially trouble.

[millieisawriter]

Workin' girl

arthur morgan x reader

summary: the one where arthur pulls a john — falling in love with a working girl. it was never supposed to happen, yet it did, and now arthur is left with two choices. either he, again, walks away from a woman that loves him, or tries to fight for her.

wc: 2k

all pics taken from pinterest

♡this wasn't requested, but if you wish to request something you're more than welcome♡

a/n: i see this happening in blackwater in case i decide to write a 2nd part, but when i started writing i imagined saint denis, didn't see any town/city names mentioned as i was proof-reading, lmk if you see something i missed <3

Life has never treated you kindly so eventually, as soon as you could leave your family home, you turned to the oldest profession in the world. Even if that kind of life was better, it still wasn't ideal, but it was the best you could do. Eventually, you started to like it because even with its issues and dark sides it wasn't that terrible. Some would even dare saying it was 'easy money', which you actually knew wasn't true.

Luckily for you, you ended up in one of the more expensive brothels. Maybe it was the 'splendor' of the place, the luxurious interior, that made you feel somewhat safe. Safer than you would feel in some cheap saloon where the patrons consisted of drifters with a questionable past.

You had your regular patrons, ones that you got along with well — one of the reasons why they were your regulars. These were the men that could stay a bit longer after the service itself was done without making it awkward. Ones that you could have a conversation with, ones that saw you as another human being, not just an item to relieve their frustration.

It was a normal evening, the building was neither empty nor full. You didn't have that much on your hands, you and a fellow working girl were entertaining a group of men. They sat by a table, a drink in one hand, a cigar in the other, and two of these men had a companion in their lap — you and your friend. Ending the evening in the bedroom wasn't certain, for now you were just trying to make them spend as much money as possible on the drinks.

Then, Arthur walked in. One of your regulars, one you were particularly fond of. The chemistry between the two of you was so strong sometimes you wanted to tell him he didn't have to pay.

His eyes immediately found you, and he would be lying if he said he didn't feel jealous seeing you in the man's lap. But you, as if on command, turned to look at Arthur and as you noticed your favorite patron, you excused yourself from the table.

"Mister Callahan," you beamed, approaching the man, "so good to see you again."

He tipped his hat to you, his lips curling into a soft smile. "Evenin' darlin', thought I'd stop by again. You been keepin' busy?"

The way he always called you darling, every time, made you feel so warm and bubbly. Of course, he wasn't the first man to do that, but when it came from him, it felt almost sincere.

"Busy enough," you replied, glancing over your shoulder at the table of men you just left, "but I'll always make time for you, mister."

"Well, reckon I'll take you up on that. How bout we find a quiet spot?"

"Your wish is my command." Giggling, you took Arthur by the hand to lead him upstairs where your room was. Even if he already knew the way well enough.

Your room was just like any other room in that brothel — furnished with the most luxurious-looking furniture, tastefully decorated with expensive ornaments, every little detail taken care of.

As the door to your room clicked shut behind you, the world outside seemed to fade miles away. In that moment right there it were just the two of you, bathed in the dim light by the fireplace's glow.

Arthur's hat found its usual place on the small table by the door and he turned to face you, "I can never stay away for too long." Shortly, his hands landed on your waist, resting on the corset of your dress.

"Then maybe you should visit more often..." You suggested, your own hands finding their way to the man's shoulders.

"I'm afraid it ain't a good idea, darlin'. I always look forward to seein' you. But sayin' goodbye..."

"I get what you mean," you chuckled, "so what's it gonna be today? Just the regular service, or you want something extra? It'll be on the house."

Every time Arthur visited you, it was both blissfull and painful for him. You were so good at what you were doing it felt like a religious experience, but the attachment he held for you left a hole in his heart each time he had to say goodbye.

He had always wished he could just ask you to leave this life, and join the gang, but which woman would agree for this? Your current life, your current job, as oppressing as it was, couldn't be worse than living on the run. In Arthur's eyes at least.

In the brothel you had your own room, a wardrobe with many dresses. You had a somehow stable income, it didn't seem as if money were any issue to you. All this, compared to what you could have in the camp, was much worse. And you didn't even know his real last name, there was no reason for you to leave this life you had for a criminal.

Why did Arthur even fall for a working girl? The exact same thing happened to John, which Arthur would often make fun of him for. Maybe life just decided to pull a joke on Arthur now. But he just couldn't control himself, from the first time he saw you, you were different. With other women it didn't take long to notice they're just playing a role, but you... from the first time you even smiled at Arthur, he was drawn to how genuine it looked. And now, you had become not just a pretty face to entertain him, but someone he felt at ease with.

This time, as many times before, Arthur didn't hurry to get dressed and leave the room, return back to camp after getting what he wanted. Instead, he stayed under the covers in your bed, smoking a cigarette as you kept going on about something that happened a few days ago.

He didn't mind, he could let you yap his ears off, your voice was such a calming sound. It was almost hard to believe you weren't just a hallucination he made up. How could such an ethereal being just lay there, next to him, head propped on your palm as you lay on your stomach, talking about whatever nonsense? How could this happen to a man like Arthur Morgan?

"...so then," you paused to take the cigarette from Arthur, take one puff and hand it right back, "you'd think a man like him would have some sense, right? Well, no, he was so damn thick in the head, she just told the guard to throw him out!"

Arthur chuckled, exhaling a stream of smoke. "Bet he didn't see that comin'. I'm glad I ain't made it onto your list of thick-headed fools yet."

"Yet!" You playfully reminded him. "You seem to have more sense than others, although I can't say I'm some weak little girl. I don't even need a guard, but the madam insists it's for safety."

A thought lingered in the back of Arthur's mind. It was weird, in a sense, to know there's a guard right outside your door whenever you had a man up there. Even right then.

"I don't doubt you could handle yourself, darlin'," Arthur smirked, taking one last drag from his cigarette, "but it don't hurt havin' someone lookin' out for you."

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. "Guess you're right, mister."

Arthur stubbed out the ciragette into the ashtray that stood on the bedside table, knowing what it meant. His time was up, he extended the time of his visit as long as he could. Now that his usual cigarette was finished, it was the time for him to go.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. You watched as he reached for his clothes that had been thrown onto the floor, and for the first time a single tear started to burn the corner of your eye.

With his jeans already on, and his shirt for now unbuttoned, he reached to the pocket, retrieving the usual payment. You wiped the tear away as it escaped your eye. It was always the same routine, but it didn't make it any easier to watch him go.

"Here it is." He said almost robotically, placing the money next to the ashtray, throwing in a little tip.

You looked at the money with sadness in your gaze, then your eyes shifted to look at the man. "You know, you shouldn't have to pay, because you don't make it feel like work."

There they were, the words Arthur was so afraid to hear. Him having a more romantic kind of attachment to you was one thing. However, knowing that you reciprocated the feeling, made it more difficult.

"Good," he nodded, "cause you don't make me feel like the bastard I am," as he buttoned up his shirt.

You sat up on the bed, pulling the sheets harder around you, since you were still naked. "Arthur..." You sighed, the rest of the sentence dying in your throat.

The fact that for the first time you had used his actual name instead of calling him mister as always, made it only more difficult.

"No, darlin', don't."

"You know you don't have to leave, right?"

Oh, he had to leave. If he overstayed his welcome too much, the guard at your door would become highly suspicious. And that would only cause issues for you.

"I have to, don't wanna make it harder." Arthur replied.

"Harder for who? I know a man's nature well enough, and I can tell there's something more in the— the way you fuck me, Arthur."

He thought maybe playing dumb would help him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you were to ask me to... to abandon this life for you... I would."

Arthur gulped. It was just what he wished for, but what he couldn't allow to happen. "I've got nothin' to give you. I live on the run, it ain't somethin' you wanna be a part of, trust me."

"You think I'd rather keep fucking strangers to survive, than travel the world with a man I lo—"

"You don't." Arthur interrupted you. "You don't know what you're talkin' bout." Love was a word of huge weight, there was no way it was what you felt for him.

You insisted. "I know what I feel, and I know what you feel, I see it in your eyes, I feel it when you're in my bed, Arthur. I wanna leave this life for you."

"It ain't gonna be no escape, though, just another kind of trap. You deserve better than fuckin' strangers to get by, but you also deserve better than runnin' and not knowin' which day will be your last."

"I don't want better!" At that point you didn't care if the guard outside will hear. "I want you, Arthur!"

"I want you too, darlin'," he admitted, his voice breaking slightly, "but... you're safer here. I can't sentence you to a life of eternal wanderin'."

His words had a final tone, but as well as you could read his eyes, you could tell he regrets saying what he had just said. You could have had a roof over your head, and locks in your door, but it wasn't safety. It was survival.

You stepped closer, reaching out to grab Arthur's hand. You knew he didn't want to leave, you were sure he wants you just like you wanted him. "Arthur..."

His heart ached when he saw the way your beautiful eyes looked at him, but still he decided to kiss you. It only made it worse, making another cut in Arthur's already damaged heart.

"I gotta go." He stated, freeing his hand from yours.

"No." You refused as if you had any say in that matter. You could demand he takes you with him now, wherever he's headed, but what would it do?

"I can't make promises," he continued, putting his boots and jacket on, then his hat, "but I'll figure somethin' out."

You stayed silent, watching him leave the room, not knowing if he's going to keep his word. All you had now was the money, that you didn't even want from him, and the promise that could have been empty.

[limitlessgoddess]

your guide to manifesting your desires in 2024.

i have manifested getting into my dream college, straight As every semester, visiting NYC, and a HUGE glow up (nourished hair, clearer skin, beautiful body, pretty face, emotional intelligence, baddie mindset, and supportive friends + family) in 2022. here's all the things i did that worked for me! i understand everything does not work the same for everyone, for example i find visualization fun and easy to do while affirming, even though natural to me, seems like work to me so i use it as an aid to fuel my visualization. i have had bad mental health days but i persisted in my desires regardless because i know i always get everything i want. 

1. understanding yourself and your thought processes:

this is not necessary for you to manifest what you want but it helps in creating self-awareness in the long term. i used to overthink a lot (manifested it away) so i affirmed and visualized during any free time i had, and eventually my doubts faded away. even if they pop up sometimes, i'm just like meh that's not true and brush them aside. for me, processing all my complicated emotions is essential to me because i get to know my patterns and start working on changing them. it does not matter what triggered them, you've to live with them for the rest of your life if you don't feel them and let them go.

2. discovering new things:

you should get out of your comfort zone. there are thousands of things in the world you haven't experienced. desires can change and you aren't obligated to stick to this one dream when something else lights up the fire inside you in the present. i had the dream of living in NYC for a long term but I became more open to DC, LA, Philadelphia, and other cities after visiting them. i have explored new hobbies too and they've become an important part of me now. being adaptable is important!

3. never settle:

a dream might be small for someone while the same dream might be unattainable for someone else. it's all about persisting in your desires and making them seem attainable to your subconscious. you don't have to lift a finger to manifest, so why aren't you being stubborn about what you want? why are you settling for less when you deserve to have so much more? don't settle for bread crumbs when you can have a WHOLE DAMN LUXURIOUS MEAL.

4. self-concept:

the qualities i find most attractive in a person are communication, efforts, dedication, honesty, and loyalty. so i start affirming for those qualities in myself! i embody them by telling myself, "i am dedicated, honest, and loyal", "i am irreplaceable and unforgettable just because i exist", "i communicate and put in efforts for the people who have the greatest good in mind for me." we love people who are secure in themselves and so, we naturally gravitate towards them. i don't care if someone has a pretty body or a pretty face. if they have the drive to succeed in what they're doing and they're giving me princess treatment, i'd immediately fold. it's the inner qualities that stay in the longer term (though you can forever be ageless and youthful, but to complement that you need a beautiful mind and heart - those make you more attractive). 

[hypvalsqr]

NOTICE: THIS POST IS ABOUT GETTING MURDERFUCKED AND MIND CONTROLLED BY A SCARY HOT TOXIC LESBIAN WITCH.

A lot has been said with regards to Enchantment being the true "most frightening/unethical" school of magic. I don't think you all quite grasp the full picture.

By the time the witch entered the house two of us were already dead. It was an insult to magic, really. Me and the other students had set up all of these sigils and wards and psychic defenses and yet hadn't considered that someone could slaughter us from outside, without ever laying a finger on us. It was me after all that had...but she'd made them attack me! And they looked like..

No matter. I don't have the luxury of time or guilt. She'd made me kill them. She did it. And she just stepped inside the house. I could feel her presence when she crossed the threshold. Like something slithering through reeds in the night. Something passing beneath your boat. I heard another distant scream. A girl? One of the underclassmen maybe. I had to move fast.

I wiped the blood off my blade and refreshed its evocation-edge. I headed to the front door of the classroom and waited to hear another sound. A flurry of magic missiles thumped into a wall upstairs. It was clear, and I rushed out into the main hallway, beneath the grand stair. In the corner was my favorite spot, an unassuming armchair with a potted plant next to it. If I stood in the just right way and wove some simple layers of illusion magic I could become completely invisible to all but the most trained illusionists.

I grasped my dagger.

I waited.

I heard two girls scream to the right of me.

On the opposite side of the house now, still upstairs, I heard a chorus of men scream war cries and the house lit up with lightning and flame and ether for a brief moment before falling silent. Save one voice. It was the Archmage. I'd never heard him speak like that before.

"No! No. Please! Fuck. NO! I can't move. What did you do to me? What did you do to them? Answer me! Your magics are foul. You-"

Then another voice, a woman, spoke with presence, "Hush. They're sleeping. You wouldn't want to wake them."

"Stop. No. No, please stop not that. Not-" Then he broke off into a series of unhinged wails. There was a thumping through the house. Then another, and another. Steadily I began to recognize the sound of an executioners axe crunching through vertebrae.

The Archmages last words, confoundingly, were "Thank you." Then silence.

I reached out with a simple life-detection spell. That was my mistake. It confirmed that the only two people left alive inside or out the house were me and the witch. I also detected her quickly whipping around and walking towards my location. Shit. Fuck. SHITSHITSHIT. I cut the life detection and shifted to the opposite corner of the room, taking my 'cloak' of invisibility charms with me. Just in case.

That's when I heard her in my head.

"I see you, little one."

She's bluffing.

"You're funny. Out of all the people in this school you're the only one who thought not to attack me head on. Or to mount some pitiful attempt barricading me out. Why is that?"

I gripped my dagger tighter to my body.

"I think, or at least I hope, it's because you will be more fun than all of these wastes." She stepped out into the open at the top of the stairs. As expected from a Witch of Enchantments, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. She wore an inky green ballgown, stained red at the feet. Her collarbones and face were exposed and seemed to shimmer in the light. Every breath of hers let out a jet of glimmering pink particles.

"I won't know if you are until I get a peak inside that head of yours."

I heard a girls scream to the right.

What?

That couldn't be...she screamed again. And again. Coming from all angles. My heartrate picked up. This scream was familiar, I'd heard it a few minutes ago. But the more it echoed throughout the house and pounded into my brain I realized with a growing certainty that this scream was mine. It was my voice. This was the sound I would make when I die. How did she know that? How could she?

She took a step down the stairs but instead of descending she floated out gently into the space above me.

"Well, wherever you are in this room - plotting your little ambush - I'm curious. Give me your best shot. Let's see what you're capable of."

She had her back turned to me, about 5 feet off the ground. It was an easy kill. I should have seen it was too easy, or that she was clearly goading me into striking. But something inside me wanted to. It felt like I needed to. So I took my dagger and with a great leap I thrust upwards directly into her spine.

I felt it sink through her muscles, into her guts. I blinked and was face to face with the Archmage. My knife in his stomach. The light fading from his eyes.

The oldest trick in the book. I fell for it thrice, and now I was surely dead. I tried to cry but instead of tears I felt fingers, soft and delicate on my cheeks.

She whispered in my ear from behind, "Good job, darling. That was so wonderful. Now it's time for you to give up, alright?"

"Okay!"

I broke my useless dagger in half and dispelled all my defensive magics. The school had decided to-

"-hire a new teacher who was going to show you real magic. And-"

turn me into a real witch! I didn't need anyone else but her. I was on my knees now, looking up at her gorgeous face. Her brown curls framed her amber eyes and ochre brown skin. She was perfect. She would take care of me. She was saying something to me still that I couldn't quite understand but she was smiling and petting my head and face all over while she said it so it must be good. Then she turned to walk out the door. I stayed kneeling because she hadn't ordered me to follow her yet, I had to follow my Witch's orders. She walked out the front door and turned left out of sight.

"AAAHHHHH! AuughG ASNnOOO NO PELase OGH AH!!" I scrambled backwards on my hands up the stairs. The terror had returned all at once unexpectedly. I think I'd managed to hit her once but I wasn't sure. I had to get moving or she would find me again. My dagger was missing, shit she must have disarmed me but when? And my head was spinning. Did she do something to me? I have to assume no. Just keep moving. As fast as you can up the stairs. God, I was so cold. Had I been hit? Was I bleeding? I took stock of my body as I went up the stairs and noticed I was suddenly freezing cold. My robes were...gone...and the stairs were snow and...

"What? Get over here."

Dreams in waking. Nightmares in sleep. Walking backwards. Falling deep.

"Oh, sweetheart did you get caught up behind me?" My Witch clicked my collar into place around my neck as we stood in the snow outside the house, "Silly me. I should have told you to stick close to me. The enchantments will turn off whenever I'm out of sight," she leaned in close as she conjured a chain and attached it to my collar, "Did you get scared?"

"Mmm! Yeah! You walked outta the house and I got really scared and missed you and it was really weird I didnt. Uhh, I don't uhm-"

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm going to take you back to my cabin and lock you up somewhere nice and safe until I can turn you into a good student. But only if you behave. Can you do that for me?"

I nodded while staring into her eyes, feeling a warm blanket of security and joy cover my naked body as it was dusted in snowflakes.

"Thank you!"

WILL CONTINUE IN PART 2

[storiumemporium]

Astarion As a Father

Fem!Tav/Reader

I FINALLY GOT A NEW KEYBOARD WITH FULLY FUNCTIONING KEYS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I elected to write about something that's been giving me brainworms for ages, because I'd been talking about it with someone on here awhile ago and it just infested me. Astarion finding out you're pregnant and how he handles fatherhood. (Or, in this case, doesn't at first.) This isn't my best work but I blame it on the fact that I didn't intend for it to be THIS FUCKING LONG okay 😭

But without further ado, daddy Astarion:

Finding out:

When it comes to children, I think Astarion hasn't put much thought into it beyond 'me!? ABSOLUTELY NOT—'

He has no illusions about his state of mind and his faculties, you see. Astarion knows that he's fucked up, he knows that he's a problem, and he's only entirely too confident that any child unfortunately put under his care would likely end up just as damaged as he is, were they to miraculously make it to adulthood. He's just not equipped for it.

And, frankly, Astarion isn't even aware he can have children... That's just, not something he ever thought to question. He's undead, is he not? That should take care of the...fertility question.

Shouldn't it?

Truth be told, Cazador never told him of the possibilities because it was never meant to be a possibility. Astarion was too malnourished, his victims too short lived for anything to ever have come of it. He was supposed to die a sacrifice, not live to carry his own bloodline (hah) onward.

Were you to ever ask him about it, even jokingly over dinner one eve, he'd be very firm in the fact that it's a terrible idea and he'd be entirely unequipped. He would even go so far as to say he's the worst choice out of all of your past companions.

"Me? No. Absolutely not. I'm sure whatever little devil you managed to cook up would be the most charming child Baldur's Gate has ever seen... But even that magical explosive that fancied himself a God would be better suited to fatherhood, darling. I am built for luxury and adventure, nothing else." All bookended by typical Astarion preening.

So when the day comes and you inform him of the little life growing in your womb?

Nope. Not happening, not even a chance of happening.

The denial is strong with this one.

And when I say denial, I mean that Astarion well and truly blots out what you've said from his mind, as if it simply didn't happen at all. You never had the conversation, you never dropped the revelation, there is no child, he is not becoming a father.

It's not a lack of want— though he doesn't realize that yet— it's true, blinding terror. Before it was just a joke, just something for him to brush off with commentary about how terribly he'd do as a parent, better the uncle than anything else. But now it's a reality and to accept what you've said is to accept that he might well and truly destroy a child. But not just any, yours.

The traumas Astarion possesses heap onto his shoulders and slough off plentiful enough to make new oceans of it. Now, not only is he just beginning to regain his own autonomy, he's supposedly being given responsibility over a brand new life?

(It would only make sense for Astarion in retrospect, that the life you willingly sacrificed to nourish and nurture him would in turn allow him to grow a new life within you. The fool had just been too blind to consider it: The way, fresh off your blood, he could pull back from the delicate column of your throat and you would find his cheeks and ears and chest flushed with the loveliest shade of pink, eyes wide and soft and alive. The way his entire body would warm, going from corpse frigid to something just beneath normal. The way his once-still heart would slowly beat again.

He'd even asked you once- curled together on a familiar silken bed, foreheads touching and your hands clasped together between your chests- if you knew what it felt like to be so, so hungry that all you could even think about was about badly you wanted to eat? How food sounded so good that the desire became crossed and instead felt even more painful and nauseating? How it consumed your ability to make rational decisions, denied you the capacity to control your emotions?

He'd told you then, voice tender and timid and weak, that he'd felt like that every single day for two whole centuries, until the night you'd willingly laid down on that cot and put your life in his hands.

It was so simple really, of course you granted him the strength to create life. It was you.)

And of course it comes to a head before there is any chance at recovery. Your body begins to show the changes, you begin to swell, and Astarion only grows more avoidant and flighty. Because now he can't simply wipe the idea from his mind and continue on as if the child doesn't exist, the proof is there every single time he looks at you. He makes it very clear to you that he will not be returning to your side without a confrontation, a very potentially ugly one at that.

And ugly it is, explosive. Astarion hasn't truly had the time to recover from his life under Cazador, and all of those protective traits he grew remain sharp as ever, returning to the surface as if they'd never truly gone away to begin with. He sneers and hisses, tries his best to dig in and hurt you enough to stop poking his tender wounds. Enough to push you away so he can lick his wounds back open. He'll go so far as to accuse you of infidelity, though he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, it's easier for him to imagine that you simply grew tired of him, that you were weary and longed for the daylight. That you wanted someone who could hold you beneath the sun, unlike him.

How you respond to this is entirely up to you, but just shy of throwing something truly despicable back into his face, such as Cazador, Astarion will apologize... eventually. If you remain stalwart and patient, if you have it in you to recognize that he doesn't mean his words, that he's barbing you with intent, Astarion will break down in that very same argument, his angry and accusatory rant will dissolve into an admission of deep insecurity and deeper terror.

But if you respond with anger? Justifiable, and Astarion knows that even in the moment as it's happening, but emotions rule him far more than he'd ever care to admit, and he will dig in and relish the reaction he's managed to draw from you. He will bristle and bite back until suspicion and bitterness fully claims his heart, and he aborts the conversation to hide in the shadows.

Astarion will wait until nightfall, until his freedom calls for him. The one thing that always manages to clear his head, even when you prove to be the cause of his muddying. It's a reminder, every time he steps into the cool and dark of Baldur's Gate, that Cazador is dead and he is a free man. That he can go where he chooses and when he chooses to, and not only that no one can stop him, but that you wouldn't even want to stop him.

And that truth is always what brings Astarion home.

Under the distant lonely stars and that cold moon, he has to remember that time and again you have let him. You have accepted him, you have not fought him on anything shy of a horrible mistake he wanted to make in a moment of weakness and hysteria. You have accepted all his deepest and ugliest wounds and kissed them like they were freckles to pour affection on. You fought Cazador for him, you defended him from your own friends. You even- at times- tested your own morals for him.

You wouldn't betray him, and Astarion knows he can't betray you.

Astarion would return to you late, curling into bed at your side, his eyes would not meet you, and his apology would come in the form of a simple confession. "I am... afraid. I am afraid."

Astarion wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive him immediately for his transgressions, he was cruel and you were vulnerable. But even then you'll find that your love doesn't abandon you again. He accepts- however frightened- that what you've said is true and is coming, and he must accept it. Mind you, it won't be perfect and it won't be romantic. Astarion doesn't know the intricacies of handling a pregnant woman, he's hardly tactful beyond his well honed and flirtatious lines. He genuinely loves you, but he's going to come pre-equipped as father material.

You need something? He'll get it with minimal complaint (but never none, you'd sooner get him to dye his hair black than cease complaining for the sake of it), he won't begrudge you your mood swings though he might be inclined to poke fun at you ever so often. And he will panic when you burst into tears for seemingly no reason, and no- time doesn't make him adjust, he will panic just as much the thousandth time as the first.

However, if it's any consolation. The moment your child enters the world, Astarion is a changed man.

When You Go Into Labor:

Astarion did the honors of informing all of your friends about your pregnancy, once he came to terms with it. And believe me when I say it is extravagant. The stationery and grandiose script that Astarion wields when informing everyone that you were expecting better fits a wedding invitation than it does... well. Very elegantly explaining that Astarion had accidentally knocked you up.

You can tell from the splotchy stains addressed to you from Wyll and Karlach that one of them had been crying when penning the message, Astarion has coin on Wyll, and you on Karlach. Lae'zel never responds to begin with and you know for a fact the Githyanki's response will likely come in the form of her simply showing up one of these days, unprompted. Jaheira personally and rather frequently visits as well, she becomes a sort of bastion as nerves take you over, confident and calm as she is. Halsin's "letter" arrives late, rather because alongside his letter is several little carved animals for the child's room, and mentions of a quilt he intends to bring along when next he visits. Shadowheart's letter, while congratulatory, contains an air of interrogation strung all about it, all aimed with pinpoint precision at the man responsible for your pregnancy and dripping with sarcasm.

Gale's letter is seven pages long, comes with a violet hued wax stamp, and multiple different inks in the most lavish hand he can manage. You daresay he's competing with Astarion. However, surprisingly, Gale's seems to be the most... helpful of them all? It wasn't your intent, you simply wanted your dear friend to join you in celebration, and yet Gale goes on to inform you that upon reading the letter he'd become a madman in pursuit of knowledge on pregnancy and giving birth. He admits that this wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, as he's rather confident that you're not a gnoll, troll, cambion, succubus, or any other variety of strange creature with strange metrics of procreation. Still, Gale directs the latter portion of his letter to Astarion quite pointedly, informing him of bookshops around Baldur's Gate where he might have more success.

Astarion scoffs, but you don't miss the way his fingers twitch and flex.

After the hilarity of this is resolved and you just begin to believe that peace might return to your soft little home in the city, the first of your companions begin to arrive.

This continues on for the next week or so, without you ever knowing that this had been planned- and without knowing that Astarion had been the one to plan it. It's a furthering of his apology, of his guilt over the way he'd treated you. Again, Astarion has no illusions of the kind of man he is, and the fact he's not nurturing in the sort of ways that you need- but he's not completely stupid and he knows you're scared. So... bring the cavalry, darling.

Eventually your entire home has become a crash pad for all of your dearest friends, your family, and you only grow suspicious of Astarion's hand in this chaos because he's surprisingly amicable to having his peace so thoroughly disturbed by 'everyone and their mother'. Truly, he manages to bite his tongue some of the time about them trampling his fine rugs and scratching the plates. He even seems... wistful about it. As nostalgic as you openly are at seeing all of these beloved people under one roof again.

Nights are filled with raucous laughter, clattering utensils, a table so thoroughly overcrowded that people are playfully shouldering each other out of the way for a chance to get at their own food. And Astarion stays faithful at your side, his hand perpetually clasped gently around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Days are never spent alone, no matter what it is you need to do, someone (if not everyone) is following you along. And though Astarion feels his heart ache that he can't join you, he'll be glad to know you're safe.

Besides, your companions are likely all taking turns tormenting, testing, and relentlessly teasing him about what is to come. He has his own hands full. He's starting to regret being such a generous lover.

And then your water breaks in the dead of night.

Remember how I said Astarion was far from perfect? This would be one of those moments that it really shines.

Not that he's particularly terrible, no. He's not actively cruel toward you, and certainly not dismissive, it's somewhat the opposite. Halsin and Jaheira end up the ones helping you, the only two with some iota of understanding on what was happening and what to do with and for you. The others, less experienced in "mundane" medical situations will take up the second most important role.

Prevent Astarion from catastrophizing any more than he already has been.

Karlach has been the sole force capable of keeping Astarion away from the wine, typically bear hugging him away from your cellar while Wyll tries his best to talk your lover down from a total nervous breakdown. Of which he nearly has, several times. It's not even the sight of you, specifically. He's okay with being at your side and holding your hand, in trying his best to provide comforting words that aren't laced with sarcasm for once. But the sounds you make, that's what breaks him. Astarion isn't good at hearing you scream from the pain, he isn't good at the choked sobs or your heavy breaths. The way you sound like you're struggling against death. It makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, fight assailants that aren't there.

And for a few hours there, in the midst of your labors and your exhausted, pained little cries, Astarion isn't sure how he can love the child causing you this much suffering. It's not as if Astarion was an altruistic man on his best days, as if he were particularly reasonable when it came to you. You've both come to a mutual understanding that were something to happen to you, no morals would be involved in the things Astarion would do to rectify it.

And now, here you are, suffering. Astarion isn't supposed to do a thing about it? He's supposed to be- what, overjoyed by it? It infuriates him, he's truly prepared to have a grudge match with an infant.

Until, as the sun is starting to creep up on a brand new day, it's no longer your screams that meet the air, but another's entirely. Tiny but powerful, high pitched little squeals of fury and distress. And your laughter, disbelieving, soft, adoring already.

Astarion has a daughter.

I go with the HC that Astarion had eyes like honey once, and that his daughter takes after that, along with the delicate points of his ears mirrored in her own. She's small, so small, but healthy and already feisty, wiggling as best as her tiny body can whilst still too heavy for her to lift and move.

You're the first to hold her of course, and Astarion will be at his knees beside the two of you. The expression he wears is something you've seen maybe two or three other times in the entire time you've known him- moments when you know he expected everything to fall apart, moments where he couldn't believe that the world was so good.

It's then that you can breathe for the first time, and know that both of your darlings will be just fine.

Once he does hold her, he's not inclined to let her go. Even once you ask to have her back, he'll simply move you into his lap, so that he can hold you both. It's better that way anyhow, having both of his girls in his arms. And Astarion will repeat again and again how stunned he is, he just can't believe it. Cannot fathom any of it. I think he's the type to say that he's speechless and then spend the next five minutes doing nothing but talking. It's nervous rambling, but still, speechless is not the term I would use to describe him here.

Astarion With Your Baby:

Once your little darling is actually in your lives, you get to see how hilariously unorthodox Astarion is with children. Especially his own. Astarion doesn't baby-talk like you or the rest of your companions, he speaks in the same exact tones as he would a grown woman. In fact, for the first few days you're adjusting to a child in your life, you sometimes mistake Astarion as speaking with an unexpected guest, only to round the corner and find him lightheartedly chastising his own daughter for her poor nappy conduct as he wrinkles his nose and changes her diaper.

He's disgusted by that, by the way. Absolutely hates it, complains loudly about having to do it. But if you so much as try to stand to help he'll force you back down onto your chair or the couch, something something not useless something something already up, darling. It's as if Astarion is simply allergic to admitting that while it makes him nauseous, he wants to care for his daughter. He wants you to rest.

And yes, Astarion is the type of father that thinks all other children are hideous little fecal beasts and his daughter is the only gorgeous little angel in the entire world. Perfect, can do no wrong. He tells her as such too, in the same deadpan voice he always uses, wiggling and stretching her legs.

"You know, darling. You should count your blessings, you're the only child I've ever seen that doesn't look like some sort of hideous, deformed bean. I can't be surprised though, with as gorgeous as your parents are." And though he rolls his eyes, he's unable to contain the grin that shows his teeth when she coos and squeaks at the sound of his voice.

And yes. Astarion dresses up with his child.

The older she gets the more he does it, little matching outfits and ribbons. Nothing that she would choke on, were she to get her mitts on it. (You had to be the one to tell him no, at first. He did throw a little fit about it, just a small one).

But it's not all lighthearted, good or bad.

There are times where Astarion won't touch your daughter, won't be alone with her in the same room. He fears it, he'll eventually tell you. His... affliction came with it's dangers, always. But he's always trusted that you could defend yourself, and you're big enough that he can't just kill you between one blink and the next. The same can't be said of your darling girl. She's so small and so fragile that, were he to lose even the slightest grip of himself around her, it could cost her her life. No doubt it would traumatize her for life, regardless.

You watch it, too. The way it pinches his brows and makes him wipe his palms against his pants as if he were sweating. Nervous habits creeping up his throat and causing him to pace about like a caged animal. It's during these times that you have to bring your daughter to him. Gently place her in his arms and remind him that he's loved her from the moment he saw her. And where once he held trepidation and queasiness at the prospect of fatherhood, you can see him care so much about this little bundle that he looks sick from it. A vulnerability he can't mask.

And of course, there are times he nearly weeps for other reasons.

Like when she takes her first steps, and immediately tries to run for him.

And Astarion knows he should let her tumble, that it's good to let her fall and get back up again, but the moment her unsteady feet cause her to careen she's safe in his arms. Little kisses peppered against her giggly face. And he'll tuck away against her to try and get his bearings back, but she'll pat his cheeks and tug his ears- and you'll have to distract her with a toy while he hiccups and sniffles down his need to cry. He wasn't ready for her to grow so fast, gone is the tiny bundle that could fit perfectly in one arm, now she's walking. How long before she's dating? Gods, should he be preparing for betrothal requests!?

"I want to be mortal." He whispers to you, one night. She's tucked between your bodies, sound asleep and wiggling from time to time. This is one of the rare moments you and your love can speak to each other uninterrupted, in the tranquility of the dark hugging around you.

It's strange that he brings this up now, you'd spoken about it several times since the Elder Brain had been taken down... But in the past few years since your daughter had been born, all of that had fallen to the wayside. "What brings this to mind, Starling?"

Your hand comes to cup his throat, as you watch and feel him work as if he were swallowing a stone. "I don't want to outlive this."

It's hard to blink the tears from your eyes, understanding the implications.

Were he actually two hundred years old, Astarion wouldn't survive well past the existence of his sweet little family.

He'd been more melancholy the past few weeks, after realizing that your daughter was beginning to function on her own. She was walking, grabbing things, talking in rudimentary sentences. She was even beginning to call him pa.

He'd cried, at that.

"I'll forget," his voice draws you out from that brief reverie. The distress is palpable, but runs low like the tide before a storm. "I'll forget all of this. I don't want to know what I'll become, then."

And when you run your hands up into his hair, to scratch lovingly along his scalp, he doesn't hide the shiver or the way his face presses against your palm, cold and smooth on your skin.

"We'll find a way, Astarion. I haven't given up yet... We just- she's too young."

It's both a strain and a relief, to know that. To be reminded that your daughter is still so small, that he won't be losing her- or you- any time soon. There's still time.

Astarion With Your Teen:

Arguably this is the best time between your daughter and him. It's simultaneously a surprise and yet- not at all? He's more like her confidante and best friend than strictly a father. He isn't one for harsh curfews and strict ways of dress- rather, he's the one she comes to when she's made some sort of mistake. Or when she's angry about something.

In general, Astarion withholds judgement of her, for better or worse. The unintended consequence is that you might become more of her enemy than Astarion, because he's less inclined to punish for questionable behaviors.

It's not that he's afraid of angering her or dealing with push back- rather that Astarion's frame of reference for what constitutes a mistake is ah... rather broken. Even in the beginnings of your relationship with Astarion, the mistakes that would anger him constituted dropping an entire building on his head or... risking being turned into a Mindflayer to help some old lady find her cat.

Not feeling up cute boys in alleyways.

As a result you'll likely need to have a few conversations with him about not being so lenient on her, because she needs to have structure in how to behave. Stealing things is in fact, not okay! And Astarion will listen, but he's always going to be a bit more of a friend than anything else.

A total gossip with her, too. You'll catch them huddled around the dinner table at night, both with a glass of wine (this was an argument that Astarion ended up winning, she's allowed one glass a week, but that's all!) in hand shittalking a storm together. Astarion has become the Baldur's Gate equivalent of a PTA mom, he shows up as stylishly as he can and beefs with the parents of whichever children have upset his daughter the most. And then when they get home they just toss it back and forth together.

But I want to stress, just because he doesn't punish her doesn't mean he isn't protective of her. Astarion is more protective than you are.

Once she begins dating you'll find yourself home alone semi-frequently, because Astarion will play the supportive, loving father part when she leaves- and immediately follow her out into the dark. He's had centuries to know what dangers lurk around every corner, and foggy memories of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time before his nightmare began. He won't allow that to happen with his girl.

And it's funny, because Astarion will talk mad shit to himself while he does it. Logically he knows that she's with some teenage boy or girl, but it doesn't stop the petty, emotional side of him from rolling his eyes and sneering at the cheap one-liners and the dumb tactics that this would-be charmer utilizes. Really, taking her into dark alleys to get her to tuck into you? Going to a totally secret spot that Astarion has known about for at least a hundred and sixty years? Get real, kid.

And you have to try valiantly not to laugh when he comes home, huffing and puffing about it. Because you will hear every single petty thought he had the entire time, and you will know that he looks like a petulant child. It's very cute.

All in all, I think Astarion is a reckless, chaotic, petty father. And one that loves his child so, so much. To the point of ruin, to the point where suddenly staying in one place doesn't seem so bad, just so she can have friends. Helping people isn't the worst, just so she can know there are heroes in the world. Suddenly he's learning to bandage scrapes and kiss bruises, and having tears and snot on his clothes mean nothing compared to the grief of the one shedding them. He loves her in ways he didn't anticipate he ever could. Enough to know all of her ticks and secrets, to know when she's lying through her teeth and when she's being devastatingly obvious.

Learning to cook even when he can't eat, listening to her spin a story with a straight face and then- as she's stepping out the door- telling her to be careful with that boy and listening to her groan loudly as the door slams shut, a mischievous smile on his face.

Holding you and dancing you around, cradling you close with all the tenderness he has in the whole of his body and soul. Kissing you, calling you the mother of his child, thanking you for giving him something he didn't even know he'd wanted. A family.

Small and odd, but his.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 1 | Bucky Barnes

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It was supposed to be easy, but it's not.

He felt his hands and sensed they were shackled to this agreement. While everyone chatted and laughed at this lunch party, he couldn't share the same sentiment.

Today was the engagement party of two influential conglomerate families.

The daughter of Celestial Enterprises, which owned Luxury Goods, Smart Home Technology, Media & Entertainment, was Victoria Sinclair.

She was a strikingly beautiful woman, exuding an air of sophistication, yet there was a hint of maturity beneath her seemingly spoiled demeanor.

With a shy gesture, she reached out and gently touched her fiancé's hand. Her soft touch snapped him out of his daydream.

She gazed at his face, mesmerized by his striking features. He could easily be the most handsome man she had ever encountered in her life. Despite meeting countless models and actors, none of them held a candle to him.

Bucky Barnes was the epitome of sophistication. With his jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and impeccable suit, he exuded an aura of intelligence and quiet confidence.

As the heir to the AstraNova Group, specializing in aerospace, renewable energy, and real estate, his wealth and influence were undeniable.

He felt something creeping on his hands, he glanced down to see his fiancée Victoria touching him. Despite his discomfort, he clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out.

But he had to keep it together. Tonight, his psychiatrist would have to listen to his anxiety. He couldn't let anyone at this party know about his Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD).

He was overly sensitive to sensory input, including touch. In this room, only his parents knew about his disorder.

Bucky smiled and gently pushed Victoria's hand away from him. He could only tolerate it for five minutes. But it seemed this woman didn't understand him.

If she were just another woman, Bucky would have instructed his assistant to escort Victoria away. But he couldn't do that.

Because this woman was necessary, in fact. Her family's money was crucial. This was a business marriage. Bucky wasn't a social man, so when his family arranged the marriage, he complied with their wishes.

He thought he could go along with it, but his disorder acted up every time he got close to Victoria. She was glued to him.

"Fuck," he thought. He wished his parents had chosen a woman who preferred shopping over clinging to him.

"Look at this couple. Hohoho… Like newlyweds," remarked Victoria's mother, Genevieve, a woman around 50 years old, exuding opulence in her elegant gown adorned with intricate lace and jewels.

"What a joyful day," nodded Bucky's mother, Juliana, a woman of similar age, dressed in a modest yet tasteful attire, her eyes fixed on her son who appeared calm. However, she couldn't help but notice Victoria's persistent touching.

She prayed that Bucky wouldn't lose his patience.

"By the way, where is the oldest daughter?" slipped one of the guests, causing a ripple of unease among the attendees.

Even Victoria lost interest in getting close to Bucky. She stopped leaning toward him and sat up straight.

Her silent expression mirrored Genevieve's, catching Bucky's attention.

This was the first Bucky had heard of another daughter.

“You have an older sister?” Bucky asked Victoria.

Victoria responded with a nervous voice, “I do... She's... how should I say this? She's complicated. She's never at home. And when she is, all we do is fight.”

Bucky nodded, understanding her explanation. An estranged sister.

But he had never come across any mention of this in his fiancée's family background.

Were they hiding their other daughter? An illegitimate child?

Bucky noticed Victoria's father, Jonathan, a distinguished man in his sixties, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, who had stopped drinking and focused his attention on the table.

Genevieve laughed elegantly and remarked, “Haha… She doesn't enjoy these kinds of events. She prefers outdoor activities.”

On the first day of their engagement, Bucky found himself embroiled in family drama.

Then, a voice from outside could be heard, “I'm sorry, miss. This room has been booked,” said the security.

“It's booked for Sinclair and Barnes, right? What a coincidence. I'm a Sinclair too,” a playful female voice retorted.

‘BANG.’

The private door burst open from a forceful kick, startling the guests.

All eyes turned toward the newcomer.

Even Bucky turned around to see who it was.

She was wearing black leather boots, black pants, and a gray turtleneck sweater. Her attire stood out starkly against the elegance of the room.

She looked at everyone, then stopped at Victoria and Bucky. Then she scoffed, causing Victoria to clench her fist and bite her lips.

Compares to Bucky. He wondered what had happened to her. She was wearing a hand cast, a band-aid under her right eye, and small new scars under her lips.

Two things he realized were that her demeanor and facial features were different from Victoria's.

Victoria nervously laughed, "We thought you wouldn't come."

💋💋💋

You smirked and grabbed a glass of wine from the server who was serving drinks.

With a bow, you said, “Congrats on the engagement. Pardon my lateness. Seems like a rat ate your invitation.”

Victoria forced a smile, determined not to take the bait, especially in front of her fiancé, Bucky, to avoid any confrontation.

You walked past the couple and headed towards your father, Jonathan.

He showed no reaction, simply sipping his wine.

Standing beside him, you didn't even glance at Genevieve, who gritted her teeth, continuing to smile at the Barnes family.

You said to your dad, “Is this what your wife asked for? I must say I'm impressed.”

Bucky was taken aback when he heard that. What did it mean?

Genevieve gripped her wine glass tightly. The stories of her as ‘the other woman’ were in the past. She had worked hard to be accepted in this socialite world, and it had made everyone forget that she was the second wife. Everyone had called her Madam Sinclair, and Victoria the only daughter.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I'm just impressed that my sister could join the Barnes household. She didn't have to steal someone's husband like her mom.”

Victoria gasped and started sobbing.

Genevieve exclaimed, “How could you make your sister cry?”

You drank the wine in one gulp and put the empty glass on the table. “I want to vomit when I call her my sister. I need that wine to clean my tongue.”

Genevieve looked at her husband and whispered, “Jonathan, stop your daughter.”

You looked at your father, who was also looking at you, both of you silent. This is the relationship between father and daughter. Both of you used to be close, but everything changed after the other woman entered the family.

He won't say anything. He never does.

Turning to the new couple, you observed Victoria drinking water and her fiancé Bucky.

You didn't know much about him. What an unlucky man, you thought.

Walking towards him, you stopped in front of Bucky.

Bucky was looking at you too.

You said, “She throws away everything that I own or touch. I wonder…”

Your fingers touched his chin, and your face came close to his. You could see his eyes clearly.

You smirked and said, “I wonder if she still wants you after I do this.”

What you did next made everyone gasp.

Victoria screamed, “Get your lips away from him,” as she pushed you away from Bucky, acting as a barrier.

You wiped your lips, achieving your goal of seeing Victoria panicked.

With a salute gesture, you said, “I've got what I wanted. Goodbye, everyone,” and left the party.

Victoria grumbled, looking at Bucky and touching his hand. “Are you okay? I'm sorry. If you're mad at my sister, I apologize.”

Bucky pushed her away from him, his action shocking her slightly, but understandable since he had just been kissed by a stranger.

Bucky remained silent, not because he was angry, but because he had a million questions.

His disorder prevented him from being touched by someone, and yet he had just been kissed.

This is also his first kiss.

And... he didn't vomit.

Bucky looked at the closing door, wondering where you had gone.

He knew he had to see you again.

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[aventurineswife]

The dad Aventurine fic genuinely made me want to cry but now i can't stop thinking of something

Imagine Aventurine having an extremely chaotic kid, like one of those kids where u take your eyes off of them 00.1 seconds and they 10 broken bones, have broken at least 15 vases and is currently on a sugar rush from eating too much candy.

It can be either a boy or a girl! Im very in love with your writing and i'd love to see your own thoughts on this Idea. Overall just Aventurine having to deal with his little demon spawn

The Greatest Award

Summary: Aventurine’s life is a high-stakes game, but nothing could prepare him for the chaos of parenting his five-year-old child. In a single afternoon, his once-luxurious office is reduced to shambles, courtesy of a sugar-fueled miniature whirlwind. As Aventurine tries to reign in the chaos with his usual charm and strategy, he learns that even the sharpest gambler can’t outwit the boundless energy and imagination of their own child.

Tags: Dad!Aventurine and his demon spawn child, Parent-Child Bonding, Domestic Chaos, Fluff and Humor, Mischievous Child, Found Family Themes.

Warnings: Mildly Destructive Child Antics, Implied Past Trauma(?), Excessive Use of Candy and Paint.

A/N: I lost my previous fic i wrote about this req, seems like it didn't save... 😭😔💔. So, have this while I cry with my broken back 😪

The room, once an opulent display of Aventurine’s impeccable taste, now resembled the aftermath of a casino heist gone wrong. The velvet curtains had been pulled down, puddling on the floor like fallen royalty. His priceless roulette-themed rug? Drenched in some unidentifiable sticky substance that smelled faintly of caramel.

And in the center of it all stood the culprit—Aventurine’s five-year-old child, grinning like a miniature devil. Their hair, much like their father’s, was streaked with suspiciously bright blue paint. In their hand, they wielded what appeared to be the broken leg of an antique chair as if it were a sword, declaring, “I’m the Ruler of the Candy Castle!”

“Darling,” Aventurine’s voice was sharp but calm, his smile firmly in place despite the chaos around him. “Care to explain why my baccarat table is missing a leg?”

The child tilted their head, pretending to think. “A monster ate it.”

“A monster?” Aventurine pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a rare migraine brewing. “Was it the same monster who broke three vases, emptied my desk drawer of poker chips, and decided my coat rack was a jungle gym?”

They nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, and then it told me candy makes monsters go away!”

Before he could respond, they took off like a rocket, their tiny feet thundering across the marble floor.

“Darling—” Aventurine began, but they were already scaling a bookshelf like some kind of sugar-fueled mountain goat.

For a moment, he simply stared, calculating the odds of them not breaking a limb versus the likelihood of toppling the entire structure. Slim to none. He reached out just in time to catch them mid-leap, their laughter ringing in his ears as he set them firmly back on the ground.

“Listen, kitten,” he said, crouching down to meet their wild eyes. “You’re giving Daddy a run for his money, and I don’t lose. But if you keep this up, I might have to start betting on when you’ll turn the entire estate into rubble.”

They gasped dramatically. “You’d bet on me?”

“Absolutely.” He tapped their nose. “But I’d also bet that if you sat down for five minutes—five minutes, mind you—I’d let you pick out the next ridiculous hat I wear to work.”

Their eyes sparkled with devious glee. “Even the one with the feathers?”

Aventurine suppressed a groan. He had gambled with empires, conned royalty, and survived assassination attempts, yet this small, chaotic creature could bring him to his knees with a single demand. “Even the one with the feathers.”

They pretended to consider his offer before darting off again, leaving Aventurine in their wake. A crash echoed from the next room, followed by an enthusiastic, “Oops!”

He stood, smoothing his blazer as he surveyed the wreckage of his once-pristine office. This was just another high-stakes game, he reminded himself. The rules were unconventional, the opponent unpredictable, but Aventurine always played to win.

“Alright, darling,” he called, striding after them. “You’ve forced my hand. It’s time to introduce you to the most dangerous weapon in Daddy’s arsenal.”

They peeked out from behind an overturned chair, curious. “What is it?”

He smirked, pulling out a deck of cards. “A little thing called discipline.”

Their giggle echoed through the halls, and Aventurine couldn’t help but laugh too. Because despite the chaos, the broken vases, and the candy-fueled mayhem, he wouldn’t trade his little demon spawn for all the chips in the universe.

[barblaz-arts]

Found out about you and your chaggie art on twt and decided to check out more of it on here! I’ve heard about hazbins hotel before and have seen the pair and fanart of them but haven’t made the decision to watch the show.

Wanted to ask from your perspective, what is it about chaggie that you like? Could be anything about their relationship dynamics, wtv representation that they portray, anything! Should I watch hazbins hotel for them 🤔

Gosh! What do I love about them??

Oh man, welll... On a surface level? The dynamics they display are just so delicious to me, and I especially love that it's always a little subverted with them, yunno? It's angelXdemon, but the demon is the precious sunshine while the angel is the grump with a body count. The princessXknight dynamic they display is subverted too because although Charlie is the one born in the worst realm in Creation, she's still the privileged princess, meanwhile even though Vaggie is the one who came from literal paradise, she's the one who lived a life that wasn't exactly luxurious. They just present dynamics I've already always loved but with a fun little twist.

But on a deeper level, I think I love Chaggie because they're already so far along in their relationship, and you can see it in how comfortable they are with each other, which was such a surprise for me. You see, I'm not very good at fixating on ships when they're already canon. Like, I'd think it's cute, but I wouldn't be itching to find fics about them. And if a ship I've liked finally gets together, I actually... usually... Kinda sorta love the ship a little less... I'd still like them! I just wont be as giddy about them.

But omg Chaggie still manages to give me butterflies, and I think it's because they're way past the honeymoon phase, something that I barely see represented for sapphic couples who are such important characters in a story. Lotsa people didnt like how it wasn't initially obvious that they were a couple, but I actually really loved how the writers and animators showed how deep their bond is without having them making out ang grope each other all the time. God if they were like that, it'd probably give me the ick.

It was just lowkey, because they've been together for years. Charlie would casually rest her arm on Vaggie's thigh and Vaggie isn't flustered because it's probably a habit of Charlie's by now. Vaggie would tuck Charlie's hair out of her face while she's worried about something and it isn't framed as a special thing, but you can tell by how Vaggie looks at Charlie that it wasn't done with any less love than it did over the years. And when Charlie's stressed about a phone call, Vaggie wordlessly offers her hand and Charlie takes it with a quick appreciative smile before holding on tight and bouncing their joined hands up and down like it's a stress reliever.

Their interactions weren't uber sweet with heated physicality, but the show had them display familiarity and comfort instead. And idk i just love that. I love that you can clearly tell they're best friends. Like, the very first scene they appear in for the Pilot, Vaggie is tying Charlie's bowtie for her while Charlie stares at her with a smile on her face. So cute...

Also. I just think both of them are hot lmao

So. Do I think you should watch the show for Chaggie? Idrk. I personally watched for them, but I came into the show expecting not to get much shipping fuel bcuz they were already in a relationship in a show that has a whole dang lot more going on in it. So some people who wanted to get into the ship expecting maybe a lotta smooching felt unsatisfied. But honestly, what did they expect from a 8 ep season that only had a run time of 22 mins per episode, in a show that wasn't even a romance? 😭 I personally thought we got a decent amount without taking away from the actual plot.

I think you should try to watch with the mindset of just having plain ol fun. Try the first 2 episodes, which is only 40 mins of your day. If it doesn't jive with you, that's totally fine. But pls do check out the songs if you dont like the show. The songs are so good. My favorite song from the season has plot stuff, but this one is my second favorite

And since we're talking about Chaggie, here's the reprise of that song sung by them. It's short, but they promised more chaggie songs will be in season 2 so im not too sad about it. Charlie and Vaggie's VA harmonizing is just beautiful.

Edit: for those who saw this post when i accidentally prematurely posted it before adding the links and photos, no you didn't 😐

[mistressmxggot]

Chapter 1- ✰ Her Friends from Downtown ✰

"𝗔 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗡𝗼𝘅𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗽𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝘅 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝘁𝗵𝘆 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗰𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗹. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳. 𝗧𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴."

Tags: Stripping, brothels, smoking

~You always wondered what living in Piltover would have been like. What would it be like to grow up in a place filled with riches and luxuries. You thought about how bright it seemed on topside, The City of Progress, or so they called it.

The City of Progress, the city of innovations and bustling, pleasant life, so unlike Zaun. Zaun was the undercity, the filth beneath the prosperity. Covered in green, thick smoke, that's where you lived. Struggling to live, struggling to eat, struggling with addiction and gambling and prostitution. Shimmer and goons controlled the streets. Silco, the boss man, controlled most of the authority in Zaun, but nothing was ever quite controlled. Just lay low, that's what you had to do. Everything got done through intimidation, threats, and bribes.

Here, at the brothel, you experienced all three. Being a stripper was tiring, but it was better than prostitution. Malik took care of you and your money. He was annoying and often times aggressive, but at least he was protection. This is just what you had to do. That's what the undercity was right? People just trying to survive, while topside lived.

You hated Piltover, like any sane Zaunite would. You danced. The same time every night. 6 days a week. You shaved and did your makeup for what felt like thousandth time this week.

Dressed in a white lace set, see through dress covered in a matching robe, you chatted with Babette for the last hour before the brothel opened. You always liked talking with her. It was therapy without paying for it (it's not like you could get it anyway). You didn't have many friends at the brothel, just occasional people checking up on you, and Malik. You two sat talking, laughing, and observing the clients around the brothel. Everyone seemed frantic and bubbly.

The shimmer supply must have arrived early.

Many clients of all different types, excitedly mumbled to eachother. They hurried to different areas of the brothel. Everyone was wearing extra skimpy outfits tonight. What's going on?

You took another sip of your soda. "Why is everyone losing their minds? What's going on?"

Babette blew out smoke, laying the cigarette into her ashtray. "Good clientele today. Great money."

Your ears perked up at that. Money was the only good thing in this hell hole, and more of it meant it was a good day. Scratch that, a REALLY great day. More money made Malik happy.

You contemplated asking who. You weren't exactly sure if it was your place. They had to be from topside, which worried and slightly excited you. People were so frantic, and even Silco and Sevika's money couldn't be that good. You bit your lip.

"If you don't mind me asking, um, who is it? Are they from topside?" You looked at Babette through your eyelashes.

Babette pursed her lips. "Well not exactly. It's Ambessa Medarda. She's visiting Piltover, her daughter, and the undercity brothel apparently."

Your mouth slightly dropped open. Ambessa Medarda...like the noxian, warlord psycho Ambessa Medarda? Like the council member's mother, General Ambessa Medarda? You sighed, choking on your own laugh.

"How the hell did yall even find that out? I'd believe someone like her would like to keep a good reputation, even if she is a war criminal. This isn't the exact type of place for good reputations." You glanced around and laughed.

Babette's laugh followed yours. "She's visited before and she has favorites here. Word is she's out on the town. There's no way to exactly prove she's been here. Who would question her anyway?"

She was right. I guess being filthy was alright as long as you had money and topside status. The curtains to Babette's office swung open, the smell of liquor and smoke telling you who had arrived. You grunted, glaring at the clock. 8:56 pm. You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. Babette looked at you, eyebrows raised.

"Hey, hey hey!" Malik stumbled into the room, showing you a gold grin. You stood up, smiling at him. He pulled you into him. You grunted, moving your mouth away from his hungry lips.

"Man I'm your boyfriend and I can't even get a kiss?" He pouted, slowly removing his hand from your waist.

You shook your head. "Boyfriend is one word for it."

Babette's eyebrows knotted in humorous pity, as she looked at you two.

"I love you Malik, but I've gotta get to work. I'll see you around?" You kissed his cheek. He scoffed.

"Yeah yeah. I'll be at The Last Drop. I gotta talk to Silco and whoop Sevika's ass in cards. Man I can't lose any more money to her." He grinned smacking your butt. "You look beautiful, the people will love you."

You scowled, holding down an audible reaction. Babette looked to you, taking a drag of her cigarette. You smiled at her, turning out of her office.

"So how you been doin'?"  You heard Malik chatting to Babette as you headed towards the stage room.

It was time to get ready to perform. The stage room was covered in a burgundy haze. Warm, white lights covered the stage. Purple curtains with pink and yellow accents blanketed the room. You quickly wiped down the stage and pole. Slipping on your heels, you began to stretch. The thought of Ambessa Medarda made you nervous. Quite frankly, you wanted to crawl into a box and hide there till she and the entire thought of her left. A decorated Noxian warlord paying for sex in a filthy undercity brothel. You laughed to yourself. Tonight was going to be interesting.

Sultry ambient music filled the stage room. Customers sat and stood, watching. You slowly twisted your hips, arching and spreading your legs. You could get lost here. The lustful eyes devouring your body didn't matter. Dancing was peace for you. It started slow with grinding on floor, then turning to grinding on the pole, and finally pole tricks. A dance routine usually continued for an hour or two. Taking a ten minute break to drink water was very necessary. Pole dancing was already not easy, but trying to be sexy while doing it? A whole other challenge. You exhaled, stretching your legs before returning to the stage.

Grabbing the pole, you loosened back up to dance. You felt on edge. The energy was different and you couldn't figure why. Your viewers turned and murmured to eachother. You glanced up, your eyes meeting with a very broad woman in the hallway. She stood incredibly tall, chin held high. Her head of silver curls were covered in a deep red hood. She wore a taut black top, followed by black pants that hugged the girth of her muscular thighs. Her bright red lips slightly turned up into a smile. She listened to the slim, pale male infront of her, a sharp contrast. And there she was, in all her splendor, Ambessa Medarda.

Your lips pressed into a line, slightly curious. God was she terrifying. Everyone's body seemed to tense, even yours. She held an energy that seemed to demand stillness and silence in a boisterous room. You watched as she spoke with the man. Well Howl was sure a... choice. Of course she needed a person who gave her a power trip, typical topside. You internally scoffed, turning away from them. You brought your hands above your head, back and butt pressed to the pole.

You soon turned back to find them both gone. Continuing your routine, you thought about her. Her intimidating aura seemed to linger in the brothel and your mind. Relief passed over you. You began to unbutton your robe.

Thankfully tomorrow you could rest, even though Malik would still drag you out to The Last Drop. Breathing out, you took another look towards the empty hallway.~

You. Always. Masterlist

I've been reading ambessa fics by @1920sladydectective and @fortluocha and got absolutely OBSESSED (go read them they're amazing). I had to write something for this sexy woman. I'm like rubbing my hands together I have so many ideas. This is gonna be a whole series, so more is definitely to come. Tell me what yall think!

[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 6 - The Kim Estate

Chapter Summary - A little bit of Y/N's backstory and her family's history. She gets a tour of the Kim Estate from San and Wooyoung and gets a brief glimpse into the boys' private lives.

warnings: San does get a little violent towards the end, and Wooyoung cracks a few sex jokes (MDNI)

Series Masterlist

The house I grew up in was nothing short of a prison. I had all the luxuries of high society, yes, but that didn't mean I felt the same warmth and compassion children should be surrounded with.

My father owned a fashion company, Belluxe, one of the biggest in our part of the world. He had a lot of ties with some dangerous and powerful people, and as I got older I realized how much it had really gotten to his head.

The power. The greed.

I was forbidden to talk to him when I was young, only if we had guests. If I did without permission, he'd get angry. He had only gotten physical with me once, and that was when our family bond broke forever.

I was nine years old, home from boarding school with Christmas like I normally would be. My younger sister was ecstatic to have me home, finally having someone other than our mother to play with. Our older sister, she wasn't around this time. I figured she'd stayed at school for the holidays, but as I got older I found out she had run away.

I went by a different name back then, first and last. I'd changed it once I was disowned at 17, wanting to leave that old life behind. It was a lot easier than it should have been, all things considered.

I remember we were sitting at the dinner table, the only sound coming from our cutlery scraping across the porcelain plates. My mother had asked briefly how school was, and I gave a short but honest answer; "It was alright."

My father leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty seat where my sister should have been. He cleared his throat, causing us all to turn our heads in attention.

"Chariya, you'll be the next heir." He says simply, my old name, it felt weird hearing it even if it was just a memory. "Since Chalita has failed to exceed my expectations."

My family was Thai on my mother's side. She'd named us all after members of her family still in Thailand, bringing a piece of her old life with her.

Mother and Father married after father knocked my mother up with Chalita, the eldest. My mother used to say he was a kind man until she gave him too many daughters and no son. I think she just used it as an excuse to hide the snake he really is.

"My love, she is too young-" My mother states before she is cut off.

"Enough! I told you not to speak against me." He shouts, slamming his fist down on the table. My little sister, Chaluai, begins to cry at the sudden noise. My mother bows her head and stands, taking Chaluai with her as she exits the dining room.

I stare down at my plate, hearing the sound of his chair creaking as he leans back.

"Your mother doesn't understand the ways of this world." He says. "But one day you will."

I was startled awake by a knock on the door, causing my body to jump from my skin.

"Hello?" I call out groggily, sitting up.

"Uhm... Y/N? It's San." A muffled voice from the other side of the door calls out.

"Right..." I murmur, the events from the last few nights creeping their way back into my head. I stretch and swing my legs over the side. My feet hit the wood as I shuffle towards the door, opening it slowly.

San stands there on the other side, wearing a suit a little different from the one he wore last night. His eyes widen as I open the door, quickly looking up.

"Just thought I'd wake you... Wooyoung and I are home whenever you want that tour." He says, finding the ceiling very interesting.

"Oh! Just give me a few minutes and I'll come find you." I say, fingers gripping the door. San nods before hurriedly rushing down the hall and towards the stairs. I watch him go before closing the door. He was a lot shyer than last night. Maybe something was on his mind.

I walk into the walk-in wardrobe and look around at all the luxurious clothes hung up for me. There was a cabinet in the center, inside millions of dollars worth of jewelry for me to choose from. I feel a shiver run up my spine at the sight. It had been so long since I'd seen anything like this, and it felt wrong.

I hadn't worked for it, I didn't buy it myself. These men had only met me last night yet they were already willing to spend millions on me. Why?

I settled on a simple top and skirt, slipping on some fluffy slippers that were positioned neatly beside my bed before making my way out into the hallway.

The eery silence shared with the darkness of the hallway settled a sick feeling in my stomach. It was so quiet, that no chatter or thumping of footsteps could be heard. I figured Wooyoung and San were downstairs somewhere, praying that they weren't the type to jump out and scare me.

I head towards the staircase, the scenery getting brighter as I peek down at the pretty white marble that now glittered in the sunlight. My hand slides down the railing as the stairs take me to the lower floor. I gaze at the paintings on the wall, one of all 8 of them positioned on and around a fancy-looking couch, and another with a younger-looking Hongjoong, who I assumed to be his mother, father, and brother.

I didn't know he had a brother, I wonder what happened to him?

I glanced left and right once I reached the bottom of the stairs, the house felt like a maze, going on forever in both directions.

"San? Wooyoung?" I call out, my hands finding my elbows as I glance around. I decided to go left, entering what seemed to be the main living room based on the three couches and the fireplace with a television situated above it. I reach my hand out and press my fingers into the plush cushions, feeling the soft fabric beneath my skin.

"Y/N?" A voice makes me jump, I turn around to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway I just walked through. He had a grin on his face. "Scared ya?" He says with a light cackle.

I splutter for a moment before crossing my arms tighter. I watch as he scans my figure, admiring my figure.

"Eyes are up here, Wooyoung." I tease, as he stares a little too long at my legs.

"Yeosang picked your wardrobe well." He says, ignoring my words and stepping a little closer. "Would prefer you don't wear it around me though."

I hold my hand up and stop him from coming any closer right as San enters from another door behind me.

"Hongjoong said we should give you a tour." He says gruffly, his hair looking a lot messier than it was when he visited maybe 20 minutes prior. I glanced at his knuckles, noticing the light bruising that had begun to blossom before he quickly hid them in the pockets of his jacket.

"I'm ready to start whenever you are," I say, offering him a smile which he hesitates to return.

"Well, this is the main living room. Pretty obvious since it looks like a living room." Wooyoung chirps, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't mind if San is a little quiet. He gets grumpy when he has to work early."

I glance back at San as Wooyoung starts to lead me through another archway into a large room. I gasped as the realization hit me that this was a ballroom. A large and grand ballroom, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. There was a grand piano on a small platform tucked away into a corner, floor-to-ceiling length windows with a matching door that led out to the backyard and a large diamond-clad chandelier dangled from the ceiling.

I could feel Wooyoung's grin as I slowly moved away from him, my jaw hanging slightly as I walked to the center. There were mosaic patterns that formed a lily flower on the floor under my feet which made me smile.

"Seonghwa told us to open the curtains for you, they haven't been opened since Hongjoongs parents were alive. The only person that uses this room is Mingi when he wants to play piano." San says from behind me. "Hongjoong's mother painted the lily flower herself."

"It's a painting?" I ask, turning to look back at both of them in surprise.

"Doesn't look it right? She was extremely talented at making things look different than what they are." Wooyoung says, the same grin on his face.

The tour went on, and every room amazed me more than the last. The kitchen was huge, almost twice the size of my bedroom with a dining room attached to it which was just as big. My mind wandered to all the grand dinners they must have hosted when Hongjoongs parents were still alive. Did they host balls too? It would be foolish not to considering how beautiful the setting was.

There was a pool, a greenhouse, and even a golf course in the backyard. I glanced over the hill and caught a glimpse of a tennis court on the far side of the golf course. I wondered how many acres this house was on. We weren't that from the city, however I couldn't see any other buildings for miles.

Inside on the first floor, there was a two-story library, another 2 smaller seating rooms, and laundry/housekeeping quarters behind the kitchen. The hallways were twisting in all directions, as if intentional. Was the layout meant to confuse people? Maybe intruders?

It would be smart if it was, all things considered. The house was intimidating from the outside just on its own, getting lost on the inside felt like a terrifying idea.

"Do you guys have maids?" I ask my arm now linked with Wooyoungs. I'd hate to be a worker here, having to clean this house would have to take days. Not only that but cooking? Laundry? Maintenance work would be a nightmare too.

"We do, they have Sundays off." Wooyoung answers, leading me back to the main stairwell. "Upstairs is mostly bedrooms and bathrooms. Hongjoong's home office is at the end of the hall on the right." He adds.

I nod, my neck craning to look at the paintings lining the walls once again. There was a painting of a woman, a beautiful woman with long black hair and piercing green eyes with freckles dusting her cheeks. I stared at the painting for a moment, getting a sinking feeling that she was staring back.

"That's Aurora." Wooyoung murmurs, eyes on the painting too. "She was... The one before you." He hesitates to say, glancing down at me before looking back up at the painting. I let go of his arm and climbed a few steps to stand directly in front of her painting.

"She's beautiful... Pretty name too." I say softly, my eyes softening as more details reveal themselves.

"You would have liked her," San says, his arms crossed as he looks at the painting, a sad look in his eyes. "She was like you, not a dancer though... More of a reader."

"If you wanted to find her she'd only ever be in the library," Wooyoung says with a small chuckle. "Most of the books in there were gifts for her, from us." He says.

"What happened to her?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I turn back to them. They're both staring up at the painting, Wooyoung lowers his head and lets out a soft, pained sigh once he registers my question.

"We'll tell you in time. You should get settled first." San answers, his voice low.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. It was obvious she wasn't in the picture, whether she was alive or not. However, the pained look on Wooyoungs face and the behavior of the other boys when she is mentioned made me think it was the latter. I felt sad for them. It was obvious they loved her, maybe more than I would ever realize or truly know.

A part of me was envious of that fact. To be loved so unconditionally was something I had dreamed of since I was a little girl. But, another part of me was scared. Did their work have something to do with her death? It made sense in a way.

A loud crash made me jump from my thoughts. I look to San and Wooyoung who are suddenly on high alert before San grumbles something and storms off into the direction of the main living room. I glance at Wooyoung as I step down the stairs to follow but the man stops me.

"Don't follow him." He says in a hushed voice, gripping my hips in a tight hold as I glance behind him. My eyes widened, the door San had entered through at the start of the day was wide open with a man stumbling through. San grabs the man by the back of the neck and practically drags him back into the darkness beyond the door.

The man lets out a string of curses and begs as San slams the door shut behind them both, his cries fading into nothing the further they go.

"It's the basement," Wooyoung says, answering my question before I even had to ask. "It's the only place in this house that you are not allowed to go. Understand?" He says, his expression void of any playfulness I had come to associate with his character.

"I understand," I say, staring back up at him with the same wide-eyed expression.

"Good girl." He says with a grin, hand cupping my cheek briefly before moving away, heading towards the staircase. "Come, I'll show you everyone's rooms."

I glance at the door to the basement for a moment before following Wooyoung up the stairs.

I've decided to update the story consistently every Tuesday at 12 am (AEST). A Christmas special is being planned which will be set a few years after the events of this book.

I urge minors to not interact beyond this chapter, for it's going to start getting heavy from this point. I will be checking profiles to make sure so please have something to prove your age on your profile! I don't want to traumatize children <3

Also, I closed the taglist a little early however I'll be going through the comments and the past few posts and making sure I didn't miss anyone. If you aren't on it when this chapter is posted, I'll add you to the next one.

taglist:

@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling

@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

@vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingiglasses

@pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland

[screaminglygay]

third time is a charm, right? (part six)

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader, wanda maximoff x fem!reader, natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff, carol danvers x fem!reader (platonic), past carol danvers x natasha romanoff

summary: you feel like there is something more to your relationship with wanda and natasha, but in reality? there is not.

warnings: swearing, nat being mean, kinda toxic!nat, alcohol consumption, ankle injury, crying, just some angst!

word count: 4k

an: this one is a bit angsty, just cause i felt like it:P

(italica = your thoughts)

Wanda and Natasha have kept their promise, showing up at your workplace a next day. They sit in a small corner of the café, their presence commanding attention despite their casual demeanor. Wanda is sipping a coffee, her fingers wrapped around the cup, while Natasha leans back in her chair, looking around the room.

You steal glances at them whenever you have a free moment, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your chest. The sight of them together, so effortlessly confident and undeniably alluring, fills you with a warmth that spreads from your heart to your fingertips. It feels like you never made a coffee in your life, how nervouss you are around them.

Finally, after a rush hour you have a small break, you make your way over to their table. Natasha spots you first, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across her face. Wanda's eyes light up as she looks up from her coffee, her lips curving into a welcoming smile.

"Hey," you greet them, your voice tinged with both shyness and exitement.

"Hey yourself," Natasha replies, her tone playful. "How's your day going?"

You shrug, feeling more at ease in their presence. "Busy, but seeing you two here makes it a lot better."

Wanda's smile deepens, and she reaches out to touch your hand briefly. "We're glad to hear that. We've been looking forward to seeing you in your element."

Natasha nods, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "And we have to admit, we were curious about where you spend your days."

As you chat with them, the conversation flows easily, filled with light banter and genuine interest. You feel a sense of belonging, as if these two extraordinary women have carved out a special place for you in their lives. Their attention is unwavering, making you feel seen and appreciated in a way that goes beyond words.

But you can´t hide the little voice in your head, that is once again overthinking… they wouldn´t be so nice if it would be just sex to them… right?

After a while, you reluctantly mention needing to get back to work. Natasha glances at her watch and then back at you. "We don't want to keep you from your duties, but we were wondering if you'd like to join us for dinner after your shift?"

Your heart skips a beat at the invitation. "I'd love that."

"Great," Wanda says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We'll be waiting."

With a final smile, you head back to the counter, the prospect of dinner with Wanda and Natasha adding an extra spring to your step.

Oh my god- oh my god! (Y/N) calm down, it´s just a dinner. Friendly dinner. Or is it?

...

The dinner goes well, filled with laughter, playful banter, and an undeniable chemistry that crackles in the air between you. As the evening progresses, the conversation becomes more intimate, and the touches more lingering. Natasha’s hand grazes your thigh while Wanda’s fingers trace delicate patterns on your arm, sending shivers down your spine.

The moment soon turns more heated. Natasha leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, her lips soft yet demanding. Wanda’s hands slide up your back, pulling you closer into the warmth of their embrace. It’s a cycle of kisses and touches, pure lust taking over as the three of you explore each other with an insatiable hunger.

...

Weeks pass in a blissful haze. You find yourself spending more time at their luxurious apartment, each visit is shared with pleasure. The bond between you three deepens with each kiss, each tender touch.

During one of your visits, as you lie entwined on their couch, Wanda’s voice breaks the serene silence. She speaks about a heavy business case they have tomorrow, her tone tinged with worry. Something about the Danvers company taking their customers and main sponsors, especially at glorious gala nights, that are arranged every month for companies like theirs. You can sense the underlying tension, you have never seen them this… worried about something. And you´re glad you could make them forget about it for a little while, but your heart wants to help them more.

...

The next day, driven by a desire to support them, you decide to go to their office. Finding your way to the sleek, imposing building, you eventually spot Natasha, her demeanor taut with stress.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice edged with irritation.

“I came to support. Wanda said it is really important for you, so I came to support the two of you.” You smile.

Natasha’s eyes narrow, frustration evident. “Yeah, it is important, but I don’t have a clue why you are here. I didn’t ask you to come.”

“You didn’t, no, but I just… thought that maybe it would be nice.”

“You thought wrong. We are not together! You can’t just show up here.” Natasha scoff and your heart sinks.

Wanda arrives, sensing the tension, and looks at you with concern. “Nat, she was just trying to do a nice thing.”

Natasha's frustration spills over. “No, Wanda. She feels like we are together, but we’re not! Jesus, what will people think? We have her just for sex, god dammit! She can’t just show up in here and act like our girlfriend.”

Your heart feels like it’s being torn in two. “You did show up to my work too.”

Wanda’s voice is gentle but firm. “That was different.”

Natasha’s voice is sharp. “It was a coffee shop, (Y/N). This is my company! Important place.”

“So I’m not important?”

Wanda reaches out, trying to calm the situation. “(Y/N)-”

Natasha cuts in, her voice cold. “No!”

Feelings clash and collide within you, leaving you messy, hurt, and heartbroken. The realization hits hard— you were never more than a convenience, a thrill for them.

“It would be better if you’d leave, (Y/N),” Wanda says softly, her eyes filled with regret.

“Right… okay, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t know it is embarrassing to be seen with me.”

The walk back to your apartment is a blur. Anger, sadness, and a deep sense of betrayal swirl within you. You feel used, discarded like a mere object. What you thought was a connection was nothing more than a facade, a cruel illusion.

In the quiet of your room, you let the tears fall, each one a testament to your broken heart. The sting of their words echoes in your mind, making you question everything. You hate yourself for being so naive, for believing that you could mean something more to them.

After a few hours of crying in your own bed, you decided to go for a drink or two. Sitting in a bar nursing your drink and drowning in a sea of regret, sounded like a better activity than just cry in your apartment. The sting of Natasha’s words still burns in your mind. The bar is dimly lit, a perfect reflection of your current mood. Your thoughts are a chaotic mess, replaying the harshness of Natasha’s dismissal and Wanda’s helpless gaze. The alcohol numbs the pain slightly, but not enough to stop the tears from silently streaming down your face.

In a moment of reckless impulse, you decide to send a text to Natasha and Wanda, something along the lines of, "Thanks for making things clear," but you delete it before hitting send, knowing it would only make things worse. You drain your glass and stumble out of the bar, the night air hitting your face like a slap. The streets are blurry, and your mind is foggy, filled with anger and sadness. As you make your way from the bar, you miss your next step, causing your ankle to bend in 90°C.

Not sure if it´s the alcohol or the heartbreak, but you don´t feel any pain at all. Just a set of hands that are supporting you right now.

"Careful!" A tall blonde lady caught you, she look a bit familiar to you.

"I´m all good-" you clear your throat.

She chekcs you up and down, "oh! You're with Maximoff and Romanoff, huh?" Her hands still on you.

"No," you say sternly, trying to steady yourself as you eventually sit down on the curb on the sidewalk.

"Oh… um, my apologies. Do you need any help with that?" she asks, her eyes filled with concern.

You take a moment to process her words, finding her beauty distracting. "NO! I- sorry, no… I don't think- I'm fine, I'm okay."

She looks down at you. "You're crying, obviously drunk. I saw you in the bar, you looked like shit. You still do, by the way. Let me drive you home."

"No." You quickly mumble as you wipe your tears.

"Okay, then I can call you an Uber?"

"No."

"Taxi? Or anything else you´d prefer?"

"No."

She sighs, clearly slightly irritated. "Can you say something else other than 'no'?"

"Yes."

"Okay, cool." She sits down next to you, and you wince as you realize your ankle is starting to hurt slightly. She notices too and frowns.

"What are you doing?" You ask, your eyes meeting hers.

"Staying… I'm not leaving you alone in this state. No buts… I don't want you to get more hurt."

"Why?" you ask, genuinely puzzled.

"Because," she replies simply, not offering more but somehow making you feel a bit safer.

You nod, accepting her presence, and for a moment, there is a peaceful silence between you. Her calm demeanor is oddly comforting.

After a while, she breaks the silence. "I have to ask… did the big CEOs make you feel like shit?"

"What?" you respond, confused by the question.

"Natasha and Wanda."

"I don´t know what you´re talking about," you look away from her, but can´t really concentrate on anything since you´re vision is still pretty blurry.

"I´m Carol, used to be their friend and I'd hate to burst your bubble, but you're not the first one." She states, still looking at you.

You look at her skeptically. "W-what do you mean? Y-you too?"

She smiles and shakes her head. "I wasn’t in their relationship, no. But I am an ex of Natasha’s."

It finally hits you, "Ohhh, Carol Danvers?"

She nods with a small smile, "you heard about me?"

"A little bit, Natasha was mentioning you, while she was talking about some gala night."

"Small world, huh?" she says with a slight chuckle.

"Yeah…," you reply, still processing the revelation.

And another moment of silence was set, your world was still spinning like crazy, but at least you coudln´t fall from your position.

"She's not much of a romantic person… Natasha." Carol speak up again.

"No, not really," you admit, the bitterness creeping back into your voice.

"I'm sorry about that." Carol looks at your ankle.

"It´s okay…" You mumble.

"I meant the ankle, but uh… about them too."

"Oh right… did Natasha broke up with you because of Wanda?" You are curious, is the redhead acting in a normal relationship like this too?

Carol shakes her head. "No. I broke up with her, because she just wanted more and more of me. And then she wanted someone else, someone I'm not willing to turn into, just because I was deeply in love with her."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that," you say, feeling a pang of empathy.

"Eh, don't be. It was a few years ago. And it looks like she hasn´t change a bit." The blonde shrugs.

"I wish I was straight," you blurt out, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

Carol chuckles at your words. "Oh really? So in another universe, you wouldn’t cry because of Natasha, but because of Nathaniel. What is the difference?"

You can’t help but laugh a little at her response, despite the pain in your heart. The simplicity of her words brings a momentary clarity, a reminder that love and heartbreak are universal, regardless of the specifics.

As you sit there with Carol, you find yourself growing more curious about her history with Natasha and how she managed to move on. "How did you manage to get past her?" you ask, your voice tinged with curiosity.

Carol takes a deep breath, looking thoughtful. "It wasn't easy," she begins. "Natasha is… intoxicating. She's strong, confident, and when she focuses on you, it's like the world fades away. But I had to remind myself that it wasn't healthy. She didn't want me as an equal partner; she wanted me as an accessory to her life, someone she could control and use when it suited her."

You nod, absorbing her words, feeling a connection to her struggle. Just as you open your mouth to ask another question, your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen and see a text from Wanda: "I’m sorry about what happened, can we talk?"

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips as you read the message. Carol raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What is it?" she asks.

You show her the text, and she sighs knowingly. "Let me guess," she says, leaning back slightly. "They’re going to apologize, make you feel needed, convince you that you’re special to them."

You frown, feeling a mix of hope and skepticism. "And then what?" you ask, needing to hear her perspective.

Carol looks at you with a mixture of sympathy and firmness. "Then, they’ll draw you back in. You’ll enjoy their company, feel like you belong with them. Natasha will apologize because she sees you as something she needs. Something she owns. She’ll make it seem like she can’t function without you, and for a while, you’ll feel important. But it’s a cycle. She craves control, and as long as you’re under her influence, she’ll keep you on that emotional rollercoaster."

You feel a pang of recognition at her words. "So, what should I do?" you ask, feeling lost.

Carol reaches out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You need to decide what’s best for you. If you can handle the ups and downs, if that’s what you want, then maybe you can find a way to make it work. But if you’re looking for something real, something where you’re valued for who you are and not just what you can provide, then you need to think hard about whether this is the right situation for you."

You nod, feeling more sober now, but your emotions are still messy.

"You deserve to be with someone who sees you as an equal, not just as an accessory." Carol adds.

You chuckle, "you don´t even know me."

Carol smiles gently. "I don’t have to know everything about you to see your worth. It’s clear you have a big heart and that you care deeply. But don’t let that heart be trampled on by people who don’t appreciate it."

You nod, feeling the sincerity in her words. "Thanks, Carol. I guess I just got caught up in the idea of being with them, you know? They seemed so perfect."

"They’re magnetic, for sure," Carol agrees. "But perfection is often an illusion. What really matters is how people treat you, especially when things get tough."

Your phone buzzes again, another message from Wanda: "Please, (Y/N)?"

Carol notices your hesitation and sighs. "Look, if you feel you need closure or even just one last conversation, that’s okay. But go in with your eyes open. Know what you want out of it and don’t settle for less."

Taking a deep breath, you nod. "You’re right. I think I need to hear what they have to say."

Carol smiles approvingly. "Just maybe drink some water, get an ice for your ankle and take some bubblegum."

You chuckle, "oh… yeah, I need that, yeah."

With that, you send a brief reply to Wanda: "Okay, let’s meet. When and where?"

As you wait for her response, you agree and ride with Carol into the nearest shop for some cold water and bubblegum for you. During your not so long drive you share stories about life, work, some old memories from drunk parties. Carol seems like a super nice woman, who stands her ground, something you have trouble to do so.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes again: "How about our place in 30 minutes?"

You look at Carol, who gives you a reassuring nod. "You’ve got this," she says. "Just remember what we talked about."

"I don´t want to go inside," you shake your head.

"You don´t have to." Carol and you get out of her car as she goes to buy you the stuff that you need to freshen up.

You hum and quickly type an answer to Wanda: "Okay, but we will talk outside."

Carol gives you an ice pack on your leg, "better?" You can just nod.

After 30 minutes Carol drops you near their apartment complex, your nerves are killing you once again. You feel less drunk and more scared. To be fair you feel the same way you look, horrible. Your ankle is now swollen and your makeup is just messy.

As you´re zooned out, you don´t notice them walking towards your secured spot on one of the benches.

"Hey," Wanda says softly, bringing you from your thoughts.

You look up to see both Natasha and Wanda standing before you. Natasha’s eyes immediately fall to your swollen ankle, her concern evident. "What happened to your ankle?" she asks, her voice laced with worry.

You brush it off, trying to appear composed. "What do you want to talk about?" you say, straightening up and attempting to steady yourself, even though you’re still feeling the remnants of your earlier drinking.

Wanda kneels down beside you, her gentle hands examining your ankle with care. "We should get you some ice for this," she says, looking up at Natasha, who nods in agreement.

Ignoring their concern, you persist, "I´m okay, what do you want to talk about?"

Natasha sits beside you, her eyes searching yours. "We want to talk about what happened earlier, and about us," she begins, her tone sincere. "But first, let us help you. You’re hurt."

You sigh, knowing they won’t let it go and in your state… no one can blame you for nodding. "Fine," you concede, allowing Wanda to help you to your feet. Natasha wraps an arm around you, supporting you as you hobble towards their apartment.

Once inside, they guide you to the couch and prop your foot up with some cushions. Wanda disappears into the kitchen, returning shortly with a bag of ice wrapped in a towel. She gently places it on your ankle, her touch tender and caring.

Natasha sits next to you, her eyes never leaving your face. "We’re sorry," she starts. "For everything. For how we made you feel and for giving you a mixed signals."

Wanda sits on the other side of you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "We’ve been thinking a lot about what happened and how we can make it right," she adds.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of their words. "It hurt," you admit, your voice trembling slightly. "I thought I meant more to you."

Natasha’s expression softens. "You do mean more to us," she says. "But we’ve been selfish, we´re sorry. I am sorry."

No. I won´t fall for this. I can´t...

Wanda nods in agreement. "We want to make things right, but we also understand if you need time or if you decide that this isn’t what you want anymore."

You take a moment to process their words, the sincerity in their voices and the care they’re showing you. "I need to think about it," you finally say. "I need to take care of myself first."

Natasha nods, her eyes understanding. "Take all the time you need," she says. "We’ll be here." Natasha´s hand fall on your knee, squeezing it slightly. Oh how you missed her hand on you, but… does it mean more to you than your of sanity?

"I uh… I should get going." You stand up while Natasha´s grip on your knee tightens.

"You´re not going anywhere, you´re hurt." She speaks firmly.

"I´m going home." It was your time to stand for yourself, which shocks you a bit, but today was the worst rollercoaster of your life, you just need your bed.

"Can we drive you at least?" Wanda´s soft voice warm your heart.

"No, I´ll uh.. take an Uber." Shockingly they agreed.

Natasha and Wanda help you to the door of their apartment complex, your swollen ankle still giving you trouble. As you reach the entrance, you pull out your phone. "I’ll call an Uber," you say, trying to sound nonchalant.

Just then, you notice a familiar car parked nearby. To your surprise, Carol is still there, waiting for you. Natasha and Wanda exchange glances.

"Is that your Uber?" Natasha asks, a hint of skepticism in her voice.

"Yeah, it is," you reply quickly, not wanting to explain the full situation.

Wanda looks at the car, then back at you. "That was fast."

You manage a weak smile, hobbling toward the car. As you get in, Carol chuckles, a playful smirk on her face. "I have admit, I was invested."

You chuckle, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. "Thanks, Carol. I didn’t expect you to wait."

Carol shrugs, "I figured you might need a ride. Plus, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

You carefully shift yourself into the seat, wincing slightly as you adjust your ankle. Carol glances at you with a playful grin, then back at the door, where Wanda and Natasha dissapear. "Oh, you didn’t want to get inside their apartment, huh?"

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself. "Shut up."

As Carol starts the car, you feel a sense of comfort knowing she’s there for you, even though you met her like two hours ago. But you can´t shake the safe feeling you have with her. It might be the alcohol, the situation or just your nature to trust a beatifuly looking woman. "Thanks for being here," you say softly.

"No problem." Carol smirks.

You look at her, "what?"

"First of all, I don´t know where you live, second of all… I´m waiting for some storytime of a verdict or something." She chuckles.

"Oh right, sorry." You shake your head a bit, "Just drive to the Library and then I´ll tell you from there." Carol nods as she starts to drive. "And… um I told them I´ll think about it."

"They were sorry, hm? I mean I don´t blame them, the past ladies before you- well let´s say they weren´t the most kindest souls."

"What do you mean?" You look at Carol.

"Two biggest CEO´s, lots of money, lots of power…" Carol glance at you quickly.

"Oh… I never really thought about it that much." You shrug.

"And that´s why they´re so sorry. And that´s why I would be more careful." Carol honestly states.

The rest of the car ride is peaceful, the city lights blurring past as you reflect on the evening’s events. Carol’s presence is a steadying force, and you feel a little more grounded with each passing moment.

Once you arrive back at your place, Carol helps you inside, making sure you’re settled comfortably. "You sure you’re going to be okay?" she asks, her concern evident.

You nod, managing a small smile. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks again, Carol. For everything."

She gives you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "Get some rest. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call." She gives you her bussiness card.

As she leaves, you feel a strange mix of emotions—hurt, confusion, but also a glimmer of hope. You have a lot to think about, but for now, you’re grateful for the support you’ve found in an unexpected place, but you will definetly think about it more tomorrow, when you´ll be sober. You glance at the card that Carol gave you.

Ceo Carol Danvers.

Turns out you might have a type.

Thank you for reading! How do you think it will continue?

taglist: @arualdcg, @beholdagaywriter, @snowdrop1026, @itsdoni, @newawakening9​, @aliherreraaa, @zzswiftyzz, @lesbiantothemoonandback, @maggieromanov,

[absurdthirst]

Trick or Treat {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.3k

Warnings: Bodyswap AU, groping, masturbation (male and female), drug use, anxiety, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Comments: At Dieter's annual Halloween Party, you meet a witch. Venting about your unappreciative boss, she decides that you should walk a mile in each other's shoes, only switching back when you make the right choices.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It's Dieter's annual Halloween party and of course, you're stuck managing the catering and the bartenders and the drug dealers - basically overseeing the entire party - to make sure your boss is happy. Forget going out to get drunk and dress up. Every year you are Dieter's assistant turned party planner. The man himself is dressed up as a king. He wanted a comfortable costume and "there's nothing more comfortable than leggings" he had informed you. You sigh as you take a moment to rest, leaning against the wall as the party goers down shots and Dieter's laugh booms across the living room. 

"Everything okay?" A woman approaches you, dressed in a witches costume and you think it looks good. Not tacky. Her pendulum sways around her neck and her eyes meet yours, making you want to confess your annoyance. 

"I'm good. I - actually, no. I'm not good. My boss...he's a dick. He has no clue what I do for him. He gets to live a life of luxury, meanwhile, I'm running around fulfilling his every wish." You bitch and the woman tilts her head, "do you not think his life is hectic? Busy learning all those lines. Staying up all hours to film. It's not easy." She counters and you snort. "Oh yeah. Reading a fucking line and standing where they tell you. So hard." You scoff, "while I break my back getting him a fucking salad from that place in Goddamn Newport Beach. Traffic and - shit. I- I shouldn't be saying this." You finally catch yourself and she shakes her head. "I can help. Maybe you want him to see how hard it is to be you...maybe you can see how hard it is to be him." She says and you cross your arms, over her not just agreeing with your venting. 

"Yeah, sure. He wouldn't survive a day being me. His life? I'd give anything to have it." You confess and she smirks, snapping her fingers in front of your face. "You'll see what his life is like." She promises and you stare at her, "are you high or something?" You ask and she chuckles, shaking her head as she walks off, a bag on her shoulder with a badge for a coffee shop you've been to for Dieter. 

"Weird." You murmur, shaking your head as you continue rushing around to make sure this party is up to Dieter's standards. You don't realize when you finally collapse in bed that you won't be waking up there come morning.

Morning always comes slowly to Dieter. Even when he’s filming. He doesn’t wake up instantly and normally when you are prodding him out of bed, he’s already been awake for a few hours, but just can’t move. A combination of drugs and insomnia. He uses the drugs to help him sleep but no matter what, he can’t seem to sleep through the night. This morning, it’s off that the hangover he had been anticipating wasn’t throbbing in the back of his head and the blaring of the alarm nearly makes him jump a foot. He didn’t set an alarm. Maybe the person he had hopefully taken to bed had one on. “Huh?”

You wake up with a groan. Your head is absolutely aching and you feel like you’ve swallowed feathers. Your throat is dry and your first thought when you wake up is that you’re sick. Shit, Dieter won’t like you taking a day off or possibly getting him sick. You can’t win. You groan, rubbing your head and your eyes widen at the distinctly low register of your voice. Shit, you must be really sick. You shift to sit up, opening your eyes properly and they widen when you see you’re in Dieter’s bedroom. What the fuck? “Dieter?” You call out and you scream, your voice deep like your boss’s. You shuffle out of bed, feeling something between your legs and you look down and scream. You have a penis! A fucking cock! You’re naked and holy shit. You rush over to the mirror, screaming again when you see your reflection - Dieter’s reflection. You heave, trying to figure out if you’ve been drugged. You scramble to find Dieter’s phone, searching through the bed sheets until you find it. Unlocking it with the passcode you know, your - his - hands shake as you press your contact, hoping this is some kind of dream as you listen to the line ring.

His head shoots up from the pillows and he rolls over. “Fuck!” His chest hurts and he looks down to see if he rolled over on his pen or something and his eyes widen as he sees the sheets. These aren’t his sheets. He glances around the room, not his room. The phone blares again and he scrambles over to the table and his eyes widen when he sees his name ‘Dieter the Dick’ on the caller id. “Hello?”

“Dieter?” You ask, your stomach twisting at hearing your own voice. He screams, dropping the phone from his hand. “Why do you sound like me? Why do I sound like you?” He asks and you say “look in the mirror. What do you see?” You ask, wondering if this is some kind of sick joke.

Dieter rushes over towards a mirror attached to a dresser and screams again. Grabbing his/your face as he starts pulling at it. “Why do I look like you? What did you do? What kind of mask is this?” His panic subsided for a second and he leans in, “it’s really life-like. But what the FUCK is going on?!??!” When he dropped your phone, the speaker phone button had been hit, so you could hear everything he said clearly.

“I don’t know! I dont fucking know. I- I’m at your house and I- I have a dick and I look like you and oh God. How the fuck - what happened? How do we fix this?” You ask and he immediately says “how do you fix this?” You want to roll your eyes but you’re too panicked. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” You freak out, trying to fix this.

“Wait a minute….” Dieter frowns and looks down at the chest covered by a t-shirt. “That means I have tits!” He cries. “I have your tits! And a pussy!” Immediately, Dieter is lifting the shirt and flashing himself in the mirror. “Fuck, they’re nicer than I imagined.”

"Stop looking at my tits!" You yell at him down the phone. Your own eyes wandering along his naked form. He always sleeps naked. "Shit" You murmur as you look at his flaccid cock, still impressive and uncut like you always suspected since his parents brought him to America when he was a few years old.

“They’re my tits right now.” He can’t resist reaching up and squeezing them. “No wonder women like it when you play with them.” He grunts, teasing the hardening nipples. “This is really fuckin’ weird, but I kinda like it.”

“Oh my God.” You groan, mortified and annoyed that he’s molesting you. “I didn’t tell you you could touch my tits.” You hiss, “you want me fondling your balls?” You ask him, pissed off and intrigued as you look down at the cock between your thighs.

“Sure.” Dieter chuckles. “Find out how good it feels to scratch them.” He drops his hands away from the breasts since you seem so upright and he hums. “Do you shave or go au naturale?” He asks.

“Don’t you dare!” You hiss down the phone, knowing what he wants to do. “Fuck, Bravo. What are we gonna do - how did this happen - and oh my God, you’re touching my vagina, aren’t you?” You cringe, closing your eyes as if that will stop him.

“Nooooo.” Dieter lies, his hand in his pants and grinning at the smooth skin. “I’m not touching your freshly waxed pussy. Do you do that for a boyfriend? Or do you just like the way it feels? Oh- fuck, do you have a boyfriend? I can fuck him for you. I won’t mind. It would be interesting to see how it feels.”

You gasp, shocked but deep down not surprised. “No. No. That won’t be necessary. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend because I don’t have fucking time.” You growl before you gasp again. “The woman. Last night at the party. She - shit. That coffee shop. We need - we need to find her.” She snapped her fingers after you vented. Maybe she knows what happened. You’re grasping at straws but that’s all you can do.

“What are you talking about? What woman?” Dieter frowns, looking at your reflection in the mirror. “Did I have someone in the bed with me? You need to kick them out. I don’t know how you fuck. You can’t ruin my reputation.”

You growl, full of frustration. “Shut the fuck up. I- there’s no one here. This woman came up to me at the party. I- I vented to her and she snapped her fingers in front of my face. I think she - no. I know she has something to do with this. She had a badge on her purse for that coffee shop down the street from the studio. We gotta go there and find her. Maybe she knows what is going on.”

“You think some lady from a coffee shop is the reason I have your pussy in my hand? I mean, your hand?” He’s already moved his fingers away, but it seems to frustrate you. “Are you sure we aren’t just tripping? We could be tripping.”

“It’s not drugs. I don’t do drugs.” You confess, having seen the state he gets himself into, you’ve never wanted to take drugs. “Seriously, this woman…it’s the only clue we have so we can get back into our own bodies. You have filming tomorrow and I - I need my body back before you completely molest it.” You huff, unused to your voice - his voice - not being so whiney.

"Like you aren’t thinking about doing the helicopter with my dick." He snorts, looking around the room with a sigh when you don’t answer. "Fine. I'll shower and get dressed. Do you need me to do anything? Any routine? Birth control?"

“I have an IUD but don’t you dare have random sex with my body. I don’t want any STIs. Just pick out some leggings and a t-shirt and wear a bra.” You tell him, “and underwear.” You huff, knowing that Dieter’s body likely needs a shower. “I’ll come pick you up in thirty minutes. I know where the coffee shop is.” You say and hang up, groaning again at the headache. You quickly located the aspirin in his nightstand and down the dusty bottle of water, ignoring the sex toys in the drawer before you shut it. You make his bed and head into the shower, taking a moment to look at his body. He has a birthmark on his chest that you’ve never noticed before. You shower, groaning at the water pressure - so much better than your own - and you search through his clothes for something to wear that isn’t threadbare. Finding some jeans and a t-shirt, you find it weird dressing in his clothes, his cock tucked into his briefs for once - and soon enough, you’re getting in his car to head over to your place.

Dieter showered, taking his time as he washes your body and he decided that he wouldn’t wear the underwear you asked for, it is too uncomfortable. Still, he’s ready to go just like you told him to be, deciding to rummage around in your purse since he is saving going through your phone for later.

You stand in front of your door, having to ring your own doorbell which is weird and you inhale sharply when your body answers the door. It's bizarre seeing yourself, seeing your own figure and you realize you don't see yourself the same in a mirror. "God, this is fucking weird." You gasp, staring at yourself as Dieter looks at his own body.

Dieter frowns. “What are you wearing?” He demands, looking around outside your door to see if anyone is watching. Looking for paps. “That’s too conspicuous! The paps will spot me! You! Whatever!”

You scoff, “it’s jeans and a polo shirt.” You counter and Dieter shakes his head. “No. No. They are gonna see me - you - me and shit. I don’t want fucking pap photos.” He hisses and you roll your eyes, “well too fucking late now.” You huff and cross your arms, “come on. Let’s go.”

Dieter huffs and rolls his eyes. “Fine, but they are going to speculate who I’m with.” He taunts you, leaning forward and wrapping his arm around you. “So get ready.”

It’s weird to be embraced by yourself as he exits your home. “Don’t forget my - your purse. And to lock the door.” You remind him, knowing he isn’t used to doing that kind of stuff for himself.

“Oh shit, that’s right.” He whirls around and grabs your purse, groaning at the weight. “Why do you have so much shit in here?” He demands, making you huff. 

“Because I have to carry your lip balm and your extra sunglasses, your favorite autograph pen. Your sunscreen and hand lotion.” You list off making him wince. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

You walk to his car and he walks to the driver's side with you. “Um…I’m driving.” You tell him. 

“It’s my car!” He whines and you shake your head, “technically it’s my car and I know where we are going. You have no clue where a coffee shop is, let alone the coffee shop.” You raise your eyebrows as you open the door to get in.

Dieter huffs and pouts, reluctantly climbing into the passenger side and clicking his seatbelt. “You scratch my car, I’ll fire you.” He threatens, although he would never actually fire you. You’re too valuable.

You roll your eyes as you settle into the driver’s seat. “I’m a better driver than you, Dieter. I’m not the one with a DUI and God knows how many parking tickets.” You snort as you start the car and pull away from your home.

“One, it’s LA - everyone has parking tickets. Two, that DUI was bullshit, I wasn’t high.” Dieter insists, frowning again. “I hadn’t taken anything yet. I swear they had it out for me.”

You scoff, “sure thing.” You reach to turn on the radio, needing a distraction as you drive to the coffee shop. “So fucking weird.” You squint, realizing you can’t see the signs above so you grab his glasses from his console and put them on. “I got your eyes too.” You huff, adjusting your grip on the steering wheel.

“Hey…” He huffs, annoyed that you are calling him out on his eyesight. “At least you get to pee standing up now.” He shoots back before looking out the window. “Where are we going?” He whines. “I don’t like this side of town.”

“Well it’s where your favorite coffee is. You never question it when I put it in a Starbucks cup that I wash out.” You confess, wanting him to know that he’s been swindled by you. You want to support local businesses and that coffee shop is the only one that ever gets your order right.

“What else have you been lying about?” His head snaps towards you, shocked to find that his double shot venti latte over ice with two pumps of sugar free caramel and two pumps of sugar free chocolate with fat free soy milk isn’t from the popular coffee chain.

“I have my secrets.” You smirk, glancing over at him. “You have no clue how your life runs so smoothly. I do everything for you. I even buy your underwear.” You chuckle humorlessly. “You’d crumble doing one day of my job.”

Dieter huffs, rolling his eyes. “Despite what you might think, babe, my life isn’t fucking sunshine and roses.” He promises. “I can’t wait for you to see all the shit I have to put up with. That you don’t see.” He crosses his arms and snorts. “So you buy my underwear and get my coffee? I pay you really fucking good to do it.”

“And call me at three in the morning to get you Taco Bell. I can live your life any day. All you do is recite lines that you memorize. Besides, hopefully we don’t have to do that.” You say, pulling into the parking lot of the coffee shop and you put the car in park. “We’re here.” 

Dieter is annoyed that you seem to think that he has it so easy. That anyone could do his job, or put up with the bullshit he does. He jerks the seatbelt off and storms out of the car, eager to get this fixed and get the fuck away from you.

You walk into the coffee shop, forgetting for a moment that you are Dieter Bravo and several sets of eyes fix on you. It’s uncomfortable and you immediately want to hide but you can’t, you need to get this fixed as soon as possible. You walk up to the counter and glance at all the staff. “Hi. Welcome to Roasted.” The woman behind the counter greets you and you offer her a Dieter signature smile, “hi. I’m looking for a girl. She was at a party and she was wearing a witches costume and she had a pendulum around her neck. Oh and a septum piercing. Does she work here?” You ask as Dieter, more polite than he’s ever been and she frowns, “there’s no one here that fits that description.”

Dieter sighs and rolls his eyes, forgetting that he’s in your body. “We might as well order.” He grumbles. “Since we’re here.” You are apparently tilting at windmills or you made the entire story up. He doesn’t know, but he’s bored of this and his anger is starting to get the best of him. Stomach rumbling, he doesn’t know how the fuck you do this, being hungry.

You nod, not feeling hungry despite your head still aching. You order Dieter's usual before ordering your own regular order. "Anything to eat?" You ask him, feeling like eating is the last thing in the world you want to do.

"Fuck yes, I'm starving." He whines, staring at the menu board longingly. "How the fuck do you do this? When was the last time you ate? Five years ago?"

You chuckle, "no. I just don't get off my ass on drugs." You snort and look up at the board, nothing taking your fancy but you order a bagel with cream cheese to try to eat. "What do you want Dee- baby?" You try to correct your mistake, knowing people would find it weird calling your body by his name.

His eyes cut over to you and he decides to have a little fun with you. "Well, I'd rather have you making me scream your name again." He makes your voice sound breathless, like it's remembering the pleasure from before. "Have you for breakfast, but since we'd be arrested...." He gives a giggle and leans in to kiss his own cheek in the body you are now occupying. "I want the French toast bagel sandwich with egg, cheese, sausage and extra bacon." He winks. "You know I need my energy for later when I suck your cock."

Your eyes widen and you nearly choke as the barista stares in shock. “Uh, yeah baby. Fine. You can, uh, do whatever you want later. We can, uh, how much is it?” You ask the barista who stammers out the total and you reach into your pocket for his wallet, pulling his card out to pay.

Dieter smirks proudly and he can't help himself, he reaches down and grabs your/his ass. "Love this ass." He hisses and grins at the barista. "Wouldn't you like to touch it? He's famous, you know."

The barista looks at you - Dieter - and you fluster, “uh, I’m - your food will be ready soon.” She rushes out and you reach behind you to grab your/Dieter’s hand. 

“Fucking hell. Stop that. You’re gonna get us in the Enquirer or some shit.”

"You didn't seem to mind making me look crazy." Dieter frowns at you and crosses his arms over his chest and wincing. "Fuck. How do you-?" He pulls them away and tries to reposition them over the breasts he is not used to carrying. "Why does that hurt?"

“Because it’s flesh. Put them under.” You can’t help but reach out to adjust your arms and he sighs, neither of you noticing the way everyone in the cafe is watching until you drop your hands and walk over to the end of the counter to wait for the food and drinks. “Go sit down.” You tell Dieter, knowing he will want to be served.

“Don’t I do everything for you?” He points out childishly, ignoring you and walking over beside you. “You’re the spoiled actor. Go sign autographs.”

“Old habits die hard.” You roll your eyes, “no one wants one. It’s not that bad. Honestly you make it seem like people are dry humping you for a photo.” You snort, “such a drama queen.”

Dieter snorts, shaking his head. “Whatever, ‘Dee’.” He huffs mockingly and opens your bag to search through the cave of wonders to find the pen to slap into your hand.

A young girl, a late teen, comes over and you look at her in surprise. “Hi. Mr. Bravo. Wow, uh, I loved you in Hunger Strike. I’ve watched that movie so many times and I - God, could I get an autograph?” She holds out a notebook and you nod, hoping this body has his signature as muscle memory. You take the notebook and sign, letting the body lead and you sigh softly as you look at his signature. “Can I get a photo?” She asks and you nod so she hands her camera to you/Dieter.

​​Dieter looks over and smirks, finding it hilarious that you’ve already been accosted when you had quite firmly told him that no one cared. It’s strange to see his body moving, he doesn’t even like watching his own movies so this is doubly unnerving. The order number is called and he turns back towards the counter, immediately huffing because they got his order wrong.

You smile at the girl as she thanks you and you turn to you/Dieter. “What’s wrong?” You ask. 

“They got my order wrong.” He huffs and you want to roll your eyes at the little stomp of a foot. 

“It’s okay.” You say and call over the barista. “Hey sweetie, you got hi- her order wrong. Tell them what’s missing.” You order Dieter, hoping he does it politely.

“There’s no extra bacon.” Dieter grumbles, craving the saltiness. “I asked for sausage and extra bacon.”

“So-sorry. We can change it for you.” The barista says and you look at Dieter, “you could at least say please.” You raise your eyebrows and Dieter huffs, “they should get it right the first time.” It’s your turn to huff and you carry the tray over to an empty table, leaving Dieter to wait for his food.

Dieter huffs, frowning because he’s not used to people not fawning over him and making sure his order is right. “This body sucks.” He mumbles, looking over at where another person approaches you.

You want to roll your eyes but a man approaches you, holding a cell phone. "Hey man. I, uh, really loved you in Fire and Fury: The Destruction. Could, uh, could I get a selfie?" He asks and you want to huff and say no but you don't, nodding and smiling when the guy takes the photo. "Thanks." He says and you nod, watching him walk off before you sit down and wait for Dieter.

When his food finally comes up, Dieter grabs his tray and remembers to thank the girl. Turning and finding you again before walking over. “Enjoying the fans?”

You shrug, "all par for the course. Don't get to be rich and famous without having the cons of the job, right?" You say as you take a sip of your coffee and wrinkle your nose. "Oh God. Don't tell me I have your tastebuds." You moan, wanting to enjoy your pumpkin spiced latte and not his shitty coffee taste.

Dieter picks up his own order and takes a sip, wrinkling his nose. “This is fucking gross, you can’t tell me that we actually drink the coffee from here.”

You switch the cups, “here. I think our taste buds have stayed in the body.” You roll your eyes, “we always have coffee from here. Try this.” You order, pointing at the cup.

He’s suspicious but he takes the cup and sniffs it. “Smells good.” He grumbles and takes a small sip. His eyes widen and he groans appreciatively. “This is soooo good.” He moans, quickly taking another sip. “Yeah, we get our coffee from here from now on.” He tells you like it’s his idea. You roll your eyes, but he ignores you. “So where’s this woman who made us switch bodies? I know you’re gonna get pissy when I want to masturbate.”

Your eyes widen. “Absolutely not. You are not going to do that in my body.” You hiss and he chuckles, “hate to break it to you sweetheart but my body is like clock work. You are gonna be hard a lot and unless you wanna experience sex as a man, you’re gonna need to jerk off.” He says and you wrinkle your nose at the thought of jerking his cock off to masturbate. “Don’t you dare masturbate with my body.” You warn him before you glance around, “this woman had a badge on her bag. It was this place. I’m just grasping at straws.” You shake your head and sigh.

“And how did we end up in each other’s bodies?” He asks, shaking his head in confusion. “I mean, I’ve thought about being inside you, but not like this.” He smirks, knowing that you would hate that comment. You frown and it’s almost disheartening to see the lines on his face. “Fuck, I need to have a chemical peel.” He mutters and looks down at his breakfast sandwich.

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time and look at him, “shut up. You’re handsome and you know it. Meanwhile…God, I could use some time in the gym.” You sigh as you look at yourself while he picks the breakfast sandwich to eat while in your body.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He snorts, taking a huge bit of the breakfast sandwich and chewing hungrily. “You’ve got a killer ass and your tits are naturally perky.” He smirks. “I felt. Yeah your thighs are thick but, let me be honest? Most guys, they don’t give a shit. Thick thighs are fucking nice to be between. It’s like a cushion.”

His words make your stomach twist and you are certain he’s trying to placate you but it’s still nice for Dieter. He dates models and actors so you know he’s seen the best bodies on the planet. “Thanks but, uh, it would be nice to be back in my own body. She’s not here. I don’t know what to do now. We can keep trying to find her. I’m so Damn sure she’s the reason we are in this situation.”

He frowns, unsure of where the fuck you’re supposed to find this person. “Didn’t my party have a damn guest list?” He demands. “What kind of people did you let in?”

“Me? Last time I checked, I’m your assistant, not your fucking security team. Your party planner had the list. She knew exactly who was coming in and out. Shit. She must know her. She knows. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been allowed in. We need to talk to your party planner.” You say, knowing that’s the key.

“You’re the one who has her number.” Dieter reminds you, but you just grin. 

“You’re in my body, with my phone.” You remind him, making him look down at the phone on the table with a smirk. 

“Yeahhhh, this is my phone.” He cackles, snatching it up and opening it up.

“Oh God.” You moan, hoping that none of your exes text you or he finds something private. “Her name is Kat.” You tell him and he searches for her number before hitting dial. You make him put it on speaker and you wait for her to answer.

“Oh God, what is he complaining about now?” Kat greets you with an exasperated sigh. “We did everything he wanted and more!” 

Dieter frowns and shakes his head, hurt that his party planner is making him out like some kind of whiner. “That’s not fair.” He huffs and You elbow him. “Ow, what? Oh, hey Kat, listen I need to know about some woman that came to the party. Some kind of witch?”

“Witch?” She says and you narrow your eyes at her tone. She seems to know something. “Yeah. She works at that coffee shop.” He says as you nod. “Well, she, uh, I know her but why do you want to talk to her?” She asks warily.

“She left something at Dieter’s house.” Dieter lies suddenly. “A badge of some kind. I want to get it back to her.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line and he looks over at you for guidance.

You nod, “tell her that you wanted to talk to her after you get to know each other at the party.” You whisper, getting a little urgent for her to give you a fucking answer since you’ve been in Dieter’s body far too long in your opinion.

“I want to talk to her.” Dieter tells her quickly. “I got to talk to her at the party and want to get to know her better.”

“Kat is…she doesn’t like talking to people.” She says hesitantly. “I can give you her number.” She says and you nod, grabbing Dieter’s phone to take down the number.

Dieter huffs at the hesitancy and as soon as he says thanks and you hang up, he looks over at you. “She’s hiding something.” He predicts. “She is hiding something.”

You agree, “let’s call her.” You say, reading off the number that Kat gave you. “Call her. She must know what the fuck is going on.” You say, taking another sip of coffee and you sigh when you realize how badly you need this fixed. The phone rings and rings and you think she isn’t going to answer until she says “hello?”

“Hi, this is, uh, “ Dieter almost says his own name but he quickly uses yours instead, waving off your nod of approval. It’s not like he doesn’t play characters everyday. “We spoke at the Bravo Halloween party last night?”

“Oh hey girl. Or should I say hello, Mr. Bravo?” She says with a smirk in her voice and you narrow your eyes. “So it worked?” She asks, her voice hopeful and almost impressed with herself. 

“Yeah. It’s fucking worked.” Dieter growls, “why the hell did you swap our - us over?” He hisses, knowing he can’t say anything in public. 

“I wanted to teach you both a lesson. You can’t exist without the other and you need an appreciation of what the other lives like…until you learn to understand the other person, you’ll be stuck.” She says and you grab the phone. 

“Please, for the love of God, fix this.” You beg.

She hums. “There is nothing I can do.” She confesses, making Dieter’s eyes widen. “What is done can only be undone by your own choices.” Instead of elaborating on how to make the right choice, she hangs up, leaving you and Dieter to stare at each other in horror. 

“What are we going to do? I can’t stay like this!” Dieter cries, motioning to his body and yours. “I have a call time tomorrow!”

“You can’t stay like this? I - I miss my body. I have friends, family. I- oh God. What does she mean ‘right choices’? I don’t - shit. We gotta try and make the right choices.” You ramble like you even know what those choices would be.

“How should I know?” Dieter asks, nearly hysterical. “I didn’t do this! This is your fault!” He points at you accusingly. “You obviously told that witch that I don’t appreciate you, which I do, and now look where we are!”

You gasp, “you - you think you appreciate me? You snap your fingers when you want something. You never ever say please or thank you. How do you think your laundry gets done or your car is filled with gas? Do you think it’s fucking magic? And what do I get in return? You haven’t even given me a raise in five years.” You hiss at him.

“You haven’t asked for one!” He shoots back. “I didn’t know you wanted more money? How could I? All you talk about is wanting to get done with the day and leaving.” He pouts, a little hurt by that fact. “I didn’t know I needed to kiss your ass too!”

You rear back, hurt that he doesn't even see it. "I shouldn't have to ask. You should want to do it. I want to be done with the day because you're such an ungrateful prick. If you had even said thank you once I might've felt different about working hours upon hours with you. I'm not talking about kissing my ass...just to be appreciative."

Dieter frowns and shakes his head, obviously not thinking the same as you do. “I need to be appreciative that you do your job. Okay.” He shakes his head and wonders how you would react to the bullshit he gets to deal with. Constantly being criticized for not getting a scene right if it’s not exactly what’s in the director’s head, but he’s shit at explaining what he wants. “Well, thank you for getting me trapped in your body. Guess I’ll see what your life is like, right?”

You shake your head at him, "yeah. And I get to experience what an easy life you have. Reading some lines and getting everything done for you. Hard Goddamn life." You roll your eyes, unable to help yourself.

Dieter snorts and takes the last bite of his sandwich. “You’ll find out.” He promises. This latest director is an asshole and he’s been sending you off to do shit for him because there have been a lot of screaming fits from him towards the production. He had actually tried to keep you out of the line of fire, but now you can deal with Mark. He finishes his coffee and stands. “Oh look. More adoring fans.” He murmurs before he walks away to throw out his trash, relieved for once that it’s not him being harassed. You haven’t even finished your food.”

You watch him leave and sigh, knowing that arguing won’t fix this but his ego is too much to handle sometimes. “Whatever.” You mutter and look up as a fan comes over. You know Dieter wants you to complain but you won’t. You’ll meet them with a smile and you do just that, taking a photo and signing a napkin before you finish your now cold sandwich. You leave the coffee shop and find Dieter standing by his car, arms crossed. “Are you finished sulking now?”

“Whatever. Take me home.” He grumbles. “It’s supposed to be your day off, remember? Since I give you so few perks? You shouldn’t want to be around me. Go enjoy your lazy life.”

“Fine.” You huff, unlocking the car to get in and start it, eager to drop him off at your house and get back to his to figure out how to fix this. Maybe going to sleep will help. Maybe this has all been a bad dream. You soon pull up outside of your place and he opens the door. “Don’t go snooping.” You warn him, knowing he will want to look around.

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “So you’re privy to my entire life but I can’t know about yours?” He asks as he gets out of the car. “Don’t wreck my car!” He tosses over his shoulder as he marches away from you back to your tiny apartment.

You make your way back to his house, exhausted from the stress of the situation and your body is exhausted for some reason. You decide to take a nap, hoping that when you wake up…this will all be a nightmare.

Dieter sighs when he enters your apartment. It’s small and he flops down on the couch, huffing when the bra he put on you digs into his armpit. “How the fuck does she stand these things?” He grumbles as he leans forward to unhook it. Groaning in relief at the loss of the bra, he wonders how mad you would be if he masturbated.

To say you’re disappointed when you woke up would be an understatement. You are still in Dieter’s body. Even worse…you’re hard. It’s a weird feeling. Unused to this kind of arousal, you try to ignore it but you huff, knowing it won’t go away until you deal with it. Knowing that you can’t do that without permission, you call your cell phone to get hold of Dieter.

Dieter moans softly, his - your - hand is down the pants that he is wearing. His - your - fingers playing with the clit that he is delighted to find is extremely sensitive. Despite your warnings, he was always going to explore. Even though he wants to play with the toys that are in your drawer by the bed, sometimes manual is better.

You huff as the phone rings and he doesn’t answer. “Fucker.” You hiss, knowing that the blood running south won’t go away without help so you give in. Reaching down to unbutton your pants, you reach in and pull the hard cock out. Eyes widening at how fucking thick it is. “Dieter - no wonder.” You mutter, unsure of how to handle this from a first person perspective. You spit into your hand and wrap your fingers around Dieter’s - your - cock and groan at the sensation.

Dieter wonders why you don’t get your clit pierced. It’s so fucking sensitive. He groans again and he hesitates for just a second before he slides his fingers down and pushes two inside your - his - cunt. “Oh fuck, that’s- that’s better than rubbing a clit.” He groans, closing his eyes as he starts to pump his fingers.

You moan as you start to move your hand, twisting it slightly and you swipe your thumb over the head to gather the drop of pre-cum, bringing your hand back down with a gentle whimper. God, this feels good. Less work than masturbating your own body. You groan as you work your hand a little faster, enjoying how this feels.

He groans when the angle doesn’t quite work right. It’s harder to find that spot when he’s having to contort his wrist. Used to just fingering from a different angle. “Fuck.” He whimpers, sliding one hand up to squeeze his new tits again. Maybe he’ll get you a gift certificate at a piercing shop to show how much he appreciates you.

“Shit.” You hiss, finding the right grip and speed, loving how good this feels. You moan, loud as you work yourself up. “Oh shit.” You hiss again, loving how good this feels.

"Oh fuck." Dieter's eyes roll back when he finds that spot. "There it is, goddamn." He huffs, pumping his fingers inside his cunt.

You pant as you pump a little faster, spitting into your palm again and groaning as you squeeze the head every other thrust. “Shit. Gonna - gonna - oh fuck.” You groan, choking as you cum, spurting onto the shirt you’re wearing and you pump yourself through it.

Dieter is soooo fucking close. His thighs start to shake as he gasps. Surprised by the feeling of a female orgasm and how it is so different from his previous ones. Finally falling over the edge and crying out when his walls lock down around his fingers.

You pant as you slump against the bed, letting go of your cock before you sigh, realizing you need to clean up and get something to eat. Dieter - you - has an early call time tomorrow and you want to make sure you’re there early to figure out how the fuck you’re gonna bluff knowing your lines.

When Dieter comes down from the high that is natural from cumming, he checks the phone that had been buzzing. It's strange to see a different background but the facial recognition opens it and he sees he missed a call from himself, or you, in his body. He sighs and calls you back, not really wanting to talk but it might be important.

You huff when Dieter phones you back and you sigh, wondering what took him so long. You’ve cleaned yourself up, grimacing at the mess that is the male orgasm, and you have changed into sweatpants. “Hey.” You answer, “what took you so long to call back?”

"Busy washing your hair." Dieter teases as he looks down at your fingernails. You are due for a manicure, you need one. Maybe he could hook you up with his nail artist who does his before press events? "Something wrong?"

You narrow your eyes in suspicion at his innocent tone. “No. I just wanted to check in on you. It’s an early call time tomorrow and I need your script. Couldn’t find it. Where is it?” You ask, still curious as to what took him so long.

He chuckles quietly. "It's on the back of the toilet. I read it while I'm in there." He admits with zero shame.

You wrinkle your nose at that but make your way into the bathroom to find his script. “God. I didn’t know that’s how you learned your lines.” You tell him, unable to believe there’s much you don’t know about him at this point. “Anyway. I’m gonna try and memorize the scene you’re doing tomorrow so I don’t make you look like an idiot.” You say, knowing you’re responsible for his job. “I want a bagel from that place opposite the studio and a black coffee.” You give him your order, smirking slightly at the idea of him getting you breakfast.

"Yes sir." he hums into the phone mockingly. "By the way? Your pussy is really tight, I like it." He tells you right before he ends the call. It will drive you insane that you don't know what he's done and he won't tell you. Setting the alarm for the appropriate time and turning on DO NOT DISTURB so you can't call back again.

You stare at the phone in shock before you growl out “fucking Bravo.” You know he’s touched your body and you are pissed, even though you touched his. God, this is so complicated. Tomorrow, you’ll get through the day and figure out how to fix this. 

**** 

“No. No. No.” The director shakes his head as you try to film the scene. You memorized the lines but you’re not an actor and apparently muscle memory doesn’t apply when you have the wrong memory in your body. The director points out the spot you’re supposed to stand on and you nod, knowing you’ll have to try again. This is torture, trying to remember the lines, act them out, and remember where you’re supposed to stand.

Dieter stands with his coffee, smirking slightly as you blow out a sigh. Maybe it’s petty, but it’s slightly validating that you are having such a hard time getting your blocking right. You had continued to insist that acting was just so easy. He takes another sip and the phone in his pocket dings, making him look away from where you are floundering, to glance at the change his manager is making to ‘your’ schedule.

You stutter as you try to remember your line, getting flustered until the director calls for a break. He comes over to you, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you today, Bravo, but whatever drugs or pussy has you flustered, you need to forget it and get your head in the game.” He growls, wanting perfection and you nod, “yes sir.” You feel humiliated as you make your way back to your/Dieter’s trailer.

Dieter follows behind you, recognizing the slump of his body’s shoulders. He waits until the two of you are alone in the trailer to speak since no one else knows that you’ve swapped bodies. They just think that he’s having a bad day acting. “Listen.” He sets the bag down and blows out a breath. “It helps if you count in your head. Let’s you keep track of where you are in your movements.”

You slump down on the sofa, “I just - I didn’t think it would be this hard. I- shit. The stress of this. The reminded cost of filming from the producers and the director wanting perfection. I don’t know how the fuck you do this.” You confess, realizing you were wrong.

“It’s an art, a craft.” He tells you. “It’s not just memorizing some lines and looking pretty. It takes a lot of dedication and practice. Even then, years later, an Oscar later, I’m still working on my craft.” He admits. “I spend hours in my room, alone, practicing voices, accents, and my body movements.”

You bite your lip, crossing your arms as you realize how difficult his job can be. “I’m sorry. I- I didn’t know. I never knew it was so hard. I thought it was just reading some lines and - shit. I really don’t want to go back out there.” You confess, rubbing your cheek that is a little rough from not shaving.

“You can do it.” Dieter encourages. “Stand up and I’ll work with you.” He tilts his head. “Or I can go tell him you’ve got the shits. That’ll work. He’s a germaphobe.”

You shake your head, "no. No. I - I can do this." You stand up and wipe your sweaty palms on your pants. "Teach me." You plead, not wanting to embarrass Dieter like this in front of the director.

He’s surprised that you are swallowing your pride. His - your - brows raise and he nods. “Okay. Stand right here.” He points to an air vent. “This is your mark. Say your first line and then move two steps to the right at full tempo.”

You follow his direction, finding it much nicer than the asshole director, and you count in your head after you say your first line. "Oh God. I'm hopeless at this." You groan, shaking your head as you mess up.

“No, don’t think like that.” He frowns slightly. “The more nervous you are, the more you will mess up. Think about something naughty.” He suggests, shrugging when you look at him like he has seven heads. “Seriously. I’m thinking about that and not worried about the possibility of messing up.”

Your eyes widen, "what do you think about?" You ask, wanting an example from him. You try to think about your ex but that makes you wrinkle your nose as you walk back to your makeshift mark.

“Normally I think about doing the scene naked with a hard on.” He admits with a snort. “Then I’m not going to pop a boner and I can think about that.”

You snort, "oh God. I- now that's all I'm gonna think about...you with a hard on." You chuckle, "well, this body." You gesture to yourself.

He smirks and winks at you. “How many times did you end up jerking off last night?” He asks. “Know it had to be at least once, because you got some sleep.”

You fluster, biting your lip, "I, uh, once. It was different. Easier than I thought it would be. Men have it easier to get off." You confess, "you...you did, didn't you?" You ask, eyes narrowed at him.

He laughs, finding it much easier to do than chuckling. “You mean did I find that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your pussy soak the mattress? Of course I did.” He hums. “Harder to find when you’re doing it yourself. I have to admit that. But your fingers were the only thing I put inside that tight little pussy. Didn’t even do it in front of a mirror, although now that I think about it, I should have.”

You sigh, “of course. God, why did I think you wouldn’t masturbate?” You huff and cross your arms, looking down at how broad they are. You never really noticed that before. “Can we concentrate on the acting? Your career?”

“So wait a minute…” Dieter holds up your now manicured hands. “So it’s okay that you jerk my cock, but you’re mad that I did the same thing?”

“I- I- I don’t know what to say.” You confess, “I just - you use your body all the time. With everyone. Anyone. I don’t…I don’t do that. It’s weird that you fingered what I would consider my vagina.”

He frowns, dropping your hands and looking down at them. "I used your fingers too." He offers, unsure of what to really say. "I won't do it anymore."

You nod, “okay. I, uh, I need something. I don’t know what it is but I feel itchy and my palms are sweaty. I’m sweating.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead. “Why - I need water or something.”

He frowns and realizes that his body is going through some kind of withdrawal. “Here.” He moves over to a cabinet and pulls out an aspirin bottle. Shaking out a tiny yellow pill and holding it out to you. “Take this.” He orders, dropping it into your palm before he moves to get you a bottle of water.

You frown, “what is it?” You ask and he stares at you, “just take it.” You huff, knowing it’s some drug he probably takes a lot during the day so you take a gulp of the water and swallow the pill down. “God, do you feel like that a lot?”

“Stress, anxiety, feeling like you’re about to pass out?” He snorts and nods. “Nearly everyday. The xannie will help you calm down.”

You frown, aware that he had been taking drugs but you didn’t know that he suffered as bad as that. The anxiety was almost overwhelming. “I didn’t know you felt like that. I- I’m sorry.” You murmur, downing the rest of the water bottle.

He shrugs one shoulder, not looking at you. "Don't worry about it." He mutters. "Let's get you ready to film that scene."

You shake your head, “I’m sorry you feel like this.” You say, reaching out to squeeze his/your hand. “Let’s nail this scene.” You tell him, “then I think I’ll want lunch. You love that taco place a few blocks away. Think you can get me some tacos from there?”

He frowns, not really sure what the name of the place is or where it's at, but he nods. "Sure." He agrees, knowing that you have all his favorite places saved into your phone.

You head back out to the set, swallowing harshly as your stomach churns with nerves but you feel better after popping a pill. “You ready to go?” The director asks and you nod, “yes.” You bite your lip as everything is reset and you take your mark, inhaling sharply as you begin to act out the lines and remember the blocking.

Dieter watches you critically, wanting to make sure you don't falter again. Mouthing the lines that he had memorized along with you and he's proud that you only miss half a beat once. Hoping that it's enough to satisfy the mercurial director.

You complete the scene, jumping when the director yells cut and you wait for him to tell you that was shit but he didn’t. You sigh in relief when he says “good job, Bravo. Let’s cut for lunch.” He yells out and you exhale shakily under your breath.

Dieter smirks and moves towards his body to take his arm just like you would. "Okay, let's get you back to your trailer and I'll go get those tacos you want." He tells you, knowing from the look on his face that the pill has taken effect and you will be relaxed and hungry now.

You nod, letting him guide you to his trailer and you slump down on the sofa, the pill taking full effect and you moan at the thought of tacos. “Are you still here?” You ask Dieter, knowing that he won’t take kindly to your tone but you’re suddenly starving and tired.

He huffs and rolls his eyes like you would when he would say the exact same thing to you, but he knows that his body is ready for food. "Fine, I'll be back. Get some rest."

You hum, closing your eyes as you allow the pill to relax you enough to have a quick nap before Dieter returns with the food. Little do you know that Dieter is struggling to find the taco place you love.

“Where the fuck is it????” He hisses in frustration. It’s been impossible to find this fucking taco place and he looks down at his phone again and back at the street. “Fuck, fuck, where are you?”

You blink as you wake up, the su n shining into the trailer and you wonder how long you’ve been asleep. Surely Dieter would be back by now. You grab his phone, calling your number and waiting for him to answer. “Hello?” He answers and he sounds flustered. 

“Everything okay?”

“I can’t find this fucking taco place!” He huffs into the phone, feeling anxious and confused because he knows it’s close. “I’ve called them six times and they aren’t answering”

You sigh, “it’s hidden in the plaza. You gotta go down the breezeway and it’s on the first level.” You explain, “are you parked near the coffee shop?” You ask and he nods. “Then it’s the next building.”

“Really? Fuck.” He sighs, “thank you, I’ve been tearing your pretty hair out.” He admits before he repeats back your food order. “I’ll be back to set as quick as I can.”

“Oh can you get some coffee on the way back from the place next door? I want a black coffee.” You say, annoyed that you still have Dieter’s taste buds.

He chuckles, aware that you are annoyed but he agrees. “One black coffee coming up.” He promises before rushing down the breezeway to get the tacos.

You wait for Dieter to return, grabbing your script to try the next scene since you’re alone. You say the lines and walk the blocking, counting in your head. You try over and over, working on the inflections in Dieter’s voice.

Finally after waiting for way too long for tacos, Dieter is back in the car and heading towards the set. Knowing that he is running behind and you will have to be back out there soon. He wants you to be able to rest and hopefully he can go over the lines with you again. It's amazing how much time it takes to get everything done and he has to admit you're right, traffic is way too busy to expect things right away.

You look up when Dieter arrives back with your food. You’re starving and the pill effect is waning. God, his resistance to drugs is ridiculous. You groan when he sets the food down, “you took forever.” You whine slightly, grabbing the box to open it with a moan.

He rolls his eyes and sets the black coffee down. “Yeah. I know. Fucking restaurant was hidden, how was I supposed to know that?” He grumbles, not even hungry himself, just needing the coffee he had gotten for himself.

You dig into the food, groaning and licking your fingers as you savor the food. “I’ve been practicing while you’ve been gone for the next scene.” You reveal, “can’t have you looking bad again. I don’t wanna ruin your career.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dieter snorts. “They will just think I’m high.” He admits, knowing you are fully aware of his reputation. “Oh shit!” His eyes widen, and he motions towards your/his phone. “You need to text Monique and tell her not to come over tonight.” He urges. “Do it now.”

Your eyes widen, “what?” You ask with a mouth full of taco and he grabs his phone, holding it up to your face to unlock it so he can type away. “Who’s Monique?” You question, knowing you’ve never heard of her.

Dieter feels his cheeks heat up. Biting his lip and looking away for a moment. “She’s my….” He mumbles the last word too low for you to hear. 

“She’s what?” You demand, making him huff. 

“She’s my dominatrix!” He nearly shouts.

Your eyes widen, “she - you have a - oh my God.” You nearly choke on the taco, in shock at his confession and you grab your water to swallow down the bite. “Why do you have one of those?” You ask, patting your chest.

Now he understands the term ‘want to shrivel up and die’. “Everyone want to fuck an actor. But I want- I need - to just let go, you know? To just let someone else be in control. To - to order me around. I actually like giving pleasure.”

Your eyes widen, “oh wow. I, uh, wow. I didn’t know…I mean, I guess I get it. Wanting to be out of control and have someone make all the decisions. It sounds quite nice actually.” You confess, knowing your own life is hectic. “I, uh, I think I owe you an apology. I didn’t realize how hard acting actually is.” You confess, setting your water down.

He nearly sags in relief that you don’t judge him. He had taken great pains to keep that a secret from everyone, even you. “Your job is a lot harder too.” He admits quietly. “I’m sorry, I owe you a lot of kudos and thanks for keeping my life sane.”

You nod, reaching out to take your/his hand. “I think both of us didn’t know what the other’s job involved. I have a new appreciation of your work…of you.” You admit, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry I was a bitch before.”

“I was an asshole.” Dieter can admit that, he often is. “We’ll get through this.” He promises, even though he doesn’t have a clue how.

You sigh, looking down at your food. "I hope so." You murmur, knowing that neither of you can fix this. The witch hasn't informed you on how to fix it so at this point, it looks like you're stuck in his body. "Anyway. Let's finish eating and then I want to go over the lines. Can't have Dieter Bravo looking like he doesn't know what he's doing." You chuckle softly.

He laughs and nods. “Of course, can’t have it looking like I’m not a professional.” He scoffs. “I’ll help you get through the day’s shoot.”

**** 

It’s been a week since you’ve been in Dieter’s body and it’s hard to admit it but it’s hard work being a movie star. When he’s finished shooting for the week, he’s going to press events or you have to go to a restaurant for PR with some model. It was difficult to get out of sex but you managed it with the eager model who didn’t have a lot of brain cells. It’s exhausting and your new body has been going through withdrawals so you take the drugs and enjoy the peace and quiet when you finally get some time to relax.

Dieter is exhausted, never complaining though, but it seems like you never sleep. On top of all the shit he asks you to do, his manager and his agent all send you shit to make sure he does. It seems like the phone never stops buzzing. He opens the door to his house and sighs, missing his comfort zone despite your place being comfortable. “Fuck, I’m back!” He calls out. “I got dinner and vodka!”

“Thank fuck!” You moan, shifting off of the bed to find him with the food. “I’m starving. God, today was a long day. That damn model…I had to go have coffee with her and she has literally one brain cell. I tried to talk to her about the movie industry and she couldn’t grasp it.” You roll your eyes as you walk into the kitchen.

Dieter snorts and sets down the food when he gets into the room. “She’s been told all her life that she didn’t need to be smart, because she was pretty.” He reminds you. “Doesn’t matter that beauty fades, huh?”

You chuckle, “isn’t that the truth. Good thing you’ve aged well.” You tell him, reaching up to touch your/his face. “Look just like you did when you filmed Hunger Strike…apart from the new tattoos.” You say and gesture to your arm.

“Rebellion.” Dieter smirks at the tattoos that he’s seen on his body more since he’s not been in it. “They wanted me to quote ‘be a blank canvas’, so I got dark, bold tattoos.”

You chuckle, “sounds like you. Always rebellious. It’s weird…being in your body and looking at mine. Makes you focus on all the imperfections.” You frown, opening the box with your food in it.

“What perfections are you talking about?” He huffs. “I’ve seen your body in the mirror a shit ton the last week and I have to say, this body is fucking sexy.”

Your eyes widen in surprise more at his compliment and you bite your/his lip. “I mean…I try to look good. It’s hard to work out or keep healthy when I’m running around after you.” You confess.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes. “I’ll- when we get back to our own bodies, I’ll make sure you get more time to yourself.” He promises. “Away from me.”

You nod, reaching for his/your hand, “it’s okay. I think we have both learned a lot about each other this past week.” You murmur, looking into your own eyes but somehow, you can see his personality shining through. Your annoyance towards your boss shifted somehow and you don’t know when it did but you feel softer towards him, you understand him more.

“We have.” Dieter agrees, looking down at your joined hands and feels his heart start to pound. Those thoughts he’s had during this time once again sounding in his mind. “I think- you’re amazing.”

“You do?” You ask, eyes wide as you stare at him. 

“Yeah. I realize how much you do for me and…and how I didn’t pay attention to how amazing you are.” He confesses and you swallow harshly, “I didn’t know how hard your life is. I thought it was just easy. Reading lines. I didn’t - I didn’t know how incredibly talented you are and how kind you can be.”

Dieter shrugs slightly, embarrassed. Since things have progressed longer than a day, you’ve had several people contact you/him asking for money or favors. He understands it can be a lot. “Is it weird that I want to kiss you?” He asks instead.

You bite your lip, “kinda? I mean…we would be kissing ourselves essentially but yeah…I wanna kiss you too.” You confess, looking down at your hands. He’s gotten manicures since he’s been in your body and you have to admit that it looks good.

“We should do it.” He tells you, watching his own body move closer to him. “I want- fuck, it’s been so hard not to touch your body, baby.” He confesses breathlessly. “But I’ve - I haven’t masturbated since you got so upset at me.”

You bite your lip, knowing this is fucked up on so many levels. “I want to - God, this is so weird but I really want to fuck you….me?” You add with a chuckle, deep and chesty. “You want to go to the sofa?” You suggest, jerking your chin over to it.

Dieter smirks and nods eagerly. “You have no idea how badly I want to see what sex is like as a woman.” He confesses. “You have to thank me, the thought of being a real slut was nearly overwhelming but I haven’t touched a soul.” He holds up three fingers in a scout’s honor.

You chuckle, "it's gonna be a weird experience but I want to see what it's like." You confess, "I know what my body likes so...it should be fun. Might as well experience something while we are in this crazy situation." You shrug, reaching for his hand again to guide him over to the sofa. You sit down and he wastes no time straddling you. "This is so freaky." You chuckle, looking up at your face and you reach up to cup his cheek, bringing his face to yours to press your lips to his.

Dieter hums into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your neck and immediately sliding your body’s tongue into his mouth. It will be freaky but like you said, it should be fun. He definitely wants to show you what getting a blow job is like. “It’s like watching ourselves in a mirror.”

You hum as your tongues tangle together and your hands find your/his ass. Squeezing it and you can appreciate your own form in this moment and you love the way Dieter moans into your mouth. Your cock is starting to harden - something you’ve become accustomed to with Dieter’s sex drive - and you moan when Dieter grinds down onto you.

Getting wet is a sensation that Dieter loves and hates. He hates that it ruins the panties he’s wearing - he’s actually had to start wearing underwear in your body - and he loves it because it’s so discreet. No one could tell that he’s horny and he’s often wondered when you get wet around him. “I want to suck your cock.” Dieter groans, pulling back and flashing you a grin. “Like you said, I know what my body likes.”

You groan, cock twitching and you kiss along his neck, breathing in the perfume your mom bought you for Christmas that you love and you moan, fingers digging into his flesh even more. “God, I am so fucking horny allll the time.” You take on the whine in his voice and he giggles, turning to kiss your ear.

“Sucks doesn’t it?” He asks playfully. “Now you know why I’m always begging people to have sex with me. It’s- less, when I had Monique.” He confesses, “but I have a high sex drive.”

You nod, understanding him now more than ever before. “Maybe I can try Monique…see if I like it.” You tease, “or if I ever get my body back…I can try acting like Monique.” You tease and reach for the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head and groaning at the sight of his tits in his bra. “Fuck. Never knew my boobs could look so good.” You confess and shift your hands up to squeeze them.

“They do look good, don’t they?” Dieter smirks as he looks down at them proudly. “I think I will miss these most when I go back to my own body.” He frowns slightly, aware that you would never let him touch them again after you switch back.

You bite the inside of your cheek, wanting to say that he's being hopeful. You could be stuck like this forever. You sigh and reach behind him to undo his bra, cock hardening beneath him as you expose more flesh and after you toss the bra aside, you surge forward to take a nipple into your mouth.

“Oh fuck!” In his own body, Dieter loves having his nipples played with, but like this it’s even better. He groans and grinds down on your hard cock. A cock he does know better than anything else, so he slides his hands into your sweats, amused that you had started wearing his ‘trashy’ clothes.

You moan against his flesh as he squeezes your cock, making you groan when he uses just the right amount of pressure. You know exactly how to work the body of the other person, your mouth sucking on your nipple before biting down, and his hand squeezing his cock perfectly. It’s weird and wild but it feels so good.

Dieter is in love with this. He knows it’s his cock, he feels it respond to his touch just like it does when he was masturbating, but he can’t feel it. You are driving his other senses crazy and he gasps when you bite down on his nipple. “So good baby.” He whines prettily.

You moan, hands sliding down to squeeze his ass, his hand working your cock and you want to feel move. “Take your pants off.” You rasp against his chest, “wanna - wanna feel all of you.” You tell him and when he shuffles off, you pull your shirt over your head and shove your sweatpants down, kicking them off.

“Fuck.” Dieter pants slightly, looking at his own body through fresh eyes. “I want- let me-“ he doesn’t even articulate what he wants, he just finishes stripping and drops to his knees. Leaning forward to quickly take your cock into his mouth.

“Oh my God!” You cry out, your hand grabbing the back of his head and you can’t believe how good it feels. “Shit. No - no wonder guys want this all the time.” You moan, cock twitching in his mouth as he takes it deeper.

Dieter hums, letting it vibrate around your shaft and swallows. Enjoying the moans and sounds he is pulling from you even though it’s his voice. It’s not like he’s never done this before, but there’s something wicked about doing it to his own body. Something that makes him want to blow your mind.

You pant, chest heaving at the sensations. Something you’ve never experienced before and you nearly lift your hips from the sofa, chasing his mouth. “Oh fuck, baby.” You moan, head tilted back as your eyes flutter closed.

He holds one hip, the other hand wrapped around your cock and he wishes he had a free hand. It would be between his thighs rubbing that sensitive clit. Groaning as he takes you to the back of his throat and then pushing past your gag reflex.

“Ho-holy shit. Oh my - fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You cry out as he swallows around you and you groan, reaching down to tap his head. “Baby. Dee. I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum.” You pant out, cock twitching in his mouth.

​​“You don’t want to cum?” He asks when he pulls off your cock with a pop. “If you- uh, go down on me, you’ll be ready to go again in like twenty minutes.”

You shake your head, “I don’t - do you want me to - in your mouth?” You ask, struggling to maintain control as he continues pumping your cock in his hand.

“Gonna swallow you down.” Dieter promises, wondering if you would swallow in the same situation. He’s never going to find out in his body, but he will have this memory. “Cum for me, baby.” He begs before he takes you back into his mouth and sucks eagerly.

You pant, eyes squeezed shut as you can’t hold off any longer. It takes moments before you’re cumming down his throat, cock throbbing and the sensations make your nails dig into your palms as you ride the intense orgasm.

Dieter moans, trying to swallow as much as he can but it’s too much too fast. The taste of his cum so much richer on your body’s tongue and he gulps you down greedily.

Your hips rock up to chase his mouth but he pulls back, cum dripping down his chin, and you whimper when he takes you deep again to clean you off. "Fuck. Oh shit." You exhale shakily, eyes closed as you slump against the sofa.

Dieter’s clit is throbbing, needing attention as he wipes his chin clean with his fingers and shoves it in his mouth. Wanting every drop he can have. “Now you know why I love a good blow job, how was it?”

“So good.” You murmur and notice the hungry look in his eyes. “Bed. Wanna - wanna eat you out on a bed.” You tell him, shifting to stand up from the sofa and you kick your sweats off and pull the ratty t-shirt over your head to expose your body. “Come on baby. Bedroom. Now.”

Dieter follows you, feeling excited. Wanting to know what this feels like. Experiencing something he never thought he would ever have. The house even feels different walking through it with you and he palms his tits as he follows along behind you.

When you’re in his room, you turn to grab him, lifting him onto the bed with a hunger that surprises you. You grab his thighs, spreading them apart and you groan at the sight of his pussy. Glistening with arousal. “What turned you on so much baby?” You coo, kissing along his thigh.

“Fuck-“ Dieter whines, feeling like you are teasing him. “Sucking your cock. It was so-so sexy watching you cum.” He whispers when your breath washes over his hot cunt. “Touch me baby.”

“It’s so weird. Pleasuring your own body but fuck, I kinda like it. I know exactly what I like.” You say before you lean in, sliding your tongue through his folds, groaning at the tangy taste of your arousal. You’ve tasted yourself before but never like this. “Fuck. I like this.” You admit and flick your tongue over his clit.

Dieter cries out your name, surprised by how good it feels. “Oh fuck. More.” He begs, sliding a hand down to tangle his fingers into your hair. “This is so fucking good. I can’t believe you don’t have someone just between your thighs all the time.”

You chuckle into his wet flesh, “trust me, baby. I would if I could, but I haven’t found someone to volunteer to do that just yet. Most men don’t even like doing this. They see it as a chore.” You reveal and lean forward to suck his clit into your mouth, moaning to let the vibrations go through his body.

“I love eating pussy.” Dieter groans, rocking his hips up. “Especially when they are on my face and sucking my cock at the same time. Everyone- oh fuck, everyone enjoys themselves.”

Your spent cock twitches at that thought as you lap at his clit and slide your tongue lower to push it into his cunt. Your fingers dig into his thighs, pushing them back so you can push your tongue even deeper.

“Oh fuck baby, eat my pussy.” Dieter moans, trying to rock his hips down so he can push your tongue deeper. Desperate to cum from the sensations, his fingers pinch his nipples and he moans prettily as you play your own body perfectly.

You moan into his flesh, loving how tangy the taste is as you flick your tongue over his clit and suck it into your mouth. Your fingers slide down until you are pushing two into his pussy and curling them while eyes focus on your own face but you see Dieter in your eyes.

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” He cries as the knot in his stomach twists tight and breaks. Heat and pleasure rushing through his core and making him shake apart under your tongue. Flooding your mouth with his cum like he had never experienced before.

You groan, loving the way he shakes beneath your tongue and you lap up every drop. Your fingers work him through it until you pull them free, cock hard and aching as you grind into the mattress. “Wanna fuck you. I have an IUD and I’m clean.” You tell him, wanting him to know your health, “want me to wear a condom?”

Dieter moans, loving the thought of feeling all of you - him. It’s all mixed together in his mind at this point. “I- I’m clean too.” He pants out, thinking about his own body. “Haven’t slept with anyone but Monique since then and she-“ he shakes his head. “I want to feel you. Please, I want to feel you cum inside me.”

You nod, shifting to kneel between his thighs, reaching down to wrap your fingers around your cock, pumping it and groaning as you look down at what was formerly your body. “Shit. My tits are perky.” You murmur, realizing that he’s right as you shuffle closer to rub his clit with the head of your cock.

​​“Aren’t they?” He huffs proudly, pushing them up in his hands and moaning when he squeezes them. “Fucking love them. And my dick is big.”

You nod, looking down at the cock in your hand, “it is. Gonna - gonna feel so good.” You promise as you slowly start to push into him, groaning at the heat and wetness. “Fuck me. It’s so tight.” You groan, shifting closer to push deeper inside.

​​“Oh fuck.” Dieter’s mouth drops open and his eyes roll back as you push inside him. It’s so fucking different than anything else, but it’s amazing. The cock stretched him out and he clenches down around you playfully.

Your jaw drops, “Shit. No wonder some guys can’t hold off. This feels so good.” You moan, inhaling deeply to try to control yourself from cumming too soon. “Does it feel good?” You ask, wondering what his thoughts are about this.

“Fuck yesssssss.” He moans loudly, wrapping his arms around you and dragging his nails down your back. “Want more. Fuck me.”

You nod, "yes baby. Shit. Yes baby." You murmur, leaning down to kiss along his neck as you start to move. Your pace is awkward, unsteady as you try to adjust to something you've never done before.

He can feel how unsteady your thrusts are and he starts to roll his hips with you. His legs around the back of your thighs, pressing against your ass as he encourages you. Moaning your name when you push deep and kisses your clean shaven jaw. You had started shaving his face since being in his body, especially since the director liked the idea of Dieter with a clean cut look.

“Oh shit baby. Feel - feel so good. So fucking wet. God, didn’t know it could be this wet.” You confess as you push deeper and start to find a rhythm. “You need - tell me what you need.” You plead, wanting to make sure this is good for him before you cum too soon.

“Put- fuck, put my legs up on your shoulders.” Dieter pants out breathlessly. Knowing that the angle will feel amazing. “I’ll- I’ll rub my clit.”

You nod, shifting to grab his ankles, lifting them onto your shoulders, and you moan at the way he clenches around you. “Shit. That's - oh God. Rub your clit, baby. Rub it. Need you to cum.” You beg, getting closer as you rut into him.

Dieter does as you order, groaning your name when the angle strikes against something perfect inside him. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He whines, rubbing the little bundle of nerves frantically and wishing that he could articulate how good this feels. “Make me cum, baby. Wanna soak you.”

You grunt, rocking into him again and again, keeping the same angle, and you groan when he clamps down on you. The gush of wetness makes your eyes roll into the back of your head as the sensation makes your cock twitch deep inside of him. “Fuckkkkk. I’m gonna cum.” You warn him, rocking frantically into him until you freeze, stiffening as your cock twitches and you paint his walls with your hot seed.

Dieter moans again, breathless at the sensation and he rocks his hips down, wanting more. It’s incredible and he swears that if he has to stay like this, it wouldn’t be so bad as long as you both just stay in bed. “Fuck baby, so good, feels so good.”

You nod, speechless in your agreement, and you lean in to press your lips to his. God, it’s so good. Feeling like this. Makes being stuck in this body tolerable. “Fuck. I think I love you, Dee.” You murmur, knowing that this time spent in the other’s body has made you realize how it is and you admit that you’ve been harsh in your criticism of him. You understand him now.

“I know I love you.” He sighs softly, aware that he’s been falling for you this entire time. Living in your body and understanding you better than he ever could have before. Even experiencing your period had been something that made him admire you. Even when he was curled on his side sobbing with a heat pad on his stomach.

You lean in to nudge your nose against his, knowing that even if you’re stuck in his body, you understand him better than anyone else. You love him. Even with all his flaws, he’s an incredible man. Talented beyond anything you realized and you love him for all of it. “Whatever happens, we have each other.” You murmur, kissing him softly.

His legs fall down into the crook of your arms as you hover over him, enjoying the closeness. “We have each other.” He mumbles against your lips. He’s not sure what’s going to happen but it will be okay if you are with him.

You hum, groaning as you let his legs back down to the mattress and slowly pull out of him. You moan at the sight of your cum pooling at his folds. “Shit. No wonder guys like watching that.” You murmur, “I feel possessive as fuck.” You chuckle and shuffle off of the bed to get a wet rag to clean him up.

“You should be.” He calls out after you. “It’s your body.” He feels boneless after you fucked him and he wonders how it’s so different from when he’s the one working the cock. “Besides, my body, your body, you get to touch it anytime you want.”

You come back over to clean him up and grin, “and you get to touch me…your body whenever you want.” You promise and you hand him your shirt to put on once he’s cleaned up. “Want a snack?” You offer and he shakes his head, closing his eyes. “I’m tired. You wore me out. Nap time.” He declares and you nod, “nap sounds good.” You grab some boxers and shift to pull the covers back from the bed. Once you’re both under it, you pull him back into your chest, snuggling into him.

“Think you’re becoming a better Dieter than I am.” He pouts slightly, but too sleepily to really protest as he snuggles against you. “Night baby.”

You chuckle, “night baby.” You breathe him in and fall asleep curled around him, the exhaustion seeping into your bones.

**** 

The light shines through the curtains, having forgotten to put down Dieter’s blackout blinds, and you wince as you wake up. It’s early morning. You and Dieter slept through the night and you feel him curled around you. Unsure of when you switched positions, you reach down to remove his arm from your waist and you gasp when you see the tattoos and rings that aren’t on the body you’re in. “Oh my God.” You gasp out, your hand shifting to your chest and you choke when you come into contact with your breast. “Oh my God.” You say a little louder and you shift to sit up, looking down at Dieter. “Dieter. Wake up. Wake up!” You shout, shaking his shoulder.

“What? What is it?” His eyes peel open and he blinks several times, feeling the grittiness of the contacts. Frowning slightly as he sits up. He doesn’t wear contacts. “What happened?”

“We switched back!” You announce, shifting to straddle him, cupping his cheeks in your hands. “We are back in our own bodies.” You tell him, loving how sleepy he still looks.

“We are?” His eyes widen and he looks down, seeing tits on you instead of him. “Oh fuck! We’re back in our own bodies!” He yelps, completely confused on what is different now. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking sexy.” He intones seriously.

You fluster, your fingers caressing his neck down to his chest. “So are you and I - I know you now. I know you and I love you. I got the calls from your parents. The calls from your manager and your agent and your friends. I understand you and the way you are and I love you.” You declare softly, meeting his dark gaze. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re incredibly sexy.” You smirk, playfully pinching his nipple.

He shudders out a breathy whine and bites his lip. “I know you do so much for me. You make my life so much easier and I want to show you how much I appreciate it.” His cock, already hard, twitches under the sheet pooled at his waist. “Can I make you cum this time? Me in my body and you in yours? Do you want to have sex with me?”

You nod, leaning in to nudge your nose against his. “Yes. I want you to fuck me, Dee. In our own bodies. Wanna experience you.” You murmur before you brush your lips against his. He doesn’t waste time deepening the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head and you whimper into the kiss, grinding down onto him.

It’s almost disorienting to be back in his body but it’s comforting at the same time. Dieter twists and pushes you down onto the bed before he pulls away from the kiss. “So that means I get to show you my pussy eating skills.” He teases with a grin before ducking his head and wrapping his lips around your nipple.

You moan and sink your fingers into his hair. “You better make me cum, I made you cum last night.” 

He chuckles against your skin, wanting to make sure you know that he had been paying attention when you had been touching your body. “I will.”

You sigh, loving how he kisses down your stomach as he settles between your thighs, just like you did last night in his body. “God, Dee.” You whimper when he kisses along your thigh, “I need you.” You whine softly when he continues teasing you, your pussy wet for him already.

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” He murmurs as he kisses your thigh and then up your mound. “Just want to get a good look at this pretty pussy. So hard to see it with a mirror.”

You gasp when he pushes your thighs further apart and the cool air hits your overheated flesh. Wetness makes the cool air practically caress your skin. “Shit.” You whimper, shifting to look at his face as he gets his first good look at your pussy.

Dieter is in awe, his fingers sliding up and down the edge of your folds as he takes it in. “So fucking gorgeous.” He groans, leaning in and burying his tongue into your cunt impatiently. Desperate to taste you properly.

“Oh fuck.” You choke, back arching as his tongue dives deep and that infamous nose presses against your clit. “Dee. Oh God.” You moan, slumping back against the pillows as he starts to feast on you.

He hums, smirking into your folds as he tries to take you apart, lick by lick. Loving your sharp, tangy taste and pulling your clit into his mouth to suckle on it harshly and he moves to push two fingers inside your slick walls.

You cry out, clenching around his fingers as he pushes them deeper inside of you. “Fuck baby. Oh God.” You choke as he sucks on your clit, “baby baby baby.” You moan as he curls them and makes your cunt gush. “So close. Gonna cum for you.” You murmur, walls fluttering around his fingers until you clench around them.

He loves that you are so vocal. That you are pushing your hips down onto his face and fingers. He curls his tongue around your clit again before he sucks it back into his mouth again. Wanting you to cum for him, wanting to see what it looks like on your body.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall apart. A cry ripping from your throat as you clamp down on his digits, soaking them as your thighs close around his face, keeping him trapped and smothered by your pussy. “Deeee.” You squeal as you experience the intense rush of pleasure from his mouth.

He groans into your folds, loving how you squeal his name. Licking slowly as he works you through the pleasure until your thighs relax and he pulls back with a grin, smacking his lips.

You open your eyes to look at him, “come here.” You reach down to grab him, pulling him up to you so you can press your lips to his and wrap your legs around him. “I fucking love you. baby.” You murmur against his lips, “so much.”

“I love you too.” He promises, not having any issues pressing down on you and moaning over how good you feel. He loves how you feel with your legs wrapped around him. “Can I fuck you, baby?” He asks quietly, as if being in different bodies might change your mind.

“Yes. Yes. Need you inside of me.” You beg, his hard cock pressing into your thigh and you reach down to take him into your hand. His groan vibrates against your chin as you pump him a couple of times before you notch him at your entrance. “Fuck me, Dieter.” You whisper as he starts to push into you.

Elbows braced on either side of you, his eyes flutter closed as he slowly fills you. “Fuuuuuuuck.” He hisses. “It’s so good, both bodies. It’s amazing.” He opens his eyes and looks down at you in wonder. “How are you so fucking good? You’re amazing.”

You giggle as you caress his neck, sliding your hands up into his hair as he gives you a moment to adjust to his length. “You’re amazing. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. This - what’s between us - never could’ve seen it without being you, being in your body. That fucking witch from the coffee place…she - oh God.” You gasp as Dieter pulls out of you and slowly pushes back in, “God. Should find her and thank her.”

Dieter groans, kissing your jaw and down your neck. “Should. Owe her more than I could say.” He doesn’t try to set a speed record, he wants this to last. Wants to make love to you. “I love you, baby. Every inch of your gorgeous body and your brilliant mind.”

You tilt your head so he can kiss more of your skin. “I love all of you, Dee. Trash panda. Brilliant actor. Kind when you want to be. I get you. I know you and I love all of you.” You promise, “doesn’t hurt that you’re - oh God, right there - sexy as hell.”

He grunts, preening slightly at the praise. “There?” His hiss proceeds another thrust against that spot, moaning when you clench around him. “You’re sexier.”

“We are both sexy.” You concede, “gonna make beautiful babies.” You smile as he pushes into that spot again and your mouth falls open as your eyes close. “Fuck. You want babies?” You ask him breathlessly.

He twitches inside you harshly at the thought. Normally he would be running for the hills at the mere mention, but the thought of having babies with you doesn’t scare him. “Fuck yes.” He moans, rocking his hips harder. “Three- no, four. Boys and girls. Little monsters that look like you and act like me. Or look like me and act like you.”

You chuckle breathily, “four babies. Better get started soon, my love.” You tell him as he continues to push into you. “Wanna have your babies. I think you’d be a good daddy.” You tell him, caressing his back as he continues working you towards an orgasm.

He grunts, knowing that you will keep him straight. You’ve been amazing and he knows you will be a good mother. “Take out your IUD.” He challenges you. “Knock you up as soon as you do. Want to see you pregnant.”

You nod, “I’ll make an appointment.” You know this is crazy but all you can do is know that you know Dieter is the one for you. You’ve seen all of him, literally been in his shoes, you know him and you want him. Even the dark bits that no one else sees. “Baby. Oh. That’s - I like that.” You confess as his pelvis grinds against yours, rubbing your clit just right. “Gonna make me cum like that.”

“Good.” He moans, keeping his pelvis against yours as he grinds deep. “Want you to cum. Need to feel it like this. So good for me baby.”

“Gonna - oh shit. Dee!” You cry out as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him and moaning as you cum around him. Lights flash behind your eyes as you squeeze them shut and moan at the way he works you through it while you shake beneath him.

You’re gorgeous when you cum. Groaning your name, he tries to push his hips forward but your are locked down around him like a vice. His cock throbbing and he feels his balls pull up. “Gonna cum.” He chokes out, tumbling over the edge after you and collapsing against your body as he fills you.

You sigh, caressing his back as he rests his weight on top of you and you feel so at home. “So fucking good baby.” You murmur, kissing along his jaw until he presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet. “I love you.” You whisper as he relaxes above you.

“I love you too, baby.” He hums giddily, snuggling into your neck and sighing softly as he catches his breath. “What a fucking story we have.” He muses, knowing no one would ever believe it. 

**** 

“DJ, hold still.” Dieter grumbles as he tries to affix the broken part of his eldest child’s costume back onto his squirming body. “If you don’t, I can’t fix it and you can’t go as The Mandalorian. You want to be Din, right?”

You smile as you adjust Ella’s outfit. She wanted to go as Padme and your other son, Sammy, is dressed as Darth Vader. Dieter is dressed like Han Solo and you are dressed as Leia. The youngest, Ollie, is dressed like Grogu. “Lemme try.” You say, gently taking over from Dieter as he struggles with the jet pack. You manage to get it fixed and smile, “there you go, my love. All fixed.” You stand up and grin, “now who wants to go get candy?” You ask and the kids cheer. The Sherman Oaks neighborhood is surprisingly kid friendly as people set up displays outside their large homes and have candy waiting - some pick the expensive shit from Erewhon - and some have regular candy. “Mommy?” Ella asks as you hold her hand while Dieter carries Ollie. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” You ask as she looks up at you. “You and daddy fell in love on Halloween, right?” She asks innocently and you grin, looking over at Dieter who winks at you. 

“Yes we did.” You nod and she asks, “why did you fall in love?” She asks and you bite your lip, knowing the truth is more than anyone could handle, especially a five year old. 

“You wanna take this one, babe?” You as Dieter with a smirk.

Dieter bites his lip and hums thoughtfully. “Mommy was really pretty in her costume.” Dieter tells his kids, who look at him eagerly. “She made daddy realize that he wanted to kiss her.”

You giggle when DJ wrinkles his nose, “ewww. Mommy and Daddy kissing.” He makes a noise of disgust and the other kids all join in, making you lean in to give Dieter a soft kiss. 

“And I wanted daddy to kiss me. Then we fell in love. And then all of you came along.” You say, knowing that this story will be better for them to understand. “Now, let’s go get candy.” You try to distract them and it works as they continue walking to the next house. 

“That was sweet.” You murmur as Dieter wraps his arm around your waist to pull you close after he sets down Ollie and holds his hand. 

“Mommy looks really pretty in her costume tonight. Shame you didn’t go with the other Leia outfit we saw.” He says, raising his eyebrows. 

“Oh don’t you worry, baby. That’s waiting at home for me to put on after the kids are asleep.” You promise, a wicked glint in your eye.

“I can’t wait.” He chuckles. Since that night you switched back, there’s never been a time where you’ve changed bodies again and even though he wanted to thank her, the witch from the party never resurfaced again. So neither one of you could express how thankful you are that she had cast her spell over you, allowing you both to walk a mile in the other’s shoes. It had led to this moment and there wasn’t a Halloween party that Dieter would rather be at than this one right here with the four beautiful kids he has with you, his wonderful wife.